The Shoemaker's Daughters CHAPTER 10.
Back to The Shoemaker's Daughters
"Indeed, Mr. Centum, you must renew this note for me. When I merged all my notes into one, and increased the amount to twenty-five hundred dollars, you gave your positive promise that you would continue or renew it, so long as the discount was regularly paid. You know that you have ample security."
"Did you think I could go on in that way forever? You have a strange idea of business;" said Mr. Centum, in an irritated manner.
"But, Mr. Centum," urged Mr. Hardamer, "it is only three months since I gave the note, and I have paid you your own price upon every renewal. I've never complained of the discount, though it has been large."
"Well, I can't help that, Mr. Hardamer. I've other use for my money, just now, and this must be paid today."
"It is impossible!"
"It must be done," said the broker, angrily.
"But you know it is perfectly safe; and what is the use of your driving me to ruin. I cannot possibly pay the money today — it is as much as I can do to raise the interest."
"I don't know that it is so safe," replied Mr. Centum, doubtingly. "Property is beginning to fall. Besides, you are too extravagant in your family. Morrison told me yesterday, that your daughters' dry goods bill for the last three months, was over five hundred dollars!"
"He didn't tell the truth!" said Hardamer, quickly, and with a good deal of irritation in his manner.
"Well, I never caught him in a falsehood," replied the broker, calmly. "But that is neither here nor there. I cannot renew this note any longer. It must be paid today!"
"It cannot!" said Hardamer, despondingly.
"So much for befriending you!" replied the broker. "I never yet accommodated a man in trouble, that he didn't disappoint me. Do you suppose, when I lend you my money for a certain time, that I do not expect to get it when that time expires? If I find it convenient to renew, why, it's well enough. But if I don't, nobody has a right to complain. Whenever I need my money, it is my rule to get it. It's only my own that I ask for."
"But, surely, Mr. Centum, humanity would prompt you to make a small sacrifice in a case like mine. You know my situation as well as I do, and know that it is impossible for me to take up this note. I will pay almost any price for the money."
"It's no use for you to talk, Mr. Hardamer. You will be no more able to pay me six months from now, than you are today," said the broker.
"But I am not able to pay you today, as far as ready money is concerned."
"That's your problem," replied Mr. Centum, showing his teeth. "You are aware that I have my remedy."
"But you cannot, certainly, find it in your heart to break me up, with a large family upon my hands."
"Pooh! That's no concern of mine! I've got my own affairs to attend to, not yours. When a man borrows money, he ought to pay it, and make no fuss about it."
"You won't have the note protested, Mr. Centum, will you?" urged Hardamer, in a supplicating tone.
"Won't I?" replied Centum, with an angry grin, "just wait till three o'clock and see! I don't do my business by halves, and never did."
"In pity, spare me!" said Hardamer, in a voice of agony, driven almost to desperation at the thought of a failure in business.
"I've got no time to fool with you, Mr. Hardamer! Pay the note — or it will be protested, and the mortgage foreclosed tomorrow!" replied the broker, in a loud, angry voice, and abruptly left his office.
The evil day had at last fallen upon him, and there was no hope for poor Hardamer. In the last three months he had paid more than seven hundred dollars in exorbitant interest to Centum; and that individual, having played with him as long as he thought it prudent, now determined to bring matters to a crisis. His security, it is true, was ample, but there had been a slight decline in the value of property, and he had no idea of running the slightest risk. More than half of the twenty-five hundred dollars due to him, he had received in interest, during nine months, from Hardamer, who, in his eagerness to get money, had not hesitated to comply with the money lender's most unrighteous demands.
In a state of mind not easily imagined, did Hardamer wait until the town clock rang out, loud and clear, the hour of three. Every stroke of the bell fell upon his ear with a solemn, funeral sound. But after the last ringing reverberation had died on the air, he breathed more freely, and sat himself down to wait, in a state of forced calmness, the arrival of the notary. In the course of half an hour, that individual came tripping in, and, with a most unconcerned and unsympathizing face, asked for payment of the note.
"I have no money," said Hardamer, mechanically.
