The Disagreeable Woman

"If I were rich, Frank, I would help you."

"I am sure you would, sir, for you look like a kind gentleman."

This simple tribute went to my heart. The boy felt that I was a friend, and I determined that I would be one so far as I was able.

"Still I can do something for you. I am a doctor, and if you will take me round to your house I will look at your sister and see if I can do anything for her."

The boy's eyes lighted up with joy.

"Will you be so kind, sir? I will go with you now."

"Yes, Frank, the sooner the better."

I followed him for perhaps a quarter of a mile to a poor house situated on one of the side streets leading down to the North River. The street was shabby enough, and the crowd of young children playing about showed that it was tenanted by poor families, rich in children if nothing else.

Frank stopped at one of these houses and opened the door into a dirty hall.

"We live on the top floor," he said, "if you won't mind going up."

"I shall mind it no more than you, Frank," I said. "I am still a young man."

We climbed three staircases, and stood on the upper landing.

"I'll go in and tell mother I have brought a doctor," said Frank. "Just wait here a minute."

He opened a door and entered. He came out again almost immediately. He was followed by a woman of perhaps forty, with a pleasant face, but looking very sad.

"Welcome, doctor," she said. "Frank tells me you were kind enough to offer us your services."

"Yes, I am glad to do what I can for you."

"This is my daughter. I feel very much worried about her."

The daughter lay on a bed in an inner room (there were but two). She was pale and looked ill-nourished, but in spite of the delicacy of her appearance, she was pretty.

"Alice, this is the doctor," said her mother. Alice opened her eyes languidly, and tried to smile.

"Let me feel your pulse," I said.

The pulsations were slow and feeble.

The mother fixed her eyes upon me anxiously, and awaited my verdict.

"Your daughter is quite run down," I said. "She has very little strength, but I do not find any positive indications of disease."

"You are right, no doubt, doctor," said the mother with a sigh. "She is a delicate girl, and I am sure she was overworked."

"She is employed in a dry goods store, Frank tells me."

"Yes, she is at O'Neil's. They are very considerate there, but it is hard to be standing all day."

"It would be hard for any one. I am a man and strong, but I don't think I could endure it. She ought to have two weeks' rest, at least, before returning to work."

"I am sure you are right, doctor," said Mrs. Mills, "but how can it be managed? We have but two breadwinners, Frank and Alice. Frank, poor boy, brings in all he can, but Alice earns six dollars a week. It is upon that that we depend for our living. It is a hard thing to be poor, doctor."

"Indeed it is," I answered.

"You speak as if you know something about it."

"I do. I am a young physician, with very little money, and few patients. Life with me is a struggle, as it is with you."

I was well dressed—that is a necessity with a professional man, who must keep up appearances—and this perhaps made it difficult for Mrs. Mills to believe that I was really poor.

"What do you prescribe, doctor?"

"No medicines are needed. What your daughter needs most is strengthening food—to begin with a little beef tea."

Mrs. Mills looked embarrassed. I understood her embarrassment. What I ordered was simple enough; but where was the money to come from, to supply the sick girl's needs?

"I can make some beef tea," she said, after a pause, "and some bread."

"It is just the thing," I said, cheerfully.

"Then you don't think she needs any medicine?"

"No."

There was still that anxious look on the mother's face. Alice was the breadwinner, and she was sick. How were they to live?

An idea came to me.

"I will call again to-morrow morning," I said, cheerfully.

"You are very kind, doctor. I should like to pay you, but we are so miserably poor."

"Don't let that trouble you for a moment. I can give you some of my time, for of that I have plenty."

CHAPTER XII.

THE DISAGREEABLE WOMAN IN A NEW LIGHT

I have said that I had an idea. The destitute condition of this poor family weighed upon me, and excited my sympathy. With my scanty means I could give them only advice, but could I not secure help from others.

Mrs. Gray, my landlady, would perhaps furnish a supply of food, but though a good woman in the main she was not inclined to be charitable. She was inclined to be suspicious of those who applied to her for help, and I did not want to subject Mrs. Mills to any new sorrow or mortification. Among my fellow boarders, I could not think of one to whom I could apply, except—well, yes, except the Disagreeable Woman. Under her cynical exterior I suspected there was a sympathetic heart, though I believe that I alone gave her credit for it. I resolved to speak to her about my poor patient.

