Brenda's Ward

by Oliver Optic

  CHAPTER XV

  TROUBLES

  The weeks after the Easter visit passed rapidly away. April was meltinginto May. People called it an early spring.

  "It doesn't make much difference to me whether the season is early orlate," said Martine one Sunday afternoon, when Lucian and Robert hadwalked home with her from the afternoon service. "I have to work so hardto keep up with Priscilla that I haven't time to think about anything socommonplace as weather. If I'm not careful, I shall find myself fittingfor college."

  "Don't," said Robert Pringle.

  "Do," cried Lucian. "As I may have said before, if you make half as muchof yourself as Amy, nothing could be better for you than college."

  "Be yourself," said Robert with an air of wisdom. "Not Amy norPriscilla, nor any one else. You have the artistic temperament."

  "Nonsense," replied Martine, with difficulty repressing a smile. "That'sa very sophomorific speech. You've got it out of some of your philosophycourses."

  "Or one of the college magazines," growled Lucian. "People who are justbeginning to write always love to talk about temperament."

  "Well," persisted Robert, "Fritz Tomkins says that Mrs. Redmond saysthat you have great talent."

  "Oh, yes," responded Martine, laughing, "my class at the Mansionconsiders me a true artist, because I can paint trees and grass thatlook real; but to tell you the truth, Robert, and to show you thatyou're not wholly wrong, I will admit that if I hadn't been so busy atschool, I should have studied with Mrs. Redmond this spring. I just wishI had time for a sketching class, but fond as I am of riding, I canbarely manage an hour's ride twice a week. That reminds me, Lucian," andMartine turned to her brother, "if you can afford a new auto, I surelycan afford a new riding-horse. Wherever we go this summer, I mean toride."

  "No, no," cried Lucian, "that is, I probably shall not have the auto,much as I want it."

  "Don't worry," said Robert, "you'll get it in season; if it isn't out byJune, they'll have it for you in July."

  "Oh, that wasn't what I meant," rejoined Lucian, "only--" but at thismoment he did not explain what he really had intended to say.

  The next evening Lucian came home to dinner.

  "What an unexpected honor," said Martine. "I've never known you to favorus with a Monday visit. You look rather glum, too," she added withsisterly frankness. "Is anything the matter?"

  "No, no," he said, "nothing special. You shouldn't be so curious."

  "I can read you like a book," replied Martine. "You are worrying overyour finals and you ought to be ashamed of yourself. If I were a HarvardSophomore, with all my time to use as I liked, I wouldn't be in such astate of mind over a few questions, for that's all an examinationamounts to."

  "There, there, Martine, don't worry your brother," interposed Mrs.Stratford, joining them.

  "But he is so foolish," continued Martine, "just as if he hadn't as gooda chance as anybody else."

  "To be perfectly frank," said Lucian at last, "you have no idea, littlesister, what you are talking about; so the least said, soonest mended."

  Conversation during dinner proceeded cheerfully. Lucian was evidentlymaking an effort to remove the impression that he was troubled aboutanything.

  But a little later, after their mother had left the room, Lucian drewhis chair nearer Martine's and began to talk in an undertone.

  "You are right, Martine," he said, "I am troubled. I have somethingserious to say."

  Martine's heart beat nervously. She knew that boys in college sometimesdid things that they should not do. Lucian had several friends of whomshe did not approve. Into what mischief might they not lead him?

  "Tell me the worst, Lucian," she said sympathetically. "If it's stealingsigns or doing any of those ridiculous Med. Fac. things, of course youwere very silly. But I'll help you out if I can, without telling mother,and I'll lend you money, though I have only a very little bit of my own.I am paying for my clothes out of my allowance this spring. And you knowI never used to do that."

  "Oh, your money wouldn't help, Martine; it isn't that."

  "Well, whatever it is, we'll keep it from mother; she certainly isn't aswell as when she first came to Boston."

  "I know that," responded Lucian, "and that's the worst of this wholebusiness. You see, it's this, Martine. Father's business is all at sixesand sevens and I had the queerest letter from him this morning; I canhardly make head or tail of it."

  Martine took the thin sheet of letter paper from Lucian's hand; thewording was incoherent.

  "Why, it doesn't sound like father," she exclaimed, "and what queer,trembling handwriting. I am afraid that he is sick. And if he has losthis money as he says, what are we to do?"

