Without waiting to learn how the rulers of Europe received the confidential reports made to their governments by the delegates, Brent took passage for New York on the first steamer leaving after the adjournment of the conference. Every man who shared the great secret feared that a dangerous crisis, requiring sharp, decisive action, might arise at any moment. The deep discretion of diplomacy successfully conceals many momentous truths, but here was a fact less easy to control than the contents of Pandora’s box, once the cover had been raised. It was to be made known, under pledge of secrecy, to be sure, in six capitals of Europe. Was it reasonable to expect that a piece of knowledge of stupendous interest to the whole world would remain long in the keeping of several scores of men without a hint of it transpiring?

It had been the judgment of the conference that simultaneous announcement should be made in all countries of the result of the deliberations within two weeks of the adjournment. Brent desired to reach New York in time to arrange for the loading upon a man-of-war such portion of his treasure as was to be sacrificed before the public disclosure of his plans should make their execution a matter of supreme popular curiosity and interest. If the verdict of the conference should fail to win the approval of the great powers, the only safety would lie in coupling the news of the existence of the gold with the announcement that it had already been sent to its fathomless grave. He took the precaution before sailing to cable Wharton to begin at once the transfer of three thousand tons of the treasure from the vault to a suitable dock, whence it could be shipped at a few hours’ notice to a vessel moored alongside.

Brent arrived in New York eight days after the dissolution of the Paris conference. He found dispatches assuring him that his secret was still safe and that all the powers concerned except Great Britain had already given unreserved indorsement to the recommendations of the international board. Not only that: the cable told him that personal acknowledgments of his generosity and humanity from all the sovereigns of Europe would soon be in his hands. England’s assent was hourly expected, and then the judgment of the world would be unanimous. A letter from the president contained warmest congratulations, and a request that Brent would visit Washington as soon as possible after landing.

Wharton greeted him with a return of that almost boyish enthusiasm which Brent feared had been permanently banished from his friend’s nature by the anxieties of the last few months. His task during the time that the great problem was under discussion in Paris had been an arduous one, but with the help of the government, serious evils had been successfully combated. More than half the contents of the vault—more dangerous than dynamite—was safely stored and guarded in a North River dock, and the new battleship Massachusetts lay with steam up in the stream ready to respond to any call.

Wharton advised Brent to go at once to Washington, and early the next morning both men called at the White House. They were warmly welcomed by the president. Brent described at some length the work at Paris, and the final arguments which produced substantial unanimity among the delegates. The president’s congratulations were heartily sincere, and he expressed himself in unreserved accord with the verdict which had been reached. While they were talking, a message arrived from the State Department announcing Great Britain’s approval of the findings of the conference. The dispatch added that in compliment to the United States government, the flagship of the British North Atlantic Squadron had been ordered to New York to act as escort to the American man-of-war which should carry the condemned portion of the treasure to its ocean grave.

Wharton expressed an ill-natured suspicion that the real motive behind this compliment was a desire to make sure that the mid-ocean burial actually took place. The president smiled at the suggestion, but he said nothing. The British government evidently notified this action to the other powers, for later in the day similar messages from Paris, Berlin, and Rome announced that men-of-war of the respective countries had been ordered to New York on the same errand.

The president discussed with his visitors the time and manner of making the momentous announcement to the public. The Paris plan to publish the news simultaneously in all countries two weeks after the conference adjournment, or five days from the present date, could now be carried out without difficulty. Brent desired to send the Massachusetts to sea with her condemned cargo before the news was made public, but the courtesy of European governments in sending ships to take part in the ceremony made this impossible. It would be at least a week, in all probability, before the fleet could be assembled. There was no way, therefore, of avoiding the big popular demonstration that would surely be made over the affair.

“It is just as well,” said the president, smiling a little at Brent’s evident shrinking from the ordeal of public clamor. “It will furnish a harmless vent for the excitement that the news will arouse, and it will enable you to get over once for all the lionizing that the public will insist on giving you.”

“I suppose so,” replied Brent, sighing so ruefully that both the president and Wharton burst out laughing.

It was determined, if possible, to bring to Washington within the next four days the 2,500 tons of gold remaining in the New York vault, and to store it in the United States Treasury, according to the conference plan. The condemned gold was to be loaded at once on the Massachusetts, and the battleship was to be ready to proceed to sea the moment her foreign convoys arrived. Then the news should be given to the country in the form of a proclamation from the president, to be distributed to the press by telegraph late the night before the day agreed upon for publication.

