[87847] in Discussion of MIT-community interests
Compare Alcohol Rehab Options
daemon@ATHENA.MIT.EDU (Alcohol Rehab)
Wed Aug 31 19:31:32 2016
Date: Wed, 31 Aug 2016 19:20:51 -0400
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<p>Compare Alcohol Rehab Options<br /> It was a terrified crowd that qui=
ckly gathered in the main cabin, but it was a brave one. There were no crie=
s and few tears. They expected anything and were ready for the worst, but t=
hey would not show the white feather. It was Mrs. Dan who broke the tension=
" I made sure of my pearls," she said; " I thought they wo=
uld be appreciated at the bottom of the sea." Brewster came in upon th=
eir laughter. " I like your nerve, people," he exclaimed, " =
you are all right. It won' t be so bad now. The wind has dropped." Lon=
g afterward when they talked the matter over, DeMille claimed that the only=
thing that bothered him that night was the effort to decide whether the cl=
ub of which he and Monty were members would put in the main hallway two bla=
ck-bordered cards, each bearing a name, or only one with both names. Mr. Va=
lentine regretted that he had gone on for years paying life insurance premi=
ums when now his only relatives were on the boat and would die with him. Th=
e captain, looking pretty rocky after his twenty-four hour vigil, summoned =
his chief. " We' re in a bad hole, Mr. Brewster," he said when th=
ey were alone, " and no mistake. A broken shaft and this weather make =
a pretty poor combination." " Is there no chance of making a port=
for repairs?" " I don' t see it, sir. It looks like a long pull.=
" " We are way off our course, I suppose?" and Monty' s cool=
ness won Captain Perry' s admiration. " I can' t tell just how much un=
til I get the sun, but this wind is hell. I suspect we' ve drifted pretty f=
ar." " Come and get some coffee, captain. While the storm lasts t=
he only thing to do is to cheer up the women and trust to luck." "=
; You' re the nerviest mate I ever shipped with, Mr. Brewster," and th=
e captain' s hand gripped Monty' s in a way that meant things. It was a tri=
bute he appreciated. During the day Monty devoted himself to his guests, an=
d at the first sign of pensiveness he was ready with a jest or a story. But=
he did it all with a tact that inspired the crowd as a whole with hope, an=
d no one suspected that he himself was not cheerful. For Peggy Gray there w=
as a special tenderness, and he made up his mind that if things should go w=
rong he would tell her that he loved her. " It could do no harm,"=
he thought to himself, " and I want her to know." Toward night t=
he worst was over. The sea had gone down and the hatches were opened for a =
while to admit air, though it was still too rough to venture out. The next =
morning was bright and clear. When the company gathered on deck the havoc c=
reated by the storm was apparent. Two of the boats had been completely carr=
ied away and the launch was rendered useless by a large hole in the stern. =
" You don' t mean to say that we will drift about until the repairs ca=
n be made?" asked Mrs. Dan in alarm. " We are three hundred miles=
off the course already," explained Monty, " and it will be prett=
y slow traveling under sail." It was decided to make for the Canary Is=
lands, where repairs could be made and the voyage resumed. But where the wi=
nd had raged a few days before, it had now disappeared altogether, and for =
a week the " Flitter" tossed about absolutely unable to make head=
way. The first of August had arrived and Monty himself was beginning to be =
nervous. With the fatal day not quite two months away, things began to look=
serious. Over one hundred thousand dollars would remain after he had settl=
ed the expenses of the cruise, and he was helplessly drifting in mid-ocean.=
Even if the necessary repairs could be made promptly, it would take the &q=
uot; Flitter" fourteen days to sail from the Canaries to New York. Fig=
ure as hard as he could he saw no way out of the unfortunate situation. Two=
days more elapsed and still no sign of a breeze. He made sure that Septemb=
er 23d would find him still drifting and still in possession of one hundred=
thousand superfluous dollars. At the end of ten days the yacht had progres=
sed but two hundred miles and Monty was beginning to plan the rest of his e=
xistence on a capital of $100,000. He had given up all hope of the Sedgwick=
legacy and was trying to be resigned to his fate, when a tramp steamer was=
