University of Virginia Library

35. CHAPTER THIRTY-FIFTH.
THE LAST OF ISRAEL BONUS.

And while two days wore on, much wonder
was felt and expressed in Bonus Court. Rent
Day had come and gone, and Israel Bonus had
not appeared to collect his rents!

Had the sun risen in the west and set in the
east, doubtless the inhabitants of Bonus Court
would have expressed some surprise, in common
with the other citizens of the Quaker
City, but that Rent Day should come and go
without Israel Bonus, this was a thing which
made every heart in Bonus Court dilate with
a feeling akin to awe

Never for thirty years had Israel been
known to miss a Rent Day.

“Hannah,” said the Millerite Preacher,
taking his broad rimmed hat, on the third
morning after the fire: “This absence of
Israel Bonus fills me with wonder. I will
call at his house — something may have happened
to him. The day draws near, Hannah,
when the Lord will come in the clouds of
Heaven, we must meet him with clean hands
and pure hearts. I would not wrong Israel out
of his rent, though he is hard upon the poor.
And while I am gone my child, do you take
some wood and some bread to poor Nancy
over the way. Her husband is in jail, you
know, on a charge of theft. The poor woman
must not be forgotten.”

“I will not forget her father,” was the response
of Hannah, as she pressed her father's
hand, while her face warmed with the same
looks of calm enthusiasm, which animated the
countenance of the Millerite Preacher.

“You have heard nothing of Fanny — or
Ralph?”

“Not a word. Their disappearance is
mysterious. And what is still more remarkable,
Mr. Jervis, the popular preacher, has not
been heard of since the night of the fire.”

The Millerite left his home, and made the
best of his way to the residence of israel Bonus.
The sun was shining brightly upon the
face of the mansion, as the Millerite paused at
the foot of its marble steps. But there was
an air of unusual desertion about the residence
of Bonus, which the bright sunshine only
made more apparent.

It was an old house, three stories high, and
presenting the appearance of age and wear, in
every faded brick. It stood in a wide street,
not far from the heart of the city, and yet removed
from its noise and bustle, as effectually
as though it had been built in the very heart of
Bonus Court. It was one of those mansions,
which are not so much remarkable for the
prime neatness of their exterior — characteristic
of the great mass of buildings in the Quaker
City — as for a look of battered antiquity,
which spreads like a great spider web, over
the surface of dingy brick, from the garret to
the cellar.

Marvin when passing this way, had often
noticed the windows on the lower floor, which
were adorned by curtains of faded green reaching
half way up the uncleanly window-panes.
And who among the thousands of passers-by
had not noticed the tin sign, which affixed to
a shutter, bore in faded letters this significant
inscription:—

ISRAEL BONUS,
CONVEYANCER.
N. B. Real Estate bought and sold.

But to the great surprise of Marvin, the
shutters on the lower floor were closed, hiding
green curtains, dirty windows, and the very
name of Bonus, from the public gaze. The
upper windows had no shutters, and therefore
it may be reasonably imagined, that their dusty
panes were opened to the light of the winter's

day. The house, faded at all times, and
always reminding the spectator of an old
parchment deed, now looked as though it had
not been tenanted for years.

Marvin ascended the marble steps covered
with snow and ice, and rung the bell, whose
nandle was coated with a rich layer of verdigris,
and waited with some impatience for the
sound of Bonus' footstep. Bonus, when destitute
of a housekeeper, or a housekeeper's
pretty daughter, was wont to answer the bell
himself, and dart upon his visiter in all the
magnitude of ruffled shirt, fair-top boots, and
bone-headed cane.

Marvin rang and waited in vain. A half an
hour elapsed, and still no Bonus appeared.
Casting his eye along the door, he for the first
time beheld a small piece of paper, pasted
upon the panel, and containing the following
important information:

“Gone to see some of his relations who live
in the country,” soliloquized Marvin, as he
returned slowly homeward. “He has no
relatives in this city, I believe. An old bachelor,
without a soul on earth to care for him,
or bear his name.”

Two days passed, and yet Israel Bonus did
not appear in Bonus Court.

