XXII
March 13. Last night, at the Philomathean, Mr. Blodgett joined me, and asked me why I had not dined with them lately. He returned only a few days ago, and was thus ignorant that I have not been inside his door for weeks. I hesitated for an instant, and then replied, "I have been working very hard."
"What are you usually doing?" he asked, smiling. "Come in to Sunday dinner to-morrow."
"I shall be too busy with a lot of manuscripts I have on hand, that must be read," I told him.
"Stop killing yourself," he ordered. "As it is, you look as if you were on the brink of a bad illness. You won't get on a bit faster by dying young."
There the matter rested, and I did not go to dinner to-day, being indeed glad to stay indoors; for I very foolishly walked up town yesterday through the slush, and caught a bad cold. While I was trying to keep warm, this evening, a note was brought me from Mr. Blodgett, asking me to come to him at once; and fearing something important, I braved the cold without delay, ill though I felt. I was shown at once into his den, which was so cheerful with its open fire that I felt it was a good exchange for my cold room, where I had sat coughing and shivering all the afternoon.
"Twice in my life I've really lost my temper with the boss," he began, before I had even sat down, though he closed the door while speaking. "Never mind about the first time, but to-day I got mad enough to last me for the rest of my life."
"May I sit down?" I interrupted.
He nodded his head, and took a position in front of me, with his back to the fire, as he continued: "Women are enough to make a man frantic when they get a fixed idea! Now, to-day, at dinner, I said I'd invited you, and I saw in a moment something was in the wind; so when we had finished I told them to come in here, and it didn't take me long to find out the trouble."
"I didn't like to" – I began; but he went on: —
"And that was the beginning of their trouble. I tell you, there was Cain here for about ten minutes, and there weren't two worse scared women this side of the grave, while I was ranting; for the boss remembered the other time, and Agnes had never seen me break loose. I told them they'd done their best to drive you crazy with grief; that if they'd searched for ten years they couldn't have found a meaner or crueler thing, or one that would have hurt you more; that nine men out of ten, in your shoes, would have acted dishonestly or cut their throat, but that you had toed the chalk-line right along, and never once winced. And I let them know that for five dollars they'd added the last straw of pain to a fellow who deserved only kindness and help from them."
"Really, Mr. Blodgett" – I protested.
"Hold on. Don't attempt to stop me, for the fit's on me still," he growled. "They tried to come the surprised, and then the offended, but they didn't fool me. I never let up on them till I had said all I wanted to say, and they won't forget it for a day or two. When I sent Agnes upstairs, she was sobbing her eyes out, and the boss would have given her pin money for ten years to have escaped with her."
"It's too bad to" —
"That's just what it was!" he cried. "To think of those screws trying to blackmail you, and then telling me you were a skinflint because you wouldn't do what they wanted! Well, after Agnes had gone, I gave the boss a supplementary and special dose of her own. I told her she could double discount you on meanness, and then give you forty-nine points; and to make sure of good measurement, I added in the whole female sex along with her. I told her that if she knew the facts of your life, she'd get down on her knees and crawl round to your place to ask your pardon, and then she wouldn't be fit to have it. I told her that when the day of judgment came, she'd just go the other way in preference to hearing what the recording angel had written of her."
"I am afraid that your intended kindness will make my welcome scantier than ever."
"Not a bit of it. I'm the master of this house, as they found out this afternoon, and I say who'll come into it, and who'll not. I shan't need to interfere in your case, for you'll get a warm welcome from both."
"You didn't tell them?" I exclaimed, starting forward in my seat.
"Not a word, though the boss nearly went crazy with curiosity. But I did say that you were making a splendid up-hill fight, and if they knew the facts of the case they'd be proud to black your boots. My word goes in this family about as well as it does on the Street, and you'll get all the welcome you can stand from now on."
"You make me very proud and happy."
