Books: The Lion and the Mouse
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Charles Klein >> The Lion and the Mouse
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Massapequa is one of the thousand and one flourishing communities
scattered over Long Island, all of which are apparently modelled
after the same pattern. Each is an exact duplicate of its
neighbour in everything except the name--the same untidy railroad
station, the same sleepy stores, the same attractive little frame
residences, built for the most part on the "Why pay Rent? Own your
own Home" plan. A healthy boom in real estate imparts plenty of
life to them all and Massapequa is particularly famed as being the
place where the cat jumped to when Manhattan had to seek an outlet
for its congested population and ever-increasing army of home
seekers. Formerly large tracts of flat farm lands, only sparsely
shaded by trees, Massapequa, in common with other villages of its
kind, was utterly destitute of any natural attractions. There was
the one principal street leading to the station, with a few
scattered stores on either side, a church and a bank. Happily,
too, for those who were unable to survive the monotony of the
place, it boasted of a pretty cemetery. There were also a number
of attractive cottages with spacious porches hung with honeysuckle
and of these the Rossmores occupied one of the less pretentious
kind.
But although Massapequa, theoretically speaking, was situated only
a stone's throw from the metropolis, it might have been situated
in the Great Sahara so far as its inhabitants took any active
interest in the doings of gay Gotham. Local happenings naturally
had first claim upon Massapequa's attention--the prowess of the
local baseball team, Mrs. Robinson's tea party and the highly
exciting sessions of the local Pinochle Club furnishing food for
unlimited gossip and scandal. The newspapers reached the village,
of course, but only the local news items aroused any real
interest, while the women folk usually restricted their readings
to those pages devoted to Daily Hints for the Home, Mrs. Sayre's
learned articles on Health and Beauty and Fay Stanton's Daily
Fashions. It was not surprising, therefore, that the fame of Judge
Rossmore and the scandal in which he was at present involved had
not penetrated as far as Massapequa and that the natives were
considerably mystified as to who the new arrivals in their midst
might be.
Stott had been given a room in the cottage so that he might be
near at hand to work with the judge in the preparation of the
defence, and he came out from the city every evening. It was now
June. The Senate would not take action until it convened in
December, but there was a lot of work to be done and no time to be
lost.
The evening following the day of their arrival they were sitting
on the porch enjoying the cool evening air after dinner. The judge
was smoking. He was not a slave to the weed, but he enjoyed a
quiet pipe after meals, claiming that it quieted his nerves and
enabled him to think more clearly. Besides, it was necessary to
keep at bay the ubiquitous Long Island mosquito. Mrs. Rossmore had
remained for a moment in the dining-room to admonish Eudoxia,
their new and only maid-of-all-work, not to wreck too much of the
crockery when she removed the dinner dishes. Suddenly Stott, who
was perusing an evening paper, asked:
"By the way, where's your daughter? Does she know of this radical
change in your affairs?"
Judge Rossmore started. By what mysterious agency had this man
penetrated his own most intimate thoughts? He was himself thinking
of Shirley that very moment, and by some inexplicable means--
telepathy modern psychologists called it--the thought current had
crossed to Stott, whose mind, being in full sympathy, was exactly
attuned to receive it. Removing the pipe from his mouth the judge
replied:
"Shirley's in Paris. Poor girl, I hadn't the heart to tell her.
She has no idea of what's happened. I didn't want to spoil her
holiday."
He was silent for a moment. Then, after a few more puffs he added
confidentially in a low tone, as if he did not care for his wife
to hear:
"The truth is, Stott, I couldn't bear to have her return now. I
couldn't look my own daughter in the face."
A sound as of a great sob which he had been unable to control cut
short his speech. His eyes filled with tears and he began to smoke
furiously as if ashamed of this display of emotion. Stott, blowing
his nose with suspicious vigor, replied soothingly:
"You mustn't talk like that. Everything will come out all right,
of course. But I think you are wrong not to have told your
daughter. Her place is here at your side. She ought to be told
even if only in justice to her. If you don't tell her someone else
will, or, what's worse, she'll hear of it through the newspapers."
"Ah, I never thought of that!" exclaimed the judge, visibly
perturbed at the suggestion about the newspapers.
"Don't you agree with me?" demanded Stott, appealing to Mrs.
Rossmore, who emerged from the house at that instant. "Don't you
think your daughter should be informed of what has happened?"
"Most assuredly I do," answered Mrs. Rossmore determinedly. "The
judge wouldn't hear of it, but I took the law into my own hands.
