Loe raamatut: «Mrs. Cliff's Yacht», lehekülg 4

She saw that Burke was very anxious to know why she was living in a plain fashion in this unpretentious house, but she found it would be very difficult to explain the matter to him. Hers was not a straightforward tale, which she could simply sit and tell, and, moreover, although she liked Burke and thought it probable that he was a man of a very good heart, she did not believe that he was capable of advising her in the perplexities which her wealth had thrown about her.

Still, she talked to him and told him what she thought she could make him properly understand, and so, from one point to another, she went on until she had given the ex-sailor a very good idea of the state of her mind in regard to what she was doing, and what she thought she ought to do.

When Mrs. Cliff had finished speaking, Burke thrust his hands into his pockets, leaned back in his chair, and looked at the ceiling of the room, the walls, and the floor. He wanted to say something, but he was not prepared to do so. His mind, still nautical, desired to take an observation and determine the latitude and longitude of Mrs. Cliff, but the skies were very much overcast.

At this moment Willy Croup knocked at the parlor door, and when Mrs. Cliff went to her, she asked if the gentleman was going to stay to dinner.

Mrs. Cliff was surprised. She had no idea it was so late, but she went back to Mr. Burke and urged him to stay to dinner. He consented instantly, declaring that this was the first time that anybody, not his mother, had asked him to dinner since he came into his fortune.

When Mrs. Cliff had excused herself to give some directions about the meal, Burke walked about the parlor, carefully examining everything in it. When he had finished his survey, he sat down and shook his head.

"The trouble with her is," he said to himself, "that she's so dreadfully afraid of running ashore that she will never reach any port, that's what's the matter!"

When Mrs. Cliff returned, she asked her visitor if he would like to see her house, and she showed him over it with great satisfaction, for she had filled every room with all the handsome and appropriate things she could get into it. Burke noticed everything, and spoke with approbation of many things, but as he walked behind his hostess, he kept shaking his head.

He went down to dinner, and was introduced to Willy Croup, who had been ordered to go and dress herself that she might appear at the meal. He shook hands with her very cordially, and then looked all around the little dining-room, taking in every feature of its furnishing and adornment. When he had finished, he would have been glad to shake his head again, but this would have been observed.

When the dinner came on, however, Mr. Burke had no desire to shake his head. It was what might have been called a family dinner, but there was such a variety, such an abundance, everything was so admirably cooked, and the elderberry wine, which was produced in his honor, was so much more rich and fragrant to his taste than the wines he had had at hotels, that Mr. Burke was delighted.

Now he felt that in forming an opinion as to Mrs. Cliff's manner of living he had some grounds to stand upon. "What she wants," thought he, "is all the solid, sensible comfort her money can give her, and where she knows what she wants, she gets it; but the trouble seems to be that in most things she doesn't know what she wants!"

When Mr. Burke that afternoon walked back to the hotel, wrapped in his fur-trimmed coat and carefully puffing a fine Havana cigar, he had entirely forgotten his own plans and purposes in life, and was engrossed in those of Mrs. Cliff.

CHAPTER VII
MR. BURKE ACCEPTS A RESPONSIBILITY

Willy Croup was very much pleased with Mr. Burke, and she was glad that she had allowed herself to be persuaded to sit at table with such a fine gentleman.

He treated her with extreme graciousness of manner, and it was quite plain to her that if he recognized her in her silk gown as the person who, in a calico dress, had opened the front door for him, he had determined to make her feel that he had not noticed the coincidence.

He was a good deal younger than she was, but Willy's childlike disposition had projected itself into her maturer years, and in some respects there was a greater sympathy, quickly perceived by both, between her and Mr. Burke than yet existed between him and Mrs. Cliff. After some of the amusing anecdotes which he told, the visitor looked first towards Willy to see how she appreciated them; but it must not be supposed that he was not extremely attentive and deferential to his hostess.

If Willy had known what a brave, gallant, and daring sailor he was, she would have made a hero of him; but Mrs. Cliff had never said much about Burke, and Willy simply admired him as the best specimen of the urbane man of the world with whom she had yet met.

