Before Mrs. Wilson could ascertain what it was, Lucille made a dash at
the newspaper. Paul thrust it behind his back.
"Give it to me, Paul," demanded the young woman, imperiously. "I order
you to give it to me," she reiterated, tapping her foot. "You are a
hateful tease."
[Illustration: "Give it to me, Paul," demanded the young woman
imperiously]
"Surely, my fair cousin, you're not going to deprive your mother of the
satisfaction of gazing on this work of art, and reading this
appreciative description of your personal charms? Can you not see how
impatient she is to have it all to herself?"
"You have certainly whetted my curiosity, Paul," said Mrs. Wilson.
"I forbid you to show it to her."
"Why?"
"It is too ridiculous and foolish, and the picture--" Her criticism on
that score instead of seeking words culminated in another spring, which
Paul evaded by wheeling spryly about so that he still faced her.
Paul Howard was an ornamental, attractive specimen of athletic,
optimistic American youth; a fine animal of manly, well-knit
proportions with no sign of physical weakness or of effeminacy in his
person or his face. His countenance was open and ruddy; his eyes clear
blue, his hair light brown. His lip was scrupulously clean-shaven,
exposing the full, pleasant strength of his father's mouth. Indeed, in
conformity with the prevailing fashion among his contemporaries, he
wore neither mustache, beard, nor whiskers, as though in immaculate
protest against every style of hirsute ornamentation, from the
goat-like beard of Methodistical statesmanship to the spruce mustache
and well-trimmed whiskers of men of the world of fifteen years earlier.
He was a Harvard graduate; he had been on the foot-ball team, and a
leading spirit in the social life of the college; had been around the
globe since graduation, and spent nearly a year shooting big game in
the Rockies and getting near to nature, as he called it, by living on a
ranch. All this as preliminary to taking advantage of the golden spoon
which was in his mouth at his birth. At twenty-three he had signified
that he was ready to buckle down to the responsibilities of guarding
and increasing the family possessions, an announcement delighting his
father's heart, who had feared, perhaps, lest his only son might
conclude to become merely a clubman or a poet. This was the fourth
year of his novitiate, much of which had been spent in New York, where
Mr. Howard, though his home was in Benham, had established a branch of
his banking-house, at the head of which he intended presently to place
Paul. On the young man's twenty-fifth birthday the magnate had made
him a present of a million dollars so as to put him on his feet and
permit him to support a wife. If this were a hint, Paul had taken it.
Though absorbed in financial undertakings of magnitude (which had
included the electric street-car combination hostile to the aspirations
of Emil Stuart), he had wooed and wed one of the prettiest girls in
Benham, and he possessed, not many blocks away, a stately establishment
of his own. He was accustomed to walk hand in hand with prosperity,
and this habit was reflected in the gay and slightly self-satisfied
quality of his manliness.
After foiling his cousin for a few moments, with a tantalizing smile, a
new idea occurred to him. He held out the newspaper, saying, "Very
well then, here it is. I dare you, Lucille, to destroy it. Nothing
would induce you to part with it."
Lucille snatched the sheet from his hand, and her ruffled hesitation
indicated that to destroy it was the last thing she had intended. In
another instant she tore the newspaper into strips with an air of
disdain and cast them on the floor. Delighted at the success of his
taunt, Paul stooped and gathering the fragments began to piece them
together.
"That is only a blind. She knows she can buy a dozen copies to-morrow.
Listen, Aunt Miriam, to this gem which I have rescued: 'The fair bride
has a complexion of cream of alabaster, with beautiful almond-shaped
eyes, and hair of black lustre, which, rising from her forehead in
queenly bands, seems the natural throne of the glittering diadem in the
picture, one of her choicest bridal gifts.' Could anything be more
exquisite and fetching?" He gave a laugh which was almost a whoop of
exultation.
"No matter, Lucille," said Mrs. Wilson, coming to her daughter's
rescue. "It is only envy on Paul's part. The newspapers did not make
half so much of his wedding." In her own heart she did not approve of
the publicity, but the sense of importance which it conveyed was not
without its effect even on her. Besides, the personal description,
though florid in style, was to her maternal eyes not an exaggerated
estimate of her daughter's charms.
"The writer was evidently under the spell of her subject," said Mr.
Prentiss, gallantly. Though tolerant of banter, especially at clerical
gatherings, and partial to Paul Howard as one of the young men whom he
desired to draw into closer union with the church, the idea of the
possibilities of the newspaper as a dispenser of benefits was still in
his mind, and served to minimize the vanity, if any, of his friend's
daughter.
"Quite naturally, Mr. Prentiss," retorted the tormenting Paul, "for the
subject gave a private audience to the writer only a few days ago."
Paul spoke from the desire to tease, not because he objected actively
to the connivance of his cousin with the designs of the press. If the
opportunity to do away with the whole practice of prying into and
advertising private social matters had been presented to him, he would
gladly have embraced it, and welcomed at the same time the further
opportunity to tar and feather or duck the race of social reporters.
But as an astute and easy-going American he recognized the prevalence
of the habit, and though personally he tried to dodge with good humor
the impertinent inquiries of press agents, he was not disposed to
censure those who yielded to their importunities. Indeed, Paul Howard
was so bubbling over with health prosperity, and a generally roseate
conception of life as he saw it, that he shrank from active criticism
of existing social conditions. He was a strong patriot, and it pleased
him to believe that Americans were world-conquerors and world-teachers.
Hence that it was the part of good Americans to join hands all round
and, avoiding nice strictures, to put their shoulders to the wheel of
progress.
"How absurd you are, Paul," answered Lucille. "That woman badgered me
with questions, and was positively pathetic into the bargain, for she
confided to me that she hated the whole business, but that her bread
and butter depended on it. She was certain to write something, and so
rather than have everything wrong, I told her a few things."
"And gave her your photograph in the tiara."
"She asked for it. She saw it lying on the table. Wasn't that better
than to be caricatured by some snap-shot with a camera?"
The dire results of what would have ensued had she been less
accommodating seemed so convincing to Lucille as she recited them that
her tone changed from defence to conviction.
