CHAPTER V.

FLUCTUATING EXPERIENCES.

Upon their arrival in San Francisco, the Hungerfords took a small apartment in a quiet but good location, where Helen felt she could ask her friends, and they would not hesitate to come to see her.

This she tastefully fitted up with some of the simplest of her old-home furniture, which her father's lifelong friend and lawyer had carefully stored for her against her return. The more expensive pieces, with some massive, valuable silver, and choice bric-a-brac that Mr. Appleton had purchased to embellish the beautiful new residence which he had built a few years previous to his death--these extravagances having really been the beginning of his undoing--she sold, thus realizing several hundred dollars, which would go far, with careful management, toward tiding over the interval during which John was working to turn his paintings into money.

As yet Dorothy had never attended school, Helen having systematically taught her at home; but the child was bright and quick to learn, and was fully up to the standard with, if not in advance of, girls of her own age. She could speak French like a Parisian, and her mother had also given her excellent training in music.

Helen, thus far, had been very wise in her management of Dorothy. Profiting by the mistakes which she realized her own indulgent parents had made in rearing herself, as well as by the faults she had detected in her husband's character, she had determined that her daughter should not suffer in the future, along the same lines, for lack of careful discipline. At the same time, she by no means made her government irksome; indeed, it never seemed to the child that she was being governed, for the companionship between them was so close and tender that she fell naturally into her mother's way of thinking, and seldom rebelled against her authority, even though she was by no means devoid of spirit or a mind of her own.

Now, however, feeling that Dorothy needed a wider horizon, with different environment and training, as she pursued her education, her mother decided to put her into the public school.

This would relieve Helen of much care, and also give her more time to take up a systematic course of piano and voice culture, which she had determined to do, with the view of turning her talent for music to some practical purpose, at least until her husband was better equipped to provide suitably for his family.

She had been cordially received on her return by most of her old friends, even though she had made no secret of the change in her circumstances. She had been a great favorite before her marriage, and her family highly respected; hence her reverses did not now appear to affect her social standing, at least among those who knew her best.

Very grateful and happy in view of this proof of real friendship, Helen was encouraged to quietly seek pupils in music, and easily secured a class of ten, which were all she felt she could do justice to with her domestic duties and other cares.

She felt very independent and not a little proud of the money thus earned, while she found it a great help in meeting the many expenses of her household.

During the first year after their return from abroad, John also worked well. He liked his teacher--a German, who had studied many years in Italy--who spoke in high praise of his talent, as well as of the thoroughness of the instruction he had received from Monsieur Jacques, all of which was apparent in his beautiful but unfinished work, he said.

Although Herr Von Meyer was not permanently located in San Francisco, his work had become popular, and he had quite a large following as students. He might almost have been called an itinerant artist, for he had traveled extensively in the United States and Canada, stopping for a longer or shorter time, as his fancy dictated, in numerous places, painting and sketching American life and scenery. He was now planning to return to his own country at the end of another year, to again take up work in his own studio in Berlin.

It was, therefore, a rare opportunity for John to have found so talented a teacher just at this time; and, under his supervision, he completed and disposed of a goodly number of his paintings. Some of these were so well appreciated that he received orders to duplicate them, and the future looked promising.

This success so elated and encouraged him that at the end of a year he concluded he was now competent to do business for himself without further assistance or instruction. Accordingly, he hired some rooms, furnished them attractively, and launched out upon an independent career with something like real enthusiasm.

For a time all went well; more pictures were painted and sold, bringing good prices; while, after the departure of Herr Von Meyer, students began to flock to him. Young Hungerford, the artist, was beginning to be talked about in society and at the various clubs; he was also much sought after and admired in fashionable circles; his studio became a favorite resort for people interested in art, and here John shone a bright particular star.

Helen became happy in proportion to her husband's advancement; she grew radiant with health; the lines of care and worry all faded out of her face; she was like a light-hearted girl, and John told her she was prettier than ever.

It was almost too good to be true, she sometimes said to herself, as she remembered the sad conditions that had prevailed while they were in Paris. But she would not allow herself to dwell upon those unhappy experiences; the present was full of hope and promise, and she firmly believed that her husband's fame and fortune were assured.

Had John Hungerford possessed "the stable mind," as Monsieur Jacques once expressed it, all must have gone well; if he had been less egotistical, selfish, and vain, more persevering and practical; had he not been naturally so indolent--"lazy," to quote his former teacher again--and pleasure-loving, he might have risen rapidly, and maintained his position.

But, as time wore on, and the novelty of his popularity and prosperity began to pall upon him; as the demands upon his patience became greater, and the supervision of students required more concentration and attention to detail; as the filling of increasing orders for his own work made it necessary to stick closer to his easel, day after day, life began to seem "a grind" again.

He grew discontented, irritable, restless. He lost patience with his students, and became indifferent to his duty to them, until they began to be disaffected, and dropped away from him. He neglected orders until his patrons became angry and withdrew them, and finally, becoming dissatisfied with his own work, he dropped back into his old habit of starting subject after subject, only to set them aside to try something else, rarely completing anything; all of which tended toward the ruin of his once prosperous business, as well as his reputation as an artist.

All this came about so gradually that, for a long time, no one save Helen suspected how matters were going. She begged him to wake up and renew his efforts, both for her sake and Dorothy's, as well as for his own; and she encouraged him in every possible way. But nothing that she could say or do served to arouse him from the mental and moral lethargy that possessed and grew upon him.

Fortunately, in spite of their recent prosperity, Helen had retained her pupils in music, more because of her love for the work than because she felt the need of money, as at first. Thus, when her husband's income began to fall off, she dropped, little by little, into the way of sharing the household expenses from her own earnings, and so assumed burdens which he should have borne himself.

