CHAPTER XVI
A DINNER AND A PLAY
Lucius seemed to know the city very well, and to have a list of itsprincipal citizens in his memory. He knew the best places to shop andthe selectest places to eat, and Bertha soon came to ask his adviceabout other and more intimate affairs. She showed him Mrs. Brent's card,and explained that they were going out there to dinner.
"I know the locality," he said, much impressed, "and I think I know thehouse. It's likely to be quietly swell, and you'd better wear your bestgown."
"The black dress," said Haney, who was a deeply concerned witness. "Ilike that."
Lucius was respectful, but firm. "You are very well in that, Mrs. Haney.But if I were you I'd have a new gown; you'll need it. I know just thesaleslady to fit you out."
"But I've only worn the black dress once!" she exclaimed, in dismay.
Lucius explained that people who went out much in the city made a pointof not wearing the same gown in the same circle a second time. "And asyou only have two presentable evening gowns, you certainly needanother."
Haney joined in, emphatically. "Sure thing! What's the good of money ifyou don't use it to buy things?"
Tremulous with the excitement of it, she went with the Captain toseveral of the largest and most sumptuous establishments on StateStreet. And Lucius, who accompanied them, ostensibly to be of service tohis master, was of the greatest service to his mistress, he was soquiet, so unobtrusive, so thoroughly the footman in appearance, sohelpful, and so masterful, in fact; a faint shake of his head, a nod, agesture decided momentous questions.
The girl, sitting there surrounded by scurrying clerks and saleswomen,had a return of her bewilderment and doubt. "Can it be true that I canbuy any of these cloaks and hats?" she asked herself. What was the magicthat had made her lightest wish realizable? When a splendid cloak fellround her shoulders, and she looked in the glass at the tall figurethere, she glowed with pride.
"Madam carries a cloak beautifully," the saleswoman said, withsincerity. "This is our smartest model--perfectly exclusive and new.Only such a figure as the madam's properly sets it off."
While the women were making measurements for some slight alterations,Lucius said: "It would be nice if you decided on that automobile, andtook Mrs. Haney to the dinner in it."
Haney's face lighted up. "I will! Sh! not a word. We'll surprise her."
"If you don't mind I'll hustle up a footman's livery."
"So do. Anything goes--for her, Lucius."
Bertha thought she had already rubbed the side of her wonderful lamp toa polish. But under the almost hypnotic spell of her West-Indianattendant she bought shoes, hats, hosiery, and toilet articles till herroom looked "like Christmas morning," as Haney said, and yet there waslittle that could be called foolish or tawdry. She wore little jewelry,having resisted Haney's attempt to load her with rings and necklaces.Miss Franklin had impressed upon her the need of being "simple." Whenshe put on her dinner-dress and faced him, Mart Haney was humbled toearth. "Sure, ye're beautiful as an angel!" he exulted, as if addressinga saint. And as she swept before the tall glass and saw her radiant selftherein, she thought of Ben, and her face flamed with lovely color. "Iwish he could see me now!" she inwardly exclaimed.
Miss Franklin, in writing to her friend, Mrs. Brent, had said: "In asense, the Haneys are 'impossible'--he is an ex-gambler, and she is thedaughter of a woman who kept a miner's boarding-house in the mountains.But this sounds worse than it really is. I like the Captain. Whatever hewas in the days before his accident I don't know--they say he was aterror. But when I entered the family he was as he is now--a patheticfigure. He isn't really old; but he's horribly crippled, and takes itvery hard. He is kindness itself to his wife and to every one round him,and will be grateful for anything you do for him. Bertha is young butmaturing very rapidly, and there's no telling where she will stop. She'sbeen studying with me, and I've told her you will advise her while she'sin Chicago. You needn't go far with her if you don't want to. TheHallidays and Voughts won't mind the back pages of the Haney history,and you needn't say anything about the Captain's career if you don'twant to. He's a big mine-owner now, and is out of the gambling andsaloon business altogether. Bertha is perfectly eligible in herself. Andas many of us started on farms or poor little villages, we can't affordto take on any airs over her. She's of good parentage, and as true assteel. She likes the Captain, and is devoted to him."
