Edith and John Part 33

"Don't be so easily discouraged, Monroe; I've got ten like that one, on whom I spend my time in reforming."

"Oh, Lordy!" exclaimed the placid Monroe.

"Yes; it is Lordy sometimes, you would think, if you were here when they are all in."

"Why, I'd soon be in an asylum," said Monroe, despairingly.

"Say, Monroe, I've put Eli Jerey in my office," said Peter, changing the subject.

"He deserves promotion, no doubt; can he be trusted?"

"None more so; that's why I put him there. I'll give him the store when we pull off the next big deal."

"Will she go through?" asked Monroe.

"She will."

"How much?"

"One hundred thousand; then I'll quit."

"And we poor devils will have to take the crumbs," said the disheartened Monroe.

"Every one is paid according to his services," said Peter, in reply.

"Get Winthrope out of the way, get the girl, and you'll have yours."

Monroe departed, feeling better.

CHAPTER XIX.

WHILE THE FATHER WORRIES, MONROE SCHEMES AND CELEBRATES.

"Mr. Winthrope," said Mr. Jarney, abstractedly, pacing his office floor, with his hands behind his back, and his head bowed in commiseration, "my daughter is getting no better--no better."

John made no reply, feeling that no reply should be made at that time, while the father was worrying so; for in that same moment he was moved himself beyond the efficacy of a consoling word. The garish light of the burning incandescents, in that late afternoon, was tantalizing and unbearable. The pictures on the wall stared down like taunting ghosts; the green-hued carpet and the reflect glimmer of the polished furniture seemed to reproach them for any sense of alleviation either might feel.

The busy sound, the clamor, the roar and rumble of the streets was a hideous nightmare dinning in their ears. The heavy pall of smoke that heaved and rolled over the house-tops, infiltrating in its aqueous touch, was a magnet of melancholy.

Mr. Jarney stood by the window and looked out upon the flat-roofed buildings sitting below. He wondered if all the life therein and thereabout was so torn with dread expectation as his own; or whether any of them thought of life at all; or of the past, or of the present, or of the future. All his years he had had no inflictions, no sorrows, no troubles to set his latent sentimentality into ebullition. He had gone through the mill of business always prospering, always successful, always a leader, without a counteractive element to his iron will. He had gone through his wedded period with a love for his wife, his child and his home, that was unsurpa.s.sable, believing that no untoward thing could ever happen to disturb the tranquility of his perfect life. He believed that G.o.d had blessed him in this respect alone, to the exclusion of other men. But now the blasting hand of Fate, he felt, was turned upon him; and he had no peace while his child lay ill near unto death.

Back and forth he walked his office floor, in his anguish, fretfully silent, and deeply feeling for every one who might have a similar burden to bear. Coming to a stop by John's chair, he gazed down at his secretary, with a fixedness that caused John to have pity for his master.

"Mr. Winthrope," he said, "if she dies, my grief will be irreconcilable.

The doctors say there is no hope."

"No hope?" faltered John.

"No hope," and the father sat down and cried.

Tears of sympathy came into John's eyes. Under the trying situation, he could not control his emotions. The breaking down of that strong man was more than he could stand, and he arose and walked across the room to a window, where he stopped for some time looking out, contending with his own pa.s.sion. Then he returned to his chair, where he stood in an undecided frame of mind as to what to say.

"Mr. Jarney, you have my full sympathy," he said, about as expressive as he could say it, without unburdening his own heart's secret.

