Three People Part 35

The Hastings' family had filed out to the dining-room after the orthodox fas.h.i.+on--Mr. Hastings leading out the fas.h.i.+onable Boston stranger, Mrs.

De Witt, and Pliny following with her elegant daughter. All traces of last night's dissipation had been carefully petted and smoothed away from the young man's face and dress, and he looked the very impersonation of refined manhood. As for Dora no amount of care and anxiety on her mother's part could transform her into a fas.h.i.+onable young lady--no amount of persuasion could induce her to follow fas.h.i.+on's freaks in the matter of dress, unless they chanced to accord with her own grave, rather mature, taste. So on this November day, while Miss De Witt was glowing and sparkling in garnet silk and rubies, Dora was pale and fair in blue merino, and soft full laces; and in spite of plainness and simplicity, or perhaps by the help of them, was queenly and commanding still. The table was dazzling and gorgeous, with silver and cut gla.s.s and flowers. Pliny established his lady and devoted himself to her wishes, eating little himself, and declining utterly at least half of the dishes that were offered. Brandy peaches, wine jellies, custards flavored with wine, fruits with just a touch of brandy about them, how they flitted and danced about him like so many imps, all allies of that awful demon _rum_, and all seeming bent on his destruction. Pliny's usually pale face was flushed, and his nerves were quivering. How much he wanted every one of these spiced and flavored dainties only his poor diseased appet.i.te knew; how thoroughly dangerous every one of them was to him only his troubled, tempted conscience knew. He heartily loathed every article of simple unflavored food; he absolutely longed to seize upon that elegant dish of brandy peaches, and devour every drop of the liquid to quench his raging thirst. Still he chatted and laughed, and swallowed cup after cup of coffee, and struggled with his tempter, and tried to call up and keep before him all his numerous promises to that one true friend who had stood faithfully beside him through many a disgraceful downfall.

"What an abstemious young gentleman!" simpered Miss De Witt, as for the fourth time Pliny briefly and rather savagely declined the officious waiter's offer of wine custard. "Don't you eat any of these frivolous and demoralizing articles? Mrs. Hastings, is your son one of the new-lights? I have really been amused to see how persistently he declines all the tempting articles of peculiar flavor. _Is_ it a question of temperance, Mr. Hastings? I'm personally interested in that subject. I heard your star speaker, Mr. Ryan, hold forth last evening.

Did you hear him, Mr. Hastings?"

"I did not," answered Pliny, laconically, remembering how far removed from a temperance lecture was the scene in which he had mingled the evening before. He was spared the trouble of further answer by his father's next remark.

"It is a remarkable recent conversion if Pliny has become interested in the temperance question," he said, eyeing him curiously. "I really don't know but total abstinence is a good idea for weak-minded young men who can not control themselves."

Pliny flushed to his very forehead, and answered in a sharp cutting tone of biting sarcasm:

"Elderly gentlemen who seem to be similarly weak ought to set the example then, sir."

This bitter and pointed reference to his father's portly form, flushed face, and ever growing fondness for his brandies, was strangely unlike Pliny's courteous manner, and how it might have ended had not Miss De Witt suddenly determined on a conquest, I can not say.

"Look, look!" she suddenly exclaimed, clapping her hands in childish glee. "The first snow-storm of the season. Do see the great flakes! Mr.

Hastings, let me pledge your health, and your prospect of a glorious sleigh ride," and she rested jeweled fingers on the sparkling gla.s.s before her.

Pliny's head was throbbing, and the blood seemed racing in torrents through his veins. He turned a stern, fierce look upon the lady by his side, muttered in low hoa.r.s.e tones, "Pledge me for a glorious fool as I am," drained his gla.s.s to the very bottom, and abruptly left the table and the room. And Miss De Witt was serenely and courteously surprised, while the embarra.s.sed mother covered her son's retreat as best she might, and Dora sat white and silent. On the table in Pliny's room lay a carefully-worded note of apology and explanation from Pliny to Ben Phillips. It was folded and ready for delivery. Pliny dashed up to his room, seized upon the note and consigned it to the glowing coals in the grate, then rang his bell furiously and left this message in its stead:

"Tell Phillips when he calls that I'm going, and he'll find me at Harcourt's."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XXIII.

JUDGMENTS.

Only a few of the clerks had a.s.sembled as yet at the great store. It was still early morning, and the business of the day had not commenced when young McPherson rushed in, breathless, and in his haste nearly overturned a clerk near the door; then he stopped, panting as he questioned:

"Is Mr. Mallery in?"

"Yes, sir; he's always in. It's my opinion he sleeps in the safe," added his informant, in discontented under tone. Theodore's promptness was sometimes a great inconvenience to the sleepy clerks.

