In spite of his reputation as a banker, B. C. was a poor business man where his own affairs were concerned. During his wife’s life his own bank stock increased in value to about twenty-five thousand dollars, but he managed to lose all of the twenty-five thousand his wife had brought him, and when she died he had nothing but his house and his bank stock. In the four or five years since his wife’s death he had continued his misfortunes, and had pledged fifteen thousand dollars’ worth of his bank stock to old Peter Grimsby, one of the bank’s directors. Thus, while Riverbank counted B. C. Burton a wealthy man, the bank president was worth a scant ten thousand dollars, plus a house worth five or six thousand. The bank stock brought him six per cent, and his salary was two thousand; he had an income of about twenty-six hundred dollars which the town imagined to be ten or fifteen thousand.
Being a childless widower he could live well enough on his income in Riverbank, but, had it not been for his placidity of temper, he would have been a discontented and disappointed man. Even so his first half hour after awaking in the morning was a bad half hour. He opened his eyes feeling depressed and weary, with his life an empty hull. For half an hour he felt miserable and hopeless; but he had a sound body, and a cup of coffee and solid breakfast set him up for the day; he became a good-natured machine for the transaction of routine banking business.
Some twist of humor or bit of carelessness had marked the choice of the names of the two Burton boys. The elder had been named Andrew D., which in itself was nothing odd; neither was there anything odd that the younger should have been given the name of the father’s partner, Benjamin Corley; but the town was quick to adopt the initials – A. D. and B. C. – and to see the humor in them, and the two men were ever after known by them. When they were boys they were nicknamed Anna (for Anno Domini) and Beef (for Before Christ), and the names were not ill-chosen. The elder boy was as nervous as a girl, and Ben was as stolid as an ox. They never got along well together and, soon after B. C. entered the bank, A. D. – who had been cashier – left it and went into retail trade.
A. D. was the type of man that seems smeared all over with whatever he undertakes. Had he been a baker he would have been covered with flour and dough from head to foot – dough would have been in his hair. Had B. C. been a baker he would have emerged from his day’s work without a fleck of flour upon him. A. D. blundered into things, and became saturated with them; B. C.‘s affairs were like the skin of a ripe tangerine – they clothed him but were hardly an integral part of him. Life’s rind fitted him loosely.
When David Dean entered the bank, B. C. was closeted with a borrower, and the dominie was obliged to wait a few minutes. He stood at the window, his hands clasped behind him, gazing into the street, and trying to arrange the words in which he would ask the banker-trustee for the advance he desired. The door to the banker’s private office opened, the customer came out, and the door closed again. A minute later the cashier told David he might enter.
B. C. was sitting at his desk, coatless but immaculate. He turned and smiled.
“Good morning, Mr. Dean,” he said. “Another good com day. You and I don’t get much pleasure out of this hot weather, I am afraid, but it is money in the farmers’ pockets.”
He did nothing to make David’s way easy. His very smiling good nature made it more difficult. David plunged headlong into his business.
“Mr. Burton, could you – do you think the trustees would – grant me a further advance on my salary!”
The banker showed no surprise, no resentment. “I dislike to ask it,” David continued. “I feel that the trustees have already done all that they should. It is my place to keep within my income – that I know – but I seem to have fallen behind in the last few years. I have had to run into debt to some extent. There is one debt that should be paid; it should be paid immediately; otherwise – ”
“Don’t stand,” said B. C., touching a vacant chair with his finger. “Of course you know I am only one of the trustees, Mr. Dean. I should not pretend to give you an answer without consulting the others, but I suppose I was made a trustee because I know something of business. They seem to have left the finances of the church rather completely in my hands; I think I have brought order out of chaos. Here is the balance sheet, brought down to the first of the month.” David took the paper and stared at it, but the figures meant nothing to him. He felt already that Burton meant to refuse his request “Let me see it,” B. C. said, and his very method of handing the statement to David and then taking it again for examination was characteristic. “Why, we are in better shape than I thought! This is very good indeed! We are really quite ahead of ourselves; you see here we have paid five hundred dollars on the mortgage a full six months before the time the payment was due. And here is payment made for roofing the church, and paid promptly. Usually we keep our bills waiting. Then here is the advance made you. This is a very good statement, Mr. Dean. And now let me see; cash on hand! Well, that item is low; very low! Twenty-eight dollars and forty cents. You understand that, do you! That is the cash we have available for all purposes.”
