CHAPTER XXIII
IN WHICH I WALK ON THIN ICE
On a November evening, when we had been married several years, I camehome after seven o'clock, and found Sally standing before the bureauwhile she fastened a bunch of violets to the bosom of her gown.
"I'm sorry I couldn't get up earlier, but there's a good deal ofexcitement over a failure in Wall Street," I said. "Are you going out?"
Her hands fell from her bosom, and as she turned toward me, I saw thatshe was dressed as though for a ball.
"Not to-night, Ben. I had an engagement, but I broke it because I wantedto spend the evening with you. I thought we might have a nice cosy timeall by ourselves."
"What a shame, darling. I've promised Bradley I'd do a little work withhim in my study. He's coming at half-past eight and will probably keepme till midnight. I'll have to hurry. Did you put on that gorgeous gownjust for me?"
"Just for you." There was an expression on her face, half humorous, halfresentful, that I had never seen there before. "What day is this, Ben?"she asked, as I was about to enter my dressing-room.
"The nineteenth of November," I replied carelessly, looking back at herwith my hand on the door.
"The nineteenth of November," she echoed slowly, as if saying the wordsto herself.
I was already on the threshold when light broke on me in a flash, and Iturned, blind with remorse, and seized her in my arms.
"Sally, Sally, I am a brute!"
She laughed a little, drawing away, not coming closer.
"Ben, are you happy?"
"As happy as a king. I'll telephone Bradley not to come."
"Is it important?"
"Yes, very important. That failure I told you of is a pretty seriousmatter."
"Then let him come. All days are the same, after all, when one comes tothink of it."
Her hand went to the violets at her breast, and as my eyes followed it,a sudden intuitive dread entered my mind like an impulse of rage.
"I intended to send you flowers, Sally, but in the rush, I forgot. Whoseare those you are wearing?"
She moved slightly, and the perfume of the violets floated from thecloud of lace on her bosom.
"George sent them," she answered quietly.
Before she spoke I had known it--the curse of my life was to be thatGeorge would always remember--and the intuitive dread I had feltchanged, while I stood there, to the dull ache of remorse.
"Take them off, and I'll get you others if there's a shop open in thecity," I said. Then, as she hesitated, wavering between doubt andsurprise, I left the room, descended the steps with a rush, and pickingup my hat, hurried in search of a belated florist who had not closed. Atthe corner a man, going out to dine, paused to fasten his overcoat underthe electric light, which blazed fitfully in the wind; and as Iapproached and he looked up, I saw that it was George Bolingbroke.
"It's time all sober married men were at home dressing for dinner," heobserved in a whimsical tone.
The wind had brought a glow of colour into his face, and he looked veryhandsome as he stood there, in his fur-lined coat, under the blaze oflight.
"I was kept late down town," I replied. "The General and I get all thehard knocks while you take it easy."
"Well, I like an easy world, and I believe your world is pretty muchabout what you make it. Where are you rushing? Do you go my way?"
"No, I'm turning off here. There's something I forgot this morning and Icame out to attend to it."
"Don't fall into the habit of forgetting. It's a bad one and it's sureto grow on you--and whatever you forget," he added with a laugh as weparted, "don't forget for a minute of your life that you've marriedSally."
He passed on, still laughing pleasantly, and quickening my steps, I wentto the corner of Broad Street, where I found a florist's shop stilllighted and filled with customers. There were no violets left, and whileI waited for a sheaf of pink roses, with my eyes on the elaboratefuneral designs covering the counter, I heard a voice speaking in a lowtone beyond a mass of flowering azalea beside which I stood.
"Yes, her mother married beneath her, also," it said; "that seems to bethe unfortunate habit of the Blands."
I turned quickly, my face hot with anger, and as I did so my eyes metthose of a dark, pale lady, through the thick rosy clusters of theazalea. When she recognised me, she flushed slightly, and then movingslowly around the big green tub that divided us, she held out her handwith a startled and birdlike flutter of manner.
"I missed you at the reception last night, Mr. Starr," she said; "Sallywas there, and I had never seen her looking so handsome."
Then as the sheaf of roses was handed to me, she vanished behind theazaleas again, while I turned quickly away and carried my fragrantarmful out into the night.
