“Van Teuten?—I’m busy—well, one minute, then. Tell him to come in.”
The man ushered into the private room wrote a magnificent hand. For the
moment that was nothing to the point—yet, after all, it was something,
for Van Teuten owed his career to it—“the best hand in the department.”
He did not write quickly—that was beneath his dignity—but for really
beautiful writing no one could come near him.
Van Teuten was visibly disturbed, as he stood facing Van Arlen, who sat
leaning over his desk. The cash-box was shut.
“Well, Mr Van Teuten?”
“Mr Van Arlen—I’m come—I hope you’ll excuse it. I’ve come to make a
request, on which my future depends.”
Van Arlen looked up from his paper, and coughed importantly, fixing his
dark eyes on the chief clerk, as though he suspected him of high
treason.
“You know perhaps that—that I have absolutely no means of my own, and,
with the title of assistant secretary (which I owe to my
handwriting)”—here Van Teuten raised his head with a certain pride—“in
spite of my handwriting, still only draw the salary of chief clerk.”
“Do you want to be promoted, Mr Van Teuten?”
“Promoted—that is to say, sir—not exactly; but, Mr Van Arlen, I can’t
live! I’m poor, sir, and—if I write a good hand—Heaven forbid, sir, that
I should boast of it; but, well, it is hard that one should have one’s
merits, and be forced to suffer from poverty.”
Van Arlen gazed fixedly at the owner of the fine handwriting, and asked
him for a definite statement of what he wanted—his time was valuable.
“Do excuse me, sir; but I’m nervous—I’m agitated. I shall have to pay my
rent on Saturday—three-quarters’ rent, sir,—and I’ve nothing—nothing—not
so much as _that_!”
“Very sad for you, Mr Van Teuten, but you know that I can be of no use
to you in this matter.”
“Nay, Mr Van Arlen, you can. I only want two hundred guilders—nothing
more, and then I am saved—saved! And, you see, if I stood alone, sir, I
shouldn’t care—I should find some way out of it,—but I have a wife and
five children. Oh, God! Mr Van Arlen, it’s my last hope. Don’t let me go
like this!”
Van Teuten pulled out a red pocket-handkerchief, and dried a few tears
with it. Van Arlen stared at him, still lost in thought, and forgot the
man’s request in the comparison he was drawing in his own mind, between
this case and his own. At last he asked slowly, “What do you want me to
do?”
“Lend me two hundred guilders, sir,—that’s all that I hope, I entreat, I
beg of you——”
“Just listen to me, my good Van Teuten, and don’t get excited,—tears are
not becoming in a man of your age. We’ve all got to work for our
families, and some men in this world happen to be better off than
others—but that’s no reason for giving way to passionate grief. As to
your request, it’s out of my power to grant it. Next time there is any
question of increase in salaries, I will do my best to improve your
position, but for the moment I cannot help you. If I did, I should have
all your colleagues asking me for the same thing to-morrow, and my
position will not allow of my coming to the assistance of officials in
this way.”
Van Teuten was searching his mind for a word—a sentence. To-morrow, when
he did not want them, he might think of hundreds; now, he could find
none that would add force to his entreaty. He soon gave up the effort,
and tried another tack:
“The Minister is rich, sir,—don’t you think he might give or lend me two
hundred guilders?”
Van Arlen looked straight at him. True, the Minister was rich, and what
he refused Van Teuten he might yet be induced to grant to Van Arlen.
“If you would only speak for me, Mr Van Arlen,—I don’t want to exalt
myself—and yet, I believe—don’t take it ill of me if I say so—I think my
services are worth something—and if His Excellency would be willing to
give me the money, I should be saved.”
“Probably His Excellency would have the same reasons for declining as
myself; but I cannot conceive, Mr Van Teuten, that there is not one of
your colleagues who would be willing to help you out of a temporary
inconvenience.”
Would Van Arlen himself have found one so quickly?
“Oh! plenty!—but they want security—they want a guarantee; and ... do
you think His Excellency would become security for me?—or you, sir—your
name will do anything you like.”
“My good friend, you understand that I, in my position, cannot afford to
get mixed up with any such affair, nor can the Minister either. Try and
come to some arrangement with your landlord, but don’t expect anything
from _these_ quarters, under such circumstances. We can’t have anything
to do with such matters.”
Van Teuten bowed his head—he had exhausted his arguments, and all to no
purpose; he had completely forgotten the eloquent address, thought out
last night; the courage with which he had armed himself had oozed
away—he went out silently. But suddenly he turned back.
