"TELL HER YOU HAVE MY PERMISSION"
When the girls had returned from their call on the actress they were met
at the door by a wildly excited, tearfully angry Lena: "Oh, my Miss
Ladies!" she cried. "Vat you tink now? Vas I a mans I could say tarn!
But I'm youst a vomans, so I cry mit my eyes! Dose mens of der gas
houses com und dey make mit de bill und vant money right now dis minute
down. Und I say der Herr Boss he's out, und der Frau Mistress comes in
der bed mit der headaches, und de Miss Ladies go visitin' mit dat big
actor lady's over yonter, und dey shall put de bill on der mantel-poard
unter dat clock, dot doan't go no more! Und dot smarty mans, he gif big
laughs, und say, 'Oh, no! dot plan's like de clock, it doan't go!' Und
he say gif him right avay quick de pay for der gas! Und I say, Did he
tink I carry de gas money in my clothes? Und den dey say dey cut off dot
gas--cut it short off unless dey hav' de money. Und dey shov' me avay
und go down in der cellar, und for sure, my Miss Ladies, I haven't seen
dem mens cut nodings at all. But after dot dey take avay demselves. I
youst go to light der dark entry vay out dere, and oh! oh! der gas don't
light it, it don't even make no smells, und dose men did cut off dot
gas, und carry it off mit 'em! Und we ain't got only vun candles in der
house! And [sobbing loudly] uf anybody in der fam'ly should be took to
die, all unexpec' like, it vill be in der dark to-night--you see, now!"
Perhaps Sybil's courage might have required a little time to tighten it
up to the sticking point, but this tale of Lena's was like a sharp goad
pricking her forward. Throwing off her hat she said: "Lena, go make me a
cup of coffee! Miss Dorothy will give you some change to buy a few
candles for to-night." And as Lena trotted off to the kitchen Dorothy
asked: "Shall you want me, Sybbie?" And as a shaken head was her only
answer, she picked up her sister's hat and slowly turned away. At the
stairs she looked back and said: "If you should want me, I'll be in our
room waiting."
And the set, frowning face of Sybil softened for a moment, and she
answered, gently: "Thank you, Dorrie! I know you will be wishing me
success!"
And, satisfied with a kind word, Dorothy ascended to her own room, and
presently heard the high shrill voice of her mother, crying out against
"needless ignominy" and "degradation," caught the words "strollers,
play-actors," "constables," "depths of vulgarity," "painted
caricatures," and "serpent-tooth," and then suddenly the long wavering
shriek and laugh of hysteria; and, knowing that Sybil needed help by
that time, she softly entered the room and held her mother's beating
hands, while Sybil administered soothing drops, applied a bit of plaster
here and there to the self-inflicted scratches, and fastened a
cologne-soaked handkerchief tightly about the doubtless aching head.
But after the girls had placed her in bed she suddenly lifted her head
and said, resentfully: "Miss Morrell might at least have called on me
before talking things over seriously with you girls. I've been fifty
times better off than she is! She may be a very great actress, but her
social usages are all wrong, I can tell her that! And she can call on
me, or you can keep off the stage all your life, Sybil Lawton!"
And with violently restrained laughter the girls stole out of the room,
leaving their mother to enjoy a nap.
"Oh," cried Dorothy, when they had locked themselves into their own
room, "was not that mamma all over? Now it is Miss Morrell who is trying
to induce you to go on the stage, and mamma will not consent unless she
is called upon in state by the famous suppliant! Oh, it is funny!"
But Sybil's laugh was not hearty. She was thinking of her father, whose
coming she waited anxiously; and when at last they were out on the
porch, alone in the sweet June dusk, she, leaning back against the
railing, said, suddenly: "Dada!"
John Lawton started at the word. In an instant his memory presented him
the picture of his handsome, vexed young wife as she fretted over the
dark-eyed baby's persistent use of "dada" instead of papa; and his blue
old eyes were very tender as they looked at the speaker expectantly.
"I went over to call upon Miss Morrell to-day."
"Did you?" he asked, in a pleased tone. "I'm sure you found her a
charming companion?"
"She?" exclaimed Sybil. "She is the best, she is the kindest woman in
the whole world!"
"It's a habit with you, dear, to indulge in somewhat hasty conclusions.
And you are a little extravagant, too, are you not? I have heard some
very pretty stories of Miss Morrell's kindness to the people about here,
but 'the whole world'?"
He smiled indulgently, and was going on to complete his remark, when,
noticing the tightly clasped hands, the eager manner of his daughter, he
paused, and, quick as a flash, she flung herself into the story of the
day. Once only he moved, once only he spoke. When first she declared her
intention of going on the stage he cried "Sybil!" then clasped his hand
about his lips and chin and said no other word.
She was passionately portraying their hopeless, friendless state, when
he turned restlessly in his chair, and murmured: "Why doesn't Lena light
the gas--the house looks so dreary?"
"Why? why?" cried Sybil. "Why, because there is no gas to light. The
bill was not paid to-day! Oh! see--see, dear! Something _must_ be done!
And I'm the only one to do it, you know that!"
