The Little Red Chimney: Being the Love Story of a Candy Man
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CHAPTER EIGHT
_In which the Miser's past history is touched upon; which shows howhis solitude is again invaded, and how he makes a new friend._
"There isn't any mystery about _him_, so far as I know," said theReporter, who was seated as usual upon the carriage block. The CandyWagon continued to act as a magnet for him, and in season and out hisgenial presence confronted the Candy Man.
If his emphasis upon the pronoun was noticed, it was ignored. Themystery was, the Candy Man replied, how with such a face he could be amiser.
"Oh, he's a bit nutty, of course. My grandmother says his money came tohim unexpectedly and the shock was too much for him. They say he has anotion he is holding it in trust. He is rational enough in every otherway, a shrewd investor, in fact. His uncle, General Waite, who left himthe money, was a connection of my grandmother's."
"The Miser is a cousin then?"
"Not on your tintype, my friend. Old Knight was a nephew of thegeneral's wife, you see."
"And there were no other heirs?" asked the Candy Man.
"There was an own nephew, I have heard, who mysteriously disappearedshortly before the general's death. I have heard my grandmother mentionit, but it was long before my day. Why are you interested?"
Even to himself the Candy Man could not quite explain his interest inthis sad and lonely man, except that, as he had told Miss Bentley intheir first and only conversation, he had a habit of getting interestedin people. For example, in the house where he roomed there was a youngcouple who just now engaged his sympathies. The husband, a teacher inthe Boys' High School, had been ill with typhoid, and the little wife'sanxious face haunted the Candy Man. The husband was recovering, but ofcourse the long illness had overtaxed their small resources, and--But,oh dear! weren't there hundreds of such cases? What was the good ofthinking about it! Yet suppose there were a Fairy Godmother Society?
The Candy Man was a foolish dreamer, and his favourite dream in thesedays was of some time sitting beside the Little Red Chimney hearth, anddiscussing the Fairy Godmother Society with Miss Bentley. These brightdreams, however, were interspersed by moments of extreme depression, inwhich he cursed the day upon which he had become a Candy Man; momentswhen the horrified surprise in the eyes of Miss Bentley as sherecognised him, rose up to torment him.
It was in one of these that the Reporter had presented himself thistime, and when he was gone the Candy Man returned to his gloom. Havingnothing else to do just then he opened the shabby book with the funnyname, and looked at the crimson flower. Through the stain of the flowerhe read:
_"If a person is fearful and abject, what else is necessary but to apply for permission to bury him as if he were dead."_
The book had come into his possession by a curious chance not longbefore, and he treasured it, not so much for its sturdy philosophy, asbecause it was in some sort a link to the shadowy past of his earlychildhood.
The adjectives "fearful" and "abject" brought him up short. What mannerof man was he to be so quickly overwhelmed by difficulties? As for beinga Candy Man, did he not owe to this despised position his good fortunein meeting Miss Bentley at all?
Somewhere about eight o'clock the next evening, being Sunday, he mighthave been seen strolling by the house of the Little Red Chimney. Thatparticular architectural feature had lost its identity in the shades ofevening, but he was indulging the characteristic desire of a lover togaze at his lady's window under the kindly cover of the night.
The blind was drawn within a few inches of the sill, but these inchesallowed him a glimpse of a blazing fire, and while he lingered a shadowflitted across the curtain in its direction, and then another, until inhis mind's eye he beheld Margaret Elizabeth and Uncle Bob seated besidethe hearth. For aught he knew, it might be Augustus McAllister makingan evening call, but the Candy Man was just then too determinedlyoptimistic to harbour such an idea.
THE MISER]
As he passed on he was occupied in trying to picture to himself herladyship sitting before her fire, but that familiar little grey hat,which was so entirely inappropriate, would persist, in spite of all hecould do, in getting into the picture. Only once, when curling plumestook its place, had he seen her without it, and though for an instant hewould succeed in removing it, presto! before he knew it, there it wasagain, jammed down anyhow on her bright hair.
With odds in favour of the hat, the struggle came to a sudden pause atsight of a tall figure leaning heavily and in evident pain against oneof the ornamental iron fences which prevailed along this street. At onceproffering his assistance, he recognised Mr. Knight, the Miser.
It was plain the sufferer would have preferred to decline help. It wouldsoon pass. It was nothing. He had had such attacks before. He spokebrokenly, adding, "I thank you," in a tone of dismissal.
