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John Fox Jr. - "A Knight of the Cumberland"

Kenneth Grahame - "The Golden Age "

Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu - "The Purcell Papers, Volume 3"

A. Light, of Waxhaw - "Three Elephant Power, by Andrew Barton `Banjo' Paterson"

Other Things Being Equal

E >> Emma Wolf >> Other Things Being Equal




"It's nothing at all, Jules," she cried, trying to laugh and failing
lamentably; "I--I'm only silly."

"There, dear, don't talk." Levice's face was white as he soothingly
stroked her hair.

"Oh!"

The doctor stepped in front of them, and laying both hands upon her
shoulders, motioned Levice aside.

"Hush! Not a word!"

At the sound of his stern, brusque voice, the long quivering shriek stopped
halfway.

"Be perfectly still," he continued, holding her firmly. "Obey this
instant," as she began to whimper; "not a sound must I hear."

Ruth and her father stood spell-bound at the effect of the stranger's
measures. For a moment Mrs. Levice had started in affright to scream; but
the deep, commanding tone, the powerful hands upon her shoulders, the
impressive, unswerving eye that held hers, soon began to act almost
hypnotically. The sobbing gradually ceased; the shaking limbs slowly
regained their calm; and as she sank upon the cushions the strained look in
her eyes melted. She was feebly smiling up at the doctor in response to
his own persuasive smile that gradually succeeded the gravity of his
countenance.

"That is well," said he, speaking soothingly as to a child, and still
keeping his smiling eyes upon hers. "Now just close your eyes for a
minute; see, I have your hand, --so. Go to sleep."

There was not a sound in the room; Ruth stood where she had been placed,
and Mr. Levice was behind the doctor, his face quite colorless, scarcely
daring to breathe. Finally the faint, even breathing of Mrs. Levice told
that she slept.

Kemp turned to Mr. Levice and spoke low, not in a whisper, which hisses,
but his voice was so hushed that it would not have disturbed the lightest
sleeper.

"Put your hand, palm up, under hers. I am going to withdraw my hand and
retire, as I do not wish to excite her; she will probably open her eyes in
a few moments. Take her home as quietly as you can."

"You will call to-morrow?" whispered Levice.

He quietly assented.

"Now be deft." The transfer was quickly made, and nodding cheerfully, Dr.
Kemp left the room.

Ruth came forward. Five minutes later Mrs. Levice opened her eyes.

"Why, what has happened?" she asked languidly.

"You fell asleep, Esther," replied her husband, gently.

"Yes, I know; but why is Ruth in that gown? Oh--ye-es!" Consciousness was
returning to her. "And who was that handsome man who was here?"

"A friend of Ruth."

"He is very strong," she observed pensively. She lay back in her chair for
a few minutes as if dreaming. Suddenly she started up.

"What thoughtless people we are! Let us go back to the drawing-room, or
they will think something dreadful has happened."

"No, Mamma; I do not feel at all like going back. Stay here with Father
while I get our wraps."

Before Mrs. Levice could demur, Ruth had left the room. As she turned in
the direction of the stairs, she was rather startled by a hand laid upon
her shoulder.

"Oh, you, Louis! I am going for our wraps."

"Here they are. How is my aunt?"

"She is quite herself again. Thanks for the wraps. Will you call up the
carriage, Louis? We shall go immediately, but do not think of coming
yourself."

"Nonsense! Tell your mother you have made your adieux to Mrs. Merrill,
--she understands; the carriage is waiting."

A few minutes later the Levices and Louis Arnold quietly stole away. Mrs.
Levice has had an attack of hysteria. "Nothing at all," the world said,
and dismissed it as carelessly as most of the quiet turning-points in a
life-history are dismissed.


Chapter III

The Levices' house stood well back upon its grounds, almost with an air of
reserve in comparison with the rows of stately, bay-windowed houses that
faced it and hedged it in on both sides. But the broad, sweeping lawns,
the confusion of exquisite roses and heliotropes, the open path to the
veranda, whereon stood an hospitable garden settee and chair, the long
French windows open this summer's morning to sun and air, told an inviting
tale.

As Dr. Kemp ascended the few steps leading to the front door, he looked
around approvingly.

"Not a bad berth for the grave little bookworm," he mused as he rang the
bell.

It was immediately answered by the "grave little bookworm" in person.

"I've been on the lookout for you for the past hour," he explained, leading
him into the library and turning the key of the door as they entered.

