Chapter 23

by William Dean Howells

　　"I don't think there's much use crying about anything. If it couldhave been cried straight, it would have been all right from the start,"said the girl, going back to her own affair; and if Lapham had not beenso deeply engrossed in his, he might have seen how little she cared forall that money could do or undo. He did not observe her enough to seehow variable her moods were in those days, and how often she sank fromsome wild gaiety into abject melancholy; how at times she was fiercelydefiant of nothing at all, and at others inexplicably humble andpatient. But no doubt none of these signs had passed unnoticed by hiswife, to whom Lapham said one day, when he came home, "Persis, what'sthe reason Pen don't marry Corey?""You know as well as I do, Silas," said Mrs. Lapham, with an inquiringlook at him for what lay behind his words."Well, I think it's all tomfoolery, the way she's going on. Thereain't any rhyme nor reason to it." He stopped, and his wife waited."If she said the word, I could have some help from them." He hung hishead, and would not meet his wife's eye."I guess you're in a pretty bad way, Si," she said pityingly, "or youwouldn't have come to that.""I'm in a hole," said Lapham, "and I don't know where to turn. Youwon't let me do anything about those mills----""Yes, I'll let you," said his wife sadly.He gave a miserable cry. "You know I can't do anything, if you do. Omy Lord!"She had not seen him so low as that before. She did not know what tosay. She was frightened, and could only ask, "Has it come to theworst?""The new house has got to go," he answered evasively.She did not say anything. She knew that the work on the house had beenstopped since the beginning of the year. Lapham had told the architectthat he preferred to leave it unfinished till the spring, as there wasno prospect of their being able to get into it that winter; and thearchitect had agreed with him that it would not hurt it to stand. Herheart was heavy for him, though she could not say so. They sattogether at the table, where she had come to be with him at his belatedmeal. She saw that he did not eat, and she waited for him to speakagain, without urging him to take anything. They were past that."And I've sent orders to shut down at the Works," he added."Shut down at the Works!" she echoed with dismay. She could not takeit in. The fire at the Works had never been out before since it wasfirst kindled. She knew how he had prided himself upon that; how hehad bragged of it to every listener, and had always lugged the fact inas the last expression of his sense of success. "O Silas!""What's the use?" he retorted. "I saw it was coming a month ago.There are some fellows out in West Virginia that have been running thepaint as hard as they could. They couldn't do much; they used to putit on the market raw. But lately they got to baking it, and nowthey've struck a vein of natural gas right by their works, and they payten cents for fuel, where I pay a dollar, and they make as good apaint. Anybody can see where it's going to end. Besides, the market'sover-stocked. It's glutted. There wa'n't anything to do but to shutDOWN, and I've SHUT down.""I don't know what's going to become of the hands in the middle of thewinter, this way," said Mrs. Lapham, laying hold of one definitethought which she could grasp in the turmoil of ruin that whirledbefore her eyes."I don't care what becomes of the hands," cried Lapham. "They'veshared my luck; now let 'em share the other thing. And if you're sovery sorry for the hands, I wish you'd keep a little of your pity forME. Don't you know what shutting down the Works means?""Yes, indeed I do, Silas," said his wife tenderly."Well, then!" He rose, leaving his supper untasted, and went into thesitting-room, where she presently found him, with that everlastingconfusion of papers before him on the desk. That made her think of thepaper in her work-basket, and she decided not to make the careworn,distracted man ask her for it, after all. She brought it to him.He glanced blankly at it and then caught it from her, turning red andlooking foolish. "Where'd you get that?""You dropped it on the floor the other night, and I picked it up. Whois 'Wm. M.'?""'Wm. M.'!" he repeated, looking confusedly at her, and then at thepaper. "Oh,--it's nothing." He tore the paper into small pieces, andwent and dropped them into the fire. When Mrs. Lapham came into theroom in the morning, before he was down, she found a scrap of thepaper, which must have fluttered to the hearth; and glancing at it shesaw that the words were "Mrs. M." She wondered what dealings with awoman her husband could have, and she remembered the confusion he hadshown about the paper, and which she had thought was because she hadsurprised one of his business secrets. She was still thinking of itwhen he came down to breakfast, heavy-eyed, tremulous, with deep seamsand wrinkles in his face.After a silence which he did not seem inclined to break, "Silas," sheasked, "who is 'Mrs. M.'