Fortune's boats

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Chapter II Uncle Gabe

In a few minutes after his niece’s call Mr. Kincaid tripped lightly into the dining-room, wearing an air half jubilant, half deprecating.

‘* Well, Gabriel, that man has made a visitation!” ‘“ Aren’t you exhausted, uncle Gabe?” ‘*¢ How much did he borrow this time?” ‘ He is a fraud — a humbug, sir!” were some of the remarks offered to the gentleman by his sister and his nieces.

The Reverend Gabriel Kincaid had no size to boast of ; he was barely of medium height, slender, not to say thin, and so round-shouldered that his much-worn shiny sack coat went up in the back and sagged ungracefully in front. His clerical waistcoat and bagged-at-the-knees trousers also showed more than signs of long use. A little black silk skulleap — pushed well off his forehead, and now rakishly askew — covered uncle Gabe’s bald head, allowing just a fringe of brown hair mixed with gray to appear below its rim. Gray was in the slight brown mustache as well, and plentifully streaked the short pointed beard which its owner was so fond of stroking as he talked. Spectacles protected a pair of small, prominent, short-sighted brown eyes; and there was a fine color in uncle Gabriel’s cheeks, a jaunty smile upon his lips. This last, however, and his jubilant expression vanished at the remarks that met him, and he looked distressed.

*¢ My dears, you must not judge so harshly,” he said, in mild rebuke. ‘ You would never say such unkind things if you knew the unfortunate man’s story. He has passed through deep waters — de-ep waters!” Uncle Gabriel sighed heavily . and stroked his beard.

“ Well, now, confess,” urged Frances, who was her uncle’s favorite, shaking a saucy finger at him. “ Did n’t that ‘unfortunate ’— now don’t look as if I’d called him names — did n’t he borrow money of you to-day? Didn’t he?”

Mr. Kincaid showed signs of guilt. The bright spot of red in his cheeks deepened, and he looked deprecatingly at his women folk. “I had but a quarter to my name,” he said. ‘“ And what was that to a hungry man?”

— “Did n’tI tell you! Had it been a dollar, he ’d have gotten it just the same,” asserted Frances, with conviction. ‘ Uncle Gabe, that man comes only for what he can get out of you. He hasa horrid face —a hardened convict might look as he does.” Mr. Kincaid gave a start. ‘“ And he’s entirely too big and fat to be in a starving condition,’ went on Frances. ‘‘ Can’t make me believe that! You’ve gotten him two situations: why did n’t he keep them, and not be coming here two or three times a week, borrowing the little money you have? Wethink him a fraud, a regular humbug — and I’m almost positive he is! He is just imposing on you!”

“Oh no, he isn’t, my dear,’ returned uncle Gabriel, with equal conviction. “I wasn’t born yesterday; I understand human nature,’ with a sagacious wag of his head, “pretty well. This poor creature has had a most checkered existence —a most sad life! He has been falsely accused, been infamously wronged” —

“That ’s the story he tells; how d’ you know it’s true?” interpolated Margaret.

But Mr. Kincaid turned a deaf ear, and went on with his remarks: “ He has fallen into evil — lost his good name and his dear ones —and is now repentant and seeking the forgiveness of his God. I would have the heart of a stone, not of a fellow man, to turn from him now. What is a quarter, or a dollar, or’ — growing emphatic — “‘dollars, in comparison with the bringing of a lost son home to his Father! This poor fellow — his name is Jared Watkins” (uncle Gabe waved his hand in the direction of the hall, as if introducing his departed protégé) — “ this poor fellow. comes to me with his trials and sorrows, and his efforts toward a better life; would I be a faithful minister of the Gospel, a true follower of the Master, to turn my back on him? Now tell me that!” Mr. Kincaid finished abruptly, took off his glasses and began rubbing them vigorously with a small piece of chamois which he drew out of his coat pocket, meanwhile peering in his short-sighted fashion at his sister, who sat silent and with a contrite face.

The girls, too, though unconvinced, were silent for a brief space; then Judith said, in a tone that might be considered apologetic: ‘“‘ You see, uncle Gabe, I know all about my poor people. I go to see them in their homes, and have ways of knowing that what they tell me is true, and that the help they get is put to good use. But you do get deceived ; some of your protégés have taken a mean advantage of your kindness. And we hate to see you imposed on —again. That’s why we spoke.”

