by Myrtle Reed
III
The First Caller
As Mr. Blake had heard, there was "one hull room mighty nigh plum full o'nothin' but books"; a grievous waste, indeed, when one already "had abook." It was the front room, opposite the parlour, and every door andwindow in it could be securely bolted from the inside. If any one desiredunbroken privacy, it could be had in the library as nowhere else in thehouse.
The book-shelves were made of rough pine, unplaned, unpainted, and werescarcely a seemly setting for the treasure they bore. But in looking atthe books, one perceived that their owner had been one who passed by thebody in his eager search for the soul.
Here were no fine editions, no luxurious, costly volumes in full levant.Illuminated pages, rubricated headings, and fine illustrations wereconspicuous by their absence. For the most part, the books were simply butserviceably bound in plain cloth covers. Many a paper-covered book hadbeen bound by its purchaser in pasteboard, flimsy enough in quality, yetfurther strengthened by cloth at the back. Cheap, pirated editions were somany that Harlan wondered whether his uncle had not been wholly withoutconscience in the matter of book-buying.
Shelf after shelf stretched across the long wall, with its company of muteconsolers whose master was no more. The fine flowering of the centuries,like a single precious drop of imperishable perfume, was hidden in thisrude casket. The minds and hearts of the great, laid pitilessly bare, werehere in this one room, shielded merely by pasteboard and cloth.
Far up in the mountains, amid snow-clad steeps and rock-bound fastnesses,one finds, perchance, a shell. It is so small a thing that it can be heldin the hollow of the hand; so frail that a slight pressure of the fingerwill crush it to atoms, yet, held to the ear, it brings the surge andsweep of that vast, primeval ocean which, in the inconceivably remotepast, covered the peak. And so, to the eye of the mind, the small brownbook, with its hundred printed pages, brings back the whole story of theworld.
A thin, piping voice, to which its fellows have paid no heed, after a timebecomes silent, and, ceaselessly marching, the years pass on by. Yet thattrembling old hand, quietly laid at last upon the turbulent heart, in thesolitude of a garret has guided a pen, and the manuscript is left. Ragged,worn, blotted, spotted with candle drippings and endlessly interlined, whyshould these few sheets of paper be saved?
Because, as it happens, the only record of the period is there--a recordso significant that fifty years can be reconstructed, as an entirelanguage was brought to light by a triple inscription upon a single stone.Thrown like the shell upon Time's ever-receding shore, it is,nevertheless, the means by which unborn thousands shall commune with himwho wrote in his garret, see his whole life mirrored in his book, know hisphilosophy, and take home his truth. For by way of the printed page comesImmortality.
There was no book in the library which had not been read many times. Somewere falling apart, and others had been carefully sewn together andawkwardly rebound. Still open, on a rickety table in the corner, was thatponderous volume with an extremely limited circulation: _The Publishers'Trade List Annual_. Pencilled crosses here and there indicated books to bepurchased, or at least sent on approval, to "customers known to theHouse."
"Some day," said Dorothy, "when it's raining and we can't go out, we'lltake down all these books, arrange them in something like order, andcatalogue them."
"How optimistic you are!" remarked Harlan. "Do you think it could be donein one day?"
"Oh, well," returned Dorothy; "you know what I mean."
Harlan paced restlessly back and forth, pausing now and then to look outof the window, where nothing much was to be seen except the orchard, at alittle distance from the house, and Claudius Tiberius, sunning himselfpleasantly upon the porch. Four weeks had been a pleasant vacation, buttwo weeks of comparative idleness, added to it, were too much for anactive mind and body to endure. Three or four times he had tried to beginthe book that was to bring fame and fortune, and as many times had failed.Hitherto Harlan's work had not been obliged to wait for inspiration, andit was not so easy as it had seemed the day he bade his managing editorfarewell.
"Somebody is coming," announced Dorothy, from the window.
"Nonsense! Nobody ever comes here."
"A precedent is about to be established, then. I feel it in my bones thatwe're going to have company."
