THE RETURN.
As long as he could, Charlton kept Katy at Glenfield. He amused her by
every means in his power; he devoted himself to her; he sought to win her
away from Westcott, not by argument, to which she was invulnerable, but
by feeling. He found that the only motive that moved her was an emotion
of pity for him, so he contrived to make her estimate his misery on her
account at its full value. But just when he thought he had produced some
effect there would come one of Smith Westcott's letters, written not as
he talked (it is only real simpleheartedness or genuine literary gift
that can make the personality of the writer felt in a letter), but in a
round business hand with plenty of flourishes, and in sentences very
carefully composed. But he managed in his precise and prim way to convey
to Katy the notion that he was pining away for her company. And she,
missing the giggle and the playfulness from the letter, thought his
distress extreme indeed. For it would have required a deeper sorrow than
Smith Westcott ever felt to make him talk in the stiff conventional
fashion in which his letters were composed.
And besides Westcott's letters there were letters from her mother, in
which that careful mother never failed to tell how Mr. Westcott had come
in, the evening before, to talk about Katy, and to tell her how lost and
heart-broken he was. So that letters from home generally brought on a
relapse of Katy's devotion to her lover. She was cruelly torn by
alternate fits of loving pity for poor dear Brother Albert on the one
hand, and poor, dear, _dear_ Smith Westcott on the other. And the latter
generally carried the day in her sympathies. He was such a poor dear
fellow, you know, and hadn't anybody, not even a mother, to comfort him,
and he had often said that if his charming and divine little Katy should
ever prove false, he would go and drown himself in the lake. And that
would be _so_ awful, you know. And, besides, Brother Albert had plenty to
love him. There was mother, and there was that quiet kind of a young lady
at the City Hotel that Albert went to see so often, though how he could
like anybody so cool she didn't know. And then Cousin Isa would love
Brother Albert maybe, if he'd ask her. But he had plenty, and poor Smith
had often said that he needed somebody to help him to be good. And she
would cleave to him forever and help him. Mother and father thought she
was right, and she couldn't anyway let Smith drown himself. How could
she? That would be the same as murdering him, you know.
During the fortnight that Charlton and his sister visited in Glenfield,
Albert divided his time between trying to impress Katy with the general
unfitness of Smith Westcott to be her husband, and the more congenial
employment of writing long letters to Miss Helen Minorkey, and
receiving long letters from that lady. His were fervent and
enthusiastic; they explained in a rather vehement style all the schemes
that filled his brain for working out his vocation and helping the
world to its goal: while hers discussed everything in the most
dispassionate temper. Charlton had brought himself to admire this
dispassionate temper. A man of Charlton's temper who is really in love,
can bring himself to admire any traits in the object of his love. Had
Helen Minorkey shown some little enthusiasm, Charlton would have
exaggerated it, admired it, and rejoiced in it as a priceless quality.
As she showed none, he admired the lack of it in her, rejoiced in her
entire superiority to her sex in this regard, and loved her more and
more passionately every day. And Miss Minorkey was not wanting in a
certain tenderness toward her adorer. She loved him in her way, it made
her happy to be loved in that ideal fashion.
Charlton found himself in a strait betwixt two. He longed to worship
again at the shrine of his Minerva. But he disliked to return with Katy
until he had done something to break the hold of Smith Westcott upon her
mind. So upon one pretext or another he staid until Westcott wrote to
Katy that business would call him to Glenfield the next week, and he
hoped that she would conclude to return with him. Katy was so pleased
with the prospect of a long ride with her lover, that she felt
considerable disappointment when Albert determined to return at once.
Brother Albert always did such curious things. Katy, who had given Albert
a dozen reasons for an immediate return, now thought it very strange that
he should be in such a hurry. Had he given up trying to find that new
kind of grasshopper he spoke of the day before?
One effect of the unexpected arrival of Albert and Katy in
Metropolisville, was to make Smith Westcott forget that he ever had any
business that was likely to call him to Glenfield. Delighted to see Katy
back. Would a died if she'd staid away another week. By George! he! he!
he! Wanted to jump into the lake, you know. Always felt that way when
Katy was out of sight two days. Curious. By George! Didn't think any
woman could ever make such a fool of him. He! he! Felt like ole Dan
Tucker when he came to supper and found the hot cakes all gone. He! he!
he! By George! You know! Let's sing de forty-lebenth hymn! Ahem!
"If Diner was an apple,
And I was one beside her,
Oh! how happy we would be,
When we's skwushed into cider!
And a little more cider too, ah-hoo!
And a little more cider too!
And a little more cider too--ah--hoo!
And a little more cider too."
How much? Pailful! By George! He! he! he! That's so! You know. Them's my
sentiments. 'Spresses the 'motions of my heart, bredren! Yah! yah! By
hokey! And here comes Mr. Albert Charlton. Brother Albert! Just as well
learn to say it now as after a while. Eh, Katy? How do, brother Albert?
Glad to see you as if I'd stuck a nail in my foot. By George! he! he! You
won't mind my carryin' on. Nobody minds me. I'm the privileged infant,
you know. I am, by George! he! he! Come, Kate, let's take a boat-ride.
"Oh! come, love, come; my boat's by the shore;
If yer don't ride now, I won't ax you no more."
And so forth. Too hoarse to sing. But I am not too feeble to paddle my
own canoe. Come, Katy Darling. You needn't mind your shawl when you've
got a Westcott to keep you warm. He! he! By George!
