“Read that,” he cried, “Philip has found coal!”
The world was changed in a moment. One little sentence had done it.
There was no more trouble. Philip had found coal. That meant relief.
That meant fortune. A great weight was taken off, and the spirits of the
whole household rose magically. Good Money! beautiful demon of Money,
what an enchanter thou art! Ruth felt that she was of less consequence
in the household, now that Philip had found Coal, and perhaps she was not
sorry to feel so.
Mr. Bolton was ten years younger the next morning. He went into the
city, and showed his letter on change. It was the sort of news his
friends were quite willing to listen to. They took a new interest in
him. If it was confirmed, Bolton would come right up again. There would
be no difficulty about his getting all the money he wanted. The money
market did not seem to be half so tight as it was the day before.
Mr. Bolton spent a very pleasant day in his office, and went home
revolving some new plans, and the execution of some projects he had long
been prevented from entering upon by the lack of money.
The day had been spent by Philip in no less excitement. By daylight,
with Philip’s letters to the mail, word had gone down to Ilium that coal
had been found, and very early a crowd of eager spectators had come up to
see for themselves.
The “prospecting” continued day and night for upwards of a week, and
during the first four or five days the indications grew more and more
promising, and the telegrams and letters kept Mr. Bolton duly posted.
But at last a change came, and the promises began to fail with alarming
rapidity. In the end it was demonstrated without the possibility of a
doubt that the great “find” was nothing but a worthless seam.
Philip was cast down, all the more so because he had been so foolish as
to send the news to Philadelphia before he knew what he was writing
about. And now he must contradict it. “It turns out to be only a mere
seam,” he wrote, “but we look upon it as an indication of better further
in.”
Alas! Mr. Bolton’s affairs could not wait for “indications.” The future
might have a great deal in store, but the present was black and hopeless.
It was doubtful if any sacrifice could save him from ruin. Yet sacrifice
he must make, and that instantly, in the hope of saving something from
the wreck of his fortune.
His lovely country home must go. That would bring the most ready money.
The house that he had built with loving thought for each one of his
family, as he planned its luxurious apartments and adorned it; the
grounds that he had laid out, with so much delight in following the
tastes of his wife, with whom the country, the cultivation of rare trees
and flowers, the care of garden and lawn and conservatories were a
passion almost; this home, which he had hoped his children would enjoy
long after he had done with it, must go.
The family bore the sacrifice better than he did. They declared in fact
–women are such hypocrites–that they quite enjoyed the city (it was in
August) after living so long in the country, that it was a thousand tunes
more convenient in every respect; Mrs. Bolton said it was a relief from
the worry of a large establishment, and Ruth reminded her father that she
should have had to come to town anyway before long.
Mr. Bolton was relieved, exactly as a water-logged ship is lightened by
throwing overboard the most valuable portion of the cargo–but the leak
was not stopped. Indeed his credit was injured instead of helped by the
prudent step be had taken. It was regarded as a sure evidence of his
embarrassment, and it was much more difficult for him to obtain help than
if he had, instead of retrenching, launched into some new speculation.
Philip was greatly troubled, and exaggerated his own share in the
bringing about of the calamity.
“You must not look at it so!” Mr. Bolton wrote him. “You have neither