Money Magic: A Novel Page 7

  CHAPTER VII

  BERTHA REPULSES AN ENEMY

  Charles Haney had no scruples. From the moment of his first meeting withhis brother's young wife he determined to make himself "solid" with her.Convinced that Mart was not long for this world, he set to work to winBertha's favor, for this was the only way to harvest the golden fortuneshe controlled.

  "Mart is just fool enough and contrary enough to leave every cent of hismoney to her." Here he placed one finger against his brow. "Carlos, hereis where you get busy. It's us to the haberdasher. We shine."

  Notwithstanding all his boasting, he was not only an actor out of anengagement, but flat broke, badly dressed, and in sorry disrepute withmanagers. "I've been playing in a stock company in San Francisco," hehad explained, "and I'm now on my way to New York to produce a play ofmy own. Hence these tears. I need an 'angel.'"

  He distinctly said "the first of the month" in this announcement, but asthe days went by he only settled deeper into the snug corners of theHaney home, making no further mention of his triumphal eastwardprogress. On the contrary, he had the air of a regular boarder, andturned up promptly for meals, rotund and glowing in the opulence of hisbrother's hospitality.

  On the strength of his name he found favor with the tailors, andbourgeoned forth a few days later in the best cloth the shops afforded,and strutted and plumed himself like a turkey-cock before Bertha,keeping up meanwhile a pretension of sympathy and good-fellowship withMart.

  In this he miscalculated; for Bertha, youthful as she seemed, wasaccustomed, as she would say, to "standing off mashers," and herimpassive face and keen, steady eyes fairly disconcerted the libertine."For Mart's sake, we'll put up with him," she said to her mother. "He'sa loafer; but I can see the Captain kind o' likes to have himaround--for old times' sake, I reckon."

  This was true. When alone with his brother, Charles dropped hisegotistic brag and dramatic bluster, and touched craftily upon thedare-devil, boyish life they had led together. He was shrewd enough tosee and understand that this was his most ingratiating role, and heplayed it "to the limit," as Bertha would have said.

  And yet no one in the house realized how his presence reacted againstBertha.

  "What are we to think of a girl so obtuse that she permits a man likethis fat, disgusting actor to dangle about her?" asked Mrs. Crego of herhusband, who was Haney's legal adviser.

  "He's her husband's brother, you know," argued Crego.

  "All the same, I can't understand her. She looks nice and sweet, and yousay she is so; and yet here she is married to a notorious gambler, andassociating with mountebanks and all sorts of malodorous people. Why,I've seen her riding down the street with the upholsterer, and Mrs.Congdon told me that she saw her stop her carriage in front of a cigarstore and talk with a barber in a white jacket for at least tenminutes."

  Crego laughed. "What infamy! However, I can't believe even theupholsterer will finally corrupt her. The fact is, my dear, we're allgetting to be what some of my clients call 'too a-ristocratic.' BerthaHaney is sprung from good average American stock, and has associatedwith the kind of people you abhor all her life. She hasn't begun to drawany of your artificial distinctions. I hope she never will. Her barberfriend is on the same level with the clerks and grocery-men of the town.They're all human, you know. She's the true democrat. I confess I likethe girl. Her ability is astonishing. Williams and Haney both take heropinion quite as weightily as my own."

  Mrs. Crego was impressed. "Well, I'll call on her if you really think I_ought_ to do so."

  "I don't. I withdraw my suggestion. I deprecate your calling--in thatspirit. I doubt if she expects you to call. I hardly think she hasawakened to any slights put upon her by your set. Indeed, she seemsquite happy in the society of Thomas, Richard, and Harry."

  "Don't be brutal, Allen."

  "I'm not. The girl is now serene--that's the main thing; and you mightraise up doubts and discontents in her mind."

  "I certainly shall not go near her so long as that odious actor ishanging about. His smirk at me the other day made me ill."

  This conversation was typical of many others in homes of equal culture,for Bertha's position as well as her face and manner piqued curiosity.After all, the town was a small place--just large enough to give gossiproom to play in--and the sheen of Mrs. Haney's wealth made herconspicuous from afar, while her youth and boyish beauty had been thesubject of admiring club talk from the very first. Haney was only an oldand wounded animal, whose mate was free to choose anew.

