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What Can She Do?

E >> Edward Pason Roe >> What Can She Do?



Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading
Team.



The Works of E. P. Roe

VOLUME TEN

WHAT CAN SHE DO?

ILLUSTRATED





DEDICATION

IF I WERE
TO DEDICATE THIS
BOOK IT WOULD BE TO THOSE
GIRLS WHO RESOLVE THAT THEY WILL NOT
PLAY THE POOR ROLE OF MICAWBER, THEIR ONLY CHANCE FOR
LIFE BEING THAT SOME ONE WILL "TURN UP"
WHOM THEY MAY BURDEN WITH
THEIR HELPLESS
WEIGHT




PREFACE



This book was not written to amuse, to create purposeless excitement,
or to secure a little praise as a bit of artistic work. It would
probably fail in all these things. It was written with a definite,
earnest purpose, which I trust will be apparent to the reader.

As society in our land grows older, and departs from primitive
simplicity, as many are becoming rich, but more poor, the changes that
I have sought to warn against become more threatening. The ordinary
avenues of industry are growing thronged, and it daily involves a more
fearful risk for a woman to be thrown out upon the world with
unskilled hands, an untrained mind, and an unbraced moral nature.
Impressed with this danger by some considerable observation, by a
multitude of facts that might wring tears from stony eyes, I have
tried to write earnestly if not wisely.

Of necessity, it touches somewhat on a subject delicate and difficult
to treat--the "skeleton in the closet" of society. But the evil exists
on every side, and at some time or other threatens every home and
life. It is my belief that Christian teachers should not timidly or
loftily ignore it, for, mark it well, the evil does not let us or ours
alone. It is my belief that it should be dealt with in a plain,
fearless, manly manner. Those who differ with me have a right to their
opinion.

There is one other thought that I wish to suggest. Much of the fiction
of our day, otherwise strong and admirable, is discouraging in this
respect. In the delineation of character, some are good, some are bad,
and some indifferent. We have a lovely heroine, a noble hero,
developing seemingly in harmony with the inevitable laws of their
natures. Associated with them are those of the commoner or baser sort,
also developing in accordance with the innate principles of their
natures. The first are presented as if created of finer clay than the
others. The first are the flowers in the garden of society, the latter
the weeds. According to this theory of character, the heroine must
grow as a moss-rose and the weed remain a weed. Credit is not due to
one; blame should not be visited on the other. Is this true? Is not
the choice between good and evil placed before every human soul, save
where ignorance and mental feebleness destroy free agency? In the
field of the world which the angels of God are to reap, is it not even
possible for the tares to become wheat? And cannot the sweetest and
most beautiful natural flowers of character borrow from the skies a
fragrance and bloom not of earth? So God's inspired Word teaches me.

I have turned away from many an exquisite and artistic delineation of
human life, sighing, God might as well never have spoken words of
hope, warning, and strength for all there is in this book. The Divine
and human Friend might have remained in the Heavens, and never come to
earth in human guise, that He might press His great heart of world-
wide sympathy against the burdened, suffering heart of humanity. He
need not have died to open a way of life for all. There is nothing
here but human motive, human strength, and earthly destiny. We protest
against this narrowing down of life, though it be done with the
faultless skill and taste of the most cultured genius. The children of
men are not orphaned. Our Creator is still "Emmanuel--God with us."
Earthly existence is but the prelude of our life, and even from this
the Divine artist can take much of the discord, and give an earnest of
the eternal harmonies.

We all are honored with the privilege of "co-working with Him."

If I in my little sphere can by this book lead one father to train his
children to be more strong and self-reliant, one mother to teach her
daughters a purer, more patient, more heroic womanhood--if I have
placed one more barrier in the tempter's way, and inspired one more
wholesome fear and principle in the heart of the tempted--if, by
lifting the dark curtain a moment, I can reveal enough to keep one
country girl from leaving her safe native village for unprotected life
in some great city--if I can add one iota toward a public opinion that
will honor useful labor, however humble, and condemn and render
disgraceful idleness and helplessness, however gilded--if, chief of
all, I lead one heavy-laden heart to the only source of rest, I shall
be well rewarded, whatever is said of this volume.




