When I knocked again at the door of Mrs. Mills, she opened it and regarded me in some surprise.
"Did you think Alice would be worse?" she asked.
"No, but I am commissioned by a charitable lady, one of my fellow boarders, to give you this."
She took the bill which I offered her, and her face lighted up with joy.
"It is a godsend," she said. "I was feeling very anxious. We had but twenty-five cents in the house."
"This will help along."
"Indeed it will. How kind you are,doctor," and her eyes filled with grateful tears.
"I would like to be kind, but my ability is limited."
"And who is this lady to whom I am indebted?"
"We call her the Disagreeable Woman."
She looked very much surprised.
"Surely you are jesting, doctor."
"No; she is a social mystery. She is very blunt and says many sharp things."
"But she sends me this money. She must have a good heart."
"I begin to think so. It would surprise all at the table if they knew she had done this."
"I shall think of her as the Agreeable Woman."
"Now, Mrs. Mills, I am going to give you some advice. What your daughter needs is nourishing food. Use this money to provide it not only for her but for yourself."
"I will—but when this is gone," she hesitated.
"We will appeal to the Disagreeable Woman. What has your daughter taken?"
"I have given her some beef tea."
"That is good as far as it goes. Do you think she could eat a bit of steak?"
"I will ask her."
Alice seemed so pleased at the suggestion that Frank was dispatched to the butcher's for a pound of sirloin steak, and a few potatoes. Soon the rich and appetizing flavor of broiled steak pervaded the apartment, and a smile of contentment lighted up the face of the sick girl.
"Now mind that you and Frank eat some too," I said. "I will see you to-morrow morning.
I made a report to Miss Blagden at breakfast.
"If you had seen how much pleasure your gift gave, you would feel amply repaid," I said to her.
"Doctor," she said, earnestly, "I thank you for mentioning this case to me. We are so apt to live for ourselves."
"I also mentioned the case to Mrs. Wyman," I added.
"Well?" she asked, curiously.
"She said she was very poor, and wanted to buy a ticket to Patti's concert."
Miss Blagden smiled.
"I am not surprised to hear it," she said. "Did you ever hear Patti, Dr. Fenwick?"
"No, Miss Blagden. I am new to the city, and I am cut off from expensive amusements by my limited means."
"Do you like music?"
"Very much. When Patti gives a concert at fifty cents, I may venture to go."
At supper Miss Blagden placed something in my hand.
I looked at it, and found that it was a ticket to Patti's concert on the following evening. It would give meadmission to the most expensive part of the house.
"You are very kind, Miss Blagden," I said, in grateful surprise.
"Don't mention where you got it. You may consider it in the light of a fee for attendance upon your poor patient. By the way, how is she? Have you been there to-day?"
"Yes; she is doing well, but is in a great hurry to get well. The rent comes due next week, and—"
"How much is it?" asked Miss Blagden, interrupting me.
"Seven dollars."
She drew a ten dollar bill from her pocket-book and extended it to me.
"Give that to Mrs. Mills," she said.
"You make me very happy as well as her; I am beginning to find how kind and charitable you are."
"No, no," she said gravely. "There are few of us of whom that may be said.How soon do you think your patient will be able to resume work?"
"Next Monday, I hope. She is gaining rapidly."
"How thick you are with the Disagreeable Woman!" said Mrs. Wyman, when she next met me. "Don't fail to invite me to the wedding."
"On one condition."
"What is that?"
"That you invite me to your wedding with the Count."
She smiled complacently and called me a naughty man. I wonder if she aspires to become a Countess.
"What a guy!"
The busy day at Macy's was over. Troops of young women passed through the doors, in street costume, and laughing and chatting, made their way up or down Sixth Avenue, or turned into Twenty-third street. Among them was Ruth Canby, and it was to her that her friend Maria Stevenson addressed the above exclamation.
Ruth turned to observe the figure indicated by her friend, and was almost speechless with surprise.
At the corner leaning against the lamppost was a figure she knew well. The rusty overcoat with its amplitude of cape,the brown crushed hat, the weather-beaten face, and the green goggles were unmistakable. It was Prof. Poppendorf. He was peering in his short-sighted way at the young women emerging from the great store with an inquiring gaze. Suddenly his eyes brightened. He had found the object of his search.
"Mees Ruth!" he exclaimed, stepping forward briskly, "I haf come to walk home with you."
Ruth looked confused and almost distressed. She would gladly have found some excuse to avoid the walk but could think of none.
"Maria!" she said, hurriedly, "it is an old friend of the family. I shall have to leave you."
Her friend looked at the rusty figure in amazement.
"Oh, well, Ruth," she said, "we will meet to-morrow. So long!"
This was not perhaps the way in which a Fifth Avenue maiden would have partedfrom her friend, but Maria Stevenson was a free and easy young woman, of excellent heart and various good qualities, but lacking the social veneering to be met with in a different class of society.
