The Breton Mills

Jopyrighted by the Author, and published by arrangement with him, CHAFTER X WEAK W O M A N . Cunan glaneed kenly at tliefaoeof his beautif ui bostess, whose wonted serenity liad all gone, thon lie rose to his feet, and stoot!, ■while she spoie his name in the briefest fonn of intrixluction. He did not seein offended by the stare of surprise Mr. Breton had for Uim. It was a utw experienco to the mïll owner, meeting his worknien in fashiouablo parlors. "Curran, is it? I was sure I had seeu you in the mili, but you had on a white upron then." Mr. Breton laughed familiarly, but he did not hold out his hand. Couldu't Curran see how rudely he was treated? Mr. Breton's laugh and tone raspad Berthas Qner sensibilities, so that sho was at once indignant with him, and disgustad with Curran who soemed to bear it so uncon8ciously. Curran'8 brow was unruffled: he had only folded his arms across his breast, sometimes a sign of excitoment with hiin. "Mr. Curran had the good fortune, I belie ve, to do my daughter a great service. " Mr. Ellingsworth's marnier was the porfection of well bred rudeness. It expressed the infinite elevation and polish of the person ■who assumed it, f ar above the very natural f eeling of disgust at the presence of so vulgar a person as this workmau. It suggested irresistibly the great contempt such a person ought to cali forth, but at the same time that Ellingsworth was unaipproachable by even as vulgar a thing as contempt. "Indeed y exclaimed Mr. Breton, as he seated himself, "I will thauk you, too, it was a good job for you, and I wil] see it dou't hurt your nterests any, either." "How do you like your work?" went on Mr. Breton in his harsh mili voiee. "I hope you ain't one of those who don't know when they ar well off." "I can keep frora starving; that is well off, I suppose." Mr. Breton was at loss but for a moment. "But you poor people don't save what you get. Y ou ought to economize." Curran's eyes flashed dangerously, bufc he bit his lip and kept silence. Mr. Ellingsworth saw a scène was imminent. How little tact Mr. Breton showed in j patronizing the young man so provokingly ' before the golden haired goddess whom he had no doubt fallen in love with. Something inust be done. "Excuse noe. Have you had any serious trouble with your wound, Mr. Curran?" "I have only lost a few days; that is uothing," he answered quickly. "But it must be considerable for a poor manP'broke in Mr. Breton, with his grand air; "I will direct my paymaster to make it up to you. " Curran glanced across the room at Miss Ellingsworth. He expected to soe her face flushed with anger. She would leap to Lier feet in indignant remonstrance to shield him from such impertinence, all the generosity of her nature in revolt against such return for his devotion to her. ( She was lookiug at him, but much as a gilí looks at a strange animal she has boen petting, when suddcnly they teil her he bites. Curran turned away from her and ground his teeth. Then he looked at Mr. Breton. "Can't your paymaster make up for the pain, too, as well as tne lost time;" Mr. Ellingsworth was at bis wit's end. He saw the cloud gathering in the workmaii's eyes, and that his lip trembled with suppressed feeling when he spoke. "How long have you been in town. Mr. Curran?" he said to change the eonversation if possible into safer channels. "Only six months." "Why,'' volunteered Mr. Breton after an awkward silence, "that is about as long as the mili hands have been fault ñnding so loudly." The oíd gentleman looked sharply at him. "1 don't suppose you .vvould toll who has been making the trouble." "Yes, sir." Curran had risen to his fcet, the flusli of offended self respect in hischeeks. WTien I carne here I found the milis paying you 12 per cent, dividends, while the help who ground them out for you, were crushed ahnost to the earth. I felt bound to fcell them, as I now teil you, that the owner has no more God given right to all the profit of their work than they to all the profit of his Investment." "And you are the man who has been stirring up this mischief here!" cried Mr. Breton, almost starting from his chair. Ho had caught him at last then. "And do you say that a man isn't eutitled to the interest on his money? My money represents a thousand such lives as yours; it ought to havo a thousand times tho pay." He had more terrible guns than of the batteries of logic for the rebel, but he could not resjst the teraptation to explode the fallacies of his class beforo ho let him go. The young man's eyes flashed beautifully. "Your money represents a thousand livcs, then, out cf uhk-h you have sucked the life blood? And at how much do you valué a human life? As mueh as .?l,0OÜ for a soul? A thousand dollars for all the joys and Uopes and possibilities of a human life? Your valuation is too miserably small. I teil you," and Curran threw out his right hand in a magnifieent gesture, "I teil. you, a human creature ought to havo for its service a good portion of the comforts and delighta the world is so bounteous with. Anything less is slavery, a slavery worse than negro bondage. Do you cali it pay that you give the hopeless men and women that weave gold for you on your looms? Rather say the daily recurring fact of hunger chains them to your milL" Mr. Ellingsworth had sunk back in his seat in despair ; he might as well resiga himself to the situation since it seemed boyond his power to change it. Mr. Breton was likely to hear some startling truths before he euoceeded in refuting this dangorous young man. Perhaps it was just as well, too; there is no sense in a man's making his money as the rich do, by ono kind or anofcher ol' imposition or injustice and