JAMES AND J.C.
James and J.C. De Vere were cousins, and also cousins of Mrs.
Kelsey's husband; and hence the intimacy between that lady and
themselves, or rather between that lady and J.C., who was undeniably
the favorite, partly because he was much like herself and partly
because of his name, which she thought so exclusive--so different
from anyone's else. His romantic young mother, who liked anything
savoring at all of "Waverly," had inflicted upon him the cognomen of
Jedediah Cleishbotham, and repenting of her act when too late had
dubbed him "J.C.," by which name he was now generally known. The
ladies called him "a love of a man," and so he was, if a faultless
form, a wicked black eye, a superb set of teeth, an unexceptionable
mustache, a tiny foot, the finest of broadcloth, reported wealth,
and perfect good humor constitute the ingredients which make up "a
love of a man." Added to this, he really did possess a good share of
common sense, and with the right kind of influence would have made a
far different man from what he was. Self-love was the bane of his
life, and as he liked dearly to be flattered, so he in turn became a
most consummate flatterer; always, however, adapting his remarks to
the nature of the person with whom he was conversing. Thus to Nellie
Kennedy he said a thousand foolish things, just because he knew he
gratified her vanity by doing so. Although possessing the reputation
of a wealthy man, J.C. was far from being one, and his great object
was to secure a wife who, while not distasteful to him, still had
money enough to cover many faults, and such a one he fancied Nellie
Kennedy to be. From Mrs. Kelsey he had received the impression that
the doctor was very rich, and as Nellie was the only daughter, her
fortune would necessarily be large. To be sure, he would rather she
had been a little more sensible, but as she was not he resolved to
make the best of it, and although claiming to be something of an
invalid in quest of health, it was really with the view of asking
her to be his wife that he had come to Laurel Hill. He had first
objected to his cousin accompanying him--not for fear of rivalry,
but because he disliked what he might say of Nellie, for if there
was a person in the world whose opinion he respected, and whose
judgment he honored, it was his Cousin James.
Wholly unlike J.C. was James, and yet he was quite as popular, for
one word from him was more highly prized by scheming mothers and
artful young girls than the most complimentary speech that J.C. ever
made. He meant what he said; and to the kindest, noblest of hearts
he added a fine commanding person, a finished education, and a
quiet, gentlemanly manner, to say nothing of his unbounded wealth,
and musical voice, whose low, deep tones had stirred the
heart-strings of more than one fair maiden in her teens, but stirred them
in vain, for James De Vere had never seen the woman he wished to
call his wife; and now, at the age of twenty-six, he was looked upon
as a confirmed old bachelor, whom almost anyone would marry, but
whom no one ever could. He had come to Laurel Hill because Mrs.
Kelsey had asked him so to do, and because he thought it would be
pleasant to spend a few weeks in that part of the country.
Of Maude's existence he knew nothing, and when at last supper was
announced, and he followed his cousin to the dining room, he started
in surprise as his eye fell on the dark-eyed girl who, with a
heightened bloom upon her cheek, presided at the table with so much
grace and dignity. Whether intentionally or not, we cannot say, but
Nellie failed to introduce her stepsister, and as Mrs. Kelsey was
too much absorbed in looking at her pretty niece, and in talking to
her brother, to notice the omission, Maude's position would have
been peculiarly embarrassing but for the gentlemanly demeanor of
James, who, always courteous, particularly to those whom he thought
neglected, bowed politely, and made to her several remarks
concerning the fineness of the day and the delightful view which
Laurel Hill commanded of the surrounding country. She was no menial,
he knew, and looking in her bright, black eyes he saw that she had
far more mind than the dollish Nellie, who, as usual, was provoking
J.C. to say all manner of foolish things.
As they were returning to the parlor J.C. said to Nellie: "By the
way, Nell, who is that young girl in white, and what is she doing
here?"
"Why, that's Maude Remington, my stepsister," answered Nellie. "I'm
sure you've heard me speak of her."
J.C. was sure he hadn't; but he did not contradict the little lady,
whose manner plainly indicated that any attention paid by him to the
said Maude would be resented as an insult to herself. Just then Mrs.
Kelsey went upstairs, taking her niece with her; and as Dr. Kennedy
had a patient to visit he, too, asked to be excused, and the young
men were left alone. The day was warm, and sauntering out beneath
the trees they sat down upon a rustic seat which commanded a view of
the dining room, the doors and windows of which were open,
disclosing to view all that was transpiring within.
