Puslapio vaizdai
PDF
„ePub“

to a little ante-room or closet where a girl not so young as herself was kneeling before an open fire, toasting thin slices of bread already thoroughly dried. Jenny broke a bit critically. "Too brown," she said sharply. "And one slice must not lie on another; not for an instant. I don't want to give them soggy dough. The refreshment is cheap," smiling up at Kit, "but it must be perfect of its kind. Now this tea. It was a Christmas gift from Mr. Theris; not a pound of the like in the country. People talk of it when they go away, and that attracts notice. Pays me, you see? These Japanese cups I picked up in a London pawn shop. The man did not know their value. They look like a bubble cut in half. You drop a pinch of the tea in each. Pour on your water, and cover with the other half. Now taste, Kit."

"It seems poor stuff, to tell you the truth. Besides, it's only half a mouthful, Jenny."

"I can't give this lot of people what you'd call a square meal," tartly. "Sometimes I do give them a supper that costs a quarter's salary-though I get it cheaper than other people, by giving the caterer a puff, and besides he takes back from me whatever terrapin or croquettes are left."

"Why do you go to such expense, Jenny? I cannot understand why you bring these people here, any how. This is not like our supper parties down in Delaware, where we all go because we like each other," glancing to the open door.

"I do it because it pays me, you may be sure of that. In town they talk of me as a sharp woman pushing into a man's place. People come here and they know me always afterward as Jenny Derby: a genial, warm-hearted little thing that needs help. And they're all ready to help. You see?" Christopher stood lazily pulling the dog's ears for a minute; then he laughed. "I see that you are about as genial and warm-hearted as most other women, Jenny. But I can fancy you at forty, hoarding your money in an old tea-pot like our grandmother Shaw, and caring for nothing so much as the hoarding. You have her blood in you, so take care."

She looked at him steadily for a moment. "I believe you're right," she said suddenly; then crossed the room to the fire. "That is enough, Miss Croft. Much obliged, I'm sure. You need not wait any longer. No, she's not a servant," to Kit's look of inquiry. "She's a wood engraver.

I got work for her in the offices, and she's glad to pay me in this way."

"It saves you a burned face, at least;" drily. "Hers was purple."

"Yes: and the servants would waste the bread and have to be paid besides. As for her face, it don't matter to her. Now if it was that Devereux woman, yonder, it would be of some importance; her face is worth. a capital of a million. It brings her in an interest of five thousand per week."

She went back to the larger room, and her cousin followed leisurely, and sat down by the window, through which a patch of moonlight fell. The dog kept close beside him; it was the only one of Jenny's companions who had made friends with the Delaware farmer, or with whom he felt at home. He had an awed admiration for all literary folk, or artists. The man who had written a book or painted a picture, vaguely ranked in his mind, with Cæsar or the Muses, or Michael Angelo, or any of those dim Presences to whom he had been introduced in his college days, but had lost sight of since in the hurry of raising early peaches and Chester County pigs. But he was disappointed now that he was brought face to face with these makers of the lightning which illumined the world. Was this genius? It sounded to him like gossip smelling rankly of paint and ink. Was it in this fashion that the wits in Dick Steele's time met at White's, and drank and talked? After all, had Jenny got into the real Holy of Holies of literature? Were these the Simon-pure masters in intellect, or only shrewd hucksters of brain work? The talk and laughter about him seemed to him all sham and unmeaning, though in reality there was unusual heartiness and jest in it. People out of all cliques and ranks met at Miss Derby's, and there was a certain newly wakened expression with both curiosity and humor in their eyes, as though each was testing the other unknown specimens of humanity in this newly discovered atmosphere.

Miss Derby herself stood near him with the Englishman, to whom she pointed out one after another her guests. "Those two prettily dressed ladies by the door belong to a class you don't know yet in England, women correspondents of the newspapers. I too!" nodding and touching her breast, “I write letters from Paris for the Day-book, and from Rome for the Progress. They furnish me the news items, and it is quite easy to dress them up. There are two

New York journalists, both of them from the West. Western men are never as authors worth a penny, but they are at the head of the newspaper profession everywhere. What journalism wants is common sense, and that is the genius of the West." "Miss Derby is like other American ladies," Burgess said to Parr when she she had gone to some other part of the room. "She does not talk, she orates."

