Essentials of MIS Global 11th Edition Laudon Test Bank
Essentials of MIS Global 11th Edition Laudon Test Bank
Essentials of MIS Global 11th Edition Laudon Test Bank
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22. narrow cell in the State Prison? The thought was madness to me. I
swore that this should never be. She should not be the widow of a
living man, who could not support her, who could give her nothing
but a legacy of disgrace.
My pride rebelled as I thought of being confined in the prisoners’
dock, with all my former friends and enemies staring at me. I
thought of facing my uncle after he had been called upon to pay the
bond; of meeting Buckleton, Shaytop, and others to whom I had
talked so magnificently. I could not survive the crash. I could not live
in dread of the calamity that impended. While I was thinking what to
do, my uncle came into the bank. He was a cold-blooded wretch, but
he was afraid of me.
He began to talk of coppers, as, of course, I expected he would.
23. “I
CHAPTER XX.
THE LAST STEP.
HOPE you are not in very deep, Paley,” said Captain
Halliard, after he had stated the question in regard to the
copper stocks.
“Not very, but I am bitten somewhat,” I replied, trying
to look cheerful, for I could not think of exhibiting to the enemy the
state of my affairs. “Did you own any coppers, uncle?”
“No; not a copper. I had some, but I got rid of them,” replied the
wily man of the world, rubbing his hands to indicate that he was too
shrewd to be involved in any speculation that could possibly
miscarry.
“You are fortunate.”
“Speculation is just as much a trade as any other branch of
human industry. It requires brains, forethought, coolness. Novices
should be cautious how they venture beyond their depth, for they
are almost sure to be bitten. I am sorry you have been trapped,
Paley.”
“I’m not badly hurt, though of course the small loss I have
experienced must make some difference in my future arrangements.
And, by the way, I should like to avail myself of your kind offer.”
“What was that?” he asked, rather blankly.
“You offered to lend me money if I was short.”
24. “Just so.”
“I want a thousand dollars.”
“Of course you mean of your aunt’s money?”
“It won’t make much difference to me whose money it is, if I
only get it.”
“You shall have the thousand you paid me on her account.”
“Very well, sir.”
He gave me his check for the amount, and I wrote a note for it,
payable to my aunt. The captain wished to ascertain how much I
had lost by the copper explosion, but I evaded a definite answer,
and intimated that I was bitten to the extent of only a few hundred
dollars. I had now a thousand dollars in my pocket, besides about a
hundred in my possession before. I felt a little easier, though the
terrible pressure of my load still rested heavily upon me. I am not
disposed to moralize in this place upon the guilt of my conduct, for
really the guilt at that time did not trouble me half so much as the
fear of detection.
I owed the bank eight thousand dollars. I had “tinkered” the
books so as to account for the deficiency, but the record would not
bear a very close examination. The fact that I was mixed up in these
miserable copper stock speculations was quite enough to excite
suspicion, for I could not hope that the fact was unknown to the
directors, as long as my uncle knew it. I felt as though I was living
on a powder magazine which might explode at any instant. The
slightest accident might reveal the whole truth to Mr. Bristlebach.
If I should happen to be sick a day, so that I could not go to the
bank, my false entries might be detected. Even while I was in the
daily discharge of my duties, the president or the cashier might be
tempted to examine my accounts. On the other hand, I might go a
year or more without discovery, though the chances were apparently
all against me. If I ran the risk of the future, I should live in constant
terror of an explosion. The death of Aunt Rachel, I confidently
believed, would enable me to pay off my debt; and the question was
whether or not I should take the chances of detection until the
25. possession of her money enabled me to set myself right with the
bank.
My aunt’s health was so much improved that I could not
reasonably expect to have her money for some time. In a week, a
month, a year—but be it sooner or later, it was sure to come—my
deficit would be exposed. It might be discovered while I was at
home, or at least before I had any suspicion that I was in peril. I
should have no time to provide for my own safety. I was liable to be
arrested in my own house, without any warning, and then nothing
could save me from a term in the State Prison.
The cold sweat dropped from my brow as I thought of this fearful
contingency. I should not have a moment for preparation; an
opportunity to take the first train departing from the city; or even to
hide myself in the dark places of the city. Cold irons on my wrists, a
gloomy dungeon for, my resting-place, with the loathing and
contempt of my fellow-men, were all that would be left to me then.
Lilian, whom I loved with all my soul, would be reduced to despair.
My savage mother-in-law would not cease to reproach her, as long
as my wife was a burden in the maternal home.