  "It makes me ache to see the girl go wrong," said Mrs. Frank Congdon,wife of a resident portrait-painter, also in delicate health (she wasspeaking to Mrs. Crego). "Think of that great house--Frank says she runsit admirably--filled with tinkers and tailors and candlestick-makers,not to mention touts and gamblers--when she might be entertaining--well,us, for example!" She laughed at the unbending face of her friend; thenwent on: "Dr. Cronk says the mother is a sweet old lady and of good NewEngland family--a constitutional Methodist, he calls her. I wish shekept better company."

  "But what can you expect of a girl brought up in a pigsty. Her motherwas mistress of a little miners' hotel in Junction City, Allen says, andthe girl boasts of it."

  Mrs. Congdon smiled. "I'm dying to talk with her. She's far and away themost interesting of our newly rich, and I like her face. Frank hascalled, you know?"

  "Has he?"

  "On business, of course. She has decided to have him paint her husband'spicture. She's taken her first step upward, you see."

  "I should think she'd be content to have her saloon-keeper husband'sface fade out of her memory."

  "Frank is enthusiastic. I'm not a bit sure that he didn't suggest theportrait. He is shameless when he takes a fancy to a face. He's wild topaint them both and call it 'The Lion Tamer and the Lion.' He considersHaney a great character. It seems he saw him in Cripple Creek once, andwas vastly taken by his pose. His being old and sad now--his face is oneof the saddest I ever saw--makes it all the more interesting to Frank.So I'm going to call--in fact, we're going to lunch there soon."

  "Oh, well, yes. You artists can do anything, and it's all right. Youmust come over immediately afterwards and tell me all about it, won'tyou?"

  At this Mrs. Congdon laughed, but, being of generous mind, consented.

  Crego was right. Bertha had not yet begun to take on trouble about hersocial position. She had carried to her big house in the Springs all theideas and usages of Sibley Junction--that was all. She acknowledged herobligations as a householder, carrying forward the New Englanddemocratic traditions. To be next door made any one a neighbor, with theright to run in to inspect your house and furniture and to give advice.The fact that near-at-hand residents did not avail themselves of thisprivilege troubled her very little at first, so busy was she with herown affairs; but it was inevitable that the talk of her mother's churchassociates should sooner or later open her eyes to the truth that thedistinctions which she had read about as existing in New York andChicago were present in her own little city. "Mrs. Crego and her set aretoo stuck up to associate with common folks," was the form in which therevelation came to her.

  From one loose-tongued sister she learned, also, that she and theCaptain were subjects of earnest prayer in the sewing-circle, and thather husband's Catholicism was a source of deep anxiety, not to sayproselyting hostility, on the part of the pastor and his wife, whilefrom another of these officious souls she learned that the Springs,beautiful as it was, so sunlit, so pure of air, was a centre of maritalinfelicity, wherein the devil reigned supreme.

  Her mother's pastor called, and was very outspoken as to Mart andCharles--both of whom needed the Lord's grace badly. He expressed greatconcern for Bertha's spiritual welfare, and openly prayed for herhusband, whose nominal submission to the Catholic Church seemed notmerely blindness to his own sin, but a danger to the young wife.

  Haney, however, though wounded and suffering, was still a lion inresolution, and his glance checked the exhortation which the ministe
rone day nerved himself to utter. "I do not interfere with any man'sfaith," said he, "and I do not intend to be put to school by you nor anyother livin'. I was raised a Catholic, and for the sake of me mother Icall meself wan to this day, and as I am so I shall die." And thefinality of his voice won him freedom from further molestation.

  Bertha's concern for her creed was hardly more poignant than Haney's,and they never argued; but she did begin to give puzzled thought to thesocial complications which opened out day by day before her. Charles,embittered by his failures, enlightened her still more profoundly. Hehad a certain shrewdness of comment at times which bit. "Wouldn't it jaryou," said he one day, "to see this little town sporting a 'Smart Set'and quoting _Town Topics_ like a Bible? Why, some of these dinky littletwo-spot four-flushers draw the line on me because I'm an actor! Whatd'ye think o' that? I don't mind your Methodist sistern walking wide ofme, but it's another punch when these dubs who are smoking my cigars atthe club fail to invite me to their houses."

