University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.
A GOLDEN SCHEME.

The tenour of our narrative now leads us
to an office in the vicinity of Wall-street, occupied
by Mr. Dangleton senior, attorney and
counsellor at law. The room is plentifully
hung around with maps of lands in the market,
plans of never-to-be-finished railroads, advertisements
of newly-formed companies, and such
like indications of a speculating mania on the
part of the occupant. On the shelf over the
fireplace are arranged specimens of granite,
coal, marble, and lead, all of which are from
mines worked by companies, in which he is an
important shareholder. A meager library of
law-books, upon shelves between two windows,
appears to be retained for show rather than for
use.

The inmate of this apartment was a speculating
lawyer in times when even men of sense
and integrity were frequently infected with
what may now be justly termed a rage for
stock - gambling. He had launched daringly
into operations, in which tens of thousands
might be made or sunk by slight variations in
the money-market. For months he had daily
risen, not knowing whether the night would
find him a bankrupt or a man of wealth. Latterly,

however, fortune had been rather chary
of her favours, as may be inferred from the
conversation that ensued when, the Monday
morning after the events recorded in the preceding
chapter, Mr. Dangleton junior entered
his father's office.

“Well, Ned,” said the lawyer, who was engaged
in penning a prospectus for the “Hagawoocheepoochee
Land Company,” with a capital
of two millions, “well, Ned, what has sent
you down here so early this morning? The
old story, I suppose, eh? You have come to
financier? You want money, eh?”

“Yes, father, that is a want from which I am
very seldom free. Your check for a thousand
dollars, or even half that sum, would gratify
me beyond expression just at this moment.”

“Ned, I am afraid you gamble.”

“To be sure I do, but then it is on a small
scale—nothing like that you go upon.”

“What do you mean, scapegrace?”

“I see, sir, you are disposed to be merry.
We will change the subject, if it offends you.”

“Look you, Ned, you must absolutely retrench
your expenses. It is really impossible
for me to supply your extravagances any longer.”

“Extravagances, sir!”

“Ay, extravagances, sir! By which I mean,
keeping three or four horses, giving expensive
dinners at Delmonico's, sending presents of
jewelry to every pretty actress that comes
along—in short, living the life of a mere idler
and man of fashion.”

“May I inquire, sir, what is your opinion of
the new opera?”

“Zounds! Ned, are you trying to provoke
me into a passion?”

“By no means. I would not have you get
into a passion on any account, so soon after
breakfast. It is a very vulgar sort of excitement,
getting into a passion—and disturbs the
digestive organs.”

“Be serious, Ned, for five minutes, and hear
what I have to say. While the tide was in my
favour, you know how freely I gave from my
abundant means. But let me assure you that
a great revolution in fiscal matters has just commenced.
All those stocks, which I could have
sold out a month since at a handsome advance,
realizing thereby a fortune, are now below par.
Money is hard to be got at two per cent. a
month, and my anxieties are every day increasing.
Between you and myself, I am tottering
on the very verge of bankruptcy, and I suspect
that a good many of my neighbours are in the
same predicament.”

“I believe you, father—upon my word, I do.
But what of that? There are ways and means
enough for raising the wind in this world, if a
man only has his wits about him:

“I wish, Ned, you knew a bank that would
discount my note for twenty thousand dollars.”

“Good! What if I were to say that I may
have the ability of giving you that little accommodation

myself in the course of a week or
two?”

“I should say, Ned, that you were a cleverer
fellow than I ever took you to be.”

“I have a scheme—”

“Oh, if it's a scheme, I'll none of it. I'm sick
of scheming.”

“But this is one that requires no investment
save a little agreeable impudence; a sort of—
you understand.”

“Oh, if impudence is all that it requires, I
will take any bet on your success.”

“The compliment is, of course, reflected on
my instructer,” said Ned, bowing with mock
gravity.

“But, pray, what may this great scheme of
yours be, Ned?” asked Mr. Dangleton, in a tone
half careless and half curious.

“Have I not always understood you to say,”
resumed the young man, “that the name of the
married sister of your late wife, my mother-in-law,
to the offspring of which sister a very peculiar
interest just at this moment attaches, was
Loveday?”

“To be sure it was. The father's name
was Arthur Loveday. He married May Gordon
against the consent of her parents. They cast
her off, and refused to see her or her children.
She died, but whether he and the children are
living or dead—in Europe or America—nobody
has been able, as yet, to find out.”

