Married and Single CHAPTER 9.
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Trueman was in business as a retail trader. From the first, the profits of his store had not been large. But they had, for sixteen years, owing to the prudent management of his wife, sufficed for the needs of his family. As his family increased, his business had increased likewise — never beyond his needs, but ever up to what was deemed right for him to procure. This close relation between demand and supply had always been a source of great uneasiness to him. He was anxious to get ahead — anxious to see safely invested the means upon which he could fall back in case of failing health or the decline of business. One of his fondest wishes was the possession of a house. He wanted a place for his family that could really be called home.
Three years before his introduction to the reader, in middle age, he had been tempted to purchase the pleasant little house and garden in which he is found residing. Its cost was four thousand dollars; one thousand dollars to be paid in cash, and one thousand dollars a year for three years; a clear title to be given after the last note should be taken up. Three thousand dollars of this money had been paid; but, in doing this, Trueman had so far crippled his business as to be compelled to borrow money to meet his regular payments. Indeed, for two years, he had been compelled to do what is known among business men by the term "financiering," which very frequently means, borrowing today to meet a note, and on the next day to meet the borrowed money, and so on until it is almost impossible for a man to tell whether he is really making a profit in his business, or going behindhand. The growing despondency evinced by Trueman arose from this cause. Frequently, when he closed his store in the evening and came home, he did so with his mind occupied by only one idea: how it was possible for him to meet the obligations that would fall due on the next day. He would, in consequence, be absent and thoughtful, as he appeared when last introduced to the reader.
His true position, after the lapse of nearly three years from the date of his purchase, was this: In the effort to make the different payments required, he had been compelled to borrow up to nearly their full amount, thus greatly embarrassing his business, and causing him to neglect giving it the attention it required, in order that he might think about and devise means for raising money. A note of a thousand dollars, the last of those given, would fall due in about three weeks. Already he was burdened in his payments far beyond what he felt able to bear. He might well fear the consequence of attempting to take up an additional weight.
It can hardly be a matter of wonder that the music of his daughter's voice, and the encouraging words of his wife, alike failed to restore permanently a quiet mind. When he retired for the night — he found that he could not sleep. Far more vividly than in the daytime, and while he engaged voluntarily in thinking about his affairs, were they presented, in all their startling relations, to his mind. He saw, as a unit, the whole. It was as plain to him as the plainest object he had ever seen — that ruin must inevitably come; or, rather, that the home he had struggled so long to make sure of for his family would have to pass out of his hands, perhaps at a heavy sacrifice, and thus leave him worse off than he was before he purchased it. Sad thoughts haunted him until long after midnight.
The morning came at last. Trueman had slept but little, and arose unrefreshed, and more dispirited than he had been on the night before. Edith saw this, and it troubled her. Usually, sleep had been to her husband a tranquillizer. The morning generally found his countenance in repose and his voice placid. The morning meal was usually one pleasant to all. But on this occasion, his brow showed a slight contraction; his eye was fixed in thought, and his lips more compressed than usual. He did not converse at the table, but ate quickly and very sparingly, and then arose and went away. His wife sighed as he did so, and Edith looked thoughtfully after him as he left the room.
Trueman's steps were turned directly to his store, where he proceeded at a quick pace. The newspaper was opened, and a few articles glanced at under the head of "Commercial Record." Nothing else in it had for him, at that time, any interest. A whole hour was then spent in examining the state of affairs for the day, and in devising means for meeting two or three business notes, and various items of borrowed money. At first, it seemed to him that it would be impossible to get through; but, as he thought longer and more intently, light began to appear. He could see a way here and a way there, which, entered into, would lead to good results. At ten o'clock he went out of his store, leaving his two clerks to attend to the business, and was occupied in "financiering" until twelve. By that time he had succeeded in raising all the funds required for the day's payments.
His mind was easier when he returned home at dinner-time, and, as a consequence, his countenance was more cheerful. This was noticed by the mother and daughter the moment he came in. It was to them a great relief. Light payments for a week left his mind in a quieter state. During that period, his home feelings were permitted again to come fully into activity. He saw and appreciated the many blessings that were bestowed upon him — a tender, devoted wife and loving children, with all the external comforts necessary for their happiness.
But, as the time drew nearer and nearer for the payment of the last note given in the purchase of his house, and he saw the utter impossibility of being able to meet it, or even much longer to sustain himself in business. With nearly three thousand dollars in borrowed money to provide for weekly, his spirits sank again, and still lower. His wife strove to cheer him, but her efforts were less successful than before. She knew not the real nature of the disease, and could not, therefore, administer an antidote. Trueman could not bear to tell her the real state of affairs. He knew how much she loved the pleasant spot they occupied. Her own hands had beautified it much in the culture of flowers and vines, and other tasteful arrangements both within and without. How could he tell her of the danger that threatened their lovely home? He shrunk from the thought. And Edith, too, his sweet child, there were few places within doors or without, where traces of her hands might not be seen. How could he break to her, his too justly-grounded fears?
Time hurried rapidly on, and the crisis he so much feared was only two days off. Still all was dark. There was not a single opening in the heavy clouds which descended low over his head, showing that there was a clear, bright sky beyond. The difficulties of his business had increased, independently of this extra payment; there was not, therefore, the most remote possibility of his being able to lift the note, the possession of which would give him a clear title to his little homestead.
