University of California Berkeley 
 
 THE PETER AND ROSELL HARVEY 
 
 MEMORIAL FUND 
 
GLOYEBSON 
 
 AND HIS 
 
 SILENT PABTNEES 
 
 BY 
 
 RALPH KEELER. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 LEE AND SHEPARD. 
 
 1869, 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by 
 
 RALPH KEELER, 
 in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: 
 
 STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY 
 
 H. 0. HOUGHTON AND COMPANT. 
 
TO THE 
 
 HON. GEORGE P. MARSH, 
 
 UNITED STATES AMBASSADOR AT THE COURT OF ITALY, 
 
 BY WHOSE KINDNESS THE AUTHOR WAS ENABLED TO COMPLETE 
 
 HIS "BAREFOOTED" TOUR OF EUROPE, ON ONE HUN- 
 
 DRED AND EIGHTY-ONE DOLLARS IN CURRENCY 
 
 LAID IN SCENES SO LITTLE KNOWN TO THE WORLD OF FACT OR 
 FICTION, IS GRATEFULLY AND RESPECTFULLY 
 
 DEDICATED. 
 
CONTENTS.* 
 / 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE HOUSE OF GLOVERSON AND CO. WITH ESPECIAL REFER- 
 ENCE TO ITS CASHIER 9 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OLD FRIENDS .18 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A SOCIAL EVENING 26 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE STEAMER 39 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MISS SOPHIA GARR DEVELOPS INTO AN ANGEL . . . .43 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 UN BALLO IN MASCHERA 53 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 AMOS DIXON IS INTRODUCED TO PESTALOZZI, AND HIS SYSTEM 67 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PREPARATORY . . - 77 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IN WHICH THE UNITIES ARE VIOLATED 84 
 
VI CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 PAGB 
 FOE WHICH LOVE IS MOSTLY RESPONSIBLE 96 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 BECKONING 108 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 MR. DIXON MAKES A BAD IMPRESSION . . . . . . 114 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 FANTASTICAL AND GARRESQUE 122 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 WHEREIN A SIMPLE QUESTION BECOMES HARD TO ANSWER . 135 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MR. DIXON MAKES A GOOD IMPRESSION 140 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 MR. ARCHIBALD BEANSON 148 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE SMOOTHER TIDE 157 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 HOW SOPHIA EARNS HER SALARY 163 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 AMOS DIXON RECEIVES A THUNDERBOLT 169 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 FURTHER ADVENTURES OF MR. A. DJXON 176 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 POP ! 182 
 
CONTENTS. vii 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 PAGE 
 KARL SCHMERLTNG 195 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 OUT OF THE SHADOW . . . 207 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 MISS SOPHIA GARR ENGAGES IN THE STUDY OF THE LAW . ^. 221 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE GALA AFTEUNOON . . 233 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE INTERIORS OF TWO MINDS 244 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 STOCKS 253 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 A LONE STRUGGLE 260 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 IN THE LISTS 272" 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 UP THE STEEPS WITH GLOVERSON 284 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 AMOS DIXON PROVIDES FOR TWO PERSONS .... 302 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 AT THE GRAVE v . 316 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 AT THE ALTAR 
 
Vlll CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XSXIV. 
 
 PAGE 
 HENRY COMES S . . 343 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 DRIFTING ' . 346 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 FINALE, IN WHICH THE WHOLE FIRM PARTICIPATES . . 357 
 
GLOVERSON AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE HOUSE OP GLOVERSON AND CO. WITH ESPECIAL 
 REFERENCE TO ITS CASHIER. 
 
 AMOS DIXON, aged twenty-eight years and one month, 
 was neither tall nor short. He was one of that kind of 
 people who always look like somebody else one of 
 those who, at an evening sociable, being present, would 
 be forgotten ; and, being absent, would be inquired about. 
 In fact, Amos Dixon was calculated to be, like an ac- 
 quaintance of Voltaire's, conspicuous by his absence. 
 
 But the Great Publisher of men and sparrows does 
 not stereotype his editions. So, of course, Amos Dixon 
 could lay claim to certain little peculiarities, which cir- 
 cumscribed him, as a great irregular polygon, within the 
 circumference of his own circle. 
 
 For instance, the clothes of Amos Dixon more than 
 any in your fine descriptions seemed a parr of him. 
 No matter who his merchant tailor, the back of his coat 
 invariably led a nomadic existence, camping anywhere 
 but on the place for which it was designed. Those 
 creases, characteristic of the front parts of ready-made 
 pantaloons, when new, were always observable upon the 
 
10 GLOVEHSOX 
 
 legs of Amos ; remaining there, if left by the pressing- 
 iron, or coming of their own accord, on some mysterious 
 principle, akin to that by which lint settles along the 
 inner seams of a garment. 
 
 He had never asked for the lucrative place he now 
 filled. He had served in lesser capacities, so long and 
 faithfully, that it had been fairly thrust upon him. Amos 
 Dixon had lately been appointed cashier of that prosper- 
 ous jobbing-house, Gloverson & Co.'s, Front Street, 
 a firm at this day too well known in San Francisco, and 
 indeed, throughout all the Pacific States, to need any ex- 
 tended mention here. In its particular line, that house 
 was then, as it is now, ensconced behind the Ossa and 
 Pelion of Alcatraz and Fort Point one of the demi- 
 gods of trade ; and Amos Dixon (ruining utterly, as he 
 does, this classical figure) was its monetary hierophant, 
 and occupied the highest and most confidential tripod 
 in its counting-room. 
 
 It might have been design, or it might have been a 
 freak ; or, as strange as it may seem, it might have been 
 downright modesty, on the part of Mr. Gloverson, the 
 head of the firm, that he had never, even in the presence 
 of his cashier, alluded to his silent partner or partners. 
 The business was done, and the books were kept, in the 
 name of Gloverson & Co., from year to year ; and that 
 was the end of it. Some people affirmed that the " Co." 
 was a New York house in the same line of trade ; others 
 contended that fat old Andrew Gloverson was the whole 
 firm himself; adding, jocosely, that he was certainly big 
 enough. Mr. Dixon, however, having a shrewd idea that 
 there was no mystery whatever in the matter, minded 
 his own business and did his work to the best of his 
 ability. 
 
AXD HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 11 
 
 And here he is alone in his little room on Clary 
 Street, after business hours on a Saturday afternoon. 
 This apartment of bed, table, and wash-stand, he rented 
 when he could afford no other ; and he cannot afford to 
 leave it now, for the precious memories he would leave 
 with it. He is, sitting with one hand under his chin, and 
 his elbow on the table. 
 
 Looking into the kindly eyes and not otherwise re- 
 markable face of Amos Dixon, you would not at first 
 imagine that the poor fellow is deformed. Should you, 
 indeed, penetrate several inches beneath his wrinkled 
 and ill-setting waistcoat, you would not be any the wiser. 
 
 Yet Amos Dixon is deformed, with a deformity more 
 frequent than the sympathy for it. The hand of the 
 world is raised oftener against unfortunates with his pe- 
 culiar affliction than against all your diables boiteux, your 
 wicked dwarfs, and your long-suffering hunchbacks. 
 
 Amos Dixon is afflicted with a large heart. 
 
 Still, with his hand under his chin, he thinks how his 
 present success would have comforted and delighted his 
 poor mother now dead. Then he thinks of the early 
 struggles succeeding his advent in California, and how 
 glad he is that she had never known of his being pen- 
 niless and friendless so far away from her. Then he 
 thinks of his first connection as porter with the house of 
 Gloverson & Co. ; then, how artful and clever it is in 
 him to have retained this little room, in the back street, 
 where, in the time gone by, he had written letters to his 
 mother, and read hers over and over again. 
 
 A loud thump brought the foregoing revery to a sud- 
 den close. Amos jumped to his feet, and opened the 
 door of his little Toom. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Dixon, what on earth ails you ? . I've 
 
12 GLOVERSON 
 
 knocked three times," said his little landlady, " yes, three 
 mortal times, and here's Aunty Owen waiting down in 
 the yard all this while. She wouldn't come in. She 
 wants to see you. I think she's in trouble." 
 
 " In trouble ! " exclaimed Amos. 
 
 " Yes now stop, Mr. Dixon, and put on your coat, 
 and take your hat. What will the neighbors think ? 
 There, now go ! " 
 
 " Good afternoon, Aunty Owen," said Amos, as he 
 reached the yard, and looked inquiringly into the face of 
 an old woman a face in whose soft wrinkles any one 
 might read, even through the cloud there, a mild, homily 
 on loving-kindness. What must have been the light 
 brown hair of the spring-time, was still the light brown 
 hair of the winter of her years. The snows of age had 
 drifted sparsely above a brow of so much sunshine. 
 
 " Good afternoon," repeated Amos ; " how much shall 
 I let you have ? This is all I have with me. Will it be 
 enough till Monday ? " 
 
 " It isn't money, Mr. Dixon, it isn't money," and a 
 tear trembled on the lid of Aunty Owen. " Will you 
 come home with me, Mr. Dixon ? " 
 
 Without saying a word, Amos opened the gate and 
 closed it behind the old lady and himself, as they issued 
 forth upon the sidewalk. 
 
 On the same little street, but on the opposite side, and 
 at a distance of about a block, they entered another 
 gate, and the little brown house which was the home of 
 Aunty Owen. 
 
 " Sit in that chair, Mr. Dixon ; that is the one Henry 
 likes the best and I know he is coming. There, no, 
 no ; no money, Mr. Dixon. Henry always leaves me 
 plenty. He is freight-clerk, now ; he will be purser of 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 13 
 
 the steamer, next year, if he if Oh ! Henry is coin- 
 ing, don't you think ? " 
 
 " Certainly. Calm yourself, Aunty Owen. Henry 
 ^will come." 
 
 " How much I thank you, sir ; that was what I wanted 
 of you ; I wanted to hear you say that but," and there 
 was a deeper cloud passed over the old lady's face, 
 " but the steamer was never so late before. You are 
 sure she has not been heard from yet ? " 
 
 " Yes, Aunty Owen ; but I will go to the office of the 
 company this very afternoon and learn all I can." 
 
 " God bless you, Mr. Dixon yes, Henry is coming, I 
 am sure Henry is coming." 
 
 " I don't know why it should happen so," mused Amos 
 aloud, " but I was thinking of my own mother just as 
 you called for me this afternoon." 
 
 " Your own mother ? Where is she ? " 
 
 " In Heaven, I believe she is dead." 
 
 " Dead ? dead ! Somehow, I am afraid of that word 
 lately. Ah ! what will my Henry do when I am gone ? 
 And he is coming, don't you think ? For he's the only 
 child that's left me. I know what it is to be separated 
 from my son, but death," and a tremor that seemed to 
 commence in her voice, spread over Aunty Owen's entire 
 frame, " death is a stranger separation do you feel 
 chilly, too, Mr. Dixon ? " 
 
 "There, there," said Amos, rising to go ; " do not let 
 it trouble you any more. The steamer may have been 
 telegraphed by this time. I will go to the office and find 
 out." 
 
 Aunty Owen watched him till he was out of sight. 
 
 At the office of the company, nothing had been heard 
 of the missing steamer. Amos could see that the agent 
 
14 GLOVERS OX 
 
 endeavored to conceal his anxiety. Returning toward 
 Aunty Owen's, the poor fellow was studying intently how 
 he could comfort the old lady without being guilty of 
 falsehood, when, on Market Street, he came very near 
 colliding with a young lady of about thirty summers, 
 who was coming in an opposite direction. Even then, 
 he did not look up, till he was fairly pulled up by the ears, 
 figuratively speaking, for a voice said : 
 
 " How do you do, Mr. Dixon ? " 
 
 He now seemed to recollect that he had seen some- 
 thing trying to get out of his way ; and the first act of 
 his returning presence of mind was to understand the 
 lady to say : 
 
 " What are you doing, Mr. Dixon ? " 
 
 " That's it what am I doing ! Excuse me, I 
 never " 
 
 Here followed a host of apologies, and, after the apol- 
 ogies, more consciousness. 
 
 " Why, Miss Garr ! " exclaimed Amos, for the first time 
 recognizing a slight acquaintance. 
 
 " No apology is necessary, Mr. Dixon. The offense 
 would have been in your passing without looking at me," 
 said the lady, with a seductive smile. 
 
 " You are very kind, Miss Garr, but you see " 
 
 " I tell you it is no matter whatever ; but, to make 
 up, you must come a ways with me." 
 
 " Really, Miss Garr " - 
 
 "Not another word^I command you !" interposed Mr. 
 Dixon's slight acquaintance, in the manner of a queen of 
 Babylon. " Come right along, sir." 
 
 Amos saw an excuse for delaying the bad news he 
 must bear to Aunty Owen, and obeyed. The two 
 proceeded across Montgomery and down Second Street 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 15 
 
 Miss Sophia Garr had confided to a particular friend, 
 on the very day of her introduction to Mr. Dixon, that she 
 looked upon him as " a rising young man." In fact, she 
 had a higher opinion of his position and prospects, than 
 did Amos himself. 
 
 Now this was perfectly natural. Had not Miss Sophia 
 Garr come, in her solitary maidenhood, from the bleak 
 hills of Maine, for the gold that is supposed to be hidden 
 in the bleak hills of California? She could not mine for 
 it, it is true, in the gulches and river-beds, owing to a 
 popular prejudice against woman's rights ; but, then, 
 there was a liberal school fund to delve in. In the horti- 
 culture of the young idea, she saw her silver mine, and in 
 the affections of men, " a place for the gold where they 
 fine it." 
 
 As a teacher, Miss Garr had succeeded in laying by 
 quite a little sum of money, during the six years of her 
 residence on the shores of the Pacific ; but, though she 
 had " prospected " assiduously all these seasons, her gold 
 mining had as yet been unsuccessful. The affections of 
 men she had come to consider more like quicksilver ; 
 though she still hoped to find the hundred-and-fifty-pound 
 ingot of a husband. 
 
 Miss Sophia Garr v, ore ready-made cloaks. 
 
 There are people in San Francisco who shop and 
 promenade and reign on the cheaper thoroughfares, as 
 Kearny and Second Streets ; scarcely ever appearing on 
 the fashionable Boulevard des Italiens of the Pacific. 
 Miss Garr showed her genius for combination, in that 
 she shopped on Second Street, and promenaded Mont- 
 gomery. 
 
 As to figure, Sophia was only moderately proportioned. 
 The California winds had not dealt tenderly with her 
 
16 GLOVERSON 
 
 complexion. Her lips were thin, her nose sharp ; and 
 her eyes looked as if they had been tanned to match her 
 face. To sum up all, Miss Garr was not pretty. But what 
 did that matter to her ? She was in the conservative 
 darkness of so many of her sex : she did not know it. 
 
 " You are going to call upon me, of course, Mr. Dixon," 
 continued the subject of the foregoing description. " You 
 don't know how anxious I am to see more of you." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, yes," exclaimed Amos, suddenly roused 
 again from his thoughts of Aunty Owen. 
 
 Turning down Folsom Street, they pursued their way, 
 talking not the airy nothings of ordinary converse. No, 
 this was real pick-axe work to Miss Sophia Garr. She 
 was " prospecting " for her future gold mine, and her 
 hundred-and-fifty -pound ingot. 
 
 They finally parted before the door of one of those 
 princely mansions in that quarter of the city, Miss Garr 
 having iterated her request for Mr. Dixon to call upon 
 her. 
 
 After she had entered, Amos turned and noted the 
 house and grounds Attentively. "Well," said he to him- 
 self, " there is one thing I am sure of, my new friend lives 
 in fine style an elegant house, an elegant house ! " 
 
 At that moment, a little wild bird from an acacia, in 
 front of the house, set up a song that filled the whole 
 lawn with a lovely staccato of crystal echoes. It was 
 sweeter than the elaborate efforts of pipe or viol, because 
 God's own minstrelsy, by a troubadour of nature. 
 
 Now Amos was not at all given to poetical things, and 
 probably never before in his life had noticed the song of 
 a wild bird. But there was something so exquisite in 
 this ; breaking in, as it did, on the stillness of a summer 
 afternoon ; rising from the little throat, a full fountain 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 17 
 
 of glorious music, scattering its spray of melody every- 
 where, that even Amos stopped and listened, and, to this 
 day, he has not forgotten the pleasant thrill it gave 
 him. 
 
 Turning leisurely back Folsom Street, the subject of 
 Aunty Owen's anxiety again took possession of his mind. 
 He could still see, in imagination, the poor old woman 
 looking after him from the door of the little brown house, 
 just as his own mother had looked tearfully after him, 
 when he had taken leave of her for the long journey to 
 this golden land, years ago. There might be better news 
 by this time. The steamer might have beea telegraphed. 
 Clinging to this ' mere shred of hope, Amos pursued his 
 way back, through the labyrinth of skeets, to the 
 steamship office. 
 
18 GLOVERSON 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 OLD FRIENDS. 
 
 THE succeeding Monday morning was as sunny and 
 cheerful as all summer mornings are in California. At 
 an office window in Montgomery Street, large piles of 
 gold and " greenbacks " were already displayed. Be- 
 hind these was also displayed, at a desk, the short, 
 wiry figure of .a man, in his rapt eagerness, climb- 
 ing rather than poring over a large Sales-book. The 
 sun, streaming through the gilt legend, " George Lang, 
 Stock and Money Broker," on the Tjindow, gave a 
 metallic tinge to the sallowness of this man, and es- 
 pecially lit up the campaign going on in what might 
 be termed the Low Countries of his weazen face 
 that is, his compressed lips bent, in mighty struggle, 
 to meet the tip of his long-peaked nose. The parched 
 border-land of the upper lip was sparsely wooded by a 
 heather of scrubby moustache, which served all the pur- 
 pose of bristling chevaux de frise, in repressing forays 
 from either side. So the nose never quite reached the 
 under lip, and the under lip never got quite across the 
 border to the nose. It was a moment of desperate con- 
 flict when an armistice was sounded thus: 
 
 " Good morning, Mr. Shallop." 
 
 " Good morning, sir," and the belligerent lips of Mr. 
 Shallop parted in a knowing smile. 
 
 This latter greeting was addressed to the handsomer 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 19 
 
 of the two gentlemen who had just entered, arm in arm, 
 the one with black eyes and elegant moustache, 
 Mr. Nelson Shallop's employer ; in a word, Mr. George 
 Lang himself. The eyes of Shallop, the faithful clerk, 
 stealing restlessly over his Sales-book, now careered from 
 the face of Mr. Lang to that.of the tall, slender gentle- 
 man who accompanied him. The cast in one of Mr. 
 Shallop's eyes, at this moment, was plainly visible. 
 
 "Anything special, Mr. Lang?" and the same- bellig- 
 erent lips parted again with the same knowing smile. 
 
 " No, not now, Mr. Shallop," replied the stock and 
 money broker, cashing his clerk's smile at sight, with an 
 approving nod ; and Mr. Lang ushered the tall, slender 
 gentleman into the back office. 
 
 " Karl, my good fellow," said the broker, closing the 
 door of the little sanctum, smiling, and pointing to a 
 most luxurious lounge, " sit down, sit down ; we shall be 
 alone here." Taking a seat opposite him, Mr. Lang 
 continued, " You can, as I have said, soon make yourself 
 rich in this country, with your little fortune of twenty 
 thousand dollars, but," here the broker puffed two or 
 three times at his cigar, " but, Karl, let me recommend 
 you to use great caution." 
 
 " George," said the tall, slender gentleman, removing 
 his cigar from his thin lips, " George, you know I did 
 not come to America to get rich. I sold my vineyard 
 in the Rheinpfalz, and came here because it is the land 
 of liberty the home of Washington." 
 
 George Lang fell to making smoke rings, as he 
 thought to himself how, in the old Burschen days, at 
 the University of Heideloerg, he had talked the same 
 talk with this same friend and fellow student, about free- 
 dom and all that, and joined voices with him, too, in 
 
20 GLOVERSON 
 
 those sentimental melodies of the Fatherland. Then, 
 with one fell breath, blowing destruction to all the smoke- 
 rings he had made, he wondered how he could have been 
 how any one can be so visionary as to refuse to 
 turn an honest penny. 
 
 " Karl von Schrnerling/'^said the broker, looking his 
 old friend curiously in the face, " you are a walking 
 student-song a tangible spirit of the Beer-Kneipe. 
 You always did speak better English than I do, so I 
 don't see that your hunting tour across the Plains, or 
 your life in the bustle of New York has done you the 
 least bit of good. You are a dreamer, and you know it." 
 
 " Be what I may, George, I am no longer a von. I 
 have left my title with my barony. Who would have a 
 coronet in the country of Franklin, unless it were, like 
 his, wrought of thunder-bolts ? " 
 
 " Karl Schmerling, then ! " The laugh which accom- 
 panied this exclamation was just a little forced on the 
 part of Lang. " But citizen Schmerling would not wish 
 his money to lie idle ? " 
 
 " No," said Karl, with great frankness, " and it has not 
 been idle, only since I brought it to California. I was 
 very glad to get six per cent, a year of a responsible 
 house in New York. I could have got only four per 
 cent, in Frankfort-on-the-Main." 
 
 " Why, my dear fellow ! " exclaimed the broker, and a 
 sudden light spread over his countenance at this inno- 
 cence in monetary affairs. There is no generous rain 
 behind the summer lightning of some climates; and 
 there was something peculiarly dry and cheerless in the 
 bright black eyes of George Lang at this moment. 
 " Why, my dear fellow," he exclaimed, " you should not 
 be contented with less than two per cent, a month in this 
 land of gold." 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 21 
 
 " Per centum, George, is a piece of Latin that always 
 bores me. I don't think you will find it in Horace, or 
 anywhere out of an author of the Brazen Age." 
 
 At the word " Brazen," the stock broker started 
 slightly. It might have been at the shadow of his own 
 thought, however, as he saw no substance for his appre- 
 hension in the face of his friend ; or could it have been 
 the quick knock at the door which startled Mr. Lang ? 
 
 " Reg'lar down ! Opposition gone up ten ! " exclaimed 
 Mr. Nelson Shallop, who, having given the quick knock 
 aforesaid, had stuck his bristling head through a crack 
 in the door. 9 
 
 " What ? Anything heard from the steamer ? " and 
 the broker sprang to his feet. 
 
 " The revenue cutter's returned, sir," replied Mr. Shal- 
 lop, in his brisk, business way, " and has seen or heard 
 nothing of her." 
 
 " Is all our stock in the Regular line sold ? " demanded 
 Lang. 
 
 " No, sir." 
 
 " Sell it for anything you can get. Here Shallop, 
 wait a moment," and Lang lowered his voice, so that his 
 clerk only heard him say, " keep all the Opposition we 
 have. Needn't buy any more; we have enough." 
 
 " Very well, sir," and Mr. Shallop was gone. 
 
 " It is a sad thing to think of," observed the broker, 
 seating himself opposite Schmerling again, " but you see 
 this missing steamer is of the Regular line, and, if she is 
 really lost, a great deal of money will be made on -the 
 stock of the Opposition line." 
 
 " I hope she will not be lost," rejoined Karl. 
 
 " vSo do I," said Lang. 
 
 There was more smoking than talking done for a little 
 
22 GLOYERSOX 
 
 while now. Mr. George Lang was the first to break the 
 silence. 
 
 " There are many ways of making money very fast 
 here," he said, " the mines, for instance. You have 
 certainly heard, Karl, of the sudden fortunes made in 
 California mines. Now, there is our mine, the * Dor- 
 cas,' I could probably get you a chance in it." 
 
 " Yes, yes, George ; but mining seems so unnatural to 
 me uprooting God*s beautiful earth. I cannot help 
 connecting it with the work of evil genfi. There is cer- 
 tainly something demoniac about it." 
 
 " But the ' Dorcas ' mine, Karl, the ' Dorcas ' " 
 
 There came another quick knock, and Mr. Shallop, 
 thrusting his head and one hand through a small open- 
 ing in the door of the private office, said in his rasping 
 voice, " Here's a dispatch, sir." 
 
 " What ? " asked Lang ; " the steamer telegraphed ? " 
 
 " Guess not," was Mr. Shallop's knowing reply, as he 
 retired. 
 
 George Lang tore open the envelope, and, hurriedly 
 reading the contents, passed the dispatch over to Mr. 
 Schmerling. It contained the startling information from 
 the manager of the " Dorcas " mine, that a ledge had 
 been " struck " so amazingly rich as to treble the value 
 of the original stock. 
 
 It was rather fortunate for the broker that Karl 
 Schmerling was not acquainted with the hand-writing 
 of Mr. Nelson Shallop ; for there was a striking resemb- 
 lance between the business calligraphy of the dispatch, 
 and that of the Sales-book in the front office. But Karl, 
 knowing nothing of this, of course congratulated his old 
 friend on this good fortune. Whereupon Lang volun- 
 teered the further information that he had bought into 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 23 
 
 the " Dorcas," only the week before, that he hoped soon 
 to have a controlling influence in the company, and that 
 he would then give Schmerling an opportunity to in- 
 crease his little fortune of twenty thousand dollars. 
 
 " You remember, George," said Schmerling, knocking 
 the ashes from his cigar, and changing his position on 
 the lounge, " you remember the words of our German 
 song, ' Where wine grows there is life.' Now, I have 
 been thinking seriously of buying a vineyard in the So- 
 noma Valley, and of raising up a little Fatherland of my 
 own." 
 
 " Do you intend to visit Sonoma ? " asked Lang, as 
 he threw himself on to a settee close by, much easier in 
 body than in mind. 
 
 " Yes, and I should like to have you go with me. Can 
 you go ? " 
 
 George felt easier now. 
 
 " I cannot leave my business just at present," he said, 
 " but I shall take a vacation in two or three weeks. In 
 the meantime, I will promise you amusement here in the 
 city. You shall go with me and see a young lady friend 
 of mine, who, like yourself, is an enthusiast in music ; 
 you shall join our Philharmonic Society ; in fact, I will 
 give you plenty to do." 
 
 "Under these circumstances," Karl rejoined, rising 
 and taking one or two turns about the room, " I think I 
 can wait for you." Then he paused by the side of the 
 recumbent George, striking with his cane at a cloud 
 of smoke which had preceded the stock broker's last 
 friendly eruption. Puffing silently at the stump of his 
 own cigar, Karl stood with his eyes fixed straight before 
 him, the smoke-wreaths festooning the avenue through 
 which his thoughts went out into revery. 
 
24 GLOVERSON 
 
 Tall, slender, and graceful, too, Karl Schmerlmg was 
 a pretty picture of his type of manhood. In his light 
 German hair, and the veiled ruddiness of his transparent 
 complexion, taken together with the mild dreaminess of" 
 his eyes, there was something suggestive of the mellow 
 tints, and hazy repose of an autumn scene in his own 
 Rhine -land. 
 
 "I should like to know what you are thinking of, 
 Karl," observed George Lang, after watching him atten- 
 tively a few moments. " You are probably wondering 
 how it is that the smoke gets whiter as your cigar gets 
 shorter." 
 
 " No, I wasn't ; but, now you remind me of it, what is 
 your theory ? " 
 
 " Why, it's the poetry of the weed ! Don't blessings 
 brighten as they take their flight ? " 
 
 " And you remind me of another thing," Karl added, 
 laughing ; " that you used to write poetry. You remem- 
 ber how I like it. The intellects of men have always 
 marched grandest to rhythm." 
 
 The broker shook his head and smoked vigorously. 
 "This man is worse than he was at the University," 
 thought Lang to himself. " As still as you keep it, my 
 sly saint, you have had a disastrous affair with some one 
 of your own peasant women ; or, may be he has only been 
 disappointed in love with some worthier object," added 
 Mr. Lang, correcting himself. " At any rate, no grown 
 man is really and honestly sentimental who has not 
 sinned or been sinned against ! " 
 
 And it may be here remarked that Mr. Lang, to his 
 dying day, believed himself right in his theory about his 
 friend; vacillating from one to the other of the foregoing 
 explanations, as to him for the moment seemed justifi- 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 25 
 
 able by the strange talk or conduct of Schmerling. 
 There are many dreamy people in Germany and out of 
 it, whose minds have not been unhinged by any great 
 shame or sorrow. If, however, a belief in one or the 
 other of Mr. Lang's suppositions will add to the better 
 understanding of Karl, the philosophical reader is wel- 
 come to it. Such as Schmerling was in California, he 
 will appear to you in these pages. What happened to 
 him elsewhere is not within the scope of this history. 
 
 Karl laid his hand upon the broker's shoulder, " Come 
 now, George, own that you still write poetry. You can 
 not have forgotten. It is part of the soul, you know. In 
 y6ur own despite, you must have reveries that are un- 
 written poems." 
 
 " To tell the truth, Karl, I have not lately had much 
 time for that sort of thing ; but," continued Lang, spring- 
 ing to his feet, " I have an idea a plot, in fact, by 
 which we can take a young lady friend of mine by storm. 
 You improvise music, you know, and sing like like 
 Saint Cecilia. You shall bring my angel down to me, 
 to me, you understand, and not to yourself." 
 
 " Well," said Karl, laughing, " how is this all to be 
 done ? " 
 
 " Why, you, my improvisatore, are to get up something 
 new for the evening of our visit." 
 
 " Then, George, you write me a song and I'll sing it." 
 
 u To your own music ? " 
 
 I will try." 
 
 " Done," said Lang, preparing to start for the Board 
 of Brokers. " What shall be our subject ? " 
 
 " Friendship," exclaimed Karl, shaking hands as they 
 parted, after the kindly German manner of other days. 
 
 " Friendship it is," said George Lang. 
 
26 GLOVERSON 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A SOCIAL EVENING. 
 
 AMOS DIXON used every means he could think of to 
 allay the fears of Aunty Owen. No steamer of that 
 line, he assured the poor old lady, had ever been lost in 
 a storm. If the missing ship had been burned, she 
 would have been seen or heard from somewhere along 
 the coast. She had probably broken a shaft, etc., etc. 
 
 " Well, it must be so," Aunty Owen would say ; " it 
 must be so, and and Henry is coming." 
 
 She always watched Amos from the door of the little 
 brown house, and, when he was out of sight, cried a 
 great deal more than the honest fellow imagined. Amos, 
 himself, for all the cheerful face he put on in her pres- 
 ence, spent most of his time out of business hours in 
 inquiry about the missing steamer. At last his anxiety 
 became almost unbearable. One evening, after leaving 
 Aunty Owen, he went to his own little room and made a 
 hasty, careless toilette. On the street again he bent his 
 steps toward what he "termed the elegant house. " I 
 must get my mind off this thing," thought Amos. " I 
 will go and call on Miss Garr." 
 
 Proceeding down Folsom Street, a long train of 
 mute ratiocination ended audibly thus : " She has said 
 she would be glad to see me ; " and hearing music in the 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 27 
 
 mansion to which he was destined, he continued, " In 
 there I shall surely find, at least, temporary relief for 
 these weary thoughts." 
 
 A servant answered the ring of Amos at the door of 
 the " elegant house." 
 
 " Is Miss Garr in ? " 
 
 " Miss Garr, 1 believe, is here this evening." 
 
 " I wish to see her." 
 
 Noticing a slight hesitation on the part of the servant, 
 Amos gave his name, coupled with a request to be shown 
 into a suitable place of waiting. 
 
 With some little trepidation the servant threw open 
 the drawing-room door, and announced : " Mr. Dixon ! " 
 
 Four faces were immediately turned towards the vis- 
 itor. The only one of them that Amos remembered 
 ever to have seen before namely, that of Miss Sophia 
 Garr mantled with a very deep blush. That lady, 
 however, arose and shook hands with Amos, who stood 
 considerably embarrassed by the manifest sensation his 
 entrance had caused. 
 
 " Miss Clayton," said she, " let me introduce to you 
 my friend, Mr. Dixon ; Mr. Lang and Mr. Schmerling, 
 Mr. Dixon." 
 
 Amos was seated. A lull pervaded the whole com- 
 pany, whose music and laughter, a few moments ago, had 
 reached even the street. Amos observed this, and could 
 not resist the conclusion that he was the cause. He felt, 
 too, just a little piqued at such a reception, after such 
 urgent invitation. 
 
 " Well, Miss Garr," he said, but addressing the whole 
 company, " I have taken the earliest opportunity to 
 comply with your earnest and friendly request to call 
 upon you." 
 
28 GLOVERSON 
 
 Another marked sensation. 
 
 " You are very kind, Mr. Dixon," was Miss Garr's un- 
 easy response, " but there is an unfortunate mistake 
 here." 
 
 " Mistake ! How, Miss Garr ? " demanded Amos, his 
 indignation rising at such disingenuousness. 
 
 "I do not live here, Mr. Dixon; this is Mrs. Clay- 
 ton's." 
 
 " Why, I certainly accompanied you to this very door 
 last Saturday afternoon." 
 
 " Certainly you did, Mr. Dixon. I come here three 
 times a week to give Miss Clayton private lessons in 
 French, and I happen to be here," continued Miss 
 Sophia Garr, with some flourish, " I happen to be here, 
 to-night, at the invitation of my pupil, whose mother and 
 I were old friends in the State of Maine." 
 
 " Very well, Miss Garr " 
 
 " I beg your forgiveness, Mr. Dixon. I will explain 
 to you privately how I happened to forget to give you 
 my present address." 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen, I I I beg your pardon," 
 stammered Amos, as he arose to go. 
 
 " No, no," said Miss Clayton, approaching Amos with 
 a grace, dignified and very lovely withal, " no, Mr. 
 Dixon. Miss Garr was here when Mr. Lang came 
 to herald the arrival of his old friend and fellow student. 
 She was then invited to be present at the musical treat 
 we are having this evening ; and Mr. Dixon, as her 
 friend, will also do me the favor to share it with us." 
 
 " Really, I think I'd better not, really." 
 
 " I insist," broke in Miss Garr ; " or, that is, I almost 
 insist on your remaining. I am so anxious to explain 
 away this sad, sad mistake." 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 29 
 
 " You would not, Mr. Dixon," added Miss Clayton, " put 
 such a slight upon the musical abilities of Mr. Schmer- 
 ling, as to leave before you have heard him." 
 
 There was a music in the voice, which said this, that 
 had more to do in persuading the confused Amos to re- 
 main, than anything he expected from the elegant 
 languor of Schmerling, whom he now regarded for the 
 first time. It would not be a pretty use of language to 
 say that Amos was charmed by this young lady, as 
 smaller animals are said to be charmed by -very hateful- 
 looking reptiles ; nor would it be true. Because it was 
 the kindly tones of Miss Clayton's voice, alone, that set 
 the foolish fellow to thinking of the bird song he had 
 heard on the lawn, that Saturday afternoon ; and that 
 but there is no use of trying to explain it ; he would 
 have done almost anything that voice had told him to do. 
 And before we blame him, we must consider that he had 
 not been out in company very much, and did not know 
 before, that there were such voices in the world. 
 
 Miss Clayton looked exceedingly pleased, when Amos 
 was again seated. She had been impressed with a 
 natural honesty about him. She knew he would have 
 gone away sadly mortified and grieved at the inno- 
 cent faux pas the schoolmistress had led him into ; and 
 she had determined that he should go away, feeling just 
 the contrary. In a word, Amos Dixon had excited the 
 pity of Amelia Clayton. 
 
 The sallow face of Miss Sophia Garr now wore a 
 dubious expression. She was debating with herself 
 whether, after this, she would not have to give up the 
 " rising young man," and commence " prospecting " in 
 some other direction. Her face grew calmer, as she 
 thought of the line of defense she would make before 
 
80 GLOVERSON 
 
 Amos and did make that very evening. The fact is, 
 Miss Garr had for some time nursed a scheme by which 
 she expected to be invited to make the elegant house 
 her permanent home. The illness of Mrs. Clayton, 
 Amelia's mother, had unfortunately interposed a barrier 
 to the speedy fulfillment of Miss Sophia's plans ; and 
 Mr. Dixon had called, before Miss Garr had been in- 
 vited to take possession of the home she coveted. Amelia 
 knew nothing of the domestic blessing thus preparing for 
 her ; so, of course, it would be improper to make the 
 explanation to Mr. Dixon in her hearing ; and hence the 
 very distressingly embarrassing condition of Miss Garr 
 in the foregoing scene. 
 
 It is true that the schoolmistress had no definite idea 
 as yet, how she should secure a lodging in the elegant 
 house. But she hoped she would, and that was enough 
 for her. That was this prim maiden's idiosyncrasy. 
 What she hoped she believed. " Hope," she would say 
 to her old friend from the State of Maine, Mrs. Clayton, 
 " hope is worth twenty-five dollars a month ; and my 
 dear Mrs. Clayton, many of us less favored beings have 
 scarcely any other income." 
 
 All this time, George Lang had sat upon a sofa in 
 polite silence ; his handsome figure posed, so as to dis- 
 play the faultless set of his waistcoat and the graceful 
 hanging of his watch chain, for Mr. Lang always re- 
 garded these little effects in the presence of ladies. His 
 black eyes were rarely so sparkling, being full, then, of 
 repressed merriment ; and it was not usual, even, for him 
 so to finger his irreproachable moustache, for he was, of 
 a truth, pulling it with all his force drawing out pain 
 that he might keep in laughter. 
 
 At the turn of affairs, brought about by Amelia's gen- 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 31 
 
 erous diplomacy, the scene was no longer amusing to Mr. 
 Lang. So he was the first to break the silence : " Now, 
 Karl, give us that ' Moonlight Sonata ' of Beethoven, 
 which, you know, is only yourself done into music." 
 
 Schmerling was very thankful for this timely sugges- 
 tion. He had felt anything but merriment at the discom- 
 fiture of Amos. Although ignorant of it at the time, Mr. 
 Dixon had. indeed, made a friend in the warm-hearted 
 German. Karl Schmerling, moreover, had that vulgar 
 way, so rare with fashionable young ladies, of going to 
 the piano, when he really knew he was wanted there, 
 without being asked twenty times. Miss Sophia Garr 
 observed this reprehensible conduct on the part of the 
 visitor, and vented her sense -of the impropriety, sotto 
 voce, in the kind of French which she had learned at the 
 Female Academy in Maine, and now taught to Miss 
 Clayton, at one dollar per hour. 
 
 " C'est hieng cooreoo, ce Allymand! " 
 
 This confidential elegance was lost on the young lady 
 to whom it was addressed. Miss Clayton was already 
 absorbed in the divine harmonies of the great blind Seer. 
 Karl was a musician in his own despite. All instruments 
 were nearly alike to him. It was another way he had 
 of talking. Music was the best expression of his na- 
 ture. 
 
 Indeed, the composition was not new to Amelia Clay- 
 ton ; she herself, in fact, had studied it. But there was 
 something in it to-night, she had never heard before. 
 There was something new in it. She could read it now 
 as it really was and is a transcription of the great 
 Dreamer's soul. The music took complete possession of 
 player and hearers ; and the delicious grief of the dead 
 composer lived again. 
 
32 GLOVERSON 
 
 " Beautiful, beautiful ! " exclaimed every voice at once, 
 as Karl finished, turned about on the piano stool, and 
 faced the company. 
 
 In the lull which naturally succeeded, Miss Sophia 
 Garr thought she would patronize the musician who had 
 made such an impression. She would condescend to 
 show him that she spoke French. 
 
 " Parley voo Frangsay ? Commong se appel $a ? " she 
 asked, all smiles. 
 
 Karl had spoken French, as he had English, from 
 childhood ; but he failed to detect the language of Fene- 
 lon, in the incognito of Miss Garr's pronunciation. 
 
 " What, madam ? " said he, bending over the better to 
 hear. 
 
 " Commong se appel $a, la moosique ? " 
 
 " No, madam, I do not play it." 
 
 The lamentable ignorance of Karl had lost him the 
 good impression he had just made on Miss Garr, and she 
 was silent. 
 
 Amos now propounded a series of friendly questions 
 to Schmerling ; and the two were soon engaged in the 
 usual conversation of old Californians with new-comers ; 
 ending generally in certain wise observations in mete- 
 orology and climatology, and in the old Californian's 
 learning how the new Californian is pleased with Cali- 
 fornia. 
 
 In the mean time, George Lang and Amelia Clayton, 
 seated together on the sofa, are having a little talk of 
 their own, commencing thus upon the part of the last 
 named : 
 
 " How beautifully he plays, how beautifully ! I don't 
 think I ever saw a live baron before." 
 
 " Whist," said Mr. Lang, with a deprecatory motion 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 33 
 
 of that particular hand on which he wore his solitaire 
 diamond ring. " He must not know that I have told 
 you he is a baron. He has abandoned his title, and is 
 strangely sensitive on the subject. Why, I would as 
 soon have him know that I told you of his engagement 
 to a young lady of rank in his own country. Well, 
 there ! " exclaimed the broker, apparently much con- 
 fused. 
 
 " Then he is engaged ? " demanded Amelia. 
 
 " It seems to me, Miss Clayton," said Mr. Lang, simu- 
 lating still greater confusion, "it seems to me^as if I 
 could not keep anything from you, so please do not ask 
 me to betray the secret of my friend." 
 
 Mr. Lang congratulated himself that he had given out 
 Karl as engaged and not married, since she, whom he 
 was deceiving, might some time have occasion to ask 
 Schmerling about his wife. Her delicacy would now 
 prevent her speaking to him of his affianced. George 
 Lang further congratulated himself that he understood 
 and could manage Miss Clayton so well. 
 
 She looked at the piano, then at Karl, and repeated, 
 as if thinking aloud : " How beautifully he plays, how 
 beautifully!" 
 
 " And sings, too," added George. 
 
 " Do sing something, then. Mr. Schmerling," said 
 Amelia, in a louder voice. 
 
 " Yes, Karl, give us your song." 
 
 " You mean your song, George. You have set the 
 memories of our boyhood into poetry ; and I have only 
 fitted your beautiful words to a melody. You are the 
 Benvenuto Cellini, who wrought the master-piece ; I 
 merely placed it in the cabinet." 
 
 " Well, have it your own way ; only poetry is a little 
 
34 
 
 GLOVERSON 
 
 out of my line now." And George Lang did not look at 
 Amelia Clayton, for he knew she was looking at him. 
 
 Amos Dixon probably did not notice that the forego- 
 ing panegyric had been artfully extorted from the gener- 
 ous nature of Schmerling. He was too busily engaged 
 in stealing glances of admiration at Amelia, even while 
 Miss Garr was spreading her apologies and her mining 
 implements before him. He was thinking how good and 
 lovely Miss Clayton was, and wishing if there are such 
 people in society, that he had gone into society a great 
 deal more than he had ; and thinking, in a word, of any- 
 thing but Mr. Lang and his arts. Still, Mr. Dixon 
 could not help remarking a difference between the man- 
 ner of the poet and that of the musician; there was 
 something so quiet in the way Mr. Schmerling ap- 
 proached* and seated himself at the piano, and com- 
 menced playing this melody: * 
 
 Andante. 
 
 
 
 \ This song is also published in sheet-music, with an accompaniment 
 for the piano-forte. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 35 
 
 Then, without further prelude, Karl began the fol- 
 lowing 
 
 SONG OF FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Friendship is the perfect living, 
 
 Since it is of two in one: 
 For we live not, if we love not, 
 
 Or we love ourselves alone. 
 
 Lightest sunshine leans on shadow, 
 
 In its golden alchemy ; 
 And the star-lit sky of even 
 
 Shares its jewels with the sea. 
 
 So our grief, if we but share it, 
 
 With a loving breast and true, 
 Turns its stony weight of sorrow 
 
 To a golden joy for two. 
 
 Life is double; dust and spirit; 
 
 Ever two, forever one : 
 Walking in the slanting sunlight; 
 
 Casting shades beyond the sun. 
 
 Doubled is the joy divided: 
 
 Friendship is the arch complete 
 
 Is the rainbow arch and prism, 
 
 Where the rays of gladness meet ; 
 
 Meet and scatter, many-colored, 
 
 O'er the darkness of our way, 
 Light and beauty and the promise 
 
 Of to-morrow to to-day. 
 
 Of course, many compliment* followed, as there al- 
 ways should, after any performance in a polite drawing- 
 room. 
 
 " And you wrote this song, Mr. Lang ? " asked Amelia. 
 
 " Yes," answered he, in evident satisfaction at the 
 impression made, and his eyes, meeting those of Miss 
 Clayton, fell. " Yes," he said, " I have the honor." 
 
36 GLOVERSON 
 
 " It has a pretty vein of poetry," observed the metallic 
 arid discriminating Miss Garr. 
 
 " Pretty vain of poetry," echoed Amos Dixon, who 
 really thought he must say something ; the word " vein," 
 being spelled above, as it sounded to one or two of the 
 company at that moment. The fact is, the voice of 
 Amelia and the memory of the bird song, which he had 
 heard on the lawn, had become so confused in his mind, 
 that Mr. Dixon had been listening only to her part of 
 the conversation. 
 
 " But really," said Miss Clayton, instantly distracting 
 attention from Amos, " how shall I sufficiently praise your 
 composition, Mr. Schmerling ?" 
 
 " By praising the words," replied Karl. " Such verses 
 set themselves to music. In this instance, it was merely 
 carrying out the spirit of the song. The music is only 
 the necessary double of the words. If I had succeeded, 
 the result would have been a perfect friendship between 
 trochees and quavers." 
 
 " Yet, Mr. Schmerling," Amelia rejoined, " I should 
 have attributed the words to you, rather than to Mr. 
 Lang, if I ha*d not been told to the contrary." 
 
 " Indeed ! " thought Lang, slightly changing his position 
 on the sofa, " I brought this fellow here to show me off, 
 not to take all the honors ! " 
 
 "Why, Miss Clayton?" asked Karl. 
 
 "There is something so Germanesque about the 
 words." 
 
 " Germanesque ! " repeated Karl. " I suppose I might 
 take it as a compliment to my nation, if I did not think 
 it an injustice to your own. Americanesque, you should 
 rather call it. They are not all wooden nutmegs that 
 grow about your country's Castalia. Witness your Bryant 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 37 
 
 and Hawthorne. I have heard people call them Ger- 
 manesque, because, forsooth, they do not write like Eng- 
 lishmen or Frenchmen. No ; they are the true types of 
 American genius. They have thrown some of the pur- 
 ple haze of your magnificent autumns about your lan- 
 guage. What you call Germanesque, then, is nothing 
 but the glorious spirit of your Indian summers." 
 
 Karl had no sooner finished than the company were 
 startled by a quick, vigorous ringing at the door bell. 
 
 In a few moments after, an agitated- voice was heard 
 demanding of the servant : 
 
 " Is Mr. George Lang here ? " 
 
 " Yes," said the servant. 
 
 " Where ? In here ? " and the stranger a crisp, wea- 
 zen-faced little man, with a cast in one of his restless 
 eyes rushed unannounced into the parlor. 
 
 George Lang had arisen at the mention of his own 
 name by a familiar voice, and now demanded, " What's 
 the matter?" 
 
 "Here, read that!" said the little man, whom the 
 acute reader has already recognized as Mr. Nelson Shal- 
 lop. 
 
 Lang endeavored to repress his own feelings, as he 
 ead the paper in his hand. Looking up at last, he said, 
 as composedly as he could, " Why, there was no use of 
 getting so excited. Miss Clayton, I beg pardon for the 
 way in which this gentleman has ushered himself into 
 your drawing-room." 
 
 " Nothing to get excited about ! " exclaimed Mr. Shal- 
 lop, forgetting himself in his emotion. " Why, ypu are 
 worth at least twenty-five thousand dollars more to-night, 
 than you were this morning ! " 
 
38 GLOVERSON 
 
 "What of that, sir?" and the look which the broker 
 gave his clerk was not pleasant to behold. " Karl," said 
 Lang, turning to Schmerling with a smile, " Karl, it is 
 only another dispatch from the manager of the ' Dorcas ' 
 mine ; and, ladies," added Mr. Lang, continuing his smile 
 for the benefit of Miss Clayton and Miss Garr, but look- 
 ing chiefly toward the latter, " and, ladies, will you ever 
 excuse this unfortunate intrusion of my business, here, 
 of all places? I am sorry, however, that it claims my 
 immediate attention. Besides, we are all anxious about 
 the missing steamer." 
 
 Notwithstanding this speech, there was something like 
 admired disorder in the breaking up of the company. 
 George Lang did not wait for the congratulations of 
 Schmerling, but followed Shallop hurriedly into the hall. 
 There the broker and his clerk began an excited con- 
 versation in an undertone, which they continued as they 
 reached the street. Amos and Karl were thus thrown 
 together, and were the last to take their leave of the 
 ladies and of the elegant house. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 39 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE STEAMER. 
 
 Messrs. Lang and Shallop were nearly a block in ad- 
 vance, as Karl and Amos passed down the gravel walk 
 of the lawn. At the gate these latter gentlemen met a 
 man who touched his hat respectfully, and said: "The 
 shteamer has come at last, surs ; I'm jist going to till my 
 young missus." 
 
 " The steamer come ! Where did you hear that ? " 
 asked Amos, with an eagerness which can be imagined. 
 
 " I heard it, surs, at the grocery hard by on the corner 
 beyont. Every one bes talking of the shteamer, surs," 
 and with another salute, John, the Irish coachman to the 
 Claytons, rushed through the gate arid up the lawn. 
 
 Amos and Karl now hastened on after Lang and Shal- 
 lop. Could these latter have heard the news ? Schmer- 
 ling thought they had, or why were they walking so fast ? 
 for Amos and Karl gained on them but slowly. 
 
 From the excited groups on the corners, nothing cer- 
 tain could be learned ; not even that the steamer had 
 been heard from. They seemed to be assembled to ask 
 questions of themselves and of every passer-by. Amos 
 was resolved, therefore, to learn authoritatively from head- 
 quarters, that her boy was safe, before he communicated 
 the glad tidings to Aunty Owen. So the two young gen- 
 tlemen pressed on, catching sight of the broker and his 
 clerk, to lose them again in the crowds upon the street. 
 
40 GLOVERSON 
 
 *' The steamer, the steamer I " they heard on every hand, 
 as they passed. 
 
 The scene in front of the great hotels was noisiest. On 
 the bulletin board in the reading-room of the Occidental, 
 was this brief announcement : " A large steamer, sup- 
 posed to be of the Regular line, is coming in through 
 the Heads." Was it the ship that had been missing or 
 the next one of the line, now overdue ? This was the 
 theme of much excited dispute. Some were condemning 
 the Company for keeping back the news ; others con- 
 tended that the steamer had been safe all the time, and 
 that the whole thing was a " bearing " stock operation, 
 etc., etc. Amos heard these things and shuddered, as he 
 hurried on. The enormity hinted at, of thus trafficking 
 with the fears and most sacred feelings of poor human 
 nature, set ^lim to thinking more than ever, of the pain- 
 stricken face of Aunty Owen, as he had last seen it, peer- 
 ing after him from the door of the little brown house. 
 
 As Dixon and S-chmerling passed along Montgomery 
 Street, they could see and hear in the distance the mov- 
 ing throng about the " Alta" newspaper office, clamoring 
 for news a black mass swaying to and fro in the dark- 
 ness, with now and then a face or form brought into 
 jagged relief by the gas-light streaming from the win- 
 dows. 
 
 The pace of Lang and Shallop was necessarily slack- 
 ened in the increasing crowd, now all making in one di- 
 rection toward the steamship office. Of a sudden, 
 there stood before the two gentlemen just named, an old 
 woman, seemingly distracted by the multitude of people, 
 wringing her hands and saying, 
 
 " sirs ! is my boy Henry come ? Is Henry coming ? " 
 
 " Madam, we have no time to talk to you now," said 
 Lang, pushing hurriedly past her. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 4l 
 
 The poor creature turned her eyes, in earnest en- 
 treaty, toward Nelson Shallop. 
 
 " Here, old woman, take that," observed the brisk little 
 man of business, thrusting her a very small coin, " take 
 that, and move on move on, I say." 
 
 She stood riveted to the spot, stupefied, as Lang and 
 Shallop disappeared ; and the eager, anxious crowd, 
 eddying and surging around her, passed on. 
 
 " Why will not some one," she said, when speech re- 
 turned to her, " why will not some one tell me of my 
 poor boy ? O good sirs ! " 
 
 " Why, Aunty Owen !" 
 
 It was Amos and Karl. " Why, Aunty Owen ! " ex- 
 claimed Amos again, " what are you doing here, alone, 
 at this hour of the night ? " 
 
 "Is Henry come?" was her only answer to all his 
 \ questions. 
 
 " I believe so, Aunty Owen. A steamer is tele- 
 graphed." 
 
 Karl saw the joyous expression on the old mother's 
 face, and well nigh broke down as he said, " Yes, my good 
 madam, we are just going to get news of your son, at the 
 steamship office. Mr. Dixon has been telling me all 
 about him and you. You shall come along with us.; and 
 then, after you are satisfied that your Henry is safe, why, 
 one of us will see you back home again." 
 
 " God bless you, sirs ; you and Mr. Dixon are so differ- 
 ent from the others ; and, sirs, and Henry is coming !" 
 
 " Yes," said Amos, " now let us go to meet him ; " and 
 he walked by the side of Aunty Owen, Karl going on a 
 little ahead. 
 
 As they neared their destination, the throng became 
 denser and noisier ; and Schmerling was lost from the 
 
4*2 GLOVERSON 
 
 couple he was leading. Every one seemed bent on get- 
 ting through the door of the office. The bulletin board 
 was hidden \n the darkness and the jam about it. Leading 
 Aunty Owen a little apart, Amos left her, and rushed 
 back, crowding with his strong shoulders through the 
 densest of the throng toward the door. 
 * Arriving finally at the threshold, he came in contact 
 with a man as strong as he, pushing himself from the 
 office to the street. Amos, looking up into the bloodless 
 face before him, recognized it as that of the agent, whom 
 he had questioned so often about the missing steamer. 
 
 " When did it come ? " asked Amos, breathless. 
 
 " Just now." 
 
 Amos breathed easier. " Thank God," said he, as he 
 paused in his struggle with the crowd, " thank God for 
 that ! " 
 
 " For what?" asked the agent indignantly. 
 
 " That the steamer has come at last." 
 
 " The steamer, sir ? That steamer is lost ! " 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 43 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MISS SOPHIA GARR DEVELOPS INTO AN ANGEL. 
 
 THE yard in front of the elegant house on Folsom 
 Street was bathed in the early sun. And that was the 
 second bath it had had this morning, fbr the gardener's 
 hose that artificial thunder-cloud of California sum- 
 mers had already shed its rain. So, now, at the bot- 
 tom of the stream of sunlight, that passed over the whole 
 lawn, diamond drops sparkled from their hiding-places 
 in the emerald grass, and in the flower-beds of ruby and 
 amethyst. Only the shadows of the acacias and cypresses 
 stood out, wading slowly, as the noon approached, deeper 
 and deeper into the flood of sunshine. 
 
 The residence of Mrs. Clayton was such a mosaic of 
 architectural ornamentation as is found oftener in Ameri- 
 can cities than elsewhere. There was nothing bizarre about 
 it ; yet to build such a house it requires a republicanism 
 not puritanism, understand of art. In the matter of 
 ornamentation, it is to be feared, the Ionic, Doric, By- 
 zantine, and Gothic, in castles, cathedrals, villas, and 
 cottages, are sometimes made " free and equal ; " and those 
 deemed most fit are elected to a place in the building ; 
 which then becomes, in a small way, and with a sort of 
 property qualification of questionable taste, the House of 
 Representatives of all architectures. The residence of 
 Mrs. Clayton, however, partook only in a modest degree 
 of these fancies in stone. Any one could see that it had 
 
44 GLOVERSON 
 
 cost much money ; and, as it rose out of its beautiful 
 grounds, with this air of wealth and luxury about it, we 
 cannot, on the whole, quarrel with Mr. Dixon irrecon- 
 cilably for calling it an " elegant house." 
 
 It had been built by the late Mr. Clayton very much 
 as he had made his will ; both as nearly to suit himself 
 as he could get an architect or a lawyer to do for him ; 
 for the late Mr. Clayton had left behind him, besides an 
 irreproachable memory, a handsome city property for his 
 widow and Amelia, their only child. 
 
 About the window-sills of the front parlor, on the out- 
 side, there ran slight balustrades ; and with these the 
 two capacious windows, thrown open to the floor, formed 
 something like two balconies. Mrs. Clayton had deter- 
 mined ^not to be sick in such pleasant weather, and, 
 especially, when such exciting news was afloat in the 
 city. She had, accordingly, taken her place at one of 
 these balconies. Beside her sat Miss Sophia Garr, who 
 had not gone home last night for two reasons : first, Mr. 
 Dixon, in the excitement of departure, had forgotten to 
 solicit the privilege of accompanying her ; and, second, 
 it was her duty and interest to see as much as possible 
 of Mrs. Clayton, her " old friend from the State of 
 Maine." 
 
 At the other balcony sat Miss Amelia Clayton. She 
 had just finished reading aloud for her mother's benefit, 
 the newspaper account of the wrecked steamer. They 
 were deeply moved, as who was not in the great city ? 
 Even Miss Garr spoke of the terrible disaster in an 
 undertone. Very worldly people sometimes have a great 
 respect for death, and change the subject as soon as 
 they can, as Miss Garr did. 
 
 Amelia now sat reading again to herself the para- 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 45 
 
 graph in the account, which had made the deepest im- 
 pression upon her mind. It was this : 
 
 " As the last boat was leaving the wreck, the Second Officer, 
 who commanded it, requested a young man, one of the crew, to 
 get aboard. ' No,' was the prompt answer, ' there isn't room 
 for me and this helpless old man, too. Take him, and I will 
 * stand my chances till you return.' So saying, he assisted a tot- 
 tering old man over the bulwarks, and stood cheering the de- 
 parting boat the last of the wreck. The over-laden boat 
 never got to the land, or back to the sinking ship. No one who 
 pushed off in it now lives to tell how it was swallowed up by the 
 sea, except the brave Second Officer, to whom we are indebted 
 for many of the foregoing particulars. In ten minutes after the 
 small boat left her, the steamer went down. Nothing since has 
 been heard of the gallant young man. He was the freight-clerk 
 of the ill-fated vessel, and his name, we learn, was Henry 
 Owen." 
 
 Amelia laid the paper aside, but did not succeed in 
 banishing the painful subject from her mind so well as 
 her mother and Miss Garr had done already ; for the old 
 friends from tbe State of Maine had been some time en- 
 gaged in a low confidential talk to themselves. Amelia 
 might have been pained by the facility and alacrity with 
 which these ladies transferred their attention from the 
 dead and bereaved, to the living and prosperous. At 
 any rate, her thoughts were seemingly following her dark 
 gray eyes from sunshine into shadow that is, from the 
 lawn into the faces of her mother and Miss Sophia Garr. 
 She heard enough to know that she was in some way 
 connected with this confidential talk, and she could not 
 see why Miss Garr should be taken into her mothers 
 confidence, to the exclusion of herself. 
 
 It is just this expression of uneasiness that best aids 
 
46 GLOVERSON 
 
 you in reading Miss Amelia Clayton. Her nature is a 
 placid ocean ; and it is this ground-swell that gives an 
 idea of the depths and of the hidden pearls. 
 
 Not every one is thrilled by the " Transfiguration," in 
 the Vatican ; so the face of Amelia Clayton is not beauti- 
 ful to all. The beholder must have a soul on which the 
 beauty can be projected, else no image will be mirrored. 
 Hers is such a face, for instance, as, seen by a dejected 
 poet in a strange city, would make him glad for a whole 
 day. She is none of your romance beauties. You have 
 seen such faces faces that, howsoever your sky is over- 
 cast, look out at you through the clouds, like Raphael's 
 angels. 
 
 Amelia is taller than her mother, and would be more 
 graceful were their ages reversed. Old Californians are 
 rarely pale as other people are pale. No slight illness 
 can wear away the evidences of the round years of 
 almost constant wind and sunshine. Health may re- 
 cede from the face, as the sea from its old places, but 
 the tan of California remains, like the amber on the 
 shores of Courland. The complexion of Mrs. Clayton 
 was not an exception. The ancients imagined amber 
 had a spirit. The face of Mrs. Clayton certainly had 
 one ; and it did not seem angry, when Miss Garr, in 
 her low, confidential talk, already alluded to, recounted 
 the occurrences of the night before ; nor even at certain 
 wise suggestions on the part of that prudent spinster. 
 
 " Twenty-five thousand dollars, as you say, Sophia, is 
 not a bad day's earnings." 
 
 Mrs. Clayton did not use the familiar " Sophia," in ex- 
 actly the same spirit as she did, when they were equals 
 in the State of Maine. There was a certain patronage 
 in it now which was pleasurable to Mrs. Clayton, and 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 47 
 
 which, to her mental self, she termed magnanimity. The 
 two ladies were not alike, but congenial ; and their 
 congeniality rested upon a base that is common to many 
 friendships in this world : they saw wrong alike from dif- 
 ferent stand-points. 
 
 " Twenty-five thousand dollars, yes ! " exclaimed Miss 
 Garr ; " and it is perfectly wonderful what fortunes are 
 made in this new business of mining stocks." 
 
 The reader, of course, is wiser than Miss Garr, for his 
 opportunities of gaining information have been better. 
 He knows well enough that George Lang never made 
 that money out of the " Dorcas " mine at all, but in a 
 lucky speculation over the loss of a great steamship and 
 cargo, valued at a million of dollars, and of lives valued 
 at but they hadn't much to do with the appreciation 
 or the stock in the " Opposition " line ; so, really, Mr. 
 Lang had thought very little about them. 
 
 " And you invited Mr. Lang to come again soon, Ame- 
 lia ? " asked Mrs. Clayton, in a louder voice. 
 
 "Yes, mother, I wanted you to hear his old friend, 
 Mr. Schmerling, sing that song." 
 
 "Well, you need not have been so particular about 
 that Mr. Schmerling's coming." 
 
 " Why, mother, he sings and plays so beautifully ! " 
 
 " Nevertheless, I am credibly informed " her au- 
 thority could have been no one but Miss Garr " that 
 he is nothing but an idle Dutchman ; and I hardly think 
 it is just the thing for him to be seen often visiting in a 
 family of our breeding." 
 
 Amelia thought of the secret she was to keep, that 
 Schmerling was really a live baron, and remarked 
 coolly : 
 
 " It seems to me just as proper for Mr. Schmerling to 
 come here, as it is for Mr. Lang." 
 
4:8 GLOVERSON 
 
 An expressive " t)h ! " from the mother ; an expressive 
 ditto from the Maine friend not audibly, indeed, but 
 in an articulate shrug from her convulsive shoulders. 
 This hitting from the shoulder at the mind, was, by the 
 way, the most successful of Miss Garr's French accom- 
 plishments. 
 
 'Amelia," began Mrs. Clayton, with suppressed ill- 
 feeling, " you know what some girls would give to have 
 the attentions from Mr. Lang that you have. He is con- 
 sidered irresistible by every one." 
 
 " I know that he is generally considered so ; but as 
 for that " and Amelia was too busy arranging the 
 folds of her morning-gown to finish the sentence. 
 
 " Now, look here, Amelia, don't you know that George 
 Lang wants to marry you ? " 
 
 " I do not, mother," replied the young lady, shocked 
 at the directness of the question. 
 
 " Don't you know that he loves you ? " 
 
 " I could not be a woman and not know, and I would 
 not be a true woman if I did not respect any one that 
 truly loves me." Seeing, from her mother's face, that 
 this did not satisfy her, Amelia continued, " But what 
 right have I to use a secret which has not been confided 
 to me ? " 
 
 <; Then he loves you ? " 
 
 " Mother, if this were ever a proper question, now 
 does not seem the occasion to ask it. Mr. Lang is very 
 good-looking and very attractive, but but he never 
 looks me in the eye." 
 
 " Humph ! I suppose your Dutchman does." 
 
 " It appears to me, mother, that Mr. Schmerling could 
 look any one in the eye." 
 
 " Hear her, hear her ! " exclaimed Mrs. Clayton. l . 1 It 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 49 
 
 is you who keep me sick. You will never see anything 
 as I do. I vow to gracious, you will some day be run- 
 ning off with some Dutch musician. I have always said 
 so." 
 
 In point of fact, this was the first time Mrs. Clayton 
 had ever said or thought anything of the kind ; but this 
 was not the first time she had got into a Yurious passion 
 about nothing. 
 
 Amelia arose quietly from her chair and approached 
 that of Mrs. Clayton. " Mother, you know that I have 
 never crossed you in anything that I thought was 
 right. You are already sorry for what you have said ; 
 and that you may have no longer an object for your 
 causeless anger, permit me to retire. God grant that, 
 whenever it shall be my time to marry, my choice shall 
 be your choice." 
 
 Stooping, she kissed her mother. Then, shaking Miss 
 Garr's hand, Amelia left the room. 
 
 A calm succeeded. 
 
 During which, it occurred to Miss Sophia that it 
 
 was time fbr her to be going to her school. " Oh, how 
 wearisome," sighed Miss Garr, " to have to leave you 
 thus, my kind, generous friend, when you are not at all 
 well, and, may be, I could, in my humble way " 
 
 " Wouldn't you like to have a rest from school-teach- 
 ing, Sophia ? " broke in Mrs. Clayton, not a little moved 
 by the insinuating speech she had syncopated. 
 
 u Oh ! so much," answered the priestess of Minerva, 
 who had a wonderful faculty at divining, when her way 
 was lit up by her own hopes. 
 
 " I have been thinking," continued Mrs. Clayton, " that 
 I should like to have you live with us. You could be a 
 4 
 
50 GLOVERSON 
 
 sort of companion to me, and tutoress of Amelia. What 
 do you think of it ? " 
 
 " I should be delighted ! " exclaimed Miss Garr, in a 
 tapering, treble. " I have been confined in the school- 
 room so long that I really need rest." 
 
 ** And Amelia would be delighted, too," said the moth- 
 er, for she knew that she could put the matter in the 
 light of a generous action to an old friend, and convince 
 her daughter directly. 
 
 " We will say nothing about salary ? " suggested Miss 
 Garr. 
 
 " No, no," said Mrs. Clayton, in a burst of what she 
 considered magnanimity, " no, no ; we will live together, 
 as the old friends that we are." 
 
 Miss Garr saw that she had been misunderstood. She 
 could really have lived on her interest money. " But, 
 then," she faltered, " board and lodging are not every- 
 thing ; one must dress." 
 
 " Well, say we add thirty dollars a month for that ob- 
 ject." 
 
 " Oh ! I would not be worth it That's as much as a 
 servant gets." 
 
 " Make it fifty dollars, then," said Mrs. Clayton, more 
 anxious than she seemed. 
 
 " As you like," sighed Miss Garr, resignedly. 
 
 " Enough said," continued the magnanimous widow. 
 " From this very day, this is your home. The sooner 
 you hand in your resignation to the Board the better." 
 
 This was good fortune enough. It might have been 
 better, if it had happened before Mr. Dixon's call ; but 
 what matter after all ? It had come at last. The waxen 
 wings of Sophia's hope, as you shall see, were impelling 
 her directly in the face of the sun. " I will move here 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 51 
 
 to-morrow," she said, " but I would not like to resign be- 
 fore the end of the term." 
 
 " On account of the ' Teachers' Contract,' I suppose ? " 
 
 " No ; but when a lady teacher resigns in the middle 
 of a term, a marriage is soon expected, and you know," 
 continued Miss Garr, confidentially, " that would be so 
 embarrassing to Mr. Dixon." 
 
 " The gentleman who was here last night ? " 
 
 " The same." 
 
 It undoubtedly would have been embarrassing, consid- 
 ering Mr. Dixon's slight acquaintance with Miss Garr. 
 
 " Resign, then, at the end of the term ; but, come now, 
 when is it really to come off, Sophia the marriage ? " 
 
 Sophia strove desperately after a blush, but said noth- 
 ing. 
 
 " Well, well, it's always the way with you girls. Never 
 mind, never mind." 
 
 This generous flattery to the girl of thirty summers 
 was only to put her into good humor for something that 
 was to follow : " Don't you think, Sophia, that by living 
 in the same family with your one pupil, you might have a 
 great deal of influence over her mind ? " 
 
 " I don't know, Mrs. Clayton." 
 
 " Especially in preparing her for the important step 
 you are about to take yourself ? " 
 
 " I don't think I understand ! " 
 
 " Could you not prepare a pupil for marriage with a 
 proper young man ? " 
 
 " I think I begin to see your meaning, Mrs. Clayton." 
 
 Miss Sophia Garr was only sorry that she had not 
 seen her old friend's meaning much sooner than she did. 
 She considered herself fairly outwitted, in the point of 
 salary. 
 
52 GLOVERSON 
 
 " You know, Sophia, I am so passionate, and you are 
 so cool. Amelia always conquers me. Will you help 
 me to to " 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Clayton, I will help you to add George 
 Lang's fortune to yours." 
 
 " Sophia, you are an angel ! " 
 
 And the angel, extricating herself from the hys- 
 teric embraces of the fond widow, flew away to her sub- 
 lunary duties in the Public School. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 53 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 UN BALLO IN MASCHERA. 
 
 You may have been at the superb entertainments of 
 the k< Marquesa," at Florence, when her husband was 
 Governatore of Tuscany; you may have assisted at the 
 wild displays of the Orpheum of Berlin ; or at the sub- 
 lime Punch and Judy exhibitions of the Princess Demi- 
 doff, in Paris, and yet, with these as phenomena, you 
 may be unable to come at a fair inductive idea of a 
 masque ball in San Francisco. 
 
 In the metropolis of the " Evening Land," there is a 
 peculiarity in this branch of devotion to the merry god- 
 dess. The occasion seems a sort of spiritual onoma- 
 topoeia, wherein (conversely) the sense is echo to the 
 sound. The maskers are animated by what may be termed 
 an esprit de corps. An army of merry-making Cincinnati 
 they seem, having left their avocational ploughs behind 
 them, to tilt with dull care and put sorrow to ignomini- 
 ous flight. 
 
