OLIVER OLDBOY

 
 G-EOKGE BAILEY 
 
 21 Salt of 
 NEW YORK MERCANTILE LIFE 
 
 BY 
 
 OLIVER OLDBOY 
 
 NEW YORK 
 HARPER & BROTHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE 
 
 1880
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1880, by 
 
 HAKTER & BROTHERS, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " What's i' the air ? 
 
 Some subtle spirit runs through all my veins. 
 Hope seems to ride this morning on the wind, 
 And joy outshines the sun." PROCTER. 
 
 IT was a raw and gusty evening toward the end of March, 
 18 . The day had been cold, dreary, and sunless; great 
 masses of leaden clouds had chased each other through the 
 atmosphere ; and the half-frozen snow of a late winter lay 
 soiled on the streets and sidewalks of the city of New 
 York. To the person whose business called him out-of- 
 doors everything wore an aspect of indescribable gloom 
 and discomfort. 
 
 At this period there existed in the central part of the city 
 many rows of neat two -story houses with slanting roofs 
 and dormer-windows, occupied by well-to-do citizens in the 
 middle rank of life. Toward one of these houses a young 
 man might have been seen walking with a quick, elastic 
 step, his whole frame vibrating with perfect health, and his 
 eye gleaming with hope and happiness. He was a little 
 above the middle height, with great breadth of shoulder 
 and depth of chest. His head was large, well set, and cov- 
 ered with masses of thick, dark hair. lie strode along with 
 the step of a young Titan, almost bounding in his eagerness 
 to reach his home. He spurned the slush of the sidewalk, 
 and he scorned the biting blast of the March wind. 
 
 17821 82
 
 4 GEOKGE BAILEY. 
 
 " Oh Kate," said he, to the middle-aged domestic, who 
 had answered his ring at the door-bell, " I am almost in- 
 clined to kiss you, I feel so happy." 
 
 " Oh fie, Mr. George ! you ought to he ashamed of your- 
 self !" replied the servant, with a smile which showed that 
 she would not have been much hurt had he followed his 
 inclinations. 
 
 " Where's mother down-stairs or up ?" 
 
 " She's up-stairs sewin' an' rnendin', as usual." 
 
 The young man, having laid aside his overcoat and hat, 
 ran up the stairs two steps at a time, gave an impatient 
 knock at the door, and, without waiting for a reply, rushed 
 into the room, seized his mother's head in both his hands, 
 and showered a dozen kisses on her forehead and cheeks. 
 
 " Mother, congratulate me ! mother, I'm in luck ! No 
 more poverty, no more struggling !" 
 
 " Why, George, what's the matter ? Is the boy crazy ? 
 There, there, that will do. Tell me all about it." 
 
 " Mother, congratulate me ; I almost ran home to tell 
 you the good news. To-day I was promoted to be head- 
 clerk, at a salary of three thousand dollars a year, in the 
 house of Van Hess <fe Co. The old gentleman did it all. 
 I am to be made junior partner at the end of the year ; 
 and and he knows all about my feelings toward Grace, 
 and he makes no objection." 
 
 " My son, we ought to thank our heavenly Father, who 
 has been so good to the widow and orphan." 
 
 " Yes, my dear mother, I thank God always. But isn't 
 it magnificent ! When father died four years ago in debt, 
 I was obliged to abandon my medical studies without a 
 diploma, and most reluctantly enter a wholesale grocery 
 store, iu a subordinate position ; and here I am on a fair 
 way of becoming a merchant prince. After all, it is better 
 than the life my poor father led, out late and early, curing 
 the poor without profit, and leaving his wife and child to 
 suffer for his easy good-nature." 
 
 "Hush, my dear! not one syllable against your good 
 father. He was the best man I ever saw ; and even you, 
 George, are hardly as good as he."
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 5 
 
 " Now, mother mine, that's not exactly fair of you. You 
 know that no son ever loved and respected a father more 
 than I did mine ; but that is no reason why he should have 
 permitted hypocrites and impostors to ruin him, or why I 
 should not condemn what I think was unwise. Every year 
 since his death we have been pinched for money, and you 
 have not been in the country for five years. But now, 
 now, mother, during my holidays we shall go together to 
 the mountains and the sea. The roses will come back to 
 your cheeks, mother mine ; and, do you know, you are a very 
 good-looking young woman of forty, and who knows " 
 
 " Hush, hush, you silly boy !" 
 
 It was a study to watch these two. The tears of pride 
 and joy welled in the mother's eyes as she gazed at her 
 strong, frank, and manly son, so like the husband she had 
 lost ; and the young man's deep blue eye was tender as he 
 scanned the faded beauty of the delicate and fragile wom- 
 an who had borne him. There was an indefinable expres- 
 sion of exquisite feeling in his face, such as good sons have 
 for their mothers when they are still young and beautiful. 
 
 There was a ring at the door-bell ; and Kate announced 
 that Mr. Myron Finch desired to see Mr. George Bailey for 
 a few minutes. Mrs. Bailey asked her son who Mr. Myron 
 Finch was ; for she had never heard his name before. 
 
 " Oh, he's a sort of friend of mine. I have a bowing ac- 
 quaintance with him. We used to meet in the dissecting- 
 room when I was studying medicine." 
 
 " Mr. Finch, I am glad to see you. What can I do for 
 you ?" were the words with which honest George Bailey 
 accosted Myron Finch as he shook him cordially by the 
 hand. 
 
 " Mr. Bailey, I have called to see you in relation to get- 
 ting employment in some mercantile house. As you are 
 already aware, I have been studying medicine and divinity, 
 but to little purpose. I have pursued many callings since 
 I came to New York, but have not succeeded in any. To- 
 day I heard, by the merest accident, that there had been a 
 general promotion in the house of Van Hess & Co., and 
 that you (whom I cordially and sincerely congratulate on
 
 G GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 your good fortune) have been made head -clerk. This 
 leaves a vacancy for which I would like to apply ; and 
 with your good word in my behalf, I think I might ob- 
 tain it." 
 
 George Bailey *vas naturally a kind-hearted young man, 
 and this evening, in particular, he felt unusually happy. 
 
 " My dear fellow," replied Bailey, " I shall do everything 
 in my power to secure you the vacancy." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Bailey ; I hope I shall merit your good 
 opinion." 
 
 At this moment Mrs. Bailey entered the parlor on pre- 
 tence of looking for something, but in reality to see what 
 manner of man Myron Finch was. And what did she sec ? 
 A young man somewhat below the middle height, with ex- 
 ceedingly light eyes, light hair, light eyebrows and light 
 eyelashes. Were it not for this extreme light color, he 
 might be called good-looking. His features were certainly 
 regular. But there was a furtive restlessness in his pale 
 blue eye which to the close observer imparted to his face a 
 sinister expression. 
 
 Mr. Finch was introduced to Mrs. Bailey, and, after the 
 usual salutations, the conversation was resumed by the 
 latter. 
 
 " Suppose, then, Mr. Bailey, that I call at the store to- 
 morrow ; for I am very anxious to obtain permanent em- 
 ployment." 
 
 "Call to-morrow morning at 10 o'clock, and I shall take 
 great pleasure in introducing you to Mr. Jacob Van Hess, 
 the head of the firm, one of the kindest and gentlest of 
 men." 
 
 In the conversation that followed George Bailey did near- 
 ly all the talking, and Myron Finch played the part of an 
 attentive and respectful listener. George, in his present state 
 of exaltation, excited by his promotion and his prospects, 
 told his new friend a great deal more than was necessary ; 
 speaking of his father's debts, his own struggles, and his 
 mother's patience. He even went so far as to state that 
 all the debts were paid except one of $1500 to Mr. Wilde, 
 of the firm of Warrenton, Wilde <fe Co. Several times his
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 7 
 
 mother endeavored to catch his eve, but in vain. George 
 rattled on. Bold, fearless, frank, and impulsive, and talking 
 under the stimulus of success, and the gratification of using 
 that success to help a former fellow-student, he spoke of 
 private affairs which he had no right to mention to any 
 one save his mother. 
 
 Myron Finch was cautiously measuring his man, and treas- 
 uring up every sentence that he uttered. Mrs. Bailey kept 
 her gaze fastened on Mr. Finch with an air of suspicious 
 watchfulness, as is the habit of all mothers, feline, canine, 
 or human, when they instinctively feel that their offspring 
 are in danger. Finch felt the mother's eye penetrating 
 through and through him, and he became, under her glance, 
 restless and uneasy. Mrs. Bailey's pale face became flushed, 
 and her blue eye brilliant, as her maternal instinct became 
 aroused. 
 
 With George's repeated promise that he would do all in 
 his power to help him to obtain the vacancy in the house 
 of Jacob Van Hess & Co., Myron Finch took his leave, ob- 
 sequiously polite to the mother, and profuse in his expres- 
 sions of thanks to the son. When he had left the house, 
 Mrs. Bailey, in a very excited tone, exclaimed, 
 
 " George, George, why did you talk of our affairs to that 
 young man ? That man is a snake, and I know it I feel 
 it ! Don't trust him, my son. Have nothing to do with 
 him. Take my advice, and do not urge his appointment to 
 the vacancy. If you do, you will be sorry for it. W T hile 
 you were talking I watched him. George, he is a snake 
 a snake a snake !" 
 
 " Why, mother, this is really unlike you. I have never 
 before seen you so excited. I have never heard you speak 
 ill of any human being before to - night not even of the 
 people who robbed and plundered my poor father. Surely 
 Mr. Finch did not say or do anything to cause you to speak 
 so unkindly of him." 
 
 "I warn you, my son; you must drop this man. I am 
 not mistaken. I do not reason with my intellect; I reason 
 with my mother's heart, and that heart makes me feel him 
 a venomous, poisonous snake."
 
 8 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 " Mother," said the son, with a measured dignity of speech 
 and manner, " tny word has been given, and I cannot go back 
 on my word. I am your only child all that is left you 
 and you dream dreams and see visions. Your great love 
 for me causes you to fancy danger where no danger exists. 
 Come, cheer up, mother; here's a kiss for you, and another, 
 and another. Why, mother, the excitement has brought 
 back the roses to your cheek. Good-bye ! I'm off to see 
 Grace Van Hess ;" and away strode the young man, hope- 
 ful, gallant, affectionate, and overflowing with good-will to- 
 ward all mankind. 
 
 What sixth sense is this maternal instinct? Is it not 
 some higher attribute given to good mothers, as to good 
 angels, to warn them of the approach of danger ? 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " How silver sweet sound lovers' tongues by night, 
 Like softest music to attending ears." SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 THE house of Jacob Van Hess, to which George Bailey 
 was now hastening with rapid strides, was one of the finest 
 and most costly in the city. All that wealth could pur- 
 chase in the way of painting, of statuary, and of bric-a-brac, 
 rare, dainty, and delicate, were placed here and there in 
 seemingly careless profusion ; and yet there was unmistak- 
 able taste in all the arrangements. Indeed, it would have 
 been very difficult for the most fastidious artist in form 
 and color to have changed the position of a figure, or alter- 
 ed the shade of a single article of furniture, without detri- 
 ment to the effect of the whole. Everywhere the eye fell 
 on evidence of wealth without gaudiness or ostentation. 
 The ceilings were lofty, the halls were wide, and the mate- 
 rials were of the best. Many of the paintings were bv the 
 old masters, and had been purchased by Mr. Van Hess dur- 
 ing his last trip to Europe. 
 
 Jacob Van Hess had risen from a humble position to be 
 one of the great merchant-princes of a metropolitan city.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 9 
 
 His education was limited, his views narrow and circum- 
 scribed, and his opinions formed by his newspaper and his 
 minister. His business, his politics, and his religion en- 
 grossed his time and attention. In his mercantile pursuits, 
 in which he relied on his own sagacity, he was clear, sim- 
 ple, and direct, and governed by a strong sense of justice ; 
 but in other matters he was intensely prejudiced and big- 
 oted. His panacea for all the evils of society was Total 
 Abstinence, based upon Methodism. Two charities were al- 
 most entirely supported by his means ; and it is needless to 
 say that both belonged to his creed and accorded with his 
 views on temperance. He did not believe in the higher ed- 
 ucation of the common people, nor in universal suffrage. 
 The former he considered the parent of discontent, and the 
 latter of license to do evil. Yet, withal, he was kind-heart- 
 ed and generous, ready to relieve the afflicted, and sympa- 
 thetic with all suffering. 
 
 It must have cost him thousands of dollars annually 
 to support temperance lecturers and to issue temperance 
 tracts. He waged unrelenting war against the liquor deal- 
 ers ; and year after year his agents were presenting bills to 
 the Legislature which never had the least chance of being 
 passed, and which were used by unscrupulous men for the 
 purpose of extorting money out of the honest fanatic. 
 
 He had one other object of devotion an only child, a 
 daughter nineteen years old, on whom he bestowed a love 
 boundless as the ocean. He had been long a widower ; 
 and all the treasures of his affections were reserved for his 
 darling Grace, on whom he showered every favor and every 
 luxury that money could purchase. 
 
 In the library of the beautiful home which has just been 
 imperfectly described sat Grace Van Hess, a girl of rare 
 loveliness of face and figure. Her complexion was smooth, 
 soft, and white that rare Knickerbocker complexion found 
 only among pure Americans of Dutch descent. Her hair 
 and eyes were in harmony with the color and texture of 
 her skin. She would have been beautiful, but for an ex- 
 pression of weakness ; and yet it was difficult to say where 
 that weakness lay. Perhaps it was in the small, delicate
 
 10 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 mouth ; perhaps in the eye, which was large, and slightly 
 projecting. But no matter where it was, the expression of 
 want of firmness was unmistakably stamped upon her other- 
 wise charming face ; reminding one of a fairly painted ship 
 constructed of soft wood, which may safely sail in fine 
 weather, but will assuredly founder in the first tempest 
 that overtakes her. 
 
 Indulged by her father, her every want was not only 
 gratified but anticipated ; with domestics and teachers at 
 command from infancy, she had nothing to think about, 
 nothing to fear, nothing to struggle against. It is the 
 hopes, and fears, and struggles, the high thoughts and no- 
 ble aspirations, and, above all, the victory over ourselves, 
 which chisel homeliness into beauty, and beat character 
 into every lineament of the face. It was this beauty of 
 character which was singularly lacking in the countenance 
 of Grace Van Hess. 
 
 Dr. George Bailey had been the family physician of Ja- 
 cob Van Hess. When the doctor had died involved in 
 debt, his son had, as before mentioned, abandoned his med- 
 ical studies, and sought mercantile employment as the easi- 
 est channel in which to earn a support for himself and his 
 mother, and, in time, sufficient money to liquidate his heri- 
 tage of debt. George Bailey very naturally applied to Mr. 
 Van Hess, who gladly gave him a subordinate position in 
 his counting-house. The young man's vigor, cheerfulness, 
 intelligence, and aptitude for business attracted the notice 
 of his employers, and led to his promotion from step to step, 
 until he had reached the place of head-clerk and prospec- 
 tive partner in one of the most flourishing houses in New 
 York. 
 
 George Bailey became a great favorite with the head of 
 the firm. About one year before the opening of our story, 
 he had been invited by Mr. Van Hess to accompany him to 
 his church to hear some celebrated preacher from the Old 
 World ; and after the services were over he had been asked 
 to an early Sunday dinner. Thus began his acquaintance 
 with his employer's daughter and sole heiress, the lovely 
 Grace Van Hess. Her position, her surroundings, her frag-
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 11 
 
 ile beauty, and her very weakness, made her an object of at- 
 traction to the energetic and ambitious young clerk, whose 
 family was superior to hers, and whose education and train- 
 ing made him the equal of any woman in a republican coun- 
 try ; and Grace admired, from the first interview, the strong, 
 manly, dashing young fellow, quick of repartee and frank 
 of speech. These two young people were singularly suited 
 to each other. He was dark, strong, courageous ; she fair, 
 fragile, timid ; he was the larger segment, she the smaller 
 complement which completed the circle. Her affectionate, 
 dependent disposition would have soothed him ; his manly 
 strength and determined will would have sustained her in 
 all the trials and troubles of life. 
 
 Mr. Van Hess was worth millions ; and money was no 
 object to him when weighed in the balance against his 
 daughter's happiness. He had, from the commencement, 
 perceived the sterling character of his young clerk ; had 
 seen that he was the soul of truth, honesty, and honor; and 
 had observed the kindness of his heart, and the love and 
 veneration which he felt for his widowed mother. Mr. 
 Van Hess was growing old, and his daughters establish- 
 ment in life was a matter of great concern to him. He 
 dreaded seeing her the wife of one of the idle rich young 
 men of the city, and much preferred to have her wed a 
 self-made man like himself, who would feel grateful for the 
 position which Grace's fortune would bestow. He had 
 thought of George Bailey as a son-in-law long before the 
 invitation to dinner; and, indeed, he had designedly brought 
 the young couple together, and had furtively watched and 
 condoned their meetings and love-makings. 
 
 ^Yhile George Bailey had been patronizing Myron Finch, 
 Grace was reading, or trying to read, one of the Idyls of the 
 King by Alfred Tennyson, and wondering why her lover 
 was so late in keeping his engagement. Every minute or 
 two she raised her eyes from the handsomely bound vol- 
 ume, and seemed to be lost in reverie. It was evident that 
 her mind was far away from Arthur and the Knights of 
 the Round-table. Her father had told her at dinner of 
 George Bailey's promotion and prospects, and had whisper-
 
 12 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 ed a few words in her ear which had brought the roses to 
 her cheek. She was expecting her lover, and, therefore, 
 could fasten her mind on nothing else. " I wonder what 
 detains him ; he cannot be ill," she said, in a low tone, as 
 she closed the volume and passed in front of a large mirror. 
 As she stood there, with the rosy tinge of the light caused 
 by the crimson curtains giving a richer color to her face and 
 neck, she did, indeed, look beautiful ; and the evident ad- 
 miration of her own charms was excusable. As she gave 
 the finishing touch to her light brown hair, she murmured, 
 " Will he never come ? It is now past nine o'clock, and he 
 promised to be here at eight." The words were hardly spo- 
 ken when the loud, clear ring of the front-door bell caused 
 her to start, and she had scarcely taken her seat, book in 
 hand, when the servant announced Mr. Bailey. 
 
 " Good-evening, Grace ; excuse me for being tardy ; but 
 an old acquaintance called to see me on business and de- 
 tained me beyond the usual time." 
 
 " No excuse is necessary : I have been so absorbed in 
 Tennyson's new poem that I have taken no note of time." 
 
 " Then you did not miss me ?" said Bailey, in a tone of 
 slight vexation. 
 
 " Why should I miss you ? I saw you on Sunday, and 
 this is only Wednesday." 
 
 The young lady seemed to take a kind of cat-like pleasure 
 in annoying her lover, and found it a very easy matter to 
 utter many little fibs to prove to Mr. Bailey that she could 
 live very well without his company. Of course our simple, 
 impulsive George believed every word she had spoken ; and, 
 disappointed that she had not missed him, or at least mani- 
 fested more pleasure at seeing him, he lifted the volume 
 which she had laid on the table, and, to change the subject, 
 asked her if she were fond of Tennyson. 
 
 " Very; I admire him very much." 
 
 " I don't," said the young man ; " he is too artificial too 
 strained ; his figures are far-fetched, and smell of the parlor 
 and the hot-house. 
 
 " ' The little rift within the lute, 
 
 That by-and-by will make the music mute !'
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 13 
 
 I wonder how long it took him to think that out. His 
 poetry is full of fine filagree." 
 
 " Why, George, you are severe ; your tone is harsh. 
 Come over here, and read for me these lines from Locksley 
 Hall. You know how I love to listen to your reading." 
 
 Grace's voice, as she made this request, was low, loving, 
 and persuasive. George opened the volume, and read in a 
 deep, grave tone, and with much feeling, one of the very 
 best of the poet's productions. If Biiley could have seen 
 the expression of her eyes .while he read, he would have 
 heen perfectly satisfied that she, at least, admired his manly 
 beauty. 
 
 "What do you think of that?" she asked, as George 
 closed the volume. 
 
 " I think it exquisite art, but nothing more art of the 
 highest order, which is, in some respects, superior to genius, 
 because genius is not always understood, while art is. Art, 
 for example, is never ambiguous, while genius often is. 
 Compare this with that about the lute : 
 
 " ' Pleasures are like poppies spread ; 
 
 You touch the flower, the bloom is shed ; 
 Or, like the snow-flake on the river, 
 A moment white, then lost forever.' 
 
 Here a natural poet looks over the fields, or scans the 
 winter's sky, and finds the material for the best of figures. 
 He does not search the parlor for a lute, nor the cellar for 
 a barrel of apples." 
 
 " George, you must have read everything. I am ashamed 
 of my ignorance. Except the fashionable books of the 
 day, I have read nothing. Tennyson happens to be the 
 fashion now, and so I must be prepared to hold my own in 
 society." 
 
 Grace uttered this in a tone of sadness, which smote the 
 loving heart of George Bailey. 
 
 " Never mind, my darling, it is all the better. After our 
 marriage we shall have the exquisite pleasure of reading to- 
 gether ;" and George took her little hand in both his and 
 tenderly caressed it. " We shall begin with old Geoffrey
 
 14 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 Chaucer, and we shall read the poets down to that prince 
 of poets and king of novelists, Walter Scott." 
 
 The young girl placed the disengaged hand fondly on his 
 shoulder, and, looking lovingly into his tender eyes, said, 
 
 " George, you will have to teach me a great deal. You 
 will have to bear with my weaknesses, and train me to be 
 strong." 
 
 George's reply to this sealed her lips, but in a physical 
 way. 
 
 " Train you, darling ! of course I will, on condition that 
 you train me ; for you see I am the quickest and most im- 
 pulsive sort of fellow you ever saw, and I trust everybody. 
 Even this evening my dear mother gave me what would be, 
 from any other person, a severe scolding for promising to 
 assist an old college acquaintance, Myron Finch. Yes, dar- 
 ling, you must train me to be sedate, calm, cool ; you must 
 make me a sort of human refrigerator, so that I may repel 
 people who come to prey on my good-nature." 
 
 " George, I am so weak, and you are so strong ! It always 
 seems to me as if you must be victorious, triumphant over all 
 difficulties. My education has cost enormous sums of money, 
 and I know literally nothing. Where were you educated?" 
 
 " Chiefly at home," replied Bailey. " My mother taught 
 me until I was eleven years of age, and taught me most ad- 
 mirably ; then she sent me to a good day-school, but still 
 superintended my studies during the evening. This con- 
 tinued until I was prepared for college. During these 
 years my mother selected my general reading matter, mark- 
 ed the portions of the great poets that I was to commit to 
 memory, and even chose the best novels for me, as she said, 
 to cultivate my imagination. I graduated from Columbia 
 College at the age of twenty ; ranked among the honor-men 
 of my class ; might have been head, only mother thought it 
 was not good for me might make me conceited, and spoil 
 me. Grace, I tell you my mother is a wonderful woman ! 
 Wait until you know her as I do ! Well, my course in the 
 medical college was nearly finished, when my father died, 
 and I had to earn money to support mother and myself. 
 My ID other, Grace, was my best teacher."
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 15 
 
 "And I have had no mother," said Grace, sadly ; " but 
 but won't your mother love me as as a daughter, and 
 won't she teach me many things that I ought to know ?" 
 
 " Of course she will ; she will be as much your mother as. 
 mine. But that brings me to the point. Grace, my sweet 
 love " and he took her hand again in both his " I have 
 good news for you. I have been promoted to the position 
 of head-clerk, and have been promised a partnership in the 
 firm at the end of this year. Seeing I stood well with your 
 father, I asked for for what, think you ? for YOU ! Ila, 
 ha, ha !" and the enraptured Bailey snatched a kiss. " Yes, 
 for you, Grace ; and the old gentleman gave me a very dip- 
 lomatic answer. Give me a kiss, love, and I'll tell you what 
 it was. He said, ' You must apply to the party concerned, 
 for she had passed out of his jurisdiction long ago.' The 
 ' party concerned !' That was good, Grace, wasn't it ?" 
 
 Grace Van Hess laughed a low laugh, which annoyed 
 Bailey, for he could not understand its meaning. With 
 considerable anxiety in his tone, he said, 
 
 " Grace, what do you mean by that laugh ?" 
 
 " Oh ! nothing, nothing. It was so pleasant to be lovers 
 under difficulties ! It was so romantic, and all that ! ' The 
 course of true-love,' you know, and so forth. But now that 
 you and my father have made the course run so smoothly, 
 I have a good mind to run off into the rough places, among 
 the briers and the bowlders, just for the fun of the thing." 
 
 " Why, my love, what means this change in a moment?" 
 
 "It means ha! ha! ha!" and the low laugh again 
 smote discordantly on the heart of George Bailey " it 
 means that you have taken the very life out of our ro- 
 mance ; our romantic engagement has been spoiled. Let 
 me see how it ran : ' you were to gain a commanding posi- 
 tion before you sought my hand in marriage, and I my fa- 
 ther's permission before I consented.' Now both have been 
 accomplished, and me whither shall I fly ?" 
 
 Here the very weakness of character which she herself 
 had deplored but a few minutes previously manifested it- 
 self. The spoiled darling of fortune had obtained her 
 heart's desire too easily. She would, perhaps, have prefer-
 
 16 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 red her father's opposition and an elopement. But to be 
 won in this easy, prosaic fashion was almost unbearable. 
 And yet, in her way, she loved George Bailey ; she would 
 not have lost him for the world ; she valued his love be- 
 yond everything else in the universe. But there was a vein 
 of romantic coquetry in Grace Van Hess, born of the exciting 
 French novels which had fallen into her hands at the plastic 
 age of fifteen years, and this coquetry caused her to play, cat- 
 like, with the truest heart that ever beat in human breast. 
 
 " Grace, my own darling, you love me, I know you love 
 me ; and surely you ought to be glad that your good fa- 
 ther has removed every obstacle from our path." 
 
 Bailey had seized her hand, and was sadly, earnestly, lov- 
 ingly gazing on the beautiful face before him. Her mood 
 changed once more, as she said, 
 
 " Will you answer me truthfully " (and the word " truth- 
 fully " grated on George's ear) one question ? Would you 
 have married me had I been the daughter of Timothy Quin, 
 father's porter?" 
 
 Bailey hesitated to answer this question. lie was in the 
 strictest sense of the word a man of truth. He knew that 
 he was ambitious ; he knew that he could never have loved 
 the daughter of Timothy Quin had she been as beautiful as 
 Venus. He now recalled his feelings and thoughts on that 
 Sunday when first asked to dine with Jacob Van Hess ; and 
 he recollected too well that one of the factors that caused 
 him to seek the daughter was that, by this means, he might 
 become a partner in the firm. 
 
 Grace noticed his hesitation, and had she been a girl of 
 a higher order of intellect and of moral nature she would 
 have respected and loved him all the more for it. She 
 would have seen that had he been a man of less integrity, 
 he would have promptly replied that, " Of course, he would 
 have loved her for her goodness and her beauty had she 
 been the daughter of a felon or a convict." 
 
 Grace repeated her question. 
 
 " Your question, Grace, is a difficult one to answer. In 
 the first place, the daughter of Timothy Quin could never 
 be like you could never have your education or your man-
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 17 
 
 ncrs, even if she had your beauty. In the second place, I 
 cannot truthfully say how far your father's kindness mould- 
 ed my feelings for his daughter. I cannot say how far the 
 aroma which wealth breathes on all it touches may have 
 turned my thoughts in your direction. This is the naked 
 truth. I can now say as a man of honor that I have never 
 loved any woman but you, and that now I would marry 
 you were you as poor as a pauper of the streets." 
 
 "That will do, George that will do. You know that 
 no woman likes to be married for her wealth. Pardon me. 
 I am wilful ; I ought not to wound your loyal heart." 
 
 " Now, Grace, my darling, you talk like your own sweet 
 self : you were only joking a moment ago ; but, dear, you 
 must not do it again ; it is too serious a matter to joke 
 about. If I lost respect for you, I would tear your image 
 out of my heart even at the cost of my life. I could not 
 continue, I would not continue, to love the woman whom I 
 had ceased to respect." 
 
 It seemed as if a ray of light had fallen on Grace Van 
 Iless's character, and had caused George Bailey an invol- 
 untary shudder. She perceived her error, and, to make 
 amends, grew caressing in her manner, and tried to soothe 
 him with a tone of tenderness. She asked him about his 
 duties and financial affairs, of which she understood as 
 much as she did of the Binomial Theorem. After she had 
 smoothed the temper of her lover, he took his leave not 
 quite so elated as when he left his mother. 
 
 CHA.PTER III. 
 
 " I do not think a braver gentleman, 
 More active valiant, or more valiant-young, 
 More daring, or more bold, is now alive, 
 To grace this latter age with noble deeds." 
 
 HIIAKSPF.ARE. 
 
 THE next morning, according to his promise, Bailey in- 
 troduced Myron Finch to the head of the firm, and recom- 
 mended him for the vacancy caused by a general promotion
 
 18 GEOKGE BAILEY. 
 
 of the clerks. Mr. Van Hess asked Finch a few questions 
 concerning his qualifications and testimonials, and, chiefly 
 on the strength of Bailey's recommendation, appointed him 
 to the position. 
 
 Myron Finch performed his duties in a quiet, orderly 
 manner, which gave entire satisfaction to his employers. 
 Toward George Bailey his manner was that of a profoundly 
 grateful man ; he was lavish in his praises of the goodness, 
 the ability, and the industry of the head-clerk, and sought 
 occasion to flatter him as a paragon of perfection. Bailey 
 was not naturally a vain man, for he had too many excellent 
 qualities for vanity to find a home in his heart. Men arc 
 usually vain of what they are not ; seldom of what they re- 
 ally are. Nevertheless, the adroit flatteries of Myron Finch 
 pleased him, and day after day George found that the socie- 
 ty of his new friend became dearer and dearer to him. On 
 several occasions he had invited Finch to dine with him, 
 and on every occasion his mother had warned him to be- 
 ware. These warnings George scouted as the offspring of 
 maternal fancy, slightly out of tune in consequence of too 
 much lonely meditation on the past. He told her to go 
 out every day and take the air ; that the fresh air of heaven 
 would quickly blow away these foolish, morbid fancies. 
 Mrs. Bailey would reply by saying, " I hope you are right, 
 George, and I wrong. But some feeling perhaps inde- 
 scribable I might describe it to a woman, but not to a 
 man tells me that this Myron Finch is your evil genius, 
 and that he will yet sting you like an adder. George, see- 
 ing this ineradicable dislike and terror of Finch, soon ceased 
 to invite him to his home, and found means to meet and 
 talk with him elsewhere. 
 
 Finch was a close, keen observer, and quickly fathomed 
 the best and worst characteristics of Mr. Van Hess ; and, 
 resolved to please his principal employer, he assumed a tone 
 and bearing of profound piety. He bought religious news- 
 papers and books, and ostentatiously placed them where 
 they could be noticed ; and he became a strong advocate of 
 total abstinence from intoxicating drinks. He even went so 
 far as to reprove the cartmen and laborers, in the presence
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 19 
 
 of Mr. Van Hess, for using profane language, and found 
 fault with Timothy Quin, the porter, for using tobacco, 
 which was only an incitement to strong drink. Myron 
 Finch regularly but unobtrusively attended Mr. Van Hess's 
 church ; and on one occasion he had the honor of an intro- 
 duction to his daughter Grace. 
 
 One Sunday afternoon the two young men were slowly 
 walking up Broadway toward their homes, when they were 
 attracted by a crowd at the City Hall steps listening to a 
 man declaiming. 
 
 " Let's see what's up. Come, Finch, let's see the crowd 
 and hear the preacher." 
 
 "No, no," replied Finch, " it is only that vulgar fellow, 
 Grady, ranting on temperance. He is one of Van Hess's 
 reformed drunkards, now telling his experience, and denounc- 
 ing the liquor-dealers and the rum-shops." 
 
 "Come come on, Finch; I really wish to see and hear 
 this Grady. I have heard so much about him, I am anxious 
 to see what manner of man he is." 
 
 The two young men drew toward the outer line of the 
 crowd, and saw a curious sea of human faces turned toward 
 a man furiously declaiming, roaring, screaming, pounding 
 one hand with the other, and gesticulating in the wildest 
 and most uncouth manner. He was a stout -built, bull- 
 necked Irishman, apparently about forty years old. His 
 head was large and round, the hair closely cropped, and the 
 face cleanly shaven ; his complexion was sallow, his eyes 
 keen, small, black, and round, and, like the eyes of most 
 born orators, slightly protuberant ; his mouth was large, 
 though the lips were mobile and well chiselled. At the 
 present moment his eye was gleaming with a fiery zeal that 
 seemed to consume him. Legs and arms were wildly tossed 
 about, after the manner of some Western speakers, whose 
 trick he seemed to have acquired. In spite of the man's 
 rasping brogue, in spite of many violations of the rules of 
 grammar, rhetoric, and logic, there was in his composition 
 no small share of the divine afflatus which makes men poets 
 and orators. 
 
 " Fellow-citizens, fellow-countrymen ! why do ye throw
 
 20 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 away your money for the diabolic poisons which destroys 
 yer lives and ruins yer families? Alcohol alcohol has been 
 the bane of our nationality ; and here ye come and plant 
 a low groggery on every corner of this noble city ; and 
 the miserable, degraded reptiles who make money on yer 
 misfortunes dress in purple and fine linen, and leave ye and 
 your children to starve. There will never be peace, law, or- 
 der, quiet happiness, and prosperity among ye, until ye rise 
 as one man and gut out the rum-holes. When men drank 
 whiskey in Ireland or Scotland, it was whiskey in reality; 
 it was not poisoned colored alcohol, which maddened ye 
 and sent ye home to beat and abuse your wives. Did one 
 of ye ever hear of an Irishman kicking and killing his wife 
 in old Ireland ? Never ! (Cheers) Ye may well cheer ! 
 Did ye ever hear of an Irishman beating, and killing, and 
 murdering his wife in New York? Ah ! ye may well hang 
 yer heads for shame. Well, fellow-countrymen, I tell ye no 
 Irishman in America, in his right senses, ever laid his hand 
 on his wife, except in kindness, unless he was maddened 
 with poisoned rum. So down with the rum-holes ! exter- 
 minate them root them out forever! Rum is our enemy; 
 rum has done us more injury than all the Saxons ever born 
 across the water. Down with the liquor-sellers !" 
 
 AVhile Grady was denouncing the men who fatten on the 
 folly of their neighbors, a band of about twenty men were 
 edging their way slowly and together up to the step from 
 which the orator was addressing the crowd. For the time 
 being the declaimer seemed carried away by the very fierce- 
 ness of his rage ; for he did not see, or, if he saw, did not 
 notice, the angry scowls of that part of his audience direct- 
 ly in front of him. " Liar !" " ranter !" "hound !" " let us 
 duck him in the river !" were some of the expressions that 
 fell on the ears of Bailey and Finch. Both saw the danger 
 to which Grady was exposed, as the angry crowd surged 
 nearer and nearer. 
 
 "Madman! fool !" exclaimed Finch, "you'll be torn in 
 pieces !" 
 
 " By Jove, he's a brave fellow ! lie no more fears them 
 than he does the marble steps on which he stands!" rejoin-
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 21 
 
 cd Bailey, with a gleam of admiration at the speaker's au- 
 dacity. 
 
 In one of the pauses in the oration, Grady caught the ex- 
 pressions, "liar" and "thief," and, turning quickly around, 
 said, in a tone clear, distinct, and ringing, penetrating far 
 beyond the place where the young men were standing, in a 
 tone, too, quite natural, for the oratorical voice had been 
 dropped, " Will the coward that called me names just step 
 up here and repeat them ?" 
 
 But no man in the crowd accepted the invitation. 
 
 " Cowards !" continued Grady " you, who make widows 
 and orphans by the hundred, rnay slink behind your com- 
 panions, and cry 'liar' from a safe distance; but not a 
 villain among ye dares to meet this carnal weapon ;" and 
 the orator raised an arm that might well make the bravest 
 of them think twice before he encountered its full force. 
 " I am not talking," said he, " to the corner rum-sellers ; I 
 am talking to and advising their poor dupes. Oh, my fel- 
 low-citizens, why will ye spend your money for that which 
 not only maddens but poisons ye, which reduces you to a 
 state lower than the brutes, which destroys yer bodies and 
 yer souls ?" 
 
 The compact crowd of about twenty men continued to 
 press closer and closer to the speaker; and Bailey saw, to 
 his dismay, that they now completely surrounded him. 
 Some one struck Grady on the forehead with a stone, 
 which made an ugly gash, and caused the blood to flow 
 quite freely. This was the signal for the angry mass to 
 close in on him, and twenty arms were raised to strike him 
 down. 
 
 " Come away, Bailey come away," said Finch ; " we'll 
 get into trouble." 
 
 "See! see!" exclaimed Bailey, " the crowd have attacked 
 him one brave man against twenty cowards ! By Jove, 
 that will never do ; that is not American !" and, in spite of 
 Finch's effort to detain him, George Bailey rushed up the 
 steps, and struck right and left, knocking down a man at 
 every blow. One villain had drawn a knife, and in another 
 moment would have plunged it into Grady's back, had not
 
 2-2 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 Bailey observed the action, and felled him to the marble 
 pavement like a log of wood. "With every well-directed 
 blow he shouted, " Stand back ! stand back ! shame on you ! 
 One man against twenty !" The very fury of George Bai- 
 ley's attack, for a minute or two, caused Grady's assailants 
 to pause. During the lull he shouted, at the top of his 
 voice, " This is a free country, of free speech ; and if you 
 don't like the speaker's language, you need not listen to 
 him ; you can go away about your business." 
 
 But the cowardly mob soon recovered from the panic 
 caused by Bailey's sudden attack ; and one of their number 
 cried out, " Come on, boys ! there are only two of 'era let 
 us lick 'em both !" But the words were hardly out of his 
 mouth when Bailey struck him a terrific blow, which sent 
 him spinning down the steps, and stretched him on the 
 gravel-walk below. Grady and Bailey were now in deadly 
 peril ; and had not the noise and uproar brought the police 
 to their rescue, it is more than likely that both would have 
 been murdered on the spot. The whole affair had taken 
 place in less time than we have taken to describe it. Mr. 
 Myron Finch had kept himself carefully in the rear of the 
 fracas ; but, now that it was over and all personal danger at 
 an end, he rejoined his companion, and pretended that he 
 had been endeavoring to come to his rescue, but was unable 
 to reach him owing to the compactness of the crowd. 
 
 As soon as the mob was dispersed, Mr. John Grady ap- 
 proached his preserver, grasped him by the hand, and re- 
 quested the name of the man who had saved his life. 
 
 "My name is George Bailey. But that was nothing; 
 I would have done the same thing for the meanest thief, if 
 that thief were assailed by twenty other thieves." 
 
 " Mr. Bailey," replied Grady, " you are a brave man a 
 fine, courageous gentleman ; and you strike with the arm 
 of a gladiator. You have saved my life this day, and the 
 life you have saved is henceforth at your service." 
 
 This was spoken by Grady in a rich Celtic brogue, which 
 we take the liberty of omitting, as his language otherwise 
 was not bad, and in a tone of deep feeling indicative of his 
 gratitude toward his preserver.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 23 
 
 " Mr. Grady," said Bailey, " instead of thanking me for 
 such a trifle, you had better come over with us to the drug 
 store and have that ugly wound on your forehead attended 
 to. It bleeds quite freely." 
 
 " It's only a scratch," rejoined Grady, as he wiped the 
 blood off his face with his pocket-handkerchief. 
 
 All this time Mr. Myron Finch was a silent spectator 
 fidgety, uneasy, and anxious to get away. Bailey had not 
 introduced him, and so he acted with Grady as if he had 
 known him all his life, his object being to avoid the men- 
 tion of his name ; for, though John Grady did not know 
 Myron Finch, Myron Finch knew John Grady well, and had 
 been anxious to avoid a meeting from the moment that 
 Bailey had made the proposition to enter the park to see 
 and hear the notorious temperance lecturer. We shall show 
 very shortly why Mr. Grady was the last man on earth 
 whose acquaintance would be desired by Mr. Myron Finch. 
 
 The two young men left Grady in the drug store to have 
 his wound attended to, and then resumed their walk, arm- 
 in-arm, up Broadway. Ah, upon what a slight thread does 
 our future destiny hang ! Had George Bailey mentioned 
 the name of Myron Finch to John Grady, he, Bailey, might 
 have saved years of misery. But it was not to be. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " This world to me is like a lasting storm, 
 Whirring me from my friends." SHAKSPKARE. 
 
 THE day was rapidly approaching when George Bailey 
 and Grace Van Hess were to be joined together in holy 
 wedlock. Everywhere among the wealthy connections of 
 Mr. Van Hess, George was cordially received as the accept- 
 ed suitor, as the engaged husband, of the young and lovely 
 heiress. She was proud of his manly bearing, his good 
 looks, his physical strength, and of that reckless courage so 
 dear to timid women. One thing only she regretted, and 
 that was that he was not a soldier. She often reflected
 
 24 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 how well lie would appear in a military uniform, and what 
 a fine officer he would make. Like many daughters of suc- 
 cessful merchants, she was ashamed of her father's business ; 
 and she had acquired the aristocratic idea that trade is ple- 
 beian, and that the army and navy are the proper places 
 for young gentlemen of means. Grace had a sensuous eye 
 for color, and hence the scarlet or blue of a military uni- 
 form for her possessed a peculiar charm. The brightest 
 intellect, the purest moral nature, dressed in a sober suit of 
 black, stood no chance with Grace Van Hess, as against the 
 most insipid youth, if that youth were only adorned with 
 the gay glitter of a regimental uniform. Had George Bai- 
 ley been an army officer, her happiness would have been 
 complete. When the newspapers described how boldly, 
 how gallantly, Bailey had rescued John Grady from the 
 mob, the tears of joy and pride welled up in her eyes, and 
 she inwardly called him " her hero." Her father was al- 
 most as proud of him as the daughter. Jacob Van Hess 
 had but one fault to find with his future son-in-law : he did 
 not take sufficient interest in the temperance movement ; 
 and worse than this, instead of being a Methodist, he was 
 a High-Church Episcopalian. 
 
 After discussing the rescue of Grady and praising George 
 for his conduct, the .old gentleman remarked to Grace, " I 
 am sorry that George does not take any interest in any of 
 the revivals, nor in the grand work of the temperance peo- 
 ple to overthrow the reign of Rum. He is keen and intel- 
 ligent enough in the performance of every duty connected 
 with business ; scrupulously honest and conscientious in all 
 the relations of life; and he "is an excellent son, and, Grace, 
 you know the old adage, ' A good son makes a good hus- 
 band/ But yet yet, I wish with all my heart he had a 
 little more religious piety." 
 
 " But, father, is not George as good a Christian as most 
 people ? He goes to church, and believes in God, in the 
 Saviour, and in the Bible. What more can we ask ? He is 
 not at all bigoted, for you know he goes to church with me 
 every Sunday." 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know all that. He is as good as the general
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 25 
 
 run of professing Christians ; but but," and the old gen- 
 tleman seemed to reflect " now, there's his friend, Finch, 
 just as sharp and clear-headed in business as Bailey, but so 
 truly religious ! He is never without a pious book or a 
 religious newspaper. He always carries a little copy of the 
 Xew Testament in his pocket, and during lunch hour I have 
 often surprised him in the act of reading the Gospels. He 
 told me, one day, that when he was leaving his home in 
 Vermont his dear mother gave him that pocket edition, 
 with strict injunctions to read it night and morning; and 
 the tears came to the poor fellow's eyes as he told me that 
 his mother had died quite recently, and that the little Tes- 
 tament was a great comfort to him. I have heard him re- 
 prove Quin for using tobacco, and the draymen for swear- 
 ing. Ah ! Grace, young Finch is a marvel of religious pie- 
 ty for one of his years. It is truly a good old head on 
 very young shoulders." 
 
 "Finch Mr. Myron Finch? Do you mean the young 
 man with pale face, pale eyes, pale hair, and with paleness 
 all over him, whom George introduced to me one Sunday 
 coming out of church ? He looks so good, so mild, so in- 
 nocent ! Now, father, George Bailey is worth forty thou- 
 sand such wishy-washy young men." 
 
 " Don't understand me, my dear, as uttering one word 
 against your affianced husband. On the contrary, George 
 is a noble fellow ; only only I wish he was as devout a 
 Christian as his friend Finch." 
 
 In truth, Jacob Van Hess was one of those well-meaning 
 men, of limited and narrow vision, who found it difficult 
 to trust the honor of any man who was not a professing 
 Christian of his own denomination. He could hardly ad- 
 mit that a pagan like Cato could be a man of the highest 
 integrity ; and he doubted the honesty of the most con- 
 scientious Roman Catholics. If a clerk seeking employ- 
 ment produced a testimonial from a Methodist minister, 
 that testimonial outweighed a hundred recommendations 
 from merchants of the highest standing. It will be read- 
 ily seen, from this alloy in a character otherwise good and 
 noble, what an influence, in so short a time, Myron Finch
 
 26 GEOEGE BAILEY. 
 
 had gained over the mind of his employer. This influence 
 Finch carefully concealed from Bailey. Perhaps he was 
 afraid of rousing the latter' s jealousy, or perhaps he had a 
 more sinister motive. The pious books and papers which 
 Mr. Van Hess had mentioned to Grace, Bailey was never 
 permitted to see. 
 
 It was observed that a singular intimacy had sprung up 
 between Myron Finch and Timothy Quin ; and when Bai- 
 ley jokingly rallied his friend concerning this incongruous 
 friendship, it was explained by the remark, "I am trying 
 to make a convert of him !" Timothy's duties were very 
 miscellaneous, if not multitudinous. He went on errands ; 
 lie swept out the store and the offices ; he put away the 
 books ; he lighted the fires ; in fact, he was the servant of 
 all. He was a cunning, ignorant, sycophantic Irishman, with 
 a vulgar face deeply marked by the small-pox, and a quick, 
 furtive eye,which never permitted the slightest thing to escape 
 it. Being himself devoid of every semblance of a conscience, 
 and a thorough rogue at heart, he had no faith in human 
 goodness, and was suspicious of all who approached him. 
 
 One evening George Bailey was obliged to return to the 
 counting-house for something which he had forgotten, and 
 what was his astonishment to find Finch and Quin with 
 their heads close together and engaged in earnest conversa- 
 tion ! It was after eight o'clock. They were in the inner 
 private office, a place sacred to the members of the firm 
 and the head-clerk. For a moment Finch was confused, 
 but, quickly recovering for he was a young man of rare 
 coolness and self-possession he said that " he had lost his 
 pocket-book somewhere during the day, and, thinking that 
 it might have been in the store, he had come down to look 
 for it. He knew that Quin did not usually finish the 
 sweeping until nearly nine o'clock ; and so it was just as 
 he had surmised, honest Timothy Quin had found and re- 
 turned it." To this honest Timothy nodded his head with 
 an affirmative nod, as much as to say, honesty is but another 
 name for Quin. Bailey was the most unsuspicious of men. 
 He took Finch by the arm, and both walked up Broadway, 
 the best and most cordial of friends.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 27 
 
 About a month after the time when Bailey had found 
 Finch and Quin together in the private office of the count- 
 ing-house at such an unseasonable hour, Mr. Vanderbilt, the 
 junior partner, returned from the South, whither he had 
 gone in search of health very much impaired by too close 
 an application to business. This gentleman had had charge 
 of the financial affairs of the firm before his departure, and 
 during his absence this duty had been assigned to George 
 Bailey. No one, however, had power to draw checks ex- 
 cept Mr. Jacob Van Hess. 
 
 Mr. Vanderbilt called Mr. Van Hess into the inner office, 
 and carefully closing the door, said, 
 
 " Mr. Van Hess, do you know anything of this check ? 
 It struck me yesterday as somewhat singular. It was re- 
 turned among twenty or twenty-five cancelled checks, and 
 in looking over the books I could find no business transac- 
 tions with the banking-house of Warrenton, Wilde & Co. 
 In fact, I could find no record of it anywhere." 
 
 Mr. Van Hess scrutinized the check very carefully, and 
 with an anxious and troubled expression of face, and then 
 replied that neither the firm nor himself, individually, had 
 ever owed William Wilde one cent, and that he had never 
 signed that check. 
 
 " Your signature is well copied, is it not ?" 
 
 " Admirably. No wonder the paying-teller of the bank 
 was deceived." 
 
 Mr. Van Hess continued to scrutinize the check, and his 
 face became more and more troubled. Mr. Vanderbilt, a 
 keen, cold man of business, watched his senior closely, and 
 waited patiently for him to continue. 
 
 " That's not what troubles me : it is the handwriting in 
 the body of the check which alarms me." 
 
 " Ah, indeed ! whose handwriting is it?"- 
 
 " You know as well as I do." 
 
 "You neither wrote nor signed this check? Then, sir, 
 IT is A FORGERY!" 
 
 "I fear it is. Surely, surely George Bailey could not 
 have committed so clumsy a crime as this. He must have 
 known that it would be detected."
 
 28 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 "Not so clumsy, after all, Mr. Van Hess; for during my 
 absence he had charge of the finances, and I was not ex- 
 pected to return until May next. He had ample time to 
 cover up a paltry sum of fifteen hundred dollars; and perhaps 
 he may have thought that my lung trouble was fatal, and that 
 he might remain permanently in charge of the finances." 
 
 Mr. Van Hess was greatly distressed. He was sorry for 
 Bailey himself ; but for his daughter, as the affianced of a 
 forger, and for the social position of this daughter and him- 
 self, he was in a state of agony. He had little doubt that 
 Bailey, taking advantage of his position, and of his partner's 
 absence, had been tempted to pay off an old debt previous 
 to his marriage with Grace. He was always suspicious of a 
 man who did not make strong professions of piety. With 
 all his narrow bigotry, Mr. Van Hess was a moral, upright 
 man, and he could not lie against the truth. 
 
 " Mr. Vanderbilt, I recognized Bailey's handwriting in a 
 moment. Yet I can hardly believe in his guilt. Some ex- 
 pert may have imitated his writing. Perhaps Mr. Wilde 
 never received the money. We ought not to condemn him 
 too hastily." 
 
 "I hope he is innocent," said Mr. Vanderbilt; "but we 
 can easily ascertain. We can learn if Mr. Wilde has re- 
 ceived the money ; if Bailey owed him fifteen hundred dol- 
 lars ; and how he, Wilde, received the check." 
 
 "There is no necessity for haste," pleaded Mr. Van Hess; 
 " hitherto we have found the young man honest, and there 
 may be a mistake. I trust that the matter will come out all 
 right for him." 
 
 The partners discussed the matter pro and con all the 
 afternoon ; and then agreed to request an interview with 
 Mr. William Wilde, and to examine Bailey on the following 
 morning. 
 
 A messenger was sent with a note requesting Mr. Wilde, 
 if convenient, to call at the counting-house of Van Hess fc 
 Co. between twelve and one o'clock. George Bailey was 
 informed by Timothy Quin that he was wanted in the inner 
 office. Mr. Van Hess handed Bailey the check to read, and 
 as he read he turned first scarlet and then deadly pale.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 29 
 
 "Mr. Bailey, whose handwriting is that?" asked Mr.Van- 
 dcrbilt. 
 
 "It looks like mine and Mr. Van Iless's ; but but I 
 never wrote it. This is a, forgery /" 
 
 " So we thought, Mr. Bailey," replied Mr. Vanderbilt, in 
 a slight tone of irony. 
 
 "Bailey," asked Mr. Van Hess, "did you owe Mr. Wil- 
 liam Wilde fifteen hundred dollars ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, I did." 
 
 Mr. Vanderbilt, at this confession, gave Mr. Van Hess a 
 knowing look, as much as to say, " I told you so." Poor 
 Mr. Van Hess was bewildered and dumfounded. 
 
 " Mr. Bailey, you had charge of the financial affairs of 
 the house during my absence in the South. Were you not 
 under the impression that I would not return before May ?" 
 asked Mr. Vandcrbilt. 
 
 " Certainly, certainly," replied Bailey, who had no more 
 idea of prevaricating than he had of flying out of the win- 
 dow. " But, gentlemen, surely, surely you do not suspect 
 me of forging this check?" This was uttered by Bailey in 
 a tone of astonishment, as the idea slowly entered his miud 
 that he was suspected by both the partners. 
 
 " The handwriting is yonrs at least, like yours, by your 
 own confession ; and you admit that you owed this amount 
 this exact amount to "William Wilde. To be frank with 
 you, Mr. Bailey," said Mr. Vanderbilt, " we are forced to 
 think, after deliberate consideration, that you forged this 
 check. We may, however, be mistaken, and I trust that 
 you will be able to prove your innocence." 
 
 " Prove my innocence !" said Bailey, in a tone of indig- 
 nation and surprise. " Do you mean to say, gentlemen, 
 that you suspect me of this clumsy crime, which was sure 
 to be detected?" The thought of "doctoring" the ac- 
 counts, to cover his presumed guilt, never once entered 
 Bailey's mind. " Mr. Van Hess, do you think that I could 
 commit such a crime?" 
 
 "The matter looks serious, Bailey ; and I don't know 
 what to think," replied Mr. Van Hess, in a tone of deep 
 distress.
 
 30 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 Mr. Van Hess motioned Mr. Vanderbilt to come over to 
 the window, and whispered in bis ear, " Mr. Vanderbilt, I 
 fear he is guilty. Did you notice his face change from 
 scarlet to white the moment he looked at the check ? The 
 amount, to me, is a trifle ; but Bailey is engaged to my 
 daughter, and the scandal will kill her. I will see that you 
 are no loser. If he confesses to the crime, will you agree 
 to let him escape ?" 
 
 " Well, I don't care to condone a crime like this. He 
 was trusted, esteemed, promoted ; and to take advantage 
 of my absence and your kindness and confidence was in- 
 comparably mean as well as criminal. But, my old friend, 
 to save your daughter's name from the tongue of scandal, 
 I will agree not to prosecute, provided he makes a clean 
 breast of it." 
 
 " Mr. Bailey," said Mr. Vanderbilt, approaching him, " Mr. 
 Van Hess and I have agreed, for several reasons, not to 
 prosecute you, provided you confess your crime and make 
 restitution to the best of your ability. Otherwise, the law 
 must take its course." 
 
 "Confess! Confess what? That I committed a forge- 
 ry for the purpose of robbing my benefactor ? That I 
 committed a shallow crime like this? That I was a fool as 
 well as a knave? Confess a lie ? Never, sir! never! You 
 and Mr. Van Hess ought to know me better." 
 
 "Bailey, for my daughter's sake, for my sake, for your 
 mother's sake, if not for your own sake, confess, and make 
 all the restitution you can ; and then you may commence 
 the world anew in some other State or country." 
 
 "Sir," replied Bailey, with great dignity, "you have had 
 my answer. I cannot confess to a crime which I never 
 committed. You ought to know, gentlemen, that the same 
 hand which forged the signature of Jacob Van Hess could 
 as easily forge the handwriting of George Bailey." 
 
 " True, Mr. Bailey, we admit that; but whose interest 
 was it to pay a debt of fifteen hundred dollars to William 
 Wilde ? You admit the debt." 
 
 "Bailey," pleaded Mr. Van Hess, " we have sent for Mr. 
 Wilde. He will be here in a few minutes. If you did this
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 31 
 
 deed, confess it before he arrives ; for if he state that he 
 has been paid by means of this false check, nothing can 
 save you. There is just one chance for you and that, I 
 fear, is but one chance in a thousand and that is, that Mr. 
 "\Vilde did not receive the money." 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Bailey, " I am really astonished at 
 you. To think that I could possibly commit such a 
 crime !" 
 
 " All criminals talk this way," said Vanderbilt, in a cold 
 tone of voice. " I do not say that you are a criminal ; the 
 law will decide that point." 
 
 " Very well, Mr. Vanderbilt," replied Bailey, " let the 
 law take its course. ' The law is the friend of the accused.' 
 I'll prove my innocence in a court of justice. Abscond!" 
 continued Bailey, " why, to abscond is to admit the crime." 
 
 " George Bailey," pleaded Mr. Van Hess once more, "my 
 partner and I are willing to let you go, provided you con- 
 fess. Confess, and I shall make good my partner's loss." 
 
 " Mr. Van Hess," said Bailey, " I swear before my Crea- 
 tor, by the bones of my dead father, by the honor of my 
 widowed mother, that I have never seen that check until 
 called into this office this morning ! Gentlemen, gentlemen, 
 I am innocent indeed, I am innocent !" 
 
 Jacob Van Hess possessed the characteristic of narrow and 
 bigoted minds an immense fund of stubborn tenacity. His 
 Dutch blood was now up, and he was resolved to make Bai- 
 ley confess or take the consequences. 
 
 " Bailey, are you mad ?" said Van Hess. " You have ad- 
 mitted the debt of fifteen hundred dollars. The handwrit- 
 ing can be sworn to by a dozen clerks in this house. Be 
 warned in time !" 
 
 " My mind, sir, is made up. I shall either be acquitted 
 or convicted in a court of justice. I shall not abscond ; for 
 life and liberty, with such a stain on my character, are not 
 worth the possession." 
 
 " Come, Bailey," said Mr. Vanderbilt, " you have confess- 
 ed enough already provided Mr. Wilde has received the 
 money to send you to State-prison. You owed money; 
 it was paid for by means of this forged check. Have you
 
 32 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 a receipt ? But, of course, the question is useless ; the re- 
 ceipt would be destroyed." 
 
 By some singular fatality Bailey involuntarily put his 
 hand into the pocket of his business-coat a light surnracr- 
 coat, worn only in the counting-house and drew out a pa- 
 per. "Why he did so, or what prompted him to perform 
 this mechanical action, he could never tell. It seemed as if, 
 when the misfortune of the check was brought home to 
 him, every other misfortune must follow in its track. He 
 opened the paper, and, as his eyes took in its meaning, they 
 almost started from their sockets with amazement and ter- 
 ror. Bailey was a brave man, as we have already seen, but 
 this was too much for him. He turned deadly pale; his 
 lips were drawn back until the exposure of his white teeth 
 imparted a ghastly expression to his countenance ; his face 
 and form assumed a look of premature age, as if some in- 
 visible power had suddenly dried up the sap of his youth. 
 Never again could George Bailey wear the gay and joyous 
 look of the young and the light-hearted. He threw himself 
 down on the nearest seat, covered his face with his hands, 
 and wept silently. It was a pitiable sight to see this young 
 Titan bowed to the earth beneath such a load of misery. 
 The great round tears slowly trickled through the fingers 
 that hid his eyes. "O God! my God!" he murmured, in 
 a voice scarcely audible, " why hast thou permitted this ? 
 I am lost, lost, lost ruined! Oh, my poor mother! oh, 
 my poor mother! What is to become of her?" 
 
 The two partners looked at Bailey and pitied his misery. 
 There was now no doubt of his guilt, for the paper which 
 lie had taken out of his pocket was the fatal receipt. 
 
 " Warrcnton, Wilclo & Co., Wall Street, 
 
 ' New York, November 20th, 18 . 
 
 "Received from George Bailey the sum of Fifteen Hun- 
 dred Dollars ($1500), the amount in full for all claims against 
 the estate of his late father. WILLIAM AViLDE." 
 
 " Bailey, I have, as I told you, sent a messenger to re- 
 quest Mr. Wilde to come round to our office," said Mr. Van
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 33 
 
 Hess ; " but if you will confess, now that the very receipt 
 has been found on your person, it is not yet too late. I will 
 make some business excuse to send Mr. Wilde away. For 
 my daughter's sake, for your mother's sake, confess, and 
 you may go away unharmed." 
 
 In a broken tone, and with great humility, George Bailey 
 replied, " I thank you, sir, for your kindness and humanity ; 
 but I cannot confess to what I never did." 
 
 " Bailey, remember that the penalty is ten years' hard 
 labor in State-prison. I would save you, if you would let 
 me ; but, if you will not confess, the law must take its 
 course." 
 
 " Mr. Van Hess, I thank you from the bottom of my 
 heart ; but, I repeat, I cannot, will not confess. What is 
 liberty to me with the stain of this great crime on my 
 character ? Unless I am cleared, I prefer to be imprisoned." 
 
 Mr. William Wilde, of the banking-house of Warrenton, 
 W T ilde & Co., entered the office. He was a handsome, vig- 
 orous gentleman, about fifty -five years of age. His hair 
 and beard, which were long, gray, and silky, gave him the 
 appearance of being older than lie really was. His eye 
 was clear and shrewd, his form erect, and his movements 
 energetic. 
 
 Mr. Vanderbilt handed him the forged check and the 
 receipt, and asked him if lie remembered the person who 
 had paid him. 
 
 " Very well, indeed. It was just before the closing of 
 the bank. I was in the inner office, writing. It was grow- 
 ing dark, and I was thinking of lighting the gas, when a 
 man entered somewhat hastily and said, ' Mr. Wilde, I am 
 George Bailey, head -clerk with Van Hess & Co., and I 
 have called to pay the last instalment of the debt which 
 my father owed you.' He handed me a check for fifteen 
 hundred dollars the very check now in my hand and I 
 gave him this receipt." 
 
 Mr. Van Hess asked, "Did you notice the man's appear- 
 ance ?" 
 
 " As I told you before, it was growing dark, and there- 
 fore I could not swear to the man's face."
 
 34 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 " Did you notice anything peculiar about the man ?'' 
 asked Mr. Vanderbilt. 
 
 " I certainly noticed a subdued excitement in his tone of 
 voice, and a rapidity of utterance, like one who has com- 
 mitted his speech to memory. But I was struck with as- 
 tonishment that the head-clerk of your house should walk 
 nearly half a mile, on a raw, chilly day in November, without 
 an overcoat, and with nothing on him heavier than a light 
 summer business-coat. I observed, too, that though the words 
 were correct, the tone of voice was not that of a gentleman." 
 
 George was an attentive listener to Mr. Wilde's statement. 
 Mr. Van Hess turned to Mr. Wilde, and then pointing to 
 Bailey, asked, 
 
 " Is that the man who gave you the check, and to whom 
 you handed the receipt ?" 
 
 Mr. Wilde carefully scanned George Bailey from head to 
 foot. " That is the coat, certainly. The man was about his 
 height ; but I don't think that is the face. It seems to me 
 (as well as I can remember) that the face of the man who 
 paid me was older and coarser. I could swear to the coat ; 
 and even that \vould hardly be safe, for doubtless there are 
 thousands of coats of the same cut and material." 
 
 " Mr. Wilde," said Bailey, " may I ask you one or two 
 questions ?" 
 
 " Certainly, sir : I will answer them as far as I am able." 
 
 " This is the second of December. It is now nearly two 
 weeks since some person presented you this check and re- 
 ceived your receipt. Can you remember the voice of the 
 man who spoke to you ? These gentlemen know that I am 
 not now disguising my voice. Does my voice resemble the 
 voice of that man ?" 
 
 " Not in the least. Your voice is clear and distinct ; his 
 was thick, rough, and, if I may use the word, muffled. I 
 remember that I noticed at the time the rapidity of his 
 utterance." 
 
 " Mr. Wilde, you noticed w T hat you considered an attempt 
 on the part of this person to disguise his tone ; in your 
 opinion, could my voice be made to sound like that of the 
 man who gave you the check on that fatal da\ ?"
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 35 
 
 "No, sir; not unless you are an admirable mimic." 
 
 " My friends here, and also at home, know that my strong 
 individuality has always prevented my imitating anything. 
 Mr-, Wilde, you have twice unconsciously addressed me with 
 the epithet, sir : pardon me if I ask you if you could have 
 so addressed the man who personated me in your office ?" 
 
 "I think not; for though the man was dressed as you 
 are now, had hair and mustache like you, I could not help 
 thinking at the time that he was not a gentleman, as ex- 
 cuse the compliment you evidently are." 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Wilde. One question more: Did you 
 ever press me to pay you that debt of fifteen hundred 
 dollars?" 
 
 "As long as you regularly paid the interest I was satis- 
 fied. I never asked payment." 
 
 Mr. William Wilde retired without asking a single ques- 
 tion concerning the check, for he was a thorough gentleman, 
 and, as such, seemed to manifest no interest in the private 
 affairs of a mercantile firm. He saw that there was some- 
 thing wrong, and that the head-clerk was suspected, perhaps, 
 of forgery, but it was none of his business, and so he bowed 
 himself out of the counting-house. 
 
 After the first shock, and especially after the copious flow 
 of tears, all Bailey's courage and clear common-sense returned. 
 He realized the diabolic cunning of the plot, the masterly 
 ability with which it was concocted, and the almost impos- 
 sibility of proving his innocence. Nevertheless, like a strong 
 swimmer against wind and wave and tide, he would struggle 
 for life while life lasted. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Bailey, " this matter is now very clear 
 to my mind. Some villain, who has learned to imitate my 
 handwriting, and yours too, Mr. Van Hess, has forged this 
 check and given it to Mr. Wilde, and received his receipt. 
 The man who committed this crime belongs to your house ; 
 he is one of the fifteen clerks employed by your firm. This 
 scoundrel wore my business -coat, and at the proper time 
 placed the receipt in my pocket. The daze caused by the 
 first shock of the calamity is over. Perhaps my counsel 
 will be able to sift it all out and detect the wily forger.
 
 36 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 That is my only chance. I admit that, as I now sec it, the 
 evidence is greatly against me. But I must be acquitted, 
 I repeat, or convicted in a court of justice. To fly is a con- 
 fession of guilt, and that is worse than State-prison. I can 
 scarcely blame you for thinking me guilty. Still, Mr. Van 
 Hess, who has known me and my family so long, should, I 
 think, have had more confidence in my integrity. I now 
 surrender myself for trial, in the hope that I may receive 
 that justice which I can scarcely blame you for denying 
 me." 
 
 Had George Bailey carried a pious book in his pocket, 
 read a religious newspaper during lunch-hour, or condemn- 
 ed the poor workmen for drinking liquor or using tobac- 
 co, Mr. Jacob Van Hess could never have been brought to 
 believe in his guilt. Had Bailey paraded the religion of 
 Christ, and ranted about it from the lip out, without one 
 scintilla of it in his heart, this night he would not have 
 slept a prisoner in the Tombs. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 "Alas! the breast that inly bleeds 
 
 Hath naught to dread from outward blow : 
 Who falls from all he knows of bliss 
 Cares little into what abyss." MOORE. 
 
 MRS. BAILEY sold her little homestead for about two- 
 thirds of its value, for the purpose of raising money with 
 which to employ able counsel to defend her son, and to 
 liquidate the debt of fifteen hundred dollars to William 
 AVildc, of the house of Warrenton, Wilde <fc Co. Van Hess 
 & Co. sustained no loss on account of the forged check. 
 
 Day after day the poor delicate mother visited her son 
 in his cell, consoled him, comforted him, and endeavored, 
 with her grand maternal love, to induce him to put his 
 trust in the goodness, mercy, and justice of the Father who 
 does all things for the best. From the prison cell she went
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 37 
 
 to the lawyers who were engaged to defend him ; from the 
 law-offices she went to the teachers, professors, and minis- 
 ters who had known her boy from childhood, for testimo- 
 nials as to conduct and character ; and from the residences 
 of these people she went to the business men who had 
 known him during the past four years, for letters recom- 
 mending him for honesty and integrity. The energy of 
 this weak, fragile lady was something wonderful. She left 
 no stone unturned to save him from his impending fate. 
 She employed detectives, by advice of her counsel, to fol- 
 low the clerks employed by Van Hess & Co., and to dis- 
 cover, if possible, the criminal who had perpetrated the 
 forgery. 
 
 The day of trial came at last. Experts in penmanship 
 swore that the writing in the body of the forged check 
 was, to the best of their belief, the handwriting of the ac- 
 cused. Mr. "William Wilde gave his evidence, the substance 
 of which has been already stated. The business-coat and 
 the debt of fifteen hundred dollars were very damaging. 
 The finding of the receipt in the presence of the two part- 
 ners was testified to. The district-attorney dwelt upon the 
 motive and the opportunity ; that opportunity being the 
 absence of the junior partner in the South. Against all 
 this Bailey's counsel could only insinuate, without a parti- 
 cle of proof, that some enemy in the counting-house had 
 committed the forgery for the purpose of ruining the pros- 
 perous head-clerk. But when asked for the name of a sin- 
 gle enemy, they had none to give. They used Mr. Wilde's 
 evidence concerning the man who presented the check with 
 great skill. They presented at least a score of recommen- 
 dations from the best and purest men of the city ; but all 
 to no purpose. The evidence of guilt was too clear to the 
 minds of the jury ; and after retiring for ten minutes they 
 brought in a verdict of guilty. The judge passed sentence 
 in the following words : 
 
 " George Bailey, you have had a fair and impartial trial 
 before an intelligent jury of your countrymen, and have 
 been convicted of robbing your employer under circum- 
 stances the most aggravating. You are a man of more
 
 38 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 than ordinary education, culture, and refinement; you Lave 
 been tLe trusted clerk, the almost adopted son, of tLe Lead 
 of one of the oldest and most respectable firms in the city, 
 and Lence for you tLere was no possible excuse. About to 
 become a partner in tLe Louse, with prospects tLe bright- 
 est, in order to pay off a paltry debt you take advantage of 
 tLe absence of tLe junior partner, and, relying on tLe con- 
 fidence of tLe senior, you deliberately commit tLe crime 
 of forgery. NotwitLstanding tLat experts Lave declared 
 tLe writing to be yours, your own admission when the 
 forged cLeck was first sLown to you, and notwithstanding 
 tLat tLe receipt for the fifteen hundred dollars was found 
 on your person, you have persisted in pleading not guilty. 
 In the teeth of evidence the most convincing, you Lave 
 steadily insisted on your innocence. No jury, no matter 
 what their sympathies might have been, could have done 
 otherwise than bring in a verdict of guilty. In that ver- 
 dict I cordially concur. You have been defended by able 
 counsel. The highest testimonials as to your previous 
 good character were received and duly weighed. The wit- 
 nesses against you were as tender as the nature of tLeir 
 oatLs would permit. I can see nothing in the testimony 
 to mitigate, but on the contrary a great deal to aggravate, 
 your crime. I, therefore, sentence you to confinement at 
 hard labor in the State-prison for the period of ten years. 
 This is the highest punishment that the law allows, and in 
 my opinion you deserve it." 
 
 George Bailey was quickly removed to his cell. He sat 
 on the side of his cot-bed, his eyes gazing away into vacan- 
 cy : his mother sat on the solitary wooden chair beside 
 him. Their hands were clasped, but neither uttered a 
 word. Sorrow, anxiety, and confinement had driven the 
 ruddy glow from the young man's face, never again to re- 
 turn to it. There was a sort of sad relief, now that anxiety 
 was at an end, and that the worst had come. Mrs. Bailey 
 squeezed his hand and wept silently. It was a blessing that 
 the tears came to soften her nameless grief. 
 
