Samuel the Seeker | Page 3

appealing. He was given to having ideals and to accepting theories. He would be stirred by some broad new principle; and he would set to work to apply it with fervor. But you are not to conclude from this that Samuel was a fool. On the contrary, when things went wrong he knew it; and according to his religion, he sought the reason, and he sought persistently, and with all his might. If all men would do as much, the world might soon be quite a different place.
CHAPTER II
Such was Samuel's life until he was seventeen, and then a sad experience came to the family.
It was because of the city people. They brought prosperity to the country, everyone said, but old Ephraim regretted their coming, none the less. They broke down the old standards, and put an end to the old ways of life. What was the use of grubbing up stumps in a pasture lot, when one could sell minnows for a penny apiece? So all the men became "guides" and camp servants, and the girls became waitresses. They wore more stylish clothes and were livelier of speech; but they were also more greedy and less independent. They had learned to take tips, for instance; and more than one of the girls went away to the city to nameless and terrible destinies.
These summer boarders all had money. Young and old, it flowed from them in a continuous stream. They did not have to plow and reap--they bought what they wanted; and they spent their time at play--with sailboats and fishing tackle, bicycles and automobiles, and what not. How all this money came to be was a thing difficult to imagine; but it came from the city--from the great Metropolis, to which one's thoughts turned with ever livelier interest.
Then, one August, came a man who opened the gates of knowledge a little. Manning was his name--Percival Manning, junior partner in the firm of Manning & Isaacson, Bankers and Brokers--with an address which had caused the Prescott family to start and stare with awe. It was Wall Street!
Mr. Percival Manning was round and stout, and wore striped shirts, and trousers which were like a knife blade in front; also, he fairly radiated prosperity. His talk was all of financial wizardry by which fortunes were made overnight. The firm of Manning & Isaacson was one of the oldest and most prosperous in the street, so he said; and its junior partner was in the confidence of some of the greatest powers in the financial affairs of the country. And, alas! for the Prescott family, which did not read the magazines and had never even heard of a "bucket-shop"!
Adam, the oldest brother, took Mr. Manning back to Indian Pond on a fishing trip; and Samuel went along to help with the carries. And all the way the talk was of the wonders of city life. Samuel learned that his home was a God-forsaken place in winter--something which had never been hinted at in any theological book which he had read. Manning wondered that Adam didn't get out to some place where a man had a chance. Then he threw away a half-smoked cigar and talked about the theaters and the music halls; and after that he came back to the inexhaustible topic of Wall Street.
He had had interesting news from the office that day; there was a big deal about to be consummated--the Glass Bottle Trust was ready for launching. For nearly a year old Harry Lockman--"You've heard of him, no doubt--he built up the great glass works at Lockmanville?" said Manning. No, Adam confessed that he had never heard of Lockman, that shrewd and crafty old multi-millionaire who had gone on a still hunt for glass-bottle factories, and now had the country in the grip of the fourteen-million-dollar "Glass Bottle Securities Company." No one knew it, as yet; but soon the enterprise would be under full sail--"And won't the old cormorant take in the shekels, though!" chuckled Manning.
"That might be a good sort of thing for a man to invest in," said Adam cautiously.
"Well, I just guess!" laughed the other. "If he's quick about it."
"Do you suppose you could find out how to get some of that stock?" was the next question.
"Sure," said Manning--"that's what we're in business for."
And then, as luck would have it, a city man bought the old Wyckman farm, and the trustees of the estate came to visit Ephraim in solemn state and paid down three crisp one-thousand-dollar bills and carried off the canceled mortgage. And the old man sat a-tremble holding in his hands the savings of his whole lifetime, and facing the eager onslaught of his two eldest sons.
"But, Adam!" he protested. "It's gambling!"
"It's nothing of the kind," cried the other. "It's no more gambling than