 The subscription masque ball of the " Magnolia Club" 
 was the very Alpine peak of gayety, commanding a 
 glorious sunrise of anticipations, and a sunset of pleas- 
 ant memories in short, a Righi, which the pleasure- 
 pilgrim had long looked forward to, and was destined to 
 look back upon, with delight. 
 
 Huge poll-parrots and pensive Ophelias, beer-barrels 
 
54 GLOVERSON 
 
 V 
 
 and bishops, harlequins and Platos, monks and devils 
 tessellated the floors in lancers and polkas. 
 
 In the pauses of the dance, love was stricken from the 
 clash of all tongues. Love was made in English, Ger- 
 man, French, Italian, Spanish, and Chinese. Love was 
 made by kings to shepherdesses, and by shepherds to 
 queens. Love was made by major-generals to vivan- 
 dieres ; and by drunken Paddies to meek-eyed sultanas. 
 
 Yet, running through the Babel of words and ges- 
 tures, was that one thread of hearty abandon, which 
 lifted this out of the routine of carnival scenes else- 
 where ; and which now holds it in suspense, above any 
 description. There were no stage-waits, or scene-shift- 
 ings between the whirl of the dance and the ardor of 
 sweet talk. Waltzes drifted into love-making, and love- 
 making drifted into quadrilles. The music of the redowa 
 did not seem to die away, but to melt, rather, into the 
 low tones of the love-makers ; and the fluttering hearts, 
 instead of the merry feet, kept time. To the lights, 
 which gleamed above the decorations, and to the birds 
 that sang from the cages on the walls, almost hidden in 
 the garlands, there was something congenial in the bright 
 eyes and echoing laughter of the dancers beneath. 
 Every heart, in fine, appeared set to the occasion, as 
 words to the melody of a Scottish song. 
 
 Not in this jovial company would you have found 
 Amos Dixon. Handsomely attired in his usual creases 
 and wrinkles, he had taken his seat above, in the gallery 
 of the hall. Amos was disguised as a spectator ; and 
 was probably the most successful masker of the evening ; 
 for he did not look at the giddy scene below at all. His 
 eyes were engaged in swallow-flights clear above and 
 across it to the other side of the gallery. Here they 
 hovered about a group 
 
AND HJS SILENT PARTNERS. 55 
 
 But what was Amos Dixon doing at such a place ? 
 
 Several weeks have passed since his last appearance 
 before you, and they have been sad ones to him. 
 
 At the steamship office, that evening, as soon as he 
 had slightly recovered from the painful shock the agent's 
 sudden announcement had given him, Amos turned back 
 to the place where he had left Aunty Owen. But she 
 was not there. He sought her in every direction, but he 
 had lost her in the crowd. 
 
 On his dreary way homeward he called at the little 
 brown house, and she was not there. At an early hour 
 next morning, he passed her little gate many times, loath 
 to disturb her, if she might be sleeping after so much 
 Weariness and sorrow. His anxiety at last becoming 
 unbearable, he knocked at her door. 
 
 And there came no answer. 
 
 Amos knocked again and again, and still there came 
 no answer. 
 
 Forcing the door open, he found that Aunty Owen was 
 not there. The silent rooms were as she had left them 
 the night before. 
 
 It is a story too long and weary to be dwelt upon, how 
 day after day, and night after night, Amos knocked 
 again and again at the door of the little brown house, 
 and sought Aunty Owen in every part of the city, 
 until, one morning, the landlord placed a placard in the 
 window, announcing that the little brown house was 
 "To Let." 
 
 You may have noticed, if you have ever passed through 
 a native wood, that where the trees are thickest, the soil 
 is most nourished by their fallen fellows. It is thrown 
 out, therefore, simply as a query, whether our natural 
 hearts are not, in some respects, like forests primeval 
 
56 GLOVERSON 
 
 whether some affections do not spring, as it were, from 
 the dead trunks of others. It is certain, at any rate, 
 that, as the weeks wore drearily away to Amos, the 
 image of a calm young face was mirrored by the side of 
 the kindly old one, on the receding waters of his remem- 
 brance. 
 
 When he read in the paper that a subscription masque- 
 rade ball was to be given by the "Magnolia Club," he 
 took pains to find out whether Amelia Clayton would be 
 there. And this is why Amos Dixon is sitting where 
 you have left him above in t-te gallery, peering across at 
 that group on the other side of the hall a group of 
 four persons, the centre of which is no other than the 
 pleased face of Miss Amelia Clayton. 
 
 On oue side of her sat George Lang, and on the other, 
 Miss Sophia Garr and Karl Schmerling. This kind- 
 hearted German, learning (from her own lips) that Miss 
 Garr was now one of the family, and hearing George, in 
 her presence, invite Amelia to witness the ball, fiad ex- 
 tended a like invitation to the retiring schoolmistress. 
 And here they all were not masked, of course in- 
 tensely enjoying the gayety of the spectacle below, 
 wholly unconscious of the eager espionage of which 
 they were the subjects. 
 
 Mr. Amos Dixon was not a philosopher. Had you 
 asked him why that group of four was of more interest to 
 him than were the grotesque hundreds beneath, he could 
 hardly have told you that is, without blushing and 
 stammering. In general, he had a way of doing what he 
 did not think was wrong, without any psychological hair- 
 splitting about motives. No, Amos was not a philoso- 
 pher. He could not convince himself that wrong was 
 right. Yet, somehow or other, there was a loadstone 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 57 
 
 property in the Right, that almost always acted, through 
 the external wrinkles and creases, on the hidden steel of 
 his nature. 
 
 At twelve o'clock the bell sounded for the unmasking, 
 and the visitors descended to the floor of the hall. It 
 was then that the quick eye of Miss Sophia Garr first 
 observed Amos. She thought it would be a master 
 stroke to make him jealous and pay him up for neglect- 
 ing her so long. So, she leaned more affectionately upon 
 the arm of Karl Schmerling, and led Amelia and George 
 up to the innocent ledge of humanity, she was " pros- 
 pecting." 
 
 Isjie two gentlemen greeted Amos ; one warmly, the 
 other politely. Miss Garr bowed stiffly, and clave still 
 more affectionately to Karl a clear case, wherein the 
 tendril might have sustained the oak. Amelia extended 
 her hand kindly, and Amos imagined that he was touch- 
 ing velvet only it thrilled him so much more. Some- 
 thing seemed to have dropped into his heart ; for a crim- 
 son ripple ran clear up to the roots of his hair and was 
 lost. 
 
 Miss Garr saw it, and attributed it, of course, to jeal- 
 ousy. She thought it would now be politic to let a little 
 hope in upon her victim. Drawing him aside, she con- 
 fided to him that she is now as she had always expected 
 to be, and regretted that she was not, on the occasion of 
 his call, etc., etc. one of the family of her old friend 
 from the State of Maine. " At our house," said she, with 
 an impressive curvilinear glance, " Mr. Dixon will always 
 be welcome, unless" and now Miss Garr was simply 
 killing in her manner " unless you stay away again as 
 long as you have this time." 
 
58 GLOVERSON 
 
 In the same house ! " Thank you, thank you ! " 
 and the gleam of real pleasure on the face of Amos was 
 dwelt upon by Miss Garr, as a pyrotechnic display in 
 honor of her own triumphal march. 
 
 But to make the long-sought ingot more surely hers, 
 she was prepared for further condescension : " This is 
 the last term of my school-teaching ; I am a little proud 
 of my class. You must promise to visit it. I shall ex- 
 pect you next Monday. Now, no thanks, pray." 
 
 Thus the imperial dispenser of largesses, to Amos 
 Dixon, martyr as she went back to assume her former 
 role of tendril (in late autumn), clambering about the 
 slender oak of Karl Schmerling. The two couples now 
 promenaded about the hall, and Amos was left by him- 
 self. 
 
 For a while he had that indescribable sensation of 
 being alone in crowds. He wandered to a seat, where, 
 unobserved, he could watch Amelia pass. It is a source 
 of some regret that Amos was not a philosopher. Pie 
 might have made a better analysis of his feelings. As it 
 was, there seemed to be an elastic cord, fastened, at one 
 end, somewhere under his waistcoat, and at the other, to 
 the object he was watching so intently. As the distance 
 between them increased, the tension of the imaginary 
 cord became more and more painful. But when she 
 came around nearer and nearer again, the tension grad- 
 ually decreased ; and he felt the negative pleasure of a 
 diminishing pain. 
 
 The sharp eye of Sophia Garr finally discovered his 
 hiding-place. He arose and crossed the hall, unresolved 
 what to do. Here a very unprepossessing young lady in 
 white gauze remarked, from her position as " wall- 
 flower," " Good evening, Mr. Dixon." 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 59 
 
 Now Amos did not recollect ever to have seen this 
 young lady before. It is, indeed, a question in his mind, 
 to this day, where, and how, and when he was ever in- 
 troduced to her. And here, as well as anywhere, may be 
 brought forward the remark, that the present chronicler 
 is not responsible for the constitution of Californian 
 society. He has endeavored to paint it as it is, not as it 
 should be. The general reader is not aware, probably, 
 that the Californian always speaks of the Atlantic States 
 as " home," no matter if his children have been born in 
 the New Land, and he himself never intends to leave it. 
 The Pacific coast has been a place of sojourn, a camping- 
 ground, for people who came to get wealth, and fold up 
 their tents again, and steal away with it whence they 
 came. To those who live there, it is a very trite remark, 
 indeed, that, until of late years, there were no homes in 
 California. In such a state of affairs, society must have 
 been very much like a neglected garden ; and, if some 
 of the weeds yet remain, it is not at all astonishing. 
 There are, of course, a few select circles into which it 
 would be no novelty to introduce you. It may be owing 
 to the minority of women and a lack of their refining 
 influences, or it may be owing to the free, generous souls 
 of the men whatever the cause, there is, unquestion- 
 ably, something peculiarly expers-curce, in the usages of 
 Californian society. 
 
 " Good evening, Mr. Dixon," said the very unprepos- 
 sessing young lady, in white gauze, whom Amos could 
 not remember ever to have seen before. 
 
 ." Good evening," responded Mr. Dixon, glad to see his 
 way out of the embarrassment in which he found him- 
 self, in so large a company, with nothing ostensibly to do ; 
 and he proposed a promenade. Thereupon the young 
 
60 GLOVERSON 
 
 lady in white gauze believed that Mr. Dixon was unac- 
 quainted with her mother, and immediately proceeded to 
 introduce him to an older and still more unprepossessing 
 lady, also in white gauze. Amos, of course, had to invite 
 the mother to share in the promenade. And away the 
 three went in just an opposite direction to the others, so 
 as to meet Amelia at every completed round of the 
 hall. 
 
 Amos and the mural camellias at his side, made some 
 little sensation among his friends. Miss Sophia Garr 
 was especially impressed. In her eagerness to find out 
 who her rivals were, she contemplated having them seated 
 by her at the supper-table. She waited till they came 
 around again : 
 
 " Keep right behind us, Mr. Dixon," said the angelic 
 Sophia, " they are now forming for supper." 
 
 This innocent little remark elected Amos for two sup- 
 pers besides his own that is, fifteen dollars in all. The 
 speaker knew it would ; but what of that ? Wouldn't 
 she thus gratify her curiosity and her pique, too? 
 
 About this time appeared two tow-headed boys, aged, 
 respectively, eight and ten years. Cried the younger : 
 
 " O ma, are you going to dinner ? " 
 
 " Yes, my sons," said the mother, answering the 
 hungry look of the eldef boy, at the same time ; " Yes, my 
 sons, we are going to supper. These are my sons, James 
 and Johnny, Mr. Dixon." 
 
 And the two joined the procession supperward, one 
 taking the mother's hand, and the other clinging to that 
 of his sister five abreast, Amos in the middle. 
 
 It so happened that Miss Garr, very much against her 
 scheme, got drifted to another part of the room, away 
 from the table of Mr. Dixon and his family of unknowns ; 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 61 
 
 while only the mother and a tow-headed boy separated 
 that gentleman from Amelia Clayton. 
 
 " Well, ladies," said Amos, surveying his position and 
 losing his appetite, in the same instant, " how are you 
 pleased with the ball." 
 
 " Oh ! I don't like it at all," responded the mother, who 
 evidently had not been troubled with partners during the 
 evening. 
 
 " No," added the daughter, with an aristocratic shrug. 
 " It's nawthin' to the ball maskeys we used to have in 
 Meadville, Pennsylvany ! " 
 
 " No, indeed, it isn't," quoth the matron. " Were you 
 e ,'er in Meadville, Mr. Dixon ? " 
 
 " Never," sighed Amos. 
 
 The face of the compassionate mother assumed such, 
 an expression, as plainly told the unfortunate young man 
 that his life had been thrown away : " Why, really, Mr. 
 Dixon" 
 
 " Oh, ho ! Johnny, you haint got no chicken ! " ex- 
 claimed the elder tow-head, at the top of his voice, while 
 he flourished a " side bone " at his brother, four seats re- 
 moved. 
 
 " Dod-rot you, Jim, gim' me some of that 'ere 
 chicken ! " 
 
 Meadville was forgotten, in parental solicitude to quiet 
 the clamorous tow-heads. 
 
 Amos now had leisure to observe the sensation his 
 family had made, on both sides of the table, for some 
 distance. He only saw that Amelia did not laugh with 
 the rest 
 
 In the succeeding quiet, Amos sat contemplating about 
 
62 GLOVERSON 
 
 a yard of gauze, thrown over the daughter's head ; then, 
 recollecting that the conversation lagged, he broke silence 
 thus : 
 
 "Miss uh, what is your character I mean, what 
 do you represent this evening ? " 
 
 " A snow-storm." 
 
 " Indeed ! and yours, Mrs. uh ? " 
 
 " A snow-storm, too ! " 
 
 Amos now directed his attention to Jimmy and Johnny 
 who were still executing the supper, with the skill of 
 vigorous artists. Pointing sagaciously from one tow- 
 head to the other, he remarked : " Hail-storms, I pre- 
 sume ? " 
 
 " No, my sons did not come in character." 
 
 " But they show yours ! " said the low voice of a spite- 
 ful young lady opposite, who, through their ambidexterity, 
 had secured no chicken. 
 
 About this time, a man came around to collect the 
 money for the suppers. Approaching Amos : " How 
 many, sir ? " 
 
 " Let me see," observed Mr. Dixon, " one, two, three, 
 four, five : five, sir ! " 
 
 " Twenty-five dollars ! " said the man ; and Amos paid 
 for the repast of which he had not eaten a morsel. 
 
 Meantime, Miss Sophia Garr had been exceedingly 
 uneasy. She had heard the laughter at the table of 
 Amos and reasoned to herself thus : " Can either of 
 those horrid, designing creatures be intellectual ? I vo\v 
 I am sorry I asked that stupid Dixon to come to my 
 school. It was good for him that I did not know what I 
 do now. Well, I will call him here and pump him." 
 - She caught the eye of Amos, just as he was looking 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 63 
 
 around for comfort, after divesting himself of the afore- 
 said twenty-five dollars. From the earnestness of her 
 gesticulations, he thought the case so urgent as to war- 
 rant him in excusing himself from his company for a 
 short time. Besides, was not the same abandon observa- 
 ble at the supper-table, as in the ball-room.? Were not 
 other leaving their seats constantly ? The minute after, 
 therefore, Mr. Gloverson's cashier was at the side of 
 Sophia Garr. 
 
 " I am sorry, Mr. Dixon, that I have as yet had no op- 
 portunity to beg for an introduction to your family I 
 mean your lady friends." This speech was punctuated 
 with hysteric jerks and bland smiles. 
 
 Amos, slightly puzzled, was on the point of addressing 
 ^some remark to Karl Schmerling, before he returned to 
 his seat " What did you say their names were, Mr. 
 Dixon ? " broke in the anxious Sophia. 
 
 " I don't really know their names, Miss Garr." 
 
 The current of that lady's being suddenly became a 
 Niagara of green jealousy. " Uh ! the deceitful rascal," 
 thought she, "and these designing scare-crows they 
 have led him on to this, so that I may not, by knowing 
 their names, expose their real characters." 
 
 "You mean, Mr. Dixon," she remarked aloucf, "you 
 do not want to give their names." 
 
 " Upon my honor, Miss Garr, I never remember to 
 have seen either the ladies or the boys before and I 
 cannot say that with the exception, perhaps, of the 
 boys I shall ever care to see them again." 
 
 The current of Sophia Garr's being had reached a 
 placid Ontario of tenderness; from which only murmurs 
 of sweet talk reached the ears of Amos, till he returned 
 to his own table. 
 
64 GLOVERSON 
 
 Now as Mr. Dixon had risen, his seat, in the midst of 
 the family, had been taken by a gentleman in military 
 uniform, " with his suspenders," as the younger tow- 
 head quaintly termed his shoulder-straps, "on the outside 
 of his coat." His moustache bending gently to his smile, 
 he remarked^ as he helped himself vigorously to the 
 viands : 
 
 " Ah ! you came down with Mr. Dinkson, I believe ? " 
 
 " Yes, but we have been expecting you." 
 
 " And while we was waitin'," exclaimed little Johnny, 
 from behind an embankment of sponge-cake, " a man 
 come 'long, an' Mr. Dinkson paid him twenty-five dol- 
 lars!" 
 
 The brass-buttoned officer did not appear either sur- 
 prised or grieved at this shrill announcement ; but, 
 quietly brushing from his coat-sleeve the crumbs which 
 Johnny had emitted at the same time, he addressed him- 
 self to the meal ; and the symposial delinquencies of 
 Amos were more than atoned for. The man did not 
 come around again for money. The military gentleman, 
 evidently, had a genius for strategy. 
 
 Amos, returning from Miss Garr, had just time to ob- 
 serve that this festal warrior was also an utter stranger 
 to him, when the latter crowding up to the daughter, 
 observed, smiling and eating with much intensity: 
 
 " Good evening, Mr. Dinkson ; there is room right here 
 for you." 
 
 Amos again excused himself, and approached the seat 
 of Miss Amelia Clayton. George Lang, who sat beside 
 her, had been the centre of a merry and vivacious com- 
 pany during the whole repast : for it was in such scenes, 
 where champagne flowed liberally on all around him at 
 his own expense; and where his tongue sparkled, like 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 65 
 
 the wine, with bright bubbles, that carry head-ache and 
 heart-ache to the too confident drinker it was in such 
 scenes, that George Lang had acquired the epithet of 
 the " Irresistible." 
 
 Amelia had been unusually still. She had watched 
 and listened. Seeing Amos come toward her, she made 
 room for him by her side. Here, she engaged him in a 
 little pleasant conversation till it was time to ascend to 
 the ball-room. Amos thought he would go back to his 
 family. 
 
 " No, Mr. Dixon," said Amelia, " I would not go back 
 there. Come with Mr. Lang and me." 
 
 Arrived in the ball-room again, Amelia requested 
 George to take her home. The stock-broker disappeared 
 obsequiously after his coat and hat. 
 
 Amelia turned towards Amos a calm, serious face, and 
 looked straight into his honest eyes : " Mr. Dixon, you 
 have been basely imposed upon." 
 
 " I know it, Miss Clayton," and he must have been 
 very much ashamed of himself, for he blushed and 
 stammered when he said it, " I know it, Miss Clayton, 
 but, then, the boys the boys enjoyed their suppers ! " 
 
 " I am sorry to have been in the same company with 
 any one capable of such " 
 
 " Ah ! " sighed Amos, " if you blame me for it, I shall 
 be sorry that I fed the hungry." 
 
 Just behind the smile in the two gray eyes bent upon 
 Amos, there came that strange light, which is the herald 
 of tears ; but George Lang, Karl, and Miss Garr were 
 upon them in the next moment ; and the four took their 
 departure from the scene. 
 
 Amos followed their carriage, for some distance, on his 
 way home. As it disappeared, this thought was in the 
 
66 GLOVERSON 
 
 sigh that went after it : " On the whole, it would be bet- 
 ter if the United States government paid its volunteer 
 officers on this coast, in gold instead of * green-backs ; ' 
 but then, I've got my money back, ten times over in 
 sympathy, in sympathy ! " 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 67 
 
 CHAPTEE VII. 
 
 AMOS DIXON IS INTRODUCED TO PESTALOZZI, AND 
 HIS SYSTEM. 
 
 IT seemed to Amos that he had now a worse trouble 
 than Annty Owen's disappearance had ever caused him. 
 What made it worse still, he did not know what this 
 trouble was. When he reasoned about it, it did not 
 seem a trouble at all it seemed a delightful ecstacy. 
 All the pain was akin to gladness ; yet all the gladness 
 was. akin to pain a sort of bitter-sweet of doubt and 
 trust. But then he lost his appetite and grew pale. He 
 must be sick ! 
 
 He hummed certain of Moore's Melodies over his desk 
 in the counting-room. He caught himself writing " Ame- 
 lia " for " amount " in his ledger. He read the poems 
 'on " Sympathy," in the weekly papers. He was surely 
 sick ! 
 
 Nothing before had ever disturbed his sound sleep of 
 health. Now he lay awake long into the night, to sink 
 into confused dreams ; and what struck him as unac- 
 countably odd his dreams were only distorted shadows 
 of his day thoughts. He walked over pleasant, sunny 
 lawns, with the tall, graceful figure of a young woman 
 when, of a sudden, a huge door would clap to after him, 
 and he would find himself in a great, windowless room, 
 with walls of massive stone and iron, with nothing to il- 
 luminate the darkness but the strange light of two gray 
 
68 - GLOVERSON 
 
 eyes bent earnestly upon him. As these were filled and 
 dimmed with tears, the darkness pressed upon him such 
 a weight of horror that, in a struggle for breath, he would 
 awake and think of Amelia Clayton ; and, lapsing into 
 slumber, would dream the same dream over again. 
 
 By day, he was subject to moods. He had a strange 
 feeling of wasting. It seemed to him that he drew 
 nothing from the light and air around him. He was feed- 
 ing on himself; and himself was one thought. It is true, 
 he was sometimes elevated beyond the level of his ordi- 
 nary joys, but he was always sure, soon after, to be de- 
 pressed as far below that of his ordinary sorrows ; and 
 these sudden changes seemed the flood and ebb tides of 
 an ocean all his own. At the thought of Amelia Clay- 
 ton, his eye would kindle and his cheek glow with an 
 unnatural warmth ; and, at the thought of George Lang 
 (which always came soon after), he would turn pale, and 
 his hands would feel cold. "I've got the fever and 
 ague ! " said Amos Dixon. 
 
 Having made this astute diagnosis, Amps thus ad- 
 dressed Mr. Gloverson, his employer : " I am a little ill. 
 I think I will take my week's summer vacation, dating 
 from to-morrow." 
 
 A burly, red face was turned upon the pale one of 
 Amos. This, with the whole head behind it, taken in 
 connection with a very short neck, seemed the premature 
 ending of a very short and very thick body. Eying his 
 cashier a moment, the senior partner of the firm of Glov- 
 erson & Co. exclaimed, " A little ill ! Why, Dixon, sir, 
 you are sick ! I know what a sick man is, when I see 
 him, Dixon. You are sick, Dixon, sir ; you are sick ! " 
 
 " I hope it won't last longer than my vacation week." 
 
 " Dixon, sir, you be you I give you a week to 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 69 
 
 get well in, and another week for a vacation. Here, you 
 fellow there ! " (calling to a young man at another desk 
 in the counting-room) " we'll take turns here till Dixon 
 gets well." 
 
 " I can just as well keep on to-day, now I am here," 
 said Amos. 
 
 " O Dixon, you be d d ; and take care of your- 
 self. Go home, and don't let me see anything more of 
 you till you get well. Then, and not till then, your 
 vacation commences." Panting with the unwonted ex- 
 citement of his feelings and the extraordinary exertion 
 of his oratory, Mr. Andrew Gloverson continued, with this 
 impressive and unanswerable peroration, " If you don't 
 get well, sir, you shan't have any vacation at all." 
 
 " Well, I'll go ; but I could have stayed to-day, just as 
 well as not," observed Amos, submissively, as he put on 
 his 1* at. 
 
 " Oh ! you be d d," was the affectionate reply of 
 
 the chubby merchant, a euphemism, by which any 
 unexpected goodness, on the part of his cashier, was in- 
 variably visited; and which would be gladly omitted 
 here, were it not for the injustice that would accrue to 
 the character of Mr. Gloverson. His lady friends will 
 read it, " you be dashed ; " and, if they do not learn to 
 forgive this wickedness in the fat old gentleman, his 
 story and that of his silent partners will have been writ- 
 ten to very little purpose. 
 
 " Dixon, sir," pursued his employer, as Amos still hesi- 
 tated on the threshold of the counting-room, " Dixon, sir, 
 you know I never go back on my own judgment. You 
 are sick, sir ; and get out of here this minute, sir, and 
 take care of yourself, old fellow. Blue mass, blue mass, 
 my boy ! Dixon, sir, take some blue mass ! " 
 
70 GLOVERSON 
 
 Amos went forth. 
 
 As Andrew Gloverson succeeded in getting his portly 
 old form upon the high stool left by the invalid, he was 
 heard to mutter, between two long breaths, " That Dixon 
 be d d ; he is too good for this world. I'd do any- 
 thing for him." 
 
 There is no telling what medicine Amos might have 
 taken, had he not, on his way home, remembered this 
 was Monday, the very day he was expected at Miss 
 Garr's school. He changed his course a little, therefore, 
 and it was not long before he knocked at what had, at 
 one time, evidently been a corner grocery. 
 
 The door was opened by a small girl, with large dig- 
 nity for seven years and six months ; also with preco- 
 cious feet, and a premature air of grandmotherly cares 
 about her face, and Amos was ushered into the pri- 
 mary school-room. 
 
 The temple of Miss Sophia Garr's ministrations was 
 an architectural illustration of demand greater than sup- 
 ply. Here were to be found all the progress, and pic- 
 ture theories of Boston, in a building, to say the least, 
 considerably behind the times. The groggery once was 
 the school-house now. As in some countries the cross is 
 erected over the spot where a murder has been com- 
 mitted, so here, on the walls where once stood decanters 
 of deadly drink, now hung such mottoes as these, " Dare 
 to do right ; " " Be virtuous, and you will be happy ; " 
 " Never tell a lie ; " " Honesty is the best policy ; " " Make 
 hay while the sun shines" etc., etc. These now were the 
 law here ; and Sophia Garr was its prophetess. 
 
 Amos was dreamy and embarrassed. For some time, 
 only commonplaces passed between him and Miss Garr. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 71 
 
 He engaged himself in the contemplation of the charts 
 hanging around him. He looked from the chart of 
 Forms to the chart of Colors ; and .from the chart of 
 Colors to the chart of Animals, and was lost in the study 
 of a collection of blue cows, yellow sheep, and green 
 bears all artistically arranged with an eye to action, 
 keeping the beholder in constant fear that the blue cows 
 will devour the green bears, and that the yellow sheep 
 will be the violent death of the blue cows. 
 
 He found no relief in turning his attention to the chil- 
 dren. As they sat there silently before him, there was 
 something in their bright, confiding faces that awed him 
 more than so many adult visages ever could. They were 
 more than so many men and women can be for men 
 and women can never so bend to one will. He could 
 not tell how, but he felt near the presence of Deity it- 
 self. The souls of the little creatures seemed to him so 
 naked and so new. 
 
 A short recess had been announced. The children, 
 had gone out; and their exemplary teacher was about 
 to address herself to business, that is, to Amos Dixon 
 when a small boy came bawling into the room. One 
 hand he flourished in the middle air, as a signal of dis- 
 tress. With the other, he seemed to be engaged in the 
 futile attempt to shove back his tears. 
 
 " What's the matter, now ? " burst from the thin por- 
 tals of Miss Garr's face. 
 
 " Why, Jim Baggs licked me ! " 
 
 Of course, it did not go well with Jim Baggs, after 
 school ; but Amos is, to this day, under personal obliga- 
 tions to him for " licking " that boy. The account of the 
 pugilistic encounter was so amusing, that Mr. Dixon for- 
 
72 GLOVERSON 
 
 got all about his embarrassment. When, therefore, the 
 scholars were assembled after recess, he was able to give 
 his whole attention to what Miss Garr termed a " philo- 
 sophical treat." 
 
 Order restored, that lady held up before the little 
 people a top, and demanded what they were going to 
 Jiave now. 
 
 " A Objeck Lesson," was the unanimous answer. 
 
 " What is the plan of the system ? " 
 
 "It is a system of drawin' out!" shouted (by rote) 
 fifty shrill voices at once. 
 
 " There, that's right ; a system of drawing out," said 
 Miss Sophia, with a glance toward Amos ; " now answer 
 singly as I call upon you. Who was the inventor of the 
 system ? " 
 
 Pest pest pest " said a little fellow, with a 
 silver lisp. 
 
 " Next ? " said the teacher. 
 
 " Pestilence ! " shouted a fearless girl, with a curly 
 head. 
 
 " This child has not been in school long," remarked 
 the Garr, explanatorily. " Next ? " 
 
 " Mithter Lozzy ! " exclaimed a sinister-looking small 
 boy, from a suit of clothes, in which well nigh everything 
 was worn out but the patches. 
 
 " That's right Pestalozzi/' said the teacher. " You 
 see, my dear children, as I have often told you, intelli- 
 gence and virtue are not always with the rich ! " 
 
 Elevating the top again, she continued : " Now what 
 do I hold this by?" 
 
 Several little hands went up, in token that their 
 owners could tell, if they dared. 
 
 "Well, what do I hold it by?" 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 73 
 
 " By your hand, " was the answer. 
 
 "Next!" 
 
 " By your thumb and finger." 
 
 " Next ! " 
 
 " By the peg !" said the confident voice of the prema- 
 ture little girl, who had opened the door to the visitor. 
 
 " Right ! " observed Miss Garr, triumphantly. " Now 
 who can tell me the technical (this to children ! ) name 
 of the peculiar form of the top ? " Turning to Amos, 
 she remarked : " You will certainly be surprised at the 
 originality of some of their answers ! " 
 
 " Come, the technical name of the peculiar form of 
 this top ? " 
 
 Only one hand went up. To Amos, sotto voce : " Now 
 listen ! for something philosophical." Then to the 
 owner of the hand, the boy with the panoply of patches : 
 
 " Well, what is it, Sammy ? " 
 
 " Teacher, please may may I go out ? " 
 
 This peripatetic philosophy was too much for the 
 composure of the two adults. The Object Lesson was 
 discontinued. 
 
 " Children, you may take your slates and write what 
 you please^ but don't interrupt me by any questions," 
 said Miss Garr, as she shouldered her pick-axe, figura- 
 tively speaking, and contemplated the outcroppings of 
 Amos Dixon's pale face " The poor fellow," thought 
 she, " is evidently troubled by my affectionate conduct 
 toward Mr. Schmerling, the other evening at the ball. 
 Well, I'll make him happy and draw him out, too ! " 
 
 How did I like the ball ? I should have liked it 
 better, if I had had better company. I was obliged to be 
 with that Schmerling, the whole evening, that stupid 
 Dutchman I" 
 
74 GLOVEKSON 
 
 " What ! Mr. Schmerling stupid ? " exclaimed Amos. 
 
 " Certainly. Whenever he did say anything, which 
 was not often it was so commonplace ! " 
 
 " Why, to my eyes he appeared the greatest gentleman 
 in the room." 
 
 " Ah ! the jealous, designing rascal ! " was the mental 
 exclamation of Sophia ; while the angels might have seen 
 the gleam of her descending pick-axe, as she said, 
 aloud : " I wouldn't marry Mr. Schmerling, if he were a 
 nobleman." 
 
 "Indeed?" observed Amos, unconcernedly. 
 
 " By the way," she continued, " isn't it perfectly shock- 
 ing how people are marrying of late ? I see by the 
 morning paper, that there were a hundred marriages in 
 this city alone, last month." 
 
 " That is a subject that comes home to some of us, 
 now," sighed Amos, as if thinking aloud. 
 
 What, Mr. Dixon ? " 
 
 " Why, marriage." 
 
 " I don't really know," said the school-mistress, with a 
 smirk, as she withdrew the sharp eyes which had trans- 
 fixed Amos, and held him up, like a blue-bottle fly, to 
 her contemplation. 
 
 " There may be another one soon ; mayn't there ? " 
 asked Amos. 
 
 " Another what, Mr. Dixon ? " 
 
 " Why, marriage, of course." 
 
 There was a flush on Miss Garr's face not so much 
 of maidenly modesty, as of unexpected success. She 
 did not think it proper, just then, to look into the visitor's 
 countenance, or she would- surely have been puzzled to 
 find it paler, instead of more crimson, after such a 
 speech. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 75 
 
 "I don't really know," she simpered between two 
 squirms, " it depends a great deal " 
 
 "I have always expected it, ever since the night I 
 called on you at Mrs. Clayton's." 
 
 " What gentle violence ! " thought Miss Sophia, as in 
 her heart she cursed the little children whose presence 
 prevented her fainting into the arms of the object of so 
 long a search. As it was, she could only lean her head 
 fafhtly in her hand, and look away from him, in ecstatic 
 silence. 
 
 " Yes," mused Amos, " I have always expected it." 
 
 " But then this comes so sudden upon me, Mr. Dixon,- 
 that, that you'll excuse these tears." 
 
 " Then it grieves you, Miss Garr ? " said Amos, looking 
 iiito her face for the first time during the preceding 
 conversation. 
 
 " Not exactly, Mr. Dixon ; but I I " 
 
 " Never like, I suppose, to part with an old pupil," ob- 
 served Amos, to help her out. 
 
 " That is one thing," sobbed Miss Garr, glancing at 
 the children before her, who were now deeply interested 
 in the scene. The little girls had commenced crying, 
 too ; and the little boys were looking daggers. Sammy, 
 the peripatetic of rags, shook his head and fist at the 
 man who had made his teacher cry. 
 
 " Yes," sighed Sophia Garr, through her tears, " to 
 think I shall never meet them all again ! " 
 
 " It will not be a runaway match ? " demanded Amos 
 in surprise. 
 
 " No, certainly not," was her answer. 
 
 " Mrs. Clayton knows of it, and will consent, of course ? " 
 
 " She knows of it ; and has tacitly consented," whim- 
 pered Sophia, not very sorry that she had made the dis- 
 
76 GLOVERSON 
 
 closure of her expectations to Mrs. Clayton, as it were, 
 on trust. 
 
 " Then you will certainly meet them again at her 
 house." 
 
 " Meet them at her house ! " exclaimed Sophia, forget- 
 ting her tears in her surprise. " What on earth will Mrs. 
 Clayton do with fifty children in her house ? " 
 
 " Are they expected to have fifty children ? " demand- 
 ed Amos, in stupefaction. 
 
 " They ? who ? what are you talking about ? " 
 
 " Why, George Lang and Amelia Clayton ! Haven't 
 we both been talking about them all along ? " 
 
 If Sophia Garr ever did come near fainting, it was 
 then and there. The long-sought ingot at her touch 
 had turned to sand-stone, and almost crushed her. Her 
 first thought was an angry one ; and so strange is hu- 
 man nature it took the innocent Amelia for an object. 
 
 " Humph ! cry for such an old pupil ! She never can 
 marry George Lang. He wouldn't have her." 
 
 " Then they are not engaged ? " asked Amos. 
 
 " Certainly not ; such a thing was never thought of. 
 Mr. Lang is the business agent of her mother." 
 
 Amos believed he would go ; and he went rather sud- 
 denly. " I must find a back street," thought he, " where 
 I can halloo ! " 
 
 Having, in reality, thus relieved himself, he bent his 
 steps toward his own little room. His fever and ague 
 were cured, without the help of blue mass. He could 
 now think of Amelia with warmth ; and of George 
 Lang without coldness. Hope had risen to him out of 
 the ashes of Miss Garr's anger. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 77 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 PREPARATORY. 
 
 THE next morning, Amos Dixon went to his work as 
 usual. To him, in the counting-room, at about ten 
 o'clock, entered Andrew Gloverson. 
 
 "What! you here, Dixon?" exclaimed the wheezy 
 N merchant, in amazement ; and a fat avalanche of under- 
 jaw fell suddenly, disclosing a glacier of white teeth, 
 with its yawning chasm of open mouth. 
 
 " Yes, I am here," was the placid answer of Amos. 
 
 " But what are you here for ? I'd like to know whether 
 I have any judgment at all ; I said yesterday you were 
 sick." 
 
 " I was ; but I've got over it." 
 
 " I'm afraid this is some of your d d goodness, 
 
 Dixon ! " and Mr. Gloverson shook his head incredu- 
 lously. " Did the blue mass do it for you ? eh ! " 
 
 This " eh" was rather in triumph than in interroga- 
 tion. 
 
 " No ; I didn't have to take medicine at all ! " 
 
 Down again came the merchant's heavy under-jaw. 
 The upper part of his face, taken with his chin, thus dis- 
 connected, looked one great obese exclamation point of 
 surprise. The power of speech was finally restored to 
 him : 
 
 " Now, look here, Dixon, sir, you get out of here ! Do 
 
78 GLOVERSON 
 
 you think I'm going back on my own judgment ? When 
 I say a man is sick, he is sick ! " 
 
 " But I never felt better in my life." 
 
 " Oh you be d you you Dixon, sir. If you'd 
 taken blue mass, it would have been a different thing. I 
 gave you a week to get well in ; you have done your job 
 in too short a time. That's overwork, Dixon, sir. You 
 know I don't overwork my employees. Now you get out 
 of here ; and don't let me see you till your week is up." 
 
 Large drops had risen to the brow of Mr. Andrew 
 Gloverson. The Castalia of his eloquence, you see, was 
 unusually troubled. 
 
 Amos saw that he must retreat, and, as he did so, 
 launched this Parthian arrow of speech : 
 
 " Well, my summer week's vacation commenced yes- 
 terday." 
 
 The arrow had pierced the enemy's affectionate heart, 
 as will be seen by the following exclamation, which 
 reached the ears of Amos as he disappeared : 
 
 Oh you be d d ! " 
 
 The cashier was for some time at a loss whither to go, 
 or with what to busy himself. After much deliberation, 
 he resolved to go and find Mr. Schmerling, and see 
 how that gentleman amused himself with nothing to do. 
 He liked Karl, and besides, reasoned Mr. Dixon to him- 
 self, Karl visited at Mrs. Clayton's, where Amelia had 
 never yet invited him to call. 
 
 Mr. Schmerling was not at his hotel. So Amos, re- 
 membering now that he had often seen the sign of 
 George Lang, on Montgomery Street, resolved that he. 
 would look for Karl at the office of the Stock and Money 
 Broker. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 79 
 
 Entering the front room of this prosperous establish- 
 ment, Amos recognized, in the wiry Mr. Shallop, the 
 same gentleman who had made such an unceremonious 
 entry into Mrs. Clayton's drawing-room, several weeks 
 ago. 
 
 " When will Mr. Lang be in, sir ? " 
 
 " He's just gone into his private office," answered Mr. 
 Shallop, his small eye running, like an electric current, 
 from Mr. Dixon's face down the crease of one of his 
 pantaloon legs, and up that of the other, to the face again : 
 "Won't I do, sir?" 
 
 Eying, in his turn, this pigmy Gothic of manhood, 
 from gable to ground and ground to gable, as if to deter- 
 mine the question, Amos replied : " No, I believe, sir, 
 you won't do." 
 
 " Well, sir, knock at that door, sir," and, in the next 
 instant, Mr. Nelson Shallop was^ again intently climbing 
 about over his accounts. 
 
 Amos entered the private office, as he was bidden from 
 the inside, and, sure enough, Mr. Schmerling was there. 
 Slightly embarrassed, Mr. Gloverson's cashier took the 
 seat offered him. Was he not in the presence, too, of the 
 man of whom he had unjustly been jealous ? " By the 
 way," began the artful Mr. Dixon, " you will excuse the 
 liberty I take, Mr. Lang, but I really want to congratu- 
 late you on your good fortune of some weeks back." 
 
 " Thank you, thank you, Mr. Dixon ; " and the broker 
 was as pleased as he looked to be. It was an ill-wind, 
 etc., he reasoned to himself. This fellow would not have 
 coine here, if he were not interested in stocks. He must 
 have some money laid by to invest. 
 
 " It is astonishing how Americans can make money," 
 said Karl. 
 
80 GLOVERSON 
 
 " Yes, it was rather a lucky strike," remarked George 
 Lang carelessly, for the benefit of Amos, of course. " My 
 friend Mr. Schmerling and I were just speaking about it." 
 
 " There seems, really, to be as much gold in stocks, as 
 there is in the mines themselves," observed Amos. 
 
 " That is just what I tell my old friend here," said 
 George, delighted at the turn things were taking. 
 
 " But then, the vineyard, George, the vineyard," broke 
 in Karl, dreamily. " Think of a Rhine Valley in a re- 
 public, and the luscious ingots of the vine the quartz 
 of God's golden sunshine ! " 
 
 There was no sunshine in the face of George Lang, 
 at this moment. It seems that the broker's very confi- 
 dential and lucrative offer, in connection with the * Dor- 
 cas ' mine, had thus far been powerless to blight the 
 Sonoma vineyard which flourished in the German's pic- 
 turesque imagination. 
 
 " But I don't think much money can be made at ranch- 
 ing, in California," remarked Mr. Dixon. 
 
 " This is a capital fellow, and will be of use," thought 
 George Lang to himself. 
 
 " Well, we'll see for ourselves in a week or so," Karl 
 said, " when we go up to Sonoma." 
 
 " Very well," rejoined the broker ; " wouldn't you like 
 to accompany us, Mr. Dixon ? " 
 
 " Yes, do, Mr. Dixon ! " exclaimed Karl, rejoiced at the 
 idea of more company. " It will remind us so much of 
 our jolly old student-tours in that other land of the 
 grape." 
 
 " I think I will, or, I am sure I would," Amos replied, 
 " if you were going right away. My summer vacation 
 commenced to-day ; and I came here this morning to see 
 if Mr. Schmerling wouldn't " 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 81 
 
 " Why not go to Sonoma, to-morrow ? " interrupted 
 Mr. Lang ; " we can all be ready for the boat at noon." 
 
 " Certainly, certainly," said Karl. 
 
 Not long afterwards, Mr. Dixon took his departure, 
 agreeing to meet Lang and Schmerling at the Sonoma 
 boat the next day; and thinking it very lucky indeed 
 that he had found so pleasant a way of putting in the 
 week of his exile from the presence of Mr. Gloverson. 
 " I might be a little ill after all," Amos thought. He did 
 not, he was sure, feel so well after meeting Mr. Lang. 
 There was something so cold and heartless in that gen- 
 tleman's ways. At any rate, Mr. Dixon contended, he 
 needed exercise. A long walk would do him good ; and 
 that is why, of course, he went a mile out of his way 
 home, via the Folsom Street docks, and past the " ele- 
 gant house," said to be the residence of Mrs. Clayton. 
 
 " George, I am glad that I know Mr. Dixon," remarked 
 Karl, after Amos had left the private office. 
 
 The broker eyed his old friend for a moment, with a 
 look of one suddenly roused from a brown study : " Dix- 
 on ? oh ! he is an oddity." 
 
 " Yes, George, an honest man always is." 
 
 " It must take a long time to make an honest man, 
 like him," rejoined Lang ; " they get so wrinkled before 
 they are done." 
 
 "Wrinkled goodness, George, is better than smooth 
 villainy. It is not in the polished marble of Paros, but 
 in the rugged quartz that you look for gold." 
 
 " Well," and the light upon the broker's face was as 
 that upon the sculptor's, when the clay before him yields 
 to his skillful manipulations some unexpected success; 
 the same gleam of easy triumph was Mr. Lang's, only 
 
82 GLOVERSON 
 
 more sinister to look upon, " well," pursued he, " it is 
 queer what jammed, battered trumpets this goodness 
 often speaks through." 
 
 " Had I not known you so long, George, I would 
 think this sneer in earnest." 
 
 " Ah ! I have you there, old fellow," Lang exclaimed, 
 with a laugh, " goodness generally blows a cracked 
 bugle in this world." 
 
 Schmerling did not seem to hear this remark. His 
 eyes were fixed in the rapt, dreamy way so frequent 
 with him his whole face like one of those sweet pic- 
 tures of Domenichino, which, from their quaint old 
 golden frames, have sped their saintly smiles from age 
 to age and century to century. For, about Karl, too, 
 was the nimbus of this faintly uttered thought : 
 
 " It was not in the sublime organ-swells of the thun- 
 der, or in the horror of the earthquake, or in the rage of 
 the whirlwind, but in the ' still small voice,' that the 
 Almighty himself spoke to the prophet on Mount Horeb." 
 
 " But to come back to the point, now," observed the 
 stock broker, still in the best of humor, but with the 
 same under-current of design that had floated his share 
 of the foregoing conversation, "to come back to the 
 point, now, this Dixon has no spirit, and you know it. " 
 
 " No spirit ? I have not seen any man impose on him 
 yet." 
 
 " Then his intellect, you can't think he has any of 
 that, too?" 
 
 " Most assuredly he has," said Karl, " we have seen 
 nothing to convince us to the contrary. All his faux 
 pas have come, not from too little head, but from too 
 much heart too much natural politeness, that is, be- 
 nevolence ; but I have an engagement at the hotel 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 83 
 
 (rising and approaching the door of the private office). 
 No, George, believe me, Mr. Dixon is no fool." 
 
 " There goes one, though ! " muttered Lang, as the 
 door closed between him and Karl. " He has a high 
 opinion of that Dixon. That's just what I wanted to 
 know. Dixon on my side of the argument, and down 
 comes the vineyard, and up go stocks yes, twenty 
 thousand dollars premium ! " 
 
 And the broker busied himself about his papers, 
 pausing occasionally, to think how he might also add the 
 earnings of Amos if there were any to his side of 
 the milligramme scales of argument. 
 
84 GLOVERSON 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IN WHICH THE UNITIES ARE VIOLATED. 
 
 GEORGE LANG, Karl Schmerling, and Amos Dixon 
 were on board of the little steamer, as she pushed off 
 into a haze of two elements. For, on that noon of early 
 summer, it was hard to tell where the water and the sun- 
 shine met. The beautiful bay was unruffled ; yet there 
 was an invisible frost-work of balm in the atmosphere. 
 The cool water and the warm sun seemed to have 
 mingled in mid air, by some strange principle of at- 
 traction ; and, as the three sat on the open deck, they 
 imbibed a sort of agro-dolce of iced sunshine. They 
 sailed through an abiding mirage, and breathed it in. 
 
 They passed Alcatraz on the left Alcatraz, where 
 Nature built the first fortress, in the defense of her own 
 beauty. No ship, entering the Golden Gate, has dared 
 to bring tidings of a more beautiful bay, beyond the seas. 
 
 Farther along, two lines of grand hills opened up to 
 them ; and these, on one side, led like a giant stair-way, 
 up to the distant mountains. He who has been be- 
 calmed in the Mediterranean, and has floated past the 
 bleak hills of Valencia, through the glorious sunsets, be- 
 yond the coasts of Andalusia, to the " Pillars of Her- 
 cules " may form a shadowy idea of this scenery ; but 
 there is really nothing like it in the world elsewhere. 
 The trees may have been cut down on the rugged high- 
 lands of Spain. They rarely grdW on those of California. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 85' 
 
 There is a gigantic jealousy in the rude breasts of our 
 occidental hills. They would suffer nothing to come be- 
 tween them and the sun, their "Heavenly bridegroom 
 with golden locks." 
 
 A variation in the course of the little steamer would 
 suddenly open up long dreamy inlets, that were lost in 
 mazy turns, like one of Karl's reveries. On the uplands 
 of one side, bared of the merest bush, could be traced, 
 as on a map, the track of the winds for centuries. On 
 the other protected side, struggled^ into life the low, 
 scrubby manzanita, madrone, and California lilac, almost 
 hidden in the laughing dimples of the hills so low and 
 sparse, indeed, that Nature seemed trying to hug them 
 closer to her bosom. 
 
 The landscape wore its loveliest tint not green, and 
 not sere. The freshness, succeeding the rainy season, 
 was gone ; but the withered decrepitude of the long 
 drought had not yet come. Everything stood poised in 
 rich ripeness. The California year was in her early 
 womanhood. 
 
 The little party were alive to the scene, but each, of 
 course, in his own way. There was a Saxon solidity of 
 pleasure and thankfulness in the heart of Amos ; it fol- 
 lowed his eye up the steeps of the distant mountains, 
 nearer to heaven. To him, Monte Diabolo, with its 
 gigantic slopes and mighty peak lost in the haze of a 
 summer cloud, was the sublime pathway of the mind up 
 towards the thought of Deity. 
 
 This is not Amos's description of his feelings ; for he 
 said nothing. His soul went out in an aspiration of 
 gratitude, compelled by a religion preached from the 
 mountain tops, the waters, and the sunshine. This 
 flimsy word-ladder has been builded in the vain at- 
 tempt to follow after him. 
 
86 GLOVERSON 
 
 Nor was this all he felt or thought. In the natural 
 pauses of exalted emotion, his gratitude was large enough 
 to take in his portly employer, Mr. Andrew Gloverson, 
 to whose rough kindness he was indebted for the privi- 
 lege of being where he was. The reader may have 
 noticed that kind hearts go in small companies, like 
 mating birds. They attract one another. The wicked 
 form the galaxy whose infinite numbers fill the highways 
 of the sky ; while the- good hearts stand out in bright con- 
 stellations. But Andrew Gloverson, by himself, was, to 
 Amos Dixon, the Great Bear in the heaven of kindness. 
 
 Then the eye and mind of Amos, reverting to the 
 deck, would dwell stealthily on George Lang. He won- 
 dered what a queer sort of a man the broker must be, 
 who did not want to marry Amelia Clayton. 
 
 George Lang looked upon the scene as Achilles, in 
 the prime of manhood, might have looked upon the 
 elaborate tapestries of Helen. Pretty work indeed ; but 
 he enjoyed it better when he was younger. The day, 
 however, he considered as a good omen. The sun had 
 shone upon the opening of his scheme. If he was thril- 
 led by the rugged mountains at all, it was when they re- 
 minded him of the warfare of the old Titans when he 
 considered them piled up in some rebellion of Nature. 
 
 Thus, on the same heights where George Lang would 
 have stormed heaven, Amos would have wrestled with 
 the angel till it blessed him. 
 
 Karl Schmerling seemed a part of the scene, so in- 
 tensely was he absorbed in it. Sometimes it appeared to 
 him a fairy landscape painted of molten jasper and ame- 
 thyst, sapphire, and chrysoprase, on a canvas spun of 
 sunbeams ; but the background of hills was covered with 
 shadows, which, to his steady gaze, grew darker and 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 87 
 
 darker, till they swallowed up his fairy landscape ; and, 
 for relief, he turned his eyes back to the deck of the 
 steamer. 
 
 Reassured, he would again look forth upon what 
 seemed Nature in her calm siesta when, of a sudden, 
 the whole scene would appear as his own soul spread out 
 before him, by some strange metempsychosis of oriental 
 belief; but, as he drifted out upon some rivulet of a- 
 dream, or followed some flecked cloud of a fancy, he was 
 sure to .end in the sombre presentiments of the shadows 
 on the mountains. 
 
 Turning again, his mind, too, would go the natural, 
 pilgrimage of religion, up the distant steeps. It was, 
 s however, the religion of old cathedrals, dimly illumined 
 through windows stained with the uncertain light of saint- 
 ly lives the beautiful religion of carved pyx and mo- 
 saicked crypt, of organ -peals and Vesper hym s in short, 
 the religion of dreams. But wheresoever he built his airy 
 basilica, the dove, from over the chancel, dropped such 
 shadows from its wings that the lamps were hidden at 
 the shrines, and a spectre gloom of presentiment filled 
 the aisles and arches. 
 
 Finally, turning to George Lang, he said, " I have a 
 strange warning of some impending evil." 
 
 The broker was troubled. " So have I, Karl ; " and he 
 had. 
 
 " The' brighter the light, the deeper the shade," sighed 
 Karl. " In laying my heart ' against Nature's own,' I 
 have felt the* chill of the shadows more to-day than I ever 
 did before." 
 
 George's presentiment had arisen from the face of his 
 friend. The succeeding silence was scarcely broken till 
 the party left the steamer for the Sonoma stage. The 
 
88 GLOVERSON 
 
 dust then impeded conversation, and almost everything 
 else but the headlong speed of the coach. 
 
 A very good dinner, to the accompaniment of native 
 wine, was achieved at the little hotel of Sonoma. Till 
 the carriage for which they were waiting arrived, nothing 
 remarkable occurred ; only a waiter insisted that Amos 
 was a Landsmann of his, and addressed him repeatedly in 
 -German, to the no little discomfiture of Mr. Gloverson's 
 cashier. 
 
 The carriage they were awaiting came at last. It be- 
 longed to Captain Tambol, an acquaintance of Lang's, 
 ,who, hearing of the projected trip, had prevailed upon 
 the two friends to be his guests during their stay. The 
 captain himself was the driver. He was a medium-sized 
 man, whose enthusiasm for the culture of the grape found 
 some expression in a face rouged by the bottled sunshine 
 of many a harvest. Upon his nose, in particular, the 
 wine-god had wrought deftly, in basso relievo. There, the 
 vintages of the dead years had left their monumental 
 pimples. 
 
 On learning that there were three instead of two in 
 the party, the captain's gratification was, by a progres- 
 sion of his own, simply multiplied by three ; and his hos- 
 pitality was large enough for an indefinite series, with the 
 same ratio. 
 
 After a ride of seven or eight miles through the dusk 
 and early moonlight, " Lurley Ranch," the princely do- 
 main of the captain, was reached. The house, an ele- 
 gant villa, stood on a knoll ; and, as the excursionists dis- 
 covered the next morning, commanded a view of miles 
 of valley. All they observed now was, that it was en- 
 tered through a flower-garden, whose collected sweets 
 went out in a viva voce greeting to the moonlight. A 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 89 
 
 supper was already waiting on the porch, behind trellis- 
 work overgrown with clambering roses. And Mrs. Tam- 
 bol was the presiding priestess of this grotto. 
 
 Mrs. Tambol may be described as the mind of which 
 her husband was the body. She was Captain Tambol 
 idealized. In her face hospitality lit up a pleasant smile 
 the garland to your goblet ; not a beacon light to warn 
 you of the place where many a bottle had been wrecked. 
 She was all neatness, elegance, and refinement : he, all 
 bustle, wassail, and hard-fisted kindness. And yet, it 
 was a pleasure to see them together. They seemed to 
 fit each other. They reminded you of the green leaf 
 and the rose, on the lattice of their own porch. They 
 were a perfect contrast, which is perfect harmony ; and 
 that was the only issue of their long married life. 
 
 The supper over, the guests were not permitted to go 
 to their beds, till the table was well covered with empty 
 bottles. As Amos struck his pillow that night, he 
 thought he would advise Mr. Schmerling to purchase 
 a vineyard. A slight headache the next morning, how- 
 ever, caused him to hesitate, and he preserved a strict 
 silence during breakfast. 
 
 After that meal the captain observed, " Now, gentle- 
 men, your horses are ready. We will spend the day in 
 visiting our neighbors of the valley. Every one thinks 
 his wine the best ; and I am no exception to the rule. 
 But I am going to take no unfair advantage of your 
 judgments ; so we will call on my cellar last." 
 
 And they galloped away over hill and dale, with the 
 Sonoma Creek on one side, and sunny vineyards on the 
 other ; and the far-off mountains towering above all. 
 Crops were discussed, cellars explored, and wines upon 
 wines tasted. It would take a steady head to withstand 
 
90 GLOVERSON 
 
 such a flow of hospitality as met them in the course of 
 the day. The genial husbandmen of the valley seemed to 
 be conscious that God gives no charter with the rain and 
 sunshine. The manna they had gathered belonged to all. 
 
 In the afternoon, the party returned to the captain's. 
 They were, to say the least, in the merriest of moods. 
 The path from the house to the wine-cellar crossed 
 Sonoma Creek here a deep stream, and spanned only 
 by a narrow plank. From the general elegance of the 
 surroundings, a handsome bridge might have been ex- 
 pected. Herein was the dark design of the captain. 
 The way to the cellar was as easy as the descensus Averni, 
 but inexperienced drinkers generally fell into the water 
 on the way back. 
 
 The captain's was one of the largest cellars yet vis- 
 ited ; and it was remarkable how many " particularly 
 choice " wines he recommended to their unbiased at- 
 tention. "Just one other kind," and, after that, "just 
 one other kind " had been tasted, until it was impossible 
 for Amos to say exactly where the roof of the cellar 
 commenced, or where the casks and bottles left off. On 
 coming into the open air again, things to him were even 
 more confused. " I have been using these eyes for the 
 last twenty-eight years," said Amos, " and they never 
 served me so poorly before." 
 
 Arriving at the plank, and conscious that he could 
 never cross it, he proposed that they should try the recu- 
 perative virtues of the swimming bath, which was one of 
 the luxuries of the magnificent host. 
 
 In the bath-house, Amos was unusually communicative. 
 He launched out into what he said was a " funny story," 
 and after several parentheses, broke off suddenly on to 
 the subject of love. In the mean time the rest of the 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 91 
 
 party had disrobed and were swimming about joyously. 
 Amos had all this while been struggling to untie his 
 cravat : " Love's what's thematterwithme (hie)," observed 
 he, between divers tugs at the knot in his neck-tie, and 
 hiccups at the knots in his speech. " Love is an 'noblin' 
 passion, a d'vine pash (hie). I love a being who is a 
 noble, hie, and d'vine no, not a woman but a seraph, 
 hie, and her name is hie " 
 
 Here the cravat broke, and Amos having taken 
 
 more note of time, than of what he had accomplished, 
 plunged headlong into the water, clothes, hat, boots, 
 and all. 
 
 Just as he was rescued from drowning, the dinner-bell 
 rang. What was to be done ? Amos was better pre- 
 pared for a slab in the Morgue, than for an appearance 
 at the dinner-table before the ladies ; for several of the 
 neighbors had been invited, in honor of the occasion. 
 Yet a certain maudlin pride had taken growth, after the 
 wetting ; and Mr. Dixon expressed a confidence in his 
 ability to do justice to his dinner. So the host went sur- 
 reptitiously to the house for dry clothes ; and finally, suc- 
 ceeded in getting Xmos into them, and a place at the 
 table, where he looked as if he had been dressed for the 
 arduous role of a scarecrow. 
 
 All went merry at the meal. Such a second flood of 
 talk and laughter passed over the reticent Dixon, that he 
 was for awhile lost to notice. 
 
 "Well," said Mrs. Tambol, after she had seen every 
 one abundantly provided for, " I suppose it would be 
 useless to ask you where you have been to-day ; since you 
 must have visited all our neighbors ? " 
 
 " Yes, my dear," responded the captain, " we have 
 visited everybody, with the exception you know of." 
 
92 GLOVERSON 
 
 " Then we have skipped some of your neighbors ? " 
 demanded George Lang, suspiciously seeing in this fact 
 some hidden argument against vineyards in general. 
 
 " Yes ; we have one who calls himself our enemy." 
 
 " And we are real sorry about it," joined in Mrs. 
 Tambol, " for the enmity is all on his side." 
 
 " He is what we call a ' Piker,' you see," remarked the 
 captain, quietly, " and he stole some of our sheep. 
 Somehow or other, he refuses to be forgiven for it. We 
 don't care so much about losing the sheep ; but we do 
 about losing a friend." 
 
 " Your ' Piker,' captain," said Karl, " has only verified 
 the saying of the old Latin sage : ' Whom we have in- 
 jured, we hate.' " 
 
 " But, captain," observed George, " I would hardly 
 grieve so about it. In fact, I never learn to like some 
 friends till they imagine themselves my enemies. I dote 
 on a good enemy." 
 
 " Indeed ! " exclaimed three ladies at once. 
 
 " But love," mumbled Amos, with an inebriate synthe- 
 sis of which spelling can convey no idea, " love's adiffer- 
 entmattftrintirely ! " 
 
 Lang regarded the last speaker for a moment, then, 
 turning to the ladies, with a knowing smile, observed : 
 " Not so different a matter after all. It is only another 
 phase of the same phenomenon. Love is divided from 
 friendship by a thin partition, and from hatred by a 
 thinner one still. A sigh or a glance may let one into 
 the other. If I were to write a play, it should dwell 
 much upon the desperate love of my heroine for, say, a 
 consumptive young man, whom she should lay out on a 
 board, in the fifth act, and proceed to dissect deliberately 
 with a butcher-knife loving him to distraction all the 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 93 
 
 time, but carving away, nevertheless, because to her 
 strong love is added one grain of offended pride." 
 
 " He has been in the wine-cellars all day," said one 
 lady, in a low voice, to another, as if it were her duty to 
 apologize. 
 
 " What handsome eyes ! " whispered the other in re- 
 sponse. 
 
 " And moustache ! " joined in the third. 
 
 Then all three aloud : " Oh ! that would be horrid ! " 
 
 " Yes, but perfectly true to nature," was Lang's care- 
 less answer. 
 
 " Oh laws ! Mr. Lang, you don't believe it ? " ejaculated 
 A one of the aforesaid three. 
 
 " Certainly I do. It would only be an extreme case 
 simply human nature played on the octaves ! " 
 
 " 'Oman," interpolated Amos, .among the stares and 
 smiles of the entire company, " 'oman is the (hie) love- 
 li'st of her sex. 'Oman is the gentl'st (hie), fm'st part of 
 (hie) of man ! " 
 
 " You are not only perspicacious, but right, Mr. 
 Dixon," continued Lang, with a wild diablerie in his eye. 
 " The old Aztecs, on the outskirts of whose aboriginal 
 empire we now are, were probably the greatest lovers of 
 flowers the world has ever seen ; yet the old Aztecs had 
 a feminine way of sacrificing one another to the gods, 
 and eating one another, done up a la brochette ! The 
 ladies, bless their soujs, are fine and beautiful ; and love 
 what is fine and beautiful ; but they love the butcher- 
 knife, too. Why, I have detected the condensed spirit 
 of forty butcher-knives, in the way some of them can say 
 ' s-h-e ! ' of the woman they hate ! " 
 
 " Well, George," said Karl, " we won't dispute about 
 tastes, but if I were ever to write a play, I would rep- 
 
94 GLOVERSON 
 
 resent woman's love, like charity, that ' believeth all 
 things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.' " 
 
 " Bravo ! " exclaimed Mrs. Tambol. The three lady 
 guests said nothing. George Lang was their hero. 
 
 " But. on such an occasion as this," continued Karl, 
 " we should leave Thalia for the lyric Muse. Horace 
 has been strangely running in my head for the last fifteen 
 minutes." 
 
 " That is not all that's got into his head," whispered 
 one of the lady partisans of George. 
 
 " Yes," Karl went on, " I have been thinking of 
 Horace's carpe diem. I beg your pardon, ladies, I am 
 not going to be learned. Carpe diem means, freely 
 translated, ' Go it while you can.' The only revenge we 
 can have on the sorrows of the past the only sunshine 
 that can gleam from ourselves outward on to the clouds 
 of our future is to be found in the rational enjoyment 
 of the present." 
 
 " How about the ant and the cricket ? " asked the cap- 
 tain. 
 
 " The fable of the ant and cricket," answered Karl 
 with a smile, " was written for the encouragement of ants, 
 and insect life generally. This building of storehouses 
 for a future which may never come, is not the part of 
 creatures who are ruled by reason. As Cicero said, 
 nearly two thousand years ago, ' You plant the tree, but 
 another reaps the fruit.' It is all well enough to be a 
 benefactor of your race, but it is another thing to erect 
 hospitals for imaginary ills." 
 
 " Then it is not worth while to get rich," observed 
 George Lang. 
 
 " If you are rich," rejoined Karl, " enjoy it. If you are 
 poor, be contentedly and elegantly so. If you are asked 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 95 
 
 to drink your neighbor's wine, and you want it, drink it. 
 If you hear a band of music playing on the street, keep 
 time to it. If you meet a pretty face, enjoy it for its 
 Maker's and its own sweet sake. Thank God that the 
 landscape is yours ; and if you see a fine sunset, look 
 upon it as a gorgeous fresco, which Nature has painted 
 on the sky for your particular benefit. Carpe diem / " 
 
 The short silence ensuing was thus broken by the 
 hostess : " Mr. Dixon, you have scarcely said a word this 
 evening. Shall we take this as a slight upon the whole 
 company ? " 
 
 Every eye was upon Amos. He raised his somnolent 
 ^rbs, for a moment, and muttering : " Cap'm, where am 
 I going to sweep to-night ? Ladies, I love, hie ! I 
 love you all ! " his head fell upon his arm, and Mr. Dixon 
 was borne from the table, fast asleep. 
 
96 GLOVERSON 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 FOR WHICH LOVE IS MOSTLY RESPONSIBLE. 
 
 IN the middle of the night, the whole house was 
 aroused by a scream of smothering agony. The echo 
 was caught up by some sharp, nervous voice, and hurled 
 back into every corner and crevice of the building, the 
 terror translating itself as it went into " Fire ! fire ! " 
 Forms were seen issuing from the rooms, and hurrying 
 hither and thither, while new voices swelled higher and 
 higher the diapason of horror. 
 
 Then succeeded the minor tones of curiosity, " Where 
 is it ? where is it ? " No one had seen it. " But Mr. 
 Dixon is not here ! " " Where is Mr. Dixon ? " And a 
 simultaneous rush was made for the apartment assigned 
 to that gentlenfan. 
 
 A subterranean noise answered their vigorous knock- 
 ing ; but the door was not opened. The knocking was 
 repeated in an ecstasy of clamor. Only the same earthy 
 sound came from within, borne on the sickening effluvia 
 of coal oil. " Bring a light and break open the door ! " 
 And the ladies retired to await the result. " Oh ! " ex- 
 claimed one of these, in retreating, " Oh ! that he should 
 be burned to death in this way, and I be unable to see 
 it all for forgetting to slip on a dress when I got up ! " 
 
 The door gave way at last, with a recalcitrant whir. 
 In the middle of the room were found a great pile of 
 books, and on the top of them an unwieldy book-case, 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 97 
 
 and, scattered here and there, on the top of that, the 
 fragments of a kerosene lamp. " But where is he ? " 
 "No, he is not under the bed." "Mr. Dixon ! Mr. 
 Dixon!" A sepulchral groan issued from somewhere 
 about the middle of the room. " I am here," was soon 
 after heard. There was no longer a doubt as to his 
 whereabouts. The book-case removed, the excavation 
 commenced. The labor was soon rewarded by the dis- 
 covery of the top of Amos's head. It was naturally con- 
 cluded that the rest of him could not be far off. The 
 exploration, therefore, was conducted with redoubled en- 
 ergy ; and the entire Dixon was finally extricated from 
 this " catacomb of departed authors " almost smoth- 
 ered, indeed, but a sober man. He refused to make any 
 explanation ; yet, as he was shown to another bedroom, he 
 simply remarked, " I have had my temperance lecture." 
 
 Lang, always cool, had partially dressed himself before 
 leaving his room. As he was passing back again to re- 
 tire, a night-capped head was thrust out at him, and 
 Curiosity coming right behind it demanded, in a female 
 voice : 
 
 " Mr.. Dixon must have broken his lamp ? What 
 caused that horrid noise ? " 
 
 " Mr. Dixon has probably been boring for oil, in his 
 sleep," was Lang's hurried answer, as he passed, " and " 
 (clasping his nose with his thumb and finger) " I think 
 Mr. Dixon struck it." 
 
 George Lang was not so acute as he thought him- 
 self. It was, indeed, a maudlin dream of Amos that had 
 brought about the catastrophe ; but a dream that left an 
 impression behind it that grew into his life, and bent 
 him with it. He dreamt that he saw Amelia Clayton 
 7 
 
98 GLOVERSON 
 
 standing on a distant height, beckoning him to approach. 
 At first he had to toil over rocks and rivers ; but he kept 
 on, for he was conscious that these must be passed. As 
 he came nearer, the ascent was graduated into pleasant 
 terraces, succeeded by flowery meads ; and just as he had 
 caught her own encouraging smile, down came the books 
 and book-case, up which he had, in reality, been clam- 
 bering. 
 
 " There are rocks of reform to climb over, and green 
 terraces beyond," thought Amos to himself, the next 
 morning, instead of making his appearance at breakfast. 
 " And I must commence right away, or I will never reach 
 that smile, outside of a dream." 
 
 About ten o'clock Mrs. Tambol tapped at the door of 
 the room occupied by Amos, and, bidden to enter, found 
 him sitting moodily by the window. 
 
 " I have brought you some tea and toast, Mr. Dixon. 
 Will you have it ? Pray now do ; " and she arranged it 
 daintily on a stand. " How do you feel this morning, 
 Mr. Dixon?" 
 
 Amos, taking no notice of the tea, toast, or question, 
 looked up, at last, and said, " I shall make a clean breast 
 of the whole matter to-day, at dinner, and ask your par- 
 don before the whole company." 
 
 " Oh ! you have no pardon to ask, Mr. Dixon, and, as 
 for the company, the ladies have all gone home. Your 
 friends and the captain have ridden off to the other end 
 of the valley, and will not be home to dinner." 
 
 Amos, for all his heroic resolution, heaved a deep sigh 
 of relief. 
 