?"He stared at her. "I don't know what you're talking about.""Don't you?" she returned mockingly. "When you do, you tell me. Doyou want any more coffee?""No.""Well, then, you can ring for Alice when you've finished. I've gotsome things to attend to." She rose abruptly, and left the room.Lapham looked after her in a dull way, and then went on with hisbreakfast. While he still sat at his coffee, she flung into the roomagain, and dashed some papers down beside his plate. "Here are somemore things of yours, and I'll thank you to lock them up in your deskand not litter my room with them, if you please." Now he saw that shewas angry, and it must be with him. It enraged him that in such a timeof trouble she should fly out at him in that way. He left the housewithout trying to speak to her. That day Corey came just beforeclosing, and, knocking at Lapham's door, asked if he could speak withhim a few moments."Yes," said Lapham, wheeling round in his swivel-chair and kickinganother towards Corey. "Sit down. I want to talk to you. I'd oughtto tell you you're wasting your time here. I spoke the other day aboutyour placin' yourself better, and I can help you to do it, yet. Thereain't going to be the out-come for the paint in the foreign marketsthat we expected, and I guess you better give it up.""I don't wish to give it up," said the young fellow, setting his lips."I've as much faith in it as ever; and I want to propose now what Ihinted at in the first place. I want to put some money into thebusiness.""Some money!" Lapham leaned towards him, and frowned as if he had notquite understood, while he clutched the arms of his chair."I've got about thirty thousand dollars that I could put in, and if youdon't want to consider me a partner--I remember that you objected to apartner--you can let me regard it as an investment. But I think I seethe way to doing something at once in Mexico, and I should like to feelthat I had something more than a drummer's interest in the venture."The men sat looking into each other's eyes. Then Lapham leaned back inhis chair, and rubbed his hand hard and slowly over his face. Hisfeatures were still twisted with some strong emotion when he took itaway. "Your family know about this?""My Uncle James knows.""He thinks it would be a good plan for you?""He thought that by this time I ought to be able to trust my ownjudgment.""Do you suppose I could see your uncle at his office?""I imagine he's there.""Well, I want to have a talk with him, one of these days." He satpondering a while, and then rose, and went with Corey to his door. "Iguess I shan't change my mind about taking you into the business inthat way," he said coldly. "If there was any reason why I shouldn't atfirst, there's more now.""Very well, sir," answered the young man, and went to close his desk.The outer office was empty; but while Corey was putting his papers inorder it was suddenly invaded by two women, who pushed by theprotesting porter on the stairs and made their way towards Lapham'sroom. One of them was Miss Dewey, the type-writer girl, and the otherwas a woman whom she would resemble in face and figure twenty yearshence, if she led a life of hard work varied by paroxysms of harddrinking."That his room, Z'rilla?" asked this woman, pointing towards Lapham'sdoor with a hand that had not freed itself from the fringe of dirtyshawl under which it had hung. She went forward without waiting forthe answer, but before she could reach it the door opened, and Laphamstood filling its space."Look here, Colonel Lapham!" began the woman, in a high key ofchallenge. "I want to know if this is the way you're goin' back on meand Z'rilla?""What do you want?" asked Lapham."What do I want? What do you s'pose I want? I want the money to pay mymonth's rent; there ain't a bite to eat in the house; and I want somemoney to market."Lapham bent a frown on the woman, under which she shrank back a step."You've taken the wrong way to get it. Clear out!""I WON'T clear out!" said the woman, beginning to whimper."Corey!" said Lapham, in the peremptory voice of a master,--he hadseemed so indifferent to Corey's presence that the young man thought hemust have forgotten he was there,--"Is Dennis anywhere round?""Yissor," said Dennis, answering for himself from the head of thestairs, and appearing in the ware-room.Lapham spoke to the woman again. "Do you want I should call a hack, ordo you want I should call an officer?"The woman began to cry into an end of her shawl. "I don't know whatwe're goin' to do.""You're going to clear out," said Lapham. "Call a hack, Dennis. Ifyou ever come here again, I'll have you arrested. Mind that! Zerrilla,I shall want you early to-morrow morning.""Yes, sir," said the girl meekly; she and her mother shrank out afterthe porter.Lapham shut his door without a word.At lunch