Father And Son

: Jewel

When later they were alone, the girl looked at her mother, her eyes

luminous.



"You see," she began rather breathlessly, "even you must see, he is

beginning to drive us away."



"I do hope, Eloise, you are not going to indulge in any heroics over

this affair," returned Mrs. Evringham, who had braced herself to meet an

attack. "Does the unpleasant creature suppose we would stay with him if

we were not obliged to?"



"If we are obliged to, which I don't admit, need you demand further

favors than food and shelter? How could you speak of Essex Maid! How can

you know in your inmost heart, as you do, that we are eating the bread

of charity, and then ask for the apple of his eye!" exclaimed Eloise

desperately.



"Go away with your bread and apples," responded Mrs. Evringham

flippantly. "I have a real worry now that that wretched little cousin of

yours is coming."



"She is not my cousin please remember," responded the girl bitterly.

"Mr. Evringham reminded us of that to-night."



"Now don't you begin calling him Mr. Evringham!" protested her mother.

"You don't want to take any notice of the man's absurdities. You will

only make matters worse."



"No, I shall go on saying grandfather for the little while we stay.

Otherwise, he would know his words were rankling. It will be a little

while? Oh mother!"



Mrs. Evringham pushed the pleading hand away. "I can't tell how long it

will be!" she returned impatiently. "We are simply helpless until your

father's affairs are settled. I thought I had told you that, Eloise.

He worshipped you, child, and no matter what that old curmudgeon says,

Lawrence would wish us to remain under his protection until we see our

way clear."



"Won't you have a business talk with him, so we can know what we have to

look forward to?" The girl's voice was unsteady.



"I will when the right time comes, Eloise. Can't you trust your mother?

Isn't it enough that we have lost our home, our carriages, all our

comforts and luxuries, through this man's bad judgment--"



"You will cling to that!" despairingly.



"And have had to come out to this Sleepy Hollow of a place, where life

means mere existence, and be so poor that the carfare into New York is

actually a consideration! I'm quite satisfied with our martyrdom as

it is, without pinching and grinding as we should have to do to live

elsewhere."



"Then you don't mean to attempt to escape?" returned Eloise in alarm.



"Hush, hush, Goosie. We will escape all in good time if we don't succeed

in taming the bear. As it is, I have to work single handed," dropping

into a tone of reproach. "You are no help at all. You might as well be

a simpering wax dummy out of a shop window. I would have been ashamed at

your age if I could not have subjugated any man alive. We might have had

him at our feet weeks ago if you had made an effort."



"No, no, mother," sadly. "I saw when we first came how effusiveness

impressed him, and I tried to behave so as to strike a balance--that

is, after I found that we were here on sufferance and not as welcome

guests."



"Pshaw! You can't tell what such a hermit is thinking," returned Mrs.

Evringham. "It is the best thing that could happen to him to have us

here. Dr. Ballard said so only to-day. What is troubling me now is this

child of Harry's. I was sure by father's tone when he first spoke of her

that he would not even consider such an imposition."



"I think he did feel so," returned Eloise, her manner quiet again. "That

was an example of the way you overreach yourself. The word presumption

on your lips applied to uncle Harry determined grandfather to let the

child come."



"You think he really has sent for her then!" exclaimed Mrs. Evringham.

"You think that is what the telegram meant! I'm sure of it, too." Then

after a minute's exasperated thought, "I believe you are right. He is

just contrary enough for that. If I had urged him to let the little

barbarian come, he couldn't have been induced to do so. That wasn't

clever of me!" The speaker made the admission in a tone which implied

that in general her cleverness was unquestioned. "Well, I hope she will

worry him out of his senses, and I don't think there is much doubt of

it. It may turn out all for the best, Eloise, after all, and lead him

to appreciate us." Mrs. Evringham cast a glance at the mirror and patted

her waved hair. "And yet I'm anxious, very anxious. He might take a

fancy to the girl," she added thoughtfully.



"I'm such a poor-spirited creature," remarked Eloise.



"What now?"



"I ought to be strong enough to leave you since you will not come; to

leave this roof and earn my own living, some way, any way; but I'm too

much of a coward."



