CHAPTER XV
MART'S VISIT TO HIS SISTER
Bertha woke next morning with a sense of weariness and desolation stillat her heart, but she dressed and went to breakfast with Haney at anhour so early that the dining-room was nearly empty. Lucius, with quietinsistence upon the importance of his employers, had secured a place ata window overlooking the lake, and was glad to see his mistress brightenas her eyes swept the burnished shoreless expanse.
Haney, still troubled by her languid air and gloomy face, took heart,and talked of what Chicago was in the days when he saw it and what itwas now. "People say it don't improve. But listen: when I was here thePalmer House was the newly built wonder of the West, the streets weretinkling with bobtail horse-cars. And now look at it!"
Bertha went back to her room, still in nerveless and despondent mood,not knowing what to do. The Captain proposed the usual round. "We'lltake an auto-car, and go to the parks, and inspect the Lake Shore Driveand the Potter Palmer castle. Then we'll go down and see where theWorld's Fair was. Then we'll visit the Wheat Pit. 'Tis all there is,bedad."
Lucius, who had been answering the 'phone in the hall, came in at themoment to say; "A lady wishes to speak with Mrs. Haney."
"A lady! Who?"
"A certain Mrs. Brent--a friend of Miss Franklin's."
Bertha's face darkened. "Oh I'd forgot all about her. Miss Franklin gaveme a letter to her," she explained, as she went out.
She had no wish to see Mrs. Brent. On the contrary, she had an aversionto seeing or doing anything. But there was something compelling in thecool, sweet, quiet voice which came over the line, and before realizingit she had promised to meet her at eleven o'clock.
Mrs. Brent then added: "I am consumed with desire to see you, for Dor--Imean Miss Franklin--has been writing to me about you. You're just intime to come to a little dinner of mine--don't make any engagement forto-morrow night. I'm coming down immediately."
Bertha quite gravely answered, "All right, I'll be here," and hung upthe receiver, committed to an interview that became formidable, now thatthe sweetness of the voice had died out of her ears.
"Who was it?" asked the Captain.
"A friend of Miss Franklin's--sounds just like her voice, but I thinkshe's only a cousin. She wants to see me, and I've promised to be hereat eleven."
The Captain looked a little disappointed. "Well, we can take a spin upthe lake. Lucius, go hire a buckboard and we're off."
"There's an auto-car waiting, sir. I ordered it half an hour ago."
The gambler looked at him humorously. "Ye must be a mind-reader."
A tap on the door called the man out, and when he returned he bore atelegram. "For you, Captain," he said, presenting it on the salver.
The gambler took it with sudden apprehension in his face. "I hopethere's no trouble at the mine," he muttered.
Bertha, leaning over his shoulder, read it first. "It's from Ben!" shecalled, joyously. "Ain't it just like him?"
This message seemed a little bit foolish to Haney.
"Just to say hello! All well here. Have a good time. "FORDYCE."
To Bertha it made all the difference between sunshine and shadow. Shethrilled to it as if it had been a voice. "He knew I'd be homesick, andso he sent this to cheer me up," she said. And in this she was right.Her shoulders lifted and her face cleared. "Come on, Captain, if we'regoing."
As they came down the elevator, men in buttons met them, and attendedthem to the door, and turned them over to still other uniformedattendants, who were fain to help them into the auto-car; for Lucius hadmanaged to convey to the hotel a proper sense of his employer's moneyvalue. He himself was always close to his master's side, for latelyHaney had taken to stumbling at unexpected moments, and his increasingbulk made a fall a real danger.
A thrill of delight, of elation, ran through the young wife as sheglanced up and down Chicago's proudest avenue. It conformed to hernotion of a city. The level park, flooded with spring sunshine, waswalled on the west by massive buildings, while to the east stretched theshining lake. From here the city seemed truly cosmopolitan. It haddignity and wealth of color, and to the girl from Sibley Junction wascompletely satisfying--almost inspiring.
It was uplifting also to be attended to a splendid auto-car by willing,alert servants, and to feel that the passers-by were all envious of hercareless ease. Bertha forgot her homesickness, and took her seat in thespirit of one who is determined to have the worth of her money (for onceanyhow), and the pedestrians, if they had any definite notion of her atall, probably said: "There goes a rich old cattle king and his prettydaughter. It's money that makes the 'mobile go."
She held to this pose for half an hour, while they threaded the tumultof Wabash Avenue, and, crossing the river, swept up the Lake ShoreDrive. But the lake filled her with other thoughts. "I wish we had thisat the Springs," she said. "This is fine!"
"We have our share," answered he. "If we had this at our door, therewouldn't be anything left to go to."
