Mark Gildersleeve Part 2

"Oh bless you, he'll do. The devil takes care of his own. Born to be hung, you know, and so forth. A simple contusion--plastered it up--he'll be all right when he gets sober. He's just ugly enough, too, to appear worse than he is, and frightened his sweet little sister out of her wits. The others, though, didn't seem to mind it so much, and no wonder.

But what makes you so anxious about him? When you came after me, you looked so pale and agitated hopes arose of a profitable patient. They're not so plenty now as they might be, and I welcome them with joy and grat.i.tude," said the doctor, tapping Mark familiarly on the shoulder.

"I feel so relieved, doctor; I was afraid he might be seriously hurt. He provoked me, and I retaliated. Had I noticed or known that he was drunk, perhaps I would not have minded him. He fell so heavily that I feared he might have broken his neck."

"He might, I grant, but he didn't. More's the pity, perhaps, for his friends and family. Especially for that poor wife of his, whom he will certainly kill in time, if he don't kill himself first. But, so you were the one that caused all this row, eh? You didn't say anything about that before. How dared you, rash youth, raise your ire against the heir-apparent? Fear you not the wrath of the prince-regnant? Know ye not that for thrift to follow it is as necessary now, as ever, to fawn to wealth and position? Anchylosis, my boy, invariably affects the pocket, mind that!"

"If it were not for--" began Mark, with a determined look, which he suddenly checked, to add with a quiet smile, "No one knows better than you, doctor, what little store I set by thrift, or any considerations of that kind. I trust my ambition aims higher than that."

"Fresh and admirable adolescence! Roseate age, when the glistening soap-bubble, Fame, hath more charms than substantial shekels! So be it, and well it is so, for without those soft illusions the aridity of existence would be insupportable, the world a desert and life a blank.

And now, my boy, while I wash my hands bring out the chess-board. I'll give you a bishop to-night, and unless I am interrupted by some silly biped seeking admittance to this sphere of trouble, or some still sillier one reluctant to leave it, we'll have a snug hour or two of enjoyment. So, votary of Ca.s.sa, to chess--to chess."

Soon the polished dome of the doctor's capacious head, and the curly black pate of the young man, were bent in intense study over the checkered field of mimic battle. In silence pa.s.sed the moments until a scratching at the door announced a visitor. "Ah, Dagon! Open the door, Mark, and let him in, please," said the doctor.

The young man complied, and a large black Newfoundland dog walked gravely in towards the doctor, and rested his head on his master's knee to be caressed. "True friend--faithful heart! Mark, three winters ago that dog saved my life. I was called out the night of the great snowstorm to go to the Furnaces, and but for Dagon your most obedient wouldn't be here. I've told it you before, I believe, so I'll not repeat the circ.u.mstances, but I love to dwell on them. Last spring he drew a child out of the ca.n.a.l; he would allow himself to be cut to pieces for me, and yet they say he has no soul! The Turks say the same of women.

Are we any wiser? They say, too, he has no reason. Look at his expressive, sagacious eye. The gibbering idiot has a soul, the vilest miscreant reason; but this n.o.ble animal has neither, 'tis said, and man's vanity invents instinct! O man--man, what a conceited fool thou art! Check, eh? Ha! a bold move, my boy."

The doctor's speculations were cut short by a brilliant stroke on the part of his adversary, and as the game is becoming more absorbing, and the players less communicative, we will leave them, to digress a little.

Dr. Basil Wattletop had been an English army-surgeon, and as such had spent much of his time in foreign parts. How he came to drift into Belton, no one knew positively, although there was a legend that he had stopped there one day, on his way from Canada, to view the cataract, and had remained in the town ever since. Be this as it might, there he was and had been for many years, enjoying a lucrative practice, as he doubtless well deserved, for he was a skilful pract.i.tioner. An odd-looking man he was, a bachelor of very uncertain age, yet hale and vigorous; in person short and rotund, like the typical Briton of mature years, with thin wisps of brown hair brushed around his bald crown, and large searching dark eyes set in a long, grave, rubicund face. In attire inclined to carelessness, but scrupulous as to polished shoes and immaculate linen, wearing collars perilously starched over a throttling black stock, the buckle and tag of which prominently ornamented his nape. Partial indeed was he to this stock, despite the sway of fashion.