"You have reason to be proud," he asserted. "I'm not a man who slobbers much, but I'm going to tell you what I think of you. When you first came here, I sized you up as rather a softy, your manner was so quiet and gentle. I got over that delusion precious quick, and I want to say that for pluck and grit you're a trump, and there's my hand on it."
He went to the table, poured out a couple of glasses of whiskey and seltzer, and brought them to the fire. "You need something for that graveyard cough of yours," he said, handing one to me. "Well," he went on, "I didn't bring you out such a night as this to tell you of my scrap; but after the row, the boss was so ashamed of herself that she trumped up an A 1 excuse (as she thought) for having treated you as she had, and that led to a talk, and that's why I sent round for you. What do you suppose she has got into her head?"
"I can't imagine."
"I needn't tell you," he remarked, "that women always know an awful lot that isn't so. But just because they do, they every now and then discover a truth that can't be come at in any other way. Now the boss thinks she's done this, and I'm not sure that she hasn't. She says you are in love."
"I never knew a man who wasn't," I replied, trying to smile. "If it isn't with a woman, then it's always with himself."
"But the boss thinks she knows the girl, and has a down on you because you – because you don't try for her."
I laughed bitterly, and said, "You needed no explanation for that."
"That's what made the boss's idea reasonable to me," he explained. "She couldn't conceive why you should keep silent, and so was ready to pitch into you on the slightest pretense. Women haven't much use for a man who falls in love and doesn't say so. But of course I knew that your debt put marriage out of the question."
I merely nodded my head, for even to him I could not speak of my love for you, it was so sacred to me.
He drew up a chair to the fire, and continued: "There isn't another man to whom I'd care to say what I'm going to say to you, but you've got a heart and a head both, and won't misunderstand me." He finished his glass, and set it on the mantel. "Now I don't have to tell you that the boss is fond of you, and when I told her that I knew of a reason why you couldn't marry, she forgave you on the spot. What's more, she first wished to learn what it was; and failing in that, she then wanted to know if it could be remedied, so that you might have a chance to win the girl."
"She of course knows nothing of my position?"
"No," he said, "but she knows something of your character, and she's ordered me that, if it's possible, I'm to help you get the girl you care for."
"But my debt!" I exclaimed.
"How much is it now?" he queried.
"One hundred and eighteen thousand."
"Well, I'll lend Agnes's husband one hundred and eighteen thousand dollars at three per cent, and leave her the note when I die. From what I know of marriage, I venture to assert that if she squeezes him for payment it will be his own fault."
I sat speechless for a moment, too bewildered by the unexpected turn to even think.
"I was as surprised as you look," he went on, "for although I had seen that you and Agnes" —
"Indeed, Mr. Blodgett," I exclaimed hastily, "I am no more to Miss Agnes than a dozen of her friends! I" —
"So the boss says," he interrupted. "But that doesn't mean that you can't be. Though to speak the truth, my boy," he continued, resting his hand on my knee, "this wasn't my plan. I had hoped that you and Maizie would take a shine to each other, and so kiss the chalk-marks off that old score. But when I spoke of the scheme to the boss, this evening, she told me there had never been a chance of it; that you didn't like Mai, and that she is practically engaged to Whitely, and is only – Better have some more whiskey, or that cough will shake you to pieces."
I could only shake my head in my misery, but after a moment I was able to say, "Mr. Blodgett, I did not understand – I" —
"I want to tell you," he broke in, "before you say anything more, that I never believe in putting one's fingers into love affairs, and I shouldn't in this case if the boss didn't feel so keen about it, but I don't choose to be the one to stand in her way. And now I'm not offering my daughter's hand. You know as well as I that Agnes isn't the kind of girl who needs a prospectus or a gold clause to work her off. If she dropped her handkerchief to-morrow, fifty men would be scrambling for it, eh?"
"Yes." Then I added, "And, Mr. Blodgett, I can't find the words to tell how I thank you both for such a compliment. If" —
"I knew you wouldn't misunderstand me," he went on. "It's a good deal of a start in life to be born a gentleman."
