“You think then,” said Mr. Bolton smiling, “that a liberal and sagacious
politician might own a legislature after a time, and not be bothered with
keeping up his payments?”
“Whatever it is,” interrupted Mr. Bigler, “it’s devilish ingenious and
goes ahead of my calculations; it’s cleaned me out, when I thought we had
a dead sure thing. I tell you what it is, gentlemen, I shall go in for
reform. Things have got pretty mixed when a legislature will give away a
United States senatorship.”
It was melancholy, but Mr. Bigler was not a man to be crushed by one
misfortune, or to lose his confidence in human nature, on one exhibition
of apparent honesty. He was already on his feet again, or would be if
Mr. Bolton could tide him over shoal water for ninety days.
“We’ve got something with money in it,” he explained to Mr. Bolton,
“got hold of it by good luck. We’ve got the entire contract for Dobson’s
Patent Pavement for the city of Mobile. See here.”
Mr. Bigler made some figures; contract so; much, cost of work and
materials so much, profits so much. At the end of three months the city
would owe the company three hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars-two
hundred thousand of that would be profits. The whole job was worth at
least a million to the company–it might be more. There could be no
mistake in these figures; here was the contract, Mr. Bolton knew what
materials were worth and what the labor would cost.
Mr. Bolton knew perfectly well from sore experience that there was always
a mistake in figures when Bigler or Small made them, and he knew that he
ought to send the fellow about his business. Instead of that, he let him
talk.
They only wanted to raise fifty thousand dollars to carry on the
contract–that expended they would have city bonds. Mr. Bolton said he
hadn’t the money. But Bigler could raise it on his name. Mr. Bolton
said he had no right to put his family to that risk. But the entire
contract could be assigned to him–the security was ample–it was a
fortune to him if it was forfeited. Besides Mr. Bigler had been
unfortunate, he didn’t know where to look for the necessaries of life for
his family. If he could only have one more chance, he was sure he could
right himself. He begged for it.
And Mr. Bolton yielded. He could never refuse such appeals. If he had
befriended a man once and been cheated by him, that man appeared to have
a claim upon him forever. He shrank, however, from telling his wife what
he had done on this occasion, for he knew that if any person was more
odious than Small to his family it was Bigler.
“Philip tells me,” Mrs. Bolton said that evening, “that the man Bigler
has been with thee again to-day. I hope thee will have nothing more to
do with him.”
He has been very unfortunate,” replied Mr. Bolton, uneasily.
“He is always unfortunate, and he is always getting thee into trouble.
But thee didn’t listen to him again?”
“Well, mother, his family is in want, and I lent him my name–but I took
ample security. The worst that can happen will be a little
inconvenience.”
Mrs. Bolton looked grave and anxious, but she did not complain or
remonstrate; she knew what a “little inconvenience” meant, but she knew
there was no help for it. If Mr. Bolton had been on his way to market to
buy a dinner for his family with the only dollar he had in the world in
his pocket, he would have given it to a chance beggar who asked him for
it. Mrs. Bolton only asked (and the question showed that she was no mere
provident than her husband where her heart was interested),
“But has thee provided money for Philip to use in opening the coal mine?”
“Yes, I have set apart as much as it ought to cost to open the mine,
as much as we can afford to lose if no coal is found. Philip has the
control of it, as equal partner in the venture, deducting the capital