The Candy Man showed himself to be, when occasion demanded, a masterfulperson. Without arguing the point, he supported the Miser with a firmarm and began to urge him in the direction of his home. Mr. Knight, halffainting as he was, submitted without a word until his door was reached;then, there being no response to his companion's vigorous ring, hemurmured something about the servants having gone, and began to fumblein his pocket.
The Candy Man, taking the latch key from his trembling fingers, openedthe door, and ignoring the evident expectation conveyed in his renewedthanks, continued to assert authority, supporting the invalid into hislibrary. "I shall not leave you alone until you are relieved," he said.
Again Mr. Knight submitted to his captor's will, and lying back in hisarm-chair directed him to the restorative that was prescribed for theseseizures. When it had been administered he lay quiet with closed eyes.
The Candy Man now turned his attention to the fire, which had burnedlow, coaxing it skilfully out of its sullen apathy. He was brushing uptidily, when Mr. Knight, to whose face the colour was returning, spoke.
"You are very kind," he said, adding as the Candy Man felt his pulse andnodded his satisfaction, "are you a physician?"
"No," was the smiling answer. "Merely something of a nurse. My fatherwas an invalid for some years."
The sick man said "Ah!" his eyes resting, perhaps a little wistfully,upon the vigorous young fellow before him. "Don't let me keep you," headded. "I am quite relieved, and my housekeeper will return very shortlyfrom church."
Instead of leaving him the Candy Man sat down. "I have nothing to dothis evening, Mr. Knight, and unless you turn me out forcibly I mean tostay with you till some member of your household comes in."
"I fear my strength is hardly equal to turning you out," the Miserreplied with a smile. "You are most kind." Then after a pause he addedapologetically: "Will you kindly tell me your name? Your face isfamiliar, but my memory is at fault."
"My name is Reynolds, Robert Reynolds, and I am at present conducting acandy wagon on the Y.M.C.A. corner. That is where you have seen me." Hehad no mind to sail under false colours again.
The sick man's "Indeed!" was spoken with careful courtesy, but hissurprise was plain enough.
The Candy Man leaned forward, an arm on his crossed knee; his eyes metthose of the older man frankly. "It is not my chosen profession," hesaid. "I happened to be free to follow any chance impulse, and theopportunity offered to help in this way a friend in need. It may havebeen foolish. I am alone in the world, and entirely unacquainted here.I should not care for the permanent job, but there's more in it thanyou would suppose. More enjoyment, I mean."
"I recall now you mentioned the Little Red Chimney," said Mr. Knight.
The Candy Man grew red. Why had he been so imprudent? The Miser's memorycertainly might be worse.
"And now I know why your face is so familiar," the invalid went on."I sat opposite to you in the car going to the park one Sunday morning.My physician prescribes fresh air. And later I saw you with thatbright-faced young girl, Miss Bentley. You were talking together in thepavilion near the river. You both seemed exceedingly merry. I enviedyou. I seemed to realise how old and lonely I am. I th
ink I envied youher friendship."
"Your impression is natural," answered the Candy Man, "but the truth isI do not know Miss Bentley. We met unexpectedly in the pavilion thatmorning. I did not at the time realise it, I was unpardonably dense,but she took me for some one else. On the occasion of the accident thatfoggy evening--you perhaps remember it--I overheard the name she gave tothe conductor. Well, it seems she had no idea she was talking to a CandyMan that morning in the park, and I should have known it."
The Miser leaned his head on a thin hand, and certainly there wasnothing sordid, nothing mean, in the eyes which looked so kindly at hiscompanion. It was not perhaps a strong face, nor yet quite a weak one;rather it indicated an over-sensitive, brooding nature. "You will notalways be a Candy Man," he said. "I have made Miss Bentley'sacquaintance recently. She is friendliness itself."
At this moment a grey slip of a woman, with a prayer-book in her hand,entered, and was presented as Mrs. Sampson, the housekeeper. The CandyMan rose to go, but Mr. Knight seemed now in no haste to release him.
"I should be glad to see you again, if some evening you have nothingbetter to do," he said. "You may perhaps be interested in some of mytreasures." He glanced about the room. "You say you too are alone inthe world?"
"Quite," the Candy Man answered. "Everyone I know has some relative, orat least an hereditary friend, but owing to the peculiar circumstancesof my life, I have none. I do not mean I am friendless, you understand.I have some school and college friends, good ones. It is in backgroundI am particularly lacking," he concluded.
"I have allowed my friends to slip away from me," confessed the Miser."It was the force of circumstances in my case, too, though I brought itupon myself. I have been justly misunderstood."
"'Justly misunderstood.'" The Candy Man repeated the words to himself ashe walked home in the frosty night. They were strange words, but he didnot believe them irrational.