SO FAR, SO GOOD.
Lewis Rand had displayed his usual sagacity in selecting Mr. Sharp as
his agent in the affair which now occupied so large a share of his
attention. The worthy attorney was not particularly scrupulous, and the
thought that he was lending his aid to defraud, did not have the least
effect in disturbing Mr. Sharp’s tranquillity. Indeed, he considered it
a stroke of remarkably good luck that he should have secured so
promising a client, through whom his rather limited income was likely to
receive so important an accession. To do him justice he intended to
devote his best exertions to the case now in his hands, and insure the
success of his client if it could in any manner be compassed.
For several evenings subsequent to the interview described in the last
chapter, Mr. Sharp found it convenient to walk for an hour or more
towards the close of the afternoon. Singularly enough he never varied
his promenade, always selecting the neighborhood of the Park. It was his
custom to walk slowly up and down, attentively scanning the different
groups that passed under his eye. But among the thousands who passed
him, he could for some time discover none that resembled the description
furnished by his client.
It chanced that Helen and her father had suspended their walks for a few
days, in consequence of a slight indisposition on the part of the
latter. This, however, Mr. Sharp could not be expected to know. His
hopes of ultimate success diminished, and although he continued his
daily walks, he began to be apprehensive that they would result in
nothing. But one evening as he was glancing restlessly about him, his
eye fell upon a plainly-dressed man, above the middle height, but
stooping, walking hand in hand with a young girl. Their ages seemed to
correspond with those given by Lewis Rand.
The thought flashed upon Mr. Sharp that these might be the two persons
of whom he was in search. Judging that they might let fall something in
their conversation which would decide the matter, he followed closely
behind them. But unluckily for the lawyer’s purpose, Mr. Ford was in one
of his not uncommon fits of abstraction, and maintained an unbroken
silence.
Mr. Sharp pondered, and set his wits to work to devise some method by
which he could gain the information he desired. At length it occurred to
him that the little girl’s name was Helen, and this might help to
identify her.
After a while Helen and her father slackened their pace. Mr. Sharp took
up a position behind them. Assuming an air of unconcern, he pronounced,
in a low tone, the word “Helen,” at the same time slipping dexterously
behind an old gentleman of somewhat aldermanic proportions who had just
come up.
On hearing her name pronounced, Helen turned quickly around as Mr. Sharp
had anticipated. Her eyes rested on the grave features of the
respectable old gentleman before alluded to. He was not even looking at
her. Evidently it could not be he. She did not observe the somewhat
flashily attired gentleman behind, whose red locks contrasted so vividly
with the grayish white hat somewhat jauntily perched on the side of his
head. Supposing, therefore, that her ears must have deceived her, she
turned away. Her sudden movement, however, had not been unobserved by
the watchful eyes of the lawyer.
“That must be she,” he said to himself. “She would scarcely have turned
round so quickly on hearing any other name than her own. That’s the
first link in the chain, Sharp. You’ve got a little to build upon now.
Now we’ll see how well you will succeed in following it up.”
Mr. Sharp was in the habit of apostrophizing himself in such familiar
terms as “old fellow,” and would indulge in commendations, or otherwise,
of his conduct, as if of a second person.
When Helen and her father left the spot, they were followed at a little
distance by the lawyer, whose object of course, was to ascertain where
they lived. His curiosity was gratified. Helen entered Mother Morton’s
boarding-house, quite unconscious that she had been followed. A rapid
glance satisfied Mr. Sharp of the name and number which were at once
transferred to his note-book.
“So far, so good,” thought he, with inward satisfaction. “I must inform
my client forthwith, and then we can decide upon further steps.”
So elated was Mr. Sharp by the discovery that he had made, that he
stepped into a saloon on Broadway, and indulged in potations so very
generous, that he narrowly escaped arrest by a policeman on the way
home.