“If it were _outside_ the official circle, sir, could you help me then?
I could get money at an interest of one per cent. per month—only I must
have the security of one of the superior officials.”
“I have told you, Mr Van Teuten, that I, in my position, cannot occupy
myself with any matters of the kind. I am sorry for you, but I can do
nothing.”
The man with the fine hand went away, slowly and dejectedly, and Van
Arlen was once more alone with—or rather without—his thousand guilders.
* * * * *
It is a mistake to suppose that, for the preparation of jugged hare, a
hare is necessary. Mrs Van Arlen understood very well how to give a
dinner, which, to the uninitiate, seemed the finest kind of “company”
dinner, and yet consisted of the most commonplace everyday dishes. But
there is an infinite difference between rice in a dish and rice in a
mould—more especially when the latter is served with lemon sauce. The
ham was prepared _à la mayonnaise_—Van Arlen was so fond of that
dish,—he always partook of it when on those mysterious journeys of his;
and then—you need not have a whole ham for it, a few slices are quite
enough. Moreover, there stood, on the side-table, besides the
never-failing ginger and cheese, a silver dish with ten little halfpenny
tarts on it. It was quite a splendid dinner; papa and uncle had each a
bottle to himself, and besides the ordinary wine glasses there were
others of smaller size for the better wine.
But, with all this magnificence, a certain gloom prevailed among the Van
Arlens. This is the way with the great ones of the earth; they enjoy
wealth and ease without appreciating them.
Prigson, on the other hand, was, as usual, in excellent spirits. He felt
in nowise overawed by the splendour of the feast, or the eight silk
skirts which rustled round about him.
“You see, it’s just our ordinary family dinner,” said madame, with a
pleasant little laugh. Prigson gave the obligatory answer, and paid no
attention whatever to the material part of the dinner.
“Which of you girls are going out with me this evening?” he asked. “I
can’t take all seven—three is the maximum—or else your father will have
to come too.”
“You know, Prigson, my position is such that I cannot devote a single
hour to mere enjoyment.”
Madame sighed, and said, in a compassionate tone, that brother could
form no idea of the life Van Arlen led.
“No doubt,” said Prigson; “but I admit that it is far from appearing to
most people what it really is.” Prigson made the remark entirely without
sarcastic intention, and went on, with a smile, “I would bet something
that you haven’t even read the paper yet, Van Arlen.”
Van Arlen usually read his daily paper from title to imprint while
taking his breakfast; but to-day he had entirely forgotten it.
“I haven’t once looked into it; and here’s the proof,” he said, taking
it still unopened from his pocket.
“So you haven’t seen my advertisement?”
“Your advertisement?—no—did you insert one?”
“Do you remember our talk at your office?”
Van Arlen had not forgotten it for one moment, and if Prigson had paid
more attention to him, and less to Caroline and Leida (who, in fact,
were very pretty girls), he would have noticed that Van Arlen’s looks
continually took the vague direction which indicated that his mind was
elsewhere. His wife, who noticed it, ascribed it to the responsibilities
of his office; his daughters were thinking, this evening, more of their
uncle than of him. Certainly papa was the very type of a handsome man,
but uncle had something very distinguished about him—especially since
Leida had told them about seeing him in the club.
“What advertisement is that, brother?” asked Mrs Van Arlen.
“Oh, my dear Hortense, it belongs to those matters which ladies can’t
understand; but if it comes to anything, and Van Arlen is willing to
take a hand in it, he has only to say the word. You can make your
fortune over it, Van Arlen.”
The word “fortune” awakened in the Van Arlens a feeling which used to
come over them day by day, and had as regularly to be suppressed. Now,
however, they were able to give way to it for a moment, and Van Arlen
himself—still under the influence of what he had endured that
afternoon—looked at Van Noost Prigson with interest.
“How could that be done?” asked Mrs Van Arlen almost indifferently;
while all the girls, holding their breath, looked at Prigson in order to
form their own conclusions as to whether his project were practicable.
“In the first place, you would have to give up your situation; in the
next, to leave the place; and in the third, to work rather harder than
you do at present; but, on the other hand, you would earn six times as
much money.”
“You evidently don’t know what the life of a Government official is,”
said Van Arlen, with a contemptuous smile at the mention of harder work
than his.