The notary threw down a protest upon the counter, and hurried away, while Hardamer took up the fearful document, and read it over, with strange composure.
It takes but a short time to wind up an honest debtor. Everything was given up by Hardamer, into the hands of a trustee, and the business brought to a settlement, as speedily as possible. His house was sold, and brought but three thousand five hundred dollars, which, with his good book accounts, paid off the whole of his indebtedness to everybody. Among the bills brought in, was that of Martin & Morrison, for dry goods, amounting to five hundred dollars. It was paid of course.
The business had proceeded as usual, for the two months during which it was in the course of settlement, under the superintendence of Hardamer. All his stock of leather, and some of the manufactured work was left in his possession, with about five hundred dollars. This constituted his whole capital, at the age of fifty-five, with which again to start in the world. His dwelling and shop, no longer his own, could not now be occupied, unless at a rent of six hundred dollars a year. This he was not able to pay, and he, therefore, looked out for a small dwelling, and for a shop separated from it, in some neighborhood where rents were lower.
A small dwelling-house in Vulcan Alley was advertised, and, upon ascertaining the rent to be one hundred and twenty dollars a year, he engaged it, without consulting anyone of his family.
"What do you think," said Genevra, coming up from the breakfast room, where she had learned from her mother, that her father had engaged a new house. "Pa's gone and rented a little pigeon-box up in Vulcan Alley, and is going to move away from here."
"It isn't possible!" exclaimed Gertrude, jumping up from the piano, at which she still continued to spend hours every day.
"It is possible, though!" said Genevra, bursting into tears.
"Well, I'll not go there! I'll die first!" said Gertrude, stamping upon the floor. "Pa's got no kind of spirit or consideration! Does he think we're going to be cramped down in that narrow hole, among servants and niggers?"
"You are wrong, Gertrude," said Genevieve, mildly. "Pa's in great trouble. He is now old, with a large family upon his hands, and all his property is gone!"
"He was a fool for giving it up; that's all I've got to say;" responded Gertrude, passionately. "No man is justified in robbing his family in that way!"
"Gertrude," said Genevieve, firmly, "you must not talk in that way about Pa. He has always been too indulgent to us, and now that he is old and in trouble, we ought to feel for him, and try to help him all we can."
"Nobody asked for your advice, Miss, so just shut up, will you!" replied Gertrude in a loud and angry voice.
"I spoke in vindication of father," Genevieve answered, mildly, but still firmly. "Say what you please to me, about myself, and I will be silent; but I cannot hear him spoken of unkindly, and remain silent."
"I wonder how long it is since you became so dutiful," said Genevra, with a sneer. "You've forgotten the hopeful young gentleman you ran off with last summer, haven't you?"
"Silence!" said Hardamer, in a loud angry voice, coming suddenly into the room from the passage, where he had heard the rebuke of Genevieve, and the cutting remark of Genevra.
"Do you know, hussy! who you are talking to, or what you are talking about?" he continued, much excited. "What is the meaning of this? How dare you talk to your sister thus. Your sister, who is better, in every sense of the word, than a dozen such proud, lazy, extravagant trollops as you are. Has she ever run me in debt like this, eh?" — exhibitingMartin & Morrison's bill of five hundred dollars. "I'll turn you out of the house in a minute, if I hear another unkind word from you to your sister. Why don't you go to work as she does, instead of abusing her, and try to help me a little in supporting you. I'll sell that piano, my lady!" he continued, turning to Gertrude, who still remained on the piano stool, and notwithstanding her father's anger, kept running her fingers over the keys in a careless, indifferent manner. "You'd better be mending stockings, a great sight!"
"Not exactly!" responded the young lady, drawing her lips together, and tossing her head quite significantly, at the same time continuing to let finger after finger fall upon the keys, in slow succession.
For a moment the father's feelings were roused to a degree that scarcely left him any control of himself; but, by a strong effort, he restrained the inclination he felt to box the young lady's ears, and turning upon his heel, went downstairs.
