Mark Gildersleeve: A Novel

by John S. Sauzade

"O Mercedita!" added Edna, "do beg him to apologize to father at once, and try and make amends. Just think how troubled father must be at grandfather's death, and that Jack should add to his grief is too bad. Do, please, entreat him, Mercedita, to—"

"I do not pretend to have any influence whatever over John. I might have, if he had any consideration for my feelings; but as I am sure he has never shown the slightest, of what use would my remonstrances or pleadings be? He may follow the path he has chosen without any interference from me," answered the young wife with an affected indifference.

"Father expects him at eleven," said Edna, "and I hope Jack will be punctual. I wouldn't have father continue angry at him for the world. I wonder if James has told him? I'll go and see;" and she hurried off, in her anxiety to reconcile her father and brother.

"I think, Mercedita, if you took John in the right way," said Mrs. Applegate, "you might do a good deal with him. He is as good-hearted a person as ever lived. He's whimsical, to be sure, and perhaps we all indulged him a little too much when he was a boy. I'll not deny that. But then, you know, a little coaxing will go a great ways."

A shrug of the shoulders was the only reply the young wife deigned to make to this advice, and Mrs. Applegate continued: "Now, I've had a good deal of experience in these matters, and I recollect very distinctly, when Mr. Applegate and I were first married, he was as full of whims and notions as could be, and naturally it was a source of trouble in more ways than one to me. Mr. Applegate utterly detested cats for one thing—couldn't bear 'em; indeed, he had such a great detestation of them, that I verily believe it actually affected his system; though, to be sure, he was consumptive, and subject to constant attacks of dyspepsia. I've heard of many such cases. Not long ago I read in the papers an account of some distinguished person—I forget the name, now, though it's a familiar one—let me see, I think it was Alexander the Great, or it might have been Luther, I won't be certain which; but at all events it was some well-known and distinguished person who was thrown into convulsions every time he saw a black rabbit—no, not a black rabbit, but a drawn sword. It was another well-known person who was affected in a similar way by a black rabbit. Now this goes to show—"

What this went to show we are unable to say, for at this point, Mrs. Applegate's instructive, though somewhat irrelevant discourse, was interrupted by the entrance of Jack Heath, who was evidently in no amiable frame of mind, and under the influence, probably, of the whimsical state alluded to by his kinswoman. He took his seat in sulky silence, and then began to scold the waiter. He found fault with everything—the steak was too cold, the eggs too hard, the tea too hot, the toast too dry, etc. The two ladies looked on without venturing a remark. From the dull, sodden look of his eyes, and his carelessly brushed hair, Jack's rest and peace of mind had evidently been badly disturbed. He was large and unduly corpulent for so young a man, being barely two-and-twenty, although he might have passed for ten years older; and on his fat face the freshness of youth had given place to the inflamed flush of the toper. After a few mouthfuls he could contain himself no longer, and vented his spleen in a grumbling tirade. "Seems to me there's a devil of a row here about nothing. Can't have a bit of comfort in this house. Come home tired and want to have my sleep out, and along comes James drumming away at my door as if the house was on fire; says the old man sent him—then Edna, she must come bothering me to get up. Confound it, some of you women are at the bottom of it all, I'll bet. Been complaining to the old man, have you?"

This last was directed with a scowl to his wife, who, without condescending to reply, arose from her chair and wrapping her shawl close about her, swept out of the room indignant, leaving Mrs. Applegate to confront Jack's temper alone.

"A young feller's a fool that gets married," continued Jack, addressing no one in particular.

Mrs. Applegate, feeling this apothegm to be rather a reflection on her sex, and one which ought not to pass unchallenged, ventured a mild qualification. "Well, John, it depends very much whether the fellow, as you call him, is of a domestic disposition or not. Now, there is great difference in people, and especially in married couples. There was Mr. Applegate, for instance; I'm sure no one could have led a happier life, and he often used to say to me, 'My dear—'"

"I say," repeated the nephew, dogmatically, "that a young feller's a fool that gets married. That's all. And he'll find it out sooner or later, I'll bet he does. To have a woman always tied to you, that goes whining around and complaining if a feller comes in late, or has been on a little jamboree with a friend and gets a little set up. I'd rather be hung and be done with it."