Part 51 (1/2)
”A shadow! That is all she ever could have been to me!”
CHAPTER III
FROM GARRET TO GARDEN
”Celestina, what do you think this is?” Waving something that crackled in mid air.
”A piece of paper,” said Celestina from her place on the hearth.
”Paper!” scoffed Straws. ”It's that which Horace calls a handmaid, if you know how to use it; a mistress, if you do not--money! It is--success, the thing which wrecks more lives than cyclones, fires and floods! We were happy enough before this came, weren't we, Celestina?”
The girl nodded her head, a look of deep anxiety in her eyes.
”Oh, why did the critics so d.a.m.n the book it fairly leaped to popularity!” went on the bard. ”Why did they advise me to learn a trade? to spoil no more reams of paper? To spoil reams of paper and get what--this little bit in return!”
”Is it so very much money?” asked Celestina.
”An enormous amount--one thousand dollars! And the worst of it is, my publishers write there may be more to come.”
”Well,” said the child, after a long, thoughtful pause, ”why don't you give it away?”
”Hum! Your suggestion, my dear--”
”But, perhaps, no one would take it?” interrupted Celestina.
”Perhaps they wouldn't!” agreed Straws, rubbing his hands. ”So, under the circ.u.mstances, let us consider how we may cultivate some of the vices of the rich. It is a foregone conclusion, set down by the philosophers, that misery a.s.sails riches. The philosophers were never rich and therefore they know. Besides, they are unanimous on the subject. It only remains to make the best of it and cultivate the vanities of our cla.s.s. Where shall I begin? 'Riches betray man into arrogance,' saith Addison. Therefore will I be arrogant; while you, my dear, shall be proud.”
”That will be lovely!” a.s.sented Celestina, as a matter of habit. She went to the bed and began smoothing the sheets deftly.
”My dear!” expostulated Straws. ”You mustn't do that.”
”Not make the bed!” she asked, in surprise.
”No.”
”Nor bring your charcoal?”
”No.”
”Nor wash your dishes?”
”Certainly not!”
Celestina dropped on the floor, a picture of misery.
”Too bad, isn't it?” commented Straws. ”But it can't be helped, can it?”
”No,” she said, shaking her head, wofully; ”it can't be helped! But why--why did you publish it?”
”Just what the critics asked, my dear! Why? Who knows? Who can tell why the G.o.ds invented madness? But it's done; for bad, or worse!”