There was greater activity in the Rossmore cottage at Massapequa thanthere had been any day since the judge and his wife went to live there.Since daybreak Eudoxia had been scouring and polishing in honour of theexpected arrival and a hundred times Mrs. Rossmore had climbed thestairs to see that everything was as it should be in the room which hadbeen prepared for Shirley. It was not, however, without a passage atarms that Eudoxia consented to consider the idea of an addition to thefamily. Mrs. Rossmore had said to her the day before:
"My daughter will be here to-morrow, Eudoxia."
A look expressive of both displeasure and astonishment marred theclassic features of the hireling. Putting her broom aside and placingher arms akimbo she exclaimed in an injured tone:
"And it's a dayther you've got now? So it's three in family you are!When I took the place it's two you tould me there was!"
"Well, with your kind permission," replied Mrs. Rossmore, "there willbe three in future. There is nothing in the Constitution of the UnitedStates that says we can't have a daughter without consulting our help,is there?"
The sarcasm of this reply did not escape even the dull-edged wits ofthe Irish drudge. She relapsed into a dignified silence and a fewminutes later was discovered working with some show of enthusiasm.
The judge was nervous and fidgety. He made a pretence to read, but itwas plain to see that his mind was not on his book. He kept leaving hischair to go and look at the clock; then he would lay the volume asideand wander from room to room like a lost soul. His thoughts were on thedock at Hoboken.
By noon every little detail had been attended to and there was nothingfurther to do but sit and wait for the arrival of Stott and Shirley.They were to be expected any moment now. The passengers had probablygot off the steamer by eleven o'clock. It would take at least two hoursto get through the Customs and out to Massapequa. The judge and hiswife sat on the porch counting the minutes and straining their ears tocatch the first sound of the train from New York.
"I hope Stott broke the news to her gently," said the judge.
"I wish we had gone to meet her ourselves," sighed his wife.
The judge was silent and for a moment or two he puffed vigorously athis pipe, as was his habit when disturbed mentally. Then he said:
"I ought to have gone, Martha, but I was afraid. I'm afraid to look myown daughter in the face and tell her that I am a disgraced man, that Iam to be tried by the Senate for corruption, perhaps impeached andturned off the bench as if I were a criminal. Shirley won't believe it,sometimes I can't believe it myself. I often wake up in the night andthink of it as part of a dream, but when the morning comes it's stilltrue--it's still true!"
He smoked on in silence. Then happening to look up he noticed that hiswife was weeping. He laid his hand gently on hers.
"Don't cry, dear, don't make it harder for me to bear. Shirley must seeno trace of tears."
"I was thinking of the injustice of it all," replied Mrs. Rossmore,wiping her eyes.
"Fancy Shirley in this place, living from hand to mouth," went on thejudge.
"That's the least," answered his wife. "She's a fine, handsome girl,well educated and all the rest of it. She ought to make a goodmarriage." No matter what state of mind Mrs. Rossmore might be in, shenever lost sight of the practical side of things.
"Hardly with her father's disgrace hanging over her head," replied thejudge wearily. "Who," he added, "would have the courage to marry a girlwhose father was publicly disgraced?"
Both relapsed into another long silence, each mentally reviewing thepast and speculating on the future. Suddenly Mrs. Rossmore started.Surely she could not be mistaken! No, the clanging of a locomotive bellwas plainly audible. The train was in. From the direction of thestation came people with parcels and hand bags and presently there washeard the welcome sound of carriage wheels crunching over the stones. Amoment later they saw coming round the bend in the road a cab piled upwith small baggage.
"Here they are! Here they are!" cried Mrs. Rossmore. "Come, Eudoxia!"she called to the servant, while she herself hurried down to the gate.The judge, fully as agitated as herself, only showing his emotion in adifferent way, remained on the porch pale and anxious.
The cab stopped at the curb and Stott alighted, first helping out Mrs.Blake. Mrs. Rossmore's astonishment on seeing her sister was almostcomical.
"Milly!" she exclaimed.