As the reader already knows, I sat next to Miss Blagden at the table. Toward the close of supper I said in a low voice: "If you will allow me, Miss Blagden, I will walk with you a short distance after supper. I have something to say to you."

She looked surprised, but answered promptly, "I shall be glad of your company."

This was the most agreeable speech I had heard from her since our acquaintance commenced.

Nothing more was said till I found myself walking by her side toward Broadway.

"Now?" she said, expectantly.

"I am going to take a liberty," I said. "I am going to try to interest you in a poor family. I of course know nothing of your means, but my own are so limited that in spite of my profound sympathy I can only give my medical services, while more is needed."

"Go on, doctor," she said, and there was unwonted kindness in her tone.

I told her the story in brief words, and she seemed interested.

"Your young patient has no organic disease?" she inquired.

"None whatever. She is ill-nourished, and works too hard. That is the whole story."

"They are very poor."

"You can judge. Their income cannot be more than seven dollars and a half, and of this the girl earns six dollars. Her sickness will entail some outlay, and there is only the boy to earn money now."

"It is very sad, doctor. How little we whose wants are provided for know of the sufferings of the poor! But fortunately," she added, and a rare smile lighted up her features and made her positively attractive, in spite of her name, "fortunately there is a remedy. When do you see this poor family again?"

"I shall call to-morrow morning after breakfast."

"And in the meantime do you think they will suffer for the lack of food?"

"It may be so. I don't think they have much money in the house?"

"Do you think you could make it convenient to call there this evening?"

"Yes, I am sure I could. Their poor home is less than half a mile distant from our boarding-house."

"Then, doctor, be kind enough to hand them this."

She drew out her purse and handed me a five dollar bill.

I suppose I showed the joy I felt.

"Miss Blagden," I said, "you could not give me a more agreeable commission."

"I believe it, doctor."

There was an unwonted softness in her tone, and her smile was positively attractive.

How could we call her the "Disagreeable Woman?"

CHAPTER XIII.

MRS. WYMAN'S CURIOSITY

I was passing our boarding-house on my return from the walk with Miss Blagden when Mrs. Wyman tapped on the window, and opened it.

"I saw you!" she said, in a bantering tone.

"At supper?"

"No, I saw you walking away with Miss Blagden. So you are smitten at last!"

I smiled.

"I assure you," I said, "there is nothing between us."

"You seem uncommonly attentive," and I thought there was something of pique in her tone.

"What can I do?" I answered. "You have forsaken me, and devote yourself to the Count."

"As if I could forget you!" she said, in a sentimental tone.

If she had known how utterly indifferent I was to her favor or disfavor she would hardly have been complimented. She had transferred her attentions to Count Penelli, but she still wished to retain her hold upon me.

"By the way," she said, suddenly, "are you going to hear Patti during her present engagement?"

"Do you take me for a millionaire?"

"Her prices are frightful!" she said, thoughtfully. "Of course I cannot go without an escort."

"If you will secure two tickets, I will accompany you."

"Thank you, but I am so poor. Still I dote on music, and I would buy my own ticket."

I shrugged my shoulders, and declined to take the hint.

"Very probably the Count will wish to go. He is an Italian, you know, and would have the advantage of understanding the language."

"True."

"As a nobleman he is doubtless above money considerations."

"You are mistaken. He is the heir to great estates, but he is out of favor with his father, and has to live on a very small allowance. It is a pity, isn't it?"

"He might work at some business, and replenish his purse."

"But you must remember he is a nobleman. His rank debars him from many positions that would be open to a common man."

"I am glad that I am not a nobleman, then."

"Ah, he might not object to being a doctor if he were trained to that profession. I wish there were any way of getting a ticket to Patti, without such a monstrous outlay. Can't you think of any way?"

"Mr. Blake is connected with a morning paper. Perhaps he may be entitled to a Press ticket."

"Thank you, Dr. Fenwick. That is an excellent suggestion. I will speak to him to-morrow morning. Where are you walking, if I may ask?"

"To see a poor patient. Will you accompany me?"

"No, no, I should be afraid of catching some horrid fever or something."

"The family is poor, and stands very much in need of assistance."

