Extravagant Living CHAPTER 31.
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More than a year has passed since Mrs. Lofton, with a degree of reluctance and misgiving of heart which few can appreciate, left her comfortable and rather modest home in Courtland Street, and became mistress of the elegant mansion built for Mr. Pinkerton. New cares, new responsibilities and new associations, came as the consequence; but entering into all of these with an earnest, self-negating spirit, Mrs. Lofton experienced none of those drawbacks which she had feared. Intensely thankful for the good things of lifewhich now surrounded her in liberal profusion, she was in no danger of losing the present enjoyment thereof, through envy of others, or a weak desire for things more costly and elegant. In a very short time, she ceased to reflect on the new relation of things into which she had been brought — her mind being wholly occupied in the discharge of her domestic and social obligations. She was the true wife and mother, the faithful friend, the self-denying Christian — loved and esteemed by all with whom she was in any way brought into contact.
One day, as she sat reading to her children, in the nursery, the door opened, and a middle-aged woman came in. It was the reader's old acquaintance, Bridget. Though we have appeared to lose sight of her for a number of years, such was not the case with Mr. Lofton. She has occupied, ever since his marriage, the same relation to his family that she occupied to him previous to that event.
"Good morning, Bridget," said Mrs. Lofton, in her kind way.
"Good morning, mam," returned the Irish woman, respectfully.
"You've come for the clothes?"
"Yes, mam. And they're all ready for me. But, with your permission, mam, I'd just like to speak a word or two, that I think I ought to say, if it's only for humanity's sake."
"Sit down, Bridget," said Mrs. Lofton, showing an immediate interest in the proposed communication. "And now," she added, as the woman took a chair, "speak out freely anything you have to say."
"It is wonderful, though, how things do come about in this world!" remarked Bridget, with a slight air of mystery, and then her eyes took a deliberate survey of the room. "But I knew it couldn't always last. Dear — dear — dear!" And she sighed heavily.
Mrs. Lofton waited patiently the passing away of this mood of mind in Bridget, who soon came to the point concerning the matter she desired to communicate.
"It's about Mrs. Pinkerton that I wished to speak with you, mam," said she.
"Of Mrs. Pinkerton! What of her?" Mrs. Lofton was now all interest.
"Ah, mam, it isn't well with her at all, I can assure you."
"But where is she, Bridget? I've lost sight of her for some time. After her mother died, I was told that she had gone to the south with her husband."
"She's never been out of the city, mam."
"Indeed! And where is she now, Bridget?"
"You know the little house, out Lexington Street, where good Mrs. Wilson used to live, a long time ago?"
"I have cause to remember that house, Bridget, as you very well know. I would fear that I was changing for the worse, if I had forgotten that humble dwelling. Some of the sweetest hours of my life were spent there. But what of it, now, Bridget?"
"Mr. and Mrs. Pinkerton are living there."
"Why, Bridget!"
"It's true as gospel, mam. And that isn't all — they're in actual suffering. I found them out a few weeks ago, by accident like, and, since then, I've been there a good many times. Mr. Pinkerton is sick, and poor Mrs. Pinkerton looks like a shadow. She's got everything to do. They don't keep a girl — for I suppose the expense is more than they can afford."
"Oh, dreadful!" exclaimed Mrs. Lofton, in real distress, at the picture the humane washerwoman had drawn.
"It is dreadful, indeed, mam, when we think of how it was with them once on a time," said Bridget. "Oh, but pride had an awful fall in their case! I wonder it hadn't a killed Mrs. Pinkerton outright. And I'm thinking she would about as soon have died. But she isn't the woman she was, I can tell you, Mrs. Lofton. Oh, no — no; not in any sense. Did you know, she said to me, only yesterday, 'Bridget,' says she — 'Bridget' — and she spoke in such humble kind of way — beseeching like — 'couldn't you get me some work from the clothing stores? I think I might earn a little, sewing, on evenings and odd times, if it was only enough to keep the children, poor things, in shoes.' I felt choked right up, Mrs. Lofton, at that. It did seem so hard. Poor, dear lady! She wasn't brought up to do the likes of that."
And the kind-hearted Irish woman wiped her eyes with her coarse check apron. As for Mrs. Lofton, she did not attempt to restrain the tears that gushed instantly over her cheeks.
"Before trying to get her the work," continued Bridget, after a pause, "I thought I'd just come and tell you all about it, as the best thing to be done. I knew your heart was good, and your hand liberal — and that if for nothing else, for old remembrance sake, you and Mr. Lofton — God bless him for his many kind acts! — would do something for the family."
"We certainly will, Bridget," was the quick reply of Mrs. Lofton. "I am only sorry that you did not tell me about them sooner. It was only a day or two ago, that I asked Mr. Lofton if he knew anything of Mr. Pinkerton or his family, and he said that, for some months, he had lost sight of them altogether, and was under the impression that they had left the city. This confirmed what I had previously heard remarked about their going south a short time after the death of Mrs. Allen."
