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The Mayor of Warwick, a novel by Herbert M. Hopkins |
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Chapter 13. Furniture And Family |
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_ CHAPTER XIII. FURNITURE AND FAMILY It was not without a painful self-consciousness that Leigh and Emmet met again after their strange interview on the tower. In a city of between fifty and one hundred thousand people, with comparatively few large arteries of trade, a chance encounter sooner or later was inevitable. It occurred one afternoon in a large crowd of Christmas shoppers. Either would have been glad of a forewarning and a chance to look casually in another direction, but neither was prepared, when they came face to face, to give the cut direct. Their greeting was scarcely more than a nod, and showed their mutual constraint. Leigh read in Emmet's bold eyes a warning such as an injured husband might convey to the man that had wronged him, and a defiant reassertion of himself after his humiliating confession. He suspected also, what indeed was the truth, that the discovery of his own feeling for the bishop's daughter had opened Emmet's eyes anew to her value, and had cleared them of the mists of passion for the unfortunate Lena Harpster. From now on the mayor would do his best to win his wife back. He had the bearing of one who had recovered his poise and meant to yield no inch of ground. Leigh, absorbed in the impression he had received, was unconscious of the one he had given, of his somewhat repellent expression when he saw the mayor's square figure bearing down upon him. Yet his emotion was less personal and intense than the other's in proportion as he was less primitive by nature and training. He distinguished between Emmet the mayor and Emmet the lover; for he was familiar with the phenomenon of official probity combined with a lack of that quality in some personal relationship. Had Emmet's quandary been presented to him abstractly, he would have been quite tolerant in his judgement, with the understanding of a man of the world; but, in spite of resentment and chagrin, he still continued to love Felicity Wycliffe, and this fact made him scornful of the man who had trampled her gift under foot. But would Felicity continue to give? Leigh believed that she had awakened from her delusion; but what direction would her pride now take? Would she continue in the course she had chosen in sheer perversity, in sheer fidelity to herself? There was also the attraction of extreme opposites to be reckoned with, the fascination which a man of simple psychology, of strength and wholesome good looks, might possess for a woman of great subtlety and cultivation. Yet what could he do to prevent it? With what grace could he attempt to open her eyes to her husband's ulterior motives in seeking a reconciliation, now that she knew of his own love for her? Could he advise her to get a divorce on some technical ground, that she might marry the man who had opened her eyes to the truth? And how could he assume that to her he was an element in the situation? After his first emotion in learning that she had never lived with her husband, and his consequent conviction that she regarded the marriage as a mistake, the ceremony itself loomed up as a grim fact, one not to be brushed aside by ingenious arguments. Behind it, as a prop to its stability, was the strict tradition of Christianity, an inheritance of peculiar influence with both the participants in the strange mistake. There was no cause for divorce which either of their respective churches recognised as valid; at least, so he believed, for he did not doubt that Emmet had told him the whole truth in regard to Lena Harpster, and he felt sure that he would now avoid the very appearance of evil. He recognised also that he was the recipient of a confession he must regard as sacred. Felicity must not know he shared her secret. His part must be merely that of a spectator of a drama. These were his thoughts as he wandered from place to place, trying to convince himself that he had reached a point of renunciation; but as often as her face rose up before him he wavered in his resolution, and went back to the conviction that she really did not love the man who was only technically her husband. Might not her treatment of himself be capable of a more favourable interpretation than his first anger and chagrin had put upon it? He felt that it would depend upon her, when she returned, whether he could maintain a feigned indifference. He purchased a pipe for Cardington, and ultimately found himself in a large department store turning over the volumes on the book counter in search of a gift for his father. Presently he heard a voice at his elbow. "Are you engaged in Christmas shopping too, Mr. Leigh?" He turned and saw Mrs. Parr looking at him tentatively, her hands full of bundles. A remembrance of his rudeness to her at Littleford's