 | CHAPTER XXI.
WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH HIM? Barriers burned away |  |
21. CHAPTER XXI.
WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH HIM?
The sun was just tinging the eastern horizon with light
when Dennis sprang from his bed on the following morning.
He vowed that Miss Ludolph should never have
cause to complain of him again; for, great as was the
luxury of being wakened by such exquisite music, it was
one that he could not afford.
It must be confessed that he gave a little more care
than usual that morning to his toilet. But his resources
were very limited; still, as nature had done so much for
him, he could not complain. By half past six his duties
in the store were accomplished, and brushed and furnished
up as far as possible, he stood outside the door
awaiting his fair task-mistress. Sometimes he wondered
at the strange fascination she exercised over him, but generally
ended by ascribing it to her beauty and love of art.
A little after the time appointed she appeared with her
father, and seemed pleased at Dennis' readiness for work.
“I shall not have to sing you awake this morning,”
she said, “and I am glad, for I am in a mood for business.”
She was attired in a close-fitting walking-dress that set
off her graceful person finely. It was evident that her
energetic nature would permit no statuesque repose while
measures.
She had inherited a good constitution, which under her
father's direction, had been strengthened and confirmed
by due regard to hygienic rules. Therefore she had
reached the stage of early womanhood abounding in
vitality and capable of great endurance. Active, graceful
motion was as natural to her, as for a swallow to be
on the wing. The moment she dropped her book, pallet,
or pencil, she was on her feet, her healthful nature seeming
like a mountain brook, that checked for a time in its flow,
soon overleaps its bounds and speeds on swifter than
ever. But the strange part of this super-abundant activity
was, that she never seemed to do anything in an abrupt
way, as from mere impulse. Every act glided into another
as smoothly and gracefully as the undulations of a serpent.
Her lithe willowy figure, neither slight nor stout,
was peculiarly adapted to her style of movement. She
delighted in the game of billiards, for the quick movements
and varied attitudes permitted, and the precision
required, were all suited to her taste; and she had gained
such marvellous skill that even her father, with his practised
hand, was scarcely her match.
As she tripped lightly on before up the long winding
stairs to the show-room over the front door where their
labors were to commence, she appeared to Dennis the
very embodiment of grace and beauty. And yet she
seemed so cold and self-centered, so devoid of warm
human interest in the great world of love, joy, and suffering,
that she repelled while she fascinated.
“If the blood should come into the cheeks of one of
her father's statues, and the white marble eyes turn to
violet blue, and the snowy hair to wavy gold, and it should
spring from its pedestal into just such life, it would be
more like her than any woman I ever saw,” thought Dennis
bidding.
Her plans had been pretty thoroughly matured and
she acted with decision. Pointing to the side opposite
the door at which they had entered, and which would
naturally strike the eye of the visitor first, she said, “I
wish all the pictures taken down from that side and placed
around the room so that I can see them.”
She commenced as an absolute dictator, intending to
give no hint of her plans and purposes except as conveyed
by clear terse orders. But these had so intelligent
and appreciative an interpreter in Dennis, that gradually
her attention was drawn to him as well as to his work.
He had his step-ladder ready, and with a celerity decidedly
pleasing, soon placed the pictures safely on the
floor, so that she could still see them and judge of their
character. Though his quick dextrous manner and careful
handling of the pictures were gratifying, it must be
confessed that his supple form, the graceful and varied
attitudes he unconsciously assumed in his work, pleased
her more, and she secretly began to study him as an
artistic subject, as he had studied her.
In her complacency she said—
“So far, very well, Mr. Fleet. I congratulate myself
that I have you to assist me, instead of that awkward
cheat of a Berder.”
“And I assure you, Miss Ludolph, that I have longed
intensely for this privilege ever since I knew your purpose.”
“You may have cause to repent, like many another
whose wishes have been gratified, for your privilege will
involve a great deal of hard work.”
“The more the better,” said Dennis warmly.
“How so? I should think you had more to do now
than you would care about.”
“Work is no burden to one of my years and strength,
provided it is suited to one's tastes. Moreover, I confess
that I hope to derive great advantages from this labor.”
“In what way?” she asked with a slight frown, imagining
him thinking of extra pay.
“Because unconsciously you will give me instruction,
and I hope that you are not unwilling that I should gain
such hints and suggestions as I can from the display of
your taste that I must witness.”
“Not at all,” said she laughing, “I see that you are
ambitious to learn your business and rise in the store.”
“I am ambitious to gain a knowledge of one of the
noblest callings.”
“What is that?”
“Art.”
“What!” said she with a half-scornful smile, “are
you a disciple of art?”
“Yes; why not?”
“Well, I do not wish to hurt your feelings, but to tell
you the honest truth, it seems but the other day that you
were Pat Murphy.”
“But am I a Pat Murphy?” he asked with gentle dignity.
“No, Mr. Fleet. I will do you the justice to say that
I think you very much above your station.”
“I am sufficiently a democrat, Miss Ludolph, to believe
that a man can be a man in any honest work.”
“And I, Mr. Fleet, am not in the least degree a democrat.”
Which fact she proceeded to prove by ordering him
about for the next hour like the most absolute little despot
that ever queened it over a servile province in the dark
ages. But it was rather difficult to keep up this style of
dictatorship with Dennis. He seemed so intelligent and
polite that she often had it on her tongue to ask his opinion
the opinion he gave, she admitted to herself, was judicious;
but for a purpose of her own she disregarded it, and
took a different way.
Dennis at once saw through her plan of arrangements.
