University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.
THE SKIES DARKENING.

THE game of cards fared indifferently, for they
were all too intent on little games of their
own to give close attention. Mr. Van Dam won
when he chose and gave the game away when he
chose, but made Zell think the skill was mainly
hers.

Still, in the common parlance, they had a
“good time.” From such clever men the jests
and compliments were rather better than usual,
and repartee from the ruby lips that smiled upon
them could not seem other than brilliant.

Edith soon added to the sources of enjoyment
by ordering cake and wine, for though not the
eldest she seemed to naturally take the lead.

Mr. Goulden drank sparingly. He meant that
not a film should come across his judgment. Mr.
Van Dam drank freely, but he was seasoned to
more fiery potations than sherry. Not so poor
Gus, who, while he could never resist the wine,
soon felt its influence. But he had sufficient control
never to go beyond the point of tipsiness that
fashion allows in the drawing-room.

Of course through Zell's unrestrained chatter
the recently made plans soon came out.

Adroit Mr. Van Dam turned to Zell with an
expression of much pleased surprise exclaiming:

“How fortunate I am! I had completed my
plans to go abroad some little time since.”

Zell clapped her hands with delight, but an involuntary
shadow darkened Edith's face.

Gus looked nonplussed. He knew that his
father and mother with difficulty kept pace with
his home expenses and that a Continental tour
was impossible. Mr. Goulden looked a little
thoughtful, as if a new element had entered into
the problem.

“Oh, come,” laughed Zell. “Let us all be
good, and go on a pilgrimage together to Paris—I
mean Jerusalem.”

“I will worship devoutly with you at either
shrine,” said Mr. Van Dam.

“And with equal sincerity, I suppose,” said
Edith, rather coldly.

“I sadly fear, Miss Edith, that my sincerity
will not be superior to that of the other devotees,”
was the keen retort, in blandest tones.

Edith bit her lip, but said gayly, “Count me
out of your pilgrim band. I want no shrine with
relics of the past. I wish no incense rising about
me obscuring the view. I like the present, and
wish to see what is beyond.”

“But suppose you are both shrine and divinity
yourself?” said Gus, with what he meant for a killing
look.

“Do you mean that compliment for me?”
asked Edith, all sweetness.

Between wine and love Gus was inclined to be
sentimental, and so in a low, meaning tone
answered—,

“Who more deserving?”

Edith's eyes twinkled a moment, but with a
half sigh she replied,—

“I fear you read my character rightly. A
shrine suggests many offerings, and a divinity
many worshippers.”

Zell laughed outright, and said, “In that respect
all women would be shrines and divinities if
they could.”

Van Dam and Goulden could not suppress a
smile at the unfortunate issue of Elliot's sentiment,
while the latter glanced keenly to see how
much truth was hinted in the badinage.

“For my part,” said Laura, looking fixedly at
nothing, “I would rather have one true devotee
than a thousand pilgrims who were gushing at
every shrine they met.”

“Bravo!” cried Mr. Goulden. “That was the
keenest arrow yet flown;” for the other two
young men were notorious flirts.

“I do not think so. Its point was much too
broad,” said Zell, with a meaning look at Mr.
Goulden, that brought a faint color into his imperturbable
face, and an angry flush on Laura's.

A disconcerted manner had shown that even
Gus' vanity had not been impervious to Edith's

barb, but he had now recovered himself, and ventured
again:

“I would have my divinity a patron saint sufficiently
human to pity human weakness, and so
come at last to listen to no other prayer than
mine.”

“Surely, Mr. Elliot, you would wish your saint
to listen for some other reason than your weakness
only,” said Edith.

“Come, ladies and gentlemen, I move this
party breaks up, or some one will get hurt,” said
Gus, with a half vexed laugh.

“What is the matter?” asked Edith innocently.

“Yes,” echoed Zell, rising, “what is the matter
with you, Mr. Van Dam? Are you asleep, that
you are so quiet? Tell us about your divinity.”

“I am an astronomer and fire worshipper,
somewhat dazzled at present by the nearness and
brilliancy of my bright luminary.”

“Nonsense, your sight is failing, and you have
mistaken a will-o'-the-wisp for the sun,

and she flitted away before him.

He followed with his intent eyes and graceful,
serpent-like gliding, knowing her to be under a
spell that would soon bring her fluttering back.

