meant to touch. However, we ‘ll see!”
Polly peeped in at the door very softly.
“They have n’t any light; that ‘s favorable. He ‘s sitting on my footstool; he need n’t suppose he is going to have that place! I think she has her hand on his arm,—yes, she has! And he is stroking it! Oh, you poor innocent child, you do not realize that that soft little hand of my mother’s never lets go! It slips into a five and three-quarters glove, but you ‘ll be surprised, Mr. Edgar, when you discover you cannot get away from it. Very well, then; it is settled. I ‘ll go back and put the salt fish in soak for my boarder’s breakfast. I seem to have my hands rather full!—a house to keep, an invalid mother, and now a boarder. The very thing I vowed that I never would have—another boarder; what grandmamma would have called an ‘unstiddy boy boarder!”
And as Polly clattered the pots and pans, the young heathen in the parlor might have heard her fresh voice singing with great energy:
“Shall we, whose souls are lighted
With wisdom from on high,—
Shall we to men benighted
The lamp of life deny?”
Chapter IX.
Hard Times
The new arrangement worked exceedingly well.
As to Edgar’s innermost personal feelings, no one is qualified to speak with any authority. Whether he experienced a change of heart, vowed better things, prayed to be delivered from temptation, or simply decided to turn over a new leaf, no one knows; the principal fact in his life, at this period, seems to have been an unprecedented lack of time for any great foolishness.
Certain unpleasant things had transpired on that eventful Friday night when he had missed his appointment with his fellow-students, which had resulted in an open scandal too disagreeable to be passed over by the college authorities; the redoubtable Tony had been returned with thanks to his fond parents in a distant part of the state, and two others had been temporarily suspended.
Edgar Noble was not too blind to see the happy chance that interfered with his presence on that occasion, and was sensible enough to realize that, had he been implicated in the least degree (he scorned the possibility of his taking any active part in such scurrilous proceedings), he would probably have shared Tony’s fate.
Existence was wearing a particularly dismal aspect on that afternoon when Edgar had met Polly Oliver in the Berkeley woods. He felt “nagged,” injured, blue, out of sorts with fate. He had not done anything very bad, he said to himself; at least, nothing half so bad as lots of other fellows, and yet everybody frowned on him. His father had, in his opinion, been unnecessarily severe; while his mother and sister had wept over him (by letter) as if he were a thief and a forger, instead of a fellow who was simply having a “little fling.” He was annoyed at the conduct of Scott Burton,—“king of snobs and prigs,” he named him,—who had taken it upon himself to inform Philip Noble of his (Edgar’s) own personal affairs; and he was enraged at being preached at by that said younger brother.
But of late everything had taken an upward turn, and by way of variety, existence turned a smiling face toward him. He had passed his examinations, most unexpectedly to himself, with a respectable percentage to spare. There was a time when he would have been ashamed of this meagre result. He was now, just a little, but the feeling was somewhat submerged in his gratitude at having “squeaked through” at all. A certain inspired Professor Hope, who wondered what effect encouragement would have on a fellow who did n’t deserve any, but might possibly need it, came up to him after recitations, one day, and said:—
“Noble, I want to congratulate you on your papers in history and physics. They show signal ability. There is a plentiful lack of study evinced, but no want of grasp or power. You have talents that ought to put you among the first three men in the University, sir. I do not know whether you care to take the trouble to win such a place (it is a good deal of trouble), but you can win it if you like. That’s all I have to say, Noble. Good-morning!”
This unlooked-for speech fell like balm on Edgar’s wounded self-respect, and made him hold his head higher for a week; and, naturally, while his head occupied this elevated position, he was obliged to live up to it. He also felt obliged to make an effort, rather reluctantly, to maintain some decent standing in the classes of Professor Hope, even if he shirked in all the rest.
And now life, on the whole, save for one carking care that perched on his shoulder by day and sat on his eyelids at night, was very pleasant; though he could not flatter himself that he was absolutely a free agent.
After all ordinary engagements of concerts, theatres, lectures, or what not, he entered the house undisturbed, and noiselessly sought his couch. But one night, when he ventured to stay out till after midnight, just as he was stealing in softly, Mrs. Oliver’s gentle voice came from the head of the stairs, saying, “Good-night, Edgar, the lamp is lighted in your room!”
Edgar closed his door and sat down disconsolately on the bed, cane in hand, hat on the back of his head. The fire had burned, to a few glowing coals; his slippers lay on the hearth, and his Christmas “easy jacket” hung over the back of his great armchair; his books lay open under the student-lamp, and there were two vases of fresh flowers in the room: that was Polly’s doing.
“Mrs. Oliver was awake and listening for me; worrying about me, probably; I dare say she thought I ‘d been waylaid by bandits,” he muttered discontentedly. “I might as well live in the Young Women’s Christian Association! I can’t get mad with an angel, but I did n’t intend being one myself! Good gracious! why don’t they hire me a nurse and buy me a perambulator!”
But all the rest was perfect; and his chief chums envied him after they had spent an evening with the Olivers. Polly and he had ceased to quarrel, and were on good, frank, friendly terms. “She is no end of fun,” he would have told you; “has no nonsensical young-lady airs about her, is always ready for sport, sings all kinds of songs from grave to gay, knows a good joke when you tell one, and keeps a fellow up to the mark as well as a maiden aunt.”
All this was delightful to everybody concerned. Meanwhile the household affairs were as troublesome as they could well be. Mrs. Oliver developed more serious symptoms, and Dr. George asked the San Francisco physician to call to see her twice a week at least. The San Francisco physician thought “a year at Carlsbad, and a year at Nice, would be a good thing;” but, failing these, he ordered copious quantities of expensive drugs, and the reserve fund shrank, though the precious three hundred and twelve dollars was almost intact.
Poor Mrs. Chadwick sent tearful monthly letters, accompanied by checks of fifty to sixty-five dollars. One of the boarders had died; two had gone away; the season was poor; Ah Foy had returned to China; Mr. Greenwood was difficult about his meals; the roof leaked; provisions were dear; Mrs. Holmes in the next street had decided to take boarders; Eastern people were grumbling at the weather, saying it was not at all as reported in the guide-books; real-estate and rents were very low; she hoped to be able to do better next month; and she was Mrs. Oliver’s “affectionate Clementine Churchill Chadwick.”
Polly had held a consultation with the principal of her school, who had assured her that as she was so well in advance of her class, she could be promoted the next term, if she desired. Accordingly, she left school in order to be more with her mother, and
