CHAPTER XVI
COUNTING UP THE COST
Jim failed miserably. What was the matter? He couldn't seem to rememberthe simplest thing. Did it make any difference to him whom she married?Well--if it _had_ been Weir; but that imperious, pretentious,half-dissipated Williamson, who report said had run though with onefortune, and two years ago had fallen heir to another! Why were somepeople so lucky! Grandmother Van Kortlandt had some money; but Hanny wasnamed for her, and Joe was a great favourite. Then Jim flushed hotly.The idea of counting on any one's money!
Still he had a boyish, chivalric idea that he would like to snatch Lilyfrom this awful peril, as it seemed to him. Could it be really true? Theolder men said Williamson was a braggart. There might be no truth in it.He would ask Lily.
Several days passed before Jim achieved his desire. Then, as he loiteredaround one afternoon, he saw Williamson leave the house. After a fewmoments he knocked.
"Miss Lily is indisposed, and cannot see any one," announced the maid.
"She will see me," returned Jim, with an air of dignity; and he walkedinto the parlour that had an atmosphere of twilight, quite determined toremain until she came down.
She seemed in no hurry, and Jim's temper began to loose its serenity.The maid came and lighted the gas jet in the hall. Then there was arustle of silken garments on the stair.
"Oh, Jim dear," the entreating voice said, "I've had such a horridheadache all the afternoon. I've been in the bed. I really did not feelfit to see any one," with a languid, indifferent air.
And Williamson had just gone away!
"So you will excuse me, if I'm stupid--"
"Is the story true about your--your engagement?" asked the young fellow,abruptly.
"My engagement? Well, I've had an offer of marriage,--two of them.Wouldn't you advise me to take the best one?" rather archly.
The tone rang flippantly. Jim felt she was evading.
"You see I can't be young always. And Aunt Nicoll may go without amoment's warning. She had a bad spell yesterday; and she does get insuch horrid tantrums! Mother is awfully tired of staying with her. Andmost girls get married--those who have a chance." She ended with aforced little laugh.
"Is it Williamson? You don't know the sort of man he is," and Jim'svoice was husky with emotion.
"Oh, everybody gets talked about sooner or later! He has been ratherwild; but he wants to settle down now. And I'm not a sentimental girl.Yes, I do think I'll take him," hesitatingly.
"Lily!"
"Oh, Jim, you are very young and inexperienced! If you were ten yearsolder, there wouldn't be a man on the whole earth I'd marry as soon. Butyou know I said we could only be friends; and I hope you haven't beencherishing any silly romances about me," tossing her head coquettishly."I shall always like you, and I want us to keep friends. But you can'tunderstand all the reasons. Some girls might drag you into anengagement, and waste all your young years; but I could not be so meanto any friend I cared about. We have settled all this matter."
Her tone took on a rather sharp business accent. It was almost curt.
Yes, it had been settled. Yet she had demanded a lover-like devotion,and allowed him to speculate on what might have been if she were rich orhe older. And though Jim's sturdy common-sense had kept him from goingvery deep, he felt wretched and jealous that any other man should havethe supreme right; and yet he had a conviction that the friendship orflirtation ought to end.
"He thinks you are Mrs. Nicoll's heiress."
She gave a light laugh. "Oh, that will do to talk about; and she mayleave me a little. If I was her heiress--"
The glance roused Jim's anger. He rose suddenly.
"I hope you love Williamson," he said, in a tone that he meant to soundbitterly cutting. "A girl who sells herself for money to such a man--"
"Nonsense, Jim!" She rose also. "You'll find most of the world willconsider it a good marriage; and anyhow, I have to look out for myself.It's too bad to break up the pleasant times we've had this winter; butyou must not be angry. You will understand it better presently. Iwouldn't let you go off in this way if I hadn't such a wretchedheadache; but you will come in again."
Jim said good-evening with superb dignity. What a stylish fellow he was.Of course he felt a little "huffy" now; but next winter, when she had ahome of her own, she would give attractive parties, and invite Jim amongthe very first. By that time he would be over his boyish folly. And now,what must she wear to the theatre to-night? She must look her prettiest.Her wretched headache was gone.
James Underhill felt as he had sometimes in the old school days, that hehad been duped. He was angry with her, with himself. He had brought hisfriends to the house; and he knew Weir was really in love with her, yetshe had laughed daintily about some of his peculiarities. What if shehad laughed with Gaynor about him? She did satirise people. It wasstrange how many faults he saw in her! Yet he did hate to have hermarry Williamson.