“You, my dear father, a widower at the
time with four children, including myself, my
amiable brother and sisters, married, as I understand

it, a sister of May Gordon, Isabella,
who, much to your chagrin, died before her father,
and without offspring.”

“You are right. It was very inconsiderate
of her to disappoint me so vexatiously. Dick
Fortescue married the other daughter, Harriet,
who also died without offspring. Mrs. Gordon,
the mother, soon followed; and, finally, old Gordon
himself was found one afternoon lifeless in
his chair; and, deplorable to relate, he died intestate.
The consequence has been, that neither
Fortescue nor myself has ever derived the slightest
advantage from the alliance. Not a penny
can we ever receive from the estate. It must
all go to Loveday's children, if they can ever
be found, which seems to be doubtful.”

“How large an estate did the old man leave?”

“It would be a capital speculation to buy it
up from the heirs for a million of dollars. The
coffee plantations in Cuba are alone worth that
sum.”

“You enchant me, my dear father!” exclaimed
Ned, starting from his chair, and rubbing his
hands with great glee.

“Hey! What! I cannot for the life of me
see how this concerns you, Ned.”

“A million divided among four will leave two
hundred and fifty thousand apiece. I think I
could get along on that. Yes, it will do!”

“I see it!” exclaimed Mr. Dangleton senior.
“You have made a discovery, Ned. You have
found out the whereabouts of these Lovedays.
They are in ignorance of their good fortune.
There is a girl among them. You think you

can marry her; you can—you shall! Huzza!
Am I not right, Ned? Isn't this your grand
scheme?”

“And what would you say if it were?”

“Why, that it was worth all the bubble speculations
that were ever engendered in the brain
of a Wail-street broker. Bravo, Ned! Let me
hear all about it. Where did you pick up this
precious piece of information?”

Ned hesitated a moment as to whether he
should communicate freely with his father in
regard to his discovery. But, remembering that
the latter's interests were vitally involved in the
success of his matrimonial scheme, and that, as
a lawyer, he might materially aid him by his advice
and his pecuniary loans, he resolved to lay
the whole matter before him, as if he were merely
acting under the impulse of filial confidence
and candour.

“Do you remember,” said the young man,
“a fellow named Bangs, whom I sent to you
three or four months since, to help him out of
a lawsuit he had got into, in an affair of a lamed
horse?”

“A ruffianly, reckless-looking fellow, was he
not? I remember him well. I have an unpaid
charge against him in my books.”

“So much the better. Well, as I was returning
from Hoboken yesterday afternoon in the
boat with Bangs, I accidentally heard him apply
the name Loveday to some children who were on
board.”

“Is it possible? This is excellent, Ned. Go
on.”

“You well know what a spell that name has
been to us ever since old Gordon's death. You
will not, therefore, be surprised that I started on
hearing it, and, as I suspect, turned a little pale.
Taking Bangs aside, I questioned him rapidly in
regard to those to whom he had applied the interesting
dissyllable. In two minutes I fully
satisfied myself that I stood in the presence of
the legitimate heirs of old Gordon, your late father-in-law!”

“But the proofs, Ned—give me the proofs.”

“The name is an unusual one, you will grant.
That is but a slight circumstance, however, in
the scale. Another is, that the children, four
in number, are orphans, living together in an
humble, though not an entirely destitute condition.
I have understood from you that Loveday,
whom, from the information I yesterday
gathered, I may now venture to call the late
Mr. Loveday, at one time followed the calling of
an engraver on wood. Now I learned from
Bangs that the eldest child, who is a girl, actually
supports the little family by practising
the same art.”

“That is a strong point, Ned—I may almost
say, a conclusive one,” exclaimed Mr. Dangleton,
rising from his chair and pacing the room.

“The strongest presumptive evidence is to
come. You remember the exquisite engraving
in an English annual, called The Bijou, which
you told me was copied from a portrait of May
Gordon, taken a year or two before her marriage?”

“I remember it well. The painting was by

Stuart Newton, who took a copy of it with him
to England, where it was engraved as a fancy
picture. The likeness was one of the best I
ever saw. It was May Gordon herself, reflected
on canvass.”

“It will answer quite as well for a likeness
of the daughter. I was at once startled by the
resemblance. It is perfect.”

“You have said enough, Ned, to convince
me that your conclusions in regard to these
children are just. How old should you take
the girl to be?”

“About fifteen; at any rate, some months past
the age when a marriage is illegal.”

“I am glad to see you have a strict eye to
business, Ned. Is the maiden pretty?”

