When Mr. Forrest returned from Europe in the late autumn of '93, he
expected to go forthwith to the station of his regiment and devote his
energies to those ceaseless, engrossing, yet somewhat narrowing duties
that keep a man of mature years, capable of much better things,
attending roll-calls, drilling two sets of fours addressed by courtesy
as "company," grilling on the rifle-range, and consuming hours of
valuable time in work allotted in older services to sergeants. Calling
at the War Department on his way, he was asked about the autumn
manoeuvres and if he had seen any of them. He had seen a great deal,
the interest of friends in both the German and Austrian services having
enabled him to follow the armies assembled about Metz and Güns to
excellent advantage. Returning to his billet after each long day in the
saddle, he had spent some hours before retiring in recording his
impressions and observations, the result being several big note-books
crammed with data of deep interest to the professional soldier. The
adjutant-general took Forrest in to the Secretary of War, and there was
some significant talk, the result of which was the intimation that he
should again be assigned to temporary duty at department head-quarters
in Chicago in order to give him opportunity to write out his notes. Long
before this, Forrest's essays on grand tactics and certain papers on
military history had won much favor among the studious men in the army,
and it was with pride and pleasure that he entered on the allotted task.
He wrote, as did Zachary Taylor, a hand that looked much as though a
ramrod rather than a pen had been used, and naturally his first thought
was to find his transcriber of the previous winter. There she was at her
desk in the library, and looking far younger, happier, and better than
when he saw her last, and the frank pleasure in her face was good to see
as she welcomed him more in manner than in words.
"Certainly," said Miss Wallen; "I shall be glad to give as many evenings
to the work as may be necessary. I am too busy here by day." And so as
the autumn wore out and the winter wore on, her slender white fingers
danced over the keys, and page after page, in neatly typed duplicates,
his voluminous notes on the armies of Germany and Austria-Hungary were
faithfully transcribed. Home was not so far away now, and her brisk
walks led her no longer through sections she had learned to dread.
Accustomed for some years to far longer and lonelier tramps in the
wintry evenings, she thought nothing of tripping to and fro between the
Lambert and the rather crowded little house in which she dwelt. Mart and
his wife and babies still sojourned there, and the babies waxed strong
and loud and lusty on Aunt Jenny's bounty, never caring whose fingers
earned the porridge, so long as their share was ample and frequent. Mart
was out of work, and correspondingly out of elbows and temper. Mart had
taken to continual meetings and to such drink as he could get treated to
or credit for, and still the mother condoned, the wife complained, and
Jenny carried the family load. Mart loved to tread the rostrum boards
and portray himself as a typical victim of corporation perfidy and
capitalistic greed. The railway company from which he had seceded
refused to take him back, and other companies, edified by the reports of
his speeches in _The Switch Light_, _The Danger Signal_, and other
publications avowedly devoted to the interest of the down-trodden
operatives of the railway and manufacturing companies, thought that in a
winter when many poor fellows were out of work through no fault of their
own, beyond having exercised the right of suffrage the wrong way, the
few vacancies should be given to men more likely to render faithful
service. Mart's wife, impressed with the idea that she must do
something, took in sewing, and took the sewing to ask Jenny to show her
how, which in nine cases out of ten Jenny did practically. If the
little money thus earned had gone to pay for the babies' milk or Mart's
whiskey bills, Jenny would have been grateful; but even these shillings,
earned with her numbed and weary fingers, somehow found their way to
Mart's broad palm and thence to the dram-shop, though not to that which
had claims for goods already delivered. And then followed scenes that
covered the poor girl with shame and indignation. To her office at the
library one winter evening, when Wells was reading the late mail, and
Mr. Forrest, seated at a neighboring desk with a big atlas before him
was far away among the glinting _pickelhaubes_ on the banks of the
Moselle, a man came with an account which he wished Miss Wallen to
settle. It was Martin Wallen's bar bill for the autumn months at
Donnelly's Shades, and the girl flushed with mortification. "This is
something with which I have nothing to do," said she. "I would not pay
it if I had the money."