In moments of caprice he would replace it by swaddling his short neck in a black cravat of many folds, the knot of which invariably slipped around and under his ear, giving him a losel and dissipated air.

His benevolent disposition had made him popular with the people of Belton, and many a poor body had reason to thank the good physician not only for gratuitous attendance, but for the wherewithal to buy indispensable remedies and comforts. We say had reason to thank him, for they seldom ventured to do so, certainly not a second time, for the doctor was exceedingly impatient of any manifestations of grat.i.tude, and generally received them with a cynical or tart comment.

One weakness the doctor had in common with many of his countrymen--devotion to the social gla.s.s and flowing bowl, and when he had indulged over freely he was a changed man. Then his ordinary blandness forsook him, and he became pompous and choleric. He b.u.t.toned his coat tightly over his chest, carried his cane under his arm, and gave a defiant c.o.c.k to his hat. Beware then how you contradicted him; beware how you defended that absurd heresy, h.o.m.oeopathy; and above all, beware how you disparaged, even in the remotest degree, her Majesty of England, G.o.d bless her! as he would add, reverently lifting his hat. His loyalty and pomposity increased in proportion to the depths of his potations, but, whether in rigid obedience to a self-imposed law, or owing to the resistant power of his brain, he never appeared to exceed a certain well-defined limit; and no one had ever seen the doctor overcome, or known him to be in a worse state than that peculiar one indicated by a highly burnished nose, tetchy dignity, and exaggerated self-importance. The doctor was generally in this condition three evenings in the week, beginning at about four o'clock post-meridian, and so far from its being considered prejudicial to the exercise of his professional duties by his patients, many of them religiously believed that his sagacity was keener and skill greater at those times than at others.

The doctor was an enigma to the Belton folk. While they all respected him for his good qualities, many were offended at his sarcasm, puzzled by his paradoxes, or displeased at his oracular utterances. A few even p.r.o.nounced him an "infidel" and an "atheist." Opinionated George Gildersleeve objected to the doctor's opinionativeness, and rated him a "pig-headed John Bull." As to the charge of atheism, who could have believed it that had ever seen the doctor at service, as he stood reverentially burying his red face in his stiff hat on Sundays in the fifth pew from the chancel, in the middle aisle of St. Jude's?

"Atheist, bosh!" said the doctor; "the old Latin proverb, _Ubi tres medici duo athei_, is simply nonsensical. Who comes so closely in contact with the mysterious ways of G.o.d, and realizes so thoroughly his own ignorance and impotence, as the physician? No--no, a corner of the veil has been uplifted to us, and we stand appalled and humble."

Mark Gildersleeve was almost an adopted son of the old physician, who had taken the youth in affection and proved an invaluable friend to him, chiefly by directing a course of reading and study. A priceless benefit this to Mark, whose advantages for instruction had been slight, for he had lost his parents at an early age, and been left to the care of his half-brother George, or rather to his half-brother's wife. It would have been difficult to find more dissimilar beings than these two brothers.

George was the true son of Eben Gildersleeve, the tough old smith who could forge the best horse-shoe in the county; while Mark inherited the character and tastes of his mother, Eben Gildersleeve's second wife, a woman of beauty and delicacy, a rustic Venus mated to a village Vulcan.

George was boisterous, given to bully and boast, and hid his purse-pride in an affected contempt for the world's opinion. Mark, on the contrary, was reserved, and rendered morbidly sensitive by a slight lameness resulting from an injury received in childhood--a mere blemish, though, in an otherwise well-knit and graceful form. For all his reserve the lad had a resolute and ambitious spirit. Gifted with quick perception, and a natural apt.i.tude for mathematics, he had become, although almost self-taught, proficient as a mechanical engineer. After a common-school education, his brother, in accordance with the theory that the only road to success was through a diligent use of the flexors and extensors, set him to work in the shops, but it was not long before he was found to be more useful in the draughting room. Young as he was, Mark had introduced some valuable improvements in his brother's works, although that independent fellow was not over-ready to acknowledge it.