"That is because of her business. I have always remarked that women who write for the press have that snappy didactic manner. If they tell you what's o'clock, they must needs make an epigram out of it."

It was Sturm who said this: languidly, as became the cynical philosophic turn of mind for which he was noted: a character which had grown on him of late years, since his bald head, shallow face, and waxed moustache seemed to require it. (Sturm was then, and indeed is still, musical critic for the Review.)

"I am glad I came here to-night," repli- | ed Mr. Burgess. "I get a pretty fair idea, I fancy, of your professors of literature and art, with a good deal of the radical social element besides: one looks for radicalism in Philadelphia."

"If literature and art," enunciated Sturm slowly, "be trades, you are right. The The time was, sir, when to be an author was to be a prophet, priest, and king. A man wrote a book, however poor, as the oracles spoke, from some divine impulse within. Now the book, the poem, or the article is manufactured and offered by these these venders," glancing around, "just as a clown turns a summersault or plays a fresh prank -for the sake of a few pennies."

"You're right; by George you're right!" chuckled Shively, "I've said as much in the office a dozen times! Why my writers-on books or papers-have as keen noses for their copyrights or salaries as the poorest mechanic in the bindery. You're right, Sturm."

"They don't understand, probably, why the fountain of Helicon should bubble without charge either for mankind or for Mr. Shively," said Sturm drily. "It's the demand," turning to Burgess, "the steady sale of literary work that has coarsened its quality. When a man used to give five years to the elaboration of the idea which he offered to the public, he fancied some of the real water of life sparkled in it: but these tradespeople in ink are like men who keep drinking booths at a fair. They stir

up their drinks in an hour. What do they care whether they sell nectar, or bitter beer, or ginger-pop, so that the pressing thirst of the crowd is satisfied and they get their cursed money?"

Nobody appreciated this tirade but Shively, who chuckled through it continuously, rubbing his thick gold chain between his fat thumb and finger. "Yes, sir. I've known a dozen painters and authors who talked of being true to art, and meant to do some great work, and they all took to daubing pot-boilers of landscapes for the auction-shops, or scribbling skits of stories and articles for the newspapers and magazines. Pegasus is greedy for his oats, nowadays, and I can always tell when he is ready to lay his wings by and hire out to do carting by the day. No talk of Art then, but-how much a column, Mr. Shively?'"

Miss Derby, who stood near them, sheltering her flushed face from the fire, interposed, "I know one man whom you concede to have a real genius, Mr. Shively, as his birthright; but I heard you propose to buy him to-night for a very small mess of pottage indeed."

"Oh, Goddard? Yes, I've no doubt Goddard will make his mark some day. Hit the public a downright blow between the eyes. But in the meanwhile he might as well turn an honest penny by writing up my popular scientific summary. Ah, going, Mr. Burgess? I see our friends are dropping off. I'll accompany you. Good night, Miss Derby. You'll not prejudice Mr. Goddard against my offer?"

"I shall not interfere," said Jenny.

People began to come up to say good night to her. Whether they bowed or shook hands, Kit, whose lazy blue eyes saw every thing, observed that there was none of that fantastic deferential homage which men always pay to a young and pretty girl, but instead, a certain air of cordial comradeship as though Miss Derby were a hearty good fellow.

"They don't quite slap her on the back: but very near it," he thought, as she stood joking with Sturm and the others.

She evidently liked the comradeship. Her cheeks burned and her eyes sparkled as the last one turned lingering away. "That's Stillwell, Kit; I went out with him on that exploring expedition a year ago to visit the Indian country. Old Doctor Swan and his wife were in command. Semipolitical you see. I got an appointment as

artist to the expedition.

With that and my letters for the Progress I cleared three hundred dollars, besides expenses. After we came home, the Stillwell woman and I hired two good nags and rode through every county in Maryland, picking up adventures and land scapes and characters for our writing. You don't approve of that I see, Kit?"