"I was told to come to you," said the man. "It's your brother's account,
and he said you'd promised him the money time and again. If it ain't
paid we'll send for the furniture." And then he wanted to show it to
Wells, who waved him off in annoyance; and then he looked as though he
would like to interest the other occupant of the room in the matter, but
something about that gentleman's face as he arose and came forward
proved unsympathetic. "I'll send this bill in again on the 31st," said
Mr. Donnelly, "and if it ain't paid then----"
But the tall, brown-eyed, brown-moustached man was walking straight at
him, looking him through and through, and there would have been a
collision in the office had not Donnelly backed promptly out through the
door-way. This merely transferred the scene of it and involved a third
party, for there, just outside the ground-glass partition, ostensibly
hunting for a book in the revolving case and humming a lively tune, was
Elmendorf. Recoiling to avoid contact with the advancing Forrest, the
bill-collector backed into the listening tutor and bumped him up against
a table.
"Oh, beg pardon," said Elmendorf, as though in no wise aware who his
bumper might be, and then edged off towards the corridor beyond,
apparently desirous of escaping further connection with the affair. But
Forrest, even in the dim light of the anteroom, recognized him at a
glance. More and more, ever since the return from Europe, had he grown
to dislike and distrust the man. More than once had he seen an
expression on Miss Wallen's face when Wells happened to mention
Elmendorf that gave ground for the belief that she, too, had no pleasant
recollection of her erstwhile lodger; but never had she opened her lips
upon the subject. Indeed, bright and intelligent as was the girl when
she chose to talk, both Wells and Forrest had found that when she
preferred to be silent it was useless to question. But here, skulking in
the anteroom, where reading was out of the question, where, however, one
might easily hear what was going on in the private office, here was
Elmendorf again, and though Donnelly's foot-falls were audible to all as
he came pounding up the stairway and turned from the corridor into the
office rooms, not a sound of others had been heard. The main
stairway--that which led to the great reading-rooms of the library
proper--was on the southern front. Only those having business with the
head librarian or the trustees were supposed to come this way. Forrest
often read, wrote, and studied here, because the more valuable atlases
and books of reference were near at hand, and whenever not writing for
Wells Miss Wallen was at work on his notes. It flashed upon Forrest that
the tutor had some object other than book-hunting in that noiseless
visit, and he called him back. "Would you mind waiting a moment, Mr.
Elmendorf?" said he. "I should like to speak with you after I've said a
word to this--gentleman." Then, coolly pushing beyond both, he closed
the corridor door and turned on the electric light.
"Mr. Donnelly," said he, facing the now nervous-looking Irishman, "you
know as well as I that no woman on earth is liable for the liquor bills
of any man, even a relative. What brought you here?"
"Me legs, I s'pose, an' me own affairs. What's it to you, anyhow?" But
Donnelly was shifting rather unsteadily on those same legs and twisting
his bill in his hands.
"This, to begin with," said Forrest, very coolly, though his blood was
boiling, and the impulse to floor the fellow was strong within him. "An
old fellow campaigner of mine, Sergeant McGrath, has told me----" but
there was no need to go further. Donnelly's tone and manner underwent
instant change.
"Is this Lieutenant Forrest?"
"It is Lieutenant Forrest; and I have this to say to you here and now.
You came here to bring shame and distress on an honest girl,--you, an
old soldier and an Irishman,--the first soldier and the first Irishman I
ever knew to be guilty of so low and contemptible a piece of
persecution. When I write to Major Cranston of this, and when I tell
McGrath----"
"Don't be hard on me, lieutenant. I meant no harm to the lady at all.
Sure the bill's been unpaid ever since October. I tuk it to the house--I
thought mebbe she could inflooence Mart, but I'd never have come here
wid it at all, sorr, but--but----" And his troubled gaze wandered now to
where Elmendorf stood biting his nails and watching a chance to speak.
"But what, Donnelly? Who put you up to such a dirty piece of business?"
"Permit me. Nothing dirty was intended for a minute, if I may be allowed
to speak," said Elmendorf, as he came forward. "As a friend of all
parties concerned, for I know Mr. Wallen well and have remarked his
bibulous propensities with distress, I merely suggested to Mr. Donnelly
that perhaps if he could get Miss Wallen's ear he might possibly induce
her to exercise a restraining influence upon her brother. I thought it
best that she should know how and where he was spending so much money
_in esse_ as well as money _in posse_. That Mr. Donnelly should have
misconstrued my well-meant words into----"
"Oh, sure ye told me to show this bill when everybody could see it,
sorr, and that would take the starch out av her."
"Settle it between you, gentlemen," said Mr. Forrest, turning
contemptuously away. "I have heard more than enough."
"I will see you about this later this evening," said Elmendorf, as the
lieutenant disappeared within the sanctum, slamming the door after him
and vouchsafing no answer.