"Let's see." Harlan went to the window and looked over her shoulder. Alittle man in a huge silk hat was toiling up the hill, aided by a cane. Hewas bent and old, yet he moved with a certain briskness, and, as Dorothyhad said, he was inevitably coming.
"Who in thunder--" began Harlan.
"Our first company," interrupted Dorothy, with her hand over his mouth."The very first person who has called on us since we were married!"
"Except Claudius Tiberius," amended Harlan. "Isn't a cat anybody?"
"Claudius is. I beg his imperial pardon for forgetting him."
The rusty bell-wire creaked, then a timid ring came from the rear depthsof the house. "You let him in," said Dorothy, "and I'll go and fix myhair."
"Am I right," queried the old gentleman, when Harlan opened the door, "inpresuming that I am so fortunate as to address Mr. James Harlan Carr?"
"My name is Carr," answered Harlan, politely. "Will you come in?"
"Thank you," answered the visitor, in high staccato, oblivious of the factthat Claudius Tiberius had scooted in between his feet; "it will be mypleasure to claim your hospitality for a few brief moments.
"I had hoped," he went on, as Harlan ushered him into the parlour, "to beable to make your acquaintance before this, but my multitudinousduties----"
He fumbled in his pocket and produced a card, cut somewhat irregularlyfrom a sheet of white cardboard, and bearing in tremulous autographicscript: "Jeremiah Bradford, Counsellor at Law."
"Oh," said Harlan, "it was you who wrote me the letter. I should havehunted you up when I first came, shouldn't I?"
"Not at all," returned Mr. Bradford. "It is I who have been remiss. It isetiquette that the old residents should call first upon the newcomers.Many and varied duties in connection with the practice of my professionhave hitherto--" His eyes sought the portrait over the mantel. "A mostexcellent likeness of your worthy uncle," he continued, irrelevantly, "agentleman with whom, as I understand, you never had the pleasure andprivilege of becoming acquainted."
"I never met Uncle Ebeneezer," rejoined Harlan, "but mother told me agreat deal about him and we had one or two pictures--daguerreotypes, Ibelieve they were."
"Undoubtedly, my dear sir. This portrait was painted from his very lastdaguerreotype by an artist of renown. It is a wonderful likeness. He wasmy Colonel--I served under him in the war. It was my desire to possess aportrait of him in uniform, but he would never consent, and would notallow anyone save myself to address him as Colonel. An eccentric, but veryestimable gentleman."
"I cannot understand," said Harlan, "why he should have left the house tome. I had never even seen him."
"Perhaps," smiled Mr. Bradford, enigmatically, "that was his reason, orrather, perhaps I should say, if you had known your uncle more intimatelyand had visited him here, or, if he had had the privilege of knowingyou--quite often, as you know, a personal acquaintance provesdisappointing, though, of course, in this case----"
The old gentleman was floundering helplessly when Harlan rescued him. "Iwant you to meet my wife, Mr. Bradford. If you will excuse me, I will callher."
Left to himself, the visitor slipped back and forth uneasily upon hishaircloth chair, and took occasion to observe Claudius Tiberius, who satnear by and regarded the guest unblinkingly. Hearing approachingfootsteps, he took out his worn silk handkerchief, unfolded it, and wipedthe cold perspiration from his legal brow. In his heart of hearts, hewished he had not come, but Dorothy's kindly greeting at once relieved himof all embarrassment.
"We have been wondering," she said, brightly, "who would be the first tocall upon us, and you have come at exactly the right time. New residentsare always given two weeks,
are they not, in which to get settled?"
"Quite so, my dear madam, quite so, and I trust that you are by this timefully accustomed to your changed environment. Judson Centre, whilepossessing few metropolitan advantages, has distinct and peculiarrecommendations of an individual character which endear the locality tothose residing therein."
"I think I shall like it here," said Dorothy. "At least I shall try to."
"A very commendable spirit," rejoined the old gentleman, warmly, "andrather remarkable in one so young."