As month succeeded month, things continued to grow worse, until rumors of the truth got afloat, and his friends and patrons began to show their disapproval of his downward course, and even to shun his society.

Yet these significant omens did not serve to arouse him. On the contrary, his indifference and indolence increased, and his old love for wandering returned; his studio would frequently be closed for days, sometimes for weeks, at a time, and only his boon companions knew where he could be found.

Helen regarded these evidences of deterioration with a sinking heart, yet tried to be patient. She did not complain, even when their funds ran very low, but cheerfully supplied the needs of the family, and bravely tried to fortify herself with the hope that John could not long remain oblivious to his responsibilities, and would eventually retrieve himself.

During all this time she had been making splendid progress in her own musical training--especially in the cultivation of her voice. She had often given her services in behalf of charitable entertainments, and not infrequently assisted her friends to entertain by singing a charming group of songs at parties and receptions; thus she had gained for herself the reputation of being a most pleasing vocalist.

Recently these same friends, who sympathized with her domestic trials, and, recognizing her financial difficulties, had arranged for several musical functions, asking her to superintend them, and had paid her liberally for her services.

This new departure seemed to Helen like the pointing of Providence to a more promising future, by making her entirely independent of her husband, and it would also enable her to give Dorothy advantages which she could never hope--judging from present indications--to receive from her father. Accordingly, she immediately issued attractive cards, advertising to provide musical entertainment for clubs, receptions, or social functions of any kind.

It was somewhat late in the season when she conceived this project, and she secured only a limited number of engagements; but as she gained fresh laurels and had delighted her patrons in every instance, she believed she had paved the way for a good business by the following fall.

During the month of May of this year John began to talk of going out of town for the summer.

"We cannot afford it," Helen objected. "My pupils will leave me in June, and will not return to me until September, and we must not spend the money it would cost for such an outing."

"But you need a change, as well as I, and--and some of--of Dorothy's money would be well spent in giving us all a good vacation," her husband argued.

"That money is not to be touched," said Helen firmly. "That is sacredly devoted to a college course for her as soon as she leaves the high school. Dorothy and I are perfectly well; we have more comforts at home than we could find elsewhere without paying an extravagant price, and, with a short trip now and then, to some point of interest, we can manage to be very happy without going away."

"We could go into the mountains, and camp out--that wouldn't cost very much," John persisted.

"Camp out!" Helen exclaimed, astonished. "And where would we get our meals? You know very well that Hannah would not put up with the poor accommodations of any camp."

"Oh, dismiss Hannah for a couple of months! We could get our own meals, and make them as simple as we chose," her husband suggested.

Helen smiled wanly. She wondered what he meant by simple meals, for he was, as a rule, very particular what he had to eat and how it was cooked. She realized that such a move would result in simply making her a drudge, under very uncomfortable conditions, for the summer; she would lose a good maid, and be in no way refreshed on her return to town.

"I think it would be very unwise," she gravely returned; "such an outing as that would have no rest or attraction for me; besides, I had planned to work diligently at my music during the next three months, to prepare for the winter."

John was not at all pleased with this decided rejection of his proposition, as a protracted and sullen silence plainly indicated.

"Well, _I_ am not willing to swelter in the hot city during the next three months, if you are," heat length burst forth, "and I want a change."

"Oh, John, you ought to stay right here, and go to work for your family," said his wife, with a note of appeal in her tremulous tones. "We have hardly money enough left to pay our bills until fall, as it is."

"I tell you I will not!" he said crossly, adding: "You can, of course, do as you choose. If you and Dorothy will not go with me, I'll turn Bohemian, take my kit along, and make sketches for work when I return."

Helen knew it would be useless to oppose him, so said no more. All the same, judging from the past, she had little faith that his sketching would amount to much, and so when June opened she saw him depart with a heavy heart.

She received brief letters from him from time to time; but he told her very little of what he was doing. His chief desire seemed to be to let her know where her letters and remittances would reach him.

He returned in September, to find his wife and child blooming and happy. It was evident that they had enjoyed the summer far better than he, for he appeared jaded and spiritless, while he had very little to produce as material for the coming winter's work--a few rough sketches, carelessly done, were all he had to show.

Helen, however, had worked to good purpose. Her voice was in splendid condition. She had added several choice selections to her repertoire; while Dorothy showed marked improvement upon the piano, and had learned to accompany her mother very effectively in some of her simpler songs. But it had not been all work and no play with them. They went out somewhere every fine day. They had little picnics to the park; they had sails upon the bay, sometimes visiting a popular resort; and once an old friend of Helen's asked them, for a week, to her summer home, a few miles out of the city. Dorothy was perfectly satisfied, even though most of her school friends were away, and once remarked to a friend who called upon them: "Mamma and I do have just the nicest times together; it's great fun to go about with her."

John had very little to say relative to his own vacation, or the companions with whom he had spent it; he certainly gave no sign of renewed vigor, and showed no inclination to take up his long-neglected painting; but Helen asked no questions, made no comments or criticisms. Neither did she manifest either surprise or disapproval when he came in one day, a month after his return, and informed her that he had given up his studio and accepted a position in his Uncle Nathan's establishment.

"Painting pictures, as a business, is fluctuating, monotonous, unsatisfactory," he said. "He believed it would be far better to have a salary, on which he could depend."

Helen sighed for the money that had been wasted in rent for the studio during the summer; also for the rejected art for which John possessed talent, if not genius. But he lacked force, he hated personal responsibility, as well as work, and perhaps the salary, even though it was to be a moderate sum for the first year, would be better. The monthly payments from Mr. Young could be relied upon, and thus her own burdens would be somewhat lightened.