Oh, Money! Money! A Novel

by Eleanor H. Porter

  CHAPTER XIX

  STILL OTHER FLIES

  It was when his duties of secretaryship to Miss Flora had dwindled toalmost infinitesimal proportions that Mr. Smith wished suddenly that hewere serving Miss Maggie in that capacity, so concerned was he over aletter that had come to Miss Maggie in that morning's mail.

  He himself had taken it from the letter-carrier's hand and had placedit on Miss Maggie's little desk. Casually, as he did so, he had noticedthat it bore a name he recognized as that of a Boston law firm; but hehad given it no further thought until later, when, as he sat at hiswork in the living-room, he had heard Miss Maggie give a low cry andhad looked up to find her staring at the letter in her hand, her facegoing from red to white and back to red again.

  "Why, Miss Maggie, what is it?" he cried, springing to his feet.

  As she turned toward him he saw that her eyes were full of tears.

  "Why, it--it's a letter telling me---" She stopped abruptly, her eyeson his face.

  "Yes, yes, tell me," he begged. "Why, you are--CRYING, dear!" Mr.Smith, plainly quite unaware of the caressing word he had used, camenearer, his face aglow with sympathy, his eyes very tender.

  The red surged once more over Miss Maggie's face. She drew back alittle, though manifestly with embarrassment, not displeasure.

  "It's--nothing, really it's nothing," she stammered. "It's just aletter that--that surprised me."

  "But it made you cry!"

  "Oh, well, I--I cry easily sometimes." With hands that shook visibly,she folded the letter and tucked it into its envelope. Then with acarelessness that was a little too elaborate, she tossed it into heropen desk. Very plainly, whatever she had meant to do in the firstplace, she did not now intend to disclose to Mr. Smith the contents ofthat letter.

  "Miss Maggie, please tell me--was it bad news?"

  "Bad? Why, of course not!" She laughed gayly.

  Mr. Smith thought he detected a break very like a sob in the laugh.

  "But maybe I could--help you," he pleaded.

  She shook her head.

  "You couldn't--indeed, you couldn't!"

  "Miss Maggie, was it--money matters?"

  He had his answer in the telltale color that flamed instantly into herface--but her lips said:--

  "It was--nothing--I mean, it was nothing that need concern you." Shehurried away then to the kitchen, and Mr. Smith was left alone to fumeup and down the room and frown savagely at the offending envelopetiptilted against the ink bottle in Miss Maggie's desk, just as MissMaggie's carefully careless hand had thrown it.

  Miss Maggie had several more letters from the Boston law firm, and Mr.Smith knew it--though he never heard Miss Maggie cry out at any of theother ones. That they affected her deeply, however, he was certain. Hervery evident efforts to lead him to think that they were of noconsequence would convince him of their real importance to her ifnothing else had done so. He watched her, therefore, covertly,fearfully, longing to help her, but not daring to offer his services.

  That the affair had something to do with money matters he was sure.That she would not deny this naturally strengthened him in this belief.He came in time, therefore, to formulate his own opinion: she had lostmoney--perhaps a good deal (for her), and she was too proud to let himor any one else know it.

  He watched then all the more carefully to see if he could detect anyNEW economies or new deprivations in her daily living. Then, because hecould not discover any such, he worried all the more: if she HAD lostthat money, she ought to economize, certainly. Could she be so foolishas to carry her desire for secrecy to so absurd a length as to livejust exactly as before when she really could not afford it?

  It was at about this time that Mr. Smith requested to have hot waterbrought to his room morning and night, for which service he insisted,in spite of Miss Maggie's remonstrances, on paying three dollars a weekextra.

  There came a strange man to call one day. He was a member of the Bostonlaw firm. Mr. Smith found out that much, but no more. Miss Maggie wasalmost hysterical after his visit. She talked very fast and laughed agood deal at supper that night; yet her eyes were full of tears nearlyall the time, as Mr. Smith did not fail to perceive.

  "And I suppose she thinks she's hiding it from me--that her heart isbreaking!" muttered Mr. Smith savagely to himself, as he watched MissMaggie's nervous efforts to avoid meeting his eyes. "I vow I'll have itout of her. I'll have it out--to-morrow!"

  Mr. Smith did not "have it out" with Miss Maggie the following day,however. Something entirely outside of himself sent his thoughts into anew channel.

  He was alone in the Duff living-room, and was idling over his work, athis table in the corner, when Mrs. Hattie Blaisdell opened the door andhurried in, wringing her hands. Her face was red and swollen from tears.

