Democratic Sentinel, Volume 11, Number 23, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 July 1887 — True to His Trust. [ARTICLE]

True to His Trust.

BY JAMES FRANKLIN FITTS.

Many of the readers of this narrative will easily recall to mind the late Mr. Abel Symington. For almost fifty years no face and figure were better known upon the streets of this great city than his; and his daily life, his kind, winning demeanor, and his frequent charities, caused his name always to be spoken with respect and esteem. At the time of which I am about to write he was in his sixtieth year. His form was still erect and his step elastic. His face was a perfect index of the excellence of his character and the greatness of his heart, as well as of the vigorous intellect of the accomplished man of business. Ido not wish to overdraw this picture, but I must finish it with the remark that was often made by his friends and admirers —that Mr. Symington came as near being a perfect character as was permitted to humanity. Perhaps I am partial; but that is natural. He was my benefactor; to his kindness is due all that I have become in life. Left a penniless orphan, my home at the age of eight was in a charitable institution of which he was a director. Something—l shall never know what—attracted his attention to me, among the two hundred inmates, upon one of his frequent visits. His inquiries about me were soon followed by my transfer to his own house. I believe 1 was not adopted, in the formal sense in which the word is used. I still retained my own name, Lambert Wade; but I was an inmate of my patron’s house, and was never made to feel that I was dependent upon his bounty. His wife had died some years before, leaving an infant daughter, Mildred, who was six vears younger than myself. A maiden sister had the care of his house, and we four, with the servants, made the household. Later on, another member was added to it, who will presently be introduced. Time had passed until /I was seventeen years old. I had attended the graded schools, graduating in the academic department with some honor. The winter following found me fully installed in Mr. Symington’s office as his clerk and assistant. He carried on a large real estate and loan business, which it was said his great capacity had doubled within the last fifteen years. Aside from the skilled part of the work, there were large ledgers to keep, letters to write, and much clerical labor to do. All this he had usually attended to himself, for the reason that he could not find a clerk who exactly suited him. Many were tried, and after a trial were kindly dismissed. It seemed to me at this time that he was too exacting in this matter; but a better insight into his ways led me to a different opinion. Next after honorable dealing and industry (as he told me with his own lips, one day), his great success in business was due to care and precision in all its methods, and he could not bear a slovenly or careless assistant. If I needed the hint, it was certainly not thrown away upon mo. Aided by my strong desire to be of service to him, and with a natural liking for the work, I speedily mastered all its minor details; and it was a high gratification to me to find that all this part of the business was soon handed over to me, and that I was largely relieving Mr. Symington by the steadiness with which I kept my desk. My reflections as to how I could be of greater service led me at this time to make a request of him; which he immediately granted. In explanation of this, a few words about the arrangement of the building in which ttie office was situated become necessary. It was a small brick, two-story structure, which had been built by Mr. Symington more than thirty years before, and used by him for his business ever since. The whole of the first-story was occupied by the outer and inner offices. From the inner office a stairway ascended to a small room, which, as I had been informed, Mr. Symington had used for his lodging before his marriage. It was now put to no use. From this room, without any intervening hall or passage, there was a door opening into a store-room, which occupied the rest of the upper story. It was half filled with the disused carpets, chairs, matting, and stove-pipe which had from time to time been brought up here from the office. My plan was to have the vacant chamber in the rear simply furnished for my use, so that I could sleep there instead of at the house.

About the first of June of that year Walter Brand came to visit Mr. Symington. I had never heard of him before, and now learned that he was the son of an elder sister who lived in a distant city. Walter was a very dasning, stylish young man of nineteen, who wore the most fashionable clothes, and seemed intent only on having what he called “a good time.” No one who saw him could help admiring his upright figure, his regular features, bright eyes, and curly, black hair, and his hearty laugh, which had an infection of mirth in it. Two persons who were more unlike externally than plain Lambert Wade and handsome Walter Brand, it would be impossible to find. I felt attracted by his appearance, and made efforts to gain his friendship. To my surprise and mortification, he repelled all of them. His conversation with me when we met, as of course we did several times each day, was of the briefest; and more than once he pave me a decided snub. His treatment pained me, but I bore it without remark. I was not at a loss to account for it. His looks and manner showed me plainer than words could have told it, that he was angered to find another person occupying so confidential and trusted relation to his uncle as I did.

Three weeks had passed since the arrival of this visitor when I became aware of a change in the usual demeanor of Mr. . Symington. He was as punctual and industrious as ever at the office; but his face was often troubled, he appeared more thoughtful, and he talked less with me in the intervals of business. Being very little at the house now save at meal times, I had not a fair opportunity to judge if his nephew was connected with his uneasiness; but I certainly suspected it. My suspicions were entirely correct. About halt-past five one afternoon, as I was . writing at my desk in the outer office, and while Mr. Symington was reading the newspaper in the inner room, Walter came in, and in a tone which was almost abrupt enough to be rude, asked for his uncle. I merely pointed with my pen to the private office, and went on with my work. I could not see either of them; indeed, my eyes were not raised from the pages where I was making my entrijg|9ps? their words came to me distinctly. Wffi 1 ' “Uncle, please let me have fifty donors.” "Why, Walter! You asked me for as much as that, and got it, only a few days ago.” “le% but—well, you were ysuag yrcr-