Brent and Wharton returned the same day to New York. It required sharp work to arrange for the transportation of the remaining contents of the big vault to the custody of the Treasury at Washington in the short time available. There was risk of discovery, too, in the large number of men employed at the task at both ends of the line, and some of the safeguards against detection and loss which had been used in all previous movements of portions of the treasure were now disregarded. Extraordinary precautions were hardly necessary now that the hour of disclosure was close at hand. The secret did not escape, in spite of the almost careless publicity of the hurried transfer by means of scores of wagons and several special trains.

The clerks of the Treasury received the strange boxes, and made room for them with difficulty in the already crowded vaults. Their instructions were to store them unopened for the present in the strongrooms reserved for gold bullion, giving merely receipts for so many wooden boxes, “contents unknown.”

Late in the afternoon of Friday, February 14, the managers of the Washington bureaus of the great news agencies received an intimation from the White House that an important piece of information would be given out by the president’s private secretary at eleven o’clock that evening. The correspondents who called at the Executive Mansion at the hour named received from the secretary a document which caused them some surprise when they first glanced at it. The secretary remarked in handing them each a copy that there was not a word additional to be said that night in regard to the matter contained in the paper either by the president or any member of the administration. The newspaper men read a paragraph or two, and then suddenly even the serene stoicism of well-seasoned Washington correspondents was disturbed. They scanned the succeeding pages of type-written manuscript hastily, and one or two of the men slipped out without waiting to say good-night. Others stopped to ask a vain question or two before joining in the race for the wires.

An hour later the excitement had spread to the editorial rooms of every morning newspaper in the country. It was too late at night to do more than print without comment the stupendous news contained in the president’s proclamation. None of the devices for giving emphasis to intelligence of the highest moment were omitted. Black type and wide-spaced lines made the first pages of the morning papers bristle with importance as on the day after a presidential election. Soon the news was in everybody’s mouth—not in America only, but throughout civilization. It was a story which, although told in official language, appealed to every one who knows the passion of envy. Few outside the small circles of finance tried to estimate the effect of the strange news upon their own affairs, few imagined it would have any such influence. It was simply to the masses the most marvelous tale of the age, and another proof that fact is stranger than fiction.

But American curiosity promptly demanded something more. Who was this strange billionaire who quietly sacrificed his wealth upon the recommendation of a board of advisers? His fellow-countrymen clamored for his personality, and the whole machinery of journalism was brought into action to comply with the demand. The president’s proclamation gave no clue to the present whereabouts of “Mr. Robert Brent of New York,” nor to the location of the private vault in which the treasure had been stored. No other name had been mentioned in the proclamation, but it did not take long for the New York editors to identify Strong & Co. as the agents of the new king of finance, and to see in the news the explanation of many of the mysteries of the previous year.

The Wall Street representatives of all the papers were very early at the Nassau Street banking house on the morning of the publication of the president’s proclamation. Most of them were personal friends of John Wharton by this time, as are all the magnates of “The Street” with this trusty corps of newspaper men. Wharton came in about nine o’clock, accompanied by a man about his own age whom some of the writers remembered having seen at the office before. The reporters smilingly barred their passage to the inner office. Wharton threw up his hands in mock despair. The other man smiled slightly.

“You can’t go in unless you take us with you and tell us the whole story,” remarked a genial young man, who smilingly headed the intimidating squad.

“What—” Wharton began, then changed his mind. “No, I’ll not bluff you, gentlemen. It’s of no use. But I can’t talk now, really. Come back at three o’clock, and I’ll give you all I can.”

“That won’t do. Where’s Robert Brent?” insisted the head of the journalistic corps.

“He’ll be here at three o’ clock,” replied Wharton conciliatingly, and edging toward the door by a flank movement.

“And will you promise us a talk with him?”

“Yes.”

“All right, Mr. Wharton, you may go in,” and the group stepped on either side and bowed with mock humility to the young banker and his companion.

