A DINNER AT MIDLANDS.
True to his appointment Walker Boggs met Mr. Weil on the following
afternoon, and set out with him for Wilton Fern's office. Though
engaged, as has been already stated, in the wool trade, Mr. Fern did not
have on the premises to which these worthies repaired a very large
assortment of that product. His warehouses were in another part of the
city, and all the wool that was visible to his customers was arranged in
sample lots that would easily have gone into a barrel. Mr. Weil,
notwithstanding the description that Boggs had given of his ex-partner,
was not prepared to see such an exceedingly fine specimen of humanity as
the one introduced to him. The word "gentleman" was written in large
characters on his broad forehead and in every word he spoke. It
certainly was not often, said Archie to himself, that one encountered
that sort of man in business.
"I have already heard something of you, sir," said Mr. Fern, affably,
but with the dignity that was a part of his nature, no more to be
discarded than his eyes. "That is, if you are the same gentleman that
has kindly offered to assist my daughter in arranging a story she has
written."
Mr. Weil admitted the correctness of the supposition, but disclaimed any
special credit for what he had done. He explained briefly how he was
drawn into the case. The visit lasted upwards of an hour, during which
the conversation wandered from literature to business and politics, and
all sorts of things.
Mr. Weil could not tell from Mr. Fern's manner of alluding to his
daughter's work whether he had a very high idea of its value or not.
Indeed, there was very little to be learned from this grave gentleman
that was not expressed in the language he used. He was inclined, Archie
thought, to reticence, for when there was a lull in the conversation it
was always one of the others who had to start it going. The thing that
might be counted a substantial gain, out of the whole affair, was an
invitation to dinner for the following Wednesday, in which Mr. Roseleaf
was included, and Mr. Boggs also.
Before the Wednesday set for the formal dinner at the Ferns', Mr. Weil
had heard the whole of Miss Millicent's novel read by the lips of that
charming young woman. There was certainly something very strong in it,
in spite of its grammatical faults. It would be a very good story when
"Dr." Roseleaf had put it into a little better English.
The meeting between Roseleaf and Millicent was most interesting to the
one who had been the means of bringing them together. The girl put out
her hand with a straightforward motion of welcome, and it was accepted
with something resembling timidity by the young man, who did not even
raise his eyes to hers. The talk that followed was nearly all her own,
Shirley's part in it being largely monosyllabic replies to her
statements and suggestions.
When Miss Daisy was presented to both the gentlemen, for the first
time--Mr. Boggs she remembered very well--she drew their attention for a
few moments from her sister, but soon relapsed into the more
insignificant place which she seemed to prefer. She was not as large in
any way, as Millicent, and did not seem likely to become so. Her hair
was of a soft shade of light brown, and her eyes a decided blue. In the
presence of her sister she did not expect to shine, and was evidently
relieved when she could go into a corner and talk over times long past
with Walker Boggs.
Mr. Fern came in rather late, but still before the hour announced for
dinner. He had his habitual look of quiet elegance, but withal an
expression of care about his face, that Weil attributed to the business
troubles of which Boggs had spoken. The manner of the daughters toward
him was marked by the watchful eyes of the chief conspirator. Millicent
merely looked up and said, "Papa, this is Mr. Roseleaf, of whom we have
spoken," and then when the greetings that followed were exchanged, went
on talking with those about her as if there had been no interruption.
Daisy, on the other hand, crept softly to her father's side, and putting
an arm around his neck, kissed him when she thought no one observed her.
"You are tired, papa," she whispered.
"No, no!" he said, brightening. "I am very well."
It was at the table that Mr. Fern had his first conversation with
Roseleaf, and the two men got along nicely together. Shirley acquitted
himself creditably. Weil, who saw everything, noticed that the negro,
Hannibal, in superintending the service in the dining-room, lingered
more about Miss Daisy's chair than any other, and took extra pains to
see that her wants were anticipated. In spite of this, however, Mr. Fern
frequently asked his younger daughter to have more of certain dishes, as
if his mind was constantly turned in that direction.
"How long do you think it will require to do the work you have so
generously undertaken?" asked Mr. Fern of Roseleaf, when the dessert was
reached.
"It is impossible to say," stammered the young man. "Some weeks, at
least."
"So I supposed," said Mr. Fern. "That being the case I wish to tender
you the hospitality of my home. It would be a great deal of trouble for
you to come every day from the city, and I know we could make you
comfortable here."
Roseleaf was about to decline the offer with thanks, when Mr. Weil spoke
to him in a low tone.
"Take it, by all means," he said. "It's a chance in a lifetime. You know
nothing of family life. Don't dream of refusing."
The delay allowed Miss Millicent to add her request to that of her
father, and fearing to let his protege answer, Mr. Weil boldly spoke for
him.
"It is a good idea," he said. "He will have his baggage brought up
to-morrow. There's nothing like being on the ground, when there's work
to be done. And, with the general permission, I am going to run out
pretty often myself, to see how things progress."
The bright, off-hand way of the last speaker seemed to please Mr. Fern,
for he heartily seconded this suggestion. When the table was vacated,
Mr. Fern asked if he might be excused for a few minutes, while he wrote
a couple of important letters, and requested Walker Boggs to show the
guests through the grounds, where they could smoke their cigars till he
returned.
Accordingly Weil and Roseleaf accompanied their new guide out of doors
and across an extensive lawn to an arbor at the further end, where a
handsome prospect of the Hudson unfolded itself. As Archie was wishing
for some feasible way of getting rid of Boggs, temporarily, that
gentleman espied an acquaintance in the adjacent road and went off to
speak to him.
"Are you in love yet, you dog?" asked Archie, as soon as he and his
young friend were alone. "What! You're not! Don't let an hour pass,
then, before you are. The best of all proverbs is, 'Never put off till
to-morrow what you can do to-day.'"
"How can I do this to-day?" was the doleful response.
"How can you help it, you mean? There she was at the table--Titian hair,
hazel-grey eyes, lovely waist--everything. Love! _I_ could fall in love
with that girl, marry her, get a divorce and commit suicide, within
forty-eight hours."
Even Roseleaf had to smile at this extravagant statement.
"Do you want me to do all of those things?" he asked.
"Only the first one, at present. If you can't do that, give up all ideas
of being a novelist and secure a place in some factory or counting-room.
Everything is ready for you. You are _persona grata_ here. Nothing can
come in your way. Oh, don't exasperate me!"
Roseleaf haltingly said he would do his best; and the next day he came
to Midlands, prepared to spend a month or longer.