 | CHAPTER LI.
BILL CRONK'S TOAST. Barriers burned away |  |
51. CHAPTER LI.
BILL CRONK'S TOAST.
After all, it was a long day to Christine. Tears would
start from her eyes at the thought of her father, but she
realized that the only thing for her to do was to shroud his
memory in a great forgiving pity, and put it away forever.
She could only turn from the mystery of his life and death
the world. There was no darkness in that direction. She
busied herself with Mrs. Learned, and the distribution of
food to others, till six o'clock, and then she stood near the
door to watch till her true knight should appear in his
shirt-sleeves, with shovel on his shoulder, and an old burnt,
tattered felt hat on his head, instead of jewelled crest and
heron plume.
Dennis had gone to his work not very hopeful. He
knew Christine would be his grateful friend while she lived,
and might even regard him as a brother, but all this might
be and still she be unable to respond to his deeper feelings.
Moreover, he knew she was Baroness of Ludolph, and
might be heiress of such titles and estates in Germany as
would require that she should go at once to secure them;
and so she seemed clearly to pass beyond his sphere.
As he shovelled the hot bricks and cinders hour after
hour among other laborers, the distance between himself
and the Baroness of Ludolph seemed to increase: and
when, begrimed and weary, he sat down to eat his dinner
of a single sandwich saved from breakfast (for as yet he
had no money), the ruins around him were quite in keeping
with his feelings. He thought most regretfully of his
two thousand dollars and burned picture. The brave resolute
spirit of the morning had deserted him. He did not
realize that few men have lived who could be brave and
hopeful when weary and hungry, and fewer still, when, in
addition, they doubted the favor of the lady of their love.
The work of the afternoon seemed desperately hard
and long, but with dogged persistency, Dennis held his
own with the others till six, and in common with them received
his two dollars. Whether Christine would accept the
supper he brought or not, he determined to fulfil his promise
and bring one. Wearily he trudged off to the west side,
imagined that this plodding laborer was the artist who the
week before had won the prize and title of genius.
If he had been purchasing a supper for himself, he
would doubtless have been sensible about it; but one that
the Baroness of Ludolph might share was a different matter.
He bought some very rich cake, a can of peaches, a
box of sardines, some fruit, and then his money gave out!
But, with these incongruous and indigestible articles made
up into one large bundle, he started for the church. He
had gone but a little way, when some one rushed upon
him, and little Ernst clasped him round the neck and fairly
cried for joy. Sitting on the sidewalk near were the other
little Bruders, looking as forlorn and dirty as three motherless
children could. Dennis stopped and sat down beside
them (for he was too tired to stand), while Ernst told his
story—how their mother had left them, and how she had
been found so burned that she was recognized only by a
ring (which he had) and a bit of the picture preserved
under her body. They had been looking ever since to find
him, and had slept where they could.
As Ernst sobbingly told his story the other children
cried in doleful chorus, and Dennis' tears fell fast too, as
he realized how his humble friend had perished. He remembered
her kindness to his mother and little sisters,
and his heart acknowledged the claim of these poor little
orphans. Prudence whispered, “You cannot afford to
burden yourself with all these children,” and pride added,
“What a figure you will make in presenting yourself before
the Baroness of Ludolph with all these children at
your heels.” But he put such thoughts resolutely aside,
and spoke as a brother might; and when one of the children
sobbed, “We so hungry!” out came the Baroness of
Ludolph's fruit and cake, and nothing remained for Christine
well be opened in the street. The little Bruders having
devoured what seemed to them the ambrosia of the gods,
he took the youngest in his arms, Ernst following with the
others; and so they slowly made their way to the church
where Christine was now anxiously waiting with many surmises
and forebodings at Dennis' delay.
At last, in the dusk, the little group appeared at the
church door, and she exclaimed:
“What has kept you so, Mr. Fleet?”
He determined to put the best face on the situation,
and indulge in no heroics, so he said: “You could not
expect such a body of infantry as this to march rapidly.”
