It was confidently expected by the Murchison family that when Stella was
old enough she would be a good deal in society. Stella, without doubt,
was well equipped for society; she had exactly those qualities which
appealed to it in Elgin, among which I will mention two--the quality
of being able to suggest that she was quite as good as anybody without
saying so, and the even more important quality of not being any better.
Other things being equal--those common worldly standards that prevailed
in Elgin as well as anywhere else in their degree--other things being
equal, this second simple quality was perhaps the most important of all.
Mr and Mrs Murchison made no claim and small attempt upon society. One
doubts whether, with children coming fast and hard times long at the
door, they gave the subject much consideration; but if they did, it is
highly unlikely to have occurred to them that they were too good
for their environment. Yet in a manner they were. It was a matter of
quality, of spiritual and mental fabric; they were hardly aware that
they had it, but it marked them with a difference, and a difference is
the one thing a small community, accustomed comfortably to scan its own
intelligible averages, will not tolerate. The unusual may take on
an exaggeration of these; an excess of money, an excess of piety, is
understood; but idiosyncrasy susceptible to no common translation is
regarded with the hostility earned by the white crow, modified among
law-abiding humans into tacit repudiation. It is a sound enough social
principle to distrust that which is not understood, like the strain of
temperament inarticulate but vaguely manifest in the Murchisons. Such
a strain may any day produce an eccentric or a genius, emancipated from
the common interests, possibly inimical to the general good; and when,
later on, your genius takes flight or your eccentric sells all that he
has and gives it to the poor, his fellow townsmen exchange shrewd nods
before the vindicating fact.
Nobody knew it at all in Elgin, but this was the Murchisons’ case. They
had produced nothing abnormal, but they had to prove that they weren’t
going to, and Stella was the last and most convincing demonstration.
Advena, bookish and unconventional, was regarded with dubiety. She was
out of the type; she had queer satisfactions and enthusiasms. Once as a
little girl she had taken a papoose from a drunken squaw and brought it
home for her mother to adopt. Mrs Murchison’s reception of the suggested
duty may be imagined, also the comments of acquaintances--a trick like
that! The inevitable hour arrived when she should be instructed on
the piano, and the second time the music teacher came her pupil was
discovered on the roof of the house, with the ladder drawn up after
her. She did not wish to learn the piano, and from that point of vantage
informed her family that it was a waste of money. She would hide in
the hayloft with a novel; she would be off by herself in a canoe at
six o’clock in the morning; she would go for walks in the rain of windy
October twilights and be met kicking the wet leaves along in front of
her “in a dream.” No one could dream with impunity in Elgin, except
in bed. Mothers of daughters sympathized in good set terms with Mrs
Murchison. “If that girl were mine--” they would say, and leave you with
a stimulated notion of the value of corporal punishment. When she took
to passing examinations and teaching, Elgin considered that her parents
ought to be thankful in the probability that she had escaped some
dramatic end. But her occupation further removed her from intercourse
with the town’s more exclusive circles: she had taken a definite line,
and she pursued it, preoccupied. If she was a brand snatched from the
burning, she sent up a little curl of reflection in a safe place, where
she was not further interrupted.
Abby, inheriting all these prejudices, had nevertheless not done so
badly; she had taken no time at all to establish herself; she had almost
immediately married. In the social estimates of Elgin the Johnsons were
“nice people,” Dr Henry was a fine old figure in the town, and Abby’s
chances were good enough. At all events, when she opened her doors as
a bride, receiving for three afternoons in her wedding dress, everybody
had “called.” It was very distinctly understood, of course, that this
was a civility that need not lead to anything whatever, a kind of bowing
recognition, to be formally returned and quite possibly to end there.
With Abby, in a good many cases, it hadn’t ended there; she was doing
very well, and as she often said with private satisfaction, if she went
out anywhere she was just as likely as not to meet her brothers. Elgin
society, shaping itself, I suppose, to ultimate increase and prosperity,
had this peculiarity, that the females of a family, in general
acceptance, were apt to lag far behind the males. Alec and Oliver
enjoyed a good deal of popularity, and it was Stella’s boast that if
Lorne didn’t go out much it needn’t be supposed he wasn’t asked. It was
an accepted state of things in Elgin that young men might be invited
without their sisters, implying an imperturbability greater than
London’s, since London may not be aware of the existence of sisters,
while Elgin knew all sorts of more interesting things about them. The
young men were more desirable than the young women; they forged ahead,
carrying the family fortunes, and the “nicest” of them were the young
men in the banks. Others might be more substantial, but there was an
allure about a young man in a bank as difficult to define as to resist.
