The Honorable Peter Stirling and What People Thought of Him by Paul Leicester Ford

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"Yes. Unless the man is in love. Let a man care enough for a woman, and
money or position will not frighten him off."

"Such men are rare. Or perhaps it is because I did not attract them. I
did not understand men as well then as I do now. Of some whom I thought
unlovable or dull at that time, I have learned to think better. A woman
does not marry to be entertained--or should not."

"I think," said Peter, "that one marries for love and sympathy."

"Yes. And if they are given, it does not matter about the rest. Even
now, thirty-seven though I am, if I could find a true man who could love
me as I wish to be loved, I could love him with my whole heart. It would
be my happiness not merely to give him social position and wealth, but
to make his every hope and wish mine also."

All this had been said in the same natural manner in which they both
usually spoke. Miss De Voe had talked without apparent emotion. But when
she began the last remark, she had stopped looking at Peter, and had
gazed off through the window at the green lawn, merely showing him her
profile. As a consequence she did not see how pale he suddenly became,
nor the look of great suffering that came into his face. She did not see
this look pass and his face, and especially his mouth, settle into a
rigid determination, even while the eyes remained sad.

Miss De Voe ended the pause by beginning, "Don't you"--but Peter
interrupted her there, by saying:

"It is a very sad story to me--because I--I once craved love and
sympathy."

Miss De Voe turned and looked at him quickly. She saw the look of
suffering on his face, but read it amiss. "You mean?" she questioned.

"There was a girl I loved," said Peter softly, "who did not love me."

"And you love her still?"

"I have no right to."

"She is married?"

"Yes."

"Will you tell me about it?"

"I--I would rather not."

Miss De Voe sat quietly for a moment, and then rose. "Dear friend," she
said, laying her hand on Peter's shoulder, "we have both missed the
great prize in life. Your lot is harder than the one I have told you
about. It is very,"--Miss De Voe paused a moment,--"it is very sad to
love--without being loved."

And so ended Lispenard's comedy.

CHAPTER XXXI.

CONFLICTS.

Lispenard went back with Peter to the city. He gave his reason on the
train:

"You see I go back to the city occasionally in the summer, so as to make
the country bearable, and then I go back to the country, so as to make
the city endurable. I shall be in Newport again in a week. When will you
come back?"

"My summering's over."

"Indeed. I thought my cousin would want you again!"

"She did not say so."

"The deuce she didn't. It must be the only thing she didn't say, then,
in your long confabs?"

Peter made no reply, though Lispenard looked as well as asked a
question.

"Perhaps," continued Lispenard, "she talked too much, and so did not
remember to ask you?"

Still Peter said nothing.

"Are you sure she didn't give you a chance to have more of her society?"
Lispenard was smiling.

"Ogden," said Peter gently, "you are behaving contemptibly and you know
it."

The color blazed up into Lispenard's face and he rose, saying:

"Did I understand you aright?" The manner and attitude were both
threatening though repressed.

"If you tell me that I misunderstood you, I will apologize. If you think
the statement insulting, I will withdraw it. I did not speak to insult
you; but because I wished you to know how your questions impressed me."

"When a man tells another he is contemptible, he cannot expect to escape
results. This is no place to have a scene. You may send me your apology
when we reach New York--"

Peter interrupted. "I shall, if you will tell me I wronged you in
supposing your questions to be malicious."

Lispenard paid no attention to the interjection. "Otherwise," he
finished, "we will consider our relations ended." He walked away.

Peter wrote Lispenard that evening a long letter. He did not apologize
in it, but it ended:

"There should be no quarrel between us, for we ought to be
friends. If alienation has come, it is due to what has occurred
to-day, and that shall not cause unkind feelings, if I can help
it. An apology is due somewhere. You either asked questions you
had no right to ask, or else I misjudged you. I have written you
my point of view. You have your own. I leave the matter to your
fairness. Think it over, and if you still find me in the wrong,
and will tell me so, I will apologize."

He did not receive a reply. Meeting Ogden Ogden a few days later, he was
told that Lispenard had gone west for a hunting trip, quite
unexpectedly. "He said not to expect him back till he came. He seemed
out of sorts at something." In September Peter had a letter from Miss De
Voe. Merely a few lines saying that she had decided to spend the winter
abroad, and was on the point of sailing. "I am too hurried to see my
friends, but did not like to go without some good-byes, so I write
them." On the whole, as in the case of most comedies, there was little
amusement for the actual performers. A great essayist has defined
laughter as a "feeling of superiority in the laugher over the object
laughed at." If this is correct, it makes all humor despicable.
Certainly much coarseness, meanness and cruelty are every day
tolerated, because of the comic covering with which it is draped.

