86. CHAPTER LXXXVI.
IN THE CITY.
It was a long journey. They stopped at Baltimore, at
Philadelphia, and pushed on toward New York. While they
were still upon the way Hope Wayne saw what she had been
long expecting to see—and saw it without a solitary regret.
Amy Waring was Amy Waring no longer; and Hope Wayne
was the first who kissed Mrs. Lawrence Newt. Even Mrs.
Simcoe looked benignantly upon the bride; and Aunt Martha
wept over her as over her own child.
The very day of the wedding Abel Newt and his companion
arrived at Jersey City. Leaving Kitty in a hotel, he crossed
the river, and ascertained that the vessel on which he had
taken two berths under a false name was full and ready, and
would sail upon her day. He showed himself in Wall Street,
carefully dressed, carefully sober — evidently mindful, people
said, of his new position; and they thought his coming home
showed that he was on good terms with his family, and that
he was really resolved to behave himself.
For a day or two he appeared in the business streets and
offices, and talked gravely of public measures. General Belch
was confounded by the cool sobriety, and superiority, and ceremony
of the Honorable Mr. Newt. When he made a joke,
Abel laughed with such patronizing politeness that the General
was frightened, and tried no more. When he treated Abel
familiarly, and told him what a jolly lift his speech had given
to their common cause—the Grant—the Honorable Mr. Newt
replied, with a cold bow, that he was glad if he had done his
duty and satisfied his constituents; bowing so coldly that the
General was confounded. He spat into his fire, and said,
“The Devil!”
When Abel had gone, General Belch was profoundly conscious
that King Log was better than King Stork, and thought
regretfully of the Honorable Watkins Bodley.
After a day or two the Honorable Mr. Newt went to his
Uncle Lawrence's office. Abel had not often been there. He
had never felt himself to be very welcome there; and as he
came into the inner room where Lawrence and Gabriel sat,
they were quite as curious to know why he had come as he
was to know what his reception would be. Abel bowed politely,
and said he could not help congratulating his uncle
upon the news he had heard, but would not conceal his surprise.
What his surprise was he did not explain; but Lawrence
very well knew. Abel had the good sense not to mention
the name of Hope Wayne, and not to dwell upon any
subject that involved feeling. He said that he hoped by-gones
would be by-gones; that he had been a wild boy, but that a
career now opened upon him of which he hoped to prove
worthy.
“There was a time, Uncle Lawrence,” he said, “when I despised
your warning; now I thank you for it.”
Lawrence held out his hand to his nephew:
“Honesty is the best policy, at least, if nothing more,” he
said, smiling. “You have a chance; I hope, with all my heart,
you will use it well.”
There was little more to say, and of that little Gabriel said
nothing. Abel spoke of public affairs; and after a short time
he took leave.
“Can the leopard change his spots?” said Gabriel, looking
at the senior partner.
“A bad man may become better,” was all the answer; and
the two merchants were busy again.
Returning to Wall Street, the Honorable Abel Newt met
Mr. President Van Boozenberg. They shook hands, and the
old gentleman said, warmly,
“I see ye goin' into your Uncle Lawrence's a while ago,
as I was comin' along South Street. Mr. Abel, Sir, I congratilate
ee, Sir. I've read your speech, and I sez to ma, sez I,
I'd no idee of it; none at all. Ma, sez she, Law, pa! I allers
knowed Mr. Abel Newt would turn up trumps. You allers
did have the women, Mr. Newt; and so I told ma.”
“I am very glad, Sir, that I have at last done something to
deserve your approbation. I trust I shall not forfeit it. I
have led rather a gay life, and careless; and my poor father
and I have met with misfortunes. But they open a man's
eyes, Sir; they are angels in disguise, as the poet says. I
don't doubt they have been good for me. At least I'm resolved
now to be steady and industrious; and I certainly
should be a great fool if I were not.”
“Sartin, Sir, with your chances and prospects, yes, and your
talents, coz, I allers said to ma, sez I, he's got talent if he
hain't nothin' else. I suppose your Uncle Lawrence won't be
so shy of you now, hey? No, of course not. A man who
has a smart nevy in Congress has a tap in a good barrel.”
And Mr. Van Boozenberg laughed loudly at his own humor.
“Why, yes, Sir. I think I may say that the pleasantest
part of my new life—if you will allow me to use the expression—is
my return to the friends best worth having. I think
I have learned, Sir, that steady-going business, with no nonsense
about it, is the permanent thing. It isn't flopdoddle,
Sir, but it's solid food.”
