The $30,000 Bequest, and Other Stories Page 25

  EDWARD MILLS AND GEORGE BENTON: A TALE

  These two were distantly related to each other--seventh cousins, orsomething of that sort. While still babies they became orphans, and wereadopted by the Brants, a childless couple, who quickly grew very fondof them. The Brants were always saying: "Be pure, honest, sober,industrious, and considerate of others, and success in life is assured."The children heard this repeated some thousands of times before theyunderstood it; they could repeat it themselves long before they couldsay the Lord's Prayer; it was painted over the nursery door, and wasabout the first thing they learned to read. It was destined to be theunswerving rule of Edward Mills's life. Sometimes the Brants changedthe wording a little, and said: "Be pure, honest, sober, industrious,considerate, and you will never lack friends."

  Baby Mills was a comfort to everybody about him. When he wanted candyand could not have it, he listened to reason, and contented himselfwithout it. When Baby Benton wanted candy, he cried for it until he gotit. Baby Mills took care of his toys; Baby Benton always destroyed hisin a very brief time, and then made himself so insistently disagreeablethat, in order to have peace in the house, little Edward was persuadedto yield up his play-things to him.

  When the children were a little older, Georgie became a heavy expensein one respect: he took no care of his clothes; consequently, he shonefrequently in new ones, which was not the case with Eddie. The boysgrew apace. Eddie was an increasing comfort, Georgie an increasingsolicitude. It was always sufficient to say, in answer to Eddie'spetitions, "I would rather you would not do it"--meaning swimming,skating, picnicking, berrying, circusing, and all sorts of things whichboys delight in. But_ no_ answer was sufficient for Georgie; he hadto be humored in his desires, or he would carry them with a high hand.Naturally, no boy got more swimming skating, berrying, and so forth thanhe; no body ever had a better time. The good Brants did not allow theboys to play out after nine in summer evenings; they were sent to bed atthat hour; Eddie honorably remained, but Georgie usually slipped outof the window toward ten, and enjoyed himself until midnight. It seemedimpossible to break Georgie of this bad habit, but the Brants managedit at last by hiring him, with apples and marbles, to stay in. The goodBrants gave all their time and attention to vain endeavors to regulateGeorgie; they said, with grateful tears in their eyes, that Eddie neededno efforts of theirs, he was so good, so considerate, and in all ways soperfect.

  By and by the boys were big enough to work, so they were apprenticed toa trade: Edward went voluntarily; George was coaxed and bribed. Edwardworked hard and faithfully, and ceased to be an expense to the goodBrants; they praised him, so did his master; but George ran away, and itcost Mr. Brant both money and trouble to hunt him up and get him back.By and by he ran away again--more money and more trouble. He ran awaya third time--and stole a few things to carry with him. Trouble andexpense for Mr. Brant once more; and, besides, it was with the greatestdifficulty that he succeeded in persuading the master to let the youthgo unprosecuted for the theft.

  Edward worked steadily along, and in time became a full partner in hismaster's business. George did not improve; he kept the loving hearts ofhis aged benefactors full of trouble, and their hands full of inventiveactivities to protect him from ruin. Edward, as a boy, had interestedhimself in Sunday-schools, debating societies, penny missionary affairs,anti-tobacco organizations, anti-profanity associations, and all suchthings; as a man, he was a quiet but steady and reliable helper in thechurch, the temperance societies, and in all movements looking tothe aiding and uplifting of men. This excited no remark, attracted noattention--for it was his "natural bent."

  Finally, the old people died. The will testified their loving pride inEdward, and left their little property to George--because he "neededit"; whereas, "owing to a bountiful Providence," such was not the casewith Edward. The property was left to George conditionally: he mustbuy out Edward's partner with it; else it must go to a benevolentorganization called the Prisoner's Friend Society. The old people lefta letter, in which they begged their dear son Edward to take their placeand watch over George, and help and shield him as they had done.

  Edward dutifully acquiesced, and George became his partner in thebusiness. He was not a valuable partner: he had been meddling with drinkbefore; he soon developed into a constant tippler now, and his flesh andeyes showed the fact unpleasantly. Edward had been courting a sweetand kindly spirited girl for some time. They loved each other dearly,and--But about this period George began to haunt her tearfully andimploringly, and at last she went crying to Edward, and said her highand holy duty was plain before her--she must not let her own selfishdesires interfere with it: she must marry "poor George" and "reformhim." It would break her heart, she knew it would, and so on; but dutywas duty. So she married George, and Edward's heart came very nearbreaking, as well as her own. However, Edward recovered, and marriedanother girl--a very excellent one she was, too.

  Children came to both families. Mary did her honest best to reform herhusband, but the contract was too large. George went on drinking, and byand by he fell to misusing her and the little ones sadly. A great manygood people strove with George--they were always at it, in fact--but hecalmly took such efforts as his due and their duty, and did not mend hisways. He added a vice, presently--that of secret gambling. He got deeplyin debt; he borrowed money on the firm's credit, as quietly as he could,and carried this system so far and so successfully that one morning thesheriff took possession of the establishment, and the two cousins foundthemselves penniless.

