Dr. Lavendar's People

"He gave me a smelling-bottle this time. I handed it over to Mary, and told her not to let me get a sniff of it; and she said, 'Sakes! it's beautiful!' But I'll tell you something he said, Johnny: he said that his debt to you was a millstone round his neck. And yet the truth is, it's a life-buoy!"

John Gordon looked at the soiled, crumpled paper, with its dates of extensions, and smiled grimly. "Well, I won't deprive him of his life-buoy."

"The store is doing pretty well," Dr. Lavendar went on – and stopped, because Alex entered.

"Whose store is doing pretty well," he asked, civilly enough – for Alex.

"Algernon Keen's," said Dr. Lavendar.

Alex's face changed; he looked from one to the other of the old men by the fire, and he saw his father's hand open and close nervously. But he restrained himself until their visitor had gone. He even went out into the sharp, bright wind and unhitched Dr. Lavendar's little blind horse Goliath, backing the buggy close to the steps and helping the old man in with what politeness he could muster. Then he hurried back into the library to his father.

"I should like to know, sir," he said, standing up with his back to the fire, his legs, in their big, mud-stained top-boots, wide apart, his hands under his coat-tails – "I should like to know, sir, why Dr. Lavendar sees fit to refer to a subject which is most offensive to us?" He fixed his motionless, pale eyes on his father, shrinking back in the winged chair.

"I don't know – I don't know," said John Gordon. Then, suddenly, he put out his hand and caught at the crumpled note on the table beside him and put it in his pocket. Instantly suspicion flamed into Alex's eyes. His face turned dully red, almost purple. He made a step forward as though to interpose and grasp at the paper, restrained himself, and said, with laborious politeness:

"If that is a note, sir – I thought I saw indorsements of interest – sha'n't I put it into the safe for you?"

"I won't trouble you, Alex."

Alex stood silent; then suddenly he struck the table with his fist: "My God! I believe you've been lending money to that – to that – "

Mr. Gordon began to shake very much.

"Did Dr. Lavendar presume to ask you to lend money to – to – "

Mr. Gordon passed his hand over his lips; then he said, faintly, "No; he didn't."

Alex, like a boat brought suddenly up into the wind, stammered uncertainly. "Oh; I – I – thought – " And then suspicion broke out again. "Has the creature asked you for a loan?"

"No," Mr. Gordon said.

And Alex gaped at him, silenced. Yet he was certain that that strip of paper had some connection with Algernon Keen. "I beg your pardon," he said; "I thought for an instant that you were dickering with the man who seduced your daughter. I am sure I beg your pardon for the thought," he ended, with elaborate and ironical courtesy, for his father's obvious agitation assured him that he was right. "I only felt that if it was his note, it must be kept carefully – carefully." He smiled in a deadly way he had, and opened and shut his hand as though he would close it on the hilt of a knife. "But, of course, I was mistaken. You would press it if you had his note – although 'sue a beggar.' And, besides, if we had got as far as lending him money, we would be asking him to dinner next."

Mr. Gordon cringed.

"So I beg your pardon," Alex ended, sardonically.

"Very well – very well," his father said; and got up and began to potter about among his books, as much as to say that the subject was ended.

"It is a note," Alex said to himself, and smiled… So far the creature had gone scot-free. In these days of lawfully accepted dishonor revenge is not talked about. But perhaps it would come to his hand. Not the revenge of the instincts – not the shedding of blood, man fashion; but the revenge of inflicting misery. Not much of a revenge, of course, but the best that he could get. And so he smiled to himself…

He said no more at the time; but months later his father realized that the incident was not forgotten when Alex said, suddenly, sneering: "So your son-in-law is prospering in his business? I saw his establishment to-day in Mercer. If he owes you any money he will be able to pay cash. I congratulate you, sir."

Old Mr. Gordon made no reply. He was very feeble that autumn. Willy King told Alex that another attack of bronchitis would be the end. "He can't stand it," said Dr. King. "I'd take him South, Alex, if I were you."

Alex did not like to leave his mill in Upper Chester, but, as he told Willy, he was a good son, and always did his duty to his father. "I play dominoes with him every night," he said; – so he would take the old man South, though to go and come would keep him from business almost a week.

It was then that John Gordon told Dr. Lavendar that Alex suspected him of lending money to Mr. Keen. "And if I die," he said, "Alex will squeeze the poor devil – he'll squeeze him till he ruins him. I – I suppose I'm a great fool, but I almost thought maybe, sometime, I'd destroy that note, Edward?"

