Chapter 20

by William Dean Howells

　　"I guess she ain't much better than Irene.""He been about any?""Yes. But I can't see as it helps matters much.""Tchk!" Mrs. Lapham fell back against the carriage cushions. "Ideclare, to see her willing to take the man that we all thought wantedher sister! I can't make it seem right.""It's right," said Lapham stoutly; "but I guess she ain't willing; Iwish she was. But there don't seem to be any way out of the thing,anywhere. It's a perfect snarl. But I don't want you should beanyways ha'sh with Pen."Mrs. Lapham answered nothing; but when she met Penelope she gave thegirl's wan face a sharp look, and began to whimper on her neck.Penelope's tears were all spent. "Well, mother," she said, "you comeback almost as cheerful as you went away. I needn't ask if 'Rene's ingood spirits. We all seem to be overflowing with them. I suppose thisis one way of congratulating me. Mrs. Corey hasn't been round to do ityet.""Are you--are you engaged to him, Pen?" gasped her mother."Judging by my feelings, I should say not. I feel as if it was a lastwill and testament. But you'd better ask him when he comes.""I can't bear to look at him.""I guess he's used to that. He don't seem to expect to be looked at.Well! we're all just where we started. I wonder how long it will keepup."Mrs. Lapham reported to her husband when he came home at night--he hadleft his business to go and meet her, and then, after a desolate dinnerat the house, had returned to the office again--that Penelope was fullyas bad as Irene. "And she don't know how to work it off. Irene keepsdoing; but Pen just sits in her room and mopes. She don't even read.I went up this afternoon to scold her about the state the house wasin--you can see that Irene's away by the perfect mess; but when I sawher through the crack of the door I hadn't the heart. She sat therewith her hands in her lap, just staring. And, my goodness! she JUMPEDso when she saw me; and then she fell back, and began to laugh, andsaid she, 'I thought it was my ghost, mother!' I felt as if I shouldgive way."Lapham listened jadedly, and answered far from the point. "I guessI've got to start out there pretty soon, Persis.""How soon?""Well, to-morrow morning."Mrs. Lapham sat silent. Then, "All right," she said. "I'll get youready.""I shall run up to Lapham for Irene, and then I'll push on throughCanada. I can get there about as quick.""Is it anything you can tell me about, Silas?""Yes," said Lapham. "But it's a long story, and I guess you've gotyour hands pretty full as it is. I've been throwing good money afterbad,--the usual way,--and now I've got to see if I can save thepieces."After a moment Mrs. Lapham asked, "Is it--Rogers?""It's Rogers.""I didn't want you should get in any deeper with him.""No. You didn't want I should press him either; and I had to do one orthe other. And so I got in deeper.""Silas," said his wife, "I'm afraid I made you!""It's all right, Persis, as far forth as that goes. I was glad to makeit up with him--I jumped at the chance. I guess Rogers saw that he hada soft thing in me, and he's worked it for all it was worth. But it'llall come out right in the end."Lapham said this as if he did not care to talk any more about it. Headded casually, "Pretty near everybody but the fellows that owe ME seemto expect me to do a cash business, all of a sudden.""Do you mean that you've got payments to make, and that people are notpaying YOU?"Lapham winced a little. "Something like that," he said, and he lighteda cigar. "But when I tell you it's all right, I mean it, Persis. Iain't going to let the grass grow under my feet, though,--especiallywhile Rogers digs the ground away from the roots.""What are you going to do?""If it has to come to that, I'm going to squeeze him." Lapham'scountenance lighted up with greater joy than had yet visited it sincethe day they had driven out to Brookline. "Milton K. Rogers is arascal, if you want to know; or else all the signs fail. But I guesshe'll find he's got his come-uppance." Lapham shut his lips so that theshort, reddish-grey beard stuck straight out on them."What's he done?""What's he done? Well, now, I'll tell you what he's done, Persis, sinceyou think Rogers is such a saint, and that I used him so badly ingetting him out of the business. He's been dabbling in every sort offool thing you can lay your tongue to,--wild-cat stocks, patent-rights,land speculations, oil claims,--till he's run through about everything.But he did have a big milling property out on the line of the P. Y. &X.,--saw-mills and grist-mills and lands,--and for the last eight yearshe's been doing a land-office