particular business with my uncle.
“The president of the Forty-Ninth speaks well of you, Paley,” said my
uncle, good-naturedly. “I was glad to hear it, for I had a hint that
you were going a little too fast. Bristlebach and I talked the matter
over yesterday.”
“I’m glad you found it all right. Have you my note in your pocket now?”
I continued, rather stiffly.
“Yes, I have it.”
I drew my wallet, and took out the three hundred dollars I had just
borrowed.
“You needn’t trouble yourself about that just now,” said he, laughing.
“I don’t like to be driven into so close a corner as you put me into a
little while ago. Here is the amount of the note, with the interest.”
“What I said was spoken under a misapprehension. You needn’t pay the
note till you get ready.”
“I am ready now, uncle.”
“Of course, I don’t object to taking the money; but I didn’t mean to
press you.”
“Didn’t you, indeed? You gave me three days to pay the note, and
threatened to trustee my salary if it was not paid in that time. If
that was not pressing me, I took it as a gentle hint. If I don’t know
any better than to borrow money of my relations another time, I ought
to be hung for being a fool.”
“I am sorry now that I said any thing, Paley. I will take it all back.”
“Take principal and interest also, and I shall be satisfied.”
It was not in his nature to refuse money under any circumstances. He
gave up my note and pocketed the amount. It is quite probable that he
wondered where I had obtained the funds so readily, and he even hinted
at a desire to be enlightened on the subject. Perhaps he would suspect
that I had taken them from the vault of the bank; but if he consulted
Mr. Bristlebach on the matter, the messenger could inform him that the
vault had not been opened during my last visit. To remove any such
disagreeable impression as this from his mind, I said something about
having a sum of money due me from a friend which I had kept in reserve
for another purpose.
After the excellent character which the president had given me, I think
my uncle was satisfied. He apologized for the sharpness of his words
and declared that he had more regard for my moral welfare than for
any thing else. Perhaps he had, but his ideas of morality were very
indefinite, for he had helped me into my situation by pulling down Tom,
though I must do him the justice to say that he helped my friend into
his present situation, by declaring that new light entirely convinced
him of the innocence of Tom.
I left my uncle with the feeling that I had completely overwhelmed
him, and made him blush for his conduct. I was satisfied that I could
borrow five hundred dollars of him within a reasonable time, and with
a reasonable explanation of the necessity. The affairs of the day had
improved rather than injured my reputation. My integrity and honesty
stood at the highest point. I had made a friend of the cashier, who had
stupidly placed himself in my power when open conduct would have served
him better in the end. I owed no more than before, but I had hampered
myself with a promise to pay Tom Flynn four hundred dollars the next
Monday. I had said Monday, because I had a faint hope that I might go
down to Springhaven on Saturday and get the amount out of my aunt, who
had at least another thousand dollars salted down in her bureau.
There was time enough to think of this matter before the day of
payment; but, if the worst came, Tom could easily be cajoled, and even
made to insist upon my retaining the money another week or another
month. While all these events were transpiring, the unfortunate
relations which I sustained to my beautiful wife were hardly out of my
mind for a moment. It was nearly six o’clock when I started for home,
and all my thoughts were then of Lilian and the new house.
I was tempted to recede from my hard and trying situation, and I
probably should have done so if I had not been endowed with a certain
obstinacy, sometimes called firmness. It seemed to me that my wife was
not my wife while she remained in the home of “dear ma.” Her mother had
more influence over her than I had, and I could not be happy till I
had redeemed her from this bondage. My mother-in-law was swindling me
for the benefit of her unmarried daughters. I could not endure it any
longer, and come what would come, I would not. I entered the house the
saddest and most miserable man in the whole city.
The hour for final action had come. I had informed Lilian that I
should move into the English basement house that day. I had ordered an
express wagon to come for my luggage at seven o’clock. We had nothing
to move but our trunks, in which, for the want of suitable closets, our
clothing was still kept. I had seen Biddy in the morning, and told her
to have supper for me at half-past seven. I went up to our room. Lilian
was there. I saw that she had been crying, but whether from grief or
from anger I could not tell. I put my arm around her neck and kissed
her, as I always did, when I came into the house.
“You are late, Paley,” said she, in forced tones of calmness.
“I was detained at the bank by the president,” I replied. “But the
wagon will be here at seven, Lilian.”
“The wagon? What wagon?” she asked.
“The wagon to take our trunks to Needham Street, Lilian.”
“You do not mean that, Paley?” said she, looking up into my face, while
her lips quivered and her chest heaved with emotion.
“Of course I mean it, Lilian.”
“Do you mean to say that you intend to drag me to that house, whether I
am willing to go or not?”
“Certainly not. I have never hinted at any thing of the kind. I only
say that I am going; and going at seven o’clock this evening.”
“O, Paley! I did not think you would do such a thing!” sobbed she.
“I did not think, Lilian, after I had done all I could to please you;
after I had carried out the arrangement we agreed upon when we came to
board at your mother’s; after I had nearly ruined myself in fitting
up the house, that you would refuse to live in it,” I pleaded. “I
acknowledge that I have done wrong, but I cannot help it now. If you
will go to the new house with me, I will promise to give it up in a
reasonable time, if you are not happy there.”
“I will _not_ go, Paley! I have said it, and I mean it,” said she,
spitefully.
“Very well. I am going at seven o’clock,” I replied, sadly enough.
I began to pack my trunk, while she sobbed in her chair.
_CHAPTER IX._
A LONELY HOUSE.
“DO you mean to desert me, Paley?” asked Lilian, sobbing bitterly.
“Does it look as though I meant to desert you when I have nearly ruined
myself to provide a house that would please you?” I replied, as gently
as I could speak, for I was not angry.
“But you say you will go to that house without me?” she added, looking
up as if she had a gleam of hope that I did not mean what I said.
“I did say so, Lilian. I am going at seven o’clock, when the express
wagon comes.”
“Don’t you call that deserting me?”
“No, Lilian; it will not be that I desert you, but you desert me.”
“But I never will go into that house,” said she, sharply, as she dashed
away the tears that filled her eyes.
“Very well; then we need say no more about it,” I answered, placing the
last of my wearing apparel in the trunk, and locking it.
I did not think you would be so cruel, Paley.”
“Cruel, Lilian! Do I ask anything unreasonable?”
“I think you do. You come home, and wish to pack me off at half an
hour’s notice into a strange house.”
“I think I spoke of the matter last night, and told you I intended to
go. If the time is too short, you may fix a day yourself to move. Name
the time you will go, three days, a week, a month hence, and I will not
object.”
“I shall name no time. I will not live in that house!”
“Then we may as well settle the matter now as at any other time,” I
replied, with Spartan firmness.
“You will leave me, Paley?”
“I will.”
“O, Paley! Have I lost all influence over you?”
“I do not believe in this sort of influence. I repeat that I have done
everything to please you; and before I told you that the house was for
you, were you not delighted with it?”
This was a sore subject to her. I knew very well that she liked the
house herself. Her mother intended to keep us in our present quarters,
for the sake of the income to be derived from us. She could board
us for ten dollars a week, and make something even at that, for salt
fish and round steak form a cheap diet. I estimated that it cost five
hundred dollars a year apiece to clothe the two younger daughters, and
the profits on my board more than paid the bills. This was the whole
matter in a nutshell. I do not think that Lilian was a party directly
to the conspiracy, but she knew that it would upset all her mother’s
plans if we left. Unfortunately for me, I had given the impression that
I was made of money; that I not only had a large salary, but that I was
the heir of Aunt Rachel, whose wealth was supposed to equal the capital
of the Bank of England.
My wife was too proud to acknowledge that she had any interest in her
mother’s scheme; it was safer to say that she did not like the house.
I knew that her family was reduced to the greatest straits; that
Mr. Oliphant’s income was utterly insufficient to keep up the style
of former years. I knew that Mrs. Oliphant pinched herself in every
possible way, that the prospects of her two unmarried daughters might
not be injured. But I felt that I had done enough for the family when
I relieved them of one mouth to feed, and one form to clothe. It
certainly was not fair that I should pay the extravagant expenses of
making the world believe that my wife’s two sisters were fine ladies.
I was fighting the battle for my own independence, and not less for
that of my wife. I know that mothers-in-law are shamefully traduced,
but only because such a one as Mrs. Oliphant is taken as a type of the
whole class. I regard her as the exception, not the rule. Her plan
required that she should hold my wife as a slave within the maternal
home. In little things, I found that Lilian consulted the will of her
strong-minded mother, rather than my feelings. For example, I once
overheard Mrs. Oliphant tell my wife to induce me to go to a certain
concert, simply because Miss Bertha desired to go. Lilian did induce me
to go, and I went. She came up to the point by regular approaches. Not
a word was said about Miss Bertha till I was closing the door behind
me, as I went to the bank, when it was—“By the way, Paley, don’t you
think we had better ask Bertha to go with us?” Of course I thought so,
and she went with us. Lilian did not care a straw for the concert;
neither did I.
This is only a specimen of the manner in which I was victimized. I not
only dressed the two marriageable sisters, but I was to introduce them
into society, by paying their bills at concerts, theatres, parties and
balls. But this was not the most objectionable part of the arrangement.
I could not endure the thought of having my wife made the cat’s paw for
the monkey to pull the chestnuts out of the fire. She was not my wife,
in the just and proper sense of the word. She did not think so much
of my interests and my happiness as she did of her mother’s will and
wish. Neither of us was to live for each other, but both of us for the
Oliphants’ ambitious schemes. So thoroughly was I persuaded in my own
mind of the justness of my position, that I was determined to stick to
it, even if it resulted in a complete separation.
The door-bell rang, and we heard the sound of it in our room. I looked
out the window. An express wagon stood before the door. The crisis had
come, but I was as resolute as ever, and I expected to spend the night
alone in the house in Needham Street.
“A man at the door wants to see you, Paley,” said Mrs. Oliphant, who
did not keep a servant.
I went down to the door, and brought the man up with me. Lilian and
her mother stood aghast. They appeared to be utterly confounded, and
neither of them spoke in the presence of the stranger.
“That trunk,” I said to the expressman.
“Is that all?” asked he.
“That is all,” I replied, giving him the number of the house in Needham
Street.
The man picked up the trunk and I followed him down stairs. I paid
him, and he went off with my baggage. I was not willing to leave my
wife without saying good-by to her, for I had some hope that she would
yet relent. When my hand was on the door which I intended to close,
Lilian called me from the stairs above. She came down, followed by Mrs.
Oliphant. I hoped that both of them would understand me by this time.
“What’s the matter, Paley?” asked “dear ma,” trying to look pleasant.
“Nothing is the matter,” I replied, not caring to discuss the question
with her.
“Lilian tells me you are going to your new house.”
“Doubtless she told you that before.”
“But I did not think you would go off and leave her.”
“Such is my purpose, unless she decides to go with me.”
“Of course it is not for me to say any thing about it,” she added,
in her magnanimous way. “But I must say I think you are a little
unreasonable.”
“Well, Mrs. Oliphant, I don’t care about discussing the subject any
more. If Lilian chooses to desert me I can’t help myself.”
“Desert you! Goodness gracious! I should think it was just the other
way, and you are deserting her.”
“I think not. If I provide a suitable home for my wife, it seems to me
that she ought to occupy it with me,” I answered, meekly. “I do not
wish to be unreasonable, but I think Lilian will admit that our plan
discussed, and agreed to while we were on our bridal tour, was to go
to housekeeping. I have provided a pleasant house, near yours, and
furnished it in a style much better than I can afford. I have told her
that, after occupying the house for six months or a year, if it does
not suit her, I will conform to her wishes, whatever they may be. I
think my view is a reasonable one, and I intend to adhere to it.”
“Is she to go there whether she wants to or not?” demanded Mrs.
Oliphant.
“Am I to stay here whether I want to or not?” I replied. “In the matter
of housekeeping, I consulted her, and we were of the same mind.”
“You will not leave me, Paley, will you?” pleaded Lilian, satisfied
that her mother was making no headway in solving the problem.
“No; but you will leave me, Lilian. I am going now.”
“Don’t go, Paley!”
“Will you name a time when you will go with me, Lilian?”
“I cannot go, Paley! Indeed I cannot.”
“Good-by then, Lilian,” I replied, kissing her, while the tears gushed
from my eyes.
I rushed from the house, without stopping to close the door behind me.
I wiped away my tears as I crossed the street at a furious pace. I
walked till I had subdued the emotions which crowded upon me. It was
half an hour before I dared to present myself before the Biddy I had
engaged, lest she should fathom the secret that worried me. I rang the
bell at my house, and the servant admitted me. She opened her eyes wide
when she saw me alone.
