The week following Elsie’s memorable visit to Idlewild found Margaret
and Gilbert domiciled in rooms some ten blocks removed from the Mason
mansion; that being the nearest approach of cheap rents to the
aristocratic thoroughfare. The rooms were situated in an
apartment-house, as such are nowadays called under the approved
nomenclature of progressive ideas; but the building was some decades
behind its imposing name. It was indeed a type of the old
shabbily-built, inconvenient, and miasma-breeding tenement-house. It was
a long, narrow, five-storied structure, poorly lighted and equally as
poorly ventilated; but it was in fact the only house with a reasonable
rent which could be found near enough to Elsie to warrant a nightly
visit from her. Margaret chose, out of several vacant rooms, four in the
fifth story, because in these she had both light and air, and she felt
she could better endure the inconvenience of the four long flights of
stairs than the absence of two such essentials to health and comfort.
The condition of the halls, which the majority of the tenants seemed to
consider a lodging-place for refuse of various kinds, was a terrible
eyesore to her housewifely instincts, and she had not been many days in
her new quarters before she put her wits to work to effect a change in
their untidy aspect. So far as her own flight of stairs and its
contiguous hallways were concerned, the solution was simply a compound
of soap, water, and muscle; but when it came to the consideration of
those below her, something like generalship was needed to induce the
desired cleanliness. To perform an undue share of the public work did
not by any means enter into her scheme of the general good. The
responsibility of the individual was the one hobby, if such it could be
called, which Margaret permitted herself. To arouse the latent instinct
of self-dependence and development was an almost unconscious exhalation
of the sturdy faith which had always made circumstances only a means
unto an end, and that end the uplifting of the better elements of
character. To be her brother’s keeper in so far as that keeping could
induce a heartfelt aspiration or a simple kindness, had been but an
outgrowth of the unselfishness of her aims. Few people looked with as
lenient an eye upon the shortcomings of humanity, or were actuated by as
sincere a desire to lend a hand to retrieve a false step, as Margaret
Murchison. Yet it was with a good deal of delicacy that she reviewed the
means whereby she might bring an air of greater thrift and cleanliness
into the desolate halls below. Like all refined and sensitive people,
she felt a hesitancy about bringing even an inferential reflection of
uncleanliness upon those whose co-operation she desired.
“It will be impossible to do it,” she sighed, “until I have made their
acquaintance, and won their confidence. They will be distrustful and
think in their vernacular that I am putting on airs if I broach the
subject before.”
If the condition of the halls dismayed Margaret, the condition of the
living-rooms of the inmates of the building was much more disheartening.
Not that poverty in its severest aspect was present, for in nearly all
cases the rooms were occupied by the families of porters, office clerks,
and under salesmen, and although a decent amount of food and clothing
was to be had by the closest economy, there was such a lack of homeness
that it turned Margaret heart-sick. The women were, for the most part,
good-natured, well-intentioned souls, but tried beyond endurance in the
almost hopeless task of making both ends meet on the scanty dole of the
one wage-earner. Children were everywhere; for whatever other blessings
may be denied the toiler, the children always come to lighten his heart
and empty his pocket. Ambition was well-nigh dead in their bosoms; for
the daily grind of hard work, the lowering cloud of capitalistic
oppression, and the constantly-increasing tide of mongrel, half-starved
immigrants, who stood ever ready to snatch the crust from their lips,
had left very little opportunity for the better classes of American
workingmen to look forward with any degree of hope.
There was a wholesomeness about Margaret that made both men and women
trust her, and with the natural volubility of their class, the women had
poured the whole story of their daily struggles into her willing ears
before she had been ten days in the house. There were twelve families in
the building, a number of rooms being unoccupied; and barren as had been
Margaret’s own life in the little parsonage at Barnley, and later at
Idlewild, she felt that it had been a broad way of peace and plenty
beside the narrow line of these toilers. With her, above meagre outlines
and practical details had been the wide field of growth, the plenitude
of hope, and the infinite realm of thought. With these people, cabined
and confined year in and year out within smoke-begrimed walls, life had
become a sordid round of ministering to material needs, with no blue
skies to call their eyes upward or song of birds to awaken benumbed
hearts.
