MISS SUDIE DECLARES HERSELF "SO GLAD."
Now it would seem that Cousin Sudie's rejoicing must have been of a singular sort, as she very unreasonably burst into tears while in the very act of declaring herself glad.
Mr. Robert Pagebrook was wholly unused to the task of soothing a woman in tears. It was his habit, under all circumstances, to do the thing proper to be done, but of what the proper thing was for a man to do or say to a woman in tears without apparent cause, Mr. Robert Pagebrook had not the faintest conception, and so he very unreasonably proceeded to take her hand in his and to tell her that he loved her, a fact which he himself just then discovered for the first time.
Before he could add a word to the blunt declaration, Dick thrust his black head into the door-way with the announcement, "Supper's ready, Miss Sudie."
CHAPTER XVI.
What Occurred Next Morning.
The reader thinks, doubtless, that Master Dick's entrance at the precise time indicated in the last chapter was an unfortunate occurrence, and I presume Mr. Pagebrook was of a like opinion at the moment. But maturer reflection convinced him that the interruption was a peculiarly opportune one. He was a conscientious young man, and was particularly punctilious in matters of honor; wherefore, had he been allowed to complete the conversation thus unpremeditatedly begun, without an opportunity to deliberate upon the things to be said, he would almost certainly have suffered at the hands of his conscience in consequence. There were circumstances which made some explanations on his part necessary, and he knew perfectly well that these explanations would not have been properly made if Master Dick's interruption had not come to give him time for reflection.
All this he thought as he drank his tea; for when supper was announced both he and Miss Sudie went into the dining-room precisely as if their talk in the parlor had been of no unusual character. This they did because they were creatures of habit, as you and I and all the rest of mankind are. They were in the habit of going to supper when it was ready, and it never entered the thought of either to act differently on this particular occasion. Miss Sudie, it is true, ran up to her room for a moment—to brush her hair I presume—before she entered the dining-room, but otherwise they both acted very much as they always did, except that Robert addressed almost the whole of his conversation during the meal to his Aunt Mary and Aunt Catherine, while Miss Sudie, sitting there behind the tea-tray, said nothing at all. After tea the older ladies sat with Robert and Sudie in the parlor, until the early bed-time prescribed for the convalescent young gentleman arrived.
It thus happened that there was no opportunity for the resumption of the interesting conversation interrupted by Dick, until the middle of the forenoon next day. Miss Sudie, it seems, found it necessary to go into the garden to inspect some late horticultural operations, and Mr. Robert, quite accidentally, followed her. They discussed matters with Uncle Joe, the gardener, for a time, and then wandered off toward a summer-house, where it was pleasant to sit in the soft November sunlight.
The conversation which followed was an interesting one, of course. Let us listen to it.
"The vines are all killed by the frost," said Cousin Sudie.
"Yes; you have frosts here earlier than I thought," said Robert.
"O we always expect frost about the tenth of October; at least the gentlemen never feel safe if their tobacco isn't cut by that time. This year frost was late for us, but the nights are getting very cool now, a'n't they?"
"Yes; I found blankets very comfortable even before the tenth of October."
"It's lucky then that you wa'n't staying with Aunt Polly Barksdale."
"Why? and who is your Aunt Polly?"
"Aunt Polly? Why she is Uncle Charles's widow. She is the model for the whole connection; and I've had her held up to me as a pattern ever since I can remember, but I never saw her till about a year ago, when she came and staid a week or two with us; and between ourselves I think she is the most disagreeably good person I ever saw. She is good, but somehow she makes me wicked, and I don't think I'm naturally so. I didn't read my Bible once while she staid, and I do love to read it. I suppose I shall like to have her with me in heaven, if I get there, because there I won't have anything for her to help me about, but here 'I'm better midout' her."
"I quite understand your feeling; but you haven't told me why I'm lucky not to have her for my hostess these cold nights."
"O you'd be comfortable enough now that tobacco is cut; but when Cousin Billy staid with her, a good many years ago, he used to complain of being cold—he was only a boy—and ask her for blankets, and she would hold up her hands and exclaim: 'Why, child, your uncle's tobacco isn't cut yet! It will never do to say it's cold enough for blankets when your poor uncle hasn't got his tobacco cut. Think of your uncle, child! he can't afford to have his tobacco all killed.' But come, Cousin Robert, you mustn't sit here; besides I want to show you an experiment I am trying with winter cabbage."
This, I believe, is a faithful report of what passed between Robert and Sudie in the summer-house. I am very well aware that they ought to have talked of other things, but they did not; and, as a faithful chronicler, I can only state the facts as they occurred, begging the reader to remember that I am in no way responsible for the conduct of these young people.
The cabbage experiment duly explained and admired, Mr. Robert and Miss Sudie walked out of the garden and into the house. There they found themselves alone again, and Robert plunged at once into the matter of which both had been thinking all the time.
"Cousin Sudie," he said, "have you thought about what I said to you last night?"
"Yes—a little."