Dr. Lavendar chuckled: "I knew you'd come to it, Johnny; but – " he stopped and ruminated. "You've come to it; so that's all right. But do you know – I don't believe he can do without it quite yet awhile."

"Poor devil!" John Gordon said again, kindly. "Well, I'll let him gnaw on it awhile longer. I suppose he'll want another extension?"

"Probably," said Dr. Lavendar. "He is just holding his own this year; he will be able to pay the interest, he told me, but not very much more."

Extension was necessary, as Dr. Lavendar had foreseen; and when he wrote to Mr. Gordon about it the old man replied in obvious fear of his son. The note was in his safe, he said; Edward knew where it was; it was in the japanned box. "But I don't care to ask Alex to get it," he explained. "He doesn't know of its existence; so I'll give you power of attorney to see to it. You'd better just have Ezra Barkley put it in shape for you, because it will be necessary to go up to the house and open the safe to get it and put it back again. Alex is never at home until late in the afternoon, but Rachel is there and will let you in. You'll find some very good Monongahela in the chimney closet." Then he added the combinations of the locks on the safe and the japanned box.

"Stick that in, Ezra, will you, about going up to the house?" Dr. Lavendar said.

And Ezra stuck it in solemnly, and then held his pen between his teeth and blotted his paper. "It is estimated," he observed, through his shut teeth, "that the amount of ink used in the United States of America, in signatures to wills, since the year when the independence of the colonies was declared, would be sufficient in bulk to float a – "

"Well, Ezra," said Dr. Lavendar, chuckling, "this paper seems rather liberal. Suppose I take some cash out of the safe to repair the roof of the vestry? It leaks like a sieve."

"Your construction of liberality is at fault, sir," Mr. Ezra corrected him, gently; "this paper defines just exactly what you may do, up to the moment when the principal reclaims the paper – or dies."

"Well, I hope he won't reclaim it, or die, either, till he gets an affair we are both interested in patched up," Dr. Lavendar said; then he listened politely while Mr. Ezra told him how many times the word "ink" occurred in Holy Writ.

Dr. Lavendar went away with his power of attorney in his pocket. And when he sent it to John Gordon to sign, he seemed to take it for granted that he and Mr. Gordon were equally interested in the development and well-being of Mary's husband. He said in his letter such things as, "You'll make a man of him yet;" and, "Your patience has given the best elements in him time to come out." Dr. Lavendar had a perfectly unreasonable way of imputing good motives to people; the consequence was he was not very much astonished when they displayed goodness. He was not astonished when, some two months later, another letter came from old Mr. Gordon, saying that on the whole he thought the note had better not run any longer. "I am going to forgive him his debt," Mary's father wrote, in a feeble scrawl; "and I'll be obliged to you if you will go up to my house and get that note and send it to me. I'm pretty shaky on my pins, and I don't want to run risks, so I wish you'd tear the signature out and burn it before you mail the note. I'll send it along to Mr. Keen. I mean to write to him and tell him I think he is honest, anyway. The fact is, I half respect the poor fellow. It's been a long winter, and I can't say I'm much better. Willy King doesn't know everything. These doctors are too confoundedly ready to send a man away from home. I should have been just as well off in Old Chester. Be sure and destroy that signature."

Dr. Lavendar read this letter joyfully, but without surprise. "I'm glad he didn't take my advice and let it go on any longer," he said to himself; "I guess I'll risk the effect on Algy now."

Then he wondered if there would be any danger of meeting Alex if he went up to the house right after dinner. "I can't manage it this morning," he said to himself. "I've got to go and see Mrs. Drayton. Well, I wish the Lord would see fit to cure her – or something."

So he went plodding out into a still, gray February day, and called on Mrs. Drayton, and stopped at the post-office to hear the news, and then went home to his dinner. "Ye're not going out again?" his Mary cried, in shrill remonstrance, when in the afternoon she saw him muffle himself up for the drive out into the country; "it's beginning to snow!"

"I am," said Dr. Lavendar; "and see you have a good supper for me when I get back." He got into his buggy, buttoning the apron up in front of him, for it was a wet snow. He had on a shabby old fur cap, which he pulled well down over his forehead, furrowed by other people's sins and troubles; but his eyes peered from under it as bright and happy as a squirrel's.

