TROUBLES
The weeks after the Easter visit passed rapidly away. April was melting
into May. People called it an early spring.
"It doesn't make much difference to me whether the season is early or
late," said Martine one Sunday afternoon, when Lucian and Robert had
walked home with her from the afternoon service. "I have to work so hard
to keep up with Priscilla that I haven't time to think about anything so
commonplace as weather. If I'm not careful, I shall find myself fitting
for college."
"Don't," said Robert Pringle.
"Do," cried Lucian. "As I may have said before, if you make half as much
of yourself as Amy, nothing could be better for you than college."
"Be yourself," said Robert with an air of wisdom. "Not Amy nor
Priscilla, nor any one else. You have the artistic temperament."
"Nonsense," replied Martine, with difficulty repressing a smile. "That's
a very sophomorific speech. You've got it out of some of your philosophy
courses."
"Or one of the college magazines," growled Lucian. "People who are just
beginning to write always love to talk about temperament."
"Well," persisted Robert, "Fritz Tomkins says that Mrs. Redmond says
that you have great talent."
"Oh, yes," responded Martine, laughing, "my class at the Mansion
considers me a true artist, because I can paint trees and grass that
look real; but to tell you the truth, Robert, and to show you that
you're not wholly wrong, I will admit that if I hadn't been so busy at
school, I should have studied with Mrs. Redmond this spring. I just wish
I had time for a sketching class, but fond as I am of riding, I can
barely manage an hour's ride twice a week. That reminds me, Lucian," and
Martine turned to her brother, "if you can afford a new auto, I surely
can afford a new riding-horse. Wherever we go this summer, I mean to
ride."
"No, no," cried Lucian, "that is, I probably shall not have the auto,
much as I want it."
"Don't worry," said Robert, "you'll get it in season; if it isn't out by
June, they'll have it for you in July."
"Oh, that wasn't what I meant," rejoined Lucian, "only--" but at this
moment he did not explain what he really had intended to say.
The next evening Lucian came home to dinner.
"What an unexpected honor," said Martine. "I've never known you to favor
us with a Monday visit. You look rather glum, too," she added with
sisterly frankness. "Is anything the matter?"
"No, no," he said, "nothing special. You shouldn't be so curious."
"I can read you like a book," replied Martine. "You are worrying over
your finals and you ought to be ashamed of yourself. If I were a Harvard
Sophomore, with all my time to use as I liked, I wouldn't be in such a
state of mind over a few questions, for that's all an examination
amounts to."
"There, there, Martine, don't worry your brother," interposed Mrs.
Stratford, joining them.
"But he is so foolish," continued Martine, "just as if he hadn't as good
a chance as anybody else."
"To be perfectly frank," said Lucian at last, "you have no idea, little
sister, what you are talking about; so the least said, soonest mended."
Conversation during dinner proceeded cheerfully. Lucian was evidently
making an effort to remove the impression that he was troubled about
anything.
But a little later, after their mother had left the room, Lucian drew
his chair nearer Martine's and began to talk in an undertone.
"You are right, Martine," he said, "I am troubled. I have something
serious to say."
Martine's heart beat nervously. She knew that boys in college sometimes
did things that they should not do. Lucian had several friends of whom
she did not approve. Into what mischief might they not lead him?
"Tell me the worst, Lucian," she said sympathetically. "If it's stealing
signs or doing any of those ridiculous Med. Fac. things, of course you
were very silly. But I'll help you out if I can, without telling mother,
and I'll lend you money, though I have only a very little bit of my own.
I am paying for my clothes out of my allowance this spring. And you know
I never used to do that."
"Oh, your money wouldn't help, Martine; it isn't that."
"Well, whatever it is, we'll keep it from mother; she certainly isn't as
well as when she first came to Boston."
"I know that," responded Lucian, "and that's the worst of this whole
business. You see, it's this, Martine. Father's business is all at sixes
and sevens and I had the queerest letter from him this morning; I can
hardly make head or tail of it."
Martine took the thin sheet of letter paper from Lucian's hand; the
wording was incoherent.
"Why, it doesn't sound like father," she exclaimed, "and what queer,
trembling handwriting. I am afraid that he is sick. And if he has lost
his money as he says, what are we to do?"
