The pier of the North German Lloyd Steamship Company, at Hoboken,
fairly sizzled with bustle and excitement. The Kaiser Wilhelm had
arrived at Sandy Hook the previous evening and was now lying out in
midstream. She would tie up at her dock within half an hour. Employes
of the line, baggage masters, newspaper reporters, Custom House
officers, policemen, detectives, truck drivers, expressmen,
longshoremen, telegraph messengers and anxious friends of incoming
passengers surged back and forth in seemingly hopeless confusion. The
shouting of orders, the rattling of cab wheels, the shrieking of
whistles was deafening. From out in the river came the deep toned
blasts of the steamer's siren, in grotesque contrast with the strident
tooting of a dozen diminutive tugs which, puffing and snorting, were
slowly but surely coaxing the leviathan into her berth alongside the
dock. The great vessel, spick and span after a coat of fresh paint
hurriedly put on during the last day of the voyage, bore no traces of
gale, fog and stormy seas through which she had passed on her 3,000
mile run across the ocean. Conspicuous on the bridge, directing the
docking operations, stood Capt. Hegermann, self satisfied and smiling,
relieved that the responsibilities of another trip were over, and at
his side, sharing the honours, was the grizzled pilot who had brought
the ship safely through the dangers of Gedney's Channel, his shabby pea
jacket, old slouch hat, top boots and unkempt beard standing out in
sharp contrast with the immaculate white duck trousers, the white and
gold caps and smart full dress uniforms of the ship's officers. The
rails on the upper decks were seen to be lined with passengers, all
dressed in their shore going clothes, some waving handkerchiefs at
friends they already recognized, all impatiently awaiting the shipping
of the gangplank.
Stott had come early. They had received word at Massapequa the day
before that the steamer had been sighted off Fire Island and that she
would be at her pier the next morning at 10 o'clock. Stott arrived at
9.30 and so found no difficulty in securing a front position among the
small army of people, who, like himself, had come down to meet friends.
As the huge vessel swung round and drew closer, Stott easily picked out
Shirley. She was scanning eagerly through a binocular the rows of
upturned faces on the dock, and he noted that a look of disappointment
crossed her face at not finding the object of her search. She turned
and said something to a lady in black and to a man who stood at her
side. Who they might be Stott had no idea. Fellow passengers, no doubt.
One becomes so intimate on shipboard; it seems a friendship that must
surely last a lifetime, whereas the custom officers have not finished
rummaging through your trunks when these easily-made steamer friends
are already forgotten. Presently Shirley took another look and her
glass soon lighted on him. Instantly she recognized her father's old
friend. She waved a handkerchief and Stott raised his hat. Then she
turned quickly and spoke again to her friends, whereupon they all moved
in the direction of the gangplank, which was already being lowered.
Shirley was one of the first to come ashore. Stott was waiting for her
at the foot of the gangplank and she threw her arms round his neck and
kissed him. He had known her ever since she was a little tot in arms,
and bystanders who noticed them meet had no doubt that they were father
and daughter. Shirley was deeply moved; a great lump in her throat
seemed to choke her utterance. So far she had been able to bear up, but
now that home was so near her heart failed her. She had hoped to find
her father on the dock. Why had he not come? Were things so bad then?
She questioned Judge Stott anxiously, fearfully.
He reassured her. Both her mother and father were well. It was too long
a trip for them to make, so he had volunteered.
"Too long a trip," echoed Shirley puzzled. "This is not far from our
house. Madison Avenue is no distance. That could not have kept father
away."
"You don't live on Madison Avenue any longer. The house and its
contents have been sold," replied Stott gravely, and in a few words he
outlined the situation as it was.
Shirley listened quietly to the end and only the increasing pallor of
her face and an occasional nervous twitching at the corner of her mouth
betrayed the shock that this recital of her father's misfortunes was to
her. Ah, this she had little dreamed of! Yet why not? It was but logic.