That evening Wells's letters seemed interminable. It was nearly
half-past six when he finished dictating, and with aching heart and
burning face Miss Wallen closed her desk and silently went for her cloak
and overshoes. For over half an hour Mr. Forrest had stood to his guns
across the room, making much pretence of being busy with the atlas and
his notes, but time and again his eyes wandered, following his thoughts,
to the other two,--Wells rapidly dictating, his stenographer with bowed
head, determinedly wielding her pencil. When Wells finally started, the
lieutenant arose and strolled out with him, closing the door behind
them. "I shall see Miss Wallen home," said he, in low tone. "She's had
more than enough indignity for one day."
"I'd do it if you couldn't, Mr. Forrest, even though they're waiting for
me at home. That girl's a lady, by Jupiter! You've no idea how she's
studied and developed ever since she's been here; and it's a damned
outrage that such fellows should be allowed to annoy her."
"Such fellows won't, another time," said Forrest, quietly. "Elmendorf
was back of this, for some reason that I mean to fathom."
"That's all very well as far as the Irishman's concerned, Mr.
Forrest,--he's had his fill,--but look out for that other. I'm no judge
of character, now, if he isn't a snake."
When Forrest re-entered the room Miss Wallen had turned out the electric
lights over her desk and was standing by the window, her face bowed in
her thin white hands. Forrest's overcoat and hat always hung in the
closet without. He had gone with Wells, closing the door. She was, as
she supposed, at last alone, and the reaction had come. All the weary
months of work, work, work, all the patient slaving to provide for the
improvident, all the brave, cheery, hopeful, uncomplaining days of
honest toil and honest effort, only to end in such a scene of shame and
mortification as this! What could Mr. Wells think of his secretary,
chased to her desk with the liquor-bills of her kindred! What would not
Mr. Forrest think! A weaker woman would have found refuge and comfort in
a passion of tears, but her eyes seemed burning. Leaning against the
open casement, she stood there fairly quivering with wrath and the sense
of indignity and wrong. She, too, had recognized Elmendorf's nasal whine
in the anteroom, and felt well assured that he was in some way
responsible for Donnelly's action. Mart had had much to say of late of
the foreigner's convincing logic and thrillingly eloquent appeals to the
workingman. _There_ was the man to wring the neck of capital and bring
the bloated bond-holders to terms, said he. Mart never missed a meeting
where Elmendorf was to speak, and had more than once been brought home,
fuddled, in the cab which conveyed the agitator back to the scene of his
labors in the Allison homestead. The cab was paid for by the Union, and
Elmendorf didn't mind having it wait outside while he assisted Mart
within and stopped to condole with Mrs. Wallen the elder, or Mrs. Wallen
junior, and to inquire significantly, if he did not see her, where Miss
Wallen was; he always supposed the library closed at nine o'clock, and
was not aware, he said, that anybody except the janitor was permitted to
remain there later. He knew very well that the librarian was sometimes
there until nearly midnight. He knew well that it was there and in the
evenings, mainly, that Miss Wallen worked at the transcript of
Forrest's reports. "At least," as he said to himself, and suggested to
others, "that is the _ostensible_ purpose of her frequently prolonged
visits." He often walked by the lighted windows of the sanctum and
occasionally slipped into the dark hall-way, so the watchman later said.
The same irrepressible propensity to meddle in the affairs of everybody
in the household where he was employed, in the councils of the various
labor unions, in the meetings of political associations, in the official
duties or off-hand chats of the men at military head-quarters, in the
management of the Lambert Library, seemed to follow him in his casual
intercourse with this obscure little household. One night when towards
ten o'clock Miss Wallen came blithely down the corridor stairs, she was
surprised to find the tutor awaiting her. "As I know Mr. Forrest to be
otherwise engaged to-night, Miss Wallen, I have ventured to offer my
services as escort," said he, and though she shrank from and could not
bear him, there was no reason at that time for denying him; but when he
presently began talking of Forrest in his suggestive, insinuating way,
and excusing his references to the lieutenant on the ground of his
extreme regard for her widowed mother, her impoverished but amiable
relatives, and her own refined, intellectual, and accomplished self, she
shrank still more and strove to silence him,--a difficult matter. She
had, however, a trait that proved simply exasperating to a man of
Elmendorf's calibre,--a faculty of listening in absolute silence where
she did not desire to confirm or approve,--and when he had spent much
breath and nearly half an hour in descanting upon his impressions of the
demoralizing tendencies of military associations in general and of idle
officers in particular, it rasped him to find that she did not seem to
consider his views worthy the faintest comment; nor would she nor did
she invite him in. When her mother reproved her for this, Miss Wallen
smiled, and said, "Next time I will, and then you might ask him for the
three weeks' lodging he hasn't paid," and Mart said she ought to be
ashamed of speaking so of a man who had done everything for her. She'd
never have got that library place at all if it hadn't been for
Elmendorf, no matter what her fine friends might have told her. Oh, Mart
knew all about it; needn't try to pull the wool over his eyes! Another
time had Elmendorf come, and again had he talked more of what he had
done for her and the rights it gave him to tender her counsel, and this
time his references to Forrest took a graver form and became offensive.
