A STRANGE BETROTHAL
Nothing of Dorothy's doing in all her young life had so exasperated Mrs.
Lawton as her refusal to drive out with William Henry Bulkley. How, she
asked herself, could a child of hers be so stupidly content in poverty
and obscurity, when, by a little self-sacrifice, she could acquire
wealth; then with beauty and wealth combined with the Bassett-Lawton
finesse she could attain position and exist socially. With the slightest
sense of her own value and an adroit touch of coquetry now and then, she
could simply twist Mr. Bulkley about her little finger.
"Of course he is a bit old for her, indeed," admitted Mrs. Lawton to
herself. "He is a trifle older than her father, but--but--love for me, a
tender desire for my welfare, should outweigh that objection; and I have
tried hard to make her understand that my worldly salvation depends
wholly upon her conduct. And yet the stupid creature receives the rich
man who has cast her his handkerchief with frightened silence or with
prim monosyllables! I--I could shake her! In my days of affluence and
power, I always raised my voice against corporal punishment for
children; but live and learn, live and learn! I know now I was in
error, for the other day when she hid herself to avoid going to drive
with William Henry Bulkley nothing would have given me more unalloyed
pleasure than to have soundly trounced Miss Dorothy Lawton, my own
youngest born daughter! If he only had an opportunity, no doubt Mr.
Bulkley would flatter her vanity, arouse her ambition; but if he has no
chance even to make splendid promises to her--well, he _shall_ have a
chance! She _shall_ go out for a drive with him! Simpleton! She might
herself have been driving a pair of dear little ponies this month past
but for John Lawton's stiff-necked refusal to permit her to accept them.
He's always ready to join hands with the girls in any sentimental folly.
But I have a plan in my mind. The bird that can sing, but won't sing, my
dear, must be made to sing! So next time Mr. Bulkley drives out here you
will accept the seat beside him for at least a short drive, or I am not
Letitia Lawton and your mother, Miss!"
While she was brooding over her plans in the sitting-room, Dorothy and
Lena were busy in the kitchen, which was filled with the pleasant odor
of baking bread. A large bottle of Lena's providing had been carefully
covered with white flannel, and around and around it Dorothy was
smoothly winding and basting down a bit of good old lace that was soiled
beyond all using, and, as there was no money to spare for its
renovation, she was taking this slow and tiresome way of cleaning it
herself.
Lena, always delighted to do something for her favorite Miss Lady, was
shaving some white soap up, ready for melting in a kettle of boiling
water, and was earnestly assuring Miss Dorothy that she would "get uf
der hands scalded, uf she attempted to do dose jobs! Youst tell me, my
Miss," she begged, "und I vill boil de bottle, or younce him up und
down, or twist him round or vat you vant every hows, only don' you get
of der hands scalted."
And just then, around at the front of the house, William Henry Bulkley
drove to the door. Mrs. Lawton heard the approaching horse dashing
through the sea of fallen leaves, and, springing from her chair, she
hurried to the hall, opened the door a crack, and, with finger on lip,
whispering: "Don't ring! wait a moment!" she closed it again upon the
wondering visitor, who, nevertheless, obeyed, and stood there waiting.
Mrs. Lawton, with astonishing speed, ascended the stairs, entered her
room, and taking a bottle from her dressing-table containing a mixture
known to the whole family as "Mamma's drops," she swiftly poured the
contents from the window, corked the bottle, and returned it empty to
its place. She then seized a handkerchief, shook a few drops of camphor
upon it, and, tying it about her head as she moved, hurried lightly on
tiptoe down-stairs, and, opening the door again, whispering to Mr.
Bulkley "Ring now!" she slipped into the sitting-room, and became
instantly a stricken sufferer from violent sick headache.
As the bell jangled loudly in the kitchen it startled both occupants.
Lena made an exclamation, and Dorothy, starting out with: "Why, surely,
it's too early for----," stopped and flushed consciously, for she had
that morning received a wee bit of a note from Leslie Galt, saying that
he would be returning from the office earlier than usual that day and
asking her permission to call, that he might speak to her on a very
important subject--"a subject the enclosed might faintly hint at." And
the enclosed being a violet, had "hinted" so sweetly that a sort of
blissful misery of anticipation had been thrilling her nerves and
flushing and paling her cheeks all the day. Now, as Lena left the
kitchen, she glanced into the bit of broken looking-glass the little
German maid had tacked on the wall for guidance in her own Sunday
prinking, and, with tremulous fingers, was training the fluffy curls on
her brow in the way they should go, when Lena returned with the heavy
dragoon's men stride that anger always engendered in her, announcing,
sullenly: "It's dot Herr Bergamots man, miss"--a name she had given Mr.