caused him to welcome this opportunity to make amends. She was Felicity's nearest friend, and perhaps she would mention her name. Moreover, the fact that Emmet suspected her of having divined his secret, and her meeting with him and Lena at the inn, gave her a new interest in his eyes. "Yes, Mrs. Parr," he returned. "I'm doing as well as a mere man can be expected to do, which is n't very well. Perhaps you can come to my assistance." She placed her bundles on the counter with alacrity, and her thin, gloved hand hovered over the rows of volumes. "You must give me some hint as to the destination of the gift," she declared, turning upon him with a sparrow-like motion of the head and a significant smile. "No," he said, laughing at her intimation, "it isn't what you suspect. I want a book for an old-fashioned gentleman, past middle life. There seems to be nothing here but the latest novels." "As to that," she responded, "the bishop reads everything, from the Talmud to a Nick Carter detective story." "Neither of the classics you mention will fit the present case, however." "I know!" she cried. "'The Bible in Spain.' You need n't look dubious; it is n't a Sunday-school book, as you might think from the title. You may be sure that Felicity Wycliffe would n't like insipid literature, and this is one of her favourite books." Leigh's dubious look had not been due to ignorance of the book, but to a doubt as to whether his father possessed it. On reflection, he thought the choice a safe one, and his reply left his adviser undisturbed in her conviction that she was admitting him into the select circle of Borrovians. "The recommendation goes," he said. "Not," he corrected himself, "that I would not have purchased it upon yours alone, Mrs. Parr." "Oh, I'm not vain of my knowledge of books," she assured him. "Miss Wycliffe is my literary conscience. I do miss her so much! When she 's away, I 'm only half a person, I declare; and when she 's here, I 'm just nobody at all, because I lose myself in her." "You make the friendships of men pale into insignificance," he remarked jestingly, yet not without a new respect, inspired by this glimpse of her capacity for loyalty to one who overshadowed her. "If you only knew her!" she said. "But you don't." He could not help wondering which of them knew the more about one great incident in her life, but he merely echoed her words with a rueful conviction of his own: "No, I don't." She regarded him with sympathetic understanding. Of course he was infatuated with Felicity, like many others, and undoubtedly his chances were as remote as theirs. "Now tell me," she said, "what you are going to get for the rest of your family." "That's what I want you to tell me," he answered. "Follow me, then," she said brightly, "and I 'll see that you don't get imposed upon." He took the book and her bundles, and they left the counter on the best of terms. Though he was hopelessly in love with another, a knowledge of Mrs. Parr's partiality for him lent a certain charm to his manner. Without attaching any weight to the fancy Miss Wycliffe had told him of, he was sufficiently human to enjoy being liked and to make some response. At his first meeting with Mrs. Parr she had seemed merely insignificant; at Littleford's he had found her irritating; now, to his astonishment, he discovered in her worship of Felicity her attractive side. When they finally left the shop with their accumulated purchases, she insisted that he follow her into the sleigh and go to her home for a cup of tea. "People are so inconsiderate during the Christmas season," she chattered. "Now I never have my things sent home at this time of year, when the delivery men are so overworked; and I don't even bother the boys to carry them out to the sleigh for me, unless I positively have to. John and I do our shopping together, don't we, John?" The coachman touched his hat with his whip in acknowledgement of the copartnership in humanitarianism, and deftly steered his horses into the open street. "I belong to a league of women," she went on, "who have agreed not to go shopping in the late afternoons, and not to have the things they can carry sent by the delivery waggons. I don't know how many printed slips I have sent out requesting shoppers to use the same consideration. We looked up nearly every name in the directory. This is the third year we 've done it." "That's why I did n't receive a copy of your communication," he remarked. "My name 's not in the directory yet." "You would n't believe what fun Felicity always makes of us," she said. "She pretends that we are trying to excuse people from doing what they are paid to do." He was able to see how the virtue of the league could appeal to Felicity's sense of humour, even though she might accept its suggestion. "There 's that man!" she cried, suddenly stiffening. "It seems to me I can never go down-town without meeting the horrid creature somewhere, strutting along as if he owned the