suddenly sighted. Brewster ordered the man on watch to fly a flag of distr=
ess. Then he reported to the captain and told what he had done. With a boun=
d the captain rushed on deck and tore the flag from the sailor' s hand. &qu=
ot; That was my order," said Monty, nettled at the captain' s manner. =
" You want them to get a line on us and claim salvage, do you?" &=
quot; What do you mean?" " If they get a line on us in response t=
o that flag they will claim the entire value of the ship as salvage. You wa=
nt to spend another $200,000 on this boat?" " I didn' t understan=
d," said Monty, sheepishly. " But for God' s sake fix it up someh=
ow. Can' t they tow us? I' ll pay for it." Communication was slow, but=
after an apparently endless amount of signaling, the captain finally annou=
nced that the freight steamer was bound for Southampton and would tow the &=
quot; Flitter" to that point for a price. " Back to Southampton!&=
quot; groaned Monty. " That means months before we get back to New Yor=
k." " He says he can get us to Southampton in ten days," int=
errupted the captain. " I can do it, I can do it," he cried, to t=
he consternation of his guests, who wondered if his mind were affected. &qu=
ot; If he' ll land us in Southampton by the 27th, I' ll pay him up to one h=
undred thousand dollars." CHAPTER XXIX THE PRODIGAL' S RETURN After wh=
at seemed an age to Monty, the " Flitter," in tow of the freighte=
r " Glencoe," arrived at Southampton. The captain of the freight =
boat was a thrifty Scotchman whose ship was traveling with a light cargo, a=
nd he was not, therefore, averse to taking on a tow. But the thought of sal=
vage had caused him to ask a high price for the service and Monty, after a =
futile attempt at bargaining, had agreed. The price was fifty thousand doll=
ars, and the young man believed more than ever that everything was ruled by=
a wise Providence, which had not deserted him. His guests were heartsick w=
hen they heard the figure, but were as happy as Monty at the prospect of re=
aching land again. The " Glencoe" made several stops before South=
ampton was finally reached on the 28th of August, but when the English coas=
t was sighted every one was too eager to go ashore to begrudge the extra da=
y. Dan DeMille asked the entire party to become his guests for a week' s sh=
ooting trip in Scotland, but Monty vetoed the plan in the most decided mann=
er. " We sail for New York on the fastest boat," said Monty, and =
hurried off to learn the sailings and book his party. The first boat was to=
sail on the 30th and he could only secure accommodations for twelve of his=
guests. The rest were obliged to follow a week later. This was readily agr=
eed to and Bragdon was left to see to the necessary repairs on the " F=
litter" and arrange for her homeward voyage. Monty gave Bragdon fiftee=
n thousand dollars for the purpose and extracted a solemn promise that the =
entire amount would be used. " But it won' t cost half of this," =
protested Bragdon. " You will have to give these people a good time du=
ring the week and--well--you have promised that I shall never see another p=
enny of it. Some day you' ll know why I do this," and Monty felt easie=
r when his friend agreed to abide by his wishes. He discharged the " F=
litter' s" crew, with five months' pay and the reward promised on the =
night of Peggy' s rescue, which was productive of touching emotions. Captai=
n Perry and his officers never forgot the farewell of the prodigal, nor cou=
ld they hide the regret that marked their weather-beaten faces. Plans to di=
spose of his household goods and the balance of his cash in the short time =
that would be left after he arrived in New York occupied Monty' s attention=
, and most men would have given up the scheme as hopeless. But he did not d=
espair. He was still game, and he prepared for the final plunge with grim d=
etermination. " There should have been a clause in Jones' s conditions=
about ' weather permitting,' " he said to himself. " A shipwreck=
ed mariner should not be expected to spend a million dollars." The div=
ision of the party for the two sailings was tactfully arranged by Mrs. Dan =
DeMille. The Valentines chaperoned the " second table" as " =
Subway" Smith called those who were to take the later boat, and she he=
rself looked after the first lot. Peggy Gray and Monty Brewster were in the=
DeMille party. The three days in England were marked by unparalleled extra=
