Making Over Martha 19

Making Over Martha 19

"Quite well."

 

"My next question, Miss Crewe, you will answer notwithstanding its

peculiarly personal and intimate character, because (I am authorized to

tell you) upon your answer important issues hang. If Dr. Ballard asks

you to marry him, is it your intention to accept him?"

 

For a long moment there was no sound in the room, except such as came,

muted, from out-of-doors, and the leisurely ticking of the tall clock in

the corner.

 

Then Katherine, rising, impetuously faced the lawyer and Madam Crewe.

 

"I will _not_ answer that question, no matter what issues hang on it,"

she retorted hotly.

 

"Miss Crewe, I have your interest at heart, believe me. I strongly

advise you to answer."

 

"No."

 

"You mean you will not accept him."

 

"I mean no such thing. I mean I refuse to answer."

 

"Why?"

 

"You ought to know. The question is—indelicate. When—_if_ Dr. Ballard

says he wishes to marry me, it will be time enough for me to

answer—_him_."

 

"He has already said so."

 

Miss Crewe started. "What do you mean?" she demanded imperiously.

 

"Dr. Ballard has already told your grandmother he wishes to marry you.

Madam Crewe would like to know your intentions."

 

"I wish my grandmother had chosen a different way of obtaining my

confidence," the girl broke out, almost broke down. "It seems very

strange to me that she should choose such a method as this. It

seems—almost—disgraceful."

 

The old woman, sitting erect in her high-backed chair, did not attempt

to defend herself.

 

The lawyer, ignoring Katherine’s outburst, continued his dry-voiced

interrogation.

 

"You would accept him?"

 

"If Dr. Ballard wishes to marry me," the girl answered with marked quiet

of voice and manner, in strong contrast to her outbreak of a moment ago,

"if Dr. Ballard wishes to marry me—I will marry him."

 

"In opposition to your grandmother?"

 

"I don’t _want_ to oppose my grandmother, but if she tries to spoil my

life for the sake of a groundless prejudice I will—yes—I will marry him

_in opposition_ to her."

 

"Think well, Miss Crewe. Take your time. Answer cautiously. If you

were told Dr. Ballard is a struggling young doctor, with no present

means of support, to speak of, and a perfectly problematic future. If

you were told that he would never be able to provide you with more than

a bare living income——"

 

"I would marry him."

 

"If you were told that, in case you do so, your grandmother would divert

her property from you (as she has a perfect legal right to do) and

dispose of it elsewhere——?"

 

"Still—I would marry him."

 

"Nothing would dissuade you?"

 

"Nothing."

 

"The inquisition is over."

 

It was the old woman who spoke. Her face was as impassive as ever, but

Martha Slawson noticed that her tiny, emaciated fingers clutched the

arms of her chair with a vise-like grip.

 

"For all the world like a bird I seen last Spring," Martha mused, "which

somethin’ had broke its wing, an’ its claws was holdin’ on fierce, for

dear life, to the branch o’ the bush it was clingin’ to—as if _that_’d

save it!"

 

"May I go now?"

 

As Katherine made the appeal, she turned toward her grandmother, but her

eyes were kept resolutely averted.

 

Mr. Norris raised a detaining hand. "One moment, please. I assume you

entertain no doubt of Madam Crewe’s mental competency? That she is of

sound mind, capable of acting rationally on her own behalf? That any

will and testament she might choose to execute at this time would be

above suspicion of mistake, fraud, or undue influence?"

 

For a moment Katherine seemed to consider. Then her lip curled.

 

"If you mean, am I likely in the future to contest any will my

grandmother may now make to my disadvantage, I say no. I will never

dispute her course, whatever direction it may take. All I ask is that

she will not dispute mine. I am only sorry that they seem to diverge so

completely. I am sick of the name of money. I would say I am sick of

the sight of it—but I have never seen any——" with which parting thrust,

the girl turned on her heel, and left the room.

 

She went none too soon, for the moment the door closed upon her, her

self-control gave way, and she groped stumblingly to her own chamber

blinded by tears, choking back the sobs that were in themselves a

humiliation.

 

The three she had left, were silent when she had gone, until Mr. Norris

drew an important-looking sheet from under a mass of papers at his

elbow, and addressed Mrs. Slawson.

 

"As a general rule I strongly advise you, or any one, against placing

your signature to any instrument which you have not previously read and

do not fully understand. In this case, however, there is absolutely no

harm. Please call the other witness."

 

Martha took a step toward the door.

 

"If I put my writin’ on that paper, it won’t mean I’m injurin’—anybody?"

she demanded firmly.

 

"You have my word as to that."

 

"I’d never sign it, if it was to hurt Miss Katherine."

 

"Your placing your signature there cannot affect Miss Crewe’s interests

one way or the other."

 

Martha summoned Eunice Youngs, and the two, in their best manner,

literally with great pains, proceeded to affix their names as witnesses

to the last and testament of Idea Stryker Crewe.

 

 

 

 

*CHAPTER IX*

 

 

It was late one evening at the end of the week, when Sam came back, to

Martha’s surprise, alone.

 

"Ma just wouldn’t leave the city," he explained. "She’s staying at

Dennis’s now, but Sarah told me she couldn’t keep her above a week or

so, at the longest. She said Andy, or Hughey, or one of the girls would

be better able to look after her than Dennis and herself, who have all

they can manage paying off on their house in Yonkers, and the children

to educate besides. Sarah was quite short with me on account of Ma.

She said she was real put out. We’d no business leaving an old woman,

Ma’s age, away from the country such hot weather, especially when we

were just getting on our feet now, and were well able to give her a home

without feeling it."

 

Martha smiled tolerantly. "There’d be no time o’ year’d suit Sarah for

takin’ any more trouble than she’s got to," she observed, pouring her

husband’s tea.

 

"It’s a nice little place they’ve bought," Sam informed her, between

bites of cold ham and potato. "Dennis travels down and up every day,

which is, what you might call a stunt, but he has the satisfaction of

knowing the roof over his head is his own."

 

Martha set an ice-cold cup-custard at Sam’s plate.

 

"From Yonkers to the Battery _is_ a kind o’ long stretch, but—where

there’s a will there’s a—sub-way, I s’pose. Would he be with the same

steamship company he was with, since I first knew’m, I wonder?"

 

"Yes, and they gave him a raise last month. He’s doing _all right_,

Dennis is. You ought to see the way Sarah’s got the house fixed. They

pay off for the new furniture every month, so they don’t feel it, Sarah

says."

 

"Well, Sarah mayn’t feel it, but you can take it from me, _I_ certaintly

would, in her place," Martha observed. "Gettin’ things on the

excitement plan, would wrack my health. I hate the thought o’ owin’.

Payin’ for a dead horse never did _appeal_ to me, as Mrs. Sherman says.

How’s Andy doin’?"

 

"Andy _was_ succeeding great, but something went wrong, somehow, all of

a sudden, and his scheme fell through. He explained it to me, but I

forgot the particulars, to tell the truth. He’ll be on his feet again

in no time. Andy always was the smart one of the family."

 

Martha ruminated. "Wouldn’t you wonder how anythin’ gets done in this

world, when nothin’ anybody ever tries seems to succeed? Is Nora as

gallus-lookin’ as ever? Or is she holdin’ in her horses some, now her

husban’s kind o’ down an’ out, for the time bein’?"