The rival brothers

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I. The Man in the Cloak . 5

II. A Christmas Gift . 15

Chapter I. The Mah Im The Cloak

•f- he drear and dark December day was ending in a ■drearier and darker evening. A bitter frost blackened the earth, wrathful clouds blackened the sky, leafless trees rattled their skeleton-arms in long and lamentable blasts, and the river rolling along, turbid and troubled, tossed its black surges and moaned dismally up on the black sands. Everything looked ghastly and dismal, in the gray, spec¬ tral twilight ; the lonely little river-side village lying life¬ less under the gaunt, stripped trees ; the long, lonesome country-road, winding kn and out among deserted fields and soddy marshes ; the bleak hills in the background, and the bleaker sandy level in the foreground, with noth¬ ing of life near but the solitary little way-station, on whose platform a red light burned.

Of all lonely way-stations, undisturbed from dawn to dark except when the train came screaming through, there could scarcely be found one lonelier than the little station in the sandy level at the village of Riverside. In the pleasant summer-time, when the sun shone on the white sands, the cows grazed in the grass meadows, and the birds sung in the waving trees, it was a pleasant spot enough ; but now, with the December snow falling ghostly around it, you might have searched long before you could find a more solitary or deserted spot. In summer-time, the train from the city never arrived without stopping to set down sporting young Gothamites, armed with fishingrods and tackle ; for Riverside was famous for trout and pretty girls, and young .New Yorkers found it a very

THE RIVAL BROTHERS.

enlivening way to pass the dog-days, angling for one and making love to the other. But in December, when the trout-streams were ice-bound, the pretty girls unwilling to redden their dear little noses by exposure to Jack Frost’s kisses, and the opera and theater in full blast in the Empire City, young New York stayed at home, and the train passed through, evening after evening, without landing any one at the lonesome station.

On this particular December evening, the clerk sat in his little den, with one or two especial friends, smoking clay pipes, while waiting for the last down-train. A. few passengers sat in the waiting-room, reading the Riverside Mercury , or talking, to while away the tedious interval, or looking at the snow falling in feathery flakes on the frost-blackened ground. The cylinder-stoves in the clerk’s office and waiting-room were heated red-hot, and the lamps were flaring cheerful defiance to the growing gloom with¬ out.

“ I say, Mr. Station-master, ain’t the cars late to-night ? ” asked a burly passenger, putting his head in at the officewindow.

The clerk looked at the little clock fastened to the wall, and took his pipe from between his lips.

“ It’s only half-past four, sir ; they’ll be along directly. Oh, here they come now.”

Everything was in commotion directly. Everybody was on his feet ; overcoats were donned, carpet-bags and valises were seized, and a general stampede made for the platform. With the unearthly yell of a demon, the ex¬ pected train rushed in and stopped, and the faces of the passengers looked out through the steamed and blurred windows at the Riverside station. The people in the waiting-room bustled in, and the loafers smoking with the clerk watched them go.

“ No one for Riverside, I’ll be bound,” one of them said ; <tf city folks don’t think it worth while to stop at our village when the cold weather comes.”

The speaker was mistaken. Before he had ceased speak¬ ing, a man stepped from the cars on the platform, and entered the waiting-room to light a cigar. With another frightful shriek the train sped on its way, and the clerk and his friends came in out of the cold winter air, to the warm influence of the red-hot cylinders.

THE MAN IN THE CLOAK.

The traveler who had stopped was tall and commanding of figure, with the unmistakable air and bearing of a gentleman. He was young, too, and very good-looking ; and th? long traveling-cloak he wore, with its deep, furred collar, became his fine form well. A fur cap was pulled over his eyes ; and as he drew off one of his warm travel¬ ing-gloves, the clerk and his friends had their eyes dazzled by the blaze of a diamond ring on a hand while and shapely as a lady’s. Ilis sole journeying equipage seemed to consist of his cigar-case, from which lie leisurely selected a weed, and lit it at one of the flaring lamps.