It is not to be supposed that this comedy nor its winter prologue had
diverted Peter from other things. In spite of Miss De Voe's demands on
his time he had enough left to spend many days in Albany when the
legislature took up the reports of the Commissions. He found strong
lobbies against both bills, and had a long struggle with them. He had
the help of the newspapers, and he had the help of Costell, yet even
with this powerful backing, the bills were first badly mangled, and
finally were side-tracked. In the actual fight, Pell helped him most,
and Peter began to think that a man might buy an election and yet not be
entirely bad. Second only to Pell, was his whilom enemy, the former
District-Attorney, now a state senator, who battled himself into Peter's
reluctant admiration and friendship by his devotion and loyalty to the
bills. Peter concluded that he had not entirely done the man justice in
the past. Curiously enough, his chief antagonist was Maguire.

Peter did not give up the fight with this defeat. His work for the bills
had revealed to him the real under-currents in the legislative body, and
when it adjourned, making further work in Albany only a waste of time,
he availed himself of the secret knowledge that had come to him, to
single out the real forces which stood behind and paid the lobby, and to
interview them. He saw the actual principals in the opposition, and
spoke with utmost frankness. He told them that the fight would be
renewed, on his part, at every session of the legislature till the bills
were passed; that he was willing to consider proposed amendments, and
would accept any that were honest. He made the fact very clear to them
that they would have to pay yearly to keep the bills off the statute
book. Some laughed at him, others quarrelled. But a few, after listening
to him, stated their true objections to the bills, and Peter tried to
meet them.

When the fall elections came, Peter endeavored to further his cause in
another way. Three of the city's assemblymen and one of her senators had
voted against the bills. Peter now invaded their districts, and talked
against them in saloons and elsewhere. It very quickly stirred up hard
feeling, which resulted in attempts to down him. But Peter's blood
warmed up as the fight thickened, and hisses, eggs, or actual attempts
to injure him physically did not deter him. The big leaders were
appealed to to call him off, but Costell declined to interfere.

"He wouldn't stop anyway," he told Green, "so we should do no good. Let
them fight it out by themselves." Both of which sentences showed that
Mr. Costell understood his business.

Peter had challenged his opponents to a joint debate, and when that was
declined by them, he hired halls for evenings and spoke on the subject.
He argued well, with much more feeling than he had shown since his
speech in "the case." After the first attempt of this kind, he had no
difficulty in filling his halls. The rumor came back to his own district
that he was "talkin' foin," and many of his friends there turned out to
hear him. The same news went through other wards of the city and drew
men from them. People were actually excluded, for want of room, and
therefore every one became anxious to hear his speeches. Finally, by
subscription of a number of people who had become interested, headed by
Mr. Pell, the Cooper Union was hired, and Peter made a really great
speech to nearly three thousand people.

The papers came to his help too, and stood by him manfully. By their
aid, it was made very clear that this was a fight against a selfish
lobby. By their aid, it became one of the real questions of the local
campaign, and was carried beyond the borders of the city, so as to play
a part in the county elections. Peter met many of the editors, and
between his expert knowledge, acquired on the Commissions, and his
practical knowledge, learned at Albany, proved a valuable man to them.
They repaid his help by kind words and praise in their columns, and
brought him forward as the chief man in the movement. Mrs. Stirling
concluded that the conspiracy to keep Peter in the background had been
abandoned.

"Those York papers couldn't help my Peter's getting on," was the way she
put it.

The results of this fight were even better than he had hoped. One
Assemblyman gave in and agreed no longer to oppose the bills. Another
was defeated. The Senator had his majority so cut down that he retired
from the opposition. The questions too had become so much more
discussed and watched, and the blame so fastened upon the lobby that
many members from the country no longer dared to oppose legislation on
the subject. Hence it was that the bills, newly drawn by Peter, to
reduce opposition as far as possible, when introduced by Schlurger soon
after the opening of the legislature, went through with a rush, not even
ayes and nays being taken. Aided by Mr. Costell, Peter secured their
prompt signing by Catlin, his long fight had ended in victory.

