Properly to understand the thrill which this revelation brought to
Samuel, one would have to consider the state of his mind. With all the
power of his being Samuel was seeking for excellence; and a great and
wise man had explained to him what were the signs by which this quality
was known. And in the “struggle for existence” old Henry Lockman had
succeeded more than any other man of whom Samuel had ever heard in his
life. He owned these huge glass works, and many others all over the
country. He owned the trolley roads, and the gas works, and the water
works; the place had been named after him, and the great college also.
For many years he had even run the government of the town, so Finnegan
had stated. And here was this huge estate, his home--a palace fit for
a king. How great must have been the excellence of such a man! And what
benefits he must have conferred upon the world, to have been rewarded
with all this power and glory!
And here was his son--a youth in aspect fitting perfectly to
Samuel's vision; a very prince of the blood, yet genial and
free-hearted--noblesse oblige! To him had descended these virtues and
excellences--and all the estates and powers as the sign and symbol
thereof. And now had come a poor ignorant country boy, and it had fallen
to his fortune to save the life of this extraordinary being. And he was
to have a chance to be near him, and to serve him--to see how he lived,
and to find out the secret of his superior excellence. There was no
snobbery in Samuel's attitude; he felt precisely as another and far
greater Samuel had felt when his sovereign had condescended to praise
his dictionary, and the tears of gratitude had started into his eyes.
They drove up before the palace, and a groom came hurrying up.
“Phillips,” said young Lockman, “look at that rein!”
The groom stared aghast.
“Take it and show it to Sanderson,” the other continued. “Ask him if I
don't pay enough for my harness that he gets me stuff like that.”
“Yes, sir,” said the groom.
They alighted and crossed the broad piazza, which was covered with easy
chairs and tables and rugs. In the entrance hall stood a man in livery.
“Peters,” said the young man, “this is Samuel Prescott. I had some
trouble with my horse and he helped me. He hasn't had anything to eat
today, and I want him to have a good meal.”
“Yes, sir,” said the man. “Where shall I serve it, sir?”
“In the morning room. We'll wait there. And mind you, bring him a
plenty.”
“Yes, sir,” said Peters, and went off.
Meantime Samuel had time for a glance about him. Never had he heard or
dreamed of such magnificence. It was appalling, beyond belief! The great
entrance hall went up to the roof; and there was a broad staircase of
white marble, with galleries of marble, and below a marble fireplace,
big enough to hold a section of a tree. Beyond this was a court with
fountains splashing, and visions of palms and gorgeous flowers; and
on each side were vistas of rooms with pictures and tapestries and
furniture which Samuel thought must be of solid gold.
“Come,” said his companion, and they ascended the staircase.
Halfway up, however, Samuel stopped and caught his breath. Before him
there was a painting. There is no need to describe it in detail--suffice
it to say that it was a life-size painting of a woman, entirely naked;
and that Samuel had never seen such a thing in his life before. He
dropped his eyes as he came near to it.
They went along the gallery and entered a room, dazzlingly beautiful and
bright. It was all done in white satin, the front being of glass, and
opening upon a wide balcony. There were flowers and singing birds,
and in the panels most beautiful paintings, representing wood nymphs
dancing. These airy creatures, also, were innocent of anything save
filmy veils; but they were all about the room, and so poor Samuel had no
way to escape them. He sought for light within his mind; and suddenly he
recollected the illustrated Bible at home. Perhaps the peerless beings
who lived in such palaces had returned to a state of guiltlessness, such
as had existed before the serpent came.
Young Lockman flung himself into an easy chair and proceeded to
cross-question his companion. He wanted to know all about the interview
with “Old Stew”; and afterwards, having managed to divine Samuel's
attitude to himself, he led him to talk about that, which Samuel
did with the utmost frankness. “Gee, but you're a queer duffer!” was
Lockman's comment; but Samuel didn't mind that.