I could not face the emergency. I was determined to place myself
beyond the possibility of such an awful crash. I was resolved that
Lilian, whatever she might think of me, should never be compelled
to look in upon her husband through the bars of a prison cell. Before
the discovery of the deficit, I could make such arrangements as I
pleased. Afterwards, I could do nothing. It seemed to me then that I
had not a day or an hour to spare. I had decided to save myself
from the consequences of one tremendous error, by plunging into
another. Of course I could not flee from Boston with only a thousand
dollars in my pocket. I am surprised now when I consider how easy
it was for me to think of taking from the bank no less a sum than
thirty thousand dollars. I did not now flatter myself that I intended
only to borrow the money, though it did occur to me that Aunt
Rachel’s fortune would in part pay my debt. Before I left the bank
that day, I put in my pocket ten thousand dollars, so that if my
26. errors were immediately discovered, I should not be wholly
unprovided for.
I went to a broker where I was not known, and bought a
thousand pounds in gold, which I carried home in a small valise I
purchased for future use. I concealed the gold in my chamber ready
for the final move when I should be required to make it. I was
intensely excited by the resolution I had taken, and my thoughts
seemed to move with tremendous rapidity. I had decided upon the
precise plan I intended to follow; but of course it was necessary for
me to move with the utmost circumspection.
I had only a day to spare, for we must leave Boston the next
evening. I must prepare Lilian for a great change in her future. I
must lay my plans so as not to excite a breath of suspicion in any
one, especially at the bank. I had hardly twenty-four hours left to
complete my arrangements. I composed myself as well as I could,
and went down to dinner. Lilian was as cheerful as she always was
when I came into the house, and it almost started the tears in my
eyes when I thought what she would be if the world knew the whole
truth in regard to my affairs.
“Lilian, I have been unfortunate to-day,” I began, as a suitable
introduction to the plan I had to propose.
“Unfortunate! Dear me! What has happened?” she asked,
dropping her pretty chin and her knife and fork at the same time.
“I have lost a good deal of money.”
“Lost a good deal of money?”
“Yes, a large amount.”
“Why, Paley!”
“Don’t look so sad, Lilian. It won’t kill me; and while I have you, I
need not complain.”
“But how did you lose it, Paley?”
“By the fall of stocks.”
I showed her one of the evening papers, in which the bursting of
the copper bubble was fully detailed. She looked at the article, but
she could not understand it, and I explained the matter to her.
27. “You haven’t lost all—have you, Paley?”
“No, not all, my dear. But I have something else to tell you. How
would you like to live in Paris for a year or two?”
“In Paris!” exclaimed she, her face lighting up with pleasure.
“In Paris, Lilian; and perhaps we may go to other parts of
Europe.”
“O, I should like it above all things! I have always thought if I
could ever go to Europe, I should be the happiest woman in the
world. But what do you mean, Paley? You surely do not intend to go
to Paris?”
“I am thinking of it.”
“Are you, really?” she continued, opening her bright eyes so wide
that her whole soul seemed to shine out through them.
“I am, truly; but I was thinking you would not be able to go so
soon as I should be obliged to leave.”
“O, I would go to-night, if I could only go!” she replied, with
enthusiasm.
“I have an offer, or a partial offer, from a concern in New York to
act as its financial agent in Paris.”
“Accept it, Paley—do accept it. I shall be so happy if I can only
go to Paris!”
“I don’t know certainly that I can have the position, but I am
pretty confident that I can.”
“Don’t refuse it, Paley. As you love me, don’t!”
“But there are a great many difficulties in the way,” I suggested.
“O, never mind the difficulties!”
“But we must mind them.”
“Well, what are they?”
“In the first place we must go to New York to-morrow night.”
“We can do that well enough. I am ready to go to-night.”
“I can’t go and leave this house, and all the furniture, paying the
rent while I am gone.”
28. “Leave it in the hands of Tom Flynn. He will sell the furniture and
let the house. There are enough who will want it.”
“That is not even the principal trouble. The bank will not let me
off without my giving some notice, so that the officers can get
another person in my place.”
“It would be mean in them to keep you when you have a good
chance to better your condition.”
“I think I can manage it somehow, Lilian; and I feel almost sure
that we shall go.”
“O, I am so glad!”
“But, Lilian, you must not tell a single soul where you are going,
or, indeed, that you are going at all.”
“Not tell any one! Why not?” she asked, as if it would be a great
hardship to deprive herself of the pleasure of telling her friends that
she was going to Paris.
“I will tell you why, Lilian. It is difficult and dangerous business. I
am not sure of the position yet. Suppose I should go to New York,
and then, after I had thrown up my situation in the bank, find that
the firm who made the partial offer did not want me? I should have
lost my present place without having obtained another.”
“That’s very true. I understand you, perfectly.”
“If I find in New York that I can have the position, it will be time
enough for me to resign my place in the bank. If I am disappointed,
I have only to return to my present place. If it should get to the ears
of Mr. Bristlebach that I am doing anything of this kind, he might fill
my place in my absence—don’t you see?”