His little blind horse pulled slowly and comfortably up the hill, stopping to get his breath on a shaky bridge over a run. In the silence of the snow Dr. Lavendar did not hear the stage coming down the hill until it was almost on the bridge; then he had to pull over to let it pass. As he did so the single passenger inside rapped on the window, and then opened it and thrust his head out, calling to the driver to stop.

"Dr. Lavendar! you have heard, I suppose? Very sad. A great shock. Of course I'm going on at once to bring the body back. It is difficult to get off at this season, but a son has a sacred duty." Alex's pale eyes were bulging from his red, excited face.

"What news?" Dr. Lavendar said. "You don't mean – Alex! John isn't – your father isn't – "

"My father is dead," Alex said, with ponderous solemnity. "It is a great grief, of course; but I trust I shall be properly resigned. His age rendered such an event not altogether unexpected."

Dr. Lavendar could not speak; but as the stage-driver began to gather up his reins from the steaming backs of his horses, he said, brokenly: "Wait – wait. Tell me about it, Alex; your father and I have been friends all our lives." Alex told him briefly: He had just had a despatch; his father had died that morning; he had been less well for a fortnight. "I had a letter from him this morning," Alex said, "in which he referred to his health – "

"So had I – so had I."

"I cannot get back with the body for six days – three to go, three to come," Alex said, "but I will be obliged if you will arrange for the obsequies next Thursday."

"Yes, yes. I will make any arrangements for you," Dr. Lavendar said. He took out his big red silk pocket-handkerchief and blew his nose with a trembling flourish. "We were boys together; your father was the big boy, you know; I was the youngster. But we were great friends. Alex, I am afraid my own grief has made me forgetful of yours; but you have had a loss, my boy – a great loss."

"Very much so – very much so," Alex agreed, with a proper sigh, and pulled up the window of the stage, then lowered it abruptly: "Oh, Dr. Lavendar, are you going on as far up as – as my house?"

"As your house?" Dr. Lavendar repeated. "Oh – oh yes; I didn't understand. Yes, I am."

"Would it inconvenience you," Alex said, "to stop there? I am going to ask Mr. Ezra Barkley to come up at once and put seals on various things. I am the sole executor, as well as the heir, of course; but I sha'n't be able to attend to things for a week; and the forms of law must be observed. If you could be on hand when Barkley is there – not that I do not trust him."

Dr. Lavendar stared at him blankly; for an intelligent man, Alex was sometimes a great fool. But he only nodded gravely, and said he would stop at the house and wait for Mr. Ezra; Alex signed to the driver, and the stage went rolling noiselessly on into the storm. When, at the foot of the hill, Alex glanced back through the little oblong of bubbly glass in the leather curtain of the coach, he saw Dr. Lavendar's buggy standing motionless where he had passed it on the bridge; then the snow hid it.

Under the bridge the creek ran swiftly between edges of ice that here and there had caught a dipping branch and held it prisoner, or had spread in agate curves – snow white, clear black, faint white again – around a stone in mid-stream. On the black current, silent except for a murmurous rush of bubbles under the ice, the snowflakes melted instantly, myriads of them – hurrying, hurrying, hurrying; then, as they touched the water, gone. Dr. Lavendar, in the buggy, sat looking down at them:

"In an instant – in the twinkling of an eye, we shall be changed." …

"He was my oldest friend." ("Was": with what an awful promptitude the mind adjusts itself to "he was"!) Yet as he sat there, peering out over the top of the apron and making, heavily, those plans familiar to every clergyman, Dr. Lavendar did not really believe that the plans were for Johnny. The snow fell with noiseless steadiness; the top of the buggy was white; thimbles of down heaped themselves on the hubs, tumbling off when the horse moved restlessly a step forward or backed a little and stamped. Suddenly Goliath shook himself, for the snow was cold upon his shaggy back, and the harness clattered and the shafts rattled. Dr. Lavendar drew a long breath. "G'on!" he said. And Goliath went on with evident relief. He knew the road well, and turned in at the Gordon gateway, as a matter of course. When he stopped at the front steps, the door opened and Rachel stood there, her eyes red.

"Sam will take him round to the stable, sir," she said, as Sam shambled out from the back of the house to stand at Goliath's head. "Oh, my! sir; I suppose you've heard?"

"Yes, Rachel; I've heard," the old man said, unbuttoning the apron and climbing out. Rachel took his hand and wept audibly. "I knew he'd never come back; he was marked for death. I've lived here eighteen years, and I always said it was a privilege to work for a gentleman like him."

"Yes – yes," he said, kindly. He was plainly agitated, and Rachel saw that he was trembling.