"It's just as I tell you mam," said Bridget "And I hope you will see them right soon, for I am afraid they are in great need."
"I will go there this very day, Bridget."
"Bless your kind soul! I knew it would be just so!" said the Irish woman, with the warmth of speech peculiar to her people.
In less than half an hour from the time Bridget made her communication to Mrs. Lofton, that lady's hand was on the gate opening into the little yard in front of the house occupied by the Pinkertons. How happy had she been with her husband in that humble abode; and how wretched were they, hiding themselves there from observation, in poverty and misery! Her tap at the door was answered by a pale, sad-faced woman in a plain morning wrapper.
"Is Mrs. Pinkerton at home?" The question had passed the lips of Mrs. Lofton before she recognized the changed woman before her, as the one she sought.
"Mrs. Lofton!" was the low, sad response of Mrs. Pinkerton.
"Excuse my calling upon you," said Mrs. Lofton, as she grasped, with a heartiness that could not be mistaken for anything but the sign of genuine good-will, the hand of Mrs. Pinkerton, "Until today, I was under the impression that you had gone South with your husband. But having learned that you were in the city, that your husband was sick, and that," Mrs. Lofton slightly paused, when Mrs. Pinkerton said, with scarcely a sign of wounded pride in her countenance or tone of voice —
"We were in greatly straitened circumstances."
"That, Mrs. Pinkerton, I was exceedingly pained to hear," continued Mrs. Lofton. "And so I have come, without delay or ceremony, to offer such good offices as you may be willing to accept at my hands."
With a half-wondering yet grateful look, Mrs. Pinkerton gazed for some moments into the face of her visitor. All seemed to her for a time, like a dream; and she did not reply until Mrs. Lofton said —
"How is your husband? I hope he is not very sick."
"I hardly know whether he is suffering most from sickness of the body — or sickness of the mind," replied Mrs. Pinkerton. "In their union, however, he is completely prostrated."
"Is he in any business?"
Mrs. Pinkerton merely shook her head. This reference to Mr. Pinkerton, and the rather unsatisfactory response, caused a slight embarrassment on both sides. It was quickly removed by Mrs. Lofton, whose inquiries were made in another direction. Some time, however, elapsed before she was able entirely to break through the shrinking reserve of Mrs. Pinkerton — who could not but have her thoughts turned back upon the past; who could not but remember the time when they had met in this very room — and oh! under what a different relation to each other! But, all this soon passed away. She felt that Mrs. Lofton had come to her as a real friend, and she was in too great need of a friend — to hesitate about meeting the offered kindness.
Before they separated, she had opened her whole heart to Mrs. Lofton — had related the touching particulars of her sad history, since that unhappy day when a desolating tempest broke suddenly upon her, while yet not even a murmuring prelude of its approach had reached her ears. Scarcely two years had passed since the death of her father, yet in that time they had been reduced to a condition of utter destitution. After a fruitless struggle with fortune, her husband, when he found that every attempt to regain a firm resting-place for his feet was but a vain effort — and that as misfortune closed darker around him, former friends turned coldly away — while those who had him in their power scrupled not to take from his pocket, the last dollar it contained — lost all spirit and all activity; folded his hands, in fact, and sat down for a time, idle, gloomy and utterly despondent. Then he aroused himself, and made a feeble effort to procure employment. But, unsuccessful, he shrank back again into his hiding-place. Now he was seriously ill. So much in regard to him, Mrs. Lofton was able to gather from his wife.
A delicate regard for the feelings of Mrs. Pinkerton prevented the offer of money or direct relief of of any kind. That would have seemed too much like charity. But Mrs. Lofton spoke to her encouragingly, and in a way to inspire the most lively hopes.
"My husband," said she, "has not the most distant idea of Mr. Pinkerton's real situation. The moment he hears of it, he will call to see him; and as he has it in his power, so will it be in his mind — to aid him. Take heart then, my dear madam. The darkest hour, you know, is just before the break of day. You have reached the lowest point in the descending circle, and now the movement must be upward again."
Mrs. Pinkerton shook her head — "It will never be upward with us, I fear. We abused our position and our privileges — I say it in sorrow and humility — and we may never hope to see them return."
"You may never rise so high again," replied Mrs. Lofton. "But your happiness needs not depend on that. It is born of no external condition. Believe me, Mrs. Pinkerton, I was as truly happy in this room, as I have ever been in my life. And so may you be. With food and clothing, we should all learn, to be content. This is true Christian philosophy. Live no longer for yourself — think no longer of yourself — but let your best wishes and your best efforts be for your husband and children. You will find in this a rich reward. Faint not — murmur not. There is sunshine on the path — even though at times the rays be few and feeble."
If Mrs. Pinkerton had not been able to see the rays of sunshine on her path before the visit of Mrs. Lofton, she saw them plainly enough now. They were falling here and there around her; for a broad rift was in the cloud which had so long enveloped her sky.