“I do; it is plain enough.”
“You can tell your mother that you are going away to-morrow
night, and that possibly I may accept a position in New Orleans.”
“In New Orleans?”
“Yes; it won’t do to say any thing about Paris yet.”
“I am sorry we have to go off in this way; but I would rather do
it than not go at all.”
29. I am willing to confess that my conscience reproached me for
thus deceiving my loving wife; but I believed that I was doing it for
her good—to save her from a fate so terrible that neither of us could
comprehend it. We discussed the details of the plan in full, and she
promised to be as circumspect as I could desire. We had two
traveling trunks which we had used upon our bridal tour, and these
were immediately brought into requisition. Leaving Lilian to
commence packing, I left the house with the intention of seeing Mr.
Brentbone, who had so long been anxious to have my house. I
found him at his lodgings. I stated my business, and inquired if he
still wished to obtain the dwelling.
“I am still open to a trade. I offered your uncle three hundred
bonus for the house,” said he.
“But I wish to sell my furniture.”
“Very well; if it suits my wife, I will buy it.”
“I lost a good deal of money to-day by the coppers, and I must
change my plans.”
“Ah! I am sorry for you; but I see you are a prudent young man.”
“I am in a hurry to dispose of the matter, for I have a good
chance to board now. If you and Mrs. Brentbone will walk over to
the house, we can show you what there is in it.”
The gentleman and the lady were willing, and I accompanied
them to Needham Street. Mrs. Brentbone found some fault with the
furniture, and rather objected to purchasing it. I intimated that I
should not dispose of my lease unless I could sell the furniture.
“What do you ask for the furniture?” he inquired.
“Twenty-two hundred dollars, including the piano, or seventeen
hundred without. I can show you bills for fifteen hundred; and a
hundred small things not included in them.”
“You ask too much. I must pay twenty-five hundred to get
possession, at this rate,” said Mr. Brentbone. He made me various
offers, but I was satisfied that he would give my price, and I did not
abate a dollar. The trade was closed, and he agreed to see me at the
bank the next day, where we were to pass the papers. My landlord
30. consented to endorse the lease over to the new tenant. Mrs.
Brentbone had a talk with Bridget, and engaged her to remain in the
place. Everything was going as well as I could expect. Lilian and I
staid up till midnight packing our clothes, and preparing for our
abrupt departure.
I went to the bank as usual, the next morning. On my way I
stopped at the pianoforte warerooms, and bought the piano in my
house which I had only hired, for however guilty I had been, and
intended to be, I still had a certain sense of worldly honor, which
would not permit me to do what I regarded as a mean action,
though I acknowledge that I did not discriminate very nicely in some
portions of my conduct. But I settled the bill for four hundred
dollars.
Mr. Brentbone came according to his promise. I gave him the
lease, and the bill of sale of the furniture for his check. My uncle
happened to come in while we were doing the business. I told him
that my losses the day before had induced me to accept Mr.
Brentbone’s offer for my house. He commended me for my
prudence. Mr. Bristlebach also expressed his approbation of the
economical step I had taken, and declared that he had more
confidence in me than before. He liked to see a young man take
counsel of prudence.
I took advantage of his good-nature to put in my request for
leave of absence for a single day, to enable me to visit a friend in
Albany who was sick. The permission was promptly granted. I
balanced my cash for the last time, leaving it thirty-eight thousand
dollars short, to account for which I altered various charges and
credits, and made several fictitious entries. The account was left
square, and if no particular investigation was instituted, my deficit
might remain concealed for some time. With the twenty thousand
dollars which I had just appropriated I left the bank—for the last
time.
31. I
CHAPTER XXI.
AN EXILE FROM HOME.
WAS astonished to find that I could commit a crime of such
magnitude with so little remorse. It is true, the sin had become,
in a measure, necessary to my salvation, and that of my wife;
but I was only excited, not burdened with guilt, when I did the
deed. I had been traveling very rapidly on the downward road, and
in a few weeks I had acquired a facility in crime which enabled me
to rob the bank of thirty thousand dollars without considering any
thing but the peril of being discovered. Fatal facility, which can only
be avoided by those who refrain from taking the first step!
I had deluded myself into the belief that principle was only a
worldly sense of honor. Tom Flynn was a man of genuine principle,
for his actions were based upon a religious foundation, which alone
can vitalize principle. A man may be honest because it is safer or
more reputable to be so; but then he would steal if it were not for
being found out, and will be as dishonest as fashion or custom will
tolerate. When I had leisure to think of the matter, I marvelled that I
had fallen so easily; and this was the explanation I made to myself.
