CHAPTER XVI
JUST IN TIME
At the close of the day on which Dennis received his promotion, andhis horizon was widened so unexpectedly, Mr. Ludolph, in passing out,noticed him engaged as usual on one of Pat Murphy's old tasks. Hestopped and spoke kindly, "Well, Fleet, where am I going to find a manto fill your place made vacant to-day?"
"Would you be willing to listen to a suggestion from me?"
"Certainly."
"If a young boy was employed to black boots, run errands, and attendto minor matters, I think that by industry I might for a while fillboth positions. In a short time the furnace will require no furtherattention. I am a very early riser, and think that by a little goodmanagement I can keep the store in order and still be on hand to attendto my counter when customers are about."
Mr. Ludolph was much pleased with the proposition, and said, promptly,"You may try it, Fleet, and I will pay you accordingly. Do you knowof a boy who will answer?"
"I think I do, sir. There is a German lad in my mission class who hasinterested me very much. His father is really a superior artist, butis throwing himself away with drink, and his mother is engaged in analmost hopeless effort to support the family. They have seen muchbetter days, and their life seems very hard in contrast with the past."
"Can we trust such a boy? Their very necessities may lead to theft."
"They are not of the thieving sort, sir. I am satisfied that they wouldall starve rather than touch a penny that did not belong to them."
"Very well, then, let him come and see me; but I will hold youresponsible for him."
Mr. Ludolph, being in a good humor, was disposed to banter Dennis, sohe added: "Do you find time to be a missionary, also? Are you not indanger of becoming a 'Jack at all trades'?"
"I am not entitled to the first character, and hope to shun the latter.I merely teach a dozen boys in a mission school on Sundays."
"When you ought to be taking a good long nap, or a row on the lake forfresh air and recreation."
"I should be dishonest if I spent my Sabbaths in that way."
"How so?"
"I should give the lie to my profession and belief. I must drop thename of Christian when I live for myself."
"And if you should drop it, do you think you would be much the loser?"
"Yes, sir," said Dennis, with quiet emphasis.
"You are expecting great reward, in some sort of Paradise, for yourmission work, etc.?"
"Nothing done for God is forgotten or unrewarded."
"Believing that, it seems to me that you are looking after self-interestas much as the rest of us," said his employer, with a shrewd smile.
Looking straight into Mr. Ludolph's eyes, Dennis said, earnestly:"Without boasting, I think that I can say that I try to serve youfaithfully. If you could see my heart, I am sure you would find thatgratitude for your kindness is a part of my motive, as well as mywages. In the same manner, while I do not lose sight of the rich rewardsGod promises and daily gives for the little I can do for Him, I amcertain that I can do much out of simple gratitude and love, and askno reward."
"Ignorance is certainly bliss in your case, young man. Stick to yourharmless superstition as long as you can."
And he walked away, muttering: "Delusion, delusion! I have not saida word or done a thing for him in which I had not in view my interestsonly, and yet the poor young fool sees in the main disinterestedkindness. Little trouble have the wily priests in imposing on suchvictims, and so they get their hard-earned wages and set thempropagating the delusion in mission schools, when mind and body needchange and rest. Suppose there is a Supreme Being in the universe,what a monstrous absurdity to imagine that He would trouble Himselfto reward this Yankee youth for teaching a dozen ragamuffins in atenement-house mission school!"
Thus Mr. Ludolph's soliloquy proved that his own pride and selfishnesshad destroyed the faculty by which he could see God. The blind are notmore oblivious to color than he was to those divine qualities whichare designed to win and enchain the heart. A man may sadly mutilatehis own soul.
At a dainty dinner-table Mr. Ludolph and his daughter discussed theevents of the day.
"I am glad," said the latter, "that he is willing to fill Pat's place,for he keeps everything so clean. A dusty, slovenly store is myabomination. Then it shows that he has no silly, uppish notions socommon to these Americans." (Though born here, Miss Ludolph neverthought herself other than a German lady of rank.) "But I do not wishto see him blacking boots again. Yet he is an odd genius. How comicalhe looked bowing to me with one of Mr. Schwartz's big boots describinga graceful curve on a level with his head. Let old Schwartz black hisown boots. He ought to as a punishment for carrying around so muchleather. This Fleet must have seen better days. He is like all Yankees,however, sharp after the dollar, though he seems more willing to workfor it than most of them."
