THE STORY OF A FAMILY QUARREL
Mr. Presby was comforted by the passages which Bertha read, and perhaps
the sympathy she extended to the suffering invalid was hardly less
soothing than the words of the Scripture. Though she had gathered some
idea of the nature of her patron’s troubles from the conversation she
had had with him, yet she was still ignorant of his relations with the
other occupants of the house. She comprehended that his children were
unkind and ungrateful to him, and this seemed so unnatural and terrible
to her that she pitied the old gentleman from the depths of her soul.
After she had finished reading the Bible, Mr. Presby remained silent
and thoughtful for a long time. He seemed to be meditating upon the
passages read, and she did not disturb him; but she could not help
calling to mind the statement of John that he was insane. His conduct
was certainly very singular; but if his children, those who should have
loved him, who should have comforted him and humored his weakness--if
they had turned against him, it would be quite enough to explain even
more strange behavior than he had yet exhibited.
He rose from his easy-chair, and paced the room, as he had done before;
but he was calm, and appeared to be more resigned. He did not talk
to himself, as he had done; and whether he was insane or not, Bertha
had ceased to be afraid of him, and even felt some confidence that she
could manage him if he should have a paroxysm.
“Poor child!” said he, at last, as he paused in his walk. “I am old
and thoughtless; you have no home, and I suppose you have no clothing.
Come, we will go out and buy some for you.”
“I have plenty of clothing, sir. My trunk is at the railroad station,”
replied Bertha.
“We will go out and get it, then. The carriage comes to take me out to
ride about this time every day. You shall go with me, and we will get
your trunk.”
Mr. Presby took off his dressing gown, and, retiring to his chamber in
the rear of the library, prepared himself for the ride. Bertha put on
her hat and jacket again, and soon both were ready. Before they left,
Mr. Presby gathered up some account books and papers that were on his
desk, and placed them in a small iron safe in one corner of the room,
which he locked, and put the key in his pocket.
The carriage was at the door, and Mr. Presby led the way downstairs.
John was in the entry; but he was very obsequious this time, and bowed
low as he opened the doors for them.
“Keep your eyes wide open, miss, or the old man will knock your brains
out when he has the fit,” he whispered in Bertha’s ear, as she passed
him.
“What do you mean?” asked she.
“Oh, Mr. Presby is stark, staring mad!” he replied, earnestly. “He will
take your life before you have been with him three days.”
Bertha’s old fears assailed her again for a moment; but she could not
believe, if Mr. Presby was such a dangerous person, that his friends
would permit him to ride about the city without any attendant. They
could have sent him to an asylum, for his family seemed to have no
tender regard for him which would restrain them from such a course.
The carriage was driven to the station, and Bertha procured her trunk.
It was placed in the little room adjoining the library, and then they
were driven downtown. Mr. Presby visited several insurance offices,
and other places of business, where he was treated with respect and
consideration by all whom he met. Bertha entered several of the
offices with him, and heard him talk about matters that were beyond
her comprehension; but, very clearly, no one seemed to be of John’s
opinion, that Mr. Presby was “stark, staring mad.”
On their return, at three o’clock, dinner was served. The table was
prepared by a colored girl, who waited upon them, and removed the
things when the meal was ended.
“Sylvia, is Mr. Presby--Edward--at home?” said the invalid to the girl,
as she left the room with the dishes.
“Yes, sir.”
“Has he dined?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell him I wish to see him at his earliest convenience.”
“I will, sir.”
Bertha noticed that Mr. Presby’s lips quivered as he spoke to the
servant; and, as soon as she had gone, he seated himself in his chair,
and appeared to be much agitated. In half an hour, during which time
the old gentleman was silent and thoughtful, Edward Presby entered
the room. He was a man of thirty-five, elegantly dressed, in whom an
experienced observer would have detected what is called “a man of the
world”--a man who lives for its pleasures alone, ignoring its cares and
responsibilities.
“How do you do to-day, father?” said Edward, as he entered the room,
and cast a searching glance at Bertha.
“I am as well as usual,” replied the old man, coldly.
“You sent for me, father?”
“I did. John must be discharged.”
Mr. Presby spoke these words with firmness, but his lip quivered, and
his frame was slightly convulsed. It had evidently cost him a great
effort to utter them.
“John--discharged?” repeated Edward Presby.
“He must be discharged,” added the father.
“My wife would never consent to it. What has he done now?”
Mr. Presby explained the events of the morning; that John had refused
to admit those who answered his advertisement; that he had told Bertha
the “old man” was crazy.
“A mere pleasantry, father,” replied Edward. “Probably John didn’t know
anything about the advertisement.”
“Perhaps not. Does he believe that I am insane?”
“Of course not,” laughed the son.
“Will you discharge him?”
“I couldn’t think of such a thing. John is the most useful person in
the house.”
“Edward, I am in earnest. John must go, or I shall.”
“Come, father, you are out of humor. Have you lost any money to-day?”
“I have nothing more to say, Edward,” replied Mr. Presby, trembling
with emotion.
“I am sure I haven’t,” added the son, as he withdrew.
The invalid went to his desk and wrote a few lines, which he inclosed
in an envelope. Having written the direction upon it, he handed it to
Bertha, and requested her to go down to Wall Street, and deliver it to
the person for whom it was intended.
“I would not ask you to do such work for me if I could trust anyone
else,” said he, sadly.
