Money Magic: A Novel

by Hamlin Garland

  CHAPTER XXI

  BERTHA MAKES A PROMISE

  As for Marshall Haney, as he went about New York and Brooklyn in searchof his relations, he was astounded at the translation of the Irishlaborer into something else. "In my time, when I left Troy, all the workin the streets was done by 'micks,' as they called 'em. Now they'regone--whisked away as ye'd sweep away a swarm of red ants, and here'sthese black Dagos in their places. Where's the Irishman gone--up ordown? That's what's eatin' me. Is he dead or translated to a higherspeer? 'Tis a mysterious dispensation, and troubles me much."

  He found a good many Donahues in Brooklyn, and plenty of thembarkeepers; and after he'd pulled up half a dozen times at these"joints" Bertha began to pout. She didn't like such places; and as theywere riding in a showy auto-car (the grandest Lucius could secure), theywere pretty middling noticeable. At last she said, more sharply than shehad ever spoken to him before: "Mart, I don't want any more of this. Ifyou want to visit all the saloons in Brooklyn, I don't. Here's where Iget out."

  He was instantly remorseful. "I was thinkin' of that myself, Bertie.Lucius and I will go on alone. We'll send you back to the hotel in the'mobile whilst we take a hack."

  Half doubting, half glad, she consented to this arrangement, and wassoon whirling back towards the ferry, her guilty feeling giving place toa sense of relief, as if a huge weight had been lifted from hershoulders--for a moment. She began to understand that half the pleasureshe had taken in her hours with Moss and Humiston lay in the freedomfrom her husband's over-shadowing presence. He was not a man to beignored, as she had seen wives ignore and put aside their meek partners.Marshall Haney even yet was a dominating personality, even though hisfamily affairs were so insistent and so difficult to manage or explain.If the father came her joy in her home would be gone, and yet she had noright to refuse him shelter.

  At the same time she was less sure of her place in the world, now thatshe was alone. She had the feeling that if anything were to happen--ifthe motorman should demand his pay at the door, or the hotel-keeperrefuse to go her bond, she would be helpless. The Captain, for all hisshortcomings and physical disability, was master of every situation. Hehad been schooled by stern powers, and his capabilities of defence werestill equal to almost any need.

  On the ferry-boat she found herself surrounded by the swarms of peoplewho are forever calculating expenditures, who never desert a garment,and who finger a nickel lovingly; and she caught them looking at her asupon one of those who enjoy without earning it the product of theirtoil. They made way for her, as she got down and walked to the railing,as they would have done for a millionaire's daughter, a little surlily,and she divined without understanding this enmity, but was too exaltedby the glittering bay, with its romance of ship and sea and shore andtown, to very much mind what her threadbare fellow-passengers thought ofher. These dark-hulled, ocean-going vessels, these alien flags, widenedher horizon--deepened her sense of the earth's wonder and the wide-flungnerves of national interest. From this sea-level she looked up in fancyto her brother's ranch near Sibley as at a cabin on a mountain-side. Howstill and faint and far it seemed at the moment!

  At the word of the chauffeur she climbed back into her car, returning tothe isolation which money now provided for her. And so, girt about withvelvet and costly wood and gilding, she rode up through the tearingthrongs of the wharf, whirling past cars and trucks, outspeeding cabsand carriages, protected by a gambler's name, royally isolated anddefensible by his money. As she spun through Fifth Avenue, so smooth ofpave, so crowded, so sparkling, so far-reaching in its suggestions ofsecurity and power, the girl's soul entered upon a new and fierce phaseof its struggle.

  It was a larger and more absorbing fairy story than any in the _ArabianNights_. Without Marshall Haney, without the gold he brought, she couldnever have even looked upon this scene. She would at this moment havebeen standing inside her little counter at the Golden Eagle, sellingcigars to some brakeman or cowboy. Ed Winchell would be coming to askher, as usual, to marry him, and her mother would still be toiling inthe hot kitchen or be at rest in her grave. Did ever Aladdin's lamptranslate its owner farther or lift him higher? Was not her refusal tobe Marshall Haney's wife the basest ingratitude?

  Not merely so, but the girl felt in herself potentialities not yet drawnupon, unlimited capabilities leading towards the accomplishment of good.Money had not merely the magic of exalting, educating, refining, andennobling the individual (herself); it had radiating, transforming powerfor others. It could diffuse warmth like a flame, and send forth joylike a bell. "With it I am safe, strong: I can help the poor. Without itI am only a struggling girl, like millions of others, with no chance andno power to aid those who suffer." But at this point her love re-enteredand her sense of right was confused. After all the heart ruled.