"Course you feel it, sir, being about of an age," she said, sympathetically. "Dr. Lavendar, sir, won't you have a glass of something?" With the hospitality of an old servant, she would have opened the little closet in the chimney-breast, but he checked her.

"Not yet; not now, Rachel. Leave me here awhile by myself, my girl. I'll come out to the kitchen and see you before I go. When Mr. Barkley comes, ask him to step into the library."

"Yes, sir," Rachel said, obediently; and went away sniffling and sighing.

Dr. Lavendar stood looking about him at the emptiness of the room: the winged chair, with the purple silk handkerchief hanging over the back; the table heaped with books; the fire drowsing in the grate; the old safe in the corner by the window. Outside, the snow drove past, blotting the landscape. Ezra would probably arrive within a half-hour; he had better get the note before he came. Then there need be no explanations.

When Mr. Ezra came in he found the old minister sitting by the fire, quite calm again, and even cheerful. "Yes," he said, in answer to the lawyer's very genteel expressions of sympathy – "yes, I'll miss him. We were boys together. He used to call me Bantam. I hadn't thought of it for years."

"Nicknames," said Mr. Ezra, "were used by the ancients as long ago as 300 B.C."

"Well, I'm not as ancient as 300 B.C.," said Dr. Lavendar, "but I called him Storkey; I can't imagine why, for he was only an inch and a half taller; he always said it was two inches, but it wasn't. It was an inch and a half."

"We are here," said Mr. Ezra, pulling off his gloves and coughing politely, "for indeed a solemn and an affecting task. It is my duty, sir, to seal the effects of the deceased, so that they may be delivered, intact, to the executor."

Dr. Lavendar nodded.

"In all my professional career I have never happened to be called upon for this especial duty. It is quite unusual. But Alex seemed to think it necessary. Alex is a good son."

"So he says," said Dr. Lavendar.

"Are you aware, sir," proceeded Mr. Ezra, producing from his bag the paraphernalia of his office, "that such is the incredible celerity of bees (belonging to the Hymenoptera) that they can within twenty-four hours manufacture four thousand cells in the comb? This interesting fact is suggested by the use of wax for sealing."

Dr. Lavendar watched him in a silence so deep that he hardly heard the harmless stream of statistics; but at last he was moved to say, with his kind, old smile, "How can you know so many things, Ezra?"

"In my profession," Mr. Ezra explained, "it is necessary to keep the mind up to the greatest agility; I, therefore, exercise it frequently in matters of memory." He lit a candle and held his wax sputtering in the flame. "I recall," he said, "with painful interest, that at one of our recent meetings I had the honor of drawing the power of attorney for you, from the deceased."

"So you did," said Dr. Lavendar.

"Did you ever reflect," said Mr. Barkley, "that should that power be used after the death of the donor, to carry out a wish of said donor, expressed an hour, nay, a moment, before the instant of dissolution – such act would be an offence in the eye of the law?"

"I've always thought the law ought to put on spectacles, Ezra," said Dr. Lavendar; "it has mighty poor eyesight once in a while."

Mr. Barkley was shocked. "The law, Lavendar, is the deepest expression of the human sense of justice!"

"But, Ezra," Dr. Lavendar said, suddenly attentive, "that is very interesting. I remember you referred to the lapsing of the power of attorney when you made out that paper for me; but I didn't quite understand. Do you mean that carrying out, now, directions given before the death of my old friend would be against the law? Suppose he had asked me – last week, perhaps, to destroy – well, say that old account-book there on the table, couldn't I do it to-day?"

"Dr. Lavendar, you do not, I fear, apprehend the majesty of the law! Why," said Mr. Ezra, standing up, very straight and solemn, "such a deed – "

"But suppose I didn't want – suppose Johnny didn't want, for reasons of his own, to have anybody – say, even his executor – see that account-book; suppose it might be put to some bad purpose – used to injure some third person (of course that is an absurd supposition, but it will do for an illustration); if he had asked me last week to destroy it, do you mean to say, Ezra, I couldn't destroy it to-day? – just because he happened to die this morning!"

"My dear sir," said Mr. Ezra, "such conduct on your part would be perilously near a criminal offence."

Dr. Lavendar whistled. "Well, Ezra, I won't destroy it."

"I hope not, sir – I hope not, indeed," cried Mr. Ezra.

Dr. Lavendar laughed; he had the impulse to turn round and wink at Johnny, to take him into the joke. But it was only for an instant, and his face fell quickly into puzzled lines.