"How provoking!" thought Ruth, as she reluctantly took her place beside the Professor, who, unlike herself, seemed in the best of spirits.
"I haf waited here a quarter of an hour to meet you, Mees Ruth," he said.
"I wish you hadn't," thought Ruth, but she only said, "I am sorry to have put you to so much trouble."
"It was no trouble, I assure you, Mees Ruth," said her elderly companion in as genial a tone as his bass voice could assume.
"Let us cross the street," suggested Ruth.
She wished as soon as possible to get out of sight of her shop companions, who were sure to tease her the next day.
"With all my heart," said theProfessor. "I should wish to be more alone."
They crossed Sixth Avenue, and walked down on the west side. Ruth was wondering all the while what on earth could have induced the Professor to take such pains to offer her his escort. She did not have long to wait.
"I haf something very particular to say to you, Mees Ruth," said the Professor, gazing fondly at her through his green goggles.
"Indeed!" returned Ruth, in great surprise.
"Yes, Mees Ruth, I haf been feeling very lonely. I am tired of living at a boarding-house. I wish to have a home of my own. Will you marry me? Will you be my frau—I mean my wife?"
Ruth Canby stopped short. She was "like to drop," as she afterwards expressed it.
"Marry you!" she repeated, in a dazed way.
"Yes, Mees Ruth, dear Mees Ruth, I want you to be my wife."
"But, Professor, I could never think of marrying a man so——" old she was about to add, but she feared it would hurt the Professor's feelings.
"I know what you would say, Mees Ruth. You think I am too old. But I am strong. See here!" and he smote his large breast vigorously. "I am sound, and I shall live many years. My father lived till eighty-five, and I am only sixty-five."
"I am only twenty."
"True! you are much younger, but no young man would love you so fondly."
"I don't know," said Ruth.
"Perhaps you think I am poor, but it is not so. I haf a good income, and I haf just been appointed to gif lectures on philosophy in Miss Green's school on Madison Avenue. We will take a nice flat. I will furnish it well, and we will haf a happy home."
"Thank you very much, Prof. Poppendorf," said Ruth, hurriedly. "Indeed I feel complimented that such a learned man and great scholar should wish to marry me, but I am only a simple girl—I have not much education—and I should not make a suitable wife for you."
"Do not think of that, Mees Ruth. I will teach you myself. I will teach you Latin and Greek, and Sanscrit, if you please. I will read my lectures on philosophy to you, and I will make you 'une femme savante,' so that you can talk with my brother Professors who will come to see me. You can cook, can you not, Mees Ruth?"
"Yes, I know how to cook, but—"
"Ah, that is well," said the Professor, in a tone of satisfaction. "All the German ladies can cook. Frau von Bismarck, the wife of my old friend, is an excellent cook. I haf dined at Bismarck's house."
"But," said Ruth, firmly, "I can notthink of becoming your wife, Prof. Poppendorf."
"Ach, so!" said the Professor, in a tone of disappointment. "Do not make such a mistake, my dear Mees Ruth. Is it nothing to become Mrs. Professor Poppendorf. You will take a good place in society. For I assure you that I am well known among scholars. I am now busy on a great work on philosophy, which will extend my fame. I will make you proud of your husband."
"Indeed, Prof. Poppendorf, I do not doubt your learning or your fame, but I can not marry a man old enough to be my grandfather."
"So, I am not so sure about that. I am old enough to be your father, but—"
"Never mind! We will not argue the point. I hope you will say no more. I can not marry you."
"Ah! is there another? Haf I a rival?" demanded the Professor, frowning fiercely. "It is that Dr. Fenwick?"
"No, it is not."
"I do not think he would care to marry you."
"And I don't want to marry him, though I think him a very nice young gentleman."
"Who is it, then?"
"If you must know," said Ruth, pettishly, "it is that young man who took supper with us not long ago."
"The young man from the country?"
"Yes."
"But what do you see in him, Mees Ruth. He is ayokel."
"A what?"
"He is a very worthy young man, I do not doubt, but what does he know? He is a farmer, is he not, with no ideas beyond his paternal acres?"
"Prof. Poppendorf, I will not have you speak so of my Stephen," said Ruth, while a wave of anger passed over her face.
"Ah, that is his name. Stephen.Pardon, Mees Ruth! I do not wish to say anything against this rural young man, but he will never give you the position which I offer you."
"Perhaps not, but I like him better."
"Ach, so. Then is my dream at an end; I did hope to have you for my frau, and haf a happy home and a loving companion in my declining years."
His tone seemed so mournful that Ruth was touched with pity and remorse.
"Prof. Poppendorf," she said, gently, "you must not be too much disappointed. There are many who would appreciate the honor of marrying you. Why do you not ask Mrs. Wyman?"
"She is a butterfly—a flirt. I would not marry her if there were no other woman living."
The young woman from Macy's quite agreed with the Professor, and it was not without satisfaction that she heard him express himself in this manner.
"Well," she continued, "then there isMiss Blagden. She is of a more suitable age."