Unele Gabriel was willing to accept to the utmost all that Judith’s tone might imply. ‘“ Well — eh — well — perhaps it looks a little that way,” he reluctantly admitted, though with a kindly glance at his niece through the glasses which were once more astride his well-defined Roman nose. “ But,” brightening up, “if even only one out of ten was benefited, comforted, heartened on the way, that more than compensates for the imposition of theothernine. Doesn’tit? Eh? Better for me to be imposed on — er — occasionally,” with an airy wave of his hand, “than that I should refuse or slight one fellow creature that asks for assistance or needs it—eh?” Mr. Kincaid put his hands in the pockets of his trousers and rattled loudly the keys he had there, beaming on the family with an expression that said plainly, “ That - clinches the argument.”

Everybody smiled, while Ursula flew at her uncle, and pulling off his cap kissed the top of his bald head. <“ You dear, blessed, innocent Doctor Primrose!” she exclaimed. ‘“ Now let ’s drop the protégé, and I’ll tell you something unexpected that ’s happened to me to-day ” — which she immediately proceeded to do, encouraged to a full and detailed account by the suggestions and reminders of her mother and sisters.

Uncle Gabriel listened with the most sympathetic interest. ‘ Well — well!” he exclaimed, when Ursula finished. ‘ If this isn’t splendid news! Well, you deserve it, Ursula — you ’re a good girl. You’ll make good use of this opening; I’m glad you ’ve got it. Now you’re all breadwinners,” glancing around the circle of his nieces, “all bringing in something toward the support of the home. You, Margaret,” pointing at her with the long lean forefinger of the scholar, “are Miss Austin’s companion; Ursula, you have only to go on as you’ve begun and you’ll be a noted writer yet; you, Judith, have your visiting among the poor — which should prove as helpful to you as to them; Ruth has her beautiful art embroidery ; and Frances ”—

“And Frances is the dummy of the family,” interrupted that young person, with unexpected heat, and clutching the unsuspecting Miss Weewee to her with cruel force (which that feline immediately resented by making a precipitous descent over the shoulder against which she had been resting). ‘Frances can do nothing but take the hard-earned money of her sisters to pay for singing lessons — money that she may never be able to return! I’m the only drone in the hive. If you people could know how mean I feel sometimes!”

“ Why, Francie, child, you are my right hand, here at home!”’ “* Now, Frances, don’t you say such silly and unkind things!” ‘ Would n’t you do as much for one of us?” ‘And when you know the hopes we all centre in you!” cried the mother and sisters, in respective tones of encouragement and exasperation.

Mr. Kincaid threw a glance of mild rebuke at his favorite, and calmly continued his remarks. ** Now if I could but find a parish, we would all be doing well,” he said.

“ Why, uncle Gabe, I thought you were editing two papers!” exclaimed Margaret. ‘You told me so once, when I was at home.”

“Yes, my dear, he does edit two papers,” put in Judith, before her uncle could reply.‘ But they are so poorly off for funds and have so small a circulation that the editor’s salary comes in spasmodic, semi-no-time payments. That’s the Hebrew paper. The Italian one has never paid him acent. And the car fares the dear creature has spent going to the office —it’s away downtown, by the river — the time and trouble and money he has expended on the poor Italians who read the paper and come to him with their tales of woe, can neither be counted nor measured! Sometimes he has three and four of them at a time, out in the hall. And they are always the hungriest people!” Judith gave her twin sister a little reminiscent nudge, and they both laughed. ;

“It’s a shame for uncle Gabe to be wasting his talents in such work,” declared Ruth, in her soft, slow voice. ‘“ He should be president of some college, or have a professorship” — The sentence broke off abruptly, at a warning glance from Margaret. In one short year, long ago, while holding a professorship in a Western college, uncle Gabriel had lost his young wife and little son, and had suffered a grievous wrong as well, and the wounds were still tender. ‘“* He — he — knows so many languages,” finished Ruth lamely.