“Where is the missus?” asked she.
“She has concluded not to come, to-night,” I replied, hanging up my hat
in the hall.
“The pretty crayture! Sure I’m dyin’ to have her in the house wit me!”
exclaimed Bridget. “Is it sick she is?”
[Illustration: Biddy.]
“She don’t feel very well this evening,” I replied evasively.
“Sure the supper is all ready for the two of ye’s. The tay is drawn
this half hour, and the crame toast is breakin’ in flitters wid waitin’
for ye’s.”
“Very well; I will have my supper immediately.”
The tea and the toast were certainly good enough even for Lilian;
but it was the most miserable supper to which I ever sat down. My
heart seemed to be almost broken. I lighted the gas in the little
sitting-room, and threw myself into the rocking-chair. I looked around
the apartment. Everything was neat, tasty and pleasant. Was it possible
that Lilian refused to share such a palace with me? No; it was not
her fault. With her mother’s permission how gladly she would have
taken her place by my side. Mrs. Oliphant evidently had not given me
credit for any considerable amount of resolution. She was “the better
horse” in her own matrimonial relations, and she found it difficult
to comprehend any other than a similar arrangement in her daughter’s
family.
I tried to read the newspaper I had brought home with me, but my
thoughts were with Lilian. I turned over the leaves of the books I had
laid on the centre-table. I went into the dining-room and smoked. I was
almost worn out with fatigue and excitement. I was miserable beyond
description. I went to bed at midnight, and I went to sleep, but it was
only to dream of Lilian, goading and persecuting me, led on by a demon
who was always at her side.
I rose in the morning, and found my breakfast ready at the time I had
ordered it. It was such a breakfast as Lilian liked, but she was not
there to enjoy it, and I groaned in spirit. I must go to the bank. I
was not to see my wife, but I decided to write her a line—it was only
a line:
“_Dearest Lilian_:—I shall _hope_ to find you at our new home when I
come up from the bank.
“PALEY.”
I sent Biddy to deliver it, and told her not to wait for an answer.
I went to the bank. Everything was “lovely” there. Even Mr. Bristlebach
was “lovely;” and that was a most unusual attitude for him. Captain
Halliard dropped in to see me. He was “lovely.” Tom Flynn was in
excellent spirits; but he took occasion to tell me something about his
business affairs, so that I could distinctly understand what a sad
mishap it would be to him if I should fail to pay him the four hundred
dollars I owed him on Monday. I felt that I must pay him, and I decided
to visit Springhaven on Saturday, and cajole Aunt Rachel into lending
me the amount.
I went through my duties mechanically, but that day I lived on hope. I
had ordered my dinner at home at half past three, which was the hour
I usually dined. Lilian knew my habits, and I felt almost sure that I
should find her in Needham Street. I believed that she loved me, and I
could not believe that she would desert me. How my heart beat when I
went into the English basement house! How it sank within me when Biddy
failed to tell me that the “missus” was there. I dared not ask her
any questions, lest she should discover the anxiety under which I was
laboring.
I looked into the sitting-room. It was as empty as the tomb of all I
desired to see. I went into the dining-room. The table was set for two,
but one of the plates seemed to mock me. Lilian was not there. She was
not in the kitchen. I went up stairs, but the same oppressive vacancy
haunted every spot in the house. No Lilian was there, and without her
the house was not home. The casket and all its appliances were there,
but no jewel flashed upon my waiting, longing eyes.
There was no note in reply to mine. Biddy did not deliver any message
to me. It was plain enough that she had not heard from the “missus.” I
was sure that Lilian loved me, and that if left to herself she would
come to me, even if I had been lodged in a prison instead of the palace
I had provided for her. I ate my dinner alone and in silence. The
dinner was a good one, but it would have been the same thing to me if
the roast beef and mashed potato had been chips and shavings, so far as
I had any interest in their flavor.
When the meal was finished I left the house, and wandered about the
streets till tea-time. I kept walking without going anywhere; I kept
thinking without knowing what I was thinking about. After I had
been to supper, and Biddy had finished her work, she came into the
sitting-room where I was looking at the blank sheets of the newspaper
I held in my hand. She begged my pardon for coming. She wanted to know
when the “missus” was to be at the house. I evaded an answer. She told
me she couldn’t stay in a house with no missus in it. She didn’t “spake
to a sowl all day long,” and she couldn’t “shtop in a house wid only
a man in it. She had a char_rack_ter, and people would be talking if
she shtopped in a house wid only a man in it.” Of course I was utterly
confounded at this complication of the difficulty, but I told her that
if the “missus” was not able to come by Monday she might go, and I
would pay her wages for an additional week.
“God bless your honor! but is the missus sick?” she asked.
“She is not very well, and does not like to leave her mother yet.”
She appeared to be satisfied, and I was permitted to spend another
miserable night in the loneliness of my new home. I heard nothing from
Lilian. I thought she might, at least, send me a note in reply to mine;
but I knew that she acted upon the advice of “dear ma.” That strong
minded woman evidently intended to bring me to terms. If possible, I
was more resolute than ever.
Before I went to the bank the next morning I decided to write one more
note—one which could not fail to bring the unpleasant matter to an
issue within twenty-four hours. It was in the form of an advertisement,
as follows:—
“Whereas, my wife, Lilian O. Glasswood, has left my bed and board,
without justifiable cause, I hereby give notice that I shall pay no
debts of her contracting, after this date.
“_Boston, Aug._—. PALEY GLASSWOOD.
“Shall I insert the above in to-morrow’s papers?
P. G.”
I sent this epistle to Mr. Oliphant’s by Biddy. Though it was directed
to Lilian, it was intended for her mother.
_CHAPTER X._
MY WIFE AND I.
I KNEW very well that this note would produce a tremendous sensation in
the Oliphant family, and, as I walked down to the bank, I considered
whether so violent a demonstration was justifiable. But I soon came to
the conclusion that it was not a mere feint, and that if my wife would
not live with me in Needham Street, she could not live with me anywhere
else. If she did not choose to share my lot in the pretty residence I
had provided for her, I would not pay her board in Tremont Street.
I wanted my wife. I had not married Mrs. Oliphant, and was willing to
dispense with the benefit of her advice. Perhaps it was reckless in
me to do so, but no man had ever made up his mind on any point more
decidedly than I had made up mine on this one. I attended to my duties
as usual, but there was a sort of grimness about everything I did which
astonished me, if it did not any one else.
At my usual hour I rang the bell of my house with a more intense
anxiety than had before agitated me. If the savage measure I had taken
did not bring Lilian and her mother to their senses, nothing would,
and the breach must be regarded as permanent. I hoped and confidently
expected to find my wife in the house, and I braced my nerves for the
scene which must ensue. Biddy opened the door, with a sweet smile on
her face which augured well for my anticipations.
“There’s a bit of a letther on the table for ye’s, sir,” said she, as I
hung up my hat in the hall. “Shtop! and I’ll bring it to ye’s.”
“A bit of a letther!” Was that all? Of course it was from Lilian.
She did not intend to surrender without conditions, Biddy handed
me the missive. It was in my wife’s pretty hand-writing, but I was
disappointed, and more than ever disposed to be morose. I opened the
envelope.
“Come and see me this afternoon, Paley.
“LILIAN.”
That was all. The case did not look hopeful. If I went I must fight the
battle with “dear ma.” I promptly decided that it would be worse than
folly for me to heed this request. It was only an ingenious device of
Mrs. Oliphant to carry her point by some new strategy. To go would be
to throw myself into the toils of the enemy.
Biddy stood looking at me while I read the “bit of a letther.” If she
did not suspect the trouble, she was more stupid than I supposed. She
was a good girl, though her manners needed some improvement. If the
wife was ill, the place of the husband was at her side. My gem of the
Green Isle could reason out this proposition without exploding her
brain. She must understand that a family tempest was gathering.
“Av coorse the bit of a letther is from the missus,” said she. “I hope
she is betther.”
“Is dinner ready, Biddy?” I replied, trying to laugh.
“All ready, sir. Sure the missus must be betther, for she brought the
letther herself.”
“She is better, Biddy. There is trouble between us.”
“Faix, I knew it from the firsht!”
“Let me have my dinner now, and we will talk about it another time.”
She seemed to be proud to have even so much of my confidence, and she
flew around with an alacrity which was as creditable to her locomotive
powers as it was to her Irish heart. Even her looks were full of
respectful sympathy. I sat down to the table, and taking her place
behind my chair, she waited upon me with a zeal which would have shamed
the black coats of a fashionable hotel.
“In a word, Biddy, my wife refuses to live in this house with me.
That’s all the trouble we have,” said I, as I began to eat my dinner.
“Bad luck to her for that same!”
It was very undignified for me to say anything to my servant, or to
any one, indeed, about a matter of this kind, but I was absolutely
hungry for a confidant to whom I could pour out my griefs. If the
matter was to go any farther, I intended to send for Tom Flynn, and
talk over the situation with him. It seemed as though my brain would
burst, if I could not relieve it by exhibiting the cause of my sorrows.
If Biddy had not known so much I would not have told her any more. I
had informed her in the beginning about the “pleasant surprise” I was
preparing for my wife. She had seen Lilian when she called, and it
was stupid in me to attempt to conceal anything from her. I explained
to her the difficulty as far as I deemed it necessary. Biddy was my
strongest friend, then. She would not have left me even to save her
“char_rack_ter.”
She rehearsed the whole matter, declared that I was an angel, and the
house a palace. It was not only unreasonable, but cruel and barbarous,
for my wife to refuse to share my lot. Thus spake Biddy, and I endorsed
her sentiments. When I had finished my dinner I wrote a brief note to
Lilian, declining to see her again, until we could meet in “our own
house.” Biddy was a zealous messenger. She was instructed to deliver
it without any words, and without answering any questions, for I was
afraid she would take the matter into her own hands, and complicate the
difficulty by attempting to fight my battle for me.
An hour later came the reply to my note. Lilian wrote that she was
“quite indisposed,” and unable to leave the house that day. She wished
to see me very much, and begged me not to deny her this favor. Perhaps
she was sick. So was I—sick at heart. It would not be strange if the
intense excitement attending this affair had made her ill; it had made
me so. But I knew she was not so ill that she could not leave the
house. She had delivered her own letter in the forenoon when she knew I
was at the bank. Yet, if I did not see her when she was sick, it would
make the story tell with damaging effect upon me. I decided to see
her at once—to see her as my sick wife, and not to make terms in the
quarrel.
In five minutes I rang the bell at the door of Mr. Oliphant’s house. It
was opened as usual by Mrs. Oliphant. A smile of triumph played upon
her face as she stood aside to permit me to pass into the hall.
“I am glad you have concluded to come, Paley,” said she.
This remark indicated that she was already in possession of the
contents of my last note; in fact that she, and not Lilian, was
fighting the battle.
“Is Lilian sick?” I inquired.
“She is not very well.”
“I will go up and see her.”
I went up.
“O, Paley! how can you be so cruel?” exclaimed she, with much nervous
excitement.
“Are you sick, Lilian?” I replied, taking her hand, and kissing her as
though nothing had happened.
“I _am_ sick, Paley.”
“I am sorry, Lilian.”
“Do you think I am made of iron?”
“Shall I go for Dr. Ingoldson?”
“I do not need a doctor so much as I need peace.”
“We both need that.”
“Are you going to drive me into that hateful house?”
“Certainly not, Lilian.”
“Did you write that cruel note which came this morning, Paley? I cannot
believe it.”
“I did write it, Lilian; but if you are sick we will not talk about
that,” I replied, tenderly, but firmly.
“But we must talk about it. Do you mean to say that you will print that
horrid advertisement?”
“Most certainly I shall, if you persist in your present course. It is
not right for me to support a wife who will not live with me. If you
are sick, we will defer all action until you are better.”
“I am not well, but I wanted to see you about this awful business. Have
you ceased to love me, Paley?”
“No, Lilian.”
Perhaps Mrs. Oliphant had tried to stay down stairs, and permit her
daughter to pour out her griefs to me alone; but if she had tried, she
had not succeeded; and at this stage of the interview she entered the
room, without the ceremony of knocking.
“I am glad you have come, Paley, for we want to talk over this
disagreeable business.”
“Lilian’s note informed me that she was sick, and I came to see her,
but not to talk over any matter. If she is ill—”
“She isn’t very ill,” interposed Mrs. Oliphant.
I thought not; at least not too ill to discuss the exciting topic.
“I am glad she is not very ill. If she is, I will stay at her side and
do all that a husband should do for a sick wife.”