CONTENTS



CHAPTER I
THREE GIRLS

CHAPTER II
A FUTURE OP HUMAN DESIGNING

CHAPTER III
THREE MEN

CHAPTER IV
THE SKIES DARKENING

CHAPTER V
THE STORM THREATENING

CHAPTER VI
THE WRECK

CHAPTER VII
AMONG THE BREAKERS

CHAPTER VIII
WARPED

CHAPTER IX
A DESERT ISLAND

CHAPTER X
EDITH BECOMES A "DIVINITY"

CHAPTER XI
MRS. ALLEN'S POLICY

CHAPTER XII
WAITING FOR SOME ONE TO TURN UP

CHAPTER XIII
THEY TURN UP

CHAPTER XIV
WE CAN'T WORK

CHAPTER XV
THE TEMPTATION

CHAPTER XVI
BLACK HANNIBAL'S WHITE HEART

CHAPTER XVII
THE CHANGES OF TWO SHORT MONTHS

CHAPTER XVIII
IGNORANCE LOOKING FOR WORK

CHAPTER XIX
A FALLING STAR

CHAPTER XX
DESOLATION

CHAPTER XXI
EDITH'S TRUE KNIGHT

CHAPTER XXII
A MYSTERY

CHAPTER XXIII
A DANGEROUS STEP

CHAPTER XXIV
SCORN AND KINDNESS

CHAPTER XXV
A HORROR OF GREAT DARKNESS

CHAPTER XXVI
FRIEND AND SAVIOUR

CHAPTER XXVII
THE MYSTERY SOLVED

CHAPTER XXVIII
EDITH TELLS THE OLD, OLD STORY

CHAPTER XXIX
HANNIBAL LEARNS HOW HIS HEART CAN BE WHITE

CHAPTER XXX
EDITH'S AND ARDEN'S FRIENDSHIP

CHAPTER XXXI
ZELL

CHAPTER XXXII
EDITH BRINGS THE WANDERER HOME

CHAPTER XXXIII
EDITH'S GREAT TEMPTATION

CHAPTER XXXIV
SAVED

CHAPTER XXXV
CLOSING SCENES

CHAPTER XXXVI
LAST WORDS




CHAPTER I

THREE GIRLS



It was a very cold blustering day in early January, and even brilliant
thronged Broadway felt the influence of winter's harshest frown. There
had been a heavy fall of snow which, though in the main cleared from
the sidewalks, lay in the streets comparatively unsullied and
unpacked. Fitful gusts of the passing gale caught it up and whirled it
in every direction. From roof, ledges, and window-sills, miniature
avalanches suddenly descended on the startled pedestrians, and the air
was here and there loaded with falling flakes from wild hurrying
masses of clouds, the rear-guard of the storm that the biting
northwest wind was driving seaward.

It was early in the afternoon, and the great thoroughfare was almost
deserted. Few indeed would be abroad for pleasure in such weather, and
the great tide of humanity that must flow up and down this channel
every working day of the year under all skies had not yet turned
northward.

But surely this graceful figure coming up the street with quick,
elastic steps has not the aspect of one driven forth by grave business
cares, nor in the natural course of things would one expect so young a
lady to know much of life's burdens and responsibilities. As she
passes I am sure the reader would not turn away from so pleasant a
vision, even if Broadway were presenting all its numberless
attractions, but at such a time would make the most of the occasion,
assured that nothing so agreeable would greet his eyes again that
sombre day.

The fierce gusts make little impression on her heavy, close-fitting
velvet dress, and in her progress against the wind she appears so trim
and taut that a sailor's eye would be captivated. She bends her little
turbaned head to the blast, and her foot strikes the pavement with a
decision that suggests a naturally brave, resolute nature, and gives
abundant proof of vigor and health. A trimming of silver fox fur
caught and contrasted the snow crystals against the black velvet of
her dress, in which the flakes catch and mingle, increasing the sense
of lightness and airiness which her movements awaken, and were you
seeking a fanciful embodiment of the spirit of the snow, you might
rest satisfied with the first character that appears upon the scene of
my story.

But on nearer view there was nothing spirit-like or even spirituelle
in her aspect, save that an extremely transparent complexion was
rendered positively dazzling by the keen air and the glow of exercise;
and the face was much too full and blooming to suggest the shadowy and
ethereal.

When near Twenty-first Street she entered a fruit store and seemed in
search of some delicacy for an invalid. As her eye glanced around
among the fragrant tropical fruits that suggested lands in wide
contrast to the wintry scene without, she suddenly uttered a low
exclamation of delight, as she turned from them to old friends, all
the more welcome because so unexpected at that season. These were
nothing less than a dozen strawberries, in dainty baskets, decked out,
or more truly eked out, with a few green leaves. Three or four baskets
constituted the fruiterer's entire stock, and probably the entire
supply for the metropolis of America that day.