They whizzed through the park, and down another avenue into the thicktangle of traffic, which scared them both, and so back to the hotel, theCaptain saying: "My! my! but she has grown. 'Tis twenty years since Itook this turn."
In some strange way Bertha had drawn courage, resolution, pride, andambition from what she saw on this short ride. That she was in a car andmistress of it was in itself a marvellous distinction, and the thoughtof what she would have been--as a "round-tripper" from SibleyJunction--added to her pleasure and pride. She was always doing sums inher head now. Thus: "Suppose our excursion does cost twenty dollars perday; that's only one hundred and fifty per week, six hundred per month,and our income is ten times that, and more." She had not risen above thehabit of calculation, but she was fast rising to higher levels ofexpenditure.
She met Mrs. Brent with something of this mood in her manner, but wasinstantly softened and won by her visitor, who did not in the leastresemble Miss Franklin in appearance, though her voice was wonderfullythe same. Her eyes were wide, her brow serene, and her lips smiling.
"Why, you're a child," she said--"a mere babe! Dorothy didn't tell methat."
Bertha stiffened a little, and Mrs. Brent laughingly added: "Pleasedon't be offended--I am really surprised." And then her manner became sowinning that before the Western girl realized it she had given herconsent to join a dinner-party the following night. "Come early, for weare to go to the theatre afterwards. I'll have some of the universitypeople in to see you. Miss Franklin has made us all eager to meet you."
Bertha had a dim perception that this eagerness to meet her wascuriosity, but her loyalty to her teacher and the charm of her visitorkept her from openly rebelling.
The Captain was not so easily persuaded. "'Tis poor business for me," hesaid. "Time was when I went to bed like a wolf--when the time served;but now I'm as regular to me couch as a one-legged duck. However, tokeep me wife in tune, I'll go or come, as the case may be."
Mrs. Brent did not attempt to be funny with this wounded bear, and theyparted very good friends.
As her visitor was going, Bertha suddenly said, "Wait a minute," and,going to her hand-bag, brought out an envelope addressed in Congdon'sbig scrawling hand. "Do you know these people?"
Mrs. Brent glanced at it. "Why, yes, Joe Moss is an artist. He'swell-known here, and you'll like him. His wife is a very talented woman,and will be of great advantage to you. They know all the 'artisticgang,' as they call themselves, and they live a delightfully Bohemianlife. They're right near here, and if I were you I'd go in to see them.I'd thought of having the Mosses to-morrow night, and this settles it.They must come. Good-bye till to-morrow at 7 P.M." And she went out,leaving the girl in a glow of increasing good-will.
Haney was looking over a list of names and addresses which Lucius hadbrought to him, and as Bertha returned he put his finger on one, andsaid: "I believe, on me soul, that this Patrick McArdle is me secondsister's husband. 'Patrick McArdle, pattern-maker.' Sure, Charles saidhe was in a stove
foundry. 'Tis over on the West Side, Lucius says. Howwould it do to slide over and see?"
"I'm agreeable," she carelessly answered, her mind full of Mrs. Brentand the dinner.
Lucius interposed a word. "It's a very poor neighborhood, Captain. Wecan hardly get to it with a machine."
"Well, then we'll drive. I want to make a stab at finding my sisteranyhow."
Lucius submitted, but plainly disapproved of the whole connection. Onthe way Haney talked of his sister Fanny. "She was a bouncing,jolly-tempered girl, always down at the heels, but good to me. She wastwo years older, and was mother's main guy, as the sailors say. She wasfairly industrious, though none of us ever worked just for the fun ofit. Fan married all the other girls off to saloon-keepers or aldermen,which is all the same in pay, and then ended up by takin' a man farolder than herself, who was not very strong and not very smart. He makespatterns in sand for the leaves and acorns you see on stove doors. Forall we know, he may have made them that's on your new range at home."
The mention of that range brought to Bertha's mind a picture of herlovely kitchen, so light and bright and shining, and another spasm ofhomesickness and doubt seized her. "Mart, we had no business to comeaway and leave that house and all our nice things in it."
"Miss Franklin will see after it."
"But how can she? She's gone nearly all day. And, besides, she's not upto housekeeping--it ain't her line. I feel like going right back thisminute!"
This feeling of dismay was increased by the glimpses of the grimy WestSide, into which they were plunging every moment deeper. After leavingthe asphalt pavement the noise increased till they were unable to makeeach other hear without shouting, and so they sat in silence while thedriver turned corners and dodged carts and cars till at last he turnedabruptly into a side-street, and, driving slowly along over a rottingblock pavement, drew up before a small, two-story frame house--a relicof the old-time city.
The yards were full of children, who all stopped their play to stare atthis carriage, especially impressed by Lucius, who sat very erect on theseat beside the driver, resolutely doing a very disagreeable duty. Atthe door he got down and said: "Now, Captain, you give me a pointer ortwo, and I'll find out whether this is your McArdle or not."
