RICHES HAVE WINGS.
They rang at the door of Boniface Newt. It was quite late in the evening,
and when they entered the parlor there were several persons sitting
there.
"Why! father and mother!" exclaimed Gabriel, who was sitting in a remote
dim corner, and who instantly came forward, with May Newt following him.
Mrs. Newt rose and bowed a little stiffly, and said, in an excited voice,
that really she had no idea, but she was very happy indeed, she was sure,
and so was Mr. Newt. When she had tied her sentence in an inextricable
knot, she stopped and seated herself.
Boniface Newt rose slowly and gravely. He was bent like a very old man.
His eye was hard and dull, and his dry voice said:
"How do you do? I am happy to see you."
Then he sat down again, while Lawrence went up and shook hands with the
new-comers. Boniface drummed slowly upon his knees with the long, bony
white fingers, and rocked to and fro mechanically, as he sat.
When Lawrence had ended his greetings there was a pause. Mrs. Newt seemed
to be painfully conscious of it. So did Mr. Bennet, whose eyes wandered
about the room, resting for a few instants upon Boniface, then sliding
toward his wife. Boniface himself seemed to be entirely unconscious of
any pause, or of any person, or of any thing, except some mysterious
erratic measure that he was beating with the bony fingers.
"It is a great while since we have met, Mrs. Newt," said Mrs. Bennet.
"Yes," returned Mrs. Nancy Newt, rapidly; "and now that we are to be so
very nearly related, it is really high time that we became intimate."
She looked, however, very far off from intimacy with the person she
addressed.
"I am glad our children are so happy, Mrs. Newt," said Gerald Bennet, in
a tremulous voice, with his eyes glimmering.
"Yes. I am glad Gabriel's prospects are so good," returned Mrs. Newt.
"I've no doubt he'll be a very rich man very soon."
When she had spoken, Boniface Newt, still drumming, turned his face and
looked quietly at his wife. Nobody spoke. Gabriel only winced at what
May's mother had said; and they all looked at Boniface. The old man gazed
fixedly at his wife as if he saw nobody else, and as if he were repeating
the words to which the bony fingers beat time. He said, in a cold, dry
voice, still beating time,
"Riches have wings! Riches have wings!"
"I'm sure, Boniface, I know that, if any body does," said his wife,
pettishly, and in a half-whimpering voice. "I think we've all learned
that."
"Riches have wings! Riches have wings!" he said, beating with the bony
fingers.
"Really, Boniface," said his wife, with an air of offended propriety,
"I see no occasion for such pointed allusions to our misfortunes. It
is certainly in very bad taste."
"Riches have wings! Riches have wings!" persisted her husband, still
gazing at her, and still beating time with the white bony fingers.
Mrs. Newt's whimpering broadened into crying. She sat weeping and wiping
her eyes, in the way which used to draw down a storm from her husband.
There was no storm now. Only the same placid stare--only the same
measured refrain.
"Riches have wings! Riches have wings!"
Lawrence Newt laid his hand gently on his brother's arm.
"Boniface, you did your best. We all did what we thought best and right."
The old man turned his eyes from his wife and went on silently drumming,
looking at the wall.
"Nancy," said Lawrence, "as Mr. and Mrs. Bennet are about to be a part of
the family, I see no reason for not saying to them that provision is made
for your husband's support. His affairs are as bad as they can be; but
you and he shall not suffer. Of course you will leave this house, and--"
"Oh dear! What will people say? Nobody'll come to see us in a small
house. What will Mrs. Orry say?" interrupted Mrs. Newt.
"Let her say what she chooses, Nancy. What will honest people say to whom
your husband owes honest debts, if you don't try to pay them?"
"They are not my debts, and I don't see why I should suffer for them,"
said Mrs. Newt, vehemently, and crying. "When I married him he said I
should ride in my carriage; and if he's been a fool, why should I be a
beggar?"
There was profound silence in the room.
"I think it's very hard," said she, querulously.
It was useless for Lawrence to argue. He saw it, and merely remarked,
"The house will be sold, and you'll give up the carriage and live as
plainly as you can."
"To think of coming to this!" burst out Mrs. Newt afresh.
But a noise was heard in the hall, and the door opened to admit Mr. and
Mrs. Alfred Dinks.
It was the first time they had entered her father's house since her
marriage. May, who had been the last person Fanny had seen in her old
home, ran forward to greet her, and said, cheerfully,
"Welcome home, Fanny."
