A TIMELY LESSON IN LOVE
The Forces returned from Europe late in February. They cut their visit
short because Mr. Force's jubilant cablegram to Mr. Bingle drew from
its recipient a reply so curt and effective that there could be no
mistaking his stand in the matter of Kathleen.
Toward the end of the first week in February, Mr. Force cabled:
"Everything smoothed out. Rejoice. Wife keen about K. Insists on having
her with us over here. Send her over at once with Dufresne. Never was
so happy in my life. Force."
The reply was: "Come and get her, but bring your wife with you. Bingle."
"I am not sure that I trust Force," said Mr. Bingle to his wife as they
discussed the banker's message. "Like as not he wants to get the child
over in Europe and leave her there with strangers until she grows up,
or something of the sort. What proof have we that he has told his wife?
How do we know that she is keen about Kathie? She never has been. As a
matter of fact, she brags about her hatred for children. Openly says
she despises 'em. Prefers her dogs and cats, and all such rubbish as
that. No, sir, Mary; I don't pack Kathie off with a strange
Frenchwoman, destined for heaven knows what, and that's all there is to
it. The thing looks fishy to me. Maybe it's, a plot--a dark, cruel plot
to get the child out of the country. If he wants me to believe that
Mrs. Force is keen about Kathie, she'll have to say so herself, in so
many words, and, blame me, Mary, I don't believe I'll let her say 'em
by telegraph either."
"But he is the president of the bank, Thomas," said Mrs. Bingle, as if
that were all that was necessary to put him above suspicion.
"I am not dealing with the president of the bank, my dear," said Mr.
Bingle stiffly. "I am dealing with my next door neighbour, and I have a
mighty poor opinion of him. The boy is waiting. I'll just write an
answer to his cablegram and get it off at once."
The day after they landed in New York, Mr. and Mrs. Force paid a formal
visit to the Bingle mansion. They came out from town by motor, arriving
at four in the afternoon. Mr. Bingle was expecting them. They had
telephoned, saying they could stay but a short time and made it quite
clear that it wouldn't be necessary to serve tea. They were staying in
town for a few days before going on to Florida.
At five o'clock they motored swiftly away from Seawood. The ordeal was
over. Kathleen was to go to Mr. and Mrs. Force. The wife of a "man
called Hinman" was to mother the child of Agnes Glenn.
It was to be very simple and easy for the Forces; like their kind, they
left the hard part of the bargain to Mr. Bingle. He was to tell
Kathleen of the great change that was soon to take place in her life.
He was to tell the happy, loving little girl that she was no longer to
call him daddy, that she was to go and live with the man she feared and
disliked. That was the part of the bargain left to the one who loved
her best of all and who would not have given her an instant's pain for
all the world. He was to deliver her, with scant excuse or explanation,
into the hands of strangers--cold, unfeeling strangers. It would be the
same as saying to the child that he did not care for her any longer,
that he did not love her, that he was willing to give her up to Mr.
Force without so much as a pang of regret. For he could NOT tell her
the truth. She was never to know about the carbolic acid and the days
of starvation. She was only to know that Mr. Force was to be her daddy
from this time forward and that Mr. Bingle could never be anything more
to her than Uncle Tom.
But after he told her, he cried.... Still, they were not to take her
away until the end of the week, and that was five days off.
An unsuspected astuteness in the character of Thomas Singleton Bingle
reveals itself in the declaration, now to be made for the first time in
this present history of the man: he never allowed his wards to look
upon themselves as his own children. They were taught to call him daddy
and to look upon him as a substitute supplied by God to take the place
of a real father, and by the same token Mrs. Bingle became mother to
the brood, but they were safe-guarded against the surprise and shock of
future revelations--revelations that so frequently spoil the lives of
those who have lived in happy ignorance. Mr. Bingle, gentle soul that
he was, had the heart to look ahead in this pleasant game of his. He
saw the cruelty of a too loving deception. He foresaw the desolating
results of a too great faith in chance. So his children were taught to
regard him in the light of a protector who was satisfied to have them
feel that he was under obligations to them instead of the other way
round. It was his joy to be called daddy, and in return for this simple
tribute he lavished upon them all the love and tenderness of a true
father and a great deal of the consideration that a child deserves, but
seldom gets, from its own pre-occupied and self-satisfied parent.
