The coast being clear, Mr. Whedell hastened down stairs to the front parlor, where his daughter had secluded herself immediately after her entrance into the house. She was lying back on the sofa, with her bonnet on, biting the ends of her gloves, and staring into space. She did not appear to observe her father.
Mr. Whedell seated himself on the other end of the sofa, and reached out his hand, as if he would have taken his daughter's caressingly within it. If that was his intention, it was frustrated by her drawing the hand away. Then the father heaved a sigh, and said:
"Ah, my child, I am so thankful that you have returned to-day. You will save us from ruin."
"I save you from ruin!" said Mrs. Chiffield, in a hollow voice. "That's a good joke!"
Mr. Whedell grinned a ghastly smile, as if he did not precisely see the point of the jest. "Joke or no joke," said he, "I must look to you for some money to put off the infernal creditors, who have begun to flock into the house. There's the bell. Hang me, if it isn't another one! To come to the point, then, I wish you would loan me, say two hundred dollars. It is a small amount, but will stave them off a week or two."
"Two hundred dollars!" Mrs. Chiffield opened her fine eyes in amazement.
"That's all. Perhaps you have saved up the amount from your pin money? Or, if you have been a little extravagant, and spent it all, why, then, perhaps you can get it from Mr. Chiffield this morning?"
The daughter laughed bitterly again. "I tell you, father," said she, "that this man is the meanest creature that walks OB two legs. He has not spent fifty dollars on both of us, during our absence. As for me, I have never got a cent from him, though I have dropped a thousand hints about new bonnets, dresses, and jewelry."
"Gracious heavens!" cried Mr. Whedell, turning pale "But then," he added, with an effort to laugh, "Mr. Chiffield is a business man, and was an old bachelor. He knows nothing of women's wants. It must be your mission to teach him what they are."
"Pooh!" said the daughter; "I don't believe he has got any money."
"Don't talk so, my child. You put me in a cold sweat."
"Anyhow, I examined his pocket, last night, when he was asleep in the cars, and found only five dollars there."
Mr. Whedell's jaw dropped. "Oh, no! it can't be," said he, at length. "Mr. Chiffield must be a rich man. You remember his fine horses at Saratoga and Newport. You remember how much his society was courted by mammas with disposable daughters. They never patronize poor young men. Their instinct in finding out rich ones is unerring. And furthermore, Mr. Chiffield is a member of a firm twenty years old, who are marked 'A No. 1' on the books of a mercantile agency, that makes it a business to pry into other people's affairs. I paid ten dollars for the information, only a month ago. He must be rich! He must be rich!" Mr. Whedell repeated it twice, as if the repetition put the question of Chiffield's opulence beyond a doubt. "Ha! there goes that dreadful bell again!"
"What you say may be true, but I don't believe a word of it, till I have the proofs," replied the daughter, who seemed to delight in taking a gloomy view of her case. "Why--will you believe it?--I can't get him even to talk about engaging a house in New York. He always dodges the subject, somehow. Upon my word, I think he expects to quarter on you for the balance of his life. That would be rich!"
Mr. Whedell raised his eyebrows, and emitted a doleful whistle. Reflecting, he said:
"You may misjudge him. Perhaps he doesn't like to disturb Love's young dream, by looking into the future. That's all--I'm sure of it."
"Humbug!" ejaculated Mrs. Chiffield.
"Poor thing!" said her father, tenderly. "There--cheer up. Depend upon it, that you have got a rich husband, who will take all our troubles off our shoulders. Stay here, and I will go up stairs and sound him."
Mr. Whedell proceeded to the apartment where his son-in-law was shut up, and found that individual in a deep fit of meditation.
"Thinking--and so soon after marriage?" said Mr. Whedell, with a charming smile.
"Oh, yes; and I was thinking how much happier is a married man than a bachelor."
"You will always think so, I am sure, with my dear Clemmy as your wife. My dear Clemmy! How naturally that phrase comes to my lips. And you are about to take her away. It's a foolish thought, but I hardly know how I shall live without her." Mr. Whedell paused, for effect, and contemplated the vermicular work in the carpet.
"A happy thought strikes me," said Chiffield. "You have a house here, already furnished. Let us occupy it free of rent, and I will pay the housekeeping bills of the establishment. That will be mutually advantageous, and will especially suit your daughter, who, of course, has a child's attachment for home. What do you say to the proposition, respected father-in-law?"
Mr. Whedell did not catch at it with the alacrity that was expected of him. "A capital plan," said he, at length; "but, unfortunately, the house is not mine. I only lease it."
Chiffield's lips puckered up. "That's curious," thought he. "The old fellow must have put his money into bonds and stocks. Well, they are the best-paying investments."
Mr. Whedell proceeded to break the news of his penniless condition to his son-in-law, gently. "Mr. Chiffield," said he, "as a wholesale dealer in dry goods, you must have observed, perhaps at times experienced, the fickleness of fortune."
"Can he suspect?" thought Chiffield. "And what if he does? The truth cannot be concealed much longer. But I will pump him a little further before disclosing all."
"Yes," said he; "our firm, like others, has had its ups and downs; but then, business would not be interesting without some little risks, you know."
The easy manner of his son-in-law convinced Mr. Whedell that no "little risks" had shaken the firm of Upjack, Chiffield & Co. "Ah, yes," said he. "Rich to-day, poor to-morrow--the history of the world. As every person may learn this by his own sad experience, some time or other, he ought to be lenient in judging of those who have become reduced from wealth to poverty."
