“Well, we’ve won!” exclaimed Herbert the next day as, having mounted the
stairs two at a time, he thrust his head into Margaret’s open door. “The
men are putting the furniture into the room, and I’ve a little sop in
the way of damages,” and he drew from his pocketbook a bank-note for ten
dollars and laid it in Margaret’s lap.
She looked at it dubiously. “Oh, it is honest,” he laughed; “there’s no
taint of charity about it. Such high-handed crimes against justice must
be made to suffer the penalty. It has set me to thinking, too, that it
is time something was done toward establishing justice for these
helpless poor. Why, the case would never have been won if I had not
employed some of the best talent in the city.”
“And that, of course, is costly.”
“Of course; often more than the little sum in question. By the way, have
you seen the head of this distressed family down-stairs?”
“I saw him for a few moments last night. He seems to be a gentleman in
bearing and acquirements, but he wears a depressed, hopeless expression
and a listless, half-hearted manner, that I can see are a constant thorn
in the side of his more energetic, if enfeebled, wife.”
“Well, no wonder, if half the story she tells is true. This seems to me
a case of genuine humanity; one that appeals directly to a man’s soul if
he has one. That man ought to be given work.”
“True, but he says he has sought for it far and wide.”
“I don’t think he need seek any further. I have a friend who is a
wholesale grocer down on S—— W—— Street, and in relating the story to
him, he offered the position of porter at eight dollars a week. Not a
munificent salary, certainly, but a good deal better than nothing.”
“Oh, I am so glad!” exclaimed Margaret. “And how happy that poor wife
will be. I’ve grown very much interested in her, for the reason that
such an ambitious spirit seems to dwell within the enfeebled body. How
terrible it is when body and spirit are so at odds!”
“Terrible indeed! I really hope the good news of a place for her husband
will act as a tonic. I leave the matter entirely in your hands and
empower you to deliver the message.”
“I will go now, if you will excuse me. I am in a hurry to tell the good
news.”
“Oh, certainly! Never mind me.”
Margaret returned with a dismayed and crestfallen countenance. “He
refuses it!” she exclaimed breathlessly as she sank into a chair.
Herbert gave a long low whistle, and elevated his eyebrows in a cynical
grimace that was not at all becoming.
“I am ashamed to tell you his reason,” Margaret went on. “It seems so
trivial under the circumstances. He says he is fitted for higher work,
and, in short, cannot accept such ungenteel employment.”
“Well, that settles the Hon. Edward Carson, Esq.,” said Herbert briskly.
“I shall waste no more sympathy on him.”
“But the poor wife,” said Margaret, the tears standing in her eyes. “It
was pitiful to see the look she gave him and hear her voice as she urged
his acceptance of the place. ‘Anything is better than starving,’ she
cried. ‘And perhaps you can work up to a better place; I am sure you can
when your employers learn your fidelity and trustworthiness;’ but her
entreaties were useless. He was stubborn with that white determination
of an iron will. Neither the poor woman’s tears nor prayers had any
visible effect upon him.”
“What does the fellow intend to do?”
“Oh, he has some little peddling devices, out of which, I believe, he
expects to realize the fortune of a Vanderbilt in a short time. In fact,
he informed me that he considered himself fully equal to managing his
own affairs.”
“He has proved it. Well, Miss Margaret, this only strengthens my belief
in the folly of attempting to help such incapables.”
“But think how the innocent suffer with the guilty! Think of the sick
wife and the helpless babies! Because the man is stubborn and
ill-natured, must those who are dependent on him be left to starve?”
“It seems a hard doctrine, born of that old pagan idea of brute force;
but I sometimes question if it would not be the shortest way of ridding
the world of its great army of incapables. Don’t look so horrified, at
least until I have finished. Take this unfortunate woman, delicately
reared, educated, refined, sensitive; charity is, no doubt, nearly as
offensive to her as starvation. Such people are proud of their
independence of character, and what can she hope for in a future that
sees only the hand of charity between her and the grave? The helping
hand in an extremity like this is different from a bounty that must be a
continued obligation.”
“Looking at the question from her standpoint, perhaps you are right; but
in looking at it from ours, I think you are wrong.”
“There’s the rub! These ethical questions demand some other solution
than expediency.”
“Christianity alone can solve them, as indeed it is the only true
solution of all the great questions of the world. The simple truth that
we are our brother’s keeper acknowledged by mankind would be an easy
method of settling this omnipresent and embittering war between labor
and capital.”
“A method the world has been slow to accept.”
“In one sense, perhaps, but as we view the long night of darkness and
degradation before the coming of Christ, we can only marvel at the
progress that has been made in less than two thousand years. Some day in
God’s great harmonies we shall hear the rhythmic heart-beats of an
altruistic faith, binding the whole world together in a common
brotherhood.”
“And you are doing your best to strike a note in that great harmony?”
“With Mr. Lynn’s help,” laughed Margaret. “He is going to advise me how
to assist that suffering and unfortunate woman down-stairs.”
“Impossible! He can only be the humble tool in your wiser hands.
However, I’ve been wise enough to think she ought to be put under the
care of a physician. That can be safely managed through you, as indeed
can all delicate commissions.”
“Thanks,” said Margaret. “I always try to put myself in the sufferer’s
place, as I have known what it was to need help, and be grateful for
it.”