Bulkley on account of the perfumes he used so lavishly--"und smellin'
like a whole drug-store turned outside der door!"
"Oh!" gasped poor Dorothy in dismay, for she instantly realized that if
his ponderous loitering was as long as usual poor Leslie Galt would find
no opportunity to discuss that important subject with her that day. With
a fallen countenance she was turning toward the door, when Lena added:
"Und miss, der Mistress Mudder, she say you shall first com' quick right
away by her, in der sittin'-rooms, where she make almost to die by der
sick stomach head!"
"What!" exclaimed Dorothy, "mamma sick--why, since when?" Then
anxiously: "Had she not her lunch and tea as usual, Lena?"
"Ja! she had, und she eat like a soldier!" scornfully asserted that
handmaiden. "Und den sit mit der feet on der cushions und der plate full
of der Herr Galt's grapes on der knee, und eat und tell me, vile I clear
der tray avay, how hard is der life by her now! Und how hard for her to
have der children mit ungrateful teeth not so sharp as der serpents! Und
now she com' all tied up by der head und all crazy like by der pains,
und vant you quick pefore even you go to der parlor to see der Herr
Bulkley!"
"Oh!" cried Dorothy, "get a glass and spoon quick, for mamma will want
her 'drops' the very first thing!"
As she hurried to the sitting-room she wondered why on earth her mother
had not called or rang the bell, as was her custom when she was not
feeling well. Entering the room she asked: "What can I do for you,
mamma, and what has made you ill so suddenly?"
"Anxiety for the future of my family and the unhappiness of being a
disobeyed, unloved mother has made me ill!" answered the sufferer. "I am
of a very sensitive and delicate temperament; I have borne the neglect
of the world in patience; I have suffered for the ordinary comforts of
life without a murmur."
"Oh, mamma!" deprecatingly interjected Dorothy.
"Hold your tongue, miss!" snapped Mrs. Lawton. "You know, as well as I
do, I have not had a silk stocking to my leg for years, and I have borne
it all, and lived on, some way! But when my own flesh and blood flout
me, and coldly deny me a little comfort for my last days, my courage
breaks, and sickness supervenes--'er--'er, perhaps I mean intervenes.
I--'er--'er, well, anyway--oh, dear heaven! help me, someone! My drops!
my drops!" She rolled her head frantically about and called louder and
louder for "drops."
Dorothy ran out, but, Mr. Bulkley stopping her in the hall, she took
glass and spoon from Lena, and told her to run upstairs for mamma's
drops-bottle (Mrs. Lawton smiled as she heard), and then explained that
a sudden headache had attacked her mother, but her drops would relieve
her and produce sleep.
"Hum! Opium, I should think!" remarked Mr. Bulkley.
"Oh, I hope not!" said Dorothy, and held out her hand for the bottle
Lena had brought, and lo! it was empty.
"Did you spill it?" she asked, in a frightened voice.
"Nein! I huf not spilled nottings, my Miss Lady!" said Lena, shortly.
"And my bread com' burn uf I don't go back by der kitchen!"
"O--o--h! o--o--h!" groaned Mrs. Lawton. "Where are my drops? What's
that? _All_ gone? Not even _one_ dose? Well, I shall die without it! I
simply can't bear this pain!"
She shot a meaning glance at Mr. Bulkley, who caught the cue, and
exclaimed: "My poor dear friend! If this remedy can be had at Yonkers,
and Miss Dorothy will direct me, I will go at once and procure these
precious drops!"
A distressed, a harried look came into the girl's face. "Mamma," she
said, "Sybil will go and I'll stay by you."
"Sybil's in New York by this time!" answered Mrs. Lawton. "I have been
too ill to be able to tell you before! So, hurry your hat on and start
at once!"
"Dear mamma, Lena can get the drops--she knows where the store is--and
then we need not trouble Mr. Bulkley."
"No trouble!--no trouble at all!" pompously declared that gentleman.
"Lena has an oven full of bread to watch!" snapped the suffering one,
whose head seemed surprisingly clear, by spells, at least.
"Then," despairingly cried Dorothy, "I will run for it myself! I can go
very quickly, mamma, and perhaps Mr. Bulkley will be so good as to keep
you company till I return!"
