Drafted in; a sequel to The bread-winners, a social study

Preface

In sending the present volume forth as a Sequel to " The liread Winners," we gratefully acknowledge our indebtedness to the author of that book, for permis sion to do so.

Some of the characters, which figure prominently in those pages — and in whom we became more or less interested — have been indentified in real life ; and the vicissitudes and reverses which Time has wrought in their respective fortunes, necessitates this appendix to that pleasing "Social Study."

It will perhaps be found more serious than social; but we believe that in view of the present world-wide significance of the great questions arising among the "Bread Winners" of the world, it presents a picture of social life which may be studied with profit by rich and poor alike.

Were the two classes as distinct in their personali ty, in real life as in the picture presented by the author of the " Bread Winners," and like the planets and their satellites, revolving harmoniously in their respective orbits, then would the eternal fitness of such human systems be established. But the truth is, condition in this life is changeable as the wind and fortune, evanescent as the dew ; ' promotion cometh

1.21 3575 neither from the East, nor from the West," vice nor virtue, toil nor treasure is the inalienable inherit ance of any class or family of man.

It seemed the very "irony of fate " that elevated Maud Matchin in the social scale, and reduced Captain Farnham — The Autocrat of society, and knight of her ambitious dreams — to the lowly estate of a bread winner. It is at this period in their respec tive lives that we take up the narrative so ably and auspiciously begun. And we do so with much hesita tion, conscious that its manner of relation, may invite invidious comparison ; but, as " truth is stranger than fiction," a simple faith in its unaided power to touch some responsive chord in the human heart, must be our apology.

While we appreciate the genius of the writer of " The Bread Winners," and recognize his intimate acquaintance with the better and brighter side of life ; we regret that his knowledge of that numerous class — the bread winners — was insufficient to furnish him a single worthy example, to reflect a measure of credit on the time-honored decree of the Almighty : " By the sweat of his face, shall man eat bread all the days of his life ?"

Yet the wisdom of the mandate, needs no defence. The history of the world's progress, is the unwritten history of toil. Some of the names, most honored among men — which come down to us, like benedictions from the past, grew bright, like the plow-share, in the the rough school of labor. The genius which has revolutionized the world and worked out progress and advancement for humanity, was born of toil. The masters whose names adorn the scroll of fame, were not idlers, — and the great Master — Jhe Carpenter of Galilee — has left an example of patient service, and humility, for all ages and all people.

Individuals, bound together by the " masonry" of wealth may set up barriers, and strive to widen the breach between man and man : statesmen may dis semble, and proud arrogance oppress : royalty may toy with its costly baubles, while starving millions clamor for leave to win their bread ; but He, who "loves righteousness, and hates robbery," shall yet establish justice on the earth. "The fatherhood of God, and the brotherhood of man" shall be confessed when its kingdoms and crowns shall have crumbled to dust.

THE AUTHOR.

DRAFTED IN

A

SEQUEL TO THE BREAD WINNERS

STRANGER THAN FICTION.

MRS. CHARLES RAYMOND had waited in the library at least half an hour for the appearance of her tardy escort to the opera.

Now the beautiful lady who lingered before the handsome mantel mirror, smiling so brightly at the reflection of herself, was neither critic, nor lover of divine melodies ; but she had resolved in this instance at least, to make it possible to express an opinion of her own.

Patti sang that night, and though all the world raved of her, it had been awkward for Mrs. Raymond to conceal the fact that she had never heard the prima donna.

She arranged and re-arranged the little clump of tea-roses at her belt ; now frowning at the striking clock : now smiling archly that no mood of her many whimsical ones could quite make a fright of her. Then with a concentrated gaze of silent, unqualified admiration, she whispered to herself : " It is no wonder poor Sam used to say I was the handsomest woman in the world ! I wonder what he would say if he could see me now !"

She shuddered as the possible truth of Botz's theory suggested itself to her mind, and looked over her shoulder with the air of a frightened child, as if she felt the presence of an ogre staring at her from behind.

" I wish my old Blue-Beard would come ?" she said aloud, stamping her foot in her sudden impatience. He is really aggravating ! I don't believe he cares half as much for Patti as he does for his old furnace !" and with a more decided frown upon her face than any the mirror had yet reflected, she threw herself into a luxurious seat and snatched up the evening paper. Glancing over its pages with a little grimace at their fancied dullness, she was caught by a society column. Fortunately it contained an account of Mrs. Col. Wickersham's last reception, wherein every lady's toilet was faithfully and impartially described. This was literature that could be appreciated. She had met with some of these gorgeous and brilliant birds of fashion herself, which made these details more engrossing. She read on, heedless now that the clock struck the half hour, and the two little figures came bounding out, and made their profound obeisance, all unnoticed.