The wonder of the tenants increased beyond
all power of expression.

Five days had now elapsed since Bonus had
been seen on Third street. The Men of
Money began to wonder at his absence. His
fair-top boots were sadly missed along the
Coast of Barbary, and the Algerines began to
ask of one another: “What has become of
Bonus?”

To top the climax, and develope simple
wonder into the very intensity of astonishment,
on the fifth day a note of Bonus' for five
hundred dollars, due at the Shaver's Bank, was
handed over to the Notary Public.

Bonus protested! Third street began to
shake in its shoes, and the Board of Brokers
was affected to its inmost soul.

On the morning of the fifth day, Marvin
once more ascended the marble steps — after a
due survey of the closed shutters — and once
more pulled the bell, with a verdigris handle.
The notice of Bonus' absence was still pasted
to the door — and Marvin pulled and pulled
for an half an hour, without awaking the most
remote sign of life in the silent mansion.

At length he tried the handle of the door.
It yielded to his touch, and the door sprung
open.

“Strange indeed! Israel out of town and
the door not locked!” ejaculated Marvin, as
he surveyed the broad entry by the light of the
morning sun: “The old man may be sick.
At least it will do no harm to enter and test the
matter for myself.”

He entered the house of Israel Bonus, and
passing along the entry — whose chill atmosphere
pierced his very marrow — he soon
stood at the foot of the stairs, which lighted by
a circular window, wound upward into the
second and third stories.

He listened for a moment: all was breathlessly
still. He began to ascend the stairs,
and discovered with some surprise, that every
step was littered with small pieces of parchment,
looking like the fragments of old title
deeds. He reached the entry of the second
story, and beheld the sun shining through the
door at its farther end. Along the entry and
through the door he passed, and in a moment
found himself in a large room, furnished with
but four articles of use or adornment.

A huge pine desk, painted red; an old
stool with three legs; a chair with a broken
back; and a map of “building lots” pinned to
the smoky wall.

This was the Confessional Box of Bonus,
where Bonus lent money, and listened to the
pleas of money borrowers, and wrote their
names in his big book, with a red morocco
back.

“He is certainly out of town,” murmured
Marvin — “But bless me, what does this
mean?”

Under the red desk, a mass of papers was
rudely scattered, which to the eyes of Marvin
looked like the wrecks of an hundred title
deeds. The floor was littered with bits of
parchment. The cover of the great book with
a morocco back lay near the fireless grate, and
on the bars of the grate itself, were piled the
leaves of the great book, evidently in readiness
for the application of a lighted match. In a
word, the sanctuary of Bonus had been violated

by unholy hands. The great book, in which
was inscribed the damnation of a thousand
souls, was now only a mass of fragments. The
title deeds, and mortgages of Bonus, severed
into innumerable little pieces, now only served
to relieve the nakedness of the uncarpeted
floor.

“There have been robbers in this house!”
ejaculated Marvin.

Was it a fancy! The sound of a human
voice, seemed echoing faintly, in the next
room. A very low voice, murmuring in a
monotonous tone, reached the ears of the Millerite
Preacher. He left the sanctuary of Bonus,
passed into the entry, and halted before
the door of the back room.

He now heard the voice again, but could
not distinguish the words. Hush! Pressing
his head against the door he listens — there are
two voices! He hears them distinctly and
can gather the meaning of their words.

Those words leave Marvin no time for
thought. Silently unclosing the door, he
gazes through the aperture, and beholds a bed
resting under the light of two windows, opening
toward the yard of Bonus' house.

And on that bed is stretched Isarel Bonus,
in full dress — wide skirted coat, ruffled shirt
and fair-top boots. His broad rim and bone
headed cane, lay on a chair, near the bedside.
Bonus in full uniform, Bonus in bed with his
clothes on, but alas! no longer the gay, jocund
Bonus of other days!

For, holding the door slightly open — gazing
through the aperture as he pauses on the
threshold — William Marvin, beholds the face
of Israel Bonus, as it is turned upwards towards
the light.