town, just because a lot of ruffians have made him mayor. But I believe Felicity has won you over to her strange point of view." "Emmet is n't at all a bad mayor," he returned. "I happen to know that he has refused to have anything to do with Bat Quayle, the political boss of the worst element of his party. What do you say to that?" "That you have been misinformed," she answered implacably, "or that he has gone back on his word, and now refuses to pay his political debts." "In either case you don't leave him a leg to stand on. Still, I can only reiterate my conviction in regard to his political honesty, and wait for developments." "I notice you don't make any claims for his private character," she retorted, giving him a severe glance. "But men have their own code of morals, and always stand by each other. Now I happen to know that he is running around with one of Felicity's servants. Out at the Old Continental, the other evening, we found them in possession of a room we had engaged for dinner. He practically ordered us out of the place until he and Miss Harpster, as he called her, chose to take their departure. Did you ever hear of such a thing in your life?" "Never," he answered. "Emmet would be quite a catch for her, would n't he?" She threw up her hands with a gesture of infinite scorn. "He never in this world intends to marry her. I 'm sure of that." He wondered whether she guessed how truly she had spoken, but her face was sphinx-like in its hard acerbity. She seemed to shrink and grow pinched with the intensity of her emotion, and her next words, spoken almost as a soliloquy, showed the trend of her thoughts. "I had n't quite made up my mind to write to Felicity yet, but now I will, this very night. She ought not to let such a girl stay in the house. But I 'm afraid my writing will only make her determined--she 's so perverse." The words only completed his mystification. It now occurred to him that this might be merely the excessive virtue of a New Englander, that Mrs. Parr merely wished to save her friend from the mortification of a scandal belowstairs in her house. Her prejudice against Emmet was sufficient to explain her belief in his bad intentions regarding Lena Harpster. "On second thoughts I sha'n't do it," she declared, with a curious gleam in her eyes; then she closed her lips firmly, as if to dismiss the subject. Leigh could only guess why she had changed her mind, and had suddenly decided to let matters take their course. Assuming that she knew nothing of Emmet's true relationship with Felicity and thought merely that her friend was infatuated with him, it was possible that she might even welcome a moral breakdown on Emmet's part, provided it would open Felicity's eyes to his true quality. He was tempted to believe that Mrs. Parr would willingly let Lena be sacrificed to accomplish this result. The various possibilities that lay concealed behind his companion's enigmatical features were bewildering, and the subject was too delicate for further probing. As the fine vista of Birdseye Avenue opened up before them, he turned the subject by remarking that Christmas never seemed so truly Christmas as in New England. The dictum was a happy one. "Yes," she assented with fervour, "and is n't Warwick beautiful? I never go away, even to Europe, without realising when I come back that Warwick is the most beautiful place in the world. Thank God, I was born and brought up in New England!" "And thank God, I was n't!" he retorted. "What do you mean by that?" she demanded, turning upon him with shocked asperity. "I merely mean that my view would have been limited for life to the vista that may be obtained from the steps of the First Church--not that it is n't a fine one, in its way." The genial banter of his tone softened her resentment to curiosity. "Where in Heaven's name were you brought up?" she asked. "Let me see. An account of my peregrinations would read like a list of most of the States of the Union. One gets an idea of the country by such a nomadic existence, and does n't make the mistake of supposing that the tail wags the dog, instead of the dog wagging the tail." "I suppose you mean to imply that New England is the tail," she said with trembling intensity, "when every one knows it's the head and brains of the country. I've never been west of Niagara Falls, and I 'm proud of it." "You have reason to be," he replied with gravity. "I was only testing your loyalty. Where is our Mecca of patriotism and literature, if it is n't New England? My remark about the New England Christmas was suggested by a memory of 'Snow-Bound,' which was one of the classics of my youth, when I used to look out discontentedly upon our inferior Western brand of snow." "I can't make you out," she said. When they entered the house, she laid aside her wraps and gave him a cup of tea, supplemented by the thinnest of thin wafers, after which she conducted him from room to room on a tour of inspection. "Are you interested