Part 42 (1/2)

”There is barely time for us to reach the cars,” said Theodore, hurriedly, the next morning, not turning his head from his valise to look at the new-comer, but knowing by the step that it was Pliny.

”I am sorry that we shall have to hurry your mother and sister so. How are you feeling? Did you get any rest last night, my poor fellow?”

”Feeling like a spinning-wheel going round backward and tipping over every now and then,” Pliny answered, in a thick, unnatural voice, and then Theodore let valise and bundle and keys drop to the floor together, and turned a face blanched with horror and dismay upon his friend. There was no disguising the fearful fact--Pliny had been drinking, and even then did not know in the least what he was about, or what was expected from him. Removed by just a flight of stairs from his father's corpse, having the charge of his mother on one side, and his young sister on the other, he yet had forgotten it all, and lost himself in rum. Poor, wretched Pliny! Poor Theodore as well! Which way should he turn? What do or say next? How could he help yielding to utter despair? There were circ.u.mstances about it that he did not know of; he knew nothing yet about that bottle of wine, nor how Pliny had trembled before it; how he had walked his floor and struggled with the evil spirit; how he had even dropped upon his knees and tried to pray for strength; how he had even lain down at last, considering the tempter vanquished; how it was not until he was called toward morning to minister to his mother's needs, and she had said, as she set down the wine-gla.s.s:

”How deathly pale you look, Pliny! Take a swallow of wine; it will strengthen you, and we all need to keep up our strength for this fearful day. Just try it, dear--I know it will help you!”

Then, indeed, had Pliny's courage failed him; he took the gla.s.s from his mother's offering hand, and drained its contents. After that you might as soon have tried to chain a tiger with a silken thread as to save Pliny when once that awful appet.i.te had been again aroused. Wine was as nothing to him, but he was in a regularly licensed hotel, and there was plenty of liquid fire displayed in a respectable and proper manner in the bar-room. Thither he went, and speedily put himself in such a state that he whistled and yelled and sang while his father's coffin was being carried down stairs.

Now, what was Theodore to do? He flung himself into a chair opposite his bed, where Pliny had just sense enough left to throw himself, and tried to think. Dora first--this knowledge, or if that were not possible, at least this sight, must be spared her. But there was no time to spare--he resolutely put down the heavy bitter feelings at his heart, and thought hard and fast. Then he hastened down stairs. ”I want two carriages instead of one,” he said to the landlord, who long ere this had felt a dawning of the importance and wealth of this company that he was entertaining, and was all attention.

The second carriage was obtained, and Pliny, with the aid of the little doctor, who had proved himself kind-hearted and discreet, was gotten into it.

”Where is Pliny?” queried Mrs. Hastings, as, after much trouble and delay, she stood ready for Theodore's offered arm.

”He has gone ahead with the baggage,” was Theodore's brief explanation.

Then he hurried them so that there was no time for further questioning, though Mrs. Hastings found chance to say that, ”It was a very singular arrangement--that she should suppose his mother and sister were of more importance than the baggage.” The train was in when they reached the depot; but the faithful little doctor had obeyed Theodore's instructions to the very letter--seating Pliny in the rear car, and checking baggage and purchasing tickets for the entire party. When they were seated and moving, Theodore left the ladies and sought out Pliny. He occupied a full seat, and was asleep. With a relieved sigh, Theodore returned to the mother and daughter--evaded the questions of the former as best he could, speaking of headache and faintness, both of which troubles Pliny undoubtedly had--but the great truthful eyes of Dora sought for, and found the truth in his.

”_Don't_ despair,” he said to her, gently, even while his own heart was heavy with something very like that feeling. ”The Lord knows all about it. He _will not_ forsake us.”

It was not to be supposed that a car ride of scarcely two hours would steady poor Pliny's brain. Theodore had thought of that, and prepared for saving him any unnecessary disgrace. McPherson, sitting in the little office back of his ”Temperance House” that morning, saw a boy approaching with a telegram for him. It read:

”Meet the 10.20 Express with a _close_ carriage.

”THEODORE MALLERY.”

So, when the train steamed into the depot, the first person whom Theodore saw was the faithful Jim. A few hurried words between them explained matters, and Pliny was quietly helped by Jim and Mr. Stephens into the close carriage and whirled away before Theodore had possessed himself of all of Mrs. Hastings' extra shawls and wraps.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER XXVIII.

DEATH AND LIFE.

There had been a grand and solemn funeral. A long line of splendid coaches had followed the millionaire to his last resting-place. Rosewood and silver and velvet and c.r.a.pe had united to do him honor. Many stores in the city were closed because Mr. Hastings had extensive business connections with them. The hotels were closed because Mr. Hastings owned three of the largest; the Euclid House was shuttered and bolted, and long lines of heavy c.r.a.pe floated from the numerous doors. Many hats had been uplifted, many gray heads bared, while the closing words of the solemn burial service were once more repeated, and then the mourners had returned to their places, and the long line of carriages had swept back, and the city had taken down its shutters and opened its doors again, and the world had rushed onward as before. Only in that one home--there the desolation tarried. Through all the trouble and the pain Theodore had been with them constantly. That first day he had accompanied them home of necessity, their rightful protector being still in his drunken sleep.

Arrived there, they needed help and comfort even more than they had before. There were friends by the hundreds, but Theodore could not fail to see that while Mrs. Hastings appeared incapable of directing, and indeed very indifferent as to what was done, Dora turned steadily and constantly to him for advice and a.s.sistance. Pliny was prevailed upon to go at once to his room, and was very soon asleep. When the wretched stupor of sleep had worn itself out upon him, and left the fearful headache to throb in his temples, Theodore was at his side, grave and sad and silent, but patient still, and gentle as a woman. Only a few words pa.s.sed between them, Pliny speaking first in a cold, hard tone.

”Go away, Mallery, and let me alone--everything is over. All I ask of you is to send me a bottle of brandy, and never let me see your face again.”

Theodore's only answer was to dip his hand again into cool water, and pa.s.s it gently over the burning temples; then he said:

”I think it would be well to lie still, Pliny. They do not need you below at present, and your head is very hot.”

Pliny pushed feebly with his hand.

”Go away, Mallery, I can not endure the sight of you. It is all over, I say. I will never try again.”

Very quietly and steadily went the firm, cool hand across his forehead, and the voice that answered him was quiet and firm.