  Times were hard, now, and they grew worse. Edward moved his family intoa garret, and walked the streets day and night, seeking work. He beggedfor it, but it was really not to be had. He was astonished to see howsoon his face became unwelcome; he was astonished and hurt to see howquickly the ancient interest which people had had in him faded out anddisappeared. Still, he _must _get work; so he swallowed his chagrin, andtoiled on in search of it. At last he got a job of carrying bricks up aladder in a hod, and was a grateful man in consequence; but after that_nobody _knew him or cared anything about him. He was not able to keepup his dues in the various moral organizations to which he belonged,and had to endure the sharp pain of seeing himself brought under thedisgrace of suspension.

  But the faster Edward died out of public knowledge and interest, thefaster George rose in them. He was found lying, ragged and drunk, in thegutter one morning. A member of the Ladies' Temperance Refuge fished himout, took him in hand, got up a subscription for him, kept him sobera whole week, then got a situation for him. An account of it waspublished.

  General attention was thus drawn to the poor fellow, and a great manypeople came forward and helped him toward reform with their countenanceand encouragement. He did not drink a drop for two months, and meantimewas the pet of the good. Then he fell--in the gutter; and there wasgeneral sorrow and lamentation. But the noble sisterhood rescued himagain. They cleaned him up, they fed him, they listened to the mournfulmusic of his repentances, they got him his situation again. An accountof this, also, was published, and the town was drowned in happy tearsover the re-restoration of the poor beast and struggling victim ofthe fatal bowl. A grand temperance revival was got up, and after somerousing speeches had been made the chairman said, impressively: "We arenot about to call for signers; and I think there is a spectacle instore for you which not many in this house will be able to view with dryeyes." There was an eloquent pause, and then George Benton, escortedby a red-sashed detachment of the Ladies of the Refuge, stepped forwardupon the platform and signed the pledge. The air was rent with applause,and everybody cried for joy. Everybody wrung the hand of the new convertwhen the meeting was over; his salary was enlarged next day; he was thetalk of the town, and its hero. An account of it was published.

  George Benton fell, regularly, every three months, but was faithfullyrescued and wrought with, every time, and good situations were found forhim. Finally, he was taken around the country lecturing, as a reformeddrunkard, and he had great houses and did an immen
se amount of good.

  He was so popular at home, and so trusted--during his soberintervals--that he was enabled to use the name of a principal citizen,and get a large sum of money at the bank. A mighty pressure was broughtto bear to save him from the consequences of his forgery, and it waspartially successful--he was "sent up" for only two years. When, at theend of a year, the tireless efforts of the benevolent were crownedwith success, and he emerged from the penitentiary with a pardon inhis pocket, the Prisoner's Friend Society met him at the door with asituation and a comfortable salary, and all the other benevolent peoplecame forward and gave him advice, encouragement and help. Edward Millshad once applied to the Prisoner's Friend Society for a situation, whenin dire need, but the question, "Have you been a prisoner?" made briefwork of his case.

  While all these things were going on, Edward Mills had been quietlymaking head against adversity. He was still poor, but was in receipt ofa steady and sufficient salary, as the respected and trusted cashierof a bank. George Benton never came near him, and was never heard toinquire about him. George got to indulging in long absences from thetown; there were ill reports about him, but nothing definite.

  One winter's night some masked burglars forced their way into the bank,and found Edward Mills there alone. They commanded him to reveal the"combination," so that they could get into the safe. He refused. Theythreatened his life. He said his employers trusted him, and he could notbe traitor to that trust. He could die, if he must, but while he livedhe would be faithful; he would not yield up the "combination." Theburglars killed him.

  The detectives hunted down the criminals; the chief one proved to beGeorge Benton. A wide sympathy was felt for the widow and orphans of thedead man, and all the newspapers in the land begged that all the banksin the land would testify their appreciation of the fidelity and heroismof the murdered cashier by coming forward with a generous contributionof money in aid of his family, now bereft of support. The result wasa mass of solid cash amounting to upward of five hundred dollars--anaverage of nearly three-eights of a cent for each bank in the Union. Thecashier's own bank testified its gratitude by endeavoring to show (buthumiliatingly failed in it) that the peerless servant's accounts werenot square, and that he himself had knocked his brains out with abludgeon to escape detection and punishment.

  George Benton was arraigned for trial. Then everybody seemed to forgetthe widow and orphans in their solicitude for poor George. Everythingthat money and influence could do was done to save him, but it allfailed; he was sentenced to death. Straightway the Governor was besiegedwith petitions for commutation or pardon; they were brought by tearfulyoung girls; by sorrowful old maids; by deputations of pathetic widows;by shoals of impressive orphans. But no, the Governor--for once--wouldnot yield.

  Now George Benton experienced religion. The glad news flew all around.From that time forth his cell was always full of girls and women andfresh flowers; all the day long there was prayer, and hymn-singing,and thanksgiving, and homilies, and tears, with never an interruption,except an occasional five-minute intermission for refreshments.

  This sort of thing continued up to the very gallows, and George Bentonwent proudly home, in the black cap, before a wailing audience of thesweetest and best that the region could produce. His grave had freshflowers on it every day, for a while, and the head-stone bore thesewords, under a hand pointing aloft: "He has fought the good fight."

  The brave cashier's head-stone has this inscription: "Be pure, honest,sober, industrious, considerate, and you will never--"

  Nobody knows who gave the order to leave it that way, but it was sogiven.

  The cashier's family are in stringent circumstances, now, it is said;but no matter; a lot of appreciative people, who were not willing thatan act so brave and true as his should go unrewarded, have collectedforty-two thousand dollars--and built a Memorial Church with it.

  THE FIVE BOONS OF LIFE