Papa's own girl: A novel

The next day was rainy, and the prospecting expedition, as Susie called it, was deferred; the count meanwhile employed the time in completing the purchase of a farm of sixty-five acres, adjoining his original fifty, and now he held all the land he wanted. This farm was under cultivation, while twenty acres of the other land was a forest of large oak, chestnut, and maple trees. This was to form a pleasure-ground, for which it offered singular advantages, since it had, near its centre, a beautiful lake, fed by never-failing springs, in a hill on its further and northern boundary. The following day was magnificent, and though the distance was very short, the party set out about nine o’clock in an open carriage, for the count never walked, except on pleasure excursions; then he was equal to the strongest. He and the doctor occupied the front seat, and the ladies the other. Pausing on the high ground that sloped down to the bridge, they surveyed the scene before them. Along the river, on the opposite bank, which was quite steep and skirted with large trees, except immediately on either side of the bridge, there lay a broad, level field, straight beyond which was the twenty acres of forest, level at first, and rising gradually toward the north-western hills. The count turned on his seat, and asked “Madam Susie” where the palace should rise—“Speak, and I obey you; I and the other ‘slaves of the lamp,’” he added, smiling.

“I would have it set back two-thirds the distance toward the wood,” answered Susie, promptly. “The front, on right and left of the avenue, extending from the bridge, should be a park and garden, in which should stand first, after the bridge, the theatre.”

“Easy of access to our ‘transtevere’ neighbors. I see your idea; go on,” said the count.

“I have no very definite ideas further,” said Susie, “except that I would have the silk manufactory to the right or east, reserving the west as much as possible for our view.”

“The brick-making establishment,” said the doctor, “could be placed still beyond, further to the right.”

“Yes, I agree to all that,” said the count. “Now that lake in the woods, I find is just high enough to carry the water to the third story of the palace. You see there is land enough, so there is no object in having it higher. I tested the water yesterday. It is perfect, and will amply supply all our needs. Now, behind the palace are your nurseries and gardens, and in these, and near the palace, we must build our grand swimming-baths. I propose two apartments, one for women and children, and the other for men. In the women’s there must be a movable platform, like that at Guise, which will rise at one end to within six inches of the surface of the water—made to rise by simply turning a bar.”

“That is for the little children,” said Clara. “How fine a thought that was of Mr. Godin! In the centre of each bath we might have an island, about twelve feet in diameter, for flowers.”

“A good idea; we will not omit that,” said the count. “The palace will be four immense buildings, standing like a Greek cross, with a vast glass-covered court in the centre, about two hundred feet square. Each quadrangle also, will have a glass-roofed court, but not so large. The great central court must be a grand hall for great celebrations. Now what shall we do with the others? The corners of the four buildings lap some ten feet, you understand, and communicate on every story by passages or corridors.”

“One of these courts,” said Susie, “I would have for a winter conservatory.”

“That is my thought exactly,” said the count, “and all things are working together admirably. I have spoken for a palm-tree, fifty feet high, and many years old, which is an elephant drawn in a lottery to its owner, and which I can have for the tenth part of what it will be worth for the centre of this court. It once belonged to Gouverneur Morris, of Pennsylvania, I am told.”

“Why, I know the history of that tree,” said the doctor. “Is that so? Can that be obtained? Well, how all things do conspire to success when you operate on a grand scale! Now, in your great subterranean-ventilating galleries, you are to place hot-air furnaces for warming the palace. One of these galleries can run directly under the court, and hot-water pipes, from a furnace located directly underneath, can warm your conservatory, Susie.”

“The swimming-baths are the most difficult to warm, I think. The silk works we will place nearer than we intended, and use the exhausted steam of the engines for the purpose. Baths there must be in the palace as well; but these swimming-baths I want to make a great feature. Nothing is so refreshing after labor as a swim. It makes the body supple and elastic. I don’t think water, as a moral agent, can be over-estimated. Make a community thoroughly clean outside, and the inside will soon set itself in harmony. People will never be moral so long as baths are a luxury.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Susie. “I can’t believe I shall live to see all this; or if I ever do see it really accomplished, I shall die of pure joy. Think of it! Hundreds of poor families having all these luxuries, these splendid conditions for culture and refinement, and all for no more money than they now pay for their miserable tenements! Can it be done?”

“It certainly can,” replied the count; “and hereafter it will be by labor organizations themselves.”

As they drove down over the old wooden bridge, the doctor remarked the necessity of having a new one.