It was a cosey room, not small or low, as the word would suggest, but large
and airy; the cosiness was supplied by comfortable easy-chairs, a lounge or
two, a woman's low rocker, an open piano, a few soft engravings on the
walls, and books in cases, books on tables, books on stands, books
everywhere. Two long lace-draped windows let in a flood of searching
sunlight that brought to light not an atom of dust in the remotest corner.
It is the prerogative of every respectable Jewess to keep her house as
clean as if at any moment a search-warrant for dirt might be served upon
her.

"Will you not be seated?" asked Levice, looking up at Kemp as the latter
stood drawing off his gloves.

"Is your wife coming down here?"

"No; she is in her room yet."

"Then let us go up immediately. I am not at leisure."

"I know. Still I wish to ask you to treat whatever ailments you may find
as lightly as possible in her presence; she has never known anxiety or
worry of any kind. It will be necessary to tell only me, and every
precaution will be taken."

Here was a second one of this family of three wishing to take the brunt of
the trouble on his shoulders, and the third had been bearing it secretly
for some time. Probably a very united family, loving and unselfish
doubtless, but the doctor had to stifle an amused smile in the face of the
old gentleman's dignified appeal.

"Still she is not a child, I suppose; she knows of the nature of my visit?"
He moved toward the door.

"Ruth--my daughter, you know--was about to tell her as I left the room."

"Then we will go up directly."

Levice preceded him up the broad staircase. As they reached the landing,
he turned to the doctor.

"Pardon my care, but I must make sure that Ruth has told her. Just step
into the sitting-room a second," and the precautious husband went forward
to his wife's bedroom, leaving the door open.

Standing there in the hallway, Kemp could plainly hear the following words:
--

"And being interested in nervous diseases," the peculiarly low voice was
saying, "he told Father he would call and see you, --out of professional
curiosity, you know; besides we should not like you to be often taken as
you were last night, should we?"

"People with plenty of time on their hands," soliloquized the doctor,
looking at his watch in the hallway.

"What is his name, did you say?"

"Dr. Herbert Kemp."

"What! Don't you know that Dr. Kemp is one of the first physicians in the
city? Every one knows he has no time for curiosity. Nervous diseases are
his specialty; and do you think he would come without--"

"Being asked?" interrupted a pleasant voice; the doctor had remembered the
flight of time, and walked in unannounced.

"Keep your seat," he continued, as Mrs. Levice started up, the excited
blood springing to her cheeks.

"You hardly need an introduction, Esther," said Levice. "You remember Dr.
Kemp from last night?"

"Yes. Don't go, Ruth, please; Jules, hadn't you something to do
downstairs?"

Did she imagine for a moment that she could still conceal her trouble from
his tender watchfulness? Great dark rings encircled her now feverishly
bright eyes; her mouth trembled visibly; and as Ruth drew aside, her
mother's shaking fingers held tight to her hand.

"I have nothing in the world to do," replied Levice, heartily; "I am going
to sit right here and get interested."

"You will have to submit to a friendly cross-examination, Mrs. Levice,"
said the physician.

He drew a chair up before her and took both her hands in his. As Ruth
relinquished her hold, she encountered a pair of pleasantly authoritative
gray eyes, and instantly divining their expression, left the room.

She descended a few steps to the windowed landing. Here she intended
joining the doctor on his way down. Probably her father would follow him;
but it was her intention to intercept any such plan. A fog had arisen, and
the struggling rosy beams of the sun glimmered opalescently through the
density. Ruth thought it would be clear by noon, when she and her mother
could go for a stirring tramp. She stood lost in thought till a firm
footfall on the stairs aroused her.

"I see Miss Levice here; don't come down," Kemp was saying. :What further
directions I have must be given to a woman."

"Stay with Mamma, Father," called Ruth, looking up at her hesitating
father; "I shall see the doctor out;" and she quickly ran down the few
remaining steps to Kemp, awaiting her at the foot. She opened the door of
the library, and closing it quickly behind them, turned to him expectantly.

"Nothing to be alarmed at," he said, answering her mute inquiry. He seated
himself at the table, and drew from his vest-pocket pencil and blank.
Without another glance at the girl, he wrote rapidly for some minutes; then
quickly moving back his chair, he arose and handed her the two slips of
paper.

"The first is a tonic which you will have made up," he explained, picking
up his gloves and hat and moving toward the door; "the other is a diet
which you are to observe. As I told her just now, she must remain in bed
and see no one but her immediate family; you must see that she hears and
reads nothing exciting. That is all, I think."

Indignation and alarm held riot in Ruth's face and arrested the doctor's
departure.

