Tom Oldfield sat comfortably over his newspaper in his big chair at the
Green Tree Club. He gave a good-natured swing of his shoulders, but
heaved a sigh when he was told that two ladies desired to see him
immediately on important business. The well-trained club servant, a
colored man, gave the message with a knowing look, subdued by respectful
sympathy.
Now, Tom Oldfield was well known for his gallantry, and no one had ever
accused him of being disturbed over a call from ladies, under any
circumstances, but all had not yet learned what was the sad, sincere
truth, that Mr. Oldfield decidedly objected to any interruption when he
was smoking his after-breakfast cigar and glancing over the news of the
day. While engaged in this business Mr. Oldfield insisted upon a measure
of quiet and self-concentration. When it was over he was ready to meet
the rest of the world--and not before.
And so he sighed and made his moan to himself as he took his eyes from
the column of The Daily Warwhoop, and bade Joseph show the ladies to the
club library, his pet loafing place, not only despite of, but because of
the fact that it was open to visitors and much frequented by club
members at all hours. Tom Oldfield was a genial and companionable soul.
His welcoming smile faded as his kindly eyes took in the advancing
group. Led by Joseph in a most deferential, not to say deprecating,
manner, the two ladies slowly crossed the big room, and came around the
great table to the chair set for them near Mr. Oldfield's accepted
harbor in the club rooms.
One of the visitors was a middle-aged woman of much elegance of figure,
and with a face the outlines of which were beautiful, while its
expression of discontent, accentuated by lines of worry, made its owner
distinctly unattractive. She was clothed in all the glory of richly
exaggerated plainness and in the latest fashion for morning walking
dress. Her daughter, simply the beautiful mother over again without the
disagreeable expression, though her young face was clouded by grief and
concern, was the other caller. Joseph announced the names of the fair
interlopers, and Oldfield groaned inwardly as he heard them.
"Mrs. and Miss Chester, Mr. Oldfield," said Joseph, with a low and
sweeping Ethiopian bow, and after the ladies were seated he withdrew,
not before casting upon Oldfield, however, a significant glance.
Oldfield was slow to seat himself again, after his greeting to his
guests. Manifestly, he thought, his easy chair would not do for him
during the coming interview. He selected a high-backed cane-seat chair
from those around the writing table, and as he had already twice said,
"Good morning, Mrs. Chester," and "I am very glad to meet you"--the
last being a wicked perversion of his real emotions--he waited for the
party of the second part to open the business of the meeting.
"We have come to you--and hope you will pardon us for troubling you, Mr.
Oldfield--"
The club man saw that Mrs. Chester was not going to cry, and took
courage.
"We need your help," the lady continued, "and we are sure you will give
it to us."
"I shall be very glad if I can in any way assist or oblige you, Mrs.
Chester," Oldfield assured the elder lady, while he looked determinedly
away from the younger one, who, he was positive, was getting ready to
cry. "What do you want me to do? Ned isn't in any trouble is he?" This
was going straight to the point, as Mr. Oldfield knew full well.
Of course, Ned Chester was at the bottom of this spectacular disturbance
of his morning. It might as well be out and over the sooner.
"Oh! Mr. Oldfield," cried the daughter, "have you seen papa?"
She was bound to cry, if she hadn't already begun. Oldfield was sure of
it.
"Catherine!" expostulated the girl's mother, and Oldfield noticed the
sharp acrimony of voice and gesture. "Mr. Oldfield," she softened as
she addressed him, but there was a hardness about her every feature and
expression, "my husband has not been seen nor heard from since last
Sunday, when he left home, and I am almost distracted."
"And we have waited until we can bear it no longer. This is Friday--it
is almost a week," broke in the girl, ignoring her mother's protesting
wave of the hand and angry glance.
"Oh, he's all right," asserted Oldfield. "Don't worry. We will find him
at once; I'm sure some one in the club will know all about him. You
have, of course, inquired at his office?"
"Yes, and no one there knows anything about him. His letters lie
unopened on his desk; he has not been there since Saturday."
There was no occasion for all this fencing. The heaven's truth, known to
all three, was that Ned Chester was away on a symmetrical and gigantic
spree, according to his custom once or twice a year.
Oldfield, looking straight at Mrs. Chester's slightly bent brow, said,
quietly, "I have known Ned Chester for twenty years; it is no new thing
for him to be away for a day or a night occasionally, is it?"
"No," replied the poor wife, "but he has never stayed so long before,
and I know something has happened--he has been hurt, may be killed. We
must find him!"
"You say he left home Sunday?"
"Yes, Sunday evening. He left in a fit of anger over some little thing,
and now--"
She was dangerously near breaking down, and Oldfield could plainly hear
smothered sobs beside him on the side of his chair toward which he chose
not to look.
"I will inquire," he said, hopefully, "and I know I can find him almost
immediately. Nothing has happened to hurt him. Sit here a moment and
wait for me."
Just outside the door Oldfield met Joseph. "Well, where is he?" he
asked.
"Mr. Oldfield, I tell you Mr. Chester has on a most awful jag, and he
fell and almost split open his skull Tuesday morning, and I've had him
over at the Barrett House ever since. The doctor has patched him up, but
he ain't fit to be seen, not by ladies."