Kathleen knew that she was not the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Bingle. She
had always known that she was the daughter of a Mr. and Mrs. Hinman,
both deceased. In the case of Reginald--and, in a way, Harold
also--there was some uncertainty. As the former advanced in years and
characteristics, it became more and more apparent to Mr. Bingle that
his fifth-born was not of Italian descent, despite the fact that the
authorities at the Foundlings' Home had him down on the records as the
offspring of a Mr. and Mrs. Vanesi, lost in one of the factory fires in
the city of Brooklyn. Mr. Bingle was convinced, as time went on, that
the tags on certain infants had been accidentally misplaced by careless
attendants, and that Reginald's nick-name, bestowed by Frederick and
Wilberforce in their frivolous wisdom, was not so far out of the way as
it might have seemed if he had not been possessed of his own vague
misgivings. They called him Abey. As for Harold, he was unmistakably
Irish, although the hospital people declared that he was German to the
core when Mr. and Mrs. Bingle went there to pick out a healthy Teuton
to add to their collection. They were positive that they wanted a
German baby; nothing else would do, they announced clearly and
positively to the superintendent in charge of the maternity ward. The
superintendent was most gracious about it. She said they could return
little Fritz if he didn't come up to the mark in every particular. What
more could a German fancier desire than a child whose name alone stood
for all that one could possibly seek in Teutonic research? Fritz
Bumbleburg:--that was the infant's name and his father's name before
him. Surely Mr. Bingle wouldn't demand anything more German than that.
Moreover, Fritz's mother was German-American and she had been the wife
of Fritz's father for a matter of five years or more. Still, in spite
of all this, Fritz (re-christened Harold while he was still too young
to raise a voice in protest) was unmistakably Irish, or at least part
Irish. It is also worthy of note that Mrs. Bumbleburg ran away with an
Irish policeman some weeks after the infant Fritz's advent into the
world, which would go to show that the mother, at any rate, had Celtic
inclinations if nothing more.
Kathleen took it very hard at first. She was inconsolable until the
desperate Bingle began to dilate upon the wonders of Florida. Miss
Fairweather was called in to corroborate all that they had to say about
the gorgeousness of that southern fairyland, and as a group they did
very well when one stops to consider that not one of them had ever been
south of Washington, D. C. The child cheered up a bit. She began to
take some interest in the matter of dress. Following that, she revealed
considerable enthusiasm over the prospect of going south in a private
car with a personal maid of her own, and could have a change of frock
twice a day for a week at a stretch, to say nothing of being allowed to
eat in the public dining-car if it pleased her to do so. That thing of
eating in the dining-car was a master-stroke on the part of Bingle. It
was the greatest inducement he could have offered to the child in
support of the claim that she ought to be the happiest creature on
earth, going away with Mr. and Mrs. Force like this.
Frederick and Wilberforce openly declared--in the presence of Mr. and
Mrs. Bingle--that you bet they'd go in a minute if they had the chance
to see the land where Melissa's pirates and smugglers did most of their
plundering--an attitude that created an unhappy half-hour for Melissa
later on in the day. Any one else but Melissa would have received her
walking-papers.
The frocks, the personal maid, the prospect of the dining-car and the
assurance that it wouldn't be necessary to call Mr. Force "daddy" until
she became a little more accustomed to seeing him around, brought
Kathleen to a proper way of thinking. She became quite eager to go!
"Well," said Mr. Bingle to his wife, after the storm, "I fancy we'd
better make an appointment with Rouquin as soon as possible. I am
really quite enthusiastic, my dear, over that idea of yours to have a
cute little French baby. The sooner we get it the better, I say. It is
going to be pretty lonesome for awhile. Somehow I hope we find one that
cries a good deal. It would cheer us up considerably, I'm sure, if we
had something like that to annoy us, especially at night. We shall
probably lie awake anyhow."
Frederick was causing them no little anxiety. The boy wasn't eating
well. He was beginning to look a bit peaked. Dr. Fiddler was puzzled.
He could not discover anything wrong, and yet could not account for the
listlessness that had come over the lad during the past few weeks.
As a matter of fact, Frederick was in love--quite desperately in love.
The object of his adoration was the beautiful Miss Fairweather. No
doctor in the world could have properly diagnosed the youngster's case,
for the simple reason that Frederick's disease was a perfectly healthy
one, and when you confront a doctor with anything in the nature of
health you stump him completely. He doesn't know what to do about it.
Nevertheless, Dr. Fiddler--being a great man and entirely ignorant of
Frederick's complaint--gave him castor oil.