"I know a woman," said Clarence Waldo, "who told her servants not to
let any of those newspaper beggars inside the house, and what do you
suppose happened? On the day of the wedding there appeared an
insulting account of the affair with everything turned topsy-turvy and
disparaging remarks about both families. It's an awful bore, but when
people of our sort are married the public doesn't like to be kept in
the dark, you know."
"There! You see!" exclaimed Lucille, triumphantly.
The description of this young lady which her cousin had read was
fundamentally correct. Her eyes could scarcely be called
almond-shaped, but their curves were more gradual than those of most
American women, a feature which, in conjunction with her thin lips and
thin, pointed nose, gave to her countenance an expression of
fastidiousness, which was characteristic. She was an example of the
so-called Gibson girl, with a tall and springy, yet slight, figure, and
a race-horse air which suggested both mettle and disdain. She had been
brought up on the theory of free development--a theory for which not
her mother but the tendency of the day was responsible. Parents, when
it comes to a choice in educational methods, are apt at heart to
recognize their own personal ignorance, and those with the highest aims
for their offspring are most likely to adopt the newest fashionable
graft on human experience. We are perpetually on the look-out for
discoveries which will enable our children to become the bright
particular stars which we are not. So what more natural than that Mrs.
Wilson, with her ardent bent for improving social conditions, should
swallow--hook, bait, and sinker--the theory that the budding
intelligence should be cajoled and humored, not thwarted and coerced?
The idea thus pursued at kindergarten, that everything should be made
easy and agreeable for the infant mind, had been steadily adhered to,
and Lucille could fairly be said to have had her own way all her life.
This own way had been at times bewildering, not to say disheartening,
to her mother. Mrs. Wilson had expected and yearned for a soulful,
aspiring, poetic daughter with an ambition for culture--herself, but
reincarnated and much improved. Instead, Lucille had showed herself to
be utterly indifferent to poetry, lukewarm in regard to culture, almost
matter of fact in her mental attitude, and sedulously enamoured of
athletic pursuits. She had a fancy for dogs. From fifteen to eighteen
she had followed golf, tennis, and boating, hatless and with her
sleeves rolled up to her elbows, a free and easy and rather mannerless
maiden, Amazon-like in her bearing, but unlike an Amazon in that she
was a jolly companion to the boys, who called her promiscuously by her
Christian name, as she did them by theirs. Does such a process of
familiarity dull the edge of romance? We do not yet know. Each rising
generation provides new problems for the wise elders, and this was one
of those which had kept Mrs. Wilson uneasy.
She had looked forward to Lucille's formal introduction to society as a
social corrective, and argued that, as soon as her daughter met the
world face to face, there would be a modification both of Lucille's
tastes and point of view. So strong is the emphasis laid by American
mothers in fashionable society on what is called "the coming out" of
their daughters that the concern engendered by the approach of the
ordeal could fitly be described as a phase of hysteria. The true
perspective of life becomes utterly and absurdly distorted by
apprehension lest the dear child should not have "a good time" and by a
fierce ambition that she should have a better "time" than her mates.
As a consequence, competition--that absorbing passion of American
character--is prone to take advantage of all the opportunities at its
command, not merely to decorate the unprepossessing or provide the duck
with the environment of the swan, but to make princesses out of goose
girls by sheer gorgeous manifestations of the power of the almighty
dollar. We all know that every woman in the world would prefer at
heart to be called wicked rather than common, unless she were
common--one of those extraordinary results of the tyranny of the social
instinct which plays havoc with religious codes; and there is probably
no country where the most socially adept are more intolerant of
commonness than in democratic America--a fact which should be
disconcerting to that form of socialism which yearns for a dead-level.
Yet the tendency to exploit one's daughters by means of money and to
exploit them even with barbaric splendor is current among our most
socially sophisticated people.
Mr. Carleton Howard's "coming-out" ball for his niece was the most
splendid function which Benham had ever known, and for the next three
years Lucille's life had been one round of social gayety, emphasized by
the character of the things done in her behalf by her family, which
were severally executed, if not conceived, in a spirit of emulation,
though Mrs. Wilson would doubtless have resented the impeachment. Mrs.
Wilson would have put the blame on the tendency of the age, arguing
that American society was becoming more and more exacting in its
Esthetic demands, and that one must conform to existing usage in order
to lead. But an examination of the facts would reveal that whatever
form of entertainment was given by her for Lucille, as, for instance,
the four colored luncheons, when the food and the table ornaments were
successively red, orange, blue, and heliotrope, and four sets of twelve
young girls stuffed themselves through eight courses at mid-day, was
carried out with a lavish accentuation of new and costly effects. It
was currently recognized that at her house the cotillion favors and the
prizes at games were worth having--silver ornaments, pretty fans,
things of price--always a step beyond the last fashion, as though the
world would not be content to stand still, but must be kept moving by
more and more expensive social novelties.
Though three years of this life had served to transform the mannerless
Amazon into a socially correct and fastidious young woman, the result,
nevertheless, was a secret disappointment to her mother, who had hoped
that Lucille would develop intellectual or æsthetic tastes under the
influence of these many advantages. But what can a mother whose
daughter prefers athletics to art, and fox terriers to philanthropy, do
but make the best of it? Lucille had a will of her own and seemed to
know exactly what she wished, which included marrying Clarence Waldo.
To thwart her would be useless, to quarrel with her was out of the
question. The only thing was to give her as brilliant a wedding as
possible and hope for the best. And after all, the best was by no
means out of the question. Lucille was young and was going to New
York. There was no telling what a girl of twenty-one, with large means
and the best social opportunities, might not become by the time she was
thirty-five. Mrs. Wilson had herself cast sheep's eyes at New York as
a residence before building her new house, but she had decided to
remain dominant in a small puddle. There were compensations in doing
so. She flattered herself that in this age of telephones and telepathy
she was able to keep in touch with the metropolis and to get her social
cues accordingly. But to have a daughter there would be interesting,
provided all went well. The proviso should not be overlooked; for Mrs.
Wilson had not lowered her own standards. She was merely trying to
extract all the maternal comfort and pride she could out of the
existing situation.
"But, my dear Lucille," said Paul, intending a crushing blow to his
cousin's returning assurance, "if you were really so anxious to escape
notoriety, you had merely to mention it to father. A word from him
would have silenced every newspaper in town."
