To begin with, the boys an' girls don't marry so young. They can't
stand the expense. They're all keepin' up with Lizzie, but on the
wrong road. The girls are worse than the boys. They go out o' the
private school an' beat the bush for a husband. At first they
hope to drive out a duke or an earl; by-an'-by they're willin' to
take a common millionaire; at last they conclude that if they can't
get a stag they'll take a rabbit. Then we learn that they're
engaged to a young man, an' are goin' to marry as soon as he can
afford it. He wears himself out in the struggle, an' is apt to be
a nervous wreck before the day arrives. They are nearin' or past
thirty when he decides that with economy an' _no children_ they can
afford to maintain a home. The bells ring, the lovely strains from
"Lohengrin" fill the grand, new house o' God, an' overflow into the
quiet streets o' the village, an' we hear in them what Wagner never
thought of--_the joyful death-march of a race_. Think of it, Bill,
this old earth is growin' too costly for the use o' man. We prefer
autos an' diamonds an' knick-knacks! Life has become a kind of a
circus where only the favored can pay the price of admission, an'
here in America, where about all the great men we have had were
bred in cabins, an' everything worth a fish-hook came out o'
poverty! You have it in your power to hasten the end o' this
wickedness,' I said. 'For one thing, you can make the middleman
let go of our throats in this community. Near here are hundreds of
acres o' land goin' to waste. Buy it an' make it produce--wool,
meat, flax, grains, an' vegetables. Start a market an' a small
factory here, an' satisfy yourself as to what is a just price for
the necessaries of life. If the tradesmen are overchargin' us,
they'll have to reduce prices. Put your brain an' money into it;
make it a business. At least, you'll demonstrate what it ought to
cost to live here in New England. If it's so much that the average
Yankee can't afford it by honest work--if we must all be lawyers or
bankers or brokers or graspin' middle-men in order to live--let's
start a big Asylum for the Upright, an' give 'em a chance to die
comfortably. But it isn't so. I can raise potatoes right here for
thirty cents a bushel, as good as those you pay forty cents a peck
for at Sam Henshaw's. You'll set an example of inestimable value
in this republic of ours. Dan has begun the good work, an'
demonstrated that it will pay.'
"'It's a good idea--I'm with you,' he said. 'If we can get the
boys an' girls to marry while the bloom is on the rye, it's worth
while, an' I wouldn't wonder if indirectly we'd increase the crop
of Yankees an' the yield of happiness to the acre.'
"'Bill, you're a good fellow,' I said. 'You only need to be
reminded of your duty--you're like many another man.'
"'And I'll think you the best fellow in the world if you'll let us
keep those kids. We enjoy them. We've been having a lot of fun
lately.'
"'I can't do that,' I said, 'but I'll keep 'em here until we can
get some more. There are thousands of them as beautiful, as
friendless, as promising as these were.'
"'I wish you could let us have these,' he urged. 'We wouldn't
adopt them, probably, but we'd do our best for them--our very best.'
"'I can't,' I answered.
"'Why?'
"'Because they've got hold of my old heart--that's why. I hadn't
looked for that, Bill, but the little cusses have conquered _me_.'
"'Great God!' he exclaimed. 'I hadn't thought of that. And my
wife told me this morning that she loves that three-year-old boy as
dearly as she loves me. They've all won her heart. What shall I
do?'
"'Let me think it over,' I said, an' shook his hand an' left, an' I
knew that I was likely to indulge in the makin' of history right
away.
"I went home an' sat down an' wrote the best brief of my career--an
appeal to the Supreme Court o' this planet--a woman's heart. It
was a letter to one whose name I honored although I had not written
it in years.
"Next mornin' I plunged into a lawsuit an' was workin' night an'
day, until the jury came in with a verdict an' court adjourned for
the Christmas holidays.
"An' that day a decision was handed down in my appeal to the court
of last resort. It was a cablegram from an Italian city, an' a
verdict in my favor. I am to get in that case the best fee on
record--a wife and the love of a dear and beautiful woman. We went
to school together, and I am ashamed that I didn't ask her to marry
me years ago. So much for me had Lizzie an' the kids accomplished.
