Books: The Lights and Shadows of Real Life

T >> T.S. Arthur >> The Lights and Shadows of Real Life

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"I will have faith in time; I will have energy!" responded the man
in Gordon, speaking aloud.

From that time Gordon and his wife lived with even stricter economy
than before, in order to lay by a little money with which he
could,--at some future time, re-commence his own business, which was
profitable. There was still only a single shop in town, and that was
the one owned by his old employer, who had, in fact, built himself
up on his downfall, when he took to drinking and neglecting his
business. On less than a thousand dollars Gordon did not think of
commencing business. Less than that he knew would make the effort a
doubtful one. This amount he expected to save in about five years.

Two years of this time had elapsed, and Gordon had four hundred
dollars invested and bearing interest. He still held his situation
at five hundred dollars per annum. The only shop yet established in
the town for doing the work for which he was qualified both as a
journeyman and master workman, was that owned and still carried on
by his old employer, who had made a good deal of money; but who had,
of late, fallen into habits of dissipation and neglected his
business.

One evening, while Gordon was reading at home in his comfortable
little sitting-room, with his wife beside him engaged with her
needle, and both feeling very contented, there was a rap at the
door. On opening it Gordon recognized Mr. Evenly, and politely
invited him to come in. After being seated, his old employer, who
showed too plainly the debasing signs of frequent intoxication,
said--

"Gordon what are you doing now?"

The reformed man stated the nature of his occupation.

"What salary do you receive?" asked Evenly.

"Five hundred dollars a year."

"Do you like your present employment?"

"Yes, very well. It is lighter than my old business, and much
cleaner."

"Would you be willing to come to work for me again?" further
inquired Evenly.

"I don't know that I would. My present situation is permanent, my
employer a very pleasant man, and my work easy."

"Three things that are very desirable, certainly. But I'll tell you
what I want, and what I will give you. Perhaps we can make a
bargain. There is no man in town who understands our business better
than you do. That I am free to admit. Heretofore I have been my own
manager; but I am satisfied that it will be for my interest to have
a competent foreman in my establishment. If I can find one to suit
me I will give him liberal wages. You will do exactly; and if you
will take charge of my shop, I will make your wages fifteen dollars
a week. What do you say to that?"

"I rather think," replied Gordon, "that I will accept your offer.
Five dollars a week advance in wages for a poor man is a
consideration not lightly to be passed by."

"It is not, certainly," remarked Evenly. "Then I may consider it
settled that you will take charge of my shop."

"Yes. I believe I needn't hesitate about the matter."

So the arrangement was made, and Gordon went back to the shop as
foreman, from which he had been discharged as a journeyman three
years before.

Firmly bent upon commencing the business for himself, whenever he
should feel himself able to do so, Gordon continued his frugal mode
of living for two years longer, when the amount of his savings,
interest and all added, was very nearly fifteen hundred dollars. The
time had now come for him to take the step he had contemplated for
four years. Evenly received the announcement with undisguised
astonishment. After committing to such competent hands the entire
manufacturing part of his business, he had given himself up more and
more to dissipation. Had it not been for the active and energetic
manner in which the affairs of the shop were conducted by Gordon,
every thing would have fallen into disorder. But in a fair ratio
with the neglect of his principal was he efficient as his agent.

"I can't let you go," said Evenly, when Gordon informed him of his
intention to go into business for himself. "If fifteen dollars a
week doesn't satisfy you, you shall have twenty."

"It is not the wages," replied Gordon. "I wish to go into business
for myself. From the first this has been my intention."

"But you haven't the capital."

"Yes. I have fifteen hundred dollars."

"You have!"

"Yes. I have saved it in four years. That will give me a fair start.
I am not afraid for the rest."'

Evenly felt well satisfied that if Gordon went into business for
himself, his own would be ruined, and therefore, finding all efforts
to dissuade him from his purpose of no avail, he offered to take him
in as a partner. But to this came an unexpected objection. Gordon
was averse to such a connection. Being pressed to state the reason
why, he frankly said--

"My unwillingness to enter into business with you arises from the
fact that you are, as I was four years ago, a slave to strong drink.
You are not yourself one half of the time, and hardly ever in a fit
condition to attend to business. Pardon me for saying this. But you
asked for my reason, and I have given it."

