Philosopher Jack by R. M. Ballantyne (book series for 10 year olds .txt) 📕

banking matters very well—is my son’s money all gone?”

“All,” returned Mr Wilkins sadly, “and all that my own son has invested, as well as that of his friends!”

“How was it, sir,” asked Mr Jack, in a reproachful tone, “that you were so confident in recommending the investment?”

“Because I thoroughly believed in the soundness of the bank and in the character of its directors. Investing my own funds so largely in its stock proves how I trusted it. But I was mistaken. It is a mystery which I cannot solve. Perhaps, when the examination of its affairs is completed, light may be thrown on the subject. I hope that no more of your relations or friends have stock in it?”

“None that I know of, except indeed my poor friend Mrs Niven, who was my son’s landlady when he was at college. I’ll go and inquire about her.”

Mr Jack thrust the fat pocket-book into a breast pocket, and buttoned up his coat with the determined air of a man who means to keep hold of what he has got.

Bidding Mr Wilkins good-bye, he walked rapidly to Mrs Niven’s house and pulled the bell rather violently. The summons was promptly answered by Peggy, who ushered him into a little parlour, where he was quickly joined by Mrs Niven.

“I’m very sorry to hear the bad news,” said Mr Jack, pressing the good woman’s hand in sympathy.

“What bad news?” asked Mrs Niven, in alarm.

“The bank, you know,” said Mr Jack. “It’s very hard, and to think that you’re in the same boat with my dear boy, whose fortune is wrecked—”

A little scream stopped him, for the word “wrecked” struck a chill to the poor woman’s heart.

“What! wrecked again?” she cried, “on a bank, in a boat? Oh! don’t tell me, don’t tell me that he’s drownded.”

“No, no,” cried Mr Jack, hastening to relieve her mind, while he supported her to a chair; “no, no; my dear boy’s all right. It’s the Blankow Bank I mean that’s gone to wreck, you know, and all his money with it, and yours too, I suppose, for you told me you had shares in that bank.”

“Oh! as to that,” said Mrs Niven, greatly relieved, “you may mak’ yer mind easy. I’ve got nae shares intilt noo. I selt them through Mr Black lang syne. He’s a douce, clever, honest felly—a relation o’ mine, and a first-rate business man; but for him I’d hae lost my siller, nae doot. He warned me that the bank was nae a right ane, and advised me to sell.”

Mr Jack thought that such a clever, disinterested man-of-business, and a relation of Mrs Niven, might be just the person to give him sound advice at this crisis; he therefore obtained his address, and, after a long chat with the good woman, who would have listened for hours to the adventures of her “bonny lodger,” took his departure, and in due time stood at the door of the dirty little office.

The dirty clerk ushered the visitor into the presence of Mr Black, whose presence was more repulsive than it used to be. He received Mr Jack rather gruffly, and asked his business.

“Oho! an eccentric character, gruff but honest,” thought Mr Jack, who began by saying that he had just come from visiting his friend Mrs Niven.

Mr Black’s face grew almost green at the name, and his brows scowled fiercely.

“Strange look for an honest, kindly man,” thought Mr Jack, “but we must never judge from the outward appearance;” then he said aloud, “I went to see her about that bank failure—”

“Ha!” growled Mr Black, interrupting, “but for that woman, and that—” he checked himself and said, “but you came here on some matter of business, I suppose. Will you state it?”

“A very eccentric man indeed, remarkably so, for a kindly, honest man,” thought Mr Jack; but he only said, “I came here to consult you about the investment of two thousand pounds—”

“Oh! indeed,” said Mr Black, in quite an altered tone, as he rose and politely offered his visitor a chair.

“But,” continued Mr Jack, rebuttoning his greatcoat which he had partly opened, “but, sir, I have changed my mind, and bid you good-day.”

So saying, he went out, leaving Mr Black standing at the door in stupid amazement and his dirty clerk agonising with suppressed laughter behind his desk. Mr Black had been groaning and growling all the day at the thoughts of the ruin which had overtaken him—thoughts which were embittered by the knowledge that he had drawn it on himself through the instrumentality of Mrs Niven. The climax of Mr Jack’s visit did not tend to restore him. Recovering from his amazement, and observing the condition of the clerk, he suddenly hurled the cash-book at him. Cleverly dodging it, the dirty little creature bolted from the office, and banged the door behind him.

Meanwhile Mr Jack cashed his last bill of exchange, returned home, and presented his wife with a bag of gold, which she deposited in the darkest recesses of the great family chest.

“That bank gives no interest,” said John Jack, with a quiet chuckle, as he superintended the deposit, “but we shall always have the interest of knowing that it is there.”

Long afterwards Mr Wilkins sought to combat Mr Jack’s objection to invest in another Scotch bank. “This disaster,” he said, “ought not to be called a bank failure; it is a bank robbery committed by its own directors, as has been clearly proved, and no more touches the credit of Scotch banks in general than the failure of a commercial house, through the dishonesty of its principals, affects the other commercial houses of the kingdom.”