"But, Mr. Blodgett," I said, "there has been a mistake. I – it is hard to say, but" – then I faltered.
He looked at me keenly for a moment. "So the boss was wrong? It's only friendship, not love?"
"Just what she has given to me," I answered.
"Very well. Then if you want to please the boss – and me – let that friendship grow into something better. But don't misunderstand me. You must win Agnes, if she is won. We do nothing."
"Mr. Blodgett, should you be willing to let me try to win Miss Agnes, if I tell you that I do not love her as a man should love the woman he seeks for his wife?"
"Marriage is a funny business," he responded. "Now there's the boss. When I married her I thought she was so and so; little by little I found she wasn't; but by the time I had found it out I wouldn't have swapped her for ten of the women I had thought she was. Some men have no business to marry unless they're pretty strongly attached, for they don't run steady; but you're a fellow that would keep in the traces no matter what happened, and before long you'd find yourself mighty fond of Agnes. A sense of duty is about as good a basis to marry on, if there's natural sympathy and liking, as all this ideal make-believe. I don't think you dislike Agnes, do you?"
"Indeed, no!" I exclaimed. "Nobody could. She is too charming and sweet for any one to do that. Miss Agnes deserves far more than I can bring her. What have I to give in return for all this?"
"You can settle that with Agnes," he laughed; and then, as if to lessen my poverty in my own eyes, he kindly added, "In the first place, I'll get a son-in-law chock-full of heart and grit and brains; and I've had pretty good evidence that he isn't fortune-hunting, which is Agnes's great danger. But that isn't all, and I want you to know I'm not a fool. I'm a big fellow down in Wall Street, and even on the Royal Exchange, but do you think I don't know my position? They kept me up over two years at the Philomathean, and you four months. After you've worked ten years over books with your own name on them, you'll be received and kotowed to by people who wouldn't crook a finger to know me. You won't be famous as I am, for the number of naughts I can write after a figure, but your name will be known everywhere, and will be familiar long after mine has been forgotten. Who were the bankers and rich men fifty years ago? There isn't one person in a thousand can tell you. But who hasn't heard of Thackeray and Hawthorne, Macaulay and Motley? My girl will have more money than she'll need; so if she gets a good husband, and one with reputation, she can't do better. Don't you see I'm doing my level best for Agnes, and making a regular Jew bargain?"
"Perhaps Miss Agnes will not agree."
"We've got to take that chance; but she likes you, and good women think a heap more of brains than they do of money. If you'll let me tell her your story, it won't be long before she'll take notice. I shouldn't have had to ask the boss twice if I'd had any such trump card as you've got, and she was a sight less tender-hearted than Agnes!"
"Mr. Blodgett," I said, "I can't tell you the gratitude I feel, but I must be frank."
"Hold on!" he cried. "I don't want you to say anything now. You are to take a week on it, and not give me your answer till the end. If you have half the gratitude in you that you pretend, you'll do as the boss wants."
I had manned myself to tell him of my love for you, but I bowed assent, for indeed, I was too bewildered to think clearly, and was glad to have a respite. We shook hands without further parley, and I came back here, to cough and shiver while trying to think it all out. An hour ago I went to bed, but I was wakeful, and so sit here trying to write myself into sleepiness.
I have thought out what my course must be. If it is true, as indeed I know it to be, that Mr. Whitely has won you, Mr. Blodgett shall have the truth. I shall tell him that I will put you out of my heart, as perforce I must, and that if he is still willing I will go to Agnes, tell her too the whole truth, and promise her such love and devotion as I can give. So sweet a girl deserves far more, and I cannot believe that she will accept the little I can offer; but if she does, it shall be the labor of my life to be to her a true and tender husband. And even if she were not what she is, the thought that through her I have made reparation for the wrong done you will make easy both tenderness and love for her.
For the last time, perhaps, I have the right to say, "Good-night, my love."