"In the name of wonder, what's that?" exclaimed J.C., as he saw a
curiously shaped chair wheeling itself, as it were, into the room.
"It must be Dr. Kennedy's crippled boy," answered James, as Louis
skipped across the floor on crutches and climbed into the chair
which Maude carefully held for him.
Louis did not wish to eat with the strangers until somewhat
acquainted, consequently he waited until they were gone, and then
came to the table, where Maude stood by his side, carefully
ministering to his wants, and assisting him into his chair when he
was through. Then, pushing back her curls, and donning the check
apron which Nellie so much abhorred, she removed the dishes herself,
for old Hannah she knew was very tired, having done an unusual
amount of work that day.
"I tell you what, Jim, I wouldn't wonder if that's the very one for
you," said J.C., puffing leisurely at his cigar, and still keeping
his eyes fixed upon the figure in white, as if to one of his
fastidious taste there was nothing very revolting in seeing Maude
Remington wash the supper dishes, even though her hands were brown
and her arms a little red.
James did not answer immediately, and when he did he said: "Do you
remember a little girl we met in the cars between Springfield and
Albany, several years ago when we were returning from school? She
was a funny little black-eyed creature, and amused us very much with
her remarks."
"I wouldn't wonder if I remembered her," returned J.C., "for didn't
she say I looked as if I didn't mean for certain? I tell you what it
is, Jim, I've thought of the speech more than a thousand times when
I've been saying things I did not mean to foolish girls and their
mammas. But what reminded you of her?"
"If I mistake not, that child and the young lady yonder are one and
the same. You know she told us her name was Maude Remington, and
that the naughty man behind us wasn't her father, and she didn't
like him a bit, or something like that."
"And I honor her judgment both in his case and mine," interrupted
J.C., continuing, after a moment: "The old fellow looks as that man
did. I guess you are right. I mean to question 'Cuffee' on the
subject," and he beckoned to John, who was passing at no great
distance.
"Sambo," said he, as the negro approached, "who is that young lady
using the broom-handle so vigorously?" and he pointed to Maude, who
was finishing her domestic duties by brushing the crumbs from the
carpet.
"If you please, sar, my name is John," answered the African,
assuming a dignity of manner which even J.C. respected.
"Be it John, then," returned the young man, "but tell us how long
has she lived here, and where did she come from?"
Nothing pleased John better than a chance to talk of Maude, and he
replied: "She came here twelve years ago this very month with that
little blue-eyed mother of hern, who is lyin' under them willers in
the graveyard. We couldn't live without Miss Maude. She's all the
sunshine thar is about the lonesome old place. Why, she does
everything, from takin' care of her crippled half-brother to mendin'
t'other one's gownd."
"And who is t'other one?" asked J.C., beginning to feel greatly
interested in the negro's remarks.
"T'other one," said John, "is Miss Nellie, who won't work for fear
of silin' her hands, which some fool of a city chap has made her
b'lieve are so white and handsome," and a row of ivory was just
visible, as, leaning against a tree, John watched the effect of his
words upon "the fool of a city chap."
J.C. was exceedingly good-natured, and tossing his cigar into the
grass he replied, "You don't mean me, of course; but tell us more of
this Maude, who mops the floor and mends Nellie's dresses."
"She don't mop the floor," muttered John. "This nigger wouldn't let
her do that--but she does mend Nellie's gownds, which I wouldn't do,
if I's worth as much money as she is!"
If J.C. had been interested before, he was doubly interested now,
and coming nearer to John he said: "Money, my good fellow! Is Maude
an heiress?"
"She aint nothin' else," returned John, who proceeded to speak of
Janet and her generous gift, the amount of which he greatly
exaggerated. "Nobody knows how much 'tis," said he: "but everybody
s'poses that will and all it must be thirty or forty thousand," and
as the doctor was just then seen riding into the yard John walked
away to attend to his master's horse.
"Those butter and cheese men do accumulate money fast," said J.C.,
more to himself than to his companion, who laughingly replied, "It
would be funny if you should make this Maude my cousin instead of
Nellie. Let me see--Cousin Nellie--Cousin Maude. I like the sound of
the latter the best, though I am inclined to think she is altogether
too good for a mercenary dog like you."