“O, we can take care of her! But I wanted to ask you if you really
intended to put that advertisement into the newspapers?”
“You will excuse me, but I have nothing to say on that subject beyond
what I expressed in my note. If Lilian does not need any assistance
from me, I will go. If Lilian is ill, I will defer the insertion of the
advertisement until Monday morning.”
“O, Paley!” gasped Lilian.
“Are you such a monster!” exclaimed Mrs. Oliphant, her lips compressed
and her eyes flashing in such a way as to indicate in what manner poor
Oliphant had been conquered.
“I have nothing more to say, madam,” I replied, with all the dignity I
could command.
I moved towards the door. Mrs. Oliphant was proceeding to rehearse the
enormity of my offence, when I clipped the wings of her rhetoric by
opening the door.
“Good-by, Lilian, if we are to meet no more,” I added. “On Monday it
will be too late.”
I retreated down the stairs, and fled from the house, though Mrs.
Oliphant made a lively pursuit as far as the street door, calling upon
me with all her might to return.
I know that my lady readers are branding me as a barbarian, but I
beg to remind them again that I was not fighting the battle with my
wife, but with her mother. I was striking for my own and for Lilian’s
independence. If I could not have her as my wife, I would not have her
at all. I did not go directly home. I called to see Tom Flynn. He was
not in, but I left a message for him to see me in Needham Street as
soon as he returned.
I was tolerably calm, considering the amount of actual suffering I
endured. Biddy was garrulous, and disposed to say harsh things of the
“missus.” I checked her, declaring that Lilian was an angel herself,
and that Mrs. Oliphant was the fomenter of the strife. Fortunately I
was relieved from her comments by the arrival of Tom Flynn. The noble
fellow looked sad when he entered, and I think he feared I intended
to say I could not pay him the four hundred dollars on Monday, as I
promised. He had not visited my house before, and he was lavish in
his praise of the good taste displayed in the furniture. Perhaps it
suggested him a doubt in regard to the safety of his money.
“Where is Lilian?” he asked. “I have not seen her for a month.”
The question opened the subject nearest to my heart. I began my story,
and related it in the most minute detail up to the interview which
had just taken place between my wife and myself. The noble fellow was
astonished at the recital, and his countenance beamed with generous
sympathy.
“I am very sorry for all this, Paley. It is an awkward and
uncomfortable predicament,” said he.
“What can I do?”
“I don’t know. I think you are right in your main position, though I am
not quite so sure in regard to your method of treatment,” he replied,
musing. “I should not quite like to advertise my wife.”
“I don’t like to do it; but as sure as my name is Paley Glasswood, I
will do it, if she does not come to this house before Monday morning!”
I replied, quite excitedly.
“However, I don’t think you will have occasion to do it,” he added.
“Oliphant has had the reputation of being a hen-pecked husband ever
since I first heard of him. His wife is a strong-minded woman, and I
suppose he found it cheaper to yield than to fight it out. He was a
prosperous man formerly, but they say his spirit was broken by this
domestic tyranny. I can’t advise you to back out, though I wish you had
consulted your wife before you furnished the house.”
“That would only have transferred the battleground to another location.
If I yield, I am lost.”
It was fully settled with the advice of my friend, that I should
not yield. I explained that if Lilian did not like the house or the
furniture after a reasonable trial, I would change either or both. Tom
Flynn stayed with me till midnight, and told me a great many things in
regard to the Oliphants that I was glad to know. It is enough for me to
add that I had not misapprehended the character of “dear ma.”
The next day was Saturday. I went to the bank at the usual hour, and
stayed there till the close of business. I wanted to go to Springhaven
that day to make my assault upon Aunt Rachel’s purse-strings. The last
train left at six o’clock. I was going home, and if my wife did not
appear, I intended to spend Sunday at home with my mother. It was the
last day of grace, both for Lilian and the money I was to pay Tom Flynn
on Monday.
Biddy admitted me, but she had no tidings of my wife. Lilian had not
come to my house, and had sent no message for me. Was it possible
that Mrs. Oliphant meant to let the affair take its course—to make
a “grass-widow” of her daughter rather than allow her to submit? It
looked so, incredible as it seemed. After I had eaten my dinner, I
wrote a note to Lilian, informing her that I intended to spend Sunday
at my mother’s, that I would call at our house in Needham Street on
Monday morning, and that, if I did not find her there, I should insert
the advertisement in all the newspapers. It was then after four
o’clock, and I sent the note by Biddy with the usual instructions.
I went up stairs to take a bath and dress for my visit. It was after
five when I came down. Biddy had returned, and was busy with her work.
I began to tell her where I was going when the door-bell rang.
“Bedad! the missus has come, and brought her mother with her!”
exclaimed she, as she rushed into the dining-room where I was smoking
away the half hour I had to spare before going to the train.
“Where are they?”
“In the parlor.”
It was not a very encouraging fact that Mrs. Oliphant had come with
her. I went into the sitting-room where were seated my guests, for as
such only could I yet regard them.
“I am glad you have come, Lilian,” said I, entering the room.
“But I have not come to stay,” she interposed, promptly.
“Then I am sorry you have come,” I added, as promptly.
“It is terrible, Paley, to think that my husband is prepared to desert
me, and to advertise me in the newspapers,” said she.
“It is just as terrible for me to be deserted as for you, Lilian. I
hope you will think well of it before it is too late.”
“I came over to see about this business, Mr. Glasswood,” interposed
Mrs. Oliphant, stiffly.
“Nothing need be said, madam. I must add that I decline to discuss the
question at all.”
“That’s a pretty way, sir!” continued she. “You married my daughter,
and you promised—”
“I know I did, madam, and she promised, too. If she does not choose to
occupy the house I have provided for her, that is the end of the whole
matter; and also the end of all argument. I am going to Springhaven
now. I have nothing more to say, except to add that when my wife
returns to me I will treat her as tenderly as I know how, bury the
past, and seek only her happiness.”
I moved towards the door. Lilian burst into tears. I saw her glance at
her mother, who sat in dignified stiffness on the sofa.
“Good-by, Lilian,” I said, glancing tenderly at her.
“No, no, Paley! You shall not go!” gasped she, springing into my arms.
“I will stay here!”
“Lilian!” exclaimed her mother, springing to her feet.
She was my wife then.
_CHAPTER XI._
OVER THE PRECIPICE.
LILIAN was in my arms again, and all that I had suffered was
compensated for by the bliss of the moment. I think she had been
thoroughly aroused by the peril of her situation, and it was only at
the last possible moment, as she understood the case, that she yielded.
Lilian was human, like the rest of the world, and she was fond of her
own way. I was willing to let her have her own way, but when it came to
giving her mother the control of my affairs, I was rebellious.
My poor wife sobbed in my arms, and I could hardly restrain my own
tears. I would not have repressed them if Mrs. Oliphant had not been
present. Lilian was conquered, but I was sure she had only reached a
point which she had desired to attain before. I am not sure that this
same battle is not fought out by every man and wife, however gentle
and affectionate they may be. Some husbands are brutes, some wives
are head-strong, but each is always jealous of individual power and
influence. I think Lilian was disposed to adopt the tactics of her
mother, and rule her own household; but now she had suddenly become a
gentle and submissive wife, and had thus placed herself in a position
to be potential in regard to her husband.
[Illustration: MY WIFE CONCLUDES TO STAY. Page 160.]
Mrs. Oliphant was disgusted. She frowned savagely upon both of us. She
realized that her influence was gone forever, if this state of feeling
existed. Her cherished plan fell through and was a wreck beyond the
possibility of redemption. I do not wonder that she was disgusted, for
it was no trivial thing to be suddenly deprived of the handsome income
she derived from me, which I should have been very glad to pay her, if
I could have done so, though not under the egregious cheat of paying
her thirty dollars a week for board which was dear at ten.
“Lilian,” said Mrs. Oliphant, sternly, “I did not think you were so
weak and childish.”
“Weak and childish, mother? Shall I desert my husband?” added my wife,
gently.
“It is not for me to say any thing, for I never interfere between man
and wife,” continued “dear ma,” in the tone of a martyr. “But I can’t
help thinking that your husband is very unreasonable. It isn’t every
child that has so good a home as you have, and parents who are willing
to slave themselves to death for her! And this is all the thanks they
get for it!”
“Why, dear ma, what have I done?” asked Lilian, horrified at the
implied charge of ingratitude.
“Nothing, nothing! It is no matter!” replied Mrs. Oliphant, with a
vigorous effort to appear like a much-abused person. “I suppose it is a
mother’s lot to be deserted by her children.”
“Deserted, mother!” exclaimed my poor wife.
“I would not say any thing, Lilian,” I whispered to her.
“After I had made all my arrangements to board you, suddenly, and
without a word of notice you go off and leave me. What have I done to
merit this treatment?”
Lilian followed my suggestion, and made no reply.
“Well, I suppose I am not wanted here, and I may as well go,” she said,
flouncing up, and aiming for the door.
“On the contrary, Mrs. Oliphant, we shall both be very glad to have you
come here as often and stay as long as you can,” I added.
“Yes, mother, my house shall be your house,” said Lilian, warmly and
with much feeling.
“It is easier to talk than to do,” persisted Mrs. Oliphant, who was
determined to be an abused person. “I’ll go home alone.”
“I will go with you, mother if you desire it.” interposed Lilian.
Mrs. Oliphant did desire it. It is quite possible she expected still to
conquer our united forces.
“Send the wagon for my trunks, Paley, as soon as you please,” whispered
Lilian, as she left the house with her mother.
I need not say that I lost no time in complying with these stealthy
instructions. I hastened for the job wagon, but it was an hour before
I reached Mr. Oliphant’s with it, for I could not readily find a team
at that hour. The clock struck six, and I lost my train to Springhaven;
but I hardly noticed the circumstance, so intent was I upon healing the
breach in my domestic affairs.
When I arrived at the house, I found Lilian in tears, and a little
inclined to yield again; but the appearance of the expressman seemed to
strengthen her again. She permitted the trunks to be carried down, and
the man departed with them.
“I cannot go, Paley,” said she, as she dropped into a chair.
“Why not, Lilian?”
“Mother is terribly incensed against me.”
“She will get over it in a few days. What does your father say?”
“Nothing,” said she, looking up at me, as though she thought I asked a
curious question.
“The sooner we go, Lilian, the better it will be for all of us,” I
suggested.
“I will go, Paley, but I am afraid I shall never be happy again,” said
she, rising.
“Yes, you will, my dear. Your mother will be the same as ever by
to-morrow.”
We went down stairs, and found Mrs. Oliphant in the parlor.
“Good-by, mother. I shall come to see you every day,” said Lilian,
trying to be cheerful.
“Good-by, Lilian,” replied Mrs. Oliphant, in a tone which indicated the
depth of her despair.
Lilian said good-by to her sisters, and hoped both of them would come
to the house in Needham Street every day, Sundays not excepted. Then
we went home. Blessed word! It meant more to me than ever before. I
need hardly add that we talked of nothing during the evening but the
exciting topic of the day, though I tried frequently to change the
subject.
Biddy was the happiest girl outside of Ireland, for though my wife was
very sad, she was still the “missus” in her own house. Lilian confessed
to me that she liked the house very much; that she would not have had
it any different if she had been consulted, but her mother was so
anxious to have us remain at her house that she could not think of such
a thing as leaving her. If her mother could only be satisfied with the
new arrangement, she should be as happy as any mortal in existence.
I hoped for the best. I did not count upon any continued opposition
from Mrs. Oliphant, as it was so obviously for her interest to keep
the peace now that the Rubicon had been passed. If I had not been so
busily occupied in smoothing the path for Lilian, I should have made
myself very miserable over my failure to visit Springhaven. I had four
hundred dollars to pay on Monday, with nothing on hand to meet the
demand. It was an ugly subject, and I avoided it as much as possible
in my meditations, though it would often flash upon me. I could not
disappoint Tom Flynn.
I took an early walk on Sunday morning, and invited Tom to drop in upon
us to dinner that day, which he did. He was delighted to see Lilian in
her new home, and congratulated me privately upon the happy issue of
the difficulty. In the afternoon Mr. Oliphant called. We showed him all
over the house, and the old gentleman appeared to be in raptures. Then
Bertha and Ellen came, and they visited every part of the new mansion,
expressing their entire satisfaction with all the arrangements.
After church, Tom called again, for he never staid away from service
for any reason, forenoon or afternoon. We sang psalm tunes till nine
o’clock in the evening, and truly home was home to me then, as it had
never been before. Bertha was a splendid singer, and I noticed that
Tom, who was very fond of music, appeared to be more interested in her
than I had ever before observed. He went home with her, and I ventured
to hope that my example would not be without its influence upon him.