  At the hotel entrance the head porter was waiting to help her out, andthe chauffeur, without a word or look of reminder, puffed away, securein the reputation Lucius had given to Haney. As she went to her room themaid met her with gentle solicitude, and, after attending to her needs,considerately withdrew, leaving her deep-sunk in troubled musing.

  Up to the coming of Ben Fordyce she had accepted all that Haney gave heras from one good friend to another. Once having satisfied herself thatthe money was clean of any taint from gambling-hall and saloon, she hadnot hesitated to use it. But now something was rising within her whichchanged the current of her purpose. Haney was no longer before the barof her conscience; the soul under question was her own. Dimly, yet withever-growing definiteness, she saw the moment of decision approach. Shemust soon decide whether to continue on the smooth, broad highway withHaney, or to return to the mountain-trail from which he had taken her.

  While still she sat sombrely looking out over the city's roofs,Humiston's card was brought to her, and at the moment, in her lonelinessand doubt, he seemed like an old friend. "Tell him to come up," shesaid, with instant cordiality, and her face shone with innocent pleasurewhen she met him. "I'm mighty glad to see you," she frankly said, ingreeting.

  He misconceived her feeling, and took advantage of it to retain herhand. "I assure you I am delighted to find _you_ again."

  "I thought you'd forgot us."

  His eyes expressed a bold admiration as he answered: "I have donenothing but remember you. I've been in Pittsburg (only got back to townyesterday), and here I am." He looked about. "Where is the Captain?"

  She withdrew her hand. "He's out looking for his father. He'll returnsoon. He's liable to look in any minute now."

  "You are lovelier than ever. How is the Captain?"

  "Pretty well. He gets tired fairly easy, but he feels better than hedid."

  His look of eager intensity embarrassed her. After a little pause, heremarked: "I am holding you to your promise. Can't you come over to mystudio this afternoon?"

  "No, not to-day. I must be here when the Captain comes. He may bring theold father along, and he'd feel lost if I should be gone. Maybe I couldcome to-morrow."

  "Don't bring the Captain unless you have to--he'll be bored," he said,in the hope that she would get his full meaning. "I want to introduceyou to some friends of mine."

  "Oh, don't do that!" she protested. "I'm afraid of your friends--they'reall so way-wised while I am hardly bridle-broke."

  "You need not fear," he replied; "you are most to be envied. No one canhave more than health, wealth, and youth and beauty. I would nothesitate to introduce you anywhere." His admiration was so outspoken, sochoicely worded, that she could not distrust him, though Mrs. Moss hadmore than once hinted to her that he was not to be entirely honored. "Heisn't a man to be careless with," she had once said, and yet he seemedso high-minded, so profoundly concerned with the beautiful world of art.How could a single-hearted Western girl believe ill of him? He couldnot be evil in the ways in which men were wicked in Sibley. Hissensitive face was too weary and his eyes too sad.

  He was adroit enough to make his call short, and withdrew, leaving avery pleasant impression in her mi
nd. She felt distinctly less lonely,now that she knew he was in the city, and she was still at the windowmusing about him when Haney returned, bringing his father with him.

  The elder Haney interested and amused her in spite of herperplexities--he was so quaintly of the old type of Irishman and soabsurdly small to be the father of a giant. He carried a shrewd andkindly face, withered and toothless, yet not without a certain charm ofline. Mart's fine profile was like his sire's, only larger, bolder, andcalmer.

  With a chuckle he introduced him. "Bertie, this is me worthless olddad." And Patrick, though he was sidling and side-stepping with theawkwardness of a cat on wet ice, still retained his Celticself-possession.

  "Lave Mart to slander the soorce av aal his good qualities," heretorted. "He was iver an uncivil divil to me--after the day he firstthrun me down, the big gawk."

  Mart took the little man by the collar and twirled him about. "Luk at'im! Did he ever feel the like of such cloes in his life?"

  Patrick grinned a wide, silent, mirthful grimace. "Sure me heart iswarmed wid 'em. I feel as well trussed as me lady's footman."

  It was plain that every thread on the old man was new. Mart explained."I stripped him to the buff and built him up plumb to his necktie, whichis green--the wan thing he would have to his own taste. To-morrow we goto the tooth-factory."

  "'Tis a waste of good money," interjected Patrick. "I ate soup."

  "Soup be damned! Ye've many a steak to eat with me, ye contrary littlebaboon. 'Tis a pity if I can't do as I like with me own. Do as I say,and be gay."