Pained as well as surprised, was Mr. Lofton at the news his wife had to communicate on his return from business. He lost not a moment in visiting Pinkerton, whom he found so utterly prostrate in body and mind, as to be almost beyond the inspiration of hope. But the unhappy man soon perceived the real interest felt for him by an early friend, and that friend, one possessing full power to give the aid of which he stood so much in need. This quickened a new life within him, and did more to check the bodily disease from which he was suffering, than all the physician's skill.
"Are you in any business?" inquired Mr. Lofton, as soon as the mind of Pinkerton had been awakened into some kind of activity. This was on the occasion of his first visit.
"None," was gloomily answered.
"Would you be willing to accept a clerkship at a moderate salary?"
"Willing, Mr. Lofton! Not only willing but truly thankful for such an opportunity to get bread for my family," was the earnest reply.
"Very well. I will see tomorrow what can be done for you, A secretary is to be appointed next week in one of our Insurance Companies, and as I am a Director, and possess considerable influence in the Board, there will be little difficulty in getting you the appointment. The salary is a thousand dollars a year."
"My earliest, and now last friend!" said Pinkerton, with visible emotion, as he grasped the hand of Lofton, "How shall I express my thankfulness and gratitude? Today all hope had died out of my heart! Sick, broken-spirited, destitute — I felt that I was forsaken of God, as well as man. But your good wife came in as an angel of mercy, throwing a fewgleams of light across the frowning sky; and now you are here filling the whole air with sunshine. God bless you, my kind friend! God bless you!"
He was silent for a few moments, and then resumed, "I have been a very foolish, reckless man, Mr. Lofton, as you know but too well. How often have I thought of your steady, safe, upward movement — slow, cautious, but sure. I used to call it dull plodding, and I deemed you lacking in enterprise and true business capacity. Ah! if I had but taken a few lessons from your example — how different would all have been with me now. What a desperate game I played! I only wonder that fortune favored me so long. But I have suffered a terrible penalty. I have drained the cup of consequences, even to the dregs. For myself, I might not have cared so much, had the power remained with me to remove that bitter cup from the lips of those I love."
"The bitterness, I trust, is past now," said Mr. Lofton, encouragingly. "And had I known how it was with you — had you come to me before overtaken by so sad an extremity — much that you and yours have suffered, might have been prevented."
"But do you think, Mr. Lofton," said the other, with some little anxiety in the tones of his voice, "that I stand anything like a fair chance for the situation you have mentioned? There will be other applicants who may have strong friends in the Board."
"Give yourself no uneasiness about that," replied Mr. Lofton. "If I do not succeed there, I will in some other quarter. You have good capacity and knowledge of business, and these are always in demand. Let your heart be entirely at rest. In the meantime, the needs of your family must be supplied. There — " and he placed a small package of bills in the hand of Mr. Pinkerton, "are a hundred dollars. Use the money as you have need. Consider it a loan for twelve months; or longer, if need be. As for Mrs. Pinkerton, I hope she will regard my wife as a real friend who desires to serve her."
Pinkerton had no words to express his gratitude. In the weakness of mind and body, he gave way to a rush of feeling, and wept like a child. While he was yet vainly struggling with this overpowering emotion, Lofton arose, and after whispering, as he bent to his ear, a few words of encouragement, retired from the house and took his way homeward.
In two weeks from that day, Mr. Pinkerton entered upon his duties as Secretary of the Insurance Company. How changed he was to the eyes of everyone! It seemed almost impossible for two years to have so marred the countenance and worn down the vigorous frame. Some scarcely recognized the subdued, low spoken, humbled man, as he quietly discharged the duties of his office. One act, following right early upon this change of fortune, marked a new and better state of mind. Aunt Mary Jones was removed from the alms-house, where she had been sent in her sickness and poverty, and taken into his own home, where she quickly won to herself, the love of all. Sorrow and suffering had given to Mrs. Pinkerton a purified vision, and she early saw the almost angel-qualities of good Aunt Mary, and found in her a faithful counselor — a wise and loving friend. How soon she began to lean on, and to confide in her. To perceive in her, pure principles a consistent faith in God, and a power to sustain the heart amid all trials. The wish to be like her was, to Mrs. Pinkerton, the beginning of a new state. A germ from Heaven was implanted in her mind. In due time, it swelled with new life, and soon the tender green leaves expanded to the dews and sunshine, giving promise of a goodly plant.
A trial it was to Mrs. Pinkerton when Aunt Mary, a stranger of whom she had scarcely heard, was brought into her house as a permanent inmate. As cordially as it was in her power, under the circumstances, did she welcome her when she came. But how little she dreamed at the time, of entertaining an angel unawares.
Ten more years have glided away. As to the Loftons, no change, worthy of record here, has transpired. The Pinkertons have, during the time been slowly on the upward movement. Mark Pinkerton is a man possessing large experience and no ordinary business capacity. These have enabled him again to form an advantageous connection. But he is in no danger, we believe, of receding into former errors. The lessons of the past are engraved too deeply on his memory.
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