“ A sharp night, sir,” the clerk suggested respect ful-v. a little awed by the striking figure and flashing diamond, “ won’t you sit down and take an air of the fire ? ”

“ I’m not cold, thank you,” the tall stranger said, pull¬ ing out a superb gold hunting-watch, and glancing at li e hour. “ Twenty minutes to five, and dark already ! Good night to you.”

Drawing on his glove again, and puffing away ener¬ getically, the gentleman walked out of the waiting-room. The clerk and his friends went to the window and looked out after him — in the gloom of the winter night they could see him striding through the falling snow, with tremendous sweep of limb, in the direction of the village.

“An uncommon swell, that,” one of them said, going back to the stove. “Did you notice that ’ere ring on his little finger ! It cost a few dimes, did that flasher, I’ve a notion.”

“ What brings him to Riverside, I wonder ? ” remark* d another. “There’s no fishing or partridge-shooting now, and he looks too grand to come on any other business.”

“Seems to me I’ve seen that young chap before,” said the clerk, meditating. “It ain’t his first visit to River side, or he’d never know the road to the village so wel: Should like to know where lie’s going when he gets there.

“To the Golden Swan, most likely,” said the first speaker. “ Go on with that story you were telling us, Johnson, when the train came in.”

The “ Golden Swan ” was the only hotel in Riverside, and the gentleman’s suggestions were correct ; it was to that establishment the stranger went. It was nearly a mile from the station to the hotel, over the bleakest of roads, with the ghostly snow falling noiselessly, and the

THE RIVAL BROTHERS.

winter-wind rattling through the bare trees, but the young man walked on, heeding the cold and the darkness very little, straight to where the red light streamed out from the crimson-curtained windows of the bar-room. As he opened the door unceremoniously, the blaze of illumination from lamp and fire dazzled him for a moment, accustomed as he had become to the outer darkness. Some half-dozen men, with the landlord at their head, playing cards round a table, looked up, and stared curiously at the newcomer, who was stamping the snow off his boots in the door¬ way.

“ Good evening, stranger,” the landlord said, lying down his cards and standing up. “Walk in and take a chair.”

“ Til take something more substantial, Mr. Jarvis,” answered the stranger, advancing; “my supper, if you have no objection. Traveling such a night as this is hungry business.”

The landlord looked puzzled and curious. “ You seem to know me, sir,” he said, eying the tall stranger in the cloak. “You have the advantage of me, for I don’t know your name.”

“ You used to, then,” said the young man, “and not so long ago, either.”

He lifted his fur cap as he spoke, and Mr. Jarvis gave a shout of recognition at sight of his handsome face, and came forward with extended hand.

“ Bless my heart, captain, is it you ? Who’d ever thought of seeing you here at this time o’ year ? How uncommon well you are looking, too.”

“ Thank you, Jarvis ; I feel tolerable well, I allow. How is Mrs. Jarvis and pretty Lizzie ?”

“First-rate, cap’n, and rare glad they’ll be to see you, too. I say, old woman,” Mr. Jarvis yelled, putting his head in at an open door from which issued a powerful odor of fried ham and a clatter of cups and saucers, “and you, Liz, come and see who’s here.”

A dumpy little woman, with a white muslin cap and brass-rimmed spectacles, followed by a dumpy little dam¬ sel, with rosy cheeks and bare, plump arms, responded to this call, bearing the odor of ham and tea in every fold of their check aprons and gingham gowns. Mrs. Jarvis gave a little cry, and Lizzie uttered an exclamation at

THE MAN IN THE CLOAK.

sight of the visitor, who stood, chapeau in hand, smiling before them.

“Land of hope!” Cap’ll Forrest,” Mrs. Jarvis shrilly cried, “ where on airth did you drop from this time o’ night ? ”

“ I knew she’d be flabbergasted on sight o’ you,” re¬ marked Mr. Jarvis, nodding delightedly. “ Lizzie, why don’t you come over and shake hands with Cap’ll Forrest ? ”

Lizzie, her rosy cheeks considerably rosier than their wont, came shyly forward, holding out a plump hand, which the good-looking young captain shook with a warmth a trifle greater than he had given to papa and mamma.

“ Very glad to see you agaiu, Lizzie, and as blooming as ever, too. I couldn’t forget you, you see,” lowering his voice, and giving the plump hand a parting squeeze, “and so had to come back to Riverside.”