It was then, indignant, she refused to hear more of it, and that night
Elmendorf went away gritting his teeth, and now had come this
contemptible essay to humiliate her before her employer. Oh, it was
cowardly! shameful! She threw up her arms, clinching her little white
hands and stamping as slender a foot as ever walked in a machine-made
shoe, and then, ejaculating, as women will, in moments of supreme
exasperation, "If I were only a man!" whirled about and beheld one.
"In your present mood," said Mr. Forrest, quietly, "I am rather glad you
are not, especially as what I have to say refers to you rather in your
capacity as 'the clever woman of the family.' Did you ever read an
English book of that title?" And then in the most matter-of-fact way in
the world he proceeded to assist her into the heavy winter cloak he had
lifted from its accustomed peg. "No, of course you haven't," he went on,
chatting unconcernedly, and well knowing she was too overwrought to talk
at all; "a girl who works from morning till late at night has little
chance to read anything beyond stenographic notes and hideous
hieroglyphics--mine, for instance. Now, this sensible head-gear, if you
please---- How can a woman wear a hat in winter? Yes, it's on quite
straight,--quite as straight as though you had a glass in front of you.
Now the overshoes. No, pardon me, Miss Wallen, you're not going to put
them on yourself. Sit down, if you please, or stand, if you don't." And
down he dropped on one knee and in a trice had stowed away the thin,
worn little boots, with their frayed button-holes, within the warm yet
clumsy Arctics. "You are sensible to wear such things as these," he
said. "The snow is falling heavily, and I mean to walk you home
to-night. Now the gloves.--Yes, you may have your own way there, as I
shouldn't know how." And, so saying, he seemed calmly to have taken
possession of the hitherto self-willed and independent young woman, who
for the first time in her life began to realize how much sweetness there
was, after all, in having some one to do something for one, instead of
being expected to do everything for every one else. She submitted
silently to be led forth into the cool, fresh evening air, and then when
he as calmly took her hand and placed it within his arm she made no move
to withdraw it, neither did she seem to know how by means of it to lean
upon his strength. Passively she let it lie, and, walking by his side,
turned her face to the drifting snowflakes and cared not that the night
was raw and chill, the lake wind blustering.
For a moment more Forrest did not speak. He glanced keenly up the dim
avenue, holding his head very high, as was his way, and himself very
erect. Already the sting and shame of her recent experience seemed
fading in Jenny's past. There was something so new, strange, sweet, in
this masterful assumption on his part of all control and command, there
was something so complete in her faith in him, something so like girlish
admiration if not hero-worship surging up in the throbbing little heart
beneath that worn old winter cloak, that much of her old bright,
buoyant, merry self came back to her. "If I can't be a man," said she
to herself, "I'm the next thing to one, if there ever was one," and then
was amazed at her own impulse to peer up into his grave, soldierly face
and aghast to find herself drawing closer to his side. In the suddenness
and alarm of this revelation she nearly jumped beyond arm's length, and
he felt constrained to retake her hand and draw it farther through his
arm.
"You will find it easier if you will let me bear a little of the weight
to-night," said he, gravely, "and that is why I have made it my business
to intrude upon your time and attention. Miss Wallen, will you kindly
tell me what claim your brother has upon you?"
"He _is_ my brother and out of work," she answered, simply.
"Can't he get work?"
"He says he can't."
"What can he do?"
"He writes well, and he had a clerkship, but Mart was--unsteady, and he
lost it. Then he got a place in the freight-yards, but there was a
strike, and he went out. They wouldn't take him back then because he was
so foolish in his talk; and they can't take him now, for hundreds of
better men, steadier men, old employees, have been laid off. Ever since
the World's Fair business has been falling away."
"And you have had not only that house and your mother to care for, but
an able-bodied brother?"