The two women talked a good deal about their visitor that evening, and Mrs. Cliff said that she hoped he was not going to leave town very soon, for it was possible that she might be of help to him if he wanted to settle down in that part of the country.

The next morning, soon after breakfast, when Willy opened the front gate of the yard and stepped out upon the street with a small covered basket in her hand, she had gone but a very little distance when she met Mr. Burke, with his furs, his cane, and his silk hat. The latter was lifted very high as its owner saluted Miss Croup.

Willy, who was of a fair complexion, reddened somewhat as she shook hands with the gentleman, informed him, in answer to his questions, that Mrs. Cliff was very well, that she was very well; that the former was at home and would be glad to see him, and that she herself was going into the business part of the town to make some little purchases.

She would have been better pleased if she had not been obliged to tell him where she was going, but she could not do otherwise when he said he supposed she was walking for the benefit of the fresh morning air. He added to her discomfiture by requesting to be allowed to walk with her, and by offering to carry her basket. This threw Willy's mind into a good deal of a flutter. Why could she not have met this handsomely dressed gentleman sometime when she was not going to the grocery store to buy such things as stove-blacking and borax?

It seemed to her as if these commodities must suggest to the mind of any one rusty iron and obtrusive insects, and as articles altogether outside the pale of allusion in high-toned social intercourse.

It also struck her as a little odd that a gentleman should propose to accompany a lady when she was going on domestic errands; but then this gentleman was different from any she had known, and there were many ways of the world with which she was not at all acquainted.

Mr. Burke immediately began to speak of the visit of the day before. He had enjoyed seeing Mrs. Cliff again and he had never sat down to a better dinner.

"Yes," said Willy, "she likes good eatin', and she knows what it is, and if she had a bigger dining-room she would often invite people to dinner, and I expect the house would be quite lively, as she seems more given to company than she used to be, and that's all right, considerin' she's better able to afford it."

Mr. Burke took a deep satisfied breath. The opportunity had already come to him to speak his mind.

"Afford it!" said he. "I should think so! Mrs. Cliff must be very rich. She is worth, I should say – well, I don't know what to say, not knowing exactly and precisely what each person got when the grand division was made."

Willy's loyalty to Mrs. Cliff prompted her to put her in as good a light as possible before this man of the world, and her own self-esteem prompted her to show that, being a friend and relative of this rich lady, she was not ignorant of her affairs in life.

"Oh, she's rich!" said Willy. "I can't say, of course, just how much she has, but I'm quite sure that she owns at least – "

Willy wished to put the amount of the fortune at one hundred thousand dollars, but she was a little afraid that this might be too much, and yet she did not wish to make the amount any smaller than could possibly be helped. So she thought of seventy-five, and then eighty, and finally remarked that Mrs. Cliff must be worth at least ninety thousand dollars. Mr. Burke looked up at the sky and wanted to whistle.

"Ninety thousand dollars!" he said to himself. "I know positively that it was at least four millions at the time of the division, and she says she's richer now than she was then, which is easy to be accounted for by the interest coming in. I see her game! She wants to keep shady about her big fortune because her neighbors would expect her to live up to it, and she knows it isn't in her to live up to it. Now, I'm beginning to see through the fog." "It seems to me," said he, "that Mrs. Cliff ought to have a bigger dining-room."

This remark pulled up the flood-gate to Willy's accumulated sentiments on the subject, and they poured forth in a rushing stream.

Yes, indeed, Mrs. Cliff ought to have a bigger dining-room, and other rooms to the house, and there was the front fence, and no end of things she ought to have, and it was soon made clear to Mr. Burke that Willy had been lying awake at night thinking, and thinking, and thinking about what Mrs. Cliff ought to have and what she did not have. She said she really and honestly believed that there was no reason at all why she did not have them, except that she did not want to seem to be setting herself up above her neighbors. In fact, Mrs. Cliff had told Willy two or three times, when there had been a discussion about prices, that she was able to do anything she wanted, and if she could do that, why did she not do it? People were all talking about it, and they had talked and talked her fortune down until in some families it was not any more than ten thousand dollars.

