The Abnegation of Mr. Vaine

The Abnegation of Mr. Vaine

by

Frank L. Packard, Stoughton, Mass.       4500 Words.

This may be an unpublished manuscript/drf. December 2018 for Stillwoods.Blogspot.Ca

Undoubtedly, Thomas Judson Vaine was a success —financially. No one ever disputed that, nor was Mr. Vaine, himself, at all modest in proclaiming the fact to the unenlightened. Also, there were other things pertaining to this gentleman, but these, few people knew, and here Mr. Vaine was reticent.

Possessed of a vanity inordinate, coupled with an egotism most amazing, he crowned his personality with a selfishness no scruples were ever permitted to hamper. He aped the gentlemen to perfection —outwardly. Even as a coat of glossy varnish, with unblushing effrontery, hides the imperfections beneath, so Mr. Vaine covered himself with a mantle of geniality and, incidentally, with fine raiment even to embroidered monograms on his shirt sleeves, and exuded superficial goodfellowship from every pore. And the soil of his soul being immune save only from those microbes that promulgated the welfare and comfort of Mr. Vaine, it was quite natural that he should have acquired the habit of stroking his delicately nurtured side-whiskers with magnificent self-complacency.

Of acquaintances he had many; of friends none. When acquaintanceship reached that stage of intimacy that borders on friendship, instead of gaining a friend Mr. Vaine lost an acquaintance. But acquaintances in the daily intercourse of club and business life being easy to acquire, the number increased rather than diminished, notwithstanding the losses.

One intimate he had: Merton, his partner. Merton was intimate for purely business reasons, and knowing Mr. Vaine as he did, it is not to be wondered at if at times —but that is part of the story.

“Merton,” said Mr. Vaine, glancing in the mirror over his desk as he caressed his whiskers with a gold inlaid pocket comb, “you know Holden, don’t you?”

Merton was standing by the window in the firm’s private office gazing down onto Broadway ten stories below, and he answered without turning around: “Young Dick Holden? Of course. I’ve met him at your place several times. A rather decent sort.”

Mr. Vaine waived the comment. “He told me last night he wanted to marry my daughter.”

“He hasn’t known you very long, has he?”

There was an almost imperceptible inflexion on the ‘you’ and Mr. Vaine looked at his companion sharply. Merton’s gaze was still fixed on the street.

“What did you say, Merton?” Mr. Vaine inquired, suspiciously.

“Why, I asked if the acquaintance wasn’t rather recent. I didn’t think you had known each other long,” Merton returned, composedly.

“No,” said Mr. Vaine, still regarding the other doubtfully. “Not very long.”

“What did you do? Kick him out?”

“My dear Merton! Of course not! I —”

“You don’t mean to say you gave your consent!” Merton ejaculated in astonishment, swinging around to face his partner.

Mr. Vaine chuckled as he waved his exquisitely manicured hand gently to and fro to make the over large stone on the third finger flash obtrusively.

“Of course I did,” he replied. “You don’t suppose I was going to let any young whippersnapper break up my home and interfere with my comfort do you, eh?”

Merton looked at him blankly. “I don’t quite see the point,” he said.

“You’re sharp enough in some things, Merton,” Mr. Vaine returned, “but in others you’re a perfect innocent. Ever since I’ve been a widower, Myra has run the house. You catch that, don’t you? Well, if I’d said no, what would have happened? They’d have gone off and got married of course. Then where would I have been? So instead, I give my consent and for awhile everything is lovely. Then I commence to let my daughter see the great sacrifice I am making for her. Going to lose my home, be a lonely wanderer. Pretend I’ve lost all interest in everything. Let her think I’m kind of going to the dogs and all that, you know. Result: Love and filial duty busts the engagement. And there you are! And the beauty of the whole scheme is that I’m not to blame. I don’t ask her to break it off. Oh, no, not for worlds! If it’s her happiness to be married, why her happiness is first, see? Great scheme, isn’t it?”