"Dr. Kemp," she said, "you force me to remind you of a promise you made me
last night. Will you at least tell me what ails my mother that you use
such strenuous measures?"

A flash of recollection came to the doctor's eyes.

"Why, this is an unpardonable breach upon my part, Miss Levice; but I will
tell you all the trouble. Your mother is suffering with a certain form of
hysteria to a degree that would have prostrated her had we not come forward
in time. As it is, by prostrating her ourselves for awhile, say a month or
so, she will regain her equilibrium. You have heard of the food and rest
cure?"

"Yes."

"Well, that is what she will undergo mildly. Has she any duties that will
suffer by her neglect or that will intrude upon her equanimity?"

"No necessary ones but those of the house. Under no circumstances can I
conceive of her giving up their supervision."

"Yet she must do so under the present state of affairs. Remember, her mind
must be kept unoccupied, but time must be made to pass pleasantly for her.
This is not an easy task, Miss Levice; but, according to my promise, I have
left you to undertake it."

"Thank you," she responded quietly.

Kemp looked at her with a sense of calm satisfaction.

"Good-morning," he said, holding out his hand with a smile.

As the door closed behind him, Ruth felt as if a burden had fallen from,
instead of upon her. For the last twenty-four hours her apprehensions had
been excessive. Now, though she knew positively that her mother's
condition needed instant and constant care, which she must herself assume,
all sense of responsibility fell from her. The few quiet words of this
strange physician had made her trust his strength as she would a rock. She
could not have explained why it was so; but as her father remarked once,
she might have said, "I trust him implicitly, because, though a man of
superiority, he implicitly trusts himself."

As she re-entered her mother's room, her father regarded her intently.

"So we are going to make a baby of you, Mamma," she cried playfully, coming
forward and folding her arms around her mother, who lay on the lounge.

"So he says; and what he says one cannot resist." There was an apathetic
ring to her mother's voice that surprised her. Quickly the thought flashed
through her that she was too weary to resist now that she was found out.

"Then we won't try to," Ruth decided, seating herself on the edge of the
lounge close to her mother. From his armchair, Mr. Levice noted with
remorseful pride the almost matronly poise and expression of his lovely
young daughter as she bent over her weary-looking mother and smoothed her
hair.

"And if you are to be baby," she continued, smiling down, "I shall have to
change places with you, and become mother. You will see what a capital one
I shall make. Let's see, what are the duties? First, baby must be kept
clean and sweet, --I am an artist at that; secondly, Father and the rest of
us must have a perfectly appointed menage; third--"

"I do not doubt that you will make a perfect mother, my child;" the gentle
meaning of her father's words and glance caused Ruth to flush with
pleasure. When Levice said, "My child," the words were a caress. "Just
believe in her, Esther; one of her earliest lessons was 'Whatever you do,
do thoroughly.' She had to learn it through experience. But as you trust
me, trust my pupil."

The soft smile that played upon her husband's face was reflected on Mrs.
Levice's.

"Oh, Ruth," she murmured tremulously, "it will be so hard for you."

This was a virtual laying down of arms, and Ruth was satisfied.


Chapter IV

Louis Arnold, the only other member of the Levice family, had been forced
to leave town on some business the morning after Mrs. Levice's attack at
the Merrill reception. He was, therefore, much surprised and shocked on
his return a week later at finding his aunt in bed and such rigorous
measures for quiet in vogue.

Arnold had been an inmate of the house for the past twelve years. He was a
direct importation from France, which he had left just before attaining his
majority, the glory of soldier-life not proving seductive to his
imagination. He had no sooner taken up his abode with his uncle than he
was regarded as the most useful and ornamental piece of foreign vertu in
the beautiful house.

Being a business man by nature, keen, wary, and indefatigable, he was soon
able to take almost the entire charge of Levice's affairs. In a few years
his uncle ceased to question his business capabilities. From the time he
arrived, he naturally fell into the position of his aunt's escort, thus
again relieving Levice, who preferred the quieter life.

When Ruth began to go into society, his presence was almost a necessity, as
Jewish etiquette, or rather Jewish espionage, forbids a young man
unattached by blood or intentions to appear as the attendant of a single
woman. This is one of the ways Jewish heads of families have got into for
keeping the young people apart, --making cowards of the young men, and
depriving the young girls of a great deal of innocent pleasure.

Arnold, however, was not an escort to be despised, as Ruth soon discovered.
She very quickly felt a sort of family pride in his cool, quizzical manner
and caustic repartee, that was wholly distinct from the more girlish
admiration of his distinguished person. He and Ruth were great friends in
a quiet, unspoken way.