"I will not ask you just yet what you have thought," said Robert, taking her unresisting hand into his, "because there are some explanations which I am in honor bound to make to you before asking you to give me an answer, one way or the other. When I told you I loved you, of course I meant to ask you to be my wife, but that I must not ask you until you know exactly what I am. I want you to know precisely what it is that I ask you to do. I am a poor man, as you know. I have a good position, however, with a salary of two thousand dollars a year, and that is more than sufficient for the support of a family, particularly in an inexpensive college town; so that there is room for a little constant accumulation. If I marry, I shall insure my life for ten thousand dollars, so that my death shall not leave my wife destitute. I have a very small reserve fund in bank too—thirteen hundred dollars now, since I paid for that horse. And there is still three hundred dollars due me for last year's work. These are my means and my prospects, and now I tell you again, Sudie, that I love you, and I ask you bluntly will you marry me?"
The young lady said nothing.
"If you wish for time to think about it Sudie—"
"I suppose that would be the proper way, according to custom; but," raising her eyes fearlessly to his, "I have already made up my mind, and I do not want to act a falsehood. There is nothing to be ashamed of, I suppose, in frankly loving such a man as you, Robert. I will be your wife."
The little woman felt wonderfully brave just then, and accordingly, without further ado, she commenced to cry.
The reader would be very ill-mannered indeed should he listen further to a conversation which was wholly private and confidential in its character; wherefore let us close our ears and the chapter at once.
CHAPTER XVII.
In which Mr. Pagebrook Bids his Friends Good-by.
The next two or three days passed away very quickly with Mr. Robert and Miss Sudie. Robert made to his aunt a statement of the results, without entering into the details of his conferences with Miss Sudie, and was assured of Col. Barksdale's approval when that gentleman and Billy should return from the court they were attending. The two young people, however, were in no hurry for the day appointed for that return to come. They were very happy as it was. They discussed their future, and laid many little plans to be carried out after awhile. It was arranged that Robert should return to Virginia at the beginning of the next long vacation; that the wedding should take place immediately upon his coming; and that the two should make a little trip through the mountains and, returning to Shirley, remain there until the autumn should bring Robert's professional duties around again.
They were in the very act of talking these matters over for the twentieth time, one afternoon, when Maj. Pagebrook rode up. He seemed absent and nervous in manner, and after a few moments of general conversation asked to see Robert alone upon business. When the two were closeted together Maj. Pagebrook opened his pocket-book and taking out a paper he slowly unfolded it, saying: "I have just received this, Robert, and I suppose there is a duplicate of it awaiting you in the post-office."
Robert looked at the paper in blank astonishment.
"What does this mean?" he cried; "my draft protested! Why I have sixteen hundred dollars in that bank, and my draft was for only three hundred."
"It appears that the bank has failed," said Maj. Pagebrook. "At least I reckon that's what the Richmond people mean. They say, in a note to me, that it 'went to pot' a week ago. It seems there are a good many banks failing this fall. I hope you won't lose everything, though, Robert."
The blow was a terrible one to the young man. In a moment he took in the entire situation. To lose the money he had in bank was to be forced to begin the world over again with absolutely nothing; but at any rate he could pay the debt he owed to his cousin very shortly, and to be free from debt is in itself a luxury to a man of his temperament. He thought but a moment and then said:
"Cousin Edwin, I shall have to ask you to carry that protested draft for me a few days if you will. There is some money due me on the fifteenth of this month, and it is now the ninth. I asked that it should be sent to me here, but I shall go to Philadelphia at once, and I'll collect it when I get there and send you the amount. I promise you faithfully that it shall be remitted by the fifteenth at the very furthest."
"O don't trouble yourself to be so exact, Robert," replied Maj. Pagebrook. "Send it when you can; I'm in no very great hurry. Sarah Ann says we must invest all our spare money in the new railroad stock; but I needn't pay anything on that till the twenty-third, so there will be time enough. But for that I wouldn't care how long I waited."
"I shall not let it remain unpaid after the fifteenth at furthest," said Robert. "I do not like to let it lie even that long."
Maj. Pagebrook took his departure and Robert told Sudie of the bad news, telling her also that he must leave next morning for Philadelphia, to see if it were possible to save something from the wreck of the bank.
"Besides," said he, "I must get to work. There are nearly two months of time between now and the first of January, and I cannot afford to lose it now that I have lost this money."
"What will you do, Robert? You can't do anything teaching in that time."
"No, but I can do a good many things. I write a little now and then for the papers and magazines, for one thing. I can pick up something, I think, which will at least pay expenses."
He then told her of his arrangement with Maj. Pagebrook about the protested draft, and finished by repeating what that gentleman had said about the investment in railroad stock.
This troubled Miss Sudie more than all the rest, and Robert seeing it pressed her for a reason. But no reason would she give, and Robert was forced to content himself with the thought that his trouble naturally brought trouble to her. To her aunt, however, she expressed her conviction that Cousin Sarah Ann had suggested the railroad investment merely for the sake of compelling her husband to press Robert for payment. She was troubled to know that the payment must be deferred even for a few days, but rejoiced in the knowledge of Robert's ability to discharge his indebtedness speedily. It galled her to think of the unpleasant things which the amiable mistress of The Oaks would manage to say about Robert pending the payment. There was no help for it, however, and so the brave little woman persuaded herself that it was her duty to appear cheerful in order that Robert might be so; and whatever Miss Sudie believed to be her duty in any case Miss Sudie did, however difficult the doing might be. She accordingly wore the pleasantest possible smile and the most cheerful of countenances whenever Robert was present, doing every particle of her necessary crying in her own room and carefully washing away all traces of the process before opening the door.
