Nothing but Money! CHAPTER 10.
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Ten years have laid their burdens and their lessons on the hearts of Doctor Hofland and his wife, as well. They have not found it all soft meadow-path and sunshine. Rough places have wounded their feet, and storms have found them far distant from sheltering rock or hiding covert. But, in all trial, disappointment, anxiety, and affliction — their hearts have drawn nearer and nearer together, gaining, at each approach, more unity of pulsation.
A defect in the character of Doctor Hofland was lack of worldly prudence. The absence of all sordid qualities — left him in danger of setting too light a value on money; and the absorption of thought in his profession, kept his mind away from a due consideration of life's economies, without which it is almost impossible for a man, solely dependent on his own efforts, to keep himself free from financial embarrassment. He was too apt to let desires, and not means, rule in the matter of expenditure. The tastes of such a man are costly things — and, if gratified, absorb money rapidly.
We find the doctor and his wife living in a pleasant house on Charles Street, among merchants, bankers, and men of property, and in a style indicative of professional thrift. His practice has largely increased — for, in addition to his acknowledged skill, he has personal qualities that render him popular.
We now pass into his home. Let us contrast his parlors with those of Adam Guyton, who is worth at least forty thousand dollars — the doctor's account with the world, we are sorry to say, stands seriously against him.
In the MERCHANT'S parlors, we find damask curtains, Brussels carpet, rich mantel glasses, pier-tables, and maroon velvet furniture. These, looking cold, stiff, and stately, suggest only a money value. You think of what they cost — not of their use in the household. No pictures smile down upon you from the walls; no urn or vase, no bronze or Parian statuette — gives grace, tenderness, or human beauty. You might as well be in a cabinet maker's showroom — for all the sentiment of home that is inspired.
You stand now in two smaller rooms, communicating by folding doors — and a home-feeling is penetrating your heart. These are the parlors of our friend, the DOCTOR. Instead of damask and curtains, we find simple Venation window-blinds. There are no glasses in the piers, and only a small one on the mantel in the front parlor; a hair cloth sofa stands in one room, and a piano in the other; the carpets are ingrain, and the chairs cane-seat. But, there are many things beyond these, and your eyes go to them instinctively. Here hangs alandscape, that gives you a dream of summer never to be forgotten — and there a home scene of exquisite tenderness. You smile now at the humor of a picture that hits off a foible of character, and take the lesson to yourself — or, more likely, apply it to another. From wall to wall you pass, lingering before painting and engraving, and drinking in beauty and sentiment. Then you turn to examine a small bronze figure of Ganova's Dancing Girl, which stands on the mantel, and go from this to an exquisite Hebe. On the two center-tables, you find rare books, rich in art-treasure — the wealth of European galleries.
But these are not obtainable by any small outlay of money. A piece of canvas, two feet square, may cost more than a gilded mirror; and the wall adornments of two small parlors, like those of Doctor Hofland, absorb a larger sum than all the damask, rose-wood, and French plate in the drawing-rooms of a merchant-prince. Art is expensive. It was actually so in the present case. These pictures, books, statuettes, and other articles of taste — cost more than all the handsome furniture in Adam Guyton's parlors. You look grave at this and will look graver still, when we tell you that our pleasant friends, Dr. Hofland and his wife, are enjoying these rare and costly things, at the price of debt! Trying to enjoy them, it were better said — for, with such a drawback, minds like theirs can have no real enjoyment.
Do not blame them too severely — for, at heart, they are not dishonest. In set purpose, they would wrong none. Good deeds and kindness have marked each step of their way through life. These costly things which you see, have been gathered, one at a time, all through the ten years that have elapsed since you first looked in upon them. The sum of theirprice has never been thought of; if you were to ask their aggregate money-value, they would not answer correctly, within hundreds of dollars. Debt has come by gradual advances, year after year, as expenditure steadily exceeded income; and now, when the close calculating merchant is worth forty thousand dollars — the physician is "worse than nothing," by at least three thousand dollars!
As we gave you a near view of the home-life of Adam Guyton, after the lapse of ten years, we will now let you see how it is with Doctor Hofland and his wife. They have had five children. Of these, two have passed through the gate of death. Their oldest, a daughter, named Diane, from her mother; the second, a boy; and their youngest, a baby-girl, ten months old — are with them still.
We take the same evening, on which we opened for you the door of Adam Guyton's dwelling, and will let you pass into the DOCTOR'S home.
There sits Mrs. Hofland, with her youngest born on her lap. She has a book in her hand, and is reading aloud to her two oldest children, who have drawn their little chairs close to hers, and gaze earnestly into her face, listening.