business with 'em--business that wouldhave made anybody else rich. But you can't make Milton K. Rogers rich,any more than you can fat a hide-bound colt. It ain't in him. He'drun through Vanderbilt, Jay Gould, and Tom Scott rolled into one inless than six months, give him a chance, and come out and want toborrow money of you. Well, he won't borrow any more money of ME; andif he thinks I don't know as much about that milling property as hedoes he's mistaken. I've taken his mills, but I guess I've got theinside track; Bill's kept me posted; and now I'm going out there to seehow I can unload; and I shan't mind a great deal if Rogers is under theload when it's off once.""I don't understand you, Silas.""Why, it's just this. The Great Lacustrine & Polar Railroad has leasedthe P. Y. & X. for ninety-nine years,--bought it, practically,--andit's going to build car-works right by those mills, and it may wantthem. And Milton K. Rogers knew it when he turned 'em in on me.""Well, if the road wants them, don't that make the mills valuable? Youcan get what you ask for them!""Can I? The P. Y. & X. is the only road that runs within fifty miles ofthe mills, and you can't get a foot of lumber nor a pound of flour tomarket any other way. As long as he had a little local road like theP. Y. & X. to deal with, Rogers could manage; but when it come to a bigthrough line like the G. L. & P., he couldn't stand any chance at all.If such a road as that took a fancy to his mills, do you think it wouldpay what he asked? No, sir! He would take what the road offered, orelse the road would tell him to carry his flour and lumber to markethimself.""And do you suppose he knew the G. L. & P. wanted the mills when heturned them in on you?" asked Mrs. Lapham aghast, and fallinghelplessly into his alphabetical parlance.The Colonel laughed scoffingly. "Well, when Milton K. Rogers don'tknow which side his bread's buttered on! I don't understand," he addedthoughtfully, "how he's always letting it fall on the buttered side.But such a man as that is sure to have a screw loose in him somewhere."Mrs. Lapham sat discomfited. All that she could say was, "Well, I wantyou should ask yourself whether Rogers would ever have gone wrong, orgot into these ways of his, if it hadn't been for your forcing him outof the business when you did. I want you should think whether you'renot responsible for everything he's done since.""You go and get that bag of mine ready," said Lapham sullenly. "Iguess I can take care of myself. And Milton K. Rogers too," he added.That evening Corey spent the time after dinner in his own room, withrestless excursions to the library, where his mother sat with hisfather and sisters, and showed no signs of leaving them. At last, incoming down, he encountered her on the stairs, going up. They bothstopped consciously."I would like to speak with you, mother. I have been waiting to seeyou alone.""Come to my room," she said."I have a feeling that you know what I want to say," he began there.She looked up at him where he stood by the chimney-piece, and tried toput a cheerful note into her questioning "Yes?""Yes; and I have a feeling that you won't like it--that you won'tapprove of it. I wish you did--I wish you could!""I'm used to liking and approving everything you do, Tom. If I don'tlike this at once, I shall try to like it--you know that--for yoursake, whatever it is.""I'd better be short," he said, with a quick sigh. "It's about MissLapham." He hastened to add, "I hope it isn't surprising to you. I'dhave told you before, if I could.""No, it isn't surprising. I was afraid--I suspected something of thekind."They were both silent in a painful silence."Well, mother?" he asked at last."If it's something you've quite made up mind to----""It is!""And if you've already spoken to her----""I had to do that first, of course.""There would be no use of my saying anything, even if I disliked it.""You do dislike it!""No--no! I can't say that. Of course I should have preferred it if youhad chosen some nice girl among those that you had been brought upwith--some friend or associate of your sisters, whose people we hadknown----""Yes, I understand that, and I can assure you that I haven't beenindifferent to your feelings. I have tried to consider them from thefirst, and it kept me hesitating in a way that I'm ashamed to think of;for it wasn't quite right towards--others. But your feelings and mysisters' have been in my mind, and if I couldn't yield to what Isupposed they must be, entirely----"Even so good a son and brother as this, when it came to his loveaffair, appeared to think that he had yielded much in considering thefeelings