“ And how’s all the other young gentlemen, cap’ll, and where have you been ever since last summer ?” inquired Mrs. Jarvis, dusting a chair with her apron for him to sit down.

“ They were all well when I left them, Mrs. Jarvis ; and as for me, I have been knocking about the world in my old vagabond style, never very long anywhere.”

“ And you haven’t gone back to England yet ? y

Captain Forrest laughed, displaying a set of brilliant white teeth.

“ I have not gone back to England yet. I like New York too well for that. But, Mrs. Jarvis, I’m hungry, and smell cooking within there, so - ”

He made a laughing motion to enter, and all the hostess was aroused in dumpy little Mrs. Jarvis at once.

“To be sure, cap’n ; to be sure. Whatever could I be thinking of, not to know you must be hungry. Come right in, and you’ll have your supper in five minutes. Lizzie, run and look after those biscuits. I expect the ham’s burned to a crisp by this time.”

Lizzie and her mother flew back to the inner apartment, and Captain Forrest lingered for a moment to speak to mine host.

“ I am going back to New York by the up-train, Jarvis ; what time does it pass ? ”

IO

THE RIVAL BROTHERS.

“Nine o’clock, cap’n ; but ain’t you going to stay all night ? ”

“ Can’t, unfortunately. I came down on business. Can you have the gig in readiness by the time I get through supper ? I have a few miles to go, and shall not stop this way again. I can leave it in charge of the clerk at the railway-station.”

“ Certainly, cap’n, but I should like to have you stay. It’s too bad you should leave us in such a hurry.”

“The loss is mine, Mr. Jarvis ; nothing would give me more pleasure than staying, but business before pleasure, you know.”

“ I did not think Captain Forrest ever had any weightier business than fooling silly girls,” said Mr. Jarvis, with knowing eyes ; and the handsome young captain laughed.

“ I’m a reformed character, Mr. Jarvis ; don’t look so dubious ; it’s the truth, I assure you. And now for some¬ thing to satisfy the inner man.”

Throwing his cloak over the back of a chair, and his cap and gloves thereon, he strolled into the next room, humming an air. The moment his back was turned, Mr. Jarvis was besieged with questions.

“ I don’t know much about him,” that gentleman said, resuming his seat and his cards, “ except that he is an uncommon fine young gentleman, ready to spend money like a prince. He came here last summer with a lot of other young gentlemen, to fish and shoot, and stopped with us for three weeks. Ilis name is Captain Forrest, and he is an Englishman, more’s the pity ; and that’s everything I know about him. Dobson, the deal’s yours.”

While Mr. Dobson shuffled the cards and Mr. Jarvis summoned his only servant to him, who was eating pea¬ nuts and overlooking the game, to go out and fetch the gig and mare, the young gentleman, whose biography he had been giving them, was seated before a table, laden with tea and toast, ham and eggs, home-made cake and pies, discussing the viands with the appetite of a hungry traveler, while good-natured little Mrs. Jarvis stood with her fat hands on her fat sides, overlooking the perfor¬ mance with a face beaming with hospitable delight.

“ And so Riverside is the same old story,” Captain Forrest was saying ; “ no changes at all, I suppose. No¬ body dead or married, or left or settled, eh ? ”

THE MAN IN THE CLOAK.

ii

“Not many, cap’n ; folks when they settle down here don't care to leave, and new folks don't much care to come. Try the pie. I made it myself, and I know it’s good.”

“ It must be if you made it. And so there have been no changes at all ? ”

Lizzie turned round from the cookstove, over which she was bending, with a scarlet face.

“ There’s some folks moved into one of them old houses on the marsh lately, mother. Ain’t you heard of them ? ”

Mrs. Jarvis turned up her nose.

“ Oh, they’re of no account. They must be poor as Job’s turkey, whoever they are, or they wouldn’t live there. Have another cup of tea, cap’n, and try the cake.”

“ I dare say they’re poor enough,” said Lizzie, going on with her cooking, “but the young woman that's there looks like a lady, and everybody says so. She’s handsomer than anybody I ever saw before in my life.”

