the town’s consent, and that is all I ask. Rarities are always
helped by any device which will rouse curiosity and compel remark.
Now if I may have your permission to stamp upon the faces of each of
these ostensible coins the names of the eighteen gentlemen who–”
Nine-tenths of the audience were on their feet in a moment–dog and
all–and the proposition was carried with a whirlwind of approving
applause and laughter.
They sat down, and all the Symbols except “Dr.” Clay Harkness got
up, violently protesting against the proposed outrage, and
threatening to –
“I beg you not to threaten me,” said the stranger calmly. “I know
my legal rights, and am not accustomed to being frightened at
bluster.” [Applause.] He sat down. “Dr.” Harkness saw an
opportunity here. He was one of the two very rich men of the place,
and Pinkerton was the other. Harkness was proprietor of a mint;
that is to say, a popular patent medicine. He was running for the
Legislature on one ticket, and Pinkerton on the other. It was a
close race and a hot one, and getting hotter every day. Both had
strong appetites for money; each had bought a great tract of land,
with a purpose; there was going to be a new railway, and each wanted
to be in the Legislature and help locate the route to his own
advantage; a single vote might make the decision, and with it two or
three fortunes. The stake was large, and Harkness was a daring
speculator. He was sitting close to the stranger. He leaned over
while one or another of the other Symbols was entertaining the house
with protests and appeals, and asked, in a whisper,
“What is your price for the sack?”
“Forty thousand dollars.”
“I’ll give you twenty.”
“No.”
“Twenty-five.”
“No.”
“Say thirty.”
“The price is forty thousand dollars; not a penny less.”
“All right, I’ll give it. I will come to the hotel at ten in the
morning. I don’t want it known; will see you privately.”
“Very good.” Then the stranger got up and said to the house:
“I find it late. The speeches of these gentlemen are not without
merit, not without interest, not without grace; yet if I may he
excused I will take my leave. I thank you for the great favour
which you have shown me in granting my petition. I ask the Chair to
keep the sack for me until to-morrow, and to hand these three five-
hundred-dollar notes to Mr. Richards.” They were passed up to the
Chair.
“At nine I will call for the sack, and at eleven will deliver the
rest of the ten thousand to Mr. Richards in person at his home.
Good-night.”
Then he slipped out, and left the audience making a vast noise,
which was composed of a mixture of cheers, the “Mikado” song, dog-
disapproval, and the chant, “You are f-a-r from being a b-a-a-d man-
-a-a-a a-men!”
IV
At home the Richardses had to endure congratulations and compliments
until midnight. Then they were left to themselves. They looked a
little sad, and they sat silent and thinking. Finally Mary sighed
and said:
“Do you think we are to blame, Edward–MUCH to blame?” and her eyes
wandered to the accusing triplet of big bank-notes lying on the
table, where the congratulators had been gloating over them and
reverently fingering them. Edward did not answer at once; then he
brought out a sigh and said, hesitatingly:
“We–we couldn’t help it, Mary. It–well it was ordered. ALL
things are.”
Mary glanced up and looked at him steadily, but he didn’t return the
look. Presently she said:
“I thought congratulations and praises always tasted good. But–it
seems to me, now– Edward?”
“Well?”
“Are you going to stay in the bank?”
“N–no.”
“Resign?”
“In the morning–by note.”
“It does seem best.”
Richards bowed his head in his hands and muttered:
“Before I was not afraid to let oceans of people’s money pour
through my hands, but– Mary, I am so tired, so tired–”
“We will go to bed.”
At nine in the morning the stranger called for the sack and took it
to the hotel in a cab. At ten Harkness had a talk with him