  Patrick cackled again, and his little twinkling eyes were half hid. "Yemay load me with jewels and goold, me lad, but divil a once do I allow aman wid a feet-lathe boring-machine to enter me head."

  "Ye have nothing to bore, ye old jackass! Divil a rock is left toprospect in--so don't fuss."

  Bertha interjected a question. "Where did you find him?"

  "Marking up in a pool-room. Nice place for the father of Captain Haney!'Come out o' that,' I says, 'or fight me.' And the old fox showed goomsat me, and says he: 'I notice ye're crippled, Mart. I think I'll jesttake what ye owe me out of yer hide.'" They both chuckled at therecollection of it. Then Mart went on: "I'll not disgrace me wife bytelling what the old tramp had on. I tuck him by the shoulder and Isaid: 'Have ye anny Sunday clothes?' I said. 'Narry a thread,' says he.'Come along with me,' I says. 'You can't visit my wife in the hotel tillevery thread on yer corpus is changed,' for Donahue keeps a dirty place.So here he is--scrubbed, fumigated, barbered, and tailored; and when hegets his cellulide teeth he'll make as slick a little Irishman as everleft the old sod." Here his face became sadly tender. "I wish the motherwas alive, too; I'd make her rustle in silks, so I would. Heaven resther!"

  The father's face grew suddenly accusing in line. "Ye waited too long,ye vagabond. Yer change of heart comes too late."

  "I know it--I know it! But I could never find time till a man with ashotgun pointed the way to it. Now I have all the time there is, andshe's gone."

  In this moment of passing shadow Bertha caught a glimpse of thesignificance of the scene--of the wonder, almost alarm, which filled theold man's heart as he stood there scared of the flaming splendor of theroom into which the sunlight fell, exaggerating its gold and pink andgreen, but bringing out the excellence of the furnishing, the richnessof the silk tapestry.

  The old man touched a gilded chair tenderly, and Mart cried out: "Layhold, man, 'twill not rub off! Sit down and look about ye! Out with yournew pipe and smoke up!"

  He took a seat with forced confidence, and looked about him. "I wishDonahue and Kate could see this."

  Mart turned a quietly humorous eye on Bertha. "Not this trip. I couldn'tmanage Kate," he explained. "She looks like Fan--only more so; and shehas a litter o' young Donahues would make ye wonder could the world haveroom for them all."

  Haney the elder had something more than the bog-trotter in him, for ashe grew towards a little more assurance that Mart would not be thrownout of his hotel for non-payment of bills, he settled down to enjoy hisglass of rare whiskey and a costly cigar with an assumption of ease thatalmost deceived the maid, though Lucius, being in the secret, watchedhim anxiously for fear he might expectorate on the rug.

  Mart had some "p'otographs" of his house in the Springs, and showed themto Patrick. "Do ye see yerself smokin' a pipe on that porch?"

  "I do not," the father energetically replied. "I see meself goin' therounds of that garden with a waterin'-pot and a pair of shears."

  "I thought ye was a bricklayer, or is it a billiard-marker?" asked Mart,with quizzical look.

  "I can turn me hand to anny honest work," he replied, with dignity. "An'can ye say as much?"

  "I cannot," confessed Mart. "Had ye put a club to me back and foorced meto a trade, sure I'd be layin' brick in Troy this day."

  This retort fairly blinded the sturdy little father. The charge wasfalse, and yet here sat Mart--a gentleman. While still he puzzled overthe dangerous acknowledgment involved in his son's accusation, Martturned to Bertha. "Do ye mind the old man's spendin' the rest of hisdays with us, darlin'?"

  "You're the doctor, Mart. It's your house, not mine."

  He felt the change in her. "Oh no, it isn't; it's _our_ house. I neverwould have had it only for you." He paused a moment. "The dad is awell-meaning old rascal, and I'll go bail he don't do mischief."

  Patrick took this up. "He is so, and he means to kape to his own way oflife. If I go West, me b'y, 'tis on wages as a gardener--and, bedad,I'll draw 'em reg'ler, too. I'd like well to go West ('twould rejice meto see Fan and McArdle), and I don't object to spendin' a year with youin Coloraydo, but don't think Patrick Haney is to be pinsioner on annyone, not even his son."

  Bertha's heart vibrated in sympathy with this note of independence, andshe heartily said: "I hope you will come, Mr. Haney. The Captain isalone a good deal, and you'd be a comfort to him."

