Hiram Meeker had erected an entire block of buildings, which he called
'model houses for the poor.'
By this observation the reader must not suppose I mean that they were
provided _gratis_ for that ever-present class. No. But they were made on
a new plan, so as to give each family comfortable quarters, as if each
had a house of their own.
Hiram Meeker received great credit for the 'act of benevolence' in
building these homes for poor people. Doubtless it was a very great
improvement over the old arrangement. Still, Hiram's block of buildings
netted him just fifteen per cent. per annum, after deducting all
possible charges and expenses against the property.
To secure such a handsome return, there had, of course, to be very
strict and careful management. Hiram's agent in this department was a
man entirely satisfactory to him, and with whom he never interfered.
Frequent complaints were made of this man's severity, to which Hiram
would pay no attention. It was impossible for him to look after all the
details of his various affairs. An agent once appointed, people must
transact their business with him.
This was reasonable, as a rule; but Hiram's iniquity was displayed in
the nature of the men whom he selected to manage for him. You see he
placed exacting and relentless folks in charge, and then tried to avoid
the responsibility of their acts of severity.
One day, a few weeks after the circumstances recorded in the last
chapter, Hiram was seated in his inner and very private office, outside
of which was his regular office, where was his confidential clerk; and
beyond that the counting room of the princely house of 'Hiram
Meeker'--for he admitted no partners--which several rooms were protected
against persons having no business to transact with the house, but who
wished to see Mr. Meeker personally.
This class found entrance very difficult. They had first to announce the
nature of their business. If it required personal attention, they were
introduced to a species of general agent, who was high in Mr. Meeker's
confidence. If this last character was satisfied, then an interview
could be had with the great man himself.
I say, one day Hiram was seated in his most private apartment, quite
alone. He was engaged in calculations for some large real-estate
improvements involving an outlay of at least a million of dollars. He
had given orders not to be interrupted, and was deeply absorbed in his
plans, when the door opened, and a young man came in with a quick step.
Hiram did not look up. He supposed it was some one connected with the
establishment.
'Is this Mr. Meeker?' was asked, in a vigorous, earnest voice.
Hiram raised his head, and beheld an individual apparently
five-and-twenty, dressed rather carelessly, but in the manner of a
gentleman. He was of goodly proportions, and had dark hair, a clear
complexion, and keen gray eyes.
Hiram made no reply to the question, except to ask, 'What is your name?'
'Dr. Ephraim Peters,' said the young man with the sparkling gray eyes.
'Who admitted you?' continued Hiram.
'I had a pressing errand of life and death, and could not wait for a
formal presentation.'
'What is your business?'
Dr. Peters took a seat with considerable deliberation, while Hiram
waited, with a displeased look, for him to reply.
'You are the owner of the block of 'model houses,' as they are called?'
Hiram nodded.
'A patient of mine, a laboring man, is one of your tenants. He broke his
leg a few months ago, falling from a scaffolding. He has had hard work
to live since. Thursday his wife was taken ill. Yesterday was rent
day--he pays monthly in advance. He could not get the money, and your
agent refuses to give him any grace. Now what I want to say is, the poor
woman can't be moved without danger to her life.'
'Well?'
'Well,' echoed the other, 'I want to get an order from you to let her
remain.'
'See the agent.'
'I have seen him; and, what is more, although I am poor enough
myself--for I am just starting, you see, in New York--I offered to pawn
my watch and pay the rent myself, but the man would not take it.'
'No?'
'No, he would not. He said they had gone over the time, and he did not
want tenants who depended on charity to pay rent; besides he said he was
afraid the woman was going to die, and he did not want a death in the
building--it would give it a bad name.'
The young man paused, with the air of one who had made a successful
argument, and was waiting for an auspicious result.
The only notice Hiram took of him was to say, in a decided tone, as he
resumed his calculations, 'I can't interfere.'
'CAN'T interfere!' said the other, with naive astonishment.
'Why, what do you mean? It will kill the woman, I tell you! You _must_
interfere.'
'Young man, you forget yourself. I repeat, go to the agent. I shall not
interfere.'
'Well, well,' said the young physician, rising, 'I have heard of hard
hearts and cruel men who grind the faces of the poor, but you are the
first I have seen. I don't envy you, though. I would not stand in your
shoes for a good deal.'
While Dr. Ephraim Peters was delivering himself of the above, Hiram had
struck a small bell which stood before him, and a young man entered in
response to the summons just as the doctor concluded.
'Holmes, send for a policeman.'
'Yes, sir.' And Holmes withdrew to execute the commission.
'Do you mean that for me?' exclaimed the young doctor, choking with
passion, while the gray eyes flashed dangerously.
Hiram made no reply, but occupied himself intently with the figures
before him.
'I say,' said the other, in a louder tone, 'do you mean that for me? I
suppose you do, and I have half a mind that the errand shall not be for
nothing. Yes, I have _more_ than half a mind to break every bone in your
worthless body!'
He looked at that moment, with his clenched hand, erect figure, and
energetic presence, quite capable of carrying out the threat.
Still, Hiram paid not the slightest attention to this demonstration, but
worked at his figures, more abstracted than ever. He knew it was merely
a matter of time; the policeman would arrive in two or three minutes,
and, as he hoped, would catch the doctor in the midst of his violent
outburst of passion.
On the other hand, our young hero soon discovered that he was to get no
satisfaction from his antagonist, as he now considered him, by the
course he was pursuing. He, too, began to count the moments--well aware
that he had not much time to spare.
He determined to change his tactics.