TO "THE BREAD WINNERS. II

The room in which the lady sat thus absorbed, though heavy, and old fashioned in its appointments, had withal, so much of substantial comfort and refine ment — as to make its occupant, with all her showy beauty, seem an exotic. There were books every where upon the walls, substantial in binding, and priceless in worth. There were busts of ancient deities ; and fine old paintings, representing Histori cal scenes ; all of which were valued as imparting a kind of dignity to her surroundings ; but beloved friends they could never be, as they had, in the long ago been to one, whose place she had usurped. It is a strange history — that of Maud Sleeny's (nee Matchin's) elevation to this position. It chanced in this way : while the petted wife of poor Sleeny, she had faithfully occupied a seat in a fashionable church, where the honest carpenter never dared to set an awkward foot. No one knew her there or questioned from whence she came, or whither she went. It was a formal church of aesthetic religionists ; and although she felt consciously improved and exalted by their silent companionship, but for a trifling incident, she might have continued to mingle her prayers and responses with the worshipers indefinitely, with no more sense of kinship with a solitary soul, than is felt for the statuary in an art gallery.

Saul Matchin and family had emigrated to the far West. Maud and her husband were to follow when ever he could dispose of the little wooden house he had built, and finish some work he was engaged upon.

But it was clearly destined never to be finished by his hand. He fell from the building one day, and

12 DRAFTED IK, A SEQUEL

was taken up from the hard pavement below, quite dead !

The poor young wife was violent in her grief. Sam had been patient with her tempers and partial even to her faults. She missed his blind worship. ' No one else' she thought sadly, ' would ever praise her so much again ;' and she would weep afresh, consider ing herself very ill used indeed, to be deprived now, of his poor homage.

But when she had put on her garments of mourn ing, they so became her, that it was not strange she forgot her tears in satisfactory contemplation of the effect. It might be termed the luxury of woe. The tall, willowy figure, so nun-like in its swathings ; the youthful face with its rich coloring, to which the dark setting served only as a foil ; the large, lustrous eyes to which it lent a mournful expression ; the folds of the heavy veil, falling about her protectingly, as if she still were sacred to a buried love, altogether made a charming picture.

" A young widow" she reflected " is rather interest ing, — more so than a girl." And again the things of this transitory world became engrossing. The little house was still unsold, and she decided to remain in it. Her father and mother had never been any par ticular advantage to her — had in fact, helped rather to keep her down ; 'why should she go to them now ?' ' No, she would just try what she could do by herself.'

So she sought, and again obtained her old place in the library, and continued to make a pleasant and familiar figure on the streets of Buffland.

Thus, more than a year passed. One sweet spring morning, still habited in the deepest mourning, she was returning from the early services of the afore-* mentioned church.

A park bounded the opposite side of the street on which her walk lay. The grass was the freshest green now, and all starred with golden dandelions. She decided to go through it on her homeward way. It was not much farther, and the day was fine. With this intent, she was crossing the street briskly, when a carriage came dashing along, and by a sudden turn of the mettlesome horses the black-robed figure was knocked senseless on the street.

A crowd gathered ; the carriage stopped ; and a middle aged, plethoric gentleman scrambled out quick ly as his weight would allow, and ran to her.

Two strong men lifted and bore her to the pave ment, and water was brought and dashed in her face, but to all appearance life was extinct.

" She is dead ! Oh ! sir, she is killed !" shrieked a frightened woman as Mr. Raymond bent anxiously over her.

" My God ! she looks like it !" he replied, the veins in his forehead standing out suddenly, like cords, and his honest blue eyes staring wildly at the white face.

" Call a doctor ! get a doctor ! Here boy, run to the corner quick !" he vociferated.

That brisk and ubiquitous professional made his appearance with scarcely a moment's delay.

A brief examination, and he announced : "syncope !" " there is" he continued, placing his hand on the region of the heart, " an interruption of the motion of this organ ; a suspension of the action of the brain, and a complete loss of sensation."

" Then she has only fainted" said the plain, brusque proprietor of the handsome equipage which had wrought the mischief, looking greatly relieved.

The doctor assumed an air of grave deliberation, but made no direct answer. Silence often passes for wisdom, and he did not commit himself further. " When the lady is removed to my office," he said " or some convenient place near by, I can make a more thorough examination."

" My team did the business, and she shall be taken to my house !" declared the stout man ; "it is only a square away."