“Yes, I have already thought of that, doctor. I was closeted with your town-council yesterday afternoon. I offered to build them a new iron bridge—have it all completed in forty days. You see I have peculiar advantages, for I am a large owner in the Phœnix Iron Bridge Works, in the Schuylkill Valley, Pennsylvania. I proposed to your town council to issue to me small notes, to the amount of fifty thousand dollars, receivable for all taxes and town dues of all kinds. I will endorse them myself, if necessary. With these I can pay the workmen.”

“That is a capital idea, Frauenstein,” said the doctor; “but you won’t need to endorse them. Those notes will circulate perfectly. Everybody wants the bridge. It has been discussed seriously for over three years.”

“When these notes come into the town treasury, it can burn them. They can easily be all redeemed and burnt in the course of a year, and your citizens will have their bridge without feeling the cost in the least.”

“Kendrick & Burnham, the bankers,” said Clara, “are members of the council. They will of themselves turn the balance, for they know you will have a good deal of banking business, which they expect of course to do.”

“Exactly,” said the count; “you see how all things work for our interest. I am promised an answer at their next meeting, which is to-morrow night.”

Thus discussing the plans, the party drove to the edge of the forest; and as there was no road through it, they walked to the lake on the hill, following the course of a pretty brook that wound down through the woods, across the land, and emptied into the river. It was noon when they returned and drove to the spot where the temporary building for the brick-making was going up. As the carriage approached, the “boss” of the operations came forward and saluted the count with great deference. The count gave him his hand cordially and presented him to the rest of the party. “This is Mr. Stevens, Dr. Forest, with whom you will soon be better acquainted. He is a scientific man, as well as an accomplished artisan, and to him we look for the transformation of this sand into stone bricks.” Then the count presented him to the ladies separately, saying, “These are the heads of the firm of Dykes & Delano, Florists, of whom you have heard.” He had not, in fact, but did not confess that, as he took the offered hands of the ladies. “They will conduct the florist and nursery industry of our future social palace.” While the count was talking and listening to the conversation of the rest, his eyes were busy with the scene before him. There, on piles of lumber, on the ground, on carts, everywhere, the men, some alone, some in small groups, were seated, each one with a long, narrow tin pail or kettle, out of which they were eating their principal meal of the day. Frauenstein looked at Clara. There was an appeal in his eyes that she understood.

“Mr. Stevens,” she said, “where you have so many workmen who will be engaged here regularly for months, would it not be practicable to have a table set for them in the building you are putting up? It would seem so much more fraternal and——”

“Human, you would say, madam. Ah! madam, that is the way I ate my dinner for years.”

“By ——, it’s a shame!” exclaimed the doctor.

The count asked permission of Mr. Stevens to speak to his men; and driving near a group of three seated on a pile of boards, he said,

“My friends, I wish to ask you a question—not out of curiosity, believe me, but from a motive which you will approve.”

“Go ahead, sir,” said one of the men, tearing off a piece of tough meat with his teeth.

“I want you to make me an estimate of the cost, the average cost, as near as you can come at it, of a workingman’s lunch, such as you are eating to-day.”

“I think mine, boss, costs about as much as that you give your dog every day,” said a low-browed rough man seated near the group addressed.

“Sure would ye spake to a gintleman like that, Mikey? It’s onmannerly in ye, onyhow.”

“I’m not offended with Mike. I like his protest. He is not satisfied, and that is the first thing we want when we propose a reform.” Here the intelligence was in some silent, mysterious way communicated from man to man that this black-gloved gentleman was the great capitalist, of whom there were circulating fabulous stories about his untold wealth, and his project of a Social Palace for workingmen. Many of them were incredulous, and suspicious of the intentions of all capitalists; but as the knowledge of the count’s presence spread, many of the men rose and doffed their hats to him and his friends, as they gathered round the carriage. After trying again, the count found the lowest average estimate he could get was ten cents. They agreed that if they could have the same for that amount, they should not bring their kettles. The count and Mr. Stevens talked together in a low tone for some minutes; and then the count, rising in his seat, removed his hat and gloves and commenced to address the workmen. Suddenly every voice was hushed and every eye intently studying the elegant face and form before them:

