Doctor Claudius, A True Story

by F. Marion Crawford

  CHAPTER XVIII.

  A month has passed since Margaret went to see _Othello_, and New York isbeginning to wake to its winter round of amusements. There are dinnersand dances and much leaving of little pasteboard chips with names andaddresses.

  Mr. Barker had made progress, in his own opinion, since the day when heso unfortunately roused Margaret's anger by his story. He bethought himone day that Claudius's influence had begun with the reading of books,and he determined to try something of the kind himself. He was noscholar as Claudius was, but he knew men who were. He cultivated theacquaintance of Mr. Horace Bellingham, and spent studious hours inascertaining the names of quaint and curious volumes, which he spared noexpense in procuring. He read books he had never heard of before, andthen talked about them to Margaret; and when he hit upon anything shedid not know he was swift to bring it to her, and sometimes she wouldeven listen while he read a few pages aloud.

  Margaret encouraged Barker in this new fancy unconsciously enough, forshe thought it an admirable thing that a man whose whole life wasdevoted to business pursuits should develop a taste for letters; andwhen he had broken the ice on the sea of literature she talked morefreely with him than she had ever done before. It was not Barker whointerested her, but the books he brought, which were indeed rare andbeautiful. He, on the other hand, quick to assimilate any knowledge thatmight be of use to him, and cautious of exposing the weaker points ofhis ignorance, succeeded in producing an impression of considerablelearning, so that by and by he began to think he was taking Claudius'splace in her daily pursuits, as he hoped to take it in her heart.

  Meanwhile no one had heard from the Doctor, for his correspondence withMargaret was unknown to Barker, and the latter began to cherish a hopethat, after all, there might be overwhelming difficulties in the way ofproving Claudius's right to the estate. He had more than once talkedover the matter with Mr. Screw, and they came to the conclusion thatthis silence was prognostic of the Doctor's defeat. Screw thought itprobable that, had Claudius immediately obtained from Heidelberg thenecessary papers, he would have sent a triumphant telegram over thecable, announcing his return at the shortest possible interval. But thetime was long. It was now the first week in November and nearly twomonths had passed since he had sailed. Mr. Barker had avoided speakingof him to the Countess, at first because he did not wish to recall himto her memory, and later because he observed that she never mentionedthe Doctor's name. Barker had inquired of Mr. Bellingham whether he knewanything of his friend's movements, to which Uncle Horace had replied,with a grim laugh, that he had quite enough to do with taking care ofdistinguished foreigners when they were in New York, without lookingafter them when they had gone elsewhere.

  One evening before dinner Vladimir brought Margaret a telegram. She wasseated by the fire as usual and Miss Skeat, who had been reading alouduntil it grew too dark, was by her side warming her thin hands, whichalways looked cold, and bending forward towards the fire as she listenedto Margaret's somewhat random remarks about the book in hand. Margarethad long since talked with Miss Skeat about her disturbed affairs, andconcerning the prospect that was before her of being comparatively poor.And Miss Skeat, in her high-bred old-fashioned way, had laid her handgently on the Countess's arm in token of sympathy.

  "Dear Countess," she had said, "please remember that it will not makeany difference to me, and that I will never leave you. Poverty is not anew thing to me, my dear." The tears came into Margaret's eyes as shepressed the elder lady's hand in silence. These passages of feeling wererare between them, but they understood each other, for all that. And nowMargaret was speaking despondently of the future. A few days before shehad made up her mind at last to write the necessary letters to Russia,and she had now despatched them on their errand. Not that she had anyreal hope of bettering things, but a visit from Nicholas had roused herto the fact that it was a duty she owed to him as well as to herself toendeavour to recover what was possible of her jointure.

  At last she opened the telegram and uttered an exclamation of surprise.

  "What in the world does it mean?" she cried, and gave it to Miss Skeat,who held it close to the firelight.

  The message was from Lord Fitzdoggin, Her British Majesty's Ambassadorat St. Petersburg, and was an informal statement to the effect that hisExcellency was happy to communicate to the Countess Margaret theintelligence that, by the untiring efforts and great skill of a personalfriend, the full payment of her jointure was now secured to her inperpetuity. It stated, moreover, that she would shortly receive officialinformation of the fact through the usual channels.

  Miss Skeat beamed with pleasure; for though she had been willing to makeany sacrifice for Margaret, it would not have been an agreeable thing tobe so very poor again.