When I reached home, I was met on the staircase by Jessy, who ran,laughing, before me to Sally, with the remark that I had come backbringing an entire rose garden in my hands.
"There weren't any violets left, darling," I said, as I entered andtossed the flowers on the couch, "and even these roses aren't fresh."
"Well, they're sweet anyway, poor things," she returned, gathering theminto her lap, while her hands caressed the half-opened petals. "It waslike you, Ben, when you did remember, to bring me the whole shopful."
Breaking one from the long stem, she fastened it in place of the violetsin the cloud of lace on her bosom.
"Pink suits me better, after all," she remarked gayly; "and now you mustlet Bradley come, and Jessy and I will go to the theatre."
"I suppose he'll have to come," I said moodily, "but I'll be up earlierto-morrow, Sally, if I wreck the bank in order to do it."
All the next day I kept the importance of fulfilling this promise in mymind, and at five o'clock, I abruptly broke off a business appointmentto rush breathlessly home in the hope of finding Sally ready to walk orto drive. As I turned the corner, however, I saw, to my disappointment,that several riding horses were waiting under the young maples besidethe pavement, and when I entered the house, I heard the merry fluteliketones of Bonny Page from the long drawing-room, where Sally was servingtea.
For a minute the unconquerable shyness I always felt in the presence ofwomen held me, rooted in silence, on the threshold. Then, "Is that you,Ben?" floated to me in Sally's voice, and pushing the curtains aside, Ientered the room and crossed to the little group gathered before thefire. In the midst of it, I saw the tall, almost boyish figure of BonnyPage, and the sight of her gallant air and her brilliant, vivacioussmile aroused in me instantly the oppressive self-consciousness of ourfirst meeting. I remembered suddenly that I had dressed carelessly inthe morning, that I had tied my cravat in a hurry, that my coat fittedme badly and I had neglected to send it back. All the innumerabledetails of life--the little things I despised or overlooked--swarmed,like stinging gnats, into my thoughts while I stood there.
"You're just in time for tea, Ben," said Sally; "it's a pity you don'tdrink it."
"And you're just in time for a scolding," remarked Bonny. "Do you know,if I had a husband who wouldn't ride with me, I'd gallop off the firsttime I went hunting with another man."
"You'd better start, Ben. It wouldn't take you three days to followBonny over a gate," said Ned Marshall, one of her many lovers, eager, Idetected at once, to appear intimate and friendly. He was a fine,strong, athletic young fellow, with a handsome, smooth-shaven face, aslightly vacant laugh, and a figure that showed superbly in hisloose-fitting riding clothes.
"When I get the time, I'll buy a horse and begin," I replied; "but allhours are working hours to me now, Sally will tell you."
"It's exactly as if I'd married a railroad engine," remarked Sally,laughing, and I realised by the strained look in their faces, that thisabsorption in larger matters--this unchangeable habit of thought that Icould not shake off even in a drawing-room--puzzled them, because oftheir inherent incapacity to understand how it could be. My mind, whichresponded so promptly to the need for greater exertions, was reduced tomere le
aden weight by this restless movement of little things. And thisleaden weight, this strained effort to become something other than I wasby nature, was reflected in the smiling faces around me as in a mirror.The embarrassment in my thoughts extended suddenly to my body, and Iasked myself the next minute if Sally contrasted my heavy silence withthe blithe self-confidence and the sportive pleasantries of NedMarshall? Was she beginning already, unconsciously to her own heart,perhaps, to question if the passion I had given her would suffice tocover in her life the absence of the unspoken harmony in outward things?With the question there rose before me the figure of George Bolingbroke,as he bent over and laid the blossom of sweet alyssum beside her plate;and, as at the instant in which I had watched him, I felt again thephysical soreness which had become a part of my furious desire to makegood my stand.
When Bonny and Ned Marshall had mounted and ridden happily away in thedusk, Sally came back with me from the door, and stood, silent andpensive, for a moment, while she stroked my arm.
"You look tired, Ben. If you only wouldn't work so hard."
"I must work. It's the only thing I'm good for."
"But I see so little of you and--and I get so lonely."
"When I've won out, I'll stop, and then you shall see me every livingminute of the day, if you choose."
"That's so far off, and it's now I want you. I'd like you to take meaway, Ben--to take me somewhere just as you did when we were married."