When Maud awoke to consciousness, so strange were her surroundings, that she hardly knew whether she were still in the body, or out of it. She tried to think what had happened. She made an effort to rise, and look about her, but could not. Her right arm was helplessly limp. She sank back dizzy and be wildered. The learned doctor bending over her, the same moment discovered ' that the right arm had sus tained a fracture,' and the few terse sentences he dropped in a professional way, assisted her scattered senses to comprehend that an accident had befallen her " It was impossible, he said, " to determine at present, the extent of her injuries. Those apparent were not alarming : there might be internal ones yet to be developed. She must remain where she was, and be kept perfectly quiet. He would bandage the arm and return in the evening."

To remain where she was, seemed heaven to Maud. The cool, beautiful apartment afforded a conscious enjoyment never in all her plebeian life experienced before ; therefore she listened to this counsel of the good doctor, with a face that expressed sweet resignation. In her secret soul, she hoped her wounds might prove sufficiently obstinate in the healing, to render her stay for some day's a necessity. Whether assisted in this by the kindly doctor or not, they proved equal to her most sanguine wishes ; for the day's passed into weeks before he pronounced her able to bear a removal to her own home. After she had gone, Mr. Raymond, the plethoric widower of double her years, made an important discovery. His wifeless, childless home was a dreary solitude. The sun-shine seemed to have gone out of it with Maud's youth and beauty : leaving it duller, and darker, and lonlier than ever. It is true, this sentiment was not shared by the old and faithful housekeeper, who was also a staunch aristocrat. She expressed herself to her subordinates " as mighty glad to be rid of that beggarly thing ! She wa'n't no lady, as anyone could tell by the very 'spression of her face ; and she wa'n't use' to anything but the commonest of people an' things. And then sich a curious, pryin' person as she was ! — jest like that class !"

But such unfavorable comments did not disturb the day dreams of Mr. Charles Raymond, the wealthy proprietor of an immense foundry on South Street, and a citizen of great respectability.

"What objection could there be," he even began to ask himself, to a marriage with her ? I am old and rich ; she young and poor. My age will balance her poverty, and her youth, my money." Thus he pondered ; and if any 'disagreeable objections ever presented themselves to his judgment, they were obstinately ruled out.

She soon became the arrogant mistress of his heart and home ; and waited on this particular night, with a shade of ill nature upon her beautiful face, to be taken to the opera.

She had not revelled long in pen pictures of satins and laces, brocades and velvets, with which her foolish heart immoderately delighted ; when, to her sudden joy, her husband's decided step was heard in the hall.

"The carriage will be at the door in a second !" he announced briskly, in answer to her upbraiding eyes. " Get ready ! It is not too late yet. A little of that quality of music, ought to satisfy us."

" It may you !" she retorted, while hurrying into a handsome seal-skin sacque, and placing a jaunty hat, with drooping plumes, defiantly upon her superb head, "but I'm fond of music."

" Of course you are !" acquiesced the good-natured husband : watching with pleased eyes, the effect of the new hat, and secretly amused at the profundity of the pretty wife as an art critic. " And did I not appre ciate the fact, when I secured the best seats ? Patti must give forth her divinest strains to-night," kissing the pouting lips, " or we will not encourage her again by our presence !"

After a moment he added with a look of mystery, as if withholding some wonderful secret :

" But I have a little news that will please you more than her songs."

This at once piqued her curiousity, but the sly twinkle of his eye induced her to say :

" I know you're teasing me ! just trying to make up for keeping me waiting so long, you naughty boy !"

Now the broad-shouldered, heavily be-whiskered

TO " THE BREAD WINNERS. I 7

man could lay slight claim to the most advanced stage of boyhood, but Maud enjoyed this pleasant fiction, and it sometimes served to stimulate his obesity with some of the frolicsome spirit of youth ; and now he caught the delicately gloved hands of the blooming wife, and waltzed with her, through the wide hall, on their way to the carriage.

He panted, and was quite breathless from the exertion as he entered it. After she had bestowed herself among the soft cushions she said, laughingly :

" Charley ! you dance, just for all the world, like a big bear !"

"Why! now, that is poor encouragement for a young performer," he replied, in a discontented voice.

" Encouragement !" she responded. " You never need encouragement ! Here, fasten my glove !" " I can't !"

He took off his own, and struggled with the refrac tory buttons, until he looked apoplectic in the face.

" Dear me ! how clumsy you are !" declared the lady. " Do let it alone ; you are pulling it all out of shape."

They were at the Music Hall now, and the carriage stopped : The frown disappeared from the lovely face, which a moment later wore its most winning smile, as the proud husband trudged behind it, with lover-like devotion, as they were being ushered to their seats. It was a brilliant and crowded house, and Maud was triumphant ; conscious that she was the cynosure of many eyes.