Evenly, at first, was angry. But reflection soon came, and then he
felt humiliated as he had never felt before. There was no intention
on the part of Gordon to insult him, nor to triumph over him, but
rather a feeling of sorrow; and this Evenly saw.

"And this is your only objection?" he at length said.

"I have none other," replied Gordon.

"If it did not exist you would meet my proposals?"

"Undoubtedly."

"Then it shall no longer exist. From this hour I will be as free
from the vice you have named as you are."

"Will you sign the pledge?"

"Yes, this very hour."

And he did so.

A year afterwards an old friend, who had joined the temperance ranks
about the time Gordon did, and who had only got along moderately
well, passed the establishment of EVENLY & GORDON, and saw the
latter standing in the door.

"Are you in this concern?" he asked, in some surprise.

"Yes."

"And making money fast?"

"We are doing very well."

"Gordon, I don't understand this altogether. I tried to recover
myself, but soon got discouraged, and have ever since plodded along
in a poor way I live, it is true; but you are doing much better than
that. What is your secret?"

"It lies in three words," replied Gordon.

"Name them."

"Time, Faith, Energy!"

The man looked startled for a moment, and then walked away wiser
than when he asked the question. Whether he will profit by the
answer we cannot tell. Others may, if they will.

FLUSHED WITH WINE.

"WASN'T that Ernestine Lee that we passed this moment?" asked Harvey
Lane, a young M.D., of his friend James Everett, in a tone of
surprise.

"Yes, I believe it was--"Everett returned, rather coldly.

"You believe it was! Surely, James, nothing has occurred to destroy
the intimacy that has for some time existed between you."

"You saw that we did not speak."

"I did."

"And, probably, shall never be on terms of friendship again."

"What you say pains me very much, James. Of course there is a reason
for so great a change. May I ask what it is?"

"It is, no doubt, a good deal my own fault. But still, I cannot help
thinking that she has taken offence too suddenly, where no offence
was intended. You know that I have been long paying attentions to
her?"

"Yes."

"If I remember rightly, I told you last week, that my intentions
towards her were of a serious character. In a word, that I had fully
made up my mind to ask her hand in marriage."

"O, yes,--I remember it very well. And that is the reason why I felt
so much surprised at seeing you pass each other, without speaking."

"Well, a few evenings ago, I called, as usual, intending, if a good
opportunity offered, to make known my true feelings towards her.
Unfortunately, I had dined out that day with some young friends. We
sat late at table, and when I left, I was a _little flushed with
wine_. It was a very little, for you know that I can drink pretty
freely without its being seen. But, somehow, or other, I was more
elated than is usual with me on such occasions, and when I called on
Ernestine, felt as free and easy as if everything was settled, and
we were to be married in a week. For a time, we chatted together
very pleasantly; then I asked her to play and sing for me. She went
to the piano, at my request, and played and sung two or three very
sweet airs. I don't know which it was that elated my feelings so
much--the wine, or the delightful music. Certain it is, that at the
conclusion of a piece, I was in such rapture, that I threw my arms
around her neck, drew back her head, and kissed her with emphatic
earnestness."

"Why, James!"

"You may well be surprised at the commission of so rude and
ungentlemanly an act. But, as I have said, I was flushed with wine."

"How did Ernestine act?"

"She was, of course, deeply indignant at the unwarrantable liberty.
Springing from the piano-stool, her face crimsoned over, she drew
herself up with a dignified air, and ordered me instantly to leave
her presence. I attempted to make an apology, but she would not hear
a word. I have since written to her, but my letter has been returned
unopened."

"Really, that is unfortunate," the friend of Everett said, with
concern. "Ernestine is a girl whom any man might be proud to gain as
a wife. And, besides her personal qualifications, a handsome fortune
will go with her hand."

"I know all that too well, Harvey. Fool that I have been, to mar
such prospects as were mine! But she must have known that I was not
myself--and ought to have charged the fault upon the wine, and not
upon me."

"Such a discrimination is not usually made."

"I know that it is not. And for not making it in my case, I
certainly cannot help blaming Ernestine a little. She must have
known, that, had I not been flushed with wine, I never would have
taken the liberty with her that I did. As it is, however, I am not
only pained at the consequences of my foolishness, but deeply
mortified at my conduct."

"Is there no hope of a reconciliation?"