of his family at all.His mother hastened to comfort him. "I know--I know. I've seen forsome time that this might happen, Tom, and I have prepared myself forit. I have talked it over with your father, and we both agreed fromthe beginning that you were not to be hampered by our feeling.Still--it is a surprise. It must be.""I know it. I can understand your feeling. But I'm sure that it's onethat will last only while you don't know her well.""Oh, I'm sure of that, Tom. I'm sure that we shall all be fond ofher,--for your sake at first, even--and I hope she'll like us.""I am quite certain of that," said Corey, with that confidence whichexperience does not always confirm in such cases. "And your taking itas you do lifts a tremendous load off me."But he sighed so heavily, and looked so troubled, that his mother said,"Well, now, you mustn't think of that any more. We wish what is foryour happiness, my son, and we will gladly reconcile ourselves toanything that might have been disagreeable. I suppose we needn't speakof the family. We must both think alike about them. They havetheir--drawbacks, but they are thoroughly good people, and I satisfiedmyself the other night that they were not to be dreaded." She rose, andput her arm round his neck. "And I wish you joy, Tom! If she's half asgood as you are, you will both be very happy." She was going to kisshim, but something in his looks stopped her--an absence, a trouble,which broke out in his words."I must tell you, mother! There's been a complication--amistake--that's a blight on me yet, and that it sometimes seems as ifwe couldn't escape from. I wonder if you can help us! They all thoughtI meant--the other sister.""O Tom! But how COULD they?""I don't know. It seemed so glaringly plain--I was ashamed of makingit so outright from the beginning. But they did. Even she did,herself!""But where could they have thought your eyes were--your taste? Itwouldn't be surprising if any one were taken with that wonderfulbeauty; and I'm sure she's good too. But I'm astonished at them! Tothink you could prefer that little, black, odd creature, with herjoking and----""MOTHER!" cried the young man, turning a ghastly face of warning uponher."What do you mean, Tom?""Did you--did--did you think so too--that it was IRENE I meant?""Why, of course!"He stared at her hopelessly."O my son!" she said, for all comment on the situation."Don't reproach me, mother! I couldn't stand it.""No. I didn't mean to do that. But how--HOW could it happen?""I don't know. When she first told me that they had understood it so,I laughed--almost--it was so far from me. But now when you seem tohave had the same idea--Did you all think so?""Yes."They remained looking at each other. Then Mrs. Corey began: "It didpass through my mind once--that day I went to call upon them--that itmight not be as we thought; but I knew so little of--of----""Penelope," Corey mechanically supplied."Is that her name?--I forgot--that I only thought of you in relation toher long enough to reject the idea; and it was natural after our seeingsomething of the other one last year, that I might suppose you hadformed some--attachment----""Yes; that's what they thought too. But I never thought of her asanything but a pretty child. I was civil to her because you wished it;and when I met her here again, I only tried to see her so that I couldtalk with her about her sister.""You needn't defend yourself to ME, Tom," said his mother, proud to sayit to him in his trouble. "It's a terrible business for them, poorthings," she added. "I don't know how they could get over it. But, ofcourse, sensible people must see----""They haven't got over it. At least she hasn't. Since it's happened,there's been nothing that hasn't made me prouder and fonder of her! Atfirst I WAS charmed with her--my fancy was taken; she delighted me--Idon't know how; but she was simply the most fascinating person I eversaw. Now I never think of that. I only think how good she is--howpatient she is with me, and how unsparing she is of herself. If shewere concerned alone--if I were not concerned too--it would soon end.She's never had a thought for anything but her sister's feeling andmine from the beginning. I go there,--I know that I oughtn't, but Ican't help it,--and she suffers it, and tries not to let me see thatshe is suffering it. There never was any one like her--so brave, sotrue, so noble. I won't give her up--I can't. But it breaks my heartwhen she accuses herself of what was all MY doing. We spend our timetrying to reason out of it, but we always come back to it at last, andI have to hear her morbidly blaming herself. Oh!"Doubtless