Time has dealt gently with Mrs. Hofland. Her clear dark eyes are as bright as when you first looked into them — nay, brighter, and with a depth of feeling and consciousness not seen before. The fine oval of her face has not changed its curve; the play of feeling is as rapid and rippling; her voice tenderer, deeper, and more musical. You do not think, as you stand looking upon her countenance, over which thought is playing, like sunbeams and shadows that follow each other rapidly on the bosom of a meadow — that sorrow has been more than once her tearful guest.
She stops reading, and listens. All the children, even baby in the lap, prick up their ears, and look expectancy.
"It's father!" Little Diane is on her feet in an instant, and moving toward the door, with her brother Frank close by her side. Baby Annie's tiny hands are fluttering. In the hall, Diane and Frank spring upon their father, shouting, and hinder the removal of his great coat. But, it is soon laid aside amid these loving hindrances, and the doctor advances to the sitting-room, with an arm around his boy and girl, whose kisses are yet warm upon his lips. Baby's and mother's lips are laid on his as one, making love's circle complete, and sending full currents of joy to his heart!
"A gentleman is waiting for you in the office," said Mrs. Hofland, after the sweet confusion attendant on his return home had subsided.
"Who?"
"He did not give his name, and asked when you would be home."
Doctor Hofland, expecting to see a patient, or receive a professional call — went down to his office, which was in the basement.
"Doctor Hofland, I believe," said the man, rising.
There was something in his appearance, and the tone in which he spoke, that sent a signal of alarm to the doctor's heart. A shadow, as of approaching evil, fell suddenly around him.
"That is my name, sir." He hardly knew his own voice.
The man's eyes dropped to the floor, and he bent his head a little forward, as he thrust his hand into his pocket, and drew forth a small bundle of papers. From this, he selected a folded document, some nine inches long, by three wide, and said, coldly, as he opened it:
"I have a warrant for you, sir."
"A warrant!" The blood flowed back upon the heart of Doctor Hofland.
"Yes, sir."
"On what account?"
"It is issued at the demand of Warfield."
"Of Henry Warfield!"
"Yes, sir."
"Oh, I'll see him, and make it all right! It's a shame for him to take a step like this. He knows I'll pay him."
"You must go with me to the magistrate's, and give bail for the debt," said the officer, firmly.
The face of Doctor Hofland grew paler. His sensitive pride, as well as his fears, were assailed. He arrested for debt, and required to give bail, or — ! Ah, he knew too well what was beyond the bail-requirement, if not met! The law of imprisonment for debt was on the statute-book of the state, and in active operation, as the full debtor's room in the county jail too soberly testified. And creditors, at that time, often made short work with their debtors by forcing them to give security for the payment of their claims, in sight, so to speak, of the jail door. This was the process now taken by one of the doctor's creditors, who had grown impatient and ill-natured.
"But it's night," answered Doctor Hofland. "How am I to get bail at this late hour? The proceeding is an outrage! Who issued this warrant?"
"Mr. Ashmun."
"He knows me very well. Say to him that I will appear and give security tomorrow morning."
"I'm sorry, doctor — but I can't meet your wishes. My warrant requires that I produce your body today. I've been here twice before. But you can get bail easily enough. The debt is only ninety-three dollars. Come, if you please."
There was no escape. The hand of the law was on him, and he must stand up, as other men had to stand up, to its full requirement.
"I am called out imperatively," he said, pushing open a little way the door of the room where he had left his children a few minutes before. Don't wait tea for me, as I may be detained for some time."
Then the door shut, and Diane heard her husband's feet go quickly down the stairway that led to his office. The tone of voice left echoing in her memory haunted her in a strange way, and troubled her feelings. It had something in it which she did not understand; something that left the impression of a disturbed mind — disturbed from within, not from without — for itself, and not for the peril or extremity of another.
An hour passed, and the doctor did not come back. From the moment of his departure, his wife had felt the pressure of an unusual concern, which continued to increase until vague fears crowded into her heart. After her children were in bed, her mind fell into such an anxious state, that she was unable to read or sew, and wandered about, from room to room, upstairs and down, like a perturbed spirit. Eight, nine o'clock came, and the doctor had not yet returned. But, now, a note from him, so hastily written that she could with difficulty make out the words, was placed in her hands. It read —
"Dear Diane: I shall, I fear, be detained all night. Don't expect me, if I am not home by ten o'clock. Give the children, for me, their go-to-bed kiss.
Lovingly,
Edward."
"Not home tonight! Strange! What can it mean?"
Mrs. Hofland read the note a second time. It's tenor puzzled her. Why did he not say where he was, or hint at the real cause of his absence? This was not like her husband. There was something wrong! What could it be?
And in doubt, questionings, anxiety, and vague fear, Mrs. Hofland passed an almost sleepless night, the first in which her husband had been absent from her since the day of their marriage.
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