I've cabled for her."
"You cabled for Shirley?" cried the judge incredulously. He was so
unaccustomed to seeing his ailing, vacillating wife do anything on
her own initiative and responsibility that it seemed impossible.
"You cabled for Shirley?" he repeated.
"Yes," replied Mrs. Rossmore triumphantly and secretly pleased
that for once in her life she had asserted herself. "I cabled
yesterday. I simply couldn't bear it alone any longer."
"What did you say?" inquired the judge apprehensively.
"I just told her to come home at once. To-morrow we ought to get
an answer."
Stott meantime had been figuring on the time of Shirley's probable
arrival. If the cablegram had been received in Paris the previous
evening it would be too late to catch the French boat. The North
German Lloyd steamer was the next to leave and it touched at
Cherbourg. She would undoubtedly come on that. In a week at most
she would be here. Then it became a question as to who should go
to meet her at the dock. The judge could not go, that was certain.
It would be too much of an ordeal. Mrs. Rossmore did not know the
lower part of the city well, and had no experience in meeting
ocean steamships. There was only one way out--would Stott go? Of
course he would and he would bring Shirley back with him to
Massapequa. So during the next few days while Stott and the judge
toiled preparing their case, which often necessitated brief trips
to the city, Mrs. Rossmore, seconded with sulky indifference by
Eudoxia, was kept busy getting a room ready for her daughter's
arrival. Eudoxia, who came originally from County Cork, was an
Irish lady with a thick brogue and a husky temper. She was amiable
enough so long as things went to her satisfaction, but when they
did not suit her she was a termagant. She was neither beautiful
nor graceful, she was not young nor was she very clean. Her usual
condition was dishevelled, her face was all askew, and when she
dressed up she looked like a valentine. Her greatest weakness was
a propensity for smashing dishes, and when reprimanded she would
threaten to take her traps and skidoo. This news of the arrival of
a daughter failed to fill her with enthusiasm. Firstly, it meant
more work; secondly she had not bargained for it. When she took
the place it was on the understanding that the family consisted
only of an elderly gentleman and his wife, that there was
practically no work, good wages, plenty to eat, with the privilege
of an evening out when she pleased. Instead of this millennium she
soon found Stott installed as a permanent guest and now a daughter
was to be foisted on her. No wonder hard working girls were
getting sick and tired of housework!
As already hinted there was no unhealthy curiosity among
Massapequans regarding their new neighbors from the city but some
of the more prominent people of the place considered it their duty
to seek at least a bowing acquaintance with the Rossmores by
paying them a formal visit. So the day following the conversation
on the porch when the judge and Stott had gone to the city on one
of their periodical excursions, Mrs. Rossmore was startled to see
a gentleman of clerical appearance accompanied by a tall, angular
woman enter their gate and ring the bell.
The Rev. Percival Pontifex Beetle and his sister Miss Jane Beetle
prided themselves on being leaders in the best social circle in
Massapequa. The incumbent of the local Presbyterian church, the
Rev. Deetle, was a thin, sallow man of about thirty-five. He had a
diminutive face with a rather long and very pointed nose which
gave a comical effect to his physiognomy. Theology was written all
over his person and he wore the conventional clerical hat which,
owing to his absurdly small face, had the unfortunate appearance
of being several sizes too large for him. Miss Deetle was a gaunt
and angular spinster who had an unhappy trick of talking with a
jerk. She looked as if she were constantly under self-restraint
and was liable at any moment to explode into a fit of rage and
only repressed herself with considerable effort. As they came up
the stoop, Eudoxia, already instructed by Mrs. Rossmore, was ready
for them. With her instinctive respect for the priestly garb she
was rather taken back on seeing a clergyman, but she brazened it
out:
"Mr. Rossmore's not home." Then shaking her head, she added: "They
don't see no visitors."
Unabashed, the Rev. Deetle drew a card from a case and handing it
to the girl said pompously:
"Then we will see Mrs. Rossmore. I saw her at the window as we
came along. Here, my girl, take her this card. Tell her that the
Reverend Pontifex Deetle and Miss Deetle have called to present
their compliments."
Brushing past Eudoxia, who vainly tried to close the door, the
Rev. Deetle coolly entered the house, followed by his sister, and
took a seat in the parlour.
"She'll blame me for this," wailed the girl, who had not budged
and who stood there fingering the Rev. Deetle's card.
"Blame you? For what?" demanded the clerical visitor in surprise.
"She told me to say she was out--but I can't lie to a minister of
the Gospel--leastways not to his face. I'll give her your card,
sir."
