by Various
MY FRIEND GEORGE RANDALL.
Since his own days at the university George Randall had always had afriend or two among the students who came after him. I remember how inmy Freshman year I used to see Tom Wayward going up the stairs in theAcademy of Music building to his office, and how I used to envy BillyWylde when I met him arm in arm with George on one of the campus malls.It was occasionally whispered about that Randall's influence on theseyoung men was not of the very best, and that he used to have anever-empty bottle of remarkably smooth whiskey in his closet, alongwith old letter-files and brief-books; and it is undoubtedly true thatPerry Tomson and I used to consider George's friends as models in themanner of smoking a pipe, or ordering whiskey-and-soda at Bertrand's togive us an appetite for our mutton-chops or our _bifteck auxpommes_, and in the delightful self-sufficiency with which in thepleasant spring days they would cut recitations and loll on the grasssmoking cigarettes right under the nose, almost, of the professor. Butthey are both married now, and settled down to respectable conventionalsuccess; and Billy Wylde, as I happen to know, has repaid the moneywhich George lent him wherewith to finish his education in Germany. Theestimable matrons of Lincoln who made so much ado over George's ruiningthese young men,--who had such bright intellects and might have beenexpected to do something but for that dreadfully well read lawyer'sawful influence,--these women do not consider it worth their while now,in the face of the facts as they have turned out, to remember theirpredictions, but confine themselves to making their dismal propheciesanew in regard to the three young fellows whom George has of late takenup. But then I remember how they went on about Perry Tomson and me inthe early part of our Junior year, when we began to enjoy the favor ofGeorge's friendship; and if their miserable croaking never does anygood, I fancy it will never work any very great harm: so one might aswell let them croak in peace. In fact, one would more easily dam thewaters of Niagara than stop them, and George, I know, doesn't care thecork of an empty beer-bottle what they say of him.
I have never tried to analyze the influence for good George had over us,or account for it in any way, nor do I care to. I have always consideredhis friendship for me as one of the pleasantest and most profitableexperiences of my life in Lincoln. Perry and I were always more closeand loving friends, and cared for George with a silent but abiding senseof gratitude in addition to the other sources of our affection for him,after he showed us the boyish foolishness of our quarrel about LucretiaKnowles. Of course I ought not to have grown angry at Perry'sgood-natured cynicism; for how could he have imagined that I cared forher? Though I sometimes think, even now, that Perry was indeed anxiouslest I should fall in love with her, and wanted to ridicule me out ofthe notion, and I fear, in spite of his acquaintance, that hedisapproves of our engagement. I wonder if he will ever get over hisprejudice against women. The dear old fellow! if he would only consentto know Lucretia better I am sure he would.
One night in the winter before we graduated, Perry and I went withGeorge to the Third House, which is a mock session of the legislaturethat the political wags of the State take advantage of to display theirwit and quickness at repartee and ability to make artistic fools ofthemselves. If it happens to be a year for the election of a senator, asit was in this case, the different candidates are in turn made fun ofand held up to ridicule or approval; and the chief issues of the timeare handled without gloves in a way that is always amusing and oftenworth while in showing the ridiculous nature of some of them. The ThirdHouse is usually held on some evening during the first or second week ofthe session, and is opened by the Speaker calling the house to orderwith a thundering racket of the gavel--"made from the wood of treesgrown on the prairies of the State"--and announcing the squattergovernor. Since the State was a territory, this announcement, after dueformalities, has been followed by the statement that, as the squattergovernor is somewhat illiterate, his message will be read by his privatesecretary. After this personage has read his score or more pages ofjokes, sarcastic allusions, and ridiculous recommendations, thediscussion of the message takes place, during which any one who thinksof a bright remark may get up and fire it at the gallery; and many verylame attempts pass for good wit, and much private spite goes forharmless fooling.
George got us seats in the gallery next to old Billy Gait, thebald-headed bachelor, who owns half a dozen houses which he rents forfifty dollars a month each, and who lives on six hundred a year,investing the surplus of his income every now and then in another house.William, as usual, had a pretty girl at his elbow, and we heard himtelling her how he could never get interested in George Eliot's novels,and how it beat him to know why he ever wrote such tedious books. Theyoung lady smiled over her fan at Randall, and said that she supposedMr. Eliot had a great deal of spare time on his hands, but of course hehad no business to employ it in writing tiresome novels.
George, who knew everybody, had a kindly greeting for all who werewithin its reach, even for the tired-looking little school-teacher, whohad come out with her landlady's fifteen-year-old son as an escort andin a little while had settled down to quiet enjoyment of the squattergovernor's message, approving with a quiet smile the grin thatoccasionally spread over Perry's good-humored face. As for me, I wasmade miserable from the start by seeing Lucretia Knowles in one of thebest seats on the floor, with a conceited fool of anewspaper-correspondent at her side, whispering nonsense in her ear atsuch a rate that she did nothing but laugh and turn her pretty head backto speak with Mamie Jennings, her _fidus Achates_, and never once casther eyes toward the gallery. She has said since that she knew I wasthere all the time, and that she didn't dare look at me, because I wassuch a frightful picture of jealousy, with my fingers in my hair and myelbow on the gallery railing, staring down on the floor as if I shouldlike to drop a bomb and annihilate the entire lot. It is all very wellto look back now and laugh and feel sorry for the curly-lockedjournalist, who is writing letters from Mexico and trying to get overthe disappointment which the knowledge of our engagement gave him, butit was very little fun for me at the time.
