The effect was exactly what Chapman wanted. He had the precious treasure carried to his house and deposited, while Hanz and the boatmen proceeded to their homes, stopping at Bright's inn on the way, where they gave a marvellous account of their expedition and what they had discovered.

The portly figure of Mrs. Chapman, arrayed in her best millinery, stood in the door ready to welcome her dear husband and Mr. Gusher, who had proceeded in advance of the crowd.

"Allow me to welcome you to my house—such as it is, Mr. Gusher," said she, making a low courtesy, and then extending her fat, waxy hand. Mr. Gusher bowed in return, and received the hand formally.

"Madam, I am so very happy to have ze pleazure to zee you in your own house," replied Mr. Gusher, raising his hand to his heart, then lifting his hat and making another formal bow.

"I am sure you will forego all ceremony, Mr. Gusher, and make yourself at home. We are plain, unpretending people, and like to receive our friends in a plain, unpretending manner," resumed Mrs. Chapman, escorting her guest into the parlor, and begging him to be seated. "It seems so very long since we met in New York, Mr. Gusher. I never shall forget that visit, made so pleasant by your kindness. I have spoken of you so often, Mr. Gusher, to my daughter, that we both feel as if we were well acquainted with you—"

"Madam," interrupted Mr. Gusher, again putting his hand to his heart and making a formal bow, "you do me so many compliments as I don't deserve. I have anticipated ze pleazure and ze honor so much to zee your daughter. I am zure I shall be delight wiz her. If I shall speak Englis so well as you, then I shall be so happy. Then I makes myself agreeable to your daughter, I am so sure." Mr. Gusher was indeed quite embarrassed at the number of compliments Mrs. Chapman seemed inclined to bestow on him.

"Nyack is so dull and stupid—so very dull, Mr. Gusher. We only endure it, you know. And there are so few nice people in it—so very few we care about associating with," resumed this fat, fussy woman, giving her head a toss and extending her hands. "A few, a very few nice people have come up from the city—we find them very agreeable society, quite a relief. We intend to set up a residence in the city. How delightful to look forward to the day. We can then live in a style more agreeable to our taste."

"Oh! madam," rejoined Mr. Gusher, "I am sure you must be very happy. Your house is so very elegant. I should be so happy in zis house. (Pardon, madam, I cannot speak Englis so well.) And zen, wiz your beautiful daughter." Mr. Gusher placed his hand to his heart again, bowed his head gracefully, and assumed a sentimental air. "Oh, I shall be so happy to have my home like zis. And your beautiful daughter—she would sing to me, and she would play me sweet music, and read to me some poetry. You shall zee I am so proud of ze poetry—"

"How very kind of you," interrupted Mrs. Chapman, bowing condescendingly; "how very kind of you, to pay my daughter this high compliment. And, then, coming from so distinguished a foreigner. Indeed, Mr. Gusher, I have had a mother's responsibility in educating my daughter up to the highest requisitions of society. Then she's only a young, thoughtless girl yet, you know. Indeed, Mr. Gusher, if it was not that she is so intellectual—I say this out of respect to her father, whose intellectual qualities she inherits—I should feel alarmed about her. Indeed I should. She is so much admired. And there is nothing spoils a young, ardent girl so much as admiration."

Chapman now entered the room and suggested that Mr. Gusher, their guest, must be very much fatigued after so arduous an expedition. Mr. Gusher was thereupon shown to his room, and left to his own contemplations. In truth, he was glad enough to escape in this way from a continuation of this fussy woman's compliments. He had, however, created in his mind a beautiful picture of Mattie, with oval face, fair complexion, soft blue eyes, flowing golden hair, and a form that Diana might have envied, and a voice so sweet in song. As to her parents, they knew nothing of him, (perhaps it was well they did not); and he knew nothing of them. There was a mystery overhanging the means by which he had been brought in contact with these peculiar people. But the more he revolved the beautiful picture of Mattie over in his mind the more his anxiety to see her increased.

Mr. Gusher rested for two hours, and then re-appeared in the parlor, so exquisitely dressed and made up. Every hair on his head seemed to have been curled so exactly. The gentleman had evidently taken great pains to get himself up in a style that should be faultless. I may mention, also, that Mr. Gusher regarded himself as a very valuable ornament in the atmosphere of fashionable society—just such a nice young man as an ambitious woman just setting up in society would require at least a dozen of to make her first reception a success.

Mrs. Chapman and Mattie were already in the parlor, waiting to receive Mr. Gusher, "My dear sir!" exclaimed Mrs. Chapman; "you are looking so much improved. I hope you are rested? And now, sir, allow me to present you to my daughter—Miss Mattie, my only daughter. This is Mr. Gusher, my daughter. You have heard me speak of Mr. Gusher so often." Mattie blushed and looked confused, then courtesied in a cold and formal manner.

"I am so glad to make you my compliments," said Mr. Gusher, making one of his best bows, and moving backward with a shuffling motion, "I am so glad to make you my friend," he continued, bowing and placing his right hand on his heart. Mattie's beauty was quite up to the picture Mr. Gusher had drawn of it in his imagination. But her manner was so cold and formal that it not only disappointed but annoyed him. Instead of an ardent, impressible, romantic and even demonstrative girl, bubbling over with warmth and vivacity, here she was, as cold and formal as a charity school matron of forty summers.

"I hope, sir, that you will find your visit to Nyack pleasant," she replied, tossing her long, golden curls bewitchingly over her fair, full shoulders with her right hand, then motioning Mr. Gusher to be seated "Nyack is a very dull place, though. I am sure you will not find much in it to interest you. My mother tells me you are to make but a very short stay. I don't wonder you are anxious to get back, sir—"

Mrs. Chapman was at this time in a state of great alarm lest Mattie should say something not strictly within the rules of propriety. She shook her head and cast a significant glance at Mattie, then raised the fore-finger of her right hand to her lips, admonishingly.

"My daughter has not heard of the great enterprise yourself and my dear husband are engaged in—"



"Why, yes, mother, I have," interrupted Mattie; "did'nt Mr. Toodleburg and father go up the river to buy up all the vegetables for the New York market?"

"Oh, horrors! horrors! Why, my daughter, what put such a strange thought in your head? Think of it. Your intellectual father going into the vegetable business—and with a common old Dutchman! Oh, horrors, my daughter! What could have put such a thought in your head?" The fat, fussy woman affected to be overcome, and raised her hands in the very agony of distress.

"My daughter, Mr. Gusher, has a way of talking so at times. A little satirical, you know—inherits it from her father."

"My mother has spoken of you frequently, Mr. Gusher. I almost felt acquainted with you before you arrived. You do business in the city, she says. The weather is so very bad, I am sure you will not enjoy such a dull place as this," said Mattie, turning to Mr. Gusher and resuming the conversation, cold and emotionless.

"No, no, miss," rejoined Mr. Gusher, smiling; "I am zure I shall be so happy wiz you. Wiz you to zay so many good zings to me, my heart shall be in ze paradise." Here Mr. Gusher made a bow, and pressed his hand to his heart. "Wiz you for ze bird of zat paradise, oh, I shall be so happy."

"Then you and father are going into business, Mr. Gusher? I do hope you will be successful. If you can only get father to stick to business," resumed Mattie. "He is smart at inventing new religions, and other things. Mother, (here she turned to her mother, who was in a state of great alarm,) how many new religions has father invented? I know how many churches he has built—"

"My daughter, my daughter!" exclaimed the impatient and perplexed woman. "Such things as churches don't interest Mr. Gusher. Mr. Gusher moves in distinguished society, and goes to a fashionable church."

"Oh, yes, madam, I go to ze very fazionable church. I go to zee ze ladies, and to enjoy ze sentiment of ze music. Zen I shall enjoy myself wiz your daughter more as well in your house. I shall do zat. Your daughter, she shall zing to me, and she shall play to me, and she shall read to me some poetry. I am so much love ze poetry."

"Truly, Mr. Gusher, I should make but very poor work in entertaining you by singing or playing," replied Mattie; "and as for poetry, I never had any taste for it. Father made me read Pilgrim's Progress until it has got to be a favorite book with me. Did you ever read it, Mr. Gusher? It is very interesting."

"Nevare, nevare!" returned Mr. Gusher, shaking his head and extending his hands. "I nevare read ze book of ze Progress Pilgrim. I read ze book what describe to me ze paradise of ze heart—love." How very aggravating, thought Mr. Gusher. Instead of a girl with a whole volume of poetry in her soft blue eyes, here was one whose very nature seemed devoid of sentiment. Still there was something in this cold and reserve manner, this indifference to Mr. Gusher's attractions, that tended to excite his ambition, for he was excessively vain.