 " Mr. Schmerling and the captain," she continued, 
 " were going to come and see how you were, and ask 
 whether you would accompany them ; but I would not 
 let them disturb you." 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 99 
 
 " What a glorious thing a true woman is ! such a 
 bridge over a man's failings ! " exclaimed Amos, evi- 
 dently thinking aloud. Then, recollecting himself, " I 
 beg your pardon, Mrs. Tambol ; I am very much obliged 
 to you ; for I really do not want to visit any more wine- 
 cellars to-day." 
 
 Mrs. Tambol retired, and Amos, finishing his light 
 breakfast, strolled out by himself. Following the wind- 
 ings of the creek, it led him into a green solitude, where 
 he whiled away the time till dinner. Gradually, every- 
 thing but the dream faded from the memory of the past 
 twenty-four hours. He felt more than ever before his 
 unworthiness of Amelia Clayton. He returned to the 
 house, with a wavering hope, but with the firm convic- 
 tion that to win her he must first win himself that 
 to gain the sunny uplands of her smile he must climb 
 higher up the steeps of manhood. This was the shadowy 
 conclusion he came to. It did not frame itself in words ; 
 for it was too indefinite for words. He did not know 
 how he was to compass his object. He only knew that 
 he was unworthy ; and resolved to do hereafter, with her 
 always in his mental sight. So, he felt sure, he must 
 clamber over rocks and up rugged pathways. 
 
 It was very late that night when the captain and his 
 two guests returned. Amos, therefore, did not see them 
 till breakfast the next morning. 
 
 " Now," said Lang, at that meal, " we have discussed 
 the vineyard question in about all its bearings. Let us 
 have the light of Mr. Dixon's dream upon that important 
 subject." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Dixon, do tell us your dream," joined in the 
 captain, with a very hearty laugh. 
 
 " For the consequences of my dream I have, I hope, 
 
100 GLOVERSON 
 
 Mrs. Tambol's forgiveness already, and I now ask yours 
 and the company's." 
 
 " Tut ! " said the captain, " I should never have for- 
 given myself, if my wine had not told on some of you." 
 
 " But are we to have no benefit from your dream, Mr. 
 Dixon ? " demanded Lang, Avith a leer. 
 
 " Mr. Lang," and Amos looked him squarely in the 
 face, " you have had all the benefit you ever will have 
 from that dream. I have begged pardon for its conse- 
 quences, once ; and the subject, in the way you look upon 
 it, is painful to me." 
 
 Lang was thunderstruck. This was a display of firm- 
 ness in the person on whom he had calculated for, at 
 least, a week's amusement. Feeling conscious that, in 
 the dead silence succeeding, every eye was upon him, the 
 stock broker covered his retreat with a flaunting smile, 
 and a flank movement of speech. " Mr. Dixon wanders 
 from the subject ; we were asking his opinion on vine- 
 yards, as an investment, and, especially, in the case of 
 our friend here, Mr. Schmerling." 
 
 " I should be sorry to say anything to influence Mr. 
 Schmerling in a question of so much importance, and of 
 which I know so little," answered Amos. 
 
 This, though known only to himself, was a worse de- 
 feat for Lang. He had calculated on Amos to sustain 
 his own pretended opinion. " Well, then," said he, des- 
 perately, " to sum up all, there is no improved vineyard, 
 such as Mr. Schmerling wants, for sale, now. He could, 
 as the captain says, buy the land and plant one of his 
 own ; but he is not disposed to wait so many years till 
 his vines shall grow. Besides, he has received a warning 
 from heaven itself against so jeopardizing his little all. 
 Haven't you, Karl ? " 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 101 
 
 " I have received," said Karl, " a strange presentiment, 
 and I shall, on the whole, wait till some larger cultivated 
 ranch is for sale." 
 
 " That's sensible, Karl, at last ! " was Lang's exclama- 
 tion of repressed delight. He did not know that the 
 presentiment had done more than all his arguments, in 
 bringing about this conclusion. 
 
 The captain did not look pleased. He liked Karl, 
 and wanted him for a neighbor, but he had before this 
 exhausted all his reasoning, and now said nothing. 
 
 "You see, captain," observed Karl, answering this dis- 
 satisfied look. " in a year or two I shall be able to buy a 
 vineyard here that will suit me. I will offer twice what 
 it is worth, if its owner will not otherwise part with it. 
 I am to be part owner of the ' Dorcas ' mine." 
 
 " What mine ? " demanded the captain. 
 
 The Dorcas." 
 
 " I never heard of it before." 
 
 " That may be. It is owned and controlled by Mr. 
 Lang and a few of his particular friends. As a great 
 favor, George assures me, he has prevailed upon them to 
 allow me to invest my little capital with them." 
 
 This was the first intimation Lang had received of 
 Karl's consent to his proposition of some time since. He 
 was so overcome by this unexpected success, that he had 
 suffered his friend to make more of the plan public than 
 he could have wished. 
 
 " Then you have finally awakened to your own inter- 
 ests, Karl, old fellow, have you ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied he, warmed by the glow on the broker's 
 face, " we are again embarked together, George ; and 
 may we float as peaceably as we did in the olden time, 
 down the windings of that dear old Neckar ! " 
 
102 GLOVERSON 
 
 And Karl lapsed into one of those day-dreams of his. 
 He seemed to be drifting through^ie arches of the old 
 stone bridge, of the river he had named, toward the 
 Rhine. He saw again, crowding the banks, the little 
 dingy houses of Heidelberg, with their sharp gables and 
 their moss-grown tiles. From the church of the dead 
 Electors, he heard the same old bell, that has beaten the 
 inarch of time for centuries. His eye ascending with 
 the sound, dwells upon the far-famed castle, and sees 
 again the statue of Justice, with her scales, still towering 
 above the ruin. But far beyond looms the giant peak 
 of the Kaiserstuhl, thrusting his spears of shadow down 
 past the Molkenkur into the valley, even to the face of the 
 silent dreamer ; and his dream fades, and Karl is lost 
 again in the same presentiment of evil. 
 
 George Lang was now anxious to return to the city. 
 The captain insisted that a Chinaman should drive his 
 guests directly to the landing ; and was only sorry that 
 the expected call of a neighbor on business prevented 
 him from doing that last service himself. 
 
 There was the real feeling of two good natures in the 
 parting of Amos and Mrs. Tambol. She was a true 
 woman, and there was something in him that made him 
 know it. " You," said he, " have ironed some of the 
 wrinkles out of my clothes that were wet ; and I think I 
 have learned, since I have been here, that a good woman 
 can smooth the wrinkles out of a man's character." 
 
 George Lang bade the hosts good-by in a calm, 
 gentlemanly manner, with a smile at regular intervals 
 in his smooth talk nothing so rough as emotion about 
 it. A mournful light mantled the face of Karl, as he 
 said, shaking hands with the captain the second time, 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 103 
 
 " We will certainly see one another again," while 
 something strangely told him that they never would. 
 
 And the carriage drove away, leaving the wine-grower 
 and his wife standing side by side at an opening in the 
 lattice of the porch, with comfort around them, and con- 
 tent within. 
 
 Karl watched them dreamily as he was whirled away. 
 " The angels," muttered he at last, " that were brides- 
 men in heaven when that match was made, must yet 
 hover about here on earth. The reflected sheen of their 
 guardian wings still keeps the chain bright. There is a 
 fitness in these mated ones, which is the lingering she- 
 kinah of the Great Master who linked them together. 
 And," he went on in thought, " they fit the scene so 
 well ; and yet, the scene is so melancholy, for I shall 
 never see it again." 
 
 The little steamer was reached in due time. The re- 
 turn was not so pleasant as the trip from the city. The 
 violent afternoon wind of summer was blowing ; and 
 nothing broke the monotony till the wharves of San 
 Francisco were in sight. 
 
 The three fellow travellers had been strolling leisurely 
 about the lower deck, ready and anxious to leave the 
 boat as soon as she reached the dock. They at last 
 stood clustering about a stanchion, each clasping it with 
 one hand, as if, in their listlessness, intent on holding it 
 in a perpendicular position. Karl, his eye wandering off 
 from one passenger to another, finally observed : 
 
 " What a queer study the human face is. If you are 
 pleased, you will always see somebody to reflect back 
 your smile. If you are sad, you will always meet some 
 look of sympathy in the strangest crowd. In the great- 
 
104 GLOVERSON 
 
 est sea of faces, you will always find one with some reflec- 
 tion of the overarching heaven in it." 
 
 " Well, Karl," remarked Lang carelessly, " I think you 
 would have some difficulty in finding that one in this 
 crowd. I don't see it in that sailor there, for in- 
 stance." 
 
 Something very like a shudder came over Karl, as he 
 looked at the person indicated. " No, George, that face 
 looks more as if it had been cut out of the infernal side 
 of Michael Angelo's ' Last Judgment.' I wonder why it 
 annoys me so to look at that brutal sailor ? " 
 
 " It is simply the incongruity," answered- Lang. " It 
 would not shock you to see that face behind prison bars. 
 Your sense of fitness would then be gratified." 
 
 " That may be partly so. George ; but then, why should 
 he bring back to me so forcibly that same presentiment 
 of evil?" 
 
 " Oh, pshaw, Karl ! think of something else," broke 
 out Lang impatiently ; " you got clear of danger when 
 you got clear of vineyards." 
 
 " God knows, I try to think of something else," sighed 
 Karl, as his eyes rested on a gray-haired old man, lean- 
 ing against the bulwarks. "There, George," he ex- 
 claimed after a pause, "there is the face even in this 
 crowd the one with a reflection of heaven in it. That 
 old man has a sorrow at his heart. Some one is waiting 
 for him above and beyond, where his sad eyes are look- 
 ing. Do you see him ? " 
 
 Amos had for some time before been regarding the 
 subject of Karl's apostrophe. Just as Lang had got his 
 eye riveted in the same direction, the sailor with the 
 sinister face came along, dragging a line which he was 
 getting ready for the shore. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 105 
 
 "Come, old man, stand one side; you're in my 
 way." 
 
 The old man did not seem to hear. 
 
 " Stand one side, I say ! " again shouted the sailor, in 
 anger. 
 
 The old man did not stir. The sailor, coming up to 
 him, struck him ruthlessly with the heavy rope. A 
 woman came running from the other part of the boat, 
 screaming, "My father is deaf! my father is deaf!" 
 The old man had scarcely staggered ino his daughter's 
 arms, when Amos, with a well-aimed blow, stretched the 
 \ brutal sailor on the deck. 
 
 " Served him right ! " shouted a voice from the crowd. 
 " Served him right, eh ? " echoed the sailor, with the ad- 
 denda of several oaths, as he crawled to his feet again, 
 and made for his assailant, "now it's my t " 
 
 This speech was interrupted by a sudden call toward 
 the deck. Amos had watched him leisurely and floored 
 him with another blow. 
 
 " Served him right, agin ! " shouted the same voice 
 from the crowd. 
 
 At this point, it would have been difficult to tell which 
 slunk away more sheepishly Amos or the sailor. 
 Something seemed to come over the victor all of a sud- 
 den. He turned quickly on his heel, and walked off to 
 the stern of the boat. Karl beard him mutter, as he 
 passed, these incomprehensible words, " There, I have 
 been fighting! What would she say?" 
 
 Amos had scarcely answered this question, to the utter 
 annihilation of his hopes of being better for Amelia's 
 sake, when he was approached by Karl and George, fol- 
 lowed by one or two of the curious crowd. 
 
 " Mr. Dixon," exclaimed Karl, enthusiastically, " I'm 
 
106 GLOVERSON 
 
 your friend for life ! " And he embraced Amos on the 
 spot, after the cordial manner of the Fatherland. 
 
 " Let me congratulate you, Mr. Dixon," said George 
 Lang, shaking the hand of Amos, who was now seriously 
 embarrassed at finding himself a hero, against what he 
 imagined to be the judgment of Amelia. " Let me con- 
 gratulate you, Mr. Dixon," George repeated; while the 
 undercurrent of his thought ran something this way: 
 " This fellow puzzles me ; the less I say, may be, about 
 stocks to him, the better." 
 
 " Now, your friends has all haft their say," observed a 
 bushy gentleman, in rough boots and ill-setting store- 
 clothes, and whom any one would recognize as an " hon- 
 est miner," on a visit to the city " Now, your friends 
 has all had their say ; 'low a stranger to have his." And 
 the same enthusiastic voice of the crowd was recognized. 
 " I say, sir," he continued, " bully for you, sir ; bully for 
 you. I only wish't I'd been a leetle nearder to that 
 scoundrel afore you reached him. I don't say what I'd 
 a done, but I like what you done. You done well, and 
 there's my hand. I've got an old gray-haired father, to 
 home in the States, and it's sot me a thinkin' of him. 
 Now sir, you suit me, sir ; you bet. Come and take a 
 drink." 
 
 For a moment the face of Mr. Dixon presented a 
 diorama of quickly-varying expressions. Every stage 
 was marked, as his thought went through the desert pil- 
 grimage of his late memories. He hesitated only for an 
 instant ; but it was a case of eternity in an instant. 
 For, in that time, he had wrought an illuminated chron- 
 icle of recent events, one chapter on the tqp of another, 
 on the palimpsest of his face. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 107 
 
 " Come up to the bar," repeated the " honest miner," 
 " come up and take a drink 1 " 
 
 " No, I thank you," said Amos, " I do not feel at all 
 like drinking," and he walked out, with his fellow pas- 
 sengers, on to the wharf. 
 
108 GLOVERSON 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 BECKONING. 
 
 " WHY is it that misery takes to water that wharves 
 and bridges are the Academy groves and gardens of the 
 miserable ? You see that young man, with the thread- 
 bare coat, looking dreamily at the ship spreading her 
 wings for an Eastern flight? Fof him, though unsuc- 
 cessful here, there may be neglected gold in some New 
 England glen. That ship is going toward his home 
 toward the precious hearts that absence has assayed. 
 So his reveries go silently outward and onward toward 
 the rising sun, like birds of passage ; and the great, mys- 
 terious ocean is their element. You remember, George, 
 on London Bridge, day or night, the wretches that look 
 so wistfully into the muddy Thames, or lie sprawled 
 upon the stone seats over the arches ; sleeping without 
 fear of the wickedness of others, because armed with 
 their own utter misery ; laying their hearts against the 
 troubled river's, and sleeping or dying to the same slug- 
 gish lullaby of the waters ? Where in all Rome, but on 
 the Ponte Sant Angela, will you find a poor man so mis- 
 erable and sullen that he will not beg ? Then, those 
 wandering, houseless, singing tradesmen of my own 
 Germany, the Handiverksburschen, those knights errant of 
 the bundle and staff, those troubadours and minnesingers 
 of the nineteenth century why do they so congregate 
 upon the Bridge of Boats across the Rhine at Manheim, 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 109 
 
 gazing into the legendary river as into an Intelligence 
 Office ? What is the famous Morgue by the Seine, in 
 Paris, with its one or two thousand suicidal corpses every 
 year, but a temple erected to Misery, by the side of the 
 object of its worship ? The old theory of the humors may 
 be right after all. The temper of mind may depend 
 upon the fluids of the body. And beyond all that, by a 
 Gnosticism never taught, may not the great, mysterious 
 ocean, the visible eternity of liquids, be the divinity of 
 which these fluids, our feelings, are the emanations, and 
 to which they will return ? The wretch, then, who goes 
 to the water-side, may be impelled as to his ' Ephesian 
 dome,' or since misery is a protracted death in life 
 as a parting spirit to the bosom of its God ! " 
 
 These were the queer ideas Karl Schmerling had 
 enunciated, one day, in the hearing of Amos. The lat- 
 ter gentleman had thought them over several times since, 
 and may have got them somewhat confused. At least, 
 he almost always found himself grounded in a side 
 issue a sort of unexpected bayou of the watery argu- 
 ment that is, he always ended in believing himself 
 miserable. 
 
 And it is hardly to be supposed that a man whose 
 feelings, scientifically analyzed, would give twenty parts 
 love to one part hope, could be perfectly happy. 
 
 The very night after his return to the city he could 
 not stay in his little room ; he must walk. It was moon- 
 light, and he strolled leisurely out of his narrow street 
 into a broader one, and then turned at right angles into 
 a broader one still Folsom Street. It was certainly 
 odd. He could not have had any. will at all in the 
 matter. 
 
110 GLOVERSON 
 
 He was moved by the same magnetism, gentle reader, 
 that has before now moved you to pass by the house of 
 the person you love or hate. You remember you did 
 not reason much about it only you were pretty sure 
 that you would not be seen. And if you were, what 
 could be more accidental ? 
 
 Mr. Dixon resolved that he would be ascetic. So he 
 allowed himself to pass the castle of his princess only 
 twice. Simultaneous with his second transit was that of 
 a shadowy profile across the window curtain of one of 
 the upper rooms. Amos recognized it in an instant. The 
 outline of that chin and nose and shoulder could not be 
 mistaken. Their impress seemed to linger on the cur- 
 tain, even after the light had disappeared from the apart- 
 ment. It was Sophia Garr ; and Amos turned away 
 more wretched than ever. His hungering eyes had 
 asked for bread, and they had been given a stone. 
 
 It was now that Karl's aquatic theory came in a be- 
 wildering deluge upon the mind of Mr. Gloverson's 
 cashier. The highest mountains of his thought gradu- 
 ally disappeared, leaving but the Ararat of this one con- 
 viction, and this consequent resolve : he was miserable ; 
 he would take to water. 
 
 He could not go to Folsom Street wharf, because he 
 would have to pass the elegant house again, thereby 
 breaking his stoical resolve. He kept on, therefore, in 
 the direction he had last taken, till, reaching the route 
 he customarily took on his way to business, his mind 
 subsided gradually into its wonted channel. He turned 
 the usual corners and threaded the familiar thorough- 
 fares, involuntarily : for he was thinking the old thought 
 the thought of his dead mother. Her image, who had 
 been all confidence in his future, always came to him 
 with the halo of a resurrected trust. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. Ill 
 
 But then to-night suddenly came doubt again doubt 
 that somehow always came with the remembrance of 
 poor old Aunty Owen. " Why do I not hear something 
 about her ? Or shall I find her after all ? " For here, 
 the idea of Amelia Clayton flashed upon him. This 
 was indeed, his regular curriculum mentis : his mother, 
 Aunty Owen, Amelia Clayton that is, trust, doubt, 
 undefined hope. Thus, the feelings of Amos in their 
 queer regularity, were like a sinking river. They would 
 disappear from the sunlight, go on in darkness, and rise 
 to the light again. But was he always, like the waters, 
 farther along in his course ? 
 
 He was certainly farther along in his walk than he 
 had any conception of. Still thinking of Amelia, and, 
 more especially of the dream he had had in Sonoma, 
 " Yes, yes," he soliloquized, in a deep feeling of unwor- 
 thiness, " I must clamber over rocks, and up steep " 
 Boom ! went a cannon, apparently right under the nose 
 of Mr. Dixon, so deafening were the echoes when, all 
 at once, taking his bearings, he found himself at the foot 
 of Telegraph Hill. " Ah ! a steamer is coming in ! " he 
 said half aloud, as he commenced in reality to clamber 
 over the rocks and up the steep pathway of that rugged 
 eminence. There he could have the best view of the 
 bay, and the Golden Gate ; for again had it suddenly 
 occurred to Amos that he was miserable, and that he 
 would take to water. 
 
 Having reached an open place in the hill-side, he 
 paused to breathe and to watch the steamer passing noise- 
 lessly below him. There was something so unreal in the 
 scene so much like a dream ; the impressive silence, 
 the moon-lit cliffs, and of all things, himself, alone, in 
 such a place and at such an hour ! How much it was 
 
112 GLOVERSON 
 
 like the eerie landscape of the vision, in which he had 
 seen Amelia Clayton beckoning to him from the heights ! 
 
 Thinking this, he looked forward, and, several hundred 
 feet beyond, on a beetling crag above him, he saw 
 what? he rubs his hands over his eyes and looks 
 again a figure outlined against the sky ! Yes, a female 
 figure, and beckoning to him ! Some covering it 
 might have been a shawl, it might have been a cowl, or 
 it might have been a shroud was thrown over the head 
 and shoulders. It seemed, in the distance, all clad in 
 one color, more ghastly than white, and indescribable 
 something like that mysterious gray of old armor. He 
 rubs his hands over his eyes again, this time to discover 
 whether he is really dreaming ; and, convincing himself 
 to the contrary, beholds the same distant figure beckon- 
 ing to him in the moonlight. 
 
 For a moment Amos is startled and confounded, as 
 the most valiant of -us might have been. But, ghost or 
 not, he resolves to approach. Toiling hastily up the 
 path, he draws nearer and nearer to the figure, still beck- 
 oning till a sudden turn in the ascent conceals it from 
 view. He feels that only a few moments more will bring 
 him face to face with what? His breathing is quicker ; 
 he tries to convince himself that it is because the ascent 
 is more rugged. The ascent, however, is not more rug- 
 ged ; and his pace is slower than when the figure was in 
 sight. His breathing is quicker, because the figure is out 
 of sight because its place has been taken by a strange 
 dread, akin to that which the bravest throw about an 
 unseen foe, or an undefined danger. 
 
 All at once he comes in sight of the crag again, and 
 finds it deserted ! More confounded than ever, he 
 goes up to the very spot the shape had occupied ; but 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 113 
 
 can discover nothing of its retreat. He looks down 
 toward the bay. The steamer, like some black monster, 
 has disappeared in the jungle of the distant shipping ; 
 and, in the lessening light,* the silver of the waters is 
 now deadened into lead. He looks out toward the land. 
 The sparse huts and houses below him, at the foot of the 
 crag, seem farther off, from the very silence in which 
 they nestle ; and away beyond, over the hills, the white 
 grave-stones of Lone Mountain, like sheeted spectres, 
 inarch slowly and noiselessly out of sight in the increas- 
 ing darkness. Amos seems to himself to be the only 
 living thing in all the landscape. 
 
 While he stands yet musing on the scene and on the 
 strange occurrence, the moon goes down into the far-off 
 ocean ; and Amos is left, on the very heights to which 
 he had been beckoned, to find his way home, in darkness 
 and in doubt. 
 
114 GLOVERSON 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 MR. DIXON MAKES A BAD IMPRESSION. 
 
 A WHOLE week had now passed since his return from 
 Sonoma, and Amos had not seen Miss Clayton. In the 
 sense of his own unworthiness, and in default of any 
 other explanation, he had come to consider the mysteri- 
 ous figure on the height as symbolical of his fortunes 
 with that lady. She had beckoned to him only in the 
 deceitful moonlight of his own conceited fancy. 
 
 Amelia, indeed, had never given him any warrant to 
 visit the elegant house on Folsom Street, and he had not 
 called upon Miss Garr, because not sure what kind of a 
 reception she would give him, after the denouement of 
 the social hour spent in her school-room. In this verbal 
 joust in the lists of matrimony, Miss Garr had, as you 
 might say, lost her breastplate. If she were not really 
 wounded, at least her secret had been exposed. 
 
 Ruminating on these matters, and making his way 
 toward Front Street one morning, Amos was met by 
 Karl Schmerling, and presented with two tickets for the 
 Philharmonic Concert. 
 
 " It is to take place this evening," said Karl. " Mr. 
 Lang is to go with Miss Clayton, and Miss Garr has ex- 
 pressed a wish to go, also. You will, I believe, from what 
 she says, be perfectly willing to go with her ? " 
 
 " Perfectly," was the answer of Amos, somewhat em- 
 barrassed by the expression on the face of Schmerling. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 115 
 
 Mr. Gloverson's cashier, in reality no great scholar, was 
 here guilty of a false reading. He had taken Amelia 
 Clayton for the subject of Karl's knowing smile, when 
 " Sophia Garr " was the real nominative. 
 
 So Amos, parting from Karl, was launched into a sea 
 of uneasiness, as deep as his own feeling and as broad 
 and long as the whole day. He resolved, with much 
 shrewdness, that he would be early at the elegant house 
 on Folsom Street. He might thus get a glimpse of 
 Arfelia ; perhaps be of the same party with her and 
 George Lang. 
 
 Mr. Dixon was early. 
 
 Amelia had just begun to think of her toilet, and had 
 retired to her own room at the ringing of the door-bell. 
 Miss Garr had been only an hour at the adornment of 
 her person. Wondering at the premature arrival of Mr. 
 Dixon, she sent word that she would be down in ten 
 minutes, and accordingly made her appearance three 
 quarters of an hour afterwards. 
 
 And in making her appearance she was doing a great 
 deal ; for she was attired, for the first time, in her new 
 white opera-cloak and her Paris bonnet. Her school term 
 had closed. She was no longer the priestess of Wisdom, 
 but stood before the startled Amos, the goddess, full- 
 armed, in all the silken panoply of conquest. A whole 
 month's earnings, and more, had been marshaled for this 
 desperate onslaught of the forlorn hope. 
 
 " Well, here I am ! " gushed forth the gorgeous Garr, 
 turning round deliberately, and seeming to have forgotten 
 something, but really illustrating her idea of a tableau 
 vivant, for the admiration of Amos. 
 
 " Good evening," stammered that gentleman. 
 
 " Oh ! good evening, Mr. Dixon ; " and she extended 
 
116 GLOVERSON 
 
 her hand imperially, as if Amos were expected to kiss it 
 rather than take it within his own. It seems Miss Sophia 
 had merged her usual politeness in the contemplation of 
 her unusual splendor. 
 
 As Miss Garr did not sit down, Amos asked meekly 
 whether they would better wait for Miss Clayton. " I 
 think not," was her answer ; " Mr. Lang will not be here 
 for half an hour yet. Let us walk on." 
 
 And they walked, discussing the pleasures of life in 
 Sonoma. Miss Garr was of opinion that it must be 
 delightful thus to live away from the gayeties of the city. 
 " It would," she said, wrapping her opera-cloak artis- 
 tically around her ; " it would free one from the petty 
 annoyances of fashion, and from the more lavish expenses 
 of dress." 
 
 Mr. Dixon was not sure that he should like to live 
 always in the country he had been visiting. There was 
 something so gloomy about their wine-cellars! 
 
 " Oh ! I don't think any one would like to live in the 
 country always, Mr. Dixon ; " and the amiable smile on 
 Miss Garr's face wreathed itself in beautiful harmony 
 with the yellow flowers of her new Paris bonnet. " Not 
 always, Mr. Dixon. One would certainly sigh for the 
 faces of the crowd, and for the elegant air of well-dressed 
 men, and you will excuse me of well-dressed women, 
 too." 
 
 They walked on in silence. 
 
 " Our friend, Mr. Schmerling, performs to-night, I be- 
 lieve," at length observed Amos, casting his bread list- 
 lessly upon the receding waters of conversation. 
 
 " Yes," and it came back to him after not many sec- 
 onds or rather came back to the personal adornments 
 of the lady by his side. " Yes, and all the elite of the 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 117 
 
 city will be there. We may expect to see a great deal 
 of dress." 
 
 Thus, during the whole walk to the Concert, Miss Garr 
 used her tongue very much as the natives of Australia do 
 that interesting weapon, the boomerang : toward what- 
 ever topic she sent this projectile of speech, she had the 
 talent always to bring it back very near to her opera- 
 cloak and Paris bonhet. 
 
 They reached the Academy of Music soon after the 
 doors were opened. Walking boldly toward the entrance 
 to the Dress Circle they were stopped by a man, with 
 this question : 
 
 " Have you a reserved seat, sir ? " 
 
 " Certainly," replied Arnos, presenting his tickets. 
 
 The man grinned : " You have no reserved seat, sir ! " 
 
 " Then I must have one at all costs." 
 
 " All taken ! Right up those stairs ! " and the man 
 pointed laconically toward the ascent to the Upper or 
 Family Circle. Amos was taken aback, yet what could 
 he do ? His tickets entitled him to the best places in the 
 house, but Karl, who rarely knew the day of the month 
 or week, and never professed to know which was east or 
 west, had thoughtlessly omitted to secure seats before- 
 hand during the day. Mr. Dixon ascended the steps, 
 therefore, with a queer misgiving that they were leading 
 him and the proud Garr up to that Olympus of theatrical 
 gods, the Gallery. He was relieved to find himself landed 
 at last one remove from the circle of his apprehensions 
 only sutta riva, del settimo cerchio ; though Amos did not 
 know a word of Italian, and never read Dante. 
 
 Sophia Garr absorbed as many as three minutes in 
 arranging herself and her costly apparel into a seat. 
 This done, she cast her eyes about her for the first time. 
 
118 GLOVERSON 
 
 Only one or two of the reserved seats below, in the Dress 
 Circle, were yet occupied. The gas was about half 
 turned on. The ladies around her of the same tier, did 
 not wear opera-cloaks and Paris bonnets. 
 
 Miss Garr was fast becoming a vinegar volcano. The 
 first eruptions were in little remarks about cheap seats, 
 and travelling second class. The fact of the matter was, 
 she had caparisoned herself for the express purpose of 
 seeing and being seen ; and, in justice to the lady, it must 
 be allowed that the Tipper Circle was not calculated to 
 gratify her in either of these respects. 
 
 " Mr. Dixon," she said, "I can not stay here. I would 
 much rather go to the Theatre, where we can surely get 
 respectable seats." 
 
 The opera-cloak seemed to be the lexigraphic authori- 
 ty in which Sophia had found this word, " re-spect-a-ble ;" 
 for she had inserted the hyphen of a look toward the 
 new garment, between each enunciated syllable of that 
 word. 
 
 They went to the Theatre. 
 
 Here the seat must have been a " re-spect-a-ble " one, 
 for Sophia was now all smiles. Between acts, she en- 
 deavored to impress Amos with the magnificence of her 
 ancestry, in the State of Maine ; and related to him many 
 incidents of travel in Portland and Boston. This proved 
 highly interesting to herself and the spectators in the 
 immediate neighborhood. The rapt attention of these 
 latter was, however, mistaken by our improvisatrice of 
 prose as the natural devotion of all well-regulated eyes 
 to her new opera-cloak and Paris bonnet. She forgot 
 the unsatisfactory interview of her school-room, in what 
 she considered the success of the untried and irresistible 
 blandishment of dress. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 119 
 
 Miss Garr also allowed Amos to look through her 
 opera-glasses. But even this last burst of confidence 
 did not seem to cheer him. Miss Garr's opera-cloak 
 and Paris bonnet had evidently come between him and 
 Amelia Clayton, whom he had expected to see. 
 
 The curtain finally dropped on the last act, and the 
 two sallied forth upon the street. 
 
 What unimagined horror ! Who would have expected, 
 on that very evening, and while Sophia Garr and Amos 
 Dixon had been quietly seated in the Theatre, that the 
 first rain of the season would come on ? rain, even be- 
 fore its time ; virulent rain ; rain, with the memory of the 
 deluge in it with somTof the old hatred of sinners ! 
 
 Amos quietly surveyed the situation, and took a 
 sudden resolve. " I must dampen the fire of this woman's 
 unfortunate feeling," thought he, as he was assailed by 
 innumerable hackmen, a storm within a storm. " Have 
 a carriage, sir ? " " Take you right along for ten dol- 
 lars ! " " Take you for seven dollars ! " " Take you and 
 your lady ! " whispered one, at last, with an appeal to So- 
 phia's anxious face, " yes, you and your lady for five dol- 
 lars ! " 
 
 Amos led the way haughtily through the bustle, the 
 noise, and the rain, to a passing street-car. Inwardly, 
 he enjoyed the effect of his preconcerted villainy. Yet, 
 in spite of his resolve and the chuckle that packed it 
 hard down, his good heart sent up a scarlet protest to his 
 face. It must have been a brilliant tapestry of blushes 
 wrought upon his cheeks and hung about his ears ; for, 
 in his account of the adventure to Mr. Andrew Glover- 
 son, the next morning, Amos said, that during the whole 
 sojourn in the car he did not seem to be riding at all. 
 
120 GLOVERSON 
 
 A strange conviction forced itself upon him that he was 
 walking on his head ; and he had not ceased performing 
 this imaginary feat, till the car stopped at the corner of 
 Folsom Street. 
 
 Miss Garr had contemplated the rain -drops on her 
 opera-cloak in ominous silence. Now, as she passed the 
 lamp of the car on her way out, there was something 
 about her oddly suggestive of a mammoth ale bottle on 
 the point of bursting. The light, falling upon her face, 
 disclosed every feature drawn, as if by some strange 
 magnetism, toward her mouth. Her eyes, and cheeks, 
 and nose all seemed nearer than ever before to her 
 lips, and these were compressed in an agony of internal 
 rage. 
 
 Leaving the car, the couple careered down Folsom 
 Street, with the white opera-cloak flaring in the wind, 
 like a flag of truce ; but the rain would grant no armis- 
 tice, and poured volley after volley of penetrating grape, 
 even on the peaceful ensign itself. 
 
 They skirmished under an awning, and the chivalric 
 Garr made a breach in the door of a belated fruit shop. 
 Here an artificial sigh broke through the quick breathing 
 of the leering Mr. Dixon : " Oh ! that we had an um- 
 brella ! " 
 
 The fruit vender was very sorry that he had just lent 
 the only one he had. Miss Sophia preserved the same 
 portentous silence, her face now looking, in a miniature 
 way, like one of those clouds which sometimes break over 
 mountainous countries, and deluge whole districts. 
 
 All of a sudden the rain stopped, and the march of two 
 was resumed. They had proceeded about half a block, 
 when the storm broke out again with redoubled violence. 
 Nothing was left them now but to endure. " If we only 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 121 
 
 had an umbrella ! " once more sighed Amos, villainously. 
 But he received no answer. Even the look, darted at 
 him through the darkness, was not one of sympathy. To 
 the higher intelligences, who hear, thought, Miss Garr 
 was not silent. 
 
 If ideas go in a train, as philosophers say, those of the 
 retired instructress must have run an express an ex- 
 press over a suspension bridge, with the past on one side 
 and the future on the other. Of the present the dark 
 chasm between she would not think. The hopes of 
 long maiden years had reached at the affections of the 
 man by her side^ but the parasites had clung to empty 
 air. The mistletoes had died before the oak. The un- 
 certain time to come must be laid out for new " prospect- 
 ings." She tried to dwell on this, for there was some 
 comfort in the belief that she already knew where to look 
 for the ingot at last. But the present waste of capital 
 over a whole month's earnings in the mine she was 
 just abandoning ! The thought of this would, in her own 
 despite, come upon her with a new gush of anguish, at 
 each renewed pulse of the angfy storm. It was then 
 that her face would assume a new likeness to some ill- 
 boding thing. 
 
 Miss Garr evidently had never contemplated the ex- 
 penses of hydraulic mining. When she considered the 
 damage that water had done the utter wreck and ruin 
 of her new opera-cloak and Paris bonnet all the harpy 
 of her nature looked out through her fast-filling eyes ; 
 and her compressed, mute mouth was eloquent with 
 direst prophecies against unmarried men. 
 
 Arrived at the door of the elegant mansion on Folsom 
 Street, she could restrain herself no longer. Turning 
 her back upon Amos, she burst out into angry, disap- 
 pointed tears ; and, without a word, went into the house. 
 
122 GLOVERSON 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 FANTASTICAL AND GARRESQUE. 
 
 THE next day, Miss Garr and Amelia were alone in 
 the parlor. Mrs. Clayton had retired to her own room 
 after lunch, leaving much sympathy behind her for the 
 late trials of her old friend from the State of Maine. 
 The indignant Sophia quietly cast off her moorings from 
 a sofa, and tacked skillfully for an easy-chair, firing, as 
 she went, this last shot at her sunken enemy 
 
 " Well, I shall never have anything more to do with 
 that wretch, Dixon ! " This was preceded by a flash 
 from her wicked eye, and followed by the report of an 
 imo pectore sigh. 
 
 " After all," said Amelia, raising her quiet eyes, " I fear 
 you do him injustice, ^here must be some one to blame 
 besides him ; at least there always has been." 
 
 " Nothing but his pesky meanness ! " was the sharp 
 clatter of Miss Garr's shrapnell, at the rising ghost of 
 her submerged foe. 
 
 " But let us not condemn him hopelessly, until we have 
 heard his apology." 
 
 " Apology ! What is an apology to nearly a hundred 
 dollars' worth of dry-goods and millinery ? This was the 
 last purchase I had contemplated before marriage." 
 
 A considerable pause succeeded. Miss Garr had 
 either exhausted her ammunition, or dispersed even the 
 ghost of her enemy. " Well," she observed, at last, " I 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 123 
 
 should have paid more attention to the advances of Mr. 
 Schmerling. Don't you think he would be an interesting 
 husband ? " 
 
 There was just a little of contempt behind the smile 
 on Amelia's face, as she replied, -r 
 
 " I have always thought Mr. Schmerling interesting ; 
 I never thought about him as a husband." 
 
 Amelia's contempt could not, then, have been for Karl, 
 but rather for the practical way in which Miss Garr 
 " prospected " the affections of men. So she did not tell 
 the schemer what she believed, on the testimony of 
 George Lang that Karl was engaged abroad. She 
 thought she would let the scheme come to its own end. 
 
 " For my part," continued Miss Garr, " I think he 
 would make a very interesting husband. I shall encour- 
 age him hereafter." 
 
 She was led to this by two considerations. She would 
 thus, in fact, be performing two duties : first, that of se- 
 curing the long-sought ingot of a husband ; and second, 
 that of getting Karl out of George Lang's way to Amelia. 
 Miss Garr, moreover, became uncommonly dutiful after 
 her own disappointment, and proposed to earn a little of 
 her salary this very afternoon. Somehow or other, it had 
 never occurred to her before why she was one of the 
 family, and yet under hire. Her own sudden interest in 
 Karl must have had something to do in the way of re- 
 freshing her memory. 
 
 " By the way, Amelia," and Miss Garr opened her 
 guns immediately, " you never say anything about your 
 own matrimonial prospects." 
 
 " I don't think them subjects for general discussion." 
 
 " With an old teacher and friend of the family, it would 
 not be general discussion to open your heart a little once 
 
124 GLOVERSON 
 
 in a while. Your mother and I have often wondered 
 why you are so silent about yourself. Then, when you do 
 talk, you talk so old for a girl of twenty." 
 
 Amelia smiled, as she changed her position on the 
 cushion, with which, at will, a wide window-seat could be 
 formed smiled and looked silently out on the lawn. 
 
 " May we ever hope for some insight into that mys- 
 terious heart of yours ? " insinuated Miss Garr, with mel- 
 low emphasis. 
 
 Amelia still looked out of the window, as she said ; not 
 so much to her inquisitor as to the velvet grass, and the 
 summer clouds, and the little wild birds that connected 
 the velvet grass and the summer clouds by airy chains 
 of melody : 
 
 " The woman that knows her own heart is wise. She 
 who knows it best will be the wariest of its secret. It is 
 knowledge enough for one, but too much for one hun- 
 dred." 
 
 Miss Garr was thinking how much more appropriate 
 such language would be in the mouth of the widow of 
 three husbands, and wondering whether she ever would 
 be able to understand " that girl," when Amelia, still 
 looking out on the lawn, continued, 
 
 " I don't believe those birds sing their heart-histories 
 to the winds. We hear their peans in the triumphal 
 march of their own element of air. Their love-son<rs 
 
 c^ 
 
 are meant only for the private ears of their chosen ' 
 mates." 
 
 " Probably, then," said the practical, yet metaphorical 
 Sophia, " you would tell your heart-history to your chosen 
 mate ! " 
 
 Amelia turned so as to face the court of inquisition, 
 which sat now principally in Miss Garr's sharp, hard eyes. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 125 
 
 " Every heart is a moated citadel, that is fortified by its 
 own secret," the young lady began. " In the little I have 
 seen, and the more I have read of human nature, I have 
 noticed that half the power of command is the power to 
 keep a secret. But when I truly love and am as truly 
 loved again, I can, at the proper time, and to the proper 
 person, part with that one secret. In plighting troth, I 
 will then be giving up what was but half mine." 
 
 " But, dear Amelia, George Lang is so interesting." 
 (This word meant a great deal to Miss Garr ; it was the 
 whole of which the following were the parts : ) " He 
 is so talented, so good-looking, so attractive, so attached 
 to you, and so rich ! " 
 
 This was the pyramid of climax, behind which Miss 
 Garr, now hopeful, rallied for a second onslaught a 
 pyramid from which the wisdom of thirty maiden years 
 looked down upon the combat. 
 
 "Now," exclaimed the Garr, in melodramatic confi- 
 dence, " is n't George Lang interesting ? " 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Lang is interesting." 
 
 " Come, now ! and would be an interesting hus- 
 band?" 
 
 "Yes, to the lady who might desire him for a hus- 
 band." 
 
 " And she is " 
 
 " To you, I presume, personally unknown ! " 
 
 Miss Garr's bullets, it seems, however sugar-coated 
 with disinterested kindness, rebounded in her own face. 
 She lost the battle, then her patience ; and left her guns 
 and the room at the same time. 
 
 Amelia thus left alone, reclined quietly on the cush- 
 toned seat of the open window. The afternoon wind 
 
126 GLOVERSON 
 
 was tempered by the foliage of the lawn into a gentle 
 breeze. Only an occasional dreamy sound from the 
 street broke in upon the strain of the same wild birds. 
 It was such a scene as the memory always idealizes 
 such a scene as one sees best, the second time, with the 
 eyes shut. And Amelia, yielding to the influences of the 
 place and hour, was looking into a happy dream-land 
 beneath her closed eye-lids. Pleasant paths commenced 
 to lead from the real lawn near her through long imag- 
 inary vistas into the far distance. Each return to the 
 reality was more difficult. Lost, at last, in the mazes of 
 some orange-grove, away up in the uncertain empyrean, 
 return was impossible. She was asleep. 
 
 Her face that book of unwritten poetry in which the 
 beauty was born of the. soul within, not made by the reg- 
 ular dull lines of a school's ideal her face was turned 
 towards the lawn. One hand had fallen by her side ; and 
 the soft folds of her light summer dress rippled away 
 from her half-buried arm, like silvery palm-leaves from 
 their stem. The other hand rested lightly upon her 
 bosom. Over her head, the curtains of rich lace and 
 dark red damask swayed gently to and fro ; and, as the 
 white parted from the red, the space between them was 
 filled by an elastic haze of crimson like that about her 
 own eye-lids. 
 
 It can not be the birds that sound from the lawn, 
 ^pw, uncertain, as from an -ZEolian harp -in a ruin those 
 strange recurrent chords that separate and float away, 
 the ghosts of music ; then those bars from the air of the 
 " Song of Friendship," that terminate so suddenly in a 
 blare of discord the soothing strain that succeeds 
 resting upon the sense like a loved hand upon a fevered 
 brow, till, swelling richly, it, too, floats away in a purple 
 
V 
 
 AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 127 
 
 haze of delicate harmonies ; beginning anew, the tones 
 that follow upon one another with such sweet hesitancy, 
 as if they had taken airy shape and were startled at their 
 own footsteps ! 
 
 Is it the dream of the sleeping girl written on the air 
 in music ? 
 
 Ethereal notes blend into a strain of inexpressible 
 longing, to settle into the music of quiet hope, thus rising 
 and falling, a jeweled carcanet of sweet sounds on the 
 heaving bosom of the wind. Her head moving slightly, 
 the simple coiffure gives way, and her long, brown hair 
 falls in waving darkness on her cheek and neck. Sud- 
 denly and strangely the measure changes. Again the 
 air of the " Song of Friendship," as by a capricious will 
 of its own, shapes itself out of the echoes as they drift 
 away into the summer afternoon ^ and then all is 
 quickly swallowed up in a bursting wave of tones, from 
 the lowest depths of the octaves. There is no theme 
 now, but a sort of confused memory of organ-peals. It 
 is shadow music. . . . Amelia becomes uneasy and 
 awakes. 
 
 Only a slight rustle of leaves is heard on the lawn ; 
 but it might have been the wind. 
 
 The next moment the door-bell rang, and Amelia re- 
 tired to her own room. As soon as her hair was again 
 arranged in the same simple coiffure, she returned to the 
 parlor. 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Schmerling," was her exclamation on enter- 
 ing ; " how good of you ! You have brought your guitar, 
 at last." 
 
 And she sat down in a chair opposite her visitor, and 
 they talked about the concert of the night before ; how 
 this overture was executed, and that aria rendered ; and 
 
128 GLOVEKSOX 
 
 how Herr Bangoff touched the piano, in his great solo 
 in seven sharps. 
 
 As soon as she could, Amelia prevailed upon Karl to 
 play upon his guitar ; and it was not long till the frets of 
 that instrument were transformed into a little Jacob's 
 ladder, leading up into the same dreamy heaven of all 
 Karl's music. 
 
 That consciousness of a dual existence, which has been 
 felt by almost every one, from the days of Aristotle to 
 our own, suddenly came uppn Amelia. " We learn things 
 that we seem to remember," says the old sage. 
 
 " What is that ? " asked Amelia, when Karl had ended. 
 
 " Oh ! nothing only a fantasia of my own." 
 
 " Is it not queer ? It seems as if I must have heard 
 that music before ; but, then, it cannot be." 
 
 " You may have walked with the spirit of it," said 
 Karl, smiling. " I have long had a theory that all 
 music has a soul of its own. There are the old evil 
 spirits of fire. Why can not there be the good spirits of 
 sound ? A great musician was never a great criminal. 
 Echo was only the plaything of the wood sprites ; and 
 why can not harmony be the glad joining hands of the 
 good spirits of air ? " 
 
 " At any other time," Amelia rejoined, " I would say 
 that your theory is as much a fantasia as your music. 
 Now, this has something in it that makes me forget time. 
 The remembered joys of childhood mingle with the 
 events of to-day; and all my longings would seem to 
 melt into fruition. This is sentimental talk, I know, but 
 your wild music transports me into a cloud-land where 
 one horizon spans the past and the future ; and yet there 
 seems to be a deep a deep something, very near me, 
 something like " 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 129 
 
 " A shadow ? " suggested the musician. 
 
 " Yes, yes, like a shadow Oh ! I know now, your 
 music recalls a dream I have just had." 
 
 " Strange ! " muttered Karl, " and you saw this shadow 
 in your dream ? " 
 
 " Yes, it was so near me, that I felt cold. I should 
 have thought that it awakened me, only I am sure that 
 the door-bell rang." 
 
 Karl thought silently of his presentiment. How came 
 its discordant moan in the chorus of his good spirits of 
 air? 
 
 " Then the music," continued Amelia, " the music 
 sounds so weirdly familiar. When did you write it, Mr. 
 Schmejling ? " 
 
 " Very recently. It has never been committed to 
 paper. It is merely an improvisation." 
 
 " Indeed ? What do you call it ? " 
 
 " The Language of a Dream ! " 
 
 Karl might have told how the odd fancy of such music 
 came upon him when he discovered Amelia asleep in the 
 window, but for the unpleasant mystery of the presenti- 
 ment, and but for the more explicable mystery of a sud- 
 den appearance. 
 
 The parlor door quickly opened, and Miss Garr was 
 launched suddenly into the middle of the room. " I 
 never ! I beg pardon," she said, " I have lost my thim- 
 ble ; " and she bowed, as if she would retire. Of course, 
 she was asked to stay, though she never thought of such 
 a thing as finding company, if her words and not her 
 careful toilet were to be credited. 
 
 By the way, it was fortunate for Miss Sophia's equa- 
 nimity that she did not, from her room in the far wing 
 9 
 
130 GLOVERSON 
 
 of the house, hear the guitar in the afternoon serenade 
 of the lawn. Her hatred and jealousy would have had 
 a little more consistence than shadow-music. A " claim " 
 was hers from the moment she "entered" it in her 
 maiden heart. Karl's dreamy freak would have entailed 
 the dire consequences of her law upon both himself and 
 Amelia. His guitar would have been looked upon as a 
 trespassing pick-axe. 
 
 Miss Garr had heard the door-bell. It was, on a fair 
 estimate, seventeen minutes and a half after she had 
 learned from the servant of Mr. Schmerling's being be- 
 low, that the radiant Semiramis achieved her sudden 
 entry into the parlor. 
 
 Where the subject of music was now dropped. As 
 
 Karl had been a performer at the Philharmonic Con- 
 cert of the evening before, he did not feel called upon to 
 be the first to speak about that exhibition. Miss Sophia 
 had been, in a manner, a performer there, too, so she 
 did not feel called upon to be the first to allude to it. 
 Amelia had already discussed the matter ; and, of course, 
 saw no reason why she should be the first to introduce 
 it. Thus the whole subject of music, suddenly banished 
 from the parlor, stood just at the door on a point of 
 precedence. 
 
 It is not to be supposed, however, that the conversa- 
 tion languished long for a theme. Love, though probably 
 not more calculated than music to exist in the same air 
 with Miss Garr Love, with his gauze wings tied behind 
 him, was dexterously " trotted out " to carry wood for 
 that artless lady. Was not Love, indeed, a near neighbor, 
 and blood relation of Marriage, that dearest thing to her 
 pining heart ? Love, of course, was a hallucination ; but 
 Marriage was reality enough something that could be 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 131 
 
 measured, or weighed more wisely, to be sure, by troy 
 than avoirdupois. Churches, in fact, were better from 
 their connection with Marriage. Were they not the 
 great assay houses, whence the fame of the stamped in- 
 got went forth, swallowing up even the name of the lucky 
 finder? 
 
 " But then," observed Miss Garr, the conversation 
 launched, and fully under way ; " but then, Mr. Schmer- 
 ling, love is so hopeful." 
 
 " Not so much so as it is counterfeit ! " thought Ame- 
 lia, as Karl, now the manifest centre of all Sophia's 
 "hopes and mining speculations, carelessly rejoined : " I 
 don't know ; I have seen many a moody lover." 
 
 " Though you are not one of them ? " was the artless 
 question that bubbled up from the depths of Miss Garr's 
 innocence. 
 
 " What, I ? I am what you might call a universal 
 lover. That's why I am not moody. I suppose, though," 
 and he sighed, thinking of his presentiment, which 
 seemed to haunt him everywhere, " I have been rather 
 moody of late." 
 
 " I thought he loved me ! " exclaimed Sophia, mentally. 
 " You mean," she said, " by universal lover, one who 
 loves everything about his mistress even her foot- 
 prints." 
 
 " More than that ; I love all woman-kind ! " 
 
 " Ah ! I knew he would take some grotesque way of 
 declaring himself. He shall be even more explicit." 
 This was expressed only in certain uneasy gyrations, and 
 ecstatic attempts at a blush. She now essayed the 
 " pleading tone " of the elocutionists ; and her voice ap- 
 proached Amelia's rich mezzo-soprano something as the 
 dandelion approaches the rose : " You have," in rejoin- 
 
132 GLOVERSON 
 
 der to Karl's last remark, " you have, I presume, heart 
 large enough to love the whole world, yet small enough 
 to be absorbed by one ? " 
 
 " Not exactly. For me, loving one would be doing 
 injustice to thousands in fact, to all the others." 
 
 " What a beautiful joke ! " exclaimed the delighted 
 Garr. It was plain to her that he did not want to di- 
 vulge his secret before Amelia. She wishes that imperti- 
 nent girl would excuse herself. 
 
 It suddenly occurred to Sophia that this " Dutchman" 
 delighted in the beautiful in poetical things. She, 
 too, would put her language into fine raiment. Personal 
 ornament, as a blandishment, was too expensive ; besides, 
 had it not signally failed on one gentleman ? The 
 reader, however, is tenderly spared much of the mixed 
 metaphor and barbarous French which illuminated the 
 carrying out of this resolve. 
 
 " Love," she said, among other fine things, " is the 
 1 Comstock Lode ' of the heart, marching ever, ever on, 
 with relentless wing, to the last oasis of its pilgrimage, 
 the Happy Isles of marriage, which are, I assure you, 
 paddy shadows ong Espang ! " (probably pas de chateaux 
 en Espagne.) 
 
 Karl could not have paid much attention to this mo- 
 saic-work of rhetoric, for he looked at Amelia, as he 
 went on to say : " I have come to believe that friendship 
 or love, being built so upon the heart, is better than all 
 philosophy, because the heart is better than the head. 
 The intellect has deposited stratum after stratum of 
 systems and creeds ; and some Bacon or Luther has 
 always risen, and always will rise, concentering in him- 
 self the pent-up fires of an age, or a century, and has 
 thrown, and will continue to throw them all awry. The 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 138 
 
 heart has always been the same constant river, rising be- 
 yond the clouds, and flowing to the same eternal ocean 
 
 winding and wearing its way through the primitive 
 granite of Homer, on through the sandstone of Virgil, 
 the feldspar of Schiller and the mica of Tennyson." 
 
 " Indeed ! " was the expression of intelligent apprecia- 
 tion from Sophia. She was sure it was her own elo- 
 quence which had drawn this from Karl. Amelia was 
 silent. She was wondering why he should talk so, then 
 and there. She probably did not remember that, in the 
 gayest carnival, we will sometimes argue with our own 
 sadness. In the presence of others we have it at so 
 great disadvantage. Our sad heart can speak but to one 
 hearer : we are continually confuting it before many. 
 
 " And all affection," continued Karl, " is based upon 
 a simple axiom. We are never to expect more than we 
 give. It is a simple formula, a = b. Take away a, and 
 b equals zero : take away 5, and a equals zero. This is 
 the equation of Love ; and it runs through the universe 
 
 from Heaven, through the grave, back to Heaven 
 again. Which is the lily that will open the gates of 
 brass, a smile or a blow ? They have a simple way of 
 preserving wine in Italy. A little olive oil is poured into 
 the neck of the odd-shaped bottle. This will keep away 
 the air for years. Pure love is charity ; charity is the 
 drop of oil that will preserve the wine of a whole life." 
 
 Karl rose suddenly, and bade Amelia good-by. While 
 performing the same ceremony with Miss Garr, his 
 foreboding heart began its reply to his own speech 
 none the less bewildering because heard by him alone, 
 and none the less convincing because it had, as it always 
 does, the closing argument. Turning again to Amelia, 
 from the open door, and shaking her hand as if forgetful 
 
134 GLOVERSON 
 
 that he had done so already, he said : " Good-by ; good- 
 by!" 
 
 As he went out of the gate, Sophia observed, meekly : 
 " He sees that he must relinquish one of us. He is a 
 noble fellow " which meant, of course, " He has chosen 
 well."' 
 
 " There is something," replied Amelia, " preying upon 
 his pure, generous nature, of more consequence to him 
 than either you or I." 
 
\ 
 
 AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 135 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 WHEREIN A SIMPLE QUESTION BECOMES HARD TO 
 ANSWER. 
 
 ABOUT five o'clock one afternoon, Mr. George Lang, 
 Stock and Money Broker, and Mr. Nelson Shallop, his 
 confidential clerk, were engaged in summing up the day's 
 business. 
 
 " Mast'rly stroke, that, Mr. Lang that last heavy 
 spec'lation," observed the nervous little man of finance, 
 counting away all the time at a pile of half dollar pieces, 
 with that strange facility and correctness which seem to 
 come from money itself, and act through just such human 
 machinery as Mr. Shallop. " A mast'rly stroke, six- 
 teen, eighteen, twenty, but a little, twenty-five, 
 thirty, a little dangerous, Mr. Lang." 
 
 " Yes, a little worse than selling short, under the worst 
 of circumstances," answered the broker, as he rolled up 
 the counted silver and put it away in a large safe. " I 
 have known one of them a long time." 
 
 " Yes, so you've told me fifty-two, fifty-five, fifty- 
 eight several times, sixty," and the marshaling of 
 half-dollars proceeded faster than ever, the dross spirit of 
 enumeration, in money, still working through the body 
 of Nelson Shallop. 
 
 " He's a wary old fox. We'll have to look out for him," 
 remarked Lang, over a stack of " Legal Tenders." 
 
 " Not so old either ! ninety-five, a hundred." 
 
136 GLOVERSON 
 
 " I'd bet on his being nearer sixty than fifty." 
 
 " The devil ! '' was the filial exclamation of Mr. N. 
 Shallop. " Whom do you mean ? " 
 
 " Why, old Andrew Gloverson and his partner or part- 
 ners, of course, if he has any the firm of Gloverson & 
 Co., on Front Street." 
 
 " Oh ! I thought you meant that other old friend of 
 yours, Mr. Sch " 
 
 Sh ! " 
 
 This rather odd echo from his employer caused the 
 confidential clerk to break off suddenly, and to look up 
 into Lang's eyes, which were now turned toward the 
 door of the office. A familiar form had just crossed the 
 threshold, and now came toward them with hurried 
 steps. 
 
 "Where is Schmerling?" and the startled face of 
 Amos Dixon was gazing inquiringly into that of George 
 Lang. 
 
 " I don't know," said the broker, looking uneasily at 
 his clerk. 
 
 Why, what's the matter ? " asked Mr. Shallop. 
 
 " That's just what I'd like to know," was Dixon's per- 
 turbed answer. " He hasn't been seen at the hotel for 
 three days." 
 
 " Did they tell you so there ? " demanded the broker, 
 as his face became more troubled. 
 
 Yes." 
 
 " You'd better go and see about it," suggested the in- 
 valuable Mr. Shallop, who seemed to be the mentor and 
 man of action on the inside of the window, though his 
 name did not appear on the outside. 
 
 George and Amos proceeded directly to the hotel. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 137 
 
 " Any letters in my box ? " demanded the former at 
 the office. 
 
 " Nothing at all, Mr. Lang." 
 
 " Did Mr. Schmerling leave any word for me ? " 
 
 " None at all, Mr. Lang. Mr. Schmerling," continued 
 the dignified official, from behind the counter, " was seen 
 the last time, three days ago, by the porter of his floor, 
 entering his room with a guitar.'* 
 
 George now acknowledged that he himself had missed 
 Karl at dinner on the day in question, and had not seen 
 him since. 
 
 Arrived in the room Schmerling had occupied, George 
 Lang's face grew paler than even that of Amos. There 
 was a dreamy carelessness in the arrangement of every- 
 thing about the apartment so suggestive of the easy 
 languor of the man who, to all appearances, might have 
 just left it for a moment. On the table, for instance, 
 lay an elegant cigar-case, with a small engraving of one 
 of Raphael's loveliest Madonnas standing by it on one 
 side, and a little alabaster copy of Thorwaldsen's Venus 
 on the other and only this connection for the three, 
 that they were all beautiful. Thus, the mother of the 
 Christian's God, and the mother of the heathen's love, 
 were set up together, not in the compromising spirit of 
 the old Romans, but in a light that made both holy. 
 Karl's entire room, in a word, was a little Pantheon 
 for all lovely deities; for his was the polytheism of 
 beauty. 
 
 There was the least perceptible tremor in George 
 Lang's voice, as, after looking about in silence for some 
 time, he said, " Where could he have gone ? The East- 
 ern steamer went yester.day." 
 
138 GLOVERSON 
 
 " He hasn't gone on that," replied Dixon, unhesita- 
 tingly. 
 
 " Where else could he have gone ? He knows no one 
 in this country." 
 
 " He may be at Captain Tambol's, up in Sonoma ; but 
 that is hardly possible, as you know," observed Amos, 
 musing, as he in his turn looked around him ; " and if 
 he is not there, depend upon it something wrong has 
 happened." 
 
 " The steamer went yesterday," Lang repeated; with 
 some emphasis. " He must have gone on the steamer." 
 
 " His name," interposed Amos, " was not in the printed 
 list, for I remember to have read that." 
 
 " But you know, Mr. Dixon," and George made an 
 attempt to recover his usual equanimity, " but you know, 
 Mr. Dixon, that hundreds leave on the steamer without 
 having their names printed." 
 
 Amos pointed to Karl's guitar, valise, and toilet ar- 
 ticles occupying their usual places in the room. " Why 
 did he not take these, and why should he leave so sud- 
 denly, and why should he not bid us good-by ? There is 
 something wrong here, I tell you." 
 
 Lang's face now assumed an altogether new expres- 
 sion. All at once he felt that he hated Dixon. When 
 he would give so much, if he could only say to his con- 
 science, " Karl, my old friend, has gone on the steamer," 
 why should this stupid fellow come in to convince other 
 people to the contrary ? 
 
 How much George Lang slept that night it would be 
 hard to tell. He himself did not know the next morn- 
 ing. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 139 
 
 Amos did not reach his little room on Clary Street 
 till he had waited hours at the telegraph office for this 
 dispatch : 
 
 " SONOMA, 186. 
 " Mr. A. DIXON, San Francisco : 
 
 " Schmerling is not here. L. J. TAMBOL." 
 
140 GLOVERSON 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MR. DIXON MAKES A GOOD IMPRESSION. 
 
 WHAT time was left Amos after business hours, had 
 been dedicated to the search after Schmerling ; but three 
 days of such labor were spent fruitlessly. Karl had 
 been gone, now, a week, and no clew could be found to 
 his whereabouts. 
 
 This Monday afternoon it occurred to Mr. Dixon 
 that he had business at the elegant house on Folsom 
 Street. In fact, the same thought had been occurring 
 to him for some time indeed, ever since Karl's disap- 
 pearance, and even before that event. His last view of 
 the Clayton mansion, it is true, was not under the most 
 favorable of auspices. The dropsical tendency of all 
 things on that fatal night the prevalence of water, 
 even in the eyes of the afflicted Garr was calculated 
 to give too confused a back-ground to the picture. Amos 
 may or may not have used this argument with himself. 
 He certainly used a great many others; and they all 
 tended to the conclusion that he had business at the ele- 
 gant house on Folsom Street, this very Monday after- 
 noon. 
 
 Then, why, if he had so concluded, was he standing, 
 irresolute, at the door, through which he expected to pass 
 into the presence of Amelia? That fluttering little 
 monk, the heart, from his busy cloister, is always adding 
 such strange scholia to the most irrefragable of conclu- 
 
V 
 
 AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 141 
 
 sions. These were written, now, only on the cheek of 
 Amos ; as you might say, in the red ink of his own 
 blushes. 
 
 He was just a little vexed with the door-bell for ring- 
 ing after he had pulled it ; then he became very cool, 
 and walked into the parlor, looking about as usual, only a 
 little more sad. Here, Mrs. Clayton returned his bow, 
 from an icy mountain-top of dignity, behind which she 
 might have disappeared, like the mysterious figure in the 
 moonlight, without astonishing Mr. Dixon in the least, 
 so distant and so rarefied of any feeling was her air. 
 Amelia extended her hand with a rainbow smile above 
 it, and he took it, thinking of the sunshine of the pleas- 
 antest valleys ; and then, with a second hopeful thought, 
 of the cheery meads and terraces, on which, in his vis- 
 ion, she herself had stood beckoning to him. Miss So- 
 phia Garr did not see fit to look at the visitor at all : for 
 that lady was weeping. 
 
 " What ! " said Mr. Dixon, and his face wore an ex- 
 tremely odd look, "you have not been crying ever 
 since ? " 
 
 " Yes, almost ever since," sobbed Miss Garr. 
 
 " Impossible ! " 
 
 " Mr. Dixon, although this is a private affair, and I 
 don't see fit ever to speak to you again, still I take the 
 liberty of repeating to you that my eyes have not been 
 entirely dry ever since" The two last words were empha- 
 sized hysterically. 
 
 " Well," remarked Amos ? thoughtfully, " it was a hor- 
 rid, dark, wet night." 
 
 " Then, you know the night, do you ? of his disap- 
 pearance of his robbery of his (sob) (sob) of 
 his murder ! " exclaimed the sorrow-stricken Sophia, in 
 
142 GLOVERSON 
 
 crescendo horror " Mr. Lang said you were the first 
 to bring the unwelcome news. I thought, then, it look- 
 ed it looked well ! " and drawing a long breath, 
 and herself into a sublime attitude, Miss Garr, at that 
 moment, looked a caricature statue of Suspicion, done 
 in yellow clay, the customary " Liquid Pearl " having 
 been rubbed from her face by the excited use of her 
 handkerchief. 
 
 " Oh ! " observed Mr. Dixon, looking away from So- 
 phia, " I thought she was alluding to the rainy night of 
 the Concert and Theatre. Really, Miss Clayton, I can 
 not tell you how I have been grieved by the strange dis- 
 appearance of Mr. Schmerling." 
 
 " Mr. Lang says," Amelia rejoined, " that he has sought 
 his friend everywhere, and believes that he has gone back 
 to New York on the steamer." 
 
 " Yes," interposed Mrs. Clayton, evidently doing the 
 work for which she had hired her old friend from the 
 State of Maine, " yes, and I have learned to place great 
 confidence in Mr. Lang's. judgment. That little stock 
 transaction that he undertook for me, you know, paid 
 very handsomely. And now, as for that Dutchman " 
 
 A tragic movement from the weeping Niobe of so 
 many ravished hopes who, by the way, had been the 
 first to vest Karl with that offensive antonomasia. 
 
 "I beg pardon, Sophia, Mr. Schmerling, I mean 
 Mr. Schmerling, then, must have gone on the steamer." 
 
 " It may be so, " said Amelia ; " it may be some 
 dreamy freak of his ; " and she thought of the shadow- 
 music, and of his preoccupied way of bidding her good- 
 bye the afternoon on which he was last seen. 
 
 " I may say that I hope so," observed Amos sadly ; 
 " I am afraid some worse misfortune may have hap- 
 pened." * 
 
V 
 
 AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 143 
 
 " I see how it is," began Miss Garr, indignantly. " You 
 are not content with trampling on my affections, and ut- 
 terly ruining my opera-cloak and Paris bonnet, and 
 exposing me to the horridest of tempests ; but, no, you 
 must come and insult me in my own house or, L mean, 
 in the house of my old friend from the State of Maine." 
 
 "What on earth have I done, Miss Garr?" demanded 
 Amos in surprise. 
 
 " Have you not ' hoped so ? ' " hurled back the en- 
 raged maiden, with a dexterous upward turn of the nose. 
 " We will see how people can be murdered under suspi- 
 cious circumstances, and how other people can darkly 
 hint at ' a worse misfortune that might have happened ' 
 as if any one, Mr. Dixdh, yes, any one dare think 
 marrying me would be a worse misfortune than to be 
 spirited away on the steamer, or foully murdered ! " 
 
 It must be told, that here, very much out of her own 
 rule, Amelia broke forth into the merriest of laughter 
 which sounded to Mr. Dixon, after the preceding storm, 
 like the ringing of bells at sea. He was almost vexed at 
 himself for laughing, too. He thought it drowned the 
 music so. Even Mrs. Clayton was moved to a well-bred 
 cachinnation. 
 
 Whereupon Miss Garr's face became nearer blue than 
 yellow, with intensest anger. There are moments of ex- 
 citement when words will not come fast. The tongue 
 becomes overladen, and passion runs on in advance of 
 that little sumpter beast. So now, the wronged Sophia 
 began in what might be called an adagio of rage. 
 
 " I will not say what was between Mr. Schmerling and 
 me ; but-if-he-had-not-been spirited away or mur- 
 dered " (Here her sharp eyes looked ineffable things 
 at Amos including a sense of family injuries while 
 
144 GLOVERSON 
 
 she repeated with clenched teeth) " yes, basely mur- 
 dered." This latter word was evidently a strong weapon 
 of attack, and she used it again, " I say basely murdered." 
 In fact she used it so often that she had lost her connec- 
 tion ; . and to this day that annihilating sentence has not 
 been completed. 
 
 For the short moment that her speech faltered, her 
 trenchant eye went on, right through Amos Dixon, 
 through Amelia, on through Mrs. Clayton, herself, for 
 her wrath was now comprehensive. And yet this human 
 brochette for all the painful spigotting seemed rather 
 pleased than otherwise. A scandalous smile, even, was 
 on the face of one or two of them, as Sophia turned 
 them over and over, roasting- them before this verbal fire : 
 
 " In the retirement of a princely estate in Sonoma " 
 Miss Garr's imagination always became gorgeous when 
 the idea of marriage set off its Roman candles " there, 
 I hope, I would not have been forced to meet a man who 
 was never welcome where I was, and never will be wel- 
 come where I am." 
 
 The lady paused long enough to turn her brochette of 
 three, and to pierce Mr. Dixon with a forked glance, to 
 see whether he was yet done. And strange to say, that 
 " arch fiend " bore it very quietly. 
 
 " How dare you, sir," continued Miss Garr, figuratively, 
 stirring the fire " How dare you, sir, come into this 
 house, after offering me the indignity of taking me home 
 in the rain ? and ruining my millinery ? " 
 
 Amos now put on an exceedingly queer look. It 
 might have been of confusion, and, then, it might have 
 been of tacit wisdom. 
 
 Whatever it was, it did not mollify the rage of the 
 quondam instructress. 
 
\ 
 
 AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 145 
 
 "I hope, sir, you will leave this house," she almost 
 screamed, " and I hope, sir, you will never cross its 
 threshold again." 
 
 Amos looked uneasily at his watch. 
 
 " Please to remain seated, Mr. Dixon," said Amelia, 
 very quietly ; " Miss Garr, this farce has been acted about 
 far enough. It must be, by this time, becoming disagree- 
 able to Mr. Dixon. You have offered the gentleman no 
 inducement to make an apology for the mishap of the 
 other evening. He has doi^e nothing, that I know of, 
 which should bring upon him an expulsion from this 
 house ; and," turning to Amos, who was looking again per- 
 turbedly at his watch, "and, Mr. Dixon, you will come to 
 see me ; will you not ? You will be welcome, always." 
 
 The idea of bells again occurred to Amos. When 
 Amelia stopped talking it seemed to him like the dying 
 away of distant chimes. 
 
 The folds of Miss Clayton's dress, too, it suddenly 
 struck Mr. Dixon, had never before posed themselves in 
 such elegant grace. Amos, lost in this wilderness of 
 mazy silk, was famishing of his own contemplation, when 
 a gentle manna of words restored him to, at least, a 
 half-consciousness. 
 