Faintly a groaned "Oh, God! Oh, God!" came to her ear, and she cried:
"Don't misunderstand! Oh, dada, don't! There was no reproach in that! I
only mean I'm so well and strong I ought to help, at least, myself!"
"It's a hard life," he whispered.
"No harder for me than for other girls," she answered.
"You might fail--you might, you know?"
"Even so," responded Sybil, "it would be more brave, more honorable to
try and fail than not to try at all, but be content to cling like a
parasitical growth to you and mamma, stealing from your vitality!"
He turned his pale face to her, and said: "There speaks my father,
through your lips. The courage, the spirit, that passed by me reappears
in you, a girl!" Again he turned away, and silence fell. She had
reasoned, argued, entreated. Had it all been in vain? she asked herself.
At last she faltered: "Dada, are you going to refuse your consent? Shall
you forbid me?"
He turned upon her in a white passion of misery: "Refuse you? Forbid
you? What right have I to forbid anything? Fathers who bring honor to
the family name, who support, shelter, and protect their children, have
earned the right to guide them--to forbid them for their good! But what
right have I? My father gave me a fortune--I was too weak to hold it!
God gave me daughters, and I am too weak to protect them!" His head fell
upon his breast, he extended his trembling old hands to her, and
abjectly murmured: "Pardon me, my daughter! pardon me!"
In an instant his shamed old face was resting above the high-beating
young heart of his child. She smoothed back the silvery hair from his
lined brow, and said, imperatively: "Dada, answer me this one question,
and we will have done. Answer truly! Do you believe there is a father,
great, strong, rich, influential, in this city to-night who is more
truly, reverently loved than you are? Tell me!"
And the old man answered: "No! no! Though I have lost everything else in
the world, my children's love remains to me. That is the one sweet drop
left in the bottom of the cup! It is compensation, daughter, it is
compensation!"
Sybil rested her cheek upon his head, and crooned over him as though he
were a sick child, until the young summer night lifted her mighty silver
shield high above the grewsome black trees, then a peevish voice from
above called: "Sybil! John! What are you mooning over down there? Why on
earth don't you come in out of the damp? The quinine bottle's more than
half empty now! No one ever seems to consider ways and means in this
house unless I do! And John, this room's full of all sorts of flopping,
flying things! They've put the candle out twice, and you ought to come
up here and try and chase 'em away! Besides, I--I don't want you two
down there, anyway!"
John answered, obediently, "Yes, Letitia!" But Sybil laughed a short
laugh, and said: "The wasp carries his sting in his tail, and the pith
of mamma's remarks are generally found at their end. No, she doesn't
want us two down here anyway! Papa, I knew mamma was jealous of me when
I was only as high as your knee, and----"
But her father put his finger on her lip, saying: "Don't, daughter; it
is not a gracious thing to speak of a mother's faults."
And Sybil said, hastily: "I beg your pardon, papa!" Then, as they rose,
she put her hands on his shoulders and asked, very prettily: "Papa, will
you not in so many words give me your permission to try for a position
on the stage? Miss Morrell will not move an inch without it."
"She is a good woman, an honest woman!" he said. Then he put his hand
under Sybil's chin and, lifting her face to the moonlight, looked
steadily at her a long moment, sighed heavily, and answered: "Since you
are so determined, dear, yes, you may tell Miss Morrell you are acting
with my permission in seeking to enter her profession." And he put her
quickly from him and went slowly into the house, stumbling up the stairs
in the darkness.
And Sybil lifted her arms above her head, stretching her hands up toward
the moon in a very ecstasy of joy. "Oh," she whispered, "_am_ I to
escape from this 'slough of despond'--_am_ I to have my chance in life?
Perhaps I may become successful, happy?"
And right across her smiling, upturned face a hideous creature of the
night flew so low, so near, one leathery wing touched her loosened hair.
She flung her hands across her face with a startled cry, then laughed a
little tremulously, saying: "B-r-r-r! a bat--ugh! How I loathe them!
I--I think I'll go in" and she entered the house, closing and with some
difficulty locking the door in the darkness.
As she reached the top step of the stairs a door opened, and Mrs. Lawton
in her undress uniform of mind as well as body, a guttering candle held
high above her head, stood enframed in the doorway--Mrs. Lawton in
night-dress and knitted bedroom slippers, but without her upper teeth,
without her thick switch of hair, without her rosy bloom of rouge
vinaigre; and without all these things it was surprising how little
there seemed to be left of the every-day familiar Letitia Lawton.
Looking at the small, sleek head; the pallid, sunken face; the flattened
figure--Sybil thought, rather wickedly: "This is a sort of skeleton
mamma. I wonder if papa would like to put her in the closet?"
But the lady was addressing her querulously: "Oh, you have decided it to
be worth while to follow a mother's suggestion, and come into the house
at last? In former days I could have called in a doctor for every chill
in the family, even for the servants--though, to tell the truth,
servants rarely have real hearty chills; indeed, I doubt their ability
to contract genuine malaria. It's a mere desire to imitate their
employers. But now that your poor father has lost everything--that is,
everything except his good name [with a stinging look at Sybil, which,
that young person understood perfectly]--I can only defend the health of
my family with the quinine bottle, and I do think you and your father
might have held your secret consultation inside the house. I'm sure
neither Dorothy nor I would have tried to pry!"
