Kitabı oku: «Checkers: A Hard-luck Story», sayfa 6

VIII

On a certain bright December day not many weeks after the occurrence of the last related events, the town of Clarksville seemed to have assumed a most unwonted bustle and confusion. People were actually hurrying in and out of the little white Methodist church, carrying evergreen boughs, chrysanthemums and sprays of holly and mistletoe. Wagons were driving back and forth between town and the Barlow place, and the Barlow house was in the hands of a Little Rock caterer and his assistants. It was Checkers' wedding day. He and Pert were to be married that night at six o'clock. Nothing they could think of had been left undone to make the occasion a happy one.

Though the old man fumed and fretted at the expense, Checkers insisted upon having things "right." "This is my first and last wedding," he said, "and there 's going to be nothing Sioux City about it." So, though the old man groaned in spirit, caterer, orchestra, flowers, etc., were ordered, regardless of expense, from Little Rock, and all the town took a surpassing interest in the event.

Checkers' return to Clarksville had been the triumphant return of Caesar to Rome. As is usual in such cases, current report had magnified his fortune twenty-fold. Mr. Barlow was now all smiles and acquiescence; but his first meeting with Checkers was painfully strained. Checkers treated him on the principle of "least said, soonest mended;" but Mrs. Barlow he kissed and called "mother."

He had found Pert looking a little pale, and her bright eyes seemed somewhat larger and brighter. But the happiness which accompanied his return soon brought the color back to her cheeks.

Of course Checkers urged an immediate marriage, and of course there was the usual demur; but, in the end, a date was fixed upon as near as would conveniently allow for such preparations as Pert and her mother felt it necessary to make. And in the mean time Checkers and Pert were ideally happy. They took long drives and walks through the woods, and spent long evenings in talking over their plans for the future, with a never-flagging interest.

It was practically decided that Checkers was to buy the Tyler place. This was a fruit farm in perfect condition, with a neat little house upon it, and not far from town. It could be purchased for cash at a very low figure, and as the trees were all bearing, it seemed to promise a large and sure return for the money, even cutting in half, for possibilities of frost or drought, a conservative estimate of what the trees should yield to the acre.

Mr. Barlow and Checkers figured upon it carefully from every standpoint, and the more they figured, the more it seemed a providential opportunity, Checkers knew nothing of any other business, and his money was practically lying idle in the bank. No other safe investment could promise so large an income and at the same time furnish him with employment and a pleasant home.

And so at last the matter was decided. The earnest money was paid, and the order given for the execution of the necessary papers. The house was vacated and thoroughly renovated, and Pert found a new delight in selecting paper, carpets and furniture to her liking – Checkers had given her carte blanche.

As soon as the title to the property was found to be clear, Checkers gave a certified check to Mr. Tyler for twenty thousand dollars, and a warranty deed was signed, conveying the property, in fee, to Persis Barlow. This was in accordance with Checkers' desire, and was a great surprise to Pert and her parents. "What's mine is yours, dear," he said with a smile, "and what's yours is your own." And that ended the matter – unfortunately for Checkers.

There was just one question upon which the two had a serious difference – the case of Arthur Kendall.

"Now, Edward," said Pert one evening (when she called him 'Edward' he knew that something important was coming), "I want to talk to you about something that has been worrying me dreadfully."

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"And I want you to promise to do as I ask you."

Checkers felt suspicious, and refused to "go it blind."

"Well, it's about the Kendalls. I want you to make up with Arthur, somehow – "

"Not on your – "

"Yes, Edward; you must. Remember the Thanksgiving sermon about forgiveness and loving your neighbors."

"Oh, it's all well enough to love your neighbor, but there 's no necessity for taking down the fence. Arthur treated me like a step-child, and – "

"But, Checkers dear, we want Aunt Deb. and Mr. Kendall at the wedding. They won't come unless Arthur does, and Arthur won't come unless you make up with him. Consider, Checkers, you 've been unusually blest, and you ought to be humble and thankful, and do something to show it; and here's your opportunity. Another thing" – this came hesitatingly – "he 's the only fellow about here who could make a decent appearance as your best man."

Checkers went off into peals of laughter. "Oh," he exclaimed, "I begin to tumble. Forgive your neighbor, if you happen to need him – afterwards you can shake him again."