“I would not have thought poverty could wear so pitiless an aspect,” she
mused. “Something must be done to bring back the revivifying influence
of hope to these people. But what can I do, burdened with a like
poverty, against the greed and extortion of these capitalists? Just
think of men with families compelled to live and pay rent on six, seven,
and nine dollars a week, working twelve and fourteen hours a day, and
Sundays too, if the ‘boss’ so wills, without a penny’s extra pay! Oh, it
makes my blood boil when I see such injustice! Is there no relief for
all this? Are there no thunderbolts of heaven to strike these
slave-drivers who compel their men to this life, by telling them the
market is overstocked with unorganized workers, and that a body of lean
and hungry wolves stands ever ready to snatch their scanty crusts? Small
wonder that ambition dies, and that there are only mutterings of
discontent and savage envy and malignant plottings against the mighty
magnates who instigate and abet this monstrous cruelty. What can I do
for these overworked and disheartened mothers, these joyless children
and sullen fathers? How can I help them to smile, to look for sunshine
instead of clouds? Out of the abundance with which I am blessed I must
devise some way.”
Margaret’s abundance was certainly not that of money, for she had been
forced into taking “slop-work” from the factories, at forty-five cents
per dozen for men’s hickory shirts and fifty cents per dozen pairs for
men’s overalls. The winter’s indebtedness was draining the greater share
of Elsie’s abundant wages, and Gilbert’s expenses at the training school
were already eating into the carefully-guarded one hundred dollars that
had been sent by Dr. Ely. It was evident that what help Margaret gave
could only be that of interest and suggestion. But how to make
suggestion inoffensive, and how to stimulate ambition without arousing
antagonism, were questions which puzzled her not a little.
One Saturday morning, returning from the factory with her arms laden
with work, she stopped at the doors of the various rooms on her way
up-stairs and asked that all the children who were large enough to climb
the stairs be sent to her rooms in half an hour.
How joyfully they swarmed the halls long before the appointed time, and
what a time Margaret had counting them! Forty-eight above five years and
the eldest not above nine. “How many go to school?” she asked as she
ranged them along the wall.
Fourteen little hands were raised; of these eight were boys.
“Now, boys,” she exclaimed, “I’m going to begin with you. What do you
like best, or would like best, if you could have your wish?”
The answers varied from peg-tops to balloons and locomotives.
“How many hours do you have out of school?”
“School’s out at four.”
“Till half-after six, then—two good hours. Now, how many are willing to
work to earn money?” Every hand went up. “Well, after four o’clock
to-night I want you to come up again to see my brother Gilbert. He has
fitted up a work-bench in one of the rooms, and those of you who are
willing to work, and work hard, for two straight hours a day, can earn
some money by and by. It will not be so much fun, perhaps, as racing
through the halls, sliding down the stairs, or playing out in the
street; but it will buy the peg-tops and locomotives one of these days,
and there isn’t much in this world we can have without paying for it in
one way or another. Are you all agreed?”
“You bet!” came the unanimous response. Margaret smiled as she turned to
the girls.
“How many know how to sew?” Not a single hand was raised. “How many are
willing to learn?” Every hand in the room went up. “Boys and all,”
exclaimed Margaret. “Now let’s make a test. Who has a button off his
shoe?”
“Jimmy! Johnnie! Nell! Sue! Mary! Jane! Jack!” sang out the noisy
chorus.
“Down on the floor, every one of you. Now, I’ll furnish needles, thread,
and buttons, and I want every one who has a button off to sew it on, and
sew it strongly, too. Now, the one who sews a button on the best and
quickest shall have that card,” and Margaret pointed to a brilliant
chromo-lithograph of angels with impossible wings and beatific smiles.
“Oh, my!” chorused the girls.
“Jiminy crickets!” ejaculated the boys, with now and then a more
forcible expletive thrown in. It took some time for the clumsy little
fingers to get to work; but Margaret, noting down time and names, kept
close tally, and at last pronounced every button in its place, and
proclaimed the name of the winner of the prize.
“Now,” said Margaret, “this is not all. If every little child here will
agree to keep the buttons on his shoes, I’ll give every one, at the end
of a month, a still handsomer card, and by that time perhaps the boys
will have learned how to make frames for them.”