Dr. Brent was not connected with the university, but his wife's brotherhad been a student there, and was now an instructor in one of thescientific departments. And Mrs. Brent's charm of manner and theDoctor's easy-going hospitality made their fine little Kenwood home thecentre of a certain intellectual Bohemia on the borders of theinstitution, and the "artistic gang" occasionally met and geniallyinterfused with the professors round the big Brent fireplace. Being richin his own right, Brent took his practice in such moderation as to be ofthe highest effectiveness when he consented to operate, and was indemand for difficult surgical cases. He was slender, blond, and languidof movement--not in the least suggestive of the Western hustle ofChicago, and yet he was born within twenty miles of the court-house.Indeed, it was the spread of the city which had enriched his father'sestate, and which now permitted him to work when he felt like it, and toassemble round his hearthstone--an actual stone, by the way--the peoplehe liked best. The amount of hickory wood he burned was stupendous.
Mrs. Brent was known as "the audacious hostess," because she was notafraid to invite anybody who interested her. "You take your reputationin your hand," her friends often said to those about to make their firstcall. "You may meet an actor from New York or a stone-mason from theWest Side--one never knows." Their house was an adaptation of the"mission style" of California and possessed one big room on the firstfloor which their friends called Congress Hall.
Miss Franklin was certain that this circle would enjoy the Captain oncehe became at ease, and she really hoped Mrs. Brent would "advise thegirl," and, as she put it, "Help her to get at the pleasant side ofChicago. She's very rich and she's intelligent, but she is very raw!She's very like a boy, but she's worth while. She wanted me to come withher, but I could have done so only by giving up here and going as hercompanion, and that I'm not ready to do--at present."
After carefully considering all these points, Mrs. Brent 'phoned herfriends, being careful to explain that Dorothy Franklin had sent her"some fleecy specimens of Colorado society," and that she was asking afew of "the bold and fearless" among her set to meet them.
"Who are the guests of honor?" she was asked by each favored one.
Each received the same reply: "Marshall Haney, the gambler prince ofCripple Creek, and his bride, Dead-shot Nell, biscuit-shooter, fromHoney Gulch."
"Honest?"
"Hope to die!"
"It's too good to be true! Of course I'll come. Do we have a quiet gameafter dinner?"
"Ah, no, that would be too cruel--to Captain Haney. No; we go to thetheatre. So be on hand at 7 P.M., sharp."
In this way she had prepared her friends to be surprised by Bertha'sgood looks and the Captain's tame and courteous manner, but was herselfsoundly jarred when her "wild-West people" came up to the door in anauto-car that must have cost five or six thousand dollars, and when acolored footman, in bottle-green uniform, leaped out to open the doorfor them (it was Lucius in his new suit--he was playing all the parts).Brent, with a comical look at his wife, remarked: "I suppose this is inlieu of broncos?"
"They _are_ branching out!" she gasped. "And see her clothes!"
She might well exclaim, for Bertha, in her long cloak, her head bare,and her pretty dress showing, did not in the least resemble the pictureMiss Franklin had drawn; neither did she resemble the demure, almostsullen girl Mrs. Brent had met in the hotel. The Captain, too, for thesecond time in his life, wore evening dress, but citing to his sombrero;so that he resembled a Tennessee congressman at the Inaugural Ball as hecame slowly up the short walk, and Mrs. Brent deeply regretted that noone
was present to take the shock with herself and the doctor.
The maid at the door, who knew nothing of the wild reputation of theHaneys, guided them up-stairs to their respective dressing-rooms, andhelped to remove their wraps so expeditiously that they were on theirway back to the first floor before any other guests arrived. Bertha wasdelighted but not awed by the fine room into which they were ushered,for was not her own house larger and more splendid? She had grownaccustomed to big things--it was the tasteful beauty of the room thatmoved her.
In the side of the room a big plain brick fireplace was filled with acrackling fire, and in the light of it stood her host and hostess.Bertha was glad to find them alone--she had expected to face a room fullof people. She was not specially attracted to Dr. Brent, and remained socoldly restrained that he was quite baffled and turned away to theCaptain, who sought the fire, saying: "This looks good. I feel the coldnow--I don't know why I should."