They were busy enough, and scores of their fellows also, in the intervening six hours, in watching the effect of the great news upon trade and finance, and in collecting the opinions of men whose advice in such a crisis might prove valuable. The first effect everywhere in great markets was paralysis. The tidings were so unexpected, so stupendous, that even the masters of finance were dumfounded. There was no precedent to guide them. They did not even know at first whether the news was good or bad. Self-protection was the only instinct aroused in most cases, but in what direction was this to be sought? Many put themselves on the qui vive to watch the tendency of the current, ready to act accordingly.

Brent and Wharton, in coÖperation with some of the members of the Paris conference, had made such preparations as were possible to prevent any extreme fluctuations of values either way during the first hours following the disclosure of the secret. The London, Berlin, and Paris markets opening some hours before those of New York, set an example of steadiness. So great was the popular timidity and hesitation that for some hours the markets were almost stagnant. It was London, the controlling head of the financial world, that preserved the general equilibrium. It was apparent, before the close of the day’s business there, that the new element suddenly added to the monetary situation was not regarded as a serious menace to financial stability. Most of the precautionary measures which had been provided in the principal centers proved to be unnecessary. There was nothing extraordinary in the course of the markets during the day in Europe or America.

Anxious hours for the two men in Strong & Co.’s New York office were followed by genuine relief and satisfaction, when three o’clock came without panic or serious disturbance in that most excitable of all thoroughfares—Wall Street. The promised interview with the newspaper men became a congratulatory reception. Brent felt an uncomfortable resemblance between himself and a museum freak when the group of writers was presented to him, but he speedily found himself chatting affably and familiarly with gentlemen who regarded and treated him in no other way than as a man of the world like themselves. They were genuinely interested in the brief personal narrative which they encouraged him to tell. He quite forgot that his companions were journalists. The conversation was general and it didn’t become serious for some time.

There are no better judges of human nature, no men whose knowledge of affairs is more varied, practical, and symmetrical, than the leading news-gatherers of the New York press. The ordeal which Brent had dreaded became a pleasure. His interviewers talked more than he did, and talked in such an entertaining way that his mood soon changed. Their jokes and cynicisms, their bon mots and good-natured raillery, which held nothing sacred—not even his billions, furnished a relief which he enjoyed with keenest relish after the unremitting anxieties of many days. He did not realize until afterwards that every man in that gay, careless group knew instinctively at the first moment his aversion to the meeting, and sought first of all to overcome that aversion and establish a footing of good fellowship.

The natural result followed. Brent finally discussed with far greater freedom than he had intended the details of his own life and the history of his treasure. Two hours passed in conversation so absorbing that nobody noticed the flight of time. At last Brent glanced at his watch, and exclaimed:

“I declare, gentlemen, it is nearly six o’clock. You have made the time pass so pleasantly that I had no idea it was so late. Well, we must make the interview very short. Get out your note-books and fire away.”

“We don’t want any more interview, thank you, Mr. Brent,” said the representative of the Herald quizzically, “unless there is something more you would like to have us say.”

“But you haven’t been interviewing me for publication all this time?” inquired Brent rather aghast. “You haven’t taken down a word, one of you.”

The newspaper men smiled.

“Evidently this is your first experience with reporters, Mr. Brent,” remarked the Times man. “If any man here had been so stupid as to produce a pencil during our very interesting talk, we would have expelled him from the profession. And as for a note-book, there isn’t a man of us who has possessed such a thing since he left the infant class of journalism. You’ll have to go to England to find that intimidator still in use. If any of us was incapable of reporting accurately the essential points of all you have told us, he would be unfit for his position.”

“But you are not going to publish all or a large part of what I have told you, I hope,” expostulated Brent. “I make no secret of the fact that I dread very much the notoriety which you are going to give me, gentlemen. Why cannot we draw up a brief outline of such facts as will be demanded by popular curiosity and let the world be content with that?”

“Really, Mr. Brent, you will do much better to leave the matter to our discretion,” remarked the gentleman from the Sun. “You cannot escape being made the most prominent figure of the day. More will be said and printed about you in the next few weeks than about any other living man. If the simple truth in reasonable detail is not made known, then there will be speculation and fables without end. Better let us give the facts in straightforward fashion, and satisfy the thirst for information at the outset. Am I not right, Mr. Wharton?”

Wharton’s practical experience during the previous few months led him to frankly indorse the journalist’s advice.

“At all events, gentlemen,” observed Brent ruefully, “I hope to escape without having my face made as familiar to the world as a presidential candidate’s. Don’t, I beg of you, print pictures of me.”

“Just what I was going to mention,” said the World man eagerly. “Pictures of you will certainly be printed in nine tenths of the newspapers of America within a week. Why not give us a good photograph, and then the sketch artists won’t be compelled to draw bad caricatures of you.”

“Never!” exclaimed Brent in despair. “The worse the caricature the better I shall like it, if I cannot escape altogether. At least I shall not be in danger of recognition from the sketch artist’s efforts.”

Brent groaned in spirit when he glanced at the next morning’s papers. They seemed filled with nothing but the story of himself and his gold. His interview of the previous afternoon was reproduced all too faithfully. He was amazed by the completeness and accuracy of the narrative, which filled three or four columns of each journal. Wharton cheered him up. It was the best thing that could happen, he declared. There was nothing left to be told, and the excitement would soon wear off. Nothing was ever more than a nine days’ wonder in New York, and then he would be left comparatively in peace. Besides, the newspaper men had scrupulously acceded to Wharton’s request that nothing should be said about the whereabouts and personal plans of the young master of millions. They had even hinted that he would resent very sharply any attempt to invade the privacy of life which he prized above wealth.

Four days later the last of the foreign warships that had been assigned to convey the condemned gold to its fathomless grave arrived in New York harbor and anchored in North River. The Massachusetts had already taken on board her precious cargo. Enough had become known about the plans for destroying the treasure to raise public curiosity and excitement to fever pitch. The authorities determined to abandon all secrecy in the arrangements, and to carry out their execution with imposing formalities.

Noon of Thursday was the time fixed for the departure of the fleet. Certain naval evolutions and much saluting and other courtesies would attend the farewell. Every available vessel of the United States navy would take part in the ceremonies. The president and the cabinet would come from Washington, and a great banquet, at which Mr. Brent and the officers of the foreign ships would be the principal guests, would be given on the eve of sailing. These and other plans for making memorable an occasion unique in human history were hastily prepared.

These few days were not particularly happy ones for Brent. He was able to escape many of the honors and much of the publicity which would have been forced upon him. He was most pleasantly disappointed by the absence of all envious and abusive notes from the chorus of public comment upon the situation. The criticism would come later, he told himself, but he was thankful for the present immunity. Not that he relished much more the fulsome laudations that were poured upon him from all sides. He speedily wearied of praise which he was sure was not deserved. Especially irksome did this become at the great banquet, where he and his gold were the almost exclusive themes of after-dinner eloquence.

He acknowledged these tributes from great men with a diffidence and brevity which might have signified lack of appreciation, but his words were received with flattering enthusiasm. The extravagant though eloquent eulogy in which his health was proposed by a famous orator, aroused emotions more gloomy than proud in the young man’s breast, and many noticed the expression of sadness upon his face as he silently acknowledged the compliment.

The next day was given over to those forms of public pleasure-making which America loves best. It was a holiday by common consent. The metropolis was thronged. Thousands had come from all parts of the Atlantic seaboard and the interior to witness all that could be publicly seen of an event for which history could find no parallel. Nobody seemed quite sure whether it should be a solemn or a gay occasion. It was the celebration of an escape from a great though unknown peril, and at the same time it was the funeral ceremony of what the world regards as the most potent of its material possessions.

At all events, it was a moment which called for the most imposing display of civic and political splendor, and nothing within the resources of a spectacle-loving people was withheld. The city was decorated from end to end as for a great fÊte. There was a great naval, military, and civic procession on Broadway, stretching almost from the Battery to Central Park.

The descent of the fleet of home and foreign warships down the North River was a triumphal parade, not less imposing than the great naval review in celebration of the Columbian anniversary. Whistles shrieked, sirens screamed, cannon roared in deafening, unbroken chorus from the Palisades to the Narrows. An unnumbered multitude of craft great and small swarmed in the wake of the majestic warships. Down past the Statue of Liberty, past the green slopes of Staten Island into the whitening waters of the open sea the floating city moved. New York escorted to her very gates the dumb guest whose presence she coveted but dared not tolerate. No prisoner ever went to execution so honored by his judges.

Sandy Hook was the farthest limit to which the majority of the vast fleet cared to venture. The choppy sea beyond was too rough for most of the frail and overloaded pleasure boats which composed the greater part of the volunteer escort. It had been announced that the warships would steam straight out to sea at full speed for fully forty-eight hours before executing their strange mission. No ordinary craft could hope to witness the final act to take place almost in mid-ocean. Some few private yachts and other sea-going vessels convoyed the stately men-of-war some miles farther toward their vague destination, but by sundown none but the five great battleships remained upon the sea.

They sailed abreast almost due east. The Massachusetts, in the center of the line, was flanked on the right by the British and Italian men-of-war, and on the left by the French and German ships. Nearly a mile separated each vessel from its nearest neighbor. In the same relative positions they steamed on through the night and all the next day. A stiff wind from the southeast and a lowering sky made a turbulent, forbidding sea, and it was not deemed wise to engage in any of the evolutions and sea-courtesies that would otherwise have been indulged in.

The night brought a welcome change. When the morning of Saturday dawned, the blue depths of the sky and the green depths of the sea were as clear and calm as though the stately ships lay anchored in the Bay of Naples. All the morning the signal flags fluttered greetings and congratulations from ship to ship. At ten o’clock the Massachusetts signaled a request that the fleet should reduce speed and draw in closer, so that half a mile only should separate the ships. An hour later the flags on the United States vessel signaled an invitation to the admiral and staff on each of the other ships to come on board, and the fleet came to a stop for the purpose.

The wind had entirely died away, and the slow swell of the ocean was like molten glass. No sooner did the screws cease to revolve than the ships changed suddenly from grim, threatening engines of destruction to bright and gay brides of a smiling god of the sea. They bedecked themselves from stem to stern, from mast-head to gun-ports, in a glory of bunting and color. Boats were launched and richly uniformed officers sped over the green water to the flagship of the international squadron. Ensigns were dipped, salutes were fired, and guests were welcomed with all the dignified courtesies of naval etiquette.

On board the American battleship every preparation had been made for the peculiar duty which had been assigned to her. The admiral in command desired to make Robert Brent, who was the only civilian on board, the central figure in the performance of the day’s task. Brent had declined positively to act any part save that of spectator. The only special privilege he asked was permission to present to every man in the fleet a souvenir of the occasion in the shape of a substantial nugget from the gold-laden boxes. So when the foreign commanders came on board the Massachusetts, the boats which brought them took back each to its ship a box so heavy that davit and tackle was necessary to raise it to the deck.

Many boxes from the magazine of the Massachusetts, where the gold had been stored, were brought upon deck before the visitors arrived, but none of them had been opened. A squad of marines stood guard over them on the upper deck forward. A large iron chute, projecting about six feet beyond the side of the ship and directly over the water, had been placed in position. At the upper end of the chute a small inclined platform had been constructed. It was so contrived that when by means of tackle and falls one of the wooden boxes had been placed there, its contents might easily be tipped into the chute, and carried by gravity over the side and into the waves.

Just before twelve o’clock the visiting officers and all the ship’s company of the Massachusetts were assembled on her deck in full view of the nearest ships of the squadron on either side. The American admiral signaled the fleet to move forward in the same order at quarter speed. As noon drew near the ensigns were dipped on each of the four convoys, and their heaviest guns began to thunder forth a national salute.

Just before eight bells struck, the company on the deck of the Massachusetts was startled by an unexpected incident. The first box of gold had been placed on the platform at the mouth of the chute, and by the admiral’s direction the ship’s carpenter had removed the screws and taken off the cover. A shining yellow mass was exposed to the view of the four hundred men assembled. There was a moment’s silence. Then, before the admiral could step forward, there came an inarticulate cry from the ranks of the sailors. A veteran seaman sprang forward and ran to the open box. His face was distorted with a kind of rage. He cried out brokenly but incoherently. Before anybody could check him he reached the gold and plunged his hands into the bright treasure. He lifted it up and watched it drip through his fingers.

The moment’s paralysis of the spectators was quickly over. The sergeants of marines seized the madman on either side and without unnecessary violence led him away. There were others among those who watched the incident who shared the feelings which had been strong enough to unhinge the intellect of the poor maniac. To most of the man-of-war’s company, in fact, it seemed little less than a crime thus to destroy gold, which to them was the symbol of comfort and happiness. To Brent alone of all in those mustered ranks was the condemned treasure the representative of evil. He alone awaited its burial in bottomless depths with unmixed satisfaction.

