MRS. TRACY'S DIAMONDS.
Mrs. Tracy was going to have a party--not a general one, like that which
she gave when our readers first knew her, and Harold Hastings stood at
the head of the stairs and bade 'the ladies go this way and the
gentlemen that.' Since Dolly had become so exclusive and a leader of
fashion, she had ignored general parties and limited her invitations to
a select few, which, on this occasion, numbered about sixty or seventy.
But the entertainment was prepared as elaborately as if hundreds had
been expected, and the hostess was radiant in satin and lace, and
diamonds, as she received her guests and did the honors of the occasion.
The September night was soft and warm, and the grounds were lighted up,
while quite a crowd collected near the house to hear the music and watch
the proceedings.
Mrs. Tracy would have liked to have had Jerry in the upper hall, where
Harold had once stood.
'It would help to keep the child in her place,' she thought, 'for she is
getting to feel herself of quite too much consequence, with so much
attention from Arthur.'
But her husband promptly vetoed the proposition, saying that when Jerry
Crawford came to the park house to an entertainment it would be as a
guest, and not as a waiter. So a colored boy stood in the upper hall,
and a colored boy stood in the lower hall, and there were colored
waiters everywhere, and Dolly had never been happier or prouder in her
life: for Governor Markham and his wife, from Iowa, were there, and a
judge's wife from Springfield--all guests of Grace Atherton, and, in
consequence, bidden to the party.
Another remarkable feature of the evening was the presence of Arthur in
the parlors. He had known both Governor Markham and his wife, Ethelyn
Grant, and had been present at their wedding, and it was mostly on their
account that he had consented to join in the festivities. Jerry, it is
true, had done a great deal toward persuading him to go down,
repeating, in her own peculiar way, what she had heard people say with
regard to his seclusion from society.
'You just make a hermit of yourself,' she said, 'cooped up here all the
time. I don't wonder folks say you are crazy. It is enough to make
anybody crazy, to stay in one or two rooms and see nobody but Charles
and me. Just dress yourself in your best clothes and go down and be
somebody, and don't talk of Gretchen all the time! I am tired of it, and
so is everybody. Give her a rest for one evening, and show the people
how nice you can be if you only have a mind to.'
Jerry delivered this speech with her hands on her hips, and with all the
air of a woman of fifty; while Arthur laughed immoderately, and promised
her to do his best not to disgrace her, and to appear as if he were not
crazy.
Jerry's anxiety was somewhat like that of a mother for a child whose
ability she doubts; and, after her supper was over she took her way to
the park house to see that Arthur was dressed properly for the occasion.
'It would be like him to go without his neck-tie and wear his every-day
boots,' she thought.
But she found him as faultlessly gotten up as he well could be in his
old-fashioned evening dress, which sat rather loosely upon him, for he
had grown thinner with each succeeding year.
Jerry thought him splendid, and watched him admiringly as if he left the
room and started for the parlors, with her last injunction ringing in
her ears:
'Not a word out of your head about Gretchen, but try and act as if you
were not crazy.'
'I'll do it, Cherry. Don't you worry,' he said to her, with a little
reassuring nod, as he descended the stairs.
And he kept his promise well. There was no word out of his head about
Gretchen, and no one ignorant of the fact would ever have suspected that
his mind was unsettled as he moved among the guests, talking to one
another with that pleasant, courtly manner so natural to him. A very
close observer, however, might have seen his eyes dilate and even flash
with some sudden emotion when his brother's wife passed him and her
brilliant diamonds, his gift, sparkled in the bright gaslight. The
setting was rather peculiar, but Mrs. Tracy liked it for the
peculiarity, and had never had it changed. She was very proud of her
diamonds, they were so large and clear, and she had the satisfaction of
knowing that there were no finer, if as fine, in town. She seemed to
know, too, just in what light to place herself in order to show them to
the best advantage, and at times the gleams of fire from them were
wonderful, and once Arthur put his hand before his eyes as she passed
him, and muttering something to himself moved quickly to another part of
the room. This was late in the evening, and soon after he excused
himself to those around him, saying it was not often that he dissipated
like this, and as he was growing tired he must say good-night.