Of the evening's entertainment there is nothing to record. The melting sounds of a wonderously sweet human voice, rose and fell like silvery wavelets on the air, applauded to the echo. The delighted audience dispersed, some to remember the almost seraphic notes, and more to forget everything but the scene and the occasion.

Of the latter number, was Mrs. Charles Raymond, who at a later hour, in the privacy of her own room, chatted of the event with remarkable fluency.

They sat before an open fire, enjoying a dainty lunch which had been set for them. Both were in a most enviable frame of mind. He had been very proud of his young wife, and she perfectly satisfied with the homage of admiring eyes.

" I never saw such a pretty dress as Patti wore to night !" was her first profound remark, "and such a train as it had ! why, it reached almost across the stage ! and such diamonds ! and so many of them ! I do believe she had fifty ! I wonder how I should look, dressed in that style ?"

"You look better just as you are!" declared the husband, with something like disapprobation in his tone. " I should be sorry to see you looking quite so formidable ; but she sings like a Bobolink !"

"She has an elegant voice!" responded the wife, with frank enthusiasm. "Perfectly elegant!" and then proceeded to enumerate the people she had recognized in the crowded house, with much more unimportant gossip, quite irrelevant to this narrative.

" I have something to tell you," the husband inter rupted. "Something, that interests me a good deal, just now."

" Something to tell me ? Have you really some thing nice to tell me, Charley ?" and she sprang into his lap like an eager child, and put both arms coaxingly around his neck " " and you have been keeping it all this time ?"

" Because you did not ask for it !"

" Well, I do now, and I just guess it's new furni ture :" and she looked smiling and expectant.

He smiled too, yet not so brightly. " No, you have not guessed," he said, " I hardly know where to begin, 'tis a long story."

" A story ?" she querried, disappointedly. " I thought it was something new."

"It will be new to you !" he said, looking into her eyes, with a kind of tender yearning for something that was not there.

"Well, begin then !' she coaxed, combing her slen der fingers through his shaggy and mottled beard.

The story-teller hesitated, looking half amusedly, half thoughtfully down at the eager face. Then said impressively :

" Once upon a time — "

Maud now settled herself to listen, with the interest that a child exhibits in a fairy-tale.

She liked stories of the right sort, perhaps only less than new clothes and furniture.

He repeated, " Once upon a time, there was an old parson living upon a mountain, which overlooked a large city.

On this mountain, he had a fine vineyard, and under it, a vast mine of coal. Now the parson was both very pious, and very shrewd, and while he preached and prayed to save the souls of people, he trafficked pretty industriously in his worldly wares, to minister to their bodily needs, and I suspect, laid up consider able treasure in two worlds.

This good man built him a fine airy house, large and strong, with a wide porch running all around it. At the right, were substantial outhouses, and at the left and behind it, a thrifty orchard.

Here, three noisy children romped, free as the rabbits, which played hide-and seek with them. Their names might have had something to do with their antics"

" What was that ?" inquired Maud.

" Fox, — and the old parson used to say : ' It is the little foxes that spoil the vines' , — when he found them, as he often did, trailing upon the ground.

Whoever gained this eyrie, took a steam car at the end of a long, filthy, city street — which this mountain seemed to have sat down upon — and shot straight upward, as if starting for the moon."

" It is like an old fashioned story book !" declared Maud, " I expect there was a glass house up there, and a giant."

" No, nothing of that sort. It was an every-day sort of a place : a pretty home, once — "

"A more sympathetic listener than Maud would have detected a note of tenderness in the last words : but she only said by way of encouragement :

"Well!"

And he proceeded :

"The children were two sons and a daughter, and there was another, — an elder half-brother ; son of the same mother by a former husband. Now, as the young Foxes matured, — and like that animal grew wily with experience and age, and the poor mother overweighted with care, had crept into the grave — this boy dropped suddenly out of that altitude, into the great world below.

TO " THE BRKAI) WINNERS. 21

The eldest and slyest of the Foxes — the one in after years dubbed ' the old Fox' remained, and does to this day, foraging in his native mountains."

" Is it true !" asked Maud, disappointedly.

"Well, it is not exactly a French novel," decided the story-teller, pausing reflectively, "but I will chris ten it : 'An American romance, founded on fact.'"

This sounded rather taking ; — a little fiction mixed with facts, rendered them more palatable.

" Well !" she encouraged again.

"The sister married, and settled in an Eastern City," he resumed ; " the youngest Fox, — a burly shock-headed pugilist — "

"Why, Charley! you look just as if you knew and hated him," interrupted Maud.