"Your dear mother say I go to ze fazionable church. Yes, I go to ze fazionable church. I zee so many nice ladies, so many beautiful ladies, all my friends; and za make me so many compliments. Oh, yes, Miss Chapman, I have so many beautiful young ladies for my friend in ze church."

"I don't see how it can be otherwise, Mr. Gusher," returned Mattie, bestowing a look of admiration on him. "I am sure you would have a great many admirers if you lived in Nyack. But, then, you would not think of living in such a dull place."

"You do me so much honor, miss," rejoined Mr. Gusher, rising and making a bow. "I hope it shall be my honor to count Miss Chapman—what shall I say?—well, I will say as one of my so good friends."

"Indeed, Mr. Gusher, I have no such ambition. You have so many beautiful friends now. You would not, I am sure, condescend to include a simple country girl like me among them. I assure you, Mr. Gusher, I am not ambitious."

"You will have discovered by this time," said Mrs. Chapman, rising and making a low courtesy, "that my daughter delights in being eccentric. Oh, sir, she says a great many things she never means. She has got ambition enough. She would'nt be a Chapman if she had'nt."

Dinner was now announced. "I shall be so happy to escort you," said Mr. Gusher, nearly doubling himself in a bow, and extending his arm.

Mattie hesitated for a moment, blushed, and seemed confused. "Please, Mr. Gusher," she said, bowing and extending her right hand, "escort my dear mother." Here was an awkward situation. Mr. Gusher's knowledge of etiquette was for once put on trial by a plain, simple-hearted country girl. But his offer was intended only as a compliment, and surely, he thought, the girl would accept it in that light.

Turning nervously to Mrs. Chapman he extended his arm, saying: "Pardon, madam, pardon. You will understand?"

"Oh, certainly, Mr. Gusher," returned the ponderous woman. "You are so very kind—so very kind, Mr. Gusher."

Never before had Mr. Gusher escorted a woman of such ponderous circumference. Mattie followed, her roguish smiles indicating that she enjoyed what she considered a joke played at Mr. Gusher's expense. The picture presented by the meeting of such extremes was indeed a ludicrous one.

I will not weary the reader with a description of or explain a family dinner such as that generally spread by the Chapmans, nor with the many apologies made by Mrs. Chapman that they had not something better to set before so distinguished a guest as Mr. Philo Gusher. Chapman was already seated at the table, busy with a huge fork and carving-knife.

"We don't stand on ceremony here," said he. "Our visitors are always welcome, and expected to make themselves at home. (Pointing with the carving-knife to opposite sides of the table.) Take seats, take seats, now," he concluded.

Mrs. Chapman made a motion to seat Mattie on Mr. Gusher's left, an honor she did not seem to appreciate, for she insisted on taking a seat opposite—her proper place.

When dinner was over Mr. Gusher escorted Mattie back into the parlor. "You shall understand me better, miz, I am sure you shall, as we get better acquainted. And now you shall zing to me, and play me some music," said he, opening the piano and arranging the stool and music. "You will zee I shall make myself agreeable," he repeated two or three times, then extending his hand. But instead of accepting it Mattie returned a cold, formal bow, and proceeded to the piano unaided.

"The truth is, Mr. Gusher," said Mattie, running her fingers up and down the keys, and looking up archly in Mr. Gusher's face, "I am only taking lessons, and can't play or sing so as to interest you."

"Excuse, miz. You want I pay you ze compliment. Well, I shall do zat when I hear ze music."

The fair girl now tossed her golden curls back over her shoulders, and began singing one of the most solemn and melancholy of pieces, to her own accompaniment. Her voice was indeed full of sweetness, and she could sing with some skill and effect; but she was just at this time more inclined to play on Mr. Gusher's feelings than to do justice to her musical talent.

"There's something sweet and touching in this melancholy music, I like it, Mr. Gusher," she said, pausing and looking up in his face tantalizingly; "don't you?"

Mr. Gusher shook his head disapprovingly, and shrugged his shoulders. "No, no, miz; I nevare like ze funeral music. I go to ze funeral of my friend wiz music like zat."

"I am very sorry to hear you say so, Mr. Gusher. I play it whenever mother will let me. And I enjoy it so much. Reminds me of a dear young friend now far away."

"Now, miz, I makes my discovery," returned Mr. Gusher, turning over a leaf of the music, and looking enquiringly into Mattie's face. "Zat young friend, so far away, wiz his memory so near ze heart. Well, I shall think no more of zat. You shall zee I shall make my compliments, and shall cut out zat one young friend what is so far away. You shall zing me some grand music, so full of ze love, and ze poetry, so as my heart shall lift up wiz joy." Here Mr. Gusher flourished his hands and executed several waltzing steps, as an expression of how his feelings were excited by music.

Mattie turned suddenly around to witness this peculiar exhibition, when Tite's letter fell from her bosom to the floor.

"Ze revelation! Ze re-ve-la—what shall I say? If I only speak ze Englis so good as you, now!" exclaimed Gusher, affecting a loud laugh. And stooping down quickly, he attempted to seize the missive. Mattie was too quick for him. Regaining possession of it she restored it carefully to her bosom, an expression of joy and triumph lighting up her countenance.

Disappointment now took possession of Mr. Gusher's feelings. His manner indicated what his heart felt. Never before had his expectations and his ambition been so lowered, or his vanity so exposed. He had expected to find a beautiful, simple-minded country girl, ready with hand and heart to become a willing captive to his charms. And yet he had failed to make the slightest impression on her. Nor was that all. Her heart and her thoughts were evidently engaged in another direction. What, he enquired of himself, could her mother have meant by the encouragement she gave him to visit her home and see her daughter? His curiosity to find out who it was that held such possession of this beautiful girl's affections was now excited to the highest pitch.



CHAPTER XVIII.

ROUNDING CAPE HORN.

Mr. Gusher, with his pride wounded, and a heavy heart, took leave of the Chapmans early on the following morning, and crossed the ferry on his way back to New York. The black bucket containing the capital stock of the great Kidd Discovery Company, in which his fancy pictured a dozen or more fortunes, and which he bore with him, afforded no relief for his disappointment. It might be the means of his owning a fine house, riding in his own carriage, and being considered a rich man by society. But, after all, riches only embodied the hard features of dollars and cents. Who could find romance in the pursuit of dollars and cents? he thought. You could carry fame into the grave with you. Dollars and cents might buy you a fine coffin, and bring rich friends to your funeral; but they left you at the tomb door.

Had Mr. Gusher gone back to New York in the belief that he had made an impression on the affections of that pretty, simple-hearted country girl, Mattie Chapman, what a happy man he would have been. He resolved, however, not to be vanquished in this way—not to give it up—but to continue his attentions, and if possible gain a victory over her affections.

And now, gentle reader, you must accompany me to a very different part of the globe, and see what is going on there.

The ship Pacific had been refitted and put in sailing order at Bahia, and was now on her course for the Straits of Magellan. On reaching the latitude of the straits strong adverse winds set in, and gale succeeded gale until the sea became lashed into a tempest. The weather, too, was biting cold, and the crew suffered intensely. Not a gleam of sun had been seen for three weeks, and the ship's progress had to be worked by dead reckoning.

Morning after morning the sturdy old captain would come on deck, thrust his hands deep into the pockets of his pea-jacket, and look intently over the wild watery scene. Then he would shake his head despondingly. "Never caught it this way afore," he would say, addressing the officer of the watch. "Never caught it this way afore. Somebody's brought bad luck aboard, or we should'nt have such weather as this." Then he would disappear into the cabin and ponder over his chart, trying to work out the ship's position. But a strong current and the high wind, both setting in one direction, had carried him far beyond his reckoning, and into the vicinity of the Faulkland Islands.

All the light spars had been sent down, and for fifteen days the ship had labored in the sea under close-reefed topsails and jib, trying to make weather, but without gaining a mile.

On the sixteenth day the weather cleared up a little and the sun came out, and an observation was got, which showed that the ship had been carried into the vicinity before described. For once the sturdy old whale-killer had got drifted away from his course. But he declared it was all owing to the sea getting tipsy, the compasses getting tipsy, the chronometers getting tipsy, and the sun keeping himself rolled up in a blanket. You could'nt, he said, get a ship to look the wind in the eye when all the elements were tipsy. He was a lucky mariner who could get round Cape Horn without being tossed off his feet for a month—everything seemed to stagger so.