“All right!” “Betcher sweet life!” “You’re a trump!” “Bully for you!”
were the expressive answers with which this proposition was met.
“I want to get up a little club among ourselves and call it the ‘Busy
Fingers Club,’” Margaret went on, “and I want to see how much real good
work this little club can do. I expect to be mistress of the club, and
the first thing I shall ask will be to see how neat and clean you can
keep yourselves. Now, take this hand-glass and begin at the head, and
tell me how many are sure that their faces are as clean as soap and
water can make them.”
It was a shamefaced little group as the glass was passed from hand to
hand, and hitherto unnoticed and unthought-of streaks and specks came
into view. The girls eyed each other askance and surreptitiously applied
their aprons to several more obtrusive marks, but the boys made no
attempt at self-improvement and shouted their approval when one of the
older ones exclaimed: “Boys and dirt go together. ’Tain’t no use to try
to keep clean.”
“Trying does a great deal in this world, and I suspect it is equal to
making a boy declare war upon dirt. We’ll hope it is, anyway.”
Thereupon Margaret proceeded to state the plan and laws governing the
Busy Fingers Club, whereby every member was to become an important
factor in the great work of self-government and improvement. When all
the details had been submitted, the children gathered around her
enthusiastically. “It’s just the jolliest thing,” they cried. “We’ll
work like tigers so long’s you’re our captain.”
And they did. Under Gilbert’s tutelage the boys developed skill and
industry in wood-carving and amateur cabinet work, while the girls from
big to little grew deft in the use of the needle, and lifted many a
burden from the shoulders of tired mothers in timely patching and
darning. Elsie became deeply interested in Margaret’s efforts, and
begged silks and velvets from Mrs. Mason for the girls’ fancy work,
which was one day supplemented by a huge bundle containing everything in
the line of material for such work. The bundle was sent anonymously, and
great was the wonder of the girls and Margaret as to its source. If
Elsie guessed she was discreetly silent about it, although she was
possessed of no small curiosity to know how the scheme had become so
well advertised. Her wonder would have been greater, if her curiosity
had been less, could she have seen the companion of Lizzette in her
daily walks between market and station, and some times to the very door
of Margaret’s hive of industry. Since the evening she had so resolutely
refused to consider the possibility of association between them, Elsie
had not encountered Herbert Lynn. Once or twice she had caught a glimpse
of him in library or dining-room as she passed up-stairs to her daily
interview with Mrs. Mason, but he had always seemed entirely unconscious
of her proximity. Evidently the whim which had seized him had passed,
and Elsie assured herself, with somewhat remarkable frequency, that she
was glad the young man’s reason had returned, and that having been
“baffled” at last, she hoped he would not be so boastful in the future.
One morning, some three weeks after Margaret’s removal to the city,
Lizzette left Antoine at Margaret’s door with a hurried exclamation.
“I haf not ze moment to spare. I haf ze business engagement zis morning.
I no return perhaps zese several hour. Delay not ze dinner for me,” and
with a kiss upon Antoine’s cheek, she hastened down the stairs. Half-way
up the block she gave a signal to a gentleman driving leisurely along on
the opposite side of the street. A second later he drew rein at the
curbstone, and alighting, assisted Lizzette to the seat beside him.
“O Herbeart!” she exclaimed, “I know not how to tank you. You haf given
me ze hope once more. Mon Dieu! Eef eet be true ze light of my life vill
shine again.”
“It is only a hope as yet,” he answered, “for I was not sufficiently
posted about his case to enter into particulars. However, this morning’s
interview will probably determine it.”
“And ze docteur assure you he tink Antoine can be made to walk?”
“There is a chance for him, he thinks, but it will be months of pain and
tedium for the poor boy.”
“And after zat zen his music vill make him ze grand maestro, and I need
not to toil till my hands—see!” and she drew off a shabby cotton glove,
“be so like ze iron. Antoine ze grand maestro, and Lizzette ze—ze—lady,”
and she gave an arch glance, half-smile and half-tear, up at Herbert’s
sympathetic face. “Ah, eet ees ze dream of fairy land!”
Herbert smiled down at the wrinkled brown face with the affectionate
sympathy of the old boyish days, and Lizzette grasped his hand and
patted it softly. “Eet ees all so dear zat I haf mon garçon Herbeart to
do zis for me in my old age. I could take ze loan—Antoine sall
repay—from no one so easy as my Herbeart. Eet ees no offence zat I say
eet seems like von of ze family?”