"Pshaw!" returned J.C., pulling at the maple leaves which grew above
his head, "I hope you don't think I'd marry a rude country girl for
her money. No, give me la charmant Nellie, even though she cannot
mend her dress, and you are welcome to Cousin Maude, the milkman's
heiress."
At that moment Mrs. Kelsey and Nellie appeared upon the stoop, and
as Maude was no longer visible the young gentlemen returned to the
parlor, where J.C. asked Nellie to favor him with some music. Nellie
liked to play, for it showed her white hands to advantage, and
seating herself at the piano she said: "I have learned a new song
since I saw you, but Maude must sing the other part--maybe, though,
I can get along without her."
This last was said because she did not care to have Maude in the
parlor, and she had inadvertently spoken of her singing. The young
men, however, were not as willing to excuse her, and Maude was
accordingly sent for. She came readily, and performed her part
without the least embarrassment, although she more than once half
paused to listen to the rich, full tones of James' voice, for he was
an unusually fine singer; Maude had never heard anything like it
before, and when the song was ended the bright, sparkling eyes which
she turned upon him told of her delight quite as eloquently as words
could have done.
"You play, I am sure, Miss Remington," he said, as Nellie arose from
the stool.
Maude glanced at her red hands, which J.C. would be sure to notice,
then feeling ashamed to hesitate for a reason like this, she
answered, "Yes, sometimes," and taking her seat she played several
pieces, keeping admirable time, and giving to the music a grace and
finish which Nellie had often tried in vain to imitate.
"Mr. De Vere did not expect you to play all night," called out the
envious girl, who, not satisfied with having enticed J.C. from the
piano, wished James to join her also.
"She is merely playing at my request," said Mr. De Vere, "but if it
is distasteful to Miss Kennedy, we will of course desist," and
bending low he said a few words of commendation to Maude, whose
heart thrilled to the gentle tones of his voice, just as many
another maiden's had done before. Mr. De Vere was exceedingly
agreeable, and so Maude found him to be, for feeling intuitively
that she was somewhat slighted by the overbearing Nellie, he devoted
himself to her entirely, talking first of books, then of music, and
lastly of his home, which, without any apparent boasting, he
described as a most beautiful spot.
For a long time that night did Louis wait for his sister in his
little bed, and when at last she came to give him her accustomed
kiss he pushed the thick curls from off her face and said, "I never
saw you look so happy, Maude. Do you like that Mr. De Vere?"
"Which one?" asked Maude. "There are two, you know."
"Yes, I know," returned Louis, "but I mean the one with the voice.
Forgive me, Maude, but I sat ever so long at the head of the stairs,
listening as he talked. He is a good man, I am sure. Will you tell
me how he looks?"
Maude could not well describe him. She only knew that he was taller
than J.C., and, as she thought, much finer looking, with deep blue
eyes, dark brown hair, and a mouth just fitted to his voice. Farther
than this she could not tell. "But you will see him in the morning,"
she said. "I have told him how gifted, how good, you are, and
to-morrow, he says, he shall visit you in your den."
"Don't let the other one come," said Louis hastily, "for if he can't
endure red hands he'd laugh at my withered feet and the bunch upon
my back; but the other one won't, I know."
Maude knew so too, and somewhat impatiently she waited for the
morrow, when she could introduce her brother to her friend. The
morrow came, but, as was frequently the case, Louis was suffering
from a severe pain in his back, which kept him confined to his room,
so that Mr. De Vere neither saw him at all nor Maude as much as he
wished to do. He had been greatly interested in her, and when at
dinner he heard that she would not be down he was conscious of a
feeling of disappointment. She was not present at supper either, but
after it was over she joined him in the parlor, and, together with
J.C. and Nellie, accompanied him to the graveyard, where, seating
herself upon her mother's grave, she told him of that mother, and
the desolation which crept into her heart when first she knew she
was an orphan. From talking of her mother it was an easy matter to
speak of her Vernon home, which she had never seen since she left it
twelve years before, and then Mr. De Vere asked if she had met two
boys in the cars on her way to Albany. At first Maude could not
recall them, and when at last she did so her recollections were so
vague that Mr. De Vere felt another pang of disappointment, though
wherefore he could not tell, unless indeed, he thought there would
be something pleasant in being remembered twelve long years by a
girl like Maude Remington. He reminded her of her remark made to his
cousin, and in speaking of him casually alluded to his evident
liking for Nellie, saying playfully, "Who knows, Miss Remington, but
you may some time be related to me--not my cousin exactly, though
Cousin Maude sounds well. I like that name."