The next morning Charles found him looking very pale and worn, with a
bad pain in his head. He had rested badly, he said, and would have his
coffee in bed, after which Charles was to leave him alone and not come
back until he rang for him, as he might possibly fall asleep.
It was very late that morning when the family breakfasted, and as they
lingered around the table, discussing the events of the previous night,
it was after eleven o'clock when at last Mrs. Tracy went up to her room.
As she ascended the stairs to the upper hall, she caught a glimpse of
Harold disappearing through a door at the lower end of the hall,
evidently with the intention of going down the back stairway and making
his exit from the house by the rear door, rather than the front. Mrs.
Tracy knew that he was sometimes sent by his grandmother on some errand
to Arthur, and giving no further thought to the matter went on to her
own room, which her maid had put in order. All the paraphernalia of last
night's toilet were put away, diamonds and all. Contrary to her usual
custom, for she was very careful of her diamonds, and very much afraid
they would be stolen, she had left them in their box on her dressing
bureau. But they were not there now. Sarah, who knew where she kept
them, had put them away, of course, and she gave them no more thought
until three days later, when she received an invitation to a lunch party
at Brier Hill.
'I shall wear my dark blue satin and diamonds,' she said to her maid,
who was dressing her hair, but the diamonds, when looked for, were not
in their usual place.
Sarah had not put them away, nor in fact had she seen them at all, for
they were not upon the bureau when she went to arrange her mistress'
room the morning after the party. The diamonds were gone, nor could any
amount of searching bring them to light. And they looked everywhere, in
every box and drawer and corner, and Mrs. Tracy grew cold and sick and
faint, and finally broke down in a fit of crying, as she explained to
her husband that her beautiful diamonds were stolen. She called it that,
now, and the whole household was roused and questioned as to when and
where each had last seen the missing jewels. But no one had seen them
since they were in the lady's ears, and she knew she had left them upon
her bureau when she went down to breakfast. She was positive of that. No
one had been in the room, or that part of the house, except Tom, Fred
Raymond, Charles and Sarah. Of these the first two were not to be
thought of for a moment, while the last two had been in the family for
years, and were above suspicion. Clearly, then, it was some one from
outside, who had watched his or her portunity and come in.
Had any one been seen about the house at that hour? Yes, Charles
remembered having met Harold Hastings coming out of the rear door;
'but,' he added, 'I would sooner suspect myself than him.'
And this was the verdict of all except Mrs. Tracy, who now recalled the
fact that she, too, had seen Harold 'sneaking through the door as if he
did not wish to be seen.'
That was the way she expressed herself, and her manner had in it more
meaning even than her words.
'What was Harold doing in the house? What was his errand? Does any one
know?' she asked, but no one volunteered any information until Charles
suggested that he probably came on some errand to Mr. Arthur; he would
inquire, he said, and he went at once to his master's room.
Arthur was sitting by his writing-desk, busy with a letter, and did not
turn, his head when Charles asked if he remembered whether Harold
Hastings had been to his room the morning after the party.
'No, I have not seen him for more than a week,' was the reply.
'But he must have been here that morning,' Charles continued. 'Try and
think.'
'I tell you no one was here. I am not quite demented yet. Now go. Don't
you see you are interrupting me?' was Arthur's rather savage response,
and without having gained any satisfactory information Charles returned
to the group anxiously awaiting him:
'_Well_?' was Mrs. Tracy's sharp interrogatory, to which Charles
responded:
'He does not remember what happened that morning; but that is not
strange. He was very tired and unusually excited after the party, and
when he is that way he does not remember anything. Harold might have
been there a dozen times and he would forget it.'