then affect such ridiculous unconsciousucs;-:. There is 110 sense in being blind and stupid about bow one comes to bo rich, the comfortable fact remainiag. Whut was the use of Breton wrestling with such a young giant as this? "I pay my help rnarket prices of labor. I don't propose to make them gifts." The old gentleman handled his cane nervousJy, but he could punish the man enough later. Ko feit KUingsworth's sharp eyes, he must think of something to absolutely ovorwhelm the argtvbèni of his workman. He ran over i:i his ruind the smooth axionis of his class, and tried hard to recollect somo of the perfect syllogisms of the political economists. Curran stood, his elbow resting on the back of the chair he had been sitting in, in an attfrudB so cl;;uified and agruccful that Mr. I EHingsworth glanced across at his daughter ! to sec i!' she liad observed it. It ivas not quite so inconceivable, after all, that Bertha might have taken a í'aney to liíin. But then hiswboli as ' .-. uiúiis had bfun with ihepoor, and what possible harmony, rvon for a mo"ment - tl.cn Mr. Ellingsworth remembered , the maid sorvant crying at this moment in the dining room. "Xatniiilly yoii prefer to let your half clothed ill ted hands make you the presents; they enrn you big dividends; you throw them i a crust of bread, the market price of labor you culi !t,acd put the dividends iuyounmii pocket." "But it's raj' money made the mili, and my management runs it." "As for the money," retorted Curran, "perl.aps you inherited a part of it, saved by the tax laid on the poor of the lastgeneration, or you borrowed it, përhaps, ou interest, and made the help in your mili pay the interest evory oí' it; how else coukl it be paid? You did uot make your money; 110 man can tul $2,000,000 out of his farm, or dig it out of a coal mine. You simply took it. Your new milis are paúl lor out of wages you ought to hare giveu your help; you cali them j'ours; tho new machinery comes out of tlieca. They are tlie real stockholders in it all.-" ílr. Bivton had sprang tróm his seat, but Curran went on unflinchingly. "It isn't earned, it io simply defrauded. The mauagei ment is doubtless good, but ïïb management could, in the righteous course Qf justice, brfng such vast fortunes into the hands of a few uiou; while the thousands who work for them live and die with the consuming thirst for happiness never for one hour assuaged in thoir souls. "' The old gentleman had come up close to him as he spoke, and as he ünished, Curran looked down calmly into a face almost purple with passion. It oecurred to him that Mr. Breton was about to have an attack of apoplexy. The hand that held his gold headed cane fairly trembled. "You have earned your last penny in my milis!" the old gentleman shouted at him. "We ought to have laws to shut up such men as you." "Mr. Ellingsworth," said Curran, as that gentleman rose to his feet, "I am very sorry to have brought such a scène into your parlor; it seemed unavoidable after what was said to me, and it seems likely to prove more unfortunate for me thau for anybody else." No one thought of anything to say. Mr. Ellingsworth vaguely wondered where the man picked up his ncat way of talking, but then the wealthy, after au, have no monopoly of talent. Curran rast a withering look of contempt on the mili owner. "I am sorry, too, to be deprived of the chance to win mv daiiy bread." He did not notice that the expression of the giiTs face had changed, or that she had started to come to him, but tbere was a grandeur of wrath in his face and bearing that awed her. She stood in the center of the room, with heaving bosom and frightened, troubled eyes, watching him out of the door. Theu her father came back through the hall with his sarcastic smile flnely curving his thin lips. How beautifully he had known how to preserve his own honor. It would have been base and ignoble in him to have crawled out of her parlor at the entrance of hor father and Mr. Breton, self confessed unworthy to sit in their presence. And for all their wealth and power and vantage ground, careless of what it must cost, he had thrown their insults in their teeth and shown himself a grander man, a thousand times, than either of them. The warm flood of retuming feeling swept over her soul. She could not bear 011e more cruel word against him uow. Before her father could speak she had hurried into the hall and shut tast the door so that she should not hear the bitter sentence that was just partmg his lips. What strange impulse moved her that she shoul d so to the outer door and look eaeerlv down the street? But hei' insulted guest had not lingered. In a moment moro she was at the gate, and saw his tall form only at a little distance. No doubt he was thinking sadly, or perhaps angrily, of her, as he walleed, and he could not guess that she had repênted, and was eager this moment to beg his forgivencss, with all the sweet words she knew. Bertha glanced back at the house in hesitation. She could see the slim outlines of her father's figure shadowed on the curtains. She could not hear what he was saying. lt was this: "It is one of Bertha's freaks. All womon are subject to them." "But I don't understand," insisted Mr. Breton, wjping the perspiration from his heated face. "I don't uuderstand how she can bring herself, a girl of her notions, to entertain a fellovv like this. How long do you suppose this has been going on? Ever since the dog adventure, very likely. If I were Philip" "But you recollect I am only three days returned front my trip, and am entirely unable to teil you how many times she has met this very striking individual. Don't hurry yourself foto mental decline by trying to explain on