I turned away a dozen times, and swore inwardly that I wouldn't lookthat way again, and after each resolve I would find my eyes glancingfrom one person to another in Lu's vicinity, until finally they wouldrest again on her. When I had declared for the thirteenth time that Iwouldn't contemplate her heartless flirting, I noticed George bow tosome one who had just come in at the gallery door. A young man from oneof the western counties was making a satirical speech in favor of thewoman's suffrage amendment, misquoting Tennyson's "Princess" and makingthe gallery shake with laughter, at the time; but I noticed George'sface light up and his eyes sparkle with pleasure at the sight of thenew-comer. She was a beautiful lady, over thirty, I should say, with thesweetest face, for a sad one, I had ever seen. Of course, in a certainway I like Lucretia's style of beauty better; but Mrs. Herbert wasbeautiful in a way, so far as the women I have ever seen are concerned,peculiar to herself. She was rather slender, and had a calm, gracefulbearing that I somehow at once associated with purity and nobleness. Shewas quite simply dressed, and had on a small widow's bonnet, with theribbons tied under her chin, while a charming little girl, whose haircurled obstinately over her forehead, had hold of her hand.
I was somewhat surprised--I will not say disappointed exactly--to seeher lips break into a glad smile, though it made her face look all thelovelier and sweeter, in reply to George's greeting; and when she cametoward us, as he beckoned her to do, every one immediately and gladlymade room for her to pass. Perry and I gave our seats to Mrs. Herbertand her little girl; and I found myself speculating, as I leaned againstone of the pillars, on the difference of expression in the eyes of thetwo, which were otherwise so much alike,--the same deep shade of brown,the same soft look, the same lashes, and yet what a vast difference whenone thought of the combined effect of all these similar details. I spoketo Perry of it, and he good-naturedly poked fun at me, saying I wasforever trying to see a romance or a history in people's eyes.
"Well, I suppose
you will say she isn't even lovely," I exclaimed, withimpatience.
"I'm no judge," he replied, with exasperating carelessness; "but alittle too pale, I should say. I wish George hadn't introduced her tome."
"Why?"
"Oh, it made me feel cheap to have to back into old Billy Gait's bonylegs and try to bow and shake hands before everybody,--in the eyes ofthe assembled community, as Charley McWenn would say."
McWenn was the stupid block of a journalist,--for I do think him astupid block, in spite of his cleverness,--and I realized then that Ihad forgotten for a moment all about Lucretia. I could not see her frommy new position, so I amused myself by imagining how she was carryingon.
At last George and Mrs. Herbert rose up to go, and the former, as heasked our forgiveness for leaving us, told us to come to his office whenwe had enough of the Third House, and, if he wasn't there, to wait forhim. "We'll go over to Bertrand's and have some oysters," he said, withhis confidence-inspiring smile. I have always thought that if George hadnot had so pleasant a smile and such a soulful laugh we should neverhave been such friends.
We found him waiting for us at the foot of the Academy of Music stairs,with a cigar in his mouth and one for each of us in his hand, and weknew from experience that his case was filled with a reserve.
"It's a pleasant night, boys, isn't it?" he said, looking up at thestars (wonderfully bright they were in the clear, cold atmosphere) as wewent, crunching the snow under our feet, along the deserted streets tothe little back-entrance we knew of to Bertrand's.
"Yes," said Perry; "but you missed the best thing of the whole circus byleaving before Colonel Bouteille made his speech in favor of theprohibition amendment." And he gave a _resume_ of the colonel'slaughable sophistry for George's benefit,--and for mine as well, for Ihad paid no attention to the old toper's remarks.
We could see the glimmer of lights behind the shutters of the faro-roomover Sudden's saloon and hear the rattle of the ivory counters as wepassed.
"Do you ever go up there?" asked George, interrupting Perry.
"Why, yes; sometimes," we answered.
"Play a little now and then? I suppose?"
"We don't like to loaf around such a place," said Perry rather grandly,considering our circumstances, "without putting down a few dollars."
"That's all right," said George; "but once or twice is enough, boys.After you have seen what the thing is like, keep away from the tiger.She is a greedy beast, and always hungry; and of course you can't thinkof sitting down at a poker-table with the professional players."
Direct advice was rather a new strain for Randall, and we were notsurprised when he dropped it abruptly as we filed into a little privateroom at the restaurant.
"Yes, I fancy old Bouteille might have made a humorous speech," he said,after ordering the oysters. "Three?" he added, looking at me, "or four?"
"Quarts?" I asked in reply.
George nodded.
"Two, I should say."
"Oh, bother!" exclaimed Perry. "We should only have to trouble thewaiter again."
So George ordered four bottles of beer.
"It's after ten o'clock, sir," said the waiter doubtfully. It isneedless to say that he was a new one.
"That's the reason we came here," answered George, with a calm manner ofassumption that dissipated the waiter's doubts while it evidently filledhim with remorse. "Where's Auguste?"
"He's gone to bed, sir; but I guess 'twill be all right." And the waiterstarted to fetch the beer.
"I should think so," growled Perry.
"I suppose it is not good form to drink beer with oysters," I suggestedmildly.
"I don't know, I'm sure," said George.
"I suppose not," said Perry; "they go so well together. I hope it isn't,at any rate: I like to do things that are bad form."
So I relapsed into silence, and my speculations about George's outbreakagainst gambling, and Mrs. Herbert's beautiful face and sad eyes, andLucretia Knowles's wicked light-heartedness.
When we had finished eating and had opened the last bottle of beer, Iasked George, as he stopped his talk with Perry for a moment to relighthis cigar, who Mrs. Herbert was.
