PAGE 7
It’s None Of My Business
by
“Quite an affair this,” remarked Larkin to an acquaintance whom he met some time during the day, in a half-serious, half-indifferent tone.
“About Meadows’ daughter and Sanford? Yes, and rather a melancholy affair. The worst part of it is, that the foolish young man has been embezzling the money of his employer.”
“Yes, that is very bad. But Millard might have known that Sanford could not dash about and spend money as he did upon his salary alone.”
“I do n’t suppose he knew any thing about his habits. He is an unsuspicious man, and keeps himself quietly at home when not in his store.”
“Well, I did then. I saw exactly how he was going on, and could have told him; but it wasn’t any of my business.”
“I do n’t care so much for Millard or his clerk as I do for the foolish girl and her parents. Her happiness is gone and theirs with it.”
“Ah, yes–that is the worst part. But they might have known that something of the kind would take place. They were together a good deal, and were frequently to be seen riding out on Sunday afternoons.”
“This was not with the knowledge of her parents, I am sure.”
“I do n’t suppose it was. Still they should have looked more carefully after their child. I knew it and could have told them how things were going–but it was n’t any of my business. I always keep myself clear from these matters.”
Just at this moment a third person came up. He looked serious.
“Mr. Larkin,” he said, “I have just heard that your daughter and Hatfield, your clerk, were married at the same time that Sanford was, and went off with that young man and his bride. Alderman—-, it is said, united them.”
Larkin turned instantly pale. Hatfield had been away since the morning of the day before, and his daughter was not at home, having asked the privilege of going to see a cousin who resided a few miles from the city. A call upon Alderman—-confirmed the afflicting intelligence. The father returned home to communicate the news to his wife, on whom it fell with such a shock that she became quite ill.
“He might have known that something of this kind would have happened,” remarked the person who had communicated the intelligence, as soon as Larkin had left. “No man who does n’t wish his daughters to marry his clerks, ought to let them go to balls and concerts together, and ride out when they please on Sunday afternoons.”
“Did Larkin permit this with Jane and Hatfield?”
“They were often thus together whether he permitted it or not.”
“He could n’t have known it.”
“Perhaps not. I could have given him a hint on the subject, if I had chosen–but it was none of my business.”
On the next day all the parties came home–Sanford compulsorily, in the hands of an officer; Hatfield voluntarily, and in terrible alarm. The two brides were of course included. Sanford soon after left the city, and has not since been heard of. His crime was “breach of trust!” As for Hatfield, he was received on the principle that, in such matters, the least said the soonest mended. In the course of a few months he was able to restore the two hundred dollars he had abstracted. After this was done he felt easier in mind. He did not, however, make the foolish creature he had married happy. Externally, or to the world, they seem united, but internally they are not conjoined. Too plainly is this apparent to the father and mother, who have many a heart-ache for their dearly loved child.