When wrecked in reputation, one might as well be wrecked in fortune,
too. What would their future be, how could that proud, sensitive man
her father bear this humiliation, this disgrace? To be condemned to a
life of obscurity, social ostracism, and genteel poverty! Oh, the
thought was unendurable! She herself could earn money, of course. If
her literary work did not bring in enough, she could teach and what she
earned would help out. Certainly her parents should never want for
anything so long as she could supply it. She thought bitterly how
futile now were plans of marriage, even if she had ever entertained
such an idea seriously. Henceforward, she did not belong to herself.
Her life must be devoted to clearing her father's name. These
reflections were suddenly interrupted by the voice of Mrs. Blake
calling out:
"Shirley, where have you been? We lost sight of you as we left the
ship, and we have been hunting for you ever since."
Her aunt, escorted by Jefferson Ryder, had gone direct to the Customs
desk and in the crush they had lost trace of her. Shirley introduced
Stott.
"Aunt Milly, this is Judge Stott, a very old friend of father's. Mrs.
Blake, my mother's sister. Mother will be surprised to see her. They
haven't met for ten years."
"This visit is going to be only a brief one," said Mrs. Blake. "I
really came over to chaperone Shirley more than anything else."
"As if I needed chaperoning with Mr. Ryder for an escort!" retorted
Shirley. Then presenting Jefferson to Stott, she said:
"This is Mr. Jefferson Ryder--Judge Stott. Mr. Ryder has been very kind
to me abroad."
The two men bowed and shook hands.
"Any relation to J.B.?" asked Stott good humouredly.
"His son--that's all," answered Jefferson laconically.
Stott now looked at the young man with more interest. Yes, there was a
resemblance, the same blue eyes, the fighting jaw. But how on earth did
Judge Rossmore's daughter come to be travelling in the company of John
Burkett Ryder's son? The more he thought of it the more it puzzled him,
and while he cogitated, Shirley and her companions wrestled with the
United States Customs, and were undergoing all the tortures invented by
Uncle Sam to punish Americans for going abroad.
Shirley and Mrs. Blake were fortunate in securing an inspector who was
fairly reasonable. Of course, he did not for a moment believe their
solemn statement, already made on the ship, that they had nothing
dutiable, and he rummaged among the most intimate garments of their
wardrobe in a wholly indecent and unjustifiable manner, but he was
polite and they fared no worse than all the other women victims of
this, the most brutal custom house inspection system in the world.
Jefferson had the misfortune to be allotted an inspector who was half
seas over with liquor and the man was so insolent and threatening in
manner that it was only by great self-restraint that Jefferson
controlled himself. He had no wish to create a scandal on the dock, nor
to furnish good "copy" for the keen-eyed, long-eared newspaper
reporters who would be only too glad of such an opportunity for a
"scare head". But when the fellow compelled him to open every trunk and
valise and then put his grimy hands to the bottom and by a quick upward
movement jerked the entire contents out on the dock, he interfered:
"You are exceeding your authority," he exclaimed hotly. "How dare you
treat my things in this manner?"
The drunken uniformed brute raised his bloodshot, bleary eyes and took
Jefferson in from tip to toe. He clenched his fist as if about to
resort to violence, but he was not so intoxicated as to be quite blind
to the fact that this passenger had massive square shoulders, a
determined jaw and probably a heavy arm. So contenting himself with a
sneer, he said:
"This ain't no country for blooming English docks. You're not in
England now you know. This is a free country. See?"
"I see this," replied Jefferson, furious, "that you are a drunken
ruffian and a disgrace to the uniform you wear. I shall report your
conduct immediately," with which he proceeded to the Customs desk to
lodge a complaint.
He might have spared himself the trouble. The silver-haired,
distinguished looking old officer in charge knew that Jefferson's
complaint was well founded, he knew that this particular inspector was
a drunkard and a discredit to the government which employed him, but at
the same time he also knew that political influence had been behind his
appointment and that it was unsafe to do more than mildly reprimand
him. When, therefore, he accompanied Jefferson to the spot where the
contents of the trunks lay scattered in confusion all over the dock, he
merely expostulated with the officer, who made some insolent reply.
Seeing that it was useless to lose further time, Jefferson repacked his
trunks as best he could and got them on a cab. Then he hurried over to
Shirley's party and found them already about to leave the pier.