the next day Walker made himself amends for Corey's reticenceby talking a great deal. He talked about Lapham, who seemed to have,more than ever since his apparent difficulties began, the fascinationof an enigma for his book-keeper, and he ended by asking, "Did you seethat little circus last night?""What little circus?" asked Corey in his turn."Those two women and the old man. Dennis told me about it. I told himif he liked his place he'd better keep his mouth shut.""That was very good advice," said Corey."Oh, all right, if you don't want to talk. Don't know as I should inyour place," returned Walker, in the easy security he had long feltthat Corey had no intention of putting on airs with him. "But I'lltell you what: the old man can't expect it of everybody. If he keepsthis thing up much longer, it's going to be talked about. You can'thave a woman walking into your place of business, and trying tobulldoze you before your porter, without setting your porter tothinking. And the last thing you want a porter to do is to think; forwhen a porter thinks, he thinks wrong.""I don't see why even a porter couldn't think right about that affair,"replied Corey. "I don't know who the woman was, though I believe shewas Miss Dewey's mother; but I couldn't see that Colonel Lapham showedanything but a natural resentment of her coming to him in that way. Ishould have said she was some rather worthless person whom he'd beenbefriending, and that she had presumed upon his kindness.""Is that so? What do you think of his never letting Miss Dewey's namego on the books?""That it's another proof it's a sort of charity of his. That's theonly way to look at it.""Oh, I'M all right." Walker lighted a cigar and began to smoke, withhis eyes closed to a fine straight line. "It won't do for abook-keeper to think wrong, any more than a porter, I suppose. But Iguess you and I don't think very different about this thing.""Not if you think as I do," replied Corey steadily; "and I know youwould do that if you had seen the 'circus' yourself. A man doesn'ttreat people who have a disgraceful hold upon him as he treated them.""It depends upon who he is," said Walker, taking his cigar from hismouth. "I never said the old man was afraid of anything.""And character," continued Corey, disdaining to touch the matterfurther, except in generalities, "must go for something. If it's to bethe prey of mere accident and appearance, then it goes for nothing.""Accidents will happen in the best regulated families," said Walker,with vulgar, good-humoured obtuseness that filled Corey withindignation. Nothing, perhaps, removed his matter-of-fact naturefurther from the commonplace than a certain generosity of instinct,which I should not be ready to say was always infallible.That evening it was Miss Dewey's turn to wait for speech with Laphamafter the others were gone. He opened his door at her knock, and stoodlooking at her with a worried air. "Well, what do you want, Zerrilla?"he asked, with a sort of rough kindness."I want to know what I'm going to do about Hen. He's back again; andhe and mother have made it up, and they both got to drinking last nightafter I went home, and carried on so that the neighbours came in."Lapham passed his hand over his red and heated face. "I don't knowwhat I'm going to do. You're twice the trouble that my own family is,now. But I know what I'd do, mighty quick, if it wasn't for you,Zerrilla," he went on relentingly. "I'd shut your mother upsomewheres, and if I could get that fellow off for a three years'voyage----""I declare," said Miss Dewey, beginning to whimper, "it seems as if hecame back just so often to spite me. He's never gone more than a yearat the furthest, and you can't make it out habitual drunkenness,either, when it's just sprees. I'm at my wit's end.""Oh, well, you mustn't cry around here," said Lapham soothingly."I know it," said Miss Dewey. "If I could get rid of Hen, I couldmanage well enough with mother. Mr. Wemmel would marry me if I couldget the divorce. He's said so over and over again.""I don't know as I like that very well," said Lapham, frowning. "Idon't know as I want you should get married in any hurry again. Idon't know as I like your going with anybody else just yet.""Oh, you needn't be afraid but what it'll be all right. It'll be thebest thing all round, if I can marry him.""Well!" said Lapham impatiently; "I can't think about it now. Isuppose they've cleaned everything out again?""Yes, they have," said Zerrilla; "there isn't a cent left.""You're a pretty expensive lot," said Lapham. "Well, here!" He tookout his pocket-book and gave her a note. "I'll be round to-night andsee what can be done."He shut himself into his room again, and Zerrilla dried her tears, putthe note into her bosom, and went her way.Lapham kept the porter nearly an hour later. It was then six o'clock,the hour at which the Laphams usually had tea; but all custom had beenbroken