He smiled ; " do you know, that is a compliment to my powers of description ? These characters begin to be instinct with life. Well, this martial Fox — he married young. He married temper : married tongue.

" See" said he : " how your praise inspires me ? I drop into verse — the highest style of composition, quite unconsciously."

"I don't like verses as well," Maud frankly confess ed, lest he might proceed in that style if not promptly checked.

" Take it just as you like," said the amiable man, and returning to plain prose, proceeded :

" He brought his bride to his mountain home ; where, independent of other society, they succeeded in making it tolerably lively for each other, and I suspect enjoyed a good deal of operatic music never advertised on the boards.

In course of time a son and daughter were born to this fond pair, and named respectively for a king and queen of Ancient History. And now, strange to relate ! domestic life, however exciting, or stirring it may have been, lost its interest for the lady. Society attracted her, but unfortunately, society was unrespon sive to her magnetic powers.

She pondered the subject ; brought in artificial aids — books of etiquette, and practised, when by herself, pleasant intonations of voice.

'But Fox' ! — Ox, she would say angrily, — "

"Oh!" laughed Maud, "how do you know what people do, and say, when they are alone ?"

"Guess at it!" he replied promptly; "that is, reason from the premises : she has a voice like an angel when in society ; which voice was never heard by friend or foe in the home. Therefore, it must of necessity have been acquired by private practice. Is not that logical ? and I suppose she dropped the initial letter of that name because the man suggests that animal, rather than the other ; — with his staring, wide-set eyes ; broad heavy shoulders, and general obstinate tough-hidedness ; and she being an ingenious woman, could not fail to apply it.

I am certain too, that on these occasions of self-examination, she recognized the fact, that this animal had no manners ; that he was not likely to acquire the high state of polish necessary to her ambitious aims ; situated as he was, and surrounded by home influence. Thus, foreign travel became imperative.

And they travelled : sojourned in Europe several years, — it was reported here ' to educate the children' (?)

Then the parson died and they came back to the old home. This was about a year ago. They brought back great spoils, from those foreign parts : pictures and curosities of all sorts."

" Bric-a-brac" corrected Maud.

"Well, bric-a-brac ! The house is quite a museum: and they have books, in all foreign languages !

It is wonderful what progress people make abroad.

I think we must cross the ocean, Maud !" he said, looking quizzically into the now listless face.

The story was growing a little monotonous ; he made an effort to rouse the flagging interest.

"I would just love to !" she said.

" I now come to the very pith and marrow of my story : the denouement, we literary fellows call it : I, Charles Raymond, am the elder half-brother to this family of foxes and one of the heirs to this estate. It was my mother's inheritance."

"Why ! you never told me you had any relations," exclaimed Maud excitedly.

" Well, you see my dear ! as relatives, they are not precious," confessed the husband, half sadly. "But we have some interests in common : and this estate, is becoming valuable.

The city that I mentioned is one of great import ance as a manufacturing center, and takes rank among the first in the Union, for substantial wealth and prominent industries.

It is a dingy place — generally in eclipse, from the combined effects of smoke and fog ; and, as if to pre vent the blemishing of any other part of God's fair creation, 'Thus far shalt thou go, and no farther!' has been spoken by the everlasting hills, which keep watch and guard around it.

Now the denizens have become restless ; they want to escape ; and here within easy access, lies our fine elevated, rolling land."

"You said it was a mountain !" corrected Maud.

"Well it is called a Mount, and I only added a syllable ; but you must not suppose it a Himalaya. It is just a charming location for a suburban town ; and that is what we propose to make of it."

Here, the story-teller seemed to forget his vocation, and relapsed into a thoughtful silence, which Maud improved by tying his mottled beard under his chin ; parting his hair down the middle, and twisting his frost-toutched mustache into terribly ferocious little horns.

" It is a vast scheme !" he suddenly exclaimed, combing his fingers absently through all this pretty entanglement, "why Maud, you don't seem to realize its magnitude in the least !"

"Indeed I do!" she replied, nodding complacently: " I think it will be just immense!"

"We shall commence operations right away !" con tinued the gentleman, half in soliloquy, — a shade of disappointment flitting athwart his good natured-face like a shadow, chasing a sun-beam. " A good many lots have been sold already and quite a colony started.

There is a good school house, and a little church ; and about twenty families of the poorer sort, are now located there. But we shall lay it out regularly : build handsome residences, and business blocks, either for sale or rent, as suits best.

There is a fine quarry on the ground, and an ex cellent quality of clay for bricks. We shall put in city water, and gas, and have our own-wood-working machinery. There is a fortune in it and a huge one, if it is properly managed !" he added, knitting his brows, and looking straight before him.