by Emma Wolf
Produced by Barbara Cantalupo
OTHER THINGS BEING EQUAL
By Emma Wolf
Chapter I
A humming-bird dipped through the air and lit upon the palm-tree justbelow the open window; the long drowsy call of a crowing cock came fromafar off; the sun spun down in the subdued splendor of a hazy veil. Itwas a dustless, hence an anomalous, summer's afternoon in San Francisco.
Ruth Levice sat near the window, lazily rocking, her long lithe armsclasped about her knees, her face a dream of the day. The seasons singleout their favorite moods: a violet of spring-time woos one, a dusky Junerose another; to-day the soft, languorous air had, unconsciously to her,charmed the girl's waking dream.
So removed was she in spirit from her surroundings that she heard withan obvious start a knock at the door. The knock was immediately followedby a smiling, plump young woman, sparkling of eye, rosy of cheek, andglistening with jewels and silk.
"Here you are, Ruth," she exclaimed, kissing her heartily; whereuponshe sank into a chair, and threw back her bonnet-strings with an air ofrelief. "I came up here at once when the maid said your mother was out.Where is she?"
"Out calling. You look heated, Jennie; let me fan you."
"Thanks. How refreshing! Sandal-wood, is it not? Where is your father?"
"He is writing in the library. Do you wish to see him?"
"Oh, no, no! I must see you alone. I am so glad Aunt Esther is out. Whyaren't you with her, Ruth? You should not let your mother go off alone."
The young girl laughed in merry surprise.
"Why, Jennie, you forgot that Mamma has been used all her life to goingout without me; it is only within the last few months that I have beenher companion."
"I know," replied her visitor, leaning back with a grim expression ofdisapproval, "and I think it the queerest arrangement I ever heardof. The idea of a father having the sole care of a daughter up to hertwenty-first birthday, and then delivering her, like a piece of jointproperty, over to her mother! Oh, I know that according to their lightsit did not seem absurd, but the very idea of it is contrary to nature.Of course we all know that your father was peculiarly fitted toundertake your training, and in this way your mother could more easilyindulge her love of society; but as it is, no wonder she is as jealousof your success in her realm as your father was in his; no wonder sheoverdoes things to make up for lost time. How do you like it, Ruth?"
"What?" softly inquired her cousin, slowly waving the dainty fan, whilea smile lighted up the gravity of her face at this onslaught.
"Going out continually night after night."
"Mamma likes it."
"Cela va sans dire. But, Ruth,--stop fanning a minute, please,--I wantto know, candidly and seriously, would you mind giving it up?"
"Candidly and seriously, I would do so to-day forever."
"Ye-es; your father's daughter," said Mrs. Lewis, speaking more slowly,her bright eyes noting the perfect repose of the young girl's person;"and yet you are having some quiet little conquests,--the golden applesof your mother's Utopia. But to come to the point, do you realize thatyour mother is very ill?"
"Ill--my mother?" The sudden look of consternation that scattered thesoft tranquillity of her face must have fully repaid Mrs. Lewis if shewas aiming at a sensation.
"There, sit down. Don't be alarmed; you know she is out and apparentlywell."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that Aunt Esther is nervous and hysterical. The other day at ourhouse she had such an attack of hysteria that I was obliged to call ina neighboring doctor. She begged us not to mention it to either ofyou, and then insisted on attending a meeting of some sort. However, Ithought it over and decided to let you know, as I consider it serious. Iwas afraid to alarm Uncle, so I thought of telling you."
"Thank you, Jennie; I shall speak to Father about it." The young girl'stone was quite unagitated; but two pink spots on her usually colorlesscheeks betrayed her emotion.
"That is right, dear. I hope you will forgive me if I seem meddlesome,but Jo and I have noticed it for some time; and your father, by allowingthis continual gayety, seems to have overlooked what we find so sadlyapparent. Of course you have an engagement for to-night?"
"Yes; we are going to a reception at the Merrills'."
"Merrill? Christians?" was the sharp reply.
"The name speaks for itself."
"What does possess your parents to mix so much with Christians?"
"Fellow-feeling, I suppose. We all dance and talk alike; and as we donot hold services at receptions, wherein lies the difference?"