The reverend caller waited until Eudoxia had disappeared, then he
rose and looked around curiously at the books and pictures.
"Hum--not a Bible or a prayer book or a hymn book, not a picture
or anything that would indicate the slightest reverence for holy
things."
He picked up a few papers that were lying on the table and after
glancing at them threw them down in disgust.
"Law reports--Wall Street reports--the god of this world.
Evidently very ordinary people, Jane."
He looked at his sister, but she sat stiffly and primly in her
chair and made no reply. He repeated:
"Didn't you hear me? I said they are ordinary people."
"I've no doubt," retorted Miss Deetle, "and as such they will not
thank us for prying into their affairs."
"Prying, did you say?" said the parson, resenting this implied
criticism of his actions.
"Just plain prying," persisted his sister angrily. "I don't see
what else it is."
The Rev. Pontifex straightened up and threw out his chest as he
replied:
"It is protecting my flock. As Leader of the Unified All Souls
Baptismal Presbytery, it is my duty to visit the widows and
orphans of this community."
"These people are neither widows or orphans," objected Miss
Deetle.
"They are strangers," insisted the Rev. Pontifex, "and it is my
duty to minister to them--if they need it. Furthermore it is my
duty to my congregation to find out who is in their midst. No less
than three of the Lady Trustees of my church have asked me who and
what these people are and whence they came."
"The Lady Trustees are a pack of old busybodies," growled his
sister.
Her brother raised his finger warningly.
"Jane, do you know you are uttering a blasphemy? These Rossmore
people have been here two weeks They have visited no one, no one
visits them. They have avoided a temple of worship, they have
acted most mysteriously. Who are they? What are they hiding? Is it
fair to my church, is it fair to my flock? It is not a
bereavement, for they don't wear mourning. I'm afraid it may be
some hidden scandal--"
Further speculations on his part were interrupted by the entrance
of Mrs. Rossmore, who thought rightly that the quickest way to get
rid of her unwelcome visitors was to hurry downstairs as quickly
as possible.
"Miss Deetle--Mr. Deetle. I am much honoured," was her not too
effusive greeting.
The Reverend Pontifex, anxious to make a favourable impression,
was all smiles and bows. The idea of a possible scandal had for
the moment ceased to worry him.
"The honour is ours," he stammered. "I--er--we--er--my sister Jane
and I called to--"
"Won't you sit down?" said Mrs. Rossmore, waving him to a chair.
He danced around her in a manner that made her nervous.
"Thank you so much," he said with a smile that was meant to be
amiable. He took a seat at the further end of the room and an
awkward pause followed. Finally his sister prompted him:
"You wanted to see Mrs. Rossmore about the festival," she said.
"Oh, of course, I had quite forgotten. How stupid of me. The fact
is, Mrs. Rossmore," he went on, "we are thinking of giving a
festival next week--a festival with strawberries--and our trustees
thought, in fact it occurred to me also that if you and Mr.
Rossmore would grace the occasion with your presence it would give
us an opportunity--so to speak--get better acquainted, and er--"
Another awkward pause followed during which he sought inspiration
by gazing fixedly in the fireplace. Then turning on Mrs. Rossmore
so suddenly that the poor woman nearly jumped out of her chair he
asked:
"Do you like strawberries?"
"It's very kind of you," interrupted Mrs. Rossmore, glad of the
opportunity to get a word in edgeways. "Indeed, I appreciate your
kindness most keenly but my husband and I go nowhere, nowhere at
all. You see we have met with reverses and--"
"Reverses," echoed the clerical visitor, with difficulty keeping
his seat. This was the very thing he had come to find out and here
it was actually thrown at him. He congratulated himself on his
cleverness in having inspired so much confidence and thought with
glee of his triumph when he returned with the full story to the
Lady Trustees. Simulating, therefore, the deepest sympathy he
tried to draw his hostess out:
"Dear me, how sad! You met with reverses."
Turning to his sister, who was sitting in her corner like a
petrified mummy, he added:
"Jane, do you hear? How inexpressibly sad! They have met with
reverses!"
He paused, hoping that Mrs. Rossmore would go on to explain just
what their reverses had been, but she was silent. As a gentle hint
he said softly:
"Did I interrupt you, Madam?"
"Not at all, I did not speak," she answered.
Thus baffled, he turned the whites of his eyes up to the ceiling
and said:
"When reverses come we naturally look for spiritual consolation.
My dear Mrs. Rossmore, in the name of the Unified All Souls
Baptismal Presbytery I offer you that consolation."