“Beautiful exceedingly! with an erect, peerless
shape, and a face of rare loveliness and expression.
I really think it would not cost me
a very great effort to work myself into the belief
that I was in love with her.”

“What a while till she is in love with you,
and then I shall have no particular objection to
your indulging in any little reciprocities of affection.
He who wishes to win a woman,
should never be the first to fall in love; for she
has him then at an advantage; and he is so
completely stupefied and blinded, that he cannot
carry out his tactics with any sort of discretion.”

“I flatter myself that I have had some little
experience already in the art, my dear father,”
said Ned, pulling up one side of his shirt collar,
and loosening his neck from the rigid embrace
of his cravat.

“By-the-way, have you ascertained where
the children live?” asked the lawyer.

“Could anything be more fortunate?” returned
the young man. “They occupy the attic
story in the house of the fellow Bangs.”

“Good again! very good! How many of
them did you say there were?”

“Four: two girls and two boys.”

“Excellent! Why can we not manage to
transfer the whole property to our family, should
you marry the elder girl? The other one can
be easily handed over to your brother Tom;
and as for the two boys, your sisters Susan and
Caroline are not my daughters if they cannot
entrap them. All this can be effected beyond
a doubt, so you will contrive, Ned, to become
the husband of the eldest of these orphans.
And what is to prevent you? A handsome
young fellow, not yet twenty-one, with a smooth
tongue and a winning manner—thoroughly at
home in the study of that extensive volume, a
woman's heart—bold, adroit, self-possessed, and
with all your time at your disposal—opportunities
the most propitious imaginable ready made
to your hands—you, I say, backed by all these
advantages, and with the appearance and reputation,
if not the reality, of wealth, make an
honourable proposal of marriage to a young,
simple-minded, uneducated girl, whose lot has
been, and, so far as she knows, promises always
to be, one of labour and penury! The result
seems to me natural—inevitable. The idea of
failure, my dear Ned, is absurd. If you cannot
win her, under such circumstances, you will be
a discredit to the race of Dangletons.”

“I must confess that the odds are greatly in
my favour; but let me assure you that the girl
is very far from being the simple, silly individual,
you would figure to yourself.”

“If she be sensible, so much the less danger
will there be of her rejecting you; for she will
appreciate your talents, and recognise the advantages
you offer in the alliance.”

“I really believe you are sincere, my dear
sir, and so, I thank you for the compliment.
We must, of course, be exceedingly wary and
quiet in this business.”

“Oh, dark and still as a subterranean pool!
You must not breathe a syllable about it to another
human being.”

“If I consent to that restriction, my dear father,
I shall be under the necessity of asking
you for the trifling loan to which I have before
alluded.”

“Humph!” exclaimed the lawyer, nervously
shaking his watch-chain; “will not three hundred
dollars answer your purpose?”

“I am sorry to say, sir, that it will not. I
cannot get along with any sum less than a thousand.”

“It is a heavy drain upon me, Ned, just at
this moment; but, of course, you look forward
to arranging this affair of the marraige in a
week's time?”

“Most decidedly I do. I think I may promise
to have the articles signed and sealed before
Wednesday week.”

“You will let me have the fingering of some
of the fat dividends, then, you dog, eh?”

“To be sure I will. The dollars shall fly
like sands from under my horse's feet at Rockaway.
You shall not find me a niggard; no,
Ned Dangleton shall never be called by that
name.”

“Here is a check on the Manhattan Bank
for the amount. Use it discreetly, Ned. Let
it all be devoted to the forwarding of the great
scheme. Every consideration must give way
to that.”

“To be sure it must. I have an appointment
with Bangs this very afternoon. I shall barely
have time to get this check cashed before the
bank closes; so good-day.”

“Success to your wooing, Ned. Remember
that delays are dangerous. Like Cæsar, you
must go, see, and conquer.”

“Ay. If attempted at all, the scheme must be
accomplished. It would be a pretty story to
tell in Washington Place, that Ned Dangleton
had been rejected by a poor girl, who got her
living by manual labour. Pshaw! The project
cannot fail. It is ridiculous to admit even the
possibility of failure.”

“That is right, my boy! The Napoleon tactics
are the best in love as well as in war. A
resolute will sweeps all obstacles from its path.
What must it do, then, when there are no obstacles
in the way?”

“I fix this day fortnight for my wedding!”
exclaimed Ned, putting on his hat. “And then,
hurrah for the coffee plantations! Adieu!”

“He is his father's own son!” said Mr. Dangleton,
smiling, as the door closed.