Edith and John Part 15

And it was not long till every corner in the house had a sleeper languis.h.i.+ng in the happy shades of somnolence. Mr. Monroe, the astute ghost of quietness, after cavorting for a considerable time like a nanny goat in a field of crimson clover, was among the first to succ.u.mb to the silencing influence of the giver of potency, and disappeared, like a settling stone, into a whirlpool of revelry. And young Jasper Cobb, the gay and handsome son of the Thanksgiving father and mother, after cutting capers that would put to ignominious flight a colored gen'man at a cake walk, gave up the contest at last and became numbered among the rec.u.mbent forms that rested, like so many babes in the woods, along the walls.

You are not supposed to believe that the Jarneys witnessed all these antics of the merry makers at this party, to which a half column s.p.a.ce in the society page of the Sunday newspapers was devoted. No, you are not to believe they remained, retaining all their senses, to witness this pyretic debauch of high society. The truth is, that the Jarneys came as a matter of form in deference to Mr. Cobb, one of the high-ups in business; and they left in deference to their conscience and self-respect. The fact is, that after the second number was rendered, Mr. and Mrs. Jarney, seeing how things were going, and also at the solicitation of Miss Edith, took their ward, Star Barton, and repaired to their home.

"Well, how do you like high society?" asked Edith, when she and Star had reached their boudoir for a short lounging before going to bed.

"If that party is a fair sample, I don't like it," emphatically answered Star. "Why, it is no more respectable, if half as much, with all their fine things and glitter, than some of the hoe-downs in h.e.l.l's Half Acre."

"I am very sorry we attended," said Edith.

"I am not," returned Star. "It has been a great lesson to me."

"Would you go again?" asked Edith.

"I shall always be guided by you, dear Edith."

"Then you will have no further opportunity to attend a function of that kind, for that is the last for me," said Edith; "especially with that cla.s.s of people. Papa and mamma care nothing for such doings; neither do I; but owing to business connections, we are obliged to lend our presence, sometimes. Formality! Star; formality!"

"Is it one of the requirements of business?" asked Star, innocently.

"It is a deplorable truth," answered Edith.

"I am glad, dear Edith, you are not wrapped up, heart and soul, with such people," said Star.

"It is my pleasure to be independent, Star."

"And I shall follow your example, dear Edith," returned Star, with unbounden confidence in her friend.

"Say, Star," said Edith, as she seated herself on an ottoman at the feet of Star, and taking one of Star's hands in hers, "I have a trip planned for you; will you go?"

"If it is your wish, I will," answered Star.

"Star," and Edith looked up into her friend's face, blus.h.i.+ng the least bit, "you remember the young man of whom I was telling you about meeting by chance? Yes. He is now my father's private secretary."

"Oh, is he?" asked Star, by rote.

"Yes; and by my request, too. I will take you to my father's office tomorrow, and, if he is there, you shall share his acquaintance with me."

"I shall be glad to meet him--if he is your friend," said Star.

"He is my friend, Star--no, not yet--but I want him to be, Star," and Edith buried her head in Star's lap to hide her tell-tale face. Then raising her head, in a moment, "Will you go? Of course you will."

"If you permit me to talk with him," said Star, teasingly, "I will go."

"Who would think of being jealous of you, my dear Star? Why should I? He is no more--yes, he is--" and Edith buried her face again, while Star stroked her long silken tresses in loving admiration.

"Ho, ho, Edith! I know," said Star, pointing a finger of jest at her, as she raised her face.

"Do you guess my secret, Star?"

"Why, dear girl, I cannot help but know it."

"And you will keep it, Star?"

"To my dying day. Does he know it?"

"Oh, no, no; I have seen him only once. Do you think it right in me, Star?"

"I don't know, Edith. How will you ever make it known to him?"

"Oh, Star! I do not wish to; I do not wish to! He must find it out for himself. I know he is such a fine young man; for my father even praises him."

"He may never know it, Edith," said Star, not yet knowing herself the secrets of love, as old as she was; albeit, she possessed a true sense of the great mystery of life; "and then what?"

"I can only live in hope that he will, some day, see and know. Do you think it wrong in me, Star, to say these things?"

"If it is from your heart, no."