"She is the noblest and most unfortunate woman in the world," hereplied, "I will tell you her story some time, perhaps."
"Let us hear it now," I cried, looking at Perry with triumph.
"Yes, let us," said Perry, nothing to my surprise, for I knew his heartwas in the right place, if his ways were a little rough andunimpressionable-like. "We have no recitations, no lectures, noanything, to-morrow, and there is no one else in the restaurant but thewaiter, and he is asleep."
And, in fact, we could hear him snoring.
"No, I would rather not tell it here," George said simply; "but if youwill come with me to the office you shall hear it." And when we hadheard it we respected the feeling that had prompted him to consider eventhe walls of such a place as unfit listeners. To be sure, it was a verycomfortable restaurant, where the waiters were always attentive andskilful and the mutton-chops irreproachable, and many a pleasant eveninghad we three had there over our cigars and Milwaukee, and sometimes abottle or two of claret. But so had Tom Hagard, the faro-dealer, andFrank Sauter, who played poker over Sudden's, and Dick Bander, who gothis money from Madame Blank because he happened to be a swashingslugger, and many another Tom, Dick, and Harry whose reputations were,to say the least, questionable. Of course we never associated with suchcharacters, and plenty of estimable people besides ourselves frequentedBertrand's. The place was not in bad odor at all, but merely a littlemiscellaneous, and suited our plebeian fancies all the more on thataccount. If young fellows want to be really comfortable in life, wethought, and see a little at first hand just what sort of people make upthe world, they must not be too particular. So we used to sit down atthe next table to one where a gambler or a horse-jockey would perhaps beseated, or a man of worse fame, and order our humble repast with a quietconscience and a strengthened determination never to become one amongsuch people. We would even see the gay flutter of skirts sometimes, asthe waiter entered one of the private rooms with an armful of dishes,and hear the chatter and laughter of the wearers.
We did not wonder, therefore, at George's preference for his own office,whose four walls had never looked down upon anything but innocent youngfellows smoking and talking whatever harmless nonsense came into theirheads, or playing chess or penny-ante, or upon his own generous thoughtsand solitary contemplations, or hard work on some intricate lawsuit. Sowe aroused the sleeping waiter, and walked back to the Academy of Musicbuilding in silence.
"It is rather a long story," said George, when we had at last madeourselves comfortable, "and I have never told it before. I don't knowwhy I should tell it now, but somehow I want to. I felt this eveningafter I left the Capitol that I would, and I asked leave of Mrs. Herbertwhile we were walking to her home together. I knew she would let me: Iam the only friend, I suppose,--the only real friend, I mean, whom shetrusts and treats as an intimate friend,--that she has in the world. Iknow I am the only person who knows the whole story of her sad life.
"When I was in the university," he slowly continued, holding his cigarin the gas-jet and turning it over and over between his fingers, with anevident air of collating his reminiscences, "Phil Kendall and I weregreat friends. I don't know how we ever came to be so: it was natural, Isuppose, for us to like each other. I used to notice that he did notassociate much with the other fellows; and yet he was the best runnerand boxer in the class. He was the only fellow in the university whocould do the giant swing on the bar, and, though he had never takenlessons, it was next to impossible for any one but Wayland, thesub-professor in chemistry, to touch him with the foils. Somehow we weredrawn together, and before long were hardly ever apart. We used to getout our Horace together, he with the pony and text and I with thelexicon, for he was too impatient to hunt up the words. I believe youstudy differently now."
"We still have the pony," said Perry.
"
And we used to puzzle our heads together over Mechanics, for we didn'thave election as you do, and take long walks, and play chess, and get upspreads in our room for nobody but us two. Not such elaborate affairs asare called spreads now, but I warrant you they were fully as muchenjoyed. I fancy we were rather sentimental. We used to hold imaginaryconversations in the person of some favorite characters in fiction; butwe were very young and boyish."
Perry glanced at me sheepishly, but George went on without noticing:
"Phil's father lived here, and was proprietor of the only wholesalegrocery-store the town then boasted of. He had been captain of avolunteer company in the war, and, I fancy, had a romance too. At anyrate, his wife had been dead since Phil was a little fellow inknickerbockers; and not very long after her death a certain Mrs. Prestonhad sent a little girl, about a year older than Phil, with a dyingcharge to the captain to care for the friendless orphan for the sake oftheir early love. No one but Grace could ever get anything out of theold gentleman about her mother, and she never learned much. Mrs. Prestonhad been unhappy at least, and perhaps miserable, in her marriage. Wealways thought she had forsaken Mr. Kendall in their youth and made ahasty marriage; but never a word was uttered by him about Grace'sfather.
"I used to imagine Mr. Kendall cared more for his adopted daughter thanfor his son, from what I saw of them, and I was at the house a good dealwith Phil. I am sure they were very affectionate; and it was onlynatural that the melancholy old man--that is the way he always struckme--should have loved the daughter of the woman who had deserted him andthen turned toward him in her hour of supreme need. It showed that hertrust and belief in him and his goodness had never really left her. And,besides, Grace was always so airy and light-hearted,--nothing could puther out of humor,--so kind and gentle, and as lovely as a flower. She isa splendid-looking woman yet, but one can have no idea of what she wasin those days, from the sad-eyed Mrs. Herbert who smiles so rarely onany one but her little girl. Nannie is going to make much such a younglady as her mother was, but I don't believe she will ever be quite sobeautiful.