The wind now changed suddenly and blew as fiercely from the opposite direction, and the cold increased. The ship was at once got on her course for the straits, her reefs were shook out, and she bowled over the sea at the rate of nine knots. Still the sky continued black and cloudy, and the horizon misty and dim. The sea ran high, and broke and surged, filling the air with a cold, cutting spray, while the ship labored and strained in every timber.

Have you, my gentle reader, ever seen the broad ocean in an angry mood on a cold, pitiless winter day, when the horizon was hung with cold, penetrating mist, when all overhead was black with fleeting clouds, when the seas broke in their fury and threatened to destroy the frail bark under your feet, and when rain, hail, and snow alternately swept through the atmosphere, like showers of keen-pointed arrows—have you, I say, ever contemplated this sublime and impressive scene without acknowledging within yourself how omnipotent was God, and how feeble and insignificant a thing was man?

There is, perhaps, no other place in the world where Nature so combines all her elements to give an emphatic expression to the power and reality of the Divinity, as in the vicinity of this famous old Cape.

The bold, rugged headlands of Patagonia were sighted on the morning of the 4th of December. The wind had subsided a little, but a strong current was setting through the straits, and short, sharp seas, such as are experienced in the Bay of Fundy, indicated the ship's position as clearly as if a good observation had been got. Snow and ice nearly covered the ship, and the men continued to suffer from the cold. There was a feeling of encouragement now that the ship would round the Cape without any further trouble. But before noon a violent snow storm set in, and the bold, bleak hills of Patagonia disappeared from sight. The wind, too, veered ahead again and increased, and the ship had to be headed for the coast of Terra del Fuego, on the other tack.

Early on the following morning the look-out's attention was attracted by large spots of white light—now opening, now shutting—high up in the heavens ahead. It was Tite's watch on deck, and the look-out pointed him to the curious phenomena, which had not before attracted his attention. At the same time a painful and piercing chill seemed to pervade the atmosphere, and to seriously affect the feelings of the men on deck.

Tite watched these curious phenomena for several minutes, without comprehending what they meant. He thereupon called the captain, who came quickly on deck. As soon as his eye caught the gleam of light, he walked aft to the binnacle, and stood watching the compasses for a minute or two.

"There's trouble ahead," he said. "Call Mr. Higgins, and all hands—call them quickly. We are close upon an iceberg."

The first officer and all hands were quickly on deck, ready to obey orders. Every eye on board was now watching in the direction of the light.

"It's an iceberg, and a big one, too, Mr. Higgins. If she strikes it, there's an end of us!" said Captain Bottom, addressing the first officer, who seemed indifferent to the danger that threatened the ship. A rustling noise, as of strong tide-rips breaking ahead, was heard, the sound increasing every minute. The braces were now manned, the order to "go about" given, and the helm put down. But the ship had hardly begun to gather headway on the other tack, when she refused to obey her helm. It seemed, indeed, as if she was under the influence of a powerful attraction, drawing her to destruction.

Another minute and she struck with a deep, crashing sound, that made every timber in her frame vibrate, so great was the shock. A gleam of grey light now began to spread over the fearful scene. It was daylight, that friend which so often comes to the mariner's relief. The ship had struck broad on, and the berg seemed to have grasped her in its arms of death and refused to let her go. Each succeeding sea lifted the helpless ship, and then tossed her with increasing violence against the jagged ice-cliff. And as her yards raked the boulders, huge blocks fell with crushing force on her deck. Stanchions were started, the bulwarks crushed away from the knight-heads to the quarter-deck, on the port side, and the deck stove in several places. It seemed as if there was but a minute between those on board and death. Still the staunch old ship forged ahead, lifting and surging with every sea, and seeming to struggle to free herself from the grasp of the berg. All hope of saving the ship seemed gone now. Both officers and men waited in suspense, expecting, every lurch the ship made, to see her go to pieces.

It was one of those moments when presence of mind and seamanship seem of no avail to save a ship. On sounding the pumps it was found that the ship's hull was still tight, and that she had made but little water. Still she forged ahead, and great blocks of ice continued to fall on her deck.

When all eyes were turned towards the captain, and each waited with breathless anxiety, in the hope that he would give some order that would at least be a relief to their feelings, even though it were folly to execute it, Tite mounted the fore-rigging to the top-mast trees, the surging ship threatening to dash him against the ice wall every minute. In that fearful position he remained for several minutes, scanning over the scene ahead, and hoping for some gleam of hope.

There was still a hope of saving the ship. He waved a signal of encouragement to those below, and quickly descended to the deck. About half or three-quarters of a mile ahead there was a point indicating the termination of the berg. If the ship could be kept forging ahead she might possibly round the point and clear the berg in safety.

Tite communicated to the captain what he had seen, and his belief that the ship could be saved. All hands now went to work cheerfully, clearing the deck forward of the ice that had accumulated there. Then the fore-top-sail was clewed up, the spanker set, the yards braced up sharp, and the ship continued forging ahead with increased motion. Every yard of distance gained was measured with a watchful eye, and increased the confidence of those on board.

"We shall save her yet, captain," said Tite, a smile of satisfaction playing over his face. "We won't give up the good old ship!"

"God bless you, my hearty, God bless you!" returned the old captain, grasping Tite's hand warmly. "It's you shall have the credit of it if she weathers the point. Yes, sir, you. Killin' a whale is killin' a whale. Gives a sailor fair play in a square fight. But this being run down by an iceberg, and ship and all hands crushed to powder, gives a sailor no chance to show what there is in him. When a man gets killed according to his liking, why, then he's satisfied. But there's no way you could get satisfaction in being killed by an iceberg. It was'nt my own life I was thinking about, Mr. Toodlebug. Not a bit of it." Here he again grasped Tite firmly by the hand, and lowered his voice to a whisper. "It was my good old woman, sir, and the two little ones. Heaven bless them and keep them from harm!"

The ship still made fearful surges, and the ice grated and cut her planking; but she neared the point gradually, and this brought a feeling of relief to all on board. Open water beyond, and the bold, sharp lines of the point, made it almost certain that the berg terminated there. The point was reached at last. The ship seemed to give a leap ahead, and, as if by mutual consent, payed off and parted from the icy grasp of the monster. Cheer after cheer went up as the old ship, in her distressed condition, swung away and was out of danger.

The ship was now headed for Puntas Arenas, where many years ago the Spaniards founded a penal settlement. Intermarrying has, however, reduced the people to mere dwarfs in stature; and they have so retrograded in civilization that they are the greatest thieves and the worst savages to be found along the coast.



CHAPTER XIX.

MAKING A FORTUNE

Kidd Company stock was a feature in Wall street. The firm of Topman and Gusher, having luminated the great Kidd Discovery Company, had got it fairly on its feet in that mart of the money-changers. The firm was considered highly respectable now, and had counting-rooms in Pearl street, near Wall, second floor, furnished in a style of elegance it would be difficult to surpass, even at this day. If you would fortify the standing of a great and enterprising firm, Topman said, in his polite way, you must do it with elegant and elaborate furniture in your counting-room. Show is the thing two-thirds of the people in the world are attracted and deluded by.

The newspapers, too, were telling curious stories as to how Kidd's treasure was discovered, and also making statements of a very unreliable nature, setting forth that already several million dollars had been recovered, and that any man engaged in it would surely make a fortune for his heirs, no matter how numerous. The more unreasonable these statements were, the more readily did people invest in the stock. Not a solid man in Wall street had heard of the firm of Topman and Gusher eight months ago. The great beacon lights of the street now condescended to bow and shake hands with Topman, to take more than a glance at the firm's name when it was brought to their notice on certain bits of paper which the enterprising firm, for mere convenience sake, gave now and then as "equivalents". In short, Mr. Topman was a man of such impressive manners that he quite captivated Wall street, and to have those solid-pocketed old gentlemen speak encouragingly of the house, was, he considered, gaining a great financial victory. In addition to this Topman lived in a fine house, sumptuously furnished, on the west side of Bowling Green, had a servant in livery to open the door, and rode in his own carriage.

Mrs. Topman was a showy, dashing woman of thirty-five, or thereabouts, tall and slender, and somewhat graceful of figure, and might have passed for a beauty at twenty. But there was a faded look about her now, and she had a weakness for loud talking and overdressing. She was evidently a woman of doubtful blood, and "no family," as society would say in these days. Indeed, first-rate society, such as Bowling Green boasted of in those days, considered itself very select, and dealt out its favors to new-comers with a cautious reserve.