"Come and see us, Jeff," whispered Shirley as their cab drove through
the gates.
"Where," he asked, "Madison Avenue?"
She hesitated for a moment and then replied quickly:
"No, we are stopping down on Long Island for the Summer--at a cute
little place called Massapequa. Run down and see us."
He raised his hat and the cab drove on.
There was greater activity in the Rossmore cottage at Massapequa than
there had been any day since the judge and his wife went to live there.
Since daybreak Eudoxia had been scouring and polishing in honour of the
expected arrival and a hundred times Mrs. Rossmore had climbed the
stairs to see that everything was as it should be in the room which had
been prepared for Shirley. It was not, however, without a passage at
arms that Eudoxia consented to consider the idea of an addition to the
family. Mrs. Rossmore had said to her the day before:
"My daughter will be here to-morrow, Eudoxia."
A look expressive of both displeasure and astonishment marred the
classic features of the hireling. Putting her broom aside and placing
her arms akimbo she exclaimed in an injured tone:
"And it's a dayther you've got now? So it's three in family you are!
When I took the place it's two you tould me there was!"
"Well, with your kind permission," replied Mrs. Rossmore, "there will
be three in future. There is nothing in the Constitution of the United
States that says we can't have a daughter without consulting our help,
is there?"
The sarcasm of this reply did not escape even the dull-edged wits of
the Irish drudge. She relapsed into a dignified silence and a few
minutes later was discovered working with some show of enthusiasm.
The judge was nervous and fidgety. He made a pretence to read, but it
was plain to see that his mind was not on his book. He kept leaving his
chair to go and look at the clock; then he would lay the volume aside
and wander from room to room like a lost soul. His thoughts were on the
dock at Hoboken.
By noon every little detail had been attended to and there was nothing
further to do but sit and wait for the arrival of Stott and Shirley.
They were to be expected any moment now. The passengers had probably
got off the steamer by eleven o'clock. It would take at least two hours
to get through the Customs and out to Massapequa. The judge and his
wife sat on the porch counting the minutes and straining their ears to
catch the first sound of the train from New York.
"I hope Stott broke the news to her gently," said the judge.
"I wish we had gone to meet her ourselves," sighed his wife.
The judge was silent and for a moment or two he puffed vigorously at
his pipe, as was his habit when disturbed mentally. Then he said:
"I ought to have gone, Martha, but I was afraid. I'm afraid to look my
own daughter in the face and tell her that I am a disgraced man, that I
am to be tried by the Senate for corruption, perhaps impeached and
turned off the bench as if I were a criminal. Shirley won't believe it,
sometimes I can't believe it myself. I often wake up in the night and
think of it as part of a dream, but when the morning comes it's still
true--it's still true!"
He smoked on in silence. Then happening to look up he noticed that his
wife was weeping. He laid his hand gently on hers.
"Don't cry, dear, don't make it harder for me to bear. Shirley must see
no trace of tears."
"I was thinking of the injustice of it all," replied Mrs. Rossmore,
wiping her eyes.
"Fancy Shirley in this place, living from hand to mouth," went on the
judge.
"That's the least," answered his wife. "She's a fine, handsome girl,
well educated and all the rest of it. She ought to make a good
marriage." No matter what state of mind Mrs. Rossmore might be in, she
never lost sight of the practical side of things.
"Hardly with her father's disgrace hanging over her head," replied the
judge wearily. "Who," he added, "would have the courage to marry a girl
whose father was publicly disgraced?"
Both relapsed into another long silence, each mentally reviewing the
past and speculating on the future. Suddenly Mrs. Rossmore started.
Surely she could not be mistaken! No, the clanging of a locomotive bell
was plainly audible. The train was in. From the direction of the
station came people with parcels and hand bags and presently there was
heard the welcome sound of carriage wheels crunching over the stones. A
moment later they saw coming round the bend in the road a cab piled up
with small baggage.
"Here they are! Here they are!" cried Mrs. Rossmore. "Come, Eudoxia!"
she called to the servant, while she herself hurried down to the gate.
