TOO MUCH ALIKE
One of the duties that Dennis enjoyed most was the opening of new
goods. With the curiosity and pleasure of a child he would unpack the
treasures of art consigned to his employer, and when a number of boxes
were left at the front door he was eager to see their contents. During
his first three weeks at the store, there had not been many such
arrivals of goods and pictures. But now new things were coming in; and,
above all, Mr. Ludolph was daily expecting pictures imported
directly from Europe.
One afternoon early in February a large flat box was brought to the
store. Mr. Ludolph examined its marks, smiled, and told Dennis to open
it with great care, cutting every nail with a chisel. There was little
need of cautioning him, for he would have bruised his right hand rather
than mar one line of beauty.
The "Art Building" contained two or three small showrooms, where the
more valuable pictures could be exhibited in a good light. Into one
of these the large box was carried, and most carefully opened. The two
clerks who were helping Dennis laughed at his eager interest, and
called him under their breath a "green 'un." Mr. Schwartz looked upon
him as a mild sort of lunatic. But Mr. Ludolph, who stood near, to see
if the picture was safe and right, watched him with some curiosity.
His manner was certainly very different from Pat Murphy's at such a
time, and his interest both amused and pleased his employer.
When at last the picture was lifted from the box and placed on a large
easel, all exclaimed at its beauty save Dennis. On looking at him,
they saw that his eyes had filled with tears, and his lips were
quivering so that he could not have spoken.
"Is she a relation of yours?" asked Mr. Schwartz, in a matter-of-fact
tone.
A loud laugh followed this sally from such an unusual source. Dennis
turned on his heel, left the room, and busied himself with duties in
a distant part of the store the rest of the day. It seemed to him that
they were like savages bartering away gold and pearls, whose value
they could not understand; much less could they realize his possession
of a nature of exquisite sensibility to beauty.
When all were gone he returned to the room, and sat down before the
picture in rapt attention. It was indeed a fine work of art, finished
in that painstaking manner characteristic of the Germans.
The painting was a winter scene in Germany. In the far background rose
wooded and snow-clad hills. Nearer in the perspective was a bold bluff,
surmounted by a half-ruined castle. At the base of the bluff flowed
a river, now a smooth glare of ice, and in the distance figures were
wheeling about upon skates. In the immediate foreground were two
persons. One was a lovely young girl, dressed in black velvet trimmed
with ermine. The basque fitted closely to her person, revealing its
graceful outlines, and was evidently adapted to the active sport in
which she was engaged. While the rich warm blood mantled her cheeks,
the snow was not whiter than her temples and brow. Down her shoulders
flowed a profusion of wavy hair, scattered threads of which glistened
like gold in the slanting rays of the sun. Her eyes, of a deep violet,
were turned, in sympathy with the scorn of the full, smiling mouth,
upon the figure of a young man kneeling before her, making awkward
attempts to fasten her skate to the trim little foot. It was evident
that the favor was too much for him, and that his fluttering heart
made his hands trembling and unskilful. But the expression of the
maiden's face clearly indicated that her heart was as cold toward him
as the ice on which he kneeled.
The extreme beauty of the picture and its exquisite finish fascinated
Dennis, while the girl's face jarred upon his feelings like a musical
discord. After gazing fixedly for a long time, he said, "What possessed
the man to paint such a lovely face and make its expression only that
of scorn, pride, and heartless merriment?"
All the long night the face haunted and troubled him. He saw it in his
dreams. It had for him a strong interest that he could not
understand--that strange fascination which a very beautiful thing that
has been marred and wronged has for some natures. So powerful was this
impression upon his sensitive nature that he caught himself saying,
as of a living being, "Oh, that I could give to that face the expression
God meant it to have!"
And then he laughed at his own folly. His watchfulness caused him to
oversleep the next morning, and he was later than usual in getting
through the routine duties of the store. At length, about nine o'clock,
dusty and begrimed from mopping, feeding the furnace, etc., he stood
with duster and brush in hand before the painting that had so disturbed
his rest. He was in his shirt-sleeves, and in careful economy had a
large coarse apron of ticking girded about his person. His black,
dishevelled locks looked like an inverted crow's nest, and altogether
he was unpresentable, appearing more like the presiding divinity of
a dust-heap than of an "Art Building."
After gazing a few moments on the scornful, beautiful face that might
have obtained its haughty patrician lineaments from the old barons of
the ruined castle just above, he seemed to grow conscious of this
himself, and shrunk behind the picture half ashamed, as if the fair
girl could see him.
While engaged in cleaning off some stains and marks upon the frame,
he did not hear a light footstep in the room. Finishing his task, he
stepped out from behind the picture with the purpose of leaving the
apartment, when a vision met his gaze which startled him to that degree
that he dropped his brush and duster upon the floor, and stood
transfixed. There before him, in flesh and blood it seemed, stood the
lady of the picture--the same dress, the same beautiful blond face,
and, above all, the same expression. He was made conscious of his
absurd position by a suppressed titter from the clerks at the door,
and a broad laugh from Mr. Ludolph. The beautiful face turned toward
him for a moment, and he felt himself looked over from head to foot.