"Oh, mamma!" indignantly exclaimed Sybil, "you know what I was asking of
papa!"
"I know!" broke in Mrs. Lawton, "that you were twisting him about your
little finger, as you usually do. It is not for a father to decide a
girl's destiny, without even asking the mother's advice. You two have
connived together, I believe, with that Morrell woman, who has not even
called upon the mother she would rob! But remember this--the house that
is divided against itself goes to the wall, or--er falls, or something;
and how you can stand and laugh at the mother that bore you is more than
I can understand! Your Grandmother Bassett never received such treatment
from me--I know that! But you and your father may think everything is
safely settled, and you as good as on the stage; but let me tell you I
am not quite helpless in this matter. There is still one link between me
and the life of ease and luxury and beauty I once knew! You seem to
forget you have a god-mother--though how you can forget the only human
being who has been able to give you presents for ten long years, I don't
know! But you have a god-mother, and Sybil Van Camp has at least enough
of her fortune left to merit our respect! Oh, you need not pout! Down
you go to-morrow to Mrs. Van Camp, and if she sees no shame in spreading
the name of Lawton all over New York, well and good! She was a power in
her day. I nearly fainted from joy and pride when she consented to stand
god-mother to you! You don't like to trouble her--very private matter? I
wish it was a private matter. As for trouble, didn't she vow in church
to become your surety and see that you renounced things and--ah, well,
what's a god-mother for if she don't take some responsibility? Anyway,
you go on to no stage without Mrs. Van Camp's consent, nor without
proper social amenities being extended to your mother!
"And Sybil, I simply _can't_ be kept standing here all night in my
state of health! Of course, dear, I am interested in all your plans, but
it would have been more thoughtful had you waited till morning to talk
them over. But that's where you take after your poor father in a certain
unpremeditated selfishness--unpremeditated, I admit, for he's a
gentleman and you've had the upbringing of a lady--though you are
deprived of the surroundings of one, but through no fault of yours or
mine! John!"--turning sharply to peer into the darkness behind
her--"what are you groaning about, I'd like to know? It's my legs and
back that are bearing the fatigue of this interview. I saw you took good
care to loll comfortably through your talk with Sybil. So why you should
groan now, I don't know, unless you've hit your bunion on the frame of
the sewing-machine again, and you generally swear a little when you do
that. Sybil, I'm fairly worn out in mind as well as body, and you tore
your veil the other day, didn't you? Cheap lace always goes that way.
There was a time when my veils made people turn around to look at them.
I had one with a border of grapes and vines, I remember; I am always an
honest woman, and as the border had the effect of cutting off one's
chin, I can't pretend it was becoming--but, my dear, it cost thirty
dollars, as I'm a living woman! But you can wear my net veil to-morrow,
and you will have to take Dorothy with you, for I shall be utterly used
up and unable to chaperon you; though once they get you upon the stage,
I suppose you'll go prancing about without attendance of any sort. But
until that time, you will show some respect to social conventions.
Good-night, Sybil! Take a quinine pill before you go to bed. You have
advanced me well upon my way to the grave this day. But I can't forget
you are my child, and if you should get a chill, you couldn't go down to
Mrs. Van Camp, who will probably put an estoppel upon these theatre
plans of yours. Yes, yes! John! I'm coming! It does seem that I might be
allowed to speak a few words of advice and caution to my own daughter
without interruption every moment or two!"
And profiting by the momentary diversion, Sybil flew past her mother to
the room she shared with her sister. Dorothy had placed the candle high
on a small bracket that held their shabby little hymnals and
prayer-books, and as Sybil entered she saw directly before her the young
girl on her knees at the bedside praying. The light fell upon her
uplifted, happy face, making a faint aureole in the bright hair that at
the back fell in a long queue. A tenderness came into Sybil's eyes, but
as they fell upon the upturned soles of Dorrie's feet from beneath the
night-dress, rising mischief triumphed. She looked at the pink round
heels, at the whiteness of the hollows, and then the pinkness again
across the balls of the little trotters; and, resisting not a moment,
stooped and drawing her finger zig-zag across them both, produced a wild
lash out, a startled: "Oh! ouch!--for ever and ever--Amen! You ought to
be ashamed of yourself, Syb!"
And before Dick could pull his head out from beneath his wing and set it
in the right direction, the bed was pillowless; those useful articles
serving as ammunition in the battle royal raging gloriously between the
dressed and the undressed, while happily neither one guessed they were
bidding farewell to childish romps in this, their last great pillow
fight.
And across the hall the subdued John bowed in silence, and allowed the
conquering Letitia to place her foot a little more firmly upon his neck.
The light had gone out, 'tis true; yet, as the victorious one could talk
on perfectly well in the dark, it was nothing short of a merciful
dispensation that permitted meek and conquered John, under cover of the
darkness, to sleep--sleep quietly, almost attentively, thus escaping
actual madness. For as constant dropping weareth away a stone, so
constant talking weareth away the listener's brain!