On the contrary, he rather berated the young man behind his back, for a fop who cared for nothing but dress, or a fool who was occupied with dreams and poetry instead of devoting himself to his business. Mark, it must be admitted, sinned a little in that way, although not to an extent to justify his brother's railings. Full of enthusiasm and high aspirations, he scorned mere money-making, and as he earned enough to satisfy his wants he bestowed no further thought in that direction. This was a source of displeasure to George. "Confound the fellow," he would exclaim in the barber-shop, perhaps, or at Bird's livery stable, "Confound the fellow! he's no slouch, but as smart as they make 'em, and if he'd only stick to his work he'd be a rich man in time. I never had much of a head for figures, but it comes nat'ral to him. If he's a mind to, he can do more work than any other two men you can scare up, and if he aint a-mind, you can't coax or drive him. He'll go off and jingle away by the hour on a piano, like a girl, or play chess or read novels half the night. Why, he's even got a banjo up in his room that he strums away on like a n.i.g.g.e.r minstrel" (alluding to a Spanish guitar that Mark had bought, probably with the romantic intention of practising seguidillas). "Look at me," George would add as a clincher; "the only music ever I made was with a riveting hammer on a boiler, or a sledge on an anvil, and am I any the worse for it? Not much, I think, and here I am, as independent as a hog on ice! Don't owe a man a dollar in the world, and though I don't roost in as big a house as Rufe Heath or Pop Mumbie up on the hill yonder, they'll take my note at the bank as quick as either of theirs if I should ask it, which I don't, as I pays as I goes; and what's more, I can dust any of 'em on the plank-road any day of the week, with as pretty a pair o' flyers as there is in the State, and if you don't believe it here's the soap to back it for any amount from fifty to five thousand!"

And he would conclude customarily by drawing out a well-stuffed wallet, and slapping it energetically, with a defiant look at the by-standers.

That wallet was George's _ultimo ratio_, and when pushed in an argument, or at loss for a reply, he would flourish it at his opponent, with an offer to wager any sum on the moot-point; a reb.u.t.ter which, if it did not carry conviction, enabled George to close the issue in a triumphant manner. There was a story current to the effect that he had once startled a tableful of Methodist clergymen, a.s.sembled to take tea at Mrs. Gildersleeve's during a conference, by proffering to the decorous men a bet on the correct interpretation of a disputed pa.s.sage in St.

John; but this lacked confirmation, for George, if he had but little respect for any one else, had a great deal for his wife, and as such an act would have shocked her exceedingly, it is not at all likely that it took place.

The sagacious reader has doubtless come to the conclusion that the Gildersleeve family was composed of rather incongruous members, and yet, for one comprising such opposite characters, its harmony was remarkable.

They occupied a small two-story dwelling with a flower-garden attached, in a side street, not far from the Archimedes Works. A large, bright bra.s.s door-plate bore in very loud letters the name: GILDERSLEEVE--as if there were none other of that name in the universe, or as if this was _the_ Gildersleeve _par excellence_ of all who were fortunate enough to bear that honest patronymic. Aside from this, the residence presented a very quiet and modest appearance. The interior was plainly furnished, but neat as wax. In the little parlor were old-fashioned mahogany chairs and sofas dark with age, but polished, and protected with snowy tidies.

In one corner was Mark's piano, and on either side of the chimney-breast hung portraits in oil of Mr. and Mrs. Gildersleeve, taken when they were first married, and looking wooden in port and flat as to perspective, faced on the opposite side by photographic likenesses of the same at a mature age. Then between the windows was a colored photograph of Mr. Gildersleeve in his costume of foreman of a fire company, with red shirt, leathern cap, and trumpet; and still another representing him in his regalia as a Sir Knight of the Sancho Panza Commandery of the Knights of the Golden Fleece. George had a pa.s.sion for counterfeit presentments of himself, and in the alb.u.m on the centre-table might have been found a number of others, taken in various att.i.tudes and in various expressions of obstinacy, by that distinguished artist, Alonzo Snopple, Esq., who kept duplicates in his "studio" and never failed to call visitors' attention to them as remarkable pictures of a remarkable self-made man. "Fine head," he would say, "very fine head--rare combination of intellect and force--especially force.

Strongly marked lineaments, well adapted for Rembrandt effects. Observe the lights and shadows, that well-defined nose, etc.;" and George seemingly was not indisposed to allow the public every opportunity to familiarize itself with the representation of such a masterpiece of nature in the way of a head. Besides his love of portraiture, he was given to keeping fast trotters and game-c.o.c.ks, and in the stables at the Works were stalls devoted to a span of the speediest Morgans for the owner's private use, and in the stable yard strutted a certain breed of "orange-piles," whose pugnacious qualities were almost as well known as those of the celebrated fowls of the Derby walk; the dauntless game-c.o.c.ks, that:

"symbolize their lord."