The judge, fully as agitated as herself, only showing his emotion in a
different way, remained on the porch pale and anxious.
The cab stopped at the curb and Stott alighted, first helping out Mrs.
Blake. Mrs. Rossmore's astonishment on seeing her sister was almost
comical.
"Milly!" she exclaimed.
They embraced first and explained afterwards. Then Shirley got out and
was in her mother's arms.
"Where's father?" was Shirley's first question.
"There--he's coming!"
The judge, unable to restrain his impatience longer, ran down from the
porch towards the gate. Shirley, with a cry of mingled grief and joy,
precipitated herself on his breast.
"Father! Father!" she cried between her sobs. "What have they done to
you?"
"There--there, my child. Everything will be well--everything will be
well."
Her head lay on his shoulder and he stroked her hair with his hand,
unable to speak from pent up emotion.
Mrs. Rossmore could not recover from her stupefaction on seeing her
sister. Mrs. Blake explained that she had come chiefly for the benefit
of the voyage and announced her intention of returning on the same
steamer.
"So you see I shall bother you only a few days," she said.
"You'll stay just as long as you wish," rejoined Mrs. Rossmore.
"Happily we have just one bedroom left." Then turning to Eudoxia, who
was wrestling with the baggage, which formed a miniature Matterhorn on
the sidewalk, she gave instructions:
"Eudoxia, you'll take this lady's baggage to the small bedroom
adjoining Miss Shirley's. She is going to stop with us for a few days."
Taken completely aback at the news of this new addition, Eudoxia looked
at first defiance. She seemed on the point of handing in her
resignation there and then. But evidently she thought better of it,
for, taking a cue from Mrs. Rossmore, she asked in the sarcastic manner
of her mistress:
"Four is it now, M'm? I suppose the Constitootion of the United States
allows a family to be as big as one likes to make it. It's hard on us
girls, but if it's the law, it's all right, M'm. The more the merrier!"
With which broadside, she hung the bags all over herself and staggered
off to the house.
Stott explained that the larger pieces and the trunks would come later
by express. Mrs. Rossmore took him aside while Mrs. Blake joined
Shirley and the judge.
"Did you tell Shirley?" asked Mrs. Rossmore. "How did she take it?"
"She knows everything," answered Stott, "and takes it very sensibly. We
shall find her of great moral assistance in our coming fight in the
Senate," he added confidently.
Realizing that the judge would like to be left alone with Shirley, Mrs.
Rossmore invited Mrs. Blake to go upstairs and see the room she would
have, while Stott said he would be glad of a washup. When they had gone
Shirley sidled up to her father in her old familiar way.
"I've just been longing to see you, father," she said. She turned to
get a good look at him and noticing the lines of care which had
deepened during her absence she cried: "Why, how you've changed! I can
scarcely believe it's you. Say something. Let me hear the sound of your
voice, father."
The judge tried to smile.
"Why, my dear girl, I---"
Shirley threw her arms round his neck.
"Ah, yes, now I know it's you," she cried.
"Of course it is, Shirley, my dear girl. Of course it is. Who else
should it be?"
"Yes, but it isn't the same," insisted Shirley. "There is no ring to
your voice. It sounds hollow and empty, like an echo. And this place,"
she added dolefully, "this awful place--"
She glanced around at the cracked ceilings, the cheaply papered walls,
the shabby furniture, and her heart sank as she realized the extent of
their misfortune. She had come back prepared for the worst, to help win
the fight for her father's honour, but to have to struggle against
sordid poverty as well, to endure that humiliation in addition to
disgrace--ah, that was something she had not anticipated! She changed
colour and her voice faltered. Her father had been closely watching for
just such signs and he read her thoughts.
"It's the best we can afford, Shirley," he said quietly. "The blow has
been complete. I will tell you everything. You shall judge for
yourself. My enemies have done for me at last."
"Your enemies?" cried Shirley eagerly. "Tell me who they are so I may
go to them."
"Yes, dear, you shall know everything. But not now. You are tired after
your journey. To-morrow sometime Stott and I will explain everything."
"Very well, father, as you wish," said Shirley gently. "After all," she
added in an effort to appear cheerful, "what matter where we live so
long as we have each other?"