"Scarcely that--scarcely that, young man," interposed Mr. Howard in a
tone of friendly authority. "Very possibly, had I expressed a
preference, my wishes would have been respected by one or two
newspapers where I happen to have some influence. But your statement
is altogether too sweeping." He spoke incisively, as though he desired
to deprecate the suggestion of the power attributed to him by his more
impulsive son. "The press is jealous of its privileges and must be
humored as a popular institution. And, after all, what does a little
publicity matter? You mustn't mind what Paul says, Lucille. There's
no reason to feel abashed because the public has been given a chance to
see the most charming bride of the year."
"Abashed? She is tickled to death," retorted Paul.
Mr. Howard put his arm around his niece's shoulder in the guise of a
champion. When controversy had reached the stage where adjustment was
no longer possible, he was an uncompromising antagonist. But, as a
successful man content with existing conditions, he deplored friction
in all the relations of life, and to use an industrial phrase, liked to
see everything running smoothly. He laughed incredulously, and patting
Lucille's arm exclaimed, "Nonsense!" Then, accosting the clergyman, he
added, "Now that this momentous matter has been disposed of, Mr.
Prentiss, will you join me in a cigar in my own library?"
Mr. Prentiss excused himself. He had work to do, and knew that if he
remained he would be apt to stay late. But he was interested from a
theoretic stand-point in the discussion to which he had been listening.
"You evidently feel as I do, Mr. Howard," he said, "that there are two
sides to the question of newspaper publicity, and that as good citizens
we are not always at liberty to insist on privacy."
Mr. Howard answered with the suave force and clearness which gave to
all his utterances the effect of deliberate conviction. "Mr. Prentiss,
I accept the institutions of my country as I find them, and try to make
the best of them. There are those whose only pleasure seems to be to
carp at what they do not wholly admire in our civic system. The press
is one of the most powerful and useful forces of modern life. As such
I value and support it, though I'm keenly alive to the flagrant evils
and the cruel vulgarities for which it is daily responsible. But one
can't afford as an American citizen to condemn as worthless and
ill-begotten the things of which the people as a whole approve. We
must compromise here as in so many matters in our complex civilization,
and where trifles are concerned, be complacent even against our
convictions."
"Indisputably," said the clergyman. "In the constant faith that our
tolerance will work for improvement."
"Ah, but the newspapers are worse than ever," exclaimed Mrs. Wilson,
with a sigh. "One has to wade through so much for so little. I read
them scrupulously, because, if I do not, I'm sure to miss something
which I would like to see. That sounds inconsistent. But why doesn't
somebody establish a really first-class newspaper?"
"Because a newspaper must be first of all a successful business
enterprise in order to be able to exist," responded her brother. "It
is a question of dollars and cents. All that will come presently. And
we are really improving all the time. Just think of what a large and
complicated industry a modern newspaper establishment has grown to be."
He spoke as though he saw and wished to bring before his hearers' eyes
the towering, mammoth homes of the press in all our large cities, the
enforced outcome of the ever-increasing popular demand for the world's
news. "Come, Paul," he said, putting his arm through his son's, "since
Mr. Prentiss will not join us in a cigar we will leave these good
people to their own devices, and go back to our work."
Paul, with a pocket full of documents and with the obnoxious newspaper
in his hand, had reached the door of his father's house just as Lucille
and her betrothed were alighting from a carriage. Lured by his goading
remarks they had followed him within and into his father's library,
where at a safe distance he had vouchsafed his cousin glimpses of her
tiara-crowned figure and read aloud choice extracts until the spirit
had moved him to pass through the dividing door between the two
establishments in search of his aunt. He had left home with the idea
of an hour's confabulation with his father over certain schemes in
which they were jointly interested--a frequent habit of his late in the
evening. Mr. Carleton Howard never went to bed before one, and was
invariably to be found after eleven in his library reading or
cogitating, and always prepared at that quiet time to give his keenest
intelligence to the issues presented to him.
Father and son passed along through the secret passageway until they
found themselves in Mr. Howard's capacious library. This superb room
was the result of an architect's conscientious ambition to see what
could be accomplished where his client was obviously willing to obtain
excellence and had imposed on him no limits either in respect to space
or expense. As regards size, it bore the same relation to the ordinary
library of the civilized citizen that the Auditorium in Chicago bears
to every-day hotels, or the steamship _Great Eastern_ bore to other
ocean carriers. Consequently it was a little vast for strict cosiness.
The huge stamped leather chairs and sofas, though inviting, seemed
designed for persons of elephantine figure, in order perhaps to avoid
being dwarfed. But the shelves upon shelves of books which covered
completely from floor to ceiling two of the walls--choice editions in
fine bindings--gained dignity from the superfluous dimensions. If it
be said in this connection that, to one familiar with Mr. Howard's
associations, the idea of many storied office buildings might occur,
the answer is that he was responsible for nothing which the room
contained except its large and admirable display of etchings, which,
owing to almost weekly accretions, had begun to disarrange the original
æsthetic scheme of the designer. Mr. Howard had left everything else
to his architect, but etchings were his hobby--one which had attracted
his fancy years before by accident, and had retained its hold upon him.
He was familiar now, as a man of sagacity and method, with the many
bibliographical and ethnological treasures by which he was surrounded,
and could exhibit them becomingly, but when the conversation turned on
the etcher's art he was on firm ground and could talk as clearly and
authoritatively as about his railroads.
The banker chose his favorite seat, within comfortable distance of one
of the fire-places, facing a beautiful polar bear-skin rug of
extraordinary size. Close at hand was a large table with writing
materials and such magazine literature or documents as he might wish to
examine. Adjustable lights were at either elbow, and in the direct
line of his vision as he ordinarily sat were two of his favorite works
of art, an Albert Dürer and a Wenceslaus Hollar. He lighted another
cigar and, after a few puffs, said:
"That clergyman is decidedly a useful man. He has common sense and he
has discretion."