"How will they pay you, then?"

"They won't pay me. I shall not ask any compensation."

"I think you are foolish to waste your time on such people. They can't benefit you."

"I can help them."

"You will never get rich in that way."

"I do not expect to. I shall be satisfied if I can make a living. If you feel inclined to be charitable, I can recommend Mrs. Mills as deserving all the help you are inclined to bestow."

"I positively haven't a cent to spare. Besides it would make it all the more difficult to hear Patti."

Mrs. Wyman closed the window. The conversation had taken a turn which she did not relish.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE QUALITY OF MERCY

When I knocked again at the door of Mrs. Mills, she opened it and regarded me in some surprise.

"Did you think Alice would be worse?" she asked.

"No, but I am commissioned by a charitable lady, one of my fellow boarders, to give you this."

She took the bill which I offered her, and her face lighted up with joy.

"It is a godsend," she said. "I was feeling very anxious. We had but twenty-five cents in the house."

"This will help along."

"Indeed it will. How kind you are, doctor," and her eyes filled with grateful tears.

"I would like to be kind, but my ability is limited."

"And who is this lady to whom I am indebted?"

"We call her the Disagreeable Woman."

She looked very much surprised.

"Surely you are jesting, doctor."

"No; she is a social mystery. She is very blunt and says many sharp things."

"But she sends me this money. She must have a good heart."

"I begin to think so. It would surprise all at the table if they knew she had done this."

"I shall think of her as the Agreeable Woman."

"Now, Mrs. Mills, I am going to give you some advice. What your daughter needs is nourishing food. Use this money to provide it not only for her but for yourself."

"I will—but when this is gone," she hesitated.

"We will appeal to the Disagreeable Woman. What has your daughter taken?"

"I have given her some beef tea."

"That is good as far as it goes. Do you think she could eat a bit of steak?"

"I will ask her."

Alice seemed so pleased at the suggestion that Frank was dispatched to the butcher's for a pound of sirloin steak, and a few potatoes. Soon the rich and appetizing flavor of broiled steak pervaded the apartment, and a smile of contentment lighted up the face of the sick girl.

"Now mind that you and Frank eat some too," I said. "I will see you to-morrow morning.

I made a report to Miss Blagden at breakfast.

"If you had seen how much pleasure your gift gave, you would feel amply repaid," I said to her.

"Doctor," she said, earnestly, "I thank you for mentioning this case to me. We are so apt to live for ourselves."

"I also mentioned the case to Mrs. Wyman," I added.

"Well?" she asked, curiously.

"She said she was very poor, and wanted to buy a ticket to Patti's concert."

Miss Blagden smiled.

"I am not surprised to hear it," she said. "Did you ever hear Patti, Dr. Fenwick?"

"No, Miss Blagden. I am new to the city, and I am cut off from expensive amusements by my limited means."

"Do you like music?"

"Very much. When Patti gives a concert at fifty cents, I may venture to go."

At supper Miss Blagden placed something in my hand.

I looked at it, and found that it was a ticket to Patti's concert on the following evening. It would give me admission to the most expensive part of the house.

"You are very kind, Miss Blagden," I said, in grateful surprise.

"Don't mention where you got it. You may consider it in the light of a fee for attendance upon your poor patient. By the way, how is she? Have you been there to-day?"

"Yes; she is doing well, but is in a great hurry to get well. The rent comes due next week, and—"

"How much is it?" asked Miss Blagden, interrupting me.

"Seven dollars."

She drew a ten dollar bill from her pocket-book and extended it to me.

"Give that to Mrs. Mills," she said.

"You make me very happy as well as her; I am beginning to find how kind and charitable you are."

"No, no," she said gravely. "There are few of us of whom that may be said. How soon do you think your patient will be able to resume work?"

"Next Monday, I hope. She is gaining rapidly."

"How thick you are with the Disagreeable Woman!" said Mrs. Wyman, when she next met me. "Don't fail to invite me to the wedding."

"On one condition."

"What is that?"

"That you invite me to your wedding with the Count."

She smiled complacently and called me a naughty man. I wonder if she aspires to become a Countess.

CHAPTER XV.

THE PROFESSOR'S COURTSHIP

"What a guy!"