"I should hope so," returned her mother briefly. "You'd soon become one

if you weren't at starting. Girls bred to luxury, as you have been, must

just contrive to live well somehow. They can't stand anything else."



"Nonsense, mother," quietly. "They can. They do."



"Yes, in books I know they do."



"No, truth is stranger than fiction. They do. I have been looking for

that sort of stamina in myself for weeks, but I haven't found it. It is

a cruel wrong to a girl not to teach her to support herself."



"My dear! You were going to college. You know you would have gone had it

not been for your poor father's misfortunes."



Eloise's eyes filled again at the remembrance of the young, gay man who

had been her boon companion since her babyhood, and at the memory of

those last sad days, when she knew he had agonized over her future even

more than over that of his volatile wife.



"My dear, as I've told you before, a girl as pretty as you are should

know that fortune cannot be unkind, nor the sea of life too rough. In

each of the near waves of it you can see a man's head swimming toward

you. You don't know the trouble I have had already in silencing those

who wished to speak before you were old enough. They could any of them

be summoned now with a word. Let me see. There is Mr. Derwent--Mr.

Follansbee--Mr. Weeks--"



"Hush, mother!" ejaculated the girl in disgust.



"Exactly. I knew you would say they were too old, or too bald, or too

short, or too fat. I've been a girl myself. Of course there is Nat

Bonnell, and a lot more little waves and ripples like him, but they

always were out of the question, and now they are ten times more so.

That is the reason, Eloise," the mother's voice became impressive to

the verge of solemnity, "why I feel that Dr. Ballard is almost a

providence."



The girl's clear eyes were reflective. "Nat Bonnell is a wave who

wouldn't remember a girl who had slipped out of the swim."



"Very wise of him," returned Mrs. Evringham emphatically. "He

can't afford to. Nat is--is--a--decorative creature, just as you

are,--decorative. He must make it pay, poor boy."



Meanwhile Mrs. Forbes had sought her son in the barn. He and she had had

their supper in time for her to be ready to wait at dinner.



"Something doing, something doing," murmured Zeke as he heard the

impetuosity of her approaching step.



"That soup was hot!" she exclaimed defiantly.



"Somebody scald you, ma? I can do him up, whoever he is," said Zeke,

catching up a whip and executing a threatening dance around the dimly

lighted barn.



His mother's snapping eyes looked beyond him. "He said it was cold; but

it was only because he was distracted. What do you suppose those people

are up to now? Trying to get Essex Maid for Mamzell to ride!"



Zeke stopped in his mad career and returned his mother's stare for a

silent moment. "And not a dungeon on the place probably!" he exclaimed

at last. "Just like some folks' shiftlessness."



"They asked it. They asked Mr. Evringham if that girl couldn't ride

Essex Maid while he was in the city!"



'Zekiel lifted his eyebrows politely. "Where are their remains to be

interred?" he inquired with concern.



"Well, not in this family vault, you may be sure. He gave it to them

to-night for a fact." Mrs. Forbes smiled triumphantly. "'I didn't know

Eloise remembered her father,'" she mimicked. "I'll bet that got under

their skin!"



"Dear parent, you're excited," remarked Zeke.



She brought her reminiscent gaze back to rest upon her son. "Get your

coat quick, 'Zekiel. Here's the telegram. Take the car that passes the

park gate, and stop at the station. That's the nearest place."



Ezekiel obediently struggled into the coat hanging conveniently near.

"What does the telegram say?--'Run away, little girl, the ogre isn't

hungry'?"



"Not much! She's coming. He's sending for the brat."



"Poor brat! How did it happen?"



"Just some more of my lady's doings," answered Mrs. Forbes angrily. "Of

course she had to put in her oar and exasperate Mr. Evringham until he

did it to spite her."



"Cutting off his own nose to spite his face, eh?" asked Zeke, taking the

slip of paper.



"Yes, and mine. It's going to come heavy on me. I could have shaken that

woman with her airs and graces. Catch her or Mamzell lifting their

hands!"



"Yet they want her, do they?"



"No, Stupid! That's why she's coming. Can't you understand?"