  "I never met Lord Fitzdoggin," said Margaret, "and I do not understandin the least. Why should he, of all people, inform me of this, if it isreally true?"

  "The Duke must have written to him," said Miss Skeat, still beaming, andreading the message over again.

  Margaret paused a moment in thought, then lighting the gas herself, shewrote a note and despatched Vladimir in hot haste.

  "I have asked Mr. Bellingham to dine," she said, in answer to MissSkeat's inquiring look. "He will go to the party with me afterwards, ifhe is free."

  It chanced that Mr. Bellingham was in his rooms when Margaret's notecame, and he immediately threw over an engagement he had previouslymade, and sent word he would be at the Countess's disposal. Punctual tothe minute he appeared. Margaret showed him the telegram.

  "What does this mean, Mr. Bellingham?" she asked, smiling, butscrutinising his face closely.

  "My dear Countess," cried the old gentleman, delighted beyond measure atthe result of his policy, and corruscating with smiles and twinkles,"my dear Countess, allow me to congratulate you."

  "But who is the 'personal friend' mentioned? Is it the Duke? He is inthe far West at this moment."

  "No," answered Mr. Bellingham, "it is not the Duke. I am inclined tothink it is a manifestation of some great cosmic force, working silentlyfor your welfare. The lovely spirits," continued the old gentleman,looking up from under his brows, and gesticulating as though he wouldcall down the mystic presence he invoked--"the lovely spirits that guardyou would be loth to allow anything so fair to suffer annoyance from therude world. You are well taken care of, Countess, believe me."

  Margaret smiled at Uncle Horace's way of getting out of the difficulty,for she suspected him of knowing more than he would acknowledge. But allshe could extract from him was that he knew Lord Fitzdoggin slightly,and that he believed the telegram to be perfectly genuine. He had playedhis part in the matter, and rubbed his hands as though washing them ofany further responsibility. Indeed he had nothing to tell, save that hehad advised Claudius to get an introduction from the Duke. He well knewthat the letters he had given Claudius had been the real means of hissuccess; but as Margaret only asked about the telegram, he was perfectlysafe in denying any knowledge of it. Not that such a consideration wouldhave prevented his meeting her question with a little fib, just to keepthe secret.

  "Will you not go to this dance with me this evening?" asked Margaretafter dinner, as they sat round the fireplace.

  "What ball is that?" inquired Mr. Bellingham.

  "I hardly know what it is. It is a party at the Van Sueindell's andthere is 'dancing' on the card. Please go with me; I should have to goalone."

  "I detest the pomp and circumstance of pleasure," said Uncle Horace,"the Persian appurtenances, as my favourite poet calls them; but Icannot resist so charming an invitation. It will give me the greatestpleasure. I will send word to put off another engagement."

  "Do you really not mind at all?"

  "Not a bit of it. Only three or four old fogies at the club. _Est mihinonum superantis annum plenus Albani cadus_," continued Mr. Bellingham,who never quoted Horace once without quoting him again in the next fiveminutes. "I had sent a couple of bottles of my grandfather's madeira tothe club, 1796, but th
ose old boys will enjoy it without me. They wouldtalk me to death if I went."

  "It is too bad," said Margaret, "you must go to the club. I would notlet you break an engagement on my account."

  "No, no. Permit me to do a good deed without having to bear the infernalconsequences in this life, at all events. The chatter of those people islike the diabolical screaming of the peacock on the terrace of theEmir's chief wife, made memorable by Thackeray the prophet." He paused amoment, and stroked his snowy pointed beard. "Forgive my stronglanguage," he added; "really, they are grand adjectives those,'diabolical' and 'infernal.' They call up the whole of Dante to mymind." Margaret laughed.

  "Are you fond of Dante?" asked she.

  "Very. I sometimes buy a cheap copy and substitute the names of my petenemies all through the _Inferno_ wherever they will suit the foot. Inthat way I get all the satisfaction the author got by putting hisfriends in hell, without the labour of writing, or the ability tocompose, the poem." The Countess laughed again.

  "Do you ever do the same thing with the _Paradiso_?"

  "No," answered Uncle Horace, with a smile. "Purgatory belonged to an agewhen people were capable of being made better by suffering, and as forparadise, my heaven admits none but the fair sex. They are allbeautiful, and many of them are young."