The "sixt" was wild with joy over the triumph. Whether it was because it
was a tenement ward, or because Peter had talked there so much about it,
or because his success was felt to redound to their credit, the voters
got up a display of fireworks on the night when the news of the signing
of the bills reached New York. When Peter returned to the city, he was
called down to a hall one evening, to witness a torchlight procession
and receive resolutions "engrossed and framed" from his admiring
friends. Blunkers was chairman and made a plain speech which set the
boys cheering by its combination of strong feeling and lack of grammar.
Then Justice Gallagher made a fine-sounding, big-worded presentation. In
the enthusiasm of the moment, Dennis broke the programme by rising and
giving vent to a wild burst of feeling, telling his audience all that
they owed to Peter, and though they knew already what he told them, they
cheered and cheered the strong, natural eloquence.

"Yer was out a order," said Blunkers, at the end of the speech.

"Yez loi!" said Dennis, jumping on his feet again. "It's never out av
order to praise Misther Stirling."

The crowd applauded his sentiment.

CHAPTER XXXII.

THE END OF THE CONFLICT.

Peter had had some rough experiences two or three times in his fall
campaign, and Dennis, who had insisted on escorting him, took him to
task about his "physical culture."

"It's thirty pounds yez are too heavy, sir," he told Peter. "An' it's
too little intirely yez afther knowin' av hittin'."

Peter asked his advice, bought Indian clubs, dumb-bells, and
boxing-gloves, and under Dennis's tutelage began to learn the art of
self-defence. He was rather surprised, at the end of two months, to find
how much flesh he had taken off, how much more easily he moved, how much
more he was eating, and how much more he was able to do, both mentally
and physically.

"It seems as if somebody had oiled my body and brain," he told Dennis.

Dennis let him into another thing, by persuading him to join the militia
regiment most patronized by the "sixth," and in which Dennis was already
a sergeant. Peter received a warm welcome from the regiment, for Dennis,
who was extremely popular, had heralded his fame, and Peter's physical
strength and friendly way did the rest. Ogden Ogden laughed at him for
joining a "Mick" regiment, and wanted to put Peter into the Seventh.
Peter only said that he thought his place was where he was.

Society did not see much of Peter this winter. He called on his friends
dutifully, but his long visits to Albany, his evenings with Dennis, and
his drill nights, interfered badly with his acceptance of the
invitations sent him. He had, too, made many friends in his commission
work and politics, so that he had relatively less time to give to his
older ones. The absence of Miss De Voe and Lispenard somewhat reduced
his social obligations it is true, but the demands on his time were
multiplying fast.

One of these demands was actual law work. The first real case to come to
him was from the contractor who had served on the tenement-commission.
He was also employed by the Health Board as special counsel in a number
of prosecutions, to enforce clauses of his Food Bill. The papers said it
was because of his familiarity with the subject, but Peter knew it was
the influence of Green, who had become a member of that Board. Then he
began to get cases from the "district," and though there was not much
money in each case, before long the number of them made a very
respectable total.

The growth of his practice was well proven by a suggestion from Dummer
that they should join forces. "Mr. Bohlmann wants to give you some of
his work, and it's easier to go into partnership than to divide his
practice."

Peter knew that Dummer had a very lucrative business of a certain kind,
but he declined the offer.

"I have decided never to take a case which has not right on its side."

"A lawyer is just as much bound to try a case as a physician is bound to
take a patient."

"That is what lawyers say outside, but they know better."

"Well, have your scruples. We'll make the firm cases only such as you
choose. I'll manage the others."

"I should like to," said Peter. "I'm very grateful for the offer--but we
could hardly do that successfully. If the firm was good for anything, we
should be known as belonging to it, and the public could not well
discriminate."

So that chance of success was passed. But every now and then Bohlmann
sent him something to do, and Dummer helped him to a joint case
occasionally.

So, though friends grew steadily in numbers, society saw less and less
of Peter. Those who cared to study his tastes came to recognize that to
force formal entertaining on him was no kindness, and left it to Peter
to drop in when he chose, making him welcome when he came.

He was pleased to get a letter from Lispenard during the winter, from
Japan. It was long, but only the first paragraph need be quoted, for the
rest related merely to his travels:

"The breezes of the Pacific have blown away all my bad temper," he
wrote, "and I want to say that I was wrong, and regret my original
fault, as well as what it later led me into. You are quite right.
We must continue friends."