After circling round him a few moments she

took his arm and he commenced breathing into
her ear the poison of his passion.

No woman could remain the same after being
with Mr. Van Dam. Out of the evil abundance
of his heart he spoke, but the venom of his words
and manner were all the more deadly because so
subtle, so minutely and delicately distributed, that
it was like a pestilential atmosphere, in which
truth and purity withered.

No parent should permit to his daughters the
companionship of a thoroughly bad man, whatever
his social standing. His very tone and glance are
unconsciously demoralizing, and even if he tries, he
cannot prevent the bitter waters overflowing from
their bad source, his heart.

Mr. Van Dam did not try. He meant to secure
Zell, with or without her father's approval, believing
that when the marriage was once consummated,
Mr. Allen's consent and money would follow
eventually.

For some little time longer the young ladies
and their favored attendants strolled about the
rooms in quiet tete-a-tete, and then the gentlemen
bowed themselves out.

The door-bell had rung several times during the
evening, but Hannibal, with the solemnity of a
funeral, had quenched each comer by saying with
the decision of the voice of fate,—

“De ladies am engaged, sah,” and no Cerberus
at the door, or mailed warder of the middle ages,
could have proved such an effectual barrier against

all intruders as this old negro in his white waistcoat
and stiff necktie, backed by the usage of modern
society. Indeed, in some respects he was a
greater potentate than old king Canute, for he
could say to the human passions, inclinations and
desires that surged up to Mr. Allen's front door,
“Thus far and no farther.”

But upon this evening there was a caller who
looked with cool, undaunted eyes upon the stiff
necktie and solemn visage rising above it, and to
Hannibal's reiterated statement, “Dey am engaged,”
replied in a quiet tone of command,—

“Take that card to Miss Edith.”

Even Hannibal's sovereignty broke down before
this persistent; imperturbable visitor, and scratching
his head with a perplexed grin he half soliloquized,
half replied,—

“Miss Edith mighty ticlar to hab her orders
obeyed.”

“I am the best judge in this case,” was the
decisive response. “You take the card and I will
be responsible.”

Hannibal came to the conclusion that for some
occult reason the gentleman, who was well known
to him, had a right to pronounce the “open sesame”
where the portal had remained closed to all others,
and being a diplomatist, resolved to know more
fully the quarter of the wind before assuming too
much. But his state-craft was sorely puzzled to
know why one of Mr. Allen's under-clerks should
suddenly appear in the role of social caller upon

the young ladies, for Mr. Fox, the gentleman
in question, ostensibly had no higher position.
His appearance and manner indicated a mystery.
Old Hannibal's wool had not grown white for nothing,
and he was the last man in the world to go
through a mystery, as a blundering bumblebee
would through a spider's web. He was for leaving
the web all intact till he knew who spun it and who
it was to catch. If it was Mr. Allen's work or Miss
Edith's, it must stand; if not he could play bumblebee
with a vengeance, and carry off the gossamer
of intrigue with one sweep.

So, showing Mr. Fox into a small reception
room, he made his way to the library door with a
motion that reminded you of a great, stealthy cat,
and called in a loud, impressive whisper,—

“Miss Edith!”

Edith at once rose and joined him, knowing
that her prime minister had some important question
of state to present when summoning her in
that tone.

Screened by the library door, Hannibal commenced
in a deprecating way,—

“I told Mr. Fox you'se engaged, but he say I
must give you dis card. He kinder acted as if he
own dis niggar and de whole establishment.”

A sudden heavy frown drew Edith's dark eyebrows
together and she said loud enough for Mr.
Fox in his ambush to hear,—

“Was there ever such impudence!” and
straightway the frown passed to the listener, intensified,

like a flying cloud darkening one spot now
and another a moment later.

“Return the card, and say I am engaged,” she
said haughtily. “Stay,” she added thoughtfully.
“Perhaps he wished to see papa, or there is some
important business matter which needs immediate
attention. If not, dismiss him,” and Edith returned
to the library quite as much puzzled as Hannibal
had been. Two or three times recently she had
found Mr. Fox's card on returning from evenings
out. Why had he called? She had only a cool,
bowing acquaintance with him, formed by his coming
occasionally to see her father on business, and
her father had not thought it worth while to formally
introduce Mr. Fox to any of his family at such
times, but had treated him as a sort of upper servant.
He certainly was putting on strange airs, as
her old grand vizier had intimated. But in the
game of cards and her other little game with Gus,
she soon forgot his existence.

