“His name is Bland.”
“Why has he called to see you?” The eyes of Mr. Phillips were fixed intently on his clerk.
“He merely dropped in. I have met him a few times in company.”
“Don’t you know his character?”
“I never heard a word against him,” said Green.
“Why, Martin!” replied Mr. Phillips, “he has the reputation of being one of the worst young men in our city; a base gambler’s stool-pigeon, some say.”
“I am glad to know it, sir,” Martin had the presence of mind, in the painful confusion that overwhelmed him, to say, “and shall treat him accordingly.” He went back to his desk, and resumed his work.
It is the easiest thing in the world to go to astray, but always difficult to return, Martin Green was astray, but how was he to get into the right path again? A barrier that seemed impassable was now lying across the way over which he had passed, a little while before, with lightest footsteps. Alone and unaided, he could not safely get back. The evil spirits that lure a man from virtue never counsel aright when to seek to return. They magnify the perils that beset the road by which alone is safety, and suggest other ways that lead into labyrinths of evil from which escape is sometimes impossible. These spirits were now at the ear of our unhappy young friend, suggesting methods of relief in his embarrassing position.
If Bland were indeed such a character as Mr. Phillips had represented him, it would be ruin, in his employer’s estimation, to have him call again and again for his debt. But how was he to liquidate that debt? There was nothing due him on account of salary, and there was not a friend or acquaintance to whom he could apply with any hope of borrowing.
“Man’s extremity is the devil’s opportunity.” It was so in the present case, Green had a number of collections to make on that day, and his evil counsellors suggested his holding back the return of two of these, amounting to his indebtedness, and say that the parties were not yet ready to settle their bills. This would enable him to get rid of Bland, and gain time. So, acting upon the bad suggestion, he made up his return of collections, omitting the two accounts to which we have referred.
Now it so happened that one of the persons against whom these accounts stood, met Mr. Phillips as he was returning from dinner in the afternoon, and said to him,—
“I settled that bill of yours to-day.”
“That’s right. I wish all my customers were as punctual,” answered Mr. Phillips.
“I gave your young man a check for a hundred and five dollars.”
“Thank you.”
And the two men passed their respective ways.
On Mr. Phillips’s return to his store, Martin rendered his account of collections, and, to the surprise of his employer, omitted the one in regard to which he had just been notified.
“Is this all?” he asked, in a tone that sent a thrill of alarm to the guilty heart of his clerk.
“Yes, sir,” was the not clearly outspoken answer.
“Didn’t Garland pay?”
“N-n-o, sir!” The suddenness of this question so confounded Martin, that he could not answer without a betraying hesitation.
“Martin!” Astonishment, rebuke, and accusation were in the voice of Mr. Phillips as he pronounced his clerk’s name. Martin’s face flushed deeply, and then grew very pale. He stood the image of guilt and fear for some moments, then, drawing out his pocket book, he brought therefrom a small roll of bank bills, and a memorandum slip of paper.
“I made these collections also.” And he gave the money and memorandum to Mr. Phillips.
“A hundred and fifty dollars withheld! Martin! Martin! what does this mean?”
“Heaven is my witness, sir,” answered the young man, with quivering lips, “that I have never wronged you out of a dollar, and had no intention of wronging you now. But I am in a fearful strait. My feet have become suddenly mired, and this was a desperate struggle for extrication—a temporary expedient only, not a premeditated wrong against you.”
“Sit down, Martin,” said Mr. Phillips, in a grave, but not severe, tone of voice. “Let me understand the case from first to last. Conceal nothing, if you wish to have me for a friend.”
Thus enjoined, Martin told his humiliating story.
“If you had not gone into the way of temptation, the betrayer had not found you,” was the remark of Mr. Phillips, when the young man ended his confession. “Do you frequent these eating and drinking saloons?”
“I go occasionally, sir.”
“They are neither safe nor reputable, Martin. A young man who frequents them must have the fine tone of his manhood dimmed. There is an atmosphere of impurity about these places. Have you a younger brother?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Would you think it good for him, as he emerged from youth to manhood, to visit refectories and billiard saloons?”
“No, sir, I would do all in my power to prevent it.”
“Why?”
“There’s danger in them, sir.”
“And, knowing this, you went into the way of danger, and have fallen!”
Martin dropped his eyes to the floor in confusion.
“Bland is a stool-pigeon and you were betrayed.”
“What am I to do?” asked the troubled young man. “I am in debt to him.”
“He will be here to-morrow.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I will have a policeman ready to receive him.”
“O, no, no, Sir. Pray don’t do that!” answered Martin, with a distressed look.
“Why not?” demanded Mr. Phillips.
“It will ruin me.”
“How?”
“Bland will denounce me.”
“Let him.”
“I shall be exposed to the policeman.”
“An evil, but a mild one, compared with that to which you were rushing in order to disentangle yourself. I must have my way, sir. This matter has assumed a serious aspect. You are in my power, and must submit.”
On the next day, punctual to the hour, Bland called.
“This is your man,” said Mr. Phillips to his clerk. “Ask him into the counting-room.” Bland, thus invited, walked back. As he entered, Mr. Phillips said,—
“My clerk owes you a hundred and fifty dollars, I understand.”
“Yes, sir;” and the villain bowed.
“Make him out a receipt,” said Mr. Phillips.
“When I receive the money,” was coldly and resolutely answered. Martin glanced sideways at the face of Bland, and the sudden change in its expression chilled him. The mild, pleasant, virtuous aspect he could so well assume was gone, and he looked more like a fiend than a man. In pictures he had seen eyes such as now gleamed on Mr. Phillips, but never in a living face before.
The officer, who had been sitting with a newspaper in his hand, now gave his paper a quick rattle as he threw it aside, and, coming forward, stood beside Mr. Phillips, and looked steadily at the face of Bland, over which passed another change: it was less assured, but not less malignant.
Mr. Phillips took out his pocket-book, and, laying a twenty-dollar bill on the desk by which they were standing, said,—
“Take this and sign a receipt.”
“No, sir!” was given with determined emphasis. “I am not to be robbed in this way!”
“Ned,” the officer now spoke, “take my advice, and sign a receipt.”
“It’s a cursed swindle!” exclaimed the baffled villain.
“We will dispense with hard names, sir!” The officer addressed him sternly. “Either take the money, or go. This is not a meeting for parley. I understand you and your operations.”
A few moments Bland stood, with an irresolute air; then, clutching desperately at a pen, he dashed off a receipt, and was reaching for the money, when Mr. Phillips drew it back, saying,—
“Wait a moment, until I examine the receipt.” He read it over, and then, pushing it towards Bland, said,—
“Write ‘In full of all demands.’” A growl was the oral response. Bland took the pen again, and wrote as directed.