Mr. Hart

“ The encore was not printed, but Hart caught the words:
"Through the four long years of college,
'Midst the scenes we loved so well,
Where the mystic charm to knowledge
We vainly seek to spell."
"Mystic charm to knowledge" touched a chord in Mr. Hart's bosom. What would he not give to have the advantages that these young men evidently seemed to appreciate. A desire to learn more about it all came to his mind. But the Glee Club had left the stage, and the men with the banjos were coming on. They each dragged forward a chair from the back of the scenery and seated themselves. ”

“ Hart left the Bond Street establishment with a cheque for three thousand pounds in his pocket, and in a red morocco case a set of very pretty diamond ornaments for a lady's hair. The stone which he had purchased from Mr, Tyrrel he left behind.
"Mr. Hart thinks himself a shrewd man," Mr. Ruby told himself when that gentleman had gone, "but he is not quite so shrewd as he thinks. This is the very stone the Duke is looking for. Unless I am mistaken, he will give us for it rather more than four thousand pounds." ”

“ Hart was acquainted with Mr. Walker, and that Mr. Walker would probably have sought the society of Mr. Hart after a late occurrence in which he, Cousin George, had taken part. He was going across to breakfast at his club, when he found himself almost forced to accompany Mr. Hart into a little private room at the left hand of the hall of the hotel. He wanted his breakfast badly, and was altogether out of humour. He had usually found Mr. Hart to be an enduring man, not irascible, though very pertinacious, and sometimes almost good-natured. ”

“ Poor Hart was embarrassed now and no mistake.
"Oh, never mind," said Miss Hollingsworth, "I know you are really better than that. Don't let's dance; let's go out on the veranda."
They went through the doorway and found seats together where the air was cool and fresh. Hart had not spoken and now could imagine nothing to start the talk with. Suddenly Miss Hollingsworth began.
"Mr. Bliss told me something about you, Mr. Hart," she said. "Now, I should say that you had a great deal before you. You see, women divide men into two classes at first, men who are usual, and men who are different." ”

“ Hart stood up. "Who are these? Is not this Mr. Windham, and is not this Miss Lorton? If not, who are they? That's fair, I think. I don't want to be in the dark amidst such universal light."
"Is it possible that you don't know?" said Mrs. Hart, wonderingly. "Why should they conceal it from you? These are my dearest children--my friends--the ones dear to my heart. Oh, my friend, _you_ will understand me. This is Lord Chetwynde, _son of the Earl of Chetwynde_, and this girl is Zillah, daughter of Neville Pomeroy--Lady Chetwynde--his wife."
"God in heaven!" exclaimed Obed Chute. ”

“ Be reasonable, or to-morrow I take Margaret back to her mother, a hundred and forty miles away, and you shall not speak another word to her, as sure as my name's Hart."
"Ho! ho! you speak boldly; but it doesn't matter--you're a man in a thousand. In a thousand! in ten thousand. I'm glad you're not younger, or you might prove dangerous." Mr. Hart took off his cap, and bowed lowly at this compliment. ”

“ Hart.
Philip, having nothing to say in reply, shifted one foot over another restlessly. If he could have retired with a good grace, he would have done so, but Mr. Hart had hold of his arm. Mr. Hart continued:
"Putting sentiment aside, a nice scrape you were almost getting me into to-night. Ah! you may stare, but I should like to know what you mean by throwing flowers to my singing Chambermaid--who is not by any means clever, let me tell you, and will never make her fortune on the stage--when we have in our company a lady who plays leading characters, and who knows every line of Juliet's part?" ”

“ The last, the baronetcy, came from Gladstone's Ministry, and with it he received a friendly letter from the Grand Old Man, who always admired him immensely, and said so when a brother of the I.G.'s—at the time in Europe acting as interpreter to Li Hung Chang—was presented at a big dinner to the Premier.
[Illustration: PEKING: A MESSENGER CARRYING MAILS IN THE RAINY
SEASON.]
"So you are a Mr. Hart from China," he remarked. "You should feel very proud of a man who has made his name illustrious for all time." ”

