Part 26 (1/2)
Some weeks after Christmas there had come a brief note from Starr, his name written in her hand, the address in her father's.
”Dear Michael,” it read,--
”I am just almost sure that I am indebted to you for the lovely little sprig of holly that reached me on Christmas. I have tried and tried to think who the sender might be, for you see I didn't know the writing, or rather printing. But to-day it fell down from over the picture where I had fastened, it on the wall, and I noticed what I had not seen before, 'A Happy Christmas' in the very tiny little letters of the message cut or scratched on the under side of the stem; and the letters reminded me of you and the charming little surprises you used to send me long ago from Florida when I was a little girl. Then all at once I was sure it was you who sent the holly, and I am sitting right down to write and thank you for it. You see I was very lonesome and homesick that Christmas morning, for most of the girls in the school had gone home for Christmas, and mamma, who had been intending to come and take me away to Paris for the holidays, had written that she was not well and couldn't come after all, so I knew I would have to be here all through the gay times by myself. I was feeling quite doleful even with the presents that mamma sent me, until I opened the little box and saw the dear little bright holly berries; that cheered me up and made me think of home. I kept it on my desk all day so that the bright berries would make me feel Christma.s.sy, and just before dinner that night what do you think happened? Why, my dear daddy came to surprise me, and we took the loveliest trip together, to Venice and Florence and Rome. It was beautiful! I wish you could have been along and seen everything. I know you would have enjoyed it. I must not take the time to write about it because I ought to be studying. This is a very pleasant place and a good school but I would rather be at home, and I shall be glad when I am done and allowed to come back to my own country.
”Thanking you ever so much for the pretty little Christmas reminder, for you see I am sure you sent it, and wis.h.i.+ng you a belated Happy New Year, I am
”Your friend,
”STARR DELEVAN ENDICOTT.”
Michael read and re-read the letter, treasured the thoughts and visions it brought him, pondered the question of whether he might answer it, and decided that he had no right. Then he put it away with his own heartache, plunging into his work with redoubled energy, and taking an antidote of so many pages of Blackstone when his thoughts lingered on forbidden subjects.
So the winter fled away and spring came stealing on apace.
CHAPTER XVII
As Michael had no definite knowledge of either his exact age, or what month his birthday came, there could be no day set for his coming of age. The little information that could be gathered from his own memory of how many summers and winters he had pa.s.sed showed that he was approximately seven years old at the time of the shooting affray. If that were correct it would make him between nineteen and twenty at the time of his graduation.
On the first day of July following his first winter in New York Michael received a brief letter from Mr. Endicott, containing a check for a thousand dollars, with congratulations on his majority and a request that he call at the office the next day.
Michael, eager, grateful, overwhelmed, was on hand to the minute appointed.
The wealthy business man, whose banking affairs had long since righted themselves, turned from his multifarious duties, and rested his eyes upon the young fellow, listening half-amused to his eager thanks.
The young man in truth was a sight to rest weary eyes.
The winter in New York had put new lines into his face and deepened the wells of his blue eyes; they were the work of care and toil and suffering, but--they had made a man's face out of a boy's fresh countenance. There was power in the fine brow, strength in the firm, well-moulded chin, and both kindliness and unselfishness in the lovely curves of his pleasant lips. The city barber had been artist enough not to cut the glorious hair too short while yet giving it the latest clean cut curve behind the ears and in the neck. By instinct Michael's hands were well cared for. Endicott's tailor had looked out for the rest.
”That's all right, son,” Endicott cut Michael's sentence short. ”I'm pleased with the way you've been doing. Holt tells me he never had a more promising student in his office. He says you're cut out for the law, and you're going to be a success. But what's this they tell me about you spending your evenings in the slums? I don't like the sound of that. Better cut that out.”
Michael began to tell in earnest protesting words of what he was trying to do, but Endicott put up an impatient hand:
”That's all very well, son, I've no doubt they appreciate your help and all that, and it's been very commendable in you to give your time, but now you owe yourself something, and you owe the world something. You've got to turn out a great lawyer and prove to the world that people from that district are worth helping. That's the best way in the long run to help those people. Give them into somebody else's hands now. You've done your part.
When you get to be a rich man you can give them something now and then if you like, but it's time to cut out the work now. That sort of thing might be very popular in a political leader, but you've got your way to make and it's time you gave your evenings to culture, and to going out into society somewhat. Here's a list of concerts and lectures for next winter. You ought to go to them all. I'm sorry I didn't think of it this winter, but perhaps it was as well not to go too deep at the start. However, you ought to waste no more time. I've put your application in for season tickets for those things on that list, and you'll receive tickets in due time. There's an art exhibition or two where there are good things to be seen. You've got to see and hear everything if you want to be a thoroughly educated man. I said a word or two about you here and there, and I think you'll receive some invitations worth accepting pretty soon. You'll need a dress suit, and I had word sent to the tailor about it this morning when it occurred to me--”
”But,” said Michael amazed and perturbed, ”I do not belong in society.
People do not want one like me there. If they knew they would not ask me.”
”Bos.h.!.+ All bos.h.!.+ Didn't I tell you to cut that out? People don't know and you've no need to tell them. They think you are a distant relative of mine if they think anything about it, and you're not to tell them you are not.
You owe it to me to keep still about it. If I guarantee you're all right that ought to suit anybody.”
”I couldn't go where people thought I was more than I was,” said Michael, head up, eyes s.h.i.+ning, his firmest expression on his mouth, but intense trouble in his eyes. It was hard to go against his benefactor.
”You got all those foolish notions from working down there in the slums.
You're got a false idea of yourself and a false notion of right and wrong.
It's high time you stopped going there. After you've been to a dance or two and a few theatre suppers, and got acquainted with some nice girls who'll invite you to their house-parties you'll forget you ever had anything to do with the slums. I insist that you give that work up at once. Promise me you will not go near the place again. Write them a letter--”