"The Disagreeable Woman. What do you take me for, Mees Ruth? She is too strong-minded."
"Perhaps so, but I am sure she has a kind heart."
"I should never be happy with her—never!" said the Professor, decidedly.
"Were you ever married, Professor?" asked Ruth with sudden curiosity.
"Yes, I was married when I was thirty—but my Gretchen only lived two years. I haf mourned for her more than thirty years."
"You have waited a long time, Professor."
"Yes; till I saw you, Mees Ruth, I never haf seen the woman I wanted to marry. Perhaps," he added with sudden hope, "this young man, Stephen, does not wish to marry you."
"He will be only too glad," said Ruth,tossing her head. "He offered himself to me a year ago."
"Then there is no hope for me?"
"None at all, Professor."
They had reached Waverley Place, and so there was no time for further conversation. As they came up the stoop Mrs. Wyman saw them through the window. She was in waiting in the hall.
"Have you had a nice walktogether?" she purred.
"How I hate that woman!" said Ruth to herself.
She ran up stairs and prepared for supper.
Of course I attended the Patti concert. The seat given me was in the best part of the house, and I felt somewhat bashful when I found that all my neighbors wore dress suits. My own suit—the best I had—was beginning to show the marks of wear, but I did not dare go to the expense of another.
My next neighbor was an elderly gentleman, bordering upon sixty. In the twenty minutes that elapsed before the rise of the curtain we fell into a pleasant conversation. It was pleasant to find that he was becoming interested in me.
"You enjoy Patti?" he said. "Butthen I hardly need ask that. Your presence here is sufficient evidence."
"I have no doubt I shall enjoy Patti," I answered. "I have never heard her."
"Indeed? How does that happen?"
"Because I have been only three months in New York. I came here from the country, and of course I had no chance to hear her there."
"Excuse my curiosity, but you do not look like a business man."
"I am not. I am a practising physician."
"Indeed!" he replied, with interest. "I wish you could cure my rheumatism."
"I should like a chance to try."
This was a little audacious, as probably he had his own family physician, but it came naturally upon his remark.
"You shall try," he said, impulsively. "My family physician has failed to benefit me."
"It may be so with me."
"At any rate I will try you. Can youcall at my house to-morrow at eleven o'clock?"
"I will do so with pleasure."
He gave me his card. I found that his name was Gregory Vincent, and that he lived in one of the finest parts of Madison Avenue. It occurred to me that he was perhaps imprudent in trusting an unknown young physician, but I was not foolish enough to tell him so.
"I will call," I said with professional gravity, and I entered the name and engagement in my medical note-book.
Here the curtain rose, and our thoughts were soon occupied by the stage.
When the concert was over, my new friend as he shook my hand, said, "I can rely upon your calling to-morrow, Dr. Fenwick?"
"I will not fail you."
"I don't know how it is," he said, "but though we are strangers I have a prophetic instinct that you can help me."
"I will do my best, Mr. Vincent."
Congratulating myself on my new and promising patient, I made my way into the lobby. There presently I met Mrs. Wyman and Count Penelli. I learned later that she had purchased two cheap seats and invited the Count to accompany her. They had not distinguished me in the audience, I was so far away from them.
"Dr. Fenwick!" exclaimed Mrs. Wyman, in surprise. "I thought you said you were not coming."
"I changed my mind," I answered, smiling. "Of course, you enjoyed the concert?"
"Did I not? But where were you sitting?"
"In the orchestra."
"What! Among the millionaires?"
"I don't know if they were millionaires. I was ashamed of my appearance. All wore dress suits except myself and the ladies."
"It seems to me, doctor, you were extravagant."
"It does seem so."
I did not propose to enlighten Mrs. Wyman as to the small expense I was at for a ticket. I could see with secret amusement that her respect for me was increased by my supposed liberal outlay. In this respect I showed to advantage beside her escort who had availed himself of a ticket purchased by her. She had represented that the tickets were sent her by the management.
"The Count had an advantage over us," said the widow. "He could understand the language."
"Si, Signora," said the Count, with a smile.
"It wasn't the words I cared for," said I. "I should enjoy Patti if she sang in Arabic."
"Well, perhaps so. Were you ever in Italy, doctor?"
"No, the only foreign country I ever visited was New Jersey."
"Is New Jersey then a foreign country?" asked the Count, puzzled.
"It is only a joke, Count," said the widow.
"And a poor one, I admit."
"The Count had been telling me of his ancestral home, of the vine-clad hills, and the olive trees, and the orange groves. Oh, I am wild to visit that charming Italy."
"Perhaps you may do so some day, my dear Mrs. Wyman," said the Count, in a soft tone.
The widow cast down her eyes.
"It would be too lovely," she said.
When we reached the boarding-house, the Count asked, "May I come up to your room, Dr. Fenwick?"
"Certainly. I shall be glad to have you do so." My room was a small one. I should have had to pay a higher pricefor a larger one. However, I gave the Count my only chair, and sat on the bed.