This opened the way to a very confidential talk on wounds and diet.
Bertha's new gown of pale blue made her look very young and very sweet,and the eager guests were sadly disappointed in her--that is to say, theladies were; the men seemed quite content with her as she was. They tookthe "biscuit-shooter" description to be a piece of fooling on Mrs.Brent's part, and as they had no time after dinner to get the Captainstarted they remained quite convinced that he, too, had been maligned intheir hostess's description.
As a result, Mrs. Brent and her other guests were forced to do thetalking, for Bertha had not only warned Mart against reminiscence, buthad determined to keep a tight hold on her own tongue; and though shelistened with the alertness of a bird, she answered only in curt phrase,making "yes" and "no" do their full duty. She perceived that the peopleround her were of intellectual companionship to the Crego and Congdoncircles, and these young men, so easy and graceful of manner, remindedher of Ben. None of them were entirely strange to her now, and yet shedimly apprehended something uncomplimentary veiled beneath their politeregard. She did not entirely trust any of them--not even her host.Indeed, she liked Mrs. Brent less than at their first meeting in thehotel.
The dinner was rather hurried, and they would have been late had it notbeen for Haney's new auto-car, which carried six, and made two trips tothe station unnecessary. It was fine to see the Captain put his machineat the disposal of his hostess. "I told Lucius to wait," he boasted, "Ithought we might need him."
Dr. Brent succeeded at last in drawing his pretty guest intoconversation by remarking on the Captain's color. "He's feedingimproperly, if you don't mind my saying so. He's putting on weight, hetells me, but feels cold and nerveless. Cut him down on starchy foods.How long is it since he was hurt?"
"About eight months."
"Must have been a tearing beast of an accident to wing a man of hisframe."
"It was. Tore his whole side to pieces."
"Who put him together--Steele, of Denver?"
"No, a man in Cripple."
"Sure he was the right man?"
"He was the best I could get."
"You arouse my professional egotism. I'd like to examine the Captain ifyou don't object--not for any fee, you understand. But a fellow of hisbuild and years--he tells me he's only forty-five--"
"Only forty-five," thought the girl. "What strange ideas these olderpeople have! And Ben was twenty-six." Just what the doctor saidafterwards she didn't hear, for she was thinking of the swift, wide arcof change through which her mind had swung from the time when MarshallHaney first came to Sibley--so grand of stride, so erect, so powerful.He, too, seemed young then; now he was old--old and feeble--a man to beadvised, protected, humored. She dimly understood, too, thatcorresponding change had come to her; that she was far away from thegirl who had stood behind the counter defending herself against thelove-making of the bummers and drummers among her patrons--and yet shewas the same, after all. "I've not changed as much as he has," was herconclusion. And she enjoyed the gayety and beauty of her companions, butshe said little to express it.
The play that night appalled her by its fury of passion, its mockery ofwoman, its cynical disbelief in man. With startling abruptness and inmost colloquial method it delineated the beginning of a young wife'swrong-doing, and when the lover caught the innocent, ensnared woman tohis bosom a flaming sword seemed to have been plunged into Bertha's ownbreast. She quivered and flushed. And when the actress displayed theawakened conscience of the erring one, putting into words as well asinto facial expression her feeling of guilt and remorse, the girl-wifein the box shrank and whitened, her big eyes fixed upon the sobbing,suffering character before her, defending herself against the dramatistas against an enemy. He was a liar! There was no wrong in Ben's kiss andno remorse in her own heart as she remembered the caress. "Even if heloves me, that doesn't make him horrible!"
The dramatist went remorselessly on. He showed the husband--old, coarse,brutal. He put him in sharpest relief in order that the woman should betempted to her ruin, and in the end the lover--virile, handsome andunscrupulous--wins the tortured woman's soul--and they flee, leaving theusual note behind.
"What can you expect?" remarked the cynical friend of the injuredhusband. "Given a young and lovely wife like Rose and an old limpingwarrior like you, and an elopement follows as a matter of course, Q. E.D." And so the curtain fell.