Robert made all his preparations for departure that afternoon, and on the following morning was driven to the Court House in the family carriage. When he arrived there he got what letters there were for him in the post-office, read them, and talked a few moments with Ewing Pagebrook, who had spent the preceding night with Foggy and Dr. Harrison, and was now deeply contrite and rather anxious than otherwise that Robert should scold him. There was no time, however, even for the giving of advice, as the train had now come, and Robert must go at once. A hasty hand-shaking closed the interview, and Robert was gone.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Mr. Pagebrook Goes to Work.
When Robert arrived in Philadelphia his first care was to make inquiries with regard to the bank in which his money was deposited. He learned that it had suspended payment about one week before, and that its affairs were in the hands of an assignee. This was all he could find out on the afternoon of his arrival, and with this he was forced to content himself until the next day, when he succeeded with some little difficulty in securing an interview with the assignee. To him he said: "My only purpose is to ascertain the exact state of the bank's affairs, in order that I may know what to do."
"That I cannot tell you, sir. The books are still in confusion, and until they can be straightened out it is impossible to say what the result will be."
"Tell me, then, are the assets anything like equal to the liabilities?"
"That is exactly what the books must show. I can't say till we get a statement."
"You can at least tell me then," said Robert, provoked at the man's reticence, "whether there are any assets at all, or not."
"No, I can make no statement until the books are examined. Then a complete exhibit of affairs will be made."
"Pardon me," said Robert, "but this question is one of serious moment to me. You have been examining this bank's affairs for a week, I believe?"
"Yes, about a week."
"You must have some idea, then, whether or not there is likely to be anything at all left for depositors, and you will oblige me very much indeed by giving me your personal opinion on the subject. I understand how impossible it is to give exact figures; but you cannot have failed to discover by this time whether or not the assets amount to anything worth considering, as compared with the amount of the bank's liabilities. I would like the little information you can give me, however inexact it may be."
"My dear sir," said the assignee, "I'm afraid you don't understand these things. Our statement is not ready yet, and I can not possibly tell you what its nature will be until it is."
"When will it be ready, sir?" asked Robert.
"That I can not say as yet, but it will be forthcoming in due time, sir; in due time."
"Will it require a week, or a month, or two or three months? You can, at least, make an approximate estimate of the time necessary for its preparation."
"Well, no," said the man of business, "I should not like to make any promises; I am hard at work, and the statement will be ready in due time, sir; in due time."
Robert left the man's presence thoroughly disgusted. Thinking the matter over he concluded that the affairs of the bank must be in a very bad way. Otherwise, he argued, the man would not be so silent on the subject.
Now the assignee was perfectly right in saying that Robert did not understand these things. If he had understood them he would have known that the reticence from which he thus argued the worst, meant just nothing at all. Business men are not apt to commit themselves unnecessarily in any case, and especially in such a case as the one concerning which Robert had been inquiring. The bank might have been utterly bankrupt or entirely solvent, and that assignee would in either case have given precisely the same answers to our young friend's questions. He knew nothing with absolute certainty as yet, and could know nothing certainly until the last column of figures should be added up and the final balances struck. Then he could make a statement, but until then he would say nothing at all. He acted after his kind. Business is business; and, as a rule, business men know only one way of doing things.
Robert, however, was not a business man. He knew nothing about these things, and accordingly, making no allowance for a business habit as one of the factors in the problem, he proceeded to argue that if the affairs of the bank were in the least degree hopeful the man would have said so. As he had carefully and persistently avoided saying anything of the kind, Robert could only conclude that there was no hope at all to be entertained.
He quickly determined, therefore, to waste no more time. Abandoning his sixteen hundred dollars as utterly lost, he packed his valise and went at once to New York to find work of some kind. How he succeeded we shall best see from his letter to Cousin Sudie, from which I am allowed to quote a passage or two.
"I am very busy with some topical articles, as the newspaper folk call them. That is to say, I am visiting factories of various kinds and writing detailed accounts of their operations, coupling with the facts gathered thus, a gossipy account of the origin, history, etc., of the industry. I find the work very interesting, and it promises to be quite remunerative too. I fell into it by accident. About a year ago I spent an evening with a friend, Mr. Dudley, in New York, and while at his house his seven year old boy showed me some of his toys—little German contrivances; and I, knowing something about the toys and the people who make them—you know I made a summer trip through Europe once—fell to telling him about them. His father was as much interested as he, but the matter soon passed from my mind. When I came over here a week ago to look for something to do I visited the office of this paper, hoping that I should be allowed to do a little reporting or drudgery of some sort till something better should turn up. Who should I find in the editor's chair but my friend Dudley. I told him my errand, and his reply was:
"'I haven't a moment now, Pagebrook, but you're the very man I want; come up and see me this evening. We dine at half-past six, and over our roast-beef I can explain fully what I mean.'