Pert joined in the laugh. "It is no such thing," she responded. "If you half appreciated me, you would n't blame Arthur for being angry at you for doing what you did to him. He loved me a great deal more than you do; he never refused me a favor in his life."

"That's just why he lost you. Push Miller used to say – "

"Never mind Push Miller; Arthur is to be at Sadie's to-morrow evening. You and I are going there to call. You are to shake hands with Arthur and tell him you 're glad to see him, and be natural and friendly. Afterwards you can ask him to stand up with you."

"It seems to be settled," said Checkers; and so it eventuated. Checkers greeted Arthur with frank cordiality, and relieved the tension by a few well-turned witticisms. No apologies passed between them, and reference to the past was tacitly barred. Checkers' sunny nature was not one to harbor a grudge, and if Arthur still felt rebellious, he managed to hide it gracefully. He readily consented to act the part of best man for Checkers; and Sadie, of course, was to be Pert's maid of honor. Most of the evening was spent in discussing other available material in the way of bridesmaids and groomsmen, and it was agreed that with a few importations from Little Rock, they would be able to present an attractive wedding party.

"Now, I have an idea," said Arthur, "which I think is a good one. Checkers ought to know those fellows before they are asked to be his groomsmen; we'll go up to Little Rock to-morrow, and I 'll invite them to meet him at an informal dinner at one of the hotels."

"A very good scheme," assented Pert.

"And I 'll invite the party here to supper for the night before the wedding," put in Sadie.

"It 's very kind of you both," said Checkers, "and I appreciate it more than I can tell you."

Early the next morning the two boys went to Little Rock. Arthur invited four of the most desirable of his acquaintances to dinner that evening, and luckily they all accepted.

Most of Checkers' day was taken up in fulfilling missions for Pert and her mother. He returned to the hotel late in the afternoon, and had barely time to don his new dress-suit and join Arthur in the rotunda before their guests arrived.

They were jolly good fellows, all of them. Checkers was duly presented, and after a preliminary cocktail the party adjourned to the private dining-room, where a round table was prettily laid for six. Checkers felt apprehensive for Arthur, when he noticed three different glasses at each plate; but Arthur took early occasion to state that he was "on the water-wagon," and he hoped that the boys would "not let it make any difference with them, or with the gayety of the evening" – and it did n't. After the first edge of their hunger was turned the jollity grew apace. Checkers in his happiest vein related numberless humorous anecdotes, among them his experience of Remorse and the gold piece. Each of them told his particular pet joke, and all were boisterously applauded.

"Now, waiter," exclaimed Arthur, suddenly righting his down-turned champagne glass, "fill them up again all around, and give me some. Gentlemen, I want to propose a double toast, and I 'll ask you to drink it standing – a bumper." All arose expectantly. "Let us drink," he said, "to the health and happiness of the sweetest, fairest, most lovable girl God ever put upon this earth – it is needless to name her. Let us also drink to the health and prosperity of the thrice-fortunate man who has won her love – Mr. Campbell, your health." He touched his wine to his lips; the others drained their glasses, and all sat down.

There was an expectant silence. Checkers felt the blood go surging to his brain, while his heart seemed to sink like lead within him. He felt powerless to rise, although he knew that all were awaiting his response. The silence became painful. "Speech," murmured some one. "Speech," echoed the others. With a superhuman effort he managed to arise, and grasping a full glass of water, drained it. "I 'll tell you, boys," he said huskily, "here's where I 'd put up the talk of my life, if I could; but it's like it was that day they declared all bets off – the occasion 's too much for me. I feel it all – I feel it in my heart," he continued earnestly. "I 'm obliged to Arthur for his motion, and to you all for making it unanimous. I know that I 'm lucky, so lucky that I can hardly believe my good fortune myself. Half the time I think that I must be asleep, and trying to 'cash a hop-dream.' I 've been ready to get married for a couple of years – I 've had everything but the stuff and the girl; I was ready to furnish the groom all right; but I 've always had a feeling that I could n't have much respect for a girl that would marry me if she was 'onto' me – every fellow feels the same, or ought to. And so when I find I have drawn a prize girl, who, as Arthur says, is 'the fairest and sweetest God ever put on this earth,' and it's true, it jars me, boys; it does, on the dead. I feel like the only winner in a poker-game, as though I ought to apologize for it – and I do, with about the same regret.

