Luck and Pluck

"Yes, he is down in the parlor."

"Very well, I will go down and see him."

The ill-dressed stranger was stretched out in a rocking-chair, in an attitude more comfortable than graceful. He was gazing about the room, and noting with much complacency the evidences of comfort and luxury which the handsome furniture exhibited. It was thus that Mrs. Oakley found him.

"How do you do, brother Ephraim?" she said, coldly, advancing, and just giving him the tips of her fingers.

"I'm pretty well," he answered. "So the old gentleman's dead, hey?"

"If you mean my husband," she answered, still with coldness, "you are right."

"It's all right about the property, hey? How much is left to you?"

"The whole."

"Whew!" whistled Mr. Ephraim Huxter.—"Well, you have worked your cards well, that's a fact."

"I'll thank you, Ephraim," said Mrs. Oakley, with dignity, "not to use such low language, or indulge in such insinuations. I did my duty by my husband, and he showed his confidence in me by leaving me his property."

"Well, perhaps that's the right way to put it," said Mr. Huxter. "I'm glad you have feathered your nest so well."

"I must again request you not to indulge in such language," said Mrs. Oakley, in tones of displeasure.

Mr. Huxter was evidently perplexed.

"Come, Jane," said he, "there's no use in trying to deceive me. You made a good thing of it in marrying old Oakley, and you needn't pretend to be broken-hearted because he is dead, and has left you his fortune."

"Hush!" said Mrs. Oakley, closing the door; "what if the servants should hear you talking in this way?"

"Well, there is something in that. That girl of yours that came to the door took me for a peddler. She wasn't going to let me in."

Mrs. Oakley glanced at her brother's soiled linen and stained clothes, and did not express any surprise.

"I brought my valise," said her brother. "I suppose it'll be convenient for me to stay a few days."

Mrs. Oakley assented rather ungraciously,—in truth she did not care much to present such a man as her brother. She felt that it would make it still more difficult to obtain the position which she desired to maintain in the village.

"I thought maybe I could help you in settling up the estate," said Mr. Huxter.

"I don't think I shall require any assistance. Mr. Oakley was a good business man, and the task is an easy one," said his sister, coldly.

"How much does the property amount to?" asked Mr. Huxter,—the property being in his eyes the main thing to be considered.

"I can't say exactly."

"Well, you can give a guess."

But Mrs. Oakley did not care to have her brother understand her exact position as regarded money matters. She saw clearly enough that he was already speculating how to turn her prosperity to his own advantage, and this she was determined he should not do. She would like to have kept him at a distance, but she was already feeling one of the inconveniences of wealth. There are some whose chief enjoyment of wealth arises from the happiness which it enables them to impart to others, and some, in Mrs. Oakley's position, would have been glad to do something for such of their relatives as were in struggling circumstances; but it was not so with her. She was of a stingy, penurious disposition, and did not mean that her money should benefit any one but Benjamin and herself, except the small sum which she felt obliged to spend on John.

"No, I don't think I could form any estimate," she said. "Mr. Oakley has recently died, you know."

"Has he left as much as fifty thousand?"

"Fifty thousand!" exclaimed Mrs. Oakley; "what are you thinking of?"

"It isn't much less, I am thinking. At any rate, you're a rich woman."

"I am comfortably provided for."

"I wish I was as comfortably provided for," said Mr. Huxter. "Seems to me your ideas have risen some, Jane, since you used to live with me, and bind shoes for a living. You and Ben wouldn't have been very comfortable, I reckon, if I hadn't helped you once upon a time."

"As to that," said Mrs. Oakley, "I worked for my board. It was no great favor on your part."

"At any rate, you thought yourself lucky to get a home. Now, things are changed considerably. You are a rich woman, and—well, I'm hard up."

"You always were shiftless, Ephraim," said Mrs. Oakley, who saw what her brother was coming to.

"Shiftless!" repeated Mr. Huxter, in an injured tone. "I don't know what you call shiftless. I've been a hard-working man; but luck's never been on my side."

Mr. Huxter's nose had a suspicious redness, which seemed to indicate whiskey might have had something to do with his want of luck. This was in fact the case. If he had never made much headway, it was partly, at least, his own fault, as his sister knew well enough. But she knew also that there was very little chance of his amending in that particular, and though she gave him little encouragement by her manner, she felt that she should have to help him at last.

"How are your family?" asked Mrs. Oakley.

"Oh, about as usual. Wife's always scoldin' and complainin', and the children are fractious. I don't know what makes 'em behave so. My home aint a very happy one, that's a fact."

Mrs. Oakley knew that very well. For more than two years, when left a widow, with Ben on her hands, she had found a home in her brother's family, which proved so far from agreeable, that she finally determined to leave it, and do as well as she could for herself outside. She had been lucky enough to obtain a situation in Mr. Oakley's family as house-keeper, and this proved the starting-point of a new and prosperous career. During Mr. Oakley's life, Mr. Huxter had never been near her. This had been at Mrs. Oakley's special request. She felt that her brother was not calculated to do her any particular credit, and she had succeeded, though with some difficulty, in keeping him at a distance. She had accomplished this by an occasional present, and the distinct intimation that these would cease unless her brother should respect her wishes. Now that she was a widow, he considered that the prohibition was at an end, and had presented himself unexpectedly, and was by no means welcome.

At this moment Ben, who wished to see his mother, and was not aware of his uncle's arrival, entered the room, and, observing the shaggy appearance of the visitor, whom apparently he did not recognize, surveyed him with unconcealed contempt.

CHAPTER IX.

MORE ABOUT MR. HUXTER

Mr. Ephraim Huxter, on perceiving Ben, wreathed his homely features into what was intended for a gracious smile, and, rising, took his nephew's rather unwilling hand.

"So this is Ben," he said. "Bless me, what a young gentleman he's grown, to be sure! Don't you remember me, Ben?"

"No, I don't," said Ben, but not truly, for he had recognized his uncle at first sight. Indeed, any one who had ever seen Mr. Huxter would be likely to remember his harsh features and ungainly form.

"It is your Uncle Ephraim," said his mother.

"Humph!" said Ben, not feeling it necessary to express any pleasure. With his improved fortunes, his pride had developed, and he had come to look upon his mother's brother as a low person, who was immeasurably his inferior.

"Yes, Ben has become quite a gentleman," said his uncle, surveying his broadcloth suit, and gold watch-chain ostentatiously displayed over his vest. "But I dare say he hasn't forgotten when he used to run round in a shirt and overalls, and hoed potatoes at three cents an hour."

Ben did remember distinctly, and the recollection was far from pleasing; so he thought it best to forget it.

"I don't remember anything of the kind," he said, rather roughly.