ARCHIE'S CLIENT.
AS time went on, the lives of those of "the flock" remaining at
Roseville settled into a quiet routine, the main excitement coming from
the letters received from Val and Nannie.
Val was enjoying herself hugely, and wrote spirited, graphic
descriptions of her travels, of the people she met, and of her own
little experiences. Once in a while, there crept in a small word of
longing for home and auntie, for Theo and the old quiet days, but that
was when the little traveller was tired or not feeling well. As a
rule, she wrote in a rollicking strain, and they all felt that she was
enjoying herself greatly.
Nannie, too, gave entertaining accounts of her life, adorning her
letters with funny little illustrations of places and people.
"I cannot make up my mind," she wrote, "whether this is Bohemia or
not. I have such respect for certain traditions, that some of my
fellow-students count me a very Philistine; but again, when I emerge
from Boulevard Mont Parnasse, and leave the Luxembourg gardens behind
me, I sometimes encounter an acquaintance in whose face lurks a certain
disapproval when I give my address, and there is an implied reproach
in the exclamation, 'Oh, you Bohemian!' I think, however, that I
shall come to the conclusion that Bohemia can be respectable, just
as much as New York or Paris can be, though they may also be quite
the opposite. I remember my old grandmother used to have a horror of
New York, imagining that those who entered its streets at night went
forth 'carousing and ransacking the town,' as she used to express it.
So, Miss Theo, if you please, don't imagine me quite demoralized by
the Latin quarter, nor consider me under a ban because my next-door
neighbor is 'une petite bourgeoise.'"
Nannie added that her work was improving, but that it had taken some
time for her to adjust herself to her surroundings, and to get used
to being "such a tiny frog in such a very big puddle," but that now
she rather enjoyed the absolute immunity from regard, that she felt
freer than air, and whether she carried her own wash home, or sat on
the top of an omnibus, side by side with a blouse or a bare-headed
blanchisseuse, no one noticed or cared, and she was quite happy.
"That is Nan, all over," commented Theo, refolding the letter she had
been reading aloud. "The one thing above another that irks her is being
in any way fettered. She has often longed to be an 'untutored savage.'"
Theo herself, shut away from all these novel experiences, wondered at
her own utter content. She was, however, far from leading an idle life.
Every day brought its duty, its interest in some affair concerning
the small community in which she lived. Perhaps there was to be an
entertainment for the church fund. Theo must sing, and Jack must be
persuaded to add his name to the programme. Or it might be some case
of distress, requiring gentle ministry; again, a meeting of the little
literary club, formed since Theo's school days, demanded an afternoon;
or it was to respond hurriedly to a call from a neighboring cousin for
help in a case of illness; or perhaps the more pleasurable duty of a
drive to Preston to look after some needed repairs or arrangement, and
so the days each brought enough to fill the hours busily and profitably.
Archie's first case was an absorbing theme; all the ins and outs were
discussed, and followed closely by the whole family, and when he won
the suit, there was as much rejoicing as if he had been made governor
of the State.
Jack's affairs progressed satisfactorily. There were the usual delays
and difficulties to be met, but Jack was the man to meet them. He had
at first obtained board in the small town adjoining the property on
which the new buildings were in course of erection. But later, he found
it more convenient to go back and forth by train, and took up his abode
at the little hotel in Roseville.
It was a very happy time for them all. Their mutual love of music gave
Theo and Jack a never-failing source of interest, and each worked
for the other's enjoyment. Theo was very proud of Jack's beautiful
baritone, and Jack was equally happy when Theo's singing won her
praise. So they practised faithfully together, sang in the choir of the
little church, discussed new music, criticised each other's tones and
methods, all the time learning a deeper, truer harmony.
At the end of two years, the manufactory was in full operation, and
Jack was busier than ever. Val was talking of her return; Nannie was
writing of her hopes and fears regarding the picture she had sent
to the Salon,—would it or would it not be accepted? Archie was fast
becoming the prosperous successor of his father's old friend, "Squire"
Meredith, who was gradually giving up his practice to the younger man.
Mr. Smith, after his return from abroad, was so pleased with his
holiday that he retired from his profession, and after seeing his
project in Virginia fairly established, and satisfying himself that
Jack's management of it was all that could be desired, rejoined Val and
Mrs. Westerly, remaining with them till they should complete their trip.