"I do not think there is any. If she had accepted my written apology
for the act, there would have been some hope. But the fact of her
returning my letter unopened, is conclusive as to the permanency of
the breach. I can now make no further advances."

"Truly, it is mortifying!" the friend remarked. Then, after a pause,
he added, with emphasis--

"What fools this wine does make of us, sometimes!"

"Doesn't it? Another such a circumstance as this, would almost drive
me to join a temperance society."

"O, no, hardly that, James."

"Well, perhaps not. But, at least, to eschew wine for ever."

"Wine is good enough in its place; but, like fire, is rather a bad
master. Like you, I have injured my prospects in life by an
over-indulgence in the pleasures of the cup."

"You?"

"Yes."

"When did that happen?"

"Since I last saw you."

"Indeed! I am sorry to hear you say so. But how was it?--tell me."

"You know, that as a young physician, I shall have to struggle on in
this city for years before I can rise to any degree of distinction,
unless aided by some fortunate circumstance, that shall be as a
stepping-stone upon which to elevate me, and enable me to gain the
public eye. I am conscious that I have mastered thoroughly the
principles of my profession--and that, in regard to surgery,
particularly, I possess a skill not surpassed by many who have
handled the knife for years. Of this fact, my surgical teacher, who
is my warm friend, is fully aware. At every important case that he
has, I am desired to be present, and assist in the operation, and
once or twice, where there were no friends of the patient to object,
I have been permitted to perform the operation myself, and always
with success. In this department of my profession, I feel great
confidence in myself--and it is that part of it, in which I take the
most interest."

"And in which, I doubt not, you will one day be distinguished."

"I trust so; and yet, things look dark enough just now. But to go
on. A few days ago, I dined with some friends. After dinner, the
bottle was circulated pretty freely, and I drank as freely as the
rest, but was not aware of having taken enough to produce upon me
any visible effects. It was about an hour after the table had been
cleared for the wine, that an unusually loud ringing of the
door-bell attracted our attention. In a few moments after, I heard a
voice asking, in hurried tones, for Doctor Lane. Going down at once
to the hall, I found old Mr. Camper there, the rich merchant, in a
state of great agitation.

"'Doctor,' said he, grasping my arm,--'a most terrible accident has
happened to my daughter!--thrown from a carriage!--My physician
cannot be found, and as I have often heard your skill warmly alluded
to by him, I desire your instant attendance. My carriage is at the
door--Come along with me, quickly.'

"Catching up my hat, I attended him at once, and during our rapid
drive to his princely residence, learned that his only daughter had
been thrown from a carriage, and dreadfully injured; but in what
way, could not ascertain. Unaccountably to myself, I found my mind
all in confusion,--and, strange, unprofessional omission! forgot to
request that I be driven first to my office for my case of
instruments. We had not proceeded half the distance to Mr. Camper's
residence, before I noticed that the old man became silent, and that
his eye was fixed upon me with a steady, scrutinizing gaze. This
added to the confusion of mind which I felt. At length the carriage
stopped, and I accompanied Mr. Camper to his daughter's chamber,
hurriedly, and in silence. As I paused by the bed upon which she
lay, I again noticed that he was regarding me with a steady
searching look, and an expression of face that I did not like, and
could not understand.

"I proceeded, however, at once, to examine the condition of my
patient, who lay in a kind of stupor. There was a deep gash on the
side of her face, from which the blood had issued profusely. By the
aid of warm-water, I soon cleared the wound from a mass of
coagulated blood that had collected around it, and was glad to find
that it was not a serious one. I then proceeded to examine if there
were any fractures. All this time my hands were unsteady, my face
burned, and my mind was confused. _I was conscious that I had taken
too much wine._

"'There is no apparent injury here,' I at length said, after
examining the arms and chest. 'She is probably only stunned by the
concussion.'

"'But she could not stand on her feet when first lifted after the
fall, and fainted immediately upon attempting to sustain her own
weight,' Mr. Camper replied.

"I then made further examination, and found sad indications of her
fall, in a fractured patella. The knee was, however, so swollen,
that I could not ascertain the nature, nor extent of the fracture.

"'What do you find the matter there, doctor?' Mr. Camper asked,
after I had finished my examination.

"'A very serious injury, sir, I am sorry to say,' was my reply.

"'Of what nature?' was his somewhat stern inquiry.