seif once, uncle, and you know that a young fellow can’t have any fun in a big city like this without money.” “I must speak plainly to you. Walter. Your conduct has pained me more than I can tell. You have kept such late hours that my duty to you compelled me to have you watched; and the report brought to me, about the places you have frequented and the company you have kept, has shocked and distressed me. My dear nephew, for your own sake—for the sake of your parents —for my sake —you must stop this at once.” “It seems to me you are making a great deal out of a little, uncle. I’m no worse than other fellows. We only amuse ourselves in our own way, and don’t harm any one.” “Is it possible, Walter, that you have become so hardened as this talk would show? And here—see this letter! You told me that this was your college-vacation; but here the president informs me that you have been suspended for gross misconduct.” Walter laughed loudly. “Now, really, uncle, I did not mean you should know that; but after all, what of it? Most of the boys have these little larks, and they are none the worse of it. ” “You don’t seem to appreciate the evil you have done. Not only have you disgraced yourself, but you have lied about it to me.” “O, don’t feel so bad about it, Uncle Abel! Just let me have the fifty, and I’ll straighten up and be as good as you want me to. Only a few wild oats, you know.” “Misguided boy! I would do anything to save you from your evil courses; but I will not furnish you the means to follow them. And I warn you ” “Then you won’t give me the money?” “I will give you twenty times the amount to benefit you; but I will not ” “0 han£ your moralizing!” The nephew rushed abruptly away through the outer office. Involuntarily I looked up as he passed me, and received a glance—such a look! Hate and rage had transformed his face into the likeness of a demon. In a moment Mr. Symington came out and took several turns across the room.

“Lambert,” ho said—and 1 thought his voice trembled a little—“l have seen that you are not the kind of boy that needs continual approval to stimulate him to do his duty; and that discovery has gratified me as much as to know that you are faithful and industrious. My boy, you know I am not much given to open praise; but this once, at least, I will speak of you and to you as you deserve. lam more than pleased with you: lam proud of you. You have done exceedingly well.” His censure could not have brought the tears to my eyes as quickly as did these unexpected words. I tried to thank him, but my voice was choked, and I could only look what I felt. The clock struck six, and we went together into the rear office to close the great safe. For several weeks past he had daily given me the combination with which he closed and opened it, explaining that in case of accident to him it would be convenient, perhaps necessary, for me to have it. His habit was to whisper the new combination to me; I would whisper it over to him to insure accuracy, and then I would watch the indicator on the safe door while he was turning the knob. All this was done on this evening, as usual. "When four hours later I went to bed, various emotions kept me awake till midnight. Surprise at the discovery of Walter’s depravity was mingled with sympathy for his uncle, but deep satisfaction on account of the commendation I had received was uppermost in my thoughts. The sleep that at last came was rudely broken. A glare of light full in my eyes awakened me. As I sat upright in bed a pistol was held close to my forehead, and an unknown voice said: “Silence—not a cry—or you’re a dead boy!” And then, after an interval just long enough to allow me to comprehend the whole dreadful meaning of the scene, “Get up aud come below, without noise. You’ve got to open the safe for us.” The instant that was permitted me to look showed me two masked men standing ny my bed, one holding a dark lantern, the other the pistol. Like a flash the purpose of their visit, and its consequences, were before me. Quite often the safe contained considerable amounts of money; not often as much as ten thousand dollars, which I knew Mr. Symington had placed there about four o’clock of the previous afternoon, having been too late for the bank. And now it was through me that he was to be despoiled of this great sum; I was to be the agent, though the unwilling one, in the plunder of him whom I loved better than all else on earth! My resolution was taken on the instant. I would seem to comply, and gain time for escape. Let me not be misunderstood; I certainly had not courage or coolness beyond the average of boys of seventeen, and the cold muzzle of the pistol at my head made me shudder all over. But my heart was filled with devotion to my patron; and seeming to feel his kind hand on my shoulder, I think I would have died before opening the safe for those men.

“Don’t hurt me,” I said, putting my feet on the floor. “I’ll show you.” “Well, now, if you ain’t a sensible young feller,” said the man with the pistol. “Follow the chap with the light." The stairs were in the comer near the head of the bed, and a few paces brought us to them. I did not know whether the man behind me was still holding the pistol to my head; I hoped that my words and manner had thrown bim off his guard. As the man in front held up his lantern to show us the way I struck it from his hand with a sudden blow. It rolled down the stairway, and we were in darkuess. Darting past the ruffian behind me, my nightdress brushing him, I gained the lumberroom, my knowledge of its exact location enabling me to lay my hand quickly upon the latch. I heard a curse and the snap of the pistol; the cartridge nrssed fire. With frantic haste I slammed the door between me and the burglars, and shot the bolt. Then I sank to the floor, weak and trembling. But I knew that I was safe; I could clamber over the old furniture, get to the front windows, break out the glass if they could not be raised, and sound an alarm that would bring help long before the robbers could break down the door—even if they dared to risk the noise. All this doubtless occurred to them, for they did not make the trial. With my ear to the floor I heard their muttered talk, -with now and then an oath from the man with the pistol that sounded like the suppressed growl of a wild beast. Then I heard their feet on the stairs, and a few minutes later on the pavement outside. I would not yet take the risk of returning to my chamber, for the departure