 " You are not offended, Mr. Dixon ? You will come, 
 will you not ? " 
 
 " Most certainly ! " exclaimed Amos, as he thought 
 how he should like to be abused before Amelia every 
 afternoon. This absurdity came into his head, no doubt, 
 at the same time with the music, which was the tone and 
 soul of that last " Will you not ? " 
 
 Meantime, Sophia had appealed to Mrs. Clayton ;-but 
 that lady was fearful of one of the defeats almost always 
 dealt her in conflicts wherein her daughter marshaled 
 
 10 
 
146 GLOVERSOX 
 
 firmness, and love, and tenderness, all on the side of 
 right. Mrs. Clayton contented herself, therefore, with 
 the simple remark : " This house, Sophia, I must acknowl- 
 edge, has become rather common of late." 
 
 Amos was just on the point of consulting his watch 
 again, when the door-bell rang, and he suddenly changed 
 his mind. That same queer look, which had come across 
 his face several times this afternoon, was observable upon 
 it now ; and it became only the more intense, as the ser- 
 vant announced, " A package for Miss Garr." 
 
 " A package ! " that lady exclaimed. " I have ordered 
 no package. Bring it in here, please. It must be as 
 much for all of you, as for me," and her voice was milder. 
 Curiosity was the oil upon the waters of her wrath. 
 
 The package proved to be a large one. Out of it first 
 came a band-box, and out of that a most elegant Paris 
 bonnet ; and, from several wrappings of immaculate 
 white paper, came forth, like Venus from the foam of the 
 sea, such a splendid opera-cloak as Miss Garr had 
 never owned before. 
 
 The expression of Sophia's face, at this moment, may 
 be stated as zero divided by infinity. Nothing so blank 
 and disagreeable can be found anywhere else, outside 
 of algebra. She was looking at a card, bearing this 
 legend : " To Miss Sophia Garr, with compliments of A. 
 Dixon" 
 
 " Well," said Miss Sophia Garr, drawing a long breath, 
 " money seems plenty enough with you now, Mr. A. Dixon. 
 I suppose you had none with you the night of the concert, 
 or you would have taken a carriage." 
 
 " Oh ! I had plenty with me, then," observed Amos 
 carelessly ; and he watched the impression the scene was 
 making on Amelia. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 147 
 
 " What, what, sir what in the world, sir, did you 
 mean by taking me through the wind and rain that 
 night, and not taking a carriage, sir ? " 
 
 Amos arose slowly, coughed, and answered deliber- 
 ately : " I was taking a more expensive lesson in human 
 nature. It is ended now. You may profit by it, too. 
 Good afternoon, Miss Garr." 
 
 Miss Garr did not offer to see Mr. Dixon out. This 
 fellow had seen through her, and shown her up. There 
 was something mingled with her anger and hatred that 
 rendered her speechless. 
 
 As Amelia stood at the door, bidding the visitor good 
 afternoon, Mrs. Clayton, herself, vouchsafed this compli- 
 mentary observation : " Sophia, that stupid ass is no 
 fool!" 
 
 Amos of course did not hear this; but he saw the 
 pleased interest in the face that bowed to him from the 
 closing door. Something had taken the place of pity, in 
 the earnest, gray eyes that were to bend upon him, here- 
 after, in his dreams. 
 
148 GLOVERSON 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 MR. ARCHIBALD BEANSON. 
 
 IN the two months succeeding the events of the last 
 chapter, George Lang and his little man of confidence, 
 Mr. Nelson Shallop, attended strictly to business. 
 
 This statement is made for the benefit of the future 
 sage, who, tracing the design in history, shall come to 
 dwell upon the annals of the Golden State. This state- 
 ment may light him to the Bethlehem from which that 
 mania went forth, besetting nearly half a million of 
 people may light him to the manger of the anti-Christ 
 of stocks. Such men as George Lang were the worship- 
 ping Magi, and such restless eyes as Nelson Shallop's 
 were their guiding stars. The early teachers of this 
 grand heresy of gold were nurtured in the back offices 
 of Montgomery Street. From these tents the neophytes 
 went forth to a conquest more rapid than that of the 
 Saracen ; armed with the distempered glitter only of a 
 metal a thousand times more powerful and more deadly 
 than the steel of Damascus. 
 
 The broker and his clerk, then, attended to business. 
 As Mrs. Clayton has herself hinted, Lang's dealings with 
 that lady had been particularly prosperous. Other tran- 
 sactions of a speculative nature had been rewarded with 
 greater success and with greater mutual confidence. 
 
 So it was not a matter of any great surprise when, 
 early in the evening of the first December, George Lang 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 149 
 
 and another gentleman called at the door of the elegant 
 house on Folsom Street, and asked for Mrs. Clayton. 
 
 " She has been abed all day," said the servant laconi- 
 cally. 
 
 " Take this card up to Mrs. Clayton," observed the 
 broker, conducting his companion to a seat in the parlor, 
 while he himself leaned his elbow carelessly on the 
 mantle-piece, taking his stand on the hearth-rug, as 
 upon his own confidence, and speaking from it as fol- 
 lows to the gentleman on the sofa, who was moreover a 
 red-haired gentleman : " That card will cure her, Mr. 
 Beanson." 
 
 "Ye es !" emitted the red-haired gentleman on the 
 sofa, with an indescribable something in his tone and 
 manner suggestive of an air-gun. 
 
 And it was not long till the message came, that Mrs. 
 Clayton would be down directly. 
 
 Now Amelia's mother was one of those invalids whose 
 disease is, principally, that they do not know what is the 
 matter with them a nervous disorder, by the way, 
 which is quite an epidemic with the ladies of some coun- 
 tries. An invitation to ride, or an unexpected visitor, is 
 often the best medicine for these afflicted persons. At 
 any rate, such a fascination for Mrs. Clayton had the 
 man whom she had elected future son-in-law, that she 
 made her appearance in about half the time it would 
 have taken Miss Garr, if that prim maiden had been ex- 
 pecting the visitor for a month. 
 
 Advancing to meet her, the broker said, " This, Mrs. 
 Clayton, is Mr. Beanson, the notary, who is now pre- 
 pared to take^ the acknowledgment of the signatures. 
 Will you be kind enough to send for Amelia ? " 
 
 Mr. Beanson bowed a very old-looking head from a 
 
150 GLOVERSON 
 
 very young-looking body ; a head that, besides its re- 
 markable redness, presented the appearance of having 
 grown prematurely grave in studying ways and means 
 for the support of the body attached ; and a body that 
 appeared to have become prematurely lank and scalene, 
 in supporting so grave a head. As Mrs. Clayton, by a 
 nod, consented to recognize that such a person could 
 exist in her presence, Mr. Beanson bowing stiffly from an 
 elevation of about six feet and two inches, said he was 
 sure that he was very happy, and resumed his place on 
 the sofa. 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Mrs. Clayton, at last, having taken 
 some time to discuss the question, and finally convincing 
 herself that it was a human being and not a Chinese 
 tower she saw before her. " Oh ! this is the lawyer ? " 
 
 " Yes," answered Lang, " this is the notary, Mrs. Clay- 
 ton, the notary in whose presence the papers must be 
 signed." 
 
 Mr. Beanson, somehow imagining he saw in Mrs. Clay- 
 ton's question, or in Mrs. Clayton herself, the ignis fatuus 
 of his first brief, occupied several moments in the delight- 
 ful optical pursuit of looking at her. He felt called upon 
 to answer so important a question himself. 
 
 "Yes, yes, madam, I am a lawyer, though rather 
 young, as you see." 
 
 Mrs. Clayton, looking fortunately at his body and 
 not his head, nodded assent, and graciously keeping up 
 the conversation, inquired, " Much practice ? " 
 
 " No, madam," answered the hopeful Beanson, " but I 
 stand in perfect readiness to practice." 
 
 Poor fellow, he had been standing that way s long, 
 that his head, as has been seen, had well-nigh reached 
 its second childhood before his body had got fairly out 
 of its first. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 151 
 
 " Well," said the lady, " if you will excuse me now, I 
 will go for Amelia." 
 
 The ignis fatuus first brief had disappeared with her 
 behind the closing door ; and Mr. Beansou was left to 
 the dark, foggy moorlands of his customary thoughts. 
 Mr. Lang, throwing himself carelessly into an easy chrar, 
 contemplate'd the notary in silence. 
 
 To correct any false impression that may have been 
 made as to his appearance, it is no more than justice to 
 state that Mr. Beanson was rather angular than awk- 
 ward. There was, indeed, something so aggressive in 
 his angularity that you forgot his awkwardness. He pre- 
 sented so many points to hang an angry glance upon, 
 that the world in general could not help looking angrily 
 at him, from a sense of fitness, thus so agreeably grati- 
 fied. Mr. Beanson was not the first man on earth who 
 has been the victim of his own personal ugliness. There 
 was nothing bad about him ; yet his life had been a fail- 
 ure. 
 
 Owing to the discrepancy between our only two au- 
 thorities, namely, his face and his frame, it is utterly 
 impossible to make any definite statement about Mr. 
 Beanson's years. He might have been twenty, and he 
 might have been of any age beyond that. The student 
 of this particular branch of chronology was generally con- 
 vinced by the authority he had consulted last. All that 
 is known of the early history of this mysterious person is, 
 that he had been elected Justice of the Peace up in one 
 of the mountain towns, and if he had not resigned just 
 as- he did, according to the statement of his own impres- 
 sions, he would certainly have starved. He had come 
 down to San Francisco, for the express purpose of getting 
 his first brief. By a great deal of eloquence he had pre- 
 
152 GLOVERSON 
 
 vailed upon a painter to trust him to a notary's sign, and 
 between testifying to other people's oaths and swearing 
 his own at cheap restaurants, he managed to keep soul 
 and body together ; and, partially, to reconcile both to 
 that ponderous anachronism, his head. During the long 
 two years of his sojourn in the city, hope had more than 
 once mingled with the five-cent dishes of his banquets, 
 and seasoned them ; but that was the only material bene- 
 fit he had as yet derived from his first brief. 
 
 Mrs. Clayton returning with Amelia, Mr. Beanson ex- 
 ecuted another polyhedral bow and addressed himself to 
 the business at hand. 
 
 In the estimation of George Lang, it seems, there 
 were two tides leading to the Clayton fortune ; and he 
 stood prepared to take either or both of them at the 
 flood. The smoother one brought Amelia to his side ; 
 the other, more ruffled by the underlying rocks of the 
 law, bore Amelia and her mother both to the quicksands 
 at his feet. 
 
 The lawyer who had drafted the late Mr. Clayton's 
 will, and had been the widow's man of business during 
 Amelia's minority, had just returned to the Atlantic 
 States, there to remain. The broker was now succeeding 
 to the vacant place ; and Amelia having, passed the legal 
 age of eighteen, it was, of course, necessary that separate 
 papers should be made out empowering the agent to act 
 for mother and daughter. At Lang's request, the paper 
 for Mrs. Clayton's signature was the one first produced. 
 At Lang's request, also, this paper was elaborately ex- 
 plained by the notary. It was simply a special power of 
 attorney appointing Mr. Lang to collect and sue for 
 rents, etc., for Mrs. Clayton ; and that lady's signature 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 153 
 
 was duly acknowledged. Coming to the document in- 
 tended for Amelia to sign, the aggressive Mr. Beanson 
 was proceeding to explain it to her, in a similar manner, 
 when Lang interposed with assumed carelessness : " Miss 
 Clayton, I hope, by this time understands what she is 
 about to do. Pray, spare her if you can." 
 
 " Then, it has been sufficiently explained already ? " 
 demanded the notary. 
 
 " Yes, yes ; it would be doing no great compliment to 
 Miss Clayton's intelligence to go over the whole matter 
 again." 
 
 Mr. Beanson turned to Amelia: "Do you fully un- 
 derstand the great power conferred upon your agent by 
 this paper?" 
 
 " I think I do," was the young lady's reply. 
 
 " Certainly. Sign, my child," interposed Mrs. Clayton. 
 " Don't have this man, Mr. Beans Mr. Beanson," and 
 here she pointed in haughty defiance at a salient angle 
 in the human catapult before her, " don't have this man 
 go over all that horrid explanation again. It 's so fright- 
 ful on the nerves. Sign, my child." 
 
 And Amelia's signature to the document was also duly 
 acknowledged. 
 
 Laying down the pen, she had caught Lang's eye 
 riveted eagerly upon her face. The next moment, and 
 for several succeeding moments, Lang's gaze was riveted 
 as eagerly upon the carpet. " Why will he never meet 
 my look ? " she asked herself ; for this, as will be remem- 
 bered, was not the first stadium in the long retreat of the 
 black dishonesty of his eyes before the gray purity of 
 hers. 
 
 The unmistakable spring of this utter confidence in 
 
154 GLOVEESOH 
 
 George Lang seemed to Mr. Beanson as plain as the 
 nose on his face and that, by the way, was very plain 
 indeed and very long ; for when that gifted notary was 
 dismissed, he slyly remarked how eagerly Mrs. Clayton 
 urged the handsome broker to remain and pass the even- 
 ing. " Mighty fine girl, though," he thought as he 
 descended the steps, " I would not niind marrying her, 
 myself, but then, that Lang has got the start of me." 
 
 Mr. Beanson, it may here be parenthetically stated, 
 was one of those persons who had been taught at school 
 that he was in danger at any time of being called to the 
 presidency. So that, when he announced himself in per- 
 fect readiness to practice law, he would have been guilty 
 of no injustice to his schoolmaster, or indeed to his own 
 feelings, if he had furthermore announced that he stood 
 in perfect readiness to be elected president of the United 
 States. He was not aware how much his own sublime 
 ruo-o-edness had stood between him and his first brief 
 
 OO J 
 
 let alone the Chief Magistracy. Far from it. Mr. 
 Beanson, on the contrary, had devoted much time to the 
 study of diplomacy ; for, he reasoned with himself, with 
 some justice, too, that at first he might have to fill the 
 office of Secretary of State, as a demonstration of his 
 willingness to assume the more responsible and arduous 
 position. This, indirectly, was how he t:ame to flatter 
 himself that if there was any one thing in which he was 
 calculated to excel himself, that one thing was di- 
 plomacy. And Mr. Beanson did not allow himself to be 
 dismissed from the Clayton mansion, without leaving be- 
 hind him some evidence of his long and successful training 
 in that school of exalted deceit. 
 
 For, the very next day, Miss Sophia Garr astonished 
 the whole house by finding in her own new silver card- 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 155 
 
 case, which she had left on the parlor table, a very cheap 
 and cadaverous-looking piece of pasteboard, on which 
 she read aloud and in amazement the following plenipo- 
 tentiary dispatch : 
 
 ARCHIBALD BEANSON, 
 
 Attorney at Law and Notary Public. 
 
 OFFICE No. 133 MONTGOMERY BLOCK. 
 Ascend The Last Pair of Stairs. 
 
 So it was a chuckle, and not a stumble, as Mrs. Clay- 
 ton had believed, that, in taking his departure, had agi- 
 tated the red-headed diplomat, in pursuit of his first brief 
 and that other trivial matter, the presidency. 
 
 In truth, however, Mrs. Clayton was not then the 
 proper person for so minute a decision as that between a 
 chuckle and a stumble of Mr. Beanson's. Apart from 
 the keen optics and knowledge of ancient history required 
 in judgment on a subject so remote and antediluvian as 
 anything connected with the head of Mr. Beanson, she 
 was too anxious to detain the broker and to get rid of 
 the repulsive functionary. 
 
 The chuckle, therefore, of the disappearing notary, 
 having glided on into an open grin, had broken only 
 three times on the shallows of laughter, when Mrs. 
 Clayton returned to the parlor. The chuckle, commen- 
 cing again and taking Mr. Beanson cheerily around the 
 second corner, had just reached the broad cataract of a 
 deep haw-haw, when Mrs. Clayton suddenly remem- 
 
156 GLOVERS ON 
 
 bered that she was really too sick to sit up and must go 
 right back to bed again. Vanishing, therefore, behind 
 the closing door, and a look, rather knowing than feeble, 
 the considerate parent left Amelia Clayton alone with 
 George Lang. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 157 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE SMOOTHER TIDE. 
 
 " You have heard nothing yet from Mr. Schmerling ? " 
 demanded Amelia, of the Stock and Money Broker, as 
 her mother's footsteps died away on the stairs. 
 
 "Absolutely nothing. He can not be in California. 
 I have sought him so anxiously, and so thoroughly." 
 
 " How sad ! " 
 
 The momentary look of Lang would have said in 
 words, " What is the secret of her interest in him ? " 
 The succeeding brightness on his face would have added, 
 " Ah ! I can cure her of it ! Why didn't I think of it 
 before?" 
 
 *Amelia looked musingly away from the broker. She 
 was thinking again of the afternoon when she had last 
 seen Karl. Lang sat gazing on her face as on the tablet 
 where he was to write the story he was framing. 
 
 " To tell you the truth, Miss Clayton, I have long 
 since made up my mind as to where my old friend has 
 gone." 
 
 " Indeed? "and Amelia, turning her head slightly, con- 
 tinued the inquiry with her eyes. 
 
 " Mr. Schmerling," the broker went on, looking from 
 one article of furniture to the other, and ending with an 
 abstruse study of the back of the chair in which the 
 young lady sat, " Mr. Schmerling, I suppose, has never, 
 before you, alluded to his affianced ? " 
 
158 GLOVERSON 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Well, then, he has returned to Germany to bring her 
 back a bride and a surprise." 
 
 Amelia smiled incredulously. " Why should he leave 
 everybody and every thing so suddenly even his trav- 
 eling valise, as Mr. Dixon says." 
 
 " Mr. Dixon ! That Dixon is a " 
 
 " Gentleman, Mr. Lang." 
 
 u Just as I was going to say a gentleman who is 
 more liable to be mistaken in this matter, than I am who 
 have known Karl for years." Lang's eye here regained 
 the back of Amelia's chair, from which it had been tem- 
 porarily jarred away, and his temper and his words be- 
 came smoother. "You see how delicate Karl has been 
 about mentioning the red-cheeked object of his choice. 
 The mystery of his departure would indeed have been 
 utterly inexplicable, had it been any one else but that 
 same dear old Karl. He is such a queer fellow ! " 
 
 " How, by the way, did you, Mr. Lang, come to know 
 of the engagement ? " Then followed the woman's qifes- 
 tion : " Are you sure she is pretty ? How did you know 
 she is red-cheeked ? " 
 
 " I am almost sure he never mentioned his engage- 
 ment or his lady to any one but me, and he would not 
 have done that had I not read it in his crystalline nature. 
 I surprised him one day in the queerest manner possible, 
 and he owned everything, and that," said Lang, with a 
 bow and a smile, " is. the way I learned she was pretty and 
 had red cheeks." 
 
 After a slight pause Amelia began : " Women are told 
 every day of their inordinate curiosity. It is hardly nec- 
 essary; for we know we have it, and with an apology 
 for mine, now, would it be wrong in me to ask how you 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. " 159 
 
 made Mr. Schmerling own everything ? in short, what 
 that * queerest manner possible ' was ? " 
 
 The broker's eyes crept away from the back of her 
 chair, and made a stealthy pilgrimage to her face. They 
 bent before the two shrines of light there, and fled back 
 whence they came. "It was," he answered with just 
 the least nervousness, " it was by means of an old Italian 
 author." 
 
 " An old Italian author ? " 
 
 " Yes, Boccaccio an old fellow, by the way, whom I 
 almost always find serviceable in affairs of the heart. 
 Much of modefn literature is founded on him. He was, 
 in fact, the Herodotus of heart-history. Even that other 
 great pioneer in such matters, Shakespeare, himself, has 
 borrowed from him." 
 
 " Really," said Amelia, becoming interested, ' " I have 
 just barely heard of Boccaccio, so it may be excusable if 
 I do not understand you." 
 
 " Oh ! it is one of his stories that always helps me 
 out." 
 
 " And you are kindly going to relate it now ? " 
 
 " To tell the truth, the story is insipid enough. Its 
 merit is in its adaptability. La Fontaine, for instance, 
 has used it in his Magnifique, if I remember ; and old 
 Ben Jonson in one of his comedies. I am not good 
 authority, however ; I used to read such things a long 
 time ago when I was more scholarly, less absorbed in 
 business, and, in short (with a deprecatory smile), more 
 worthy of your companionship." 
 
 At this last word, Amelia fell to musing again. " Why," 
 she asked of herself, " do I always feel so constrained in 
 his presence ? That is the way people in novels feel 
 when they are in love. And why will he never look me 
 
160 GLOVERSON 
 
 square in the face ? Is there anything so very wicked in 
 my eye ? " Then, recollecting herself, she said, " Indeed, 
 Mr. Lang, I should like to hear so famous a story." 
 
 " You would ? " and he moved his seat nearer to hers, 
 while his eyes made another circuit of the room and 
 rested on the same spot on the back of her chair. 
 "Well, then," he began, "the Knight Ricciardo, after 
 long desiring, and at the sacrifice of a great prize, ob- 
 tained a short interview with the lady whom he loved 
 as rarely men can love. He spoke to her then as he 
 had never, except with his eyes, had a chance to speak to 
 her before." 
 
 " With his eyes ? " 
 
 " No, in words, and in words something like these : 
 * I make no doubt, dear lady, that you have perceived 
 how much I am your slave. You have known that I 
 loved you, but you cannot know, and I can not tell how 
 long and ardently. Without you I am not peer to my 
 own misery ; bearing your favor to the fray, I could ride 
 and tilt against a world. Be assured that you can call 
 nothing your own so much as me and mine. Give me, 
 then, one inestimable boon in return. May I hope ?'" 
 
 Lang paused. Amelia became agitated and confused. 
 She was demanding of herself what this possibly could 
 have to do with Schmerling. Seeing that Lang did not 
 proceed, she asked : 
 
 " And what did the lady say ? " 
 
 " Nothing only trembled." 
 
 " And the gentleman ? " 
 
 " He paused for an answer." 
 
 Amelia strove to repress a strange dizziness which she 
 felt coming over her a dizziness akin to that which 
 one sometimes feels on the brink of a precipice, and 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 161 
 
 which brings with it that wild temptation to throw one's 
 self over. 
 
 Lang at last resumed his story. " The Knight Ric- 
 ciardo, seeing that the lady spoke not, and being still 
 hopeful, thus made answer for her : 'I have most assur- 
 edly, Sir Knight, been long a witness of the great love 
 you bear me ; and am now further convinced of it by 
 your words. I know the will of my mother. 1 think I can 
 trust my heart. Such devotion as yours should have its 
 requital in fact, compels its own requital. Love grows 
 upon such a soil. We will await the blossoming. You 
 may hope.' " 
 
 Amelia's strange dizziness had increased at the words 
 "I know the will of my mother." She had then at- 
 tempted to speak, but had failed. She had heard nothing 
 beyond those words, " I know the will of my mother." 
 
 " You do not ask, " said Lang, " whether the lady was 
 pleased." 
 
 "Well," sighed Amelia, listlessly,- "was the lady 
 pleased ? " 
 
 " Was she pleased! Rather is she pleased?" insin- 
 uated Lang, lowering his voice as his face became set 
 with a determined look. " Is she pleased ? Are you 
 pleased ? " Then, attempting to take her hand, " dear 
 Amelia! " * 
 
 " Oh ! dear, Amelia ! " echoed a voice, so sudden and 
 so sharp that it seemed to be all around them. 
 
 Lang's hand, on the way to the young lady's, was 
 quickly arrested and went to his own ear, in the attitude 
 of listening. 
 
 In the succeeding stillness, he convinced himself that 
 he was the dupe of imagination. 
 
 " Yes," he resumed, at last, " I am Ricciardo. Have I 
 11 
 
162 GLOVERSON 
 
 told your story as faithfully as I have my own ? May I, 
 
 Amelia " 
 
 " O Amelia ! " echoed the same sharp voice. 
 
 Another startled pause. 
 
 " Amelia, where are you ? " 
 
 " Where am I, where am I ? " now echoed the young 
 lady herself, still listlessly. 
 
 " Amelia, have you seen my thimble ? " 
 
 The door leading to the sitting-room had suddenly 
 opened, and disclosed Miss Sophia Garr anxiously seek- 
 ing that domestic implement. " O dear me ! I beg 
 your pardon, Mr. Lang. Amelia, you must have ob- 
 served that I am always losing my thimble ! " 
 
 Amelia arose to her feet, and, pressing her hands to 
 her temples, spoke more hurriedly than her faithful in- 
 structress had ever heard her speak before : " What has 
 come over me ? My head aches dreadfully. Miss Garr, 
 you will be kind enough to entertain Mr. Lang, who, 
 
 1 hope, will excuse me for the remainder of the even- 
 ing. I am really quite ill now. I shall be stronger, 
 yes, stronger, Mr. Lang, when I see you again. Good 
 night.'' 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 163 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 HOW SOPHIA EARNS HER SALARY. 
 
 Miss GARR did not exactly understand the situation ; 
 but leaned to the impression that her own marshalship 
 had left her master of the field. At least, she was now 
 alone with Mr. Lang, and she proposed to take advan- 
 tage of the occasion. 
 
 The broker himself, as may be supposed, was much 
 enraged at the person who had been guilty of so un- 
 timely an interruption. Amelia would have been his in 
 the next moment. Had she not said as much? Was 
 she not going to be stronger next time ? He felt the 
 more confident of this since it confirmed an old opinion 
 of his which, to tell the truth, found no little warrant 
 in a long course of brilliant successes that no woman 
 could withstand him. Yet it was, at worst, only a case 
 of certain hope deferred. Miss Garr was a power in the 
 house of Clayton, and he could not afford to quarrel with 
 her just now. Mr. Lang, therefore, intrenched his anger 
 behind one of his most impermeable smiles, as Miss Sophia, 
 the peerless Amazon of small-talk, thus laid siege : 
 
 " What is it that made Amelia so red in the face ? Oh ! 
 you naughty fellow, you have been saying something to 
 her!" 
 
 " I was merely telling her a story from Boccaccio." 
 
 " Boccaccio ! Why, that is such a bad book. It was 
 expurgated from our seminary in the State of Maine ! 
 
164 GLOVERSON 
 
 I I am really," simpered that moral lady, " I am 
 really glad I was not here. I won't hear it, so you 
 needn't tell it to me unless you have nothing else to 
 tell me ! " 
 
 The ground for this familiarity on the part of Miss 
 Garr will be best seen, through the present state of Miss 
 Garr's affections which latter were, of course, only a 
 sort of pleasant synecdoche for her mining speculations. 
 In her bereavement nothing had kept Sophia from going 
 into mourning for the missing Karl but the expense. 
 She had come to congratulate herself that she had not 
 been guilty of this piece of extravagance. Her con- 
 science, indeed, smote her for the weeks she had wasted 
 in profitless grief. This it will be remembered, was not 
 the first time, in her quest for the h tin dred-and -fifty- 
 pound ingot, that the hydraulic process had been attend- 
 ed with disastrous results : so she had now shut off her 
 tears, and gone higher up the mountain into the quartz 
 rock. In other words, and still figurative, she had kin- 
 dled her " prospecting " camp fire before George Lang 
 himself. 
 
 The greatest minds have been more or less subject to 
 monomania. The Daimon of Socrates himself was 
 either a monstrous development of conscience, or a hal- 
 lucination brought about by the want of proper food ; 
 and for both or either of which, he might, for aught we 
 know, have been indebted to Xantippe, his termagant 
 wife. Like Socrates and Mahomet, Miss Sophia Garr 
 was gifted with a mania. She had a monstrous belief in 
 the marriageability of men ; and it grew with defeat. 
 There had been a time in her experience, when the be- 
 leaguering of George Lang, under the present circum- 
 stances, would have appeared eminently ridiculous ; but 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 165 
 
 disappointment seems to be the stuff that mania is made 
 of. Besides, who of us is above flattery ? 
 
 The success which had attended the present mining ven- 
 ture of Miss Garr may be gleaned from the outcroppings 
 of Mr. Lang's conversation which the foregoing para- 
 graphs have so ill-manneredly interrupted : 
 
 " Sophia, my girl, what shall I tell you ? " and his forti- 
 fied smile ran a bastion the whole length and breadth of 
 his face. 
 
 " Tell me anything but that horrid story, or you will 
 send me out of the room blushing, too." 
 
 " I could not think, then, of bringing such a catastrophe 
 upon myself. We will talk about something else. I sup- 
 pose you have heard of Mrs. Leadbetter's luck in buying 
 stock?" 
 
 " Mrs. Leadbetter," said Miss Garr, " is an extraordi- 
 nary a model woman : she looks so well in black. It 
 is said that she is waiting patiently for her husband to 
 die, so she can dress in full mourning ; but, really," con- 
 tinued Sophia, with a curious sigh, " Mrs. Clayton talks 
 so much about stocks of late, that I would much rather 
 hear the story than any more about mines speaking ot 
 two evils, you know." 
 
 "I could tell you a more modern one, Sophia, my 
 girl." 
 
 " Oh ! I see ; you insist on telling the same shocking 
 thing from Boccaccio, under another name. Why will 
 you, now ? " 
 
 " The more modern story, Sophia," Lang went on, now 
 sure of allaying her unpleasant curiosity, "is of a young 
 man, who, going to woo the mistress of a castle, fell in 
 love with her companion." 
 
166 GLOVERSON 
 
 " O you cruel George ! How can you men so trifle 
 with our poor feelings ? You know it is all we have." 
 
 Miss Garr was here guilty of an injustice to herself. 
 Leagued with her mania, she also had, beside her poor 
 feelings, the talent (as you have seen) of mingling and 
 confounding what she wanted to be, with what she be- 
 lieved would be the same inestimable talent that en- 
 ables some politicians to wager their* all on their own 
 candidate, without ever considering the chances of his 
 being elected. A husband was Miss Garr's candidate, 
 and the practice of long, busy years had made her only 
 the more eager to stake her all of hope and confidence 
 and belief, as in the present instance, on the slightest 
 chance of an election. 
 
 Mr. Lang offered no rejoinder to Miss Garr's last 
 speech. He dare not speak ; he dare not even smile 
 for fear of laughing outright. 
 
 "Our poor feelings, George" the lady continued, 
 playing a minor accompaniment to the music of her 
 voice by applying her handkerchief alternately to the 
 stops of her nose and eyes "our poor feelings, they 
 are all we have, and and I did not know I had so 
 much of them till now ; but George, did that modern 
 young man marry the mistress of the castle or or 
 her comp companion ? " 
 
 " He was at a loss what to do. He was afraid that he 
 had compromised himself with the lady he had first 
 wooed." 
 
 " I should think, the companion would have felt aw- 
 fully." 
 
 " You do not understand me," returned Lang, still in 
 great peril of an unseemly laugh. " The young man of 
 the story was afraid that he had so compromised himself 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 167 
 
 with the daughter of the castle, as to have proved him- 
 self ungrateful to the lady of his maturer choice." 
 
 " But his fears must have been entirely groundless ! " 
 
 " Then, Sophia, my girl, we need not any longer talk 
 in allegory." 
 
 " Not at all, dear George." 
 
 " You know my secret, now." 
 
 " And you know mine, dear George." 
 
 " And we will keep them to ourselves." 
 
 " Yes, yes, as long as you may think it prudent, dear 
 George." 
 
 " You will do one thing more for me, Sophia, my girl ? " 
 insinuated Lang, as he arose to depart and took her by 
 the hand. 
 
 " Yes, anything, anything, dearest George." 
 
 " Well, then, be sure to tell me everything that Ame- 
 lia says about all the events of this evening ; from the 
 business transactions, to the story from Boccaccio." 
 
 " Certainly, certainly ; but dearest George, haven't you 
 forgotten something ? " 
 
 Lang stopped suddenly. His hand, which he had 
 already extended toward the door, went quickly to the 
 breast pocket of his coat. Feeling the papers all there, 
 he said, opening tire door, " No, I think not." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, you have." 
 
 " What is it, then ? " 
 
 " Why, to kiss me good-night." 
 
 This was too much, thought Lang, as he looked 
 around uneasily : " I dare not, Sophia, somebody will 
 see us." 
 
 " Come in, then, and shut the door." 
 
 " Some one will hear us, on the inside." 
 
 " We can go back into the parlor." 
 
168 GLOVERSON 
 
 " Aren't you afraid of Mrs. Clayton there ? " 
 " Not a bit of it, dearest George." 
 " We might as well risk it here, then who cares ? " 
 And George Lang departed, a sadder, and a wiser, 
 and a bekissed man. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 169 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 AMOS DIXON RECEIVES A THUNDERBOLT. 
 
 NpT many days had elapsed when George Lang and 
 the astute Mr. Beanson had another interview with Mrs. 
 Clayton. A full power of attorney was this time signed 
 and acknowledged. Amelia's presence was not required. 
 
 Mr. Lang left his compliments for her and would call 
 again soon. 
 
 Mrs. Clayton was highly impressed by the condescension 
 with which so busy a man as the prosperous broker had 
 undertaken the additional burden of her affairs; and 
 Mrs. Clayton could attribute it to nothing but the belief, 
 in which she had also taken heavy shares, that he was at 
 no distant day to be a very important member of her own 
 family. The great stock excitement, then just beginning, 
 might too have had its influence. Whatsoever the cause, 
 the result was that Lang could now sell any and all of 
 her real estate. He could at any moment take advan- 
 tage, for Mrs. Clayton, of any profitable speculation that 
 might come in his way. 
 
 Amos Dixon, meantime, had been more than once at 
 the elegant house on Folsom Street. He had weighed 
 Amelia's friendly invitation well, and had gone as often 
 as he dared even oftener than he dared, he thought. 
 For when he came to look back over the last two 
 months, he could remember instances, in which, he be- 
 lieved, he had positively gone against his own will. Yet 
 
170 GLOVERSON 
 
 always meeting the same kindly reception, he could not 
 see that he had made any progress. The mountain be- 
 tween Amelia and himself seemed just as steep, and just 
 as rugged, and just as far off.' The constant mention of 
 George Lang's name, in connection with hers, had added 
 an undefined hopelessness to his longing, making it more 
 silent, while it made it more profound. The torrent had 
 subsided into a deep pool, in which he could not see 
 himself, but others could see him ; for he stood in the 
 slanting light of his own unworthiness. 
 
 There was observable the least tinge of thoughtful- 
 ness in the face of Amos a settling of the lines there, 
 that seemed to push more of the soul out. 
 
 Wrinkle after wrinkle had disappeared from his clothes 
 a fact which did not escape his employer, Mr. Andrew 
 Gloverson. " Dixon, old fellow," said that portly gentle- 
 man, one afternoon, u Dixon, old fellow, you -are getting 
 high-toned ! " 
 
 " Yes," replied Amos meekly, " I told you, you were 
 pushing me forward too fast." 
 
 " What do you mean, Dixon ? " 
 
 " Why, I am afraid I do not take the interest in your 
 business that I ought to take." 
 
 " O you be d d, Dixon ; you suit me. Wait till 
 
 I complain. I said you would fit this place. Am I a 
 man to go back on my own judgment, say? You know 
 it was my judgment that saved your life, when you were 
 sick last summer." 
 
 " I know, Mr. Gloverson, that I owe everything to 
 your kindness. And I thought, may be, that you ought 
 to complain, whether you did or not." 
 
 " Dixon," said Mr. Gloverson, and then suddenly 
 paused, looking at his cashier from head to foot, consider- 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 171 
 
 ing what to say, " Dixon," he repeated, and paused again. 
 This time a flush spread over the face of the chubby 
 merchant which was continued in the watering of his 
 eyes. " Dixon, sir, you be d d ! " And Mr. Glover- 
 son turned silently on his heel, and hobbled out of the 
 building. 
 
 It was only the evening after this forcible argumenta- 
 tion, that Mr. Dixon, having made a careful toilet, again 
 called on Folsom Street. 
 
 After mature study, Miss Garr had concluded to rec- 
 ognize Amos, but in a kind of iceberg manner, crushing 
 him while she froze him. When, therefore, he was 
 shown into the parlor, Sophia bowed stiffly, as Amelia 
 arose and graciously extended her hand. In the Gulf 
 Stream of pleasant talk which succeeded, and into which 
 Miss Garr had necessarily drifted, with all her polar 
 snows about her, she did not melt one tittle. By a dex- 
 terous turn she brought Lang's name into the conversa- 
 tion, and it fell on two of the company like an Arctic 
 wind on the Bermudas. 
 
 Amos saw the impression it had made on Amelia, and 
 without knowing it, sighed. Now he knew, as his fears 
 had long told him, that the attractive broker was some- 
 thing besides the business agent of the family. It would 
 be horrible to have* any more definite information ; to 
 know that his own visits were too frequent ; or that his 
 presence was ungrateful. Yet, he felt sure now, that this 
 knowledge must some day come. Yes, it must come ; 
 but then, why would it be so horrible, after all ? Could 
 he not love her secretly and silently, as he always had, 
 even if she were another's? On mature consideration 
 he thought this would be inconvenient. He would rather 
 
172 GLOVERSON 
 
 not. Finally he broke the prevailing silence, continuing 
 his musings aloud : " After all, one cannot help envying 
 Mr. Lang his success." 
 
 "In business?" demanded Miss Garr, determined to be 
 more flattered still, even by her worthless enemy. 
 
 " No, not in business," replied Amos very quietly. 
 
 Somehow, Amelia was studying the carpet. 
 
 ' Well," volunteered Miss Sophia, with the character- 
 istic long breath, with which she was in the habit of putting 
 her truths in italics, " I am thankful for one thing, /am 
 not of a jealous disposition. I might have an understand- 
 ing with George I mean Mr. Lang, but it is probable I 
 have not. At any rate I can keep a secret. And I be- 
 lieve I will go. I may have an engagement with Mr. 
 Lang this evening, and the time may be up now ; but I 
 believe I will go. At least 1 am not of a jealous disposi- 
 tion." 
 
 These were the scoria of Sophia's wrongs. The 
 eruption of the ice volcano had ceased ; and yet there 
 were more light and warmth in the parlor where Amos 
 sat alone with Amelia. 
 
 It was some time before either of them spoke ; but it 
 seemed to Mr. Dixon, afterwards, that he had heard and 
 said more in that minute interval than he should ever 
 hear or say again. At least, when he attempted to sus- 
 tain his part of the conversation, which Amelia had com- 
 menced, he found himself borne more and more from the 
 pleasant tropics of the preceding silence. 
 
 " You see I humor her eccentricities for my mother's 
 sake." 
 
 " Ah ! whose eccentricities, Miss Clayton ? " 
 
 " Miss Garr's," replied Amelia, noticing the abstrac- 
 tion of Amos. They had been speaking of Sophia for 
 several moments past. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 173 
 
 " Yes, I beg your pardon, Miss Clayton." 
 
 " But there is, or was, one thing I could not humor," 
 continued Amelia, " and that was her French, addressed 
 confidentially to me in company. I believe that is 
 thoroughly stopped now." 
 
 Amos was still thoughtful. He was wondering how it 
 was that, away from Jkliss Clayton, he could think of so 
 many things he was going to say to her which must be 
 eloquent, because they were so true; and how it was 
 that, approaching her, especially of late, was like walking 
 toward the sunset. The nearer he came, the farther off 
 seemed his beautiful things on the horizon of his thought. 
 He had now followed them into a still twilight a sort 
 of pleasant border-land of silence. 
 
 " But, by the way," Amelia went on, " whom do you 
 think Miss Garr proposes to marry now ? " 
 
 This sentence thrown out carelessly to float the conver- 
 sation, was not finished before Miss Clayton was sorry 
 she had not chosen some other one. 
 
 " It is easier to pity the person in advance than guess," 
 returned Amos, endeavoring to emerge from his abstrac- 
 tion. " Who is it, pray ? " 
 
 " I believe it is really Mr. Lang." 
 
 " Then," said Amos, " she must be going to some party 
 in the neighborhood, may be at Mrs. Leadbetter's, where 
 she expects to meet him. Do you think she had an en- 
 gagement with him to that effect ? " 
 
 " I could not, Mr. Dixon, possibly tell." 
 
 "And yet and yet, I should think you would be 
 anxious to know." 
 
 " Oh ! she has not gone far." 
 
 " I was not thinking so much of Miss Garr as 
 as of" 
 
174 GLOVERSON 
 
 A slight knock was heard at the parlor door, which 
 opening immediately after, the servant announced 
 
 " Mr. Lang." 
 
 That gentleman advanced briskly, and rather auda- 
 ciously, under cover only of the most defensive of smiles. 
 Having saluted Amelia, he turned to Amos. " How do 
 you do, Dixon ? Ah ! the bee and the floweret ; but I 
 have caught you at it this time." 
 
 This familiarity was appalling to Amos. " Well 
 yes," he said, and could get no further ; for he was over- 
 come anew by .the confident air with which Lang drew 
 his chair nearer to Amelia's than his own had ever been. 
 
 " How it blooms ! though it is evening," the broker 
 rattled on, as he looked toward Amelia. Turning again 
 to Amos : " 'Twas so appropriate ; let me repeat : the bee 
 and the floweret." 
 
 " Well, yes," again remarked Mr. Dixon, answering a 
 certain tone in Lang's voice, " but I did not mean to rob 
 you of your honey." 
 
 " Or to sting me either, Mr. Lang, I venture to say," 
 added Amelia. 
 
 Amos arose to his feet and walked unsteadily toward 
 the door. 
 
 Amelia glanced a look of inquiry from Dixon to Lang. 
 There was a light in the broker's eyes that she had never 
 seen there before or were they light at all, those pul- 
 sations of increasing blackness ? She could count his 
 heart-beats in his eyes. Springing to her feet, she ex- 
 claimed, " Stop, Mr. Dixon, what what can be the 
 matter ? " 
 
 Great shocks take away speech. The look that Amos 
 turned toward her was pitiful. 
 
 " Mr. Dixon," and Amelia coming nearer laid her hand 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 175 
 
 gently on his arm, " are you ill ? What has come over 
 you ? " 
 
 Amos leaning himself against the door recovered his 
 breath. 
 
 " What has come over you, Mr. Dixon ? " asked 
 Amelia again. 
 
 " Something that that had to come sometime. 
 Good-by. May may God bless you." And Amos 
 walked firmly out of the house. 
 
 Amelia, confused by what she did not understand, be- 
 cause she had not had time to reflect, sank on a sofa ; 
 and George Lang, elated by the foregoing scene, and 
 now all confidence, took his place by her side. 
 
176 GLOVERSON 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 FURTHER ADVENTURES OP MR. A. DIXON. 
 
 IT was a powerful exertion of will which sustained 
 Amos, as he left the elegant house. He did not con- 
 sider the injustice done Amelia, in thinking that she 
 would give him such a dismissal, at such a time. He 
 did not consider that what he worshipped in her was 
 just what would make her incapable of an act so ungen- 
 erous. He did not consider anything, but that his ap- 
 prehensions had been realized. He could not even 
 remember the words of his sentence ; he only believed 
 that it was just. 
 
 Half the lover quarrels of this earth spring from the 
 jealous misinterpretation of a word, or a look. Long, 
 weary exiles of the heart have been pronounced in a 
 little spiteful moment of silence. But Amos Dixon 
 knew nothing of this. He felt that he did not deserve 
 the paradise he was leaving ; and left it, looking back 
 upon the flaming sword, without anger. 
 
 He walked, sometimes fast, sometimes slow, caring not 
 whither, so that he went in the one direction of the will 
 which had sustained him, and which bore him away from 
 the place where his doom had been pronounced. 
 
 It was yet early evening. Amos had wandered about 
 thus listlessly for over half an hour, when his attention 
 was arrested by a strain of music. There was something 
 in it that made him pause for a moment, and consider 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 177 
 
 where he was. He found himself on Kearny Street, 
 between Post and Sutter, and had not done wondering 
 how he came there when the music ceased. In the state 
 Amos was then in, the sound seemed to have issued 
 from the air about him. He could not think where it 
 came from. 
 
 He walked on a block or two up Kearny Street, ask- 
 ing himself continually why this music should have 
 stopped him. Suddenly the same strain connected it- 
 self in his mind with the bird song, he had heard on the 
 lawn in front of the elegant house on Folsom Street ; 
 and both, as suddenly, with the first evening he had 
 spent in the company of Amelia. Why should this 
 music sound so familiar when he was sure it was none 
 of the popular melodies of the day ? 
 
 Arnos turned around and retraced his steps, glad to 
 have something to lift his thoughts from the one painful 
 theme. He nursed his curiosity. Walking with his 
 head down, Mr. Dixon had again passed Sutter Street, 
 before he looked up. 
 
 Then he went no farther. 
 
 He looked up because he heard a voice that thrilled 
 him all over. It was Amelia's ; and she was standing 
 with George Lang, not six steps from him. This was to 
 Amos almost the shock of the parlor over again. But 
 they did not see him. Their faces were turned the other 
 way, and both seemed listening intently. 
 
 This is what Amos heard Amelia say : 
 
 " I am sure it was the * Song of Friendship ! ' " 
 
 As soon as he could, Amos wheeled about again, and, 
 turning the corner of Sutter Street, fled as if pursued. 
 He may have had little of the pride that lovers feel, but 
 not for worlds would he have had Amelia think he was 
 
 12 
 
178 GLOVERSON 
 
 following her. At that time, George Lang did not 
 occupy much space in the mind of the fugitive. It was 
 afterwards that Dixon felt his old dislike for the broker 
 increasing; and that he would be annihilated before he 
 would stir a step out of his way for George Lang. 
 
 Amos slackened his pace at Montgomery Street, and 
 threaded his way thoughtfully up that thoroughfare. 
 Now that Amelia was lost to him, he dwelt with a tender 
 melancholy upon every little remembered act of kindness 
 he had received at her hands. The sun seems larger as 
 it sinks into the sea. He thought, as he walked along, 
 how often Amelia had come to his rescue. The first 
 evening on which he had met her, and now on the very 
 last, her voice had explained away an embarrassment. 
 Had it not just cleared up the mystery of that music ? 
 To be sure it was the " Song of Friendship " the song 
 that Karl had sung. Thus, to Amos his meeting and 
 parting with Amelia were strangely connected by this 
 melody, and the sadder music of her voice. 
 
 Then he began to think of Karl, and wondered who 
 could be playing his music. With the idea of Karl, came 
 the more confused one of his aquatic theory, about the 
 ocean and misery. " I am truly miserable," sighed Amos, 
 " and I will once more take to water." 
 
 So he toiled up Telegraph Hill again, thinking of the 
 ghost, or, more probably, ihe illusion he had seen there, 
 and wondering, too, how it was that nothing could happen 
 to him of late without having some connection with Ame- 
 lia. Making the ascent slowly, and stopping every now 
 and then to breathe, he observed the moon rising out of 
 the haze that covered the opposite mountains. "It was 
 just sinking into the waters, as I left here before," 
 thought Amos, " what if there were some hope for me 
 behind it ? " 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 179 
 
 Just as he had reached the identical spot from which 
 the figure had seemed to disappear, on that other occa- 
 sion, a crash, as of subterranean thunder, shook the crag 
 beneath his feet. No earthquake and he had felt 
 many during his sojourn on the Pacific coast had ever 
 so startled Amos. His nerves had never been so well 
 prepared for a shock. The sound had leaped from rock 
 to rock, and spent its short boisterous life in the hollows 
 of the distant hills, before he had calmed himself with 
 the assurance that it was nothing but the gun of the 
 Oregon steamer, then due. 
 
 It flashed upon him immediately after, that a steamer 
 had been coming in, the night he had seen the figure on 
 this same cliff. What if the cannon were the trumpet 
 that called up this shape ? But then ghosts were all 
 nonsense. What would Mr. Gloverson say to a belief 
 in them ? And Amos shuddered ; for he was framing 
 to himself the sweeping allocution of his employer's 
 infallible judgment against all manner of disembodied 
 spirits. No ; the cannon could be heard over in Lone 
 Mountain cemetery, but then a cannon cannot call up 
 ghosts. 
 
 With this thought, Amos turned his face toward the 
 land, and the white grave-stones of Lone Mountain 
 seemed to be coming nearer, as the moon, rising higher 
 and higher, began to pave with silver the silent streets 
 of the city of the dead. He heard the coming steamer, 
 and was going to revert his attention to the bay below, 
 when his eye was caught by something that approached 
 through the- shadow of the cliff. As it emerged slowly 
 into the moonlight, he recognized the shape the same 
 that had beckoned to him. 
 
 This was too much for his credulity. Amos believed 
 
180 GLOVERSON 
 
 that he was dreaming, and would wake up in the morn- 
 ing, in his own little room, to shake off, as he had done 
 more than once, the nightmare of this illusion. In 
 this belief he stood and calmly watched it coming nearer 
 and nearer, and apparently straight towards him, the 
 figure of a woman, clad in the same mysterious gray, 
 with a cloak of like material, thrown over the head and 
 shoulders, something as the Italian painters represent the 
 Mater Dolorosa. 
 
 Thus noiselessly she came. Amos held his breath; 
 for her dishevelled hair of perfect whiteness, streaming 
 from under the covering of her head, almost touched 
 him as she passed. But she did not notice him, in the 
 least. Her eyes were bent straight ahead of her, and 
 seemed to diffuse a wild light over what little of her face 
 was visible. 
 
 Pausing a few paces from him, and leaning one hand 
 upon a projecting rock, with the other she caught up the 
 loose folds of her cloak, and commenced waving at the 
 steamer passing below. 
 
 There she stood as long as the steamer was in sight. 
 The vic/br seemed to go from her arm as gradually as the 
 object she was waving at disappeared. Then, heaving a 
 deep sigh, she turned and descended as she had come ; 
 and was soon lost to view in the shadows of the cliffs. 
 
 Amos, in the interval, had had time to convince him- 
 self that he was really awake, and at least a good mile 
 from his little room on Clary Street. This conviction 
 was accompanied with an undefined feeling, which he 
 dared not, to himself, call gladness, because, even at the 
 distance at which he saw it, there was something so sad 
 in the rapt eagerness of that face, as it turned away to- 
 ward the land. This, too, it was that restrained him from 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 181 
 
 following the vanishing figure. He would not pry into 
 her misery, yet why should it lessen his own ? 
 
 Besides, why did all seem the repetition of what he 
 had seen and done and felt before ? Why did the whole 
 scene, although he was awake, come back upon him like 
 the hazy landscape of an oft-repeated dream ; with just 
 one abyss on the brink of which his recollection paused ; 
 with the known on this side, and the unknown beyond ; 
 and the chasm, dark, impassable, still between ? 
 
 As he stood alone in the light of the moon, which now 
 shone out in a clear sky, this undefined feeling grew 
 stronger upon Amos. It was, indeed, peculiar, some- 
 thing like what one feels when a dear friend, who has 
 spent long years in suffering, dies at last. It is not the 
 sunlight of joy, or the night of sorrow, but a sort of mel- 
 low moonlight that borrows from both. 
 
 So Amos turned his steps homeward, feeling and 
 he could not tell why glad that it was no dream. 
 
182 GLOVERSON 
 
 CHAPTER XXL 
 POP! 
 
 AMELIA had not been long in discovering why Amos 
 had left the parlor and the house so strangely. It had 
 been necessary only to calm herself enough to thread 
 her way back through the conversation that had immedi- 
 ately preceded. She had not merely discovered ; she 
 had explored: for in no other way could Mr. Dixon 
 have bared his heart to her so entirely. Given the 
 effect, and there is probably no one of her sex who 
 would not, very soon, have come to the cause by a pro- 
 cess which is called a posteriori with men, and which 
 is chain lightning with women. 
 
 Amelia now took time to notice George Lang, who, 
 from his end of the sofa, was contemplating her with 
 some of the pleased confidence with which he was wont 
 to regard her mother. This did not escape her ; and, 
 what is rather odd, helped to restore her to perfect equa- 
 nimity. She arose quietly froni his side, and seated her- 
 self on a chair by the window. 
 
 While Lang mused on the fitfulness of women, and 
 the advantage of understanding them so thoroughly, 
 Amelia contemplated the closely-drawn curtains. -It 
 must have been an unconscious impulse, for she certainly 
 did not think she could trace, through them and the 
 early starlight, the retreating figure of Amos. " What," 
 said she, " could have made him misunderstand me so ? " 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 188 
 
 " His intellects," responded the broker, with an easy 
 sneer, " his intellects which are " 
 
 Here the current of Lang's talk struck a hidden rock. 
 Amelia suddenly drew herself up and turned upon him 
 in that grand way that some spirited girls have. It must 
 be left to the memory of those who have witnessed the 
 like of it. Its portrayal belongs to another branch of 
 art to the chisel, rather than the pen. There are mo- 
 ments of transfiguration when the divinity of woman- 
 hood is manifest, and she becomes like some antique, 
 sculptured Psyche, in her heroic grandeur, larger than 
 the life. 
 
 But was this a trivial matter for so much grandeur ? 
 What is the measure of indignation ? The ocean, to 
 which, in the powerful silence preserved about its own 
 pearls, something in Amelia's nature has already been 
 compared the sublime sea that tosses navies in its 
 palm, and keeps the earth in balance spends ages, like- 
 wise, in rounding a pebble. 
 
 " Which are, you will admit," this was the smoother 
 channel into which the current of Lang's talk deflected, 
 " which are, you will admit, not exactly the intellects 
 of a Socrates?' 
 
 Amelia only looked at him, a response to which, as 
 has been seen, he never made a like rejoinder. This 
 was, indeed, the first time that the handsome broker had, 
 to her, seemed contemptible. The human heart, it 
 would appear, acts sometimes on the converse of a com- 
 mon principle in physics : A body impelled by two 
 forces, at an angle to each other, moves in a diagonal 
 direction : To sneer at a rival, is to praise him and 
 abuse yourself. 
 
 The broker began to be piqued at Amelia's silence. 
 
184 GLOVERSON 
 
 " Well," said he, " it is very evident that Mr. Dixon is an 
 admirer of yours ; and, by the way" (with a delicate curl 
 of the lip), " / may be mistaken. In your estimation, 
 he may have the intellects of Socrates." 
 
 " Mr. Lang, in my estimation Mr. Dixon has neither 
 the head nor the heart to do a thing so cowardly, behind 
 your back, as you are doing now behind his. If he has 
 not the intellect of Socrates, he has not the soul of 
 lago." 
 
 It was the tone and manner that made this speech. 
 Both partook of the cause that inspired it. A statue of 
 Pity would be the modern Palladium of the wisest of the 
 sex. Protection, in her weak way, is the mighty heroism 
 of woman. 
 
 As strange as it may seem, Lang, at that moment, 
 thought less of Amelia's anger than of Dixon's presump- 
 tion. This, coupled to the officiousness which Mr. Glov- 
 erson's cashier had manifested after Karl's disappear- 
 ance, had so added to Lang's hatred, that he had lost his 
 temper. With his usual suspicion, the broker had come 
 to regard Amos as cleverer than he seemed; but had 
 never dreamed of him as a rival. He thought of him 
 now only as an officious dolt, who dared to be presump- 
 tuous. 
 
 " But then the girl must be mollified," he thought, 
 turning to Amelia. "It would do her good to cry," he 
 continued to himself, in his peculiar philosophy of 
 women. " Crying always does them good. It makes 
 them easier to manage. Yet the thing of it is, she 
 doesn't cry ; but seems getting calmer all the time, with- 
 out a word from me." 
 
 He began, nevertheless, in tjie meekest manner, to 
 smooth away everything he had said, and gradually to 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 185 
 
 change the subject. At last, he proposed a walk to Peter 
 Job's for an ice, arguing that he could well afford to wait 
 an hour or two, before he asked the formal question, 
 which was to put him in possession of so handsome a 
 fortune. 
 
 Amelia seemed glad to go, and Lang, seeing her so 
 easily moulded to his wishes, wholly regained his tem- 
 per. 
 
 So they walked out into the pleasant starlight which 
 had succeeded the morning rain of that balmy winter- 
 time. 
 
 They had turned from Market into Kearny, and were 
 proceeding leisurely along between Sutter and Post 
 Streets, when Amelia, involuntarily grasping Lang's arm, 
 stopped suddenly. The last bars of the melody which 
 had arrested Amos were dying on the air. 
 
 " What do you see ? " asked the broker, stopping too, 
 and looking about him serenely. 
 
 " Listen, Mr, Lang ! " 
 
 To what ? " 
 
 " To Karl's song ! " 
 
 If Amelia's attention had not been wholly absorbed 
 in another direction, she might have been aware of a 
 momentary tremor in the broker's arm. 
 
 In the commotion of his feelings, vanity was the bubble 
 that came to the surface. " Words or music ? " he de- 
 majided. 
 
 " Music, on a violin." 
 
 <k I did not hear it. Nobody but Karl knows the , 
 music. It is impossible." 
 
 While she was listening, Lang had time to recover 
 himself. "Pshaw!" said he, "I hear nothing. We 
 could scarcely distinguish a fiddle, across a continent; 
 
186 GLOVERSON 
 
 for Karl is on the other side of the world, by this time. 
 Shall we go on ? " 
 
 " Not yet, please. I am sure it was the ' Song of 
 Friendship ' ; " and Amelia listened again. 
 
 The music was not repeated. 
 
 " It is rather fortunate," resumed Lang, after a short 
 silence, attempting to explain any embarrassment he 
 might have manifested, " very fortunate, in fact, for those 
 who are near, that Karl is so far away. I am afraid, Miss 
 Clayton, we are indebted for this shock to your own 
 fancy, in which Karl seems to hold so large a place. 
 Were it not for my jealousy, I should bless you for this 
 interest in my old friend. Shall we go now ? " 
 
 " Well, I suppose we must," and they proceeded to 
 their destination. 
 
 In the saloon of the well-known Mr. Peter Job, the 
 
 broker observed that Amelia was rather more silent than 
 
 * 
 was her wont. His infallible philosophy of the sex was 
 
 not long in suggesting a cure for this ; and he applied it 
 thus : He seemed all at once to be stricken with a deep 
 interest in the gay groups assembled about the tables of 
 that fashionable retreat ; bowing to all his acquaintance, 
 and smiling bewitchingly at the prettiest of the ladies. 
 He was peculiarly absorbed in the toilette of a reigning 
 belle, with whose name his own had once been connected 
 in the gossip of Rincon Hill. He could talk of nothjng 
 else. 
 
 This, however, did not seem to have the desired effect. 
 Amelia was more silent than ever. There was not the 
 proper light in her face ; it was, therefore, no jealous 
 spite that kept her so still. Without knowing it, Lang 
 had been looking her in the eyes; for these, although 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 187 
 
 turned in his direction, had something so dreamy and 
 indefinite about them, then, that for once he did not feel 
 their rebuke. 
 
 Lang was puzzled. His philosophy could not be at 
 fault. It must be the woman that was wrong ; " and," he 
 concluded, after musing a while, " she must be in love 
 with some one else ! " 
 
 They were walking leisurely, and rather taciturnly 
 toward Folsom Street, when Amelia, without the least 
 warning, propounded this question : 
 
 " Mr. Lang, could not Mr. Schmerling still be in the 
 city?" 
 
 The broker was both surprised and enlightened. 
 
 " That's the man," thought he. " She is in love with 
 Karl. He was not gotten out of the way quick enough." 
 " Karl in the city," was Lang's answer, " and I not 
 know it ? Impossible ! " 
 
 " Yet you are sure no one else knows his music ? " 
 
 " Yes, Miss Clayton ; and, you will pardon me for 
 saying it, I am still surer that you are mistaken about 
 having heard it but see ! the moon is coming up." 
 
 " I was never so certain of anything," said Amelia 
 aloud, but to herself. " I will have it inquired into to- 
 morrow. I think I know the house." 
 
 " So do I," rejoined Lang, hurriedly, " I will investigate 
 it myself." 
 
 " And let me know the result immediately ?" 
 
 " The first thing to-morrow morning." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Lang." 
 
 Which, at that time, and under the circumstances, 
 
 produced very much the same effect, as would have re- 
 sulted from " Curse you, Mr. Lang." This was the echo 
 
188 GLOVERSON 
 
 Amelia's mellow voice made, then, in the dark places of 
 that gentleman's mind. 
 
 In her mother's parlor the young lady seemed more 
 herself, and Lang began to relapse into the quiet of his 
 old belief, namely, that it was only a passing fancy she 
 had for Karl a species of musical attachment ; and 
 second, that nothing could stand before the united 
 strength of his claims and Mrs* Clayton's authority. But 
 why should he not also let music and that her own 
 pave a gentle pathway for him? Was not music the 
 disembodied spirit of speech ? and could it not go where 
 words couldn't ? 
 
 " Will you not favor me with something on the piano, 
 Miss Clayton ? " 
 
 Amelia seated herself directly at the instrument, and, 
 without any prelude, began to sing and play " The Song 
 of Friendship." 
 
 Since Karl's disappearance she had thought of him so 
 much, that, by a sort of association of memory, she her- 
 self had learned to play the music and sing the song. 
 In fact, the melody had come always to suggest the idea 
 of Karl ; and the idea of Karl had come to suggest the 
 melody. 
 
 Thus the spirit of the song was carried out, even be- 
 yond the imagination of Karl. He himself has said of 
 it : " The music is but the necessary double of the words." 
 In Amelia's memory, Karl had become the necessary 
 double of the music. 
 
 Lang was both startled and gratified. He believed he 
 had never before received so handsome a compliment, 
 and Amelia had never been so gracious and so lovely. 
 He thought more of himself, first, and more of her, last. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 189 
 
 If a choir of angels, chanting the minstrelsy of the 
 skies, and a choir of mortals, chanting what he had writ- 
 ten, were arranged like a Greek chorus and anti-chorus 
 about the death-bed of a young author, to which would 
 he turn his dying ear ? 
 
 " Miss Clayton, I am delighted," exclaimed George, 
 when the song was ended ; " really delighted," and he 
 told the truth for once. 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Lang," was Amelia's abstracted 
 reply. 
 
 " Bless you, Mr. Lang," was the echo which Amelia's 
 mellow voice now made in the mind of the gratified 
 broker. 
 
 " There has," said Amelia, still abstractedly, " always 
 been a dear genius about that song." 
 
 " How can you be so flattering, my dear Miss Clay- 
 ton ? " rejoined Lang, of course misunderstanding her. 
 " I never thought myself a genius," he continued, in that 
 kind of modesty which is the height of vanity ; " never, 
 never in the world. It is true that a man may have 
 written but one poem, like Gray, or painted but one cat, 
 like some old painter I have read about, and still have 
 been a genius, yet that is no proof that I am one of them. 
 No ; " and his eyes and voice fell with an expression of 
 intense humility. " No, no. God raises up geniuses, as 
 he does the mountains. They are the natural barriers 
 to the oceans of mediocrity and dullness throughout the 
 ages." 
 
 " And to be candid, Mr. Lang," said Amelia, probably 
 for the first time that evening, recollecting who had writ- 
 ten the words, " I must say that I have somehow thought 
 better of you ever since I heard that song." 
 
 " You have ? " and he came up and leaned against the 
 piano at which she was still seated. 
 
190 GLOVERSON 
 
 How meek we can be when we imagine we are ad- 
 mired ! 
 
 " Miss Clayton," he began, in his most winning tone, 
 " you encourage me to believe what I have often thought : 
 the consistent villain is to be found only in plays and 
 novels. There is some good in every one. I sometimes 
 cannot believe that I myself am more than half a vil- 
 lain." This was paragraphed with a demure smile. " A 
 great master," continued Lang, ' k has said something to 
 the effect that the workman is better than his work. ' If 
 the whole is greater than a part ' I think that is the 
 way he has it ' a whole man must be greater than that 
 part of him which is found in a book.'" The broker 
 approached nearer to her side : " Now, my dear Amelia, 
 you have liked that insignificant part of me which is my 
 song. Take the whole : it has long been yours." 
 
 The hand of Amelia, toward which he had extended 
 his, fell at her side. 
 
 " Mr. Lang, from what has happened, I think you could 
 have -spared me this." 
 
 " I suppose I can not appreciate the delicacy of such 
 natures as yours ; but I could not think you mine till I 
 had heard it from your own lips, and, dearest Amelia, I 
 have loved you so that " 
 
 " Stop, Mr. Lang ! You do not love me, and you 
 know it." 
 
 "Shall I swear it?" 
 
 " No, sir. A woman may not always know when she 
 loves, but she always knows when she is loved but this 
 is painful to me, Mr. Lang. Let us never speak of this 
 again." 
 
 Amelia left the piano and again took the chair by the 
 window. There was a deep flush upon her face. The 
 broker was simply angry. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 191 
 
 " It is not painful to your mother ! " 
 
 Amelia's face turned deadly pale. " Mr. Lang, this is 
 ungenerous and unmanly." 
 
 George seated himself on the sofa at the side nearer 
 to her. After a pause, in which he had been able to 
 regain only part of his presence of mind, he said : " You 
 are right, Amelia, it was not proper to use your mother's 
 name in this matter. I beg your pardon. I can wait," he 
 went on, drawing a long breath, " and I am sure that I can 
 convince you how much you are mistaken. I think I can 
 appreciate the pride you feel the pride which hesitates 
 to give, where it imagines that it cannot receive ; but then 
 I can bear the waiting better if I only hear you say, in 
 words, that you love me." 
 
 Little flecks of red came and went on the whiteness of 
 Amelia's cheeks, like heat-lightning. She did not even 
 look at him. 
 
 " Do but say that you love me, my dear, dear Miss 
 Clayton. Can you appreciate my impatience ? I insist." 
 
 Amelia turned her eyes upon him. " You insist ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes ; say but that, and I will wait." 
 
 " Then, Mr. Lang, I do not love you ! " 
 
 The broker was thunderstruck. It had been only in 
 moments of vexation that the possibility of her having a 
 fancy for some one else had entered his mind. These 
 misgivings had never dwelt long with him mere mists 
 they were, that disappeared before the full sun of his 
 own conceit. In the face of his successes, could it be 
 possible that this woman dared not to love him ? 
 
 " Ah ! I know you. You love some one else, don't you ? " 
 
 " That, sir, is a question you have no right to ask me," 
 and Amelia rose to her feet. 
 
 Lang lost all self-control : " Oh ! I tell you I know 
 
192 GLOVERSON 
 
 you. It was first that dreamy Dutchman, who is dead, 
 thank God ; and now it is that reptile Dixon, who soon 
 may be And you reject me ? " 
 
 "I do." 
 
 " Your mother doesn't." 
 
 Amelia's tall figure was posed majestically, her left 
 hand leaning upon the back of the chair from which she 
 had just risen, while her right arm and hand rose in the 
 natural gesture of contempt : " Mr. Lang, leave me ! 
 This is cowardly ; this is outrageous. Mr. Dixon, whom 
 you so despise, would lose his right arm before he would 
 do any thing so unmanly." 
 
 His hatred toward Amos, increased by this comparison 
 and added to the previous anger, made the broker fairly 
 wild. He had been walking quickly backward and for- 
 ward before the sofa from which he had risen. All of a 
 sudden he stopped in front of the young lady, and darting 
 a fierce look into her blanched face, said, with clenched 
 fist and set teeth : 
 
 " I tell you, Amelia Clayton, you shall marry me ! " 
 
 " Never ! " 
 
 Lang still glared at her. " You will see the day when 
 you will be glad to do it." 
 
 " Never ! go ! " and Amelia, undaunted, returned his 
 glare, pointing her finger grandly toward the door. Jn 
 the pallor of her face, now, there was the cold transpar- 
 ency of marble. " I told you I would be stronger next 
 time. Go, sir." 
 
 " Stronger ? Yes, when you are at my feet. I have 
 you in my power. And as for that Dixon that thick- 
 headed favorite, for whom you think you can reject me, 
 since you cannot get Karl well," and Lang trembled 
 with rage, " I will put you where even your Amos will 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 193 
 
 not marry you, and him where it will trouble you to find 
 
 him, I promise you." 
 
 " Are you going, Mr. Lang, or shall I call the servant ? " 
 The black pulsations of Lang's eyes were terrible, as 
 
 he turned them back upon her from the door. 
 The next moment he was in the street. 
 
 Amelia felt herself growing suddenly faint. Her 
 strength was disappearing with her foe. She had pres- 
 ence of mind, however, to hasten to her own room, 
 where, having plunged her hands and face into cold 
 water, she threw herself into a chair by the open win- 
 dow. It was not long till tears came tears, that God- 
 sent .cataclysm which is repeating itself forever, and 
 which, in forty minutes or forty seconds, can sweep away 
 so many evils from the world of women. 
 
 Drying her eyes, Amelia still sat at the open window, 
 drinking in the balm of the evening. The whole lawn 
 was fresher from the morning rain, as she was from her 
 tears. 
 
 Two little birds one of which, probably, it was, that 
 had sung its epithalamium in the ears of Amos had 
 pitched their gipsy tent in an acacia just beneath her 
 window ; and, as the moon grew brighter, Amelia could 
 occasionally hear their dream-talk. 
 
 At that moment, the threat against Amos was all her 
 mind would dwell upon. It had left the darkest impres- 
 sion of all the foregoing scene. Lang was furious, and 
 might do Mr. Dixon some injury all on her account. 
 Would she ever see Mr. Dixon again ? How should she 
 warn him of the danger ? Amelia must have asked these 
 questions of the sky, for her eyes were looking at it with 
 a vague unrest. 
 
 13 
 
194 GLOVERSON 
 
 Then she would turn again to the lawn, where she 
 could distinguish the scarlet dahlias, bending over and 
 touching the pale chrysanthemums with their passionate 
 lips, like Diana bending over Endymion sleeping in the 
 moonlight. Suddenly she would think of Karl, but 
 there was a kind of haze about him. Sadness always 
 came with the thought, and a queer sense of distance ; 
 while the idea of Amos had, linked with it, as queer a 
 sense of nearness. When she thought of him, and she 
 thought of him more than of Karl to-night, she was 
 thrilled with that strange feeling which, for instance, the 
 sight of a woman's hand will sometimes inspire in a man. 
 Amelia, in the purity of her mind, thought herself at- 
 tracted by the great good heart of Mr. Dixon, and by 
 pity for the honest sorrows into which it had led him. 
 