"I'll wager you a pair of gloves," said her father, "that they get agood percentage of it down at the mission school. He is just the subjectfor a cunning priest, because he sincerely believes in their foolery.He belongs to a tribe now nearly extinct, I imagine--the martyrs, whoin old-fashioned times died for all sorts of delusions."
"How time mellows and changes everything! There is something heroicand worthy of art in the ancient martyrdoms, while nothing is morerepulsive than modern fanaticism. It is a shame, though, that thisyoung man, with mother and sisters to support, should be robbed of hishard earnings as was Pat Murphy by his priest, and I will try to openhis eyes some day."
"I predict for you no success."
"Why so?--he seems intelligent."
"I have not studied character all my life in vain. He would regardyou, my fair daughter, as the devil in the form of an angel of lighttempting him."
"He had better not be so plain-spoken as yourself."
"Oh, no need of Fleet's speaking; his face is like the page of an openbook."
"Indeed! a face like a sign-board is a most unfortunate one, I shouldthink."
"Most fortunate for us. I wish I could read every one as I can Fleet."
"You trust no one, I believe, father."
"I believe what I see and know."
"I wish I had your power of seeing and knowing. But how did he get hisartistic knowledge and taste?"
"That I have not inquired into fully, as yet. I think he has an unusualnative aptness for these things, and gains hints and instruction whereothers would see nothing. And, as you say, in the better days past hemay have had some advantages."
"Well," said she, caressing the greyhound beside her, "if Wolf hereshould go to the piano and execute an opera, I should not be moreastonished than I was this morning."
And then their conversation glided off on other topics.
After dessert, Mr. Ludolph lighted a cigar and sat down to the eveningpaper, while his daughter evoked from the piano true after-dinnermusic--light, brilliant, mirth-inspiring. Then both adjourned to theirprivate billiard-room.
The scene of our story now changes from Mr. Ludolph's luxuriousapartments in one of the most fashionable hotels in the city to aforlorn attic in De Koven Street. It is the scene of a struggle asdesperate, as heroic, against as tremendous odds, as was ever carriedon in the days of the Crusades. But as the foremost figure in thislong, weary conflict was not an armed and panoplied knight, but merelya poor German woman, only God and the angels took much interest in it.Still upon this evening she was almost vanquished. She seemed to havebut one vantage-point left on earth. For a wonder, her husband wascomparatively sober, and sat brooding with his head in his hands overthe stove where a fire was slowly dying out. The last coal they hadwas fast turning to ashes. From a cradle came a low, wailing cry. Itwas that of hunger. On an old chest in a dusky corner sat a boy aboutthirteen. Though all else was in shadow, his large eyes shone withunnatural brightness, and followed his mother's feeble efforts at thewashtub with that expression of premature sadness so pathetic inchildhood. Under a rickety deal table three other and smaller childrenwere devou
ring some crusts of bread in a ravenous way, likehalf-famished young animals. In a few moments they came out and clamoredfor more, addressing--not their father; no intuitive turning to himfor support--but the poor, over-tasked mother. The boy came out of hiscorner and tried to draw them off and interest them in something else,but they were like a pack of hungry little wolves. The boy's face wasalmost as sharp and famine-pinched as his mother's, but he seemed tohave lost all thought of himself in his sorrowful regard for her. Asthe younger children clamored and dragged upon her, the point ofendurance was passed, and the poor woman gave way. With a despairingcry she sank upon a chair and covered her face with her apron.
"Oh, mine Gott, Oh, mine Gott," she cried, "I can do not von morestroke if ve all die."
In a moment her son had his arms around her neck, and said: "Oh, moder,don't cry, don't cry. Mr. Fleet said God would surely help us in timeof trouble if we would only ask Him."
"I've ask Him, and ask Him, but der help don't come. I can do no more;"and a tempest of despairing sobs shook her gaunt frame.
The boy seemed to have got past tears, and just fixed his large eyes,full of reproach and sorrow, on his father.
