The Crisis — Complete. Winston Churchill

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СКАЧАТЬ of them. At the door of the kitchen he stopped, and laid his hand kindly on Stephen's shoulder:—“Here we may not enter. This is your department, ma'am,” said he.

      Finally, as they stood without waiting for the gentleman, who insisted upon locking the door, they observed a girl in a ragged shawl hurrying up the street. As she approached them, her eyes were fixed upon the large house next door. But suddenly, as the gentleman turned, she caught sight of him, and from her lips escaped a cry of relief. She flung open the gate, and stood before him.

      “Oh, Mr. Brinsmade,” she cried, “mother is dying. You have done so much for us, sir—couldn't you come to her for a little while? She thought if she might see you once more, she would die happy.” The voice was choked by a sob.

      Mr. Brinsmade took the girl's hand in his own, and turned to the lady with as little haste, with as much politeness, as he had shown before.

      “You will excuse me, ma'am,” he said, with his hat in his hand.

      The widow had no words to answer him. But she and her son watched him as he walked rapidly down the street, his arm in the girl's, until they were out of sight. And then they walked home silently.

      Might not the price of this little house be likewise a piece of the Brinsmade charity?

CHAPTER XI. THE INVITATION

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      Mr. Eliphalet Hopper, in his Sunday-best broadcloth was a marvel of propriety. It seemed to Stephen that his face wore a graver expression on Sunday when he met him standing on Miss Crane's doorstep, picking the lint from his coat. Stephen's intention was not to speak. But he remembered what the Judge had said to his mother, and nodded. Why, indeed, should he put on airs with this man who had come to St. Louis unknown and unrecommended and poor, who by sheer industry had made himself of importance in the large business of Carvel &, Company? As for Stephen Brice, he was not yet earning his salt, but existing by the charity of Judge Silas Whipple.

      “Howdy, Mr. Brice,” said Mr. Hopper, his glance caught by the indefinable in Stephen's costume. This would have puzzled Mr. Hopper's tailor more.

      “Very well, thanks.”

      “A fine day after the rain.”

      Stephen nodded, and Mr. Hopper entered the hours after him.

      “Be you asked to Virginia Carvel's party?” he asked abruptly.

      “I do not know Miss Carvel,” said Stephen, wondering how well the other did. And if the truth be told, he was a little annoyed at Mr. Hopper's free use of her name.

      “That shouldn't make no difference,” said Eliphalet with just a shade of bitterness in his tone. “They keep open house, like all Southerners,” Mr. Hopper hesitated—“for such as come well recommended. I 'most forgot,” said he. “I callate you're not any too well recommended. I 'most forgot that little transaction down to the Court House. They do say that she wanted that gal almighty bad—she was most awful cut up not to get her. Served her right, though. I'm glad you did. Show her she can't have everything her own way. And say,” he added, with laughter, “how you did fix that there stuckup Colfax boy! He'll never forgive you no more than she. But,” said Mr. Hopper, meditatively, “it was a durned-fool trick.”

      I think Stephen's critics will admit that he had a good right to be angry, and that they will admire him just a little bit because he kept his temper. But Mr. Hopper evidently thought he had gone too far.

      “She ain't got no use for me, neither,” he said.

      “She shows poor judgment,” answered Stephen.

      “She's not long sighted, that's sure,” replied Eliphalet, with emphasis.

      At dinner Stephen was tried still further. And it was then he made the determination to write for the newspapers in order to pay the rent on Mr. Brinsmade's house. Miss Carvel's coming-out party was the chief topic.

      “They do say the Colonel is to spend a sight of money on that ball,” said Mrs. Abner Reed. “I guess it won't bankrupt him.” And she looked hard at Mr. Hopper.

      “I callate he ain't pushed for money,” that gentleman vouchsafed.

      “He's a good man, and done well by you, Mr. Hopper.”

      “So—so,” answered Eliphalet. “But I will say that I done something for the Colonel. I've saved him a hundred times my pay since I showed old Hood the leaks. And I got a thousand dollar order from Wright & Company this week for him.”

      “I dare say you'd keep a tight hand enough on expenses,” said Miss Crane, half in sarcasm, half in approval.

      “If Colonel Carvel was doin' business in New England,” said Eliphalet, “he'd been bankrupt long ago.”

      “That young Clarence Colfax,” Mrs. Abner Reed broke in, “he'll get a right smart mint o' money when he marries Virginia. They do say her mother left her independent. How now, Mr. Hopper?”

      Eliphalet looked mysterious and knowing. He did not reply.

      “And young Colfax ain't precisely a pauper,” said Miss Crane.

      “I'll risk a good deal that she don't marry Colfax,” said Mr. Hopper.

      “What on earth do you mean?” cried Mrs. Abner. “It ain't broke off?”

      “No,” he answered, “it ain't broke off. But I callate she won't have him when the time comes. She's got too much sense.”

      Heavy at heart, Stephen climbed the stairs, thanking heaven that he had not been drawn into the controversy. A partial comprehension of Mr. Hopper was dawning upon him. He suspected that gentleman of an aggressive determination to achieve wealth, and the power which comes with it, for the purpose of using that power upon those beneath him. Nay, when he thought over his conversation, he suspected him of more—of the intention to marry Virginia Carvel.

      It will be seen whether Stephen was right or wrong.

      He took a walk that afternoon, as far out as a place called Lindell's Grove, which afterward became historic. And when he returned to the house, his mother handed him a little white envelope.

      “It came while you were out,” she said.

      He turned it over, and stared at his name written across the front in a feminine hand In those days young ladies did not write in the bold and masculine manner now deemed proper. Stephen stared at the note, manlike, and pondered.

      “Who brought it, mother?”

      “Why don't you open it, and see?” asked his mother with a smile.

      He took the suggestion. What a funny formal little note we should think it now! It was not funny to Stephen—then. He read it, and he read it again, and finally he walked over to the window, still holding it in his hand.

      Some mothers would have shown their curiosity. Mrs. Brice did not, СКАЧАТЬ