“ What’s her name ? ” asked Captain Forrest, looking interested.

“Nobody knows. They came a few weeks ago, four of them — an old woman, and a young one and two children. It’s the young woman that’s so handsome, and the two children, and 1 do say she looks like a lady, if she is poor.”

“ Has she ever been here ? ”

“ No ; she don’t go out much, but I’ve seen her once or twice. The old woman comes to the store sometimes for things, but nobody knows her name, or where they come from, or anything about them.”

“ And I don’t believe they’re any better than they ought to be,” struck in Mrs. Jarvis, with the usual charity of her sex ; “ where there’s secrecy there’s guilt, that’s my opinion. Do try the cakes, cap’n, won’t you ? ”

“ Couldn’t, possibly. I have done ample justice to your good things, I think, Mrs. Jarvis, and now I must bid you good-by and be off.”

Mrs. Jarvis protested loudly, and Lizzie looked un¬ speakable things under her eyelashes, but Captain Forrest was proof against both, and returned to the bar-room, where the card-party was still in full blast.

“ The boss and gig’s at the door, cap’n,” Mr. Jarvis said, “ but I don’t see why you can’t come back and stop with us a week or so. It seems kinder bad to have you come one moment and fly off the next.”

THE RIVAL BROTHERS.

“ Can’t be helped, unfortunately/’ said the young man, throwing his cloak over his shoulder, and putting on his cap and gloves ; “good-by, Mrs. Jarvis; good-by, Lizzie; don’t get married till I come back again. There’s no telling but I may take a fancy to have a wife one of these days. Good-by, Mr. Jarvis ; a thousand thanks for tbe use of the gig. You’ll find it all safe to-morrow morning at the station.”

Shaking hands all round, the young man went out, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Jarvis. The gig stood at the door, and he sprung lightly in, seized the reins, touched the horse with the whip, and shouting a last good-by, flew off and was lost in the darkness of the December night.

The snow was falling rapidly now ; and the road, running between rows of tall, black trees, looked like a silver line set in ebony. The darkness is never very dense when it snows; and though neither moon nor stars shone to show him the way, he kept the horse at full speed, and rattled rapidly on over the frosty ground. His ride was not long ; half an hour brought him to the end of the village, and the end of his journey in that direction. It was a lonely not to say dismal spot in which he chose to alight ; on one side, the river rolled turbid and black ; on the other, miry marshes spread, sloppy and sodden. Before him, the path lost itself in a frowning cedar-wood, where mur¬ ders might have been committed in broad daylight, and no one be the wiser. Yet, dismal as the marshes were, a few wretched houses were scattered here and there, from whose crooked chimneys smoke curled, and from whose broken windows lights gleamed. Only the very poor could have remained there, and fever and ague must have been the bosom-friends of their wretched inmates.

The handsome young English captain, with the diamond on his finger, one would think could have little to do with the dwellers in such a place. Yet here he chose to alight, and tying the horse to a tree, took a survey of the four or five miserable dwellings around.

“One of the houses in the marsh, they told me,” he said, to himself. “ I wonder which of them it is ; perhaps I had better take them as they come.”

There was a path through these miry, treacherous marshes — he knew it well, and struck into it at once ; for in sunuv days £one bv he had wandered there often, with

THE MAN IN THE CLOAK.