of the men might be only a stratagem to draw me back into theii clutches. Wrapping myself up in the old carpets, I lay down and waited, sleepless, for daylight. Ho painfully slow it seemed in coming! but it came at last. Still, I would not venture out. I waited another hour; waited, until I heard the continnal rattle of carts and wagons, and the tread of early passers. Then 1 went back to my room, put on my clothes, bathed my head, which was throbbing with the reaction of the strain I had endured, and went downstairs. Doors and windows were securely fastened; by whatever means the burglars had entered, they had not left a trac e of their attempt behind. I opened the front door, and looked out. Walter Brand sat upon the stone step. He looked up and showed me his face, wild and haggard, and his eyes bloodshot. “Let me come in,” he said. “I want to speak to you.” He followed me into the private office and sat down. I stood before him, waiting for him to speak. “I haven’t treated you well, Lambert,” he said.

“I’m glad that you know it/ was my reply, “but it is a small matter. You have injured another more deeply.” He looked anxiously in ray face; he must have seen thero detection, discovery, condemnation! “How did you find it out?” he asked in a hoarse whisper. “It was very simple. On one of the fingers of tbe hand from which I struck the dark lantern I saw the large seal-ring, with tbe bine onyx stone, that you wear.” “It is all over with me, then,” he said. “I

have suffered tbe torments of the doomed since that hour! I hoped you did not know; I shook off that ruffian, and walked tbe streets, with my conscience smiting me at every step, promising God that if this last horrible sin did not find me out, I would repent and reform. But it is not to be so. Go for an officer; I have not strength to escape, if 1 wished to. Send me to the penetentiary; I deserve it.” “If you truly mean what you have just said, Walter, I shall not go for a policeman.” He looked up again. “l'ou don’t mean that, Lambert. You can’t forgive what I have done?” “I can and will; but that is the least part of it. You must go to your uncle and tell him all. I will go with you.” “No, no! not that; not now. I can’t give him such a blow; I can’t look him in the face and confess that I yielded to the temptation of such dreadful wickedness and ingratitude. 0, if he knew—if he knew! For God’s 6ake, Lambert, don’t tell him!” “Go home, then, and begin a new life.” Ho shook his head sadly. “I dare not. My father is a stern man, so different from Uncle Abel. I cannot meet him after my disgrace at college.” “There is another chance for you. Cut loose from your evil companions; go where you are not known; keep to your good resolutions, work hard, and all will be well.”

His eyes were downcast; he seemed humiliated to the dust as he told me the obstacle to this course. A very brief struggle decided me. I went up to my chamber, and returning, placed fifty dollars in his hand. It was half of my little savings. “You are welcome to it, Walter—and may God help you to be a man! Your secret is safe with me; your uncle will never know it till you choose to tell him.” The tears rolled down his face; he threw his arms around my neck and sobbed upon my shoulder. Then he hastened from the office and the city; and for ten years I did not see him again.

My mind was not wholly at rest in regard tp the concealment from his uncle of the events of that morning, which I had promised Walter. In fact, it was a serious burden to me for weeks. The path of duty did not seem plain, and I passed more than one sleepless night over it. In the end, knowing Mr. Symington as I did, I persuaded myself that he, in my place, would do as I was doing. Bor nine years hie example had been before me, and it abounded in forgiveness of the erring, in the lifting up and strengthening of those who had fallen. He was my pattern as well as my patron, and in observing his life I had really wished to Learn the luxury of doing good. It was not long after the disappearance of Walter that letters began to reach us from him. In a far Western city he had commenced his new life, and was manfully struggling with hardship and toil. Soon, he was writing cheerfully of new friends and brighter prospects; still later, of substantial success, and in time our hearts were gladdened by the news of his wealth and civic honors. Ten years bring cham.es to everybody; and when Walter, his wife and boy made us their longpromised visit, they found that I had become Mr. Symington’s son-in-law, and was in principal charge of the business. It was not until tho day before this visit ended that the memorable scene occurred which will fitly close this narrative. I was sitting with the ladies after dinner, with tittle Lambert Brand upon my knee, when Mr. Symington opened the library door and called me in, closing it after me. Waltei sat by the window; and when he turned his thoughtful, expressive face to me, I knew at once what had happened. ‘'Walter has been telling me,” said my father-in-law, “a very strange story ot something that occurred at the office ten years ago. You see that it has astonished me; I certainly never suspected the truth. My dear Lambert, it makes me prouder of you than ever! Not often do bravery and mercy, a stout heart and a forgiving one, go together as they did that morning. You were not only faithful to your trust under the most trying circumstances, but after it bad been well kept, you showed a charity and a moderation toward your enemy that partook of the true spirit of Christ.” Once more Walter’s arm was round my neck; and bis words shall end the story’. “He did more than thai, sir. He saved me.”