"I haven't an idea in the world. This knocks me all to pieces," and
Lucian leaned his head on his hands, the picture of bewilderment.
"We ought to tell mother," Martine's voice trembled, "but perhaps we
might as well wait another day; perhaps we can think of some one to
advise us, or perhaps some plan will come to us in the night."
"Very well," responded Lucian, "but I can't stay here long and pretend
to be cheerful; I'll get out to Cambridge as quickly as I can."
"Lucian made a short stay," said Mrs. Stratford when Martine told her
that he had gone. "I agree with you that he is troubled about something.
Perhaps he told you what it was."
"Yes," said Martine, "he did give me an idea of it."
Then Mrs. Stratford, knowing that it was not wise to interfere in the
confidences of brother and sister, to Martine's relief asked no
questions. The next day, however, the secret came out in part at least.
Mrs. Stratford received a cable from Rio Janeiro. Its few words carried
volumes of trouble. Mr. Stratford was ill, very ill; could some of his
family come to him at once? Mrs. Stratford recognized the name of the
one who had sent the cable; he was a man with whom her husband had long
had business transactions. He would not have cabled unless her husband's
condition were really serious. The telephone soon brought Lucian to the
house.
"There is only one thing," said Lucian; "by taking the afternoon express
I can reach New York this evening, sail by a quick boat to-morrow for
England, and go on as soon as possible to Rio Janeiro."
"But we don't know anything about the sailings of the Brazilian boats."
"No matter, mother, the sooner I reach England, the sooner I'll reach
Brazil. I must go back to Cambridge now, throw a few things into a
steamer trunk, and then, good-bye."
"Oh, Lucian, what a help you are. At first I thought there was no one
who could go. I will go down town at once and get a draft for you and
meet you at the station; that will be better than stopping here on your
way from Cambridge."
These hasty plans were carried out exactly.
"Everything is so hurried," complained Martine, "that I haven't had time
yet to cry."
"I have cabled to Rio Janeiro," said Mrs. Stratford, "to cable our
bankers in London, if--if--anything happens."
"Oh, nothing will happen," said Lucian cheerfully, "nothing serious, I
mean. Only I am sure that it is wise for me to go, for father will need
me to help him come home. And now good-bye."
So mother and daughter parted with Lucian, and after this one exciting
day, things settled down into their accustomed round. Within a week of
Lucian's sailing Mrs. Stratford heard by cable that her husband was no
worse.
"It does not say 'better'," she murmured.
"But 'no worse' is better than nothing," said Martine.
"When we consider how little Lucian was here with us, it is strange,"
said Martine one day, "that we should miss him so. Poor boy, I am sorry
that I teased him so about his finals. I am sure that he would rather be
in Cambridge working for dear life than tossing about on the ocean, not
knowing what news he may hear at the end of his journey. But there's one
thing, he rose to the occasion, and I'm so thankful that he has really
grown up."
In spite of the anxiety of mother and daughter, each for the sake of the
other tried to be cheerful. Martine, until the first of June, was fully
occupied with school. Priscilla and her more intimate friends
sympathized deeply with her when they heard of her father's illness.
Letters from others came to them gradually, and some of Mr. Stratford's
business associates were frank with Mrs. Stratford when she asked their
opinion on her husband's affairs. One day she called Martine to her for
a frank talk.
"It is evident," she said, "that we must live at the very smallest
possible expense for the next few months. I am going to send the cook
away at the end of the present week; now that your school is ending, you
will not object to supplementing Angelina's work. Angelina sees
something dramatic in what she calls 'our fallen fortunes.' She is
delighted to be considered housemaid and cook combined. She tells me
that I am not to lift my hand, but wear my prettiest dresses all the
time so that there'll be one lady in the house, while you and she are
doing the work."
"Well, really," cried Martine, "it's a little too much for her to put me
immediately on her own level."
"Oh, she doesn't mean it in that way; in fact, what she said was
intended only to make me comfortable. If I were a little stronger I
would plan to stay in Boston all summer, but I've had a talk with the
doctor and he tells me that I need a complete change. We cannot afford
any extravagance this summer, and only one plan suggests itself to me."
"What is it, mamma?"