vagance on Monty' s part. One of the local hotels was subsidized for a week=
, although the party only stayed for luncheon, and the Cecil in London was =
a gainer by several thousand dollars for the brief stop there. It was a car=
eworn little band that took Monty' s special train for Southampton and emba=
rked two days later. The " rest cure" that followed was welcome t=
o all of them and Brewster was especially glad that his race was almost run=
Swiftly and steadily the liner cut down the leagues that separated her fr=
om New York. Fair weather and fair cheer marked her course, and the soft, b=
almy nights were like seasons of fairyland. Monty was cherishing in his hea=
rt the hope inspired by Peggy' s action on the night of the storm. Somehow =
it brought a small ray of light to his clouded understanding and he found j=
oy in keeping the flame alive religiously if somewhat doubtfully. His eyes =
followed her constantly, searching for the encouragement that the very blin=
dness of love had hidden from him, forever tormenting himself with fears an=
d hopes and fears again. Her happiness and vivacity puzzled him--he was oft=
en annoyed, he was now and then seriously mystified. Four days out from New=
York, then three days, then two days, and then Brewster began to feel the =
beginning of the final whirlwind in profligacy clouding him oppressively, o=
minously, unkindly. Down in his stateroom he drew new estimates, new calcul=
ations, and tried to balance the old ones so that they appeared in the ligh=
t most favorable to his designs. Going over the statistics carefully, he es=
timated that the cruise, including the repairs and return of the yacht to N=
ew York, would cost him $210,000 in round figures. One hundred and thirty-t=
hree days marked the length of the voyage when reckoned by time and, as nea=
r as he could get at it, the expense had averaged $1,580 a day. According t=
o the contract, he was to pay for the yacht, exclusive of the cuisine and p=
ersonal service. And he had found it simple enough to spend the remaining $=
1,080. There were days, of course, when fully $5,000 disappeared, and there=
were others on which he spent much less than $1,000, but the average was s=
ecure. Taking everything into consideration, Brewster found that his fortun=
e had dwindled to a few paltry thousands in addition to the proceeds which =
would come to him from the sale of his furniture. On the whole he was satis=
fied. The landing in New York and the separation which followed were not en=
tirely merry. Every discomfort was forgotten and the travelers only knew th=
at the most wonderful cruise since that of the ark had come to an end. Ther=
e was not one who would not have been glad to begin it again the next day. =
Immediately after the landing Brewster and Gardner were busy with the detai=
ls of settlement. After clearing up all of the obligations arising from the=
cruise, they felt the appropriateness of a season of reflection. It was a =
difficult moment--a moment when undelivered reproofs were in the air. But G=
ardner seemed much the more melancholy of the two. Piles of newspapers lay =
scattered about the floor of the room In which they sat. Every one of them =
contained sensational stories of the prodigal' s trip, with pictures, incid=
ents and predictions. Monty was pained, humiliated and resentful, but he wa=
s honest enough to admit the justification of much that was said of him. He=
read bits of it here and there and then threw the papers aside hopelessly.=
In a few weeks they would tell another story, and quite as emphatically. &=
quot; The worst of it, Monty, is that you are the next thing to being a poo=
r man," groaned Gardner. " I' ve done my best to economize for yo=
u here at home, as you' ll see by these figures, but nothing could possibly=
balance the extravagances of this voyage. They are simply appalling."=
With the condemnation of his friends ringing in his troubled brain, with t=
he sneers of acquaintances to distress his pride, with the jibes of the com=
ic papers to torture him remorselessly, Brewster was fast becoming the most=
miserable man in New York. Friends of former days gave him the cut direct,=
clubmen ignored him or scorned him openly, women chilled him with the icin=
ess of unspoken reproof, and all the world was hung with shadows. The dogge=
dness of despair kept him up, but the strain that pulled down on him was so=
relentless that the struggle was losing its equality. He had not expected =