"All, all must go to ruin!" he exclaimed, in an impassioned tone, after having sat pondering for a long time on the prospect before him. "What can I do? I feel like a man chained hand and foot, whose spirit is struggling and panting for liberty. How can I give up that pleasant spot, which Edith and the children love so well? For myself, I care little; any other place with them would be to me beautiful. Their faces, their tones, their smiles, their dear affections — these are all I ask, these would cause the desert to rejoice and blossom like the rose."
While in this frame of mind, a calm-faced, contented-looking middle-aged man entered his store, and came up to where he was sitting. Evidently, no great trial or affliction had ever contracted a muscle, and yet he did not bear in his countenance a happy look. There was something in it that marked him as a lover of self — and a lover of self is neverhappy. He was scrupulously neat in his attire, and had that "just-out-of-a-box look" which few married men exhibit, even if they have good wives to take care of them.
"Good-morning, Lane," said Trueman, rising and extending his hand as the visitor came towards him.
"Good-morning, old friend," returned Lane, smiling with real pleasure. "It's so long since I have had the pleasure of laying my eyes upon you, that I thought I would drop in and see how you looked. How are you? and how are all in your little nest at home?"
"Well, I thank you! How do you get along nowadays?"
"O, bravely enough. Life goes on with me in the old way, calm and evenly. But I think you begin to fail, Trueman, isn't it so?" This was said in a serious tone. "Your hair is changing fast. Why, how gray you are getting! And your face is thinner, and the lines upon it far too deeply sunken for a man of your age."
"Your head would become sprinkled, and your face lined — if you had us much care and anxiety as I have. A family of five children taxes a man's utmost ability to provide all that is needful."
"So I would think. Thank fortune, I have no such encumbrance! But you appear really troubled Trueman. Is anything more than usual the matter? or has your face got really fixedinto a look of painfully anxious care?"
"I am, just at this time, suffering more than usual anxiety."
"From what cause? Nothing that is serious, I hope?"
"To me and mine it is very serious. You know our beautiful little cottage and garden?"
"Yes."
"I bought it, as you are aware, about three years ago. All the payments have been met but one. That is about falling due, and I see no possible way of meeting it. Of course, I cannot get a clear title to the property, which will have to be sold to pay off this encumbrance upon it."
"How much is the amount of this last payment?"
"One thousand dollars."
"Can't you borrow that sum?"
"I have already been borrowing for at least two years, and now am in debt, on this account, just about what I have paid on the purchase of my house."
"That is bad. You were, then, really not able to buy this property?"
"It seems so. I was anxious to possess a house that my wife and children might call their own, if I were taken away from them. I believed that in three years I could certainly pay for it; but business has fallen off instead of increasing in that time, and now the attempt to secure such a home for them has brought me into serious trouble. I am in a great strait, and it worries me almost to death. I really do not know what to do, or which way to turn."
"Won't the holder of your note extend the time of payment? He is fully secured."
"He might; but I do not know. I have not asked him."
"Has the note been discounted?"
"I will see in a moment."
Trueman referred to the bank notice, and found that his note was held by the bank as discounted paper.
"The original holder has either passed it away, or had it discounted," he said. "There is, therefore, but little hope of getting it renewed; and, as a matter of business prudence, I had rather not ask a renewal of my paper — it might impair my credit. Were that done, ruin would be inevitable."
Lane sat and mused some time before he replied. At length he remarked,
"I do not see any other prudent course for you to pursue but to sell your house, and relieve yourself of your difficulties."
"But how can I give up that pleasant place, so dear to my wife and children? Their hands have beautified it in every spot. There is not a tree, or shrub, or vine, or flower that does not show their taste and care. Every nook and corner brings up a home feeling. Lane, you cannot imagine how the thought distresses me."
"You were not able really to make the purchase?"
"True."
"Then are you right in so eagerly desiring to possess it?"
Trueman was silent. There was point in the question. After musing for some time, he said, as if thinking aloud,
"You shall not covet your neighbor's house."
Then he was silent again, while thought was still active. He went away back in his mind, and reviewed the whole transaction involving the purchase. The more steadily he looked at it — the less was he satisfied with what he had done, and the more apparent was it that Lane's suggestion about selling the property was the best that could be followed.
"Perhaps you are right," he at length said. "This knot must be cut; it cannot be untied. Unquestionably I shall never be able, with present prospects, to bear up under the purchase of the house."
"Then to attempt to do so is not the act of a prudent man."
"I see that clearly; but it is to me a very painful conclusion to come to, that I must part with this little property — it is so much to my taste, and so much to the taste of my family. They feel it to be their permanent abiding-place, and are hourly letting their home feelings entwine more and more around every object. They dream nothing of all this. How can I break it to them? I would lay down life itself to secure their happiness, and yet I cannot serve them even in so apparently small a matter."
Trueman's voice trembled with struggling emotion, and Lane was deeply touched.
"There is a way," the latter said, after a thoughtful pause, and speaking with some hesitation, "by which I could help you to stave off this crisis for at least a year, in order to give you more time."
"Would it be just to the holder of my bond?"
"He might not think it so."
"Would it violate the spirit of the original contract?" Trueman spoke in a firm voice.
"It would," was the reply.
"Enough! If I die, yet will I maintain my integrity. Only right courses of action bring peace of mind. That house would cost me too dear at the price of a troubled conscience."
"Doubtless it would. As a wise man, your best course is one that is plain and straightforward. Sacrifices which come in this orderly way prove, as a general thing, benefits instead of calamities."
"I believe you. Be the pain ever so acute, this gangrenous limb must be cut off, and it shall be cut off!"
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