“My friends,” he said, “you know my name is Frauenstein, and you have heard that I am a capitalist, which some of you take to be about equivalent to ‘enemy.’ [Cries of “No, no!”] Now some of you, doubtless, belong to the International Workingmen’s Association, and other labor organizations, and you know, as well as I do, that no man can own a million of dollars which he has earned by any industry of his hands. [Cries of “Hear, hear!” and “That’s true!”] Some of mine I inherited; but most of it I have acquired by investing it in great industrial enterprises in various parts of this country, of which I am a citizen; and some of it I have acquired in Wall Street, by what is called gold speculation. You know that every dollar of this wealth is the representative of a dollar’s worth of productive labor, performed by laboring men like yourselves. I also have done some labor, actual productive labor, and I think I should not exaggerate if I say that in this way I have an honest title to about five hundred dollars! [Laughter and cries of “Good for you, if you are a count!”] Yes, I am a count, as you say, but I came honestly by that, if I did not by my property, and I confess to a certain pride in my name, for it is an honorable one; but a thousand titles cannot make a man a true nobleman. In my opinion, he is noblest who most loves his fellow-men. [Great applause.] Now, my friends, it is the desire of my life to do a great work for industry; and understand well, I do not come to insult you with charity. Every true man despises charity, and wants only a just and fair compensation for honest labor performed. A man wants to have a home of his own; leisure for studying social and political questions; he wants baths whereby to keep himself clean; good clothes for himself and family; he wants his wife freed from the wash-tub and the cooking-stove; he wants a guarantee of support in sickness and old age; and especially does he want to see his children educated, and brought up to be noble men and women, who may be an honor to their country. [Immense applause.]

“Now, we propose within the next three years to offer all these advantages, and many more which I have not time to name, to two thousand people, or say five hundred families. When your bricks are done, you will see rising on this spot of 115 acres, a grander palace than your richest citizens have ever dreamed of. It will cost, with all the improvements of the parks and grounds, and the silk manufactory, which will be an industry to support the establishment, about $4,000,000, and I mean that those who build it and those who come to live in it, shall buy it and own it through the rents they pay. Say there will be one thousand working adults earning, on an average, $300 a year. That will be $300,000 a year, which will pay for the home in less than fifteen years. There will be ample work in the silk manufactory and in the cultivation of flowers for the women, and also for the children during hours that may be spared from their schools. I think, therefore, fifteen years is a fair estimate of the time it will take to purchase your magnificent home. And here I want to say that no credit is due to me for this idea. It is not mine, but that of one whose name you should teach your children to pronounce with reverence, as soon as their lips have learned to utter their first words. It is the name of a Frenchman, who has done already for his workmen what I propose to do here. I allude to Monsieur Godin, the great labor reformer and capitalist, in the town of Guise, in France. [Immense applause, and cheers for Godin rent the air.]

“In a few days I shall put into your hands a pamphlet which I have translated from a part of Monsieur Godin’s book, called Social Solutions. That will give you a clear idea of the organization and working of the first Social Palace ever founded. The second is the one on which you are now engaged, and I am sure you will work with new spirit now that you see what is expected of you. You are not working to build a stately palace for the rich, while you keep yourselves and your children in hovels, or mean tenement houses. The palace you are to build is to be your own home and that of your children after you. A capitalist builds this, but hereafter labor organizations will build them for themselves, all over the world, until, as I hope, it shall become one fair garden from the Atlantic to the Pacific, and from China to Gibraltar.

“Finally, I come to say the few words which I rose to say, for I did not intend to branch out in this way, and cheat myself out of a few moments of your valuable time! [Laughter and applause.] Your chief here, Mr. Stevens, who is a labor reformer, and whom I trust you will come to love as a brother [cheers for Stevens], thinks it practicable to construct in this temporary building an oven and range, where every day a quarter of an ox or so may be cooked, with loaves of bread and a plenty of good coffee, and that this can be furnished you every day for ten cents each.”

Here the count was interrupted by applause and the volunteering of the men to build the range for nothing after working hours.

“That’s the right spirit, boys. I know you work hard, and I would not ask it, nor would Mr. Stevens, but I will not dampen your ardor. It shall be as you wish, and I will send you the bricks and lime to-morrow morning. [Cheers.] Some of you are carpenters, and can put together with these rough boards a couple or more long tables. The necessary crockery and table-linen I beg you to allow me to present you, as an offset to your giving your labor to making the oven and the tables. One thing more, and I have done. I met yesterday in your streets, crouched on the pavement, crying, a poor Chinaman, who can scarcely speak a word of English, and who was suffering from hunger. I told him I would give him work, and the way he received my slight kindness, touched my heart. Some boys had been insulting the poor fellow in his poverty and wretchedness, and I took the occasion to read them a lecture. I found out that the Chinaman could cook and wash. Now, what do you say to his coming here to do this cooking, setting the table, and keeping the table-linen clean? [Applause and assent.] Meanwhile, you see, he can learn our language, and I have no doubt he will prove very useful—perhaps he will take charge of our great steam-laundry, which is to be a part of your Social Palace, and which will free your wives from the wash-tub. [Great applause.] I hope you will treat him well. Never by any carelessness teaze him about his cue, which you know is an honor in the Chinaman’s eyes. Respect, you know, always begets respect and confidence, and no man is worthy of the name, who thinks he is better than another, because he dresses differently or happens to be born in a different country.