“Oh, dear, no!” said his wife; and the daughters looked in consternation
at the man who had dared to cast the slightest doubt on the extent and
importance of papa’s duties.
“Well, what now, Van Arlen?” said Prigson, seeing that his
brother-in-law seemed once more lost in a brown study, “are you off to
that office of yours again? You had better come to the opera with us
this evening; that is to say, if these ladies are inclined to come.”
A cold shudder—but it was one of delight—completely overpowered the
self-control of Frederica and Marie. They scarcely knew the opera,
except by name,—papa never went there,—and it was very long since they
had been invited by any one else.
“The opera?” said Van Arlen, “I don’t care about that; it’s a sin
against common sense.”
“I beg your pardon?” asked Prigson, perplexed.
“Why, all the people there die singing—I can’t get over that.”
“Eh?” said Prigson, evidently much taken aback; “well, I never thought
about that. But now I do think about it, I should say that the opera is
the most natural picture of life. There are so many people that weep and
wail all their lives; is that so very much more unnatural than that they
should sing when they die? But, granting that it is as you say, let’s go
to an opera in which nobody dies. Isn’t _Don Pasquale_ on to-night,
young ladies?”
“I think so, uncle,” answered Frederica, blushing, for none of the girls
even thought of looking at the theatrical announcements. What was the
good?
“Yes, yes—_Don Pasquale_. Come, Van Arlen—that’s a comic opera—just the
thing for you!”
Van Arlen shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t mind a comic opera—not if
it’s _really_ comic,” he said.
“Come along, then—you’re sure to like _Don Pasquale_.”
“No, I can’t—another time, perhaps—I’ve too much to do to-night,” said
Van Arlen, absently looking at the alabaster clock that did not go, but
nevertheless seemed able to tell him that it was now _his_ time.
“Yes,” said his wife, “and if we’re to go to the opera we shall have to
dress.”
“Hortense! Hortense!” said Prigson, with a mischievous glance.
“What do you mean, Prigson? Of course I can’t let the girls go to the
opera with a strange gentleman. I’ve always done my best, brother, to
give my daughters a _good_ bringing-up.”
Prigson was too polite to answer; Van Arlen had folded his hands,—his
wife did the same, and soliloquised in silence.
“Six of the ten tarts left over ... perhaps the confectioner would take
them back ... at any rate, one might try. Leentje might go and see....
The opera ... that has not happened in the last ten years—what are we to
do about dresses?—we shall have to be quick about it.... Amen.”
Her reflections were brought to an abrupt conclusion, for Van Arlen had
opened his eyes with a sigh, and once more saw Prigson before him. Oh!
what would he not have given not to see him—to have opened his eyes in
the consciousness that he had been sleeping! Sleeping, from the moment
of meeting his brother-in-law in the street; sleeping, when the latter
reminded him of the debt, when he had been alone after Prigson’s
departure, when Van Teuten stood over him; sleeping, too, that last
quarter of an hour, when he stood before his desk after Van Teuten had
left him.... But he had not slept—all, all was real ... and then to go
to a comic opera on the top of that!
“Excuse me, Prigson, but I must go back to work immediately, there are
some documents wanted in a hurry.”
“Oh! so things _are_ sometimes wanted in a hurry at a Government
office?” asked Prigson. “No, thank you—take one of my cigars—real
Havannah, fifteen cents—delicious—just try one.”
“Oh, uncle, it’s positively sinful!” said Leida, who had nearly
forgotten etiquette so far as to hand him a light, which at a ceremonial
dinner would have been highly unfitting.
“Sinful is it?... How old are you now, Leida?”
“Eighteen next birthday, uncle.”
“Good-bye, then—till later—no, don’t apologise. But don’t go to sleep,
Van Arlen,” Prigson shouted jocularly after his host, and then added,
turning to Leida, “A happy time of life, Leida, I wish it were mine
still;—but when I was that age, I didn’t think fifteen cents too much to
pay for anything I liked.”
“How do you mean, uncle?”
“Just what I say, my dear girl. What is life, after all? isn’t it always
seeking for what you like, whether you understand by that the smoking of
a good Havannah, or the consciousness of having done a good action?
Enjoyment means just what people like—and the older they are, the more
they want of it. It’s unjust of old people to say that it’s the young
ones that always want to enjoy themselves—the old ones are just as set
on it, but they get their enjoyment out of other things. Well, any man
who can get himself one enjoyment for fifteen cents is certainly not
cheated out of his money.”