He heard of her being at the theatre that evening with an array ofdiamonds, which young girls seldom wore. In a week or so the marriagewas discussed with a little wonder. Mrs. Nicoll was one of the old NewYorkers, a Ludlow herself. It was fortunate for Lily's prestige that herplain, unambitious father was dead, and her mother kept well in thebackground. No one quite knew about the fortune.
Richard Weir was certainly hard hit. He made a pretence of devotinghimself to his studies to keep away from Gaynor's raillery. But one dayhe said to Jim,--
"Something ought to be done to save Miss Ludlow from such an awfulsacrifice; don't you think so, Underhill? That old aunt has egged heron, and she's doing this for her mother's sake. If I was in a positionto marry, I know I could persuade her to throw it up. What shall I do,Jim? I know she really loves me. She is heroic about it. She thinks itwould spoil my life in the very beginning. I don't know how father wouldtake it; and there's such a family of us to provide for."
"Let her alone," returned Jim, gruffly. So she had played with thishonest-hearted young fellow as well; and the saddest of all was that hereally believed in her.
"She will marry Williamson, no matter what comes. Weir, I'm sorry enoughI introduced you, if you are going to take it that way. Lily Ludlow isa flirt, pure and simple. I've never believed it until now. There is nouse in our wasting our sympathies upon her."
"You don't half do her justice, Jim; if you could hear her side--"
"I have heard it," laconically. "Weir, I'm awful sorry," and he wrungthe young fellow's hand.
There was another aspect to Jim beside the mortification. He had droppedbehind in his standing. Late hours and planning all sorts of amusementshad distracted his attention. And there was another fact to face. He hadbeen spending money with a lavishness that he wondered at now. He hadborrowed of Weir, of Gaynor, of Ben. When he counted up the total he wasdismayed. His father had been generous. They had all been very proud ofhim. How could he confess the miserable fiasco to any one? Perhaps,after he had taken his degree--
But he had to study hard for that. No more frolicking about! He had agood deal of resolution, when it was put to the test. He would asksober-going Ben to lend him a hundred dollars, which he would pay backby degrees. No girl should ever win a smile out of him again. He wouldnever borrow when he was once out of this difficulty.
He knew Dick Weir really needed his money, and this emboldened him toapply to Ben. Alas!
"I'd do it in a minute Jim; but I've been trying a sort of experiment.I had a chance to buy some capital stock, five hundred dollars' worth,and I just scraped up everything I had, and borrowed, so I'm behind, andmust catch up. You've been pretty gay, haven't you, Jim?"
"I have been an idiot," replied Jim, sturdily. "But I have learned alesson."
"You just go to Joe. He's the best fellow in all the world. Don't worryfather about it; he takes such pride in his young collegian," and Bensmiled with generous kindliness upon his younger brother.
That was the best thing certainly; yet it was days before Jim couldsummon sufficient courage. And then
he found, as he blundered a littleover the matter, that Joe thought it worse than it really was.
"Have you been gambling?" the elder asked gravely.
"No, not that, Joe. It's all been a silly sort of extravagance. I am madat myself when I think of it." He wouldn't say he had been tempted by agirl into much unwise expenditure. How could he have been so weak!
"It will be all right," returned Joe. "I am glad it is not gamblingdebts; though a hundred dollars wouldn't cover much. I hope you arecoming through in good shape."
"You may be sure of that. Oh, Joe, how kind you are!"
"What is brotherhood for, if not that?" said Joe gravely.
He would not put himself in the way of meeting Miss Ludlow, though shedid send him two rather plaintive notes. Early in June, the marriagetook place; and the bride's trousseau was quite magnificent, if it wasnot made in Paris. Mrs. Nicoll was delighted with what she termed hergrandniece's good sense, and gave her a handsome set of rubies, besidehaving her diamonds reset for her. And when she died, some two monthslater, it was found she had made a new will on Lily's wedding day, inwhich she bequeathed the bride all her personal effects and somevaluable bank-stock, if the amount was not very large. The next winter,Mrs. Williamson took her place in society, and was quite a marriedbelle, managing her husband as adroitly as she had managed her lovers.