At first there was an expression of vexation at the interruption, and
then, as if from the ludicrousness of his appearance, the old laughing,
scornful look returned. Casting a quick, furtive glance at the picture,
which seemed to satisfy him, Dennis, with hot cheeks, gathered up his
tools and beat a hasty retreat. As he passed out, Mr. Ludolph asked,
good naturedly, "Why, Fleet, what is the matter?"
"Indeed, sir, I hardly know," answered the bewildered youth, "but it
seems to me that I have lost my wits since that picture came. For a
moment I thought that the lady on the canvas had stepped out upon the
floor."
"Now that you speak of it," exclaimed Mr. Ludolph, advancing into the
room, "there is a striking resemblance."
"Nonsense! father," Dennis heard the young lady say; "you are too old
to flatter. As for that hare-brained youth of the dust-brush, he looked
as if he might have the failing of poor Pat, and not always be able
to see straight."
At this Dennis's cheeks grew hotter still, while a low laugh from one
or two of the clerks near showed that they were enjoying his
embarrassment.
Dennis hastened away to his room, and it was well that he did not hear
the conversation that followed.
"Oh, no!" responded Mr. Ludolph, "that is not Dennis's failing. He is
a member of a church in 'good and regular standing.' He will be one
of the 'pillars' by and by."
"You are always having a fling at superstition and the superstitious,"
said his daughter, laughingly. "Is that the reason you installed him
in Pat's place?"
"Can you doubt it, my dear?" replied her father, in mock solemnity.
"Well," said she, "I think your new factotum fails decidedly in good
manners, if nothing else. He stared most impudently at me when he came
out from behind the picture. I should have reprimanded him myself if
I had not been so full of laughter at his ridiculous appearance."
"That's the joke of it. It was as good as a play to see him. I never
saw a man more startled and confused. He evidently thought for a moment,
as he said, that the girl in the painting had stepped out upon the
floor, and that you were she."
"How absurd!" exclaimed his daughter.
"Yes; and now that I think of it, he glanced from you to the picture,
to satisfy himself that his senses were not deceiving him, before he
started to come away."
"I cannot see any special resemblance," she replied, at the same time
inwardly pleased that she should be thought like the beautiful creature
on the canvas.
"But there is a strong resemblance," persisted her father, "especially
in general effect. I will prove it to you. There is old Schwartz; he
is not troubled with imagination, but sees things just as they are.
He would look at you, my dainty daughter, as if you were a bale of
wool, and judge as composedly and accurately."
"I fear, my father," replied she, smilingly, "that you have conspired
with him to pull the entire bale over my eyes. But let him come."
By this time Dennis had returned, and commenced dusting some pictures
near the entrance, where he could see and hear. He felt impelled by
a curiosity that he could not resist. Moreover he had a little natural
vanity in wishing to show that he was not such a guy, after all. It
was hard for him to remember that he stood in Pat Murphy's position.
What difference did it make to the lady whether such as he was a fright
or not?
Mr. Schwartz entered, and at Mr. Ludolph's bidding looked at the living
and the painted girl. In his slow, sententious tones, one could not
help feeling that he was telling just how things appeared to him. The
young lady stood beside the painting and unconsciously assumed the
expression of her fair shadow. Indeed it seemed an expression but too
habitual to her face.
"Yes," he said, "there is a decided resemblance--close in dress--close
in complexion--color of hair much the same--eyes much alike--Miss
Ludolph not quite so tall," etc. Then with an awkward attempt at a
compliment, like an elephant trying to execute a quickstep, he
continued:
"If I may be permitted to be so bold as to speak--express an opinion--I
should beg leave to say that Miss Ludolph favors herself--more
favored--is better-looking," he blurted out at last, backing out of
the door at the same time, with his brow bathed in perspiration from
the throes of this great and unwonted effort at gallantry.
"Bah!" said Dennis to himself, "the old mole left out the very chief
thing in tracing the likeness--the expression! See her now as she
listens to his awkward attempt at compliment. She is looking at him
with the same scornful, laughing face that the girl in the picture
wears toward the bungling admirer at her feet. He is right in one thing
though, she is better-looking."
But the moment Mr. Schwartz's bulky figure vanished from the doorway,
Miss Ludolph caught the critical, intelligent gaze of Dennis Fleet,
and the expression of her face changed instantly to a frown. But, to
do her justice, it was more in vexation with herself than with him.
Her innate delicacy of feeling showed her that it looked like small
vanity to be standing there while comparisons like the above were
instituted. Her manner at once became cold, observant, and thoroughly
self-possessed. She stepped out into the store, and by a few keen,
critical glances seemed to take in its whole effect. Again
disapprobation clouded her fair brow, and she pronounced audibly but
one word--"Stiff."
Then she passed into her father's private office.