"Can he mean me?" thought the son-in-law. "Faith! it sounds very much like it. If so, his manner of broaching the subject is truly generous and delicate."
"I agree with you," said he, aloud. "Money does not make the man." It is a safe adage, and Chiffield quoted it intrepidly.
"True--true!" replied Mr. Whedell. "Money is but a small item in the sum of earthly happiness. Take the institution of marriage, for example. What gives to that institution its blessedness--love, or money?"
"Love," responded the unhesitating Chiffield.
"The promptness of that reply shows that he does not expect a fortune with Clemmy," thought Mr. Whedell.
"He must suspect--perhaps already knows--the truth," thought Chiffield. "How kind in him to spare me the least humiliation!"
"That person is truly rich," continued Mr. Whedell, "rich beyond expression, who brings pure love and exalted virtues into the married state."
"Generous father-in-law!" thought Chiffield. "He knows that I am ruined. Yet how nobly he treats me! I may cast away all reserve now."
"It would be an affectation, sir," said Chiffield, aloud, "to pretend that I do not understand to whom you refer, my dear father-in-law."
"The glorious fellow!" thought Mr. Whedell. "He guesses what I am about to disclose, and yet calls me a dear father-in-law."
Chiffield continued: "To save any further circumlocution, sir, and in order that we may fully understand each other, I will say at once, that we are completely--ruined!"
"Ha! What! Who ruined?"
"The house of Upjack, Chiffield & Co. I--I thought you knew it."
"Ruined, sir!" cried Mr. Whedell, livid with horror. He choked for further utterance.
"Yes, sir," said Chiffield, who, being a fat man, was happily calm; "totally ruined."
"You impudent scoundrel! out of this house!" shrieked Mr. Whedell, rising from his chair, and glaring like a wildcat at his son-in-law.
"Be calm," said that phlegmatic individual. "I respect your age."
"Curse your impudence! what do you mean by my age?" (approaching Chiffield in a threatening manner). "I'll let you know, sir, that I am young enough to kick a swindler like you into the street."
"Pray compose yourself, sir," returned the bland Chiffield. "Your surprise and excitement are natural, and therefore pardonable. But my affairs are, after all, not quite as bad as they might be. I have a sure prospective fortune, if not a present one."
"What do you mean, sir?" asked Mr. Whedell, not quite so savage as before.
"That I have talents, energy, a large business acquaintance," said the cheerful Chiffield.
"Humbug!" roared Mr. Whedell. "What is all that stuff good for, without money?"
"Not much, I admit," was the conciliatory reply. "There fore, sir, to come to the point at once, advance me ten thousand dollars to start in business again, and I will make a fortune in three years. It was the outside speculations of my partners that ruined me. Perhaps you don't know that dry goods are going up, sir? Now's the time to buy."
"This man will drive me mad!" shrieked Mr. Whedell, combing his hair wildly with his hands.
"Regard it in the light of a family investment," suggested the soothing Chiffield.
"You diabolical scoundrel!" yelled Mr. Whedell, in a partial asphyxia of rage; "if I had a million dollars to-day, I wouldn't give you a cent. You should starve first. But I want to tell you--and hang me if it isn't a pleasure, too--that I am a beggar, sir--a beggar, sir--a beggar, sir! By noon to-day I shall be turned out of this house. And, by Jove! I'm glad of it, for then I shall get rid of you." During this adagio passage, the speaker shook his fist within a few inches of Chiffield's nose.
The summery Chiffield answered, with a hearty laugh: "I see," said he; "it's a regular sell on both sides. However, neither of us is worse off than he was, since neither of us had anything. As for me, I have gained one point, for I have a tolerably good-looking wife."
Mr. Whedell was about to retort in a vein of unmitigated ferocity, when Mrs. Chiffield, who had been listening in the entry, and could contain herself no longer, rushed into the room, and, brandishing a small clenched hand in the face of her laughing spouse, forcibly observed:
"You sneaking, swindling, cheating, lying, black-hearted, ill-looking pauper, scoundrel, and vagabond!"
"Very prettily said," remarked the imperturbable Chiffield.
"You miserable thief!" continued his matrimonial partner, aiming a blow at him, which he playfully parried; "why didn't you tell me you were a beggar?"
"Why? Because you didn't ask me. For that matter, why didn't you or your father tell me that you were beggars?"
"I sha'n't answer your insulting questions, you mean, deceiving, ugly, ungentlemanly--" (no other epithet suggesting itself.) At this crisis, the infuriated wife burst into tears, and wished several times that she was dead.
"Poor, dear wifey!" said the emollient Chiffield.
"None of your 'poor dears' to my daughter, you jailbird!" screamed Mr. Whedell.
"Now, don't get excited, father-in-law."
"How dare you call me father-in-law, sir!"
"Perhaps you prefer the more endearing epithet of 'poppy,' sir?"
"Monster! will you leave my house?"
"Have you any good old brandy on hand?" asked Chiffield.
"Brandy! No. If you want brandy, sir, go to the d---l for it."
"Not quite so far, thank you," retorted Chiffield the genial; "but I don't mind walking to the next corner for a smash."
Chiffield rose, put on his hat, and stepped toward the door.
"Good-by, wifey. I sha'n't be gone long."
A growl, bisected by a sob, was the only reply.
"By-by, poppy," said Chiffield, with a flippant wave of the hand.
Mr. Whedell cast at him a look of scorn, to which justice could be done in no known language; and Chiffield, with a bow of exceeding grace, left father and child to their reflections.