CHAPTER XXII
HAROUN AL RASCHID
Beth saw that her sister was awake; stooping forward, she kissed hergently. "Don't be put out with me, dear," she said, "for what I'm goingto say."
"I will not," answered Judith. The hour, the warm bed, the firelight,made her unusually gentle. "What is it, dear?"
"It is that dinner," answered Beth. "I wish to make sure youunderstand--what people will think of it, I mean. Excuse me, Judith; Isee it more clearly than you can, as a third person, dear."
"Well," Judith asked, "what will people think?"
"Two things," Beth answered. "First, that you are trying to get Mr.Ellis into society."
"I am willing they should think that."
"The second is," went on Beth slowly, "that the dinner, given here atour house, and not at Mrs. Harmon's, as perhaps you could arrange tohave it----"
"Not with the Judge's consent," Judith interrupted.
"Or some one else's, then," said Beth. "Given by us, anyway, peoplewould think the dinner would mean----"
"Go on," directed Judith.
"That you and Mr. Ellis are engaged."
There was silence, in which the crackling of the fire, and the dartingof the shadows on the ceiling, were painfully noticeable to Judith. Itwas true! People would think thus.
"Well?" asked Beth at length. Judith made no answer, and Beth, bendingdown, snuggled her head against her sister's throat. "I hope," shewhispered, "that you can manage to give it up." Still Judith made nosign; Beth only made it harder. "Judith, Judith!" Beth urged, gentlypressing her with her arms.
"I don't see," said Judith at last, speaking with difficulty, "how I cangive up the dinner."
Beth sat up quickly. "Truly?" she demanded, with the energy ofdisappointment.
"Truly," answered Judith firmly.
"Good-night," said Beth abruptly. She rose and went away without a kiss.Then Judith lay for a long time awake: the line of cleavage wasbeginning. The choice was hard, hard!
But in the morning she wrote her invitations, after agreeing upon a datewith Mrs. Harmon, who leaped at the chance. Yet she showed only toodistinctly what people would think of the event.
"Haven't you," she inquired before Judith left, "haven't you somethingto tell me, Judith?"
"Nothing," answered Judith shortly. "Good-bye."
She wrote her notes in her father's name, puzzling first over thewording. It would be easy to trap people into coming, and when theyarrived they could find Ellis of the party. But that seemed not to befair; unconventionally she inserted in each note the words, "to meet Mr.Stephen F. Ellis." When the notes were written she took them out anddropped them quickly into the post-box, lest her courage should failher. Thus it was settled! The notes were to the Fennos, the Watsons, Mr.and Miss Pease. Twenty-four hours, and the whole town would bediscussing her. Twenty-four hours brought Saturday; in the morning Mr.Fenno came to the house.
He always interested her, for he meant power. Ellis, Pease, Fenno: suchwas their rank in the town; but Judith felt, as she welcomed him, thathe was as a king about to abdicate, looking back on his reign with wearyeyes, and measuring by a standard of his own. He was one to whom otherswere aggregations of forces--potentialities, not men. His heavy headwith its thick hair and deep eyes reminded her more than ever of an oldlion; the rumble of his voice gave force to his slightest word.
Judith told him she would send for Beth. "No, my dear," he said, "I amglad Beth is not here. I came to see you." With some wonder she led himinto the parlour, where Mr. Fenno handed her a note and watched herwhile she read it. It was the usual short formula: "Mr. and Mrs. WilliamFenno regret that they cannot accept----," etc.
"I am sorry," said Judith as she folded up the paper.
"That is my wife's answer," explained Mr. Fenno. "I came to give you myown in person." But then he gazed at her in silence until she becamerestive under the scrutiny. "My dear Miss Judith," he said suddenly, "Ilike you very much."
"Mr. Fenno," she returned, "you scarcely know me."
"I have watched you a great deal," he replied. "I like your spirit, yourrebellion against the stupid life we lead. Upon my word, I don't knowwhat business your father has with two such daughters; he doesn'tappreciate you, I'm sure. I'll change with him and welcome.--There,don't be offended with me. I come to beg you to be moderate. Rememberthat I speak to you with the voice of generations. Not even you canafford to disregard the wisdom of the fathers."