As little or nothing was known of Mrs. Topman's antecedents, first-rate society cut her—did'nt even condescend to drop her a sidewalk recognition. But, as pushing one's self into society was quite as much practised then as now, and as Mrs. Topman was a pushing, vigorous woman, she resolved that if she could not carry the outworks and compel a surrender on the part of first-rate society, she would at least have a circle of her own. And she had just as good a right, she said, to call her circle of society first-rate, as her neighbors who kept their doors shut had to "consider" themselves such. It was only an assumption at best. So the aspiring lady received what she called select company on a Tuesday, and entertained generally on Thursday evenings. But her neighbors tossed their heads, and said they were only third-rate people who went there.

Gusher, however, flourished in what might at this day be considered elegant hotel society. He was such a nice young man, dressed in such good taste, and had such unexceptionable manners. And there was such a distinguished air about Gusher, that Bowling Green was half inclined to look on him with favor. Mr. Gusher was a stock beau as well as a stock boarder at the City Hotel, where he was an object of admiration with all the languishing young ladies of the house. Indeed, the landlord of the City Hotel regarded Mr. Gusher as a valuable parlor ornament for the entertainment of his female guests of an evening, for he was an exquisite dancer, could sing, and make such gracious bows. Now and then a sensible girl had been heard to say she thought him a little soft; but her companions usually set that down to envy. Then it got whispered about that he was an unfortunate foreigner of a very distinguished family, and had been exiled from his native Spain for engaging in a revolution. Such were the prospects of this distinguished firm, socially and financially.

Nyack, too, had been kept in a state of agitation all winter over the discovery of Kidd's treasure, and wonderful stories were circulated of the fabulous amounts that were recovered every day.

Spring had come again, and the hills around Nyack looked so fresh, and green, and beautiful. Chapman had got Kidd stock into high favor with all the honest old Dutchmen in the county. And it was curious to see how these heretofore cautious people parted with their money for what Chapman called a "profitable equivalent."

Mrs. Chapman seemed to have increased in circumference and loftiness. She could get new and expensive dresses, and silk ones at that, every time she went to New York, and she went quite often now. And none of her neighbors could wear such fine lace on their caps. It was surprising to see how this fat, fussy woman could toss her head and talk of common people now. It was very annoying, she said, to have to live in a little country town like Nyack, and mix with everybody. Then her dear little intellectually great Chapman was such a jewel of a husband, and was so clever at inventing the means of making a fortune for other people.

The brain of Nyack was terribly disordered over the fortunes that were to be made in a month for all who invested in Kidd Discovery stock. Even the good Dominie, led away by the temptation, had invested all his savings, and had his pockets full of Chapman's "equivalents," from which he looked for a fortune in a very short time. Finally the innocent settlers began to regard Chapman as a great genius, who had invented this new way of making their fortunes out of sheer goodness. "I want to tell you, my good friends," he would say to them, patronizingly, "you will appreciate me better as we become better acquainted. Invest your money, and there's a fortune for you all." And they took his word, and invested their money, and, many of them, everything they had.

We must go back into the city now. It was a morning in early May. Knots of men were standing on the corners of Wall and Pearl streets, each discussing in animated tones some question of finance or trade. Men with hurried steps and curious faces passed to and fro, threading their way through the pressing throng, as if the nation was in peril and they were on a mission to save it. And yet it was only an expression of that eagerness which our people display in their haste to despatch some object in the ordinary business routine of the day.

It was on this morning that a woman of small and compact figure, dressed in plain green silk, a red India shawl, and a large, odd-shaped straw bonnet, called a "poke" in those days, on her head, and trimmed inside with a profusion of artificial flowers, the whole giving her an air of extreme quaintness, was seen looking up doubtingly at the door opening to the stairs at the top of which Topman and Gusher had their counting-rooms. She had the appearance of a woman in good circumstances, just from the country, where her style of dress might have been in fashion at that day. Her age, perhaps, was in the vicinity of forty, for her hair was changing to grey, and hung in neat braids down the sides of her face, which was round and ruddy, and still gleamed with the freshness of youth. Her shawl-pin was a heavy gold anchor and chain, and her wrists were clasped with heavy gold bracelets, bearing a shield, on which was inscribed a sailor with his quadrant poised, in the act of taking the sun. I ought also to add that she carried a big umbrella in her left hand, and a small leathern satchel in her right.

This quaint little woman's manner was exceedingly nervous and hesitating. Twice or thrice she advanced up the passage to the foot of the stairs, hesitated, returned to the door, and looked up at the number, as if still uncertain about some project on trial in her mind.

Men were passing in and out, and up and down the stairs hurriedly, as if some important business required all their attention. The little woman took no heed of any of them, and indeed seemed confused in her own thoughts. Drawing a newspaper from her leathern bag she read in a whisper, at the same time tracing the lines with her finger, "Great Kidd Discovery Company. Capital $150,000. All paid in. President, Luke Topman. Corresponding Secretary, Philo Gusher. No. —— Pearl street." The little woman nodded her head, and looked up with an air of satisfaction. "I'm right. This is the place," she muttered to herself. Then putting the paper carefully into her pocket, and hugging the big umbrella close to her side, she advanced with a more resolute step up the passage, and was soon at the top of the stairs.

Again the little woman paused, for the number of names over doors seemed to confuse her. Just across the passage in front of her, however, she read over a half-glass door, and in large gilt letters, "Topman and Gusher, General Commission Business." And just below, and across the panes of ground glass, were the significant and attractive words: "Kidd Discovery Company. Capital $150,000. Luke Topman, President. Philo Gusher, Corresponding Secretary."

The little woman advanced and knocked timidly at the door, which was opened by a nicely-clad and polite youth, whose business seemed to be to admit customers. The little woman bowed and returned the young man's salutation.

"A lady visitor, Mr. Gusher!" said the young man, motioning the lady to enter. "That is Mr. Gusher, madam; junior partner of the firm."

A polished mahogany railing separated the vulgar customer from the highly dignified looking clerks inside. Indeed, there was an air of elegance about the establishment that somewhat surprised the little woman at first, and caused her some embarrassment.

"Ah, madam; pardon! pardon!" said Mr. Gusher, rising from his desk at the announcement and advancing to the railing. "I shall do myself ze pleazure, and ze honor of receiving such commands as you shall confide to ze firm," he continued, smiling and bowing gracefully.

"A little investment," returned the visitor, nervously. "I have a little money, left by my husband, who is at sea. I have no immediate use for it; but want to put it where it will be entirely safe. Entirely safe, above all things; a good dividend will not be objectionable. I am sure, sir, you understand that—"

"Ah, madam, you shall zee. Pardon! you will enter and take one seat." Mr. Gusher now condescended to open the gate, as he called it, bring the little woman inside, and bid her be seated. "Ze Kidd Discovery Company, madam, is one grand enterprise. You shall zee. And ze profit shall be so great you will not know where to put him. For ze safety of ze investment, (pardon, madam,) you shall accept ze honor of zis firm. O, madam, I cannot speak ze Englis so well. If my partner is here you shall zee he will satisfy you as ze reputation and ze honor of zis firm will be so great. You shall invest your money, and you shall zee zat ze honor and ze reputation of zis firm shall makes him safe." Mr. Gusher made a low bow, and pressed his hand to his heart in confirmation of what he had said.

A number of suspicious-looking men now entered the office and advanced to the railing, all affecting great eagerness to purchase and pay their money for Kidd Discovery stock. "You shall zee, mad-am," said Mr. Gusher, extending his right hand and shrugging his shoulders, "how much ze demand for ze stock in zat grand enterprise is. Ze rush for him is so great ze price will be double very soon—as you shall zee."

"Don't know how my husband would like it if he was here," replied the little woman, who had been nervously twitching and working her fingers, now opening the satchel, then shutting it. "Leaves me money enough to keep me comfortable when he goes away. Good provider, my husband is. Commands a ship, he does. Says 'look ahead, my darling,' when he goes away. 'Take good care of the coppers, darlin', don't let rogues and thieves get them; and remember that one-half the world is hard at work slanderin' t'other. Keep an eye t' wind'rd, darlin'. We've sailed along smoothly enough through life together, but there may be a dismal storm ahead. Life storms are dangerous. Here's a kiss, good little woman—good bye.' Then he goes away, and I sees no more of him for three years. That's a long time, sir. But he is so fond of the children, and such a dear, good husband to me."

"Mad-am," said Gusher, again bowing and pressing his hand to his heart, "wiz so good a lady for his wife, I am sure he shall be so happy and so proud." Detecting the small vein of eccentricity in the little woman's character, Mr. Gusher was evidently inclined to encourage it, hoping that it would still further develop her generosity.

"You are sure my investment will be perfectly safe?" enquired the little woman, looking up anxiously in Mr. Gusher's face.