But it is doubtful if Mr. Kincaid had heard her. He stood looking out at the patch of blue sky which was visible through the western window, and thoughtfully stroking his beard. |

“You see, Margaret, it’s this way,” he said, turning and addressing his eldest niece. ‘‘ The Hebrews pay me whenever they ’ve got the money. They are thoroughly honest. When they have n’t got it, why, I can’t expect it. The Italians can’t pay me, for the simple reason that they ’ve barely enough to keep the paper afloat — to pay for paper, printing, ete. Only one man gets paid, and,” stoutly, “he ought to be; he can’t find another thing to do, and he has a wife and child to support.”” (Uncle Gabriel did not add, as he might have done, that he had voluntarily made over his salary as editor in chief to this man, though still cheerfully and faithfully fulfilling all the duties of the post.) “ And if I gave up the paper it would go to pieces,’ went on Mr. Kincaid; “for, you know, my dear,’ with the most innocent, unconscious egoism, “it is n’t everybody who has my knowledge of languages. Never been the slightest trouble to me to learn a language! Let me see;” he stopped stroking his beard, and began counting on his long thin fingers : “* English, French, German, Italian — those I speak almost equally well. Greek, Latin, Hebrew, Sanskrit, 1 know thoroughly; Spanish and the Norse tongues I read. More than ten in all!” Sticking his hands in his pockets, uncle Gabriel rattled his keys loudly and beamed upon his niece, bright-eyed and smiling — in simple, - genuine admiration of what he called his “ gift.” “Seems if I ought to make something out of all that, doesn’t it?” he asked proudly. ‘ Why, Helmud, you know — President Helmud, of Harvan College — used to say to me, again and again: ‘ Kineaid, I’d give a good deal for your knowledge of languages. It’s phenomenal!’ And there is n’t a man-jack that comes into that little river office, no matter what part of Italy he hails from, that I can’t talk to him, and understand and be understood by him. It’s just a gift I have — in liberal measure, too—ha! ha!” Then a shade fell upon uncle Gabriel’s expressive face; his eyes returned to the blue patch of sky. ‘“ But I’d give it all up to-morrow, to have a parish,” he said wistfully,

“Don’t you be disheartened, Gabriel,” came in Mrs. Jeffrey’s quiet tones. ‘ You'll get a parish yet, and all the better one for having waited so long for it.” !

“I’m not looking for a soft berth,” put in her brother hastily. ‘1 want a parish where will be plenty of work. I’m not afraid of it, so long as I can still have a little time for study. I’m not too old for hard work; you know I’m several years this side of fifty, Etta. I’m a good way yet from the ‘dead line.’” Uncle Gabe held his thin little figure erect for a few minutes, and straightened his stooping shoulders. ‘ You do think I'll get a parish? I don’t look too old to have one, do I?” he asked, with an earnestness that was pathetic. His eyes passed swiftly over five of his women folk, and finally rested upon Judith. The | critical faculty was strongest in her; she was not so easily influenced by emotion. ‘“ Do I?” he repeated, addressing his question to her.

And while the rest of the family waited, in surprise that she did not at once respond, Judith looked carefully at her uncle.

‘* Well, uncle Gabe,” she remarked presently (calmly ignoring Francie’s outburst of “ Oh, do, for goodness’ sake, say something!” ), “I don’t see why you should n’t be called to a parish ; you certainly do not look superannuated. There are a good many gray hairs in your beard, but except for that, it seems to me, as far as I can remember, that you don’t look one day older than you did ten years ago, when I was a little girl. No, you are certainly not too old to have a parish, and do good work in it, too.”

Mr. Kincaid blew kisses to his niece from his finger tips. ‘I shall remember you in my will, Judith,” he remarked facetiously ; then went over and stooped himself before the low, narrow mirror in the sideboard. “ H’m!” he murmured uneasily, stroking his beard and turning his head from side to side to obtain different views. ‘There area good many gray hairs in it. More gray than brown — I should n’t wonder.”

The door that led into the kitchen slowly opened, and from behind the screen which stood before it appeared the short square figure of a girl whose light flaxen braids were folded flat against the back of her head,and whose round stolid blue eyes turned interrogativcly on her mistress.

