by Kirk Munroe
CHAPTER III
A 'VARSITY STROKE STRIKES ADVERSE FORTUNE
Richard Peveril, student at Christ Church, was not only one of themost popular men in his own college, but, as stroke of the 'varsityeight, was becoming one of the best known of Oxford undergraduateswhen the blow was struck that compelled him to leave England andreturn to the land of his birth without even waiting to try for hisdegree. He had been an orphan from early boyhood, and, under thenominal care of a guardian who saw as little of his charge aspossible, had passed most of his time in American boarding-schools,until sent abroad to finish his education. While his guardian hadnever been unkind to him, he had not tried to understand the boy or towin his affection, but had placed him at the best schools, suppliedhim liberally with pocket-money, and then let him alone.
Although the lad had thus been denied the softening influence of ahome, the tender care of a mother, and a father's counsel, hisschool-life had trained him to self-reliance, prompt obedience tolawful authority, a strict sense of honor, and to a physical conditionso perfect that in all his life he had never known a day's sickness.Having always had plenty of money, he had never learned its value,though in his school-days his allowance had been limited by the samewise rules that also checked undue extravagance. Thus, while broughtup to live and spend money like a gentleman, he had not been permittedto acquire vicious habits.
Even at college his allowance had always been in excess of his needs,and so, though ever ready to help a friend in trouble, he had neverrun into debt on his own account.
Another influence for good was the lad's inherited love for allout-of-door sports, and he could not remember the time when he was notin training for a team, a crew, or an athletic event of some kind.Thus the keeping of regular hours, together with a studied temperancein both eating and drinking, had been grafted into his very nature.
Life had thus been made very pleasant for our hero, and, believinghimself to be heir to a fortune, he had never been disturbed byanxieties concerning the future. Of course, while he had hosts ofacquaintances, most of whom called themselves his friends, he was wellaware that some of them were envious of his position and would rejoiceat his downfall, should such an event ever take place. It was partlythis knowledge, partly his own sense of absolute security in life, andpartly a habit acquired during a long career of leadership among hisschool companions that rendered him brusque with those for whom he didnot particularly care and contemptuous to the verge of rudenesstowards such persons as he disliked. Thus it will be seen that ouryoung man possessed a facility for the making of enemies as well asfriends.
Of his secret enemies the most bitter was a fellow-student, also anAmerican, named Owen, who, possessed of barely means enough to carryhim through college, and with no prospects, had, by relinquishingeverything else, taken much the same stand in scholarship that Peverilhad in athletics. As a consequence, each was envious of the other, forthe stroke of the 'varsity eight was so little of a student that hehad never more than barely scraped through with an examination in hislife, and was always overwhelmed with conditions. This jealousy wouldnot, however, have led to enmity without a further cause, which hadbeen furnished within a year.
Owen had crossed on a steamer with Mrs. Maturin Bonnifay, of New York,and her only daughter, Rose. They did London together, and never hadthe young American found that smoke-begrimed city so delightful. Athis solicitation the Bonnifays consented to visit Oxford, andpermitted him to act as their escort. In contemplating the pleasure ofsuch a visit, Owen had lost sight of its dangers; but, alas for hishappiness! they became only too quickly apparent.
The ladies must be taken to the river, of course, and there the onething above all others to see was the 'varsity eight at practice. Ofthe entire crew none attracted such instant attention as thestroke-oar, and when they learned that he was an American theirinterest in him was doubled.
Of course he and Mr. Owen, being compatriots in a strange land, andboth having done so splendidly at the dear old university, must befriends.
Oh, certainly.
Then wouldn't Mr. Owen present his friend? It was always so pleasantto meet the right kind of Americans when abroad. "Why! There he comesnow! I am sure that must be he; isn't it, Mr. Owen? Though one doeslook so different in a boat and out of it."
It was indeed Peveril, who had purposely sauntered in that directionfor a closer view of the pretty girl whom "Dig" Owen, of all men, hadpicked up; and, in another minute, Owen, with an extremely bad grace,had introduced him.
From that moment, as is always the case when athletes and scholarscompete for feminine favor, the scholar was almost ignored, while hismuscular rival was petted to a degree that Owen declared simplyscandalous. Although the latter was still allowed to act assecond-best escort to the ladies, and form a fourth in their variousexcursions, it was always Peveril who walked, sat, strolled, andtalked with Miss Rose, while Owen was monopolized by her mother.
