II.

Fields was truly on the anxious-seat.

As he had said in his letter, he was engaged to be married, and he wanted to be about the consummation of the contract, for he had already delayed too long.  His affiancee was a sweet girl who lived with her widowed mother in the country, where they had a fine house, and a fine demesne attached to it.  When the time for the marriage was finally settled upon, the lady instantly set about remodelling her domicile and its surroundings, and making it fit for the new spirits that were soon to inhabit it.  She drew upon her accumulation of money that had thriven long in a private bank, and expended it in laying out new lawns, planting new trees, building new stables, erecting tasteful graperies and kiosks.  This sum was not very large, and it included not only what had been saved out of the earnings of the farm, but also what had been saved out of the income from the widow’s property, which consisted of twelve thousand dollars in insurance stock.

Fields had thus far expended nearly all of his salary of four thousand dollars.  He was accustomed to use a quarter of it for his own purposes, and the rest he applied to the comfort of his aged parents, whom he maintained.  Thus it will be seen that Fields’s desire to add to his own wealth had reason to be.

Just at this time there stepped in the Chicago fire.  On the second day Fields began to be frightened about the twelve thousand dollars in insurance stock.  Telegrams poured into the city by hundreds, and the tale grew more dismal with each hour.

His fears were realized.  The widow’s money was swept away, and a sort of paralysis fell upon the country-house and all its surroundings.  The carpenters went away from the kiosks, the masons from the face-walls, the smiths from the graperies, the gardeners from the lawns, and everything came to a stand-still.  The extra farm-hands were discharged, and much of the work was left unfinished.

What was to be done?

The mother and daughter wept in secret.  Their careers had been interrupted.  Desolation was out-of-doors, and desolation was in their hearts.  The earth lay in ragged heaps; beams and timbers leaned half erect; barns were party-colored with the old paint and the new, and the shrubbery was bare to the frosts.  Joys which had smiled had fled into the far distance, and now looked surly enough; all pleasures were unhorsed, and hope was down.

It was under these circumstances that Fields wrote a second time to the honorable board of directors to ask them to pay him better wages.

Friday came.  There was a meeting, and Fields knew that his case must now be receiving consideration.

At eleven o’clock the directors emerged from their parlor, and passed by his desk in twos and threes, chatting and telling watery jokes, as most great men do.

“They look as if they had entirely forgotten me,” said Fields to himself.