She drew away to hide her tears and left the room on pretence of
inspecting the house. She looked into the dining-room and kitchen and
opened the cupboards, and when she returned there were no visible signs
of trouble in her face.
"It's a cute little house, isn't it?" she said. "I've always wanted a
little place like this--all to ourselves. Oh, if you only knew how
tired I am of New York and its great ugly houses, its retinue of
servants and its domestic and social responsibilities! We shall be able
to live for ourselves now, eh, father?"
She spoke with a forced gaiety that might have deceived anyone but the
judge. He understood the motive of her sudden change in manner and
silently he blessed her for making his burden lighter.
"Yes, dear, it's not bad," he said. "There's not much room, though."
"There's quite enough," she insisted. "Let me see." She began to count
on her fingers. "Upstairs--three rooms, eh? and above that three more--"
"No," smiled the judge, "then comes the roof?"
"Of course," she laughed, "how stupid of me--a nice gable roof, a
sloping roof that the rain runs off beautifully. Oh, I can see that
this is going to be awfully jolly--just like camping out. You know how
I love camping out. And you have a piano, too."
She went over to the corner where stood one of those homely instruments
which hardly deserve to be dignified by the name piano, with a cheap,
gaudily painted case outside and a tin pan effect inside, and which are
usually to be found in the poorer class of country boarding houses.
Shirley sat down and ran her fingers over the keys, determined to like
everything.
"It's a little old," was her comment, "but I like these zither effects.
It's just like the sixteenth-century spinet. I can see you and mother
dancing a stately minuet," she smiled.
"What's that about mother dancing?" demanded Mrs. Rossmore, who at that
instant entered the room. Shirley arose and appealed to her:
"Isn't it absurd, mother, when you come to think of it, that anybody
should accuse father of being corrupt and of having forfeited the right
to be judge? Isn't it still more absurd that we should be helpless and
dejected and unhappy because we are on Long Island instead of Madison
Avenue? Why should Manhattan Island be a happier spot than Long Island?
Why shouldn't we be happy anywhere; we have each other. And we do need
each other. We never knew how much till to-day, did we? We must stand
by each other now. Father is going to clear his name of this
preposterous charge and we're going to help him, aren't we, mother?
We're not helpless just because we are women. We're going to work,
mother and I."
"Work?" echoed Mrs. Rossmore, somewhat scandalized.
"Work," repeated Shirley very decisively.
The judge interfered. He would not hear of it.
"You work, Shirley? Impossible!"
"Why not? My book has been selling well while I was abroad. I shall
probably write others. Then I shall write, too, for the newspapers and
magazines. It will add to our income."
"Your book--'The American Octopus,' is selling well?" inquired the
judge, interested.
"So well," replied Shirley, "that the publishers wrote me in Paris that
the fourth edition was now on the press. That means good royalties. I
shall soon be a fashionable author. The publishers will be after me for
more books and we'll have all the money we want. Oh, it is so
delightful, this novel sensation of a literary success!" she exclaimed
with glee. "Aren't you proud of me, dad?"
The judge smiled indulgently. Of course he was glad and proud. He
always knew his Shirley was a clever girl. But by what strange
fatality, he thought to himself, had his daughter in this book of hers
assailed the very man who had encompassed his own ruin? It seemed like
the retribution of heaven. Neither his daughter nor the financier was
conscious of the fact that each was indirectly connected with the
impeachment proceedings. Ryder could not dream that "Shirley Green",
the author of the book which flayed him so mercilessly, was the
daughter of the man he was trying to crush. Shirley, on the other hand,
was still unaware of the fact that it was Ryder who had lured her
father to his ruin.
Mrs. Rossmore now insisted on Shirley going to her room to rest. She
must be tired and dusty. After changing her travelling dress she would
feel refreshed and more comfortable. When she was ready to come down
again luncheon would be served. So leaving the judge to his papers,
mother and daughter went upstairs together, and with due maternal pride
Mrs. Rossmore pointed out to Shirley all the little arrangements she
had made for her comfort. Then she left her daughter to herself while
she hurried downstairs to look after Eudoxia and luncheon.
