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The Scarlet Feather. Houghton Townley
Читать онлайн.Название The Scarlet Feather
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isbn 4064066131388
Автор произведения Houghton Townley
Жанр Языкознание
Издательство Bookwire
“Arrest him! What insolence! As if we hadn’t enough trouble of our own without Dick’s affairs crippling us at such a time. He absolutely must go—especially after the things that cad Ormsby insinuated.”
“But how about your own trouble, darling? Why must you have a thousand dollars?”
“Well, it’s an awful matter. You see, I have rather a big bill with a dressmaker, and I wanted some more new frocks for the Ocklebournes’ parties. She has refused to give me any more credit without security, so I left some jewelry with her—old-fashioned stuff that I never wear.”
“But, my darling, that was practically raising money on heirlooms. Your father distinctly warned 61 you that the jewels were only lent. They are his, not yours.”
“John, how can you side with father in that way? They are mine, of course they are. I’m not pawning them. They are just security, that’s all.”
“It is the same thing, dear one. You certainly ought to get them back.”
“It isn’t a question of getting them back, John. The woman threatens to sell them, unless I can let her have a thousand dollars.”
“Such a sum is out of the question. You must persuade the woman to wait.”
“That is why I was going up to town to-day. But my debt far exceeds that sum.”
“By how much?”
The rector rarely demanded any details of his wife’s money-affairs, or troubled how she spent her private income. But the time for ceremony was past. There was a haggard perplexity in his look, and an expression of fear in his eyes.
“Nearly two thousand, John.”
“For dresses—only dresses?”
With a sigh, the rector dropped into his chair. After a moment’s despondency, he commenced to make calculations on his blotting-pad, while Mary stood looking out of the window, crying a little and shaping a new resolve. It was useless to go to her dressmaker with empty hands, and the everlasting 62 cry for money could only be silenced by the one person who held it all—her father.
Once more, rage against him surged up in her heart, and she relieved her pent-up feelings in the usual way.
“Oh, it is shameful, shameful! Father is to blame—father! He’s driving us to ruin. There’s nothing too bad one can say about him. He deserves to be robbed of his miserly hoard.”
“Hush, hush, dearest,” murmured the rector; “your father’s money is his own, not ours. If he were to find out that you had pledged your jewels, there’s no knowing what he might not do.”
“Do! What could he do?” she replied, with a mirthless laugh. “A man can’t prosecute his own child.”
“Some men can, and do. Your father is just the sort to outrage all family sentiment, and defy public opinion.”
“You don’t think that!” she cried, turning around on him very suddenly, with a terrified look in her eyes.
They were interrupted by a tap at the door.
“A gentleman to see you, sir; at least, sir, to see Mr. Dick.” The manservant’s manner was halting and embarrassed.
“What does he want with Mr. Dick?”
“Well, sir, he says—” 63
“Well, what does he say?”
The man looked at his master and mistress hesitatingly, as though he would rather not speak. “He says, sir—”
“Well?”
“That he has come to arrest him—but he would like to see you first.”
“There must be some mistake. Send him in.”
A thick-set, burly, bearded man entered, hat in hand, bowed curtly to the rector, and endeavored to bow more ceremoniously to Mrs. Swinton, who stood glaring at him in fear.
“Why have you come?” asked the rector.
“Well, there’s a warrant. It has been reported he was going to skip.”
“Why have you come so soon? I only received Wise’s letter this morning.”
“It was sent the day before yesterday.”
The rector picked up the letter, and found that it was dated two days ago.
“There was evidently a delay in transmission. What are we to do?” asked the clergyman, turning to his wife despairingly.
She stood white and irresolute. It was a most humiliating moment. She longed to call her manservant to turn the fellow out of doors, but she dared not.
“My instructions were to give reasonable time, 64 and not to proceed with the arrest if there was any possibility of the money being forthcoming, or a part of it, not less than two hundred and fifty—cash.”
“Can you wait till this evening?” pleaded the rector, hopelessly, “while I see what can be done. You’ve taken me at a disadvantage. My son is not here now. He won’t be back till after midday.”
“If there is any likelihood of your being able to do anything by evening, of course—”
“He’ll wait. He must wait,” cried Mrs. Swinton, taking up her muff. “I’ll have to see father about it.”
“You must wait till this evening, my man.”
“All right, then. Until six o’clock?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, six o’clock,” the man agreed, and withdrew.
“I can’t bear to think of your going to your father again, Mary,” sighed the rector, bitterly. “Dick has been a shocking muddler in his affairs—as bad as his father, without his father’s excuse. God knows, I’ve been too busy with parish affairs to attend properly to my own, whereas he—”
“He is young, John,” pleaded the indulgent mother, “and ought to be in receipt of a handsome allowance from his grandfather. He has only been spending what really should be his.” 65
“Sophistry, my darling, sophistry!”
“At any rate, I’m going up to my father to get money from him, by hook or by crook. We must have it, or we are irretrievably ruined.”
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