“Offence! No,” laughed Herbert. “I don’t hedge myself around with any
absurd notions of caste, although E— By the way, what a peculiar little
body your friend Elsie Murchison is!”
Lizzette’s eyes twinkled, but she was resolutely obtuse. “Je ne vous
comprend pas! Please explain.”
“Oh, well, she is so—so—proud.”
Lizzette laughed. “Elsie! ze cook de votre sœur Madam Mason!”
“Yes, cook, cook, cook!” exclaimed Herbert vehemently. “She’s thrown
that in my face a half-dozen times, and now you do the same. What’s the
matter with all of you?”
“Ze matter ees wiz you, Herbeart. Vot do you care to know ma petite
Elsie?”
“Because she is the most charming person I ever met. You needn’t look so
incredulous. There’s an originality and a sweet womanliness about her
that is exceedingly rare in these days. I suppose I may as well tell you
the whole story of what first attracted me, although I shall enjoin
secrecy upon you,” and thereupon Herbert proceeded to relate the scene
in the parlor which he had witnessed several weeks before. Lizzette’s
enjoyment of the recital was keenly portrayed in her sparkling eyes and
expressive features.
“Oh, zat Elsie!” she exclaimed. “She ees such a witch!”
“A most unapproachable one, too,” answered Herbert. “I had a strong
desire to make her acquaintance after the unconscious revelation I
witnessed, for I felt that it would not hurt a certain conscious
complacency of mine to brush it against the rugged sense and keen satire
of such a nature, and you know, Lizzette, that I don’t care a fig for
the creeds of society. I can recognize a gentleman in the man who drives
my coach, if he exhibits the qualities of one. But your Miss Elsie is
decidedly averse to any advances in that direction. In fact, she has
snubbed me so emphatically that I can’t help thinking she has a personal
dislike for me.”
“Ah, Herbeart, you reason like ze boy. I know Elsie haf ze desire to
please your sister, and Helen! ze hurricane ees no comparison to her
anger eef her only brother should disgrace——”
“Take back that word, Lizzette!” exclaimed Herbert hotly. “Disgrace and
Herbert Lynn never went together, and never will, please God. It is no
disgrace to love—what is beautiful and right.”
Lizzette caught at his words quickly. “Tell me, Herbeart, ees eet only
ze passing fancy, or ze strong man’s love?”
The blood flamed into Herbert’s face as he answered passionately: “Would
to heaven it _was_ only a passing fancy; but I am afraid the ugly truth
is that I’m in love, as it is called, for the first time in my life.”
“C’est triste! C’est triste!” murmured Lizzette. “Helen vill be zo
angry, and eet ees so—so—out of ze right vay.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Herbert. “The right way doesn’t depend upon any
old-world ideas of aristocracy. Were I ten times a King Cophetua, I
should sue my little maid right royally, if there were only a little
less scorn in her eyes. I tell you, Lizzette, there is so much
unhappiness bred in this world by false ideas as to what is due to
position, and there are so many mercenary and loveless marriages, that I
am sick of the whole empty pageant. I cannot see that I am to blame
because I happened to be the only son of a millionaire, nor do I feel
bound to render myself miserable for life to please the whims of those
who enjoin certain obligations upon the possessor of a little inflated
position. As regards Elsie, I’d give a good deal to be able to lift her
out of that drudgery, even if—yes, I’m so far gone as that—I never saw
her again. Can’t you help me to help her, Lizzette?”
“Eet ees all ze grave meestake, Herbeart. Elsie ees so—so vot you call
independent zat she no take von sou in charity. I can see no vay except
you forget her and leave her to her own place. Eet ees often so mooch
meestake to marry beneath von too.”
“That isn’t the question, at least not now. Such gifts as Elsie’s ought
to be put to better use than the making of sauces and salads in Helen’s
kitchen——”
“I take eet you vould not mind eef ze talent vas changed to Herbeart’s
kitchen,” interrupted Lizzette. “Zat ees just like ze man; he want
eferysing to himself.”
“You wouldn’t have found me quite so selfish if you had waited a moment.