"Let me kiss you, Star? There!"

Love comes to a pure woman veiled in mystery, and departs only when her spirit returns unto G.o.d who gave it. Were they all as pure as Edith, the temptations of our modern Edens would be as holy as the waters of Siloam's Pool.

CHAPTER X.

JOHN WINTHROPE'S SECOND PROMOTION.

John Winthrope had a small cozy room by himself off the main office of Hiram Jarney. It was about the size of a twelve by sixteen rug, and so richly furnished that when he got into it, he felt as if he had been clandestinely concealed in a bandbox lined with rare and costly velvets.

There were a green rugget on the floor, a miniature roll-top desk in one corner, glistening in its polish; a typewriting desk near a wide plate gla.s.s window; a cabinet for letter stationery; three leather-seated mahogany chairs, one at each desk, and another for company. The walls were green tinted, and around them John had hung some landscape pictures in chromo, mostly rural scenes; photographs of his parents; one of a mountain girl, his sister; one of a big young man, his brother; and those of two boyhood friends.

Every morning at nine o'clock John came into this palatial private office. First, he perused the morning newspapers, then looked over the bundle of private letters that came to the head of the firm, and a.s.sorted them according to the postmark, or the nature he judged of the contents as near as he could make out from outside indications; after which he placed them in a letter tray, got ready his note book, and placed them all together orderly, to be picked up, at the ring of the bell, to be carried to the desk of Mr. Jarney, who arrived at the office, when in the city, every day punctually at ten.

John learned rapidly. A week had not gone by, after he a.s.sumed his new post, till he was master of every detail of a secretary's work in such an important place. He was quick in taking down the dictation of Mr.

Jarney, who was a rapid talker, a clear enunciator, never lacking for the exact word to lucidly express himself. John was speedy on the typewriter; hence he was but a brief time in conveying, what would appear to the average person, the unintelligible phonetic characters into Englis.h.i.+zed words, sentences, paragraphs, and finally completed letters, ready for the chirography of that great man to be attached thereto. Many letters of little importance, such as from the beggars, cranks, politicians, boodlers, or of the routine kind, John was soon authorized to answer himself, to the relief of the chief.

For a whole week John had been at this pleasureable labor, doing it with far greater ease than he had the more arduous task of keeping books; and he did it with such dispatch that Mr. Jarney was surprised at his adeptness, and he favored him with due commendation.

For several days Mr. Jarney was taciturn in the presence of his new secretary. He talked with him purely on matters in hand after the dictating period was over, and then but briefly. Not once for nearly a week did he condescend to converse with him on any other question--except that occasionally he would remark about the continuing "beastly weather," as he invariably termed such climatic conditions.

John went through the daily routine earnestly and methodically, with no thought for anything but that he might make good, and prove himself worthy of his hire; and also thinking very often of his good old parents, his dear little sister and big strong brother on the farm in the hills. He had dismissed Edith Jarney from his mind, as a lost cause goes before the reasoning man. He had not seen her, nor heard of her, since that memorable night. He was not presumptuous enough to imagine that she would contaminate her thoughts about him. For why should he be so imaginative? He had no reason for believing that such a conventional lady, as she appeared to be (basing his opinion of her on her station), would ever think of the affair one moment after she was gone out of his sight, or was ensconced in her own palatial home, where the shadow of such as he was not likely of ever being cast.

Still, in his idle moments, he would revert to the event, and simply wonder what had become of her: whether she had gone to some sunnier clime to bask in the smiles and receive the addresses of richer bloods than his; or whether she was not then leading a gay existence among her cla.s.s in the gilded halls of her surroundings, where flash and gleam the lads and maidens of her own selected set in the brighter light that luxury provides.

But such musings were on rare occasions, and then only reverted to as a pleasing pastime in his lonesome hours. For, since a.s.suming his new duties, he not only was serving his own master, but was serving himself by reading, studying, and working out the mysteries that surrounded the privacy of Mr. Jarney's business. He did this so that, if the time ever came, he should be fitted to perform further duties in the advancing line. However, no matter how busy he was, there were times when homesickness would steal over him, and he would long for his own people and their humble fireside to soften his distraught feelings, whenever they should a.s.sert themselves.