CALAMITY
"WHEN will Professor Faulkner be here, Mrs. Lucas?" Paulina asked the
next morning at breakfast. "I am longing to see him again," she added
calmly.
"I am sorry I cannot tell you," Aunt Patty replied. "He would be
flattered if he knew how his presence was desired."
"Don't tell him then," said Paulina. "I would not for the world flatter
him or any man. Masculine self-conceit never needs any bolstering up."
"There are exceptions, dear," said Miss Cottrell, with a soft glance at
the self-complacent visage of her Josiah.
"If you mean my poppa," said Miss Dicks unflinchingly, "he's about the
best example I know of a perfectly self-satisfied man."
"Ha, ha!" laughed the individual in question. "Not bad, that! She hits
straight, does Pollie. But why shouldn't I be pleased with myself? I've
done well in my time. I began with a dollar and now I'm worth—"
He checked himself suddenly. His eyes were on the post-bag Jenny was
bringing into the room. I saw a dull, red flush rise suddenly to his
forehead and then recede as quickly, leaving his countenance of a more
unhealthy pallor than usual, while he watched Aunt Patty, who was
unlocking the bag preparatory to distributing the letters.
Two letters were handed to Mr. Dicks. Over one, in a business-like blue
envelope, I saw his hand close tightly for a moment. Then he thrust it
into his coat-pocket and tried to go on with his breakfast. But his
interest in it was gone. Hastily swallowing his coffee, he asked Aunt
Patty to excuse him, and went out, followed by the anxious glance of
his fiancé.
"Nan," said Paulina, the next moment, "don't you wish that Professor
Faulkner would come back?"
"I! Oh, I don't know," I faltered, growing red and devoutly wishing
that Paulina had not such an unruly tongue. It struck me afterwards
that she had perhaps said the first thing that occurred to her in order
to prevent Miss Cottrell's remarking on her father's sudden departure
from the table. If so, she succeeded in creating a diversion, for in
my confusion I turned to help myself to salt so awkwardly that I upset
the tiny salt-cellar and brought upon myself an indignant expostulation
from Miss Cottrell.
"How could you be so careless? Don't you know it is most unlucky to
spill salt?"
"But I don't believe in ill-luck," I said. "I am not at all afraid of
the consequences of this action. See, nothing is broken; I put back the
salt and it is as it was before."
"It is all very well to say that," returned Miss Cottrell, "but you may
have brought ill-luck on the rest of us."
"Nan, Nan," cried Paulina, assuming a tragic air, "if we are all burned
in our beds to-night, I will never forgive you!"
Then we entered upon a general discussion of local superstitions, and I
hoped that my maladroitness was forgotten.
Nothing ever escaped Paulina's observation. As we rose from the table
she drew me towards the garden, mischief in her eyes; but the sight of
the chaise standing before the hall door arrested her attention.
"Who is going off by the early train?" she asked.
"I am, Pollie," said her father, coming quickly down the stairs. "I
have to go up to town on a little matter of business which cannot be
delayed."
"What—the first morning!" cried Paulina. "You need not talk of my
rushing about. But, if you must go, I'll drive you. Where's a hat?"
"Here," I said. "And you had better put on this—" bringing forward a
dust-coat.
"All right," said Paulina; "now some gloves."
She was ready and had taken the reins almost before Miss Cottrell awoke
to the fact that her beloved was departing.
"Why didn't you tell me?" she asked reproachfully.
"I could have gone to the station too; now there is not time, I
suppose?"
"No," he said decisively. "I shall only catch the train by the skin of
my teeth. Good-bye."
"When will you be back?" she asked, as he stepped into the chaise.
"Oh, in time for dinner," he answered, and off they drove, while Miss
Cottrell stood looking blankly after them.
I proposed to her that we should presently walk towards Chelmsford to
meet Paulina and return with her in the chaise, but the suggestion was
not agreeable to her. She would rather, she said, spend the morning in
working on her garden plot. She moved away with so sombre a face that
I much feared that she would water her flowers with her tears. The
"labour she delighted in" afforded her consolation, for she appeared
serene as usual when we met at luncheon and spoke cheerfully of driving
into Chelmsford to meet Mr. Dicks.