Mrs. Carr graciously acknowledged the compliment, and the guest flushedwith pleasure. To perception less fine, there would have been food forunseemly mirth in his attire. Never in all her life before had Dorothyseen rough cow-hide boots, and grey striped trousers worn with a rusty andmoth-eaten dress-coat in the middle of the afternoon. An immaculateexpanse of shirt-front and a general air of extreme cleanliness went fartoward redeeming the unfamiliar costume. The silk hat, with a bell-shapedcrown and wide, rolling brim, belonged to a much earlier period, and hadbeen brushed to look like new. Even Harlan noted that the ravelled edgesof his linen had been carefully trimmed and the worn binding of the hatbrim inked wherever necessary.
His wrinkled old face was kindly, though somewhat sad. His weak blue eyeswere sheltered by an enormous pair of spectacles, which he took off andwiped continually. He was smooth-shaven and his scanty hair was as whiteas the driven snow. Now, as he sat in Uncle Ebeneezer's parlour, he seemedutterly friendless and forlorn--a complete failure of that pitiful typewhich never for a moment guesses that it has failed.
"It will be my delight," the old man was saying, his hollow cheeks faintlyflushed, "to see that the elite of Judson Centre pay proper respect to youat an early date. If I were not most unfortunately a single gentleman, mywife would do herself the honour of calling upon you immediately and oftendering you some sort of hospitality approximately commensurate withyour worth. As it is----"
"As it is," said Harlan, taking up the wandering thread of the discourse,"that particular pleasure must be on our side. We both hope that you willcome often, and informally."
"It would be a solace to me," rejoined the old gentleman, tremulously, "tofind the niece and nephew of my departed friend both congenial andcompanionable. He was my Colonel--I served under him in the war--and untilthe last, he allowed me to address him as Colonel--a privilege accorded tono one else. He very seldom left his own estate, but at his request Ioften spent an evening or a Sunday afternoon in his society, and after hisuntimely death, I feel the loss of his companionship very keenly. He wasmy Colonel--I----"
"I should imagine so," said Harlan, kindly, "though, as I have told you, Inever knew him at all."
"A much-misunderstood gentleman," continued Mr. Bradford, carefully wipinghis spectacles. "My grief is too recent, at present, to enable me todiscourse freely of his many virtues, but at some future time I shall hopeto make you acquainted with your benefactor. He was my Colonel, and inserving under him in the war, I had an unusual opportunity to know him ashe really was. May I ask, without intruding upon your private affairs,whether or not it is your intention to reside here permanently?"
"We have not made up our minds," responded Harlan. "We shall stay herethis Summer, anyway, as I have some work to do which can be done only in aquiet place."
"Quiet!" muttered the old gentleman, "quiet place! If I might venture tosuggest, I should think you would find any other season more agreeable forprolonged mental effort. In Summer there are distractions----"
"Yes," put in Dorothy, "in Summer, one wants to be outdoors, and I amgoing to keep chickens and a cow, but my husband hopes to have his bookfinished by September."
"His book!" repeated Mr. Bradford, in genuine astonishment. "Am I actuallyaddressing an author?"
He beamed upon Harlan in a way which that modest youth found positivelydisconcerting.
"A would-be author only," laughed Harlan, the colour mounting to histemples. "I've done newspaper work heretofore, and now I'm going to trysomething else."
"My dear sir," said Mr. Bradford, rising, "I must really beg the privilegeof clasping your hand. It is a great honour for Judson Centre to have anauthor residing in its midst!"
Taking pity upon Harlan, Dorothy hastened to change the subject. "We hopeit may be," she observed, lightly, "and I wonder, Mr. Bradford, if youcould not give me some good advice?"
"I shall be delighted, my dear madam. Any knowledge I may possess istrebly at your service, for the sake of the distinguished author whosewife you have the honour to be, for the sake of your departed relative,who was my friend, my Colonel, and last, but not least, for your ownsake."
"It is only about a maid," said Dorothy.
"A ---- my dear madam, I beg your pardon?"
"A maid," repeated Dorothy; "a servant."
"Oh! A hired girl, or more accurately, in the parlance of Judson Centre,the help. Do I understand that it is your desire to become an employer ofhelp?"
"It is," answered Dorothy, somewhat awed by the solemnity of his tone, "ifhelp is to be found. I thought you might know where I could get someone."
