Treats of a Catastrophe and Ruin.  
We return once again to the cottage on the Scottish Border. It is not quite so lowly as it was when first introduced to our readers. Although not extensively changed, there is a certain air of comfort and prosperity about it which gives it much the appearance of a dirty boy who has had his face washed and a suit of new clothes put on. It has been whitewashed and partially re-roofed. A trellis-work porch with creepers has been added. The garden bears marks of improvement, and in one part there are four little plots of flower-beds, so conspicuously different in culture and general treatment as to suggest the idea of four different gardens. Inside of Mr Jack’s abode there are also many changes for the better. The rooms are better furnished than they used to be. Several cheap oleograph copies of beautiful pictures adorn the walls, and the best parlour, which used to be kept in a condition of deadly propriety for state occasions only, is evidently used in the course of daily life. A brand-new piano, with a pretty little girl seated before it, suggests advancing refinement, and the expression of the child’s face, while she attempts the impossible task of stretching an octave, indicates despair. There is another little girl seated at a table darning with all the energy of a Martha-like character. She is engaged upon a pair of juvenile socks, which have apparently been worn last by a cart-horse. Books and drawing materials and mathematical instruments on the table betoken progressive education, and, in short, everything without and within the cottage tells, as we have said, of prosperity.
 
It must not be supposed, however, that all this is due to Philosopher Jack’s good fortune and liberality. When the first letter came from California, telling of the safety of our hero and his friends, Mr Jack was indeed in great material distress, but there was no money in that letter. It was despatched from San Francisco at the time of the arrival of the party, along with letters from the other members, informing their various relations of their deliverance. But if the letter had contained tons of the finest gold it could not have added a feather’s weight to the joy of the old couple, who, like the widow of Nain or the sisters of Bethany, had received their dear lost one direct from the Lord, and, as it were, back from the dead. Then, after an interval, came Captain Samson’s letter enclosing the bill for 1000 pounds, and explaining why Philosopher Jack himself did not write with it. Mr Jack senior thankfully used two hundred of the amount, which was quite sufficient to extricate him from all his difficulties. The balance he put into the nearest bank, to be kept for “the dear boy” on his return.
 
From that date God sent prosperity to the cottage on the Border. Flocks increased, seasons were no longer bad, grey mares no longer broke their legs, turnips throve, and, in short, everything went well, so that, instead of using the large sums of money which his son frequently sent him, Mr Jack placed them all to “dear Teddie’s” credit in the bank.
 
In one of these letters, his son mentioned that he had sent still larger sums to the care of Mr Wilkins senior, to be invested for himself. Mr Jack, having consulted with his faithful spouse, drew his son’s gifts from the local bank, went to the city of Blankow, called on Mr Wilkins, and desired him to invest the money in the same concern with the rest. Mr Wilkins purchased shares with it in the Blankow Bank, telling Mr Jack that he considered it one of the best and safest investments in Scotland, that he had invested in it all the funds sent home by his own son and his comrades, and that he himself was a large shareholder. Thus did Mr Jack senior act with all the gifts that Jack junior sent him, saying to Mr Wilkins on each occasion, that, though the dear boy meant him to use the money, he had no occasion to do so, as the Lord had prospered him of late, and given him enough and to spare.
 
We re-introduce the Jack family to the reader at breakfast-time, not because that was the only noteworthy period of their day, but because it was the time when the parents of the family were wont to talk over the daily plans.
 
Mr Jack went to the door and shouted, “Breakfast!” in a sonorous tone. Instantly the octave was abandoned and the socks were dropped. Next moment there was a sound like the charge of a squadron of cavalry. It was the boys coming from the farm-yard. The extreme noise of the family’s entry was rendered fully apparent by the appalling calm which ensued when Mr Jack opened the family Bible, and cleared his throat to begin worship. At breakfast the noise began again, but it was more subdued, appetite being too strong for it. In five minutes Dobbin was up to the eyes in a treacle-piece. This was a good opportunity for conversation.
 
“Maggie,” said Mr Jack, looking up from his plate, “the last bill sent us from the diggin’s by the dear boy makes the sum in my hands up to two thousand pounds. I’ll go to town to-day and give it to Mr Wilkins to invest as usual.”
 
“Very weel, John,” replied Mrs Jack, “but it’s been runnin’ in my mind that it’s no that safe to pit a’ yer eggs in the same basket. Maybe ye might invest it in somethin’ else.”
 
“That’s true, Maggie, we shall see,” said Mr Jack, who was at all times a man of few words. As Dobbin became at the moment clamorous for more food, nothing further was said on the subject.
 
Arrived in the city, John Jack made his way to the office of Mr Wilkins. He found that gentleman with an expression of unwonted resignation on his countenance.
 
“I’ve brought you more money to invest, Mr Wilkins,” said John Jack, sitting down after wiping his forehead, and producing a fat pocketbook; “I thought of doin’ it in the old way, but my wife and I have been thinkin’ that perhaps it might be wise to put some of the eggs in another basket.”
 