in Colonial furniture?" she questioned. "I 'm anxious to learn enough about it to get interested," he assured her. "I see you have a great deal of it here." "A great many people have," she answered. "It's easy enough to pick up imitations in the second-hand shops, or to ransack country houses; but these pieces are all genuine and have been in the family for generations. There are three Chippendales that belonged to my grandfather on my mother's side, Colonel Styles, and this is a Sheraton. That mahogany table with the low-hanging leaves is a genuine Pembroke. Do you see that newel-post? It's the only thing in the house we did n't inherit. We got it from the old Putney mansion when they were tearing it down to make room for the library. When I heard they were destroying the house, I sent Mr. Parr there to see what he could pick up, and he found this beautiful thing thrown in the corner, as if it had no value at all. Think of it!" Leigh owned that it was a prize of no small value. "You may say so," she went on, warming to the subject, "and it cost us twenty-five dollars. When they found out we wanted it, they put up the price. Mrs. Bradford has never gotten over it that we stole a march on her, for she meant to get it herself. Do you know Mrs. Bradford?" "Miss Wycliffe made me acquainted with her at Littleford's. I remember hearing that she was prominent in the First Church and very much interested in historical relics." "Her husband is one of the Bradfords," with an emphasis on the definite article, "descended from Governor Bradford, and she is president of the Society for the Preservation of Colonial Landmarks, and also of the Daughters." "The Daughters of the King?" he inquired maliciously. "The Daughters of the American Revolution," she corrected. "I did n't know," he explained; "I used to hear of the other 'daughters' from an aunt of mine; but her chief hobby was bishops." "The Episcopalians are in a small minority here," she informed him. "Most of the old families go to the First Church. I was brought up there, but Miss Wycliffe has made me a kind of half Episcopalian, so that I go to St. George's sometimes with her. But speaking of the Bradfords, you have no idea how many obscure people claim to be descended from Governor Bradford. Now, I am a genuine Bradford on my father's side." "The old governor must have been the Adam of these parts," he commented. She picked up a volume from a near-by table. "This is the real Bradford genealogy," she announced. They continued their progress through the house, viewing hautboys, and clocks, and tables, and tapestries, and chairs. Leigh had extracted all the amusement for himself that the subject and the a narrator could offer, and he began to grow inattentive. The long roll of names and of styles of furniture, hitherto unfamiliar, confused him, and the constant reiteration of the local point of view seemed an almost incredible provincialism. When they returned at last to the drawing-room, Mr. Parr, just returned from his office, rose to greet him. "And how do you like Warwick?" he demanded. "You show your good taste," he approved, when Leigh had complimented the beauty of the city, "and Warwick is a very cultivated place as well. Have n't you found it so? There are a great many rich people here, but you see no display of wealth, as in New York." "I hate New York," his wife put in. "It's so frightfully commercial." Mr. Parr, having delivered himself of the articles of his belief, resumed his role as the silent partner of the house. He was a large, slow man, whose history seemed to be the history of the dinners he had eaten. In his eyes smouldered a dull glow, as of resentment at the limits of the human stomach and the volubility of wives. He woke up as his visitor prepared to depart, to inform him that the thermometer had registered twenty degrees of frost that morning, and to express the conviction that Warwick would spoil him for residence hereafter in any other city. Leigh assured him that there was no doubt of it, and went out into the winter twilight, homesick for the full, crude life of the Middle West, for the picturesque civilisation of California, for the smoke and splendour and roar of New York. As he passed the bishop's darkened house, he felt that it was out of the question for him to spend the Christmas recess in the deserted college on the hill. He resolved to run away from himself, to seek distraction from the riddle of his existence by a visit to the metropolis, to change his sky in the hope of changing his mind. The increasing cold, and the dun canopy of cloud that had overspread the sky for days, convinced him of the futility of attempting to continue his observations at present. Tomorrow he would join in the general hegira from the Hall. He walked back to the college, and seeing a light in Cardington's room, he knocked at the door. His friend was seated in the chair he never seemed to leave. "Ah," he said, observing his visitor's