Tom Flynn had said as much as this to me, in the way of
argument, assuring me it was quite impossible for a man without the
love of God and the love of man in his heart—which is the epitome
of the whole gospel—to have any genuine principle in his soul. Any
thing short of this is mere sentiment, which is blown aside by the
32. rude blast of temptation. The hymn he used to sing so much
seemed to tell the whole story:—
“I want a principle within
Of jealous, godly fear;
A sensibility to sin,
A pain to find it near.”
Worldly honor, the fear of discovery, the bubble of reputation, are
not enough to keep a man in the path of rectitude. But I will not
anticipate the reflections which were forced upon me afterwards. I
did not believe I was much worse than the majority of young men. I
certainly did not mean to steal when I began to take money from
the bank; and even when I found it necessary to flee from the
anticipated consequences of my errors, I had a certain undefined
expectation of being able to restore all I had taken. The fortune of
Aunt Rachel still flitted through my mind as the solution of the
difficult problem.
I left the bank struggling to look cool and indifferent. I bowed
and spoke to my acquaintances as naturally as possible. In two or
three hours more I should be out of the city, perhaps never to see it
again. I could not even go down to Springhaven to see my mother—
probably I had seen her for the last time on earth. My blood seemed
like ice as the thought came to my mind. I reflected upon all she had
been to me, all she had done for me. The prayers and the hymns
she had taught me in my childhood came back to me as though I
had learned them but yesterday. I was amazed at my own folly and
wickedness. What a blow I was dealing to that mother! When she
heard that her only son had fled from his home, steeped in crime,
and covered with shame how she would weep! For days months and
years she would groan in bitterness of spirit.
What a wretch, what a villain, what an ingrate I was to strike her
in this cruel manner! My sense of worldly honor would have revolted
at the thought of giving her even the slightest blow with my hand;
but how inconceivably more cruel was the blow I was giving her by
my conduct! Could I have sooner realized the anguish which the
33. thought of my mother would cause me, I think it might have saved
me.
I could not make up my mind to doom her who had given me
being, who had watched over me in my childhood, who had loved
me as none else but God could love me, to such awful agony as the
revelation of my crime would cause her. Was there no way to
escape? I could restore the thirty thousand dollars. With the
proceeds of my house and furniture I could make up three thousand
more. I was really, then, only five thousand dollars in debt—the sum
which I had lost in copper stocks. The case seemed not so
desperate, after all. I could go to Aunt Rachel, tell her, with the
genuine penitence I then felt what a wicked deed I had done. She
would lend me five thousand dollars, and I could pay all I owed.
My heart leaped with delight as I thought of this remedy. But
then there might be some delay. Lilian was all ready to start for New
York. It was possible that the deficit might be discovered before I
had raised the money. If it were, I was lost. Still farther, if I paid the
three thousand dollars in my possession into the bank, I should not
have any thing to furnish another house. I should be compelled to
board, and very likely the circumstances would drive me back to
Mrs. Oliphant’s. I shuddered as I considered it.
I thought of my mother again, and had almost resolved to adopt
the suggestion of my better nature, when I was tempted to enter a
bar-room. I drank a glass of whiskey. The effect of strong drink upon
me was to stupefy my faculties and make me reckless. I drank a
second and then a third glass, in as many different saloons. I forgot
my mother then. I was excited, and pictured to myself the delights
of foreign travel.
I am almost sure now, so strong was the tendency upon me, that
I should have carried out the suggestion of my higher impulses, if I
had not entered the bar-room. The devil of whiskey drove the good
resolution, still in its formative state, out of my mind. If the thought
of my mother came back to me, I drove it from me. In this frame of
mind, I could not think of humiliating myself by confessing my errors
even to Aunt Rachel, the most indulgent of women.
34. I walked up Tremont Street, thinking of the future. The die was
cast, and I refused to avail myself of the means of escape which
were open to me. It was a sorry day for me when I turned from the
road which might have restored me to honor and integrity. As the
events proved, it would have been better, and I should have realized
more than I anticipated. I had long dreamed of seeing the wonders
of the old world, and the prospect of doing so at once had a
powerful influence upon me. Within twenty-four hours I should be
on board of a steamer bound to Europe; but at the same time I
should be an exile from home, from honor and integrity, leaving a
ruined name and a blasted reputation behind me.
“How are you, Paley?”
It was Tom Flynn. His voice startled me. I would rather have met
any other one than him, for his very looks seemed to reproach me.
“Ah, how do you do, Tom?” I replied, in some confusion.
“So you are going to Albany to-night?” he added.
“Yes; poor Whiting is quite sick?”
“Who?”
“Whiting; don’t you know him?”
“No; who is he?”
“I knew him in the city here, and we were cronies.”
Whiting was a myth, but I had a facility for lying which helped
me through in an emergency.
“I hope you will find him better.”
