A STANCH FRIEND MAKES A VAIN APPEAL.
Beautiful Edith Allandale and her gentle, refined mother had been
suddenly hurled from affluence down into the very depths of poverty.
Only two years previous to the opening of our story the world had been
as bright to them as to any of the petted favorites of fortune who
dwell in the luxurious palaces on Fifth avenue.
Albert Allandale had been a wealthy broker in Wall street; for years
Fortune had showered her favors upon him, and everything he had
touched seemed literally to turn to gold in his grasp.
His family consisted of his wife, his beautiful daughter, and two
bright sons, ten and twelve years of age, upon whom the dearest hopes
of his life had centered.
But like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky, an illness of less than a
week had deprived him of both of his sons.
Diphtheria, that fell destroyer, laid its relentless hand upon them,
and they had died upon the same day, within a few hours of each other.
The heart-broken father was a changed man from the moment, when,
sitting in speechless agony beside these idolized boys, he watched
their young lives go out, and felt that the future held nothing to
tempt him to live on.
His mind appeared to be impaired by this crushing blow; he could
neither eat nor sleep; his business was neglected, and, day by day, he
failed, until, in less than six months from the time that death had so
robbed him, he had followed his boys, leaving his wife and lovely
daughter to struggle as best they could with poverty; for their great
wealth had melted like snow beneath the blazing sun when Mr. Allandale
lost his interest in the affairs of the world.
Keenly sensitive, and no less proud--crushed by their many sorrows,
the bereaved wife and daughter hid themselves and their grief from
every one, in a remote corner of the great city. But misfortune
followed misfortune--Mrs. Allandale having become a confirmed
invalid--until they were reduced to the straits described at the
opening of our story.
The week preceding they had spent their last dollar--obtained by
pawning one after another of their old-time treasures--and Edith
insisted upon seeking employment.
She had seen an advertisement for a copyist in one of the daily
papers, and, upon answering it in person, succeeded in obtaining the
situation with the young lawyer already mentioned.
Every day spent in her presence only served to make him admire her the
more; and, before the week was out, he had altogether lost his heart
to her.
When Saturday evening arrived, he paid her with the golden coin which
was destined to bring fresh sorrow upon her, and she went out from his
presence with a strange feeling of pride and independence over the
knowledge that she had earned it with her own hands, and henceforth
would be able to provide for her own and her mother's comfort.
But Royal Bryant had been conscience-smitten when he saw her beautiful
face light up with mingled pride and pleasure as he laid that tiny
piece of gold in her palm.
He would gladly have doubled the amount; but five dollars had been the
sum agreed upon for that first week's work, and he feared that he
would wound her pride by offering her a gratuity.
So he had told her that she would be worth more to him the next week,
and that he would continue to increase her wages in proportion as she
acquired speed and proficiency in her work.
Thus she had started forth, that dreary Saturday night, with a
comparatively light heart, to redeem her watch, before going home to
tell her mother her good news.
But, alas! how disastrously the day had closed!
"Come, miss," impatiently remarked the officer, as she sat with bowed
head, her face covered with her hands, "get on your things! I've no
time to be fooling away, and must run you into camp before it gets any
later."
"Oh, what do you mean?" cried Edith, starting wildly to her feet.
"Where are you going to take me?"
"To the station-house, of course, where you'll stay until Monday, when
you'll be taken to court for your examination," was the gruff reply.
"Oh, no! I can never spend two nights in such a place!" moaned the
nearly frantic girl, with a shiver of horror. "I have done no
intentional wrong," she continued, lifting an appealing look to the
man's face. "That money was given to me for some work that I have been
doing this week, and if any one is answerable for it being
counterfeit, it should be the person who paid it to me."
"Who paid you the money?" the officer demanded.
"A lawyer for whom I have been copying--Mr. Royal Bryant; his office
is at No. ---- Broadway."
"Then you'll have to appeal to him. But of course it's too late now to
find him at his office. Where does he live?"
"I do not know," sighed Edith, dejectedly. "I have only been with him
one week, and did not once hear him mention his residence."
"That's a pity, miss," returned the officer, in a gentler tone, for he
began to be moved by her beauty and distress. The condition of the
invalid, who had fallen back weak and faint in her chair when he
entered, also appealed to him.