To say of a certain party-giver that she had “about every bank clerk
in town” was to announce the success of her entertainment in ultimate
terms. These things are not always penetrable, but no doubt his
gentlemanly form of labour and its abridgement in the afternoons, when
other young men toiled on till the stroke of six, had something to do
with this apotheosis of the bank clerk, as well as his invariable taste
in tailoring, and the fact that some local family influence was probably
represented in his appointment. Privilege has always its last little
stronghold, and it still operates to admiration on the office stools of
minor finance in towns like Elgin. At all events, the sprouting tellers
and cashiers held unquestioned sway--young doctors and lawyers simply
didn’t think of competing; and since this sort of thing carries its own
penalty, the designation which they shared with so many distinguished
persons in history became a byword on the lips of envious persons
and small boys, by which they wished to express effeminacy and the
substantive of the “stuck-up.” “D’ye take me fur a bank clurk?” was
a form of repudiation among corner loafers as forcible as it was
unjustifiable.
I seem to have embarked, by way of getting to the Milburns’ party--there
is a party at the Milburns’ and some of us are going--upon an analysis
of social principles in Elgin, an adventure of difficulty, as I have
once or twice hinted, but one from which I cannot well extricate myself
without at least leaving a clue or two more for the use of the curious.
No doubt these rules had their nucleus in the half-dozen families, among
whom we may count the shadowy Plummers, who took upon themselves for
Fox County, by the King’s pleasure, the administration of justice, the
practice of medicine and of the law, and the performance of the charges
of the Church of England a long time ago. Such persons would bring their
lines of demarcation with them, and in their new milieu of backwoods
settlers and small traders would find no difficulty in drawing them
again. But it was a very long time ago. The little knot of gentry-folk
soon found the limitations of their new conditions; years went by in
decades, aggrandizing none of them. They took, perforce, to the ways
of the country, and soon nobody kept a groom but the Doctor, and nobody
dined late but the Judge. There came a time when the Sheriff’s whist
club and the Archdeacon’s port became a tradition to the oldest
inhabitant. Trade flourished, education improved, politics changed. Her
Majesty removed her troops--the Dominion wouldn’t pay, a poor-spirited
business--and a bulwark went with the regiment. The original dignified
group broke, dissolved, scattered. Prosperous traders foreclosed them,
the spirit of the times defeated them, young Liberals succeeded them in
office. Their grandsons married the daughters of well-to-do persons who
came from the north of Ireland, the east of Scotland, and the Lord knows
where. It was a sorry tale of disintegration with a cheerful sequel of
rebuilding, leading to a little unavoidable confusion as the edifice
went up. Any process of blending implies confusion to begin with; we are
here at the making of a nation.
This large consideration must dispose of small anomalies, such as the
acceptance, without cant, of certain forms of the shop, euphemized as
the store, but containing the same old vertebral counter. Not all forms.
Dry-goods were held in respect and chemists in comparative esteem; house
furnishings and hardware made an appreciable claim, and quite a leading
family was occupied with seed grains. Groceries, on the other hand, were
harder to swallow, possibly on account of the apron, though the grocer’s
apron, being of linen, had several degrees more consideration than
the shoemaker’s, which was of leather; smaller trades made smaller
pretensions; Mrs Milburn could tell you where to draw the line.
They were all hard-working folk together, but they had their little
prejudices: the dentist was known as “Doc,” but he was not considered
quite on a medical level; it was doubtful whether you bowed to the
piano-tuner, and quite a curious and unreasonable contempt was bound up
in the word “veterinary.” Anything “wholesale” or manufacturing stood,
of course, on its own feet; there was nothing ridiculous in molasses,
nothing objectionable in a tannery, nothing amusing in soap. Such airs
and graces were far from Elgin, too fundamentally occupied with the
amount of capital invested, and too profoundly aware how hard it was to
come by. The valuable part of it all was a certain bright freedom, and
this was of the essence. Trade was a decent communal way of making a
living, rooted in independence and the general need; it had none of
the meaner aspects. Your bow was negligible to the piano-tuner, and
everything veterinary held up its head. And all this again qualified,
as everywhere, by the presence or absence of the social faculty, that
magnetic capacity for coming, as Mrs Murchison would say, “to the fore,”
which makes little of disadvantages that might seem insuperable and, in
default, renders null and void the most unquestionable claims. Anyone
would think of the Delarues. Mr Delarue had in the dim past married his
milliner, yet the Delarues were now very much indeed to the fore. And,
on the other hand, the Leverets of the saw mills, rich and benevolent;
the Leverets were not in society simply, if you analysed it, because
they did not appear to expect to be in it. Certainly it was well not to
be too modest; assuredly, as Mrs Murchison said, you put your own ticket
on, though that dear soul never marked herself in very plain figures,
not knowing, perhaps for one thing, quite how much she was worth. On the
other hand, “Scarce of company, welcome trumpery,” Mrs Murchison always
emphatically declared to be no part of her social philosophy. The upshot
was that the Murchisons were confined to a few old friends and looked,
as we know, half-humorously, half-ironically, for more brilliant
excursions, to Stella and “the boys.”