"I want him immediately. Where is he?"

"In the private office, sir. We have sent for him," said Tommy, coming forward with the air of one who was at least a partner. Two minutes more and Theodore was beside him.

"There's been an accident," explained Jim, rapidly, "and you are very much needed."

"Where, and for what?"

"At the Euclid House. Pliny Hastings and Ben Phillips, they were thrown from their carriage. Hastings asked for you at once."

Theodore glanced behind him and issued a few brief directions.

"Tommy, bring my hat. Edwards, keep these keys in your safe until Mr.

Stephens comes. Holden, tell Mr. Jennings when he calls that the bill of sale is made out, and shall be ready for him at noon. Tommy, you may take the letters that are on my desk to the post-office. Now, McPherson, I am ready. Give me the particulars. Is it serious?"

"I fear so. What few particulars we know is that they tried to drive across the track with the Express coming at full speed. The horses took fright, of course, backed into the gully, and both gentlemen were thrown some distance. Why they were not killed, or how they escaped being dashed in pieces by the train, is a wonderful mystery."

"What insane spirit prompted them to attempt crossing the track at such a time?"

"The spirit of rum. They were both intoxicated."

His listener uttered an exclamation fraught with more dismay than he had before expressed, and asked his next question in a low, troubled tone:

"Where were they going?"

"Going home. They had been out on that South road, nine miles from the city, to attend a dance; had danced and drank by turns all night, and were das.h.i.+ng home between five and six in the morning. So Harcourt says, and he is good authority, for he was right behind them, returning from the same place, and in not much better condition than they until the accident sobered him."

Poor Theodore! he had had particulars enough; his heart felt like lead.

How _could_ he hope, or work, or pray, any more? They walked in absolute silence to the corner, signaled a car, and made as rapid progress as possible. Only two questions more did Theodore venture:

"Did you say Pliny asked for me?"

"Yes--or, no, not exactly asked for you, but kept constantly talking about you in a wild sort of way, referring to some promise or pledge of his own, we judged, for he kept saying: 'I never deliberately broke my word to him before,' and then adding in a pitiful tone: 'He will have nothing to do with me now; he will never believe me again,' I think the doctor fears that his brain is injured."

It was some moments before Theodore could trust his voice to speak; and then he said, inquiringly:

"His parents have been apprised of the accident, of course?"

"Why, no," answered Jim, in a startled tone. "At least I doubt it.

n.o.body seemed to think of it. The fact is, Theodore, we were all frightened out of our wits, and needed your executive ability. I had been down at the depot to see if my freight had come, and arrived on the scene just after the accident occurred. I had just brains enough left to have both gentlemen taken to the hotel and come for you."

Arrived at the Euclid House the two young men went up the steps and through the halls so familiar to both of them, and sought at once the room where Pliny had been placed. Two physicians were busy about him, but they drew back thoughtfully as Pliny, catching a glimpse of the new-comer, uttered an eager exclamation.

"It's no use," he said, wildly, as Theodore bent over him. "No use, you see; the imps have made up their mind to have me, and they'll get me, body and soul. I'm bound--I can't stir. I promised you--oh yes, I can promise--I'm good at that--they don't mind that at all; but when it comes to performing then they chain me."

"That is the way he has raved ever since the accident," said the elder physician, addressing Theodore. "It is an indication of a disordered brain. Are you the young man whom he has been calling? We were in hopes you could quiet him."

"Does the disorder arise from liquor," said Theodore, sadly.

"Oh no, not at all; at least it is not the immediate cause. Can you control him, do you think?"

Theodore bent over him; he was still repeating wildly, "They'll get me, body and soul," when a cool hand was laid on his burning forehead, and a quiet, firm voice spoke the words: "Pliny, they _shall not_ get you. Do you understand? They _shall not_." And at that forlorn and apparently hopeless hour the young man's faith arose. Some voice from that inner world seemed to reach his ear, and repeat his own words with strong meaning: "No, they _shall_ not."

The physicians, who had hoped a great deal from the coming of this young man, about whom the thoughts of their patient seemed to center, had not hoped in vain. He grew quieter and gradually sank into a sort of stupor, which, if it were not very encouraging, seemed less heart-rending than the wild restlessness of the other state.

Then Theodore bethought himself again of the Hastings' family. No, they had not been sent for, everybody had thought about it, but n.o.body had acted. Mr. Roberts was not at home, and the two doctors had been busy about more necessary business.

"It must be attended to immediately," Theodore said. "Which of you gentlemen is Mr. Hastings' family physician?"

"Neither of us," answered the elder gentleman, laconically. "_I_ don't even know who his family physician is."