The busy day at Macy's was over. Troops of young women passed through the doors, in street costume, and laughing and chatting, made their way up or down Sixth Avenue, or turned into Twenty-third street. Among them was Ruth Canby, and it was to her that her friend Maria Stevenson addressed the above exclamation.

Ruth turned to observe the figure indicated by her friend, and was almost speechless with surprise.

At the corner leaning against the lamppost was a figure she knew well. The rusty overcoat with its amplitude of cape, the brown crushed hat, the weather-beaten face, and the green goggles were unmistakable. It was Prof. Poppendorf. He was peering in his short-sighted way at the young women emerging from the great store with an inquiring gaze. Suddenly his eyes brightened. He had found the object of his search.

"Mees Ruth!" he exclaimed, stepping forward briskly, "I haf come to walk home with you."

Ruth looked confused and almost distressed. She would gladly have found some excuse to avoid the walk but could think of none.

"Maria!" she said, hurriedly, "it is an old friend of the family. I shall have to leave you."

Her friend looked at the rusty figure in amazement.

"Oh, well, Ruth," she said, "we will meet to-morrow. So long!"

This was not perhaps the way in which a Fifth Avenue maiden would have parted from her friend, but Maria Stevenson was a free and easy young woman, of excellent heart and various good qualities, but lacking the social veneering to be met with in a different class of society.

"How provoking!" thought Ruth, as she reluctantly took her place beside the Professor, who, unlike herself, seemed in the best of spirits.

"I haf waited here a quarter of an hour to meet you, Mees Ruth," he said.

"I wish you hadn't," thought Ruth, but she only said, "I am sorry to have put you to so much trouble."

"It was no trouble, I assure you, Mees Ruth," said her elderly companion in as genial a tone as his bass voice could assume.

"Let us cross the street," suggested Ruth.

She wished as soon as possible to get out of sight of her shop companions, who were sure to tease her the next day.

"With all my heart," said the Professor. "I should wish to be more alone."

They crossed Sixth Avenue, and walked down on the west side. Ruth was wondering all the while what on earth could have induced the Professor to take such pains to offer her his escort. She did not have long to wait.

"I haf something very particular to say to you, Mees Ruth," said the Professor, gazing fondly at her through his green goggles.

"Indeed!" returned Ruth, in great surprise.

"Yes, Mees Ruth, I haf been feeling very lonely. I am tired of living at a boarding-house. I wish to have a home of my own. Will you marry me? Will you be my frau—I mean my wife?"

Ruth Canby stopped short. She was "like to drop," as she afterwards expressed it.

"Marry you!" she repeated, in a dazed way.

"Yes, Mees Ruth, dear Mees Ruth, I want you to be my wife."

"But, Professor, I could never think of marrying a man so–" old she was about to add, but she feared it would hurt the Professor's feelings.

"I know what you would say, Mees Ruth. You think I am too old. But I am strong. See here!" and he smote his large breast vigorously. "I am sound, and I shall live many years. My father lived till eighty-five, and I am only sixty-five."

"I am only twenty."

"True! you are much younger, but no young man would love you so fondly."

"I don't know," said Ruth.

"Perhaps you think I am poor, but it is not so. I haf a good income, and I haf just been appointed to gif lectures on philosophy in Miss Green's school on Madison Avenue. We will take a nice flat. I will furnish it well, and we will haf a happy home."

"Thank you very much, Prof. Poppendorf," said Ruth, hurriedly. "Indeed I feel complimented that such a learned man and great scholar should wish to marry me, but I am only a simple girl—I have not much education—and I should not make a suitable wife for you."

"Do not think of that, Mees Ruth. I will teach you myself. I will teach you Latin and Greek, and Sanscrit, if you please. I will read my lectures on philosophy to you, and I will make you 'une femme savante,' so that you can talk with my brother Professors who will come to see me. You can cook, can you not, Mees Ruth?"

"Yes, I know how to cook, but—"

"Ah, that is well," said the Professor, in a tone of satisfaction. "All the German ladies can cook. Frau von Bismarck, the wife of my old friend, is an excellent cook. I haf dined at Bismarck's house."

"But," said Ruth, firmly, "I can not think of becoming your wife, Prof. Poppendorf."

