The Barrier: A Novel by Allen French

  CHAPTER XXXI

  BRINGS ABOUT TWO NEW COMBINATIONS

  For some time Beth Blanchard had been changing back to her old self.Once unburdened by confession, her heart seemed free again, and Bethbegan to think of Jim Wayne as a part of a past which could in no wayaffect her future. Sorry for him as she was, with her pity she mingledshame at those remembered kisses. She found pleasure in the society ofPease, partly because he stood for so much that Jim was not. Solid,sober, incapable of concealment, his qualities gave her satisfaction,and the more because she knew his thoughts to be so much of her. Shetook to teasing him again, a process to which he submitted withbewildered delight, and to which Miss Cynthia made Judith a party bygetting her out of the room whenever Beth and Pease were in it. Undersuch favouring circumstances, which would have tried the stoicism of anyone, Pease was proving himself quite human, and was harbouring newhopes. He could not fail to suspect that Beth mourned her father morethan Jim, and what he imagined Miss Pease made sure.

  "You've never told me, Peveril," she asked him, "if you lost much by Mr.Wayne?"

  "Two weeks' wages of our men," he answered.

  "Worth what you get for it?" she asked.

  "What do I get?" he inquired.

  "Her!" she answered emphatically.

  "If you suppose," he said, with an appearance of confidence which wasutterly false, "that Miss Blanchard will forget Mr. Wayne, you are quitemistaken."

  "You are right," said Miss Cynthia, "she never will forget him." Hercousin's heart sank. "She thinks of him every day" (Miss Cynthia waswatching him, and made a purposeful pause) "as something that she hasescaped from. And _now_ the way is open for a man that is a man!" Thenshe smiled as she noted his relief.

  The way was indeed open, and the two were progressing along it veryfast, when suddenly a position was offered to Beth. Old Mrs. Grimstonehad, for the twelfth time, lost her attendant, and some one recommendedthe younger Miss Blanchard. It was a handsome offer that the old ladymade; money was nothing to her, and she had learned that she must payhigh for such service as she demanded. For she was, notoriously, themost exacting, crabbed, fractious old woman that ever wore false teeth,and any one who attended her lived a dog's life. Pease was utterlydismayed, and came to Judith to beg her to prevent this calamity.

  "But what can I do?" she asked. "Mrs. Grimstone offers a hundred dollarsa month--much more than any one else ever pays. How can Beth refuse?"

  "Think," Pease adjured her, "of what she will have to bear!"

  "I think her disposition is equal to it," Judith said.

  "Oh, I don't doubt that," he hurriedly explained. "But Mrs. Grimstone isso rough!"

  "Beth seems to think she must go," was all Judith could reply. "Sheusually knows her own mind, Mr. Pease."

  "She does," he admitted mournfully. But he was not subdued, and blazedout with a fitful courage: "I will do my best to prevent it!"

  "Do!" said Judith heartily.

  Pease did his best; knowing how weak he was against Beth, he spent notime in discussion, but rushing into the subject he declared to Beththat she ought not go to Mrs. Grimstone, and that was all there was toit. Then he stood breathless at his own audacity.

  "Ought not?" asked Beth, surprised at such precipitation in one who wasusually so slow. "If few persons are willing to go to Mrs. Grimstone,isn't that a very good reason why I should?"

  "It isn't that; it isn't that!" he replied, and wished, despairing, thathe could voice his thoughts. But Beth's brown eyes, just a littlequizzical, took away his courage, and all his impetus was spent. Hegasped with vexation.

  "Then what is it?" she asked, smiling outright.

  "Promise me three days?" was all he could say. "I'm busy now--thisstreet-railway----Oh, don't laugh!" he begged as Beth's smile grewmerrier. "Please promise me three days!"

  To his delight she promised, and he went and began to draught a letterof such importance that its composition was to take nearly all of theseventy-two hours which she had accorded him. He hoped that what he hadto say would not be too sudden--but he need not have worried. A mancannot note a girl's every movement, be solicitous at each little cold,know to a minute the calendar of her engagements, and gradually perfecthimself in knowledge of her tastes, without declaring himself,unconsciously, in every sentence.

