CHAPTER X.
IN WHICH PHIL LISTENS TO A VERY IMPRESSIVE TEMPERANCE LECTURE.
Farringford was very chipper when he returned to me. He had drankhalf a tumbler of whiskey, and appeared to be prepared, to his ownsatisfaction, for any business which might be presented to him.
"Now, my lad, I'm ready. I'm refreshed. I'm invigorated. I'm inspired.In a word, I'm prepared for the consideration of the important matteryou proposed to bring before me," said he.
"I am very glad to hear it, sir; I wish to tell you--"
"Stop a moment, my lad. You have a name, doubtless. Do you happen toremember what it is?"
"Very distinctly, Mr. Farringford. You may call me Phil."
PHIL MEETS A SEEDY INDIVIDUAL NAMED FARRINGFORD. Page 109.]
"Phil; that is very good as far as it goes. Phil may stand for Philip,Phillimore, Philippians, Philosophy."
"It stands for Philip with me, sir."
"Philip; I had a brother once of that name, but he is no longer living.If he were, he would blush to own his brother. But no matter; that isall past and gone. You can proceed with your business, Philip."
Placing his elbows upon the little table between us, he rested his chinupon his trembling hands, and fixed his gaze upon me. He was a singularman, and, tipsy as he was, I was deeply interested in him.
"You know Lynch, the person you met opposite the Planters' Hotel to-daynoon."
"I know him, Philip; but, in a word, I don't know any good of him. Goon."
"That man robbed me of all the money I had, except thirty cents--nearlya hundred dollars."
"Philip, you told me you were in the habit of speaking the truth; orrather that you endeavored to speak the truth."
"Yes, sir; I do endeavor to speak the truth. I am willing to go apoint farther, and say that I have thus far been very successful."
"The statement that Lynch robbed you of nearly a hundred dollarsimplies the statement that you had nearly a hundred dollars," said he,with his tipsy solemnity, which was amusing. "It is self-evident thathe could not have robbed you of this money, if you had not had it."
"Certainly not sir. I did have it."
"Where and by what means should a boy of your tender years obtainnearly a hundred dollars? In a word, Philip, where did you get yourmoney?"
"It was a part of what was left me by my foster-father, who died lastspring. I had it with me to pay my expenses till I could get intobusiness and pay my way. I expect my friends will be in St. Louis in afew days, and then I shall be able to prove all I say. In the mean timeI refer to Captain Davis, of the steamer Fawn."
"That's all straightforward, Philip, and for the present I accept yourstatement as true. You were robbed of nearly a hundred dollars by thisman, Lynch, of whom I know no good thing, except that he lent me adollar to-day, which I shall return to him when I pay the rest of mycreditors."
"Could you find this man, Mr. Farringford?" I asked.
"Doubtless I could. He may be seen, almost any night, at thegambling-houses."
"Will you help me get my money back?"
"Wherefore should I soil the dignity of a gentleman by becoming athief-taker?"
"Because you will do me a favor, and promote the ends of justice bydoing so."
"Very true, Philip; you rightly apprehend the character of thegentleman you address. Whatever I may seem to be, no man can saythat Edward Farringford ever soiled his soul by a dishonorable or adishonest act."
"If you can induce Lynch to give me back my money, I will pay youtwenty-five dollars."
"Twenty-five dollars!" exclaimed he. "Two hundred and fifty drinks!Philip, I will do the best I can for you; not for the sake of themoney, but to subserve the ends of justice, and to save a deservingyoung man from want and hardship. The cause is a good one."
"It is, sir. If you do not succeed, I shall call upon the police assoon as my friends arrive."
"It is well, Philip. Lynch will return the money rather than be drivenfrom St. Louis."
"You understand that he must pay the money to me," I added, as itoccurred to me that I should never see it if it came into the hands ofthe dilapidated gentleman before me.
"Wouldn't it be just as well that he should pay it over to me, and Iwill pass it to you?"
"Just as well, sir; but he will want some assurance from me that thisis the end of the matter. I prefer that he should pay it to me."
"You are right, Philip. It shall be paid to you. Stop!" exclaimed he,with a sudden start.
"What is the matter, Mr. Farringford?"
"This business is wrong."
"Wrong?"
"Wrong! No living man has been, or shall ever be, able to say thatEdward Farringford stained his soul with a foul, dishonorable act."
"Do you think it would be wrong, sir?"
"It would be compounding a felony," he added, solemnly.
I did not know what he meant by this technical phrase, but I couldnot see that it was wrong for me to get my money if I could. Mr.Farringford asked me when, where, and in what manner I had been robbed;and I related my adventure on the night I was at Leavenworth.
"You are the only witness, Philip, and it would be difficult to provethe crime. I will see Lynch. I will charge him with the base deed, andbe governed, in my further proceedings, by the circumstances of thecase. Where do you live, Philip?"