"Humph! sell the piano, indeed!" said Gertrude, as soon as her father was out of hearing. "I would like to see him try that trick! I reckon he'd find the house too hot to hold us all!"
"Indeed, indeed, Gertrude!" said Genevieve, "it is very wrong for you to speak in that way. I cannot bear it!"
"None of your gabble, Miss self-righteous!" responded Gertrude, turning up her nose with a sneer.
"She's got Pa on her side, now, and she thinks she is somebody," said Genevra. "But she needn't put her two-cents in where I'm concerned, I can tell her! She only sews here from morning till night, to curry favor with him."
"But how do you know, Genevra, that he's taken a house in Vulcan Alley?" said Gertrude, interrupting her.
"Why, I heard him tell Ma so, just now."
"And what did she say to it?"
"Why, she said it wouldn't do at all."
"Well, and what reply did he make to that?"
"He said it would do, and it should do. That he was going to take matters and things into his own hands now, and have them his own way."
"Hasn't he said that a hundred times," said Gertrude, with an incredulous toss of the head. "It's no use for him to talk; we're not going to live in that dirty hole, no matter what. Why, I'll die before I'll go there!"
In about fifteen minutes after the father turned abruptly from the room, and while Gertrude and Genevra were still in a state of great excitement, he re-entered, accompanied by a well-known piano maker.
"This is the instrument, Mr. Hamilton. But you know all about it. What do you think you can give me in cash for it?"
The girls startled, in utter astonishment; but a dark and threatening look from their father kept them silent; for there were times when they saw, in his countenance, that which they dared not oppose.
Mr. Hamilton examined the piano all around, struck the keys, and, after having satisfied himself, said —
"I can allow you something in the neighborhood of two hundred dollars."
"Very well. You can take it at that. I must teach my girls to play on some other instrument now. Every dog must have his day, and we have had ours."
"It's a pity to rob the young ladies of this sweet-toned instrument," said Mr. Hamilton, glancing at Gertrude and Genevra, whose countenances exhibited dismay and consternation. To counteract this, Hardamer cast on them a menacing look, and they were silent.
"A dutiful and affectionate daughter," he replied, "could take no pleasure in idling her time at the piano, while her old father was toiling from morning until night to support her; particularly, if, by her industry, she could lighten his burdens."
"True, sir, true," responded Mr. Hamilton. "Duty first, pleasure afterwards. But when do you wish me to take the instrument away?"
"At once, sir. Please send your men here immediately, and remove it. I wish to have the money as soon as I can lay my hands upon it."
"It shall be done," said Mr. Hamilton, bowing — and in half an hour the piano was gone.
The determined air with which all this was done, utterly bewildered the young ladies. They could not understand it at all. And they were not only astonished, but in a great degreedispirited. They could not but feel how vain would have been opposition to the case of the piano; and a painful sense of weakness and inability to oppose their father, came over them, and humbled their determined spirits.
"We're not going to live in Vulcan Alley, Ma, are we?" asked Gertrude, anxiously, that evening, after the father had retired to the shop.
"Yes, we are. Your father has taken a house, and will not be persuaded to give it up. I don't know what to do, he's in such a strange humor."
"It was cruel to take our piano," said Genevra, bursting into tears for the twentieth time since the instrument was taken away. "What shall I do with myself? I feel disgraced, too, for everybody of any standing has a piano."
"You'll find enough to do, I expect, without playing on the piano," replied her mother.
"What do you mean, Ma?" asked Gertrude, quickly.
"I mean, that you've all got to go to work and help to support the family," said Mrs. Hardamer. "Your father says so, and he is in no humor to be crossed."
"Never! I'll die first!" responded that young lady, indignantly.
"We'll see about that," said her mother, calmly. "There's always a way to do a thing. I don't, myself, see that there is any great harm in a young lady's employing her time usefully. I had to work when I was a girl, and I don't see that you are any better than I am. Your father has to work hard, and will have to work harder still to get bread for us all, and you are no better than he is."
"I'll die first!" broke in the pertinacious Gertrude, sobbing.
