Chapter 32

A SOFTENED BLOW

The scanty sunshine of another New England winter had fallen on the ink stains in the offices of Calvin Trent, and spring had come again.

Brave little green twigs approached the window and looked curiously in at the occupants of the two neighboring desks, and the younger man sometimes returned their challenging with speculative and not unhappy eyes.

One morning in early June John found in the mail a letter for Judge Trent, which he passed across to the other desk, unopened.

"'M, h'm," commented the judge, taking it, "another hymn of praise from Sylvia, I suppose."

He regarded the envelope meditatively. "That girl has worked well, Dunham."

"The Keenes say so," returned John. "They're greatly interested in her."

"Edna has been her good angel, for sure, in all this business," said the lawyer.

"I thought you were the angel in the affair."

"Edna was the power behind me. She persisted until I was glad to buy peace. She's been indefatigable, that girl: found the right place for Sylvia to live, and kept an eye to her all winter, introduced her to the right people, often had her in her home. She's a brick, Edna Derwent is. Something more than style and fuss and feathers about her. Yes, Boy, you think I don't see anything; but do you suppose I haven't taken notice of the way you've mooned around the last month? Do you suppose I'd have overlooked your tearing up that deed last week, and putting us to all the extra trouble, if it had been on anybody's account but Edna's? Do you suppose I'd have let you go to Boston twice as often as was necessary, if I hadn't approved? Yes, _sir_." The speaker struck his desk, with a sharp snap of Sylvia's letter. "I _approve_. If a man must marry, let him accomplish something by it. None of this Tennyson village maid business. Let him find a girl with money and position and the right sort of connections that will do him some good and give him a lift in the world. Marriage ought to have some frosting besides what's on the wedding cake. Folks dream on that, and very appropriately. It's the stuff dreams are made of, in more senses than one; and after that flimsiness is over, there ought to be something substantial left. Just as many attractive girls who have something as that haven't. It's sheer perversity when a poor young man sets his heart on additional poverty. Let the Cophetuas have a corner on the beggar maids; but let poor men, and especially young lawyers, get busy elsewhere."

At the beginning of this tirade John had looked up in surprise. At its close he was smiling meditatively at the dingy wall.

"Poor men, even young lawyers, have their pride," he remarked, when the judge had finished.

"Stuff and nonsense. That's another false standard set up by the poets. You're an orphan, John, nobody nearer, as I understand it, than an uncle or an aunt here and there, and that's one reason I'm talking to you like a father. Another reason is that you've been a trump in your relations with me. You've served me well; but besides that, I haven't been insensible to the civility you've shown Sylvia. You've scarcely ever been in Boston without looking in on her and bringing me the latest bulletin. Do you suppose I haven't appreciated how often you and Edna have added her to the outings you've had together, theatres, and concerts, and all that business? Very expensive, and very bad judgment, all that, if it hadn't been justified by such an end in view as Edna herself. Now, you take it from me: I've lived a good deal longer than you, and I've seen a host of folks get married, even if I haven't got in the game myself; and when a rich woman wants a man, it's blind foolishness to keep her waiting while he builds up his bank account. Let him build it up afterward. No law against that. I've observed a number of signs, Boy, that show that your habits and tastes are extravagant; then the more reason that you should act, and act promptly."

A laugh escaped Dunham. "Has it come to this!" he returned. "I never expected you to urge me in this direction."

The judge made an expansive gesture. "Simply because I expect you'll marry anyway, and Edna Derwents don't grow on every bush. Can't you understand? Of course, I don't know much about your finances, really."

"Is that the whole question?" asked Dunham. "If I didn't need a banker, should you be reminding me that a young man married is a man that's marred, and all that sort of thing?"

"No,"--the judge shrugged his little shoulders. "Things have gone too far for that." He began to cut open his niece's letter. "After your tearing up that deed, I'm not the man to waste my energy."

He leaned back in his chair, and began to read the letter.

Dunham endeavored to fix his attention on his work; but the corners of the judge's lips were drawing down, and once John thought he started. The silk hat was pushed to the last extremity of the back of his head; and once he slowly turned and cast a look at his assistant. Dunham, like a schoolboy discovered in idleness, cleared his throat and began making an ostentatious stir among his papers.

When Judge Trent finally folded the letter his face wore an expression that few had seen upon it. His eyes fastened on a spot upon his desk, while his thoughts wrestled.

Once again he stole a look at Dunham's profile, and there was a queer stirring at his heart. With sudden determination he rose, and, moving over to the other desk, stood behind John's chair and rested both his bony hands on the broad shoulders.

"I've had a blow, my boy," he said, and his voice was husky.

Dunham swung around and half rose. "Sylvia! Has something happened?" he ejaculated.

"No, no, John. I could almost say I wish it were a worse blow for me than for you."

The young man settled down again, his back to the judge, whose nervous clutch seemed to desire to hold him in this position. "It's strange it should come just now, when we had but just been talking on the subject. Edna--I'm afraid Edna's lost to you, Boy."

Dunham remained with his elbow on his desk, where he had rested it after Judge Trent's startling introduction. The latter waited a moment, regarding the back of the other's head. "Sylvia says Edna's engagement is to be announced at a dinner to-night."