When I went to the bank the next morning, Tom told me, in the most
careless manner in the world, that Bertha was a very pretty girl, and a
magnificent singer. Of course I agreed with him, but the sight of my
friend thrust upon me, more forcibly than any other consideration, the
ugly fact that I owed him four hundred dollars, due that day. I had not
the courage to ask him for further time. My honor, and more than that,
my pride, were involved. What could I do?
I might run down to Springhaven at night. No, I could not leave, for,
at church and elsewhere, we had invited all our friends to call upon
us, and I expected to see company every evening during the week. I must
be at home. The money must be paid. There was no possible way by which
I could honorably postpone it.
“What time to-day do you want that little matter of money I owe you,
Tom?” I asked of my friend.
“As soon after bank hours as convenient.”
“You shall have it at half-past two. I must go up the street for it,
and can’t leave very well before the bank closes.”
“All right; it will do at three,” added my obliging friend.
What odds would it make to me whether the time was fixed at two or
three? I was just as unable to pay it at one time as the other. A lucky
thought occurred to me. I could call upon my uncle, Captain Halliard,
who would no doubt be glad to redeem his credit with me by lending me
any reasonable sum I wanted. In a week or so I could find time to see
Aunt Rachel, and as I was her favorite, she would put me in funds.
The bank closed. I was in a tremor of anxiety. Before balancing my
cash, I hastened out to find my uncle. He was in the Insurance Office
as usual at this hour. I asked him a great many stupid questions about
indifferent matters, without daring to put the main question. He
actually appeared to have forgotten that he had insulted and offended
me. He was rather patronizing and stiff in his manner, and the result
of the interview was that I did not mention the matter nearest to
my heart. I was sure he would refuse if I did; and I could not be
humiliated for nothing.
I was in despair. My heart was in my throat. My pride revolted at the
thought of telling Tom Flynn that I could not pay him. I went back to
the bank and balanced my cash. I counted over an immense sum of money.
Four hundred dollars would make me happy. Mr. Bristlebach had entire
confidence in me. Why could I not borrow four hundred dollars of the
bank as conveniently as of Captain Halliard.
I trembled at the bare thought of such a thing. Thus far I had kept
myself honest before God and man. But then I did not mean to _steal_
this sum. I would even put a memorandum in the drawer, to the effect
that I was indebted to the bank for this amount. What harm? Who would
be wronged by it? I intended to pay every penny of it back in a few
days, as soon as I could visit my aunt. It was a little irregular, but
even the cashier had done a similar thing within my knowledge. No one
would ever know anything about it, and certainly no one would ever lose
anything.
Why should I be tortured for the want of four hundred dollars, when
thousands were lying idle in my drawer? Why should I humiliate myself
before Tom Flynn, when, without wronging any body, I could pay my debt,
make him happy, and be happy myself? I was certain that I could return
the four hundred dollars. My aunt would certainly let me have it. My
uncle even would lend it to me. I had property enough in my house to
pay it three times over.
Why should I linger here at the brink of the precipice over which I
had determined to leap? I thought, as hundreds of others have thought,
in the same trying situation. I comforted myself, as they have done,
with fallacious reasoning. I persuaded myself that, as I intended to
pay back what I borrowed, and convinced myself that I had the means to
do so, it was not dishonest for me to take the money. I assured myself
it was only a slight irregularity that I meditated; that, even in the
sight of God, it was only a trivial error of form. The Good Father
judges us more by our intentions than by our acts.
Perhaps I had prepared myself for this step, as every young man
does who permits himself to run in debt, who allows himself to be
continually subjected to a fearful temptation by the pressure of
obligations needlessly incurred. Certainly my experience in furnishing
my house had prepared me for this temptation. It came when I least
expected it. It was but a trivial form that I purposed to break
through; not the law of honesty, of moral rectitude.
I took four one hundred dollar bills from my drawer, and slipped
them into my vest-pocket. Everybody in the bank was minding his own
business. No one took any notice of me. I think I must have been as
pale as death when I did the deed, trivial as I chose to regard it.
I wrote the amount in figures, on a slip of paper, and put it under
the bills in the drawer. I convinced myself that this was a suitable
acknowledgement of what I had done, which fully relieved me of every
intention of doing anything wrong. It is astonishing how weak and silly
we are when we are trying to conceal our own errors from our own eyes.
The contents of my drawer were transferred to the vault, and I prepared
to go home.
“Tom, I haven’t had time to get that money yet, but I will meet you at
three o’clock, at the reading-room,” I remarked to my friend, as easily
as I could.
“O, don’t put yourself out, Paley,” said the generous fellow. “If it is
not convenient, let it go.”
“No, but it shall be paid. The money is all ready, only I have not had
time to go for it.”
“I hope the matter has not given you any trouble, Paley,” he added; and
perhaps I had not been entirely successful in concealing the anxiety
which disturbed me.
“O no, not a bit! You see my affairs at home took up my time, and I
neglected to attend to the matter on Saturday. Be at the reading-room
at three, and I shall have the money for you, without fail.”
“I will be there, Paley. But what makes you look so pale?” he inquired.
“I don’t know. I haven’t been very well, and my difficulty at home
has worn upon me. But I’m all right now,” I replied, assuming a very
cheerful face, as I left the bank.
At the appointed time Tom was at the reading-room, and I gave him
the four hundred dollars. The bills passed out of my hands, and it
was forever too late to undo what I had done. I had leaped over the
precipice beneath which lie dishonor, shame and disgrace. I was sorely
troubled. My irregularity vexed me, and I felt as one tormented by a
legion of devils.
The fact that Tom had noticed my altered appearance put me upon my
guard. I tried to be gay and even jovial. I laughed, cracked jokes,
rallied Tom on being in love with Bertha—any thing to banish from
my mind the corroding feeling that I was a defaulter. I tore up my
note which Tom handed to me. I invited him to come to my house in the
evening. I invited him to come every evening. I know that I must have
talked strangely. There seemed to be a twenty-four pound cannon shot
in the centre of my brain. I wanted something to elevate my spirits.
I went into a bar-room, and drank a glass of whiskey—a thing I had
never before done, though I had taken a glass of wine occasionally.
The liquor inspired me. I drank a second glass, at another bar-room,
and found myself capable of rising above my troubles. I went home.
Buckleton was there, waiting to see me.
_CHAPTER XII._
A KEEPER IN THE HOUSE.
LILIAN opened the door, and kissed me as usual when I came home.
“Why, Paley, you have been drinking,” whispered she.
“I had a severe pain, and took a glass of whiskey. I feel fetter now,”
I replied.
“There’s a gentleman waiting for you in the sitting-room,” she added.
“Yes, I saw him. It is Buckleton, an old friend of mine. I may ask him
to dine with us.”
I think Lilian suspected something was wrong with me, though I am sure
she had not the remotest conception of the nature and extent of the
mischief which was gathering around us. Probably the smell of my breath
startled her, with the added fact that I was a little flighty in my
manner, for I believe that nothing can be more justly startling to a
woman than the possibility of her husband becoming a drunkard. She
knew nothing whatever of my financial affairs. I had never made her
my confidant; on the contrary, I had weakly and foolishly assumed to
be “full of money,” and behaved with a liberality and extravagance far
beyond my means.
Buckleton was waiting for me. I owed Buckleton eight hundred dollars,
for which he had no security. What did Buckleton want with me? It had
been his own proposition to give me, under a liberal interpretation of
his own words, unlimited credit as to time, if not amount. Why had he
come to my house? I had been at the bank all the forenoon, and that was
the proper place to meet a man in relation to business. Of course if I
had not owed him eight hundred dollars, I should not have troubled my
head about this particular visit of an old acquaintance.
However, I had drank two glasses of whiskey, and the circumstance of
his coming did not trouble me much. I still felt light-hearted, and was
not disposed to let anything trouble me much or long. I smoothed down
my hair, and after drinking a glass of ice-water in the dining-room,
which my parched tongue required, I entered the room where Buckleton
was waiting for me. He was as cordial as though he had come only as
an old friend. But exhilarated as I was, I could not fail to notice
a certain constraint on his part, as though his cordiality was in a
measure forced.
He was glad to see me. He had business at the South End, and thought
he would call in upon me as he was passing. The messenger at the bank
told me, the next day, he had been there to find me ten minutes after I
left. But his coming at this particular time, he labored to represent,
was purely an accident. He was glad to see me so well situated. He
hoped I should call on him at the West End with Mrs. Glasswood. He
had not had the pleasure of knowing my wife, but he hoped to make her
acquaintance. All these things he said with the utmost suavity, and
then rose from the sofa to take his leave; but he did not take it, and
I knew he did not intend to do so until he had said something about the
little matter of eight hundred dollars that I owed him. He had his hat
in his hand, and moved toward the door.
“Stay and dine with me, Buckleton,” I interposed. “Dinner is all ready,
and I should be delighted to have you.”
“Thank you! Thank you! I should be glad to do so, but I have to meet
a gentleman at the store in half an hour,” he replied, consulting his
watch.
“Let him wait; you needn’t be over half an hour behind time.”
“I can’t do that, for the fact is he owes me some money, and I am
desperately short just now.”
Bah! I had given him the opportunity to say that, and it was now an
easy step for him to dun me.
“Well, come up next Sunday, won’t you? And bring your wife with you. We
shall be delighted to see you,” I continued, hoping to throw him off
the track.
“I will, if possible; but I often find that Mrs. Buckleton has made
engagements for me, and, if I remember rightly, her father and mother
dine with us next Sunday. Besides, I have been so annoyed with business
matters for a week, that I have not felt much like going into company.
I expected a remittance of six thousand dollars from Havana, and
learned the other day that the party had stopped payment. I don’t know
what we shall do to meet our own notes. By the way, Glasswood, would it
be perfectly convenient for you to pay the amount you owe us in a few
days?”
“It would not be perfectly convenient,” I replied, squarely.
“I know very well that I proposed to wait for it, but, you see, this
confounded Cuban affair throws us all out of groove; and we are in hot
water up to the eyes. Isn’t it possible for you to pay it?”
“Perhaps it is possible, but it would be deused inconvenient. You know
I should not have bought so largely if you had not suggested that I
might pay for the goods in my own time.”
“We sold you, as you are aware, at the very lowest cash prices,” he
added.
I was not aware of it, but I did not deem it wise to open any
controversy on a subject so insignificant.
“I don’t see how I can do a thing for you, Buckleton, at present.”
“It would be a very great accommodation if you could. Half would be
better than nothing, though we want every dollar we can possibly raise.
I will discount five per cent. for cash.”
“That’s liberal, but it won’t help me much.”
“Think it over, and see what you can do for me, Glasswood. I am in a
tight place.”
“I am sorry for it, but I haven’t got quite settled yet. I shall be
able to pay you in a couple of months.”
“I may be in bankruptcy before that time,” said he, with a grim smile.
“I will call and see you to-morrow morning at the bank.”
He went away. I thought I was inclined to stretch the truth quite
enough in making out a case, but I could not equal him. He was in no
more danger of failing than our bank was. The Cuban matter was a myth.
I was satisfied that he had been examining into the condition of my
credit. It was more than probable that he had heard rumors of my little
difficulty at the bank, and had not heard of the triumphant conclusion
of the affair. Shaytop had been whispering in his ear. Very likely my
uncle had hinted that I was living too fast. Certainly some persons had
been busy with matters which, in my estimation, did not concern them.
I was indignant, and felt that I had been abused. Let me say to young
gentlemen that shrewd business men usually know us better than we know
ourselves, and see sooner than we which way we are going.
Lilian was waiting for me in the dining-room. Of course she wished to
know “what that man wanted;” and I turned off the affair as best I
could. I sat down, and for a sick man who found it necessary to take
medicine, I ate a very hearty dinner.
“Well, my dear, how do you like the house, and housekeeping?” I said,
in order to turn the subject from “that man.”
“Very much, indeed, Paley. The only draw-back is that mother feels so
badly about it.”
“O, well! she will get over it in a few days.”
“Do you know, Paley, that I have been thinking of something?” she
continued, looking up to me with that peculiar archness which indicated
that she had a plan to propose.
“Have you, indeed? Well, that is not very remarkable.”
“I don’t know that it is; but why don’t you ask me what I have been
thinking about?”
“Well, my dear, what have you been thinking about?”
“I’ll tell you, since you ask,” laughed she. “We haven’t had anything
like a house-warming yet.”
“We have not. That was a great oversight. We will invite our friends,
and have some nuts and raisins.”
“Nuts and raisins! And be called mean by everybody!”