Her face was very soft in the firelight, and stooping, I kissed hercheek as she looked up at me, with a grave, almost pensive smile on herlips.
"I wish I could, sweetheart, but I'm needed here so badly that I don'tdare run off for a day. You've married a working-man, and he's obligedto stick to his place."
She said nothing more to persuade me, but from that evening until thespring, when our son was born, it seemed to me that she retreatedfarther and farther into that pale dream distance where I had first seenand desired her. With the coming of the child I got her back to earthand to reality, and when the warm little body, wrapped in flannels, wasfirst placed in my arms, it seemed to me that the thrill of the merephysical contact had in it something of the peculiar starlike radianceof my bridal night. Sally, lying upon the pillow under a blue satincoverlet, smiled up at me with flushed cheeks and eyes shining withlove, and while I stood there, some divine significance in her look, inher helplessness, in the oneness of the three of us drawn together inthat little circle of life, moved my heart to the faint quiver ofapprehension that had come to me while I stood by her side before thealtar in old Saint John's.
When she was well, and the long, still days of the summer opened, littleBenjamin was wrapped in a blue veil and taken in Aunt Euphronasia's armsto visit Miss Mitty in the old grey house.
"What did she say, mammy? How did she receive him?" asked Sally eagerly,when the old negress returned.
"She ain' said nuttin' 'tall, honey, cep'n 'huh,'" replied AuntEuphronasia, in an aggrieved and resentful tone. "Dar she wuz a-settin'jes' ez prim by de side er dat ar box er sweet alyssum, en ez soon ez Ilay eyes on her, I said, 'Howdy, Miss Mitty, hyer's Marse Ben's en MissSally's baby done come to see you.' Den she kinder turnt her haid, likeoner dese yer ole wedder cocks on a roof, en she looked me spang in deeye en said 'huh' out right flat jes' like dat."
"But didn't you show her his pretty blue eyes, mammy?" persisted Sally.
"Go way f'om hyer, chile, Miss Mitty done seen de eyes er a baby befo'now. I knowed dat, en I lowed in my mind dat you ain' gwinter git aroun'her by pretendin' you kin show her nuttin'. So I jes' begin ter sidle upter her en kinder talk sof ez ef'n I 'uz a-talkin' ter myself. 'Dish yerchile is jes' de spi't er Marse Bland,' I sez, 'en dar ain' noner de po'wite trash in de look er him needer.'"
"Aunt Euphronasia, how dare you!" said Sally, sternly.
"Well, 'tis de trufe, ain't hit? Dar ain' nuttin er de po' wite trash inde look er him, is dar?"
"And what did she say then, Aunt Euphronasia?"
"Who? Miss Mitty? She sez 'huh' again jes' ez she done befo'. Miss Mittyain't de kind dat's gwinter eat her words, honey. W'at she sez, she sez,en she's gwinter stick up ter hit. The hull time I 'uz dar, I ain' neveryearn nuttin' but 'huh!' pass thoo her mouf."
"I knew she was proud, Ben, but I didn't know she was so cruel as tovisit it on this precious angel," said Sally, on the point of tears;"and I believe Jessy is the same way. Nobody cares about him except hisdoting mother."
"What's become of his doting father?"
"Oh, his doting father is entirely too busy with his darling stocks."
"Sally," I asked seriously, "don't you understand that allthis--everything I'm doing--is just for you and the boy?"
"Is it, Ben?" she responded, and the next minute, "Of course, Iunderstand it. How could I help it?"
She was always reasonable--it was one of her greatest charms, and I knewthat if I were to open my mind to her at the moment, she would enterinto my troubles with all the insight of her resourceful sympathy. But Ikept silence, restrained by some masculine instinct that prompted me toshut the business world outside the doors of home.
"Well, I must go downtown, dear; I don't see much of you these days, doI?"
"Not much, but I know you're here to stay and that's a good deal ofcomfort."
"I'm glad you've got the baby. He keeps you company."
She looked up at me with the puzzling expression, half humour, halfresentment, I had seen frequently in her face of late. If she stopped toquestion whether I really imagined that a child of three months was allthe companionship required by a woman of her years, she let no sign ofit escape the smiling serenity of her lips. On her knees little Benjaminlay perfectly quiet while he stared straight up at the ceiling with hisround blue eyes like the eyes of an animated doll.
