The summer vacation passed quickly for Polly and Eleanor, and September
came in with wonderful Autumn weather, when riding and mountain-climbing
were just the thing. However, all such outings ended to plan for the
return to New York.
A letter had arrived from Mr. Fabian, in which he spoke of his
delightful visit with his wife and daughter. They had gone to various
places in Europe and England, inspecting and studying all the famous old
works of art, and the ancient buildings that made fitting caskets for
these rare curios.
"When I read this letter, of all Mr. Fabian has done with his Summer, I
feel guilty," said Polly to her friend, Nolla.
"Why should you? We had to rest and drop all idea of study so's to be
fresh for this year's work. Didn't we do it?"
"Yes, we rested, all right, Nolla; but it seems we might have done some
of the work we planned to do, before we left New York. There is that
chest with our colors, paper and other things--we never as much as
unlocked it."
"Polly, I can paint any sort of drapery you want, and in any light or
shadow. I can paint a vase, a chair or a lamp; I can draw a hall, or a
room, or a window. What more do you want? Why should we sit down and
make loads of these things all summer, when we know how to do the work,
already?"
"I don't know, Nolla, except that we ought to practise!"
"Pooh! I'm ready for all the work they want to pile up on me, now and
I'm glad I've been so lazy all summer."
"To tell the truth, Nolla, _I_ am more than ready to work with all my
heart. I feel as if I would dry up if I played any more," admitted
Polly, laughingly.
With this desire to again take up their studies in New York, the girls
left Pebbly Pit the second week in September. By the last of the month,
they were eagerly planning with Mr. Fabian for the new year's school
work in art and decoration.
"I have a pleasant surprise for you, girls," announced Mr. Fabian, after
greetings were exchanged. They all sat under the locust tree in the
little yard of the Studio.
"'On with the dance,'" laughed Eleanor.
"As you know, I landed in New York the first week of September, and
found most of my friends still away in the country. But Mr. Dalken was
in evidence, as ever, eager to offer me his hospitality, until I located
for the Winter.
"We sat in the medieval library of his apartment, and I remarked,
casually, at the unusual size of his rooms.
"'Yes,' replied he. 'That's the advantage of leasing one of the
old-fashioned apartments not so far uptown. One gets the benefit of
being near the center of activities in the city, and at the same time
one can have the great rooms once occupied by the old gentry of the
town.'
"'What a splendid room for gatherings,' I said, never dreaming of his
inspiration.
"'Seeing that you are looking for a suitable room in which to conduct
your little private class of art decorators, why not use this library? I
have all kinds of reference books in the cases and I am so seldom at
home in the early part of the evening that you will be undisturbed.'
"I was astonished, as you may imagine, and I said, 'But, Mr. Dalken, we
couldn't think of using this room and the apartment, without some return
for your kindness.'
"He laughed. 'What do I want of rent or its equivalent? I am only too
glad to do you and those charming students of yours a good turn. You
see, I still owe Polly and Eleanor a great balance which can never be
paid. Were it not for those two girls I would not have a child--even
though I seldom see my little one.'
"I felt that he was so earnest about the offer that I said we would talk
it over with Mr. Ashby and let him judge. Not that I did not see the
advantage of using the rooms, but I wanted an impartial friend of Mr.
Dalken's to decide whether or no he might regret the generous offer,
later; and then not care to tell us that we bothered him with our
regular classes three nights a week.
"So we visited the Ashbys the following evening, and to my amazement,
Mr. Ashby was enthusiastic over the plan. He said: 'Now you've started
out right, Dalk, and to prove how much I think of your offer, I am going
to have Ruth join the class this year--if Mr. Fabian will take her. It
might be rather nice to have Elizabeth join the class, also, even though
she may not show any talent for the work.'
"'Now, Ashby, you must pardon me if I speak frankly,' Mr. Dalken then
said. 'One of the main reasons for Mr. Fabian's resignation from Cooper,
and giving all his valuable time to a small class, is to urge those
talented ones forward. If my little girl, who detests application to
study of any sort, were to join this class, the basic idea would be
ruined. The class would be held back by one delinquent. But I appreciate
your motive in suggesting a way that I might enjoy the companionship of
Elizabeth so often, without the tyranny and incompatibility of her
mother's temper.'
"Mr. Ashby colored, as he thought he had been diplomatic in his hint,"
concluded Mr. Fabian. "So now it is settled that Ruth Ashby joins our
art class, this year, and we will meet at Mr. Dalken's rooms for our
work. That is nice for you girls, as it is only a short walk of a few
blocks from the Studio."
"_Nice_ for us--why, it is just scrumptious!" exclaimed Eleanor.
"And such a wonderful environment as that library, will give us
inspiration, too," added Polly. "I never _did_ see such a kind man as
Mr. Dalken! If I had my way to accomplish it, I'd shower all the joys
and successes in heaven or earth upon his generous heart."
"He _is_ great and good, and it seems as if justice must be sleeping,
when such a man must suffer alone because of a silly moth of a wife. If
he would only hearken to his friends and seek freedom from such galling
bonds! but he doesn't think divorce ever righted a wrong, and he still
hopes he can bring Mrs. Dalken to a sense of her family-obligations and
gratitude, for all she has been so unselfishly given. Poor fellow!" Mr.