That face is hideous with the same pestilence
which destroyed the life of Ann Clarke.
Blotched from the double-chin to the eyes,
buried in wrinkles — blotched in every line
and feature — the face of Israel Bonus presents
a loathsome spectacle. His very eyes are
sealed by the pestilence. His hands, still encircled
by rufiles, are covered with the marks
of the appalling disease.

And stretched upon the coverlet, in his every
day attire, the wretched man turns his head
from side to side, lifts his blinded eyeballs to
the light, and moves his clotted lips —

“Thee must pay the mortgage by twelve
o'clock, this day, or verily I will foreclose.”

These words escape from his lips, as he
tosses about, in the delirium engendered by
the pestilence.

Marvin listened no longer, but opening wide
the door entered the room. Entered, and
stood thunderstricken by a new surprise.

There, perched upon a chair at the foot of
the bed, was the figure of a half-naked man,
who resting his elbows on his knees, and his
cheeks in his hands, gazed steadily upon the
face of Israel Bonus. A pair of coarse trowsers
and a check shirt, constituted the apparel
of this man who watched by the bed of pestilence.
His hair, tangled and disordered, fell
over his forehead to the very brows, but could
not veil the intense glare of his eyes.

“Do you think I must pay the mortgage
Isr'el?” exclaimed the half-naked man, in a
jesting tone — “Couldn't you let me have a
leetle time?”

“Thee must pay or I will foreclose! Thee
must pay or I will foreclose!” was the response
of the delirious Bonus.

Marvin advanced, and at once the truth burst
upon him, as he took a nearer view of the
features of the man at the foot of the bed.

It was John Cattermill, watching by the
death-bed of Israel Bonus.

“John! John!” ejaculated Marvin: “What
does this mean?”

Without starting the man raised his face
from his hands, and surveyed Marvin with a
steady but half-vacant look.

“Mornin' Sir. Sit down and take a cheer.
We're rayther bad off for wood, and so I had
to make a fire as well as I could out o' them
old books and papers.”

Marvin, glancing over his shoulder, beheld
the grate packed to its topmost bar, with huge
account books and parchment deeds. A slight
flame, half choked in a cloud of smoke,
ascended from the mass.

“John! John! What have you been doing?”

John very quietly replied:

“You know I was put in M'yamensin' last
Sunday night?”

“Yes — very sorry I was to hear of it.”

“Well, on Tuesday mornin' I was brought
up for a hearin' afore Alderman Rumjug. But
I giv' the officer the slip, and came here to

have a talk with old Bonus. I got in the back
way, over the fence, and by that winder.”

“What was your intention, John? Surely
you did not mean —”

“Fact is Mr. Marvin, I meant to settle an
old account with the man. I was sure of goin'
to jail for an offence which I never committed,
so I thought I'd giv' 'em a reason for lockin'
me up. You may have heer'd that I was
rayther a quiet, sober sort of man, afore I met
old Bonus?”

“Yes, John. You never drank until you
encountered him —”

“And arter I met him, I became a drunkard
— a loafer — and was in a fair way to become
a thief. So, I thought all this over, and last
Tuesday mornin' I crawled into that winder,
afore Bonus was up, and to be candid with
you, did think of givin' him a rap or two with
some stick or poker, over his head. But —”

“Yes, John. But you relented —”

“I found him in bed, sick with a fever. I
took pity on him.”

The face of John, haggard and pale, with an
inexplicable light in the large vacant eyes, was
agitated by a slight grimace as he uttered these
words.

“I took pity on him. Found a notice on
his table — `Out of Town: won't be back
'till next week” — and put it on the front door.
Didn't want anybody to disturb him, you
know? That was on Tuesday — this is
Saturday. Ain't I a good Christian? Ever
since Tuesday I've watched by the old man's
bed.”

“But John, why have you destroyed these
books and papers —”

“There wasn't no wood. Do you think I
was a-goin' to let the old critter suffer for
fire?”

“You attended to his wants, then? How
did you procure food?”

“There was a cold b'iled ham in the cellar.
That I've lived upon myself. As for Bonus”
— he looked into Marvin's face with a broad
grin — “Don't you think a severe course o'
dietin' is good for a disease like that?”