“I said I would not offer you charity, and I will not; but when this great Social Palace is finished, I will show you that, capitalist though I am, I have one right that you are bound to respect. That right I mean to exercise in organizing a festival and ball on a grand scale, to celebrate the completion of our work; and if, after I have accomplished all this, you will forgive me for being a capitalist, and consider me a brother, I shall have all the recognition I desire. In conclusion, I propose three cheers for the Social Palace, in the name of liberty, equality, and fraternity.”

The three cheers were given with the most deafening enthusiasm. Then followed cheers for the count, and the heartiest wishes for his health and prosperity. Clara, and Susie, and the doctor, were as enthusiastic as any of the men. They cheered and clapped their hands with the men all through the speech, and the carriage turned away and drove off, amid cheers for Dr. Forest, whom all workingmen recognized as a friend, and then cheers for Dykes & Delano. To this Clara and Susie answered by waving their handkerchiefs.

“I had no idea you could be so eloquent,” said the doctor to the count, “though I was prepared for a telling speech the moment you opened your mouth.” Susie was profuse in her demonstrations of admiration, but Clara was silent.

During the drive home, the doctor took from his pocket a copy of the Oakdale daily and read: “Dr. Forest presents his regards to his patients of Oakdale and vicinity, and hereby announces that he will suspend his medical practice from the first of May, 18—, until the completion of the Social Palace, when he will take charge of the medical service of that institution.”

“I fully expected that,” said Clara. “I knew papa would have a large hand in that workmen’s palace; but what place are you to take, papa? Just before the Chinaman appeared in the programme, I was counting on your volunteering to take the office of cordon bleu.”

“Which I would do, willingly,” said the doctor, “if I could be most useful there.”

“By the way, let us stop at the hotel as we are passing, and see what Too Soon is doing. That’s the name of our celestial brother,” said the count.

In a small room in the upper part of the hotel, they found Too Soon seated on the floor, busily sewing. As they entered, he rose and pressed the count’s hand to his forehead, and then showed what he knew of western etiquette, by bowing very low to the rest. It was very difficult to talk to him, but by dint of pantomime and a few English words, they found that Too Soon had sewed all night, and had nearly finished his wardrobe, consisting of baggy, thick, linen trowsers and two nondescript jackets. The count tried to convey to him an idea of the function he was to fill over the river, but without success. However, after lunching with Clara and Susie, he returned for Too Soon, took him in his carriage, and drove to a hardware and crockery store, and then to a dry-goods establishment, where he made all the purchases for the new cuisine. The moment Too Soon saw the table-cloths, he showed by pantomime that he wished to hem them. He understood, evidently, that the count was going to establish a restaurant somewhere over the river; but he was as devoted as a slave, and ready to do whatever was required of him.

The work went on bravely. Stevens set every man at work who could drive a nail, and in less than a week the building was in use. The cooking arrangement was admirable. The tables built, Too Soon’s well-stocked china closet filled and locked, and all the washing and other paraphernalia ready for use. “To-morrow,” said Mr. Stevens to his men, “lunch for fifty and over will be spread here. I expect the count will be here. Understand you are all free to act as you usually do—take your own lunches to the table, or bring nothing. A good plate of meat, with gravy and potatoes, will be furnished for six cents; a large cup of coffee for two cents; (Too Soon has already roasted it in the new oven, which works to a charm,) and bread, as much as you want, for two cents more. That makes ten cents. Too Soon will hereafter sleep here, and keep all safe. There will be water and towels provided, so that every man can make himself so presentable that any one, seeing him at table, will be surprised if he don’t eat with his fork just like a gentleman. Now I ain’t afraid of offending you. I am a workman like you, and used to eat with my knife, which was all right when we had to use a two-pronged fork, and I confess, boys, that I shall have no little pride to-morrow at this lunch.”

“Boss, I guess some of us would know a silver fork if we had a good square view of it,” said one of the men.