In the centre of that side of the room which he had
cleared, she caused him to hang one of the largest and
finest pictures, which, under Mr. Swartz's management had
been placed in a corner. Around the central painting all
the others were to be grouped, according to color, subject,
and merit. At the same time each wall was to have a
character of its own. Such a task as this would require
no little thought, study and comparison; and Miss Ludolph
was one to see delicate points of difference, which
most observers would not notice. It was her purpose to
make the room bloom out naturally like a great flower.
This careful selection of pictures was necessarily slow,
and Dennis rejoiced that their mutual work would not
soon be over.
To her surprise she often saw his eyes instinctively
turning to the same picture that she was about to select,
and perceived that he had divined her plan without a word
of explanation, and that his taste was constantly according
with hers in producing the desired effects. Though
all this filled her with astonishment, she revealed no sign
of it to him. At eight she said—
“That will do for to-day; we have made a good beginning,
better indeed than I had hoped. But how is it, Mr.
Fleet, since you are such an uncompromising democrat,
you permit a young lady to order you about in this style?”
Dennis smiled and said—
“It seems perfectly natural for you to speak in this
way, and it does not appear offensive as it might in another.
Moreover I have voluntarily taken this position,
and am honor-bound to accept all it involves.”
“But which was the controlling motive of your mind?”
“Well, a few seem born to command, and it is a pleasure
to obey,” said Dennis, paying a strong but honest
compliment to the natural little autocrat.
“Indeed, Mr. Fleet, do church members flatter?” said
she, secretly much pleased.
“I did not mean to flatter,” said he flushing. “They
who have power should use it like the All-powerful—
gently, considerately.”
It was her turn to flush now, and she said,
“O, I perceive, the compliment was the sugar-coating
of the little homily to follow.”
“I have no such diplomacy as you credit me with,”
said Dennis, looking straight into her eyes with honest
frankness. “I merely spoke my passing thought.”
“But he has fine eyes,” said she to herself, and then
she said to him,
“Very well, I certainly will give you credit for being
very different from poor old Pat. Be ready again to-morrow
at the same hour,” and with a smile somewhat
kindly she vanished.
Somehow to Dennis she seemed to take the light out
of the room with her. The pictures suddenly looked
tame and ordinary, and everything commonplace. Here
was an effect not exactly artistic, which he could not understand.
He sighed, he scarcely knew why.
But the day's duties came with a rush, and soon he
was utterly absorbed in them.
That evening Dennis was much cheered by Mr. Bruder's
comments on his sketches.
“Considering de advantages you haf had, and de little
time you can give, dey are very goot. You haf fallen
into de natural faults of dose who work alone, but ve can
soon cure dese. Now here is some vork on coloring dat
I vont you to do under my eye, and dat study on outlining
in outlining from my own picture.” And Mr. Bruder
showed him what he had done.
Dennis saw in the clear vigorous profile the artist's
thought, and congratulated himself that his teacher was a
master in his profession.
For two hours they worked and talked, and Dennis felt
that every such lesson would be a long step forward.
Poor Bruder looked more and more like himself every
day, but God only knew how he had to struggle.
“I don't know how him vill end,” he said. “I pray
nearly every minute, but sometimes I feel dat I must
drink even do' I die dat moment.”
It was disease as well as appetite that he was fighting,
for appetite indulged beyond a certain point becomes disease.
His wife's face was different also—the sharp look of
misery fading out of it. Dennis noticed the changes, and
thought to himself while walking home,
“After all, the highest art is the bringing out on the
living face all we can of God's lost image. How beautiful
the changes in these two poor people's faces, and the
best part of it is, that they are the reflex of changes going
on in the soul, the imperishable part.”
Then in quick and natural transition, his mind reverted
to Christine Ludolph, and the thought of her face, which
God had fashioned so fairly, but which was already sadly
marred by sin, becoming fixed and rigid in pride and selfishness,
was as painful as if, according to an old legend,
her lithe, active form should gradually turn to stone. But
if the reverse could ever be true, if the beautifying Christian
graces could dwell within her soul and light up her
face, as lamps some rare and quaint transparency, there
would then be a loveliness that would realize the artist's
fondest ideal.
Musing thus, what wonder that he vowed then and
there, under the starlight, to pray and work for her till
the new life should illumine her heart. Little dreamed
Christine as she slept that night, that the first link of a
chain that might bind her to heaven, had been forged.
The dawn was late and lowering, the following morning.
Great masses of clouds swept across the sky, and
soon the rain was falling in gusty torrents. Dennis rose
and hastened through his duties as before, and was ready
at the hour appointed, but had little hope of seeing Miss
Ludolph that morning. Still he opened the door and
looked up the street. To his surprise he saw her coming,
attended by her father's valet. Only part of her glowing
face was visible, for she was encased from head to foot in
a light and delicate suit of rubber.
Dennis opened the door, and she stepped quickly in,
scattering spray on every side like a sea-nymph. Dennis
looked at her with open-eyed admiration and surprise,
which both amused and pleased her.
“True enough,” she thought, “his face is like a sign
board.”
She seemed to him as she threw off her wet coverings,
like an exquisite flower, that, the breeze lifting after a
storm, scatters the burdensome rain drops on every side,
and stands up more beautiful and blooming than ever.
“You were not expecting me, I imagine,” she said.
Well I must admit I scarcely did, and yet I could not
help looking for you.”
“Isn't that a distinction without a difference?” she
asked with a pleasant smile, for she was pleased at not
finding the store closed and dark.
“I am very glad you have come,” he replied, flushing
slightly with pleasure, “for it would have been a long,
dreary morning if you had not.”
Dennis thought he referred to the lack of occupation
lack of herself.
“Well,” said she, “I am glad you like the work, for
you are destined to enough of it.”
| CHAPTER XXI.
WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH HIM? Barriers burned away | |