Now this same Dr. Fiddler undoubtedly had been in love at the tender
age of twelve. What man is there to-day who was not desperately
afflicted at that age, and who is there among us that has forgotten the
experience? Who is there among us, past the age of thirty, who cannot
tell without an instant's hesitation, the name of the mature young lady
who first assailed his susceptibilities? Who can honestly say that he
doesn't remember the school-teacher, or the choir-singer who taught the
Sunday-school class, or the lady who came to visit mother and went away
engaged to a friend of father's, or the nurse who queened it over the
house when mother was ill and who devoted entirely too much time to the
new baby? There is always one full-grown, lamentably old young lady in
the life of every boy, and her name is imperishable. It is invariably
MISS Somebody-or-other. No man can recall the Christian name of his
first love for the very good reason that he never knew it. The
universal lady is always MISS So-and-so. Even the most ardent of
twelve-year-olds never forgets that his heart's desire is a lady whose
years demand the most respectful consideration. Dr. Fiddler, having
loved and lost, should have appreciated the tender passion that took
away Frederick's appetite and made of him a melancholy sufferer. What
Frederick needed was the moral support of a physician who would
recommend and supply a quick and deadly poison with which Mr. Richard
Flanders could be permanently squashed.
Melissa was his only friend and comforter. The children, and the
servants who were not too busily engaged with their own affairs, openly
scoffed at the love-sick young gentleman. Wilberforce sustained a
bloody nose in retaliation and Watson, being a special offender, met
with a painful and unaccountable accident one day while passing between
the kitchen and the milk-house. A full-sized brick dropped from heaven
knows where--(it must have come from heaven judging by the way it
felt)--and as Watson's hat happened to be directly in the path of its
descent the unfortunate footman was unable to tease Frederick for the
better part of two days immediately thereafter and had to have six
stitches taken in his head besides. Oddly enough, the only place from
which a brick was found to be missing was in the walk leading to the
stables, and Butts, being a thrifty soul, filled up the vacant spot
with the heaven-sent substitute, having found on investigation that it
fitted the vacuum perfectly. It was Melissa who kept Watson from taking
out a warrant for young Master Frederick. She spoke very sharply to the
damaged footman about something that had completely escaped the notice
of Mr. Bingle, who, being no smoker, wouldn't have missed them if
Watson had taken a whole handful of cigars a day instead of two or
three twice a week the year round.
The privileged maid had read love stories from the time she was ten
years old up to the beginning of her affair with Diggs the butler. The
pleasant discovery that the mighty Diggs had taken a shine to her quite
destroyed all of her interest in romance as it is written. She was not
long in finding out that the people who write love-stories are not to
be depended upon for accuracy in the depiction of passion. Diggs gave
her an entirely new idea of manly devotion. Instead of adhering to the
well-known and well-preserved formulas set down by the fictionists he
behaved in a perfectly astonishing manner. He became acutely bashful
and apprehensive, so much so, in fact, that for a while Melissa
imagined that Mr. Bingle had given him notice because of the mistletoe
episode on Christmas Eve. The poor fellow seemed to be dodging her all
the time. And when she came upon him suddenly or unexpectedly he always
began winding his watch and talking about the extraordinary resemblance
she bore to a girl he had once known in England. The shock, therefore,
was tremendous when Diggs asked her if she thought she could ever learn
to care for him in THAT way. It was almost a week before Melissa could
think of an answer to this astonishing question. It was "yes."
And so, having but recently suffered the surprise of her life, Melissa
rushed to the succour of young Frederick. She whispered words of
encouragement into the ear of the despairing youngster, and urged him
to stand by his guns.
"You never can tell what is going to happen," she said. "Look at me,
for instance. What could have been more miraculous than the thing that
happened to me, Freddie? Who could have ever dreamed of Mr. Diggs
falling in love with me? An important person like him falling heels
over head in love with the likes of me! Can you beat it? Well, that's
what I mean when I say you never can tell. You just keep a stiff upper
lip, Freddie--and grow a little, of course--and it wouldn't surprise me
in the least if you conquered the proud Miss Fairweather's haughty
heart. Nothing--NOTHING on God's earth would surprise me now. Go in and
win, Freddie. Of course, she is about twelve years older'n you are at
present, but as time goes on she'll be getting younger. We always do.
By the time you are thirty you will have caught up to her, I can tell
you that. Take Mr. Diggs, for instance; he thinks I am only twenty-six.
He says it's a crime for a man of his age--he's thirty-seven--to be
making eyes at a soft young thing like me. He knows I'm only
twenty-six, but what he don't know is that I was born nearly ten years
before he even starts to counting. Now, in a very few years you will be
twenty. Well, by that time she will be only eight years older than you
are. You see, women don't put on years as rapidly as men. It's a
peculiar trick of nature. I don't suppose there is another living
creature in all God's dominion that lives as long as a woman does
before it can get past thirty. Take Miss Stokes, the nurse, for
instance. She's been nearly nine years going from twenty-seven to
twenty-nine. So there you are. You just keep on growing up,
Freddie--you needn't hurry, either--putting on a year every twelve
months, and before you know it you'll be six months older than Miss
Fairweather. Then--"
"Yes, but how about this big Flanders?" protested Frederick. "He's
already grown-up and--"
"Nothing to it," said Melissa, "He hasn't got any money. He can't give
her diamonds and fine raiment. He's got to ask her to wait till he's
able to marry, hasn't he? Well, while she's about it, why shouldn't she
wait for you? It all amounts to the same thing. You'll be able to marry
her just as soon as he is. Now, don't be discouraged. Cheer up."