"Unless you can prove your story true, and make up the grocer's loss
to him, I shall be obliged to lock you up to await your examination."
Edith's face lighted hopefully.
"Do you mean that if I could pay Mr. Pincher I need not be arrested?"
she eagerly inquired.
"Yes; the man only wants his money."
"Then he shall have it," Edith joyfully exclaimed. "I will give him
back the change he gave me, then I will go to Mr. Bryant the first
thing Monday morning and tell him about the gold-piece, when I am sure
he will make it all right, and I can pay Mr. Pincher for what I bought
to-night."
"No, you don't, miss," here interposed the grocer himself. "I've had
that game played on me too many times already. You'll just fork over
five dollars to me this very night or off you go to the lock-up. I'm
not going to run any risk of your skipping out of sight between now
and Monday, and leaving me in the lurch."
"But I have no money, save the change you gave me," said Edith,
wearily. "And do you think I would wish to run away when my mother is
too sick to be moved?" she added, indignantly. "I could not take her
with me, and I would not leave her. Oh, pray do not force me to go to
that dreadful place this fearful night! I promise that I will stay
quietly here and that you shall have every penny of your money on
Monday morning."
"She certainly will keep her word, gentlemen," Mrs. Allandale here
interposed, in a tremulous voice. "Do not force her to leave me, for I
am very ill and need her."
"I'm going to have my five dollars now, or to jail she will go," was
the gruff response of the obdurate grocer.
"Oh, I cannot go to jail!" wailed the persecuted girl.
Mrs. Allandale, almost unnerved by the sight of her grief, pleaded
again with pallid face and quivering lips for her. But the man was
relentless. He resolutely turned his back upon the two delicate women
and walked from the room, saying as he went:
"Do your duty, Mr. Officer, and I'll be on hand Monday morning, in
court, to tell 'em how I've been swindled."
With this he vanished, leaving the policeman no alternative but to
enforce the law.
"Oh, mamma! mamma! how can I live and suffer such shame?" cried the
despairing girl, as she sank upon her knees in front of the sick
woman, and shuddered from head to foot in view of the fate before her.
Mrs. Allandale was so overcome that she could not utter one word of
comfort. She was only able to lift one wasted hand and lay it upon the
golden head with a touch of infinite tenderness; then, with a gasp,
she fainted dead away.
"Oh, you have killed her!" Edith cried, in an agonized tone. "What
shall I do? How can I leave her? I will not. Oh! will no one come to
help me in this dreadful emergency?"
"Sure, Miss Allandale, ye know that Kate O'Brien is always willin' to
lend ye a hand when you're in trouble--bless yer bonny heart!" here
interposed a loud but kindly voice, and the next instant the
good-natured face of a buxom Irishwoman was thrust inside the door,
which the grocer had left ajar when he went out. "What is the matter
here?" she concluded, glancing from the officer to the senseless woman
in her chair, and over whom Edith was hanging, chafing her cold hands,
while bitter tears rolled over her face.
A few words sufficed to explain the situation, and then the
indignation of the warm-hearted daughter of Erin blazed forth more
forcibly than elegantly, and she berated the absent grocer and present
officer in no gentle terms.
Kate O'Brien would gladly have advanced the five dollars to the
grocer, but, unfortunately, she herself was at that moment almost
destitute of cash.
"Come, Miss Allandale," said the officer, somewhat impatiently, "I
can't wait any longer."
"Oh, mamma! how can I leave you like this?" moaned the girl, with a
despairing glance at the inanimate figure which, as yet, had given no
signs to returning life.
"She has only fainted, mavourneen," said Kate O'Brien, in a tender
tone, for she at last realized that it would be worse than useless to
contend against the majesty of the law. "She'll soon come to hersel',
and ye may safely trust her wid me--I'll not lave her till ye come
back again."
And with this assurance, Edith was forced to be content, for she saw,
by the officer's resolute face, that she could hope for no reprieve.
So, with one last agonizing look, she pressed a kiss upon the pallid
brow of her loved one; then, again donning her hat and shawl, she told
the policeman that she was ready, and went forth once more into the
darkness and the pitiless storm, feeling, almost, as if God himself
had forsaken her, and wondering if she should ever see her dear mother
alive again.