It would have been better if he had begun the study of the law as soon as he left college, but it was not too late now, and besides he had gathered some knowledge of the world.
“But,” asked the Squire, “do you mean to abandon your land in Pennsylvania?” This track of land seemed an immense possible fortune to this New England lawyer-farmer. “Hasn’t it good timber, and doesn’t the railroad almost touch it?”
“I can’t do anything with it now. Perhaps I can sometime.”
“What is your reason for supposing that there is coal there?”
“The opinion of the best geologist I could consult, my own observation of the country, and the little veins of it we found. I feel certain it is there. I shall find it some day. I know it. If I can only keep the land till I make money enough to try again.”
Philip took from his pocket a map of the anthracite coal region, and pointed out the position of the Ilium mountain which he had begun to tunnel.
“Doesn’t it look like it?”
“It certainly does,” said the Squire, very much interested. It is not unusual for a quiet country gentleman to be more taken with such a venture than a speculator who, has had more experience in its uncertainty. It was astonishing how many New England clergymen, in the time of the petroleum excitement, took chances in oil. The Wall street brokers are said to do a good deal of small business for country clergymen, who are moved no doubt with the laudable desire of purifying the New York stock board.
“I don’t see that there is much risk,” said the Squire, at length. “The timber is worth more than the mortgage; and if that coal seam does run there, it’s a magnificent fortune. Would you like to try it again in the spring, Phil?”
Like to try it! If he could have a little help, he would work himself, with pick and barrow, and live on a crust. Only give him one more chance.
And this is how it came about that the cautious old Squire Montague was drawn into this young fellow’s speculation, and began to have his serene old age disturbed by anxieties and by the hope of a great stroke of luck.
“To be sure, I only care about it for the boy,” he said. The Squire was like everybody else; sooner or later he must “take a chance.”
It is probably on account of the lack of enterprise in women that they are not so fond of stock speculations and mine ventures as men. It is only when woman becomes demoralized that she takes to any sort of gambling. Neither Alice nor Ruth were much elated with the prospect of Philip’s renewal of his mining enterprise.
But Philip was exultant. He wrote to Ruth as if his fortune were already made, and as if the clouds that lowered over the house of Bolton were already in the deep bosom of a coal mine buried. Towards spring he went to Philadelphia with his plans all matured for a new campaign. His enthusiasm was irresistible.
“Philip has come, Philip has come,” cried the children, as if some great good had again come into the household; and the refrain even sang itself over in Ruth’s heart as she went the weary hospital rounds. Mr. Bolton felt more courage than he had had in months, at the sight of his manly face and the sound of his cheery voice.
Ruth’s course was vindicated now, and it certainly did not become Philip, who had nothing to offer but a future chance against the visible result of her determination and industry, to open an argument with her. Ruth was never more certain that she was right and that she was sufficient unto herself. She, may be, did not much heed the still small voice that sang in her maiden heart as she went about her work, and which lightened it and made it easy, “Philip has come.”
“I am glad for father’s sake,” she said to Philip, “that thee has come. I can see that he depends greatly upon what thee can do. He thinks women won’t hold out long,” added Ruth with the smile that Philip never exactly understood.
“And aren’t you tired sometimes of the struggle?”
“Tired? Yes, everybody is tired I suppose. But it is a glorious profession. And would you want me to be dependent, Philip?”
“Well, yes, a little,” said Philip, feeling his way towards what he wanted to say.
“On what, for instance, just now?” asked Ruth, a little maliciously Philip thought.
“Why, on — ” he couldn’t quite say it, for it occurred to him that he was a poor stick for any body to lean on in the present state of his fortune, and that the woman before him was at least as independent as he was.
“I don’t mean depend,” he began again. “But I love you, that’s all. Am I nothing — to you?” And Philip looked a little defiant, and as if he had said something that ought to brush away all the sophistries of obligation on either side, between man and woman.
Perhaps Ruth saw this. Perhaps she saw that her own theories of a certain equality of power, which ought to precede a union of two hearts, might be pushed too far. Perhaps she had felt sometimes her own weakness and the need after all of so dear a sympathy and so tender an interest confessed, as that which Philip could give. Whatever moved her — the riddle is as old as creation — she simply looked up to Philip and said in a low voice, “Everything.”
And Philip clasping both her hands in his, and looking down into her eyes, which drank in all his tenderness with the thirst of a true woman’s nature —
“Oh! Philip, come out here,” shouted young Eli, throwing the door wide open.
And Ruth escaped away to her room, her heart singing again, and now as if it would burst for joy, “Philip has come.”
That night Philip received a dispatch from Harry — ”The trial begins tomorrow.”
CHAPTER LI.
December 18 — , found Washington Hawkins and Col. Sellers once more at the capitol of the nation, standing guard over the University bill. The former gentleman was despondent, the latter hopeful. Washington’s distress of mind was chiefly on Laura’s account. The court would soon sit to try her case, he said, and consequently a great deal of ready money would be needed in the engineering of it. The University bill was sure to pass this time, and that would make money plenty, but might not the help come too late? Congress had only just assembled, and delays were to be feared.
“Well,” said the Colonel, “I don’t know but you are more or less right, there. Now let’s figure up a little on, the preliminaries. I think Congress always tries to do as near right as it can, according to its lights. A man can’t ask any fairer than that. The first preliminary it always starts out on, is to clean itself, so to speak. It will arraign two or three dozen of its members, or maybe four or five dozen, for taking bribes to vote for this and that and the other bill last winter.”
“It goes up into the dozens, does it?”
“Well, yes; in a free country likes ours, where any man can run for Congress and anybody can vote for him, you can’t expect immortal purity all the time — it ain’t in nature. Sixty or eighty or a hundred and fifty people are bound to get in who are not angels in disguise, as young Hicks the correspondent says; but still it is a very good average; very good indeed. As long as it averages as well as that, I think we can feel very well satisfied. Even in these days, when people growl so much and the newspapers are so out of patience, there is still a very respectable minority of honest men in Congress.”
“Why a respectable minority of honest men can’t do any good, Colonel.”
“Oh, yes it can, too”
“Why, how?”
“Oh, in many ways, many ways.”
“But what are