by Anne Warner
CHAPTER NINE - THE DOWNFALL OF HOPE
It was on a Saturday about the middle of May that Jack came to town, hismind well braced with love and arguments, and his main thoughts being thatwhen he returned something would be settled.
It was a beautiful day, warm and sunny, and at five in the afternoon bothof the drawing-room windows of Mrs. Rosscott's house were wide open, andthe lace curtains were taking the breeze like little sails.
Just as Jack mounted the steps, the door opened, and a plainly dressed,unattractive-looking man was let out. The servant who did the letting outsaw Jack and let him in without closing the door between the egress of theone and the ingress of the other. So he entered without ringing, and, ashe was very well known and intensely popular with all of Mrs. Rosscott'sservants, the man invited him to walk up unannounced, since he himself wasjust "bringing in the tea."
Jack went upstairs, and because the carpet was of thickly piled velvet andhis boots were the boots of a well-shod gentleman, he made no noisewhatever in the so doing.
There were double parlors above stairs in the domicile which Burnett'ssister had taken until July, and they were furnished in the most correctand trying mode of Louis XIV. The chairs were gilt and very uncomfortable.The ornaments were all straight up and down and made in such shapes thatthere was no place to flick off cigarette ashes anywhere. Nothing could bepulled up to anything else and there was not a single good place to restone's elbows anywhere. The only saving grace in the situation was thatafter five minutes or so Mrs. Rosscott invariably suggested removal to thelibrary which lay beyond--a very different species of apartment where nomode at all prevailed except the terrible _demode_ thing known as comfort.To prevent her visitors, when seated (for the five minutes aforementioned)amid the correct carving of French art, from looking longingly through atthe easy-chairs of American manufacture, Mrs. Rosscott had ordered thatthe blue velvet portieres which hung between should never be pushed aside,and it was owing to this order that Jack, entering the drawing-room, heardvoices, but could not see into the library beyond. Also it was owing tothis order that those in the library could not see or hear Jack.
The result was that the young man, finding the drawing-room unoccupied,was just crossing toward the blue velvet curtains, intending to wait inthe library until the returning servant should advise him of thewhereabouts of his mistress, when he was stopped by suddenly hearing avoice--her voice--crying (and laughing at the same time)--
"Kisses barred! Kisses barred!"
It may be understood that had Mrs. Rosscott known that anyone was withinhearing she certainly would never have made any such speech, and it may befurther understood that, had whoever was with her, also mistrusted theclose propinquity of another man, he would never have replied (as he didreply):
"Certainly," the same being spoken in a most calm and careless tone.
Jack, the eavesdropper, stood transfixed at the voices and speeches, andforgot every other consideration in the overwhelming sickness of soulwhich overcame him that instant. All his other soul-sicknesses weretrifles compared to this one, and the world--his world--their world--seemedto revolve and whirl and turn upside down, as he steadied himself againsta spindle-legged cabinet and felt its spindle-legs trembling in sympathywith his own.
"Darling," said Holloway, a second or two later (and this time his voicewas not calm and careless, but deep and impassioned), "the letter was verysweet, and if you knew how I longed to take the tired little girl to mybosom and comfort her troubles, and replace them by joys!"
"Will that day ever come, do you think?" Mrs. Rosscott answered, in lowtones, which nevertheless were most painfully clear and distinct in thenext room.
"It must," Holloway replied, "just as surely as that I hold this dearlittle hand--"
But Jack never knew more. He had heard enough--more than enough. Fourthousand times too much. He turned and went out of the rooms, back downthe stairs and out of the door, closed it noiselessly behind him, andfound himself in a world which, although bright and sunny to all the restof mankind, had turned dark, lonely, and cheerless to him.
At first he hardly knew what to do with himself, he was so altogether usedup by the discovery just made. He drifted up and down some unknown streetsfor an hour or two--or stood still on corners--he never was very sure which.And then at last he went downtown and took a drink in a half-dazed way;and because it was quite two months since his last indulgence, itssuggestion was potent.
The pity--or rather, the apparent pity--of what followed!