The man rose and turned his bloodshot eyes slowly around the room. Thewhole scene, with its meaning, seemed to dawn upon him. His mind wasnot so clouded by the fumes of liquor but that he could comprehend thesupreme misery of the situation. He heard his children crying--fairlyhowling for bread. He saw the wife he had sworn to love and honor,where she had fallen in her unequal conflict, brave, but overpowered.He remembered the wealthy burgher's blooming, courted daughter, whomhe had lured away to marry him, a poor artist. He remembered how, inspite of her father's commands and her mother's tears, she had lefthome and luxury to follow him throughout the world because of her faithin him and love for him--how under her inspiration he had risen togreat promise as an artist, till fame and fortune became almosta certainty, and then, under the debasing influence of his terribleappetite, he had dragged her down and down, till now he sawher--prematurely old, broken in health, broken in heart--fall helplesslybefore the hard drudgery that she no longer had strength to perform.With a sickening horror he remembered that he had taken even thepittance she had wrung from that washtub, to feed, not his children,but his accursed appetite for drink. Even his purple, bloated facegrew livid as all the past rushed upon him, and despair laid an icyhand upon his heart.
A desperate purpose formed itself within his mind.
Turning to the wall where hung a noble picture, a lovely landscape,whose rich coloring, warm sunlight, and rural peace formed a sharp,strange contrast with the meagre, famine-stricken apartment, he wasabout to take it down from its fastening when his hand was arrestedby a word--"Father!"
He turned, and saw his son looking at him with his great eyes full ofhorror and alarm, as if he were committing a murder.
"I tell you I must, and I vill," said he, savagely.
His wife looked up, sprang to his side, and with her hands upon hisarm, said, "No, Berthold, you must not, you shall not sell dot picture."
He silently pointed to his children crying for bread.
"Take der dress off my back to sell, but not dot picture. Ve may asvell die before him goes, for we certainly vill after. Dot is de onlyding left of der happy past. Dot, in Gott's hands, is my only hope forder future. Dot picture dells you vat you vas, vat you might be stillif you vould only let drink alone. Many's der veary day, many's derlong night, I've prayed dot dot picture vould vin you back to yourformer self, ven tears and sufferings vere in vain. Leave him, andsome day he vill tell you so plain vat you are, and vot you can be,dot you break der horrid spell dot chains you, and your artist-soulcome again. Leave him, our only hope, and sole bar against despair anddeath. I vill go and beg a dousand times before dot picture's sold;for if he goes, your artist-soul no more come back, and you're lost,and ve all are lost."
The man hesitated. His good angel was pleading with him, but in vain.
Stamping his foot with rage and despair, he shouted, hoarsely, "It istoo late I am lost now."
And he tore the picture from its fastening. His wife sank back againstthe wall with a groan as if her very soul were departing.
But before his rash steps could leave the desolation he had made, hewas confronted by the tall form of Dennis Fleet.
The man stared at him for a moment as if he had been an apparition,and then said, in a hard tone, "Let me pass!"
Dennis had knocked for some time, but such was the excitement withinno one had regarded the sound. He had, therefore, heard the wife'sappeal and its answer, and from what he knew of the family from hismission scholar, the boy Ernst, comprehended the situation in the main.When, therefore, matters reached the crisis, he opened the door andmet the infatuated man as he was about to throw away the last relicof his former self and happier life. With great tact he appeared asif he knew nothing, and quietly taking a chair he sat down with hisback against the door, thus barring egress. In a pleasant, affabletone, he said: "Mr. Bruder, I came to see you on a little businessto-night. As I was in something of a hurry, and no one appeared tohear my knock, I took the liberty of coming in."
The hungry little ones looked at him with their round eyes of childishcuriosity, and for a time ceased their clamors. The wife sank into achair and bowed her head in her hands with the indifference of despair.Hope had gone. A gleam of joy lighted up Ernst's pale face at the sightof his beloved teacher, and he stepped over to his mother and commencedwhispering in her ear, but she heeded him not. The man's face wore asullen, dangerous, yet irresolute expression. It was evident that hehalf believed that Dennis was knowingly trying to thwart him, and suchwas his mad frenzy that he was ready for any desperate deed.
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