Meantime Hannibal, reassured, was regal again
and marched down the marble hall with some of
the feeling and bearing of his great namesake. If
there were a web here, the Allens were not spinning
it, and he owed Mr. Fox nothing but a slight
grudge for his “airs.”

Therefore with the manner of one feeling himself
master of the situation he said,—

“Hab you a message for Mr. Allen?”

“No,” replied Mr Fox quietly.

“Den I tell you again Miss Edith am engaged.”

Looking straight into Hannibal's eyes, without
a muscle changing in his impassive face, Mr. Fox
said in the steady tone of command,—

“Say to Miss Edith I will call again,” and he
passed out of the door as if he were master of the
situation.

Hannibal rolled up his eyes till nothing but the
whites were seen, and muttered,—

“Brass aint no name for it.”

Mr. Fox's action can soon be explained. While
accustomed to operate largely in Wall street through
his brokers, Mr. Allen was also the head of a clothimporting
firm. This in fact had been his regular
and legitimate business, but like so many others, he
had been drawn into the vortex of speculation and
after many lucky hits had acquired that overweening
confidence that prepares a way for a fall.
He came to believe that he had only to put his
hand to a thing to give it the needful impulse to
success. In his larger and more exciting operations
in Wall street he had left cloth business mainly
to his junior partners and dependents, they employing
his capital. Mr. Fox was merely a clerk
in this establishment, and not in very high standing
either. He was also another unwholesome
product of metropolitan life. As office boy among
the lawyers, as a hanger-on of the criminal courts,
he had scrambled into a certain kind of legal knowledge
and gained a small pettifogging practice, when
an opening in Mr. Allen's business led to his present
connection. Mr. Allen felt that in his varied

and extended business he needed a man of Mr.
Fox's stamp to deal with the legal questions that
came up, look after the intricacies of the revenue
laws, and manage the immaculate saints of the
custom-house. As far as the firm had dirty, disagreeable,
perplexing work to do, Mr. Fox was to
do it. Whenever it came in contact with the majesty
(?) of the law and government, Mr. Fox was to
represent it. Whenever some Israelite in whom
was guile sought, on varied pretext, to wriggle
out of the whole or part of a bill, the wary Mr.
Fox met and skirmished on the same plane with
the adversary, and won the little fight with the
same weapons.

I would not for a moment give the impression
that Mr. Allen was in favor of sharp practice.
He merely wished to conduct his business on the
business principles and practice of the day, and
it was not his purpose, and certainly not his
policy, to pass beyond the law. But even the
judges disagree as to what the law is, and he was
dealing with many who thrived by evading it;
therefore the need of a nimble Mr. Fox who could
burrow and double on his tracks with the best of
them. All went well for years and the firm was
saved many an annoyance, many a loss, and if this
guerilla of the house, as perhaps we may term
him, had been as devoted to Mr. Allen's interests
as to his own, all might have gone well to the end.
But these very sharp men are apt to cut both ways,
and so it turned out in this case. The astute Mr.

Fox determined to faithfully serve Mr. Allen as
long as he could faithfully and preëminently serve
himself. If he who had scrambled from the streets
to his present place of power could reach a higher
position by stepping on the great rich merchant,
such power would have additional satisfaction.
He was as keen-scented after money as Mr. Allen,
only the latter hunted like a lion, and the former
like a fox. He mastered Mr. Allen's business
thoroughly in all its details. Until recently no
opportunity had occurred save work, which, though
useful, caused him to be half-despised by the others
who would not, or could not do it. But of late
he had gained a strong vantage point. He watched
with intense interest Mr. Allen's attraction
toward, and entrance upon, a speculation that he
knew to be as uncertain of issue as large in proportions,
for if the case ever became critical, he
was conscious of the power of introducing a very
important element into the problem.

In his care of the custom-house business he
had discovered technical violations of the revenue
laws which already involved the loss to the firm of
a million dollars, and with his peculiar loyalty to
himself, thought this knowledge ought to be worth
a great deal. As Mr. Allen went down into the
deep waters of Wall street, he saw that it might be.
In saving his employer from wreck he might virtually
become captain of the ship.