"Is it permitted?" he asked, as he lighted a cigarette.
"Oh, yes," I replied, but I only said so out of politeness. It was decidedly disagreeable to have any one smoke in my chamber in the evening. I could, however, open the window afterwards and give it an airing.
"Mrs. Wyman is a very fine woman," said the Count, after a pause.
"Very," I responded, briefly.
"And she is rich, is she not?" he asked, in some anxiety.
"Sits the wind in that quarter?" I thought. "Well, I won't stand in the way."
"She seems independent."
"Ah! you mean—"
"That she has enough to live upon. She never seemed to have any money troubles. I suppose it is the same withyou, you no doubt draw a revenue from your estates in Italy?"
"No, no, you make a mistake. They belong to my father, and he is displease with me. He will send me no money."
"Are you the oldest son?"
"Si, signor!" but he answered hesitatingly.
"Then you will be all right some day."
"True, doctor, some day, but just now I am what you call short. You could do me a great favor."
"What is it?"
"If you could lend me fifty dollar?"
"My dear Count, it would be quite impossible. Do you think I am rich?"
"You pay five—six dollar for your ticket to hear Patti."
"It was imprudent, but I wished to hear her; now I must be careful."
"I would pay you when I get my next remittance from Italy."
"It will not be possible," I answered,firmly. "Have you asked Prof. Poppendorf?"
"No! Has he got money?"
"I think he has more than I."
"I have a special use for the money," said the Count, but I did not ask what it was.
Presently the Count rose and left me. It took twenty minutes to clear the room of the vile smell of cigarette smoke.
"After all," thought I, "there is a chance for Mrs. Wyman to become a Countess, that is if he is a real Count." Upon this point I did not feel certain.
"Well, did you enjoy Patti?" asked Miss Blagden at the breakfast table.
"Immensely. Why did you not go?"
"Because I have very little taste for music," answered the Disagreeable Woman.
"Mrs. Wyman was there."
"She sings," said Miss Blagden, with a slight smile.
"Yes, the Count was with her."
"Humph! where did they sit?"
"In the upper part of the house somewhere. I felt myself out of place among the Four Hundred. But it brought me luck."
"How is that?"
"I secured a patient, a Mr. Gregory Vincent of Madison Avenue."
"Was Gregory Vincent there? How did you make his acquaintance?"
"He was my next neighbor. He seemed to take a liking to me, confided to me that he was a victim of rheumatism, and I am to assume charge of his case."
"I am very glad," said Miss Blagden, heartily. "Do your best to cure him."
"I will."
"And don't be afraid to send him in a good bill."
"I am sure he will pay me liberally."
"It may be your stepping stone to success."
"Thank you for your kind interest."
"And how is your poor patient—Alice Mills?"
"Quite well now, but I wish she were not obliged to spend so many hours in a crowded store."
"When do you call there again?"
"I may call this morning."
"I will go with you. I have a plan for them."
Miss Blagden accompanied me to the poor house. She was so kind and gentle that I did not understand how any one could call her the Disagreeable Woman.
In a few days, thanks to her, Mrs. Mills was installed as housekeeper to a wealthy widower in Fifty-seventh street. Alice was made governess to two young children, and Frank was provided with a home in return for some slight services.
When I was admitted to the house of Gregory Vincent, I was surprised by its magnificence. It has been said that there are few palaces in Europe that compare in comfort and luxury with a first class New York mansion. I have never been in a palace, and Mr. Vincent's house was the only aristocratic house which I had had an opportunity to view. But I am prepared to indorse the remark.
I handed my card to the liveried servant who opened the door.
"Dr. Fenwick," he repeated. "Yes, sir; you are expected."
He led me upstairs into an elegant library, or sitting-room and librarycombined. Here sat my acquaintance of the evening before, with his foot swathed in bandages and resting on a chair, while he was seated in a cosy arm-chair.
"Good-morning, doctor," he said. "I am glad to see you. You see that I am in the grasp of my old enemy."
"We will try to rout him," I said, cheerfully.
"That sounds well, and encourages me. Do you know, Dr. Fenwick, that without any special reason I feel great confidence in you. You are a young man, probably not more than half as old as my regular physician, but he has not been able to do me any good."
"And I hope to be able to do so."
"I suppose you have had experience in such cases?"
"Yes, I have an old aunt who had suffered untold tortures from rheumatism. She put herself under my charge, and for her sake I made an extensive study of rheumatic cases and remedies."
"Well?" he asked, eagerly.
"I finally cured her. It is now three years since she has had a twinge."
"Good! My instinct was correct. That gives me hopes of success under your charge. Don't be afraid to lose your patient by effecting a speedy cure. I will make you a promise. When you have so far cured me that I am free from rheumatic pains for three months, I will hand you a check for a thousand dollars."
"A thousand dollars!" I repeated with sparkling eyes. "That will indeed be an inducement."
"Of course I shall pay you your regular fees besides."