"Oh, madam!" rejoined Mr. Gusher. "Oh, mad-am! Perfectly, as you shall zee. Ze honor of ze firm is pledged to zat."

The little woman now drew two thousand dollars from her satchel, and after counting it on her knee, passed it to Mr. Gusher. "I will invest this," she said, again looking up anxiously at Mr. Gusher, and then fumbling over the contents of her satchel, as if it still contained something she was in doubt how to dispose of. "I will take your word," she resumed, as if some sudden change had come over her mind. "Life's short, and speculation uncertain. I am from Yonkers. You have heard of Yonkers, sir? Yonkers on the Hudson. People of Yonkers are boiling over with excitement about the great discovery. Thank you for your kindness, sir. I hope the shares will go up. If I should double my money, as you say I will, how father would laugh when he comes home. I call my good husband father, you know." The little woman ran on in this strange and confused manner until Gusher began to think she was never going to stop.

"Invested my money—independent—don't want nobody to know it. Will invest another thousand dollars if it turns out right. Yonkers people expect to get rich soon by Kidd shares. Nobody'll know it, you know. Don't want nobody to know it, you know. Come down here to invest so nobody would know it, you know—"

"I am so glad," interrupted Mr. Gusher, receiving the money, "you put your confidence in ze house. You shall zee zat ze honor of ze firm shall be your protection." As he proceeded to arrange the little equivalents with the picture of the big spread eagle at the top and the coffer dam at the bottom, the little woman fixed her gaze on the counting-room furniture, which seemed to attract her attention to an uncommon degree. Elaborately-finished and highly-polished mahogany desks were arranged around the room, the floor was covered with a soft carpet, and there were carved oak chairs, upholstered in green plush. The walls were hung with engravings and paintings representing favorite ships and steamboats, and a huge safe stood wide open, displaying shelves and drawers filed with books and papers. It was, indeed, a part of the firm's philosophy that what you lacked in substance you must make up in show.

There, too, was a door leading into Topman's private office, furnished with exquisite good taste. Topman was the great financial monument of the firm. Gusher did the elegant and ornamental.

George Peabody, the great philanthropist, made his fortune and his fame in a little dark, dingy office in Warnford Court, London. The pretensions of the great firm of Topman and Gusher were not to be confined by any such examples of economy.

A very clerical-looking man, with a round, smooth face, a somewhat portly figure, a high forehead, and a very bald, bright head, fringed with grey hair, and nicely trimmed grey side whiskers, stood at a desk, turning and re-turning the leaves of a big ledger. He was dressed in a neat black suit, and wore a white neckerchief. There was ledger No. 1, and ledger No. 2, and ledger No. 3, all so elegantly bound, and expressive of the business relations of the great firm of Topman and Gusher. It looked very much, however, as if the portly gentleman was only a part of the ornamental department of the great firm, for, having turned and re-turned the pages of No. 1, he would take up No. 2, and continue the occupation. It is true, he would pause now and then, and exchange a smile and a bow with some one of the customers waiting for stock.

There was also a slender, mild-mannered, and precisely-dressed young man, standing at another desk, and looking through a pair of gold-framed spectacles into a ledger. This was Mr. Foblins, registry clerk to the great firm. Mr. Foblins had a brigade of figures in column, and seemed continually busy putting them through a course of tactics known only to the firm. Mr. Foblins had his customers in column, with the number of shares and the amount invested, in front and rear ranks.

The word "Cashier" was painted over a third desk. And here a rollicking, talkative little man, with a round fat face, and a round bald head—a sort of fat boy that had been overtaken on the road of life by maturity—and who seemed to have a joke and a pleasant word for everybody, and was in the best of humor with himself, stood counting and re-counting, and passing out and receiving in money. This was Mr. Books, the merry little man of the establishment. Books entertained an excellent opinion of himself, and was in high favor with the customers, for he was witty, musical, and talkative. More than that, he was a stately little man, and well informed in all the great political movements of the day, and would entertain customers on the condition of the nation while counting their money. It was evident that Mr. Books was not in sympathy with the great enterprise his employers were developing, for he was continually saying witty but malicious things about Gusher, and would even point significantly with his thumb over his right shoulder. When a more than ordinarily verdant customer would come with his money, Mr. Books would shrug his shoulders, drum with his fingers on the desk, and hum a tune to the words—

"Fortunes made, and fortunes lost; Fools seek the phantom here at last," &c., &c.

Books had several times intimated an intention to set up a great enterprising banking and miscellaneous firm of his own. Indeed, his popularity with the patrons of the house was doing Mr. Books no good, especially as it entailed the necessity of his taking so great a number of drinks during the day that he would offer to bet the reputation of the firm that he was the tallest man in the establishment, and a politer man than Gusher. So good an opinion had Mr. Books of himself when under these little delusions, occasioned accidentally, as he would say, that it became a serious question with him whether his proud position was due to Topman and Gusher or his own great merits. In fine, it had more than once occurred to him that the firm was indebted to his personal popularity for its great reputation.

Mr. Gusher consulted Mr. Books, and entrusted him with the little woman's money. Then he proceeded to Mr. Foblin's desk, that gentleman turning over the pages of his big ledger preparatory to making an entry.

"What name did you say? I have the amount," enquired that gentleman, looking up earnestly over his spectacles.

"If you please, madam," said he, approaching the little woman with a bow, "you shall have no objection to give me your name. It is necessary as we shall keep ze book so correct."

The little woman hesitated for a moment, fingered the handle of her satchel nervously, then looked up inquiringly in Mr. Gusher's face. Then touching him timidly on the right arm with the fore-finger of her left hand she whispered, "Nautical, nautical, my nautical name?" Then her lips motioned and her finger pressed on Mr. Gusher's arm. Mr. Gusher looked at the little woman with an air of surprise and astonishment.

"Nau-tick-el? I do not understand zat, madam."

"Elizabeth Judson Bottom. That's my name," resumed the woman, raising her voice, and seeming to speak with a feeling of relief. "Bottom is my husband's name." Here she lowered her voice again. "Nautical. Commands a ship. Is away off in the South Sea, my husband is. There's nobody got a better husband than I have." The little woman said this with an emphasis and a smile of satisfaction lighting up her face. "You may have heard of my husband, sir? He is well known among nautical people. My husband sails the celebrated ship Pacific, and has made three successful voyages. You hav'nt had much to do with ships if you hav'nt heard of my husband. There, there, that looks just like the ship he sails in." The little woman pointed to the picture of a ship under full sail hanging on the wall.

"Madam, I am sure I shall know your husband," said Mr. Gusher, returning with the paper representing the number of shares the little woman had paid her money for. "I shall be so happy to zee him when he shall come home." Mr. Gusher handed her the paper, saying: "Now, madam, you shall take good care of zis. Your money, it shall be perfectly safe."

While this interesting little episode was being performed up stairs, an open carriage, showily caparisoned and drawn by a stylish pair of well-groomed bays, drew up at the door. A desperate effort had evidently been made to get the coachman into some sort of livery, for he wore a tall black hat, with a broad velvet band, and a buckle in front as big as an ordinary sized horse shoe. His coat, too, was of green cloth, covered all over with large brass buttons, and he seemed proud of his white gloves and tight-fitting breeches, which he kept looking down at every few minutes.

This was Mrs. Topman's new "turnout," which she had recently set up in opposition to one indulged in by a circumspect and very aristocratic neighbor. Topman alighted from the carriage, received and returned the bows of several persons on the sidewalk, and soon came hurrying into the counting-room, where he was received with great respect by the combined dignity of the firm.

"Madam," said Mr. Gusher, again addressing the little woman, "allow me to have ze pleazure as I shall present to you zis gentleman." Here Mr. Gusher introduced Topman, his partner, and gave him a short account of the business she was on.

"Why, my dear, good lady!" said Topman, grasping her hand with a freedom indicating that they had been old friends. "Your husband and me—why, we were old friends. If there is any man in the world I respect and admire, that man is Captain Price Bottom. If there is any man living I would rather make a fortune for than do anything else, that man is Captain Price Bottom. Yes, madam, not many years ago I used to swear by Captain Price Bottom; and if Captain Price Bottom was here to-day, I will venture to assert, on the word of a gentleman, there is no man who would sooner swear by your humble servant—"

"I am so real glad! My husband made friends wherever he went," interrupted the little woman.

"Glad! glad!" resumed Topman, "so am I. God bless him, wherever he goes! Go back, madam, and get all your neighbors interested in this great enterprise. Tell them the managers are old friends of your husband. Get them to bring in their money, madam, and secure a fortune!" Mr. Topman now showed the little woman the discolored dollars, a matter of great importance, which Mr. Gusher had omitted.

