INTO A BETTER WORLD.
The next morning, after hearing Annie Gilder’s story, the doctor sent a
written message to George Storrs, at his boarding-place. As it was
Sunday, the young man was free, waited on the doctor immediately, and
was shown into his sanctum. Dr. Forest was pleased to see a
fresh-complexioned, naissant-moustached, handsome young fellow, very
diffident in the presence of the popular physician. The doctor was in
his dressing-gown, and put the young man at ease, by asking permission
to continue smoking his pipe.
Young Storrs had not yet heard the name of the young woman who had been
rescued from the river; no one seemed to know where she was, and the
report was current that she had since died. He had a vague dread that
the victim would turn out to be one he well knew, and his conscience was
troubling him sorely. The doctor commenced by making inquiries about the
Gilder family in ——. The replies of the young man satisfied the doctor
that old Gilder was just such a man as he had inferred from Annie’s
statements; that she had been badly treated, and had good cause to be
dissatisfied with her hard life at home. Then the doctor told George
that this unhappy girl, still bearing on her flesh the marks of her
father’s cruelty, driven to seek refuge among strangers, and finding the
only friend she had in the world, him whom she had loved with all her
heart, turning from her in her homeless, penniless condition—that this
girl was the one who had tried to end her miseries by drowning herself.
George, on hearing the doctor’s words, turned away his face, overcome by
his feelings. As soon as he could command his voice, he expressed deep
sorrow for the unkindness he had shown to Annie, and declared he would
marry her at once, and atone for his conduct, notwithstanding that her
reputation was tarnished by the fact of being at such a place as old
Mother Torbit’s.
“Hold! young man,” said the doctor, who, knowing the habits of men, was
always impatient and disgusted at their complaining, in any way, of
woman’s frailty. “You cannot look me in the face, and tell me she is not
as chaste as you are, even if she has helped to build up Mother Torbit’s
business by the same acts that you have; but you have not heard all. She
was there only one night and the next day, and took no stock in the
business; but even if she had, do you not see that her soul is as white
as snow compared to yours? She was found destitute, homeless, abandoned,
weeping, on the Common. A girl spoke pityingly to her, and took her
home, out of charity. Annie Gilder, a mere child in years, was ignorant
of the nature of the house, and begged the old woman to give her work,
whereby she might earn her bread. That is why _she_ was there in that
house. Now what were _you_ there for? Were _you_ ignorant of the nature
of the house also? Had _you_ been turned out of doors on a cold winter’s
night because you had no money and nowhere to lay your head? Ah, Christ!
the inhumanity of men to women is enough to make fiends hide their heads
in shame. If the whole sex should go mad with vengeance, and murder us
all in our sleep, it would scarcely be an injustice to us. Your tears do
you credit, young man. I am glad to see them. This pretty, innocent
young girl, has won my heart. I have placed her with the two women in
this world whom I most honor, and hereafter her life, I trust, will be
happy.”
George begged the doctor to let him see her. He wished to go to her at
once and ask her forgiveness; and then he confessed to the doctor that
he had been ashamed of her poor attire; and carrying her awkward bundle
for her across the Common, he had met several of his friends, who
afterward quizzed and mortified him. The doctor saw how natural this was
in a handsome young fellow, just beginning an independent career for
himself, dressing like a swell, and feeling immensely important; but he
had not done with him yet. “You think, of course, that this poor child
is as ready as ever to fall into your arms; but perhaps you are
mistaken. She is among those who will teach her the worth of her beauty
and goodness, and open to her the way to earning an honest livelihood.
She is already deeply attached to her new friends, and has learned the
difference between the love that depends upon outside appearances, and
that which looks deeper. I trust that terrible struggle between life and
death in the icy river, has frozen out of her heart its old warmth for
one who could treat her as you have done; but I don’t like preaching,
young man. I’m no saint myself, and I see clearly that you were
controlled by motives which you did not create. You are young, and, with
your fine constitution, ought to live to old age. It remains to be seen
what you will do with the forces at your command.”
