Dr. Sevier Part 16

He threw one fat knee over the other, and laid his head on the back of his easy-chair.

The lady's eyes were still on her paper, but she asked:--

"Would you like me to go and see them?"

"No, no--unless you wish."

She dropped the paper into her lap with a smile and a sigh.

"Don't propose it. I have so much going to do"-- She paused, removed her gla.s.ses, and fell to straightening the fringe of the lamp-mat. "Of course, if you think they're in need of a friend; but from your description"--

"No," he answered, quickly, "not at all. They've friends, no doubt.

Everything about them has a neat, happy look. That's what attracted my notice. They've got friends, you may depend." He ceased, took up a pamphlet, and adjusted his gla.s.ses. "I think I saw a sofa going in there to-day as I came to dinner. A little expansion, I suppose."

"It was going out," said the only son, looking up from a story-book.

But the banker was reading. He heard nothing, and the word was not repeated. He did not divine that a little becalmed and befogged bark, with only two lovers in her, too proud to cry "Help!" had drifted just yonder upon the rocks, and, spar by spar and plank by plank, was dropping into the smooth, unmerciful sea.

Before the sofa went there had gone, little by little, some smaller valuables.

"You see," said Mary to her husband, with the bright hurry of a wife bent upon something high-handed, "we both have to have furniture; we must have it; and I don't have to have jewelry. Don't you see?"

"No, I"--

"Now, John!" There could be but one end to the debate; she had determined that. The first piece was a bracelet. "No, I wouldn't p.a.w.n it," she said. "Better sell it outright at once."

But Richling could not but cling to hope and to the adornments that had so often clasped her wrists and throat or pinned the folds upon her bosom. Piece by piece he p.a.w.ned them, always looking out ahead with strained vision for the improbable, the incredible, to rise to his relief.

"Is _nothing_ going to happen, Mary?"

Yes; nothing happened--except in the p.a.w.n-shop.

So, all the sooner, the sofa had to go.

"It's no use talking about borrowing," they both said. Then the bureau went. Then the table. Then, one by one, the chairs. Very slyly it was all done, too. Neighbors mustn't know. "Who lives there?" is a question not asked concerning houses as small as theirs; and a young man, in a well-fitting suit of only too heavy goods, removing his winter hat to wipe the standing drops from his forehead; and a little blush-rose woman at his side, in a mist of cool muslin and the cunningest of millinery,--these, who always paused a moment, with a lost look, in the vestibule of the sepulchral-looking little church on the corner of Prytania and Josephine streets, till the s.e.xton ushered them in, and who as often contrived, with no end of ingenuity, despite the little woman's fresh beauty, to get away after service unaccosted by the elders,--who could imagine that _these_ were from so deep a nook in poverty's vale?

There was one person who guessed it: Mrs. Riley, who was not asked to walk in any more when she called at the twilight hour. She partly saw and partly guessed the truth, and offered what each one of the pair had been secretly hoping somebody, anybody, would offer--a loan. But when it actually confronted them it was sweetly declined.

"Wasn't it kind?" said Mary; and John said emphatically, "Yes." Very soon it was their turn to be kind to Mrs. Riley. They attended her husband's funeral. He had been killed by an explosion. Mrs. Riley beat upon the bier with her fists, and wailed in a far-reaching voice:--

"O Mike, Mike! Me jew'l, me jew'l! Why didn't ye wait to see the babe that's unborn?"

And Mary wept. And when she and John reentered their denuded house she fell upon his neck with fresh tears, and kissed him again and again, and could utter no word, but knew he understood. Poverty was so much better than sorrow! She held him fast, and he her, while he tenderly hushed her, lest a grief, the very opposite of Mrs. Riley's, should overtake her.

CHAPTER XIV.

HARD SPEECHES AND HIGH TEMPER.

Dr. Sevier found occasion, one morning, to speak at some length, and very harshly, to his book-keeper. He had hardly ceased when John Richling came briskly in.

"Doctor," he said, with great buoyancy, "how do you do?"

The physician slightly frowned.

"Good-morning, Mr. Richling."

Richling was tamed in an instant; but, to avoid too great a contrast of manner, he retained a semblance of sprightliness, as he said:--

"This is the first time I have had this pleasure since you were last at our house, Doctor."

"Did you not see me one evening, some time ago, in the omnibus?" asked Dr. Sevier.

"Why, no," replied the other, with returning pleasure; "was I in the same omnibus?"

"You were on the sidewalk."

"No-o," said Richling, pondering. "I've seen you in your carriage several times, but you"--

"I didn't see you."

Richling was stung. The conversation failed. He recommenced it in a tone pitched intentionally too low for the alert ear of Narcisse.

"Doctor, I've simply called to say to you that I'm out of work and looking for employment again."

"Um--hum," said the Doctor, with a cold fulness of voice that hurt Richling afresh. "You'll find it hard to get anything this time of year," he continued, with no attempt at undertone; "it's very hard for anybody to get anything these days, even when well recommended."

Richling smiled an instant. The Doctor did not, but turned partly away to his desk, and added, as if the smile had displeased him:--

"Well, maybe you'll not find it so."

Richling turned fiery red.

"Whether I do or not," he said, rising, "my affairs sha'n't trouble anybody. Good-morning!"

He started out.

"How's Mrs. Richling?" asked the Doctor.

"She's well," responded Richling, putting on his hat and disappearing in the corridor. Each footstep could be heard as he went down the stairs.

"He's a fool!" muttered the physician.

He looked up angrily, for Narcisse stood before him.