He pointed with his lean and skinny hand
toward the bed.

“John, John, how could you behold the old
man suffer, without extending a hand for his
relief?”

“Did you think I was a-goin' to give him
bread, when it 'ud only heighten his fever?
As for water — Lord bless you! He cried for
it often enough, but knew more o' th' natur' o'
his disease than to give it to him. Not a drop!
Not a drop!”

“This is too horrible for belief!” ejaculated
Marvin, gazing first upon the half naked man,
and then upon the wretched occupant of the
bed.

“Horrible? How green you talk! Don't
you know that unless all of old Bonus's had
blood comes out in the shape of eruptions, that
the dear old man 'ill kick the bucket? Jist
look at him! You think them's small pox on
his face? Bless your soul — no! It's only
the mortgages and ground rents a-comin' out.
That's all.”

And at these words, he placed his elbows on
his knees, his cheeks between his hands, and
turned his eyes to the bed once more.

“Isr'el, I raly can't pay up to-day —” he
exclaimed, assuming the tone of a pleading
debtor — “You won't turn me out into the
street — will you?”

“If thee cannot pay thee must go!” said
the delirious Bonus — “Hair and hide, bag
and baggage, thee must go! What? Does
thee think I am to be defrauded of my rent in
this manner? Tut-tut!”

“Rulin' passion strong in death,” cried
John, turning his face to Marvin, with a grotesque
leer — “Don't you think when he goes
down there, he'll be apt to get a mortgage on
the Devil hisself, and turn the imps out o' perdition,
for not payin' ground rent? Hey?”

“John, how can you desert your wife?” exclaimed
Marvin, wishing to touch the heart of
this monomaniac — “Poor Nancy! She is
destitute of bread and wood —”

“One's duty to the public al'ays take the
precedence of private affairs,” answered John;
“I've watched by Bonus since last Tuesday,
and I'll sit here till he gets well. You little
know how I love that ar' old crittur!”

Marvin approached the bed. His face was
clouded by an expression of unfeigned horror,
when he saw that Israel Bonus, dying as much
of starvation as of disease — was near his last
hour. Tossing on the pillow, rolling his
blinded eyeballs from side to side, the dying
man still murmured in his delirium —

“Can thee pay? If thee can't pay, thee
must go! So, thee has a pretty daughter?
Eh? Then thee shall come and keep house
for me, and I'll take care of thee daughter's
education. Not less than two per cent a month.
Could'nt think of it. How did thee say
Pennsylvania Fives were yesterday? Can
thee pay? Don't talk to me. If thee can't pay
thee must go.”

“Jist hear him,” whispered John — “ain't
it a treat? What's that the poet says about
the good man's death?”

The eyes of Cattermill began to assume an
expression, which impressed the mind of Marvin
with a sensation of terror, which he in
vain endeavoured to repress.

“He is mad,” the thought crept over him
— “and if I attempt to leave the room, he will
prevent me with a madman's strength.”

“Well, John, I must go home,” he said
aloud, moving to the door — “call and see us
when Bonus recovers.”

To his utter surprise, John calmly replied —

“Good mornin', sir. The next time you
walk this way, drop in and see us.”

Marvin left the room and hurried from the
house, and in five minutes again returned with
a crowd of neighbours, whom he had summoned
to his assistance.

Once more he opened the door, and followed
by the wondering crowd, entered the death-room.

Israel Bonus was there, not stretched upon
the bed, but seated in an arm chair, near a
window, with his broad rim on his head, and
his cane in his hand.

Israel Bonus was alone; seated in the arm
chair which had so long been the throne of
Mortgage, Ground Rent, and Title Deed; with
half his face in shadow, and the lower portion
blotched by pestilence, bathed in the cheerful
light of the morning sun.

It did not need a second glance to tell the
spectators that Israel Bonus was no longer
numbered among the living.

John Cattermill had disappeared — no one
could tell how — and the spectators, gathering
silently around the dead man, with wonder
and awe upon every face, stood for many
minutes, rooted to the floor, their eyes centred
upon the dead face of Israel Bonus.

John Cattermill was never seen again in
the Quaker City.