A PHENOMENON IN EMBRYO.
The superintendency of the Mississippi Valley Woolen Mills was a
position which exactly suited Fred Macdonald, and it gave him occasion
for the expenditure of whatever superfluous energy he found himself
possessed of, yet it did not engross his entire attention. The faculty
which the busiest of young men have for finding time in which to
present themselves, well clothed and unbusiness-like, to at least one
young woman, is as remarkable and admirable as it is inexplicable. The
evenings which did not find Fred in Parson Wedgewell’s parlor were
few indeed, and if, when he was with Esther, he did not talk quite as
sentimentally as he had done in the earlier days of his engagement,
and if he talked business very frequently, the change did not seem
distasteful to the lady herself. For the business of which he talked
was, in the main, of a sort which loving women have for ages recognized
as the inevitable, and to which they have subjected themselves with
a unanimity which deserves the gratitude of all humanity. Fred talked
of a cottage which he might enter without first knocking at the door,
and of a partnership which should be unlimited; if he learned, in the
course of successive conversations, that even in partnerships of the
most extreme order many compromises are absolutely necessary, the
lesson was one which improved his character in the ratio in which it
abased his pride. The cottage grew as rapidly as the mill, and on
his returns from various trips for machinery there came with Fred’s
freight certain packages which prevented their owner from appearing
so completely the absorbed business man which he flattered himself
that he seemed. Then the partnership was formed one evening in Parson
Wedgewell’s own church, in the presence of a host of witnesses,
Fred appearing as self-satisfied and radiant as the gainer in such
transactions always does, while Esther’s noble face and drooping eyes
showed beyond doubt who it was that was the giver.
As the weeks succeeded each other after the wedding, however, no
acquaintance of the couple could wonder whether the gainer or the giver
was the happier. Fred improved rapidly, as the school-boy improves;
but Esther’s graces were already of mature growth, and rejoiced in
their opportunity for development. Though she could not have explained
how it happened, she could not but notice that maidens regarded her
wonderingly, wives contemplated her wistfully, frowns departed and
smiles appeared when she approached people who were usually considered
prosaic. Yet shadows sometimes stole over her face, when she looked at
certain of her old acquaintances, and the cause thereof soon took a
development which was anything but pleasing to her husband.
“Fred,” said Esther one evening, “it makes me real unhappy sometimes to
think of the good wives there are who are not as happy as I am. I think
of Mrs. Moshier and Mrs. Crayme, and the only reason that I can see is,
their husbands drink.”
“I guess you’re right, Ettie,” said Fred. “They didn’t begin their
domestic tyranny in advance, as _you_ did--bless you for it.”
“But why _don’t_ their husbands stop?” asked Esther, too deeply
interested in her subject to notice her husband’s compliment. “They
must see what they’re doing, and how cruel it all is.”
“They’re too far gone to stop; I suppose that’s the reason,” said
Fred. “It hasn’t been easy work for _me_ to keep my promise, Ettie, and
I’m a young man; Moshier and Crayme are middle-aged men, and liquor is
simply necessary to them.”
“That dreadful old Bunley wasn’t too old to reform, it seems,” said
Esther. “Fred, I believe one reason is that no one has asked them to
stop. See how good Harry Wainright has been since he found that so many
people were interested in him that day!”
“Ye----es,” drawled Fred, evidently with a suspicion of what was
coming, and trying to change the subject by suddenly burying himself in
his memorandum book. But this ruse did not succeed, for Esther crossed
the room to where Fred sat, placed her hands on his shoulders, and a
kiss on his forehead, and exclaimed,
“Fred, _you’re_ the proper person to reform those two men!”
“Oh, Ettie,” groaned Fred, “you’re entirely mistaken. Why, they’d laugh
right in my face, if they didn’t get angry and knock me down. Reformers
want to be older men, better men, men like your father, for instance,
if people are to listen to them.”
“Father says they need to be men who understand the nature of those
they are talking to,” replied Esther; “and you once told me that you
understood Moshier and Crayme perfectly.”
“But just think of what they are, Ettie,” pleaded Fred. “Moshier is a
contractor, and Crayme’s a steamboat captain; _such_ men never reform,
though they always are good fellows. Why, if I were to speak to either
of them on the subject, they’d laugh in my face, or curse me. The only
way I was able to make peace with them for stopping drinking myself was
to say that I did it to please my wife.”
“Did they accept that as sufficient excuse?” asked Esther.
“Yes,” said Fred reluctantly, and biting his lips over this slip of his
tongue.
“Then you’ve set them a good example, and I can’t believe its effect
will be lost,” said Esther.
“I sincerely hope it won’t,” said Fred, very willing to seem a reformer
at heart; “nobody would be gladder than I to see those fellows with
wives as happy as mine seems to be.”
