AN OLD MAN WOULD INVEST.
When Henry went home to dinner he found, already seated at the table,
old man Colton, Mrs. Colton and Mrs. Brooks. The old Marylander got
away from his soup, got off his chair, and greeted Henry with an
effusive display of what might have been his pleasure at seeing the
young man, but which had more of the appearance of a palavering
pretense. He bowed, ducked his head first on one side and then on the
other--and his colored handkerchief dangled at his coat-tails. He
found his tongue, which at first he seemed to have lost, and with his
bald head bobbing about, he appeared as an aged child, prattling at
random.
"Hah, hah, delighted to see you again, my dear young man. Didn't know
that I was coming when you were so kind as to take lunch with me
to-day; ladies came in the afternoon; Brooks couldn't come with me,
but he will be here later on. Hah, hah, they are taking excellent care
of us, you see. Ah, you sit here by me? Glad."
Mrs. Colton was exceedingly feeble, and her daughter appeared as a
very old-fashioned girl in a stylish habit--an old daguerreotype sort
of face, smooth, shiny and expressionless.
"We have all been talking about you," Colton said, as Henry sat down.
"Your mother and sister think you a very wonderful man, and my dear
friend Witherspoon"--
"Brother Colton is from Maryland," Witherspoon remarked.
Colton laughed and ducked his head. Ah, the listless wit of the rich!
It may be pointless, but how laughable is the millionaire's joke.
"But, my dear young man, we are determined to have you with us,"
Colton declared, when he had recovered himself. He nodded at
Witherspoon.
"We are going to try," the great merchant replied. "By the way, I told
Brooks that we'd have to press Bradley & Adams, of Atchison, Kansas.
They are altogether too slow--there's no excuse for it."
"None in the world; none whatever," Colton agreed. He more than
agreed, for there was alarm in his voice, and the alarm of an old
miser is pitiable. "Gracious alive, can they expect people to wait
always? Dear, what can the world be coming to when we are all to be
cheated out of our rights? We'll have the law on them."
Money professes great love for the law, and not without cause. The
rich man thinks that the law is his; and the poor man says, "It was
not made for me."
Among the ladies Henry was the subject of a subdued discussion, and
occasionally he heard Mrs. Colton say: "Such a comfort to you, and
after so many years of separation. So manly." And then Mrs. Brooks
would say: "Yes, indeed."
Henry noticed that Colton was not accompanied with his mutton-broth
economy. It was evident that the old man was frugal only to his own
advantage, and that his heartiness came at the expense of other men.
Brooks arrived soon after dinner. The women went to the drawing-room
to talk about Henry, and to exchange harmless hypocrisies, and the men
betook themselves to the library to smoke and to discuss plots that
are known as enterprises. Country merchants were taken up, turned
over, examined and put down ruined. Brooks was as keen and as ardent
as a prosecuting attorney. Every man who owed a bill was under
indictment.
"You see," he said to Henry, "we have to hold these fellows tight or
they would get loose and smash us."
"You needn't apologize to me," Henry replied.
"Of course not, but as you say that you don't understand business, I
merely wanted to show you to what extent we are driven."
"Oh, I assure you that it is awfully unpleasant," said Colton, "but we
have to do it. And let me tell you, my dear young man, there is more
crime than you imagine in the neglect of these fellows. In this
blessed country there is hardly any excuse for a man's failure to meet
his obligations. The trouble is that people who can't afford it live
too high. Let them economize; let them be sensible. Why, I could have
gone broke forty-odd years ago; hah, I could go broke now. Oh, I know
that we are all accused of being hard, but you have no idea what the
wealthy people of this city do for the poor. Just look at the charity
balls; look at our annual showing, and you'll find it remarkable."
Henry felt that the charity of the rich was largely a species of
"bluff" that they make at one another. It was not real charity; it was
an advertisement--it was business.
"My dear friend Witherspoon," said Colton, mouthing his cigar--he did
not smoke at home--"I am going to branch out more. I'm going to make
investments. I see that it is safe, and I want you to help me."
"All right; how much do you want to invest?"
"Oh, I can place my hand on a little money--just a little. I've got
some in stocks, but I've got a little by me."
"How much?"
This frightened him. "Oh, I don't know; really, I can't tell. But I
think that I've got a little that I'd like to invest. But I'll talk to
you about it to-morrow."
"All right."
"I think real estate would be about the right thing. I could soon turn
it over, you know. Some wonderfully fortunate investments have been
made that way. But I'll talk to you about it to-morrow."