"He isn't at all a bad sort," responded Paul. Though guarded in form,
this was intended as an encomium, just as when Paul meant that he had
enjoyed himself thoroughly, he was apt to state that he had had a
pretty good time. Anglo-Saxon youth is proverbially shy of enthusiasm
of the lips lest it be suspected of freshness, as the current phrase
is. "I wonder," he added a moment later as he stood with his back to
the wood fire, straightening his sturdy shoulders against the
mantel-piece, "if he really believes all the things he preaches. I'd
just like to know for curiosity. I suppose he has to preach them even
if he doesn't or else be fired out, and he compromises with himself for
the mental reservation by the argument that if he were out of it
altogether, his usefulness and occupation, like Othello's, would be
gone. That's the way clergymen must have to argue nowadays, or there
wouldn't be many of them left at the old stands."
Though he spoke colloquially, and with an assurance which dispensed
with reverence of treatment, Paul intended to express genuine interest
and even sympathy. Knowing that his father's ideas on religious
subjects were fundamentally liberal, perhaps he was not averse to
shocking him in a mere matter of form. Mr. Howard was silent a moment,
then replied:
"In every walk of life it is necessary, from time to time, to sacrifice
non-essentials for the sake of the essentials. As in everything else,
so in religion. The world moves; opinions change. Human society
cannot prosper without religion, and human society never needed its
influence more than to-day. Sensible religion, of course."
"All sensible men have the same religion. What is that? A sensible
man never tells." Paul was quoting. He had heard his father more than
once in his comments on the mysteries of life utter this Delphic
observation. He laughed sweetly and fearlessly.
Mr. Howard understood his son. They were good comrades. He was aware
that though Paul felt free to jest at his remarks, his boy respected
his intellect and would ponder what he said.
"We agree about these things in the main, my dear Paul. If one were to
go out on the housetops and proclaim one's scepticism concerning some
of the supernatural dogmas which the mass of the people find comfort
in, how would it benefit religion? The world will find out soon enough
that it has been mistaken. But we can neither of us afford to forget
that the security of human society is dependent on religion. One
always comes back to that in the end."
"It is good for the masses," said Paul, with a chuckle. "We, as the
present lords of creation--captains of industry--should encourage it
for the protection of our railroads, mines, and other glorious
monopolies. That is one of the arguments with which the truly great
salved their consciences before the French revolution."
Mr. Howard frowned slightly. He knew that Paul was only half in
earnest, but the reference to socialism was repellent to him, even
though it was rhetorical. Why was he the possessor of twenty millions?
Because he had been wiser and more long-sighted than his competitors,
because he had used his clear brains to better advantage than other men
year after year, planning boldly and executing thoroughly, making few
mistakes and taking advantage of every opportunity. Because he had
fostered his powers, and controlled his weaknesses. He was rich
because, like a true American, he had conquered circumstances and
moulded them for his own and the world's profit. Inequalities? Must
there not always be inequalities so long as some men were strong and
others weak, some courageous and others shiftless? And as for charity,
God knew he was willing to do--was trying to do his part to help those
who could not or would not help themselves, and to encourage all
meritorious undertakings for the relief of human society.
"Yes, we must humor the masses in this as in a thousand matters, and
our protection is their protection. I am not disturbed by your
insinuation, Paul. Ignorance and sloth and folly and false sentiment
would bankrupt mankind in three generations if it were not for the
modern captains of industry, as you call them."
Mr. Howard spoke somewhat sternly, as one stating a proposition which
was irrefutable and yet was sometimes overlooked by an ungrateful
world. "Similarly," he continued, "it is one thing to be unorthodox in
one's opinions and to discard as childish articles of faith to which
the multitude adhere, another to deny the reality and force of
religion. So, though I am a free thinker, if you will, I regard it as
no inconsistency to uphold the hands of the church. On the contrary,
every thoughtful man must realize that without religion of some sort
the human race would become brutes again."
"And your form is to present fifty or a hundred thousand to a hospital
or a college whenever you happen to feel like it, which every clergyman
will admit to be practical Christianity. You certainly give away
barrels of money, father."
"I can afford to." Mr. Howard was pleasantly but not vain-gloriously
aware that he had given away a million dollars in the last three years.
"In what better way can I share my profits with the public than by
entrusting it to trained educators and philanthropists to spend for the
common good? A great improvement, young man, on the theory that every
man jack of us should be limited to the same wage, and originality,
grit, and enterprise be pushed off the face of the earth."
"Nevertheless it is tolerably pleasant to be your son," said Paul,
smiling brightly from his post against the mantel-piece.
"Yes. But you have responsibilities as my son, and pray do not imagine
that I am blind to them. I have made the money." He paused a moment,
for he was looking back along the vista of the years and recalling the
succession of shrewd undertakings by which his property had grown from
a few thousand dollars to imposing wealth. "I have made the money, and
it is for you to keep and increase it--yes, increase it, remember--but
to spend it freely and wisely. And if you ask me what is wisely, I can
only answer that this is a problem for your generation. If you will
only use the same pains in trying to solve it as I have in accumulating
the money, you will succeed. You are fond, Paul, of exploiting radical
propositions, of which you at heart disapprove, in order to test my
self-control. Here is something, young man, to chasten your spirit and
keep your imagination busy."
"You see through me, father, don't you? But you'll admit that my
familiarity with radical doctrines is a good sign, especially since I
recognize their fallacies, for it shows that I sometimes think. Yes,
it is a great responsibility, but I wouldn't exchange--not even with
Gordon Perry."
"With whom? Ah, yes, I remember; the attorney who was on the foot-ball
team with you at Harvard. And why should you consider changing places
with him?"
"Because the mere question of dollars and cents interests him so
little."
"Ah! You have been employing him lately, I believe?"
"Yes. I like to throw what I can in his way. He understands his
business. We lunched together this morning. I enjoy his humor, his
independence and his common sense, and at the same time his enthusiasm."
"Concerning what?"
"Most things except the price of railroad shares and the condition of
the money market. We didn't refer to them once." Paul paused with a
serio-comic sigh. Mr. Howard knocked the white ash from his cigar and
responded:
"One of the reasons for sending you to college was that you need not be
confined in your conversation to the money market. Another that you
should be free in life to do as you chose."