"Just ask if Mrs. McArdle was Fan Haney, of Troy. That'll cover thespecification," he answered.
By this time a large, fair-haired, slovenly woman had opened the door,and, with truculent voice, called out: "Who do you want to find?"
"Fan Haney, of Troy," answered the Captain.
"That's me," the woman retorted.
"Ye are so! Very well, thin, consider yourself under arrest thisminute," said Haney, beginning to clamber out of the carriage.
The woman stared a moment; then a slow grin developed on her face solike to Haney's own that Bertha laughed. The lost sister was found.
As Haney neared her, he called out: "Well, Fan, ye're the same oldsloven ye were when I used to kick your shins in Troy for soapin' memouth."
"Mart Haney, by the piper!" she exclaimed, wiping her lips and hands inanticipation of a caress. "Where did ye borry the funeral wagon?"
He shook her hand--the kiss was out of his inclination--and responded inthe same vein of mockery: "A friend of mine died the day, and I brokeout of the procession to pay a call. Divil a bit the dead man cares."
"Who's with you in the carriage?"
"Mrs. Haney, bedad."
"Naw, it is not!"
"Sure thing!"
"She's too young and pretty--and Mart, ye're lame! And, howly saints,man, ye look old! I wouldn't have known ye but fer the mouth and theeyes of ye. Ye have the same old grin."
"The same to you."
"I get little chance to practise it these days."
"'Tis the same here."
"But how came ye hurt?"
"A felly with a grievance poured a load of buckshot into me side, andone of them lodged in me spine, so they say."
She clicked her tongue in ready sympathy. "Dear, dear! But come in andsit ye down. Ask yer girl to come in--I'm not perticular."
"She's me lawful wife," he said, and his tone changed her manner intosomething like sweetness and dignity.
"Go ye in, Mart. I'll fetch her."
As the young wife sat in her carriage before this wretched little homeand watched that slatternly sister of her husband approach, she rose ona wave of self-appreciation. Haney lost in dignity and power by thisassociation. For the first time in her life the girl acknowledged afixed difference between her blood and that of Mart Haney. She wasdisgusted and ashamed as Mrs. McArdle, coming to the carriage side, saidbluffly: "'Tis a poor parlor I have, Mrs. Haney, but if ye'll light outand come in I'll send for Pat. He'll be wantin' to see ye both."
Bertha would have given a good deal to avoid this visit, but seeing noway to escape she stepped from the carriage under the keen scrutiny ofher hostess and walked up the rickety steps with something of the samesqueamish care she would have shown on entering a cow-barn.
"Here, Benny!" called Mrs. McArdle. "Run you to Dad and tell him mebrother Mart has come, and to hurry home. Off wid ye now!"
The poverty of this city working-man's home was plain to see. It struckin upon Bertha with the greater power by reason of her six months ofluxury. It was not a dirty home, but it was cluttered and hap-hazard.The old wooden chairs were worn with scouring, but littered withchildren's rags of clothing. The smell of boiling cabbage was in theair, for dinner-time was nigh. There were three rooms on theground-floor and one of these was living-room and dining-room, the otherthe kitchen, and a small bedroom showed through an open door. For allits disorder it gave out a familiar odor of homeliness which profoundlymoved Haney.
"Ye've grown like the mother, Fan. And I do believe some of these chairsare her's."
"They are. When Dad broke up the house and went to live with Kate I putin a bid for the stuff and I brought some of it out here with me."
"I'm glad ye did. That old rocker now--sure it's the very one we used tofight for. I'll give ye twenty-five dollars for it, Fan."
"Ye can have it for the askin', Mart," she generously replied--tears ofpleasure in her eyes. "Sure, after all the tales I heard of ye--it's tosee you takin' fine to the mother's chair. She was a good mother to us,Mart."
"She was!" he answered.
"And if the old Dad had been as much of a man as she was, we'd all standin better light to-day I'm thinkin'--though the father did the best heknew."
"The worst he did was to let us all run wild. A club about our shouldersnow and then would have kept our tempers sweeter."
Bertha, in rich new garments, seemed as alien to the scene as any finelady visiting among the slums. She was struggling, too, between disgustof her sister-in-law's slovenly house and untidy dress, and the goodhumor, tender sentiment and innate motherliness of her nature. There wascharm in her voice and in her big gray eyes. Irish to the core, shecould storm at one child and coo with another an instant later. She waslike Mart, or rather Mart became every moment more of her kind and lessof the bold and remorseless desperado he had once seemed to be. Thedeeper they dug into the past the more of his essential kinship to thiswoman he discovered. He greeted her children with kindly interest,leaving a dollar in each chubby, dirty fist, and when McArdle came intothe room Fan had quite conquered her awe of Bertha's finery.