"I went, as a matter of course, and at dinner Dudley said:
"'Our paper, Pagebrook, is meant to be a kind of American Penny Magazine. That is to say, we want to fill it full of entertaining information, partly for the sake of the information but more for the sake of the entertainment. Now I have tried at least fifty people, in the hope of finding somebody who could tell, in writing, just such things as you told our Ben when you were here a year ago. I never dreamed of getting you to do it, but you're just the man, and about the only one, too, I begin to think. Now, if you've a mind to do it, I can keep you busy as long as you like. I don't mean to confine you to this particular kind of work, but I'd rather have articles of that sort than any others, and the publishers won't grumble if I pay you twenty dollars apiece for them. They mustn't exceed two of our columns—say two thousand words in all—but if you can't tell your story in any particular instance within those limits, you can make two articles out of it. I've already told your toy story, but you can easily hunt up plenty of other things to tell about. Common things are best—things people see every day but know nothing about.'
"I set to work the next day, and have been busy ever since. I like to visit factories and learn all the petty details of their operations, and I find that it is the petty details which go to make the description interesting. I like the work so well that I almost wish I had no professorship, so that I might follow as a business this kind of writing, and some other sorts in which I seem to succeed—for I do not confine myself to one class of articles, or to one paper either, for that matter, but am trying my hand at a variety of things, and I find the work very fascinating. But it is altogether better, I suppose, that I should retain my position in the college, even if I could be sure of always finding as good a market as I do just now for my wares, which is doubtful. I have lost the whole of my little reserve fund—as the bank seems hopelessly broken; and if I had nothing to depend upon except the problematic sale of articles, I would do you a wrong to ask you to let our wedding-day remain fixed. As it is, my salary from the college is more than sufficient for our support, and as my expenses from now until the time appointed will be very small indeed, I shall have several hundred dollars accumulated by that time; wherefore if Uncle Carter does not object, pray let our plans remain undisturbed, will you not, Sudie?"
The rest of this letter, which is a very long one, is not only personal in its character, but is also of a strictly private nature; and while I am free to copy here so much of this and other letters in my possession as will aid me in the telling of my story, I do not feel myself at liberty to let the reader into the sacred inner chambers of a correspondence with which we have properly no concern, except as it helps us to the understanding of this history.
CHAPTER XIX.
A Short Chapter, not very interesting, perhaps, but of some Importance in the Story, as the Reader will probably discover after awhile.
When the letter from which a quotation was made in the preceding chapter came to Miss Sudie, that young lady was not at Shirley but at The Oaks, where Ewing was lying very ill. He had been prostrated suddenly, a few days before, and from the first had been delirious with fever. The doctor had appeared unusually anxious regarding his patient ever since he was first summoned to see him, and Cousin Sarah Ann having given way to her alarm at the evident danger in which her son lay to such an extent as to be wholly useless to herself or to anybody else, Miss Sudie had been called in to act as temporary mistress of the mansion.
The very next mail after the one which brought her letter, had in it one from Robert addressed to Ewing himself. Miss Sudie, upon discovering it in the bag, carried it to Cousin Sarah Ann, and was very decidedly shocked when that estimable lady without a word broke the seal and read the letter, putting it carefully away afterwards in Ewing's desk, of which she had the key. Miss Sudie said nothing, however, and the matter was almost forgotten when in the evening the doctor came and sat down by the sick boy's bed.
"I think it my duty to tell you," said he to Cousin Sarah Ann, "that the crisis of the disease is rapidly approaching, and I must wait here until it passes. Your son is in very great danger; but we shall know within a few hours whether there is hope for him or not. I confess that while I hope the best I fear the worst."
Mrs. Pagebrook was thoroughly overcome by her fright. She loved her son, in her own queer way; and being a very weak woman she gave way entirely when she understood in how very critical a condition the boy was. It was necessary to exclude her from the room, and the doctor remained, with Miss Sudie and Maj. Pagebrook. About midnight he stood and looked intently at the sick man's features, listening also to his hard-coming breath. He stood there full half an hour—then turning to Miss Sudie, he said:
"It's of no use, Miss Barksdale. Our young friend is beyond hope. He cannot live an hour. Perhaps you'd better inform his mother."
But before Miss Sudie could leave the bedside, Ewing roused himself for a moment, and tried to say something to her.
"Tell Robert—I got sick the very day—twenty-one—"
This was all Miss Sudie could hear, and she thought the patient's mind was wandering still, as it had been throughout his illness. And these incoherent words were the last the young man ever uttered.
About a week after Ewing's death Cousin Sarah Ann said to Maj. Pagebrook:
"Cousin Edwin, are you ever going to collect that money from Robert? He promised to pay you on or before the fifteenth of November, and now it's nearly the last of the month and you haven't a line of explanation from him yet. I told you he wouldn't pay it till we made him. You oughtn't to've let him run away in your debt at all, and you wouldn't either, if you'd a'listened to me. Why don't you write to him?"
"Well, I don't like to press the poor fellow. He's lost his money you know, and I reckon he finds it hard to pull through till January. He'll pay when he can, I reckon."
"O that's always the way with you! For my part I don't believe he had any money in the bank; and besides he said there was some money coming to him on his salary, and he promised faithfully to pay you out of that. I told you he wouldn't, because I knew him. He tried to make out he was so much superior to the rest of us, and talked about 'reforming' poor Ewing, just as if the poor boy was a drunkard and—and—and—if you don't write I will, and I'll make him pay that money too, or I'll know why."