“All right,” said Stevens, laughing. “You know very well there are some people who think a workingman must be a boor, anyway. Von Frauenstein is not one of them, I promise you. On the contrary, he expects rather too much of us.” The men said nothing; but evidently they determined, each and every one, to perish rather than forget and put their knives in their mouths. This piece of policy was rather nicely managed on the part of Stevens, for there is nothing on which people, who have been deprived of refined breeding, are so sensitive as this very subject of manners.

The next evening Burnham and his wife were at the Kendricks. Mrs. Burnham enquired for the count.

“Oh, he’s running and driving everywhere,” said Mrs. Kendrick. “We scarcely ever see him. He apologizes, and says he don’t like to make our house a convenience; but I won’t hear of his going to a hotel, of course.”

“Why, the whole town is talking of nothing but Von Frauenstein and his great workmen’s palace,” said Mrs. Burnham; “and, do you know, there are over fifty men at work already, and to-day they had a banquet. My boys were over there, and all the afternoon they’ve been dinning Too Soon into my ears. He wanted to know the names of everything, and it wasn’t enough for them to tell him, but they actually helped him wipe his dishes. I’ve forbidden them to ever go there again.”

“Oh, let them go,” said Burnham. “I haven’t seen Charlie so well for months. The excitement is innocent, and much better than he will get in the streets.” While they were talking, Kendrick was very unceremoniously walking up and down the drawing-room with his hands behind him. Pretty soon he stopped short before the company.

“Burnham,” said he, “we are old fogies. We’ve let the world get way ahead of us. I saw a sight to-day such as I never expected to see, to say the least.”

“Oh, you were over there too, were you? Do tell us about it,” said his wife.

“Why there were tables set for over fifty—snowy linen, napkins, silver forks, beautiful white china, and I’ll swear if most of the men didn’t eat as decorously as those at my own table.”

“I shouldn’t have thought they would like spectators,” said Burnham.

“Spectators! Bless your soul! I was invited to lunch with them.”

“Goodness! Did you ever hear of such assurance! What did you do?” asked Mrs. Burnham.

“Why, I accepted.” The ladies both uttered exclamations of amazement. “What could I do? There was Frauenstein just about to sit down. I couldn’t pretend I had lunched. Everybody knew better, and wherever Frauenstein could hob-nob, I ought to be able to.”

“But you couldn’t eat anything, of course,” said Mrs. Burnham.

“On the contrary, I had a very satisfactory lunch. In the first place, the coffee was as good as I ever tasted anywhere. The beef was roasted to a turn, the gravy perfect, and the baked potatoes also; and as for the bread, Mrs. Kendrick, I would much like to see as good in my own house.”

“Why, how on earth could it be done? A Chinaman beggar couldn’t do all that!”

“Yes, he’s a cook; besides there’s a French baker in the gang of workmen, and he showed the Chinaman how to make the bread and the coffee.”

“For my part, I think Frauenstein will get himself into a scrape. What will Ely & Gerrish’s men say? There’s nobody to give them such a dinner every day. Why, don’t you see it will raise wages?”

“Oh, no, Burnham; no gift about it. The men built the kitchen and tables at odd hours, and they pay for the food just what it costs, with enough over to make up the Chinaman’s salary.”

“Why, it is that horrid dirty Chinaman, I hear, that we used to see about the street trying to sell matches,” said Mrs. Burnham.

“No dirt about him now. He had clean new clothes, his cue neatly braided, and his skin, and even his nails, were as clean as yours or mine.”

“And the conversation was very edifying, I suppose,” said Mrs. Burnham.

“Just about as good as the average. I’ll be blest if I haven’t heard worse at my own table. To be sure, some of them spoke bad English. One of them, at the further end of the table, where Frauenstein and I sat, got up, and asked to speak, if his fellow-workmen and the distinguished guests were willing.”

“That was putting it rather neat,” said Burnham. “He made a telling speech in very good English.”

“Do repeat it,” said Mrs. Kendrick, as curious as if her husband had just returned from a visit to the South Sea Island savages.

“Well, he said, among other things, that Count Frauenstein’s address to them a week ago had touched them deeply, even independently of the magnificent promise of the Social Palace, which was something they could not yet realize as possible—touched them deeply because he had recognized the dignity of labor, and the rights of laborers to a just share of the products of their industry.”

“Oh, he’s filling their heads with that stuff, is he?” said Burnham.