  "I'll consider," the old man said. "I must have time to rea-lize it," hequaintly added. "I must smoke me pipe in me own garret once more, andtalk it all over with Kate and the Donahues." He refused to stay todinner with them (which was a relief to Lucius), and went away jaunty asa bucko from County Clare.

  He was no sooner gone from the room than Bertha turned to her husband,and said: "Mart, I want to talk things over with you."

  Something in her voice, as well as in the words, made him turn quicklyand regard her anxiously.

  "What about? What is it, darlin'?"

  "I have something on my mind, and I've got to spit it out before I canrest to-night. I've just about decided to leave you. I don't feel rightlivin' with you."

  He looked at her steadily, but a gray pallor began to show on his face.He asked, quietly: "Do ye mean to go fer good?"

  Her heart was beating fast, but she bravely faced him. "Yes, Mart, Idon't feel right living with you, and spending your money the way I'vebeen doing."

  "Why not? It isn't mine--it's yours. Ye airn every cent ye spend."

  "No, I don't!" she cried, passionately. "Now that you're getting betterand Lucius has come, I'm not even a nurse."

  "I'll send him away."

  "No, no; he's worth more than I am."

  "I'll not listen to such talk, Bertie. Ye well know you're the thingmost precious to me. I can't live without ye." His voice thickened. "ForGod A'mighty's sake, don't say such things; they make me heart shake! Meteeth are chatterin' this minute! Ye're jokin'; say you don't mean it."

  "But I do. Don't you see that I can't stay and let you do things for melike this"--she indicated their apartment--"when I do so little to earnit all? Mart, I've got to be honest about it. I can't let you spend anymore money on me. Help your own people, and let me go. I do nothing topay for what you do for me. It's better for me to go."

  She could not bring herself to be as explicit as she should have been,but he was not far from understanding her real meaning, as he brokenlyreplied: "I've been afraid of this, my girl. I've thought of it all. Themoney I spend fer
ye is but a small part of my debt. You say you donothing for me. Why, darlin', every time you come into the room or smileat me you do much for me! I'm a selfish old wolf, but I'm not so bad asyou think I am. If anny nice young felly comes along--a good squareman--I'll get off the track; but I want you to let me stay near you aslong as I live." His voice was hoarse with pleading. "Ye're all I havein the world; all I live for now is to make you happy. Don't pull awaynow, when me old heart has grown all round ye. I can't live and Idaren't die without ye--now that's the eternal truth. Darlin', promiseye won't go--yet awhile."

  Wordless, as full of pain as he, she sat silently weeping, unable tocarry out her resolution--unable to express the change which had comeinto her life.

  He went on. "I mark the difference between us. I see ye goin' up while Iam goin' down. My heart is big with pride in ye. You belong with peoplelike the Congdons and the Mosses--whilst I am only an old broken-downskate. I'm worse than you know. I went down to Sibley first with hell inme heart towards you, but that soon passed away--I loved ye as a manshould love the girl he marries--and I love ye now as I love the saints.I wouldn't mar your young life fer anything in this world--'tis me wishto lave you as beautiful and fresh as I found you, and to give you all Ihave besides--so stay with me, if you can, till the other man comes."Here a new thought intruded. "Has he come now? Tell me if he has. Did yefind him in Chicago? Be honest, darlin'."

  "No, no!" she answered. "It isn't that. It's just because--because itdon't seem right."

  "Then ye must stay with me," he said, "and don't worry about not doingthings for me. You do things for me every minute--just by being in theworld. If I can see ye or hear ye I'm satisfied. An' don't cut me offfrom spending money for ye, for that's half me fun. How else can I payye for your help to me? I've been troubled by your face ever since weleft home. You don't smile as ye used to do. Don't ye like it here? Ifye don't we'll go back. Shall we do that?"

  She, overwhelmed by his generosity, could only nod.

  His face cleared. "Very well, the procession will head west whenever yousay the word. I hope you don't object to the old father. If ye do--"

  "Oh no; I like him."

  "Then we'll take him; but, remember, I'll let no one come into our homethat will trouble you. I'd as soon have a cinder in me eye as a man Idon't like sitting beside me fire; and if the old man is a burden to ye,out he goes." He rose, and came painfully to where she sat, and in avoice of humble sorrow, slowly said: "I don't ask ye to loveme--now--I'm not worth it; and once I thought I'd like a son to bear myname, but 'tis better not. I'll never lay that burden upon ye. All I askis the touch of yer hand now and then, and your presence when I come todie--I'm scared to die alone. 'Twill be a dark, long journey for oldMart, and he wants your face to remember when he sets forth."