"If I might be permitted to suggest," replied Mr. Bradford, after duedeliberation, "I should unhesitatingly recommend Mrs. Sarah Smithers, whodid for your uncle during the entire period of his residence here andwhose privilege it was to close his eyes in his last sleep. She is atpresent without prospect of a situation, and I believe would be very readyto accept a new position, especially so desirable a position as this, inyour service."
"Thank you. Could you--could you send her to me?"
"I shall do so, most assuredly, providing she is willing to come, andshould she chance not to be agreeably disposed toward so pleasing aproject, it will be my happiness to endeavour to persuade her." Drawingout a memorandum book and a pencil, the old gentleman made an entry upon afresh page. "The multitudinous duties in connection with the practice ofmy profession," he began--"there, my dear madam, it is already attendedto, since it is placed quite out of my power to forget."
"I am greatly obliged," said Dorothy.
"And now," continued the visitor, "I must go. I fear I have alreadyoutstayed the limitation of a formal visit, such as the first should be,and it is not my desire to intrude upon an author's time. Moreover, my ownduties, slight and unimportant as they are in comparison, must ultimatelypress upon my attention."
"Come again," said Harlan, kindly, following him to the door.
"It will be my great pleasure," rejoined the guest, "not only on your ownaccount, but because your personality reminds me of that of my departedfriend. You favour him considerably, more particularly in the eyes, if Imay be permitted to allude to details. I think I told you, did I not, thathe was my Colonel and I was privileged to serve under him in the war?My--oh, I walked, did I not? I remember that it was my intention to comein a carriage, as being more suitable to a formal visit, but Mr. Blake hadother engagements for his vehicle. Dear sir and madam, I bid you goodafternoon."
So saying, he went downhill, briskly enough, yet stumbling where the waywas rough. They watched him until the bobbing, bell-shaped crown of theancient head-gear was completely out of sight.
"What a dear old man!" said Dorothy. "He's lonely and we must have himcome up often."
"Do you think," asked Harlan, "that I look like Uncle Ebeneezer?"
"Indeed you don't!" cried Dorothy, "and that reminds me. I want to takethat picture down."
"To burn it?" inquired Harlan, slyly.
"No, I wouldn't burn it," answered Dorothy, somewhat spitefully, "butthere's no law against putting it in the attic, is there?"
"Not that I know of. Can we reach it from a chair?"
Together they mounted one of the haircloth monuments, slipping, as Dorothysaid, until it was like walking on ice.
"Now then," said Harlan, gaily, "come on down, Uncle! You're about to bemoved into the attic!"
The picture lunged forward, almost before they had touched it, the heavygilt frame bruising Dorothy's
cheek badly. In catching it, Harlan turnedit completely around, then gave a low whistle of astonishment.
Pasted securely to the back was a fearsome skull and cross-bones, made onwrapping paper with a brush and India ink. Below it, in great capitals,was the warning inscription: "LET MY PICTURE ALONE!"
"What shall we do with it?" asked Harlan, endeavouring to laugh, though,as he afterward admitted, he "felt creepy." "Shall I take it up to theattic?"
"No," answered Dorothy, in a small, unnatural voice, "leave it where itis."
While Harlan was putting it back, Dorothy, trembling from head to foot,crept around to the back of the easel which bore Aunt Rebecca's portrait.She was not at all surprised to find, on the back of it, a notice to thiseffect: "ANYONE DARING TO MOVE MRS. JUDSON'S PICTURE WILL BE HAUNTED FORLIFE BY US BOTH."
"I don't doubt it," said Dorothy, somewhat viciously, when Harlan hadjoined her. "What kind of a woman do you suppose she could have been, tomarry him? I'll bet she's glad she's dead!"
Dorothy was still wiping blood from her face and might not have beenwholly unprejudiced. Aunt Rebecca was a gentle, sweet-faced woman, if herportrait told the truth, possessed of all the virtues save self-assertionand dominated by habitual, unselfish kindness to others. She could nothave been discourteous even to Claudius Tiberius, who at this moment wasseated in state upon the sofa and purring industriously.
