It was said of Mr. Dale by those of his friends' wives who felt at
liberty to discuss his affairs with their husbands, that his bringing up
of his daughters was radically wrong. These whispers of feminine
disapproval were occasionally wafted to the seemingly heedless father,
who always smiled good-naturedly, yet was apparently blind to the
advantages to be derived from the conventional course of training the
young, for he continued to pursue his own methods with bland serenity.
Mrs. Dale had died when the girls were six and seven years old
respectively. Up to that time they had lived quite like other children,
going regularly to school and finding recreation in the pleasures common
to their age and condition. The house in which at that time they lived
was a somewhat pretentious mansion on the water side of Crana Street.
Now to live in this sacred precinct, as every one in Radnor knows, gives
an immediate claim to distinction. In the eyes of their neighbors,
however, the Dales were not distinguished beyond the matter of their
locality, for the family was not Radnor-bred, and this is an offense
tolerated but never condoned in Radnor society.
The Dales had drifted there from some unheard-of (to Radnor) western
town soon after the Civil War, while the country was still in a state of
upheaval. Major Dale brought to the readjustment of his business the
force and skill which won for him distinction on the battlefield,
gradually transferred his interests from the western town eastward, and
took root in Radnor, where he proceeded to build up a fortune. Not
there, however, but back in Mrs. Dale's old home, some years later, the
girls were born. They came to Radnor as babies, and like their father
took root; but Mrs. Dale, a semi-invalid, spent much of her time wearily
traversing the country in search of health. She disliked Radnor, and
made no attempt to cultivate the people. During her prolonged absences
the children remained at home under the care of Bridget, a faithful
servant who had come with them from the west.
With Mrs. Dale's death the quiet placidity of the children's life
ceased. The house was closed, and Mr. Dale started immediately for
California, taking the girls and Bridget with him. While there he became
interested in railroad enterprises, which eventually extended through
remote and varied sections of the country and kept him a bird of passage
for many years. He built a private car and took his daughters everywhere
with him, to the consternation of Radnor, which was kept informed of the
magnate's movements through the medium of the press.
The girls grew up in an atmosphere of devoted companionship, among
scenes that were ever changing. They lived much in hotels, and for weeks
at a time in their private car, "The Hustle," which they never ceased to
regard as a fascinating playhouse, and where their father, in the midst
of his multitudinous cares, found time to watch their developing natures
and teach them to grow in grace and spirit, as became the daughters of a
soldier.
They were not wholly without lessons, for when they remained for any
length of time in one place Mr. Dale's private secretary was dispatched
to find a good school, in which they were immediately placed; while Mr.
Dale, who had theories of his own, trained their eyes to keen
observation of what they saw and their minds to reason out the obscure
according to their own lights. He was full of wisdom and patience and
counsel, but he had a way of turning on them when they came for advice
and saying, "What do _you_ think?" in a manner that would have been
startling to the average child, who is apt to think what he is told.
This turning the tables began in their teens, whereby they came to have
opinions without being opinionated, for, though requiring them to think
out every subject carefully, he yet guided them with a firm hand, giving
them in every sort of discussion the wisdom of his wide experience. He
was a loving, indulgent father, and the girls adored him, but no sterner
disciplinarian ever held sway. Implicit and immediate obedience he
demanded--no questioning of his higher authority.
He taught them, too, much of the old-world philosophy, which he had
imbibed from extensive reading. They listened to him wonderingly, their
eager young minds drinking in the beauty of what he said, but failing at
that age to grasp the breadth and depth of all the truths he told them.
Sometimes he almost forgot that they were children.
When Julie was twenty and Hester nineteen he took them to Europe.
Bridget and Peter Snooks completed the party. They roamed about for a
year, and just before they were to sail for home late in the summer Mr.
Dale informed the girls that he intended to sell out his large railroad
interests; he was tired of their unsettled life, and thought they would
all enjoy the novelty of opening their house and taking up their abode
in Radnor. Radnor had long ceased to be anything more than a name to the
girls, but the proposition opened up joyous possibilities of "making a
home for Dad."
"I will take you down to Cousin Nancy's in Virginia when we land," he
had said to them in London, "and leave you there a few weeks; she has
been begging for a visit from us this long while. Bridget and I will
open the house in Radnor and get everything in order; then you can come
up and run the establishment and queen it over your old Dad in royal
fashion."
This program had been successfully carried out, except that it could
scarcely be said that the girls ran the establishment, for the
responsibility lay with Bridget, who assumed the duties of
housekeeper--duties she guarded jealously and performed with such skill
that there was not a better managed house on the water side of Crana
Street. This Radnor people knew through that mysterious agency by which
a neighborhood keeps in touch with itself.
After years spent in the narrow confines of a car, however luxurious,
and the necessarily limited quarters of hotels, the girls reveled in the
spacious house, over which they spread themselves in an amusing fashion,
sleeping in turn in the various bedrooms by way of getting acquainted
with them all over again, Julie said, and with reckless prodigality
hanging some portion of their wardrobe in every closet in the house.