 At length she said, " George, darling, do not give way to 
 despair. God is good and just ; and your innocence will
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 39 
 
 yet be proved before the world. I will go to the governor, 
 and on my bended knees obtain your pardon." 
 
 " Pardon, mother ? That means that I have committed 
 a crime. No, no, no ! I must be proved an innocent man ; 
 I must be released from an unjust imprisonment released, 
 not pardoned." 
 
 " Released, then you must be released. Your father's 
 friends and my own will work day and night until you are 
 released, my son." 
 
 George seized both his mother's hands and kissed her on 
 the forehead. His voice trembled as he said, " Mother, if 
 it were not for you I could bear this unjust punishment ; 
 but the thought of you drives me nearly mad. What will 
 become of you during these long, weary ten years? The 
 punishment is more than doubled, for you receive by far 
 the greater part of it. Oh, God ! I could bear all, being 
 young and innocent, but my mother, my mother!" and the 
 young man ran his hands through his hair with a move- 
 ment of despair. 
 
 " George, George ! you break my heart by your despair ! 
 Be humble and trust in God, and be will prove your inno- 
 cence." 
 
 " Ah ! if I alone were concerned, I could wait, wait ay, 
 wait thirty years until the foul, dark plot that has ruined 
 me comes to light; for God were not a God of justice if he 
 permitted this crime to go unpunished. Mother, it is worse 
 than murder ; for it is disgrace, and the loss of all that made 
 life and liberty dear to me. It is a double murder, for it 
 destroys you as well as me." 
 
 " George, darling, don't think of these things. You will 
 soon be released, and then we shall leave New York, and go 
 away to some strange city, where you can begin life anew." 
 
 Bailey had relapsed into a state of abstraction, and after 
 a long pause he said, 
 
 " Mother, are you still of the opinion that Myron Finch 
 was the cunning devil who planned and compassed my de- 
 struction ?" 
 
 " I am, most assuredly. I warned you against him at the 
 very beginning. I well remember being very much annoy-
 
 40 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 cd at your mentioning family affairs to him the first even- 
 ing he called at our house. You saw that I instinctively 
 feared and disliked him, as though he were a poisonous 
 reptile." 
 
 "The proof, mother? "What proof have you beyond 
 this instinct ?" 
 
 " Remember Mr. Wilde's testimony. That man with the 
 coarse, thick voice that man about your height that man 
 with the dark hair and mustache was Timothy Quin. The 
 man who forged the check and sent him on his criminal 
 errand was Myron Finch. Proof ! I need no other proof 
 than my mother's heart. I watched every witness closely." 
 
 Still, Bailey could not believe that the man whom he 
 had befriended, the man whom he had made a companion, 
 could concoct and execute so foul an act of fraud and 
 treachery ; and yet there were circumstances that pointed 
 to Myron Finch as the perpetrator of the crime. lie alone, 
 of all the employes in the firm, knew of the debt of fifteen 
 hundred dollars, and he remembered the peculiar intimacy 
 between him and Quin. But the proof was wanting, and 
 Bailey was too just a man to condemn another on evidence 
 so slight. He took his mother's feminine instinct for what 
 it was worth, and quietly assumed that her mind had been 
 always prejudiced against Finch. 
 
 After another long pause for great grief, like great hap- 
 piness, is apt to engender silence Bailey asked, not with- 
 out reluctance and embarrassment, 
 
 " Mother, have you heard anything of Miss Van Hess ? 
 Has she ever called on you ? She has never sent me a 
 single syllable in reply to my note. Does she believe me 
 guilty, or has her father put her under restraint ?" 
 
 " I do not know," replied Mrs. Bailey ; " I have never 
 seen her, never heard from her. Her father evidently be- 
 lieves that you committed forgery, and doubtless he has 
 imparted his own belief to his daughter. It can hardly be 
 otherwise." 
 
 " This indifference to my fate relieves my mind of half 
 its trouble. Had she believed in iny innocence like you, 
 had she sympathized with me in my misfortune, the
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 41 
 
 thought of her love and her misery, added to my anxiety 
 about you, would have driven me crazy I could not have 
 borne it. Whatever feeling she had for me will soon die, 
 if it has not already died out, under the belief that I am a 
 forger and a robber !" 
 
 This thought caused the young man to compress his lips 
 and clinch his hands, in an effort to suppress any outward 
 emotion which might add aught to his mother's trouble. 
 He forced himself into a state of mental calm, as he con- 
 tinued, "I am sorry, very sorry for the misery she must 
 have endured. Her pride, which is her principal character- 
 istic, must have been dreadfully wounded. But this dream 
 is ended ! I have you only, my dear mother, to think of 
 now. You had a great deal of money to pay to lawyers, 
 and you had many expenses besides : how much money have 
 you left ? When the house was sold you paid the bank the 
 fifteen hundred dollars?" 
 
 " Of course I did. Had I died of starvation the next hour 
 I would have cancelled that debt. That man, Mr. Van Hess, 
 had the indecency to offer to pay the money. I indignantly 
 refused. He begged me to retain a portion of it. I told 
 him that I would not accept one cent to save my life : that, 
 had it been necessary, I would have sold your father's grave 
 to procure the money to pay the bank. With all his good- 
 ness and piety, Jacob Van Hess is a coarse-minded, stubborn 
 bigot. Had his nature been of a higher order, had his mind 
 been comprehensive, he would have trusted your honesty 
 and integrity, in spite of appearances against you. Mr. 
 Wilde, who never saw you but once before the trial, told 
 me that in his opinion you were innocent as the child un- 
 born. He promised me that he would use all his influence 
 to procure your par I mean, your release." 
 
 " Mother, if ever you see Mr. Wilde, give him my grateful 
 thanks, and tell him that the time will come when my in- 
 nocence will be known to the world. But, mother, how 
 much money have you left, after paying all expenses ?" 
 
 " No matter about that, my son ; you will soon be re- 
 leased, and then all will be right. We shall go W'est and 
 be!'in the world anew."
 
 42 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 " Mother, mother, my heart is aching for you ! Let me 
 know the worst at once ; anything is better than suspense." 
 
 " Well, if you must know, I have just sixty-five dollars 
 and fifty-two cents remaining." 
 
 Again Bailey compressed his lips, and clinched his hands 
 until the finger-nails cut his palms. His face writhed with 
 suppressed agony. No longer able to contain himself, he 
 exclaimed, " Mother, mother, I shall go mad ! mad ! mad ! 
 Why does God permit such deeds ?" 
 
 " Hush, hush, my son ! do not blaspheme ! Trust in God, 
 and he will deliver you at the last." 
 
 Mrs. Bailey gently laid her thin white hand over the 
 young man's mouth, to prevent his revilings against that 
 Being who did all things for the best. 
 
 While mother and son were talking in this sad way, the 
 jailer announced that a gentleman desired to see the prisoner. 
 The announcement had scarcely been made when in stalked 
 Mr. John Grady, the temperance lecturer, and editor of the 
 Weekly Reformer, the man whom Bailey had rescued from 
 the mob on the City Hall steps. He seized George Bailey 
 by both his hands, and gave them such a squeeze as ought 
 to have pressed the blood through the tips of his fingers. 
 " And how are ye, my boy ? Don't be cast down : we'll 
 have ye out in no time. It's only a matter of a few weeks, 
 or a few months at the most. The governor must pardon 
 I mean, release you." Grady's quick black eye had caught 
 the cloud on Bailey's brow at the mention of the word par- 
 don, and with a presence of mind alike creditable to his head 
 and his heart, had changed it to the word release. " I'd like 
 to see the governor keep an innocent man in State-prison ! 
 I'll go myself to Albany and get you out. So don't be cast 
 down, my brave boy." 
 
 When Grady became very much excited his rich brogue 
 predominated, and gave a heartiness to his words of good 
 cheer that caused mother and son to smile for the first 
 time since their trouble commenced. 
 
 " So, Mr. Grady, notwithstanding the weight of evidence 
 against me, and notwithstanding my conviction, you believe 
 me an innocent man, do you?"
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 43 
 
 " Do I ? You insult me by the question ! Weight of 
 evidence ? Weight of humbug ! I am an impulsive Irish- 
 man, and I jump at a conclusion like a woman. I cannot 
 exactly give my reasons, neither can a woman ; but in nine 
 cases out of ten we are right ; aren't we, Mrs. Bailey ?" and 
 he turned to the lady and spoke to her as if he had known 
 lier all his life, when the fact is he had never seen her until 
 this moment. " The man who was brave enough to face 
 an angry, howling mob of twenty or thirty men to save a 
 perfect stranger from being murdered, could never be base 
 or mean enough to commit a forgery or robbery. That 
 may not be logic, according to the books, but it's reason, 
 according to common-sense ; isn't it, Mrs. Bailey ?" 
 
 John Grady was a man of strong animal magnetism, of 
 extremely sanguine temperament, and of hope so very large 
 that the phrenologists ought to have marked him eight 
 plus. To the sad, weary mother, to the hopeless, misera- 
 ble son, there was something really comforting and consol- 
 ing in the emphasis and manner of this man's words. It 
 lay not in the words themselves: the consolation came 
 from the man himself. 
 
 "Of course you are innocent," he continued. "Let any 
 one say anything to the contrary, and, provided that person 
 is not an old man, a small boy, or a woman, he will feel the 
 weight of John Grady's carnal weapon ;" and at the words 
 "carnal weapon" he raised an arm and clinched fist that 
 might well have inspired an enemy with terror. "Besides, 
 were you guilty ten times over or, to be scriptural, seventy 
 times seven do you think that John Grady would ever for- 
 get or forsake the man who saved his life ? I repeat, you 
 are innocent ; but if you were as bad as I used to be 
 Mrs. Bailey, I beg pardon ; but I must tell you that I have 
 been a very wicked man. I was flogged several times in 
 the army and navy ; I killed a man once, but in self-de- 
 fence. So, if my friend here had committed murder, I 
 would stand by him to the last." 
 
 Grady, like Lord Byron and some others, gratified a pe- 
 culiar kind of vanity by boasting of his past wickedness; 
 nay, even took a strange pleasure in exaggerating his for-
 
 44 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 mer sins. Now, the truth is, John Grady was a warm- 
 hearted, honest, brave fellow, whose gratitude for the slight- 
 est favor was boundless. 
 
 " Mr. Grady," said Bailey, taking him by the hand, "do 
 you truly believe in my innocence ? or do you talk in this 
 manner for the purpose of comforting me in my misfort- 
 une ?" 
 
 " I really and truly believe you innocent." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Grady ; you do not know what consola- 
 tion this belief gives me." 
 
 " I not only believe you an innocent man, but I think I 
 know the criminal who planned this diabolical plot and had 
 it executed. I am convinced it was a scoundrel whose name 
 begins with F." 
 
 Bailey looked at his mother, and his mother returned the 
 look with a significant expression, as much as to say, " Did 
 I not tell you ?" 
 
 ""What proof have you," asked Bailey, "that Myron 
 Finch committed this crime against his best friend ? It is 
 too horrible for belief !" 
 
 "Proof! proof! I have no mathematical proof; I have 
 only my convictions, as your mother has. I put this and 
 that together, and, woman fashion, I jump to a conclusion. 
 Proof ! If I had proof, do you think that I would not 
 have the villain arrested within one hour? Ah, Mr. Bailey, 
 the mischief of it is that he has covered his tracks so care- 
 fully that I can obtain no proof. Why in the name of 
 Heaven did you not name his name that Sunday when you 
 saved my life from the mob ? If you had done so, you 
 would never have fallen into this trouble. I knew the 
 scoundrel's reputation ; I knew that he was a black-hearted 
 hypocrite ; but I had never set eyes on him until that day, 
 and of course did not know him personally. Had you but 
 mentioned his name to me " 
 
 " Mr. Grady," said Bailey, " please tell me all you know 
 about Myron Finch ; for, if he has done this deed " and 
 at the very thought of it George Bailey's eyes assumed an 
 expression never before seen in them, and his jaw and face 
 became as set, as rigid as iron " if he has done this deed,
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 45 
 
 the memory of it would keep me alive amidst scenes of the 
 most sickening misery, not only for ten years but for fifty, 
 lint I want to be sure." 
 
 " What I know of his life prior to the time that you met 
 him is the secret of another, and therefore sacred. Suffice 
 it that I know him to be the most hard-hearted villain on 
 the face of the earth. You are aware that Mr. Van Hess 
 is one of the principal managers of the society that employs 
 me to advocate the cause of temperance among my coun- 
 trymen, and hence I have a slight acquaintance with him, 
 but only at the rooms of the society. Until your arrest I 
 do not believe that I had been three times at his place of 
 business, and then only for a minute or two. Latterly I 
 have tried to warn Mr. Van Hess against Finch ; but the 
 old American-Dutchman is as stubborn as a mule. He re- 
 plies to my statements of fact by saying that Finch has 
 confessed with tears of repentance that these sins were com- 
 mitted in his time of darkness ; but now, since his conver- 
 sion, he is another man. Finch has the old gentleman se- 
 curely in his clutches ; pretends to be a paragon of piety 
 and a preacher of total abstinence ; goes to church with 
 him and Grace twice every Sunday ; attends their weekly 
 prayer-meetings ; calls himself a ' brand plucked from the 
 burning;' has been made head-clerk; and, in a word, my 
 dear Bailey, he has just shoved you, by means of a forged 
 check, out of your shoes, and stepped into them himself. 
 It will be my business to ferret this out ; for among my 
 many employments I was once a detective on the Dublin 
 force. I would not annoy you now with this information, 
 only for the hope I have that it may be a relief to both of 
 you to know that I shall follow this matter up until Finch 
 is detected and convicted, and you are released from unjust 
 imprisonment." 
 
 Bailey and his mother listened attentively to all that 
 Grady had said. The former, with a concentrated look of 
 wrath and a movement of despair, exclaimed, 
 
 " Dotard ! Fool ! Mother, forgive me ! You were 
 right. You knew this man by instinct, while I, relying on 
 my superior judgment, have proved myself the veriest sim-
 
 46 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 pleton that ever breathed. I see it all. I told Finch about 
 the debt of fifteen hundred dollars to William Wilde. I 
 remember what a remarkable penman the villain is. It was 
 one of the points on which I recommended him to Mr. Van 
 Hess. I remember wondering at his intimacy with Quin. 
 I found them one evening in the inner office long after 
 all the other employes had left. He had waited until he 
 had heard that Mr. Vanderbilt was coming home. He 
 took care to commit the act at the fittest time. Qnin is 
 dark-complexioned like me, and about my height. When 
 all was ready, he sent this wretch to personate me during 
 the uncertain light of a winter's afternoon. Oh! oh! oh ! 
 this is too horrible !" 
 
 Until now George Bailey had resisted all his mother's 
 attempts to show that it was Finch, and no one else, who 
 had forged the check; but in the light of John Grady's 
 statement, and of his own memory of facts, the conviction 
 was irresistible that Myron Finch and Timothy Quin had 
 wrought his ruin. He became calm, stern, fearful to look 
 at; he became the very embodiment of the spirit of re- 
 venge. There was no more groaning ; tears could never 
 again come to those eyes. His mother seemed to know his 
 thoughts, and they filled her heart with a vague terror. 
 
 " My son my dear, dear son !" she said, as she took one 
 of his strong hands in both of hers and fondly stroked and 
 caressed it ; " be patient ; trust in the All-Wise, who does 
 everything for the best. Do not give way to vindictive 
 feelings ; do not let them destroy your better nature : what 
 is the loss of reputation compared to the loss of character? 
 The leaves may be blown to the four winds of heaven, but 
 while the roots are sound the tree will live and bring forth 
 fruit. My son, my son ! this storm has only blown away 
 the leaves of reputation ; take care that you keep the roots 
 of character untouched by the viler passions; and revenge 
 is among the vilest of them." 
 
 But while his mother was weeping and pleading, and try- 
 ing to save what was dearer to her than liberty or life 
 her son's character as a Christian gentleman Bailey sat 
 rigid as a statue of marble, and made no response whatever
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 47 
 
 to anything that she said. The tears came to the round 
 black eyes of Grady, as he placed his hand on Bailey's 
 shoulder and said, " Cheer up, my boy ! you'll soon be free 
 to punish the guilty rascal." If Mr. Myron Finch had 
 heard the Irish burr of the r in the word rascal, it would 
 have caused him to tremble in every limb. But Grady's 
 attempts were as futile as Mrs. Bailey's. The young man 
 was in a kind of mental stupor, and, as the enormity of 
 Finch's treachery was realized, he seemed to forget every- 
 thing else, even his own condition^ At length John Grady, 
 as if to arouse him, said, 
 
 " You saved my life, Mr. Bailey, and the Gradys never 
 forget a friend. While I live, and can earn a dollar, your 
 mother will never want for a home." 
 
 George Bailey silently pressed the hand of his friend in 
 token of the gratitude he felt but could not express. The 
 next morning he was to be escorted to State-prison by two 
 deputy-sheriffs. At length the hour carne when mother and 
 son were compelled to part ; and Grady, after bidding his 
 friend farewell for the present, retired into the corridor in 
 order not to disturb the privacy of their parting. We 
 draw the curtain over the scene a scene perhaps harder 
 to bear than death itself and leave Bailey to his sad and 
 lonely meditation on all that had happened to him during 
 the past few months. Since his mind had slowly arrived 
 at the conclusion that Finch had accomplished his ruin, a 
 thirst for revenge had arisen in his heart which the villain's 
 blood could not suffice to quench. Nothing short of a 
 slow, lingering death by inches and in torture could satisfy 
 his vindictive feelings. A new and fearful passion had 
 entered Bailey's heart, and, like Aaron's rod swallowing the 
 rods of the magi, it devoured the last remnant of the pas- 
 sion he had felt for Grace Van Hess. His last thoughts 
 on the first night of his conviction as a felon were, " My 
 passion for revenge will keep me alive by filling me with 
 hope, and the ten years will quickly pass away." 
 
 John Grady had kindly given his arm to the poor strick- 
 en lady, and, without a word, had escorted her to his home. 
 She had passively accompanied him, without knowing or
 
 48 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 inquiring whither. He quietly introduced her to his \vife 
 with the simple remark, " My dear, this is the mother of 
 the young man who saved my life, and she is tired, and 
 sorely needs rest." Mrs. Grady, without uttering a sylla- 
 ble, took her hat and shawl, and tried to make her comfort- 
 able in her own rocking-chair. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " My hair is gray, but not with years, 
 Nor grew it white 
 In a single night, 
 
 As men's have grown from sudden fears. 
 * * 
 
 I suffered chains and courted death." BYRON. 
 
 BAILEY entered the prison resolved to do his duty, and 
 to submit patiently to his lot ; to conform to all the rules 
 and regulations, and, if possible, to merit the approbation 
 of the prison authorities. The putting on of the striped 
 clothing caused a shiver to pass through his frame; the 
 prison fare he found coarse and bad ; but this he did not 
 mind much, for he had never been very fastidious about 
 his eating, provided the food was clean ; the small narrow 
 cell seemed at first to stifle him, but he soon got used to it ; 
 the manual "hard labor" in the stone - quarry he felt was 
 good for him, because it produced that weariness of body 
 Avhich enabled him to sleep. lie seldom spoke to any one. 
 He appeared always brooding over his great wrong. His 
 first month in prison was passed quietly enough. The 
 thing that most troubled him was the indifference of the 
 warden, who paid no attention whatever to the convicts. 
 His authority was exercised by the keepers, the most of 
 whom were utterly ignorant and extremely brutal. The 
 chaplain performed his duties in a perfunctory manner 
 preached his sermons, drew his salary, and never once con- 
 descended to mingle personally among the criminals, to 
 touch their hearts and reform their morals. The higher 
 officials were always very busy preparing the cells, the
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 49 
 
 workshops, the dining-hall, the beds, the food, the very 
 walls with whitewash, for a few days prior to the visit of 
 the State-prison inspector. That visit once safely over, they 
 all relapsed into their chronic state of self-indulgence. The 
 reform of the prisoner was a matter of no consequence ; the 
 maintenance of rigid discipline was the one thing needful. 
 Hence the slightest, the most careless or thoughtless infrac- 
 tion of rule was punished with exceeding severity. During 
 the second month of his imprisonment Bailey found him- 
 self working beside a sickly youth, who was suffering from 
 a severe cold which had settled on his lungs. The fact is, 
 "Williams for that was the name of the youth should 
 have been sent to the hospital, for he was totally unfit to 
 do the heavy work assigned him. In making some heavy 
 lifts Bailey had frequently assisted him. The keeper, one 
 Tinan, a low, burly, brutal fellow, who seemed to take pleas- 
 ure in inflicting pain, observing this, swore at Williams, and 
 struck him with his whip. George Bailey said, 
 
 "Don't you see that the lad is sick? and as long as I do 
 his work and my own, you have no right to strike him." 
 
 " Haven't I ?" replied the ruffian ; " you are insubordi- 
 nate, and by I'll strike you too !" He gave Bailey 
 
 a lash across the cheek. In a moment George felled him 
 to the earth with a single blow, which would, perhaps, have 
 killed him had not his skull been of more than ordinary 
 thickness. The fellow, though stunned and dazed, began 
 groping for his pistol, while Bailey, standing over him, said, 
 
 " If you draw that pistol I shall kill you in self-defence. 
 I call these men to witness that you were the aggressor, 
 without the shadow of a cause." 
 
 The cowardly brute arose and approached Bailey with a 
 manner which was meant to overawe him ; but the latter 
 kept his eye on him in such a manner that he did not dare 
 to strike or shoot. 
 
 "By I'll pay you off for this! I'll have your life 
 
 for this, as sure as my name is Michael Tinan !" 
 
 For this offence the warden sent Bailey to the cold 
 shower-bath a horrible punishment and to a dark cell, 
 on bread-and-water, for thirty days. The cell was under- 
 
 "4
 
 50 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 ground, damp, and unwholesome. He had a little dirty 
 straw, without blanket or other covering, for a bed. But, 
 thanks to his excellent constitution, he survived this bar- 
 barous treatment. In the mockery of a trial that had pre- 
 ceded his punishment, some of the convicts, through fear 
 or in the hope of shortening their terms of confinement, 
 had absolutely endorsed the falsehoods of Tinan the keep- 
 er, and made it to appear that Bailey was the aggressor. 
 After the expiration of the thirty days Bailey went to 
 work again in the stone-quarry. Pie saw that Tinan was 
 seeking an opportunity to insult him, and an occasion to 
 have him punished. He observed that all the keepers had 
 imbibed a strong prejudice against him. A keeper named 
 Ronan, who relieved Tinan, approached Bailey one day at 
 work, and asked him for what he had been sent up? 
 
 " Nothing," replied Bailey. 
 
 " You are a liar !" said Ronan. 
 
 " You are a coward and a bully !" said Bailey. 
 
 The keeper struck him with his whip. George seized a 
 billet of wood which happened to be near and chased the 
 brute for his life. 
 
 Again there was the mockery of a trial. Again there 
 was the false evidence of cowardly convicts. This time 
 Bailey defended himself with great skill. He said, 
 
 " Mr. Warden, there is a conspiracy to murder me among 
 your brutal keepers. Tinan and Ronan have sought to 
 take my life. They have so frightened the miserable con- 
 victs under their care that they perjure themselves through 
 fear. When you inflicted your punishment of the shower- 
 bath, and the thirty days' confinement on bread-and-water 
 in a dark cell, I committed no offence except to expostulate 
 against whipping a sick youth who was unable to work. 
 When the inspector comes here again I shall demand an 
 investigation, and I shall show forth your negligence and 
 your inhumanity. If you imprison me you cannot cover 
 the facts, for they are in the hands of my friend, who is 
 the editor of a weekly paper." 
 
 At the word editor the warden grew pale, for of all 
 things he most feared the Press. He was extremely anx-
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 51 
 
 ious to hold his position, which to him was a sinecure. 
 Bailey continued : 
 
 " You will have to murder me before you subdue me. 
 Your legal punishments cannot kill me, for, thank Heaven, 
 I am strong, and mean to live out my ten years. But re- 
 member this, Mr. Warden, I mean to obey all the rules and 
 regulations, and you must order your brutes to let me 
 alone. My friend, the editor, is now in Albany seeking 
 my release, and when I am free I shall thoroughly expose 
 the horrible treatment given the helpless convicts in this 
 prison." 
 
 If these words frightened the warden, who was simply 
 an indolent coward, and saved George Bailey from a severe 
 punishment, they were the means of preventing his release 
 before the expiration of the full term of ten years ; for ev- 
 ery inquiry concerning his conduct received an unfavorable 
 reply, and the adjectives placed opposite his name were 
 " proud," " stubborn," " disobedient," " quarrelsome," and 
 " dangerous." 
 
 The only punishment for the second " offence " was that 
 he should wear a ball and chain for fifteen days. His 
 speech showed him an educated, humane gentleman ; and 
 so the vulgar brutes of keepers christened him " Gentleman 
 George," by way of ridicule. But they all mightily feared 
 him ; for they soon saw that, valuing his own life little, he 
 valued theirs much less. He conformed to the rules, and 
 treated the officials with contemptuous indifference. 
 
 One day the prison inspector sent for Bailey, and told 
 him he was very sorry to find such bad reports concerning 
 his conduct, "for, as Mr. John Grady, the editor of the 
 Weekly Reformer, had been for weeks in Albany begging 
 the governor to pardon you, I have been requested by his 
 Excellency to inquire into your case, and I am very sorry 
 to find that you are considered incorrigible." 
 
 " I am deeply grateful to Mr. Grady, but, sir, I desire no 
 pardon, for I committed no crime. Had I been a hypocrite, 
 or pretended to a piety I did not feel ; had I been an in- 
 human brute, and allowed a sick boy to be beaten to death, 
 then you would have received glowing accounts of me, and
 
 52 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 the governor would have graciously pardoned me. "Why, 
 sir, the worst thieves and burglars shorten their terms by 
 playing what they vulgarly term and meanly boast of as 
 ' the pious dodge.' " 
 
 " Bailey, you talk like a man of education. For what 
 crime were you sent here?" 
 
 " For no crime whatever." 
 
 The inspector shook his head, as much as to say, " Truly 
 he is a hopeless case." Then he and the warden exchanged 
 meaning looks, and Bailey was informed that he might 
 retire. 
 
 " Mr. Inspector," said Bailey, " you know nothing, nor are 
 you allowed to know anything, of the inhuman cruelties per- 
 petrated within these walls. From the warden down to the 
 lowest watchman " 
 
 "Silence, sir, and go to your work!" said the warden. 
 " You are the most dangerous convict in the prison." 
 
 That night, after the inspector had left to visit and look 
 into the condition of other prisons in a like able and search- 
 ing manner, George Bailey received the punishment of the 
 shower-bath, and was sent to a dark cell for thirty days, to 
 be fed on bread -and -water administered once each day. 
 AVhen the period of his solitary confinement had expired, 
 he was compelled to wear a ball and chain for two months. 
 The chaplain, a neat, genteel, and very decorous kind of 
 young man, who went through his duties in a perfunctory 
 fashion, but who had no feeling of charity, like his MASTER, 
 for the poor fallen sinner, approached Bailey one day as he 
 was returning from the stone-quarry, dragging the ball and 
 chain, and attempted to utter some words of pious but su- 
 perficial condolence. Bailey waived him off with the re- 
 mark, " I don't believe in your God : your God is a time- 
 server and a condoner of lies and cruelties : your God stands 
 silent, and allows falsehoods to be poured into the ears of 
 prison inspectors." The neat young chaplain colored, cither 
 with anger or shame, perhaps with both, as he raised his soft 
 white hands, of which he was very proud, and uttered the 
 one word, " Incorrigible !" 
 
 No one was now allowed to see Bailev. Letters from
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 53 
 
 his mother and Grady were intercepted. He was complete- 
 ly shut out from the world beyond his prison walls. He 
 conformed to all the rules; being strong and healthy, he 
 performed the hard labor assigned him. The warden, the 
 chaplain, the physician, all the officials, from the lowest to 
 the highest, hated and feared him ; but, as long as he vio- 
 lated no law, they let him severely alone. Although the 
 better class of convicts respected him on account of his res- 
 cue of the sick lad, he held no communion with them. 
 Bailey was called by some " George the Silent," and by the 
 keepers, by way of irony, " The Gentleman." 
 
 With brutality, profanity, obscenity, and licentiousness 
 everywhere about him and above him, Bailey began to fear 
 for his moral nature ; and a nameless dread took possession 
 of him, that long before the expiration of his ten years of 
 confinement he might become degraded and brutalized by 
 the very force of association. His aim became to preserve 
 his self-respect; and so he longed for darkness and his sol- 
 itary cell. Here he formed the habit of talking in a low 
 tone to himself. He reviewed his past life ; wondered for 
 what offence of his own, or for what sin of his father's, he 
 had been doomed to such a terrible fate; questioned the 
 justice and mercy of God, though he was too intelligent to 
 doubt his existence. He arrived at the conclusion that 
 God paid no more attention to the struggles of men than 
 to the battles of ants. The ants make fellow-ants slaves ; 
 and have their captains and governors, their palaces and 
 prisons, their wardens and keepers (no doubt brutal ones 
 like our own), and inspectors just as sagacious as ours. " I 
 wonder," soliloquized Bailey, " how many ants are im- 
 mured like me for no crime, only to make way for the pro- 
 motion of other ants like Finch and Quin. God's laws 
 govern the universe, and men and ants are governed by 
 their own passions and propensities. The days of miracles 
 passed away with the apostles. 'Vengeance is mine, I will 
 repay, saith the Lord.' Very well ; when I get out of this 
 prison I shall assuredly help the Lord, and in this thing I 
 shall certainly do the Lord's work. I shall be an instru- 
 ment of retribution in his hands. All I ask is patience
 
 54 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 patience, and the retention of my self-respect and my rea- 
 son." 
 
 He laid out a course of study by review. He demon- 
 strated mentally all the propositions of Euclid. The intel- 
 lectual effort to recall the order of the theorems and prob- 
 lems strengthened his memory, and the demonstrations dis- 
 ciplined his reasoning faculty and improved his power of 
 expression. He solved algebraic problems in the darkness 
 of the night. The mental pictures of the equations, by 
 practice, became as clear to his conception as though they 
 were written on paper. He reviewed all the history he had 
 ever studied or read. The empires of the East, the repub- 
 lics of Greece and Rome, the Roman and Mohammedan em- 
 pires of the West and of the East, with their capitals, their 
 laws, their civilization, and their geography, were all care- 
 fully and systematically traced. Naturally his mind dwelt 
 on all the noted State prisoners. Duke Robert of Xorman- 
 dy, Richard of the Lion Heart, Richard II., Edward II., 
 Henry VI., Charles L, Louis XVI., Xapoleon, Toussaint 
 TOuverture all the prisoners, great and small, had a spe- 
 cial fascination for him. The fate of the " Man in the Iron 
 Mask " was peculiarly interesting to him. His mind, how- 
 ever, always reverted to the brave Italian, the study of 
 whose life had inspired him (Bailey) to preserve his men- 
 tal faculties by constant exercise to that truly courageous 
 patriot who, immured for many years in an Austrian dun- 
 geon, deep and damp, kept himself alive, in spite of his 
 jailer's attempts to destroy his life, by composing poetry, 
 without pen, ink, or paper, and treasuring whole cantos in 
 his memory, so that he was able to print them when at last 
 released. Bailey was not a poet ; he was rather a practical 
 man with a scientific turn of mind, caused, perhaps, by his 
 medical studies. His knowledge of physiology and hy- 
 giene enabled him to take good care of his physical health ; 
 and his acquaintance with psychology, though limited, 
 showed him the danger of " evil communications," and 
 warned him to beware of wicked associations. He reflect- 
 ed ; he talked to his favorites ; he would say, in a tone half 
 of pity and half of scorn, "Robert, my poor fellow, how did
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 55 
 
 you feel in your prison when your learned brother had your 
 eyes plucked out a trick that the Crusaders had brought 
 back from that highly civilized capital of the Roman em- 
 pire of the East ?" " Good Marquis Lafayette, you had a 
 hard time of it, no doubt, in your Austrian dungeon of 01- 
 inutz you, who had been the friend and companion of our 
 own Washington ; and your term was just the same as 
 mine." When Bailey reflected on the punishment of the 
 shower-bath, whose severity always caused him to shudder, 
 he would recall the case of Jugurtha, captured by Marius, 
 and kept alive for nine days up to his neck in cold water. 
 "Ha! those Romans knew how to punish as well as to 
 reward." 
 
 It may be easily understood that, under an enforced sim- 
 plicity of diet, regular habits, and constant reviews, the 
 young man grew physically and intellectually a Titan. All 
 the impetuosity, all the frankness, all the sunshine of his 
 nature, which had made him, before his imprisonment, so 
 lovable a companion, were forever gone ; and instead of the 
 impulsive, light-hearted youth whom we introduced in the 
 first chapter of this story, we find a keen, cold, calculating, 
 vindictive man, whose long, weary term of imprisonment 
 has at last drawn to a close. He is only thirty-three years 
 old, but looks at least ten years older, for his face is clear, 
 pale, and strongly marked, and his hair and beard are an 
 iron-gray. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 " Sick in the world's regard, wretched and low." SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 "A soul exasperated in ills, falls out 
 With everything." ADDISON. 
 
 AFTER his release from prison Bailey sought employ- 
 ment as a day-laborer, and worked sometimes^for farmers 
 and sometimes on the railroads. In the first place, he de- 
 sired to accustom himself to freedom ; and in the second 
 place, to earn money enough to enable him to obtain em-
 
 56 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 ploymcnt congenial to his taste and his education. He 
 wished, also, to enter the great city of New York in the 
 garb of a gentleman. He was resolved to bend every en- 
 ergy to the acquisition of money ; for without money it 
 would be out of his power to wreak vengeance on Finch 
 and Quin. Visions of revenge occupied his thoughts by 
 day and his dreams by night ; in the field, in the cellar, on 
 the railroad, wherever he toiled for his dollar a day, while 
 his great strength enabled him to perform the work of two 
 men, his thoughts never wandered from his settled purpose 
 to destroy the two fiends who had caused his ruin and his 
 sufferings. He lived upon the coarsest fare ; he slept on 
 the meanest bed ; he had no expenses, for he had no little 
 vices. His first impulse on leaving the prison was to seek 
 his mother ; but, on reflection, he hesitated to return to her 
 in his poverty, and become, perhaps, a pensioner on her 
 bounty. Bailey had learned the lesson of patience, and 
 had wisely concluded that a few months could make little 
 difference. At present a return to the city could not im- 
 prove, but very likely injure, his mother's condition in life, 
 whatever it might be. For years he had not heard any- 
 thing concerning her or John Grady, for the prison officials, 
 with a refinement of cruelty, had intercepted and destroyed 
 their letters. 
 
 For four months after his release he had toiled and saved, 
 until now, at the close of an August day, he found himself 
 with fifty dollars in his pocket and a respectable suit of 
 clothes on his back. He stood alone on the heights of 
 Weehawken, overlooking the city of his birth, which lay 
 before him, long and low, like some huge monster of the 
 deep, endeavoring to make its way out to the ocean be- 
 yond. The smoke lazily arose from a thousand chimneys, 
 and a thousand vessels of every description speckled the 
 lordly Hudson and the magnificent bay below it, from 
 Yonkers to Staten Island ; for, from his elevated position, 
 his eye swept over a distance of twenty miles. Behind 
 him the blood-red sun of a sultry day was slowly sinking 
 toward the horizon, and casting his crimson rays over the 
 swampy plains that stretch away toward the Orange Moun-
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 57 
 
 tains. All was silent save the song of bird and the hum of 
 the countless insects bred of the torrid heat. 
 
 This was Bailey's first sight of the city since he left it 
 ten and a half years ago. The time now appeared short ; 
 but oh, how long in passing ! Perhaps the very vividness 
 of his recollection of the events that occurred at his trial 
 and conviction made it to appear as if all had happened 
 yesterday. He looked long and intently at the city ; his 
 brow became corrugated with thought and passion ; he 
 clinched his hands and stamped his feet as though he were 
 treading an adder to death, and the look of his face was 
 fearful in its rage dark as the thick clouds which portend 
 a thunder-storm. Gradually the expression changed to one 
 more sinister and dangerous, whose only outward symbol 
 was a laugh a laugh which would cause the listener to 
 shudder, so fierce, so malignant, and so vindictive was it. 
 Finally he shook his head, and, as was his wont, com- 
 menced to talk to himself. "No, no, none of this. There 
 must be no outward sign. All feelings, all emotions, all 
 passions must be subservient to this one master -passion. 
 Hatred and anger must be subject to revenge. Time, toil, 
 money, must minister to the sole purpose of my life. God 
 and man forsook me. I would have died but for my hope. 
 I must not let meaner passions betray their monarch. Fool- 
 ish trust, and still more foolish talk, put the weapons into 
 the hands of my foes which they used against me to my 
 destruction. Silence, reticence ah ! I have received ex- 
 cellent training in prison a face of adamant, a heart dead, 
 dead to all the world save my dear mother and my good 
 friend Grady these be my armor; while skill, cunning, 
 and courage shall be my offensive arms." Again Bailey 
 shook his head and his frame, as if trying to shake off 
 some hideous dream. As he turned to plod his weary way 
 toward Hoboken, he murmured, in a tone tender and lov- 
 ing, "My mother, my sweet, gentle mother, how it will 
 gladden your heart to see me !" 
 
 A* he strode along the public highway, past the Elysian 
 Fields toward the ferry, with the firm, elastic, graceful step 
 of perfect health, many a man and many a woman too
 
 58 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 turned to look again at the youthful face and form, so 
 handsome and so strong, and wondered to see the iron-gray 
 hair of middle-age. Bailey had the introspective expres- 
 sion which solitude always imparts, and an appearance of 
 patient dignity which long suffering invariably gives. There 
 was also the air of the cell about him a nameless, inde- 
 scribable air, which once seen can never be forgotten, and 
 which a detective can always recognize in a moment. 
 
 When George Bailey had reached the city, he sought the 
 nearest drug store to examine a directory. He searched in 
 vain for the name of his mother. He turned to the word 
 Grady, and took down the addresses of four John Gradys. 
 He took down the residence of Myron Finch, merchant, 
 and of Timothy Quin, liquor dealer. He first endeavored 
 to find his friend Grady ; but the particular John Grady 
 whom he desired to see had evidently left New York. He 
 remembered the residence of his old pastor, and thither he 
 hastened, to obtain, if possible, information concerning his 
 mother. Relying on the change that time and trouble had 
 made in his appearance, he resolved to leave the g6od old 
 man in ignorance as to who he was. The Rev. Caleb Smith, 
 Bailey knew, was well acquainted with his mother, with Mr. 
 Jacob Van Hess, and perhaps with Grady. 
 
 " Mr. Smith, excuse a stranger's intrusion ; but being a 
 stranger in the city, and anxious for information concerning 
 a lady who was formerly a member of your church, I have 
 taken the liberty to call on you." 
 
 " Pray be seated, sir," said the pastor ; " it is no intrusion, 
 and I shall be happy to give you any information that it 
 may be in my power to give." 
 
 " You were acquainted, Mr. Smith, with a lady, the widow 
 of the late Dr. George Bailey ?" 
 
 " Certainly, sir ; I knew the lady intimately." 
 
 " Can you tell me," said George, " where she now lives?" 
 
 " The lady you speak of is now no more : she died about 
 four years ago." 
 
 The young man turned the color of the dead ; he almost 
 fell from the chair. He turned on the seat and grasped the 
 back with both hands, as he groaned,
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 59 
 
 " Dead ! dead ! My God ! is she dead ?" 
 
 The good clergyman arose, and bending over Bailey, said, 
 " Young man, you appear strangely affected ; was the lady 
 a relation of yours ?" 
 
 Bailey, by a superhuman effort, repressed his emotion, 
 arose, and confronting Mr. Smith with an expression which 
 was fiercely savage, demanded, 
 
 " Of what did she die ? Was she alone ? Was she neg- 
 lected? Was she starved to death?" 
 
 " No, sir ; Mrs. Bailey died a natural death. She was 
 matron of a half-orphan asylum : she was gently and ten- 
 derly nursed by Miss Edith Wilde, the daughter of William 
 Wilde, the banker." 
 
 "William Wilde, of the banking-house of Warrcnton, 
 Wilde & Co. ?" 
 
 " The same. Miss Wilde obtained for Mrs. Bailey this ex- 
 cellent position soon after her son's conviction as a forger. 
 But, sir, may I ask if you are any relation ? Do you know 
 anything of that wicked son of hers, who brought her gray 
 hairs with sorrow to the grave ?" 
 
 " Enough, enough ! Mr. Smith, I am a near relation. 
 You are mistaken about that wicked son of hers. He never 
 committed an act of forgery." 
 
 "All I know is," replied Mr. Smith, "that he was tried 
 and convicted ; that I read the evidence at the time, and 
 that this evidence proved him guilty. Mother and son be- 
 ing members of my church, I very naturally took a deep in- 
 terest in the trial, and I could not resist the conclusion that 
 in a moment of weakness he fell." 
 
 Bailey's iron-gray hair prevented the pastor from form- 
 ing the least suspicion that the man he was condemning 
 was then standing before him. 
 
 " Well, let that pass," said Bailey. " When did you last 
 see Mr. Jacob Van Hess ?" 
 
 " I met him only two weeks ago," replied Mr. Smith, " at 
 a meeting of the Temperance Alliance. He is getting very 
 old and very infirm. The business is carried on now chief- 
 ly by his son-in-law, Mr. Myron Finch." 
 
 " Finch married his daughter Grace ?" gasped, rather 
 than spoke, Bailey.
 
 60 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 "Yes; soon after the conviction of young Bailey, My- 
 ron Finch was made a partner in the house, and married 
 Miss Van Hess." 
 
 " Are you acquainted with a temperance writer and lect- 
 urer named John Grady ?" inquired Bailey. 
 
 " I knew him slightly," replied the pastor, " but for some 
 years back I have lost sight of him. It seems to me that 
 he has left the city." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Smith ; that is all. I will go now. I 
 am only tired." 
 
 Bailey uttered the last sentence to cover the state of his 
 feelings ; for he had observed an expression of anxiety and 
 pity in the good clergyman's face, and he did not care to 
 submit to any close questioning as to the cause of his trou- 
 ble. When he had reached the sidewalk his head became 
 dizzy, and for a minute or two he staggered like a drunken 
 man. Ever and anon he groaned, " Oh, my poor mother ! 
 my poor mother ! Could I but have seen you once before 
 you died ! Could I have had your blessing ! Dead ! dead ! 
 dead ! Alone ! alone ! Now for Finch and Quin, her 
 murderers!" Had either of those worthies crossed his path 
 at that moment he would certainly have strangled him to 
 death. Gradually he recovered his equanimity, for the 
 passion of revenge had again absorbed every other emo- 
 tion ; and this feeling had been nursed so long, and he was 
 so accustomed to it, that it usually calmed him. He pray- 
 ed for patience. He was actually afraid that in his present 
 mood he would be in danger of abandoning his carefully 
 prepared plans, and of so acting that, instead of being able 
 to wreak vengeance on his mother's murderers, they might 
 be able once more to work him infinite injury for Bailey 
 knew that the scoundrels hated him because they had 
 wronged him. 
 
 And what were those plans? Simply to obtain employ- 
 ment and to earn money. "Money is the sinews of war.'' 
 Money buys everything, because it represents labor; or, in 
 fact, it is accumulated labor. Twenty thousand dollars com- 
 mands the labor of sixty men for one year. The labor of 
 these sixty men would destroy Finch and Quin as readily
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 61 
 
 as it would blast a rock forty feet high. Thus Bailey had 
 reasoned in his solitary cell, and while toiling on a farm as 
 a day -laborer. Money became an absolute necessity to him, 
 and he must have it. But how was he to get his foot on 
 the first round of the ladder ? When once the ladder is 
 found, and grasped with both hands, the ascent is easy 
 enouo-h ; indeed, those below us will either shove us up or 
 off. It is often hard enough for a man with the best of 
 testimonials to obtain employment suitable to his tastes 
 and his education ; how much more so for a convict with- 
 out a friend in the world. Bailey wandered all over the 
 city, from early in the morning until late at night, seeking 
 a position but finding none. He boarded in a mechanics' 
 eating-house ; he slept in a little hall bedroom ; he paid for 
 his meals as he ate them. In short, he lived on twenty-five 
 cents a day. But he was hardy, and suffered little. He 
 suffered more from a sense of utter loneliness than from all 
 else combined. After his imprisonment the terrible soli- 
 tude amidst thousands and thousands of people appalled 
 him. His solitary cell in State-prison did not appear to 
 him half so oppressive as the unknown sea of faces on 
 Broadway and other streets of the huge city. The crowd 
 chatting and laughing, not one of whom he knew, appeared 
 to him so weird and strange as strange as though he had 
 found himself among the inhabitants of Sodom, raised by 
 a miracle out of the depths of the Dead Sea. He found 
 himself repeating a line from Byron, " Solitary as a lonely 
 cloud in a summer sky," and confessed to himself that 
 " Lonely as a stranger in a great city " would have convey- 
 ed a much better idea of that loneliness which, worse than 
 " Hope deferred, maketh the heart sick." 
 
 Wherever he sought employment Bailey was asked for 
 a city reference. A large store advertised for a clerk 
 and book-keeper at a moderate salary. The proprietor 
 was pleased with Bailey's appearance, liked his hand- 
 writing, and was satisfied that he was a man of business 
 ability. About to employ him, he was asked for his ref- 
 erences. 
 
 " I have no city reference, sir ; I am a stranger."
 
 62 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 "Then you have a country reference?" asked the pro- 
 prietor. 
 
 ' I have not, sir ; I have no reference of any kind." 
 
 ' What, no reference from your last employer ?" 
 
 ' Xo, sir." 
 
 ' Who was your last employer?" 
 
 ' I decline to answer," replied Bailey. 
 
 ' You decline to answer, eh ? So that's it, is it ? Why, 
 man, you know that no merchant of any business capacity 
 could possibly employ you. I am really sorry, for, having 
 taken rather a fancy to you, I would have liked very much 
 to have given you the position." 
 
 " Sir, sir, you can trust me ; you can, indeed ! I have 
 been very unfortunate, but never criminal." 
 
 " My dear fellow," replied the merchant, " it is madness 
 to expect employment of this kind without testimonials as 
 to character. Why, for aught I know, you may have been 
 in the State-prison. Of course I do not say this to insult 
 you, for I do not believe that you ever were. But if we 
 employed men without proper testimonials, we might fill 
 our stores with thieves and returned convicts." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; doubtless, very true, sir," said Bailey, in an 
 absent kind of way ; " you are right ; it is only just I, in 
 your place, would very likely act in the same way. Good- 
 day, sir, and thank you ;" and George Bailey sadly left the 
 store. 
 
 He now resolved to seek meaner work. He saw very 
 clearly that all the higher sort of labor was closed against 
 men who could not produce the very best testimonials. But 
 even this lower work was not so easily obtained as he had 
 fancied. Bailey answered, in person, an advertisement for 
 a young man to open oysters. The man scanned George 
 from head to foot, and asked him if he had ever opened 
 oysters. He replied that he had not. The rough owner 
 of the oyster-cellar burst out laughing in his face, and told 
 him that he would not suit, and that he was too old to learn 
 the trade. He applied for a place as waiter in a hotel, but 
 found that the colored race had a monopoly of the busi- 
 ness. He sought employment to blast rocks in the upper
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 63 
 
 part of the city ; but there he found the Irish in full pos- 
 session, and the " Boss " opposed to the amalgamation of 
 the different races. 
 
 His little store of money, notwithstanding the utmost 
 frugality, was almost consumed, and work of some kind he 
 must find or starve. He could return to the country and 
 obtain employment as a farm hand, but that would have 
 interfered with his plans for vengeance on Myron Finch. 
 Bailey found the position of returned convict anything but 
 a pleasant one. If he had confessed what he was a much- 
 injured man no one would believe him, no one would trust 
 him. Every convict told the same story of the miscarriage 
 of justice and of conviction on perjured evidence. Bailey 
 could not enlist as a private soldier, nor could he seek a 
 new career in another land, 'because, for the reason already 
 stated, he must be near his enemies. 
 
 He walked mile after mile of the streets of the city. He 
 ran after this advertisement and then after that, but to no 
 purpose. The shoes were nearly worn off his feet, and he 
 could not afford to expend money for their repair. He 
 was fast becoming seedy in his appearance, nor could he 
 any longer pay for his washing, lie toiled on and on, re- 
 minding one of the last man in a six-day's walking-match, 
 who has not one chance in fifty of succeeding, but who, 
 nevertheless, plods on almost hopelessly, determined to per- 
 severe to the very last moment. A publishing-house ad- 
 vertised for book canvassers ; but Bailey had not the nec- 
 essary sum of money to deposit as security. For six weeks 
 he had thus sought an opportunity to earn an honest liveli- 
 hood. Everywhere he had been refused. It seemed as if 
 State-prison and forger must be written on his face, for no 
 one would trust him. In his long walks he had met many 
 persons whom he had known before his conviction ; he rec- 
 ognized them, but they failed to know him, and Bailey was 
 too proud to make himself known. He saw and recognized 
 Finch and Quin, for he had a great curiosity to see the two 
 men whom he intended to destroy, and so he went pur- 
 posely near their places of business. His sufferings and pri- 
 vations were very severe, but he never groaned, he never
 
 64 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 whined, he never complained. "With a patience and a for- 
 titude born of the solitary cell and the single meal in the 
 twenty-four hours, he bore all without a murmur, and made 
 up his mind to succeed or die in the attempt. He never 
 went to church ; he never prayed. He had no faith in the 
 justice or mercy of God ; indeed, as previously stated, he 
 had arrived at the conclusion that God did not meddle in 
 human affairs. All Sunday he lay in his bed, resting, and 
 reflecting on the past, and thinking of some way of getting 
 work. 
 
 One day he read an advertisement stating that for one 
 dollar, paid in advance, situations as clerks, book-keepers, 
 railroad conductors, etc., could be procured. Bailey had re- 
 solved to try this as a sort of forlorn-hope. After paying 
 the dollar, he had just fifty cents left in the world. The 
 name of the advertiser was Sphinx truly an appropriate 
 name ; but even a better name for him would have been 
 Shark. Two days had passed, and Bailey had heard not a 
 word from the benevolent Sphinx. The fifty cents were 
 nearly gone, and the young man was well-nigh desperate. 
 He called several times on this Mr. Sphinx, but could nev- 
 er obtain a satisfactory interview with him. Bailey found 
 others like himself anxiously waiting; and, on inquiry, dis- 
 covered that they had been coming to* Sphinx's office for 
 several weeks, and that he had never been known to procure 
 a single position for a single individual. It was clearly a 
 hoax, and Sphinx was a rascal and the meanest kind of rob- 
 ber. He was the very carrion of thieves, because he fat- 
 tened on the miseries of helpless and impoverished immi- 
 grants, and on the misfortunes of his own countrymen. 
 Bailey needed his dollar too badly to allow himself to sub- 
 mit to the swindle. He entered Sphinx's shabby office and 
 demanded his money ; but that worthy tried to put him 
 off, as he had done hundreds of others, and threatened the 
 police. Bailey quietly went to the door, turned the key in 
 the lock, and then put it in his pocket. " Xow, give me 
 my dollar, or I'll knock you down and take it from you. 
 I have no money to go to law, nor have the others who 
 come here, and, you scoundrel, you know it. You worse
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 65 
 
 than highway robber, you worse than burglar, you rob the 
 starving, knowing that they have no redress ! Come, foul 
 carrion, give me my dollar, or " 
 
 " What ?" asked Sphinx, shaking all over. 
 
 "I'll knock you down, take my dollar, pass out to the 
 nearest station-house and give myself up to the authorities, 
 and thereby expose your nefarious traffic." 
 
 The shark Sphinx, seeing that he had not an ignorant 
 immigrant to deal with, handed Bailey his money, and told 
 him to clear out of his office an act which Bailey was not 
 slow in performing, for he was afraid that he might be 
 tempted to give the rascal personal chastisement. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Our time is fixed, and all our days are numbered ; 
 How long, how short, we know not : this we know, 
 Duty requires we calmly wait the summons, 
 Nor dare to stir till Heaven shall give permission." 
 
 BLAIR. 
 
 BAILEY made his last dollar support him for eight days 
 longer. He abandoned his lodgings in the mechanics' 
 boarding-house, and.slept sometimes in the Park, and some- 
 times in vacant lots in the upper part of the city. He 
 lived on a single loaf of bread a day, which he moistened 
 with water obtained from a hydrant; and still he did not 
 give up the idea of procuring employment in the city. 
 Hardships and privations were not new to him. All these 
 and more he was resolved to bear, in the hope that he 
 would finally succeed, and be in a position to re-establish 
 his reputation in the very place where it had been lost. 
 His rehabilitation presupposed the exposure and ruin of 
 Finch and his base confederate. 
 
 Finally his last cent had been expended for a penny 
 newspaper not for the news, or the crimes, or the pol- 
 itics, but for the sake of the column headed " Wanted." 
 Foot-sore, weary, hungry, he plodded on, visiting the store 
 or the office of cvcrv advertiser, but the inevitable demand 
 
 5
 
 66 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 for a city reference drove him into the street again. Sick, 
 almost in despair, he sank on a bench in Washington Pa- 
 rade-ground, and stretched himself out at full length to 
 snatch a few hours' rest, perhaps sleep, ere he started out 
 to renew his search for work. lie was gazing at the stars, 
 and bitterly thinking of all the abundance around him, 
 while he was suffering the pangs of hunger. His reflec- 
 tions were bitter in the extreme. Here was Myron Finch 
 with his palatial residence, his country -seat, his club, his 
 horses, and his yacht; nay, with his dogs better fed and 
 housed than he, George Bailey. Here was that other vil- 
 lain, Quin, with his many liquor stores, his abundance of 
 money, and his horses and carriages, while he, Bailey, was 
 starving he, a man who had never done the slightest 
 wrong to any human being. " There is a God," muttered 
 Bailey, " who made those stars and this round world of 
 ours, but he permits the wicked to ' flourish like a green 
 bay tree.' ' I am old,' saith the false psalmist, 'yet have I 
 never seen the righteous begging their bread,' or something 
 of this sort. Oh, mother, mother ! I hope you cannot see 
 your wretched son to-night. If you are in one of those 
 many mansions, I trust you arc not permitted to know what 
 takes place on this accursed earth !" 
 
 Gradually his reflections grew darker and darker. 
 Thoughts of suicide took possession of his mind. Had 
 it not been for the desire of vengeance, which absorbed his 
 every fibre, it is more than likely that lie would have walk- 
 ed down to the Hudson River that night and ended his 
 miseries, as thousands had done before him. His eyes 
 closed at last, and he fell into an uneasy slumber. In a 
 few hours the chill of a cold, damp October morning awoke 
 him, and he shivered. It was the hour before dawn : the 
 cold had penetrated to the marrow of his bones, so that his 
 teeth fairly chattered. He arose and staggered toward the 
 river, in the vague hope that he might find employment as 
 a stevedore. He was weak from hunger, and dizzy from 
 cold and sickness. He staggered on like a drunken man ; 
 he reached the brink of the river, and gazed long and in- 
 tently at the dark waters temptingly inviting him to make
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 67 
 
 one plunge and all would bo over. As tlie river flowed 
 past him, his feverish imagination saw eyes, and mouth, 
 and face ; and he fancied that the moving monster said, 
 " Come, one plunge, and all is over ! I'll give you rest in 
 ray soft bosom !" By a superhuman effort Bailey turned, 
 saying to himself, "This is madness: I must leave before 
 my reason is completely lost." Daylight had come, and 
 with it the desire to make one more struggle, and, if he 
 failed, to lie down and die. lie would not commit suicide, 
 he would not beg, nor would he, above all, steal. Either 
 suicide or theft would help to confirm the justice of the 
 sentence that sent him to State-prison. 
 
 As Bailey was passing one of the low dens, half eating- 
 house, half groggery, and wholly a rendezvous for thieves, 
 he was astonished to hear himself accosted by his prison 
 title of " Gentleman George." 
 
 " Why, Gentleman George, as I live !" said a well-dressed 
 man, two or three years younger than Bailey. 
 
 " Can I believe my eyes ?" replied Bailey. " Is this the 
 wcalc, sickly boy whom I used to know ten years ago ?" 
 
 " The very same lad for whom you got the cold shower- 
 bath and thirty days' solitary confinement. See how strong 
 I have grown ! But for you the rascally keeper would have 
 killed me. But but you look sick and seedy. No luck, 
 no ' swag,' I suppose. Come, come, I'll share with you ; 
 I am ' flush ;' made a haul a week ago." 
 
 " I am afraid, my friend, that I do not quite understand 
 you. I am glad to see you look strong and well, but if you 
 have obtained money in any improper way I want none of 
 it." 
 
 " Come and have a glass of something warm have some 
 breakfast with me." 
 
 " No, no ; I have vowed to live an honest life, and I shall 
 not accept a portion of what was stolen from another. I 
 am glad to see you so well and so strong. Good-morning. 
 I must go." 
 
 But Bill Williams (for that was the name, real or ficti- 
 tious, by which he was known) placed himself in front of 
 Bailey, and said,
 
 68 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 " Sec here, Gentleman George, I understand your feelings 
 and respect 'em ; and I'd be the last man to wish to see yon 
 one of us ; for, since the day you knocked that there scoun- 
 drel of a keeper down, I've loved you as I used to love my 
 mother : that is, the loves was alike. It was respect for 
 goodness and tenderness, and tenderness particularly for 
 the weak and sick. I may not explain myself clear, but 
 I've respected and loved you since then. I always knowcd 
 you was an innocent, injured man ; leastways I believed it. 
 Now, what are you agoin' for to do ? Are you agoin' to 
 try to git work, and be honest, as I did ? Then take my 
 word for it, you won't succeed. Why, man, them fellows 
 ask you for city references, and for the name of your last 
 employer; and when you have none to give except the name 
 of the State-prison, they suspects you direct to be a thief." 
 
 "You must have had my own experience," said Bailey, 
 " after your release." 
 
 " Oh yes, your experience is my experience, and my ex- 
 perience is the experience of all. No matter how innocent 
 we may be when we go to prison, when we are discharged 
 we must become criminals for life. Nobody will trust us ; 
 nobody will employ us. We are driven to either steal or 
 starve ! a nice choice, ain't it ?" 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I know, poor fellow. Did you suffer much ?" 
 
 " Much ? Now see here, Gentleman George, I really did 
 try, for my dead mother's sake and maybe for yours, for I 
 believed you good, like my mother to lead an honest life ; 
 but they wouldn't let me : they wouldn't give me work ; and 
 when I was nigh dying of hunger one of the 'boys' met 
 me and introduced me to the ' fraternity.' I took a fever, 
 from cold and hunger and worry, and the ' boys ' was kind 
 to me, and nursed me and pulled me through ; and of course 
 I've stuck to 'em ever since." 
 
 " These returned convicts were very kind to you." 
 
 " Kind ! you may say that far kinder than any one I 
 ever saw, exceptin' mother and you." 
 
 " They poured oil and wine into your wounds, poor fel- 
 low," said Bailey, " while the priest and the Levite passed 
 by on the other side."
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 69 
 
 " I don't quite take your meaning. I only know that 
 they poured oil on my wittals, and wine down my throat, 
 as I was a-gettin' better of the fever ; and as for priests and 
 parsons, I hate 'em all ever since that dapper little feller used 
 to preach humbug to us on Sundays, and then stand by and 
 see us punished for nauthin' on week-days." 
 
 " Have you tried, since your recovery, to find honest 
 work ?" asked Bailey. 
 
 " No ; I have not, and never intend to. I made the effort 
 once and nearly died in the attempt. The ' boys ' was 
 good and kind to me, and I'll stick to 'em through thick 
 and thin. But see here, Gentleman George, you want to 
 lead an honest life, I know you do. Here's five hundred 
 dollars ; you can have it as a gift you can have it as a 
 loan : you may pay me when you are able. I'll never trou- 
 ble you about it." 
 
 The tears came to George's eyes as he waved the money 
 aside, and said, 
 
 " No, no ; I cannot, indeed I cannot. I am very grateful, 
 so grateful that I cannot put my gratitude in words." 
 
 The thief quickly divined his reason. 
 
 "Gentleman George, here is a watch that was never 
 bought with stolen money : this here watch was left me 
 by my mother. You are hungry, and you won't eat with 
 me ; you have not a cent, and you won't take a dollar to 
 oblige me, to relieve my feelin's ; now take this here hon- 
 est watch and pawn it. You'll get enough on it from your 
 ' uncle ' to keep you a week or two. But mark my words," 
 continued the thief, as Bailey waved the watch aside, " you 
 must come to it or starve. Why, a man of your abilities 
 would soon be chief; and then you need do no 'work' your- 
 self; you need run no risk. All you would have to do would 
 be to sit in a cosy parlor and plan the ' work' for the ' boys.' " 
 
 George Bailey smiled, for the first time in a week, as he 
 replied, 
 
 " Thank you, my friend, for the honor ; but really I 
 must decline it. If I die, I shall die in my integrity. I 
 have never yet committed a single crime, and I am not go- 
 ing to commence now."
 
 70 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 As the two men approached Broadway, Williams, the 
 burglar, well known as such to the police, saw two of the 
 officers closely eying Bailey, and wondering who was the 
 new recruit. Williams paused and said, " I am very sorry 
 that you won't take the watch ; but I must leave you here 
 or I may get you into trouble. Here's my number : if 
 ever you think better on it, inquire for Bill Williams, and 
 ail that a man can do for another I will do for you." 
 The two men, whom a strange chain of circumstances had 
 brought together, shook hands and parted. 
 
 Bailey plodded on, weary, oh, how weary ! his limbs 
 were so tired and weak ! lie desired to lie down and 
 sleep. His head ached, and his whole body burned with 
 a feverish heat. His hunger was gone, but a quenchless 
 thirst had taken its place. Almost intuitively, for he was 
 well-nigh dazed, he paused at every hydrant and drank co- 
 pious draughts of water, and freely bathed his burning tem- 
 ples. Still he mechanically staggered on, with the vague 
 hope of the morning dispelling all other thoughts that he 
 would find rest or comfort near the river. Once or twice 
 he overheard, in a dim, indistinct way, a policeman say, 
 " That fellow's pretty drunk ; but he's quiet, and I'll let him 
 go home." His senses were nearly gone ; and yet the riv- 
 er had for him a strange, unaccountable fascination. He 
 had overcome the desire for self-destruction while his will 
 was active and under command ; but now the fever was 
 fast destroying the vigor of his mind and driving him to 
 the fatal river. "A cold bath in the soft water the fire 
 consumes me !" Bailey, with glazed eye and tottering step, 
 stumbled rather than walked onward through Grand Street, 
 determined on one thing only not to fall down and die in 
 the streets, but to hide himself and his miseries in the bo- 
 som of the deep waters. He had almost reached the river 
 when he began to reel. By a superhuman effort he sup- 
 ported himself against a lamp-post ; ran his hand across his 
 brow, as if to sweep away the mists that obscured his mind 
 and his sight; and steadied himself by force of will for 
 one more severe struggle by clinching his hands and brac- 
 ing his whole body, and saying to himself, " God has for-
 
 v GEORGE BAILEY. 71 
 
 sakcn me : I must not die in the streets like a dog. I will 
 drown myself ! This act at least will be my own." These 
 thoughts, vague and shadowy, flitted through his mind, al- 
 ready poisoned by malarial fever and weakened by starva- 
 tion. He had advanced about one hundred feet nearer the 
 grave he had been so resolutely seeking, when all his ex- 
 hausted energy suddenly gave way, and he plunged forward 
 head-foremost on the sidewalk. In a moment a crowd of 
 men, women, and children had collected around the fallen 
 and unconscious man. It was a marvel how quickly that 
 crowd had sprung into existence. No man could tell whence 
 it came or whither it would go. 
 
 There they stood, looking at the prostrate form before 
 them with that strange pleasure which mankind seems to 
 take in watching human suffering. One said he was drunk, 
 another that he was in a fit, and a third person announced 
 that he was dead as Julius Csesar or a door-nail. [Though 
 why Julius Cassar or a door-nail is deader than anything 
 else, it would be difficult to say.] 
 
 A burly police-officer approached and unceremoniously 
 made a lane in the crowd, and when he had glanced wisely 
 for the space of twenty seconds at Bailey's face, now as pale 
 as that of the dead, he sagaciously muttered, rather to him- 
 self than the mob, whom he despised, " Dead drunk !" He 
 rapped for assistance, told the crowd to make room for the 
 officers, and repeated the statement, " The man is only dead 
 drunk." 
 
 The people accepted this decision without demur, for great 
 is the force of authority, and were slowly retiring, when a 
 strong, dark man of middle-age and with clean-shaven face, 
 elbowed his way through the crowd, and said, 
 
 " Stand back, and give the man a breath of fresh air ! 
 Stand back, I say, or you'll tempt me to use the carnal 
 weapon !" 
 
 At sight of that carnal weapon, and the shoulder from 
 which it grew, and, above all, at the ominous burr of the r 
 in carnal, even the very police-officer drew back. 
 
 " Why, ye fools," said the new-comer, " the man's no 
 more drunk than I am ! Don't I know a drunken man when
 
 72 GEORGE BAILEY. - 
 
 I see him? What have I been lecturing on these fifteen 
 years ?" 
 
 While he was talking to the crowd he had been loosen- 
 ing Bailey's cravat and sprinkling his face with cold water. 
 " Here, officer, hold up his head : some of you fetch me a lit- 
 tle brandy and peppermint." 
 
 While the policeman was raising the head and shoulders of 
 the dying man, his hat fell off and exposed his entire face 
 and head to view. The middle-aged gentleman who had 
 interposed so opportunely now looked as if he saw a ghost ; 
 hi* eyes stood out like two round black beads, and his whole 
 face manifested the deepest astonishment; but he quickly 
 recovered. 
 
 " Hurry np with that brandy !" It was quickly poured 
 down Bailey's throat. Tt acted like magic, for Bailey had al- 
 ways been a very temperate man. He opened his eyes and 
 gazed wildly around. 
 
 " Where am I ?" he asked. " Why, Grady, my good friend, 
 is that you? I've been searching for you for a long time." 
 
 " Don't talk, my boy don't talk. Some of you fellows 
 fetch a cab. Ha ! it was lucky I came along, or these in- 
 telligent gentlemen would have locked you up as a drunken 
 man, and you would have been found dead in your cell to- 
 morrow !" 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " HOL. He drawcth out the thread of his verbosity finer than the 
 staple of his argument. 
 
 " MOTH. They have been at a great feast of languages and stolen 
 the scraps." SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 WE shall now trace the fortuitous circumstances that led 
 Mr. John Grady to discover his friend, Mr. George Bailey, 
 in the hands of the police, ready to be locked up in a cell 
 for the crime of starvation, translated by those sapient and 
 sagacious guardians of society into the word " drunken- 
 ness." What " over-study " or " malaria" is to the stupid 
 physician who fails to diagnose a disease, " drunkenness "
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 73 
 
 is to the ignorant policeman ; it is a handy term to which 
 he can apply everything beyond his comprehension. While 
 Bailey is being tenderly nursed at Grady's home, we shall 
 give an outline of the career of the latter since the two 
 friends had parted at the prison door. 
 
 It will be remembered that Grady tried to explain to Ja- 
 cob Van Hess what manner of man Myron Finch was, and 
 to warn him to beware of the villany of his future son-in- 
 law, but to no purpose. Finch's professions of religion 
 completely blinded Van Hess. Just as soon as the wed- 
 ding between Finch and Grace had taken place, and as the 
 young man was assured of his partnership, he retaliated by 
 demanding the removal of Grady from his salaried position 
 as lecturer for the Temperance Alliance. The removal was 
 accomplished. The weekly temperance paper which Grady 
 edited produced but a very small income, and consequently 
 he had been obliged to wander about from city to city seek- 
 ing more profitable employment. He had purchased a little 
 home in Williamsburgh, which, no matter where he travel- 
 led, was always his head-quarters. Latterly he had "drum- 
 med " the States South and West for a manufacturing firm 
 in Brooklyn. During his periodic returns to his wife (he 
 had no childrenj, and to look after the interests of his news- 
 paper, now almost entirely edited and managed by a print- 
 er, he often hankered for his old business of lecturer. He 
 knew that he was a natural -born orator; but latterly his 
 voice had failed him, and this failure was a sore trouble to 
 him. If his throat could be cured, he might again gain 
 fame and money as a public speaker. 
 
 One morning he saw in a daily paper an advertisement 
 which ran as follows : 
 
 WASHINGTON SCROGGS, M.D., Office Broome Street, by 
 his world-renowned vacuum method cures all congestions, liver 
 complaint, diseases of the throat and lungs, of the kidneys, apoplexy, 
 paralysis, erysipelas, clergyman's sore throat, and all inflammations 
 whatsoever. Oifice hours from 9 to 12 and from 2 to 5 o'clock." 
 
 " Clergyman's sore throat !" thought Grady. " That's my 
 man !" To resolve and to execute were with John Grady
 
 74 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 almost simultaneous actions. He seized his hat, on the im- 
 pulse of the moment, and rushed over to New York, to try 
 the effects of the " world-renowned vacuum cure." 
 
 "Are you the vacuum doctor?" demanded Grady, in a 
 stern, rasping tone, which rather startled the quiet little 
 man of the " receiver and air-pump." 
 
 " I am Doctor Washington Scroggs, sir, the inventor of 
 the world-renowned vacuum treatment, the greatest blessing 
 to the human race, not excepting Harvey's discovery of the 
 circulation of the blood, or Jenner's method of inoculation 
 with vaccine (from vacca, a cow) for the varioloid, vulgarly 
 called the small-pox." 
 
 Words would be inadequate to express the self-satisfied 
 unction with which this exordium had been uttered. Suf- 
 fice it to say that it completely fascinated John Grady ; for 
 John, being an orator, loved learned words of ponderous 
 sound, and, not being a scholar, failed to detect the pedan- 
 try of the little quack. 
 
 " My dear doctor, I have clergyman's sore throat. I have 
 been a lecturer. I am now editor of a paper entitled the 
 Weekly Reformer. I wish to return to a congenial em- 
 ployment. Can you cure me, doctor?" 
 
 The little quack eyed John Grady with his mild, furtive 
 blue eye, while he smiled placidly and said, "Take a seat, 
 sir : may I ask your name ?" 
 