They embraced first and explained afterwards. Then Shirley got out andwas in her mother's arms.
"Where's father?" was Shirley's first question.
"There--he's coming!"
The judge, unable to restrain his impatience longer, ran down from theporch towards the gate. Shirley, with a cry of mingled grief and joy,precipitated herself on his breast.
"Father! Father!" she cried between her sobs. "What have they done toyou?"
"There--there, my child. Everything will be well--everything will bewell."
Her head lay on his shoulder and he stroked her hair with his hand,unable to speak from pent up emotion.
Mrs. Rossmore could not recover from her stupefaction on seeing hersister. Mrs. Blake explained that she had come chiefly for the benefitof the voyage and announced her intention of returning on the samesteamer.
"So you see I shall bother you only a few days," she said.
"You'll stay just as long as you wish," rejoined Mrs. Rossmore."Happily we have just one bedroom left." Then turning to Eudoxia, whowas wrestling with the baggage, which formed a miniature Matterhorn onthe sidewalk, she gave instructions:
"Eudoxia, you'll take this lady's baggage to the small bedroomadjoining Miss Shirley's. She is going to stop with us for a few days."
Taken completely aback at the news of this new addition, Eudoxia lookedat first defiance. She seemed on the point of handing in herresignation there and then. But evidently she thought better of it,for, taking a cue from Mrs. Rossmore, she asked in the sarcastic mannerof her mistress:
"Four is it now, M'm? I suppose the Constitootion of the United Statesallows a family to be as big as one likes to make it. It's hard on usgirls, but if it's the law, it's all right, M'm. The more the merrier!"With which broadside, she hung the bags all over herself and staggeredoff to the house.
Stott explained that the larger pieces and the trunks would come laterby express. Mrs. Rossmore took him aside while Mrs. Blake joinedShirley and the judge.
"Did you tell Shirley?" asked Mrs. Rossmore. "How did she take it?"
"She knows everything," answered Stott, "and takes it very sensibly. Weshall find her of great moral assistance in our coming fight in theSenate," he added confidently.
Realizing that the judge would like to be left alone with Shirley, Mrs.Rossmore invited Mrs. Blake to go upstairs and see the room she wouldhave, while Stott said he would be glad of a washup. When they had goneShirley sidled up to her father in her old familiar way.
"I've just been longing to see you, father," she said. She turned toget a good look at him and noticing the lines of care which haddeepened during her absence she cried: "Why, how you've changed! I canscarcely believe it's you. Say something. Let me hear the sound of yourvoice, father."
The judge tried to smile.
"Why, my dear girl, I---"
Shirley threw her arms round his neck.
"Ah, yes, now I know it's you," she cried.
"Of course it is, Shirley, my dear girl. Of course it is. Who elseshould it be?"
"Yes, but it isn't the same," insisted Shirley. "There is no ring toyour voice. It sounds hollow and empty, like an echo. And this place,"she added dolefully, "this awful place--"
She glanced around at the cracked ceilings, the cheaply papered walls,the shabby furniture, and her heart sank as she realized the extent oftheir misfortune. She had come back prepared for the worst, to help winthe fight for her father's honour, but to have to struggle againstsordid poverty as well, to endure that humiliation in addition todisgrace--ah, that was something she had not anticipated! She changedcolour and her voi
ce faltered. Her father had been closely watching forjust such signs and he read her thoughts.
"It's the best we can afford, Shirley," he said quietly. "The blow hasbeen complete. I will tell you everything. You shall judge foryourself. My enemies have done for me at last."
"Your enemies?" cried Shirley eagerly. "Tell me who they are so I maygo to them."
"Yes, dear, you shall know everything. But not now. You are tired afteryour journey. To-morrow sometime Stott and I will explain everything."
"Very well, father, as you wish," said Shirley gently. "After all," sheadded in an effort to appear cheerful, "what matter where we live solong as we have each other?"
She drew away to hide her tears and left the room on pretence ofinspecting the house. She looked into the dining-room and kitchen andopened the cupboards, and when she returned there were no visible signsof trouble in her face.