The conversation ended as such conversations usually did in Maj. Pagebrook's family, namely, by the abrupt departure of that gentleman from the house.
Cousin Sarah Ann evidently meant what she said, and her husband was no sooner out of the house than she got out her desk and wrote; not to Robert, however, but to Messrs. Steel, Flint & Sharp, attorneys and counselors at law, in New York city. Her note was not a long one, but it told the whole story of Robert's indebtedness from a not very favorable point of view, and closed with a request that the attorneys should "push the case by every means the law allows." This note was signed not with Cousin Sarah Ann's own but with her husband's name, and her first proceeding, after sealing the letter, was to send it by a servant to the post-office. She then ordered her carriage and drove over to Shirley.
CHAPTER XX.
Cousin Sarah Ann Takes Robert's Part.
Cousin Sarah Ann talked a good deal. Ill-natured people sometimes said she talked a good deal of nonsense, and possibly she did, but she never talked without a purpose, and she commonly managed to talk pretty successfully, too, so far as the accomplishment of her ends was concerned. In the present case, while I am wholly unprepared to say exactly why she wanted to talk, I am convinced that this excellent lady's visit to Shirley was undertaken solely for the purpose of securing an opportunity to talk.
Arrived there, she greeted her friends with her black-bordered handkerchief over her eyes, and for a time seemed hardly able to speak at all, so overpowering was her emotion. Then she said:
"I wouldn't think of visiting at such a time as this, of course, but Shirley seems so much like home, and I felt like I must have somebody to talk to who could sympathize with me. Dear Sudie was so good to me during—during it all."
After a time Cousin Sarah Ann composed herself, and controlled her emotion sufficiently to converse connectedly without making painful pauses, though her voice continued from first to last to be uncomfortably suggestive of recent weeping.
"Have you had any news of Robert lately?" she asked; "I do hope he's doing well."
"We've had no letters since Sudie's came while she was at your house," said Colonel Barksdale. "He was doing very well then, I believe, though he thought there was no hope of recovering anything from the bank."
"I'm so sorry," said Cousin Sarah Ann, "for I love Robert. He was so like an older brother to my poor boy. I feel just like a mother to him, and I can't bear to have anybody say anything against him."
"Nobody ever does say anything to his discredit, I suppose," said Col. Barksdale. "He is really one of the finest young men I ever knew, and the very soul of honor, too. He comes honestly by that, however, for his father was just so before him."
"That's just what I tell Cousin Edwin," said Cousin Sarah Ann. "I tell him dear Robert means to do right, and will do it just as soon as ever he can. Poor fellow! he has been so unfortunate. Somebody must have made Cousin Edwin suspicious of him, else he wouldn't think so badly of poor Robert."
"Why, Sarah Ann, what do you mean?" asked Col. Barksdale. "Surely Edwin has no reason to think ill of Robert."
"No, that he hasn't; and that's what I tell him. But he's been prejudiced and won't hear a word. He says nothing about it to anybody but me, but he really suspects Robert of meaning to cheat him, and—"
"Cheat him!" cried all in a breath, "Why, how can that be?"
"O it can't be, and so I tell Cousin Edwin; but he insists that Robert told him he would pay that three hundred dollars on or before the fifteenth, and I reckon the poor boy hasn't been able to do it, or he would."
"Why, Sarah Ann, you don't tell me that Robert has failed to pay Edwin that money!" said the Colonel.
"Why, I thought you knew that, or I wouldn't have told you about it. No, he hasn't sent it yet; but he will, of course, if I can keep Cousin Edwin from writing him violent letters about it."
"Hasn't he written to explain the delay?" asked the Colonel.
"No; and that's what Cousin Edwin always reminds me of when I try to take Robert's part. He says if he meant to be honest he would have written. I tell him I know how it is. I can fully understand Robert's silence. He has failed to get money when he expected it, I reckon, and has naturally hated to write till he could send the money. Poor boy! I'm afraid he'll overwork himself and half starve himself, too, trying to get that money together, when we could wait for it just as well as not."
"There certainly can be no apology for his failure to write, after promising payment on a definite day," said Col. Barksdale; "and I am both surprised and grieved that he should have acted in so unworthy a way!"
With this the Colonel arose and paced the room in evident anger. Robert's champion, Cousin Sarah Ann, could not stand this.
"Surely you are not going to turn against poor Robert without giving him a hearing, are you, Cousin Carter? I thought you too just for that, though I should never have mentioned the subject at all if I hadn't thought you all knew about it, and would take Robert's part like me."
"I shall give him a hearing," said the Colonel; "but in the meantime I must say his conduct has been very singular—very singular indeed."
"O he's only thoughtless!" said the excellent woman, in her anxiety to shield "dear Robert."
"No; he is not thoughtless. He never is thoughtless, whatever else he may be. If you wish to defend him, Sarah Ann, you must find some other excuse for his conduct. Confound the fellow! I can't help loving him, but if he isn't what I took him for, I'll——"
The Colonel did not finish his threat; perhaps he hardly knew how.
