 | CHAPTER XI.
TOO MUCH ALIKE. Barriers burned away |  |
11. CHAPTER XI.
TOO MUCH ALIKE.
One of the duties that Dennis enjoyed most was the
opening of new goods. With the curiosity and pleasure
of a child he would unpack the treasures of Art consigned
to his employer, and when a number of boxes were left at
the front door, he was eager to see the contents. During
his first three weeks at the store there had not been many
such arrivals of goods and pictures. They were working
off the old stock bought before the holidays. But now new
things were coming in. Chief of all, Mr. Ludolph was
daily expecting pictures imported directly from Europe.
One afternoon early in February a large flat box was
brought to the store. Mr. Ludolph examined its marks,
smiled, and told Dennis to open it with great care, cutting
every nail with a chisel. There was little need of cautioning
him. He would have bruised his right hand rather
than mar one line of beauty.
The “Art Building” contained two or three small show-rooms,
where the more valuable pictures could be exhibited
in better light. Into one of these the large box was
were helping Dennis laughed at his eager interest, and
called him under their breath a “green 'un.” Mr. Schwartz
looked upon him as a mild sort of a lunatic. But Mr. Ludolph,
who stood near, to see if the picture was all safe
and right, watched him with some curiosity. His manner
was certainly very different from Pat Murphy's at such a
time, and his interest both amused and pleased him.
When at last the picture was lifted from the box and
placed on a large easel, all exclaimed at its beauty save
Dennis. On looking at him, they saw that his eyes had
filled with tears, and his lips were quivering so that he
could not have spoken.
“Is she a relation of yours?” asked Mr. Schwartz in a
matter-of-fact tone.
A loud laugh followed this sally from such an unusual
source. Dennis turned on his heel, left the room, and
busied himself with duties in a distant part of the store,
the rest of the day. It seemed to him that they were like
savages bartering away gold and pearls, whose value they
could not understand; much less could they realize his
possession of a nature of exquisite sensibility to beauty.
When all were gone he returned to the room, and sat
down before the picture in wrapt attention. It was indeed
a fine work of Art, finished in that painstaking manner
characteristic of the Germans.
The painting was a Winter scene in Germany. In the
far back ground rose wooded and snow-clad hills. Nearer
in the perspective was a bold bluff, surmounted by a
half ruined castle. Beneath them flowed a river now a
smooth glare of ice, and in the distance figures were
wheeling about upon skates. In the immediate foreground
were two persons. One was a lovely young girl, dressed
in black velvet trimmed with ermine. The basque fitted
closely to her person, revealing its graceful outlines, and
engaged. While the rich warm blood mantled her cheeks,
the snow was not whiter than her temples and brow. A
profusion of wavy hair flowed down her shoulders, scattered
threads of which glistened like gold in the slanting rays
of the sun. Her eyes (that were not of a pale china blue,
but of a deep violet rather) were turned half in scorn and
half in sympathy with the full, smiling mouth, upon the
figure of a young man kneeling at her feet, making awkward
attempts to fasten her skate to the trim little foot.
It was evident that the favor was too much for him, and
that his fluttering heart made trembling and unskilful
hands. But the expression of the maiden's face clearly
indicated that her heart was as cold towards him as the ice
on which he knelt.
The extreme beauty of the picture and its exquisite
finish fascinated Dennis, while the girl's face jarred upon
his feelings like a musical discord. After gazing fixedly
for a long time, he said—
“What possessed the man to paint such a lovely face
and make its expression only that of scorn, pride, and
heartless merriment?”
All the long night the face haunted and troubled him.
He saw it in his dreams. It had for him a strong interest
that he could not understand—that strange fascination
which a very beautiful thing that has been marred and
wronged has for some natures. So powerful was this impression
upon his sensitive nature, that he caught himself
saying, as of a living being—
“O that I could give to that face the expression God
meant it to have.”
And then he laughed at his own folly.
His wakefulness caused him to over-sleep the next
morning, and he was later than usual in getting through
the routine duties of the store. At length, about 9 o'clock,
etc., he stood with duster and brush in hand before the
painting that had so disturbed his rest. He was in his
shirt sleeves, and in careful economy had a large coarse
apron of ticking girded about his person. His black dishevelled
locks looked like an inverted crow's nest, and
altogether he was unpresentable, appearing more like the
presiding divinity of a dust heap than of an “Art Building.”
After gazing a few moments on the scornful beautiful
face that might have obtained its haughty patrician lineaments
from the old barons of the ruined castle just above,
he seemed to grow conscious of this himself, and shrank
behind the picture half ashamed, as if she could see him.
While engaged a few moments in cleaning off some
stains and marks upon the frame, he did not hear a light
footstep in the room. Finishing his task, he stepped out
from behind the picture with the purpose of leaving the
apartment, when a vision met his gaze which startled him
to that degree that he dropped his brush and duster clattering
upon the floor, and stood transfixed with not only eyes
open wide but mouth also. There before him, in flesh and
blood it seemed, stood the lady of the picture—the same
dress, the same beautiful blonde face, and chief of all the
same expression. He was made conscious of his absurd
position by a suppressed titter from the clerks at the door,
and a broad laugh from Mr. Ludolph. The beautiful face
turned toward him for a moment, and he felt himself looked
over from head to foot. At first there was an expression
of vexation at the interruption, and then as if impressed by
the ludicrousness of his appearance, the old laughing, scornful
expression returned. Casting a quick, furtive glance
at the picture, which seemed to satisfy him, Dennis, with
hot cheeks, gathered up his tools and beat a hasty retreat.
