 | CHAPTER XXIX.
A MISERABLE TRIUMPH. Barriers burned away |  |
29. CHAPTER XXIX.
A MISERABLE TRIUMPH.
After Ernst's departure Christine reclined wearily in
her chair, quite exhausted by even the slight effort she had
made, but her thoughts were busy.
“What a unique character that Dennis Fleet is! And
yet, in view of what he believes and professes, he is both
natural and consistent. He seems humble only in station,
and that is not his fault. Everything he does seems
marked by unusual good taste and intelligence. His earlier
position and treatment in the store must have been
very galling. I can hardly believe that the gentleman I
sang Mendelssohn's music with the other evening was the
same that I laughed at as he blacked old Schwartz's boots.
And yet he saw me laugh, and blacked the boots, conscious
that he was a gentleman. It must have been very
hard. And yet I would rather do such work myself than
live on charity, and so undoubtedly he felt. It was very
fortunate that we got the store arranged before all this
occurred, for I could not order him about now, as I did.
The fact is I like servants, not dignified helpers; and
knowing what I do, even if he would permit it, I could not
speak to him as formerly. But he did show wonderful
taste and skill in his help. See now that little ivory-twined
basket of luscious fruit: it looks just like him. If
he were only rich and titled, what a genuine nobleman he
would make. He is among the few men who do not weary
or disgust me—so many are coarse and commonplace. I
save my father, almost feared him when under Miss
Brown's insolence he looked as few men can. What a
jumble the world is! He sweeps the store, while insignificant
atoms of men are conspicuous in their littleness
by reason of high position.
“It was very kind of him to send me this tasteful gift
after the miserable experience I caused him the other day.
I suppose he does it on the principle of returning good for
evil, as his creed teaches. Moreover he seems grateful that
father gave him employment, and a chance to earn twice
what he gets. He certainly must be promoted at once.
“Perhaps,” thought she, smiling to herself, while a faint
tinge of color came into her cheeks, “perhaps, like so
many others, he may be inclined to be a little sentimental
also, though he will never be as silly as some of them.
“What a noble part he acted toward those Bruders!
The heart of a pagan could not fail to be touched by that
poor little fellow's story, and it has made me believe that
I have more heart than I supposed. Sometimes, especially
when I hear or read of some such noble deed, I catch
glimpses of a life infinitely better than the one I know, like
the sun shining through a rift in the clouds; then they
shut down again, and father's practical wisdom seems the
best there is.
“At any rate,” she said aloud, getting up and walking
the floor with something of the old restless energy, “I intend
to live while I live, and crowd into life's brief day all
that I can. I thank Mr. Fleet for a few sensations in what
would otherwise have been a monotonous, dreary afternoon.”
“What strawberries!” said Mr. Ludolph, coming in.
“Where did you get these? They are the first I have
seen.”
“Your man-of-all-work sent them to me,” said Christine,
daintily dipping one after another in sugar.
“Well, that is a good joke.”
“A most excellent one, which I am enjoying, and in
which you may share. Help yourself.”
“And what has led him to this extravagant favor?”
“Consistency, I suppose. As a good Christian he
would return good for evil; and I certainly caused him
many and varied tortures the other day.”
“No, he is grateful; from first to last the callow youth
has been overwhelmed with gratitude that I have permitted
him to be worth to me double what I paid him.”
“Well, you have decided to promote him, have you
not?”
“Yes, he shall have charge of the hanging of new pictures,
and the general arrangement of the store, so as to
keep up your tasteful and artistic arrangement. Moreover,
he shall meet customers at the door, and direct them just
where to find what they want. He is fine-looking, polite,
speaks English perfectly, and thus takes well. I can gradually
work him in as general salesman, without creating
troublesome jealousies.”
“What will old Schwartz say?”
“Schwartz is good at finance and figures. I can trust
him, and he must relieve me more in this respect. He of
course knows that this is the more important work, and
will feel honored. As to the others, if they do not like it
I can find plenty who will. Fleet's good fortune will take
him quite by surprise. He was performing his old humble
duties as briskly and contentedly as usual to-day.”
