"MY SON DICK."
Never had there been a more perfect night than that whereon Dick
Hardcastle's coming of age was celebrated. Only enough wind stirred to
toy softly with the gay little pennons streaming from the many boats
winding their way to the rendezvous, and to throw dancing shadows of
light upon the water from the torches at their prow. All along the banks
of the lake, where high hills shut out the moonlight and bound the shore
in an almost Egyptian darkness, rafts were stationed at intervals,
blazing with colored lights. The sound of distant music floated far down
upon the air, mingled with the swish of steady oars and laughter and
happy voices as the occupants of the various boats called out merrily to
each other across the water, or here and there broke into light-hearted
song. Denham's boat glided stilly along through all this carnival-like
revelry. Gerald was not in a mood for talking, and he felt little
inclined to disturb her. It was companionship enough merely to glance at
her ever and anon as she sat silently in the stern, the red ropes of the
tiller drawn loosely around her slender waist like a silken girdle. He
wondered idly what she was thinking of. Her broad hat threw too deep a
shadow for him to see her face save when they neared one of the beacon
rafts; then it was suddenly in brilliant illumination, and it was
impossible not to watch for these moments of revelation, which lit her up
to such rare beauty. He fancied he could almost see her thoughts as there
flashed across her face some new, swift expression more speaking than
words,--now a noble thought, he was sure; now an odd fancy, now a serious
meditative mood, that held her every sense and faculty in thrall at once.
Through all her revery she never forgot her duty with the rudder, though
she quite forgot her oarsman. She made no effort whatever toward his
entertainment, and he felt sure that he could do no more toward hers than
simply not to obtrude himself upon her. Were there many, he wondered,
even among her chosen friends (in whose ranks he could not count
himself), who would have enjoyed this silent sail with her so much as he?
They neared the destined spot all too soon for him, and Gerald at last
roused herself.
"Are we there now? I had no idea it was so far."
"It is not far enough," answered Denham, resting a moment on his
oars as he looked around. "Nothing surely can be devised, even in
this pleasure-ingenious society, so enjoyable as I have found our
evening sail."
"Why do you go to the party at all then?" asked Gerald, abruptly. "It
isn't compulsory, is it? After you land me, are you not at liberty to row
off if you prefer?"
"Ah, but I don't prefer," Halloway said gayly, resuming his oars. "I
expect to be very greatly entertained there too. There is almost
always something to be got out of every thing, and anyway I
particularly like parties."
"I hate them."
"Yes, because you do not care for people. I like them just because I do
care for people, and parties are but people collectively instead of
individually, you know."
By this time Denham had shot the boat up to the landing, where the hosts
of the evening stood ready to receive them. Dick was in a wild state of
boyish hilarity, profiting by the novelty of his exalted position as hero
of the evening, boldly to take a kiss from every pretty girl in
succession as he swung her to the shore. "It's my right, to-night, you
know, or if it isn't, I'm major now and can make laws for myself," he
explained complacently to any expostulatory subject; and Mr. Hardcastle
rubbed his soft, plump hands, and added: "Never you mind, never you mind,
my dear; every dog must have his day, and this is Dick's day. And after
all it's my son Dick, you know, and that makes it all right. He doesn't
need any other guaranty than that he's my son, I'm sure, and seeing I'm
Dick's papa, my dear, why I'll just make bold to follow suit."
But Dick would as soon have thought of offering to kiss the polar star as
Gerald, and she was suffered to pass on unmolested to Mrs. Hardcastle,
who stood just beyond, looking fagged and jaded, and as if she were
heartily thankful that in all his life Dick could never come of age
again. One of the next arrivals was Bell Masters, very fine in her new
dress, but flushed and overheated to an unbecoming degree. She rowed up
smartly, shipped her oars in true nautical fashion, sprang from the boat,
and held out her hand to her companion with a hardly repressed sneer:
"Pray allow me to assist you, Mr. De Forest."
That gentleman got up leisurely from his cushioned seat in the stern, and
came forward cool and comfortable to an enviable degree. "Thanks," he
said, with even a little more drawl than usual as he took her proffered
hand. "This boat _is_ a little teetery. You are uncommonly kind, and
quite a champion oarswoman."
"You ought to be a judge of my powers by this time certainly," said Bell,
snappishly. She had rowed the entire distance from Joppa unaided.