"I do not wish to," she answered, puzzled.
"My wife," he said, "would write that note and let the matter pass. ButI want to thank you, first, for so frankly putting your purpose in yourinvitation. 'To meet Mr. Ellis.' We might have come, indeed we shouldhave come, but for that. But we can't mix with him, Miss Judith."
"It seems to me," she returned, "that the wisdom of the fathers usuallymeans crystallisation, sir."
"My wife," he said, "is beyond crystallisation: she is dead. Of courseshe goes through the form of living. She called you 'that young woman'when she received the invitation, and wrote as you see, from the dead inheaven to the dead in--limbo. But, my dear girl, did you ever hear of meagreeing with my wife? Almost never! This time I did."
"Mr. Fenno----" began Judith.
"Let me go on," he begged. "Of course you understand what a declarationyou are offering to your friends; what a choice as well. I know youropinion of us; we, Society, are irksome to you. Just as irksome to me, Iassure you; I hate my own life. And yet we are a force; in spite of allappearances we are a force for good. Come, you and I are so far apart inage that we cannot be angry with each other. Let me say my say, and whenwe part let us smile and go our ways."
"Very well," she replied.
"Miss Judith," he said, "there has been an aristocracy in everydemocracy that lived three generations. Ours is very old, somewhat driedand formal, with a hard crust. Figureheads we are to a degree; ratheruseless, perhaps. That is why such a girl as you is a blessing to us; afew more years, and you can teach us many, many things. Stay with us;you mustn't go off in the wrong direction."
She made no answer.
"This man Ellis," he pursued. "You cannot bring him in. Believe me, itis impossible. You must choose between us."
"What if I make the choice?" she inquired.
"And choose against us? You would be sorry. My dear, what has blindedyour eyes? I know you admire his energy, his immense capacities. Butthose are not everything. Ellis is not honest."
"Mr. Fenno!" she cried, starting.
"I have watched him," he went on steadily, "since first he came to town.I know his methods. Where did he get his money?"
"Through ordinary business," she asserted.
"Until he became president of the street-railway," said Mr. Fenno withemphasis, "Ellis never held a position, never did any business, neverappeared before the city clearly as concerned in any legitimateundertaking. Since he built his house over here he has becomerespectable--outwardly. But that house was built with public money."
"Never!" she cried indignantly.
"He has his own little Tammany here," Mr. Fenno said unmoved. "But he isbecoming too bold. He will wreck himself by the demands he is making forthe street-railway system."
"The public will be afraid of granting eminent domain; he expects that.For the rest, what else is he showing than wise forethought?"
"For the rest," he rejoined, his deep voice emphasising harshly, "he isbut using the plans of George Mather, which came to him with therailway."
"No!" she cried involuntarily. He made no answer, but looked at hersilently. "Mr. Fenno," she said, to cover her confusion, "this questionis progress against conservatism."
"So," he remarked, "we have arrived at a deadlock. Well, I expected it.Good-bye, Miss Judith. I shall be interested in the result of this."They parted formally, yet his last keen glance troubled her.
And what he had said! No one had ever accused Ellis before--notdirectly. Whispers she had heard, of course, but such quiet confidenceas Mr.
Fenno showed was new to her; it brought the question nearer home,and seemed to command her to find out where Ellis got his money. Forsome hours she was troubled, but at last, as one is prone to do before agreat question, Judith put it aside for a smaller one. Whom should sheask in the Fennos' place? She decided that she would not venture againwith the older people, and choosing George Mather and Mary Carr, wrotethe notes to invite them. Then, late in the day, she found an answer toMr. Fenno's arguments.