Brooke said that he was in something of a hurry to get home, and the
visitors took their leave early in the evening. Witherspoon returned
to the library after going to the door with Colton. He sat down,
stretched forth his feet, meditated for a few moments, and said: "The
bark on a beech tree was never any closer than that old man, and yet
he is kind-hearted."
"When kindness doesn't cost anything, I suppose," Henry suggested.
"Yes, that's true. He spoke of the wonderful showing of the charities
of this city as though he were a prime mover in them, when, in fact, I
don't think he ever contributed more than a barrel of flour in any one
year. But he is a good business man, and if there were more like him
there would be fewer bankrupts."
Ellen appeared at the door. "Henry, mother and I are going to your
room to pay you a call."
"All right, I'll go up with you. Won't you come, father?"
"No, I believe not. Think I'll read a while and go to bed."
Henry's room was bright with a gladsome fire. On the table had been
set a vase of moss roses, and beside the vase lay an old black pipe,
tied with a blue ribbon. The young man laughed, and the girl said:
"Mother's doings. Ugh! the nasty thing!"
"If my son smoked a pipe when he was in exile," Mrs. Witherspoon
replied, "he can do so now. None of the privileges of a strange land
shall be denied him in his own home."
She sat in an easy-chair and was slowly rocking. To man a
rocking-chair is a remembrancer of a mother's affection.
"Light your pipe, my son."
"No, not now, mother."
Ellen sat on an arm of Henry's chair. "Your hair would curl if you
were to encourage it," she remarked.
"Has anybody said anything about curly hair?" he asked.
"No, but I was just thinking that yours might curl."
"Do you want me to look like Brooks?"
She frowned. "He kinks his with a hot poker. I don't like pretty men."
"How about handsome men?"
"Oh, I have to like them. You are a handsome man, you know."
"Nonsense," he replied.
"Your grandmother was a very handsome woman," said Mrs. Witherspoon.
"She had jet-black hair, and her teeth were like pearls. Ellen, what
did Mr. Coglin say when you gave him the slippers?" Mr. Coglin was a
clergyman.
"Oh, he thanked me, of course. He couldn't very well have said, 'Take
them away.'"
"But did you tell him that you embroidered them with your own hands?"
"Yes, I told him."
"Then what did he say?"
"He pretended to be greatly surprised, and said something, but I have
forgotten what it was. Mrs. Brooks is awful tiresome with her 'Yes,
indeed,' isn't she? Seems to me that I'd learn something else."
"She's hardly so tiresome with her 'Yes, indeed,' as her father is
with his 'Hah, hah, my dear Mr. Witherspoon,'" Henry replied.
"But he is a very old man, my son," said Mrs. Witherspoon, "and you
must excuse him. I have heard that he was quite aristocratic before
the war."
"Oh, he never was aristocratic," Ellen declared. "Aristocracy hampered
by extreme stinginess would cut but a poor figure, I should think."
"Have we set up a grill here?" Henry asked.
Mrs. Witherspoon nodded at Ellen as if to emphasize the rebuke, and
the young woman exclaimed: "Oh, I'm singled out, am I? Who said that
the old man's 'hah, hah,' was tiresome? You'd better nod at your son,
mother."
But she gave her son never a nod. In her sight he surely could commit
no indiscretion. A moment later the mother asked:
"Have they talked to you again about going into the store?"
"Oh, they hint at it occasionally."
"Ellen, can't you find a chair? I know your brother must he tired."
Ellen got off the arm of Henry's chair, and soon afterward Mrs.
Witherspoon took the vacated place. The young woman laughed, but said
nothing. The mother fondly touched Henry's hair and smoothed it back
from his forehead. "Don't you let them worry you, my son. They can't
help but respect your manliness. Indeed," she added, growing strangely
bold for one so gentle, "must a man be a merchant whether he will or
not? And whenever you want to write about poor women, you do it. They
are mistreated; they are made wretched, and by just such men as
Brooks, too. What does he care for a woman's misery? And your father's
so blind that he doesn't see it. But I see it. And I oughtn't to say
it, but I will--he has the impudence to tell your father that I give
too much money to the poor. It's none of his business, I'm sure."
There was a peculiar softness in Henry's voice when he replied: "I
hope some time to catch him interfering with your affairs."
"Oh, but you mustn't say a word, my son--not a word; and I don't want
your father to know that I have said anything."
"He shall not know, but I hope some time to catch Brooks interfering
with your affairs. He has meddled with mine, but I can forgive that."
Henry walked up and down the room when Mrs. Witherspoon and Ellen were
gone. With a mother's love, that gentle woman had found a mother's
place in his heart. He looked at the rocking-chair. Suddenly he seized
hold of the mantelpiece to steady himself. He had caught himself
seriously wondering if she had rocked him years ago.