"Our motto is, madam, 'Never invest your money until you have seen your basis.' If you see your basis, and it is satisfactory, then come down with your money and await your fortune. You see the basis, now put your faith in the firm!" concluded Mr. Topman, politely bowing the little woman out. She took her departure for home, fully satisfied that she had a good friend in Mr. Topman, and that she had made a permanent investment.



CHAPTER XXI.

COMING EVENTS CAST THEIR SHADOWS.

The Great Discovery Company had run its race of prosperity. A few months passed, and the prospects of those connected with it began to change. Chapman went about Nyack shaking his head despondingly, and saying that he had been deceived by Hanz Toodleburg, who had deceived them all with his story about Kidd's treasure, and would be the cause of their losing a large amount of money.

"I never would have been caught in such a trap, but I believed Hanz Toodleburg to be an honest man, a very honest man, and I put faith in his word. But I have been deceived. Well, it is not the first time my confidence has been abused in this way," Chapman would say, holding up his hands, while his face assumed an expression of injured innocence.

Hanz, on the other hand, protested his innocence. Never in all his life, he said, had he taken a dollar of money not his own, and honestly made. He was persuaded to do what he had done by the gentlemen whom he supposed engaged in an honest enterprise. In truth, he had never suspected them of a design to get honest people's money in a dishonest way.

"If I toos t' shentlemens a favors, und ta makes t' money, und I makes no money, und t' peoples don't get no money pack, what I cot t' do mit him?" Hanz would say, when accused by the settlers of aiding designing men to get their hard earnings. But all he could say and protest did not relieve him of the suspicion that he was a participant in getting up the enterprise. In short, there was the old story of his knowledge of where Kidd's treasure was buried lending color of truth to the statements made to his injury by Chapman.

The innocent Dutch settlers would gather at Bright's inn of an evening, smoke their pipes, mutter their discontent at the way things had turned, compare their "equivalents," and relate how much saving it had cost them to get the money thrown away on them. If it had not been for Hanz Toodleburg, they said, not a man of them would have believed a word of the story about Mr. Kidd and his money. Indeed, they would insist on laying all their sorrows at Hanz's door.

Chapman had also circulated a report, which had gained belief among the settlers, that the trouble was caused by the devil refusing to surrender the key of the big iron chest; that he had been heard under sounding-rock, making terrible noises, and threatening to destroy every man working in the shaft. Then it was said that the ghost had reappeared and so frightened the men that they had refused to work. Another story was set afloat that the bottom had fallen out of the pit, and the iron chest containing the treasure had sunk beyond recovery. The simple fact was that the cunning fellows never expected to find a dollar.

These strange stories agitated Nyack for several weeks, and under their influence Chapman so managed to divide opinion that Hanz had to bear the greater share of blame for bringing distress on the poor people. One and then another of his neighbors would chide him, and say it was all his fault that they had lost their money and had nothing to show for it but these worthless bits of paper.

To add to Hanz's troubles, Chapman entered his house one day, and openly reproached him for bringing distress on his friends. "You know you have done wrong, old man," said he, assuming the air of an injured man. "You would not have deceived me—no man would—but that I took you for a Christian. And when I take a man for a Christian I put faith in him. That's why I put faith in you. I believed you honest, you see."

Chapman's familiar and even rude manner surprised and confounded Hanz. In vain he protested his innocence, and offered to call the Dominie and Doctor Critchel to testify that he had never in his life wronged any man out of a shilling.

"You sold us something you had not got," continued Chapman, in an angry tone, "and in that you committed a fraud. Honest men don't do such things—never! Mr. Toodlebug. I thought you were a friend; but you have deceived me—have deceived us all!"

The plot was now beginning to develop itself, and Hanz for the first time began to see what a singular chain of adverse circumstances Chapman had drawn around him. Never before in his life had a man openly charged him with doing wrong. Angeline was even more troubled than Hanz, and listened with fear and trembling to the words as they fell from Chapman's lips. What could have worked this change in a person who had so recently expressed such friendship for them? Her pure, unsuspecting soul would not permit her to entertain the belief that her husband could do wrong. She attempted to speak and enquire what this strange and unaccountable scene meant; but her eyes filled with tears, her face became as pale as marble, and her resolution failed her. Her little, happy home had been rudely invaded, and a grasping, avaricious enemy had shown himself where she expected to find a friend.

"I don't want to distress you, Mr. Toodlebug, I don't," said Chapman, keeping his keen eyes fixed on Hanz. "I don't want to distress you, I don't. But you must show that you are an honest man. Honesty is the best policy. I've always found it so, at least. You must make this thing all right, if it takes all you have to do it." When he had said this he put on his hat and rudely took his departure.

"Angeline, mine Angeline," said Hanz, "if dish bat man should make me loose mine goot name, den mine life it pees very misherable. What I toes I toes t' oplige t' gentleman. How I toes wish mine Tite, mine poor poy Tite, vas here." He sat thoughtfully in his chair for several minutes, then sought consolation for his wounded feelings in a pipe.

Chapman had not been long gone when Mattie came rolicking into the house, as if to form a bright and sunny contrast with the scene that had just ended. She carried a little basket in her hand, was dressed in a flowing white skirt and sack, wore a broad sun hat encircled with a blue ribbon, and her golden hair was decorated with wild flowers. There was something so fascinating in that merry, laughing voice, something so pure, innocent, and girlish in that simple dress and that sweet, smiling face, that it seemed as if Heaven had ordained her to represent truth and goodness. Setting the basket down on the table she ran to Angeline, embraced and kissed her, not perceiving that trouble had depressed that good woman's spirits.

"And you, too, good Father Hanz," she said, turning to him, and saluting him in her free, frank manner; "you shall have a kiss, too." And she took his hand and imprinted a kiss on his cheek.

She suddenly discovered that something was the matter, paused, and looked at Angeline with an air of surprise. Her first thought was that they had received bad news from Tite, which they were trying to conceal from her. Almost unconsciously her gentle nature began to beat in sympathy with Angeline's, and a tear stole slowly down her cheek. "You have heard from Tite; is he sick? have you heard bad news?" she inquired, in rapid succession, as she watched every change in Angeline's features.

Angeline shook her head, and looked up sweetly but sorrowfully in Mattie's face. "Nothing, nothing, my good child," she replied, kissing Mattie's hand. But there was the tear of sorrow writing its tale on her cheek. "God will bless and protect our Tite," she resumed; "but we have heard nothing from him since the letter you saw."

"I am so glad," rejoined Mattie, her face lighting up with a sweet smile. "I think about him every day, and I know he thinks about me. So, now, mother Angeline, you must cheer up. You will, won't you? It won't do to be sad when Tite is away." And, after patting Angeline on the shoulder and kissing her cheek, "you shall see, now," she resumed, bringing forward the basket, "what nice presents I have brought for you, Mother Angeline. Made these all with my own hands."

Here the happy, smiling girl drew from her basket a number of frills and wristlets, a worsted-worked candle mat, and a cambric handkerchief, in one corner of which she had ingeniously worked Angeline's name. "They are all for you, Mother Angeline, all for you," she said, tossing them one after another into her lap. "You are so good. Keep them all until Tite comes home. Then you can show them to him as a proof of what a true and good girl I have been."

Hanz viewed this act of kindness on the part of Mattie with an air of surprise and astonishment. It was in such beautiful contrast to her father's rudeness and severity that he was at a loss how to account for it.

"Vel, vel!" exclaimed Hanz, raising his hands, "you pees sho goot a gal as I ever did she. Yes, mine shild, I never shees no petter gals as you pees." And he rose from his chair, and approaching Mattie, patted her on the shoulder encouragingly. "You pees such a goot girl," he repeated, "and you will pe mine goot friend, eh?"

"Certainly I will. Why should I be anything else?" replied Mattie, looking up smilingly in his face.

Hanz shook his head. "It pees sho now as nopody can shay who pees his friend, and who pees not his friend. I pees sho glad you pees mine friend."

"I should like to know, Father Hanz, what troubles you?" resumed Mattie, whose quick eye read in his face the trouble that was making his heart sad. "Tell me what troubles you, Father Hanz, and I will be a friend to you, no matter who it is."

"Mine shilds," replied the old man, drooping his head, "dar vas un man, he shay as he pees mine goot friend. Dat friend he pees mine enemy. He prings shorrow into mine house. Unt he prings dat shorrow when mine poor Tite he pees sho far away as I ton't know where he is."

Tears again filled the old man's eyes as he spoke, and he paused, shook his head, and buried his face in his hands. There was something in the old man's unwillingness to disclose who it was that had caused him this trouble that excited Mattie's suspicions.