"There is a difference; and the Christians know it as well as we Jewishpeople. Not only do they know it, but they show it in countless ways;and the difference, they think, is all to their credit. For my part, Ialways feel as if they looked down on us, and I should like to prove tothem how we differ on that point. I have enough courage to let them knowI consider myself as good as the best of them."
"Is that why you wear diamonds and silk on the street, Jennie?" askedRuth, her serious tones implying no impudence, but carrying a refinedreproach.
"Hardly. I wear them because I have them and like them. I see no harm inwearing what is becoming."
"But don't you think they look aggressive on the street? They attractattention; and one hates to be conspicuous. I think they are only inplace at a gathering of friends of one's own social standing, where theydo not proclaim one's moneyed value."
"Perhaps," replied Mrs. Lewis, her rosy face a little rosier thanbefore. "I suppose you mean to say it is vulgar; well, maybe so. But Iscarcely think a little outward show of riches should make others feelthey are better because they do not care to make a display. Besides, tobe less personal, I don't think any Christian would care to put himselfout to meet a Jew of any description."
"Don't you think it would depend a great deal both on Jew and Christian?I always have been led to believe that every broad-minded man ofwhatever sect will recognize and honor the same quality in any otherman. And why should I not move on an equality with my Christian friends?We have had the same schooling, speak the same language, read the samebooks, are surrounded by the same elements of home refinement. Probablyif they had not been congenial, my father would long ago have ceased toassociate with them. I think the secret of it all is in the fact thatit never occurred to us that the most fastidious could think we wereanything but the most fastidious; and so we always met any one wedesired to meet on a level footing. I have a great many pleasant friendsin the court of your Philistines."
"Possibly. But not having been brought up by your father, I thinkdifferently, and perhaps am different. Their ways are not my ways; andwhat good can you expect from such association?"
"Why, pleasant companionship. What wouldst thou more?"
"I? Not even that. But tell me, can't you dissuade Aunt Esther fromgoing to-night? Tell your father, and let him judge if you had betternot."
"I really think Mamma would not care to go, for she said as much toFather; but, averse as he generally is to going out, he insists on ourgoing to-night, and, what is more, intends to accompany us, althoughLouis is going also. But if you think Mamma is seriously run down, Ishall tell him immediately, and--"
A blithe voice at the door interrupted her, calling:
"Open the door, Ruth; my hands are full."
She rose hastily, and with a signal of silence to her loquacious cousin,opened the door for her mother.
"Ah, Jennie, how are your, dear? But let us inspect this box which Norahas just handed me, before we consider you;" and Mrs. Levice softlydeposited a huge box upon Ruth's lace-enveloped bed.
She was still bonneted and gloved, and with a slight flush in her clearolive cheek she looked like an
ything but a subject for fears. From thecrown of her dainty bonnet to the point of her boot she was the pictureof exquisite refinement; tall, beautifully formed, carrying her headlike a queen, gowned in perfect, quiet elegance, she appeared more likeRuth's older sister than her mother.
"Ruth's gown for this evening," she announced, deftly unfolding thewrappings.
"Yellow!" exclaimed Mrs. Lewis, in surprise.
"Corn-color," corrected Mrs. Levice, playfully; "how do you think itwill suit my girlie?" She continued, shaking out the clinging silkencrepe.
"Charmingly; but I thought Ruth objected to anything but white."
"So she does; she thinks white keeps her unnoticed among the rest. Thistime, however, my will overrode hers. Eh, Daughter?"
The girl made a low courtesy.
"I am only lady-in-waiting to your Majesty, O Queen," she laughed. Shehad hardly glanced at the gown, being engaged in a silent scrutiny ofher mother's face.
"And how is my prime minister this afternoon?" Mrs. Levice was drawingoff her gloves, and Ruth's look of pained discovery passed unnoticed.
"I have not been down since luncheon," she replied.
"What! Then go down at once and bring him up. I must see that he getsout of his studiousness and is clothed in festive mind for this evening.Come to my sitting-room, Jennie, and we can have a comfortable chat."
