Tracy Park Part 9

The box itself, which was of tortoise sh.e.l.l, lined with blue velvet, was a marvel of beauty, while the pin was a cl.u.s.ter of five diamonds with a larger one in the center, but the ear-rings were solitaires, large and brilliant, and Dolly's delight knew no bounds as she took the dazzling stones in her hands and examined them carefully. Diamond were the jewels of all others which she coveted, but which Frank never felt warranted in buying, and now they were hers, and for a time she forgot even Gretchen, whose arrival, or rather non-arrival, troubled her as much as it did her brother-in-law.

Arthur had been very quiet and gentle all the afternoon, showing no sign of the temper he had exhibited the previous night at sight of Harold until about six o'clock, when Tom, his ten-year-old nephew, came rushing into the library, followed by Peterkin, very hot and very red in the face, which he mopped with his yellow silk handkerchief.

'Oh, mother,' Tom began, 'what do you think Harold Hastings has done? He stole Mrs. Peterkin's gold pin last night. It was stuck in her shawl, and she couldn't find it, and Lucy saw him fumbling with the things, and he denies it up hill and down, and Mr. Peterkin is going to arrest him.

I guess d.i.c.k St. Claire won't think him the nicest boy in town now. The thief! I'd like--

But what he would like was never known, for with a spring Arthur bounded toward him, and seizing him by the coat collar, shook him vigorously, while he exclaimed:

'Coward and liar! Harold Hastings is not a thief! No child of Amy Crawford could ever be a thief, and if you say that again, or even insinuate it to any living being, I'll break every bone in your body. Do you understand?'

'Yes, sir; no sir, I won't; I won't,' Tom gasped, as well as he could, with his head bobbing forward and back so rapidly that his teeth cut into his under lip.

'But _I_ shall,' Peterkin roared. 'I'll have the young dog arrested, too, if he don't own up and give up.'

There was a wicked look in Arthur's black eyes, which he fastened upon Peterkin, as he said;

'What does it all mean, sir? Will you please explain?'

'Yes, in double quick time,' replied Peterkin, a little nettled by Arthur's manner, which he could not understand. 'You see, me and Mary Jane was early to the doin's; fust ones, in fact, for when your invite says half past seven it means it, I take it. Wall, we was here on time, and Mary Jane has been on a tear ever since, and says Miss St. Claire nor none of the big bugs didn't come till nine, which I take is imperlite, don't you?'

'Never mind, we are not discussing etiquette. Go on with the pin and the boy,' Arthur said haughtily.

'Mary Jane,' Peterkin continued, 'had a gold-headed shawl pin, with a small diamond in the head--real, too, for I don't b'lieve in shams, and haint sense the day I quit boatin' and hauled ther 'Liza Ann up inter my back yard. Well, she left this pin stickin' in her shawl, and no one up there but this boy of that Crawford gal's, and n.o.body knows who else.'

Something in Arthur's face and manner made Frank think of a tiger about to pounce upon its prey, and he felt himself growing cold with suspense and dread as he watched his brother, while Peterkin continued:

'When Mary Jane came to go home, her things wa'n't there, and the pin was missin'; and Lucy, the girl, said she found the boy pullin' them over by himself, when he had no call to be in there; and, sir, there ain't a lawyer in the United States that would refuse a writ on that evidence, and I'll get one of St. Claire afore to-morrow night. I told 'em so, the widder and the boy, who was as bra.s.sy as you please, and faced me down and said he never seen the pin, nor knowed there was one; while she--wall, I swow, if she didn't start round lively for a woman with her leg bandaged up in vinegar and flannel. When I called the brat a thief and said I'd have him arrested, she made for the door and ordered me out--me, Joe Peterkin, of the 'Liza Ann! I'll make her smart, though, wus than the rheumatiz. I'll make her feel the heft--'

He did not have time to finish the sentence, for the tiger in Arthur was fully roused, and with a bound toward Peterkin he opened the door, and, in a voice which seemed to fill the room, although it was only a whisper, he said:

'Clown! loafer! puff-ball! Leave my house instantly, and never enter it again until you have apologized to Mrs. Crawford and her grandson for the insult offered them by your vile accusations. If it were not for soiling my hands, I would throw you down the steps,' he continued, as he stood holding the door open, and looking with his flashing eyes and dilated nostrils, as if he were fully equal to anything.

Like most men of the boasting sort, Peterkin was a coward, and though he probably had twice the strength of Arthur, he went through the door-way out upon the piazza, where he stopped, and, with a flourish of his fist, denounced the whole Tracy tribe, declaring them but a race of upstarts, no better than he was, and saying he would yet be even with them, and make them feel the heft of his powerful disapprobation. Whatever else he said was not heard, for Arthur shut the door upon him, and returning to the library, where his brother stood, pale, trembling, and anxious for the votes he felt he had lost, he became on the instant as quiet and gentle as a child, and, consulting his watch, said in his natural tone:

'Quarter of seven, and the train is due at half-past. Please tell John to have the carriage ready. I am going myself this time.'

Frank opened his lips to protest against it, but something in his brother's manner kept him quiet and submissive. He was no longer master there--unless--unless--he scarcely dared whisper to himself what; but when the carriage went for the fourth time to the station after Gretchen and returned without her, he said to his wife:

'I think Arthur is crazy, and possibly we shall have to shut him up.'