“ Hart, in the same low tone, which, indeed, he preserved throughout this part of the conversation "before I can say anything to the offer. I want to be certain that you mean honestly by me. The world is full of thieves. There is plenty of roguery about."
"That's true," replied Philip complacently; "I'm a bit of a rogue myself."
"And," proceeded Mr. Hart, with a strange hesitation in his voice, "supposing the claim to be utterly worthless, at the end of six weeks I shall be sure to be fifty pounds in pocket?"
"You will be more than that in pocket. The claim's a good one ”

“ He was surprised to learn that Mr Hart, although he knew nothing of the outbreak, had also been disturbed by a vision, the very vision that Mr Vincey had seen—Mr Bessel, white and dishevelled, pleading earnestly by his gestures for help. That was his impression of the import of his signs. 'I was just going to look him up in the Albany when you arrived,' said Mr Hart. 'I was so sure of something being wrong with him.'
As the outcome of their consultation the two gentlemen decided to inquire at Scotland Yard for news of their missing friend. 'He is bound to be laid by the heels,' said Mr Hart. ”

“ Hart’s aunt said. “It rejoices my heart you’re doing all these good deeds––and all the others Mr. Hill’s been telling me about. I must kiss you again.”
96
“Oh, what I’ve done ain’t nothing,” Hart said, pulling himself together while she was kissing him. “Land’s cheap, cheap as it can be, out here; and I give the Company such a lot of freight they’re more’n willing to oblige me; and as to the melodeon––”
Hart sort of gagged when he got to the melodeon, and Santa Fé Charley––who’d come up while they all was talking away together––reached across the table and played his hand. ”

“ When he stepped into the draughting-room, they began awkwardly to fold up the papers and start their work. Cook, Hart noticed, was not there. The stenographer came in from the outer office and announced curtly:—
"The 'phone's been ringing every minute, Mr. Hart." She looked at the architect with mingled aloofness and curiosity. "They were mostly calls from the papers, and some of the reporters are in there now, waiting. What shall I say to 'em?"
"Say I am out of town," Hart ordered, giving the usual formula when reporters called at the office. ”

“ Afterward they met in California, and again in London. From Albany the Henry Hart family went to Hudson, where Mr. Hart acted as principal of an academy; and subsequently they lived in New Brunswick, New Jersey; in Philadelphia; in Providence, Rhode Island; in Lowell, Massachusetts; in Boston and elsewhere.
A few years before her death Mrs. Hart read the life of Bronson Alcott, and when she laid down the book she remarked that the troubles and privations endured by the Alcott family bore a striking resemblance to those which she and her children had undergone. ”

“ Mr. Hart and uncle were always warm friends, although Mr. Hart left for Europe soon after completing this bust, where he has since remained, with the exception of a flying visit to America about twelve years ago. Uncle speaks of visiting his studio in 1851, in these words ("Glances at Europe," page 217) :
"I saw something of three younger sculptors now studying and working at Florence—Hart of Kentucky, Galt of Virginia, and Rogers of New York. I believe all are preparing to do credit to their country. ”

“ Miss Hart’s father was a captain of industry in Chicago, but part of the time he lived in a villa at Cannes, for he believed that a little European Influence was a necessary ingredient of Poise, which is, of course, among the most recent of American inventions. Part of the European Influence he had picked on was Captain Malaise, who was staying with them.
Mr. Hart simply couldn’t help respecting a man who did no work so efficiently as Denys. Mr. Hart was a really modern American, and had got beyond all that “hustling” and “booster” back-chat. “That young man,” said Mr. ”

“ There were plenty of people here, too, and just as busy as those they had quitted. Mr. Saunders having brought Ellen to the merino counter, placed himself behind it; and leaning over it and fixing his eyes carelessly upon her, asked what she wanted to look at. His tone and manner struck Ellen most unpleasantly, and made her again wish herself out of the store. He was a tall, lank young man, with a quantity of fair hair combed down on each side of his face, a slovenly exterior, and the most disagreeable pair of eyes, Ellen thought, she had ever beheld. ”

“ Hart answered; "I never thought about it."
"I do," answered Heaphy, with a bitterness that Hart failed to recognize. "I envy success. I envy strength. I envy lots of things."
He had started to walk faster and Hart lengthened his stride to keep up with him.
"I like to win," continued Heaphy. "There's a power-r-r," (Mr. Heaphy's rolling r-r was Irish and no mistake) —"a power in it."
"I suppose there is," said Hart, absent-mindedly.
"Power in success," went on Heaphy. "No matter what it is. A fool can be well liked if he chooses, but the other is different." ”