He had not refused David; he had shown him that his request could not be granted.
“Of course, then,” said David, “the trustees have nothing to advance, even were they so inclined. I thank you quite as much.”
“Now, don’t hurry,” said B. C. “You don’t come in here often, and when you do I ought to be able to spare you a few minutes. Sit down. At our last meeting the trustees were speaking of your salary. We think you should receive more than you are getting; if the church could afford it we would arrange it at once, but you know how closely we have to figure to make ends meet.”
“I have not complained,” said David.
“Indeed not! But we think of these things; we don’t forget you, you see. I dare say we know almost as much about your affairs as you know. I believe I can tell you the name of the creditor you spoke of. It’s old Herwig, isn’t it!”
“Yes.”
“I thought so,” said B. C. “Of course I knew you traded there, and it is a good thing to patronize our own church members, but it is a pity we haven’t a live grocer in the church. I had to leave Herwig; my housekeeper couldn’t get what she wanted there. Now, just let me tell you something, and put your mind at rest: if you paid Herwig whatever you owe him you might as well take the money down to the river and throw it in! Herwig is busted right now, and he knows it. If he collected every cent due him he would be just as insolvent. He is dead of dry rot; it is all over but the funeral. The only reason his creditors haven’t closed him up is that it is not worth their while; I don’t suppose they’ll get a cent on the dollar. So don’t worry about him – he’s hopeless.”
“But what I owe him – ”
“Wouldn’t be a drop in the bucket!” said B. C. “Don’t worry about it. Don’t think about it. And now, about a possible increase in your salary; I think we may be able to manage that before long. Lucille Hardcome seems to be taking a great interest in your outside church work.”
“She seems eager to give all the help she can.”
“That’s good! She is a wealthy woman, Mr. Dean; wealthier than you imagine, I believe. Do what you reasonably can to keep up her interest. She has done very little for the church yet in a money way. She can easily afford to do as much as Mary Derling is doing. Of course we understand she has had great expense in all these things she is doing; that house done over and all; she has probably used more than her income, but she can’t get much more into the house without building an addition. She is thoroughly Riverbank now, and we have let her take a prominent part in the church and the Sunday school; she owes it to us to give liberally. I think she could give a thousand dollars a year, if she chose, and not feel it. The hundred she gives now is nothing; suppose we say five hundred dollars. If we can get her to give five hundred we can safely add two hundred and fifty of it to your salary. And you deserve it, and ought to have it. If we can add that two hundred and fifty dollars to your salary during my trusteeship I shall be delighted. We all feel that way – all the trustees.”
“That is more than I ever dared hope,” said David. “It is kind of you to think of it.”
“I wish we could make it a thousand,” said B. C. sincerely. “Well, I don’t want to keep you all day in this hot office. Just humor Lucille Hardcome a little; she’s high-handed but I think she means all right.”
David went out. The sun was hotter than ever, but for a block or two he did not notice it. Two hundred and fifty dollars increase! It would mean that in a few years he could be even with the world again! Then, as he toiled up the hot hill, his immediate needs returned to his mind, and he thought of Herwig. Whether the old grocer must inevitably fail in business or not the debt David owed him was an honestly contracted debt, and the old man had a right to expect payment; all David’s creditors had a right to expect payment. His horror of debt returned in full force. There was not a place where he could look for a dollar; he felt bound and constrained, guilty, shamed.
Before the manse Lucille Hardcome’s low-hung carriage stood. He entered the house.
“David!” called ‘Thusia from the sitting room, and he hung his hat on the rack and went in to her.
“Lucille is waiting in the study,” said ‘Thusia. “She has been waiting an hour; Alice is with her.”
“‘Thusia, what has happened!” he cried, for his wife’s face showed she had received a blow.
“Oh, David! David!” she exclaimed. “It is Alice! She is engaged!”
“Not Alice! Not our Alice!” cried David. “But – ”
‘Thusia burst into tears. She reached for his hand, and clung to it.