I could hardly credit my good fortune. I was like one who had just received intelligence that I had drawn a large sum in the lottery. I determined to win the promised check if there was any chance.
I began to question Mr. Vincent as to his trouble. I found that it was a case of rheumatic gout. A difficult case, butvery similar to that of my aunt. I resolved to try the same treatment with him.
I wished to ask some questions, but he forestalled them.
"I have no wife," he said. "I was left a widower many years ago. My niece and myself constitute our whole family."
"Don't you feel lonely at times?" I asked.
"Yes. My niece has her friends, suited to one of her age, but little company for me. If I had a nephew now—like yourself—it would cheer me up and give me a new interest in life."
"I wish you were my uncle," I said to myself.
"I am an old man, but I have great interest in young company. I think it was that that drew me toward you at Patti's concert. When I learned that you were a physician I saw that I could make it worth your while to call on an old man. I hope you are not a very busy man."
"Not yet," I answered, guardedly. I felt that it would be unwise to let him know how far from a busy man I was.
"Then you will be able to call upon me every day."
"I will do so gladly, but it will not be necessary—from a medical point of view."
"No matter! I shall be glad to have you come, and of course I pay for your time. It will be an advantage, no doubt, to have your patient under constant observation."
"That is true."
"Now I won't put you to the trouble of keeping an account of your visits. I will agree to pay you twenty-five dollars a week if that will be satisfactory."
Twenty-five dollars a week! Why I scarcely made that sum in fees in a month.
"It is more than I should think of charging," I said, frankly.
"Then itissatisfactory. Your moneywill be paid you at the end of every week."
When I left the house I felt as if I had suddenly come into a fortune. Now I could see my way clear. The little stock of money which still remained to me would suffer no further diminution. On the contrary, I should be able to add to it.
It is said that there comes to every man once in his life a chance to succeed. Apparently mine had come to me, and this chance had come to me through the Disagreeable Woman.
For some weeks matters went on quietly at our boarding-house. Prof. Poppendorf, in spite of the failure of his matrimonial schemes, ate, smoked, and drank as tranquilly as ever. Ruth was grateful to him that he had accepted her refusal as final, and disturbed her no more. They still sat near each other at the table, but there was never anything in his manner to indicate that there had been any romantic passages between them.
The Disagreeable Woman remained as great a mystery as ever. Sometimes she was absent for three or four days together. Then she would suddenlyreappear. No one ever asked where she had been. It would have taken rare courage to do that. Nor did she ever volunteer any explanation.
Whether she possessed large means or not no one could conjecture. She always paid her board bill, and with unfailing regularity, at the end of every week. Her dress was always plain, but oftentimes of costly material. She seldom indulged in conversation, though she was always ready with an answer when spoken to. Perhaps I may mention as exceptions to her general rule of reticence the young woman from Macy's and myself. She seemed to feel more kindly toward us than toward any of the others.
There had been various attempts to find out where she lived. None had succeeded. One day Mrs. Wyman asked the question directly.
"Where do you live, Miss Blagden, if you will allow me to ask?"
"I will allow you to ask," returned theDisagreeable Woman, coolly. "Do you propose to call on me?"
"If you will permit me."
"It is hardly necessary. We meet at the table every day. I am a hermit," she added after a pause, "I do not care to receive visitors."
"I once heard of a hermit who lived in one of the cottages on the rocks near Central Park," said the widow, rather impertinently.
"I don't live there!" said the Disagreeable Woman, composedly.
"Of course not. I did not suppose you did."
"Thank you. You are right as usual."
If Miss Blagden meant to be sarcastic, nothing in her tone revealed it. She had warded off the attack dictated by curiosity.
Whether Miss Blagden was rich or not, she was always ready to contribute to any public or private cause. WhenProf. Poppendorf announced that he was about to publish a book, enlarged from his lecture on "The Material and The Immaterial." Miss Blagden subscribed for two copies.
"One is for you, Dr. Fenwick!" she said, in a low tone.
"Thank you, Miss Blagden. You are very kind. Am I expected to read it?"
"If you can," she responded with a grim smile.
The other boarders were asked, but each had some excuse.
"I have just bought a new hat," said Mrs. Wyman.
"I no understand English," said the Count.
"Do you think I ought to subscribe, Miss Blagden?" asked Ruth.
"No, child. Why should you? You have a use for your money. Besides, you would not understand it. If you wish, I will buy one for you?"
"No, thank you, Miss Blagden. Itwould be of no use to me, but I thought the Professor would think it friendly."
She could not explain that she wished to make amends for refusing his suit, for she had with rare delicacy abstained from mentioning the learned German's uncouth courtship. Perhaps Miss Blagden, who was very observing, penetrated her motive, for she said: "There is something in that. Subscribe, and I will pay for the book."
Upon this Ruth gently told the Professor that she would take a copy.
He was surprised and delighted.
"By all means Mees Ruth, but perhaps I should give you one."
