10. CHAPTER X.
AN OFFER OF HELP.
THE singing-master, Mr. Humphreys, went to
singing-school and church with Julia in a matter-of-course
way, treating her with attention, but
taking care not to make himself too attentive. Except
that Julia could not endure his smile—which
was, like some joint stock companies, strictly limited—she
liked him well enough. It was something to her, in her monotonous
life under the eye of her mother, who almost never left
her alone, and who cut off all chance for communication with
August—it was something to have the unobtrusive attentions
of Mr. Humphreys, who always interested her with his adventures.
For indeed it really seemed that he had had more adventures
than any dozen other men. How should a simple-hearted
girl understand him? How should she read the riddle of a life
so full of duplicity—of multiplicity—as the life of Joshua Humphreys,
the music-teacher? Humphreys intended to make love
to her, but during the first two weeks he only aimed to gain her
esteem. He felt that there was a clue which he had not got.
But at last the key dropped into his hands, and he felt sure that
the unsophisticated girl was in his power.
Among the girls that attended Humphreys's singing-school was
Betsey Malcolm, the near neighbor of the Andersons. The
singing-master often saw her at Mr. Anderson's, and he often
wished that Julia were as easy to win as he felt Betsey to be.
The sensuous mouth, the giddy eyes of Betsey, showed quickly
her appreciation of every flattering attention he paid her, and
though in Julia's presence he was careful how he treated her,
yet when he, walking down the road one day, alone, met her, he
courted her assiduously. He had not to observe any caution in
her case. She greedily absorbed all the flattery he could give,
only pettishly responding after a while: “O dear! that's the way
you talk to me, and that's the way you talk to Jule sometimes,
I s'pose. I guess she don't mind keeping two of you as strings
to her bow.”
“Two! What do you mean, my fair friend? I havn't seen
one, yet.”
“Oh, no! You mean you haven't seen two. You see one
whenever you look in the glass. The other is a Dutchman, and
she's dying after him. She may flirt with you, but her mother
watches her night and day, to keep her from running off with
Gus Wehle.”
Like many another crafty person, Betsey Malcolm had fairly
overshot the mark. In seeking to separate Humphreys from
Julia, she had given him the clue he desired, and he was not
slow to use it, for he was almost the only person that Mrs. Anderson
trusted alone with Julia.
In the dusk of the evening of the very day of his talk with
Betsey, he sat on the long front-porch with Julia. Julia liked
him better, or rather did not dislike him so much in the dark
as she did in the light. For when it was light she could see
him smile, and though she had not learned to connect a cold-blooded
face with a villainous character, she had that childish
instinct which made her shrink from Humphreys's square smile.
It always seemed to her that the real Humphreys gazed at her
out of the cold, glittering eyes, and that the smile was something
with which he had nothing to do.
Sitting thus in the dusk of the evening, and looking out over
the green pasture to where the nigher hills ceased and the distant
seemed to come immediately after, their distance only indicated
by color, though the whole Ohio “bottom” was between,
she forgot the Mephistopheles who sat not far away, and dreamed
of August, the “grand,” as she fancifully called him. And he
let her sit and dream undisturbed for a long time, until the
darkness settled down upon the hills. Then he spoke.
“I—I thought,” began Humphreys, with well-feigned hesitancy,
“I thought, I should venture to offer you my assistance
as a true and gallant man, in a matter—a matter of supreme
delicacy—a matter that I have no right to meddle with. I
think I have heard that your mother is not friendly to the suit of
a young man who—who—well, let us say who is not wholly
disagreeable to you. I beg your pardon, don't tell me anything
that you prefer to keep locked in the privacy of your own bosom.
But if I can render any assistance, you know. I have
some little influence with your parents, maybe. If I could be the
happy bearer of any communications, command me as your obedient
servant.”
Julia did not know what to say. To get a word to August
was what she most desired. But the thought of using Humphreys
was repulsive to her. She could not see his face in the
gathering darkness, but she could
feel him smile that same
soulless, geometrical smile. She could not do it. She did not
know what to say. So she said nothing. Humphreys saw that
he must begin farther back.
“I hear the young man spoken of as a praiseworthy person.
German, I believe? I have always noticed a peculiar
manliness about Germans. A peculiar refinement, indeed, and a
courtesy that is often wanting in Americans. I noticed this
when I was in Leipsic. I don't think the German girls are quite
so refined. German gentlemen in this country seem to prefer
American girls oftentimes.”
All this might have sounded hollow enough to a disinterested
listener. To Julia the words were as sweet as the first rain
after a tedious drouth. She had heard complaint, censure, innuendo,
and downright abuse of poor Gus. These were the
first generous words. They confirmed her judgment, they comforted
her heart, they made her feel grateful, even affectionate
toward the fop, in spite of his watch-seals, his curled mustache,
his straps, his cold eyes, and his artificial smile. Poor
fool you will call her, and poor fool she was. For she could
have thrown herself at the feet of Humphreys, and thanked
him for his words. Thank him she did in a stammering way,
and he did not hesitate to repeat his favorable impressions of
Germans, after that. What he wanted was, not to break the hold
of August until he had placed himself in a position to be next
heir to her regard.