'Bring the boy, then. He will know what he was doing here,' was Mrs.
Tracy's next peremptory remark, and her husband said to her,
reproachfully:
'Surely you do not intend to charge him with the theft?'
'I charge no one with the theft until it is proven on him; but I must
see the boy and know what he was doing here. I never liked this free
running in and out of those people in the lane. I always knew something
would come of it,' Mrs. Tracy said, and Charles was despatched for
Harold.
He found him mowing the lawn for a gentleman whose premises joined Tracy
Park, and without any explanation told him that he was wanted
immediately at the park house.
'But it is noon,' Harold said, glancing up at the sun. 'And there is
Jerry coming to call me to dinner.'
'No; better come at once. Jerry can go with you, if she likes,' Charles
said, feeling intuitively that in the little girl Harold would find a
champion.
Harold left his lawn mower, and explaining to Jerry, who had come up to
him, that he had been summoned to the park house, whither she could
accompany him if she chose, he started with her and Charles, whom he
questioned as to what was wanted with him.
'Were you in the park house the morning after the party? That would be
Wednesday,' Charles asked.
'Yes, I went to see Mr. Arthur Tracy, but could get no answer to my
knock,' Harold promptly replied, while his face flushed scarlet, and he
seemed annoyed at something. He could not explain to Charles his motive
in going to see Arthur, as, now that the first burst of indignation was
over, he felt half ashamed of it himself. On the afternoon of the day of
the party he had been at Grassy Spring, helping Mrs. St. Claire with her
flowers, and after his work was done he had gone with Dick into the
billiard-room, where they found Tom Tracy and his friend, young Raymond.
They had come over for a game, and the four boys were soon busily
engaged in the contest. Harold, who had often played with Dick and was
something of an expert, proved himself the most skilful of them all,
greatly to the chagrin of Tom, who had not recognized him even by a nod.
Dick, on the contrary, had introduced him to Fred Raymond with as much
ceremony as if he had been the Governor's son, instead of the boy who
sometimes worked in his mother's flower garden. And the Kentuckian had
taken him by the hand and greeted him cordially, with a familiar:
'How d'ye do, Hastings? Glad to make your acquaintance'
There was nothing snobbish about Fred Raymond, whose every instinct was
gentlemanly and kind, and Harold felt at ease with him at once, and all
through the game appeared at his best, and quite as well bred as either
of his companions.
When the play was over Dick excused himself a moment, as he wished to
speak with his father, who was about driving to town. As he stayed away
longer than he had intended doing, Tom grew restless and angry, too,
that Fred should treat Harold Hastings as an equal, for the two had at
once entered into conversation, comparing notes with regard to their
standing in school and discussing the merits of Cicero and Virgil, the
latter of which Harold had just commenced.
'We can't wait here all day for Dick,' Tom said. 'Let us go out and look
at the pictures.'
So they went down the stairs to a long hall, in which many pictures were
hanging--some family portraits and others, copies of the old masters
which Mr. St. Claire had brought from abroad. Near one of the portraits
Fred lingered a long time, commenting upon its beauty, and the
resemblance he saw in it to little Nina St. Claire, the daughter of the
house, and whose aunt the original had been. The portrait was not far
from the stairway which led to the billiard-room, and Harold, who had
remained behind, and was listlessly knocking the balls, could not help
hearing all they said:
'By the way, who is that Hastings? I don't think I have seen him before;
he is a right clever chap,' Fred Raymond said.
Tom replied, in that sneering, contemptuous tone which Harold knew so
well, and which always made his blood boil and his fingers tingle with a
desire to knock the speaker down:
'Oh, that's Hal Hastings, a poor boy, who does chores for us and the St.
Claires. His grandmother used to work at the park house, and so uncle
Arthur pays for his schooling, and Hal allows it, which I think right
small in him. I wouldn't be a charity student, anyway, if I never knew
anything. Besides that, what's the use of education to chaps like him.
