 | CHAPTER III.
CAPTAIN JAY AND HIS FAMILY. The miser's heir, or, The young millionaire |  |
3. CHAPTER III.
CAPTAIN JAY AND HIS FAMILY.
The game of life may be compared to that of chess, in
which every correct move strengthens the player's position,
and facilitates his chances for another advance, while one
misstep leads to a succession of errors which prove in the
end wholly irretrievable. If the career of Hugh Werter
had exemplified one part of this proposition, as far at least
as pecuniary matters were concerned, there were not wanting
among his neighbors instances to confirm the other.
Among these was an individual related by marriage to the
millionaire, whose fortunes had been peculiarly adverse.
Captain Jay, whose wife was a sister of Mrs. Werter,
was a sea-faring man, who, as master of different merchant-vessels,
had beat about the world for a quarter of a century,
and had been a dozen times on the eve of making a
fortune, which had as regularly eluded his grasp. His
ship usually came in at the wrong time, or with the wrong
cargo, or he was caught out in a war, his vessel scuttled,
and himself taken prisoner; or when everything else went
right, his owners failed on the very eve of pay-day; for
all these vicissitudes had in turn befallen him, yet had
failed to discourage his sanguine, trustful, cheerful spirit.
But illness had compelled him to relinquish his maritime
pursuits, and at the age of fifty he had retired from the sea
without even a competence secured for the evening of his
boisterous life. Yet he had wealth beyond what mines
and merchandize can give, in a family circle of unusual attractions,
their affections was none the less warm, nay was the
warmer because he came empty-handed and sad of heart.
Mrs. Jay was an intelligent and amiable lady, of genuine
piety, who had imparted to her children, both by nature
and tuition, her own excellencies of character, and what
was of less moment, had transmitted to them also the extreme
beauty and grace of person which had in younger
years won for herself a general admiration. She was considerably
the junior of her husband, yet she was past her
fortieth year at the time of his withdrawal from his ocean
life, which was about two years subsequent to the death of
her sister, and eighteen months prior to the decease of that
sister's husband. Mrs. Werter in her life-time had made
many efforts to induce her grasping lord to assist her
brother-in-law, in his adverse fortunes, but always without
success, and when Hugh became a widower, he ceased all
intercourse with or recognition of a family whom he feared
would become importunate claimants of his aid. But he
entirely misunderstood the independent spirit of Mrs. Jay,
whose sense of personal dignity would have been less
wounded by sweeping the street-crossings than by becoming
a suppliant to a rich relation. She became a stranger
to her brother-in-law, which she regretted only because it
debarred her from all intercourse with the motherless boy,
for whom she entertained a real affection, and whose welfare
she had deeply at heart. Her own son was about two
years older than Sidney, and the cousins, although essentially
different in character and person, had become
warmly attached to each other before their intercourse had
been interdicted. The death of Mr. Werter would doubtless
have resulted in a renewal of Sidney's intimacy with
the family of his maternal aunt, had not Ralph been very
careful to perpetuate his estrangement from his indigent
since his mother's death he had not been allowed to speak,
and who, if ever alluded to in his presence, were always
spoken of in terms of disparagement. Addison Jay was a
singularly gifted lad, whose eloquence of face and figure,
rare mental endowments, and frank, kind nature might have
been considered as the harbingers of a distinguished future,
had his lot not been cast so deep within that chill vale of
poverty where Genius so often mourns its blighted hopes.
But at the age now spoken of he fortnnately knew little of
life's disappointments, and whatever clouds or sunshine
might be in reserve for him, he was as yet a light-hearted
boy, enjoying the golden hours as they passed, and ever
gladdening with his merry voice and radiant face the heart
of the fondest of mothers. Not less beloved, not less
lovely, was Lizzy Jay, the counterpart of her brother in
face and disposition, and almost his inseparable companion,
whose heart was a well-spring of all gentle and tender
emotions. Such was the family with which Capt. Jay
found himself surrounded on retiring from his ocean life, a
family almost of strangers to the hardy voyager, who for
many years had spent only one or two months annually at
home. But his memory had been kept alive in the hearts
of the children by the affectionate teachings of his wife,
who had never suffered his toils and hardships to fade from
her thoughts, and who through many long years had looked
continually forward to the time when he should be able to
enjoy in retirement the competence he would so dearly
have earned. What pictures of future happiness had she
not drawn?—how long and often had she felt the pain of
hope deferred?—and now, when her husband had grown
prematurely old with toil, he had come back from his
“voyage of life” to a home of poverty and almost destitution.
Fortunately he did not find a repining or desponding
wife, prepared to meet him with a doleful picture of their
destitute state, and with vain regrets for the fortunes they
had missed. They conformed at once to their altered position,
and did not make matters worse by seeking to keep
up appearances of a better condition than remained to them.