Later, Nannie wrote that her picture had been accepted and hung as well
as could be expected. Later still, she gave the information that at the
close of the Salon Exhibition it had been sent to New York, and had
actually been sold. Then followed a merry little tirade against Archie
for not having fulfilled his promise of being the purchaser, when she
had so scrupulously avoided a gory subject.
But the end of Nannie's picture was not yet, as a curious combination
of circumstances proved.
"Who is that with Archie?" asked Theo, one day, turning to her aunt, as
the two stood by the sitting-room window.
Auntie looked out. "I do not know," she replied; "it is no one I ever
saw before, probably some stranger in town."
"I wonder if he is bringing him to dinner," said Theo, with housewifely
interest.
"No doubt," replied Miss Nelson. "Run down, Theo, and tell Tatty to lay
another place at table, and here are the keys; get out anything you may
find necessary."
And Theo left the room to be met halfway down-stairs by her brother.
"Who is your friend?" she asked.
"A new client. I asked him to dine with us because I wanted to talk to
him, and my time is very full to-day."
This was not an unusual occurrence, and as guests were always welcomed
with ready hospitality. Then made no further comment than to say, "Oh,
very well. Auntie is in the sitting-room, Archie."
Archie's acquaintance, Mr. Veers, was an odd-looking individual, with
strange, round, staring eyes, and a mass of light hair brushed straight
up. He had, it seemed, come to the neighborhood for the purpose of
looking after some property about which there was a question of
possession. His stay lasted several days, during which time he and
Archie drove down to the place in dispute, and when he finally took his
leave, Archie had agreed to take the case.
"What an exceedingly odd person Mr. Veers is," observed Miss Nelson,
when their guest had departed; "he is such a mixture of acuteness and
unworldliness one hardly knows what to make of him."
"He is the oddest fish I have encountered for many a long day,"
answered Archie; "he interests me in spite of myself: He has travelled
nearly all over the world, and must, from all accounts, have a
collection of rare and beautiful things; he tells me of bric-à-brac he
has picked up, of pictures he has bought, and yet he does not seem ever
to have any money."
"He must have had," remarked Theo. "Why, how could he get along
without? What is his business?"
"I don't know; he lives by his wits, I reckon."
"It is a pretty poor outlook for you then," laughed Theo.
"Oh, I shall come out all right," returned Archie. "I can come down
on him for all his articles of 'bigotry and virtue.' Think what an
addition to our small stock," and Archie looked around the room with
the air of one who already saw important accessions in the way of
ornament.
"Oh, you wouldn't do that, would you?"
Archie laughed. "I don't know what I would do. At any rate, I shall do
my best to win him his suit, for his is the rightful claim."
"I am sorry for the other people," said Theo, sympathetically.
"One has always to be sorry for somebody," replied Archie. "That is
the trouble in this confounded profession of mine; my sympathies are
continually on the rack."
"But you do try for justice," returned Theo, "and that is the main
thing."
"I try for it; whether I always succeed is something else. Anyhow, I
think our friend Veers is pretty sure of winning his case."
And as events proved, it so happened, although for some months nothing
was heard of Mr. Veers, and Archie found it necessary to make a trip to
Washington, from which place his client had last written.
In a funny, old tumble-down house, perched high above the grade of the
street, he at last found him. Archie climbed the two flights of steps
leading to the front door. There was no bell, so he knocked simply with
his knuckles, and, after waiting for some time, the door was opened by
a slatternly woman, who said Mr. Veers was out, but would probably be
in shortly. So Archie concluded to wait for him, and was shown in to a
room which presented quite a remarkable appearance.
"Had the man been an artist," Archie afterwards said, in describing the
place, "it would not have seemed unusual, but that any one else should
care for such a jumble appeared very peculiar."
Suits of armor lay in heaps in one corner; rich Oriental stuffs were
collecting dust where they were thrown in careless profusion over
inlaid tables or Chippendale chairs; bits of antique pottery crowded
the mantel; rare brazen vessels, some most delicately wrought, stood
side by side with Venetian glass vases or Belleek bowls.
The walls were covered with pictures, old and new, and these Archie
proceeded to scrutinize, the more inclined to do so that every seat
in the room was already occupied by piles of books, vellum bound and
silver clasped, portfolios of engravings, heaps of jingling ornaments
or fragile casts.