Meanwhile Paulina had come back, having much enjoyed her drive into
town. She invaded my room, apparently bent on teasing me.
"Now, Nan," she said, laying rude hands on my work, "drop that needle,
if you please, and take the stool of repentance. You've got to make a
confession. What have you been about while I've been away?"
"Oh, all sorts of things," I said calmly. "I spent some days at
Hobbes's cottage, and I've been home, you know."
"Of course I know you've been home; but I want to know why you went
home the second time in so sudden a fashion, to say nothing of your
Cousin Agneta's unannounced departure. Do you suppose no one has told
me how you escaped from the garden party and 'scorched' into town to
catch a train, to the astonishment of all our respectable neighbours!
Evidently your conduct so appalled Professor Faulkner that he had to go
off to a distance to recover from the shock."
"Oh, Pollie!" I cried, unable to help laughing, though her words
touched a sore spot in my consciousness. "How you do talk! Who has been
telling you all this? Miss Cottrell, I suppose."
"Never mind who told me. It is for you to tell me the truth, so don't
prevaricate," said Paulina solemnly. "You've an honest soul naturally,
Nan; don't sin against it. If I am your friend you will tell me all.
You need not be afraid to trust me. Although I am such a chatterbox, I
never betray the confidence of my friends."
That I could well believe. I had already discovered that, frank and
outspoken as Paulina was, her character did not lack an element of
reserve. She could keep her own counsel when she chose.
So I yielded to her persuasions, and told her—if not exactly all—yet as
much as I could tell any one. I hardly meant to confess so completely,
but Pollie's intuitions were wonderful. She understood by half a word.
It was as if she could read my heart. Before I realised that I had told
her, she knew all. And she was very kind—so kind and yet so amusing!
Her banter did not hurt me in the least, because I was so sure of her
sympathy. Let me say at once that I never had the least cause to regret
giving her my confidence.
"It is wonderful how stupid learned men can be," she remarked, "but
if Professor Faulkner can believe our Nan to be a light and foolish
girl, he breaks the record. But I can't help giving him credit for some
sense. So be of good cheer, Nancy; this will all come right."
Her words cheered me marvellously, though there seemed small chance of
any immediate change in the aspect of affairs. Aunt Patty had heard
nothing from Mr. Faulkner since my return. He seemed to have forgotten
the very existence of "Gay Bowers." We did not forget him. I aired and
dusted his room every day. If he came back at any hour he would find
all in order there.
In the afternoon Aunt Patty asked me to walk with her to a farmhouse
about a couple of miles away. The farmer and his wife were rejoicing
over the advent of a son and heir, and my aunt, ever ready to
sympathise with either joy or sorrow, was anxious to pay due honour
to the little stranger. Paulina declined to accompany us. She said
she was not fond of babies. She knew the parents would expect her to
hold it, and she was terribly afraid of dropping it or breaking it
somehow. Miss Cottrell it was vain to ask, as she would need to start
in the wagonette for Chelmsford to meet the train by which Mr. Dicks
was expected to return, before the hour at which we should probably get
back.
I was not sorry to take a quiet walk with Aunt Patty. The demands which
the guests made on us prevented our having much time alone together.
Our way lay through fields, and, although the sun shone brightly,
we were not oppressed by its heat. We talked of Mr. Dicks and his
daughter as we went, and aunt reminded me how much I had disliked these
Americans when first they appeared at "Gay Bowers." She said it amused
her to see what friends Paulina and I had become. It was strange to
recall my first impressions. The Pollie Dicks I now knew seemed so
different from the cool, pert, self-sufficient girl, whose American
freedom of bearing had excited within me a sense of antagonism.
Our visit passed off pleasantly. We duly admired the baby, who was
really a fine specimen of a six weeks' child. We had tea with the happy
parents, and spent some time in surveying their garden and homestead
ere we turned our steps homewards.
The latter part of our way took us across the fields, often traversed
as a short cut by persons walking from Chelmsford.
"We shall not be home long before Mr. Dicks may be expected. He will
probably come by the six o'clock train," aunt had just remarked, when,
to my astonishment, I perceived Josiah Dicks a little in front of us.
