_March 13._ Last night, at the Philomathean, Mr. Blodgett joined me,
and asked me why I had not dined with them lately. He returned only a
few days ago, and was thus ignorant that I have not been inside his
door for weeks. I hesitated for an instant, and then replied, “I have
been working very hard.”
“What are you usually doing?” he asked, smiling. “Come in to Sunday
dinner to-morrow.”
“I shall be too busy with a lot of manuscripts I have on hand, that
must be read,” I told him.
“Stop killing yourself,” he ordered. “As it is, you look as if you were
on the brink of a bad illness. You won’t get on a bit faster by dying
young.”
There the matter rested, and I did not go to dinner to-day, being
indeed glad to stay indoors; for I very foolishly walked up town
yesterday through the slush, and caught a bad cold. While I was trying
to keep warm, this evening, a note was brought me from Mr. Blodgett,
asking me to come to him at once; and fearing something important, I
braved the cold without delay, ill though I felt. I was shown at once
into his den, which was so cheerful with its open fire that I felt it
was a good exchange for my cold room, where I had sat coughing and
shivering all the afternoon.
“Twice in my life I’ve really lost my temper with the boss,” he began,
before I had even sat down, though he closed the door while speaking.
“Never mind about the first time, but to-day I got mad enough to last
me for the rest of my life.”
“May I sit down?” I interrupted.
He nodded his head, and took a position in front of me, with his back
to the fire, as he continued: “Women are enough to make a man frantic
when they get a fixed idea! Now, to-day, at dinner, I said I’d invited
you, and I saw in a moment something was in the wind; so when we had
finished I told them to come in here, and it didn’t take me long to
find out the trouble.”
“I didn’t like to”—I began; but he went on:—
“And that was the beginning of their trouble. I tell you, there was
Cain here for about ten minutes, and there weren’t two worse scared
women this side of the grave, while I was ranting; for the boss
remembered the other time, and Agnes had never seen me break loose. I
told them they’d done their best to drive you crazy with grief; that if
they’d searched for ten years they couldn’t have found a meaner or
crueler thing, or one that would have hurt you more; that nine men out
of ten, in your shoes, would have acted dishonestly or cut their
throat, but that you had toed the chalk-line right along, and never
once winced. And I let them know that for five dollars they’d added the
last straw of pain to a fellow who deserved only kindness and help from
them.”
“Really, Mr. Blodgett”—I protested.
“Hold on. Don’t attempt to stop me, for the fit’s on me still,” he
growled. “They tried to come the surprised, and then the offended, but
they didn’t fool me. I never let up on them till I had said all I
wanted to say, and they won’t forget it for a day or two. When I sent
Agnes upstairs, she was sobbing her eyes out, and the boss would have
given her pin money for ten years to have escaped with her.”
“It’s too bad to”—
“That’s just what it was!” he cried. “To think of those screws trying
to blackmail you, and then telling me you were a skinflint because you
wouldn’t do what they wanted! Well, after Agnes had gone, I gave the
boss a supplementary and special dose of her own. I told her she could
double discount you on meanness, and then give you forty-nine points;
and to make sure of good measurement, I added in the whole female sex
along with her. I told her that if she knew the facts of your life,
she’d get down on her knees and crawl round to your place to ask your
pardon, and then she wouldn’t be fit to have it. I told her that when
the day of judgment came, she’d just go the other way in preference to
hearing what the recording angel had written of her.”
“I am afraid that your intended kindness will make my welcome scantier
than ever.”
“Not a bit of it. I’m the master of this house, as they found out this
afternoon, and I say who’ll come into it, and who’ll not. I shan’t need
to interfere in your case, for you’ll get a warm welcome from both.”
“You didn’t tell them?” I exclaimed, starting forward in my seat.
“Not a word, though the boss nearly went crazy with curiosity. But I
did say that you were making a splendid up-hill fight, and if they knew
the facts of the case they’d be proud to black your boots. My word goes
in this family about as well as it does on the Street, and you’ll get
all the welcome you can stand from now on.”
“You make me very proud and happy.”
“You have reason to be proud,” he asserted. “I’m not a man who slobbers
much, but I’m going to tell you what I think of you. When you first
came here, I sized you up as rather a softy, your manner was so quiet
and gentle. I got over that delusion precious quick, and I want to say
that for pluck and grit you’re a trump, and there’s my hand on it.”
He went to the table, poured out a couple of glasses of whiskey and
seltzer, and brought them to the fire. “You need something for that
graveyard cough of yours,” he said, handing one to me. “Well,” he went
on, “I didn’t bring you out such a night as this to tell you of my
scrap; but after the row, the boss was so ashamed of herself that she
trumped up an A 1 excuse (as she thought) for having treated you as she
had, and that led to a talk, and that’s why I sent round for you. What
do you suppose she has got into her head?”
“I can’t imagine.”
“I needn’t tell you,” he remarked, “that women always know an awful lot
that isn’t so. But just because they do, they every now and then
discover a truth that can’t be come at in any other way. Now the boss
thinks she’s done this, and I’m not sure that she hasn’t. She says you
are in love.”
“I never knew a man who wasn’t,” I replied, trying to smile. “If it
isn’t with a woman, then it’s always with himself.”
“But the boss thinks she knows the girl, and has a down on you because
you—because you don’t try for her.”