"Dorothy," cried Mrs. Lawton, "are you so utterly heartless that you can
deliberately lengthen out this period of suffering, simply to gratify
some whim of your own? O--o--o--h!" she groaned, dismally.
While Mr. Bulkley remonstrated: "Really, now, my dear little girl, while
we have no right to--er--er, to expect logic from a lovely creature like
yourself--you'll pardon me, Miss Dorrie, but you really don't show your
usual good sense in this instance! It is quite absurd, your idea of
walking when you can reach the village and return in less than a third
of the time by driving, and--and you know the poor lady's comfort should
be our first thought, so toss on your hat and let us start at once!"
With a lump big and hard in her throat the girl turned and left the
room, and half way up the stairs she was almost sure that she heard a
low laugh from the room she had left. "Oh," she thought, "if only papa
was back from his long walk, or if my Syb were here! How I wish Leslie
had arrived before this dreadful old man, who quite wears himself out
pretending to be a young man! Oh, dear! oh, dear! if Leslie should
happen to see me out with Mr. Bulkley--on the very day he was to call!
Oh, mamma, mamma! you are not playing fair!" and she dried two big tears
from her eyes before pulling down her veil, and then, all ungloved, she
ran down, and scrambling unassisted--to Mr. Bulkley's annoyance--into
the trap, sat there clutching the empty bottle, whose various labels
told plainly of visits to more than one chemist's shop, and so
overheard, though imperfectly, the groom making some suggestion about
the horse, "the chin-strap (mumble, mumble), curb, pretty severe
(mumble, mumble), tender mouth."
Mr. Bulkley's domineering tones answered: "Let it alone, I tell you! I
know what I'm about! I don't want my arms pulled out! Stay here till I
come back!" And, without the comforting presence of even a groom, they
started toward Yonkers.
The mounted police of those days found little to do on Broadway, and
even less on the quiet length and breadth of Riverdale Avenue, and many
of them, from very weariness and ennui, made pets of their horses,
sometimes teaching them simple tricks. Most of the men walked a good
deal, and, with bridles hanging loosely over their arms, allowed the
horses to browse the grass at the roadside. But one man had fallen into
the habit of leaving his horse entirely free, to follow him like a dog.
This animal was the big black, whose swollen leg Mr. Lawton had been
interested in, in the spring. His name was Napoleon. He had been on the
force for years, and was famous for his speed in short dashes. He had
become well acquainted with the Lawtons, and would beg from the girls in
the most barefaced manner whenever he met them; while he had established
apron-nibbling relations with Lena, who talked much to the policeman of
her "mash-man," who was his friend, while Napoleon meditatively sampled
the gingham she wore.
Sometimes, while the officer gossiped, the horse would be a third of a
block and more away, climbing an embankment, or reaching into some
hollow after an enticing bit of dandelion or clover clump; and though he
answered to a whistle, as a dog would, Sybil had several times remarked
that some day an interesting moment would arrive for that policeman,
that some sudden call would come for his services, and before the
sundered man and horse could be united time would be lost and trouble
would accrue--for the man, at least. But October had arrived, and her
prophecy was as yet unfulfilled.
As Mr. Bulkley drove out of the old White house gateway the most
unobservant person must have noticed that the big chestnut gelding was
either in great discomfort or in a very bad temper. Dorothy was
surprised, too, to see Mr. Bulkley trying to pull the animal, who
wanted to go, down to a walk, and, finally, in a burst of temper, sawing
the poor brute's mouth so cruelly that Dorothy, with a cry of pity,
caught at Mr. Bulkley's wrist with her ungloved hand, saying: "Please,
oh, please, don't do that, it hurts him so! See, there's a streak of
blood on the foam of his mouth!"
And, at that unconscious touch, William Henry Bulkley, with the red of
his cheek spreading over brow and neck, turned avid eyes upon her,
saying thickly that "that little hand of hers had power to guide him
where it would," adding, with brutal coarseness, that he "would crush
the horse's jaw, like a nutshell, to spare her annoyance!" a speech that
was a trifle wide of the mark, since he, and not the horse, had hurt and
frightened her.
"Mr. Bulkley," said Dorothy, "won't you please let him go on a little
faster? Mamma will find the time very long!"
And her companion laughed aloud, as, with ill-considered frankness, he
made answer: "Oh, I guess mamma's all right!" Then he traitorously
added: "She's being treated vicariously. The drive _you_ take will cure
_her_ headache!" laughing immoderately.