his gun on his shoulder, and his dog at his heels. It led him straight to one of the miserable dwellings — a wretched place, with tumble-down chimney, rattling doors, broken windows and leaky roof. Lights shone from two of the ruined windows — very feebly from one in the gable, and brighter from another in front. There was a white mus¬ lin shade over each, but so short and torn that the case¬ ments they adorned would have been quite as well without them, either for ornament or use. Standing on the out¬ side, you could see, if you chose, everything going 011 within ; and Captain Forrest evidently found the view interesting, for he stood gazing steadily and long. The exterior of the building was wretched enough, but the interior was wretched in the extreme. Abject poverty reared its ghastly head everywhere ; it stared at you in the rickety chairs, in the rough deal table, in the rougher trundle-bed in the corner, its miserable straw pallet covered with coarsest bedding. A tallow candle guttering in a dirty brass candlestick, shed tears of fat on the table, and its dim red light on the two women who were the only inmates of the bare and cheerless room. There was a wood fire, smoldering and smoking viciously on the hearth ; and they sat on two low stools, facing each other, one in each corner. From the position in which he stood, one was directly facing Captaiii Forrest, the other had her back to him. She whom lie saw was old, ugly, hideously wrinkled, wretchedly clad, and was emulating the chimney by puffing forth clouds of smoke from a short, blackened clay pipe. The other, with her back to him, appeared youthful of figure ; and a great cloud of golden hair, such as we see in pictures of Mary Magdalene, hung loose and disordered over her shoulders and down her back. Her dreso was as poor as that of the other ; and she cowered over the smoky fire, in a strange, distorted attitude of pain. It was a gloomy picture Captain Forrest saw, whether he looked within or without ; the bad, black night ; the ghastly white snow, ever falling, falling ; the bleak and lonesome marshes, the dismal night sky, and more dismal river roaring sullenly along, the empty and comfortless room, and the two lonely watchers over the smoky fire. No wonder he turned away with something of the surrounding gloom darkening his face.

“It is her own fault/’ he said, frowning; “why will

THE RIVAL BROTHERS.

she be a fool. But now for the children— there is no time to lose.”

He turned to the side-window, from which the feebler light shone, and looked in as he had done at the other.

Here there was neither fire nor furniture, only another trundle-bed in a corner, and another tallow candle, with a long, red wick, flaming and guttering on the floor.

Evidently he had found what he wanted, for he tried the window — it opened easily, and he stepped into the chamber. On the trundle-bed two children lay asleep, their peaceful faces looking up through a tangled pro¬ fusion of black, curling hair. He scarcely stopped a moment to look at them ; but drew from his pocket a bottle and sponge, poured some of the contents of the one on the other, and held it to the nostrils of the sleeping children. His breathing deepened ; the sweet slumber of infancy was changed to a heavy, death-like insensibility, and the young man replaced his bottle and sponge.

“ What a blessing chloroform is, judiciously adminis¬ tered!” tie muttered. “I don't think they will give much trouble for the next two hours. Now then ! ”

There was no quilt or blanket over the poor little bed, only a heavy plaid shawl, gaudy once, but faded and threadbare now. The young man wrapped the little forms closely in its ample folds, took them easily in his arms, and stepped out through the window, closed it softly, and, without waiting to cast one parting glance behind, made for his gig on the roadside.

Taking his seat, with the children on his knee, sheltered from the cold and storm by his fur-lined cloak, he started off at a break-neck pace for the railway-station.

The last up-train was just dashing in as he reached it, and he had barely time to secure his ticket and leave Mr. Jarvis’ property in charge of the clerk, before it tore off again, shrieking like a demon. He had the children, both rolled up together in the shawl, under his cloak. The sleepy passengers scarcely looked at him as he took his seat, and in ten minutes Riverside and the house on the marsh were far behind, and he and his sleeping prizes were flying along to the city.

A CHRISTMAS GIFT.

*5

Chapter II. A Christmas Gift

Christmas eve, and a cold, clear night; Bright stars shining in a bine wintry sky, a crescent moon treading its silvery way up the blue-black concave, where the con¬ stellations were flaming ; a clear, bright, bracing night, full of promise of a cloudless coming day. Christmas eve, and Broadway crowded. All gaslight, and glitter, and throbbing life ; every shop-window a picture at which you might stand entranced ; cars and stages, with their bril¬ liant-colored lights, flashing up and down like overgrown fire flies ; the pavement crowded with pedestrians, pushing, elbowing, jostling ; for Christmas eve comes but once a year, and the veriest miser must unloose his purse before the tempting stores.

