Helen Ford

“It is beautiful,” said Helen, with childish enthusiasm.

“Thank you,” said the young man, smiling.

“It looks very familiar to me,” said Mr. Ford. “It seems to me as if I had seen the very farm-house you have represented.”

“Thank you. I may dare to hope, then, that I have been reasonably true to nature.”

“In that respect I think you have succeeded wonderfully. You must have been born in the country, Mr. Coleman.”

“Yes, sir; I am a farmer’s son.”

“What made you think of becoming an artist?” asked Helen.

“I believe it was a severe punishment I received at school.”

Helen looked surprised.

“I see you don’t understand how that should have had such an influence in determining my career. Let me explain. I used from time to time to draw upon the slate pictures of my school-mates, which were regarded by the originals as very successful. One winter the Prudential Committee selected as teacher a young man of very singular appearance. His nose was immensely large, and of odd shape. One day, after finishing my sums in arithmetic, the fancy seized me to draw a picture of the teacher. I became interested in the portrait, so that when my class was called up I did not hear the summons, but kept on with my sketch. Seeing how I was employed, Mr. Hargrave stepped up behind me on tiptoe, and to his inexpressible anger beheld the counterfeit presentment of himself, in which full justice was done to his leading deformity. He was probably sensible of his lack of beauty, and correspondingly sensitive. At all events, he was so far from appreciating my efforts, that he seized me by the collar, swung me out into the middle of the school-room, and gave me a cruel punishment, from which I did not for some time recover. I did not go back to school, my father being too indignant with the teacher for his unreasonable severity. He was desirous of seeing the sketch which had excited so strong a resentment. I accordingly reproduced it with a pencil as carefully as I could, and my father took the trouble to have it framed, and hung up in the sitting-room, where it attracted considerable attention and many encomiums. I believe it was this incident which led me to think seriously of becoming an artist by profession. Twelve months since my father gave me what little money he could spare, and I came to New York to establish myself.”

“And what encouragement have you received, Mr. Coleman?” asked Mr. Ford, with kindly interest.

“Of pecuniary encouragement, none,” was the reply. “That, however, it is too early to expect. I have been a part of the time in the studio of an established artist,—till two months since in fact,—obtaining what knowledge I absolutely required. Then I transferred my studio to this room. You see before you the result of my two months’ labor.”

“You have made an excellent beginning. I feel safe in predicting your success.”

“Thank you, sir. You asked me what encouragement I had received. Your kind anticipation is among the most valuable.”

“I do not, of course, profess to be a competent judge,” said Mr. Ford; “but I think an inexperienced eye will see much to commend in your painting. It’s truth to nature is very striking. It is a pity you could not study abroad.”

“It is my ardent wish,” said the young man, “but quite beyond my power to compass. I have now been a year in the city, learning much, as I hope, but earning nothing. This has nearly brought me to the end of my scanty resources. I shall not be able to continue thus much longer. I confess to have built some hopes upon the picture I have just painted. If I could secure a purchaser at a fair price, it would enable me to protract my residence, which otherwise must soon be brought to an end.”

“There is one bond of fellowship between us, then,” said Mr. Ford, smiling; “that of poverty. I, too, am working on in present need, hoping some day to achieve success, and with it money. But in one respect I have the advantage of you. My little daughter, here,” placing his hand affectionately on Helen’s head, “cheers me with her presence and sympathy, and is of more substantial help besides. I don’t know what I should do without her.”

“O father!” said Helen.

“It is all true, my child. Even now, she has obtained an engagement to sing at the theatre, chiefly, as I think, though she will not admit it, because she thinks the money will be of use to me.”

“Indeed!” said the young artist. “I observed in this morning’s paper a very flattering account of the début of a young singer bearing your daughter’s name, but I had no idea it was she. Wait a moment, here it is.”

The young man pointed out the paragraph to Mr. Ford, who read it with proud gratification. It was pleasant to him to find that the daughter who was so dear to him should be appreciated by the public.

“Helen, I shall become proud of you,” he said.

“And I shall return the compliment, papa,—you know when. Papa, I want to whisper to you a moment.”

“Certainly, my dear; that is, if Mr. Coleman will excuse the impoliteness.”

“Don’t mention it, sir. I hope you will consider me so far a friend, as to treat me unceremoniously.”