Since Mr. Veers's return was evidently a question of uncertainty, and
the time was lengthened from half an hour to an hour, Archie had an
opportunity of carefully observing all the pictures. He passed from one
to another, and, while standing at one end of the room, he suddenly
made an exclamation, then bending closer, read upon the canvas before
him Nannie's name.
A long time he stood before it, so long, in fact, that he did not
notice when the door opened and Mr. Veers came in.
"You like that, do you?" was his greeting. "So do I. It was in New
York, and I took a fancy to it, and bought it."
"Yes, I like it," replied Archie; "the more so, that a friend of mine
painted it."
Mr. Veers's interest was at once aroused, and he asked question after
question: Who was the artist? Where did she live? How long had she
studied? And so on.
In the meantime, Archie had leisure to observe the man's appearance,
which was that of one not possessed of riches; for his clothes were
shabby and worn, his boots the worse for wear, his linen frayed and
creased.
While they were standing discussing the picture, the slovenly-looking
woman again appeared.
"Are ye coming to dinner?" she asked, putting her head in the door.
Mr. Veers turned to Archie as if it were a matter of course that he
should dine with him, and Archie could but follow him to the next room.
Here, again, everything betokened poverty; the woman, who was evidently
the only retainer, served a frugal, ill-cooked meal upon heavy stone
ware, while in the next room Sèvres china and Cloisonné gathered the
dust. Such incongruities existed that Archie was fairly bewildered, and
found himself wondering more and more where the man had found the means
to invest in the beautiful things he hoarded.
When the repast was over, and they were still discussing the law-suit,
Mr. Veers suddenly said, "But I don't know how I can pay you; I haven't
a penny."
"You will have the property, if we win our case," replied Archie.
"Oh, but I shall make that over to my wife and child," returned Mr.
Veers.
Archie looked up surprised, for this was the first reference Mr. Veers
had ever made to his family.
"Your wife and child, did I understand you to say?" he queried.
Mr. Veers nodded. "I am such a rambler," he returned, half
apologetically, "and they have been living with my father-in-law for
some years."
"But," broke out Archie, rapidly following out a train of thought,
"your collection in the other room is very valuable, surely."
"Yes; but the truth is, I can't bring myself to part with any piece
of it. I—" and he paused; "however—my wife—my child—" Then, as if the
remembrance of them helped him, he continued, "If—if there is anything
there you fancy, anything that will pay you, take it; but," he added,
with a quaint smile, "you'd better tuck it under your arm and take it
along to-night, for I promise you, I'll repent it before morning."
Here was an odd situation, but Archie took the man at his word, and
said, "There is one thing I should like above all others. I will give
you a receipted bill for my services in exchange for the picture
painted by my friend, Miss Talcott."
Mr. Veers meditated upon the proposal, and then, placing upon the table
pen, ink, and paper, he said, "Hurry up, then; now's your chance."
And before he could change his mind, Archie went away with Nannie's
Salon picture—divested of its frame, however—in his possession, and
in his hotel that evening, he viewed his new acquisition with amused
satisfaction.
"I have it, after all, Miss Nan," he soliloquized; "and it's your turn
to be gibed at. What a piece of luck! How Val would enjoy hearing about
it. Well, Mr. Veers, this will never get back to you; I promise you I
shall guard against that."
True to his word, Mr. Veers did call to protest against the removal
of the picture. But Archie was on his way to Virginia. And when the
picture was fairly out of reach, Mr. Veers wrote congratulating Archie
on his possession, and endorsing the ownership.
Shortly after this, the law-suit was settled, and the property made
over to Mrs. Veers and her daughter. Mr. Veers appeared once more in
Roseville, but refused absolutely to enter Archie's home again, giving
as his reason that if he once saw that picture again, he should be
tempted to carry it away bodily.
And though Archie offered to hide it, Mr. Veers said, laughingly, "No,
that would only make his desire for it keener, and he might hunt for
it." And then he seriously assured Archie of his perfect willingness to
give it up, adding, it would be well if he could settle all his debts
so easily.
A few months later, the family read of the death of the whimsical
collector, the facts given being that he had been killed in a railroad
accident somewhere in Europe, that he had run through two or three
fortunes, and that his valuable collection was to be sold to pay his
debts.
Then Archie congratulated himself upon having become possessed of
Nannie's picture, which straightway adorned the wall of his office, and
was a source of immense pleasure to its owner.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]