“Oh, David! To Lanny Welsh – do you know anything about him!” she wept. “I don’t know anything about him at all, except he was a bartender, and Roger knows him.”
“Our Alice! Lanny Welsh!” said David, “But nothing of the sort can be allowed, ‘Thusia. It cannot be!”
“Oh, I hoped you would say that!” said ‘Thusia. “But don’t wait now. Go to Lucille at once!”
So David bent and kissed his wife, and walked across the hall to his study.
XIV. LUCILLE HELPS
THE shock of his wife’s news regarding Alice had the effect of a slap with a cold towel, and momentarily surprised David Dean out of the weary depression into which the heat of the day, his inability to secure an advance on his salary and the delay in his midday meal had dragged him. A blow of a whip could not have aroused him more. Like many men who live an active mental life, he was accustomed to digging spurs into his jaded brain when and where necessity arose, forcing himself to attack unexpected problems with a vigor that, a moment before, seemed impossible. Neither he nor ‘Thusia had had the slightest intimation that Alice was in love, or in any way in danger of engaging herself to Lanny Welsh. The event, as David saw it, would be most unfortunate. He had heard Roger mention the young fellow’s name now and then, and perhaps Alice had discussed Lanny’s ball playing with Roger in the presence of her parents; David could not remember. He entered his study briskly. The matters in hand were simple enough; he would get through with Lucille Hardcome as quickly as possible, remembering Burton’s suggestion that some attention should be paid her. This would release Alice for the moment, and she could get the dinner on the table, for the dominie was thoroughly hungry. After dinner he would have a talk with Alice, and he had no doubt she would explain her engagement, and that he would find it less serious than ‘Thusia imagined.
When David entered the study Alice, who had been curled up in his easy-chair, unwound herself and prepared for flight. She was in a happy mood, and kissed Lucille and then her father.
“No doubt you know that Dominie Dean is about starved, Alice,” her father said. “I’ll be ready for dinner when dinner is ready for me. If Mrs. Hardcome and I are not through when you are ready for me perhaps she will take a bite with us.”
“I shan’t be long,” said Lucille. “I waited because – ”
Alice slipped from the room and closed the door and Lucille, as if Alice’s going had rendered unnecessary the giving of a reason, left her sentence unfinished. She was sitting in the dominie’s desk chair with one braceleted arm resting on the desk, her hand on a sheet of sermon paper that lay there. She picked it up now.
“I couldn’t help seeing this, Mr. Dean,” she said. “‘Thusia was asleep when I came, and Alice brought me in here and left me when she went about her dinner-getting. I saw it without intending to.”
David colored. The paper contained a schedule of his debts, scribbled down that morning. He held out his hand.
“It was not meant to be seen,” he said. “I should have put it in the drawer.”
Lucille ignored the hand.
“It was because I saw it I waited,” she said. “This is what has been worrying you.”
“Worrying me?”
“Of course I have noticed it,” she said. “You have been so different the last month or two; I knew you had something on your mind, and I knew dear ‘Thusia was no worse. You must not worry. You are too important; we all depend on you too much to have you worrying about such things. Please wait! I know how stingy the church is with you – yes, stingy is the word! – and Mr. Burton with no thought but to pay the church debt, whether you starve or not. These financier-trustees – ”
“But the church is not stingy, Mrs. Hardcome – indeed it is not. I have been careless – ”
“Nonsense! On your salary? With a sick wife and two children and all the expenses of a house? Well, you shall not worry about it any longer. I’ll take care of this, Mr. Dean.”
She folded the paper and put it in her purse. “But I can’t let you do this,” said David. “I – do you mean you intend to pay for me? I can’t permit that, of course. I know how kind you are to suggest it, but I certainly cannot allow any such thing.”
Lucille laughed.
“Please listen, Mr. Dean! Do you think I haven’t seen Mr. Burton looking at me with his thousand-dollar eyes! I know what he expects of me; I’ve heard hints, you may be sure. And no doubt he is right; I ought to give more to the church than I do. And I mean to give more; I meant to give a thousand dollars – subscribe that much annually – and I have been waiting for the trustees to come to me. So you see, don’t you, I am doing no more than I intended? Only I choose to give it direct to you.”