"Well, I 've had my hard luck, and 'played out the string,' and now that things seem to be coming my way, I 'm going to enjoy myself while it lasts. 'Life is short, and we 're a long time dead.' That's an old saying, but it's a good one. Boys, I hope you 'll all be as happy as I am when it comes your turn, and may it come soon. Here 's how." He lifted his glass, which in the mean time the waiter had filled, and, smiling around the circle, tossed off his wine in unison with the others and sat down.

There was the usual clapping and cheering, after which Checkers asked their attention for a moment more. "I want to sign two of you fellows for groomsmen," he said. "I wish I needed four, I 'd like to have you all; but Pert said 'two,' and what Pert says goes. Now, how shall we decide it?"

"Why not match for it!" suggested one of them.

"Good idea!" exclaimed Checkers; "you four match nickels, odd man out. until two are left – come on, get busy."

On the first trial, two called "heads," and two "tails." "No business," said Checkers. On the second trial, three called "heads" and one "tails." "Tough luck, old man," said Checkers to the one; "I wanted you particularly." At the first essay of the three remaining, all showed "heads" up; at the second two of them "switched" to "tails," while the third kept "heads" – thus deciding the matter.

"Well, that settles that," said Checkers; "but groomsmen or not, we 'll all be there, and I hope we'll all have a good time."

It was in "the wee, sma' hours" when the party broke up, and Checkers and Arthur, after seeing their guests safely out, sought their rooms, and quickly tumbled into bed. Checkers, however, took occasion to thank Arthur warmly for his kindness, and to express a hope that an opportunity might soon occur for him to requite it. The next afternoon saw them back in Clarksville.

The few intermediate days passed quickly. Sadie's supper was a success, as such things go; the ceremony was rehearsed, and all was in readiness for the great event.

The wedding morning dawned, as bright and beautiful a winter's day as nature ever vouchsafed a happy bridal pair. Checkers was up with the lark. He felt the weight of the nations upon his shoulders. All day he was back and forth between house and church, anxious that nothing should be overlooked; suggesting and helping until late in the afternoon, when Arthur laid violent hands upon him, and insisted upon his taking a rest before making a toilet for the evening.

Promptly at six, to the Lohengrin March on a cabinet organ, the bridal party came slowly down the aisle, the two ushers first, and following them, the two bridesmaids. After these came Sadie, alone, with a huge bouquet of roses, and lastly leaning upon her father's arm, came Pert, in a simple white gown, her veil wreathed with orange blossoms and pinned with a diamond star, one of Checkers' gifts.

Every neck was craned, and every eye fastened upon her in breathless admiration, for she was beautiful.

From behind a screen at the side, Checkers and Arthur came forth, and met them at the altar. The service was simple, but solemn and impressive. The earnestness of Checkers' answers caused a quiet smile to pass around, which culminated in down-right laughter at the ardor with which he kissed the bride when the time came; but he was wholly oblivious. Marching out to the accustomed music, he could scarcely maintain a decorous step, so great was his elation.

Their short drive to the house, during which he folded Pert in his arms, and knew that she was his – all his – he felt to be the moment of his supremest earthly happiness.

The others followed quickly. The guests arrived, and soon there were congratulations, feasting, music and merry-making galore.

But all things – good things – have an end, and perhaps it is just as well that they have; at least, in this case Checkers and Pert, as they crossed the threshold of their own little home, breathed a happy sigh at the thought that they were alone at last – together.

IX

The succeeding days brought one continuous round of simple pleasures. Christmas and the holidays followed hard upon the wedding, and New Year's Day being Sunday, Pert invited the members of the wedding party to the house for from Friday to the Monday following.

At this season of the year there was nothing of actual work to be done upon the place, and Checkers was free to hunt with the men or drive with the girls, as he elected.

Whether it be for the reason that "misery loves company," or for the much more probable and kindly reason that "our truest happiness lies in making others happy," it is certain that most young married couples have a very strong "weakness" for match-making. And Pert and Checkers were no exception to this rule.

They decided that Arthur's truest good demanded that he marry Sadie; and poor little Sadie showed but too plainly in what direction her happiness lay.