“Well, what do you propose?” I inquired, though I was rather appalled
at the idea of paying the bills for a large party.
“I don’t know; but if we invite all our friends, we must not be mean
about it. Besides, I hope mother will come, and then we shall be able
to make it all up.”
“I hope she will.”
We proceeded to discuss the details of the house-warming. Lilian
thought it would be cheaper and more stylish to have Smith take charge
of the whole thing. He would provide all the eatables, and place a
cream-colored waiter in white cotton gloves in the hall to open the
door for the guests. She thought it would be more “_re-church-y_,” and,
of course, I could not stand up against this tremendous argument. As
I was busy at the bank, she would call and see Smith herself the next
forenoon.
She had just been restored to me, and I could not deny her anything. I
think it would have broken her heart to know that I was up to my ears
in debt; that I could not afford to pay Smith for even a moderate thing
in his line. I ought to have told her the truth, the whole truth, but
I had not the courage to do so. I knew very well that the life we had
been living at her mother’s was just as distasteful and disagreeable
to her as to me. She had consented to it for her mother’s sake, and
had been a martyr since the day we returned from our bridal tour. I
need not say that she was fond of style and show, and she had deprived
herself of all these luxuries for the benefit of her family. The chain
was broken, and the first thing was a party.
I could not help myself without being a tyrant. Smith’s bill at the
outside could not be over a hundred dollars, and that would not kill
me for once. It occurred to me that I would limit the expenses to one
hundred dollars, but I did not see how they could exceed this sum; so
I decided to let Lilian manage the whole affair to suit herself. I
have no doubt she would have done very well, and that the result would
have been satisfactory to me, but unfortunately my wife’s ideas were
different from mine. By an act of grace on the part of a very wealthy
gentleman to whom I had been able to render some service, we were
invited to a great birthday party of his daughter, shortly after our
marriage. Lilian’s pretty face and graceful figure made her a great
favorite among the gentlemen, and she made quite a sensation. Of course
I was proud of her and Lilian deemed it the most fortunate thing in the
world to obtain the _entree_ of such company.
It never occurred to me that Lilian would attempt to imitate the style
of my wealthy friend, or to invite any of the acquaintances she had
made there. She knew that I was a bank-teller, on a salary of two
thousand dollars, and of course she could not think of competing with
a _millionaire_. I went to the bank the next day, and Lilian went to
Smith’s. While I was looking at the morning paper, Buckleton appeared.
He did not seem to have the same suavity which had distinguished him
at my house. On the contrary, he was rather stiff and decided in his
manner. I told him it was quite impossible for me to pay the bill at
present.
“Glasswood, I must be square about this business. Things were not
exactly as I supposed, when I sold you those goods. I must have the
money or security for the debt at once.”
I was mad. Some one had been talking to him about me, and he had
listened to the foe rather than to me.
“You seem to be putting a different face upon the affair. Yesterday
you were short; to-day you are afraid of losing the money,” I replied,
coldly.
“I only want to know what you are going to do.”
“You told me to pay for the goods when it was convenient. If you had
not said so, I should not have bought them.”
“Give me a mortgage on the furniture in your house, and I will wait any
reasonable time.”
“I won’t do it!” I replied, angrily.
“Very well; we needn’t talk any more about it.”
“You professed to be my friend, and were willing to accommodate me.”
“Circumstances alter cases. I have different information now.”
“What information have you?” I demanded.
“I am not at liberty to say. I never betray any man’s confidence. You
are living beyond your means. I am willing to do anything that’s fair,
but I must have the money or the security.”
“I’ll see you after bank hours to-day.”
“Perhaps you will,” said he, leaving the bank very abruptly.
Who had been talking to this man? I never knew, but I am forced to
acknowledge now, what I did not believe then, that his information
was correct. I was vexed and disconcerted, and as the forenoon wore
away, and my wrath abated, I concluded to give him the mortgage on my
household furniture. This matter was so absorbing that I hardly thought
of the four hundred dollars I owed the bank till the memorandum I had
put in the drawer attracted my attention. I do not know why I tore it
up and threw it into the waste-basket, but I did so.
Mr. Bristlebach was very gentle towards me; so was the cashier; and I
was confident that no one suspected my cash was four hundred short. The
late inquiry into the condition of my department, instead of securing
the bank, had opened the way for my first irregularity. I went on with
my duties until about one o’clock, when I was not a little astonished
to see Biddy come into the bank. My heart rose into my mouth. I was
afraid that something had happened to Lilian, and that she was dead or
very sick. But Biddy only handed me a note, instead of making the scene
I had anticipated.
The note appeared to have been very hastily written, and was not in
Lilian’s usually careful style. My name was scrawled hastily on the
envelope. It occurred to me that Smith might have disappointed her,
but I feared something worse than this. I tore open the note. The
letter covered two pages, and it was evidently written under great
excitement. I was alarmed, and hardly dared to read it, lest it should
inform me that one of her family was dead.
I did read it, and it went on to tell me that, while she was away at
Smith’s, a deputy sheriff had come to the house and attached all the
furniture, and left a man there who called himself a “keeper.” She
had talked with this man, and he had told her Mr. Buckleton was the
person who had caused the goods to be attached. These were the material
statements of the letter, to which Lilian added that the matter was
“horrid;” that she never felt so strangely before in her life. She
wanted to know if I really owed Mr. Buckleton a thousand dollars.
I was almost stunned by this heavy blow. Some observations I dropped in
regard to Buckleton were not complimentary to that individual. I could
not stop to think then. The first business was to quiet Lilian, and I
wrote her a note, saying that Buckleton had taken offence at something
I had said; that the affair was a mere trifle, and I would send the man
away with a flea in his ear when I went home to dinner. I sent Biddy
off with this note.
A keeper in my house! What could I do?
_CHAPTER XIII._
THE SECOND STEP.
[Illustration]
“I TOLD you so!”
It was not easy for me to tell what to do. Eight hundred dollars and
all the expenses of the attachment. The keeper was in my house at that
moment and poor Lilian appeared to be frightened out of her wits. It
was easy enough for me to flourish and call it a small matter, but I
could not put my hand upon the money which was to lift the load from my
shoulders.
What a crash there would be if this keeper was not driven from the
house that very day! What a text it would afford for “dear ma!” How
she would declare that it was a judgment upon me for my wickedness in
turning Lilian from the maternal bosom! How poor Lilian would suffer
under this terrible infliction!
It was galling to me even to think of exposing myself to the fire of
Mrs. Oliphant, and I was willing to drown myself rather than suffer
the punishment she could inflict with her tongue. It was horrible
to anticipate her “I told you so!” It would be the sum total of all
miseries to be pitied and advised by her. I must either run away and
leave Lilian to her fate, or pay this debt; for I could not think of
breasting the storm which would follow an exposure of my financial
condition.
The cold sweat stood on my brow as I thought of the situation. But I
was naturally hopeful and sanguine. If I had not been so, I should
never have incurred the burden of debt which now weighed me down. I
began to devise expedients; and Aunt Rachel was always the foremost of
expedients with me. The venerable spinster had thirty thousand dollars
according to the calculations of Captain Halliard, which was one-third
more than I had ever supposed. It was currently reported, and currently
believed, that I was to be her heir. It was true that the old lady had
never expressed herself to this effect in so many words, but among our
friends and relations this theory was fully accepted.
It could make no difference to her if she advanced one or two thousand
dollars before she shuffled off her mortal coil. I had so easily
persuaded her to let me have a thousand dollars, that I was confident
the second thousand would come without much difficulty. If I could
only find time to see her, I was satisfied my powers of persuasion
would do the rest. I wanted twelve hundred dollars; but this sum
would barely cover my pressing liabilities, and I made up my mind
that fifteen hundred would come as easily as twelve hundred, and the
difference would enable me to meet the cost of the attachment, Lilian’s
house-warming, and other little matters which would appear before the
next pay-day.
I had entire confidence in my own powers. I could put my hand on my
heart, and say that I had always treated Aunt Rachel with kindness
and consideration. I had always been a favorite with her, and I was
positive that the old lady could not resist my eloquence. In fact, I
was as sure of the money as though it had already been in my pocket;
and as I considered the subject I became hopeful and happy. But I
could not go to Springhaven that night, and in a few hours more that
abominable keeper might reveal his presence in my house to the whole
neighborhood. Lilian did not understand the matter, and if any of her
dear friends called, she might relate to them the wretched story I had
written in my note.
The keeper must be sent out of the house as soon as I could get away
from the bank. His staying there any longer would certainly ruin me.
Whatever else was doubtful, this was plain. Tom Flynn stood near me.
He had money, though he had just invested all he had in stocks; but
I was sure, if I told him the whole truth, he would help me out of
the difficulty even if he had to sell his stocks, and sacrifice his
dividends. But it was too humiliating to think of telling him that I
had plunged into a sea of debt, and was already struggling for life in
the waves.
I did think of calling upon my uncle, but I rejected the suggestion on
the instant, for I could not listen to the storm of invectives he would
heap upon me; and, besides, he would tell my Aunt Rachel, and thus give
her a bad opinion of me. The old lady might disinherit me as a “fast
boy.”
Buckleton had offered to take a mortgage on my furniture for security.
This seemed to be the most practicable solution of the problem which
had yet presented itself. But what was the use of mortgaging the
property when I could pay the debt as soon as I had seen Aunt Rachel?
Besides, if there was a man on the face of the footstool whom I hated
with all my mind, heart and soul, that man was Buckleton. He had
induced me to purchase more extensively than I intended by holding out
to me the most liberal terms of credit. Now, in less than a month, he
was putting the twisters upon me. I regarded him as a treacherous and
unfeeling man; one without a soul; one who would sell his friend for
sixpence. I despised him from the deepest depths of my heart, and the
idea of asking a favor of him, or even of having a word to say to him,
was utterly repulsive to me. I could not see him; I could only treat
him with cold and dignified contempt.
Perhaps it was not becoming in one situated as I was to put on such
airs, or to attempt to save my dignity. I could not help it. I was
proud—I wish I had been too proud to do a wrong deed. There appeared
to be no resource to which I could turn for immediate relief. Of the
fifteen hundred dollars for which I had decided to ask my aunt, I was
perfectly sure. If the old lady hesitated, I could tell her that ruin
stared me in the face, that I should be compelled to run away, and
never show my face about Boston again, if I did not obtain this money.
I was satisfied this threat would bring the money, if nothing else did.
I could assure her it would be all the same with her. I would pay her
the highest rate of interest, and return the principal in a short time.
If she wished it, I could give her security on my furniture for the
amount.
I was sure of the money from her. Why should I be distressed for the
want of it during the few days that must elapse before I could see her?
There was no reason, in my estimation. I need not inform the reader
that by this time I meditated taking another loan from the bank funds
in my keeping. I could borrow eleven hundred more, thus making my total
indebtedness to the bank fifteen hundred. A few days, or even a week
hence, I should receive the loan from Aunt Rachel, and I could slip the
whole amount in the drawer. Then I should be square with the bank. Then
no one would have the power to distress me.
Two o’clock came, and the bank closed. With far less compunction than
I had experienced on the former occasion, I took eleven hundred dollars
from my drawer as I transferred the cash to the safe. I did not go
through with the idle formality of depositing a memorandum in my trunk
with the money. It was a loan for a few days, which Aunt Rachel would
enable me to pay. I will not say that I did not tremble—I did. I did
not persuade myself that the act was right, only that I intended no
wrong. I called the deed simply an “irregularity.” It was not stealing,
embezzlement, or any other ugly thing with a savage name. I had the
money in my pocket, and I think this fact was the basis of all the
arguments I used in persuading myself that I had not done a very wicked
act.
As soon as I had balanced my cash I left the bank and hastened home. I
need not say that Lilian was in a tempest of excitement, in spite of my
consoling note. The horrible keeper sat in the dining-room, reading the
morning paper, and apparently unconscious of the misery he had brought
to my house. He was polite and gentlemanly, and I was magnanimous
enough to treat him with consideration. I inquired into the particulars
of the case, and proposed to settle the claim at once. He had no
authority to settle it, and referred me to Messrs. Shiver & Sharp,
attorneys, in Court Street, who had procured the writ.
Dinner was nearly ready, and I invited the keeper to dine with me. He
was condescending enough to accept, and while we sat at the table I did
some large talking, in which I was particularly severe upon Buckleton,
and particularly complimentary to Glasswood, the latter of whom was
a highly honorable man, who had been grossly wronged by the former.
Buckleton had put on the attachment out of spite. Glasswood had always
paid his debts fairly and squarely, but would not be imposed upon.