“I’m afraid it’s all up with him; he is probably in consumption.”
“I am sorry for him.”
“I suppose you knew I had sold my furniture and lease?”
“No!” exclaimed he, opening his eyes.
“Yes. Brentbone takes possession to-night.”
“I am sorry for that, for I liked to go there.”
“The fact is, I lost heavily for me in coppers, and I can’t afford to
keep that house any longer.”
35. “One must be prudent,” said he, musing. “I was afraid you were
going a little too fast. Did you lose much?”
“Considerable, for me.”
“If I can do any thing to help you out, Paley, I will, with the
greatest pleasure. I never had anything to do with fancy stocks.”
“Thank you, Tom. You are fortunate. But I must go along.”
“I suppose you are in a hurry, so I will walk along with you. I
don’t know but you will think me impertinent, Paley, but I don’t want
to meddle with your business, in a bad sense. I have been thinking
that something was going wrong with you.”
“With me?” I demanded, not a little startled by this candid
revelation. “Going wrong?”
“I had an idea that you were losing money, or that something
serious troubled you.”
“What makes you think so?” I asked.
“I hardly know; but you seem to act strangely; to be excited or
absent-minded. Perhaps you have lost more on coppers than you
care to acknowledge?”
“Well, I have lost more than I ought to lose.”
“And—excuse me, Paley—but you have been drinking.”
“Only a nipper or two for a pain which often vexes me.”
“It’s a dangerous practice—don’t do it, Paley. Better suffer the
pain than fall into a bad habit. I’m impudent, I know, but I can’t help
it. I wouldn’t have things go wrong with you for all the world. Are
you in debt?”
“Somewhat.”
“Let me help you out. With what I have saved myself, and with
what came to me from my father’s estate, I have about eight
thousand dollars. Promise me that you won’t drink any more, and I
will let you have money enough to help you out of debt.”
“What has the drinking to do with it?” I asked, rather vexed at
the manner in which he put the question.
36. “I am always afraid that any man who drinks will become a
drunkard. Perhaps it is a superstition; but I can’t help it, and you
know that the theory is backed up by common experience.”
“I don’t think I’m in any danger; but I am not exactly willing to
be bought up to total abstinence.”
“I didn’t mean that, Paley. You know how much wine was drank
at your party. Never mind that now; we will talk of it at another
time. How much do you owe?”
“Five or six thousand.”
“So much!” exclaimed he.
“All of that. I lost just five thousand on Bustumups,” I replied,
desperately.
“I had no idea you were in so deep as that,” he added, looking
very serious. “But I will not go back on myself. I will lend you every
dollar I have rather than permit the world to go wrong with you. We
will talk it over when you return from Albany.”
We parted at the corner of Needham Street, for he was going to
the Oliphants to see Miss Bertha. What could Tom mean? He had
observed that something was wrong with me. I was troubled. If he
had noticed it, perhaps others had, and it was time for me to be
gone. He was a noble fellow, and I knew that he was deeply
concerned about me. From his standpoint, I had been gambling in
fancy stocks, had lost, and was in imminent peril of becoming a
drunkard under the influence of my financial troubles. He wanted to
be a brother to me, but I felt humiliated by the view he took of my
case. Why should he think I was in danger of becoming a drunkard?
It was fanaticism.
He offered to lend me money enough to pay my debts. I could
not borrow it of him. I could not place myself under so great an
obligation to him. He tendered me the means of making myself
square with the bank; but then I should be a beggar, five thousand
in debt, instead of travelling like a lord in Europe, with over thirty
thousand dollars at my disposal. My pride resented his offer and I
did not give it another thought.
37. Dinner was ready when I went into the house. Lilian had almost
worn herself out in getting ready for her departure. She told me she
had been at her mother’s, and that the whole family were
astonished when she told them I had sold out the English basement
house. She had informed them that I had an offer in New Orleans,
as I had directed her to do; in a word, she had been faithful to my
instructions. Before the carriage came for us, Mrs. Oliphant and her
two daughters appeared to bid us good-by. I must say that “dear
ma” behaved with great propriety on this trying occasion, for it must
be remembered that she expected to see no more of Lilian for
months, if not for years.
We drove to the railroad station with our two heavy trunks. It
was fortunate that neither Tom Flynn nor any one but the Oliphants
took it into his head to “see us off,” or the quantity of baggage we
carried might have provoked inquiry. The train moved out of the
station-house, and I felt that I had bade farewell to Boston forever. I
had my wife, but I had sundered all ties with every body else.
“I hope we shall not have to come back here again next week,”
said Lilian, as the train began to increase its speed.
“There is little danger of that,” I replied.
I was obliged to admit to myself that I might possibly be brought
back by an officer, with irons on my wrists, within a week. I had
committed a crime which would condemn me to the State Prison for
a long term of years, if discovered—and it could not be long
concealed.