Jim studied day and almost night to make up for the dissipation of thewinter, and passed with honour, though Joe had hoped he would have oneof the orations. He went immediately into the law office of a friend ofStephen's as clerk and copyist while he was waiting for the new term ofthe law school.
Charles Reed did distinguish himself, and was one of the heroes of theoccasion. He was a fine, manly fellow now, and Mrs. Dean loved him likea son. Indeed, it seemed as if he might be her son, the young peoplewere so much to each other. Josie would graduate the next year at thehigh school.
Ben and Delia had gone along through the winter with very littlechange, except to learn how much they loved each other. The young mendid not have quite such rollicking good times, though Nora wasdeveloping into a very attractive young girl and enchanted them with hersinging. Delia was very busy trying her best to come up to some highstandards of literary work. Everybody was not a genius in those days.Colleges had not begun to turn them out by the score, and the elderpeople were very often helpful to the younger ones.
There was, it is true, a certain kind of Bohemianism among the men thatproved dangerous to more than one fine, promising mind. Ben liked thebright wit and keen encounters, and the talk that ran through centuriesof intellectual activity as if it was only yesterday. He was taking acurious interest in politics as well, for some great questions werecoming to the fore.
Mrs. Underhill had preserved a cautious silence respecting Delia,indeed, ignored the whole matter. Dolly was cordial when they met. Jimhad been so taken up with his engrossing experience that he rarely wentto Beach Street; and the two sets of society were widely apart. Deliahad supposed everything would come around straight; it generally did inher happy-go-lucky fashion.
But on Commencement day, when she was all smiles and gladness, Mrs.Underhill's coolness and Mrs. Hoffman's stately distance quite amazedher.
"Ben," she said, "something has happened with your people. Your motherhardly spoke to me, and Margaret was icy. And now that I come to thinkof it, Hanny hasn't been near us since Nora's birthday--February thatwas. Are they offended because--don't they like our engagement? And Ilove them all so, from least to greatest; only Margaret is rather highup."
"Hanny's had such lots of lessons, and her music, and she'scorresponding with Daisy Jasper in French. Grandmother takes her time,too. You don't have so much leisure out of childhood."
"What jolly times we had back there in First Street! Oh, Ben, I did likeyou all so much! And I can't bear to have the good feeling die out."
There were tears in Delia's brown eyes. Ben was moved immeasurably.
"May be I ought to have said something to mother; Joe counselled me towait."
"Then it has been talked about!" Delia stood up very straight, andlooked like a spirited picture. "What is their objection to me? Yourfamily are all prospering. Stephen is really a man of mark; Of courseDr. Hoffman was rich to begin with. And John's wife had quite a fortunewhen her parents died. Joe is up among the important people; and Jimwill make a smart lawyer, every one says. You _are_ a splendid lot!" andher honest admiration touched him.
"I don't know. I've never felt very splendid."
"You are solid, and strong, and sensible. What a pity that alliterationwon't do in a poem!" and she laughed in her joyous manner. "I don'tcare if you never are rich, so long as we have good times. And as youcan't write a bit of verse, you dear, lovely old Ben, nor a story, I donot believe our tastes will clash. Why shouldn't we agree just as wellwhen we are married as we do now? Even that tremendous, gloomy, erraticEdgar Allan Poe adored not only his wife, but his mother-in-law. To besure, there was Milton and Byron, and Mrs. Hemans and Bulwer, and a hostof them; but Mr. and Mrs. Browning are going on serenely. And 'TheScarlet Letter' hasn't made trouble in Hawthorne's family yet. I thinkit is temper, rather than genius. And I have a good temper, Ben,"looking up out of honest, convincing eyes.
"You just have," returned Ben, with emphasis, kissing her fondly.
"Ben, I love you too well to make you unhappy."
"You will never make me unhappy."
"May be I'm not careful enough in little things."
"I don't fret about the little things," said Ben. "We both likeeasy-chairs, and evenings at home, and reading about famous people, orqueer people, and wonderful places. We both like a fire, and a cat; Iadore a nice cat, it is such a comfortable thing. And we like to go outwhere people are bright and vivacious, and know something. We're fond ofmusic, and pictures, and like a good play. Oh, there are things enoughto agree upon all our lives; so what would be the use of hunting roundto find a few things to dispute about."