"You're awfully good, Melissa," said Frederick gloomily.
"And what's more, don't let 'em guy you about her. Mr. Diggs don't let
any one guy him about me, you can bet. And say, if you can manage to
sneak one of Mr. Bingle's razors out of his room some day, I'll shave
you. There's nothing like getting your whiskers started early."
"Gee, Melissa, will you?"
"Like a shot. Let me feel your chin. Why, I swear to goodness, there's
something there already. It's--"
"Honest, Melissa? Do you really mean it? I thought it was only fuzz."
"Fuzz your granny," said Melissa stoutly. "In a couple of months you
could get a beard like a billy goat if you shaved regular."
"I don't want chin whiskers. I want a moustache."
"And in the meantime," went on Melissa with rare diplomacy, "you may
see some one else that you like better than Miss Fairweather. That very
frequently happens to a fellow when he's busy trying to get a beard."
"Do you think she likes Mr. Flanders, Melissa?" A great deal depended
on her answer. That was to be seen by the expression in his young blue
eyes.
"Certainly," said she promptly. "Everybody likes him. I like him. So
does your ma and so does your pa. That's nothing to go by. Why, I'll
bet you like him yourself. He's a fine fellow."
"Do you think he's very good looking?"
"In a way, yes," said Melissa, musingly. "I shouldn't call him quite
perfect, however."
"Do you think he's as good-looking as Diggs?"
"I used to think so, but--Now, that reminds me: if you ever say a word
to anybody about Mr. Diggs and me being enamoured of each other, I'll
have nothing more to do with you--not a thing, d'you understand? It's a
secret. Your pa and ma are not to know about it until we get ready to
announce our engagement."
"I'll never tell," promised the young lover.
"And here's another thing: Don't you ever let on to Mr. Diggs that I'm
over twenty-six. If you do, I'll tell your pa that you're using his
razor, and--well, say, that would be a mortification for you. Miss
Fairweather would never get over laughing at you. Do you know, I'm
awfully sorry for Mr. Flanders. He is a fine fellow, and it will break
his heart if you get her away from him, Freddie. It seems too bad for a
rich young gentleman like you to be pitted against a poor, struggling
newspaper man whose heart is afire with--"
"Oh, gee, Melissa, don't talk like that," cried Frederick in distress.
"I DO like him, and I don't want him to ever be unhappy."
"That's the way to talk," she cried warmly. "That's regular nobility.
Let's give him an equal chance, Freddie. If he can win, all well and
good. We'll take our medicine. If he loses, why he can take his."
"I wish I was as old as he is," mourned Frederick.
"Poor fellow," sighed Melissa, wiping an imaginary tear from her eye.
"I DO feel sorry for him. I hate to see a fine, honourable gentleman's
heart busted as you are likely to bust his for--"
"Oh, goodness!" gulped Frederick, his soul filled with pity for the
unfortunate Flanders. He suppressed a sniffle, and then, after a moment
consumed in re-ordering his emotions, went on brightly: "Of course, if
she loves him, Melissa, I shall be the first to wish him joy. That's
the kind of fellow I am."
"I wonder," mused Melissa, "if that's the kind of a fellow he'd be if
some other fellow won his lady love away from him in a fair contest?"
It so happened that Mr. Flanders placed a diamond-ring upon the third
finger of Miss Fairweather's left hand that same afternoon, and it also
happened that the starry-eyed young lady submitted to a tender embrace
immediately afterward. But a fortnight passed before Frederick, pale
and wan with the anguish that lay in his young soul, could command the
courage to go up to his big rival and wish him joy. For two weeks his
heart had bled, for, be it also recorded, young Frederick happened to
be lurking unseen in the library when the ring was passed. He saw the
big man take the slim, adored princess in his arms, and he saw her face
upturned to greet the lips that came down to meet her's in--Alas! Poor
Frederick!
Right bravely he accosted Mr. Flanders one day as the brisk young man
came swinging up the drive on his way from the railway station.