On and on talked Willy, while Mr. Burke said scarcely a word, but he listened with the greatest attention. They had now walked on until they had reached the main street of the little town, gone through the business part where the shops were, and out into the suburbs. Suddenly Willy stopped.

"Oh dear!" she exclaimed, "I've gone too far! I was so interested in talking, that I didn't think."

"I'm sorry," said Mr. Burke, "that I've taken you out of your way. Can't I get you what you want and save you the trouble?"

Now Willy was in another flutter. After the walk with the fur-trimmed coat, and the talk about dollars by thousands and tens of thousands, she could not come down to mention borax and blacking.

"Oh no, thank you!" said she, trying her best to think of some other errand than the one she had come upon. "I don't believe it's finished yet, and it's hardly worth while to stop. There was one of those big cushion covers that she brought from Paris, that was to be filled with down, but I don't believe it's ready yet, and I needn't stop."

Mr. Burke could not but think it a little odd that such a small basket should be brought for the purpose of carrying home a large down cushion, but he said nothing further on the subject. He had had a most gratifying conversation with this communicative and agreeable person, and his interest in Mrs. Cliff was greatly increased.

When he neared the hotel, he took leave of his companion, saying that he would call in the afternoon; and Willy, after she had looked back and was sure he was out of sight, slipped into the grocery store and got her borax and blacking.

Mr. Burke called on Mrs. Cliff that afternoon, and the next morning, and two or three times the day after. They came to be very much interested in each other, and Burke in his mind compared this elderly friend with his mother, and not to the advantage of the latter. Burke's mother was a woman who would always have her own way, and wanted advice and counsel from no one, but Mrs. Cliff was a very different woman.

She was so willing to listen to what Burke said – and his remarks were nearly always on the subject of the proper expenditure of money – and appeared to attach so much importance to his opinions, that he began to feel that a certain responsibility, not at all an unpleasant one, was forcing itself upon him.

He did not think that he should try to constitute himself her director, or even to assume the position of professional suggester, but in an amateur way he suggested, and she, without any idea of depending upon him for suggestions, found herself more and more inclined to accept them as he continued to offer them.

She soon discovered that he was the only person in Plainton who knew her real fortune, and this was a bond of sympathy and union between them, and she became aware that she had succeeded in impressing him with her desire to live upon her fortune in such a manner that it would not interfere with her friendships or associations, and her lifelong ideas of comfort and pleasure.

The people of the town talked a great deal about the fine gentleman at the hotel, but they knew he was one of the people who had become rich in consequence of Captain Horn's discovery; and some of them, good friends of Mrs. Cliff, felt sorry that she had not profited to as great a degree by that division as this gentleman of opulent taste, who occupied two of the best rooms in the hotel, and obliged Mr. Williams to send to Harrington, and even to Boston, for provisions suitable to his epicurean tastes, and who drove around the country with a carriage and pair at least once a day.

When Burke was ready to make his suggestions, he thought he would begin in a mild fashion, and see how Mrs. Cliff would take them.

"If I was in your place, madam," said he, "the first thing I would do would be to have a lot of servants. There's nothin' money can give a person that's better than plenty of people to do things. Lots of them on hand all the time, like the crew of a ship."

"But I couldn't do that, Mr. Burke," said she; "my house is too small. I haven't any place for servants to sleep. When I enlarge my house, of course, I may have more servants."

"Oh, I wouldn't wait for that," said he; "until then you could board them at the hotel."

This suggestion was strongly backed by Willy Croup, and Mrs. Cliff took the matter to heart. She collected together a domestic establishment of as many servants as she thought her establishment could possibly provide with work, and, although she did not send them to be guests at the hotel, she obtained lodging for them at the house of a poor woman in the neighborhood.

When she had done this, she felt that she had made a step in the direction of doing her duty by her money.

Mr. Burke made another suggestion. "If I was you," said he, "I wouldn't wait for times or seasons, for in these days people build in winter the same as in summer. I would put up that addition just as soon as it could be done."