George saw that the interview was drawing to a close. Never in his life
had he so desired to stand well in the opinion of any one, as in that of
this frank, out-spoken, humane old man. Since he had been in Oakdale he
had heard innumerable anecdotes of the doctor, all showing the deep
admiration with which the populace regarded him; so in a moment of
enthusiasm, possible rarely except in youth, George laid his heart open
to the doctor; confessed his faults, his desire to follow the promptings
of his higher nature, and to do some good in the world. The doctor,
always sensitive to such moods, laid his hand kindly on the young man’s
shoulder, and asked him if he really wanted a field for heroic work, and
if he was equal to bearing the persecution of the world to-day for the
sake of helping on a noble cause. George was eager to prove himself
capable of any effort toward a noble end. “Then,” said the doctor, “make
yourself the champion of woman’s rights—woman’s social and political
emancipation. There are few young men in that field, and not one, sir,
who does not stand, morally and intellectually, head and shoulders above
the average young man of the period. You may think you cannot do much,
but you know the ocean is made up of drops of water. Advocate the equal
rights of human beings whenever you hear opposition. Go and hear
speakers on the subject; study it up well. My library is at your
disposal, and I will direct your reading.” George’s assent was earnest
and prompt. He showed, indeed, that he had given some little attention
to the subject, which pleased the doctor greatly, and he talked to him
then, more as an equal, and thus flattered the ambitious young fellow,
who went away carrying two of the doctor’s books under his arm, one of
which was Mills’ work on _Liberty_. “Read this first,” said the doctor.
“You can finish it this week. Bring it back next Sunday, and stay to
dinner with us.” When the doctor gave him his hand at parting, he told
him he might perhaps as well call on Annie that evening. “No doubt
she’ll be ready to forgive you,” said the wily doctor. “Women are more
merciful than men, and too good for us by half.” George thanked him with
emotion when he told him where Annie was, and went away in a much
happier mood than he had expected during one part of the doctor’s
sermon. As for the doctor, he was well satisfied with his Sunday
morning’s work. “It is with the young,” he said to himself, “that
reformers must work. New transit lines of thought in their brains are
easily established; while the brain in the old is like a dense forest of
fossil California cedars.” And so thinking, the doctor walked rapidly to
the home of his “girls,” as he called Clara and Susie. They listened to
the account of the interview with George Storrs with great delight, and
when they found he was coming that evening to see Annie, Clara clapped
her hands with joy. “Susie, dear,” she said, “we’ll wrap her in my white
cashmere dressing-gown, relic of former splendors,” she added, laughing.
“You shall do up her fine hair, and Master George shall see a creature
very different from that poor, forlorn girl who cried to him in vain for
help.”
“Was there ever a woman in this world,” said the doctor, laughing, “who
was not a match-maker at heart?”
“He don’t deserve her,” said Susie, warmly. “While I am arranging her
hair, I’ll give her a lesson in the art of receiving penitent lovers.”
“Well, Min,” said the doctor to the “long-haired angel,” as he sometimes
called her, “between these two match-makers, I shouldn’t wonder if we
had a wedding. What do you think?” Min climbed up on the doctor’s knees
while giving unqualified assent to the proposition of a wedding; her
idea of it, as further conversation with her showed, being a “frosted
cake with two birds on it.” This information Min had some way gathered
from her observations at the baker’s.
Whether Susie gave the lesson she proposed on the art of receiving
penitent lovers or not, it is certain that, after the meeting of Annie
and George, the course of love “ran smooth,” and the reappearance of
George thereafter on Sunday nights, was characterized by a very
exemplary regularity. Annie recovered safely from the shock to her
system, and proved a “blessing in disguise,” as Clara predicted. It was
in the busiest part of the season of winter flowers, and as Annie was
quick to learn, she proved a great help. As the poor girl’s wardrobe,
when she arrived, was of the paradisaic order, everything had to be
supplied mostly from Clara’s, as Susie was much shorter of stature than
Annie; and as Clara was rather of the heroic type of woman, there was
some merriment over the fit of her old dresses on the thin form of
Annie. Annie, however, was pleased with everything. To be among the
refined, cultivated, gentle people, that heretofore she had met only in
books, to be respected and loved by them, to be able to please those
about her, and have no fault ever found with her efforts to do so, and
then to be able to see George, to love him without shame or
concealment—all this was so different from the life she had known, that
at times she feared it could not be real; that it was a heavenly dream,
out of which sometime she might wake to the cold, hard world, in which
she had struggled and suffered. No wonder the poor girl’s heart went out
to her new friends, in a kind of affection bordering upon worship. One
fear alone remained, and this she mentioned to her friends: that her
father might find out where she was and force her to return, as she was
under age. To avoid this, the doctor had prevented her real name from
getting into the local papers, in the items about the attempted suicide;
and as Annie was anxious to let her mother know that she was well, and
above all things to return the two dollars she had purloined, she gave
her letter to Clara, who enclosed the money, and had the letter posted
in Boston.