“Do you really think we shall go to Europe, Paley?”
“I have hardly a doubt of it.”
“Then why didn’t you let me tell mother, and not make her think
I was going to New Orleans?”
“I told you the reasons, my dear, and I hope you will be satisfied
with them,” I answered, rather petulantly.
“Don’t be cross, Paley.”
“I’m not cross.”
38. But the fumes of the whiskey I had drank were nearly
evaporated, and I did not feel right. I could not help dreading
something which I tried to define. If Tom Flynn had suspected that
something was going wrong with me, it was not impossible that Mr.
Bristlebach, or Mr. Heavyside, had been equally penetrating in their
observations. It was possible that, at this moment, the bank officers
were engaged in examining my accounts and my cash. Any attempt
to verify some of my entries must infallibly expose me.
Even without any suspicions of me, they might, in looking over
my accounts, discover the altered figures, or the fictitious items. An
accident might betray me. Perhaps the detectives were already on
my track. Telegraphic dispatches to New York might place officers at
the station in that city ready to arrest me when I arrived. If my
deficit was exposed, it would be impossible for me to take a foreign-
bound steamer. My photograph, or at least my description, would be
in the hands of all the detectives.
All these reflections, all these fears and misgivings, are the
penalty of crime. I was called to endure them, as thousands of
others have been; and those who commit crimes must remember
that these things are “nominated in the bond.” But no telegram
preceded me; no detectives dogged my steps; and the bank had no
suspicion that anything was wrong with me. We went to the Fifth
Avenue Hotel on our arrival in the city.
I hastened down town after breakfast, engaged a state-room in
the steamer which sailed at one o’clock, and procured a letter of
credit on London for three thousand five hundred pounds, payable to
Charles Gaspiller, whose signature I left to be forwarded to the
banker. I then went to a barber, and had my beard, except the
moustache, shaved off. When I entered the parlor of the hotel, Lilian
did not at first recognize me. She was talking to a lady and
gentleman—a young married couple—whose acquaintance we had
made at breakfast. They intended to sail in the afternoon for
Havana. The husband was about my size, and not unlike me. He
wore only a moustache, and for this reason I had sacrificed my
beard. If any detectives, after a few days, should be disposed to
39. ascertain what had become of me, they would be as likely to follow
him to Havana as me to Liverpool. It was well to be prudent and
take advantage of circumstances.
40. I
CHAPTER XXII.
CHARLES GASPILLER.
HAD avoided writing my name in the register of the hotel, for I
did not wish to leave any recorded traces of my presence in the
city. It occurred to me that perhaps Lilian had told her name to
her new-made friends, but they would soon be in the tropics,
and out of the reach of detectives. I regarded myself as very
shrewd, and I could not exactly see how it was possible for any one
to obtain a trace of me, after the steamer had departed.
I had given my name at the steamer office as Charles Gaspiller,
and the money for my bill of exchange was to be drawn in London
under this appellation. I don’t know how I happened to select this
name. It was a French word which probably came back to my
memory from my studies at the high school; but I had forgotten its
meaning, though I could read French tolerably well. When I came to
ascertain its signification, I was not a little surprised to find that it
exactly fitted my case, for it means “to waste, to squander, to
lavish.” It was entirely by accident that I chose this word, and I
certainly should not have done so had I been aware that it covered
my case so exactly.
But if I succeeded in concealing my identity from others, I could
not hide it from my wife. If I was Mr. Gaspiller, she must of necessity
be Mrs. Gaspiller. We were not at all fitted to pass ourselves off as
French people, for my pronunciation had been so neglected at
41. school, that I could hardly speak a word of the language with which
I was tolerably familiar by the eye. Lilian knew still less of it. I knew
that double l in French had a liquid sound, and I called the word
Gas-pee-ay. It would be singular that I should have a French name,
pronounced with a French accent, and yet not be able to speak the
language. I was afraid I had made an unpleasant bed for myself. But
I determined as soon as I reached Paris to master the language.
How could I have the assurance to tell Lilian that her name was
Gaspiller, and not Glasswood. I might convince her that the latter
was too commonplace to travel in Europe upon—indeed she was
already convinced of that, for she often, in her lively manner, made
fun of the cognomen. I could assure her that, while I was not to
blame for my name, the word was so inconsistent, absurd and
contradictory, that it would subject me to ridicule. It was no part of
my purpose to tell her I was a defaulter, an exile from home, a
fugitive from justice. It would break her gentle heart. Yet I was not
sure that it would not come to this.
After I had completed all my preparations, I was in her presence
with my bill of exchange and my passage receipt in my pocket. She
was talking with the lady who was going to Havana when I entered.