  "I haven't an idea in the world. This knocks me all to pieces," andLucian leaned his head on his hands, the picture of bewilderment.

  "We ought to tell mother," Martine's voice trembled, "but perhaps wemight as well wait another day; perhaps we can think of some one toadvise us, or perhaps some plan will come to us in the night."

  "Very well," responded Lucian, "but I can't stay here long and pretendto be cheerful; I'll get out to Cambridge as quickly as I can."

  "Lucian made a short stay," said Mrs. Stratford when Martine told herthat he had gone. "I agree with you that he is troubled about something.Perhaps he told you what it was."

  "Yes," said Martine, "he did give me an idea of it."

  Then Mrs. Stratford, knowing that it was not wise to interfere in theconfidences of brother and sister, to Martine's relief asked noquestions. The next day, however, the secret came out in part at least.Mrs. Stratford received a cable from Rio Janeiro. Its few words carriedvolumes of trouble. Mr. Stratford was ill, very ill; could some of hisfamily come to him at once? Mrs. Stratford recognized the name of theone who had sent the cable; he was a man with whom her husband had longhad business transactions. He would not have cabled unless her husband'scondition were really serious. The telephone soon brought Lucian to thehouse.

  "There is only one thing," said Lucian; "by taking the afternoon expressI can reach New York this evening, sail by a quick boat to-morrow forEngland, and go on as soon as possible to Rio Janeiro."

  "But we don't know anything about the sailings of the Brazilian boats."

  "No matter, mother, the sooner I reach England, the sooner I'll reachBrazil. I must go back to Cambridge now, throw a few things into asteamer trunk, and then, good-bye."

  "Oh, Lucian, what a help you are. At first I thought there was no onewho could go. I will go down town at once and get a draft for you andmeet you at the station; that will be better than stopping here on yourway from Cambridge."

  These hasty plans were carried out exactly.

  "Everything is so hurried," complained Martine, "that I haven't had timeyet to cry."

  "I have cabled to Rio Janeiro," said Mrs. Stratford, "to cable ourbankers in London, if--if--anything happens."

  "Oh, nothing will happen," said Lucian cheerfully, "nothing serious, Imean. Only I am sure that it is wise for me to go, for father will needme to help him come home. And now good-bye."

  So mother and daughter parted with Lucian, and after this one excitingday, things settled down into their accustomed round. Within a week ofLucian's sailing Mrs. Stratford heard by cable that her husband was noworse.

  "It does not say 'better'," she murmured.

  "But 'no worse' is better than nothing," said Martine.

  "When we consider how little Lucian was here with us, it is strange,"said Martine one day, "that we should miss him so. Poor boy, I am sorrythat I teased him so about his finals. I am sure that he would rather bein Cambridge working for dear life than tossing about on the ocean, notknowing what news he may hear at the end of his journey. But there's onething, he rose to the occasion, and I'm so thankful that he has reallygrown up."

  In spite of the anxiety of mother and daughter, each for the sake of theother tried to be cheerful. Martine, until the first of June, was fullyoccupied with school. Priscilla and her more in
timate friendssympathized deeply with her when they heard of her father's illness.Letters from others came to them gradually, and some of Mr. Stratford'sbusiness associates were frank with Mrs. Stratford when she asked theiropinion on her husband's affairs. One day she called Martine to her fora frank talk.

  "It is evident," she said, "that we must live at the very smallestpossible expense for the next few months. I am going to send the cookaway at the end of the present week; now that your school is ending, youwill not object to supplementing Angelina's work. Angelina seessomething dramatic in what she calls 'our fallen fortunes.' She isdelighted to be considered housemaid and cook combined. She tells methat I am not to lift my hand, but wear my prettiest dresses all thetime so that there'll be one lady in the house, while you and she aredoing the work."

  "Well, really," cried Martine, "it's a little too much for her to put meimmediately on her own level."

  "Oh, she doesn't mean it in that way; in fact, what she said wasintended only to make me comfortable. If I were a little stronger Iwould plan to stay in Boston all summer, but I've had a talk with thedoctor and he tells me that I need a complete change. We cannot affordany extravagance this summer, and only one plan suggests itself to me."

  "What is it, mamma?"