The butler came with the meal--carrying it on a big tray, and with
another man to carry a folding table, and yet another to help. Such a
display of silver and cut glass! Such snowy linen, and such unimaginable
viands! There were piles of sandwiches, each one half a bite for a
fairly hungry man. There was jellied game, and caviar, and a pate
of something strange and spicy. Nothing was what one would have
expected--there were eggs inside of baked potatoes, and ice cream in
some sort of crispy cake. The crackers looked like cakes, and the cakes
like crackers, and the cheese was green and discouraging. But a bowl of
strawberries and cream held out a rich promise at the end, and Samuel
took heart.
“Fall to,” said the host; and then divining the other's state of mind,
he remarked, “You needn't serve, Peters,” and the men went away, to
Samuel's vast relief.
“Don't mind me,” added Lockman laughing. “And if there's any question
you want to ask, all right.”
So Samuel tasted the food of the gods; a kind of food which human skill
and ingenuity had labored for centuries to invent, and for days and even
weeks to prepare. Samuel wondered vaguely where all these foods had come
from, and how many people had had a hand in their preparation; also
he wondered if all those who ate them would become as beautiful and as
dazzling as his young friend.
The friend meanwhile was vastly diverted, and was bent upon making the
most of his find. “I suppose you'd like to see the place?” he said.
“I should, indeed,” said Samuel.
“Come and I'll show it to you--that is, If you're able to walk after the
meal.”
The meal did not trouble Samuel, and they went out and took a stroll.
And so the boy met with yet another revelation of the possibilities of
existence.
If there was anything in the world he would have supposed he understood,
it was farming; but here at “Fairview” was farming as it was done by the
methods of Science. At home they had had some lilac bushes and a row of
peonies; here were acres of greeneries, filled with flowers of gorgeous
and unimaginable splendor, and rare plants from every part of the world.
At home it had been Samuel's lot to milk the cow, and he had found it a
trying job on cold and dark winter mornings; and here was a model dairy,
with steam heat and electric light, and tiled walls and nickel plumbing,
and cows with pedigrees in frames, and attendants with white uniforms
and rubber gloves. Then there was a row of henhouses, each for a fancy
breed of fowl--some of them red and lean as herons, and others white
as snow and as fat and ungainly as hogs. And then out in front, at one
corner of the lawn, was the aviary, with houses for the peacocks and
lyre birds, and for parrots and magpies and innumerable strange birds
from the tropics. Also there were dog kennels with many dozens of
strange breeds.
“Father got those for me,” said young Lockman. “He thought I'd be
interested in agriculture.”
“Well, aren't you?” asked Samuel.
“Not very much,” said the other carelessly. “Here's Punch--what do you
think of him?”
The occasion for this was a dog, the most hideously ugly object that
Samuel had ever seen in his life. “I--I don't think I'd care for him,”
he said hesitatingly.
“He's a Japanese bulldog,” observed the other. “He cost three thousand
dollars.”
“Three thousand dollars!” gasped the boy in horror. “Why should anyone
pay so much for a dog?”
“That's what he's worth,” said the other with a laugh.
They went to see the horses, which were housed in a palace of their own.
There were innumerable rows of stalls, and a running track and endless
acres of inclosures. “Why do you have so many horses?” asked Samuel.
“Father ran a stock farm,” said the other. “I don't have much time to
give to it myself.”
“But who rides the horses?” asked Samuel.
“Well, I go in for sport,” replied Lockman. “I'm supposed to be quite a
dab at polo.”
“I see,” said the boy--though to tell the truth he did not see at all,
not having the least idea what polo was.
“If you're interested in horses, I'll have them find you something to do
here,” Lockman went on.
“Oh, thank you,” said the boy with a thrill. “That will be fine!”
He could have spent all day in gazing at the marvels of this place, but
his host was tired now and started back to the house. “It's lunch time,”
he said. “Perhaps you are hungry again!”
They came out upon the piazza and sat down. And then suddenly they heard
a clatter of hoofs and looked up. “Hello!” exclaimed the host. “Here's
Glad!”
