Hard Cash

C >> Charles Reade >> Hard Cash

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It was his father.

Then, as truly noble natures must forgive the fallen, Alfred was touched
to the heart, and thought of the days of his childhood, before temptation
came. "Father," said he, "have you come to this?"

"Yes, Alfred," said Richard composedly: "I undertook too many
speculations, especially in land and houses; they seemed profitable at
first, too; but now I am entirely hampered: if you would but relieve me
of them, and give me a guinea a week to live on, I would forgive all your
disobedient conduct."

Alfred bit his lip, had a wrestle with the old Adam; and said gently,
"Come home with me, sir."

He took him to Barkington, bag and baggage; and his good Christian wife
received the old man with delight; she had prayed day and night for this
reconciliation. Finding his son so warm, and being himself as cool,
Richard Hardie entrapped Alfred into an agreement, to board and lodge
him, and pay him a guinea every Saturday at noon; in return for this
Alfred was to manage Richard's property, and pocket the profits, if any.
Alfred assented: the old man chuckled at his son's simplicity, and made
him sign a formal agreement to that effect.

This done he used so sit brooding and miserable nearly all the week till
guinea time came; and then brightened up a bit. One day Alfred sent for
an accountant to look after his father's papers, and see if matters were
really desperate.

The accountant was not long at work, and told Alfred the accounts were
perfectly clear, and kept in the most, admirable order. "The cash balance
is L. 60,000," said he, "and many of the rents are due. It is an agent
you want, not an accountant."

"What are you talking about? A balance of L. 60,000?" Alfred was
stupefied.

The accountant, however, soon convinced him by the figures it was so.

Alfred went with the good news to his father.

His father went into a passion. "That is one side of the account, ye
fool," said he; "think of the rates, the taxes, the outgoings. You want
to go from your bargain, and turn me on the world; but I have got you in
black and white, tight, tight."

Then Alfred saw the truth, and wondered at his past obtuseness.

His father was a monomaniac.

He consulted Sampson, and Sampson told him to increase the old man's
comforts on the sly, and pay him his guinea a week. "It's all you can do
for him."

Then Alfred employed an agent, and received a large income from his
father's land and houses, and another from his consols. The old gentleman
had purchased westward of Hyde Park Square, and had bought with excellent
judgment till his mind gave way. Alfred never spent a farthing of it on
himself: but he took some for his father's creditors. "All justice is
good," said he, "even wild justice." Some of these unhappy creditors he
found in the workhouse; the Misses Lunley that survived were there, alas!
He paid them their four thousand pounds, and restored them to society.
The name of Hardie began to rise again from the dust.

Now, while Richard Hardie sat brooding and miserable, expecting utter
ruin, and only brightening up on guinea day, Julia had a protege with
equally false views but more cheerful ones. It was an old man with a
silver beard, and a machine with which he stamped leather into round
pieces of silver, in his opinion. Nothing could have shaken that notion
out of his mind. Julia confirmed it. She let it be known that she would
always cash five pieces of round leather from Mr. Matthews' mint per day,
and ten on Friday, when working men are poorest.

She contrived this with diabolical, no, angelical cunning, to save the
old man from ridicule, and to do his soul much good. All souls were dear
to her. What was the consequence? He went about with his mint, and
relieved poor people, and gratified his mania at the same time. His face
began to beam with benevolence and innocent self-satisfaction. On Richard
Hardie's all was cordage: and deep gloom sat on his ever-knitted brow.

Of these two men which was the rich man; he who had nothing, yet thought
he possessed enough for himself and his neighbours: or he who rolled in
wealth, but writhed under imaginary poverty?

One reflection more. Do not look to see Providence dash the cup of
prosperity from every dishonest hand; or you will often be disappointed.
Yet this, if you look closer, you shall often see: such a man holds the
glittering cup tight, and nectar to the brim; but into that cup a shadowy
hand squeezes some subtle ingredient, which turns that nectar to
wormwood.

Richard Hardie died, his end being hastened by fear of poverty coming
like an armed man, and his guinea a week going. Matthews met with an
accident, and, being impervious to pain, but subject to death, was laid
beside his poor mistress in St. Anne's churchyard. Julia buried him, and
had a headstone put to his grave; and, when this was done, she took her
husband to see it. On that stone was fresh carved the true name of the
deceased, James Maxley.

"I have done what you told me," said Julia, her sweet voice trembling a
little. Even she did not quite know how her husband would take it, or
bear it.

"I _know it,_" said Alfred softly. "I saw who your Matthews was; but I
could not speak of him, even to you." He looked at the grave in silence.

Julia's arms were round his neck in a moment, and her wet cheek consoling
his.

"You have done right, my good Christian wife. I wish I was like you. My
poor little Jenny!"

Richard Hardie's papers were found in perfect order; and among them an
old will leaving L. 14,000 to Edward Dodd.

On this being announced to Edward, he suggested that it was a fraud:
Alfred had been at him for a long time with offers of money, and failing
there, and being a fine impetuous fellow, had lost his temper and forged
a will, in his, Edward's, favour.

This scandalous defence broke down. The document was indisputable, and
the magic sum was forced down Master Edward's throat, nilly willy. Thus
rose the Hard Cash a second time from the grave.

All this enabled the tenacious Alfred to carry out a deeply-cherished
design. Hardie's late bank had been made into a shop; but it belonged to
Mrs. Dodd. He bought it of her, and set up the bank again, with Edward as
managing partner. This just suited Edward, who sadly wanted employment.
Hardie & Co. rose again, and soon wiped out the late disgraceful episode,
and looked on to the past centuries of honour and good credit. No
creditor of Richard Hardie was left unpaid. Alfred went in for politics;
stood for Barkington, was defeated by seventeen: took it as a matter of
course; told his friends he had never succeeded in anything at first; nor
been beaten in the end; stood again, and became M. P. for Barkington,
whence to dislodge him I pity any one who tries.

For a long time Mrs. Dodd was nervous, and used to wake with a start at
night, and put out her hand to make sure David was not lost again. But
this wore off.

For years the anniversary of that fatal day, when he was brought home on
the stretcher, came back to them all as a day of gloom. But that wore
off.

Sometimes the happiness of her family seemed incredible to her,
remembering what they had all gone through. At first, their troubles were
too terrible and recent to be discussed. But even that wore off, and they
could talk of it all; and things bitter at the time became pleasant to
remember.

One midsummer day they had all dined together rather early at Albion
Villa, and sat on the lawn, with Mrs. Dodd's boy and Julia's boy and girl
playing about these ladies' knees. Now after a little silence, Mrs. Dodd,
who had been thinking quietly of many things, spoke to them all, and
said: "If my children and I had not been bosom-friends, we never should
have survived that terrible time we have passed through, my dears. Make
friends of your children, my child."

"Ah, that I will!" said Julia; and caught up the nearest brat and kissed
it impetuously: for Wifehood and Maternity had not un-Julia'd her.

"It wasn't only our being friends, mamma," said Edward; "it was our
sticking together so."

In looking back on the story now ended, I incline to Mrs. Dodd's
conclusion. Almost my first word was that she and her children were
bosom-friends; and my last is to congratulate them that it was so. Think
of their various trials and temptations, and imagine what would have
become of them if family love and unity had not abounded. Their little
house was built on the sure foundation of true family affection: and so
the winds of adversity descended, and the floods came, and burst upon
that house, but could not prevail against it; it was founded on a rock.