These animals enabled George to indulge occasionally in a little sportsmanlike relaxation, and spice his toil-earned wealth by a few chance dollars won from fickle fortune.

Mrs. Gildersleeve was an industrious little housekeeper with an equable temper, and an unbounded and unquestioning faith in her husband; scarcely less so, too, in her brother-in-law Mark, whom she had brought up from childhood and looked upon as a son--an affection reciprocated by the young man, who loved her as if she were his mother, and with reason, for she could not have been more devoted had she really stood in that relation to him. The only thing that ever cast a shadow on her uniform serenity and cheerfulness, was the remissness in their religious duties of the two beings the nearest and dearest to her. She had more than once mentioned this subject to the Rev. Samuel Sniffen, and this good man had striven zealously to bring these wayward sheep into the fold, but with small effect; for George Gildersleeve seemed flint, and his brother quicksilver. Nevertheless, Mrs. Gildersleeve had gained ground and progressed so far in her endeavors at reclamation, that her husband invariably accompanied her to meeting every Sabbath morning and afternoon, while Mark escorted her to the evening service, the mornings and afternoons of that sacred day being devoted by the erratic youth to St. Jude's. It was an edifying sight to behold George at meeting. The stolidity with which he received the earnest and vivifying sermons of the Rev. Samuel Sniffen--as if they imparted teachings which the rest of the congregation would do well to heed, but which did not concern him in the least--was the despair of the excellent minister. The hardened sinner had even shown, on frequent occasions, a tendency to nap through exhortations of the most vehement and fervid character. What was to be done with such a soul? The only answer he would vouchsafe to the friendliest and most persuasive counsel was, that his wife was good enough for both of them, and he felt insured as to the future, as she no doubt would have influence enough to "pull him through" in any event.

"She'll take care of me, you bet," he would add; "she's good enough to save a half a dozen;" and in this conviction of security nothing could shake him. Brother Sniffen then wisely concluded that as it seemed a hopeless task for the patient to obtain sanctification through faith, he would induce him to try the efficacy of good works, and in this laudable endeavor called upon him constantly for contributions to the support and propagation of the Methodist Episcopal persuasion, and as George always responded liberally to all such requests, he stood well with the good people of that sect, in spite of his stiff-neckedness.

Mark was more tractable. He was willing to do almost anything to please his sister-in-law except, perhaps, giving up his attendance at St.

Jude's. And whence, it may be asked, arose this preference in the young man for that particular temple of worship? Did he hunger after the spiritual truth as dispensed by the rector, the Rev. Spencer Abbott?

Alas! we fear not. Did he deem his tenor voice an indispensable adjunct to the church choir? Strict truth compels us to say nay. Mrs.

Gildersleeve, for her part, attributed his partiality for the Episcopal service to Dr. Wattletop's influence; but the worthy lady's perspicuity was entirely at fault, and the motive that impelled her brother-in-law to such an a.s.siduous attendance at St. Jude's was not any preference for a liturgy, or leaning for the tenets of that church; in fact, we regret to say, it was not any religious conviction whatever, but simply and solely--love! Love for the sweetest profile ever imagined; the profile that he was continually sketching on the draughting sheets or tracing-paper; that distracted him while at work; that drew him to St.

Jude's, but drew his attention away from the excellent sermons of the young and worthy rector. And the possessor of that profile was--Edna Heath. She, of course, was attentive to the sermon as good girls always are, and utterly unconscious of the glances directed at her from the organ-loft, where Mark poured forth the pantings of his sighing soul in song. Utterly unconscious, too, of the influence she exerted over that youth's ideas and aspirations; how she had inspired him with vaulting ambition, and given him a corresponding distaste for his calling; how, for her sake, he desired to become famous, and, of all things, to be a poet! In this frame of mind, this fervent exaltation, the church seemed a haven of bliss to him, and his worshipping, we grieve to say, was directed chiefly to the idol who sat in the double pew in the transept nearest to the chancel. All his longing for fame was solely to lay it at her feet, and win not only her favor, but her admiration. He scarcely desired the one without the other; for once she had pitied him, and that pity had left a sting which could only be healed by the salve of admiration. How and when this uneffaced wound was received, we shall divulge in the succeeding chapter.

IV.

