“I never saw such a fellow. I begin to
think you’ve got a good deal of imagination.
With you, the idlest-fancy freezes into a reality
at a breath. Why, you looked, then, as if it
wouldn’t astonish you if you did tumble into
an earldom.”
Tracy blushed. Barrow added: “Earldom!
Oh, yes, take it, if it offers; but meantime we’ll
go on looking around, in a modest way, and if you get
a chance to superintend a sausage-stuffer at six or
eight dollars a week, you just trade off the earldom
for a last year’s almanac and stick to the sausage-stuffing,”
Tracy went to bed happy once more, at rest in his
mind once more. He had started out on a high
emprise—that was to his credit, he argued;
he had fought the best fight he could, considering
the odds against him—that was to his credit;
he had been defeated—certainly there was
nothing discreditable in that. Being defeated,
he had a right to retire with the honors of war and
go back without prejudice to the position in the world’s
society to which he had been born. Why not? even
the rabid republican chair-maker would do that.
Yes, his conscience was comfortable once more.
He woke refreshed, happy, and eager for his cablegram.
He had been born an aristocrat, he had been a democrat
for a time, he was now an aristocrat again.
He marveled to find that this final change was not
merely intellectual, it had invaded his feeling; and
he also marveled to note that this feeling seemed
a good deal less artificial than any he had entertained
in his system for a long time. He could also
have noted, if he had thought of it, that his bearing
had stiffened, over night, and that his chin had lifted
itself a shade. Arrived in the basement, he
was about to enter the breakfast room when he saw old
Marsh in the dim light of a corner of the hall, beckoning
him with his finger to approach. The blood welled
slowly up in Tracy’s cheek, and he said with
a grade of injured dignity almost ducal:
“Is that for me?”
“Yes.”
“What is the purpose of it?”
“I want to speak to you—in private.”
“This spot is private enough for me.”
Marsh was surprised; and not particularly pleased.
He approached and said:
“Oh, in public, then, if you prefer. Though
it hasn’t been my way.”
The boarders gathered to the spot, interested.
“Speak out,” said Tracy. “What
is it you want?”
“Well, haven’t you—er—forgot
something?”
“I? I’m not aware of it.”
“Oh, you’re not? Now you stop and
think, a minute.”
“I refuse to stop and think. It doesn’t
interest me. If it interests you, speak out.”
“Well, then,” said Marsh, raising his
voice to a slightly angry pitch, “You forgot
to pay your board yesterday—if you’re
bound to have it public.”
Oh, yes, this heir to an annual million or so had
been dreaming and soaring, and had forgotten that
pitiful three or four dollars. For penalty he
must have it coarsely flung in his face in the presence
of these people—people in whose countenances
was already beginning to dawn an uncharitable enjoyment
of the situation.