"Yes, I flatter myself that I am. People can always judge best of what
they don't do themselves. And I will say that you do row
well--uncommonly well--for a woman. I don't know a girl, except Miss
Vernor, fit to pull stroke oar to you. Ah, Mr. Hardcastle, what an
adorable evening you have provided for us! Mr. Dick Hardcastle, permit me
to congratulate you upon attaining your majority, than which, believe me,
there is but one greater blessing in the world--that of minority. I see
you have not yet abandoned all the privileges of the latter, however," he
added, as Dick caught Bell round the waist and gave her a sounding salute
on the cheek. "That is an alleviation it seems unfair to monopolize."
Bell laughed and boxed Dick's ears, whereupon he speedily kissed her
again, and Mr. Hardcastle chuckled and pulled one of the long, light
braids hanging over her back. Bell's blonde hair, with her black eyes,
was her strong point, and she invariably dressed it à la Kenwigs when she
wore a hat. None of Miss Bell's lights ran any danger of ever being
hidden under a bushel.
"Ha, ha!" laughed Mr. Hardcastle. "It's all right. It's only Dick, you
know, my son Dick; and bless my heart, the boy's good taste too. He
inherited it."
"Take my arm or let me take yours," muttered De Forest to Bell as Mr.
Hardcastle turned away, "and do let's get through it with his good
lady. Do you suppose she'll kiss me? Get her to make it easy for me,
won't you?"
"Where now?" asked Bell, undecidedly, after the due politenesses with the
hostess had been exchanged. The woods were fairly ablaze with bonfires
and hanging lanterns, making a strangely brilliant and fantastic scene.
Here and there rugs were spread out on the grass for the older people to
congregate upon in gossiping groups, while the young ones had speedily
converted a large, smooth spot of lawn into an impromptu dancing-ground,
and were whirling merrily away to the music of the band, in the very face
of the scandalized Mrs. Upjohn. This last field of action was the first
to attract Bell's quick eye. "Oh, come," she said. "Of course you dance?"
De Forest gave a shudder. "My dear young lady! no sane man ever dances.
But pray do not let me detain you. Where your heart is, there would your
feet be also." He dropped her arm as he spoke. Bell shrugged her
shoulders and put her arm back in his.
"'Tisn't fair to abandon you so soon after bringing you here. There's
Janet Mudge" (hastily selected as the plainest girl present and the
farthest from Gerald, toward whom De Forest's steps were manifestly
directing themselves); "let's go and speak to her."
"On the contrary, let us avoid her by every means in our power," said De
Forest, imperturbably, walking Bell off in the opposite direction. "I
never choose pearls when I may have diamonds. There's Miss Vernor. We'll
go and speak with her."
"But I don't want to," objected Bell, crossly. "I am not at all as fond
of Miss Vernor as you are."
"Naturally not," answered De Forest, pursuing his way undisturbed. "Men
always like girls better than girls do. I appreciate your feelings. But
she's got that good-looking young minister with her. You like him. All
feminine souls incline to clergymen next to officers. Buttons first; then
surplices."
"Thirdly, For(r)esters, I suppose," suggested Bell, saucily.
"Undoubtedly," assented her companion. "Miss Vernor, your humble
servant." His glance, as it invaribly did when they met, seemed to make
swift, approbative note of every smallest particular of her appearance.
"Mr. Halloway, here is a young lady who has just openly informed me that
she prefers you to me, so I suppose I must resign her to you with what
grace I can. Don't you think, Miss Vernor, you might try to divert my
mind from dwelling too cruelly on Miss Masters' defalcation by showing me
what Mr. Hardcastle's grand intellect has devised for my entertainment?
That bonfire yonder has a sort of cannibalistic look about it suggestive
of dancing negroes and unmentionable feasts behind the flames. Shall we
inspect it nearer?" And he marched Gerald deliberately away, scarcely
remembering to bow to Bell. Still, to be left with Mr. Halloway was by no
means an unenviable fate, and Bell, like the wise girl she was, proceeded
to make the most of it without delay, and paraded her prey wherever she
chose, finding him much more tractable than her last companion, and not
in the least dictatorial as to the direction he went in.