  "Will you admit me, Mr. Bellingham?"

  "St. Margaret has forestalled me," said he gallantly, "for she has aparadise of her own, it seems, to which she has admitted me."

  And so they passed the evening pleasantly until the hour warned themthat it was time to go to the great Van Sueindell house. That mansion,like all private houses in America, and the majority of modern dwellingsin other parts of the world, is built in that depraved style ofarchitecture which makes this age pre-eminent in the ugliness of brickand stone. There is no possibility of criticism for such monstrosity, asthere also seems to be no immediate prospect of reform. Time, theiron-fisted Nihilist, will knock them all down some day and bid mankindbegin anew. Meanwhile let us ignore what we cannot improve. Night, theall-merciful, sometimes hides these excrescences from our sight, andsometimes the moon, Nature's bravest liar, paints and moulds them into afugitive harmony. But in the broad day let us fix our eyes modestly onthe pavement beneath us, or turn them boldly to the sky, for if we lookto the right or the left we must see that which sickens the sense ofsight.

  On the present occasion, however, nothing was to be seen of the house,for the long striped canvas tent, stretching from the door to thecarriage, and lined with plants and servants, hid everything else fromview. There is probably no city in the world where the _business_ of"entertaining" is so thoroughly done as in New York. There are manyplaces where it is more agreeable to be "entertained;" many where it isdone on a larger scale, for there is nothing in America so imposing asthe receptions at Embassies and other great houses in England andabroad. To bring the matter into business form, since it is a matter ofbusiness, let us say that nowhere do guests cost so much by the cubicfoot as in New York. Abroad, owing to the peculiar conditions ofcourt-life, many people are obliged to open their houses at statedintervals. In America no one is under this necessity. If people begin to"entertain" they do it because they have money, or because they havesomething to gain by it, and they do it with an absolute regardlessnessof cost which is enough to startle the sober foreigner.

  It may be in bad taste, but if we are to define what is good taste inthese days, and abide by it, we shall be terribly restricted. As anexhibition of power, this enormous expenditure is imposing in theextreme; though the imposing element, being strictly confined to thedisplay of wealth, can never produce the impressions of durability,grandeur, and military pomp so dear to every European. Hence theEnglishman turns up his nose at the gilded shows of American society,and the American sniffs when he finds that the door-scraper of somegreat London house is only silverplated instead of being solid, and thatthe carpets are at least two years old. They regard things from oppositepoints of view, and need never expect to agree.

  Margaret, however, was not so new to American life, seeing she wasAmerican born, as to bestow a thought or a glance on the appointments ofMr. and Mrs. Van Sueindell's establishment; and as for Mr. Bellingham,he had never cared much for what he called the pomp and circumstance ofpleasure, for he carried pleasure with him in his brilliant conversationand his ready tact. All places were more or less alike to Mr.Bellingham. At the present moment, however, he was thinking principallyof his fair charge, and was wondering inwardly what time he would gethome, for he rose early and was fond of a nap in the late evening. Hetherefore gave Margaret his arm, and kept a lookout for some amusing manto introduce to her. He had really enjoyed his dinner and the pleasantchat afterwards, but the prospect of piloting this magnificent beautyabout till morning, or till she should take it into her head to go home,was exhausting. Besides, he went little into society of this kind, andwas not over-familiar with the faces he saw.

  He need not have been disturbed, however, for they had not been manyminutes in the rooms before a score of men had applied for the "pleasureof a turn." But still she held Mr. Bellingham's arm, obdurately refusingto dance. As Barker came up a moment later, willing, perhaps, to showhis triumph to the rejected suitors, Margaret thanked Mr. Bellingham,and offered to take him home if he would stay until one o'clock; thenshe glided away, not to dance but to sit in a quieter room, near thedoor of which couples would hover for a quarter of an hour at a timewaiting to seize the next pair of vacant seats. Mr. Bellingham movedaway, amused by the music and the crowd and the fair young faces, untilhe found a seat in a corner, shaded from the flare of light by an opendoor close by, and there, in five minutes, he was fast asleep in themidst of the gaiety and noise and heat--unnoticed, a gray old man amidso much youth.

