Bad Luck!
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"More bad luck!" said Mr. Pierson to his wife, as he threw himself on the sofa in a desperate manner. "I believe Heaven itself is against me! Nothing I touch prospers!"
Mr. Pierson had just come home from his store. He was a merchant, and by most people thought to be a successful one. He had been in business once before, and, after accumulating a comfortable little fortune of sixty or seventy thousand dollars, had lost it all through a bad speculation.
The wife saw, by the manner of her husband, that something serious had occurred, or was in danger of occurring. He looked very much troubled, and his tone was more troubled than his countenance. She waited for some moments in expectation that he would say more; but, as he remained silent, she inquired as to the cause of his anxiety.
"Philpot & Markham have failed," he replied, in an abrupt manner.
"They have!" said the wife, turning pale.
"Yes; and besides owing me twenty thousand dollars, they will, in all probability, cause the suspension of four or five businesses largely in my debt. If so, I am ruined again. It's nothing but bad luck — bad luck! I am utterly disheartened!"
"Hope for the best, dear husband!" said Mrs. Pierson, speaking in a voice of encouragement. "It may not turn out so badly as you fear."
"Hope for the best — and get the worst! Humph! that has been, thus far, my experience in life."
"Do not say that, Henry. Few have enjoyed more of life's blessings than we. Even what we used to call our dark days were oftener bright with the heart's sunshine, than gloomy with clouds or wet with the falling rain. Was it not so? Think!"
"I can't think of anything but the present, and that is dark enough!"
"All is for the best, Henry. Do not forget that."
"I don't believe a word of it, and never did. Oh dear!" and Mr. Pierson started up and commenced pacing the floor hurriedly.
His wife knew his character well enough to be sure that any further attempt on her part to give him the strength he needed, would only produce irritation of mind, and so she forbore saying anything further than to inquire more particularly into the circumstances of the failure likely to involve them in ruin.
Tea was soon after announced, and Mr. Pierson, after sitting at the table without eating anything, until the family had partaken of the meal, arose and left the house, in order to see a merchant with whom he had confidential business transactions.
Shortly after Mr. Pierson went out, and while Mrs. Pierson and her oldest daughter, Jessie, then just eighteen years of age, were sitting alone together, a servant came to the room and said that there was a gentleman in the parlor.
"Who is he?" inquired Mrs. Pierson.
"Mr. Garland," replied the servant.
"Oh, yes," said Jessie, "he has called for me. We are going to the opera."
"With Mr. Garland!" returned the mother, evincing surprise.
"Why not with him, mother?"
"Your father and I have both said that we would rather not have you keep company with this man."
"You indulge a causeless prejudice against him, mother."
"No. Our objection is founded on what we know of him, as well as in observation and experience."
Jessie had arisen, and was moving slowly towards the door while her mother was speaking.
"My daughter," said Mrs. Pierson, her manner changing, "you surely will not go to the opera with this person!"
"I have promised him that I would do so, and I cannot break my word."
"Your father will be greatly displeased."
"I shall be sorry. But, mother, my word is passed, and I must not break it."
And as Jessie said this, she withdrew from the room, and closed the door as she went out. Mrs. Pierson, who had arisen from her chair, sat down with a sighing moan, and, covering her face with her hands, bent her body and rocked herself to and fro restlessly. Up to within a few months, a more loving or dutiful child than Jessie was not to be found. Since then, she had made the acquaintance of a man named Garland, and became completely fascinated with him. He was some years older than she was, and had seen a good deal of the world. In exterior, he was a polished gentleman; and, being well educated, was just the kind of a person to dazzle a young girl who was able only to judge from mere appearances.
On leaving her mother, Jessie went to her own room, and, in a little while, descended to the parlor, where Mr. Garland awaited her. She was not dressed to go out. Better counsels had prevailed in her mind. She hesitated to act in such direct opposition to the views and feelings of her mother.
"Ah, how do you do?" said Mr. Garland, in his frank, free way, taking Jessie's hand familiarly as she entered. "Are you not going to the opera?"