"Don't be alarmed, father. You know well enough that nothing would
induce me not to follow your lead. Give up business? I couldn't. I
love the power and excitement of it. It's bred in the bone, I suppose."
The banker's eyes kindled with pride in the son of his heart.
"And it's because I know I'm myself that a fellow like Don Perry
fascinates me," pursued Paul. "There's no nonsense in him. He objects
to cranks and mere psalm-singers as much as I do. But he's absorbed in
the social problems of the day--legislative questions, philanthropic
questions, all the burning questions. 'And your young men shall see
visions.' He is one of them. You will notice that I have not
forgotten my Bible altogether, father."
"We have, and to burn, reformers who see visions and proclaim them from
platforms which have no underpinnings. What we need are reformers who
will study and think before they speak, and not seek to destroy the
existing structure of society before they have provided a serviceable
substitute."
"In other words, you are prepared to part with a portion of your
worldly possessions, but you object to wholesale confiscation?" Having
indulged in this pleasantry Paul took from the table a packet of papers
which he had brought with him, as though to show that he had not
forgotten business concerns. "Speaking of the existing structure of
society," he continued, "Don and I got into a religious discussion.
That is, I found myself holding a brief for the proposition, which I
had read somewhere or other, that religion and capital are in alliance
against every-day men and women, in order to preserve existing social
conditions. Don't look so shocked, father. There are two sides to
every question, and I was curious to see how Don would look at this."
"And how did he look at it?" inquired Mr. Howard, coldly, seeing that
he was expected to display interest.
"He wouldn't deny that there was some truth in the proposition, but he
agreed with you, father, that whatever else is true or false, the world
will never be able to dispense with religion. But he says, too, that
it must be sensible religion. Just what you said, isn't it? And when
two such intelligent individuals come to the same conclusion, it is
time for a sceptic like myself to take off his hat to the church. You
heard me just now concede that the Rev. Mr. Prentiss is not at all a
bad lot."
"Paul, you are sometimes incorrigible. You have common sense when it
comes to action, I admit, but you have a perverse fondness for
harboring all the philosophical sewage of the age. I trust that your
friend Perry brought you up with a round turn."
"Oh, he did," said Paul, with mock meekness, as he sorted his
documents. "We must get to work or else I'd tell you about it. He was
very interesting. As to aggregations of capital, Don was highly
conservative too. He recognizes that they will last far beyond our
time. For a seeker after ultimate truth, I thought that extremely
reasonable." Whereupon Paul indulged in a laugh of bubbling, melodious
mirth.
Mr. Howard made no comment, but threw the butt of his cigar into the
fire-place with the emphasis of one expelling folly by the scruff of
the neck, and composed his features for business.
X
Constance consented to be taught typewriting and stenography at the
expense of Mrs. Randolph Wilson. She decided that to refuse an offer
which would enable her presently to become self-supporting would be
false pride. She acknowledged as sound, under her present
circumstances, Mr. Prentiss's assertion that it was no less the duty of
the unfortunate to accept bounty within proper limits than of the
prosperous to give. She consented also at his instance to call upon
her benefactress.
Any encouragement on the part of Constance would have induced Mr.
Prentiss to raise a subscription to pay off the second mortgage on the
house incurred by Emil, and thus provide her with a home. But at the
first hint of such a thing she shook her head decisively. A very
different thought was in her mind. Emil was still alive and liable for
the bills which he had incurred for the expenses of the canvass, but
she felt that the six hundred dollars which he had withheld from his
client as an enforced loan must be paid at once or the good name of her
children would be tarnished. His appropriation of this money on the
eve of his disappearance was damning in its suggestion; but she had
thankfully adopted and was clinging tenaciously to the explanation
proffered by one of the easy-going and good-natured co-tenants of the
office occupied by her husband, that the money had been borrowed to
carry out a speculation, and that Emil had meant to return it. Did not
the broker's report of the purchase and sale, found among the papers in
Emil's desk, support this? She realized fully that from the mere
stand-point of legal responsibility his motive was immaterial. But
with her knowledge of his characteristics and of the past she felt that
she had the right to insist on the theory that he had been led astray
by sanguine anticipations which, as usual, had been disappointed. His
conduct had been weak and miserable, and exposed him to obloquy, but it
was not the same as deliberate theft. As a mother, she was solicitous
to treat the transaction as a loan and to repay it without delay. The
world might not discriminate, but for herself and for the children the
distinction was essential.
Having been informed how matters stood, and that there was probably
still some small value left in the house over and above the two
mortgages, she thought she saw an opportunity to discharge this vital
obligation. Accordingly, when she found that the clergyman was still
considering means for rescuing her home, she disclosed her theory and
her purpose.
"My husband borrowed that money, Mr. Prentiss. He expected to be able
to return it. I am sure of this. It was just like him. People think
it was something worse because of what was in the newspapers. But,
guilty as he was, he would not have done that. This being so, I am
anxious to have the mortgages foreclosed, or whatever is necessary
done, and to have what is left returned to the woman whose money he
borrowed. It was six hundred dollars, and there is the interest. You
told me you thought there would be over five hundred left, if the
mortgagee was disposed to be reasonable."
Although Mr. Prentiss may have had doubts whether Emil Stuart was
entitled to the distinction drawn by his wife, he understood and
admired her solicitude. "I see," he said. "I am told that the value
of real estate in the neighborhood of your house has improved somewhat,
and that you ought to get at least five hundred dollars. But in any
event the money which your husband borrowed shall be returned. You
need give yourself no further concern as to this; I will see that it is
done."
Constance shook her head again. "It wouldn't be the same if anyone
else were to pay it," she said directly.
"So it would not. You are right," he replied with equal promptness,
admitting the accuracy of her perception, which had confounded his too
glib generosity. "Unless you paid it, you would feel that you had no
right to consider that the money had been borrowed."
"Though I am certain of it."
"Precisely--precisely. I understood what you desired, and it was
unintelligent of me to bungle." A confession of lack of intelligence
by Mr. Prentiss signified not merely deliberate self-mortification, but
was offered as a tribute to the mental quality of his visitor. He had
chosen a word which would have been wasted on or misinterpreted by the
ordinary applicant for counsel, that he might let her perceive that he
was alive to the nicety of her spiritual intuitions. They were at his
house--in his comfortable, attractive library--and he understood now
that the object of her call had been conscientious eagerness to
discharge this debt. There was nothing for him to do but acquiesce in
her requirements, and to thank God for this manifestation of grace.