Burnett was Sundaying at the ancestral castle; and Burnett wasn't thewarning sort, anyhow. He was always tow and pitch for any species offlame. So his absence counted for nothing in the crisis.
And what ensued was a crisis--a crisis with a vengeance.
That tear upon which Aunt Mary's nephew went was something lurid andawful. It lasted until Monday, and then its owner returned to college, asill of body and as embittered of spirit as it was in him to be. Thelightsome devil who had ruled him up to his meeting with Mrs. Rosscottresumed its sway with terrible force. The authorities showed a tendency topatience because young Denham had appeared to reform lately and had beenworking hard; but young Denham felt no thankful sentiments for theirleniency, and proved his position shortly.
There was a man named Tweedwell whom circumstances threw directly in thepath of destruction. Tweedwell was an inoffensive mortal who was studyingfor the ministry. He was progressive in his ideas, and believed that aclergyman, to hold a great influence, should know his world. He thoughtthat knowledge of the world was to be gained by skirting the outside edgeof every species of worldliness. The result of this course of action wasnot what it should have been, for Tweedwell was an easy mark for all whowanted fun, and the consciousness of his innocence so little acceleratedthe pace at which he got out of the way that he was always being called toaccount for what he hadn't done.
The Saturday night after his Saturday in town, Jack concocted a piece ofdeviltry which was as dangerous as it was foolish. The result was that anexplosion took place, and the author of the gun-powder plot had all theskin on both hands blistered. Burnett, in escaping, fell and broke hiscollarbone and two ribs. The house in which the affair took place caughtfire, and was badly damaged. And Tweedwell was arrested on the strongestkind of circumstantial evidence, and had to answer for the whole.Naturally, in the investigation that followed, the two who were guilty hadto confess or see the candidate for the ministry disgraced forever.
The result of their confession was that Burnett's father, a jovial,peppery old gentleman--we all know the kind--lost his patience and wrote hisson that he'd better not come home again that year. But Aunt Mary lost hertemper much more completely and the result, as affecting Jack, was awful.
She might not have acted as she did had the disastrous news arrived eithera week later or a week earlier; but it came just in the middle of adiscouraging ten days' downpour, which had caused a dam to break and achain of valuable cranberry bogs to be drowned out for that year. Thecranberry bogs were especially dear to their owner's heart.
"Why can't they drain 'em?" she had asked Lucinda, who was particularlynutcracker-like in appearance since her quarantine episode.
"'Pears like they're lower'n everywhere else," Lucinda answered, her wordssounding as if she had sharpened them on a grindstone.
Aunt Mary bit her lip and frowned at the rain. She felt mad all the waythrough, and longed to take it out on someone.
Ten minutes after Joshua arrived with the mail and the mail bore oneominous letter. Joshua felt something was wrong before the fact wasassured.
"She wants the mail," Lucinda said, coming to the door with her hand outas usual.
"She'll get the mail," said Joshua, and as he spoke he gave the seekerafter tidings a blood-curdling wink.
"There isn't a telegram in one o' the letters, is there?" Lucinda asked,much appalled by the wink.
"No, there isn't no telegram in none o' the letters," said Joshua.
"Joshua Whittlesey, I do believe you was born to drive saints mad. What_is_ the matter?"
"Nothin' ain't the matter as I know of."
"Then what in Kingdom Come did you wink for?"
"I winked," said Joshua meaningly, "cause I expect it'll be a good whilebefore we'll feel like winkin' again."
Lucinda gave him a look in which curiosity and aggravation foughtcatch-as-catch-can. Then she turned and went in with the letters.
Aunt Mary was sitting stonily staring at the rain.
"I thought you'd gone to take a drive with Joshua," she said coldly."Well, 's long 's you're back I'll be glad to have my mail. Most folkslike to get their mail as soon as it comes an' I--Mercy on us!"
It was the letter from the authorities enclosed in one from Mr. Stebbins.
Lucinda stood bolt upright before her mistress.
