Old Ebenezer Part 40

"Is Mr. Lyman here yet?"

"You mean is he still in town? Oh, yes, and he boards here, but I suppose he's at his office."

"Somebody told me that he was thinking of leaving town."

"That may be, but he hasn't gone yet."

"Does he do most of his work here?"

"Yes, all but the work for the paper."

"Would you mind showing me the room where he does his work? I'd like so much to see it."

"With pleasure, I'm sure."

She led Eva to the room above. The young woman stood with her hands clasped, looking at the bare walls--she looked at the chair, at every article of meager furniture. She went to the desk and took up a pen.

"Is this the pen he writes with?" she asked.

"Yes, I think so. Did you wish to write something?"

"Oh, no," she answered, holding the pen. "And is that where he walks up and down while he's thinking?" she asked, pointing to a thread-bare pathway in the rag carpet.

"It must be," Annie answered. "We hear him walking a good deal and he always seems to be walking up and down in the same place."

Eva put down the pen and turned to go. Annie looked at her narrowly.

They went down stairs and Eva did not halt until she had reached the door. "Won't you sit down?"

"Oh, no, thank you. I must be getting back. You must come over to see us. Good-bye."

Annie went out to the dining-room where her mother was ironing. "Eva has just been here," she said. "All she wanted was to go into the room where Mr. Lyman does his work. She's dead in love with him and he's blind as a bat not to see it. I don't believe he wrote the book--I don't believe he could write anything."

CHAPTER x.x.xIII.

THE PEt.i.tION.

Lyman did not sleep much that night. Annie, cautioned by her discreet mother not to say too much, had simply told him that Eva had called and asked about him. But that was enough to keep him awake nearly all night; and long before the table was set, the next morning, they heard him walking slowly up and down the pathway worn in the carpet. In the office he sat musing. The boy came in to tell him that at five o'clock he had helped Warren on the road to be married, and that he had left strict instructions that Lyman should be told not to forget the supper at the cottage. The boy went out and Lyman stood at the window, looking across at the bank. Presently he saw McElwin bow with dignity to a man whom he met in front of the door and then enter the place.

The boy came in again and holding out a piece of "copy" written badly, asked him to read the first line. It was a notice of the meeting of the Chancery court. The boy returned to his work and Lyman continued to gaze at the bank. Suddenly a smile, not altogether soft, but half cynical, lighted up his face; and at the same instant he reached for his hat. Straightway he went to the bank and sent his name into the private office. McElwin came to the door.

"Why, come in, Mr. Lyman," he said cordially, extending his hand.

Lyman shook hands with him and entered the room. The great clock began to strike. McElwin looked up at it and then said: "Have a seat, please."

Lyman sat down. McElwin did not permit the silence to become embarra.s.sing. "Mr. Sawyer told me all about it, sir; he kept nothing back, although he must have seen that I could not help honoring you.

Mr. Lyman, you have taught us all a lesson, sir, and I am more than pleased to see that you are prospering. It is more than likely," he went on, crossing his legs, "that you may soon seek some sort of investment for your money. Idle money, sir, is like an idle mind--a mischief to the community; and if you should desire to invest--"

"I can't afford to engage in trade," Lyman broke in. "Of course," he added, "trade is a good thing in its way, a sort of necessity, but the English have the right idea of it, after all--drawing a distinction between the tradesman and the gentleman. I remember a remark old Sam Johnson made concerning a fellow who had grown rich enough to stop buying and selling--'he had lost the servility of the tradesman without having acquired the manners of a gentleman.'"

McElwin bit his lip. "I didn't mean any offense," he said.

"Oh, surely not, and I have taken none. By the way, Mr. McElwin, Chancery court will meet next Monday."

"Ah! I had quite forgotten it. Time does fly, sir."

"Yes, and circ.u.mstances change, and men bow to circ.u.mstances."

"You are quite right, Mr. Lyman. And that reminds me that I have been forced through a change concerning Mr. Sawyer. I honor him on some grounds, you understand, but his confession of drunkenness shocked me greatly. In fact, sir, I am glad he did not marry my daughter."

"When I spoke of the meeting of the court," said Lyman, pretending to have paid no attention to McElwin's remark concerning Sawyer, "I wished to remind you of the pet.i.tion for divorce."

"Yes, quite right," McElwin replied, uncrossing his legs and putting out his hand as if unconsciously feeling for his dignity, to pull it back to him.

"Is the paper which your daughter signed here or at your home?"

"At home, I think; yes, I am quite sure of it."

"Then would you mind walking up there with me so that I may sign it?"

"Why--er, not at all, sir, but we have plenty of time."

"No," Lyman insisted, "it is better to have it over with; and I ask your pardon for not having signed it sooner."

The banker got up, took down his hat, brushed it with the sleeve of his coat and announced his readiness to go. Together they walked out.

Lyman a.s.sumed an unwonted gaiety. He commented humorously upon the tradesmen standing in their doors. The banker strove to laugh, but his heart was not in the effort. "Yes, sir," said he, "things change and women change, too. And I may make bold to say that my daughter--and my wife, sir--are not exceptions to the--er, rule."

"I don't quite understand," said Lyman.

"I mean, sir, that what at one time might have been distasteful may have become a--er--matter of endearment, you understand."

"I don't know that I do," the cruel tormenter replied.

"A woman's nature is a peculiar thing--a romantic thing, I might almost say. My daughter is strangely influenced by romance, sir. And her peculiar relations.h.i.+p to--ahem--yourself, I might say--"

"You mean that outrageous affair at old Jasper's house," Lyman broke in.

"Well, the odd--you understand--marriage. Yes, it has made quite a different person of her, I might say. Really, I was in hopes--it came upon me latterly, you observe, or I mean you understand--that we might come to some adjustment--"

"We will," Lyman interrupted. "I am more than willing to sign the pet.i.tion."

"You are very kind, and I thank you--yes, very considerate--but my daughter has changed greatly since then, and I have lately indulged a hope together with my wife that we might throw open our home to you--ahem--you understand."

"We can settle it today," said Lyman. "I believe you told me once that I ought to go away, or sent some word of that sort, I don't remember which, and I am now ready to take your advice."

The banker sighed, and they walked along in silence until they came to the gate of Eva's home.

"Walk in," said McElwin.