When at last they were on the cable-car, north bound, Craig broke the
silence that had held through the latter half of the journey.
“Do you suppose we could get them all together to-night--the boy, and
the girl and her husband? We could have a supper somewhere.”
“I think so. It will be a little late before I can get George back from
Evanston--half-past eight or nine o'clock, probably.”
The Captain winced at the words. He knew now that George was a charity
boy in the home of his own father.
“If you would like to set it for half-past eight, I will see Le Duc and
then go out for George.” The Captain, whose head was in no condition for
planning even so much as a supper, accepted this arrangement without a
word. They were silent again until they left the car.
“I wonder if she'll know me,” Craig mused, as they walked along, “I
ain't the same as I was then--it's a long time, Mr. Halloran, a long
time. She was a pretty girl--always had a laugh for one--I've often
thought of her energy and nerve. She had a way of going at things, I
tell you. When she got a notion she ought to earn her own living there
couldn't anything stop her. Are we getting near it?”
“Just a little way now.”
“That's good. It's queer how long a day can be--and after most twenty
years, too.”
At the door Halloran paused. It was in a mean street, meaner even than
the old quarters near Hoffman's saloon, and the stairs leading up to the
living-rooms above were crowded in between a cheap restaurant and a much
less respectable saloon than Hoffman's.
“Well, Captain, I'll leave you here.”
“Why--aren't you coming in?”
“No; I haven't any too much time. I know Le Duc's address--I read it in
the paper this morning. We will meet here at half-past eight.” Craig
was about to protest, but Halloran hurried off; and the Captain started
alone up the stairway.
The Le Ducs were living at an apartment hotel not far from the Lake
Shore Drive. From the appearance of the building and the neighbourhood
Halloran inferred that the corn market was proving a profitable field
for Apples. He inquired for him and was taken up in the elevator and
shown into a neat little parlour on an upper floor, commanding a view of
the lake. Being received by a maid in a cap and apron, he repeated his
inquiry, only to learn that Mr. Le Duc was not at home--had not yet
returned from his office. Could he see Mrs. Le Duc? The maid hesitated.
But as time was pressing, he persisted. Would she please tell her
mistress that Mr. Halloran had come with an important message from Mrs.
Le Duc's mother and grandfather. The maid turned away and had nearly
crossed the room when she was intercepted by a loud whisper from behind
the double doors of the next room:
“Ask him to wait.”
So Halloran sat down and looked at the photographs of actors and
actresses that crowded the walls--prominent among which were large
prints of Appleton Le Duc and Elizabeth Le Duc and Elmer Le Duc--until
Apples himself, wearing a prosperous air, better dressed, but still
dapper, still with a flash somewhere in his get-up, opened the door, and
Halloran rose to meet him.
“How--how are you? Oh, this must be Halloran. I knew you at college. How
are you? What can I do for you? Sit down, Halloran. Excuse me a minute
while I take off my coat.”
Apples disappeared into the next room, and as the door closed behind him
there was an audible smack, followed by whispering. He shortly returned
with a puzzled expression.
“Excuse me for keeping you waiting, Halloran. There are so many claims
on me these days that I can't get away from my office as early as I'd
like. Now tell me what I can do for you?”
“It is a long story, Apples”--the Corn King seemed to dislike the
word--“but you'll hear it all soon enough. What it amounts to is, that
Mrs. Craig's father, who is a steamer captain, is working for the same
company that employs me, and-----”
“So you're a sailor now, eh?”
“Not exactly that.”
“Let me see, you went in for that sort of thing a good deal in the old
days, didn't you? Weren't you on the Life-Saving Crew at college?”
“Yes, I was. Captain Craig has come down here to take Mrs. Craig back
home with him.”
“Well, you don't say so!”
“And he would like you and Mrs. Le Duc to meet him and Mrs. Craig at her
rooms to-night and take supper with them--at half-past eight. I'm going
out now for George.” He rose to go.
“Well, I'll tell you, Halloran”--Apples had risen, too, and was speaking
in a low, confidential voice--“between ourselves, my wife isn't going
out much now, and I'm afraid we can't do it. We'd like to very much, you
know.”
Again came the whisper from behind the door. “Appleton!”
“Yes, dearie. Excuse me a second, Halloran.” He slipped out again and
there was more whispering. When he returned it was to say: “My wife
would be very glad to have you all come here instead. We will have the
supper up here in our apartment. Tell them we'll be very glad to see
them--and you, too.”
“Thank you. I'll tell them.”
