Fauntleroy's fatherly kindness to me? I had insulted him by the meanest, the grossest distrust of the honor and the credit of his house, and that on the word of an absolute stranger, of a vagabond, if ever there was one yet.It was madness--downright madness in any man to have acted as I had done.I could not account for my own inconceivably thoughtless proceeding.I could hardly believe in it myself.I opened the safe and looked at the bank-notes again.I locked it once more, and flung the key down on the table in a fury of vexation against myself.There the money was, upbraiding me with my own inconceivable folly, telling me in the plainest terms that I had risked depriving myself of my best and kindest friend henceforth and forever.
It was necessary to do something at once toward ****** all the atonement that lay in my power.I felt that, as soon as I began to cool down a little.There was but one plain, straight-forward way left now out of the scrape in which I had been mad enough to involve myself.I took my hat, and, without stopping an instant to hesitate, hurried off to the bank to make a clean breast of it to Mr.Fauntleroy.
When I knocked at the private door and asked for him, I was told that he had not been at the bank for the last two days.One of the other partners was there, however, and was working at that moment in his own room.
I sent in my name at once, and asked to see him.He and I were little better than strangers to each other, and the interview was likely to be, on that account, unspeakably embarrassing and humiliating on my side.Still, I could not go home.I could not endure the inaction of the next day, the Sunday, without having done my best on the spot to repair the error into which my own folly had led me.Uncomfortable as I felt at the prospect of the approaching interview, I should have been far more uneasy in my mind if the partner had declined to see me.
To my relief, the bank porter returned with a message requesting me to walk in.
What particular form my explanations and apologies took when Itried to offer them is more than I can tell now.I was so confused and distressed that I hardly knew what I was talking about at the time.The one circumstance which I remember clearly is that I was ashamed to refer to my interview with the strange man, and that I tried to account for my sudden withdrawal of my balance by referring it to some inexplicable panic, caused by mischievous reports which I was unable to trace to their source, and which, for anything I knew to the contrary, might, after all, have been only started in jest.Greatly to my surprise, the partner did not seem to notice the lamentable lameness of my excuses, and did not additionally confuse me by asking any questions.A weary, absent look, which I had observed on his face when I came in, remained on it while I was speaking.It seemed to be an effort to him even to keep up the appearance of listening to me; and when, at last, I fairly broke down in the middle of a sentence, and gave up the hope of getting any further, all the answer he gave me was comprised in these few civil commonplace words:
"Never mind, Mr.Trowbridge; pray don't think of apologizing.We are all liable to make mista kes.Say nothing more about it, and bring the money back on Monday if you still honor us with your confidence."He looked down at his papers as if he was anxious to be alone again, and I had no alternative, of course, but to take my leave immediately.I went home, feeling a little easier in my mind now that I had paved the way for ****** the best practical atonement in my power by bringing my balance back the first thing on Monday morning.Still, I passed a weary day on Sunday, reflecting, sadly enough, that I had not yet made my peace with Mr.Fauntleroy.My anxiety to set myself right with my generous friend was so intense that I risked intruding myself on his privacy by calling at his town residence on the Sunday.He was not there, and his servant could tell me nothing of his whereabouts.There was no help for it now but to wait till his weekday duties brought him back to the bank.
I went to business on Monday morning half an hour earlier than usual, so great was my impatience to restore the amount of that unlucky draft to my account as soon as possible after the bank opened.
On entering my office, I stopped with a startled feeling just inside the door.Something serious had happened.The clerks, instead of being at their desks as usual, were all huddled together in a group, talking to each other with blank faces.When they saw me, they fell back behind my managing man, who stepped forward with a circular in his hand.
"Have you heard the news, sir?" he said.
"No.What is it?"
He handed me the circular.My heart gave one violent throb the instant I looked at it.I felt myself turn pale; I felt my knees trembling under me.
Marsh, Stracey, Fauntleroy & Graham had stopped payment.
"The circular has not been issued more than half an hour,"continued my managing clerk."I have just come from the bank, sir.The doors are shut; there is no doubt about it.Marsh &Company have stopped this morning."
I hardly heard him; I hardly knew who was talking to me.My strange visitor of the Saturday had taken instant possession of all my thoughts, and his words of warning seemed to be sounding once more in my ears.This man had known the true condition of the bank when not another soul outside the doors was aware of it!
The last draft paid across the counter of that ruined house, when the doors closed on Saturday, was the draft that I had so bitterly reproached myself for drawing; the one balance saved from the wreck was my balance.Where had the stranger got the information that had saved me? and why had he brought it to my ears?
I was still groping, like a man in the dark, for an answer to those two questions--I was still bewildered by the unfathomable mystery of doubt into which they had plunged me--when the discovery of the stopping of the bank was followed almost immediately by a second shock, far more dreadful, far heavier to bear, so far as I was concerned, than the first.