Flanders usually came at three in the afternoon. This habit was known
to Frederick. He also knew that the tall conqueror spent an hour with
Mr. Bingle before Miss Fairweather descended from the school-room. In
fact, every movement of Mr. Flanders from the instant he appeared on
the estate to the moment he left it in a dash for the train, was known
to the small victim of the green-eyed devil.
On this momentous occasion he resolutely laid in wait for Mr. Flanders
near the lodge-gates. He had steeled himself against the bitterest
moment in his life.
"Hello," he said, suddenly stepping out of the shrubbery and
confronting the pedestrian, who brought himself up with a jerk.
"Hello," said Richard. "Getting the air?"
"I want to speak to you, Mr. Flanders," said Frederick, with immense
gravity.
"Come along then, lad, because I'm in a rush. I have to catch the
five-ten in to-day."
"I wish you wouldn't take such long steps." Flanders obligingly reduced
his stride so that the boy was not forced to run to keep up with him.
"I cut lessons, sir, to have a word with you. I just want to wish you
good luck and joy, Mr. Flanders. You have won the heart and hand of the
fairest lady in the land."
Flanders stopped in his tracks. "I say, youngster, that's--that's
corking of you." He was blushing. "I had no idea that you children were
on to us, so to speak. Thank you, Freddie."
"I have been on to you, Mr. Flanders, from the beginning. She is the
loveliest lady--" he swallowed hard--"in the world, and I just wanted
to tell you that if you don't treat her well I'll--I'll--well, you'll
see."
Flanders was not smiling. He understood boys. He laid his big hand on
the little fellow's sturdy shoulder and said, very seriously:
"I consider myself most fortunate, old chap, in having the advantage of
you in years. If you were my own age, I should have stood small chance
of winning the loveliest lady in the world. Shake hands, Freddie. I
shall treat her well, my lad. If I fail in any particular I hope you'll
take a shot at me on sight. I'm sorry, too, my boy."
"That's all right, Mr. Flanders," said Frederick bravely. "I bend the
knee to a worthy rival, sir. I--I--" The words trailed off into
indistinct murmurings, for he had completely forgotten the rest of the
high-sounding sentences supplied for this very encounter by the helpful
Melissa. She had written them out for him and he had learned them by
heart. And now they failed him!
Flanders allowed his grip to tighten on the boy's shoulder. "You will
get over it, Freddie. I had a similar affliction when I was your age.
It was pretty rough, but I pulled through."
"I shall never love any one else, Mr. Flanders," said Frederick
solemnly. "I shall never be untrue to her."
"Well, it's fine of you to take it in such a manly fashion, old chap.
It's great. Not many fellows could have done what you've done. I'm sure
I couldn't. It took grit to come out here and tell me this. Shake hands
again, my boy. And I now promise that I shall keep her happy if it lies
in the power of a human being to do so. You may depend upon it,
Freddie."
"Thank you, Mr. Flanders. I have great confidence in you. I trust you.
If you should ever require the support of a strong and willing henchman
in time of dire trouble or conflict with merciless--merciless--" He
stopped in distress. Once more Melissa's well-turned sentences went
back on him. For the life of him, he couldn't remember the
all-important noun.
"Scoundrels," supplied Mr. Flanders kindly.
"No, that isn't the word," said Frederick, thinking hard.
"Merciless--merciless--Oh, yes--renegades! If you should ever require
the support of a strong and--"
"All right," cried Flanders. "I understand. I'll call on you, you may
be sure."
"There was something more I wanted to say, but the--the words don't
seem to come as they ought to."
"It's this beastly weather," said Flanders. "I never can think well in
cold weather. I seem to freeze up."
Frederick was relieved. "I guess maybe that's it. When are you going to
marry her?" The last was a genuine, unrehearsed inquiry and completely
summed up the situation so far as he was concerned.
"It isn't quite settled. A great deal depends on circumstances."
"Money?"
"In a way, yes."
"What does she say about it? Is she willing to wait eight or ten years
for you?"
"She says she will wait forever," said Flanders, a bit puzzled by the
new turn.
"Well, that's all right, then," said Frederick and to Richard's
amazement he squared his shoulders and heaved a long sigh, as of
relief. "Excuse me, please, I've got to hustle. Melissa--" He stopped
in painful confusion. It had been on the tip of his ingenuous tongue to
blurt out something that would have spoiled all that had gone before.
It had to do with Melissa's present whereabouts and her oft-repeated
claim that if Flanders kept Miss Fairweather waiting long enough he'd
lose her, sure as a shot!
An amazing thing happened to Frederick that evening, just before
bedtime. Miss Fairweather kissed him sweetly, not once but thrice, full
on the lips, and told him that he was the nicest little boy in all the
world.