FLUCTUATING EXPERIENCES.
Upon their arrival in San Francisco, the Hungerfords took a small
apartment in a quiet but good location, where Helen felt she could ask
her friends, and they would not hesitate to come to see her.
This she tastefully fitted up with some of the simplest of her old-home
furniture, which her father's lifelong friend and lawyer had carefully
stored for her against her return. The more expensive pieces, with
some massive, valuable silver, and choice bric-a-brac that Mr. Appleton
had purchased to embellish the beautiful new residence which he had
built a few years previous to his death--these extravagances having
really been the beginning of his undoing--she sold, thus realizing
several hundred dollars, which would go far, with careful management,
toward tiding over the interval during which John was working to turn
his paintings into money.
As yet Dorothy had never attended school, Helen having systematically
taught her at home; but the child was bright and quick to learn, and
was fully up to the standard with, if not in advance of, girls of her
own age. She could speak French like a Parisian, and her mother had
also given her excellent training in music.
Helen, thus far, had been very wise in her management of Dorothy.
Profiting by the mistakes which she realized her own indulgent parents
had made in rearing herself, as well as by the faults she had detected
in her husband's character, she had determined that her daughter should
not suffer in the future, along the same lines, for lack of careful
discipline. At the same time, she by no means made her government
irksome; indeed, it never seemed to the child that she was being
governed, for the companionship between them was so close and tender
that she fell naturally into her mother's way of thinking, and seldom
rebelled against her authority, even though she was by no means devoid
of spirit or a mind of her own.
Now, however, feeling that Dorothy needed a wider horizon, with
different environment and training, as she pursued her education, her
mother decided to put her into the public school.
This would relieve Helen of much care, and also give her more time to
take up a systematic course of piano and voice culture, which she had
determined to do, with the view of turning her talent for music to some
practical purpose, at least until her husband was better equipped to
provide suitably for his family.
She had been cordially received on her return by most of her old
friends, even though she had made no secret of the change in her
circumstances. She had been a great favorite before her marriage, and
her family highly respected; hence her reverses did not now appear to
affect her social standing, at least among those who knew her best.
Very grateful and happy in view of this proof of real friendship, Helen
was encouraged to quietly seek pupils in music, and easily secured a
class of ten, which were all she felt she could do justice to with her
domestic duties and other cares.
She felt very independent and not a little proud of the money thus
earned, while she found it a great help in meeting the many expenses of
her household.
During the first year after their return from abroad, John also worked
well. He liked his teacher--a German, who had studied many years in
Italy--who spoke in high praise of his talent, as well as of the
thoroughness of the instruction he had received from Monsieur Jacques,
all of which was apparent in his beautiful but unfinished work, he said.
Although Herr Von Meyer was not permanently located in San Francisco,
his work had become popular, and he had quite a large following as
students. He might almost have been called an itinerant artist, for he
had traveled extensively in the United States and Canada, stopping for
a longer or shorter time, as his fancy dictated, in numerous places,
painting and sketching American life and scenery. He was now planning
to return to his own country at the end of another year, to again take
up work in his own studio in Berlin.
It was, therefore, a rare opportunity for John to have found so
talented a teacher just at this time; and, under his supervision, he
completed and disposed of a goodly number of his paintings. Some of
these were so well appreciated that he received orders to duplicate
them, and the future looked promising.
This success so elated and encouraged him that at the end of a year he
concluded he was now competent to do business for himself without
further assistance or instruction. Accordingly, he hired some rooms,
furnished them attractively, and launched out upon an independent
career with something like real enthusiasm.
For a time all went well; more pictures were painted and sold, bringing
good prices; while, after the departure of Herr Von Meyer, students
began to flock to him. Young Hungerford, the artist, was beginning to
be talked about in society and at the various clubs; he was also much
sought after and admired in fashionable circles; his studio became a
favorite resort for people interested in art, and here John shone a
bright particular star.
