THE SLAVE OF THE LAMP.
On the way back to the village, the count left the doctor at the house
of a patient, and then he went after Min, intending to take her to ride;
but the time was all consumed in conversation with Clara and Susie about
the organization of the social palace. He was struck especially with the
practical ideas of Susie, and drew her out at length.
“Remember,” he said, “that nothing is absolutely decided yet; but when I
once decide, you will see a rattling among the dry bones of Oakdale. You
and Mrs. Delano will be of great assistance to me, but you cannot grasp
the thing in a manner sufficiently broad. You ought both of you to go
with me to Guise, and study up the details for a certain time. Could
either of you undertake that mission? We would take Minnie along, of
course; that will be the commencement of her education; and the very
best thing would be to leave her there in the schools until our own home
is ready. And here I want to say to you ladies, both of you—for this
child belongs, I see, hardly more to one than to the other—that whether
we build the palace or not, I want to adopt Minnie as my daughter, and
take charge of her education. Understand that I am serious; that I never
make a positive proposition until I have fully counted the cost, and
made my conclusions definitely.”
Susie listened to the count with breathless interest, and looked, almost
stared, at him with a painful intensity; then she took Min in her arms,
hid her face on the child’s breast, and wept silently. Min looked
wonderingly at the count, and then at Susie, and then at Clara, for
explanation.
“How would you like, Minnie, to have this gentleman adopt you as his own
little girl?” asked Clara.
“That would be _so_ nice, auntie! but will he ‘dop’ mamma and you too,
auntie dear?”
“Yes,” said the count, smiling; “I will, as you say, ‘dop’ your mamma
and auntie, if they wish. You will never lose any of your friends; but I
should want you, by-and-by, to go abroad and attend school. You will be
called Minnie von Frauenstein, and you can come home every year.”
“Oh, sir,” said Susie, “how _can_ you be in earnest? How can such a
blessed good fortune be in store for poor Susie’s child? I never dreamed
of her going from me yet for some years, and I did not know how much
pain the very thought could give me; but I can forget myself entirely
for her good. We are getting on well with our business, and I think we
could provide very well for her; but under your protection her
advantages would be greater than we could ever hope to give her.” And
after a pause, Susie rose and gave her hand to the count, saying, with
great emotion, “It shall be as you desire. I cannot thank you for the
honor you do me and my child—words fail me utterly.” The count said,
“You show the true feeling of the mother. Nothing shall be abrupt. You
have ample time to think it all over, and to change your mind, if you
wish. In a month we will consider the matter fully, and make our final
decision.”
To see so brilliant a future opened before the darling who had been
unwelcome in this world, and regarded in the eyes of all, except her
little circle of friends, as a child of shame and disgrace, no wonder
that Susie was overcome with her emotions. “Think, Clara,” she said,
throwing her arms around her friend, “think what you have done, you and
your noble father, for Susie! But for you, I might have been struggling
to gain bread for myself and Minnie, in the kitchen of some of these
women here who turn their eyes when I pass them in the street. I can
think of no harder fate than that.”
“Oh, you would have risen even without us, dear. Your heart of gold was
sure to be recognized, sooner or later.” Susie’s tears could not be
controlled, and apologizing for her weakness, she pressed the count’s
hand again and left the room. Minnie went with her, not exactly
understanding why her mother cried so. Pretty soon she came back, and
climbing up in the count’s arms, said, “I thought dear mamma was
unhappy, Paul; but she says she cried only ’cause she is so happy; and
she kissed me and kissed me and kissed me. I’ll give you just one of
them;” and taking his head between her hands, as she knelt on his lap,
she kissed it pretty much all over, ending with the lips.
“Mercy! Do you call that _one_, Min?” asked Clara. Min laughed, and
asked Paul if he liked kisses.
“That is a leading question, mademoiselle;” but seeing she would have an
answer, he said, “I know of but one thing sweeter than a little girl’s
kisses.”
“What is sweeter?”
“Why, a lady’s kisses.”
“Are they, Paul?”
“That is my opinion.”
“Well, that isn’t _my_ ’pinion.”
“You think chocolate drops sweeter. That is your ’pinion.” Min readily
assented, and Paul told her that he was going away the next day to New
York, and when he returned he would take her to ride, and be her “slave
of the lamp.” Of course the inquisitive child wanted to know all about
the slave of the lamp, but the count excused himself, and promised to
tell her the story of _Aladdin, or the Wonderful Lamp_, when they should
take their ride. Min reluctantly consented to wait for the story, and
then she asked “Paul” to stay to dinner. Clara answered, “Minnie, you
are insufferable. I was just on the point of asking the count to dine
with us. He will think all the hospitality of this house is confined to
you.”
“No, he won’t, auntie. There’s a lot o’ _hostality_. Isn’t there, Paul?”
“Now go instantly, Minnie, or you will find there is hostility in the
house,” said Clara, laughing. “Will you stay?” she asked the count. “I
ask you only for your society, for I fear we have nothing to tempt you,
gastronomically.”
“Madam, I shall be most happy,” he answered, “but I shall have to ask
you to excuse me immediately after, for I have a great deal to do.”