“What!” she exclaimed, “have you brought all the
lost children in the city back with you?”
“No, only those that fell properly to my care,” and in
a few words he told their story.
“And do you, without a cent in the world, mean to
assume the burden of these four children?” she asked in
accents of surprise.
He could not see her face, but his heart sank within
him, for he thought that to her it would seem quixotic and
become another barrier between them, but he answered
firmly:
“Yes, till God who has imposed the burden, removes
it, and enables me to place them among friends in a good
home. Mrs. Bruder, before she died, wrote to her family
in Germany, telling her whole story. Relatives may take
the children; if not, some way will be provided.”
“Mr. Fleet, I wonder at you,” was her answer. “Give
me that child, and you bring the others.”
He wondered at her as he saw her take the child and
imprint a kiss on the sleepy, dirty face; and Ernst, who
had been eyeing her askance, crept timidly nearer when
he saw the kiss, and whispered:
“Perhaps her old outside heart has been burnt away.”
They followed to a lobby of the lecture-room, and here
she procured a damp towel and proceeded to remove the
tear and dust stains from the round and wondering faces
of the children. Having restored them to something of
their original color, she took them away to supper, saying
to Dennis with a decided nod:
“You stay here till I come for you.”
Something in her manner reminded him of the same
little autocrat who ordered him about when they arranged
the store together. She soon returned with a basin of
water and a towel saying:
“See what a luxury you secure by obeying orders.
Now give an account of yourself, as every lady's knight
should on his return. How have you spent the day?”
He could not forbear laughing as he said: “My employment
has been almost ludicrously incongruous with
the title by which you honor me. I have been shovelling
brick and mortar with other laborers.”
“All day?”
“All day.”
Her glance became so tender and wistful that he forgot
to wash his hands in looking at her, and felt for the
moment as if he could shovel rubbish forever, if such
could be his reward.
Seemingly by an effort, she regained her brusque
manner, which he did not know was but the mask she
was trying to wear, and said quickly:
“What is the matter? Why don't you wash your
face?”
“You told me to give an account of myself,” he retorted,
at the same time showing rising color in his dust-begrimed
face.
“Well, one of your ability can do two things at once.
What have you got in that bundle?”
“You may have forgotten, but I promised to bring you
home something that you chose to regard as charity.”
“If I was so ungracious, you ought to have rewarded
me by bringing me a broken brick. Will you let me see
what you brought?” But without waiting for permission
she pounced upon the bundle and dragged out the peaches
and sardines.
He, having washed and partially wiped his face, was
now able to display more of his embarrassment, and added
apologetically:
“That is not all I had. I also bought some cake and
fruit and then my money gave out.”
“And do you mean to say that you have no money
left?”
“Not a penny,” he answered desperately.
“But where is the cake and fruit?”
“Well,” he said laughingly, “I found the little Bruders
famishing on the sidewalk, and they got the best part
of your supper.”
“What an escape I have had!” she exclaimed. “Do
you think I should have survived the night if I had eaten
those strangely assorted dainties, as in honor bound I would
have done, since you brought them?” Then with a face of
comical severity she turned upon him and said, “Mr. Fleet,
you need some one to take care of you. What kind of
economy do you call this, sir, especially on the part of one
who has burdened himself with four helpless children?”
There was a mingling of sense and seriousness in her
raillery, which he recognized, and he said, with a half-vexed
laugh at himself:
“Well, really, Miss Ludolph, I suppose that I have not
wholly regained my wits since the fire. I throw myself on
your mercy.” (The same expression he had used once
before. She remembered it, and her face changed instantly.)
in rather a husky voice:
“When I was a wicked fool, I told you I had none; but
I think I am a little changed now.” Then she added
sharply, “Please don't stand there keeping our friends
waiting,” and she led the way into the lecture-room now
filled with tables and hungry people.