Her father approved of Ellis: that was enough. The defense was specious,almost cowardly, for Judith knew her father. But she regained herself-control, supported herself anew by the argument of progressivenessagainst conservatism, and arrived again at complete approval of Ellis.She recalled their last talk, remembered his request, and decided shewould try to fulfill it. She had spent most of the day in the house; itwas growing dark, she needed exercise, and would go and watch, at acertain crowded corner, the working of the transfer system. Once in thecold air, her spirits rose, and she hurried down town. At length shearrived where cars loaded to the fenders groaned slowly by, or stood andblocked the traffic.
The streets were full, the sidewalks crowded with people hurryinghomeward. Judith liked the twilight, the bustle, and the lighted shops.At the familiar corner she found many shoppers waiting for their cars,and went and stood among them. She seemed to herself to be doingsomething romantic, and (little as such considerations usually appealedto her) was pleased to stand among the people like a queen in disguise,to listen to their grievances, guilelessly expressed, and to bear thecomplaints to the man who best knew what was needed. It was anattractive picture which she painted of her own importance. But just asshe was congratulating herself on the deepening dusk, which madefeatures dim, an electric light sputtered out overhead and flooded theplace with its palpitating radiance.
An acquaintance immediately recognised and spoke to her. Scarcely hadshe got rid of him than another, catching her eye, bowed and made towardher. "This will never do," she thought, as she gave him the slip.Accordingly, she went to a doorway where the shadow from the lamp wasdeep. There she stood and watched, while cars came and went, while menand women rushed and struggled to board them, or while others, movingimpatiently with cold and weariness, waited and fretted while they readin vain the wording on each car. It was an active scene, a fascinatingone to Judith, until a small figure came and stood between her and theothers, aloof and watching, like herself. It was Ellis.
She was amused, and drew within her shelter lest he should see her: shewould tease him when next they should meet. Then she saw another man, afellow in rough working-clothes, watching Ellis from one side. Presentlythe man advanced to him and spoke; Judith did not hear their words untilEllis, turning, led the man away from the crowd until he stood within afew yards of her.
"Now, what did you say?" demanded Ellis, halting.
"I've never been paid, you know I've never been paid, sir, for thatChebasset job. Only fifty I've ever got; I was to have a hundred." Theman spoke in a whine; his voice was husky and in a degree familiar toJudith; as the light fell strongly from overhead, his hat cast a deepshadow on his face.
"That job failed," answered Ellis.
"I did my best," answered the man sullenly. Then he quickly changed hismanner; his voice became sharp, yet still it reminded Judith of tonesshe once had heard. "Pay me!" he demanded. "Pay me, Mr. Ellis, or by GodI'll have something to say to your men on those cars that will make thisstrike certain. If I tell them of Chebasset----"
"Wait!" and Ellis raised a hand. "How much truth is there in this talkof a strike among my men?"
"A good deal," snarled the fellow. "It wouldn't take much to bring iton."
"Thank you," said Ellis composedly. He put his hand in his pocket, drewout a roll of bank bills, and gave some to the man. "I am much obligedto you for the information."
"Fifty?" demanded the workman.
"Sixty," Ellis replied.
The man looked at Ellis, then at the notes; suddenly his bearingaltered, and he touched his hat. "Thank you," he mumbled, and walkedaway. Ellis turned again to watch the cars.
Judith stood motionless; the talk meant nothing to her, except that itshowed her Ellis's resource and revealed the small ways, as well as thegreat, in which he was called on to manage men. Nevertheless, she feltuncomfortable, and when Ellis had moved away she prepared to slip off.But before her path was entirely clear she saw Jim Wayne approach andspeak to Ellis. In Jim's appearance was that which struck her withastonishment.
For he, usually so neat, was untidy; his coat was buttoned askew, andfrom under his hat his hair strayed in disorder. He accosted Elliseagerly; she heard him say "Here you are" in a tone of relief, and beganspeaking quickly. Judith took a step forward, preparing to go. But thenEllis turned and led Jim near the doorway; Judith's chance to escape waslost, yet she was on the point of revealing herself, when Jim's wordsstayed her.
"You must! You must!" he was saying, in such a tone of actual demandthat Judith wondered and shrank back. Few persons dared to speak toEllis thus.