Jenny dropped her head. Able-bodied brother, indeed!--with wife, babies,
debts, duns, and all! She had borne the weight of the whole
establishment upon her fragile shoulders; but that wasn't a thing to
speak of to him,--to anybody. Her silence touched him.
"Do you mean that out of your little salary you have paid that
house-rent and all the expenses and your mother's and his too?"
No answer.
"I wish you would tell me," he said, in such grave, courteous tones that
they went to her heart. "I beg you not to think me intrusive. I have
never heard of such a case before. Why, Miss Wallen, I'm appalled when I
see how thoughtless I have been. You simply cannot afford the time to
work for me at the price you fixed."
"It pays better than mending Mart's clothes, etc., at home," said she,
whimsically; "very much better than anything I can get to do up town."
"Good heavens! cannot your mother mend Mart's clothes? Can't he mend
them himself? My--my--poor little friend, I had no idea matters were as
bad as this!"
He had no idea even now how bad matters were, nor did she care to edify
him. "Why, Mr. Forrest," said she, "when I look around me this winter
and see all the want and suffering on every side--the absolute
destitution in places--I think my fortune regal. I only wish all the
girls I know of were half as well-to-do."
Forrest drew a long breath. "Well, of all the incarnations of pluck and
cheerfulness I ever heard of, commend me to this," thought he. They were
within two squares of home, and at the corner was a large family grocery
store. She faltered now. "I'm very much obliged to you for coming with
me so far, and--I have to stop here."
"But only to make some purchases. You are going on to tea, and I have
something I want to say."
"I may have to wait, and you have your engagements."
"Nothing in the world but to dine, _solus_, at the Virginia, and my
appetite's about gone. I mean to wait, Miss Wallen."
Miss Wallen flushed, but made no further remonstrance. Entering the
store, she gave her orders. Some little packages of tea and sugar were
speedily ready. In the window were some pyramids of Florida oranges,
rich and luscious fruit. Watching her with uncontrollable interest, he
saw her eyes glancing towards them, saw and knew the question framed by
her soft lips, saw and realized what was passing as the salesman
answered and she shook her head. Turning to another clerk, he pencilled
a number on a card he handed him and gave some orders of his own.
Presently she stored her change in the little portemonnaie and picked
up her bundles. Promptly he relieved her of them, and again as they came
forth he tendered his arm. The side street into which they turned was
darker than the broad avenue. The houses were poor and cheap, the
gas-lamps few and far between. Silently now they walked rapidly along,
for he was deep in thought. He longed to find some way of opening the
subject uppermost in his mind, but knew not how. At last he spoke:
"Miss Wallen, where and how can I see your brother? I've an idea of a
place he might fill. He is unmarried, I presume?"
Silence a moment. "No, Mart has a wife."
"A wife? Where is she? What does she do?"
"She isn't strong, and can't do much of anything."
"Not even mend his clothes, or stop---- How about children?"
"You know the old adage," said she, with a quiet smile, "and Mart is a
poor man."
"And they, too, are your care--you their support--and--this has been
going on since last year?"
"Oh, no; Mart gets odd jobs now and then."
"The proceeds of which he spends in---- But I entreat your pardon,
my--my friend. This is beyond anything I ever dreamed of; and--don't
come to the library to-night, please. There's no hurry about those
pages; to-morrow night will be better."
They were at the little gateway now, and he released her arm.
Over-against them on the opposite side of the street two men, skulking
back in the shadows of a dark entrance-way, edged a little farther
forward, watched him as he restored the bundles, watched him as he took
again her hand, then lifted his hat and bowed over it as he might have
done reverence to a queen, watched her as she tripped within-doors, and
then Forrest again as he slowly turned and walked thoughtfully away.
"That's the man, then?" asked, in cautious, querulous tone, the shorter,
slighter of the two.
"That's him--damn him! I can feel his kick to this day."
"And it was with him--in his room--she took refuge? you could swear to
it?"
"'Course I could, on a stack of Bibles."
And this was early in the week of Mr. Elmendorf's conversation with Aunt
Lawrence, only forty-eight hours prior to the sudden orders which
prevented Mr. Forrest's dining at the Allisons' and escorting Miss
Florence to the opera, and which hurried him miles away on a mission
whereof only two other men at head-quarters knew the purport,--the
general and his chief of staff. There was good reason for the
aides-de-camp an "understrappers," as Elmendorf referred to them, being
even more mysterious than usual.
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