"Why, there wouldn't be. But I want your mother to like me, and to feelsure I shall do my best to make you happy. Of course, we may not getrich."
"Bother riches! But I'm not going to give you up for anybody inChristendom."
"You are very sweet, Ben." There was a sound of tears in Delia's voice.
"I'll see what it is," subjoined Ben. "Oh, it will all come straight, Iknow."
"I shall not marry you for the next seven years, no, not for twenty,until everybody is willing," said Delia, decisively.
Why couldn't people be kindly affectioned one toward another, as theApostle enjoined, when there was nothing very objectionable in theother? It puzzled Ben. He was passionately fond of his mother, too; butthe issue had to be met. And the very next evening when Mrs. Underhillwas out watering her garden, that had in it all manner of sweet herbsand the old-time flowers dear to her heart, Ben came wandering down theclean-cut path.
"Mother," when they had both stood silently several minutes,--"mother, Iwant to tell you--Delia Whitney and I are engaged."
"I supposed as much," said his mother, tartly. Then she turned to comeup the path.
"Mother, you have welcomed Dolly and Cleanthe; and we have all been likebrothers and sisters. Haven't you a tender word for Delia? You used tolike her."
"Delia Whitney was well enough for a neighbour. You have run and runthere, Ben, and really never taken the trouble to look about. You areyoung, and hardly know what is best for you. You could have lookedhigher. But you've gotten in with those newspaper people; and they dodrink, and are not very choice in their company."
"And lawyers drink; yet we are going to make a lawyer out of Jim. And wehave known country farmers addicted to the habit. Newspaper-men arequite up to the average. But that has nothing to do with Delia."
"No, women don't so often take to drinking. But she is in it all; and Idon't like such public business for a woman. A wife's place is at home;and Mrs. Whitney is a very poor housekeeper. Ben, a great deal of aman's happiness depends on the way his hous
e is kept."
"But their house is always bright and pleasant. And think how Delia usedto work in First Street. She can keep house good enough for me."
"You have always had things so neat and orderly, Ben, that you don'tknow how trying that sort of helter-skelter housekeeping can be. A womancan't run hither and yon, and write stories and what not; and now theyare beginning to lecture and talk, and make themselves as mannish aspossible! No, I don't like it. And I pity the man who has to live inthat sort of neglected home. And then, Ben, come disputes andseparations."
He had heard the narrow reasoning before. Mrs. Reed came into his mind.With her passion for cleanliness and order, she certainly knew nothingabout a happy, comfortable home. His mother still scouted asewing-machine. Delia had hired one with a good operator, and declaredthat in a week they had done up all the summer sewing. He knew hismother would say it was only half-done. To be sure, Delia's mother was agreat novel-reader and had neglected her household many a time for aninteresting book. But _she_ wrote neither stories nor verses.
"Of course, you will do as you like. And you think you are the only onethat will suffer. But a mother has many sorrowful hours over a son'sunhappiness and discomfort."
Then she passed him, and went into the house. And, after the fashion ofunreasoning women, she hurried up to her own room and cried a few bittertears. Ben had been such a good, upright, pleasant son. He ought to havethe best wife in the world, for he was easy-going and would put up withalmost anything. She _was_ disappointed.
She would have scouted the idea of being aristocratic or mercenary; yetshe did want him to look higher. There had been such an attractiveHoffman cousin spending a month with Margaret, who thought Bendelightful. There were two or three girls in the neighbourhood. In fact,a young man might as well marry some one of distinction and character;Dolly and Cleanthe were none the worse for their money.
"I don't know what I can do," Ben said to Dolly, with a sigh. "Delia hasa suspicion that mother is against her. I'm not in a hurry to marry;but Delia won't marry me until everybody is ready to welcome her."
"Yes, you are young; and a good many things come around straight if yougive them time, just like a northeast wind. Ask Delia to come up to tea,whenever she and you are at liberty."
Dolly kissed Ben. In some respects he was still boyish.
Margaret was vexed over the certainty. It was said Nora Whitney had achance to go abroad with a Madame Somebody who used to sing in operas.She would be educated for a professional. Of course a Jenny Lind or aParodi or Malibran was different; but just an ordinary singer!--or onecould admire an acknowledged woman of genius who had a position, or anysocial prestige!
Ben said nothing to Delia; but she guessed his announcement had not beensatisfactory. She had not been to the Underhills for six months or more.But, in her generous fashion, she made no comment.
