University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.
HEALTH AND WEALTH.

Ralph Werter turned almost white with alarm when,
seated at his writing desk that morning, making out numerous
little quarterly bills for rent, in all of which his name
bore the suffix of guardian or trustee, his nephew was unexpectedly
shown into the room, and stood before him. His
first decided impression was that Sidney had learned all
that related to his affairs, and had come to demand his
rights, and with a confused and guilty look he brushed the
tell-tale papers aside, and thrust them into the desk before
rising to receive him.

Greeting him with as much show of kindness as he could
assume, he soon perceived to his great relief that his fears
were as yet groundless; and Sidney's pale, thin cheeks, together
with the story which he told of his illness, and the
cause of his return, soon restored his equanimity and his
hopes. He answered with words of sympathy, but with a
cold, calculating look, and he surveyed the lineaments of his
nephew as if he were reading the title deeds to his possessions.
In relation to the proposed journey, he said he would
consult his own physician, who would be a better judge of the
utility of such a step than any country doctor could be, but
the real object of his intended consultation was of course
very different from the assumed one. Could a warm climate
arrest a disease so far progressed? Was there any
danger that the patient's life could be protracted over the
sixteen months' interval which yet stretched between him

and the age of majority? These were the questions which
perplexed him, and which he wished solved before deciding
on so important a step.

That Sidney should go somewhere far away from home,
he was not only willing, but anxious, for he had been
greatly disturbed by his re-appearance at this particular
time, when there was so much in his own altered style of
living to excite inquiry and suspicion. Besides, his
nephew had frankly told him, much to his alarm, of his
visit to the Jay family, and while he was both rejoiced and
surprised that such an interview had not produced the
result he most dreaded, he resolved not to hazard a repetition
of the danger, if it could be avoided. Yet, to send
the invalid boy back to the country might seem cruel and
despotic to those who knew the object of his return to New
York, and might possibly prove impracticable from Sidney's
own opposition. He wished to avoid anything like a
conflict of opinion with his ward, now so nearly a man, for
he little knew how yielding and subdued was the spirit
which had been crushed by his own early training.

He should travel, then, as he desired—such was Ralph's
conclusion—if the physicians thought there was no cure in
travel, or in change of climate; and, until he went, his
illness would be a pretext for keeping him closely at home,
unexposed to the dangerous intercourse with the world.
As to his destination, if travel should be decided on, no
place could be named too remote to gain the guardian's
consent, for he well knew that the invalid might attain so
discouraging a distance from home that he would never attempt
to repass it.

Sidney met his aunt and cousins with a friendly feeling
and an entire oblivion of past grievances, and there was
some show of cordiality in their reception of him; but
Mrs. Werter manifested so evident a restraint and uneasiness

in his presence, that, confiding and unsuspicious as he
was, he could not fail to observe it. It did not seem
strange to him, however, for there was enough in the memory
of former hostilities to account for it—hostilities which
the recurring habit of boyish fear made him momentarily
anticipate were about to break out afresh. He grew shy
and sensitive again in her presence, and fancied that the
sharp voice which had been the terror of his childhood was
constantly about to interrogate him as to the reason of his
coming home, to denounce his folly and presumption, and
perhaps to order his return.

But there was one individual in the family of Mr. Werter
whose delight at Sidney's arrival was unalloyed, and
whom he was equally rejoiced to meet—it was the humble
slave, who had been the friend and religious tutor of the
child, and for whom his affection had been ever fresh and
sincere. He had brought her some little presents, which
she greatly prized as a proof of his remembrance, but he
found her pining for a greater boon than he could bestow,
which was freedom.

“If I am ever rich, Sukey—no, I do not mean rich—
but if I ever should have money enough to buy you, I
certainly will make you free,” said her young friend,
earnestly.

Sukey thanked him, but took little courage from the
promise. Her master, she said, had grown so rich now,
and she had served him so long and faithfully, that he
might well afford to let her go, and she thought, perhaps,
if Sidney should intercede with him for her, he might do so.