up with him during the past months, and he did not go home now.He determined, perhaps in the extremity in which a man finds relief incombating one care with another, to keep his promise to Miss Dewey, andat the moment when he might otherwise have been sitting down at his owntable he was climbing the stairs to her lodging in the old-fashioneddwelling which had been portioned off into flats. It was in a regionof depots, and of the cheap hotels, and "ladies' and gents'"dining-rooms, and restaurants with bars, which abound near depots; andLapham followed to Miss Dewey's door a waiter from one of these, whobore on a salver before him a supper covered with a napkin. Zerrillahad admitted them, and at her greeting a young fellow in the shabbyshore-suit of a sailor, buttoning imperfectly over the nautical blueflannel of his shirt, got up from where he had been sitting, on oneside of the stove, and stood infirmly on his feet, in token ofreceiving the visitor. The woman who sat on the other side did notrise, but began a shrill, defiant apology."Well, I don't suppose but what you'll think we're livin' on the fat o'the land, right straight along, all the while. But it's just likethis. When that child came in from her work, she didn't seem to havethe spirit to go to cookin' anything, and I had such a bad night lastnight I was feelin' all broke up, and s'd I, what's the use, anyway? Bythe time the butcher's heaved in a lot o' bone, and made you pay forthe suet he cuts away, it comes to the same thing, and why not GIT itfrom the rest'rant first off, and save the cost o' your fire? s'd I.""What have you got there under your apron? A bottle?" demanded Lapham,who stood with his hat on and his hands in his pockets, indifferentalike to the ineffective reception of the sailor and the chair Zerrillahad set him."Well, yes, it's a bottle," said the woman, with an assumption ofvirtuous frankness. "It's whisky; I got to have something to rub myrheumatism with.""Humph!" grumbled Lapham. "You've been rubbing HIS rheumatism too, Isee."He twisted his head in the direction of the sailor, now softly andrhythmically waving to and fro on his feet."He hain't had a drop to-day in THIS house!" cried the woman."What are you doing around here?" said Lapham, turning fiercely uponhim. "You've got no business ashore. Where's your ship? Do you thinkI'm going to let you come here and eat your wife out of house and home,and then give money to keep the concern going?""Just the very words I said when he first showed his face here,yist'day. Didn't I, Z'rilla?" said the woman, eagerly joining in therebuke of her late boon companion. "You got no business here, Hen, s'dI. You can't come here to live on me and Z'rilla, s'd I. You want to goback to your ship, s'd I. That's what I said."The sailor mumbled, with a smile of tipsy amiability for Lapham,something about the crew being discharged."Yes," the woman broke in, "that's always the way with these coasters.Why don't you go off on some them long v'y'ges? s'd I. It's pretty hardwhen Mr. Wemmel stands ready to marry Z'rilla and provide a comfortablehome for us both--I hain't got a great many years more to live, and ISHOULD like to get some satisfaction out of 'em, and not be beholdenand dependent all my days,--to have Hen, here, blockin' the way. Itell him there'd be more money for him in the end; but he can't seem tomake up his mind to it.""Well, now, look here," said Lapham. "I don't care anything about allthat. It's your own business, and I'm not going to meddle with it.But it's my business who lives off me; and so I tell you all three, I'mwilling to take care of Zerrilla, and I'm willing to take care of hermother----""I guess if it hadn't been for that child's father," the motherinterpolated, "you wouldn't been here to tell the tale, Colonel Lapham.""I know all about that," said Lapham. "But I'll tell you what, Mr.Dewey, I'm not going to support YOU.""I don't see what Hen's done," said the old woman impartially."He hasn't done anything, and I'm going to stop it. He's got to get aship, and he's got to get out of this. And Zerrilla needn't come backto work till he does. I'm done with you all.""Well, I vow," said the mother, "if I ever heard anything like it!Didn't that child's father lay down his life for you? Hain't you saidit yourself a hundred times? And don't she work for her money, andslave for it mornin', noon, and night? You talk as if we was beholdento you for the very bread in our mouths. I guess if it hadn't been forJim, you wouldn't been here crowin' over us.""You mind what I say. I mean business this time," said Lapham, turningto the door.The woman rose and followed him, with her bottle in her hand. "Say,Colonel! what should you advise Z'rilla to do about Mr. Wemmel? I tellher there ain't any use goin' to the trouble to git a divorce withoutshe's sure about him. Don't you think we'd ought to git him to sign apaper, or something, that