Apples showed him out, and as he left the building and headed for the
State Street trolley he found himself thinking much of Apples and his
rise in life.
When he was on the Evanston train, however, he had something else to
think about. In order to get George he must go either to the Bigelows'
home or to Margaret's. Not one of the letters he had written since that
evening had been answered. Besides, he was not in the right frame of
mind to see her--or he thought he was not, which amounted to the same
thing. All day he had been deep in the trouble of the Craig family, and
in his talk about coming out after George he had not taken time to think
just how he was to manage it. But he was realizing it now as he left the
train and started up toward the Ridge; and as this is to be an honest
history, the facts of what followed must be told.
Half-way up from the station, while he was walking briskly along,
boasting inwardly that he was calm and ready to see Margaret, his
legs, without warning him, turned him off on a side street. When he
had rounded the block, and had convinced himself that now he was headed
straight for the Ridge, they deceived him again. This was humiliating,
and, more, was not the way to march to victory. Twice he walked around
the square, but the third time, by a strong effort, he succeeded in
passing the fatal corner. Soon he could see the house a little way
ahead. It occurred to him that he was rushing along at an absurd speed,
and he walked more slowly. A moment more and he was in front of the
house, was turning in up the walk--but, no, he was mistaken; for the
legs, suddenly out of all control, carried him by and nearly a block
farther up the street before he could check them and get them headed
straight. He found he could manage them better by stepping once on each
square of the cement walk, squarely in the middle each time; and he
could keep this up by giving all his mind to it. This made it necessary
to take rather long steps, but the twilight was deepening, and, besides,
there were few other pedestrians on the street. Again he drew near. He
looked up at the windows--they were dark, excepting a light in the rear
and one upstairs. Something forbidding about the square old house, with
its rows of unlighted windows, chilled his heart, struck deep into the
energy that had carried him thus far, and he faltered. But this would
not do. He forced his eyes down to the sidewalk and resolutely put his
right foot on the next square of cement--then his left on the second
square--and on, step by step, up the front walk. He mounted the steps
and crossed the wide veranda to the door--then hurriedly pushed the
bell.
There was a long wait. After a time he heard doors opening and closing
within, and the sound of a person moving; finally there were footsteps
in the hall and the door was opened.
“Is--is Miss Davies here?”
“Why--no. Miss Davies and her mother have gone East.”
“Gone East!”
“Yes; they are in the mountains--in Woodland Valley.”
“Woodland Valley!”
“Yes. I couldn't tell you when they'll be back. They didn't know
themselves when they left.”
A moment more and the door had closed and Halloran was down on the
sidewalk. He turned aimlessly up the street. Gone East!--and no word for
him! Perhaps his letters had not even reached her. Why had he not come
straight back to Evanston that same week and claimed his answer? What
an invertebrate creature he was, anyway! What a gloomy evening! How
the shadows of the maples and elms closed down on his thoughts! The arc
lamps at the corners, the long row of houses glowing with light, all
smiled at him and drove him deeper into the gloom. Gone East!
It occurred to him that he had come out for another purpose. There was
nothing for it now but to go to the Bigelows'; and with a glance at his
watch, he turned in that direction.
The family were at dinner, he was informed, but Mrs. Bigelow would see
him in a few moments. He was shown into a reception-room, where he could
drop into a chair in the bay window and look in between the portières
down the length of the living-room. The furniture was rich and heavy;
the mantels and tables and bookcases were laden with bric-à-brac; the
walls were covered with paintings and engravings, some of them fairly
good, all of them very costly. From the dining-room came the jingle
of knives and forks and the laughter of children, and now and then
the heavy voice of Mr. Bigelow dominating. Then he heard the rustle of
skirts and in came Mrs. Bigelow.
“How do you do, John? It is a long time since we have seen you. You must
have gone away from Evanston when you left college.
“Yes; I'm not living here.”
“Where are you now, John?”
“I'm up in Michigan.”
“You have a position there?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I have heard Mr. Bigelow say that there are really about as good
openings in the country as in the city. It is so overcrowded in Chicago.
Are you getting on well?”
“I--I guess so--as well as I could expect.”
“I am very glad to hear that--and Mr. Bigelow will be, too. He really
took quite an interest in you, John. He is always glad to know that the
young men he has been interested in are getting on.”
“I have come down to Chicago to-day, Mrs. Bigelow, to look for a boy;
and I have heard he is here. His name is George--George Bigelow.”
“Oh, yes; George. It is odd that he should have our name. He is a
Settlement boy--Mr. Babcock rescued him from I don't know what distress.
