For four days after their Sunday in the Park the Bunner sisters had no
news of Mr. Ramy. At first neither one betrayed her disappointment and
anxiety to the other; but on the fifth morning Evelina, always the first
to yield to her feelings, said, as she turned from her untasted tea: “I
thought you'd oughter take that money out by now, Ann Eliza.”
Ann Eliza understood and reddened. The winter had been a fairly
prosperous one for the sisters, and their slowly accumulated savings
had now reached the handsome sum of two hundred dollars; but the
satisfaction they might have felt in this unwonted opulence had been
clouded by a suggestion of Miss Mellins's that there were dark rumours
concerning the savings bank in which their funds were deposited. They
knew Miss Mellins was given to vain alarms; but her words, by the sheer
force of repetition, had so shaken Ann Eliza's peace that after long
hours of midnight counsel the sisters had decided to advise with
Mr. Ramy; and on Ann Eliza, as the head of the house, this duty
had devolved. Mr. Ramy, when consulted, had not only confirmed the
dress-maker's report, but had offered to find some safe investment which
should give the sisters a higher rate of interest than the suspected
savings bank; and Ann Eliza knew that Evelina alluded to the suggested
transfer.
“Why, yes, to be sure,” she agreed. “Mr. Ramy said if he was us he
wouldn't want to leave his money there any longer'n he could help.”
“It was over a week ago he said it,” Evelina reminded her.
“I know; but he told me to wait till he'd found out for sure about that
other investment; and we ain't seen him since then.”
Ann Eliza's words released their secret fear. “I wonder what's happened
to him,” Evelina said. “You don't suppose he could be sick?”
“I was wondering too,” Ann Eliza rejoined; and the sisters looked down
at their plates.
“I should think you'd oughter do something about that money pretty
soon,” Evelina began again.
“Well, I know I'd oughter. What would you do if you was me?”
“If I was YOU,” said her sister, with perceptible emphasis and a rising
blush, “I'd go right round and see if Mr. Ramy was sick. YOU could.”
The words pierced Ann Eliza like a blade. “Yes, that's so,” she said.
“It would only seem friendly, if he really IS sick. If I was you I'd go
to-day,” Evelina continued; and after dinner Ann Eliza went.
On the way she had to leave a parcel at the dyer's, and having performed
that errand she turned toward Mr. Ramy's shop. Never before had she felt
so old, so hopeless and humble. She knew she was bound on a love-errand
of Evelina's, and the knowledge seemed to dry the last drop of young
blood in her veins. It took from her, too, all her faded virginal
shyness; and with a brisk composure she turned the handle of the
clock-maker's door.
But as she entered her heart began to tremble, for she saw Mr. Ramy, his
face hidden in his hands, sitting behind the counter in an attitude of
strange dejection. At the click of the latch he looked up slowly, fixing
a lustreless stare on Ann Eliza. For a moment she thought he did not
know her.
“Oh, you're sick!” she exclaimed; and the sound of her voice seemed to
recall his wandering senses.
“Why, if it ain't Miss Bunner!” he said, in a low thick tone; but he
made no attempt to move, and she noticed that his face was the colour of
yellow ashes.
“You ARE sick,” she persisted, emboldened by his evident need of help.
“Mr. Ramy, it was real unfriendly of you not to let us know.”
He continued to look at her with dull eyes. “I ain't been sick,” he
said. “Leastways not very: only one of my old turns.” He spoke in a slow
laboured way, as if he had difficulty in getting his words together.
“Rheumatism?” she ventured, seeing how unwillingly he seemed to move.
“Well--somethin' like, maybe. I couldn't hardly put a name to it.”
“If it WAS anything like rheumatism, my grandmother used to make a
tea--” Ann Eliza began: she had forgotten, in the warmth of the moment,
that she had only come as Evelina's messenger.
At the mention of tea an expression of uncontrollable repugnance passed
over Mr. Ramy's face. “Oh, I guess I'm getting on all right. I've just
got a headache to-day.”
Ann Eliza's courage dropped at the note of refusal in his voice.
“I'm sorry,” she said gently. “My sister and me'd have been glad to do
anything we could for you.”
“Thank you kindly,” said Mr. Ramy wearily; then, as she turned to the
door, he added with an effort: “Maybe I'll step round to-morrow.”
“We'll be real glad,” Ann Eliza repeated. Her eyes were fixed on a dusty
bronze clock in the window. She was unaware of looking at it at
the time, but long afterward she remembered that it represented a
Newfoundland dog with his paw on an open book.
When she reached home there was a purchaser in the shop, turning over
hooks and eyes under Evelina's absent-minded supervision. Ann Eliza
passed hastily into the back room, but in an instant she heard her
sister at her side.
“Quick! I told her I was goin' to look for some smaller hooks--how is
he?” Evelina gasped.
“He ain't been very well,” said Ann Eliza slowly, her eyes on Evelina's
eager face; “but he says he'll be sure to be round to-morrow night.”
“He will? Are you telling me the truth?”
“Why, Evelina Bunner!”
“Oh, I don't care!” cried the younger recklessly, rushing back into the
shop.
Ann Eliza stood burning with the shame of Evelina's self-exposure. She
was shocked that, even to her, Evelina should lay bare the nakedness of
her emotion; and she tried to turn her thoughts from it as though its
recollection made her a sharer in her sister's debasement.
The next evening, Mr. Ramy reappeared, still somewhat sallow and
red-lidded, but otherwise his usual self. Ann Eliza consulted him about
the investment he had recommended, and after it had been settled that he
should attend to the matter for her he took up the illustrated volume of
Longfellow--for, as the sisters had learned, his culture soared beyond
the newspapers--and read aloud, with a fine confusion of consonants, the
poem on “Maidenhood.” Evelina lowered her lids while he read. It was a
very beautiful evening, and Ann Eliza thought afterward how different
life might have been with a companion who read poetry like Mr. Ramy.