After dinner I rushed down to the office of Messrs. Shiver & Sharp.
I was indignant and savage, but I was magnificent. I rolled out the
hundred-dollar bills with a perfect looseness. I did not even dispute
the costs. I paid all, to the utmost penny demanded. Then I talked
about the insult, the stain upon my honor, and dilated upon kindred
topics, but I fear I failed to make any strong impression upon the
astute Mr. Sharp, who conducted the business. He was polite, but he was
cold. He gave me a note to the keeper, which I delivered on my return
to Needham Street, and which caused his immediate departure, after he
had carefully examined the well-known signature of the legal firm.
“Such things are unpleasant, Lilian, but I suppose they have happened
to almost all men at one time or another,” I remarked, as soon as the
door had closed upon our unwelcome guest.
“I never was so frightened before in my life,” she replied with a deep
sigh, indicative of the relief she felt.
“It was a miserable trick! It was too mean for any decent man to be
guilty of.”
“But did you really owe this Buckleton?”
“I did really owe him about eight hundred dollars, but he told me at
the time I bought the furniture to pay him whenever it was convenient.
It was not convenient to pay him to-day, and he sued me. You know,
my dear, that when one has money comfortably invested, drawing large
interest, one does not like to disturb it, at least, just before
dividends are payable.”
“It’s too bad!” exclaimed Lilian, warmly, her pretty face beaming with
sympathy; and she actually believed that the indefinite pronoun I had
used in my description represented myself.
“Well, Lilian, what have you done about the party?” I inquired, rather
anxious to change the topic, lest she should desire to know more of my
financial affairs.
“I have seen Smith, and made all the arrangements for next Friday
evening. As it is to be a house-warming, we must not put it off too
long. But, dear me, when I came home, and found this awful man here, I
was so alarmed that I was on the point of countermanding the order I
had given.”
“It’s all right now. But you must hurry up your invitations.”
“There is time enough for them. We will prepare the list this evening.
But, Paley, what shall we do for a piano? It will be very awkward to be
without a piano on such an occasion. Besides, people will think we are
nobody if we don’t have one.”
“That’s very true, Lilian,” I replied, somewhat startled by the
proposition. “But I’m afraid we can hardly afford to buy one just yet.
Such a one as I want would cost five hundred dollars.”
“A cheaper one will do.”
“But it is bad economy to buy a cheap one. In the course of six months
or a year I shall be able to buy a good one.”
“We must have one for this party.”
“I will see what can be done before Friday.”
“And, Paley, you furnished the house beautifully, but there is just one
thing for the parlor that you forgot,” continued Lilian, bestowing upon
me her most winning smile.
“What is that?”
“An _étagère_. It would set off the parlor more than all the rest of
the furniture.”
“But it would cost about a hundred dollars.”
“I would rather do without many other things than not have an
_étagère_,” replied Lilian, beginning to look very sad.
“Will you go down town and look at some of them?” said I, looking as
amiable as though I had not borrowed fifteen hundred dollars of the
bank.
“Dear me! I can’t go this afternoon. I have everything to do. But your
taste is so good, Paley, that you can buy one just as well without me.”
I left the house for the purpose of obtaining a piano and an _étagère_.
Buckleton had showed me the latter article, and insisted that my house
would not be furnished without it. I had positively refused to buy it,
for two reasons. First, because I could not afford it; and, second,
because no one could pronounce the name of the thing. I confess that
it seemed to be a greater sin to place such a piece of furniture where
plain Yankees would be tempted to utter its name, than it was to
indulge in criminal extravagance. Lilian’s French had been neglected,
and she made a bad botch of the word, but I decided to instruct her in
the difficult task of pronouncing the word.
I went to a pianoforte house. The book-keeper made his deposits and
drew his checks over our counter. I knew him. He showed me a five
hundred dollar instrument. It suited me—the piano, not the price. A
lower-priced one did not meet my views. I proposed an arrangement with
the concern, that I would hire the instrument with the intention of
purchasing if it suited me. One of the firm was consulted. Perhaps he
knew that persons who once indulged in a luxury would not willingly
give it up. He consented to let it for three months, with the privilege
of purchasing at the end of that time. It was ordered to my house. The
piano was provided for at an expense of twenty-five dollars, if not
bought, for three months.
The _étagère_ was a more difficult matter. I could not hire one, and
I did not like to pay a hundred dollars for such a useless piece of
furniture; but there was no alternative. Lilian had said she must have
one. I had nearly three hundred dollars in my pocket, but with this sum
I intended to pay Smith, and get rid of my “floating debt,” so that I
should owe no one but Aunt Rachel. But Smith’s bill could not be over a
hundred dollars, at the most extravagant figure, and I thought I could
spare enough for the _étagère_.
I went to a store near Buckleton’s. While I was looking at the
_étagère_ my late creditor came into the store. I was just closing the
bargain at ninety-five dollars. Buckleton had heard from his lawyer,
and was glad to meet me. I was glad to have him see me purchase this
piece of furniture. He spoke to me. I did not answer him. He attempted
to apologize. I did not look at him. I closed my bargain, and asked for
the bill. Buckleton was evidently vexed, and felt as any man does when
he has lost a customer. I enjoyed it.
“I will sell you that same article for seventy-five dollars,” he
whispered in my ear, just before I closed the bargain.
“I would not take it, if you would give it to me,” I replied.
“I think I made a mistake to-day.”
“The mistake of your lifetime,” I retorted. “Don’t speak to me again. I
despise you.”
I stalked out of his reach, paid my bill, and went home. In the evening
Lilian and I made out the list of invitations. Of course I could not
overrule Lilian’s decisions, and not less than fifty were invited—all
our house would hold. It included my rich friend’s family, and I began
to tremble for the result.
_CHAPTER XIV._
THE HOUSE-WARMING.
[Illustration]
THE next day the piano and the _étagère_ came, and were duly disposed
of in our pretty parlor. I could not help agreeing with Lilian that
both of them were absolutely necessary to the proper appointment of the
room. After she had covered the _étagère_ with a variety of articles,
most of which had to be purchased for the purpose, the effect was
pleasing.
The piano filled a waiting space; and really there seemed to be nothing
more to wish for in this world. Lilian played a few tunes on the new
instrument, and my home seemed to be invested with a new charm. Beyond
the party, I looked forward to pleasant hours when our friends should
gather in this room on Sunday evening to sing sacred music, for which
Tom Flynn had a decided partiality.
On Friday morning I went to the bank as usual. When I returned, Smith
had taken possession of the house, and was making his arrangements
for the grand occasion in the evening. I am bound to say that he made
but little fuss for so great an affair. When the evening came, a
colored gentleman in white cotton gloves was stationed at the door,
and more waiters were disposed of in other parts of the house. People
came—every body Lilian had invited, except those she wanted most, viz:
my wealthy friend from Beacon Street, with his family. They did not
come, and I had not supposed they would.
Mrs. Oliphant came, and certainly this was a triumph. Lilian felt that
she had outgeneralled her mother, and conquered a peace. I am afraid
it required a desperate struggle on the part of “dear ma” to yield the
point, and I could only guess at the consideration which induced her to
come down from the “high horse.” But she was stiff and magnificent at
first. She did not seem to enjoy the affair, and looked upon me as an
ogre who had defeated all her cherished plans.
Miss Bertha came, and so did Tom; and early in the evening I was not
a little surprised to hear the piano giving out the solemn notes of
Peterboro and Hebron, sung by a large portion of the company. The
instrument was pronounced excellent. Bertha sang like a nightingale,
and I am not sure that the piano did not cement a regard which
ultimately transformed the fair pianist into Mrs. Tom Flynn.
Everything went well, and at eleven o’clock Smith’s supper was
uncovered. When I saw the stores with which the table was loaded, I was
afraid that the expense would spoil the face of a hundred dollar bill.
A little later, when champagne, Madeira and sherry were produced, I was
somewhat troubled. Reading the dates on the bottles, I was absolutely
alarmed.
“I did not think you intended to have wine, Lilian,” I remarked, rather
seriously.
“Not have wine!” exclaimed she, after she had imbibed a glass of
champagne. “Why, it would be no party at all without wine. I told Smith
to bring the best, and plenty of it.”
He had evidently done so, and I groaned in spirit.
“Tom Flynn don’t drink wine,” I added.
“Let him drink coffee, then. We can suit his taste.”
“He thinks it is wicked to furnish wine.”
“Well, he can have the full benefit of his opinion,” laughed Lilian,
whose tongue flew merrily under the stimulus of the wine she had drank.
Mrs. Oliphant took champagne, and warmed up under its influence. She
became quite sociable, and even forgiving. I was very glad to see that
Miss Bertha, for some reason best known to herself, did not partake of
the generous beverage. I am not sure that it was not the prospect of
disposing of another of her incumbrances quite as much as the influence
of the champagne which melted Mrs. Oliphant. Certainly Miss Bertha’s
chances were very flattering. Psalmody seemed to have done its perfect
work.
Tom looked very serious when the wine began to flow in rivers of
profusion. He did not like it, and he seemed to be out of his element.
While most of the party were eating and drinking in the hall, dining
and sitting-rooms, I heard the voices of Bertha and Tom mingling with
the notes of the piano in a sacred song. They were alone in the parlor,
preferring to be away from the noisy revel over the wine cup.
[Illustration: THE HOUSE WARMING. Page 204.]
Smith’s stores of champagne and Madeira seemed to be inexhaustible,
and when the clock struck one, some of the party, not excluding a few
of the ladies, were in an exceedingly happy frame of mind. Then a
dance was proposed, and Tom and Bertha were driven from the parlor. A
gentleman played and called the changes. My good friend was actually
scandalized by the orgies of the revellers. He never danced; he did not
believe in it. Bertha appeared to sympathize with him, though this was
not in accordance with her antecedents.
Wine was brought up to the parlor, and the dance went on, though some
of my guests were slightly unsteady in their movements. I was shocked
to see how wild Lilian was, and I mentally decided that no wine should
ever be brought into my house again, for the occasion was now nothing
but a revel. Some of the older of the party proposed to go home, and
Tom joined them. Miss Bertha was attended to her house by him. When
everybody was worn out, the party broke up, and all went away. Lilian
dropped into her bed exhausted, and in a measure stupefied. As the
hostess, she had been compelled to imbibe oftener than she desired,
and really I was grieved to see her in this condition. After all was
still, I went through the rooms to see that the windows were secure
and the lights put out. I was shocked when I saw what damage had been
done to the furniture. The carpets were stained with wine, ice cream
and cake; the new piano was scratched and discolored, and the cloth
greased. Besides the cost of this house-warming, whatever it might be,
the damages could not be less than three hundred dollars.
At daylight I went to bed, sick at heart. I doubted whether the
hundred and fifty dollars in my pocket would pay the bills, and I was
miserable. I was in debt at least twenty-five hundred dollars. Lilian
slept heavily after the night’s debauch. But I could not sleep. What
if the bank should discover what I had done? What would the world say
the next day, when the particulars of my party were known? for I was
satisfied they could not be concealed.
At seven o’clock I got up, my head aching fearfully, for I had not
wholly spared the champagne. I was positively miserable. I intended
to visit Springhaven that day, and secure the loan from Aunt Rachel.
It was not safe to let the matter stand any longer. I went to the
bank, and with a throbbing brow attended to my duties. Tom looked very
serious, but he did not say any thing to me. Probably he thought I was
going to ruin rapidly, not because I had appropriated the funds of the
bank, but because I furnished wine to my guests.
The news of my party had not yet been circulated, and I was spared any
allusion to it. When I went home I found Lilian had not risen from
her bed. She was quite sick. Biddy had done what she could to restore
the house to its wonted order, but it was still in confusion. I could
not go to Springhaven that day. By Monday morning Lilian was able to
get up, and was herself again. She was even willing to acknowledge
that such parties “do not pay.” I am sure I enjoyed our little Sunday
evening gatherings, when Tom and Bertha sang sacred music, much better.
When I went to the bank on Monday, I found Smith’s bill enclosed in an
envelope. I was afraid to open it at first, but when I did so my worst
fears were more than confirmed. The total was three hundred and fifty
dollars, of which two-thirds was for champagne, Madeira and sherry. I
was appalled and terrified. It must be promptly paid, or Smith would be
dunning me. I was short two hundred dollars.
I read the bill a second time, and I was absolutely in despair. My
month’s salary, when paid, would not make up the deficiency; and I had
all my house bills to provide for, which would take up the whole sum.
I was running blindly before the wind to destruction. My extravagance
would ruin me in a short time. But it was no use to cry. I was in the
scrape, and I must get out of it.