such a home-coming. Compared with his former self, Monty was now almost a p=
hysical wreck, haggard, thin and defiant, a shadow of the once debonair you=
ng New Yorker, an object of pity and scorn. Ashamed and despairing, he had =
almost lacked the courage to face Mrs. Gray. The consolation he once gained=
through her he now denied himself and his suffering, peculiar as it was, w=
as very real. In absolute recklessness he gave dinner after dinner, party a=
fter party, all on a most lavish scale, many of his guests laughing at him =
openly while they enjoyed his hospitality. The real friends remonstrated, p=
leaded, did everything within their power to check his awful rush to povert=
y, but without success; he was not to be stopped. At last the furniture beg=
an to go, then the plate, then ail the priceless bric-a-brac. Piece by piec=
e it disappeared until the apartments were empty and he had squandered almo=
st all of the $40,350 arising from the sales. The servants were paid off, t=
he apartments relinquished, and he was beginning to know what it meant to b=
e " on his uppers." At the banks he ascertained that the interest=
on his moneys amounted to $19,140.86. A week before the 23d of September, =
the whole million was gone, including the amounts won in Lumber and Fuel an=
d other luckless enterprises. He still had about $17,000 of his interest mo=
ney in the banks, but he had a billion pangs in his heart--the interest on =
his improvidence. He found some delight in the discovery that the servants =
had robbed him of not less than $3,500 worth of his belongings, including t=
he Christmas presents that he in honor could not have sold. His only encour=
agement came from Grant & Ripley, the lawyers. They inspired confidence=
in his lagging brain by urging him on to the end, promising brightness the=
reafter. Swearengen Jones was as mute as the mountains in which he lived. T=
here was no word from him, there was no assurance that he would approve of =
what had been done to obliterate Edwin Peter Brewster' s legacy. Dan DeMill=
e and his wife implored Monty to come with them to the mountains before his=
substance was gone completely. The former offered him money, employment, r=
est and security if he would abandon the course he was pursuing. Up in Fort=
ieth Street Peggy Gray was grieving her heart out and he knew it. Two or th=
ree of those whom he had considered friends refused to recognize him in the=
street in this last trying week, and it did not even interest him to learn=
that Miss Barbara Drew was to become a duchess before the winter was gone.=
Yet he found some satisfaction in the report that one Hampton of Chicago h=
ad long since been dropped out of the race. One day he implored the faithfu=
l Bragdon to steal the Boston terriers. He could not and would not sell the=
m and he dared not give them away. Bragdon dejectedly appropriated the dogs=
and Brewster announced that some day he would offer a reward for their ret=
urn and " no questions asked." He took a suite of rooms in a smal=
l hotel and was feverishly planning the overthrow of the last torturing tho=
usands. Bragdon lived with him and the " Little Sons of the Rich"=
stood loyally ready to help him when he uttered the first cry of want. But=
even this establishment had to be abandoned at last. The old rooms in Fort=
ieth Street were still open to him and though he quailed at the thought of =
making them a refuge, he faced the ordeal in the spirit of a martyr. CHAPTE=
R XXX THE PROMISE OF THRIFT " Monty, you are breaking my heart," =
was the first and only appeal Mrs. Gray ever made to him. It was two days b=
efore the twenty- third and it did not come until after the " second-h=
and store" men had driven away from her door with the bulk of his clot=
hing in their wagon. She and Peggy had seen little of Brewster, and his ner=
vous restlessness alarmed them. His return was the talk of the town. Men tr=
ied to shun him, but he persistently wasted some portion of his fortune on =
his unwilling subjects. When he gave $5,000 in cash to a Home for Newsboys,=
even his friends jumped to the conclusion that he was mad. It was his only=
gift to charity and he excused his motive in giving at this time by recall=
ing Sedgwick' s injunction to " give sparingly to charity." Every=
thing was gone from his thoughts but the overpowering eagerness to get rid =
of a few troublesome thousands. He felt like an outcast, a pariah, a hated =