I wondered if there were any distant branch of the family that could
have dropped in the world, but Mr. Bigelow says there is no connection
whatever. It is a very common name in Chicago, he says. It seems that
the boy's family is worthless, and he himself has already been in jail.
But he seems to feel some remorse, and I am not letting it make any
difference here.”
“Captain Craig, his grandfather, heard to-day from George's mother,
after a long separation. We happen to be employed by the same company
and I have come down with him to find his family. He wants to take them
all back with him.”
“To take him back? Why, he has been here only a little while. Did you
mean to take him yourself?”
“Captain Craig plans to give them all a supper this evening, and I
promised him I would be on hand with George.”
“Very well; I will send for him.”
She stepped to the hall and rang a bell. While she was speaking to the
maid Mr. Bigelow came into the hall, with a little girl hanging to
each arm. He paused in the doorway of the reception-room and nodded to
Halloran.
“How do you do,” he said.
“How do you do, sir.”
“This is John Halloran, dear,” said his wife, turning. “He has come to
take George away. George's grandfather, he tells me, is really quite
respectable.”
Mr. Bigelow had shaken off the children and was getting into his
overcoat.
“It is just as well,” he replied, without looking around. “We really
have no work for him here.” At this moment the subject of the talk
himself appeared, advancing bashfully, overcome by the splendour about
him, and not yet knowing why he had been summoned. He looked at Halloran
for a moment before he recognized him.
“How are you, George,” said Halloran, advancing and holding out his
hand. “Do you remember me?”
George blushed, grinned and took his hand; and as he did so, Mr.
Bigelow, with his coat buttoned and one glove on, turned around. He
looked at George--a tall, awkward, ill-dressed boy of sixteen--with a
curious, gruff expression, then his eyes shot one quick, inquiring look
at Halloran.
“You'll excuse me,” he said, recovering. And without speaking further he
went out and shut the door hard behind him.
“Come, George,” said Halloran; “I'm going to take you to a new home.
Have you any truck to carry?”
“Nothing much.”
“Get your coat, then, and come along.”
“When they had reached the tenement and were nearly at the top of the
stairway Halloran pushed George ahead.
“Go in there, George. You'll find them together.”.
“Yes, I hear 'em talking. But ain't you coming?”
“No, not yet. Go ahead.”
George opened the door and Halloran went back a little way down the
stairs and sat down. It was dark and dirty. On all sides, above and
below, were noises--babies squalling, men and women quarreling--but he
heard little; his thoughts were speeding of! to the eastern mountains.
There was a young woman in those mountains--where the leaves were
beginning to turn, perhaps, as here in the West--only a thousand miles
away. What had he been waiting for? Was it for her to write? How had he
supposed her answer was to come? What stood in the way--circumstances?
Some other one? Or was it that the only obstacle was a certain person
sitting, at this moment, on a dark stairway in a tenement? More likely
the latter--but how was he to discover it so close home? It was rather
more fun to be miserable. Family reunion on one side of his thoughts,
all hopes a thousand miles removed on the other side--on the whole, he
preferred dark stairways.
“Mr. Halloran, are you there? It's so dark I can't see.”
“Yes; coming right up.”
“I was afraid you'd get away from us.”
“No, but I must be off now.” They were entering the room. “Le Duc wants
you all over there to supper.”
“Over there?”
“Yes.”
“You mustn't go now, Mr. Halloran. He asked you, too, didn't he? Of
course he did.”
“Why, I'd like to, but----
“Now, see here, after the turn things have taken we couldn't have the
supper without you. That's a part of it, you see--it's the way I planned
it. You've got to come.”
“Well, if you feel that way------”
“We do, and that's all there is about it. I guess we'd better be
starting over, hadn't we? It's most half-past now. Where's your jacket,
Jennie?” Mrs. Craig had no jacket, it appeared; but the Captain helped
her on with her shawl. “Got your hat, George? Better let me have your
arm, Jennie, going down the stairs. It's pretty dark.”
“Oh, I know these stairs, father.”
“That's so; I suppose you do. All ready, Mr. Halloran?”
“All ready, Captain. I'll put out the light. Go ahead.”
They went down the stairs two and two, Mrs. Craig and the Captain,
Halloran and George, and walked toward the lake, through the vicious
quiet of the side streets, through the merriment of North Clark
Street, through the sober, comfortable region of stone houses and big
churches--on to the imposing private hotel where dwelt the Le Ducs.
“I'm afraid, father,” whispered Mrs. Craig, “that I'm not exactly
dressed for this.”
