HAVOC
The town ran, in its lower part, to the grimy water-front, where there
was ever a noise of the unloading of ships, the shouts of teamsters, and
the clatter of dray-horses' big hoofs on bare cobblestones. Ken liked to
walk there, even on such a dreary March day as this, when the horses
splashed through puddles, and the funnels of the steamers dripped
sootily black. He had left Felicia in the garden, investigating the
first promise of green under the leaf-coverlet of the perennial bed.
Kirk was with her, questing joyously down the brick path, and breathing
the warm, wet smell of the waking earth.
Ken struck down to the docks; even before he reached the last dingy
street he could see the tall masts of a sailing-ship rising above the
warehouse roofs. It was with a quickened beat of the heart that he ran
the last few steps, and saw her in all her quiet dignity--the
_Celestine_, four-masted schooner. It was not often that sailing vessels
came into this port. Most of the shipping consisted of tugs with their
barges, high black freighters, rust-streaked; and casual tramp steamers
battered by every wind from St. John's to Torres Straits. The
_Celestine_ was, herself, far from being a pleasure yacht. Her bluff
bows were salt-rimed and her decks bleached and weather-bitten. But she
towered above her steam-driven companions with such stalwart grace, such
simple perfection, that Ken caught his breath, looking at her.
The gang-plank was out, for she lay warped in to one of the wharves, and
Ken went aboard and leaned at the rail beside a square man in a black
jersey, who chewed tobacco and squinted observantly at the dock. From
this person, at first inclined to be taciturn, Ken learned that the
_Celestine_ was sailing the next night, bound for Rio de Janeiro, "and
mebbe further." Rio de Janeiro! And here she lay quietly at the slimy
wharf, beyond which the gray northern town rose in a smoky huddle of
chimney-pots.
Behind Ken, some of the crew began hoisting the foresail to dry. He
heard the rhythmic squeak of the halliards through the sheaves, and the
scrape of the gaff going up.
"Go 'n lend 'em a hand, boy, since yer so gone on it," the jerseyed one
recommended quite understandingly. So Ken went and hauled at a rope, and
watched the great expanse of sodden gray canvas rise and shiver and
straighten into a dark square against the sky. He imagined himself one
of the crew of the _Celestine_, hoisting the foresail in a South
American port.
"I'd love to roll to Rio
Some day before I'm old..."
The sail rose steadily to the unsung chorus. Ken was quite happy.
He walked all the way home--it was a long walk--with his head full of
plans for a seafaring life, and his nostrils still filled with the
strange, fascinating, composite smell of the docks.
Felicia met him at the gate. She looked quite done for, he thought, and
she caught his sleeve.
"Where _have_ you been?" she said, with a queer little excited hitch in
her voice. "I've been almost wild, waiting for you. Mother's headache
is horribly worse; she's gone to bed. A letter came this morning, I
don't know what, but I think it has something to do with her being so
ill. She simply cries and cries--a frightening sort of crying--and says,
'I can't--can't!' and wants Father to tell her what to do."
They were in the hall by this time.
"Wants _Father_!" Ken said gravely. "Have you got the doctor, Phil?"
"Not yet; I wanted to ask you."
"Get him--quick."
Ken ran upstairs. Halfway, he tumbled over something crouched beside the
banisters. It was Kirk, quite wretched. He caught Ken's ankle.
"Mother's crying," he said; "I can hear her. Oh, _do_ something, Ken!"
"I'm going to," said his brother. "Don't sit here in the dark and make
yourself miserable."
He recollected that the landing was no darker for Kirk than any other
place, and added: "You're apt to be stepped on here--I nearly smashed
you. Hop along and tell Maggie that I'm as hungry as an ostrich." But
however hungry Ken may have been as he trudged home from the docks, he
was not so now. A cold terror seized him as he leaned above his mother,
who could not, indeed, stop her tears, nor tell him more than that she
could not bear it, she could not. Ken had never before felt quite so
helpless. He wished, as much as she, that his father were there to tell
them what to do--his tall, quiet father, who had always counseled so
well. He breathed a great thankful sigh when the doctor came in, with
Felicia, white faced, peeping beside his shoulder. Ken said, "I'm glad
you'll take charge, sir," and slipped out.
He and Felicia stood in Kirk's room, silently, and after what seemed an
eternity, the doctor came out, tapping the back of his hand with his
glasses. He informed them, with professional lack of emotion, that their
mother was suffering from a complete nervous breakdown, from which it
might take her months to recover.
"Evidently," said he, "she has been anxious over something, previous to
this, but some definite shock must have caused the final collapse."
He was a little man, and he spoke drily, with a maddening deliberation.
"There was a letter--this morning," Felicia said, faintly.
"It might be well to find the letter, in order to ascertain the exact
nature of the shock," said the doctor.
Ken went to his mother's room and searched her desk. He came back
presently with a legal envelop, and his face was blank and half
uncomprehending. The doctor took the paper from him and skimmed the
contents.
"Ah--_hm_. 'United Stock ... the mine having practically run out ... war
causing further depreciation ... regret to inform you, ... _hm_, yes. My
dear young people, it appears from this that your mother has lost a good
deal of money--possibly all her money. I should advise your seeing her
attorney at once. Undoubtedly he will be able to make a satisfactory
adjustment."
He handed the paper back to Ken, who took it mechanically. Then, with
the information that it would be necessary for their mother to go to a
sanatorium to recuperate, and that he would send them a most capable
nurse immediately, the doctor slipped out--a neat little figure,
stepping along lightly on his toes. "Can you think straight, Ken?"
Felicia said, later, in the first breathing pause after the doctor's
departure and the arrival of the brisk young woman who took possession
of the entire house as soon as she stepped over the threshold.