bundles, "you come in like a Santa Claus coadjutor, a youthful Santa Claus, not yet dignified by that hirsute appendage to the chin without which no Santa Claus is complete." Leigh admitted that he was a feeble imitation, and produced the briar-wood pipe from his pocket. Cardington was greatly pleased. "Thank you," he said; "thank you. I shall break the amber stem, sooner or later, but I shall have it replaced by one of vulcanised rubber, and shall continue to cherish the gift though mutatus ab illo. If you don't mind, I 'll initiate it now, without waiting for Christmas day." He suited the action to the words and leaned back in his chair, puffing. "A new pipe is like--a new pair of shoes--necessary--inevitable--but it must be broken in. I see promise already of sweetness--great sweetness--in this briar." "Mrs. Parr picked me up and took me home for a cup of tea," Leigh said. "And there I met Mr. Parr." "Well, and how did you enjoy our excellent friends, the Parrs?" Cardington queried, leaning back in his chair with an expectant twinkle in his eyes. "I felt that I was visiting a storage warehouse filled with old furniture, in the midst of which stood Parr like a wax figure escaped from the Eden Musee." "I can well understand that," Cardington commented, with a chuckle. "And you learned something, doubtless, about the old newel-post that was taken from the Putney mansion, which I hope you admired adequately, about the old clock, the tables, and the chairs. You heard the respectable names also of the respectable Parrs' ancestors, and Mr. Parr asked you how you liked Warwick, after which he told you how he liked it himself." "Your astral body must have accompanied me," Leigh suggested. "I could report the conversation verbatim," Cardington declared. "She told you, among other things, that she was a genuine Bradford on her father's side, and uttered bulls of excommunication against pretenders to the honour. It would n't do, you know, to admit that the Bradford progeny is as numerous as the stars for multitude, and as the sands upon the seashore. It is advisable to restrict the genuine Bradfords to those of wealth and position. Now, this genealogical mania is a kind of midsummer madness that lasts in Warwick the year through, a lineal descendant, so to speak, of the witchcraft delusion; but it offers a certain kind of mental pemmican to impoverished minds. Those much vaunted ancestors were very worthy people, but, bless you! there was n't a social swell in the whole lot." "Out West one never hears of such things," said Leigh. "Out West," Cardington returned, "they are still grappling with the realities of life. Ancestor worship has not yet set in as a canker in the fruit; that will come with the dead ripeness. Here you see the New Englander as he is to-day, not as he was in a glorified past; not landing at Plymouth Rock, not hanging witches, or beating Quakers, or persecuting Episcopalians, not throwing tea into Boston Harbour, or writing philosophy at Concord, but spending his days in watching the gradual accretion of his already substantial fortune. "A New Englander is the only jewel that appears to better advantage out of its proper setting than in it. To illustrate. In the West, the New Englander is thawed without being melted to such an extent as to lose his backbone; he becomes genial without undue compromise; he carries the torch of civilisation without a flourish. It was the chosen spirits of New England, men and women, that went West in their great waggons with the pots and pans hanging from the axle, and salted that crude country with their quality. "But the conversation has become very oracular," he continued. "What are you going to do during the recess?" "I 'm going home, and shall stop over in New York for a visit on my way back. But where are you going?" "Well, I may take a little run down to Bermuda and see the bishop and Miss Felicity. Just think of leaving all this ice and snow, and about the second day out beginning to shed your superfluous outer garments, until you arrive at your destination in white duck trousers and a Panama hat! Think of the odour of lilies, not to mention the onions! And there I shall find Miss Felicity, looking like the goddess Flora, wandering in those beautiful lily-fields that command a wide sweep of the purple sea. It's enough to stir one to poetry, is n't it?" "I wish I might go with you," Leigh remarked. A film seemed to come over Cardington's blue eyes, just the suggestion of a veil of secrecy. "Yes--yes--if you hadn't made other plans, you know. But you must go down there some winter, you must indeed. It's really a most charming place." "Well," Leigh said, rising and taking up his bundles, "give the bishop and Miss Wycliffe my regards." "I will," Cardington promised. "Perhaps they will return with me. I 'll take your excellent pipe along to smoke on the Gulf Stream and among the lilies. Good-bye!" _ |
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