Mrs. Cliff sighed. "I suppose that's what I should do," said she. "I feel that it is, but you know how I hate to begin it."

"But you needn't hate it," said he. "There isn't the least reason in the world for any objection to it. I've a plan which will make it all clear sailin'. I've been thinkin' it out, and this is the way I've thought it." Mrs. Cliff listened with great attention.

"Now then," said Burke, "next to you on the west is your own lot that you're going to put your new dining-room on. Am I right there?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Cliff, "you are right there."

"Well, next to that is the little house inhabited by a family named Barnard, I'm told, and next to that there's a large corner lot with an old house on it that's for sale. Now then, if I was you, I'd buy that corner lot and clear away the old house, and I'd build my dining-room right there. I'd get a good architect and let him plan you a first-class, A number one, dining-room, with other rooms to it, above it and below it, and around it; with porticos, and piazzas, and little balconies to the second story, and everything that anybody might want attached to a first-class dining-room."

Mrs. Cliff laughed. "But what good would it be to me away up there at the corner of the next street?"

"The reason for putting it there," said Burke, "is to get clear of all the noise and dirt of building, and the fuss and bother that you dislike so much. And then when it was all finished, and painted, and papered, and the carpets down, if you like, I'd have it moved right up here against your house just where you want it. When everything was in order, and you was ready, you could cut a door right through into the new dining-room, and there you'd be. They've got so in the way of slidin' buildings along on timbers now that they can travel about almost like the old stage coaches, and you needn't have your cellar dug until you're ready to clap your new dining-room right over it."

Mrs. Cliff smiled, and Willy listened with open eyes. "But how about the Barnard family and their house?" said she.

"Oh, I'd buy them a lot somewhere else," said he, "and move their house. They wouldn't object if you paid them extra. What I'd have if I was in your place, Mrs. Cliff, would be a clear lot down to the next street, and I'd have a garden in it with flowers, and gravel walks, and greenhouses, and all that sort of thing."

"All stretching itself out in the sunshine under the new dining-room windows!" cried Willy Croup, with sparkling eyes.

Mrs. Cliff sat and considered, a cheerful glow in her veins. Here, really, was an opportunity of stemming the current of her income without shocking any of her social instincts!

CHAPTER VIII
MR. BURKE BEGINS TO MAKE THINGS MOVE IN PLAINTON

It was not long before Mr. Burke began to be a very important personage in Plainton. It was generally known that he intended to buy land and settle in the neighborhood, and as he was a rich man, evidently inclined to be liberal in his expenditures, this was a matter of great interest both in social and business circles.

He often drove out to survey the surrounding country, but when he was perceived several times standing in front of an old house at the corner of the street near Mrs. Cliff's residence, it was supposed that he might have changed his mind in regard to a country place, and was thinking of building in the town.

He was not long considered a stranger in the place. Mrs. Cliff frequently spoke of him as a valued friend, and there was reason to believe that in the various adventures and dangers of which they had heard, Mr. Burke had been of great service to their old friend and neighbor, and it was not unlikely that his influence had had a good deal to do with her receipt of a portion of the treasure discovered by the commander of the expedition.

Several persons had said more than once that they could not see why Mrs. Cliff should have had any claim upon this treasure, except, perhaps, to the extent of her losses. But if she had had a friend in camp, – and Mr. Burke was certainly a friend, – it was easy to understand why he would do the best he could, at a time when money was so plenty, for the benefit of one whom he knew to be a widow in straitened circumstances.

So Mr. Burke was looked upon not only as a man of wealth and superior tastes in regard to food and personal comfort, but as a man of a liberal and generous disposition. Furthermore, there was no pride about him. Often on his return from his drives, his barouche and pair, which Mr. Williams had obtained in Harrington for his guest's express benefit, would stop in front of Mrs. Cliff's modest residence; and two or three times he had taken that good lady and Willy Croup to drive with him.