Only one annoyance resulted from befriending Annie, and this was the
disaffection of the Irish servant, Ellen, who had heard outside, of the
“abandoned woman who had lived at old mother Torbit’s,” every item of
truth going hand in hand with a dozen falsehoods and exaggerations, as
is usual in such cases. Ellen declared very insolently to Clara, that it
was more than her char-_ac_-ter was worth to stay in the same house with
such a girl. Clara graciously condescended to explain that these stories
were false; and though disgusted, endeavored to awaken some better
feelings in Ellen, but without success. “Let her go, Mrs. Delano,” Annie
said, when she heard of it. “There is nothing she does that I cannot do.
I have stood at the wash-tub, at home, from sunrise till afternoon, and
then helped do the ironing the same day. If you can spare me from the
flowers, I will take Ellen’s place. It is not hard. Why, I have not
worked at all here. I have been playing the idle lady.”
“My dear child,” said Susie, “you have worked much harder than you will
by-and-by, and much harder than I ever wish to see you; but Clara, I
think we will dismiss Ellen. We can send out the greater part of the
linen, and I can do the rest.”
“I have never done any washing,” said Clara, “but I am a great
bringer-in, sprinkler, and folder of clothes. I used to do that for
Dinah; so count on me for that part. I do not like the system of
servants. It jars upon my nerves to have any one in the family who has
no interest in it. We have decided, Annie,” she continued, glancing at
Susie, “to make you a partner in our flower business, if, after a year,
you are as well pleased with us and the flowers as you are now.
Meanwhile, I see no better adjustment of matters than to pay you a
salary, as we are now doing.”
“Oh, you are too kind to me!” said Annie. “I do not feel that I can ever
deserve so much as you are doing for me.”
“Not too kind; that is absurd,” said Susie. “We both came into the
business without any capital but our willing hands. Why should not you,
also? Our idea is to build up a great industry for poor women who wish
to gain an independent position.” At this point in the conversation, the
doctor came into the conservatory, where the three women, and even Min,
were busily engaged. Susie was cutting tube-roses and other flowers,
while Min held a basket to receive them. The other two were making
bouquets. Clara told the doctor that the firm intended to make Annie a
partner.
“Well, that’s a good chance for you, Annie,” he said, as he shook hands
with her. “Have you quite forgiven me for that resurrection?”
“Indeed, sir, you know I am glad that I live, and every hour of my life
is pleasant to me. If some good angel had only sent me here that night
when I sat on the Common——”
“It was not written, Annie. By the way, have you paid that hotel bill?”
“Certainly she has,” answered Clara. “She paid it the first time she
went into the street.”
“You do not say who gave me the money,” replied Annie.
“Why, no one,” answered Clara. “You borrowed it, and have already paid
me. You need financial training, I see.”
“It is hard for me to feel that my work is worth anything,” said Annie.
“I am used to working for nothing, or for my board and clothes.”
“You must lose no time in learning,” said the doctor, “that labor has
made all the wealth of the world. Money is nothing but the
representative of that labor.”
“Have not gold and silver any value in themselves?” asked Annie.
“Intrinsic worth, you mean. Yes; and therefore they are not fit
representatives of wealth. Political economists are beginning to see
that there is no more necessity for money, the measure of wealth, to
have intrinsic value than that the yard-stick should be made of gold, or
set with precious stones. But I’ve no time to discourse on finance just
now—not time, at least, to make myself clear.”
“You forget, doctor,” said Susie, with some pride, “that we have been
reading up on this subject. We see clearly why children or savages
should be unable to comprehend abstract questions; and until they do,
they are swappers and barterers, not financiers. The savage wants bright
beads and gorgeous feathers for the buffalo robe he offers you. He deals
only with the concrete. Civilized people see the need of a medium which,
without value in itself, may simply stand as a record of the values
exchanged, the basis of the exchange being confidence in each other’s
honesty.”