  "Where's Maggie? I want Maggie! Isn't Maggie here?" she implored.

  Mr. Smith sprang to his feet and hastened toward her.

  "Why, Mrs. Blaisdell, what is it? No, she isn't here. I'm so sorry!Can't I do--anything?"

  "Oh, I don't know--I don't know," moaned the woman, flinging herselfinto a chair. "There can't anybody do anything, I s'pose; but I've GOTto have somebody. I can't stay there in that house--I can't--I can't--ICAN'T!"

  "No, no, of course not. And you shan't," soothed the man. "And she'llbe here soon, I'm sure--Miss Maggie will. But just let me help you offwith your things," he urged, somewhat awkwardly trying to unfasten herheavy wraps. "You'll be so warm here."

  "Yes, I know, I know." Impatiently she jerked off the rich fur coat andtossed it into his arms; then she dropped into the chair again and fellto wringing her hands. "Oh, what shall I do, what shall I do?"

  "But what is it?" stammered Mr. Smith helplessly. "Can't Ido--something? Can't I send for--for your husband?"

  At the mention of her husband, Mrs. Blaisdell fell to weeping afresh.

  "No, no! He's gone--to Fred, you know."

  "To--Fred?"

  "Yes, yes, that's what's the matter. Oh, Fred, Fred, my boy!"

  "Fred! Oh, Mrs. Blaisdell, I'm so sorry! But what--IS it?"

  The woman dropped her hands from her face and looked up wildly, halfdefiantly.

  "Mr. Smith, YOU know Fred. You liked him, didn't you? He isn't bad andwicked, is he? And they can't shut him up if--if we pay it back--all ofit that he took? They won't take my boy--to PRISON?"

  "To PRISON--FRED!"

  At the look of horror on Mr. Smith's face, she began to wring her handsagain.

  "You don't know, of course. I'll have to tell you--I'll have to," shemoaned.

  "But, my dear woman,--not unless you want to."

  "I do want to--I do want to! I've GOT to talk--to somebody. It's thisway." With a visible effort she calmed herself a little and forcedherself to talk more coherently. "We got a letter from Fred. It camethis morning. He wanted, some money--quick. He wanted seven hundreddollars and forty-two cents. He said he'd got to have it--if he didn't,he'd go and KILL himself. He said he'd spent all of his allowance,every cent, and that's what made him take it--this other money, in thefirst place."

  "You mean--money that didn't belong to him?" Mr. Smith's voice was alittle stern.

  "Yes; but you mustn't blame him, you mustn't blame him, Mr. Smith. Hesaid he owed it. It was a--a debt of honor. Those were his very words."

  "Oh! A debt of honor, was it?" Mr. Smith's lips came together grimly.

  "Yes; and--Oh, Maggie, Maggie, what shall I do? What shall I do?" shebroke off wildly, leaping to her feet as Miss Maggie pushed open thedoor and hurried in.

  "Yes, I know. Don't worry. We'll find something to do." Miss Maggie,white-faced, but with a cheery smile, was throwing off her heavy coatand her hat. A moment later she came over and took Mrs. Hattie'strembling hands in both her own. "Now, first, tell me all about it,dear."

  "You KNOW, then?"

  "Only a little," answered Miss Maggie, gently pushing the other backinto her chair. "I met Frank. Jim telephoned him something, just beforehe left. But I want the whole
story. Now, what is it?"

  "I was just telling Mr. Smith." She began to wring her hands again, butMiss Maggie caught and held them firmly. "You see, Fred, he wastreasurer of some club, or society, or something; and--and he--heneeded some money to--to pay a man, and he took that--the money thatbelonged to the club, you know, and he thought he could pay it back,little by little. But something happened--I don't know what--a newtreasurer, or something: anyhow, it was going to be found out--thathe'd taken it. It was going to be found out to-morrow, and so he wrotethe letter to his father. And Jim's gone. But he looked so--oh, I neversaw him look so white and terrible. And I'm so afraid--of what he'lldo--to Fred. My boy--my boy!"

  "Is Jim going to give him the money?" asked Miss Maggie.

  "Yes, oh, yes. Jim drew it out of the bank. Fred said he must havecash. And he's going to give it to him. Oh, they can't shut himup--they CAN'T send him to prison NOW, can they?"

  "Hush, dear! No, they won't send him to prison. If Jim has gone withthe money, Fred will pay it back and nobody will know it. But, Hattie,Fred DID it, just the same."