"Blessed if I can," returned the boy as he left the barn; "but I know

one thing, I pity the kid."







Mr. Evringham received a prompt answer to his message. His son

appointed, as a place of meeting, the downtown hotel where he and his

wife purposed spending the night before sailing.



Father and son had not met for years, and Mr. Evringham debated a few

minutes whether to take the gastronomic and social risk of dining with

Harry en famille at the noisy hotel above mentioned, or to have dinner

in assured comfort at his club--finally deciding on the latter course.



It was, therefore, nearly nine o'clock before his card was presented to

Mr. and Mrs. Harry, to whom it brought considerable relief of mind, and

they hastened down to the dingy parlor with alacrity.



"You see we thought you might accept our invitation to dinner," said

Harry heartily, as he grasped his parent's passive hand; "but your

business hours are so short, I dare say you have been at home since the

middle of the afternoon." As he spoke the hard lines of his father's

impassive face smote him with a thousand associations, many of them

bringing remorse. He wondered how much his own conduct had had to do

with graving them so deeply.



His wife's observant eyes were scanning this guardian of her child

from the crown of his immaculate head to the toes of his correct patent

leathers. His expressionless eyes turned to her. "This is your wife?" he

asked, again offering the passive hand.



"Yes, father, this is Julia," responded Harry proudly. "I'm sorry the

time is so short. I do want you to know her."



The young man's face grew eloquent.



"That is a pleasure to come," responded Mr. Evringham mechanically. He

turned stiffly and cast a glance about. "You brought your daughter, I

presume?"



"Yes, indeed," answered Mrs. Evringham. "Harry was so glad to receive

your permission. We had made arrangements for her provisionally with

friends in Chicago, but we were desirous that she should have this

opportunity to see her father's home and know you."



Mr. Evringham thought with regret of those friends in Chicago. Many

times in the last two days he had deeply repented allowing himself to be

exasperated into thus committing himself.



"Do sit down, father," said Harry, as his wife seated herself in the

nearest chair.



Mr. Evringham hesitated before complying. "Well," he said perfunctorily,

"you have gone into something that promises well, eh Harry?"



"It looks that way. I'm chiefly occupied these days in being thankful."

The young man smiled with an extraordinary sweetness of expression,

which transfigured his face, and which his father remembered well as

always promising much and performing nothing. "I might spend a lot of

time crying over spilt milk, but Julia says I mustn't,"--he glanced

across at his wife, whose dark eyes smiled back,--"and what Julia says

goes. I intend to spend a year or two doing instead of talking."



"It will answer better," remarked his father.



"Yes, sir," Harry's voice grew still more earnest. "And by that time,

perhaps, I can express my regret to you, for things done and things left

undone, with more convincingness."



The older man made a slight gesture of rejection with one well-kept

hand. "Let bygones be bygones," he returned briefly.



"When I think," pursued Harry, his impulsive manner in strange contrast

to that of his listener, "that if I had been behaving myself all this

time, I might have seen dear old Lawrence again!"



Mr. Evringham kept silence.



"How are Madge and Eloise? I thought perhaps Madge might come in and

meet us at the train."



"They are in the best of health, thank you. Eh--a--I think if you'll

call your daughter now we will go. It's rather a long ride, you know.

No express trains at this hour. When you return we will have more of a

visit."



Harry and his wife exchanged a glance. "Why Jewel is asleep," answered

the young man after a pause. "She was so sleepy she couldn't hold her

eyes open."



"You mean you've let her go to bed?" asked Mr. Evringham, with a not

very successful attempt to veil his surprise and annoyance.



"Why--yes. We supposed she would see us off, you know."



"Your memory is rather short, it strikes me," returned his father. "You

sail at eight A.M., I believe. Did you think I could get in from Bel-Air

at that hour?"



"No. I thought you would naturally remain in the city over night. You

used to stay in rather frequently, didn't you?"



"I've not done so for five years; but you couldn't know that. Is it out

of the question to dress the child again? I hope she is too healthy to

be disturbed by a trifle like that."



Mrs. Evringham cast a startled look at her father-in-law. "It would

disappoint Jewel very much not to see us off," she returned.