Left to herself, Ruth hesitated before going to her father with herill-boding tidings. None knew better than she of the great, silentlove that bound her parents. As a quiet, observant child, she had oftenquestioned wherein could be any sympathy between her father, almost old,studious, and reserved, and her beautiful, worldly young mother. Butas she matured, she became conscious that because of this apparentdisparity it would have been still stranger had Mrs. Levice not lovedhim with a feeling verging nearer humble adoration than any lowerpassion. It seemed almost a mockery for her to have to tell him he hadbeen negligent,--not only a mockery, but a cruelty. However, it hadto be done, and she was the only one to do it. Having come to thisconclusion, she ran quickly downstairs, and softly, without knocking,opened the library door.
She entered so quietly that Mr. Levice, reading by the window, didnot glance from his book. She stood a moment regarding the smallthoughtful-faced, white-haired man.
If one were to judge but by results, Jules Levice would be accounted afortunate man. Nearing the allotted threescore and ten, blessed witha loving, beloved wife and this one idolized ewe-lamb, surrounded byluxury, in good health, honored, and honorable,--trouble and travailseemed to have passed him by. But this scene of human happiness was theresult of intelligent and unremitting effort. A high state of earthlybeatitude has seldom been attained without great labor of mind or bodyby ourselves or those akin to us. Jules Levice had been thrown on theworld when a boy of twelve. He resolved to become happy. Many of us dolikewise; but we overlook the fact that we are provided with feet, notwings, and cannot fly to the goal. His dream of happiness was ambitious;it soared beyond contentment. Not being a lily of the field, he knewthat he must toil; any honest work was acceptable to him. He waspossessed of a fine mind; he cultivated it. He had a keen observation;he became a student of his fellow-men; and being strong and untiring, hebecame rich. This was but the nucleus of his ambitions, and it came tohim late in life, but not too late for him to build round it his happyhome, and to surround himself with the luxuries of leisure for attainingthe pinnacle of wide information that he had always craved. His wasmerely the prosperity of an intellectual, self-made man whose time forrest had come.
Ruth seated herself on a low stool that she drew up before him, and laidher hand upon his.
"You, darling?" He spoke in a full, musical voice with a marked Frenchaccent.
"Can you spare me a few minutes, Father?"
"I am all ears;" he shut the book, and his hand closed about hers.
"Jennie was here just now."
"And did not come in to see me?"
"She had something to tell me."
"A secret?"
"Yes; something I must repeat to you."
"Yes?"
"Father--Jennie thinks--she has reason to know that--dear, do you thinkMother is perfectly well?"
"No, my child; I know she is not."
This quiet assurance was staggering.
"And you allow her to go on in this way without calling in a physician?"A wave of indignant color suffused her cheeks.
"Yes."
"But--but--why?" She became a little confused under his calm gaze,feeling on the instant that she had implied an accusation unjustly.
"Because, Ruth, I have become convinced of it only within the past week.Your mother knows it herself, and is trying to hide it from me."
"Did she admit it?"
"I have not spoken of it to her; she is very excitable, and as shewishes to conceal it, I do not care to annoy her by telling her of mydiscovery."
"But isn't it wrong--unwise--to allow her to dissipate so much?"
"I have managed within the past week to keep you as quiet as possible."
"But to-night--forgive me, Father--you insist on our going to thisreception."
"Yes, my sweet confessor; but I have a good reason,--one not to bespoken of."
"'Those who trust us educate us,'" she pleaded in wistful earnestness.
"Then your education is complete. Well, I knew your mother would resistseeing any physician, for fear of his measures going contrary to herdesires; so I have planned for her to meet to-night a certain doctorwhom I would trust professionally with my wife's life, and on whom Ican rely for the necessary tact to hide the professional object of theirmeeting. What do you think of my way, dear?"
For answer she stooped and kissed his hand.
"May I know his name?" she asked after a pause.
"His name is Kemp,--Dr. Herbert Kemp."
"Why, he lives a few blocks from here; I have seen his sign. Is he anold physician?"
"I should judge him to be between thirty-five and forty. Not oldcertainly, but one with the highest reputation for skill. Personally heis a man of great dignity, inspiring confidence in every one."
"Where did you meet him?"
"In the hospitals," said her father quickly. "But I will introduce himto you to-night. Don't lose your head when you talk to him."
"Why should I?"
"Because he is a magnificent fellow; and I wish my daughter to hold herown before a man whom I admire so heartily."
"Why, this is the first time you have ever given me worldly advice," shelaughed.
"Only a friendly hint," he answered, rising and putting his book in itsplace with the precision of a spinster.