"I was to dine with the Warburtons Christmas Eve, and be Santa
Claus for the children. I bought a set o' whiskers an' put on my
big fur coat and two sets o' bells on the mare, an' drove to the
villa, with a full pack in the buggy an' a fuller heart in my
breast.
"Bill an' Mrs. Bill an' I went over to the farm-house together with
our arms full. The children were in a room up-stairs with Mrs.
Hammond waiting for Santa Claus. Below we helped the two maids,
who were trimming the Christmas tree--and a wonderful tree it was
when we were done with it--why, sir, you'd have thought a rainbow
was falling into a thicket on the edge of a lake. My friend, it
was the tree of all fruits.
"We filled the little stockings hanging on the mantel. Then they
helped me to put on my beard an' the greatcoat an' cap an' the pack
over all, an' Mrs. Bill an' I went out-of-doors. We stood still
an' listened for a moment. Two baby voices were calling out of an
upper window: 'Santa Claus, please come, Santa Claus!' Then we
heard the window close an' the chatter above stairs, but we stood
still. Mrs. Bill seemed to be laughing, but I observed that her
handkerchief had the centre of the stage in this little comedy.
"In half a minute I stole down the road an' picked up the bells
that lay beside it, an' came prancin' to the door with a great
jingle, an' in I went an' took my stand by the Christmas tree. We
could hear the hurry of small feet, an' eager, half-hushed voices
in the hall overhead. Then down the stairway came my slender
battalion in the last scene of the siege. Their eyes were wide
with wonder, their feet slow with fear. The little captain of
three years ran straight to Mrs. Bill an' lay hold of her gown, an'
partly hid himself in its folds, an' stood peekin' out at me. It
was a masterful bit of strategy. I wonder how he could have done
it so well. She raised him in her arms an' held him close. A
great music-box in a corner began to play:
"'O tannenbaum! O tannenbaum!
wie grun sind deine blaetter!'
[Illustration: Their eyes were wide with wonder.]
"Then with laughter an' merry jests we emptied the pack, an'
gathered from the tree whose fruit has fed the starving human heart
for more than a thousand years, an' how it filled those friends o'
mine!
"Well, it was the night of my life, an' when I turned to go, its
climax fell upon me. Mrs. Bill kneeled at my feet, an' said with
tears in her eyes, an' her lips an' voice trembling:
"'O Santa Claus! you have given me many things, but I beg for
more--five more.'
"The city had fallen. Its queen was on her knees. The victorious
army was swarming into the open gate of her arms. The hosts of
doubt an' fear were fleeing.
"I refuse to tell you all that happened in the next minute or two.
A witness has some rights when testifyin' against his own manhood.
"I helped the woman to her feet, an' said:
"'They are yours. I shall be happy enough, and, anyhow, I do not
think I shall need them now.'
"An' so I left them as happy as human beings have any right to be.
At last they had caught up with Lizzie, an' I, too, was in a fair
way to overtake her.
"An' how fared Dan in his pursuit of that remarkable maiden? Why,
that very night Lizzie an' Dan had been shakin' the tree o' love,
an' I guess the fruit on it was fairly ripe an' meller. Next day
they came up to my house together.
"Dan couldn't hold his happiness, an' slopped over as soon as he
was inside the door.
"'Mr. Potter,' says he, with more than Christmas merriment, 'we're
going to be married next month.'
"Before I could say a word he had gathered Lizzie up in his arms
an' kissed her, an' she kissed back as prompt as if it had been a
slap in a game o' tag.
"'You silly man,' she says, 'you could have had me long ago.'
"'If I'd only 'a' known it,' he says.
"'Oh, the ignorance o' some men!' she says, lookin' into his eyes.
"'It exceeds the penetration o' some women,' I says.
"They came together ag'in quite spiteful. I separated 'em.
