第23章 CHAPTER V(1)

The apartment he entered was really only a lumber-room or loft over the wing of the house,which had been left bare and unfinished,and which revealed in its meagre skeleton of beams and joints the hollow sham of the whole structure.But in more violent contrast to the fresher glories of the other part of the house were its contents,which were the heterogeneous collection of old furniture,old luggage,and cast-off clothing,left over from the past life in the old cabin.It was a much plainer record of the simple beginnings of the family than Mrs.Mulrady cared to have remain in evidence,and for that reason it had been relegated to the hidden recesses of the new house,in the hope that it might absorb or digest it.There were old cribs,in which the infant limbs of Mamie and Abner had been tucked up;old looking-glasses,that had reflected their shining,soapy faces,and Mamie's best chip Sunday hat;an old sewing-machine,that had been worn out in active service;old patchwork quilts;an old accordion,to whose long drawn inspirations Mamie had sung hymns;old pictures,books,and old toys.There were one or two old chromos,and,stuck in an old frame,a colored print from the "Illustrated London News"of a Christmas gathering in an old English country house.He stopped and picked up this print,which he had often seen before,gazing at it with a new and singular interest.He wondered if Mamie had seen anything of this kind in England,and why couldn't he have had something like it here,in their own fine house,with themselves and a few friends?He remembered a past Christmas,when he had bought Mamie that now headless doll with the few coins that were left him after buying their frugal Christmas dinner.There was an old spotted hobby-horse that another Christmas had brought to Abner--Abner,who would be driving a fast trotter to-morrow at the Springs!How everything had changed!How they all had got up in the world,and how far beyond this kind of thing--and yet--yet it would have been rather comfortable to have all been together again here.Would THEY have been more comfortable?No!Yet then he might have had something to do,and been less lonely to-morrow.

What of that?He HAD something to do:to look after this immense fortune.What more could a man want,or should he want?It was rather mean in him,able to give his wife and children everything they wanted,to be wanting anything more.He laid down the print gently,after dusting its glass and frame with his silk handkerchief,and slowly left the room.

The drum-beat of the rain followed him down the staircase,but he shut it out with his other thoughts,when he again closed the door of his office.He set diligently to work by the declining winter light,until he was interrupted by the entrance of his Chinese waiter to tell him that supper--which was the meal that Mulrady religiously adhered to in place of the late dinner of civilization--was ready in the dining-room.Mulrady mechanically obeyed the summons;but on entering the room the oasis of a few plates in a desert of white table-cloth which awaited him made him hesitate.

In its best aspect,the high dark Gothic mahogany ecclesiastical sideboard and chairs of this room,which looked like the appointments of a mortuary chapel,were not exhilarating;and to-day,in the light of the rain-filmed windows and the feeble rays of a lamp half-obscured by the dark shining walls,it was most depressing.

"You kin take up supper into my office,"said Mulrady,with a sudden inspiration."I'll eat it there."He ate it there,with his usual healthy appetite,which did not require even the stimulation of company.He had just finished,when his Irish cook--the one female servant of the house--came to ask permission to be absent that evening and the next day.

"I suppose the likes of your honor won't be at home on the Christmas Day?And it's me cousins from the old counthry at Rough-and-Ready that are invitin'me.""Why don't you ask them over here?"said Mulrady,with another vague inspiration."I'll stand treat.""Lord preserve you for a jinerous gintleman!But it's the likes of them and myself that wouldn't be at home here on such a day."There was so much truth in this that Mulrady checked a sigh as he gave the required permission,without saying that he had intended to remain.He could cook his own breakfast:he had done it before;and it would be something to occupy him.As to his dinner,perhaps he could go to the hotel at Rough-and-Ready.He worked on until the night had well advanced.Then,overcome with a certain restlessness that disturbed him,he was forced to put his books and papers away.It had begun to blow in fitful gusts,and occasionally the rain was driven softly across the panes like the passing of childish fingers.This disturbed him more than the monotony of silence,for he was not a nervous man.He seldom read a book,and the county paper furnished him only the financial and mercantile news which was part of his business.He knew he could not sleep if he went to bed.At last he rose,opened the window,and looked out from pure idleness of occupation.A splash of wheels in the distant muddy road and fragments of a drunken song showed signs of an early wandering reveller.There were no lights to be seen at the closed works;a profound darkness encompassed the house,as if the distant pines in the hollow had moved up and round it.The silence was broken now only by the occasional sighing of wind and rain.It was not an inviting night for a perfunctory walk;but an idea struck him--he would call upon the Slinns,and anticipate his next day's visit!They would probably have company,and be glad to see him:he could tell the girls of Mamie and her success.That he had not thought of this before was a proof of his usual self-contained isolation,that he thought of it now was an equal proof that he was becoming at last accessible to loneliness.

He was angry with himself for what seemed to him a selfish weakness.