A FUR-TRIMMED OVERCOAT AND A SILK HAT
Mrs. Cliff now began to try very hard to live as she ought to live,
without pretensions or snobbery, but in a style becoming, in some
degree, her great fortune.
There was one thing she determined to do immediately, and that was, to
begin a series of hospitalities,--and it made her feel proud to think
that she could do this and do it handsomely, and yet do it in the old
home where everybody knew she had for years been obliged to practise the
strictest economy.
She gave a dinner to which she invited her most select friends. Mr. and
Mrs. Perley were there, and the Misses Thorpedyke, two maiden ladies who
constituted the family of the highest social pretension of Plainton.
There were other people who were richer, but Miss Eleanor Thorpedyke,
now a lady of nearly seventy, and her sister Barbara, some ten years
younger, belonged to the very best family in that part of the country,
and were truly the aristocrats of the place.
But they had always been very friendly with Mrs. Cliff, and they were
glad to come to her dinner. The other guests were all good people, and a
dinner-party of more distinction could not have been collected in that
town.
But this dinner did not go off altogether smoothly. If the people had
come merely to eat, they must have been abundantly satisfied, for
everything was of the very best and well cooked, Mrs. Cliff and Willy
having seen to that; but there were certain roughnesses and hitches in
the management of the dinner which disturbed Mrs. Cliff. In her travels
and at the hotels where she had lived she had seen a great deal of good
service, and she knew what it was.
Willy, who, being a relative, should really have come to the table, had
decidedly declined to do so, and had taken upon herself the principal
part of the waiting, assisted by the general servant and a small girl
who had been called in. But the dining-room was very small, some of the
chairs were but a little distance from the wall, and it was evident that
Willy had not a true appreciation of the fact that in recent years she
had grown considerably rounder and plumper than she used to be; and it
made Mrs. Cliff's blood run cold to see how she bumped the back of Mr.
Perley's chair, as she thrust herself between it and the wall.
The small girl had to be told almost everything that she must do, and
the general servant, who did not like to wait on table, only came in
when she was called and left immediately when she had done what she had
been called for.
When the guests had gone, Mrs. Cliff declared to Willy that that was the
last large dinner she would give in that house. "It was not a dinner
which a woman of my means should offer to her friends." Willy was
amazed.
"I don't see how it could have been better," said she, "unless you had
champagne, and I know Mr. Perley wouldn't have liked that. Everything on
the table was just as good as it could be."
But Mrs. Cliff shook her head. She knew that she had attempted something
for which her present resources were insufficient. After this she
invited people to dinner once or twice a week, but the company was
always very small and suited to the resources of the house.
"I will go on this way for a while," thought the good lady, "and after a
time I will begin to spread out and do things in a different style."
Several times she drove over to Harrington, a large town some five miles
away, which contained a furniture factory, and there she purchased many
articles which would be suitable for the house, always securing the best
things for her purposes, but frequently regretting that certain
beautiful and imposing pieces of furniture were entirely unsuited to the
capacity of her rooms and hallways. But when her dining-room should be
finished, and the room above it, she would have better opportunity of
gratifying her taste for handsome wood in imposing designs. Then it
might be that Harrington would not be able to give her anything good
enough.
Her daily mail was now much larger than it ever had been before.
Business people sent her cards and circulars, and every now and then she
received letters calling her attention to charities or pressing personal
needs of the writers, but there were not very many of these; for
although it was generally known that Mrs. Cliff had come into a
fortune, her manner of living seemed also a matter of public knowledge.
Even the begging letters were couched in very moderate terms; but all
these Mrs. Cliff took to Mr. Perley, and, by his advice, she paid
attention to but very few of them.
Day by day Mrs. Cliff endeavored to so shape and direct her fortunes
that they might make her happy in the only ways in which she could be
happy, but her efforts to do so did not always gain for her the approval
of her fellow townspeople. There were some who thought that a woman who
professed to have command of money should do a good many things which
Mrs. Cliff did not do, and there were others who did not hesitate to
assert that a woman who lived as Mrs. Cliff should not do a great many
things which she did do, among which things some people included the
keeping of a horse and carriage. It was conceded, of course, that all
this was Mrs. Cliff's own business. She had paid the money she had
borrowed to go to South America; she had been very kind to some of the
poor people of the town, and it was thought by some had been foolishly
munificent to old Mrs. Bradley, who, from being a very poor person
threatened with the loss of her home, was now an independent
householder, and enjoyed an annuity sufficient to support her.
More than that, Mrs. Cliff had been very generous in regard to the
church music. It was not known exactly how much she had given towards
this object, but there were those who said that she must have given her
means a considerable strain when she made her contribution. That is, if
the things were to be done which Mr. Perley talked about.
When Mrs. Cliff heard what had been said upon this subject,--and Willy
Croup was generally very well able to keep her informed in regard to
what the people of the town said about her,--she thought that the
gossips would have been a good deal astonished if they had known how
much she had really given to the church, and that they would have been
absolutely amazed if they knew how much Mr. Perley had received for
general charities. And then she thought, with a tinge of sadness, how
very much surprised Mr. Perley would have been if he had known how much
more she was able to give away without feeling its loss.
Weeks passed on, the leaves turned red and yellow upon the trees, the
evenings and mornings grew colder and colder, and Mrs. Cliff did
everything she could towards the accomplishment of what now appeared to
her in the light of a great duty in her life,--the proper expenditure of
her income and appropriation of her great fortune.
Her labors were not becoming more cheerful. Day after day she said to
herself that she was not doing what she ought to do, and that it was
full time that she should begin to do something better, but what that
better thing was she could not make up her mind. Even the improvements
she contemplated were, after all, such mere trifles.
