Peggy-in-the-Rain/Chapter 9
IX
HAT reason does she give?" asked Gordon.
"None." Mrs. Ames laid the two letters beside her plate and helped herself sparingly to the tenderloin fillet. "I suppose it's her pride. Her mother was always just the same way." She took up the briefer of the two communications and sniffed. "Purple ink, too! There's nothing more vulgar than purple ink. She says—let me see" Mrs. Ames held her lorgnette between her eyes and the offending note—"She says: 'My dear sir: Your letter of the 29th informing me that a sum of money has been placed in your hands for investment for my benefit has been received. There is evidently some misapprehension as to my financial condition. Please say to the person you represent that I appreciate the kindness, but must refuse the charity offered. Any remittances sent by you will be promptly returned. Very sincerely, Margaret Milburn.' I knew her name was Margaret," added Mrs. Ames with mild triumph.
"But she does give a reason, you see," said Gordon. "She as much as says that she doesn't need the money."
"That's not the real reason. She does need it. Mr. Lovering has made inquiries. I told you that. She simply suspects where the money comes from and won't have it. Well, I feel that I have done all I can, Gordon. Don't you think so? Or would you—persist?"
"In face of that purple throw-down?" laughed Gordon. "Well, hardly, mother. I think you've done your duty. By the way, you say the young lady is employed. What does she do?"
"What was it he said?" Mrs. Ames knitted her brow. "Oh, yes, she does something on a newspaper; writes, I think."
"Then perhaps her reason is the real one, Mums. I've heard that those newspaper women make very good money. Anyhow, I rather admire her pluck. Let's hope she won't regret it later."
"Hm." Gordon smiled discreetly. It sounded as though his mother rather hoped she would regret it. "I fancy she's a little—a little common, Gordon. There's the ink, and then being on a newspaper—I remember a young woman who came to see me last fall about the upset at the hospital. She represented the—the—well, anyway, it was one of the respectable papers. But she didn't seem at all a nice sort of person."
"I suppose there are all kinds in that business, as in all others."
Mrs. Ames glanced through the second letter. "Mr. Lovering asks what he is to do about it."
"Tell him to drop it," answered Gordon with a shrug. "You can't force the young lady to accept an annuity. Perhaps if you'd offered her the ten thousand— was it ten?—outright she'd have been better pleased."
"But that would be absurd! Fancy giving a young girl ten thousand dollars to do as she pleased with! Why, she would spend it all at once, I've no doubt; gowns and hats and jewels."
"But think of the fun she'd have," mused Gordon, smilingly. "It would be a regular fairy story for her, wouldn't it? Like waking up on Christmas morning when you're a kiddie and finding the bed all heaped up with toys. I say. Mums, let's try her on the whole lump?"
"Do what, Gordon?"
"Let's offer her the ten thousand and see what happens. I'll bet she'd jump at It. Cash in hand looks so different from a prospective income. What do you say?"
"Perfectly absurd, Gordon! Why, it might be the ruin of the child? So much money all at once"
"Oh, I say, Mums! Ten thousand!"
"Ten thousand would be a great deal of money to her, Gordon. I wanted to help the girl. Giving her a sum of money outright might accomplish a directly opposite result, my dear. Of course, if one could be certain that she is—well, sensible and provident"
"That wouldn't be hard to learn," said Gordon. "You might commission me to look the young lady up—and over."
"I suppose, however, that since Thomas Milburn died—and even while he was alive—they never had much money. Besides, persons in poor circumstances have absolutely no idea, as a rule, how to use their money. They do spend it so—so wastefully!"
"I know." Gordon nodded sympathetically. "Jewels—yachts—grouse moors; oh, it's a sin!"
"You may jest about it, my dear, but it's really so. They speak of the wealthy class being extravagant, but it's really the poor people and the people with a little money who are extravagant. I've observed and I know. It's the real reason why the poor stay poor and the wealthy remain wealthy."
"But they don't," Gordon smiled. "That is, the poor don't stay poor. It's the poor who become eventually the wealthy."
"That used to be so, Gordon, but it's becoming less and less the rule every year. Look about you and see. Wealth is becoming more firmly intrenched all the time, and before very long—not in my time, nor yours—it will be impossible for the poor to move out of their poverty."