A horse was coming up the road at a lively pace. The rider was seated
a-straddle, and so Samuel was slow to realize that it was a woman. It
was only when he saw her wave her hand and call to them that he was
sure.
She reined up her horse, and a groom who followed her took the rein, and
she stepped off upon the piazza and stood looking at them. She was young
and of extraordinary beauty. She was breathing fast, and her hair was
blown about her forehead, and the glow of health was in her cheeks; and
Samuel thought that she was the most beautiful object that he had ever
beheld in all his life. He stared transfixed; he had never dreamed that
anything so wonderful could exist in the world. He realized in a sudden
glow of excitement what it was that confronted him. She was the female
of this higher species; she was the superior and triumphant woman.
“Hello, Bertie!” she said.
“Hello!” the other replied, and then added. “This is my cousin, Miss
Wygant. Glad, this is Samuel Prescott.”
The girl made a slight acknowledgment, and stared at Samuel with a look
in which curiosity and hauteur were equally mingled. She was a brunette
with dark hair, and an almost Oriental richness of coloring. She was
lithe and gracefully built, and quick in her motions. There was eager
alertness in her whole aspect; her glance was swift and her voice
imperious. One could read her at a glance for a person accustomed to
command--impatient and adventurous, passionate and proud.
“I've had an adventure,” said her cousin by way of explanation. “Samuel,
here, saved my life.”
And Samuel thrilled to see the sudden look of interest which came into
the girl's face.
“What!” she cried.
“Yes,” said the other. “Spitfire ran away with me.”
“You don't mean it, Bertie!”
“Yes. The rein broke. He started near the gate here and ran three or
four miles with me.”
“Bertie!” cried the girl. “And what happened?”
“Samuel stopped him.”
“How?”
“It was splendid, Glad--the nerviest thing I ever saw. He just flung
himself at the rein and caught it and hung on. He saved my life, beyond
question.”
And now Samuel, burning up with embarrassment, faced the full blaze
of the girl's impetuous interest. “How perfectly fine!” she exclaimed;
then, “Where do you come from?” she asked.
“He's just off a farm,” said Lockman. “He was on his way to New York to
make his fortune. And think of it, Glad, he'd been robbed, and he'd been
wandering about town begging for work, and he was nearly starving.”
“You don't say so!” gasped the girl.
She took a chair and indicated to Samuel to sit in front of her. “Tell
me all about yourself,” she said; and proceeded to cross-question him
about his life and his adventures.
Poor Samuel was like a witness in the hands of a prosecutor--he became
hopelessly confused and frightened. But that made no difference to the
girl, who poured a ceaseless fire of questions upon him, until she had
laid his whole life bare. She even made him tell about Manning, the
stockbroker, and how the family had lost its money in the collapse of
Glass Bottle Securities. And then her cousin put in a word about his
adventure with “Old Stew,” and Samuel had to tell that all over again,
and to set forth his sociological convictions--Miss Wygant and her
cousin meantime exchanging glances of wonder and amusement.
At last, however, they tired of him and fell to talking of a dance they
were to attend and a tennis tournament in which they were to play. And
so Samuel had a chance to gaze at Miss Wygant and to feast his eyes upon
her beauty. He could have dreamed of no greater joy in all this world
than to watch her for hours--to study every detail of her features and
her costume, and to see the play of laughter about her mouth and eyes.
But then came the butler announcing luncheon; and Samuel rose in a
panic. He had a sudden vision of himself being asked to the table, to
sit under Miss Wygant's merciless survey. “I think I'd better go now,”
he said.
“All right,” said young Lockman. “Will you come to-morrow morning, and
we'll fix things up?”
“I'll come,” said Samuel.
“What are you going to do with him?” asked the girl.
“He likes to take care of horses,” said Lockman.
“No,” exclaimed the other promptly, “that won't do.”
“Why not?” asked he.
“Because, Bertie, you don't want to make a stable boy out of him. He has
too many possibilities. For one thing, he's good looking.”
Samuel flushed scarlet and dropped his eyes. He felt again that
penetrating gaze.