Helen became happy in proportion to her husband's advancement; she grew
radiant with health; the lines of care and worry all faded out of her
face; she was like a light-hearted girl, and John told her she was
prettier than ever.
It was almost too good to be true, she sometimes said to herself, as
she remembered the sad conditions that had prevailed while they were in
Paris. But she would not allow herself to dwell upon those unhappy
experiences; the present was full of hope and promise, and she firmly
believed that her husband's fame and fortune were assured.
Had John Hungerford possessed "the stable mind," as Monsieur Jacques
once expressed it, all must have gone well; if he had been less
egotistical, selfish, and vain, more persevering and practical; had he
not been naturally so indolent--"lazy," to quote his former teacher
again--and pleasure-loving, he might have risen rapidly, and maintained
his position.
But, as time wore on, and the novelty of his popularity and prosperity
began to pall upon him; as the demands upon his patience became
greater, and the supervision of students required more concentration
and attention to detail; as the filling of increasing orders for his
own work made it necessary to stick closer to his easel, day after day,
life began to seem "a grind" again.
He grew discontented, irritable, restless. He lost patience with his
students, and became indifferent to his duty to them, until they began
to be disaffected, and dropped away from him. He neglected orders
until his patrons became angry and withdrew them, and finally, becoming
dissatisfied with his own work, he dropped back into his old habit of
starting subject after subject, only to set them aside to try something
else, rarely completing anything; all of which tended toward the ruin
of his once prosperous business, as well as his reputation as an artist.
All this came about so gradually that, for a long time, no one save
Helen suspected how matters were going. She begged him to wake up and
renew his efforts, both for her sake and Dorothy's, as well as for his
own; and she encouraged him in every possible way. But nothing that
she could say or do served to arouse him from the mental and moral
lethargy that possessed and grew upon him.
Fortunately, in spite of their recent prosperity, Helen had retained
her pupils in music, more because of her love for the work than because
she felt the need of money, as at first. Thus, when her husband's
income began to fall off, she dropped, little by little, into the way
of sharing the household expenses from her own earnings, and so assumed
burdens which he should have borne himself.
As month succeeded month, things continued to grow worse, until rumors
of the truth got afloat, and his friends and patrons began to show
their disapproval of his downward course, and even to shun his society.
Yet these significant omens did not serve to arouse him. On the
contrary, his indifference and indolence increased, and his old love
for wandering returned; his studio would frequently be closed for days,
sometimes for weeks, at a time, and only his boon companions knew where
he could be found.
Helen regarded these evidences of deterioration with a sinking heart,
yet tried to be patient. She did not complain, even when their funds
ran very low, but cheerfully supplied the needs of the family, and
bravely tried to fortify herself with the hope that John could not long
remain oblivious to his responsibilities, and would eventually retrieve
himself.
During all this time she had been making splendid progress in her own
musical training--especially in the cultivation of her voice. She had
often given her services in behalf of charitable entertainments, and
not infrequently assisted her friends to entertain by singing a
charming group of songs at parties and receptions; thus she had gained
for herself the reputation of being a most pleasing vocalist.
Recently these same friends, who sympathized with her domestic trials,
and, recognizing her financial difficulties, had arranged for several
musical functions, asking her to superintend them, and had paid her
liberally for her services.
This new departure seemed to Helen like the pointing of Providence to a
more promising future, by making her entirely independent of her
husband, and it would also enable her to give Dorothy advantages which
she could never hope--judging from present indications--to receive from
her father. Accordingly, she immediately issued attractive cards,
advertising to provide musical entertainment for clubs, receptions, or
social functions of any kind.
It was somewhat late in the season when she conceived this project, and
she secured only a limited number of engagements; but as she gained
fresh laurels and had delighted her patrons in every instance, she
believed she had paved the way for a good business by the following
fall.
During the month of May of this year John began to talk of going out of
town for the summer.
"We cannot afford it," Helen objected. "My pupils will leave me in
June, and will not return to me until September, and we must not spend
the money it would cost for such an outing."