I only desire a chance for the best development of Elsie’s gifts. Now I
needn’t appear in this matter, and a few thousand dollars, I’m sure,
couldn’t be more worthily bestowed.”
“Non, non,” said Lizzette with a sober shake of her head. “Elsie guess
in no time, and ze cake be all dough. Not von sou vill she take if she
earn it not. I haf tried her and I know. Zare ees only zis to hope for,
if so be you not forget her: leave her to her place—eet would be von
bitter blow to her to lose it—and trust to ze change in time and
circumstance. Eef some time I sall find zat ze tangle may be made
straight and no hearts break, I vill tell my Herbeart.”
“A dubious promise, considering the view you take of the situation; but
there is one thing you can do. Antoine tells me Elsie is to pay for his
music lessons; let me pay for them, while you put the sum, small as it
is, in the dime savings bank to her account. That will not be charity.”
“Merely a loan zat Antoine sall repay!”
“Oh, certainly! What strict constructionists you and your little circle
are!”
“Eet ees ze old-time construction of self-dependence and respect zat I
haf learned of Margaret and Elsie. Ze self-pride ees wiz zem ze grande
idée.”
“Good doctrine, I’ll admit; but there are times when it is excessively
inconvenient.”
“Such times as mon Herbeart like to play ze philanthropist, eh? Neffer
mind, I feel ze day come ven ze vay vill open for ze help you like to
gif to humanity.”
“But I am decidedly indifferent to humanity in general. My philanthropy
is specific.”
“And goes no more beyond ze rosy cheeks and bright eyes of a pretty
girl! Fie! fie! Herbeart, zose bright eyes transfix you wiz zere scorn
if she know zat. So often I sees zem dimmed wiz tears ovair ze pain, ze
loss, ze trial of ze vide strange vorld. So often she vish for money zat
she might build up ze strength of independence for ze suffering. Ah, you
tink you know ma petite Elsie. Je vous dis, zat she haf ze heart of ze
angel in her breast. L’homme zat vin ze love of ma petite sall take
heaven to his home.”
“Amen,” said Herbert reverently.
“But eet will not be ze selfish heaven; eet sall be so vide as ze earth,
so long as ze life!”
“Lizzette!” exclaimed Herbert with a start. “All this shames me, for I
realize the selfishness of my aims. But let me once win Elsie, and by
all that is sacred I promise to be as wax in her hands.”
Lizzette regarded Herbert’s flushed face with grave eyes. “I tink you
meestake her still. To vin ze spurs and vear zem make ze knight in her
eyes, I fancy.”
“Ah, well, I see you are bound to convince me that the way is difficult;
but I do not despair yet. To tell the truth, it is a new and somewhat
depressing knowledge to learn of how little value Herbert Lynn is in
this world. He always fancied himself quite a personage until he chanced
on your quixotic circle.”
Lizzette’s eyes twinkled. “Eet ees good sometimes to see ourselves in ze
truthful mirror of unflattering eyes. Still I do not tink mon Herbeart
ees all so bad. I haf some fond hope for him yet.”
“It is fortunate that you have; for with the unpleasant truths I’ve been
hearing lately, there is great danger in my finding this world a hollow
mockery and betaking myself to a monastery. But here we are! Now for a
consultation with Dr. M——. We shall know the truth about Antoine’s case
soon, and then, if favorable, we can tell the lad what the future has in
store for him.”
Glancing up, Lizzette saw before her the façade of a large hospital,
into which they were speedily ushered. It did not take long to establish
the fact that so far as could be determined without actual examination
there was hope for Antoine, and it was safe enough to arouse the lad’s
anticipations; a thing which Lizzette had hesitated about doing without
strong presumption of success. A personal examination the following day
gave still greater color to hope, and with glowing anticipations for the
future, it was settled that within two weeks Antoine should take up his
abode for six months at the hospital.
That night Elsie and Antoine held high carnival, and between them there
was a wild commingling of laughter, tears, kisses, and music. Every now
and then Elsie would turn from the organ to print a kiss on the lad’s
pale cheek, and Antoine would throw down fiddle and bow to clasp his
arms around her neck and whisper:
“Only think, Elsie, if it hadn’t been for Herbert all this would never
have happened. Isn’t he good!”