Mr. Astor went into the
cabin, and proceeded to write what was expected to be a draft for ten
thousand dollars in favor of the owners of the ship on his agent in New
York. He handed to the captain the result of his efforts. It was a paper
covered with writing that was totally illegible.
"'What is this?' asked the captain.
"'A draft upon my son for ten thousand dollars,' was the reply.
"'But no one can read it.'
"'O yes, my son will know what it is. My hand trembles so that I can not
write any better.'
"'But,' said the captain, 'you can at least write your name. I am acting
for the owners of the ship, and I can not risk their property for a
piece of paper that no one can read. Let one of the gentlemen draw up a
draft in proper form; you sign it, and I will put you ashore.'
"The old gentleman would not consent to this mode of proceeding, and the
affair was dropped."
During the last twenty years of his life Mr. Astor lived in the
retirement of his family, leaving even the greater part of the
management of his estate to the hands of others. He was exceedingly fond
of literary men. Irving was his friend, and Halleck his business
manager.
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