"My dear mother, you sound absolutely socialistic!"
"I don't sympathize with socialism," replied Mrs. Ames, shaking her head. "Equal distribution of wealth is impossible until all men are born with the same brains and ability. Distribute wealth equally to-day and to-morrow you'll have a rich class and a poor class again, just as now. I believe that it must always be that some persons must have greater possessions than others. The hope for the future is that those whose wealth gives them power will learn to realize the obligations of wealth and so use that power wisely and mercifully; not only mercifully, my dear, but helpfully. When that time comes there should be no poverty as we know it to-day, no ignorance and filth, no hovels to breed disease. There will be poverty, but not want nor misery."
"And this is to be brought about by the continued centralization—is that the word? no,—the continued accumulation of wealth by the wealthy? My dear Mums, you have a wonderful faith in human nature!"
"I have faith in civilization and education," she replied gravely. "Science is teaching us all the time. We are learning something new and wonderful every year. Just now we are learning that crime is a disease and that the disease may be stamped out in time by applying the principles of the 9cience they call eugenics. Disease and crime and poverty go hand in hand, and in time science will do away with them all."
"That's a bit of a load for science, isn't it? What about religion? What part is religion to play in this—this regeneration of the human race, Mums?"
"Less than it should, I fear. It must join hands with science before it can attain any creative power. Now it is like a mole burrowing into the earth and refusing to see light. It is fighting science instead of aiding it. I am a religious woman, Gordon, and I believe that we must always have religion. Man can't live without a belief in a God. We are only little children, the strongest of us and the weakest, and like children we want to feel that Someone is caring for us, loving us, waiting to comfort us when we are hurt. Some day religion will come out of the earth and it won't be a mole any more, but a giant walking upright with its head in the clouds. And all these things will come to pass some day, unless"
"Unless?" prompted Gordon eagerly.
"Unless the Being who created our world for us takes it away from us first."
Gordon sighed. "My dear mother," he said, "you make me feel distressingly shallow-minded, for I've never given a thought to the future of society, or to the part that Science and Religion are to play in it. May I ask very humbly where you acquired all these startling—for they're startling to me, I confess—all these startling and interesting theories?"
Mrs. Ames smiled. "Some of them were your father's, Gordon. Some of them are my own. Those that are mine I've got by reading and listening and observing. You are too young yet to bother your head with such things, I suppose. By and by, though, you will evolve a theory of your own. I don't know what it will be, but you'll have it. A theory that explains things to your own mind, at least, is a great comfort when you get on in years. It's like having something solid under your feet, something to stand on, if you see what I mean."
"Yes, I understand," replied Gordon thoughtfully. "And I rather like your—platform, Mums. It sounds hopeful. I confess that you're more optimistic about the ultimate result than I am—or should be if I stopped to consider it—but optimism costs no more than pessimism, and I guess it wears better. Some day, when I don't have to journey to Brooklyn to see about having a yacht put in commission, I shall sit at your feet and learn more wisdom, Mums."
His mother shook her head smilingly as Hurd pulled back her chair for her. "You'll get your wisdom in living, Gordon, and not by listening to an old woman gabble. Will you hand me those letters, Hurd? Thank you. Dear me, has the clock got out of order again?"
"No, madam," replied Hurd. "It is quite correct."
"What! Almost twenty minutes to three! My good gracious, Hurd, why didn't you tell me? Why, I told Tolland to be at the door at half-past two."
"Yes, madam, he is waiting."
"I shall be late at the meeting, Gordon! This is your fault. You let me talk and talk and talk, like—like a phonograph!"
"Not at all," laughed Gordon. "A phonograph talks in a circle and you haven't done that."
"Well, that's one comfort," grumbled his mother. "Shall I see you at dinner?"
"Not this evening, Mums. I'm dining at the club."
"And you think" Mrs. Ames glanced at the letters in her hand—"I had better do nothing more about this?"
"I wouldn't. After all, charity may seem degrading to the recipient. Let the girl keep her self-respect. I dare say she won't starve. If she does she'll be doing it like a true sport!"