As he passed out, Mr. Ludolph asked good-naturedly—
“Why, Fleet, what is the matter?”
“Indeed, sir, I hardly know,” answered the bewildered
youth, “but it seems to me that I have lost my wits since
that picture came. For a moment I thought that the lady
on the canvas had stepped out upon the floor.”
“Now that you speak of it,” exclaimed Mr. Ludolph
advancing into the room, “there is a striking resemblance.”
“Nonsense! father,” Dennis heard the young lady say;
“you are too old to flatter. As for that hair-brained youth
of the dust-brush, he looked as if he might have the failing
of poor Pat, and not always be able to see straight.”
At this Dennis's cheeks grew hotter still, while a low
laugh from one or two of the clerks near showed that they
were enjoying his embarrassment.
Dennis hastened away to his room, and it was well that
he did not hear the conversation that followed.
“O no!” responded Mr. Ludolph, “that is not Dennis's
failing. He is a member of a church in `good and
regular standing.' He will be one of the `pillars' by and
bye.”
“You are always having a fling at superstition and the
superstitious,” said his daughter laughingly. “Is that the
reason you installed him in Pat's shoes?”
“Can you doubt it my dear?” replied her father in
mock solemnity. “Remember our experience with Deacon
Gudgeon.”
The girl crimsoned to her hair and gnawed her lip with
vexation, evidently recalling some very unpleasant episode
of the past.
“A truce to all that,” she said; “you will have no further
trouble on that score.”
There was keen scrutiny for a moment in her father's
face, and her answer gave him evident satisfaction. It
was clear that his remark had in it more than mere bad
inage. In fact Mr. Ludolph was too long headed and
wily to use many careless, pointless words.
“Well!” said she as if anxious to change the subject,
“I think your new factotum fails decidedly in good manners,
if nothing else. He stared most impudently at me
when he came out from behind the picture. I should have
reprimanded him myself if I had not been so full of laugh
at his ridiculous appearance.”
“That's the joke of it. It was as good as a play to see
him. I never saw a man more startled and confused. He
evidently thought for a moment, as he said, that the girl
in the painting had stepped out upon the floor, and that
you were she.”
“How absurd!” exclaimed his daughter.
“Yes, and now while I think of it, he glanced from you
to the picture to satisfy himself that his senses were not
deceiving him, before he started to come away.”
“I cannot see any special resemblance,” she replied,
at the same time inwardly pleased that she should be
thought like the beautiful creature on the canvas.
“But there is a strong resemblance,” persisted her father,
“especially in general effect. I will prove it to you.
There is old Schwartz; he is not troubled with imagination,
but sees things just as they are. He would look at
you, my dainty daughter, as if you were a bale of wool,
and judge as composedly and accurately.”
“I fear, my father,” replied she smilingly, “that you
have conspired with him to pull the entire bale over my
eyes. But let him come.”
By this time Dennis had returned, and commenced
dusting some pictures near the entrance, where he could
see and hear. He felt impelled by a curiosity that he could
not resist. Moreover he had a little natural vanity in wishing
to show that he was not such a fright, after all. It was
hard for him to remember that he stood in Pat Murphy's
shoes. What difference did it make to the lady whether
such as he was a fright or not?
Mr. Schwartz entered, and at Mr. Ludolph's bidding
looked at the living and the painted girl. In his slow sententious
tones, one could not help feeling that he was telling
just how things appeared to him. The young lady
stood beside the painting and unconsciously assumed the
expression of her fair shadow. Indeed it seemed an expression
but too habitual to her face.
“Yes,” he said, “there is a decided resemblance—close
in dress—close in complexion—color of hair much the same
—eyes much alike—Miss Ludolph not quite so tall,” etc.
Then with an awkward attempt at a compliment, like an elephant
trying to execute a quickstep, he continued,
“If I may be permitted to be so bold as to speak—express
an opinion—I should beg leave to say that Miss
Ludolph favors herself—more favored—is better looking,”
he blurted out at last, backing out of the door at the same
time, with his brow bathed in perspiration from the throes
of this great and unwonted effort at gallantry.
“Bah!” said Dennis to himself, “the old mote left out
the very chief thing in tracing the likeness—the expression!
Look at her now as she listens to his awkward attempt at
compliment. The old goose! he might as well throw a
shovel of red paint at her. And she is looking at him with
the same scornful, laughing face that the girl in the picture
wears towards the bungling admirer at her feet. He is
right in one thing though, she is better looking.”
But the moment Mr. Schwartz's bulky figure vanished
from the door-way, Miss Ludolph caught the critical, intelligent
gaze of Dennis Fleet, and the expression of her face
changed instantly to a frown. But to do her justice, it was
more in vexation with herself than him. With innate delicacy
of feeling she saw that it looked like small vanity to
be standing there while comparisons like the above were
instituted. Her manner at once became cold, observant,
and thoroughly self-possessed. She stepped out into the
in its whole effect. Again disapprobation clouded her fair
brow, and she pronounced audibly but one word—“stiff.”
Then she passed into her father's private office.
| CHAPTER XI.
TOO MUCH ALIKE. Barriers burned away | |