"Not if you will excuse me for breaking my word with you."
"That will depend entirely upon the reason you have to offer," said the gentleman. "But no doubt it is a good one. You could have no other."
"I think it good. My mother seems unwilling to have me go."
"The best reason in the world," returned Mr. Garland.
"I am glad you think so. I would act contrary to her wishes, with great reluctance."
"What reason does she give?" asked Mr. Garland, smiling, while he looked into Jessie's face, yet evidently deeply interested in her answer.
Jessie blushed slightly, and there was a momentary hesitation in her manner, as she said — "Mothers are a little over-careful of their daughters sometimes, you know. My mother is particularly so. She has an objection to my attending public places of amusement, unless in company with my father."
"Ah!" Mr. Garland looked serious for a moment. "Has she made this objection before?"
"Not in any particular instances; but she has this general objection."
"It is a prejudice, certainly,'" said Mr. Garland. "Still, it is one that, as a daughter, you should respect. As for me, it is no disappointment. An hour spent with you here, in the quiet of your own parlor, will fully compensate for all I had anticipated at the opera."
"I am happy to hear you say that. I feared it would be a great disappointment."
"Oh, no, none in the least. In fact, I am pleased at the turn things have taken. I wanted to have a little quiet conversation with you, and now the opportunity has come."
Mr. Garland looked earnestly into the face of the maiden as he spoke; and the maiden's eyes shone with a deeper and more liquid brightness, while a gentle warmth pervaded her lovely countenance. There were a few moments of silence, which Garland broke by saying, in a low voice, while he bent nearer — "Jessie, you must pardon my freedom in saying, with all frankness — I never speak in any other way — that the most pleasant hours of my life are passed in your society. This is not meant as simply a compliment. I do not waste words in mere compliments, but in saying just what I think and feel."
Jessie's heart bounded with a wild impulse, and the blood went quicker through her veins, while a thrill of delight pervaded her whole being. She bent her head to listen, and, at the same time, to conceal the too gratified expression of her beautiful young face. Garland saw the effect of his words, and went on.
"Nay, more than that; the hours that are spent away from you are duller and more irksome to me than they have ever been. It is so, and I cannot help it."
There was another pause. The eyes of Jessie were cast upon the floor, and her face was so turned away, that Garland could not see its expression; but it did not escape his observation that her respiration was fuller — almost panting, and that her hand had a visible tremor. He understood fully the meaning of these signs; and they emboldened him to touch, with a gentle pressure, the hand that lay most temptingly near his own, and the hand did not shrink. His fingers clasped upon it, and it yet remained passive. There was no longer any doubt in the mind of Garland — the maiden was his.
Tenderer words were then spoken. To these followed an open confession of love, which Jessie met by a blushing reference to her parents. When Garland parted on that evening with the happy and bewildered girl, a kiss of love was left burning upon her lips.
On the next day, more certain news in regard to the failure was received by Mr. Pierson — it was even more ruinous than at first believed.
While brooding gloomily over the probable result to himself, a letter was handed to him. On breaking the seal, he found it to be a note from Garland, which briefly stated the writer's attachment for his daughter Jessie, and preferred a request for her hand. The receipt of this offer had the effect to disturb Mr. Pierson still more deeply. Jessie was his best beloved child, and the interest felt in her welfare had ever been most intense. Garland, he had never liked. Though well connected, and moving freely in the best circles, he had always doubted the correctness of his principles, and considered him a cold-hearted man of the world. He was engaged in no business, and in Mr. Pierson's mind, were many unsatisfied questions in regard to his mode of obtaining an income. To have such a man win the affections of his child was indeed an affliction, which, coming at such an unfavorable time, nearly completed the prostration of his feelings. Mr. Pierson immediately replied that he could not accept the offer for Jessie's hand, and begged Garland to dismiss the subject at once and forever from his mind.
But Garland sought Jessie, and by flattery and promises of fidelity at stolen interviews, neutralized parental influence over her. Meantime her father struggled on for a few months, when a second failure compelled him to decide on calling a meeting of his creditors.