Relentless realist in the first act, the dramatist in the second actbegan to hedge. He made the life of the erring woman conventionallymiserable. Her lover beat her, neglected her, and finally deserted her.And in the last act she crawled back into her husband's home like astarved cat to die, while he, scarred old beast, cried out: "The wagesof sin is death!" Whether the writer intended this scene to be ironicalor not, the effect was to awaken a murmur of laughter among theill-restrained of the auditors. But Bertha, hot with anger towards bothauthor and players, could not join in Mrs. Brent's smiling comment:"Isn't that comical!"
The doctor coolly said: "A good conventional British ending. Why didn'the clap a pair of wings on the old reprobate and run him up on a wire,the way they used to do in translating little Eva in 'Uncle Tom'sCabin'?"
Afterwards Mrs. Brent proposed that they go to a German restaurant andhave some beer and skittles; but this struck harshly on Bertha, whostill palpitated with the passion of the play. "I reckon we'd betternot. The Captain is pretty tired, and, if you don't mind, we'll quitnow."
Without saying "I've had a lovely time," she shook hands all round, and,taking her husband's arm, moved off into the street, leaving her hostessa little uneasy and wholly perplexed. Mrs. Brent's joke about theCaptain and his wife had, as the doctor expressed it, "queered the wholeaffair."
"But how did she know?"
"She's a good deal sharper than you gave her credit for being," hereplied. "You Easterners never can learn to take diamonds in the rough."
Bertha's mind was in tumult, and she wished to be alone. Mart irritatedher. She refused to talk to him about the play or the dinner, and,turning him over to Lucius, went at once to her own bed. Thus far shehad not attempted to closely analyze her relationship to Marshall Haney.He had been to her a good friend rather than a husband, a companion whoneeded her, and who had given her everything she asked for. Keenlyforward, almost precocious on the calculative side, she had remainedsingularly untroubled on the emotional side. She knew that certainproblems of sex existed in the world, and she was only mentally aware oftemptations--she had never really felt them. Now all at once her wholenature awoke. Her mind engaged a legion of vaguely defined enemies. Outof the shadow stepped words of no weight, of no significance hitherto,encircling her, panoplied with meaning. The half-heard comment of thecamp, the dimly perceived gossip of the Springs, the flattering looks ofthe artists--all helped her to see herself as she was: a handsome younggirl, like that on the stage, married to a crippled middle-aged man ofevil history.
"But he is good to me," she argued against her new self. "I was poor,and he has made me rich; and all I've done is to nurse him and keephouse for him." Wit
h this thought came a realization that she had neverbeen a full and complete wife to him. And with a flush of shame andrepulsion she added: "And now I never can be. No matter if he were tobecome as straight, as strong, and as handsome as he was in those days,I cannot love him as a wife should."
Once having admitted this feeling of repulsion, once having clearlyperceived the vast distance between herself and her husband, therepulsion deepened, the separating space widened. He seemed ten yearsolder as they met next morning, and his face was heavy and his framelax. Her pity had not lessened, but it was mixed now with a qualifyingemotion which she had not yet acknowledged to be disgust. His skin waswaxy white and his jowls drooping. "I'm not at all up to the work," hesaid, with a return of his humor. "'Tis a killing pace we've struck,Bertie, and the old man must take the flag if you keep it up."
"I don't intend to keep it up," she answered, shortly. "I think we'dbetter go home." At the word "home" a little thrill went through her. Itwas so bright and big and desirable, that mansion under the purplepeaks.
"No; I must go trail up me old dad, and leave him provided for. Fandoesn't even know his address (the more shame to her), but I'll findhim. If ye're tired and would rather go home, I'll go on alone."
"Oh no, you mustn't do that!" she exclaimed instantly, feeling thesincerity of his desire to please her. "I'll go, but we mustn't staylong." And she took up the direction of his life again. The mood of thenight had passed away, leaving only a clearer perception of his growingage and helplessness.
"You must let Dr. Brent examine you," she said, a little later. "Hedon't think your lameness is caused by your wound. He says you're out ofcondition."
He looked at her with shadowed face and sorrowful eyes. "I'm only a poorold skate, wind-broken and lazy. Ye have the right to cut me loose anytime."
"You mustn't talk like that," she said, sharply. "When I want to cutloose I'll let you know."
"I hold ye to that," he answered, with intent look.
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