Capt. Jay did not hesitate to accept a clerkship in the
shipping house of his former employers, at a salary so
small, that nothing but the greatest economy and industry
on the part of his wife could have made it suffice for their
wants. Yet they were not unhappy, excepting in their solicitude
for the beloved children who were growing up around
them, and for whose future welfare there seemed to be no
provision.
Mrs. Jay had denied herself many things for the purpose
of assisting in giving Addison a liberal education, and although,
since her husband's changed fortunes, they were
obliged to relinquish this cherished design, the ambitious
boy had already advanced so far in his studies, that they
encouraged him to continue them in private, with a view
to some contingency which might yet enable him to attain
to the profession of his earnest choice—the law. Of this
coveted result, Addison himself never despaired, nor did it
even seem to his sanguine nature a task difficult of achievement.
At the age of sixteen he was fully competent to
take charge of a country district school, and it would be
difficult to portray the delight with which he received at
that age, from the legal inspectors of teachers, a certificate
of qualification.
“Now, mamma,” said the delighted boy, “only let me
find a school that I can keep six months in every year, and
I am a made man. I can study law, at the same time support
myself, and little Lizzie too, if necessary. So we are
off your hands.”
“Not quite yet, my son,” said his father, laughing.
“The school is to be found yet, you know.”
“O, I shall find one, father. There are plenty of them
in want of teachers, and I don't look so very young, you
know. I think I could pass for seventeen,” and Addison
unconsciously drew his fingers across his upper lip.
A smile from his parents, and a loud laugh from Lizzie,
greeted this gesture.
“There's nothing there, Addy. You needn't think it,”
she said. “Your face is just as smooth as mine, every bit.”
“I wish it was as handsome,” thought the pleased brother,
as he gazed affectionately at the sweet, smiling face
that was turned towards him. “But never mind the
beard,” he said. “I think I can contrive to get along
without that, for I shall always look as though I was just
freshly shaved, you know. But I am afraid there is one
thing necessary,” he continued, with a more serious air,
glancing at his clothes, and leaving it to the garments themselves
to finish the sentence, which they did by a very eloquent,
though silent, appeal to the eyes of all present.
There was no mistaking the fact. Addison's habiliments
were nearly threadbare, besides being of a forgotten fashion,
and Mrs. Jay could scarcely restrain her tears as she reflected
upon their inability to render her son the scanty
assistance of a new suit.
“If it was to be an evening school,” continued the lad,
thoughtfully, “I might manage with these; but no trustees
would employ such a scarecrow by daylight.”
“It would not cost more than fifteen dollars,” said Mrs.
Jay, hesitatingly, to her husband.
“But we owe twice that sum already,” replied the Captain,
with a sigh; “would it be honest to incur this debt,
with no certainty of being able to repay it?”
“Addison would himself pay it out of his first earnings—”
“Of course I would,” added the boy; “but I might fail
to get a school, after all, and then we should be in a bad
plight. I don't want papa to run any such risk as that—
for I know it makes him low-spirited to be in debt. I must
manage some other way.”
“O, mamma!” exclaimed Lizzie, with brimming eyes,
“what a pity that we should be so very, very poor, when
cousin Sidney is as rich as a prince, and never spends a
dollar either. If we had only a hundredth part as much as
he has, we could have nice clothes, and everything we
wanted, and Addison need not teach a school at all.”
“Hush, my child,” replied Mrs. Jay. “He who gave
wealth to your cousin assigned poverty to us. Can you not
say `His will be done?'”
“But I do think, mamma, that Sidney is very unkind to
us,” said the son. “Poverty is not a pestilence, that he
need be afraid to come near us; and I am sure he must
know us better than to think we would ask him for anything.
Only think of his utterly disowning us, merely because
he is rich and we are poor.”
“It is a sad spectacle indeed, to see so young a boy with
so much worldliness and selfishness; but we know not to
what influences he may be subject, or how far his nature
may be tainted with hereditary avarice, or warped by paternal
teachings. Let us be charitable.”
“Mamma never blames anybody,” said Lizzie, with a
flushed face; “but I do blame Sidney, and I will blame
him. He is a little, mean, contemptible boy, never to come
near Addison, who used to love him like a brother, and
would have given him every single plaything he owned,
just for the asking—and I remember very well when Addy
cried the whole day in the garden, because it was said we
were never to visit each other any more. And then, a long
time afterwards, when Uncle Hugh died, Addison and I
Siddy would come to see us again'—but he never, never
did, the bad boy,” and Lizzie, who had talked very fast
and excitedly, burst into tears as she closed, and put her
apron to her eyes.
There were more eyes moist besides hers, and even Addison,
who began to pride himself on his manliness, could
not refrain from emotion at the recollections she awakened.