“But, uncle, must one always have money to enjoy one’s self?” asked
Leida, naïvely, but very much _à contre cœur_—for her whole life was in
evidence to prove that, as a rule, one must.
“Certainly not, my very charming Leida,” said Prigson, rising, and
added, as he embraced his niece, “That’s a treat for nothing, do you
see?”
“Not for me, uncle,” said Leida, laughing mischievously, as she ran out
of the room.
“It’s really a pity that Van Arlen’s such a harlequin!” muttered Van
Noost Prigson to himself, and then went to join his elder nieces at the
window.
Van Arlen was once more in his room, and had locked the door—but he
didn’t go to sleep. He had his hand in his breast-pocket, and his
fingers were clutching a little packet that seemed to burn them.
Borrowed? No—not borrowed; it was stolen—it was not his. And yet he was
not a thief—he had already as good as put it back,—only the execution
was awanting to complete his intention. He strained his ears listening
for Prigson and the others to go out at the front door. As soon as they
were gone, he would hurry to the office and put back the money! Why were
they dawdling like that? If anything happened to prevent his going—if he
were to find the lock out of order. Why did they not start? If there
were a fire in a street he had to pass—if he were to meet with an
accident.... Do be quick, Prigson! the money is burning me—if I start
now, we shall be in the street at the same time—then I shall have to go
with him, and he will have to walk slowly on account of the ladies.
Which way shall I go? My hat—where did I put my hat? If Prigson were to
take my hat by mistake—happily it has a mourning band on it. Why don’t
you go, Prigson? Have you given up the plan?
There was a knock at the door, and his wife entered.
“Are you going out, Van Arlen?”
“No, my dear, no.”
“I thought you looked as if you were going to start.”
“Certainly not, certainly not! Go now, make haste, or you’ll be late.”
“Perhaps you’re going to give us a surprise.”
“No, no—I’ve too much to do—and I don’t care about operas, where people
die singing. Good-bye, Hortense, good-bye! Don’t let the girls come up,
I’m too busy.”
At last, at last, he heard the door close! and when Caroline, as the
eldest available daughter, came to bring papa his cup of tea, his room
was empty.
“Papa has surely gone too,” she said, as she went down again.
“I don’t think it’s very nice of him if he has. Why, he said that if he
went we should go too.”
“Papa doesn’t care for operas.”
“Oh! _I_ think he likes them well enough, really—only——”
She stopped herself just in time, keeping back the word, the great word,
which might be thought, but never spoken, in the Van Arlen household.
When the family came home that night Van Arlen was even more silent than
he had been at dinner, but his silence was a dull apathetic calm. The
ladies had enjoyed themselves “_awfully_”; their flushed cheeks and
dancing eyes spoke volumes for the effect of this unwonted gaiety.
“Oh, papa, you _must_ go some time!”
“Was it comic opera?” asked papa.
“Oh, yes! indeed it was—awfully!”
“Yes—but _really_ comic, _good_ comedy?”
“Oh, yes, very good,” said mamma.
Van Arlen’s position was too important for him to let himself be guided
by any chance person who chose to label an opera as comic. A thing must
really be what it is given out for.
“I suppose you care nothing at all for tragedy, then?” remarked Prigson.
“Well, not altogether that, but a tragedy must be _really_ tragic.”
The conversation, of which some fragments are thus reported, will
scarcely make the reader long to hear the rest. The Van Arlens
consistently kept up their depreciation of sour grapes, to the great
delight of Prigson, who amused himself by defending all sorts of
paradoxes. But though the hands of the alabaster clock unchangeably
pointed to half-past one, it was getting late. Uncle Van Noost Prigson
prepared to take his leave, and Van Arlen made no great effort to detain
him. He thought his brother-in law a good fellow, and, under certain
circumstances, an indispensable person; to-day, however, Prigson
reminded him of so much that he would willingly have forgotten, that his
presence became well-nigh intolerable. He breathed more freely when
Prigson got up to go; and it was with a certain cheerfulness that he
remarked, as he looked out at the front door at the stars, “I see you’ve
a fine night.”
“We’ll hope so,” said Prigson; “but now, business for a moment. I asked
you for something this morning—not for the sake of embarrassing you, but
of getting myself out of a hole. When can I have that money?”
“Will to-morrow evening do?” asked Van Arlen, with a sigh of
thankfulness that it was no longer in his pocket.