I gave him the address of Mrs. Greenough, and told him where I wasat work. I was satisfied that the promised reward would stimulatehim to great activity in the pursuit of Lynch, and I had some hopethat he would be successful. Having disposed of the important partof my business with my seedy companion, I was rather curious to knowmore about him. I almost dared to believe that he could give me someinformation in regard to the steamer which had been burned on the upperMissouri, and from which I had been saved by my foster-father.
That steamer had borne the name of this man, and he had been her owner.Of course he knew all about her, and it was possible, even probable,that he knew who had lost a little child in the fearful calamity. Iactually trembled when I thought of it, when I considered that, atthe opening of this singular man's lips, I might be told who and whatmy father was, and whether my parents had perished or not. It was ananxious moment, and my heart was in my throat. I had not the courage toask the momentous question, and Farringford rose unsteadily from hischair, to leave me.
"Stop a moment, Mr. Farringford, if you please," I interposed; and hedropped back into his chair.
"Isn't our business finished, Philip?"
"Yes, sir; but I have been told that you were formerly a largesteamboat owner."
"Who told you so?"
"You did, for one. If you don't object, I should like to ask yousomething about those steamers," I continued, with much embarrassment.
"Do you wish to go into the steamboat business, Philip? If you do,some of my old captains are still on the river, and I can get you asituation. But I must have one more drink before I say anything."
"I wouldn't take any more, sir," I ventured to say.
"It is a necessity of my being, Philip."
He rose from his chair, and went to the bar. I saw him drink anotherhalf tumbler of whiskey. He tottered back to the table where I sat.Such a wreck of a man I had never seen. Though his step was unsteady,he was not overcome by the potions he had taken. His nerves, ratherthan his brain, seemed to be affected.
"I haven't drank much to-day, Philip. I wasted half the dollar Iborrowed in getting something to eat," said he, dropping into hischair. "It is a bad habit, my boy. Never take any whiskey, Philip: ina word, never begin to drink liquor, and you will never have to leaveoff; for it is a great deal harder to leave off than it is to begin.This is disinterested advice: in a word, it is the counsel of one whoknows all about drinking."
"I would stop it if I were you, Mr. Farringford."
"If you were Edward Farringford, you could no more leave off drinkingliquor, and drinking all you could get, than you could leave offeating. I can live without eating m
uch, but I can't live withoutdrinking."
"I think you can leave off, sir; I hope you will try."
"You speak like a boy. You never drank any whiskey. You don't know whata fiend it is. You don't know what a horrible necessity it is to aman whose nerves are shaken, only to be steadied by this liquid fire;whose stomach, chilled and frozen, can only be warmed by this blastfrom Tartarus. You don't know anything about it. I hope you never will.Philip, I hope you never will."
He covered his face with his hands, and when he raised his head, I sawthat he had been weeping. His eyes were filled with tears, and I pitiedhim from the deepest depths of my heart.
"Beware, Philip! Beware!" said he, solemnly. "Never touch a drop ofwhiskey, wine, or even ale,--not the tenth part of a drop,--if you aredying for the want of it. Die, but don't touch it."
"I hope I never shall."
"Hope! Don't hope! Sign the pledge; swear on the Holy Bible; go downon your knees, every morning and every night, and pray that AlmightyGod will help you, and save you from the curse. Don't trifle with it,Philip. Be in earnest, and when you feel weak, commend yourself to God,and think of Edward Farringford."
He covered his face with his hands again, and wept so bitterly, thatthe little table danced under the convulsive agony which shook hisframe.
"Look at me, Philip!" said he, raising his head again. "Behold thewreck of a man! If there had been no whiskey in the world, or if I hadnever tasted it, I could have welcomed you to the most elegant mansionin St. Louis. I could have pointed you to a dozen steamers, on theMissouri and Mississippi, which were all mine. I could have presentedyou to my wife, the most beautiful and accomplished woman in the city,now driven out from my presence. More than this, Philip, I could havepointed you to my boy, my son, my only child, who perished in the coldwaters of the Missouri, because I was too drunk to save him!"
I need not say how startled, how thrilled I was by this agonizingnarrative. The bar-room was crowded, and noisy with the violent debatesof excited politicians, and the gabble of men warmed by their cupsinto unusual hilarity, so that no one appeared to notice Farringford,though he uttered his impressive warnings in a loud tone. But I was toomuch moved and thrilled myself to heed what others said or did. Thetoper wept, and then tried to shake off the remembrance of the past.
"Where was your son lost, Mr. Farringford?" I asked, choking withemotion.
"On the upper Missouri. He was a child under three. His name wasPhilip, like yours. He was named after my brother, who died ten yearsago. Enough of this. I am almost crazy When I think of it."
The broken-down toper was my father!