“I remember it all very well,” he said, “and how, after
Uncle Hugh's death, we kept hoping on, week after week,
that he would come, or would send for us, until one day I
met old Jake, who lived with Mr. Ralph Werter, and asked
him about Siddy, and he said that Siddy had forgotten all
about us, and that his guardian was a cross old man, who
would set the dogs on us if we came there. Then I told
Lizzy, and we had another crying spell about it and gave
it up, and for years afterwards I never thought of Sidney
unassociated with his cross old uncle and the dogs, who I
thought were perpetually going about with him wherever
he went.”
“Well, I hope you have both freely forgiven him, my
children.”
“I hope so,” replied Lizzy, and then immediately added,
in a tone which implied anything but the forgiving spirit
she had professed, “I suppose he goes to a grand school,
and is preparing himself for college.”
“He certainly ought to do so, having such abundant
means,” replied Mrs. Jay.
“I don't think it is so,” said Addison; “for they say
he is closer than ever his father was, and that he will not
spend a dollar, if ever he can help it.”
“`They say' is a very uncertain authority, my child.
You should never repeat anything evil of another on mere
rumor, which is far oftener false than true.”
“Yes, but his own uncle and guardian says this. Papa
sits there very mute, but he knows all about it, for Mr.
Shaw was out at —ville last winter, on some business
with Mr. Werter, who told him these very words.”
“Did Mr. Shaw see Siddy, papa,” asked Lizzie, excitedly.
“He saw a sickly-looking, shabbily-dressed boy, who
was sent out of the room as soon as he entered,” replied
the father, “and when he inquired if that was Hugh Werter's
son, Mr. Ralph Werter replied yes, and added what
Addison has already told you. He also said, probably in
explanation of the boy's slovenly appearance, that he was
unwilling to have any of his money laid out for clothes,
and that they gratified his whims because he was in feeble
health.”
“It is a very strange story,” replied Mrs. Jay, “but it
may be true; I do not see what interest his guardian could
have in misrepresenting, as he gains nothing by his ward's
economy.”
“I do not think it very strange,” said Captain Jay. “It
is true the parsimony of parents is most usually followed by
prodigality on the part of their children; but it is often
otherwise, and when the taint of avarice does descend to
the next generation, it is sure to be with increased force.
The fact that Sidney has entirely forgotten you, Ellen,
and his cousins, shows that he can have but little generosity
in his nature.”
Mrs. Jay sighed without reply, and the conversation was
changed to its original theme, which, after much discussion,
resulted in a resolution to sacrifice an old cloth cloak of the
mother's, to furnish materials for the son's suit. She could
easily spare it, she said, for the winter was far off, and
would quite likely be a moderate one, in which case her
shawls would suffice very well; and if the season should
worst of it. Indeed, when she saw that Addison was very
reluctant to accede to the proposition, her asseverations
became so earnest that she could as well spare it as not,
that Lizzie began to wonder why she should ever have purchased
such a superfluous garment. The young man being
urged on all hands, consented to accept the gift on the
express condition that he should be allowed to replace it in
the fall, if he should be able to do so, of which he felt very
sanguine.
The cloak was of very fine material, and nearly uninjured,
and was of such ample dimensions that there was no
difficulty in getting the two most important parts of a gentleman's
wardrobe out of it, one of which of course was a
coat, and the other was—not. The expense was now reduced
to that of trimming and making, which in the hands
of an itinerant tailor, who transported his goose and pressboard
from house to house, and worked by the day, was a
comparatively trifling tax.
Addison, indeed, came out of his hands quite transformed,
and so very trim and handsome that Lizzie declared
it was a shame he should be a school teacher, and that he
ought to go directly and marry some princess, which she
had no doubt he could do, if he should have the good fortune
to meet one. If this event had occurred it could
scarcely have given her brother more delight than he received
a few weeks subsequently, from encountering a very
different person, that is to say, a grim old trustee of a
school district, in search of an occupant for the pedagogues
chair.
The boy's credentials were unexceptionable, his manners
were prepossessing, and although there was some demur to
his youth, he was finally accepted, with a warning that he
would have some boys to manage who were much older
girls, including one or two country belles. But as
the school was not to open until the second fall month, and
it was now only August, there was ample time to prepare
for these formidable perils.
The district in which the boy-tutor was thus early called
to labor was a few miles north of his native city, though
quite within its present bounds—a distance from which he
could easily walk home on the half holiday at the close of
each week, and spend the Sunday, as he gladly promised
to do, with his parents and sister. Resolved to acquit himself
creditably in his new avocation, he devoted much of
his immediate leisure to perfecting himself more fully in his
studies, and when at length the dreaded yet desired day
arrived, which devolved upon him his new duties, he entered
upon them with the ease and confidence of an experienced
teacher.
| CHAPTER III.
CAPTAIN JAY AND HIS FAMILY. The miser's heir, or, The young millionaire | |