"I like it too," she said impulsively, "much better than Miss
Remington, which seems so stiff."
"Then let me call you so. I have no girl cousin in the world," and
leaning forward he put back from her forehead one of her short,
glossy curls, which had been displaced by the evening breeze.
This was a good deal for him to do. Never before had he touched a
maiden's tresses, and he had no idea that it would make his fingers
tingle as it did. Still, on the whole, he liked it, and half-wished
the wind would blow those curls over the upturned face again, but it
did not, and he was about to make some casual remark when J.C., who
was not far distant, called out, "Making love, I do believe!"
The speech was sudden, and grated harshly on James' ear. Not because
the idea of making love to Maude was utterly distasteful, but
because he fancied she might be annoyed, and over his features there
came a shadow, which Maude did not fail to observe.
"He does not wish to be teased about me," she thought, and around
the warm spot which the name of "Cousin Maude" had made within her
heart there crept a nameless chill--a fear that she had been
degraded in his eyes. "I must go back to Louis," she said at last,
and rising from her mother's grave she returned to the house,
accompanied by Mr. De Vere, who walked by her side in silence,
wondering if she really cared for J.C.'s untimely joke.
James De Vere did not understand the female heart, and wishing to
relieve Maude from all embarrassment in her future intercourse with
himself, he said to her as they reached the door: "My Cousin Maude
must not mind what J.C. said, for she knows it is not so."
"Certainly not," was Maude's answer, as she ran upstairs, hardly
knowing whether she wished it were or were not so.
One thing, however, she knew. She liked to have him call her Cousin
Maude; and when Louis asked what Mr. De Vere had said beneath the
willows she told him of her new name, and asked if he did not like
it.
"Yes," he answered, "but I'd rather you were his sister, for then
maybe he'd call me brother, even if I am a cripple. How I wish I
could see him, and perhaps I shall to-morrow."
But on the morrow Louis was so much worse that in attending to him
Maude found but little time to spend with Mr. De Vere, who was to
leave them that evening. When, however, the carriage which was to
take him away stood at the gate, she went down to bid him good-by,
and ask him to visit them again.
"I shall be happy to do so," he said; and then, as they were
standing alone together, he continued: "Though I have not seen as
much of you as I wished, I shall remember my visit at Laurel Hill
with pleasure. In Hampton there are not many ladies for whose
acquaintance I particularly care, and I have often wished that I had
some female friend with whom I could correspond, and thus while away
some of my leisure moments. Will my Cousin Maude answer me if I
should some time chance to write to her mere friendly, cousinly
letters, of course?"
This last he said because he mistook the deep flush on Maude's cheek
for an unwillingness to do anything which looked at all like "making
love."
"I will write," was all Maude had a chance to say ere Nellie joined
them, accompanied by J.C., who had not yet terminated his visit at
Laurel Hill, and as soon as his cousin left he intended removing to
the hotel, where he would be independent of Dr. Kennedy, and at the
same time, devote himself to the daughter or stepdaughter, just as
he should feel inclined.
Some such idea might have intruded itself upon the mind of James,
for, when at parting he took his cousin's hand, he said, "You have
my good wishes for your success with Nellie, but--"
"But not with t'other one, hey?" laughingly rejoined J.C., adding
that James need have no fears, for there was not the slightest
possibility of his addressing the milkman's heiress.
Alas for J.C.'s honesty! Even while he spoke there was treachery in
his saucy eyes, for the milkman's heiress, as he called her, was not
to him an object of dislike, and when, after the carriage drove
away, he saw the shadows on her face, and suspected their cause, he
felt a strong desire that his departure might affect her in a
similar manner. That evening, too, when Nellie sang to him his
favorite song, he kept one ear turned toward the chamber above,
where, in a low, sweet voice, Maude Remington sang her suffering
brother to sleep.
The next morning he removed to the hotel, saying he should probably
remain there during the summer, as the air of Laurel Hill was highly
conducive to his rather delicate health; but whether he meant the
invigorating breeze which blew front the surrounding hills, or an
heir of a more substantial kind, time and our story will show.