This commission the young man undertook, and faithfully
performed, although with no success—unless it was
success to infuse some hope into the heart of his old friend,
for Ralph did not seem inexorable, but promised to think
of it, and to grant the request at some time in the indefinite

future. Indeed, he said, he always had promised Sukey
that, if she were faithful and industrious, he would give her
her freedom before she died—but it was not convenient for
him to spare her just yet.

The fatigue of travel, and the earnest persuasions of his
guardian, retained the invalid within doors for two days
after his arrival, but he resolved that if the third day
should prove fair, he would again visit Addison, and in
order that there should be no concealment on his part, he
mentioned his purpose on the preceding evening to his
uncle. This circumstance hastened Ralph's intended
movements. He informed Sidney that he had made an
appointment with a physician to see him on the following
morning, in order to judge of the propriety of his proposed
journey, and he begged that he would not go out until
after the interview and examination. To this Sidney
could not object, and on the morrow he submitted patiently
to some half hour's questioning and inspection from a medical
man, who certainly was not Mr. Werter's family physician,
and who, although connected with the regular
faculty, and accounted a man of skill, had twice been under
the cognizance of a court of justice for certain malfeasances,
of which he had barely escaped conviction.

Dr. Brail's practice had long ceased to be a lucrative
one, nor could he now number any respectable families
among his patrons; he had been surprised, therefore, and
gratified at the present unexpected demand for his services.
He was a shrewd man, too—he knew something of the history
of the Werters, and added to his knowledge by a little
indirect questioning of Ralph, and he was not long in
forming a tolerably correct guess of the position of affairs.

When he had questioned Sidney, rudely and abruptly
enough, and had felt of him, and rapped him on the spine,
and on the chest, and had listened to his respiration, and

to the beatings of his heart, he shook his head ominously,
and told the patient he might withdraw, and he would give
his opinion to his uncle.

“You think he is in a consumption?” he said, quickly,
to Ralph, when the door had closed upon Sidney.

The questioner watched closely the countenance of the
old man, as he spoke.

“Yes,” said Ralph, in no tone of sorrow and with no
sign of emotion; “Dr. Lee pronounced him so years ago—
I am surprised that he has lasted so long.”

Brail perceived that another word might have been substituted
for `surprised' in his companion's reply, but he
asked another question before giving his own opinion, for
he wished to make sure that he was about to give welcome
tidings to his wealthy patron.

“Has he been long under Dr. Lee's charge?”

“Not at all—he has been living in the country, and before
he went from home we did not consider him ill
enough to need medical treatment.”

“Yet he was pronounced hopelessly consumptive by the
first physician in the city,” thought Brail, and his conjectures
became certainties.

“What do you think of him, Doctor? Do you too pronounce
him consumptive?”

“Most assuredly.”

“He is very desirous to go South. Some of his friends
also wish and expect it. Do you think it can materially
affect the result?”

There was an evident look of anxiety accompanying
this remark, and Brail saw it.

“You need not fear to send him,” he said, ambiguously.

“It will not hurt him?”

“Nor do him any good. It may add a few months to

his life—but a year, at the very farthest, will tell the whole
story.”

“You feel quite certain of this?”

“Quite—there are some symptoms in this disease which
never deceive us, and although I am sorry to distress you,
yet the truth must be told.”

Ralph looked as if he could bear it, and Brail went away
with a liberal fee.

Sidney was immediately summoned and informed that
the physician approved of his going south, and that he
must prepare for immediate departure, as the autumnal
rains were about setting in, which would be most prejudicial
to him.

The guardian had fixed upon Cuba as the resort of the
invalid, because he knew of a vessel which would sail within
a few days for Havana, and hoped that the brief time
which it would allow his nephew for preparation would
leave him little or no opportunity for further interviews
with his maternal relations.

Sidney thanked his uncle for his kindness, and promised
to be ready at the required time, however soon that might
be, and then he hastened to see Addison, whom he found
in his home of poverty, diligently laboring as a scrivener,
while the beautiful Lizzie, at his side, was blinding her
young eyes over her endless tasks of needle work.