"Well, I was not long in discovering that Phil was in love with hisfather's adopted daughter. I was never quite sure whether he knew ithimself at the time or not, but I could see easily enough that shedidn't dream of such a thing, nor the old captain either. They were somuch like brother and sister it used to make me feel wofully sorry forPhil to see her throw her arms around his neck and kiss him for somelittle kindness or other that he was always doing her: the difference ofmood in which the caress would be given from that in which Phil wouldreceive it was somehow always painful to me. Phil would never offer tokiss her on his own account; and it is still a mystery to me why shenever discovered how he felt toward her until he became jealous. Thetenderness and gentle considerateness of his bearing were always somarked that to a less innocent and pure nature, I fancy, it would havebeen noticeable at once.
"When we were Juniors, Phil took her to a party one night, just afterEaster. The captain was a scrupulous Churchman, and Grace was always byhim in the pew. She had not been confirmed, however, and never said aword to Phil and me about our persistency in staying away from church,though the captain used to lecture Phil quite soberly about it. Thisparty was given at the house of one of the vestrymen, and they hadrefreshments, and, after the rector had gone home, dancing. They calledit a sociable, and took up a collection for the ladies' aid society justafter the cake and coffee and whipped cream had been served. There waswhere Grace first met George Herbert. He was a handsome young fellow,well educated, a graduate of some Eastern college, clever and talented,and his family in Rochester, New York, were considered very good people.He had come to Lincoln to take a place on the 'Gazette,' and every onethought him a young man of good parts and fair prospects.
"He made up to Grace from the start. They were laughing and talkingtogether all the evening on a little sofa, just large enough for two,that stood in the bow-window. There was a little crowd of young peoplearound the two most of the time, and she was saying bright things tothem all, but never, I noticed, at the expense of young Herbert, whomade most of his remarks so low that no one but Grace could hear them.She always smiled and often broke out into her musical laugh at what hesaid; and when Phil, who had been trapped into a game of whist with someold fogies, finally came back into the parlor and made his way to whereGrace was having such a happy time, she even launched a shaft or two ofher wit at him.
"I saw that the poor fellow was hurt: he turned away without answering,though, and, coming over to where I was, sat down and began looking atan album, trying hard all the time to hide his feelings. But in a momentGrace was hanging over his shoulder, oblivious of her surroundings, andlovingly begging his pardon if she had hurt him. I have sometimesthought that Phil then fully realized for the first time how he caredfor her. The way in which her affection disregarded the presence of thecrowd smote him, I imagine, with something like despair. I saw him turnpale and catch his breath, and I knew his laugh too well to be deceived,as Grace was, when he made light of her self-accusations and declaredthat than taking offence at her words nothing had been further from histhoughts. This was in a sense true, of course, for ordinarily he wouldhave answered as light-heartedly almost as Grace herself; and it wasonly the feeling of jealousy, unconscious perhaps, at any rateirresistible, that gave her words undue--no, not that exactly, butunusual influence over his feelings.
"For a while Phil acted as considerately as ever, and made himselfthoroughly agreeable to several young ladies, whereat Grace was highlypleased and soon took up again her mood of gayety. But when Phil broughther a plate and napkin and some things to eat, and found her and Herbertalready served and with mock gravity breaking a piece of cake togetheron the stairs,--'they were only doing it,' Phil declared to meafterward, 'that they might touch each other's hands,'--he lost hishead. He must have spoken very bitterly, else he would never havearoused Grace's anger. I don't know what he said, except that hecomplained about having come to such a thing as a church sociable, whichhe despised, and, inasmuch as he had done it for the sake of herenjoyment and pleasure, she might at least have shown him the samepoliteness she would have accorded to any of the insufferable prigs whomshe seemed delighted to honor.
"Herbert started to reply, but Grace silenced him by a look, and said,'We have been as brother and sister since childhood.' It was probablywell for Herbert's handsome face that he did not enter into a discussionwith Phil. They were both hot-tempered, and Phil had no scruples againstasking him out of doors, and would have been as cool in his manner andas terrible in his strength as an iceberg.
"Grace led Phil away, and tried to tell him how she had not supposed hewould care; that she had imagined he would prefer to serve the younglady with whom he had been talking; how she had never known him to putsuch store by trivialities before; how 'at least we,' Phil told me,bitterly quoting her words, 'at least we ought to be sure of eachother's hearts,' and did everything to pacify him. But he would listento nothing, and, coming to me, asked me to walk home with Grace, as hewas going away immediately. I imagined the trouble, and got him to admitthat he and Grace had said unkind words to each other. But he would saynothing more about the matter till I found him in my room after it wasall over, when he raved about Grace until near morning, and cursed thefate that had turned the bread of her kind affection for him into astone. 'How can I ever hope to win her love when she thinks that way ofme?' he would ask sorrowfully, after telling of some pure and lovingfreedom she had taken. I was full of pity for the miserable fellow, butI felt as if I ought to do all I could to discourage him. I was sure hewas right; he never could hope to, and I thought the sooner he learnedthis, and to submit to it, the better it would be for him.
"I persuaded him not to leave the party in the height of his resentment,though, and he was so quiet before the dancing that I began to hope hewould beg Grace's pardon and take her home repentantly and in peace. Buthe insisted on my going and offering to dance with her the first set inhis place. She ha
d already promised, she said, to dance it with Mr.Herbert, and it was in vain that I told her she must look upon me asacting for Phil, and advised her for his sake to excuse herself toHerbert and dance with either Phil or myself. 'If Phil should come andask me himself on his knees I would not do it,' she declared, withsuperb grandeur, 'He has acted wrong, and imputed to me the worstmotives for trivial things which I did unthinkingly even, and, heavenknows, without deliberate calculation.'