  Upon this pleasant by-play Judith smiled, yet knew that her future wouldchange with Beth's. For if Beth went to Mrs. Grimstone, Judith must findwork; she could no longer bear the consciousness that she was notearning. A little envy stirred in her, as she feared that she could notpossibly, in spite of all her preparation, earn so much as Beth. Inthis belief the principal of her school confirmed her when she asked himif he could not find her a position.

  "You understand that with your experience your salary will be small?" heasked her.

  "Have I not done well since I came?" she inquired.

  "I never had a better pupil," he replied. "But a few more months, MissBlanchard----"

  "How much could I earn to begin with?" she persisted.

  "Forty dollars a month," he answered.

  "So little?" she asked, disappointed.

  "Perhaps fifty, if you have luck," he conceded. "But you'd better wait."

  "I can't," Judith answered. "Will you tell me of any chance that youhear of?"

  He promised that he would, yet gave her no immediate hope of a position.Judith was depressed; more and more it seemed to her that she wasnothing, and her debt loomed large before her eyes. It seemed a greatweight to carry--alone.

  Nevertheless, she maintained her interest in the great combinationagainst Ellis, could not fail to maintain it, for soon came the strike.It was an orderly strike and a good-natured public; people were sayingcheerfully that the cars would be running again in a week, when Mr.Mather was president; but believing that no one could be sure of that,and ignorant of her own deep influence, Judith wished for the fiftiethtime that she could learn how matters stood. The vagueness anduncertainty were wearing her.

  And at last came the information. At the supper table, on the evening ofthe strike, Pease seemed as untroubled as usual, and as genial. MissCynthia broke in upon his calm.

  "Peveril," she demanded, "what do the men hope to gain by striking now?"

  "To-morrow," he explained, "the transfer books close. Only to-morrow'sholders of stock can vote at the meeting a week hence."

  "Oh," she said, "I see. The men hope to scare some of Ellis's supportersinto selling out."

  He nodded. "The men have very clever leaders."

  "And will this help you?"

  "I hope so."

  She followed up the indirect admission. "Then you need help?"

  "Get me forty shares," he said, "and the matter is settled. But----" herealised that he was talking shop.

  "The butter, please, Cynthia?"

  "Well," she said in triumph, as she passed the dish, "I have at lastlearned something from you."

  "Good!" he returned, undisturbed. "And I'll tell you this much more,that I haven't the slightest idea where I can find those forty shares."

  "Oh!" she cried, dismayed. "What does Mr. Mather think?"

  "Mather knows nothing about it," said Pease. "His friends are workingfor him without his knowledge, because they have never been sure thatthey could help him."

  Judith, listening to the talk, told herself that Mather would never bepresident of the road; she had heard Ellis describe the little ring ofmen who stood solidly around him--men whom he had made. That ring wouldnever be broken. Yet amid her disappointment she felt relief. Mather hadnever told her of the projects of his friends because, like herself, hehad not been sure of them.

  Before the meal was ended Mr. Fenno came--only for a minute, he said,and bade them not to rise. Judith admired the picture that he made as hestood and talked with Pease; his white hair and mustache seemed whiterstill by contrast with his coal-black eyebrows, while the deadblack-and-white evening clothes were relieved by the soft sable whichlined his overcoat. He questioned Peas
e with his accustomed bluntness.

  "No go?"

  "Nothing yet," Pease answered.

  "Ah, he's clever!" said Mr. Fenno, to which encomium of Ellis Peaseassented by a nod, but seemed not inclined to pursue the subjectfurther. Then the servant, entering, announced that Mr. Price was at thedoor, asking for Mr. Pease. As Pease started from his seat his inquiringglance met Fenno's. The old man knit his heavy brows.

  "Do you suppose----" he said.

  "May be!" Pease answered with visible excitement.

  "He must see you alone," added the maid.

  "Show him into the parlour," Pease directed. For a minute he was alonewith the jeweller; Fenno, forgetting the presence of the ladies, staredafter him and waited. Then Pease returned.

  "Can we have you with us, Mr. Fenno?" he asked.

  The three shut themselves up in the parlour. Judith, as she controlledher deep interest, felt how often it was now her part to wait. But atlast the parlour door opened again, and voices were heard. It was Pricewho spoke first.

  "You understand, Mr. Pease--my family----"

  "Yes, yes," Pease answered.

  "And my position, you see," the explanation continued. Judith saw thejeweller, bowing and rubbing his hands together nervously.