Household duties and the care of the invalid father employed
most of Mrs. Jay's time, but she still found many
hours to assist at Lizzie's needle labors, and was thus employed
when their occupation was interrupted by their welcome
visiter.

Their cordial greetings were scarcely interchanged, when
Sidney hastened to inform them of his intended journey,
and of his great regret at being obliged so soon to leave
his new found friends.

“And, oh! Addison,” he exclaimed, “if you could accompany
me, how happy I should be!”

Addison looked at his blind father, and at his toiling
mother and sister, with an expression that answered his
cousin's remark, and seemed to reproach him with selfishness.

“Of course you cannot,” he added, with a sigh; I did
not expect it, but I could not avoid the thought. Oh, if
there were but some way to accomplish this end; but this
dreadful poverty meets us at every turn.”

“But surely you are not going alone?” said Mrs. Jay.
“You are to have some companion or attendant?”

“I wish you were right; but I must go alone. It is
necessary to be economical, and I was indeed quite surprised
that Uncle Ralph consented to my going at all.”

“It is necessary for you to be economical, Sidney, did
you say?” asked the blind man, who, from his easy seat in
the corner, had been an attentive listener to the conversation.

“Yes, Uncle Jay.”

“And do you speak in earnest?”

“I assure you I feel very little like jesting to-day, uncle.
I am indeed in very sad earnest.”

The captain sighed, being now painfully convinced that
his nephew was really the young miser that he had been
painted, who, in the midst of untold wealth, grudged the
pittance necessary for his comfort and health. He did
not pursue his inquiries, but after a few moments' silence
Sidney mildly resumed.

“And now allow me to inquire, uncle, why you ask these
questions in so strange and earnest a way?”

Thus adjured, Captain Jay felt no delicacy in replying
more plainly.

“Because, Sidney, it seems to me very improper, not to

say sinful, for a young man, situated as you are, to talk
about poverty and wants. It shows a covetous disposition
and ingratitude to the Great Giver.”

“I do not know that I understand you, uncle; I know
I am sinful enough, but I really do not think I am very
covetous. I did not mean to complain, but I see no harm
in speaking of one's poverty.”

“Is it no harm for a rich man to call himself poor?—
for a man whose means are more than sufficient for all his
wants through life to talk of the necessity of being economical?”

“Most certainly; but how does this apply to me? I
am not rich—I have not the abundance you speak of—I
am literally and really a poor man!”

“Why, Sidney!” exclaimed Addison, who knew his
cousin too well to doubt that he was speaking sincerely,
“you really then believe all this! You do not know that
you are the owner of vast wealth, of which your guardian
has the possession?—that you are not an ordinarily rich
man, but a millionaire, with hundreds of tenants pouring
their golden tribute into your treasury? The house in
which your uncle resides, the magnificent block of which it
is a part—the large hotel opposite—are all entirely your
own, and form but a small part of your estate. How have
you been kept in ignorance of this?”

“Are you sure that it is true?” asked young Werter,
eagerly, and with unbounded amazement.

“Nothing can be more certain—the whole city knows it
—and I never dreamed that you were ignorant of it. Your
father was a man of immense wealth, chiefly in real estate,
which has been greatly increasing in value ever since his
death.”

Sidney remained for some moments speechless with
emotion.

“Come with me, Addison,” he said, at length, hurriedly
and excitedly—“I wish to talk with you a few moments
apart.”

His wrongs, and the injustice of his uncle, were the
themes which he did not wish openly to discuss. Addison,
greatly indignant, earnestly advised that he should immediately
denounce his guardian, and apply to the court
which appointed him for his removal, and the appointment
of a successor, but the young heir thought otherwise.

“It might be difficult to prove,” he said, “either that
he has wronged me, or that he intended to do so—for the
mere fact of keeping me in ignorance of my wealth has
done me no harm. I have not been kindly treated, it is
true, but my wants have all been supplied. What can we
do then, or rather what can I do that I might not better
leave undone? Litigation with a man in legal possession
of my own property, and who could use that property freely
to support his position, would be protracted and of uncertain
issue, while, in my present feeble state, the agitation and
excitement of such a contest, and the necessity of remaining
in this severe climate to conduct it, might prove in the last
degree detrimental.”

