“Well, we’ve won!” exclaimed Herbert the next day as, having mounted the stairs two at a time, he thrust his head into Margaret’s open door. “The men are putting the furniture into the room, and I’ve a little sop in the way of damages,” and he drew from his pocketbook a bank-note for ten dollars and laid it in Margaret’s lap.
She looked at it dubiously. “Oh, it is honest,” he laughed; “there’s no taint of charity about it. Such high-handed crimes against justice must be made to suffer the penalty. It has set me to thinking, too, that it is time something was done toward establishing justice for these helpless poor. Why, the case would never have been won if I had not employed some of the best talent in the city.”
“And that, of course, is costly.”
“Of course; often more than the little sum in question. By the way, have you seen the head of this distressed family down-stairs?”
“I saw him for a few moments last night. He seems to be a gentleman in bearing and acquirements, but he wears a depressed, hopeless expression and a listless, half-hearted manner, that I can see are a constant thorn in the side of his more energetic, if enfeebled, wife.”
“Well, no wonder, if half the story she tells is true. This seems to me a case of genuine humanity; one that appeals directly to a man’s soul if he has one. That man ought to be given work.”
“True, but he says he has sought for it far and wide.”
“I don’t think he need seek any further. I have a friend who is a wholesale grocer down on S—— W—— Street, and in relating the story to him, he offered the position of porter at eight dollars a week. Not a munificent salary, certainly, but a good deal better than nothing.”
“Oh, I am so glad!” exclaimed Margaret. “And how happy that poor wife will be. I’ve grown very much interested in her, for the reason that such an ambitious spirit seems to dwell within the enfeebled body. How terrible it is when body and spirit are so at odds!”
“Terrible indeed! I really hope the good news of a place for her husband will act as a tonic. I leave the matter entirely in your hands and empower you to deliver the message.”
“I will go now, if you will excuse me. I am in a hurry to tell the good news.”
“Oh, certainly! Never mind me.”
Margaret returned with a dismayed and crestfallen countenance. “He refuses it!” she exclaimed breathlessly as she sank into a chair. Herbert gave a long low whistle, and elevated his eyebrows in a cynical grimace that was not at all becoming.
“I am ashamed to tell you his reason,” Margaret went on. “It seems so trivial under the circumstances. He says he is fitted for higher work, and, in short, cannot accept such ungenteel employment.”
“Well, that settles the Hon. Edward Carson, Esq.,” said Herbert briskly. “I shall waste no more sympathy on him.”
“But the poor wife,” said Margaret, the tears standing in her eyes. “It was pitiful to see the look she gave him and hear her voice as she urged his acceptance of the place. ‘Anything is better than starving,’ she cried. ‘And perhaps you can work up to a better place; I am sure you can when your employers learn your fidelity and trustworthiness;’ but her entreaties were useless. He was stubborn with that white determination of an iron will. Neither the poor woman’s tears nor prayers had any visible effect upon him.”
“What does the fellow intend to do?”
“Oh, he has some little peddling devices, out of which, I believe, he expects to realize the fortune of a Vanderbilt in a short time. In fact, he informed me that he considered himself fully equal to managing his own affairs.”
“He has proved it. Well, Miss Margaret, this only strengthens my belief in the folly of attempting to help such incapables.”
“But think how the innocent suffer with the guilty! Think of the sick wife and the helpless babies! Because the man is stubborn and ill-natured, must those who are dependent on him be left to starve?”
“It seems a hard doctrine, born of that old pagan idea of brute force; but I sometimes question if it would not be the shortest way of ridding the world of its great army of incapables. Don’t look so horrified, at least until I have finished. Take this unfortunate woman, delicately reared, educated, refined, sensitive; charity is, no doubt, nearly as offensive to her as starvation. Such people are proud of their independence of character, and what can she hope for in a future that sees only the hand of charity between her and the grave? The helping hand in an extremity like this is different from a bounty that must be a continued obligation.”
“Looking at the question from her standpoint, perhaps you are right; but in looking at it from ours, I think you are wrong.”
“There’s the rub! These ethical questions demand some other solution than expediency.”
“Christianity alone can solve them, as indeed it is the only true solution of all the great questions of the world. The simple truth that we are our brother’s keeper acknowledged by mankind would be an easy method of settling this omnipresent and embittering war between labor and capital.”
“A method the world has been slow to accept.”
“In one sense, perhaps, but as we view the long night of darkness and degradation before the coming of Christ, we can only marvel at the progress that has been made in less than two thousand years. Some day in God’s great harmonies we shall hear the rhythmic heart-beats of an altruistic faith, binding the whole world together in a common brotherhood.”
“And you are doing your best to strike a note in that great harmony?”
“With Mr. Lynn’s help,” laughed Margaret. “He is going to advise me how to assist that suffering and unfortunate woman down-stairs.”
“Impossible! He can only be the humble tool in your wiser hands. However, I’ve been wise enough to think she ought to be put under the care of a physician. That can be safely managed through you, as indeed can all delicate commissions.”
“Thanks,” said Margaret. “I always try to put myself in the sufferer’s place, as I have known what it was to need help, and be grateful for it.”