That out-door evening party was long remembered as one of the most novel
and successful entertainments ever given in Joppa. Even Mrs. Upjohn
admitted it to be very well, very well indeed, all but the dancing, for
which, however, Mr. Hardcastle apologized to her handsomely as a quite
unexpected ebullition of youthful spirits which in his soul he was far
from countenancing, and upon which she resolutely turned her back all the
evening, so at least not to be an eye-witness of the indecorum. Of
course, therefore, she knew nothing whatever about it when Mr. Upjohn
toward the end of the evening, actually allowed himself to be decoyed
into the gay whirl by one of the youngest and most daring of the girls,
and galloped clumsily around like a sportive and giddy elephant set free
for the first time in its native jungle, and finding it very much to its
liking. His daughter Maria, faithfully at her mother's side, sat with one
ear grudgingly lent to the prosy heaviness of Mr. Webb's light talk, and
her whole face turned longingly toward the spot where the happy sinners
were gyrating, and, seeing her father there, her round eyes grew rounder
than ever, as she watched in breathless alarm lest the earth should open
under his feet in instant retribution. Gracious, if ma should turn her
head! But there are some wrongs it is best to ignore altogether, where
prevention is hopeless, and Mrs. Upjohn, like many another good woman,
always knew when not to see. So she persistently did not see now, and Mr.
Upjohn spun away to his heart's content (prudently keeping in the
remotest corner of the sward, to be sure), winking at Maria every now and
then in the highest glee, and once absolutely signing to her to sneak
over to him and try a turn too.
And then came supper-time, and such a supper, setting all confectioners
and doctors at defiance at once! Mr. Upjohn, red and perspiring, and
remarking how curiously hot the bonfires made the woods at night, waited
on his wife with gallant solicitude, lest she should leave a single dish
untasted. Mrs. Bruce had left town the day before, and in the absence of
any new admiration he always fell back with perfect content upon his old
allegiance. Mrs. Upjohn received his devotion as calmly as his
intermittent neglects, and only raised her eyebrows when he stooped to
whisper, "My love, you're the most handsomely dressed woman here!" which
was strictly true as regarded the materials of her attire, and
unblushingly false as regarded the blending of them. Dick had been in his
element all the evening. He had had a serio-comic flirtation with every
girl in turn. He had cut out Jake Dexter with Nellie Atterbury, and made
it up to his friend by offering him a lock of Bell's hair, which he had
surreptitiously cut from her hanging braids, and which Jake wore pinned
in his button hole as a trophy for the rest of the evening, to the
immense scandal of everybody. But with the supper-hour Dick's spirits
ebbed. He knew, poor fellow, what Fate held in store. His father intended
making a few remarks over him, as a sort of substitute for his defrauded
speech to the non-existing tenantry.
"Stand by me, Jake, there's a man!" whispered Dick, forlornly, to
his crony.
"I will, Dick, like a woman!" Jake responded, tenderly, and the two stood
together just at Mr. Hardcastle's elbow, as that worthy advanced to a
central spot between the bonfires, cleared his throat ominously, and
pirouetted solemnly around, holding up his hand to attract general
attention.
"My friends," began Mr. Hardcastle, swelling with the importance of the
moment to even more than his usual rotundity, "this has been a day of
days to me. All of you who are parents will appreciate my feelings of
mingled pride and humility,--of pride and humility," repeated Mr.
Hardcastle, pleased with the antithesis, and swaying gently back and
forth, "as I stand here before you with my son, the boy whom I have
watched over from his cradle up with an unsleeping eye, and whose tender
feet"--Dick here stooped over to inspect those honest, able members. Jake
did the same with evident disapproval of them. Mr. Hardcastle raised his
voice--"whose tender feet I have endeavored from his youth up, so far as
lay in my limited power, to guide in the way that I hope he may never
depart from. This boy I now present to you, friends, a man,--this boy who
has grown up among you, whom you all know, and whom I hope you all harbor
some kindly feeling for,--this boy,"--he put out his hand to draw him
forward, Dick gave Jake a gentle push toward the hand and vanished, and
Mr. Hardcastle, quite unconscious of the manoeuvre, drew the grinning
Jake solemnly up to him, and casting around a look of triumph which
seemed to say: Do better than this, friends, if you can, placed his hand
on Jake's shoulder with his grandest air, and continued, sonorously,--"my
son, ladies and gentlemen,--my son Dick."
There was a moment's pause of consternation among the guests and a
suppressed scream from the defrauded Mother Dexter. Mr. Hardcastle
slowly turned his radiant face toward his supposed son, and immediately
dropped his hand and exclaimed, in entirely altered and most natural
tones of amazement: "Well, I never! How in the world did _you_ get here,
Jake Dexter?"
