DAYS OF STRESS
The little puff of popular interest in Felix Brand's disappearance and
in the charges against him soon disappeared, as some other sensation
of a day took its place in the newspaper headlines. People ceased
talking about the matter as suddenly as they had begun and Brand
congratulated himself that a bank failure, and then a mysterious
suicide, and after that an appalling dynamite explosion followed so
closely upon his return. He told himself that his own misadventure
would speedily be forgotten.
As the weeks went by he became more and more secure in that
conclusion. Hugh Gordon did not reappear. And as time passed on and no
official action was taken upon the investigating committee's report
the architect felt assured that the whole matter had sunk into an
oblivion which held no menace for him, and his spirit rose in
exultation.
Nor was this the only matter over whose outcome he had reason to be
satisfied. All his investments were doing well and his transactions in
stocks, during the weeks after his return, brought him money in one
good haul after another. And he secured the commission to design a new
capitol building for a western state for which there had been lively
competition among the most prominent architects of the country.
In her complete loyalty to her employer Henrietta Marne rejoiced to
see the harried look leaving his face and his former ease of manner
and good spirits return. Knowing, as she did, that his material and
professional affairs were fulfilling their earlier promise, she
attributed the improvement in his spirits to the apparent sinking out
of sight of the man who, she was convinced, had been responsible for
all his trouble.
A curious change in Brand's demeanor strengthened her in this
conjecture. Something of the spirit of triumph became manifest in his
air, his smile was self-confident and in his manner was the
assuredness of the man who has won some sort of victory.
His secretary, noting all this with observant but discreet eyes, said
to herself that undoubtedly it was all on account of Hugh Gordon.
Brand had not mentioned the man's name to her again nor had she
learned anything more about his mysterious identity. But she felt sure
that he had been trying, from some evil motive, to injure her employer
both personally and professionally, and his sudden disappearance,
followed by the easing of Brand's anxiety and the betterment of his
spirits, convinced her that Gordon had been at the bottom of all the
trouble and made her hope that the architect had stopped his
machinations and would be annoyed by him no more.
She felt that this Hugh Gordon must be a despicable creature, who
tried to do his malevolent work in mean, underhand ways, and when she
thought of him it was always with suspicion and enmity.
The winter days sped on and Felix Brand, feeling confident that his
footing was once more entirely firm and safe, opened one morning with
no misgiving an envelope that bore the stamp of the mayor's office.
But even with its first lines his heart, lately so buoyant, turned to
lead. It began by saying that doubtless Mr. Brand's duties on the
municipal art commission would demand more time and attention than he
could bestow upon them in justice to his own exacting private affairs
and that therefore whenever he wished to tender his resignation it
would receive immediate consideration.
"I shall be sorry," the mayor added, "to lose from that body
one who could contribute to the public service so much exact
knowledge and artistic feeling; but I have convinced myself
that the conclusions of my investigating committee were
correct, notwithstanding your denial and plausible
explanation. Consequently, I feel that the interests of good
government make this step necessary."
Brand was a good deal disturbed by this letter. He had coveted the
position much and had been deeply gratified when he received the
appointment. For the carrying out of certain plans he had in mind
would have brought him prominently into the public eye and secured for
him much popular esteem and favor, greatly to the benefit, he
believed, of his professional reputation and his income. And now
suddenly all these hopes withered and died under the touch of this
veiled but peremptory demand for him to get down and out; and he
feared that if he did not give quick heed he would have to undergo
more publicity of the affair and much humiliation. So he sent at once
his letter of resignation.
Soon after this episode Henrietta began to notice in his face again
the signs of apprehension and to wonder why he sometimes gave a little
nervous start and threw a furtive look about the room.
"Aren't you working too hard, Mr. Brand?" she said to him one day.
"You seem to be under such a nervous strain since you began on that
capitol building. Don't you think you ought to take a rest before you
really give yourself up to it? I'm afraid you won't do yourself
justice if you go on with the work while you are in this condition."
He looked at her with his winning, caressing smile of mouth and eyes.
"Thank you, Miss Marne. It's kind of you to be so thoughtful about me.
A rest would be pleasant, but I couldn't leave, just now, I'm afraid.