It was a very cold morning in October when Mrs. Cliff went into her
parlor and said to Willy that there was one thing she could do,--she
could have a rousing, comfortable fire without thinking whether wood was
five, ten, or twenty dollars per cord. When Willy found that Mrs. Cliff
wanted to make herself comfortable before a fine blazing fire, she
seemed in doubt.
"I don't know about the safety of it," she said. "That chimney's in a
pretty bad condition; the masons told us so years ago, and nothin' has
ever been done to it! There have been fires in it, but they have been
little ones; and if I was you, I wouldn't have too large a blaze in that
fireplace until the chimney has been made all right!"
Mrs. Cliff was annoyed. "Well then, Willy, I wish you would go for the
mason immediately, and tell him to come here and repair the chimney.
It's perfectly ridiculous that I can't have a fire in my own parlor when
I am able to have a chimney as high and as big as Bunker Hill Monument
if I wanted it!"
Willy Croup smiled. She did not believe that Mrs. Cliff really knew how
much such a chimney would cost, but she said, "You have got to remember,
you know, that we can't have the Cuthberts here to dinner to-morrow if
the masons come to work at that chimney. Ten to one they will have to
take the most part of it down, and we shall be in a general mess here
for a week."
Mrs. Cliff sat down with a sigh. "You need not mind to have the wood
brought in," she said; "just give me a few sticks and some kindling, so
that I can give things a little air of cheerfulness."
As she sat before the gently blazing little fire, Mrs. Cliff felt that
things needed an air of cheerfulness. She had that morning been making
calculations, and, notwithstanding all she had bought, all she had done,
and even including with the most generous margin all she had planned to
do, her income was gaining upon her in a most discouraging way.
"I am not fit for it," she said to herself. "I don't know how to live as
I want to live, and I won't live as I don't want to live. The whole
business is too big for me. I don't know how to manage it. I ought to
give up my means to somebody who knows how to use them, and stay here
myself with just enough money to make me happy."
For the fortieth time she considered the question of laying all her
troubles before Mr. Perley, but she knew her pastor. The great mass of
her fortune would quickly be swallowed up in some grand missionary
enterprise; and this would not suit Mrs. Cliff. No matter how much she
was discouraged, no matter how difficult it was to see her way before
her, no matter how great a load she felt her wealth to be, there was
always before her a glimmering sense of grand possibilities. What they
were she could not now see or understand, but she would not willingly
give them up.
[Illustration: THE GENTLEMAN RAISED HIS HAT AND ASKED IF MRS. CLIFF
LIVED THERE]
She was an elderly woman, but she came of a long-lived family, all of
whom had lived in good health until the end of their days, and if there
was any grand, golden felicity which was possible to her, she felt
that there was reason to believe she would live long to enjoy it when
she wanted it.
One morning as Mrs. Cliff sat thinking over these things, there was a
knock at the front door, and, of course, Willy Croup ran to open it. No
matter where she was, or no matter what she was doing, Willy always went
to the door if she could, because she had so great a desire to know who
was there.
This time it was a gentleman, a very fine gentleman, with a high silk
hat and a handsome overcoat trimmed with fur--fur on the collar, fur on
the sleeves, and fur down the front. Willy had never seen such a coat.
It was October and it was cool, but there was no man in Plainton who
would have worn such a coat as that so early in the season even if he
had one.
The gentleman had dark eyes and a very large mustache, and he carried a
cane and wore rather bright tan-colored gloves. All these things Willy
observed in an instant, for she was very quick in taking notice of
people's clothes and general appearance.
The gentleman raised his hat and asked if Mrs. Cliff lived there. Now
Willy thought he must be an extraordinary fine gentleman, for how should
he know that she was not a servant, and in those parts gentlemen did not
generally raise their hats to girls who opened front doors.
The gentleman was admitted and was ushered into the parlor, where sat
Mrs. Cliff. She was a little surprised at the sight of this visitor, who
came in with his hat on, but who took it off and made her a low bow as
soon as he saw her. But she thought she appreciated the situation, and
she hardened her heart.
A strange man, so finely dressed, and with such manners, must have come
for money, and Mrs. Cliff had already learned to harden her heart
towards strangers who solicited. But the hardness of her heart utterly
disappeared in her amazement when this gentleman, having pulled off his
right glove, advanced toward her, holding out his hand.
"You don't remember me, Mrs. Cliff?" he said in a loud, clear voice. "No
wonder, for I am a good deal changed, but it is not the same with you.
You are the same as ever--I declare you are!"
Mrs. Cliff took the proffered hand, and looked into the face of the
speaker. There was something there which seemed familiar, but she had
never known such a fine gentleman as this. She thought over the people
whom she had seen in France and in California, but she could not
recollect this face.
"It's a mean thing to be puzzlin' you, Mrs. Cliff," said the stranger,
with a cheery smile. "I'm George Burke, seaman on the _Castor_, where I
saw more of you, Mrs. Cliff, than I've ever seen since; for though we
have both been a good deal jumbled up since, we haven't been jumbled up
together, so I don't wonder if you don't remember me, especially as I
didn't wear clothes like these on the _Castor_. Not by any means, Mrs.
Cliff!"
"I remember you," she said, and she shook his hand warmly. "I remember
you, and you had a mate named Edward Shirley."
"Yes, indeed!" said Mr. Burke, "and he's all right, and I'm all right,
and how are you?"
The overcoat with the fur trimmings came off, and, with the hat, the
cane, and the gloves, was laid upon a chair, and Burke and Mrs. Cliff
sat down to talk over old times and old friends.