My hopeful tendencies came to my aid. With careful economy I could
soon pay my debts. A bright idea flashed through my excited brain.
Would it not be just as easy to induce Aunt Rachel to lend me two
thousand dollars as fifteen hundred? It was a brilliant thought, in my
estimation. Five hundred dollars could make no difference to her, if
the interest was punctually paid. It was a plain case. If the old lady
did not promptly meet my views, I could frighten her into acquiescence.
All right! The two thousand was sure enough.
I did not think I should be able to go to Springhaven before Saturday,
and I did not care to receive a dunning visit from Smith. I might
as well “be hung for an old sheep as a lamb.” I could borrow five
hundred more from the bank, with no greater risk than I had already
incurred—and I did so! My cash was then two thousand short; but before
another week had passed, I should get the money from Aunt Rachel, and
make good the deficit.
I called upon Smith, and paid the bill. I did not venture to suggest
that it was more than I had expected it would be. With so much money
in my pocket I felt rich again, and did not bother my head to consider
how I had obtained it. I went home in better spirits than for a week.
I talked pleasantly and magnificently to Lilian. I had even forgotten
my good resolution to practise a rigid economy, for with three hundred
dollars in cash in my pocket, it no longer seemed necessary.
Lilian, too, was in excellent spirits. She was very affectionate,
and when I sat down on the sofa after supper, she seated herself
beside me, and told me how happy she was in her new home, and how
glad she was that I had compelled her to move into it. With my head
upon her shoulder and her arm around my neck she told me how kind
and indulgent, how tender and affectionate I had always been, and
then—added that she had not had a new dress since we were married!
Mrs. Gordon Grahame had just come out in a splendid black silk; Lilian
had never had a black silk, and she wanted one just like it.
“How much will it cost, Lilian?” I asked, rather startled by this
ultra-affectionate turn in the conversation.
“You won’t be angry with me, Paley—will you?”
“Of course I won’t be angry with you, Lilian,” I laughed.
“But I have been very economical with clothes.”
“I know you have, my dear; and I haven’t a word of fault to find. I
only asked how much the black silk would cost.”
“I can’t tell exactly what it will cost,” she answered, biting her
finger nails, as though she feared even to express an opinion.
“Will it cost fifty dollars?” I asked, thinking I was placing it high.
“Fifty dollars! Why, what an ignoramus you are, Paley!” tinkled she, in
the most silvery of tones. “You don’t think I can buy a black silk such
as a lady would wear for fifty dollars, do you?”
“Well, I don’t know any thing about it,” I replied, abashed at my own
ignorance. “Will a hundred do it?”
“Hardly. I can’t tell precisely what it will cost, but I think Mrs.
Gordon Grahame’s did not cost less than a hundred and twenty. Don’t be
angry with me, Paley. Don’t look so cold!”
“I am neither angry nor cold, dearest,” I answered, pulling out my
portmonnaie, and taking therefrom one hundred and fifty dollars, which
I handed to her.
It was the half I had left of what I had stolen that day—for, in the
light of after days, I may as well call the act by its true name. I
could not bear to have her accuse me of being angry, or of being cold,
or of grudging her any thing I had, or any thing I could get.
“O, thank you, Paley! How generous you are!” she exclaimed, giving me a
rapturous kiss.
She was satisfied, and so was I. We talked and read and played
backgammon till ten o’clock.
“Paley, won’t you take a glass of wine?” she asked. “We had some left
the other night.”
“I don’t care, Lilian. Did I tell you how much that party cost?”
“No.”
I told her.
“I think that was quite reasonable, considering what we had. The
champagne was splendid, and the Madeira had been to India three
times—so Smith said.”
She brought a bottle of sherry. It was old and strong. I was rather
startled to see her take two glasses within a few minutes of each
other, and I wished there was no wine in the house. We went to bed
happy, and no thought of the future disturbed me.
The following Saturday was the last day of the month, and I was
detained at the bank so late that I could not go to Springhaven. I did
not like to leave while others remained, for I did not know but Mr.
Bristlebach might take it into his head to overhaul my cash again. The
next Monday I learned that Aunt Rachel was very sick, had been attacked
with paralysis. I went down to see her that night. She was almost
senseless, and I could not talk with her. But she might die in a few
days, and then her money would all be mine—I hoped; for it did not yet
appear that she had made a will.
Two or three days later, my uncle, Captain Halliard, came into the bank
just as we were closing. He looked particularly grim and savage.
“Paley, your aunt is very sick,” said he.
“I know she is, but I hope she will get better,” I replied, perhaps
stretching the truth no more than many people do under such
circumstances.
“I am attending to her affairs, as usual.”
I bowed, and wondered what was coming.
“I found among her papers a note for a thousand dollars, signed by
you,” he added, taking the document from his pocket.
My heart came up into my throat. What was he driving at?
“If you can afford to give parties and fill your guests with champagne,
you can afford to pay this note,” he continued, sternly.
My plan was set at naught.
_CHAPTER XV._
MY UNCLE IS SAVAGE.
[Illustration: Captain Halliard.]
CAPTAIN Halliard was as grim as an ogre, and evidently intended to make
me pay the thousand dollars I owed my Aunt Rachel. Of course he did not
care half so much about the money as he did to bring me to a realizing
sense of the peril of living too fast. He had worked hard for me, and
used his influence in obtaining the situation I then held. He was fond
of power and influence, and a failure to consult him in regard to any
important movement was a mortal insult.
His views of life and living were different from mine, and I found
it necessary to steer clear of him. I do not say that this was not a
mistake on my part—it was. If I had followed his prudent counsels,
I should have kept out of trouble. I had sinned against my uncle, and
was no more worthy to be called a _protégé_ of his. I had married, I
had taken a house, I had furnished it, I had given a party, without
consulting him, and even without inviting him to any of the later
festive occasions. I knew that they were not to his taste, and it was
almost a cause of offence to ask him to attend a merry-making of any
kind.
He had lent me three hundred dollars for my bridal tour, though he did
not know what it was for—if he had he would not have loaned it to me.
He made me pay him when it was the least convenient for me to do so.
Now he crossed my path again in the same disagreeable manner. Aunt
Rachel was very sick. Probably Captain Halliard had deemed it his duty
to look over her papers while she lay insensible on her bed. Notes or
interest might fall due. Perhaps it was proper enough that he should do
so, but it was deused unfortunate for me.
It was equally unfortunate that I had written this note “On demand,
with interest.” I had done so because I did not wish to fix a time when
Aunt Rachel would feel compelled to ask me for the money. In avoiding
a dun in this direction, I had courted one in an other. As sharp people
are apt to do, I had overreached myself.
The captain was in bad humor. I had once been his favorite. If I was
so now, I was under a shadow. But the case was a very simple one. I
had been acting without his advice, and contrary to his well known
opinions, which was perhaps very imprudent in me. He was a man of the
world, with no fine feelings to interfere with what he regarded as
his duty. Of course I could not think of such a thing as paying him.
He looked ugly, and my pride was touched by the attitude in which he
placed himself.
“Paley, you are going too fast!” said my uncle, sternly.
“I don’t think so, sir.”
“I think so!” he added, in a tone which was intended to indicate that
he regarded the question as settled, and that it would be useless for
me to attempt to argue the matter with him.
“I don’t know what you mean by too fast,” I replied.
“Champagne suppers!”
“Only one, and probably I shall never have another as long as I live.”
“You had a party at your house, and the champagne flowed as free as
water. Two or three hundred dollars for wine in one evening, as I am
informed by one who knows!”
“Who was he?”
“No matter who he was. Deny it if you dare.”
“Well, I dare!”
“Show me the bill, then!” said he, fiercely.
I was vexed and indignant at this rude treatment. I forgot that this
man had labored to procure my situation; that he was my mother’s
brother; that he had always taken a deep interest in me. I could not
bear to be regarded as a child, and be taken to task as such by any
one. My pride revolted.
“I don’t understand that you are my guardian,” I answered.
“I’m not your guardian! If I were, I would send you a hundred miles
from the city, and make you work on a farm. I’m the guardian of this
note, though; and it must be paid, or I’ll trustee your salary. When
you owe your aunt a thousand dollars, you shall not fool away your
money on champagne suppers. Pay the note!”
“The note don’t belong to you,” I added, doggedly, as I beat about me
for the means of escaping from the uncomfortable dilemma.
“Don’t belong to me!” growled my uncle. “What do you mean by that?”
“How did the note come into your possession?”
“None of your business how it came into my possession, you puppy! Do
you mean to insult me?”
“No, sir; but I think you mean to insult me.”
“Insult you!” sneered he. “Why, you young cub, I am your uncle, and old
enough to be your grandfather!”
“You are not old enough to insult me.”
“You have said enough! Will you pay the note?” demanded he, impatiently.
He talked to me as though he were on the quarter-deck, while I belonged
in the forecastle. He was not in the habit of permitting his positions
to be disputed by those whom he regarded as his dependents or inferiors.
“Not till you have shown me by what authority you hold the note.”
“As the agent of the promisee!” snapped he.
“Did she authorize you to collect it?” I inquired.
He drew his out pocket-book, and trembling with rage and impatience
took a document from it, which he thrust into my face. It was a general
power of attorney, authorizing him to transact any and all business for
my aunt, and ratifying all his proceedings under it. Of course it was
dated before Aunt Rachel’s present sickness, but I could not deny his
power to act under it.
“Are you satisfied?” said he, in a triumphant tone, and he folded up
the paper and restored it to his pocket-book.
“I am,” I answered.
“Pay then!”
“When do you want the money?” I asked, in a tone of easy indifference,
for I saw that I could make nothing by attempting to bluff the old
fellow.
“Now!”
“Of course I don’t carry a thousand dollars around with me, in my
pocket, and I did not expect to be called upon to pay this note to-day.
It is not convenient for me to do so.”
“I suppose not,” sneered my uncle. “But you seem to have money enough
to pay for champagne suppers, and better furniture than I can afford to
have in my house.”
Buckleton was the villain who had been talking to my uncle! “Better
furniture” meant the _étagère_. But I must not quarrel with my uncle.
He had the power to throw me out of my situation in the bank. As my
mother’s brother he would not be likely to do that. I was even willing
to believe that he was acting for my good, but certainly he was doing
so in a very clumsy and ungainly manner. He evidently wished to get me
into a tight place, where he could control me, and thus compel me to
forego my habits of extravagance.
“Uncle, the champagne supper was a mistake. I did not know there was to
be any wine until I saw it. My wife ordered it without my knowledge.
I did not suspect she intended to have it, or I should have spoken in
season to prevent it.”
“Very well; let that pass,” said he, considerably mollified. “You have
fifteen hundred dollars’ worth of furniture in your house. I will sell
you all mine for half that sum.”
“Buckleton cheated me into taking twice as much as I wanted.”
“Humph! Did he?”
“He did.”
“Did you pay cash for all these things?”
“Of course I did; though I did not intend to pay Buckleton for a month
or two. But he is a scoundrel, and I was glad to get rid of him, even
at the expense of sacrificing some stocks I had.”
“Stocks?” said my uncle.
“I haven’t been so reckless as you think I have,” I replied. “I
saved two-thirds of my salary till I was married, and doubled it by
speculation every year.”
“What did you borrow a thousand dollars of your aunt for?”
“Because I didn’t wish to sell a thousand dollars’ worth of ‘coppers’ I
had, and still have,” I continued, knowing very well what would satisfy
my uncle. “Somebody was ‘bearing’ them then; but they are all right
now, and I shall make a pretty thing on them by-and-by.”
“That’s all very well; but you are living too fast.”
I was afraid he would ask me what “coppers” I had been dickering in,
but he did not, probably reserving an inquiry into the details of my
financial operations till we were on better terms.
“I don’t think I am living beyond my means.”
“I do think so. You must give up that house in Needham Street, and live
within your means,” he added, sternly.
I actually began to think that he was in league with Mrs. Oliphant.
“I think I can live as cheaply there as anywhere else.”
“You can board for half the money it will cost you.”
“I differ from you there, uncle, I replied, mildly. “I paid—”
“You differ from me!” exclaimed he, angrily. “Do you think I don’t know
what I am talking about. I am older than you, and I have seen more of
the world. I know what it costs a man to live.”
“I think I know something about it.”
“No, you don’t!” replied he, as arbitrarily as ever. “You can dispose
of your lease, and sell your furniture for all it cost you, for houses
are scarce.”
“I don’t wish to do so; the house and furniture are worth as much to me
as to any one.”
“Paley, you are a fool!” said he, impatiently.
“I came of your stock, then,” I retorted, rashly, for my blood was warm
again.
“None of your impudence to me!”