“I will deliver the note,” replied she.
“In a few days we will change our residence, Bertha,” he added with a
smile. “I hope in our new home we may be happier than we can be here.”
Bertha knew not what to say, and therefore she said nothing. The father
and the son did not agree, and the house was divided against itself. It
was a very painful state of things to see this difference between those
who should cherish and sustain each other, and Bertha, who had almost
idolized her father, could not understand it. She put on her hat and
jacket, and was leaving the room, when Mr. Presby called her back.
“If you stay with me, Bertha, you must understand all these things,”
said he. “It is a sad story to tell a young girl like you, but you must
know it all. They will turn you against me, if you don’t.”
“No one shall turn me against you, sir. You have been very kind to me,
and I am grateful for it.”
“They will make you believe that I am crazy.”
“I will not believe it, sir.”
Mr. Presby seated himself again, and began to tell Bertha his troubles.
He had two children, a son and a daughter. His wife had died ten years
before, and soon after a difficulty between the father and son had
occurred.
Edward had never devoted himself to business of any kind, but spent
all his time in fashionable dissipation. He had married a gay and
extravagant lady, and, after the death of his mother, he had been
invited to “keep house” for his father. But the house was not large
enough for the fashionable lady, and both she and Edward had importuned
him to move into a magnificent palace of a house. Mr. Presby was simple
in his tastes, and refused to do so. His refusal to comply had caused
the first quarrel.
The daughter had joined with the son in the request to purchase the
palace, and had taken sides with him in the quarrel. She desired
to live in the style of a princess--to outdo all her neighbors and
friends. The demands upon the purse of Mr. Presby became so extravagant
that his fortune could not sustain such a pressure, and he had been
compelled to limit the son to six thousand dollars a year, and the
daughter to fifteen hundred.
Mr. Presby had been firm in his purpose, and every month he had paid
over to each the sum allotted. He positively refused to grant another
dollar, though he was continually annoyed by applications for more,
which were often accompanied by threats and abusive language.
The quarrel had never been healed; on the contrary, the estrangement
became greater every year. The son and his wife had obtained complete
possession of the house, except the floor which the old gentleman had
reserved for his own use. They managed its affairs to suit themselves,
without even consulting his wishes or his tastes, and he soon felt
himself a stranger there. They seemed to look forward with pleasure
to the hour which would end his mortal pilgrimage, and place them in
possession of his wealth.
Mr. Presby wept as he told this sad story, and Bertha pitied him more
than ever. She thought he had been very liberal with his children,
especially as the son refused to do any business, as his father wished.
She could not see that he had been to blame, and she wondered at his
patience.
“Now, Bertha, you understand it all,” said he; “and I see that you pity
me.”
“I do, indeed.”
“But they are my children, and I love them still. Oh, how it would
gladden my heart to hear them speak gentle words to me! They hate me;
they want my property, and would rejoice to have me die,” groaned he,
covering his face with his hands. “I would give all I have if they
would love me.”
“Perhaps they will.”
“Their hearts are hardened against me. They want my money. And I would
give it to them if it would make them love me. I would become a beggar
for their sake. But they would spend all I have in a few years, and it
would be folly to indulge them.”
“I think John is a very bad man,” said Bertha, recalling what he had
said to her in the hall.
“He is not only a spy upon my actions, but he is employed to thwart me
in my wishes. I cannot endure him. I have been peaceable and patient;
but I cannot be so any longer. Now you may go with the note, Bertha.”
“Shall I leave it if the gentleman is not in?”
“Yes; he will get it if it is left at his office.”
“I will do so, sir.”
“Stop a moment, Bertha. Have you any money to pay your fare?”
“Yes, sir; a little.”
“Here is five dollars; you may wish to purchase something. You need not
hurry back, for I shall try to sleep an hour or two, if I am not too
much excited.”
Bertha took the money, and thanked her employer for his kindness. As
she descended the stairs, John was in his accustomed place; for no one
seemed to pass in or out of the house without his knowledge.
“Where are you going, miss?” asked he, in conciliatory tones.
“I am going out,” she replied, without stopping.
“So I see; but where are you going?”
“Downtown.”
“Where?”
“Excuse me, John, but I am in a hurry to do my errand.”
“What is your errand, miss?” persisted he.
“I do not think it proper to tell my employer’s business to anyone, and
you will excuse me if I do not answer you.”
“Oh, certainly; it’s none of my business, of course, and I did not mean
to pry into the affairs of Mr. Presby.”
Bertha placed her hand upon the door; but the night lock was a peculiar
one, and she didn’t understand it. She kept working upon it, and John
did not offer to assist her.
“Have you seen Miss Ellen Presby?” asked John.
“I have not,” replied Bertha, still trying to open the door.
“She wishes to see you. I will call her, if you please.”
“I will see her when I return,” said Bertha; but John had gone.
Bertha had some ingenuity, and before the man came back, she succeeded
in opening the door. As she did so, she discovered a couple of night
keys hanging near the door, and in order to save John the trouble of
answering her summons, she put one of them in her pocket.
When she had seated herself in the car, she took out the note Mr.
Presby had given her. She doubted not it had some reference to the
matters which had transpired during the afternoon. She turned the
envelope, and read with astonishment the name of the man, who, a few
days before, had turned her out of Woodville. It was directed to
“Samuel Grayle, Esq.”