In the city, of course, it needed a great deal of money to keep up the kind of style upon which Dell insisted, and which, after all, was far from satisfying her—it was so much inferior to the elegance she saw around her; and as check after check of the doctor’s little hoard was drawn from the bank to meet their expenses, while but few would get sick, or being so would send for him, his heart sank within him, and without really meaning to do so, he began to wonder “when that old grandmother would die!” Finding that he could not much longer pay the enormous bills, which were presented to him weekly at the Tremont, he decided at last upon housekeeping, and exercising in this case his own judgment, in spite of the tears, sulks, and remonstrances of his wife, he hired a house in an obscure street, where the rents were much lower than in the more fashionable part of the city. Very neatly he fitted it up, going rather beyond his means, it is true, but depending a great deal upon the fast failing health of Grandmother Barton, to set all things right.
Everything was at last arranged, and with that comfortable feeling which other men have experienced in similar circumstances, he took his seat for the first time at his own table, forgetting in his happiness that the smiling, handsome face of the lady opposite, in blue merino morning gown and clean white linen collar, had ever worn any look save that which now sat upon it. Breakfast was hardly over, when the door bell rang violently and a man appeared telling the doctor that his services were required immediately by the wealthy Mrs. Archer, who lived in an adjoining street, and who owned the entire block in which he lived.
Mrs. Archer belonged to that class of people who are always dying, first with one fancied disease and then with another, in the end, however, living much longer than those whose business it is to minister to their wants. Being freakish and whimsical, she seldom employed the same physician longer than a year, but during that time a man with limited wants was sure of a livelihood, for his services were required every day, and the remuneration for the same was so prompt and liberal as to make her patronage much sought after, particularly by new practitioners. Having taken a violent fancy to Dr. Clayton when he bargained with her for the house, she had decided henceforth to employ him, if on trial he proved to be all she wished.
The doctor was well aware of her peculiarities, and for several days past had indulged a faint hope that she might favor him with a call. This she had now done, and very eagerly he prepared to visit her. As he reached his gate, he was met by a boy who brought a telegraphic dispatch from Wilbraham, saying that Grandma Barton was dead! Yes, the old lady was gone, and Dell was undoubtedly the heiress of ten thousand dollars at least, and probably more, for her grandmother bore the reputation of being miserly, and rumor said that twice ten thousand was nearer the actual sum of her possessions. To ascertain the truth as soon as possible was the doctor’s great desire, and as the next train bound for the east started in about two hours, he decided to go at once, though the funeral was not to take place for two or three days.
Suddenly Mrs. Archer’s message occurred to him, but matters were now changed—he was a rich man, and as such Mrs. Archer’s patronage was not of vital importance. Still it would hardly do to slight her, and rather unwillingly he bent his steps towards her dwelling. When there he appeared so abrupt and absent-minded, telling her there was nothing whatever the matter with her as he could see, that the good lady was wholly disgusted, and the moment he was gone, she dispatched the servant for another physician, who, possessing more tact, and not having recently come into the possession of a fortune, told her with a grave, concerned look, that “he never saw anything like her case—it really baffled his skill, though he thought he could cure her, and it would give him pleasure to try.”
Of course he was employed, and just as Dr. Clayton and Dell were stepping into the omnibus, which took them to the dépôt, a note was handed to the former, saying his services were no longer needed by Mrs. Archer. Without giving it a thought, the doctor crushed the note into his pocket, and then springing into the carriage, took his seat by Dell, to whom he was unusually attentive, for she had risen in his estimation full ten thousand dollars’ worth, and what man, for that sum of money, would not occasionally endure a cross look, or a peevish word! Not the doctor most certainly; and when on reaching the dépôt, they found that the cars would not leave for half an hour or more, he could not resist her entreaties to go with her to a jeweller’s, on —— street, where the day before she had seen “such a beautiful set of cameos, earrings, bracelet, and pin to match—then, too, they were so cheap, only $50. She knew he would buy them!”
’Twas in vain for him to say that he had not fifty dollars for she replied, that “he could take it from the bank and replace it when she got her fortune;” adding, “I’ll give you a hundred in place of it: so gratify me this once, that’s a dear, good man.”
Of course, the dear good man was persuaded as many an other dear good man has been, and will be again by a coaxing woman. The cameos were bought, and in the best of humor the young couple took their seats in the cars, which were soon bearing them swiftly towards the house of death. Very pleasant were the doctor’s reflections as the train sped on over valley and plain: he was a fortunate, happy man, and if when they paused at the Meadow Brook station he thought for an instant of the girl Rosa Lee, her memory was to him like an idle dream, which had passed away in the golden beams of day. Arrived at Wilbraham dépôt, they took a carriage for the village, which is about two miles or more from the railroad.
The old brown shutters of the large wooden building, where Mrs. Barton had lived and died, were closed, and about the house there was no sign of life. But this was hardly different from what it had been during the old lady’s life, for she was one who lived mostly within herself, seldom seeing company, though always sure to go whenever she was invited. Exceedingly penurious, she stinted her household to the last degree of endurance, and denied herself even the comforts of life, while her last request had been that her body might be suffered to remain in her sleeping-room, so as not to litter the parlor, or wear the carpet!
At the head of the family was Mabel Warrener, a poor young girl, who for the three years had lived with Mrs. Barton in the capacity of half waiting-maid, half companion, and to her the neighbors now looked for directions. Anxious to pay all due deference to the wishes of her late mistress, Mabel at first said, “Let the body remain where it is;” but when she reflected that “the fashionable Mrs. Clayton from Boston,” with her proud husband (for so were they considered), would probably be there, she changed her mind, and the deceased was carried into the dark, damp parlor, where a fire had not been kindled for more than a year. The same was also true of the chamber above, which was designed for the doctor and his lady, the latter of whom shivered as she entered it, rather haughtily bidding Mabel, who accompanied her, “to make a fire there as soon as possible, for she was not accustomed to cold rooms, and should freeze to death.”