McArdle was a small bent man, with a black beard, a pale serious faceand speculative eyes. He looked like a wondering, rather cautious animalas he came in. He wore a cheap gray suit and a celluloid collar, and wasas careless in his way as his wife. It was plain that he was gentle,absent-minded, and industrious.
He listened to his wife's voluble explanations in silence, inwardlydigesting all that was said, then shook hands--still without a word. Andwhen all these preliminaries were over he laid his hat aside and ran hisfingers through his thin hair with a perplexed and troubled gesture,asking, irrelevantly: "How's the weather out there?"
Nobody saw the humor of this but his wife,
who explained: "Pat is afiend on the weather. He was raised on a farm, ye see, and he can't getover it. I say to him: 'What difference does the state o' the weathermake to you, that's under a roof all day?' But divil a change does itmake in him. The first thing in the morning he turns to the weatherreport."
McArdle's eyes showed traces of a smile. "If it weren't for the papersand the weather reports, me days would be alike. But sit by," he added,hospitably, waving his hand towards the table, on which the dinner wassteaming.
They were drawing up to the board when a puffing and blowing, and thefurious clatter of feet announced the inrushing of the children.
Not the mother's shrill whooping, but the sight of the strange guests,transformed them into mutes. The carriage outside had filled them withwild alarms, but the sight of their parents alive, and entertainingguests of shining quality, was almost as satisfyingly unusual as deathand a funeral.
They were a noisy, hearty throng, and Bertha's heart went out to poorPatrick McArdle, who sat amid the uproar, silent, patient, the heroicbreadwinner for them all. No wonder he was old before his time. Slowlyher antipathy died out. She began to find excuses even for the mother.To feed such a herd of little pigs and calves, even out of woodentroughs, would require much labor; to keep them buttoned, combed, andfit for school was an appalling task. "Mart must help these folks," shesaid to herself.
McArdle had nothing to say during the meal, and Bertha could see thathis family did not expect him to do more than answer a plain question.Indeed, the children created a hubbub that quite cut off any connectedintercourse, and Fan, with a grin of despair, at last said: "They'll begorged in a few minutes, and then we'll have peace."
"This is what lack of money means," Bertha was thinking. And her house,her automobile, her horses, became at the moment as priceless, asremote, as crown jewels and papal palaces. Then, conversely, she grew toa larger conception of the possibilities which lay in sixty thousanddollars a year. Not only did it lift her and all hers above the heat andmire and distress of the world of toil, it enabled them to help others.
Swiftly the children filled their stomachs, and, seizing each a piece ofcake or pie, withdrew, leaving the old folks and their guests in peace.
Thereupon, McArdle, taking a pipe from his pocket and knocking itabsent-mindedly on the seat of the chair, dryly remarked: "Now that wecan hear ourselves think, let's have it all over again. Who air ye, andwhy air ye here?"
Being told a second time that this was his brother-in-law, a miner fromColorado, he shook hands all over again, and accepted Mart's cigar withcareful fingers, as if fearing to drop and break the precious thing.
Bertha said: "I think we'd better be going, Captain. Our carriage isoutside."
"Gracious Peter," cried Mrs. McArdle, "I forgot all about it! Is he bythe day or by the hour?"
Mart answered, with an amused smile. "Well, now, I don't know. I thinkby the hour."
"Ye're makin' a big bluff, Mart. We're properly impressed," said hissister. "Go pay him off, and save the money."
McArdle put in a query. "You must have a good thing out there?"
"'Tis enough to pay me carriage hire," answered Mart. And his tonesatisfied McArdle, who, with reflective eye on Bertha, puffed away athis cigar, while Mart gave his promise to call again. "I'll come overand get you all, and take you to the theatre in me auto-car," he said,as he rose. "But we must be going now."
Fan was beginning to perceive in him more and more of the man of powerand substance, and her manner changed. "Ye were always the smartest ofthe lot of us, Mart."
"No, I was not. Charles was the bright boy."
"So he was, but he was lazy. That was why he took up withplay-acting--'tis an easy job."
"Even that is too much work for him," remarked McArdle.
"I reckon that's right," laughed Mart, as he turned towards the door.
"Come again, if ye find time," called Fan, as they went down the steps.
McArdle, with his cigar in his hand, waved it in a sign of parting. Andso their visit to the McArdles closed.
Mart turned to his silent and thoughtful wife, and said, with a greatdeal of meaning in his voice: "Well, now, what do you think of that fora fine litter of pups?"
"They seem hearty."
"They do. 'Tis on such that the future of the ray-public rests." Andthen he added: "Sure, Bertie, it gripped me heart to see the mother'sold chair!"
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