Years before, when our young people were children, a juvenile party was given one evening at Mr. Heath's, in honor of his son's birthday. The children's schoolmates were invited, and Mark Gildersleeve among the number. Miss Edna, in white with a big blue sash, was naturally enough an object of much devotion to the young gallants in roundabouts and pumps, who certainly evinced good taste, as the little belle was lovely as delicate bloom, bright eyes, and rich curls could make her. Poor Mark was dismal enough while the dancing was in progress, as his sensitiveness in regard to his lameness, and his Methodist relative's scruples had prevented him from learning that accomplishment; hence, he would have pa.s.sed but a dull evening, had it not been for Edna, whose kind little heart prompted her to select him as her partner in "Come, Philanders," "Oats, peas, beans, and barley," etc., when those games came on the carpet. This partiality on the part of Miss Edna naturally engendered much jealousy in the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of her numerous admirers; and one, a malicious urchin, with the instincts of an Iago, plotted to make Jack Heath his avenger. Jack, an overgrown, lubberly boy, swelling with the importance of his position, and the possession of a gold watch and tail-coat, was diverting himself by teasing the girls and playing tricks on the younger lads. Young Iago suggested having some fun with Mark.

Said he, "I will go and get Willie Hull and Mortimer, and we'll all hustle him, eh, Jack?"

"All right," said Jack; "he's a mean sneak, anyway. He thinks himself so smart. He's no business here. Edna sent him an invitation; I wouldn't."

The boys surrounded Mark and jeered him. "Where are your gloves?"

inquired Iago, Junior, pointing to Mark's bare hands. The poor boy colored, for the other lads wore white kids, while he had none--an omission due, most likely, to his sister's ignorance of the requirements of fashionable society.

"Oh, what a pooty cravat! Look here, ain't that a pooty one? Don't you wish you had one like it? What lots of money it must have cost, eh?"

cried Jack, in affected admiration, as he pulled the boy's rather gaudy neck-tie.

"Let me alone," said Mark, indignantly.

"Suppose I won't," continued Jack, "what are you going to do about it, limpey?"

Stung by this cruel taunt, Mark's eyes flashed, and on the instant he struck his insulter full in the face. Jack, for the moment, was bewildered by this sudden and unexpected attack, but soon recovering himself, rushed at Mark, threw him down, and fell on him. Over they rolled in their struggles, but Jack, being older and heavier, soon had the best of it, and kept the other under. The girls screamed, and Professor Banghoffen sprang from the grand piano to separate the combatants. This was no easy matter for a pursy man, and a kick in the stomach from the writhing legs caused him to recoil, pant, and consider.

The colored domestic, however, soon came to his a.s.sistance, and between them they succeeded, after much puffing on the part of the professor and the fracture of his spectacles, in stopping the fight. The contestants were not much hurt, but stood glaring at each other with rumpled hair and flushed countenances. The children nearly all blamed Mark, but Edna, greatly to his surprise, took his part with much warmth. She had overheard the provocation, and now stood by him with a very indignant and determined air.

"I've a good mind to tell father, Jack, how you have behaved; I think it is real shameful. Mark is your guest, and it is very--very mean indeed, and real wicked to tease him as you did; and you ought to be thankful in your prayers that you are not lame as he is, and ought to pity him, and be kind to him, instead of teasing him so unkindly."

"You seem very fond of him all of a sudden," sneered Jack; "Guess he must be your beau. Better kiss him, hadn't you?"

At this sally the boys laughed, and Edna, covering her blushing face with her hands, burst into tears and went away sobbing. "You ought (sob) you ought (sob) ought to be ashamed. I'll (sob) I'll go (sob--sob--sob) and tell father (sob, etc.)."

Mark felt as if he could have pitched into Jack with increased vigor; but he refrained from any demonstration, and as this last incident broke up the party, went home with a spark in his bosom that was destined to kindle into a flame.

Mark arose early the next morning, and before going to school stopped to see Dr. Wattletop.

The doctor was still abed, for he had been up nearly all the previous night; nevertheless, he rose cheerfully at the call, broken rest having become a second nature to him, drew on a dressing-gown, and went into his consulting-room, where he found Mark waiting.

"Well, my lad, what is it?" inquired the doctor, who was unacquainted with his visitor.

"Doctor, I am lame, and I want you to cure me," said Mark.

"Lame, eh? How long have you been so, and what caused it?"