At the end of their first week in Radnor, Hester amused her father by
telling him she thought she should enjoy housekeeping exceedingly if
they had an elevator, a menu and "The Hustle" side-tracked in the back
yard. Reluctantly she admitted that the yard could scarcely be made to
hold it, but at least, she suggested airily, he might build a float and
anchor the car at their back door on the river. The new life really
seemed to her incomplete without it.
Hester at twenty was a laughing, dancing sprite, yet with a certain
quaintness and matureness of mind that amused and delighted her father's
friends. She was slim and dark, with a piquant face and fascinating
hazel eyes that shot out mischievous lights. They were unusual eyes, and
very beautiful with their fringe of long dark lashes; but she did not
think so, and compared them scornfully to a cat's--the only animal she
hated. If she could be said to have any vanity it was for her hands,
which came in for a considerable share of her attention, and she went to
bed in gloves every night of her life.
Julie, whose hands were not a matter of comment, dispensed with this
bed-time ceremony, and usually devoted most of her time before retiring
to a vigorous brushing of her rebellious yellow hair, which, when it was
let alone, rioted all over her head in such babyish curls that her
father always called her "Curly Locks." Her eyes were violet--her lashes
and brows dark, like Hester's, which gave her a most remarkable contrast
of coloring. From her mother she had inherited a delicate constitution,
and lacked the buoyancy of Hester's gay spirits; nevertheless, she had a
keen sense of humor and laughed immoderately on all occasions at her
sister, whom she considered altogether the cleverest and most amusing
person she knew. And they knew many delightful people from one end of
the country to the other--everywhere except in Radnor, where society was
waiting for Mr. Dale formally to present his daughters before setting
the seal of its approval upon them.
The second day following that on which Mr. Dale was brought home ill,
Dr. Ware stayed longer than usual with his patient and came out of the
sickroom with a grave face. In the hall the girls were waiting for him
as usual.
"My dears," he said, abruptly, drawing them into the library, "you have
to know the worst, and there is no one but me to tell you." For a moment
he hesitated. "Your father's illness is caused by his financial
ruin--his entire fortune has been swept away. He has lost everything,
and the shock of his failure has paralyzed him." For a moment neither
spoke; each girl felt that she could hear her heart beat in the awful
silence of the room. Then Julie said:
"Won't Daddy soon be better? Oh, you can't mean he will always be sick
like this?" Her eyes were black with pain and apprehension.
"He will never move about again. Physically he may suffer very little;
the anguish will come through the consciousness of his helplessness----"
"We will not let him feel that," interrupted Julie, throwing up her
head. "Hester and I are strong."
The Doctor cleared his throat. "Thank God for that, for you've a hard
fight ahead of you."
Hester crept close to his side. "Will you tell us more about it,
please," she whispered in a strange, tense voice; "it's so--so difficult
to understand."
"Of course it is, dear," putting his arm around her. "Things began to go
wrong a year ago. Your father felt it, and nearly abandoned the European
trip, then went after all, feeling absolute need of rest and hoping he
had left the snarl sufficiently straightened out to go on without him.
But things went from bad to worse, and he came back to more
complications than any one man could manage. Even then he might have
pulled through somehow if that western road in which he had so largely
invested had not smashed and carried him down with it. You don't want
the details, Hester."
"No," she answered, "it is enough that the thing is."
He looked at her intently, as if astonished that so philosophic a
statement should come from so young a person.
"Shall we have to give up the house, and--and 'The Hustle,'
and--everything?" asked Julie.
"I'm afraid so, Julie dear. That is especially what I want to talk to
you about to-day--your future. I want you to leave it all to me."
"Oh, no, no!" she cried, "you're good, so good, but we can't do that. We
must look the future squarely in the face, and bravely, must we not,
Hester?" turning appealingly to her sister. "I'm sure that is what Daddy
would say."
"Julie, don't you be afraid; we'll just do everything--somehow!" Hester
flung out her young arms with a sweeping movement as if she meant to
gather in all their perplexities and conquer them. "If Dr. Ware will
help us and advise us, we'll try to get our feet down on
something--somewhere. Yours aren't very big," she said, with a piteous
attempt at her old lightness, "but mine are. I feel just now as if I
were standing on my head, it is all so sudden and so terrible!"
Dr. Ware rose and put on his coat. "I think you have heard enough for
one day," he said. "You seem to be such surprisingly independent young
women that I do not know just how I am going to deal with you. But you
are to remember this, mind, that whatever I have is
yours--everything--though I shall not thrust it upon you. If you have
ideas of your own and wish to carry them out, I will help you in every
way in my power. Now I am off," he added, briskly, "and don't you worry
too much. We have many days yet to talk things over and decide what is
best to do."
Julie tried to say something, but ended by burying her face in his coat
sleeve and sobbing quietly.
Hester fiercely bit her lip and gulped down the tears that threatened to
choke her. "You are the kindest, best--" she began.
"Tut, tut, nonsense!" said the Doctor. "Not a word like that, or I shall
desert you entirely." And with a frown on his face that was half a smile
he left the room.