"I'm sure I cannot see that it is such a disgrace to work," said Genevieve, looking up from the garment upon which she was sewing. "Anne Webster does not think it a disgrace to work, and she — "
"Do you dare to even compare me with Anne Webster?" exclaimed Gertrude, her eyes flashing fire as she spoke.
"I have no wish to do so, Gertrude, if it is offensive to you," replied her sister. "I was only going to say, that Mrs. Flathers esteems her as her own daughter — and yet Anne sews for her all the while; and more, Mr. Marshall is going to marry her next week."
"How do you know that?" asked Gertrude, in astonishment, springing to her feet.
"Why, I had it from her own lips, yesterday, in Mrs. Flathers' presence. And more than that, Mrs. Flathers says that all Mr. Marshall's friends in Virginia approve the match, and that his father, mother, and sisters are to be here at the wedding."
"I don't believe a word of it!" said Genevra. "Mr. Marshall is not going to marry a poor servant girl, whom nobody knows. And I'd like to know, anyhow, where you saw Mrs. Flathers when she told you all this?"
"I heard it at Mrs. Flathers' own house," replied Genevieve, mildly.
"And what were you doing there?" asked Gertrude, in surprise.
"I go there every week to see Anne," said Genevieve. "And Mrs. Flathers is very kind and lady-like in her manner towards me. She has often told me how much she loves Anne, and says that she feels as near to her as if she were her own child. I never saw a girl of such pure principles, and such an innocent heart. 'Mr. Marshall, who is a son of my old and dearest friend, has indeed found a real treasure' — were the very words she used to me one day last week, when we were alone.
"And yet, Anne is busy all the while; and, what is more, Mrs. Flathers sits and sews with her by the hour; and we all know that she moves in the very first circle in the city. So you see, Gertrude, that it is not thought disgraceful to work, by the first ladies in town."
This was too much for the girls, and they hung their heads in silence. Two days after, this interesting family underwent the process of removing into a small two-story house in Vulcan Alley. It had a large back building, which afforded, with the front chambers and garret, room for the whole family.
Notwithstanding her determination to die first, Gertrude removed with the rest; and, in a sad state of mind, in which Genevra fully sympathized with her — settled herself down, hopeless of ever receiving a beau again, that was anybody.
In all the care, bustle, and confusion of removing, Genevieve was prompt, active, and thoughtful — while Gertrude and Genevra were, to the family, as the fifth wheel to a carriage, an incumbrance. The eyes of the father and mother, now fairly opened to the true character of their three oldest children, saw all this and their affectionate consideration for Genevieve greatly increased. Especially did her father feel his heart warming towards her; for, in the change of circumstances that had passed upon them, while the other two, and even his wife and younger children, were disheartened, which robbed him of all quiet of mind — Genevieve was ever active and cheerful. Particularly was she careful for his comfort. Every little attention that could in any way add to it, was promptly given, and with an evidence of affectionate regard, that softened the stern and harsh features of his character, and made him often feel towards her a degree of tenderness that his heart had but rarely known.
"You are a good girl, Genevieve," he said to her, a few days after they had moved, with a heartiness of tone, and a smile that warmed the heart of his child. He had just discovered some little attention, which her thoughtful regard had been prompt in executing, and its character had affected him. He had never before expressed to her, his consciousness of her dutiful regard, and these few words, which seemed to gush forth spontaneously, were a rich reward to her heart.
Ever since her unfortunate marriage, she had felt alone, forsaken and despised, even in her father's house, and only in the steady performance of duty had she found peace for her troubled spirit. True, he had, the week before, spoken well of her, in rebuking her sisters — but that was done in a moment of angry excitement. Now there was no mistaking the warmth of his feelings. She looked into his face with eyes instantly suffused, and with an expression of subdued, but heartfelt delight upon her countenance. She could not utter a word in reply, but he understood and felt the language of her face. Touching his lips to her forehead, an act of affection she had not received for years, he hastened away, his own heart overcome with rising emotions.
The gush of tears which relieved the oppressed feelings of Genevieve, were the most joyful tears which had ever fallen from her eyes.
Back to The Shoemaker's Daughters