The Bonnifays had only intended to spend a day or two in Oxford, butthe place proved so charmingly attractive that they remained a month,and when they finally took their departure for the Continent Miss Rosewore a superb diamond ring on the third finger of her left hand, thathad very recently been placed there by Peveril.
Before they separated it had been arranged that he and they shouldtravel through Norway together during the following summer. Owen hadalso been invited to join the party, but had declined on the groundthat immediately upon taking his degree he would be obliged to returnto America.
So that winter the scholar, filled with envy and bitterness, groundaway gloomily but persistently at his books; while the athlete,radiant with happiness, steadily cheerful and good-natured, laboredwith his crew. Finally, he stroked them to a win on the Thames, andthen, at the height of his glory, began to consider his chances for adegree. At this moment the blow was struck, and it came in the shapeof a cablegram from a New York law firm.
"Return at earliest convenience. Carson dead. Affairs badly involved."
Boise Carson was the guardian whom Peveril had so seldom seen, but whohad always controlled his affairs and provided so liberally for allhis wants. Upon coming of age, a few months before, Peveril had sentover a power of attorney, and his ex-guardian had continued to act forhim as before. They were to have had a settlement when the young mantook his degree, for which purpose he had planned to run over to NewYork, spend a few days there, and return in time for his Norway tripwith the Bonnifays. In the autumn he and they would sail for New Yorktogether, and the wedding would take place as soon thereafter as waspracticable.
Now this wretched cablegram promised to upset everything, and he mustlook forward to spending the summer in trying to disentangle aninvolved business, instead of spending it with the girl of his heart.Perhaps, though, "badly involved" did not mean so _very_ badly, andpossibly he might get through with the hated business in time for theNorway trip after all, if he only set to work at once. Of course thatwould necessitate the giving up of his degree, but what difference didthat make? Other things were of infinitely more importance.
So Peveril bade farewell to Oxford, wrote a long letter, full of loveand hopeful promises, to Rose Bonnifay, at Rome, sent her a reassuringtelegram from Southampton, and sailed for New York. Having been solong absent, he found very few friends in that city, and it seemed tohim that some even of those few greeted him with a constraintbordering on coldness.
As Boise Carson, who had lived and died a bachelor, had roomed at theWaldorf, Peveril also established himself in that palatialcaravansary, and was then ready to plunge into the business that hadbrought him to America.
His first shock came from the lawyer who had summoned him, and who atonce told him that he feared everything was lost.
"I don't exactly understand what you mean," said Peveril.
"In plain terms, then, I am afraid that your late guardian not onlysquandered his own fortune in unwise speculation, but yours as well.Perhaps this note, left for you, will explain the situation."
"MY DEAR RICHARD:
"Having lost everything, including your fortune and my own honor, I have no longer an object in living. I therefore conclude that it will be best to efface myself as speedily as possible. I have made a will, leaving you my sole heir and executor. You are welcome to whatever you can save from the wreck. All papers belonging to your father and left in my charge will be handed you by Mr. Ketchum. Good-bye.
"Yours, for the last time,
"BOISE CARSON."
"He didn't commit suicide?" exclaimed Peveril, incredulously.
"It is to be feared that he did," replied the lawyer, "and the stateof his affairs bears out the supposition."
After this Peveril spent a month in New York, trying to recoversomething from the wreck of his fortune. At the end of that time hefound himself with less than one hundred dollars over and above hisobligations. Realizing at length that he must for the future dependentirely upon his own efforts, he made several applications for vacantpositions in the city, only to find in every case that they were alsosought by men more competent to fill them than he.
One day, when, for want of something better to do, he wasmechanically looking over a package of old papers that had belonged tohis father, he came across a contract of partnership between hisparent and a certain Ralph Darrell. It was for the opening anddevelopment of a mine, to be known as the "Copper Princess," andlocated in the upper peninsula of Michigan. By the terms of thecontract the partnership was to exist for twenty years, and, if eitherparty died during that time, his heir or heirs were to accept theliabilities and receive all benefits accruing to an original partner.It was, however, provided that the claims of such heirs must be madebefore expiration of the contract, otherwise the entire property wouldfall into possession of the longest-surviving partner or his heirs.The document bore a date nineteen years old.
"Well," said Peveril, reflectively, as he finished reading this paper,"although everything else is lost, it would seem that as my father'ssole heir I am still half-owner in a copper mine. I wonder if it isworth looking up?"