But in spite of Pert's well-laid plans to leave them in quiet corners together, in spite of her many little tactful suggestions, Arthur remained unresponsive. He was attentive in a perfunctory way, but that was all. And often Pert would blush to find him gazing at her with a wistful, far-away look in his eyes, which told more surely than words what was in his heart. In fact, Sadie timidly suggested to Pert one day that Arthur was always distrait and silent after seeing her and Checkers together; and that instead of making him desire a domestic little home of his own, it seemed to embitter and sour him.

So, after the house party Checkers settled down to serious life on a farm, and Pert busied herself with housekeeping, learning to cook from her neat old colored servant "Mandy," trying new dishes herself, and doing the thousand and one little things that go to make up "a woman's work," which 't is said "is never done" – "done," of course, in the sense of "finished."

And so the winter glided quickly into spring – the spring of '93; a year that many of us will long remember.

One evening Checkers unfolded to Pert a long-cherished scheme, which delighted her. This was nothing less than a plan to take her to Chicago in May to see the World's Fair. "We 'll call it our wedding trip, little girl," he said caressingly, "and we won't be gone but ten days or two weeks."

But when Mr. Barlow heard of it, "he made a monkey of himself," as Checkers put it. He ranted and swore, and told them both they would end in the poorhouse with their reckless extravagance. But Checkers laughed him off good-naturedly. He knew that the trip would be expensive; but he felt that he could afford it, and he had another and a deeper reason for taking Pert to Chicago. He was greatly worried about her health, and he desired to have her consult some eminent physician regarding herself.

One day, when they were out for a walk, she had run a playful race with him along a level stretch of road, bending every energy to beat him. He was running easily behind her, puffing and grunting to make her think that she was really worsting him, when suddenly she stumbled, tottered, and, putting her hand to her heart, sank limply upon a bed of leaves at the side of the road. In an instant Checkers was kneeling beside her. She had not fainted, but was as pale as death, and she still held her hand to her heart and gasped for breath. Checkers loosened her gown about her throat, then filling his hat with water at a little stream near by, he bathed her brow and wet her lips. Fully an hour passed before she was able with his assistance to walk to the house, and though about, next day apparently as well as ever, she complained thereafter, at intervals, of dizziness, chilly sensations and strange flutterings at her heart.

The local doctor joked her about the size of her waist, and told her that her trouble was probably due to a combination of lacing and indigestion. But to Checkers he confided a fear that there might be some affection of the heart, and earnestly advised that he consult some worthy specialist.

So, while Checkers told nothing of his apprehensions to Pert, he would brook no interference in his plans. The middle of May they left the house in care of "Mandy," and set out for the land of "The Great White City."

What delight they found in roaming about through those wonderful buildings and marvelous displays! Checkers, alert and all-observing, Pert, enthusiastic and wondering – they spent whole days in a single building or upon the ever-interesting Midway.

Checkers had found cozy quarters in a small hotel not far from the grounds, but they lunched and dined where it suited them best. Thus it chanced that one night, when they were going to the theater, they dined beforehand at Kinsley's, as related by Checkers in the opening chapters.

Meanwhile, Checkers did not neglect the more serious part of his mission. He hunted up Murray, who was surprised and glad to see him, and who evinced a genuine interest in the story of his marital felicity.

Upon the matter of a doctor for Pert, Murray happened to know "just the man," a friend of his, to whom he gave Checkers a letter of introduction. Checkers called and explained the case to the doctor, and the next day Pert underwent a thorough examination. Checkers awaited the verdict anxiously. In effect it was this: her heart action was weak, and at times irregular, but there was no reason to apprehend but what, with a careful diet, regular exercise, plenty of sleep and fresh air, she would live as long as the average woman, and fully recover from the troublesome symptoms which sudden over-exertion had brought upon her. Violent exercise and excitement, however, were especially to be avoided; and the use of all stimulants, narcotics and anaesthetics must be set down as dangerous in the extreme.

Checkers breathed a sigh of relief. He had warned the doctor to make as light of the case to Pert as his conscience would permit, explaining that he himself would tell her gradually, as fitting occasion offered, what had been said to him, and would see that all instructions were carefully carried out. Violent exercise she was already warned against, and Checkers felt that he could guard her against unusual excitement. He carefully avoided the harrowing plays at the theater, but took her to operas and burlesques. But it never occurred to him as necessary to warn her specifically against stimulants and drugs.