“When my hour of tribulation comes, may I have just such a ministering angel!” exclaimed Herbert warmly.
“Tribulation and the prosperous Mr. Lynn are a singular and almost unlooked-for conjunction.”
“A man may have a great deal and yet want more. In fact, if he owns the earth he usually wants the moon, or something equally impossible.”
“Is that one of your longings?”
“No; mine is more sublunary, if you will permit a pun so atrocious. The truth is there’s another Galatea in whose marble veins I should like to see the warm blood of feeling run. My presence always seems to congeal the red current that glows for others.”
“You speak in enigmas.”
“Just now, perhaps; but by-and-by you will understand. By the way, there is one intense longing you can gratify. May I drop in some time to one of those charming ‘evenings’ Lizzette and Antoine have described to me? I have a sincere desire to consider myself a beneficiary.”
“I am afraid I should say ‘no,’ if I did not begin to realize a little the earnestness of your nature. We are sensitive to our shortcomings.”
“An equal sensitiveness inspires me with the desire to find a motive as admirable as that which actuates your little coterie. Besides—I suppose I may as well be honest, since you will be sure to find me out—I play the violin a little myself, and would be most happy occasionally to supply Antoine’s vacant niche, provided your sister could be prevailed upon to accompany me.”
A new light dawned upon Margaret as she watched the boyish blush that mounted to Herbert’s brow. “And so you have already found out what an uncertain quantity my little sister is?”
“As regards your humble servant, she has been a profound certainty. A block of ice could not have been a colder reality,” answered Herbert with a rueful smile.
Margaret’s face grew suddenly thoughtful, but after a moment’s hesitation she said bravely:
“I believe there are times when only the truth should be spoken regardless of conventionality. For my own part, Mr. Lynn, I like you exceedingly, and should gladly welcome you to our little circle; but my little sister is young, beautiful as you know, imaginative, sensitive, and—well, is it not best under the circumstances, which you so well understand, that she should continue a cold reality to you?”
“No!” exclaimed Herbert emphatically, as he sprang to his feet and placed a hand on the back of Margaret’s chair. “I am no cowardly trifler, and I have an honest admiration for Elsie that has a right to crave its legitimate outlet. I ask only a fair field.”
Glancing up at the earnest, flushed face, Margaret smiled as she rose and laid her hand on his. “You shall have it,” she said. “Bring your violin and be your own propitiation. I never interfere in matters of this kind.”
Herbert raised Margaret’s hand to his lips, and murmuring something wholly unintelligible, he snatched his hat and left the room. Margaret sat long buried in thought after he had left her. Elsie’s doubts and misgivings in no way troubled her. Love in her eyes was too sacred and too rare to hamper it with the chains of caste or clothe it in false conventionality. But until now the thought of love and Elsie had not come to her except in the vague sometime that comes to all women. Elsie was so young, so inexperienced, yet, strange as it seemed, so wise. She had looked apprehensively upon the volatile nature, fearful that its buoyant wings would be sadly singed in the candle of life. Yet by Herbert’s own confession the little maid had been as wise in her demeanor as if whole generations of elder sisters had stood sponsor for every utterance. “I am glad,” she sighed tremulously, with that sweet enjoyment of love which all women have. “I could not be better pleased if the selection had been my own; but I mistrust that little sister of mine will lead him a wild dance before she surrenders, if she ever does. There are graver thoughts in that young head than I ever dreamed of. But all I can say is, God speed an honest love!”
An hour later Margaret was on the street, intent upon a purpose which had been gaining strength ever since the invalid, Mrs. Carson, had given her the poem she had read at her bedside. There seemed to Margaret to be too much merit in the poem to forego the effort to find for it, not only publication, but pay. Margaret had become strongly possessed of the primitive idea that the laborer is worthy of his hire, and that merit had the right to demand recognition. Her contact with life had so far been so simple and direct that the complexities governing man’s progress had only just begun to confront her. It was, therefore, with the bravery born of ignorance that she entered several editorial sanctums connected with the various leading papers and periodicals of the great city and offered the poem for inspection. The contemptuous glances, and decided snubs she received, disturbed her equanimity rather than her purpose; although if the matter had been a purely personal one, literary ambition would have met instant death in these encounters. But Margaret’s strength was always greater for others than for herself, and not until she had exhausted all avenues did she intend to turn back. Finally in the eleventh venture she encountered an editor who, listening to her story and becoming interested, volunteered the information that the poem had merit and was worthy of remuneration. A check for five dollars gladdened Margaret’s heart, and her smiles and expressions of gratitude must have made a bit of sunshine in the soul of a just man. Margaret hurried home, her face glowing with happiness, and hastening into the invalid’s room, produced the check with infinite satisfaction. There was no answer, but a pair of thin arms reached up and clasped Margaret’s neck, while sobs and tears contended for the mastery. Margaret waited until the storm had subsided and then said gently: “You will have a chance now to turn your talent to account.”
“What an angel you are! Sent by the God whom I doubted! How can I ever repay it all?”
“By reawakening a slumbering faith, getting well, and working cheerfully,” and with a kiss upon the invalid’s agitated lips, Margaret went up to her rooms.