Late that summer a wonderful thing happened that filled everybody withelation, and for twenty-four hours set the city wild. Every show-windowhad a picture of a trim, spirited yacht that seemed to have triumphwritten all over her; and men and boys crowded around to look at it, andcheered it with an enthusiasm seldom inspired nowadays. We were allgoing wild over our great triumph; for we had distanced England on theseas and in British waters. The gallant "America" had borne off the"Queen's Cup," the prize offered for the fleetest yacht in the greatrace.
We had been very proud of our fleet "clippers" that were scudding aboutto different ports. Then the Steers brothers had built the "America" forMr. Stevens, of the New York Yacht Club; and he decided to take her overto the great contest that was to be a race around the Isle of Wight. Shemet with a little mishap in the beginning; but, nothing daunted, hercourageous captain kept on to the end, eighty-one miles, and distancedall competitors. Other yachts of all nations were entered; and it musthave been a magnificent sight when she had eight minutes to spare, andcould glance back at her really splendid rivals. The pretty story ofQueen Victoria and the Prince Consort was told over many times. TheQueen asked the captain of the royal yacht who was first.
"The 'America,' your Majesty."
"And who is second?"
"There is no second, your Majesty," returned the Captain, gallantlyadmitting the defeat.
So the brave "America," after being flattered and feted, brought homeher trophy; and thousands rushed to see that and the beautiful yacht.But the English Club did not mean to resign honours so easily, andannounced that efforts would be made to win back the famous cup. Andto-day the cup is still ours, after many challenges and trials.
But the enthusiasm then knew no bounds. There were little flags with aminiature yacht and the American colours; and the patriotic boys worethem in their jackets. Jim put up a handsome engraving in his room.
He had been working like a Trojan all summer, except a brief fortnight,and had begun to pay back his debt.
Nora Whitney was to go abroad under the care of a well-known musicianand his wife, who was a fine concert-singer. It seemed such an excellentopportunity; and Nora had an ambition to reach a high standard. TheProfessor and Madame had visited the Whitneys, and both parties weremutually satisfied.
"I could never let a child of mine go away among strangers in thatmanner," declared Mrs. Underhill. "No one can tell what will happen toher. I shouldn't have thought it of Mr. Theodore. The women, of course,are not overweighted with common sense, and the poor child has nomother."
"Oh, dear," sighed Hanny, "all the little girls are dropping out; and weused to have such nice times. I do wonder if Daisy means ever to comeback. And Josie Dean is a young lady with long dresses, and does up herhair."
"Elenora Whitney is not worth worrying about," subjoined Mrs. Underhill,tartly; "and Josie Dean is a very nice, modest girl."
Charles Reed and Josie had dropped into a fashion of making frequentcalls during the summer. The young fellow made a confidant of DoctorJoe, as young people were very apt to do, he was so sympathetic andkindly.
Mr. Reed had quite a fancy at first that he should study medicine.
"It is a fine profession, when one's heart is in it," said Doctor Joe."And there are so many new discoveries and methods all the time. Still,I can't quite fancy Charlie taking up the disagreeable side."
"He could be a professor, I suppose," commented his father, ratherreluctantly. "He loves study and books, and he ought to turn hiseducation to some account. I would do anything for him; he knows that.He is all I have; and he is a fine boy."
It was odd; but Charlie talked his desire over with Josie first of all,and she approved of it enthusiastically. Then he rather timidlyconfessed it to his father.
"I used to believe that I never wanted to be a clergyman; but, aftermother died, I began to think it over. She was so sort of sweet andchanged that last year, almost as if she had a presentiment; and thoughshe took such an interest in my studies, she never spoke of that, thoughI know it was her heart's desire. All the time I seem to have had aleaning towards it. It is a grand life, when one's heart and soul are init; and I am sure now mine would be. I should feel as if I was keepingnear to her, and doing something for her happiness. And if you would notfeel disappointed--"
"My boy, I should be gratified," said his father, warmly. "I should nothave tried to influence your choice; but I do think, in certain ways,you are especially fitted for this profession. I can trust you never tobring discredit on so sacred a calling; and I think you are alive tothe true responsibility of it. Yes; it is what she would like, if shewere here."
Jim declared he had felt sure of this decision all the last year. Theyall decided Charles Reed would make a fine conscientious clergyman.