XXIII
March 14. After dinner this evening I went to see Mrs. Blodgett; for, miserable as I felt, my mental suffering was greater than my physical. The footman told me she had just gone upstairs to dress for a ball, but I sent her a message begging for a moment's interview; and when he returned, it was to take me to her boudoir, – a privilege which would in itself have shown me how thoroughly I was forgiven, even if her greeting had been less warm.
In a few halting and broken sentences I told her of my love for you. She was so amazed that at first she seemed unable to believe me serious; and when I had persuaded her that I was in earnest, her perplexity and curiosity were unbounded.
Why had I behaved so? For what reason had I never called on Maizie? Such and many more were the questions she indignantly poured out, and she only grew more angry when I answered each by "I cannot tell you." Finally, in her irritation, she demanded, "What have you bothered me for, then?"
"I want you to tell me, if you have the right, whether Miss Walton is engaged to Mr. Whitely," I answered.
"Practically," she snapped.
"She has told you so?"
"I cannot tell you," she replied; adding, "How do you like your own medicine?"
"Mrs. Blodgett," I pleaded, "if you understood what it means to me to know the truth, you would not use this to punish me for what I cannot help. If I could tell any one the story of my life, I should tell you; for next to – to one other, you are dearer to me than any living person. If you love me at all, do not torture me with a suspense that is unbearable."
She came and sat down by me on the lounge, and took my hand, saying, "Mr. Whitely asked Maizie to marry him four years ago, but she said she would not marry a business man. He wouldn't give up trying, however, though he made no apparent headway. Indeed, Maizie told me herself, last spring, just before she sailed, that she could never love him, and she was convinced that loveless marriages were wrong, being sure to end in unhappiness or sacrifice of one or the other. So I thought it would come to nothing. But he persisted, and he's succeeded, for she told me last week that she had changed her mind, and was going to marry him."
"Do you know why she has done so?" I asked drearily.
"I think it is that book of his. Not merely is she pleased by the position it's given him as a writer, but she says it has convinced her that he is different from what he appears in society; that no man but one of noble character and fine mind could write from such a standpoint."
I sat there dumb and stolid, yet knowing that all my past suffering had been as nothing to this new grief. Oh, my blindness and wickedness! To think, my darling, that it was I who had aided him to win you, that my hand had made and set the trap! Why had I not ended my wretched existence three years ago, and so, at least, saved myself from this second wrong, tenfold worse than that I had endeavored to mend? For my own selfish pride and honor, I had juggled, deceived you, Maizie, the woman dearer to me than all else, and had myself doomed you to such a fate.
I suppose I must have shown some of the agony I felt, for Mrs. Blodgett put her hand on my shoulder. "Don't take it so to heart, Rudolph," she begged, giving me that name for the first time. "There can still be much true happiness in your life."
I only kissed her hand in response, but she instantly pressed her lips on my forehead. "I am so sorry," she sighed, "for I had hoped for something very different."
"Mr. Blodgett told me," I answered; and then I spoke of the resolution I had come to last night.
When I had finished, she said, "We won't talk of it any more, Rudolph, for Agnes' sake as well as yours, but perhaps by and by, when the suffering is over, you will come and talk to me again; for if you ever feel that you can be a good husband to my girl, I shall not be afraid to trust her to you, if you can gain her consent."
I rose to go, and she remarked, "Yes. You mustn't stay, for as it is, my dressing will make us very late. If the carriage is at the door, tell Maxwell to drive you home, and then return for us. You mustn't walk in the slush with that horrid cough of yours. Does your landlady give you blankets enough? Well, tell her to make a steaming glass of whiskey toddy. Wrap some woolen round your throat and chest, and go straight to bed. Why, Rudolph, you are not going without kissing me good-night?" she continued, as if that had been my habit, adding, "Some day I shall make you tell me all about it."
I went downstairs, intending to follow her directions; but as I passed the drawing-room door I heard the piano, and thought I recognized, from the touch, whose fingers were straying at random over the keys.
"Isn't that Miss Walton?" I asked of the servant, as he brought me my hat and coat.
"Yes, Dr. Hartzmann. Miss Walton is to go to the ball with the ladies, and is waiting for them to come downstairs," he told me.
I left him holding my coat, and passed noiselessly between the curtains of the portière. Your back was turned to me as you sat at the instrument, and I stood in silence watching you as you played, till suddenly – was it sympathy, or only the consciousness of something alien? – you looked around. I should almost think it was the former, for you expressed no surprise at seeing me standing there, even though you rose.
"Don't let me interrupt you," I begged.
"I was only beguiling the time I have to wait," you replied.
"It will be a favor to me if you will go on," I said, and without another word, with that simple grace and sweetness natural to you, you resumed your seat and went on playing, while I sat down on the divan.
Your bent, like mine, was for some reason a sad one, and what you played reflected your mood, stirring me deeply and making me almost forget my misery. Presently, however, I was seized with a paroxysm of coughing; and when I had recovered enough to be conscious of anything, I found you standing by me, looking both startled and compassionate.
"You are ill, Dr. Hartzmann," you said, anxiously.
"It is nothing," I managed to articulate.
"Can I do anything for you?" you asked.
"Nothing," I replied, rising, more wretched than ever, because knowing how little I deserved your sympathy.
"It would be a pleasure to help you, Dr. Hartzmann, for I have never been able to show any gratefulness for your kindness over my book," you went on, with a touch of timidity in your tones, as if you were asking a favor rather than conferring one.
Won by your manner, before I knew what I was doing, I spoke. "Miss Walton," I burst out, "you see before you the most miserable being conceivable, and you can save me from the worst anguish I am suffering!"
Your eyes enlarged in surprise, both at my vehemence and at what I had uttered, while you stood looking at me, with slightly parted lips; then you said sweetly, "Tell me what I can do for you."
I had spoken without thought, only conscious that I must try in some way to save you. For a moment I hesitated, and then exclaimed, "I beg of you not to marry Mr. Whitely!"
Like a goddess you drew yourself up, even before you could have appreciated the full import of my foolish speech, and never have I seen you look more beautiful or queenly than as you faced me. After a brief silence you answered, "You can hardly realize what you are saying, Dr. Hartzmann."
"I am indeed mad in my unhappiness," I groaned.
"You owe me an explanation for your extraordinary words," you continued.
"Miss Walton," I said, "Mr. Whitely is not a man to make you happy, and in hopes of saving you from him I spoke as I did. I had no right, as none can know better than myself, but perhaps you will forgive the impertinence when I say that my motive was only to save you from future misery."
"Why should I not be happy in marrying Mr. Whitely?"
"Because you are deceiving yourself about him."
"In what respect?"
"His character is other than you think it."
"Be more specific."
"That I cannot be."
"Why not?"
"It would be dishonorable in me."
"Not more so than to stop where you have."
"I cannot say more."
"I do not recognize your right to be silent. You have said too much or too little."
"Maizie," called Mrs. Blodgett from the hall, "come quickly, for we are very late."
"I shall insist, at some future time, upon your speaking more clearly, Dr. Hartzmann," you said, as a queen would speak, and picking up your wrap, without a parting word, you left me standing in the middle of the drawing-room.
I came home through the cold, and have sat here regretting my foolishness and groping for the right course to pursue. Oh, my darling, if I but had the right, I would gladly tell you the whole story of the miserable deception, even though I disgraced myself in your eyes. If it were merely my own honor which was at stake, I should not hesitate for an instant, but would sacrifice it to save you, though self-respect seems now the only thing left me. But try as I may to prove to myself that I have the right, I cannot, for I feel that more than my own honor is concerned. I have taken Mr. Whitely's money, and cannot return it to him. To break faith would be worse than despicable. I shall speak to you of my employer's hardness, and beg you to ask Mr. Blodgett if he would give Agnes to Mr. Whitely or advise you to marry him. My heart yearns to aid you in your peril, but I can think of nothing more that I can do. May God do what I cannot, my dearest. Good-night.