"I do not understand you," said Dorothy, coldly.
"Oh, my little girl!" he gurgled; "my little girl, whims in the young
and beautiful are not only pardonable, they are adorable. They should be
obeyed without hesitation, but the whims of the elderly are ridiculous.
My friend Mrs. Lawton has whims, and that headache of hers will be
helped quite as readily by a little quiet as by these wonderful drops.
This is a lovely day for the view from Park Hill, and we'll just drive
up there and enjoy it!"
"Mr. Bulkley," broke in the distressed and angry girl, "I must insist
upon getting mamma's medicine and returning at once!"
And just then, through a side street leading to Broadway, came Leslie
Galt, tall, well set up, well-dressed, some law books under his arm, and
in his face all the pride and bright hopefulness that belong by natural
right to the face of the man who goes to seek his love and ask her
promise. He recognized the big chestnut as it passed his corner, and
also he knew but too well who was the wearer of the white-winged,
blue-veiled hat, and his heart sank like lead in his breast in bitter
disappointment. He stood a moment at the corner, then, instead of
turning down Broadway toward Woodsedge, he followed up the street in the
direction taken by the slowly moving carriage.
Dorothy had not seen him, but, instead, caught a glimpse of old black
Napoleon, half-way up a bank, after a bunch of late clover blooms
peeping out invitingly from the fallen leaves, while his uniformed
master, a third of a block away, conversed gallantly with a sturdy young
blowzy-belle of his own nationality. And even as Sybil's prophecy came
into her mind, she noted a small store on her left with red and blue
bottle-filled windows and stands of soda-water and cod-liver oil signs
outside, and she eagerly cried: "Stop, please! Here's a drug-store!"
"But," grumbled Mr. Bulkley, "I thought we were going up into the town?
This is not the place you intended going to?"
"Oh, any drug-store will answer," insisted the girl; "the drops are not
difficult to prepare."
And with an angry jerk her vexed companion pulled the fretting horse in
close to the sidewalk and stopped. But as Dorothy, bottle in hand, rose,
the animal started, throwing her back into her seat, and Mr. Bulkley's
loud "whoa!" and violent jerk on the tormented mouth did not add much to
his steadiness in standing. For again, yes, and a third time, was
Dorothy's effort to descend frustrated by the irritable, nervous
starting of the chestnut.
And then Mr. Bulkley's always feeble hold upon his temper gave way
entirely, and, snatching the bottle from the girl's hand, he violently
exclaimed: "Good God! Let _me_ get out! Here!" and he flung the reins
into her lap and sprang out of the trap. Answering her startled cry with
"I won't be more than a moment" he started across the walk to the store.
And sometimes more than one would be superfluous, for some moments are
crowded with incident; this was one of them. In the same instant that
followed the sudden lessening of the strain upon the horse's mouth there
had come Dorrie's startled cry and the sharp bang of the store door,
violently slammed by Mr. Bulkley, each causing a leap of the chestnut's
every nerve, and followed by the swift response of a raked up pile of
leaves to some impish current of air that sent them in swirling circle
out into the street, where, whirling down the hill like a veritable
dancing Dervish of the Dust, they passed fair between the horse's legs!
A bound, a long, wild scream from Dorothy, and the chestnut was off,
with the trap slewing this way and that from side to side!
That cry had reached Galt's ears, and it almost stopped the beating of
his heart for a hideous moment. Then, hurling the books he carried to
the ground, he started on a run, when suddenly he heard the shrill, long
whistle of the policeman recalling his horse, and glancing behind him he
saw the officer racing toward him. Right in front came the big, black
Napoleon, obediently answering his master's call. With a single bound
Galt was at the horse's side, had grabbed the bridle with one hand, the
pommel with the other, and hurling himself into the saddle, pelted by a
very hail of furious oaths and threats to shoot, he gave the good old
black the heel and a chance once more to prove his vaunted speed, for
the runaway was now a race between the chestnut and the black!
And all the time, this frantic lover on his illegal mount, though
praying dumbly for the safety of his love, was, all unconsciously,
swearing like a madman. The policeman followed until his breath was
gone, and, pausing an instant to regain it, he saw a boy come from a
side street, who was exercising a livery horse. Before the half of Jack
Robinson could have been said the policeman had the boy by the leg,
down, and himself striding the horse, and pelted madly off in wild
pursuit--and the race became a hunt.