Peter wrote a reply, which led to a regular correspondence. He sent Miss
De Voe, also, a line of Christmas greetings, and received a long letter
from her at Nice, which told him something of Watts and Helen:

"She is now well again, but having been six years in Europe, she
and her husband have become wedded to the life. I question if they
ever return. I spoke of you, and they both inquired with great
warmth about you."

Peter replied, sending his "remembrance to Mr. and Mrs. D'Alloi in case
you again meet them." From that time on Miss De Voe and he corresponded,
she telling him of her Italian, Greek and Egyptian wanderings, and he
writing of his doings, especially in regard to a certain savings bank
fund standing in the name of "Peter Stirling, trustee" to which Miss De
Voe had, the winter before, arranged to contribute a thousand dollars
yearly.

As his practice increased he began to indulge himself a little. Through
the instrumentality of Mr. Pell, he was put first into one and later
into a second of the New York clubs, and his dinners became far less
simple in consequence. He used these comforters of men, indeed, almost
wholly for dining, and, though by no means a club-man in other senses,
it was still a tendency to the luxurious. To counteract this danger he
asked Mr. Costell to pick him up a saddle-horse, whereupon that friend
promptly presented him with one. He went regularly now to a good tailor,
which conduct ought to have ruined him with the "b'ys," but it didn't.
He still smoked a pipe occasionally in the saloons or on the doorsteps
of the district, yet candor compels us to add that he now had in his
room a box of cigars labelled "Habana." These were creature pleasures,
however, which he only allowed himself on rare occasions. And most of
these luxuries did not appear till his practice had broadened beyond the
point already noted.

Broaden it did. In time many city cases were thrown in his way. As he
became more and more a factor in politics, the judges began to send him
very profitable referee cases. Presently a great local corporation, with
many damage suits, asked him to accept its work on a yearly salary.

"Of course we shall want you to look out for us at Albany," it was
added.

"I'll do what I can to prevent unfair legislation. That must be all,
though. As for the practice, you must let me settle every case where I
think the right is with the plaintiff." This caused demur at first, but
eventually he was employed, and it was found that money was saved in the
long run, for Peter was very successful in getting people to settle out
of court.

Then the savings bank, for which Peter had done his best (not merely as
recorded, but at other times), turned over its law business to him,
giving him many real estate transactions to look into, besides papers to
draw. "He brings us a good many depositors," Mr. Lapham told his
trustees, "and is getting to be a large depositor himself."

Peter began to find help necessary, and took a partner. He did this at
the suggestion of Ogden Ogden, who had concluded his clerkship, and who
said to Peter:

"I have a lot of friends who promise me their work. I don't know how
much it will be, but I should like to try it with you. Of course, yours
is the bigger practice, but we can arrange that."

So after considerable discussion, the sign on Peter's door became
"Stirling and Ogden," and the firm blossomed out with an office boy--one
of Peter's original "angle" friends, now six years older than when Peter
and he had first met.

Ogden's friends did materialize, and brought good paying cases. As the
city, referee, corporation and bank work increased, their joint practice
needed more help, and Ray Rivington was, on Ogden's request, taken in.

"He doesn't get on with his law studies, though he pretends to work over
them hard. In fact he'll never be a good lawyer. He hasn't a legal mind.
But he'll bring cases, for he's very popular in society, and he'll do
all the palavering and running round very well. He's just the fellow to
please people." This was what Ogden urged, adding, "I might as well tell
you that I'm interested for another reason, too. He and Dorothy will
marry, if he can ever get to the marrying point. This, of course, is to
be between us."

"I'll be very glad to have him, both for his own sake, and for what
you've just told me," said Peter.

Thus it was that the firm again changed its name, becoming "Stirling,
Ogden and Rivington," and actually spread into two other rooms, Peter's
original little "ten by twelve" being left to the possession of the
office boy. That functionary gazed long hours at the map of Italy on the
blank wall, but it did not trouble him. He only whistled and sang street
songs at it. As for Peter, he was too busy to need blank walls. He had
fought two great opponents. The world and himself. He had conquered them
both.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

A RENEWAL.