"I'm trying to," Ken replied, slowly. He began counting vaguely on his
fingers. "It means Mother's got to go away to a nervous sanatorium
place. It means we're poor. Phil, we may have to--I don't know what."
"What do they do with people who have no money?" Felicia asked dismally.
"They send them to the poor-farm or something, don't they?"
"Don't talk utter bosh, Phil! As if I'd ever let you or Kirk go to the
poor-farm!"
"Kirk!" Felicia murmured. "Suppose they took him away! They might, you
know--the State, and send him to one of those institutions!"
"Oh, drop it!" snapped Ken. "We don't even know how much money it is
Mother's lost. I don't suppose she had it all in this bally mine. Who
_is_ her attorney, anyway!"
"Mr. Dodge,--don't you remember? Nice, with a pink face and bristly
hair. He came here long ago about Daddy's business."
There was a swift rush of feet on the stairs, a pause in the hallway,
and Kirk appeared at the door.
"I told Maggie," said he, "and supper's ready. And what's _specially_
nice is the toast, because I made it myself--only Norah told me when it
was done."
Ken and Felicia looked at one another, and wondered how much supper they
could eat. Then Ken swung Kirk to his shoulder, and said:
"All right, old boy, we'll come and eat your toast."
"Is the crackly lady taking care of Mother?" Kirk asked over a piece of
his famous toast, as they sat at supper.
"Yes," said Felicia. "Her name's Miss McClough. Why, did you meet her?"
"She said, 'Don't sit in people's way when you see they're in a hurry,'"
said Kirk, somewhat grieved. "_I_ didn't know she was coming. I don't
think I like her much. Her dress creaks, and she smells like the
drug-store."
"She can't help that," said Ken; "she's taking good care of Mother. And
I told you the stairway was no place to sit, didn't I!"
"I've managed to find out _something_," Ken told Felicia, next day, as he
came downstairs. "Mother would talk about it, in spite of Miss McThing's
protests, and I came away as soon as I could. She says there's a little
Fidelity stock that brings enough to keep her in the rest-place, so she
feels a little better about that. (By the way, she tried to say she
wouldn't go, and I said she had to.) Then there's something else--Rocky
Head Granite, I think--that will give us something to live on. We'll
have to see Mr. Dodge as soon as we can; I'm all mixed up."
They did see Mr. Dodge, that afternoon. He was nice, as Felicia had
said. He made her sit in his big revolving-chair, while he brought out a
lot of papers and put on a pair of drooping gold eye-glasses to look at
them. And the end of the afternoon found Ken and Felicia very much
confused and a good deal more discouraged than before. It seemed that
even the Rocky Head Granite was not a very sound investment, and that
the staunch Fidelity was the only dependable source of income.
"And Mother must have that money, of course, for the rest-place,"
Felicia said. "For Heaven's sake, don't tell her," Ken muttered.
His sister shot him one swift look of reproach and then turned to Mr.
Dodge. She tried desperately to be very businesslike.
"What do you advise us to do, Mr. Dodge?" she said. "Send away the
servants, of course."
"And Miss Bolton," Ken said; "she's an expensive lady."
"Yes, Miss Bolton. I'll teach Kirk--I can."
"How much is the rent of the house, Mr. Dodge, do you know?" Ken asked.
Mr. Dodge did know, and told him. Ken whistled. "It sounds as though
we'd have to move," he said.
"The lease ends April first," said the attorney.
"We could get a little tiny house somewhere," Felicia suggested.
"Couldn't you get quite a nice one for six hundred dollars a year?"
This sum represented, more or less, their entire income--minus the
expenses of Hilltop Sanatorium.
"But what would you eat?" Mr. Dodge inquired gently.
"Oh, dear, that's true!" said Felicia. And clothes! What _do_ you think
we'd better do?"
"You have no immediate relatives, as I remember?" Mr. Dodge mused.
"None but our great-aunt, Miss Pelham," Ken said, "and _she_ lives in
Los Angeles."
"She's very old, too," Phil said, "and lives in a tiny house. She's not
at all well off; we shouldn't want to bother her. And there is Uncle
Lewis."
"Oh, _him_!" said Ken, gloomily.
"It takes three months even to get an answer from a letter to him,"
Felicia explained. "He's in the Philippines, doing something to
Ignorants."
"Igorrotes, Phil," Ken muttered.
"He sounds unpromising," Mr. Dodge sighed. "And there are no friends who
would be sufficiently interested in your problem to open either their
doors or their pocket-books?"
"We don't know many people here," Felicia said. "Mother hasn't gone out
very much for several years."
Ken flushed. "And we'd rather people didn't open anything to us,
anyhow," he said.
"Except, perhaps, their hearts," Mr. Dodge supplemented, "or their
eyes, when they see your independent procedure!" He tapped his knee with
his glasses. "My dear children, I suggest that you move to some other
house--perhaps to some quaint little place in the country, which would
be much less expensive than anything you could find in town. Your mother
had best go away, as the doctor advises--she will be much better looked
after, and of course she mustn't know what you do. I'll watch over this
Rocky Head concern, and you may feel perfectly secure in the Fidelity.
And don't hesitate to ask me anything you want to know, at any time."
He rose, pushing back his papers.
"Don't we owe you something for all this, sir?" Ken asked, rather red.
Mr. Dodge smiled. "One dollar, and other valuable considerations," he
said.
Kenelm brought out his pocketbook, and carefully pulled a dollar bill
from the four which it contained. He presented it to Mr. Dodge, and
Felicia said:
"Thank you so very, very much!"
"You're very welcome," said the attorney, "and the best of luck to you
all!" When the glass door had closed behind the pair, Mr. Dodge sat
down before his desk and wiped his glasses. He looked at the dollar
bill, and then he said--quite out loud--
"Poor, poor dears!"