'Yes, I wish you would,' was Dolly's reply, in a tone of relief, for, thus far, Arthur's presence in the house had not added to her comfort.

'Of course he is crazy, and ought to be taken care of before he tears the house down over our heads, or does some dreadful thing.'

'That's so, and I will see St. Claire to-morrow and find out the proper steps to be taken,' said Frank.

That night he dreamed of windows with iron bars across them, and strait-jackets, into which he was thrusting his brother, while a face, the loveliest he had ever seen, looked reproachfully at him, with tears in the soft blue eyes, and a pleading pathos in the voice which said words he could not understand, for the language was a strange one to him who only knew his own.

With a start Frank awoke, and found his wife sitting up in bed, listening intently to sounds which came from the hall, where some one was evidently moving around.

'Hark!' she said, in a whisper. 'Do you hear that? There's a burglar in the house after my diamonds. What shall I do?'

But Frank knew that no burglar ever made the noise this disturber of their rest was making and stepping out of bed he opened the door cautiously, and looking out, saw his brother, wrapped in a long dressing-gown, with a candle in his hand, opening one window after another until the hall was filled with the cold night wind, which swept down the long corridor banging a door at the farther end and setting all the rest to rattling.

'Oh! Frank, is that you?' Arthur said. 'I am sorry I woke you, but I smelled an awful smell somewhere, and traced it to the hall, which you see I am airing; better shut the door or you will take cold. The house is full of malaria.'

He was certainly crazy; there could be no doubt of it; and next morning, when Mr. St. Claire entered his office, he found Frank Tracy waiting there to consult him with regard to the legal steps necessary to procure his brother's incarceration in a lunatic asylum.

Arthur St. Claire's face wore a grave, troubled look as he listened, for he remembered a time, years before, when he, too, had been interested in the lunatic asylum at Worcester, where a beautiful young girl, his wife, had been confined. She was dead now, and the Florida roses were growing over her grave, but there were many sad, regretful memories connected with her short life, and not the least sad of these were those connected with the asylum.

'If it were to do over again I would not put her there, unless she became dangerous,' he had often said to himself, and he said much the same thing to Frank Tracy with regard to his brother.

'Keep him at home, if possible. Do not place him with a lot of lunatics if you can help it. No proof he is crazy because he smells everything.

My wife does the same. Her nose is over the registers half the time in winter to see if any gas is escaping from the furnace. And as to this Gretchen, it is possible there was some woman with him on the ship, or in New York, and he may be a little muddled there. You can inquire at the hotel where he stopped.'

This was Mr. St. Claire's advice, and Frank acted upon it, and took immediate steps to ascertain if there had been a lady in company with his brother at the Brevoort House, where he had stopped, or if there had been any one in his company on the ship, which was still lying in the dock at New York. But there no one had been with him. Arthur Tracy alone was registered among the list of pa.s.sengers, and only Arthur Tracy was on the books at the hotel. He had come alone, and been alone on the sea and at the hotel.

Gretchen was a myth, or at least a mystery, though he still persisted that she would arrive with every train from Boston; and for nearly a week they humored him, and the carriage went to meet her, until at last there seemed to dawn upon his mind the possibility of a mistake, and when the carriage had made its twentieth trip for nothing, and Mr. St.

Claire, who was standing by him on the platform when the train came up and brought no Gretchen, said to him:

'She did not come.'

'I am afraid she will never come,' he answered, sadly. 'No, she will never come. There has been some mistake. She will never come. Poor little Gretchen!' Then, after a moment he added, but there _is_ a Gretchen, and I wrote to her to join me in Liverpool, and I thought she did and was with me on the ship and in the train, but sometimes, when my head is so hot, I get things mixed, and am not sure but--' and he looked wistfully in his companion's face, while his voice trembled a little.

'Don't let them shut me up; I have a suspicion that they will try it, but it will do no good. I was in an asylum nearly three years near Vienna; went of my own accord, because of that heat in my head.'

'Been in an asylum?' Mr. St. Claire said, wonderingly.

'Yes,' Arthur continued, 'I was only out three months ago. I wrote occasionally to Frank and Gretchen, but did not tell them where I was.

They called it a _maison de sante_, and treated me well because I paid well, but the sight of so many crazy people made me worse, and if I had staid I should have been mad as the maddest of them. As it was, I forgot almost everything that ever happened, and fancied I was an Austrian. As soon as I came out I was better, though I was not quite myself till I got to Liverpool. Then things came back to me. Stand by me, St. Claire.

I can see I am in the way, and Frank would like to be rid of me; but stand by me, and don't let them do it.'

His manner was very pleading, and like one who was in fear of something, and remembering the past when a golden-haired girl had begged him to save her from iron bars and bolts, Mr. St. Claire a.s.sured him of his support against any steps which might be taken to prove him mad enough for the asylum.

'But I would not come for Gretchen any more,' he said. 'I would give her a rest. Who is she?'

Instantly the old look of cunning came into Arthur's eyes, as he replied:

'She is Gretchen;' and then he walked toward the carriage, while Mr. St.

Claire looked curiously after him, and said to himself:

'That fellow is not right, but he is not a subject for a mad house, and I should oppose his being sent there. I do not believe, however, that they will try it on.'

CHAPTER X.

ARTHUR SETTLES HIMSELF.