She looked at me, and as soon as she recognized me, she
commented merrily upon the change which the loss of my whiskers
made in my appearance. She rose from her chair, but her friend
talked so fast that she could not at once leave her. I knew how
anxious she was to know the final answer of the great banking-
house to which I had alluded. Upon that depended the voyage to
Europe. As soon as she could decently do so, she tore herself away
from her companion, and sat down on the sofa at my side.
“Are you going, Paley, or not?” she asked, with breathless
eagerness.
In answer to this inquiry I inadvertently pulled out the receipt for
the passage money, which constituted the ticket. I did not at the
moment think that it ran in favor of “Charles Gaspiller,” for I was not
quite ready to tell her that I had changed my name.
“What is this, Paley?” she asked, blankly. “I don’t understand it.”
42. “Don’t you, my dear? Why, it is our ticket for a passage in the
steamer to Liverpool,” I replied, cheerfully.
“This? ‘Received of Charles Gas-pill-er!’” said she, reading just
what the letters of my new name spelled.
How stupid I was! Why had I not told her in so many words, that
we were to go, instead of doing the thing in this sensational way?
“Precisely so; that is the French for Glasswood,” I replied,
laughing as gaily as my confusion would permit. “I don’t want
Frenchmen in Paris to call me Bois de Verre, which means wood
made of glass, or anything of that sort. The name is Gas-pee-ay, and
not Gas-pill-er.”
“But how does it happen that the receipt is given to you under
this name?”
“Because I don’t want to be called Glasswood in Europe. But, my
dear, we have no time to spare now, and we shall have ten days of
idleness as soon as the steamer sails. So we must not stop to
discuss this matter at the present time. We must be on board at
half-past twelve, and it is after eleven now,” I continued, with
sufficient excitement in my manner to change the current of her
thoughts.
“Then we are really going!” exclaimed she, opening her bright
eyes.
“Certainly we are; and going immediately.”
“Why, I wanted to go shopping in New York, if we were really
going.”
“Shopping! That’s absurd! Ladies never go shopping in New York,
when they are on their way to Paris.”
“But I must write a letter to mother.”
“Certainly; you have time to do that while I speak for a carriage
and pay the bill.”
I procured note paper and envelopes for her, and went down to
settle my account at the office. The polite book-keeper asked me to
indicate the name on the register. I told him I had not written it. I
had wound my handkerchief around my right hand, which I held up
43. to him, and declared that I was unable to use a pen. He was kind
enough to offer to render me the service himself.
“C. Gaspiller,” I added, when he was ready to write.
“What is it, sir?”
“C. Gaspiller.”
He wrote “C. Caspeare,” and I was entirely satisfied.
“Three dollars, Mr. Caspeare,” said he; and I gave him the
amount, though it was one dollar more than the regular charge.
I was confident that I was leaving no trace of myself here. A
carriage was ordered for me, and my trunks were loaded. I went up
for Lilian, and found that she had finished her letter. She gave it to
me to be stamped and mailed. I took a stamp from my porte-
monnaie, carefully adjusted it upon the envelope, and put the letter
in my pocket. Of course I was not stupid enough to mail it, since it
would betray my secret to those who could not see the necessity of
keeping it.
“This is very sudden, Paley,” said Lilian, as the carriage drove off.
“Sudden? Why, I told you this was the way it would have to be
done, if it was done at all,” I replied.
“I know you did. Won’t dear ma be astonished when she reads
my letter?”
“Probably she will be,” I answered; but I thought she would be
astonished, long before she read it.
I confess that my conscience reproached me when I thought of
the letter in my pocket, and of the deception towards my wife, of
which I was guilty. Her father, mother and sisters would wonder, and
be permitted to wonder, for weeks if not for months, that they did
not hear from her. It was cruel for me to deceive Lilian, and to
subject her family to all the anxiety to which I thus doomed them,
but I believed that it was a stern necessity, and I silenced the
upbraidings of the inward monitor. With thirty thousand dollars of
stolen money in my pocket, it may be supposed that I did not
trouble myself much upon such an insignificant matter as the peace
of my wife’s friends.
44. We went on board of the steamer and I found our state-room.
Being one of the last engaged, it was not the best on board, though
it was a very comfortable one. Lilian was delighted with it, and
declared that she should be as happy as a queen in it. I was afraid
she was mistaken. She had never traveled any except on our bridal
tour, and I expected she would be sea-sick all the way. But now she
was excited by the prospect before her, and by the busy scene which
surrounded us. The steamer was crowded with those who were
going, and with their friends who had come to see them off. There
was no one to say adieu to Lilian or to me.