He stood leaning against the stile which a turn of the path we were
following just brought into view. He was unaware of our approach, and
his attitude was so dejected, so suggestive of weakness and suffering,
that my first thought was that he had been seized with sudden illness.
"That is never Mr. Dicks!" exclaimed my aunt in surprise. "Why,
whatever can have happened?"
Her tones were not loud, but they reached his ear. He drew himself up
and turned towards us. His face was so wan and haggard, so utterly
changed since the morning, that we both experienced a painful shock.
"Mr. Dicks," said aunt, hastening towards him, "what is the matter? I
fear you are ill."
"No, no, not ill," he said vaguely.
"But something has happened," said Aunt Patty.
"How is it you are here alone? Miss Cottrell has driven to the station
to meet you."
"I came by the early train," he said; "it was no good staying in town.
There was nothing to be done. I guess I've been wandering about these
fields for some time." He lifted his hat from his brow with a weary air
as he spoke in a voice that was dull and faint.
"Now do tell me what ails you, Mr. Dicks," said my aunt in her most
soothing manner; "for that something is wrong I can plainly see."
"Oh, I ail nothing," he said, with a pathetic attempt to recall his
usual jaunty air; "it is only that I am a ruined man!"
"Mr. Dicks," exclaimed Aunt Patty, "what can you mean?"
"Just that—I am a ruined man," he repeated in biting accents. "Things
have been going wrong in Wall Street for some time. There was bad news
yesterday. I had information this morning which made me profoundly
uneasy. I went up to town only to find my worst fears confirmed. There
is almost a panic on the Stock Exchange, and for me this crash spells
ruin."
"Are you sure?" asked Aunt Patty tremulously. "It may not be so bad as
you think. There is room for hope."
"As sure as I stand here, madam, I know that I have lost all," was his
reply. "Josiah Dicks must begin the world again, and that is not a
cheering prospect when one is sixty years of age."
"Indeed, it is not," said Aunt Patty.
Then we stood silent for some moments, thinking many things. It is not
easy to offer consolation for such a catastrophe, and my aunt was too
wise to attempt it. Mr. Dicks broke the silence, speaking in high dry
tones:
"You need not fear, madam, that you will be a loser through my
misfortune. I have money enough in hand to pay all my debts and to take
me and my daughter back to America."
A quiver ran through Aunt Patty's slight form. It came with a flash of
passionate indignation that he should so misjudge her as to deem it
necessary to make such a remark.
"You don't surely think so meanly of me as to imagine I care about
that!" she exclaimed quickly. "It is for you and Paulina that I am
troubled."
"Ah, Paulina!" he groaned. "It is for her sake I feel it. I can't
bear to think that my girl will be penniless. I don't mind being poor
myself—I've been poor before and I'm used to it; but Pollie has been
accustomed to every luxury. I haven't the courage to tell her, and
that's the fact."
"Ah! But I think you wrong her by that feeling," said my aunt gently.
"Paulina is a brave, good girl. I think you may trust her to bear this
trouble bravely. But come now, Mr. Dicks, let us get home. You look
thoroughly exhausted. I dare say you've had nothing to eat since you
left us this morning."
"I'll allow you're right," he said; "I'd no heart for victuals."
"Then your immediate need is rest and food," said aunt soothingly;
"don't try to tell Paulina till after dinner. If she asks questions
just tell her you've had a worrying day and there leave it. It will be
better for both of you. Indeed I'd let her have her night's rest before
I told her the ill news, if I were you."
"Well, there's something in that," he admitted, as he walked by aunt's
side, evidently relieved by having made known to her his trouble.
I followed, marvelling that he appeared to have forgotten another
person to whom his calamity would certainly be of vital interest. His
thoughts seemed all of Paulina and what the loss of wealth would mean
for her, but, while I felt truly sorry for her, my mind also turned
with profound pity to Miss Cottrell. How would she bear the shock of
ill news, which would send tumbling into chaos all the splendid aerial
palaces she had reared?
We took the nearest way home across the little wood, where I had had
that unpleasant interview with Ralph Marshman. As we approached the
garden a sight met my eyes which thrilled me like an electric shock,
and for a while made me oblivious of the troubles of others. Walking
by Paulina's side along the gravel drive in front of the house, and
talking earnestly to her, was none other than Alan Faulkner!