“The question of money,” said Clara, “has always perplexed me. I have
worked out several systems in my mind; but when I apply them
hypothetically in practice, they don’t work perfectly. It is like the
clearing of algebraic equations by substituting _m_ + _n_ and _m_ − _n_
for the values of _x_ and _y_. All goes on smoothly, and you solve lots
of problems, until you come to one where your substituted values only
involve _x_ and _y_ more and more, instead of eliminating them. Just now
it seems to me that the government should issue all the money necessary
for the transaction of business, this money being simply a guarantee of
exchange based simply upon the national wealth and credit. But then, for
the balancing of accounts in our exchange with foreign nations, paying
interest on our bonds which they hold, we seem to need something else.”
“Hence the Board of Brokers,” said the doctor, “who grow rich on the
ignorance and mutual distrust between nations. You see that specie does
not solve your difficulty. A gold dollar has intrinsic value, and is
worth, actually, just as much in England or France as it is here; and
yet you attempt, when there, to pay your grocer or milliner with an
American gold dollar, and they refuse to take it; so you have to take it
to a broker, and suffer him to pocket a certain amount from you just for
giving you another piece of gold or silver of the same value! This is
simply the continuance of the old ignorance which made the Turks call
all other nations barbarians, as the Chinese do to this day. But despite
the pessimists, the world is improving. Railroads and steamships and
telegraphs are bringing nations daily into closer relations and mutual
interdependence. See! We have only just now effected a national currency
in this country. Before that, we had a most vile system. Bank-bills, of
banks located at Eastern commercial centres, were at a premium in the
West; while those of Western banks were at a discount, and frequently
refused, in the East.
“That was indeed a miserable system,” said Clara. “How often I have had
to wait in shops, while clerks pored over the bank detector, to find out
if my bank-note was genuine or counterfeit, or if the bank that issued
it was still in operation! and then the counterfeiters always managed to
keep a little ahead of the bank detector, which, of course, could not be
republished daily, and so keep ahead of the counterfeiters.”
“I am not so impatient over the slowness of progress as I used to be,”
said Susie. “Nations are only a body of individuals, and governments can
only improve gradually as the individuals improve. The important thing
always, is to give the children the conditions for development, so that
they may become good citizens, who are always a ‘law unto themselves.’”
“Yet,” said Annie, who up to this time had been silently listening, as
she went on tying tube-roses on the end of little sticks, “I think the
wickedest man I ever knew was an educated one—at least, far from what
would be called ignorant.”
“What Susie means by conditions for development,” said the doctor,
“comprehends moral training as well as intellectual. But you are opening
into deep waters. I must go, and leave you ladies to flounder about
alone.”
“Masculine presumption!” said Clara, smiling.
“Feminine assumption, rather,” replied the doctor. “I did not mean worse
floundering, because alone; but only less in quantity because one
flounderer the less. How quick women are with their suspicions. If the
management of affairs should get into their hands, as it is now in ours,
the compensation would be terrible.”
“Wouldn’t it?” said Clara. “We’d be fearful tyrants, having so old a
precedent before us, or rather behind us. We’d get all the wealth into
our own hands, and when our sometime lords wanted money, we’d ask how
much, and what for, and quibble about the amount, and recommend
home-made cigars instead of Habanas. We’d give them donkeys and a
side-saddle to ride on, lest immodesty and ambition should be fostered
by riding astride of fine horses. We’d have them do hard work all the
time, and yet we’d kiss only the hands that were soft and white. Then
we’d set up our ideal for male chastity, which should be almost
unattainable, through our own system of tempting them; and then we’d
laugh at the presumption of any who presumed to demand the same standard
for us. If they wished to vote, we’d howl at and persecute them for
getting out of their sphere, and show them they had no need of the
ballot, because we, their heaven-appointed protectors, represented them
at the polls.”
The ladies laughed, but the doctor’s face was quite grave. “That is
about what you would do, and about what we should deserve; so we will
take care that we rise together.”
“I should think—” Susie began.
“No, I will not hear what you think. I will have one right that you
tyrants are bound to respect, and that is the right to tear myself away
from your eloquence. Good-bye, flounderers!” and the doctor passed
rapidly out to the gate, Clara following for one more word, just to
teaze him. There was Min, demurely seated on the narrow seat of the
“sulky.”
“Minnie’s going to ride with her doctor, she is.”
“Is she, indeed? Here’s another tyrant of your sex,” said the doctor,
and hurried as he was, he drove the child around the Common, as usual,
before going his professional round.