"'Her knee-pan is fractured, sir; but so much swollen, that I
cannot, now, fully ascertain the extent of the injury.'"

"Henry!" cried the old man in a quick, eager tone to an attendant,
"go again for doctor L--; and if he is not in, go for doctor
R--; and if you cannot find him, call on doctor T--, and ask him
to come instantly."

The attendant hurriedly departed, when Mr. Camper turned slowly
towards me, with a mingled expression of anger, pain, and contempt,
upon his face, and said, in a stern voice,

"'Go home young man! and quit drinking wine, or quit the profession!
You are in no fit state to undertake a case like this.'

"It came upon me like a peal of thunder from an unclouded summer
sky. It was the knell of newly-awakened hopes--the darkening of
newly-opening prospects. Silently I turned away under the cutting
rebuke, and left the house."

"Really, that was most unfortunate!" his friend Everett remarked,
with earnest sympathy.

"Could anything have been more unfortunate, or more mortifying. Her
case was one that I fully understood; and could have treated
successfully. It would have brought me into contact with the family
for six months, or more, and the _eclat_ which I should have derived
from the case, would have given me a prominence as a young surgeon,
that I am afraid the fact of my losing the case under such
mortifying circumstances, will prevent me ever attaining in this
city."

"Really, Harvey, I do feel exceedingly pained at what you have told
me. Confound this wine! I believe it does more harm than good."

"Too free an indulgence of it does, no doubt. Our error has lain in
this. We must be more prudent in future."

"Suppose we swear off for ever from touching it."

"No, I will not do that. Wine is good in its place, and I shall
continue to use it, but more moderately. A physician never knows the
moment he may be called upon, and should, therefore, always be in a
state to exercise a clear head and a steady hand."

"Certainly, we have both of us had lessons not soon to be
forgotten," was the reply; and then the two young men separated.

Two weeks from the day this conversation took place, doctor Lane and
his friend James Everett met at a supper-party, where all kinds of
liquors were introduced, and every kind of inducement held out for
the company to drink freely. Both of the young men soon forgot their
resolutions to be guarded in respect to the use of wine. As the
first few glasses began to take effect, in an elevation of spirits,
each felt a kind of pride in the thought that he could bear as much
as any one there, and not show signs of intoxication.

By eleven o'clock, there was not one at the table who was not drunk
enough to be foolish. The rational and intelligent conversation that
had been introduced early in the evening, had long since given place
to the obscene jest--the vulgar story--or the bacchanalian song.
Gayest of the gay were our young men, who had already, one would
think, received sufficient lessons of prudence and temperance.

"Take care, James!" cried Lane, across the table to his friend
Everett, familiarly, late in the evening. "You are pouring the wine
on the table, instead of in your glass."

"You are beginning to see double," was Everett's reply, lifting his
head with a slight drunken air, and throwing a half-angry glance
upon his friend.

"That is more than you can do," was the retort, with a meaning toss
of the head.

"I don't understand you," Everett said, pausing with the decanter
still in his hand, and eyeing his friend, steadily.

"Don't you, indeed! You see yourself in a state of blessed
singleness--ha! Do you take?"

"Look here, James,--you are my friend. But there are things that I
will not allow even a friend to utter. So take care now!"

"Ha! ha! There comes the raw. Do I rub too hard, my boy?"

"You 're drunk, and a fool into the bargain!" was the angry retort
of Everett.

"Not so drunk as you were when you hugged and kissed Ernestine Lee!
How do you like--?"

Lane could not finish the sentence, before the decanter which
Everett had held in his hand glanced past his head with fearful
velocity, and was dashed into fragments against the wall behind him.
The instant interference of friends prevented any further acts of
violence.

It was about ten o'clock on the next morning that young doctor Lane
sat in his office, musing on the events of the previous night, of
which he had only a confused recollection, when a young man entered,
and presented a note. On opening it, he found it to be a challenge
from Everett.

"Leave me your card, and I will refer my friend to you," was his
reply, with a cold bow, as he finished reading the note. The card
was left, and the stranger, with a frigid bow in return, departed.

"Fool, fool that I have been!" ejaculated Lane, rising to his feet,
and pacing the floor of his office backwards and forwards with
hurried steps. This was continued for nearly half an hour, during
which time his countenance wore a painful and gloomy expression. At
last, pausing, and seating himself at a table, he murmured, as he
lifted a pen,

"It is too late now for vain regrets."