"Now, Cousin Carter, please don't you fly into a passion like Cousin Edwin does," said Cousin Sarah Ann, pleadingly, "but wait till you find out all the facts. Write to Robert, and I'm sure he will explain it all. I wish I hadn't said a word about it."
"You did perfectly right, perfectly," said Colonel Barksdale. "If Robert has failed in a point of honor, I ought to know it, because in that case I have a duty to do—a painful one, but a duty nevertheless."
"O you men have no charity at all. You're so hard on one another, and I'm so sorry I said anything about it. Good-by, Cousin Mary. Good-by, Sudie dear. Come and see me, won't you? I miss you so much in my trouble. Come often. Come and stay some with me. Do. That's a dear."
And so Cousin Sarah Ann drove away, rejoicing in the consciousness that she had vigorously defended the absent Robert; and perhaps rejoicing too in the conviction that that gentleman could not possibly explain his conduct to the satisfaction of Colonel Barksdale.
CHAPTER XXI.
Miss Barksdale Expresses some Opinions.
Miss Sudie Barksdale was a very brave little woman, and she needed all her courage on the present occasion. She felt the absolute necessity there was that she should sit out Cousin Sarah Ann's conversation, and she sat it out, in what agony it is not hard to imagine. When that lady drove away Miss Sudie ran off to her room, where she remained for two or three hours. Upon her privacy we will not intrude.
Col. Barksdale called Billy from his office, and giving him the newly discovered facts, asked his opinion. Billy was simply thunderstruck.
"I can't understand it," said he; "Bob certainly had that money coming to him from his last year's salary, for he told me about it the day we first met in Philadelphia. If Bob isn't a man of honor, in the strictest sense of the term, I never was so deceived in anybody in my life. And yet this business looks as ugly as home-made sin. Bob knew perfectly well that if you or I had been at home when he left we wouldn't have allowed his protested draft to stand over at all, but would have paid it on the spot. He knew too that if he couldn't pay when he promised he could have written to me or to you explaining the matter, and we would have lent him the money for twenty years if necessary. I don't understand it at all. It looks ugly. It looks as if he meant to make that money clear."
"Well, my son," said Col. Barksdale, "I'll give him one chance to explain at any rate. I'll write to him immediately."
Accordingly the old gentleman went to his library and was engaged for some time in writing. After awhile there came a knock at his door, and Miss Sudie entered.
"Come in, daughter," said he, tenderly. "I want to talk with you."
"I thought you would," said the sad-eyed little maiden, "and that's why I came. I wanted our talk to be private."
"You're a good girl, my child." Then, after a pause, "This is bad news about Robert."
"Yes; and from a bad source," said Sudie.
"I do not understand you, daughter."
"We have the best of authority, Uncle Carter, for saying that 'men do not gather grapes of thorns!'"
"But, my child, I suppose there can be no doubt of the facts in this case, so far as we have them. We know the circumstances of Robert's indebtedness to Edwin, and whatever her motives may have been, Sarah Ann would hardly venture to say that he has neither paid nor written in explanation of his failure to do so, if he had done either."
"Perhaps not."
"Robert ought to have paid at any cost to himself if it were possible; and if it were not, then he should have written in a frank, manly way, explaining his inability to fulfill his promise. Appearances are so strongly against him that I have written with very little hope of eliciting any satisfactory reply."
"Will you mind letting me see what you have written, Uncle Carter?"
"No; you may read the letter. Here it is."
Miss Sudie read it. It ran thus:
"I have just now learned that you have wholly failed to fulfill your solemn and deliberate promise, made on the eve of your departure from Shirley, to the effect that you would, without fail, take up your protested draft for three hundred dollars ($300), held by your Cousin Major Edwin Pagebrook, on or before the fifteenth (15th), day of this current month. It is now the thirtieth (30th), and hence your promise is fifteen (15) days over due. I learn also that you have failed to write in explanation of your delinquency or in any way to account or apologise for it. Permit me to say that as your conduct presents itself to me at this time, it is unworthy the gentleman which you profess to be, and I now demand of you either that you shall give me immediately a satisfactory explanation of the matter—and that, I must confess, sir, seems hardly possible—or that you shall at once write to my niece and adopted daughter, releasing her from her engagement with you."
Having finished reading the letter Sudie handed it back to her uncle without a word of comment. Not that she was in this or in any other case afraid to express her opinion. Her uncle knew very well when he gave her the letter that she would say absolutely nothing about it until he should ask her, and he knew equally well that upon asking her he would get a perfectly honest expression of her thought, whatever it might happen to be. But Colonel Barksdale was, for the time, afraid to ask her opinion. He was a brave man and an honest one. He was known throughout the state as a lawyer of great ability and as a gentleman of the most undoubted sort. And yet at this moment he found himself afraid of a young girl, who stood in the relation of daughter to him—a girl who was never violent in word or act, a girl who honored him as a father and loved him with all her heart. He knew she would unhesitatingly speak the truth, and it was the truth of which he was afraid. He had not been aware, when he wrote, of any disposition to do Robert injustice, else, being a just man, he would have spurned the thought from him; but now that he felt bound to ask Miss Sudie for her opinion of his course, he became uncomfortably conscious that there had been other impulses than just ones governing him in his choice of language. At last he asked the dreaded question.