  "Simply this. A few years ago, when your father and I were at YorkHarbor, we fell in love with a little red farm-house that stood on aknoll commanding a view of the sea. We had no particular object inbuying it, the land belonging to it was limited, but I had an idea thatsometime perhaps we might build a house there. It is quite outside thefashionable section, yet not very far from the electric cars, and thehouse is in pretty good repair."

  "Does any one live there?"

  "Well, that is the curious part of it; the owner was an old woman and welet her stay on there, rent free, on condition that she should keep thelittle garden planted and let us know when any repairs were needed. LastSeptember she died and the house has been unoccupied this winter; itseems to me that this would be an ideal place for us this summer. Evenif I were able to stay in the city, I should not approve of your doingso. You need the out-door life to which you are accustomed. We couldtake enough of our small belongings with us to make the cottagecomfortable and homelike. Angelina would be quite equal to the work."

  "With my help," interrupted Martine gayly.

  "Yes, with your help; and I know you can be very helpful, Martine, whenyou wish. What do you think of my plan?"

  "I think it's perfectly splendid," replied Martine. "I've often heard ofYork Harbor. Peggy Pratt used to talk about it. I think her family has acottage there."

  "Of course," continued Mrs. Stratford, "you must remember that we shalllive very quietly there; for the present I feel that we have no incomecoming in. We must live on the little money that I have saved until weknow just where your father's business stands. Besides, until we knowthat he is really well, we are under a shadow. At any moment we may hearthe worst news, and that, if nothing else, would lead us to livequietly."

  "Of course, mamma, of course I understand this perfectly. I have no wishfor gayety; really I would rather live quietly. I am so glad that I gotonly one silk gown, instead of the three I intended. And, luckily, Ihaven't given away many of my last summer's clothes; so I shall be allfitted out without any expense."

  "There, there," cried Mrs. Stratford, "don't think too much abouteconomy--or clothes; we shall do very well, even as things are, if onlywe hear good news from South America."

  It was now June. Priscilla had gone home. Martine's other friends hadleft the city for the North Shore or the mountains. Some of Lucian'sfriends in Cambridge dropped in occasionally, and Amy and Mrs. Redmondwere as devoted as ever. Amy, however, was very busy with the manyduties and pleasures of a Wellesley Senior when Commencement is only afew weeks away. Of all the invitations that she showered on Martine forthe various festivities that Wellesley offers in June, Martine acceptedonly the one that took her to Wellesley Float Day.

  "As long as I live," she said afterwards, "I shall never forget thebeautiful twilight on the lake, the boats gliding about so mysteriouslyand gracefully, the music floating over the water, the lights thatbathed everything in glory; no, I never expect to see anything morebeautiful of its kind," she added mischievously, as a kind ofanti-climax, lest Amy, who was listening to her, should be too proud ofher college.

  But as the long June days wore away, Martine had little time foranything outside her home; she could not deny the fact that her motherwas growing paler and thinner. Mrs. Stratford, looking anxiously atMartine, saw a certain change in her daughter.

  "The sooner we get away, the better; Martine is worrying about herfather, and will not tell me. A change of air and scene will benefither. I wish that we had not undertaken to have the cottage painted. Thelast week in June seems too far away."

  In their trouble, Martine and her mother were not neglected by theirfriends. They had not many near relatives, yet invitations came to themfrom the cousins in New York, from other cousins in Chicago and evenfrom Mrs. Blair; but mother and daughter both preferred the independencethat they would find in their cottage at York to the formality ofvisiting even the best intentioned friends and relatives.

  "You may have visitors of your own part of the summer," said Mrs.Stratford. "We shall have at least one spare room in the cottage, andwhen things are running smoothly there'll be no reason why you shouldnot have Priscilla with you."

  "That reminds me," said Martine, "that I've never told you that Mrs.Tilworth and I have really made up. You know she was rather frigidtowards me for several weeks this spring; but after my return fromPlymouth she told Priscilla that she had changed her mind about me. Itseems that I made a great impression on Mr. Stacy during my holidays,and Mr. Stacy, it also seems, is the one person for whose opinion Mrs.Tilworth has an especial regard; consequently Mrs. Tilworth is inclinedto accept Mr. Stacy's estimate of me and for the present the war betweenus is at an end."

  "War between you! My dear child, I should be very sorry indeed had therebeen such a state of affairs; I think myself that you and Priscilla havealways been a little wrong in your opinion of Priscilla's aunt."