And then he went out singing that her lips was red as roses or poppies
or something, and "wait for the row-boat and we'll all take a ride."
Albert endeavored to forget his vexation by seeking the society of Miss
Minorkey, who was sincerely glad to see him back, and who was more
demonstrative on this evening than he had ever known her to be. And
Charlton was correspondingly happy. He lay in his unplastered room that
night, and counted the laths in the moonlight, and built golden ladders
out of them by which to climb up to the heaven of his desires. But he was
a little troubled to find that in proportion as he came nearer to the
possession of Miss Minorkey, his ardor in the matter of his great
Educational Institution--his American Philanthropinum, as he called
it--abated.
I ought here to mention a fact which occurred about this time, because it
is a fact that has some bearing on the course of the story, and because
it may help us to a more charitable judgment in regard to the character
of Mr. Charlton's step-father. Soon after Albert's return from Glenfield,
he received an appointment to the postmastership of Metropolisville in
such a way as to leave no doubt that it came through Squire Plausaby's
influence. We are in the habit of thinking a mean man wholly mean. But we
are wrong. Liberal Donor, Esq., for instance, has a great passion for
keeping his left hand exceedingly well informed of the generous doings of
his right. He gives money to found the Liberal Donor Female Collegiate
and Academical Institute, and then he gives money to found the Liberal
Donor Professorship of Systematic and Metaphysical Theology, and still
other sums to establish the Liberal Donor Orthopedic Chirurgical
Gratuitous Hospital for Cripples and Clubfooted. Shall I say that the
man is not generous, but only ostentatious? Not at all. He might gratify
his vanity in other ways. His vanity dominates over his benevolence, and
makes it pay tribute to his own glory. But his benevolence is genuine,
notwithstanding. Plausaby was mercenary, and he may have seen some
advantages to himself in having the post-office in his own house, and in
placing his step-son under obligation to himself. Doubtless these
considerations weighed much, but besides, we must remember the injunction
that includes even the Father of Evil in the number of those to whom a
share of credit is due. Let us say for Plausaby that, land-shark as he
was, he was not vindictive, he was not without generosity, and that it
gave him sincere pleasure to do a kindness to his step-son, particularly
when his generous impulse coincided so exactly with his own interest in
the matter. I do not say that he would not have preferred to take the
appointment himself, had it not been that he had once been a postmaster
in Pennsylvania, and some old unpleasantness between him and the
Post-Office Department about an unsettled account stood in his way. But
in all the tangled maze of motive that, by a resolution of force,
produced the whole which men called Plausaby the Land-shark, there was
not wanting an element of generosity, and that element of generosity had
much to do with Charlton's appointment. And Albert took it kindly. I am
afraid that he was just a little less observant of the transactions in
which Plausaby engaged after that. I am sure that he was much less
vehement than before in his denunciations of land-sharks. The post-office
was set up in one of the unfinished rooms of Mr. Plausaby's house, and,
except at mail-times, Charlton was not obliged to confine himself to it.
Katy or Cousin Isa or Mrs. Plausaby was always glad to look over the
letters for any caller, to sell stamps to those who wanted them, and tell
a Swede how much postage he must pay on a painfully-written letter to
some relative in Christiana or Stockholm. And the three or four hundred
dollars of income enabled Charlton to prosecute his studies. In his
gratitude he lent the two hundred and twenty dollars--all that was left
of his educational fund--to Mr. Plausaby, at two per cent a month, on
demand, secured by a mortgage on lots in Metropolisville.
Poor infatuated George Gray--the Inhabitant of the Lone Cabin, the
Trapper of Pleasant Brook, the Hoosier Poet from the Wawbosh
country--poor infatuated George Gray found his cabin untenable after
little Katy had come and gone. He came up to Metropolisville, improved
his dress by buying some ready-made clothing, and haunted the streets
where he could catch a glimpse now and then of Katy.
One night, Charlton, coming home from an evening with Miss Minorkey at
the hotel, found a man standing in front of the fence.
"What do you want here?" he asked sharply.
"Didn' mean no harm, stranger, to nobody."
"Oh! it's you!" exclaimed Charlton, recognizing his friend the Poet.
"Come in, come in."
"Come in? Couldn' do it no way, stranger. Ef I was to go in thar amongst
all them air ladies, my knees would gin out. I was jist a-lookin' at that
purty creetur. But I 'druther die'n do her any harm. I mos' wish I was
dead. But 'ta'n't no harm to look at her ef she don' know it. I shan't
disturb her; and ef she marries a gentleman, I shan't disturb him nuther.
On'y, ef he don' mind it, you know, I'll write po'try about her now and
then. I got some varses now that I wish you'd show to her, ef you think
they won't do her no harm, you know, and I don't 'low they will. Good-by,
Mr. Charlton. Comin' down to sleep on your claim? Land's a-comin' into
market down thar."
After the Poet left him, Albert took the verses into the house and read
them, and gave them to Katy. The first stanza was, if I remember it
rightly, something of this sort:
"A angel come inter the poar trapper's door,
The purty feet tromped on the rough puncheon floor,
Her lovely head slep' on his prairie-grass piller--
The cabin is lonesome and the trapper is poar,
He hears little shoes a-pattin' the floor;
He can't sleep at night on that piller no more;
His Hoosier harp hangs on the wild water-willer!"