"Pretty nervous, is he?"
"Nervous! Why, he's just missed snakes this time, that's all!"
"Oh, nonsense! He's not so bad as that; but I must go and see him. When
did you see him last?"
"Stayed all night with him, sir, and left him quite easy this morning.
Don't let the ladies see him, Mr. Oldfield; it would break him up."
"Break him up! What do you think about their own feelings!"
"Well, you see, he is dreading to go home, and to see her walk right in
on him would break him all up. It would so! He would have 'em sure
then."
"Joseph, you've got sense. Take this for any little thing you may need,"
said Oldfield, as he put a green colored piece of paper in Joseph's
hand, and turned back into the library where the waiting women sat.
"Your father is safe, Miss Chester," he said, softly to the pale,
anxious daughter, who ran to meet him; "you shall see him soon. I will
tell your mother all about it."
Miss Chester, expressing great relief, and, giving Oldfield her hand,
sat obediently down to the illustrated books and magazines he handed
her. She was quite out of earshot of the place where her mother sat
impatiently waiting for news.
"Your husband is all right, Mrs. Chester. He has met with a slight
accident, but is under a doctor's care at the Barrett House. I will go
to see him. Without doubt he will be able to go home in a day or two."
The wife nearly lost self-control, but as Oldfield talked on, reassuring
her of her husband's safety, she gradually became calm, and then the
look of settled hardness came back into her face.
"What shall I do?" she burst out. "How can I go on in such shame and
agony year after year? You're an old friend of Ned's, Mr.
Oldfield--excuse me--perhaps you can advise me."
"I want to," answered Oldfield, promptly. "But will you hear me without
becoming angry?"
"Certainly! I will be thankful for your advice, Mr. Oldfield."
The man had a certain hardness in his own look now.
"Let us sit down by this window. There, you look comfortable. Now, let's
see--oh, yes, I remember where I wanted to begin. Ned is one of those
fellows who find Sunday a bad day--and holidays. I've heard him say
often how he hated holidays; and it's then, or on a Sunday, that he goes
off on these drinking bouts, isn't it?"
"Yes," gasped the astonished woman. This cool, practical way of looking
at the trial of her life was strange to her; she found it hard to adjust
herself to the situation.
"He's a hard-working man, is Ned, a regular toiler and moiler. When he
is at work he is all right, or when he is at play, so far as that goes.
He is never so happy and so entirely himself as when he is among
congenial friends, unless it is when over a good book, or off hunting or
fishing. These crazy drinking spells come on at Christmas or
Thanksgiving time, or on some Sunday, when he is at home with his
family."
Mrs. Chester's face had flushed painfully. Not seeming to notice her
agitation, Oldfield continued: "You remarked, did you not, that Ned left
home in anger Sunday evening. Pardon me, since I have said so much
already, was there some argument or contention in the house--between you
and Ned, for instance?"
"It was a little quarrel, nothing serious," faltered Mrs. Chester.
"I don't want to hear about it," said Oldfield, hurriedly, himself much
embarrassed, and inwardly fuming over himself as a colossal idiot for
entering upon such a conversation. "I only want you to think for a
minute about the last hour or two Sunday evening before Ned left home.
No doubt he was to blame for whatever that was unpleasant, not a doubt;
but since you ask me for advice, can't you think of some way to make
Sundays and holidays endurable to Ned, bless his big heart! Be a little
easy on him, a little careless about his ways. Ned is such a simple
fellow! Hard words, irony and sarcasm, complainings and scoldings cut
him very deeply! Don't be offended, but don't you think that perhaps you
could manage it to somehow keep Ned from flinging out of the house
desperate and foolish every once in a while, on some Sunday or holiday?
I'll tell you! Begin early--begin sometimes before he is awake--to get
things ready, and keep them going so that Ned won't start out, a
reckless, emotional maniac before nightfall!"
Oldfield paused, struck by his own earnestness and plain speaking, and
somewhat scared.
Mrs. Chester arose, and Oldfield's heart ached for her. "Madame," he
said, "any man who leaves wife and child to worry over him for days
while he carouses is to an extent a brute. There is no comprehensive
excuse for him. But when one is living with, and intends to go on living
with a man who at times becomes such a brute, it is as well to know and
acknowledge his weak points, and forbear to press him too far, even in
the best cause, even when you are perfectly right, as I am sure you
always are, for example. But let us come back to our original topic of
conversation. I am afraid you cannot see Ned to-day. I will call upon
him, and then telephone you his exact condition, telling you if he needs
anything. And to-morrow, after the doctor has made his morning visit, I
will send you another message. Ned will be all right and at home in a
day or two.
"In the mean time you might think over what I have said to you, and make
up your mind whether I am right or not. About what, you ask, Miss
Chester? Oh! only some nonsense I have been talking to your mother, a
sort of theory of mine with which she has no patience, I can see.
Good-by, ladies--no, don't waste time thanking me; I am glad if I have
been of any use. Good-by."
He bowed them into the elevator, and slowly drifted back into the club
library. "Of all fools I am the prize fool!" he murmured to himself. And
he called Joseph, and with him set forth to the Barrett House to see Ned
Chester.