"What's happened?" she yelled breathlessly, after a few seconds of thedirest kind of silence had loaded the atmosphere while the letter wasbeing carefully read.
Then:
"Happened!--" said Aunt Mary, transfixing the terrible typewrittencommunication with a yet more terrible look of determination."Happened!--Well, jus' what I expected 's happened an' jus' what nobodyexpects 'll happen now. Lucinda, you run like you was paid for it and tellJoshua not to unharness. Don't stop to open your mouth. You'll need yourbreath before you get to the barn. Scurry!"
Lucinda scurried. She splashed and spattered down through the lane thatled to Joshua's kingdom with a vigor that was commendable in one of herage.
"She says 'don't unharness,'" she panted, bouncing in through the doorwayjust as Joshua was slowly and carefully folding the lap-robe in the creaseto which it had become habituated.
Joshua continued to fold.
"Then I won't unharness," he said calmly. He hung the robe over the linethat was stretched to hang robes over and Lucinda gasped for wind withwhich to inflate further conversation.
"She says what nobody expects is goin' to happen," she panted as soon asshe could.
"What nobody expects is always happenin' where he's concerned," saidJoshua.
"I s'pose he's in some new row," said Lucinda.
"I'm sure he is," said Joshua, "an' if you don't go back to her prettyquick you won't be no better off."
Lucinda turned away and returned to the house. She found Aunt Mary stillstaring at the letters with the same concentrated fury as before.
"Well, is Joshua a'comin' to the door?" she asked when she saw her maidbefore her.
"You didn't say for him to come to the door," Lucinda howled, "you saidfor him to stay harnessed."
Aunt Mary appeared on the verge of ignition.
"Lucinda," she said, "every week I live under the same roof with you yourbrains strike me 's some shrunk from the week before. What in Heaven'sname should I want Joshua to stay harnessed in the barn for? I want him togo for Mr. Stebbins an' I want him to understand 't if Mr. Stebbins can'tcome he's got to come just the same's if he could anyhow. I may seem quietto you, Lucinda, but if I do, it only shows all over again how little youknow. This is a awful day an' if you knew how awful you'd be half way backto the barn right now. I ain't triflin'--I'm meanin' every word. Everysyllable. Every letter."
Lucinda fled out into the open again. Her footprints of the time beforewere little oblong ponds now and she laid out a new course parallel totheir splashes. She found Joshua sponging the dasher.
"She wants you to go straight out again."
Joshua flung the sponge into the pail.
"Then I'll go straight out again," he said, moving toward the horse'shead.
"You're to bring Mr. Stebbins whether he can come or not."
"He'll come," said Joshua; and then he backed the horse so suddenly thatthe buggy wheel nearly went over Lucinda.
"She says this is an awful day--" began Lucinda.
Joshua got into the buggy and tucked the rubber blanket around himself.
"She says--"
Joshua drove out of the barn and away.
Lucinda went slowly back to the house. Aunt Mary had ceased to glare atthe letter and was now glaring at the rain instead.
"Lucinda," she said "I'll thank you not to ever mention my nephew to meagain. I've took a vow to never speak his name again myself. By nomeans--not at all--never."
"Which nephew?" shrieked Lucinda.
Aunt Mary's eyes snapped.
"Jack!" she said, with an accent that seemed to split the short word intwo.
After a little she spoke again.
"Lucinda, it's all been owin' to the city an' this last is all city. 'F Icared a rap what happened to him after this I'd never let him go near aplace over two thousand again as long as he lived. It's no use tryin' toexplain things to you, Lucinda, because it never has been any use an'never will be--an' anyway, I'm done with it all. I sh'll want you for awitness when I'm through with Mr. Stebbins, and then you can get somemarmalade out for tea an' we'll all live in peace hereafter."
Joshua returned with Mr. Stebbins and the latter gentleman went to workwith a will and willed Jack out of Aunt Mary's. Later Joshua took him homeagain. Lucinda got the marmalade out of the cellar and Aunt Mary had itwith her tea. It was a bitter tea--unsugared indeed--and the days thatfollowed matched.