"I saw it was no use to talk with her, and that in her present mood evenentreaty, to which she was usually so yielding, would be of no avail. Ifelt very helpless and miserable about it, but I could do nothing. I sawthat Phil had made a grave mistake by accusing her of partiality forHerbert, and that her acquaintance with him might possibly be forcedinto a closer relation by Phil's jealousy. I kept away from him for awhile, and almost made Miss Scrawney think I had fallen in love withher, in order to keep Phil from getting a word with me. At last,however, just as the music began, he pulled my sleeve and asked in awhisper if I wasn't going to take Grace out and dance with her.
"'She was already engaged,' I answered.
"'To whom?' said Phil. 'But there is no need to ask.' And at the moment,indeed, almost as if in answer to his question, Grace entered the roomfrom the hall on Herbert's arm. I was afraid for an instant that Philwould make a scene. The veins on his forehead swelled, and he startedforward as they passed within a few feet of where we were standing,Grace smiling and talking to Herbert, apparently as oblivious of us asif we had not been within a thousand miles of her; but he mastered theimpulse, whatever it was, and I have often speculated as to whether itwas to upbraid Grace or to strike Herbert.
"'Look at her, George,' he said, with a calmness that was belied by thelook in his eyes. 'You wouldn't think that three hours ago she had neverknown him, would you? nor that we had lived in the same house since wewere no higher than that. Her mother, I know, did her best to break myold man's heart, and I warrant you it was for some such worthless foolas that, who wasn't fit to black the dear old fellow's boots. Poor olddad! we shall be together in the boat: when I begin to handle hams andbarrelled sugar we will write ourselves 'Kendall & Son' with aflourish.' And as we went up the stairs to get his coat and hat he toldme to stay and offer to go home with Grace. 'It wouldn't do for me toleave her unless you do, George,' he said; 'but if she wants to go withHerbert, let her; but she shall not say I went away and left her withoutan escort.'
"I promised readily enough, and even hurried him away. There was no goodin his staying; in fact, I thought it better that he should leave; andafter he had gone I went to Grace. I managed the matter rather badly,but I suppose the most consummate tact on my part would not have changedthings. I should have waited until I saw her alone, or until the partywas breaking up; but I went directly I saw they had stopped dancing. Shewas leaning on the piano and letting Herbert fan her, and looking almosttoo beautiful for real life as she turned her face toward him, flushedwith her exercise and beaming with excitement. There was something grandto me in the expression of individuality and proud insistence that hadcome to her so suddenly. It was no factitious strife of her natureagainst the dependence of her position as an adopted daughter, I knew,for she had never felt in the least but that she was perfectly free; itwas no caprice or stubbornness; it was merely her womanly assertion ofself and her unconscious protest against what she thought injustice. Shewould not have believed from any one but Phil himself that he was inlove with her and jealous.
"'Phil has gone away,' I said bluntly, interrupting their talk. Shelooked at me for a moment and raised her eyebrows slightly.
"'Has he?' was all she asked.
"'Yes: he was feeling badly,' I went on. 'He asked me to walk home withyou when you were ready to go. I thought I would tell you now, so youwould not be at a loss in case you should want to leave before the partybreaks up.'
"'You are very kind, I am sure, Mr. Kendall' (she usually called meGeorge), 'but I shall not want to go for ever so long yet. It wasneedless for Phil to trouble you; he knew I should get home allright,--but it was like him. I am awfully sorry to keep you waiting: Iknow you are anxious to get back to your pipe and books.'
"Here Herbert said something with the appearance of speaking to us both;but she only could hear what it was. I, however, imagined readilyenough.
"'Will you?' she answered him, in a pleased tone, and I fancied hersmile was grateful. 'Mr. Herbert is going to stay and dance a whilelonger,' she went on, turning to me, 'and if he takes me home it willnot seem as if I were troubling any one too much, and--'
"'Very well, Miss Preston,' I interrupted, making my best bow; 'as youlike.' And when I saw the smile on Herbert's face I didn't wonder muchat the way Phil had felt. 'Let me bid you good-night,' I said, bowingagain, and started off.
"Grace followed me rapidly into the hall. 'Now, please don't you beangry too, George,' she said, laying her hand on my arm.
"'I am not angry,' I said.
"'Do you think it right, George,' she asked earnestly,--and there was apleading look in her eyes,--'or manly to desert one's friends introuble?'
"'I am doing the best I know how,' said I, 'to be true to my friend.'
"'Oh, George, I am so sorry!' Her voice trembled, and all herqueenliness had gone. 'You must not go off this way. You don't blame meas Phil does, do you? Wait, I will get my things, and you shall walkhome with me now. I will see Phil and tell him--'
"'He has gone to my room,' I said.
"'Well, I will wait till you bring him home. You must tell him I forgivehim,--or no, tell him I am sorry and ask his forgiveness. Oh, George, wecannot be this way. Only think how sad it would make his father--and--'There were tears on her lashes, and her lips were trembling piteously.She put her hand to her throat and could not go on. God forgive me if Iwas wrong,--and I know I was,--but I couldn't help it then,--I asked,almost with a sneer, if she didn't dislike to slight her estimablefriend Mr. Herbert's kindness; and she turned away without a word, as ifregretting, from my unworthiness, the emotion she had shown.
"I was in very nearly as bad a state as Phil for a while. I told himjust how I had acted, and he was rather pleased than otherwise at mycruelty. We tried hard to make ourselves believe that Grace had deservedit, and to a certain extent succeeded.
"'She probably thought it was too high a price,' said Phil, 'when shesaw both of us going off offended, and she concluded not to give it.But, then, it was just like her,' he added, in a kindlier spirit thanthe natural interpretation of his words seemed to indicate.