“Nonsense! My daughter needn't be ashamed to go anywhere. I wouldn't
give _that_ for a girl that wouldn't be glad to see her own mother, no
matter if she came in a sunbonnet. There's nothing the matter with this
shawl, I guess.”
“Why, no; but it's old. And they're not wearing shawls now.”
“What do we care about that?”
“I don't care if you don't.” And so determined was she not to care that
she managed to force a little smile as her feet sank into the carpet and
the door-boy stood aside to let her pass.
Le Duc himself opened the door and greeted the group in the hall with a
“How are you? Come in!”
They filed into the room, where a table was spread for them, and stood
about awkwardly. Mrs. Craig busied herself with her bonnet and shawl,
George stood on one leg and then on the other, and looked at the carpet;
and Halloran slipped into the background. But the Captain broke the
silence by advancing toward Le Duc.
“This must be Appleton, I take it. I'm glad to see you, young man--glad
to welcome you into my family.”
Apples took the outstretched hand and murmured something.
“And where's Lizzie? I've got to see her before you can make me believe
I've got a granddaughter old enough to be married. You'd never think it
to look at Jennie, there, would you? Isn't she coming?”
“Here I am,” said the young woman herself, appearing in the doorway.
The Captain looked at her while the others stood silent; finally he
walked around the table to meet her.
“I--I can't believe it. I'm just going to kiss you, my dear. I guess
your husband won't object if you kiss your own grandfather, will he?”
“Oh, no; certainly not,” said Le Duc.
“Well, well, so here we really are--all of us! Now we must have a good
time of it. Where are we to sit, granddaughter? Don't forget to put me
next to yourself. This almost makes me feel as if I was back in the old
house.”
They took their places, and two waiters from the hotel restaurant
appeared to serve them. And then Le Duc, with some sense of his
responsibility as host, endeavoured to set the talk going, but without
marked success. For both Mrs. Craig and her daughter felt awkward,
and the Captain could not entirely master the oppressiveness of the
surroundings and of the waiters in their dress suits. Halloran made one
effort to enliven matters.
“Captain, Apples”--Le Duc's nose went up a little at the word--“Apples
was on the beach the night you came ashore in the surf-boat.”
“You don't say so? Strange, isn't it, the way things come around,
and the people you've met once are sure to turn up again? If I don't
remember you, Appleton, it's because I wasn't feeling in shape to see
anything that night but what was left of the old steamer. An ugly time
that was. There was an hour or so before you lighted up your fire when
I wouldn't have given half a dollar for our chances. The steamer was
breaking up fast.”
“Let me see,” said Apples, “that must have been in my college days. Do
you remember just when it was, Halloran?”
“I'm not likely to forget it.”
“It was up the shore toward Glencoe, wasn't it? I remember one wreck up
that way--you crew fellows had quite a time of it, didn't you?”
After this feeble light on the conversation, darkness fell again; and
the little family ate almost in silence, until the waiters brought in
a platter of ducks and set them before Le Duc. The host looked
suspiciously on them, then glanced at Lizzie. Finally, while his fingers
toyed nervously with the carving knife and fork, his eyes sought the
waiters; but one had left the room and the other was busy with the
vegetables. Evidently he was expected to begin carving--the table
waited, silently and expectantly--so he planted the fork in the right
wing of the first duck and began. It did not go well. A brown fringe of
gravy decorated the table-cloth around the platter, and little specks
flew out occasionally toward the guests. Lizzie turned to Halloran and
asked if he was living in the city now; and he replied that he was not.
The brown fringe was widening; and George was watching the performance
with increasing interest. Lizzie persisted: “Are you going to be here
long, this visit?” No, he was going back to-morrow. The diversion failed
here, and they waited in silence. Apples was breathing hard. At length,
a quick, unskilful movement caused something to slip, and the end duck
hopped neatly out on the table-cloth and settled down in a pool of
gravy. Apples leaned back in his chair and looked at Lizzie.
“My dear”--he began. But the waiter was at his elbow, saying,
“Shall I serve it, sir?”
At this point the Captain rose, napkin in hand.
“I'll tell you what, Appleton,”, he said, “you just change places with
me. If there's one thing I know, it's ducks.”
After this, in spite of the gloom that settled on the host, the evening
went better. And when the party broke up, at what the Captain called
a scandalous hour, and scattered to hotel and tenement, there was some
cordiality in the chorus of good-nights and good-byes. In the morning,
by an early train, the three members of the Craig family and Halloran
returned to Wauchung.