Boston (Mass.) -- Fiction; Women philanthropists -- Fiction
“No matter,” I continued; “any woman who will wear sapphires and has the
assurance to go to a dinner party with its attendant expenses of dress,
carriage, et cetera, when she cannot pay her debts and expects at any
minute to be sold out of house and home, is a woman who deserves to have
a pretty sharp lesson taught her, and I hope you will do it. Now, don’t
let those blue eyes of his and that majestic manner overawe you and
cajole you into feeling that you owe him a debt of gratitude to be paid
by getting him out of this emergency; for it will serve only to let him
teach his children that the highroad to comfort and ease is to go on the
principle that the public owes a genius a living.”
“No, I do not mean to do that,” replied Mildred, thoughtfully; “but I
cannot let this disgrace come to them when I can help it as well as not,
and it is a rather awkward thing for me to dictate conditions to a man
who is old enough to be my father, one who has risked his life on many a
battlefield, and is a genius and a famous scholar. I cannot lay the
blame on his wife. She adores him, and he thinks her failures are better
than other people’s successes. The whole family in fact forms the most
genuine mutual admiration society. They seem utterly oblivious of the
fact that in letting their milkman’s bill go unpaid, and in giving their
children money to go riding in the goat carriage in the park, they are
doing anything dishonorable.
“Every one who knows them says they have no more wisdom in bringing up
their children than two babies. They let them eat and drink what they
like, sit up as late as they like, and care more about their speaking
French and German well than about their knowing the multiplication
table, or anything practical.
“If they were not such devout churchpeople, one would not be so amazed
at this extravagance,” ejaculated Mildred warmly, “though perhaps genius
may be pardoned for lacking common sense and common honesty,” she added,
grimly.
Then rising, she continued, as she put on her hat and gloves: “I know
what I shall do. I have a scheme for helping him in a way that will be
something more than merely giving him immediate material aid. I know a
dear old lady who used to be papa’s friend and his, and I will go at
once to see her. She can tell me some facts that I need to know.”
Two hours later, she had but just returned when the General called.
He looked nervous and flushed, and I never saw Mildred seem more
embarrassed. In an adjoining room I awaited with some impatience the
close of the interview.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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