"It's a cute little house, isn't it?" she said. "I've always wanted alittle place like this--all to ourselves. Oh, if you only knew howtired I am of New York and its great ugly houses, its retinue ofservants and its domestic and social responsibilities! We shall be ableto live for ourselves now, eh, father?"
She spoke with a forced gaiety that might have deceived anyone but thejudge. He understood the motive of her sudden change in manner andsilently he blessed her for making his burden lighter.
"Yes, dear, it's not bad," he said. "There's not much room, though."
"There's quite enough," she insisted. "Let me see." She began to counton her fingers. "Upstairs--three rooms, eh? and above that three more--"
"No," smiled the judge, "then comes the roof?"
"Of course," she laughed, "how stupid of me--a nice gable roof, asloping roof that the rain runs off beautifully. Oh, I can see thatthis is going to be awfully jolly--just like camping out. You know howI love camping out. And you have a piano, too."
She went over to the corner where stood one of those homely instrumentswhich hardly deserve to be dignified by the name piano, with a cheap,gaudily painted case outside and a tin pan effect inside, and which areusually to be found in the poorer class of country boarding houses.Shirley sat down and ran her fingers over the keys, determined to likeeverything.
"It's a little old," was her comment, "but I like these zither effects.It's just like the sixteenth-century spinet. I can see you and motherdancing a stately minuet," she smiled.
"What's that about mother dancing?" demanded Mrs. Rossmore, who at thatinstant entered the room. Shirley arose and appealed to her:
"Isn't it absurd, mother, when you come to think of it, that anybodyshould accuse father of being corrupt and of having forfeited the rightto be judge? Isn't it still more absurd that we should be helpless anddejected and unhappy because we are on Long Island instead of MadisonAvenue? Why should Manhattan Island be a happier spot than Long Island?Why shouldn't we be happy anywhere; we have each other. And we do needeach other. We never knew how much till to-day, did we? We must standby each other now. Father is going to clear his name of thispreposterous charge and we're going to help him, aren't we, mother?We're not helpless just because we are women. We're going to work,mother and I."
"Work?" echoed Mrs. Rossmore, somewhat scandalized.
"Work," repeated Shirley very decisively.
The judge interfered. He would not hear of it.
"You work, Shirley? Impossible!"
"Why not? My book has been selling well while I was abroad. I shallprobably write others. Then I shall write, too, for the newspapers andmagazines. It will add to our income."
"Your book--'The American Octopus,' is selling well?" inquired thejudge, interested.
"So well," replied Shirley, "that the publishers wrote me in Paris thatthe fourth edition was now on the press. That means good royalties. Ishall soon be a fashionable author. The publishers will be after me formore books and we'll have all the money we want. Oh, it is sodelightful, this novel sensation of a literary success!" she exclaimedwith glee. "Aren't you proud of me, dad?"
The judge smiled indulgently. Of course he was glad and proud. Healways knew his Shirley was a clever girl. But by what strangefatality, he thought to himself, had his daughter in this book of hersassailed the very man who had encompassed his own ruin? It seemed likethe retribution of heaven. Neither his daughter nor the financier wasconscious of the fact that each was indirectly connected with theimpeachment proceedings. Ryder could not dream that "Shirley Green",the author of the book which flayed him so mercilessly, was thedaughter of the man he was trying to crush. Shirley, on the other hand,was still unaware of the fact that it was Ryder who had lured herfather to his ruin.
Mrs. Rossmore now insisted on Shirley going to her room to rest. Shemust be tired and dusty. After changing her travelling dress she wouldfeel refreshed and more comfortable. When she was ready to come downagain luncheon would be served. So leaving the judge to his papers,mother and daughter went upstairs together, and with due maternal prideMrs. Rossmore pointed out to Shirley all the little arrangements shehad made for her comfort. Then she left her daughter to herself whileshe hurried downstairs to look after Eudoxia and luncheon.
