Part 35 (1/2)
The Hastings' family had filed out to the dining-room after the orthodox fas.h.i.+on--Mr. Hastings leading out the fas.h.i.+onable Boston stranger, Mrs.
De Witt, and Pliny following with her elegant daughter. All traces of last night's dissipation had been carefully petted and smoothed away from the young man's face and dress, and he looked the very impersonation of refined manhood. As for Dora no amount of care and anxiety on her mother's part could transform her into a fas.h.i.+onable young lady--no amount of persuasion could induce her to follow fas.h.i.+on's freaks in the matter of dress, unless they chanced to accord with her own grave, rather mature, taste. So on this November day, while Miss De Witt was glowing and sparkling in garnet silk and rubies, Dora was pale and fair in blue merino, and soft full laces; and in spite of plainness and simplicity, or perhaps by the help of them, was queenly and commanding still. The table was dazzling and gorgeous, with silver and cut gla.s.s and flowers. Pliny established his lady and devoted himself to her wishes, eating little himself, and declining utterly at least half of the dishes that were offered. Brandy peaches, wine jellies, custards flavored with wine, fruits with just a touch of brandy about them, how they flitted and danced about him like so many imps, all allies of that awful demon _rum_, and all seeming bent on his destruction. Pliny's usually pale face was flushed, and his nerves were quivering. How much he wanted every one of these spiced and flavored dainties only his poor diseased appet.i.te knew; how thoroughly dangerous every one of them was to him only his troubled, tempted conscience knew. He heartily loathed every article of simple unflavored food; he absolutely longed to seize upon that elegant dish of brandy peaches, and devour every drop of the liquid to quench his raging thirst. Still he chatted and laughed, and swallowed cup after cup of coffee, and struggled with his tempter, and tried to call up and keep before him all his numerous promises to that one true friend who had stood faithfully beside him through many a disgraceful downfall.
”What an abstemious young gentleman!” simpered Miss De Witt, as for the fourth time Pliny briefly and rather savagely declined the officious waiter's offer of wine custard. ”Don't you eat any of these frivolous and demoralizing articles? Mrs. Hastings, is your son one of the new-lights? I have really been amused to see how persistently he declines all the tempting articles of peculiar flavor. _Is_ it a question of temperance, Mr. Hastings? I'm personally interested in that subject. I heard your star speaker, Mr. Ryan, hold forth last evening.
Did you hear him, Mr. Hastings?”
”I did not,” answered Pliny, laconically, remembering how far removed from a temperance lecture was the scene in which he had mingled the evening before. He was spared the trouble of further answer by his father's next remark.
”It is a remarkable recent conversion if Pliny has become interested in the temperance question,” he said, eyeing him curiously. ”I really don't know but total abstinence is a good idea for weak-minded young men who can not control themselves.”
Pliny flushed to his very forehead, and answered in a sharp cutting tone of biting sarcasm:
”Elderly gentlemen who seem to be similarly weak ought to set the example then, sir.”
This bitter and pointed reference to his father's portly form, flushed face, and ever growing fondness for his brandies, was strangely unlike Pliny's courteous manner, and how it might have ended had not Miss De Witt suddenly determined on a conquest, I can not say.
”Look, look!” she suddenly exclaimed, clapping her hands in childish glee. ”The first snow-storm of the season. Do see the great flakes! Mr.
Hastings, let me pledge your health, and your prospect of a glorious sleigh ride,” and she rested jeweled fingers on the sparkling gla.s.s before her.
Pliny's head was throbbing, and the blood seemed racing in torrents through his veins. He turned a stern, fierce look upon the lady by his side, muttered in low hoa.r.s.e tones, ”Pledge me for a glorious fool as I am,” drained his gla.s.s to the very bottom, and abruptly left the table and the room. And Miss De Witt was serenely and courteously surprised, while the embarra.s.sed mother covered her son's retreat as best she might, and Dora sat white and silent. On the table in Pliny's room lay a carefully-worded note of apology and explanation from Pliny to Ben Phillips. It was folded and ready for delivery. Pliny dashed up to his room, seized upon the note and consigned it to the glowing coals in the grate, then rang his bell furiously and left this message in its stead:
”Tell Phillips when he calls that I'm going, and he'll find me at Harcourt's.”
[Ill.u.s.tration]
CHAPTER XXIII.
JUDGMENTS.
Only a few of the clerks had a.s.sembled as yet at the great store. It was still early morning, and the business of the day had not commenced when young McPherson rushed in, breathless, and in his haste nearly overturned a clerk near the door; then he stopped, panting as he questioned:
”Is Mr. Mallery in?”
”Yes, sir; he's always in. It's my opinion he sleeps in the safe,” added his informant, in discontented under tone. Theodore's promptness was sometimes a great inconvenience to the sleepy clerks.
”I want him immediately. Where is he?”
”In the private office, sir. We have sent for him,” said Tommy, coming forward with the air of one who was at least a partner. Two minutes more and Theodore was beside him.
”There's been an accident,” explained Jim, rapidly, ”and you are very much needed.”
”Where, and for what?”
”At the Euclid House. Pliny Hastings and Ben Phillips, they were thrown from their carriage. Hastings asked for you at once.”
Theodore glanced behind him and issued a few brief directions.
”Tommy, bring my hat. Edwards, keep these keys in your safe until Mr.