 But that was not all. It was something in the moon- 
 light the kiss of Diana, rejected by the drowsy shep- 
 herd of Latmos, which has lingered in that light through 
 the aeons something in it twin to the power that sways 
 the tides of the ocean, and gives gender to the flowers 
 and the grasses. Amelia was attracted by the mascu- 
 lineness of Amos that undefined complement of h:r 
 being. 
 
 And that is why she turned with such delight to the 
 dream-talk of the mated birds, and watched, with so 
 tender an interest, the elfin somnambulism of the flowers. 
 
 At that moment, Amos Dixon was standing alone on 
 Telegraph Hill, in the glamour of a pleased uncertainty, 
 and in the hazy light of a reflected hope. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 195 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 KARL SCHMERLING. 
 
 ABOUT ten o'clock the next morning, two gentlemen 
 passed each other on a pair of rickety stairs, which led 
 from the sidewalk to the second story of a sombre- 
 looking house, on Kearny, between S utter and Post 
 streets. That was, of course, before the late improve- 
 ments. 
 
 The ground-floor of this house was the seat of that 
 miscellaneous shrine of housewives, a grocery the only 
 substitute the gossips of America have for the public 
 fountain of Europe. The sign, above the door, as first 
 executed, read, ANTON ZIMMERMANN.* Over this sur- 
 name just one transparent coat of white paint had been 
 plastered, and CARPENTER, the English for Zimmermann, 
 had been painted. The ANTON had not been touched. 
 To change that into Anthony would have taken more 
 room and more money. So it now read, the old Anton 
 and the new Carpenter ; and the proprietor, to use his own 
 words, was " a foos trate Amerikenn, vat voted regular 
 and nefer scratched hees teeket." 
 
 Yet this thin coat of paint was continually letting his 
 past into his present, just as the transparency of our own 
 pretensions, dear reader, so often serves us. 
 
 The two gentlemen, who passed each other on the 
 stairs, bowed stiffly. The one who was descending, saicf, 
 between his teeth : " Morning, Mr. Dixon." The other 
 
196 GLOVERSON 
 
 returned, simply : " Mr. Lang," and ascended to the door 
 at which the steps terminated. 
 
 The broker took the direction of his office, his hatred 
 toward Amos increased at least tenfold. " That fellow," 
 thought Lang, " has been sent here by her, on the same 
 errand. This is insult to injury. He will fail here, as I 
 have failed, but the offense is all the same. That man 
 is my evil genius." 
 
 The door at the head of the stairs stood ajar, and a 
 red face was peering out of it. " Potz Tausend!" was 
 the exclamation which greeted Amos, as the door flew 
 half-open, and the form of a woman stood on the 
 threshold. Placing her brawny, bare arms akimbo, she 
 contemplated Mr. Dixon from head to foot : " Vhen 
 you vants to see my man, Mr. Carpenter, you goes 
 below." 
 
 " Madam, I merely want to see Mr. Karl Schmerling, 
 who, I have reason to believe, is in this house." 
 
 " Tat is youst vat dat oder feller vanted. I don't know 
 'urn ! " 
 
 During this speech, the Frau Carpenter, formerly 
 Zimmermann, closed the door and stood on the outside : 
 " You youst go right away. I youst call my man, Anton 
 No I won't neider ! " 
 
 Amos noticed a change of color in the woman's face, 
 at the close of this last pronunciamiento. " I am very 
 sorry, madam, that my duty causes me to cross you so, 
 but I am sure there is something wrong here." 
 
 " Den you dinks I lies, do I ? I will youst haf my 
 charackter inquired of! " 
 
 " You see that policeman, on that corner ? " 
 
 " Ach main Gott ! a boliceman ! you will bring a bo- 
 liceman in mein house ? " 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 197 
 
 At this instant, Amos rushed wildly by her, through 
 the door. He had heard the same familiar violin, and, 
 following the sound, he came into the front room just 
 above the grocery. He could neither advance nor speak. 
 
 Before him, propped up by pillows on a bed, was an 
 emaciated figure, whose pale face was bent fixedly over 
 the instrument Amos had heard. The sudden opening 
 of the door had not been noticed. But, as Amos was 
 trying to regain his breath, a pair of languid eyes met 
 his. 
 
 Then there was a wild shriek, and the violin fell upon 
 the floor and broke. 
 
 Dixon rushed forward and caught the figure in his 
 arms. " O Schmerling ! Schmerling, what can this 
 mean ? " 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " How came you here, Karl ? " 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " What on earth has happened ? " 
 
 Still no answer. Karl Schmerling was senseless. 
 
 The Frau Carpenter had followed Amos, in speechless 
 terror. Her man, Anton, attracted by the shriek, aban- 
 doned his grocery to an ill-fed younger brother, and, 
 making his appearance on the scene, demanded, in a 
 deep guttural : " Was ist das ? " 
 
 " Ach ! Anton ! " groaned his spouse, wringing her 
 hands. " Ach ! der Herr Baron ! " and the good soul 
 burst into tears. 
 
 "Vat you do here?" blurted out Anton, glaring 
 fiercely at Amos, who was sprinkling water upon the face 
 of Karl. 
 
 " He has killt de goot bajon ! " moaned the terror- 
 stricken woman. 
 
198 GLOVERSON 
 
 " Yes, yes ! Dat is de man he talks about ven he vas 
 crazy veil, I put him out, any vay ! " 
 
 Karl was, meantime, passing from his fainting-fit into 
 a raging fever. Dixon eased him tenderly on the bed, 
 and, while smoothing the pillows, asked : " Has he had a 
 doctor ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes," answered the wife. 
 
 Well, go for him quick ! " 
 
 "I go, I go!" 
 
 " Stop, voman ! " said the husband, catching her by the 
 arm and detaining her ; then, turning to Amos, " Is 
 you de boss of my vife, say ? I haf keept dis man, von 
 Schmerling, sick a bed for tree months, youst because 
 my vife once lived on her fader mit his property ; and 
 youst because he was found dead one night very late in 
 front of mine house ! Is dat right, say ? " 
 
 " Ach ! " sighed Fran Carpenter, between anxiety for 
 Karl, and fear of her husband, " ach ! der poor goot 
 Baron, vat safed my old fader from prison, and let him 
 loose a whole year's rent from his wineyard in Germany 
 already ! " 
 
 " Yes, vife, der Herr von Schmerling may be a goot 
 man, a werry goot man ; but he has no money. He has 
 not paid his poard ! " 
 
 " I have money, sir," said Amos. " Go for the doctor, 
 I tell you ! Will you let a fellow creature die so ? " 
 
 And Amos caught up a towel, and, wetting it, bound 
 it about the hot temples of Karl. 
 
 " O Anton, let me go, let me go ! " 
 
 " Stop, voman ! " said the husband, again detaining 
 her, while he growled at Dixon, " yes, I dink you has 
 money, and some vas is not youVs, and you keeps it, too. 
 You ish youst de man dat Mr. von Schmerling didn't 
 vant to see." 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 199 
 
 Amos approached the two : " Here, madam, take that, 
 and buy as much ice as you can carry. We must keep 
 his head cool till the doctor comes. If you make haste, 
 you may save the life of him whom I understand to be 
 your old master." 
 
 " Gif me clat money, vife !" 
 
 " Oh ! certain : he was de best master I go, an't it, 
 Anton?" 
 
 " Yes, go run ! He dares not detain you," inter- 
 posed Amos, as he threw himself between the -last 
 speaker and her husband, and looked him squarely in the 
 eye. u Now," said Dixon, " you go for the doctor yourself. 
 Do you hear ? : ' 
 
 " Ven you pays rne for tree months poard first." 
 
 " I will pay you for everything." 
 
 " Right avay ! " 
 
 " You thing ! " exclaimed Amos, raising his clenched 
 fist. "Will you go?" 
 
 Brutes in human shape, are generally cowards. An- 
 ton elevated his thick shoulders and sunk his blood-shot 
 eyes, as he growled : " Veil, I was going all de time ; " 
 and Amos was left alone, anxiously watching and wait- 
 ing, by the bed-side of Karl. 
 
 It was not long till Frau Carpenter's return with the 
 ice ; but the fear of Karl's dying before the doctor could 
 come, had, to Dixon, expanded the moments into hours. 
 After exhausting his invention in attempts to allay the fe- 
 ver, he had had time to accuse himself for not having gone 
 for the doctor, and to puzzle his mind inextricably in 
 trying to explain and reconcile all that he knew about 
 the man before him. 
 
 Quick steps were heard, at last, on the rickety stairs, 
 leading from the street ; and the contrasting silence of 
 
200 GLOVERSOX 
 
 the chamber was ghastly. The doctor approached the 
 bed with noiseless haste. Then the silence was more 
 ghastly than before. 
 
 Amos riveted his eyes upon the physician's face. 
 Frau Carpenter, with clasped hands, gazed as fixedly at 
 Karl. That was the woman in her she did not reason. 
 Her eyes were with her heart; for her old master had 
 excited in her something better than love, and nobler 
 than gratitude something, too, thank God, that dwells 
 alike in charwomen and in queens. Karl had given her 
 a chance to be kind to him disinterestedly. 
 
 It must have been a minute before this silence was 
 broken ; but it was one of those awful minutes when 
 the man of medicine the prime minister of Life and 
 Death stands in the ante-room of his two masters, and 
 yet is autocrat there with the wisest of us. 
 
 Even Anton tried to breathe more softly. 
 
 At last the doctor turned deliberately around and met 
 the steady gaze of Amos. Two questions passed each 
 other midway in their course, from each pair of eyes. 
 The light in those of the physician, became softer first, 
 and he said, " Your name cannot be Mr. Lang ? " 
 
 " Oh no, sir ! " exclaimed Dixon, pointing eagerly at 
 Karl, " but tell me that he is not going to die." 
 
 " My good sir," said the doctor, calmly, " I cannot tell 
 you that. We can only do our best, and hope the rest." 
 And he turned again to the patient and busied himself 
 in administering anodynes. 
 
 " I may stay with him, may I not, doctor ? My name 
 is Dixon, not Lang. It is I, you know, who am respon- 
 .sible for your bill, and for everything. You will grant 
 me this favor in return ? No, no, I did not mean to say 
 anything about money, or to hire you ; but but you 
 will let me remain ; will you not ? " 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 201 
 
 " Yes, if you will not mention Lang's name here. 
 That man has done the patient some great wrong. I 
 think it will do him good to have a friend by him, when 
 he comes to consciousness again, if," ' here the doctor 
 paused a moment u if he ever comes to consciousness 
 again." 
 
 Frau Carpenter had disappeared to have a prescrip- 
 tion filled at the neighboring apothecary's. Anton yet 
 stood in the middle of the room, in awe and wonder at 
 the scene. 
 
 u I must send to my employer," said Amos, " notifying 
 him that I will not be at business to-day." 
 
 " I go, I go ! " gasped Anton. 
 
 " No, no ; you go down to your grocery, and send up 
 the boy I saw there." 
 
 Anton obeyed like a lamb ; and the boy took a mes- 
 sage to the counting-house of Mr. Gloverson. 
 
 The physician now drew a chair up to the side of that 
 into which Dixon had patiently seated himself. 
 
 " Doctor," began Amos, " I do not know exactly why, 
 but I see that you are a good man. Now, if I ask any 
 impertinent question you must stop me. Do tell me 
 what has come over this other good man, Mr. Schmer- 
 ling." 
 
 " You are complimentary, sir. It is his mind that is 
 sick, sir. Some heavy wrong is upon it. I was called 
 up late one night, several weeks since, and found the pa- 
 tient in the grocery below, in a paroxysm of brain fever 
 such as he has now. Fainting, he had fallen against the 
 door, and so aroused the inmates. I suppose he had been 
 wandering unconscious about the city ever since one 
 shock of his troubles, more powerful than the others, had 
 taken from him the complete possession of his senses. 
 
202 GLOVERSON 
 
 I ordered him to be carried immediately to bed. Mrs. 
 Carpenter had, with an effort, recognized him as the pro- 
 prietor of the estate upon which she had been born and 
 bred ; and was only too glad to obey me. Anton ob- 
 jected on the score of pay, seeing that he found nothing 
 valuable on Mr. Von Schmerling's person. The wife 
 prevailed, however, on representing her old master as 
 very rich, and as certain to reward them all liberally. 
 Since then, in his placid moments, I have bgen able to 
 learn nothing from him only the horror he has of hav- 
 ing his whereabouts known to anybody. In pressing 
 him. one time, with the unreasonableness of his conduct, 
 I well nigh plunged him again into a paroxysm, and I 
 have since abstained wholly. In his ravings, he has 
 repeatedly mentioned a Mr. George Lang as having 
 betrayed him, but so indefinitely that I could make 
 nothing of it. In his wildest moments, ue has mentioned 
 your name frequently and always kindly. It is for that 
 reason I consent to have you by him. His malady never 
 had so good a subject. Any other man would have 
 died or recovered long ago. So transparent is his na- 
 ture, and so weak his frame, that the least excitement 
 may now be fatal to him. Remember, therefore, that 
 however reasonably he talks, you are, on no account, to 
 mention the name of George Lang." 
 
 As the Frau Carpenter returned, Amos reached for- 
 ward and pressed the doctor's hand. They seemed to 
 understand each other. It was the simple freemasonry 
 of two good men. 
 
 The more powerful sedatives, which the woman had 
 brought, produced a marked effect for the better. The 
 physician promised to come again in the afternoon, and 
 smiled hopefully as he retired. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 203 
 
 Amos now prevailed upon Frau Carpenter to go to 
 her morning's work, and, seated anxiously by the bed- 
 sjde, he was again alone with Karl. 
 
 To many young men, the isolated life of California is 
 an exile from the hearth. It is their misfortune, rather 
 than their fault, that they have never seen a death-bed. 
 The sea that lashes them ceaselessly against the living, 
 drives them over, and swallows up the broken and the 
 dying. 
 
 This, in truth, was a new scene to Amos. A vast con- 
 tinent had spread between him and the sick room of his 
 mother. Nothing of the reality had reached him, but 
 the one great grief and her last blessing ; and these had 
 mellowed his whole life. 
 
 Amos had, as has been said, prescribed ice for the 
 hot temples of the patient, but this was dictated, not so 
 much by experience, as- by the medicine of common 
 sense. He was now aware that he could do nothing but 
 watch and wait ; and, as he sat and gazed at the changes 
 on the transparent face of Karl, he noted the fine effects 
 of white and crimson, and might have thought them 
 beautiful, if he had not connected them in his mind with 
 suffering. It seemed that this face had gained in spirit- 
 uality what the wasted frame had lost in strength. The 
 wreck of some treasure ship, cast upon a bleak lone coast 
 the men and master gone, but the precious freight- 
 age left this was the one picture that, out of the still- 
 ness and strangeness, kept coming and going in the fancy 
 of Amos. 
 
 As he thought this thought, and still gazed, a queer 
 half consciousness came over him. He heard nothing 
 from the street below, and nothing of Frau Carpenter, 
 busy about her work in the other part of the house. 
 
204 GLOVERSON 
 
 There are places, by their nature, sacred to silence, were 
 Babel all around them. There are moments when 
 silence appears to . be something positive, and defends 
 its own borders. There are moments, too, when it is 
 detected by the eye rather than the ear. 
 
 Somehow, Arnos himself seemed alone by the strand 
 of a desert sea. By and by, a sound arose, as if in very 
 mercy to the ear a sound low and almost regular ; 
 near, yet far away. It must be the steady beat of the 
 waves upon the shore : for again the same picture of 
 the stranded treasure-ship is before him only nearer 
 and the more oppressive in the silence, and in the bleak- 
 ness of the coast and the utter absence of the living. 
 The regular sound grows gradually louder and harsher, 
 and Amos becomes suddenly conscious that he is still 
 alone in the sick chamber, and that he hears only the 
 troubled breathing of Karl. 
 
 The patient seemed more uneasy, and began muttering 
 to himself: " If he wanted my money " this was the 
 first intelligible thing that Dixon caught from the lips 
 of Karl " if he wanted my money, why did he not 
 ask me for it. It was not the money, but the friend 1 
 wanted." 
 
 Karl now turned perturbedly on his pillow, and noth- 
 ing but the harsh breathing was heard. The doctor had 
 told Amos what to expect when the fever was approach- 
 ing its height, so he could do nothing but put more ice 
 to the patient's head, and still watch, and, in his own 
 despite, listen. 
 
 Karl turned again on his pillow : " You say the stock 
 is worthless, and Mr. Lang knew it all the time ? . . 
 Well, have I not waited and doubted long, .... 
 so long, .... long ? . . . . walking con- 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 205 
 
 stantly in the shadow of my own presentiment. . . . 
 
 I must believe it then Not the testimony 
 
 of one man, but of many against the confidence of years. 
 . . . Can a nature change ? The search for gold had 
 not sullied the clear streamlet of his youth. . . . 
 The whirlpool ! . . . . the whirlpool ! 
 
 1 Und es wallet und siedet und brauset und zischt, 
 Wie wenn Wasser mit Feuer sich mengt,' * 
 
 O God, God ! I cannot see him ! . . . . Do not 
 let him in ! I must not see him. Has shame no wall to 
 him no iron to bind or burn ? . . . . Let him 
 come, then, if I must kill him ! Nemesis and Justice are 
 one. . . . No, no, Justice is blind. I must kill my- 
 self, kill myself. It was my too easy confidence that 
 tempted him to betray me. The temptation was the 
 greater crime. . . . Let me die like Cato. Let me 
 do it quickly, for I am sinking . . . sinking 
 
 * Und es wallet und siedet und'brauset und zischt, 
 Wie wenn Wasser mit Feuer sich mengt, 
 Bis zum Himmel spritzet der dampfende Gischt, 
 Und Flut auf Flut sich ohn' Ende drangt, 
 Und will sich nimmer erschopfen und leeren 
 Als wollte das Meer noch ein Meer gebaren. ' " 2 
 
 Here Karl pressed his hands convulsively to his 
 
 1 " And it bubbles and seethes, and it hisses and roars, 
 As when fire is with water commix'd and contending." 
 
 Bulwer's Translation. 
 
 2 " And it bubbles and seethes, and it hisses and roars, 
 As when fire is with water commix'd and contending, 
 And the spray of its wrath to the welkin upsoars, 
 And flood upon flood hurries on, never ending; 
 And it never will rest, nor from travail be free, 
 Like a sea that is laboring the birth of a sea." Ibid. 
 
206 GLOVERSON 
 
 temples. After a short pause, he turned his face toward 
 Amos, and, glaring at him, continued : 
 
 "Kill myself? .... No ! That is unchristian 
 and cowardly. 1 must forgive him. . . . Was Plato 
 a coward ? . . . . Back, devil . . . dock, dock, 
 I will forgive him . . . and . . . and I must 
 die, die, die, 
 
 ' Und es wallet und siedet und brauset und zischt,' 
 
 Louder what what louder what ? " 
 
 Karl stopped suddenly ; and, sitting stark upright in 
 bed, repeated slowly, in his own language, as if after 
 spirits, this other strophe from the " Diver " : 
 
 " From the deep then I call'd upon God and he heard me; 
 In the dread of my need, He vouchsafed to mine eye 
 
 A rock jutting out from the grave that interr'd me; 
 I sprung there, I clung there and Death pass'd me by." 
 
 Then, without the least resistance, he allowed his head 
 to be placed on the pillow again ; and, with a smile upon 
 his lips, he sank into a quiet slumber. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 207 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 4% 
 
 OUT OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 AMOS still sat by the bed-side, silently watching the 
 sleeper. Frau Carpenter had once or twice glided 
 through the room, and gone back to her duties, each 
 time with a brighter face. Thus an hour passed, when 
 Karl awoke, and, casting his eyes about the room as if in 
 search of something, said : " Why, Mr. Dixon, I am so 
 glad to see you ; I know you will not betray my where- 
 abouts. I cannot tell why, but I felt sure you were by 
 me. How did you get here ? Oh ! yes, I remember ! 
 I just saw you come in. You will excuse me if I was so 
 wrapped up hi my music as not to show you the proper 
 attention." 
 
 Karl sighed, changing his position slightly, and con- 
 tinued: "I sometimes think my spirit has gone to the 
 other world, leaving only its shadow in this ; and, some- 
 times, the spirit seems all in this world and the shadow 
 in the next. Lying here and playing fitfully upon my 
 violin, I have imagined the spirit and shadow crossing 
 each other -on the line of life, continually ; but how is 
 Miss Clayton ? " 
 
 " She is well and happy, I suppose," here Amos 
 drew a long breath and dropped his eyes, "but I think 
 we would better not speak of her now." 
 
 " Why, Mr. Dixon ? " 
 
208 GLOVERSON 
 
 " There are several reasons ; one of which is that the 
 doctor has forbidden you to talk much." 
 
 " Is she has she has she forgotten me en- 
 tirely ? " 
 
 " She speaks of you often ; but, my dear Mr. Schmer- 
 ling, believe me, this is not now a proper subject for 
 you." 
 
 " What, she not a proper subject ? That is the doctor's 
 mistake. Amelia Clayton is a theme worthy of a death- 
 bed ! Such as she would reverse the old legend of the 
 Lurley would lure us mortals back to life." 
 
 " I assure you," rejoined Amos, " it is a very dear, in 
 fact, the dearest subject to me, and I cannot tell you how 
 it relieves me to say so to you ; but but we will obey 
 the doctor till you are better." 
 
 " Better," repeated Karl, shaking his head. " I don't 
 know, I don't know ; I have out-lived my greatest trust. 
 I have already dreamed too long. If I had loved some 
 pure woman as I have one man, my heart would not 
 have been so easily dragged from its anchorage. I should 
 have acted more and trusted less. I have dreamed too 
 long." 
 
 Amos looked into Karl's clear face. " I knew it was not 
 love between him and Amelia ; but then I will not men- 
 tion her." This was the unuttered thought with which 
 Amos filled up the slight interval before Karl spoke 
 again : 
 
 " As I have lain here, I have often thought how much 
 our days go like the lapse of the storied river, my dear 
 old Rhine though to some they go rather like the 
 Rhone, rapid at Seyssel, but peaceful at Vaucluse. 
 Creation is the articulate speech of God. Men are his 
 words of action and passion his verbs. They either 
 
AND TIIS SILENT PARTNERS. 209 
 
 do or suffer. Our lives flow from one table-land, whether 
 by the quiet meads of Languedoc, or the wave- lashed 
 crags of Drachenfels and Ehrenbreitstein only one 
 mountain peak of God's will to divide the water-drops of 
 our souls from a Rhine, or Rhone of fate." 
 
 A moment of silence intervened, when Karl, having 
 evidently pursued the thought to himself, exclaimed : 
 " The hieroglyphics of the stars ! the hereafter is writ- 
 ten beyond and back of them. We can read it better by 
 the light of faith than by the mists of philosophers. So 
 it is no disparagement that our destinies are like drops 
 of water. Are they not as flexible as a moment of time, 
 which is often an age of passion ; and may they not 
 compass the globe nay, the universe ? The breath of 
 God can expand them ; and, though the bubbles are 
 brief, we can see reflected in them ourselves, the green 
 earth, the dome of heaven, and the rainbow overarching 
 all." 
 
 Amos could only look and listen. He thought Karl 
 grew better as he talked ; for his face was aglow with the 
 thoughts he was uttering, and with that happier and 
 diviner trust which men may feel but never utter. 
 
 " Why, you are better now, Mr. Schmerling," said 
 Amos. " You look so much better." 
 
 " Then we can speak about Miss Clayton ; may we 
 not ? " rejoined Karl, behind a look of pleading inquiry. 
 
 Amos hesitated. His duty was now uncertain ; but 
 his heart was talking Amelia Clayton all the time. 
 
 " You have said," Karl proceeded, " that it is a dear 
 subject to you ; and the sentiment is manly. It ennobles 
 a man to love such a woman." 
 
 " God bless you, Mr. Schmerling ! May I always call 
 you Karl hereafter ? " 
 14 
 
210 GLOVERSON 
 
 " Certainly, my dear fellow ; I want you to." 
 
 " God bless you, then, under any name, for what you 
 have said. I think I am better since I loved her, and I 
 have loved her since I saw her first, but but I suffer 
 more than I ever did before." 
 
 *" Take heart, take heart if she has raised you higher 
 than you were. The storm is heaviest on the mountain, 
 but the sunshine comes there the earliest." 
 
 All of Dixon's hopefulness against hope lived again in 
 the warmth of the smile with which Karl had uttered 
 this last speech. " I sometimes think," said Amos, " that 
 everything happens for the best ; but it is difficult to see 
 her good in all I know." 
 
 " Come, come, never despair. Here is a little packet 
 that I put up for you, in the holiday time, when I was lying 
 here all alone. It contains something for you, and some- 
 thing for her mere remembrances, indeed, yet you two, 
 with these kind people here, are my only heirs even in 
 this respect," added Karl, sighing. " Thus for Amelia 
 must esteem you if she really knows you thus without 
 being aware of your affection I have linked you in my 
 own. There may be fate in it. At least, may the blessing 
 that I give with them be worth more than the baubles. 
 Here " (handing the packet) " I wish you both joy ! " 
 
 Amos shook his head, and, taking what was proffered 
 him, read, with a shudder : " For Mr. Dixon ; to be opened 
 when I am dead ! " 
 
 Amos looked from the packet to the giver, and, recover- 
 ing himself slightly, said : " It will be long before I shall 
 have to open it, Karl, and you must think so, too. Will 
 you?" 
 
 Karl smiled again. " At any rate, that is my last will 
 and testament, and my blessing on you and Amelia is the 
 codicil." 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 211 
 
 " I fear," said Amos, shaking his head again, " I fear 
 but no matter." 
 
 "What do you fear?" 
 
 Amos did not answer. 
 
 " Come, what do you fear ? " 
 
 " I fear in fact, I am sure she is to marry another ! " 
 
 What other ? " 
 
 " Now, we must change the subject." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Oh ! we must, we must" 
 
 " How could I have been so stupid ! " exclaimed Karl, 
 flushing instantly. " He told me his intentions long ago. 
 It is the man whom I can forgive all, but marrying her. 
 I will warn her, though I meet him in doing it. Ask her 
 to come here immediately ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes, to-morrow you shall see her. Be quiet 
 now." 
 
 " No, I must tell her this very day, this very hour, of 
 your goodness and his villainy ; and warn her of Lang 
 Lang. . . . O God ! Quick, if you love her if you 
 would be kind to me. Bring her bt ing her quick. She 
 will surely come for I am sinking, sinking again . . 
 sinking .... 
 
 ' Und es wallet und siedet und brauset und zischt ' 
 Do you hear the whirlpool? .... But where 
 
 is Amelia Bring Amelia I do 
 
 not see Amelia ! Amelia ! . . . . Amelia ! " 
 
 Amos called Frau Carpenter into the room ; hurried 
 down into the grocery ; sent Anton for the doctor ; and, 
 stopping the first empty carriage passing in the street, he 
 threw himself into it, ordering the driver to take him in 
 all haste to Mrs. Clayton's on Folsom Street. 
 
 The thoughts that passed in Dixon's mind during this 
 
212 GLOVERSON 
 
 ride were many and various, resulting all in a complex 
 sensation of pleasure. He did not think of forwarding 
 his own suit, or ruining that of his rival by the revela- 
 tions Karl had unconsciously made to him, or by those 
 Karl was likely to make to Amelia. He believed that 
 his friend must see her, or die in the paroxysm caused 
 by the ungratified desire to see her. Nothing else would 
 have taken him to the house whence, the very night be- 
 fore, he believed he had been dismissed dismissed, 
 though, in the kindness with which she did everything. 
 Her duty was with another, and she had simply notified 
 him, in some way he could not remember, through the 
 shock it gave. The manner had been like herself: it 
 was the fact that had crushed him. Between her duty, 
 which sent him away, and his duty to Karl, which brought 
 him back, a hope had sprung up that he did not analyze, 
 because he knew nothing how or whence it came. So, 
 Amos felt a pleasant thrill as he approached the elegant 
 house again. 
 
 Amelia's rejection of Lang had already reached her 
 mother through an angry note, in which the broker so- 
 licited a private interview with Mrs. Clayton at a later 
 hour. The anger of this note had communicated itself, 
 on the principle of accelerated motion, first to Mrs. Clay- 
 ton, then to Miss Garr, and then, with all its accumulated 
 violence, it had been hurled against the devoted head of 
 Amelia. 
 
 The irate feeling of Miss Sophia was something 
 astonishing, even to Mrs. Clayton. It seemed, indeed, to 
 partake of the nature of a bomb-shell ; for it exploded 
 in all directions, including that of Mr. Lang himself. 
 She shook her indignant fist, and threatened to let that 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 213 
 
 gentleman know what he was about, and how he could 
 trifle with girlish confidence, etc., etc. Mrs. Clayton did 
 not exactly see where Mr. Lang was at fault, but was 
 sure that Miss Garr's sentiments were prompted by 
 pure friendship. 
 
 So they were ; only Mrs. Clayton was somewhat mis- 
 taken as to the object. The pure friendship was for 
 Miss Sophia, herself, and not for her old friend from the 
 State of Maine. 
 
 A slur against that favored Dixon had also been con- 
 veyed, per note, from Mr. Lang to Mrs. Clayton, from 
 Mrs. Clayton to Miss Garr, and from Mrs. Clayton and 
 Miss Garr jointly, and with gigantic addenda, to Amelia, 
 who had finally retired to her own room. The two other 
 ladies, though greatly chagrined by this movement, did 
 not desert the parlor, or their theme. In fact, Miss Garr 
 had just finished a long tirade to Mrs. Clayton, on the 
 fiendish deceit of that Dixon, practised on her own feel- 
 ings, and on his evident fiendish designs upon her 
 daughter Amelia, when the servant announced MR. 
 DIXON, in person. 
 
 The faces of the two ladies looked very much like those 
 in- the candle-light pictures of the old Flemish artists. 
 
 " The devil ! " exclaimed Miss Sophia, stopping short ; 
 then, seeing that her allusion to her patron saint had 
 produced a bad impression upon Mrs. Clayton, continued 
 in a flash: "The devil is always about when you are 
 talking of him." 
 
 This was not very skillful, but it quieted Mrs. Clayton's 
 conscientious scruples about profane language, and en- 
 abled her to resign the full force of her mind to her anger, 
 and to her hatred for Amos. 
 
 Who now entered the parlor hurriedly, and iu 
 
214 GLOVERSON 
 
 manifest agitation. " Good afternoon, ladies," said he ; 
 " is Miss Clayton in ? " 
 
 " Humph ? " remarked Miss Sophia, with a tone and 
 manner which are best conveyed by an interrogation 
 point which figurative interrogation point that esti- 
 mable lady continued with her eyes, placing it alter- 
 nately at the head and at the feet of Mr. Dixon. 
 
 " My daughter is in," observed Mrs. Clayton, stiffly. 
 
 " I should like to see Miss Clayton, if you please," 
 faltered Amos, vainly attempting to appear at his ease. 
 
 " Miss Clayton should not like to see you, Mr. Dixon," 
 replied the mother, in a spiteful falsetto, as she looked 
 for encouragement to Miss Garr. 
 
 " To make a long matter short, sir," now volunteered 
 the lady appealed to, " to make a long matter short," and 
 Miss Garr drew herself up to her full height, which, to 
 tell the truth, was not very imposing, " Miss Clayton re- 
 fuses to see you, sir ! " 
 
 " But I must see her it is " 
 
 " Do you hear this impudence, Sophia, and in my own 
 house ? ' Must see her ' I say you must not and shall 
 not see her, and you must leave this house, and never 
 enter it again. There, now ! " Mrs. Clayton ended with 
 the battery of her eyes turned triumphantly upon Sophia, 
 whose appreciative approval was sent back by a similar 
 pair of hard, sharp instruments. 
 
 " It is a case of life and death, I wanted to say, when 
 you interrupted me." 
 
 " Life and death ! " ejaculated the faithful Sophia ; 
 " what is your life or death to us, or, especially, to her. 
 She will not see you, so you better go and die ! " 
 
 Amos did not know how much he had hoped, till he 
 found he had hoped in vain. His head began to reel. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 215 
 
 Still he persisted in saying: "If I can see her, I can 
 save a life. Let me see her for God's sake, let me see 
 her ! " 
 
 " The man is crazy, Sophia, I will have him put out." 
 
 Amos felt his pride rising, and his head growing 
 steadier. 
 
 " Miss Clayton, then, has refused to see me under any 
 circumstances ? " 
 
 Yes, and " 
 
 " That is enough. I did not come here again on my 
 own account, but to save another's life. I have done all 
 that I can, without betraying a secret which is not mine. 
 You, her mother, never rebuffed me here before. It 
 must be by her desire, and " his voice falling almost 
 to a whisper " and she will never have to repeat it ! " 
 
 Amos hurried to the door, where he suddenly paused. 
 " The end must justify the means," he said desperately. 
 " She may despise me on my own errand ; she shall not 
 on his. I may have been presumptuous to her, and false 
 to myself, but I" must not be false to him when," he 
 added falteringly, " when nothing but my own happiness 
 stands in the way." 
 
 The two ladies -heard these unintelligible words in 
 mute astonishment. They stood in the hall blankly 
 staring to each other, as Amos walked briskly past them, 
 knocking at every door and calling loudly for Miss 
 Clayton. Thus he went through the lower part of the 
 house, astonishing the cook by the manner in which 
 he opened the door, when he received no answer. 
 The cook, however, consoled herself by the remark that 
 she " always thought so." She, having failed to make 
 any impression on the coachman, believed that he had 
 been caught in some theft, and that Mr. Dixon was 
 searching the premises for the missing goods. 
 
216 GLOVERSON 
 
 As Amos, retracing his steps, started up stairs, Mrs. 
 Clayton shrieked and 'fainted. Miss Garr stood for 
 awhile riveted to the floor. Amos meantime could be 
 heard aloft, knocking, calling for Miss Clayton, and 
 opening doors. Finally, Sophia began to shriek, too, 
 but for the coachman. Miss Garr was evidently more 
 anxious to have Dixon put out, than to bring Mrs. Clay- 
 ton to from her fainting fit. 
 
 While Sophia was rummaging the coach-house and the 
 back yard for the coachman, Amos had come down 
 stairs, exclaiming, as he rushed into the street, " She 
 has run away from me she has run away from me ! " 
 
 When Miss Garr returned, and found Dixon had dis- 
 appeared in the carriage that had been waiting for him, 
 she ordered the dilatory coachman to carry Mrs. Clayton 
 to a sofa in the parlor, and left the waiting maid to re- 
 vive her mistress. Miss Garr went to find Amelia, and 
 what was Miss Garr's surprise to discover that Amelia 
 was gone ! " He has carried her off he has carried her 
 off! " were the soothing words with which she burst into 
 the presence of Mrs. Clayton, who was just recovering, 
 and who thereupon went off again with a scream. 
 
 Not long after, Amelia returned by the basement door, 
 through which she had gone forth on a little afternoon 
 call at a neighbor's ; Sophia, hearing Miss Clayton in the 
 hall, rushed at her madly and kissed her, with convul- 
 sive energy, on the nose, and the hair, and the ears, and 
 once or twice, as it were by mistake, on the cheeks. 
 Then, without a word of explanation, Miss Garr dragged 
 her former pupil into the presence of Mrs. Clayton, who 
 was at that instant again recovering, and who, at the 
 sight of her daughter's alarmed face, and somewhat dis- 
 arranged toilet, went off this time in violent hysterics. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 217 
 
 Amelia, believing some sudden illness to have over- 
 taken her mother, addressee^ herself tenderly to restoring 
 her ; and would have sent for the doctor, if not stopped 
 by Sophia. " It is all 5n your own account," said that 
 lady, " all on your own account, you ungrateful girl ! " 
 
 " On my account ? Why " 
 
 At this moment Mrs. Clayton's curiosity got partially, 
 at least y the better of her ailment, and she demanded 
 
 " How did you how d'you get (sob) how did you 
 get away from him ? " 
 
 " Away from whom ? " 
 
 Why, (sob) that (sob) brute, Dixon ! " 
 
 " Mother, you must be quite ill ! I do not know what 
 you mean but I am so weary of hearing that gentle- 
 man abused." 
 
 " Gentleman ! " exclaimed the Garr, in virtuous horror. 
 
 " Gen-(sob) gen-en-tle-man ! " repeated the hysterical 
 Mrs. C. 
 
 " Yes, gentleman ; and pray do not mention his name 
 again, unless you can mention it respectfully/' 
 
 " Oh, what will become of me ! " almost shrieked Mrs. 
 Clayton. " Do you see how flushed her cheek is ? It 
 is the only part of the Clayton in the ingrate. That, at 
 least, has some shame in it ! " 
 
 " Mother, pray tell me what is the matter with you ? " 
 
 " What is the matter, after having been carried away 
 by that Dixon!" volunteered Sophia. "Then to .ask 
 what is the matter with your afflicted parent ! " 
 
 " Miss Garr, I have had enough of your interference 
 in my affairs, and you will oblige me by mixing in them 
 no more. Hypocrisy and deceit, even in their sheerest 
 weakness, sometimes cease to be ridiculous. You have 
 passed your limit, and I will bear no more from you " 
 
218 GLOVERSON 
 
 turning her back upon the astonished Sophia ; " I am 
 talking to my mother now. Mother, you will please tell 
 me what all this is about." 
 
 " Hear her, (sob) hear her ! *After (sob) insulting her 
 parent's old friend, ha, ha, ha ! and her own affectionate 
 teacher, (sob, sob) and going off with that, ah ! horrid, 
 horrid ha, ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 " I tell you, mother, once for all, I have not seen Mr. 
 Dixon to-day." 
 
 " What is this coming to ? and she even denies it to 
 our faces ! What is this coming to, Sophia ? Ah !'ha, ha, 
 ha ! Have them take me to my room, instantly ! " 
 
 And the coachman and the waiting-maid bore her 
 away in their arms. 
 
 Amelia had not seen Amos, though she had met the 
 carriage, into a corner of which he had thrust himself, on 
 hurrying into the street. They had passed each other 
 unconsciously. Amelia was thinking, as she walked 
 homewards, how she could best do her duty to her 
 mother, and to herself, bearing and forbearing. Amos 
 was scarce thinking at all, so completely was he over- 
 come by what he considered the twofold consequences 
 of his failure. Had he left anything undone ? He could 
 not believe that he had. 
 
 After a little time, he recovered enough to remember 
 that he really had had no foundation for his late hopeful- 
 ness, but the impression that had come to him in the 
 moonlight. Nothing in fact stood between him and the 
 bewilderment of the first shock, which was increased now 
 by the absence of Amelia's kindly manner. Then the 
 horror of what he had just done rudely searching her 
 house, when she had refused to see him. How would 
 she ever forgive this ? Then Karl but here he be- 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 219 
 
 came more confused, and repeated thf Kearny Street 
 address to the driver many times, and prayed him to 
 make haste, though the horses were doing their ut- 
 most. 
 
 Finally, having discharged the carriage, Amos stum- 
 bled up the rickety stairs leading to the apartments 
 above the grocery. Unannounced, he entered the room 
 he had left but a half hour before. He seated himself 
 listlessly by the bedside of Karl, staring straight ahead 
 of him. He saw the doctor and Frau Carpenter moving 
 noiselessly about, but he did not heed them. By and by, 
 he neither saw nor heard them. Silence again asserted 
 its weird power in the midst of low whispers and muffled 
 footfalls. Once more, out of the stillness and strange- 
 ness, the picture of the wrecked treasure-ship gradually 
 rose before him. The shore was more bleak and deso- 
 late than ever ; no vestige of a living being ; no sound 
 of the waves upon the beach yet slowly the ship, as he 
 gazes, breaks to pieces, and he sees the priceless things 
 glitter, as, one after the other, they disappear in the sea, 
 and a long track of mysterious light passes over and 
 lingers about the place where all has been swallowed 
 up. 
 
 Amos suddenly rousing himself, discovers that a ray 
 of the afternoon sun has stolen through a small opening 
 in the blinds, directly across the room ; and there, inter- 
 cepted by the curtains, has paused in a halo about the 
 head of Karl. 
 
 " Well, doctor ? " 
 
 ^he physician turned his eyes upon Amos, but did not 
 speak. 
 
 " Well, doctor, how is Mr. Schmerling ? " 
 
220 GLOVERSON 
 
 There was a questioning look in the eyes of the good 
 physician now ; but still he did not answer. 
 
 " I forgot, I must always call him Karl. Then, doc- 
 tor, how is Karl ? " 
 
 This time the physician answered : 
 
 Karl is dead ! " 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 221 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 MISS SOPHIA GARR ENGAGES IN THE STUDY OF THE LAW. 
 
 AMOS DIXON had not been long gone from the elegant 
 house, when Miss Sophia Garr, caparisoned in a jaunty 
 hat and a ready-made cloak, sallied forth, on a little 
 business of her own. 
 
 She took the nearest way to Montgomery Street, and 
 proceeded almost to the head of that thoroughfare. 
 Ascending a very wide flight of steps, she turned to the 
 right, and went up a narrower flight ; turning again to 
 the left, she went up a narrower flight still. Without 
 pausing to take breath, Miss Sophia proceeded, by the 
 help of the sky-light, to read the names on a whole army 
 of doors. Making nearly the whole circuit of the long 
 hall, she arrived finally at a door which seemed to meet 
 with her approval, for she nodded her head, knocked, and 
 walked briskly in. 
 
 " What a horrid looking man ! " she said, as she threw 
 herself upon a well-worn lounge, and breathed heavily. 
 
 " What an ugly old vixen ! " replied the gentleman 
 thus apostrophized, looking up from the desk at which 
 he sat writing. 
 
 " Hem ! " rejoined Miss Sophia, eying him wickedly, 
 and still laboring for her breath, after her unwonted 
 exertion. 
 
 "Well, madam?" 
 
222 GLOVERSON 
 
 "How dare you, sir but this is Mr. Beanson, no 
 doubt ? " 
 
 "Yes, madam." 
 
 "I called, sir," pronounced Miss Garr, in an angry 
 tone, " to have you explain to me explicitly, and without 
 reservation, what constitutes a breach of promise." 
 
 Now two different persons had been harassing Mr. 
 Beanson, that very morning, with unpaid bills. Yet it 
 was a characteristic of this remarkable man that all his 
 greatest troubles were in the future that undiscovered 
 country of his first brief, and the presidency. He was 
 possessed of a wonderful talent at apprehending evil ; 
 and he had not heard Miss Sophia this long, without ex- 
 erting it. He thought instantly of the snares laid for 
 unsuspecting young men by designing females, and did 
 not grow calmer as his visitor repeated : 
 
 " Come, sir ; you profess to be a lawyer, if you are not. 
 Can you tell me, sir ? " 
 
 " M-madam, I don't know you ! " exclaimed Mr. Bean- 
 son, feeling very much confused, but looking, as he 
 always did, very aggressive. 
 
 " I found your card in my card-case, and I want to 
 know, sir, what constitutes a breach of promise." 
 
 " Madam, I tell you I don't know you at all! " 
 
 " But did you not leave your card in my card-case at 
 Mrs. Clayton's?" 
 
 " I did, madam, but that does not constitute a breach 
 of promise ; and I warn you now," said Mr. Beanson, 
 raising his voice and his forefinger, and shaking both at 
 her simultaneously, "I warn you now, madam, that you 
 cannot ground an action for breach of promise on a 
 little skillful advertising ! " 
 
 " What do you mean, sir ? " 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 223 
 
 Mr. Beanson observed a sudden and marked change 
 coming over the features of his visitor, and took it for 
 the herald of her discomfiture and his own triumph. 
 " What do I mean ? " iterated Mr. Beanson. " I mean, 
 madam, that in this latter stage of juridical enlighten- 
 ment, a man cannot be held for breach of promise, or 
 prosecuted for breach of promise, by a woman whom he 
 never saw before in his life and, for that matter, never 
 wishes to see again just because he put his business 
 card in her card-case." Here the speaker, seeing the 
 remarkable effect of his philippic, launched himself upon 
 his feet, the better to enjoy the ovation he was preparing 
 for himself. As he undoubled his exceeding length be- 
 fore Sophia, he had the satisfaction of seeing the addi- 
 tional effect he was producing, even apart from his ora- 
 tory. It was the very yellow jaundice of tones, in which 
 Mr. Beanson concluded : 
 
 " No, madam, you would not get any intelligent court in 
 the land, in these premises, to find cause of action. It 
 was nothing but a skillful advertisement in short, an 
 act of commercial and legal genius. You, I suppose, 
 would make it a crime punishable by marriage with such 
 as you. The thing is simply ridiculous ! Madam, I have 
 done. Have you?" 
 
 Mr. Beanson resumed his seat triumphantly, and eyed 
 the astonished Garr with an expression that made his 
 head look older than common. 
 
 Miss Sophia could not have interrupted the foregoing 
 forensic display, if she had tried. In her bewilderment, 
 she was mutely deciding whether she, Sophia Garr, or all 
 the m*en were going stark mad. George Lang had 
 offered himself to Amelia, after being accepted by her- 
 self. From the way that Dixon had just acted in Mrs. 
 
224 GLOVERSON 
 
 Clayton's parlor, there was very little doubt of his utter 
 lunacy. Then, this impudent red-haired wretch whom 
 she had never attempted to marry either he or she 
 was certainly crazy. The question was too complicated 
 for a prompt decision. 
 
 The two had sat for some moments, glaring at each 
 other, in profound silence, when Miss Garr suddenly ex- 
 claimed : " You long-waisted vagabond, shut up ! " 
 
 This might have been effectual in a contest with a 
 person of her own sex ; since it might have shocked into 
 silence or proved an Ultima Thide of feminine virulence. 
 When, however, Mr. Beanson, having taken some time to 
 consider, remembered that he was not talking at all 
 when he was requested to " shut up," the thing struck 
 him as laughable. Accordingly Mr. Beanson laughed 
 laughed loud and long ; till Mr. Beanson had laughed 
 out all the fun there was in the occurrence, and some of 
 his own anger, to boot. 
 
 " Now, madam," said he, facetiously, " I am prepared 
 to part with you." 
 
 Miss Garr was more angry than ever. 
 
 " I say, madam, I am prepared to part with you ; I will 
 not detain you further." 
 
 " You ugly, hateful, impudent wretch ! "* remarked So- 
 phia, finding speech at last. " You may insult me here 
 as much as you please, since I am without a protector, 
 but you shall not drive me away, till you have answered 
 my question. I would as soon marry a keg of nails as 
 you, sir ; so you may set your mind at rest ! It is some- 
 body else that my outraged feelings are interested in 
 somebody else of more consequence than you, though I 
 verily believe he is as big a villain " 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Mr. Beanson, as any other drowning 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 225 
 
 man might have done, before he was swallowed up by 
 any other flood. 
 
 " Do you suppose, sir, I would walk all the way 
 here from Folsom Street, and up these interminable 
 stairs, and then go away, without knowing what consti- 
 tutes a breach of promise ? I would have you know, sir, 
 that my case is urgent." 
 
 " Then you did not intend to prosecute me at all ? " 
 asked Mr. Beanson, opening his eyes very wide. 
 
 " Have I not told you once ? Would I prosecute a keg 
 of nails, you ninny ? " 
 
 As strange as it may seem, a bland smile, which spread 
 over the entire face of Mr. Beanson, was the result of 
 this last poisoned arrow of Miss Garr. The ignis fatuus 
 of his first brief was again rising over the marshes of 
 his present embarrassments. " Well, well, madam," re- 
 joined Mr. Beanson, " I will do anything in the world to 
 serve you. Who is it, by the way, that you wish to 
 prosecute ? " 
 
 " I don't know as that is any of your business at pres- 
 ent, sir ; I first want an answer to the question I have 
 asked about forty times : What constitutes a breach of 
 promise ? " 
 
 " To tell the truth, madam, there are so many condi- 
 tions to a breach of promise that an abstract definition 
 of it would not do the least good in the world ; and I 
 could not give you one, without consulting my books 
 but do you absolutely insist upon mentioning no names ? " 
 
 " I do, sir." 
 
 " Will you state the case, then, without names ? " 
 
 " You must see, sir, that my natural delicacy revolts 
 against any revelation to strangers." 
 
 " Why, madam, counsellor and client should never be 
 
 15 
 
226 GLOVERSON 
 
 strangers. Besides, you must be aware that a breach of 
 promise depends on so many things as I have said be- 
 fore, there are so many conditions that we can not pro- 
 ceed at all unless you answer certain questions ; such as, 
 for instance, whether you I mean the lady, the plain- 
 tiff, in fact, has any proof of a promise, express or im- 
 plied." 
 
 Miss Garr looked about the room in silent uncer- 
 tainty. 
 
 " Have you I mean, has the lady, for example, any 
 witnesses any one who has heard the defendant that is 
 to be," pursued Mr. Beanson, in the language of the 
 future, " express or imply a promise ? " 
 
 She could not say that the lady had. 
 
 " Had she any letters to show which contained a prom- 
 ise, either express or implied ? " 
 
 " The lady," responded Miss Garr mysteriously, " the 
 lady has not." 
 
 " Has the plaintiff been injured in any way by the de- 
 fendant ? " 
 
 " Yes, grossly ! " 
 
 " Ah ! there I begin to see a case. Set the damages 
 heavy set the damages heavy. By the by, is the de- 
 fendant rich ? " 
 
 Yes." 
 
 " Good ! " said Mr. Beanson, rubbing his hands. " We 
 will make the villain suffer." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Beanson. Fifty thousand dollars 
 will be little enough. Thank you, Mr. Beanson ; " and 
 Miss Garr actually shook hands with Mr. Beanson on the 
 spot. 
 
 " Hem, ah ! what was the nature of these in- 
 juries that you say the defendant had inflicted upon 
 you the lady, I should say, the plaintiff?" 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 227 
 
 I 
 
 Miss Garr feigned an uneasy look. . " Must I tell ? " 
 she demanded, dropping her eyes. 
 
 " I am sorry, madam, it is absolutely necessary ; since 
 the whole case seems to hang upon that injury, or those 
 injuries, alone." 
 
 " Well, then," said Sophia, riveting her maidenly orbs 
 meekly upon a broken coal-scuttle, " well, then, sir, he 
 kissed her in the dark ! " 
 
 "Is that all?" 
 
 " Is it not enough, sir ? " 
 
 " It might have been enough," replied Mr. Beanson, in 
 the stumbling innocence which had been the bane of his 
 life, " it might have been enough, madam, for the defen- 
 dant, or for the plaintiff, even, but is hardly enough to 
 ground an action of breach of promise upon." 
 
 Miss Garr was angry ; Mr. Beanson puzzled ; and 
 both were silent. If he had seen a possible chance of 
 securing his first brief in any other way, Mr. Archibald 
 Beanson would most certainly have dismissed Sophia 
 instanter. Running his long fingers inanely through his 
 red hair, Madam ! " he said, at last, I think I shall be 
 obliged to consult ' Bishop on Marriage.' " 
 
 " Now look here, sir," observed Miss Sophia, wrapping 
 her ready-made cloak tighter around her, " if you keep 
 on, I shall lose my patience and my good manners. Who 
 in the world wants to consult the bishop on marriage ? 
 An ordinary minister, or even a justice of the peace will 
 do me. I am not proud, sir." 
 
 Mr. Beanson, trying to look learned, succeeded in 
 looking confused. Undoubling himself again this 
 time with abstruse deliberation he went to a meagre 
 book case and returned to his desk. " It was this book," 
 said lie, " that I had reference to ' Bishop on Marriage 
 and Divorce ! ' " 
 
228 GLOVERSON 
 
 4 
 
 " Well, now you begin to get sensible," remarked Miss 
 Garr, in a tone and manner which, expressed in words, 
 would have read, " I grant your pardon, sir, for your 
 trivial mistake about ministers and bishops." 
 
 Mr. Beanson opened the book, and, glancing over the 
 table of contents, his eye rested on the heading of a 
 chapter which read thus : " Want of Age." In his 
 utter helplessness, Archibald looked up again at Sophia 
 and asked, 
 
 " Is there any want of age in the parties ? " 
 
 " Now look here, sir ; I did not come here to be in- 
 sulted. You think I do not understand your irony. I 
 would have you to know that I do." 
 
 " I asked that question," said Mr. Beanson soothingly, 
 " with all due reverence for your age. This is the first 
 time you have openly acknowledged that you are the 
 plaintiff in the contemplated suit. I have known it all 
 along, however; and I therefore assure you that the 
 question about age was suggested wholly by my igno- 
 rance as to the other party the defendant." 
 
 Mr. Beanson, without perusing the commentary on this 
 speech, written in the face of his client, now glanced his 
 eye back to the table of contents again. The question 
 suggested this time seemed to that astute pundit an 
 honest one, and based on sufficient grounds : " Want of 
 mental capacity," he read. " That's it ! " he exclaimed. 
 " There may be a want of mental capacity in one of the 
 parties. Do you think the defense could make that 
 out ? " inquired Mr. Beanson. 
 
 " It. might be," replied Miss Garr, still pursuing the 
 thought into which she had been drifted, and in which 
 she had gradually drowned some of her indignation at 
 the unsuspecting Archibald. Lang's late conduct may 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 229 
 
 have been dictated by insanity proposing to Amelia 
 after engaging himself to her, Sophia Garr ! " Really, 
 Mr. Beanson, it might be." 
 
 " Indeed, madam ? Then we must guard against 
 that ! " 
 
 The client looked inquiringly at the lawyer, who was 
 for a moment wrapped in a mute study. " Can the de- 
 fense, madam," demanded Mr. Beanson at last, "can 
 can they prove that you have ever been in Stockton, or 
 any private insane asylum ? " 
 
 Here the reader who has visited the Sandwich Islands 
 may pause to congratulate himself. Remembering the 
 crater of Mauna Loa, he will have a more vivid idea of 
 Miss Garr's feelings than anything but that molten sea 
 of lava could possibly suggest. Sophia jumped indig- 
 nantly to her feet, and poured a tide of epithets, so 
 seething-hot, over the head of the astonished Archibald, 
 that for a moment he succumbed before it, blank and still 
 as some patriarchal porpoise, lava-cooked, and cast upon 
 the beach of Hawaii. 
 
 " You wretch ! " was the comparatively calm peroration 
 of Miss Garr, "you you horrid wretch! I have a 
 mind to sue you for slander. How dare you p*it such a 
 stigma on my character when you know, or ought to 
 know that George Lang is the one that is insane ! " 
 
 " Oh, ah ! George Lang, my employer ? " exclaimed 
 Mr. Beanson coming to life. " That's the gentleman you 
 would prosecute. Well, now ! " 
 
 To the intense astonishment of Archibald an increas- 
 ing bitterness of manner succeeded, and he said, " If you 
 are not insane, madam, you are certainly in your dotage. 
 Why, look at this desk here ! Every one of these papers 
 
230 GLOVERSON 
 
 is a deed made out by order of the gentleman you would 
 rob. Go along with your breach of promise ! The court 
 would sencl you to an asylum as sure as guns ! " 
 
 Mr. Beanson's face grew brighter as his indignation 
 grew ; and his entire head was girt about with an un- 
 wonted appearance of youth. Sophia's rough handling, 
 like sand-paper upon an antique bust, had rubbed some 
 of the yellow mould away had lifted that mysterious 
 veil woven by the semblance of years, and had opened 
 up to her eyes and ours, the perfect glories of Mr. Bean- 
 son's Golden Age. 
 
 " You came here, no doubt, madam," continued Archi- 
 bald, with no such interruption as the foregoing para- 
 graph, " in fact, I feel sure, madam, you came here to 
 prevail on me to enter into a plot against my only pres- 
 ent employer, and may be (here Mr. Beanson was very 
 bitter in the curl of his lip and his general tone), may 
 be ? no, I am sure, too, that you would attempt to 
 marry me, at last, as a meet punishment for being your 
 accomplice. Oh ! I see it in your eye, madam ; you need 
 not deny it ! " 
 
 Miss Garr, at one time or another, since she had read 
 Mr. Beanson's name on his card, might have thought 
 vaguely of " prospecting " him for a husband, in case of 
 the failure* of all other claims; but to do her justice, it 
 was only ineffable rage that Archibald saw in her eye, as 
 he repeated though Sophia had not attempted to 
 speak " You need not deny it, for I tell you I see it in 
 your eye ! and as for Mr. Lang, I am doing his notary 
 business and a great deal of it, too, especially of late. 
 He is selling hosts of property hosts of property, 
 madam, in the name and with the written consent 
 of the Claytons. Why, the very heaviest sale is to 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 231 
 
 be made to-day. Now what does this mutual confidence 
 presuppose ? Madam," said Mr. Beanson, rising and 
 assuming an air of mock politeness, "if you were as sure 
 that you are sane, as I am that he is going to marry the 
 daughter of Mrs. Clayton, you would not have taken up 
 so much of my valuable time from Mr. Lang's business. 
 But, madam, this is the door," concluded Mr. Beanson 
 with an urbane wave of the hand, as he resumed his seat 
 and began silently to arrange the papers before him. 
 Miss Sophia, white with rage, did not stir or speak. 
 Involuntarily the hands of Mr. Beanson paused in the 
 labors they had undertaken, and fell heavily, one on each 
 side of his chair, almost to the floor. As he sat and 
 gazed at the still shape before him, the idea of the ghost 
 in Hamlet was suddenly suggested to the fertile mind of 
 Mr. Beanson. This was not a remarkable conception, 
 taken apart from its consequences ; yet Mr. Beanson, for- 
 getting the matter of gender, not only congratulated him- 
 self on the aptness of the allusion, though not expressed 
 in words, but actually chuckled, and at last, laughed out- 
 right, as an encouragement to his own genius. 
 
 Had it not been for this fatal laugh, Miss Garr could 
 have spoken, and her speech might have been terrible. 
 But something came perversely up into her throat. 
 Turning briskly upon her heel she darted through the 
 door to be in advance of her own tears ; and she and the 
 first brief of Mr. Archibald Beanson disappeared to- 
 gether. 
 
 " I hope," mused that gentleman to himself as he put 
 his pen-holder between his teeth and leaned back in his 
 chair, recurring to his happy allusion to Shakespeare, " I 
 
232 GLOVERSON 
 
 hope it (meaning his first brief) will never come to me 
 again ' in such a questionable shape ! ' ' 
 
 Mr. Beanson laughed louder than before at this meteor 
 flash of intellect, and modestly resumed his writing. 
 
f 
 
 AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 233 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 THE GALA AFTERNOON. 
 
 FIRST the sun arose, and then the baker's wife, at 
 North Beach. The sun was bright and golden ; the ba- 
 ker's wife somewhat obscured by a cloud of curl-papers. 
 "This is Saturday," she said; "I must get about my 
 work early, to be in time for the promenade ;" and she 
 began by a vigorous exercise of the broom, while the 
 baker slept on. They had no children living. The ba- 
 ker had come to consider this early dust, on Saturday 
 morning, as a matter of course, and compromised by hav- 
 ing his head shampooed every Saturday noon. 
 
 The sun had been up an hour, when the widow lady 
 of perennial youth, who keeps a fashionable boarding- 
 house on Mission Street, called to her two daughters, in 
 the adjoining room, and threatened them, if they did not 
 march right down stairs " this instant," and help the 
 Chinaman get breakfast, they should not go a step on 
 Montgomery Street " this blessed day." 
 
 The sun had been up two hours when the pretty little 
 school-mistress, who wishes she could find a boarding- 
 house where the men are not all so common and unro- 
 mantic, turned on her pillow, and thought how stupid it 
 was that breakfast was all over ; and yawned and ex- 
 claimed to herself "Well, well, this is Saturday. I 
 must get up, or my new dress will not be finished in 
 time for the afternoon promenade." 
 
234 GLOVERSON 
 
 The sun had been up three hours, when a brevet ma- 
 jor and a second lieutenant of the Regulars crawled over 
 each other on to the carpet of a fifth story room in the 
 Occidental Hotel. " Blast that last drink," said one ; 
 " it has got cross-ways in my head." 
 
 " Blast these green-backs," rejoined the other. " A 
 man can't live on his pay out here ! How am I going to 
 do for gloves this afternoon ? There isn't a pair here 
 that I haven't worn on the promenade." 
 
 The sun had been up four hours, when a maid-servant 
 knocked at the chamber door of the aristocratic Mrs. 
 Leadbetter of Rincon Hill. 
 
 " What on earth is the matter, now ? Ill have you 
 horsewhipped and sent away as soon as I awake," said 
 that estimable lady, as the girl entered. 
 
 " I have brought your breakfast, ma'am." 
 
 " But what right have you to come he^e at this un- 
 seasonable hour, and spoil my sleep ? " 
 
 " I have done just as you told me, ma'am ; you " 
 
 " You impudent hussy ! did I tell " 
 
 " It is eleven o'clock, Mrs. Leadbetter, and Saturday." 
 
 " Saturday, Jane ? Did you say Saturday ? " asked 
 Mrs. Leadbetter, sitting up in bed. " Well, Jane, I will 
 pardon you. You may have that old silk skirt I prom- 
 ised you, if you wish to go on Montgomery Street this 
 afternoon." 
 
 The sun had been up five hours, when a well-dressed 
 negro made the hasty circuit of a long hall, in a certain 
 gilded house, and tapped respectfully at several doors. 
 Then there was a sudden tumult of busy preparation 
 in the mirrored rooms. Powder, rouge, and crimping- 
 irons wrought the labors of their bondage to the queens 
 of that godless Egypt. For the well-dressed negro, in 
 making his round, had said sonorously 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 235 
 
 " Twelve o'clock, ladies ; Saturday ! " 
 
 These " ladies " were aware that the afternoon prom- 
 enade was their best advertisement. 
 
 The sun had been up six hours, and now seemed to 
 stand still, right over Montgomery Street. The sky was 
 cloudless a dome too vast for ornament. The hall for 
 the festival was ready, only the revelers had not yet come. 
 A few brokers and speculators were grouped about the 
 corners, as if inspecting the scene of the future carnival 
 a fancy, by the way, not inappropriate; since their 
 money had contributed largely to the splendid millinery 
 of the display which soon should float by those same 
 corners. 
 
 The world was at lunch. 
 
 While the banker's clerk lingered over his fish chowder, 
 his thoughts were at sea. A thronged Montgomery 
 Street seemed to go straight across the beef a la mode 
 on the plate of the Front Street salesman. Both were 
 pining for three o'clock to come, when their establish- 
 ments should close. 
 
 The exquisite young lady of South Park saw stereo- 
 scopic views of the Mercantile Library in her cup of tea, 
 for it w'as from that learned . trysting place she was to 
 eommence her promenade with a young gentleman just 
 from New York, whose parents were undoubtedly 
 wealthy. 
 
 The world was especially at lunch, at the Lick House. 
 Luncheon was also served on Bush Street Hill, and Har- 
 rison Hill, and the subject of dresses and carriages was 
 discussed and decided upon at all those places, amid the 
 languors of biscuits and preserves. 
 
 " Amelia," said Mrs. Clayton, moving away from the 
 table, " Amelia, will you ride out with me this afternoon ? " 
 
236 GLOVERSON 
 
 " I think I will," replied the young lady, a little sadly , 
 " I want to see the crowd." 
 
 " Never heard one man called a crowd before ! " was 
 the remark Miss Garr would have made, if she had then 
 been left suddenly alone with her old friend from the 
 State of Maine. " If you have no objection, ladies," 
 this is what Sophia really did say "I should like to ac- 
 company you. I am so weak and nervous that I cannot 
 walk to-day; and I should also like to look upon the 
 crowd." 
 
 " Well, well," rejoined Mrs. Clayton, with gracious con- 
 descension, " I suppose we can all go. Yes, yes, we will 
 go-" 
 
 The next two hours were a period of transition, the 
 sun yet apparently standing still upon the fashionable 
 Gibeon. An occasional gorgeous toilet swept by, but on 
 the sublime mission of mingling the real with the ideal 
 namely, shopping with display. A half hour later, on 
 Montgomery Street, and the ideal swallows up the real. 
 Display is all in all. 
 
 And that half hour had finally arrived. The gilding, 
 and the exhausted air, and the real gold of the alloyed 
 drama, and the water-color glories of the afternoon thea* 
 tres were deserted, and their human garniture strewn 
 upon Montgomery Street. The spectators had mingled 
 with the actors in a larger scene. 
 
 Young ladies, with old faces ; old faces, with young 
 dresses ; the rich in poor attire ; the poor, in rich attire ; 
 young gentlemen the backs of whose heads were intel- 
 lectual and ornate ; middle-aged gentlemen, from whose 
 heads the hair had been worn away in covering sins ; 
 overgrown school-girls, in short dresses, because their 
 
AND -HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 237 
 
 mothers wore short dresses at their ages, and cannot 
 understand why climate should break in on old customs ; 
 all these, and hundreds more, few saints, and many sin- 
 ners, passed and repassed one another, on this occidental 
 Corso. The weekly carnival was at its height. The 
 gilding, and the exhausted air, and the real gold, and the 
 water-color glories of our poor humanity were grouped 
 and marshaled for the spectacle, and the angels, let us 
 hope, were the pitying spectators. 
 
 Just as the two young ladies, whose mother keeps the 
 fashionable boarding-house, had bowed smilingly to the 
 major and second lieutenant, who lodge in the fifth story 
 of the elegant hotel the clash of gongs and the roll of 
 muffled drums jostled harshly against the air. The 
 smiles of the officers were syncopated by a sudden ex- 
 pression of alarm. Then a wild bugle note rose out; of 
 the gathering darkness of the sounds, like a rocket, and 
 burst forth and was lost in the blare of a hundred instru- 
 ments. 
 
 " Oh, a funeral ! " exclaimed the major, directing his 
 attention to his glove, which had come unclasped in* his 
 unwonted emotion. 
 
 " Yes, a musician's funeral. You can tell by the num- 
 ber of the instruments. That's the way they always turn 
 out. But here she comes ; we must do this thing ele- 
 gantly, you know, old fellow." And the two, raising their 
 hats to a lady of very questionable reputation, passed on. 
 
 The procession was just turning into Montgomery 
 Street. First came the musicians, with crape upon their 
 arms, keeping slow time to their own music ; next the 
 hearse, through whose glass sides a silver-mounted coffin 
 could be seen ; then, a carriage, occupied by two persons 
 of our acquaintance Frau Carpenter on the back seat, 
 
238 GLOVERSON 
 
 and, on the front, a gentleman whose face was not dis- 
 cerned from without. It was not pride, however, that 
 had caused Amos to draw the curtain. There is no 
 caste in kindliness of heart. Grief had made equals of 
 the two chief mourners. 
 
 The next carriage was occupied by the portly form of 
 Mr. Andrew Gloverson, alone. That gentleman's infal- 
 lible judgment had led him to discover something wrong 
 with his faithful cashier, inasmuch as Dixon had not 
 been at the counting-house in two days. So Mr. Glover- 
 son had hunted him up, and, being made acquainted with 
 as many of the circumstances (all names but Karl's 
 omitted), as Amos had thought honorable to reveal, the 
 good old merchant had insisted on sharing in the cere- 
 mony and in the expenses of the funeral. 
 
 A train of empty carriages followed to bring the mu- 
 sicians back from the cemetery. 
 
 As the procession pursued its way down the crowded 
 street, the grand music of the funeral march breaking in 
 upon the talk and laughter of the gay promenaders 
 Death eloquent, Life buoyant it was as the meeting of 
 two currents ; and many a heart was caught and whirled 
 about in the silent eddies between them. 
 
 The baker's wife, of North Beach, paused and looked 
 away from the gaudy trimmings of her cloak, and away 
 from the hearse and the coffin, somewhere out into va- 
 cancy toward the sky. She was thinking of her dead 
 first-born. 
 
 For, if the wail of the gongs and the subdued thunder 
 of the muffled drums were fraught with awe and warn- 
 ing, the sublime theme of the music that floated magnifi- 
 cently above all, was full of the mystery, and the majesty, 
 and the hope of Death. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 239 
 
 Two inmates of the gilded house, whose faces had been 
 singing the To triumphe of paint and powder, all the way 
 from Market Street, caught each other by the arm con- 
 vulsively, beneath their costly furs. There came a color 
 in the cheek of one, and a pallor in that of the other, 
 which had never been bought or sold. It was the honest 
 handiwork of their own sore hearts, bowed, for a moment, 
 before the King of Terrors. One thought of the dead 
 man who had wronged her, and the other of the dead 
 man she had wronged. 
 
 Two newspaper reporters, standing in the wake of 
 the music, as it were, for they did not speak till the pro- 
 cession had fairly passed, carried on the following laconic 
 dialogue : 
 
 " One of the Philharmonic Society, I suppose ? " 
 
 "Ye-es!" 
 
 " What name ? " 
 
 " Don't know. Heard it, too ; something Dutch, I be- 
 lieve ! " 
 
 First reporter, putting up his note-book. " Well, it's 
 hardly worth while. These things are getting too com- 
 mon for a good item." 
 
 " You are right. Would to , that somebody would 
 
 murder somebody ! Verily I must have Irish blood in 
 my veins." 
 
 "What, are you spoiling for a fight? Get up one, 
 then, and a sensation item at the same time ! " 
 
 " No, no ; I mean a funeral always makes me thirsty." 
 
 " Oh, ah ! Then let's take a drink ! " 
 
 Exeunt reporters up a side street. 
 