Dennis was in a maze, and could scarcely understand
her. She was so different from the pensive lady, shrinking
from the rude contact with the world, that he had expected
to meet. He did not realize that there was not a particle
of weak sentimentality about her, and now that pride was
gone, her energetic spirit would make her a leader in scenes
like these as truly as those in which she always had been
at home. Much less could he understand that she was
hiding a heart brimming over with love to him.
He followed her, however, with much assumed humility.
When in the middle of the room, who should meet him
squarely but Bill Cronk?
“Hollo!” he roared, giving Dennis a slap on his back
that startled even the hungry apathetic people at the
tables.
Dennis was now almost desperate. Glad as he was
to see Cronk, he felt that he was gathering around him as
incongruous a company as was the supper he had brought
home. If Yahcob Bunk or even the red-nosed bar-tender
should appear to claim him as brother, he would scarcely
have been surprised. He naturally thought that the Baroness
of Ludolph might hesitate before entering such a
circle of intimates. But he was not guilty of the meanness
of cutting a humble friend, even though he saw the eyes of
Christine resting on him. In his embarrassment, however,
he held out the wash-basin in his confused effort to shake
hands, and said heartily:
“Why, Cronk, I am glad you came safely out of it.”
“Is this gentleman a friend of yours?” asked Christine
with inimitable grace.
“Yes!” said Dennis firmly, though coloring somewhat.
“He once rendered me a great kindness—”
“Well, Miss, you bet your money on the right hoss that
time,” interrupted Bill. “If I hain't a friend of his'n I'd
like to know where you'll find one; though I did kick up
like a cussed ole mule when he knocked the bottle out of
my hand. Like a nuff if he hadn't I wouldn't be here.”
“Won't you present me, Mr. Fleet?” said Christine with
an amused twinkle in her eye.
“Mr. Cronk,” said Dennis (who had now reached that
state of mind when one becomes reckless), “this lady is
Miss Ludolph, and, I hope I may venture to add, another
friend of mine.”
She at once put out her hand, that seemed like a snow-flake
in the great horny paw of the drover, and said:
“Indeed, Mr. Cronk, I will permit no one to claim
stronger friendship to Mr. Fleet than mine.”
“I can take any friend of Mr. Fleet's to my buzzom at
once,” said Bill, speaking figuratively, but Christine instinctively
shrank nearer Dennis. In talking with men, Bill used
the off-hand vernacular of his calling, but when addressing
ladies, he evidently thought that a certain style of metaphor
bordering on sentiment was the proper thing. But Christine
said:
“As a friend of Mr. Fleet's you shall join our party at
once,” and she led them to the farther end of the room,
where at a table sat Dr. Arten, Professor and Mrs. Learned,
Ernst and the little Bruders, who at the prospect of more
eating were wide awake again. After the most hearty
greetings they were seated, and she took her place by the
side of the little children in order to wait on them. Few
time of chaos and deprivation. Professor Learned was
without vest or collar, and sat with coat buttoned tight up
to his chin to hide the defect. He had lost his scholarly
gold-rimmed spectacles and a wonderful pair of goggles
bestrode his nose in their place. Mrs. Learned was lost in
the folds of an old delaine dress that was a mile too large,
and her face looked as if she had assisted actively in an
Irish wake. Dr. Arten did the honors at the head of the
table in his dress coat and vest that were once white,
though he no longer figured around in red flannel drawers
as he had on the beach. The little round faces of
the Bruders seemed as if protruding from animated rag
babies, while nothing could dim the glory of Ernst's great
spiritual eyes, as they gratefully and wistfully followed
Dennis' every movement. Cronk was in a very dilapidated
and famished state, and endured many and varied tortures
in his efforts to be polite while he bolted sandwiches at a
rate that threatened famine. Christine still wore the woollen
dress she had so hastily donned by Dennis assistance
on Sunday night, and the marks of the fire were all over it.
Around her neck the sparks had burned a hole here and
there through which her white shoulders gleamed. While
she was self-possessed and asiduous in her attention to the
little children, there was a glow of excitement in her eyes,
which perhaps Mrs. Learned understood better than anyone
else, though the shrewd old Doctor was anything but
blind.