"No, no, Prof. Poppendorf. I want to show my interest in you—and your book."
"You are so good. I will give you the first copy."
"Thank you," said Ruth, shyly.
"What do you want of the old fossil's book?" asked Mrs. Wyman later, whenthe Professor was out of hearing. "I suspect that you are in love with the Professor."
"No, you don't suspect that," said Ruth, composedly.
"At any rate he seems struck with you."
"I suppose I am either material or immaterial," returned Ruth, laughing.
"You went to walk with him one evening."
"I am afraid you are jealous, Mrs. Wyman."
The widow laughed and the conversation ended.
It was some time since Mrs. Gray had made any communication to the boarders.
But one evening she seemed laboring under suppressed excitement.
"Something is up," said Mr. Blake, the young reporter who sat on my left, the Disagreeable Woman being on my right.
"We shall have it after supper," I answered.
Mrs. Gray always waited till the last boarder had finished his meal. It was one of the unwritten laws of the boarding-house.
The last boarder on this occasion was Professor Poppendorf. He was theheartiest eater, and we usually had to wait for him. When he had taken the last sip of beer, for in consideration of his national tastes he was always supplied with a schooner of that liquid which is dear to the Teutonic heart, Mrs. Gray opened her mouth.
"My friends," she said, "I have a letter to read to you."
She opened a perfumed billet, adjusted her spectacles, and read.
"It is from Mrs. Wyman," she said, "and it is at her request that I read it."
We had already noticed that neither Mrs. Wyman nor the Count was present.
Mrs. Gray began:
"My Dear Mrs. Gray:—For three years I have been an inmate of your happy home. I have come to feel an interest in it and in all whose acquaintance I have made here. I had no thought of leaving you, but circumstances make it necessary. Let me say at once that Ihave consented to marry Count di Penelli. You who are familiar with his fine traits and aristocratic bearing will hardly be surprised that I have been unable to resist his ardent entreaties. I had indeed intended never to marry again, but it was because I never expected to find one who could take the place of my dear departed first husband. The Count and I leave by an early train for Philadelphia where the ceremony will be performed. We may remain there for a few days. Beyond that our plans are not arranged. We would have had a public wedding and invited our friends, but as the Count's family are in Italy and cannot be present, we thought it best to have a simple private ceremony. When we go to Italy next summer there may be another ceremony at the Penelli Castle in Southern Italy."I cannot tell when I shall return to New York. Probably I shall never again be an inmate of your happy home. The Count and I may take a flat up-town—awhole house would be too large for us. But I shall—we shall certainly call on our old friends, and I trust that the ties that bind us together in friendship may never weaken."I shall soon be the Countess di Penelli. But once more and for the last time, I subscribe myself"Your faithful and devoted"Letitia Wyman."
"My Dear Mrs. Gray:—For three years I have been an inmate of your happy home. I have come to feel an interest in it and in all whose acquaintance I have made here. I had no thought of leaving you, but circumstances make it necessary. Let me say at once that Ihave consented to marry Count di Penelli. You who are familiar with his fine traits and aristocratic bearing will hardly be surprised that I have been unable to resist his ardent entreaties. I had indeed intended never to marry again, but it was because I never expected to find one who could take the place of my dear departed first husband. The Count and I leave by an early train for Philadelphia where the ceremony will be performed. We may remain there for a few days. Beyond that our plans are not arranged. We would have had a public wedding and invited our friends, but as the Count's family are in Italy and cannot be present, we thought it best to have a simple private ceremony. When we go to Italy next summer there may be another ceremony at the Penelli Castle in Southern Italy.
"I cannot tell when I shall return to New York. Probably I shall never again be an inmate of your happy home. The Count and I may take a flat up-town—awhole house would be too large for us. But I shall—we shall certainly call on our old friends, and I trust that the ties that bind us together in friendship may never weaken.
"I shall soon be the Countess di Penelli. But once more and for the last time, I subscribe myself
"Your faithful and devoted"Letitia Wyman."
We listened to the reading of the letter in silent excitement. Then there was a chorus of exclamations.
"Did you ever?" ejaculated the young woman from Macy's.
"I am not surprised," said the Disagreeable woman, calmly. "Mrs. Wyman has been courting the Count ever since he came here."
"You mean that he has been paying his attentions to her," suggested Mr. Blake, the reporter.
"No, I mean what I say."
"She says she had no thought of marrying again."
"Mr. Blake, you are a young man. You don't understand women, and particularly widows. Probably there is not a gentleman at the table whom Mrs. Wyman has not thought of as a matrimonial subject, yourself not excepted."
Mr. Blake was a very young man, and he blushed.
"She would not have married me," growled the Professor.
Most of us smiled.
"Are you pledged to celibacy, Professor?" asked the landlady.
"No, madam. If a certain young lady would marry me I would marry to-morrow."
Ruth Canby blushed furiously, and was indignant with herself for doing so, especially as it drew all glances to her.