“Time for set table—no?” she asked, with a strong German accent.

*¢ Why, there ’s Gretchen! I had no idea ’t was so late!” exclaimed Mrs. Jeffrey, beginning hurriedly to fold up her sewing. ‘“ Francie, stay and help me straighten things, will you, dear? The rest of you good people will please go into the sitting-room and remain there until tea is ready. How dark it has grown! Light the gas in our hall, Ursula.”

It was as the light flared into existence, with her hand still upstretched to the gas fixture, that Ursula whispered over her shoulder to Margaret, “ Marnie, Jim is coming this evening — right after tea.”” Her tone was that of one who imparts pleasant news, but Margaret’s eyebrows went. together in a quick frown, and the color sprang warm and vivid into her cheeks.

“I do wish I could be at home for one visit — just one — without Jim Ivors having to come poking in!” she cried angrily, with an impatient, petulant shake of her shoulders.

_ “Why, Margaret!” exclaimed Ursula, in great surprise, wheeling sharply round upon her sister, the burnt match still between her fingers. ‘To feel that way about dear old Jim that we ’ve known ever since we were born — Jim who cares so much for you! You should be ashamed to talk so. This is something new — what’s come over you?” Her keen eyes searched the beautiful face that was so provokingly unreadable. ‘You don’t half appreciate Jim,” Ursula said severely.

“Very likely not —I never pretended to,” retorted the perverse Margaret, walking away.

And presently, after staring for several minutes in a thoughtful, absent-minded fashion at the burnt match, Ursula threw it away, and followed her sister into the sitting-room.

Chapter III Only Jim Ivors

THE Jeffreys’ drawing-room was a cosy place. There were a few somewhat worn but handsome pieces of furniture in it, which, at the sale made necessary by Mr. Jeffrey’s sudden death, a few years ago, had been bought in and presented to the widow and children by his creditors. These —among them was a fine upright piano — filled a good deal of space, but added greatly to the interest of the small room, as did the quaint silver lamp, some rare bits of old family china, and the two or three good pictures which hung upon the walls. There were window seats, of home manufacture, covered with pretty, inexpensive material, and on them plump cushions to make the recesses inviting. Bright-colored cushions heaped up on the lounge partly concealed its faded cover, and lent picturesque color to the surroundings. A banjo, in its green baize jacket, stood in a corner near the piano, and there were books, on book-shelves and tables, in plenty.

The care of this apartment fell chiefly upon - Frances, it being the family dictum that that young person had “ wonderfully good taste in arranging a room;” and Francie’s opinion of the little drawing-room had been frequently expressed. “Tt isn’t grand,” she would say, pausing for a last look, dust-cloth and feather duster in hand, “but,” her eyes lingering in affectionate pride on each cherished object, ‘‘ anybody would know it belonged to refined people.”

And on this evening the little room fully justified her estimate of it, with the silver lamp shedding abroad its soft glow, and in the air the delightful fragrance of the one large rose which stood in a tall slender vase on the mantelpiece.

The two men who had come in to spend the evening congratulated themselves on being in such comfortable quarters. In his inner consciousness Carter Ferris was classifying them as “ bang up,” and Jim Ivors’s eyes traveled with great satisfaction around the room, which was his ideal of home, coming back to rest longest on Margaret’s beautiful face as she lounged in the old-fashioned “ spindle” chair.

Jim was in fine spirits. Margaret’s presence had always that effect upon him, and besides, to-night he had a piece of “ good luck” to impart that he felt sure would be of more than ordinary interest to his friends; some hopes and plans to discuss with one of them, the mere thought of which set his big happy heart thumping heavily against his ribs, and filled him with a restless longing for the end of the evening, when he expected to take Margaret back to the Austins’. By nature Jim was a cheerful creature ; care sat lightly upon him. He enjoyed his profession of artist, and that it brought in barely enough to live on had, until within the last few years, been to him a matter of small moment. But now — well, now that consideration was of supreme importance. Jim’s habits were simple, his dress indifferent, his main idea on that subject, as far as himself was concerned, being that clothes were made to be worn out. To-night, his gay-colored necktie was faded and worn, and there were faded daubs of color on his black velvet painting jacket, as Margaret noted. “The idea of his wearing that jacket here, and those trousers! ” she thought, looking at him with new, severely critical eyes. ‘“* Who but Jim Ivors would ever wear such light trousers in winter! Why doesn’t he dress like Carter Ferris and — and — well, other people ?”’