“It may be as you say, sir,” replied John Jack, gravely, “an’ if it was my own money I might act on your advice. But I intend to take care of what’s left of the dear boy’s money myself.”

So saying, the stout farmer threw his shepherd’s plaid over his shoulder, and went off to his cottage on the Border.

But we must pass from this subject. Space forbids our going deeper into it, or touching on the terrible consequences of dishonesty coupled with unlimited liability. Fortunes were wrecked; the rich and the poor, the innocent and guilty, the confiding and the ignorant as well as the knowing and wise, fell in the general crash. Many homes were desolated, and many hearts were broken. May we not believe, also, that many hearts were purified in passing through the furnace of affliction!

“All is not evil that brings sorrow,” may be quite as true as the proverb, “All is not gold that glitters.” Some have been glad to say with the Psalmist, “It was good for me that I was afflicted.” This truth, however, while it might strengthen some hearts to bear, did not lighten the load to be borne. The great Bank failure produced heart-rending and widespread distress. It also called forth deep and general sympathy.

Out among the mountain gorges of California the gold-hunters knew nothing of all this for many a day, and our adventurers continued to dig, and wash, and pile up the superstructure of their fortunes, all ignorant of the event which had crumbled away the entire foundations.

At last there came a day when these fortunate gold-miners cried, “Hold! enough!” an unwonted cry—not often uttered by human beings.

Standing beside the camp fire one evening, while some of the party were cooking and others were arranging things inside the tent Captain Samson looked around him with an unusually heavy sigh.

“It’s a grand country, and I’ll be sorry to leave it,” he said.

“Troth, and so will meself,” responded O’Rook.

It was indeed a grand country. They had lately changed the position of their tent to an elevated plateau near a huge mass of rock where a little mountain stream fell conveniently into a small basin. From this spot they could see the valley where it widened into a plain, and again narrowed as it entered the gloomy defile of the mountains, whose tops mingled magnificently with the clouds.

“You see, my lads,” continued the captain, “it’s of no use goin’ on wastin’ our lives here, diggin’ away like navvies, when we’ve got more gold than we know what to do with. Besides, I’m not sure that we ain’t gettin’ into a covetous frame of mind, and if we go on devotin’ our lives to the gettin’ of gold that we don’t need, it’s not unlikely that it may be taken away from us. Moreover, many a man has dug his grave in California and bin buried, so to speak, in gold-dust, which is a fate that no sensible man ought to court—a fate, let me add, that seems to await Ben Trench if he continues at this sort o’ thing much longer. And, lastly, it’s not fair that my Polly should spend her prime in acting the part of cook and mender of old clothes to a set of rough miners. For all of which reasons I vote that we now break up our partnership, pack up the gold-dust that we’ve got, and return home.”

To this speech Polly Samson replied, promptly, that nothing pleased her more than to be a cook and mender of old clothes to rough miners, and that she was willing to continue in that capacity as long as her father chose. Philosopher Jack also declared himself willing to remain, but added that he was equally willing to leave if the rest of the firm should decide to do so, as he was quite content with the fortune that had been sent him. Simon O’Rook, however, did not at first agree to the proposal.

“It’s rich enough that I am already, no doubt,” he said, “but sure, there’s no harm in bein’ richer. I may be able to kape me carriage an’ pair at present, but why shudn’t I kape me town house an’ country house an’ me carriage an four, if I can?”

“Because we won’t stay to keep you company,” answered Watty Wilkins, “and surely you wouldn’t have the heart to remain here digging holes by yourself? Besides, my friend Ben is bound to go home. The work is evidently too hard for him, and he’s so fond of gold that he won’t give up digging.”

“Ah! Watty,” returned Ben with a sad smile, “you know it is not my fondness for gold that makes me dig. But I can’t bear to be a burden on you, and you know well enough that what I do accomplish does little more than enable me to pay my expenses. Besides, a little digging does me good. It occupies my mind and exercises my muscles, an’ prevents moping. Doesn’t it, Polly?”

In this estimate of his case Ben Trench was wrong. The labour which he undertook and the exposure to damp, despite the remonstrances of his companions, were too much for a constitution already weakened by disease. It was plain to every one—even to himself—that a change was necessary. He therefore gladly agreed to the captain’s proposal.

Baldwin Burr, however, dissented. He did not, indeed, object to the dissolution of the partnership of Samson and Company, but he refused to quit the gold-fields, saying that he had no one in the Old Country whom he cared for, and that he meant to settle in California.

It was finally agreed that the captain, Philosopher Jack, Watty Wilkins, Ben Trench, Simon O’Rook, and Polly should return home, while Baldwin Burr and Jacob Buckley should enter into a new partnership and remain at the fields.

Although, as we have said, most of our adventurers had sent their gold home in the form of bills of exchange for investment, they all had goodly sums on hand in dust and nuggets—the result of their more recent labours—for which strong boxes were made at Higgins’s store. Simon O’Rook, in particular,—who, as we have said, did not send home any of his gold,—had made such a huge “pile” that several strong boxes were required to hold all his wealth. The packing of these treasure-chests occupied but