"You must tell me, Father Hanz," said she, encircling his neck with her right arm and patting him on the cheek encouragingly and affectionately with her left hand, "who has caused you all this trouble."

Hanz looked up earnestly and enquiringly into her face. Still there was a doubt in that look it was impossible to mistake.

"You ton't know, eh? you ton't know, eh? Maype as he is petter as you ton't know, mine shild. T' man what prings shorrow into mine house; t' man what shays I pees one tief t' mine neighpors—dat man he pees no friend of mine." Again the old man paused, and looked up inquiringly into Mattie's sweet face, as if anxious to trace the secret of her thoughts. And as he did so the breeze tossed the grey hairs over his forehead, as if to cover up the wrinkles age had written on it.

"Mine taughter, mine taughter," he resumed, grasping Mattie's hand firmly, "I'se gettin' old now. Tare von't pe no more of old Hanz Toodleburg shoon. You never know'd nothin' pad of old Hanz Toodleburg—does you, mine taughter?"

"Never, never! Why, Father Hanz, nobody has been saying anything against you," replied Mattie, smiling.

"Dar has, too," resumed Hanz. "What I lives for now is mine goot name, and mine poor Tite. I pees a friend to everypody what needs a friend, and now what I needs mineshelf is one goot friend. You she, mine taughter, if mine little farm he pees gone, and if mine sheep, and mine cows, and mine everything pees gone, den der is nothin' for mine Tite when he comes home."

The old man paused for a moment. It was impossible for him to keep the secret of his trouble from Mattie any longer. He opened his heart to her and disclosed the fact that it was her own father who had brought sorrow into his home. Yes, it was her father who had led him like a child into trouble, and then thrown around his acts such a chain of suspicious circumstances that you could scarcely find a man in the village, where but a short time ago Hanz was so great a favorite, who did not believe him guilty of inventing the Kidd Discovery Company, and bringing ruin and distress on his neighbors. There was the paper Hanz had signed, setting forth that he possessed the secret of where Kidd's treasure was buried, and bearing the proof that he had sold it for a consideration. Chapman understood the value of this, and went about the village showing it as a proof that there was at least one man innocent, and that man was himself. There, too, was the old story that had clung to him through life—that he knew all about Kidd, his father having sailed with him on the Spanish Main. And there was the expedition up the river, in which he had played so prominent a part.

Chapman well understood the effect these things would have on the minds of the ignorant and superstitious, and he turned them against Hanz with such skill as to completely get the better of him. In short, he would assert his innocence with so much plausibility that the simple-minded settlers began to believe him the saint he set himself up for, and Hanz the sinner who had got all their money.

Mattie heard this strange declaration made by Hanz against her father with feelings of sorrow and surprise. She hung down her head and remained silent for some time, for her mind was bewildered with strange and exciting thoughts. Then, looking up, she said:

"Cheer up, don't be sad, Father Hanz. You will always find a friend in me. My father shall also be your friend. We are going to leave Nyack, but I will come and see you, and be your friend. Don't think bad of my father, and he shall yet be your friend." And she kissed Angeline and Hanz and bid them good bye.

Mattie had never for a moment entertained the thought that her father would knowingly wrong these old people. Her heart was too pure, her nature too trusting, to entertain a suspicion of wrong. She had seen him engaged in transactions she did not understand; she had seen him associate with men she did not like, but she never enquired what his motive for so doing was. How he became acquainted with, and what his business with Topman and Gusher was, had been a mystery to her. The object was clear enough to her now. The conversation she had overheard one night between her father and Topman, relative to a meeting at Hanz's house, and getting him to sign a paper purporting to sell them a secret, was all explained. This conversation put a powerful weapon in her hand, and if used skilfully she could save her father from trouble and also protect old Hanz. Indeed, her mind ran back over a train of curious circumstances, which now became clearer and clearer, and when linked together discovered the object they were intended to effect. There was no mistaking the motive. Still, like a true and loving daughter, she saw her father only in the light of innocence and truth. The more she contemplated the matter the more sincerely did she believe him an instrument in the hands of Topman and Gusher, of whose designs she had heard others speak.



CHAPTER XXII.

THE CHAPMANS MOVE INTO THE CITY

Chapman had developed Nyack pretty thoroughly, had made money enough to feel independent, and attributed it all to his own virtues. He had got up no end of quarrels, invented new religions, established a hotel on principles of high moral economy, advocated broad and advanced ideas in everything, and kept the settlement in a state of excitement generally. Chapman was indeed a great human accident. There was no confining him to any one thing, either in religion, politics, or finance. He had a morality of his own, which he said belonged to the world's advanced ideas, and it was not his fault if there were so few persons enlightened enough to understand and appreciate it in its true sense.

Chapman was indeed not one of those men who carry blessings into a community with them, but rather one of those who seem to delight in planting curses wherever they go, and leaving their victims to reap the bitter fruit in poverty and ruin. Himself a mental deformity, none of his enterprises had been of any real benefit to the community, while his last and most reprehensible one had resulted in emptying the pockets of the old Dutch settlers, and leaving them bits of worthless paper to remember him by.

And yet this man could talk of himself like a very saint. He had the power, too, of making many of those who had suffered by his acts believe him honest. Indeed, while one portion of the community was cursing him for a knave, another was defending him as a really useful man—an opinion Mrs. Chapman was always ready to endorse. In short, Chapman had supporters in Nyack who would have sent him to Congress out of sheer love for his talents, which they were sure would have found a happy field for their development. Mrs. Chapman always sought to conciliate these friends, and would invite them to tea. On these little occasions, after discussing the merits of cider-vinegar and homemade pumpkin pies, and the care respectable people should exercise over the company they kept, for there was pure New England "grit" in the lady, she would recur to her dear husband.

"All Nyack will confess how intellectually great he is," she would say; "and show me the person who has done more to elevate the moral respectability of Nyack. Nyack was such a dull, sleepy place when—when we first honored it with our company. See what it now is. My dear husband worked up these low Dutch people so; yes, and he improved their morals. And I flatter myself I have elevated its society—a little."

Chapman had now thoroughly developed Nyack, financially and religiously. He had saved up a nice little fortune, enough with care and good management to keep him comfortable and give Mrs. Chapman a wider field for the exercise of her love of display. There was now little chance of making any more money out of Nyack, either by getting up quarrels between neighbors or inventing new religions. So the Chapmans resolved to go into the city and set up for very respectable people. As nobody wanted the big house for a church Chapman rented it to Titus Bright for an inn, and as nothing was said about moral restrictions, that worthy friend of the thirsty and weary traveller kept it in the good old-fashioned way of giving customers what they wanted and asking no questions. He would much rather, Chapman said, have seen it put to a less profane use, but as Bright was a responsible tenant, and could pay more rent than any one else, the morality had to sink in the necessity.

A few months passed and the Chapmans were set up in New York, in a spacious and well-furnished house on the east side of Bowling Green. Chapman was soon busy looking after the affairs of the great firm of Topman and Gusher, which I need scarcely tell the reader was a creation of his. Mrs. Chapman soon had enough to do at pushing her way into society. But the more she pushed the more did little social obstructions seem to rise up and defeat her efforts. She would associate with first-rate society, she said, or none; and Mattie should be introduced and shine in the "upper circles."

Bowling Green stood on its dignity in those days. There were very nice and very old families living there then, and they kept themselves rolled up in their wealth and comfort, and looked coldly down on all new and pretentious people. West Bowling Green, too, put on airs of superiority over East Bowling Green, which it affected to designate with the term "rather vulgar." They were quiet, well brought up people on the West side, people who had made a family name and were proud of it, whose superior enterprise and genius had raised them above ordinary people, and who had acquired wealth by honorable means.

There was, indeed, a charm about these families, made more attractive by the simplicity and gentleness of their manners, for they were refined, and entertained their friends generously. In short, West Bowling Green and a portion of the Battery had at that day a social empire of its own, which had a flavor of rich old wine about it, and was as distinct as distinguished in all its surroundings. It rode in its own carriage, had orderly and well-dressed coachmen, wore an air of great circumspection, dined at five o'clock, and lived like a well-bred gentleman.

East Bowling Green had begun to lose cast, and, indeed, was under a cloud socially. Its society was made up of new, fast, and somewhat showy people, whose antecedents it was difficult to get at, (at least West Bowling Green said so,) and who, for want of a family reputation, put on the airs of a vulgarian. These people spent their money freely, and seemed to have enough of it, but they aspired to make a show rather than secure real enjoyment. They associated with third-rate people, and vied with each other in giving parties and balls to which all the young swells in town were invited. In fine, East Bowling Green had a cheap, retail flavor about it which all its show and extravagance failed either to conceal or atone for.