This quiet, simple directness, which separated the right from the wrong
with unswerving precision, proceeding from the lips and eyes of this
pale but interesting woman in faded garb, was fresh and invigorating
testimony to the vitality of the human soul exposed to the stress of
sordid, workaday realities and unassisted by the choicer blessings of
civilization.
Mr. Prentiss pressed her hand with a new warmth as he bade her good-by.
"You must come to see me often," he said. "Not for your needs only,
but for mine. It helps me to talk with you. And I shall keep my eye
on you and see that you get work."
As the upshot of this conversation, Constance surrendered her house to
the mortgagee and received six hundred and fifty dollars for her
interest in the equity. The small sum remaining after the claim of
Emil's client had been satisfied was supplemented presently by the sale
of that portion of the furniture unavailable in the tenement into which
she moved, so that she had about a hundred dollars saved from the wreck
of her former fortunes. The tenement consisted of two sunny rooms in a
new apartment house for people of humble means, built by a real estate
investor with progressive business instincts from plans suggested by
the Home Beautifying Society of Benham, an aggregation of philanthropic
spirits, of which Mrs. Wilson was one of the vice-presidents. Here
light, the opportunity for cleanliness, and some modern fixtures,
including a fire-escape, were obtainable at a moderate rental; and
while the small suites were monotonous from their number and
uniformity, their occupants could fitly regard them as a paradise
compared with the old-fashioned homes for the poor supervised solely by
the dull mercy of unenlightened landlords. Though this was a business
enterprise, the owner had felt at liberty even to give some artistic
touches to the exterior, and altogether it could be said that the
investment represented a model hive of modern workingmen's homes from
the point of view of Benham's, and hence American philanthropic
commercial aspiration. The structure--Lincoln Chambers, it was
called--was on the confines of the poorer section of the city where,
owing to the spread of trade, the expansion of the homes of the people
was forced further to the south. From two of her windows Constance
looked out on vacant lands but half redeemed from the grasp of nature,
a prospect littered with the unsightly disorder of a neighborhood in
the throes of confiscation by a metropolis; but the mongrel character
of the vicinity was to her more than atoned for by the fresh air and
the wide expanse of horizon. Her home was on the eighth story--there
were ten stories in all--and on the roof there was an arrangement of
space for drying clothes which seemed to bring her much closer to the
impenetrable blue of the sky. As under the influence of this communion
she gave rein to introspection and fancy, her thoughts harbored for the
moment chiefly thankfulness. The stress of her plight had been
relieved. Discriminating kindness had enabled her to get a fresh hold
on life without loss of her self-respect. What mattered it that her
social lot must be obscure, and that she had become one of the
undistinguishable many whose identity was lost in this towering
combination of small and uniform tenements? She had still a roof over
her children's heads and a legitimate prospect of being able to support
them without accepting the bitter bread of charity. Yes, she had
become one of the humblest of human strugglers, but her abounding
interest in these two dear possessions made not only her duty plain but
her opportunity inspiring and almost golden. The mortification and
anguish of the past she would never be able to forget entirely, but she
would make the most of this new chance for world-service and happiness.
It had been necessary to sign some papers in order to convey her
interest in the equity of her house, and she went for the purpose to
the office of the mortgagee's lawyer. He was a young man, somewhat
over thirty, with a noticeably frank face and lucid utterance and kind,
intelligent eyes. As he handed her the six hundred and fifty dollars
it occurred to her that she would like to employ him to satisfy Emil's
obligation. She preferred not to have a personal interview with the
creditor lest she be obliged to listen to recriminations against her
husband, and she was loth to bother Mr. Prentiss. So she broached the
matter, stating briefly that it was a debt which her husband had
intended to pay before his departure. She had already discovered when
the papers were signed that the attorney was aware that she had been
deserted, and neither did she supply nor did he seek enlightenment
beyond the bare explanation offered. Nevertheless, it was obvious to
Constance, despite his professional reserve, that he was alive to the
import of the transaction for which she was employing him, and that it
had inspired in him more than a mere business interest. There was a
gentle deference in his manner which seemed to suggest that he knew he
was charged with a delicate mission and that he would fulfil it
scrupulously. She liked the straightforward simplicity of his address,
which was both emphasized and illuminated by the intelligent, amiable
glint of his eyes which indicated independence and humor, as well as
probity. As she rose to go, Constance realized that she had forgotten
his name, and was on the point of opening the receipt for the money
which he had given her, in order to ascertain it, when he reached out
and taking some cards from one of the pigeon-holes of his desk handed
them to her.
"I shall write to you the result of my interview, Mrs. Stuart, and send
you a written discharge. Here are a few of my business cards. I hope
that none of your neighbors will need the assistance of a lawyer, but
if they do, that is my profession, and I intend to do the best I can
for my clients."
There was a pleasant earnestness in his tone which saved his speech
from the effect of mere solicitation. It seemed to Constance as though
he had said not merely that he was eager to get on, but that he stood
ready to help those who like herself had need to bring their small
affairs to a sympathetic and upright counsellor. She had asked him
previously what his charge would be for securing a release of the claim
against Emil. He had hesitated for a moment and she had been
apprehensive lest he might say that it would be nothing, but he had
replied that it would be three dollars.