Mrs. Dinks looked defiantly about the room. Her keen black eyes saw every
body, and involuntarily every body looked at her--except her father. He
seemed quite unconscious of any new-comers. Alfred's heavy figure dropped
into a chair, whence his small eyes, grown sullen, stared stupidly about.
Mrs. Newt merely said, hurriedly, "Why Fanny!" and looked, from the old
habit of alarm and apprehension, at her husband, then back again to her
daughter. The silence gradually became oppressive, until Fanny broke it
by saying, in a dull tone,
"Oh! Uncle Lawrence."
He simply bowed his head, as if it had been a greeting. Mr. Bennet's foot
twitched rather than wagged, and his wife turned toward him, from time to
time, with a tender smile. Mrs. Newt, like one at a funeral, presently
began to weep afresh.
"Pleasant family party!" broke in the voice of Fanny, clear and hard as
her eyes.
"Riches have wings! Riches have wings!" repeated the gray old man,
drumming with lean white fingers upon his knees.
"Will nobody tell me any thing?" said Fanny, looking sharply round.
"What's going to be done? Are we all beggars?"
"Riches have wings! Riches have wings!" answered the stern voice of the
old man, whose eyes were still fixed upon the wall.
Fanny turned toward him half angrily, but her black eyes quailed before
the changed figure of her father. She recalled the loud, domineering,
dogmatic man, insisting, morning and night, that as soon as he was rich
enough he would be all that he wanted to be--the self-important,
patronizing, cold, and unsympathetic head of the family. Where was he?
Who was this that sat in the parlor, in his chair, no longer pompous and
fierce, but bowed, gray, drumming on his thin knees with lean white
fingers?
"Father!" exclaimed Fanny, involuntarily, and terrified.
The old man turned his head toward her. The calm, hard eyes looked into
hers. There was no expression of surprise, or indignation, or
forgiveness--nothing but a placid abstraction and vagueness.
"Father!" Fanny repeated, rising, and half moving toward him.
His head turned back again--his eyes looked at the wall--and she heard
only the words, "Riches have wings! Riches have wings!"
As Fanny sank back into her chair, pale and appalled, May took her hand
and began to talk with her in a low, murmuring tone. The others fell into
a fragmentary conversation, constantly recurring with their eyes to Mr.
Newt. The talk went on in broken whispers, and it was quite late in the
evening when a stumbling step advanced to the door, which was burst open,
and there stood Abel Newt, with his hat crushed, his clothes soiled, his
jaw hanging, and his eyes lifted in a drunken leer.
"How do?" he said, leaning against the door-frame and nodding his head.
His mother, who had never before seen him in such a condition, glanced at
him, and uttered a frightened cry. Lawrence Newt and Gabriel rose, and,
going toward him, took his arms and tried to lead him out. Abel had no
kindly feeling for either of them. His brow lowered, and the sullen
blackness shot into his eyes.
"Hands off!" he cried, in a threatening tone.
They still urged him out of the room.
"Hands off!" he said again, looking at Lawrence Newt, and then in a
sneering tone:
"Oh! the Reverend Gabriel Bennet! Come, I licked you like--like--like
hell once, and I'll--I'll--I'll--do it again. Stand back!" he shouted,
with drunken energy, and struggling to free his arms.
But Gabriel and Lawrence Newt held fast. The others rose and stood
looking on, Mrs. Newt hysterically weeping, and May pale with terror.
Alfred Dinks laughed, foolishly, and gazed about for sympathy. Gerald
Bennet drew his wife's arm within his own.
The old man sat quietly, only turning his head toward the noise, and
looking at the struggle without appearing to see it.
Finding himself mastered, Abel swore and struggled with drunken frenzy.
After a little while he was entirely exhausted, and sank upon the floor.
Lawrence Newt and Gabriel stood panting over him; the rest crowded into
the hall. Abel looked about stupidly, then crawled toward the staircase,
laid his head upon the lower step, and almost immediately fell into
a deep, drunken slumber.
"Come, come," whispered Gerald Bennet to his wife.
They took Mrs. Newt's hand and said Good-by.
"Oh, dear me! isn't it dreadful?" she sobbed. "Please don't, say any
thing about it. Good-night."
They shook her hand, but as they opened the door into the still moonlight
midnight they heard the clear, hard voice in the parlor, and in their
minds they saw the beating of the bony fingers.
"Riches have wings! Riches have wings!"