Mr. Vaine had warmed to his subject and had not noticed the look of disgust on Merton’s face.

Merton turned again to the window. “Yes,” he said slowly, “it’s a great scheme. The girl doesn’t stand much chance.”

“Of course she don’t!” Mr. Vaine cried, enthusiastically. “I’ve got them skun a mile. Gad! Merton, you ought to have seen my acting last night, it was superb!”

“I believe you,” said Merton quietly.

“Superb!” Mr. Vaine repeated, rubbing his hands together in delighted retrospection. “When Holden came into the library and blurted out something about Myra and he being in love and all that sort of stuff, I’ll confess that at first I was rather taken off my feet. But by the time he got through, I was ready for him.”

“Look here,” Merton broke in, “you don’t have to tell me this. A thing of that sort is rather confidential and sac —”

“Confidential be hanged! You ought to have heard me. I told him he had paid me the highest compliment that any man could pay to a father. Then I told him how Myra had been everything to me since her mother died, but that her happiness was first and if this was necessary to make that happiness complete I would give my consent. Oh, I did it fine! I really worked myself up into believing I was going to let him have her. A tear or two rolling down my cheek. Actual fact! Husky voice and all that, you know. By jove! there were tears in his eyes, too, when he stammered something about knowing what a great deal he was asking. I honestly believe he meant it, too. After awhile I gave him my blessing. Blessing is good, isn’t it, Merton? What do you think of that?” Mr. Vaine ended triumphantly.

Merton faced Mr. Vaine slowly, and for a moment he did not answer. “I think,” he said, at last, “I think you’ve done the worst night’s work you ever did in your life.”

“Why?” asked Mr. Vaine, a trifle disturbed.

“You wouldn’t understand if I told you.” Merton made no effort to veil the contempt in his voice. “Playing with a man and tricking him into showing you a glimpse of his soul means nothing to you. There is one point, however, you may be able to appreciate. Did it ever occur to you that he might find it out?”

Mr. Vaine’s face brightened instantly. “Oh,” said he, very much relieved, “is that all! I thought for a minute I had made a mistake somewhere. Why, that’s the best of the whole scheme! He won’t find out. I told you once that I gave my consent. I’m not going to withdraw it. Certainly not! When the time comes, Myra breaks the engagement, I don’t!”

“Of course. I understand the scheme thoroughly. Your explanation has been lucid enough. Yet suppose he should discover that there were fifty-three cards in the case?”

“Well, suppose he did! He’d have to make the best—” Mr. Vaine’s self-complacency suddenly dropped from him. He rose from his seat hastily and began to pace the office in an agitated manner. “Gad, Merton, you’re right!” he cried. “I never thought of that. He could sue for breach of promise, couldn’t he? He’d have a case, and —and I’d have to pay.” He sat down at his desk again and began to finger his beard nervously.

“What a —you’ll excuse me, Vaine, —mucker you are!” said Merton in whole-souled disgust. “Yes, he could. I hadn’t thought of that either, but he won’t. He won’t fight you with your own weapons. You needn’t worry about that. You’ll excuse me again, Vaine —Holden is a gentleman.”

Mr. Vaine flushed. “Look here, Merton,” he said, leaning over the flat-topped desk, “you’ve a dashed nasty way of talking sometimes, do you know it? And I don’t like it!”

Merton laughed shortly. “I’ll confess that occasionally I don’t feel quite up to holding down the father-confessorship. Guess I’m not quite case hardened enough!”

Mr. Vaine scowled. “Well, then,” he demanded, reverting to the subject, “if Holden did find out, what would he do?”

“Nothing —to you,” said Merton scornfully, moving towards the door. “Only I’d hate to stand as low in any man’s estimation as you’ll stand in his and I’m no saint either. You don’t quite grasp that? Well, no matter. I’m going out to get some fresh air. Goodmorning, Vaine.”

Mr. Vaine stared at the door and listened to Merton’s retreating footsteps. “Confound him!” he growled. “What the devil is the matter with him?” But being unable to answer the question with any degree of satisfaction to himself, he dismissed it from his mind, and devoted himself, instead, to perfecting, with exceeding care and craftiness, the plans for the future conduct of his scheme.