Mrs. Corey imagined some reliefs to this suffering, somequalifications of this sublimity in a girl she had disliked sodistinctly; but she saw none in her son's behaviour, and she gave himher further sympathy. She tried to praise Penelope, and said that itwas not to be expected that she could reconcile herself at once toeverything. "I shouldn't have liked it in her if she had. But timewill bring it all right. And if she really cares for you----""I extorted that from her.""Well, then, you must look at it in the best light you can. There isno blame anywhere, and the mortification and pain is something thatmust be lived down. That's all. And don't let what I said grieve you,Tom. You know I scarcely knew her, and I--I shall be sure to like anyone you like, after all.""Yes, I know," said the young man drearily. "Will you tell father?""If you wish.""He must know. And I couldn't stand any more of this, just yet--anymore mistake.""I will tell him," said Mrs. Corey; and it was naturally the next thingfor a woman who dwelt so much on decencies to propose: "We must go tocall on her--your sisters and I. They have never seen her even; andshe mustn't be allowed to think we're indifferent to her, especiallyunder the circumstances.""Oh no! Don't go--not yet," cried Corey, with an instinctive perceptionthat nothing could be worse for him. "We must wait--we must bepatient. I'm afraid it would be painful to her now."He turned away without speaking further; and his mother's eyes followedhim wistfully to the door. There were some questions that she wouldhave liked to ask him; but she had to content herself with trying toanswer them when her husband put them to her.There was this comfort for her always in Bromfield Corey, that he neverwas much surprised at anything, however shocking or painful. Hisstandpoint in regard to most matters was that of the sympathetichumorist who would be glad to have the victim of circumstance laughwith him, but was not too much vexed when the victim could not. Helaughed now when his wife, with careful preparation, got the facts ofhis son's predicament fully under his eye."Really, Bromfield," she said, "I don't see how you can laugh. Do yousee any way out of it?""It seems to me that the way has been found already. Tom has told hislove to the right one, and the wrong one knows it. Time will do therest.""If I had so low an opinion of them all as that, it would make me veryunhappy. It's shocking to think of it.""It is upon the theory of ladies and all young people," said herhusband, with a shrug, feeling his way to the matches on the mantel,and then dropping them with a sign, as if recollecting that he must notsmoke there. "I've no doubt Tom feels himself an awful sinner. Butapparently he's resigned to his sin; he isn't going to give her up.""I'm glad to say, for the sake of human nature, that SHE isn'tresigned--little as I like her," cried Mrs. Corey.Her husband shrugged again. "Oh, there mustn't be any indecent haste.She will instinctively observe the proprieties. But come, now, Anna!you mustn't pretend to me here, in the sanctuary of home, thatpractically the human affections don't reconcile themselves to anysituation that the human sentiments condemn. Suppose the wrong sisterhad died: would the right one have had any scruple in marrying Tom,after they had both 'waited a proper time,' as the phrase is?""Bromfield, you're shocking!""Not more shocking than reality. You may regard this as a secondmarriage." He looked at her with twinkling eyes, full of the triumphthe spectator of his species feels in signal exhibitions of humannature. "Depend upon it, the right sister will be reconciled; thewrong one will be consoled; and all will go merry as a marriage bell--asecond marriage bell. Why, it's quite like a romance!" Here he laughedoutright again."Well," sighed the wife, "I could almost wish the right one, as youcall her, would reject Tom, I dislike her so much.""Ah, now you're talking business, Anna," said her husband, with hishands spread behind the back he turned comfortably to the fire. "Thewhole Lapham tribe is distasteful to me. As I don't happen to haveseen our daughter-in-law elect, I have still the hope--which you'redisposed to forbid me--that she may not be quite so unacceptable as theothers.""Do you really feel so, Bromfield?" anxiously inquired his wife."Yes--I think I do;" and he sat down, and stretched out his long legstoward the fire."But it's very inconsistent of you to oppose the matter now, whenyou've shown so much indifference up to this time. You've told me, allalong, that it was of no use to oppose it.""So I have. I was convinced of that at the