"Mr. Winthrope," he replied, turning to John, "it may seem weak in me giving way so easily; but you do not know, you cannot know what a father suffers in such extremities--no man can know, if he has a heart, unless he goes through it as I have these past few weeks. With all my worldly ambitions, I have willingly permitted my whole being to be infolded by her being, till no other thought so dominated me. She was such a lovable child, so good, so kind, so generous, so unlike any one else I ever saw, that my fatherly soul rebelled at the thought that anything would ever happen to tarnish her name, or that of my own. Of these things I was very careful that they did not come to pa.s.s. I have brought her up and educated her, with the one purpose, that she would be my one consolation in my declining years. And I intend, if she lives, that all I have shall be hers; and I know that she will give no cause for me to ever regret, like so many of the daughters of the rich do. I am rich, Mr. Winthrope, very rich; but I will give all I have, if that would save her for me, and would face the world anew without a dollar. Oh, you do not know--n.o.body can know what my anguish is!"

"Mr. Jarney, I realize what it might be," said John.

"I had hopes that when she came out of the trance the first time the crisis had pa.s.sed," he went on. "She did improve for a few days; but suddenly she took a relapse and began to weaken, and weaken day by day, and now I fear for the worst. She is of my own flesh and blood--oh, G.o.d, I cannot bear it--yes--I must bear it. But in bearing it, what have I as a compensation? Money is nothing; home is nothing; life is nothing, without some one like her depending on you. A child might be ever so bad, but still a parent's love goes out to it, in all its misfortunes and shortcomings. But to have a child like her is not given to every man, and the parent of such a child should be doubly blessed. I know that I am selfish in these views. I know that other parents will differ with me in what I say as to my child being the best; but no one can say that I am wrong did they but know her. I do not know what I shall do, if she is taken from me--I do not know. I am already losing interest in things."

"Mr. Jarney," said John, after he had ceased, "I hope the doctors'

conclusions are wrong, and that your expectations will not come to pa.s.s.

I believe that she will recover; I have believed it all through her trial; but I may be mistaken."

"I hope you are not mistaken, Mr. Winthrope," he replied. "I hope I am.

I have never hoped before that I might be mistaken, and I hope I shall not be disappointed this time."

Mr. Jarney then took up his acc.u.mulation of letters, that had not been attended to for three days, and began dictating answers. He was so overcome by anxiety, dread and fear, that he had great difficulty in composing himself sufficiently to go through them all. Some he answered with a line, where a whole page would have been necessary before. Many he did not answer at all, being indifferent as to what became of them.

He was nervous, agitated, and careless. After he had finished, although not very satisfactorily to John, who had been used to his methodical handling of his correspondence, and after John began to prepare to depart, he turned to him and said:

"Mr. Winthrope, I am thinking of promoting you; would you like to go to New York?"

"I should not care to leave you, Mr. Jarney, so agreeable have my connections been in this office; but if you desire me to make a change, and if I am capable, I shall go wherever I am sent," said John.

"An a.s.sistant treasurer is wanted for the New York office; how would you like that?"

"Well, Mr. Jarney, this comes as a greater surprise than when you gave me this position; but, however, I shall accept, if it is the wish of my superiors."

"They want a man immediately for the place; but--I do not want to see you go away yet, though I want to see you get the place. You are capable, and deserving of it."

"I would rather remain here; but if I am to go higher, I suppose I should go at once to wherever I am to go."

"Another thing, Mr. Winthrope; you should not go while my daughter continues ill. Or--or--No, you shall remain here till she recovers. Some one else can fill the place till that time comes. It may seem strange for me to say so, her recovery may depend upon you remaining. It is only an hallucination of her mind, I know; but if her seeing you will do any good, I shall not forget it."

"Do you believe it is an hallucination?" asked John.

"Can be nothing else," he replied, gravely and reflectively. "You were the last one whom she saw and talked with while in her rational mind.

The doctors say this is invariably true in all such cases--the impression of that person is indelibly left on the mind of the one afflicted, and remains there till recovery."

"But Miss Barton was there also," returned John, in disputation of his theory.

"That is true; but Miss Barton is with her all the time," he replied, as an argumentative fact.

"It may be," said John, in a deeper quandary than ever. "Then I am to remain here?"

"Yes--till her recovery, or--Be ready to go home with me an hour later today--five o'clock," said Mr. Jarney, as John left him.