  "Yes," repeated Pease shortly, opening the outer door for him. "At myoffice, Mr. Price, the first thing in the morning."

  The door shut on the jeweller, and the two others came into thedining-room. Pease looked glum, the older man scornful, and inabsorption they spoke before the others.

  "It is settled, then," Mr. Fenno said grimly.

  "I feel," responded Pease, "as if I had touched pitch."

  "You will get over it," was the cynical retort. "Now, then, to finishall this up. Can you answer for Mather?"

  Pease shook his head. "He must answer for himself."

  "He shall, to-morrow," said Mr. Fenno. "What do you say to a meeting atmy office--all of us?"

  "You will need all," Pease answered.

  "We can settle everything," went on Fenno in his heavy voice. "We willhave it all in writing--I'll have a stenographer on hand."

  A stenographer! Judith started with eagerness, and Mr. Fenno turned toher. "What do you say?" he asked. "Will you help us?"

  Her eyes sparkled. "Gladly!" she cried.

  "Good!" he said bluffly. "Nine o'clock at my office. Pease, haveeverybody there, except Mather, at three; George at half-past." Peasenodded, and Mr. Fenno smote him on the shoulder. "Come, cheer up, man!Everything is clear at last."

  But Pease could not smile. "In such a way!" he grumbled.

  "Through no fault of ours." Then Mr. Fenno turned to Beth. "Beth, Ileave him to you." And next he looked on Judith with a sudden change ofmanner, losing both his animation and his cynicism, and becoming verygrave. "To-morrow," he said, "you shall see what you have done."

  "I?" she asked in astonishment. "I, sir?" But he merely nodded, andhastened away.

  And Pease was left to Beth. Reminded by Fenno's words that his threedays were nearly at an end, he forgot Price, forgot Mather, andremembered only a letter which suddenly seemed to be burning a hole inhis pocket. Miss Cynthia and Judith left him alone in the parlour withBeth, who for a while watched with amusement his nervous movements aboutthe room. She tried to make him talk, but failed.

  "Something is very much on your mind," she said at last.

  "Everything is!" he exclaimed in desperation, and dragged out theletter. "Won't you--will you--read this, to-night?" He put the letter inher hand, and moved toward the door.

  "Why do you go?" she asked innocently, opening the envelope.

  He had reached the threshold. "I will come again."

  But she poised the paper in her hand and looked at him reflectively. "Idon't think you'd better go," she said, and then added positively, "No,I can't have you go. Please sit down in that chair."

  Obeying the nod of her determined little head, he dragged himself fromthe door, sat down, and watched her miserably while she studied hisletter. She read it once, and sat with pursed lips; she read it again,and knit her brows; she read it a third time and looked at himthoughtfully. Then she read parts of it aloud.

  "I apprehend much unhappiness to you in your proposed occupation ....Admirable qualities--tender nature.... Am emboldened to say whatotherwise I might not ... if you will give yourself into my care, I willpromise you that so far as it is possible for a man to avert them, youwill never know trouble or need----"

  She broke off, and looked at him. "This is a proposal of marriage, Mr.Pease?"

  He shivered. "I meant it so."

  She put the letter in her lap with a regretful sigh. "I thought thatwhen a man asked a girl to marry him he always said something about--hisfeelings for her."

  "But respect, admiration--" he was beginning eagerly.

  "Oh," she interrupted, "those go without saying. And I understand," sheglanced at the letter, "that you write this only because you wish torelieve me of work. It is very good of you to sacrifice yourself."

  "It is no sacrifice!" he cried.

  She folded the note and thrust it into its envelope. "I never believed,"she said emphatically, "in proposals by letter."

  "I am sorry," faltered miserable Pease.

  "And what you say," continued Beth, holding the note out for him totake, "is not my idea of the essentials of a proposal."

  He came and received the letter, but could answer nothing.

  "I think," Beth set forth reflectively, "that just two things arenecessary to a proposal: a statement and a question. A man need onlysay: 'I love you. Will you marry me?' Just seven words--no more." Shefolded her hands in her lap, looked at him innocently, and waited.

  Gazing at her, fascinated, slowly he grew red. An idea found lodgment,worked deeper, penetrated to the springs of action. He crushed theletter in his hand. "I love you!" he cried. "Will you marry me?"

  She dimpled into smiles. "Yes," said little Beth.