"What do you think, daughter?"
"I think you have not done yourself justice, Uncle Carter, in writing such a letter as that. The letter is not like you, at all."
"Well?"
"Do you mean why and wherefore?"
"Yes. Why and wherefore, Sudie?"
"Because it is not like you to do an act of injustice, and when you are betrayed into one you misrepresent yourself."
"But wherein is my letter an act of injustice, my child?"
"It assumes unproved guilt; and I believe even criminals are entitled to a more favorable starting-point than that in their efforts to clear themselves."
"But, Sudie, I have not assumed that Robert is guilty. I have asked him to explain."
"Yes; and in the very act of asking him to explain to you, his judge, you have assured him from the bench that the court believes an explanation impossible."
"Have I? Let me see."
After looking at the letter again he resumed:
"I believe you are right about that; I will rewrite the letter, omitting the objectionable clause. Is that all Sudie?"
"Perhaps when you come to rewrite the letter you will see that its tone is as unjust as any words could possibly be. It seems so to me."
"Let me try my hand again, daughter. Keep your seat please while I write a new letter instead of rewriting the old one."
"There. How will that do?" he asked, as he handed the young woman this hastily-written note.
"My Dear Robert: We have just been hearing some news of you, which I trust you will be able to contradict or explain. It is that you have failed to keep your promise in the matter of your indebtedness to Major Pagebrook, and that you have not even offered a word by way of apology or explanation. The peculiar relations in which you now stand to my family justify me, I think, in asking you to explain a matter which, unexplained, must reflect upon your character as an honorable man. Please write to me by return mail."
"That is more like you, Uncle Carter. But I am sorry to find that you are convinced, in advance, of Robert's guilt. You propose to sit in judgment upon his case, and a court should not only appear but be free from bias."
"Why, my daughter, I can hardly see how there can be any possible excuse in a case like this. You cannot deny that both facts and appearances are against him."
"I doubt whether we have the facts yet, Uncle Carter. Aside from my knowledge of Cous—of Sarah Ann Pagebrook's general character, I saw her do a dishonorable thing once. I saw her open and read a letter which was not addressed to her, and I have no faith whatever in her, or in any statement which comes from her or through her."
Colonel Barksdale was probably not sorry that the conversation was interrupted at this point by the entrance of a servant announcing a client. He felt that it would be idle to argue with Sudie in a matter in which her feelings were strongly enlisted, and he felt that in calling Robert to an account he was doing a simple duty. He was, therefore, rather pleased than otherwise to have an accident terminate a conversation which did not promise to terminate itself agreeably.
Miss Sudie went to her room and wrote to Robert on her own account. I am not at liberty to print her letter here, as I should greatly like to do, but the reader will readily guess its general nature. She told Robert in detail everything that had been said concerning him that day. She told him of her uncle's anger, and of the probability that everybody would believe him guilty if he failed to establish his innocence; but she assured him that she, at least, had no idea of doubting him for a moment.
"For your sake," she wrote, "I hope you will be able to offer a convincing explanation; but whether you can do that or not, Robert, I know that you are true and manly, and not even facts shall ever make me doubt your truth. I may never be able to see how your action has been right, but I shall know, nevertheless, that it has been so. My woman love is truer, to me at least, than logic—truer than fact—truer than truth itself."
All this was very illogical—very unreasonable, but very natural. It was "just like a woman" to set her emotions up in a holy place and compel her reason to do homage to them as to a god. And that is the very best thing there is about women, too. You and I, sir, would fare badly if in naming a woman wife we could not feel assured that her love will ever override her reason in matters concerning us.
CHAPTER XXII.
Mr. Sharp Does His Duty.
The law firm of Steel, Flint & Sharp was a thoroughly well constituted one. Its organization was an admirable example of means perfectly adapted to the accomplishment of ends. It was not an eminent firm but it was an eminently successful one, particularly in the lines of business to which it gave special attention, and the leading one of these was collecting doubtful debts, as Cousin Sarah Ann had learned from one of the firm's cards which had fallen in her way. Indeed it was the accidental possession of this card which enabled her to put the matter of Robert's indebtedness into the hands of New York attorneys, and I suspect that she would never have thought of doing so at all but for the enticing words, fairly printed upon the card—"particular attention given to the collection of doubtful debts, due to non-residents of New York."
A prophet, we know, is not without honor save in his own country, and so it is not strange that the people who familiarly knew the countenances of the gentlemen composing the firm of Steel, Flint & Sharp, esteemed these gentlemen less highly than did those other people, resident outside of New York, who could know these counselors at law only through their profusely distributed cards and circulars. Such was the fact; and as a result it happened that the clients of the firm were chiefly people who, living in other parts of the country, were compelled to intrust their business in New York to the hands of whatever attorneys they believed were the leading ones in the metropolis. And it was to let people know who were the leading lawyers of the city, that Messrs. Steel, Flint & Sharp industriously scattered their cards and circulars throughout the country.
Who Mr. Steel was I do not know, and I am strongly inclined to suspect that the rest of the world, including his partners, were in a state of equal ignorance. He was never seen about the firm's offices, and never represented anybody in court, but he was frequently referred to by his partners, especially when clients were disposed to complain of apparently exorbitant charges.