On the very day this course was resolved upon, Mr. Pierson received, from some unknown hand, a letter warning him that, at a certain time not a week off, a secret marriagewas arranged to take place between his daughter and Garland. His first thought was to show Jessie the letter, and demand of her whether the statement were true; but, upon reflection and consultation with her mother, it was thought best to observe her movements in silence, and to be ready to prevent the step, if she were really so blind as to think of taking it.
Painful — deeply painful was the trial through which Mr. Pierson found himself obliged to pass, not the less so from the circumstance that a vivid recollection remained of a former trial, alike in character, the enduring of which had well-near crushed him hopelessly to the earth. But there was no alternative. To go on longer in business was impossible. A meeting of creditors was called, and a full statement of his affairs submitted. The cause of his embarrassment was plain. There was not one of his creditors who had not suffered by the failure which had paralyzed him. Some were for closing up the debtor's business forthwith, while others, seeing that he had a fair surplus if everything were settled, wished to extend his time liberally, and thus give him a chance to recover himself.
Meantime, and while all was yet undetermined, the news of Mr. Pierson's failure spread from lip to lip, until it was known everywhere in the city. Of course, the lover of Jessie became apprized of the circumstance.
The information received by Mr. Pierson in regard to Jessie's intended marriage was true. Garland had so won upon the infatuated girl, as to gain her consent to leave her father's house and become his wife clandestinely. The time fixed for this act arrived before any settlement of her father's affairs could possible be made, and before the news of his failure had even reached his ears. The arrangement was, for Jessie to meet Garland at the house of a young lady friend, who was in the secret, and to proceed from thence to the house of a minister, and get the marriage-rite said. Rooms had been taken at the American Hotel, where the young couple were to sojourn until the anger of Jessie's parents was appeased.
Jessie thought it rather strange that, for several evenings previous to the one on which the marriage was to take place, her lover had not called at the friend's house, where they usually met, two or three times a week, nor had he sent even a perfumed letter to tell her that love's flame still burned brightly. No doubt of his constancy came, however, like a shadow across her spirit; and she prepared herself to keep to the minute, her engagement.
Mr. Pierson had come home gloomier than usual. On the day before, he had hopes of making such an arrangement with his creditors as would enable him to go on and finally recover himself; but two or three parties were urgent for an immediate settlement, and a realization of whatever his effects would pay; and their influence upon other parties seemed likely to prevail. Amid this trouble, however, the unhappy man did not forget his child. Her blindness and folly pained him, even more than the wreck of all his worldly prospects. It was his intention to intercept his daughter as she attempted to leave the house; and in order to be fully in time to do so, he came home earlier than usual. His first inquiry was for Jessie; and he learned that she had been in her room alone during the entire afternoon.
"Are you certain that she has not already gone?" he inquired, a doubt suddenly crossing his mind.
"Oh, no, I would have heard her," replied the mother.
"Suppose you go up to her room, and see if she is there?" suggested Mr. Pierson.
The mother did so; but, in a few moments, came down hurriedly, looking pale and frightened.
"She is not there!" said she, huskily.
Mr. Pierson clasped his hands together, and groaned aloud.
They were too late. Fearful of being observed and questioned, if she left the house after her father came home for the evening, Jessie had determined upon going to the residence of her friend at an earlier hour than at first decided upon, and she acted accordingly. The time appointed for Mr. Garland to come was eight o'clock. Up to that hour, Jessie waited for his arrival — her feelings in a high state of excitement. As the clock struck, the hall-bell rang. Breathlessly the young girl listened for the footsteps of her lover. The door was opened, and a strange voice said something to the waiter. A note was then handed in to the parlor. It was for Jessie. Some moments passed before the excited girl could break the seal. She read, and then, uttering a faint cry, fell insensible to the floor. The note was from Garland, and was in a few words as follows:
"Circumstances unforeseen prevent my seeing you tonight, or at present fulfilling our engagement. When we meet again, I will explain all. Adieu for the present."