  But Barker knew the house better than the most of the guests, andpassing through the little room for which every one seemed fighting, hedrew aside a heavy curtain and showed a small boudoir beyond, lightedwith a solitary branch of candles, and occupied by a solitary couple.Barker had hoped to find this sanctum empty, and as he pushed two chairstogether he eyed the other pair savagely.

  "What a charming little room," said Margaret, sinking into the softchair and glancing at the walls and ceiling, which were elaboratelyadorned in the Japanese fashion. The chairs also were framed of bamboo,and the table was of an unusual shape. It was the "Japanese parlour[3],"as Mrs. Van Sueindell would have called it. Every great house in NewYork has a Japanese or a Chinese room. The entire contents of theapartment having been brought direct from Yokohama, the effect washarmonious, and Margaret's artistic sense was pleased.

  [Footnote 3: Parlour or parlor, American for "sitting-room."]

  "Is it not?" said Barker, glad to have brought her to a place she liked."I thought you would like it, and I hoped," lowering his voice, "that weshould find it empty. Only people who come here a great deal know aboutit."

  "Then you come here often?" asked Margaret, to say something. She wasglad to be out of the din, for though she had anticipated some pleasurefrom the party, she discovered too late that she had made a mistake, andwould rather be at home. She had so much to think of, since receivingthat telegram; and so, forgetting Barker and everything else, shefollowed her own train of thought. Barker talked on, and Margaret seemedto be listening--but it was not the music, muffled through the heavycurtains, nor the small voice of Mr. Barker that she heard. It was thewashing of the sea and the creaking of cordage that were in herears--the rush of the ship that was to bring him back--that was perhapsbringing him back already. When would he come? How soon? If it couldonly be to-morrow, she would so like to--what in the world is Mr. Barkersaying so earnestly? Really, she ought to listen. It was very rude."Conscious of my many defects of character--" Oh yes, he was alwaystalking about his defects; what next? "--conscious of my many defects ofcharacter," Mr. Barker was saying, in an even, determined voice, "andfeeling deeply how far behind you I am in those cultivated pursuits youmost enjoy, I would nevertheless scorn to enlarge
upon my advantages,the more so as I believe you are acquainted with my circumstances."

  Good gracious! thought Margaret, suddenly recovering the acutest use ofher hearing, what is the man going to say? And she looked fixedly at himwith an expression of some astonishment.

  "Considering, as I was saying," he continued steadily, "those advantagesupon which I will not enlarge, may I ask you to listen to what I amgoing to say?"

  Margaret, having lost the first part of Barker's speech completely, inher fit of abstraction, had some vague idea that he was asking heradvice about marrying some other woman.

  "Certainly," she said indifferently; "pray go on." At the moment ofattack, however, Barker's heart failed him for an instant. He thought hewould make one more attempt to ascertain what position Claudius heldtowards Margaret.

  "Of course," he said, smiling and looking down, "we all knew about Dr.Claudius on board the _Streak_."

  "What did you know about him?" asked Margaret calmly, but her faceflushed for an instant. That might have happened even if she had notcared for Claudius; she was so proud that the idea of being thought tocare might well bring the colour to her cheek. Barker hardly noticed theblush, for he was getting into very deep water, and was on the point oflosing his head.

  "That he proposed to you, and you refused him," he said, still smiling.

  "Take care, sir," she said quickly, "when Dr. Claudius comes back he--"Barker interrupted her with a laugh.

  "Claudius coming back?" he answered, "ha! ha! good indeed!"

  He looked at Margaret. She was very quiet, and she was naturally so darkthat, in the shadow of the fan she held carelessly against the light, hecould not see how pale she turned. She was intensely angry, and heranger took the form of a preternatural calm of manner, by no meansindicative of indifferent reflection. She was simply unable to speak forthe moment. Barker, however, whose reason was in abeyance for themoment, merely saw that she did not answer; and, taking her silence forconsent to his slighting mention of Claudius, he at once proceeded withhis main proposition. At this juncture the other couple slowly left theroom, having arranged their own affairs to their satisfaction.

  "That being the case," he said, "and now that I am assured that I haveno rivals to dread, will you permit me to offer you my heart and myhand? Countess Margaret, will you marry me, and make me the happiest ofmen? Oh, do not be silent, do not look as if you did not hear! I haveloved you since I first saw you--will you, will you marry me?" Here Mr.Barker, who was really as much in love as his nature allowed him to be,moved to the very edge of his chair and tried to take her hand.

