Elizabeth Stuart Phelps

“ His lips tried to form the words which close like a strangling hand upon the throat of the poor in all the emergencies of life. Till he has answered this question a poor man may not love a woman or rear a child; he may not bury his dead or save his living.
"What will it cost?" asked Jacob Dryver. He looked piteously at the great surgeon, whose lips parted to speak. But Hurlburt Chester raised an imperious hand.
"That," he said, "is my affair."
It was broad, bright day when the Aurora came whirring home. Chester nodded to his wife at the window, but went directly to the stables. ”

“ Summers, I raise vegetables," replied Jacob Dryver. "I'm a kind of a quarry-farmer. My woman she plants flowers for the summer folks, and Batty bunches 'em up and delivers 'em. Batty—he—God! My God! Mebbe there ain't any Batty—"
The sentence broke. In truth, it would have been hard to find its remnants in the sudden onset of sound made by the motion of the machine.
The car was freed now to the limit of her mighty strength. She took great leaps like those of a living heart that is overexcited. ”

“ Now at that moment Batty gave a little yelp of ecstasy, threw down his jig-saw, and got to the front door. His father was there, stamping off the snow, and the lad's idol, his ideal, his man angel, stood upon the threshold—nervous, for an angel, and with an anxious look. ”

“ There were lights in the quarryman's cottage, and shadows stirred against drawn shades. Jacob Dryver tumbled out and ran. He did not speak, nor by a gesture thank his Beverly "neighbor." Chester slowly unbuttoned his rubber coat and got at his watch. The Aurora had covered the distance—in dark and fog, over seventeen miles—in fifty-six minutes. Now, Jacob, dashing in, had left the door open, and Chester, as he put his watch back into its pocket, heard that which sent the blood driving through his arteries as the power had driven the pumps of the car. ”

“ We've known it from fust to last, my dear."
"And never spoke!" said Mary Chester. "And never spoke!"
"What's the use of jabberin'?" asked Batty's mother. "We thought Mr. Chester 'd feel so bad," she added. "We thought he didn't know."
The worrier began to laugh, then cry—first this, then that; for her nerves gave way beneath her. She sat humbly in her rich furs before the quarryman's wife. She felt that these plain people had outdone her in nobility, as they had rivalled her in delicacy—her, and Hurlburt, too.
"Oh, come and see my baby!" she cried. ”

“ Chester, in the cultivated, compassionate voice which at once attracted and estranged the breaking heart of Jacob Dryver.
"We haven't only Batty, sir," he choked.
The hand on the lever tightened; the throttle opened; the dark figure in the rubber coat bent, and its muscles turned to iron. The automobile began to rock and fly. It was now whirling out upon the silent, sleeping road that goes by the great houses of the North Shore.
"I'll let her out a little," said Mr. Chester, quietly. "Don't worry. We'll get there before you know it."
The car took on a considerable pace. ”

“ Draw the big bolt on top, and keep the lights all on. If I have good luck I shall be back in less than two hours. Good-bye, Mary—dear."
The last word lingered with the caressing accent which only long-tried marriage love ever puts into it. The lips of the two met silently, and, drooping, the lady melted away. Jacob Dryver found himself in the automobile, speeding down the avenue to the silent street. He looked back once at the house. Every pane of glass was blazing as if the building were on fire.
"You'll find it colder than you expect," observed Mr. Chester. ”

“ She waited at the head of the stairs, then hurried half-way down to meet him. Her white robe was ungirdled and flowing; it fell apart—the laces above from the laces below—and the tired man's kiss fell upon her soft throat.
She was naturally a worrier in a sweet-natured way, but he had always been patient with her little weakness; some men are, with anxious women.
"No," he smiled, but rather feebly; "you've missed it again. The boy is saved. St. Clair's got hold of him. I'll talk presently, Mary—not just now." ”

“ I am Mr. Chester. My chauffeur is not at home, I find. I shall drive you to Annisquam myself."
"You're takin' some trouble, sir," said Jacob, slowly. His head reeled. He felt that he was growing stupid under the whirlwind of events. He went down the long steps like a lame blind man. As he did so the bolts of the door behind him leaped back again, and the lady ran down and slid into the automobile. The fog glittered on the laces of her white woollen garment. Her husband thought of it as a negligée, but Jacob called it a wrapper. She was a dainty lady, and fair to look upon ”

“ He came up against the mystery of social distinctions; his great human emergency seemed to be distanced by the little thing men call difference of class.
"You want—to get—a team?" repeated the gentleman; he spoke slowly, without irritation. "You have made a mistake. This is not a livery-stable." ”

“ My little boy—he's had an accident. My train was late. I've got to get to Gloucester, sir. So I thought," added the traveller, simply, "I'd ask one of the neighbors. Neighbors is most gener'lly kind. Up our way they be. Sir—could you let me have a team to see my little boy before—in case—he dies?"
"Come inside a minute," replied the gentleman.
The words, which had began shortly, ended softly. "Perfectly sober," he thought. His fingers stole to the button of a bell as the stranger stepped into the hall.
"Yes—I'll send you over. What's your name?"
"Dryver, sir. Jacob Dryver." ”

“ Chester," observed Batty's mother. "He made a watch-case last week—for Mr. Chester."
Mary Chester paled, and she plunged at once:
"There's something I've come to tell—I've got to tell you. We can't keep it to ourselves any longer. I have come to tell you how it happened—that Batty— We thought you'd rather not know—"
"Lord! my dear," said the quarryman's wife, "we've known it all the while." ”

“ The visitor's head swam. She laid it down upon her gloved hands on Mrs. Dryver's centre-table. This had a marble top, and felt as the quarries look in winter on Cape Ann. What were tears that they should warm it? The sound of the jig-saw grew uneven and stopped.
"Hush!" said the boy's mother. "Batty don't know; he's the only one that don't."
She tiptoed and shut the doors.
"You never seen Peter Trawl, did you? He's a neighbor—cross-eyed—sells lobsters—well, it was him picked Batty up to the Willows that day. So he seen the number runnin' away, an' so he told. ”