They were sitting together alone in the library on the evening of his
return. Mrs. Levice had fallen asleep, and her husband was sitting with
her. Ruth had stolen down to keep Louis company, fearing he would feel
lonesome in the changed aspect of the house.

Arnold lay at full length on the lounge; Ruth swayed backward and forward
in the rocker.

"What I am surprised at," he was saying, "is that my aunt submits to this
confining treatment;" he pronounced the last word "tritment," but he never
stopped at a word because of its pronunciation, thus adding a certain
piquancy to his speech.

"You would not be surprised if you knew Dr. Kemp; one follows his
directions blindly."

"So I have heard from a great many--women."

"And not men?"

"I have never happened to hold a conversation with a man on the powers of
Dr. Kemp. Women delight in such things."

"What things?"

"Why, giving in to the magnetic power of a strong man."

"You err slightly, Louis; it is the power, not the giving in that we
delight in, counting it a necessary part of manliness."

"Will you allow me to differ with you? Besides, apart from this great
first cause, I do not understand how, after a week of it, she has not
rebelled."

"I think I can answer that satisfactorily," replied his cousin, a
mischievous smile parting her lips and showing a row of strong white teeth;
"she is in love."

"Also?"

"With Father; and so does as she knows will please him best. Love is also
something every one loves to give in to."

"Every one who loves, you mean."

"Every one loves something or some one."

"Behold the exception, therefore." He moved his head so as to get a better
view of her.

"I do not believe you."

"That--is rude." He kept his eyes meditatively fixed upon her.

"Have you made a discovery in my face?" asked the girl presently, slightly
moving from his gaze.

"No," he replied calmly. "My discovery was made some time ago; I am merely
going over beautiful and pleasant ground."

"Really?" she returned, flushing, "then please look away; you annoy me."

"Why should I, since you know it is done in admiration? You are a woman;
do not pretend distaste for it."

"I shall certainly go upstairs if you persist in talking so disagreeably."

"Indulge me a little; I feel like talking, and I promise not to be
disagreeable. Always wear white; it becomes you. Never forget that beauty
needs appropriate surroundings. Another thing, ma belle cousine, this
little trick you have of blushing on the slightest provocation spoils your
whole appearance. Your complexion should always retain its healthy
whiteness, while--"

"You have been indulged quite sufficiently, Louis. Do you know, if you
often spoke to me in this manner I should soon hate you?"

"That would indeed be unfortunate. Never hate, Ruth; besides making
enemies, hate is an arch enemy to the face, distorting the softest and
loveliest."

"We cannot love people who calmly sit and irritate us like mocking
tarantulas."

"That is exaggerated, I think. Besides, Heaven forbid our loving
everybody! Never love, Ruth; let liking be strong enough for you. Love
only wears out the body and narrows the mind, all to no purpose. Cupid,
you know, died young, or wasted to plainness, for he never had his portrait
taken after he matured."

"A character such as you would have would be unbearable."

"But sensible and wise."

"Happily our hearts need no teaching; they love and hate instinctively
before the brain can speak."

"Good--for some. But in me behold the anomaly whose brain always
reconnoitres the field beforehand, and has never yet considered it worth
while to signal either 'love' or 'hate.'"

He rose with a smile and sauntered over to the piano. The unbecoming blush
mounted slowly to Ruth's face and her eyes were bright as she watched him.
When his hands touched the keys, she spoke.

"No doubt you think it adds to your intellect to pretend independence of
all emotion. But, do you know, I think feeling, instead of being a
weakness, is often more clever than wisdom? At any rate, what you are
doing now is proof sufficient that you feel, and perhaps more strongly than
many."

He partly turned on the music-chair, and regarded her questioningly, never,
however, lifting his hands from the keys as he played a softly passionate
minor strain.

"What am I doing?" he asked.

"Making love to the piano."

"It does not hurt the piano, does it?"

"No; but never say you do not feel when you play like that."

"Is not that rather peremptory? Who taught you to read characters?"

"You."

"I? What a poor teacher I was to allow you to show such bungling work!
Will you sing?"

"No, I shall read; I have had quite enough of myself and of you for one
night."

"Alas, poor me!" he retorted mockingly, and seeming to accompany his words
with his music; "I am sorry for you, my child, that your emotions are so
troublesome. You have but made your entrance into the coldest, most
exciting arena, --the world. Remember what I tell you, --all the strong
motives, love and hate and jealousy, are mere flotsam and jetsam. You are
the only loser by their possession."