"'Quit,' I says. 'Stop pickin' on each other. It provokes you an'
me too. You're like a pair o' kids turned loose in a candy store.
Behave yerselves an' listen to reason.'
"Lizzie turned upon me as if she thought it was none o' my
business. Then she smiled an' hid her face on the manly breast o'
Dan.
"'Now Lizzie,' I says, 'get yer mind in workin' order as soon as ye
can. Dan, you go over an' stand by the window. I want you to keep
at least ten paces apart, an' please don't fire 'til ye get the
signal. I'm goin' to give a prize for the simplest weddin' that
ever took place in Pointview,' I says. 'It will be five hundred
dollars in gold for the bride. Don't miss it.'
"'The marriage will occur at noon,' says Lizzie. 'There'll be
nothing but simple morning frocks. The girls can wear calico if
they wish. No jewels, no laces, no elaborate breakfast."
"'An' no presents, but mine, that cost over five dollars each,' I
says.
"An' that's the way it was--like old times. No hard work wasted in
gettin' ready, no vanity fair, no heart-burnin', no bitter envy, no
cussin' about the expense. There was nothing but love an'
happiness an' goodwill at that wedding. It was just as God would
have a wedding, I fancy, if He were the master o' ceremonies, as He
ought to be.
"They are now settled on a thousand acres o' land here in New
England. Dan has eight gangs o' human oxen from Italy at work for
him getting in his fertilizers. He rides a horse all day an' is as
cordy as a Roman gladiator. Do you know what it means? Ten
thousand like him are going into the same work, the greed o' the
middleman will be checked, an' one o' these days the old earth 'll
be lopsided with the fruitfulness of America."
VII
IN WHICH THE HONORABLE SOCRATES POTTER CATCHES UP WITH LIZZIE
Early in June I was invited to the wedding of Miss Betsey Smead and
the Honorable Socrates Potter. Miss Betsey had inherited a large
estate, and lived handsomely in the Smead homestead, built by her
grandfather. She was a woman of taste and refinement, but, in
deference to Socrates, no doubt, the invitations had been printed
in the office of the local newspaper. There could have been no
better example of honest simplicity. The good news sent me in
quest of my friend the lawyer. I found him in Miss Betsey's
library. He was in high spirits and surrounded by treasures of art.
"Yes, I'm in luck," he began. "Miss Betsey is a dear soul. We're
bound to be happy in spite of all this polished brass an' plate an'
mahogany. There's nothin' here that I can put my feet on, except
the rugs or the slippery floor or the fender. Everything has the
appearance o' bein' more valuable than I am. If it was mine I'd
take an axe an' bring things down to my level. I'm kind o' scairt
for fear I'll sp'ile suthin' er other. Sometimes I feel as if I'd
like to crawl under the grand pyano an' git out o' danger. Now
look at old gran'pa Smead in his gold frame on the wall. He's got
me buffaloed. Watches every move I make. Betsey laughs an' tells
me I can sp'ile anything I want to, but gran'pa is ever remindin'
me o' the ancient law o' the Smeads an' the Persians."
"Mr. Potter, I owe so much to you," I said. "I want to make you a
present--something that you and your wife will value. I've thought
about it for weeks. Can you--"
He interrupted me with a smile and these gently spoken words:
"Friends who wish to express their good-will in gifts are requested
to consider the large an' elegant stock o' goods in the local
ninety-nine-cent store. Everything from socks to sunbursts may be
found there. Necklaces an' tiaras are not prohibited if guaranteed
to be real ninety-nine-centers. These days nobody has cheap
things. That makes them rare an' desirable. All diamonds should
weigh at least half a pound. Smaller stones are too common.
Everybody has them, you know. Why, the wife of the butcher's clerk
is payin' fifty cents a week on a solitaire. Gold, silver, an'
automobiles will be politely but firmly refused--too common, far
too common! Nothin' is desired likely to increase envy or bank
loans or other forms of contemporaneous crime in Pointview. We
would especially avoid increasin' the risk an' toil of overworked
an' industrious burglars. They have enough to do as it is--poor
fellows--they hardly get a night's rest. Miss Betsey's home has
already given 'em a lot o' trouble."