Fabian shook his head despondently over their benefactor's future.
"Polly and I never knew what was the trouble in the Dalken family, Mr.
Fabian, but what we have seen and known of our dear friend, I'm sure
that _he_ was never to blame for it," said Eleanor, defensively.
"I never care to gossip or to repeat a story, children, but now I think
you ought to know why Mr. Dalken lives alone so much as he does. If we
are to use his rooms, you must know what a magnificent character he is,
and then should you hear any disagreeable gossip that can be traced to
his wife, you will understand the situation."
"Whatever you say, Mr. Fabian, will never be repeated by either Nolla or
me," promised Polly, solemnly.
"I know it, that is why I feel I ought to tell you.
"Mr. Dalken, as you know, is a descendant of one of the oldest Dutch
Settlers in America. His family, from olden times down to the present
day, were patriotic and loyal Americans. He is as staunch an American as
you will find, anywhere.
"Mrs. Dalken was a poor girl, and not over-brilliant. But Mr. Dalken
admired her prettiness when she was a young miss, and when he was but a
slip of a youth. They went to entertainments together in the small town
where they both lived, and enjoyed each other's company for two or three
years.
"Then the young man went to college and saw the world. He realized how
superficial Amy Lathrop was, and as time went by, he would have
forgotten her completely, had she not kept up her side of the
correspondence. And gradually a suggestive note crept into her letters.
"When his college days were over, young Dalken returned to his
birth-place to settle the country estate that was his. Then he met Amy
again, and she found him so chivalrous that it was an easy matter to
give him to understand that she had waited for him these five
years--that she had been the soul of faithfulness.
"Without consulting his friends, or mentioning the matter to others in
the town, he became engaged to her on the claim from her, that it had so
been understood before he went to college.
"Well, they were married, one day, and then our poor friend's martyrdom
began. Amy Dalken was of no use in anything or in any way. True, she had
two children, but it may have been much better had she never become a
mother. She had no affection for them or the father, and only thought of
spending money and enjoying herself to the utmost.
"Dalken was wealthy before he married Amy, and his alert mind coupled
with his unusual foresightedness in finance soon rolled up fortunes for
him. His wife spent money like water, and was sought after by the
vultures of society--those who fawn and fondle as long as they can get
something out of the victim.
"Mrs. Dalken's balls and bridge-parties were famous--I might say,
notorious--for at the former the extravagance was a matter of newspaper
comment, and at the latter, the stakes were so high that others lifted
their eyebrows at the losses and gains.
"Little Billie Dalken was eighteen months old, and the joy of our good
friend's life, when a dreadful thing happened. Billie was a chubby,
handsome little chap exactly like his father--the same intelligent brown
eyes, the same fine features, and he was unusually clever and large for
his age.
"Mr. Dalken had been called to Washington on business one day, and that
same day his wife was about to give a grand dinner and bridge, later.
There were plenty of servants in the household, but on such an occasion
everyone was busy with the extra work. Billie's own nurse gave him his
supper and was about to put him to bed when she discovered a wheezing
sound in his throat. She feared another attack of croup. She was about
to apply the remedies she knew of, when Mrs. Dalken's maid came to the
nursery.
"'The mistress says you are to go to her at once and I am to sit with
the baby for a while. She wants her head massaged because it aches so!'
"And the nurse answered as she thought proper, 'Go and tell your
mistress that Billie has a bad cold and I must remain to take care of
him.'
"The maid tossed her head and left the room. She hadn't any desire to
remain with a baby, especially if it was wheezing and beginning to
cough. So she may have exaggerated the reply somewhat. However, that did
not excuse Mrs. Dalken from her next act. She was furious and sent the
butler to the nursery to pay off the nurse and see that she left the
house at once!
"Then she sent the parlor-maid to sit in the nursery with the child.
That dinner was a great success, but just before the card-party began,
the maid sent down word that Mrs. Dalken was to come up to the nursery
at once, and see what ailed the baby--he was so red in the face and had
a fever, she said.
"Mrs. Dalken whispered a reply: 'I'll be up as soon as I can get the
tables started.' Then she never gave it another thought.
"Three times during that evening the frightened parlor-maid sent down
for the mother to come up. And three times the hostess smiled and nodded
and then forgot all about the call. Before midnight, the boy began
choking and gagging and the hysterical maid ran back and forth hoping to
find the butler, or someone, who would help in this extremity.
"Every servant in the house was busy serving drinks, cards, or
cigarettes, and none had time to call up a doctor. Then the daring maid
telephoned for a doctor she knew. But he lived so far uptown that it
took half an hour to arrive at the house.
"Before he got there, little Billie Dalken was sleeping in the last long
rest. No one was with him but the parlor-maid when he strangled to
death; but the awful contortions of his face and body showed the
suffering he endured during the convulsions.