“All right,” said Lockman. “What can you suggest?”
“I don't know, I'm sure. But something decent.”
“He doesn't know enough to be a house servant, Glad--”
“No--but something outside. Couldn't he learn gardening? Are you fond of
flowers, Samuel?”
“Yes, ma'am,” said Samuel quickly.
“Well, then, make a gardener out of him,” said Miss Wygant; and that
settled Samuel's destiny.
The boy took his departure and went home, almost running in his
excitement. He was transported into a distant heaven of bliss; he had
been seated among the gods--he was to dwell there forever after!
His new patron had given him a five-dollar bill; and before he reached
the Stedman home he stopped in a grocery store and loaded up his arms
with bundles. And then, seized by a sudden thought, he went into a
notion store and set down his bundles and purchased a clean, white linen
collar, and a necktie of royal purple and brilliant green--already tied,
so that it would always be perfect in shape.
Then he went into the Stedmans, and the widow and the youngest children
sat round and listened open-eyed to his tale. And then came Sophie, and
he had to tell it all over again.
The girl's eyes opened wide with excitement when he came to the end of
his recital. “Miss Wygant!” she exclaimed. “Miss Gladys Wygant?”
“Yes,” said Samuel. “You've heard of her?”
“I've seen her!” exclaimed Sophie eagerly. “Twice!”
“You don't mean it,” he said.
“Yes. Once she came to our church festival at Christmas.”
“Does she belong to your church?”
“It's the mission. Great folks like her wouldn't want us in the church
with them. She goes to St. Matthew's, you know--up there on the hill.
But she came to the festival at the mission and helped to give out the
presents. And she was dressed all in red--something filmy and soft, like
you'd see in a dream. And, oh, Samuel--she was so beautiful! She had a
rose in her hair--and such a sweet perfume--you could hardly bear it!
And she stood there and smiled at all the children and gave them the
presents. She gave me mine, and it was like seeing a princess. I wanted
to fall down and kiss her feet.”
“Yes,” said Samuel understandingly.
“And to think that you've met her!” cried Sophie in ecstasy. “And talked
with her! Oh, how could you do it?”
“I--I don't think I did it very well,” said Samuel.
“What did you say to her?”
“I don't remember much of it.”
“I never heard her voice,” said Sophie. “She was talking, the other time
I saw her, but the machinery drowned it out. That was in the mill--she
came there with some other people and walked about, looking at
everything. We were all so excited. You know, her father owns the mill.”
“No, I didn't know it,” replied Samuel.
“He owns all sorts of things in Lockmanville. They're very, very rich.
And she's his only daughter, and so beautiful--everybody worships her.
I've got two pictures of her that were in the newspapers once. Come--you
must see them.”
And so the two rushed upstairs; and over the bed were two faded
newspaper clippings, one showing Miss Gladys in an evening gown, and the
other in dimity en princesse, with a bunch of roses in her arms.
“Did you ever see anything so lovely?” asked the girl. “I made her my
fairy godmother. And she used to say such lovely things to me. She must
be very kind, you know--no one could be so beautiful who wasn't very,
very good and kind.”
“No,” said Samuel. “She must be, I'm sure.”
And then a sudden idea came to him. “Sophie!” he exclaimed--“she said I
was good looking! I wonder if I am.”
And Sophie shot a quick glance at him. “Why, of course you are!” she
cried. “You stupid boy!”
Samuel went to the cracked mirror which hung upon the wall and looked at
himself with new and wandering interest.
“Don't you see how fine and strong you are?” said Sophie. “And what a
bright color you've got?”
“I never thought of it,” said he, and recollected the green and purple
necktie.
“And to think that you've talked with her!” exclaimed Sophie, turning
back to the pictures; and she added in a sudden burst of generosity, “I
tell you what I'll do, Samuel--I'll give you these, and you can put them
in your room!”
“You mustn't do that!” he protested.
But the girl insisted. “No, no! I know them by heart, so it won't make
any difference. And they'll mean so much more to you, because you've
really met her!”