He then wrote a note with a hurried air, and dispatched it by an
attendant. This done, he again commenced pacing the floor of his
office, but now with slower steps, and a face expressive of sad
determination. In about twenty minutes a young man entered, saying,
as he did so--

"I'm here at a word, Harvey--and now what is this important business
which I can do for you, and for which you are going to be so
everlastingly obliged?"

"That will tell you," Lane briefly said, handing him the challenge
he had received.

The young man's face turned pale as he read the note.

"Bless me, Harvey!" he ejaculated, as he threw the paper upon the
table. "This is a serious matter, truly! Why how have you managed to
offend Everett? I always thought that you were friends of the
warmest kind."

"So we have been, until now. And at this moment, I have not an
unkind thought towards him, notwithstanding he threw a bottle of
wine at my head last night, which, had it taken effect, would have,
doubtless, killed me instantly."

"How in the world did that happen, doctor?"

"We were both flushed with wine, at the time. I said something that
I ought not to have said--something which had I been myself, I would
have cut off my right hand before I would have uttered--and it
roused him into instant passion."

"And not satisfied with throwing the bottle of wine at your head, he
now sends you a challenge?"

"Yes. And I must accept it, notwithstanding I have no angry feelings
against him; and, but for the hasty step he has now taken, would
have most willingly asked his pardon."

"That, of course, is out of the question now," the friend replied.
"But I will see his second; and endeavour, through him, to bring
about a reconciliation, if I can do so, honourably, to yourself."

"As to that," replied Lane, "I have nothing to say. If he insists
upon a meeting, I will give him the satisfaction he seeks."

It was about half an hour after, that the friend of Lane called upon
the friend of Everett. They were old acquaintances.

"You represent Everett, I believe, in this unpleasant affair between
him and doctor Lane," the latter said.

"I do," was the grave reply.

"Surely we can prevent a meeting!" the friend of Lane said, with
eagerness.

"I do not see how," was the reply.

"They were flushed with wine when the provocation occurred, and this
ought to prevent a fatal meeting. If Lane insulted Everett, it was
because he was not himself. Had he been perfectly sober, he would
never have uttered an offensive word."

"Perhaps not. But with that I have nothing to do. He has insulted my
friend, and that friend asks a meeting. He can do no less than grant
it--or prove himself a coward."

"I really cannot see the necessity that this should follow," urged
the other. "It seems to me, that it is in our power to prevent any
hostile meeting."

"How?"

"By representing to the principals in this unhappy affair, the
madness of seeking each other's lives. You can learn from Everett
what kind of an apology, if any, will satisfy him, and then I can
ascertain whether such an apology will be made."

"You can do what you please in that way," the friend of Everett
replied. "But I am not disposed to transcend my office. Besides, I
know that, as far as Everett is concerned, no apology will be
accepted. The insult was outrageous, involving a breach of
confidence, and referring to a subject of the most painful,
mortifying, and delicate nature."

"I am really sorry to hear that both you and your friend are
determined to push this matter to an issue, for I had hoped that an
adjustment of the difficulty would be easy."

"No adjustment can possibly take place. Doctor Lane must fight, or
be posted as a coward, and a scoundrel."

"He holds himself ready to give Mr. Everett all the satisfaction he
requires," was the half-indignant reply.

"Then, of course, you are prepared to name the weapons; and the time
and place of meeting?"

"I am not. For so confident did I feel that it would only be
necessary to see you to have all difficulties put in a train for
adjustment, that I did not confer upon the subject of the
preliminaries of the meeting. But I will see you again, in the
course of an hour, when I shall be ready to name them."

"If you please." And then the seconds parted.

"I am afraid this meeting will take place in spite of all that I can
do," the friend of doctor Lane said, on returning after his
interview with Everett's second. "The provocation which you gave
last night is felt to be so great, that no apology can atone for
it."

"My blood probably will,--and he can have that!" was the gloomy
reply.

A troubled silence ensued, which was at last broken by the question,

"Have you decided, doctor, upon the weapons to be used?"

"Pistols, I suppose," was the answer.

"Have you practised much?"

"Me! No. I don't know that I ever fired a pistol in my life."

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