Not being conscious of her criticism Jim was undisturbed by it, and his gayety infected the rest of the company. Sitting down to the piano he went through his répertoire of songs — four, and all to the same accompaniment — trolling out the words that came in the lower notes, and dropping into a full sweet whistle where the melody changed into an upper key.

Stimulated by Jim’s example, others in the company began contributing to the general entertainment. Carter played dashing dance tunes that set everybody’s feet twinkling under their chairs; and dragging her uncle into the little square corner of the outer hall, Frances whirled him around until the reverend gentleman’s untrained heels flew out wildly, and he cried for mercy. After that the same young lady favored the company with a spring song of Chaminade’s, rendered in a voice so sweet, so clear and true, that the sisters looked at each other with open pride. Uncle Gabriel was persuaded to sing his favorite ‘‘ Three Kings of Orient We,” and Judith followed with — some wild, weird Norse music.

It was under cover of this last that Jim made an opportunity for a few words with Margaret. ““Pegoie, 1’ve got a fine piece of luck for you,” he whispered. “Ill tell you all about it soon’s we have a chance to tallkk— when I’m seeing you home by and” —

“That necktie you ’ve got on looks as if you’d given it hard service,” interrupted Margaret, quickly and irrelevantly. She eyed her friend closely as he knelt near her chair, at the low music rack, balancing a pile of more or less dilapidated sheet music on one of his knees clad in the objectionable light trousers. Ostensibly Jim was hunting for a song for Frances ; in reality his hand was turning the sheets aimlessly, his merry brown eyes gazing up at Margaret, full of an expression which to-night she did not care to see. Jim was handsome, she was compelled to admit to herself, but — “ It is black with age, and all frayed,” she continued severely. ‘“ I do think you might take a little more interest in your appearance.”

“ Why, you said you liked this red tie on me!” exclaimed Jim in surprise, patting his neckgear, and lines of perplexity furrowing his broad white forehead that was in such contrast to the ruddy face below it.

“ Because a thing is becoming is no reason for putting it on and wearing it until it literally falls to pieces,” remarked Margaret austerely. ‘“ Every time I’ve seen you, for weeks, you have had on that tie. Don’t you know that ‘variety is the spice of life’ ?” 3

Jim did not mention that the red tie had been donned so continuously in the hope of finding favor in her eyes, should they meet during the hours of each day when he left his bare little studio and

haunted Washington Square, where lived the Austins. Instead he gave the limp music on his knee an impatient shove, which sent it sliding to the floor. ‘Oh, bother clothes!” he observed brusquely. “ Life is too short to be worrying over such trifles.”’

“Oh, very well; just as you like,” retorted his companion coolly.

But to be annoyed with Margaret, to-night especially, was not easy to Jim. “Say, Peggie,” he whispered presently, persuasively, to induce the fair, averted face to turn again on him, “d’ you remember that quaint little table you fancied, the - last evening I took you home — the antique we saw in Bowles’s window — with the slender twisted legs and a flap to lift up? Well’? —there was a happy, triumphant note in Jim’s voice, the music still lay unheeded on the floor, and his hand was on the arm of the spindle chair —“I know your weakness for tables in general, that table in particular, and — I ’ve bought it.”

Margaret turned sharply on him. “Jim! —- that dear little table?”’ she exclaimed, with sparkling eyes.

Jim set his lips together in a funny, prim fashion that he had when very much pleased, and nodded at her. ‘That one, and no other,” he assured her. ‘* You wanted it, so I invested as soon as I could. Now that makes — let me see”? — resting an elbow on the chair, to balance himself, he began counting on his palm — “ this table, the little cabinet to hang against the wall, the threecornered chair, the old sofa (that ll have to be reupholstered), two cushions, and a screen. Accumulating, isn’t it? And I don’t let the fellows sit on or handle those things, Peggie — you understand?”’ Jim was very fond of that expression. “ Except when I use any of ’em in a picture they ’re in a corner of the studio, well covered up, waiting for’? — his voice dropped to the merest whisper, but such a happy whisper ! — ‘“‘ you know what for, Peggie!”