“Tonguey,” thought old Jacob Van Boozenberg, “but vastly
improved. Has come to terms with Uncle Lawrence. Sensible
fellow!”
“I think he takes it,” said Abel to himself, with the feeling
of an angler, as he watched the other.
Just before they parted Abel took out his pocket-book and
told Mr. Van Boozenberg that he should like to negotiate a
little piece of paper which was not altogether worthless, he
believed.
Smiling as he spoke, he handed a note for twenty-five thousand
dollars, with his uncle's indorsement, to the President.
The old gentleman looked at it carefully, smiled knowingly,
“Yes, yes, I see. Sly dog, that Uncle Lawrence. I allers sez
so. This ere's for the public service, I suppose, eh! Mr.
Newt?” and the President chuckled over his confirmed conviction
that Lawrence Newt was “jes' like other folks.”
He asked Abel to walk with him to the bank. They chatted
as they passed along, nodded to those they knew, while
some bowed politely to the young member whom they saw in
such good company.
“Well, well,” said Mr. Zephyr Wetherley as he skimmed
up Wall Street from the bank, where he had been getting dividends,
“I didn't think to see the day when Abel Newt would
be a solid, sensible man.”
And Mr. Wetherley wondered, in a sighing way, what was
the secret of Abel's success.
The honorable member came out of the bank with the money
in his pocket. When the clock struck three he had the
amount of all the notes in the form of several bills of foreign
exchange.
He went hastily to the river side and crossed to Jersey
City.
“They have sent to say that the ship sails at nine in the
morning, and that we must be on board early,” said Kitty
Dunham, as he entered the room.
“I am all ready,” he replied, in a clear, cold, alert voice.
“Now sit down.”
His tone was not to be resisted. The woman seated herself
quietly and waited.
“My affectionate Uncle Lawrence has given me a large sum
of money, and recommends travelling for my health. The
money is in bills on London and Paris. To-morrow morning
we sail. We post to London—get the money; same day
to Paris—get the money; straight on to Marseilles, and sail
for Sicily. There we can take breath.”
He spoke rapidly, but calmly. She heard and understood
every word.
“I wish we could sail to-night,” she said.
“Plenty of time—plenty of time,” answered Abel. “And
why be so anxious for so long a journey?”
“It seems long to you, too?”
“Why, yes; it will be long. Yes, I am going on a long
journey.”
He smiled with the hard black eyes a hard black smile.
Kitty did not smile; but she took his hand gently.
Abel shook his head, mockingly.
“My dear Mrs. Delilah Jones, you overcome me with your
sentimentality. I don't believe in love. That's what I believe
in,” said he, as he opened his pocket-book and showed
her the bills.
The woman looked at them unmoved.
“Those are the delicate little keys of the Future,” chuckled
Abel, as he gloated over the paper.
The woman raised her eyes and looked into his. They
were busy with the bills. Then with the same low tone, as
if the wind were wailing, she asked,
“Abel, tell me, before we go upon this long journey, don't
you love me in the least?”
Her voice sank into an almost inaudible whisper.
Abel turned and looked at her, gayly.
“Love you? Why, woman, what is love? No, I don't
love you. I don't love any body. But that's no matter;
you shall go with me as if I did. You know, as well as I do,
that I can't whine and sing silly. I'll be your friend, and
you'll be mine, and this shall be the friend of both,” said he,
as he raised the bills in his hands.
She sat beside him silent, and her eyes were hot and dry,
not wet with tears. There was a look of woe in her face so
touching and appealing that, when Abel happened to see it,
he said, involuntarily,
“Come, come, don't be silly.”
The evening came, and the Honorable Mr. Newt rose and
walked about the room.
“How slowly the time passes!” he said, pettishly. “I can't
stand it.”
It was nine o'clock. Suddenly he sprang up from beside
Kitty Dunham, who was silently working.
“No,” said he, “I really can not stand it. I'll run over to
town, and be back by midnight. I do want to see the old
place once more before that long journey,” he added, with
emphasis, as he put on his coat and hat. He ran from the
room, and was just going out of the house when he heard a
muffled voice calling to him from up stairs.
“Why, Kitty, what is it?” he asked, as he stopped.
There was no answer. Alarmed for a moment, he leaped
up the stairs. She stood waiting for him at the door of the
room.
“Well!” exclaimed he, hastily.
“You forgot to kiss me, Abel,” she said.
He took her by the shoulders, and looked at her before him.
In her eyes there were pity, and gentleness, and love.
“Fool!” he said, half-pleased, half-vexed—kissed her, and
rushed out into the street.