  "I--I know it."

  "And, Hattie, don't you see? Something will have to be done. Don't yousee where all this is leading? Fred has been gambling, hasn't he?"

  "I--I'm afraid so."

  "And you know he drinks."

  "Y-yes. But he isn't going to, any more. He said he wasn't. He wrote abeautiful letter. He said if his father would help him out of thisscrape, he'd never get into another one, and he'd SHOW him how much heappreciated it."

  "Good! I'm glad to hear that," cried Miss Maggie. "He'll come out allright, yet."

  "Of course he will!" Mr. Smith, over at the window, blew his nosevigorously. Mr. Smith had not sat down since Miss Maggie's entrance. Hehad crossed to the window, and had stood looking out--at nothing--allthrough Mrs. Hattie's story.

  "You do think he will, don't you?" choked Mrs. Hattie, turning from oneto the other piteously. "He said he was ashamed of himself; that thisthing had been an awful lesson to him, and he promised--oh, he promisedlots of things, if Jim would only go up and help him out of this. He'dnever, never have to again. But he will, I know he will, if thatGaylord fellow stays there. The whole thing was his fault--I know itwas. I hate him! I hate the whole family!"

  "Why, Hattie, I thought you liked them!"

  "I don't. They're mean, stuck-up things, and they snub me awfully.Don't you suppose I know when I'm being snubbed? And that Gaylordgirl--she's just as bad, and she's making my Bessie just like her. Igot Bess into the same school with her, you know, and I was so proudand happy. But I'm not--any longer. Why, my Bess, my own daughter,actually looks down on us. She's ashamed of her own father andmother--and she shows it. And it's that Gaylord girl that's done it,too, I believe. I thought I--I was training my daughter to be a lady--areal lady; but I never meant to train her to look down on--on her ownmother!"

  "I'm afraid Bessie--needs something of a lesson," commented Miss Maggietersely. "But Bessie will be older, one of these days, Hattie, and thenshe'll--know more."

  "But that's what I've been trying to teach her--'more,' something moreall the time, Maggie," sighed Mrs. Hattie, wiping her eyes. "And I'vetried to remember and call her Elizabeth, too.--but I can't. But,somehow, to-day, nothing seems of any use, any way. And even if shelearns more and more, I don't see as it's going to do any good. Ihaven't got ANY friends now. I'm not fine enough yet, it seems, forMrs. Gaylord and all that crowd. They don't want me among them, andthey show it. And all my old friends are so envious and jealous sincethe money came that THEY don't want me, and THEY show it; so I don'tfeel comfortable anywhere."

  "Never mind, dear, just stop trying to live as you think other folkswant you to live, and live as YOU want to, for a while."

  Mrs. Hattie smiled faintly, wiped her eyes again, and got to her feet.

  "You talk just like Jim. He's always saying that."

  "Well, just try it," smiled Miss Maggie, helping her visitor into theluxurious fur coat. "You've no idea how much more comfort you'll take."

  "Would I?" Mrs. Hattie's eyes were wistful, but almost instantly theyshowed an alert gleam of anger.

  "Well, anyhow, I'm not going to try to do what those Gaylords do anylonger. And--and you're SURE Fred won't have to go to prison?"

  "I'm very sure," nodded Miss Maggie.

  "All right, then. I can go home now with some comfort. You always makeme feel better, Maggie, and you, too, Mr. Smith. I'm much obliged toyou. Good-bye."

  "Good-bye," said Mr. Smith.

  "Good-bye," said Miss Maggie. "Now, go home and go to bed, and don'tworry any more or you'll have one of your headaches."

  As the door closed behind her visitor, Miss Maggie turned and sank intoa chair. She looked worn and white, and utterly weary.

  "I hope she won't meet Frank or Jane anywhere." She sighed profoundly.

  "Why? What do you mean? Do you think they'd blame her--about thisunfortunate affair of Fred's?"

  Miss Maggie sighed again.

  "I wasn't thinking of that. I was thinking of another matter. I justcame from Frank's, and--"

  "Yes?" Something in her face sent a questioning frown to Mr. Smith'sown countenance.

  "Do you remember hearing Flora say that Jane had bought a lot of theBenson gold-mine stock?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, Benson has failed; and they've just found out that thatgold-mine stock is worth--about two cents on a dollar."

  "Two cents! And how much--"

  "About forty thousand dollars," said Miss Maggie wearily.

  Mr. Smith sat down.

  "Well, I'll be--"

  He did not finish his sentence.