“Then why don’t you follow it up, Fred, dear, and make sure of your
hopes being realized? You can’t imagine how much happier _I_ would be
if I could meet those dear women without feeling that I had to hide
the joy that’s so hard to keep to myself.”
The conversation continued with considerable strain to Fred’s
amiability; but his sophistry was no match for his wife’s earnestness,
and he was finally compelled to promise that he would make an appeal
to Crayme, with whom he had a business engagement, on the arrival of
Crayme’s boat, the _Excellence_.
Before the whistles of the steamer were next heard, however, Esther
learned something of the sufferings of would-be reformers, and found
cause to wonder who was to endure most that Mrs. Crayme should have a
sober husband, for Fred was alternately cross, moody, abstracted, and
inattentive, and even sullenly remarked at his breakfast-table one
morning that he shouldn’t be sorry if the _Excellence_ were to blow
up, and leave Mrs. Crayme to find her happiness in widowhood. But no
such luck befell the lady: the whistle-signals of the _Excellence_ were
again heard in the river, and the nature of Fred’s business with the
captain made it unadvisable for Fred to make an excuse for leaving the
boat unvisited.
It _did_ seem to Fred Macdonald as if everything conspired to make
his task as hard as it could possibly be. Crayme was already under the
influence of more liquor than was necessary to his well-being, and the
boat carried as passengers a couple of men, who, though professional
gamblers, Crayme found very jolly company when they were not engaged
in their business calling. Besides, Captain Crayme was running against
time with an opposition boat which had just been put upon the river,
and he appreciated the necessity of having the boat’s bar well stocked
and freely opened to whoever along the river was influential in
making or marring the reputation of steamboats. Fred finally got the
captain into his own room, however, and made a freight contract so
absent-mindedly that the sagacious captain gained an immense advantage
over him; then he acted so awkwardly, and looked so pale, that the
captain suggested chills, and prescribed brandy. Fred smiled feebly,
and replied,
“No, thank you, Sam; brandy’s at the bottom of the trouble. I”--here
Fred made a tremendous attempt to rally himself--“I want _you_ to swear
off, Sam.”
The astonishment of Captain Crayme was marked enough to be alarming
at first; then the ludicrous feature of Fred’s request struck him
so forcibly that he burst into a laugh before whose greatness Fred
trembled and shrank.
“Well, by thunder!” exclaimed the captain, when he recovered his
breath; “if that isn’t the best thing I ever heard yet! The idea of
a steamboat captain swearing off his whiskey! Say, Fred, don’t you
want me to join the church? I forgot that you’d married a preacher’s
daughter, or I wouldn’t have been so puzzled over your white face
to-day. Sam Crayme brought down to cold water! Wouldn’t the boys along
the river get up a sweet lot of names for me--the ‘Cold-water Captain,’
‘Psalm-singing Sammy’! and then, when an editor or any other visitor
came aboard, _wouldn’t_ I look the thing, hauling out glasses and a
pitcher of water! Say, Fred, does your wife let you drink tea and
coffee?”
“Sam!” exclaimed Fred, springing to his feet, “if you don’t stop
slanting at my wife, I’ll knock you down.”
“Good!” said the captain, without exhibiting any signs of trepidation.
“_Now_ you talk like yourself again. I beg your pardon, old fellow; you
know I was only joking, but it _is_ too funny. You’ll have to take a
trip or two with me again, though, and be reformed.”
“Not any,” said Fred, resuming his chair; “take your wife along, and
reform yourself.”
“Look here, now, young man,” said the captain, “_you’re_ cracking on
too much steam. Honestly, Fred, I’ve kept a sharp eye on you for two or
three months, and I am right glad you can let whiskey alone. I’ve seen
times when I wished I were in your boots; but steamboats can’t be run
without liquor, however it may be with woolen mills.”
“That’s all nonsense,” said Fred. “You get trade because you run your
boat on time, charge fair prices, and deliver your freight in good
order. Who gives you business because you drink and treat?”
The captain, being unable to recall any shipper of the class alluded to
by Fred, changed his course.
“’Tisn’t so much that,” said he; “it’s a question of reputation. How
would I feel to go ashore at Pittsburg or Louisville or Cincinnati, and
refuse to drink with anybody? Why, ’twould ruin me. It’s different with
you who don’t have to meet anybody but religious old farmers. Besides,
you’ve just been married.”
“And you’ve been married for five years,” said Fred, with a sudden
sense of help at hand. “How do you suppose _your_ wife feels?”
Captain Crayme’s jollity subsided a little, but with only a little
hesitation he replied,
“Oh! she’s used to it; she doesn’t mind it.”
“You’re the only person in town that thinks so, Sam,” said Fred.