After this brief delineation of character, it
would strike the reader as very incongruous to

say that Mr. Fox had fallen in love with Edith.
Mr. Fox never stumbled or fell. He could slide
down and scramble up to any extent, and when
cornered could take as flying a leap as a cat. But,
he had been greatly impressed by Edith's beauty,
and to win her also would be an additional and
piquant feature in the game. He had absolute
confidence in money, much of which he might
have gained from Mr. Allen himself. He knew
a million of her father's money was in his power,
and this, in a certain sense, placed him in the
position of a suitor worth a million, and such
he knew to be almost omnipotent on the Avenue.
If this money could also be the means of causing
Mr. Allen's ruin, or saving him from it, he believed
that Edith would be his as truly as the bonds and
certificates of stock that he often counted and
gloated over. Even before Mr. Allen entered on
what he called his great and final operation for the
present, he was half inclined to show his hand and
make the most of it, but within the last few days
he had learned that perhaps a greater opportunity
was opening before him. Meantime in the full consciousness
of power he had commenced calling on
Edith, as we have seen, something as a cat likes
to play around and watch a caged bird, which it
expects to have in its claws before long.

The next morning at breakfast Edith mentioned
Mr. Fox's recent calls.

“What is he coming here for?” growled Mr.
Allen, looking with a frown at his daughter.

“I'm sure I don't know.”

“I hope you don't see him.”

“Certainly not. I was out the first two times,
and last night sent word that I was engaged.
But he insisted on his card being given to me and
put on airs generally, so Hannibal seems to think.”

That dignitary gave a confirming and indignant
grunt.

“He said he would call again, didn't he, Hannibal?”

“Yes'm,” blurted Hannibal, “and he looked
as if de next time he'd put us all in his breeches
pocket and carry us off.”

“What's Fox up to now?” muttered Mr.
Allen, knitting his brows. “I must look into
this.”

But even within a few hours the cloud land of
Wall street had changed some of its aspects. The
sereneness of the preceding day was giving place
to indications of a disturbance in the financial
atmosphere. He had to buy more stock to keep
the control he was gaining on the market, and
things were not shaping favorably for its rise. He
was already carrying a tremendous load, and even
his Herculean shoulders began to feel the burden.
In the press and rush of business he forgot about
Fox's social ambition in venturing to call where
such men as Van Dam and Gus Elliot had undisputed
rights.

Those upon whom society lays its hands are
orthodox of course.

The wary Fox was watching the stock market
as closely as Mr. Allen, and chuckled over the
aspect of affairs; and he concluded to keep quietly
out of the way a little longer, and await further
developments.

Things moved rapidly as they usually do in the
maelstrom of speculation. Though Mr. Allen was
a trained athlete in business, the strain upon him
grew greater day by day. But true to his promise
and in accordance with his habit of promptness, he
transferred the deed for the little place in the
country to Edith, who gloated over its dry technicalities
as if they were full of romantic hope and
suggestion to her.

One day when alone with Laura, Mr. Allen
asked her suddenly,—

“Has Mr. Goulden made any formal proposal
yet?”

With rising color Laura answered,—

“No.”

“Why not? He seems very slow about it.”

“I hardly know how you expect me to reply to
such a question,” said Laura, a little haughtily.

“Is he as attentive as ever?”

“Yes, I suppose so, though he has not called
quite so often of late.”

“Humph!” ejaculated Mr. Allen meditatively,
adding after a moment, “Can't you make him
speak out?”

“You certainly don't mean me to propose to
him?” asked Laura, reddening.

“No no, no!” said her father with some irritation,
“but any clever woman can make a man,
who has gone as far as Mr. Goulden, commit himself
whenever she chooses. Your mother would
have had the thing settled long ago, or else would
have enjoyed the pleasure of refusing him.”

“I am not mistress of that kind of finesse,”
said Laura coldly.

“You are a woman,” replied her father coolly,
“and don't need any lessons. It would be well for
us both if you would exert your native power in
this case.”

Laura glanced keenly at her father and asked
quickly,—

“What do you mean?”

“Just what I say. A hint to the wise is sufficient.”

Having thus indicated to his daughter that
phase of Wall street tactics and principles that
could be developed on the Avenue, he took himself
off to the central point of operations.