Now Mr. Vaine prided himself on being an entertainer of no little merit. And he proceeded to utilize his talent in this direction to the utmost. He insisted that Dick Holden should come up to dinner most every evening and Merton also. The latter, “to keep him company afterwards,” he would explain with a chuckle.

At table, somewhat after the manner of a trained bear at a country cattle show, Mr. Vaine would go through his tricks. About the time the fish was served he would lead the conversation to the subject of Jiu Jitsu. “Jiu Jitsu,” he would declare, “answers its purpose and so does boxing. But neither are necessary to me. Whenever I am in a situation where an ordinary person would need anything of that kind, I simply do this.”

Placing his hands on the edge of the table he would lean well forward, contracting his shifty, little, black eyes into what he fondly believed was a ferocious and soul-terrifying glare, at the same time screwing his face into a hideous contortion, which, had it been supplemented with bowie knives, pistols, dirks, costumes and diverse other accessories, would have passed very well for a heavy villain’s in a bowery show; but being robbed of these attributes became in idiotic absurdity.

“They just shrink away when I look at them like that.” Mr. Vaine would explain airily.

The company always laughed because politeness demanded it —likewise they laughed behind his back for another reason. But to Mr. Vaine’s ponderous egotism it was applause, and he was well content.

Like all vaudeville performers, Mr. Vaine reserved his star number for the last. This came when the wine had been poured and an empty bottle was at his disposal. Then he would glance around at the company with a something-good-coming kind of a smile and when he deemed the proper amount of expectancy had been aroused, he would announce suddenly: “I bought a new automobile today? let’s go for a ride.”

Whereupon, with his left hand he would grasp the neck of the bottle and glueing his lips to its mouth emit a series of distressing sounds that bore some faint resemblance to the “Honk! Honk!” of an automobile, while his right arm would gyrate in frantic circles presumably in imitation of “cranking up” the machine. When he was breathless and very red in the face he would pause and absorb with childish delight the plaudits that followed as a matter of course.

At the conclusion of the meal he would wink ponderously at Merton and observe: “I guess the young people can get along without us, Merton.” And as he left the room, he would never fail to give Dick Holden a hearty pat on the back.

This went on for some weeks with unvarying repetition until Mr. Vaine was convinced that he had sufficiently impressed Holden with the whole-heartedness of his approval of the engagement. Then, feeling that his position was secure in that quarter, he began to turn his attention to Myra.

She would enter a room to find her father posing before some picture or nicknack on which he would be gazing with a far-away look in his eyes. At just the proper moment he would heave a deep-drawn sigh tremulous with lagrimoso trills, and turn with a start to find that Myra had entered the room.

And Myra, alarmed at his dejected attitude, would hurry to him and question anxiously: “Why, father, what is the matter?”

Then Mr. Vaine would sternly suppress the emotion that overwhelmed him by gulping down an imaginary lump in his throat, and placing a hand tenderly around her, reply in a voice pathetic in its self-denial: “Nothing, dear. I was just thinking. So my little girl is going to leave me?”

And she would answer: “Oh! father, you’ve been so good and dear. And I’m so happy! And you do like my Dick, don’t you?”

When Mr. Vaine had completed his skirmishing, he advanced his forces for more direct attack. He began to talk about selling his house and how hard it was for a man of his age to settle in new surroundings. As soon as he discovered that this was having its effect by the frequent signs of crying he detected, as indicated by Myra’s flushed cheeks and red eyes, he decided to order a general advance. He began to stay a little later at the club at night and on reaching home would go out of his way to trip over anything he could find as a gentle hint to Myra that he had been imbibing a little more than usual.

Mr. Vaine was going to the dogs!

This performance he repeated each evening for a week, but, greatly to his consternation, Myra gave no evidence of having noticed anything.