At sight of the girl in the swaying, swinging vehicle, people racing
along the sidewalks cried out in pity. Drivers turned out to give free
passage to the furious horse. And Dorothy, who, white-faced, staring
straight ahead, had gasped once or twice, "Sybbie! oh, Sybbie!" feeling
faintness stealing over her, could only hope it might come before the
inevitable crash.
And then she was dimly conscious of regularly beating hoofs behind her.
Something dark showed close at her side, fell back, reappeared, seemed
stationary for a moment, then rushed ahead, and she recognized Napoleon,
and wondered vaguely why his rider wore no uniform.
The old horse knew his business well. He had avoided the wheels, but now
crowded in close upon the runaway. Galt reached for and caught the
bridle; the chestnut swerved to the sidewalk; then a tree, a high curb,
cramped wheels, sudden splintering of a shaft, and the high cart was
over, and Dorothy, hurled half-way across the street, fell on one
doubled-up arm and lay silent and motionless.
The crowd that so miraculously appears upon the scene of even a suburban
accident, was closing about her, when, leaving the horses to the care or
the neglect of others, Leslie Galt dropped on one knee, and lifting the
pallid face, whose left side, dust-smeared, bruised, and sand-cut, was
so piteous a sight to him, in breathless, unthinking haste, cried:
"Dorothy! my darling! For God's sake, speak to me!"
And even as the words left his lips he remembered his situation, but it
was too late. He caught the exchanged glances, the half-wink, half-leer
on the face of a hulking fellow, and, like a flash, boldly lied to
protect the helpless girl, saying: "Run for a doctor, someone, please!
This is my affianced wife, Miss Lawton, and I dare not think of leaving
her!"
The effect of that statement was instantaneous. Murmurs of sympathy were
heard, women pressed closer. One drew the tossed skirt smooth about the
girl's ankles; another produced a smelling bottle from her chatelaine; a
third gently strove to straighten that crumpled looking arm; while the
leering fellow went plunging diagonally across the street to call out a
doctor residing near. Galt had barely time to feel a pang of terror over
his headlong assertion, an awful fear that Dorothy might repudiate his
claim, when the furious policeman came pounding up, threatening
unspeakable and dire punishment for this disturber of the peace, this
breaker of the law, and--and horse-thief, and demanding that he submit
at once to arrest.
"All right," answered Galt. "As an officer you have every right to hale
me to prison; and yet, as a man, I'm sure you will make some allowance
for a fellow who sees his future wife in danger! For," desperately
thought Leslie, "I may as well hang for a sheep as a lamb, and stick now
to my claim."
Then, with a glint in his eye, he added, innocently: "I know you are
anxious not only to lock me up, officer, but to get the opportunity to
explain to your superiors how you and your horse came to be so widely
separated while you were on duty?"
The policeman's jaw dropped a bit. He looked distinctly troubled. A
lady came out just then and asked that the injured girl be brought into
her house, and, as the policeman stooped to help Leslie lift her, he
exclaimed: "God be good to us! Wh-y it's Miss Dorothy Lawton! Won't
there be ructions when the old man at home hears of this! Them girls are
just his two eyes! What's that? Will I be leavin' you free of arrist
till the doctor comes? What kind of a bounder do you take me for,
anyway? I'll leave you free till you'll be gettin' the little colleen
safe home, sure, and thin maybe you'll show up and stand for a fine and
the like? Divil take that gang out there!" and out he charged upon the
crowd.
Finding himself for a few precious moments alone with Dorothy, who was
lying on a settle in a hall, Galt began a hurried search of his
breast-pocket. He brought out a small box, and, opening it, was shaking
out into his palm a glittering ring, when a faint moan reached his ear,
and, bending over, he saw the blue eyes he loved slowly open, saw the
dazed look passing, and as glad recognition dawned in them he swiftly
took her hand, and slipping the ring upon her finger, he whispered,
rapidly, urgently: "Little Dorothy, listen! Try to understand! And oh,
try, too, to forgive me! But you are hurt, dear, and that I may have the
right to protect and care for you, I--I--oh, Dorrie, see, dear!" He
lifted her hand that she might see the ring. "I have dared to claim you,
sweet--have declared you my promised wife! For God's sake, don't deny
me! Promise!"
But Dorothy promised nothing. The faint blush that had crept into her
cheek died there. The wide-amazed eyes slowly closed, and in utter
silence she slipped back into the unconsciousness in which the doctor
presently found her.