"Edna engaged?"

"Yes, and to a Britisher." Judge Trent's subdued tone suddenly became violent. "How long has she had him on her string? She hasn't treated you right, John; or else it's your own fault, and you've shilly-shallied too long with your confounded notions of honor. Which is it?"

Dunham remained silent and motionless; and his shock and grief acted as a quietus on the older man's belligerency. "Forgive me, Boy. This isn't any time to haul you over the coals. It seems it isn't any itch for a title in Edna's case. The fellow hasn't any handle to his name, and he has money--or pretends to have. Sylvia says she's very happy."

"She deserves to be," said Dunham.

"She doesn't. She's a simpleton; and worse, for she's been leading you on."

"No, she hasn't, Judge Trent."

"Oh, of course you'll always swear to that. Let it happen thirty years hence to your son, and you'll call things by their right names."

Dunham heard the affection for himself in the strained voice, and he turned slowly around and smiled up into his partisan's lean, excited face, with eyes that again gave the judge an unaccustomed sensation.

"You've been a dunce, Boy. Why didn't you get busy at the island last summer, after all your talk about adoration? You could have got her. I don't believe you've half tried."

John still smiled as he replied quietly, "No. I haven't half tried."

The judge scowled his amazement. "Why not, then?" he demanded, when he could speak.

Dunham hesitated a moment before he answered, "Because I saw that neither of us wished it."

Judge Trent glared at him during a short silence. "What are you mooning about, then?" he burst forth at last. "What are you tearing up deeds for? Why aren't you worth your salt?"

Dunham colored under the vigorous arraignment.

"Oh, you're a mind-reader all right, Judge Trent. You didn't guess wrong."

"You're in love?" snarled the lawyer angrily.

John nodded.

"Who is it?" explosively.

"Don't you think I'd better wait and see if I can get her?"

"_Tss!_" hissed the judge in unspeakable scorn. He went back to his chair and sat down, still holding the other's eyes with an angry stare. "You know you haven't any doubt that you'll get her."

"Yes, I have. Many. There was a time--but that's passed. She is distressingly interested in other things."

"Any money?" asked the judge.

"No."

"Have you, then?"

Dunham nodded. He saw a ripple of surprise pass over the sharp face opposite.

"What sort of connections has she?"

John smiled. "Well, some of them think very well of themselves."

"H'm. That might be. Are they the sort that could be of any use to you?"

"Why, yes. The most cocksure of them all can do a lot for me if he likes."

Judge Trent shook his head. "Go slow, Boy. It's easier to get into that noose than out of it."

"Why, you complained that I went too slow in the case of Edna."

"Yes, yes, indeed. There you would have had the best possible chances." The judge sighed. "You've missed your life-opportunity; now be cautious."

"You haven't seen Sylvia since she did up her hair, have you?"

The digression was so sharp and unexpected, Judge Trent winked, and came slowly back from his dejection.

"Hair?" he repeated, vaguely. "I shouldn't know whether she did up her hair or not. It's short, still, isn't it? How could she?"

"She puts a tight elastic, or ribbon, or something, around it, right at the crown. It makes a lot of little waves and curls that tumble around--well, just right."

Judge Trent blinked slowly toward the rather tense face.

"She's going up to the farm next week," he said.

"I know she is," replied Dunham. "So am I. She doesn't know it. I'm going to surprise her. I haven't asked if you could spare me. You'll have to."

Judge Trent's mouth fell slightly open. Presently he swung his chair around to his desk and began mechanically to examine and separate some papers which he took from a rubber band. Certain ones he tore and threw them into the wastebasket, returned others to a pigeonhole, and all in a businesslike rush, as if to make up for the time he had been wasting.

At last a strange look overspread his face. The blood rushed to it. Again he took off a rubber band and ran his eyes over the various papers. Then he scowled, and, snatching up the wastebasket, fished out the top scraps. He regarded them aghast. Presently a sound rang through that office which had never resounded in Dunham's time. Judge Trent laughed loud and long.

"Boy, I'll have to confess it," he said, as John looked up in questioning amazement. "I've torn up that new deed we made out." He laughed again, and Dunham joined him in a spontaneous burst.

"Who are _you_ in love with, Judge Trent?" he asked.

"You, I guess," returned the lawyer, bluntly. He rose and came again to the younger man's side, and the excitement in his face showed now as gravity.

"John," he said, "is it Sylvia?"

Dunham rose. "Yes, it's Sylvia," he answered.

Their hands met in a strenuous clasp.

"You young fool," said the judge after a minute, "is that where you were philandering when you ought to have been courting Edna?"

"You've guessed right again."

The judge's thin hand clung to the young, firm one, and he tried in vain to hold his lips steady.

"But Sylvia has started on a career. I'm told she paints excellent miniatures."

"I want her to paint mine the rest of her life," said Dunham. "I don't know what she'll say; but--haven't I your blessing, Judge?"

The lawyer shook the hand he clasped.

"You're a great fool, John," he said tenderly. "You don't know enough to"--he paused, and, dropping John's hand, hurried from the office, slamming the door behind him.