She glanced at the cards and read the name--Gordon Perry, Attorney and
Counsellor-at-Law, 144 Baker St. Their interview had been in an inner
office--a room of moderate size, near the roof of a modern building,
with a fine view, eclipsing that of her own flat, and furnished,
besides a couple of chairs, with rows of law books and a few large
photographs of legal celebrities. On the way out she passed through
the general office, where there were more chairs, several of them
occupied by visitors who had been waiting for her interview to come to
an end, more shelves of books, and two or three desks, at one of which
a woman type-writer was sitting at work. The click of the machine
sounded melodiously in Constance's ears, and she turned her glance in
that direction, in wistful anticipation of the time when she would have
similar employment. On her arrival her gaze had been introspective,
but now that her errand was over she felt the inclination to observe
external things. As she closed the outer door she saw that the glass
panel bore a painted inscription similar to that of the card--Gordon
Perry, Attorney and Counsellor-at-Law. She reflected that he had been
courteous and sympathetic to her, and she felt sure that he was to be
trusted, notwithstanding the rude shock which Emil's perfidy had given
to her faith in her own powers of discrimination. There are some
dispositions which are turned to gall and forever charged with
suspicion by a great shock to love and faith as sweet milk turns to
vinegar at the clap of a thunder-storm. There are others whose horizon
is cleared by the bitterness of the blow, and who, partly from
humility, partly from an instinctive revolt against the doctrine of
despair, readjust their perspectives and harbor still the god-like
belief that they can know good from evil.
Preliminary to beginning her lessons, Constance had still her call to
make on Mrs. Wilson. The new fashionable quarter of Benham, beyond the
river Nye, was scarcely more than a name to her, though, especially in
the early days of her marriage, she had from time to time included this
in her Sabbath saunterings with her husband, and she remembered Emil's
having pointed out in terms of irony the twin mansions of Mr. Carleton
Howard and his sister in process of erection. She had not felt
envious, but when Emil, after inveighing against the extravagance of
millionaires, had with characteristic inconsistency, as they stood
gazing at the walls of these modern palaces, asserted that he intended
some day to have a house of this kind, she had wondered what it would
be like, and had contrasted for a moment the lives of the dwellers in
this locality with her own, with a sudden appreciation of the power of
material circumstances and a wistful curiosity to be translated into an
experience which should include white-aproned maids, drawing-room
draperies, and a private equipage as daily accessories. She had
silently wondered, too, pondering without abetting her husband's
caustic cue, how this contrast was to be reconciled with what she had
been taught of American notions of social uniformity and the
subordination of the unnecessary vanities and splendor of life to
spiritual considerations. It was puzzling, and yet the manifestations
of these discrepancies were apparently in good repute and becoming more
obvious as the city grew in population and importance.
It is the personal equation in this world which forces truths most
clearly upon our attention. So it was that Constance on her way to
Mrs. Wilson's was fully alive to the fact--not bitterly, but
philosophically and equably--that, despite the theory of democratic
social institutions which she had imbibed, actual conditions in Benham
were repeating the old-world distinctions between the powerful and the
lowly, the rich and the impecunious. There was no blinking the
knowledge that she was living obscurely in a flat on the lookout for
the bare necessaries of existence, while the woman she was going to see
was a woman of wealth and importance, to whom she was beholden for the
opportunity of a new start. Obviously, the American experiment had not
succeeded in doing away with the distinctions between rich and poor,
though patriotic school-books had given her to understand that there
were none, or rather that such as existed were spiritual and in favor
of people of humble means. Constance could be sardonic if she chose,
but like most women she had little taste for irony. On the other hand,
she had a yearning to see things clearly which her misfortunes had only
served to intensify.
As she entered Mrs. Wilson's house a new emotion superseded this
consciousness of contrast. She had expected to be somewhat edified by
the decorations and upholsteries, and had felt a mild curiosity
regarding them. But she was wholly unprepared for the superb and
spacious surroundings in which she found herself. She walked
bewildered through the august hall behind the solemn, fastidious
man-servant, who, when she had disclosed her name and errand, ushered
her into the reception-room, which served as an ante-chamber to the
vista of elegant connecting drawing-rooms. While she waited for Mrs.
Wilson she sat gazing with surprise and admiration at the costly and
elaborate furnishings and ornaments. It was not that such things were
beyond the experience of her imagination at least, for, though she had
never been abroad, she felt familiar, through books, with the
appearance of splendid houses. She had seen pictures of them, and was
not without definite impressions of grandeur. But she had not expected
to behold them realized in the social life of Benham. If the discovery
was, spiritually speaking, a slight shock, it was a far greater source
of delight. Neat as wax herself, but confined both by poverty and
early associations to sober hues, she found in the close presence of
these bright, seductive, and artistic effects a sort of revelation of
the power of beauty which thrilled her deliciously. Here was the
culmination of the movement in æsthetic expression of which, as
revealed in shop windows and on women's backs, she had for some time
been vaguely aware, but in which she had been forbidden by the rigor of
her life to participate. The full meaning of this as an ally to human
happiness now burst upon her, and gave her a new joy, though it
emphasized the lowliness of her own station.
The aspect and greeting of Mrs. Wilson gave the crowning touch to her
pleasure by adding the human complement to the situation. She was
facing a smiling, gracious personality whose features, bearing, and
gown alike were fascinating and distinguished. Constance felt no
inclination to be obsequious. Her native birthright of unconscious
ease stood her in good stead. At the same time she desired to appear
grateful. She had come to thank the lady of the house, and it was
obvious that the lady of the house was a superior individual. What a
melodious voice she had, and what a pretty dress! How becoming her
crinkly, grizzled hair! What an interesting expression, what a
sympathetic light in her eyes! Constance noted these points with
womanlike avidity during their interchange of greetings. Mrs. Wilson
asked her to sit down.
"I have heard all about you from Mr. Prentiss, Mrs. Stuart," she said,
evidently intending by this comprehensive remark to obviate for her
visitor the necessity of recurring to a painful past. "He tells me
that you have shown great courage. He tells me also that you have left
your house and moved into Lincoln Chambers--the new dormitory built
under the supervision of our Home Beautifying Society."
"Yes; it is very comfortable. We get a glimpse of the country from our
windows."
"I know. That is a conspicuous factor in its favor. Light and fresh
air, good plumbing, pure milk, a regular, even though small, supply of
ice--these are some of the invaluable aids to health and happiness for
all of us, and especially for those upon whom the stress of life falls
most heavily. You can command all of these where you are. You have
two children, I believe?"
"Yes. A boy of seven and a girl of six."
"They will be a great comfort to you."
"I do not know what I should have done without them."
The pride of maternity encouraged by courtesy drew from Constance this
simple avowal of the heart. Though she was not unconscious that Mrs.
Wilson's friendliness was imbued with patronage, it was sweet to open
her heart for a moment to another woman--and to a woman like this.
