ARTHUR.
All the time that Frank Tracy had been receiving his guests and trying
to seem happy and at his ease, his thoughts had been dwelling upon his
brother's telegram and the ominous words, "Send some one to meet us."
How slowly the minutes dragged until it was ten o'clock, and he knew
that John had started for the station to meet the dreaded "_us_." He
had told everybody that he was expecting his brother, and had tried to
seem glad on account of it.
"You and he were great friends, I believe," he said to Squire
Harrington.
"Yes, we were friends," the latter replied; "but when he lived here my
health was such that I did not mingle much in society. I met him,
however, in Paris five years ago, and found him very companionable and
quite Europeanized in his manner and tastes. He spoke French or German
altogether, and might easily have passed for a foreigner. I shall be
glad to see him."
"And so shall I," chimed in Peterkin, whose voice was like a trumpet and
could be heard everywhere. "A fust-rate chap, though we didn't used to
hitch very well together. He was all-fired big-feelin', and them days
Peterkin was nowhere; but circumstances alter cases. He'll be glad to
see me now, no doubt;" and with a most satisfied air the millionaire put
his hand, as if by accident, on his immense diamond pin, and pulling
down his swallow-tail, walked away.
Frank saw the faint smile of contempt which showed itself in Squire
Harrington's face, and his own grew red with shame, but paled almost
instantly as the outer door was opened by some one who did not seem to
think it necessary to ring; and a stranger, in Spanish cloak and
broad-brimmed hat, stepped into the hall.
Arthur had come, and was _alone_. The train had been on time, and at
just half-past ten the long line of cars stopped before the Shannondale
station, where John, the coachman from Tracy Park, was waiting. The
night was dark, but by the light from the engine and the office John saw
the foreign-looking stranger, who sprang upon the platform, and felt
sure it was his man. But there was no one with him, though it seemed as
if he were expecting some one to follow him from the car, for he stood
for a moment waiting. Then, as the train moved on, he turned with a
puzzled look upon his face to meet John, who said to him respectfully:
"Are you Mr. Arthur Tracy?"
"Yes; who are you?" was the response.
"Mr. Frank Tracy sent me from the park to fetch you," John replied. "I
think he expected some one with you. Are you alone?"
"Yes--no, no!" and Arthur's voice indicated growing alarm and uneasiness
as he looked around him. "Where is she? Didn't you see her? She was with
me all the way. Surely she got off when I did. Where can she have gone?"
He was greatly excited, and kept peering through the darkness as he
talked; while John, a good deal puzzled, looked curiously at him, as if
uncertain whether he were in his right mind or not.
"Was there some one with you in the car?" he asked.
"Yes, in the car, and in New York, and on the ship. She was with me all
the way," Mr. Tracy replied. "It is strange where she is now. Did no one
alight from the train when I did?"
"No one," John answered, more puzzled than ever. "I was looking for you,
and there was no one else. She may have fallen asleep and been carried
by."
"Yes, probably that is it," Mr. Tracy said, more cheerfully; "she was
asleep and carried by. She will come back to-morrow."
He seemed quite content with this solution of the mystery, and began to
talk of his luggage, which lay upon the platform--a pile so immense that
John looked at it in alarm, knowing that the carriage could never take
it all.
"Eight trunks, two portmanteaus, and a hat-box!" he said, aloud,
counting the pieces.
"Yes, and a nice sum those rascally agents in New York made me pay for
having them come with me," Arthur rejoined. "They weighed them all, and
charged me a little fortune. I might as well have sent them by express;
but I wanted them with me, and here they are. What will you do with
them? This is hers," and he designated a black trunk or box, longer and
larger than two ordinary trunks ought to be.
"I can take one of them with the box and portmanteau, and the expressman
will take the rest. He is here. Hullo, Brown!" John said, calling to a
man in the distance, who came forward, and, on learning what was
wanted, began piling the trunks into his wagon, while Arthur followed
John to the carriage, which he entered, and sinking into a seat, pulled
his broad-brimmed hat over his face and eyes, and sat as motionless as
if he had been a stone.