“I am surprised at that, for I should have supposed
that he would have been on his dignity somewhat, indicating
by manner at least that the time for a change had come.
He can indicate a great deal by manner, as you might have
my lack of courtesy. Well it does me good to find one
American whose head is not turned by a little success.
You are right though, I think, father; that young fellow
can be very useful to you, and a decided help in hastening
the time when we can leave this shop life, and enter our
true sphere. I am more impatient to go than words can
express, for life seems so brief and uncertain that we must
grasp things as soon as possible or we lose them forever.
Heavens! what a scare I have had! Everything seemed
slipping from my feet yesterday, and I sinking I know not
where. Surely by concentrating every energy we can be
ready to go by a year from next Fall.”
“Yes, that is my plan now.”
On the following day Dennis was again promoted and
his pay increased. A man more of the Pat Murphy type
was found to perform the coarse work of the store. As
Mr. Ludolph had said, he could hardly realize his good
fortune. He felt like one lifted out of a narrow restricted
valley to a breezy hill-side. He was now given a vantage-point
from which it seemed he could climb rapidly, and his
heart was light as he thought of what he would be able to
do for his mother and sisters. Hope grew sanguine as he
saw how he would now have the means to pursue his
beloved art-studies to far greater advantage. But chief of
all, his promotion brought him nearer the object of his all-absorbing
passion. What he feared would take him one
or two years to accomplish, he had gained in a day. Hope
whispered that perhaps it was through her influence in
some degree that he had obtained this advance. Could
she have seen and read his ardent glances? Lover's hopes
will grow like Jonah's gourd, and die down again as
quickly. Words could not express his longing to see her
again, but for several days she did not come to the store.
in accordance with the plan on which they had been
working, leaving space on the sides of the room opposite
each other for two large pictures. Though much disappointed,
Dennis had carefully carried out her bidding.
Every evening the moment his duties permitted he
sought his instructor, Mr. Bruder, and with an eagerness
his friends could not understand, sought to educate hand
and eye. Dennis judged rightly that mere business success
would never open to him a way to the heart of such a
girl as Christine. His only hope of winning even her
attention, was to excel in the world of art, where she hoped
to shine as a queen. Then to his untiring industry and
eager attention he added real genius for his tasks, and it
was astonishing what progress he made. When at the
close of his daily lesson Dennis had taken his departure,
Mr. Bruder would shake his head, and cast up his eyes in
wonder, and exclaim:
“Dat youth vill astonish de vorld yet. Never in all
Germany haf I seen such a scholar.”
Often till after midnight he would paint and study in
the solitude of his own little room. And now relieved of
duties in the early morning, he arranged an old easel in
the attic of the store, a sort of general lumber room, but
which had a good light for his purpose. Here he secured
two good hours daily, and often more; and his hand grew
skilful, and his eye true, under his earnest efforts. But his
intense application caused his body to grow thin and his
face pale.
Christine had rapidly recovered from her illness, her
vital and elastic constitution rebounding back into health
and vigor like a bow rarely bent. She, too, was working
scarcely less eagerly than Dennis, and preparing for a
triumph which she hoped would be the earnest of the fame
with her father in the morning, but spent the best and early
hours of the day in painting, riding out along the lake andd
in the park in the afternoon. Occasionally she came to
the store in the after part of the day, glanced sharply round
to see that her tasteful arrangement was kept up, and ever
seemed satisfied.
Dennis was usually busy with customers at that time,
and though conscious of her presence the moment she
entered, found no excuse or encouragement to approach.
The best he ever received from her was a slight smile and
a cold bow of recognition, and in her haste and self-absorption
she did not always give these. She evidently had
something on her mind by which it was completely preoccupied.
“She does not even think of me,” sighed Dennis; “she
evidently imagines that there is an immeasurable distance
between us yet.”
He was right; she did not think of him or scarcely
any one else, so absorbed was she with the thought of a
great success that now was almost sure. She had sent her
thanks for the berries by her father, which so frightened
Dennis that he had ventured on no more such favors.