 " John Grady, at your service." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Grady," said the little man, as he gently 
 crossed one little leg over the other, and embraced the up- 
 per limb with both his hands in a manner remarkable for 
 its self-complacency, and with a smile so bland that it would 
 take a poet to find something in heaven to which he could 
 compare it, " Well, Mr. Grady, suppose we explain our sys- 
 tem." To whom else the " we " and the " our " referred no 
 person ever yet has discovered. Perhaps in his own line 
 he was a king of quacks, and therefore entitled to use the 
 plural pronoun. "Let me premise by saying that I have 
 explored all the systems of medicine allopathic, homoeo- 
 pathic, hydropathic, eclectic, and the system by manipula- 
 tion ; this is by rubbing, and kneading, and pinching with
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 75 
 
 the band (manus, a hand). They have all their excellent 
 points, Mr. Grady excellent points, but points only ; and 
 points were defined, when I went to school, as things that 
 have position but no magnitude. These systems, sir, are 
 nothing, nothing but empty wind;" and the little man 
 waved them off with his thin white hand. " These things, 
 these systems just impinge (you know the root, sir), just im- 
 pinge the truth. Each doth only touch it, as doth the tan- 
 gent of a circle at one point. When we diagnose a disease, 
 sir (diagnose from the Greek), that is more than half the 
 battle. We first ascertain the nature of the disease ; sec- 
 ondly, its cause ; and lastly, the proper remedy to remove 
 it" 
 
 John Grady was lost in wonder at the fluency and learn- 
 ing of the quiet little quack, with the thin gray hair and 
 shabby suit of black. He listened in rapt attention to 
 every word he uttered a fact which was not lost by the 
 watchful eye of AVashington Scroggs, M.D. 
 
 " All disease," continued the quack, gently lowering the 
 right limb and lifting up the left with both hands, and 
 giving it its fair share of nursing " all disease. Mr. Grady, 
 is in the blood. Apoplexy (anotner word from the Greek : 
 the Greek, sir, is prolific in scientific terms) apoplexy is 
 caused by an afflux of blood or serum (both Latin, sir), on 
 the brain. What then ? Death or paralysis. The cerebel- 
 lum ceases to perform its proper function ; that is to say, 
 the little brain, which is the seat of movement, doth not, 
 by means of the outcarrying nerves, convey intelligence to 
 the extremities, and the patient is unable to move his limbs. 
 According to the size of the clot, or the amount of serum 
 diffused, the paralysis is partial or complete. The nerve is 
 a telegraphic wire, and when the brain is injured, intelligent 
 communication is cut off. You follow me, Mr. Grady ?" 
 said the little man, with the blaaidest and most complacent 
 of smiles. 
 
 " Follow you ? Doctor, I drink it all in. This is the 
 most cogent reasoning I ever heard. Other doctors feel 
 your pulse, look at your tongue, ask a few questions, look 
 profoundly wise, write a prescription in bad Latin, take
 
 76 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 tlicir fee, and then leave Nature to cure you ; but you, doc- 
 tor, explain everything so that even a child could under- 
 stand you." 
 
 The mild little man, evidently pleased with this recogni- 
 tion of his lucidity, proceeded : 
 
 "All disease, I repeat, is in the circulation. Propel the 
 life-giving, the life-preserving sanguineous fluid in healthy 
 currents (from curro, I run) to the diseased part, and con- 
 gestions are removed. I do not pretend to cure all fevers, 
 as you may have observed, for fevers are of two classes 
 the one caused by congestion, the other by poison. Mala- 
 ria, for example, is a poison, vegetable in its nature, which 
 enters into the circulation, and causes several kinds of fever 
 that my system will not cure. You perceive, sir, that there 
 is nothing of the empiric in me, for I make no claims to in- 
 fallibility. But when the fever is congestive, as in the case 
 of your throat, my remedy is absolutely certain. There are, 
 sir, millions of small, delicate vessels called capillaries (from 
 cfipillus, a hair), as fine as the hairs of your head, scattered 
 throughout the human system. A congestion, a clot, can 
 only be removed by forcing these little vessels, or rather 
 the sanguineous fluid in these little vessels, to ebb and flow 
 like the tides of the mighty ocean. Constantly repeated 
 for great is the power of repetition these minute vessels 
 will fritter away, so to say, the hardest clot, the worst con- 
 gestion. Now, Mr. Grady, your case is one of chronic 
 (from chronos, time) inflammation of the throat. The 
 blood in the capillaries (the root I have already given) 
 is congested, clogged, clotted. You take my meaning? 
 Your disease had its origin in this manner : You had talk- 
 ed long and loud, peradventure in the open air ; the exer- 
 cise inflamed the blood-vessels ; in this condition a stream 
 of cold air struck them ; and as cold contracts everything 
 but water when it turns to ice, this cold contracted or con- 
 gested the blood, and hence your acute inflammation (from 
 flamma, a flame) of the throat. Neglect, or probably bad 
 treatment, converted an acute into a chronic attack, and 
 you have consequently suffered for years. This, Mr. Grady, 
 is, I trust, a correct diagnosis of your disease."
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 77 
 
 " Most assuredly it is, doctor. You could not have de- 
 scribed it better had my case been your own." 
 
 " The cause and the disease I have explained to your sat- 
 isfaction, and now we must seek the cure. When I was a 
 boy, the old women no bad physicians, some of them 
 used mustard, blisters, cupping, poultices, and blood-letting ; 
 and leeching was also a favorite remedy. These things 
 were in the right direction, like the astrology which pre- 
 ceded the science of astronomy, but ineffectual and partial 
 in their results. The old women aforesaid were wiser than 
 they knew. The regular faculty of medicine (the most con- 
 servative men in the world, by-the-way) called it counter- 
 irritation. They desired to draw the blood from the con- 
 gested part ; but their plasters, and blisters, and blood-let- 
 ting were usually ineffective, because the work was only 
 half done; because the means employed were necessarily 
 insufficient and imperfect. The desideratum was to dis- 
 cover, or rather invent, a plan which would be gentle, con- 
 stant, and harmonious, and which would not exhaust by 
 depletion nor endanger by cold. This desideratum I have 
 invented." 
 
 The gentle, complacent expression on the face of Wash- 
 ington Scroggs was a beautiful thing to behold. The be- 
 nevolent little quack perceived that his fish was securely 
 hooked, and so he thought he might as well play with him 
 for a little while before he landed him in his bag. 
 
 " You are aware, Mr. Grady, for I perceive you are your- 
 self a scholar, that air presses on the human body in every 
 direction at the rate of fifteen pounds to the square inch." 
 
 " Then there must be four hundred and sixty pounds of 
 air pressing on my hand this minute !" said Grady, with an 
 expression of amazement on his strongly-marked features. 
 
 " Yes," said the little philanthropist, with his customary 
 smile, " but the same number of pounds is pressing on the 
 other side of your hand, the one balancing the other ; oth- 
 erwise, sir, the weight of air would crush us. You can 
 readily imagine that if the air under the cranium did not 
 press upward with the same force that it presses down- 
 ward, the superincumbent (Latin, incumbo and super)
 
 78 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 weight would crush us. Why, sir," continued the little 
 quack, with all a teacher's loquacity who has found an at- 
 tentive scholar who will pay him the honor of listening 
 " why, sir, the air, to a certain appreciable extent, pene- 
 trates through these brick walls, lath, plaster, and all." 
 
 The observant little quack did not fail to note the effect 
 of this last statement on Mr. Grady, and running his white, 
 thin fingers through his white, thin hair, he continued: 
 
 " These philosophic truths I taught many years ago, Mr. 
 Grady, in my high-school of Vermont. I had been an un- 
 remitting student of science and nature in those days, and, 
 although I lost my position as a teacher, owing to the 
 treachery of a young man whom I instructed with great 
 care, yet the knowledge was of paramount importance in 
 the study of therapeutics (that is, the science of cure). By- 
 the-way, let me say, in passing, that I received a prize of 
 one thousand francs from the Academy of France for my 
 essay on counter-irritants. But to the point, Mr. Grady. 
 The air, as I have just enunciated, presses on all sides at 
 the rate of fifteen pounds to the square inch. You may 
 remember, at some period of your life, applying mustard to 
 relieve a pain in some part of the body. Well, sir, the heat 
 causes an expansion of the air; the blood in the little capil- 
 laries is pressed by the air within endeavoring to force its 
 way to the surface, to fill the vacuum caused by the ex- 
 pansion. This rush of blood to the surface relieves the 
 congestion which occasioned the pain. Mustard -plasters 
 and cupping were great remedies some fifteen years ago in 
 my native State; and having a great taste for the study of 
 medicine, I inquired into the causes of cure, for to a certain 
 extent cures were effected. The noble profession of Galen 
 and Hippocrates had charms for me ; and, therefore, hav- 
 ing excellent opportunities, I pursued carefully my botanical 
 studies, oftentimes accompanied by my favorite pupil, My- 
 ron Finch " 
 
 "Who? Myron Finch, did you say? Myron Finch, from 
 Vermont?" interrupted Grady, in a tone of great surprise. 
 
 "Yes; Myron Finch, from Vermont. Do you know 
 him ?"
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 79 
 
 " Ilad he weak, pale eyes, that looked washed out, a flab- 
 by, pale face, and thin, pale hair?" 
 
 "The youth of whom I speak," replied Scroggs, "had 
 very light eyes and hair, and a pale, fleshy face. He was 
 silent and reserved, and as bad a young man as ever lived 
 since the days of Cain." 
 
 " It is the same. There cannot be two men in the whole 
 universe who could answer that description," said Grady, 
 " and be so abominably wicked at the same time." 
 
 "You seem to be acquainted with the youth; but I 
 trust you have no dealings or intercourse of any sort with 
 him. If you have any, cease at once, for he is a consum- 
 mate liar and hypocrite, and capable of perpetrating any 
 crime. But to return : One day, while ruminating in the 
 woods, a thought flashed through my mind like inspiration. 
 Could I but make the body blush all over; could I drive 
 this blood back from the surface, and could I force it in 
 and out at pleasure, I would make the greatest discovery 
 that mortal man ever made. To make a long story short, 
 I invented that instrument " (pointing to an air-tight wood- 
 en vessel, curiously constructed). " If you will go into it, I 
 shall cover you all over, except your mouth, nose, and eyes, 
 with India-rubber. I shall then exhaust the air by means 
 of that powerful air-pump. I can withdraw from the sur- 
 face of your body one hundred, five hundred, or fifteen hun- 
 dred pounds of air. The air within rushes out to fill the 
 vacuum, and, in doing so, propels the blood before it until 
 it reaches the surface, which then blushes all over. The air 
 is allowed to rush back again, and thus the blood is pro- 
 pelled (pello, I drive) backward and forward until the attri- 
 tion removes the clot, or congestion. You comprehend me, 
 sir ?" 
 
 "Certainly, certainly, doctor," replied Grady, who had 
 been a somewhat inattentive listener ever since the name 
 of Myron Finch had been mentioned. But he saw that it 
 was useless to try to stop the mild old man when once he 
 was mounted on his hobby. Scroggs had formerly taught 
 etymology in the high-school, and the habit which he had 
 contracted of giving the roots of words to his pupils he
 
 80 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 could never abandon. His pedantry was simply prodigious. 
 lie -was fond of teaching his patients; and, until he intro- 
 duced the name of Finch, Grady was a splendid subject on 
 which to practise his art of teaching. 
 
 "Certainly, I comprehend you, doctor. But what about 
 Myron Finch, your former pupil ?" 
 
 "Let us eschew him for the present. When we shall 
 have finished our business, I shall tell you all about Myron 
 Finch." 
 
 The little quack, though a great " benefactor " to the 
 race in point of fact, a "philanthropist" of the highest 
 order had to eat, drink, and be housed like ordinary mor- 
 tals; and hence he had his mild blue eye fixed on his fee 
 of four dollars. He had a curious peculiarity of having 
 folded up, in small neat squares about an inch in size, sev- 
 eral one-dollar bills, and placed carefully in his vest pocket, 
 so that when the patient handed him a five-dollar bill (four 
 being the first retainer), the single bill was all ready to be 
 handed back as change. 
 
 " Mr. Grady, take off your coat and vest, step into the 
 ' receiver,' and see if it does not diagnose your disease with 
 unerring accuracy." 
 
 Grady did as he was told, stepped in, and was encased 
 except his eyes, mouth, and nose, in India-rubber. He sat, 
 for all the world, like a cowled monk of the Middle Ages. 
 The little quack placed one leg over the other, which was his 
 favorite attitude, smiled most blandly, and pumped out one 
 hundred pounds of air, which was marked off on a graduated 
 scale with a clock-shaped face, attached to the " receiver." 
 
 " Do you feel any pain ?" asked the quack. 
 
 " No, sir ; none in the least," replied Grady. 
 
 The quack then turned off two hundred pounds of air, 
 and asked, 
 
 " Do you feel any pain now ?" 
 
 " Yes, doctor ; I feel a slight crawling sensation in the 
 lower part of my throat." 
 
 " Ah ! very good," said the little man, with his customary 
 benignant smile ; " the instrument begins to locate the ex- 
 act position of your disease."
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 81 
 
 He then turned off two hundred and fifty pounds of air, 
 and said, 
 
 " How now, Mr. Grady ?" 
 
 " The crawling sensation is increasing." 
 
 " Very well, very well, sir ; let us see if you can bear three 
 hundred pounds. How do you feel now ?" 
 
 " I think, doctor, that that's about as much as I can 
 stand." 
 
 " Very good. We shall now go back to two fifty. Do 
 you feel it now, Mr. Grady ?" 
 
 " Scarcely." 
 
 " All right. How now ? This is three hundred." 
 
 " Just a little crawling," replied Grady, " but not as much 
 as before." 
 
 " Now we shall try three fifty and four hundred. How 
 do you feel? can you stand any more? You can? Here 
 is five hundred. How does that affect you ?" 
 
 " I can bear it, doctor." 
 
 Thus backward and forward, from two fifty to five hun- 
 dred, the little quack pumped the air out and allowed it to 
 rush in again for about half an hour, all the time smiling 
 and chatting with the air of a man performing a most meri- 
 torious action. 
 
 As Grady stepped out of the " receiver," his first words 
 were, " Doctor, what is your charge ?" 
 
 " Only four dollars for the first operation. My usual 
 charge is forty dollars for twelve operations ; and if any 
 more are necessary, which is not often the case, the charge 
 is reduced." 
 
 Grady promptly handed the mild philanthropist his fee, 
 and then took his seat to listen to all he could learn of the 
 antecedents of Myron Finch. 
 
 Washington Scroggs, M.D., feeling in the best possible 
 humor, took a seat opposite Grady, lifted the right leg with 
 both hands and gently laid it over the left a position with- 
 out which it would have been impossible for him to expa- 
 tiate on the wonders of his system, or to narrate even the 
 youthful history of Mr. Myron Finch and taking out an 
 antiquated snuffbox, and first offering Mr. Grady a pinch, 
 
 G
 
 82 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 which that gentleman politely declined, filled both nostrils 
 with the pungent powder, as a sort of awakener of his re- 
 tentive faculties, and thus began the story which John Gra- 
 dy was so anxious to hear : 
 
 " About fifteen years ago I was a quiet, industrious teach- 
 er of a high-school in the State of Vermont. I was addict- 
 ed to scientific studies, particularly to botany, mineralogy, 
 and geology ; and during the pleasant afternoons of the 
 summer and autumn it was my custom and pleasure to se- 
 lect certain of my pupils remarkable for docility and intel- 
 ligence to accompany me in my researches. Among these, 
 the most docile, the most orderly, the most apprehensive, 
 was my favorite scholar, Myron Finch. The lad was about 
 nineteen, fair to look at, and with an intellect clever beyond 
 his years. He was the son of a well-to-do farmer, and was 
 completing his education under my careful supervision, for 
 the purpose of engaging in the teacher's profession. To 
 me he appeared extremely grateful and deferential quali- 
 ties which, combined with his unquestioned natural abilities, 
 commended him to my favor." 
 
 Scroggs always endeavored, except when working at his 
 machine, to " talk like a book," and never failed to inter- 
 lard his conversation with the Latin and Greek roots of 
 the big words which he was in the habit of using. These 
 roots we take the liberty of suppressing, for doubtless they 
 would be as annoying to the reader as they were to honest 
 John Grajly. 
 
 " The school board," continued Scroggs, " was composed 
 of the clergyman, the physician, and the lawyer of the town. 
 I use the definite article ' the,' Mr. Grady, not because there 
 were not other clergymen, physicians, and lawyers, but be- 
 cause these three were the orthodox Presbyterian gentle- 
 men whose congregation, patients, and clients constituted 
 more than seventy-five per centum of the population. This 
 was a period when the writings of certain scientists of Eu- 
 rope began to make a deep impression on many ardent and 
 enthusiastic minds ; and not a few of the scholarly youths 
 of the town, whom I had trained to a love of Nature and 
 her operations, gave expression to opinions, especially in
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 83 
 
 regard to the science of geology, -which were considered by 
 the elderly conservative people at war with revealed relig- 
 ion. Myron Finch was a reticent lad, kept his own counsel, 
 and attended the Presbyterian church most regularly, in 
 which he taught a Sunday-school class. Shortly it came to 
 pass that there were whisperings regarding my orthodoxy 
 whisperings that my unconscious'teaching was in the direc- 
 tion of the advanced thinkers, and that I was a propagand- 
 ist of dangerous heresies. In truth, I was made responsible 
 for all the infidelity and indifference to religion of which 
 the orthodox complained. It is true, I was a nominal Chris- 
 tian, was regular enough at church, and had never wittingly 
 uttered one syllable not in accordance with Divine revela- 
 tion. Of course I was the last man in the town to hear a 
 whisper concerning my own wickedness. In this connec- 
 tion, bear in mind, Mr. Grady, that Finch was a capital pen- 
 man, and excelled in drawing. He could imitate my sig- 
 nature with ease, and so thoroughly that an expert would 
 fail to detect the forgery." 
 
 "What! imitate your signature with ease?" 
 
 " Yes, perfectly, Mr. Grady." 
 
 " Poor Bailey ! poor Bailey !" exclaimed Grady, in a tone 
 of deep pity. " But go on." 
 
 " Many a time, for mere amusement, he had signed my 
 name to passes granting permission for some of the schol- 
 ars to leave school before the hour of dismission. One Sat- 
 urday morning there appeared in the little weekly journal 
 of the county an article entitled, ' The Efficacy of Prayer,' 
 said by the editor to be written by one of the ablest men 
 in town. Certain words and phrases, certain turns of ex- 
 pression for every scholar has his own peculiarities and 
 certain scientific terms, which I was known to use quite fre- 
 quently, clearly indicated that I, and not another, was the 
 writer of the article in question. It was a most laughable 
 imitation of my style ; in fact, I laughed at it myself as a 
 good joke. But, on a closer inspection and perusal, I per- 
 ceived that it might damage me exceedingly ; for the arti- 
 cle turned out to be an attack on religion. When the 
 clerical member of the board of trustees afterward taxed
 
 84 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 me with being the writer, of course I stoutly denied the 
 authorship, and volunteered to go with him to the office of 
 the paper and prove, by the handwriting of the manuscript, 
 that I had nothing to do with it. Accompanied by the 
 other two trustees, we called upon the editor ; but, though 
 the manuscript had been destroyed, the little note giving 
 the real name of the author was preserved. What was my 
 astonishment to find the name of Washington Scroggs ap- 
 pended to this note ! The forgery was so perfect that all 
 three trustees looked at me in amazement at my audacious 
 falsehood. I was horror-stricken. There was but one man 
 living who had the ability to thoroughly imitate my words, 
 my turns of expression, and my chirography, and that man 
 was Myron Finch. I immediately charged him with the 
 forgery ; but, with a refinement of subtle hypocrisy remark- 
 able in one of his tender years, he simply smiled a denial, 
 and said it was a hallucination of his good old teacher. 
 The villain even condoled with me, and expressed his sin- 
 cere regrets at my misfortune. He even went so far as to 
 say, in my presence, that, like Paul, ' too much learning had 
 made me mad !' 
 
 " But why dwell upon this rascality ? I was removed ; 
 Finch was appointed to my place." 
 
 " Good God !" ejaculated Grady, " the forgery that sent 
 my friend Bailey to prison for ten years was but a worse 
 repetition of his treatment of you." 
 
 "I am not astonished," said the placid little quack, "to 
 hear that the villany which he practised on me he repeated, 
 on a larger scale, on another. But the clergyman, who was 
 mainly instrumental in my removal, and in promoting this 
 pious youth, paid a very dear price for his zeal in the cause 
 of true religion. The minister had a niece, his companion 
 and house-keeper (for he had no family of his own), who 
 was the very apple of his eye. She was his only sister's 
 child, and an orphan. Finch became an inmate of the 
 pastor's house, a teacher of the high-school, as I have said, 
 superintendent of the Sunday-school, and a very paragon 
 of piety. Under a promise of marriage he ruined this 
 niece, and fled to New York. She followed him, partly
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 85 
 
 in the hope of making him fulfil his promise, and partly 
 to hide her shame in a great city. Her uncle, the minister, 
 died a few months afterward of a broken heart. So now 
 you know the early history of Myron Finch." 
 Grady thanked Scroggs, and took his departure. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " She is of so free, so kind, so apt, so blessed a disposition, she holds 
 it a vice, in her goodness, not to do more than she is requested." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 WILLIAM WILDE, the banker, whose evidence helped to 
 consign Bailey to State - prison, had always been of the 
 opinion that the whole trial had been, in some inexplicable 
 way, a miscarriage of justice. He had spoken of it at the 
 time ; and his conversation concerning it had made a deep 
 impression on the minds of his two children, Walter and 
 p]dith. So much was this the case, that, two years after 
 the conviction of George Bailey, Edith Wilde had been 
 instrumental, through the influence of her father and sev- 
 eral of her wealthy relatives, in procuring for Mrs. Bailey 
 the position of matron of a half-orphan asylum, for which 
 she was admirably fitted by education and high moral and 
 religious feeling. 
 
 
 
 As Edith advanced in years she became the secretary of 
 the board of managers, and in this capacity spent many 
 hours with the sad and stately matron, between whom and 
 herself one of those singular but permanent friendships 
 arose, somewhat unusual between two persons so dissimilar 
 in age, in social position, and in all the circumstances of 
 life. Each knew instinctively that the other was good; 
 and this goodness was a sort of free-masonry that bound 
 them together. It gladdened the heart of the lonely and 
 stricken mother to see this bright, witty, clever girl, with 
 her clear, pale, healthy face, and large, frank, wide-open, 
 gray eye, come gracefully and affectionately to her private 
 room in the asylum to have a "private chat." And the 
 motherless girl loved Mrs. Bailey as though she were in
 
 86 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 reality her mother. Many and many a time the old lady 
 spoke of her darling George how brave, how strong, how 
 good, how tender he was until the tears would trickle 
 down Edith "Wilde's cheeks in sympathy for the lonely, be- 
 reaved woman. She was never tired talking of her son. 
 The young girl would kiss and soothe the matron, and tell 
 her that she Vould be to her a daughter. In every way 
 possible Edith made Mrs. Bailey's home in the asylum com- 
 fortable. Not a week passed that she did not visit her once 
 or twice, and these visits were to her a source of sweet 
 consolation. 
 
 But Mrs. Bailey was broken in health. At no period of 
 her life had she been a strong woman, and the death of 
 her husband, followed so soon by the terrible misfortune 
 of her son, hastened the consumption which was hereditary 
 in her family. During the last three or four years of her 
 life she could hear no account of George, for, as already 
 stated, her letters to him were intercepted and destroyed. 
 Shortly after her appointment as matron John Grady 
 ceased to call upon her, for the very good reason that he 
 had left the city, owing to the machinations of Myron 
 Finch. 
 
 Mrs. Bailey grew weaker and weaker day by day, until 
 at last she was confined to her room, unable to attend to 
 her duties ; and every day Edith Wilde called, and spent 
 two or three hours with the invalid, either in arranging the 
 duties of the subordinates of the asylum, or conversing and 
 reading aloud to amuse and comfort her. 
 
 " How do you feel to-day, Mrs. Bailey ? Is your cough 
 easier? Let me just raise that pillow a little so : now you 
 feel more comfortable," were the words with which Edith 
 accosted the sick lady. 
 
 " Yes, darling, I am easier to-day. The cough is leaving 
 me and my feet are swelling. I know what that means; 
 but God's will be done. You have been such a comfort to 
 me, Edith ! It seems it seems as if He " (raising her 
 eyes to heaven) "had sent you to be to me a daughter, 
 when for some inscrutable purpose he allowed my son to 
 be torn from me."
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 87 
 
 " Don't talk, dear Mrs. Bailey ; you will only tire and 
 distress yourself ;" and the sweet girl pressed her beautiful 
 lips against the pale, wan forehead of her friend. "I will 
 read this charming book, and you can fall asleep as I 
 read." 
 
 "No, no, my pet; I must talk to you to-day, for the end 
 is approaching. I shall never see my son my good, no- 
 ble son, who has suffered so much unjustly. Oh ! if I 
 could but see him ; if I could but press his hand once 
 only once; if I could but give him one parting kiss with 
 my blessing oh ! if I could, I would die happy. But it 
 cannot, cannot be;" and the poor lady wrung her thin 
 hands in an agony indescribable. 
 
 " Mrs. Bailey dear, dear Mrs. Bailey please don't dis- 
 tress yourself ;" and Edith took the worn hand in both of 
 hers and stroked it soothingly. 
 
 " God's will be done ! But, Edith, remember this my 
 son will be proved innocent before the world. I know it. 
 With the shadow of death before me, I know it, I feel it ; 
 and this, too, is a great comfort." 
 
 " To be sure he will ; the wicked cannot always go un- 
 punished. Let me lift up your head a little, Mrs. Bailey ; 
 it is too low, and interferes with your breathing." 
 
 Edith Wilde read not the charming book which she 
 had brought but, at Mrs. Bailey's request, that portion of 
 the Gospel of St. John which described the sufferings and 
 death of the Saviour. Edith had a low, sweet, penetrating 
 voice, perfectly musical and soothing in its cadences ; and 
 the grand event which atoned for the sins of the world was 
 read with a dramatic pathos that went to the heart of the 
 sick lady. 
 
 "And so his mother saw him die on the cross! Alas! 
 her grief was greater than mine, for she had greater rea- 
 son." This was slowly and musingly spoken by Mrs. Bai- 
 ley, but more in the tone of soliloquy than of conversation. 
 "My darling child," continued Mrs. Bailey, turning toward 
 Miss Wilde, " all my clothes, papers, all George's things 
 in a word, all our little family plate and trinkets are in 
 those two trunks. Might I leave them in your charge ? for
 
 88 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 sooner or later he will come to inquire for me, and be will 
 come to you." 
 
 "Certainly; I will take charge of them with pleasure." 
 "And, my precious darling, if you find my George hard- 
 ened and vindictive, owing to his wrongs and his suffer- 
 ings, will you, for my sake, try No, no this is too 
 much!" 
 
 But the true friend bent over the dying woman, and 
 said, "Say no more; I understand you. I will be a sis- 
 ter to your son ;" and, as if to seal the pledge, she bent 
 down and kissed her cheek. 
 
 "May God reward you, my blessed darling!" 
 
 ****** 
 
 Two days after the conversation just recorded Mrs. Bai- 
 ley died in the arms of her young friend. This event oc- 
 curred about three years before George Bailey was released 
 from prison. 
 
 On the death of the matron, Edith "Wilde continued to 
 take a deep interest in the asylum. Being the only daugh- 
 ter of a very wealthy banker, she had the means of adding 
 to the comforts of the orphans, and also the time at her 
 disposal to personally see that the children were kindly 
 treated, and provided with everything which the board of 
 managers had allowed them. For the past three years 
 Edith had been constant in her attendance, and had de- 
 voted her time to the reorganization of the school. 
 
 Mr. William Wilde had received a very superior educa- 
 tion. He had been a distinguished graduate of the uni- 
 versity ; and he had been in doubt, for some months after 
 his graduation, whether he would pursue the profession of 
 law or medicine, or enter the banking-house of which his 
 maternal uncle was then the head. After mature delibera- 
 tion he had resolved to be a merchant and banker. His 
 talents and acquirements were such that he would have 
 succeeded in any calling ; and bending the energies of his 
 trained faculties to business, a few years had placed him at 
 the head of the banking-house in New York. The house 
 had had argosies on every sea ; and their mercantile and 
 banking affairs had extended over most of the civilized
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 89 
 
 countries of the Old and the New World. And yet, notwith- 
 standing the pressure of the enormous business which he 
 had to direct and control, Mr. Wilde had found time to re- 
 view the studies of his youth, and to keep himself abreast 
 of the current literature of the period. He was passionate- 
 ly fond of good poetry, and the " Lake Poets " were his es- 
 pecial favorites. To this splendid education were joined a 
 sound common-sense and a native craft (in its best sense) 
 which gave to his varied attainments a pungency and crisp- 
 ness that made him a delightful companion in every socie- 
 ty, lie was truly pious, without ostentation or bigotry, and 
 really deserved the character which had been accorded to 
 him by all who knew him, of a kind, Christian gentleman. 
 He had always been fearless in the discharge of every duty, 
 and as long as he satisfied the promptings of his own con- 
 science he cared little for the opinion of the world. He 
 had been a widower since Edith was ten and Walter eight 
 years of age. The value of a good education had been so 
 thoroughly appreciated by himself that he took special care 
 of the education of his two children. Walter had gradu- 
 ated with high honor from Columbia College, and had been 
 for the past year managing a branch house in California. 
 Edith had been instructed by the best governesses, native 
 and foreign. She was a fine Latin and French scholar, and 
 knew a great deal more of mathematics and the natural sci- 
 ences than ladies know in general. Her father had taken 
 care to cultivate, from her earliest years, a love of literature 
 and history. In Mr. Wilde's old age Edith was not only 
 his beloved daughter but his friend and companion. 
 
 After dinner one day Mr. Wilde and Edith were sitting 
 alone in the library, she working with worsted, and he read- 
 ing his favorite Wordsworth. With his clear eye and clear 
 complexion, and flowing, snowy beard, he was certainly a 
 handsome old gentleman ; for vice had not left a single bad 
 line on his face, and exercise of mind and body had pre- 
 served that wholesomeness of countenance and elasticity of 
 frame so beautiful to behold in those who have reached the 
 allotted threescore and ten. Edith was rather below the 
 medium height, delicately and beautifully formed, with a
 
 90 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 clear, pale, patrician face, and large, wide-open gray eyes, in- 
 dicative of the highest order of intelligence. But there was 
 a nameless grace and charm in her whole person, which can 
 only be accounted for by the pure and lofty soul that dwelt 
 within a faultless body. 
 
 Mr. Wilde, raising his eyes from his book and looking 
 over his glasses, said, 
 
 "Edith, do you know that this is your twenty -third 
 birthday ?" 
 
 " Yes, father, of course I do." 
 
 " What would my Edith like for a birthday present ?" 
 and Mr. Wilde took out of his pocket a little velvet box 
 and held it out before her eyes, as he said, "Guess what 
 is in it." 
 
 " I cannot guess how could I ?" and there was the slight- 
 est possible shade of disappointment in her tone, which her 
 father's quick perception failed not to observe. 
 
 " Then you wanted something else. I might have known 
 that you cared very little about jewellery," remarked Mr. 
 Wilde, in a tone even of greater disappointment than that 
 of Edith. 
 
 But Edith arose, kissed her father's forehead, and said, 
 " Forgive me ! I am afraid I am growing selfish. I fear 
 you have spoiled me with too much kindness." 
 
 "Hush, little one! I have nothing to forgive. I am 
 only disappointed that I have failed to divine your taste or 
 your wishes. But last Saturday I saw you admire this dia- 
 mond star ; and, as you are fond of wearing black, it struck 
 me that it would look well on you. I perceive, however, 
 that I have no taste in matters of this kind." 
 
 " You have excellent taste. The pin is a perfect beauty, 
 and I do admire it very much; but but " 
 
 " But what ?" interrupted Mr. Wilde. 
 
 " Nothing worth mentioning," replied Edith, with a sigh. 
 
 " Come, little one, you must tell me what has caused your 
 disappointment." 
 
 " Well, if I must, I must. I was going to ask you for two 
 hundred and fifty dollars just think of it ! and I suppose 
 you have paid four times that sum for this beautiful star."
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 91 
 
 " Oh ! is that all ' Why, you shall have it, and twice as 
 much more if you need it." 
 
 "But you don't know what I am going to do with it." 
 
 " Nor do I wish to know. Do with it as you please." 
 
 Edith then told him that she had set her heart upon 
 giving the orphans a Thanksgiving dinner, with plum-pud- 
 ding and fruit. " The poor little things only receive the reg- 
 ulation-fare, and a change will delight their little hearts." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Wilde, " and destroy their little stomachs. 
 But, Edith, seriously, you spend a great deal of time in that 
 orphan asylum. I can understand your doing good, acting 
 as secretary, and all that, but you actually do the work of a 
 paid teacher. I am not finding fault ; but I don't want you 
 to grow into an ancient spinster, my dear." This was spoken 
 at least the latter part of it in a bantering tone. 
 
 " My dear father, ever since the death of Mrs. Bailey I 
 have continued to take a profound interest in the orphans ; 
 and you know I am a half-orphan myself. This lady, next 
 to my mother, was the best woman I have ever known. 
 She was so gentle, so patient, so kind to the children, even 
 to the erring and wayward, that she often appeared to me 
 like an incarnate saint." 
 
 " Ah ! she was the mother of the young man who was 
 sent to State-prison over ten years ago. He ought to be 
 free by this time, poor fellow ! I believe in my heart that 
 he never committed that forgery. He was the victim of 
 some vile conspiracy." 
 
 " I have no doubt of it, father. His mother told me the 
 story over and over again ; she informed me upon every 
 point of his character. He was frank, fearless, and open as 
 the day. No, no ; the son of such a mother never commit- 
 ted an act of forgery." 
 
 " Here, little one, is your check for two hundred and fifty 
 dollars, and here is your diamond star. Let us change the 
 subject. Suppose you read aloud for me for half an hour, 
 before we retire for the night." 
 
 Edith had just taken the book when the servant handed 
 Mr. Wilde the card of " John Grady, Editor and Proprietor 
 of the Weekly Reformer."
 
 92 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 " Show the gentleman into the library. Edith, you need 
 not leave. It is some applicant for money, and I can dis- 
 pose of him in a short time ; and then we can go on with 
 our reading. What arc you waiting for ?" said Mr. Wilde, 
 turning to the colored waiter. 
 
 " There are two of them, sir." 
 
 " Show them both in. Edith, keep your seat. I shall 
 soon get rid of them. I want to hear you read ; for, for 
 some reason, the poetry is always better when you read 
 aloud." 
 
 George Bailey and John Grady walked into Mr. Wilde's 
 library. Owing to the kindly care of Grady, Bailey had 
 completely recovered from the fever consequent upon his 
 privations and sufferings during his protracted and vain at- 
 tempts to obtain employment without the necessary " city 
 reference." All traces of his recent struggle had disap- 
 peared. He was now attired in a decent suit of black, which 
 showed to advantage the pallor of his complexion. In dress, 
 in bearing, in manner he had the air of a quiet, dignified 
 gentleman. Bailey's face wore the indescribable expression 
 of a man who had sutfered a great wrong. The chief in- 
 gredient of this expression was sadness ; and yet, with this 
 sadness, there was a subdued fierceness in his eye and a set 
 determination in his lips, which indicated an immutable pur- 
 pose that nothing but death could destroy. His face was 
 difficult to read, because his purposes and his passions were 
 under complete control. 
 
 " Be seated, gentlemen," said Mr. Wilde. " Mr. Grady, 
 what can I do for you this evening? To what do I owe 
 the honor of this visit?" 
 
 "Mr. Wilde," replied Grady, "allow me to introduce to 
 you my friend, Mr. George Bailey." 
 
 At the mention of Bailey's name both father and daugh- 
 ter gave a slight start of astonishment, but Mr. Wilde re- 
 covered himself in a moment and shook the returned con- 
 vict cordially by the hand. " Edith, this is Mr. Bailey, of 
 whom we were just speaking; Mr. Bailev, this is my daugh- 
 ter, Miss Wilde." 
 
 Edith also extended her hand cordially to the returned
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 93 
 
 convict, and said she was glad to see him well. There was 
 a shade of disappointment in her face as she sought in vain 
 for some resemblance to his mother, whom she had so truly 
 loved and so sadly mourned. But in the dark, pale coun- 
 tenance, strongly marked, and in the iron-gray hair gray 
 not with age, but with thought and suffering she failed 
 to trace a single feature of the fair and fragile lady whom 
 she had known and cared for as the matron of the orphan 
 asylum. 
 
 " Mr. Wilde," said Bailey, resuming his chair, " I have 
 called to thank you and your daughter for the great kind- 
 ness which you showed to my poor mother after my my 
 conviction. Only for the cruelty of my jailers, I should 
 have learned long ago how well you had provided for her ; 
 and this knowledge would have spared me many a sad hour 
 in my solitary confinement." 
 
 " We deserve no thanks, Mr. Bailey," said Mr. Wilde, 
 " for we did but our duty by a good woman, undeservedly 
 punished. Even had you been guilty, which we did not be- 
 lieve, we should have treated your mother as we did. How- 
 ever, if there is credit for the act, my daughter is entitled 
 to it: I am not. You remember I was a witness a most 
 unwilling one against you, for I always believed you the 
 victim of a conspiracy " 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Wilde, for those words," interrupted 
 Bailey. 
 
 "And in telling your sad fate at the dinner-table, I aroused 
 the sympathy of my little daughter, who never rested un- 
 til, with the aid of some of our influential friends and rel- 
 atives, she had your mother installed in a good position, 
 which placed her beyond the reach of want Miss Wilde 
 learned to love your mother very dearly for her own sake." 
 
 All the subdued fierceness forsook Bailey's eyes, and an 
 expression of exquisite gratitude and tenderness shone in 
 its stead, as he looked the thanks to the beautiful girl, that 
 he could not utter. The firm expression fell away from the 
 lips that trembled with emotion. 
 
 " Mr. Bailey," said Edith, with the view of saving him 
 from embarrassment, "it is a most singular coincidence
 
 94 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 that my father and I were talking of your mother at the 
 very moment of your arrival at the door. As my father 
 has just told you, I was your mother's very dear friend. 
 I was with her at the time of her death ; and she left her 
 effects, papers, etc., in my charge for you whenever you 
 could be found. She charged me to give you her blessing, 
 and to warn you not to forget your God in your misery. 
 She died with your name on her lips." 
 
 In spite of all Bailey's efforts the tears welled up in his 
 eyes, and he was obliged to turn his head in order to hide 
 them. 
 
 Miss Wilde, perceiving Bailey's emotion, and not wishing 
 to witness the tears of a strong man, hastily arose and said, 
 
 " I shall go to my room and bring you the small writing- 
 desk containing the papers, pictures, and trinkets which 
 Mrs. Bailey left in my charge. The large trunk containing 
 her other effects can be sent to your home." 
 
 On the way up to her room Edith soliloquized as fol- 
 lows : " Mrs. Bailey was right in loving such a son. At the 
 very mention of his mother's name all that strange, sub- 
 dued fierceness left his eyes, and they became as soft and 
 tender as a woman's. The idea of a man of that stamp be- 
 coming a poor, paltry forger ! The Van Hesses, father and 
 daughter, were both idiots ; the one blinded by a narrow 
 bigotry, and the other by a selfish worldliness." Edith was 
 as clear-headed as her father, and possessed all his keen 
 insight into human character. 
 
 She handed Bailey the writing-desk, which he received 
 with the simple words, " Thank you." His eyes, however, 
 spoke volumes, which Edith failed not to read perfectly. 
 
 Honest John Grady had sat a silent spectator, until a 
 general silence afforded him the opportunity for which lie 
 had been patiently waiting. 
 
 " Mr. Wilde," said Grady, " my friend here can find no 
 employment for want of a city reference : nobody will cm- 
 ploy a returned convict. Can't you, Mr. Wilde, do some- 
 thing to give him a start ?" 
 
 " Hush, hush, Mr. Grady !" interrupted Bailey ; " I would 
 not for the world desecrate this hour by begging employ-
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 95 
 
 mcnt. Indeed, sir, I did not come here to embarrass you 
 by asking work ; I came simply for news of my poor moth- 
 er, and to thank her benefactors." 
 
 " But Mr. Grady is right," interposed Edith ; " Mr. Bai- 
 ley must not be permitted to starve. lie was wrongfully 
 convicted, father, as you well know. He has suffered un- 
 justly for ten years ; and now, for his mother's sake, I ask 
 you, father, as a favor to me, to procure him employment 
 of some sort." 
 
 "Edith, my dear, I am afraid that you do not under- 
 stand business. The only way in which I could find em- 
 ployment for Mr. Bailey is to employ him in our banking- 
 house and I have partners. Mr. Bailey " (turning from 
 Edith to that gentleman), " you perceive my difficulty ?" 
 
 " Indeed, Mr. Wilde, I do perceive your difficulty ; and I 
 regret exceedingly that my good, kind friend mentioned 
 the matter. It really pains me." 
 
 " Mr. Bailey and Mr. Wilde," said Edith, looking with 
 mock severity from one to the other, " I give you fair 
 warning that this is my affair and Mr. Grady's. I made 
 a promise to Mrs. Bailey on her dying bed no matter 
 what. Now, father, I do insist that you explain the matter 
 to your junior partners, and give Mr. Bailey a position. I 
 will be bail for his honesty." The last sentence was spoken 
 with a smile which would have charmed the worst misan- 
 thrope that ever breathed. Its effect on poor Bailey may 
 be imagined. 
 
 " Miss Wilde," said Bailey, " I do protest. I would 
 rather die than have the appearance of seeking employment 
 in this manner." 
 
 " Well, well," said Mr. Wilde, " my daughter is right, as 
 she usually is always is on every moral question. Mr. Bai- 
 ley, you were an innocent man, unjustly convicted and pun- 
 ished, partly and unwittingly on my evidence. As I was 
 unwillingly an instrument in the miscarriage of justice, I 
 shall be a willing instrument in aiding your restoration to 
 yonr former position. Come to the bank to-morrow morn- 
 ing, and I shall start you, at first in a humble place, from 
 which you must work up by means of your own talents."
 
 96 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 " I assure you, sir," said Bailey, " that I had not the most 
 remote idea, when I came here, of asking for employment ; 
 but I thank you and Miss Wilde from the bottom of my 
 heart." 
 
 " All right, Bailey," interrupted Grady ; " Miss Wilde 
 and I have done the business ; that is, I blew the bellows 
 and she played the music." 
 
 " One word before we leave," said Bailey : " Mr. Wilde 
 Miss Wilde, do you thoroughly believe in my innocence ? 
 lias either of you the shadow of a doubt?" 
 
 "Mr. Bailey," said Edith, hastily, "you ought not to ask 
 such a question. Do you think that I would recommend 
 or my father employ you, if we had the shadow of a sus- 
 picion ? Was not your mother my most intimate friend ?" 
 
 " I beg pardon for the question," said Bailey, " but, oh, 
 Miss Wilde, you cannot realize what it has been to live for 
 eleven years under the black cloud of a great crime ; and I 
 assure you that I am far more grateful for your implicit be- 
 lief in my innocence than I would have been had your fa- 
 ther by a stroke of his pen made me a millionnaire. I can- 
 not express my gratitude in words." 
 
 Bailey and Grady left, with the understanding that the 
 former was to enter on his new employment the next morning. 
 
 " Upon my soul ! pardon me, Bailey, for swearing she 
 is a trump ! If I were a young man, and as good-looking 
 as you, I would forfeit heaven God forgive me ! to pos- 
 sess such a thorough-bred woman as that for a wife. She 
 reminds me of an Arabian courser beautifully formed, 
 and with an eye as tender as it is full of fire." 
 
 " Hush, Grady, hush !" and George Bailey was silent al- 
 most all the way to Williamsburgh. He soliloquized in- 
 wardly, " My mother died in her arms ! She obtained em- 
 ployment for her ! She always believed in my innocence ! 
 She induced her father to give me work ! Oh, my guardian 
 angel ! How coarse that expression of Grady's my wife ! 
 any man's wife ! She is too good to be the wife of an 
 archangel ! How bright the stars look to-night ! How 
 beautiful the whole heavens appear ! It seems to me as if 
 I were born again."
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 97 
 
 And he was born again ; for the spirit of love had entcr- 
 ed his heart ; a love which had its origin in profound re- 
 spect for what was surpassingly good ; a love which neither 
 time nor distance could ever change. Blessed are the few 
 into whose hearts this divine love enters ! 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 " Nor all that heralds rake from coffined clay, 
 Nor florid prose, nor honeyed lies of rhyme, 
 Can blazon evil deeds, nor consecrate a crime." BYRON. 
 
 DURING George Bailey's imprisonment and subsequent 
 struggles, Myron Finch had grown to be one of the great 
 merchant-princes of New York. lie was a member of the 
 leading clubs, a director in several corporations, and a cun- 
 ning speculator in stocks and real estate. He was the 
 owner of a beautiful steam-yacht, in which he gave mag- 
 nificent entertainments to his friends, who were the politi- 
 cal controllers of legislatures and conventions, or the gigan- 
 tic financial operators on the Stock Exchange. Finch was 
 one of the " Ring," whose approving nod was worth a fort- 
 une, or whose adverse frown was ruin to an enemy. He 
 kept fine horses ; he lived luxuriously ; he fared sumptu- 
 ously every day ; and enjoyed with a rare relish all the 
 good things of this life. He had long ago made him- 
 self the real head of the firm of Van Hess & Co., and had 
 very quietly but decisively elbowed his father-in-law into 
 an inferior place, with the remark, " My dear sir, at your 
 time of life this work is too much for you." And Mr. 
 Jacob Van Hess, in no little awe of this resolute son-in- 
 law, had very tamely submitted to take a back seat in his 
 own counting-house. The truth of the matter is, Mr. Van 
 Hess had become very much afraid of Mr. Myron Finch. 
 The old gentleman loved his daughter even more than his 
 business ; and he had discovered, within six months after 
 her marriage, that she was wedded to a cold, cunning, un- 
 scrupulous scoundrel. No sooner had he. been made a 
 
 7
 
 98 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 partner, no sooner had the honey moon been over, than 
 Myron Finch flung aside the mask of religion and temper- 
 ance, with which he had won the confidence of Mr. Van 
 Hess, and gave loose rein to the infidelity and to the baser 
 passions of his evil nature. For the sake of Grace, Mr. 
 Jacob Van Hess smothered his anger, and endured the 
 domination of a man whom he despised and loathed. 
 Both father and daughter knew him to be simply a polite 
 and smiling fiend, without love, without gratitude, without 
 a single virtue. His master-passion was his intense desire 
 for money ; because money alone could purchase the gross 
 sensual pleasures in which his frigid soul seemed to take 
 delight. He was the incarnation of selfishness. 
 
 Time has been very gentle with Mr. Myron Finch. Dur- 
 ing the eleven years that have passed away since we first 
 introduced him to the reader he has altered but little in 
 appearance. He has become inclined to corpulency, and 
 the pale hair has been slightly worn away from his tem- 
 ples. A puffiness, too, has appeared about his nether eye- 
 lid, indicative of intemperance and disease. 
 
 But if the husband has remained comparatively un- 
 changed, great indeed, and pitiful to behold, is the change 
 in the poor wife, the once petted and spoiled darling of 
 fortune. Mrs. Myron Finch has worn for years the timid, 
 frightened expression always found in the faces of Weak 
 women who are constantly afraid of brutal husbands. 
 "Whatever little spirit she had originally possessed has 
 been completely crushed out of her by stern, cool, system- 
 atic ill - treatment and unmitigated cruelty. For a long 
 time she had foolishly endeavored to hide her misery from 
 her father, and her father had dreaded to speak to her con- 
 cerning her unhappiness. The same fear of the world (her 
 world of fashion) that had caused her to desert George Bai- 
 ley in his time of trouble and disgrace, had caused her to 
 submit in silence to the inhumanity of Finch. She had 
 borne the villain three children, and for their sakes, as well 
 as for the sake of her own worldly pride, she had suffered 
 wrongs enough to have driven a stronger woman to suicide 
 or murder. Finch had completely subdued her. Thin,
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 99 
 
 dark, sickly, with dark lines around her eyes, she looked 
 care-worn, faded, and prematurely old. 
 
 In all her misery the poor woman had nursed in her 
 heart the image of the strong, frank, fearless youth who 
 had loved her with the love of a true and loyal nature. 
 In one of his drunken, angry fits, while abusing and beat- 
 ing her, Finch had boasted that he was the man who had 
 sent her lover to State-prison. From that day forward she 
 had felt that George Bailey was an innocent man, and the 
 victim of a foul conspiracy. When she contrasted the two 
 men her remorse was unbounded, and her old love revived 
 with a strength that she did not even try to subdue. 
 
 A few days after the events recorded in the last chapter 
 Mr. and Mrs. Myron Finch were sitting alone in the dining- 
 room, each reading a morning newspaper. Breakfast was 
 finished, and the children had gone to the nursery. Sud- 
 denly the husband dropped his paper, and, turning to his 
 wife with a savage scowl on his brows, said, 
 
 " See here ; your old lover, George Bailey, d n him ! has 
 just turned up in the city. Quin saw him yesterday in 
 the banking-house of Warrenton, Wilde & Co. Do you 
 hear me, d n you ? W T hat are you dreaming about, you 
 idiot ? about your old sweetheart, eh ? Remember, you 
 must never see or speak to him. Don't fancy that I am 
 jealous of such a thing as you. But this man may call to 
 see you, or to inquire about your father, or his mother, or 
 something of the sort. You must never see him ; for the 
 day that you do I shall separate from you and obtain a 
 divorce." 
 
 To this tirade Grace made no reply : she seemed scared, 
 and trembled from head to foot ; and her aspect was that 
 of a frightened bird when newly captured. 
 
 " I declare," continued the ruffian, " that the woman is 
 trembling all over !" and changing his position so as to face 
 his wife, he commenced to taunt her. 
 
 " So you married me to cover the disgrace of an engage- 
 ment to a convict, did you ? You married me because I 
 was a pious young man, and went to church twice everv 
 Sunday, didn't you ? And 1 married you because I loved
 
 100 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 your old father's money-bags, eh? Wasn't it a fair ex- 
 change, ray precious?" 
 
 Finch had often gone farther than this in his speech be- 
 fore now, and had even repeatedly struck her in his drunk- 
 en state ; but never in his sober senses had he ventured to 
 taunt his wife in this vile way ; for no one could ever ac- 
 cuse him of being a fool, except in so far as all knaves are 
 fools. There were feelings surging in the heart of Mr.s. 
 Finch, aroused by the allusions to her first love, which her 
 husband did not comprehend, and which, had he known, 
 would have curbed the license of his speech. He failed to 
 see that he was fast driving his wife to desperation. A 
 hectic flush overspread her thin cheek, and a semblance of 
 the old brilliancy shone in her eyes, imparting for a mo- 
 ment a portion of the former beauty for which she had 
 been remarkable. 
 
 " Woman, I say, do you hear me ?" 
 
 But Grace's mind was far away, and for a minute or two 
 she seemed to have lost or forgotten her fear of the tyrant. 
 Finch moved his chair close to her and shook his clinched 
 fist in her face, as he said, 
 
 " Mrs. Finch, have you lost your speech ? are you mad ? 
 If you don't pay more attention to what I say I'll choke 
 the life out of you !" 
 
 Still Grace neither seemed to hear nor heed him. She 
 sat like one dazed, or perhaps like one who was slowly 
 making up his mind, and cared no more for her husband's 
 violence at this moment than for the howling of the idle 
 wind. Transported with rage at her continued silence, the 
 brute seized her by the throat with one hand, and smote 
 her repeatedly on the face with the other. 
 
 Myron Finch went too far this morning. He could not 
 see the effect of Bailey's return on a mind that had brood- 
 ed about him ever since she had discovered his innocence. 
 With a dignity which Finch had never before witnessed, 
 Grace simply said, 
 
 " Hands off, coward !" and seized a pair of large scis- 
 sors which lay near her, and holding the point out before 
 his face, said, " If ever you touch me again I shall kill you
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 101 
 
 on the spot ! I hate you, I despise you, I scorn you ! Sep- 
 arate obtain your divorce, you contemptible wife-beater !" 
 
 Myron Finch, at this exhibition of spirit on the part of 
 his wife, turned deadly pale. He was thoroughly cowed. 
 It was now his turn to fear the woman whom he had so 
 long despised and bullied. He was first amazed, then awed, 
 and finally frightened. Had a dead woman arisen from 
 the grave and threatened him, he could not have been more 
 astonished. But, if cowardly, Finch was cunning ; and no 
 man knew better than he how to adapt his conduct to the 
 circumstances of the hour. 
 
 "Grace, you exasperated me beyond endurance. For- 
 give me ; in my passion I scarcely knew what I did. I 
 was jealous of your old lover." 
 
 " No, sir ; you were not jealous, and you need not lie 
 about it. You cannot deceive me, Mr. Finch. I hate you ; 
 and you had better go, or I may be tempted to stab to the 
 heart the father of my children. Go, go, go ! you coward- 
 ly villain ! I have borne your cruelty for eleven years ; I 
 shall bear it no longer. Leave me ! leave me, or I shall not 
 be responsible for my acts !" 
 
 Myron Finch retired, with the expression of a baffled 
 fiend marked on every line of his pale, flabby face. 
 
 For hours after her husband had left, Grace sat in the 
 rocking-chair, with her head thrown back and her eyes 
 closed. The only signs to indicate that she was not asleep 
 were frequent tremblings of the lips, twitchings of the eye- 
 lids, and deeply marked lines between the brows. The red 
 marks of Finch's brutal blows were plainly visible on her 
 cheeks. At length she arose and commenced walking back- 
 ward and forward, as men frequently do when agitated with 
 unhappy thoughts and, clasping her hands in a sort of 
 speechless agony, she murmured, in a tone of indescribable 
 grief and remorse, 
 
 "And for that brute I abandoned to his fate the truest, 
 bravest heart that woman ever won ! Even had George 
 Bailey been guilty of the crime of which he was convicted, 
 a life in State-prison with him would have been infinitely 
 preferable to a life in a palace with such a fiend as Finch.
 
 102 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 Oh ! oh ! oh ! my punishment is greater than I can bear ! 
 But I deserve it all I deserve it all !" 
 
 Tears came to the relief of the suffering woman. Moan- 
 ing and weeping, she continued her monotonous walk, ever 
 murmuring, " Oh ! oh! oh! I deserve it all I deserve it 
 all ! But I must find him I must find him." Then she 
 cast herself heavily down in the chair, and, covering her 
 face with both her hands, she said, " But how shall I ever 
 face him ? I would give worlds to look at him once more ; 
 but I dare not I dare not ! However, I must see him and 
 ask his pardon. I have always loved him. I might have 
 forgotten him, if that brutal fiend Finch had ever treated 
 me with common decency. But now my husband and I 
 are as far apart as the poles !" Again Grace arose, and 
 strode back and forth like an angry man. An unwonted 
 fire gleamed in her eyes, and her brow was knit with an 
 energy born of her new resolution. " I shall see my father 
 and tell him all my good, kind father, who has borne with 
 Finch these weary years for my sake." 
 
 Such was her eagerness to carry out her determination 
 that she rushed up to her room, hastily dressed herself for 
 the street, and in less than fifteen minutes was in an omni- 
 bus on her way down to her father's office. 
 
 Happily Finch was not in the counting-house when Grace 
 arrived, or there might have been a scene, for the lady's 
 soul was on fire, and had reached that condition in which 
 regard for her world of fashionable society would have had 
 no weight with her whatever. Finch's blows were still tin- 
 gling in her face, and the very memory of them maddened 
 her at least she fancied so. But perhaps, after all, mem- 
 ories of George Bailey spurred her on more than she was 
 aware of ; or, at any rate, she was now moved by a combi- 
 nation of motives. 
 
 When father and daughter were seated alone in the pri- 
 vate inner office, the former said, 
 
 " Well, Grace, my dear, this visit at noonday is some- 
 thing very unusual ;" and the old gentleman looked uneas- 
 ily at the door, in fear that Finch might enter and find 
 them together.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 103 
 
 " You need not glance so uneasily at the door. Let him 
 enter let him hear all I have to say ! Father, I am going 
 home to you with my children to-night. I shall not sleep 
 another night under Finch's roof. I could not wait until 
 evening my impatience would have killed me. See these 
 marks on my face : the fiend struck me this morning with 
 his hand : he struck me moral blows that were far worse, 
 lie said that I only married him to hide the disgrace of my 
 engagement with a convicted forger, and that he married 
 me for my father's money-bags !" 
 
 " Grace ! Grace !" groaned the father, " I have suspected 
 this for years, and the thought of it has been killing me by 
 inches. Oh, Grace, you cannot imagine what I have borne 
 from this man for your sake !" 
 
 " I know it, father I know it only too well. He has 
 bullied and abused you ; taken the business out of your 
 hands and driven you into a corner ; and for my sake you 
 have endured it all. Know, then, that from the first month 
 of our marriage he has ill-used me. I tried to hide it from 
 you and the world through a false pride ; but to-day, in his 
 sober senses, he transcended his previous brutality. Know, 
 too, dear father, that in one of his drunken fits he confessed 
 and boasted that George Bailey was an innocent man, and 
 had been sent to State-prison by his instrumentality." 
 
 " What ! what ! My God ! my God ! This is the worst 
 blow of all ! What ! boasted that he was instrumental in 
 sending an innocent man to State-prison for ten years? Oh 
 no, no ! this was only the idle, lying boast of a wicked man." 
 
 " Father, Bailey was innocent, and I must ask his for- 
 giveness." 
 
 Jacob Van Iless's head fell forward on his chest, and 
 cither he did not hear or heed what Grace had said. The 
 old man seemed lost in deep thought, and his face wore an 
 expression of profound dismay. 
 
 " I had a note this morning," he said, " from George 
 Bailey." 
 
 " You had ? what about ?" eagerly interrupted Grace. 
 
 " Here it is," replied Mr. Van Hess, pulling the note out 
 of his pocket ; " read for yourself."
 
 104 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 At sight of the bold, characteristic handwriting, which 
 she knew so well, Grace's face and neck turned the color of 
 scarlet. This was what she read : 
 
 " Warrenton, Wilde & Co., 
 
 " New York, December 12th, 18 . 
 
 "JACOB VAN HESS, ESQ., Sir, Having recovered the 
 effects of my late mother, and failing to find among her pa- 
 pers the receipt for the fifteen hundred dollars which she 
 paid you on account of the forged check that liquidated 
 my debt to Mr. William "Wilde, I take the liberty of asking 
 you, as a matter of simple justice, to forward me a receipt, 
 or to accord me the privilege of an explanation. You can 
 readily understand my anxiety concerning this receipt. 
 
 " Truly yours, etc., GEORGE BAILEY." 
 
 " Did you give his mother a receipt at the time ?" asked 
 Grace. 
 
 " Very likely I did. But you know how careless women 
 usually are in matters of this kind." 
 
 " My dear father, please write as I dictate. Do it for 
 me ; because you can furnish me the opportunity to beg 
 Mr. Bailey's pardon." 
 
 Mr. Van Hess seized a pen and wrote George Bailey an 
 invitation to call at his residence that evening. 
 
 Father and daughter then discussed their plans for the 
 future. Grace and the children were to leave Finch forever, 
 and make their home with Mr. Van Hess. Mr. Van Hess 
 was to dissolve the partnership and retire from business. 
 When this matter had been finally determined upon, both 
 felt happier than they had felt for many years. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " A man of sense may love like a madman but never like a fool." 
 
 LA ROCHEFOUCAULD. 
 
 To the sad, solitary George Bailey, Edith Wilde seemed 
 something more than human. To say that he thought of 
 her day and night would but faintly convey an idea of his
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 105 
 
 feelings toward her. It was more than love ; it was worship. 
 He rarely reflected on her loveliness, but always on her good- 
 ness. During the past eleven years he had seen and experi- 
 enced so much ingratitude, wickedness, and cruelty, that he 
 had been reduced almost to a state of atheism, and had be- 
 gun to have a firm belief in human depravity. Nothing but 
 his superior education and sound common-sense had prevent- 
 ed his falling into the haunts of thieves and burglars, and 
 becoming, at the invitation of Williams, their organizer and 
 captain. In Bailey's character there was a substratum of 
 high honor and pure morality which came to him by inheri- 
 tance, and had been developed by that best of all teachers, a 
 wise, educated mother. But in the intervention of God in 
 human affairs he had lost all faith ; for he had seen the in- 
 nocent unjustly punished and the wicked "nourishing like a 
 green bay-tree." Into the darkness of his soul at this time 
 the charity and goodness of Edith Wilde shed brilliant rays 
 of light, which slowly and gradually dispelled the dark and 
 gloomy scepticism that was surely corroding his better nat- 
 ure. Through Edith's eyes he fancied that he saw his moth- 
 er's soul. In his thoughts Edith's image was always coupled 
 with that of the Saviour. His first thought every morning, 
 his last thought every night, was a prayer to God for her 
 happiness. And this was the first prayer which Bailey had 
 uttered since the day of his unjust conviction. The simple 
 act of thinking about a good woman brought him back to 
 a knowledge of his Creator. The face, the form, the eyes, 
 the smile, the grace, and the very tone of Edith's voice were 
 all indelibly impressed upon his memory. The pent-up pas- 
 sion, the exquisite tenderness of his nature went forth toward 
 her with an irresistible energy, like the strong, steady, silent 
 flow of a mighty river. 
 
 In the banking-house, Bailey, in his humble situation, soon 
 won the approbation of his employers. He was quiet and 
 industrious, always willing and ready to perform any work 
 which might be assigned him ; eager to assist his fellow- 
 clerks when behind-hand, and anxious to do their work and 
 his own whenever any of the younger men wished a holiday. 
 He was the first in the office in the morning, the last to leave
 
 106 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 in the evening. None of his fellow-clerks knew his history ; 
 but they all liked the cold, grave, sad man who was never 
 seen to smile. His day's work over, he sought his quiet 
 room in Grady's house, and spent the evening in reading 
 and studying, and thinking of Edith Wilde. His only 
 pleasure he took on Sunday. As regularly as the Sunday 
 came, he dressed himself in a soher suit of black, and, no 
 matter what was the condition of the weather, went to the 
 Episcopal church which Mr. Wilde and Edith attended. 
 Had her church been a Mohammedan mosque, Bailey would 
 have gone to it in preference to any other, because it con- 
 tained the one being in all the universe whom he adored. 
 He was placed in the gallery by the sexton, in such a po- 
 sition that he could see her without being seen himself. He 
 looked forward all the week to Sunday, counting the hours 
 until he could see her again. The Episcopal service ap- 
 peared to him sublimely beautiful, because, in some myste- 
 rious way, she seemed to him the very incarnation of the 
 litany and of the teaching of Christ. As he listened to the 
 fine bass voice of the rector, uttering the grand thoughts of 
 " The General Supplication " " From all blindness of heart, 
 from pride, vainglory, and hypocrisy ; from envy, hatred 
 and malice, and all uncharitableness, Good Lord deliver us " 
 and caught her silver tone in the response (for, like all who 
 have suffered long from solitary confinement, his sight and 
 hearing were preternaturally acute), a new heaven and a new 
 earth were revealed to him ; and because she was good, he 
 determined with all his might to be good likewise. When 
 the minister came to the words, " That it may please Thee 
 to forgive our enemies, persecutors, and slanderers, and to 
 turn their hearts," Bailey could not and did not respond, 
 " We beseech Thee to hear us, Good Lord." He had brood- 
 ed over his revenge so long and so steadily that it had be- 
 come a part of his nature. To punish Finch was the great 
 aim of his existence. He could be a Christian for Edith's 
 sake in all things but this. By a sort of perverse logic he 
 had reasoned himself into the belief that it was his duty to 
 assist in carrying out the vengeance of Heaven against his 
 moral assassin. His human love was leading him toward
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 107 
 
 his God ; and a time came when he would freely have given 
 half the remaining years of his life to kneel by Edith 
 Wilde's side and repeat with her those beautiful prayers of 
 the Church. His vindictive passion was ever tugging at his 
 newly-awakened spiritual aspirations, and dragging him down 
 into a quagmire of wicked thoughts and hopes. The spirits 
 of good and evil were fiercely contending in Bailey's heart. 
 
 This was the state of George Bailey's mind when he re- 
 ceived the reply from Mr. Jacob Van Hess, making an ap- 
 pointment for an interview that evening. Bailey, in the 
 prosecution of his plans for revenge on Finch, was greatly 
 disappointed at not finding the receipt for the fifteen hun- 
 dred dollars ; and after mature deliberation he had resolved 
 to obtain it, for he knew well its value in the future. He 
 was aware that he was asking no favor ; he was only asking 
 for his right. Besides, he had never entertained bitter feel- 
 ings toward Mr. Van Hess ; nay, on the contrary, he had 
 remembered him with gratitude for the favors he had con- 
 ferred up to the period of his conviction. He had truly 
 reasoned, If a learned judge and twelve jurymen had been 
 deceived by the conspiracy, why not Mr. Van Hess and his 
 daughter ? In his heart he could not blame them. 
 
 As he slowly and meditatively walked toward the house 
 in which he had wooed and won the love of the beautiful 
 heiress eleven years before, what a contrast he presented to 
 the frank, open, joyous youth who, in the exhilaration of 
 his spirits, had seemed to spurn the very earth on that raw 
 March day ! He now wore the sad, reticent look of the 
 prison. His expression of face was such that no man could 
 now expect his confidence. "Ah," he muttered, with a look 
 of pain, " this is the house ; I surely ought to know it." 
 
 When admitted into the parlor, and while waiting a few 
 minutes for his host, Bailey cast his eyes around the rooms 
 and glanced at the well-remembered pictures and statuary. 
 Everything appeared precisely as they were eleven years 
 ago. He felt by contrast a terrible change in himself. He 
 had not much time for reflection, for Mr. Jacob Van Hess 
 entered the parlor at this moment, and approached Bailey 
 as if for the purpose of shaking his hand ; but the manner
 
 108 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 of the latter was so frigid and formal, as he arose from his 
 chair and bowed, that the old gentleman paused in the 
 middle of the room, greatly embarrassed, and hardly knew 
 what to say. But Bailey came to his relief by saying, in a 
 tone coldly polite, 
 
 " Mr. Van Hess, you will please pardon my writing to 
 you for the receipt ; but as it was indispensable to me, and 
 mine by right, I took the great liberty of addressing you a 
 note." 
 
 " No, no ; it it was not a liberty at all. I I am glad 
 to give you the receipt," said Mr. Van Hess, still more em- 
 barrassed, for he had not anticipated Bailey's frigid polite- 
 ness. 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Van Hess. I knew that you would not 
 refuse to do an act of justice." 
 
 The old gentleman having handed Bailey the receipt, and 
 having in some measure regained his composure, went up 
 to Bailey, and, extending his hand, said, 
 
 "Forgive me, George; I unwittingly did you a great 
 wrong. I have suspected it for a long time, but never 
 knew it for certain until my daughter told me this morn- 
 ing." 
 
 " I have nothing to forgive," replied Bailey, coldly ; 
 " you acted as you thought justly at the time. I have 
 never blamed you." 
 
 " Say, at least, Mr. Bailey," pleaded the old man, " that 
 you forgive me, even if you have nothing to forgive, for it 
 will be a great relief to ray conscience. Oh, Mr. Bailey, I 
 made a fearful mistake, an irreparable blunder, worse than 
 a crime !" 
 
 " If you desire me to repeat the words, I can easily do 
 so : if I have anything to forgive, I freely forgive you." 
 His manner and his words were icy, and cut Mr. Van Hess 
 to the quick. It was unintentional on Bailey's part. The 
 memory of that scene in the counting-house, when the 
 forged check and the receipt for it were brought home to 
 him, was vividly portrayed in his mind, never to be effaced, 
 and the sight of Mr. Van Hess pained him. 
 
 George had arisen to take his leave, when the old gentle-
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 109 
 
 man said, " Mr. Bailey, please be seated; there is another 
 who wishes to be forgiven;" and before Bailey had time 
 to make any reply Mr. Van Hess had left the parlor. In 
 a few minutes a lady entered the room, lividly pale, thin 
 and worn, whom Bailey at the first glance failed to recog- 
 nize. After a closer inspection he recognized the once 
 beautiful Grace, the idol of his youthful affections. His 
 bow to her was, if possible, more frigid than the one he 
 had given her father. The whole interview was so painful 
 to him that he now regretted having sought for the receipt. 
 Of course, had he anticipated meeting Grace Finch, he would 
 no more have entered that house than he would have enter- 
 ed the crater of Mount Etna when in full blast. 
 
 " George Bailey, can you forgive me 2" 
 
 But this was too much for Bailey to bear. Here was 
 the woman before him who had forsaken him in his time 
 of trouble and disgrace, and had married the very man who 
 had wrought him such misery. 
 
 " Who calls me George Bailey ? is it the wife of Myron 
 Finch?" 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Bailey, forgive me forgive me ! Do not leave 
 the house until you have spoken the precious words'!" 
 
 " Madam, I don't understand you. With you I have no 
 quarrel. I have nothing to forgive." 
 
 Grace, with all a woman's quickness of perception, clearly 
 saw that Bailey cared no more for her than he did for one 
 of the servants in her father's kitchen. She saw his anxiety 
 to leave the house, and it must be confessed that his utter 
 indifference pained her exceedingly. Had he only found 
 fault with her, had he but upbraided her for her desertion, 
 she would have had some hope ; now she had none. She 
 cast herself, pale as death, on a sofa, and murmured, " Lost, 
 lost forever lost !" 
 
 " Madam," said Bailey, " my presence is painful to you, 
 and I wish you good-evening." He had now reached the 
 door, and in another moment he would have gone, perhaps 
 never to be seen by her again. Grace sprung from the 
 sofa, placed her hand on the knob of the door, and closing 
 it, said,
 
 110 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 " Mr. Bailey, I must speak to you. You must forgive me 
 you must! Sit down, please sit down." 
 
 " Who is it that speaks to me in this imperative man- 
 ner ?" said Bailey, half angry at the detention. 
 
 " I do Grace Van Hess, whom you once loved !" 
 