You know Stewart Macfarlane has asked me to design a country house
with big grounds on some property he has bought down toward the south
end of Staten Island, and I must go over there soon and study the lay
of the land and then begin work on that. And I've got to have the
design for that capitol building ready to submit by a certain date.
There are three or four unfinished orders on hand and I'm on the track
of another public building that I want to land. So I guess it isn't
rest I need just now, Miss Marne, so much as a straight course of
ten-hour working days. If--if I should have to go South again----"
He straightened up with an impatient jerk, the smile faded from his
face and his mouth settled in determined lines. "But I'm not going to
take that journey again," he went on impatiently, and then added with
decision, "I've settled that."
A few days after this conversation Brand received a letter from the
directors of the National Architectural Society suggesting that he
resign as president of that body.
"We do not feel," they said, "that our society can afford to
continue in that office a man against whom such serious
charges of misconduct have been made and who has not asked
for an investigation. We do not wish to have the matter
exploited publicly any more than is absolutely necessary. To
call a general meeting of the society for its discussion
would be sure to result in newspaper notice that would
doubtless be as disagreeable to you as it would be offensive
to us and injurious to our organization. Accordingly, we
have decided that the better plan would be for you quietly
to resign.
"If you prefer, a general meeting can be called to consider
the matter and the society can then decide whether or not to
ask for your resignation. The decision rests with you."
Brand immediately replied to the letter, complying with its
suggestion in dignified phrases that assured the directors of his
loyalty to the best interests of the society, although he was keenly
sensitive to the injustice that they were doing him.
"It ought to make them ashamed of themselves," thought Henrietta as
she typed the letter. "I never heard of such injustice! They ought to
beg his pardon and ask him to keep the office."
No such missive of apology and reparation came, although Henrietta
more than half expected it. But Felix Brand cherished no such hope.
Instead, premonitions of disaster of which these two episodes would be
but the beginning, began to dog his thoughts. His heart was sore with
disappointment and mortification, and his breast swelled with bitter
resentment against the man whose deliberate action had started this
series of events. As he dwelt upon the blasting of his immediate
hopes, the smirching of his reputation and the sudden sharp check to
the sweeping course of his career, his eyes would burn with hate and
anger.
The old look of worry returned to his face, but with it was combined
one of grim determination that set in hard lines his usually soft and
smiling mouth. Sometimes, Henrietta, coming suddenly into his private
office, surprised in his countenance signs of fear. But what she
oftenest saw there was the look of dogged resolution. She began to be
conscious, too, of some sort of struggle going on within him. She
could see it in these unaccustomed expressions of his countenance,
hear it in the petulant voice in which he sometimes addressed her, so
different from his usual suave tones, and feel it in the nervous
strain under which he was evidently laboring.
As the days went by the very atmosphere in which they worked seemed to
her to grow tense with it, and on days when it was necessary for her
to be much in his room she would go home in the evening with her own
nerves quivering from its influence.
On a day in early March, a bracing day of brilliant sky, clear air and
sharp west wind, Brand said to Henrietta when he left the office for
luncheon that probably he would not return in the afternoon. "I
think," he said, "that I shall go across to Staten Island and motor
down to Macfarlane's property and get a general idea of the site and
the surroundings."
"A splendid idea," she assented with enthusiasm. "It's such a fine
day, the ride will do you good."
"Do you think," he said with a smile, "that your sister would bear me
company?"
"I'm sure she would be delighted," Henrietta smiled back, and not
until an hour later did she remember, with a little qualm of
doubtfulness, Mildred Annister's evident jealousy of their previous
motor ride.
"Dear Mildred!" she thought. "She is so completely wrapped up in her
love. I wish Dr. Annister would consent for them to be married soon.
It would make Mildred so happy and I'm sure it would be a good thing
for Mr. Brand."
When Henrietta reached home she found her sister only just returned,
and in high spirits. At dinner, her eyes sparkling and her cheeks
flushed with delicate pink, her droll little stories, and her merry
laughter kept them all in a gay humor.