Min, who had got as far as the door, clapped her hands and shouted with
great satisfaction. She went now to carry the news to her mother, and to
“help,” for she considered her assistance very important. In fact she
could never see anything done without having a hand in it. Whenever the
cloth was laid, she must pull it a little this way or that, by way of
nice adjustment; so with the plates and everything she could reach.
Susie was a little anxious about the dinner on this occasion, and chose
to make the flower decorations for the table herself. Min succeeded,
however, in getting permission to make a little bouquet for “Paul,”
which she did not fail to inform him was her work as soon as he entered
the dining-room, where both the wide folding-doors were thrown open,
exposing a beautiful array of flowers and plants. The count’s place was
assigned him by Susie, on the opposite side of the table, in face of the
conservatory. The count was charmed with everything, and Susie, who was
at first a little embarrassed, soon gained perfect composure, as every
one did in his presence when he chose. During the dinner the
conversation was mostly about flowers, and the count said to Susie, “I
have been urging Mrs. Delano to invest more money in your business.
Nothing would give me more pleasure than to supply any amount you wish
for extending your operations. I speak in a pure business way, you
understand,” he added, fearing the implication of charity as a motive.
“I am perfectly satisfied that the investment or loan would be quite
safe. Mrs. Delano seems to hesitate. How is it with you, madam?”
“I do not hesitate in the least, sir,” she answered confidently. “I want
to import our stock directly from England; but heretofore we have not
had money enough to do so. We have orders now that we cannot fill, and
they are increasing daily, especially for certain shade-trees and
hedge-shrubs.” Clara was a little surprised at the daring spirit of
Susie, to whose lead in business, however, she always submitted. The
little woman was developing a most wonderful executive ability. She was
heart and soul interested in her business; and so it came to pass that
the count honored, what Mr. Kendrick called, the “Dykes & Delano paper.”
“I confess,” said Clara, smiling, “that I do tremble a little at the
idea of giving Madam Susie ‘a wider swing,’ as papa calls it.”
“Madam Susie,” echoed Min, “that was what Annie always called mamma.”
“And so does auntie also, when she speaks of her outside,” said Clara.
This relieved the count of an uncertainty, for he did not like to call
her Mrs. Dykes, and politeness forbade him to call her Miss. Not
noticing these last remarks, Susie said: “There has been a great demand
here for pot-plants this spring, and I must confess we ask outrageous
prices, but you see there is no competition, and as we’ve got so fine a
start, I do not fear a rival, unless some one appears with unlimited
capital.”
The count laughed. “Commercial magnanimity,” he said, “is a fiction, and
commercial honesty is little better than playing confessedly with loaded
dice; but it does me good, Madam Susie, to see women getting hold of the
dice-boxes that men have so long wielded.”
“Almost all men believe,” said Susie, “that women’s industrial and
commercial capacities are restricted by nature to very small, safe,
light, feminine operations, like the conduct of a peanut stand. Now I’ve
been haggling with Betterton, the importer, about hedge-shrubs for the
last month. He has made us his last offer, and I _know_ he thinks we are
at his mercy. To-night I give him my answer. I shall write, thanking him
for his slight concession in the matter of price, and decline, on the
ground that the firm of Dykes & Delano have decided to open negotiations
with foreign houses direct.” Susie’s eyes were bright with triumph.
“Good! Good!” exclaimed the count, as they rose from the table. “I
haven’t enjoyed such a satisfaction for years as that speech affords me.
Go ahead boldly. Upon my honor, I’d rather lose out and out a million
than to see you fail. But you must not fail. I pledge you to that amount
that you _shall_ not,” and he gave Susie his hand. Clara was very
silent, but Susie could not conceal her triumph. It beamed from every
part of her, like the light from a flame.
After dinner they walked through the conservatory, and over the nursery
plantation, where some men were engaged taking young pear-trees from
their “heeling-in” rows, and packing them in bundles for the buyers.
Susie looked at the little wooden labels tied on each tree.
“You wrote these?” she said. The man assented. “They are not written
distinctly enough. Please come to me to-morrow morning and I will give
you models.” She spoke in a low, decided, but respectful tone. The count
noticed everything. He talked with her a great deal, for he was greatly
interested; but he noticed meanwhile every movement of Clara, and joined
her in the walk back to the house, Susie remaining to look after
something that needed attention.
“You are a little troubled, I see,” he said, in a very gentle tone. “I
know exactly the reason. You do not feel so sure of yourself as Madam
Susie does, and you fear I may possibly lose money through your firm. I
wish to reassure you. I am a very cautious man in business. Everything
is favorable here. I admire your partner exceedingly. She is capable of
conducting enterprises to any extent. Let me advise you to trust her
head just as you tell me you do her heart,” and stopping in the walk and
turning his eyes full upon hers, he added, “Believe me sincere when I
say again, I would rather lose money in this woman’s enterprise than
gain any amount in any other. Do not think I could ever regret a loss
incurred here.”