beginning, or my reasonwas. You know very well that I am equal to any trial, any sacrifice,day after to-morrow; but when it comes to-day it's another thing. Aslong as this crisis decently kept its distance, I could look at it withan impartial eye; but now that it seems at hand, I find that, while myreason is still acquiescent, my nerves are disposed to--excuse thephrase--kick. I ask myself, what have I done nothing for, all my life,and lived as a gentleman should, upon the earnings of somebody else, inthe possession of every polite taste and feeling that adorns leisure,if I'm to come to this at last? And I find no satisfactory answer. Isay to myself that I might as well have yielded to the pressure allround me, and gone to work, as Tom has."Mrs. Corey looked at him forlornly, divining the core of realrepugnance that existed in his self-satire."I assure you, my dear," he continued, "that the recollection of what Isuffered from the Laphams at that dinner of yours is an anguish still.It wasn't their behaviour,--they behaved well enough--or ill enough;but their conversation was terrible. Mrs. Lapham's range was strictlydomestic; and when the Colonel got me in the library, he poured mineralpaint all over me, till I could have been safely warranted not to crackor scale in any climate. I suppose we shall have to see a good deal ofthem. They will probably come here every Sunday night to tea. It's aperspective without a vanishing-point.""It may not be so bad, after all," said his wife; and she suggested forhis consolation that he knew very little about the Laphams yet.He assented to the fact. "I know very little about them, and about myother fellow-beings. I dare say that I should like the Laphams betterif I knew them better. But in any case, I resign myself. And we mustkeep in view the fact that this is mainly Tom's affair, and if hisaffections have regulated it to his satisfaction, we must be content.""Oh yes," sighed Mrs. Corey. "And perhaps it won't turn out so badly.It's a great comfort to know that you feel just as I do about it.""I do," said her husband, "and more too."It was she and her daughters who would be chiefly annoyed by the Laphamconnection; she knew that. But she had to begin to bear the burden byhelping her husband to bear his light share of it. To see him sodepressed dismayed her, and she might well have reproached him moresharply than she did for showing so much indifference, when she was soanxious, at first. But that would not have served any good end now.She even answered him patiently when he asked her, "What did you say toTom when he told you it was the other one?""What could I say? I could do nothing, but try to take back what I hadsaid against her.""Yes, you had quite enough to do, I suppose. It's an awkward business.If it had been the pretty one, her beauty would have been our excuse.But the plain one--what do you suppose attracted him in her?"Mrs. Corey sighed at the futility of the question. "Perhaps I did herinjustice. I only saw her a few moments. Perhaps I got a falseimpression. I don't think she's lacking in sense, and that's a greatthing. She'll be quick to see that we don't mean unkindness, andcan't, by anything we say or do, when she's Tom's wife." She pronouncedthe distasteful word with courage, and went on: "The pretty one mightnot have been able to see that. She might have got it into her headthat we were looking down on her; and those insipid people are terriblystubborn. We can come to some understanding with this one; I'm sure ofthat." She ended by declaring that it was now their duty to help Tomout of his terrible predicament."Oh, even the Lapham cloud has a silver lining," said Corey. "In fact,it seems really to have all turned out for the best, Anna; though it'srather curious to find you the champion of the Lapham side, at last.Confess, now, that the right girl has secretly been your choice allalong, and that while you sympathise with the wrong one, you rejoice inthe tenacity with which the right one is clinging to her own!" He addedwith final seriousness, "It's just that she should, and, so far as Iunderstand the case, I respect her for it.""Oh yes," sighed Mrs. Corey. "It's natural, and it's right." But sheadded, "I suppose they're glad of him on any terms.""That is what I have been taught to believe," said her husband. "Whenshall we see our daughter-in-law elect? I find myself rather impatientto have that part of it over."Mrs. Corey hesitated. "Tom thinks we had better not call, just yet.""She has told him of your terrible behaviour when you called before?""No, Bromfield! She couldn't be so vulgar as that?""But anything short of it?"