“When my hour of tribulation comes, may I have just such a ministering
angel!” exclaimed Herbert warmly.
“Tribulation and the prosperous Mr. Lynn are a singular and almost
unlooked-for conjunction.”
“A man may have a great deal and yet want more. In fact, if he owns the
earth he usually wants the moon, or something equally impossible.”
“Is that one of your longings?”
“No; mine is more sublunary, if you will permit a pun so atrocious. The
truth is there’s another Galatea in whose marble veins I should like to
see the warm blood of feeling run. My presence always seems to congeal
the red current that glows for others.”
“You speak in enigmas.”
“Just now, perhaps; but by-and-by you will understand. By the way, there
is one intense longing you can gratify. May I drop in some time to one
of those charming ‘evenings’ Lizzette and Antoine have described to me?
I have a sincere desire to consider myself a beneficiary.”
“I am afraid I should say ‘no,’ if I did not begin to realize a little
the earnestness of your nature. We are sensitive to our shortcomings.”
“An equal sensitiveness inspires me with the desire to find a motive as
admirable as that which actuates your little coterie. Besides—I suppose
I may as well be honest, since you will be sure to find me out—I play
the violin a little myself, and would be most happy occasionally to
supply Antoine’s vacant niche, provided your sister could be prevailed
upon to accompany me.”
A new light dawned upon Margaret as she watched the boyish blush that
mounted to Herbert’s brow. “And so you have already found out what an
uncertain quantity my little sister is?”
“As regards your humble servant, she has been a profound certainty. A
block of ice could not have been a colder reality,” answered Herbert
with a rueful smile.
Margaret’s face grew suddenly thoughtful, but after a moment’s
hesitation she said bravely:
“I believe there are times when only the truth should be spoken
regardless of conventionality. For my own part, Mr. Lynn, I like you
exceedingly, and should gladly welcome you to our little circle; but my
little sister is young, beautiful as you know, imaginative, sensitive,
and—well, is it not best under the circumstances, which you so well
understand, that she should continue a cold reality to you?”
“No!” exclaimed Herbert emphatically, as he sprang to his feet and
placed a hand on the back of Margaret’s chair. “I am no cowardly
trifler, and I have an honest admiration for Elsie that has a right to
crave its legitimate outlet. I ask only a fair field.”
Glancing up at the earnest, flushed face, Margaret smiled as she rose
and laid her hand on his. “You shall have it,” she said. “Bring your
violin and be your own propitiation. I never interfere in matters of
this kind.”
Herbert raised Margaret’s hand to his lips, and murmuring something
wholly unintelligible, he snatched his hat and left the room. Margaret
sat long buried in thought after he had left her. Elsie’s doubts and
misgivings in no way troubled her. Love in her eyes was too sacred and
too rare to hamper it with the chains of caste or clothe it in false
conventionality. But until now the thought of love and Elsie had not
come to her except in the vague sometime that comes to all women. Elsie
was so young, so inexperienced, yet, strange as it seemed, so wise. She
had looked apprehensively upon the volatile nature, fearful that its
buoyant wings would be sadly singed in the candle of life. Yet by
Herbert’s own confession the little maid had been as wise in her
demeanor as if whole generations of elder sisters had stood sponsor for
every utterance. “I am glad,” she sighed tremulously, with that sweet
enjoyment of love which all women have. “I could not be better pleased
if the selection had been my own; but I mistrust that little sister of
mine will lead him a wild dance before she surrenders, if she ever does.
There are graver thoughts in that young head than I ever dreamed of. But
all I can say is, God speed an honest love!”
An hour later Margaret was on the street, intent upon a purpose which
had been gaining strength ever since the invalid, Mrs. Carson, had given
her the poem she had read at her bedside. There seemed to Margaret to be
too much merit in the poem to forego the effort to find for it, not only
publication, but pay. Margaret had become strongly possessed of the
primitive idea that the laborer is worthy of his hire, and that merit
had the right to demand recognition. Her contact with life had so far
been so simple and direct that the complexities governing man’s progress
had only just begun to confront her. It was, therefore, with the bravery
born of ignorance that she entered several editorial sanctums connected
with the various leading papers and periodicals of the great city and
offered the poem for inspection. The contemptuous glances, and decided
snubs she received, disturbed her equanimity rather than her purpose;
although if the matter had been a purely personal one, literary ambition
would have met instant death in these encounters. But Margaret’s
strength was always greater for others than for herself, and not until
she had exhausted all avenues did she intend to turn back. Finally in
the eleventh venture she encountered an editor who, listening to her
story and becoming interested, volunteered the information that the poem
had merit and was worthy of remuneration. A check for five dollars
gladdened Margaret’s heart, and her smiles and expressions of gratitude
must have made a bit of sunshine in the soul of a just man. Margaret
hurried home, her face glowing with happiness, and hastening into the
invalid’s room, produced the check with infinite satisfaction. There was
no answer, but a pair of thin arms reached up and clasped Margaret’s
neck, while sobs and tears contended for the mastery. Margaret waited
until the storm had subsided and then said gently: “You will have a
chance now to turn your talent to account.”
“What an angel you are! Sent by the God whom I doubted! How can I ever
repay it all?”
“By reawakening a slumbering faith, getting well, and working
cheerfully,” and with a kiss upon the invalid’s agitated lips, Margaret
went up to her rooms.