object that infected every one with whom he came in contact. Sleep was almo=
st impossible, eating was a farce; he gave elaborate suppers which he did n=
ot touch. Already his best friends were discussing the advisability of putt=
ing him in a sanitarium where his mind might be preserved. His case was loo=
ked upon as peculiar in the history of mankind; no writer could find a para=
llel, no one imagine a comparison. Mrs. Gray met him in the hallway of her =
home as he was nervously pocketing the $60 he had received in payment for h=
is clothes. Her face was like that of a ghost. He tried to answer her repro=
of, but the words would not come, and he fled to his room, locking the door=
after him. He was at work there on the transaction that was to record the =
total disappearance of Edwin Brewster' s million--his final report to Swear=
engen Jones, executor of James Sedgwick' s will. On the floor were bundles =
of packages, carefully wrapped and tied, and on the table was the long shee=
t of white paper on which the report was being drawn. The package contained=
receipts-- thousands upon thousands of them--for the dollars he had spent =
in less than a year. They were there for the inspection of Swearengen Jones=
, faithfully and honorably kept--as if the old westerner would go over in d=
etail the countless documents. He had the accounts balanced up to the hour.=
On the long sheet lay the record of his ruthlessness, the epitaph of a mil=
lion. In his pocket was exactly $79.08. This was to last him for less than =
forty-eight hours and--then it would go to join the rest. It was his plan t=
o visit Grant & Ripley on the afternoon of the twenty- second and to re=
ad the report to them, in anticipation of the meeting with Jones on the day=
following. Just before noon, after his encounter with Mrs. Gray, he came d=
own stairs and boldly, for the first time in days, sought out Peggy. There =
was the old smile in his eye and the old heartiness in his voice when he ca=
me upon her in the library. She was not reading. Books, pleasures and all t=
he joys of life had fled from her mind and she thought only of the disaster=
that was coming to the boy she had always loved. His heart smote him as he=
looked into the deep, somber, frightened eyes, running over with love and =
fear for him. " Peggy, do you think I' m worth anything more from your=
mother? Do you think she will ask me to live here any longer?" he ask=
ed, steadily, taking her hand in his. Hers was cold, his as hot as fire. &q=
uot; You know what you said away off yonder somewhere, that she' d let me l=
ive here if I deserved it. I am a pauper, Peggy, and I' m afraid I' ll--I m=
ay have to get down to drudgery again. Will she turn me out? You know I mus=
t have somewhere to live. Shall it be the poorhouse? Do you remember saying=
one day that I' d end in the poorhouse?" She was looking into his eye=
s, dreading what might be seen in them. But there was no gleam of insanity =
there, there was no fever; instead there was the quiet smile of the man who=
is satisfied with himself and the world. His voice bore traces of emotion,=
but it was the voice of one who has perfect control of his wits. " Is=
it all--gone, Monty?" she asked, almost in a whisper. " Here is =
the residue of my estate," he said, opening his purse with steady fing=
ers. " I' m back to where I left off a year ago. The million is gone a=
nd my wings are clipped." Her face was white, her heart was in the clu=
tch of ice. How could he be so calm about it, when for him she was sufferin=
g such agony? Twice she started to speak, but her voice failed her. She tur=
ned slowly and walked to the window, keeping her back to the man who smiled=
so sadly and yet so heartlessly. " I didn' t want the million, Peggy,=
" he went on. " You think as the rest do, I know, that I was a fo=
ol to act as I did. It would be rank idiocy on my part to blame you any mor=
e than the others for thinking as you do. Appearances are against me, the p=
roof is overwhelming. A year ago I was called a man, to-day they are stripp=
ing me of every claim to that distinction. The world says I am a fool, a do=
lt, almost a criminal--but no one believes I am a man. Peggy, will you feel=
better toward me if I tell you that I am going to begin life all over agai=
n? It will be a new Monty Brewster that starts out again in a few days, or,=
if you will, it shall be the old one--the Monty you once knew." </p>=
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