“None of yours to me!”
“I am an older man than you are.”
“That gives you no right to call me a fool.”
“Will you listen to reason?”
“I will, but not to abuse.”
“Do you know Brentbone?”
“No, sir.”
“He would have taken the house where you live if you had not. While he
went to consult his wife you took it.”
“I was told that another man would take the house in half an hour if I
did not.”
“Brentbone was the man. He was terribly disappointed, for he had set
his heart upon having the house. He is an old friend of mine, and still
wants it. He is willing to give you a hundred dollars bonus for the
house, and pay all the bills for the furniture.”
“I am much obliged to him for his liberal offer, but I must decline
it,” I replied, firmly, for I could not think of leaving the English
basement house, when I was just beginning to realize the joys of home.
“Are you mad, Paley?”
“Not just now.”
“You can’t afford to live there. Your mother-in-law will board you at
half the rate it will cost you to live in this house.”
Upon my word, it looked more and more as if Captain Halliard was in
league with “dear ma.”
I hate mysteries, and I may as well explain the facts as I afterwards
discovered them. Mr. Brentbone was a man of considerable means, who
had just married a second wife. The house in Needham Street pleased
him, and, too late, he found that it pleased his wife even more. He was
acquainted with Mr. Oliphant and with my uncle. When he ascertained who
had taken the house, he went to see Mrs. Oliphant, but this was about
the time I moved in, and “dear ma” was too indignant to mention the
subject to me, though I remembered that she had suggested the idea of
selling out the furniture and giving up the lease.
As we had moved in, Brentbone gave up his purpose, and tried to find a
house elsewhere. Failing to suit himself, he again turned his attention
to the house in Needham Street, and spoke to my uncle about it. Captain
Halliard was probably startled to find I was living in a house which
would satisfy a person of Brentbone’s means. The matter was left in my
uncle’s hands for negotiation. He assured the would-be purchaser that
there would be no difficulty in completing the arrangement. All this
Brentbone told me himself in self-defence, a few weeks later, when I
made his acquaintance.
As my uncle had in a measure pledged himself to complete the
arrangement, he felt a pride in doing so. He honestly and sincerely
believed that I was living beyond my means, and here was an opportunity
for me to change my style, and make something by it at the same time.
He might have succeeded better if he had not begun by attempting to
drive me into compliance.
“I have no idea of boarding with my mother-in-law again, and paying
her thirty dollars a week for accommodations I can procure for ten,” I
replied, to my uncle’s proposition.
“Then board somewhere else. I don’t care where you board; but it will
cost you three thousand dollars a year to live in that house.”
“I think not.”
“I know it will,” responded my uncle, sharply.
“Time will tell.”
“Leave a fool to his folly,” snarled the captain out of patience with
me.
“I will leave you to yours,” I replied.
“Will you pay the note?”
“When?”
“Now.”
“No, sir; I will not.”
“When will you pay it?”
“To-morrow,” I replied, willing to gain even a day’s’ delay.
“Very well; if it isn’t paid to-morrow, I’ll trustee your salary, and
keep doing it till the note is paid!” exclaimed he, darting out the
ante-room where we had gone to talk over the matter.
I felt very much like sinking through the floor. Not only was I cut off
from obtaining the two thousand dollars from Aunt Rachel, but I was
called upon to pay the thousand I already owed her. The means of making
my account good with the bank were gone, for Aunt Rachel was too sick
even to speak to me. What could I do?
I went into the banking-room, and balanced my cash-two thousand short!
No one knew it but myself. Mr. Bristlebach was a careful man. He made
frequent forays into all the departments of the institution, and the
fact could not long be concealed from him. It was about time for the
directors to make an examination of the funds. I should be ruined in
a few days, or weeks, at most. I could only study how to defer rather
than avoid the catastrophe. I put my cash into the safe, and left the
building. My face was like a sheet as I saw it in the glass before I
left the bank. My heart was in my throat. I could not see any thing or
any body as I walked along State Street.
“Glasswood, how are you?”
I turned to the speaker. It was Cormorin, paying-teller of the
Forty-third. I was well acquainted with him, and he lived near my
house. He had been present at our party, and had drank more champagne
than any other five persons present.
“How are you, Cormorin?” I replied.
“In a hurry, Glasswood?”
“No, not specially.”
“Come into Young’s with me and drink a bottle of wine.”
That was just what I wanted in my misery—something to enliven my
spirits. I went, and found that Cormorin had a mission with me.
_CHAPTER XVI._
CORMORIN AND I.
CORMORIN was not a man for whom I had ever entertained any great
respect, and I wondered how he contrived to retain his position in the
bank, for he was rather dissolute and dissipated in his habits. We went
to a private room in the hotel, and he sent for champagne. He talked
about indifferent matters for a time, but I was soon satisfied that he
had something more than these to bring forward. I was not mistaken.
We finished the first bottle of champagne before the plan of my
companion began to be developed. He ordered another; but I ought to
add, in justice to myself, that he drank three glasses to my one. His
frequent potations, however, seemed to have but little effect upon him,
for he was accustomed to drink stronger fluids than champagne.
“Glasswood, what salary do you get now?” asked Cormorin, after we had
begun upon the second bottle.
“Two thousand,” I replied.
“The same as mine. But can you live upon it?”
“I think I can, though I have not had much experience since I was
married.”
“I can’t live on mine.”
“You drink expensive wines.”
“’Pon my soul, I don’t!” he protested. “I haven’t tasted champagne,
except at your house-warming, for a year, until this afternoon. I
can’t afford to drink champagne more than once a year; and I have to
stimulate on cheap whiskey. Well, even on this camphene, I can’t make
the ends meet. I’m as economical as a London Jew. I don’t spend a cent
on luxuries. I don’t go to the opera above a dozen times a year. I
don’t own a horse. I don’t average hiring one more than once a week. I
have been in the same fix these two years.”
“What do you mean—that you run in debt?” I inquired, willing to help
him reach the point at which he was evidently aiming.
“Just that; and nothing less, nothing more. I’ve tried every way in the
world to eke out my income; and, just now, I’m in a fair way to put
about ten thousand dollars into my pocket.”
“I congratulate you.”
“If I had sold my stock to-day, I should have put five thousand into my
exchequer.”
“Why didn’t you do it, then?”
“Because I would rather have ten thousand dollars than five,” he
replied, gulping down a full glass of the generous fluid before us.
“When a man can make a good thing by selling, I believe in realizing.”
“Isn’t it better to wait when a man is sure of making twice as much a
week hence?”
“Are you sure?”
“I wish I was as sure of living a week as I am of making this money, if
I can hold on for a week.”
“If I were reasonably certain, I should hold on; by all means.”
“O, I’m dead sure! I wouldn’t give the president of our bank sixpence
to insure me.”
“Of course you will hold on, then,” I added.
“That’s the trouble,” said he, slapping his fist upon the table, and
then swallowing another potion.
“What’s the trouble?” I inquired, kindly asking the questions he
suggested.
“Why, the holding on.”
“But if you are sure of the result, you cannot be in doubt in regard to
your course.”
“Well, I’m in no doubt about that.”
“What are you in doubt about?”
He looked at me steadily, and appeared to be uncertain whether to say
anything more or not. He was struggling to reach some point, though I
could not imagine what it was. I began to suspect that he wanted to
borrow some money of me. If he did, he had come to the wrong man. He
labored heavily, like a ship in a storm, and I was beginning to be
rather impatient at the slowness with which he proceeded.
[Illustration: Cormorin and I.]
“Glasswood, give me your hand,” said he, after a long pause, as he
extended his own to me across the table.
I took his hand, for I could not refuse to do as much as that for a
man who was paying for the champagne.
“We are friends—are we not?” he continued.
“Certainly we are.”
“Do you mean so?”
“Of course I do. I don’t say one thing and mean another. If you want to
say any thing, Cormorin, say it.”
“As a friend, I will,” said he, with compressed lips, as though he had
made up his mind to do a desperate deed. “This is between us, you know?”
“Certainly,” I replied.
The champagne I had drank had somewhat muddled my brain; and I was in
that reckless frame of mind which is so often induced by stimulating
draughts. If I had drank nothing, I should have been cautious how I
permitted myself to be dragged into the counsels of such a man as
Cormorin. As it was, I was becoming rapidly prepared for any desperate
step. I was very curious to know what my companion was driving at.
“I’m in a tight place, then!” said he, filling the glass again.
“A tight place! Why, I thought you were on the high road to wealth!” I
replied, rather to help him forward in his statement, than because I
experienced any astonishment at his apparent contradictions.
“Exactly so! Both propositions are equally true, and equally
susceptible of demonstration. You are dull, Glasswood. You don’t drink
enough to sharpen your wits. Don’t you see that while I am waiting for
a further rise in my stocks I am kept out of my capital?”
“Precisely so; that is not a difficult problem to comprehend,” I
replied.
“Well, you don’t seem to get along as fast as I do.”
“I understand you now. Go on.”
“That’s all.”
“Let’s go home, then,” I added, rising from the table.
“Not yet. Hold on! Don’t you understand my position?”
“Very clearly; you are short. So am I. If I could help you, I would do
so with the greatest pleasure.”
“You can help me. We are both honest fellows, and don’t mean to wrong
or injure any one.”
“That’s myself for one,” I replied, warmly.
He seemed to be using the very arguments which. I had applied to my
own case while borrowing the funds of the bank that employed me. What
did he mean by it? Could it be possible that he even suspected me of
taking the money of the bank? Had he by any means obtained a hint of
my financial operations? He was in another establishment. He could not
suspect what none in our bank suspected. I was excited with champagne,
and I dismissed the fear as preposterous.
“That’s myself for another!” exclaimed he, with more emphasis than the
subject matter seemed to require. “My coppers have doubled on my hands.”
“What are your coppers?” I inquired.
“The Ballyhack,” he answered promptly. “Do you think I haven’t any?”
He pulled from his breast-pocket a bundle of papers, and exhibited
certificates of shares for a very large amount of stock. Just at this
time there was a fever of speculation in these copper stocks. While
some were substantial companies, many were mere fancies, run up to high
figures by unscrupulous and dishonest men. In the particular one he
mentioned, the upward progress of the stock had been tremendous. Men
had made five or ten thousand dollars in them as easily as they could
turn their hands. It was patent to me that the Ballyhack had doubled in
a week, and was gaining rapidly every day.
Cormorin had “gone in for a big thing,” for he exhibited two hundred
shares, for which he had paid twenty-five, and which was now quoted
at fifty. Shrewd men were buying it at this rate, confident that the
stock would touch a hundred in a week or two. Cormorin’s statements,
therefore, were reasonable, and I began to be deeply interested in the
operation. If this reckless and semi-dissipated fellow could make five
or ten thousand dollars in a fortnight, why might not I do the same. It
flashed upon my mind that I could redeem myself from my own financial
difficulties by this exciting process—if I only had the capital to
make the investment. My companion had gone deeply into the business,
and could advise me in regard to some safe and profitable speculation
in coppers. It would be even less troublesome than borrowing money of
Aunt Rachel.
“You see it now,” continued Cormorin, folding up his papers, and
restoring them to his pocket.
“I do; that’s a good operation.”
“That’s so! What’s the use for a man to be contented with a paltry
salary of two thousand a year, when he can make five times that sum in
a week or two? That’s the question,” said he, vehemently.
“It is all very well for a fellow that has the capital to go into these
operations,” I added.
“The capital! Yes; that’s so! There’s the rub. But you see I didn’t
have any capital.”
He paused to fill the glasses again, though mine was not empty. He was
laboring with the next step in his revelation, and, reckless as he was,
he appeared to halt on the verge of further developments. I could not
see how he purchased his stock, if he had no capital; and I was rather
anxious to have the problem solved.
“Nary red,” he added, as I did not ask the question which would suggest
the revelation he evidently wished to make. “Not a cent—up to my
eyes in debt beside—one, two or three thousand dollars. O, well!
When a man understands himself, these things are easy enough. By the
way, Glasswood, don’t you want to try your hand in this business? I
know of a new company, which is going to be the cock of the walk on
State Street. You can buy it for twenty to-day. It will be twenty-five
to-morrow, for it is going like hot cakes. Everybody is after it. I
have been tempted to sell my Ballyhack and invest in it.”
“What’s the company?”
“The Bustumup—Indian name, you know. It’s going up like a rocket, now.”
“Perhaps it will come down like one.”
“No fear of that. If I had ten thousand dollars to-day, I would put
every cent of it into Bustumups. If you want two, three or five hundred
shares of it, I will get them for you at the lowest figure. Your name,
you know, would help the thing along.”