"Mr. Dalken came home early in the morning, the Washington business
having been successfully consummated without any loss of time. It was
not yet seven o'clock, but everyone in the house seemed astir. The heavy
fumes of smoke and the aftermath of a riotous night's play were evident
throughout the first floor rooms. He smiled sardonically at it all, then
rushed upstairs two steps at a time to peep at his beloved children.
"Elizabeth was weeping fearfully in her little crib that stood in the
room connecting with the nursery. The moment she saw her father she
screamed with relief.
"'Oh, Daddy! Billie's so twisted and queer--and he won't answer when I
call him.'
"Poor Dalken had a sudden premonition of catastrophe and rushed into the
nursery. He almost collapsed at what he saw there. A strange woman was
about to take up the stiff little form and do for it what a loving
mother should reverently insist upon doing.
"The father, with a broken heart, took his beloved boy and prepared him
for his last resting-place. All through the three days elapsing after
the night of Billie's death, Mrs. Dalken remained locked in her boudoir,
her maid seeing that the smelling salts were handy whenever her lady
called for them. Between the visits of condolence from her intimates,
and the fittings of the deep mourning, the mother was kept too busy to
meet her husband, or watch with the remains of her baby.
"But after the funeral (that also buried most of Dalken's joy in living)
he insisted upon a serious talk with his butterfly wife. She promised
everything, even to giving up her gambling games, if he would but
refrain from the publicity of the cause of Billie's death and the
subsequent separation. She used her sharpest weapon to gain her
point--Elizabeth.
"So several more months went by, but the poor man was a mere
money-machine in his own home. Even his little daughter began to believe
that society was everything, and love or home-ties only a necessity that
interfered with one's pet pleasures and freedom.
"Without consulting her husband, Mrs. Dalken planned to visit Europe
with a party of friends. To keep her grasp on her money-supplier she
took Elizabeth with her. A nurse looked after the girl. She remained
abroad for more than a year, and when she returned she went directly to
a fashionable hotel instead of seeing that her home was reopened in New
York.
"She had ordered everything swathed and packed for the time she was
abroad, and had left but two rooms livable for the owner and master of
the magnificent dwelling.
"Dalken lived there in gloomy sorrow for a few months and finally his
friends insisted upon his going to the Club where he could meet cheerful
companions and stop brooding over his irreparable loss.
"Mrs. Dalken was in no hurry to reopen her home, and all that Winter she
remained at the hotel, while her husband stopped at his club. She
allowed him to call upon her two or three times a week, when others were
present, and she not only accepted all the checks he offered her, but
ran up fearful debts everywhere. He was permitted to take Elizabeth out
at certain times, but Mrs. Dalken was clever enough to keep hold on the
girl, as she knew it was her only hope of keeping her clutch on her
provider.
"Just after the Holidays, that season, she went to Palm Beach, but she
entered Elizabeth in a boarding school out of the city. Dalken tried, in
many ways, to learn where his child was, but he had no success in his
search.
"Then he wired his wife that she must turn over the girl to him while
she was running around, or he would instantly stop her income and sue
her for desertion. Then she came back to New York and took Elizabeth out
of school again, but matters got worse and worse for poor Dalken.
Finally his dear friends, who loved him for what he was and is,
persuaded him to sue for a legal separation. They hoped Mrs. Dalken
would turn over the girl whom she had no natural love for, to the
father, as a hostage.
"But she was a wise woman, by this time. She accepted the separation
without demur, but refused to give up Elizabeth. It was then agreed that
the girl might choose which one of the parents she preferred to live
with. Having had so many years of life with her mother, the girl became
like her--selfish, vain, and arrogant. No love or gratitude was found in
her character.
"Just at this time, Mr. Dalken was taken very ill, and his mother (who
is a dear, you will find, when you meet her) came from England to nurse
him. He was ill for more than a year, so Elizabeth chose to remain with
her mother for the time being.
"Mrs. Dalken, Senior, took her only child back to England with her, as
soon as he could travel, and there she kept him well-nursed and cared
for, in her cousin's English country-house, until he had regained his
strength and fairly good health. Then mother and son went to the
Continent to visit the scenes of the famous battle-fields, and then on
to the Riviera for a month.
"The wise mother knew that taking Mr. Dalken's thoughts from his own
miserable state, and making him think of other's woes, would the sooner
brace him up to face his life-problem. And so it was.
"Elizabeth elected to remain with her frivolous mother but Mr. Dalken
supports her handsomely, and often bribes her to spend an afternoon or
evening with him, by having a valuable gift awaiting her coming. Mr.
Ashby, and other friends, have advised Dalken against this pernicious
way of baiting the inclinations of the girl, but he says they do not
know his heart-hunger, and so cannot judge his actions."
"Oh, Mr. Fabian! Our poor, dear Mr. Dalken!" sobbed Polly, when the
speaker had ended his story.
"If I ever meet that horrid woman I shall tear her hair out, I know I
shall!" wept Eleanor, vehemently.
"If only we could do something, Nolla, to make up to our dear Dalk, for
all his sorrow," sighed Polly, drying her eyes.
"You can love him the more for this story, girls, but do not refer to
it, as he is still tender over his loss."