His humor had relieved its pressure in the deep, good-natured
chuckle of the Yankee, as he strode up an' down the floor with both
hands in his trousers pockets.
"Look at that ol' duffer," he went on, as he pointed at the stern
features of grandpa Smead. "Wouldn't ye think he'd smile now an'
then. Maybe he'll cheer up after I've lived here awhile."
He moved a couple of chairs to give him more room, an' went on:
"Now, there's Bill Warburton. I supposed he was a friend o' mine,
but we had a fight in school, years ago, an' I guess he's never got
over it. Anyhow, I caught him tryin' to slip an automobile on
me--just caught him in time. There he was tryin' to rob me o' the
use o' my legs an' about fifteen hundred a year for expenses an'
build me up into a fat man with indigestion an' liver-complaint. I
served an injunction on him.
"Another man has tried to make me the lifelong slave of a silver
service. He'd gone down to Fifth Avenue an' ordered it, an' I
suppose it would 'a' cost thousands. Tried to sneak it on me. Can
ye think o' anything meaner? It would 'a' cost me a pretty penny
for insurance an' storage the rest o' my life, an' then think of
our--ahem--our poor children! Why, it would be as bad as a
mortgage debt. Every time I left home I would have worried about
that silver service; every time the dog barked at night I would
have trembled in my bed for the safety o' the silver service; every
time we had company I would have been afraid that somebody was
goin' to scratch the silver service; an' when I saw a stranger in
town, I would have said to myself: 'Ah, ha! it may be that he has
heard of our silver service an' has come to steal it.' I would
have begun to regard my servants an' many other people with dread
an' suspicion. Why, once I knew a man who had a silver service,
an' they carried it up three nights to the attic every night for
fifty years. They figured that they'd walked eleven hundred miles
up an' down stairs with the silver service in their hands. The
thought that they couldn't take it with 'em hastened an' embittered
their last days. Then the heirs learned that it wasn't genuine
after all.
"Of course, I put another injunction upon that man. 'If we've ever
done anything to you, forgive us,' I said, 'but please do not
cripple us with gold or silver.'"
He stopped and put his hand upon my shoulder and continued:
"My young friend, if you would make us a gift, I wish it might be
something that will give us pleasure an' not trouble, something
that money cannot buy an' thieves cannot steal--your love an' good
wishes to be ours as long as you live an' we live--at least. We
shall need no token o' that but your word an' conduct."
I assured him of all he asked for with a full heart.
"Should I come dressed?" was my query.
"Dressed, yes, but not dressed up," he answered. "Neither white
neckties nor rubber boots will be required."
"How are Mr. and Mrs. Bill?"
"Happier than ever," said he. "Incidentally they've learned that
life isn't all a joke, for one of those little brownies led them to
the gate of the great mystery an' they've begun to look through it
an' are' wiser folks. Two other women are building orphan lodges
on their grounds, an' there's no tellin' where the good work will
end."
We were interrupted by the entrance of Miss Betsey Smead. She was
a comely, bustling, cheerful little woman of about forty-five, with
a playful spirit like that of Socrates himself.
"This is my _financee_," said Socrates. "She has waited for me
twenty-five years."
"And he kept me waiting--the wretch!--just because my grandfather
left me his money," said Miss Betsey.
"I shall never forgive that man," said Socrates, as he shook his
fist at the portrait. "An' she was his only grandchild, too."
"And think how comfortable he might have been here, and how I've
worried about him." Miss Betsey went on: "Here, Soc., put your
feet on this piano seat. Now you look at home."
"When I achieve the reformation of Betsey I shall have a kitchen
table to put my feet on!" said Soc., as I left them.
Then I decided that I would send him a kitchen table.
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's Keeping up with Lizzie, by Irving Bacheller