Mr. Evringham shrugged his shoulders. "Let it go then. Let it go," he

said quickly.



Harry's plain face had grown concerned. "Is Mrs. Forbes with you still?"

he asked.



"Oh, yes. I couldn't keep house without Mrs. Forbes. Well," rising, "if

you young people will excuse me, I believe I will go to the club and

turn in."



"Couldn't you stand it here one night, do you think?" asked Harry,

rising. "The club is rather far uptown for such an early start."



"No. I'll be on hand. I'm used to rising early for a canter. I'll take

it with a cab horse this time. That will be all the difference." And

with this attempt at jocularity, Mr. Evringham shook hands once more and

departed, swallowing his ill-humor as best he could. Any instincts of

the family man which might once have reigned in him had long since been

inhibited. This episode was a cruel invasion upon his bachelor habits.



Left alone, Harry and his wife without a word ascended to their room

and with one accord approached the little bed in the corner where their

child lay asleep.



The man took his wife's hand. "I've done it now, Julia," he said

dejectedly. "It's my confounded optimism again."



"Your optimism is all right," she returned, smoothing his hand gently,

though her heart was beating fast, and the vision of her father-in-law,

with his elegant figure and cold eyes, was weighing upon her spirit.



Harry looked long on the plain little sleeping face, so like his own in

spite of its exquisite child-coloring, and bending, touched the tossed,

straight, flaxen hair.



"We couldn't take her, I suppose?" he asked.



"No," replied the yearning mother quietly. "We have prayed over it. We

must know that all will be right."



"His bark is worse than his bite," said Harry doubtfully. "It always

was; and Mrs. Forbes is there."



"You say she is a kind sort of woman?"



"Why, I suppose so," uncertainly. "I never had much to do with her."



"And your sister? Isn't it very strange that she didn't come in to meet

us? I was so certain I should put Jewel into her hands I feel a little

bewildered."



"You're a trump!" ejaculated Harry hotly, "and you've married into a

family where they're scarce. Madge might have met us at the train, at

least."



"Perhaps she is very sad over her loss," suggested Julia.



"In the best of health. Father said so. Oh well, she never was anything

but a big butterfly and Eloise a little one. I remember the last time

I saw the child, a pretty fairy with her long pink silk stockings. She

must have been just about the age of Jewel."



The mother stooped over the little bed and the dingy room looked

pleasanter for her smile. "Jewel hasn't any pink silk stockings," she

murmured, and kissed the warm rose of the round cheek.



The little girl stirred and opened her eyes, at first vaguely, then with

a start.



"Is it time for the boat?" she asked, trying to rise.



Her father smoothed her hair. "No, time to go to sleep again. We're just

going to bed. Good-night, Jewel." He stooped to kiss her, and her arms

met around his neck.



"It was an April fool, wasn't it?" she murmured sleepily, and was

unconscious again.



The mother hid her face for a moment on her husband's shoulder. "Help

me to feel that we're doing right," she whispered, with a catch in her

breath.



"As if I could help you, Julia!" he returned humbly.



"Oh, yes, you can, dear." She withdrew from his embrace, and going to

the dresser, took down her hair. The smiling face of a doll looked up at

her from the neighboring chair, where it was sitting bolt upright. Her

costume was fresh from the modiste, and her feet, though hopelessly

pigeon-toed, were encased in bronze boots of a freshness which caught

the dim gaslight with a golden sheen.



Mrs. Evringham smiled through her moist eyes.



"Well, Jewel was sleepy. She forgot to undress Anna Belle," she said.



Letting her hair fall about her like a veil, she caught up the doll and

pressed it to her heart impulsively. "You are going to stay with her,

Anna Belle! I envy you, I envy you!" she whispered. An irrepressible

tear fell on the sumptuous trimming of the little hat. "Be good to her;

comfort her, comfort her, little dolly." Hastily wiping her eyes, she

turned to her husband, still holding the doll. "We shall have to be very

careful, Harry, in the morning. If we are harboring one wrong or fearful

thought, we must not let Jewel know it."



"Oh, I wish it were over! I wish the next month were over!" he replied

restively.



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