So Mr. Vaine played his trump card. The next night he came home unusually late, made an unusually prolonged disturbance and went to bed with his hat and clothes on.

Curiously enough, Myra was obliged to enter his room the next morning in order to arouse him.

“Oh, father!” she exclaimed, reproachfully.

Here, Mr. Vaine realized, was his crowning opportunity. Tears being very close to the surface with shallow natures, Mr. Vaine had little difficulty in commanding them at will. So he sat up and covered his face with his hands.

“To think that I should ever let my daughter find me like this,” he sobbed.

“Father, what is it?” Myra cried anxiously. “You haven’t been yourself lately.”

“I shall never forgive myself for this,” he moaned. “Of course it’s all wrong, dear, and I shouldn’t be so sensitive. I should have kept a tighter hand on myself even if I was beginning to feel kind of lonely and in the way now that you have Dick. So I was trying to get accustomed to club life. But you’ll forgive your foolish old father, won’t you, because he loves his little girl better than anyone else in the world can ever love her.”

For a moment Myra regarded her father piteously. “Oh, father,” sne cried, “I never realized the sacrifice you were making for me!”

The next instant she burst into tears and ran from the room.

Peeping cautiously through his fingers Mr. Vaine assured himself that Myra was safely out of sight, then he rose, closed the door and glanced ruefully at his disordered dress clothes and ruffled silk hat. Considering, however, that the game had been very much worth the candle, he proceeded to array himself in more suitable attire, descended to the dining room, ate a solitary but hearty breakfast and went jauntily to his office.

Mr. Vaine felt that the battle had been fought and won and that it was now but a question of waiting for the capitulation. He had not long to wait. It came the very next morning at breakfast after another protracted sitting at the club.

Myra had very little to say during the course of the meal, but when Mr. Vaine had asked for a second cup of coffee, instead of passing it back she rose from her seat and carried it to him.

“Father,” she said, perching herself on the arm of his chair, “I want to tell you something.”

“Yes, dear?” said Mr. Vaine, in his tenderest tones.

“I’m —I’m going to end my engagement with Dick today.”

With magnificent self-control Mr. Vaine choked down his exultation. “Why, Myra,” he expostulated, “you —”

She stopped him by placing her fingers on his lips.

“Listen, father. I have thought it all out and I think it is best. You are wearing yourself out over the matter, and —”

“My dear, you must not consider me at all,” Mr. Vaine interrupted unctuously. “It is only your happiness that I care about. That comes first and above all else.”

“Are you very, very sure, father? Really and truly sure? Is my happiness so much to you?”

“Myra,” he answered in tones of tender reproach, “you know it is. It is everything.”

She bent over and kissed him. “You’re such a dear,” she murmured. “I’ve thought, oh! so hard, about it, and I feel sure I am doing what is best.”

“It is something you must decide for yourself, dear,” Mr. Vaine replied. “You know I would not seek to influence you in any way.”

Mr. Vaine preserved his sober demeanor until he had left the house; then he hugged himself. He was a little late in getting to the office and when he reached there he found Merton waiting for him.

Merton looked at his watch suggestively. “We were to meet you know who of the City Council this morning and square him on that traction deal.” he remarked.

“Drat you know who! He’ll keep,” cried Mr. Vaine in high spirits. “Say, Merton, it’s off, skiddoo, gone up, bust, finished, ended —” He paused for breath.

“What is?” asked Merton anxiously. “The traction deal?”

“Traction deal nothing!” snorted Mr. Vaine. “My daughter and that young smart-aleck Holden!”

“Not —?”

“That’s what!” Mr. Vaine slapped Merton on the back effusively.

“I tell you, Merton, there’s more ways than one of skining a cat or whatever the expression is. Diplomacy, my boy, diplomacy! Did I say no? Not by a jugful! But I got what I wanted, and my daughter has had a practical demonstration that no matter what the sacrifice might be to me, I would never stand in the way of her happiness. See?”

“Yes,” said Merton, with a quiet smile, “I see.”