"Yes, he is company," she answered gently; and stooping to kiss themboth, I ran downstairs, hurried into my overcoat, and went out into thestreet.
As I closed the door behind me, I saw the General's buggy turning thecorner, and a minute later he drew up under the young maples beside thepavement, and made room for me under the grey fur rug that covered hisknees.
"I don't like the way things are behaving in Wall Street, Ben," he said."Did that last smash cost you anything?"
"About two hundred thousand dollars, General, but I hadn't spoken ofit."
"I hope the bank hasn't been loaning any more money to the Cumberlandand Tidewater. I meant to ask you about that several days ago."
"The question comes up before the directors this afternoon. We'llprobably refuse to advance any further loans, but they've already drawnon us pretty heavily, you understand, and we may have to go in deeper tosave what we've got."
"Well, it looks pretty shaky, that's all I've got to say. If Jenkinsdoesn't butt in and reorganise it, it will probably go into the hands ofa receiver before the year is up. Is it the bank or your privateinvestments you've been worrying over?"
"My own affairs entirely. You see I'd dealt pretty largely through Crossand Hankins, and I don't know exactly what their failure will mean tome."
"A good many men in the country are asking themselves that question. Asmash like that isn't over in a day or a night. But I'm afraid you'vebeen spending too much money, Ben. Is your wife extravagant?"
"No, it's my own fault. I've never liked her to consider the value ofmoney."
"It's a bad way to begin. Women have got it in their blood, and Iremember my poor mother used to say she never felt that a dollar wasworth anything until she spent it. If I were you, I'd pull up and goslowly, but it's mighty hard to do after you've once started at agallop."
"I don't think I'll have any trouble, but I hate like the deuce to speakof it to Sally."
"That's your damned delicacy. It puts me in mind of my cousin, JennyTyler, who married that scamp who used to throw his boots at her. Oncewhen she was a girl she stayed with us for a summer, and old Judge Lacy,one of the ugliest men of his day, fell over head and heels in love withher. She couldn't e
ndure the sight of him, and yet, if you'll believe myword, though she was as modest as an angel, I actually found him kissingher one day in a summer-house. 'Bless my soul, Jenny!' I exclaimed, 'whydidn't you tell that old baboon to stop hugging you and behave himself?''O Cousin George,' she replied, blushing the colour of a cherry, 'Ididn't like to mention it.' Now, that's the kind of false modesty you'vegot, Ben."
"Well, you see, General," I responded when he had finished his slychuckle, "I've always felt that money was the only thing that I had tooffer."
"You may feel that way, Ben, but I don't believe that Sally does. Myhonest opinion is that it means a lot more to you than it does to her.There never was a Bland yet that didn't look upon money as a vulgarthing. I've known Sally's grandfather to refuse to invite a man to hishouse when the only objection he had to him was that he was too rich tobe a gentleman. If you think it's wealth or luxury or their old housethat the Blands pride themselves on, you haven't learned a thing about'em in spite of the fact that you've married into the family. Whatthey're proud of is that they can do without any of these things;they've got something else--whatever it is--that they consider a longsight better. Miss Mitty Bland would still have it if she went in ragsand did her own cooking, and it's this, not any material possessions,that makes her so terribly important. Look here, now, you take my adviceand go home and tell Sally to stop spending money. How's that boy ofyours? Is he wanting to become a bank president already?"
The old grey horse, rounding the corner at an amble, came suddenly to astop as he recognised the half-grown negro urchin waiting upon thepavement. As if moved by a mechanical spring, the General's expressionchanged at once from its sly and jolly good nature to the look ofcapable activity which marked the successful man of affairs. The twinklein his little bloodshot eyes narrowed to a point of steel, the looselines of his mouth, which was the mouth of a generous libertine, grewinstantly sober, and even his crimson neck, sprawling over his puffy,magenta-coloured tie, stiffened into an appearance of pompous dignity.
"Look sharp about the Cumberland and Tidewater, Ben," he remarked as heturned to limp painfully into the railroad office. Then the glass doorsswung together behind him, and he forgot my existence, while I crossedthe street in a rush and entered the Union Bank, which was a blockfarther down on the opposite side.