If the American people had anglicized themselves as thoroughly into
liking three-volume stories, as they have in other things, it would be a
pleasure to trace the next ten years of Peter's life; for his growing
reputation makes this period a far easier matter to chronicle than the
more obscure beginnings already recorded. If his own life did not supply
enough material we could multiply our characters, as did Dickens, or
journey sideways, into little essays, as did Thackeray. His life and his
biographer's pen might fail to give interest to such devices, but the
plea is now for "realism," which most writers take to mean microscopical
examination of minutia. If the physical and psychical emotions of a
heroine as she drinks a glass of water can properly be elaborated so as
to fill two printed pages, Peter's life could be extended endlessly.
There were big cases, political fights, globe trottings, and new
friends, all of which have unlimited potentialities for numerous
chapters. But Americans are peculiar people, and do not buy a pound of
sugar any the quicker because its bulk has been raised by a skilful
admixture of moisture and sand. So it seems best partly to take the
advice of the Bellman, in the "Hunting of the Snark," to skip sundry
years. In resuming, it is to find Peter at his desk, reading a letter.
He has a very curious look on his face, due to the letter, the contents
of which are as follows:

MARCH 22.

DEAR OLD CHUM--

Here is the wretched old sixpence, just as bad as ever--if not
worse--come back after all these years.

And as of yore, the sixpence is in a dreadful pickle, and appeals
to the old chum, who always used to pull him out of his scrapes,
to do it once more. Please come and see me as quickly as possible,
for every moment is important. You see I feel sure that I do not
appeal in vain. "Changeless as the pyramids" ought to be your
motto.

Helen and our dear little girl will be delighted to see you, as
will

Yours affectionately,

WATTS.

Peter opened a drawer and put the letter into it. Then he examined his
diary calendar. After this he went to a door, and, opening it, said:

"I am going uptown for the afternoon. If Mr. Murtha comes, Mr. Ogden
will see him.".

Peter went down and took a cab, giving the driver a number in Grammercy
Park.

The footman hesitated on Peter's inquiry. "Mr. D'Alloi is in, sir, but
is having his afternoon nap, and we have orders he's not to be
disturbed."

"Take him my card. He will see me."

The footman showed Peter into the drawing-room, and disappeared. Peter
heard low voices for a moment, then the curtains of the back room were
quickly parted, and with hands extended to meet him, Helen appeared.

"This is nice of you--and so unexpected!"

Peter took the hand, but said nothing. They sat down, and Mrs. D'Alloi
continued:

"Watts is asleep, and I have given word that he is not to be disturbed.
I want to see you for a moment myself. You have plenty of time?"

"Yes."

"That's very nice. I don't want you to be formal with us. Do say that
you can stay to dinner?"

"I would, if I were not already engaged."

"Then we'll merely postpone it. It's very good of you to come to see us.
I've tried to get Watts to look you up, but he is so lazy! It's just as
well since you've found us out. Only you should have asked for both of
us."

"I came on business," said Peter.

Mrs. D'Alloi laughed. "Watts is the poorest man in the world for that,
but he'll do anything he can to help you, I know. He has the warmest
feeling for you."

Peter gathered from this that Mrs. D'Alloi did not know of the "scrape,"
whatever it was, and with a lawyer's caution, he did not attempt to
disabuse her of the impression that he had called about his own affairs.

"How you have changed!" Mrs. D'Alloi continued. "If I had not known who
it was from the card, I am not sure that I should have recognized you."

It was just what Peter had been saying to himself of Mrs. D'Alloi. Was
it her long ill-health, or was it the mere lapse of years, which had
wrought such changes in her? Except for the eyes, everything had
altered. The cheeks had lost their roundness and color; the hair had
thinned noticeably; lines of years and pain had taken away the sweet
expression that formerly had counted for so much; the pretty roundness
of the figure was gone, and what charm it now had was due to the
modiste's skill. Peter felt puzzled. Was this the woman for whom he had
so suffered? Was it this memory that had kept him, at thirty-eight,
still a bachelor? Like many another man, he found that he had been
loving an ideal--a creation of his own mind. He had, on a boyish fancy,
built a dream of a woman with every beauty and attraction, and had been
loving it for many years, to the exclusion of all other womankind. Now
he saw the original of his dream, with the freshness and glamour gone,
not merely from the dream, but from his own eyes. Peter had met many
pretty girls, and many sweet ones since that week at the Pierces. He had
gained a very different point of view of women from that callow time.

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