Captain Crayme got up and paced his little state-room two or three
times, with a face full of uncertainty. At last he replied,
“Well, between old friends, Fred, I don’t think so very strongly
myself. Hang it! I wish I’d been brought up a preacher, or something of
the kind, so I wouldn’t have had business ruining my chances of being
the right sort of a family man. Emily _don’t_ like my drinking, and
I’ve promised to look up some other business; but ’tisn’t easy to get
out of steamboating when you’ve got a good boat and a first-rate trade.
Once she felt so awfully about it that I _did_ swear off--don’t tell
anybody, for God’s sake! but I did. I had to look out for my character
along the river, though; so I swore off on the sly, and played sick.
I’d give my orders to the mates and clerks from my bed in here, and
then I’d lock myself in, and read novels and the Bible to keep from
thinking. ’Twas awful dry work all around; but ‘whole hog or none’ is
_my_ style, you know. There was fun in it, though, to think of doing
something that no other captain on the river ever did. But, thunder!
by the time night came, I was so tired of loafing that I wrapped a
blanket around my head and shoulders, like a Hoosier, sneaked out the
outer door here, and walked the guards, between towns; but I was so
frightened for fear some one would know me that the walk did me more
harm than good. And blue! why a whole cargo of indigo would have looked
like a snow-storm alongside of my feelings the second day; ’pon my
word, Fred, I caught myself crying in the afternoon, just before dark,
and I couldn’t find out what for either. I tell _you_, I was scared,
and things got worse as time spun along; the dreams I had that night
made me howl, and I felt worse yet when daylight came along again.
Toward the next night I was just afraid to go to sleep; so I made up
my mind to get well, go on duty, and dodge everybody that it seemed
I ought to drink with. Why, the Lord bless your soul! the first time
we shoved off from a town, I walked up to the bar, just as I always
did after leaving towns; the barkeeper set out my particular bottle
naturally enough, knowing nothing about my little game; I poured my
couple of fingers, and dropped it down as innocent as a lamb before
I knew what I was doing. By George! my boy, ’twas like opening
lock-gates; I was just heavenly gay before morning. There was one good
thing about it, though--I never told Emily I was going to swear off; I
was going to surprise her, so I had the disappointment all to myself.
Maybe she isn’t as happy as your wife; but, whatever else I’ve done, or
not done, I’ve never lied to her.”
“It’s a pity you hadn’t promised _her_ then, before you tried your
experiment,” said Fred. The captain shook his head gravely and replied,
“I guess not; why, I’d have either killed somebody or killed myself if
I’d gone on a day or two longer. I s’pose I’d have got along better
if I’d had anybody to keep me company, or reason with me like a
schoolmaster; but I hadn’t; I didn’t know anybody that I dared trust
with a secret like that.”
“_I_ hadn’t reformed then, eh?” queried Fred.
“You? why you’re one of the very fellows I dodged! Just as I got aboard
the boat--I came down late, on purpose--I saw you out aft. I tell
you, I was under my blankets, with a towel wrapped around my jaw, in
about one minute, and was just _a-praying_ that you hadn’t seen me come
aboard.”
Fred laughed, but his laughter soon made place for a look of tender
solicitude. The unexpected turn that had been reached in the
conversation he had so dreaded, and the sympathy which had been
awakened in him by Crayme’s confidence and openness, temporarily made
of Fred Macdonald a man with whom Fred himself had never before been
acquainted. A sudden idea struck him.
“Sam,” said he, “try it over again, and _I’ll_ stay by you. I’ll nurse
you, crack jokes, fight off the blues for you, keep your friends away.
I’ll even break your neck for you, if you like, seeing it’s you if
it’ll keep you straight.”
“Will you, though?” said the captain, with a look of admiration
undisguised, except by wonder. “You’re the first friend I ever had,
then. By thunder! how marrying Ettie Wedgewell _did_ improve you, Fred!
But,” and the captain’s face lengthened again, “there’s a fellow’s
reputation to be considered, and where’ll mine be after it gets around
that I’ve sworn off?”
“Reputation be hanged!” exclaimed Fred. “_Lose_ it, for your wife’s
sake. Besides, you’ll _make_ reputation instead of lose it: you’ll be
as famous as the Red River Raft, or the Mammoth Cave--the only thing of
the kind west of the Alleghanies. As for the boys, tell them I’ve bet
you a hundred that you can’t stay off your liquor for a year, and that
you’re not the man to take a dare.”
“_That_ sounds like business,” exclaimed the captain, springing to his
feet.
“Let me draw up a pledge,” said Fred eagerly, drawing pen and ink
toward him.
“No, you don’t, my boy,” said the captain gently, and pushing Fred
out of the room and upon the guards. “Emily shall do that. Below
there!--Perkins, I’ve got to go up town for an hour; see if you can’t
pick up freight to pay laying-up expenses somehow. Fred, go home and
get your traps; ‘now’s the accepted time,’ as your father-in-law has
dinged at me, many a Sunday, from the pulpit.”