"A moment's reflection," Mr. Ezra continued, "will convince you, Dr. Lavendar, that the aforesaid account-book is now the property, not of the deceased, but of the estate. Its destruction would be the destruction of property belonging to the heirs. Furthermore, your belief that the herein before mentioned account-book might be put to an improper use, for the injury of a third person – such belief would no more justify you in destroying it than would your belief in its unfairness towards said third person justify you in destroying a will."

Dr. Lavendar thrust out his lower lip and stared at him, frowning. "Yes," he said, slowly – "yes; I see. I did not quite understand. But I see."

Mr. Ezra solemnly began to pour forth a stream of statistics; he referred to the case of Buckley vs. Grant, and even mentioned chapter and page of Purdon's Digest where Dr. Lavendar could find further enlightenment. Dr. Lavendar may have listened, but he made no comment; he sat staring silently at the old purple handkerchief on the top of John's chair.

When Mr. Ezra had finished his work and his statistics, the two men shook hands; then Dr. Lavendar said good-bye to Rachel and climbed into his buggy, buttoning the apron high up in front of him; the lawyer mounted his horse, and they plodded off into the snow, single file. But Dr. Lavendar's eyes, under his old fur cap, had lost their squirrel-like brightness…

So Algy's note belonged to the estate; and the estate belonged to Alex; and Alex was the executor. And upon Alex Gordon his father's intentions in regard to Algy's note would make no more impression than the flakes of snow on running water. A vision of Alex's mean and cruel mouth, his hard, light eyes, motionless as a snake's in his purpling face, made Dr. Lavendar wince. The note – the poor, shabby, worn note, – that stood for the best there was in Algy, that stood for perseverance and honesty and courage; the note, which had weighed so heavily that he had had to stand up in his pitiful best manhood to bear it: the note that John had meant to "forgive" – Alex would use to humiliate and torture and destroy. Under the pressure which he would bring to bear that note would be poor Algy's financial, and perhaps his moral, ruin. "And if I had not objected, John would have cancelled it," Dr. Lavendar thought, frowning and blinking under his fur cap. He saw the smoking flax quenched, the bruised reed broken; he saw Algy turning venomously upon his enemy – for he knew him well enough to know that his code of defence would not include any conventional delicacy; he saw the new and hardly won integrity crumbling under the assault of Alex's legal wickedness. Dr. Lavendar groaned to himself. Alex could, lawfully, murder Algernon Keen's soul.

When Mary saw the old minister come into the house she was much displeased. "There, now, look at him," she scolded; "white as a sheet. What did I tell you? I'll bet ye he won't eat them corn dodgers, and I never made 'em finer."

It must be admitted that Mary was right. Dr. Lavendar did not eat much supper. He went shuffling back to his study, Danny slinking at his heels; but for once he did not notice his little, grizzled friend. When he got into his flowered cashmere dressing-gown and put on his slippers and stirred his fire, he sat a long time with his pipe in his hand, forgetting to light it. When he did light it, it went out, unnoticed. Once Danny tried to scramble into his chair, but, receiving no encouragement, curled up on the rug. The fire burned low and smouldered into ashes; just one sullen, red coal blinked in a corner of the grate; Dr. Lavendar watched this red spot fixedly for a long time. Indeed, it was well on towards twelve before he suddenly reached over for the bellows and a couple of sticks, and, bending down, stirred and blew until the sticks caught and the cinders began to sparkle under the ashes. This disturbed Danny, who sat up, displeased and yawning. But when at last the flames broke out, sputtering and snapping, and caught a piece of paper – a shabby, creased piece of paper covered with dates – caught it, ran over it, curling it into brittle blackness, and then whirled it, a flimsy, crumbling ghost, up the chimney, Dr. Lavendar's face shone with a light that was not only from the fire.

"Ha, Danny, you scoundrel," he said, cheerfully, "I guess you are particeps criminis!"

Then he went over to his study-table and rooted about for a thin, shabby, blue book, over which he pored for some time, stopping once or twice to make some calculations on the back of an envelope, then turning to the book again. He covered the envelope with his small, neat figuring, and turned it over to begin on the other side – and started: "Johnny's letter!" he said. But when the calculations were made, the rest was easy enough: first, his check-book and his pen. (At the check he looked with some pride. "Daniel," he said, "look at that, sir. You never saw so much money in your life; and neither did I – over my own signature.") Next, a letter to Alex Gordon: