Chapter 7
CHAPTER VII. There are times in the lives of some men and women, when fate in its spells of gloom deals the card so cruelly that when life or death hangs in the balance,
the latter would be chosen by the unhappy victim of adversity as the more welcome alternative. In the brief intervals of consciousness that came to Randolph Carroll,
when the fitful realization of the truth flashed upon him, he not only hoped, but in his more agonized moments prayed that death would end it all.
In the excitement of the calamity that had so suddenly ended the conference at the bank, frantic efforts were made to summon physicians, and at least two of the nervous and overwrought men among those present had telephoned for an ambulance
that the stricken man should be taken to a hospital without delay. The first ambulance to arrive came at the same moment as did Randolph's own physician summoned by the manager of the bank, and by his orders the patient was taken home. It is at a crisis such as this when the inestimable value of a friend, who is all that the deepest and fullest meaning of the word implies, finds greatest realization.
And this was the time in his life that John Randolph Carroll found such a friend, staunch and loyal and true. And that friend was his physician, Dr. Jameson. To the Carrolls the doctor owed the fact that he was at this time one of the most celebrated and successful of the medical fraternity in New York. His practice was among the oldest families and in the most exclusive circles of society, and his income annually was far beyond what he would have considered an ample fortune in the dreams of his younger days.
Singularly enough, his first meeting with the man and woman, to whom with a gratitude that would never die, he felt that he owed his wonderful success in life. His fortune and his enviable place in the professional and social world was on that memorable day when a hapless little caddy fell senseless from the crash of a ball, driven with bullet-like speed and force by a certain noble lord, who for the purpose of this story has passed into history. Almost at the moment when Randolph Carroll had rushed to the aid of the boy, and while carrying the helpless lad, had met Hortense, another player had come upon the scene,
one most welcome, for he was a young medical student who was a guest at one of the neighboring houses, and he was equal to the emergency. It was to his care that the injured boy was given, and it was he who applied first aid,
and finding that the boy's shoulder had been crushed and dislocated by the shot, had pressed Randolph into service, had secured a carriage, and had the boy carried to the hospital. Here, after eight weeks, the boy recovered and Randolph paid the bill. Shortly after their first meeting, young Jameson and Randolph again met at the hospital, where Randolph had called to inquire after the boy,
and in their conversation discovered in each other many traits and ideas that appealed to kindred natures. The acquaintance continued, grew into a warm friendship, and with the result that when the young student graduated with honors and gained his coveted M.D., he followed Carroll's advice, and instead of returning to his native Vermont, as he had planned, began practice in New York, and from that moment his fortune began. His social recognition by the
Carrolls was a passport to society, and his signal success in one or two cases in his earlier practice widened his reputation and secured his prestige as a skillful and conscientious physician in the charmed circle in which he was destined to find the material rewards of his career. In the rare instances where professional services were required at the Carroll home, he was the only doctor, and they never had another.
It was when first rumors of danger to the bank reached him that the doctor hurried to Wall Street with all haste to offer to Randolph Carroll every dollar he had, if it would help to save the day. It was on his arrival that he found the blow had fallen.
found his friend prostrate and senseless, and that disaster had come, which he was now powerless to avert. In the weeks of agonizing uncertainty that followed, Dr. Jameson was constantly, by day and night, at the side of his friend, finding his own diagnosis confirmed by the most eminent specialists, whom he had summoned in consultation. he gave himself to the task of saving Randolph's life with an unselfish devotion
that is talked of in New York to this day. Turning over for the time being his practice to two of his friends of highest professional standing, he was thus entirely free,
and that he should never be absent in any emergency, and at the earnest solicitation of Mrs. Carroll he occupied a room adjoining that of his patient
and his friend. But it was not alone in his professional capacity in this terrible ordeal that Dr. Jameson proved the friend in need. The friend indeed. In one of his brief, fully conscious moments, Randolph had given the doctor full power of attorney to act for him in the legal proceedings, which began a day after the closing of the bank. Of course, in conjunction with his lawyer.
Receivers had been appointed and the work of liquidation begun without a moment's delay. In the face of a constantly falling market, it was imperative that assets should be realized as quickly as possible. No sentiment, no compunction was shown. Mammon has no such terms in his vocabulary.
and, in justice to some of the more pressing creditors, let it be said that many were in the most desperate straits and daily threatened with the same fate that had befallen the House of Carol. In every stage of the work, Dr. Jameson, to the utmost limit of his power, mental, physical, and financial, fought the battle for his friend. Finally, the struggle was ended. Banking house, homes, lands, yacht, furniture, all were swept into the cauldron, and John Randolph Carroll
was a ruined, broken man. Naturally, the winding up of the affairs of a bank of such importance, and involved in so many varied and widely diverse interests, required considerable time. And it was not until the latter part of October that year that the task was accomplished, and then only the last report of the receivers was wanting to place the seal of finality on the work.
Four months had now elapsed since the day of the crash that crumbled the bank to ruins. In all this time, Dr. Jameson had never faltered in the self-imposed burden he had taken upon himself to bear. But now the time had come when he found himself face to face
with the gravest aspect of the problem he had to solve, the future, for notice had been served upon him that within thirty days the Carols must vacate their home, and that all its rich and elegant appointments were to be consigned to the ignominy of the auction-block. How to convey this terrible news, how to save his friends from the awful humiliation and distress the news would cause,
was the question that now caused him many a sleepless night. That all she had endured, had left its mark upon Horten's Carol, was so painfully evident to the few friends admitted to her presence that several, in their overwrought feelings of sympathy, were moved to tears. Instead of the graceful, elegant, consciously satisfied society leader of their younger days, they found a broken, saddened, sorrowful, and suffering woman. During his long illness,
she had watched by the side of her stricken husband with no thought of self. With a woman's and a wife's deepest devotion to the first and only man she had ever loved. When the services of one of the two trained nurses summoned at the beginning of her husband's illness were dispensed with as unnecessary,
Hortense, in the absence of the nurse retained, took her place in the room, and here watching with saddened heart the helpless sufferer she endured hours of such silent agony as words cannot describe, that the failure met a dark and sorrowful future she realized more and more as time went on.
There were friends who gave her delicately to understand that she could rely on them for aid, but the innate pride that she had inherited through generations of affluent ancestors made her invariably refuse to accept even the significance of such suggestions. But she knew after all these months that the climax was at hand. Hortense cherished no illusions.
How completely the crash had wrecked their fortunes, she did not know. And Dr. Jameson never dared to tell. So when one evening the doctors sought and found her, sitting silent and alone in the great parlor, she felt instinctively that the moment she had long dreaded at last had come.
And it had. The doctor began by telling her that Randolph's condition was now such that the one thing necessary to bring about his complete restoration to perfect health was an absolute change of scene.
He had, he said, given this matter serious thought, but before coming to a final decision, he wanted to consult her. It had occurred to him that some quiet village in southern France might be the ideal place,
but the Great War rendered that out of the question. Then there was the South, somewhere in Maryland or Virginia, preferably, but he was afraid such surroundings might call to Randolph's mind memories of his boyhood's happy days, and from that induce a state of melancholy. Again he had thought of Southern California, but the rainy season, with its depressing influence, was near. It was at this moment the doorbell sounded,
and a moment after voices were heard in the hall. A letter, so the listeners heard through the open door, had arrived for Dr. Jameson. In another moment the letter was in his hand, and with old-time courtesy the doctor asked permission to open it.
Ever since he had been given full power of attorney, it had fallen to his share of responsibility to open all mail addressed to Randolph Carroll, and the legal firm that had charge of the Carroll interests had sent a communication which he had just received. As he glanced rapidly over the pages and grasped their significance, he uttered an expression of astonishment,
and well he might, for that letter, at this most opportune moment, lifted his weight of care, and the problem that had worried him for weeks was solved at last. nor was hortense less astonished for the letter conveyed the news of the death of captain eldridge bartlett who for over twenty years had been the master of the carroll yachts and legal notification that he had left by his will his house and all its contents and the land on which it was built to the man who was the best friend i had in life john randolph carroll In an instant, Dr. Jameson grasped the possibilities the arrival of that letter held, but of these he spoke no word to Hortense, telling her that for the present it would be unwise to speak of the good news to her husband, as absolute freedom from any excitement was a most essential factor in his progress to complete recovery. And saying that,
so far as the question of the change of scenery was concerned, that matter could be taken up later. The doctor arose. As he stood by the door,
and then as if it were an afterthought of no great moment, the doctor bidding Hortense good-night, added that he would be away from town
for the next few days, but that his friend, Dr. Selfridge, would make a daily call in his absence. Midnight found the doctor on the New Haven train bound east.
Morning found him in Providence, en route to Plymouth, Massachusetts. Ten o'clock that morning found him away south of Plymouth Town, and finally at his destination, the old home of Captain Bartlett, with its views of land and sea on the northern reaches of Cape Cod Bay. For the next four days no busier man could have been found in Massachusetts,
and when on the evening of the fourth day he dropped into his berth on the fall river boat, the blessed sleep that comes from fatigue, crowned by the satisfaction that all is well was his reward, and his awakening only came when the steamer docked in New York. He had found the haven of rest. On the afternoon of an early November day, a week after the return of Dr. Jameson to New York,
The Carols left their palatial home, and an hour later were in their stateroom on the Fall River steamer. Dr. Jameson was their sole companion. Of their feelings it is difficult to write. They were going they knew not where,
for neither of them, despite all their travels, had ever set foot on the eastern shores of southern New England. It was a clear, calm night when the boat left New York, but on their arrival at Fall River the conditions had changed, and when they arrived in Plymouth and entered the carriage,
a severe easterly storm had begun, and anything more depressing it would be hard to imagine. The rain fell in torrents. The leafless trees swayed and shivered in the gale. The vagrant leaves that had found a last resting place on the sodden roads
made the way a dull and dreary brown. The summer homes with their closed and shuttered windows were desolate and forsaken. The storm had made traffic negligible and added to the depressing effect of the drive. The waves on the beach chanted a requiem for departed summer, and to this accompaniment the carols arrived at Fairhaven.
End of chapter 7 Recording by John Brandon
