“Thank you. If I decide to sell I will
certainly come to you.”
“Now,” said the agent, “I advise
you on the whole to store the casket with Tiffany.”
“Shall I have to pay storage in advance?”
asked Rodney anxiously.
“I think not. The value of the jewels will
be a sufficient guarantee that storage will be paid.”
Rodney accompanied Adin Woods to the great jewelry
store on the corner of Fifteenth Street and Union
Square, and soon transacted his business.
“Now, you won’t have any anxiety as to
the safety of the casket,” said the agent.
“Your friend of the train will find it difficult
to get hold of the jewels. Now I shall have to
leave you, as I have some business to attend to.
We will meet at supper.”
Rodney decided to call at the office of his late guardian,
Benjamin Fielding. It was in the lower part of
the city.
On his way down town he purchased a copy of a morning
paper. Almost the first article he glanced at
proved to be of especial interest to him. It
was headed—
Rumors have been rife for some time affecting the
business standing of Mr. Benjamin Fielding, the well
known commission merchant. Yesterday it was discovered
that he had left the city, but where he has gone is
unknown. It is believed that he is very deeply
involved, and seeing no way out of his embarrassment
has skipped to Canada, or perhaps taken passage to
Europe. Probably his creditors will appoint a
committee to look into his affairs and report what
can be done.
Later—An open letter has been found
in Mr. Fielding’s desk, addressed to his creditors.
It expresses regret for their losses, and promises,
if his life is spared, and fortune favors him, to do
all in his power to make them good. No one doubts
Mr. Fielding’s integrity, and regrets are expressed
that he did not remain in the city and help unravel
the tangle in which his affairs are involved.
He is a man of ability, and as he is still in the
prime of life, it may be that he will be able to redeem
his promises and pay his debts in full, if sufficient
time is given him.
“I can get no help or advice from Mr. Fielding,”
thought Rodney. “I am thrown upon my own
resources, and must fight the battle of life as well
as I can alone.”
He got out in front of the Astor House. As he
left the car he soiled his shoes with the mud so characteristic
of New York streets.
“Shine your boots?” asked a young Arab,
glancing with a business eye at Rodney’s spattered
shoes.
Rodney accepted his offer, not so much because he
thought the blacking would last, as for the opportunity
of questioning the free and independent young citizen
who was doing, what he hoped to do, that is, making
a living for himself.
“Is business good with you?” asked Rodney.
“It ought to be with the street in this condition.”