For a moment John stood looking at him, wondering what manner of man he
was, and thinking of the woman who, he said, had been with him in the
train. At last, remembering a message his master had given him, he
began:
"If you please, sir, Mr. Tracy told me to tell you he was very sorry
that he could not come himself to meet you. If he had known that you
were coming sooner, he would have done different; but he did not get
your telegram till this morning, and then it was too late to stop it. We
are having a great break-down to-night."
During the first of these remarks Arthur had given no sign that he
heard, but when John spoke of a break-down, he lifted his head quickly,
and the great black eyes flashed a looked of inquiry upon John, as he
said:
"Break-down? What's that?"
"A party--a smasher! Mr. Tracy is running for Congress," was John's
reply.
And then over the thin face there crept a ghost of a smile, which, faint
as it was, changed the expression wonderfully.
"Oh, a party!" he said. "Well, I will be a guest, too. I have my
dressing-suit in some of those trunks. Frank is going to Congress, is
he? That's a good joke! Drive on. What are you standing there for?"
The carriage door was shut, and, mounting the box, John drove as rapidly
toward Tracy Park as the darkness of the night would admit, while the
passenger inside sat with his hat over his eyes, and his chin almost
touching his breast, as if absorbed in thought. Once he spoke to
himself, and said:
"Poor little Gretchen! I wonder how I could have forgotten and left her
in the train. What will she do alone in a strange place? But perhaps
Heaven will take care of her. She always said so. I wish I had her faith
and could believe as she does."
They had turned into the park by this time, and very soon drew up before
the house, from every window of which lights were flashing, while the
sound of music and dancing could be distinctly heard.
"I need not ring at my own house," Arthur thought, as he ran up the
steps, and, opening the door, stepped into the hall; and thus it was
that the first intimation which Frank had of his arrival was when he saw
him standing in the midst of a crowd of people, who were gazing
curiously at him.
"Arthur!" he exclaimed, rushing forward and taking his brother's hand.
"Welcome home again! I did not hear the carriage, though I was listening
for it. I am so glad to see you! Come with me to your room;" and he led
the way up stairs to the apartment prepared for the stranger.
He had seen at a glance that Arthur was alone, unless, indeed, he had
brought a servant who had gone to the side door; and thus relieved from
a load of anxiety, he was very cordial in his manner, and began at once
to make excuses for the party, repeating, in substance, what John had
already said.
"Yes, I know; that fellow who drove me here told me," Arthur replied,
throwing off his coat and hat, and beginning to lave his face, and neck,
and hands in the cold water which he turned into the bowl until it was
full to the brim, and splashed over the sides as he dashed it upon
himself.
All this time Frank had not seen his face distinctly, nor did he have an
opportunity to do so until the ablutions were ended, and Arthur had
rubbed himself with, not one towel, but two, until it seemed as if he
must have taken off the skin in places. Then he turned, and running his
fingers through his luxuriant hair, which had a habit of curling around
his forehead as in his boyhood, looked full at his brother, who saw that
he was very pale, and that his eyes were unnaturally large and bright,
while there was about him an indescribable something which puzzled Frank
a little. It was not altogether the air of foreign travel and
cultivation which was so perceptible, but a something else--a
restlessness and nervousness of speech and manner as he moved about the
room, walking rapidly and gesticulating as he walked.
"You are looking thin and tired. Are you not well?" Frank asked.
"Oh, yes, perfectly well," Arthur replied; "only this infernal heat in
my blood, which keeps me up to fever pitch all the time. I shall have to
bathe my face again;" and, going a second time to the bowl, he began to
throw the water over his face and hands as he had done before.
"I'd like a bath in ice-water," he said, as he began drying himself with
a fresh towel. "If I remember right, there is no bath-room on this
floor, but I can soon have one built. I intend to throw down the wall
between this room and the next, and perhaps the next, so as to have a
suite."
The second washing must have cooled him, for there came a change in his
manner, and he moved more slowly and spoke with greater deliberation as
he asked some questions about the people below.
"Will you come down by and by," Frank said, after having made some
explanations with regard to his guests.