But Mrs. Cliff did not care very much for the barouche. She would have preferred a little phaëton and a horse which she could drive herself. As for her horse and the two-seated wagon, that was declared by most of the ladies of the town to be a piece of absolute extravagance. It was used almost exclusively by Willy, who was known to deal with shops in the most distant part of the town in order that she might have an excuse, it was said, to order out that wagon and have Andrew Marks to drive her.

Of course they did not know how often Mrs. Cliff had said to herself that it was really not a waste of money to keep this horse, for Willy was no longer young; and if she could save her any weary steps, she ought to do it, and at the same time relieve a little the congested state of her income.

Moreover, Mr. Burke was not of an unknown family. He was quite willing to talk about himself, especially to Mr. Williams, as they sat and smoked together in the evening, and he said a good deal about his father, who had owned two ships at Nantucket, and who, according to his son, was one of the most influential citizens of the place.

Mr. Williams had heard of the Burkes of Nantucket, and he did not think any the less of the one who was now his guest, because his father's ships had come to grief during his boyhood, and he had been obliged to give up a career on shore, which he would have liked, and go to sea, which he did not like. A brave spirit in poverty coupled with a liberal disposition in opulence was enough to place Mr. Burke on a very high plane in the opinions of the people of Plainton.

Half a mile outside the town, upon a commanding eminence, there was a handsome house which belonged to a family named Buskirk. These people were really not of Plainton, although their post-office and railroad station were there. They were rich city people who came to this country place for the summer and autumn, and who had nothing to do with the town folks, except in a limited degree to deal with some of them.

This family lived in great style, and their coachman and footman in knee breeches, their handsome horses with docked tails, the beautiful grounds about their house, a feebly shooting fountain on the front lawn, were a source of anxious disquietude in the mind of Mrs. Cliff. They were like the skeletons which were brought in at the feasts of the ancients.

"If I should ever be obliged to live like the Buskirks on the hill," the good lady would say to herself, "I would wish myself back to what I used to be, asking only that my debts be paid."

Even the Buskirks took notice of Mr. Burke. In him they thought it possible they might have a neighbor. If he should buy a place and build a fine house somewhere in their vicinity, which they thought the only vicinity in which any one should build a fine house, it might be a very good thing, and would certainly not depreciate the value of their property. A wealthy bachelor might indeed be a more desirable neighbor than a large family.

The Buskirks had been called upon when they came to Plainton a few years before by several families. Of course, the clergyman, Mr. Perley, and his wife, paid them a visit, and the two Misses Thorpedyke hired a carriage and drove to the house, and, although they did not see the family, they left their cards.

After some time these and other calls were returned, but in the most ceremonious manner, and there ended the social intercourse between the fine house on the hill and the town.

As the Buskirks drove to Harrington to church, they did not care about the Perleys, and although they seemed somewhat inclined to cultivate the Thorpedykes, who were known to be of such an excellent old family, the Thorpedykes did not reciprocate the feeling, and, having declined an invitation to tea, received no more.

But now Mr. Buskirk, who had come up on Saturday to spend Sunday with his family, actually called on Mr. Burke at the hotel. The wealthy sailor was not at home, and the city gentleman left his card.

When Mr. Burke showed this card to Mrs. Cliff, her face clouded. "Are you going to return the visit?" said she.

"Oh yes!" answered Burke. "Some of these days I will drive up and look in on them. I expect they have got a fancy parlor, and I would like to sit in it a while and think of the days when I used to swab the deck. There's nothin' more elevatin', to my mind, than just that sort of thing. I do it sometime when I am eatin' my meals at the hotel, and the better I can bring to mind the bad coffee and hard tack, the better I like what's set before me."

Mrs. Cliff sighed. She wished Mr. Buskirk had kept away from the hotel.

As soon as Mrs. Cliff had consented to the erection of the new dining-room on the corner lot, – and she did not hesitate after Mr. Burke had explained to her how easy it would be to do the whole thing almost without her knowing anything about it, if she did not want to bother herself in the matter, – the enterprise was begun.

Burke, who was of an active mind, and who delighted in managing and directing, undertook to arrange everything. There was no agreement between Mrs. Cliff and himself that he should do this, but it pleased him so much to do it, and it pleased her so much to have him do it, that it was done as a thing which might be expected to happen naturally.