"Let us hope you may be successful in your suit, Professor," said Mrs. Gray.
"Thank you, my dear lady; time will show."
Miss Blagden turned her searching glance upon the flaming cheeks of Ruth and smiled kindly. If there was any one at the table whom she liked it was the young woman from Macy's.
"I suppose there is no doubt about his being a Count," suggested Mr. Blake.
"I should say there was a good deal of doubt," answered the Disagreeable Woman.
"Do you really think so?"
"It is my conjecture."
"Oh, I think there is no doubt about it," said the landlady, who prided herself on having had so aristocratic a boarder.
"I am a loser by this marriage," said Mrs. Gray. "I have two rooms suddenly vacated."
"A friend of mine will take one of them," said Mr. Blake, the reporter. "He has been wishing to get in here for a month."
"I shall be glad to receive him," said Mrs. Gray, graciously.
The other room was also taken within a week.
Usually I secured a morning paper, and ran over the contents at my office while waiting for patients.
It was perhaps a week later that I selected theHerald—I did not confine myself exclusively to one paper—and casually my eye fell upon the arrivals at the hotels.
I started in surprise as I read among the guests at the Brevoort House the name of Count di Penelli.
"What!" I exclaimed, "are our friends back again? Why is not the Countess mentioned? Perhaps, however, the Count has left his wife in Philadelphia, and come on here on business."
It chanced that I had occasion to pass the Brevoort an hour later.
I was prompted to call and inquire for the Count.
"Yes, he is in. Will you send up your card?"
I hastily inscribed my name on a card and sent it up to his room.
The bell-boy soon returned.
"The Count will be glad to see you, sir," he said. "Will you follow me?"
"He is getting ceremonious," I reflected. "I thought he would come down to see me."
I followed the bell-boy to a room on the second floor.
"Dr. Fenwick?" he said, as the door was opened.
I saw facing me a tall, slender, dark-complexioned man of about forty-five, a perfect stranger to me.
"I wished to see Count di Penelli," I stammered, in some confusion.
"I am the Count," he answered, courteously.
"But the Count I know is a young man."
"There is no other Count di Penelli."
"Pardon me!" I said, "but a young man calling himself by that name was for two months a fellow boarder of mine."
"Describe him, if you please," said the Count, eagerly.
I did so.
"Ah," said the Count, when I concluded, "it is doubtless my valet, who has been masquerading under my title. He ran away from me at the West, nearly three months since, carrying with him three hundred dollars. I set detectives upon his track, but they could find no clue. Is the fellow still at your boarding-house?"
"No, Count, he eloped a week since with a widow, another of our boarders. I believe they are in Philadelphia."
"Then he has deceived the poor woman. Has she got money?"
"A little. I don't think she has much."
"That is what he married her for. Doubtless he supposed her wealthy. He had probably spent all the money he took from me."
"I hope, Count, for the sake of his wife, you will not have him arrested."
Count di Penelli shrugged his shoulders.
"I will let him go at your request, poor devil," he said. "Why did she marry him?"
"For his title."
"Then the heart is not concerned?"
"I never discovered that Mrs. Wyman had a heart."
"Probably both will be heartily sick of the marriage, perhaps are so already."
"Thank you for your information, Count."
"And I thank you for yours. Good-morning!"
I said nothing at the boarding-house of the discovery I had made. Why should I? So far as the rest of the boarders knew Mrs. Wyman was a veritable Countess.
The curtain falls and rises again after an interval of three months.
There have been some changes in our boarding-house. Prof. Poppendorf still occupies his accustomed place, and so does Miss Blagden. The young reporter still sits at my left, and entertains me with interesting gossip and information about public affairs and public men with whom he has come in contact.
But the young woman from Macy's has left us. She has returned to her country home and is now the wife of her rustic admirer, Stephen Higgins. I think she has done wisely. Life in the great stores is a species of slavery, and shecould save nothing from her salary. When Prof. Poppendorf heard of her marriage, he looked depressed, but I noticed that his appetite was not affected. A true Teuton seldom allows anything to interfere with that.
Mrs. Gray has received two or three notes from the Countess di Penelli. They treated of business matters solely. Whether she has discovered that her husband's title is spurious I cannot tell. I hear, however, from a drummer who is with us at intervals, that she is keeping a boarding-house on Spring Garden street, and that her title has been the magnet that has drawn to her house many persons who are glad in this way to obtain a titled acquaintance.
As for myself I am on the high road to a comfortable income. I was fortunate enough to give my rich patient so much relief that I have received the large check he promised me, and have been recommended by him to several of hisfriends. I have thought seriously of removing to a more fashionable neighborhood, but have refrained—will it be believed?—from my reluctance to leave the Disagreeable Woman. I am beginning to understand her better. Under a brusque exterior she certainly possesses a kind heart, and consideration for others. Upon everything in the shape of humbug or pretension she is severe, but she can appreciate worth and true nobility. In more than one instance I have applied to her in behalf of a poor patient, and never in vain.