"No, you will have to excuse me," Arthur replied. "I am too tired to
encounter old acquaintances or make new. I do not believe I could stand
old Peterkin, who you say is a millionaire. I suppose you want his
influence; your coachman told me you were running for Congress," and
Arthur laughed the old merry, musical laugh which Frank remembered so
well; then, suddenly changing his tone, he asked: "When does the next
train from the East pass the station?"
Frank told him at seven in the morning, and he continued:
"Please send the carriage to meet it. Gretchen will probably be there.
She was in the train with me, and should have gotten out when I did, but
she must have been asleep and carried by."
"Gr-gr-gretchen! Who is she?" Frank stammered, while the cold sweat
began to run down his back.
Instantly into Arthur's eyes there came a look of cunning, as he
replied:
"She is Gretchen. See that the carriage goes for her, will you?"
His voice and manner indicated that he wished the conference ended, and
with a great sinking at his heart Frank left the room and returned to
his guests and his wife, who had not seen the stranger when he entered
the hall, and did not know of Arthur's arrival until her husband
rejoined her.
"He has come," he whispered to her, while she whispered back:
"Is he alone?"
"Yes, but somebody is coming to-morrow; I do not know who; Gretchen, he
calls her," was Frank's reply.
"Gretchen!" Mrs. Tracy repeated, in a trembling voice. "Who is she?"
"I don't know. He merely said she was Gretchen; his daughter, perhaps,"
was Frank's answer, which sent the color from his wife's cheeks, and
made her so faint and sick that she could scarcely stand, and did not
know at all what her guests were saying to her.
Meantime, Arthur had changed his mind with regard to going down into the
parlors, and, unlocking the trunk which held his own wardrobe, he took
out an evening suit fresh from the hands of a London tailor, and,
arraying himself in it, stood for a moment before the glass to see the
effect. Everything was faultless, from his neck-tie to his boots; and,
opening the door, he went into the hall, which was empty, except for
Harold, who was sitting near the stairs, half asleep again. Most of the
guests were in the supper-room, but a few of the younger portion were
dancing, and the strains of music were heard with great distinctness in
the upper hall.
"Ugh!" Arthur said, with a shiver, as he stopped a moment to listen,
while his quick eye took in every detail of the furniture and its
arrangement in the hall. "That violinist ought to be hung--the pianist,
too! Don't they know what horrid discord they are making? It brings that
heat back. I believe, upon my soul, I shall have to bathe my face
again."
Suiting the action to the word, he went back and washed his face for the
third time; then returning to the hall, he advanced toward Harold, who
was now wide awake and standing up to meet him. As Arthur met the clear
brown eyes fixed so curiously upon him, he stopped suddenly, and put his
hand to his head as if trying to recall something; then going nearer to
Harold, he said:
"Well, my little boy, what are you doing up here?"
"Telling the folks which way to go," was Harold's answer.
"Who are you?" Arthur continued. "What is your name?"
"Harold Hastings," was the reply; and instantly there came over the
white face, and into the large, bright eyes, an expression which made
the boy stand back as the tall man came up to him and, laying a hand on
his shoulder, said excitedly:
"Harold Hastings! He was once my friend, or I thought he was; but I hate
him now. And he was your father, and Amy Crawford was your mother?
_N'est-ce pas?_ Answer me!"
"Yes, sir--yes sir; but I don't know what you mean by '_na-se par_,'"
Harold said, in a frightened voice; and Arthur continued, as he
tightened his grasp on his shoulder:
"I hated your father, and I hate you, and I am going to throw you over
the stair railing!" and seizing Harold's coat collar, he swung him over
the banister as if he had been a feather, while the boy struggled and
fought, and held on to the rails, until help appeared in the person of
Frank Tracy, who came swiftly up the stairs, demanding the cause of what
he saw.
He had been standing near the drawing-room door, and had caught the
sound of his brother's voice and Harold's as if in altercation. Excusing
himself from those around him, he hastened to the scene of action in
time to save Harold from a broken limb, if not a broken neck.
"What is it? What have you been doing?" he asked the boy, who replied
amid his tears:
"I hain't been doing anything, only minding my business, and he came and
asked me who I was, and when I told him, he was going to chuck me over
the railing--darn him! I wish I was big; I'd lick him!"