  Bertha looked at him reflectively throughout this speech, putting adifferent interpretation on the neglect he complained of. She had gonebeyond disliking him, she despised him (for he was growing bolder eachday in his addresses), and took every precaution that he should not bealone with her; and she rose one morning with the determination to tellMart that she would not endure his brother's presence another day. Buthis pleasure in Charles' company was too genuine to be disturbed, and soshe endured.

  The actor's talk was largely concerned with the scandal-mongery of thetown, and very soon the young wife knew that Mrs. May, whose husband was"in the last stages," was in love with young Mr. June, and that Mr.Frost, whose wife was "weakly," was going about shamelessly with MissBloom, and all this comment came to her ears freighted with its worstsignificance. Vile suggestion dripped from Charles Haney's recklesstongue.

  This was deep-laid policy with him. His purpose was to undermine herloyalty as a wife. His approaches had no charm, no finesse. Presuming onhis relationship, he caught at her hand as she passed, or took a seatbeside her if he found her alone on a sofa. At such moments she wasfurious with him, and once she struck his hand away with such violencethat she suffered acute pain for several hours afterwards.

  His attentions--which were almost assaults--came at last to destroy alarge part of her joy in her new home. Her drives, when he sat besideher, were a torture, and yet she could not bring herself to accuse himbefore the crippled man, who really suffered from loneliness whenevershe was out of the house or busy in her household work. He had neverbeen given to reading, and was therefore pathetically dependent uponconversation for news and amusement. He was much at home, too, for hismaiming was still so fresh upon him that he shrank from exhibitinghimself on the street or at the clubs (there are no saloons in theSprings). Crego, whom he liked exceedingly, was very busy, and Williamswas away at the mines for the most part, and so, in spite of Bertha'scare, he often sat alone on the porch, a pitiful shadow of the man whopaid court to the clerk of the Golden Eagle.

  Sometimes he followed the women around the house like a dog, watchingthem at their dusting and polishing. "You'll strain yourself, Captain,"Bertha warningly cried out whenever he laid hold of a chair or brush.And so each time he went back to his library to smoke, and wait untilhis wife's duties were ended. At such hours his brother was a comfort.He was not a fastidious man, even with the refinement which had comefrom his sickness and his marriage, and the actor (so long as he cast noimputations on any friend) could talk as freely as he pleased.

  Slowly, day by day, Charles regained Mart's interest and a measure ofhis confidence. Having learned what to avoid and what to emphasize, henow deplored the drink habits of his brothers, and gently suggested thatthe old father needed help. They played cards occasionally during suchtimes as household cares drew Bertha away, and held much discussion ofmines and mining--though here Mart was singularly reticent, and affordedlittle information about his own affairs. His trust in Charles did notgo so far as that. With Crego, however, he freely discussed hiscondition, for the lawyer had written his new will, and was inpossession of it.

  "I'm like a battered old tin can," he said once. "Did ye ever try to puta tin can back into shape? Ye cannot. If ye push it back here, it bulgesthere. The doctors are tryin' hard to take the kinks out o' me, but 'tisimpossible--I see that--but I may live on for a long time. Already memind misgives me about Bertie--she's too young to be tied up to ashoulder-shotten old plug like mesilf."

  To this Crego soothingly responded. "I don't think you need to worry.She's as happy as a blackbird in spring."

  Once he said to Bertha: "I niver intended to limp around like this. Iniver thought to be the skate I am this day," and his despondencydarkened his face as he spoke. "I could not blame you if you threw meout. I'm only a big nuisance."

  "You will be if you talk like that," she briskly answered, and that isall she seemed to make of his protest. She had indeed been reared in anatmosphere of loyalty to marriage as well as of chastity, and she neverfor a moment considered her vows weakened by her husband's broken frame.