 " Grace Van Hess," replied Bailey, in a deep, grave tone, 
 " is dead ; or was transformed, if report be true, into Mrs. 
 Myron Finch. I have not had the honor of any previous 
 acquaintance with Mrs. Myron Finch. This is the first time 
 I have had the honor of seeing that estimable lady. I knew 
 her husband once : I helped him to obtain a good situation ; 
 I was his very good friend ; in fact, I was the instrument 
 by which he gained his first start in life, and I believe his 
 present wife, too, unless I have been greatly misinformed. 
 Doubtless, for all my kindness to Mr. Myron Finch his lov- 
 ing wife is duly thankful." The hard, cold, flinty irony of 
 these words smote Grace to the heart as if with cold steel. 
 
 " George Bailey, you are changed too," retorted Grace ; 
 " you are not the frank, brave, generous George Bailey 
 whom I once knew and loved." 
 
 "There, madam, you speak most truly. The George 
 Bailey \vhom you knew eleven years ago, and fancied that 
 you loved vainly fancied that you loved is dead! He 
 died, Mrs. Finch, in a solitary cell in State - prison ; and, 
 mirabile dictu, phoanix-like, out of his ashes arose the man 
 you see before you. Ah ! verily, madam, the frank, trustful 
 youth whom you knew once died a very miserable death, 
 killed by the But why talk ? Why waste words ?" 
 
 " Mr. Bailey, I was young, inexperienced, and cowardly. 
 I was surrounded by fashionable society ; and I was, alas ! 
 proud, and unable to face the disgrace of being engaged to 
 a convict. They convinced me of your guilt." 
 
 " Well, well, have I complained? You abandoned me, 
 and I ceased to think of you. I have never blamed you. 
 I have nothing to forgive ; if I have, I forgive you. This 
 interview, madam, had better end." 
 
 " Mr. Bailey," Grace persisted, " I have had the best pos- 
 sible proof of your innocence." 
 
 ''Proofs are not necessary to those whose good opini"ii
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. Ill 
 
 I regard," replied Bailey, haughtily, doubtless thinking at 
 that moment of Edith Wilde. 
 
 " I did not know of the terrible plot that consigned you 
 to prison for ten years until after my " 
 
 " Marriage," interposed Bailey. 
 
 " Mr. Finch," continued Grace, " told, in his drunken " 
 
 " That will do, Mrs. Finch," interrupted Bailey. " It is 
 better that I should hear nothing of Myron Finch from 
 you ; for some day I have a reckoning to make with that 
 gentleman, and his wife ought not to be a voluntary wit- 
 ness against him." There was a bitterness and a severity 
 in Bailey's tone which all his self-command could not sub- 
 due. If the sight of the father had pained him, the sight 
 of the daughter was simply intolerable. 
 
 When George reached the street he seemed to breathe 
 more freely. He commenced to talk to himself, for he had 
 not yet overcome his prison habit. " So, this is the woman 
 whom I once loved this poor, weak, ill-used creature, with 
 all the marks of Finch on her physical, mental, and moral 
 nature! She might have been built up into an excellent 
 woman ; but this fiend, Finch, has evidently dragged her 
 down to nearly his own low level. Evidently she hates her 
 husband ; and and I could strike the villain here ! But 
 no away, away, base thought! 'Get thee behind me, Sa- 
 tan !' What would Edith think ? What would my mother 
 think ? Nay, nay, I would rather forego all revenge than 
 forfeit the good opinion of my guardian angel, who succor- 
 ed my mother in her time of destitution, and who procured 
 me honorable employment when every avenue for honest 
 work was barred against me. Bless her, O my God ! bless 
 her, and guard her for ever and ever ! Amen." 
 
 After Bailey's departure, Grace threw herself back in the 
 chair and covered her face with both her hands, murmur- 
 ing, with a tone of despair, " He loves me not ! he despises 
 me; and I deserve it all. My ruin was greater than George 
 Bailey's. Mine is life long ; his was for ten years." The 
 poor woman rocked her body to and fro, and seemed a prey 
 to remorse and despondency.
 
 112 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 Edith Wilde remembered the son of her late very dear 
 friend, and frequently asked her father how he succeeded 
 in business. Two or three times she had met him leaving 
 the church, and each time she had rewarded him with a 
 cordial smile, and once she had shaken hands Avith him at 
 the church-door. Bailey felt the touch of her fingers thrill 
 through his body for a week. 
 
 One day, about six months after the admission of Bailey 
 to a position in the banking-house, he was surprised by an 
 invitation from Mr. Wilde to dine with him and his daugh- 
 ter. 
 
 " I may as well tell you," said Mr. Wilde, " that my ob- 
 ject is to talk business with you. The nature of this busi- 
 ness is partly private, and therefore I prefer to discuss it 
 at ray residence." But Bailey never gave the business a 
 thought : his mind was entirely engrossed with the bank- 
 er's daughter ; and to meet her in this way was a happiness 
 that he had never dreamed of ; for a thought of courting 
 or wedding his " guardian angel," as he chose to call her 
 in his lonely self-communings, had never once entered his 
 mind. She was too far above him, too good, too noble, 
 ever to be his wife. He loved her hopelessly, and felt that 
 he could never love any one but her. Realizing his posi- 
 tion, he had firmly resolved to keep so close a watch and 
 ward over his looks, his words, and his acts, that neither 
 father nor daughter could ever by any possibility suspect 
 his feelings. In his present frame of mind Bailey felt that 
 any revelation of his passion would be the very depth of 
 ingratitude ; and the most he ever hoped for was that 
 when on his death-bed he might take her hand in his, and 
 tell her how truly, how purely, and how devotedly he had 
 loved since the first hour he saw her. 
 
 Bailey took more than usual care in dressing for the 
 dinner at the banker's house. He had not been so particu- 
 lar about his linen or his necktie since the time when he 
 went to visit Grace Van Hess. As he stood before the 
 glass a strange, sad smile lit up his grave face ; for he rec- 
 ognized the return of the old vanity which prompted him 
 to appear as neat as possible in the presence of the woman
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 113 
 
 whom tie desired to please. As a matter of course, he had 
 informed his friend John Grady of the invitation ; and that 
 redoubtable champion of reform and temperance, always 
 sanguine and hopeful, augured great good fortune to Bai- 
 ley, and failed not to warn him to do his utmost to win 
 the heart of " the best woman on the face of God's earth," 
 as he chose to designate Edith Wilde. 
 
 The dinner was a very pleasant affair. Three highly ed- 
 ucated persons, with many tastes in common, had no diffi- 
 culty in finding subject-matter for conversation. In the 
 presence of his two friends all Bailey's reserve and reti- 
 cence disappeared, and the frank, joyous spirit for which 
 he had been formerly remarkable returned with all its pow- 
 ers of fascination. His knowledge, wide and thorough, his 
 habit of deep meditation, and his extraordinary memory, 
 cultivated, as the reader may remember, in his prison cell, 
 imparted to Bailey's conversation a charm and a raciness 
 which held father and daughter almost spellbound. He 
 presented himself to them in a new light ; nor had either 
 of them the least idea that there was so much in the mind 
 of the man whom they had hitherto seen so grave and so 
 sad. Bailey appeared at home on all subjects : theology, 
 law, medicine, history, and politics were handled by him 
 with almost equal brilliancy. At one point in the conver- 
 sation he trod on dangerous ground. 
 
 " I do not believe," said he, " that man by himself, man 
 standing alone, can be a religious being. He must worship 
 with some woman mother, sister, wife, or friend or not 
 at all. That Church will prosper most which has the great- 
 est influence over the minds of women." 
 
 " How do you account for that, Mr. Bailey ?" inquired 
 Edith. 
 
 " I do not know that I can correctly account for it," re- 
 plied Bailey. "It may be that there is in the beautiful 
 but delicate organization of woman a higher emotion 
 the religious emotion almost wanting in many men ; and 
 where it exists in some men in a high degree, it will be 
 found, on investigation, that the religious faculty has been 
 developed by some wise woman."
 
 114 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 " Your mother," said Edith, " was a wise, religious wom- 
 an ; and, therefore, Mr. Bailey, by your own argument, or 
 according to your own theory, you ought to be a very re- 
 ligious man." 
 
 " I might have been, but for my great misfortune," said 
 Bailey, with a sigh like a sob. 
 
 He had seen his danger; he had seen that, if pushed, he 
 might have stated that Miss Wilde's goodness had drawn 
 him nearer his God. 
 
 Mr. Wilde turned the conversation to business. 
 
 '' Mr. Bailey," said he, " my son Walter is managing a 
 branch house in San Francisco, and I fear the work is too 
 much for him. His health is not good, and from the tone 
 of his last letter (reading between the lines, as I usually 
 do) I fear he is growing worse. It is the desire of the 
 house to wind up our business in California; and, after 
 due deliberation, at my suggestion we have concluded to 
 send you out to assist Walter, nominally, but really to do 
 the whole work. I had two reasons, Mr. Bailey one en- 
 tirely selfish, the other founded on the principle of justice 
 for selecting you for this responsible post. I desired to 
 place my son Walter in the hands of an honest, sensible 
 man ; I desired also to give this man an opportunity to re- 
 cover the position which he lost more than eleven years 
 ago, partly by my evidence." 
 
 " Mr. Wilde, your kindness overpowers me ; I have no 
 words to express my gratitude for this great trust. I as- 
 sure you, sir, that your complete confidence in my integrity 
 is the greatest boon that could be conferred upon me. I 
 do not like to make professions ; but you may rest assured 
 that if my poor life is necessary to save your son's, he and 
 you are perfectly welcome to it." 
 
 Dinner had been finished for some time, and Edith had 
 taken up some worsted-work to employ her nimble fingers. 
 Over this work she was gravely scanning, with those large, 
 wide-open, weird eyes of hers, Bailey's sad face, and, with 
 the intuitive perception of her sex, she clearly saw that the 
 young man meant every word he said that his life was 
 freely at Walter's service.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 115 
 
 During the week before the steamer sailed for Panama, 
 and while the preparations for the voyage were being made, 
 Bailey spent two or three delightful evenings with Mr. 
 Wilde and Edith. The former had directions for his son ; 
 the latter had little presents for her brother ; and these 
 furnished the opportunities for Bailey to see and converse 
 with the woman whom he idolized. Had it not been that 
 he was doing father and daughter a great service at least, 
 so they esteemed it Bailey would have been overwhelmed 
 with grief at the bare thought of going so far away from 
 Editk 
 
 The evening before the ship sailed, Bailey called for the 
 present for Walter which Edith had just finished with her 
 own hands. They stood for a moment under the hall lamp. 
 " Mr. Bailey," said she, " I want you to take great care of 
 our Walter, for I am not only his sister but his little grand- 
 mother. W"e had no mother; and as I was the elder, I 
 helped him with his studies, and the love between us was 
 something more than that of brother and sister. But I 
 need not ask you ; I know you will." At these words their 
 eyes met point-blank, and Edith read his heart like an open 
 book. A great joy swept through her, for she knew that 
 she was loved as not one woman in a million is ever loved. 
 She pressed his hand and bade him good-bye. 
 
 The next day George Bailey was sailing away toward the 
 Southern Cross. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 " One sin doth another provoke." rSitAKSPEARE. 
 
 TIMOTHY QUIN, "wine -merchant" and ward politician, 
 was now a thick-set, bull-necked, red-faced man about forty 
 years of age. He had " risen" in the world since the time 
 when he was the humble, obsequious porter of Van Hess & 
 Co. Ignorant, cunning, and sycophantic when it served his 
 purpose, totally without principle, and born without a con- 
 science, he was ever ready "to turn an honest penny."
 
 116 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 Whether that " honest penny " came to his pocket in the 
 form of a bribe to carry a primary election, or by selling a 
 horse (after innumerable lies) for fifty per centum above its 
 value, or by retailing inflammatory and poisonous compounds 
 misnamed rum, gin, and brandy, mattered very little to him ; 
 for the great aim of his life was to " rise " in the world ; 
 and he had sense enough to see that money was power, and 
 covered a multitude of sins. He had half a dozen " wine- 
 merchant's " stores on the corners of half a dozen streets 
 where five-story tenement-houses most abounded. He kept 
 his horse and light wagon, drove once a day to his different 
 stores, then through the Park, and sometimes to the races. 
 He was ready to bet his money on anything, from an elec- 
 tion to a rat fight ; and as he was shrewd, he always man- 
 aged to double the "honest penny." Timothy was no 
 longer obliged to duck his head by grasping the forelock 
 of his hair, as had been his habit when serving in the ca- 
 pacity of porter. The fact is, Quin had grown to be a great 
 man and a power in the " party." He now dressed in shiny 
 black broadcloth, wore a gold watch with an immense gold 
 chain, and adorned himself with the most gorgeous of neck- 
 ties. It is true, his manners were not quite as polished as 
 his patent-leather boots, and his finger-nails were not quite 
 as clean as his linen. When among gentlemen and he 
 did sometimes see gentlemen it was amusing to listen to 
 his commendable attempts to speak English like an Ameri- 
 can. The result was a sniffle through his nose, or a sepul- 
 chral tone drawn down from some obscure region at the 
 base of his brain. In his efforts to disguise his origin and 
 his brogue, he played the mischief with vowels and handled 
 the consonants without gloves. Nevertheless, among his 
 own countrymen he was a patriot, and a true son of the 
 Emerald Isle ; he was a thorough Fenian, and knew all 
 about Robert Emmett, whose portrait hung upon the walls 
 of his bar-rooms, and could talk treason at a safe distance, 
 and defy the British Lion when the brute was over three 
 thousand miles away. 
 
 Timothy Quin was a type of the class that tried to rule 
 New York. Vulgar, impudent, greedy, the great metropol-
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 117 
 
 itan city was to him and his class what Rome was to the 
 Goths of Alaric a place in which to secure rich spoils. 
 To the man who in his boyhood and youth was compelled 
 to doff his cap to every petty officer and magistrate, to be 
 on intimate terms with au alderman, or to shake the hand 
 of a police-justice, was an honor that, twenty years before, 
 he had never dreamed of attaining. If his gin, rum, and 
 brandy, so-called, made widows and orphans, what was that 
 to him ? The wail of the widow or the cry of the orphan 
 never cost Timothy Quin a thought, or caused him to lose 
 one hour of sweet repose. Timothy's wife was even coarser 
 and more vulgar than himself ; for she had not received, 
 like him, the " culture " which came from association with 
 the sporting gentlemen of the race-course and the pool- 
 room. 
 
 Since George Bailey's return to the city Quin had pon- 
 dered deeply over his former connection with Mr. Myron 
 Finch, and had slowly made up his mind to use certain 
 transactions, that took place more than eleven years ago, in 
 such a way as to enable him " to turn an honest penny." 
 True, at the time honest Timothy had received many a 
 thousand " honest pennies " from his intimate friend Finch ; 
 but what of that ? Myron Finch was reputed to be a mill- 
 ionnaire ; he lived in princely style ; he was a great mer- 
 chant ; he had oceans of money. Did not he, Quin, give 
 Finch his first start in life ? Was he not instrumental in 
 aiding the poor entry -clerk to become a partner in the 
 firm ? Did he not make this clerk the son-in-law of Jacob 
 Van Hess ? What were a paltry thousand dollars compared 
 with Finch's millions ? In those days honest Tim was mod- 
 est, and his aspirations had never soared above a small gro- 
 cery and liquor store. But since he had grown into a " wine- 
 merchant," and the owner of six stores, into a ward politi- 
 cian, with all the word implies, and into a sporting gentle- 
 man of means, he had come to the conclusion that Mr. 
 Myron Finch had treated him very shabbily, and had not 
 given him his proper share of the spoils. Bailey was em- 
 ployed in a great banking-house, and doubtless was sup- 
 ported by influential friends. Finch knew it, and, likely,
 
 118 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 feared the returned convict. Timothy Quin took in the 
 situation at a glance, and resolved " to turn an honest 
 penny " by squeezing his friend of other days. 
 
 His mind absorbed with great thoughts of gain, Timothy 
 shouldered his way through the most crowded streets below 
 the City Hall, just as he had done through life, obsequious 
 to the strong, and overbearing with the weak, until he reach- 
 ed the counting-house of Van Hess <fe Finch. He nodded, 
 half shyly, half impudently, to his old master, winked and 
 smiled familiarly at some of the clerks, and grinned in a 
 jocular way at some of his old companions, the porters and 
 carmen. Tim was a born politician. With early education 
 and culture he would have made a capital member of a cor- 
 rupt Congress or a mercenary Legislature. As a lobbyist 
 lie would have been worth his weight in gold. A rich cor- 
 poration, in want of a charter with which to fleece the peo- 
 ple, would have found him the most affable and approacha- 
 ble of men. 
 
 As Quin approached the desk at which Finch was writ- 
 ing, the latter threw down his eyes and pretended not to 
 have seen his unwelcome visitor. 
 
 " Misther Finch, I want a wor-rd wid ye, if ye plase," 
 were the words with which Quin addressed the great mer- 
 chant. There was a menace in their grating tone, and 
 there was an undercurrent of anger in the unadulterated 
 brogue, which he did not care to disguise. Myron Finch 
 grew a shade paler, for he divined the purpose of Quin's 
 visit. Finch now recollected, to his dismay, that since the 
 day he had paid Quin the last instalment of the thousand 
 dollars, he had systematically failed to recognize him, when 
 by chance they had encountered each other in the Park or 
 on the race-course. Timothy had felt cut at this. You 
 might cheat him at cards, you might strike him in a mo- 
 ment of anger, and he could forgive and forget; but hurt 
 his vanity by treating him with contempt or indifference, 
 and he would resent the injury, if it took him half a life- 
 time to do it. 
 
 " Misther Finch, I want a wor-rd wid ye, if ye plase !" 
 Quin repeated, in a much louder and angrier tone of voice.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 119 
 
 "In a minute, Timothy; I am very busy. In a minute 
 or two I shall see you in the inner office." 
 
 " Very well, sur ; I kin wait." 
 
 Timothy took a seat, crossed his legs, and commenced to 
 spell out the words in a newspaper, for he thought it the 
 gentlemanly sort of thing to be found reading the news 
 from Europe and the state of the stock-market. "Very 
 well, sur," Timothy muttered to himself ; " I'll charge ye, 
 me boy, just wan hundthred dollars for every blessed min- 
 ute ye keep me waitin'. Five minutes, five hundthred ; tin 
 minutes, tin hundthred! Just take yer toime, me brave 
 boy ; this is the best pay I iver got. Fifteen minutes 
 sence ye tould me to wait a minute, and that's fifteen 
 hundthred dollars. A hundthred dollars a minute ! I 
 wondther if ould Asthor or ould Sthewart kin mek money 
 as fast as this ?" 
 
 While Timothy was making " honest pennies " by the 
 hundred thousand, Finch was thinking with all his might 
 how he would meet and manage his old confederate. He 
 was well aware that black-mail, once commenced, never end- 
 ed but with the utter ruin of the person who submitted to 
 it. Finch was not wanting in intellectual ability nor in 
 quickness of perception. He knew the object of Quin's 
 visit just as well as though he had announced it on his first 
 entrance. Indeed, since the return and employment of Bai- 
 ley he had rather anticipated annoyance from the ex-porter. 
 Finch could not handle the " wine-merchant " now as he 
 had handled the ignorant workman of eleven years ago. 
 "What shall I do?" he muttered. "Ah, I have it! I'll 
 promise; I'll put him off; I'll gain time; and if the worst 
 come to the worst, why why I can pay to have him dis- 
 .posed of. I'll have no rat like this nibbling my hands and 
 feet by half inches !" 
 
 " Well, Misther Finch, ye've kep me waitin' fifteen min- 
 utes very much to me profit, I can assure ye. I've been 
 sayin' me prayers, Misther Finch, and me good angels have 
 promised me fifteen hundthred dollars a hundthred dol- 
 lars a minute for me patience and me piety. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 
 ha ! ha ! Misther Finch, wud ye be afther tellin' me f what
 
 120 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 I'm laughin' at?" The tone and manner of this speech 
 were indescribably insolent, and yet Finch, with impertur- 
 bable coolness, replied, 
 
 " Why, Timothy, you appear in excellent spirits to-day. 
 What good fortune has befallen you?" 
 
 " Och, thin, Misther Finch, to be plain wid ye, I've found 
 me fortune at last ; and I mane to have it, do ye hear .' 1 
 mane to have it." 
 
 Quin was working himself into a state of anger, because 
 he really feared Finch's subtlety, which was vastly more 
 dangerous than his own. 
 
 " I don't understand you, Quin." 
 
 " You don't, eh ? You may tell that to the marines ! 
 Ye don't know that George Bailey is back in New Yar-rk, 
 and in the employ of Warrenton, Wilde <fe Co.? Ye don't 
 know that, Misther Finch ?" 
 
 " Well, what of that ?" replied Finch. 
 
 " Fwhat of that ? Everything of that ! See here ; you 
 med yer millions, an 1 I got a palthry wan thousand dollars 
 in dhriblets. You are a rich marchint, married to a rich 
 wife, the only daughter ov an ould man as rich as Crasus, 
 an' you've got all this by my manes. Come, Misther Finch, 
 we ought to have gone halves ; and, be jabers, it isn't too 
 late yit !" 
 
 " Again I repeat, I don't understand you," replied Finch, 
 with cool gravity. 
 
 " You don't, eh ?" replied Quin, with an ugly frown on 
 his beetle brow " you don't, eh ? Thin I'll soon tache ye. 
 You are worth your millions " 
 
 " Nonsense, Quin ! my fortune is grossly exaggerated, 
 and my expenses are heavy ; I have lived up to my in- 
 come. Tonlay, clear of all debts, I'm worth not much over 
 one hundred thousand dollars." 
 
 " Very good, thin," said Quin. " Though I don't believe 
 wan wor-rd of fwhat ye say, I'll take ye at yer own valea- 
 tion. Ye say ye are worth a hundthred thousand dollars, 
 or a little over it ; let us say a hundthred and tin thou- 
 sand. My tarms is these : give me fifty-wan thousand five 
 hundthred the fifteen hundthred for keepin' me waitin'
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 121 
 
 fifteen minutes an' the wor-rd atwane us is mum. Now 
 do ye know fwhat I mane?" 
 
 The tone, language, and bearing of Quin were coarse and 
 aggressive beyond all powers of description. Every look, 
 every gesture, every wink, and every smile was an insult ; 
 and yet Myron Finch was able to keep his temper, and to 
 gain time for reflection. 
 
 " Them's my tarms, Misther Finch ; do ye hear ? Them's 
 my tarms." 
 
 " Your terms are very modest, Mr. Quin very modest 
 indeed !" 
 
 " I want none o' yer chaff ! Them's my tarms ; and if 
 ye don't consint to them, I'll carry me goods to another 
 market to wan George Bailey ; and that manes State-pris- 
 on for somebody eh, Misther Finch, doesn't it ?" 
 
 Quin, knowing that he was violating the original com- 
 pact with Finch, and aware that he was doing a dishonora- 
 ble thing dishonorable even among thieves had deliber- 
 ately worked himself up into a fit of anger, in order to bul- 
 ly his smooth, cunning confederate of former times. Finch 
 gave Quin a deadly look, as he replied, 
 
 " And what does it mean for you ? It seems to me that 
 we were both in the same boat." 
 
 " It manes nauthin' at all at all for me, me brave boy ; 
 for I have lamed a thrick or two since I was a portlier. 
 I was sint on an errand, an' I was not supposed to know 
 that there was anythin' wrong. The law can't lay a fin- 
 ger on me, and I don't care that for it !" said Quin, vicious- 
 ly snapping his fingers ; " but you, you can be sint to State- 
 prison for life! Who forged the check, eh, Misther Finch? 
 Who spint hours an' hours in this very office imitatin' Bai- 
 ley's handwrite, and copyin' ould Van Hess's signature? 
 You know that the evidence of Misther Wilde and the ex- 
 pirts nearly saved him, for they had their doubts ; and that 
 nauthin' convicted him but the motive, and the receipt which 
 you put in his coat-pocket jist in the nick o' time. Come, 
 Misther Finch, I've thought it all out. Down wid yer fifty- 
 wan thousand five hundthred dollars, or I'll go straight off 
 to Bailey and tell him all !"
 
 122 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 Timothy Qnin would have trembled in every joint had 
 he been able, at this moment, to read the heart of Myron 
 Finch. While Quin, with bad manners and worse temper, 
 was driving the hardest sort of bargain, Finch was simply 
 pondering and taxing his fertile brain for some plan where- 
 by he might destroy this enemy who had suddenly arisen 
 to torment him. Finch thought: "Could he kill him in 
 that office and bury his body in the cellar? or cut it up, put 
 it in a barrel, and consign it to Galveston ? Could he poi- 
 son him ? Could he hire some one to slay him at mid- 
 night 1 Whatever he intended to do must be done quick- 
 ly : no living soul knew the crime committed against Bai- 
 ley but themselves. If he poisoned Quin, or stabbed him 
 to the heart, or put a bullet through his brain, suspicion 
 would never fall on him, Finch ; for what motive could he 
 have had for murdering an Irish rum-seller? But he must 
 have-time to think; he must not act hastily. One thing 
 he was certainly resolved never to do he would never give 
 Quin a single dollar." Finch was a man of clear and accu- 
 rate perceptions, with plenty of brains, but without heart 
 or conscience. Cowardly, cruel, ungrateful, and supremely 
 selfish, he was nevertheless a man of no ordinary intellectual 
 ability. He was resolved to poison Quin, or pay for his as- 
 sassination, rather than give one dollar in the way of hush- 
 money or black-mail. These fearful thoughts were taking 
 shape in the mind of Finch, while that paragon of a " wine- 
 merchant" was trying "to turn an honest penny" by act- 
 ing the part of an insolent, angry bully. To maintain ap- 
 pearances and to lull suspicion, Finch commenced to haggle 
 about the price. 
 
 " Your terms are very high," said Finch, in a low, quiet 
 tone. " Could you not take a less sum than half my fort- 
 une ? Consider your way of life and mine. Twenty thou- 
 sand dollars would be as much to you as eighty thousand 
 to me. Suppose I should offer you twenty thousand, would 
 you give me a paper in your own handwriting confessing 
 that you were equally guilty with me, and that on the trial 
 of George Bailey you perjured yourself ? In that case each 
 would be in the other's power."
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 123 
 
 "No, no; I'll be if I do! Give you a paper? 
 
 Why, wid that paper you'd sind me to jail or hang me in 
 less than no time. Misther Finch, I know ye too well for 
 that !" 
 
 " I shall give you a paper in my handwriting similar to 
 the one that you will give me. We shall then mutually 
 checkmate each other. What do you say to this ?" 
 
 " I'll give no paper, I'll write no writin','' replied Quin, 
 who was more afraid of a piece of writing than he was of 
 a pistol at fifteen paces' distance. He had just learned 
 enough in his business, in politics, and in betting, to be- 
 ware of signing his name to a piece of paper. 
 
 " Well, I see we cannot agree," said Finch, "and my be- 
 ing here so long with you alone will be noticed. Can you 
 not meet me at some hotel, where we can talk this matter 
 over more at our leisure? Besides, I must see about raising 
 a large sum of money, and it takes a little time to do it." 
 
 " See here, Misther Finch ; I don't want to be hard on 
 ye: say thirty thousand, an' it's a bargain." 
 
 " Xo ; I cannot possibly part with more than twenty 
 thousand." 
 
 " Split the difference," said Quin ; " make it twenty-five, 
 and we'll be the best of frinds." 
 
 " I cannot go one dollar higher," said Finch, disguising 
 his hatred and disgust as best he could. "Are you willing 
 to take this, and then swear, in the presence of two witness- 
 es, that that amount is in full for all demands ?" 
 
 Satisfied that this sum was four times as much as he 
 expected, Quin gave his assent, and promised to meet Mr. 
 
 Finch at the A House on the evening of the third day 
 
 from the present. As Timothy Quin retired from the 
 counting-house he chuckled at his success; and Myron 
 Finch strode up and down that inner office for half an hour, 
 thinking with all his might how he could get rid of Timo- 
 thy Quin. Ah, Timothy ! if a little bird of the air could 
 carry you the thoughts of Mr. Finch, instead of chuckling 
 you would hurry home, bar your doors, kneel down and say 
 your prayers those prayers which you have never uttered 
 since you were a little boy at your mother's knee !
 
 124 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " The bread of deceit is sweet, but it afterwards turneth to gravel in 
 the mouth." PROVERBS. 
 
 ON the day appointed for the meeting with Quin at the 
 hjotel agreed upon, Myron Finch, the wealthy and well- 
 dressed merchant, might have been seen slowly wending 
 his way through Broad and Wall Streets to Broadway. 
 He was thinking so profoundly that he failed to notice sev- 
 eral of his acquaintances until accosted ; and, as soon as the 
 ordinary salutations were exchanged, he resumed the same 
 attitude of deep meditation. We are at liberty to state his 
 reflections. "This coarse, vulgar fellow would suck me 
 like an orange," thought Finch, " until nothing is left but 
 the rind. The cancelled check was secured and destroyed. 
 There was no witness but Qnin. Why not deny the whole 
 thing, and defy this leech ? Had Quin any other testimony? 
 He must have, or he never would have been so impudent 
 and arrogant in his demands. What could that testimony 
 be ? Had he, the cunning rascal, an accomplice ?" 
 
 Finch was a man who slowly and carefully concocted his 
 plots. No military engineer ever built a fort more skil- 
 fully to withstand the assaults of the enemy than he his 
 schemes to prevent detection ; but, as in the best armor 
 there are joints, and as in the strongest fortification there 
 are weak points, so in the plans of Myron Finch there were 
 acts of oversight which even his caution did not guard 
 against. He had staked all to make a fortune which he 
 keenly relished ; and now to have it torn from him piece- 
 meal by this ignorant fellow, Quin, was worse than death. 
 His crimes against Scroggs, the pastor's niece, and against 
 Bailey, were not committed through any hatred or malice, 
 but simply to advance his selfish interests. He respected 
 his school-master, whom he had injured ; he loved, after his 
 cold fashion, the girl whom he had ruined ; and he admired
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 125 
 
 Bailey, whom he had destroyed ! But the destruction of 
 each was necessary to his happiness, and so he destroyed 
 them without scruple or remorse. Had his own mother 
 been an impediment, he would have removed her too, and 
 his conscience would never have given him an instant's 
 pain. He never hated or bore malice until after he had 
 wrought evil on his victims. His feeling against Quin was 
 a combination of fear, hatred, and disgust. " It is strange," 
 he thought, "if I cannot manage this ignoramus. To-day 
 I shall play with him, watch him, pump him, and see what 
 he knows ; and if he has nothing against me but his single 
 word, I shall have him arrested as a black- mailer." These 
 reflections brought Finch to the steps of the hotel, where 
 Quin was waiting to see him. 
 
 " We shall meet in a private room," said Finch, in a cold, 
 distant tone. 
 
 " Very well, sur ; I'm your 'umble sarvint to command," 
 replied Quin, in a tone of mock humility which was very 
 galling to Finch. 
 
 We shall leave these two worthies in their private room 
 to discuss their monetary affairs, while we turn to another 
 and better character of our story honest and kind-hearted 
 John Grady. It so happened that Grady had that morn- 
 ing been commissioned by his wife to carry an invitation 
 to her niece, Miss Jenny Edwards, the head-stewardess of 
 the hotel, to make them a visit -next Sunday, and to remain 
 with them all night, as her own room, recently occupied by 
 George Bailey, had been vacated. John Grady had no dif- 
 ficulty in finding his niece-in-law, for he was well known 
 in the hotel on account of his visits once or twice a month 
 to see her. As the uncle entered Miss Edwards's room he 
 greeted her most cordially, seized both her hands, and kiss- 
 ed her most affectionately on the forehead. 
 
 "And how's my little niece to-day, and how is every 
 bone in her body ?" said Grady, holding her small, delicate 
 hand in his great strong grasp. " Your aunt requested me 
 to call and ask you to come over on Sunday, and stay all 
 night. Bailey sailed for San Francisco last Saturday, to be 
 gone about three or four months."
 
 126 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 "Your little niece is all right, Uncle John. But hush! 
 There's somebody in the private room at the end of the 
 hall." 
 
 " What difference does it make who is in the private 
 room ?" replied Grady. " There are fifty private rooms in 
 this house, and there may be fifty private parties in them ; 
 but what do we care about them ?" 
 
 " Hush, uncle ! He is in there (pointing to the room) 
 with a coarse, rough-looking Irishman I beg pardon in 
 one of the small private dining-rooms. As you came, I 
 was considering whether my sense of honor would permit 
 me to discover what they are doing." 
 
 " He ? Do you mean that precious rascal, Finch ?" 
 
 " Yes ; I mean Myron Finch." 
 
 " Is it a sense of honor you are talking about with such 
 a villain as he ?" And honest John stretched out his " car- 
 nal weapon," as he was pleased to term his right arm, as if 
 longing to try its weight on the villain aforesaid. 
 
 " I saw him pass, but he did not see me. Indeed, I am 
 so much changed that I doubt if he would recognize me if 
 he met me face to face." This was uttered by the young 
 woman in a tone of deep sadness. 
 
 "Jenny, my dear, is there any way in which we could 
 overhear what he is talking about? for I have good and 
 sufficient reasons for desiring to know." 
 
 " Yes : there is a door connecting the room in which 
 they now are with a smaller room. If the door is unlock- 
 ed, as it usually is, we can open it about an inch without 
 being observed, and overhear every word that is said." 
 
 " Jenny, you are a jewel ! Just bring me to that room, 
 and I'll pray for you all the rest of my life !" 
 
 Jenny Edwards was a young woman of about thirty years 
 of age, pale, thin, and angular, with a strong jaw and firm 
 lips. Iler eye was quick and her movements prompt ; but 
 over her whole face there were indelible marks of much 
 suffering. There was, too, the confident air of one who, 
 through anguish of spirit, had acquired a self-poise and a 
 self-reliance that nothing could shake. But for these signs 
 of past tribulation, which had left a certain hardness on her
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 127 
 
 countenance, she would have been a handsome woman. In 
 her younger day she must have been very beautiful. 
 
 " Beautiful, my dear !" continued Grady. " We can see 
 them and hear every word the precious pair of rascals may 
 utter." 
 
 " It is growing dark, and the room is not well lighted," 
 said Jenny ; " so there is little chance of our being discov- 
 ered." 
 
 John Grady and Jenny Edwards stood at the door con- 
 necting the two rooms, his head above and hers below, with 
 eye and ear at the little opening about an inch wide, and 
 overheard as follows : 
 
 Finch, " Suppose I deny the forgery, what proof have 
 you ? The check I destroyed long ago." 
 
 Quin. "Go an, Misthcr Finch: jist show me yer whole 
 hand of car-rds at wanst." (It may be remarked that Quiu's 
 figures were of the gambling and betting order.) 
 
 Finch. " Suppose now only suppose, remember that I 
 were to deny everything, and have you arrested as a black- 
 mailer ; wouldn't that be a nice turning of the tables ? I 
 only, mind you, use this for argument's sake. But which 
 would be accepted in a court of justice, your unsupported 
 word or mine ?" 
 
 Quin. " Go an, Misther Finch. Play ycr hand out. I'll 
 play mine by-and-by." 
 
 Finch. "Come, Quin, you must be reasonable ; you must 
 lower your demand : if you don't, I shall leave you this in- 
 stant and denounce you as a black-mailer. Come, what is 
 the lowest figure that you will accept ;" 
 
 John Grady could see the two men from his place of ob- 
 servation. It was cold, clear, heartless intellect against cun- 
 ning brute force. Quin was evidently afraid of Finch, and 
 eyed him as though he were a rattlesnake. 
 
 Quin. " Not a cint less than the tarms I've already min- 
 tioned." 
 
 Finch. " Then I shall not give you one cent. So, 
 do your worst !" 
 
 Quin. " Eh, Misther Finch, that's your game, is it? You 
 havi- played yer last car-r-d. It's my turn now." So sav-
 
 128 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 ing, lie put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a large 
 greasy memorandum-book. Shaking the book in Finch's 
 face, and then opening it with a rapid, impulsive move- 
 ment, he exhibited several curious pieces of red blotting- 
 paper, with ordinary writing-paper, which had been torn and 
 crumpled, pasted over it, and so matched that the writing 
 was quite legible. 
 
 Quin. "See here, Misther Finch; do you know that? an' 
 that ? an' that ?" showing piece after piece, and each piece 
 containing the words, "William Wilde," "fifteen hundred 
 dollars," "November 20th, 18 " and "Jacob Van Hess 
 & Co.," written and rewritten. One of the papers con- 
 tained a fac-simile of the check, complete in all its parts, 
 which had been the means of sending George Bailey to 
 State-prison. The body of the check was an excellent imi- 
 tation of Bailey's handwriting ; the signature was an equally 
 exact imitation of that of Jacob Van Hess. Quin produced 
 over a dozen of these papers, which were simply the attempts 
 of Finch, many times repeated, to imitate the writing of 
 Jacob Van Hess and George Bailey. " What do ye think 
 of these, Misther Myron Finch ? Whin ye came down to 
 the office afther dark to practise, and whin ye wor thinkin' 
 an' schamin', I was watchin' ye. I knowed there wor siven 
 divils in yer heart, an' I kep' me oye on ye. Bright as ye 
 are, ye wor foolish enough to tear up yer practisin' papers 
 an' throw the pieces into the waste-basket. Afther ye left, 
 Misther Myron Finch, I picked these pieces out, an' sorted 
 them, an' fitted them together, an' pasted them on the red 
 blottin'- paper, an' here they are. How do ye like them? 
 That's my hand ov car-r-ds, an' it bates yours all hollow, Mis- 
 ther Finch. I howld the five-fingers, an' the ace, ay, an' the 
 knave too, Misther Finch. Maybe ye niver played 'forty- 
 foives,' Misther Finch ; but if ye knew that ilegant game, 
 ye would know that I howld the winnin' car-r-ds, an,' be 
 
 , I'll play them ! So ye won't give me a cint? an' so 
 
 ye'll hand me over to the police as a black-mailer, Misther 
 Myron Finch, marchint-prince will ye, eh ?" 
 
 The vulgar insolence of this vulgar brute would have 
 driven a weaker or a better man than Myron Finch to des-
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 129 
 
 peration. The reiteration of "Misther Finch," with the 
 low, vicious malice of a wretch whose instincts were cruel 
 and savage, was in itself an insult of the grossest kind, and 
 sufficient to arouse the wrath of a man of the most saintly 
 disposition. But Myron Finch was no ordinary character. 
 An exhibition of anger, or a blow struck in vindication of 
 his manhood, even had he possessed the physical courage 
 to strike it, would have been utter ruin. He realized his dan- 
 ger, and paid little attention to the abuse. While Quin was 
 pouring out vials of spite, Finch was making up his mind 
 to murder him. In pursuance of his plan, he let his head 
 fall on his breast with an air of extreme despondency, as if 
 he had given up the fight and confessed himself vanquished. 
 " Ruined, ruined, ruined !" Finch exclaimed, in a low, broken 
 tone. " Lost, lost, lost ! The game has been played " (using 
 Quin's favorite figure) " and I am thoroughly beaten. I am 
 lost ruined !" 
 
 Quin eyed him suspiciously, but the acting of Finch was 
 so perfect that he was completely deceived and thrown off 
 his guard. 
 
 Finch. " Make your own terms, Quin ; you can take 
 every cent I have in the world. I confess myself in your 
 power." 
 
 Quin. " Now see here, Misther Finch ; ye med me angry 
 wid yer talk about black-mail an' all that sort o' thing. But 
 if ye'll only be rasonable, I won't be hard on ye. The day 
 that you give me the twinty-five thousand dollars, Til burn 
 these papers, every wan of them." 
 
 Finch. " I give up the fight ! I'll do anything to escape 
 State-prison. Oh, I'm burning with thirst I feel sick I 
 am upset ! This, this has driven me nearly crazy ! Come to 
 the store to-morrow, and I shall give you a certified check for 
 twenty-five thousand dollars ; and and you will surely burn 
 all the papers those you have at home as well as those you 
 hold in your hand ?" 
 
 Quin. " I have them all here, every wan of them. I 
 swear to you, Misther Finch, that they are all here," tap- 
 ping the pocket-book as he replaced it in his pocket. 
 
 Finch. "Let us have a drink. This unpleasant interview 
 9
 
 130 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 has parched my throat, and I am horribly thirsty." Finch 
 rung the bell, and ordered a bottle of the best brandy and 
 some cigars. 
 
 Quin was elated with his success; he rubbed his large 
 red hands with glee ; his eyes fairly danced at the certainty 
 of receiving on the morrow the large sum of twenty-five 
 thousand dollars ; and physically and mentally he was in a 
 fit condition to imbibe good brandy at another's expense. 
 Finch, on the contrary, appeared despondent and half crazy, 
 anxious for strong drink to drown his misery. 
 
 Quin. " Cheer up, Misther Finch! "What is twinty-five 
 thousand dollars to you ? The papers will be desthroyecl, 
 an' you'll still be a very rich man. Let us dhrink to our 
 future frindship." 
 
 Timothy, in his present state of exhilaration, drank glass 
 after glass of strong brandy, while Finch took little more 
 than a spoonful. The latter held his glass, after he had 
 taken a sip or two, below the table, and quietly spilled the 
 liquor on the floor a proceeding which the former could 
 not by any possibility have suspected. The idea of wast- 
 ing first-rate imported hotel brandy in this way appeared 
 to honest Tim simply preposterous. Myron Finch pre- 
 tended to be half drunk. His spirits rose. He shook 
 hands with Quin across the table, laughed and joked, and 
 sung snatches of songs. He called for a bottle of old Bur- 
 gundy, the most treacherous of wines, which on top of 
 brandy was intoxication of the most stupid kind. He 
 poured out the red wine, and as Quin drank he smacked 
 his coarse lips, and pronounced it"foine!" Finch sent 
 the waiter for some coffee and the bill; and pulling out 
 the money with which to pay the reckoning, purposely 
 allowed several gold pieces to roll on the floor. But Quin, 
 now almost stupidly drunk, essaying to stoop to pick up 
 the money, fell from his chair and rolled to the floor; and 
 before he had time to recover himself, Finch poured the 
 contents of a small vial, already uncorked, into his wine. 
 As soon as Timothy had regained his seat, Finch said, 
 " Come, Quin, one more glass before the coffee arrives." 
 Both villains staggered to their feet, the one pretending to
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 131 
 
 be and the other really drunlc, clinked glasses, and swallow- 
 ed the wine. The waiter handed in the coffee, was paid the 
 reckoning, and received a large fee, with which he disap- 
 peared. For a minute or two Finch and Quin sipped their 
 coffee and smoked their cigars in silence. Finally Finch 
 closed his eyes, threw his head back on the chair, and re- 
 marked that he was dreadfully sleepy. Quin began to 
 nod. Every minute or so his companion would open his 
 eyes, rub them, and then cast a rapid glance at the drunken 
 sot before him. At last Quin fell into a deep sleep ; for, 
 what with the brandy and cigars, and what with the forty 
 drops of laudanum which Finch had slyly dropped into the 
 liquor, a cannon fired at his ear would scarcely have aroused 
 Quin from the drunken stupor that now oppressed him. 
 He breathed stertorously, like one in a fit of apoplexy ; 
 and, owing to the position of his head, the usual red of his 
 face had changed to a purple, and his heavy snoring could 
 be distinctly heard by the keen and deeply interested lis- 
 teners in the next room. But, singular to relate, the more 
 soundly Quin slept the more wakeful Finch became; he 
 became not only wakeful but alert and cautious. He rose 
 from his seat, looked at the door by which the waiter had 
 retired, nay, examined the very hall outside, but never once 
 thought of looking at the door leading into the small bed- 
 room, taking it for granted that that door was securely 
 locked ; and then on tiptoe, with the sly and stealthy step 
 of a cat, he softly approached Quin, paused for a moment, 
 and, observing no change in the position or breathing of 
 the insensible sot, deliberately put his hand in the breast- 
 pocket of Quin's coat and abstracted therefrom the memo- 
 randum-book containing the fatal "practice" papers the 
 imitations of George Bailey's handwriting. "Ha! Timo- 
 thy, you beast, snore away !" he whispered ; " these proofs 
 will be destroyed before I sleep to-night." He restored 
 the memorandum-book to Quin's pocket, and, taking out 
 his own pocket-book in which to put them, paused for a 
 moment, and said to himself, "I had better burn them. 
 Dead men and burnt papers tell no tales !" He arose to 
 walk over to the fire to execute his purpose, and had ac-
 
 132 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 complislied about two-thirds of the distance, when he found 
 the wrist of his right hand, which held the fatal papers, 
 grasped with a grip of iron, and heard the words hissed 
 into his ear in a low, terrible whisper, 
 
 " Utter one syllable, and I hand you over to the police !" 
 
 Before Finch could recover from the shock of amaze- 
 ment and fright caused by the suddenness of the assault, 
 John Grady had snatched the papers out of Finch's hand 
 and quietly crammed them into his own trousers' pocket. 
 
 " Speak one word and you are lost ! I have a witness 
 here whom you have good reason to know. Come here, 
 Jenny ; take a look at the cowardly scoundrel, forger, and 
 robber, whom you once thought an angel of light and 
 power." 
 
 The entrance of this woman almost paralyzed Finch. 
 Had her ghost arisen from the grave he could not have 
 been more astounded. He stared at her with wide-open 
 eyes, and seemed, in the daze caused by her presence, to 
 have forgotten his danger, and the object for which he had 
 committed robbery from the person of Quin. Finch stag- 
 gered to a chair, and murmured, " Jenny Edwards! Jenny 
 Edwards ! Jenny Edwards !" 
 
 "Yes," she replied, "Jenny Edwards, whose happiness 
 you ruthlessly destroyed whom you first betrayed and then 
 abandoned. You supposed I had sunk from one slum to 
 another, until finally I had found a nameless grave in Pot- 
 ter's Field. But no, Myron Finch ! I might be deceived by 
 a great love, but never by a baser passion. I arose out of 
 my misery, asked my God to forgive me, and here I am, 
 with the power to punish you ; and revenge is sweet ! Oh, 
 what a base villain you are ! With a fair exterior and good 
 powers of mind, you used your talents to ruin all who ap- 
 proached you. You drove the poor school-master, Scroggs, 
 from his position ; you killed my good uncle in Vermont, 
 who had been a father to you ; you ruined and cruelly sent 
 to State-prison George Bailey, who had been your benefac- 
 tor ; and me you heartlessly cast off in a great city to rot 
 and die ! Money has been the god of your idolatry money 
 for your own sensual gratification. For this you flung me
 
 GEOKGE BAILEY. 133 
 
 aside and married a poor weak creature, whom you never 
 even respected a weak creature who had not the strength or 
 the courage to save her noble lover, as she might have done 
 by showing her idiot of a father that George Bailey could 
 no more commit a crime than you could perform an act 
 of virtue. And so you grew rich and prosperous, Myron 
 Finch lived in a grand house and drove your carriage ; 
 you kept your steam-yacht and your fast horses ; and, beast 
 that you are, you were false to the wife who brought you 
 fortune and position. Oh, I have watched you ! oh, I know 
 you ! Often and often, Myron Finch, when I was strug- 
 gling out of my misery; when I feared that remorse and 
 despair would drive me insane ; when I was starving with 
 hunger, and shivering with cold, and fighting down temp- 
 tation for I was young, and considered beautiful in those 
 days and saw you, with all your crimes, rich and prosper- 
 ous, I was tempted to doubt the justice of God, and in 
 despair to commit suicide. I had one satisfaction, Myron 
 Finch your rich wife brought you neither comfort nor 
 happiness. Oh, I watched you, and was delighted to find 
 that you mutually hated each other !" 
 
 John Grady listened to this outpouring of wrath and in- 
 dignation in silence ; Finch, in abject fear and trembling. 
 If the truth must be told, Jenny's passion for this wicked 
 man was not wholly dead. At times she would have killed 
 him with her own hands, and again the memory of her year 
 of happiness in her New England home with her young and 
 handsome lover would come back like the memory of a 
 sweet dream, but a sweet dream obscured by heavy black 
 clouds. In her lonely musings she had built castles in the 
 air, and in one of these airy, unsubstantial edifices she had 
 placed Myron Finch, reformed by her means. Had Myron 
 Finch been free from his present wife, and possessed of all 
 the wealth of the world, Jenny Edwards would not have 
 married him, to be taken by her and treated as a husband. 
 She would have had the ceremony performed, and would 
 have left him the next minute. This was her feeling when 
 her practical mind reflected by daylight; her midnight mus- 
 ings and fancies were only vagaries of the imagination,
 
 134 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 which could never be vitalized by action. It was not her 
 intention now to send him to State-prison for life. There 
 could be no reform there : and it must be confessed that 
 Jenny Edwards's great aim in life was to reform Myron 
 Finch, and make him right the wrong he had done her. 
 How she was to accomplish this aim she did not know, but 
 she had a vague idea that God would interpose to show her 
 the way ; for Jenny had a pure, simple faith in the religious 
 teachings of her early youth. When she had finished her 
 " lecture " to Finch, and almost exhausted herself by the 
 force and vehemence of her language, she turned quietly to 
 her uncle, and said, 
 
 "Wake that man, if you can; the drug may kill him, 
 and then we shall have a case of murder on our hands. 
 We ought to let the carrion rot, and his partner swing for 
 it ; but, after all, he is one of God's creatures, with an im- 
 mortal soul, I suppose if such as he and Finch have souls 
 to be saved. Ring for a waiter, and ask him to bring 
 you some strong coffee, which is the best antidote for poi- 
 soning by laudanum. Kub him, shake him, and pour the 
 coffee down his throat." Then turning to Finch, who, in 
 a kind of stupor, was watching the efforts of Grady to re- 
 store Quin to consciousness, Jenny pointed imperiously to 
 the door, and said, " Go ! Begone ! The very sight of you 
 sickens my soul !" 
 
 Finch went out as he was ordered, muttering, almost un- 
 consciously, " Jenny Edwards ! Jenny Edwards come back 
 to torture me !" 
 
 The vigorous efforts of Grady soon roused Quin to a 
 partial state of wakefulness and sobriety ; and having ascer- 
 tained the number of one of his many stores, the worthy 
 "wine-merchant" was hustled into a cab and sent to his 
 home. John Grady carried the good news to his wife.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 135 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " Look here upon this picture, and on this." SHAKSPEARE. 
 " We can easily learn to be vicious without a master." SENECA. 
 " A good man and an angel ! these between, 
 How thin the barrier !" YOUNG. 
 
 FINCH walked up Broadway toward his home if home 
 it might be called, from which his wife had fled with her 
 three children like a man in a dream, trying to recall all 
 the incidents of the evening. The cool air and the prevail- 
 ing quiet refreshed his mind and body, and very soon his 
 clear intellect grasped the catastrophe in its true light. 
 Had there been but one witness, he would have brazened 
 it out and denied everything. But, in addition to Grady, 
 whom he remembered as an old enemy after Bailey's con- 
 viction, here was this Avoman, who had such good cause to 
 hate him, suddenly arisen, as it were, from the dead to strike 
 the fatal blow. He perceived that all his money could not 
 save him from conviction, nor buy up either of these two 
 formidable enemies. Before he reached Union Square he 
 had arrived at the conclusion that the city of New York 
 Avas no longer a safe place of residence for him. He must 
 abscond ; he must fly to some country with which the 
 United States had no extradition treaty ; but he must not 
 fly a poor man. He had committed too many dangerous 
 crimes to obtain wealth, and a portion of this wealth he 
 must carry into some foreign land. To wander about 
 again seeking employment, to endure the rebuffs of mer- 
 chants, such as he himself had administered to his own 
 clerks, and to feel the stings of poverty as he had felt them 
 eleven or twelve years ago, were simply intolerable he 
 might as well go to State-prison at once. It was evident 
 that Jenny Edwards, for some reason which he could not 
 comprehend, did not desire his immediate arrest, and that
 
 136 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 John Grady was controlled by her wishes. But how long 
 would this state of feeling last? They might have him ar- 
 rested at any moment. As he pondered these matters, he 
 came to the conclusion that Grady, having obtained posses- 
 sion of the proofs of his forgery, and having seen the act 
 of robbery, would use his power over him to extort money, 
 lie saw, too, that Grady was a totally different order of 
 man from Quin. Before he reached his house, his mind 
 was made up to convert all his stocks and bonds into ready 
 money, and, with about one hundred thousand dollars, retire 
 to South America, and live like a gentleman on the inter- 
 est. His real estate and business he would sacrifice, as a 
 matter of necessity. 
 
 He opened a safe in his bedroom, and took out all his 
 papers. With lead-pencil he carefully computed the value 
 of his railroad bonds and stocks, and his coal and mining 
 stocks. He took out all his jewellery. He went to the 
 front-room in the second story, and with a skeleton-key 
 opened his wife's private boxes and drawers and ransacked 
 them all. Mrs. Finch, having fled the house in a hurry, 
 had not yet called for her private property, and, unfortu- 
 nately for her, her valuable jewellery, worth many thousands 
 of dollars, was left behind. This her husband seized, and 
 wrenched the precious stones out of their settings. The 
 diamonds, the rubies, the emeralds, he placed in a little cas- 
 ket, and the gold he cast into the sink in the bath-room. 
 " This," he said, grimly, " will pay me to some extent for 
 the houses and lands, which are not portable property." 
 
 After securing his property, he stole quietly out of the 
 house, entered an omnibus, and took a room in a second- 
 class hotel. He feared to remain in his own house, and he 
 did not intend to enter again his own office. He left his 
 three children behind him without one pang of remorse, or 
 the slightest feeling of regret. He slept soundly that night, 
 because he was convinced of his security, and had no doubts 
 of his escape. Finch was the personification of selfishness. 
 It is doubtful if he ever realized his sins against his own 
 soul, or his crimes against his fellow-men. Such men as he 
 may feel, and in fact do feel, acute fear, but remorse and re-
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 137 
 
 pentance are to them unknown emotions. Cold-blooded as 
 fishes, they seem as devoid of affection as of moral emotion. 
 
 The next morning Finch disposed of all his bonds and 
 stocks, and converted them into cash. This, with the pre- 
 cious stones stolen from his wife, and his own jewellery, 
 made him worth about one hundred and twenty thousand 
 dollars. Before twelve o'clock Myron Finch was quietly 
 waiting at the depot in Jersey City for the one o'clock train 
 to Philadelphia. At four o'clock he was lost, in an obscure 
 lodging near the shipping, in a large city. Toward evening 
 he went out and bought two common trunks, such as sailors 
 take on long voyages, and two or three suits of plain, un- 
 fashionable clothing : he went to a barber, and had his hair 
 cropped short and his face clean shaven : he went to a drug 
 store and purchased some black hair- dye; and to a cigar 
 store and purchased some tobacco. He re-entered his room, 
 colored his face with tobacco-water, and dyed his hair, his 
 eyebrows, and his eyelashes. His disguise was now so 
 thorough that it is more than probable that even Jenny 
 Edwards would have failed to recognize him. 
 
 One thing was very remarkable about this man Finch 
 he rarely smiled, and he was never known to laugh. Even 
 in his sensual pleasures he was grave and sedate, and he al- 
 ways bore the exterior of a decorous gentleman. As he 
 finished the work of disguising himself, and saw, as he crit- 
 ically scanned himself in the glass, how complete it was, not 
 even the shadow of a smile passed over his face. He sim- 
 ply said, " I think this will do." A villain with more heart 
 and a little sense of humor would have uttered at least a 
 low laugh of satisfaction at the perfection of the change. 
 Finch did not even hate anything except he first feared it ; 
 and when the fear was gone so was his hatred. Yesterday 
 he feared Quin ; to-day he never once thought of him. 
 This morning, while disposing of his property for cash, he 
 feared and hated Grady ; to-night, all danger being past, he 
 had no ill-feeling toward him. The only time he had ever 
 hated Bailey was when he returned from State-prison, and 
 there was danger that he might wreak vengeance for the 
 wrong that had been inflicted upon him. All Finch's plans
 
 133 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 were for the future. His money would enable him to gratify 
 all his gross appetites ; and, provided he could do so, it mat- 
 tered little to him whether he lived in Vermont, New York, 
 Europe, or South America at least so he fancied. " Gold," 
 he repeated to himself, " is ease, pleasure, self-indulgence in 
 every land and clime, from Labrador to Japan." 
 
 Thoroughly disguised, and dressed in the garb of a com- 
 mercial agent, Finch found a brig bound for Valparaiso, in 
 which he took a small state-room as cabin passenger, under 
 the name of Alexander Brown. He would have preferred 
 a larger and more commodious vessel than the William 
 Penn (for that was the name of the brig), but feared to re- 
 main any longer so near the scene of his crimes. 
 
 While Myron Finch is on his way toward Cape Horn, we 
 shall follow the fortunes of the hero of our story. 
 
 When George Bailey had reached San Francisco, he found 
 Walter Wilde's health much worse than he had expected 
 from the tone of the letters which the young man had sent 
 to his father and sister. About one year ago he had grad- 
 uated head of his class in Columbia College a feat which 
 almost cost him his life. His frame, never very strong at 
 the best, had been worn down by excess of study ; and 
 though his father had sent him to California more for the 
 purpose of improving his health by a sea-voyage and change 
 of climate than for the sake of the business for any one of 
 his clerks could have attended to that it was really a great 
 mistake to send him so far away from friends and kindred. 
 Besides, the winding up of the financial affairs of the branch 
 bank required skill, patience, and experience qualities in 
 which the young student was very deficient. Walter Wilde 
 was worried and lonely ; and when Bailey came to take his 
 place he found him homesick, and suffering from a cough 
 of long standing. Walter was exceedingly relieved when 
 Bailey assumed the charge of closing up the business. Ev- 
 ery day, after a hard day's work, Bailey had a carriage at 
 the door, and almost compelled the youth, who was very 
 fond of reading, to lay aside his books and come out for a 
 long drive outside the city limits. At first young Walter, 
 with the indolence of ill-health and much reading, almost
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 139 
 
 resented the importunity of his friend ; but in a short time 
 these rides, by the force of habit, and on account of the ex- 
 hilaration of spirits which the bracing air of the country 
 aroused, became exceedingly pleasant. Bailey sought the 
 advice of the ablest physician in San Francisco, and had 
 Wilde carefully and minutely examined. The medical di- 
 agnosis was favorable : " No organic disease ; delicacy of con- 
 stitution, and irritation of the bronchial tubes ; nourishing 
 diet, plenty of sleep, fresh air and moderate exercise, and a 
 tonic of quinine and iron." Walter Wilde laughed at the 
 examination, half in fun and half in anger. He had a sort 
 of respectful dread of his grave, earnest nurse and man of 
 business ; but having the fine blood of the Wildes in his 
 veins, and all their generous impulses, and seeing Bailey day 
 after day drive him out, or, if the day was unfit for a drive, 
 read aloud for his amusement, or talk to him by the hour, 
 he soon came to entertain not only a profound respect but 
 a deep affection for his untiring friend. Bailey would re- 
 mind him of his meals and his medicine, and would be inex- 
 orable until the orders of the physician were conformed to. 
 
 One unpleasant afternoon the two young men were sitting 
 in their own parlor of the hotel ; and Bailey was reading 
 aloud, in a deep, sonorous tone, "The Prisoner of Chillon" 
 with a tremulous pathos in his voice more pitiful than tears ; 
 and his friend was watching the lights and shadows flit over 
 the reader's face with a peculiar look, as if trying to read 
 his character. At the close of a stanza Bailey raised his 
 eyes and encountered the inquiring gaze of Wilde. 
 
 "George, old boy, you're the best fellow alive ! Where 
 on earth did you learn to be so gentle and so patient? I 
 was looking at you and wondering as you read." 
 
 " Nonsense, Walter ! I am neither gentle nor patient ; but, 
 on the contrary, I am hot-tempered and impulsive." 
 
 " Then why have you been so patient and gentle with 
 such an ill-conditioned fellow as I ? Why, when you first 
 came here I almost disliked you as a prig, and scarcely treat- 
 ed you with decent respect." 
 
 " I have done nothing," replied Bailoy, " but my duty. 
 Your father sent me to take the trouble of business off your
 
 140 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 shoulders, and to help restore you to health ; and and 
 your sister requested me to to be a brother to yon, or 
 something of the sort." 
 
 "Say, Bailey, do you know my sister?" 
 
 The young man asked this question after a long pause, 
 and it caused Bailey to blush a dark red. 
 
 "Ye-e-s; I had the honor of seeing her a few times. 
 The first time was when I went to her to thank her for her 
 great goodness to my poor mother, and when she begged 
 your father, for that mother's sake, to give me employment. 
 During the week before the steamer sailed I saw her almost 
 every day." 
 
 " Got you employment, did she ? Oh, I remember, now : 
 your mother was the old lady, the doctor's widow, for 
 whom Edith procured a situation, and in whom she took 
 such great interest. Oh, I remember it all very well. So 
 you are the son of that old lady, Edith's friend ? And 
 where the deuce were you all this time? sowing your 
 wild-oats, or off on a whaling voyage ?" 
 
 " I was neither sowing wild-oats nor sailing on the sea ; 
 I was doing the State some service," replied Bailey, with 
 gritn irony. " Some day I shall tell you the honorable em- 
 ployment that the State assigned me." 
 
 " But Edith," pursued the young man, meditatively, " does 
 not usually take to strangers ; in fact she is rather shy and 
 reticent, except with those whom she likes. So she made 
 the governor give you a place in the bank ? Bravo ! that's 
 like her: once she takes a good thing into her wise little 
 head, she never ceases until it is accomplished." 
 
 "My mother died in her arms: she was my mother's 
 dearest and best friend. Can you wonder that she took an 
 interest in the son ?" 
 
 Bailey jerked out these sentences, partly by way of apol- 
 ogy for Edith's interest in him, a stranger. 
 
 " I do not wonder in the least. Why, George, that girl 
 had a whole regiment of old men and women whom she took 
 care of. Don't be offended. I do not mean to class your 
 mother among them. I simply wish to show you that she is 
 the kindest, the bravest, the purest, the best little woman on
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 141 
 
 the face of the earth ! Ah, if you only knew her as I do, 
 you would worship her ! What a wise little creature she 
 has always been ! She is two years older than I. From 
 the time that my mother died she has been a mother, a 
 more than mother, to me ; always helping me in my stud- 
 ies, always providing for me, always taking care of me. 
 She was so little, and so wise, I nicknamed her 'grandma.' 
 She seemed, too, to know everything. She used to help me 
 with my Latin and my mathematics ; and would you be- 
 lieve it ? after I became a ' soph,' she took private lessons 
 from an old Scotch professor on the sly, so that she might 
 have the pleasure of assisting me, her stupid grandson. I 
 don't believe that I could have graduated at all, much less 
 with honor, had it not been for Edith. Now, old fellow, 
 don't be offended at what I said a moment ago; for I 
 am sure your mother must have been a lady I mean, 
 a real born and bred lady, not one of your parvenu vul- 
 gar ladies or my sister never would have made her a 
 friend." 
 
 George, instead of being offended, could have listened all 
 night to Edith's brother (though scarcely to any other man, 
 except her father) pronouncing eulogies on the woman 
 whom he has idolized from the first moment that they 
 met. Bailey continued to speak of his mother, but for the 
 purpose of hiding his confusion when Edith Wilde's name 
 was mentioned. 
 
 " Yes, Walter, my mother was, as you say, a real lady'in 
 every sense of the word polished, refined, good, and chari- 
 table and she suffered unmerited punishment. Oh ! oh ! 
 had she only lived to see me this day in my present posi- 
 tion, and to know who put me in the way of .well-doing! 
 But perhaps her good spirit watches over me and knows 
 all. I trust it is so." 
 
 " But what most astonishes me," said Walter, " is your 
 gentleness and patience with a cross-grained, irritable fellow 
 like me. I noticed your anger the other day when, cross- 
 ing the bridge on foot, the hackman almost ran over me ; 
 and I observed the way in which you caught the horse's 
 head, and hurled horse, man, and hack from the arch of the
 
 142 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 bridge back to the street. Whew ! what a giant's strength! 
 What wouldn't I give to have your muscle !" 
 
 " For ten years that muscle was admirably developed by 
 hard work on a wholesome but spare diet," Bailey replied, 
 in a tone of dry irony. 
 
 " So long? What the deuce put such a severe course of 
 training into your head? Were you practising as a pro- 
 fessional gymnast ?" 
 
 " No, not a" gymnast, but a a Did you know a mer- 
 chant in New York named Myron Finch ? He was the man 
 who put me in the service of the State." 
 
 " I knew him but slightly. If I remember correctly, he 
 was a light-colored man, with light eyes, light hair, and 
 light all over almost like an Albino." 
 
 " Yes," continued Bailey, " that is the man ; light with- 
 out, but black within ; and particularly black about the 
 heart and white about the liver. That man put me on my 
 course of physical and mental training." 
 
 At the thought of Finch, Bailey's eye and brow became 
 dark and fierce. His constant struggle against the desire 
 for vengeance was difficult and trying ; and nothing pre- 
 vented his seeking out the villain and punishing him with 
 his own hands but his absorbing love of Edith Wilde. In 
 spite of all his good resolutions, the old, deadly, vindictive 
 feeling would arise in his heart and shake his whole frame 
 with its intensity. 
 
 Walter Wilde, unconscious of the storm he had raised 
 in the heart of his friend, rattled away without reserve con- 
 cerning Edith, his father, and himself. For Bailey he now 
 entertained feelings of esteem and affection ; for the young 
 man was not slow to perceive the solid intellect and sound 
 sense, as well as the Titanic strength, which had aroused 
 his admiration; and Bailey loved Edith's brother. He 
 would have loved Edith's cat, or dog, or bird, or glove 
 anything, in fact, that belonged to Edith. 
 
 Finally, the business was wound up, and the two friends 
 took their passage in the good ship Sebastian Cabot, bound 
 for New York. Bailey had informed Warrenton, Wilde & 
 Co. of the success of his financial operations, and "Walter
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 143 
 
 had written to his sister a long fraternal letter, eulogizing 
 his friend, and speaking in the most glowing terms of the 
 pleasures of a long sea-voyage around the Horn. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 " Yet is there one more cursed than they all, 
 - That canker-worm, that monster, Jealousie." 
 
 SPENSER. 
 
 MORE than five months have rolled away since the clip- 
 per ship Sebastian Cabot passed through the Golden Gate 
 and sailed toward the Southern Cross, and not a word has 
 been heard of her. It has been generally supposed that she 
 foundered in one of those terrific gales which frequently 
 occur south of Cape Horn. As day after day and month 
 after month passed without tidings of the ship, long over- 
 due, Air. William Wilde and his daughter became extremely 
 uneasy, and this uneasiness gradually grew into a chilling 
 fear. Every afternoon, as her father came home, Edith 
 mutely searched his eyes for news ; but the only reply of 
 Mr. Wilde was a sad- shake of the head, more eloquent than 
 any language that he could have employed. Sometimes 
 they sat down to their cheerless dinner without exchanging 
 a single word ; and at other times Edith would simply say, 
 " No tidings yet, father ?" and he would reply, in a dreary 
 monotone, " None, my child, none !" 
 
 Once Edith asked him if the insurance companies had 
 given up the ship as lost, and he was obliged to say that 
 they had. Mr. Wilde disliked to talk on the subject ; and 
 when forced to reply to the questions asked him, did so in 
 monosyllables, and then relapsed into a brooding silence. 
 As an experienced merchant and banker, he well knew that 
 ships traversed beaten tracks on the ocean almost as travel- 
 lers do between great cities on the land. Were she still 
 afloat, some ship in passing would have seen and spoken 
 her. Mr. Wilde, therefore, had less reason to hope than 
 Editli ; he believed in his heart that the Sebastian Cabot
 
 144 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 had foundered, and that all hands were lost. To him this 
 was a bitter blow ; for he had fondly hoped that his own 
 name, through Walter, would be preserved in the great 
 banking-house of which he was the principal manager. 
 Nor was this ambition inconsistent with his parental love, 
 which was deep and strong ; indeed, the one feeling seem- 
 ed to intensify the other. lie had toiled all his life for 
 money ; not for its own sake, but for the pleasure and ex- 
 citement he found in making it ; and when once made, no 
 man could be more willing to expend it, or more liberal in 
 his charities. What he valued most, next to his own and 
 his children's honor, was the good name of the house of 
 Warrenton, Wilde <fe Co. Had his only son lived to take 
 his place, had he seen him an able merchant and banker, he 
 would have been pleased to say to his Creator, "Now let 
 thy servant depart in peace." The instinct of living again 
 in our children, common to strong natures, predominated in 
 the mind of Mr. Wilde. 
 
 One afternoon he came home looking so pale, weary, and 
 care-worn, that Edith, very much alarmed, exclaimed, 
 
 " Father, father ! what ails you ? You arc sick ! You 
 have bad news I know you have : I see it in your face 
 I see it in your eye. Tell me at once. Anything is better 
 than suspense." 
 
 " My darling " But Mr. Wilde could say no more. 
 He covered his face with his hands and groaned in agony. 
 
 " Father ! dear, dear father !" and she put her arms 
 around his neck and kissed him on the forehead. " Fa- 
 ther, dear, I know the worst : the ship is surely lost, and 
 my brother and my brother is drowned!" The blank 
 was meant for Bailey, but even in that hour of woe she had 
 sufficient self-restraint to refrain from mentioning his name. 
 The look of agony in her eye and over her face was some- 
 thing appalling; and yet in that awful moment, when her 
 misery was more than twice as great as her father's, her 
 first thought was to comfort the old man. 
 
 In broken accents and in disjointed sentences Mr. Wilde 
 informed Edith that a ship had arrived that morning the 
 captain of which reported that off Cape Ilorn he saw por-
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 145 
 
 tions of a wrecked vessel, and part of the bow containing 
 the letters Sebas Ca . "There is no longer the least 
 doubt," he said. " Oh, my poor Walter ! Oh, my son, 
 my son ! Would that I had died instead of you !" The 
 gray-haired man wept like a child. 
 
 Edith uttered not a word, shed not a tear : she turned 
 the color of marble, but did not swoon. She kept quietly 
 smoothing her father's white hair and brow, and gently try- 
 ing to comfort him. As she mechanically stroked his hair 
 or his hands, her weird, wide-open gray eyes gazed into the 
 fire with a far-off look. The supreme suffering of her soul 
 could only be seen in the introverted expression of the eyes 
 and in the compression of the lips. At length, when Mr. 
 Wilde appeared somewhat composed, Edith said, 
 
 "Father, I would like to retire to my room. May I 
 leave you for this evening only ? To-morrow I shall be 
 able to resume my usual duties, and be henceforth to you, 
 if I can, a comfort and a consolation." 
 
 " Certainly, Edith ; go and rest. You will need it more 
 than I. God bless you, my darling !" and they kissed each 
 other a sad good-night. 
 