Mrs. Chapman had resided three months in Bowling Green, and yet first-class society had kept its doors closed—did not even condescend a smile. This was very mortifying to a lady whose pretentions were quite equal to her dimensions. A few second and third-rate people had made a formal call, or left a card. But it was merely as a matter of ceremony. Mr. Pinks, the elegant old beau of the Green, who was looked up to by first-rate society everywhere, and considered himself born to stand guard over it and protect it from vulgar contact, and who was accepted as authority in all matters of etiquette, and had standing invitations to dinner with all the best families, had called to pay his respects and congratulate the lady. But Pinks considered this strictly a matter of duty—to make an observation.

When Beau Pinks reported the result of his call to the Warburton family, who were first-rate people, and the Warburton family spread it through West Bowling Green, there was great amusement in the neighborhood.

"Won't do, the lady won't," said Pinks, lowering his voice to a whisper, and shaking his head. "Lady weighs two hundred pounds and more. A dead weight on the back of any society. Very pretentious, but makes shocking work of the King's English, and discovers low origin in her conversation generally. Puts on finery without regard to color or complexion, told me how many new dresses she had making, has big, fat hands, and wears common gold rings. Worse than all," continued Pinks, raising his hands, "the lady wanted to know if I could tell her how to reform servants, and if I liked rhubarb pies for breakfast."

With such a report from Pinks it was no wonder first-rate society did not take kindly to the lady. The rhubarb pies for breakfast settled the question in Pinks' mind, and he never called again, though he kept up a bowing acquaintance with the lady. Mrs. Chapman now fell back on a reception. A reception would be the thing to make Bowling Green surrender. The day was set and cards sent out, and notwithstanding Mr. Gusher, who was her standing ornament and idol, assisted her in drumming up recruits, the affair turned out to be very unsatisfactory. The nice people she invited sent regrets; and those who did come were second and third-rate people, who never miss a reception on any account, seeing that it affords them the cheapest means of showing themselves. There were cheap people then, just as there are cheap people now, ready enough to put in an appearance at a lady's reception, especially if she gave nice suppers and had daughters to be admired. Nor was it an uncommon thing, even at that day, for a pretentious woman who had just set up in society, and taken to the business of reception-giving, to find herself made the target of a little innocent satire by the nice young gentlemen she had invited to pay her homage.

Chapman differed from his wife, inasmuch as he regarded society as a great bore. Mrs. Chapman, however, was not a little disappointed at the way things had turned. They were flashy and rather fast people who came to her reception; people whom nobody of established respectability knew or cared to know—thoughtless young men, overdressed young women with matrimonial expectations, and a few needy foreigners with small titles. To make the matter worse, some of the lady's guests wore eye-glasses, through which they persisted in gazing at her, and conducted themselves very unbecomingly. Indeed, they eat up all her supper, spoiled her carpet, insulted her servants, and paid her certain left-handed compliments because she had neither coffee nor wine on her side-board. The foreigners, too, were inclined to be merry at the lady's circumference, and at the awkwardness of her movements, as well as to be severe on the style of her dress and the way she wore her hair.

"Who are these people?" enquired a young man, adjusting his eye-glass.

"Very new people," whispered another in reply.

"Vulgar, evidently—just set up to be somebody—don't understand it," rejoined a third, shrugging his shoulders.

Mr. Gusher, who had assisted the lady in beating up her recruits, had assured them that the Chapmans were very distinguished people.

Mrs. Chapman was not more successful in setting up a carriage of her own. She had done a great deal of pushing without affecting a lodgment in the society she had set her heart on. With a carriage of her own she felt that she would be just as good as any of those high old Bowling Green people. She had read of a lady in her carriage driving right into society and forcing a surrender.

Unfortunately the fools were not so plenty as formerly, the demand for Kidd Discovery stock had greatly diminished, and the expense of keeping up appearances in the city had far exceeded Chapman's calculations. Indeed, he had already begun to talk of the necessity of economy. Topman was already drawing heavily on the income of the firm to keep up appearances, and the future must not be overlooked. The lady had, therefore, to content herself with a one-horse turn-out, an establishment not very popular in Bowling Green even at that day. Although the lady had to accept the necessity, there was no getting along without a coachman, and Mr. Napoleon Bowles was engaged to wear a livery and wait on the lady in that capacity. Now Bowles stood about five feet four inches in his boots, was very fat and very short-legged, and very black, for he was a person of African descent and established color. Bowles weighed at least two hundred and fifty solid, so that when he drove his mistress out for an airing of an afternoon the whole establishment made so shabby and yet so comical an appearance as to afford the whole neighborhood a subject for amusement. Nor was there a more self-important person in all Bowling Green than Bowles—except, perhaps, it might be his mistress. But it was only when he got himself into those tight-fitting drab trousers, and that bright blue coat with double rows of brass buttons, and mounted that small, tall hat with the huge buckle in front, that he fancied himself seen to advantage.

Bowles not only became a feature in Bowling Green society, but indeed considered himself necessary to the dignity of the family he was serving, and in duty bound to fight any coachman who would make the slightest insinuations against it. This got him into numerous difficulties, for there was not a coachman in the neighborhood that did not set him down as a fair subject for unpleasant remarks. One called him a dumpling-stomached darkey; while another said he must have been brought up in the family and fed on puddings.

"Can't be much of a family," a third would say, "to have such a short-legged shadow as you for coachman, and only one horse. And such a livery as that! Why don't your mistress dress you like a man?"

Mr. Bowles had several times found himself measuring the pavement and his hat in the gutter, as a reward for his attempts to resent such indignities, which he considered were offered to the family rather than himself. There was so close a resemblance between the circumference of the lady and her coachman as to seriously damage the pretensions of the family, and bring down upon it no end of ridicule.

There was another serious impediment to the lady's pretentions, and that was no less a person than Mrs. Topman. No sooner had the Chapmans set up in Bowling Green than that lady took them into her keeping, promising them no end of introductions to nice people. Now, Mrs. Topman was one of those social afflictions which are found everywhere, whose touch is like contagion, and who take strangers into their keeping only to do them more harm than good. I have called them social afflictions for want of a better term. Mrs. Topman was the highest example of the species. She had been beating about on the outskirts of society without gaining an entrance into it until she was like a faded bouquet that had lost its freshness and perfume. In short, she was a tall, rakish looking craft, with ingeniously painted head-gear, carrying an immense amount of sail, and flying colors not recognized by good society in Bowling Green—at least not on the West side.



CHAPTER XXIII.

MRS. CHAPMAN GIVES A BALL.

It was a cold, dark night in December. The wind was blowing fresh from the northeast, the tall trees on the Battery were in commotion, and the ships in the harbor, seen through a pale mist, were straining at their anchors. A thin, pale mist hung over the sombre old fort on the Battery, over the trees, over the ships, over everything within the eye's reach. And the mist and the solemn beating sound of the sea-wail, in which the sailor fancies he can read all his sorrows, gave a weird and mysterious appearance to the scene. The Battery was nearly deserted that night, for at the time we write of only two old men could be seen, leaning over the railing on the sea-wall and watching in the direction of a ship at anchor in the stream, and looking as if she was just in from sea.

Mrs. Chapman was to give her ball that night. The lady had for several weeks given all her mind and energy to the preliminaries of this grand affair. Who was to be invited, what sort of new dresses she and Mattie would appear best in, who was to provide the supper, and what the whole would cost, were subjects which so engaged the lady's attention that she could think of nothing else. In vain did Chapman demur to the great expense and the folly of keeping up appearances under such circumstances. In vain did he insinuate the probable necessity of inventing a new religion as a means of bringing his revenues up to his necessities. A necklace of pearls and a diamond ring had been got for Mattie, and now a demand was made for a new and expensive dress. If there was anything in the world Chapman admired and submitted to it was his wife. In his thoughts she was above everything else, and he would surrender to her demands, no matter at what sacrifice. As for Mattie, he never seemed to care much about her, nor indeed to regard her with anything more than ordinary affection.

There was no getting along without the ball, Mrs. Chapman said. West Bowling Green had given two or three balls, and had not condescended to send her an invitation. It was very mortifying to get the cut direct in this way. She must bring West Bowling Green down by showing that she could give a ball of her own. And then it would be such a relief to her pride. And, too, it would be just the thing to show Mattie off to the best advantage. Mr. Gusher would shine brilliantly in a ball room, and so would Mattie, and if the young people could be reconciled in that way, why it would be money well spent.