"And you have planned to pursue type-writing as an occupation?"
"Yes; I begin my lessons to-morrow, owing to you. I came to thank you
for your generosity. It was----"
"I understand. I am very glad that there was something I could do for
you. I was interested when Mr. Prentiss spoke to me concerning your
necessities and your zeal; I am even more interested now that we have
met. I am told by those best informed that there is steady employment
for accomplished stenographers. It may be that my own private
secretary--a woman who, like yourself, had her own way to make--will be
able to send for you presently. My daughter is to be married before
long, and there will be errands to be run and things to be done
down-town and in the house, if you would not object to making yourself
generally useful."
"I shall be grateful for any employment which you can give me."
"I shall remember." Mrs. Wilson smiled sweetly. She had felt her way
decorously, but was pleased to find an absence of false pride in her
visitor, who was obviously a gentle woman, though lacking the
advantages of wardrobe and social prestige--as she reflected, a sort of
Burne-Jones type of severe æstheticism, with a common-sense
individuality of her own, and an agreeable voice. "It will be a little
discouraging at first, I dare say, until you acquire facility in your
work; but I feel certain that in a short time you will be not only
self-supporting but happy. A woman with two young children can really
live on very little if she is provident and discerning. It is the man
who eats. Have you ever studied the comparative nutritive properties
of foods?"
Constance shook her head.
"I will send you a little pamphlet in regard to this. Many Americans
eat more meat than they require; more Americans are wasteful, and
ignorant of food values. Housewives of moderate means who approach
this subject in a serious spirit can learn how to nourish adequately
the human body at a far less cost than their unenlightened sisters.
Cereals, macaroni, milk, bread and butter, cheese--they are all
nutritive and easy to prepare. If I may say so, you appear to me just
the woman to appreciate these modern scientific truths, and to make the
most of them."
It seemed to Constance that she had never heard anyone speak more
alluringly. What was said interested her, and she was pleased by the
flattering personal allusion at the close, but every other effect was
subordinated for her at the moment to the charm of expression, or,
indeed, to Mrs. Wilson's whole magnetic personality as shown in looks
and words. She had never before come in personal contact with anything
just like it, and it fascinated her. An admiration of this sort would
have promptly generated envy and dislike in some women, but in
Constance it awoke interest and ambition. Although she felt that she
had stayed long enough, she was loth to go, so absorbed was she by the
consummate graciousness and sympathetic fluency, by the effective gown
and elegant personal details of her hostess. She rose at last, and,
impelled to make some acknowledgment of her emotions, said, wistfully,
yet in nowise abashed:
"What a beautiful house this is! I have never seen anything like it
before. It must be a great pleasure to live here."
The frank artlessness of this tribute was grateful to Mrs. Wilson.
"Yes, we think it beautiful. We have tried to make it so. Would you
like to walk through some of the other rooms?"
Constance was glad to accept this invitation. As they proceeded Mrs.
Wilson let the apartments speak for themselves, adding only an
occasional phrase of enlightenment. She was pleased with her visitor,
and divined that words were not needful to produce the proper
impression. Constance walked as in a trance, admiring unreservedly in
thought the splendor, elegance, and diversity of the upholsteries and
decoration, admiring also the graceful magnetic woman beside her whose
every gesture and intonation seemed attuned to the exquisite
surroundings. As they parted Constance said:
"This has been a great pleasure to me." She added, "I had no idea that
people here--in this country--had such beautiful homes, such beautiful
things."
There was no repugnance in the confession, but a mere statement of fact
which suggested satisfaction rather than umbrage at the discovery,
although the ethical doubt of the relevancy of these splendors to
American ideals was a part of her sub-consciousness. Mrs. Wilson's
response gave the finishing touch to this passive doubt. That lady had
recognized that she was not dealing with dross but a sensitive human
soul, and had refrained from didactic utterances. Yet she felt it her
duty, or rather her duty and her mission combined, to take advantage of
this opportunity to sow the seed of culture in this rich but unploughed
soil by a deft and genuine illustration.
"The spirit which has accomplished what you see here can be introduced
into any home, Mrs. Stuart, and work marvels in the cause of beauty,
health, and decency," she said with incisive sweetness, her head a
little on one side. "Because one is poor it is not necessary to have
or foster ugly, inartistic, and sordid surroundings. A little thought,
a little reverence for æsthetic truth will not enable those of
restricted means to live in luxury, but it will serve to keep beauty
enshrined in the hearts of the humblest household--beauty and her
hand-maidens, cleanliness, hygiene, and that subtle sense of the
eternal fitness of things which neither neglects to use nor
irreligiously mismates God's glorious colors. We as a people have been
loth to recognize the value of artistic merit as an element of the
highest civilization. Until recently we have been content to cultivate
morality at the expense of æsthetic feeling, and have only just begun
to realize that that type of virtue which disdains or is indifferent to
beauty is like salt without savor. There is no reason why in its way
your home--your apartment--should not be as faithful to the spirit of
beauty as mine. Do you understand me? Do I make myself clear?" Her
mobile face was vibrant with the ardor of proselytism.
Constance looked at her eagerly. "I think I understand," she said.
"But," she added, "I might not have understood unless I had seen this
house--unless I had seen and talked with you." She paused an instant,
for the vision of her own tenement as a thing of beauty, alluring as
was the opportunity, had to run the gauntlet of her common sense. Then
she asked a practical question. "If one had aptitude and experience, I
can see that much might be accomplished. But how is one with neither
to be sure of being right?"
Conscious of these honest, thoughtful eyes--eyes, too, in which she
felt that she discerned latent charming possibilities--Mrs. Wilson had
an inspiration which satisfied herself fully as she thought of it later.
"There is often the great difficulty--also the obstacle to those who
labor in that vineyard. But in your case I am sure that you have only
to search your own heart in order to find the spirit of beauty. After
all, the artistic sense is fundamentally largely a matter of character."
Constance went on her way with winged feet. She felt uplifted by the
interview. Her starved senses had been refreshed, and her imagination
imbued with a new outlook on life, which though foreign, if not
inimical, to some of her past associations, she already perceived to be
vital and stimulating.