 As soon as Edith reached her room, she threw herself 
 upon her knees and prayed long and fervently. She asked 
 God to give her fortitude and courage to do her daily duty 
 under the burden of her two-fold affliction. She arose from 
 her knees, cold, desolate, and tearless. She had known for 
 months ever since his departure for California how ten- 
 derly, truly, devotedly, and passionately she loved George 
 Bailey. She loved him with a singleness and strength 
 such as strong women feel once and forever. She had 
 never felt the slightest semblance of love for any one of the 
 many suitors who had sought her hand. But for him, the 
 son of the noble lady who had died in her arms for him, 
 the persecuted, the brave, the noble, the true, the heroic and 
 the gentle she allowed the great fountain of her love to 
 flow forth in unmeasured currents. When she gave him 
 her heart she gave it without stint or reservation ; she gave 
 it with all the generosity of a noble nature. As he was 
 the first man who had ever aroused in her the tender emo- 
 
 10
 
 146 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 tion, her imagination clothed him with all the attributes of 
 a demigod. A fearful thing is this first and only love of a 
 strong woman. If Edith Wilde lived after such a bereave- 
 ment, she would live as much a widow as though the mar- 
 riage ceremony had been performed between her and George 
 Bailey. She felt herself his through all the countless ages 
 of eternity ; and to her it would have appeared a dreadful 
 sin ever to think of any other man in the relation of lover 
 or husband. Pale and motionless as a marble statue, Edith 
 sat gazing into the slowly -dying embers of the fire, and 
 thought of the dear young brother, whom she had trained 
 to everything pure and honorable, and of her lover, with 
 whom she had never exchanged a single endearing epithet. 
 It was a pitiful sight to see this good, strong woman thus 
 stricken down by so fearful a blow. 
 
 The fire in the grate died out ; the room grew cold, but 
 Edith heeded it not. For hours she remained in the same 
 fixed attitude, more like a corpse than a living person. At 
 last a slight noise seemed to startle her, and, as if conscious 
 for the first time of her terrible bereavement, she wrung her 
 small hands in agony, and then threw her arms upward with 
 a gesture of intolerable pain. Then she arose and paced 
 the room backward and forward, as if seeking relief in mo- 
 tion ; and clinching her hands, compressing her lips, and oc- 
 casionally closing her eyes, she seemed as if nerving herself 
 against the overthrow of reason. She had no likeness of 
 Bailey except the ineffaceable one graven on her heart ; she 
 had not even a line of his handwriting; no visible thing 
 of his had she : she would have given her whole fortune for 
 a small lock of his iron-gray hair. She blamed herself for 
 thinking so much about her lover and so little about her 
 brother. She endeavored to drive Bailey out of her mind, 
 and retain Walter there ; but in vain ; for the greater grief 
 seemed to swallow up the less ; and her thoughts, in spite 
 of herself, would again and again recur to the man whom 
 she loved beyond everything on earth. 
 
 Again she sought consolation in prayer, and forced her- 
 self to dwell on the darling brother whom she had lost for- 
 ever; but with every effort, the two dear forms came before
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 147 
 
 her imagination intermingled, and sinking down, down into 
 the hungry ocean intertwined in each other's arms. Again 
 she arose from her knees and paced the room as before. 
 Not a tear came to her relief. At length, from sheer ex- 
 haustion, she threw herself on the bed and lay like one in 
 a trance. But " Sleep, the twin brother of Death," weighed 
 not upon her eyelids. She could never tell afterward how 
 she had passed that first night of supreme misery. Nature, 
 gentle and kindly, helps the miserable more than they can 
 realize, by blunting the edge of agony which, if prolonged, 
 would destroy life or overthrow reason. While reclining on 
 the bed, a sort of stupor took possession of her faculties ; 
 and in this condition the storm, the shipwreck and the death 
 of Walter and Bailey passed before her like the phantasma- 
 goria of a fearful dream. 
 
 The pale rays of the rising sun, the harbingers of a new 
 day, struggled through the blinds and curtains of her cham- 
 ber, and still Edith lay with her eyes wide open, staring at 
 the ceiling with a stony look. In another hour the crim- 
 son light filled the room, and extinguished the artificial 
 light which had burnt steadily through the long hours of 
 the night. Edith arose wearily, like one who rises for the 
 first time from a bed of sickness, and staggered to the 
 wash-stand, and bathed her hands and face in cold water, 
 inwardly resolving that she would bear her cross and com- 
 fort her feeble father. She had now the appearance of one 
 who had suddenly grown old. She was determined that 
 no human being should ever know of her love for Bailey : 
 that secret she would carry with her to the grave. At 
 eight o'clock she went down to breakfast, and silently kiss- 
 ed her father. Neither spoke ; neither could eat a morsel ; 
 each feared to mention the subject uppermost in the minds 
 of both. Here we shall leave them to bear their misery as 
 best they can, and ask the gentle reader to accompany us 
 to another father and daughter, whose acquaintance he has 
 already made. 
 
 The beautiful mansion in which George Bailey had paid 
 his addresses to Grace Van IIcss had long ago been aban- 
 doned. Father and daughter, with her three children, oc-
 
 148 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 cupicd a humble house in one of the poorer quarters of the 
 city. Jacob Van Hess is now a very old man, broken and 
 sickly, a prey to remorse, and struggling to keep his com- 
 mercial credit above water. The discovery of Myron Finch's 
 character, so soon after wedding Grace and becoming a part- 
 ner in the firm ; the fear that his son-in-law had for years 
 inspired ; the wholesale squandering of the money of the 
 firm without the power to prevent it; the evil treatment 
 which he knew that his darling Grace had received from 
 her brute of a husband through the entire period of her 
 married life ; the strong suspicion, recently established into 
 a terrible truth, that Finch had cheated Bailey out of wife 
 and position, and had used him (Van Hess) to carry out his 
 villanies ; his recent absconding with nearly all the remain- 
 ing resources of the firm all these had made Jacob Van 
 Hess prematurely feeble and timid, had crushed his spirit 
 within him, and destroyed that energy and enterprise which 
 had made him so successful a merchant. For the first time 
 in twelve years Grace and her father feel comparatively hap- 
 py. The absolute terror which Finch had inspired is lifted 
 from their hearts, but the debasing effects remain and will 
 remain forever. Terror is the most morally destructive of 
 all the emotions, and seems to have a paralyzing influence 
 both on the body and the mind. The old man is a coward 
 now, and dreads poverty and the poor-house. The daugh- 
 ter, who, under the kindly treatment of a strong man like 
 Bailey, might have grown into a strong woman, is now 
 mean-spirited, selfish, and unreasonable. Finch had the 
 fatal power of dragging all with whom he came in contact 
 down to his own very low level. Ah ! if Jenny Edwards 
 only knew it, it was much better for her to have been cast 
 off and forgotten, than to have been wedded, like Grace 
 Van Hess, to this moral monster. 
 
 Through her father Grace had learned of Bailey's promo- 
 tion and voyage to San Francisco, and had kept herself ap- 
 prised of all his movements, from the time of the unsatis- 
 factory interview when he called for the receipt, up to the 
 day of his departure. In some unaccountable way she had 
 learned, in addition, that Edith Wilde, whom she had some-
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 149 
 
 times met in society, had been very kind to Bailey's moth- 
 er; had procured Bailey himself employment; that he had 
 gone regularly every Sunday to Miss Wilde's church ; and 
 that he had been very handsomely treated by Mr. Wilde. 
 She had actually discovered Bailey's lodgings and habits of 
 life. The love -which she had quietly nursed for eleven 
 years, like a slow fire smothered with much fuel, had burst 
 out into a strong, fierce flame on the day that her brutal 
 husband struck her ; and the cold, hard manner of George 
 Bailey, on the occasion of their one interview, combined 
 with her own feminine suspicion or instinct, had convinced 
 her that his heart had been given to another woman, and 
 that woman she believed to be Edith Wilde. She was now 
 unreasonably and savagely jealous. This jealousy had spur- 
 red her on to ascertain all George Bailey's movements, and 
 had given her a penetration and a determination of pur- 
 pose hitherto foreign to her character. She had been de- 
 lighted to hear of Myron Finch's absconding; not that she 
 feared him, or could ever again fear him, but because she 
 was rid of an obstacle that stood between her and the man 
 she loved. Even if her husband should return, he could be 
 arrested and imprisoned ; and she had resolved, at any rate, 
 to obtain a divorce. Finch's selfish brutality, as before 
 stated, had had its effect on Grace's character. She saw no 
 wrong in loving Bailey, or in hating Edith W T ilde. She 
 dreamed dreams and saw visions; and in the blindness of 
 her passion she built airy habitations, in which she placed 
 herself as the wife of the man whom she had abandoned 
 to his fate. She would say to herself, in her solitary mus- 
 ings, " Who knows but his old love will reappear ? If he 
 saw me often enough, his passion would revive. But for 
 this Edith Wilde " Then a dark scowl would overspread 
 her face. She had been starved and stinted so long during 
 her life with Finch, that her heart fairly ached for such 
 love as she knew Bailey was capable of feeling. She would 
 have freely risked her immortal soul to bask one hour in 
 the sunshine of the love which she had deliberately cast 
 away twelve years ago. 
 
 The same day, and at about the same hour that Mr. Wilde
 
 150 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 had communicated to Edith the loss of the ship Sebastian 
 Cabot, Mr. Van Hess was reading the Evening Post, and 
 Grace was reading a light novel, translated from the French. 
 The old gentleman started and exclaimed, 
 
 " Eh ! what is this ? George Bailey and Walter "Wilde 
 among the list of passengers !" 
 
 "What do you mean, father ?" said Grace, in a startled 
 tone. "What passengers? "What ship are you talking 
 about ?" 
 
 " The ship Sebastian Cabot, which foundered at sea and 
 all hands lost, including George Bailey and Walter Wilde. 
 Here is a full account in the Evening Post." 11 Mr. Van Hess, 
 however, did not read the article aloud, as he had intended ; 
 for, happening to turn his head, he saw that Grace had faint- 
 ed, lie rung for assistance ; and by a liberal use of cold 
 water and considerable hand-chafing she was quickly restored 
 to consciousness. When strong enough to speak, and when 
 the servant had left the room, she said, 
 
 " Father, it was unkind of you to be so abrupt. You 
 startled me dreadfully, and you know that my nerves are 
 not strong. Show me that paper." 
 
 Grace read the fatal article with compressed lips, and a 
 face the color of the dead. When she had finished she 
 said, " I won't believe it ! There are small boats, and rafts, 
 and all that sort of thing. Men are picked up at sea. I 
 won't believe that George Bailey is drowned I won't !" 
 
 " Very true, Grace, my dear ; they may have been picked 
 up and they may not; more likely not. I am glad I asked 
 and received his forgiveness ; for he was a good lad, and 
 would have made you an excellent husband instead of that 
 Finch." 
 
 " Yes," said Grace ; " and whom am I to thank that my 
 husband was Finch ? Keep quiet, father, keep quiet ! Bai- 
 lev, I repeat, is not drowned." 
 
 u My dear, I did all for the best." 
 
 "Yes, yes; I know you did. Good -night, father, I ara 
 tired ;" and Grace Finch walked out of the room for the 
 purpose of escaping the garrulity of the feeble old man, 
 for whom she had little respect.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 151 
 
 She, too, sat and pondered ; and she, too, strode back and 
 forth like a man ; and she, too, threw herself on her bed 
 and groaned ; but there was this difference between Edith 
 Wilde and her Grace never once prayed, and never once 
 thought of anything but her own selfish sorrow. At break- 
 fast next morning word came to her father that she had a 
 headache and could not leave her room. During the after- 
 noon she dressed and went out. She wandered here and 
 there without aim or purpose. She bought an evening paper 
 and scanned it carefully for news of the lost ship, but in vain. 
 She thought that perhaps the Wildes might have some in- 
 formation ; but what excuse could she make for calling at 
 such a time ? Could she invent something ? No, she could 
 think of nothing which was reasonable. At last a thought 
 struck her the receipt. Bailey was in Wilde's employ. 
 Mrs. Bailey had lost the receipt that is, if she ever received 
 one. She need say nothing of Bailey's having received a 
 receipt sometime before his departure for California. She 
 now hurried home in time to meet her father at dinner. 
 
 " Father, don't you think that Mr. Wilde should have Mr. 
 Bailey's receipt that is, the receipt which you gave him 
 before he went to San Francisco ?" 
 
 "No, I think not. That would be a rather strange pro- 
 ceeding," said Mr. Van Hess. 
 
 " But," said Grace, " the whole proceeding was very 
 strange. Mr. Bailey owed Mr. Wilde the money which the 
 forged check paid to Mr. Wilde. Mrs. Bailey paid this debt 
 with honest money, and left no receipt for her son. He was 
 so anxious about it, doubtless for the purpose of showing 
 it to Mr. Wilde, that he wrote to you about it. Now, it is 
 more than likely that this receipt was lost when the ship 
 went down. Don't you think it would be an act of gener- 
 osity to hand Mr. Wilde a receipt this evening, and to tell 
 him your fearful mistake ?" 
 
 " Well, Grace," replied the old gentleman, " it is not very 
 business-like to give a second receipt in this way ; but, as 
 you remark, it would be only just to tell Mr. Wilde that I 
 believe now that we sent an innocent man to State-prison." 
 
 Whether it was business or sentiment mattered little to
 
 152 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 Grace Finch, as long as she accomplished her purpose. She 
 was anxious for news, and she was morbidly curious to see 
 if Edith Wilde suffered very much in consequence of her 
 twofold loss. The passion of love in low minds is a ready 
 condoner of crime, and a logical justificr of every sin com- 
 mitted in its own behalf. Her causeless hatred of Edith was 
 a sin, but Mrs. Finch saw it not ; her love for Bailey was a 
 crime against her womanhood, but she never realized it. 
 
 The giving of the receipt and the conversation about the 
 old forgery naturally led to the very thing which Grace had 
 desired namely, a private interview with Edith. These 
 two women presented a singular contrast as they sat facing 
 each other on the sofa. Thought, study, and high moral 
 principle had chiselled the features of Edith Wilde into a 
 beauty and a purity surpassing the best models of Grecian 
 art : strength, and firmness, and intellectual power shone in 
 the steady glance of her clear gray eye ; and over and above 
 all was that expression of goodness which had won the heart 
 of Bailey at their first interview. Self-indulgence and ab- 
 ject fear had left their impress so distinctly on the former 
 girlish beauty of Grace Finch, that one was unconsciously 
 reminded of a beautiful peach on which the damp of a cel- 
 lar has left the stain of mildew. 
 
 " You must excuse us, Miss Wilde," said Grace, " but we 
 could not rest until Mr. Wilde had the assurance that Mr. 
 Bailey had been a grossly-wronged man. We have had the 
 proof of it, and desired to communicate this proof to all his 
 friends. Now that, perhaps, he is no more " and at this 
 point Grace searched Edith's face keenly, but saw no sign 
 of emotion " now that he is no more, we wished those who 
 trusted him to know that he was deserving of their confi- 
 dence and esteem." 
 
 Edith Wilde looked at Grace Finch with a frigid, dis- 
 tant, stony expression of face. At first she had been sim- 
 ply amazed that one calling herself a lady should intrude 
 upon a mere acquaintance at such a time. Her amazement 
 changed to contempt, and this contempt gradually grew 
 into a feeling of dislike. She thought to herself, " So this 
 is the woman who was engaged to George Bailey ; and per-
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 153 
 
 haps she loves him still." Like all who love deeply and 
 truly, she fancied that it would be impossible for any wom- 
 an to be long in Bailey's society without loving him. As 
 these thoughts went through the mind of Edith, she had 
 not lost one syllable of what Mrs. Finch had said. 
 
 " Madam," said Edith, in cold, measured accents, " Mr. 
 Grady has told us all ; but his statement of the gross 
 wrong, of the horrible crime committed against Mr. Bailey, 
 was not necessary. My father believed him innocent, and 
 I had the pleasure of knowing his mother very intimately. 
 Had I not known his excellent mother, and through her of 
 her son's purity and integrity, I would never have urged my 
 father to employ him in an important position." 
 
 " You were intimate, then, with his mother?" 
 
 " Very," replied Edith ; " she was my dearest friend." 
 
 It required all Mrs. Grace Finch's self-control to keep 
 down the " green-eyed monster." 
 
 "I I came to give the proofs of Mr. Bailey's inno- 
 cence; or or, I mean my father came for that purpose; 
 but I I see it is not necessary. Pardon me, but the sud- 
 denness of the news rather upset me. You ah you may 
 have heard that George Bailey and I were ha ! ha !" (the 
 slight laugh was hysterical), "were engaged once, and that 
 it it was broken off about the time of the forged check." 
 This little speech, broken with suppressed emotion, left its 
 sting in the heart of Edith, as Grace intended ; but anx- 
 ious now to change the line of conversation, she continued, 
 " Miss Wilde, has your father received any additional news ? 
 Has he any hope ?" 
 
 " No, Mrs. Finch ; no news, and but little hope," replied 
 Edith, in a frigid tone. 
 
 The two women sat silent, not knowing what to say to 
 each other ; and though they had been accustomed all their 
 lives to mingle in the best society, and to feel perfectly at 
 ease, each felt embarrassed, for each became conscious that 
 the other loved the same man. They read each other's 
 hearts like open books. Men, under similar circumstances, 
 could never have made the discovery of rivalship. Let two 
 women, even of the ignorant class, talk five minutes togeth-
 
 154 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 cr about the man beloved by both, and by some subtle free- 
 masonry each will know the other's feelings just as thor- 
 oughly as though they had proclaimed their love from the 
 house-top. 
 
 \Vhile silently facing each other on the sofa, Edith won- 
 dered that the weak, coarse woman who had abandoned 
 Bailey and married his rival, could have the audacity to 
 talk to her in such a way; and Grace thought it very 
 strange if George Bailey could think anything of this pale- 
 faced, queer-looking girl, who was only a sort of intellectual 
 blue-stocking. Mrs. Myron Finch had great faith in her 
 own faded charms that is, after they had undergone a 
 slight burnishing. She believed in small hands, small feet, 
 small mouth, small head, and small waist; in fact, small- 
 ness constituted seven-eighths of what she considered beau- 
 ty, and the other eighth was made up of length without 
 breadth or thickness length of neck, of limb, of hair, with 
 here and there a dash of red to relieve the general dead 
 level of insipidity. As Edith Wilde had none of these 
 qualifications, but had, on the contrary, a good-sized head, 
 containing at least forty-eight ounces of firm brain, and a 
 high, broad forehead, below which beamed a pair of large 
 gray eyes, and below these again a nose indicative of 
 strength, and a mouth formed to say something more than 
 " prunes and prisms," Mrs. Finch began to feel a sort of 
 contempt for the personal appearance of her rival, and to 
 think that, after all, she had not much to fear from her 
 powers of fascination. It had never once entered the mind 
 of Mrs. Finch that a man could possibly love a woman for 
 anything but mere physical beauty. And yet the small, 
 faded, burnished charms of Grace Finch were to the char- 
 acteristic, intellectual beauty of Edith Wilde, what the fe- 
 male show-figure in a milliner's window is to the finished 
 Greek statue from the hand of Praxiteles. 
 
 Thus the two women sat for a few minutes unconscious of 
 the lapse of time, for each was busy with her own thoughts. 
 At length Mrs. Finch arose, and again apologizing for her 
 unseasonable visit, and requesting Miss Wilde to send her 
 word in case she received anv tidings of her brother and Mr.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 155 
 
 Bailey, took her departure, leaning on the arm of her aged 
 father. 
 
 If ever a feeling of dislike, not to give it a harsher name, 
 had found a home in the heart of the good and gentle Edith 
 Wilde, it found it that evening for the coarse, selfish, and 
 feeble Mrs. Myron Finch. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 upon the watery plain 
 
 The wrecks are all thy deed ; nor doth remain 
 
 A shadow of man's ravage save his own, 
 
 When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, 
 
 He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan, 
 
 Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown." 
 
 BYRON. 
 " Water, water everywhere, 
 
 Nor any drop to drink." COLERIDGE. 
 
 THE good ship Sebastian Cabot was borne along toward 
 the equator by a fair north-west wind over an ocean as 
 smooth as an Italian lake. When crossing the "line" the 
 wind died away, and baffling calms prevailed for more than 
 a week. Finally, a fresh breeze arose in the west, and the 
 stout ship, under a full press of canvas, bore away to the 
 south of Cape Horn ; and here she was struck by a south- 
 east gale, accompanied by a snow-storm so blinding that 
 the man at the wheel could scarcely see the length of the 
 quarter-deck. As the gale increased and grew into a raging 
 tempest, the officers and sailors suffered intensely from the 
 cold ; and, to add to their misery, the ropes, spars, and rig- 
 ging were covered with a thick coating of ice. Many of 
 the men had become badly frost-bitten. The foretop-sail 
 had been torn in fragments from the yards; and the ship 
 was plunging before the wind under bare poles. Huge seas 
 were shipped, and washed the deck from stem to stern ; and 
 the strong ship shivered and shook like a thing of life in 
 the grasp of her relentless enemy. The bulwarks were
 
 156 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 swept away, and all the small boats, save one, smashed to 
 pieces. The carpenter reported a leak ; and all hands, at 
 the imminent risk of being swept overboard, were ordered 
 to the pumps. To ease the ship, now laboring heavily in 
 the trough of the sea, the captain commanded the fore and 
 main masts to be cut away. Day and night, after the tem- 
 pest had died down, officers and men, with Bailey, "Wilde, 
 and the other passengers included, took turns in pumping 
 out the water, which was fast gaining on them in spite of 
 all their efforts. The carpenter had made several vain at- 
 tempts, by means of canvas, to stop the leak. As the ship 
 was in ballast, the sand choked the pumps, and the sailors 
 were ready to give up in despair. The ship Sebastian Ca- 
 bot was slowly but surely sinking. It was finally agreed 
 that one portion of the crew and passengers should con- 
 struct a raft, and the other portion take to the only remain- 
 ing small boat. Including Bailey, Wilde, and four other 
 passengers, there were twenty -nine souls on board, who 
 were distributed as follows : the captain, the third mate, 
 the four passengers, the carpenter, and six sailors were as- 
 signed to the boat ; and the first and second officers, Bai- 
 ley, Wilde, and the remainder of the crew to the raft. 
 They took with them navigating instruments, and as much 
 water and provisions as they could with safety carry. By 
 observation they found themselves about eight hundred 
 miles south-west of Chili. The boat and the raft had each 
 a mast and a small sail ; and four men in turn were kept at 
 the oars. For two days, owing to the almost dead calm 
 that succeeded the late storm, they kept together within 
 speaking distance; but on the third night, a breeze having 
 sprung up, the boat sailed away, and was never afterward 
 heard of. Being overloaded at the start, she was evidently 
 swamped in one of the minor gales that followed the first 
 calm. The sufferings of the men on the raft were simply 
 intolerable. Wearied, with rowing and want of sleep, and 
 constantly in danger of being washed away by the seas that 
 swept over them, death seemed to most of them a happy 
 release. As they moved slowly toward the north-east the 
 weather became very warm, especially at noon, and a raging
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 157 
 
 tliirst was added to their other miseries. During the sev- 
 enth night the second mate had either fallen or thrown 
 himself into the sea ; for in the morning he was missing, 
 and no one knew how or when he had disappeared. The 
 first mate found it extremely difficult to maintain discipline 
 among the sailors, the majority of whom were Spaniards 
 and Portuguese. On the fourth day they had abandoned 
 rowing, and now depended solely upon their small sail, 
 which did not seem to carry them forward more than five 
 or six miles a day. In fact, they were at the mercy of the 
 winds; and unless they were picked up by some ship which 
 had been driven out of her course like themselves, their 
 chance of being saved was exceedingly slight. The sailors 
 demanded a larger allowance of water, which the first offi- 
 cer refused ; and this refusal would have caused a mutiny 
 but for the presence of mind of Bailey, who drew out his 
 revolver, and, standing in front of the men, said he would 
 shoot the first man who disobeyed the orders which were 
 given for the good of all. Bailey, Wilde, the mate, and the 
 steward kept together at one end of the raft, in charge of 
 the provisions, which were dealt out fairly and equitably to 
 all ; and the sullen sailors remained at the other end, wait- 
 ing for the opportunity to seize and devour the whole 
 stock. 
 
 Bailey's great aim was to preserve tlie life of Walter 
 Wilde, whose constitution, at the best, was none of the 
 strongest. He placed Walter near himself, compelled him 
 to sleep with his head pillowed on his shoulder, gave him 
 slyly more than half his allowance of bread-and-water, and 
 forced him, during the scorching calms, to wash his body 
 several times a day with the salt-water, warning him at the 
 same time against allowing a single drop to pass his lips. 
 Bailey washed his own body repeatedly, and allowed his 
 inner clothing to remain Avet, knowing that through the 
 pores he would receive considerable water from which the 
 salt would be eliminated and remain on his skin in crystals. 
 He made young Wilde take his allowance of water in tea- 
 spoonfuls ; and it was while he slept that Bailey poured the 
 greater portion of his own allowance into Walter's cup.
 
 158 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 Bailey's great fear was that his friend would succumb and 
 die. How then, if he survived himself, could he face Edith, 
 if the brother whom he had promised to preserve at the risk 
 of his own life were dead ? Walter clung to George like a 
 child to its mother, and was treated with all the self-deny- 
 ing devotion which a mother would exhibit under similar 
 circumstances. It was in this day of sore trial and suffer- 
 ing that Bailey's great qualities came to the surface. He 
 was no stranger to privation ; for he had spent sixty days 
 in a dark cell in midwinter on bread-and-water. For ten 
 years he had worked in a stone-quarry and slept on a hard 
 cot, had eaten the coarsest fare, and worn the thinnest 
 clothing. His enemies had taught him patience and forti- 
 tude, and his great physical strength and superior power of 
 mind had made him a natural ruler of men. These quali- 
 ties caused him to live where ninety-nine out of every hun- 
 dred would have died, and enabled him quietly to support 
 the power of the mate and quell the dangerous attempt at 
 mutiny. 
 
 One after another the sailors died, raving maniacs, or, in 
 the madness caused by trying to quench their thirst with 
 salt-water, jumped wildly into the sea and were drowned. 
 The carpenter had already died, and the first-mate was ex- 
 tremely low from exhaustion. The water was consumed ; 
 and the only sustenance left was a little bread, badly in- 
 jured, and unfit for human food. Bailey became the very 
 life of the party ; he managed to rig up some fishing-tackle 
 with which he caught one or two fish ; by patiently waiting 
 and watching, he shot with his pistol a sea-bird, and, as the 
 raft could not be steered, he was obliged to swim for it. 
 This fresh food he divided equally among the survivors. 
 One morning the mate and two more of the sailors were 
 missing. Owing to a slight swell of the ocean, it was sup- 
 posed that in their weak condition they had rolled off the 
 raft and been drowned. But four sailors, with Bailey and 
 "\Vilde, remained of all who had sought to save their lives 
 on their frail vessel. Day after day they eagerly scanned 
 the horizon in search of a passing ship, but no sail ever 
 gladdened their sight ; and as the first rays of daylight
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 15'J 
 
 dawned, every eye was turned in all directions, and the 
 look of bitter disappointment in every face was pitiful to 
 behold. 
 
 Walter Wilde was rapidly sinking, and his mind at in- 
 tervals began to wander. The young man's condition filled 
 Bailey with a nameless terror ; for he was, on Edith's ac- 
 count, determined to save his life at the expense of his 
 own. He was resolved not to survive him. A new hor- 
 ror was added to his other miseries. He found the four 
 surviving sailors in frequent whispered consultations, and 
 he clearly saw the wolfish glare of famine in their eyes. 
 As young AVilcle was evidently dying, Bailey read their 
 thoughts, and became convinced that they wished to kill 
 him in order to drink his blood and eat his flesh ! While 
 Walter dozed Bailey fished ; and this day, while stealthily 
 watching the sailors, he was more than usually successful. 
 Notwithstanding the evident conspiracy to murder his 
 friend, he made the customary equal division, resolved to 
 give them no cause for an attack. 
 
 As the dusk of evening drew on, Bailey, who could see 
 pretty well in the dark (another qualification for which he 
 was indebted to his prison life), perceived the demon of 
 blood-thirstiness gleaming in their eyes, and he trembled 
 from head to foot with a fear which almost paralyzed him. 
 He dared not apprise Walter of his danger. He placed 
 him behind him, with his own body between him and the 
 vampires who sought his blood. He held his pistol ready 
 cocked to shoot the first man who moved toward their part 
 of the raft, and endeavored with all his might to keep awake 
 and to beat off the drowsiness which oppressed him. 
 
 George Bailey had suffered enough in his dark, solitary 
 cell ; he had felt the pangs of hunger before in the streets 
 of his native city ; but all his sufferings combined did not 
 equal the horrible misery of his mind at this moment. His 
 soul revolted and his heart sickened at the bare contempla- 
 tion of the deed which the four starving demons meditated. 
 
 About eight o'clock in the evening the strongest of the 
 sailors commenced to creep very slowly toward Bailey and 
 his friend ; but Bailey was on the watch, and having seen
 
 1GO GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 the man run a large knife up his sleeve at least he con- 
 cluded it was a knife was thoroughly prepared to meet 
 him, and waited until he had approached within three feet 
 of him. He then exclaimed, " Back to your part of the 
 raft, or I'll shoot you on the spot !" and the baffled vam- 
 pire slunk to his place with a low howl of rage. Bailey 
 then arose, and drawing a rope across the raft, said, " The 
 first man who crosses this line I shall kill !" He retired to 
 his place beside Walter, who asked him what was the mat- 
 ter ; but Bailey gave his friend an evasive answer. 
 
 All night long George Bailey kept himself awake by a 
 superhuman effort of the will. Walter slept, leaning his 
 head on Bailey's shoulder slept fitfully, uneasily, and toss- 
 ed and tumbled in a state of half delirium. Bailey held 
 his pistol in his right hand while the fingers of his left ran 
 through the dark locks of the brother of his darling Edith ; 
 and he felt a strange pleasure, amidst all the horror of his 
 position, in being in such close contact with one who so 
 closely resembled his beautiful idol. At one time during 
 this night this horrible night when Bailey felt his eye- 
 lids becoming heavy, the desperate thought entered his 
 mind of quietly slipping with his young friend into the 
 ocean, and of gently ending their miseries in each other's 
 arms ! Should he become so weak as to be unable to de- 
 fend Walter, he well knew the dreadful death which was 
 in store for them both. The very terror which his position 
 inspired seemed to give Bailey something more than mortal 
 endurance. 
 
 Daylight at last dawned, and Bailey commenced fishing, 
 the line in one hand and the pistol in the other, and his eye 
 never for a moment turned away from the four blood-hounds 
 lounging not four yards off. He caught a single fish, after 
 two hours' toil. lie fired his pistol into a piece of dried 
 canvas, and with little pieces of wood chipped from the raft 
 he made a small fire and cooked it. He gave Walter two- 
 thirds and ate the other third himself. He would not 
 divide any longer with the assassins, for he clearly per- 
 ceived that it was now a life -and -death struggle between 
 them.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 161 
 
 The sailor "who had tried to make the assault on Wal- 
 ter the evening before, and whom Bailey had driven 
 back at the point of his pistol, now arose, and in broken 
 English demanded that they should all cast lots ; for it was 
 better that one should be killed than that all should die of 
 hunger and thirst. Bailey quietly told him that he would 
 permit no cannibalism while he had a single bullet left in 
 his pistol. 
 
 As evening was coming on again, all Bailey's terror re- 
 turned. While it was yet daylight he asked Walter if he 
 was sure he could keep awake, and watch for one hour 
 while he slept. Walter thought that he could. " Remem- 
 ber," said Bailey, " if you feel yourself becoming drowsy, 
 wake me instantly : don't hesitate one moment." 
 
 Bailey had slept for fully two hours, while Walter was 
 keeping watch. It was now nearly dark, and, as the latter 
 was looking indolently at the four men on the after-part of 
 the raft, he saw one of them seize a knife, and begin to 
 creep slowly and stealthily toward them. Walter pinched 
 Bailey on the arm to awake him. In one instant quicker 
 than we can express it George Bailey and the assassin 
 were on their feet, the one with his pistol, the other with 
 his knife. The assassin made a plunge forward to strike 
 the fatal blow ; but, ere he had accomplished half the dis- 
 tance, Bailey's pistol -bullet went clear through his brain, 
 and the wretch lay dead at his feet. Bailey hurled the 
 corpse into the sea, for fear his three comrades might de- 
 vour his flesh. He warned them that on the slightest 
 movement toward the dividing-line he would fire and kill 
 them in succession. " Now, dear Walter, you may sleep 
 in peace; I can watch for twenty -four hours if neces- 
 sary." 
 
 Another day dawned. One of the sailors stood bolt-up- 
 right, scanned the horizon, and seeing no ship in sight, 
 bounded far from the raft and sunk into the ocean. He 
 feared the very fate that he had intended for Walter. An- 
 other sailor died about noon ; and the last of them rolled 
 into the ocean, being so weak that he could not help him- 
 self. Bailey rushed to save him, but too late. 
 
 11
 
 162 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 They were all alone on the great deep. If death now 
 came, it would be, at least, a decent death, since the fear of 
 cannibalism was gone. The weather was exceedingly fine, 
 and as they drifted toward the north the atmosphere be- 
 came cooler. The hungry ocean, like a huge monster, lay 
 everywhere around them, ready to devour them ; with no 
 food to eat nor water to drink, covered with sores, and 
 worn to mere skeletons, the two survivors almost envied 
 the lot of those whom the greedy ocean had already swal- 
 lowed up. Another day came, and not a sail in sight. 
 Bailey had to exert every faculty of mind and will to make 
 the effort to fish, but he caught nothing. 
 
 As day changed to night, and as there was a light swell, 
 which caused the raft to roll, Bailey was afraid to sleep, for 
 fear either or both might fall off and be drowned. He 
 caused Walter to rest with his arm around the mast; and 
 he so arranged his own body and limbs on the opposite 
 side, and so held Walter's hand, that it would have been 
 almost impossible for either to roll into the sea without 
 awakening the other. The sleep of both was light and fit- 
 ful, and each had annoying dreams of eating human flesh 
 and drinking human blood. To their utter astonishment 
 and delight, they were awaked from their uneasy slumbers 
 by feeling large drops of rain falling on their faces. Bless- 
 ed rain ! It perfectly poured in torrents. The young men 
 opened their mouths, took off their outer clothing, now 
 white with salt, and allowed their under -clothing to be 
 completely saturated with fresh-water. They filled the tin 
 cups and the cask, and they washed their tattered garments 
 with the soft rain. Refreshed and invigorated, Bailey com- 
 menced to fish ; and as fortune, like misfortune, never comes 
 alone, he caught a larger fish than any that had hitherto 
 rewarded his labors. This, with the fresh -water in abun- 
 dance, furnished the best meal which they had eaten in 
 several weeks. That afternoon, evening, and night, the two 
 young men slept a deep, heavy, refreshing sleep. Toward 
 morning, as their sleep became lighter, each dreamed of 
 delicious repasts, iced wines, and cooling fountains. But 
 the little strength remaining was fast giving out ; and each
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 163 
 
 knew that unless picked up in a day or two they must in- 
 evitably die of starvation. Bailey fished all day but caught 
 nothing ; he fired his pistol at a sea-bird and missed it ; and 
 both, making their supper on a draught of rain-water, lay 
 down in each other's arms, for the sea was now smooth 
 again, and tried to forget their sufferings in sleep. 
 
 " George, old boy, I cannot last much longer. I am very 
 weak, and I suffer from dreadful pains in my stomach. I 
 wish we could die together, for I don't like to leave you 
 here all alone." 
 
 " Walter, my brave fellow, do try to keep up for another 
 day. I know by the appearance of the gulls that we are 
 approaching land, and we must be nearing the track of 
 passing vessels." 
 
 " Only for leaving you alone, I would pray for death as 
 relief from my sufferings ;" and the young man fell off into 
 another light, uneasy slumber. In a few minutes he awoke 
 and clung closer to Bailey, as if to derive hope, relief, and 
 life from the contact. 
 
 "George, if I die and you survive, will you tell Edith 
 something? Will you tell her that I said that if I had 
 been a woman I would have loved you with my whole heart 
 and soul ? But you will not you will not you-u " 
 and again Walter fell into another light doze. In a min- 
 ute or two he was partially awake again and said, 
 
 "My dear George, you have been the noblest the 
 bravest of friends you have been a hero hero gave 
 me your bread and water tried to save me at the 
 risk of your own life." He slept once more. 
 
 " George, George ! my good George ! I have just been 
 with Edith and and I told her how you loved her, and 
 how, for her sake you starved yourself to keep me 
 alive." 
 
 Walter's head reclined on George's bosom. Bailey sup- 
 ported him with one arm, and pressed his cold, thin fingers 
 in grateful reply to all that he had said. 
 
 " Walter, Walter, hush ! Don't talk. Sleep. Make up 
 your mind to live. I have a presentiment that we will be 
 picked up to-morrow. It will soon be daylight. Ha !
 
 164 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 See ! See ! There's a light ! a ship's light, right in our 
 track ! Thank God ! Thank God ! But, heavens ! if she 
 should pass us without seeing us ! See, Walter ! There's 
 the light, about five miles astern of us!" 
 
 The sight revived Walter, who raised himself on his el- 
 bow, and gazed long and steadily on the approaching light. 
 At first the vessel could be seen like a dim dark cloud mov- 
 ing along the sea; but, as day gradually dawned, the sails 
 became whiter, and the outlines of a large brig were clearly 
 defined. What if, in the uncertain light and at that ear- 
 ly hour, the lookout should fail to see them ! The very 
 thought was horrible, and seemed to inspire Bailey with 
 new strength. He took off his shirt, attached it to an oar, 
 and lashed the improvised flag-staff to the mast of the raft. 
 He tied Walter's handkerchief and his own to another oar, 
 and kept waving it to and fro, to attract, if possible, some 
 wary sailor on board of the brig. But no one seemed to 
 see them. The vessel was now nearly in a line with them, 
 and about three miles to the westward. The agony of 
 Bailey was fearful ; he waved the oar in vain. He knew 
 that the raft itself could not be seen from the brig ; but 
 surely, surely they must see the mast, sail, and white shirt 
 flying from the top of the oar. Almost frantic with de- 
 spair, Bailey climbed the frail mast and waved the oar with 
 superhuman energy. In breathless expectation he fancied 
 that he perceived a movement of the men on board : he 
 imagined that he saw a slight change in the course of the 
 brig : then he became sure of it, and let the oar fall from 
 his hand, exclaiming, " Hurrah ! Walter, we are saved !" and 
 glided down to the raft in a swoon. 
 
 Poor Walter crawled over to his preserver the indom- 
 itable, the iron-willed and poured a little of the rain-wa- 
 ter down his throat, and sprinkled some over his face ; he 
 chafed his hands, and rubbed his temples, and prayed to 
 God to spare the life of his noble friend. Bailey's condi- 
 tion seemed to rouse the feeble W T alter to new life and 
 energy. 
 
 In the mean time a boat arrived from tho brig, contain- 
 ing the second mate and four sailors ; and as the officer
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 165 
 
 stepped on board and glanced at the two skeletons, his first 
 question wa, 
 
 " Is he dead ? No ! Hand me that flask of brandy." 
 He poured a spoonful down his throat, which in a short 
 time brought Bailey back to his senses. The kind-hearted 
 seaman also administered some to Walter, and the stimulant 
 greatly revived him. The two men were tenderly helped 
 into the small boat and gently lifted on board of the brig ; 
 for sailors, though often rude and rough, have kindly hearts. 
 With their hollow, sunken eyes, high cheek-bones, matted 
 hair, and unshaven faces ; with their clothes in tatters, and 
 with their bodies covered with salt-water boils, the two 
 young men presented to the captain and crew a most pit- 
 iable spectacle. As they were gently lifted on board the 
 William Penn, a passenger with jet-black hair and eye- 
 brows, and clean-shaven, sallow face, cast upon the two suf- 
 ferers a glance as devoid of sympathy as if the two men 
 had been two logs of wood. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 " It is the nature of the human disposition to hate him whom you 
 have injured." TACITUS. 
 
 THE captain and crew of the William Penn, with that gen- 
 erous hospitality which characterizes their profession, did 
 all in their power to nurse the young men into health and 
 strength. Bailey's condition was far worse than Wilde's ; 
 for he had eaten less food and taken less rest, and had suf- 
 fered, besides, from constant anxiety, particularly during the 
 time when the four half -crazy sailors had sought to kill 
 Walter for food and drink. George Bailey lay for several 
 days in his berth almost unable to move, and had to be 
 fed like an infant on the lightest kind of food a biscuit 
 broken in hot water and flavored with a little sugar. Provi- 
 dentially his stomach could retain nothing stronger or heavi- 
 er, or the sailors would have literally killed him with kind- 
 ness. He was perfectly rational, but thoroughly exhausted ;
 
 166 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 and, from his previous study of medicine, knew that he was 
 in danger of gastric fever, which, in his present condition, 
 must inevitably destroy his life. Each day, however, he 
 gained a little, and the severe pains began to subside ; but 
 still he was hardly able to move his hands or speak above a 
 whisper. 
 
 Walter's recovery was rapid, thanks to the excellent care 
 he had received on the raft, and it was now his turn to 
 nurse his preserver a labor of love which was performed 
 with a gentleness and patience truly womanly. He con- 
 stantly sat beside Bailey's bed in the little state-room which 
 the mate had given up for his use, and coaxed him to eat 
 his food and drink a little rum diluted with water. Some- 
 times Walter read aloud, in a low, rich tone, which strange- 
 ly harmonized with the splash of the sea against the sides of 
 the brig, old tales of shipwrecks and disasters at sea, or the 
 " Life of Captain Cook," or the voyages of Vasco de Gama 
 or Magellan ; or sometimes he read several chapters out 
 of the Bible ; for, if we except the lower order of " yellow 
 covered " literature, there was nothing else on board to read. 
 For hours Bailey would shut his eyes and lie awake, drink- 
 ing in the mellow tones of Walter's voice ; and when Wal- 
 ter, thinking him asleep, would cease reading, close the 
 book, and arise to prepare his food or medicine, Bailey would 
 open his large sunken eyes, and gaze tenderly and fondly on 
 his young friend for was he not Edith's brother? and had 
 he not saved his life on the raft? 
 
 " How are you to-day, old fellow stronger, eh ?" Walter 
 would ask. 
 
 "I am slowly- gaining, thanks to your watchful care and 
 patient nursing. The danger of fever is past, for my food 
 rests easily on my stomach and no longer causes pain." 
 Bailey spoke very slowly and with some effort. 
 
 " There, now, that will do," said Walter ; " go to sleep 
 and don't talk any more." 
 
 " Walter, does it tire you to read aloud ?" 
 
 " No, not at all ; for you know that I read in such a low 
 monotone it cannot hurt me in the least. I could read 
 aloud all day."
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 167 
 
 " Well, my friend, if it does not tire you, and if you have 
 nothing better to do," said Bailey, " it soothes me very much 
 to listen to your voice." 
 
 So Walter read these lugubrious accounts of sufferings 
 similar to their own, which, after their recent misery, had 
 a strange charm for both of them. Bailey lay and listened 
 and thought. He heard the voice, but caught no idea from 
 the book, because his mind was thinking of his beautiful 
 Edith (beautiful to him, if not to others), of her intellect 
 and her goodness ; and her brother's reading enabled him 
 to realize the more readily that he had obeyed her wishes 
 in risking his life to save that brother from a horrible death, 
 lie thought it would be a pleasant thing to die now, and let 
 the grateful Walter tell her how he had kept his promise. 
 Perhaps she would then shed a tear for his memory and his 
 fate, and this solitary tear would amply compensate him for 
 all his sufferings. Poor George ! Had you known how at 
 this very moment Edith Wilde grieved far more for you 
 than she did for that beloved brother, and that her grief 
 was even too great to find relief in tears, perhaps this knowl- 
 edge would have created such an intoxication of delight as 
 would have superinduced that very fever which you dreaded 
 a few days ago. 
 
 "Walter, will you please let me hold your hand? I 
 think I can sleep better in that way. Thank you !" 
 
 The swash of the sea, the low, rich voice of the reader, 
 the touch of her brother's hand, soothed his soul to such a 
 sweet repose as he had never felt before. He was relieved 
 of all pain, and this caused him to feel a certain luxury in 
 mere existence. Walter Wilde's attendance was inconceiv- 
 ably pleasant to George Bailey. He compared his present 
 position with the fate which had almost overtaken him in 
 New York of dying in the streets like a houseless, owner- 
 less dog, and thought himself in paradise. 
 
 George Bailey grew stronger day by day, and at the end 
 of the second week since the rescue he was able to appear 
 on the deck, leaning on the arm of Walter. The sunshine 
 and bracing sea air, and, above all, the perfect content of 
 mind, rapidly hastened his recovery.
 
 168 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 The passenger with the very black hair and eyebrows 
 and the swarthy complexion took good care to shun the 
 company of the two friends, as they paced up and down 
 the deck for exercise ; and well he might, for that passen- 
 ger, as the reader will remember, was no other than Myron 
 Finch, the forger, fleeing from justice and the vengeance of 
 the man whom he had so foully wronged, under the alias 
 of Alexander Brown. When Finch had cast a look of ut- 
 ter indifference at the two human skeletons whom the crew 
 had saved, he failed to recognize either of them, and wheth- 
 er they lived or died was a matter of no consequence to 
 him. He had heard the younger man address the elder, 
 sometimes as George and sometimes as Bailey ; and it is 
 doubtful, but for hearing the names, if he could have recog- 
 nized in the attenuated face and figure of the grave, mid- 
 dle-aged man before him the once gay, gallant, and light- 
 hearted George Bailey. He made the discovery, too, that 
 the younger man was the only son of William Wilde, of 
 the banking-house of Warrenton, Wilde <k Co. 
 
 While Bailey and Wilde were pacing the deck, Finch 
 was standing before his little glass in his state-room, care- 
 fully scanning his own face to see if his disguise were com- 
 plete ; for at the sight of Bailey all Lis fear and hatred 
 were revived. Satisfied that he could not be recognized, 
 he muttered to himself, " We shall reach Valparaiso in a 
 few days, and I can avoid them. I can be ill, and keep my 
 state-room. Suppose he were to recognize me what then ? 
 He has no proofs. Pshaw ! I shall trust to the twelve years 
 which have elapsed since then, and to my disguise." Not- 
 withstanding this bracing up of his courage, he fairly trem- 
 bled at the bare idea of being recognized by George Bailey. 
 
 Finch, was too self-indulgent to feign sickness and to be 
 put on a spare diet ; and so he appeared at the dinner-table 
 in the cabin as usual, on the first day that Bailey was able 
 to dine with the captain and officers. George was seized 
 with a strange feeling of loathing for this Alexander Brown 
 something like the feeling one has for a noxious reptile. 
 He could not avoid thinking that he had seen those pale 
 eyes before, so out of harmony with the ebon hair and eye-
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 169 
 
 brows, and the uneasy, furtive glance seemed familiar to 
 him ; but where or under what circumstances he had seen 
 him, he could not form the most remote idea. Perhaps, 
 had he not known that Myron Finch was a prosperous mer- 
 chant, living in grand style in New York, his suspicions 
 might have been aroused; for, in brooding over the crime 
 committed by this heartless rascal, Bailey had his every 
 feature, nay, the very color of every feature, photographed 
 on his memory. 
 
 In the course of conversation at the table Walter Wilde 
 remarked, in the easy tone of a man accustomed to the 
 usages of the best society, 
 
 " I suppose, Mr. Brown, you have been a great traveller 
 by sea and land ?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Brown (we shall call him for the present 
 by his alias), " I have crossed the Atlantic ten times ; I 
 have been several times to Calcutta and Melbourne, and I 
 am now on my way to some of the cities on the west coast 
 of South America, on the business of our firm." 
 
 " You are not an American, then ?" asked Walter. 
 
 " Ob, bless you, no ! I have not that privilege, for I am 
 a native of London. Our house has its head-quarters there, 
 but we have correspondents in every part of the globe. I 
 am only their humble agent." 
 
 Although this was spoken by Brown with the easy, care- 
 less drawl of an Englishman, not overdone, there was some- 
 thing in the tone which caused Bailey to start a move- 
 ment that was not lost on Mr. Brown. There was nothing 
 in the simple question asked by Walter that would lead 
 the confidential agent of a great English house to enter 
 into minute particulars about his business, had he not had 
 an object in letting them know who and what he was. He 
 was too explicit by half, and a keener observer than any 
 person sitting at the table would have been able to de- 
 tect " the lie circumstantial." In vain Bailey racked his 
 brain to recall when he had before seen those colorless eyes 
 and heard that peculiar voice. It must have been some 
 Englishman who had had business relations with Van Hess 
 & Co. when he was their head-clerk.
 
 170 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 In order to change the subject, Brown asked "VY alter, for 
 he never directed his conversation to Bailey, 
 
 " How long were you exposed on that raft ?" 
 
 "For nearly seven weeks," replied Walter; "and had it 
 not been for my friend here, I would have died two or three 
 weeks before we were rescued. Such patience, strength, and 
 fortitude as Bailey showed I have never even read of." 
 
 " Nonsense, Walter ! you showed as much pluck as any 
 of us," interposed Bailey, who could not bear to hear him- 
 self praised. "Mr. Brown," he continued, "did you ever 
 have any business relations with the house of Van Hess <fe 
 Co. about twelve or thirteen years ago ? It seems to me 
 that I must have seen you before." 
 
 "Me?" faltered Brown, "me? Why, what on earth 
 could I have to do with the firm of Van Hess, Finch & 
 Co.? I I I believe that is the present name of the firm; 
 is it not, Mr. Wilde ?" 
 
 Brown had unconsciously betrayed himself by his hesi- 
 tation and stammering, and by using the right name of the 
 house. He had lost his usual presence of mind, when he 
 found Bailey scrutinizing his features and trying to search 
 out his identity beneath the dyed hair and discolored skin. 
 
 "Did you ever see or know Finch, the junior partner?" 
 asked Bailey, in no friendly tone. " You have mentioned 
 his name; did you know him?" 
 
 " Ye-e-s, ye-e-s," faltered Brown, trying with all his might 
 to cover his fear ; I I met him in society, at the club, but 
 never in business." 
 
 "Then," said Bailey, with a fearful frown knitting his 
 brows, and an expression of concentrated rage on his face, 
 " then you met the greatest liar, the greatest hypocrite, and 
 the greatest rascal unhung! you met a forger; you met a 
 man who stole another man's good name, who stole anoth- 
 er man's position, who stole another man's betrothed, and 
 then maltreated her. Oh ! you met a man meaner and 
 more villanous than the very devil of the Scriptures ; and 
 woe, woe, woe to that man or devil if he ever crosses my 
 path !" 
 
 Words could give no adequate idea of the hatred, the
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 171 
 
 vindictive hatred, displayed in Bailey's low, deep, sonorous 
 voice. Brown grew pale even below his tobacco -stained 
 face, and his hands and knees shook with fear. A deadly 
 terror filled his heart ; for Bailey might yet detect him in 
 spite of all. The truth was, that, without knowing him, 
 Bailey felt his presence, and hence the outpouring of his 
 wrath. Once or twice Bailey came within an ace of rec- 
 ognizing Finch, who was only saved by the imperfect light 
 of the cabin. 
 
 " Why, old boy," asked Walter, " what's the matter ? 
 This is the first time I have seen you angry. You look as 
 if that Finch had stolen all those things from you as if 
 you had been the victim." 
 
 "The matter, Walter ? The matter? Oh ay! excuse 
 me ; but when I think of that consummate villain, I seem 
 to forget everything everything. Let us go on deck : the 
 air of the cabin suffocates me !" 
 
 When alone, Bailey turned to Wilde and said, " Yes, 
 Walter, I was the victim. Your father and sister know all 
 about it. A perfectly innocent man, that devil Finch sent 
 me to State-prison for ten years, after robbing me of my 
 reputation, my position, and my betrothed ! and the cruel- 
 ties inflicted on me in that earthly hell would have killed 
 me in a year but for the hope of vengeance. Oh ! what 
 were the sufferings on the raft compared to the agony of 
 the shower-bath and solitary confinement in a dark cell on 
 bread-and-water, with no companion for sixty days but the 
 rats ! It was an honorable death to die on the raft, doing 
 one's duty and struggling for life in the light of day. 
 Walter, you know now why I was able to bear up when 
 others succumbed. Ah, my lad, I had a terrible training, 
 as I told you one day, ironically, in San Francisco. I fell 
 so very low, I sounded the very depth of misfortune. The 
 face and voice of that man Brown remind me so much of 
 Finch that, did I not know he was in New York, I would 
 almost think it was he in disguise ; but I know it is only a 
 delusion, caused by the weakness of my nerves. Ah, Wal- 
 ter, mine has been a sad, sad story ! The opening chapters 
 were beautiful, but farther on it became a tragedy. Only
 
 172 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 for your good sister my poor mother might have died from 
 want, and I might have starved in the streets of my native 
 city." 
 
 " My dear George " and the tears were streaming down 
 Walter's eyes as he spoke " my poor friend, your suffer- 
 ings have been awful ! God bless Edith for what she has 
 done for both you and your mother !" 
 
 Bailey's reply to this was an AMEN ! uttered in a deep, 
 sincere, feeling tone. 
 
 Mr. Alexander Brown did not dare any longer to trust 
 to his disguise. The fierce denunciation of Finch at the 
 dinner-table made him really sick ; and hence he crept into 
 what he termed his " hole," and remained there for the re- 
 mainder of the voyage. In a few days the William Penn 
 entered the harbor of Valparaiso, and Bailey and Wilde re- 
 tired to a hotel to recuperate. Walter had abundance of 
 money, which he had preserved in a belt around his waist ; 
 and even if he had not, he could have drawn on his father 
 for any reasonable amount. Mr. Myron Finch, alias Alex- 
 ander Brown, did not remain an hour in the city, but fled 
 as fast and as far from the man whom he feared as the lim- 
 ited means of conveyance in Chili Avould permit. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 " The night of sorrow now is turned to day." SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 EDITH WILDE had resolutely resumed her social and do- 
 mestic duties. The only difference observable in her bear- 
 ing and conduct was a certain air of sad seriousness toward 
 her friends, and a quiet, thoughtful affection toward her fa- 
 ther, whose every wish she seemed to anticipate. Toward 
 the little orphans she manifested a spirit of kindly care 
 which relieved orphanage of half its misfortune. While 
 her father was busy at the bank, she devoted hours to 
 teaching the children, consoling the afflicted, and nursing 
 the sick. There was a pleasure in the work, for it brought 
 her nearer, she fancied, to George Bailey and his mother.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 173 
 
 The little ones loved her. Those who were cross and irri- 
 table with fever went asleep in her arms ; and often, while 
 lying in their little cots, recovering from measles or mumps, 
 the children, at the sound of every step on the stair, would 
 turn their eyes anxiously toward the door to see if Miss 
 Wilde were coming; for they well knew that she never 
 came empty-handed. Oranges, peaches, pears, grapes, and 
 other fruits in their season, she invariably brought to them 
 in her little basket. She stroked their hair, kissed them, 
 and soothed in a hundred gentle ways the poor little 
 motherless waifs. 
 
 Her great grief she resolutely locked within her heart; 
 and she endeavored with all her might neither to pine nor 
 mope, nor shorten her life, if she could help it. Work, 
 wholesome work, she found to be the very best medicine, 
 the great panacea for the aches of the heart and the brain ; 
 and of all places she preferred to work in the orphan asy- 
 lum, because there she could best minister to innocent and 
 suffering humanity. 
 
 Her interview with Mrs. Myron Finch had upset her 
 nerves for a day or two ; for even if George Bailey were 
 dead, Edith did not wish to know that he was mourned for 
 by such a woman. Mrs. Finch's passion was, in the eyes of 
 Edith, besmeared with a moral slime which contaminated 
 whatever it touched. Something akin to hatred perhaps 
 we had better term it a very strong dislike arose in her 
 heart toward this unprincipled and shameless woman. She 
 dreaded to see her again ; she feared even to hear from her. 
 And yet Mrs. Myron Finch had not said or done much to 
 evoke this feeling of aversion. In truth, Edith's feelings 
 and motives were so mixed and indefinable that she herself 
 would have found it extremely difficult to explain them. 
 Good as she was, she was, after all, only a woman ; and 
 what -woman can bear to know that another woman loves 
 her lover ? 
 
 Two months have passed away since the visit of Mrs. 
 Finch, and not another word has been heard of the crew 
 and passengers of the Sebastian Cabot. One day, at din- 
 ner, Edith observed an unusual expression of enjoyment on
 
 174 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 her father's face, and she wondered very much to see it, for 
 ever since the news of the wreck he had been despondent, 
 and took no interest in anything not even in the bank. 
 His present pleased expression could not have been caused 
 by any afflux of money to his coffers ; in fact, she was at 
 a loss to know what had happened to give him so much 
 pleasure. The old gentleman eyed her very slyly from 
 time to time; and he, in turn, wondered why she did not 
 ask him the reason he felt so happy this evening. It was 
 a part of his little game to make her ask him, and he was 
 somewhat annoyed at her delay in doing so. He had good 
 news for her, and he desired to give it by degrees rather 
 than abruptly, on account of her nerves. At length she 
 said, 
 
 " Father, why do you look so happy to-day ?" and then, 
 as a sudden thought flashed through her mind, she said, 
 " You have good news I know you have they are saved !" 
 Edith turned the color of the dead ; her heart for a moment 
 or two ceased to beat, as a great hope rushed into her soul. 
 
 " Edith, my love, there is hope just a little hope. But 
 calm yourself. The news was very sudden, and I myself 
 was almost killed with joy." 
 
 " Father, you may tell me all : you need not fear for 
 me." 
 
 " He is alive," said Mr. Wilde " rescued from a raft. 
 He is on his way to New York, and he may be here at any 
 moment !" 
 
 Edith Wilde well knew that her father referred to Walter. 
 She was extremely anxious to hear about Bailey, but hesi- 
 tated to ask the question. The old gentleman was so 
 wrapped up in his only son, the inheritor of his name and 
 his business, that he used the singular pronoun instead of 
 the plural : he thought of Walter only, while Edith thought 
 of both. 
 
 " Thank Heaven !" said Edith, no longer able to withstand 
 her anxiety, " Walter is safe ; but what became of his com- 
 panion, Mr. Bailey ? Was he, too, rescued ?" 
 
 " To be sure he was," replied Mr. Wilde ; " they were 
 both together. But here is Walter's letter, written in Val-
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 175 
 
 paraiso ; read for yourself, and see what he says about your 
 protege. It seems that Bailey acted nobly, and that my 
 son thinks him a perfect hero a sort of Chevalier Bayard 
 or Sir Philip Sidney." 
 
 With trembling fingers Edith read the letter. 
 
 " Hotel Bolivar, Valparaiso, October 19th, 18 . 
 
 " MY DEAR FATHER, This note will startle you not a 
 little, for doubtless you have long ago given me up as lost. 
 I direct to the bank, because if it were to go to the house 
 it might fall into Edith's hands and shock her delicate 
 nerves. Your nerves are not easily moved, and you are 
 always prepared for every contingency. 
 
 " I will reserve my story for a winter's evening around 
 the library fire. Suffice to say that Mr. Bailey took such 
 excellent care of me in San Francisco that, before I left, 
 my bronchial trouble had almost disappeared. The voyage 
 home had been prosperous and pleasant until we were over- 
 taken by a most terrific gale south-west of Cape Horn. The 
 ship foundered. One portion of the crew and officers took 
 to the only remaining boat, while another portion, with Bai- 
 ley and myself, took to a raft. For nearly seven weeks we 
 suffered such misery as no pen could describe cold, heat, 
 hunger, thirst, cramps, boils every torture that you can 
 think of assailed us. All died or went mad, and jumped 
 into the ocean, except Bailey and me. It would take a 
 whole volume to tell you how Bailey preserved my life ; 
 how he starved himself and endured the horrible thirst in 
 order to give me the greater portion of his bread-and-wa- 
 ter; and, in spite of all my protestations, he continued this 
 to the very last. Then, when those nasty Portuguese sailors 
 wanted to kill me for the purpose of but I cannot horrify 
 you by telling you the purpose Bailey frightened off the 
 four crazy men, and shot one of them dead, who had at- 
 tempted to stab him. He soothed me, nursed me, and kept 
 me alive. Only for George Bailey, my father would have 
 no son, my sister no brother to-day. This man is a hero, if 
 there ever was one ! and yet, with all his strength, skill, and 
 courage, he is as gentle as a child, and as patient as a worn-
 
 176 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 an. He never gave ont until the moment of rescue ; and 
 then, when he knew that ray life was saved, he succumbed 
 to the utter weakness caused by privations which would 
 have killed nine hundred and ninety-nine out of every thou- 
 sand men. He is now to me something more than a broth- 
 er he is my preserver. I send my best love, and he his 
 kind regards, to you and Edith. You may expect to see 
 us almost as soon as this note. 
 
 " Your affectionate son, 
 
 " WALTER WILDE. 
 
 " P.S. DEAR EDITH, You never performed a better 
 action in all your life than that of inducing our father to 
 employ Mr. Bailey. W. W/' 
 
 Edith read the letter over twice and drank in every word 
 of it. Many emotions stirred her heart pride in the su- 
 perior moral and physical qualities of the man whom she 
 loved, gratitude to God for the preservation of Bailey and 
 her brother, and, dominant over all, an ecstatic joy pervaded 
 her whole being at the mere certainty that both were living 
 and likely to be home in a few days. There was a feeling 
 of exquisite pleasure, too, in the thought that she had not 
 been mistaken in her estimate of George Bailey's character, 
 and that her brother and father now knew him for what he 
 really was. 
 
 After the reading of the letter, Mr. Wilde and Edith sat 
 a few minutes in silence, as if for the purpose of fully real- 
 izing their happiness. The silence was at last broken by 
 the former, who asked Edith, " How had she managed to 
 find out what manner of man Mr. Bailey was ?" 
 
 " I knew his mother. Mrs. Bailey, next to my own 
 mother, was the best and noblest woman I had ever known. 
 She had constantly spoken of her son, and by this means I 
 came to know his character almost as well as if we had 
 been brought up together. I believed him entirely inno- 
 cent of the crime for which he suffered such cruel pun- 
 ishment, and I deeply sympathized with the stricken lady. 
 AVhen her son came, not to ask employment but to express 
 his gratitude for the little kindness I had extended to his
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 177 
 
 mother, and when Mr. Grady asked you to give him work, 
 I saw the justice of the request, and urged you, against 
 your ' business principles,' to employ him ; and this you 
 did, like the good, kind father that you are ; and have you 
 not had your reward?" 
 
 " You are right, my dear, perfectly right. What a man 
 this little woman would have made ! In her, or rather his, 
 hands the house of Warrenton, Wilde & Co. would have 
 held its own." 
 
 " I never want to be a man. I prefer to be as it pleased 
 God to make me. I despise those women who are perpet- 
 ually exclaiming against their sex, and wishing that they 
 were men." 
 
 " Why, Edith, my dear, I prefer to have you as you are 
 my comfort and my consolation as you always have 
 been since your mother's death." 
 
 " I have learned," said Edith, " two great lessons by my 
 association with Mrs. Bailey. The first is, that to prevent 
 crime we must begin with the very young ; and the second 
 is, that to lessen crime we must provide wholesome employ- 
 ment for returned convicts. Suppose those orphans had 
 been left to the tender mercies of their surroundings, at 
 least one-half of them would grow up criminals ; and sup- 
 pose all released convicts were refused employment because 
 they could not be trusted, what are they to do ? They must 
 live : they will not starve, as poor George Bailey did ; they 
 will join the ranks of the criminal class, and prey upon that 
 very society which refused them honest work. Take care 
 of the orphans, the worse than orphans (that is, children 
 with drunken, vicious parents) ; establish schools, reforma- 
 tories I mean real reformatories, and not prisons; take 
 care of all released convicts, and trust them as far as they 
 deserve ; and the money saved in reducing the cost of pris- 
 ons and almshouses would more than support all these in- 
 stitutions for the prevention of crime. Take the millions 
 that it costs to support what is called 'justice,' from the 
 judge down to the policeman, from the magnificent court- 
 house down to the dingy police cell, and expend but one- 
 quarter of the amount on asylums, reformatories, and schools, 
 
 12
 
 178 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 and see what a blessed change for the better there would 
 be ! This ' eye for an eye and tooth for a tooth ' doctrine 
 is exploded ; and we are everywhere suffering from the 
 relics of Oriental barbarism. There was once an Oriental 
 Preacher who came from God who was the Son of God 
 who taught something better, higher, holier : to 'do good 
 for evil ;' to save the sinners ; but though the name of this 
 great Teacher is often on the lips of professing Christians, 
 his acts they will not imitate, nor his example follow. My 
 dear father, if I have anything to leave in my will, it will 
 be left to the young children who may be tempted to fall 
 into crime, and to a society for the employment of released 
 convicts." 
 
 " My dear, you are talking like a statesman ! "When and 
 where did you form these opinions? Society could not 
 exist under such conditions as you contemplate." 
 
 "I have been much alone," replied Edith, "and I have 
 studied out my theory, if I may so term it, from the start- 
 ing-point of the orphans whom I have under my care, and 
 from the miscarriage of ' justice ' which deprived Mrs. Bai- 
 ley of a son and sent her to her grave." 
 
 At this point in the conversation the servant announced 
 Mr. John Grady, and the words were scarcely spoken when 
 into the library stalked the gentleman in question, accom- 
 panied by "Washington Scroggs, M.D., and Miss Jenny Ed- 
 wards. Grady had heard the good news of the rescue from 
 Mr. Van Hess, and had run off to inform his two friends, the 
 doctor and Jenny, both of whom were well acquainted with 
 Bailey. The warm-hearted and impulsive Grady could not 
 rest satisfied until he had the information from the " foun- 
 tain-head," as he termed it ; and so he dragged Miss Ed- 
 wards and the little quack off with him to Mr. Wilde's 
 house. 
 
 " Mr. "Wilde," said John Grady, " I am delighted to hear 
 the good news. Miss Wilde, I am more than delighted to 
 hear the glad tidings. Our friend, the brave Mr. Bailey, 
 and your son " (turning to Mr. Wilde) " are both saved, 
 glory be to God !" 
 
 Grady had never asked if the report were true, for in a
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 179 
 
 single glance he had read it in the two faces before him ; 
 and he was too much in the habit of believing what he 
 hoped, to have the least doubt at the present moment. It 
 would have been treason, in fact, to doubt ; and had any 
 one had the presumption to doubt in his presence, it is 
 more than likely that he would have felt inclined to a lib- 
 eral use of the " carnal weapon." Grady had forgotten to 
 introduce his two friends, who had been standing in his 
 wake all the time he was speaking, like two small boats at 
 the stern of some large steamer. But perceiving that Miss 
 Wilde and her father were both looking at the two stran- 
 gers, he simply said, 
 
 " Oh, never mind this is Dr. Washington Scroggs, and 
 this is my niece, Jenny Edwards. Now, tell me all about 
 the rescue. I am dying to hear all about my good friend 
 Bailey." 
 
 Mr. Wilde handed Grady his son's letter to read, and 
 during its perusal Edith requested Miss Edwards and Dr. 
 Scroggs to be seated. As for John Grady, in his present 
 state of mental excitement it would have been impossible 
 for him to remain quiet or seated. As he read, he ejacu- 
 lated, " Yes, yes !" " Just so ! just so !" " Truly a brave 
 lad!" "Just like him!" "Good, good!" (This was at 
 the place where Walter mentioned the shooting of the crazy 
 assassin.) 
 
 When he had finished the reading of the letter, to the 
 amazement of the father and the amusement of the daugh- 
 ter, John Grady walked over to the part of the room where 
 Edith sat and deliberately shook her hand, and uttered the 
 following words in a husky tone, choked with strong emo- 
 tion, 
 
 " Miss Wilde, upon my honor I congratulate you !" 
 
 Edith, blushing, but at what it would have been difficult 
 to say, simply replied, 
 
 " I thank you, Mr. Grady." 
 
 Grady walked back to his friends and said, " Jenny, my 
 dear, read that !" and when she had finished, he handed it 
 to the little quack, saying, " Dr. Scroggs, you had the hon- 
 or of seeing and knowing my friend, George Bailey read
 
 180 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 that!" and when the little man had ended its perusal, he 
 laid the letter on the library-table, walked over once more 
 to Miss \Vilde, and seizing and shaking her hand he had 
 thoroughly mastered this great American habit of hand- 
 shaking repeated his former remark in a louder and firm- 
 er tone, "Miss Wilde, upon my honor I congratulate you!" 
 Then turning to his two friends, said, " Come, let us go. 
 God be praised, George Bailey is alive !" 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " thou invisible spirit of wine, if thou hast no name to be known 
 by, let us call thee Devil !" SHAKSPEARK. 
 
 "RESTLESS as a second Cain," Myron Finch wandered 
 from city to city, seeking pleasure and finding none. Im- 
 perfectly acquainted with the Spanish language, and hav- 
 ing no affinity with the Spanish- American people, he felt 
 lonely, ill at ease, and completely discontented. His money 
 did not bring him the enjoyments that he had anticipated ; 
 and he had not the resources of books and studies to fall 
 back upon to kill the time which hung so heavily on his 
 hands. He frequented the theatres and restaurants, and 
 drank a great deal more hard liquor than was good for 
 him. The habit of drinking grew on him apace ; he drank 
 at his meals, he drank at night, and to cure his headaches 
 he drank in the morning before his breakfast in fact, he 
 seldom laid a sober head on a pillow. In his wanderings 
 from place to place he carried his little brandy-bottle with 
 him, and frequently " refreshed " himself with unwatered 
 potations. He drank about a pint of brandy every day, 
 and yet he was never seen intoxicated ; for, unfortunately 
 for himself, his head was as hard as his heart, and his 
 drinks were pretty evenly distributed over the sixteen or 
 seventeen hours of the day when he was not asleep. The 
 inroads that this course of life made on his constitution 
 could be seen in the flabbiness of his flesh and the puffi- 
 ness below his eyes. In quest of excitement, he sought
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 181 
 
 the gambling-houses ; but in his dazed condition he was 
 no match for the professional gamblers, whose business it 
 was to fleece such men as Finch. He lost a great deal of 
 money, and in his vain efforts to recover his losses he al- 
 most ruined himself. What with his hotel bills, his liquor 
 bills, and his heavy losses at the gambling-houses, his mon- 
 ey was fast taking wings. He had not a single real friend 
 in the world ; but this melancholy fact gave him no trou- 
 ble. He desired the association of the fast men of New 
 York, because they had always administered to his pleas- 
 ures ; they spoke the same language, and possessed the 
 same low tastes; but as for these Spaniards, they were 
 worse than the negroes of the South in his estimation. 
 There came a time when an insatiable desire took posses- 
 sion of his mind to return to New York. He began to re- 
 flect that the Empire City was the only city in the world 
 worth living in, and that he had been a great fool for ever 
 leaving it. He said to himself, in the bitterness of his re- 
 gret, that he might have braved the whole business of the 
 forgery by making a proper use of his father-in-law and 
 Jenny Edwards. 
 