'After all,' he exclaimed, in a deliberate tone, 'I will not give you
the chance for a case of assault and battery. I think better of the
whole matter. Nature is slower, to be sure, but she will do the work
better than I could. Do you know what an advantage I have over you? I am
twenty-five, and you fifty-five. Money cannot buy back those thirty
years. That's about all I have to say.
'Not quite, either,' he continued, still more deliberately. 'I am a
medical man, accustomed to judge of a person's condition by observation.
Do you want me to tell you what is the matter with you?'
Dr. Ephraim Peters paused, as if for a reply.
A natural instinct, which acts without our volition, took such sudden
possession of Hiram, that he raised his eyes from his papers and turned
them upon the questioner, as if expecting him to continue.
'I see the subject interests you,' said the doctor. 'Take my advice. Sit
over your papers less, and exercise more--or you will be struck with
paralysis within five years! Good-day.'
He turned and quitted the apartment with a slow and dignified step.
As he advanced a little way along the street, he encountered Holmes,
still in search of a police officer.
He had been at two or three places where one was always visible; but,
as usual when wanted, none were to be found.
'Holmes,' said the doctor, addressing him as if he had known him all his
life, 'hurry back to your employer; he wants you particularly.'
Holmes sped off at the word, delighted to be relieved in his search; and
Dr. Ephraim Peters went on his way.
He was not mistaken as to the effect of the last attack. His chance shot
struck Hiram amidships. The latter continued gazing on vacancy for a
moment or two after the doctor had left the room.
'Paralysis--paralysis!' he muttered. 'That is what killed mother!'
Hiram started up, and walked across the room. He pinched his arms and
his legs, and both his cheeks. He fancied his left side had less
sensibility than his right.
"My brain _is_ overworked, that's a fact. Dr. Joslin has told me so
frequently. I must ride every morning before breakfast; I ought not to
have neglected it. Paralysis! how did he come to say paralysis?'--and he
commenced pinching himself again."
In the midst of these demonstrations, Holmes entered.
Hiram turned on him angrily. He had forgotten about sending him for a
police officer.
'I thought you wanted me,' said the young man, timidly.
'No, I do not!'
Holmes retreated.
Hiram Meeker put on his overcoat, took his hat, and, though still early,
prepared to walk all the way to his house.
One thing was uppermost in his mind--paralysis!
* * * * *
Hiram reached his house in a very pious state of mind.
His wife and Belle were both out, and he went immediately to Harriet's
room.
She was delighted to welcome her father so early, and she told him so.
Hiram regarded the attenuated form and pale, thin face of his daughter,
and I hope I am right in saying that he felt a touch of pity when he
reflected on her distressed situation, shut out from the world, and
slowly wasting away.
At any rate, he returned her greeting with more than ordinary kindness,
and seated himself by the side of the couch where she was reclining.
[Had you the power to look into the HEART, even as the
Omniscient regards it, which, think you, would most challenge your pity,
Hiram or his daughter?]
'I fear you are lonely, Harriet, so much of the day by yourself.'
'Not very lonely, papa. You know I have a good many visits, and Margaret
(the nurse) is invaluable. She reads to me whenever I desire; and she is
so cheerful always, that--'
'Has your Uncle Frank been here to-day?' interrupted Hiram.
'No, papa, but he is coming in to-morrow.'
'What time, think you?'
'Uncle generally comes about six o'clock. He says he reserves his last
visit before dinner for me.'
'Ask him to dine with us. Tell him I want to see him particularly.'
'Indeed, I will!' said Harriet, joyfully, for she knew there was not
much cordiality between them.
Now Hiram had suddenly conceived the idea of consulting Doctor Frank
about any latent tendency to paralysis in his constitution, and whether
it was hereditary or not, and so forth, and so forth. Aside from his
high reputation as a physician, he knew his brother could naturally
judge better about that than any one else. His mind, had wandered,
therefore, from his daughter back to himself.
Fortunately, she did not understand the selfish nature of the
interruption.
'I wish you would come home as early every day, papa. How little you
are with us!'
'It is a great self-denial, my child--very great,' responded Hiram; 'but
on the rich fall a heavy responsibility--very heavy--and I must bear it.
Providence has so ordered. We must uphold society. We have to sustain
law and order--law and order.'
He should have said that it was law and order which sustained _him_.
[Ah, reader, it is a mighty _moral restraint_ which makes the crowd wait
patiently _outside_.]
Harriet heaved a deep sigh. She could not deny what her father had so
pertinently expressed, yet these high-sounding words made no impression
on her.
'Alas!' she said, mournfully, ' if I were a man, I should never wish to
be rich.'
Hiram was preparing to make a harsh reply, but, looking at his daughter,
her wan features at that moment were so expressive of every finer
feeling, that his baser nature was subdued before it.
He took her hand kindly, and said, with a smile, 'My dear child, you
know nothing about these things.'
'I suppose not, papa; but I have made you smile, and that is worth
something.'
The interview was not prolonged. Hiram soon felt a restless feeling come
over him. It occurred to him, just then, that he would have time before
dinner to take a look at the locality which he was preparing to occupy
for his real-estate improvements.
He told Harriet so, and repeating his request that she should induce her
uncle to stay to dinner, he left her apartment.
As the door closed, his daughter sighed again. For a while she appeared
to be absorbed in thought. Recovering, she directed the nurse to proceed
with the book she had in reading.
We dare not inquire what was passing in her mind during those few
moments of reflection. Perhaps, through that strange discrimination
which is sometimes permitted to those appointed to die, she had a
partial insight into her father's real nature.
I trust not. I hope she was spared that trial. It is an awful thing for
a child to awaken to a sense of a parent's unworthiness!