She had scarcely time to lift a basket and inhale its delicious aroma,
before the proprietor of the store was in bowing attendance, quite as
openly admiring her carnation cheeks as she the ruby fruit The man's
tongue was, however, more decorous than his eyes, and to her question
as to price he replied:

"_Only_ two dollars a basket, miss, and certainly they are beauties
for this season of the year. They are all I could get, and I don't
believe there is another strawberry in New York."

"I will take them all," was the brief, decisive answer, and from a
costly portemonnaie she threw down the price, a proceeding which the
man noted in agreeable surprise, again curiously scanning the fair
face as he made up the parcel with ostentatious zeal. But his customer
was unconscious, or, more truly, indifferent to his admiration, and
seemed much more interested in the samples of choice fruit arranged on
every side. From one to another of these she flitted with the delicate
sensuousness of a butterfly, smelling them and touching them lightly
with the hand she had ungloved (which was as white as the snow
without), as if they had for her a peculiar fascination.

"You seem very fond of fruit," said the merchant, his _amour propre_
pleased by her evident interest in his stock.

"I have ever had a passion for fine fruits and flowers," was the
reply, spoken with that perfect frankness characteristic of American
girls. "No, you need not send it; I prefer to take it with me."

And with a slight smile, she passed out, leaving the fruiterer
chuckling over the thought that he had probably had the pleasantest
bit of trade on Broadway that dull day.

Plunging through the drifts, our nymph of the snow resolutely crossed
the street and passed down to a flower store, but, instead of buying a
bouquet, ordered several pots of budding and blooming plants to be
sent to her address. She then made her way to Fifth Avenue and soon
mounted a broad flight of steps to one of its most stately houses. The
door yielded to her key, her thick walking boots clattered for a
moment on the marble floor, but could not disguise the lightness of
her step as she tripped up the winding stair and pushed open a
rosewood door leading into the upper hall.

"Mother, mother," she exclaimed, "here is a treat for you that will
banish nerves, headache, and horrors generally. See what I have found
for you out in the wintry snows. Now am I not a good fairy for once?"

"Oh, Edith, child, not so boisterous, please," responded a querulous
voice from a great easy-chair by the glowing grate, and a middle-aged
lady turned a white, faded face toward her daughter.

"Forgive me, mother, but my tramp in the January storm has made me
feel rampantly well. I wish you could go out and take a run every day
as I do. You would then look younger and prettier than your daughters,
as you used to."

The invalid shivered and drew her shawl closer around her,
complaining:

"I think you have brought the whole month of January in with you. You
really must show more consideration, my dear, for if I should take
cold--" and the lady ended with a weary, suggestive sigh.

In fact, Edith had entered the dim heavily-perfumed room like a gust
of wholesome air, her young blood tingling and electric with exercise,
and her heart buoyant with the thought of the surprise and pleasure
she had in store for her mother. But the manner in which she had been
received had already chilled her more than the biting blasts on
Broadway. She therefore opened her bundle and set out the little
baskets before her mother very quietly. The lady glanced at them for a
moment and then said, indifferently:

"It is very good of you to think of me, my dear; they look very
pretty. I am sorry I cannot eat them, but their acid would only
increase my dyspepsia. Those raised in winter must be very sour. Ugh!
the thought of it sets my teeth on edge," and the poor, nervous
creature shrank deeper into her wrappings.

"I am very sorry, mother, I thought they would be a great treat for
you," said Edith, quite crestfallen. "Never mind; I got some flowers,
and they will be here soon."

"Thank you, dear, but the doctor says they are not healthy in a room--
Oh, dear--that child! what shall I do!"

The front door banged, there was a step on the stairs, but not so
light as Edith's had been, and a moment later the door burst open, and
"the child" rushed in like a mild whirlwind, exclaiming:

"Hurrah! hurrah! school to the shades. No more teachers and tyrants
for me," and down went an armful of books with a bang on the table.

"Oh, Zell!" cried Edith, "please be quiet; mother has a headache."

"There, there, your baby will kiss it all away," and the irrepressible
young creature threw her arms around the bundle that Mrs. Allen had
made herself into by her many wrappings, and before she ceased, the
red pouting lips left the faintest tinge of their own color on the
faded cheeks of the mother.

The lady endured the boisterous embrace with a martyr-like expression.
Zell was evidently a privileged character, the spoiled pet of the
household. But a new voice was now heard that was sharper than the
"pet" was accustomed to.