"It was a month before either of us went to the house. The old captainthought at first that we were going to the dogs, and, I think, kept up akind of watch over our movements. He came in one morning, after he hadconcluded his suspicions were wrong, and made a sort of expiatory call.He tried to tell us how he had judged us too harshly, but couldn't quitebring himself to it, and, after a good many half-uttered remarks thatdid honor to the old gentleman's heart, if they didn't prove him a coolhand in such matters, he left us with an unspoken blessing and somehomely, sound advice to do as we liked, so long as we were manly andhonest.
"Within a week he was stricken with apoplexy on receiving news of someserious losses, and was taken home without speaking. He died the nextmorning just at sunrise, and Grace and Phil mingled their tears at hisbedside. He tried in vain to speak to them, and the pleased light in hiseyes as they took each other's hands and laid them, joined together, inhis, was the only sign he gave of having known there had been adifference between them.
"Poor Grace! she was very miserable and lonely after that. Phil couldnever bear to be with her after he had spoken. Her true kindness andgentle, loving pity were misery to him. He made a noble effort to stayby and watch over her, but he was hardly fit to take care of himself.She never knew how small a share of what little was left of his father'smoney he took with him to the mountains, but she realized why he wentwithout waiting for his degree, and sadly approved his resolution. Shealways kept the growing atta
chment between her and Herbert from gratingon Phil as much as was in her power, but he could not help seeing it.Though he never said anything even to me, it was plain that he had apoor opinion of the young journalist; and Grace was very thankful to himfor all he did and suffered.
"She must have felt very much alone in the world after Phil left, andthe house certainly seemed empty and sad when I used to go there to seeher. There was no one but Grace and the housekeeper and an oldgentleman, a clerk in one of the State departments, to whom she hadrented rooms, partly for the money and partly to have a man in thehouse. Herbert was with her whenever his work would permit, and therewas some talk about their intimacy among people who, even if they hadknown her, were too base to have appreciated the fineness and truth andpurity of Grace's nature.
"I couldn't blame her for marrying Herbert,--which she did the fallafter I graduated. They certainly were very much in love, and Herberthad borne himself creditably in every way. No one could have foreseenthat he would turn out so badly; and for a year or more after theirmarriage they were as happy as birds in May. Grace was neverlight-hearted, as when I first knew her,--no woman of worth andtenderness would have been,--but still she was happily and sweetlycontented, completely bound up in her husband, thinking almost ofnothing but him, and caring for nothing but his love.
"When I came back from the law-school, I went to see them as soon as Iwas settled. They had sold the house, and were living in a rentedcottage out in East Lincoln. Nannie, their baby, was quite if not morethan a year old then; and, though I had known that Grace would be a fondmother, I was unprepared to see the way in which she seemed absolutelyto worship the child. I immediately asked myself if it meant that shewas not so happy with Herbert as she had been. I met him at tea, towhich Grace insisted on my staying. His dress was as neat and ascarefully arranged as ever, and he was cordial enough toward me; but hedid not kiss Grace when he came in, and hardly looked at the baby. Helaughed a good deal, and told several amusing incidents of his newspaperexperience. I noticed that his old habit of looking at one's chin orcravat instead of at one's eyes when he spoke to one had grown upon him.He excused himself soon after tea on the ground of having to be at theoffice, and went away smoking a cigarette.
"Grace complained of the way in which his work kept him up nights. Hewas never home until after midnight, she said, and sometimes not beforemorning. She was afraid it was telling upon his health. 'You must comeand see me often. George.' she said, as she gave me her hand at parting.'I see very little of my husband now, and, if it were not for Nannie, Ifeel as if I should be almost unhappy. Then he would have to do someother work, though he likes journalism so well.' That was the nearestshe ever came to complaining to me, though I soon knew that she hadplenty of cause. She was not entirely deceived by Herbert's assertionsand excuses. I learned before long, for I made a point of finding out,that he was never obliged to be at the office after nine o'clock, thathe gambled and drank, and was looked on with unpleasant suspicions byhis employers, so that he might at any time find himself without aposition. He owned no property, and Grace's little patrimony haddisappeared, even to the money they had received for the house, withoutleaving the slightest trace. Herbert's ill reputation was commonproperty in the town, and he and Grace went nowhere together. She hadeven given up going to church, that she might be with him for a fewhours on Sundays; and now and then if he took her for a walk and pushedthe baby-carriage through the Capitol-grounds for an hour, she caredmore for it than for a whole stack of Mr. Gittner's sermons. She had nofriends at all, and but few acquaintances, and altogether had much tobear up under. Right nobly she did it, too; never a word of complaint toany one: I believe not even to herself would she admit that she wastreated basely.
"They kept on in this way for a year after I opened my office. I heardfrom Phil now and then,--brief notes that he was alive and well,--and onthe 11th of June, the date of the old captain's death, Grace alwaysreceived a long letter from him, full of references to their childhood,but telling little of himself. Herbert's reputation became worse andworse, and he deserved all the evil that was said of him. The tradesmenrefused him credit, and the carpets and furniture of their littlecottage grew old and thread-bare and were not replaced. I have seen himplay pool at Sudden's for half a day at a dollar a game, and perhapslose his week's wages. He was hand in glove with the set that lurkedabout the 'club-room' over the saloon, and almost any night could beseen at the faro-table fingering his chips and checking off the cards onhis tally-sheet. Nobody but strangers would sit down to a game of pokeror casino with him: he had grown much too skilful. He was what theycalled a 'very smooth player:' though I never heard of his being openlyaccused of cheating.