If, of the multitude on the wharf, there was any one who felt an
interest in me, it could only be a detective. I was a fugitive, and I
felt like one. While Lilian was full of life and animated by the scene, I
could not help feeling depressed. I was bidding farewell to my native
land, perhaps forever. It might never be safe for me to return. I
could not get rid of a certain sense of insecurity. It seemed to me,
after I saw the men casting off the huge hawsers that held the ship
to the pier, that those infernal detectives must come on board and
hurry me back to a prison cell in the city from which I had fled.
Any flurry in the crowd, the arrival of a belated passenger, gave
me a pang of anxiety which I cannot describe. It was only when the
huge steamer was clear of the dock, and the great wheels began to
turn, that I dared to breathe in a natural manner. Even then I was
thrown into a fresh agony, when a steam-tug came out to us to put
the mails on board. I was sure, until it was alongside, that it had
been specially chartered by the detectives to arrest me. I was
determined to jump overboard and perish in the waves, in sight of
my wife, rather than be borne back to a long term of imprisonment
in a dungeon. It was better to die than confront my friends in
Boston.
I asked one of the officers what the tug was, as she came
alongside, that I need not be tempted to do a deed for which there
was no real necessity. He assured me it contained only the mails,
and I breathed easier; but I was not entirely satisfied that the
officers had not availed themselves of this last opportunity to arrest
45. their victim, until the tug had cast off, and the steamer started on
her long voyage. I was safe then. My throbbing heart returned to its
natural pulsations.
But I could not forget the ruin and disgrace which would soon
cover my name and fame in Boston. I could not shut out from my
view the horror of my mother when she learned that I was a fugitive
from justice, and that I had mocked her fondest hopes. I was
miserable for the time, and Lilian rallied me upon my gloomy
appearance. There was a remedy which I had tried before for this
mental suffering. Leaving my wife for a moment, I went down to the
steward’s room, and drank a glass of whiskey. I found that lunch
was on the table, and I conducted Lilian to the saloon. I ordered a
bottle of sherry, and a few glasses of this, in addition to what I had
already taken, soon gave my reproaches of conscience to the winds
for the time.
I do not intend to describe our voyage. It was an unusually
pleasant one, and Lilian suffered but very little from sea-sickness. In
a few days, as the distance from my native land increased, I felt
tolerably secure from the consequences of my crime; but I found it
impossible to get rid of the thought of my mother and other friends
at home. Even whiskey and wine soon failed to stupefy me unless I
partook of them in inordinate quantities. Lilian told me I drank too
much, and begged me not to do so any more. She was so gentle
and so tender that I could not refuse, for I had not acquired a
decided appetite for the intoxicating cup. I only drank it for the
solace it afforded me, and I was fully convinced that the severe
headaches and the disordered stomach which troubled me were the
effects of this excess. I would gladly refrain, but there was “no
peace for the wicked.”
I will not attempt to describe my sufferings, though I appeared
cheerful and happy to my wife. I could not wholly conceal them from
her, and she worried me with her questions, anxious to know what
ailed me. We arrived at Liverpool and hastened on to London, for I
wished to cash my bill before it was possible for anything to go
wrong. I had no trouble in doing so. My signature had already
46. reached the bankers, having come out in the same steamer with me.
With the gold which I had brought, I had four thousand five hundred
pounds. To prevent any trace being had of me, I went to another
banker and purchased a circular letter of credit for a thousand
pounds, investing the rest in securities which paid me about five per
cent.
We spent a month in London, seeing the sights, and Lilian was as
happy as a woman could be. I had satisfied her that the change of
name was purely a matter of convenience, and she soon became
accustomed to it. She wrote letters to her mother and other friends,
and gave them to me to be mailed. I lighted my cigar with them. We
had rooms at Morley’s, but we saw no one, knew no one in the
house, except the servants. One day, after dinner, I went out to
obtain some tickets to visit Windsor castle, leaving Lilian in the
room. When I came back I found her in terrible excitement. She had
a Boston newspaper in her hand, which the landlord, as a special
favor, had sent up to our apartments.
“O Charles—Paley!” said she; and I saw that she had been
weeping. “What does this mean?”
“What, my dear?” I asked, appalled at the tempest which was
rising.
“This paper says there is a rumor of a defalcation in the Forty-
Ninth National Bank, and that the paying teller has disappeared.
Were not you the paying teller, Paley?”
She suddenly ceased to call me Charles, as I had instructed her
to do. Evidently she knew more than I wished her to know. I took
the newspaper. It was dated about a week after our departure from
Boston. The paragraph said it was rumored that there was a heavy
defalcation in the Forty-Ninth. The paying teller had been missing for
a week. That was all. It was merely an item which some industrious
reporter had picked up; and the particulars had not yet been
published. Doubtless the detectives were looking for me.
With tears in her eyes Lilian again demanded an explanation of
the paragraph. What could I say?
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