BURTON THINKS HE IS MENDING MATTERS
"My adored Rachel," wrote Burton that night. "I am having a very
curious experience. I have dropped into a regular melodrama. I suppose
there is a plot to it, but so far I have chiefly been kept guessing.
You will be interested in it, though I know melodrama is not your
favorite style of literature, because it nearly involves the Underwood
family. In fact, they are supposed to be the whole head and front of
the offending.
"I told you that there was some vague accusation of Dr. Underwood in
the town, which I felt under obligations, as your ambassador, to
investigate, in carrying out the mission with which I was charged.
That matter has almost been lost sight of, in the popular excitement
over subsequent events. A house burned down the next night, and the
police said the fire was of incendiary origin. Thereupon the public
jumped to the conclusion that it was set either by Dr. Underwood or
his son Henry, though as to the doctor I can personally testify that
he was laid up with a sprained ankle that night, and could hardly
hobble about his room. But a trifle like that would cut no figure with
an excited public, eager only to hear some new thing that would make
its hair stand on end. Then the following night a man was assaulted in
his own house,--tied to his bed, and warned not to talk about people
as recklessly as he had been doing. This time suspicion was directed
to Henry Underwood, and he has been arrested. The young man refuses
bail, on the ground that he wants to be locked up so as to leave no
room for charging him with the next eccentric thing that may happen in
High Ridge. I hope you agree with me that this shows a good deal of
spirit and pluck, especially as the town jail is a place that no one
who was looking for downy beds of ease would choose for a summer
resort. I must tell you that this young man interests me extremely.
There is no vanity in this, for I cannot say that the interest is
reciprocated. He treats me with a haughty tolerance that would wound
my self-esteem, if I did not see that it is merely his manner to
everybody. He seems to go on the theory that all men are in a
conspiracy against him, and he will neither ask nor give quarter. You
will gather from this that I do not believe he assaulted the old
gentleman in his bed. I don't. Use your judgment as to how much of all
this you should tell Philip. And speaking of that, I am not sure that
I fully expressed, in my last letter, my great enthusiasm for Philip's
sagacity. My admiration for the young lady in question has grown with
my more extended acquaintance. She is not only beautiful,--as I told
you in my first report,--but she has a lot of personality. That is an
attribute which it is hard to more specifically designate, but you
know what I mean. She has character, so that you feel you could rely
upon her absolutely in need, and fascination, so that you would never
be dull in her company, and simplicity, so that you would never weary
of her. I think it is the artificial element in people that tires us,
just as it is the artificial in life. The large, simple things are
always restful. The longer we live with them,--as shown in the sea and
the mountain and the desert,--the more we come to depend upon them and
love them. Some people are like that,--large-natured and simple and so
true that you never have any disturbing perplexity as to what they may
stand for. She is like that, I think. And I feel that Philip has
chosen a really wonderful woman for his wife,--a woman who will be the
making of him.
"You may not hear from me again very soon, for I am going out of town
on a mission,--a secret mission which may be big with importance if I
do not miss my guess. Does that make you curious? In short, I, even I,
am going to try my hand at some detective work on my own account. I
shall not tell you the details in advance, because if I fail utterly,
it will be less humiliating to reflect that I have not confessed my
wild-goose chasing. But if your wishes have any influence with the
powers that be, do wish me success. I want terribly to pull this thing
off. Just think what it will mean to that poor, brave girl! Oh,
Rachel, you will be so proud and fond of her! To have helped in any
degree to have brought you so rare a daughter is a matter to cheer the
solitary moments of
"Your Blighted Being."
"My Adored Rachel: This is not a postscript, nor yet is it a mere
subterfuge to give me a chance to call you 'adored' again. It is
another letter under the same cover, because I just happened to think
of something else I wanted to say. Miss Underwood is very proud, very
sensitive, and, I suspect, more than a little in awe of the paragon of
perfection who will receive this epistle. I think it would be a very
'nice' thing, as you would say, for you to write her a little letter,
telling her how you will love her and all that. Who knows better how
beautifully you can write when you want to than your own
"Blighted Being."
Burton mailed the letter without reading it over. It is possible that
if he had applied his mind to the matter, he might have realized that
it was not exactly the sort of an introduction that would make Miss
Underwood persona grata to her future mother-in-law, for he had
intervals of common sense; but his mind was otherwise engaged. So he
sent the letter on its way with innocent cheerfulness.