When, at last, she could lock herself in her room where no eye could
see her, Shirley threw herself down on the bed and burst into a torrent
of tears. She had kept up appearances as long as it was possible, but
now the reaction had set in. She gave way freely to her pent up
feelings, she felt that unless she could relieve herself in this way
her heart would break. She had been brave until now, she had been
strong to hear everything and see everything, but she could not keep it
up forever. Stott's words to her on the dock had in part prepared her
for the worst, he had told her what to expect at home, but the
realization was so much more vivid. While hundreds of miles of ocean
still lay between, it had all seemed less real, almost attractive as a
romance in modern life, but now she was face to face with the grim
reality--this shabby cottage, cheap neighbourhood and commonplace
surroundings, her mother's air of resignation to the inevitable, her
father's pale, drawn face telling so eloquently of the keen mental
anguish through which he had passed. She compared this pitiful
spectacle with what they had been when she left for Europe, the fine
mansion on Madison Avenue with its rich furnishings and well-trained
servants, and her father's proud aristocratic face illumined with the
consciousness of his high rank in the community, and the attention he
attracted every time he appeared on the street or in public places as
one of the most brilliant and most respected judges on the bench. Then
to have come to this all in the brief space of a few months! It was
incredible, terrible, heart rending! And what of the future? What was
to be done to save her father from this impeachment which she knew well
would hurry him to his grave? He could not survive that humiliation,
that degradation. He must be saved in the Senate, but how--how?
She dried her eyes and began to think. Surely her woman's wit would
find some way. She thought of Jefferson. Would he come to Massapequa?
It was hardly probable. He would certainly learn of the change in their
circumstances and his sense of delicacy would naturally keep him away
for some time even if other considerations, less unselfish, did not.
Perhaps he would be attracted to some other girl he would like as well
and who was not burdened with a tragedy in her family. Her tears began
to flow afresh until she hated herself for being so weak while there
was work to be done to save her father. She loved Jefferson. Yes, she
had never felt so sure of it as now. She felt that if she had him there
at that moment she would throw herself in his arms crying: "Take me,
Jefferson, take me away, where you will, for I love you! I love you!"
But Jefferson was not there and the rickety chairs in the tiny bedroom
and the cheap prints on the walls seemed to jibe at her in her misery.
If he were there, she thought as she looked into a cracked mirror, he
would think her very ugly with her eyes all red from crying. He would
not marry her now in any case. No self-respecting man would. She was
glad that she had spoken to him as she had in regard to marriage, for
while a stain remained upon her father's name marriage was out of the
question. She might have yielded on the question of the literary
career, but she would never allow a man to taunt her afterwards with
the disgrace of her own flesh and blood. No, henceforth her place was
at her father's side until his character was cleared. If the trial in
the Senate were to go against him, then she could never see Jefferson
again. She would give up all idea of him and everything else. Her
literary career would be ended, her life would be a blank. They would
have to go abroad, where they were not known, and try and live down
their shame, for no matter how innocent her father might be the world
would believe him guilty. Once condemned by the Senate, nothing could
remove the stigma. She would have to teach in order to contribute
towards the support, they would manage somehow. But what a future, how
unnecessary, how unjust!
Suddenly she thought of Jefferson's promise to interest his father in
their case and she clutched at the hope this promise held out as a
drowning man clutches at a drifting straw. Jefferson would not forget
his promise and he would come to Massapequa to tell her of what he had
done. She was sure of that. Perhaps, after all, there was where their
hope lay. Why had she not told her father at once? It might have
relieved his mind. John Burkett Ryder, the Colossus, the man of
unlimited power! He could save her father and he would. And the more
she thought about it, the more cheerful and more hopeful she became,
and she started to dress quickly so that she might hurry down to tell
her father the good news. She was actually sorry now that she had said
so many hard things of Mr. Ryder in her book and she was worrying over
the thought that her father's case might be seriously prejudiced if the
identity of the author were ever revealed, when there came a knock at
her door. It was Eudoxia.
"Please, miss, will you come down to lunch?"