The United States admiral, when the ship’s bell signaled the meridian, stepped to the side of the platform. He invited the British commander to cast the first handful of gold into the sea. There was an instinctive reluctance in the bearing of the veteran sailor as he complied with the request. Slowly he dipped his hand into the shining metal. It seemed to resist and resent the profanation. He attempted to lift a heaping palm of nuggets and yellow dust into the track of the chute. The great weight held it back. It clung to its kind.

A few nuggets from the surface of the yellow heap were all that remained in the admiral’s fingers as he raised them from the box and held them above the chute. He dropped the heavy particles slowly, regretfully upon the inclined plane of iron. They rattled noisily but musically down the smooth track. A moment later, a few tiny, hissing splashes caused the solemn face of the British admiral to assume an expression almost of guilt as he watched the vanishing bright specks in the water below.

The box of gold was raised to a sharp angle directly over the mouth of the chute. The American commander with a quick motion tipped the rest of its contents upon the iron slide. A swift yellow stream sped down the sharp incline, and the waves swallowed it with a thirsty suction that was intolerable in the covetous ears of those who listened.

Neptune received that day a mighty tribute which should placate him toward the children of men through long generations. He accepted it with a dignified gratitude, which those who carried it to his altar always remembered in delightful contrast to his wrath when he makes reprisals upon those who go down to the sea in ships.

THE GOLDEN CALF.

A Novel, by H. H. Boyesen. 12mo, cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cents.

This story describes how the blight of money-getting in those questionable forms which are known to modern business falls upon a young, generous, and naturally upright youth. It is not open disgrace, which so often in stories attends the wrongdoer, but moral degeneration that is made the subject of the author’s study. While the book is by no means of the conventional Sunday-school type, it teaches a lesson sorely needed in these days of material prosperity and eager pursuit of wealth.

ALL HE KNEW.

Sixth edition. By John Habberton. 12mo, cloth, $1.00; paper, 50 cents.

In the field of fiction Mr. John Habberton’s “All He Knew” gives evidence that the author of “Helen’s Babies” has deep sympathy with humanity. The story of a poor cobbler returning from the penitentiary to his village and living up to all he knew—a simple creed learned from the prison chaplain—is told in a straightforward, unpretentious fashion which conceals real art.

CALLIAS: An Historical Romance.

By A. J. Church. Illustrated, $1.50.

This intensely interesting novel deals with the social and political life of ancient Athens. The plot is not subordinated to the historical and biographical matter. The time chosen for the story is the period of the Peloponnesian War and the final subjection of Athens by Sparta and the allies.

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THE FOUR GEORGES.

By William Makepeace Thackeray. The text is embellished with decorations, portraits, and vignettes of beautiful design by Mr. George Wharton Edwards. Printed in two colors. Large 8vo, richly bound in buff and white vellum, stamped in gold, with wide margins, flat back, rough edges, and gilt top. $3.00.

Thackeray’s lectures on the Georgian reigns have usually been published in connection with other of his shorter pieces, and in consequence have often failed to receive the attention of the general reader. These pictures of English life in the eighteenth century are so charming, piquant, and accurate that Messrs. Flood & Vincent determined to give “The Four Georges” a new and distinctive edition.

The Critic pronounces this the finest edition of Thackeray’s lectures on the Georgian reigns ever published on either side of the Atlantic. These essays of the famous English satirist are too often neglected by the general public. With the confidence that they would be appreciated, the publishers employed all the devices known to the printers’ art in producing a rich and superb volume. Mr. Edwards’ illustrations and decorations conform to the spirit of the age which the text describes, and are a most important contribution to the total effect of the book.

This book compares very favorably with any of the beautiful volumes of its class which recent months have seen.—The Nassau Literary Magazine.

The present publishers have given us a notably beautiful volume. We do not see what they could have done to make it more attractive.—Nashville Advocate.

These papers were never put in a more becoming garb than this.—The Book Buyer.

It is very durably and handsomely bound, and a most charming book to present to a friend, especially if he is a lover of the beauties of Thackeray.—Zion’s Herald.

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