"Zell, you are a perfect bear. One would think you had learned your
manners at a boys' boarding school."

Zell's great black eyes blazed for a moment toward the speaker, who
was a young lady reclining on a lounge near the window, and who in
appearance must have been the counterpart of Mrs. Allen herself as she
had looked twenty-three years before. In contrast with her sharp,
annoyed tone, her cheeks and eyes were wet with tears.

"What are you crying about?" was Zell's brusque response. "Oh, I see;
a novel. What a ridiculous old thing you are. I never saw you shed a
tear over real trouble, and yet every few days you are dissolved in
brine over Adolph Moonshine's agonies, and Seraphina's sentiment,
which any sensible person can see is caused by dyspepsia. No such
whipped syllabub for me, but real life."

"And what does 'real life' mean for you, I would like to know, but
eating, dressing, and flirting?" was the acid retort.

"Though you call me 'child,' I have lived long enough to learn that
eating, dressing, and flirting, and while you are about it you might
as well add drinking, is the 'real life' of most of the ladies of our
set. Indeed, if my poor memory does not fail me, I have seen you
myself take a turn at these things sufficiently often to make the
sublime scorn of your tone a little inconsistent."

As these barbed arrows flew, the tears rapidly exhaled from the hot
cheeks of the young lady on the sofa. Her elegant languor vanished,
and she started up; but Mrs. Allen now interfered, and in tones harsh
and high, very different from the previous delicate murmurs,
exclaimed:

"Children, you drive me wild. Zell, leave the room, and don't show
yourself again till you can behave yourself."

Zell was now sobbing, partly in sorrow and partly in anger, but she
let fly a few more Parthian arrows over her shoulder as she passed
out.

"This is a pretty way to treat one on their birthday. I came home with
heart as light as the snowflakes around me, and now you have spoiled
everything. I don't know how it is, but I always have a good time
everywhere else, but there is something in this house that often sets
one's teeth on edge," and the door banged appropriately with a
spiteful emphasis as the last word was spoken.

"Poor child," said Edith, "it _is_ too bad that she should be so
dashed with cold water on her birthday."

"She isn't a child," said the eldest sister, rising from the sofa and
sweeping from the room, "though she often acts like one, and a very
bad one too. Her birthday should remind her that if she is ever to be
a woman, it is time to commence," and the stately young lady passed
coldly away. Edith, went to the window and looked dejectedly out into
the early gloom of the declining winter day. Mrs. Allen sighed and
looked more nervous and uncomfortable than usual.

The upholsterer had done his part in that elegant home, The feet sank
into the carpets as in moss. Luxurious chairs seemed to embrace the
form that sank into them. Everything, was padded, rounded, and
softened, except tongues and tempers. If wealth could remove the
asperities from these as from material things, it might well be
coveted. But this is beyond the upholsterer's art, and Mrs. Allen knew
little of the Divine art that can wrap up words and deeds with a
kindness softer than eider-down.

"Mother's room," instead of being a refuge and a favorite haunt of
these three girls, was a place where, as we have seen, their "teeth
were set on edge."

Naturally they shunned the place, visiting the invalid rather than
living with her; their reluctant feet impelled across the threshold by
a sense of duty rather than drawn by the cords of love. The mother
felt this in a vague, uncomfortable way, for mother love was there,
only it had seemingly turned sour, and instead of attracting her
children by sweetness and sympathy, she querulously complained to them
and to her husband of their neglect. He would sometimes laugh it off,
sometimes shrug his shoulders indifferently, and again harshly chide
the girls, according to his mood, for he varied much in this respect.
After being cool and wary all day in Wall Street, he took off the curb
at home; therefore the variations that never could be counted on. How
he would be at dinner did not depend on himself or any principle, but
on circumstances. In the main he was indulgent and kind, though quick
and passionate, brooking no opposition; and the girls were really more
attached to him and found more pleasure in his society than in their
mother's. Zelica, the youngest, was his special favorite, and he
humored and petted her at a ruinous rate, though often storming at
some of her follies.

Mrs. Allen saw this preference of her husband, and was weak enough to
feel and show jealousy. But her complainings were ineffectual, for we
can no more scold people into loving us than nature could make buds
blossom by daily nipping them with frost. And yet she made her
children uncomfortable by causing them to feel that it was unnatural
and wrong that they did not care more for their mother. This was
especially true of Edith, who tried to satisfy her conscience, as we
have seen, by bringing costly presents and delicacies that were seldom
needed or appreciated.