“Mr. Coleman,” said Mr. Ford, after his whispered conference with Helen, “my daughter desires me to invite you to dine with us. I trust you will feel inclined to accept the invitation.”

“With the greatest pleasure,” said the young man, his face brightening up.

“I need hardly tell you that we do not fare very sumptuously.”

The young man laughed. “And I need hardly assure you, sir, that I am quite unused to sumptuous fare. Frankly, but for your invitation, my dinner would have consisted of some dry bread and a couple of sausages.”

“You can reserve those till to-morrow, then. I really don’t know what Helen will give us. She allows no dictation in the commissary department.”

“Now, papa,” remonstrated Helen, “what will Mr. Coleman think of me? You are making me out to be a dreadful tyrant.”

“I thought it best to put him on his guard. Since you are kind enough to accept our invitation, Mr. Coleman, Helen will knock at your door when dinner is ready. Good morning.”

“Good morning, sir. I shall be quite ready for the summons.”

The artist went back to his work, but the image of Helen’s childish beauty occasionally rose up before him, and he could not help wishing that Heaven had given him such a sister.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE MUFFLED FACE

Apparently brighter days had dawned upon Helen and her father. With Mr. Sharp’s loan and Helen’s weekly salary they were no longer obliged to practice the pinching economy which, until now, had been a necessity. Helen could now venture to add an occasional luxury to their daily fare without being compelled to consider anxiously how many dollars yet remained in the common purse. The landlady’s call for the rent was now cheerfully received. Helen always had the amount carefully laid aside. No one rejoiced more sincerely in their new prosperity than the worthy landlady, who though forced to look after her own interests, had a large heart, full of kindly sympathy for those who were doing their best in the struggle of life.

“I only wish all my lodgers were equally prompt, my dear,” she said, one day. “It’s really disagreeable to call on some of them; they look as if you were the last person they wanted to see, and pay down their rent just for all the world as if it was something you had no right to, but were trying to exact from them. Now you always look cheerful, and pay me as if it was a pleasure for you to do it.”

“And so it is,” said Helen, blithely. “But it wasn’t so always. I think, Mother Morton, that the pleasure of paying away money depends upon whether you are sure of any more after that is gone.”

“I don’t know but you are right,” said the landlady. “But I know it isn’t so with some. There’s Mrs. Ferguson used to occupy my first floor front, living on her income, of which she didn’t spend half. I suppose she never had less than two or three hundred dollars on hand in her trunk lying idle, but she’d put me off as long as she could about paying, for no earthly reason except because she hated to part with her money. I stood it as long as I could, till one day I told her plainly that I knew she had the money, and she must pay it or go. She took a miff and went off, and I didn’t mourn much for her. But, bless my soul! here I am running on, when I ought to be down stairs giving orders about the dinner.”

Mr. Ford invested a portion of his borrowed capital in a variety of articles which he conceived would assist him in his invention. Although to outward appearance success was quite as distant as ever, it was perhaps a happy circumstance for Mr. Ford that he constantly believed himself on the eve of attaining his purpose. Indeed, he labored so enthusiastically that his health began to suffer. The watchful eyes of Helen detected this, and she felt that it was essential that her father should have a greater variety and amount of exercise. She determined, therefore, to propose some pleasant excursion, which would have the effect of diverting his thoughts for a time from the subject which so completely engrossed them.

Accordingly, one Saturday morning, having no duties at the theatre during the day, she said to her father, as he was about to settle himself to his usual employment, “Papa, I have a favor to ask.”

“Well, my child?”

“I don’t want you to work to-day.”

“Why,” said Mr. Ford, half absently; “it isn’t Sunday, is it?”

“No,” said Helen, laughing; “but it is Saturday, and I think we ought to take a holiday.”

“To be sure,” said Mr. Ford, thinking that Helen needed one. “I ought to have spoken of it before. And what shall we do, Helen? what would you like to do?”

“I’ll tell you, papa, of a grand plan; I thought of it yesterday, as I was looking at the advertisements in the paper. Suppose we go to Staten Island in the steamboat.”

“I believe I should enjoy it,” said Mr. Ford, brightening up. “It will do both of us good; when shall we go?”

“Let me see, it is eight o’clock; I think we can get ready to take the nine o’clock boat.”