“Don’t let it be later than that—you know you’ve always told me I could
have it when I liked, otherwise I shouldn’t have asked at such a
moment.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble to me!” said Van Arlen, though he was wondering all
the time where the money was to come from.
“Now for my plan. I will guarantee that you get the money back three
days after the King has signed this concession—but then you will have to
work the Minister!”
“I?”
“No one is in a better position to do it; the business is honest enough,
but, like all business, it has a shady side to it: and the authorities
have a nasty way of seeing the black before the white. There _is_ some
black about it, I won’t deny; but if you can manage to show up the
white, we shall be that thousand guilders to the good.”
“But I don’t see——”
“No need you should, for the moment. Take the papers to your room, read
them, think over them, and, once more, three days after the granting of
the concession, your debt is no longer in existence.”
“Prigson!”
“Van Arlen!”
“What you ask—can it be reconciled with an honest man’s conscience?”
“What do you take me for, Van Arlen?”
Van Arlen was silent for a moment, and then said slowly, “For a man who
wants to be rich.”
“Quite right, my dear fellow, and you should do the same. With this
concession your fortune is made. You will have a situation with a salary
of ten thousand guilders.” And with a cheerful “Good-night,” Prigson
departed, while Van Arlen went up to his room.
It was many hours before he rose from his chair. The sun was shining in
at the window, but he had no inclination to sleep; he had been absorbed
in the documents. He read from beginning to end, thought for a while,
folded them up, and muttered—
“Heaven preserve me from it!”
Thoughtfully he went to his office that morning. He could find no
solution to the Prigson question, and there was nothing to help him.
He was summoned to the Minister’s presence, and found him
extraordinarily amiable—a bad sign.
“Sit down, Mr Van Arlen, sit down,” said His Excellency. Van Arlen
obeyed.
“Mr Van Arlen—it is possible I may be mistaken—but it seems to me as if,
just lately, you had shown—_passez-moi le mot_—less zeal for business
than I formerly thought was the case with you.”
“Your Excellency, I was not aware that I had felt less zeal for my
duties than at any other time.”
“Is there anything worrying you? Your health?”
“It is excellent, thank you.”
“Domestic trouble?—it might be indiscreet to inquire—but I take an
interest in all my subordinates. Is there perhaps any financial trouble?
Just tell me freely. Our salaries are not high, I know, but, if I am
rightly informed, you have some private means.”
“At your Excellency’s service,” assented Van Arlen.
“I thought so, otherwise we might have thought of offering you some
assistance in this respect. But as it is, I suppose the extent of your
work is such that it presses too heavily on one man; and so I have been
considering the feasibility of appointing one more official to my
department, subject to His Majesty’s approval of my nomination.”
Van Arlen turned deathly pale; now he understood the Minister’s
friendliness, and the fate that lay before him; he understood also that
the first offer was by way of gilding the pill. He had refused the
gilding from pride, but had to swallow the pill all the same.
“I assure your Excellency that I do not know what work could be
entrusted to such an official.”
“That is quite a minor detail,” said His Excellency, naïvely. “However,
I wished to consult you first about the matter, and perhaps you will be
so kind as to have the proposal drawn up. Baron Regenstein is the person
meant.”
“The son of your colleague?”
“I believe so; but he is a man of great acquirements, whose help will be
extremely useful to you. I shall want the paper before two o’clock.”
Van Arlen bowed and rose.
“Oh, as to salary, we shall give him eighteen hundred guilders.”
“Your Excellency will allow me to remark, that in that case you will
have exceeded the estimate for the department.”
“Then we must see how we can manage with the smaller salaries. Didn’t
some one die a month or two back?”
“Yes, an assistant secretary.”
“Very good; and I just heard this morning that we’ve probably lost
another. Van Teuten left town quietly last night.”
“Van Teuten!” exclaimed Van Arlen, in consternation.
“Yes. Do you know anything in particular about him?”
“He came and asked me for two hundred guilders yesterday.”
“Well, why couldn’t you let him have an advance? or you might have sent
him to me; if necessary, we could have helped him by getting up a
collection. But you’re too busy to attend to such things; it’s a good
thing we’re going to have some extra help. Good-morning, Mr Van Arlen.”
“That, too!” said Van Arlen, when he was back in his own room, and then
called out to the messenger that he could see no one.
“A gentleman has been here; he said he would come back.”
“Can’t see any one to-day.”
“Mr Van Arlen!” said a voice, just as the door was closing.
“Impossible, sir, the Minister is in a hurry.”