Mrs. Rossmore looked helplessly from one to the other embarrassed
as to what to say. Who were these strangers that intruded on her
privacy offering a consolation she did not want? Miss Deetle, as
if glad of the opportunity to joke at her brother's expense, said
explosively:
"My dear Pontifex, you have already offered a strawberry festival
which Mrs. Rossmore has been unable to accept."
"Well, what of it?" demanded Mr. Deetle, glaring at his sister for
the irrelevant interruption.
"You are both most kind," murmured Mrs. Rossmore; "but we could
not accept in any case. My daughter is returning home from Paris
next week."
"Ah, your daughter--you have a daughter?" exclaimed Mr. Deetle,
grasping at the slightest straw to add to his stock of
information. "Coming from Paris, too! Such a wicked city!"
He had never been to Paris, he went on to explain, but he had read
enough about it and he was grateful that the Lord had chosen
Massapequa as the field of his labours. Here at least, life was
sweet and wholesome and one's hopes of future salvation fairly
reasonable. He was not a brilliant talker when the conversation
extended beyond Massapequa but he rambled on airing his views on
the viciousness of the foreigner in general, until Mrs. Rossmore,
utterly wearied, began to wonder when they would go. Finally he
fell back upon the weather.
"We are very fortunate in having such pleasant weather, don't you
think so, Madam? Oh, Massapequa is a lovely spot, isn't it? We
think it's the one place to live in. We are all one happy family.
That's why my sister and I called to make your acquaintance."
"You are very good, I'm sure. I shall tell my husband you came and
he'll be very pleased."
Having exhausted his conversational powers and seeing that further
efforts to pump Mrs. Rossmore were useless, the clerical visitor
rose to depart:
"It looks like rain. Come, Jane, we had better go. Good-bye,
Madam, I am delighted to have made this little visit and I trust
you will assure Mr. Rossmore that All Souls Unified Baptismal
Presbytery always has a warm welcome for him."
They bowed and Mrs. Rossmore bowed. The agony was over and as the
door closed on them Mrs. Rossmore gave a sigh of relief.
That evening Stott and the judge came home earlier than usual and
from their dejected appearance Mrs. Rossmore divined bad news. The
judge was painfully silent throughout the meal and Stott was
unusually grave. Finally the latter took her aside and broke it to
her gently. In spite of their efforts and the efforts of their
friends the Congressional inquiry had resulted in a finding
against the judge and a demand had already been made upon the
Senate for his impeachment. They could do nothing now but fight it
in the Senate with all the influence they could muster. It was
going to be hard but Stott was confident that right would prevail.
After dinner as they were sitting in silence on the porch, each
measuring the force of this blow which they had expected yet had
always hoped to ward off, the crunching sound of a bicycle was
heard on the quiet country road. The rider stopped at their gate
and came up the porch holding out an envelope to the judge, who,
guessing the contents, had started forward. He tore it open. It
was a cablegram from Paris and read as follows:
Am sailing on the Kaiser Wilhelm to-day.
Shirley.
CHAPTER VII.
The pier of the North German Lloyd Steamship Company, at Hoboken,
fairly sizzled with bustle and excitement. The Kaiser Wilhelm had
arrived at Sandy Hook the previous evening and was now lying out
in midstream. She would tie up at her dock within half an hour.
Employes of the line, baggage masters, newspaper reporters, Custom
House officers, policemen, detectives, truck drivers, expressmen,
longshoremen, telegraph messengers and anxious friends of incoming
passengers surged back and forth in seemingly hopeless confusion.
The shouting of orders, the rattling of cab wheels, the shrieking
of whistles was deafening. From out in the river came the deep
toned blasts of the steamer's siren, in grotesque contrast with
the strident tooting of a dozen diminutive tugs which, puffing and
snorting, were slowly but surely coaxing the leviathan into her
berth alongside the dock. The great vessel, spick and span after a
coat of fresh paint hurriedly put on during the last day of the
voyage, bore no traces of gale, fog and stormy seas through which
she had passed on her 3,000 mile run across the ocean. Conspicuous
on the bridge, directing the docking operations, stood Capt.
Hegermann, self satisfied and smiling, relieved that the
responsibilities of another trip were over, and at his side,
sharing the honours, was the grizzled pilot who had brought the
ship safely through the dangers of Gedney's Channel, his shabby
pea jacket, old slouch hat, top boots and unkempt beard standing
out in sharp contrast with the immaculate white duck trousers, the
white and gold caps and smart full dress uniforms of the ship's
officers. The rails on the upper decks were seen to be lined with
passengers, all dressed in their shore going clothes, some waving
handkerchiefs at friends they already recognized, all impatiently
awaiting the shipping of the gangplank.