A shout instantly went up all round; even Mr. Hardcastle himself was
overcome with the ludicrousness of the mistake, and further solemnity
being impossible, a signal was given, and from a barge far out on the
water a score of rockets shot hissing into the air, announcing the
beginning of fireworks. A brilliant display of these followed, closing
the evening's entertainment, and immediately afterward a large raft was
towed up to the landing, and the whole merry party embarked and returned
to Joppa together, the band following on another boat and treating them
to music all the way. Halloway stood near Gerald in the crowd, but he did
not attempt to join her until the raft reached the pier and was made
fast. Then he quietly went to her and offered his arm. De Forest stepped
up at the same moment. "Miss Vernor, will you condescend to accept of my
valuable escort home?"
"I beg your pardon," interrupted Denham, "I am Miss Vernor's escort
to-night."
De Forest stood still. "I did not know it was a return-ticket
arrangement."
"It was," answered Denham, decidedly. "You can hardly expect me to
relinquish my rights."
"I should say your rights depended wholly on Miss Vernor's choice. Fair
lady, two hearts and four arms are at your immediate disposal. If you
could make up your volatile mind to determine between them--"
"There can be no question of choice," said Gerald, quietly. "I accepted
Mr. Halloway's escort yesterday; so good-night."
"You leave me a blighted being," said De Forest. "For the peace of my
soul, let me ascribe your decision to a love of justice rather than of
individual. _Au revoir_."
Halloway drew Gerald's hand through his arm with a very comfortable
feeling of possession, and they walked on some time in silence. "Are you
tired?" he asked at last.
"No--yes. Parties always tire me, and life in Joppa consists of parties.
Do you always go?"
"Oh, always!"
"Your mental constitution must be robust to stand such a steady
strain upon it."
"The shepherd must keep by his sheep, you know," laughed Denham.
"I thought the shepherd was to lead the sheep, not to be led by them.
Don't you hope to inspire them with a love for better things? I
fancied the province of a clergyman was to improve people--not just to
preach to them."
A shadow crossed Denham's face. "There are many of them more fitted to
improve me than I them," he said, humbly. "How would you have me begin?"
"With making Mr. Hardcastle less offensively pompous, and Mrs. Hardcastle
less tedious, and Mrs. Upjohn less dogmatic, and Mrs. Anthony more
sincere, and Miss Delano less namby-pamby,--in short, by taking a little
of the superficiality and narrow-mindedness and provinciality out of the
place if possible."
Denham tossed back his head with a light laugh. "Ah, how you relieve my
mind! Most of those whom you have so scathingly described belong to other
congregations, and are therefore beyond my jurisdiction."
"Do you really feel so? Are you so like a physician?" asked Gerald,
quickly. "Do you seek to do good only to those who pay for the care you
give them? Is not your mission with all with whom you are thrown?"
"The days of single-handed combat against the world are over," answered
Denham. "You cripple a man by giving him too wide a field of action."
"I would not take less than the widest were I a man!" exclaimed
Gerald, proudly.
"Would you be a clergyman?"
"No. I have no talent for writing. I could not preach."
"Nay, I think you an admirable preacher," said Denham, gently, without
the faintest tinge of sarcasm in either tone or look. Gerald glanced at
him quickly and flushed slightly.
"I am too dogmatic myself," she said, biting her lip and turning away her
head. "I should not be so hard on Mrs. Upjohn."
"You do not intend to be hard on any one."
"But to be just is to seem hard," said Gerald.
"It is a divine prerogative to know just how far to temper justice with
mercy," Denham answered. "I suppose none of us can hope to attain to
perfect knowledge; but if there must be error, I would for myself rather
err in excess of mercy than of justice."
"In other words, between two evils you would choose the least," Gerald
replied. "That is the common way of getting out of the difficulty. But it
seems to me like compromising with evil. There ought to be always some
third, wholly right, way out of every dilemma, if only one sought
earnestly enough." She spoke more as if to herself than to him.
"Then perhaps," said Denham, pleasantly, "we may hope that you will in
time light upon the very kindliest and rightest way combined of judging
not only abstract subjects, but also the not altogether unworthy
inhabitants of even this little place of Joppa."
"Oh, Joppa!" cried Gerald, all the impatience instantly coming back to
her face and voice. As instantly too she frowned in self-conviction, and
turned almost contritely to Denham. "You see, Mr. Halloway, I shall have
to bring my own character first to that future Day of Judgment, and to be
very careful that I do _not_ err on your side,--in being too merciful."