The Merivale banks

by Mary Jane Holmes

“You are looking charming,” he said, as she lifted her eyes and thanked him.

“Oh, no,” she answered gayly. “I have only my old gown to wear; but it does not matter. Nobody will look at me, among all those young ladies from Worcester and Springfield. They say the hotel is filled with them. Cynthia, our maid, saw several carriage loads coming from the station.”

Fred gave a little shrug as he replied: “I have not seen them yet, but you need have no fears of eclipse.”

It was strange, how he, who was usually so grave and dignified, unbent to this little girl, whose fan and flowers he held as he escorted her to the carriage, which was driven rapidly away.

The White house stood at a little distance from the street, and the avenue leading to it was lined with lanterns suspended from the trees, whose branches met in graceful arches here and there across the road. Overhead the summer moon was sailing through a rift of feathery clouds, which broke occasionally and left the grounds flooded with light. Nearer the house there was a soft plash of water falling into the deep basins of the fountains, and the odors of many flowers—roses, hundreds of them—trained on trellises and twining around the Corinthian pillars of the handsome, stately house. From every window lights were gleaming, and before some of them in the upper rooms, airy forms were flitting, showing where the guests were laying aside their wraps before descending to the drawingroom, where the judge stood, in all the pride and dignity befitting a man, with a William the Conqueror pedigree behind him.

He had felt a little abashed when he met the first of his city friends, but their congratulations upon the solidity of his bank and the firmness with which it had withstood the attack, reassured him, until he began to look upon himself as a man of more consequence than he had been before, inasmuch as he had been a kind of martyr and had passed unscathed through the fire. The scowling faces of the crowds, the jeers of the boys, calling him old Money Bags, and Nancy Sharp’s sympathy for the poor old man, were for the time forgotten. He was himself again—proud, conceited, arrogant and showing it in every expression of his face as he received his guests.

Louie’s story had somehow been circulated among the strangers who had arrived, and great was the curiosity to see her. Herbert had, with his father, heard with some surprise Fred’s assertion that he was going for her in the brougham, taking it for granted that every carriage in the White stable was at her disposal. Such heroic conduct as hers could not be too highly appreciated, Fred thought, and was a little disgusted with his uncle’s reply:

“Why, yes; take the carriage if she isn’t able to walk. I wonder her father hasn’t set up a turn-out by this time. He will soon, you’ll see. He has a lot of fresh depositors in his bank. Five thousand from Godfrey Sheldon, who very likely will come sneaking back, but I shall tell him better stay where he is. Yes, sir! I don’t ask no odds of him.”

This answer would have decided Fred to go for Louie himself, if he had not already made up his mind to do so. If attention from him could repay her in part, she should have it. It was not difficult, either, to be attentive to her. She was so pretty, with the white hood on her head and the eager light of expected enjoyment in her bright eyes, that he found himself wishing the drive from the Greys’ to the Whites’ longer than it was, and was not sorry when they found the avenue blocked with carriages. With the exception of the Greys, not many had sent regrets, either from Springfield or Worcester, or the adjoining towns, or Merivale. Of those invited in the latter place, a few had been so fearful of losing their money that they had demanded it with the rest, and now were repenting their haste. To face Judge White so soon was not to be thought of, and they stayed at home, but were scarcely missed in the crowd which, as early as eight, began filling the house. From Springfield a private car had been chartered, bringing fifty or more, and it was the carriages taking these from the station which were keeping the White carriage back.

“There will be a great crush; here’s a regular block, such as is sometimes seen at the White House in Washington,” Fred said. “I hope you do not mind the waiting?”