Helen Ford

And the worthy Scotchman, whose heart was tender, though his manner was rough and his features hard, thought sadly of a flower that once bloomed in his home, but had faded early,—transplanted to the gardens of Paradise.

“Well!” remarked M’lle Fanchette, fanning herself violently, “to think of the forwardness of that child. If she had any modesty, she wouldn’t brazen it out before the public with so much boldness.”

“She seems modest enough,” replied Alphonso Eustace, to whom this remark was addressed, “and she certainly sings magnificently. Her voice is superb.”

“I saw nothing very remarkable about her singing,” returned the lady, fanning herself with increased violence. “I suppose there are other people that have voices as well as she. I used to sing myself, but nothing on earth would have tempted me to make such a public exhibition of myself.”

Her companion thought it extremely doubtful whether M’lle Fanchette would ever be tempted to break her resolution, but thought it most prudent to remain silent.

Meanwhile, Helen was greeted in a very different manner behind the scenes. Mrs. Girdle came forward, and congratulated her with a beaming smile upon her success.

“You have done beautifully, my dear child. Were you frightened when you first went on?”

“A little; but I remembered your words, and I succeeded in forgetting the audience. I am so glad you think I did well.”

“You couldn’t have done better.”

Of course, Helen was pleased and happy,—happy in the thought that she had pleased those who were interested for her. The thought that she had personally achieved a triumph never presented itself to her. For, in spite of her splendid endowments, she was singularly free from vanity, or even from the consciousness which would have led to such a feeling. Her chief thought was, that she should now be enabled to contribute to her father’s comforts by her pay at the theatre, and that thus he would be able to keep on with his labors, and perfect his invention.

Late at night she reached her humble lodging. Her father was already sleeping. Quickly undressing herself, she crept softly into bed, and in five minutes the weary child was sleeping also.

CHAPTER XIII.

ABSENT ON BUSINESS

The afternoon was already well advanced when Richard Sharp rose leisurely from the arm-chair in which he had been lounging. He threw aside the stump of a cigar which he had been smoking, and walking to the window, looked out.

“I wonder if it is going to rain,” he thought. “I must raise an umbrella somewhere.”

After passing his fingers through his bristling locks, which had the effect of giving each particular hair an upward tendency,—a favorite habit of Mr. Sharp, who regards it perhaps as the sign of an aspiring intellect,—our attorney put on his white hat and, opening the door of his office, stepped out upon the landing. Before locking the door he carefully affixed a card bearing upon it, in bold characters, “Absent on Business.” Mr. Sharp never dispenses with this little formality, even when he is only going round the corner to order an oyster-stew, or to a neighboring hotel to while away an hour at billiards. Entertaining broad and philosophic views of life, he regards any action, however trivial, in the light of business; and with this idea feels abundantly justified in leaving behind him this standing notice. And who shall say he is not right?

It chanced on this particular occasion, however, that Mr. Sharp’s business was really of a professional character.

On the stairs our lawyer met a stout, puffy little counsellor, whose business yielded him probably an income of from eight to ten thousand dollars a year. Mr. Sharp bowed with a mixture of condescension and affability. Passing a door on a lower floor, he noticed an umbrella standing outside. Was it in a fit of absence of mind that Mr. Sharp appropriated it, and with innocent unconsciousness raised it above his head when he got into the street? If so, his temporary abstraction served him in good stead since the rain was already beginning to fall.

Reaching the street he was accosted by a newsboy who was anxious to place in his hands a sheet containing a record of all the latest news that had transpired in both hemispheres—and all for the insignificant sum of five cents! Mr. Sharp took the paper. He then began to fumble about in his pocket for the required change.

“Bless me!” he exclaimed, after two or three dives which brought forth nothing, “I believe on my soul that I haven’t got any change. Such a ridiculously small sum, too!”

He looked pensively at the boy, who gazed at him in return in patient expectation.

After a moment’s pause the lawyer explained, suddenly, “Perhaps you can change a fifty?”

“Half a dollar!” said the boy, briskly, “Oh, yes!” and he forthwith pulled out a handful of small silver pieces mingled with pennies.

“My young friend,” remarked Mr. Sharp, graciously, “I meant a fifty-dollar bill.”

The newsboy whistled. “Perhaps you take me for a bank,” he remarked. “I can’t change no fifties. I can change a one or a two may be.”

“My boy,” said the attorney, with a gentle intonation. “I never carry small bills about with me. If you will call on me to-morrow, I will take another paper.”

The little newsboy looked in bewilderment after the retreating form of Mr. Sharp. There was something wrong unquestionably. He had parted with his paper, and had not obtained an equivalent. But how could he summon up confidence to dun a man of such magnificent conceptions that a bill representing his entire capital would be too small for him to carry about.