 Mrs. Leadbetter, and the little school-mistress, in search 
 
240 GLOVERSON 
 
 of a sentimental boarding-house, passed each other and 
 the coffin simultaneously. Whereupon Mrs. Leadbetter 
 divided her thoughts between a sneer at the new dress of 
 the little school-mistress, and a speculation as to when 
 she herself should have the satisfaction of following the 
 coffin of Mr. Leadbetter, her liege lord. The little 
 school-mistress, touched by the extraordinary number of 
 the instruments, had been musing, and wondering what 
 high-sounding name, in the bright hereafter, would be 
 graven upon her own tomb-stone*till the richness of Mrs. 
 Leadbetter's attire swallowed up the whole soul of the 
 little school-mistress, in admiration and envy of the living 
 present. 
 
 The vehicles in the street drew respectfully aside to 
 make way for the sad, beautiful pageant. Among others 
 was the Clayton carriage. 
 
 " What under the sun is the matter, now ? " demanded 
 Mrs. Clayton. 
 
 " It's jist a fun'ral, ma'am ! " was the coachman's sooth- 
 ing answer to his mistress. 
 
 " How shocking ! " emitted Miss Garr, with a shudder, 
 which may have been genuine. 
 
 " What macmificent music ! " Amelia exclaimed. " I 
 
 o 
 
 wonder who is dead." 
 
 " Oh ! it's only a musician," rejoined Miss Sophia, 
 quietly resuming her usual stiff position in the carriage. 
 
 "Only a musician?" repeated Amelia as her eyes 
 kindled. " Only an artist of one of the highest arts ! 
 What a glorious thing it is to 'be buried like a musician ! 
 Do you see that host of instruments? Where is the 
 great man who has such a funeral ? For my part I am 
 glad I live in a city where the poor musician has, at 
 least, one ovation on earth, in the richest and grandest 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 241 
 
 of burials where Music herself comes forward to vin- 
 dicate her own votary over his corpse speaks boldly 
 and magnificently of some of the solitary consolations of 
 his life. This makes the musician's funeral a march of 
 triumph, and the greatest triumph of all." 
 
 During this rather excited speech, Miss Sophia's posi- 
 tion on the seat grew stiffer than ever. That was Miss 
 Sophia's only reply. Mrs. Clayton had observed the pe- 
 culiar lights in her daughter's eyes, and Mrs. Clayton re- 
 membered, too, that slumbering behind them as bivouacs, 
 were the forces which had dealt her countless defeats. 
 She therefore looked out of the carriage window in si- 
 lence. And now the three sat listening to the wailing 
 and the sharp pain of the instruments ; and the grand 
 swell of the theme, always coming after, and collecting 
 all into glorious harmony. 
 
 "Mother," said Amelia, after the procession had 
 
 "What, my child?" 
 
 " Will you have the carriage follow after them, as far 
 as Market Street, at least ? " 
 
 " Why, my child ? Why not go home by way of 
 Kearny Street?" 
 
 " I don't know ; only I feel as if I must hear more of 
 this music." 
 
 The coachman was accordingly ordered to keep be- 
 hind the empty carriages ; and thus, unconsciously, Ame- 
 lia Clayton formed one of the funeral procession which 
 was bearing Karl Schmerling slowly toward the grave. 
 
 Finally, the carnival was left behind. Death was no 
 longer represented in the open-air masquerade, but the 
 carnival and masquerade went on, gayer for the interrup- 
 16 
 
242 GLOVERSON 
 
 tion. At Third Street, the carriage of the Claytons 
 turned homeward. As the music died away in the dis- 
 tance, it seemed to Amelia to have drifted into certain 
 melancholy bars from the " Song of Friendship." 
 
 She knew, however, that this was a mere fancy, and 
 explained it away quite naturally. At her own request, 
 her mother had learned from Lang how fruitless had 
 been his search for his missing friend, the morning after 
 the eventful walk on Kearny Street. Now Karl had 
 been a membr of the Philharmonic Society, and a sub- 
 scriber to the musical fund. So, evidently, had been this 
 unknown musician. How, Amelia asked of herself, could 
 she, under the circumstances, help thinking of poor Mr. 
 Schmerling and his song ? 
 
 So, arriving home, Amelia sat down alone by the 
 piano, and played and sung the " Song of Friendship " 
 from beginning to end. 
 
 The sun was inking slowly into the Pacific, its last 
 rays lingering aslant, on the new-made grave at Lone 
 Mountain, as the farewell dirge was played. It so hap- 
 pened that George Lang, coming in rather late from his 
 drive to the Cliff, heard the music as he passed, and. the 
 better to listen, slackened the speed of the new, blooded 
 horse he had seen fit to buy, since Karl had disappeared. 
 
 After listening awhile, Lang said to himself, " What 
 makes that music so gloomy ? Why does it set me to 
 thinking of that dreamer ? bosh ! " whipping up his 
 horse; "it's just because I am later than usual to dinner. 
 Many a fellow, before me, has thought himself sad when 
 he was only hungry ! " And the broker's stylish " Brews- 
 ter" disappeared. 
 
 The dirge, just at its close, burst into a grand swell, 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 243 
 
 and soared aloft in a haze of sound, which seemed not so 
 much a reflection as a part of the purple sunset. Then 
 the last echoes died away in the surrounding hills ; but 
 the purple of the sunset remained, as if the music had 
 been caught up by the angels, and prolonged through 
 the skies. 
 
 Thus Karl was buried. Poor Karl ! betrayed be- 
 cause, forsooth, his trust was too great, and his soul too 
 fine. Yet, had he not been so fine-souled, Art would 
 never have revealed her divinity to him, and spoken in 
 him, and through him, and triumphed, even in his death ; 
 and Nature would never have glassed herself in him, to 
 see herself twofold the form and spirit eidolon. The 
 good may suffer, and we may not see the retribution on 
 the wicked ; yet who shall say that the music which went 
 out toward the sea and the setting sun was not, in real- 
 ity, caught up, and prolonged with ineffable sweetness, 
 by the seraphim about the throne of eternal Justice ? 
 
244 GLOVERSON 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 THE INTERIORS OP TWO MINDS. 
 
 ABOUT a week had elapsed, when Amos Dixon found 
 himself, in the early dusk of evening, walking along Sec- 
 ond Street, toward Folsom. He could not have told why 
 he took that way home. It did not seem to make much 
 difference, however ; no street looked natural to him any 
 more. The coaches and carriages ranged themselves 
 into melancholy funeral processions before him, and when 
 he looked closer, to convince himself of the unreasona- 
 bleness of his fancy, the scornful and indignant face of 
 Amelia Clayton looked out upon him from the panels 
 of the omnibuses and street-cars. 
 
 It is true he had learned from the doctor that Amelia 
 could not have arrived in time to see Karl alive ; that 
 Karl was probably dying when he (Amos) left the room ; 
 and that the doctor had not expected Karl to live. 
 Amelia's presence, then, could not have saved him. 
 
 This was a mountain raised from Dixon's mind only 
 to be replaced by another nearly as crushing. He could 
 now dwell almost exclusively on his rebuff at Mrs. Clay- 
 ton's. He still had the little package Karl had left for 
 Amelia, and he believed he was doing wrong not to send 
 it to her ; yet he clung to it as the only hope of ever 
 gaining her presence again. He was determined to see 
 her long enough to apologize for the rudeness with which 
 he had searched her Vwse; somehow, hoping against 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 245 
 
 hope, that for Karl's sake, she would forgive him at least 
 that. This was his excuse for carrying the package 
 always about with him. When he should part with that, 
 he must part with the idea of Amelia Clayton. He never 
 thought of this, however, without sighing, and adding to 
 himself that it was hard always to be a man. 
 
 Then he would add a mental amendment, that it was 
 not necessary to forget her wholly, and he would end by 
 assuring himself that it could not be wrong to retain a 
 grateful memory and to bless it of the good she 
 had done, in beckoning him higher up the steeps of man- 
 hood. This would lead him to think of Karl's hopeful 
 fancy of the sunshine coming earliest to the mountain 
 and lingering there the longest. Then he would- re- 
 member that this was merely a fancy only of an oppo- 
 site nature to the one that, in his own troubled mind, 
 turned the vehicles of the street into hearses, and the 
 painted portraits into angry and indignant Amelias. 
 Summing up all, he would invariably come to the single 
 conclusion, at last, that he was altogether miserable. 
 
 As Amos walked along Second Street, on the early 
 evening in question, he had gone through this line of 
 thought once even to the end. and commencing again, 
 had just arrived at the sunshine on the mountain of 
 Karl's fancy when he suddenly espied George Lang 
 on the opposite side of the way, going in the same di- 
 rection, and evidently observing him. 
 
 The intermediate links to the miserable conclusion 
 were jumped over at once. There was something, how- 
 ever, mingled in his misery, this time, that Amos did not 
 recollect ever having experienced before. " That man," 
 thought Dixon, " is going to Folsom Street, and he does 
 not bow, though I am sure he sees me. Well, I suppose 
 
246 GLOVERSON 
 
 he has a right to go there as her accepted. But then 
 ought he to be her accepted ? He is a villain, and she 
 ought to know it. If some one would only tell her ! She 
 of course would not believe me, or an anonymous 
 warning. She is too high-minded ! And I should be 
 more contemptible in her eyes and my own, for my pains. 
 Still, I suppose I have the only proof of his villainy : the 
 papers of -Karl. What shall I do what shall I do ? 
 Shall I show her the proofs, and then positively refuse 
 to marry her, myself or I mean, warn her, when I see 
 her, and tell her that I am not the only man in the 
 world though I sometimes wish, for her sake no, 
 my sake that I was : so, she needs not necessarily 
 marry me if she does not marry him. But she would in 
 any case think me a selfish if not a conceited fool, and, 
 may be, she would be right. Somehow, I never can 
 think straight about her. If she were only a man, for 
 about half an hour, I would get through everything. 
 Then, after all, what a blessing it is for her no, for 
 me, that she is not a man. Yes, Lang is certainly 
 going to Folsom Street. He sees me, and does not bow. 
 Feeling as I do, it would not be honest to bow first, 
 and / will not ! " 
 
 George Lang was strolling down Second Street, smok- 
 ing his post-prandial cigar. Since Amelia had rejected 
 him, his digestion had seemed to require more claret for 
 dinner than it had ever before been his custom to drink. 
 He had just partaken of two entire bottles of Chateau 
 Leoville, which had indeed, come greatly to the aid of 
 his mental digestion also. There was a strange gleam 
 about his thoughts which he mistook for a healthy cheer- 
 fulness. It must have been a reflection from the wine, 
 for he did not always look so hopefully upon some of his 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 247 
 
 schemes. In this borrowed light, then, George Lang 
 was ruminating on divers matters important to himself, 
 and, if the truth must be told, vitally important to others 
 when, ugh ! he discovered Amos on the opposite side 
 of the way. " Is that fellow going to Clayton's ? " was 
 his first thought. " I must not meet this man so much. 
 There is something tickling my blood there ! my 
 nails have cut into my palm ! He is not worth drawing 
 blood for at least, on myself. But can he be going to 
 Folsom Street ? Mrs. Clayton has promised me he shall 
 not enter her house again, and says she has, conformably 
 to my wishes, ordered him away, once, though he almost 
 frightened her to death. She is sure, however, that 
 Amelia does not love him. Well, I am not so sure. I 
 am certain, though, / never could have loved her if she 
 had not refused me. We always want what we cannot 
 get but can't I get her ? I will! Though she is evi- 
 dently unworthy of me; she doesn't appreciate me. 
 Then, do I love her, or her money ? Come, this is weak- 
 ness. The money is all at least, I shall soon know. 
 Well there ! he has gone past Folsom Street. I believe 
 I should have murdered him, if he had started to go in 
 there ; and somehow, I feel like murdering him for dis- 
 appointing me ; for I really believed he would attempt it. 
 I will turn down here into Folsom Street, and he will 
 have the pleasure of thinking that I go there. By the 
 way, I will just see where he is going without being 
 observed. The fellow may be trying to deceive me ; or 
 he may now may he ? have a meeting somewhere 
 with Amelia. I may get a chance to give him the benefit 
 of an unseen brick, for I feel this tingling, here and 
 here. I wonder, by the by, if the blood is the vital prin- 
 ciple the locus of the soul. Does the blood think ? 
 
248 GLOVERSON 
 
 Now, if his were spilt, death would follow, of course, and 
 then, and then why he would be out of my way ah ! 
 he has turned." 
 
 Here Lang threw his cigar away distastefully. " It is 
 that infernal weed that excites my blood so ! The idea 
 of a man of my principle thinking of murder, and that a 
 clandestine one, all merely because I have been disap- 
 pointed ! Liquor has a strange effect on me of late. 
 Now I drank very little before dinner. What folly, 
 what madness to put rny own neck in peril, by breaking 
 Dixon's when a sweeter vengeance can be taken by 
 triumphing over him as I shall triumph over him at last. 
 Well, I shall be more cool now, and follow him up, surer 
 not to be seen." 
 
 Amos suddenly turned again, and made a slight detour 
 in a small street which seemed to be taking him back 
 whence he came. 
 
 Lang stopped short, and turned deathly white. " I will 
 kill him if he does ! But what has become of my pres- 
 ence of mind ? I must do nothing rash ; but if he goes 
 to that house, and Mrs. Clayton calls for help, as she has 
 promised to do, money," rubbing his finger-ends con- 
 vulsively against his thumb "money, heaps of money, 
 and the law, under the circumstances burglary, kid- 
 napping, or something of the sort will certainly clear 
 me ! " 
 
 This detour soon brought Dixon to the corner of his 
 own little street. Here he paused. " It is dark again," 
 thought Amos " yet so early to go to my room ; " and 
 he stood looking sadly in the direction of the elegant 
 house. 
 
 Lang stopped again, and moved into the shadow of a 
 building. " I suppose it must be done," was the sad-des- 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 249 
 
 perate expression of his eyes, as they wandered for a 
 moment from the unconscious object he was watching^ 
 and dwelt on the house beside him, to see whether he 
 himself were observed. There was no light in the front 
 room, but he could hear voices of children in the back 
 apartments. No, he was not observed. Just, however, 
 as he was about to direct his attention again to Amos, 
 something lying across the door-step caught his eye. He 
 drew a little nearer : then, he trembled. 
 
 Reader, it was nothing that would have alarmed you, 
 whatever your age, or sex. It was only a club a ball- 
 club, probably forgotten there by some juvenile inmate 
 of the house. 
 
 Yet George Lang trembled. "Who could have left 
 that here for me ? " he asked of himself. " Certainly 
 Fate, for an object! " he seized it hurriedly, and with 
 something like a shudder " Fate, or may be, the the 
 devil ! " And he again riveted his gaze upon Dixon, 
 who was yet on the corner, in evident indecision. 
 
 " Would it be any harm to walk past Amelia's, just 
 once ? " continued Amos to himself, still looking wistfully, 
 toward the elegant house. " It will be so dark that no 
 one will see me. No, it would be sentimental, and un- 
 manly too : because, especially because she would not 
 like it ! " 
 
 So Amos walked on, in the direction of his little room. 
 
 Lang experienced a sense of relief, and, as he followed 
 at a distance, his thoughts ran something in this manner : 
 " No, this club is not a cowardly weapon, because, on the 
 whole, I don't want to kill the fellow only lay him up 
 for a while. A month ago, no one could have convinced 
 me that I would carry this club, or think of using it on 
 any one. But this disappointment that's just the 
 
250 GLOVERSON 
 
 word disappointment, all on his account, has put my 
 mind into an abnormal state. This " swinging the club 
 " is the strongest proof that I am not in love with her. 
 The tender passion always deals in pistols and rapiers. 
 Such weapons, however, it would be fairly transcendental 
 to use, when one feels as I do towards him." 
 
 Amos had not gone a block before he stopped again, 
 and stood leaning over a picket fence, looking into a little 
 front yard. 
 
 " What can this man mean ? " asked Lang, as he stopped 
 too. " Does he know that I am following him, and is he 
 leading me a wild goose chase, for his own amusement? 
 Or, what don't I suspect lately ? I "believe I have to-night 
 even entertained the idea that Amelia would consent to 
 a clandestine meeting with any one, let alone that fellow. 
 I should have known better, for, curse her dignity, I be- 
 lieve that's what stands in my way more than anything 
 else. She does not believe I love her but then what 
 can the lout be gawking at there ? Most men, and all 
 women, are downright fools when they are in love. 
 Now, what an idiotic thought just crossed my mind ! 
 That house, the place where they are to meet, or carry 
 on some sort of communication ! Surely I am not in 
 love, but I am becoming a fool, as fast as if I were 
 anything more than disappointed. Amelia may be in 
 love with him, though, and that may be the house ! 
 No, any one of the sex but Amelia ! There, he is gone 
 on. Let me see, let me see. The house is evidently un- 
 occupied. Well, what next ? " 
 
 It was the little brown house, that Amos had been 
 looking at the little brown house in whose window the 
 placard " To Let " was still visible. He was thinking of 
 poor old Aunty Owen ; and, wondering what had become 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 251 
 
 of her, he had resolved that it was his duty to know. 
 Could a secret murder ever have been meditated, or done 
 in his own little street? And Amos had shuddered in- 
 voluntarily. "The night must be getting colder," he 
 thought, as he had buttoned up his coat, and walked on. 
 
 Arriving at his little room, at last, Amos lit a light, 
 and sitting at his table before the window, he took out 
 the packet that Karl had given him. Regarding the 
 seal-ring a moment, he put it back with the few papers 
 worthless shares in the " Dorcas " mine which had 
 accompanied it. Then, he took out the little paper box, 
 with Amelia's name on it, and with the seal, that Karl's 
 dying hand had placed upon it, still unbroken. Amos 
 gazed on it, and gazed on it, blessing it for the hope it 
 contained. She would listen to him long enough, at 
 least, to hear his apology, and of Karl's last moments. 
 " A little thing," he thought, " to contain so much com- 
 fort ! " Suddenly Amos kissed the little box, and then, 
 startled by what he had done, looked up, and found that 
 he had forgotten to draw down the window-curtain, 
 which he now proceeded hurriedly to do. 
 
 From his position on the sidewalk, in the still little 
 street, Lang had seen these movements. His surmises 
 thereat were villainous, and his thoughts terrible. " The 
 fellow has met her, or will go out to meet her ! If he 
 comes out, he is a dead man ! " And Lang watched, 
 and waited, and strolled about the quiet street, so as to 
 escape suspicion of the few passers-by, keeping his eye 
 constantly on the light at the window. 
 
 About ten o'clock, the light disappeared. 
 
 " Now," said Lang, in an actual whisper, " now for him ! 
 A sure stroke, and there will be no noise about it." 
 Grasping his club tightly, Lang crouched himself behind 
 
252 GLOVERSON 
 
 a shrub that grew by the gate, thoroughly concealing 
 him from within and without. 
 
 Here he waited, and listened, till his knees ached with 
 their severe cramping. " Confound the fellow, will he 
 disappoint me after all ? " he muttered as the night grew 
 quieter, and the hour later. And still he waited on, but 
 Dixon did not come. 
 
 Before Lang had turned, with a curse, to leave the 
 scene, Amos, after a little troubled wakefulness, was fast 
 asleep in his little bed, dreaming of Amelia. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 253 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIL 
 
 STOCKS. 
 
 THE confidential understanding between Mrs. Clayton 
 and Lang had been rather strengthened than weakened 
 by late events. The broker may have had too much 
 pride or too little courage often to visit the elegant house ; 
 and besides, it was now the busiest time ever known at 
 his office. At any rate, Mr. Nelson Shallop, his crisp 
 little mentor, was very frequently seen going and coming 
 on Folsom Street. 
 
 Miss Sophia Garr, learning who Mr. Shallop was, 
 smiled graciously upon that gentleman on the occasion 
 of his second visit, and prevailed upon him to carry the 
 following " note " to his employer. Unfortunately, the 
 perfume with which it was laden cannot be conveyed to 
 the reader. You have, however, the full benefit of her 
 copious underlinings, and of her elegant monogram : 
 
 " Wednesday Noon. 
 
 " MON CHERE GEORGE, Why do you not come and see 
 me, my own dearest ? I forgive your foolish faithlessness in pro- 
 posing to Amelia after being accepted by me, and I think you 
 
254 GLOVERSON 
 
 were very properly rebuffed, which illustrates what weak 
 instruments Providence takes to defend the injured. I do not 
 see what I would do if it were not for Providence. But if you 
 do not feel like coming here just now, why, pray do write me 
 and send by Mr. Shallop, your ugly little clerk. 
 
 " Now, you know, my best beloved, that Amelia is bent on 
 having that fool Dixon. It was scarcely a week ago that she 
 ran off with him in a carriage ; and now positively denies ever 
 having seen him, when I actually saw the carriage disappear 
 with her in it with my own eyes. 1 am sure I am shocked 
 enough, and I trust you will not say a word about it, for you 
 know what scandal is, and I love Amelia so much. I say, for 
 my part, let her marry him and done with it. 
 
 " By the way, now that I am on the subject, my dear, dear 
 George, it seems to be the manifest destiny of women to marry, 
 more or less, but then 1 am no fatalist, and Amelia can take care 
 of herself. I have been too strictly brought up for such errors, 
 for 1 think I told you I was educated at an eminent female sem- 
 inary in the State of Maine, because I do not see that they (I 
 mean we poor women) all accomplish our destiny. Yet why this 
 repining ? Have I forgotten your promise on that blissful even- 
 ing when at the door ? (OA / how I blush!) Yet I try to re- 
 member that blissful eve with liveliest emotions of regard, for- 
 getting what has happened since, my love. Dear George, I leave 
 to you the appointment of the happy day. I feel that I am 
 your equal only in the matter of the heart, and that though my 
 intellect is not as strong as yours, I am sure I have a feeling one. 
 I shall die if you do not write and tell when, ' when we shall 
 meet to part no more.' Eternally yours, SOPHIA." 
 
 " That," said Miss Garr to herself when her messenger 
 had gone, " that will make me out a breach of promise 
 case, in spite of the wretch Beanson." She had. already 
 attempted in conversation to draw Lang out before others 
 into something compromising, but in vain. This was 
 her last effort, and " high hope " went with it. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 255 
 
 When, however, the next day, Mr. Shallop returned, 
 saying for Mr. Lang that there was no answer, she be- 
 came very red, and then very yellow in the face, as she 
 almost whispered : "No answer ? Did you see him when 
 he read it?" 
 
 "Yes, ma'am!" answered Mr. Shallop, in his quick 
 way. 
 
 " What did he say or do when he read it ? " 
 
 " Nothing only swore, then laughed, an' tore it up ! " 
 
 Miss Garr disappeared to the penetralia of her own 
 apartment, and was seen no more that afternoon. 
 
 The next day Mr. Shallop did not happen to come, but 
 the day after he was closeted with Mrs. Clayton, when 
 Miss Garr managed to intrude herself. The business of 
 the first two being over, Miss Garr seemed to be stricken 
 with a sudden interest in stocks, and said that she did 
 not know but she would invest two or three thousand 
 dollars of her own little savings. Whereupon there was 
 something like a red light shot from the bright little eyes 
 of Mr. Nelson Shallop. " She has money, too, has she ? " 
 thought the vivid Nelson. 
 
 " He has bitten at my new bait," thought the Garr. 
 "I will buy a husband, at last, and without paying a 
 cent." For let it be remembered that Miss Garr's 
 mania did not 'extend to her money matters, in which she 
 was shrewdness itself. Among her own dollars and 
 cents she allowed no play of imagination. 
 
 It was remarkable what a sudden interest sprung up 
 between Mr. Shallop and Miss Garr. They had not 
 talked long before Miss Garr was confirmed in her belief, 
 that as brisk and sharp a little man as the new " claim " 
 she was " prospecting," could not be without money of his 
 own. Strange to say, Miss Garr was right, though she 
 
256 GLOVERSON 
 
 had nothing to consult but her own eyes and ears, and 
 the odd brains situate somewhere between them. She 
 merely used the shrewd philosophy which the love of 
 money develops sometimes in the weakest of mortals, 
 putting the horse-jockey, often, for a half hour, on an 
 equality with the greatest diplomat. 
 
 So, by the very next steamer, Miss Garr wrote to the 
 State of Maine that she now had ' some one to love." 
 This announcement somewhat astonished an old friend 
 of hers, to whom it was sent a maiden, as well as a 
 misanthrope, who had not heard from Miss Garr in years, 
 and who, for that matter, did not care to hear from her 
 in several years to come. But since the late acquisition 
 of paper, stamped with her own imposing initials, Miss 
 Sophia had taken largely to epistolary correspondence. 
 
 Why a broker's clerk was so often seen going into an 
 aristocratic mansion like Mrs. Clayton's was a matter 
 which, at that time, would have needed not even the slight- 
 est explanation. Any intelligent passer-by would have 
 looked upon that house as peculiarly blessed. The ner- 
 vous contraction of the dry wrinkles on Mr. Shallop's 
 face, which he intended for a smile, would then and 
 there have been mistaken for the smile of fortune. For 
 the great stock excitement was at its height. 
 
 Apothecaries' clerks were achieving opulence in a 
 single day. School-boys on the street corners were talk- 
 ing the geology of gold. Gray-haired men were abandon- 
 ing the old sluggish currents of industry, and renewing 
 their youth at fountains of waste-paper. Merchants and 
 tradesmen invested the earnings of years in mining com- 
 panies that had large " names," and long ones, but noth- 
 ing like " a local habitation." Physicians deserted the 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 257 
 
 sick and dying for " promising shares." Lawyers fled 
 from the courts to exert their eloquence on " bulls " and 
 " bears." Draymen and chamber-maids speculated with 
 their savings. Clergymen bartered their salaries away 
 with the money-changers, instead of driving them from 
 the temple. Fair women came down from their car- 
 peted alcoves, and walked in the mire of stocks. Lips 
 that were shaped for tender utterances, said nothing the 
 whole day but the hardest kind of words " quartz 
 rock," " lodes," " ores," and " outcroppings." Shops and 
 parlors were full of " specimens." The old myth of the 
 Gorgon was partially reversed : well nigh everything 
 men looked upon was turned to gold-bearing stone. 
 
 Probably the world has never witnessed a parallel. 
 The Law scheme of France was comparatively reason- 
 able. Mr. Andrew Gloverson was not the only sub- 
 stantial merchant on Front Street who bought shares 
 and paid assessments. Did not Mrs. Leadbetter make 
 twenty thousand dollars in one forenoon ? In the e^ite- 
 ment, even Mr. Archibald Beanson forgot his first brief. 
 With the only ten dollars he could command, he bought 
 one share in the famous " Epaminondas Gold, ' Silver, 
 and Copper Mining Company ; capital stock $750,000 ! " 
 
 On one occasion Mr. Beanson lived on one meal a day 
 for a month, so as to pay his assessments which latter 
 privilege proved all the benefit that he ever reaped from 
 his speculation. 
 
 As this is an important matter in Mr. Beanson's his- 
 tory, it is deemed proper to state all that is known about 
 it without further delay ; though the result be a sacrifice 
 of the chronicler's skill to a love of truth. 
 
 After the bubble burst, Mr. Beanson's account stood 
 
 thus : 
 
 17 
 
258 GLOVERSON 
 
 Cash paid for one share in Epaminondas Gold, Sil- 
 ver, and Copper Mining Company. . $10 00 
 " " assessment May 1st $5 00 
 
 " " " " June u 20 00 
 
 " " " July " 15 00 
 
 " " " " August " 20 00 
 
 Total assessments $60 00 
 
 Value of stock in E. G. S. & C. M. Co., Sept. 1st . SO 00 
 
 In a ledger which Mr. Beanson bought, in anticipation 
 of his great wealth, there stand at the present day the 
 following brief, though not very technical entries : ' 
 
 Epaminondas G. S. * C. M'g Co. 
 Dr. . . $70 00 Cr. . . $0 00 
 
 It is not to be understood that there were not some 
 good mines among these thousands, or that the majority 
 of the people interested in the bad ones were anything 
 worse than honest dupes. The effect of the excitement, 
 hoover, was to raise the stock of the good mines to 
 prices a hundred times as high as the dividends paid 
 would warrant. Suddenly the " Green Lion " would 
 take a fall, and fortunes would slip away in silence. The 
 next week the " Jones and Robinson " would go up fifty 
 per cent., and the same fortunes would come back again 
 with the tide. The loss or gain of a fortune got to be a 
 thing so common, that the quid nuncs hardly thought it 
 worth gossiping about ; and the losers or gainers got to 
 pocketing their losses or gains with almost equal equa- 
 nimity. None lost without hope, or indeed hoped with- 
 out loss. 
 
 It was only the week after the date of Miss Garr's 
 u note " to Mr. Lang, that Nelson Shallop was ushered 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 259 
 
 into Mrs. Clayton's parlor, as he said, on very important 
 business. 
 
 " Ah ! shall I retire, then ? " simpered Miss Garr, who 
 made it a point now invariably to be present when Mr. 
 Shallop called. 
 
 " Not in the least," quoth Nelson, whose attempts at 
 gallantry were not always as successful as his stock oper- 
 ations. Politeness and love-making, in fact, were a new 
 business to him ; and, as they were in his estimation 
 nothing but business, he had undertaken to master them 
 in the same systematic way as he would have undertaken 
 to master a new species of " Double Entry." 
 
 If Miss Garr should " not in the least" "retire," what 
 could she do but work at her tatting, and listen to the low 
 music Amelia was making to herself at the piano in the 
 farther end of the large parlor ? 
 
 " Mr. Lang," continued Mr. Shallop, in his quick, ner- 
 vous way, " told me to break it to you gently, Mrs. Clay- 
 ton." 
 
 What is it good news ? " 
 
 Nelson shook his head. " Worst kind, ma'am !" 
 
 Amelia quitted the piano and hastened to the side of 
 her mother, whose face was bloodless. 
 
 " What is it ? What is it ? My d my friend, Mr. 
 Shallop," asked Miss Garr, the only one of the ladies 
 who could speak. 
 
 " All's lost ! * Jones and Robinson ' fell a hundred per 
 cent, yesterday afternoon. This house is no longer yours. 
 Very sorry, 'pon honor. Though you won't have to quit 
 for three months yet. Mr. Lang is nearly ruined, too." 
 
 Most of this speech was lost upon Mrs. Clayton and 
 her daughter. Mrs. Clayton fainted first, and Amelia, 
 while endeavoring to afford assistance, fell senseless, with 
 her arms about her mother's neck. 
 
260 GLOVERSON 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 A LONE STRUGGLE. 
 
 MRS. CLAYTON did not leave her bed for the succeed- 
 ing two weeks. Mr. Shallop was sent daily to inquire 
 about her, for it seems that Lang was anxious to have 
 an interview, as soon as he could be admitted to her 
 presence. 
 
 Miss Garr saw her comfortable home and monthly 
 salary knocked suddenly from under her feet that was 
 the way she expressed it to herself and Miss Garr was 
 so angry thereat that she could shed tears at any moment. 
 Miss Garr always did shed tears when Mr. Shallop called ; 
 and Miss Garr frequently shed tears and bemoaned her 
 fate for the encouragement of Amelia, who was making 
 every exertion to bear up under the terrible shock. 
 
 Apprehension for her mother's life at first absorbed so 
 much of the poor girl's attention, that she had little time 
 to think of the ruin that had fallen upon both like a 
 thunderbolt When Mrs. Clayton's recovery was no 
 longer despaired of, Amelia began to look about her, and 
 to grasp the reality, and to make some stand against it. 
 She was the better enabled to do this, because she saw 
 that it devolved upon her alone. Strength came to her 
 out of her distrust of Miss Garr, and her mother's utter 
 prostration. 
 
 Three days after the sad news had come upon the ele- 
 gant house, Miss Sophia met the aristocratic Mrs. Lead- 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 261 
 
 better and told her all. Mrs. Leadbetter intimated that 
 she was very sorry, indeed, " But then," asked she, " what 
 right had a weak woman, like Mrs. Clayton, to dabble in 
 stocks?" 
 
 To which Miss Garr rejoined, " What right, indeed ! " 
 forgetting that she herself had more than once seconded 
 Lang's moves, in influencing Mrs. Clayton to it. 
 
 The next day Amelia, aware of her inexperience, yet 
 forced, as she thought herself, to take everything into 
 her own hands, was on her way to her mother's banker 
 when she, too, met the aristocratic Mrs. Leadbjgtter. 
 The meeting was face to face, and Mrs. Leadbetter 
 passed Miss Clayton without the least notice. It was a 
 dead cut, and Amelia felt it. It was painful, only as to 
 feel a sorrowful contempt is painful. Amelia reasoned, 
 as she walked quietly along, that it was undoubtedly best 
 for such a thing to happen just as it did if such things 
 must happen for she now felt more resolved than ever 
 to be her own agent. " Mrs. Leadbetter," she thought, 
 " is the world, or, at least, a representative of part of 
 it that part of it which must be compelled, and not 
 cringed to." 
 
 So, at the counter of the bank, where she had 
 expected to become confused and tremble, she did 
 neither, as she demanded and received a statement of 
 Mrs. Clayton's account. When Amelia entered, busy 
 merchants gravely made way for her; and, while she 
 waited, the clerks behind the desks paused in their 
 writing, and, unobserved, stared and admired and wor- 
 shipped in silence. The business of the great bank was, 
 for a moment, suspended. Such catastrophes, indeed, are 
 liable to come upon the most responsible of financial 
 houses ; for, it is feared, the exchange on grace and love- 
 liness will never be fixed. 
 
262 GLOVERSON 
 
 Now it happened that Mr. Andrew Gloverson that 
 wicked old bachelor was just on his way into the back 
 room, to have a little friendly chat with the bank-presi- 
 dent, as Amelia turned to go out. Before he left the 
 sidewalk, Mr. Gloverson had removed his hat to wipe 
 the perspiration from the bald spot on the top of his 
 head. On suddenly discovering a lovely apparition ap- 
 proaching in the narrow passage, between the counter 
 and the wall, Mr. Gloverson bustled his portly frame, 
 with precipitate emphasis, against the wall, and presented 
 arms, as it were, with his hat, till Amelia had passed. 
 
 " Well," exclaimed Mr. Gloverson, when she had dis- 
 appeared, " I'll be d ! No, I won't ; I won't swear 
 
 about such an angel. It isn't the thing ! " catching 
 his breath, and approaching a chair in the president's 
 office ; then pausing, " Wasn't she lovely, though ! I'll 
 be No, no, I won't. She's an angel, and I won't 
 swear about her, I'll be d d if I do ! " and Mr. Glov- 
 erson came down rather heavily into the chair, before 
 which he had been gesticulating. 
 
 About an hour later in the day, Mr. Archibald Bean- 
 son was startled by a note being handed to him, at his 
 room in Montgomery Block. Mr. Beanson was not only 
 startled, but terrified. This was the month on which he 
 was confining himself to one meal a day. The envelope, 
 which he saw coming toward him, could contain nothing 
 but an unexpected dun for he did not remember ever 
 to have seen the bearer before or, what was worse, 
 some sudden assessment on his one share in the " Epam- 
 inondas Gold, Silver, and Copper Mining Company." 
 
 Mr. Beanson opened the enclosure, and read a request 
 that he would be pleased to signify to the bearer, when 
 he would call upon Miss Clayton. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 263 
 
 John, the coachman, stood respectfully, with his hat in 
 his hand, waiting for his answer, and saw that Mr. 
 Beanson's hand trembled, while he read the note ; and 
 John, who had no favorable opinion of " la-yers," in 
 general, or of any one in particular, whom he supposed 
 to have any hand in the misfortunes of his young mis- 
 tress, observed, furthermore, that Mr. Beanson changed 
 color when he had finished reading the note. 
 
 " Look here, sir ! " said Archibald, having consider- 
 ably exerted his talent at apprehending evil, and looking 
 with much fierceness into the coachman's face. "This 
 is some more of that old hag's breach of promise case. 
 I'll have nothing to do with it. Miss Clayton scarcely 
 knows me at all. Did Miss Clayton write this ? " 
 
 " If ye call my young misses an auld hag, sur, agen sur, 
 or accuse her of writing a lie, I'll break avery blame 
 bone in yer body, sur, though ye air a la-yer, and have 
 me hanged, sur." The gestures, with which John had 
 delivered the foregoing, were right under Mr. Beanson's 
 nose, and were, to say the least, intensely belligerent. 
 
 " Oh ! then Miss Clayton did send you did she ? " 
 
 " Do I look like a walking, immigratin' lie, sur ? " 
 
 To tell the truth, it was John's look, taken in connec- 
 tion with his stalwart form, that had caused the appre- 
 hensive Archibald to modify his tone. 
 
 "I believe, sir," observed Mr. Beanson, mildly, " that 
 you are telling the truth." 
 
 " Och ! ye do do ye ? Well, I say my young 
 misses is not an auld hag, sur. Come, sur, is that the 
 trooth, too ? " 
 
 " Certainly, sir, by all means." 
 
 " Thin ye'd better ! " and John, shaking his head, and 
 regarding Mr. Beanson' from the corners of his eyes, 
 withdrew to his former position by the door. 
 
264 GLOVERSON 
 
 " Tell Miss Clayton that I will be there in a half hour's 
 time. That is as soon as my business will allow. By 
 the way, my good fellow," said Archibald, detaining the 
 coachman, who had opened the door, " it was all a mis- 
 take of mine. You will of course say nothing more about 
 it to any one. I thought it was the business of that other 
 lady, Miss Miss, what's her name ? " 
 
 " Miss Gi-arr, is it ? " 
 
 " Yes, Miss Garr. Well," 
 
 " Ginerally spaking, sur," interposed John, who wanted 
 to be polite, though firm, " ginerally spaking. sur, I takes 
 it an insult for Miss Am alia to be mistaken for Miss 
 Gi-arr bad 'cess to the latter." 
 
 " Well, I'll be there in half an hour, without fail," re- 
 sumed Mr. Bean son, blandly ; " I suppose it is all right 
 between us now ? " 
 
 Mr. Beanson's features had, meantime, assumed their 
 customary aged repose. 
 
 Seeing which, John replied, " Oh ! yes, sur ; I feel 
 somehow, sur, as if I'd bin goin' to- sthrike my father. 
 Ye'll pardon me, I'm sure, sur. I'll say nothing about 
 it, nor would I, sur, if if, bein' as ye're a la-yer, sur, 
 if_if"_ 
 
 " Come, come, my good man, out with it ! I will do 
 anything in the law line to serve you." 
 
 " Couldn't ye then, sur, jist have that auld divil's widow 
 of a Miss Gi-arr hanged, if ye plase ? " 
 
 " Believe me, my good man, nothing would afford me 
 more pleasure." 
 
 Whereupon John approached Mr. Beanson, and clasp- 
 ing him wildly by the hand, assured him that he had 
 gained " a friend for life, sur." Then John hastened 
 back to his mistress, leaving Archibald to attend to that 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 265 
 
 important business which should engross the next half 
 hour. 
 
 The important business aforesaid was nothing more 
 or less than the making of Mr. Beanson's toilet, which 
 Mr. Beanson proceeded to do in the following order : 
 First, he turned his paper collar wrong side out, substi- 
 tuting also a more ample cravat, which should effectually 
 conceal the bosom of his woollen shirt. Having thus 
 changed his linen, he proceeded to sponge his thread- 
 bare coat and put it on. Then, a sudden thought struck 
 him, and he began hastily to sew up the lining at the 
 bottoms of his best and only pantaloons. This, of course, 
 necessitated the removal of a certain very important part 
 of Mr. Beanson's attire, not however with haste and 
 pleasure be it stated his coat, vest, cravat, and collar. 
 Was it not some German who said that a philosopher is not 
 a philosopher from the waist down ? As Mr. Beanson sat 
 thus stitching away, about equally at his own fingers and 
 at the perverse lining of his trousers, his careful toilet 
 terminating well nigh at the natural limits of philosophy 
 why, Mr. Beanson undoubtedly presented a striking 
 picture ; of which, indeed, the merit was not a little 
 enhanced by the modesty with which that astute juris- 
 consult had draped and concealed the philosopher. 
 
 Apprehension of evil was not the talent he was now 
 using. Hope was to him a swift-winged Mercury no 
 longer the god of thieves. Were not the Claytons ruined ? 
 Lang must have refused to make good his marriage en- 
 gagement. It was the first brief at last (here Mr. Bean- 
 son pulled on his trousers). No doubt of that. But 
 then if he should win the case (Breach of promise ; Clay- 
 ton v. Lang), who could tell but that he might marry the 
 plaintiff and use the damages recovered to make his first 
 political steps toward the Presidency. 
 
266 GLOVERSON 
 
 " Well, there ! " 
 
 This latter was the exclamation that Mr. Beanson 
 made, when at this stage of his revery he discovered that 
 he had emptied the entire contents of his bottle of " Fra- 
 grant Bear's Oil " upon his red head. A hasty applica- 
 tion of a towel, however, saved the only paper collar of 
 Mr. Beanson from utter ruin. 
 
 Having at last, after much consultation, the authority 
 of his piece of looking-glass for considering his toilet 
 complete, Archibald set out for Folsom Street, whistling 
 as he went, " See the Conquering Hero Comes ! " After 
 marching thus to his own music for three or four blocks, 
 it occurred to Mr. Beanson that he might tell the story 
 of his upsetting the " Bear's Oil," in his haste to serve 
 Miss Clayton. This, he argued, would be a natural intro- 
 duction to business, besides, with a little previous study, 
 and with the addition of a well-contrived witticism, it 
 might at once impress the young lady with his mental 
 quickness and brilliancy. So, all the rest of his journey, 
 Archibald racked his brains, turning over and over the 
 details of his own case, and the possible analogy of Elijah's 
 bald head being saved by bears ; but to have rescued his 
 own bones from a worse fate than overtook the forty 
 children, he could not hit upon anything that suited him. 
 He finally abandoned the idea in despair. " No, no, I 
 must trust exclusively to my legal knowledge, and," Mr. 
 Beanson added to himself, buttoning the last button on 
 his threadbare coat, " and to my to my personal ap- 
 pearance." 
 
 So, after all his preparation, Mr. Beanson was ushered 
 into the parlor of the elegant house, feeling more con- 
 fused and looking more stupid and care-worn than ever 
 before, in all the uncertain years of his unfortunate 
 career. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 267 
 
 " It was very kind of you to come, Mr. Beanson," said 
 Amelia, offering him a chair. 
 
 Yes I mean no, Miss Clayton," and Archibald was 
 seated, assuming the straight position of the old Egyp- 
 tian statues in the British Museum, his hands luckily 
 concealing the worn places on the knees of his seedy 
 pantaloons. 
 
 " Our affairs," continued Amelia, with a sigh, " are in a 
 sad state." 
 
 " Sad, indeed, Miss Clayton, and if I could do anything 
 for you in the legal line, Miss Clayton, I cannot tell you 
 how gladly I would serve you." 
 
 " But are you not bound to Mr. Lang ? " 
 
 " No, Miss Clayton, not professionally, or I think in 
 any way. I am not Mr. Lang's attorney. I have only 
 done the notary business, in the sale of the property." 
 
 " Then you can tell me how much is sold ? " 
 
 " Yes, Miss Clayton, I am sorry to say that all is sold 
 all is sold." 
 
 " But what right had Mr. Lang to sell all of the prop- 
 erty especially my part ? " 
 
 " Your own written and acknowledged full power of 
 attorney." 
 
 " Who gave him such powers ? " 
 
 " You, Miss Clayton." 
 
 " Why, that was not what mother signed before you, 
 and that is not how you explained it." 
 
 "True, Miss Clayton, but you remember I was re- 
 quested not to go into the full particulars. I certainly 
 thought you understood all. Mrs. Clayton signed and 
 acknowledged a general power of attorney sometime 
 afterwards. It was a special power of attorney that was 
 explained, and that she signed before you. The one 
 
268 GLOVERSON 
 
 that you executed was a general, or full power of at- 
 torney." 
 
 Amelia here changed color, and, without knowing it, 
 bit her lip. She had not forgotten the threats of Lang, 
 and she now saw very clearly what they meant. <k Do 
 you know, Mr. Beanson," she said, with forced delibera- 
 tion, " I believe that there has been a glaring fraud 
 here ? " 
 
 Mr. Beanson, who had been congratulating himself 
 upon having got along so nicely, never before having felt 
 so much at ease in the presence of a lady, now made a 
 quick start, and sat up straighter than ever in his chair. 
 " It is quite possible, Miss Clayton," for the idea had 
 finally stricken him, too, " but but Miss Clayton, Mr. 
 Lang has conducted everything strictly according to law. 
 I fear there is little hope unless, perhaps, you would 
 choose to sue for to sue " 
 
 " Anything, Mr. Beanson, that will expose the villainy, 
 and restore us our own." 
 
 Archibald had changed his mind in the presence of so 
 much simple dignity, and elegance, and beauty. Some 
 of the wild thoughts that he had entertained while mak- 
 ing his toilet, began to seem incongruous, even to his own 
 incongruous mind. He was conscious of something like 
 a reverence for Amelia. This is why he began to hesi- 
 tate, and was now positively silent. 
 
 " What were you going to suggest ? " said Miss Clay- 
 ton, anxiously. 
 
 "I had thought that probably that the surest 
 way of reaching Mr. Lang would be to make him 
 suffer for his villainy in damages in a suit for 
 for" 
 
 " Well, what, Mr. Beanson ? Probably I can under- 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 269 
 
 stand you, or if not, you can explain the technical terms 
 afterward.'* 
 
 ** For for breach of promise ! " faltered Archibald. 
 
 Amelia reddened instantly. " Nothing of the kind, sir. 
 There was never an engagement between us." 
 
 Mr. Beanson now looked more like the Egyptian 
 statue than ever. A moment of silence elapsed. 
 
 " Mr. Beanson," at length began Amelia, in a voice 
 that had an effect on his nerves like brushing his hair 
 with a soft brush, it seemed to vibrate so about the roots 
 of that gentleman's ruddy locks " Mr. Beanson, I know 
 that I am young in the world and inexperienced ; and I 
 here make my first business decision in concluding that 
 you are an honest man, and I believe you will not prove 
 me wrong. I have just returned from my mother's bank- 
 er's. I find that we have a balance there of thirteen 
 hundred and forty dollars. That, I suppose, is our all 
 on earth. I -see that the world has not used you very 
 kindly. Here is a check for the forty dollars. When 
 you look upon the wretched signature that my poor 
 prostrate mother has made such an effort to sign for 
 you, you may be reminded how helpless are those who 
 are trusting themselves to your honesty." 
 
 The Egyptian statue did not move. 
 
 " Take it, Mr. Beanson, and use it on yourself. As 
 much of the remaining sum as we can possibly spare we 
 will devote to the exposure of this wretched fraud. Em- 
 ploy the best counsel you can ; unravel the matter 
 thoroughly ; and you shall have no reason to regret it." 
 
 There was something like a subterranean noise heard 
 somewhere about Mr. Beanson's throat, and a large tear, 
 falling from his eyelash, glanced from his nose. 
 
 " Kee keep it, Miss Clayton, till I have done some- 
 
270 GLOVERSON 
 
 thing for you. You you would make an honest man 
 of a rogue. I I can't take it till I have earned it. I 
 
 o 
 
 never refused money before ! " 
 
 " And you shall not now," rejoined Amelia, placing the 
 check in his hand. 
 
 " Please, Miss Clayton " 
 
 " Come, you would not offend me at the start." 
 
 Archibald could not disobey a command ; he could not 
 promise what he would do in short, all power of utter- 
 ance had left him, and, stumbling finally to the door and 
 opening it, he, came in violent collision with Miss Garr, 
 who may have been listening, but who immediately 
 screamed, and then told Amelia that her mother had just 
 sent for her. 
 
 It was undoubtedly the happiest epoch of Mr. Beanson's 
 life. He dined that day at Martin's, where he drank 
 gratefully to the health of Amelia and to the suc- 
 cess of his first brief. 
 
 Whatever Miss Garr was doing at the parlor door at 
 the eventful time when she received a severe contusion 
 on her upper lip, it is certain that her uneasiness and 
 suspicion were strengthened by the strange conduct of 
 which Amelia was guilty on that very night. 
 
 At about half-past ten, Miss Garr's attention was 
 aroused by steps proceeding from Mrs. Clayton's to 
 Amelia's room. Supposing that the weary girl was going 
 to retire, Sophia proceeded with her employment, namely, 
 writing letters on her monogrammed paper. 
 
 Finally, Miss Garr having acquainted all of Mrs. Clay- 
 ton's early friends in the State of Maine that the 
 Claytons were now beggars, looked up, and was sur- 
 prised to find the light still in Amelia's chamber. Then 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 271 
 
 Miss Garr looked at her watch, and was shocked to find 
 that it was half-past eleven o'clock. All her little evil 
 half-drawn conclusions became facts instantly. Of course 
 that wretch of a red-headed pettifogger was an accomplice 
 of Dixon's, and to-night was the one chosen for the long- 
 expected elopement. Miss Garr did not care to prevent 
 it, but witness it she must. So, laying down her pen, 
 Sophia crept stealthily across the hall, and listened at 
 Amelia's door. The light burning and no sound within ? 
 What, she must have gone already ! 
 
 Miss Garr first thought of an excuse for coming to the 
 door in case one should be needed ; and lit quickly upon 
 the very natural one, that she had seen the light shining 
 through the ventilator, and feared that Amelia had 
 dropped asleep with fatigue, forgetting to extinguish it. 
 Thus fortified, Miss Garr knocked, but received no 
 answer. 
 
 " Good heavens ! Gone already ! " thought Sophia, as 
 she gently pushed the door open. Then Miss Sophia 
 stared in speechless amazement. 
 
 . At the head of the bed was the form of Amelia, with 
 her long brown hair disheveled, her face buried in the 
 pillow, her body bent and prostrate, and her soul 
 buried, bent, and prostrate, in earnest supplication before 
 the throne of Him who tries all hearts and comforts 
 them. 
 
 Amelia did not hear the door open. 
 
 " Well, I never ! " gasped Miss Garr, closing it and 
 hastening back across the dark, silent hall to her own 
 room, where she went to bed instantly, covering up her 
 head as if she had seen a ghost. 
 
272 GLOVERSON 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 IN THE LISTS. 
 
 IT was on a bright forenoon, after exchange hour, 
 when Mr. Shallop, having made his usual call at the ele- 
 gant house, bore away the cheerful intelligence that Mrs. 
 Clayton was able to sit up in her own room. 
 
 Only the day before, Mr. Beanson had made his first 
 report on the success of his investigations, and it was 
 anything but encouraging ; yet Amelia felt more hopeful, 
 now, than she had at any time since the catastrophe. 
 The balm of the gk rious morning, and the good news 
 from her mother that came with it, seemed to have grown 
 together, somehow, -into one feeling of gratitude. There 
 is, perhaps, a certain heroic poetry in youth and health, 
 that the minstrels have never sung. 
 
 As she sat and looked out upon the lawn, through the 
 same window at which she had sat on the eventful 
 evening when she had last seen Amos, it may be that 
 Amelia allowed her thoughts to dwell momentarily on a 
 subject which the minstrels and minnesingers have worn 
 to atoms. If she did, it was not in the^ sentimental 
 strain of old Guillaume de Lorris, or Christian von 
 Hamle. She merely thought she would like to have 
 some one near her who was simple and honest, after the 
 experience of so much deceit and villainy something 
 strong* to lean upon in the general shipwreck. Then she 
 assured herself she would have sent for such a one long 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 273 
 
 ago and warned him of the threats that had been made 
 against him if the misfortune had not come. Now, 
 she might be misunderstood ; besides, this was not the 
 proper time for such thoughts. She must help herself, 
 and Heaven would help her. Had not Heaven already 
 heard her ? 
 
 " Miss Garr," said Amelia, continuing a conversation 
 they had had at breakfast, " I have resolved to try." 
 
 " Laws ! Amelia. Go to teaching school ! What will 
 the world think ? They will call it so vulgar." 
 
 " Miss Garr, you are the last one who should say such 
 things about what has been the honorable employment 
 of the greater part of your life." 
 
 " Why, one would actually think it was necessary ; as 
 if the furniture of this rich house were not ours I 
 mean yours and your mother's." 
 
 " It is necessary. The lawyers tell us to prepare for 
 the worst. We may have to leave this house in nine 
 weeks from to-day." 
 
 " Just to think of it ! " exclaimed Miss Sophia, who 
 never did think of it, without becoming angry. " Dear 
 Amelia, I will be back in a moment." 
 
 Miss Garr proceeded to Mrs. Clayton's room, and, sup- 
 pressing as much of her wrath as possible, took a round- 
 about wtiy of asking her old friend from the State of 
 Maine, when the monthly stipend would cease to be paid. 
 
 " This must be the last month, Sophia, unless matters 
 mend." 
 
 " There is the furniture, you know, Mrs. Clayton," in- 
 sinuated the old friend. 
 
 f " Yes, but we must live on that, till that willful girl, 
 but I cannot find it in my heart to scold her, now, 
 Sophia." 
 
 18 
 
274 GLOVERSON 
 
 Miss Garr arose to go, angrier than ever. Mrs. Clay- 
 ton stopped her at the door, with these words : " I see 
 that you are grieved at the thought of parting with us, 
 and I have grown to regard you so, dear Sophia, that I 
 hope you will consent still to remain with us, and share 
 what little is left." 
 
 " I think I shall always board with you, Mrs. Clayton," 
 was Miss Garr's tender response, as she closed the door 
 behind her and hastened back to Amelia. 
 
 " Well, well," sighed Sophia, " after thinking it over in 
 my own room, Amelia dear, I come to conclude that you 
 are right. Let us go and see about it right away." 
 
 " Where shall we go, and what shall we do ? " 
 
 " To the Rooms of the Board of Education," replied 
 the experienced Sophia ; and to those " Rooms " they 
 went. 
 
 In a great building at Paris, there is a hall with a 
 checkered marble pavement, where litigants walk up and 
 down, awaiting the decision of their cases in law. This 
 is called " The Hall of Lost Steps." There is an ante- 
 room in the public buildings of most of our great cities, 
 where inexperienced girls, thrown for the first time on 
 their own resources, watch and wait upon the beck of 
 that great man, the School Superintendent. Justice here 
 crushes hope out of young hearts and old ones, just as it 
 does in the great capital only we do not call this ante- 
 room " The Hall of Lost Steps," or of lost hopes, or by 
 any more poetic name tha*n that of " The Board Rooms." 
 
 There were no vacancies in the department, at that 
 time, but there might be one at any moment, said the 
 gracious man of schools. They must come again. The 
 superintendent would be glad to do anything he could 
 for them. They came again and again and again. A 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 275 
 
 vacancy occurred at last. Amelia had no experience in 
 teaching ; Sophia had. Amelia had no certificate ; Miss 
 Garr had innumerable certificates. The school was 
 given to Miss Sophia Garr, on the recommendation of the 
 superintendent, and by the unanimous approval of the 
 whole Board. Amelia was kindly advised to take a 
 school in the country, to gain experience, and wait for 
 the regular examinations ; when, if she were deserving, 
 a certificate would be awarded to her. Then, after all 
 the experienced applicants, and all the inexperienced 
 personal friends of the Board were provided for, it was 
 probable that she might sometime get a primary school. 
 This was Justice, but a " Hall of Lost Steps," and of 
 lost hopes, and crushed hearts led to it. 
 
 Amelia bethought herself of a new field, and applied 
 at the private schools for a situation to teach music ; but 
 there were no vacancies, or, where one was expected to 
 occur, her inexperience always arose up before her, like 
 a Nemesis. 
 
 This fruitless search was the employment with which 
 she had filled up the hours when away from her mother. 
 It was undoubtedly fortunate for Mrs. Clayton's recovery 
 that she knew nothing more about these late efforts, than 
 that Sophia had gone to teaching again. Mrs. Clayton, 
 in fact, was not fairly awake to the dire reality of things, 
 though she had finally so far recovered her precarious 
 strength as to come down to the parlor, and sit in an easy 
 chair. Her nervous petulance had strangely disappeared, 
 and a certain dreamy listlessness had taken its place. 
 The shock had evidently worked some powerful change 
 in her, and the anxious tenderness with which Amelia 
 regarded her was sad, yet beautiful to see. 
 
 The morning of her mother's reappearance in the 
 
276 GLOVERSON 
 
 parlor was a time of so great inward rejoicing for Ame- 
 lia, that she resolved to rest one day, at least, from the 
 disheartening search after employment. Her mother had 
 been spared to her through all and it seemed so long 
 since they were ruined and had come down to her 
 usual place at last. This should be a holiday, dedicated 
 to her mother. 
 
 When Mr. Shallop communicated the news about Mrs. 
 Clayton that morning, a visible trepidation passed over 
 the frame of his employer, Mr. Lang ; but it did not last 
 long, and business proceeded as usual, till early in the 
 afternoon. Mr. Lang then went out, saying that he 
 might not be back again that day. 
 
 After a late lunch, Amelia and her mother had ven- 
 tured on the lawn. Mrs. Clayton soon complained of 
 fatigue, yet was loath to leave the sun which, at any 
 time of the year, is a grateful guest in San Francisco. 
 Leaning on her daughter's arm, she had been led to a 
 large rustic 'seat, protected by trees from the light after- 
 noon wiiivl of that early season. Here they sat in the 
 cheerful sunshine, which was admitted from one side of 
 the little inclosure. Amelia was almost happy her- 
 self at the apparent happiness of her mother. As they 
 talked pleasantly together, a faint thought of the sad 
 reality would sometimes cast a momentary shadow across 
 Mrs. Clayton's face, but Amelia, seeing it, would briskly 
 begin some new subject that would restore the passive, 
 listless smile. 
 
 Thus the daughter was spending her holiday, dedicated 
 to her mother when she felt a sudden sinking of the 
 heart, and an accompanying chill, as if the air about her 
 had become heavier and colder. A deep, real shadow 
 rested for a moment on the rustic seat, just between her- 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 277 
 
 self and her mother. She gazed first at her parent's face 
 and then all around the lawn, but the shadow was gone ; 
 and Mrs. Clayton had not seen or felt it, for she talked 
 on in the same quiet strain. 
 
 A few moments afterwards, a servant put a card into 
 Mrs. Clayton's hand, and announced that Mr. Lang was 
 waiting to see her in the parlor. 
 
 " Will you go with me, Amelia ? " 
 
 " No, mother, I must not." 
 
 Amelia assisted Mrs. Clayton to the parlor door, and 
 retired to her own apartment. 
 
 The interview between Mrs. Clayton and Mr. Lang 
 was a long one, and resulted in the latter's regaining his 
 complete mastery over that shattered woman. He ex- 
 plained to her that he had been well-nigh ruined, along 
 with her, but that an unexpected rise in the stock of the 
 " Green Lion " had so far placed him on his feet again, 
 that he could yet afford Mrs. Clayton and her daughter 
 an affluent support " if," said Mr. Lang, " I only had 
 some warrant for doing so something, you understand, 
 to stop the prattle of idle, gossiping tongues." 
 
 Mrs. Clayton thought she understood him. 
 
 " How unreasonable, then, would it be for Amelia to 
 condemn herself, and you, her indulgent mother, to hope- 
 less poverty." 
 
 Mrs. Clayton was silent. 
 
 " I am sure, my dear madam, I would not make her 
 such a bad husband." 
 
 " You know, Mr. Lang, you have always had my con- 
 sent, but I will tell you candidly that I have never 
 yet succeeded in forcing her to do what she thinks is 
 wrong." 
 
278 GLOVERSON 
 
 " And you have not revoked your consent, Mrs. Clay- 
 ton ? " 
 
 " No, Mr. Lang." 
 
 " Then let us send for Amelia." 
 
 <; Mr. Lang, I begin to feel weak. I will send a ser- 
 vant to you, who will be the bearer of any message to 
 my daughter ; but you will permit me to retire." 
 
 " Nothing could have served my purposes better," 
 mused Lang, as Mrs. Clayton withdrew. 
 
 The servant, having been dispatched by the broker, 
 returned with an answer, " Miss Clayton refuses to 
 see Mr. Lang ! " 
 
 This, certainly, is no very favorable omen, thought 
 that gentleman, as he sat alone in the parlor, still de- 
 taining the servant. " Tell her," said he, " that I desire 
 to speak to her a moment, on business of the utmost im- 
 portance to herself, and all she holds dear to her." 
 
 The servant disappeared again : " Dear to her. dear 
 to her," repeated Lang to himself, and a feeling of deso- 
 lation swept over him like a simoom. For Lang loved 
 Amelia loved her in his own despite, with a love that 
 waxed as his hope waned. " Dear to her," he repeated 
 once more ; " who's dear to her ? " and the broker bowed 
 his head as if to let the simoom pass over him. 
 
 The servant reappeared. " Miss Clayton refers Mr. 
 Lang to her lawyers, who now conduct all the business 
 affairs of her mother and herself. Mr. Lang will learn 
 who her lawyers are, in due time." 
 
 The broker started impulsively to his feet, raised his 
 clenched fist, and then, suddenly recovering himself, 
 said to the servant, " Stay a moment. Tell Miss Clay- 
 ton that it is her mother's request and command, that 
 she should come to the parlor." 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 279 
 
 When the servant had gone, Lang thought to himself 
 that he had gained one point at least. He had learned 
 that the law was on his track. He must prepare for the 
 defense. Mrs. Clayton had told him nothing of this, and, 
 upon the whole, he concluded that she knew nothing of 
 it. It smacked too much of that determined girl. It 
 was all Amelia's doings ; and, strange to say, Lang's ad- 
 miration of her was increased, by the conclusion he had 
 come to. This consciousness of danger, too, revived him. 
 He had reached an oasis. 
 
 " Where is my mother ? " 
 
 Lang looked up, startled. It was not the servant, but 
 Amelia, who had opened the door. 
 
 A thrill of pleasure passed over Lang, which he had 
 never experienced in her presence before. It seemed 
 years since he had seen her. Rising as soon as he could, 
 he stepped gracefully toward her and extended his hand 
 a movement of which she took not the least notice, 
 but, looking about the room, asked again, " Where is my 
 mother ? " 
 
 " I am sorry to say," replied Lang, " that Mrs. Clayton, 
 grieved by her daughter's strange conduct, has retired to 
 her own apartment." 
 
 " Then I will go after her." 
 
 " If you do," said Lang hastily, " you will bring about 
 a relapse." 
 
 Amelia stopped short, and held counsel with herself 
 for a few instants. Considering all the circumstances, as 
 they were thus presented to her mind, it seemed more 
 than probable that such a calamity might be brought 
 about at that time. Amelia turned quickly, and darted a 
 haughty look at her artful persecutor. Lang winced, 
 and his eyes fell. 
 
280 GLOVERSON 
 
 Miss Clayton seated herself in the chair nearest the 
 door, saying coldly, *' I am constrained, sir, to listen to 
 what you have to say." 
 
 " Miss Clayton," faltered Lang, in evident embarrass- 
 ment, " I seem to be in the presence of an unpropitious 
 goddess. Love or hate never goes in the middle things, 
 as they say in Latin. One overrates and the othei- under- 
 rates its object. Love is the microscope that discovers 
 an inhabited world, in a drop of water say a tear. 
 Hate is the telescope through which a crooked philoso- 
 phy, looking backwards, as it were, from the stars, dis- 
 covers the vast earth to be but an inhabited drop of 
 water, in the great sea of' creation. Both are right, and 
 both are wrong ; and I," concluded the broker, uneasily, 
 " am certainly in the presence of an angry goddess." 
 
 Before Lang had got half through this studied speech, 
 he saw that he had, in his embarrassment, introduced it 
 in the wrong place. He now sat cursing his awkward- 
 ness, and remembering that he had never before felt so 
 little at ease in the presence of a lady. He began, more- 
 over, to look upon the result of the interview with appre- 
 hension, which was not dispelled by the contemptuous 
 manner in which Amelia, after a short pause, said 
 
 " Well, sir, was it to hear this wild talk that I have 
 been well nigh dragged here? Is this the important 
 business ? " 
 
 " It may, Miss Clayton, have some remote connection 
 with it, but I must confess, I was talking half to myself, 
 explaining thus the unexpected coldness of my reception 
 here." 
 
 " Unexpected ! " repeated Amelia. " What else could 
 you expect in this house ? " 
 
 " Some grateful acknowledgment for having periled my 
 fortune to save yours and your mother's.'" 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 281 
 
 " The law, sir, will, I trust, award the proper guer- 
 don to such chivalrous knighthood. In the mean time, I 
 warn you I shall not sit here much longer. I must know, 
 without further delay, what your business is with me." 
 
 " It is to restore your property to you." 
 
 " Which acknowledges that you have taken it from us." 
 
 " You do not understand me, Miss Clayton ; I mean 
 to say that my business here now, is what shall be the 
 business of my lifetime to restore you to the place 
 from which fortune has cruelly cast you down." 
 
 " No more of this, sir ! Do you think that I am not 
 aware of the villainy that has taken away my worldly 
 goods, and opened my eyes to its hideous self ? I am 
 not cast down, sir. I am elevated by the very contempt 
 I feel for you." 
 
 " And, perhaps, by your forgetfulness and disobedience 
 of your mother's wishes," interposed Lang, angry, yet 
 writhing under her scorn. 
 
 Amelia turned deadly pale. Lang flattered himself 
 he had made a home thrust, for she did not speak. He 
 resolved now to change his tactics. 
 
 " Miss Clayton," said he, in an altered tone, " I did not 
 come here to quarrel with you ; and, indeed, my heart 
 revolts at a thing so foreign to its utter devotion to you 
 and yours. I am sorry that I was forced to make allu- 
 sion to the known wishes of your noble, long-suffering 
 parent ; but, for her sake, I hope you will weigh well 
 what I am about to say. You are both poor now 
 hopelessly poor. I am rich, rich in all but the possession 
 of what I ask beg from you. Without you I shall be 
 poorer than you can be. I would give all I have, or ever 
 expect to have, to be the successful beggar at your feet. 
 Certainly you are laboring under some false impression. 
 
282 GLOVERSON 
 
 Let the law investigate my conduct, and then, not till 
 then, take the hand that is offered to place you higher 
 than you evjer were before, and the heart that will al- 
 ways be yours, though you tread upon it now, or wither 
 it with your mistaken scorn." 
 
 Lang's voice had assumed a pleading softness, that was 
 a stranger even to himself, for he was then translating 
 the only worthy passion of his whole life. He had ceased 
 to doubt whether it was Amelia or her property he 
 wanted. He had the latter, and the utter hopelessness 
 of gaining the former had driven him to this desperation. 
 Flying across the room, he threw himself at her feet. 
 
 u Therefore, choose." continued Lang. " By my side, 
 wealth and luxury and ease ; away from me, poverty and 
 care, and, may be, disgrace. Before the living God, I 
 swear to you that I love you better than you ever were 
 or can be loved. Stand, O stand between me and the 
 avenging fates of my own despair." 
 
 It was mingled surprise and indignation that had ren- 
 dered Amelia so long speechless. Finally, she arose 
 and fled to the door of the back parlor. "Mr. Lang," 
 she said, turning upon him, " never, never come into my 
 presence again ! That is the kindest thing I find within 
 my heart to say to you." 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Lang, rising, " you defy my anger 
 and your mother's too ? " 
 
 "I do, sir. I know not what power you have over 
 my poor, weak mother, but I fear it is great, and I 
 know it is baneful. But, I believe, should you both be 
 arrayed against me, Heaven would still be on my side. 
 With such an ally, I shall be neither poor nor weak, and 
 never disgraced." 
 
 " No," interposed Lang, with a hiss, " considering who 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 283 
 
 is the incarnate deputy here on earth. Mrs. Amos Dixon 
 may not be poor or weak, but she will be supremely 
 ridiculous, even " here Lang's black eyes looked mur- 
 der " even if she has the good fortune to be left a 
 widow. By the way, your clandestine meetings are well 
 known. I merely allude to them to warn you to a little 
 more caution." 
 
 " I scorn you and your insinuation, as Mr. Dixon must 
 your threats," retorted Amelia, opening the door by 
 which she had paused ; " but, let me say, once for all, 
 that since my mother has no right to wed me to a vil- 
 lain, who has robbed us both, if you and she persist, 
 / defy you both ! Now, sir, so help me Heaven," said 
 Amelia, raising her hand above her head, " I will starve 
 before I will ever disgrace myself, and the memory of my 
 dead father, by speaking to you again ! " And she closed 
 the door heavily behind her. The hollow sound that it 
 made will ring in the broker's ears for days and nights to 
 come. 
 
 To George Lang the parlor was now a desert indeed. 
 The simoom again swept over him, and he was smoth- 
 ered and choked by the terrible hot sands. He could 
 not afterwards tell how he left the house, which he was 
 never to enter again. 
 
284 GLOVERSON 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 UP THE STEEPS WITH GLOVERSON. * 
 
 " DIXON, sir ! " said Mr. Gloverson, in his counting- 
 room, one afternoon, as Amos was about closing his books 
 for the day, u Dixon, sir, why don't you get married ? " 
 
 If a hundred-pound shot had seen fit to go with a 
 sudden crash through the window above his head, Mr. 
 Dixon would not have been more taken aback. He 
 changed color and stared at his employer. 
 
 " Dixon, sir, I say," repeated the redoubtable Andrew, 
 and there was an indescribable leer in his eye, "why 
 don't you get married ? " 
 
 " That is an odd question, Mr. Gloverson." 
 
 " Gad, sir, I'll introduce you to some one that'll make 
 you ! " rejoined Andrew, with a manner as obscure as his 
 speech. 
 
 " Indeed, Mr. Gloverson ? " 
 
 In less kindly eyes than the round full ones now bent 
 upon him, Amos at that moment might have appeared 
 very like a young man whom some practical parent has 
 inopportunely discovered with an arm about a daughter's 
 waist. 
 