She had interceded for his promotion, surely she had paid
her debt, and was at quits. So she would have been if he
had only given her a basket of strawberries, but having
given his heart, and life-long love, he could scarcely be
expected to be satisfied. But he vowed after each blank
day all the more resolutely that he would win her attention,
secure recognition of his equality, and so be in position for
laying siege to her heart.
But a deadly blight suddenly came over all his hopes.
One bright morning the last of May, two large flat
boxes were brought to the store. Dennis was busy with
that he would see to the hanging of those pictures. They
were carried to the show-room in the rear of the store, and
Dennis at once concluded that they were something very
fine, designed to fill the spaces he had left, and was most
anxious to see them. Before he was disengaged they
were lifted from their casing and were standing side by side
on the floor opposite the entrance, the warm rich morning
sun falling upon them with fine effect. Mr. Schwartz
seemed unusually excited and perplexed for him, and stared
first at one picture, then at the other, in a manner indicating
that not their beauty, but some other cause disturbed
him.
Dennis had scarcely had time to exclaim at the exquisite
loveliness and finish of the two paintings, before Mr.
Ludolph entered accompanied by Mr. Consoor, a well-known
artist, and Mr. Frame, proprietor of another large
picture-store, and several gentlemen of taste but of lesser
note, whom Dennis had learned to know by sight as habitués
of the “Temple of Art.” He also saw that Christine
was advancing up the store with a lady and gentleman.
Feeling that his presence might be regarded as obtrusive,
he passed out, and was about to go away, when he heard
his name called.
Looking up he saw Miss Winthrop holding out her
hand, and in a moment more she presented him to her
father, who greeted him cordially. Christine also gave
him a brief smile, and said:
“You need not go away. Come and see the pictures.”
Quick-eyed Dennis saw that she was filled with suppressed
excitement. Her cheeks, usually but slightly
tinged with pink, now by turns glowed and were pale.
Miss Winthrop seemed to share her nervousness, though
what could so excite them he could not divine. The
cause; and yet every eye was fastened on them.
One seemed the exact counterpart of the other in frame
and finish as well as subject. A little in the background,
upon a crag overhanging the Rhine, was a castle massive,
frowning, and built more for security and defence than
comfort. The surrounding landscape was bold, wild, and
even gloomy. But in contrast with these rugged and
sterner features, was a scene of exquisite softness and tenderness.
Beneath the shadow of some great trees not far
from the castle gate, a young Crusader was taking leave
of his fair-haired bride. Her pale, tearful face, wherein
love and grief blent indescribably, would move the most
callous heart, while the struggle between emotion and the
manly pride that would not permit him to give way, in
the young chieftain's features, was scarcely less touching.
Beautiful as were the accessories of the pictures, their
main point was to portray the natural, tender feeling induced
by a parting that might be forever. At first they
all gazed quietly and almost reverently at the vivid scene
of human love and sorrow, save old Schwartz, who fidgeted
about as Dennis had never seen him before. Clearly
something was wrong.
“Mr. Schwartz,” said Mr. Ludolph, “you may hang
the original picture on the side as we enter, and the copy
opposite. We would like to see them up, and in a better
light.”
“Dat's it,” snorted Mr. Schwartz, “I'd like to know
vich is vich.”
“You do not mean to say that you cannot tell them
apart? The original hung here some time, and you saw
it every day.”
“I do mean to say him,” said Mr. Schwartz, evidently
much vexed with himself. “I couldn't have believed dat
are just de same to a pin scratch in frame, subject,
and treatment, and to save my life I cannot tell dem apart.”
Christine's face fairly glowed with triumph, and her
eyes were all aflame as she glanced at her friend. Miss
Winthrop came and took her cold, quivering hands into
her warm palms, but was scarcely less excited. Dennis
saw not this side scene, so intent was he on the pictures.
“Do you mean to say,” said Mr. Consoor, stepping
forward, “that one of these paintings is a copy made here
in Chicago, and that Mr. Schwartz cannot tell it from the
original?”
“He says he cannot,” said Mr. Ludolph.
“And I'd like to see de von who can,” said old
Schwartz gruffly.
“Will you please point out the original,” said one of
the gentlemen, “that we may learn to distinguish them?