"One of my first cases of consequence was to recover some money whichhad been paid to some sharpers by an innocent young fellow from the Eastfor a worthless mine in Colorado. In connection with it I went toDenver. Charlie Wayland, a brother of the chemistry professor, happenedto be on the same train. He owns the planing-mill down on Sixth Streetnow, you know; but he was a wild young fellow then, and knew everythingthat was going on. He intended to have a time, he said, while he was inDenver; that was what he was going for. He went with me to the St.James, where I had written Phil to meet me, if he could come down fromBoulder.
"Young Wayland had his time in the city, and I had finished my businessand was going to start back and leave him to enjoy by himself his tripto Pike's Peak and the other sights of the State, considerablydisappointed at not having seen Phil, when he came in on us as I waspacking my grip-sack. He was rough and hardy as a bear, and had grown atremendous black beard: his heavy hand closed over mine till my knucklescracked. We were glad enough to see each other, and had plenty to talkabout. Of course I stayed over another day, and Wayland put off his tripto Pike's Peak to keep us company, though we didn't care so much for hispresence as he seemed to think we did. But he gave us a little dinner atCharpiot's, and I forgave his talkativeness for the sake of thechampagne, until he became excited by drinking too much of it and beganto talk about George Herbert. He was stating his system of morality,which was, in effect,--and Charlie had acted up to it pretty well,--thata fellow should go it when he was young, but when he was married heought to settle down.
"'Now, I can't stand a fellow like that Herbert,' he said; and for allmy kicks under the table he went on, 'It may be well enough for theFrench, but I say in this country it's a devilish shame. He is a youngfellow in Lincoln, Mr. Kendall,--got a splendid wife, and a little baby,one of the nicest women in the world, and thinks the world of him, andhe goes it with the boys as if he was one of 'em. He never goes home,though, unless he is sober enough to keep himself straight; but I'veseen him bowling full many a time. Wine, women, and song, you know, andall that; it may be well enough for us young bloods, but in a fellow ofhis circumstances I say it's wrong, damn it! and he oughtn't to do it.'
"Now, I had told Phil that Grace was well and fairly happy. I hadthought it but just to sink my opinion and give Grace's own account ofherself and deliver her simple message without comment. 'Give Phil mylove,' she had said as I left her the night before I came away.
"'And how does this Herbert's wife take all this?' asked Phil ofWayland.
"'Oh, she doesn't know all, I suppose. If she did, it would probablykill her. My brother's wife says that if it were not for her child shedoesn't believe Mrs. Herbert would live very long, as it is.'
"'Her trouble is common talk, then?' observed Phil, sipping his wine andavoiding my eyes.
"'Why, yes, to a certain extent; though she doesn't parade it, by anymeans. In fact, she lives very much alone; no one ever sees her, hardly,but George here, who is an old friend, you know. Maybe you used to knowher,' he added suddenly, coming to himself a little. 'Well, if you did,'he went on, as Phil did not answer, 'you wouldn't know her now, theysay, for the lively, careless girl she was five or six years ago.' Andthen he began to talk about the condition of the Chinese in Denver, andhow he had that morning seen one of them kicked off the s
idewalk withouthaving given the least provocation.
"Phil said nothing further about the Herberts all evening, but justbefore we separated for the night he asked me if I could let him havesome money. I unsuspectingly thanked my stars that I could, and told himso.
"'Well, then,' he declared, 'I am going back to Lincoln with youto-morrow.' And, in spite of all I could say, he did. He had his beardshaved off, bought himself some civilized clothes, and made hisappearance with me on the streets of Lincoln as naturally as if he hadgone away but the day before. His life in the mountains had given him anair of decision, a certain quiet energy and determination whichimpressed one immediately with the sense of his being a man of strongcharacter, with a powerful will under perfect control. I grew to have somuch confidence in him that I thought his coming would somehow be abenefit to Grace, though I could not see how; in fact, when I tried toreason about it, I told myself exactly the contrary. But Phil seemed tohave such implicit confidence in himself, to be so self-sufficient andso ready for any emergency, and altogether such a perfect man of action,that he inspired belief and confidence in others.
"We met Herbert on our way up from the station: he was standing in frontof the 'Gazette' office, laughing and talking with Sudden's barkeeper.He greeted Phil with cordiality, in spite of the latter's distantbearing, and told him Grace would be greatly pleased at his arrival.
"'I suppose she will be glad to see me,' said Phil, as we passed on. Andshe was glad, very glad, to see him, but she was far from being madehappy by his coming. I sent a note out to her, and Phil and I followedshortly after. I did not watch their meeting,--I thought, somehow, thatno one ought to see it,--but I knew he took her in his arms; and whenshe came out on the porch to bring me in there were tears in her eyes.
"We all sat and talked for a long while, Grace with her hand in Phil'sand her eyes on his face, when she was not looking anxiously after myawkward attempts at caring for her baby; for of course Nannie had beenbrought out almost the first thing. I think, from the way in which shecarefully avoided asking him his reasons for coming back, that shedivined what they were. I imagined that she blamed me as being the primecause; but there was nothing I could say to undeceive her. In fact, Ithought it better for her to believe so than to know the truth.
"'She is miserably unhappy, George,' said Phil gloomily, as we walkedaway. 'But you were right not to tell me. I can do nothing to help her:I cannot even openly sympathize with her. It would have been better tohave kept on thinking she was happy: there was a bitter kind ofsatisfaction to me in that, but still it was a satisfaction.'