David dropped into his easy-chair and leaned his head against his slender hand, as was his unconscious habit when he thought. To get his debts paid would mean everything to him, and, as Lucille explained it, she would be merely giving what she had intended to give. But had he a right to take the sum when she had meant to give it to the church! If she gave it to the church the trustees, as Burton had said, would set aside a part for him as an increase of his salary, but Burton was clear enough in suggesting that two hundred and fifty dollars a year more was what they thought Dean should receive out of whatever Lucille might give. If he took the entire thousand would he not be breaking a tacit agreement made with the banker! One thing was certain, he would not accept charity from Lucille or from anyone; it would be disgraceful. And if the thousand dollars went through the proper channel the most he could expect was a quarter of the sum. If he took it all he would be robbing the church. He raised his head.
“No,” he said firmly, “I can’t take it. I can’t permit it.”
“Then I give not a cent more to the church than I am giving now!” said Lucille. “You see I have made up my mind. This year I want you to have the thousand, Mr. Dean: Next year, and other years, the trustees can do as they please.”
There could be no doubt that Lucille meant it. She was headstrong and accustomed to overriding opposition: to having her own way. The horns of the dominie’s dilemma were two: he must sacrifice his proper pride and take her money – which he could not bring himself to do – or he must lose the church the additional income he had been urged by Burton to try to secure. His duty to his manhood demanded that he refuse Lucille’s offer; his duty to his church demanded that he secure her increased monetary support if possible.
“You are kind, and I know your suggestion is kindly meant, Mrs. Hardcome,” he said. “I admit that my debts do worry me – they worry me more than I dare say – but, if your generosity is such as I believe it to be, my case is not hopeless.” He smiled. “May I speak as frankly as you have spoken? Then, I do not find my salary quite enough for my needs, but – except for one creditor – no one is pressing me. I, and not they, am doing the worrying. Well, my trustees have promised me an ample increase as soon as the church income warrants it. To be quite frank, if you should give – as you have suggested – a thousand dollars annually, or even half that sum, my stipend will be increased two hundred and fifty dollars. No, wait one moment! With such economies as I can initiate that would permit me to be quite out of debt in a very few years.”
“If I were in your place,” said Lucille frankly, “I would prefer to get out of debt to-day.”
“But I repeat,” said David, “I cannot take the money.”
“Very well,” said Lucille haughtily, and she opened her purse and placed the schedule of debts on the dominie’s desk. She arose and David also. “I’ll tell you plainly, Mr. Dean, that I think you are foolish.”
“Not foolish but, perhaps, reluctant to accept personal charity,” said Dean.
Lucille was not stupid, but she looked into his eyes some time before she spoke.
“Oh, it is that way, is it!” she said cheerfully, “Yes, I understand! But that is quite beside the point I had in mind. I did not want you to feel that at all! Of course you would feel that! It is quite right. But we can arrange all that very easily, Mr. Dean; we can make it a loan – there is no reason why you should not accept a loan as well as any other man. I’ll lend you the money – temporarily – and when your increase of salary comes you can pay it back. With interest, if you wish.”
“If I could make the payments quarterly, on my salary days – ” hesitated David.
“Certainly!” cooed Lucille, delighted to have won her point. “It can be that way.”
“I should like the transaction to be regular; a note with interest. Seven per cent is usual, I believe.”
“Certainly. You see,” she beamed, “how easy it is for reasonable people to arrange things when they understand what they are trying to get at! And now I must go; you are starved. I will come again this afternoon; I will bring you the money and the note. You see we are quite businesslike, Mr. Dean. Well, I have to be; I manage my own affairs. I’ll just run in a moment to see ‘Thusia before I go. And – I almost forgot it – congratulations!”
“Congratulations?”
“Alice! She told me! I am so glad!”
David did not know, on the spur of the moment, what to say. Before he could formulate words Lucille, jingling her bracelets and rustling her silks, had swept voluminously from the room.
