St Francis Xavier Academy - Xavier Yearbook (Providence, RI)

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20 THE XAVIER forgot everything in her anxiety. Following him to the library she found him lying on a couch, his face buried in his trembling hands. Throwing herself on her knees beside him, the poor girl exclaimed, “What is it, papa? Are you ill or in trouble? Tell me, my dearest papa.” ‘‘Dorothy, my little girl,” he said in a broken voice, ‘‘Have you strength to bear a great blow ?” ‘‘Yes, yes, father, anything that will not separate us may be borne.” “Then darling,” he whispered, “We are ruined—quite quite ruined.” “Dearest and best of fathers, tell me all. While we have each other, life can never be entire darkness.” Then he told her the old, old story that has so often re-echoed from Wall Street. That very morning without a thought of such a thing as reverse, he had tried his fortune in a new deal in copper. This was now in a prosperous condition, and receiving a hint from a friend that it would “go high” on the morrow, he bid. Brisk selling for a few minutes drove prices down sharply and afler a few hours of such work, blocks of the stock were transferred from winning to the losing, or from strong to weak hands and pools failed. Losing half his fortune by this, he became reckless, plunged in and attacked the pools again and again. In less than two hours his magnificent capital was swept away as by a torrent, and he had now come to her a beggar. They were both penniless. To her father, who already seemed aged by many years, she said with a brave heart, “Dear father, we will do the best we can. God is with us. He will help us under this great stress.” Dorothy’s mother had left money by will for her child and this now went towards paying the creditors. When everything had been sacrificed except a few remembrances of her childhood, they left the beautiful residence over which the auctioneer’s red flag was already flying, and sought apartments in the lower quarter of the city. Mr. Dorsey from this time forward sank into a gloomy apathy, and let Dorothy do all the planning. As the days went on, his mind, turned by the awful mishap, became a blank, and he a child, ready to do what those around him wished.

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THE XAVIER 19 A LOYAL DAUGHTER. W ALL Street, that magnetic centre of power, known from j continent to continent, that whirlpool of finance which has done more toward the making and unmaking of men than anything else, had been unusually active. With copper the leading topic, Lawrence Dorsey and his colleagues had bid in at the opening of the Exchange and found themselves at the close richer by millions. It requires cleverness and foresight to operate on any stock quoted above market value, and all these qualities were strong in Dorsey. A millionaire capitalist, club mau and society favorite, his one aim in life was wealth and his only care and thought were for his beautiful daughter, Dorothy. The exact counterpart of a father whom she fairly idolized, Dorothy, chaperoned by a maternal aunt, Mrs. Oliver, was the centre of all social functions given in the stately mansion on Madison Avenue. Home only one short year from boarding school where she had been the pet and pride of teachers and pupils with her smiling, happy ways, her entrance into the glittering -whirl of society, had been heralded far and wide, and many looked with envy on the proud father and his charming daughter at her first reception. You may think that Dorothy’s mind was all aglow at the prospect of this gay butterfl)' life, but here you are mistaken. Only at the earnest request of the fond parent was she a willing partaker of its pleasures. Her one object in life was the happiness of her father, who as a shrewd speculator, starting with nothing, had gained the the top of the ladder and was now the copper king of America. Everything he had undertaken had been successful. There had been no such word as “fail” in his upward climb. It had been arranged that she and her father should attend the opera one evening. All week she had looked forward to this event with the eager delight of a music lover and the joyful impetuosity of a child. The longed-for hour came at last bringing Mr. Dorsey, pale, haggard, evidently laboring under strong emotion. Dorothy

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THE XAVIER 21 A small cottage was secured, on the Bloomingdale road, near the edge of a wood, one that because of its being haunted, so the neighbors said, had been unoccupied for some time, and here they began life again. To earn sufficient for the support of an infirm father and herself, she applied for a position as school teacher, and after sometime was appointed to an ungraded school, three miles out in the country. This was an ideal little spot, and from the first day, Dorothy knew she would like it. She always had a great affection for children and here were her wish and desire gratified. She soon became a prime favorite with the pupils and their parents, and one could often catch the charming sight of the young teacher with her children romping through the woodland. It was the last Friday of the Spring term and there was to be an important event. The School Critic, a new one, was to make his tour of inspection. At 2.30 p. m. he arrived, ushered in by a line of boys who had been waiting to meet him. One look at the teacher, a blush, and a slight recognition on her part showed that they had met before. The children acquitted themselves with honor and after dismissal, the critic, Donald Maclvar, turned towards the teacher all the old friendliness leaping to life in voice and manner. “To think that I should have the luck to find you at last— here,’’ he said. “It was cruel of you,’’ he continued, “to drop out of the world, leaving no word, no sign behind for your friends. I was away at the time and have been looking for you ever since.” “I no longer belong to your world,” said Dorothy sadly. “My days belong entirely to my poor, dear father. Indeed, his life is a sad and lonely oneand with an effort she crushed back the rising tears. “Yet, once, I hoped, Dorothy, that you might find me worthy of sharing jour clouds and sunshine. Have you forgotten ?” “I have forgotten nothing, but I will never consent to burden another with the cloak of sorrow that shelters and hides my father and me from your bright world.” “But surely you will not object to my visiting your school?” he said. “Oh no,” she replied gratefully, “It will be a pleasure to remember that my critic is my friend.”