“I do not think you will lose,” she said, “but the new responsibility
weighs upon me a little at first;” and her eyes, that had met his fully
for a moment, fell before the magnetic power of his. That moment decided
the location of the Social Palace. Not a word was spoken, not a glance
that could show that these two were ever to be dearer to each other than
friends; but some subtle movement in the brain destroyed the poise of
nicely-balanced motives, and Oakdale was destined to witness a mighty
enterprise.
The next morning Susie had decided upon a business trip to Boston; but
feeling the importance of her presence at home, she asked Clara to go
instead. Miss Charlotte Delano was to return by the first train, and so
Clara readily assented. That being settled, they talked of the count,
and rejoiced mutually over the prospect of extending their enterprise.
“This day,” said Susie, “atones for all I have suffered—for every tear I
have ever shed. I have been happy many times, but I have never felt the
stimulus of pride. To-day, oh, Clara, my friend, I am both proud and
happy, and my cup is full. Contrast this hour with that when you came to
my room at your father’s. Do you remember? I can scarcely believe I am
the same person. Still, whatever satisfaction I enjoy, whatever prospect
of future happiness, I owe all to your blessed father and you.”
“You will insist upon inflicting me with your gratitude. You make me
ashamed of doing so little. What was it, after all, but a little human
decency? Now, you shall not talk of it. Tell me of the count. He spoke
so admiringly of you. Are you not already in love with him?”
“I don’t know whether I could ever fall in love again. He seems to me
something to be adored by me, not loved, in the common sense; but though
my admiration for him is almost perfect, it will not be quite so, until
he does one thing more.”
“What is that, Susie?”
“Until he wooes and wins Clara,” said Susie.
“Oh, you dear girl! I believe you are capable of anything. If you loved
him, and could do so, you would sacrifice him to me.”
“I would; but there is nothing of that kind to be. We are to be, he and
I, good friends; but Heaven has designed him for you and you for him. I
feel sure of it.”
“Do you forget that you are talking to the legal wife of Dr. Delano?”
asked Clara, with a very confident voice at the beginning, but with
something very like a sigh at the end.
“Oh, well; Fate can tear down a shanty when it has a palace to build.”
The count left in the same train with Miss Charlotte and Clara, and
during the journey an incident occurred which should be mentioned,
because it shows something more of Clara’s nature. On changing cars at
the railroad junction, the two ladies took a seat, the count occupying
the one in front of them, and another gentleman, the one behind. This
gentleman was just putting away a time-table, which Clara politely asked
to see. The gentleman thereupon made some remark, which Clara answered,
and they continued talking for some minutes. Miss Charlotte was a little
shocked at such unconventionality. To her mind, it proved very
conclusively that Clara had no intention of making a soft impression
upon the count, else she would be more careful of her actions. The count
kept on reading his paper, not seeming to notice anything—not even the
fact that the stranger gave Clara his card just before he left the
train, whereupon she promptly returned him hers. Miss Charlotte could
not forbear remarking upon the strange proceeding.
“Why should we treat strangers with suspicion and reserve?” asked Clara.
“It is my ambition to be treated by strangers exactly as one gentleman
treats another; this is Susie’s idea, also, and Miss Marston’s.
Gallantry is a wretched substitute for that respect that comes from the
sense of equality.”
“You are right, madam,” said the count, with great earnestness, as he
folded his paper. “Every such act as this on the part of women, teaches
men a lesson—one they are slow to learn—that women are not necessarily
and by nature simply pretty, dependent dolls, to be flattered and
caressed——”
“And despised,” said Clara. “I have noticed always and without
exception, that the men who bow the lowest before us, pick up our fans,
when dropped, with the greatest alacrity, and make the most adulatory
speeches, are just those who respect us least. I can give you a good
illustration, Miss Charlotte,” continued Clara: “the last time I was in
Boston, as I was passing up Court Street, a poor old apple-woman had her
stand upset. There were many men passing, and I noticed that every one
of the elegant low-bowers, or fan-servants, passed on without the
slightest show of sympathy. One, only, a very young fellow, rather
poorly dressed, I found helping me set up the poor old woman’s stand and
pick up the scattered fruit.”
“Did you give him your card?” asked Miss Charlotte, smiling.
“I did; and allowed him to walk on beside me while I gave him my notions
of a true gentleman; and more, he has written to me twice. His name is
Edward Page. I will show you his pretty, enthusiastic letters; and still
more, Miss Charlotte, when I found he was a poor boy, struggling against
fate alone in Boston, I offered him, with Susie’s consent, of course,
constant employment with Dykes & Delano, and he is coming next week to
take the place.”
“Bravo!” exclaimed the count. “I must beg your pardon, Mrs. Delano, for
believing, heretofore, that Madam Susie had more business capacity than
her partner. You will always choose your assistants wisely. You will
make them devoted to you, and secure faithful work. This is the great
secret of success as a leader of industry.”
“I have been brought up so differently,” said Miss Charlotte. “The talk
of you radicals sounds to me as if it came from another planet; and
still I find I have to agree with you. I confess that when I have, on
the street, refused a courtesy from a stranger, as, for instance, the
offer of an umbrella in a shower, I have always felt a little mean.” The
conversation followed this strain until the train reached Boston; and
then the count left the ladies at the door of the carriage waiting for
Miss Delano.