University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.
A FUTURE OF HUMAN DESIGNING.

THE dining-room at six o'clock wore a far more
cheerful aspect than the invalid's room upstairs.
It was furnished in a costly manner, but
more ostentatiously than good taste would dictate.
You instinctively felt that it was a sacred
place to the master of the house, in which he
daily sacrificed to one of his chosen deities.

The portly colored waiter, in dress coat and
white vest, has just placed the soup on the table,
and Mr. Allen enters, supporting his wife. He
had a sort of manly toleration for all her whims
and weaknesses. He had never indulged in any
lofty ideas of womanhood, nor had any special
longings for her sympathy and companionship.
Business was the one engrossing thing of his life,
and this he honestly believed woman incapable of,
from her very nature. It was true of his wife, but
due to a false education rather than any innate
difficulties, and he no more expected her to comprehend
and sympathize intelligently with his
business operations, than to see her go down to
Wall street with him wearing his hat and coat.

She had been the leading belle in his set years
ago. He had admired her immensely as a stylish,

beautiful woman, and carried her off from dozens
of competitors, who were fortunate in their failure.
He always maintained a show of gallantry
and deference; which, though but a thin veneer,
was certainly better than open disregard and
brutal neglect.

So now, with a good-natured tolerance and
politeness, he seated the feeble creature in a
cushioned chair at the table, treating her more
like a spoiled child than a friend and companion.
The girls immediately appeared also, for they
knew too well their father's weakness, to keep him
waiting for his dinner.

Zell bounded into his arms in her usual impulsive
style, and the father caressed her in a way
that showed that his heart was very tender toward
his youngest child.

“And so my baby is seventeen to-day,” he
said. “Well, well, how fast we are growing old.”

The girl laughed; the man sighed. The one
was on the threshold of what she deemed the
richest pleasures of life; the other had well nigh
exhausted them, and for a moment realized it.

Still he was in excellent spirits, for he had
been unusually fortunate that day, and had seen
his way to an “operation” that promised a golden
future. He sat down therefore to the good cheer
with not a little of the spirit of the man in the
parable, whose complaisant exhortation to his
soul has ever been the language of false security
and prosperity.

The father's open favoritism for Zell was
another source of jealousy, her sisters naturally
feeling injured by it. Thus in this household
even human love was discordant and perverted,
and the Divine love unknown.

What chance had character, that thing of slow
growth, in such an atmosphere?

The popping of a champagne cork took the
place of grace at the opening of the meal, and the
glasses were filled all around. In honor of Zell's
birthday they drank to her health and happiness.
By no better form or more suggestive ceremony
could this Christian (?) family wish their youngest
member “God speed” on entering the vicissitudes
of a new year of life. But what they did was
done heartily, and every glass was drained. To
them it seemed very appropriate, and her father
said, glancing admiringly at her flaming cheeks
and dancing eyes:

“This is just the thing to drink Zell's health in,
for she is as full of sparkle and effervescence as
the champagne itself.”

Had he been a wiser and more thoughtful man,
he would have carried the simile farther and
remembered the fate of champagne when exposed.
However piquant and pleasing Zell's sparkle might
be, it would hardly secure success and safety for
life. But in his creed a girl's first duty was to be
pretty and fascinating, and he was extremely
proud of the beauty of his daughters. It was his
plan to marry them to rich men who would maintain

them in the irresponsible luxury that their
mother had enjoyed.

Circumstances seemed to justify his security.
The son of a rich man, he had also inherited a
taste for business and the art of making money.
Years of prosperity had confirmed his confidence,
and he looked complaisantly around upon his
family and talked of the future in sanguine tones.

He was a man considerably past his prime, and
his florid face and portly form indicated that he
was in the habit of doing ample justice to the
good cheer before him. Intense application to
business in early years and indulgence of appetite
in later life had seriously impaired a constitution
naturally good. He reminded you of a flower
fully blown or of fruit overripe.

“Since you have permitted Zell to leave school,
I suppose she must make her début soon,” said
Mrs. Allen with more animation than usual in her
tone.

“Oh, certainly,” cried Zell, “on Edith's birthday,
in February. We have arranged it all,
haven't we, Edith?”

“Heigho, then I am to have no part in the
matter,” said her father.

“Yes indeed, papa,” cried the saucy girl, “you
are to have no end of kisses, and a very long bill.”