Harold's cheeks were flushed, and the great tears glittered in his eyes,
as he stood up, brave, and defiant, and resentful of the injustice done
him.
"Arthur, are you mad?" Frank said.
And whether it was the tone of his voice, or his words, something
produced a wonderful effect upon his brother, whose mood changed at
once, and who advanced towards Harold with outstretched hand, saying to
him:
"Forgive me, my little man, I think I must have been mad for the
instant; there is such a heat in my head, and the crash of that music
almost drives me wild. Shall it be peace between us, my boy?"
It was next to impossible to resist the influence of Arthur Tracy's
smile, and Harold took the offered hand and said, between a sob and a
laugh:
"I don't know now why you wanted to throw me down stairs."
"Nor I, and I will make it up to you some time," was Arthur's reply, as
he took his brother's arm and said: "Now introduce me to your guests."
The moment the gentlemen disappeared from view Harold's resolution was
taken. It was nearly midnight. He was very tired and sleepy, and his
head was aching terribly. He could not see the dancing. He had had
nothing to eat; he had stood until his legs were ready to drop off, and
to crown all a lunatic had tried to throw him over the banister.
"I won't stay here another minute," he said.
And leaving the hall by the rear entrance, and slipping down a back
stairway, he was soon in the open air, and running swiftly through the
park toward the cottage in the lane.
Meanwhile, the two brothers had descended to the drawing-room, where
Arthur was soon surrounded by his old acquaintances, whom he greeted
with that cordiality and friendliness of manner which had made him so
popular with those who knew him best. Every trace of excitement had
disappeared, and had he been master of ceremonies himself, he could not
have been more gracious or affable. Even old Peterkin was treated with a
consideration which put that worthy man at his ease, and set his tongue
in motion. At first he had felt a little overawed by Arthur's elegant
appearance, and had whispered to his neighbor:
"That's a swell, and no mistake. I s'pose that's what you call foreign
get up. Well, me and ma is goin' to Europe some time, and hang me if I
don't put on style when I come home. I'd kind of like to speak to the
feller. I wonder if he remembers that I was runnin' a boat when he went
away?"
If Arthur did remember it he showed no sign when Peterkin at last
pressed up to him, claiming his attention, as "Captain Peterkin, of the
'Liza Ann, the fastest boat on the canal, and by George, the
all-firedest meanest, too, I guess," he said; "but them days is past,
and the old captain is past with them. I dabbled a little in ile, and if
I do say it, I could about buy up the whole canal, if I wanted to; but I
ain't an atom proud, and I don't forget the old boatin' days, and I've
got the 'Liza Ann hauled up inter my back yard as a relict. The children
use it for a play-house, but to me it is a--a--what do you call it?
a--gol darn it, what is it?"
"Souvenir," suggested Arthur, vastly amused at this tirade, which had
assumed the form of a speech, and drawn a crowd around Peterkin.
"Wall, yes; I s'pose that's it, though 'tain't exactly what I was trying
to think of," he said. "It's a reminder, and keeps down my pride, for
when I get to feelin' pretty big, after hearin' myself pointed out as
Peterkin, the millionaire, I go out to that old boat in the back yard,
and says I, 'Liza Ann,' says I, 'you and me has took many a trip up and
down the canal, with about the wust crew, and the wust hosses, and the
wust boys that was ever created, and though you've got a new coat of
paint onto you, and can set still all day and do nothin', while I can
wear the finest of broadcloth and set still, too, it won't do for us to
forget the pit from which we was dug, and I don't forget it neither, no
more than I forgit favors shown when I was not just cut.' You, sir, rode
on the 'Liza Ann with that crony of yours--Hastings was his name--and
you paid me han'some, though I didn't ask nothin'; and there's your
brother--Frank, I call him. I don't forgit that he used to speak to me
civil when I was nobody, and now, though I'm a Dimocrat, as everybody
who knows me knows, and everybody most does know me, for Shannondale
allus was my native town, I'm goin' to run him into Congress, if it
takes my bottom dollar, and anybody, Republican or Dimocrat, who don't
vote for him ain't my friend, and must expect to feel the full heft of
my--my--"
"Powerful disapprobation," Arthur said, softly, and Peterkin continued:
"Thank you, sir, that's the word--powerful, sir, powerful," and he
glowered threatingly at two or three young men in white kids and high
shirt collars, who were known to prefer the opposing candidate.