Stott had come early. They had received word at Massapequa the day
before that the steamer had been sighted off Fire Island and that
she would be at her pier the next morning at 10 o'clock. Stott
arrived at 9.30 and so found no difficulty in securing a front
position among the small army of people, who, like himself, had
come down to meet friends.
As the huge vessel swung round and drew closer, Stott easily
picked out Shirley. She was scanning eagerly through a binocular
the rows of upturned faces on the dock, and he noted that a look
of disappointment crossed her face at not finding the object of
her search. She turned and said something to a lady in black and
to a man who stood at her side. Who they might be Stott had no
idea. Fellow passengers, no doubt. One becomes so intimate on
shipboard; it seems a friendship that must surely last a lifetime,
whereas the custom officers have not finished rummaging through
your trunks when these easily-made steamer friends are already
forgotten. Presently Shirley took another look and her glass soon
lighted on him. Instantly she recognized her father's old friend.
She waved a handkerchief and Stott raised his hat. Then she turned
quickly and spoke again to her friends, whereupon they all moved
in the direction of the gangplank, which was already being
lowered.
Shirley was one of the first to come ashore. Stott was waiting for
her at the foot of the gangplank and she threw her arms round his
neck and kissed him. He had known her ever since she was a little
tot in arms, and bystanders who noticed them meet had no doubt
that they were father and daughter. Shirley was deeply moved; a
great lump in her throat seemed to choke her utterance. So far she
had been able to bear up, but now that home was so near her heart
failed her. She had hoped to find her father on the dock. Why had
he not come? Were things so bad then? She questioned Judge Stott
anxiously, fearfully.
He reassured her. Both her mother and father were well. It was too
long a trip for them to make, so he had volunteered.
"Too long a trip," echoed Shirley puzzled. "This is not far from
our house. Madison Avenue is no distance. That could not have kept
father away."
"You don't live on Madison Avenue any longer. The house and its
contents have been sold," replied Stott gravely, and in a few
words he outlined the situation as it was.
Shirley listened quietly to the end and only the increasing pallor
of her face and an occasional nervous twitching at the corner of
her mouth betrayed the shock that this recital of her father's
misfortunes was to her. Ah, this she had little dreamed of! Yet
why not? It was but logic. When wrecked in reputation, one might
as well be wrecked in fortune, too. What would their future be,
how could that proud, sensitive man her father bear this
humiliation, this disgrace? To be condemned to a life of
obscurity, social ostracism, and genteel poverty! Oh, the thought
was unendurable! She herself could earn money, of course. If her
literary work did not bring in enough, she could teach and what
she earned would help out. Certainly her parents should never want
for anything so long as she could supply it. She thought bitterly
how futile now were plans of marriage, even if she had ever
entertained such an idea seriously. Henceforward, she did not
belong to herself. Her life must be devoted to clearing her
father's name. These reflections were suddenly interrupted by the
voice of Mrs. Blake calling out:
"Shirley, where have you been? We lost sight of you as we left the
ship, and we have been hunting for you ever since."
Her aunt, escorted by Jefferson Ryder, had gone direct to the
Customs desk and in the crush they had lost trace of her. Shirley
introduced Stott.
"Aunt Milly, this is Judge Stott, a very old friend of father's.
Mrs. Blake, my mother's sister. Mother will be surprised to see
her. They haven't met for ten years."
"This visit is going to be only a brief one," said Mrs. Blake. "I
really came over to chaperone Shirley more than anything else."
"As if I needed chaperoning with Mr. Ryder for an escort!"
retorted Shirley. Then presenting Jefferson to Stott, she said:
"This is Mr. Jefferson Ryder--Judge Stott. Mr. Ryder has been very
kind to me abroad."
The two men bowed and shook hands.
"Any relation to J.B.?" asked Stott good humouredly.
"His son--that's all," answered Jefferson laconically.
Stott now looked at the young man with more interest. Yes, there
was a resemblance, the same blue eyes, the fighting jaw. But how
on earth did Judge Rossmore's daughter come to be travelling in
the company of John Burkett Ryder's son? The more he thought of it
the more it puzzled him, and while he cogitated, Shirley and her
companions wrestled with the United States Customs, and were
undergoing all the tortures invented by Uncle Sam to punish
Americans for going abroad.
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