Helen, meanwhile, was becoming daily more and more troubled in mind. Her
father was so wrapped up in his model that he could think of nothing
else. To her, accordingly, had been committed the common purse, and upon
her had devolved the duty of providing for their daily wants, as well as
discharging the rent which was due once in four weeks. She therefore
knew more of their pecuniary condition than her father. She had been
repeatedly alarmed at the rapid diminution of the funds placed in her
hands, and this, notwithstanding she exercised the strictest economy in
all their expenses. For some time, as we have seen, she had eked out
their scanty means by working for the slop-shops. Now, however, there
was a lull in the clothing business, and this resource was temporarily
cut off. How heavily upon the young and inexperienced falls the burden
of pecuniary trouble! Helen saw with a feeling of dismay that a few
weeks would find their means exhausted. What would become of them then,
she did not dare to think. If only her father’s invention could be
completed before that time, she thought, in her simplicity, that all
would be well. Of the long years before even a successful invention can
be made profitable, she knew nothing. She trusted implicitly to her
father’s confident assurances, and never doubted that some time they
would become rich through his discovery. This consideration, however,
did not afford her present relief. Although her father labored
assiduously, it did not appear to her unpractised eye that he was any
nearer the end than he had been six months before. Confident as she was
of his final success, the question how they should live in the mean time
assumed grave importance, and occasioned her not a little perplexity.
If Helen could have shared her doubts and anxieties with some one who
might have sympathized with her, she would have felt less troubled. But
there seemed to be no one to whom she could speak freely. She was only
too anxious to keep it from her father, who, she felt instinctively,
could give her little or no assistance. She thought of speaking to Mrs.
Morton, but the fear lest, if she should acknowledge her poverty, the
latter might be unwilling to allow them to retain their room any longer,
restrained her.
We have before mentioned the humble seamstress, Martha Grey, who
occupied the room beneath that of Mr. Ford. Though plain in appearance,
and of quiet demeanor, Helen had been attracted by the expression of
goodness which lighted up her face. Sometimes, when her father seemed
wholly immersed in his labors, she would steal down stairs and spend a
quiet hour in Martha’s company.
On one of these occasions Martha had a visitor. Although introduced as a
cousin, one could scarcely imagine a greater contrast than existed
between her and Martha. Her dress was more showy than tasteful, and
evidently occupied a large share of her attention. She was employed in a
millinery establishment where she earned good wages,—twice as much as
Martha,—but saved nothing, expending everything upon personal adornment.
She lacked entirely the refinement and quiet dignity of her cousin. In
spite of her humble circumstances, Martha would have been recognized by
any one possessing discernment as a lady. Her cousin, in spite of her
dress, was never in any danger of being mistaken for one. Her manner
towards Martha, however, was a patronizing one, and she evidently
considered herself as occupying a much higher position than the
seamstress.
“I am astonished, Martha,” said she, glancing contemptuously at the
plain room, and plainer furniture, “that you should be willing to live
in such a hole. I believe if I was cooped up here I should die of
loneliness in less than a week.”
“I find it very comfortable,” said Martha, composedly.
“Yes, I suppose it will do. It will keep out the rain and wind, and is
better than nothing, of course. But I want something better than that.”
“I am very well contented,” said Martha, “and even if I were not, I
could afford no better.”
“Do you stay here all the time? Don’t you ever go to concerts or the
theatre?”
“No.”
“What a humdrum life you must lead! It’s Wednesday afternoon. Suppose we
go to the theatre. There’s going to be a splendid play.”
Martha hesitated.
There is so little to excite or interest in the monotonous life of a
hard-working seamstress, that she really longed to throw aside the
needle, and accept her cousin’s invitation.
“I should like to go,” she said at length, “but I am afraid I ought not
to spend either the time or the money.”
“Then I’ll make you a fair offer. If you’ll spare the time, I’ll spare
the money. I’ll buy the tickets. Won’t you go, too?” she continued,
turning to Helen. “I’ll pay for you.”
Helen looked at Martha who nodded kindly, and said, “Did you ever go to
the theatre, Helen!”
“No, Martha.”
“Then you had better come. You can come back with me.”
“Thank you,” said Helen. “I will see if father needs me.”
She hastened up stairs, but found that her father, absorbed in his
engrossing employment, had not even been aware of her absence.
“Do you think you can spare me for two or three hours, papa?” she asked.
“I have been invited to go out.”
She had to repeat the question before her father comprehended.
“Go, by all means, my dear child,” he answered. “I am afraid you confine
yourself too much on my account.”
Helen was soon ready. She went out with Martha Grey and her cousin, and
a few minutes found them standing before a large building with a
spacious entrance.
“This is the theatre,” said Martha, addressing herself to Helen.
Helen little thought of the consequences that were to follow this—her
first entrance within the walls of a theatre.