When, at last, she could lock herself in her room where no eye couldsee her, Shirley threw herself down on the bed and burst into a torrentof tears. She had kept up appearances as long as it was possible, butnow the reaction had set in. She gave way freely to her pent upfeelings, she felt that unless she could relieve herself in this wayher heart would break. She had been brave until now, she had beenstrong to hear everything and see everything, but she could not keep itup forever. Stott's words to her on the dock had in part prepared herfor the worst, he had told her what to expect at home, but therealization was so much more vivid. While hundreds of miles of oceanstill lay between, it had all seemed less real, almost attractive as aromance in modern life, but now she was face to face with the grimreality--this shabby cottage, cheap neighbourhood and commonplacesurroundings, her mother's air of resignation to the inevitable, herfather's pale, drawn face telling so eloquently of the keen mentalanguish through which he had passed. She compared this pitifulspectacle with what they had been when she left for Europe, the finemansion on Madison Avenue with its rich furnishings and well-trainedservants, and her father's proud aristocratic face illumined with theconsciousness of his high rank in the community, and the attention heattracted every time he appeared on the street or in public places asone of the most brilliant and most respected judges on the bench. Thento have come to this all in the brief space of a few months! It wasincredible, terrible, heart rending! And what of the future? What wasto be done to save her father from this impeachment which she knew wellwould hurry him to his grave? He could not survive that humiliation,that degradation. He must be saved in the Senate, but how--how?
She dried her eyes and began to think. Surely her woman's wit wouldfind some way. She thought of Jefferson. Would he come to Massapequa?It was hardly probable. He would certainly learn of the change in theircircumstances and his sense of delicacy would naturally keep him awayfor some time even if other considerations, less unselfish, did not.Perhaps he would be attracted to some other girl he would like as welland who was not burdened with a tragedy in her family. Her tears beganto flow afresh until she hated herself for being so weak while therewas work to be done to save her father. She loved Jefferson. Yes, shehad never felt so sure of it as now. She felt that if she had him thereat that moment she would throw herself in his arms crying: "Take me,Jefferson, take me away, where you will, for I love you! I love you!"But Jefferson was not there and the rickety chairs in the tiny bedroomand the cheap prints on the walls seemed to jibe at her in her misery.If he were there, she thought as she looked into a cracked mirror, hewould think her very ugly with her eyes all red from crying. He wouldnot marry her now in any case. No self-respecting man would. She wasglad that she had spoken to him as she had in regard to marriage, forwhile a stain remained upon her father's name marriage was out of thequestion. She might have yielded on the question of
the literarycareer, but she would never allow a man to taunt her afterwards withthe disgrace of her own flesh and blood. No, henceforth her place wasat her father's side until his character was cleared. If the trial inthe Senate were to go against him, then she could never see Jeffersonagain. She would give up all idea of him and everything else. Herliterary career would be ended, her life would be a blank. They wouldhave to go abroad, where they were not known, and try and live downtheir shame, for no matter how innocent her father might be the worldwould believe him guilty. Once condemned by the Senate, nothing couldremove the stigma. She would have to teach in order to contributetowards the support, they would manage somehow. But what a future, howunnecessary, how unjust!
Suddenly she thought of Jefferson's promise to interest his father intheir case and she clutched at the hope this promise held out as adrowning man clutches at a drifting straw. Jefferson would not forgethis promise and he would come to Massapequa to tell her of what he haddone. She was sure of that. Perhaps, after all, there was where theirhope lay. Why had she not told her father at once? It might haverelieved his mind. John Burkett Ryder, the Colossus, the man ofunlimited power! He could save her father and he would. And the moreshe thought about it, the more cheerful and more hopeful she became,and she started to dress quickly so that she might hurry down to tellher father the good news. She was actually sorry now that she had saidso many hard things of Mr. Ryder in her book and she was worrying overthe thought that her father's case might be seriously prejudiced if theidentity of the author were ever revealed, when there came a knock ather door. It was Eudoxia.
"Please, miss, will you come down to lunch?"
The Lion and the Mouse; a Story of an American Life Page 8