Edith soon became so oppressed by her mother's sighs and silence and
the heavy perfumed air, that she sprang up, and pressing a remorseful
kiss on the white thin face, said:

"I must dress for dinner, mamma: I will send your maid," and vanished
also.




CHAPTER II

A FUTURE OF HUMAN DESIGNING



The dining-room at six o'clock wore a far more cheerful aspect than
the invalid's room upstairs. It was furnished in a costly manner, but
more ostentatiously than good taste would dictate. You instinctively
felt that it was a sacred place to the master of the house, in which
he daily sacrificed to one of his chosen deities.

The portly colored waiter, in dress coat and white vest, has just
placed the soup on the table, and Mr. Allen enters, supporting his
wife. He had sort of manly toleration for all her whims and
weaknesses. He had never indulged in any lofty ideas of womanhood, nor
had any special longings for her sympathy and companionship. Business
was the one engrossing thing of his life, and this he honestly
believed woman incapable of, from her very nature. It was true of his
wife, but due to a false education rather than to any innate
difficulties, and he no more expected her to comprehend and sympathize
intelligently with his business operations, than to see her go down to
Wall Street with him wearing his hat and coat.

She had been the leading belle in his set years ago. He had admired
her immensely as a stylish, beautiful woman, and carried her off from
dozens of competitors, who were fortunate in their failure. He always
maintained a show of gallantry and deference; which, though but
veneer, was certainly better than open disregard and brutal neglect.

So now, with a good-natured tolerance and politeness, he seated the
feeble creature in a cushioned chair at the table, treating her more
like a spoiled child than as a friend and companion. The girls
immediately appeared also, for they knew their father's weakness too
well to keep him waiting for his dinner.

Zell bounded into his arms in her usual impulsive style, and the
father caressed her in a way that showed that his heart was very
tender toward his youngest child.

"And so my baby is seventeen to-day," he said. "Well, well, how fast
we are growing old."

The girl laughed; the man sighed. The one was on the threshold of what
she deemed the richest pleasures of life; the other had well-nigh
exhausted them, and for a moment realized it.

Still he was in excellent spirits, for he had been unusually fortunate
that day, and had seen his way to an "operation" that promised a
golden future. He sat down therefore to the good cheer with not a
little of the spirit of the man in the parable, whose complacent
exhortation to his soul has ever been the language of false security
and prosperity.

The father's open favoritism for Zell was another source of jealousy,
her sisters naturally feeling injured by it. Thus in this household
even human love was discordant and perverted, and the Divine love
unknown. What chance had character, that thing of slow growth, in such
an atmosphere?

The popping of a champagne cork took the place of grace at the opening
of the meal, and the glasses were filled all around. In honor of
Zell's birthday they drank to her health and happiness. By no better
form or more suggestive ceremony could this Christian (?) family wish
their youngest member "God-speed" on entering the vicissitudes of a
new year of life. But what they did was done heartily, and every glass
was drained. To them it seemed very appropriate and her father said,
glancing admiringly at her flaming cheeks and dancing eyes--

"This is just the thing to drink Zell's health in, for she is as full
of sparkle and effervescence as the champagne itself."

Had he been a wiser and more thoughtful man, he would have carried the
simile further and remembered the fate of champagne when exposed.
However piquant and pleasing Zell's sparkle might be, it would hardly
secure success and safety for life. But in his creed a girl's first
duty was to be pretty and fascinating, and he was extremely proud of
the beauty of his daughters. It was his plan to marry them to rich men
who would maintain them in the irresponsible luxury that their mother
had enjoyed.

Circumstances seemed to justify his security. The son of a rich man,
he had also inherited a taste for business and the art of making
money. Years of prosperity had confirmed his confidence, and he looked
complacently around upon his family and talked of the future in
sanguine tones.

He was a man considerably past his prime, and his florid face and
portly form indicated that he was in the habit of doing ample justice
to the good cheer before him. Intense application to business in early
years and indulgence of appetite in later life had seriously impaired
a constitution naturally good. He reminded you of a flower fully blown
or of fruit overripe.

"Since you have permitted Zell to leave school, I suppose she must
make her debut soon," said Mrs. Allen with more animation than usual
in her tone.

"Oh, certainly," cried Zell, "on Edith's birthday, in February. We
have arranged it all, haven't we, Edith?"

"Heigho! then I am to have no part in the matter," said her father.

"Yes, indeed, papa," cried the saucy girl, "you are to have no end of
kisses, and a very long bill."

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