"But you need a change, as well as I, and--and some of--of Dorothy's
money would be well spent in giving us all a good vacation," her
husband argued.
"That money is not to be touched," said Helen firmly. "That is
sacredly devoted to a college course for her as soon as she leaves the
high school. Dorothy and I are perfectly well; we have more comforts
at home than we could find elsewhere without paying an extravagant
price, and, with a short trip now and then, to some point of interest,
we can manage to be very happy without going away."
"We could go into the mountains, and camp out--that wouldn't cost very
much," John persisted.
"Camp out!" Helen exclaimed, astonished. "And where would we get our
meals? You know very well that Hannah would not put up with the poor
accommodations of any camp."
"Oh, dismiss Hannah for a couple of months! We could get our own
meals, and make them as simple as we chose," her husband suggested.
Helen smiled wanly. She wondered what he meant by simple meals, for he
was, as a rule, very particular what he had to eat and how it was
cooked. She realized that such a move would result in simply making
her a drudge, under very uncomfortable conditions, for the summer; she
would lose a good maid, and be in no way refreshed on her return to
town.
"I think it would be very unwise," she gravely returned; "such an
outing as that would have no rest or attraction for me; besides, I had
planned to work diligently at my music during the next three months, to
prepare for the winter."
John was not at all pleased with this decided rejection of his
proposition, as a protracted and sullen silence plainly indicated.
"Well, _I_ am not willing to swelter in the hot city during the next
three months, if you are," heat length burst forth, "and I want a
change."
"Oh, John, you ought to stay right here, and go to work for your
family," said his wife, with a note of appeal in her tremulous tones.
"We have hardly money enough left to pay our bills until fall, as it
is."
"I tell you I will not!" he said crossly, adding: "You can, of course,
do as you choose. If you and Dorothy will not go with me, I'll turn
Bohemian, take my kit along, and make sketches for work when I return."
Helen knew it would be useless to oppose him, so said no more. All the
same, judging from the past, she had little faith that his sketching
would amount to much, and so when June opened she saw him depart with a
heavy heart.
She received brief letters from him from time to time; but he told her
very little of what he was doing. His chief desire seemed to be to let
her know where her letters and remittances would reach him.
He returned in September, to find his wife and child blooming and
happy. It was evident that they had enjoyed the summer far better than
he, for he appeared jaded and spiritless, while he had very little to
produce as material for the coming winter's work--a few rough sketches,
carelessly done, were all he had to show.
Helen, however, had worked to good purpose. Her voice was in splendid
condition. She had added several choice selections to her repertoire;
while Dorothy showed marked improvement upon the piano, and had learned
to accompany her mother very effectively in some of her simpler songs.
But it had not been all work and no play with them. They went out
somewhere every fine day. They had little picnics to the park; they
had sails upon the bay, sometimes visiting a popular resort; and once
an old friend of Helen's asked them, for a week, to her summer home, a
few miles out of the city. Dorothy was perfectly satisfied, even
though most of her school friends were away, and once remarked to a
friend who called upon them: "Mamma and I do have just the nicest times
together; it's great fun to go about with her."
John had very little to say relative to his own vacation, or the
companions with whom he had spent it; he certainly gave no sign of
renewed vigor, and showed no inclination to take up his long-neglected
painting; but Helen asked no questions, made no comments or criticisms.
Neither did she manifest either surprise or disapproval when he came in
one day, a month after his return, and informed her that he had given
up his studio and accepted a position in his Uncle Nathan's
establishment.
"Painting pictures, as a business, is fluctuating, monotonous,
unsatisfactory," he said. "He believed it would be far better to have
a salary, on which he could depend."
Helen sighed for the money that had been wasted in rent for the studio
during the summer; also for the rejected art for which John possessed
talent, if not genius. But he lacked force, he hated personal
responsibility, as well as work, and perhaps the salary, even though it
was to be a moderate sum for the first year, would be better. The
monthly payments from Mr. Young could be relied upon, and thus her own
burdens would be somewhat lightened.