 Myron Finch was a thoroughly miserable man. In ad- 
 dition to the destruction of his constitution by liquor, he 
 had received a sound drubbing from a jealous Spanish- 
 American, whose wife (Finch's washer- woman) he had 
 grossly insulted. In the encounter the bridge of Finch's 
 nose had been broken. He was now so changed in one 
 short year that it is doubtful if even Jenny Edwards could 
 have recognized him. For several weeks he had been con- 
 fined to his room from the combined effects of the beating 
 and the stimulants, and it required all the physician's skill 
 to subdue the fever and to restore him to a partial state of 
 health. Poverty, like an armed man, stared him in the 
 face, and as he lay on his sick-bed, and found himself sink- 
 ing lower and lower, and becoming daily poorer and poor- 
 er, the desire to return to New York grew into a sort of 
 passion. What he intended to do there, or what was to 
 . become of him when he got there, never once entered his 
 mind. In his present mental and physical condition, had
 
 182 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 he been offered all Peru, with the proviso that he must live 
 in the country for the remainder of his life, he would have 
 indignantly refused the bribe. When so far recovered that 
 he could walk out into the streets and public squares of 
 Lima, the utter loneliness of his situation among thousands 
 of strangers, not one of whom knew him except the sharp- 
 ers who had cheated and robbed him of his money, was 
 forced home to his heart, stony as it was, with an energy 
 thoroughly depressing. Aimless, sick in body, and suffer- 
 ing tortures from a diseased liver, Finch wandered from his 
 lodgings to the public squares, and from the public squares 
 back to his lodgings. His appetite for drink increased as 
 his appetite for food decreased ; and even he knew that a 
 few months more of such a life must inevitably kill him. 
 
 In this wretched state of body and mind Finch never 
 felt one pang of remorse for the ruin he had wrought. He 
 thoroughly hated all whom he had wronged Jenny Ed- 
 wards, Washington Scroggs, George Bailey, and his own 
 wife and harmless children. Nay, in this dark hour he 
 could have found it in his heart to kill all his victims ; and 
 he could have felt an exquisite pleasure in their sufferings 
 and death. 
 
 But he sorely missed the excitement of the stock-gam- 
 bler of Wall Street; of the heavy commission -merchant, 
 whose daily gains or losses amounted to thousands of dol- 
 lars ; of the large dealer in real estate, who doubled his 
 capital every two or three years ; and in all these callings 
 Finch remembered to his cost that he had been an expert 
 and a power. Though cold and selfish to the core (as the 
 reader already knows), he sadly missed, too, the yachting 
 parties and the horse racing, together with the general 
 dissipation incident to life in a great city like Xew York. 
 The craving to return almost crazed him ; it haunted him 
 day and night ; he would dream that there were high, im- 
 passable mountains between him and this paradise of his 
 hopes; and on the summits of these mountains he would 
 fancy that he saw Jenny Edwards and his other victims 
 standing with flaming swords to bar his passage. Out of 
 one of these dreams, which were always superinduced by
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 183 
 
 deep drinking, he would awake in a fright, with the cold 
 perspiration streaming down his flabby face. By -and -by 
 he began to fear that New York was as impossible to him 
 as the moon. But reach New York he must, or die in the 
 attempt. His finances were reduced to fifty dollars, but he 
 still had his wardrobe and his jewellery, and these he could 
 dispose of for about one-fourth of their value. 
 
 As soon as he was able to walk with some degree of en- 
 durance, he started on foot for Callao, the nearest port 
 where he would be likely to find a vessel bound for the 
 "United States. He was afraid to expend a cent of the lit- 
 tle money which remained ; he lived on the meanest food 
 and slept in the lowest hovels. But, unfortunately for 
 him, no ship appeared. Day after day Finch waited and 
 watched, starved himself to save his passage -money, and 
 lived almost entirely on the single glass of bad brandy 
 which had now become necessary to his existence. But in 
 spite of everything, his money, his trinkets, and his wife's 
 jewellery, which he had stolen, were all gone, and still no 
 ship came to take him away from the accursed country. 
 Had he been willing, he was unable to work. In fact, the 
 once " merchant-prince " was obliged to beg his bit of bread 
 and his glass of brandy in the public streets of Callao ; and 
 such was the vile nature of the man that he cursed in his 
 heart alike those who gave and those who refused. 
 
 Finch became a fearful spectacle ; his clothes became 
 ragged and dirty, his face red and swollen, and his broken 
 nose grew scorbutic and out of all shape. His delicate 
 hands delicate though dirty trembled, and his weak 
 limbs shook beneath the weight of his dropsical body. In 
 this condition he daily begged alms at the hotels and gam- 
 bling-houses ; but he was not a smiling, he was a scowling 
 beggar. He begged ungraciously ; and he hated the whole 
 race of man with a diabolic hatred. Notwithstanding all 
 these things, the brain of Myron Finch remained uninjured ; 
 for the intellectual part of him had been originally of the 
 best material. As he scanned his features in the looking- 
 glasses of the hotels and restaurants in which he plied his 
 vocation as public pauper, he saw how completely changed
 
 184 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 he was, and rejoiced in the fact, because he knew that if he 
 ever reached New York, his most intimate companion would 
 fail to recognize him. As he wandered along the streets 
 and docks of the city, he reflected that a soa-voyage would 
 improve his health, and that he had ability to carve out an- 
 other fortune if he could only get back to New York. 
 
 At last a ship touched at Callao bound for the Empire 
 City. Finch, who was never at a loss for resources, went 
 boldly to the captain and told a dismal story of shipwreck, 
 and of being picked up by a Spanish-American vessel. When 
 rescued he had been on the point of dying of thirst and 
 hunger ; and he had lost everything but the ragged clothes 
 which he then wore. He begged hard for a passage to the 
 United States ; told the captain that he would work as 
 cook or waiter, and that he would perform any duty that 
 might be assigned to him. The captain, though doubting 
 the truth of his story, took compassion on him, and gave 
 him permission to work his passage home. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 " Love ! thou sternly dost thy power maintain, 
 And wilt not bear a rival in thy reign ; 
 Tyrants and thee all fellowship disdain." DRYDEN. 
 
 GEORGE BAILEY had resumed his position in the bank- 
 ing-house of AVarrenton, Wilde & Co. ; and although his 
 salary had been largely increased, and although he was now 
 a tried, trusted, and respected clerk, the favorite of Mr. Wil- 
 liam Wilde, and his son's beloved friend, often invited to 
 dine at their house, and always an honored guest, he still 
 remained at his humble lodgings in the house of his first 
 and firmest friend, John Grady. Bailey seemed to shun all 
 society except that of the AVildcs and the few friends whom 
 he met at Grady's house. He had also resumed the habit 
 of going every Sunday to the church which Edith W T ilde 
 attended. Sometimes, when leaving, Bailey and she ex- 
 changed bows or shook hands, and she always gave him the
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 185 
 
 sweetest of smiles. The touch of her slender fingers, as be- 
 fore stated, thrilled his frame for a week. To say that he 
 loved her would but faintly express his feelings; he wor- 
 shipped her as the personification of goodness ; and her 
 image was ever present to his mind as that of his " guardi- 
 an angel." She was too good, too high, too holy, he thought, 
 for him ever to aspire to her hand in marriage. The thought 
 of ever telling her of his love was, in his estimation, the 
 very height of absurdity, and appeared, indeed, a kind of 
 sacrilege : as well make love to one of God's holy angels. 
 
 Bailey became a great reader. The Bible and Shakspeare 
 were his favorite authors. The book of Job he had read 
 twenty times through ; and the plays of Hamlet, Othello, 
 and Richard the Second had a peculiar charm for him. All 
 the bad characters, all the villains, became simply so many 
 types of Myron Finch ; all the sweet and lovely women be- 
 came representatives of Edith Wilde, only they were not quite 
 up to his idea of the lovely Edith ; she excelled them all. 
 
 While Bailey could talk well and intelligently on most 
 subjects in a mixed company for his thoughts, like those 
 of men who have suffered much and meditated long in soli- 
 tude, were very striking and sometimes profound in Edith 
 Wilde's presence he found himself silent and embarrassed. 
 When Walter Wilde would commence at the dinner- table, 
 for the twentieth time, to tell their adventures on the raft, 
 and to narrate in glowing language the courage and self- 
 denial of Bailey, he, Bailey, would endeavor to silence him 
 or change the subject. To Edith the story was ever new 
 and always charming. In all sweet and womanly ways 
 Edith endeavored to make Bailey feel at ease and at home 
 in their house. But in spite of this, and in spite of her 
 knowledge of his heart and her own, a singular sort of 
 estrangement arose, or rather grew, imperceptibly between 
 them. She was afraid of transgressing the bounds of maid- 
 enly modesty, and he was in dread that she might discover 
 the nature of his feelings and be offended at his audacity. 
 He turned almost sick at the bare idea of the ex-convict, 
 who had spent ten years in prison, the companion of thieves 
 and burglars, aspiring to the hand of the rich banker's daugh-
 
 186 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 ter the peerless Edith. Had she been very poor, oh, how 
 he would love to toil for her! And Edith thoroughly com- 
 prehended his modesty, his delicacy, his patience, and his 
 self-denial ; but she could make no advances while he held 
 his feelings in such complete subjection. His profound re- 
 spect for her character only added fuel to her love. 
 
 Bailey's large salary was far more than enough for his 
 support ; and while saving half of it, he managed to expend 
 the greater part of the other half on the household of John 
 Grady, whose Weekly Reformer was not in a very thriving 
 condition. His studies and his love kept his mind and his 
 heart in a healthy state; for there is no better moral pre- 
 servative than a pure and holy love. Be it for sister, or 
 mother, or for one nearer and dearer still, the wholesome 
 and refining influence of unselfish love is far above all hom- 
 ilies and sermons. Love is a grand poem. It beautifies and 
 enlarges to sublimity whatever it touches. True love is true 
 poetry, because it creates, and combines the real with the 
 unreal. Even the heart of the peasant who loves purely is 
 full of unutterable poetry; and, had he the power of ex- 
 pression, he could sing his feelings to the streams, the trees, 
 and the flowers like a Petrarch or a Burns. To the true, 
 pure lover the sky is bluer, the grass greener, the flowers 
 brighter, the brooks clearer, the song of birds sweeter, and 
 all earth grander and holier for this very love which perme- 
 ates and thrills every fibre of his being; and man himself, 
 the last and noblest creation of God, appears in a new light, 
 and wears an aspect of dignity hitherto unfelt and unseen. 
 Such a love was Bailey's. It even softened his heart to- 
 ward Myron Finch, and caused him to turn aside for fear 
 of treading out the life of a poor worm. 
 
 One Sunday, Mr. Wilde at the church door asked George 
 Bailey home for an early dinner. Of course the invitation 
 was accepted ; and naturally Edith and Bailey walked to- 
 gether a little in the rear of Mr. Wilde and Walter. Their 
 conversation was commonplace about the weather, the 
 service, the sermon and the lovers felt a certain constraint, 
 to each almost inexplicable. 
 
 About one hundred yards behind them, and on the oppo-
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 187 
 
 site side of the street, Bailey and Edith were closely and 
 carefully watched by a lady, who had not missed being at 
 her post of espionage, within half a street of the church en- 
 trance, since the h'rst Sunday after the return of George 
 Bailey to New York. She had managed to elude observa- 
 tion, and she had invariably covered her face with a thick 
 veil. Authors are, of course, privileged to know everything, 
 even the private thoughts of their characters ; and hence 
 we shall take the liberty of revealing the thoughts of Mrs. 
 Myron Finch, now a free woman, she having obtained her 
 divorce from her worthy husband. First, it may be stated 
 that the lady in question, ever since the day that she shook 
 off the yoke of her brutal helpmate that is, since the day 
 he struck her had grown active, unscrupulous, and selfish. 
 She had not been in close contact with Finch for ten or 
 twelve years without suffering from the contamination of 
 his very presence. There are some people who impart a 
 moral poison as readily as others do the germs of varioloid 
 or scarlet-fever ; and Mr. Myron Finch was one of these. 
 He insensibly corrupted his companions, for he was mor- 
 ally rotten ; and poor, weak, proud, foolish Grace Van Hess, 
 under the influence of Finch, degenerated into a cowardly, 
 selfish, passive creature, until her old love was revived, or 
 called into activity, by the culmination of her husband's 
 brutality. But perhaps it is better to reveal her character 
 in her thoughts : 
 
 "How I hate that white- faced creature ! What right has 
 she to his love? Every Sunday I torture myself by watch- 
 ing them. Oh, I could poison her ! He is mine : he was 
 engaged to me. Oh, my God ! why, why did I not 
 stand by him ? I could have unravelled that plot and sent 
 Finch to prison. How she smiles on him ! I do hate her ! 
 Oh, I would give my heart's best blood for that look of 
 love which he has just thrown away on that poor chit of a 
 thing ! How I love him, love him, love him ! For one 
 week of his love I would freely die ! But she must not 
 have him, and she shall not. I will shoot him first, even if 
 I hang for it ! No, no ; I must put jealousy between them 
 separate them. I must think, think, think !"
 
 188 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 So Myron Finch has taught Grace how to think ; and 
 see how wickedly strong her evil passion has made her. 
 She paused at the street in which Mr. Wilde lived, and nev- 
 er took her eyes off Bailey and Edith until they disappear- 
 ed within the hall-door. 
 
 Among the visitors at the house of Mr. Wilde was an old 
 school-mate of Walter's, Henry Fawcett, who had just re- 
 turned from a three years' residence in Europe. Like many 
 young Americans -whose fathers have grown rich in trade, 
 he was ashamed of the business to which he was indebted 
 for his education, his station in society, and the means to in- 
 dulge in foreign travel. Nay, further, he was ashamed of 
 the institutions which had destroyed the castes of the Old 
 World, and had enabled his father to rise from the station 
 he was born in that of a peddler of vegetables to be a 
 railroad manager and a heavy speculator on the Stock Ex- 
 change. Mr. Henry Fawcett aped the manners of the 
 youthful aristocracy of England, and thought it the fash- 
 ionable thing to condemn universal suffrage, and to advo- 
 cate the establishment of a limited monarchy modelled after 
 the plan of the " mauther " country, as he was pleased to 
 term Great Britain. This young man, with his recently ac- 
 quired English drawl, was not deficient in brains, nor in a 
 certain "smartness" of repartee, which sometimes made his 
 conversation, if not instructive, at least amusing. He had 
 ability enough to cull out the defects in the American sys- 
 tem, and to extol whatever he found superior in the Euro- 
 pean. He had sense enough, too, to perceive that Edith 
 Wilde would adorn any position in life, and that she would 
 inherit the fortune of a princess. 
 
 Henry Fawcett had become a frequent visitor at Mr. 
 Wilde's house ; and it was soon observed that Edith was 
 the attraction. Whatever notions Walter had formed, 
 when hovering between life and death on the raft, of Bai- 
 ley's love for his sister, they soon died out after his return 
 to New York ; and as for Mr. William Wilde, he had never 
 dreamed for one moment of a marriage between his beloved 
 child and a penniless ex-convict, however high-minded his 
 conduct might prove him to be. Although not a syllable
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 189 
 
 had ever been uttered in regard to Mr. Fawcett's attentions 
 to Edith, it was tacitly understood by both father and 
 brother that he was a suitor for her hand. As for Edith 
 herself, she never once imagined that Mr. Fawcett had any 
 other motive in calling than the society of his former friend 
 and school-fellow, Walter. 
 
 It had so happened recently, that every time Bailey had 
 called at Mr. Wilde's house, he had found Fawcett there a 
 welcome guest. The ease, the elegance, the dash, the flip- 
 pancy, the cynicism of this young man were a strong con- 
 trast in all respects to the bearing, the manners, and the 
 general character of George Bailey. Fawcett termed Bai- 
 ley a "cad" a flash word which he had imported, like the 
 cut of his trousers, from the " mauther " country and this 
 in the hearing of Edith, whose only reply was a frown and 
 a look of extreme displeasure, which the young man re- 
 membered for a week. In fact, Bailey and Fawcett dis- 
 liked each other intensely. Edith very quickly perceived 
 that Henry Fawcett's presence inflicted great pain on her 
 lover; and for this reason she avoided him, Fawcett, as 
 much as good-breeding and the laws of hospitality would 
 permit. If Mr. Fawcett should propose, she would send 
 him about his business in short order; nor would the 
 young man break his heart at a refusal. If Bailey would 
 propose, her acceptance would end his jealousy and make 
 him a happy man. It distressed her exceedingly to know 
 that her lover suffered, and she did all in her power to show 
 him that she sympathized with him. 
 
 On one occasion, when Bailey and Fawcett were present, 
 the conversation turned upon the relative merits of American 
 and European society, laws, and institutions; and Mr. Fawcett, 
 as usual, favored everything belonging to the Old World. 
 
 "Society," said Mr. Fawcett, "in England is divided 
 into castes, almost as unyielding and unchangeable as those 
 of India, so that the son of a shoemaker cannot aspire to 
 rise above his father's position in life, nor can he hope to 
 associate with the son of a physician ; nor can the son of a 
 physician expect to meet on equal terms the son of a noble- 
 man. This is as it ought to be everywhere."
 
 190 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 "Then," replied Bailey, with some asperity of tone, 
 " Washington, the greatest uninspired man the world has 
 ever known, should have lived and died a country surveyor ; 
 and Lincoln, who will rank next to Washington, according 
 to your theory of castes, should have remained a rail-splitter 
 and a river boatman." 
 
 The word " boatman " had smitten hard on the ear of 
 young Fawcett, for his father had commenced life boating 
 vegetables from Staten Island to the city of New York ; 
 and if his own theory were good for anything, it would 
 have doomed him to the society of common sailors all his 
 life, instead of associating, as he did now, with Bailey and 
 Wilde, who were born in the purple. Bailey's allusion to 
 Mr. Lincoln was purely accidental, but Fawcett thought 
 otherwise, and took it as a personal insult. He so far for- 
 got himself as to say, 
 
 " I beg pawdon ; but, aw, such-aw-remawks are moah ap- 
 wopo at-aw-demoquatic wad meeting, among the-aw-vulgaw 
 Irish and Germans." 
 
 The cool insolence of Fawcett, and the abominable drawl 
 in which he spoke, aroused the wrath of Bailey, who replied, 
 
 " Mr. Fawcett, my remarks are true, if trite ; and since I 
 am not at a ward meeting, and since I am not a politician, 
 seeking favors from Irish and German voters, allow me to 
 say that your remarks were uncalled for and wholly irrele- 
 vant." 
 
 " In-deed ! Mr. Bailey," said Fawcett, " in-deed I did not 
 intend to have any discussion with you." 
 
 Whenever Fawcett became angry, he ceased his drawl, 
 his aws, and his hesitation, and spoke in quick, curt Ameri- 
 can fashion, which was unmistakable, like the fine emphasis 
 which he now threw on the word you. 
 
 " And why not with me, sir ?" demanded Bailey, a slight 
 flush overspreading his usually pale features. 
 
 "Well, sir, I would rather not discuss -aw -aw" (in- 
 solently returning to his drawl) " pubwick affairahs with 
 
 7/OW." 
 
 " I would like to know," asked Bailey, " why you do not 
 desire to discuss public affairs with me ?"
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 191 
 
 Mr. Wilde interposed, thinking it high time to put an 
 end to the altercation. He simply said, "Gentlemen, we 
 must all agree to differ; we have our fixed opinions on 
 many subjects, but that is no reason why we should quar- 
 rel. Let us change the subject." And so the conversation 
 turned to matters which caused Mr. Wilde to be the princi- 
 pal speaker. 
 
 Bailey and Fawcett disliked each other even more intense- 
 ly than before, for each imagined that the other had covert- 
 ly stabbed him in a tender place. The former was unduly 
 sensitive about his conviction for forgery, and fancied that 
 for that reason the latter had declined a discussion with 
 him. 
 
 Edith was thoroughly distressed. She had learned to 
 read every thought in the heart of Bailey by the expression 
 of his face, and she failed not to perceive how deeply he 
 was wounded. How she longed to console the sad, lonely 
 man, and by womanly tenderness to make amends for the 
 wrongs and sufferings of his youth and early manhood ! 
 Fawcett was a conceited bore, in her estimation, and she 
 wished him a thousand miles away from her father's 
 house. 
 
 Bailey almost vowed, on taking his leave, to refuse all in- 
 vitations in future, and never again to enter the house ; for 
 during the entire afternoon and evening he had been very 
 unhappy, and consumed by a jealousy which would drive 
 him mad. He would continue to love Edith in the solitude 
 of his chamber ; and he would endeavor to see her every 
 Sunday, and feast his eyes on her good and beautiful face. 
 All thought or jealousy of Fawcett he would expel from his 
 mind ; he would fall back on the past, as a refuge from the 
 present, and think only of his " guardian angel," who had 
 succored his mother and himself in the darkest hour of his 
 distress. In this frame of mind he reached his humble 
 lodgings in the home of John Grady. But what was his 
 astonishment to find a note for him, written in a hand 
 which was curiously familiar, and which he could not re- 
 call. He looked for the signature, but name there was 
 none. The note ran as follows :
 
 192 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 " MR. GEO. BAILEY, You are grossly deceived : you de- 
 ceive yourself. Miss Wilde esteems you as a friend, noth- 
 ing more. She loves Mr. Henry Fawcett. They are engaged, 
 or soon will be. He is rich ; you are poor. Don't be so 
 foolish as to think Mr. Wilde would permit his daughter 
 to marry you. Excuse an anonymous note, but necessity 
 forces me to remain your unknown FRIEND." 
 
 Bailey read this precious note over half a dozen times, 
 and each time he came very near detecting the strangely 
 familiar handwriting. Evidently it was partially disguised 
 by slanting the letters toward the left, making it what is 
 sometimes termed back-handed writing. He was too wise 
 a man to pay attention to an anonymous letter ; and in an 
 ordinary case of business, or even in his usual state of mind, 
 he would have cast it into the fire ; but now, in his present 
 agitated condition, it affected him exceedingly, because the 
 tenor of the note bore directly on the nature and tendency 
 of his own thoughts. 
 
 He refolded the note and put it in his pocket. For hours 
 afterward he sat gazing into the fire, a thoroughly miserable 
 man. He regretted that he had not died on the raft. He 
 might then have sent Edith a message of love, just as he 
 was leaving this world to meet his mother in a better. That 
 night he dreamed that he and Edith Wilde were on board 
 the raft, and that one of the hungry sailors who wanted to 
 kill and eat her was not the Portuguese, but Mr. Henry 
 Fawcett ! 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 " The animal with long ears, after having drunk, gives a kick to the 
 bucket." From the Italian. 
 
 IT was a delightful afternoon in the season of the Indian 
 summer. The sky was a deep blue, streaked here and there 
 with purple clouds, behind which could be seen many a del- 
 icate tint, to which no artist's brush could ever do full jus- 
 tice. The sun was slowly sinking toward the south-west,
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 193 
 
 and there was a roseate tinge in his rays which cast a mel- 
 low beauty on all they touched. 
 
 On the afternoon in question a dirty, bloated, red-faced 
 man, clad in a ragged, greasy suit of clothes, which had once 
 been fashionable, might have been seen slowly walking up 
 Third Avenue, in the city of New York, and carefully ex- 
 amining, with weak, watery eyes, the sign-boards of all the 
 corner groggeries which he passed. His gait was uncertain 
 and shambling, his knees seemed to tremble beneath his 
 weight, and he walked like a man whose feet were very 
 sore. As he raised his hand to shade his eyes from the 
 rays of the sinking sun, it might have been noticed that 
 that hand was comparatively white and delicately formed, 
 and that it had never been accustomed to heavy manual 
 labor, llis hair was long and unkempt, of a dirty dry 
 brown, and hung in straggling locks down his neck and 
 cheeks. His face was covered with a beard of about two 
 weeks' growth ; and if he wore any linen it was completely 
 hidden by a red " muffler," like those worn by sailors in 
 severe weather. Altogether he was a most wretched-look- 
 ing tramp. As he carefully scanned the sign-boards his 
 lips moved as if uttering imprecations, and the expression 
 of his hard, cruel face was not a pleasant thing to look at. 
 He had painfully pursued his weary way up as far as Thir- 
 tieth Street, but had not been able to discover the name 
 which he wanted. He had already been at a groggery near 
 the East River, having ascertained the address from a direc- 
 tory, but his toilsome journey had been in vain, for the per- 
 son of whom he w r as in quest had moved up town on the 
 first of May last. The patience of the tramp was almost 
 exhausted, as, after searching the sign -boards of all the 
 "wine-merchants" once more, he muttered to himself, "It 
 must be somewhere about here that the infernal scoundrel 
 holds forth and retails his poisons. Let me see Thirtieth 
 Street, Fortieth Street, Fiftieth Street How tired I am ! 
 Not a cent not one red cent !" And here the poor wretch 
 swore some oaths which it is better to suppress. " How 
 tired and foot-sore I am ! I am dying for a glass of brandy. 
 I wonder if one of these cursed Irishmen would give me a 
 
 13
 
 194 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 glass of whiskey ? The last place I tried the brute of a 
 barkeeper threatened to kick me out for disgracing his 
 place, and called me thief and tramp." 
 
 " Say, Boss," addressing a young man with a clear, 
 healthy face, who had evidently avoided his own poisonous 
 compounds " say, Boss, for God's sake give me a glass of 
 liquor? I am weak, and dying for the want of a little 
 stimulant." 
 
 The young man eyed him for a moment, and noted his 
 hands, and clothes of fashionable cut, though greasy and in 
 tatters. After a pause of a minute or two he replied, 
 
 " Well, I don't know : it seems to me that you have seen 
 better days, old man. I suppose you would like ' a hair of 
 the dog that bit you.' What 'ud you like ?" 
 
 " Anything strong the stronger the better," replied the 
 tramp. 
 
 The young man handed him a decanter containing a 
 liquid labelled "Jamaica Rum," which the tramp seized with 
 an eager, trembling hand, and lifting a tumbler in the other 
 hand, poured out a very large quantity for a single drink 
 so large, indeed, that the generous youth was forced to 
 say, " See here, old man, haven't you taken a leetle more 
 than's good for you ?" 
 
 To this remark the tramp made no reply ; but looking 
 at the glass with a gleam in his watery eye as ardent as the 
 liquor itself, he drank off the whole of it in a single gulp. 
 Its fiery strength caused the tears to roll down his dirty, 
 flabby cheeks, and made him smack his lips as if the poi- 
 son had been the very elixir of life. It was a very painful 
 sight to see this man vainly trying to hide with his fingers 
 the double quantity of rum which he intended to take. 
 
 " Young man," said the tramp, " do you know a man in 
 your line named Timothy Quin ?" 
 
 "Do I know Tim Quin? Why, this is one of Quin's 
 stores : he has half a dozen stores like this. But he is not 
 now in the retail trade ; he manifacters." 
 
 " Distils, you mean," said the tramp. 
 
 " I mane what I say he manifacters." 
 
 " Manufactures what ?"
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 195 
 
 " Manifacters everythin' drinkable, even that Jamakey that 
 you've just drunk," replied the temperate youth. 
 
 " Do you never drink anything yourself f asked the 
 tramp, now comfortably seated on the head of a whiskey- 
 cask, and expecting to be asked to take another drink. 
 
 " No, sir-e-e ! Catch me drinkin' poisons ! They are 
 very good to sell very profitable, do ye see but very bad, 
 as the doctors say, for digesching." 
 
 "Does Quin drink, himself?" inquired the tramp. 
 
 " Oh yes, of course," replied the young man ; " but out 
 of private bottles of genuwine liquor. He don't drink sich 
 stuff as this." 
 
 " Is Quin very rich ?" asked the tramp. 
 
 " Now see here, old man, you're mighty smart ; you'd 
 better clear out before our reg'lar customers begin to come." 
 
 " Boss," said the tramp, in a wheedling tone, " couldn't 
 you give a poor fellow another dose of that poison a poor 
 fellow who would like to end his sufferings in a sea of good 
 liquor ?" 
 
 The young bartender, anxious to get rid of the disrepu- 
 table tramp, took down the decanter and poured out a very 
 large glass, and handing it to the tramp, said, 
 
 " Here, throw this down your throat and clear out : my 
 customers will soon 'be here." 
 
 The tramp seized the glass, scanned it with one eye par- 
 tially closed, with the air of a connoisseur, gloated for a 
 moment over it, as if prolonging the pleasure by a little an- 
 ticipation, and then swallowed it, as before, without water 
 and in a single gulp. The tramp leaned his elbow on the 
 bar, slowly laid the glass down without removing his dirty 
 fingers from it, and with a half-drunken, cunning leer, said, 
 
 " Young man, you had better keep a civil tongue in your 
 head, for I know your master well ; he is a very old friend 
 of mine ; he was once my servant do you hear ? He was 
 once my servant. And what are you ? Nothing but a mis- 
 erable Irish rum seller. If you don't hand me out another 
 glass of that poison, I'll tell my friend Quin how you have 
 characterized his noble business of distilling." 
 
 At first the voung man was lost in amazement at the in-
 
 196 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 gratitude, and then he grew angry at the insolence, of the 
 filthy wretch whom he had condescended to notice. Plac- 
 ing his hand lightly on the bar, and vaulting over it with 
 ease, he seized the tramp by the collar of his greasy coat, 
 and administering to him several severe kicks, hurled him 
 headlong into the street. 
 
 " There now, ye ungrateful cur, take that for yer impi- 
 dence !" 
 
 Muttering horrid imprecations in a half-drunken under- 
 tone, the tramp picked himself up as best he could, and was 
 endeavoring to make his escape through the crowd, which 
 seemed to spring out of the sidewalk at the noise of the 
 row, when a policeman came to his rescue, or that might 
 have been the last of Myron Finch (for such was the tramp, 
 as the reader has long ago seen) ; for the bartender had 
 explained to the crowd the tramp's abuse of the Irish peo- 
 ple, and this is something that the Irish do not readily con- 
 done or forgive. 
 
 The policeman had no excuse for arresting Finch ; for, 
 though half drunk as to his limbs, his head was as clear as 
 a bell. Finch wandered on and on, examining the signs, by 
 the aid of the gas-light, for the name of Timothy Quin, 
 " wine - merchant." Finally, after walking about a mile 
 north of the scene of his encounter with the temperate 
 rumseller, he espied a man alighting from a wagon, whom 
 he instantly recognized as his former confederate in crime. 
 For fear he might lose sight of him in the darkness, in the 
 house, or in the liquor-store, Finch ran with all the speed 
 his trembling limbs would permit, and hailed Mr. Quin as 
 he was entering the " store." Quin paused, looked care- 
 fully around, and seeing no one save the dirty, ragged 
 wretch before him, he accosted him in no very pleasant 
 tone of voice : 
 
 " Who are ye ? an' what do ye want ?" 
 
 " Don't you know me, Mr. Quin ? Look closely at me : 
 search my features listen to my voice surely you know 
 me?" 
 
 Quin examined the tramp from head to foot ; he glanced 
 at his broken nose, his red, pimpled face, and his bloated
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 197 
 
 body; he noticed liis trembling hands; but in the dim 
 light of the store-window he failed to recognize his old em- 
 ployer. 
 
 " Walk into the store," said Finch, " and see if you can- 
 not recognize an unfortunate friend." 
 
 The two men walked up to the bar, and steadily gazed in 
 each other's face ; and still Quin was unable to trace in the 
 face and form of the wreck before him the once dashing 
 and wealthy Myron Finch. 
 
 " Mr. Quin," said Finch, " if you have no objection, I 
 would like to steady my nerves with a glass of brandy, for 
 I am weak and hungry." 
 
 Quin eyed the ragged tramp uneasily, and failed not to 
 catch below the husky voice the tone and language of a 
 man used to good society at least, of a man who had re- 
 ceived a good education. Had it not been for the change 
 of voice caused by the inordinate use of strong drink, 
 doubtless Finch would have been recognized in a moment. 
 Quin noticed the hands of the tramp, and began to suspect 
 a detective ; for ever since the capture of the forgery-prac- 
 tice papers he has feared arrest as particeps criminis. Quin, 
 even as porter, had proved himself observant and cunning ; 
 and his subsequent training, as the founder of rum-shops 
 and the manager of political societies, had sharpened his 
 wits and blunted his conscience. He had grown rich, and 
 as his wealth increased his appetite to add to it became 
 voracious. The more money he made the more he wanted ; 
 hence his attempt two years ago to extort, in the form of 
 black-mail, a very large sum from Finch. While Timothy 
 Quin was pondering over these matters, Myron Finch was 
 waiting for his glass of brandy to steady his nerves. 
 
 " Mr. Quin," repeated Finch, " I greatly need a little 
 liquor ; for, as I said a moment ago, I am both weak and 
 hungry." 
 
 Quin, starting out of a reverie, ordered Patrick, the man 
 behind the bar, to produce his best brandy. From some 
 hidden recess below the bar Patrick brought forth a bottle 
 of genuine imported brandy, which was always kept in re- 
 serve for the " wine-merchant " and his particular friends.
 
 198 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 Quin took little more than a thimbleful, while Finch near- 
 ly filled a large tumbler, which he drank off undiluted. Ev- 
 idently Timothy Quin was resolved to bring this matter to 
 a close ; so, with sundry oaths which we take the liberty of 
 suppressing, he demanded, 
 
 " Now that you have had your skinful of good liquor, I 
 want to know who ye are and what ye want ?" 
 
 " Mr. Quin," said Finch, in a deprecatory tone, " there is 
 a back-room can you not step in there and hear me out ? 
 AVill you please hear my story in private ?" 
 
 " Now, see here ; I don't know what right ye have to tell 
 me any story. I don't undherstan' what business ye can 
 have wid me. But we may as well ind it here an' now ; so 
 step in here we'll be alone." 
 
 Finch could have had no private interview with Quin had 
 it not been for the nameless fear of a detective, already al- 
 luded to. Quin was naturally a low-born tyrant, and thor- 
 oughly despised rags and poverty ; hence, under ordinary 
 circumstances, the dirty tramp would have been hustled 
 head-foremost out of the " store." The worthy pair now 
 entered the little back-room, usually devoted to gambling on 
 a small scale to " forty-fives " for drinks all round. Finch 
 carefully closed the door, and then took his seat in front of 
 Quin at the little round gaming-table which, with a few 
 wooden chairs, constituted the entire furniture of the room. 
 There were two or three very cheap pictures of prize-fight- 
 ers, in very cheap frames, ornamenting the whitewashed 
 walls. Something in the wary closing of the door, some- 
 thing in the stealthy step, albeit a little shaky, and some- 
 thing in the cunning expression of the pale, watery eyes, 
 recalled to Quin's mind a vague recollection of some one 
 whom he had known before; but still he failed to place 
 him he could not possibly identify him. 
 
 Again the two men looked at each other long and stead- 
 ily. Finally Finch raised his torn and battered felt hat, 
 revealing a brow as white as a lady's a broad, high brow, 
 which seemed to have escaped the general ruin of the re- 
 mainder of his body. The contrast between the upper and 
 lower portions of his head and face was startling.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 199 
 
 " Mr. Quin," said Finch, after removing the old hat, and 
 with a voice and manner quite histrionic, for Finch was 
 nothing if not a first-class hypocrite, " Mr. Quin, the unfort- 
 unate man before you is Myron Finch !" 
 
 Finch folded his arms and awaited the result. All Quin 
 could utter, so complete was his amazement, was, 
 
 " My God ! my God ! Can I b'lieve me eyes ? You Mis- 
 ther Finch ? you you ?" 
 
 " Yes, you know me you know me. I see it in your 
 eyes that you recognize me." 
 
 " How, in the name of Heaven," said Quin, " have ye 
 fallen so low ? Ye must have taken away wid ye at laste a 
 hundthred tousand dollars. Where has the money gone to ?" 
 
 " It would be a long story," replied Finch, " and I am 
 not in a fit condition to tell it to-night. Some other time 
 I shall tell you all. Suffice it now that I felt very lonely 
 among strangers, who spoke a strange language, and I took 
 to drink and gambling. I was fleeced out of my money, 
 abused and beaten, had my nose broken, as you may sec, 
 and I was left for dead at my hotel. When a man gam- 
 bles, Mr. Quin, he cannot afford to drink; I drank relying 
 upon my ability to bear it, but I was mistaken, and lost. 
 The more I lost the more I drank, and the more I drank 
 the more I lost. It did not take very long to exhaust my 
 exchequer." 
 
 " Your what ?" asked Quin. 
 
 " My money-bags. In fact, I found myself a beggar in 
 Callao, and was obliged, after much solicitation, to work 
 my passage to New York as assistant-steward on the ship. 
 Now you have in outline my misadventures since I ab- 
 sconded two years ago. But it was not to speak of these 
 matters that I called to see you : I have other business." 
 
 One by one Quin was able to recall the features of his 
 old employer. Timothy was not a man of very nice moral 
 perceptions, and he had never been over-scrupulous about 
 his methods of making an honest penny ; still, he was not 
 actually cruel by nature, like Finch; nor was he deficient in 
 kindly feeling, if it did not mar his material interests. lie 
 was really sorry for the miserable wreck before him. 1'er-
 
 200 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 haps he remembered that it was the thousand dollars given 
 him by Finch for his aid in effecting the forgery which 
 gave him, Quin, his first start in life as a " wine-merchant ;" 
 or perhaps he may have recollected that it was his attempt 
 to levy black-mail which was the beginning of Finch's mis- 
 fortunes ; or, being vain of his wealth and prosperity, his 
 vanity may have been gratified at patronizing his former 
 master. From whatever motive and it may have been 
 from a combination of motives Quin was influenced, he 
 resolved to aid judiciously, of course Mr. Myron Finch 
 to get on his legs again. 
 
 After gazing a long time at Finch in silence, Quin arose, 
 and opening the door, cried out, 
 
 "Patrick, ordher from the restherant beefsteak and on- 
 ions for two ; and bring in a bottle of ' Mum,' and a bottle 
 of the best brandy the very best, mind ye." As he re- 
 sumed his seat, he continued : " So the black divils of Span- 
 iards were too smart for ye, an' got howld of all yer money, 
 did they ?" 
 
 " I don't know about that," replied Finch. " ' Whoever 
 sups with the devil ought to have a long spoon.' I short- 
 ened my spoon by drinking, and you see the consequences. 
 It might have been different bad I not met that man Bai- 
 ley, lie and a companion of his were on the point of 
 death, when, as ill-luck would have it, we picked them up 
 and took them to Chili. I was afraid he would recognize 
 me ; and hence I fled from city to city and became a 
 drunkard. But I am going to reform, and make another 
 fortune." 
 
 By this time the beefsteak and onions, th,e champagne 
 and brandy, were before this precious pair. Quin, like the 
 majority of his class, was temperate from sheer selfishness, 
 and ate little and drank less. Finch did not eat much, but 
 drank greedily. Liquor might deprive him of his power 
 of locomotion, but could not wholly deprive him of his na- 
 tive craft and mental power. 
 
 " Mr. Quin," said Finch, after a long silence and deep 
 thought, " what became of those papers which you kindly 
 showed me the last time we had the honor of dining to-
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 201 
 
 gether? Do you know who holds them ? Did Grady ever 
 threaten to use them ?" 
 
 " Come, Finch," said Qnin, in an angry tone, " no more 
 of that ! I'm now a rich man, an' I want no more schames 
 and thrasons. I'm not agoin' to play wid fire no more. 
 I'm willin' to help ye, but not in that way." 
 
 Finch gave Quin one of his old, quick glances of deadly 
 hatred, as he replied, 
 
 " I don't want you to join in anything of the kind. I 
 merely desire to know if they can use those papers against 
 me." ' 
 
 " For some rason," said Quin, " Grady does not wish to 
 punish or purshue ye ; an' sence his frind Bailey is med 
 all right, an' howlds a good place wid Warrenton, Wilde & 
 Co., I think that no attimpt will be med to harm ye ; that 
 is, me boy, if ye keep quiet, and play no more of ycr ould 
 thricks." 
 
 Finch reflected for a few moments before he asked, 
 " Have you heard of a young woman named Miss Edwards 
 in connection with Grady ?" 
 
 "Once or twice," replied Quin, "Grady mintioncd her 
 name. You remimber you saw her whin I was so dhrugged, 
 ye rascal, that I knew nothin' until the next day." 
 
 "Have you ever heard of my wife or her father?" Finch 
 asked, with a peculiar look. 
 
 "Not much. I hard that she got a divorce, and that 
 ould Van Hess has gone to the dogs. He does some com- 
 mission business, but not much. He sold his grand house 
 on Fifth Avenue, an' now lives in simple sthyle on one of 
 the crass-sthreets." 
 
 Considerably refreshed, and having obtained the infor- 
 mation he sought, Finch, fearful of trespassing on the kind- 
 ness of his friend, arose to take his leave. He paused, hesi- 
 tated, and finally managed to say, 
 
 " I beg pardon, Mr. Quin ; you have treated me very 
 kindly ; but I have not a cent in the world. Could you 
 lend me ten dollars?" 
 
 Quin, proud of his superiority, and with an air of patron- 
 age, replied,
 
 202 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 "My dear Finch" (he dropped the Mr.), "you must 
 promise me to dhrink no more bad liquor : you may dhrink 
 two or three glasses of good stuff ; an' ate, man ate good 
 hearty food three square males a day, an' build yerself up. 
 'Why should ye go to the dogs ? Here's the loan of twinty 
 dollars ; an' if ye keep sober, come to me at the ind of a 
 week an' I'll thry and put a dacent shuit of clo'es on yer 
 back, an' give ye one more chance to rack yer forthin but 
 in an honest way, moind ye ha ! ha ! ha !" 
 
 This honest way, according to the code of morals pur- 
 sued by Timothy Quin, was to get all the money he could, 
 by hook or by crook, without laying himself liable in law. 
 Finch understood him ; pocketed the twenty dollars ; prom- 
 ised to keep sober ; took his leave with many protestations 
 of gratitude; ducked into another corner groggery about 
 one hundred yards from Quin's ; called for a glass of brandy ; 
 had his twenty-dollar bill converted into small bills and sil- 
 ver ; jumped, under the impetus of liquor, into a Third Ave- 
 nue car, and took a seat in the corner. 
 
 " Blast the impudence and ignorance of this low Irish- 
 man !" muttered the grateful Finch. " Patronizing me ! 
 Giving me advice ! But wait ! I must restrain this horri- 
 ble thirst for rum ; for if I do not, I arn a lost man. I must 
 build myself up, that I may tear others down. Oh, faugh! 
 How I detest that vulgar Irishman ! How I detest them 
 all ! So Jenny Edwards would not let that brute of an un- 
 cle-in-law publish to the world my forgery. Ah ! Jenny, 
 my dear, you have not yet forgotten your first love what 
 woman ever does ? Jenny, my sweet lady, you have saved 
 money, and I need some of it. Let me see ! I have two 
 trump cards to play the divorce and Jenny. And why 
 couldn't I marry Jenny ? She's clever, and that my late 
 wife never was." Thus soliloquizing, and planning for the 
 future, this intellectual fiend, who seemed superior to a 
 quantity of liquor that would have made three ordinary 
 men intoxicated, took lodgings in a humble boarding-house 
 in the Bowery, near its junction with Chatham Street.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 203 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 " Blow, blow, thou winter wind, 
 Thou art not so unkind 
 
 As man's ingratitude." SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 THE next morning Finch lay wide awake in his filthy bed, 
 thinking deeply. He had to struggle against the thirst for 
 liquor, which increased with tenfold force now that he had 
 the means to gratify it. He resisted the craving with all 
 his might, for he clearly perceived that if he continued his 
 present mode of living his days were numbered. To begin 
 life anew he must have all his wits about him ; he must 
 keep sober and improve his general health. Reflecting 
 npon his past career, he discovered the one weak point 
 which had ruined all ; and that was, trusting a confidant 
 and having an ally in Timothy Quin. Had he ruined 
 George Bailey without assistance and surely he should 
 have been able to do so trouble could not have overtaken 
 him. And how careless it was to drop those torn practice- 
 papers into the waste-basket, and thus give that cunning 
 knave, Quin, a power over him ! 
 
 Engaged in these reflections, and forming these resolu- 
 tions, he arose with a fearful headache, and went down to 
 the common eating-room, one of the meanest of its kind, 
 and ordered very strong coffee in lieu of his morning dram 
 of brandy. He then entered a second-hand clothing store 
 in Chatham Street and bought, for ten dollars, a suit of half- 
 worn black. As he passed the flaring grog-shops his appe- 
 tite for liquor almost overcame him ; and at the sight of the 
 bottles in the windows his pale eyes glistened, and his frame 
 shook with the effort to abstain. Once he actually reached 
 the door of a vile " bucket-shop " in Mulberry Street ; but 
 by a superhuman effort he tore himself away. Here was a 
 singular phenomenon a thoroughly wicked man, who never 
 scrupled at any crime to advance his interests, endeavoring,
 
 204 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 with great force of will, to conquer an insatiable desire for 
 strong drink, and manifesting in the fight a firmness of pur- 
 pose which would have done honor to a man of noble nat- 
 ure who had unfortunately contracted the bad habit. To 
 assist his will, he plunged several times into the coffee-and- 
 cake cellars, and drank cup after cup of strong coffee at 
 least, the strongest which was for sale in such places. 
 
 The craving for liquor somewhat appeased, he resumed 
 his reflections. He recalled what Quin had told him the 
 evening before ; and he remembered that Jenny had saved 
 him from arrest. He had ascertained her address ; and, 
 fully convinced that she still loved him, he determined to 
 visit her ; and in order to work on her sympathies, he would 
 present himself before her in his dirt and rags. Leaving 
 his bundle of newly-bought second-hand clothes in his lodg- 
 ings, he went to the hotel in which Jenny was employed, 
 and inquired for Miss Edwards, informing the clerk that 
 her aunt in Williarasburgh was dying, and that he was sent 
 in haste to inform her. Finch well knew that, except in 
 case of life and death, he could gain no admittance, in his 
 present plight, into any decent hotel. Hence, poor Mrs. 
 John Grady was put in a dying condition for the occasion. 
 As Finch stood at the end of a long corridor, greasy hat in 
 hand, waiting for Jenny, his white forehead and white bald 
 head presented such a contrast to the red, pimpled face and 
 broken nose, covered with brandy-blotches, that he looked 
 like a man whose head was made of two separate and dis- 
 tinct halves welded together. The moment Jenny Edwards 
 laid her eyes on him, through dirt and rags, through blotches 
 and pimples, through unkempt hair and unshaven face, she 
 recognized the man who had won her virgin heart. All the 
 dye, all the paint, all the liquor stains in the world could 
 never disguise Myron Finch from Jenny Edwards. Had he 
 been away from her sixty years were he tottering into the 
 grave, an old man some trick of eye, or foot, or hand, some 
 little tone of voice, unnoticed by the world at large, would 
 have revealed to her the man who was once dearer to her 
 than her own soul. 
 
 " My God ! Myron Finch, what brings you here ? "What
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 205 
 
 can you want with me ?" asked Jenny, in a cold, surprised 
 tone, and with an expression of trouble and pain in her 
 eye and over her pale face. 
 
 Finch hung his head, and nervously twitched the brim 
 of his old soft hat, as he replied in broken accents, " Jen- 
 ny you see a thoroughly ruined man before you 
 without a friend in the wide world !" And the wretch 
 made the tears flow down his flabby cheeks. 
 
 " Whose fault is it, pray, that you have not a friend in 
 the world ? But, I repeat, what do you want with me ? 
 "What brings you here ?" 
 
 " I am sick : I have neither house nor home nor a 
 cent to buy a loaf of bread. Oh, Jenny, have some pity 
 for me ! I know I have been wicked, and treated you bad- 
 ly ; but I am so sorry for it so " And Finch burst into 
 tears, and tried to hide them with an old dirty red pocket- 
 handkerchief. 
 
 " Enough of this that will do !" said Jenny, somewhat 
 sharply. "This play cannot go on here! Once more I 
 repeat, what do you want with me?" 
 
 "Jenny, you are very hard on a poor broken-down fel- 
 low who is almost at death's door." 
 
 " Hard on you ?" replied Jenny r with a look of infinite 
 scorn not unmingled with pity. " Were I hard on you, I 
 would well, no matter what. Myron Finch, we cannot 
 stand talking here in this corridor, attracting the attention 
 of the servants." 
 
 " We can take a walk outside, if you please," said Finch, 
 in an insinuating tone ; " for I told the clerk that your aunt 
 was very ill, and desired to see you. We need not go out 
 together. I will meet you at the junction of Chatham 
 Street and the Bowery." 
 
 " At your lies again !" 
 
 " Without this harmless lie I could not have seen you." 
 
 " Harmless lie ? there's no such thing ! But go ; I'll 
 follow you in five minutes." 
 
 AVhile Jenny was putting on her hat and shawl, she re- 
 flected that Finch, being freed by the divorce, could now 
 marry her and satisfy her conscience. If the wedding cer-
 
 206 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 emony were once performed a load would be lifted from 
 her heart. Of course, the wealth of the universe could not 
 have bribed her to live with Finch one hour as his wife ; 
 but she was resolved that the sin of thirteen years ago 
 must be washed out by a marriage ceremony, performed 
 by a minister of the Gospel. Jenny thoroughly believed 
 in the Ten Commandments every one of them without ex- 
 ception and had a clear, practical, New England way of 
 calling things by their right names. 
 
 When she had overtaken Finch at the appointed place 
 she said, " Come, be brief ; tell me what you want, for I 
 shall leave you at the ferry." 
 
 "You know what I want I want a loan of a little 
 money. If I had not been so horribly sick and reduced 
 I would not have troubled you. I am now sorry that I 
 called, for you are very hard on me very hard !" And 
 Finch sobbed. 
 
 "Why don't you reform, and go to work like a man? 
 See what your crimes have brought you to !" 
 
 " I know I know it," said Finch, " and I shall reform ; I 
 shall indeed ; and make atonement to you for the wrong I 
 did you." 
 
 " No, no, no ! Myron Finch, you can make no atonement 
 to me ; make an atonement to your God. Repent, and 
 abandon your evil ways. Ah !" said Jenny, in a tone half 
 to him and half in soliloquy, "ah! did you but know the 
 torture, the horrid, horrid torture which I endured when 
 you abandoned me in this great strange city ; how I 
 writhed in an agony of superlative misery ; how my 
 withered heart slowly turned to stone ; how I prayed for 
 death ; how my religion would not permit me to die by 
 my own hand ; how I hoped against hope, day after day, 
 watching out of the window and listening to every step on' 
 the stair, hoping and cursing and praying oh, the horror 
 of those weeks !" and Jenny shut her eyes and shivered at 
 the very recollection of them. "How I survived I know 
 not. I think it was owing to the religious instruction 
 which I had received in youth that, when basely aban- 
 doned by you, I turned to my Saviour and he sent his
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 207 
 
 Comforter. I arose from a sick bed, resolved to work 
 and do my duty to the best of my ability. No, no, no ! 
 Myron Finch, you can make no atonement to me. You 
 might as well try to restore the plucked and trampled rose. 
 Would to God I had died believing in your truth and 
 goodness died in that New England village where I wor- 
 shipped you, Myron Finch, as the embodiment of all that 
 was noble and intellectual !" The tone of sadness in 
 which this was uttered would have melted a heart of stone. 
 It did not melt Finch's, for the simple reason that he had 
 none to melt. He was calculating how fast Jenny's remi- 
 niscences were causing her heart to melt toward him, and 
 how many dollars this melting mood would put in his 
 pocket. He, therefore, thought it wiser not to interrupt 
 her. "Man, man," continued Jenny, "you never knew 
 what you threw away ! What was Grace Van Hess's 
 love to mine? a rush -light to the sun! I could have 
 lifted you to heights of honor that that poor creature 
 never dreamed of. Bah ! you deserve it all. You mar- 
 ried a poor weak thing, who had not the courage or the 
 decency to stand by her true and noble lover, whom your 
 villany sent to State -prison. And as for you, she never 
 cared a fig for you. You had hardly fled, Bailey had 
 hardly obtained a good situation, when she hurried through 
 her divorce in the hope that he would marry her. Marry 
 her? He would marry first the lowest strumpet who 
 prowls the back slums of the city. But, Heaven help 
 me, I am the last who have the right to speak in this 
 way !" 
 
 Finch was sharp enough to read Jenny's heart in this 
 outburst against his late wife, and to profit by the knowl- 
 edge. 
 
 " Jenny, as God is my judge, I never loved that woman. 
 I only married her for her father's money." 
 
 " So much the worse for you !" Although Jenny said 
 this, in her secret heart she was glad to hear that he had 
 never loved his wife. 
 
 " I have been a very bad man, I admit," said Finch. " I 
 know how wickedly I have treated you. Away down in
 
 208 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 strange lands, when I was sick and thought myself dying, 
 I had time to reflect. Oh, Jenny, you are the only woman 
 whom I ever loved ! can you not be a little less harsh with 
 me? One of my reasons for coming back to New York, 
 and running' the risk of imprisonment for life, was to seek 
 you and ask your forgiveness. But you are very harsh 
 with me." 
 
 In spite of herself, in spite of her knowledge of his char- 
 acter, she was considerably softened. The man was poor, 
 ragged, dirty, and sick; she had once loved him. Her 
 woman's pity surged up in her heart at the sight of his 
 wretchedness. 
 
 " Harsh ! harsh !" said Jenny, " why, if I had been 
 harsh, did I not permit John Grady to have you arrested 
 when we had the evidence of your forgery in our hands \ 
 Myron Finch, I once loved you ; that love has turned to 
 disgust, and I despise you ; and yet, because of this former 
 feeling, I would save you, if I could, from eternal perdi- 
 tion." 
 
 Finch, instead of recoiling from the woman who reviled 
 him in such terms, wriggled up closer and closer until he 
 touched her hand, and said, "Jenny Edwards, I love you 
 still. I love you only in all the earth. In my misery and 
 loneliness I seek you out. Forgive me ; forgive me ! Can 
 we not be happy, in spite of the past ?" 
 
 " Myron Finch," said Jenny, in a stern tone, " hands off ! 
 Touch me not ! Your touch is contamination !" 
 
 Finch slunk back, giving her a sidelong glance full of 
 malice and vindictiveness. 
 
 " Well, well ; I see you dislike me hate me will not 
 forgive me. This is my last attempt. I'll now try my late 
 wife ; perhaps she will not be so obdurate. At any rate, 
 she can treat me no worse than you." 
 
 Finch eyed her closely and furtively to see the effect of 
 this last shot, but it entirely failed of its mark ; for Jenny 
 was too well aware of Mrs. Finch's passion for George 
 Bailey, and. knew full well that while he lived Finch had 
 no chance in that quarter. How Jenny Edwards learned 
 everything concerning Grace Finch, and how Grace Finch
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 209 
 
 learned everything about Edith Wilde, is a female mystery 
 which we shall not try to fathom at present. 
 
 " Go to your late wife," said Jenny, " and see if she will 
 treat you any better than I have done. But why talk in 
 this \vay about your late wife ? I understand you I am 
 no child. Go to work, as I said before, like a man : re- 
 form, repent ! All I have in the world I would give freely 
 to make you a good, honest man." 
 
 " What would you have a fellow to do, I repeat, who is 
 sick, houseless, homeless, hungry, without a stitch of decent 
 clothing to his back, without a cent in his pocket to buy his 
 dinner ? Good God ! woman, have mercy on a fellow !" 
 
 Disgusted, and yet full of compassion, Jenny drew out 
 her pocket-book and handed him fifty dollars. 
 
 " Here," said she, " go and buy yourself a decent suit of 
 clothes in which you can look for employment. When you 
 are reformed come and see me again, but not before. Go, 
 go!" 
 
 The mean hound grabbed the money, and actually count- 
 ed it in her presence. His watery eyes gloated over it, be- 
 fore he hid it away with what remained of Quin's twenty 
 dollars. The vulture-like avidity with which he had seized 
 her hard-earned money was extremely painful to Jenny Ed- 
 wards. As she walked away from him, the tears fell thick 
 and fast as she soliloquized : 
 
 " Poor wretch ! poor wretch ! How fallen ! how low ! 
 And this is all that remains of my hero? And yet I would 
 give my heart's blood to make him such a man as George 
 Bailey !" 
 
 Finch soliloquized too : " Work be hanged ! How can I 
 work ? She has plenty of money saved, and I must have 
 my share of it. This is a mine, and I'll work it." 
 
 Ah, Jenny, Jenny ! by what strange circumstances do he- 
 roic women like you fall into the hands of such ghouls as 
 Myron Finch, and frivolous wax-dolls become the idols of 
 the most chivalrous men ? 
 
 14
 
 210 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 " Vice stings us, even in our pleasures." COLTON. 
 
 IT was seven o'clock in the evening of the day that My- 
 ron Finch had wheedled out of Jenny Edwards fifty dollars 
 of her hard -earned money, and Mr. Jacob Van Hess, his 
 daughter, and his two grandchildren were seated after din- 
 ner in the dining-room. The old gentleman was trying to 
 read, amidst the clamor and squabbling of the two children, 
 the condition of the stock-market, as recorded in the Even- 
 ing Post. Mrs. Finch was vainly endeavoring to prevail 
 upon her son, a boy of twelve years of age, to study his 
 lessons for the morrow. Myron Finch, Jr., was a faithful 
 copy of his sire in form, in color, and in disposition, but not 
 in intellect, for in this he had caught his mother's weakness. 
 
 " What's the use of them books ?" he petulantly asked 
 his mother, tossing his head from side to side with a strong 
 expression of disapproval. " You won't let a fellow read 
 ' The Boy Robber of the Red River.' That's a bully book ! 
 He shot his dad in the knee for lickin' him when he was 
 only thirteen one year older than me." 
 
 " Hush, hush, Myron ! your grandfather will hear you, 
 and be angry. Take your books this instant and study 
 your lessons, or I'll whip you and send you to bed." 
 
 " Well, wait until I am a few years older," replied the 
 amiable lad, " and I'd like to see any one " 
 
 "Ma! ma! won't you make Myron stop pinching me?" 
 screamed the little sister. " I do believe he has pinched a 
 piece out of my arm !" 
 
 " Children, keep quiet," said the grandfather, over his 
 spectacles. " Grace, if those children cannot keep quiet, 
 send them directly to bed. They disturb me annoy me ; 
 they are always quarrelling." 
 
 At this the young Myron stuck his tongue in his cheek 
 and winked villanously at his little sister.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 211 
 
 " Ma ! ma ! won't you make Myron stop ?" 
 
 But Myron simply made a grimace more wicked than the 
 one that preceded it. Ah, verily, " Their fathers have eaten 
 sour grapes, and the children's teeth are on edge I" 
 
 In the mean time the father of this hopeful student of 
 "The Boy Robber of the Red River," having refrained all 
 day from drinking strong liquor, and having now in his pos- 
 session what appeared to him a very large sum of money 
 (for everything in this world is relative), and excellent 
 prospects of making more in a like easy fashion, resolved, 
 "just this once," to treat resolution, and indulge himself in 
 one or two glasses of brandy, for the purpose of steadying 
 his nerves for another pecuniary raid. 
 
 He plunged into one of the low dens near the ferry and 
 drank twice in succession. Like the tiger's taste for blood, 
 the taste of the drunkard is only whetted by a little liquor. 
 There never was a better maxim for the dipsomaniac than, 
 " Touch not, taste not, handle not ;" and Finch knew it as 
 well as any man living. But this "just once " was his ruin. 
 For half an hour, while walking toward Broadway, he fought 
 against the craving for more liquor ; but the insatiable de- 
 sire overcame his resolution. Again he entered a low grog- 
 gery and drank a large glass of Jamaica rum, that being, in 
 his estimation, the most fiery liquor in the market. Al- 
 though his limbs trembled and his hands shook, his brain 
 was untouched ; and he entered Broadway making most 
 heroic efforts to steady himself, and wondering why he al- 
 ways became drunk in his legs, and not in his head, like 
 most men. 
 
 In Broadway he saw a sight which nearly sobered him ; 
 he saw George Bailey and Walter Wilde walking up that 
 fashionable street arm-in-arm, and chatting pleasantly on 
 the affairs of the day. Of course, neither recognized in the 
 dirty, ragged wretch before them their fellow -passenger, 
 Alexander Brown. As they overtook him, Walter Wilde 
 remarked to his companion, 
 
 " What a wretched creature ! Just see what rum will 
 bring a man to !" 
 
 " Yes, yes," replied Bailey ; " but who knows the trials
 
 212 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 and temptations that led him to such a state? God help 
 us all ! I was once sorely tempted myself. My sufferings 
 have taught me one good lesson charity for the fallen." 
 
 Finch overheard the conversation, and instead of feeling 
 grateful for the compassionate language, and still more com- 
 passionate tone of voice, he cursed Bailey again and again, 
 and hated the man most intensely because he had injured 
 him. 
 
 When Bailey and Wilde were lost in the crowd, Finch 
 plunged into another basement groggery near Broadway, 
 and, uttering internal imprecations, drank off two more 
 glasses of Jamaica rum to console himself for the sight he 
 had just witnessed. " Now," said he to himself, " I am in 
 fit condition to see my late wife and father-in-law, and make 
 them ' bleed.' It will be no paltry fifty dollars this time." 
 
 A remarkable feature in this man's character was that he 
 never once thought of his children ; and in this respect he 
 was below the brute. When a man once abandons princi- 
 ple, and thinks of nothing but the gratification of his selfish 
 appetites, the veiy reason which, rightly directed, elevates 
 him to an equality with the angels, enables him to think 
 thoughts and do deeds that would shame the very lowest of 
 the brute creation. 
 
 There was a ring at the door-bell of Jacob Van Iless's 
 house. Susie O'Xeil, the only servant of all work, answered 
 it. She saw by the dim light of the hall a dirty, ragged 
 man, with a strong odor of bad liquor on his breath, stand- 
 ing in the vestibule, and surveying him for an instant she 
 exclaimed, " No-o-o !" 
 
 " I wish to see your master," said the tramp. 
 
 " You can't see him. Go 'way ; we never gives anything 
 to tramps nor beggars." 
 
 " I am neither a tramp nor a beggar, you impertinent 
 flunkey !" 
 
 In the mean time the tramp had insinuated his body so 
 far inside the door that Susie could not shut it; she was, 
 therefore, obliged to call out, " Mr. Van Hess ! there's a 
 tramp in the hall that won't go 'way ! Please come here 
 an' put him out !"
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 213 
 
 Mrs. Finch went up-stairs with the two children ; and the 
 husband and father saw them as they passed. Mr. Van 
 Iless accosted the tramp in an angry tone, 
 
 " Well, sir, what do you want here? Leave my premises, 
 or I'll call a policeman/' 
 
 " Mr. Jacob Van Hess, I warn you that you had better 
 not," said the tramp, in an insolent voice. 
 
 "Why not? why not? Susie, call a police-officer this 
 instant ! Do you mean to rob me murder me ? Begone, 
 sir !" 
 
 While Susie was looking for an officer, the tramp whis- 
 pered, 
 
 " Jacob Van Hess, you had better dismiss the policeman ; 
 for if I am arrested there will be a scene. You don't know 
 rne, eh ? You don't know your son-in-law, Myron Finch?' 1 '' 
 
 Had a thunderbolt dropped at the feet of the old man 
 he could not have been more astounded. He was obliged 
 to lean against the hat-rack for support. The color left his 
 face, and the lines about his mouth deepened. He feared 
 Finch with an exceeding fear : he feared him more than he 
 did Satan. Here was his evil genius come back to torment 
 him ; here was the fiendish hypocrite whose wiles, tricks, 
 lies, and villany had blasted his life, and whose cruelty had 
 destroyed the happiness of his only child; here was his 
 ruthless enemy, who had destroyed his business and reduced 
 him from affluence to respectable poverty. Jacob Van 
 Hess remained for a minute or two speechless, and almost 
 unconscious, dazed, and horror-stricken by the blow. 
 
 " I say, old man, do you desire a scene ? Do you want 
 me arrested? Do you want that divorce business ripped 
 up from stem to stern ? If you don't, be quick, for here 
 comes the policeman. Just tell him it is all a mistake. Do 
 you hear, old man ?" 
 
 Words would fail to describe the insolence of Finch's 
 language, tone, and manner. There was a threat in every 
 syllable, a threat in every inflection of his cracked voice, 
 and a threat in every gesture of his bloated body. 
 
 The policeman was told that it was a mistake, and that 
 he was not needed. The officer eved Finch and Van Iless
 
 214 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 with a knowing look, shrugged his shoulders, and returned 
 to his " beat," muttering, " ' A skeleton in every house !' 
 but it's none of my funeral." 
 
 " Susie," whispered Mr. Van Hess, " tell your mistress 
 that I have a private engagement with this this man ; 
 and you need not tell her what sort of man he is. Do you 
 understand ?" 
 
 Far better for you, Mr. Jacob Van Hess, had you seen 
 your late son-in-law in your daughter's presence. But it 
 was otherwise ordered ; for 
 
 " There is a divinity that shapes our ends, 
 Rough-hew them as we may." 
 
 Myron Finch chuckled at his success; for he had not 
 failed to note that the old man, weak and timid, had taken 
 pains to let neither his daughter nor his servant know that 
 the tramp was no other than Myron Finch. He felt that 
 Mr. Van Hess was simply a goose to be plucked of his last 
 feather and bled to his last drop of blood. 
 
 " Well, old man, can't you invite a fellow into your par- 
 lor or dining-room ?" 
 
 As they entered the room, Finch cast his eyes around 
 and observed the shabbiness of the furniture. " I perceive," 
 he continued, " that your Fifth Avenue grandeur has gone, 
 like my money. You may see, Mr. Van Hess you may see 
 for yourself that I am very poor and very sick, and have not 
 a cent in the world with which to buy my supper or my bed." 
 
 "Go on, sir; proceed," said poor Mr. Van Hess, in a tone 
 of weak despair. 
 
 " Mr. Van Hess, you and I were partners, and the part- 
 nership was never dissolved with my consent. True, I 
 went on a little tour to South America rather abruptly, 
 I admit for my health ; but that is no crime in law. Now 
 I have come back for a settlement a settlement, do you 
 hear?" 
 
 " Yes, I hear." 
 
 " Very well, I want you to heed. I had two purposes in 
 coming back to New York ; one I have just told you, the 
 other is to contest that illegal divorce, obtained during my
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 215 
 
 absence by fraud and false swearing. I know why Mrs. 
 Finch was in such haste to obtain the divorce." 
 
 For a drunken man, his case was very clearly stated ; and 
 he had the subtlety to wind it up with an implied threat. 
 
 Jacob Van Hess made one desperate effort to shake off 
 the toils that Finch was casting around him. 
 
 " Finch, you committed forgery ; you absconded with 
 much of the assets of our house : my daughter obtained 
 her divorce in a legal way. We desire to have nothing 
 further to do with you." 
 
 "Ah! that's your game, is it? Old man, age begins to 
 tell on you. I committed no forgery. Where's your 
 proof ? I committed no adultery. You have no proof. A 
 divorce obtained for anything else is null and void at 
 least in New York. Don't repeat these charges before wit- 
 nesses, for if you do, I may sue you for defamation of char- 
 acter. Come, come, old gentleman ; had not George Bailey, 
 your daughter's old lover, returned from State-prison, and 
 so imposed upon Mr. Wilde as to obtain a good situation, 
 my wife would never have sought a divorce. How would 
 all this sound in a court of justice ? How would it appear 
 in print that your daughter obtained a divorce by fraud to 
 gratify a passion for a returned convict ?" 
 
 " Silence, you fiend ! Not another word about my 
 daughter, whose life you have blighted." 
 
 Finch perceived that he must not irritate Mr. Van Hess 
 too much, and therefore changed his tone : 
 
 " Mr. Van Hess, I will not be hard on you. I am very 
 poor. Give me one hundred dollars to-night, and nine hun- 
 dred one week from to-night, and we will call it square." 
 
 " Will you promise me to disturb neither my daughter 
 nor me ? But what is the use ? I cannot rely on your 
 promise." 
 
 "Old gentleman, I'll do better than that; I'll give you 
 my solemn affidavit. I only want to get on my feet again, 
 and then I shall leave you forever." 
 
 Finch's plan was to make himself appear as vile and filthy 
 as possible and it must be admitted that it required little 
 effort on his part in order to strike terror into Mr. Van
 
 216 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 Hcss's heart ; for Finch thoroughly understood that the 
 great aim in life of both father and daughter had always 
 been to stand well with the world, and to be considered very 
 " respectable." For this cause, chiefly, Grace Van Hess had 
 abandoned Bailey on the first rumor of his fall ; and for 
 this cause, too, her father was anxious to see her married 
 to that young paragon of a Christian, Myron Finch, so that 
 people would cease to talk of Grace's engagement to a con- 
 vict. Seeing that Mr. Van Hess hesitated, Finch said, 
 
 " Mr. Van Hess, I don't want to be hard on you, but if 
 you don't consent to my terms, I shall go to-morrow and 
 employ a lawyer yes, without a retainer to commence 
 two suits, one for twenty thousand dollars, as my share of 
 the business of Van Hess, Finch & Co., and another to set 
 aside the divorce as illegal." 
 
 It is needless to say that Finch intended nothing of the 
 kind ; for the last place which he desired to enter was a 
 court of justice. He simply desired to work on the fears 
 of Mr. Van Hess, and this he did most thoroughly. The 
 last little speech brought the old gentleman to terms. He 
 counted one hundred dollars into the greedy hands of 
 Finch, and told him to call in a week for nine hundred 
 more. Finch, elated at his success, withdrew, and treated 
 himself to a supper of raw oysters and raw brandy. While 
 sipping his second glass with intense satisfaction, he reflect- 
 ed on his day's work. One hundred and fifty dollars since 
 morning, not speaking of the twenty dollars which he had 
 obtained from Quin, was not a bad beginning ; and then 
 nine hundred dollars one week from to-day ! why, it was 
 better than a gold - mine. Ha ! ha ! ha ! " And I heard 
 Grace wrangling with the brats. The first time I've 
 thought of them in three years^ I do believe."
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 "He that studieth revenge keepeth his own wounds green." 
 
 BACON. 
 " Soft is the memory of buried love." BYRON. 
 