 The sadness that soon after came over Dixon's face 
 might have been mistaken, on the same theory, for peni- 
 tence, out of which had grown a temporary resolve to 
 use, in the future siege of the aforesaid young lady's 
 affections, every other species of beleaguering warfare, 
 than the romantic one of circumvallation. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 285 
 
 It was only this sadness, however, that arrested Mr. 
 Gloverson's attention. " Cheer up, Dixon, sir, ch'rup ! " 
 said the kindly old gentleman. " Question's not odd at 
 all, sir. Why, you are a good-looking fellow getting 
 better looking every day. Why, sir, I'll be sworn," 
 substituted Mr. Gloverson, considerately deferring the 
 oath till it should be demanded of him, "yes, sworn, 
 sir, that you are almost a dandy, sir, almost a dandy ! " 
 And his employer regarded with no little pride and tri- 
 umph the elegant set of*Dixon's clothing, whilom so 
 wrinkled and seamed. 
 
 Amos also glanced at his attire ; but it was anything 
 but a consolation to him. He looked upon his neatly fit- 
 ting garments as so many votive offerings made to Ame- 
 lia, his beautiful saint, who had nevertheless permitted 
 the shipwreck. 
 
 " Now look here, Dixon ! " resumed Mr. Gloverson, 
 stepping back a pace, and regarding his cashier in myste- 
 rious silence. 
 
 Amos, after waiting vainly for his employer to continue 
 his remarks, finally looked up and returned his stare. 
 
 Thereupon Mr. Gloverson. stepped as straight and as 
 close up to Dixon as the rotundity of one of their per- 
 sons would conveniently allow," and tapping him quickly 
 on the breast with the fat forefinger of his right hand, 
 stopped short, and regarded the surprised cashier with an 
 air of awful mystery. " Strictly confidential, you know, 
 old fellow ! " at length said Mr. Gloverson as he took a 
 step backwards, not removing his eyes from those of 
 Amos. 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Dixon, " I hope nothing has hap- 
 pened." 
 
 " No ; nothing has happened," replied Andrew, for the 
 
286 GLOVERSON 
 
 first time letting his eyes fall, " nothing has happened, 
 but but, sir, I never go back on my own judgment. 
 Something is going to happen." 
 
 Mysterious silence again reigned in the counting-room. 
 
 " Now look here, Dixon," finally repeated Mr. Glover- 
 son, his voice breaking in spasmodically upon the stillness 
 of the apartment, like a large stone upon the quiet sur- 
 face of some desolate pond. " Now look here, Dixon, 
 sir ; this thing is strictly confidential, you know, old 
 fellow!" 
 
 " Certainly, Mr. Gloverson ; but you frighten me. 
 "Why do you hesitate ? Have you," added Amos appre- 
 hensively, "have you lost confidence in me?" 
 
 " Dixon, you be d d. You know better, see how 
 you have interrupted me. I would have got it out long 
 ago, only Dixon, sir, you have interrupted me." 
 
 " I beg pardon, sir." 
 
 " No, Dixon, I beg yours. I interrupted myself; but, 
 Dixon, sir, I am having meetings, sir, meetings ! " 
 
 " What kind of meetings, Mr. Gloverson, may I ask ? " 
 
 " Why, meetings with somebody " here Andrew 
 again paused, and, regarding his employee with an in- 
 describable leer and tapping himself gallantly on the 
 breast, continued, " wi&i somebody, sir, who is a 
 lady!" 
 
 Mr. Gloverson now bustled backwards to the farthest 
 end of the counting-room, and again took a deliberate 
 observation on Amos to see the effect pronounced by 
 this wonderful revelation. 
 
 Mr. Dixon could not help a smile, as he said, " In 
 this evidently delicate matter, Mr. Gloverson, what part 
 am I to take ? " 
 
 " A very important one, Dixon, a very important one. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 287 
 
 Serve me in this matter and you will be serving yourself. 
 A marriage would result in .the happiness of us both." 
 
 " I am sure, Mr. Gloverson, any assistance that I can 
 honorably render " 
 
 " Honorably render ! What do you mean, sir ? " And 
 the portly merchant was so much moved that he paused 
 to catch his breath. " I wish, Dixon, you .fradn't said it. 
 Somehow, it makes me feel bad ; because, Dixon, because 
 she is such an angel, that ever since you said it," con- 
 tinued Mr. Gloverson with a certain feeling gesture, that 
 will make itself in the reader's mind, " somewhere about 
 here, you know, Dixon, my waistcoat has been a d d 
 bad fit, sir, a d d bad fit." 
 
 This was probably, if not the longest, at least the most 
 pathetic sentence that the senior partner of the house of 
 Gloverson & Co. had ever uttered in the presence of the 
 trusty cashier. To the credit of the latter, be it said, 
 that he detected the golden drift beneath these incohe- 
 rent pebbles of speech. Amos grasped the hand of his 
 employer as soon as he had finished. " Mr. Gloverson, 
 I heartily beg your pardon ; I was thoughtless, and rude 
 only because I was thoughtless. It was the merest slip ; 
 I was only talking my usual cant." 
 
 "No, Dixon, no. I beg yours, rather, /was thought- 
 less. I didn't tell you before that she was an angel ; and 
 Dixon, sir, you know what my judgment is." 
 
 Then lapsing into a dreamy silence, Mr. Gloverson 
 was for some moments, to all appearance, studying the 
 architecture of a tin box of papers, on whose green sides 
 were painted " G. & Co. 1859," in white letters. This 
 tin box was on a high shelf in the counting-room, and to 
 see it, it was necessary for Mr. Gloverson to turn his face 
 inconveniently upwards and so to raise his eyes that only 
 the whites of them could be seen by Amos. 
 
288 GLOVERSON 
 
 To whom it was soon evident that his employer was 
 not thinking of the box or the papers at all, but was yet 
 musing on the subject of the cashier's thoughtless re- 
 mark. " Dishonor, Dixon," finally said Mr. Gloverson, 
 the whites of his eyes still visible, " Dishonor, sir, is a 
 word that I never use in speaking of women. I never 
 did, and I never will ! " 
 
 " And I hope I never may again, Mr. Gloverson, but I 
 must confess," pursued Amos, endeavoring to change the 
 subject, " that you took me back, at first. I really 
 thought that the house was about to fail, or " 
 
 "That's it! " exclaimed the chivalrous Andrew, trans- 
 ferring his gaze from the tin box to Amos. " The house 
 will fail without this lady in it. I am resolved to have 
 her, God bless her a member of this firm, a sort 
 of silent partner I mean, a guardian angel, you know." 
 
 The idea of Mr. Gloverson's marriage struck Amos as 
 a little ridiculous, but he nevertheless grasped the chub- 
 by hand that had just fallen with a determined gesture, 
 and wringing it, wished the youthful Andrew much joy, 
 and so forth, and so forth. 
 
 Whereat Mr. Gloverson's under-jaw fell in a cataract 
 of surprise, from which (or from somewhere else) a mist 
 seemed to rise before his eyes, for he wiped them with 
 his colored silk pocket-handkerchief, and looked again 
 and again at Amos. Then Mr. Gloverson's under-jaw 
 all at once assumed its usual place, and that remarkable 
 leer of his overspread his entire face. So brimful of 
 a brilliant thought, and so intensified was this remarkable 
 leer at this moment, that it seemed to spread beyond the 
 copious borders of Mr. Gloverson's face, even to the 
 folds of Mr. Gloverson's collar and waistcoat. 
 
 Whatever this sudden brilliant thought of Mr. Glover- 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 289 
 
 son's was, it was evidently a villainous one, for he appar- 
 ently 'dared not communicate it to his honest cashier. 
 The great merchant merely looked at his watch, and said, 
 " Come, come, sir, it is time for the meeting. You must 
 go with me, Dixon. I want ' to introduce you. Come, 
 sir, why do you delay ? A sight of her will cheer you 
 up for a month." 
 
 Mr. Gloverson had probably spoken truth, if he and 
 Amos had been thinking of the same person ; for the 
 latter gentleman was just at that moment wondering why 
 he never met Amelia Clayton in any part of the city. 
 
 " I believe you ! " said Amos, and then he blushed, 
 having as he supposed, betrayed his own thoughts. Dis- 
 covering, however, that he had not, he was so rejoiced 
 that he consented to go without farther parley ; and the 
 two started forth arm in arm. 
 
 It was a remarkable sight to see these gentlemen to- 
 gether at any time, but it partook more than ordinarily 
 of the melodramatic, as they reached Montgomery 
 Street, and Mr. Gloverson without a word pulled Amos 
 in the direction opposite to either of their homes. After 
 awhile, the impulse seemed to die away, and the obese 
 Andrew began to lean ponderously on his cashier. This 
 had the tendency to crush out the reverie to which Amos 
 had resigned himself. The brilliant thought of Mr. 
 Gloverson, before alluded to, mus^t have weighed him 
 down, for he was becoming very heavy and short-winded. 
 Under the pressure of so much reality, Amos looked 
 about him, and discovered that they were ascending 
 Telegraph Hill. 
 
 After toiling up some time in silence, Mr. Gloverson 
 paused to rest. " Do-don't talk," said he, " don't talk 
 a word, Dixon, sir. In going up a hill, Dixon, I always 
 19 
 
290 GLOVERSON 
 
 find talking worse than walking, on the brea-breath. 
 For my part I wouldn't climb so, if I were not going up 
 to an angel. But don't talk Dixon, sir. You 
 you ca-can't get your breath, if you do." 
 . This admonition was altogether superfluous : for, from 
 that time till they had reached the summit, Mr. Glover- 
 son, having got upon the subject of his idolatry, did not 
 give Amos the least chance to get a word in, except it 
 were edgewise, between the involuntary failures of Mr. 
 Gloverson's breathing. 
 
 Dixon, however, was not disposed to talk, or, indeed, 
 to listen. He could not help thinking of the strange 
 sights he had seen on those very rocks, and with what 
 foolish mystery he had connected them all with Amelia. 
 He thought of the dream at Sonoma ; then of the re- 
 ality the beckoning figure, whose silvery hair had 
 almost touched him, as it swept by in the moonlight ; 
 and then of the undefined feeling, so woven of sorrow 
 and joy the inscrutable link between these dim dreams 
 and an assuring reality the recognition of what it was 
 impossible to have seen before that undefined feeling, 
 so woven of sorrow and joy, which, that last evening on 
 these cliffs, he had so fatally mistaken for hope. 
 
 They passed the spot where the figure had stood, and, 
 taking a by-path to the left, came suddenly upon a little 
 one -story house, which was concealed from view by the 
 cliffs that towered on one side, shutting out the Bay, but 
 not the sea. Mr. Gloverson knocked at the door, and 
 walked briskly in. The little house had evidently only 
 two rooms. In the front one, sat, by a very neat bed, an 
 object that startled Amos more than he had ever been 
 startled before even on Telegraph Hill. It was not 
 only the beckoning figure of the heights, but, as the 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 291 
 
 reader has known all along, poor old Aunty Owen. The 
 evening on which he came so near recognizing her, Dix- 
 on had seen scarcely anything but her wild eyes and the 
 hair, once so remarkably dark for her age, now white as 
 snow. The same old benevolent face was what, at this 
 moment, recalled her to him. Her eyes, though not so 
 wild as when he saw them in the moonlight, were still 
 dreamy and unnatural. 
 
 Mr. Gloverson had too much to do in gaining his 
 breath to take any notice of Dixon's surprise. As soon 
 as Andrew could speak, he said from the chair into 
 which he had thrown himself, " Aunty Owen, this is 
 Mr. Dixon, my cashier ; Mr. Dixon, Mrs. Owen." 
 
 The old lady now for the first time looking up from 
 her sewing, trembled just a little on discovering a 
 stranger present. " Ah ! " then looking closer into 
 Amos's face, she said " Oh ! Henry likes you, Henry 
 likes you," and plied her needle as before. Then a 
 strange light suddenly^filled her eyes, as she asked in a 
 half whisper : " Was it a gun ? There, there ! Henry 
 is coming ! No, no, it wasn't ; but Henry is coming, 
 Henry is coming," and the old lady sighed, and resumed 
 her sewing. 
 
 Amos was struggling to speak. 
 
 " You see," interposed Mr. Gloverson quickly, in a low 
 voice, " the poor thing thinks her son, who was drowned, 
 is coming home on every steamer. She is sewing for 
 him now. She has the greatest amount of clothing 
 made up already, and and, 1 humor her," said Mr. 
 Gloverson, " for she is so harmless." 
 
 " Aunty Owen," Amos asked at last, " don't you re- 
 member me ? " 
 
 Again the old lady gazed into his face and said, 
 
292 GLOVERSON 
 
 " Henry likes you, Henry likes you ; " and still seated by 
 the window looking toward the sea, Aunty Owen re- 
 sumed her work, adding at listless intervals, " Henry is 
 coming, Henry is coming ! " 
 
 "Then you knew her before," demanded Mr. Glover- 
 son, almost as much surprised as Amos. 
 
 u Yes, I have been looking for her for many and many 
 a weary month. Why did you not tell me about her be- 
 fore ? " 
 
 " I would have done it, Dixon, only, sir, I thought you 
 might consider me vain." 
 
 " Vain, Mr. Gloverson ? " 
 
 " Yes, vain." 
 
 Amos now, by a series of questions, extorted from Mr. 
 Gloverson, the fact that he had discovered the old lady a 
 day or so after the news of her boy's loss had reached 
 her, and, seeing the harmless and touching nature of her 
 mania, rescued her himself from the hands of the law, 
 and provided this little house for her. " For, Dixon, sir," 
 concluded Mr. Gloverson, " she wouldn't live a day in an 
 asylum. Out sight of the sea where she could not wave 
 at every passing steamer, the poor, good old creature 
 would die, Dixon, sir would die." 
 
 Mr. Gloverson's voice grew husky before he closed ; 
 and Dixon looked away through the window at the dis- 
 tant Pacific. 
 
 The old woman plied her needle in silence. 
 
 " Late or early, Dixon, sir," resumed Mr. Gloverson, 
 after a short pause, " night or day, sunshine or storm, at 
 the sound of a gun she will go forth upon the cliffs, and 
 wave at the steamer till it has passed. It's her only com- 
 fort, Dixon, sir ; so she has done, Dixon, and so she shall 
 do, through as many of the long years as God shall spare 
 her." 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 293 
 
 " And may He bless you for it, Mr. Gloverson," said 
 Amos feelingly. 
 
 " Henry is coming, Henry is coming," sighed Aunty 
 Owen, in her listless way. 
 
 After an interval of silence, Amos suddenly roused 
 himself. " But, Mr. Gloverson, how could you have joked 
 upon such a subject ? I see you are having meetings, as 
 you say, but you never can intend to marry this unfortu- 
 nate " 
 
 " Dixon, you be d d. I do have meetings, sir." 
 And Gloverson looked impatiently at his watch. 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Amos, " is this not the lady you 
 meet ? " 
 
 " Why, hem, not exactly," replied Mr. Gloverson, and 
 he assumed that same mysterious leer of his, " not exactly, 
 Dixon, sir, but " Here Andrew's two hands arose in 
 a sort of convulsive movement of surprise, for a light 
 knock was heard at the door. "That's her!" And Mr. 
 Gloverson came in violent collision with his own chair, 
 as he hastened to do the honors. 
 
 " Ah ! " observed the gallant Andrew, " how do you 
 do ? " closing the door as his visitor entered, and 
 putting his back against it, for support in the presence 
 of the object of so much reverence. " Ah ! " again ob- 
 served the gallant Andrew, " Miss Clayton, allow me to 
 present to you my trusted friend and confidential cashier, 
 Mr. " 
 
 The sudden falling of Mr, Gloverson's under-jaw 
 brought this elaborate oratory to an unexpected close. 
 
 Mr. Dixon, having vainly attempted to rise, had sunk 
 back into his chair, where his face became red and white 
 by turns ; but not a word could he utter. 
 
294 GLOVERSON 
 
 Mr. Gloverson turned his eyes in amazement toward 
 Amelia, and, seeing that she seemed greatly moved, 
 would probably have dropped down on the spot if it had 
 not been for the mutual assistance of the door and his 
 own back. 
 
 " Beg pardon, beg pardon, Miss. I should have asked 
 your permission to bring him here ; but he is a fine fel- 
 low, Miss Clayton, a very fine fellow. He didn't know 
 anything about it. It's all my fault, and and' it is 
 strictly confidential," said Mr. Gloverson in his embar- 
 rassment. " Forgive me this time, and I'll never do it 
 again ; never, I'll be d destroyed if I do ! " 
 
 Thus concluded Andrew Gloverson, who believed him- 
 self at that moment the wretchedest of criminals. By this 
 time, Amelia had so far recovered from her surprise as to 
 approach Amos and take his hand. 
 
 " Will you ever forgive me," were the first words that 
 Dixon could muster, " for all I have done ? I could not 
 help it." 
 
 " No, no," chimed in Mr. Gloverson, " he couldn't help 
 it. I will take my oath that it was, and is all my fault ; 
 I deceived Dixon ; I led him to think that I was about to 
 marry. It was a brilliant idea of mine, but a wicked one. 
 I haven't thought seriously of marriage for the last twenty- 
 five years. Now, upon my oath," concluded Mr. Glover- 
 son, impressively, " Dixon didn't know whom he was 
 going to meet." 
 
 " Then you would not have come if you thought you 
 were going to meet me ? " 
 
 " To meet yen, Miss Clayton ? Why, I would have 
 gone anywhere to ask your forgiveness.'' 
 
 " And would never have got it " Amos turned deathly 
 pale " because you have never offended me." 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 295 
 
 Amos subsided into a delirium ^of ineffable joy; and 
 Amelia went and spoke kindly to Aunty Owen. Setting 
 down a basket which she had borne on her arm, Amelia 
 said, " Aunty, we will look at these things directly,'* and 
 turned her attention again to the gentlemen. 
 
 " Mr. Dixon, I have wanted to see you so much. I 
 have so much to say to you." 
 
 " And, Miss Clayton, it was a matter of life and 
 death, and they would not let me see you." 
 
 This conversation began to be unintelligible to Mr. 
 Gloverson, who had introduced the young gentleman and 
 lady. 
 
 Amelia evidently did not know Karl was dead. How 
 should Amos break it to her, and deliver the package, 
 which, as has been before said, he always carried about 
 with him ? 
 
 " They would not let you see me ? When, Mr. 
 Dixon ? " 
 
 " When " Amos hesitated. That was evidently not 
 the time to break it to her, " when last I was obliged 
 to go, after you had had so kindly intimated to me 
 that that another " 
 
 <fc It was all a mistake. It is about that other that I 
 want to warn you, Mr. Dixon." 
 
 This conversation -was becoming more and more unin- 
 telligible to Mr. Gloverson, who rubbed his nose eagerly, 
 and recollected distinctly that he had introduced the 
 young laety and gentleman but a short time ago. 
 
 " He is a villain ! " exclaimed Amelia. 
 
 In his confusion, Mr. Gloverson thought that he him- 
 self might be here meant. At least he started, and re- 
 membered how criminally he had introduced the young 
 
296 GLOYRRSON 
 
 lady and young gentleman but a moment before, without 
 the young lady's consent. 
 
 " Then you know it, too ? " rejoined Amos. 
 
 " That's rather bold of Dixon ! What can this mean ? " 
 thought Andrew Gloverson. 
 
 * Yes, Mr. Dixon, he is a villain, and has as much as 
 threatened your life." 
 
 " Dixon be d d ! " thought Mr. Gloverson. " I 
 wouldn't touch a hair in his head. Come, this must mean 
 some one else ! " 
 
 " Threatened my life ? " repeated Amos. u Tell him, if 
 you please, that I do not fear him." 
 
 "I shall never disgrace myself by speaking to him 
 again. But you will, Mr. Dixon, for your own sake, for 
 this kind gentleman's sake whom I am glad to learn is 
 your employer and, may I add, for my sake, be on 
 your guard. I have wanted to warn you so long." 
 
 So much hope had now broken in upon Amos that he 
 seemed blinded as with a great light. lie was dimly 
 conscious of having forgotten something. He made one 
 or two vain efforts to recollect. He was so absorbed in 
 some one else, that he could not for the moment get his 
 mind back to Karl and the package. 
 
 " Well, I'll be I'll give it up, Dixon, sir," broke forth 
 Mr. Gloverson at last, " didn't I introduce you to Miss 
 Clayton a few moments ago, sir ? " 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Gloverson, but I was introduced to her 
 before, though the acquaintance had been broken off" 
 
 " By Mr. Dixon, through an unfortunate misunder- 
 standing of his own," interrupted Amelia. 
 
 More delirium for Amos. 
 
 " Well, Dixon, sir," observed Mr. Gloverson, throwing 
 himself back in his chair, " isn't she an angel ? " 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 297 
 
 " She has always been a guardian one to me I beg 
 your pardon, Miss Clayton, I did not mean to make you 
 blush." 
 
 Amelia had commenced unpacking her basket and 
 displaying the little supplies she had brought for Aunty 
 Owen. 
 
 " A perfect angel ! " exclaimed Mr. Gloverson, now 
 more and more relieved from the surprise that had been 
 steadily accumulating, and coming into his natural state 
 of admiration and even reverence. "A perfect angel, 
 Dixon, sir, a perfect angel, and she can't help it. And 
 j ust to think that you should have known her before, sir. 
 Now, sir, it was only lately that I caught her coming 
 here, though I have every reason to believe that she has 
 been coming here for a long time. I watched her, 
 Dixon, sir, I did, till I found out the days she comes. 
 I know them ; Wednesday and Friday afternoons. Am I 
 right?" 
 
 Amelia turned her eyes toward her portly eulogist, and 
 answered, with a half- suppressed laugh, " Those are the 
 afternoons, Mr. Gloverson." 
 
 What would the kindly Andrew have thought, had he 
 known that Amelia had been more regular in her visits, 
 and more tender toward the poor old woman since the 
 date of her own misfortunes ; and had he known of the 
 rebuff she had received that very day, when she had 
 made an effort to help herself ? As it was, Mr. Glover- 
 son could only join Amos in watching her silently and 
 admiringly, as she arranged, one after the other, the 
 things she had taken from the basket, even to the 
 bouquet of flowers, which she placed in a vase on the 
 bureau. 
 
 4k Henry likes you," said Aunty Owen, after looking 
 
298 GLOVERSON 
 
 some time dreamily into Amelia's face, u Henry likes you/' 
 and quietly resumed her sewing. 
 
 When it came time to leave the little house, it was a 
 remarkable union of gallantry and tenderness with which 
 Mr. Andrew Gloverson insisted on carrying Amelia's 
 basket. The lightness of his heart and feet, as he 
 walked on one side of her, with Amos on the other, can 
 hardly be imagined. At the foot of the hill, Mr. 
 Gloverson, all at once, looked at his watch, and ex- 
 claimed with much transparent artfulness, " How could 
 I? that engagement ! Good-by, good- by ; God bless 
 you both ! " And Andrew, transferring the basket to 
 Amos, disappeared around the nearest corner, from which 
 he watched the couple long and wistfully. Then, not 
 knowing exactly what to do, he followed them at a dis- 
 tance, to the farther extremity of Montgomery Street, 
 astonishing more than one foot-passenger by the ardor 
 with which he said from time to time, " I never will go 
 back on my own judgment ; something is going to hap- 
 pen ! " And almost immediately after Mr. Gloverson 
 would, in his abstraction, come in vigorous contact with 
 some reckless urchin, or some meditative old lady, who 
 happened to be going in an opposite direction. 
 
 When Amelia was alone with Amos, she told him all 
 that she knew about the fraudulent ways of Lang, and 
 of the well-nigh hopeless means she had taken to recover 
 the property. Under the circumstances, Dixon felt no 
 hesitancy in relating all that he knew of Karl's last mo- 
 ments, together with certain things not at all com- 
 plimentary to the " Stock and Money Broker." Amelia 
 finally told Amos of her fruitless attempts to find em- 
 ployment. When she saw these confidences had dis- 
 tressed him, she demanded of herself reprovingly why 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 299 
 
 she had made them, and concluded that it was because 
 she couldn't help it. As a reparation, however, she 
 assured Mr. Dixon that with a chance to help herself 
 and it must come sooner or later she would be com- 
 paratively happy. 
 
 It was a long time after this announcement before 
 Amos spoke. When he did, his face bore an expression 
 that Amelia had never seen there before. All the long 
 hidden good of his honest, stalwart soul was looking out 
 upon her, and he said, " The chance to help yourself 
 it will come ; it shall come ! " 
 
 At the gate of the elegant house no longer hers, or her 
 mother's, Amos delivered Karl's package. 
 
 " Shall I invite you in, Mr. Dixon, after the indignity 
 that has been heaped upon you here ? " 
 
 " Not to-day, Miss Clayton. You must want to open 
 the package. I will leave you to it now. Poor Karl ! " 
 
 " Poor Karl ! " repeated Amelia, taking the hand of 
 Amos. And they parted without another word. 
 
 Most grown women and men, too, for that matter 
 hug to their hearts some memory they look back upon, as 
 the object about which their destiny might have been 
 turned into another channel. There is almost always 
 some one they loved, or might have loved, if death or 
 distance had not placed the insuperable barrier. Many 
 a woman who is married to honest John to-day, and 
 sighs regretfully for Reginald that she might have mar- 
 ried, might have sighed regretfully for honest John in- 
 stead, if she were married to Reginald to-day. Mistakes 
 are liable to be made in both ways, and a last love may 
 be a true love. There is, somehow, a place in the heart 
 
300 GLOVERSON 
 
 for longing ; and many a weary hour is filled up in the 
 exercise. Old letters and locks of hair, etc., etc., are 
 the well known offerings at this shrine. Amelia knew 
 that she loved the man Dixon, more than the spirit Karl 
 that she bowed before one, and aspired towarjl the 
 other ; but Amelia was a woman, and there was that place 
 in her heart for longing ; and it is more than probable 
 that Karl is Amelia's " might have been." 
 
 She went to her room to open the package. In a little 
 box she found an exquisite sea-shell that Karl himself 
 had picked up at Bermuda. The outside of this unex- 
 pected memento of different shades of crimson, and 
 studded at intervals with little petrifactions of moss 
 bore a solid gold plate, just large enough for the inscrip- 
 tion, " Amelia" " Christmas." The shell opened on little 
 gold hinges, from which the whiteness of the inside com- 
 menced in pearl and blending gradually into all the 
 shades that are lovely with white, melted or rather 
 blushed, at the fluted edges about the golden clasp, into 
 the crimson of the outside of the shell. It was a little 
 dream of fairy-land all pure and transparent, like 
 Karl's own nature. 
 
 Amelia's first feeling was a delightful surprise. But 
 attached to the inside by a tiny chain of gold was a little 
 scroll of parchment, which unrolled as the shell opened. 
 Upon this there was some feeble writing, evidently in the 
 donor's hand. She read, after much effort and many 
 tears, 
 
 THE VOICE OF THE SHELL. 
 
 Amelia, take the little gift, 
 
 Men neither sell nor buy 
 I mean this fleck of fancy-drift 
 
 Athwart my Christmas sky ; 
 
. AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 301 
 
 And find within the nestling place 
 
 The ocean sprites have wrought, 
 Though set anew with tyro grace, 
 
 An olden pearl of thought: 
 
 "When in the long, long future time, 
 
 This shell sings of the sea, 
 May some low voice, within this rhyme, 
 
 Sing to thy heart of me. 
 
302 GLOVERSON 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 AMOS DIXON PROVIDES FOR TWO PERSONS. 
 
 OTHER eyes than the exulting ones of Mr. Andrew 
 Gloverson watched the course of Amelia and Amos 
 through Montgomery Street that afternoon eyes that 
 did not lose them in the throng. On the track of the 
 young couple were steps which did not turn back with 
 the good old merchant at Market Street. 
 
 Dixon, on his return from the elegant house, met 
 George Lang, face to face, on the corner of Folsom and 
 Second streets. The broker had just issued from a 
 neighboring saloon, wiping his mouth. They looked 
 each other squarely in the eyes, but neither spoke ; and 
 Amos passed on. 
 
 After walking a little distance, Amos looked back and 
 observed that Lang was coming in the same direction. 
 " He cannot be following me ? " thought Dixon. '"I will 
 turn up this by-street and see." At the first corner of 
 the little thoroughfare, Amos looked again, and lo ! Lang- 
 had turned into the same narrow street and was coming 
 after him. 
 
 Dixon wheeled quickly round and commenced to re- 
 trace his steps ; on seeing which Lang started a little, 
 but kept on in the direction he had taken. They now 
 walked leisurely toward each other. Approaching nearer 
 and nearer their eyes met, and glaring angrily at each 
 other, the rivals passed again, speaking not a word. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 303 
 
 Dixon walked on, too indignant to look back, till he 
 had reached Montgomery Street. Lang was still be- 
 hind him. " There is no doubt about it," thought Amos ; 
 " he is following me. Probably he is going to put his 
 threats in execution." 
 
 Dixon suddenly stopped, and waited till the broker 
 came up. Lang was again in the act of passing, when 
 Amos accosted him. " Sir, if I am not mistaken, you 
 have been following me." 
 
 " Well, what if I have?" replied Lang, stopping too, 
 and looking at Dixon, contemptuously. " Ju-ustice," he 
 added, with a half hiccup, "ju-ustice does well to follow 
 such as you ! " 
 
 " Have you any business with me, Mr. Lang ? " 
 
 ' I have, sir ! " 
 
 " Then state it if you are sober enough." 
 
 " Drunk, am I ? .That's not the first insult I have to 
 settle with you for." 
 
 ''You can settle everything with me right now. I 
 only wish you were sober, sir." 
 
 " This crowd," replied Lang, with drunken dignity, " is 
 is not the place. I'll get you alone yet, you know." 
 
 " You will never leave this place till I know why you 
 have been dogging my steps. If it is because I am aware 
 that you have betrayed and ruined the friend of your 
 boyhood, and robbed inexperienced women, you should 
 rather slink away from me, to get out of my contempt." 
 
 " One of us must pay the penalty of this language, sir," 
 retorted Lang, becoming almost sober, with the intensity 
 of his anger ; " will you meet me, like a gentleman, sir ? " 
 
 " This is the last meeting we shall ever have, with my 
 consent. If you have been following me to put your 
 threats in execution, now is the time. If I ever catch 
 you at it again, I shall whip you as I would a dog ! " 
 
304 GLOVERSON 
 
 " Hi, hi ! " said an enthusiastic voice in the crowd, 
 which was increasing every moment. 
 
 " You will have to meet me alone yet, sir," growled 
 Lang, edging his way out of the throng. Then his anger 
 getting the better of his prudence, he turned and said, 
 with a haughty curl of the lip, " The little house on Tele- 
 graph Hill, eh? It takes a coward to entice, to such 
 places, as respectable a young tody as Miss " 
 
 Lang fell headlong on the pavement before he had said 
 the word ; and, against all the rules of the prize ring, 
 Dixon proceeded to give the broker such a hearty beat- 
 ing, as is remembered by the by-standers even to this 
 day. 
 
 Amos was now hurried away by the crowd, whose sym- 
 pathies he had gained by the quiet forbearance he had 
 shown at first, and then by the expeditious manner in 
 which he made himself the victor. 
 
 The police arrived on the spot just in time to get 
 Lang's senseless body into a carriage and convey it to 
 his hotel. The state of Mr. Lang's health for some days 
 afterwards, or his pride, or some cause prevented his 
 making any complaint to the authorities. 
 
 The next day, therefore, after business hours, Amos 
 was at liberty to carry out the idea which had caused his 
 face to beam so, when Amelia had said that with a chance 
 to help herself she would be comparatively happy. " I 
 have provided for Lang," said Dixon to himself, with jifct 
 a little excusable satisfaction. " Now I must provide for 
 Amelia God bless her ! " and Amos took up his hat. 
 
 " Look here, Dixon, sir," said Mr. Gloverson, who had 
 been watching his cashier for some time, and who had 
 become very red in the face, from internal chuckling. 
 " Look here, Dixon, sir," observed the old gentleman, 
 " you're mighty sly, sir ! " 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. . 805 
 
 Amos blushed. 
 
 "Mi-ighty sly, sir," repeated Mr. Gloverson, closing 
 one eye, and contemplating his cashier with the" other. 
 " Do you think I don't know of your goings on ? You 
 can get acquainted with angels angels, sir, without my 
 knowing it ; but when you get down to plain earth, 
 sir, I have my eye on you. A d d rascal, sir ; a d d 
 rascal ! " * 
 
 Amos varied the expression of his face by turning 
 white. 
 
 " It's all over town, Dixon, sir, and for my part I am 
 glad of it. An arrant d d rascal, sir ! " 
 
 " Heavens, Mr. Gloverson, what is it ? Is it anything 
 that will injure her ? " 
 
 " It injure her ? What do you mean, Dixon ? Fd 
 like to see the man, woman, or child, or, sir, the it, sir," 
 said Mr. Gloverson, with great emphasis, " that would 
 dare to injure her ! " 
 
 Amos was silent out of sheer amazement, and Mr. 
 Gloverson, out of sheer loss of breath. 
 
 u Dixon, sir," began the old gentleman at last, " you 
 have been pounding, sir, yes, pounding George Lang, and 
 I am going to give you, give you let me see ; you've 
 got a watch well, sir, a new hat, sir ! " 
 
 " Oh ! is that all, Mr. Gloverson ?" 
 
 " No, sir, and a new suit of clothes besides, sir, for he 
 is the worst rascal unhung. Fifteen thousand dollars 
 out of my pocket into his infernal Dorcas mine ! " 
 
 " How in the world, Mr. Gloverson ! Why, that's what 
 he ruined poor Schmerling with. I have all the stock 
 in rny own name Lang must have robbed Karl to the 
 amount of twenty thousand .dollars. Why did you not 
 tell me about this before, and I could have warned you ? " 
 
 20 
 
306 GLOVERSON 
 
 Mr. Gloverson was confused. " You see, Dixon," fal- 
 tered the old gentleman, at length, " this thing has been 
 going on some time. I didn't take much stock at first, 
 but but then my judgment was implicated, and so I 
 in fact, I paid a heap of assessments to back up my 
 judgment, and when the stock fell, I bought it all up. 
 The mine, Dixon, has never been developed, Dixon, and 
 you and I, sir, at this day, I believe, own the whole of it." 
 
 " As for any real value," rejoined Amos, with a smile, 
 " apart from a memento of Karl, I would willingly make 
 you a present of my interest." 
 
 " You shan't do it, Dixon. What, sir, is fifteen thou- 
 sand dollars to my judgment? " 
 
 They regarded each other in silence. The blank con- 
 fusion suddenly disappeared from Mr. Gloverson's face 
 as he said, " Dixon, sir, you think, probably, that my 
 judgment has gone back on me ? " 
 
 " In this one instance, Mr. Gloverson, it might have 
 done so without " 
 
 " That reminds me, sir," interrupted the resolute 
 Andrew, laying violent hands on his hat, " that I never 
 will go back on my own judgment, sir. Never, sir; I'll 
 be d d if I do ! " said Mr. Gloverson, as he rolled pre- 
 cipitately out of the door and out ofjsight. 
 
 Amos could now resume the train of thought so queerly 
 interrupted, and it was not long till he, too, had left the 
 countTng-house. For some reason, not definitely expli- 
 cable to himself, he took stealthily to by-streets, going a 
 good deal out of his way to reach a certain imposing edi- 
 fice in a retired part of the city. 
 
 Having rung the bell, Amos employed himself, while 
 waiting, in reading the large door-plate : " SEMINARY OP 
 FASHION, BY Miss DE LA PIERRE." 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. . 307 
 
 A pursuit from which his attention was suddenly 
 
 distracted by many girlish screams, and the clatter of* 
 multitudinous feet, in full retreat, evidently up a stair- 
 way, on the inside of the house, not far from the door. 
 
 " Oh, tews ! What is it ? What is it ? Shall I faint 
 or call the police ? " was heard immediately after, issuing 
 from some one in the interior of the edifice, and obvi- 
 ously approaching. " Young ladies, go to your rooms, 
 instantly." 
 
 The manner in which this mandate was obeyed, was 
 the next moment apparent to Amos; for, as the door 
 opened, a brilliant group of young heads was disclosed, 
 peering down at him from the top of the staircase. 
 
 " Come right into the parlor, sir," said the same voice 
 that Amos had heard. " You may have a daughter, sir ? 
 or I should say a sister, sir? Hem, I am Miss de la 
 Pierre. Your card, sir ? Ah ! don't wish to give it, hem ! 
 By the way, did the Chinaman insult you ? If he did, I 
 will send him right away. I know it is not fashionable 
 to have Chinamen about the house, and, as soon as our 
 arrangements are satisfactorily completed, I can promise 
 my patrons that I will employ nothing but maid-servants 
 of the strictest morality." 
 
 While Miss de la Pierre had thus rattled on, she had 
 conducted Amos into the parlor, motioned him to a seat, 
 and taken another in front of him. 
 
 " As to the Chinaman," replied Amos, staving off the 
 business at hand till he could collect himself, " I believe 
 I did not see him at all. In fact, I am sure that he did 
 not come to the door." 
 
 " Oh, laws ! " exclaimed Miss de la Pierre (formerly 
 of Vermont) whose real name, Miss Stone, had been 
 thus Gallicized for business, and fashion's sake, " Oh 
 
308 GLOVERSON 
 
 laws me ! shall I ever attain to my fleeting beau-ideal of 
 moral maid-servants ? " and Amos observed that even 
 little Miss de la Pierre's curl-papers quivered with the 
 strength of her emotion. 
 
 Mr. Dixon now began to lead up to business, by say- 
 ing that . he had not exactly any daughter or sister, but 
 he thought he could be of benefit to Miss de la Pierre's 
 institution. Really, Miss de la Pierre was very sorry, 
 but then she did not employ gentlemen teachers. It 
 wasn't exactly that ; it was about Miss Clayton that he 
 had called. 
 
 Now, from Miss de la Pierre's face, it was obvious that 
 she had been in the world quite a measure of years, but 
 her wrinkles spoke more of disappointment than of sus- 
 picion and the kindred worldly virtues. This may ac- 
 count for the fact that Miss de la Pierre did not observe 
 the thieving expression of Amos's countenance, as he 
 pronounced Miss Clayton's name. 
 
 u Oh ! Miss Clayton, I remember her perfectly. I am 
 so sorry that tl e times are so hard, and then, her inex- 
 perience, that, i sally, I could not employ her. It is truly 
 too bad ; she would be such an example to my fashion- 
 able young ladies. Her appearance, I must say, is quite 
 distingue and comme ilfaut, as we say in the language of 
 la belle France then her music ; but laws me," said 
 Miss de la Pierre, brushing back her curl-papers, " how 
 tardy I am getting with my afternoon toilet, of late ! 
 You will excuse my appearance, I hope, sir ? " 
 
 " Certainly, Miss de la Pierre, but but, can you keep 
 a secret ? " 
 
 Miss de la Pierre's curl-papers quivered again. She 
 had made the only change in her name that she now ever 
 hoped for ; but romance was her last love the only 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 309 
 
 love, indeed, that had ever been returned to her. " A 
 secret, sir ! " and the little creature drew her chair nearer 
 to Amos. " May I ask your name, sir ? " 
 
 " That is not what I wanted to reveal, madam, but there 
 is certain money in my hands at the disposal of Miss 
 Clayton which, in fact, according to my view of right," 
 here Amos looked more like a thief than ever " be- 
 longs to Miss Clayton. Employ her here, and look to 
 me for the salary. She must know nothing about me, 
 or the arrangement, or she would not like to enter into 
 it, because she does not know that I owe it to her ; and, 
 you see, she is very honorable." 
 
 Amos looked anything but honorable himself, when he 
 had concluded this speech. 
 
 " Yes, oh laws, yes ! " said Miss de la Pierre, formerly 
 Stone, of Vermont, utterly absorbed in the growing ro- 
 mance. 
 
 " Well, then," began Mr. Dixon, resolving at first to 
 dedicate his entire salary ; restraining himself, however, 
 on second thoughts, from a fear of betraying himself to 
 Amelia, " well, then, would a hundred dollars a month be 
 too little ? " 
 
 " Oh laws, no ! She wouldn't get fifty anywhere." 
 
 " Let us taper it down a little, Miss de la Pierre, just 
 for appearance' sake say ninety dollars a month." 
 
 " She would suspect, oh laws ! she would suspect." 
 
 " Eighty dollars, then." 
 
 " Too much, sir, too much." 
 
 " She must have eighty dollars," and the determina- 
 tion in Amos's face drove away for a second or so the 
 thieving look. " She shall have eighty dollars. Think 
 of her of her music, and her her music ! " ex- 
 claimed Amos, as he became confused and thievish 
 
310 GLOVERSON 
 
 again. " A day laborer," concluded he, " gets more than 
 eighty dollars a month for the days he works." 
 
 " Too true, too true, and too bad," rejoined Miss de la 
 Pierre, now on one of her congenial and favorite topics. 
 " Talent and learning and the fine arts are not paid in 
 this sublunary sphere. Their millennium is in the breasts 
 of the few breasts," said Miss de la Pierre sadly, 
 " which always have empty pockets in this world. If it 
 were not for my hair," continued Miss de la Pierre, ar- 
 ranging her curls, from which she had, by this time, 
 stealthily abstracted the papers and deposited them un- 
 der her apron, "if it were not for my hair, and if my 
 woman's strength were adequate, I have often thought 
 I would go to carrying a hod, a great, heavy, inartistic, 
 unfashionable hod, sir ; " and Miss de la Pierre watched 
 the impression of this remark, which she had before now 
 made with great effect to parents and guardians who 
 grumbled at her bills, which (for fashion's sake) were 
 not always trifles. 
 
 " Well," said Amos, " here are the eighty dollars. 
 "Will you give them to her ? " 
 
 " On principle," replied little Miss de la Pierre, " on 
 aesthetic principle, I think I will, though I may have 
 to quarrel with my French and ornamental wax lady, 
 Madame Du Ligne-Mouchebourg, whose name, by the 
 way, is a great card, as you see. However," concluded 
 Miss de la Pierre, " it can be given out that Miss Clay- 
 ton has been employed at great expense, because she has 
 once moved in high circles, and so forth, and so forth, 
 you know." 
 
 " Anything, anything," said Amos, paying over the 
 first month's salary in advance, looking more and more 
 like a thief all the time, and enjoining so much secrecy 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 311 
 
 upon Miss de la Pierre, nee Stone, that the sentimento- 
 worldly little woman felt sure there must be some un- 
 derlying romance in this matter, which, sooner or later, 
 would be unraveled at her own seminary, thereby giving 
 it the most valuable advertisement and most fashionable 
 standing. 
 
 " Will she wish to board here, sir ? " asked Miss de la 
 Pierre. 
 
 " No, I think not. In fact, I know that the state of 
 her mother's health will make it necessary for her to be 
 at home as much as possible. And you will let her go 
 as often as she wants to," said Arnos, rising to depart, 
 " and never speak cross to her, and help t her at first, 
 and " - 
 
 " Oh laws me, yes ! She shall be her own mistress, 
 her own mistress. From her pleasant face, I must think 
 our dispositions are just alike, to say nothing of our com- 
 plexions, or the shades of our hair ; " and so delighted 
 was Miss de la Pierre with the clear profits of this valu- 
 able acquisition to the " Seminary of Fashion," that she 
 still kept her seat, running over dreamily the headings 
 of the fashionable note she should write to Miss Clayton, 
 that very evening: how circumstances had fortunately 
 transpired, since the occasion on which Miss de la Pierre 
 had had the honor of meeting Miss Clayten, to make it 
 Miss de la Pierre's duty and pleasure to solicit the at- 
 tendance of Miss Clayton on the following morning. 
 Miss de la Pierre would then be able to offer for Miss 
 Clayton's gracious acceptance the monthly salary of 
 eighty dollars, in gold coin, and board " board," mused 
 Miss de la Pierre, " yes, certainly ; it's a duty that I 
 owe to aesthetics; certainly, though of course she will not 
 take it. Oh laws, sir ! " almost shrieked Miss de la 
 
312 GLOVERSON 
 
 Pierre, " where are my manners, to have kept you stand- 
 ing there so long ! Let me show you out, sir. 
 
 What.on earth ! " exclaimed the little woman, as she and 
 her visitor had reached the hall door, " Will I ever re- 
 cover from the shock ? " 
 
 Very loud giggling was heard from the head of the 
 stairs. Miss de la Pierre turned and confronted about 
 twenty blooming young faces, that were hastily rubbing 
 against one another, in the attempt to get out of sight; 
 and a perfect silver shower of laughter, falling every 
 once in a while from this little spring sky, drowned the 
 terrible words of Miss de la Pierre, from everybody but 
 Amos. "Young ladies," said she, "did I not tell you 
 to go to your rooms ? You are guilty of disobedience. 
 There shall not be a pickle put upon the table for the 
 next week ! And that is not all. You are every one of 
 you guilty of an offense against good breeding, and 
 and fashion. You have been laughing at a visitor! " 
 
 Amos, who had been standing with his hat in his hand, 
 waiting to bid the little lady good afternoon, did not seem 
 to be abashed at all by this allusion to himself. He 
 only glanced knowingly from a roseate face, just then 
 peering over the balusters, down to the -carpet of the 
 hall floor, where Miss de la Pierre's curl-papers hud 
 been strown, like sibylline leaves, unconsciously by that 
 prim lady, as she had taken her stately course through 
 the hall. 
 
 " Never mind, sir," said Miss de la Pierre, who had 
 quite forgotten that she had concealed her curl-papers 
 under her apron, " never mind, sir," as she turned to bow 
 Amos out, "I am as much amazed as you are, sir, by this 
 extraordinary insubordination ; and they shall suffer for it. 
 Deprivation of pickles, as you may not be aware, is the 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 313 
 
 worst punishment that can be inflicted upon the inmates 
 of a fashionable seminary." 
 
 " Good afternoon, Miss de la Pierre," said Amos. 
 
 " Not a pickle for a week, young ladies, do you hear ? " 
 for the infuriate little woman was shaking her fist at the 
 offenders. " Not a pickle oh laws ! good afternoon, 
 sir. Call again, pray, when I assure you, sir, the repu- 
 tation of this house for good-breeding and fashion shall 
 be sustained. Good afternoon, sir." 
 
 And Amos left little Miss de la Pierre to her pupils 
 and her curl-papers. 
 
 The next day was Friday. Toward the afternoon, Amos 
 grew very nervous. He would look up occasionally and 
 catch Mr. Gloverson eying him stealthily. Then Mr. Glov- 
 erson would look up and find Amos eying him stealthily. 
 This was, as they both well knew, the afternoon on which 
 Amelia was accustomed to visit Aunty Owen. 
 
 " Dixon, sir," said Mr. Gloverson, at last, " I can't 
 stand this thing any longer ; besides, I have got to go 
 to go across the Bay, sir, to dinner. Excuse me to the 
 angel, and tell her, sir, that I am desperate, sir, and that 
 I am going to call at her house, sometime or other, sir." 
 
 " Mr. Gloverson, why not go with me to Aunty Owen's ? 
 There is no need of jealousy in this affair." 
 
 " Dixon, you be d d. God bless you both ! You 
 know you want to be alone. Good-by till to-morrow ; 
 Dixon, sir, good-by." 
 
 And as soon as Mr. Gloverson was out of sight, Amos 
 went as straight up Telegraph Hill as he could climb. 
 
 There sat Aunty Owen at the window, looking out 
 upon the distant Pacific, still plying her needle, and re- 
 peating to herself at the same listless intervals, " Henry 
 is coming, Henry is coming ! " 
 
314 GLOVERSON 
 
 Amos tried to lead her into conversation, but she 
 would only look him in the face and then smile, as she 
 said, " Henry likes you, Henry likes you," invariably re- 
 suming her needle in silence. 
 
 Amelia could not yet have arrived, but Dixon noticed 
 that the flowers in the vase on the bureau were fresh, 
 and that there was a little rose lying by the side of the 
 vase. " I will put this back in its place," thought Amos, 
 rising and walking toward it, when, lo ! the little rose 
 was attached to a pretty white envelope, bearing his own 
 address. This was the first time Amos had ever seen 
 Amelia's writing, yet he was sure that nobody but so 
 glorious a being could have done anything so elegant. 
 He believed, then, he would have known her handwrit- 
 ing if he had seen it on Mount Caucasus. 
 
 Alas ! the light of love is a refraction, rather than a re- 
 flection. Before now, it has made fools of philosophers, 
 and philosophers of fools. How wise it is that Love is 
 represented as an infant ! Are not lovers always young ? 
 
 " My dear Mr Dixon," read Amos, and then sat down 
 to wait till the words, " My dear Mr. Dixon," should stop 
 ringing in his ears. They would stop and commence 
 again, so that the poor fellow had actually read the note 
 twice through before he grasped the contents at all. 
 Amelia did not know, so the writing averred, what Mr. 
 Dixon ( " My dear Mr. Dixon, my dear Mr. Dixon," said 
 Mr. Dixon's ears) would think of getting a note from 
 her, but still she was anxious that he should try and 
 make Aunty Owen understand that she (Amelia) would 
 come to Telegraph Hill as soon as she could here 
 Amos paused to accuse himself of great neglect and for- 
 getfulness ; and to resolve, also, that he would speak to 
 Miss de la Pierre and have it distinctly understood that 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 315 
 
 Miss Clayton should be allowed to go to Telegraph Hill 
 just as often as she wanted to. " For," thought he, "of 
 course it would be too bad, not to have her come on her 
 usual afternoons, because because Aunty Owen would 
 certainly miss her, and want to see her very much." 
 
 Amos resumed the reading of the note. " Besides, 
 Mr. Dixon ( ' My dear Mr. Dixon, my dear Mr. Dixon,' 
 again quoth Amos's ears), a great good fortune has come 
 upon me, and I could not help telling you of it, without 
 delay. I thought, may be, too, you would like to know 
 it. At any rate, I am so happy now that I must tell you 
 all about it." Here followed details which Amos, de- 
 spite the ringing in his ears, read over and over again, 
 not because they conveyed anything to him about the 
 " Seminary of Fashion " which he did not know or had 
 not expected, but because Amelia had written it. 
 
 Amos might have been a base deceiver in this little 
 matter, and he sometimes thought he was ; yet one thing 
 is sure he made the descent of Telegraph Hill, that 
 afternoon, very, very happy indeed, for a culprit. 
 
316 GLOVERSON 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 AT THE GRAVE. 
 
 THE first fog of summer was coming in, through the 
 same pathway between the hills that the sun had taken 
 on its course outward to the Pacific. It was a raw even- 
 ing, wet and cold, as such evenings are. The candle- 
 light at Aunty Owen's window did not penetrate far into 
 the mist, which covered Telegraph Hill like a pall. She 
 could not see the ocean which was to restore her lost 
 boy ; so she could not ply her needle. 
 
 As she sat uneasily peering out into the darkness, 
 something passed quickly across the little track of light 
 that streamed out of the window. At this window she 
 would never suffer a curtain to be put up. It might 
 have been another fold of the mist rolling itself closer 
 against the little tenement, or she might not have seen 
 it ; at least, she still sat vainly looking for the sea, as if 
 nothing had passed before her. 
 
 A slight knock came at the door. " A gun, a gun ! " 
 exclaimed Aunty Owen, reaching for her shawl. " Henry 
 is coming ! " The door opened. " Not yet, not yet ! " 
 she said, with a sigh, and sunk back into her chair. 
 
 There entered a tall figure, muffled in the blue over- 
 coat and cape worn by the United States soldiery. The 
 face was almost concealed by a superabundance of dark 
 whiskers. " Good evening, madam," observed the stran- 
 ger, in a smooth voice, helping himself to a seat. Aunty 
 Owen looked silently out of the window. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 317 
 
 " I have frequently heard about you, and your misfor- 
 tune, madam, and I have come to offer you what help I 
 can. I trust you will allow me to add a little to what 
 Mr. Dixon has done for you." 
 
 " Henry is coming, Henry is coming ! " said Aunty 
 Owen in her listless way. 
 
 "Here is a little purse for you," the stranger said, 
 reaching it to her. 
 
 " For Henry ? oh yes ; " and she seemed to her visitor 
 to notice him for the first time. She took the money and 
 put it away in the bureau. 
 
 After this a vain attempt was made to lead the old 
 lady into conversation. She was plied in many different 
 ways, but made her usual answers, always, as it were, 
 through her dead son. The visitor almost despairing, at 
 last, resolved to humor her insanity, and to appeal, if 
 possible, to the well-known craftiness of persons so 
 afflicted. 
 
 " Henry will come," pursued the stranger, " when you 
 have done what I ask of you. Put this in the water 
 when Mr. Dixon asks you for a drink, after coming up 
 the hill." 
 
 " In the water ? oh yes, in the water. I will put it 
 there now," said Aunty Owen, extending her hand for 
 the little vial which her visitor held up before her. 
 
 " No, no, madam, it would kill you ! " 
 
 "Kill! kill? kill?" Aunty Owen seemed to be wan- 
 dering. 
 
 " Yes ; if you drank it you would die ; you would be 
 dead." 
 
 " Dead ! dead ? drowned ? No, no, he is not drowned. 
 Henry is coming, Henry is coming ! " 
 
 " Curse her craziness," muttered the tall man, as Aunty 
 
318 GLOVERSON 
 
 Owen again peered silently out into the darkness, looking 
 for the sea. " Yes," continued he aloud, " Henry is 
 corning ! " 
 
 " Where ? Do you see the steamer ? I cannot see the 
 water, I cannot see the water." 
 
 " Henry cannot come till you have given some of this 
 to Mr. Dixon, in the water to drink. Mr. Dixon has 
 Henry hidden away. When he is dead, Henry will come. 
 Here now," said the stranger impatiently, " will you put 
 this into the water, and offer Mr. Dixon a drink, when 
 he comes?" 
 
 " The water, the water, the sea, the stars ! yes, the wa- 
 ter, I see it, I see it ! " and the poor creature was in an 
 ecstasy of delight, for the fog was rising in the distance 
 from the Golden Gate, only to pile itself the thicker on 
 the land. 
 
 " Do you understand me ? " asked the man, still more 
 impatiently. " Will you give this to Mr. Dixon, in the 
 water ? " 
 
 Aunty Owen looked up into the bearded face that had 
 come nearer to hers in the eagerness of this last request. 
 Gazing at him restlessly for a moment, she said with a 
 strange shudder, " Henry does not like you, Henry 
 does not like you ! " and, catching up her shawl, she 
 wrapped it around her shrunken shoulders, and shivered 
 as with a sudden cold. 
 
 " I say, will you give this to Mr. Dixon, in the water ? " 
 and in his impatience the muffled figure touched her on 
 the shoulder. The poor creature seemed too frightened 
 to speak, and only shuddered again. 
 
 The man sat down in his chair, baffled. He after- 
 wards tried all manner of soothing speech, but the only 
 notice he could get Aunty Owen to take of him was to 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 319 
 
 say, at long intervals, " Henry does not like you, Henry 
 does not like you ! " 
 
 Then there was a long silence, the stranger sitting 
 muffled in his cape, and Aunty Owen crouching away 
 from him by the window, and looking anxiously toward 
 the sea, and the stars which were coming out over it. 
 
 A sudden crash was heard against the neighboring 
 rocks, and the cliff and the little house shook again. " A 
 gun, a gun ! " exclaimed Aunty Owen, rising and arrang- 
 ing her shawl over her head ; and without another 
 word, she walked past her visitor and out of the door, 
 as in a trance, her eyes bent straight ahead of her. 
 
 The next moment, the dark whiskers disappeared from 
 the cheeks and chin of the tall man, and the angry, baf- 
 fled face of George Lang stood revealed in the dim light 
 of the deserted room. 
 
 He followed Aunty Owen at a distance, up the cliff, 
 and saw her at the usual place, leaning over and waving 
 her shawl at the steamer passing below. The night was 
 yet cold and damp, and Aunty Owen's white hair was 
 streaming in the chilly wind, beneath the starlight. 
 
 As Lang turned his steps homeward, he said between 
 his teeth, " Old lady, you have forced me to take this 
 disagreeable business upon myself; you might have done 
 it without danger to either of us. Well, you have forced 
 it on me ; and if I could wish any revenge on you, as 
 well as hijn, I think this night-wind will take it for me." 
 
 The broker reached his bed, but not to sleep. So 
 vivid were the memories of the past week, that he seemed 
 to be writhing again with the pains Dixon's beating had 
 caused him. In his utter weariness, lie would sometimes 
 fall into a troubled doze, from which he would be aroused 
 by the voice of some familiar friend, telling him that 
 
320 GLOVERSON 
 
 Dixon's triumph was the town-talk. Dozing again, the 
 despairing voice of his lawyer would go over and over 
 the headings of his defense, in the great suit for fraud, 
 which was coming on. The gruff tones of the officer, 
 summoning him to appear before the court, would awake 
 him, and he would sit up in his bed and stare about him, 
 to dispel the shadows. " I cannot be well yet," thought 
 Lang, as he laid his head once more upon his pillow. 
 " Dixon shall suffer for these sufferings of mine." 
 
 With this consolation, he could doze again. Familiar 
 faces of years and years ago would look in upon him, 
 all blending finally into that of Karl. The smile on 
 Karl's face would darken into sorrow and then into an- 
 ger, and, finally, would become so fraught with an unde- 
 fined dread, and so terrible, that Lang turned his head 
 upon the pillow to escape the horror. Then he would 
 hear the music of the " Song of Friendship," and gradu- 
 ally he would see Amelia Clayton coming toward him, 
 with a lovely smile, and her hand extended. He would 
 wait in ineffable joy ; but she would pass close by him, 
 not heeding him when he would discover another 
 hand coming out to meet hers, and, as the hands met, 
 the figure of Amos Dixon would flash triumphantly into 
 sight ; and Lang would wake with a curse upon his 
 parched lips. 
 
 " Yes, Dixon must suffer for this, suffer, suffer, suffer ; " 
 and the weary half sleep came upon him again." Gradu- 
 ally a coldness began at his feet, and came in long strides 
 toward his head in long strides, and yet it seemed a 
 day before these cold footsteps reached his breast. 
 There they paused, pressing heavier and heavier. Some- 
 thing passed over the film before his eyes passed and 
 repassed. Then he saw it was the old lady of the 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 321 
 
 heights, standing ruthlessly on his breast and waving 
 
 waving at something indistinguishable in the distance. 
 Unable to bear it longer, Lang cried out in his misery, 
 
 and the old lady seemed slowly to shrink into a corner 
 of the room, where she crouched shivering and hiding 
 her face, as she had done in the little tenement. Lang 
 sat up in bed, but still he heard Aunty Owen's voice say- 
 ing, "Henry does not like you, Henry does not like 
 you!" 
 
 He sprang up and hastened to the corner whence the 
 voice seemed to proceed. Nothing was there. " What 
 kind of devil's panorama is this ? " asked Lang, attempt- 
 ing to make light of his own hallucination. " It must 
 be a sort of mental nightmare, induced by an over- 
 loaded brain." At least, he was sure it came from the 
 head and not from the stomach. Or might it not be a 
 warning for him to lose no more time ? Were not the 
 majority of deaths in California sudden ones ? Were 
 not the healthy and strong those who slipped from us 
 every day ? Yes, yes, revenge must be swift, or Dixon 
 might be removed from its reach. " Then this fullness, 
 this whirling of the head," hissed Lang, applying his 
 hands to his throbbing temples, and the strangest hallu- 
 cination of all came over him. Above the solemn din 
 in his ears, the sound of his own heart-beats rung loud, 
 and clear, and regular, like a funeral bell ; and at each 
 loud, clear, and regular beat, two shapes came and went 
 alternately before his eyes, like figures on a Swiss clock 
 
 Karl, angry and terrible ; and Amos, cahii and tri- 
 umphant. " Will daylight ever come ? " moaned Lang, 
 seating himself on his bed till the succeeding dizziness 
 had passed away. 
 
 21 
 
322 GLOVERSON 
 
 And then, having dressed himself, he walked the room 
 till morning. 
 
 The morning was a bright one for two persons of your 
 acquaintance. They hastened about their respective 
 duties, with more than ordinary cheerfulness, for they 
 were to meet at Aunty Owen's that afternoon. They had 
 a sad yet grateful duty to perform then, and they looked 
 forward to it with a sort of melancholy pleasure akin to 
 that which one feels in remembering honest tears. Amos 
 and Amelia were to go from Aunty Owen's to visit Karl's 
 grave. They were to go by the street - cars to Lone 
 Mountain. Amos had at first insisted on a carriage, but 
 Amelia suggested that they would be more at their ease, 
 and could walk more about the grounds, and take their 
 time, etc., etc., if they went in the cars. So Amos was 
 convinced, not much against his will. 
 
 Mr. Dixon happened to be at the foot of the Hill just 
 in time to assist Amelia to make the ascent, he having 
 been waiting for that purpose exactly one half hour by 
 his watch. They both commented on the strange coin- 
 cidence ; and Amos first took possession of Amelia's 
 basket, and then, detaining the hand that had been given 
 to him, by way of greeting, placed it under his arm. 
 Thus they proceeded very happily up to Aunty Owen's. 
 
 After knocking at the little tenement, they pushed the 
 door open. The chair by the window was empty. Aunty 
 Owen had not left her bed. As Amelia bent over her, 
 asking one anxious question after another, Aunty Owen 
 opened her eyes and smiled, but did not or could not 
 speak. " She is very ill," said Amelia. " She has a 
 high fever." 
 
 " Poor thing," said Amos. "She must have been out 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 323 
 
 in that cold mist last night, when the steamer came in. 
 I thought of her, when I heard the gun. I will go for a 
 doctor, and a nurse, and, and for Mr. Gloverson. He 
 would never forgive me, if I did not tell him immedi- 
 ately." 
 
 " Yes, do, Mr. Dixon ; I will stay here this afternoon," 
 and Amelia glanced at the flowers she had brought to 
 place on Karl's grave. 
 
 " "We can go," said Amos, following her eyes, " we can 
 go on some other afternoon, when Aunty Owen is well, 
 but if it would be any satisfaction to you and I know 
 it would to have these flowers go where you intended 
 to put them, why, as soon as I have been on my other 
 errands, I can carry them to Lone Mountain all the 
 same. Mr. Gloverson would be delighted to conduct 
 you home." 
 
 "You are so kind, Mr. Dixon. If you could only put 
 them on poor Karl's grave before they fade, I don't 
 know, but it seems that he would be grateful to you, 
 even in the pure heaven he must have gone to any 
 time, you know, before they fade." 
 
 " Before they fade, before they fade," repeated Amos, 
 gathering up the flowers and taking a very respectful 
 leave. When he had got out sight of the little house, 
 he thought what a fool he was for not thinking to say 
 that Karl, if he knew anything about the world below, 
 would be grateful to Amelia and not to him for this act 
 of tender remembrance. Should he return, and say it ? 
 No, Aunty Owen might be suffering for the want of 
 medical assistance. He hastened his steps, therefore, 
 and sent a doctor and a nurse and Andrew Gloverson 
 back to the aid and comfort of the unfortunate old lady. 
 
 " These flowers," thought Amos, " I can just as well 
 
324 GLOVERSON 
 
 take out there now, * Before they fade, before they fade.' 
 They may fade before to-morrow. I will walk to Lone 
 Mountain and ride back. One thinks better walking." 
 
 And Mr. Dixon did think. It did not seem a long 
 walk, yet the sun was down and the evening coming on, 
 when he reached the cemetery. It was nearly dark as 
 he left the grave, for he had been thinking there, too. 
 He may have dropped a tear or so among the flowers 
 he strewed upon the green mound ; but the world is not 
 over sentimental, and it may be well for the reputation 
 of Amos that this part of his history is obscured by the 
 growing darkness of that late twilight. 
 
 As he turned homewards, a muffled figure issued from 
 behind a neighboring monument and stole hastily to the 
 spot Amos had left. It seemed to be the purpose of 
 this figure to follow after Dixon, for it passed hastily 
 around the grave, groping its hand quickly through the 
 flowers, as in search of something. Finally it stooped 
 over the head-stone, where " KARL VON SCHMERLING " 
 was yet legible, in large letters. Then there was a wild 
 shriek, and the figure fell headlong over the grave. 
 
 Amos heard it and turned back. Beneath the blue 
 military coat and cape, and the bushy, dark whiskers, he 
 recognized the senseless body of George Lang. 
 
 The tombstone had given Lang the first intelligence 
 of Karl's death, and he had fallen upon the dust of the 
 man he had ruined, stricken by the terrible affliction 
 which, unawares to him, had been long threatening, and 
 of whose premonitory symptoms he had, the night before, 
 mistaken the warning. George Lang was paralyzed. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 325 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 AT THE ALTAR. 
 
 
 
 IN the mean time, Mr. Nelson Shallop and Miss So- 
 phia Garr had not been idle. That lady repeatedly asked 
 herself if it was a dream, or was it, at last, the long-sought 
 ingot of a husband ? It could be no vision ; Mr. Shallop 
 was so attentive, prompt, and business-like. - " He may 
 not weigh one hundred and fifty pounds," mused the cal- 
 culating Sophia, " but he is certainly worth his weight 
 in gold in American gold coin, which he has laid 
 up!" 
 
 " The committee of Cherubim," wrote Miss Garr to a 
 friend in Maine on her monogrammed paper " the 
 committee of Cherubim to which the business must be 
 delegated (for I like delegated authority in heaven where 
 matches are made), if called upon at this moment, would 
 certainly report progress." The fanciful as well as con- 
 fused manner in which this announcement was made, is 
 probably the best testimony to its truth. If any farther 
 proof were necessary, the following correspondence would 
 put the activity of those cherubim beyond the shadow of 
 a doubt : 
 
326 GLOVEUSON 
 
 FFICE OF 
 
 STOCK AND MONEY BROKER, 
 
 MONTGOMERY STREET. 
 
 Highest Gold Prices for U. S. Currency and Govern- 
 ment Securities of all kinds. 
 
 " SAN FRANCISCO, May 22. 
 "Miss S. GARR: 
 
 " D'r Mad'na, Yours of this morning is rec'd & contents 
 noted. 
 
 " Will you marry on terms stated at last meeting ? If so, 
 when ? Respectfully, N. SHALLOP." 
 
 The answer to this filled the last of Miss Garr's mono- 
 grammed paper. In what happier service, indeed, could 
 this expensive luxury have been ended ? 
 
 " SAN FRANCISCO, May 23. 
 
 " MY OWN SWEET ONE, You are right, and the Consti- 
 tution of the State of California is wrong. A wife should hold 
 no property away from her husband. On the nuptial morn, the 
 three thousand dollars, my little earnings, shall be deposited in 
 your name at the lank. I defer it till then as a sort of surprise 
 to you my wedding present with an untrammeled heart, that 
 never loved before, so that all shall be joyous on that blissful 
 morn. 
 
 " Will theirs/ of June be soon enough, my dear? That is 
 the first day of school vacation. Why should we delay f Not 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. - 327 
 
 for the expense surely. We need not get any wedding clothes. 
 I shall be married in a plain travelling dress and no cards. We 
 can take our wedding tour across the Bay, on the ferry-boat. 
 Then you can come over to business every day, during the 
 honeymoon, just the same, and not lose your salary. You see I 
 am not selfish. 
 
 " Dear Nelson, you must not \)& jealous of that old designing 
 scoundrel, Gloverson. I have very properly rebuffed him, telling 
 him that my affections are engaged. I have reason to believe 
 that he does not come to see me any longer, but Amelia. How 
 many lovers will that designing girl have ? Well, after mar- 
 riage, I shall be removed from such associations. That will be 
 one consolation at least. 
 
 " Let the Jirst of June, therefore, be the day of our destiny. 
 I sigh for it, and it reminds me of a piece of poetry which I can 
 never remember: Beneath the sylvan tents of June.' Is it not 
 beautiful ? Do you know the rest of it V If you do, I think it 
 apropos to our sad-joyful case. I never can think of it. Adieu. 
 " Tout a toi, SOPHIA." 
 
 MR. NELSON SHALLOP'S REPLY. 
 
 FF1 C E OF 
 
 GEORGE L_A.]Sra, 
 
 STOCK AND MONEY BROKER, 
 
 MONTGOMERY STREET. 
 
 t^iT Highest Gold Prices for U. S. Currency and Govern' 
 ment Securities of all kinds. 
 
 " SAN FRANCISCO, CAL., May 24. 
 "Miss S. GARR: 
 
 " D'r Mad'm, .Yours of 23d inst. is rec'd & contents noted. 
 1st of June, prox., will suit, provided a certificate of deposit, 
 
328 GLOVERSON 
 
 pay'ble to my order is deliv'd into my hands on that morn'g 
 prior to performance of ceremony. 
 
 " Hop'g this will'meet your approbation, I am, 
 
 " Y'rs truly, 
 
 " N. SHALLOP." 
 
 From the date of this epistle to the morning appointed 
 for his nuptials, Mr. Shallop is a candidate for the reader's 
 sympathies. He had no time to look forward to the 
 splendors of his triumph, for he was harassed well-nigh 
 to death by the trial of the case for fraud, in which he 
 had to act for his invalid employer. 
 
 The tide seemed going against Lang till the pow- 
 erful testimony of Nelson Shallop was brought in. By 
 the aid of the office books and some awful perjuries, the 
 crisp little clerk established that Lang had been the 
 heaviest loser in the " Jones and Robinson " stock. So, 
 if the broker had made a mistake in the disposal of the 
 money accruing from the sale of the Clayton property, it 
 was an honest mistake of judgment, which had also well- 
 nigh resulted in his own ruin. There could be no ques- 
 tion of his legal right to sell, for the full powers of 
 attorney were offered and rather ostentatiously, too 
 for the inspection of the court and jury. The late great 
 rise in the " Green Lion " was well known. That had 
 been the financial redemption of George Lang. 
 
