AMONG THE RUINS.

Mr. Marge reached New York with only the distinct impression that he would like at once to turn his single bit of real estate into cash, shake the dust of the city from his feet forever, and begin life and business anew at some place where he was not known, and where the disgrace—as it seemed to him—of his altered fortunes would be unknown to any one. There was his interest in the Haynton Bay property, to be sure, but he cursed the day he had ever put nearly two thousand dollars into property which at best would not be likely to return any amount of cash for years to come. He might sell that also; but who would buy it? Nobody knew much about it but the other owners; of these, two were Tramlay and Phil, to neither of whom would he admit that he needed money: he would rather lose all he had invested. As for Agnes Dinon, who held most of the remaining shares, he could not make a business-offer to a woman who had refused his hand and heart several years before.

Perhaps his broker had saved something for him from the wreck. Marge sought an obscure hotel instead of going to his apartments or his club, and, fearing even to meet any one he knew on Wall Street,{241} went to his broker’s house by night. The interview was not satisfactory: the broker had not only been obliged to close Marge’s account, but, infected by his customer’s success, had operated so largely in E. & W. on his own account that he also had been ruined, and contemplated selling his seat in the Exchange so as to make good some of his indebtedness to members.

As for E. & W., instead of recovering it had gone lower and lower, until operations in it almost ceased. The president, utterly ruined, retired from office, turned over all his property to his creditors, and went abroad to recover his shattered health or to die, he did not much care which.

Marge sold his house at auction, and, while wearily awaiting the circumlocution of “searching title” which necessarily preceded his getting full payment, he betook himself to Boston. To avoid speculation was impossible, it had been his life for years; and, as he found mining-shares were within his reach, he began again to operate, in a small way. The little he had seen of mines while on the fateful E. & W. excursion was so much more than the majority of those about him knew on the subject that he made a few lucky turns, and he finally interested some acquaintances in a promising silver property he had seen in the West. His acquaintances succeeded in getting the property “listed” at one of the New York exchanges, and Marge, with new hopes and a great deal of desperation, risked nearly all he had on the Brighthope mine.

The scheme worked finely for some weeks. It was{242} skilfully managed by the Bostonians interested; they even succeeded in getting a great deal about it into the newspapers of both cities. But—alas for the wickedness of human nature!—one day the company were horrified to learn that their title to the property was hopelessly defective. When this fact became indisputable, Brighthope stock tumbled farther than E. & W.,—tumbled utterly out of sight; and all the assets of the company, except the safe and two desks, were sold to a paper-stock dealer at a cent a pound.

Then Marge thought seriously of suicide. He had but a thousand or two dollars left: how could he operate in anything on that small sum and support himself besides? He could add something to the sum by selling his horses and carriage, but such things always had to go at a sacrifice; besides, there would be a terrible bill to be paid for the maintenance of the animals during the two or three months in which he had been absent from New York.

Still, the thought of suicide did not improve on acquaintance. While there was life there was hope. Why shouldn’t he go back to New York, brave everything, and start anew to the best of his ability? Other men had pocketed their pride; and, although his own pride was frightfully large to be submitted to such treatment, he did not know that the operation would give him any more discomfort than he was already enduring.

The thought resolved itself into decision when one day he chanced to meet in Boston a New Yorker with whom he had a casual acquaintance. After a{243} little chat the man, who had been away from the city for months, remarked,—

“You’re not married yet?”

“No,” said Marge, with a grim smile.

“I thought I had heard that you were engaged to Miss Tramlay; and I wanted to congratulate you. An iron-house traveller whom I met a short time ago told me that Tramlay was getting rich very fast.”

“I supposed,” said Marge, with a dawn of interest, “that Miss Tramlay was to marry young Hayn.”

“What! that country clerk of her father’s?” said the man, with the confidence born of ignorance. “Nonsense! why, it seems only the other day that I heard some one laughing about that fellow’s infatuation. Oh, no; now that they’re rich, they’ll want to marry their daughter to some one of social standing: indeed, I heard some one say as much. The mother is very ambitious in that line, you know.”

Marge soon excused himself, lit a strong cigar, and betook himself to a solitary walk and some hard thinking. There was perhaps a grand point to be made on that fellow’s suggestion. From what he knew of Mrs. Tramlay,—and he informed himself that no one knew that lady better,—he would not be surprised if an approved society man might now be entirely welcome as a husband for Lucia, even if he were as poor as a church mouse. And Lucia herself—had she not always longed for larger and more prominent society than she had yet enjoyed?

Before his cigar was burned out, Marge had bought a ticket for New York, determined to make a bold stroke for fortune where he felt that he had at heart{244} one faithful friend to aid him. His imagination and pride combined to cheer him on; he would reappear at Tramlay’s, see how the land lay, and if the signs were encouraging he would propose at once, first taking Mrs. Tramlay into his confidence. He had lost enough by hesitation; now he would adopt entirely new tactics, and there was no pleasanter way to begin than by proposing to Lucia. As he had told himself before, she was a very pretty girl, and fully competent, with such guidance as he would give her, to make the most of her new advantages.

Reaching New York at nightfall, he lost no time in dressing with extreme care and making his way to the Tramlay abode. He would have no difficulty in explaining his long absence to the ladies; perhaps they had heard of his disaster in E. & W., but he could tell them that he had been largely interested in a rich silver-mine ever since. There would be nothing untrue in that statement; had he not been so deeply interested that he could not sleep a wink during the wee............