"Nevertheless Phil did not go back to the mountains. He stayed on herefor a month or more, dividing his time pretty equally between my officeand Grace's little parlor. He very seldom met Herbert. Now and then theywould be together at the cottage for half an hour, if Herbert happenedto come home while he was there, and when they met on the street theywould merely pass the time of day.
"One evening before going to supper I waited until after seven o'clockfor Phil to come in, and just as I had given him up, and was startingaway alone, he entered the office, looking pale as a ghost, andevidently in great distress of spirit.
"'For God's sake, Phil, what is the matter?' I exclaimed, as he sankupon the sofa and covered his face with his hands.
"'Go away, George: go away and leave me,' was all he said; then he gotup and began walking violently up and down the room. At last he camenear me and put his hand on my shoulder. 'I've killed her, George, I amafraid; At least I have killed him right before her eyes, and she maynever get over it. I didn't mean to, George, you know that; but he camehome drunk, and I had gone to bid Grace good-by,--for I had made up mymind, George, to leave to-morrow,--and he came in. We had been talkingof father, and Grace was very sad and wretched, and there were tears inher eyes when she kissed me, just as he came in and saw us. She wasfrightened at his brutality, and clung to me in terror, when he beganswearing in a torrent of passion and calling her the vilest of names. Hestruck at us with his cane. If he had struck me he might yet have beenalive; but when I saw the great red welt on Grace's neck and heard hercry out, I was wild, George. For an instant, I believe, I could havestamped him into bits, and if it had been my last act on earth I couldnot have helped striking him.'
"While he spoke, Phil stood with his hand on my shoulder, looking intomy eyes, as if he wanted me to judge him, as if he would read in my verylook whether I blamed him or not. I took his hand.
"'I thought you would understand,' he went on. 'I did not know I wasgoing to kill him, but I think I tried to: I struck him with all mymight, Grace threw herself between us and begged me not to hurt himafter he had fallen down, and took hold of my arm as if to hold me. Butwhen she saw the blood running from his temple, where he had struck iton the window-sill, and how still and motionless he lay, she tried to goto him, but could not for weakness and fainting. I carried her into Mrs.Stanley's, and have not seen her since, but the doctor says she is veryill. Herbert was dead when they went into the room after I told themwhat had happened; and I suppose I had better give myself up to thelaw.'
"You can have no idea how I felt to see my dearest friend in such aposition. And poor Grace!--it was much worse for her. I thought withPhil that she might never survive the shock and misery of it all. Butshe did, and came out, weak and broken down as she was, to give hertestimony at Phil's trial. We had no trouble in getting a jury to acquithim, and he went back to Colorado without bidding Grace good-by,although she would have seen him and was even anxious to do so. Somepersons here, mostly women, pretended to think that there had been morecause for Herbert's jealousy than was generally supposed; but theybelonged to the sanctimonious, hypocritical custom-worshippers. Allreally good people remembered what Herbert had been, and refused to seein him a martyr or even a wronged man.
"After that Grace supported herself by dress-making and teaching music;and some two years ago, when we heard that Phil had been killed by amine's caving in, and that he had left a little fortune to her andNannie, I, as his executor and her friend, induced her to take and useit,--which she did, with simplicity and thankfulness and with her heartfull of pity and love for poor Phil. Yes, poor Phil! those five or sixyears must have been full of misery to him, and he was probably thankfulwhen the end came. We never heard from him until after his death. Therewas a letter that came to me with the will, that had been written longbefore. None but they two know what was in it; and I, for one, do notwant to inquire."
George sat for a long while in silence, looking at the glowing coals inthe huge reservoir stove. Neither Perry nor I cared to interrupt hisrevery. At last he roused himself.
"Well, boys," he said, "it is late: I think we had better go. It is allover now, and life has gone on calmly for years. Other people haveforgotten that there ever were such persons as Phil or Herbert."
When Perry and I reached our room we found it was almost three o'clock.George had walked with us to the door, and very little had been saidbetween us. I took a cigarette and lay down on the bed. "Perry," I said,as he was lighting the gas.
"Sur to you," he answered, in a way he had of imitating a certainbarkeeper of our acquaintance.
"What do you think of George?"
"You know what I think of him as well as I do."
"Yes; but I mean in connection with this that he has told us."
"I think he acted just like himself all the way through."
"Don't you think he has been in love with Mrs. Herbert from the first?"
"Am I in the habit of imagining such nonsense?"
"You may think it nonsense," I answered, with the quiet fervor ofconviction, "but I am sure it is nothing but the real state of thecase."
"Bosh!" exclaimed Perry, throwing his boots into a corner; and therewiththe discussion closed.
About a week ago I had a letter from him, though, in which he recalledthis circumstance and acknowledged that I had been in the right. "Theyare going to be married in the fall," he wrote. "I hope they may behappy,
and I suppose they will be; but I don't think Mrs. Herbert oughtto marry him unless she loves him; and I am fearful that she only thinksto reward long years of faithful affection. George deserves more thanthat." This was a good deal for Perry to manage to say. He usually keepsas far away from such subjects as he well can,--which is partly thereason, I think, that his opinion thereon is not greatly to be trusted.As for me, I am sure George's wife will love him as much as hedeserves,--though this is almost an infinite amount,--and that she hasnot been far from loving him from the beginning. I have bought a pair ofvases to send them; and I expect that Miss Lucretia Knowles will say,when she learns how much they cost, that I was very extravagant. Notthat Lu is close or stingy at all; but she has promised to wait until Ihave made a start in life, and is naturally impatient for me to get onas rapidly as possible.
FRANK PARKE.