 The case was argued long and well on both sides ; 
 Mr. Archibald Beanson, as junior counsel for the plain- 
 tiff, having made his famous first speech before a jury. 
 The stock excitement, however, had ruined so many, and 
 the broker had laid his plans so comprehensively, that 
 the jury could do nothing but render a verdict for the 
 defendant. 
 
 It was Mr. Shallop, himself, who bore the glad news to 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 329 
 
 Mr. Lang. As the clerk entered, the broker was moving 
 slowly about his room, swearing that he would work off 
 the miserable torpor which had seized his limbs. 
 
 " The suit's won ! " said Shallop. 
 
 " Good, good ! Give the lawyers a supper ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes, Mr. Lang, but it was my testimony that 
 saved you. Come, what shall I give myself? " 
 
 " Well, what does this mean, sir ? What do you want ? " 
 
 Mr. Shallop in fact had an unusual look about his face, 
 which Lang did not at all like. The cast in the little 
 clerk's eye was never before so expressive. 
 
 " What do I want ? " said Nelson. " I don't want to 
 perjure myself for nothing, and I won't." 
 
 " You seem bent on quarreling, sir. Do you think you 
 can take advantage of me now because of this accursed 
 affliction ? You ought to know me better." 
 
 " Do you think, Mr. Lang, I am going to run state 
 prison risks for you, without big pay for it ? " 
 
 " Did I ever ask you to, you lunatic ? Come, what has 
 got into you ? I will give you any reasonable reward." 
 
 " Ah ! you will, will you ? Now let us see. You know 
 those deeds of the Clayton house which we exchanged ? " 
 
 *' I do, sir," said Lang, " and when you have given me 
 the deed of that property which I made to you, I will 
 restore you the one which you made to me ; and then I 
 will allow you such a reward for your services as no 
 reasonable man would complain of." 
 
 Mr. Shallop did now what he rarely or never did. He 
 laughed. 
 
 " Have you lost your wits, Nelson ? " demanded the 
 broker. 
 
 " Have you lost yours, Mr. Lang ? " 
 
 " No, sir, by the powers, and you will find out that I 
 have not, if you keep on, sir." 
 
330 GLOVERSON 
 
 " So much the better, Mr. Lang," quoth Nelson. 
 " Then you can understand that I am going to keep your 
 deed of the Clayton house, and pocket the proceeds of 
 the sale myself. You have made enough off this opera- 
 tion, and I have done your work long enough. That's 
 all, sir ; I thought I'd let you know." 
 
 " Are you crazy, sir ?" and Lang placed himself before 
 the door. . 
 
 "Not a bit of it, Mr. George Lang. In proof of 
 which assertion, Mr. Lang, I give you leave to keep my 
 deed of the Clayton house to you. I don't fear your 
 using it much. We are a leetle too intimate with each 
 other's affairs, Mr. Lang. By the way, you can open 
 your office yourself to-morrow morning. As for me, 
 I am going to marry and settle down in some paying 
 business of my own." 
 
 " You dog, you would not dare to talk so, if it were 
 not for this paralysis. I will go down to my office to- 
 morrow, and, if I do not find you there " 
 
 Nelson here pushed the speaker easily aside and passed 
 out. Lang came near having another stroke of apoplexy, 
 so intense was his rage. 
 
 The next morning the broker was driven down to his 
 office, but Shallop did not appear. " Does the fool imag- 
 ine his ruin was not plotted from the first ? I have led 
 him to think he was my mentor. Another train was 
 laid for him. Well, the case is desperate. I must make 
 a virtue of necessity, and regain my own good name with 
 the world, making away with him at the same time. One 
 sacrifice will do both. Amelia shall see me the theme 
 of public praise, and must join in it, in her own despite." 
 These thoughts, and the congenial pressure of business 
 seemed to revive Lang. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 331 
 
 It was Mr. Shallop's wedding morning, and the little 
 gentleman had risen early. He partook of a hearty 
 breakfast, making his plans for the day over the Eastern 
 stock quotations of the morning paper, which he read 
 from habit. Then he hurried forth, and found himself 
 going hastily toward Lang's office, also from habit. 
 Checking himself, he turned toward the bank, where 
 Miss Garr had agreed that morning to have the three 
 thousand dollars payable to his order. The bank was 
 not yet open. He caught sight of the porter, however, 
 to whom Mr. Lang's clerk was well known. 
 
 " Ah ! here," said Mr. Shallop, " put that two-and-a- 
 half in your pocket. It may help you to make haste in 
 an errand you will be sent on this morning. Has the 
 teller arrived ? " 
 
 The teller had arrived, and Shallop was allowed to 
 speak with him a moment. The result of their confer- 
 ence was an agreement that before eleven o'clock, the 
 porter should be despatched to the church where the 
 nuptials were to take place, with a note from the teller 
 informing Mr. Shallop of the fulfillment or non-fulfill- 
 ment of Miss Garr's part of the marriage contract. 
 
 On his way from the bank, Mr. Shallop came very 
 near turning into the familiar street which should lead 
 him to Lang's office, but the idea of his toilet suggesting 
 itself, he had no further difficulty in getting back to his 
 lodging. 
 
 Miss Garr's preparations had been deliberate. Four 
 afternoons had been exhausted, alone, in the purchase of 
 the travelling dress of gray poplin, in which she was to 
 lose her name, and (by a pleasant fiction) her identity. 
 Fastidiousness about the price, rather than the pattern, 
 compelled a complete pilgrimage of all the cheap shops 
 
332 GLOVERSON 
 
 in the city. Then the fitting and the making "a piece 
 of delegated authority," said Miss Sophia, " that I do not 
 like " was another matter which also exhausted some 
 time, and much temper ; for, the bride, as she liked to 
 call herself, acting as her own mantua-maker, could not 
 achieve the proper juvenile slope to the salient points of 
 her own shoulders. In her vexation she was forced, at 
 last, to employ a widow, who had a small family of six 
 children, and who had seen better times. It might have 
 been for this aristocratic consideration that Miss Garr 
 allowed her about half the ordinary wages for such ser- 
 vice. 
 
 But the question of bridesmaids was the one which 
 caused Miss Garr the greatest fluttering, and, at last, the 
 greatest chagrin. She had at first asked two or three 
 lady teachers of her acquaintance, but none of them felt 
 called upon by a friendship which they did not feel, and 
 with many excuses, each of them positively refused. 
 Mrs. Leadbetter announced her willingness to act, were 
 it not for "circumstances over which she now had no 
 control," she having been a bride herself some ten years 
 before. Miss Garr then attempted to bribe the poor 
 woman who had seen better times ; but said that honor- 
 able though reduced lady, " I have too much respect for 
 my six small children to attempt to palm myself off for 
 a bridesmaid. I may be poor, but I am not a maiden, 
 madam." 
 
 Of course it had been intimated to Amelia, more than 
 once, that as a particular favor, she would be allowed to 
 stand up with her old instructress, on the most trying oc- 
 casion of her life. Amelia had taken no notice whatever 
 of this benevolence, but had of late invariably left the 
 room when Mr. Shallop called ; aware, as she was, of the 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 333 
 
 important part that gentleman had taken in the late 
 disastrous trial. 
 
 This last misfortune Amelia had carefully concealed 
 from her invalid mother, and it was probably a desire 
 still to keep her ignorant on that score, that had pre- 
 vented the indignant daughter from having a final rup- 
 ture with Miss Garr. 
 
 Mrs. Clayton had come down to the parlor on the wed- 
 ding morning of her old friend from the State of Maine. 
 Sophia was anxious that Mrs. Clayton, at least, should 
 drive up to the church in the family carriage, to add eclat 
 to the great event. " My dear Mrs. Clayton," said her 
 amiable friend, " it may be the last time you will get to 
 ride in the carriage before it is sold." 
 
 At this allusion to an approaching calamity, Mrs. Clay- 
 ton turned deathly pale. Amelia rose quickly, and dart- 
 ing a menacing look at Sophia, passed very close to her 
 on her way to Mrs. Clayton. " Mother," said Amelia, 
 smoothing the excited tremor out of her voice, as well as 
 she could, " had not you better retire to your room till 
 Miss Garr has started to the church ? Come, do ; bid 
 her good-by now, and I will come after you when the ex- 
 citement is over, and we will walk on the lawn." 
 
 " Oh, let her stay a little while longer, dearest Amelia," 
 said the Garr, returning the daughter's threatening look 
 with interest. " That is right, Mrs. Clayton, my old 
 friend. I should be so lonesome without you, on this 
 trying occasion." 
 
 " I will stay here a little longer, Sophia ; but you must 
 excuse me from going to the church. I will bid you good- 
 by before the bridegroom comes, and retire then." 
 
 Amelia and Miss Garr eyed each other not very 
 lovingly. " That reminds me, dearest Amelia," observed 
 
334 GLOVERSON 
 
 Miss Sophia, following up her victory, still fighting over 
 Mrs. Clayton's body, as it were, and over the secret 
 Amelia was struggling to conceal, " that reminds me, 
 dearest Amelia, that I am sadly in need of a bridesmaid, 
 and I would like and in fact I almost insist (here Miss 
 Garr's hard, sharp eyes travelled hastily from Amelia to 
 her mother, and back to Amelia, becoming brighter with 
 the threat intensified) that you, my favorite pupil, shall 
 just jump into the carriage and stand up with me. It 
 will not take a moment, you know, and I begin to get so 
 nervous, as you can plainly see, that I must make it to 
 you as my last command. I am ready, and you don't 
 need the least preparation. Nelson will be along soon, 
 now." 
 
 " What do you think about it, my daughter ? " asked 
 Mrs. Clayton. 
 
 This considerate tenderness on the part of her helpless 
 parent almost unnerved Amelia, such a change had been 
 wrought in Mrs. Clayton. Before the great shock of 
 their misfortunes, it would have been a petulant com- 
 mand. Mrs. Clayton had been led to hope that the 
 law would restore everything. Amelia had only confided 
 her own hopes to her mother at the commencement of 
 the trial. Now she could not ' she dared not tell Mrs. 
 Clayton the disastrous truth, at least till that poor 
 woman should have become stronger. What wonder, 
 then, if Amelia did hesitate* a moment between her fear 
 lest Miss Garr, in revenge, should disclose all suddenly, 
 and her indignation at this base dallying with a life, for 
 so trivial and selfish a purpose ? 
 
 " My daughter, will you not say ? What do you think 
 of Miss Garr's request ? " 
 
 " That I cannot, mother that I will not, Miss Garr ! " 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 335 
 
 / 
 
 was Amelia's determined reply, as she turned quickly, 
 from one to the other. 
 
 " You shall, Miss ! " shrieked Sophia. " It may be be- 
 cause you are jealous and spiteful, since it isn't you who 
 is going to get married ; or it may be that you want to 
 make me cry on my wedding-day, so that I may not look 
 young and beautiful ; and it may be, Miss, and my dear 
 friend, Mrs. Clayton, I might as well tell you, for she 
 never will, that it is because " 
 
 " Thank Heaven, mother, the carriage has come, and 
 he is at the door. You must not stand here to give 
 countenance to a false-hearted swindler. Come, mother, 
 quick, quick ! " and so excited and flurried became poor 
 Mrs. Clayton, that Amelia had her out of the room be- 
 fore Miss Garr could complete the proposed revelation, 
 or bid good-by to her old friend from the State of Maine. 
 
 The only luxury observable about Mr. Shallop's attire 
 was a new pair of white kid gloves. They might have 
 been white cotton, which would certainly have been 
 cheaper. This much he thought. They should have 
 been almost any other color in such a marriage. That 
 the world thought. Otherwise, Mr. Shallop was clothed in 
 his usual business suit, as was severely proper, since this 
 was strictly a business transaction. After a very hasty 
 mercantile salute on the right cheek of Miss Sophia, 
 which produced by far the greatest impression on the 
 powder there, Mr. Shallop demanded if everything was 
 ready. 
 
 " Everything," replied the bride. 
 
 "^eryth/ng?" repeated Mr. Shallop, referring, no 
 doubt, to the banking affair. 
 
 " Every^mgr," again replied the bride, varying the em- 
 phasis to the last syllable of the word. 
 
336 GLOVERSON 
 
 " Where are your brides-maids ? " 
 
 " They are at the church, Nelson, dear." 
 
 " Is that the regular way, for brides-maids to go in ad- 
 vance ? " 
 
 " No, Nelson, love ; this is an extraordinary affair. I 
 shall have, I think, somewhere near thirty brides-maids." 
 
 " Thirty brides-maids ? " 
 
 " Yes, and twenty groomsmen." 
 
 " Why, this is extraordinary, indeed ; I had only thought 
 of one." 
 
 "And where is he, Nelson ?" 
 
 "Oh, he will be at the church in due time." 
 
 The fact is, Mr. Shallop had made up his mind that he 
 would press the bank-porter into that service, or any 
 other service demanded by the exigencies of this mar- 
 riage business, which, from its remote connection with 
 stock transactions, Nelson did not quite understand. 
 
 While the foregoing conversation went on, Miss Garr 
 and Mr. Shallop were wondering why somebody belong- 
 ing to the house did not appear, to do the honors. They 
 waited and waited Miss Garr too proud, she averred, 
 to go to inquire, and Mr. Shallop altogether too nervous 
 to be at his ease. Not even a servant could be heard or 
 seen. Miss Garr, finally, looking out of the window, dis- 
 covered John, the coachman, strapping her own trunk to 
 the back of the carriage which had brought Mr. Shallop. 
 
 Without another word, Miss Garr took the little clerk's 
 arm and walked out of the elegant house. 
 
 John, the coachman, now stood at the gate, evidently 
 waiting for them. 
 
 " I suppose," simpered Sophia, as the couple walked 
 down the lawn, " that faithful creature John, who was 
 always attached to me and what can they see in me to 
 become attached to, Nelson, dear ? " 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 337 
 
 " Your par value I mean, your inestimable worth," 
 replied Mr. Shallop, gloomily. 
 
 " That faithful creature John, I was going to say, must 
 have some little felicitation to offer us. We must en- 
 courage such people, you know, Nelson, although they 
 are vulgar. Good-day, and good-by, John." 
 
 " Good-by, and bad 'cess to ye, Miss Gi-arr ! " 
 
 " Playful, isn't he, Nelson ? " said Miss Garr, with an 
 encouraging nod to anybody in particular, except Mr. 
 Shallop, or John, the coachman. 
 
 " Ye'll come back, no doubt, to be hanged ? " continued 
 the credulous John. 
 
 " What do you mean, sir?" demanded Mr. Shallop. 
 
 " Come away, Nelson, love, we have encouraged his 
 playfulness enough ; he may become rude." 
 
 " What do I mane, is it ? I mane, sur, that Mr. Bane- 
 son, who is a la-yer, has as well as promised to have 
 that auld divil's widdy hanged, sur. And I belave he'll 
 do it." 
 
 ft Come on, Nelson, the minister must be waiting." 
 
 " Yis, go on wid ye ! It would be a disgrace to me to 
 be brakin' ather of yer bones widout ye come back. I 
 give ye fair warning, I am going to slape in front of this 
 gate to-night. I have my young missus' orthers, God 
 bliss her ; and it isn't for wages I'm serving her now, 
 for I'll niver take 'em. * I has her orthers that nather of 
 yez comes through this gate again, and I'd like to see 
 yez." 
 
 Many other remarks of a like determined nature, on 
 the part of the coachman, were gradually lost upon the 
 ears of the " bride " and " bridegroom," who were now 
 driven hastily toward the church. The couple were for- 
 tunately not superstitious, or this -might have been looked 
 
338 GLOVERSON 
 
 upon as a somewhat cloudy beginning to their wedding- 
 day. Miss Sophia occupied herself, while in the carriage, 
 by adjusting a large bunch of orange-flowers to her travel- 
 ling hat, remarking, at intervals, to the melancholy Nel- 
 son, that she must have something to show people she 
 was a bride after the ceremony. " Because, Nelson, 
 love," said Sophia, " because they might not know. We 
 are so sly about it ; aren't we, Nelson ? " 
 
 " Yes," emitted Mr. Shallop, still gloomily. " Are you 
 very sure everything is ready ? " 
 
 " Certainly ; but how can you think of such things, 
 when here we are, and there they are, with their moth- 
 ers ? Oh ! isn't it delightful ? " 
 
 Mr. Shallop looked as if he were of a very opposite 
 opinion, when, descending from the carriage, he and 
 Sophia were surrounded by a clamorous brood of from 
 fifty to sixty young children being, in fact, the entire 
 primary class over which Miss Garr had lately presided 
 as teacher. The orange-flowers from Sophia's travelling 
 hat were scattered like thistle-down before the vigorous 
 affection of the youngsters. The less hearty, but by no 
 means less obstreperous, who could not get near enough 
 to pull and haul their dear teacher for kisses, were forced 
 to content themselves by scrambling for these flowers as 
 they fell on the outskirts of the noisy throng. Mr. Shal- 
 lop's new kids were utterly ruined before he could reach 
 an elevated position on the church steps, and warn the 
 children away. Here he stood at bay, waiting till Miss 
 Garr could fight her own way clear of her late pupils, and 
 their mothers, and their mothers' friends all of whom, 
 excepting probably the exceeding number of infants in 
 arms, had come, by special request, to do honor to the 
 occasion. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 339 
 
 When Sophia finally reached her Nelson, her face was 
 literally spotted ; so much powder and " liquid pearl " 
 had been carried away on the young lips assailing her. 
 
 All this time the minister and certain curious people 
 of the neighborhood were waiting in the body of the 
 church. The couple, now locking arms, marched down 
 the aisle, followed by the school children, two by two, 
 and their mothers and mothers' friends three by three, 
 and five by five, just as it happened, without special ref- 
 erence to anything but the front seats. After a great 
 deal of whispering and some crying on the part of the 
 babies in arms, silence reigned ; and, the couple stand- 
 ing in front of the altar railing, the ceremony commenced. 
 
 The minister had not proceeded far, when a man 
 walked hastily down the aisle, and handed a little piece 
 of folded paper to the bridegroom. " All right," whis- 
 pered Mr. Shallop, "now stand by to give away the 
 bride." 
 
 " Blazes, man ! " whispered back the bank -porter, for 
 he it was, of course, " look at me ! " 
 
 Now the bank-porter did present rather an excited, 
 as well as youthful appearance to say nothing of 
 his excessive perspiration for a representative of the 
 bride's father, especially when that bride was Miss So- 
 phia Garr. 
 
 " Never mind," returned Nelson, " we are getting 
 along finely without brides-maids and grooms, but we 
 must have a father, I am told. You must, you must ! " 
 
 And the bank-porter sat down to breathe and other- 
 wise prepare himself against the time when he should be 
 called upon. 
 
 " Nelson, wilt thou," said the minister, who meantime 
 had proceeded with the service, "wilt thou have this 
 
340 GLOVERSON 
 
 Woman to thy wedded wife ; to live together after God's 
 ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony ? Wilt thou 
 love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness 
 and in health ; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only 
 unto her, so long as ye both shall live ? " 
 
 " No ! " quoth Nelson. 
 
 The minister now looked up, clearly manifesting the 
 first interest he had taken in the ceremony. 
 
 All eyes, including those of the children's mothers 
 and the children's mothers' friends, and of the curious 
 people of the neighborhood, and of the bank-porter, and 
 of Miss Sophia Garr herself, were rivetted on the bride- 
 groom. One or two infants, awakened by the sudden 
 stillness, screamed terribly ; but Nelson never raised his 
 eyes from the little piece of paper which he held un- 
 folded before him. 
 
 " He must have made the mistake unconsciously, or he 
 might not have heard the question," thought the min- 
 ister, as he repeated " Nelson, wilt thou have this 
 Woman to thy wedded wife ; to live together after God's 
 ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou 
 love her, comfort her, honor, and keep her in sickness 
 and in health ; and, forsaking all others, keep thee only 
 unto her, so long as ye both shall live ? " 
 
 " No-o ! " quoth Nelson again. 
 
 " Just because I forgot it. Oh ! " shrieked Miss Garr, 
 who had done nothing of the kind, having from the first, 
 as will be remembered, decided to buy a husband with- 
 out paying a cent. " You horrid, designing, mercenary 
 monster ! " concluded Sophia, with another shriek. Then 
 she performed the most sincere action of her whole life 
 in fact, the only bond fide deed of its peculiar kind on 
 record against that much injured spinster. Miss So- 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 341 
 
 phia Garr fainted, and fell into the arms of the bank- 
 porter. 
 
 Darting an angry look at the unconscious bride that 
 was to be, Mr. Nelson Shallop wavered down the aisle 
 toward the church door, amid the pushes, pinches, slaps, 
 and general vituperation of the sympathetic children's 
 mothers and children's mothers' friends ; and amid the 
 wailings of all the primary pupils of both genders, as 
 also the desolate bowlings of the full force of babies in 
 arms. 
 
 At the door, Nelson was politely touched on the arm 
 by a gentleman with a silver star on his breast : " Mr. 
 Shallop, you are my prisoner, sir." 
 "Mr. Shallop was stunned. 
 
 " On what warrant ? " gasped the terrified little man, 
 as soon as he could speak. 
 
 "Oh, here it is!" replied the officer. "Perjury is 
 one of the charges." 
 
 " I am ready," said Mr. Shallop, huskily. And he 
 was borne away to prison. 
 
 Miss Garr was finally restored by the minister's pres- 
 ence of mind and a little water, he having cleared the 
 church first of the children, and their mothers, and their 
 mothers' friends, who had made such a sympathetic and 
 tumultuous rush upon Miss Sophia, that the unfortunate 
 bank-porter fell before it, and came near continuing his 
 journey precipitately to the next world in company with 
 the lady of whose parent he had expected to be the juve- 
 nile representative. 
 
 Miss Garr's trunk was still strapped to the back of the 
 carriage which Mr. Shallop, not having paid for, had left 
 behind. This reminded her of " that faithful creature " 
 John, the coachman, and his threats. She did not feel 
 
342 GLOVERSON 
 
 equal to attempt carrying the Clayton gate by storm, es- 
 pecially since Amelia had taken the command of the 
 house beyond into her own hands. Miss Garr was 
 driven, therefore, to the residence of Mrs. Leadbetter. 
 Here she was sure of a feeling reception ; because, some 
 late cruel reports having got afloat about Mrs. Lead- 
 better, and her husband having had them investigated 
 by a judge and jury, a divorce had been granted to that 
 heartless man, and Mrs. Leadbetter had been retired 
 without alimony from attendance at her former aristo- 
 cratic mansion on Rincon Hill. 
 
 Mrs. Leadbetter received Miss Garr with open arms 
 and open mouth. When this additional proof of the in- 
 constancy of men had been confided to her, Mrs. Lea'd- 
 better wept sympathetic tears, and Sophia Garr wept 
 other sympathetic tears, and they both vowed it was a 
 heartless world. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 343 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 HENRY COMES. 
 
 SINCE the illness of Aunty Owen, Amos had an ex- 
 cuse for going boldly to the " Seminary of Fashion," 
 every afternoon. Thence, accompanied by Amelia, he 
 would proceed to the little tenement on Telegraph Hill. 
 It was on the day after the events of the last chapter 
 that they arrived at Aunty Owen's earlier than usual. 
 The nurse met them with a cheerful smile, and assured 
 them the fever was gone. The doctor had not yet been 
 there that day, but the nurse felt sure her charge would 
 now get well. " For see," said the woman in triumph, 
 " she is asleep ! " 
 
 While Amos and Amelia were discussing, in whispers, 
 certain little plans for the future aid and comfort of 
 Aunty Owen, Andrew Gloverson entered. Learning the 
 state of the case, he, too, had no doubt that the patient 
 would recover, albeit the good old fellow in this, as in all 
 cases of the kind, consulted his heart, rather than his 
 head. 
 
 As a particular favor, Mr. Gloverson was let into the 
 secret of the plans Amos and Amelia were making for 
 the benefit of the convalescent. He offered certain 
 amendments and modifications, and while they were set- 
 tling these things among themselves, the doctor's rap 
 was heard at the door. 
 
344 GLOVERSOX 
 
 " The fever's gone, and she is asleep," said the nurse, 
 as she let him in. 
 
 " Indeed ? " and the doctor, with a bow to those pres- 
 ent, walked to the bedside of Aunty Owen. 
 
 Then there was a long silence. 
 
 " Doctor, is she not better ? " asked Amelia at last, 
 approaching the bed. The physician shook his head, but 
 Amelia did not see him, for at the sound of her voice 
 Aunty Owen opened her eyes and smiled faintly. 
 
 " She knows her" said Andrew Gloverson huskily. 
 
 " The crisis is passed," observed the doctor. 
 
 " And she will get well ? " asked Andrew hopelessly. 
 
 " The crisis is passed," repeated the doctor, shaking 
 his head. 
 
 " Not yet ; see ! " said Andrew, " she is reviving. Her 
 hands move and her lips listen ! " 
 
 " Water," said Aunty Owen feebly. 
 
 The nurse brought a draught, and Amelia offered it. 
 
 Aunty Owen motioned it away, and turning her head, 
 pointed feebly toward the window, and again said, louder 
 than before, " Water." 
 
 " She wants to look out upon the sea," exclaimed 
 Andrew Gloverson quickly. " She always did. She 
 always sat there by the window. Let us move the bed 
 so she can see the ocean. That's where she thinks her 
 lost boy is coming from, poor thing ! " 
 
 The bed was placed in front of the little window. As 
 they propped her up on pillows, and she looked toward 
 the distant Pacific, a gleam spread over her face, like 
 that of the afternoon sun upon the quiet waters. Her 
 eye brightened, and she said, in almost her usual voice, 
 " Henry is coming, Henry is coming." 
 
 Andrew Gloverson now took the physician to the fur- 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 345 
 
 ther end of the room, and, in a whisper, plied him with 
 eager questions. 
 
 Amelia's eyes filled with tears, but she still sat by the 
 bedside holding one of Aunty Owen's hands. Amos 
 drew his chair to the opposite side of the bed, and took 
 up Aunty Owen's other hand. " Henry .... 
 coming . . . coming," and by a strange move- 
 ment, in the light of dawning reason and in the attempt 
 to speak, Aunty Owen placed the hand of Amelia in 
 that of Amos. 
 
 Then, before their hands were unclasped, a smile 
 parted Aunty Owen's lips, and she said, " Henry has 
 come ! " 
 
 The smile still lingered about her face, but her heart 
 had ceased to beat. 
 
346 GLOVERSON 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 DRIFTING. 
 
 * 
 
 THE grass had taken root upon the grave of Aunty 
 Owen, at Lone Mountain, on the slope toward the sea. 
 The summer mist, coming in through the Golden Gate, 
 dwelt there before passing on to the city, and watered 
 the flowers Amelia had planted. The morning sun 
 quickened them, and the afternoon wind tossed them to 
 and fro; while the Pacific on one side, and the me- 
 tropolis on the other two oceans, whose peculiar tides 
 are separated by graves ebbed and flowed on, as ever. 
 
 A new clerk was ensconced behind the gilt letters of 
 George Lang's office window. A private apartment in 
 the broker's safe was the repository of his papers and his 
 confidence, Mr. Shallop's successor being initiated into 
 the Attic dialect, merely, of the stock business. 
 
 Mr. Archibald Beanson was present at the preliminary 
 examination of the luckless Nelson, and was not a little 
 astounded, as well as delighted by the revelations there 
 made. He resolved, however, to subject his clients to 
 no more disappointments, provided his own hopes were 
 ill-founded. So Mr. Beanson set himself busily and se- 
 cretly to work, expecting to bring a joyous surprise upon 
 the house of Clayton. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 347 
 
 Meantime, all of Mr. Shallop's attempts to find the 
 heavy bail demanded for his release had been skillfully 
 defeated by Lang, who, nevertheless, grew daily more 
 impatient for the trial to come on which should make 
 him a hero with the world. Even business grew tire- 
 some, and he was more rarely seen at his office. He 
 dared not plunge again into the reckless dissipation 
 which had succeeded his last interviews with Amelia, 
 and which, he believed, had brought upon him the bodily 
 affliction, so common in the climate of California the 
 skeleton at this feast of all the seasons. 
 
 There is a passage in La Bruyere he had read in his 
 better and more studious days, which now kept ringing 
 in his ears : " All of our evils come from our inability 
 to be alone; from that gaming, luxury, dissipation, 
 wine, women, ignorance, slander, envy, forgetfulness of 
 ourselves and of God." 1 
 
 " I must be alone," thought Lang. " Solitude will 
 cure me ; " and with the persistency of his nature he car- 
 ried out his resolve through weeks of torment. He was 
 forced to put off indefinitely his revenge on Dixon, or 
 even the thought of it. The idea of Amos had become 
 so connected with that of Karl's grave, in the mind of 
 the broker, that he could not think of his rival without 
 seeing again the fatal letters on the tombstone. 
 
 Lang betook himself at last to his long-neglected 
 books; but it was only to reverse all the brighter conclu- 
 sions of his youth, and to blacken or obliterate its green 
 memories: for, is not youth a pleasant hill-side, on 
 which manhood grounds a temple or an ash-heap ? 
 
 l Tout notre mal vient de ne pouvoir etre seuls; de la le jeu, le luxe, 
 la dissipation, le vin, les femmes, 1'ignorance, la medisance, 1'envie, 
 Toublie de soi-mme et de Dieu. 
 
348 GLOVERSON 
 
 It might have been, partially the result of Lang's dis- 
 ease, yet it was chiefly owing to his changed nature that, 
 if he read Dante, he found Beatrice a hateful woman 
 apotheosized. Ary Scheifer's picture would swim be- 
 fore his eyes, and it -was Amelia, instead of Beatrice, 
 that was crowned, and beyond his reach. " And this 
 was my favorite once," said Lang to himself. " How 
 could I have liked these things ? Petrarch was certainly 
 a bigger fool than Dante, to have given the only real 
 love of his life to a woman who let him go to prison, as 
 Amelia would be glad to let me. Yet they say these 
 women made these poets. Nonsense ! Give me the 
 times of Ovid and Propertius, who beat, and were beaten 
 again by their mistresses. "Would that I could beat 
 somebody ! Prior was the only sensible fellow of the 
 lot. His Chloe was a bar-maid. La Bruyere was a 
 fool, too, who got his reputation by saying common things 
 backwards. What does he know about a disappointed 
 was I going to say lover ? Ha, ha ! Did he ever see 
 the shapes that follow me around ? Did he ever carry a 
 grave-yard in his mind ? Then talk about being alone ! 
 An anchorite must feed on roots and herbs. A full man 
 in solitude would be plagued to death with his own 
 devils. The doctor says I must expect hallucinations 
 with this disease upon me. The doctor is another fool. 
 I must go out ; I cannot be alone with Karl's grave upon 
 my breast." 
 
 He would not ride, without a friend to accompany him. 
 He mingled in the thickest of the crowd, during the day ; 
 and, at night, nothing but his unconquerable pride re- 
 strained him from hiring a man to sleep in his room. 
 In his uneasy slumbers he would hear strange voices, 
 repeating slowly in his ear, keeping time with the beat- 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 349 
 
 ing of his own heart, that same sentence from La Bruy- 
 ere, and he would fling back and back again the same 
 answer "I cannot be alone!" In the densest throng, 
 by day, he would sometimes hear men mouthing the 
 same hated dictum as they passed. It came to him in 
 the echo of familiar voices. It rose to him out of the 
 clatter of the crowded street. Carriages, omnibuses, 
 cars, and vans were all laden with this one horrible 
 sentence, and George Lang could not be alone. 
 
 " I will go to the play again to-night," said the bro- 
 ker, throwing down the evening paper. "To think I 
 should be forced to see ' Ingomar ' twice in succession 
 that sentimental thing, cut out to fit what is called the 
 power of love, making a polished Greek of a barbarian ! 
 It's a lie. Love makes the barbarian out of the polished 
 Greek. Look at me ! Love has a mission to reward 
 and punish, has it? Love's mission is injury. It 
 wrongs itsolf first and its object last. Courtship is a 
 selfish exchange of injuries, in the wish. Wedded life 
 is one prison for two souls a long exchange of selfish 
 injuries in the deed. I I'll go to the play." 
 
 Lang took his seat in the dress circle" near the stage, 
 where, almost unobserved, he could see the entire audi- 
 ence. Looking about him, in all parts of the full theatre, 
 he discovered, in about the centre of the dress circle 
 Amos Dixon and Amelia Clayton. Lang attempted to 
 persuade himself that he was not at all moved by the 
 sight, forgetting that the attempt itself was the best 
 proof of its own futility. " There he is," thought the 
 broker, " loving her just the same without money ; and 
 there she is, loving him all the more for lacking what I 
 have." He turned his eyes excitedly toward the stage 
 and the players. " Well, can the philosophy of this ' In- 
 
350 GLOVERSON 
 
 gomar ' be true after all ? Now, this fellow Dixon had 
 me brought back to my hotel that night, and he must 
 have seen the weapons on me as clearly as clearly as 
 I see Karl's grave-stone now, and yet he said nothing 
 about it to me or the authorities. He certainly knew 
 what I was after," mused Lang. " Could this have been 
 generosity to an enemy ; or did he not know that he had 
 a pretty clear case against me ; or did he think the 
 fool ! in this way to escape my sure revenge ? This 
 play is a lie from beginning to end, but they" here 
 Lang looked again toward Amos and Amelia " are too 
 deeply absorbed in it, and each other, to see me." 
 The play went on : 
 
 Parthenia. I'll tell thee, mother I was but a child, 
 And yet I marked it well ; you sang to me 
 Of Hero and Leander, and their love ; 
 And when I asked thee, wondering, what love was, 
 Then, with uplifted hands, and laughing eyes, 
 Thou told'st me how, into the lonely heart, . 
 Love sudden comes unsought, then grows and grows 
 
 (Amos and Amelia heard the rest of this speech, look- 
 ing into each other's eyes.) 
 
 Feehle at first, like dawn before the sun, 
 Till, bursting every bond, it breaks at last 
 Upon the startled soul with hope and joy, 
 While every bounding pulse cries " That is he, 
 Who carries in his breast my heart, my soul : 
 With him oh may I live, and with him die ! " 
 So, when old Medon and Evander came 
 To woo, I laid my hand upon m}* heart, 
 And listened, listened, but no ! all was still, 
 All silent; no response, no voice: and so 
 I'm waiting, mother, till my heart shall speak! 
 
 AMOS (in a whisper). " Has it spoken yet ?" 
 AMELIA. " Yes, long ago ! " 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 351 
 
 And it was some time before Amos could catch up 
 the thread of the play again. 
 
 The first act ended, the young couple sat gazing down 
 at the orchestra, listening to the music, apparently ; but 
 neither of them spoke till the curtain rose on the second 
 act. 
 
 " There ! " exclaimed Amos, evidently relieved. 
 
 " I see," said Amelia, unwontedly laconic. 
 
 They were both soon absorbed again in the play. The 
 scenes and passages most interesting to them, may be 
 common and threadbare to you, gentle reader ; but when 
 was " Romeo and Juliet " ever old to a lover, and who 
 but a lover ever understood it ? 
 
 Ingomar. Tell me now about thy home I will sit here 
 Near thee. 
 
 Parthenia. Not there: thou art crushing all the flowers. 
 
 Ingotnar (sealing himself at her feet), 
 Well, well, I will sit here then. And now, tell me, 
 What is thy name ? 
 
 Par. Parthenia. 
 
 Ing. Parthenia ! 
 
 A pretty name ! and now, Parthenia, tell me 
 How that which thou call'st love grows in the soul; 
 And what love is : 'tis strange, but in that word 
 There's something seems, like yonder ocean fathomless. 
 
 Par. How shall I say ? Love comes, my mother says, 
 Like flowers in the night reach me those violets. 
 It is a flame a single look will kindle, 
 But not an ocean quench. 
 Fostered by dreams, excited by each thought, 
 Love is a star from heaven, that points the way, 
 And leads us to its home a little spot 
 In earth's dry desert, where the soul may rest 
 A grain of gold in the dull sand of life 
 A foretaste of Elysium ; but when, 
 Weary of this world's woes, the immortal gods 
 Flew to the skies, with all their richest gifts, 
 Love stayed behind, self-exiled, for man's sake ! 
 
352 GLOVERSON 
 
 Ing. I never yet heard aught so beautiful ! 
 But still I comprehend it not. . 
 
 Par. Nor I: 
 
 For I have never felt it ; yet I know 
 A song my mother sang, an ancient song, 
 That plainly speaks of love, at least to me: 
 How goes it? Stay 
 
 [Slowly, as trying to recollect. 
 
 " What love is, if thou wouldst be taught, 
 
 Thy heart must teach alone 
 Two souls with but a single thought, 
 Two hearts that beat as one. 
 
 " And whence comes love ? Like morning's light, 
 
 It comes without thy call ; 
 And how dies love ? A spirit bright, 
 Love never dies at all ! 
 
 " And when and when " 
 
 [Hesitating, as unable to continue. 
 Ing. Go on. 
 
 Par. I know no more. 
 
 Ing. (Impatiently.) Try try. 
 
 Par. I cannot now ; but at some other time 
 I may remember. 
 
 Ing. (Somewhat authoritatively.) Now, go on, I say. 
 Par. (Springing up in alarm.) Not now, I want more roses 
 
 for my wreath! 
 
 Yonder they grow, I'll fetch them for myself. 
 Take care of all my flowers, and the wreath ! 
 
 [Throws the flowers into Ingomar's lap and runs off'. 
 Ing. (After a pause, without changing his position, speaking to 
 
 himself in deep abstraction.) 
 " Two souls with but a single thought, 
 Two hearts that beat as one." 
 
 [The curtain falls. 
 
 And the young couple seemed surprised to find that 
 their hands had stolen toward each other, and were 
 firmly clasped under the folds of Amelia's opera-cloak. 
 
 Each expected the other to make the first movement 
 toward a release, and so the hands remained clasped, till 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 353 
 
 the music struck up. Then their owners seemed so in- 
 terested in the music that the hands were abandoned to 
 their own fate which was a closer pressure beneath 
 the opera-cloak. 
 
 " Miss Clayton," said Amos, at length, in a voice that 
 she only could hear. 
 
 " Well," observed Amelia, still wrapped up in the 
 music. 
 
 " You have always seemed to understand me, Miss 
 Clayton, before I spoke, and sometimes, when you are 
 speaking, you seem to be uttering my thoughts for me. 
 I almost know we are thinking the same now." 
 
 "About that music?" 
 
 " No ; you you were not thinking about that 
 music," faltered Amos. 
 
 " Indeed ? What were rny thoughts ? " 
 
 " That you, like that girl in the play, had made me 
 better than I was." 
 
 "Then you were wrong. I don't see that you have 
 improved at all." 
 
 " I am sorry," sighed Amos. 
 
 "/am not" 
 
 The look that accompanied this speech was so vivid a 
 glossary that Amos caught all the hidden meaning, and 
 he stumbled back to the first thread of their dialogue. 
 
 " Well, what were you thinking, then, Miss Clayton ? 
 Was it not something about the play ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Will you tell?" 
 
 "Must I?" 
 
 " If you please." 
 
 " Well, that love makes one fearless." 
 
 " What, have I been too bold, Miss Clayton ? " 
 
 23 
 
354 GLOVERSON 
 
 " Who ever knew that you were in love ! How ridicu- 
 lous ! I mean that a woman in love does not care much 
 for the Allobrogi or Allemanni of the world." 
 
 " Then you are not afraid, Miss Clayton ? " 
 
 " I am fearless, sir ! " 
 
 "You must be in love, then ! How ridiculous!" re- 
 joined Amos, as the curtain rose on the third act. 
 
 Both watched the stage intently, till Parthenia, hav- 
 ing taken his arms from Ingomar, and given him her 
 baskef, is conducted toward her home, and the curtain 
 falls. 
 
 " Miss Clayton," said Amos. 
 
 Amelia answered merely by turning her excited face 
 toward Dixon. 
 
 " May I call you Amelia, hereafter ? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " May I call you my Amelia ? " 
 
 " If you choose." 
 
 "Always?" 
 
 " Always." 
 
 Here there was a very feeling pressure of the hands 
 beneath the folds of the opera-cloak, and a long silence 
 interrupted finally by Amos. 
 
 " Amelia, my Amelia now, I know that I am a poor 
 guide, but if you will walk beside me trustingly, there'll 
 always be a home your home "and mine to come 
 to. You will bear the weapons, and I " 
 
 " No, I'll give you back the sword and lean upon your 
 strength the strength of an honest, manly heart." 
 
 Amos felt a choking sensation in his throat ; and not 
 another word was said by either, till the close of the 
 fourth act. 
 
 " When, Amelia ! " 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 355 
 
 " You are the guide, now." 
 
 " I have thought," said Amos, " that it would be better, 
 just before you have to leave your old home. Then 
 your mother will have a comfortable place to move to." 
 
 " Yes, but that, you see, need not hurry us. I can pro- 
 vide for mother now. I get eighty dollars per month, 
 you know." 
 
 " Really, I had forgotten that," said Amos, blushing 
 guiltily. 
 
 " It is I that should blush," rejoined Amelia. " Did I 
 not as much as imply that you were trying to hire me ? " 
 
 ""Why, how?" asked Amos, in a louder voice than 
 he had used that evening, for, somehow, his conscience 
 smote him. 
 
 " Why, by offering me a home as an inducement to 
 hasten the day. But I don't believe you thought of such 
 a thing." 
 
 " Of course not," was Dixon's ingenuous reply, " for 
 that seems a very long time, doesn't it ? " 
 
 Amelia did not answer ; for, by a strange chance, their 
 eyes wandering in their embarrassment to the remote 
 part of the dress circle, had met almost simultaneously 
 those of George Lang. 
 
 Even at that distance, they could see a sudden livid 
 flush spread over the broker's face. No further recogni- 
 tion passed on either side. The flush came and went 
 again. Parquette, galleries, dress circle, and gas-lights 
 swam before Lang's eyes. His head drooped upon his 
 arm ; and Amos and Amelia looked away, for the last 
 act was commencing the last act that was, to them, as 
 the horoscope of their own future, so strangely now did 
 their whole lives seem identified with the action of the 
 play. As it drew toward the close, a quiet satisfaction 
 
356 GLOVERSON 
 
 settled upon Amos. He felt that his old dream was 
 realized. Amelia had beckoned him to the heights 
 by her side, and he had come. The sense of presump- 
 tion passed away. A perfect love had made them per- 
 fect equals. 
 
 The play was over. Amos and Amelia went forth with 
 the throng from the dress circle. The boys tumbled 
 clamorously from the galleries. The proud moved 
 grandly from the boxes. The bachelors 'strolled lei- 
 surely from the parquette, and the seats of the orchestra 
 were deserted. The last actor had left the green-room, 
 and the last property-man the stage. The lights 
 were out ; the theatre was still ; a chill air, laden with 
 the smell of water-color paint, swept in from the side- 
 scenes ; and, there, in the far corner of the dress circle, 
 sat George Lang with his head drooping upon his arm 
 dead. 
 
I 
 
 AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 357 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 FINALE, IN WHICH THE WHOLE FIRM PARTICIPATES. 
 
 IT was a little past noon, and the lawn on Folsom 
 Street was flooded again with the summer sunshine. 
 The birds two of them now were singing in the 
 acacias, repeating the same crystal song Amos had heard 
 the first time he beheld the elegant house ; but Amos 
 was not there now to hear it. There was an unusual 
 stillness in the parlors and upper apartments, for you 
 would have searched the whole beautiful house through, 
 without finding Amelia or her mother. 
 
 An occasional peal of laughter, however, rising from 
 the regions of the kitchen, would have been proof enough 
 that the elegant house was not deserted. In fact, there 
 was an extraordinary number of people assembled in a 
 little dining-room in those savory precincts, and John, 
 the coachman, was holding forth at great length to those 
 collected there around the table. The laughter pro- 
 ceeded from certain " lady friends " of the cook and 
 house-maid, and from six gentlemen all dressed exactly 
 alike, in cut-away coats, white vests, and white neck-ties. 
 These ladies and gentlemen spoke exceedingly bad gram- 
 mar, but in the matter of feasting they were exemplary, 
 both as regards natural capacity and cultivated execution. 
 John, the coachman, was giving them the benefit of cer- 
 tain personal reminiscences, wherein he detailed his 
 last business transactions with " Miss Gi-arr." 
 
358 GLOVERSON 
 
 That lady, it seems, had made a desperate attempt to 
 see Mrs. Clayton, and failing in that, had presented a 
 bill for a month's salary. John had taken the responsi- 
 bility of tearing the bill aforesaid into small pieces, of 
 placing these pieces carefully into the messenger's hat. 
 and of crushing the hat dexterously over its owner's 
 head. Then John, by a skillful movement of his foot, 
 had accelerated the messenger's return to the present 
 residence of Miss Garr. " And," concluded the coach- 
 man, " here's one that'll stop with my young missis, 
 whither she's married or no ; what's that to me ? " 
 
 " "What, indeed ? " asked the cook, who immediately 
 afterwards thought she would do the same as John, the 
 coachman, " respecting, of course," she added blushingly, 
 " respecting of our young missus." 
 
 The cook, in a word, had changed her mind about the 
 villainy of John, the coachman, since he had changed his 
 course toward her. 
 
 " Yes, John, I will go with you, too." 
 
 "Ye would, would ye though," replied the coachman, 
 tapping her lovingly under the chin. From this, and 
 other little blandishments that passed between them, it 
 seemed highly probable to the rest of the company that 
 this couple would hereafter go together wherever they 
 went. 
 
 " Hillo ! " exclaimed John, looking up toward the 
 kitchen door, " what's that ? " 
 
 " Good day, gentlemans and ladies. I saw it ! It was 
 so peautiful*. It's all vorbei any more. I gome avay 
 quick, ven Mr. Dixon said I must haf a garriage an' I 
 didn't vant to.". 
 
 A snicker was stopped suddenly on its way around the 
 table by John, the coachman, who said with much gravity 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 359 
 
 and dignity : " Yer welcome, ma'am, as a frind of Mr, 
 Dixon's, and no doubt ye air. He's a*rnan as don't for- 
 get his frinds, whoiver they air. Dhraw up, till we drinks 
 to the healt of the bridegroom agin." 
 
 This toast was stanchly quaffed by the six gentle- 
 men in full dress, who were no less than extra ser- 
 vants employed on this occasion. The six gentlemen in 
 full dress now kept their eyes on the kitchen door, hop- 
 ing, probably, for some fresh arrival, and a fresh toast to 
 drink. 
 
 " Anton gouldn't gum," continued Frau Carpenter, 
 formerly Zimmermann, " but oh ! de pride vas so peauti- 
 ful, so peautiful ! " 
 
 " Trath, she's a frind of the whole family," exclaimed 
 John. " Here's me hand, ma'am. I'm glad ye come. 
 Fill up to the bride agin avery one of yez." 
 
 " We're indeed glad you come," remarked one of the 
 six gentlemen in full dress, as he held his glass up to his 
 eye after the manner of connoisseurs. 
 
 " Indeed we are, indeed we are," echoed the five other 
 gentlemen in full dress ; and the toast was drunk standing. 
 
 The sound of many carriages was now heard upon the 
 street. " There they come from -the church ! " exclaimed 
 one and all, and the revelers hastened to their posts. 
 
 First came Amos, with Amelia leaning gracefully on 
 his arm. They walked up the lawn in silence. Yet 
 above the. bustle of the carriages without, and above the 
 clatter of feet upon the gravel walk, rose, as out of the 
 summer sunshine, the song of the little birds in the 
 acacias. Amos and Amelia both heard it now, and there 
 rose, as out of the sunshine of their united hearts, a quiet 
 little epithalamium, very much like the sweet trouble of 
 the songs the mated birds have sung, year after year, 
 since the creation. 
 
360 GLOVERSON 
 
 Arrived in the spacious parlors, Mrs. Clayton and Miss 
 de la Pierre, having kissed the bride, were absorbed in 
 the contemplation of the numerous presents. As she 
 showed them one after the other to Miss de la Pierre, 
 Mrs. Clayton observed, confidentially, " I, for one, Miss 
 de la Pierre, have always said that Mr. Dixon was no 
 fool ; and -these presents confirm me in my opinion and 
 reconcile me to my daughter's and my own fate." 
 
 " Oh laws, yes ! " was Miss de la Pierre's reply, " and 
 he is so romantic ! " 
 
 " But would you believe it, Miss de la Pierre whist, 
 do you see Mr..Gloverson ?" 
 
 " No ; he just went out into the hall with Mr. Bean- 
 son," replied the little lady, all curiosity. 
 
 " Well, would you believe it, now ? " repeated Mrs. 
 Clayton, " there are those beautiful pearls from Captain 
 and Mrs. Tambol of Sonoma by the way, Mrs. Tam- 
 bol, I think to be a very proper sort of person, Miss de 
 la Pierre, and I am glad that my health is almost re- 
 stored, so that I am able to see her and visit with her, 
 you know. Then, there is even that modest locket from 
 Mr. Beanson. That magnificent silver card-receiver full 
 of gold coin I wonder who sent that ! but will you be- 
 lieve it? Miss de la Pierre, in all this list of presents, 
 there is not a solitary thing from that Mr. Gloverson. 
 Not a solitary thing. I think well it's no matter, for 
 here he comes ! " 
 
 Andrew Gloverson had, indeed, returned from the 
 hall at that moment, arm in arm with Mr. Archibald 
 Beanson, exchanging sundry knowing nods and panto- 
 mimes with that astute gentleman. Both had honored 
 the occasion with a brand-new suit of clothes. Mr. Bean- 
 son, to give him his due, never looked younger in the 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 361 
 
 face, or less awkward in the body. Mr. Gloverson, re- 
 leasing the arm of his companion, stepped deliberately 
 into the middle of the parlor, where Amos and Amelia, 
 surrounded by their groomsmen and brides-maids, were 
 receiving the hearty congratulations of the guests. This 
 movement on his part attracted every eye to the portly 
 frame of Andrew, whose elegant rotundity was set off to 
 the highest advantage by the extraordinary fit of his 
 attire. A well-known movement of his neck in his large 
 white cravat impressed Amos immediately that there was 
 something on his old employer's mind. The bridegroom 
 turned and said something hurriedly to Amelia, which 
 caused her face to beam, as with a new joy ; and she im- 
 mediately after said something hurriedly to the brides- 
 maids, which caused many other eyes to beam, and a 
 quick answer to come back from several sparkling voices. 
 It is very probable that all this talking in an under-tone 
 was on the same subject, and if Mr. Gloverson had been 
 listening, he might have heard the chorus of voices re- 
 peating mysteriously, " We will, we will ! " But Mr. Glov- 
 erson, seeing the impression he had already made, was 
 now absorbed in smoothing and tightening his gloves. 
 He continued this operation until one of them gave way 
 under the pressure. Then, not stirring from the position 
 he had first taken in the centre of the room, Andrew 
 Gloverson said : " I have already congratulated you, 
 young people, one of whom is an angel, by the way ; but 
 but I have not (here Andrew's other glove gave way) 
 in fact, we all have not no, I haven't seen any of us. 
 It might have happened, when I was out with my friend, 
 Mr. Beanson, but we should have heard it, and I am sure 
 he hasn't. The fact is," said Mr. Gloverson, tapping his 
 breast to encourage himself in his new start, u we haven't 
 
362 GLOVERSON 
 
 kissed the bride ! " The senior partner of the house of 
 Gloverson & Co., looking about impressively for a mo- 
 ment, continued : " And, my dear Miss no, Mrs. Dixon, 
 it will not take long." 
 
 The jaunty air with which the gallant Andrew now 
 stepped up, took Amelia by the hand, and bent over till 
 just the tips of his lips touched hers, must be imagined. 
 This, however, was the signal for an event most astound- 
 ing to Andrew Gloverson. For, before the old gentle- 
 man had again assumed an upright position, one of the 
 brides-maids, a beautiful school-mate of Amelia, caught 
 him around the neck and kissed him, and, amid a peal of 
 laughter, sprung back into the lovely throng. While 
 Andrew was looking after her, another brides-maid came 
 up from another direction, sprung upon his neck, kissed 
 him, and disappeared. Mr. Gloverson was still looking 
 in the direction of the last disappearance, when another 
 brides-maid performed the same astounding feat. The 
 increasing bewilderment of the old merchant and the 
 merriment of the company kept pace, and were now well- 
 nigh boundless. To cap the climax, at another sugges- 
 tion of Amos and Amelia, the whole five .brides-maids 
 made a simultaneous attack upon Andrew, and kissed 
 him vigorously once more. Mr. Gloverson finally found 
 speech, and it came very near being an unfortunate one. 
 " I'll be," said Mr. Gloverson, I'll be I'll be kissed 
 no more ! " and he retired precipitately to wipe the 
 gathering perspiration from his brow. 
 
 Mrs. Clayton, whose attention, with that of Miss de la 
 Pierre, had been attracted by this extraordinary occur- 
 rence, intimated to her new-made friend that she was 
 not sure about such things. It might be very improper 
 on an occasion like this, 
 
. AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 363 
 
 " I would not venture an opinion," responded Miss de 
 la Pierre, " about what happens in your own house, Mrs. 
 Clayton, but really it was so romantic." 
 
 Not long afterwards the wedding breakfast was an- 
 nounced. Mr. Beanson, approaching Mrs. Clayton, of- 
 fered his arm, and Mr. Gloverson, still bearing on his 
 face evidences of collusion with Archibald, approaching 
 Mrs. de la Pierre, offered his arm ; and they joined the 
 little procession now moving toward the breakfast- room. 
 Amos, of course, took the head of the table, sustained on 
 each side by Mrs. Clayton and Amelia. Andrew Glov- 
 erson sat at the end opposite Mr. Dixon, with our old 
 Sonoma friends, Captain and Mrs. Tambol on one hand, 
 and Miss de la Pierre on the other. The handsome 
 groomsmen and the fair brides-maids, suiting their own 
 tastes and inclinations, placed themselves about the table, 
 very much as the floVers had been placed on the table 
 just where they would most add to the general bril- 
 liance of the scene. The room was darkened ; and if 
 Amelia, in her dress of spotless satin, and lace .bridal veil 
 streaming from her head like the embodied fragrance 
 of the orange-blossoms in her hair had been beauti- 
 ful in the mellow light of the church, how lovely must 
 she have been now in the gas-light, reflected and soft- 
 ened by these garlands, bright faces, and elegant toilets. 
 
 Captain Tambol pronounced the champagne excel- 
 lent, and confidently asserted that he hoped in a few 
 years to make as good Roederer, if not better, at his vine- 
 yard in Sonoma. He made sundry allusions to the rich 
 secrets already stowed away in his own cellar, whereat 
 Amos looked uneasy. A severe pinch, inflicted by Mrs. 
 Tambol in a very secret manner, had the effect of re- 
 
364 GLOVERSON 
 
 straining the jolly captain, or the company might have 
 had the full benefit of Dixon's former maudlin experi- 
 ences. The captain afterwards averred that he would 
 willingly have given a pipe of his best wine for the pleas- 
 ure of telling that story then and there; and it is in- 
 deed possible that he would have told it, nevertheless, 
 had it not been for the events that now followed in quick 
 succession. 
 
 Just as kindly Mrs. Tambol inflicted the pinch upon 
 her husband, Miss de la Pierre exclaimed : " Oh laws ! 
 who would have thought it ! " 
 
 O 
 
 Then little Miss de la Pierre, formerly Stone, discov- 
 ering that she was the target of all eyes, blushed and sub- 
 sided. 
 
 Mr. Gloverson laid down his knife and fork, looked all 
 about the table, took up his knife and fork again, and re- 
 sumed his eating. 
 
 " Now, who would have thought it ! It was so roman- 
 tic ! " 
 
 This time Amos, as well as Mr. Gloverson, paused and 
 eyed Miss de la Pierre curiously; but she, blushing 
 again, was absorbed in a piece of cold chicken, which 
 occupied the foreground on her plate. 
 
 Amos was evidently troubled, but Mr. Gloverson, 
 doubting exactly what to do, helped everybody within 
 reach to wine. 
 
 " Oh laws ! " iterated little Miss de la Pierre, " but I 
 must not tell ! " 
 
 " Yes, do do tell," said Andrew Gloverson. 
 
 Oh! shall I?" 
 
 " Not," faltered Amos, " if you have promised not to 
 tell." 
 
 This attracted the attention of the whole company to 
 the bridegroom, who also blushed, of course. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 365 
 
 " It is something so romantic ! " observed Miss de la 
 Pierre, at random, while she became more absorbed than 
 ever in the cold chicken. The fact that Miss de la 
 Pierre had again drawn the attention of this entire fash- 
 ionable company from the bridegroom to herself, was also 
 a very romantic and gratifying fact to that little spinster. 
 
 Curiosity was at its height, and the principal of 
 the " Seminary of Fashion " was pressed on all sides. 
 " Come," said Amelia, at last, " you will tell us, Miss de 
 la Pierre, will you not ? " 
 
 " That was all I was waiting for," exclaimed the artful 
 little creature. " The bride's request absolves all prom- 
 ises to the bridegroom." 
 
 " This is bad faith," said Amos, hopelessly. The old 
 thievish feeling came over him, and he resolved on the 
 spot never to deceive Amelia again. 
 
 Miss de la Pierre now proceeded to give a length}' ac- 
 count of her first interview with Amos, and of the whole 
 scandalous affair of the eighty dollars per month. At 
 the close of the narrative there was a short silence. 
 Then there was a general clapping of hands and hitting 
 of glasses, which Miss de la Pierre taking as a compli- 
 ment to herself, she bowed gracefully in all directions. 
 
 Before the tumult had subsided, and probably to relieve 
 the embarrassment depicted on a certain lovely face, Mr. 
 Andrew Gloverson rose to his feet. Silence was restored, 
 and the chubby merchant spoke as follows : " This con- 
 firms me in the belief that you are a great rascal, Dixon 
 a great rascal, sir, God bless you ; and I can't stand 
 this any longer. I've got a little speech to make, the first 
 one I ever made, but I am going to make it. (Applause.) 
 Now sir, Dixon, sir, the firm of Gloverson & Co. can't 
 afford to pay a fine young gentleman like you to take 
 
366 GLOVERSON 
 
 care of its confidence any longer. Your salary is cut off 
 from this day, sir from this day. (Great sensation. 
 Mrs. Clayton looks indignantly at Mr. Gloverson, and Miss 
 de la Pierre looks sympathetically at Mrs. Clayton.) In 
 the first place, sir, you said, or as much as said, that my 
 own judgment had gone back on me, when, sir, it never did, 
 and never will, sir. I had the ' Dorcas ' mine developed, 
 sir, and you and I, as you well know, are the only owners. 
 The mine, sir, is one of the best in the country. I have 
 put a mill on it, and it pans out five hundred dollars a 
 ton, sir. The ledge is thirteen feet wide, being all pay 
 ore from wall to wall ; and, Dixon, sir, you are a rich 
 man to-day, sir. (Counter sensation. Mrs. Clayton and 
 Miss de la Pierre are observed in tears.) I don't care a 
 pin for that, ladies and gentlemen, but I do care for 
 the reputation of my own judgment. (Applause.) In 
 1859," pursued Mr. Gloverson, " I bought out the New 
 York house doing business with me. That was several 
 years ago, but my judgment told me there was no use 
 painting out the ' Co.' in the sign, and there wasn't. 
 For, Dixon, sir, you are a partner of the house of Glover- 
 son & Co. Oh ! you need not start. There is another 
 silent partner, and you've got to obey orders. We must 
 be severe with you, Dixon. Your salary is cut off from 
 this day, sir from this day. (Applause.) 
 
 " Now, sir," continued Mr. Gloverson, fumbling in his 
 coat pockets, " I have a little paper here, which is in- 
 teresting only to the bride. It's merely the deed of a 
 house, and I only wish it was large enough and good 
 enough for such an angel. I always said she should be 
 a member of the firm, and now she is, if she will only let 
 me have one little room in the attic, you know, just 
 to hide my old head in. The deed is in her name, be- 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 867 
 
 cause, Dixon, sir, as Miss de la Pierre says no, as I say 
 you are a great rascal and I can't trust him, for he 
 is a great rascal, sir Miss Clay no, Mrs. Dixon, sir, 
 God bless him. (Great applause, which, very fortunately 
 for Mr. Gloverson, gave him time to breathe. His throat, 
 however, was becoming fuller every moment.) Whereas, 
 ladies and gentlemen, that is, therefore, ladies and gentle- 
 men, allow me though not the first groomsman, or in- 
 deed any groomsman at all allow me to propose my 
 Silent Partners the bride and bridegroom. May they 
 .... may they .... years .... angel .... per- 
 fect angel .... and God bless them ! " 
 
 Andrew Gloverson took his seat, and wiped away 
 not the perspiration this time, but two large tears, 
 which had filled his eyes to the utter obstruction of his 
 vision. The greatest orator could not have made a 
 greater impression. 
 
 The enthusiasm subsiding somewhat, calls were now 
 made for " Dixon," " Dixon ; " and, as that gentleman rose 
 to his feet, you would not have recognized him as the 
 young man introduced to your notice, in the first chapter 
 of this history. In the whole company no one's attire 
 sat better, and no one, in his trying position, would have 
 been more gracefully at his ease. He expressed briefly 
 and naturally, for the bride and himself, their overwhelm- 
 ing sense of surprise and gratitude at what Mr. Glover- 
 son had just said. He might be mistaken, but he really 
 believed that his old employer and friend was the best 
 man on earth ! During the applause with which this 
 assertion was greeted, and while Andrew Gloverson ob- 
 served to himself, in an inaudible whisper, " Dixon, you 
 be d d," Amos looked about the table till his eyes 
 met thoseof Archibald Beanson. " I shall," continued 
 
368 GLOVERSON 
 
 the speaker, " call upon Mr. Beanson to respond to the 
 toast I shall offer as appropriate to this occasion. Mr. 
 Beanson, by the way, deserves the especial gratitude of 
 certain members of this company, for the very able and 
 satisfactory manner in which he struggled for an upright, 
 though lost cause. (Here a positive wink passed from 
 Mr. Gloverson to Mr. Beanson.) Mr. Gloverson, how- 
 ever, has stepped in, in the place of justice ; and, if Mrs. 
 Clayton must leave this house, she will certainly be led 
 to another as good " 
 
 " Comparisons are odious," interpolated Mr. Beanson ; 
 " but the new house is the finer of the two." 
 
 " Well, sir," addressing Beanson, " there is no doubt 
 still of an indebtedness to you. I shall therefore take 
 the liberty, as junior partner no, as one of the silent 
 partners of the house of Gloverson & Co. to appoint 
 you legal adviser and collector for the firm. See ! Mr. 
 Gloverson confirms the appointment. (Applause.) But 
 the toast, which I propose to offer now, is one that has 
 suggested itself to me with a sort of religious interest 
 to-day. I propose, therefore, that we rise and drink 
 sijently to our mothers, living or dead. If mine could 
 have seen the triumph of this day well, Our Mothers ! " 
 
 The toast was drunk, and it was some time afterwards 
 before the solemn silence was broken. 
 
 Then Mr. Archibald Beanson,, having been called, re- 
 turned thanks for the compliments of Dixon, after which 
 Mr. Beanson, artfully taking out some documents from 
 his pocket, continued: "But Mr. Dixon has unintention- 
 ally, I am sure, misstated a few facts. I have been rather 
 busy lately, it is true, with the legal matters of Mrs. 
 Clayton and her lovely daughter (applause) ; but, by 
 consulting this paper, which I now deliver up to Mrs. 
 
AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 369 
 
 Clayton, she will see that this house, together with most 
 of the property left by the late Mr. Clayton, is still in 
 her hands. (Sensation.) The papers of George Lang, 
 lately deceased, were rather too freely displayed by the 
 Coroner to leave the least legal doubt about the present 
 ownership of the property. You will find a clear state- 
 ment of the whole procedure in that paper, Mrs. Clayton. 
 I need not take up the time of this company with details. 
 Most of the sales were never made at all, as is plainly 
 shown by the papers found in a private apartment of the 
 late Mr. Lang's safe. The money from the other fraudu- 
 lent sales can, in due time, be recovered from Mr. Lang's 
 estate. I am therefore happy to congratulate Mrs. Clay- 
 ton on the fact that she can pass the rest of her days in 
 this very house, if she likes ; and, to confess the truth, I 
 should have told her and the present bride a week ago, 
 had it not been for my kind friend here, Mr. Gloverson, 
 who insisted on this general surprise. This will account 
 to the bride for the extraordinary and heretofore unex- 
 plained addition to her balance at her banker's. Trust- 
 ing that I have the forgiveness of my first clients, I shall 
 close, by offering the rather abstract sentiment of Grati- 
 tude and Justice : We all have cause for the first, and 
 reason to believe that the second will always crown the 
 end." 
 
 While the company were drinking this toast, Amelia 
 and her mother flew into each other's arms, and laughed 
 and wept by turns. 
 
 Seeing which, Captain Tambol proposed, " Everybody 
 and everything;" and the joy was now general and 
 boundless. 
 
 The scene having been changed to the parlor again, 
 Mr. Andrew Gloverson gave full reins to his delight. 
 24 
 
370 GLOVERSON 
 
 He laughed a great deal, and wept just a little, especially 
 when the young couple prepared to take their departure. 
 
 When they were both seated in the carriage, and all 
 the good-bys had been said over and over again, Andrew 
 Gloverson rushed out, bare-headed, and, putting his two 
 fat arms through the open window of the coach, took 
 Amelia and Amos each by the hand 
 
 "I may live with you in the new house, mayn't I ? " 
 
 " Certainly, certainly." 
 
 " Amelia, you are an angel ! " said Mr. Gloverson, 
 solemnly, as he turned toward the house. 
 
 " Andrew Gloverson, you are another ! " shouted Amos, 
 merrily, through the window, as the carriage rolled away, 
 bearing them on their wedding tour. 
 
 Mr. Gloverson turned and looked after them for some 
 time.. " Dixon," said he, with a sigh, " Dixon, you be 
 d d. You have my blessing, both of you ! " and Mr. 
 Gloverson walked slowly back into the elegant house. 
 
 Miss Sophia Garr and Mrs. Leadbetter, as the reader 
 may have noticed, were not at the wedding a slight 
 which both of them felt. To Sophia was the omission 
 of her name from the list of guests especially galling, for 
 she had actually transmitted, as an olive-branch, her un- 
 asked consent to be one of Amelia's brides-maids. She 
 read the account of the nuptials aloud to Mrs. Leadbetter, 
 then threw down the paper in disgust. 
 
 " An ungrateful world, Mrs. Leadbetter ! " 
 
 " A heartless world, Sophia." 
 
 At the next session of court, Mr. Nelson Shallop was 
 sent to spend several years at San Quintin, on very rea- 
 sonable terms, the State charging him nothing at all for 
 food and raiment. 
 
i 
 
 'AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 371 
 
 The steamer for the East, sailing just a week after 
 Miss Garr read this last announcement in a city paper, 
 bore her and Mrs. Leadbetter as passengers. Since the 
 latter's divorce, she had come to share in Sophia's utter 
 disgust with the married state. Miss Garr took what 
 was left of her little earnings back to the State of Maine. 
 Mrs. Leadbetter's destination was not certain. She was 
 sure, however, that there was not heart enough in Cali- 
 fornia to detain her there. " Good-by," said Sophia to 
 Mrs. Leadbetter, when they finally kissed and parted in 
 New York, the sworn enemies of marriage, "good-by, 
 Mrs. Leadbetter ; there is nothing gained by it." 
 " Good-by, Sophia; there is everything lost by it." 
 " A heartless world, my dear Mrs. Leadbetter ; good- 
 by." 
 
 " A heartless world, indeed, Sophia, love ; good-by." 
 And yet marriages go on every day in the good old 
 commonwealth of Maine, just as if Miss Sophia Garr 
 were not there. Her missionary labors cannot, there- 
 fore, be very well appreciated. It is, however, due to 
 her to say that she practises what she preaches. Sophia 
 Garr has ceased to mine in the affections of men. 
 
 But those who have visited Amos and Amelia in their 
 new home, generally go away impressed with a philos- 
 ophy the very opposite to that of Miss Garr and Mrs. 
 Leadbetter. If you, forgiving reader, could sit at the 
 table on some occasion, when Mrs. Clayton has ridden 
 up in state from the elegant house, to take her seat just 
 opposite Mr. Gloverson, and if you could see the sub- 
 dued joy in the faces of the young couple when little 
 Andrew, their first-born, is led in ; if you could see 
 even Mrs. Clayton as happy and as tractable as her own 
 
372 GLOVERSON AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 
 
 grandchild well, may be, you would believe, too, that 
 love has a mission to reward and punish. 
 
 It is in this belief, and in the reflection of these happy 
 faces, that the writer of the foregoing imperfect chapters 
 is about to make his parting bow. Not in the " Dorcas " 
 mine, or in the bales and boxes of the long ware-rooms 
 on Front Street ; but in their noble faith and gentle 
 confidence and constant love, do this prosperous house 
 consider their greatest wealth. Deal generously, there- 
 fore, with the simple-hearted firm ; paying them, if you 
 can, in the goods they value most. And may your drafts, 
 on whomsoever drawn, in the same happy commerce 
 of the heart, be honored always by the love-capital of 
 GLOVERSON AND HIS SILENT PARTNERS. 
 
 THE END.