 THE next evening 'there were assembled at the tea-table 
 of Mrs. John Grady, in addition to her husband, George 
 Bailey, Washington Scroggs, and Jenny Edwards. Mr. 
 Grady was aggressive and belligerent as ever, and as ready 
 to use the " carnal weapon ;" George Bailey was sadly out 
 of sorts, owing to his jealousy of Henry Fawcett, aggravated 
 by the anonymous note which he had received about ten 
 days previously ; Jenny Edwards was abstracted, and paid 
 little attention to anything except her own sad reflections ; 
 and the little quack prattled away about his panacea for all 
 ailments both of body and mind. In vain the " doctor" 
 expatiated in Johnsonian English upon the afflux and efflux 
 of the sanguineous fluids from the centre to the periphery, 
 from the seat of congestion in the vital organs to the cuti- 
 cle, which is the grand emunctory of the system. Neither 
 Bailey nor Jenny Edwards paid the slightest attention to 
 what he said j and it is doubtful if Mrs. or Mr. John Grady 
 knew the meanings of half the words that the little man 
 used in ordinary conversation. Though the little quack 
 had the sweetest of tempers, and the most forgiving of dis- 
 positions, he could not fail to notice that no one of the 
 party seemed to pay the least attention to his learned dis- 
 quisition upon "capillary attraction and the specific gravity 
 of atmospheric air." 
 
 " Jenny, my dear, I hope you are not afflicted with hypo- 
 chondriacism (from two Greek words meaning cartilage) or 
 melancholia (which means bile, id est, disease or congestion 
 of the liver) ; for if you are, my dear, I must prescribe for 
 you a melanogogue (likewise from the Greek) ; or better 
 still, the propulsion of one thousand pounds avoirdupois of
 
 218 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 air from the surface of the body. The vulgar of the pres- 
 ent day call this particular condition of the organs of diges- 
 tion and assimilation, which is simply congestion, ' the blues.' 
 But why 'the blues,' no man knoweth. Peradventure, 
 it may be because the congested blood assumes a bluish 
 tinge, like the asphyxia (also from the Greek) caused by 
 strangulation. In the olden time melancholia was known 
 by the somewhat singular cognomen of ' vapors.' And why 
 ' vapors ?' Because it was supposed by the ignorant that 
 in hypochondriacisrn the diseased liver gave forth vapors 
 (or, if you will pardon the expression, wind) which ascend- 
 ed to the brain, and played extraordinary freaks with the 
 imagination." 
 
 The fact is, the little quack was not under the necessity 
 of asking pardon from any one, for not one of the party 
 heard a syllable of the latter part of his discourse. 
 
 "Jenny, my dear, are you ill?" asked the doctor in plain 
 English, which he could speak very well when he pleased. 
 
 " I have a slight headache, doctor, but it does not amount 
 to much. I shall be all right in the morning, thank you." 
 
 " I sincerely hope so," replied the doctor, with a look 
 of solicitude, for he was very much attached to Jenny ; then 
 turning to Bailey, he was about to open his batteries on him, 
 when he (Bailey) knowing what was likely to come, arose, 
 and was about to leave the room, when Jenny Edwards also 
 arose, and, while a deep blush overspread her pale face, said, 
 
 " Mr. Bailey, I would like a few minutes' private conver- 
 sation with yon, if you have no objection." 
 
 " None in the world," replied Bailey, glad to escape the 
 harangue of Dr. Scroggs. 
 
 They retired to the little parlor, and sat for a moment in 
 silence. Bailey was patiently waiting for Jenny to begin, 
 and she was evidently thinking of the proper way to intro- 
 duce the subject. At length she said, 
 
 " Mr. Bailey 7 , you know me well enough to know that I 
 would scorn to flatter you." 
 
 " Certainly," said Bailey, with a laugh at the bare idea 
 that this sharp, curt, practical New England woman could 
 condescend to flatter anv one.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 219 
 
 " Very well, sir ; I believe you to be a good man." 
 
 "Thank you, Miss Edwards, for your good opinion." 
 
 " I believe, too, that you have suffered terribly : so have I." 
 
 Bailey did not laugh nor even smile at this ; lie simply 
 knit his brows, and his eyes asked as plainly as eyes could 
 ask, 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " I mean," said she, replying to his look, " that we who 
 have suffered can sympathize with suffering." 
 
 "Truly, Miss Edwards, I believe we can." 
 
 " Can we forgive, Mr. Bailey ?" 
 
 " Perhaps we can, perhaps we cannot. It may depend 
 upon the nature of the offence," replied Bailey. 
 
 " Mr. Bailey, I know a lady who suffered a worse fate 
 than yours ; worse, because her injury, like cancer, is incur- 
 able ; and she has forgiven the man who wronged her." 
 
 Bailey began to suspect the drift of her speech, and as 
 he did so his eye began to dilate and a hectic spot appeared 
 on his cheek-bone. 
 
 "Mr. Bailey, you love and are beloved by as good a 
 woman as ever lived. I saw it in her face on the day that 
 the letter came from Mr. Walter Wilde telling of your won- 
 derful escape out of the jaws of death. In such matters 
 you men are idiots ; we women read the heart like an open 
 book. Your imprisonment, foul and wrong as it was, has 
 made you strong, and given you the heart of a woman 
 worth double the amount of suffering." 
 
 Instinctively Jenny had struck the right chord, and the 
 face of Bailey began to soften. 
 
 "Miss Edwards, I really do not understand you. Tell 
 me plainly what you desire." 
 
 " Very well, then," replied Jenny, in her incisive way, 
 "give me a promise that you will not prosecute Myron 
 Finch." 
 
 George Bailey arose from his seat and took the hand of 
 Jenny in his with profound respect, lifted it to his lips, and 
 kissed it. 
 
 " Say no more. The promise is granted. Myron Finch 
 shall never be prosecuted by me."
 
 220 CEOHGE BAILEY. 
 
 " I thank you oh, so much ! May God reward you ! 
 Now that this fear is removed from him, I may reform him 
 and bring him to a knowledge of the Saviour." 
 
 Jenny Edwards was in tears, partly out of gratitude, and 
 partly because, without saying so in so many words, she 
 had let Bailey know that Myron Finch had wronged her; 
 and yet he had kissed her hand as though she were a prin- 
 cess. Bailey took his leave on the plea that he had some 
 writing to do, and left Jenny Edwards to her own thoughts. 
 
 During the interview between Bailey and Jenny Ed- 
 wards, Mr. Jacob Van Iless called upon John Grady for 
 the purpose of obtaining, if possible, the proofs of the forg- 
 ery committed thirteen years before by his late son-in-law. 
 Grady was well aware of Jenny's extreme desire to save 
 Finch from the punishment which he so richly deserved, 
 and to reform him, if possible, into a good Christian. He 
 knew her whole history, and loved her as though she were 
 his own child. Of course, he did not agree with her as re- 
 gards the scoundrel Finch, but nevertheless he respected her 
 feelings. But three persons knew of Finch's return to New 
 York, and these three had good reasons for not making the 
 fact generally known. Quin feared trouble about the forg- 
 ery; Jenny, up to this evening, feared that Finch might be 
 sent to State-prison ; and Mr. Van Hess feared personal and 
 family disgrace. 
 
 " Mr. Grady," said Mr. Van Hess, " I have called to know 
 if you will let me have the practice-forgery papers which 
 you took from Mr. Finch, or rather from Timothy Quin, for 
 I believe they were in his possession." 
 
 " May I ask," said John Grady, " for what purpose you 
 desire these papers ?" 
 
 " I suppose you are aware," replied Mr. Van Hess, " that 
 my daughter lias obtained a divorce from Finch ; and if 
 ever he should return and contest this divorce, I would like 
 to be able to make him cease proceedings by showing him 
 the papers which would consign him to State-prison." 
 
 " Yes, yes I see," said Grady. " I wish the rascal was 
 at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean !" 
 
 " So do I, with all my heart," responded Mr. Van Hess.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 221 
 
 " But look here, sir," said. Grady, " George Bailey is more 
 interested in this than any one else. I am only the custo- 
 dian of these papers, and cannot lend them to you without 
 his consent." 
 
 " Is Mr. Bailey at home ?" inquired Mr. Van Iless. 
 
 "He is; shall I call him ?" 
 
 Bailey entered the room and shook his old master by 
 the hand. His former aversion had disappeared; and he 
 now thought only of the kind employer who had advanced 
 him so rapidly in business. Mr. Van Hess was always un- 
 easy in the presence of Bailey, for, as he looked at this no- 
 ble man, he thought, " What a staff he would have been to 
 me and my daughter !" 
 
 " Mr. Grady," said Mr. Van Hess, speaking slowly and 
 with hesitation, " yoii are aware that my daughter has ob- 
 tained a divorce from her late husband, and and you 
 know he may return and give her and me some trouble. 
 The essential evidence was procured by her lawyer; the 
 other evidence as to cruelty, peculation, and abandonment 
 was sufficient in most of the States, but not in the State of 
 New York. Suppose and it is not improbable that this 
 bad man should return and contest this divorce ; the pa- 
 pers I mean those papers which contained the evidence 
 that Finch forged the check would enable me to check- 
 mate the villain and send him off about his business." 
 
 While Mr. Van Hess was speaking to Grady his counte- 
 nance was turned to Bailey, as if he were the man from 
 whom he expected the favor. 
 
 " I cannot part with these papers," said Grady, " without 
 the consent of my friend, Mr. Bailey. For him I captured 
 them, and they are his to do with as he pleases." 
 
 " Mr. Van Hess," said Bailey, with calm dignity, " those 
 papers must not be used for the purpose of prosecuting the 
 the man who wronged me. If you want a copy, how- 
 ever, for your own protection, or for the protection of your 
 daughter, you can have the loan of them until you make 
 such a copy ; but they must be returned to me within one 
 month." 
 
 " Thank you," replied Mr. Van Hess ; " I shall need
 
 222 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 them for one week only; andJE assure you that while in 
 my custody I shall take the greatest care of them." 
 
 Grady and Van Hess both wondered why Bailey insisted 
 that the evidence of the forgery should not be used for the 
 purpose of prosecuting Finch. Neither liked to ask him 
 the reason for his forbearance ; and it is not likely that he 
 would have told, had they asked him. In addition to his 
 promise to Jenny Edwards, he was always endeavoring to 
 interpret the wishes of Edith Wilde. Bailey felt that she 
 would consider any act of yindictiveness on his part as ig- 
 noble and beneath him ; for had she not always counselled 
 him to leave the matter of Finch's chastisement in the 
 hands of God, to whom alone vengeance belongeth ? 
 
 Mr. Van Hess having received the forgery -practice pa- 
 pers from Grady, repeated his thanks, bowed, and withdrew. 
 The same fatal mistake that had caused him to hide from 
 his daughter the return of Finch, had actuated him to hide 
 it from Bailey and Grady. The man was old and feeble, 
 and feared a scene ; and he fancied, too, that the evidence 
 of his crime would drive Finch forever from the city of 
 New York. In his best days Mr. Van Hess was not a bril- 
 liant man ; he was narrow, bigoted, and easily imposed 
 upon ; and hence he found it an easy matter to impose 
 upon himself. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 " 'Twas his own voice. She could not err; 
 
 Throughout the breathing world's extent 
 There was but one such voice for her 
 So kind, so soft, so eloquent." MOORE. 
 
 WARRENTOX having retired from the business, Walter 
 Wilde and George Bailey were both made partners, and 
 the house was known throughout Europe and America as 
 Wilde, Bailey, & Co., Bankers. The elder Mr. Wilde in- 
 tended shortly to retire, and only remained for the present 
 for the purpose of giving the young men the benefit of his 
 wise counsel and wide experience.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 223 
 
 Notwithstanding his exalted position, Bailey bore himself 
 as humbly as when a simple clerk, and still continued to oc- 
 cupy his one little room in the house of his friend Grady, 
 to read his rare books, to pursue his usual studies, and, above 
 all, to worship at a distance his guardian angel, Edith Wilde. 
 As far as the business of the bank was concerned, he per- 
 formed the principal part of the work, and was always calm, 
 cool, and self-poised during the weightiest commercial en- 
 terprises and transactions. To the minute details of his 
 office he gave the closest care and scrutiny ; and in a short 
 time every one connected with the house discovered that 
 the affairs of the bank were in the hands of a man who un- 
 derstood both himself and his business. Money was made 
 rapidly, and George Bailey was becoming a rich man. He 
 was now nearly forty years of age. His health was per- 
 fect, and he had the means of purchasing every luxury ; 
 but he was abstemious as a hermit. lie had completely 
 conquered his thirst for vengeance, and had put his jeal- 
 ousy of Mr. Henry Fawcett under his feet. His love for 
 Edith Wilde he had so etherealized that it was almost di- 
 vested of earthly passion. The sting of the anonymous 
 note had poisoned his heart for a day or two ; but the com- 
 forting words of Jenny Edwards, that Edith loved him, had 
 almost removed it. lie still retained his old prison habit 
 of talking to himself in the solitude of his own room. This 
 self-communion was good for him ; it enabled him to call 
 himself to account for the thoughts and acts of each day. 
 Resolving himself into two persons, Ego and Doppelganger 
 the former himself, with his memory and his passion, the 
 latter the man of business in his contact with his fellow- 
 men the two kept watch and ward, the one over the other. 
 After dinner he smoked his single cigar, and talked pleas- 
 antly to Grady, his wife, the little quack who was now a 
 boarder in Grady's house and to Jenny Edwards, whenever 
 that lady called to pay her aunt and uncle a visit. Then 
 punctually at eight o'clock he retired to his room to read, to 
 study, and to carry on the dialogue between Ego and Dop- 
 pelganger. A specimen of this self-communion will show 
 how carefully this solitary man scrutinized his own conduct.
 
 224 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 Dop. " Ego, you were a fool to-day. What business had 
 you to feel bitter toward young Fawcett, and permit your 
 worst passions to boil and bubble up as they used to do 
 when you were persecuted by the brutal keepers?" 
 
 Ego. " I could not help it. I love her : I love the very 
 ground she walks upon. This love will drive me mad!" 
 
 Dop. " Nonsense, old boy ! nonsense ! You survived the 
 loss of reputation, of position, of liberty, of everything. 
 No, no, Ego, you must be a man, and control your passion. 
 Her happiness is paramount to your own ; and if her mar- 
 riage with Fawcett will make her happy, you must submit." 
 
 Ego. " But Jenny Edwards said that she loves me." 
 
 Dop. "True, true! But she may have been mistaken. 
 Ah, if Jenny were right ! then, indeed, you might aspire to 
 the hand of an angel. But, Ego, my dear boy, remember 
 that you are almost old enough to be her father, and that 
 you carry around with you the atmosphere of the prison, 
 which no aromatic odor from 'Araby the Blest' could ever 
 blow away. Bury your love down deep in your heart, and 
 let no man see it." 
 
 Ego. "Very well, Dop, I shall try ; I shall do my best." 
 
 In this way George Bailey gained a complete mastery 
 over his strong passions, which he held under control as a 
 skilful rider reins in a fiery steed. 
 
 In the mean time, if the truth must be confessed, Edith 
 "Wilde wondered that Bailey never once sought her society. 
 Except on Sunday before or after church and then for a 
 brief minute only, she rarely saw him. Indeed, he seemed 
 to avoid her, for he frequently but politely declined her 
 father's invitations to dinner. Convinced as she was of his 
 love, why had he shunned her so much of late ? She re- 
 called the short angry discussion with Henry Fawcett, and 
 feared that he was the cause ; and, woman-like, she disliked 
 Mr. Fawcett accordingly. In fact, she had lately refused 
 to see this elegant youth, even at the risk of offending her 
 father and brother. To George Bailey, from the very first, 
 she had given all the treasures of a pure heart and lofty 
 soul. Her love, which began in pity, ended in admiration 
 for the grandest character she had ever known. Verily,
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 225 
 
 Bailey was a noble gentleman ; but she exaggerated his pro- 
 portions, until, in moral greatness, he was a perfect Titan. 
 But why did he avoid her? she asked herself again and 
 again. Now he had no excuse of poverty or want of posi- 
 tion to plead ; for he Avas socially her equal. Edith Wilde 
 would have married him had she been forced to leave her 
 father's luxurious home, and to dwell with him in absolute 
 poverty in a cellar or garret ; she would have married and 
 cherished him when the world believed him guilty of forg- 
 ery, and it would have constituted her highest pleasure to 
 have been a comfort and a consolation to him in the dark- 
 est hour of his misery. 
 
 When Edith Wilde received an anonymous letter, evident- 
 ly written by the same hand that had penned the epistle to 
 Bailey, she flung it into the fire, and never gave it another 
 thought. Yet this note suggested matter for jealousy quite 
 as reasonable as that which had tormented Bailey. The 
 note was as follows : 
 
 " Miss WILDE, A friend takes this method of inform- 
 ing you that Mr. George Bailey is very intimate with a 
 young woman named Jenny Edwards employed in a 
 down-town hotel who calls at his boarding-house every 
 Sunday, and whom he escorts at late hours to the Grand 
 Street ferry. Beware of this man : he will play you false. 
 A word to the wise is sufficient. A TRUE FRIEND." 
 
 As Edith threw this villanous note on the blazing coals, 
 she simply said to herself, " Poor creature ! you can arouse 
 no feelings of jealousy in my heart by so shabby and shal- 
 low a trick as this. George Bailey is as much the soul of 
 honor to-day as he was the day that you cast him off for 
 Mr. Myron Finch." 
 
 One day Walter Wilde approached George Bailey, while 
 writing at his desk in the inner office, and slapping him 
 cordially on the back, said, 
 
 " See here, old man, why do you work so hard ? Why 
 don't you seek amusement? You'll kill yourself by such 
 work." 
 
 15
 
 226 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 Bailey bestowed on his young friend a sweet and beauti- 
 ful smile, though full of sadness ; for he loved Walter very 
 dearly ; he loved him because he had saved his life, and be- 
 cause he resembled his sister, not only in form and feature, 
 but in many of his ways. 
 
 " No, no, not at all," replied Bailey, " I like work ; it is 
 a panacea for all trials and tribulations. Work, dear Wal- 
 ter, is my amusement." 
 
 " But what troubles have you now ?" asked Walter. 
 " Surely, in your present position as the real head of a great 
 banking-house, with your reputation restored, beloved and 
 respected by all who know you, your lot is a happy one ; 
 or at least it ought to be." 
 
 " Yes, I appreciate it fully. Thanks to a kind Providence 
 and your your sister, I am restored to an honorable position 
 among men." 
 
 "That reminds me," said Walter, "that I have a favor 
 to ask of you, which was the cause of my bothering you 
 with my prattle at this unseasonable hour. A great actor 
 is going to play lago to-night, and Edith requested me to 
 procure tickets to see him ; but, alas ! I no sooner reached 
 my office this morning than I find on my desk a notice that 
 our college society will meet this evening, and I would not 
 miss this meeting for a great deal. Last year, you know, I 
 was in California ; and it was only the summer before rny 
 departure for San Francisco that I graduated. I am very 
 anxious to meet the boys. But Edith is particularly anxious 
 to see Mr. Blank play the character of that subtle rascal 
 lago. Now what am I to do ? I would not disappoint my 
 dear ' little grandmother ' for the world ; and you would 
 not have me do it for half the money in this bank. Say, 
 you dear old boy, won't you do me the favor of being her 
 escort ? Knowing what a recluse you are, I would not ask 
 you, only Fawcett is now out of town, and I can't think of 
 any one on whom I can call just at this moment." 
 
 Bailey's heart almost leaped into his mouth on hearing 
 this request. The color rose to his cheeks and temples, and 
 he felt the hot blood burning there in spite of all his efforts 
 to hide his feelings. Fortunately A\ 'alter did not observe
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 227 
 
 his feelings or his confusion. The suspicion of love which 
 had arisen in young Wilde's mind cleared by the near ap- 
 proach of death on the raft had long ago disappeared. 
 Impulsive, generous, frank almost to a fault, Walter saw no 
 reason why George Bailey, had he loved his sister in that 
 way, should not have sought her long ago in marriage. 
 
 " Come, George ; like a good fellow, take my place. I 
 know you never go to the theatre, but go to-night, and you 
 will oblige me very much." 
 
 " I shall only be too delighted," replied Bailey, " to be 
 Miss W T ilde's escort. You know that I would do anything 
 in the world to give her a moment's pleasure." 
 
 "Then it is all settled, and I am out of a dilemma. 
 Thank you, George :" and away the young man bounded, 
 to make the necessary preparation for the meeting of the 
 college society. 
 
 That afternoon, as Bailey left the bank a little earlier 
 than usual to make preparation for the theatre, Ego and 
 Doppelganger had a heated discussion concerning their mu- 
 tual behavior. Ego argued the propriety of making the 
 best use of the opportunity, for such another might not 
 come in years. His arguments, however, were ejaculatory 
 and incoherent ; for he was so beside himself with joy at 
 the very thought of sitting alone with Edith for three mor- 
 tal hours, that he was in no mood to carry on an intellectual 
 contest with the cool and wary Doppelganger, nor to be co- 
 erced or frightened any more by his grave and austere 
 friend. Doppelganger checked Ego but not as firmly or 
 decidedly as usual and called him " vain, foolish, frivolous, 
 light-headed dreamer," etc., etc. To which Ego responded 
 by dragging Doppelganger after him to Williamsburgh and 
 back to New York in great haste, for fear he might be late. 
 
 Edith Wilde's reception of Bailey was gracious. She 
 looked radiant with happiness ; for she, too, like Ego, had 
 reflected upon the three hours alone by themselves all 
 alone ! for the first time in their lives. Ego, seeing this, 
 and perhaps divining that she would enjoy the three hours 
 very nearly as much as himself, whispered in Dop's ear, 
 " Dop, you are a goose, an owl, too wise and too good to
 
 228 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 live long. I am a rebel to-night. I will submit to your 
 iron rule no longer. I am going to manage this thing my- 
 self." 
 
 Edith would have no carriage ; and so they walked arm- 
 in-arm to the theatre, which was about half a mile distant. 
 When Bailey felt her hand resting on his arm, a thrill of 
 joy shot through his heart, such as he had never felt be- 
 fore ; and when Edith felt her hand resting on his strong 
 arm for the first time, she enjoyed a happiness truly and 
 purely exquisite. What was there in this personal contact 
 that made them both dumb as oysters ? Ah ! there was 
 no need of words. There is a language of the heart that 
 speaks more eloquently than any silver-tongued orator, from 
 Demosthenes down. Subtle currents flowed to the heart 
 of each electric currents, which contact set in motion 
 giving each lover a feast of joy worthy the gods. Truly 
 has the poet said, " Love is heaven, and heaven is love." 
 
 The lady, as usual in such circumstances, was the first to 
 recover speech. 
 
 " Mr. Bailey, I am sorry that Walter gave you this trou- 
 ble. You are such a hermit, and are so fond of your books, 
 that I am vexed to think that he should have annoyed you." 
 
 Ah ! Edith, my sweet little woman, so full of charity and 
 good works, and so fond of truth and integrity, you must 
 not begin, under the influence of the grand passion, to tell 
 " fibs," however innocent they may appear ; for you know 
 in your heart that George Bailey is only too happy to be 
 near you, and you now feel his strong arm shake with emo- 
 tion beneath your gentle touch. 
 
 " Annoyed me ! Vexed me !" said Bailey, absently. 
 " Pshaw ! You must know that my life is at your service. 
 I owe everything to your goodness." 
 
 " Mr. Bailey, no more of that, if you please. I am sure 
 the little obligation and what was it ? a word in favor of 
 a badly-used man would have been done for x, y, or z, or 
 any other unknown human quantity ; how much sooner, 
 then, for the son of my particular friend ! It was nothing ; 
 and whatever it was, you have repaid us a thousand-fold in 
 the preservation of my brother."
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 229 
 
 " As you say, Miss Wilde, no more of that. Walter af- 
 terward did as much for me, so that the benefits were mu- 
 tual and reciprocal." 
 
 There was another interval of silence which brought them 
 all too soon to the doors of the theatre ; and when they 
 had taken their seats, they did not speak another word for 
 at least twenty minutes. The lovers were supremely happy 
 together, and it was better that they should enjoy their 
 happiness unalloyed with speech. 
 
 " That ' star,' as he is called, dresses superbly," remarked 
 Bailey at the close of the first act. " He gives his lago a 
 touch of Mephistopheles in that pointed beard and mus- 
 tache, and in the peculiar cut of his hat, and in his general 
 carriage ; but that is not the lago of Shakspeare. His 
 voice is rich, mellow, sonorous, but singularly lacking in 
 passion. He but mimics the passion of revenge ; he feels 
 it not. Ah, Miss Wilde, if that actor had heard me vow 
 vengeance in my dark cell to the bare walls, until my voice 
 grew so husky that it almost frightened my own ear, he 
 would know something of that passion which, next to envy 
 yes, perhaps even more than envy makes us truly mis- 
 erable." 
 
 " Can we never comprehend a passion until we have felt 
 it ?" asked Edith. 
 
 " As a rule we cannot," replied Bailey. " There are a 
 few rare exceptions men of genius, like the writer of this 
 play who seem to know all passions by intuition. But 
 this ' star ' is simply an artist, or rather, I should say an ar- 
 tificer. He tries to make up by art what he lacks in genius." 
 
 " But you must admit," replied Edith, " that it is art 
 of the highest order ; so high, indeed, as almost to equal 
 genius." 
 
 " Art of the highest order will please the mass of man- 
 kind far more than genius, and is therefore in many respects 
 preferable." 
 
 " I do not quite understand you, Mr. Bailey." 
 
 " I mean to say," continued Bailey, " that true genius 
 cannot be comprehended except by those who possess a lit- 
 tle of it themselves. This man who plays lago never for-
 
 230 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 gets himself for a moment, and therefore is never lost in 
 his work. He poses ; he uses the muscles of his face and 
 eyes with great effect. If you should see him to-morrow 
 night in Hamlet or Richelieu, you would see the same man, 
 only in a different dress, and speaking a different piece." 
 
 " Why, Mr. Bailey, you are a critic." 
 
 " No, no ; I have not been to the theatre since I was a 
 boy," hastily replied Bailey. " But in the portraiture of 
 this passion, I can say, with the poet, ' We learn in suffer- 
 ing what we teach in song.' I understand the passion of 
 revenge infinitely better than that actor, because I have 
 groaned under it. Adversity and suffering are excellent 
 school-masters, though their rattans do excoriate one's flesh 
 so dreadfully." 
 
 " But, Mr. Bailey," said Edith, with great sympathy in 
 her tone, " all that is past and gone : you have put revenge 
 under your feet. If it be God's will to punish the wrong- 
 doer, let him do it. Vengeance is his, not yours." 
 
 " I have tried to follow your advice ; and already I have 
 given a promise not to prosecute the fiend who tried to 
 destroy me." 
 
 This conversation was carried on in the intervals between 
 the first and second, and between the second and third acts. 
 
 " I fear," continued Bailey, " that this actor has been 
 petted and spoiled by young ladies. I noticed many of 
 them smiling admiringly on him ; and when he makes his 
 best hits, I perceive that his eyes turn toward them uncon- 
 sciously for approval. Did you observe the gross exagger- 
 ation of his facial expression in the last act ? Why he act- 
 ually made us laugh, and this laughter was the worst possi- 
 ble commentary on his acting. " 
 
 " Then you think," said Edith, " that it would be better 
 to read Shakspeare, and rest content with our mental pict- 
 ures? There; see that Othello trying to delineate the pas- 
 sion of love, of which he knows nothing ! Look at that 
 Desdemona! Her love seems as if it had caught St. Titus' s 
 dance, and could not keep still to save its life." 
 
 " Miss Wilde, you will find that your conceptions of 
 Shakspeare's characters are infinitely better than these on
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 231 
 
 that stage. Just look at that great lumbering fellow roaring 
 and bellowing with love and jealousy ; and he feels no more 
 of either passion than do the boards on which he stamps 
 his huge feet." 
 
 " I am afraid, Mr. Bailey," said Edith, " that you are hard 
 to please." 
 
 "No, no, not at all. I've had a habit of talking to my- 
 self, and criticising things, to keep my mind from rusting. 
 These grand tragedies have a special charm for me ; for, in 
 fact, my own life has been a sad, sad tragedy ; and just as 
 Walter and I, after our own disaster, took a keen pleasure 
 in reading ' shipwrecks at sea,' so I take delight in reading 
 these magnificent plays ; for I find all crimes, all virtues, all 
 passions, all joys, and all sorroAvs delineated in them." 
 
 They walked home from the theatre almost in silence, 
 each acknowledging to his or her heart that the evening 
 had been delightfully spent. Their hearts were too full 
 for utterance. There is a rapture of the soul which no lan- 
 guage can express ; and there is an ecstasy of delight which 
 causes a kind of precious physical pain. 
 
 " Won't you come in and rest for a moment ?" asked 
 Edith. 
 
 " Rest ! Rest !" replied Bailey, absently. " After this I 
 must walk fast, or run ; I could neither sit nor rest." 
 
 " Perhaps you had better come in and wait a few mo- 
 ments, until Walter returns from his meeting. He will de- 
 sire to thank you for your self-denial in taking his place as 
 my escort." 
 
 " Miss Wilde, I told you before that is, if I really re- 
 member what I did say that this has been the happiest 
 evening of my life !" Bailey's tone of voice was just a 
 shade irritable ; and as it fell on her ear, Edith laughed a 
 low musical laugh, and gayly said, 
 
 " Politeness, Mr. Bailey ! politeness ! What else would 
 you say to a lady in whose society you had spent the whole 
 evening? Have you not seemed to shun our house for a 
 long time ? Even now you are in such a hurry to be off 
 that you will hardly remain until the servant opens the 
 door." This was uttered in a light, bantering tone on the
 
 232 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 stoop. Edith knew that but for the fact of his being an 
 ex-convict, he would have declared his love long ago ; she 
 knew that he was sad and lonely, and that the fear that he 
 might lose her was making him miserable. She assumed a 
 light tone of raillery, in order to make him feel more at 
 ease in her presence. All that womanly modesty would 
 permit she did to level whatever social distinction yet re- 
 mained between them. A moody sadness had taken pos- 
 session of the mind of Bailey, and Edith found it difficult 
 to rally him out of it. 
 
 " Very well," said Bailey, rather ungraciously, " I'll walk 
 in and wait until Walter comes home." 
 
 No man could have comprehended Bailey's moody irri- 
 tation ; but almost any woman could, and Edith understood 
 it perfectly. 
 
 " Perhaps you had better not come in," replied Edith ; 
 " your tone of acquiescence is anything but gracious. Mr. 
 Bailey, I am sorry to see that you are getting a little irri- 
 table." 
 
 " Irritable ! Irritable ! and with you ?" Bailey uttered 
 this like one in a dream. 
 
 The expression of Edith Wilde's face would have been 
 a study for a metaphysical painter. The love of such a 
 woman has always something of the self-sacrificing unself- 
 ishness of the mother in it. She felt that this great strong 
 man would hide his adoration of her through a sense of 
 profound respect, even if it broke his heart. 
 
 "Yes," she continued, "you have been irritated at my 
 nonsense ; for since we reached the house your tone has 
 been abstracted and unkind." 
 
 " Unkind ? Unkind to you ?" 
 
 George Bailey was greatly agitated. Ego and Doppel- 
 ganger were holding a " battle royal," and for the last few 
 minutes the latter had frightened the former, and both were 
 ready to beat a hasty retreat. Ego longed to take advan- 
 tage of his present opportunity, and Doppelganger, cool 
 and logical, was warning him against such " nonsense." 
 The touch of her hand was still thrilling his whole frame, 
 and his heart was on fire.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 233 
 
 "Unkind? Unkind to you?" he repeated. "Edith I 
 beg pardon Miss Wilde, I mean ;" and Bailey ran his fin- 
 gers through his hair like a man who was slightly dazed. 
 
 " Go on, please ; let it be Edith." 
 
 They were now sitting face to face on opposite ends of 
 a sofa. 
 
 " I I beg pardon, Miss Wilde, but really my head swims, 
 and I am a little confused. I meant to say that you are 
 the last person in the world to whom I could be unkind in 
 word, thought, or deed." 
 
 Bailey looked into her face and into her large gray-blue 
 eyes, wide-open and weird, and saw there, below the fun, 
 the laughter, the raillery, the great fountain of love which 
 welled up for him from the heart of this pure, good wom- 
 an. In a moment he arose to his feet and seized both her 
 hands. His eye was dark and wild with passion. 
 
 " Edith Wilde ! Edith Wilde ! I love you I adore you 
 I worship you ! You have been, since the first day I 
 saw you, my thought by day, my dream by night ! I saw 
 these eyes on the raft. I saw this smile when death stared 
 me in the face. You succored my mother, you rescued me. 
 You have been my good angel. You have brought me back 
 to my God. Oh, how I love you ! Do not be offended 
 please do not ! I struggled hard against avowing my pas- 
 sion ; but I cannot help it." 
 
 The fun, the laughter left Edith's face. Tears of sympa- 
 thy, of joy, of love, coursed each other down her cheeks, as 
 she said, 
 
 " I am not offended ; do you think that I have not seen 
 your love for a long, long time almost from the first time 
 we met ? If it is any pleasure for you to know it, I am not 
 ashamed to confess that my love for you dates very nearly 
 as far back as yours for me. I knew and loved your moth- 
 er. She had made me familiar with your character and 
 your wrongs long before I saw you. I pitied you ; and the 
 poet says that ' pity is akin to love.' " 
 
 In some unaccountable way they were no longer at op- 
 posite ends of the sofa ; on the contrary, they were close 
 together at her end of it, with her head resting on his shoul-
 
 234 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 dev and their hands clasped. George ! Edith ! clasp hands 
 firmly, lovingly ; gaze down deep into each other's eyes in 
 a vain endeavor to fathom illimitable love ; enjoy this hour 
 while ye may ; for if ye both should live ten thousand years, 
 ye will never drink such another ecstatic cup of unalloyed 
 bliss. 
 
 The bell rung ; and at the sound, for some reason inex- 
 plicable, Bailey withdrew to his own end of the sofa. Will 
 some one inform us why love always imparts, even to the 
 most innocent, a cunning, adroit hypocrisy ? 
 
 \Yalter came into the parlor hastily, and sung out, in his 
 usual frank manner, " Halloo, George ! have you got back ? 
 Ha, Edith ! how did you enjoy Othello ?" As the young 
 man spoke, he looked from one to the other, and saw 
 George confused, and Edith with the bright roses on her 
 cheek. During the desultory conversation that followed 
 his entrance, Walter wondered if, after all, they would make 
 a match of it. 
 
 On his way home that night George Bailey walked as if 
 he had wings : he was in a heaven of heavens. Edith loved 
 him ! Could it be true ? Was he dreaming ? He felt his 
 body and pinched his flesh, to be certain that he was awake. 
 He was afraid that he would suddenly awake and find it all 
 a dream. "Ah!" said George to himself, "blessed impris- 
 onment, that made such a love as this possible, and saved 
 me from that ghost of a love that false, will-o'-the-wisp of 
 a love for Grace Van Hess !" 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 " Beyond the infinite and boundless reach 
 Of mercy, if thou didst this deed of death, 
 Art thou damned." SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 MTRON FINCH, dressed in his greasy and tattered clothes, 
 and looking the picture of sin and misery, went, on the 
 evening of the day appointed, to receive from Mr. Van Hess 
 the nine hundred dollars which he had promised to give
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 235 
 
 him as hush-money. Finch had been drinking a good 
 deal of hard liquor since morning, but he was by no means 
 drunk. His limbs, it is true, shook somewhat, and his 
 hands trembled a little more than usual, but his brain was 
 clear and active as ever. On his way to the house of Mr. 
 Van Hess, he was reflecting what he would do with the 
 money. He concluded that he would demand another 
 thousand dollars, and with the whole amount commence 
 the liquor business, as the one most likely to give a speedy 
 profit on the capital invested. Timothy Quin had grown 
 rich on less, and why should not he, Myron Finch, whose 
 education and talents were vastly superior to Quin's, make 
 a large fortune in the trade ? 
 
 Finch ascended the stoop, glanced cautiously up and 
 down the street, and then rung the bell. Mr. Van Hess, 
 knowing who it was that rung, opened the door himself, 
 and asked his unwelcome visitor to step quietly into the 
 small library off the back-parlor. He was anxious to hide 
 the fact of the visit from all in the house ; and he had al- 
 ready informed his daughter that a man would call in the 
 evening on particular business, and that on no account must 
 he be disturbed. When they had reached the library, Finch 
 introduced the subject by saying, in a cool, cynical tone, 
 
 "Well, old gentleman, have you the money which you 
 promised me last week ?" 
 
 " I don't know whether I shall give you any money or 
 not. That promise was exacted under duress, and is not 
 binding. Besides, you have been drinking ; and if I have 
 any money to spare, it will help to support your helpless 
 children." 
 
 Finch looked at Mr. Van Hess with a sly, ugly, menacing 
 eye, and measuring the feeble old gentleman, and remem- 
 bering his dread of losing his "respectability," saw that 
 he must assume the r61e of a disreputable bully, and per- 
 form the part of a low ruffian, to the best of his ability. 
 
 " See here, old man, I did not come here to listen to a 
 temperance lecture, nor yet a sermon on duty ; I came here 
 to get the money you promised me ; and if you don't hand 
 it out it will be bad for you. Your last remark will cost
 
 236 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 you just another thousand dollars. Now listen to me, and 
 pay attention. I'll charge you five hundred dollars for 
 every five minutes' delay." 
 
 Finch had learned his lesson from Quin only too well, 
 even to the assumption of that worthy's manner and tone, 
 minus the mellifluous brogue. The effect of this speech 
 was as Finch expected. Mr. Van Hess raised his eyes to 
 heaven and prayed inwardly: "O God! why didst thou 
 permit such a villain, such a heartless villain as this, to de- 
 stroy my child's happiness and my own peace of mind ; to 
 consign the noble George Bailey to State-prison ; and to 
 ruin my property and my business? But Thy will be 
 done." 
 
 Finch, perceiving by the attitude of Mr. Van Hess, as 
 well as by the movement of his lips, what the old gentle- 
 man was doing, said, in the most brutal and irritating tone 
 possible, 
 
 " Now loot here, I want no praying or preaching ; I had 
 enough of that when I was your clerk. Ha! ha! ha! 
 Then I played pretty well the religious dodge carried re- 
 ligious books and papers to catch your pious old eye, to 
 supplant Bailey as head-clerk, and win the charming Grace 
 for a wife. Religion, like fire, is a good servant but a hard 
 master, and I'll none of it. By-the-way, how is the lovely 
 Grace ? Has she set her cap yet for banker Bailey ?" 
 
 " Silence, fiend ! Do your worst. I'll brave public opin- 
 ion. Better anything than this. Here ! behold these pa- 
 pers, the evidence of your forgery, which will consign you 
 to prison for life ! Give you money, eh ? I'll give you 
 into the hands of the police." 
 
 Mr. Van Hess, maddened at the brutal allusion to his be- 
 loved daughter, arose from his chair in a towering passion, 
 pulled the practice - forgery papers out of his pocket, and 
 flourished them above his head. Finch, fearing that Mr. 
 Van Hess was about to ring the bell and summon aid, also 
 arose, and confronting the angry man, seized his wrist, and 
 hissed into his ear, " Stir one step, utter one word, and 
 I'll strangle you !" The old gentleman was in the act of 
 stretching out his hand to the bell-cord, when Finch, still
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 237 
 
 holding the wrist of the hand that held the papers, buried 
 his right hand in the throat of Mr. Van Hess. The word 
 help died away on the lips of Van Hess. " Hand me those 
 papers, blast you !" Finch hissed in a fearful whisper. 
 
 Whether from the unusual excitement, or from the chok- 
 ing, the head of Mr. Van Hess fell over partly toward his 
 left shoulder, his eyes closed, his face grew livid, and he 
 became unconscious. While the old man was in this con- 
 dition Finch gathered up the practice-forgery papers, which 
 had been scattered over the floor during the struggle ; he 
 also picked his pocket of the nine hundred dollars. 
 
 " Ha !" whispered Finch, " if he awakes I am ruined ! 
 But he must never wake !" He listened attentively at the 
 door ; all was still as the grave ; he opened the door a few 
 inches, then a little wider, and stole into the hall on tiptoe ; 
 not a sound could he hear. Re-entering the library, he 
 stood over Mr. Van Hess until an occasional sigh warned 
 him of returning consciousness. He placed his fingers at 
 first gently on the old gentleman's throat, and held his 
 hand over his mouth and nose ; he pressed harder and 
 harder ; he pressed his neck before and behind. Mr. Van 
 Hess gave a few convulsive struggles, and all was over. He 
 was strangled to death by his son-in-law, Mr. Myron Finch ! 
 
 Finch placed his dirty hand on the heart of the murdered 
 man, felt his wrist for the pulse, and placed his ear against 
 his bosom ; and when he found that he was really dead, a 
 fear such as he had never felt before shot through every 
 fibre of his frame; his body shook like an aspen leaf, and 
 great drops of perspiration stood out like beads on his 
 brow, and ran in streams down his face. For a minute or 
 two he stood fascinated over his victim, as if he were par- 
 alyzed, and stared at the wide-open, glassy eyes of the dead 
 man. By a great effort of his will for Finch was now so- 
 bered he turned away from the horrid sight, thrust the 
 papers and the money hastily into his pocket, and stepped 
 stealthily into the hall. He encountered none of the fam- 
 ily ; for Grace Finch and her children were on the floor 
 above, and the servant on the floor below. He passed out 
 of the hall-door, which he softly closed behind him, and
 
 238 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 reached the street ; but he had not gone three yards before 
 he met the very officer whom Susie, the servant, had brought 
 just one week ago. The policeman eyed him very sharply, 
 and said, " You here again ? I must warn Mr. Van Hess." 
 To this remark Finch made no reply, and hurried on as 
 fast as his trembling limbs would permit. As soon as he 
 reached his low lodging he retired to his room by a side- 
 door, unseen by any one, undressed, tied up the greasy, tat- 
 tered clothes in an old red handkerchief, put on the second- 
 hand suit which he had bought with the money that Quin 
 gave him, stole down the stairs into the yard, and threw the 
 bundle with the tell-tale forgery papers down to the bottom 
 of the sink. He returned to his room as noiselessly as he 
 had left it. He then undressed a second time, and tying 
 an old torn silk handkerchief around his head, got into his 
 bed and shut his eyes, pretending even to himself that he 
 was asleep ; but, changing his mind, he began to groan as 
 if in great pain. This groaning, as he had anticipated, 
 brought the landlady to inquire what was the matter. 
 
 " Oh ! oh ! oh ! I am suffering fearfully ! I have been 
 lying here in agony for two or three hours, and not a soul 
 to help me ! Won't you please send for a doctor ? Oh ! 
 oh ! oh ! this is torture ! It appears an age since tea-time. 
 What time is it? Nine, eh? Here I have been groaning 
 since six. Oh ! oh ! oh ! this pain is intolerable !" 
 
 By-and-by the doctor entered the room, laid his hat and 
 black kid gloves carefully on the single table which the 
 room contained, put his gold-headed cane cautiously in the 
 corner, so that it could not fall and be injured, sat on a 
 chair beside the bed, placed his right leg over his left, lift- 
 ing it with both hands as though he had a great affection 
 for it. He smiled the blandest smile, and wore the wisest 
 expression of face. He placed his thin, delicate fingers on 
 the patient's wrist and looked at his tongue. All this time 
 Finch was uttering low moans. 
 
 " It is nothing, my dear sir," said the little doctor, " but 
 an undue afflux of the sanguineous fluid toward the abdom- 
 inal (from the Latin abdo, I hide) regions, which has caused 
 congestion. I shall give you a dovers-powder to-night, and
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 239 
 
 to-morrow I shall have you transported (porto, I carry) to 
 my office, and place you in my receiver, which is the pana- 
 cea (from the Greek, meaning all cure) for all the diseases 
 appertaining to the circulation." 
 
 The little doctor had got as far as abdominal (from abdo, 
 I hide), when Finch, in the middle of his moans, gave a 
 slight and almost imperceptible start (which might have 
 been one of pain), as he recognized in the person of the 
 speaker his old friend and former teacher, Washington 
 Scroggs. Of course, our amiable little quack had not the 
 faintest idea that the degraded wretch, groaning and moan- 
 ing with pretended pain, for whom he was prescribing, was 
 no other than the subtle youth who had supplanted him 
 nearly twenty years ago. 
 
 The doctor carefully lifted his right leg with both his 
 hands, as before, and laid it on the floor, arose from his 
 chair, took his gloves and put them on with great cir- 
 cumspection, placed his hat on his head and his cane in 
 his right hand, looked supremely wise and philanthropic, 
 smiled his blandest toward Finch, and remarked, as he bow- 
 ed himself out of the room, " My receiver is the grand 
 panacea." 
 
 When he was once more alone, Finch muttered to him- 
 self, " What in the name of the foul fiend brought that 
 little school - master here, of all men in the world, when I 
 shall want, perhaps, his evidence to enable me to prove an 
 alibi? He would naturally be very unfriendly to me." 
 Finch sat up in bed and leaned his head against his hand, 
 and brought all the powers of his mind to bear on his case. 
 He reflected that from the time of the murder until he was 
 found groaning by his landlady not more than twenty min- 
 utes had elapsed. In the midst of his sufferings he had in- 
 formed the woman that it was nine o'clock, when he knew 
 that it was at least half-past nine. Mr. Van Hess had been 
 strangled to death at ten minutes past nine o'clock ; for 
 Finch distinctly remembered looking at the beautiful clock 
 which had once ornamented the mantel-piece of his own 
 luxurious bedroom, and noticing that, in the altercation, he 
 and the old gentleman were wasting time. Myron Finch
 
 240 GEORGE BAIEEY. 
 
 knew that a human life often depended upon so small a 
 matter as accounting for twenty minutes ; and he consoled 
 himself that his pretended sickness would settle, in a court 
 of justice, a satisfactory alibi. Mr. Van Hess, he thought, 
 might not be discovered until morning ; certainly not until 
 his usual hour of retiring, which could not be before ten 
 o'clock, and might be as late as eleven. He was more 
 afraid of the policeman. Well, he would simply deny that 
 he was the man. But yet the words, " You here again '' 
 filled him with fear; for this evidence would certainly bring 
 in the servant-girl as a witness, who had seen him on the 
 occasion of his first visit to the house of Mr. Van Hess. 
 Finch arose, and walked backward and forward through the 
 limits of his narrow room : sometimes he stood still and 
 tapped his forehead, as if to summon all his powers of in- 
 tellect ; and at other times he sat on the side of his bed in 
 a state of mind bordering on distraction, as his vivid imag- 
 ination pictured himself dangling from a rope. Then he 
 thought of the practice-forgery papers. Evidently Mr. Van 
 Hess had obtained them from John Grady ; but still he may 
 not have told why he wanted them, for the old gentleman 
 was anxious to hide the fact of his, Finch's, return to the 
 city. But Finch realized that his safety hinged on a mo- 
 tive; and if ever those papers were found the motive for 
 the murder was apparent. What if Bailey had given up 
 the papers to Van Hess ? The very thought of this caused 
 the cold perspiration to break out afresh, and run in streams 
 down his flabby, brick-colored face. Again he arose and 
 peered into the yard, as if to be certain that the detectives 
 were not fishing up the fatal papers ; then he cursed him- 
 self for a fool for not finding the means of burning these 
 papers, and so put an end to all his doubts and fears. He 
 had almost made up his mind to steal down stairs and fish 
 up the bundle and burn them but where and how? He 
 might burn the papers but not the clothes. He had started 
 for the door, but some noise, perhaps the creaking of the 
 old floor, frightened and deterred him. He lay down again, 
 weak and livid with fear. "Fool ! fool ! why did I kill him ? 
 Anything but this. Murder will out ; I know it will. I'll
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 241 
 
 be hanged ! I know I'll be hanged ! I see a chain of cir- 
 cumstantial evidence that would hang a man twice over. 
 Fool ! fool ! why did I kill him ?" And still the burden of 
 his thoughts was, " Fool ! fool ! why did I kill him ?" He 
 now imagined that every step which he heard in the street 
 was an officer of the law coming to arrest him. His hear- 
 ing became preternaturally acute ; his nerves were complete- 
 ly unstrung ; he tumbled and tossed on his bed like the 
 wreck of some ship in the trough of the sea; he heaped 
 imprecations on the heads of all whom he had ever known ; 
 and he kept muttering, in an agony of fear, " Fool ! fool ! 
 why did I kill him ?" 
 
 Finch then threw himself on his face and wept wept as 
 he had not done since he was a baby in his mother's arms ; 
 that is to say, if such babies as he was ever do weep or 
 smile. No tear did this man shed for his many crimes ; 
 his tears were all for his own cowardly self. Not one 
 touch of pity had he for the weak old man lying dead up- 
 town, whom he had foully murdered, without giving him 
 so much as one minute to utter a single prayer for the sal- 
 vation of his immortal soul. No, no, all Myron Finch's 
 pity was for Myron Finch's self. 
 
 A thought struck him : he sprung to his feet, put on his 
 clothes, and stole stealthily down the stairs and out on the 
 street. He sought a drug-store. He was now respectably 
 dressed in the second-hand suit of half-worn black which 
 he had purchased about a week ago. " I want some strych- 
 nine to kill rats." The clerk at first demurred, but finally 
 gave it. He hurried back to his room, undressed, and went 
 to bed. He then carefully counted his money and hid it 
 between the cloth and the lining of his coat; the poison 
 he bound up in a piece of paper and pinned in the centre 
 of a black silk handkerchief, which he tied around his 
 neck. 
 
 These acts had given him a short respite from his worst 
 fears. An intense desire to run away, to fly from the city, 
 and to put as many miles of land and sea as he possibly 
 could between himself and the murdered man, seized him ; 
 and it required all his power of will to force himself to re- 
 
 16
 
 242 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 main where he was, as the best place to escape detection. 
 Yet the little room seemed to suffocate him. He wondered 
 if all men in his condition wanted to run. He could not 
 rest or sleep : he went to the window and raised the sash, 
 though the night was intensely cold ; he looked out and 
 upward, and it seemed to him that the very stars had a 
 knowledge of his crime, for they appeared to him, in their 
 steely hardness, to look cruelly at him. Then he thought 
 that some invisible power was causing the dingy walls of 
 his room to close in upon and destroy him ; and he actually 
 shuddered as he fancied that the apartment was becoming 
 smaller and smaller. He sat on the side of the bed, like a 
 frightened animal, with his lips apart and bis teeth chatter- 
 ing, his thin hair almost on end, and the great drops of 
 agony standing out on his pale forehead ; and still he kept 
 mattering, " Fool ! fool ! why did I kill him ?" 
 
 Yes, Myron Finch, if the truth were known, every mur- 
 derer, from Cain down to yourself, has given himself this 
 very epithet of " fool," and has asked that very question in 
 an agony of fear, " Why did I kill him ?" 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 " Go, prick thy face and over-red thy fear. 
 
 * * * * * * * 
 
 Death of thy soul ! Those linen cheeks of thine are counsellors of 
 fear." SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 " Women, ever in extremes, are always either better or worse than 
 men." LA BRUTERE. 
 
 THE next morning the newspapers teemed with accounts 
 of the murder of Jacob Van Hess. He was found dead in 
 his library, at half-past ten o'clock, by his daughter, who, 
 wondering at the cause of his delay in bolting the doors 
 and fastening the windows, and thinking that perhaps he 
 had fallen asleep, went down-stairs to see for herself ; and 
 found her father, half reclining and half sitting, stiff and 
 stark in his chair. The opinion of the physician who had
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 243 
 
 been sent for, was that Mr. Van Hess had been dead two 
 hours. Black-and-blue finger-marks were found on his 
 throat; and his shirt, his collar, his cravat, and his clothing- 
 all showed evidence of a severe struggle. His watch, jew- 
 ellery, and pocket-book, containing between ninety and a 
 hundred dollars, were found on his person ; conclusively 
 proving that robbery was not the cause or the motive that 
 led to the murder. Susie O'Neil, the servant, told a con- 
 fused story about a tramp who had tried to force an en- 
 trance into the house about a week ago. The policeman 
 who patrols the street where the murder was committed 
 corroborated the girl's story, and stated that he had been 
 sent for to expel the tramp, but that when he reached the 
 house Mr. Van Hess informed him that it was all right 
 that he had made a mistake. Last night the same officer 
 met the same man coming out of the house about the hour 
 that the murder was supposed to be committed. That the 
 officer recognized him is certain, for he accosted the tramp 
 " You here again ? I must warn Mr. Van Hess." From 
 all the facts, it seems that this tramp was the murderer; 
 but what his motive could have been is a mystery. It is 
 hinted that Mr. V,an Hess has had domestic troubles and 
 business difficulties ; but the person who was the cause of 
 these is supposed to be wandering in South America. 
 Such were a few of the extracts culled from the leading 
 morning journals. An evening paper announced that the 
 investigation was in the hands of the detectives; that a 
 highly important and curious slip of paper has been found 
 beneath a book-case in the library, as if wafted there dur- 
 ing the struggle that preceded the murder, and that this 
 paper consists of irregular fragments of common letter-pa- 
 per pasted on red blotting-paper. But the most singular 
 thing of all is the writing itself, which contains the words, 
 " William Wilde" "fifteen hundred dollars" "Dec. 20, 
 18 ," and "Jacob Van Hess" Perhaps the name and 
 date will enable Mr. Wilde to throw some light on this 
 mysterious murder. Later accounts stated that there was 
 no doubt in the minds of the detectives that the tramp 
 committed the deed, and that he would be arrested within
 
 244 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 twenty-four hours. The detectives had interviews to-day 
 with. Messrs. William Wilde and George Bailey, bankers, 
 and with a man named Grady, who resides in Williams- 
 burgh. They also called upon an up-town liquor- dealer, 
 named Timothy Quin, once a porter in the employ of Van 
 Hess & Co. The police, as usual, are quite reticent, and 
 look very knowing ; but they assure us that they are on 
 the right scent. If rumor be correct, certain family secrets 
 will be made public in this trial which will once again en- 
 force the truth of the old adage, that " Truth is stranger 
 than fiction." 
 
 Myron Finch, in murdering Mr. Van Hess, had also 
 " murdered sleep." The miserable coward died ten thou- 
 sand deaths during the night, which to him seemed inter- 
 minable. Long before daylight he arose and dressed him- 
 self, but feared to leave his room during the darkness. He 
 waited and listened; and the first intelligible words which 
 fell distinctly on his ear were the words of the newsboy, 
 " Mornin' "* Erald, Murder of Mr. Van Hess in his own 
 house," etc., etc. These words sent a fresh chill through 
 his heart like cold lead, and caused his knees to smite each 
 other. The newsboy was gone, and Finch was hungry for 
 the details. He mustered up all his resolution and slipped 
 cautiously into the street ; he went to the nearest news- 
 stand and bought the Herald. In the gray dawn of a win- 
 ter's morning the following headings, in enormous capitals, 
 told the story : 
 
 ATROCIOUS MURDER OF JACOB VAN HESS! 
 MURDERED BY A TRAMP! 
 
 THE POLICE ON HIS TRAIL. THE MURDERER CANNOT 
 ESCAPE. 
 
 A SLIP OF PAPER WHICH WILL UNRAVEL THE MYSTERY. 
 
 There was half a column of these terrible black headings, 
 and they looked as if they were Myron Finch's death-war- 
 rant. As he read the paper, or rather as his eyes and brain 
 devoured the reporter's graphic description, and particular-
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 245 
 
 ly the part relating to the fragments of letter-paper pasted 
 on the blotting-paper, he almost fainted, and would have 
 fallen into the gutter had he not clasped a lamp-post. His 
 worst fears were now realized. His alibi, so skilfully plan- 
 ned and executed, would avail him nothing ; for the most 
 damning evidence of all was found evidence which would 
 bring as witnesses against him Wilde, Bailey, Grady, and 
 Quin, and prove an excellent motive for the murder. He 
 slunk back to his little dingy bedroom, undressed, and went 
 to bed, a prey to terrors which really sickened him ; so that 
 when the little doctor called to see his patient, there was 
 no sham, as there had been the evening before. 
 
 After Washington Scroggs, M.D., had put down his hat 
 and gloves and placed his cane where it could receive no 
 injury, just as he had done last evening, and just as he had 
 done every evening since he commenced the practice of 
 medicine ; and after he had placed his right leg lovingly, 
 with both his hands, above his left ; and after he had felt 
 Finch's pulse and examined Finch's tongue; and after he 
 had looked very wise and very profound, smiling blandly 
 and wagging his head knowingly, as if that head contained 
 all the combined medical lore of the world from the time 
 of Galen to the present day, he simply muttered, " Conges- 
 tion tending toward the abdominals (from abdo, I hide)." 
 After a few more sagacious waggings of his learned head, 
 he said, " Nothing will effect a cure but my panacea (from 
 the Greek, meaning cure all)." 
 
 Finch was tired of the little quack and of his pedantic 
 jargon, and desired to see how far his evidence might be 
 used to prove an alibi in case he was arrested and tried for 
 his life. Very soon Scroggs took out the morning paper 
 and commenced to read the account of the murder, giving 
 sundry learned comments upon death by asphyxia (not for- 
 getting the root of the word), and seeming to lose all idea 
 of its atrocity in a scientific explanation how his "receiver" 
 would have restored the murdered man to life twenty min- 
 utes after the ordinary physicians had pronounced him dead. 
 
 "What time do you say that the murder was perpe- 
 trated ?" asked Finch.
 
 246 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 " Between the hours of half-past eight and half-past ten," 
 replied Scroggs. 
 
 "Ah!" said Finch, carelessly, "that was just the time 
 when I was suffering most with this bilious colic." 
 
 " Yes," replied Scroggs ; " I remember, I was here about 
 ten, and you said you had been in bed since six." 
 
 " Did you know this Jacob Van Hess ?" asked Finch. 
 
 " No, I had not the honor of his acquaintance, though I 
 once knew his son-in-law, one Myron Finch, the worst rascal 
 on this side of the Atlantic Ocean." 
 
 " Ah !" groaned Finch. 
 
 " Another attack? Here is a powder which will give you 
 relief until you are well enough to come to my office to be 
 completely cured by my 'receiver.' Good- morning, Mr. 
 Brown ; I shall call again to-morrow." 
 
 When Scroggs had retired, Finch took out the Herald 
 and read over and over again the details of the murder. 
 He closed his eyes to think the better; but he clearly 
 perceived that if he were arrested, he would assuredly be 
 convicted and hanged. Already, in imagination, Finch felt 
 the pressure of the rope around his neck. The thought of 
 swallowing the strychnine flashed across his mind ; but 
 he was too great a coward, and too fond of his miserable 
 life to end it in this way. Then he thought it would be 
 safest to remain sick in bed for a week or two in a dark- 
 ened room ; and, just as soon as the excitement about the 
 murder died out, steal off to Boston, from Boston to Port- 
 land, thence to Halifax, and so on to Liverpool. 
 
 Jenny Edwards read the account of the murder of Jacob 
 Van Hess, and never doubted for one moment who had 
 done the deed, and why. She had previously learned from 
 John Grady that Mr. Van Hess had called for the practice- 
 forgery papers, and she readily surmised the rest. As she 
 sat in her room, after reading all the details of the horrid 
 crime, the tears falling silently on the newspaper which lay 
 in her lap, she said to herself, " So this is the end of Myron 
 Finch !" She took up the newspaper and reread the hor- 
 rid details. She sat with her hands clasped on her knees, 
 weeping bitterly, and hoping that now he would repent
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 247 
 
 and turn to his Saviour. To die in his sins, and to suffer 
 through all the ages of eternity, seemed to her mind some- 
 thing too terrible to contemplate. She thought that if he 
 would now seek pardon from an offended God, they might 
 yet meet, and be forever happy in heaven. Jenny went to 
 her own room and kneeled by her bedside, and prayed long 
 and fervently for the conversion of Myron Finch. She 
 arose, put on her hat and cloak, and went out to seek her 
 uncle John Grady, in order to obtain information concern- 
 ing the practice-forgery papers. As she ascended the hill 
 leading toward Grady's house, she perceived Mr. Bailey and 
 Mr. Grady walking, arm-in-arm, in earnest conversation. She 
 overtook them, and after the ordinary salutations had been 
 exchanged, Mr. Bailey asked her if she had read the account 
 in the papers of the atrocious murder of Mr. Jacob Van 
 Hess. 
 
 " I have read the account," Jenny replied, " and it is 
 dreadful, dreadful !" 
 
 " I have been summoned to attend the coroner's inquest, 
 and give evidence concerning the slip of paper found un- 
 der the bookcase in the library. Mr. William Wilde, Tim- 
 othy Quin, and your uncle have also been summoned to at- 
 tend. We shall of course be compelled to state all we 
 know." In making this statement Bailey gave Jenny Ed- 
 wards a significant look, as much as to say, " You cannot 
 consider this a violation of tny promise not to prosecute 
 Myron Finch ?" 
 
 Jenny Edwards understood Bailey's look, and replied, 
 " Of course you must state the truth, the whole truth, and 
 nothing but the truth." 
 
 Finally Jenny accomplished her purpose, and found her 
 uncle alone. 
 
 " Uncle, uncle, you have been more than a father to me," 
 pleaded Jenny ; " for God's sake, help me to save him ! He 
 must not die a felon's death, with all his sins on his head. 
 We must not permit soul and body to perish together." 
 
 "Jenny, Jenny, my dear," replied Grady, " you are mad 
 mad as a March hare ! Nothing can now save him noth- 
 ing ought to save him! He would murder you, or me, or
 
 248 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 any one, for a few dollars, or to gratify his meanest pas- 
 sion. Hold your tongue, Jenny ! Keep quiet ! Never go 
 near him ; never pretend that you have known him. Bailey 
 knows nothing of your former relations with him, neither 
 does Quin, neither does Mr. Wilde ; so you must keep still 
 and say nothing, for your own sake. If he escapes, let 
 him ; but you must do nothing to aid him. You know, 
 Jenny, that I have always stood by you ; but if Myron 
 Finch has done this deed, and if you do anything to save 
 him, even to the lifting of your little finger, I shall cast you 
 off forever and disown you !" 
 
 Jenny Edwards wrung her hands in a kind of speechless 
 misery pitiable to behold. At last she spoke in a low, bro- 
 ken, and agonized tone : " John Grady, would you let a fel- 
 low-creature die in his sins and suffer eternal punishment ? 
 The man is wicked, I know, but the teaching of Christ in- 
 culcates forgiveness and charity." 
 
 " What time did the murderer give Mr. Van Hess for 
 repentance ?" asked Grady. " But hush ! Here is Bailey 
 coming down-stairs. Remember, Jenny, what I have told 
 you ; if you lift your finger to help this man, I'll disown 
 you. If caught and convicted, he will have far more time 
 to repent than he allowed his victim." 
 
 After the departure of Bailey and Grady to attend the 
 coroner's inquest, poor Jenny sat like one distracted. If 
 she could only discover his lodgings, she might be able, she 
 thought, to assist him, at least with money. It was truly a 
 sad sight to see this pious woman, with her sensitive con- 
 science and her sound intellect, with her excellent common- 
 sense in all the affairs of life, and with her temper true but 
 hard as steel, willing to aid with her last dollar the man 
 who had so cruelly wronged her, and who had so recently 
 perpetrated the highest crime known to the law. It seem- 
 ed as if the very dregs of the passion she had once felt for 
 him had the power to turn her moral nature awry. She 
 sat and pondered for a few minutes, then arose and spoke a 
 few words to her aunt, and hastily left the house. She had 
 made up her mind to seek Timothy Quin, if possible, before 
 the inquest, and ascertain from him how far the practice-
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 249 
 
 forgery papers would compromise Finch in a trial for his life. 
 Jenny had another purpose, which will presently appear. 
 
 She found Timothy Quin's address in the directory, and 
 hurried up to his residence. Fortunately the worthy " wine- 
 merchant " was at home. 
 
 " Mr. Quin, do you remember me ?" asked Jenny, in her 
 short, direct, New England way. 
 
 " Throth, ma'am, I remimber yer face, but, for the life o' 
 me, I can't place ye." 
 
 " Mr. Quin, do you recollect the night that John Grady 
 and a lady saved your life when you were almost dead with 
 liquor and opium ?" 
 
 "It's meself that does, ma'am. Shure you and he tuck 
 good care o' me, and sint me home in a carridge." 
 
 "Very well, Mr. Quin, I am the lady who saved your life 
 that morning. Are you now willing to do me a favor?" 
 
 " Throth an' I am, ma'am, if ye don't ax too much." 
 
 Jenny paused, as if anxious to put her thoughts in the 
 best shape, and then said, 
 
 " I want you to retire to the country for a few weeks. 
 I shall pay you double the amount that your business may 
 suffer in your absence. If you would care to visit your 
 friends in Ireland, I shall pay your passage there and back." 
 
 Notwithstanding the fact that Timothy Quin was a " wine- 
 merchant," and a chief among small politicians, truth com- 
 pels us to state that he had no pleasure in reading, for the 
 reason that, being obliged to spell out more than half the 
 words, he usually lost the thread of the subject ; and that, as 
 for writing, he had simply learned to draw as a child might 
 draw Chinese characters from tea-boxes certain marks which 
 stood for Timothy Quin. 
 
 He had not yet heard of the murder, because there had 
 been no meeting yet in the little gambling-room off the bar, 
 in which Timothy, with spectacles on nose, and newspaper 
 in hand, pretending to read, carefully gleaned the informa- 
 tion that he desired, and all the news of the day, from the 
 conversation of men superior to himself. For, unfortunate- 
 ly, in places like Quin's there is not unfrcquently to be found 
 an able but besotted lawyer or a ruined physician.
 
 250 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 Hence it was not at all astonishing that Quin was still ig- 
 norant of the atrocious crime perpetrated the night before. 
 The summons to attend the coroner's inquest had not yet 
 reached him. And so he was puzzled to know what Miss 
 Edwards was driving at, and why she was anxious to get 
 him out of the country. But Timothy was too shrewd a 
 man to express his feelings, or, as he himself said, " to give 
 himself away." So he wisely awaited further developments. 
 
 " Miss Edwards," said Quin, " me health is excellent, 
 thank God, an' I niver was betther in me Me ; thin why 
 should I go to the counthry or to the ould sod ?" 
 
 " How much money," asked Jenny, " will you take for 
 keeping out of the way, and giving no evidence concerning 
 the practice-forgery papers?" 
 
 " Why should I give evidence ?" asked Quin " evidence 
 in what ?" 
 
 Miss Edwards handed him the newspaper ; but Quin 
 handed it back to her, as he said, 
 
 " By yer lave, ma'am, I broke me ' specs ' this mornin,' an' 
 me sight is very wake ; wud ye be plased to read it aloud ?" 
 
 While she was reading, the changes in the expression of 
 Qnin's face were a study. They reminded one of the changes 
 on the surface of a smooth lake caused by the fitful sun- 
 shine of a partly-clouded April day. When Miss Edwards 
 had finished reading the account of the murder, Timothy 
 Quin's commentary was unique and peculiar : it was sim- 
 ply a long, low whistle, and " So, Misther Myron Finch, 
 yeVe done it at last !" 
 
 " Now listen to me, ma'am : upon me wor-rd an' honor 
 I'd do anything in rason for ye. But this is sarious : it's 
 murdther, an' forgery beyant it. It must all come out now, 
 ma'am : ye can't smother murdther as ye can forgery an' 
 thim things ; an' to go 'way an' hide wud be a mighty bad 
 business for Timothy Quin. No, no ; I'll tell the whole 
 blessed thruth whin I'm called to the stan'." 
 
 " Mr. Quin," said Jenny, in a tone of entreaty, " Mr. 
 Finch's life depends on your evidence. I will give you 
 one thousand dollars if you will leave the country or dis- 
 appear for three months."
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 251 
 
 " No, no, ma'am ; there isn't money enough in New Yark 
 to bribe me aginst me dhuty." 
 
 Jenny Edwards, perceiving that there was no hope in this 
 quarter, rode home with a heavy heart, and dreading every 
 moment to hear the newsboys cry out, " Arrest of Myron 
 Finch, the murderer !" 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 " Poise the cause in justice' equal scales, 
 Whose beam stands sure, whose rightful cause prevails." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 IN the back -parlor of the residence of the late Jacob 
 Van Hess was assembled the usual crowd to be found at 
 a coroner's inquest. The coroner, a fat, puffy, pompous 
 man, with an apoplectic face and neck, and dressed in a 
 badly-fitting suit of shiny black, and linen that ought to 
 have been at the washerwoman's, presided with an air of 
 official and officious importance, and with an attempt at 
 dignity which was ludicrous in spite of the gravity of the 
 occasion. He pushed up his coat-sleeves with something 
 of the action of a prize-fighter; and he settled and reset- 
 tled his fat chin and jaws within his huge shirt-collar with 
 the air of an owl adjusting the ruffled feathers of its fat 
 neck. The jury, composed of men of all nationalities and 
 of every station in life, sat on either side of this digni- 
 tary of the law. Near the coroner sat an assistant dis- 
 trict attorney a young man of intelligence and education. 
 Lawyers, physicians, mechanics, men, women, and even 
 children had forced their way into the two parlors. Police- 
 men located or stationed here and there from the door of 
 the library, where the corpse lay, to the stoop and the side- 
 walk, were vainly endeavoring to keep back the crowd. 
 The street was half filled with that miscellaneous gather- 
 ing always ready to congregate upon the slightest provoca- 
 tion to whom a military band, a target excursion, or an 
 atrocious murder, is equally an object of curiosity and 
 pleasure.
 
 252 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 The first witness called was Mrs. Grace Finch, who ap- 
 peared dressed in deep mourning and heavily veiled. When 
 she raised her veil in order to answer the questions put to 
 her by the coroner, her face bore traces of the shock and 
 grief which the sudden and terrible death of her father had 
 caused. After stating what is already known concerning 
 the finding of the dead body at the hour of eleven in the 
 evening, and concerning her father's interview with a stran- 
 ger, and his expressed wish not to be disturbed, the coroner 
 asked her if she had any idea who this stranger was ; and 
 she replied that she had not. 
 
 " Had your father any enemy ?" asked the assistant dis- 
 trict attorney. 
 
 " None that I knew of." 
 
 " Pardon rne, Mrs. Finch, I would not ask you this ques- 
 tion did not the ends of justice demand it. Did you not 
 a few months ago receive a divorce from Myron Finch?" 
 
 " I did," replied Mrs. Finch, in a very low tone. 
 
 " On what grounds, may I ask ?" 
 
 " Cruelty, desertion, and and adultery." 
 