"Simply this. A few years ago, when your father and I were at York
Harbor, we fell in love with a little red farm-house that stood on a
knoll commanding a view of the sea. We had no particular object in
buying it, the land belonging to it was limited, but I had an idea that
sometime perhaps we might build a house there. It is quite outside the
fashionable section, yet not very far from the electric cars, and the
house is in pretty good repair."
"Does any one live there?"
"Well, that is the curious part of it; the owner was an old woman and we
let her stay on there, rent free, on condition that she should keep the
little garden planted and let us know when any repairs were needed. Last
September she died and the house has been unoccupied this winter; it
seems to me that this would be an ideal place for us this summer. Even
if I were able to stay in the city, I should not approve of your doing
so. You need the out-door life to which you are accustomed. We could
take enough of our small belongings with us to make the cottage
comfortable and homelike. Angelina would be quite equal to the work."
"With my help," interrupted Martine gayly.
"Yes, with your help; and I know you can be very helpful, Martine, when
you wish. What do you think of my plan?"
"I think it's perfectly splendid," replied Martine. "I've often heard of
York Harbor. Peggy Pratt used to talk about it. I think her family has a
cottage there."
"Of course," continued Mrs. Stratford, "you must remember that we shall
live very quietly there; for the present I feel that we have no income
coming in. We must live on the little money that I have saved until we
know just where your father's business stands. Besides, until we know
that he is really well, we are under a shadow. At any moment we may hear
the worst news, and that, if nothing else, would lead us to live
quietly."
"Of course, mamma, of course I understand this perfectly. I have no wish
for gayety; really I would rather live quietly. I am so glad that I got
only one silk gown, instead of the three I intended. And, luckily, I
haven't given away many of my last summer's clothes; so I shall be all
fitted out without any expense."
"There, there," cried Mrs. Stratford, "don't think too much about
economy--or clothes; we shall do very well, even as things are, if only
we hear good news from South America."
It was now June. Priscilla had gone home. Martine's other friends had
left the city for the North Shore or the mountains. Some of Lucian's
friends in Cambridge dropped in occasionally, and Amy and Mrs. Redmond
were as devoted as ever. Amy, however, was very busy with the many
duties and pleasures of a Wellesley Senior when Commencement is only a
few weeks away. Of all the invitations that she showered on Martine for
the various festivities that Wellesley offers in June, Martine accepted
only the one that took her to Wellesley Float Day.
"As long as I live," she said afterwards, "I shall never forget the
beautiful twilight on the lake, the boats gliding about so mysteriously
and gracefully, the music floating over the water, the lights that
bathed everything in glory; no, I never expect to see anything more
beautiful of its kind," she added mischievously, as a kind of
anti-climax, lest Amy, who was listening to her, should be too proud of
her college.
But as the long June days wore away, Martine had little time for
anything outside her home; she could not deny the fact that her mother
was growing paler and thinner. Mrs. Stratford, looking anxiously at
Martine, saw a certain change in her daughter.
"The sooner we get away, the better; Martine is worrying about her
father, and will not tell me. A change of air and scene will benefit
her. I wish that we had not undertaken to have the cottage painted. The
last week in June seems too far away."
In their trouble, Martine and her mother were not neglected by their
friends. They had not many near relatives, yet invitations came to them
from the cousins in New York, from other cousins in Chicago and even
from Mrs. Blair; but mother and daughter both preferred the independence
that they would find in their cottage at York to the formality of
visiting even the best intentioned friends and relatives.
"You may have visitors of your own part of the summer," said Mrs.
Stratford. "We shall have at least one spare room in the cottage, and
when things are running smoothly there'll be no reason why you should
not have Priscilla with you."
"That reminds me," said Martine, "that I've never told you that Mrs.
Tilworth and I have really made up. You know she was rather frigid
towards me for several weeks this spring; but after my return from
Plymouth she told Priscilla that she had changed her mind about me. It
seems that I made a great impression on Mr. Stacy during my holidays,
and Mr. Stacy, it also seems, is the one person for whose opinion Mrs.
Tilworth has an especial regard; consequently Mrs. Tilworth is inclined
to accept Mr. Stacy's estimate of me and for the present the war between
us is at an end."
"War between you! My dear child, I should be very sorry indeed had there
been such a state of affairs; I think myself that you and Priscilla have
always been a little wrong in your opinion of Priscilla's aunt."