"Ach, so!" said the Professor, in a tone of disappointment. "Do not make such a mistake, my dear Mees Ruth. Is it nothing to become Mrs. Professor Poppendorf. You will take a good place in society. For I assure you that I am well known among scholars. I am now busy on a great work on philosophy, which will extend my fame. I will make you proud of your husband."

"Indeed, Prof. Poppendorf, I do not doubt your learning or your fame, but I can not marry a man old enough to be my grandfather."

"So, I am not so sure about that. I am old enough to be your father, but—"

"Never mind! We will not argue the point. I hope you will say no more. I can not marry you."

"Ah! is there another? Haf I a rival?" demanded the Professor, frowning fiercely. "It is that Dr. Fenwick?"

"No, it is not."

"I do not think he would care to marry you."

"And I don't want to marry him, though I think him a very nice young gentleman."

"Who is it, then?"

"If you must know," said Ruth, pettishly, "it is that young man who took supper with us not long ago."

"The young man from the country?"

"Yes."

"But what do you see in him, Mees Ruth. He is a yokel."

"A what?"

"He is a very worthy young man, I do not doubt, but what does he know? He is a farmer, is he not, with no ideas beyond his paternal acres?"

"Prof. Poppendorf, I will not have you speak so of my Stephen," said Ruth, while a wave of anger passed over her face.

"Ah, that is his name. Stephen. Pardon, Mees Ruth! I do not wish to say anything against this rural young man, but he will never give you the position which I offer you."

"Perhaps not, but I like him better."

"Ach, so. Then is my dream at an end; I did hope to have you for my frau, and haf a happy home and a loving companion in my declining years."

His tone seemed so mournful that Ruth was touched with pity and remorse.

"Prof. Poppendorf," she said, gently, "you must not be too much disappointed. There are many who would appreciate the honor of marrying you. Why do you not ask Mrs. Wyman?"

"She is a butterfly—a flirt. I would not marry her if there were no other woman living."

The young woman from Macy's quite agreed with the Professor, and it was not without satisfaction that she heard him express himself in this manner.

"Well," she continued, "then there is Miss Blagden. She is of a more suitable age."

"The Disagreeable Woman. What do you take me for, Mees Ruth? She is too strong-minded."

"Perhaps so, but I am sure she has a kind heart."

"I should never be happy with her—never!" said the Professor, decidedly.

"Were you ever married, Professor?" asked Ruth with sudden curiosity.

"Yes, I was married when I was thirty—but my Gretchen only lived two years. I haf mourned for her more than thirty years."

"You have waited a long time, Professor."

"Yes; till I saw you, Mees Ruth, I never haf seen the woman I wanted to marry. Perhaps," he added with sudden hope, "this young man, Stephen, does not wish to marry you."

"He will be only too glad," said Ruth, tossing her head. "He offered himself to me a year ago."

"Then there is no hope for me?"

"None at all, Professor."

They had reached Waverley Place, and so there was no time for further conversation. As they came up the stoop Mrs. Wyman saw them through the window. She was in waiting in the hall.

"Have you had a nice walk together?" she purred.

"How I hate that woman!" said Ruth to herself.

She ran up stairs and prepared for supper.

CHAPTER XVI.

SITS THE WIND IN THAT QUARTER

Of course I attended the Patti concert. The seat given me was in the best part of the house, and I felt somewhat bashful when I found that all my neighbors wore dress suits. My own suit—the best I had—was beginning to show the marks of wear, but I did not dare go to the expense of another.

My next neighbor was an elderly gentleman, bordering upon sixty. In the twenty minutes that elapsed before the rise of the curtain we fell into a pleasant conversation. It was pleasant to find that he was becoming interested in me.

"You enjoy Patti?" he said. "But then I hardly need ask that. Your presence here is sufficient evidence."

"I have no doubt I shall enjoy Patti," I answered. "I have never heard her."

"Indeed? How does that happen?"

"Because I have been only three months in New York. I came here from the country, and of course I had no chance to hear her there."

"Excuse my curiosity, but you do not look like a business man."

"I am not. I am a practising physician."

"Indeed!" he replied, with interest. "I wish you could cure my rheumatism."

"I should like a chance to try."

This was a little audacious, as probably he had his own family physician, but it came naturally upon his remark.