"Must?" repeated Ellis angrily. But then he laughed. "Wayne, you have noclaim on me."
"Who gave me the idea?" cried Jim. "Who told me what to do? You! But itis gone--all gone!" The gesture with which he struck his hands togetherrevealed both horror and despair.
"Your wits as well," returned Ellis shortly. "If you want help from aman, don't begin by insulting him."
"But something must be done at once!" cried Jim. "If Mather----"
"I understand that he went to Chebasset this morning," remarked Ellis asif indifferently, yet he glanced sidewise upon the young man. "Hereturned very much disturbed."
"There!" exclaimed Jim. "He has found it out!" Again he clenched hishands with that gesture of despair. Judith felt that something washanging over him, over her, and in spite of herself drew deeper into theshadow.
"Mather can be quieted," said Ellis, unperturbed. "Come, this is noplace for you to carry on like this. Meet me this evening."
"Where?"
"At--some one's house. Half-past nine."
"It must be earlier," returned Jim.
"Then come to the Blanchards; I mean to dine there."
"No," answered Jim, "I can't go there. But promise me to come awayearly!"
"I will come when I choose," answered Ellis impatiently. Then he added:"Go! I see Mather."
Jim turned and darted off, holding his head low. Ellis walked composedlyin the opposite direction; and to Judith, thus left alone, the sound ofthe shuffling of the crowd, the rumbling of the electrics, the subduedroar of the more distant traffic, rose suddenly into life. She movedforward, saw that her escape was clear, and hurried away. At the nextcorner she found a public carriage and directed the driver to take herhome.
The vehicle was closed; she let down a window and leaned to it for theair. What were these matters she had overheard? The episode of theworkman passed from her mind, but what had Jim demanded of Ellis, whathad gone wrong, and where were they to meet? They were far more intimatethan she had supposed. And why had Jim avoided Mather? Weariness cameover Judith as she considered her own ignorance. These were the thingswhich men did by themselves; these were the signs of those businesstroubles which women heard of but never met, the smirch and jostle ofdown-town affairs. Such things happened daily--and Judith roused to afeeling of envy. Little daily worries and cares--the men had too many ofthem, doubtless, but she had far too few.
And now, as still she leaned by her window, she saw Mather. He was on acorner, full in the glare of a street-light, and he seemed to be lookingamong the passers as if in search of Jim. The carriage jolted slowlyacross the cobbles and the tracks; then, blocked by vehicles in front,it stopped almost at his side. Judith drew back, but still she watchedhim. Tall, strong, somewhat anxious and overburdened, why could he notbe--different?
A woman stood by his side, or rather a girl with a woman's haggard eyes.She was looking up sidewise into Mather's face, studying it with avixenish eage
rness. She touched him on the arm, and he looked down ather.
"Say," she said, "you're a good-lookin' feller."
He answered soberly. "Thank you."
"Isn't there some place," she asked, "where we could eat together?"
His hand went to his pocket. As he made the motion a figure, large,noiseless, with gleaming buttons on a blue uniform, approached and stoodclose behind: a policeman, watching curiously. Mather drew out a banknote and offered it to the girl.
"With that," he asked, "can you be good for a few days?"
"W'at yer mean?" she demanded. But she snatched the money. "Ah, you're areal swell, you are."
"Go home," he said. "Go home--Jenny."
"Jenny!" she exclaimed. "How'd yer know my name?" Then as if warned ofthe presence behind she turned and saw the policeman, shrank, and fled.The roundsman and Mather regarded each other.
"Did you know her, sir?" asked the man.
"Never saw her before," was the answer. "You don't read Rossetti, Isuppose, officer. Here comes my car."
He stepped from the curb to go behind Judith's carriage; at the samemoment the vehicle started with a jerk and went swiftly forward. For alittle longer it was involved in the city traffic, then it turned intoa quiet street and bowled onward quickly. Once more Judith leaned atthe window, glad of the cold air. She was oppressed; to-night lifeseemed complicated, awful, even tragic.