When Mr. Robert Fortinbras heard of his daughter's determination, he
declared that he renounced her for ever. But after thinking the matter
over, and especially on being reminded by Hugh John that one day she
would become heiress of no mean part of the Donnan wealth, he consented
to a limited forgiveness, on condition that in the meantime she should
do something for her father and mother. But her sister Matilda openly
revolted, saying that _she_ always knew Elizabeth meant to shove the
housework off on her, and that she did not care if not a dish was ever
washed in that house again. Elizabeth reminded her that, far from idling
at New Erin Villa, she was on foot from morning till night. Also that
nine times out of ten when she came home she found Matilda asleep on the
sofa, with a penny novelette flung on the floor beside her. There was a
feeling of strain for a moment, but Elizabeth presented her sister with
a striped blouse and half-a-dozen stand-up collars, which promptly
brought forth the declaration, "Oh, Elizabeth, you mustn't mind what I
_say_. It is only mother's nagging that does it, but I do love you!"
Which may or may not have had to do with the striped blouse and the
half-dozen collars. On the whole, there was a certain feeling of
satisfaction in the house of Mr. Robert Fortinbras that Elizabeth was so
well provided for, and that in a day of trouble she might even assist
the brilliant adventurer with some of the gold of that unimaginative
citizen, Mr. Ex-Butcher Donnan.
But Miss Elizabeth Fortinbras, though the best daughter in the
world--with only one exception that I know of personally--had no idea of
encouraging the busy idleness of her father, or the foolishness of the
rest of the family. She had found a business that suited her, and she
would in nowise interest herself less in it now that she was, so to
speak, the present partner and future heiress in the concern.
There was but one person discontented, Mrs. Nipper Donnan. She was
jealous of the white-curtained cottage, the trim garden, which began to
blossom where she had hung out her clothes. Chiefly, however, she hated
Elizabeth Fortinbras and "that Hugh John Picton Smith," who, strangely
enough, was her abhorrence--though it was not his habit to ignore any
one, but only to pass on his way with a grave bow.
Hugh John was an uncomfortable person to quarrel with. His great bodily
strength and long practice in the art of boxing rendered him a man of
peace whose very presence made for reconciliation. In the neighborhood
of Edam he was President Roosevelt's "moral policeman with a big stick."
Even at home he held over the head of an offender a baton of honor and
"the right thing to do."
At school, it is to be feared that his discipline was sterner. There he
argued but seldom. He was the centurion who said, "Do this!" and the
other fellow did it. But then, it was a good thing to do, and the head
master generally considered him as his best ally.
He was father's constant companion on his walks, and to hear them debate
in that precious half-hour in the dining-room after dinner was to escape
suddenly from the smallness of the world about, and find oneself on the
high Alps of thought where the sun shone early and late, where the
winds blew clean and cold, and thought was free exceedingly. Neither
counted anything as to be accepted merely because they had been told it
upon authority. They searched and compared, the man and the boy, Hugh
John's finely analytic mind steadied and gripped by the elder
experience. Their talk was not the talk of father and son, but rather of
two seekers--Hugh John declaiming high, direct, often fierce, while
through the smoke of a contemplative cigarette father went on smiling
gently, now waving a hand in gentle deprecation, dropping a word of
moderation here, qualifying a statement there--the son holding strictly
for law and justice, of the firmest and most inexorable, the father
dropping counsels of mercy and that understanding which is the
forgiveness of God, being, as always, a Tolerant of the Tolerants.
I know that those who have read the two books called after Sir Toady
Lion may fail a little to recognize my elder brother. But nevertheless
this is the same who in his time wept because as a little child with a
wooden sword he had been saluted by the Scots Grays, the same also who
fought the "smoutchies"; and if I have said nothing about a certain
notable Cissy Carter, it is only because, though I know, in the
meantime I have promised not to tell.
It will easily be understood that with such an adversary Mrs. Nipper
Donnan, ex-kitchen-maid at Erin Villa, stood little chance. Hugh John
listened patiently and gravely, his head slightly bent in the pensive
and contemplative way which was then his principal charm. He heard that
he had interfered where he had no business, that Mrs. Nipper Donnan knew
that he had always hated her husband, that, while as good as engaged to
Colonel Carter's daughter, he was walking the lanes with Elizabeth
Fortinbras--yes, and plotting and planning to get a fortune for her--a
fortune which would make beggars of her husband and herself, and strip
an only son of his inheritance.
To the angry woman Hugh John made no reply. He only kept silence, with
that gentle irony which is his present manner with those who grow
quarrelsome--that is, if they are not of his own sex and (approximately)
age.
He only called Nipper--and by a series of questions ascertained from him
that he knew how Hugh John had been the means of obtaining better terms
for him than he had ever hoped for, since his marriage had so offended
his father. Hugh John Picton Smith could speak no lie. He, Nipper
Donnan, would uphold this against all comers. Even in the days of the
smoutchies and the prison vault at the old Castle in the Edam Water he
had known it. Even his very enemies had known it, and had taken Hugh
John's word before the sworn oath of any one of themselves. He would
take it now, and as to his wife, if she said another word--out of the
shop she should go! She did go, slamming the door behind her. Nipper
stepped across and shot a bar with a jarring sound heard all over the
house. Then from behind the counter he thrust forth a hand, hard and
massive, towards Hugh John, who took it in his strong grip. They looked
at each other in the face, eye to eye. There was a slight shrug of
Nipper's shoulders and a toss of his head in the direction of the barred
door, which said that a man could not be responsible for his womankind,
but as for themselves, had they not fought far too often and too fairly
ever to go behind backs to do each other an injury?