logioal principies a womau's perfomianees," smiled Mr. Ellingsworth. "And I wouldn't take the trouble to suggest misgivings to Phil. I would rather trust tho girl's nature, and I think I know it, than depend on a jealous lover's reproaches. Why, my dear friend, I would stake my life on the girl's attachmeut to the traditions of her position. Our wives and daughters are thrice more intolerable, unreasonable aristocrats than we. If she had bebn guilty of a touch of foolish sentiment reaction is certain, and she will only despise the man the more because of her season of blindness." "But supposiug the reaction carne too late," suggested Mr. Breton auxiously. "ïhen it better not come at all," he continued "The very character you give her would make three people perfectly miserable - the man she refuses, the man she marries, and herself.' But the girl who had stood at the gate, in her slippers, and with no covering for her head but her golden hair fastened low on her neck, had hesitated but a moment. She could not let Curran lea ve her thus; porhaps she should never see him again, if he went away without ono word from her to soiteu the blows she had let them give him. And then he seemed to be walking slowly, she could overtake him in a moment. The uneven walk hurt her feet, her slippers were so thin, and as she lifted her skirt to walk f aster a rude briar tore her soft flesh, and then hung greedily to her to impede her steps. She stopped and called his name. .She had hardly murmured it, but it seemed so loud spoken and so tender toned she blushed at herself, and dared not speak it again. She might run a few steps, and then he would hear her voice more plainly. But her dreas elung so closely and her exx'ited breath oarao so fast that she gained on him very slowly. There was no use, she must lose him torever out of her life; he must always think her cruel and uugenerons. She leaned Rgainst the fence anl sent one more ho[eless cry at'ter him. It wis more, a sob than a cry, a piteous sob, trembling with geiitle, teart broken reproaeh. Why, she was sure he must have heard that; she had never nleant to sjieak so loud. What could shesay tohiin when he cama baok to herí She must try to bo very cold and digiiláed. But wasu't he goiug to turni W'liy, her cry was pireing enough to go a mile 0:1 tlie stili evenliïK air. No, lie was further away, he liad pot hearcl her. Then she looked baeked, and was frighteaed to seo what a distance she was away frora liorna And as she stood looking, now at his tall form drawing uneousjjoiisly away from her, and then at the dfeíant hghts of her home, tlie íirst hint of the desolation that bi'oocls over millions of hopeless hearts, caïne upQQ her soul. Her slippers were torn, and et wit.li devv, and e;ich step she took bniised the tender feet that had liever knomi hurt oï weai'úiess. Her heavy massee of hair liad leen shaken from their faftenijigs, aud hung at full leugth to her waist. .ue iancied herself some lost, friendless Magdnlen, for whoni the world, that fawns on tbe fortúnate and proud, had only tauuts and cruel blows. And were there wonien who 'had to face the world alone? fight their oiva battles with tiinid hearts? earn own right to breathe, with sinking hearts? "What was tliat, a step, a inan's step coming toward her?' To her excited iniáíination at that moment her beautif'ul home and the elegant life she loved so well seemed things of the past. She gathered her hair into a loóse coil and let her ilress trail on the walk to eover her feet. The man wore workman's clothes. She had hoped he might be n gentleman. She tried to keep on the ouU-r edge of the sidewall; ; she would have taken the road if Bho had dared. She looked away from tbe man, but she COnld sec with beatiug heart ho was coming directly toward her. But perhaps he did not see her, and ho might turn aside yct. God grant he be an honest man, v.-hose wife's loving face was in bis thoughts at this moment. There were sucb men. But instead of moving aside the man stopped short just before her, and she raised her big, seared eyes to his face. "Wüy, Bertha, I thought it was you." Sure enough it was Philip Breton. He had como from the mili, where there had been some extra work, and wore his working clothes. "Let me walk home with you," ho said Tery gently, as if he ha-d no right to assert any privilege with her. "I carne too far, and got frightened," she said dreamily, as she rested her hand on his arm. Her hand was cold, but it sent his young blood tingling through his veins. "I am so sorry." How he longed to eatch hor white hand to his lips, and warm it with kisses. But lateh' she had treated him with a new eoldneas, and her coldness he daro not meet. He dreaded to face it, it pained him so past endurance, and he had called on her but seldom since the night of the lire, But now his heart was f uil of eloquent lo ve ; so f uil he could not coneeive of her not sharing in it. It was she called it forth, she must have something for him. They had reached her gato. Sho would Eurely invite him to go in with hor. Then ehe could teil him if he had done anything to displease her. He could remembcr nothing, but there might have been some unconscious cold word or tone, as if, poor fellow, he had not been only too tender with her. "Good night," she said. She had lost the tremor in her voice f right had given her, and all the softness of heart of her loneliness, "I thank you," she added, coldly, as he did not go, but stood looking as if he did not quite understand. "Good night," he answered, w,ith a great throb in his throat. He stumbled awkwardly, as he went down the steps; he could uot see very well for the mist in his eyes. ffO BE COJfTrXTED.I