Better stay as he was born. I don't believe in educating the masses, do
you?'
Of himself Tom could never have thought of all this, but he had heard it
from his mother, who frequently used the expression 'not to elevate the
masses,' forgetting that she was once herself a part of the mass which
she would now keep down.
Just what Fred said in reply Harold did not hear. There was a ringing in
his ears, and he felt as if every drop of blood in his body was rushing
to his head as he sat down, dizzy and bewildered, and smarting cruelly
under the wound he had received this time. He had more than once been
taunted with his poverty and dependence upon Mr. Tracy, but the taunts
had never hurt him so before, and he could have cried out in his pain as
he thought of Tom's words, and knew that in himself there was the making
of a far nobler manhood than Tom Tracy would ever know.
Was poverty, which one could not help, so terrible a disgrace, an
insuperable barrier to elevation, and was it mean and small in him to
accept his education from a man on whom he had no claim? Possibly; and
if so, the state of things should not continue. He would go to Arthur
Tracy, thank him for all he had done, and tell him he could receive no
more from him; that if he had an education, he must get it himself by
the work of his own hands, and thus be beholden to no one.
Full of this resolution, he went down the stairs and out into the open
air, which cooled his hot head a little, though it was still throbbing
terribly as he went through the leafy woods toward home.
In the lane he saw Jerry coming toward him, with her sun-bonnet hanging
down her back and her soft, curly hair blowing around her forehead. The
moment she saw him she knew something was the matter, and, hastening her
steps to run, asked him what had happened, and why he looked so white
and mad.
Harold was sure of sympathy from Jerry, and he told her his story, which
roused her to a high pitch of indignation.
'The miserable, nasty, sneaking Tom!' she said, stopping short and
emphasizing each adjective with a stamp of her foot as if she were
trampling upon the offending Tom. 'I wish I had heard him. I'd have
scratched his eyes out! talking of you as if you were dirt! I hate him,
and I told him so the other day, and spit at him when he tried to kiss
me.'
'Kiss you! Tom Tracy kiss you!' Harold exclaimed, forgetting his own
grief in this insult to Jerry; for it seemed to him little less than
profanity for lips like Tom Tracy's to touch his little Jerry.
'No, he didn't, but he tried, right before that boy from Kentucky; but I
wriggled away from him, and bit him, too, and he called me a cat, and
said he guessed I wouldn't mind if _you_ or Dick St. Claire tried to
kiss me, and I shouldn't; but I'll fight _him_ and Bill Peterkin every
time. I wonder why all the boys want to kiss me so much!'
'I expect it is because you have just the sweetest mouth in the world,'
Harold said, stooping down and kissing the lips which seemed made for
that use alone.
This little episode had helped somewhat to quiet Harold's state of mind,
but did not change his resolve to speak to Mr. Tracy, and tell him that
he could not receive any more favors from his hands. He would, however,
wait until to-morrow, as Jerry bade him to.
'You will worry him so that he will be crazier than a loon at the
party,' she said, and so Harold waited, but started for the park the
next morning as soon as he thought Mr. Tracy would see him.
He had rung at the door of the rear hall, but as no one heard him he
ventured in, as he had sometimes done before, when sent for Jerry if it
rained, and ascending the stairs to the upper hall, knocked two or three
times at Arthur's door, first gently, and then louder as there came no
response.
'He cannot be there, and I must come again,' he thought as he retraced
his steps, reaching the door at the lower end of the hall just as Mrs.
Tracy came up the broad staircase on her way to her room.
As that day wore on, and the next, and the next, Harold began to care
less for Tom's insult, and to think that possibly he had been hasty in
his determination to decline Arthur's assistance, especially as he meant
to pay back every dollar when he was a man. He would at all events wait
a little, he thought, and so had made no further effort to see Mr.
Tracy, when Charles found him, and told he was wanted at the park house.