So long did Jessie remain unconscious, that, in alarm, a messenger was sent for her father. Mr. Pierson had just returned from a fruitless search after his daughter, when the messenger arrived, and he instantly repaired to the house where she had gone. He found her partially recovered from her swoon, but in a most wretched state of mind. From the note written by Garland, which was placed in his hands, he understood the precise state of affairs, and forbore giving voice to reproach or censure. As soon as he could remove her, she was taken home. For days she kept her room, most of the time weeping, or, in gloomy silence, refusing every offer of comfort.
By all this, Mr. Pierson was rendered doubly unhappy. It seemed as if his cup were full.
"All things are against me!" said he, murmuringly; "I was born to disappointment!"
"Say not so," returned his wife, who had a far more hopeful and confiding spirit. "In all this seeming evil, rely upon it, there is a hidden good. Let us be thankful that our child is not lost to us. No misfortune could have been greater than that."
"I doubt if we shall ever see the good," said Mr. Pierson, fretfully. "No — it is all my bad luck — I was born to it. Other people escape misfortune and domestic trials; but I am doomed to reverses and disappointment at every turn, and the curse rests upon all who bear any relation to me."
It was in vain that his wife argued with him; her voice could not charm away the evil spirit that came with its dark suggestions.
A few days more elapsed, and then light began to fall upon the gloomy way the embarrassed merchant was treading. Through the influence of his friends among the creditors, liberal extensions were granted him, and all his business property left in his hands, to be used to the best advantage.
"Can you recover yourself?" asked his wife, when this fact was communicated.
"I believe so," replied Mr. Pierson, confidently.
"Must we give up this house and change our style of living? If necessary, speak the word, and I am prepared for whatever is right."
A smile played around the lip of the merchant, as he replied:
"No — no; that will not be required. I am still worth thirty thousand dollars, and will bring it out clear of the business in a couple of years. Things are not really so bad as I feared."
"Then, we have had good, instead of bad luck."
"How will you make that appear?"
"Nothing but your misfortune saved our Jessie from a marriage, which would have made us all unhappy."
"You are right. It was clearly an advantageous marriage, in a monetary view, that the fellow sought. The mercenary, false-hearted scoundrel!"
"And Jessie begins to see this now, since I have told her of your recent change of fortune — bad-luck, as you called it."
"It was good luck for her, the silly girl! And she will understand it fully, one of these days. A man with a heart as base as Garland's, generally acts himself out before he dies, in such a way as to secure the infamy he deserves."
While this conversation was going on, an acquaintance dropped in.
"Have you heard about this Garland?" he asked.
"No; what of him?"
"He was arrested this afternoon, for forgery."
"What!"
"He forged a check on Green & Lane for five thousand dollars, and got the money."
"Is it possible! When did this occur?"
"He passed the check on the teller at the Bank of America, just before three o'clock today. Something created suspicion, and the fraud was discovered in a few minutes after he left the counter. The police were immediately put upon his track, and arrested him on the boat, as he was leaving for the South."
"What an escape!" murmured Mr. Pierson, in a low voice, as he thought of his child.
"Was it bad or good luck?" inquired Mrs. Pierson, as soon as they were again alone, laying her hand upon her husband's arm, and looking him earnestly and almost tearfully in the face.
"Good luck!" was the emphatic reply. "The loss of property is nothing, compared to the dreadful sacrifice our dear child has so narrowly escaped. I would let all go without a murmur, to save her from such a fate. I shudder to think of it."
"Yet, to all human appearance, had not this misfortune come — "
"Do not speak of it; it makes my heart sick. She is safe, and small indeed has been the sacrifice required to secure her safety. I acknowledge that there is a wise Power ruling in the affairs of men."
"And good, as well as wise."
"Yes — yes; good as well as wise."
Mr. Pierson bowed his head and sat silent, while the truth he had just uttered sank into his heart.
Many years have passed since that experience, and all has not been sunshine. But Mr. Pierson has never been heard to lament over his bad luck, nor to say that he believed Heaven was against him. He had cause to know better.
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