“ Ellen almost burst into tears. She longed to turn and run out of the store, but a faint hope remaining, and an unwillingness to give up her undertaking, kept her fast. At length one of the clerks in the desk observed her, and remarked to Mr. St. Clair, who stood by, “There is a little girl, sir, who seems to be looking for something, or waiting for somebody; she has been standing there a good while.” Mr. St. Clair, upon this, advanced to poor Ellen’s relief. ”

“ She's a harmless creatur' and seems to keep ploddin, but slack ain't no description, an' runs on talkin' about nothin' till it strikes right in an' numbs ye. She's pressed for house room, too. Hart ought to put on an addition long ago, but he's too stingy to live. Folks was tellin' me that somebody observed to him how he'd got a real good, stiddy man to work with him this summer. 'He's called a very pious man, too, great hand in meetin's, Mr. ”

“ Of course Bob Hart, as well as every other normal actor, grocer, newspaper man, professor, curb broker, and farmer, has a play tucked away somewhere. They tuck ’em in trays of trunks, trunks of trees, desks, haymows, pigeonholes, inside pockets, safe-deposit vaults, handboxes, and coal cellars, waiting for Mr. Frohman to call. They belong among the fifty-seven different kinds.
But Bob Hart’s sketch was not destined to end in a pickle jar. He called it “Mice Will Play.” ”

“ They make no bones of it, they talk right out. I never repeat anything I hear, in an ordinary way, but as you ask me, sir——”
“Yes, Louis, tell all you know. So Mr. Ames would suffer financially if Mr. Tracy married?”
“I don’t know that, sir, but I know he thought he would. And I suppose he knew.”
“It seems to me,” Farrell said, “we ought to know the terms of Mr. Tracy’s will as it might help us to get at the truth.”
“We can’t do that at the moment,” Hart said, “and anyway, this is merely a preliminary inquiry to get the main facts of the situation.” ”

“ Plume. "The shock has unnerved [37] you," she charitably, soothingly whispered: "Come away with me," but the major's wife refused to go. Hart, the big post trader, had just reached the spot, driving up in his light buckboard. His usually jovial face was full of sympathy and trouble. He could not believe the news, he said. Mr. Blakely had been with him so short a time beforehand and was coming down again at once, so Downs, the striker, told him, when some soldier ran in to say the lieutenant had been half killed by Captain Wren. ”

“ Granville so much trouble some years ago."
"Not lately," said Jordan, and his grim face set hard. "We give 'em quite consider'ble of a lesson, one time. They was a bunch o' Dakotas wanderin' 'round, an' they sure played hob with the cattle, fer a spell. The' was some Greasers among 'em, too; but we give a few neck-tie parties an' they kind o' got discouraged."
"What is a neck-tie party, Mr. Jordan?" asked Whitey.
"Well," said Jordan, smiling, "the way o' playin' the game is like this: you take a man—gener'ly a Greaser—an' tie his hands behind him an' set him onto a horse. ”

“ But, howsumever, 'tain't really none o' my funeral. But lemme give yo' all a tip—keep away from thet Cross an' Circle outfit an' stay on the range!"
"Why?" asked Whitey, a little impatiently. "What harm will it do to go off the range?"
"Will y' listen to thet!" exclaimed Walker, laughing. "Ain't yer own yard big enough fer yo' all to play in? Looks to me like 't might be! Anyway, yo' jes' take my tip! An' as fer yo', young Mr. Rain-in-the-Face, don't yo' let this here kid git into no mischief, er Bill Jordan'll cut off them two ears o' your'n an' sic the coyotes onto yo'!" ”

“ The Indian boy raised his hand in a peculiar sort of salute as he turned his horse slightly and galloped away. Whitey watched him with admiration on every line of his face as far as he could distinguish his movements; and Jordan watched Whitey, smiling.
"Who is he?" asked Whitey, at last, turning to Jordan, and Mr. Sherwood also looked an inquiry.
"He's some kid!" laughed Jordan. "He don't belong to nobody, an' he don't live nowhere! Wherever he builds his camp-fire is home! He's took care of hisself ever sence he was big 'nuff to kick a duck in the ankle, an' he don't ask no odds o' nobody! ”