“I’d a good deal rather trade with people that ain’t so darned rich,” thought the newsboy, ruefully.

Then it occurred to him that his customer had asked him to call the next day, and he had not been told where to call. Mr. Sharp was still near, and he determined to run after him and inquire.

In a minute or two the lawyer was made sensible of a slight tugging at his coat-tail. Looking around, his eye rested on the little newsboy.

“Well, my friend,” said he, blandly, “in what way can I serve you?”

“You asked me to leave you a paper to-morrow, but I don’t know where you live.”

“O yes, certainly,” said Mr. Sharp, “how could I be so neglectful? You will find me at any time in my office, third story, round the corner. Anybody will tell you where. And now, as I am called away upon important business, I shall be compelled to request you to release your hold upon my coat-tail.”

So saying he smiled benignantly, and walked away.

“‘Third story, round the corner;’” slowly repeated the boy. “‘Anybody will tell me!’ What corner, I’d like to know? And how in thunder am I to know what third story it is, and who I am to ask for when I find it?”

The young merchant shook his head dubiously as these formidable queries suggested themselves to him, and came to the conclusion that he was no better off than before he inquired.

Meanwhile Mr. Sharp pursued his way, smiling complacently as he thought of the admirable manner in which he had obtained possession of the newspaper without rendering an equivalent.

“You’re a shrewd fellow, Sharp,” said he to himself. “There are not many who would have managed it so cleverly.”

Mr. Sharp kept on his way with quiet dignity, dispensing affable smiles to such acquaintances as he met. Sometimes his smiles were returned with cold nods, by such as were familiar with his unscrupulous character; but our lawyer was on such good terms with himself, that these little rebuffs appeared to have no effect upon him. At length he paused before Mrs. Morton’s boarding-house. Opening the outer door, he ascended three flights of stairs until he reached Mr. Ford’s apartment. He knocked, but although sounds were heard from within there was no response. Rightly judging that Mr. Ford was so preoccupied that he had not heard or noticed the knock, he knocked again, this time louder. As this too was disregarded, he opened the door softly and went in.

It was the afternoon preceding Helen’s début at the theatre, and this accounted for her absence. Mr. Sharp was secretly glad to find it so, judging that Helen’s presence might possibly interfere with his object in calling.

“Mr. Ford,” he said, bowing benignantly, as that gentleman chanced to look up, “I beg you will pardon my entering so unceremoniously. I have availed myself of the polite invitation you so kindly extended some days since, to look in upon you and observe your progress. I knocked twice, but understanding that you were too absorbed to hear it, I took the liberty of opening the door without leave.”

Mr. Ford politely expressed his pleasure at seeing him, though it required an effort on his part to recall the name of his visitor, or the circumstances under which they had first met. “In spite of my numerous engagements,” resumed Mr. Sharp, “I could not forego the pleasure of looking in upon you at your labors. I have many times blessed the chance which procured me the acquaintance of yourself and your amiable daughter. I look upon you, my dear sir, as engaged in a work of infinite importance to society, and to the welfare of the human race. And in after years, when posterity shall have done ample justice to your merits, when your name has been elevated to its appropriate place beside those of Watt and Franklin—and—Christopher Columbus, it will be my proudest boast that I recognized your claims to the world’s gratitude in advance of others.”

To Mr. Ford, who was thoroughly convinced of the practicability of his invention, and its great importance to the world, this language did not seem extravagant. Never doubting his visitor’s sincerity, he could not but feel grateful for the meed of encouragement to which he was a stranger. At the request of Mr. Sharp he began to explain some of the chief features in his invention, the lawyer listening with the greatest apparent interest.

“It is admirable!” he exclaimed, with enthusiasm. “Take my word for it, it must and will succeed. But pardon me for suggesting that with better materials your model would be likely to prove more satisfactory. An inventor should be able to command large means in order to perfect his plans.”

“Of that I am aware,” said Mr. Ford, with hesitation. “But, as you have no doubt inferred, from the style in which Helen and I live, my means are very limited.”

“No more,” said Mr. Sharp, warmly, “I anticipate all that you would say. Yet, if you will pardon me the question, why do you not apply to your friends for a loan?”

Mr. Ford shook his head, smiling faintly. “It would be of no use,” he said.

“Sir,” said the worthy attorney, grasping the hand of the inventor with an effusion of emotion, “you do your friends injustice. To convince you of it, I, the unworthiest of those whose proud privilege it is to bear that title, offer to loan you two hundred dollars. It is not much–”

“But, my dear sir–”

“No, sir, you shall not object. I am determined to connect my name in some way with this important discovery. To satisfy your scruples, I will consent to your signing this note for the amount. You may affix your signature while I am counting the money.”