A few days before their departure for home, they received a pleasant surprise in the shape of a telegram from Arthur and Sadie, announcing their marriage.

A letter from Sadie arrived the next day, in which she said that she and Arthur had hoped to join them in Chicago and surprise them, but that conditions were such at the store that Arthur's every available moment was demanded, and he could not possibly get away. But this was not the half of it. The panic of '93, of which premonitory notice had been given by numerous bank failures, was now a stern reality. Collections were bad, business was dead, and the firm of Kendall & Co., which had unfortunately laid in a larger stock of goods than usual that season, found it all they could do to keep themselves from going to the wall.

Checkers and Pert returned and soon fell into their accustomed grooves. They called upon Arthur and Sadie, and found them reasonably happy under new conditions, although Arthur was evidently carrying a load of care and responsibility; while Judge Martin sat up and cheerfully predicted "confusion and every evil work" as a result of the demonetization of silver and other kindred political "outrages."

One morning as Checkers was working about the dooryard, he espied his father-in-law coming up the road at a gait which presaged important news. The old man reached him, out of breath. Checkers waited expectantly.

"Well, what do ye think has happened now?" panted Mr. Barlow. "The First National Bank of Little Rock has gone up – busted; got yer money."

There was in his voice and manner something of the triumph that mean spirits feel at being the first to bring disastrous news, as well as a show of personal injury at the thought of Checkers allowing himself to lose what he himself had even the shadow of an interest in.

"My God!" exclaimed Checkers involuntarily, growing pale at the news. Then for a moment he stood in silence, nervously biting his upper lip. He had had long experience in controlling himself under trying circumstances. "If that's so," he finally answered in a quiet voice, "it 's tough."

This exasperated Mr. Barlow. "Tough," he repeated; "you nincompoop, it's actual ruin; the bank has been robbed by its president – looted – ye 'll never see a cent of it ag'in," and he started toward the house.

"Hold on!" exclaimed Checkers, grabbing him by the arm. "Not a word of this to Pert; it will only excite her, and not do any good."

But the old man shook him off and continued his way. Checkers picked up a handy piece of scantling, and running up the steps, turned and faced his father-in-law.

"Now, see here, old man," he exclaimed, "I 've taken as much of your slack as I 'm going to – see? I tell you you can't come into this house; and I give you fair warning, if you put your foot on one of those steps I 'll smash you over the head;" and he swung his weapon threateningly to his shoulder. "What I 've made or lost is mine, not yours," he continued, "and it don't 'cut any pie' with you – you'll never get a cent of it. My wife is mine, not yours, and I 'll take care of her, what ever happens. But she is n't well, and the doctor said any sudden excitement might kill her. I 'll tell her gradually and quietly, and go down to Little Rock this noon and see if there 's anything can be done. If I 'd let you tell her you 'd break the news with an ax, and I tell you I ain't going to have it; so just 'jar loose,' and 'pull your freight.'"

There was something in Checkers' determined look which cowed the old man, but he would n't go without a last word. "Well, ye 'll both o' ye end a couple of paupers and die in the poorhouse if this keeps up," he said, "with your fancy furniture and trips to Chicago. How much did you have in that bank?"

Just here Pert appeared in the doorway. Checkers' threatening attitude and her father's question, which she overheard, surprised and startled her. "What is it?" she cried, putting her arm around Checkers and disarming him gently.

"Nothing much," he began.

"Nothing much," interrupted her father, "except that the Little Rock bank is busted, and all yer money's gone."

Checkers reached for his stick, but Pert restrained him. "Never mind, dearest," she said, "it may not be as bad as you think – things never are; and we 've got the house and the farm, and the bonds; and, whatever happens, we 've got each other."

"Yes; you 've got each other," said the old man cynically, "and that's all ye will have, if things goes this way. If yer goin' to Little Rock, boy," he said sharply, consulting his old silver watch, "ye must hurry; ye ain't more 'n time to make it now."

Checkers saw that this was so, and going to his room, made a hasty toilet. "Good-bye, Pert, darling," he said, as he emerged, catching her up and embracing her lovingly. "I 'll be back soon; don't mind what he says;" and with a warning glance at Mr. Barlow, he hurried off down the road toward the station.