  "Margaret!" he said, as he touched her fingers.

  At the touch she recovered her self-possession, too long lost for such acase. She had tried to control her anger, had tried to remember whetherby any word she could have encouraged him to so much boldness. Now sherose to all her haughty height, and though she tried hard to controlherself, there was scorn in her voice.

  "Mr. Barker," she said, dropping her hands before her and standingstraight as a statue, "you have made a mistake, and if through anycarelessness I have led you into this error I am sorry for it. I cannotlisten to you, I cannot marry you. As for Dr. Claudius, I will notpermit you to use any slighting words about him. I hold in my possessiondocuments that could prove his identity as well as any he can obtain inGermany. But I need not produce them, for I am sure it will be enoughfor you to know that I am engaged to be married to him--I am engaged tobe married to Dr. Claudius," she repeated very distinctly in her deepmusical tones; and before Barker could recover himself, she had passedfrom the room into the lights and the sound of music beyond.

  What do you think, reader? Was it not a brave and noble action of hersto vindicate Claudius by taking upon herself the whole responsibility ofhis love rather than by going home and sending Mr. Barker documentaryevidence of the Doctor's personality? Claudius had never asked her tomarry him, the very word had never been mentioned. But he had told herhe loved her and she had trusted him.

  Start not at the infinity of social crime that such a doubt defines. Itis there. It is one thing for a woman to love a man at arm's lengthconditionally; it is another for her to take him to her heart and trusthim. Does every millionaire who makes love to a penniless widow mean tomarry her? for Margaret was poor on that Tuesday in Newport. Or reversethe case; if Claudius were an adventurer, as Barker hinted, what werethe consequences she assumed in declaring herself engaged to marry him?

  In spite of her excitement, Margaret was far too much a woman of theworld to create a sensation by walking through the rooms alone. In amoment or two she saw a man she knew, and calling him to her by a look,took his arm. She chatted pleasantly to this young fellow, as proud asneed be of being selected to conduct the beauty whither she would, andafter some searching she discovered Mr. Bellingham, still asleep behindthe swinging door.

  "Thanks," she said to her escort. "I have promised to take Mr.Bellingham home." And she dropped the young man's arm with a nod and asmile.

  "But he is asleep," objected the gallant.

  "I will wake him," she answered. And laying her hand on Mr.Bellingham's, she leaned down and spoke his name. Instantly he awoke, asfresh as from a night's rest, for he had the Napoleonic faculty forcatching naps.

  "Winter awaking to greet the spring," he said without the slightesthesitation, as though he had prepared the little speech in his sleep."Forgive me," he said, "it is a habit of mine learned long ago." Hepresented his arm and asked her what was her pleasure.

  "I am going home," she said, "and if you like I will drop you at yourdoor."

  Mr. Bellingham glanced at a great enamelled clock, half-hidden amongflowers and fans, as they passed, and he noticed that they had not beenin the house much more than three quarters of an hour. But he wiselysaid nothing, and waited patiently while Margaret was wrapped in hercloaks, and till the butler had told the footman, and the footman hadtold the other footman, and the other footman had told the page, and thepage had told the policeman to call the Countess Margaret's carriage.After which the carriage appeared, and they drove away.

  Uncle Horace chatted pleasantly about the party, admitting that he haddreamed more than he had seen of it. But Margaret said little, for thereaction was coming after the excitement she had passed through. Onlywhen they reached Mr. Bellingham's rooms, and he was about to leave her,she held his hand a moment and looked earnestly in his face.

  "Mr. Bellingham," she said suddenly, "I trust you will always be myfriend--will you not?" The old gentleman paused in his descent from thecarriage, and took the hand she offered.

  "Indeed I will, my dear child," he said very seriously. Then he benthis knee to the sill of the door and kissed her fingers, and was gone.No one ever resented Mr. Bellingham's familiarity, for it was rare andhonest of its kind. Besides, he was old enough to be her grandfather, inspite of his pretty speeches and his graceful actions.