Peterkin had finished his harangue, and was wiping his wet face with his
hankerchief, when Arthur, who had listened to him with well-bred
attention, said:
"I thank you, Captain Peterkin, for your interest in my brother, who, if
he succeeds, will I am sure, owe his success to your influence, and be
grateful in proportion. Perhaps you have a bill you would like him to
bring before the house?"
"No," Peterkin said, with a shake of the head. "My Bill is a little
shaver, eight or nine years old; too young to go from home, but"--and he
lowered his voice a little--"I don't mind saying that if there should be
a chance, I'd like the post-office fust rate. It would be a kind of
hist, you know, to see my name in print, Captain Joseph Peterkin, P.M."
Here the conversation ended, and this aspirant for the post-office
stepped aside and gave place to others who were anxious to renew their
acquaintance with Arthur.
It was between one and two o'clock in the morning when the party finally
broke up, and, as the Peterkins had been the first to arrive, so they
were the last to leave, and Mrs. Peterkin found herself again in the
gentlemen's dressing-room looking for her wraps. But they were not
there, and after a vain and anxious search she said to her husband:
"Joe, somebody has stole my things, and 'twas my Indian shawl, too, and
gold-headed pin, with the little diamond."
Mrs. Tracy was at once summoned to the scene, and the missing wraps were
found in the ladies-room, where Harold had carried them, but the
gold-headed shawl-pin was gone and could not be found.
Lucy, the girl in attendance, said, when questioned, that she knew
nothing of the pin or Mrs. Peterkin's wraps either, except that on first
going up after the lady's arrival she had found Harold Hastings fumbling
them over, and that she sent him out with a sharp reprimand. Harold was
then looked for and could not be found, for he had been at home and in
bed for a good two hours. Clearly, then, he knew something of the pin;
and Peterkin and his wife said good-night resolving to see the boy the
first thing in the morning and demand their property.
When the Peterkins were gone Arthur started at once for his room, but
stopped at the foot of the stairs and said to his brother:
"Don't forget to have the carriage at the station at seven o'clock.
Gretchen is sure to be there."
"All right," was Frank's reply.
While Mrs. Tracy asked:
"Who is Gretchen?"
If Arthur heard her he made no reply, but kept on up the stairs to his
room, where they heard him for a long time walking about, opening and
shutting windows, locking and unlocking trunks, and occasionally
splashing water over his face and hands.
"Your brother is a very elegant-looking man," Mrs. Tracy said to her
husband, as she was preparing to retire. "Quite like a foreigner; but
how bright his eyes are, and how they look at you sometimes. They almost
make me afraid of him."
Frank made no direct reply. In his heart there was an undefined fear
which he could not then put into words, and with the remark that he was
very tired, he stepped into bed, and was just falling into a quiet sleep
when there came a knock upon his door loud enough, it seemed to him, to
waken the dead. Starting up he demanded who was there, and what was
wanted.
"It is I," Arthur said. "I thought I smelled gas and I have been hunting
round for it. There is nothing worse to breathe than gas whether from
the furnace or the drain. I hope that is all right."
"Yes," Frank answered, a little crossly. "Had a new one put in two weeks
ago."
"If there's gas in the main sewer it will come up just the same, and I
am sure I smell it," Arthur said. "I think I shall have all the
waste-pipes which connect with the drain cut off. Good-night. Am sorry I
disturbed you."
They heard him as he went across the hall to his room, and Frank was
settling down again to sleep when there came a second knock, and Arthur
said, in a whisper:
"I hope I do not trouble you, but I have decided to go myself to the
station to meet Gretchen. She is very timid, and does not speak much
English. Good-night, once more, and pleasant dreams."
To sleep now was impossible, and both husband and wife turned restlessly
on their pillows, Frank wondering what ailed his brother, and Dolly
wondering who Gretchen was, and how her coming would affect them.