This sally pleased him immensely, for it expressed
his ideal of womanly return for masculine
affection, at least the bills had never been wanting
in his experience. But, mellowed by wine and

elated by the success of the day, he now prepared
to give the coup that would make a far greater
sensation in the family circle than even a début or
a birthday party. So, glancing from one eager
face to another, (for between the wine and the
excitement even Mrs. Allen was no longer a colorless,
languid creature, ready to faint at the embrace
of her child,) he said with a twinkle in his eye,—

“Well, go to your mother about the party.
She is a veteran in such matters. But let there
be some limit to the length of the bill, or I can't
carry out another plan I have in view for you.”

Chorus—“What is that?”

Coolly filling his glass, he commenced leisurely
sipping, while glancing humorously from one to
another, enjoying their impatient expectancy.

“If you don't tell us right away,” cried Zell,
bouncing up, “I'll pull your whiskers without
mercy.”

“Papa, you will throw mother into a fever.
See how flushed her face is!” said Laura, the
eldest daughter, speaking at the same time two
words for herself.

The face of Edith, with its dazzling complexion
all aglow, and large dark eyes lustrous with excitement,
was more eloquent than words could have
been, and the “bon vivant” drank in their expression
with as much zest as he sipped his wine.
Perhaps it was well for him to make the most of
that little keen-edged moment of bright anticipation
and bewildering hope, for what he was about

to propose would cost him many thousands, and
exile him from business, which to him was the very
breath of life.

But Mrs. Allen's matter-of-fact voice brought
things to a crisis, for with an injured air she said:

“How can you, George, when you know the
state of my nerves?”

“What I propose, mamma, will cure your nerves
and everything else, for it is nothing less than a
tour through Europe.”

There was a shriek of delight from the girls, in
which even the exquisite Laura joined, and Mrs.
Allen was trembling with excitement. Apart from
the trip itself, they considered it a sort of disgrace
that a family of their social position and wealth
had never been abroad. Therefore the announcement
was doubly welcome. Hitherto Mr. Allen's
devotion to business had made it impossible, and
he had given them no hint of the near consummation
of their wishes. But he had begun to feel the
need of change and rest himself, and this weighed
more with him than all their entreaties.

In a moment Zell had her arms about his neck,
and her sisters were throwing him kisses across
the table. His wife, looking unusually gratified
said:

“You are a sensible man at last,” which was a
great deal for Mrs. Allen to say.

“Why mamma” exclaimed her husband, elevating
his eyebrows in comic surprise, “that I should
live to hear you say that!”

“Now don't be silly,” she replied, joining
slightly in the laugh at her expense, “or we shall
think that you have taken too much champagne,
and that this Europe business is all a hoax.”

“Wait till you have been outside of Sandy
Hook an hour, and you will find everything real
enough then. I think I see the elegant ladies of
my household about that time.”

“For shame, papa, what an uncomfortable suggestion
over a dinner table,” said the fastidious
Laura. “Picture the ladies of your household in
the salons of Paris. I promise we will do you
credit there.”

“I hope so, for I fear I shall have need of credit
when you all reach that Mecca of women.”

“It's no more the Mecca of women than Wall
street is the Jerusalem of men. What you are all
going to do in Heaven without Wall street, I
don't see.”

Her husband gave his significant shrug and
said, “I don't meet notes till they are due,” which
was his way of saying: “Sufficient unto the day is
the evil thereof.”

“The salons of Paris!” said Edith, with some
disdain. Think of the scenery, the orange-groves,
and vineyards that we shall see, the Alpine
flowers—”

“I declare,” interrupted Zell, “I believe that
Edith would rather see a grape vine and orange
tree, than all the toilets of Paris.”

“I shall enjoy seeing both,” was the reply,

“and so have the advantage of you in having two
strings to my bow.”

“By the way, that reminds me to ask how
many beaux you now have on the string,” said
her father.

Edith tossed her head with a pretty blush and
said: “Pity me, my father, you know I am always
poor at arithmetic.”

“You will take up with a crooked stick after
all. Now Laura is a sensible girl, like her mother,
and has picked out one of the richest, longest-headed
fellows on the street.”

“Indeed!” said his wife. “I do not see but
you are paying yourself a greater compliment than
either Laura or me.”

“Oh no, mere business statement. Laura
means business, and so does Mr. Goulden.”

Laura looked annoyed and said,—

“Pa, I thought you never talked business at
home.”

“Oh this is a feminine phase that women understand.
I want your sisters to profit by your good
example.”

“I shall marry an Italian Count,” cried Zell.

“Who will turn out a fourth-rate Italian barber,
and I shall have to support you both. But I won't
do it. You would have to help him shave.”

“No, I should transform him into a leader of
banditti, and we would live in princely state in the
Apennines. Then we would capture you, papa, and
carry you off to the mountains, and I would be

your jailer, and give you nothing but turtle soup
champagne and kisses, till you paid a ransom that
would break Wall street.”