Dennis sat next to Christine in shirt-sleeves once white,
but now through dust and smoke as many colors as Joseph's
coat. He was too weary to eat much, and there was
a weight upon his spirits that he could not throw off, the
inevitable despondency that follows great fatigue, when the
mind is not at rest.
Christine sprang up and brought him a huge mug of hot
coffee.
“Really, Miss Ludolph,” he remonstrated, “you should
not wait on me in this style.”
“You may well feel honored, sir,” said Mrs. Learned.
“It is not every man that is waited on by a Baroness.”
“The trouble with Christine is that she is too grateful,”
put in the old Doctor.
“Now I should say that was scarcely possible in view
of—” commenced the Professor innocently.
“I really hope Miss Ludolph will do nothing more from
gratitude,” interrupted Dennis in a low tone that showed
decided annoyance.
The Doctor and Mrs. Learned were ready to burst with
some suppressed amusement, and Cronk seeing something
going on that he did not understand, looked curiously
around with a sandwich half way to his open mouth, while
Ernst, believing Dennis wronged from his tone, turned his
great eyes reproachfully from one to another. But Christine
was equal to the occasion. Lifting her head and looking
round with a free clear glance she said:
“And I say that men who meet this great disaster with
courage and fortitude, and hopefully set about retrieving it,
possess an inherent nobility such as no King or Kaiser
could bestow, and were I twenty times a Baroness, I would
esteem it an honor to wait upon them.”
A round of applause followed this speech in which
Cronk joined vociferously, and Mrs. Learned cried, “Oh,
Christine, how beautifully I learn from your face the difference
between dignity and pride. That was your same old
proud look, changed and glorified into something so much
better.”
Dennis also saw her expression and could not diguise
his admiration, but every moment he felt more how desperately
to realize his very ideal of womanhood.
And Cronk, having satisfied the clamors of his appetite,
began to be fascinated in his rough way with her grace and
beauty. Nudging Dennis he asked in a loud whisper heard
by all and which nearly caused Dr. Arten to choke:
“The young filly is a German lady, ain't she?”
Dennis, much embarrassed nodded assent.
A happy thought struck Bill. Though impeded by the
weight of indefinite sandwiches, he slowly rose and looked
solemnly round on the little group. Dennis trembled, for
he feared some dreadful bull on the part of his rough but
well-meaning friend, but Dr. Arten in a state of intense enjoyment,
cried,
“Mr. Cronk has the floor.”
Lifting a can of coffee containing about a quart, the
Drover said impressively and with an attempt at great
stateliness:
“Beautiful ladies and honorable gentlemen here assembled,
I would respectfully ask you to drink to a toast in
this harmless beverage: The United States of Ameraky!
When the two great elemental races—the sanguinary Yankee
and the pleagmatic German—become one, and, as represented
in the blooded team before me (waving his hand
majestically over the heads of Dennis and Christine), pull
up in the traces together, how will the ship of state go forward?”
and his face disappeared behind his huge flagon
of coffee in the deepest pledge. Bill thought he had uttered
a very profound and elegant sentiment, but his speech
fell like a bomb-shell in the little company.
“The very spirit of mischief is about to-day,” Dennis
groaned. And Christine with a face like a peony snatched
up the youngest little Bruder, saying, “It is time these
sleepy children were abed,” but the Doctor and the Learneds
in which Dennis could not refrain from joining, though
he wished the unlucky Cronk a thousand miles away.
Bill put down his mug, stared around in a surprised and
non-plussed manner, and then said in his loud whisper:
“I say, Fleet, was there any hitch in what I said?”
This set them off again, but Dennis answered good-naturedly,
slapping his friend on his shoulder:
“Cronk, you would make a man laugh in the face of
fate.”
Bill took this as a compliment, and the strange party
thrown together by an event that mingled every class in
the community, broke up and went their several ways.
| CHAPTER LI.
BILL CRONK'S TOAST. Barriers burned away | |