The quiet closing of the door was his only answer. Ruth had left the room.

She knew Arnold too well to be affected by his little splurt of cynicism.
If she could escape a cynic either in books or in society, she invariably
did so. Life was still beautiful for her; and one of her father's untaught
lessons was that the cynic is a one-sided creature, having lost the eye
that sees the compensation balancing all things. As long as Louis attacked
things, it did no harm, except to incite a friendly passage-at-arms; hence,
most of such talk passed in the speaking. Not so the disparaging
insinuations he had cast at Dr. Kemp.

During the week in which Ruth had established herself as nurse-in-chief to
her mother she had seen him almost daily. Time in a quiet sick-room passes
monotonously; events that are unnoticed in hours of well-being and activity
here assume proportions of importance; meal-times are looked forward to as
a break in the day; the doctor's visit especially when it is the only one
allowed, is an excitement. Dr. Kemp's visits were short, but the two
learned to look for his coming and the sound of his deep, cheery voice, as
to their morning's tonic that would strengthen the whole day. Naturally,
as he was a stranger, Mrs. Levice in her idleness had analyzed and
discussed aloud his qualities, both personal and professional, to her
satisfaction. She had small ground for basing her judgments, but the
doctor formed a good part of her conversation.

Ruth's knowledge of him was somewhat larger, --about the distance between
Mrs. Levice's bedroom and the front door. She had a homely little way of
seeing people to the door, and here it was the doctor gave her any new
instructions. Instructions are soon given and taken; and there was always
time for a word or two of a different nature.

In the first place, she had been attracted by his horses, a magnificent
pair of jetty blacks.

"I wonder if they would despise a lump of sugar," she said one morning.

"Why should they?" asked Kemp.

"Oh, they seem to hold their heads so haughtily."

"Still, they are human enough to know sweets when they see them," their
owner replied, taking in the beautiful figure of the young girl in her
quaint, flowered morning-gown. "Try them once, and you won't doubt it."

She did try them; and as she turned a slightly flushed face to Kemp, who
stood beside her, he held out his hand, saying almost boyishly, "Let me
thank you and shake hands for my horses."

One can become eloquent, witty, or tender over the weather. The doctor
became neither of these; but Ruth, whose spirits were mercurially affected
by the atmosphere, always viewed the elements with the eye of a private
signal-service reporter.

"This is the time for a tramp," she said, as they stood on the veranda, and
the summer air, laden with the perfume of heliotrope, stole around them.
"That is where the laboring man has the advantage over you, Dr. Kemp."

"Which, ten to one, he finds a disadvantage. I must confess that in such
weather every healthy individual with time at his disposal should be
inhaling this air at a leisurely trot or stride as his habit may be. You,
Miss Levice, should get on your walking togs instantly."

"Yes, but not conveniently. My father and I never failed to take our
morning constitutional together when all was well. Father always gave me
the dubious compliment of saying I walked as straight and took as long
strides as a boy. Being a great lover of the exercise, I was sorry my pas
was not ladylike."

"You doubtless make a capital companion, as your father evidently
remembered what a troublesome thing it is to conform one's length of limb
to the dainty footsteps of a woman."

"Father has no trouble on that score," said Ruth, laughing.

The doctor smiled in response, and raising his hat, said, "That is where he
has the advantage over a tall man."

Going over several such scenes, Ruth could remember nothing in his manner
but a sort of invigorating, friendly bluntness, totally at variance with
the peculiarities of the "lady's man" that Louis had insinuated he was
accounted. She resolved to scrutinize him more narrowly the next morning.

Mrs. Levice's room was handsomely furnished and daintily appointed. Even
from her pillows she would have detected any lapse in its exquisite
neatness, and one of Ruth's duties was to leave none to be detected. The
house was large; and with three servants the young girl had to do a great
deal of supervising. She took a natural pride in having things go as
smoothly as under her mother's administration; and Mr. Levice said it was
well his wife had laid herself on the shelf, as the new broom was a vast
improvement.

Ruth had given the last touches to her mother's dark hair, and was reading
aloud the few unexciting items one finds in the morning's paper. Mrs.
Levice, propped almost to a sitting position by many downy pillows,
polished her nails and half listened. Her cheeks were no longer brightly
flushed, but rather pale; the expression of her eyes was placid, and her
slight hand quite firm; the strain lifted from her, a great weariness had
taken its place. The sweet morning air came in unrestrained at the open
window.

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