A man, buttoned up to the chin in an overcoat of seal¬ skin, with a scarlet comforter wound about his neck, and a crush hat pulled down over his eyes, strode along through the surging sea of life, pushing and jostling with the best in his hurry, but never stopping as the other folk did to enter the toy-shops and confectionery and jewelry stores. No ; this man eyed all such places, as he trotted by them, with a sidelong glance of sour disdain, and pursued the even tenor of his way for a mile or so up the thronged thoroughfare. He stopped at last under a street-lamp, and pulled a card out of his pocket, which he perused with deliberation, by the aid of a pair of old-fashioned, silverrimmed spectacles. He was a little man, you could see ; thin and dark of face ; with small, piercing eyes ; thin, compressed, cynical lips, and a rapid, energetic way of doing even the smallest thing, that would have made a quiet person nervous to behold.

“Number — , Fifth avenue/’ the little man read from the card. “ I ought to be near the place now.”

Turning out of bustling Broadway, he made for the quieter avenue beside it, and walked along that aristocratic place, looking at the numbers on the houses as he went.

i6

THE RIVAL BROTHERS.

A few *niiiutesJ rapid walking, and he drew rein before a stately brown-stone front, with two lamps burning in front of its aristocratic portal. On the silver doorplate was in¬ scribed the name “ Hazelwood ” ; and the little man in the seal-skin overcoat and red woolen comforter, nothing awed by its magnificence, ran boldly up the steps and wrung a stirring reveille. A young man in livery answered the summons, and stared superciliously at the crush hat and seal-skin coat.

“ Is Mr. Hazelwood at home ! ” asked the little man, in a sharp, quick, imperative voice, no more awed by the tall young man in livery than he had been by the impos¬ ing exterior of the mansion.

“Yes, he is,” said the tall young man; “but I rather think he is engaged. Did you want to see him ?”

“ Give him that,” replied the little man, shortly, pulling out a card. “ I’ll wait here until you come back.”

It was no gilt and glittering visiting-card, but a veritable piece of pasteboard, with “Jeremiah Lance” written on it in a stiff cramped hand. The young man in livery looked at it dubiously, and then at its owner, whose peculiarly brilliant eyes were beginning to flash rather ominously behind his lunettes. Perhaps it was the fiery brightening of his glance that taught the tall young man he had better do as he was ordered : so he turned away with a slow and stately step, leaving the visitor in the doorway.

He could see a grand entrance hall, with cornished ceil¬ ing, its walls adorned with rich paintings and pretty statues, lit with blazing clusters of gas ; a wide marble staircase, with gilded railing, going up in great sweeps to the regions above ; and the warmth coming delightfully up through the register that cold December night. Before the dark, bright eyes behind the spectacles had done not¬ ing all this, the tall young man returned, and behind him a tall old man, with a handsome, fresh-colored face, white hair and beard falling over a rich, Turkish dressing-gown of many colors, slippers on feet, smoking-cap on head, a smile of cordial welcome on his lips, and his hand extended in warm greeting.

“ My dear old fellow ! My dear Lance ! what a pleasant surprise for Christmas eve ! Come in ! come in ! who in the world would ever have thought of seeing you ?”

A CHRISTMAS GIFT.

The tall young man receded into the background, quite cowed, and the little man suffered his hand to be shaken, and himself, red comforter and all, to be drawn in, with constitutional phlegm.

“How well you are looking, too ; not the least changed since we parted ten years ago ! Take off your hat and overcoat and come up-stairs. ”

By the aid of the tall young man, the visitor, who all this time had spoken never a word, was divested of his outer garment, and stood under the gas-jets in a decent suit of black broadcloth, a bald-headed, keen-looking gentleman, of some forty-five or fifty years.

“This way, Lance,” Mr. Hazelwood said, leading the way up the grand staircase. “ Of all men in the world you are the one I most wanted to see, to-night ! What will the boys say at sight of their old tutor ? ”

“Are all your sons at home, Mr. Hazelwood ?” asked, the visitor. “ I heard some of them had gone abroad.”

“ Conway has ; Conway’s inclined to be a rolling-stone, I am afraid, and will never gather much moss. He has made the grand tour — come right in this way, Lance — and goes moving from one end of the country to the other still, never long in one place. Take a seat. Have ‘you dined ? ”

The little man pulled out an old-fashioned silver watch, and eyed it with an expression of sardonic contempt at such a question.

“ I dined five hours ago, at one o’clock, the time I always dine at. I don’t pretend to be fashionable, Mr. Hazelwood ! ”