he'll marry her if she gits it? I don't liketo have things going at loose ends the way they are. It ain't sense.It ain't right."Lapham made no answer to the mother anxious for her child's future, andconcerned for the moral questions involved. He went out and down thestairs, and on the pavement at the lower door he almost struck againstRogers, who had a bag in his hand, and seemed to be hurrying towardsone of the depots. He halted a little, as if to speak to Lapham; butLapham turned his back abruptly upon him, and took the other direction.The days were going by in a monotony of adversity to him, from which hecould no longer escape, even at home. He attempted once or twice totalk of his troubles to his wife, but she repulsed him sharply; sheseemed to despise and hate him; but he set himself doggedly to make aconfession to her, and he stopped her one night, as she came into theroom where he sat--hastily upon some errand that was to take herdirectly away again."Persis, there's something I've got to tell you."She stood still, as if fixed against her will, to listen."I guess you know something about it already, and I guess it set youagainst me.""Oh, I guess not, Colonel Lapham. You go your way, and I go mine.That's all."She waited for him to speak, listening with a cold, hard smile on herface."I don't say it to make favour with you, because I don't want you tospare me, and I don't ask you; but I got into it through Milton K.Rogers.""Oh!" said Mrs. Lapham contemptuously."I always felt the way I said about it--that it wa'n't any better thangambling, and I say so now. It's like betting on the turn of a card;and I give you my word of honour, Persis, that I never was in it at alltill that scoundrel began to load me up with those wild-cat securitiesof his. Then it seemed to me as if I ought to try to do something toget somewhere even. I know it's no excuse; but watching the market tosee what the infernal things were worth from day to day, and seeing itgo up, and seeing it go down, was too much for me; and, to make a longstory short, I began to buy and sell on a margin--just what I told youI never would do. I seemed to make something--I did make something;and I'd have stopped, I do believe, if I could have reached the figureI'd set in my own mind to start with; but I couldn't fetch it. I beganto lose, and then I began to throw good money after bad, just as Ialways did with everything that Rogers ever came within a mile of.Well, what's the use? I lost the money that would have carried me outof this, and I shouldn't have had to shut down the Works, or sell thehouse, or----"Lapham stopped. His wife, who at first had listened withmystification, and then dawning incredulity, changing into a look ofrelief that was almost triumph, lapsed again into severity. "SilasLapham, if you was to die the next minute, is this what you started totell me?""Why, of course it is. What did you suppose I started to tell you?""And--look me in the eyes!--you haven't got anything else on your mindnow?""No! There's trouble enough, the Lord knows; but there's nothing elseto tell you. I suppose Pen gave you a hint about it. I droppedsomething to her. I've been feeling bad about it, Persis, a goodwhile, but I hain't had the heart to speak of it. I can't expect youto say you like it. I've been a fool, I'll allow, and I've beensomething worse, if you choose to say so; but that's all. I haven'thurt anybody but myself--and you and the children."Mrs. Lapham rose and said, with her face from him, as she turnedtowards the door, "It's all right, Silas. I shan't ever bring it upagainst you."She fled out of the room, but all that evening she was very sweet withhim, and seemed to wish in all tacit ways to atone for her pastunkindness.She made him talk of his business, and he told her of Corey's offer,and what he had done about it. She did not seem to care for his partin it, however; at which Lapham was silently disappointed a little, forhe would have liked her to praise him."He did it on account of Pen!""Well, he didn't insist upon it, anyway," said Lapham, who must haveobscurely expected that Corey would recognise his own magnanimity byrepeating his offer. If the doubt that follows a self-devotedaction--the question whether it was not after all a needless folly--ismixed, as it was in Lapham's case, with the vague belief that we mighthave done ourselves a good turn without great risk of hurting any oneelse by being a little less unselfish, it becomes a regret that is hardto bear. Since Corey spoke to him, some things had happened that gaveLapham hope again."I'm going to tell her about it," said his wife, and she showed herselfimpatient to make up for the time she had lost. "Why didn't you tellme before, Silas?""I didn't know we were on speaking terms before," said Lapham sadly."Yes, that's true," she admitted, with a conscious flush. "I hope hewon't think Pen's known about it all this while."