XV. LANNY
ON those days when ‘Thusia was able to be downstairs Alice set a small dinner table in the sitting room so that she might enjoy the company of her husband and children. When David entered the sitting room Lucille had departed, and Roger was there, waiting for his belated dinner. Luckily his labors were not of sufficient importance to require prompt hours – his dinner hour sometimes lasted the best half of the afternoon. As David entered the room Alice ran to him, and threw her arms around him; he could do no less than embrace her, for anything else would have been like a slap in the face. He kissed her, but his face was grave.
“Father! Mother told you?” Alice said, still holding him. “Aren’t you surprised! Why,” she pouted, “you don’t look a bit happy! But I know why – you don’t know Lanny. They don’t know him, do they, pop?”
Her brother, who had already taken his place at the small table, fidgeted. He was hungry.
“He’s all right!” he said. “Lanny’s fine.” Somehow the young Roger’s approval did not carry far with David.
“I think,” he said, “we are all hungry. We will have our food, and discuss Alice’s affairs later. I know I am too hungry to want to talk.”
“And you aren’t even going to congratulate me!” pouted Alice playfully.
The dominie cut short further talk by saying grace, following it by the operation of serving food from the dishes that were grouped around his plate, and then:
“How is your grandfather, Roger?”
“Fine as a fiddle, father. And, I say! we are going to play Derlingport this Saturday. We’ve arranged a series of three games, unless one or the other of us wins the first two. We play the first here, and the second in Derlingport. Honestly, I am glad to play a nine I’m a bit afraid of; this licking the spots off the grangers is getting monotonous. Derlingport has a pitcher that knows his business – Watts. But I’ll chance Lanny against him any day.”
“I should think so!” said Alice.
“Oh, you!” said Roger. “Because he has curly hair? A lot you know about pitchers.”
“Well, I’m going to learn,” said Alice.
David broke the thread of the conversation. “‘Thusia,” he said, “I have arranged to clear up the bills we owe.”
“David!” his wife exclaimed, her pale cheeks coloring with pleasure. “Did the trustees grant the advance on your salary?”
“No, hardly that,” he answered. “I saw Burton, but there is no money available. He was very kind. The trustees are going to give me an increase of salary – two hundred and fifty dollars more. It will be a great help. You see, with the increase, I can pay off the loan I am contracting in two or three years.”
‘Thusia looked frightened.
“A loan? Are you borrowing money, David?”
“Lucille Hardcome offered it; she practically forced me to accept it, ‘Thusia. It was all I could do to keep her from forcing it on me as a gift. That I would not hear of, of course.”
“How much are you borrowing?” asked ‘Thusia, with an intake of breath.
“It will be about a thousand dollars; a thousand, I think.”
“She could hand you ten thousand and not feel it, from what I hear,” said Roger.
“‘Thusia, you don’t approve?” asked David. “Oh, I wish it could have been anyone but Lucille!” said ‘Thusia. “It seems so – But I know so little of money matters. You would do what was best, of course, David. It will be a great blessing to feel we are not making the tradesmen wait for what is honestly theirs.”
“I should have consulted you,” David said, entirely without irony, for he did consult her on most matters of importance. “It is not too late to decline even now. I have not signed the note. She is to bring the money this afternoon. But, if I refuse – ”
He related his conversation with Lucille, as well as he could recall it.
“I hardly see how you could refuse,” ‘Thusia admitted. “If she was angered she would do something to show her displeasure. Deep as she is in the church affairs I hardly feel that she is with us heart and soul yet. She always seems like an outsider taking an interest because – I shouldn’t say it – she likes the prominence. That is why I wish you could have had the money from another. I’m sure Mary would have lent it.”
“And of all the women I know,” said David, “Mary is the last I should wish to borrow from. Had I my choice I would choose an entire outsider; the more completely it is a business transaction the more pleased I am.”
No more was said then. Roger hurried away, not because his job called him, but because, as catcher of his nine, it was his duty to keep in practice; and some members of the nine might be on the levee willing to pitch to him. Alice still waited.
“Will you let me speak with your mother awhile, daughter!” David said. “Then we will call you.”
“Shall I take the dishes out first!” asked Alice.
“Yes.”
‘Thusia raised herself a little on her pillows when Alice had quitted the room, and David drew a chair to the side of her couch. For a few moments they were silent.
“How did it happen!” David asked finally.