“I would not pay a cent, but stay and eat you
out of house and home.”

“I never expect to marry,” said Edith, “but
some day I am going to commence saving my
money—now don't laugh, papa, for I could be economical
if I once made up my mind”—and the pretty
head gave a decisive little nod. “I am going to
save my money and buy a beautiful place in the
country and make it as near like the garden of
Eden as possible.”

“Snakes will get into it as of old,” was Mrs.
Allen's cynical remark.

“Yes, that is woman's experience with a garden,”
said her husband with a mock sigh.

Popping off the cork of another bottle, he added,
“I have got ahead of you, Edith. I own a
place in the country, much as I dislike that kind of
property. I had to take it to-day in a trade, and
so am a landholder in Pushton,—prospect, you see,
of my becoming a rural gentleman (Squire is the
title, I believe), and of exchanging stock in Wall
street for the stock of a farm. Here's to my estate
of three acres with a story and a half mansion
upon it! Perhaps you would rather go up there
this summer than to Paris, my dear?” to his wife.

Mrs. Allen gave a contemptuous shrug as if the
jest were too preposterous to be answered, but
Edith cried.—

“Fill my glass; I will drink to your country
place. I know the cottage is a sweet rustic little
box, all smothered with vines and roses like one I
saw last June.” Then she added in sport, “I wish
you would give it to me for my birthday present.
It would make such a nice porter's lodge at the
entrance to my future Eden.”

“Are you in earnest?” asked the father suddenly.

Both were excited by the wine they had
drank. She glanced at her father, and saw that
he was in a mood to say yes to anything, and
quick as thought, she determined to get the place,
if possible.

“Of course I am. I would rather have it than
all the jewelry in New York,” (she was over-supplied
with that style of gifts.)

“You shall have it then, for I am sure I don't
want it, and am devoutly thankful to be rid of it.”

Edith clapped her hands with a delight scarcely
less demonstrative than that of Zell in her wildest
moods.

“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Allen, “the idea of giving
a young lady such an elephant.”

“But remember,” continued her father, “you
must manage it yourself, pay the taxes, keep it repaired,
insured, etc. There is a first-class summer
hotel near it. Next year, after we get back from
Europe, we will go up there and stay awhile.
You shall then take possession, employ an agent
to take care of it, who by the way will cheat you

to your heart's content. I will wager you a box
of gloves, that before a year passes, you will try to
sell the ivy-twined cottage for anything you can
get, and will be thoroughly cured of your mania
for country life.”

“I'll take you up,” said Edith, in great excitement,
“but remember, I want my deed on my birthday.”

“All right,” said Mr. Allen, laughing. “I will
transfer it to you to-morrow, while I think of it.
But don't try to trade it off to me before next month
for a new dress.”

Edith was half wild over her present. Many
and varied were her questions, but her father only
said,—

“I don't know much about it. I did not listen
to half the man said, but I remember he stated
there was a good deal of fruit on the place, for it
made me think of you at the time. Bless you, I
could not stop for such small game. I am negotiating
a large and promising operation which you
understand about as well as farming. It will take
some time to carry it through, but when finished,
we will start for the `salons of Paris.'”

“I half believe,” said Laura, with a covert
sneer, “that Edith would rather go up to her farm
of three acres.”

“I am well satisfied as papa has arranged it,”
said the practical girl. “Every thing in its place,
and get all out of life you can, is my creed.”

“That means, get all out of me you can, don't

it, sly puss,” laughed the father, well pleased,
though, with the worldly wisdom of the speech.

“Kisses, kisses, unlimited kisses, and consider
yourself well repaid,” was the arch rejoinder; and
not a few looking at her as she then appeared, but
would have coveted such bargains. So her father
seemed to think as he gazed admiringly at her.

But something in Zell's pouting lips and vexed
expression caught his eye, and he said good naturedly,—

“Heigho, youngster, what has brought a thunder-cloud
across your saucy face?”

“In providing for birthdays to come, I guess
you have forgotten your baby's birthday present.”

“Come here, you envious elf,” said her father,
taking something from his pocket. Like light she
flashed out from under the cloud and was at his
side in an instant, dimpling, smiling, and twinkling
with expectation, her black eyes as quick and restless
as her father was deliberate and slow in undoing
a dainty parcel.

“O, George, do be quick about it, or Zell will
explode. You both make me nervous,” said Mrs.
Allen fretfully.

Suddenly pressing open a velvet casket, Mr. Allen
hung a jewelled watch with a long gold chain
about his favorite's neck, while she improvised a
hornpipe around his chair.

“There,” said he, “is something that is worth
more than Edith's farm, tumble-down cottage,

roses and all. So remember that those lips were
made to kiss, not to pout with.”