“What, then, do you propose?”

“To be quiet, and neither proclaim my new knowledge
to my uncle, nor my former ignorance to the world. If I
should live to manhood, the brief interval that lies between
me and that point will soon pass away, and then I shall
have the unquestioned control of my property. Thence-forward,
whether I live or die, you, dear Addison, shall be
no longer poor. This golden mantle which seems to have
dropped so suddenly and mysteriously on my shoulders, be
assured, shall envelope you also in its folds—soon, perhaps,
you alone.”

“Say not so, dear cousin. Health and vigor shall yet
be yours, in that gentle climate to which you go.”

“And to which I must not go alone. You may be right;
but if you would inspire me with even the hope of recovery,
you must help me to invent some way by which you can
become my companion.”

“Heaven knows what pleasure this would give me, Sidney;
but it cannot be. My destitute and infirm parents
require my daily labor for their support.”

“But if some substitute could be found for this—if I
could procure money both for them and for you?”

“If they were comfortably provided for until my return,
beyond any contingency, I should, of course, be most glad
to go with you, as I am sure they would desire me to do.
But it is idle to talk of this, when your guardian will probably
give you but a scant supply of means even for your
own purposes.”

“He is to give me none, I believe, before my departure;
but he will pay my passage money, and give me a bill of
exchange on a mercantile house at Havana for what he
thinks I need. If I want more, I am to write to him.”

“Is it possible that he treats you so like a child?”

“And I thought him so liberal and kind in permitting
me to go! But his machinations are now all plainly visible.
It is only to separate me from you that he has consented
to my going South—and it is to avoid my taking
you with me that he has thus restricted my means. Doubtless
it was for this reason, also, he sent me to live in the
country almost immediately after my acquaintance with
you began, for he knew that in your society I could not
long remain in ignorance of my rights. What censure
could be too severe for such conduct? But we must have
patience; what we now want is money.”

“Yes, Sidney, and we shall continue to want it. It is
idle to hope for anything fair or liberal from such a man.”

“I hope nothing from him; but, Addison, I have read
of such things in other countries as minor heirs of large
estates raising money, at highly usurious rates of interest,
by giving their bonds redeemable at manhood, and pledging
their honor and their oaths for security. Could not such
a thing be done here?”

“I fear not. You can give no legal security.”

“I know it. Let the lender charge for the risk. We
can convince him that I will keep my word sacred if I can,
and that his only risk is on my life.”

“Such a thing is barely possible. I know a young lawyer
whose business has led him much among the money-lenders,
and who knows some of all grades, from the well-dressed
dealer who discounts your trebly-guarantied note
at thirty per cent., in his elegantly furnished office in Wall
street, down to the sallow and bearded Jew, who hides his
soiled bags of gold in the darkest basements of Chatham.
If there is any chance of this kind, Mr. Perth can show us
the place and the man.”

“Let us go to him without the loss of an hour. I must
sail in three days.”

They went at once, and having laid the facts and their
wishes before the attorney, anxiously awaited his opinion.

“I am sorry to discourage you,” he said; “but I think
the chance is really a very poor one. If it were merely a
case of minority, the funds might perhaps be raised,
although at a great sacrifice; but Mr. Werter's illness
would increase the risk so materially, that he probably
could not obtain the money at all—certainly not on any
but the most extortionate terms.”

“I will take it on any terms,” replied Sidney. “Show
me the man that will make an offer, however exorbitant.”

“There is but one among my acquaintance to whom it
would be of the least use to apply—that is Hakes, the old
clothes man; you know him, Jay.”

“Impossible—he is a beggar—”

“He is a rich man—not professedly a money-lender, but
well known as such to the very necessitous; for by others
his mode of dealing would never be listened to. He has
doubled several ventures lately, to my knowledge, and
might possibly listen to you—”

“Let us go to him at once,” said Sidney, hastily.