On the way home that afternoon, I told myself with determination that Iwould tell Sally frankly about the money I had lost; but when a littlelater she slipped her hand into my arm, and led me into the nursery toshow me a trunk filled with baby's clothes that had come down from NewYork, my courage melted to air, and I could not bring myself to dispelthe pretty excitement with which she laid each separate tiny garmentupon the bed.
"Oh, of course, you don't enjoy them, Ben, as I do, but isn't thatlittle embroidered cloak too lovely?"
"Lovely, dear, only I've had a bad day, and I'm tired."
"Poor boy, I know you are. Here, we'll put them away. But first there'ssomething really dreadful I've got to tell you."
"Dreadful, Sally?"
"Yes, but it isn't about us. Do you know, I honestly believe that Jessyintends to marry Mr. Cottrel."
"What? That old rocking-horse? Why, he's a Methusalah, and knock-kneedinto the bargain."
"It doesn't matter. Nothing matters to her except clothes. I've heard ofwomen who sold themselves for clothes, and I believe she's one of them."
"Well, we're an eccentric family," I said wearily, "and she's theworst."
At any other time the news would probably have excited my indignation,but as I sat there, in the wicker rocking-chair, by the nursery fire, Iwas too exhausted to resent any manifestation of the family spirit. Thelast week had been a terrible strain, and there were months ahead whichI knew would demand the exercise of every particle of energy that Ipossessed. In the afternoon there was to be a meeting of the directorsof the bank, called to discuss the advancing of further loans to theCumberland and Tidewater Railroad, and at eight o'clock I had promisedto work for several hours with Bradley, my secretary. To go slowly nowwas impossible. My only hope was that by going fast enough I mightmanage to save what remained of the situation.
As the winter passed I went earlier to my office and came up later.Failure succeeded failure in Wall Street, and the whole country beganpresently to send back echoes of the prolonged crash. The Cumberland andTidewater Railroad, to which we had refused a further loan, went intothe hands of a receiver, and the Great South Midland and Atlanticimmediately bought up the remnants at its own price. The General, whohad been jubilant about the purchase, relapsed into melancholy a weeklater over the loss of "a good third" of his personal income.
"I'm an old fool or I'd have stopped dabbling in speculations and putaway a nest-egg for my old age," he remarked, wiping his empurpled lidson his silk handkerchief. "No man over fifty ought to be trusted togamble in stocks. Thank God, I'm the one to suffer, however, and not theroad. If there's a more solid road in the country, Ben, than the SouthMidland, I've got to hear of it. It's big, but it's growing--swallowingup everything that comes in its way, like a regular boa constrictor.Think what it was when I came into it immediately after the war; andto-day it's one of the few roads that is steadily increasing itsearnings in spite of this blamed panic."
"You worked regeneration, General, as I've often told you."
"Well, I'm too old to see what it's coming to. I hope a good man willstep into my place after I'm gone. I'm sometimes sorry you didn't stickby me, Ben."
He spoke of the great road in a tone of regretful sentiment which I hadnever found in his allusions to his lost Matoaca. The romance of hislife, after all, was not a woman, but a railroad, and his happiestmemory was, I believe, not the Sunday upon which he had stood beside therose-lined bonnet of his betrothed and sung lustily out of the samehymn-book, but the day when the stock of the Great South Midland andAtlantic had sold at 180 in the open market.
"I'll tell you what, my boy," he remarked with a quiver of his lowerlip, which hung still farther away from his bloodless gum, "a woman maygo back on you, and the better the woman the more likely she is to doit,--but a road won't,--no, not if it is a good road."
"Well, I'm not getting much return out of the West Virginia and Wyanokejust now," I replied. "It's no fun being a little road at the mercy of abig one when the big one is a boa constrictor. Even if you get a fairdivision of the rates, you don't get your cars when you want them."
"The moral of that," returned the General, with a chuckle, "is, to quotefrom my poor old mammy again, 'Don't hatch until you're ready to hatchwhole.'"
We parted with a laugh, and I dismissed the affairs of the littlerailroad as I entered my office at the bank, where my private wireimmediately ticked off the news of a state of panic in the money market.That was in February, and it was not until the end of March that the iceon which I was walking cracked under my feet and I went through.