 " Was your late husband a partner of your father?" 
 
 " He was." 
 
 "Did not your father and he part in anger?" 
 
 "No, not in anger. Mr. Finch absconded and and 
 robbed my father." 
 
 "Where did your late husband abscond to?" asked the 
 coroner. 
 
 " I think we heard that he went to South America." 
 
 " Have you heard of his return ?" 
 
 " No, sir ; I have not." 
 
 " That will do, Mrs. Finch. But wait a moment ; one 
 question more. Did your father seem depressed in spirits 
 before his death ?" 
 
 " I know he did ; and, now that I think of it, I am sure 
 he had been trying to hide something from me for one 
 week previous to his death." At this point Mrs. Finch 
 utterly broke down, and was led out of the room sobbing 
 by one of her female friends. 
 
 The next witness was the girl Susie O'Neil, who de-
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 253 
 
 scribed, as far as she was able, the tramp with the tat- 
 tered clothes and broken nose, and told the story about 
 seeking a policeman, and of Mr. Van Hess's refusal to ac- 
 cept his services when found. The evidence of the officer 
 corroborated that of the servant, and showed further how 
 he had met the same tramp leaving the house of Mr. Van 
 Hess the evening of the murder. He was sure it was the 
 same man, because he had used the words, " You here again ? 
 I must warn Mr. Van Hess." 
 
 " Would you know the man if you saw him again ?" 
 asked the coroner. 
 
 " I would recognize him among ten thousand," replied 
 the officer. 
 
 " Is John Grady present ? Mr. Grady, do you recognize 
 that piece of paper ?" 
 
 " I do." 
 
 " When did you last see that paper ?" asked the coroner. 
 
 " When I gave it, or one exactly like it, into the hands 
 of Mr. Jacob Van Hess, in my house in Williamsburgh." 
 
 " Mr. Grady," said the young attorney, " this is a pecul- 
 iar piece of paper, as you see torn irregularly into four 
 fragments, which have been matched and pasted on this 
 thick blotting-paper. The ink has turned yellow with age, 
 and the paper is soiled with much handling. Can you give 
 the jury the history of the papers which you handed to Mr. 
 Van Hess one week ago, of which this is evidently one, and 
 tell us the meaning of these words of this writing?" 
 
 " Well, sir, this is a long story, and I must be allowed to 
 tell it in my own way." 
 
 Grady then narrated the story of the forgery ; the trial 
 of Bailey; his conviction and long imprisonment; the un- 
 mitigated villany of Finch ; his capture of the practice-forg- 
 ery papers in the hotel ; and all the other facts of this 
 story with which he was connected, or of which he had a 
 personal knowledge. John Grady waxed eloquent as he 
 portrayed the virtues of Bailey or denounced the fraud and 
 treachery of Finch and Quin. His manner was inimitable, 
 and his speech had just enough of the brogue to impart a 
 raciness to his flow of language. The reporters for the
 
 254 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 great dailies, always favored by the politicians with the best 
 positions for hearing on such occasions, took down every 
 syllable that dropped from the lips of the speaker. 
 
 " Mr. Grady," said the assistant district attorney, " this is 
 a strange story stranger than fiction. I would like to ask 
 you how you came to be in such a position in the hotel as 
 to overhear and see what occurred in the room in which 
 Finch and Quin were dining?" 
 
 " I was in the next room, with the door slightly ajar. 
 Finch's back was toward me, and my worthy friend the 
 ' wine-merchant ' was so intoxicated that he was blind 
 blind drunk." 
 
 " Who was with you, and how came you there?" 
 
 " I decline to answer that question unless it becomes nec- 
 essary to further the ends of justice," replied Grady. 
 
 " You need not answer, Mr. Grady. Is Timothy Quin in 
 the room ?" asked the coroner. 
 
 " I am, yer honor." 
 
 As the burly form of Quin shouldered its way right and 
 left to the front, every eye was turned to get a closer view 
 of the man whose character and antecedents had been laid 
 bare by the story just told. The first unfavorable sign of 
 the man was his dress, which was loud ; the next was his 
 jewellery, which was weighty, particularly his watch-chain ; 
 and last, was his face his hang-dog face with beetling 
 brow and sunken, unsteady eye. 
 
 " Quin," said the young attorney, " look at that curious 
 piece of paper and tell us if you ever saw it before." 
 
 Quin took it in his hand, turned it over, and examined 
 even the back of it, and scrutinized it most carefully, evi- 
 dently thinking of his answer. At length he said, in slow 
 and measured words, 
 
 " Have I seen it before ? I think I have, or at 
 laste a piece of paper very loike it;" and Timothy continued 
 to inspect it as though it were the face of a long-lost friend. 
 
 " Did you ever have a paper like that, and others of a 
 similar kind, in your possession?" 
 
 " I think I had," replied Quin, in a slow, hesitating 
 way.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 255 
 
 " You think !" said the assistant district attorney " you 
 think ! Don't you know ? You heard the evidence of Mr. 
 John Grady. Did you pick the torn fragments out of the 
 waste - basket, and paste them on pieces of red blotting- 
 paper ?" 
 
 " I think I did." 
 
 " Think ! think !" impatiently ejaculated the attorney. 
 You know whether you did or not. Come, sir, did you, or 
 did you not?" 
 
 " I did." 
 
 " Why did you do so ?" asked the coroner. 
 
 "Bekase bekase, I wondthered what Misther Finch 
 meant by so much writin' afther business-hours. He wud 
 remain afther the other clerks were gone, an' he wud sit at 
 his desk in a kind ov absent-moinded way, writin' an' writin'. 
 Thin he wud tear up the paper an' throw it into the basket. 
 Knowin' that Finch was a cute kind ov a chap, an' playin' 
 the pious dodge on ould Van Hess, it sthruck me wan night 
 that I would collect these torn papers, match thim, an' 
 paste thim on the blottin' - paper, bekase it was stiff an' 
 handy." 
 
 " Why did you do this ?" asked the coroner. 
 
 " Well well ye see, I knew Finch was a deep sort ov 
 chap, and intinded to play some kind ov game, an' I med 
 up me mind to have an oye on him." 
 
 " Did you suspect what he was about ?" 
 
 " I didn't know exactly what he was up to, but I guessed 
 it was nothin' good." 
 
 " Quin," said the attorney, " what led you to suspect 
 Finch ?" 
 
 " Well, yer honor, he wud never read wan ov his pious 
 books or papers until he saw Mr. Van Hess near him ; thin 
 he wud pull it out an' lay it an his desk, where the ould 
 gintleman wud be sure to see it. In the evenin's, whin he 
 an' me was alone, he wud never read a word ov his pious 
 stuff." 
 
 "Pretty keen observation, Mr. Quin;" said the public 
 prosecutor. " You saw that Finch was an arrant hypocrite, 
 and you knew that a pious hypocrite would commit any
 
 256 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 crime in the calendar, if he thought he could escape the 
 meshes of the law." 
 
 " Exactly, yer honor." 
 
 " Why did you not inform Mr. Van Hess ?" 
 
 "An' lose me place ! Do you think I was a fool ?" 
 
 " Tell us," said the assistant district attorney, " in your 
 own way, what followed." 
 
 " Wan day in Noviinber, about dusk, Finch med me put 
 on Bailey's light summer business-coat an' go to the bank- 
 in'-house of Warrenton, Wilde & Co., an' hand Mr. Wilde 
 a check an' wait for a receipt. Ye sec, I was the portlier, 
 the messinger, an' man-of-all-work about the store, an' whin 
 Misther Finch sint me it was me dhuty to obey ordhers an' 
 ax no questions." 
 
 " When you put on Bailey's coat," asked the attorney, 
 "did you not suspect something wrong? Did you not sus- 
 pect that you were personating Mr. Bailey when you were 
 sent a little before dark ?" 
 
 " Wrong ? Why should I suspect somethin' wrong ? I 
 wint to banks almost every day." 
 
 " Ask no questions, Quin, but answer mine. On your 
 oath, did you not suspect something wrong ?" 
 
 "Wrong? Why should I?" 
 
 " Come, come, sir yes or no : did you not suspect some- 
 thing wrong?" 
 
 " Well, if I did, it was none ov me business. It was me 
 dhuty to go errands, an' I wint errands." 
 
 " Will you answer my question ?" said the public prose- 
 cutor, with considerable asperity. 
 
 Timothy scratched his head and reflected ; and at length 
 he boldly lied, and said, 
 
 " No at laste not at that time." 
 
 The young assistant district attorney gave Quin a most 
 formidable look, as he asked, 
 
 "How much money did Mr. Finch pay you for that er- 
 rand? Como now, you are on your oath, and beware!" 
 
 " I I don't know." 
 
 "What do you mean by 'you don't know?' Did Finch, 
 or did he not, pay you for that errand to Mr. Wilde ?"
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 257 
 
 "Am I oblcegcd to answer that question, ycr honor? 1 ' 
 said Quin, turning to the coroner, who was his political 
 friend. 
 
 " I believe you are." 
 
 " Did Mr. Finch ever give you any money ?" demanded 
 the attorney " Yes or no." 
 
 " Yes ; he ped me wages." 
 
 "That will not do, Mr. Timothy Quin. I repeat, you are 
 under oath, and had better be careful. You know the con- 
 sequences of perjury. I demand an answer to my ques- 
 tion : ' Did Myron Finch ever give you money for carrying 
 that check to Mr. William Wilde f " 
 
 " I don't know," replied Quin, in a sulky tone. 
 
 "Did Mr. Finch ever give you money other than your 
 wages ?" 
 
 " Yis." 
 
 "How much?" 
 
 " Wan thousand dollars." 
 
 " For Avhat work did Finch give you so large a sum of 
 money?" 
 
 "To hold me tongue to keep mum." 
 
 " To hold your tongue about what ?" 
 
 " About the check and the practisin'." 
 
 " So you heard Mr. Bailey accused ; you saw him tried 
 and convicted; you knew that he was sent to State-prison 
 for ten years on a false charge of forgery ; and for a paltry 
 bribe of a thousand dollars you stood by and saw all this 
 and held your tongue ? Bah ! you were every whit as bad 
 as Finch ; and you were, if possible, meaner ; for he played 
 for a higher stake a partnership and the old gentleman's 
 daughter." 
 
 Quin asked his friend the coroner to protect him from 
 the assaults of the irate attorney ; but that gentleman con- 
 tinued : " Protect you ! If the law would permit it, I would 
 send you to prison for life ; nay, I would hang you !" 
 
 "You'd betther be quiet, Misther Attorney ? I kin meet 
 ye at the polls whin yer masther comes up for re-election ?" 
 whispered Qnin, giving the gentlemanly law-officer a most 
 villanous look. 
 
 17
 
 258 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 " A fig for your influence ! Do your worst ! It is you 
 and the like of you who bring disgrace on republican insti- 
 tutions, and keep gentlemen from the polls." 
 
 At this point the coroner called the assistant district at- 
 torney to order, and asked if he had done with the witness. 
 
 " No, I have not. Quin, did you use these practice-forg- 
 ery papers, as described by Mr. Grady, to levy black-mail 
 from Mr. Finch about three years ago ?" 
 
 "I asked Mr. Finch for money," doggedly replied Quin. 
 
 " For how much did you ask ?" 
 
 "How much? How much? Let me see. At first for 
 fifty thousand, but kem down to twinty-five." 
 
 "How did you expect to compel Finch to pay you so 
 large a sum ?" 
 
 "Bekase bekase I had his writin', an' he was afeared 
 ov it." 
 
 " Did you get drunk and insensible, and did Mr. Grady 
 send you home the next morning more dead than alive ?" 
 
 "Yis." 
 
 " Did you ever see any of those papers since that night, 
 until you saw this one that I hold in my hand ?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Have you seen Finch since that night ?" 
 
 " Yis." 
 
 " Where ? 
 
 " In me own store up town." 
 
 " When ?" 
 
 " Within ten days. I gev him twinty dollars." 
 
 "Mr. Timothy Quin, 'wine-merchant' and ward politi- 
 cian, that will do ; step one side. You are a beautiful wit- 
 ness, as you are a worthy citizen. Take care, however, that 
 we do not yet punish you. Somehow my fingers itch to 
 put a rope around your neck." 
 
 When the coroner called Mr. George Bailey, every eye in 
 the two parlors was turned with a look of intense curiosity 
 on the grave gentleman who quietly took his place as a wit- 
 ness. There was that indescribable something in his calm, 
 introspective air which told of patient suffering and resolute 
 self-control.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 259 
 
 " Mr. Bailey," said the assistant district attorney, " what 
 is your present business ?" 
 
 " Banker, of the firm of Wilde, Bailey & Co.," replied 
 Bailey, in a low, grave, sonorous tone, which penetrated to 
 every corner of the three rooms, and caused Mrs. Myron 
 Finch, sitting beside the coffin of her murdered father, to 
 involuntarily start and turn her head to see the man who 
 had once been her betrothed husband, and whom she now 
 passionately but vainly loved. 
 
 " Is it correct, the story told by Mr. Grady, that you were 
 unjustly imprisoned for ten years on evidence procured by 
 fraud and forgery ?" asked the attorney. 
 
 " Yes, perfectly correct true in every particular." 
 
 "Does that look like your handwriting, or like what it 
 was thirteen or fourteen years ago ?" 
 
 " It is so like what my handwriting was, that when the 
 forged check was first presented to me I frankly owned 
 that the writing was mine a confession which told heavily 
 against me on my trial." 
 
 "Does the signature look like the writing of the late 
 Jacob Van Hess ?" 
 
 " Exactly like it." 
 
 "Your fate was simply terrible," said the sympathetic 
 attorney " condemned to be the associate, for ten long, 
 weary years, of brutal criminals !" 
 
 "Worse than that worse than that, sir!" replied Bai- 
 ley ; " the petty, galling tyranny and unmitigated brutality 
 of the keepers ; the indifference of the higher officers ; the 
 heartlessness of all the officials ; the severe punishments for 
 slight offences nay, for no other offence than the effort to 
 preserve one's manhood and self-respect these things, sir, 
 were infinitely worse than association with criminals. The 
 ignorant keepers seem to have a special spite against the 
 poor convict who has the misfortune to be better educated 
 than themselves, and they take a malicious pleasure in tort- 
 uring him. But excuse me; I did not mean to say so 
 much ;" and Bailey drew his hand across his brow, as if 
 to wipe out the memory of those horrible ten years, and 
 heaved a sigh which sounded like a sob.
 
 260 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 " Did you never seek to punish Finch ?" asked the coroner. 
 
 " Ah ! for years and years the hope of revenge kept me 
 alive in all my misery ; and during my first year of free- 
 dom I was sustained by the burning desire to wreak a ter- 
 rible vengeance on the man who had done me such dread- 
 ful injury without the least provocation on my part. But 
 but I learned that revenge was a mean passion ; that 
 God did all for the best; that in his own good time he 
 would mete out to Finch the proper punishment for his 
 crimes. For the personal injury to me I have already for- 
 given him." 
 
 " Mr. Bailey," asked the coroner, " did you see all the 
 papers taken from Finch that night when Quin was drug- 
 ged ? Did Grady show them to you ? And, to the best of 
 your knowledge and belief, is this one of them ?" 
 
 " Mr. Grady showed me all those practice-forgery papers, 
 and you may be sure that I examined them very closely, 
 and to the best of my belief this is one of them." 
 
 " It was mainly on the strength of a check like this that 
 you were convicted ?" 
 
 " Yes, so I believe." 
 
 Mr. William Wilde's evidence corroborated that of Bai- 
 ley. Susie O'Neil, the policeman, and Quin testified to 
 Finch's appearance, even to his broken nose. 
 
 The chain of circumstantial evidence was so strong that 
 the jury immediately brought in a verdict that " Jacob Van 
 Hess had been murdered in his library on the evening of 
 the twenty-first of November, between the hours of nine 
 and ten o'clock, by Myron Finch, late his partner and son- 
 in-law, and that the mayor of the city be requested to offer 
 a reward of five hundred dollars for his apprehension."
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 261 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 " I am constant as the Northern star, 
 Of whose true-fixed and resting quality 
 There is no fellow iii the firmament." SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 MYRON FINCH, tortured with abject fear, did not dare 
 to leave his dingy room in his obscure lodging. The sec- 
 ond morning after the murder he requested his landlady to 
 lend him a newspaper, and, trembling in every joint, he read 
 the verdict of the coroner's jury. The very headings in 
 the morning paper were appalling. There he read the evi- 
 dence of Quin, Grady, and Bailey, and the offer of five hun- 
 dred dollars reward for his apprehension. His teeth chat- 
 tered, his lips were drawn back until his very gums were 
 exposed, and his pale eyes almost started out of their sock- 
 ets. Up to this time he had had a faint gleam of hope 
 that he might escape, but the copy of the practice-forgery 
 papers extinguished even that. When he came to the part 
 descriptive of his own personal appearance, evidently ob- 
 tained from Quin, the newspaper dropped from his nerve- 
 less hand, and the wretch sunk in his chair, his chin fell on 
 his breast, and his arms dropped at full length by his sides, 
 utterly overcome by the force of his fears. Once or twice, 
 as if fascinated, he essayed to read, but the paper fell from 
 his fingers ; finally, by a great effort of will, he read the fol- 
 lowing description : 
 
 " Myron Finch is a man about thirty-five years old, but, 
 owing to habits of vice and dissipation, looking much old- 
 er; he is of medium height, with light hair and light-blue 
 eyes, which are uneasy and furtive in their expression ; his 
 face is puffy, bloated, and discolored with drink ; he is in- 
 clined to corpulency, is bald, and has well-formed hands and 
 feet, lie may be easily recognized by his broken nose." 
 
 " D n that Spaniard ! what disguise will hide this 
 broken nose?" This was uttered as he rose to darken his
 
 262 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 room. lie wondered if Scroggs had noticed his nose. He 
 crept into bed as if to find protection, like a frightened 
 child, below the bedclothes. Then he thought of the 
 strychnine, but again the desire to cling to his wretched 
 life overcame the longing to be out of his misery. A new 
 thought struck him. Actors, he said to himself, can change 
 their appearance in five minutes so that their most intimate 
 friends fail to recognize them, and why could not he ? 
 Help he must have help, or perish ! But who was to help 
 him ? Another thought struck him. He rapped for his 
 landlady. 
 
 " Landlady, be kind enough to bring me paper, pen, and 
 ink ;" and when they were brought to him he reflected for 
 a moment, and said in a low tone to himself, " No, no, she 
 would never betray me ; I must trust her." He then wrote 
 the following note, with his address : 
 
 " JENNY, For God's sake come to me ! I am sick al- 
 most to death. Yours ever, M." 
 
 This note he paid the landlady to post, and then lay 
 down to wait for night, and the woman he had so basely 
 abandoned fifteen years ago. 
 
 About dusk the great-hearted Jenny made her way fear- 
 lessly through the back slums of Mott and Mulberry Streets 
 to the miserable lodging of the murderer. It is wonderful 
 how little fear for ordinary danger is felt by those who 
 have suffered the agony of a great wrong. One look from 
 Jenny's steady eye and stern face could abash the basest 
 ruffian who prowled about the whiskey-shops of the disrepu- 
 table neighborhood through which she was now passing. 
 She reached Finch's room, and spoke to him in a voice 
 hard as steel : 
 
 "Myron Finch, what do you want with me? I have 
 come at your call. What do you want ?" 
 
 " I knew you would come I knew you would come ! 
 Jenny, you are a good girl. Read this; read this." 
 
 Jenny, who liad remained standing, shook her head, and 
 told him that she had read it all, and read it in every paper, 
 with all the variations.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 263 
 
 " Myron Finch," she said, slowly and mournfully, " was 
 it not enough that you destroyed my happiness, ruined 
 poor Mr. Scroggs, sent an innocent man to prison, com- 
 mitted forgery, ill-treated your wife and family, robbed 
 your benefactor, but you must, in addition to all these 
 crimes, murder this very benefactor in his own house? 
 Myron Finch, you are a very wicked man, and I don't 
 know why it is that I come near you." Poor Jenny, with 
 all her strength of character, covered her face with her 
 hands and wept. The skeleton of her old love was tugging 
 at her heart-strings. 
 
 "Jenny, Jenny, as God is my judge, I did not mean to 
 kill the old man ! He had those papers which would send 
 me to State-prison ; and in the struggle to obtain them I 
 choked him, but did not mean to kill him. He was old 
 and weak, and I did not think that so slight a pressure 
 would cause death." 
 
 " Myron Finch," replied Jenny, lifting her head from her 
 hands, "I do not believe one word you say. You wanted 
 the practice-forgery papers, and you needed money, and in 
 taking them by force you took the man's life, which, in the 
 eye of the law, is murder in the first degree." 
 
 " I tell you," said Finch, " that the newspapers show that 
 neither his watch nor his money was touched, and that rob- 
 bery was therefore not the intention of the man who 
 killed Mr. Van Hess." 
 
 This fact, which Jenny Edwards remembered, partly cor- 
 roborated the statement of the murderer that robbery was 
 not his object. But Finch took good care to say nothing 
 of the nine hundred dollars which he stole from Mr. Van 
 Hess, and had hidden at this moment between the cloth and 
 the lining of his coat. 
 
 " It may be as you say : I trust it is so. I hope that you 
 had no intention of committing murder. But but, Myron 
 Finch, why did you send for me ? What do you want ?" 
 
 " You read that graphic description of my personal ap- 
 pearance. You know that, with this nose, the moment that 
 I stepped out into the streets I would be arrested." 
 
 " Well, what can I do ?" asked Jenny.
 
 264 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 " Actors, Jenny, can make all kinds of disguises. I have 
 seen the fair-haired, bald-headed, shaven man, like me, change 
 himself in five minutes into a black-bearded pirate. I want 
 the dyes; I want the paint; I want the material; I want a 
 pair of gold spectacles ; I want a black wig ; I want putty 
 and glue ; and see if I don't make a fine Roman nose, and 
 a learned medical doctor, at one and the same time ;" and 
 the ruffian actually smiled, for the first time since the mur- 
 der, at his own ingenuity. The smile was a strange com- 
 pound of fear, craft, and hope, and caused Jenny Edwards 
 to shudder with a sort of terror which was indescribable. 
 
 " Myron Finch," said Jenny, sadly, " the talents which 
 God gave you, you have used all your life to accomplish 
 wicked ends ; because your heart is as bad as your head is 
 good nay, much worse ; you have been a vile sinner all 
 your days. Why should I aid you to escape, when perhaps 
 you will use your freedom to destroy another victim ? And 
 yet and yet I cannot bear to think of his dying in his sins, 
 and being consigned to eternal punishment !" The last sen- 
 tence was spoken more to herself than to him. 
 
 " I wish I could be certain that you did not premedi- 
 tate the old gentleman's death; but how can I? You 
 have never scrupled at any lie that would serve your pur- 
 pose." 
 
 " Never mind, never mind," said Finch, in a desponding 
 tone ; " I sent for you as the last friend I had in the world. 
 I know I treated you badly in times gone by for which, 
 as I told you the other day, I am truly sorry ; but I see you 
 don't forgive me ; you bear malice against me ; so let me 
 be hanged ! Now that you have cast me off, I would rather 
 die than not, and so end my misery. Never mind." 
 
 This piece of acting was not without its effect on Jenny ; 
 for she was a pious woman, and loved the hideous skeleton 
 of her old love. She would have done almost anything to 
 save the soul of her former lover from eternal perdition. 
 The cold-blooded, selfish villain lay there and read her 
 thoughts, and knew that even now he had more influence 
 over her heart than any other man living. Jenny reflected 
 deeply. At length she raised her head and said, " Myron
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 265 
 
 Finch, my own heart and my own conscience have troubled 
 me for many years." 
 
 " What do you mean ?" said Finch. 
 
 " I mean that though our early relation is unknown to 
 all the world, except perhaps three, and those three love and 
 respect me, I would like to hold in my possession, solely for 
 my own satisfaction, a marriage certificate. Now hear me. 
 I will go for a minister, and after he has made me your 
 wife and Jenny winced grievously at the word wife I 
 shall be in duty bound to aid your escape. Do you agree ?" 
 
 " Why, of course I agree ! I am a free man. When 
 my disguise is complete we shall travel to Europe together, 
 and begin a new life in London." 
 
 " Hold, sir !" said Jenny, in a tone of command : " were 
 you young and handsome as you were the day I first saw 
 you, and had you all the wealth of the world, I would not 
 live with you one minute as your wife. No, no," and Jen- 
 ny shuddered at the thought, " your touch would be con- 
 tamination. You evidently mistake me. I repeat that I 
 desire a marriage certificate, that is all." 
 
 The villain was baffled. He had calculated on Jenny's 
 ready wit, her practical New England sense, her rare energy 
 of character, her hard-earned savings, which would help him 
 to establish a tavern in London, and her superior skill as a 
 nurse, which would make her so useful to him in his present 
 state of health. 
 
 " Well, well, you need not insult me. Bring your min- 
 ister. You can have the certificate, and I can have the 
 disguise." 
 
 " Myron Finch," said Jenny, sadly, " you mistake me in 
 more ways than one. Every penny I possess in this world 
 I would give ay, I would give this right hand to know 
 that you had repented, and turned to your Saviour. Would 
 to God I had died believing in your truth and goodness !" 
 
 "Jenny, we waste time. Go for the minister." 
 
 Jenny Edwards went immediately to the house of her 
 own minister, with whom she had considerable influence. 
 Fortunately she found him at home. She explained her 
 case in a few simple and direct phrases, without revealing
 
 266 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 anything in regard to the recent crime or the criminal. 
 The good man was old, infirm, and slightly deaf. Jenny 
 was aware that the marriage ceremony could be hastily per- 
 formed without arousing suspicion ; and she reflected, as 
 she hurried through the streets, that even if the name 
 should attract attention, she had skill enough to protect 
 Finch until she had placed him in safety beyond the reach 
 of the police. The minister accompanied Jenny to the shop 
 of a jeweller, from whom she purchased a plain gold ring, and 
 thence to the dingy, dimly-lighted room of Myron Finch. 
 
 " The man is sick abed," said Jenny, " and he desires to 
 marry me before he dies. I will call the landlady and her 
 daughter to act as witnesses to the ceremony." 
 
 During the brief ceremony Finch hid his face as best he 
 could, by turning it away from the light, and seemed ex- 
 tremely anxious to have it over. Neither of the witnesses 
 to this strange wedding expressed the least surprise, for 
 doubtless such occurrences are only too common among 
 their class. They evidently looked upon the affair as a 
 death-bed repentance. 
 
 How such a woman as Jenny Edwards could reason her- 
 self into the belief that a few words spoken by any man 
 could make her " an honest woman " her, the very person- 
 ification of truth and integrity passes all comprehension. 
 We can only explain it by the fact that the same early 
 training which caused her to place implicit faith in the 
 most rigid precepts of Puritanism, caused her to believe 
 that marriage was a very sacred thing ; and that a marriage 
 now, even with the vilest of criminals, was necessary to her 
 spiritual rehabilitation. Jenny Edwards had never lost faith 
 in the binding force of the Ten Commandments; and the 
 strictest Pharisee could not have condemned a sin in other 
 people more severely than she condemned herself. 
 
 " Now I must fulfil my part of the contract," she said ; 
 and, with a business tact peculiar to her race, she pulled out 
 of her pocket a small memorandum-book and a lead-pencil, 
 and proceeded to write down the items which Finch re- 
 quired in order to effect his escape. The minister and the 
 witnesses, in the mean time, had retired and left them alone.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 267 
 
 When Finch had given the name of every article necessary 
 to his complete disguise, he said, 
 
 " Jenny, my dear, I have great confidence in your tact 
 and ability, and I know that I can thoroughly trust and 
 rely on you. I have not slept in forty-eight hours, and you 
 have so relieved me by your presence that I think I may 
 now sleep in safety." 
 
 While the murderer slept, his wife entered an omnibus and 
 rode up town as far as Broome Street, and entered the med- 
 ical office of her friend and admirer, Washington Scroggs, 
 M.D. She found the little man alone, nursing one limb 
 above the other, supporting the upper limb with both his 
 hands, as was his usual attitude when engaged in profound 
 meditation on the merits of his wonderful discovery. 
 
 " Jenny, my dear, how do you do ?" said the little quack, 
 shaking her cordially by the hand and leading her to a seat 
 near the fire, for the evening was intensely cold. " Jenny, 
 my dear, I hope you are not sick. You look pale, wearied, 
 and worried. Can I not do something for you? I trust 
 you are not fretting about that bad man who, I see, has 
 murdered poor old Mr. Van Hess." 
 
 Outside his sciences and his " panacea," the quiet little 
 quack could talk as simple Anglo-Saxon as any one ; and 
 the more his heart was moved, as in the present instance, 
 the better he spoke. 
 
 " I am not sick, doctor ; I am worried a little." 
 
 " I wish that I could bring my vacuum treatment to bear 
 upon Finch. I was just meditating, when you arrived, that 
 all crime, like all disease, is in the blood, and that both 
 must be subjected to like treatment. We must change the 
 currents, my dear, and withdraw the superabundant fluid 
 from the unduly-developed organ." 
 
 Jenny, perceiving that if he were allowed to continue 
 talking about disease and crime and their cure, Scroggs 
 would not cease till morning, and as time to her was very 
 precious, she was reluctantly compelled to interrupt him, 
 by saying, in her quick, abrupt way, 
 
 " Doctor, I have come to ask you a great favor. Will 
 you do it, and ask no questions ?"
 
 263 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 " Certainly, my dear, most willingly. You could ask noth- 
 ing wrong ; for you are a good woman and a pious. My be- 
 lief in you is unbounded as the ocean. What is the favor ?" 
 
 " Doctor Scroggs," replied Jenny, " time presses. Will 
 you purchase a few articles for me and ask no questions ?" 
 
 " Certainly, my dear ; explain what you want." 
 
 " You will be astonished, but I have your promise. The 
 articles I desire can be purchased near the Bowery Thea- 
 tre." Jenny pulled out her memorandum-book and read : 
 " A black wig, a black beard, black paint, black hair-dye, 
 flesh-colored paint, a pair of gold spectacles, a small piece 
 of putty, a piece of glue, and a suit of black clothes for a 
 man five feet seven inches and rather stout say weighing 
 one hundred and ninety pounds ; and I was nearly forget- 
 ting a broad-brimmed black felt hat. Here is a hundred- 
 dollar bill, which will cover the cost." 
 
 "Jenny, my dear, keep your money, and allow an old 
 friend, who esteems you very much, to make you a present 
 of these strange articles." 
 
 " No, not for the world, doctor not for the world !" 
 
 " Well, just as you please ; but you are welcome as the 
 flowers of May." 
 
 "Dr. Scroggs, will you purchase these things for me as 
 quickly as you can ? for time, I repeat, presses." 
 
 " Certainly, my dear, certainly ; you remain here and take 
 care of the place until I return." 
 
 Jenny Edwards sat gazing into the fire, wrapped in pro- 
 found but melancholy thought. She reflected on the wed- 
 ding ceremony just completed, and compared it with the 
 one her young imagination had painted fifteen years ago, 
 when she fancied Myron Finch the embodiment of all that 
 was good and noble. She had persuaded herself that Finch 
 had not intentionally taken the life of Mr. Van Hess ; but 
 it is quite probable that had he been a convicted murderer, 
 about to mount the scaffold to expiate his crime, she would 
 have married him at the foot of the gallows. She was fully 
 resolved at all hazards to save his life, and, if possible, his 
 soul. It would have been very difficult for Jenny herself, 
 or any other human being, to analyze her motives. They
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 269 
 
 may be explained, perhaps, by the fact that Myron Finch, 
 was her first and only love. While engaged in these un- 
 pleasant ruminations, Dr. Scroggs returned with all the arti- 
 cles which Jenny required. 
 
 " Dr. Scroggs," said Jenny, " I need not thank you. You 
 know the gratitude that words would fail to express. Doc- 
 tor, I have another favor to request, and I am almost 
 ashamed to ask it. Will you give me the key of your of- 
 fice for this night, and ask no questions? I will hand it 
 back to you in the morning." 
 
 " Jenny, my dear," said the little quack, looking at her 
 sadly and affectionately over his spectacles, " Jenny, my 
 dear, this is a strange request ; and I don't know whether 
 I should grant it or not ; that is," continued he, kindly, " I 
 do not know whether or not it would be for your own good. 
 But you are a good girl and a pious, and it goes hard with 
 me to refuse you anything. Were it for your good, my 
 dear, this office and all it contains I would freely give you." 
 The little quack, perceiving an expression of extreme dis- 
 appointment on Jenny's face, and fully convinced of her 
 purpose to save Finch at all hazards, began to think that, 
 after all, it might be the wisest thing to let her have the 
 use of the office, or she might try elsewhere and run a 
 greater risk. After a long pause, Scroggs said, "Jenny, 
 my dear, you can have the key until morning. Tell me 
 nothing about it. I must know nothing about it. There is 
 the key : you have the use of this office and all it contains 
 until to-morrow morning at eight o'clock. I shall go over 
 to your uncle's and stay all night. Good-night, my dear." 
 
 As the little doctor rose to depart, Jenny rose too, and 
 caught one of his thin white hands in both of hers and 
 squeezed it, while the tears of gratitude flowed silently 
 down her cheeks. All she could utter was, " Dr. Scroggs, 
 may God bless and reward you !" 
 
 As soon as the little quack was gone Jenny left the office, 
 locked the door, and put the key in her pocket ; and, with- 
 out waiting for an omnibus, hurried off to the lodgings of 
 Myron Finch. She had placed the broad-brimmed hat un- 
 der her cloak.
 
 270 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 She found Finch fast asleep, snoring heavily like a man 
 troubled with bad dreams or bad digestion, and, without a 
 moment's hesitation, she roused him out of his uneasy slum- 
 ber, and said, 
 
 " Myron Finch, I give you just five minutes to dress your- 
 self while I step into the other room and pay your landlady 
 whatever you may owe her." Jenny informed that portly 
 hostess that she and her husband were going on a little wed- 
 ding trip to the country, particularly for the good of his 
 health. 
 
 Finch, dressed in his suit of second-hand clothes, with his 
 broad-brimmed hat pulled down over his eyes, and leaning 
 on the arm of his wife, passed out and on to Broome Street 
 without attracting the least notice. They entered the office 
 of Washington Scroggs, M.D. Jenny pulled down the 
 shades, lighted the gas, stirred the fire, opened the bundle, 
 and displayed to Finch's astonished gaze every article, even 
 to the suit of new black clothes, that he had asked for not 
 two hours before. 
 
 " Come," said Jenny, in a tone somewhat stern and com- 
 manding, like that of a mother giving orders to a bad, re- 
 fractory son " come, draw on these clothes over the oth- 
 ers ; they will increase your size and help to disguise you. 
 Hurry ! I have no time to lose, for I must be back before 
 eleven o'clock." Finch made all the haste he was capable 
 of making ; he adjusted the wig and the beard ; he dyed 
 his eyelashes and eyebrows ; he converted his broken nose 
 into a Koman nose; and he so placed the spectacles as to 
 conceal the patch and the paint. His disguise was abso- 
 lutely perfect, and his chance of escape excellent, thanks to 
 the two persons whom he had grossly injured ; but at the 
 critical moment the man's perversity was his worst enemy. 
 
 "Jenny," said Finch, with what he meant to be a loving 
 look, but what was in reality a cunning leer, "Jenny, I al- 
 ways feel so safe when you are near me ! Now that you 
 are my wife, now that I have a claim on you, will you not 
 come away with me, and we will begin the world anew in 
 some other country, where we shall both be unknown ?" 
 
 " You arc already endeavoring to break the contract
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 271 
 
 Remember, I promised to aid you on condition that after 
 our marriage you should assert no claim over me. Besides, 
 were I weak enough to consent, and even if we prospered, 
 you would again abandon me, as you did before, the mo- 
 ment it became your interest to do so. No, no, no, Myron 
 Finch, I could never, never trust you I" 
 
 Finch felt so secure in the presence of this able and 
 quick-witted woman, he felt so convinced of her marvellous 
 power, that the craven cowardice which for the previous 
 forty -eight hours had swallowed up every other emotion of 
 his mind had fled, and left him once more free to plan and 
 scheme for his future earthly happiness : as for his future 
 spiritual happiness, he had no faith in it. 
 
 " Jenny," replied Finch, " you judge me by the past. I 
 was only an ill-conditioned boy when I, eaten up with vani- 
 ty and ambition, left you and and " 
 
 " Don't repeat, sir, what you did ! don't recall the past ! 
 I tell you, beware ! if you revive the memory of those 
 days when life was a burden when minutes seemed hours, 
 hours weeks, and weeks years, expecting you to come 
 back ; listening, watching, hoping, trusting, doubting, fear- 
 ing, despairing ; starting at every step, eagerly catching at 
 every sound. Oh ! oh ! oh ! the long, bitter agony of those 
 days and nights, when I prayed for death and it came not ! 
 And, Myron Finch, you never came back to me until, stand- 
 ing in the shadow of the scaffold, you call on me to save 
 your life !" Jenny covered her face with both her hands, 
 and rocked her body to and fro, and wept. To see this 
 strong woman weep was as pitiful as to see a strong man 
 weep. 
 
 Finch approached her and said, "Jenny, darling, can't 
 you forgive me ? Can't you come with me and be my 
 wife in reality, as you are in law ?" As he spoke he en- 
 deavored to take her hand; but Jenny drew back as though 
 she had been stung by an adder. 
 
 " Hands off, sir !" she said, rising from her chair, and 
 looking at Finch with an expression of wrath hitherto a 
 stranger to her face. " Touch me in that way again, and, 
 as God is my judge, I shall hand you over to the police !
 
 272 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 You mistake me. For the sake of your immortal soul ; to 
 give you time for repentance not a death-bed repentance 
 I have consented to save your worthless life. But know 
 this, Myron Finch : if you could make me empress of the 
 universe on condition that you could exercise any of the 
 rights of a husband, I would reject you with scorn and 
 loathing. You but waste valuable time. It grows late, and 
 you ought by this time to have been on your journey to 
 Boston. Here is the key of this door; when you leave, 
 put it under the door-mat outside. You have to thank 
 your old teacher, whom you so basely supplanted, for buy- 
 ing the articles for your disguise, and for the use of this 
 office for your security. When he and I forgive you, can 
 you not see the hand of God working for your salvation ? 
 Good-night;" and without another word Jenny left him 
 alone in the office of the mild little quack. 
 
 " She's a trump !" soliloquized Finch, " she's a fortune ! 
 What quickness, what clearness of perception, what prompt- 
 itude of action ! With that woman as my wife why, she 
 is my wife I could make two fortunes, a dozen fortunes, 
 in London ! Who would have thought that the little, un- 
 sophisticated, rosy-cheeked Vermont girl would have grown 
 into such a splendid woman ? What a jewel I flung away ! 
 But I'll recover this pearl. She loves me still I see it, I 
 know it; her anger proves it and her tears! By Jove, 
 she was lovely in her tears ! She is worth a ship-load of 
 namby - pamby Grace Van Hesses ! And Scroggs, too 
 ha ! ha ! ha ! the poor little scientist ! To think that he 
 should have been called in to see me when I was manu- 
 facturing an alibi: and this is his room, his office? Well, 
 as Jenny says, the hand of God seems in this ; that is, if 
 there be a God, which I very much doubt. And this 
 what's this?" Finch was curiously inspecting the vacuum 
 instrument, the very " panacea," as Scroggs termed it, for 
 Finch's own moral cure. The murderer had recovered from 
 his fright. Jeny's influence had given him a kind of cour- 
 age a good deal like that imparted by a free indulgence in 
 ardent spirits. " I'll stay till morning, and make one more 
 effort to induce my ivife to accompany me on my travels.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 273 
 
 This travelling alone, as I know by experience, is not very 
 pleasant ; and Jenny would relieve the monotony wonder- 
 fully, for she is a very clever woman. Yes, she loves me ; 
 and when a woman loves " He then flung himself on 
 the lounge and was soon fast asleep. Ah, Myron Finch, 
 perhaps you may discover to your cost that it would have 
 been much wiser for you to have taken Jenny Edwards's 
 advice, and gone straightway to the renowned city of Bos- 
 ton. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 " great man-eater ! 
 
 Whose every day is carnival, not yet sated : 
 Unheard of epicure !" BLAIR. 
 " damned despair ! to shun the living light, 
 And plunge the guilty soul in endless night." LUCRETIUS. 
 
 JOHN GRADY felt very uneasy about his niece. He had 
 called at the hotel twice once in the afternoon, and again 
 during the evening and on both occasions had been in- 
 formed that she had left about four o'clock, and had not 
 yet returned. Thinking that she might have gone over to 
 her aunt's, and that he had just missed her, he hurried back 
 to his own house, but to no purpose. He advised with 
 "George Bailey as to the course he ought to pursue, for he 
 feared that Finch had found means to communicate with 
 her. 
 
 " I am very anxious," said Mr. Grady, " very anxious 
 about my niece, ever since the murder of Mr. Van Hess. 
 Mr. Bailey, I cannot give you my reasons, for that would 
 be revealing the secrets of another." 
 
 " I want no reasons and no secrets. You are welcome 
 to my advice and aid in this matter, for I entertain feelings 
 of respect and friendship for Miss Edwards for her own 
 sake ; and, of course, anything that concerns you concerns 
 me also." 
 
 "Thank you," replied Grady, "you are very kind. I 
 may tell you, however, that my niece and that villain Finch 
 
 18
 
 274 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 were well acquainted in Vermont, and I am afraid tliat he 
 can work on her sympathies. What had I best do ? I 
 have called twice at her employer's, and she has not been 
 there since four o'clock." 
 
 " I am aware of the interest that Miss Edwards takes in 
 Finch," said Bailey, "for she begged me not to use the 
 practice-forgery papers against him." 
 
 " Did she tell you her story ?" asked Grady. 
 
 " No, she did not ; but I readily surmised it." 
 
 " Very well ; yon see the necessity of preventing the 
 murderer from communicating with her. I am very anx- 
 ious. Will you accompany me once more to the hotel to 
 see if she has yet returned ?" 
 
 "With pleasure," replied Bailey. 
 
 Arriving at the hotel about ten o'clock, they learned that 
 Miss Edwards was still absent. Grady then suggested the 
 employment of a detective, to which Bailey at first demur- 
 red, but finally yielded, agreeing with Grady that in this 
 way they had the best chance of doing Jenny a great ser- 
 vice. The two gentlemen went directly to the office of a 
 private detective, and secured his services for the next twen- 
 ty-four hours. Grady gave him instructions to watch both 
 the south and east doors of the hotel, to ascertain the exact 
 minute when she returned; and if she should leave, to note 
 the time and follow her. He also gave the detective a mi- 
 nute description of her personal appearance, and requested- 
 him to communicate by telegram directed to the house of 
 Wilde, Bailey & Co., where they would remain until they 
 heard from him. 
 
 Bailey and Grady had scarcely left, when the detective 
 noticed a muffled form hastily enter the hotel by the south 
 or lady's entrance. The clock struck eleven. " That's her, 
 I fancy," muttered the detective, disguised like a rough 
 country farmer. " I'll have her man before the clock strikes 
 eleven to-morrow morning." The expert in human crime 
 and misery had caught a glimpse of Jenny's face as she en- 
 tered the hotel, and he read in it agitation and trouble of 
 no ordinary kind. The recent murder, the names Grady 
 and Bailey, dropped carelessly in conversation, and remem-
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 275 
 
 bering that these two names were most prominent at the 
 coroner's inquest the evident anxiety about the woman, 
 old enough to be employed in a very important position 
 these things led the detective to suspect that he might be 
 earning not only his fee for twenty-four hours' work, but 
 the five hundred dollars reward offered for the apprehension 
 of Myron Finch. 
 
 All night long the tireless detective walked up and down, 
 avoiding observation, but never once taking his eyes off 
 either entrance to the hotel. The same person, he took 
 care, never saw him twice. Sometimes on one side of the 
 street, sometimes on the other, sometimes leaning against a 
 tree, puffing at a cigar, he appeared the most innocent and 
 unconcerned of country bumpkins. 
 
 " His was the spying eye 
 Which, spying all, seemed not to spy." 
 
 About half-past five he saw the same lady whom he had 
 seen the night before, muffled in the same large shawl, 
 emerge from the south entrance, and pass rapidly up Broad- 
 way. " That 'ere lady, it occurs to me, didn't sleep much 
 last night. I caught a glimpse of her face under the gas- 
 light and it was mighty white, I tell ye. There's somethin' 
 in the wind." The detective rolled along on the opposite 
 side of Broadway, with the uneven, unsteady, but rapid gait 
 of a man accustomed to walk over ploughed fields. Then 
 for amusement he would imitate the walk of a sailor who 
 imagined that the sidewalk was the deck of a ship rolling 
 in the trough of the sea. But his little cunning gray eye 
 never for an instant lost sight of the lady muffled in the 
 large shawl. When she reached Broome Street she paused 
 and. looked all around her. At this moment the awkward 
 countryman found it convenient to stand stock-still behind 
 a lamp-post. The woman, thinking the coast clear, walked 
 rapidly toward the east. As soon as she was out of Broad- 
 way the detective ran like a race-horse, for fear she might 
 enter one of the many alley-ways that abound in this neigh- 
 borhood, and as soon as he turned the corner he had the 
 satisfaction of seeing her ascend the steps leading to the
 
 276 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 door of a two-story and attic brick house, on the front wall 
 of which gleamed in the gas-light the flaring sign, in largest 
 of block letters, of " WASHINGTON SCROGGS, M.D., WORLD- 
 RENOWNED INVENTOR OF THE VACUUM CURE." " Surely," 
 thought the detective, " the gentle little doctor is not her 
 man." He saw the lady stoop as if looking for something, 
 but apparently unable to find it, she arose and knocked soft- 
 ly on the door, which was opened by a man with dark hair 
 and beard, and gold spectacles on his nose. " That hair and 
 beard never growed on that feller's face," muttered the de- 
 tective; "they are too nice and too black by half. Why 
 don't these chaps disguise theirselves in a nat'ral way ? 
 Here, boy," continued the detective, " Take this note to 
 John Grady, at the office of Wilde, Bailey, & Co., and here's 
 a quarter. Bring me their answer, and I'll give you a half- 
 dollar to boot d'ye hear? Off with you like lightning!" 
 The newsboy ran like the wind, anxious to earn his seventy- 
 five cents so easily. 
 
 ****** 
 
 "You here yet?" were the words with which Jenny ac- 
 costed Myron Finch, in a tone of voice by no means re- 
 markable for its softness. " You will destroy yourself. 
 You ought to have been a couple of hundred miles out of 
 New York by this time." 
 
 " Yes, dear, I know it," replied Finch, in a low, wheed- 
 ling tone ; " but I could not leave without seeing you once 
 more before we are parted forever ; and besides, I feel so 
 safe and secure when you are near me that I have no fears.- 
 O Jenny ! Jenny ! won't you believe me this once ? Won't 
 you trust me ? Won't you accompany me ? You can I 
 know you can reform me, and no one else can. You can 
 make me repent : you can save my soul and bring me to 
 Jesus. Jenny, my wife ! God has joined us together ; 
 let no man put us asunder. Won't you save my soul from 
 eternal perdition ?" 
 
 The lying hypocrite had studied out this appeal during 
 the night ; and he well knew that it would weigh more 
 with her than all else combined. Nor was it entirely lost 
 on this noble woman. She had to rouse up all her moral
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 277 
 
 feelings, she had to summon all her forces of will and in- 
 tellect, to withstand an appeal like this from the man she 
 had once idolized, and who, while living, could never be in- 
 different to her. 
 
 " Myron Finch, don't tempt me. I am, God knows, but 
 a poor weak woman. If you believe not Moses and the 
 prophets, if you believe not the Gospels, you would not be- 
 lieve though one rose from the dead. No, no ; if God 
 does not change your heart, I cannot. If I have done you 
 a service, show your gratitude by going away at once, for 
 you are wasting precious time." 
 
 Finch was commencing another appeal, and had got as 
 far as, " Jenny, my love, I fear nothing when you are near 
 me" 
 
 At the word " me " they were startled by a loud knock 
 at the door which almost frightened the life out of Myron 
 Finch, and caused Jenny Edwards to tremble from head to 
 foot, 
 
 " Open the door immediately, or I shall hammer it in !" 
 said a loud voice outside. 
 
 Jenny turned off the gas, and turning to Finch said, "Drop 
 from that back window to the yard, scale the fence, enter 
 another yard, and make your way through the basement 
 to the street, while these men are searching the house. 
 Hurry, man, or you are lost ! Good heavens ! why do you 
 hesitate ?" 
 
 " Open the door, Miss Edwards open it immediately !" 
 roared the voice outside. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I'm looking for the key. Why don't you 
 fly? Good gracious! why don't you fly?" she said in a 
 whisper to Finch, who stood irresolute and almost paralyzed 
 with fear. 
 
 The knocking at the door became fierce and threatening. 
 Evidently the officers were endeavoring to burst it open. 
 
 Jenny took hold of Finch by the lapel of his coat and 
 led him to the window, which she opened. 
 
 " Now," said she, " climb out and drop into the yard. I 
 will hold the police at bay until you climb the fences and 
 reach Grand Street. Hurry, man ! hurry for your life !"
 
 278 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 She actually assisted him out of the window. She flung 
 the key into the yard, shut down the window and fastened 
 it. She had scarcely done so, when the front-door fell into 
 the hall with a loud crash ; and the detective, John Grady, 
 and two or three officers, who had been hastily summoned, 
 entered the parlors which Dr. Scroggs used as an office, and 
 turned their eyes in every direction in search of Myron 
 Finch. 
 
 Even now, Jenny, with indomitable pluck and presence 
 of mind, said, " Search, search away ! Perhaps he is un- 
 der the lounge or up the chimney. Perhaps he is up-stairs 
 or in the basement." For a minute the officers were dis- 
 tracted, and one of them actually did look under the lounge, 
 and another into the little quack's "receiver" or " panacea." 
 But the detective, cooler and more experienced, said, " One 
 of you hold the front-door, another the basement-door, and 
 you, Mr. Grady, remain here while I search the yard." 
 
 Had Finch been half a man, he had ample time to es- 
 cape ; but fear, disease, and flabby flesh, caused by his in- 
 temperate use of ardent spirits, had prevented his scaling a 
 low fence which an ordinary boy of ten years of age could 
 have accomplished w r ith ease. He had made two or three 
 attempts, and after his last effort he fell heavily to the 
 ground. He then crawled close under the window and lay 
 perfectly still, in the hope that the officers, not finding him 
 in the house, might leave without searching the yard. 
 
 The detective quietly but firmly shoved Jenny Edwards 
 away from the window, and sprung lightly to the flags be- 
 neath. In a moment his quick eye caught sight of Finch 
 crouched close to the wall ; and, almost in a twinkling, he 
 removed his false hair and beard, and gave him, instead, a 
 pair of handcuffs. Myron Finch was a prisoner at last, 
 in the hands of that law whose majesty he had so frequent- 
 ly offended. 
 
 AVhen Jenny Edwards saw him arrested and handcuffed, 
 she sat down on the floor and wept wept as if her very 
 heart would break. John Grady approached her with the 
 intention of consoling and soothing her, and taking her to 
 his home in Willigpsibanrh.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 279 
 
 " Jenny, my child," said the tender-hearted Grady, " come 
 away with me. No one here knows you but the detective. 
 We can keep your name out of the newspapers." 
 
 " I care nothing for the newspapers. Myron Finch is 
 now my husband, and I shall stand by him to the end." 
 
 " Your husband ? Good heavens, Jenny, you are mad 
 mad as a March hare ! No, no ; surely you are not married 
 to that wretched murderer?" 
 
 "Not a bit mad, uncle ; I married him last night ; and in 
 his misery I shall defend him with my last dollar." 
 
 " You are insane, woman !" said Grady, with asperity. " If 
 this villain were free to-morrow, he'd cast you off like an 
 old shoe. Jenny, you must come home to your aunt." 
 
 " Uncle, I thank you for all your kindness, even for this 
 last act, for I know that you intended it for my good." 
 And the poor woman wept sadly and silently. 
 
 Grady gently raised her from the floor, placed her arm 
 within his, and led her out of the office, just as the little 
 quack came in to take possession. 
 
 In the mean time Myron Finch was imprisoned in the 
 Tombs, to await his trial for the wilful murder of Mr. 
 Jacob Van Hess ! No sooner was he alone than he began 
 to heap curses on the head of Jenny Edwards because she 
 had refused to fly with him. He blamed her for his ar- 
 rest, and felt fiercely vindictive toward her. Now that the 
 worst had come to pass, he commenced to calculate his 
 chances of escape. No one had seen him choke the old 
 gentleman to death ; there was certainly no intention no 
 malice aforethought to kill him. True, there was a strug- 
 gle, and in this struggle Van Hess was killed. Finch con- 
 soled himself with the thought that he had in his posses- 
 sion nearly one thousand dollars ; and if the worst came to 
 the worst, he had also the poison secreted about his person. 
 He was resolved to play the cheat to the very last, and cheat 
 the very gallows. 
 
 But at the moment that Finch was making these calcula- 
 tions, the officers of the law were searching his late lodging- 
 house from cellar and garret to yard and sink. The old 
 clothes in which Finch had returned from South America
 
 280 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 were discovered, and in the breast-pocket of his coat they 
 found the fatal practice-forgery papers. The chain of cir- 
 cumstantial evidence was now complete, and no earthly pow- 
 er could save him from the death he so richly deserved. 
 
 Nor was this all. A card appeared in the morning pa- 
 pers, signed by George Bailey, stating that he (Bailey) had 
 loaned Mr. Jacob Van Hess the sum of one thousand dol- 
 lars on the morning of the day on which he was murdered, 
 and for which he holds Van Hess's promise to pay in sixty 
 days. " Only one hundred dollars of this sum can be ac- 
 counted for ; what became of the other nine hundred ?" 
 
 Finch had just finished reading these two terrible state- 
 ments from the columns of a morning journal furnished 
 him by one of the keepers, when the detective who arrested 
 him, accompanied by several officers, entered his cell, and 
 began a thorough search of his clothing. Between the 
 lining and the cloth of his coat they discovered the exact 
 sum of nine hundred dollars, all in twenty-dollar bills, the 
 very denomination of bill in which the paying-teller of the 
 bank had cashed George Bailey's check. The officers failed 
 to find the poison. When again left alone, all his former 
 terrors returned with tenfold force. Robbery and murder 
 were brought home to him, and he saw no possible chance 
 of escape. He groaned, he wept, he cursed his fate ; he 
 cursed Jenny Edwards, George Bailey, his wife, his children, 
 the very man whom he had foully murdered ; he cursed God, 
 although he did not believe in him. He threw himself on 
 his cot-bed, and rolled his body and tossed his limbs in the 
 agony of despair. His imprecations were too horrible for 
 repetition. 
 
 The keeper turned the key in his door and announced a 
 visitor; and the words had hardly been spoken when Jenny 
 Edwards presented herself before him. 
 
 " Blast you, you hag of ! Go away ! Are you come 
 
 here to torment me ? It was all your fault you were too 
 good to travel in my company. Begone and leave me ! It 
 would have been better for me had I never sent for you. 
 Go, go away and leave me ! Oh ! oh ! oh !" and the un- 
 manly hound wept, groaned, and swore.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 281 
 
 "Myron Finch," said Jenny, with, great dignity, "I de- 
 serve all the bad language you can pour upon my head. I 
 knew you only too well ; but no matter. I have come here 
 to help you, if I can. All my savings of fifteen years will 
 be freely expended to the last cent to save your life. Try 
 to be a man ; try to pluck up some courage ; turn to your 
 God and Saviour. What is this world, at the best, but a 
 place of trial and suffering. Heaven knows I would only 
 be too happy to take your place and die this ignominious 
 death by hanging, if in so doing I were assured that my 
 death would make you repent of your sins, and cause you 
 to return to your Father above, who is eager to forgive you." 
 
 " Stop preaching, I say, you infernal hag ! There is no 
 God, no heaven, no hell, no hereafter ! I don't believe in 
 any of these things, invented by cunning priests to frighten 
 women and children." 
 
 " Hardened, cruel unbeliever ! must I then leave you, and 
 let you go to eternal perdition ? Oh, Myron Finch, it is a 
 fearful thing to die in your sins !" 
 
 "Look here! If your nice conscience and your sweet 
 religion had permitted you to accompany me last evening, 
 I would not be here to-day. Out of my sight ! I hate you 
 I hate the very sight of you ! The money and the pa- 
 pers have been found, and all the counsel in the universe 
 could not save me. I am doomed ! I have now the cour- 
 age of despair. Do you think I am going to die forty 
 thousand deaths between this and hanging-day ? To live 
 in a state of torture for six months worse, far worse, than 
 that I suffered in yon low lodging is the refinement of 
 cruelty." 
 
 As the very diablery of his nature began to assert itself, 
 and to drown his recent terrors, his voice became stronger 
 and his language more cynical. " Jenny, I do not believe I 
 have any soul ; I do not believe that you have any ; you 
 and I are mere lumps of animated clay, which perish like 
 the dogs. This is the doctrine which the philosophers 
 teach." The fiend well knew that every word of this unbe- 
 lief would cut Jenny to the quick, and he took a malicious 
 pleasure in inflicting exquisite pain. "Ah, Jenny, you are
 
 282 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 a good woman, eh? Ha! ha! ha!" (His laugh was even 
 more horrible than his oaths.) Had you gone with me 
 last evening, I would have made you a blessed martyr ; 
 wouldn't I, though ! Oh, if I could but torture Bailey and 
 that scoundrel Grady as I do you, I would die happy ! See 
 here, my darling pious Jenny, my religious better half ha ! 
 ha ! ha ! my better half that's good ! This is my pana- 
 cea for all ills ; this converts the able and intellectual Myron 
 Finch please pardon the egotism, for you are aware that I 
 have seldom exhibited conceit or vanity the able and in- 
 tellectual Myron Finch into a mere lump of mother-earth ! 
 and before Jenny could realize what he meant, he had 
 swallowed the poison. " Now, observe how the very acme 
 of despair has given me the courage to die." 
 
 " Good heavens !" exclaimed Jenny, " what has the man 
 done? Help! Murder! Help, help!" 
 
 Several of the keepers rushed into the cell to ascertain 
 the cause of the alarm. 
 
 "Gentlemen," said Finch, "you may retire. I have only 
 taken a panacea to cheat the gallows." 
 
 "Go ! go instantly for a physician and a stomach-pump! 
 Hurry! hurry ! he may yet be saved!" continued Jenny. 
 
 " It is useless. This poison takes human life in five min- 
 utes ; and half that time, I fancy, has already expired." 
 
 Nevertheless, the keepers ran for aid. 
 
 Finch had reserved his worst shot for the last. 
 
 "Jenny, my dear," he said, "we were married last night, 
 were we not ? Now, my darling, I forgot to tell you that, 
 under the divorce laws of New York, I had no right to 
 marry, and that had you gone with me last evening you 
 would have travelled as my But he never finished the 
 horrid word. Terrible convulsions seized him ; and in a 
 few minutes Myron Finch lay a rigid corpse ! 
 
 And this noble Christian woman, on whom he had in- 
 flicted such wrong, wept for the miserable sinner cut off by 
 his own hand, with all his sins upon his head, and gave 
 him, what he so little deserved, a decent burial in conse- 
 crated ground. Can psychology explain the mind of Jenny 
 Edwards.
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 283 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIL 
 
 " Let still the woman take 
 An elder than herself ; so wears she to him, 
 So sways she level in her husband's heart." 
 
 SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 SEVERAL months have rolled away since the events re- 
 corded in the last chapter. George Bailey and Edith Wilde 
 were engaged to be married in the spring. He was still 
 living quietly in his humble room, under the roof of his 
 friend John Grady, and enjoying to its fullest extent that 
 period of ante-nuptial delight, when the hungry heart seems 
 completely satisfied, and uncertainty and jealousy have fled, 
 never more to come back to torment him. Jenny Edwards 
 had been so prostrated by the ordeal through which she 
 had gone, in her futile efforts to save Myron Finch, that she 
 had been compelled to resign her situation in the hotel, and 
 was now living a quiet, aimless life with her uncle and 
 aunt, who were extremely kind to her, as were George Bai- 
 ley and the good little quack, who always spent his Sun- 
 days with the family. The large-hearted John Grady had 
 abandoned open-air lecturing on " temperance," and writ- 
 ing for the Weekly Reformer. His " carnal weapon " wield- 
 ed no larger implement of destruction than a steel-pen in 
 the banking-house of Wilde, Bailey, & Co., in which he was 
 now employed as a trusted clerk. Timothy Quin had 
 been shot dead in a bar-room brawl in one of his own 
 stores; and it was discovered after his death that, while he 
 had been managing ward politics, his bar-keepers had been 
 growing rich at his expense ; so that his family, after the 
 payment of all debts, were reduced to a state of absolute 
 poverty. 
 
 George Bailey employed a detective to discover the gen- 
 erous burglar Bill Williams, in whom he had found much 
 that was good mixed with a little that was evil. His trou-
 
 284 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 bles Lad arisen more from evil companions than from a 
 wicked disposition. Bailey employed him as porter in his 
 own bank; and it is only fair to say that in all the city 
 there was not a more honest servant than the returned 
 convict. 
 
 One day, early in March, a lady dressed in black and 
 heavily veiled called on Bailey at his office. What was 
 his astonishment to behold in the person of his visitor Mrs. 
 Grace Finch, whose faded and care-worn face too plainly 
 told the story of her trials and sufferings. 
 
 It was several minutes before she could command her 
 nerves sufficiently to announce her business. At length she 
 managed to say, in response to Bailey's inquiring glance, 
 
 " Mr. Bailey, I could not bear to see you at your lodgings 
 in the presence of those people, and so you will excuse me 
 for calling on you here." 
 
 "No apology is necessary. I think you said that you 
 desired to see me on business, and this is my office." The 
 icy coldness of Bailey's words and manner cut Mrs. Finch 
 to the quick. 
 
 " Mr. Bailey," said Grace, with a great effort, " on the 
 day when my poor father " and here her tears began to 
 How copiously " was murdered, you loaned him, in his ex- 
 tremity, one thousand dollars. His estate has been settled, 
 and I have called to pay this debt. Here is the principal 
 and the interest ; and allow me to thank you for the kind- 
 ness which he and I so little deserved at your hands." 
 
 " Madam " and Grace Finch noticed the freezing tone 
 " madam, I cannot accept this money. I meant it as a 
 present to your father in his trouble, and as a small return 
 for the great favors which he showered upon me up to the 
 time that that he was imposed upon, and had strong rea- 
 sons to believe me a a forger." 
 
 " But I cannot accept this money. Oh, Mr. Bailey, mis- 
 fortune has made me a wiser and, I hope, a better woman. 
 No, no, I cannot accept this money from you." 
 
 " If you cannot," replied Bailey, " I shall hand it over to 
 some charitable society. The money was your father's, and 
 now is yours. I do not need it."
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 285 
 
 George Bailey, thanks to the influence of Edith Wilde, 
 had long ago overcome his feelings of revenge ; but when 
 he saw this woman, Grace Finch who, not satisfied with 
 abandoning him in his hour of utmost need, when her in- 
 terposition might have saved him began to endeavor, by 
 means of anonymous letters, to destroy his and Edith's 
 happiness, an emotion of extreme dislike arose in his heart, 
 which caused the icy coldness of manner already alluded 
 to. lie therefore wished to bring the unpleasant interview 
 to an end. 
 
 "Mr. Bailey, I must say," said Mrs. Finch, "that you have 
 acted most nobly toward my late father and myself since 
 your return to society." 
 
 " Nobly ! nobly ! You don't know how wicked and vin- 
 dictive I was when I left my prison what an unforgiving 
 and relentless heathen I was, until I was taught that ven- 
 geance belonged to God." 
 
 " She taught you" said Grace Finch, in a tone which in- 
 dicated that all her misfortunes had not yet eradicated her 
 jealousy of Edith Wilde. 
 
 "Yes, she taught me;" and, for totally different reasons, 
 neither would mention Edith's name. " She did more 
 she saved me ; she upheld me when I was sinking. Oh, 
 her divine love has far more than compensated me for my 
 ten years of unmitigated misery !" 
 
 These words went through the heart of Grace Finch like 
 so many daggers ; for it was the misfortune of this woman 
 to love Bailey with a passionate ardor utterly unreasonable 
 and unjustifiable. 
 
 " Yes, yes, yes !" said Mrs. Finch, in a tone of great de- 
 spondency, "that wicked man felled you with a single 
 blow ; but you recovered more than all you had lost. 
 With us it was different. Oh, Mr. Bailey, what my father 
 and I suffered for twelve years no tongue could relate, no 
 pen describe !" 
 
 " I understand it well : your sufferings were much worse 
 than mine." 
 
 " Oh, had we but trusted you !" 
 
 " Madam," replied Bailey, " we had better not touch on
 
 286 GEOKGE BAILEY. 
 
 that subject." This was spoken in a tone to shut the door 
 against further conversation on this subject. 
 
 " Mr. Bailey," continued Grace, in spite of his earnest de- 
 sire to put an end to the interview, " to show how much I 
 respect you I shall retain the money ; and please tell your 
 I mean Miss Wilde that I humbly ask her forgiveness ; 
 she knows for what. Mr. Bailey, I shall try to be a better 
 woman. I shall live to train my children more wisely, I 
 hope, than I was trained." By some strange impulse Grace 
 Finch rose from her seat, seized Bailey's hand, and pressed 
 it to her lips, saying " God bless you, George Bailey, and 
 God bless Edith Wilde, ever and forever !" and, before Bai- 
 ley had time to recover from the surprise caused by the act, 
 Grace Finch was gone. 
 
 One day about this time, when Jenny Edwards had fully 
 recovered from the nervous fever that followed the suicide 
 of Myron Finch, she was sitting alone with Washington 
 Scroggs, M.D., in her uncle's little parlor. 
 
 " Jenny, my dear," said he, " you are a good woman and 
 a pious." It may be noted that the good little quack never 
 said she was handsome or pretty, and he might have said 
 both with truth ; but, with rare delicacy, he always called 
 her " a good woman and a pious." "Jenny, my dear, now 
 that our young friend, whose capillary circulation was so 
 imperfect, causing an unfortunate afflux of blood to the de- 
 structive propensities, is defunct and decently buried, you 
 might, peradventure, take into consideration my proposition 
 to become my spouse and heiress." 
 
 Tbe little quack always thought and spoke of Finch as a 
 mere youth, such as he remembered him when a smooth, 
 quiet, crafty, well-conducted member of his school in Ver- 
 mont. 
 
 " Doctor," replied Jenny, " you know that I am one of 
 those women who, having loved once, can never love again. 
 I loved the youth of whom you speak oh, with such a 
 love ! I shall think of him as we knew him at home ; and 
 surely, doctor, he was not wicked then. Don't you think 
 it was this wicked city that ruined him ? I shall always 
 remember him as the bright, intellectual boy whom I wor-
 
 GEORGE BAILEY. 287 
 
 shipped. Ah ! God certainly punished me for my idolatry. 
 My dear kind friend, I can never, never love again !" 
 
 " "Well, my dear, suppose you cannot. Peradventure it 
 may be as you say ; for there was such an afflux of the san- 
 guineous fluid to the amatory region of the brain that a 
 permanent congestion occurred which has never been re- 
 moved. We might, even yet, apply my ' panacea,' and by 
 withdrawing the air by letting it in and out so work on 
 the capillaries that the bump of amativeness might be re- 
 stored to its normal condition. You respect me ; you es- 
 teem me at least, so you have said." 
 
 " Most assuredly I do, doctor." 
 
 " Very well, Jenny, my dear, when a good woman and a 
 pious esteems and respects a rich old man rich, thanks to 
 my ' panacea ' why should we not join hands in holy mat- 
 rimony ? I have no living relatives ; and even if you do not 
 marry me, you shall inherit all my money. My will is made 
 out in your favor. So, you see, you cannot be charged with 
 marrying an old man for his money." 
 
 The little quack understood Jenny as well as he did the 
 force of simple Saxon English ; and he knew that her pride 
 would never allow her to permit people to say that she mar- 
 ried a man old enough to be her father for the sake of his 
 wealth. 
 
 " Doctor, doctor, if you were sick and poor I would wed 
 you much faster. I really think I could marry you if you 
 were utterly helpless. Doctor, do you remember the night 
 you went out to purchase those things, well knowing for 
 whose escape they were intended, never asking a single 
 question ? and do you remember leaving me the key of the 
 office until eight o'clock the next morning ?" 
 
 " I do, indeed, my dear ; I do remember that night right 
 well ; for my heart bled for you, seeing you in such sore 
 distress." 
 
 " Doctor, I could almost have loved you that night," said 
 Jenny, with a bright smile. 
 
 " Let that night go, my dear," said the little quack, with 
 a smile nearly as bright as her own, " and transfer the feel- 
 ing to this night. Do you know that I always thought that
 
 288 GEORGE BAILEY. 
 
 I was entitled to a reward for my unquestioning obedience 
 that night the reward of a kiss ;" and the little man arose 
 with great dignity and gravity to take it; but Jenny cruel- 
 ly shoved him to his seat, saying, 
 
 " Fie ! doctor, for shame ; at our time of life !" 
 
 " Jenny, my dear," said Dr. Scroggs, unabashed, " you are 
 a good woman and a pious. I love you very dearly, as I 
 always have. My 'panacea' and you have always divided 
 my affections since I have known you." 
 
 " Come, doctor, tell the truth now ; which of us do you 
 like best me or the ' panacea ?' " 
 
 "What a question to ask! You might as well ask a 
 youth which he loved best, his sweetheart or his mother, 
 lie loves them both, but in different ways." 
 
 " Very well, I understand you ; I am your mother, and 
 the ' panacea ' is your sweetheart." 
 
 " And I am an old boy," said the quack, with a merry 
 twinkle in his blue eye " why don't you finish the sen- 
 tence ?" 
 
 " Yes, and you are a dear old boy ; and your ' good wo- 
 man and a pious ' will marry you. There now, will that 
 do ?" And thus ended this strange wooing. 
 
 On the second day of May there were two weddings. 
 George Bailey and Edith Wilde were married in the same 
 church in which the poor ex-convict had worshipped his 
 " guardian angel " from afar ; and in the parlor of the little 
 house in Williamsburgh, Washington Scroggs, M.D., was 
 united to the "good woman and a pious" whom he had 
 long and truly loved. The latter pair spent their honey- 
 moon among the friends of their early days in Vermont, 
 and the former pair on a steamer bound for Liverpool. 
 
 THE END.
 
 A 000 101 918 1
 
 HARPERS.