A very sad and peculiar smile flitted for a moment across Mr Wilkins’s face. “It is plain that you have not heard of the disastrous failure,” he said. “Only last week the Blankow Bank suspended payment, and if the reports as to its liabilities be true, the result will be widespread ruin throughout the country.”
 
“Do you mean to say that the Bank has failed?” asked Mr Jack, anxiously.
 
“Yes, and it is feared that most of the shareholders will be ruined. I am one, you know.”
 
“Will you be ruined, Mr Wilkins?”
 
“I fear that the first call will be more than I can meet. I trust that you are not personally involved.”
 
“No, thank God, I’m not,” said Mr Jack, with an increasingly anxious look. “But tell me, Mr Wilkins—for I don’t understand banking matters very well—is my son’s money all gone?”
 
“All,” returned Mr Wilkins sadly, “and all that my own son has invested, as well as that of his friends!”
 
“How was it, sir,” asked Mr Jack, in a reproachful tone, “that you were so confident in recommending the investment?”
 
“Because I thoroughly believed in the soundness of the bank and in the character of its directors. Investing my own funds so largely in its stock proves how I trusted it. But I was mistaken. It is a mystery which I cannot solve. Perhaps, when the examination of its affairs is completed, light may be thrown on the subject. I hope that no more of your relations or friends have stock in it?”
 
“None that I know of, except indeed my poor friend Mrs Niven, who was my son’s landlady when he was at college. I’ll go and inquire about her.”
 
Mr Jack thrust the fat pocket-book into a breast pocket, and buttoned up his coat with the determined air of a man who means to keep hold of what he has got.
 
Bidding Mr Wilkins good-bye, he walked rapidly to Mrs Niven’s house and pulled the bell rather violently. The summons was promptly answered by Peggy, who ushered him into a little parlour, where he was quickly joined by Mrs Niven.
 
“I’m very sorry to hear the bad news,” said Mr Jack, pressing the good woman’s hand in sympathy.
 
“What bad news?” asked Mrs Niven, in alarm.
 
“The bank, you know,” said Mr Jack. “It’s very hard, and to think that you’re in the same boat with my dear boy, whose fortune is wrecked—”
 
A little scream stopped him, for the word “wrecked” struck a chill to the poor woman’s heart.
 
“What! wrecked again?” she cried, “on a bank, in a boat? Oh! don’t tell me, don’t tell me that he’s drownded.”
 
“No, no,” cried Mr Jack, hastening to relieve her mind, while he supported her to a chair; “no, no; my dear boy’s all right. It’s the Blankow Bank I mean that’s gone to wreck, you know, and all his money with it, and yours too, I suppose, for you told me you had shares in that bank.”
 
“Oh! as to that,” said Mrs Niven, greatly relieved, “you may mak’ yer mind easy. I’ve got nae shares intilt noo. I selt them through Mr Black lang syne. He’s a douce, clever, honest felly—a relation o’ mine, and a first-rate business man; but for him I’d hae lost my siller, nae doot. He warned me that the bank was nae a right ane, and advised me to sell.”
 
Mr Jack thought that such a clever, disinterested man-of-business, and a relation of Mrs Niven, might be just the person to give him sound advice at this crisis; he therefore obtained his address, and, after a long chat with the good woman, who would have listened for hours to the adventures of her “bonny lodger,” took his departure, and in due time stood at the door of the dirty little office.
 
The dirty clerk ushered the visitor into the presence of Mr Black, whose presence was more repulsive than it used to be. He received Mr Jack rather gruffly, and asked his business.
 
“Oho! an eccentric character, gruff but honest,” thought Mr Jack, who began by saying that he had just come from visiting his friend Mrs Niven.
 
Mr Black’s face grew almost green at the name, and his brows scowled fiercely.
 
“Strange look for an honest, kindly man,” thought Mr Jack, “but we must never judge from the outward appearance;” then he said aloud, “I went to see her about that bank failure—”
 
“Ha!” growled Mr Black, interrupting, “but for that woman, and that—” he checked himself and said, “but you came here on some matter of business, I suppose. Will you state it?”
 
“A very eccentric man indeed, remarkably so, for a kindly, honest man,” thought Mr Jack; but he only said, “I came here to consult you about the investment of two thousand pounds—”
 
“Oh! indeed,” said Mr Black, in quite an altered tone, as he rose and politely offered his visitor a chair.
 
“But,” continued Mr Jack, rebuttoning his greatcoat which he had partly opened, “but, sir, I have changed my mind, and bid you good-day.”
 
So saying, he went out, leaving Mr Black standing at the door in stupid amazement and his dirty clerk agonising with suppressed laughter behind his desk. Mr Black had been groaning and growling all the day at the thoughts of the ruin which had overtaken him—thoughts which were embittered by the knowledge that he had drawn it on himself through the instrumentality of Mrs Niven. The climax of Mr Jack’s visit did not tend to restore him. Recovering from his amazement, and observing the condition of the clerk, he suddenly hurled the cash-book at him. Cleverly dodging it, the dirty little creature bolted from the office, and banged the door behind him.
 
Meanwhile Mr Jack cashed his last bill of exchange, returned home, and presented his wife with a bag of gold, which she deposited in the darkest recesses of the great family chest............