"We wanted you to spend that summer on the coast with us, Jenny," he said evasively. "Why do you prefer such knight errantry to living among your father's people? None of them know you but me, and I've had to force myself on you here." She leaned forward and touched him on the arm. Because of the very manliness of the girl a touch from her had all the force of a caress from sweet fondling women. "I don't know that they are all like you, Kit. Besides what matériel could I find in Delaware? I must have capital, grist to grind. I am making my bread and butter.'

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

The room was large and lonely: she sat in front of the firelight which flashed and darkened over her face, and showed it relaxed, and older than when nerved and heated by excitement. "No, Kit: circumstances pushed me among literary people and put a pen in my hand. I have covered up my real character in a reputation for wit and fancy just as I hide the bare walls with those pictures, which don't belong to me. It is shop-work with me. I read this book and that to find a style. I scour the country for ideas and facts as capital. Yet I write successful poetry. It tells. If I were older and had enough money saved I think I'd go into trade. I could make a fortune at that." It certainly was a very shrewd face which met Kit's, from the sharp chin to the broad, low, white brow.

"I know nothing about either poetry or trade," he said gravely. "I suppose you must be born fit for one, and make yourself fit for the other. But I must go to business. I came to-night to bring you a message from Mr. Goddard."

[ocr errors]

"Yes." She rose suddenly and began putting the chairs in their places.

"He has been in Lewes for nearly a month now. He brought me your letter of introduction the day he arrived." "In Lewes ? His business Georgetown."

was in

"Yes; he told me all about that business. He's franker than I'd be under the circumstances."

Finding that he stopped, Miss Derby came back and stood leaning on the low mantel-shelf looking down at him. Her cousin, glancing up from the dog, found her apparently more attractive than before, for he watched her attentively.

"Do you think he will succeed?" she said.

"I've no doubt of it. The property has lain unclaimed since George Goddard's death, waiting for this nephew to present himself. It was supposed that he was in the West; but he will have no difficulty in proving himself to be the person."

"No. His father came from Iowa ten years ago. Is the property large?" after

a pause.

It will make him comfortable—not rich. I don't have the faith in those late peaches most people do. The whole farm's stocked with late peaches. The house is as good as any in Sussex County."

"Niel Goddard ought to be a rich man. His temperament requires ease and luxury for its development. I think, too-" she hesitated-" he would be a happier man if he were able to-to marry."

"He

"Very likely," with a gravity for which there seemed no adequate cause. bade me bring you home with me, Jenny. There were some knotty points in the will which he thought your shrewd wit could help him with. My mother will expect you. The will is registered at Georgetown. I went up with him twice to look at itWhy, what is the matter?"

"Oh, I could not go, Kit. Your mother is a stranger, and—”

"You are not afraid to go junketing over the whole United States with a troop of strangers, and yet you blush and are frightened and tremble at the thought of meeting my mother. Why, Jenny?" taking her hand tenderly, for behind her smile and blush he could see the tears in her eyes. He certainly never had thought his cousin pretty before. It occurred to him for the first time now that he would like to take her in his arms and kiss her.

"Oh," she fluttered, how could I go, Christopher?" She went to the window on pretense of closing the curtains, and lingered shyly in the moonlight. Then she said sharply, without turning: "Only been to Georgetown twice, and now it's a month? What does Mr. Goddard find in Lewes to keep him there? Is he really studying the tides, as Mr. Harte said?"

"I think it probable. I heard Audrey expounding them learnedly the other day. She puts implicit faith in his wisdom, and deals it about to us second-hand." "Audrey?"

Miss Derby stood quite quiet with her hands covering her eyes for a long time as she always did when she was planning the plot of a story. When she turned and came back it was with her ordinary cool, collected expression. "I am very glad that Mr. Goddard has such a chance of success about his farm; but I could not go down to advise him about the will, Christopher. Tell him so. I shall see you in the morning?" as, without pressing the matter further, he rose to go.

"Yes; I shall take the noon train."

"Why do you never bring Audrey, as you call her, to town? I should make her welcome, I'm sure."

"Audrey?" Looking about him with a smile. "I could not imagine Audrey here. Oh, no, that would never do."

"Too coarse a setting for your jewel?" with an answering smile. "She is a very beautiful woman then?"

Christopher hesitated. "I do not know. I think not. I really never considered before whether she was a pretty girl or not. But one cannot think of Audrey away from the sea."