Zell put her lips to proper uses to that extent
that Mrs. Allen began to grow jealous, nervous,
and out of sorts generally, and having finished her
chocolate, rose feebly from the table. Her husband
offered his arm and the family dinner party
broke up.

And yet, take it altogether, each one was in
higher spirits than usual, and Zell and Edith in a
state of positive delight. They had received costly
gifts that specially gratified their peculiar tastes,
and these, with the promise of a grand party, a
trip to Europe, youthful buoyancy and champagne,
so dilated their little feminine souls, that Mrs. Allen's
fears of an explosion of some kind were scarcely
groundless. They dragged their stately sister
Laura, now unwontedly bland and affable, to the
piano, and called for the quickest and most brilliant
of waltzes, and a moment later their lithe figures
flowed away into the rhythm of motion, that
from their exuberance of feeling, was a fantastic
as it was graceful.

Mr. Allen assisted his wife to her room and
soon left her in an unusually contented frame of
mind to develop strategy for the coming party.
Mrs. Allen's nerves utterly incapacitated her for the
care of her household, attendance upon church, and
such humdrum matters, but in view of a great occasion
like a “grand crush ball” where among the
luminaries of fashion she could become the refulgent

centre of a constellation which her fair daughters
would make around her, her spirit rose to the
emergency. When it came to dress and dressmakers
and all the complications of the campaign now
opening, notwithstanding her nerves, she could be
quite Napoleonic.

Her husband retired to the library, lighted a
choice Havana, skimmed his evening papers, and
then as usual, went to his club.

This, as a general thing, was the extent of the
library's literary uses. The best authors in gold
and Russia smiled down from the black walnut
shelves, but the books were present rather as furniture
than from any intrinsic value in themselves
to the family. They were given prominence on the
same principle that Mrs. Allen sought to give a
certain tone to her entertainments by inviting many
literary and scientific men. She might be unable
to appreciate the works of the savans, but as they
appreciated the labors of her masterly French cook,
many compromised the matter by eating the petit
soupers, and shrugging their shoulders over the
entertainers.

And yet the Allens were anything but vulgar
upstarts. Both husband and wife were descended
from old and wealthy New York families. They
had all the polish which life-long association with
the fashionable world bestows. What was more,
they were highly intelligent, and in their own sphere,
gifted people. Mr. Allen was a leader in business
in one of the chief commercial centres, and to

lead in legitimate business in our day requires as
much ability, indeed we may say genius, as to
lead in any other department of life. He would
have shown no more ignorance in the study, studio,
and laboratory, than their occupants would have
shown in the counting room. That to which he devoted
his energies he had become a master in. It is
true he had narrowed down his life to little else than
business. He had never acquired a taste for art and
literature, nor had he given himself time for broad
culture. But we meet narrow artists, narrow clergymen,
narrow scientists just as truly. If you do
not get on their hobby, and ride with them, they
seem disposed to ride over you. Indeed, in our
brief life with its fierce competitions, few other
than what are known as “one idea” men have time
to succeed. Even genius must drive with tremendous
and concentrated energy, to distance
competitors. Mr. Allen was quite as great in his
department as any of the lions that his wife lured
into her parlors were in theirs.

Mrs. Allen was also a leader in her own chosen
sphere, or rather in the one to which she had
been educated. Given a carte blanche in the
way of expense, few could surpass her in producing
a brilliant, dazzling entertainment. The coloring
and decorations of her rooms would not be more
rich, varied, or in better taste, than the diversity,
and yet harmony of the people she would bring
together by her adroit selections. She had studied
society, and for it she lived, not to make it better,

not to elevate its character, and tone down its extravagances,
but simply to shine in it, to be talked
about and envied.

Both husband and wife had achieved no small
success, and to succeed in such a city as New York
in their chosen departments required a certain
amount of genius. The savans had a general admiration
for Mrs. Allen's style and taste, but found
on the social exchange of her parlors, she had nothing
to offer but fashion's smallest chit-chat. They
had a certain respect for Mr. Allen's wealth and
business power, but having discussed the news of
the day, they passed on, and the people during the
intervals of dancing, drifted into congenial schools
and shoals, like fish in a shallow lake. Mr. and Mrs.
Allen had a vague admiration for the learning of
the scholars, and culture of the artists, but would
infinitely prefer marrying their daughters to down-town
merchant princes.

Take the world over, perhaps all classes of people
are despising others quite as much as they are
despised themselves.

But when the French cook appeared upon the
scene, then was produced your true democracy.
Then was shown a phase of life into which all
entered with a zest that proved the common tie
of humanity.