Yet I am as much in the dark as ever as to her circumstances and residence. Upon these subjects I have ceased, not perhaps to feel, but to show any curiosity. The time was coming, however, when I should learn more of her.
One day a young girl came to my office. Her mother kept a modest lodging house on West Eleventh street, and she had been my patient.
"Any one sick at home, Sarah?" I asked.
"No, doctor, but we have a lodger who is very low with a fever. I think he is very poor. I am afraid he cannot pay a doctor, but mother thought you would be willing to call."
"To be sure," I said, cheerfully, "I will be at your house in an hour."
An hour found me ringing at the door of Mrs. Graham's plain lodging house.
"I thought you would come, Dr. Fenwick," said the good woman, who personally answered the bell. "You come in good time, for poor Mr. Douglas is very sick."
"I will follow you to his room."
He occupied a small room on the third floor. It was furnished in plain fashion. The patient, a man who was apparently nearing fifty, was tossing restlessly on his bed. Poorly situated as he was, I could see that in health he must have been aman of distinguished bearing. Poverty and he seemed ill-mated.
"Mr. Douglas," said the landlady, "this is Dr. Fenwick. I took the liberty of calling him, as you are so ill."
The sick man turned upon me a glance from a pair of full, black eyes.
"Dr. Fenwick," he said, sadly, "I thank you for coming, but I am almost a pauper, and I fear I cannot pay you for your services."
"That matters little," I replied. "You need me, that is enough. Let me feel your pulse."
I found that he was in a high fever. His symptoms were serious. He looked like a man with a constitution originally strong, but it had been severely tried.
"Well?" he asked.
"You are seriously ill. I am not prepared just now with my diagnosis, but I can tell better in a day or two."
"Shall I be long ill?" he asked.
"It will take time to recover."
"Shall I recover?" he asked, pointedly.
"We will hope for the best."
"I understand. Don't think I am alarmed. Life has few charms for me. My chief trouble is that I shall be a burden to you and Mrs. Graham."
"Don't think of me, I have a fair practise, but I have time for you."
"Thank you, doctor. You are very kind."
"Let me put down your name," I said, taking down my tablets.
"My name is Philip Douglas."
I noted the name, and shortly left him.
I felt that in his critical condition he ought to have a nurse, but where was the money to come from to pay one?
"He is no common man," I reflected. "He has been rich. His personal surroundings do not fit him."
Somehow I had already come to feel an interest in my patient. There was something in his appearance that set mewondering what his past could have been.
"It must have been his misfortune, not his fault," I decided, for he bore no marks of dissipation.
Under favorable circumstances I felt that I could pull him through, but without careful attendance and generous living there was great doubt. What should I do? I decided to speak of his case to the Disagreeable Woman.
"Miss Blagden," I said when the opportunity came, "I want to interest you in a patient of mine—a gentleman to whom I was called this morning."
"Speak freely, doctor. Is there anything I can do for him?"
"Much, for he requires much. He is lying in a poor lodging-house grievously ill with a fever. He has little or no money, yet he must once have been in affluent circumstances. Without a trained nurse, and the comforts that only money can buy, I fear he will not live."
"It is a sad case. I am willing to cooperate with you. What is your patient's name?"
"Philip Douglas."
"Philip Douglas!" she exclaimed, in evident excitement. "Tell me quickly, what is his appearance?"
"He is a large man, of striking appearance, with full, dark eyes, who must in earlier days have been strikingly handsome."
"And he is poor, and ill?" she said, breathless.
"Very poor and very ill."
Her breath came quick. She seemed deeply agitated.
"And where is he living?"
"In No. — West Eleventh Street."
"Take me there at once."
I looked at her in amazement.
"Dr. Fenwick," she said, "you wonder at my excitement. I will explain it. This man, Philip Douglas, and I were once engaged to be married. The engagement was broken through my fault and my folly. I have regretted it many times. I have much to answer for. I fear that Iwrecked his life, and it may be too late to atone. But I will try. Lead me to him."
I bowed gravely, and we set out.
Arrived at the lodging-house I thought it prudent to go up alone. I feared that excitement might be bad for my patient.
He was awake and resting more comfortably.
"How do you feel?" I asked.
"Better, doctor. Thanks to you."
"Have you no relatives whom you would wish to see—or friends?"
"I have no relatives in New York," he said.
"Or friends?"
He paused and looked thoughtful.
"I don't know," he answered, slowly. "There is one—I have not seen her for many years—but it is impossible, yet I would give my life to see Jane Blagden."
"Why not send for her?"
"She would not come. We were friends once—very dear friends—I hopedto marry her. Now I am poor and broken in health, I must give up the thought."
"Could you bear to see her? Would it not make you ill?"
"What do you mean, doctor?" he asked, quickly.
"I mean that Miss Blagden is below. She wishes to see you."
"Can it be? Are you a magician? How could you know of her?"
"Never mind that. Shall I bring her up?"
"Yes."