"We've had such a good time this evening," said Mrs. Marne when, at
her early bedtime, she bade Henrietta goodnight. "Wasn't Bella
charming! And so pretty she looked with her bright eyes and that
dainty color in her cheeks! It made me wish Warren was here to see
her. I suppose I'm dreadfully old-fashioned, Harry, but it always
seems to me that if a woman is looking especially beautiful or
charming it's somehow just wasted if the man who loves her isn't there
to see it. Wasn't it kind of Mr. Brand to take Bella out this
afternoon! And she did enjoy it so much! I can't be grateful enough
that you were so fortunate as to get a position under such a thorough
gentleman!"
Billikins was Henrietta's dog and her particular care. When she went
to the kitchen to feed him after dinner she found him licking many
gaping wounds in the body and clothing of his cherished plaything, the
rag-doll. Delia had an excited story to tell her of his disreputable
conduct during the afternoon.
"It was very queer and strange, Miss Harry, the way he acted when Mr.
Brand was here. An' him always such a mild and innocent little dog!
Of course he had to run into the hall when the bell rang, like he
always does, to see what's happening, with babykins in his mouth, and
as I went upstairs to call Miss Bella, he trotted into the parlor
where I'd shown the gentleman. An' when I come down you just ought
to've heard the wild an' awful noises he was making! He'd dropped his
doll and was whining an' howling an' growling, and he'd run toward Mr.
Brand an' bark an' growl, and then he'd run back and stand over
babykins as if he was afraid something would happen to her, an' growl
an' whine an' bark! I called him and he wouldn't pay no attention to
me and I had to go in and pick him up and carry him out, him an'
babykins together, and bring them out here. And he tried to go back
and I shut the door and then he crouched down beside it and worried
babykins an' tore holes in her an' whined an' growled an' trembled as
if he was most scared to death. Now, wasn't it queer and strange, Miss
Harry?"
Billikins had stopped eating and was looking up into their faces as
if he understood what they were talking about. Henrietta bent over him
and he crept whining to her feet and looked up at her with dumb appeal
in his eyes, as though begging to be saved from some mysterious,
menacing, unseen thing. She took him up in her arms and felt his
little body trembling with fear and excitement. Vivid recollection
came to her of how her own nerves had quivered and jangled in the
office that day, as long as her employer was there, until it had taken
all her strength to keep them under control.
"Poor little doggie," she said, stroking and cuddling him. "Come along
and we'll take babykins upstairs and sew her all up as good as new and
forget all about it."
"So that was the man you work for, Miss Harry!" Delia exclaimed as
Henrietta turned to leave the room. "I was dusting in the parlor when
he come an' I watched him as he come up the walk, and he's got a firm
and manly tread. He's fine-legged and handsome, Miss Harry, but if I
was you I'd be afraid of a man that a dog's afraid of, Miss Harry."
"We had such a jolly time," said Isabella to her sister as Henrietta
came to her room for a confidential chat during bedtime toilette
rites. "Felix Brand is just the loveliest ever. But you know I always
did think that, even before I met him. Mother was having her afternoon
nap when he came and I was doubtful about going. But he said,
nonsense, she'd sleep till I'd get back.
"At first I couldn't help feeling a little uneasy about her and
perhaps I was a tiny bit glum and not as entertaining as he thought
I'd be. And he seemed sort of glum and grim, too, and, altogether,
Harry, on the first lap the ride didn't promise to be entirely
successful.
"But after a while he was afraid I was cold and said we must find
something to warm us up. So we stopped at the Wayside Tavern--you
remember it, don't you? You know we went there on the trolley last
summer and took a long walk into the woods and had some lemonade on
the porch while we waited for the car on our way back. Well, we went
in there and this time it was champagne----"
"Bella! You didn't, did you?"
"Of course I did! Why not?"
"It doesn't seem to me quite a--a nice thing for a girl to do, Bella."
"Oh, nonsense, Harry! What's the matter with it? Anyway, there wasn't
anything the matter with the champagne; nor with the rest of our ride
either. We went to the Macfarlane place and circled round it and he
told me some of the things he is going to do there, and then we did
some speeding that was--oh, Harry, we fairly flew! It was just grand!
And I guess my tongue went, too, for he talked and laughed and was as
gay as could be. I forgot all about poor mother until we sighted home
again. But I never had such a good time in all my life."