It was only, however, the pleasure of Mr Lorne Murchison’s company that
was requested at the Milburns’ dance. Almost alone among those who had
slipped into wider and more promiscuous circles with the widening of the
stream, the Milburns had made something like an effort to hold out.
The resisting power was not thought to reside in Mr Milburn, who was
personally aware of no special ground for it, but in Mrs Milburn and her
sister, Miss Filkin, who seemed to have inherited the strongest ideas.
in the phrase of the place, about keeping themselves to themselves.
A strain of this kind is sometimes constant, even so far from the
fountainhead, with its pleasing proof that such views were once the most
general and the most sacred defence of middle-class firesides, and
that Thackeray had, after all, a good deal to excuse him. Crossing
the Atlantic they doubtless suffered some dilution; but all that was
possible to conserve them under very adverse conditions Mrs Milburn
and Miss Filkin made it their duty to do. Nor were these ideas opposed,
contested, or much traversed in Elgin. It was recognized that there was
“something about” Mrs Milburn and her sister--vaguely felt--that you did
not come upon that thinness of nostril, and slope of shoulder, and set
of elbow at every corner. They must have got it somewhere. A Filkin
tradition prevailed, said to have originated in Nova Scotia: the Filkins
never had been accessible, but if they wanted to keep to themselves, let
them. In this respect Dora Milburn, the only child, was said to be her
mother’s own daughter. The shoulders, at all events, testified to it;
and the young lady had been taught to speak, like Mrs Milburn, with what
was known as an “English accent.” The accent in general use in Elgin was
borrowed--let us hope temporarily--from the other side of the line. It
suffered local modifications and exaggerations, but it was clearly an
American product. The English accent was thoroughly affected, especially
the broad “a.” The time may come when Elgin will be at considerable
pains to teach itself the broad “a,” but that is in the embroidery of
the future, and in no way modifies the criticism of Dora Milburn.
Lorne Murchison, however, was invited to the dance. The invitation
reached him through the post: coming home from office early on Saturday
he produced it from his pocket. Mrs Murchison and Abby sat on the
verandah enjoying the Indian summer afternoon; the horse chestnuts
dropped crashing among the fallen leaves, the roadside maples blazed,
the quiet streets ran into smoky purple, and one belated robin hopped
about the lawn. Mrs Murchison had just remarked that she didn’t know
why, at this time of year, you always felt as if you were waiting for
something.
“Well, I hope you feel honoured,” remarked Abby. Not one of them
would have thought that Lorne should feel especially honoured; but the
insincerity was so obvious that it didn’t matter. Mrs Murchison, cocking
her head to read the card, tried hard not to look pleased.
“Mrs Milburn. At Home,” she read. “Dancing. Well she might be at home
dancing, for all me! Why couldn’t she just write you a little friendly
note, or let Dora do it? It’s that Ormiston case,” she went on shrewdly.
“They know you’re taking a lot of trouble about it. And the least they
could do, too.”
Lorne sat down on the edge of the verandah with his hands in his
trousers pockets, and stuck his long legs out in front of him. “Oh, I
don’t know,” he said. “They have the name of being nifty, but I haven’t
got anything against the Milburns.”
“Name!” ejaculated Mrs Murchison. “Now long ago was it the Episcopalians
began that sewing-circle business for the destitute clergy of
Saskatchewan?”
“Mother!” put in Abby, with deprecation.
“Well, I won’t be certain about the clergy, but I tell you it had to do
with Saskatchewan, for that I remember! And anyhow, the first meeting
was held at the Milburns’--members lent their drawing-rooms. Well, Mrs
Leveret and Mrs Delarue went to the meeting--they were very thick just
then, the Leverets and the Delarues. They were so pleased to be going
that they got there about five minutes too soon, and they were the first
to come. Well, they rang the bell and in they went. The girl showed them
into the front drawing-room and asked them to sit down. And there in the
back drawing-room sat Mrs Milburn and Miss Filkin, AND NEVER SPOKE TO
THEM! Took not the smallest notice, any more than if they had been stray
cats--not so much! Their own denomination, mind you, too! And there they
might have been sitting still if Mrs Leveret hadn’t had the spirit to
get up and march out. No thank you. No Milburns for me.”
Lorne watched his mother with twinkling eyes till she finished.
“Well, Mother, after that, if it was going to be a sewing circle I think
I’d send an excuse,” he said, “but maybe they won’t be so mean at a
dance.”