Sometimes she said he was giving her too much of his time, but he scorned such an idea. He had nothing to do, for he did not believe that he should buy a place for himself until spring, because he wanted to pick out a spot to live in when the leaves were coming out instead of when they were dropping off, and the best fun he knew of would be to have command of a big crew, and to keep them at work building Mrs. Cliff's dining-room.

"I should be glad to have you attend to the contracts," said Mrs. Cliff, "and all I ask is, that while you don't waste anything, – for I think it is a sin to waste money no matter how much you may have, – that you will help me as much as you can to make me feel that I really am making use of my income."

Burke agreed to do all this, always under her advice, of course, and very soon he had his crew, and they were hard at work. He sent to Harrington and employed an architect to make plans, and as soon as the general basis of these was agreed upon, the building was put in charge of a contractor, who, under Mr. Burke, began to collect material and workmen from all available quarters.

"We've got to work sharp, for the new building must be moored alongside Mrs. Cliff's house before the first snowstorm."

A lawyer of Plainton undertook the purchase of the land and, as the payments were to be made in cash, and as there was no chaffering about prices, this business was soon concluded.

As to the Barnard family, Mr. Burke himself undertook negotiations with them. When he had told them of the handsome lot on another street, which would be given them in exchange, and how he would gently slide their house to the new location, and put it down on any part of the lot which they might choose, and guaranteed that it should be moved so gently that the clocks would not stop ticking, nor the tea or coffee spill out of their cups, if they chose to take their meals on board during the voyage; and as, furthermore, he promised a handsome sum to recompense them for the necessity of leaving behind their well, which he could not undertake to move, and for any minor inconveniences and losses, their consent to the change of location was soon obtained.

Four days after this Burke started the Barnard house on its travels. As soon as he had made his agreement with the family, he had brought a man down from Harrington, whose business it was to move houses, and had put the job into his hands. He stipulated that at one o'clock P.M. on the day agreed upon the house was to begin to move, and he arranged with the mason to whom he had given the contract for preparing the cellar on the new lot, that he should begin operations at the same hour.

He then offered a reward of two hundred dollars to be given to the mover if he got his house to its destination before the cellar was done, or to the mason if he finished the cellar before the house arrived.

The Barnards had an early dinner, which was cooked on a kerosene stove, their chimney having been taken down, but they had not finished washing the dishes when their house began to move.

Mrs. Cliff and Willy ran to bid them good-bye, and all the Barnards, old and young, leaned out of a back window and shook hands.

Mr. Burke had arranged a sort of gang-plank with a railing if any of them wanted to go on shore – that is, step on terra firma – during the voyage. But Samuel Rolands, the mover, heedful of his special prize, urged upon them not to get out any oftener than could be helped, because when they wished to use the gang-plank he would be obliged to stop.

There were two boys in the family who were able to jump off and on whenever they pleased, but boys are boys, and very different from other people.

Houses had been moved in Plainton before, but never had any inhabitants of the place beheld a building glide along upon its timber course with, speaking comparatively, the rapidity of this travelling home.

Most of the citizens of the place who had leisure, came at some time that afternoon to look at the moving house, and many of them walked by its side, talking to the Barnards, who, as the sun was warm, stood at an open window, very much excited by the spirit of adventure, and quite willing to converse.

Over and over they assured their neighbors that they would never know they were moving if they did not see the trees and things slowly passing by them.

As they crossed the street and passed between two houses on the opposite side, the inhabitants of these gathered at their windows, and the conversation was very lively with the Barnards, as the house of the latter passed slowly by.

All night that house moved on, and the young people of the village accompanied it until eleven o'clock, when the Barnards went to bed.

Mr. Burke divided his time between watching the moving house, at which all the men who could be employed in any way, and all the horses which could be conveniently attached to the windlasses, were working in watches of four hours each, in order to keep them fresh and vigorous, – and the lot where the new cellar was being constructed, where the masons continued their labors at night by the light of lanterns and a blazing bonfire fed with resinous pine.