  Margaret passed a sleepless night. Her anger with Mr. Barker had notbeen so much the mere result of the words he had spoken, though shewould have resented his sneer about Claudius sharply enough under anycircumstances. It was rather that to her keen intelligence, renderedstill more acute by her love for the Doctor, the whole scene constituteda revelation. By that wonderful instinct which guides women in the mostcritical moments of their lives, she saw at last the meaning of Barker'sdoings, of his silence concerning Claudius, and of his coolness with thelatter before he had got rid of him. She saw Barker at the bottom of theplot to send Claudius to Europe; she saw him in all the efforts made bythe Duke and Barker to keep Claudius and herself apart on board theyacht; she saw his hand in it all, and she understood for the first timethat this man, whom she had of late permitted to be so much with her,was her worst enemy, while aspiring to be her lover. The whole extent ofhis faithlessness to Claudius came before her, as she remembered that ithad doubtless been to serve the Doctor that Barker had obtained anintroduction to her at Baden; that he had done everything to throw themtogether, devoting himself t
o Miss Skeat, in a manner that drove thatancient virgin to the pinnacle of bliss and despair, while leavingClaudius free field to make love to herself. And then he had suddenlyturned and made up his mind that he should have her for his own wife.And her anger rose higher and hotter as she thought of it.

  Then she went over the scene of the evening at Mrs. Van Sueindell'shouse--how she had not listened and not understood, until she was sosuddenly roused to the consciousness of what he was saying--how she hadfaced him, and, in the inspiration of the moment, had boldly told himthat she loved his rival. In that thought she found satisfaction, aswell she might, for her love had been put to the test, and had notfailed her.

  "I am glad I said it," she murmured to herself, and fell asleep. PoorClaudius, far away over the sea, what a leap his heart would have givencould he have known what she had done, and that she was glad of it.

  And Mr. Barker? He felt a little crushed when she left him there alonein the Japanese boudoir, for he knew at once that he might as well throwup the game. There was not the least chance for him any longer. He mightindeed suspect that the documents Margaret spoke of were a myth, andthat her declaration of the engagement was in reality the only weaponshe could use in Claudius's defence. But that did not change matters. Nowoman would "give herself away," as he expressed it, so recklessly,unless she were perfectly certain. Therefore Mr. Barker went into thesupper-room, and took a little champagne to steady his nerves; afterwhich he did his best to amuse himself, talking with unusual vivacity toany young lady of his acquaintance whom he could allure from her partnerfor a few minutes. For he had kept himself free of engagements thatevening on Margaret's account, and now regretted it bitterly. But Mr.Barker was a great match, as has been said before, and he seldom hadany difficulty in amusing himself when he felt so inclined. He had notwitnessed Margaret's departure, for, not wishing to be seen coming outof the boudoir alone, a sure sign of defeat, and being perfectlyfamiliar with the house, he had found his way by another door, andthrough circuitous passages to the pantry, and thence to thesupper-room; so that by the time he had refreshed himself Margaret andMr. Bellingham had gone.

  Do people of Mr. Barker's stamp feel? Probably not. It requires a strongorganisation, either animal or intellectual, to suffer much from anyshock to the affections. Englishmen, on those occasions when theirpassion gets the better of their caution, somewhat a rare occurrencenowadays, are capable of loving very strongly, and of suffering severelyif thwarted, for they are among the most powerful races in the animalkingdom. Their whole history shows this, moulded as it has generallybeen by exceptional men, for the most part Irish and Scotch, in whom thehighest animal and intellectual characteristics were united. Germans, inwhom the intellectual faculties, and especially the imagination,predominate, are for the most part very love-sick for at least halftheir lives. But Americans seem to be differently organised; meaning, ofcourse, the small class, who would like to be designated as the"aristocracy" of the country. The faculties are all awake, acute, andready for use; but there is a lack of depth, which will rouse theperpetual wonder of future generations. While the mass of the peopleexhibits the strong characteristics of the Saxon, the Celtic, and theSouth German races, physical endurance and occasionally intellectualpre-eminence,--for, saving some peculiarities of speech, made defectsmerely by comparison, there are no such natural orators and statesmenin the world as are to be found in Congress; at the same time, thewould-be aristocracy of the country is remarkable for nothing so much asfor the very unaristocratic faculty of getting money--rarely mingling inpublic questions, still more rarely producing anything of merit,literary or artistic. Therefore, being so constituted that the almightydollar crowns the edifice of their ambitions as with a coronet of milledsilver, they are singularly inapt to suffer from such ills as prick thesoul, which taketh no thought for the morrow, what it shall eat or whatit shall drink.

  Truly, a happy people, these American aristocrats.