As he stood upon the platform awaiting the train he felt a sudden presentiment of evil, and with a superstition born of his early experience in gambling, he half decided to turn back. "I 've got a feeling I ought n't to go," he muttered; "but I guess it's because I 'm afraid the old man will worry Pert. Still, she seemed to take it calm enough, and I ought to get there and look after my stuff." He boarded the train and went steaming off, but he could not get rid of his bugaboo.

The situation with Checkers at this time was about as follows: Of the legacy left him, $20,000 had gone for the farm, or fruit ranch, which he had given Pert. A thousand more had been spent in refitting and furnishing the house. Most of the wedding expenses, which Checkers had assumed, Part's presents, an elaborate wardrobe for himself, the household expenses, and the trip to Chicago, had consumed about another thousand. The balance, except ten government bonds and a few hundred dollars in the bank at Clarksville, was on deposit at interest in this bank which failed – $4,800, for which he held a certificate of deposit. It was very unfortunate, and the sense of his loss kept growing upon him as time went on.

Meanwhile Mr. Barlow had taken occasion to lecture Pert on her sinful extravagance. With pencil and paper he sat before her, and showed her how within six short months she and Checkers had spent one-tenth of their fortune, and how with this loss at the bank they were poorer by a third of all they had ever possessed.

"Figures won't lie, but liars will figure." He knew, but he did not tell her, that of what was actual expense there would be little cause for its repetition, and that most of the money expended was visible in assets of one sort or another. He only made her feel perfectly miserable, and wrought her up beyond the point of thinking or answering intelligently.

When he had gone she tried for a while to busy herself about the house, but she felt a growing lonesomeness – a desire for sympathy and companionship – and she decided to put on her hat and go down to her cousin Sadie's.

It was now high noon, and a stifling hot day; but she braved the heat of the blistering sun, and trudged along the dusty way to her destination. When she reached the Martins' house she was dizzy and faint from the heat and the blinding glare.

Judge Martin and Arthur came home to dinner, and both expressed the greatest sympathy for her and Checkers in their sudden misfortune. At the table Pert tried to eat for appearance's sake, but her efforts ended in mere pretense. Sadie noticed it, and insisted that after dinner she go to a room on the cool side of the house and "take a nap." To this Pert objected. "I can never sleep during the day," she said; "the longer I lie, the wider awake I get. I am really all right," she added, smiling bravely, "only my head aches – a very little."

"We'll soon fix that," exclaimed Arthur. "I 've been troubled with headache and sleeplessness lately, myself, and I 've struck a remedy that beats anything you ever saw; knocks a headache, and makes you sleep like an infant. It's perfectly harmless, too – guaranteed. Excuse me a minute; I'll get the box."

Pert felt too miserably weak and apathetic to further object to Sadie's suggestion or Arthur's remedy; so, under her cousin's ministering guidance, she retired to an upper room and prepared herself with what comfort she could to rest, while Sadie opened the windows and drew the shades.

"Now, Pert," said Sadie, "take one of these powders with a little water, and I think you 'll feel better right away. I 'll leave the box here on the table, near the bed, and if the first one does n 't cure your headache and put you to sleep, take another. Now is there anything more you want, dear? If there is, just call; I 'll leave the door the least bit open." A sudden impulse prompted her, as she was going out, to return and kiss Pert fondly, and though not an uncommon thing between them, still both wondered for a moment afterward at the unusual tenderness and feeling that each had unconsciously put into the embrace.

Left alone, Pert tried to compose her mind and go to sleep; but in spite of herself her brain dwelt anxiously upon Checkers in Little Rock, and upon what her father had said to her. Half an hour passed and still her fancy teemed, as she restlessly tossed from side to side. She felt herself growing nervous, and her ear upon the pillow told her that her heart was beating rapidly.

"At least my head feels a great deal better," she murmured, raising herself upon her elbow; "now if I could only get to sleep I believe I should wake up quite myself again. Perhaps another powder will do it; I 'm afraid of them, though. Still, Arthur says they 're perfectly harmless – I 'll take just one more. Checkers would n 't like it; he told me never to take any medicine." She lifted her box from the table. "Dear old Checkers," she said to herself, with a sigh, preparing the powder; "how he loves me! His first thought was to keep the news from me for fear I would worry." She took the draught and sank back upon the pillow – "to be loved as he loves me – Oh, Checkers! mother!!"