For my part they seem like the twins whose mother knew
them apart by pink and white ribbons, and when the ribbons
got mixed she could not tell which was which.”
Again Christine's eyes glowed with triumph.
“Well, really, gentlemen,” said Mr. Ludolph, “I would
rather you would discover the copy yourselves. Mr. Consoor,
Mr. Frame, and some others, I think, saw the original
several times.”
“Look at Mr. Fleet,” whispered Miss Winthrop to
Christine.
She looked, and her attention was riveted to him.
Step by step he had drawn nearer, and his eyes were eagerly
glancing from one to another as if following up a clue.
Instinctively she felt that he would solve the question, and
her little hands clenched, and her brow grew dark.
“Really,” said Mr. Consoor, “I did not know that we
had an artist in Chicago who could copy the work of one
moment's hesitancy in detecting differences, but it seems
I am mistaken. I am almost as puzzled as Mr. Schwartz.”
“The frames are exactly alike,” said Mr. Frame.
“There is a difference between the two pictures,” said
Mr. Consoor slowly. “I can feel it rather than see it.
They seem alike line for line and feature for feature in
every part. But just where the difference lies and in what
it consists I cannot tell for the life of me.”
With the manner of one who had settled a difficult
problem, Dennis gave out a sigh of relief so audibly that
several glanced at him.
“Perhaps Mr. Fleet from his superior knowledge and
long experience can settle this question,” said Christine
sarcastically.
All eyes were turned toward him. He flushed painfully
but said nothing.
“Speak up,” said Mr. Ludolph good-naturedly, “if you
have any opinion to give.”
“I would not presume to give my opinion among so
many more competent judges.”
“Come, Mr. Fleet,” said Christine with a covert taunt
in her tone, “that is a cheap way of making a reputation.
I fear the impression will be given that you have no opinion
to give.”
Dennis was now very pale, as he ever was under great
excitement. The old look came again that the young
ladies remembered seeing at Miss Brown's entertainment.
“Come, speak up if you can,” said Mr. Ludolph, shortly.
“Your porter, Mr. Ludolph?” said Mr. Consoor,
remembering Dennis only in that capacity. “Perhaps he
has some private marks by which he can enlighten us.”
Dennis now acted no longer as porter or clerk, but as
a man among men.
Stepping forward and looking Mr. Consoor full in the
face he said:
“I can prove to you, sir, that your insinuation is false
by simply stating that I never saw those pictures before.
The original had been removed from the store before
I came. I have had therefore no opportunity of knowing
the copy from the original. But the pictures are different,
and I can tell precisely wherein I think the difference
lies.”
“Tell it then,” said several voices. Christine stood a
little back and to one side so that he could not see her face,
or he would have hesitated long before he had spoken. In
the firm, decided tones of one thoroughly aroused and sure
of his ground, he proceeded:
“Suppose this the copy,” said he, stepping to one of
the pictures. (Christine breathed hard and leaned heavily
against her friend.) “I know of but one in Chicago capable
of such exquisite work, and he did not do it—indeed he
could not, though a master in art.”
“You refer to Mr. Bruder?” said Mr. Consoor.
Dennis bowed and continued: “It is the work of one
in whom the imitative power is wonderfully developed; but
one having never felt, or unable to feel the emotions here
presented cannot portray them. This picture is but the
beautiful corpse of that one. While line for line, and
feature for feature, and even leaf for leaf on the trees is
faithfully exact, yet the soul, the feeling, the deep sorrowful
tenderness that you feel in that picture rather than see,
is wanting in this. In that picture you forget to blame or
praise, to criticise at all, so deeply are your sympathies
touched. It seems as if in reality two human hearts were
being torn asunder before you. This you know to be an
exquisite picture only, and can coolly criticise and dwell
on every part, and say how admirably it is done.”
And Dennis bowed and retired.
“By Jove, he is right,” exclaimed Mr. Consoor; and
approving faces and nodding heads confirmed his judgment.
But Dennis enjoyed not his triumph, for as he turned he
met Christine's look of agony and hate, and like lightning
it flashed through his mind—“She painted the picture.”
| CHAPTER XXIX.
A MISERABLE TRIUMPH. Barriers burned away | |