"Oh! You men are fanciful about women. About womanly women, that is," with a bitter laugh. She had gone with him a step or two outside of the door, and after shaking hands, stood looking after him as he went down the stairway, nodding and smiling good-night as he looked back. | When he was gone, she crossed the halls hastily to her own chamber, locked the door, and stirred the clear anthracite

fire.

Her boots stood on the rug. They were short, broad and heavily soled; her gloves lay on the table. She took them up, looking at her thick and somewhat stumpy fingers. Stillwell, when they were. out roughing it on the Prairies, used to say to her, "You are built for use and not for show, Jenny."

She had not minded it a bit in Stillwell, and had never liked him a whit the less. But in Niel Goddard's eyes, she was “a womanly woman." She thought of that now, holding the glove, and playing with it softly as she looked in the fire, as she might with a baby's hand. "I'm sharp, and a screw to all the world, even to Kit who sees everybody in the pleasantest light," she thought. "But Niel.”

Even to herself she did not say what she well knew; that in his big, blue, dreamy eyes her muddy skin was fair, her thin lips soft, her jet black eyes liquid and passionate as any tenderest sweetheart's among women. Men who wished to stand well with Jenny were wont to talk to her of the strength of her articles; "quite as masculine as if they had been done by a man." Niel laughed at all she wrote. "You precious little dunce!" he said often. Just as though she were a stupid child both silly and dear. Jane, remembering it now as she undressed herself, saw in the glass her hard eyes grow dewy and tender. But she saw too that they were hard eyes; and that her lips were thin and her breast flat. "Even Nature," she said to herself, 'forgot that I was a woman. Niel never

[ocr errors]

does.'

Even alone as she was, the hidden woman in her answered to his name; flat breast and thin lips grew hot she turned quickly from the glass too happy and ashamed to meet her own eyes.

"Audrey? What is Audrey to me? When would she give up for him what I have given up?" she said.

Presently she took down a japanned box filled with papers, neatly tied with red tape. Seating herself with a business air she took from among them copies of George Goddard's will, and of one or two deeds relating to the Stone-post farm. For Miss Derby had privately been down to Sussex county a year ago on this business. It was she indeed who had unearthed the fact that Niel Goddard was the missing heir, and sent him down. She went over the papers now carefully line by line: then took out another, a legal opinion from a high authority-" for which he charged a pretty penny!" she muttered. But it was clear and decisive. The Stone-post farm belonged to the oldest living son of James Goddard. It had been left fifty years ago to Elizabeth Goddard and her heirs. But Elizabeth had married a Cortrell and gone to the West Indies on ill terms with her

family and her whereabouts had never been discovered. The old man, George, who died last year, had made provision that the property should return to her heirs, should they present themselves. Failing that, James Goddard and his children came next in succession. Niel was James Goddard's only living child.

whimsical way to talk of family estates to which it might be worth while to trace his claim. But with his usual slip-shod habit he had never traced it. His daughter had no whimsical slip-shod habit. Her claim was made out, ready in the japanned box. She never meant to present it. Niel himsel never knew of it.

"It will be so sweet to take all from him-all!" She pushed the papers into the box as she thought this and stood up, her hands on the lid, her face lifted and glowing. For the moment, it was a rare face and worth study. It would content her to be a beggar and fed by his hand!

Miss Derby folded the papers carefully in the same creases. Her thoughts ran in this wise, done into plain English: “Niel Goddard might think her or all women tender-eyed and soft-lipped, but he would dawdle through life until he was gray, and never ask one of them to marry him, as long as he had no money. With money, he would be on fire to marry to-morrow. He was the heir to this property, provided none of Elizabeth Goddard's descendants were living. But Eliza- "I'll go down to Lewes with Kit tobeth Goddard's only daughter had married morrow,' she thought. "It can do no a Derby, and Jane Derby's father was her harm to see how matters stand," nodding son. He had been used in his vague, | significantly, as she put the satchel away.

A few moments later, however, she rearranged the papers of her claim more carefully, placed the case in her traveling bag, and shut it with a snap.

[blocks in formation]
« AnkstesnisTęsti »