But with a sudden, impetuous movement Margaret was gone — out of the chair, out of the room —leaving Jim, still on his knees, to gaze wonderingly after her, and then begin hurriedly shuffling the limp music into a disorderly pile.

“Oh, if I could only have mother to myself for ten minutes, even, I’d tell her everything,” thought Margaret, as she sped through the rooms. Yet, when she reached the dining-room, it was with almost a sense of relief that she found uncle Gabriel there and Ruth, besides her mother. Of course, she told herself, while they were there a confidential talk was impossible.

“ Well, daughter, the home visit is slipping fast away. I wish I could make it twice as long. I miss my first baby,’ Mrs. Jeftrey said affectionately, smiling up into Margaret’s flushed face. * Let those gay people in the sitting-room do without you fora while ; sit down here by me, and we ll have a quiet little talk.” She motioned to a chair by her side, into which the tall daughter — immediately dropped. ‘ You say the Austins are invariably kind and considerate; are you sure you re happy there, my dear?” With a swift intuition the mother eyes searched Margaret’s countenance.

«Suppose you and I adjourn to the giddy crowd in the front room,” Mr. Kincaid proposed to Ruth, laying down the newspaper he had been scanning. “T presume that piece of embroidery could be held over until to-morrow.”

There was a simultaneous outcry. “Oh, you need n’t go, uncle Gabe!” and, “ Why, Margaret has n’t anything to say to mother that the rest of - us can’t hear!” exclaimed the two girls — Margaret hastily, almost appealingly, Ruth in a soft yet injured drawl, at the mere suggestion of a secret from the family. Further discussion of the subject was prevented by the appearance of Ursula and Jim. ‘“ It’s so warm in there that we thought we ’d come out and get a breath of fresh air,” explained Ursula for the benefit of all, but with a pointed look of reproof at her elder sister, which that young woman calmly ignored.

' “ Anyway, I’d rather be here —so cosy out here, and — and quiet,” brilliantly remarked Jim, appropriating the empty chair beside Margaret. “You’re a nice one to run off in that fashion!” he said to her in a reproachful undertone, but with imploring eyes which Margaret refused to see.

Jim was a prime favorite with Mrs. Jeffrey; she had known him from his juvenile days of knickerbockers and tops and marbles, and her interest in his artistic success was great. He still retained his childish name of “aunt Jeffa” for Mrs. Jeffrey, and found a welcome in the home whenever he chose to claim it, which was very often. Now, at sight of her favorite, the good lady’s thoughts instantly turned to hospitality.

“Ruth, get some glasses and ice water, and a bottle of my orange syrup,” she said. ‘“ Perhaps Jim would like to taste it.”

“ Would I? Just try me!” declared Jim, in an ecstatic tone that signified orange syrup was the one beverage in life for which he craved.

But he was not to enjoy it this evening.

While Ruth was setting the glasses on the table, and uncle Gabriel was valiantly drawing the cork of the home-made syrup, the party received a sudden reinforcement. Frances came dashing through the short entry, and, pausing at the door, regarded the signs of festivity with an indignation that promptly found voice.

“Well, of all mean people!” she exclaimed feelingly, addressing her sisters. ‘To steal away one after another, and leave poor Judy and me to do all the entertaining! And here you are enjoying yourselves — orange syrup, and everything ! I’m going to stay here and have a good time, too,” taking a seat by the table as she spoke.

“You ll see Judith pretty soon,” Frances went on, with a warning shake of the head. “She’s talked Art and Music ” — her tone signified capitals — “‘ to that man ”— she suddenly remembered he was Jim’s friend — “ that — er — Mr. Ferris — until she’s fairly exhausted. I know she is. I stayed to help her, and stared at him until my eyes felt as if they were crossed, and [ really could n’t swallow any more yawns; then I had to come out. Mother’ — Francie’s tone grew severe— “1 do think the girls should go in. Judy ’ll be perfectly raving, to’ve been left alone so long. Could n’t we have the orange syrup in the front room?”