  This fidelity Charles discovered to his own confusion one night as hecame home inflamed by liquor and reckless of hand, to find her sittingalone in the library writing a letter. It was not late, but Mart,feeling tired, had gone to bed, and Mrs. Gilman was in Sibley.

  Bertha looked up as he entered, and without observing that he was drunk,went on with her writing, which was ever a painful ceremony with her.Dropping his coat where he stood, and with his hat awry on the red globeof his head, the dastard staggered towards her, his eyes lit with aglare of reckless desire.

  "Say," he began, "this is luck. I want 'o talk with you, Bertie. I want'o find out why you run away from me? What's the matter with me,anyhow?"

  She realized now the foul, satyr-like mood of the man, and sprang uptense and strong, silently confronting him.

  He mumbled with a grin: "You're a peach! What's the matter? Why don'tyou like me? Ain't I all right? I'm a gentleman."

  His words were babble, but the look in his eyes, the loose slaver of hislips, both scared and angered her, and as he pushed against her,clumsily trying to hook his arm about her waist, she struck him sharplywith the full weight of her arm and shoulder, and he tottered and fellsprawling. With a curse in his teeth he caught at a chair, recovered hisbalance, and faced her with a look of fury that would have appalled oneless experienced than she.

  "You little fool," he snarled, "don't you do that again!"

  "_Stop!_" She did not lift her voice, but the word arrested him. "Do youwant to die?" The word _die_ pierced the mist of his madness. "What doyou think Mart will say to this?"

  He shivered and grew pale under the force of his brother's name utteredin that tone. He began to melt, subsiding into a jelly-mass of fear.

  "Don't tell Mart, for Christ's sake! I didn't mean nothing. Don't do it,I beg--I beg!"

  She looked at him and seemed to grow in years as she searched hiswretched body for its soul. "If you don't pull out of this houseto-morrow I'll let him know just the kind of dead-head boarder you are.You haven't fooled me any--not for a minute. I've put up with you forhis sake, but to-night settles it. You go! I've stood a lot from you,but your meal-ticket is no good after to-morrow morning--you _sabe_?It's you to the outside to-morrow. Now get out, or I call Mart."

  He turned and shuffled from the room, leaving his battered hat at herfeet.

  She waited till she heard him close his door; then, with a look ofdisgust on her face, picked up his hat and coat, and hung them on therack in the hall. "I'm sorry for Mart," she said to herself. "He _was_company for him, but I can't stand the loafer a day longer. I hope Inever see him again."

  * * * * *

  He did not get down to breakfast, and for this she was glad; but hesought opportunity a little later to plead for clemency. "Give meanother chance. I was drunk. I didn't mean it."

  She remained inexorable. "Not for a second," she succinctly replied. "Idon't
care how you fix it with Mart. Smooth it up as best you can, butfly this coop." And her face expressed such contempt that he crept away,flabby and faltering, to his brother.

  "I've been telegraphed for, and must go," he said. "And, by the way, Ineed a little ready mon to carry me to the little old town. As soon as Iget to work I'll send you a check."

  Mart handed him the money in silence, and waited till he had folded andput away the bills. Then he said: "Charles, you was always the smart oneof the family, and ye'd be all right now if ye'd pass the booze and getdown to hard work. It's _time_ ye were off, for ye've done nothin' butloaf and drink here. I've enjoyed your talk--part of the time; but I cansee ye'd grow onto me here like a wart, and that's bad for you and badfor me, and so I'm glad ye're going."

  "Can't you--" He was going to ask for a position--something easy withbig pay--when he saw that such a request would make his telegram a lie.

  As he hesitated Mart continued: "No, I'll back no play for ye. I'm agambler, but I take no chances of that kind. If you see the old father,write and tell me how he is."

  Charles, though filled with rising fury, was sober enough to know inwhat danger he stood, and forcing a smile to his face, shook hands andwent out to his carriage--alone.

  As Mart met Bertha a few minutes later he remarked, with calmdirectness: "There goes a cheap rounder and a sponge. I've been agambler and a saloon-keeper, but I never got the notion that I couldlive without doin' something. Charles was a smart lad, but the divil hashim by the neck, and to give money is to give him drink."

  Bertha remained silent, her own indictment was so much more severe.