American fiction -- 19th century; Dime novels; Popular literature
“Father, you are better now?” asks Dorothy.
“Better? why, of course I am. Dr. John has given me a dose that
is bound to cure. I shall soon be myself; but it was a horrible
experience, and I feel like a man who has just aroused from a
nightmare, trembling and cold. I can see now where Providence worked in
this matter; and to you, more than anyone else, my dear daughter, is
due the praise.”
“It makes me happy to know that things have come out so well. I
believed John could be depended on to show his real affection for you
if the time ever came,” returns Dorothy.
“Tell me, do they--our guests--know that something of a shock has come
to me?” he asks, smoothing his heavy gray hair with his fingers, an old
habit of his.
“I do not think so,” remarks Aleck.
“Ah! you there, Craig? Pretty tough, such an experience to a man of
fifty, but there’s a gleam of sunshine through it all, for I have
learned one glorious fact, that my children love me.”
He looks proudly upon them, as they stand there one on either side.
It is indeed a revelation to this singular man who has led such an
isolated life, wrapped up in business.
“Depend upon it, sir, 'there’s a divinity that shapes our ends,
rough-hew them how we will.’ Behind this there is some purpose which
sooner or later will be made manifest. I saw you here, in abject
misery, and guessing the cause, managed to get your son and daughter in
without attracting attention. It might be well for all of us to go out
among the guests again. Some whisper may go around, and in these times
men are quick to seize upon the slightest suspicion and magnify it.”
“You are right, Mr. Craig. I am ready to go. If anyone mentions that
I look pale, tell them I have had a little attack of--well, heart
trouble.”
“Before we go, father, let us decide this business.”
“The morning will do, John.”
“Pardon me, the morning might be too late. My habits have become set in
this way--I would get out of bed to carry an idea to completion.”
“Just as you say, John--I am guided entirely by your wishes in this
matter,” says the speculator, but his eyes twinkle in something like
their old-time way--this resolute manner which John assumes tickles
him immensely, for he awakens to the fact that his son is no longer a
boy, but capable of managing any business.
“The message says fifty thousand. I have been careful not to get tied
up during this period of financial panic, and happen to have that
amount in one of your Chicago banks at this moment. The easiest thing
to be done under such circumstances is for me to sit right down at this
desk, where everything seems so very handy, and make you out a check
for the amount. Luckily I have a blank one with me. To save time I
would, if I were you, send a message to-night--_now_, to your agent,
telling him to close the deal.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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