“Not all stuff. No man could talk to men and win such unbounded admiration without talking soundly. I tell you, I’m more than ever convinced that we are old fogies. This laborer said workingmen knew perfectly well they were far below the educated gentleman in refinement, in manners, in culture—in everything, perhaps, but heart. He thought no men had more heart than workingmen, and workingmen knew their true friends just as quickly as they knew the true gentleman from the sham. ‘I felt,’ he said, ‘as the count talked, that I could not do enough to express my gratitude that God had sent us so true and noble a friend—a man disclaiming the idea of charity, and avowing that the best help a workman could have, was that which gave him a field wherein he could help himself. I felt, as he talked of our building ourselves a palace, that I would work my own fingers off to build him and his a palace, for he deserves it, God bless him!’ and the man sat down, quite overcome.”

“Oh, I wish I had been there,” said Mrs. Kendrick. “He must be a sensible man.”

“Did Frauenstein say anything?” asked Burnham.

“Oh! He was on his feet like a flash. He said the man’s sentiments did him honor—his emotion did him honor. With men having such comprehension of their rights, and such faith in the honesty of their fellow-men, he could trust the building of the palace. And then he drew a picture of life in the Social Palace—the labor, which would not be drudgery, but a pleasant exercise, that would preserve the health of both body and mind; the nursery and schools for the children; the grand festivals in the vast, glass-covered court, festooned with banners and garlands of the flowers their women and children would cultivate; the music, the societies, the theatre, where the children would learn elegance of bearing and address—O Lord! Burnham, I never heard anything like it. You see, he has studied this subject profoundly. If he succeeds, you will see one grand thing—the happiness of the aged, for they will have a sphere just as the children will. Now, life is organized for the strongest—that is, for adults. No doubt about it. Children are not happy, nor healthy, as a general thing. They are in the way; so are old people. Well, he only made a little speech, ending with a depreciation of war, and some touching remarks on the cultivation of the sentiment of the brotherhood of man. War, he called a stupendous imbecility, as a civilized way of settling disputes, and he offered a gracious tribute to Christ and Dr. Forest.”

“Oh, shame!” exclaimed Mrs. Kendrick.

“I don’t mean, you know, that he mixed them together. He spoke of Christ when talking of the brotherhood of man, and he said, but for Dr. Forest, one of the best and noblest, as well as most learned men he had ever met, the first Social Palace would have been built in some other place. I never saw men so earnest. Why, they already adore the man. They would do anything for him. He’ll get good work out of them, you may be sure.”

“Well, I should think he might, if in working for him, they are building up a grand home for themselves,” said Mrs. Burnham.

“Cost $4,000,000, you say, Kendrick. I tell you, it will never pay,” said Burnham. “So much ornament, you see. Now what on earth do poor people want of an astronomical observatory, and a theatre, and library, and billiard saloon? It’s all nonsense. Such people want nothing but a decent home and decent things generally.”

“Well, that has been my view; but Frauenstein says you won’t know the second generation of the Social Palace as what we understand as laborers’ children.”

“But don’t you see, bringing them up in such luxury, baths, and amusements, and accomplishments, and all that,” said Burnham, “they’ll feel themselves too good to work?”

“That’s just exactly what I told Frauenstein; but he says they will certainly have an attraction to luxuries, just like the rich, but they will have another attraction the rich lack, and that is a love of labor, not drudgery—you know the distinction he makes—a love of productive labor, that will be second nature to them; so they will despise idleness, and honor no one who leads a frivolous life.”

“Why, you are quite a labor reformer,” said Mrs. Burnham. “That Count Von Frauenstein bewitches everybody.”

“Well, I see one thing. He is a happy man. It’s a luxury to see a happy man. Now, I’m not a happy man. You are not a happy man, Burnham. We are just business machines—animated ledgers, you might call us. Frauenstein has the fervor, and enthusiasm, and freshness of a boy; so has Dr. Forest and that man Stevens; and I swear, that Chinaman is happier than I am!”

“Dear me, Elias!” said Mrs. Kendrick, not knowing what to think of her husband’s mood. “I’m afraid you are not well.”

“Yes, I am. I’ve only been awfully stirred up, that’s all. If things could be so that a man could make a lot of people happy while putting money in his own pocket, business would have more life in it.”

“Well, Kendrick, we’ll see how this thing works. Time enough to talk then.”

“How about the bridge?” asked Mrs. Burnham.

“Oh, that’s settled; the notes are to be issued at once—are ready now, I believe.”

“That is a good idea,” said Burnham. “I’m pleased with that; we shall get the bridge and not feel it at all. That’s a sound idea of Frauenstein. Well, maybe he’ll make his big scheme work, and get his money back in fifteen years, but I don’t see it yet.”