"Mr. Steel can not give his attention to a case, sir, for nothing. His reputation is at stake, sir, in all we undertake. I really do not feel at liberty to ask Mr. Steel to authorize any reduction in this case, sir. He gave his personal attention to the papers—his personal attention, sir."
And this would commonly send clients away suppressed, if not satisfied.
Mr. Flint was well enough known. He managed the business of the firm. It was he who always knew precisely what Mr. Steel's opinion was. He alone, of all the world, was able to speak positively of matters concerning Mr. Steel. Mr. Sharp was his junior in the firm, though considerably his senior in years. For Mr. Sharp Mr. Flint entertained not one particle of respect, because that gentleman was not always what his name implied. Mr. Sharp left to himself would have been hopelessly honest and straightforward. He would have gone to the dogs, speedily, Mr. Flint said, but for his association with himself.
"But you have excellent ability in your way, Sharp, excellent ability," he would say when in a good humor. "You are a capital executive officer—a very good lieutenant. Your ideas of what to do in any given case are not always good, but when I tell you what to do you do it, Sharp. I always know you will do what I tell you, and do it well too."
Mr. Sharp usually came to the office an hour earlier than Mr. Flint did, in order that he might have everything ready for Mr. Flint's examination when that gentleman should arrive. He read the letters, drew up papers, and was prepared to give his partner in each case the facts upon which his opinion or advice was necessary.
On the morning of December 3d, Mr. Flint came softly into his office and, after hanging up his overcoat and warming his hands at the register, went into his inner den, saying, as he sat down:
"I'm ready for you now, Sharp."
Mr. Sharp arose from his desk and entered the private room, with his hands full of papers.
"What's the first thing on docket, Sharp?"
"Well, here's a collection to be made. Debtor, Robert Pagebrook, temporarily in the city. Boarding place not known. Writes for the newspapers, so I can easily find him. Creditor Edwin Pagebrook, of —— Court House, Virginia. Debtor got creditor to cash draft for three hundred dollars. Draft protested. Debtor came away, and promised to take up paper by fifteenth November. Hasn't done it. Instructions 'push him.'"
"Any limitations?"
"No."
"What have you done?"
"Nothing yet; I'll look him up to-day and dun him."
"Yes, and let him get away from you. Sharp do you know that Julius Cæsar is dead?"
"Certainly."
"I'm glad to hear that you do know something then. Don't you see the point in this case? Go and make out affidavits on information. This fellow Robert what's his name is a 'transient,' and we'll get an order of arrest all ready and then you can dun him with some sense. Have your officer with you or convenient, and if he don't pay up, chuck him in jail. That's the way to do it. Never waste time dunning 'transients' when there's a ghost of a chance to cage them."
"Well, but there don't seem to be any fraud here. The man seems to have had funds in the bank, only the bank suspended."
"Sharp, you'll learn a little law after awhile, I hope. Don't you know the courts never look very sharply after cases where transients are concerned? How do we know he had money in the bank? Is there anything to show it?"
"No; I believe not."
"Well, then, don't you go to making facts in the interest of the other side. Let him make that out if he can. You just draw your affidavits to suit our purposes, not his. Go on to state that he drew a certain bill of exchange, and represented that he had funds, and so fraudulently obtained money, and all that; and then go on to say that his draft upon presentation was protested, and that instead of making it good he absconded. Be sure to say absconded, Sharp, it's half the battle. Courts haven't much use for men that abscond and then turn up in New York. Make your case strong enough, though. We only swear on information, you know, so if we do put it a little strong it don't matter. There. Go and fix it up right away, and then catch your man."
A few hours later, as Robert Pagebrook sat writing in his room, Mr. Sharp and another man were shown in. Mr. Sharp opened the conversation.
"This is Mr. Pagebrook, I believe?"
"Yes, sir."
"Mr. Robert Pagebrook?"
"Yes. That is my name."
"Thank you. My name is Sharp, of the firm of Steel, Flint & Sharp. That's our card, sir. I have called to solicit the payment, sir, of a small amount due Mr. Edwin Pagebrook, who has written asking us to collect it for him. The amount is three hundred dollars, I think. Yes. Here is the draft. Can you let me have the money to-day, Mr. Pagebrook?"
"I have already remitted one third the amount, sir," said Robert, "and I hope to send the remainder in installments very soon. At present it is simply impossible for me to pay anything more."
"Have you a receipt for the amount remitted?" asked the lawyer.
"No. It was sent only yesterday. But if you will hold the draft a week or ten days longer, I will be able, within that time, to earn the whole of the amount remaining due, and your client will advise you, I am sure, of the receipt of the hundred dollars already sent."
"We are not authorised to wait, sir," said Mr. Sharp. "On the contrary our instructions are positive to push the case."
"But what can I do?" asked Robert. "I have already sent every dollar I had, and until I earn more I can pay no more."
"The case is a peculiar one, sir. It has the appearance of a fraudulent debt and an attempt to run away from it. I must do my duty by my client, sir; and so this gentleman, who is a sheriff's officer, has an order for your arrest, which I must ask him to serve if you do not pay the debt to day."