“Well,” said Mr. Vaine, complacently, “I’ve made it up to her. Didn’t want her to feel the loss of that diamond ring Holden gave her, so I stopped on the way down this morning at the same place he got his. Found out what he had said and bought a bigger, better one. Paid double the money for it! Same setting, everything!”

He fumbled in his pocket and produced a neat little package, untied it and displayed the ring.

“Peach, ain’t it?” he said, extending it to Merton.

Merton took the ring and began to examine it. “Do you imagine she’ll wear it?” he asked, quietly.

“Wear it! Of course she’ll wear it. She’ll wear it today. Why shouldn’t she wear it?”

Merton turned to face the office door that had just opened. “Well, perhaps she will,” he said, dryly.

Dick Holden was standing in the doorway.

Mr. Vaine stared. It was certainly embarrassing. Had Holden seen Myra, and did he know? Mr. Vaine’s doubts were soon cleared up.

“I have just come in to say goodbye, sir,” Holden explained.

“Goodbye?” repeated Mr. Vaine in assumed perplexity. “Why, you’re not going away, Dick?”

“Yes. I —Myra —that is, we—”

“Ah,” said Mr. Vaine, his voice vibrant with feeling and sympathy, “then you’ve seen Myra. You mustn’t take it so much to heart. I am sorry. Very sorry. I am deeply pained. But I am sure Myra has done only what she believed to be right.”

“I am sure of that, Mr. Vaine,” said Holden earnestly. “And I want to tell you how deeply I appreciate all you have done for me.”

“Not a word! Not a word, my boy! You know I think a great deal of you. If there is ever anything I can do for you, you must let me know. I shall feel hurt indeed if you do not come to me.”

“You are very good, sir,” Holden answered, crossing over to him.

“And now I’ll say goodbye.”

He shook hands with Mr. Vaine then turned to Merton. Merton slipped his arm through Holden’s and together they walked to the door.

“Hold on, Dick, we can’t let you go like that,” called Mr. Vaine. “Why you haven’t even told us where you are going.”

Holden swung around on the threshold, one hand on the door-knob.

“I don’t believe I did, sir. The fact is, I’m not quite sure myself. You see Myra —er —Mrs. Holden hasn’t quite decided.”

The door shut with a slam. A sound suspiciously like a laugh reached Mr. Vaine from the corridor, and then a click as the elevator door closed.

Mr. Vaine’s face grew purple; his unusually large ears, that protruded at almost right angles from his head, became a fiery red. “Merton!” he gasped, “did you hear that? My daughter told me only this morning that she was going to end the engagement today!”

“Well, I should say it was ended all right —”

But Mr. Vaine did not wait for Merton to complete his sentence.

He dashed out into the corridor, shook the elevator door in impotent fury, rushed back into the office again and began running up and down like a madman. “I’ll stop ‘em!” he screamed furiously. “I’ll put the police after him! I’ll hire detectives! I’ll fix that young scoundrel! I’ll —”

“Make a proper idiot of yourself generally,” Merton broke in sarcastically. “They’re of age, aren’t they? What can you do?”

Mr. Vaine collapsed into his chair, a nerveless heap. The bluster and bravado gave way to tears. “To think that my daughter would deceive me,” he sobbed. “To think that she would treat me like this. I, who have given her everything! Never denied her slightest wish! You’re —boo hoo —not a father, Merton, you can’t understand what it means to have your child play on your affection and love and faith.”

Merton did not answer.

Mr. Vaine’s eyes made a sorrowful and mournful circuit of the office as though in mute appeal for sympathy from the furnishings. Suddenly his glance rested on the empty jeweler’s box on his desk.

“Where’s that ring?” he demanded, wiping his eyes.

“Ring?”

“Yes, the ring. You had it when Hol— I mean that scoundrel, came in.”

“By Jove! so I had,” said Merton, slapping his pockets in dismay.

“Well, then,” spluttered Mr. Vaine, “where is it?”

“I swear!” Merton ejaculated in guileless innocence. “It must —yes, that’s it —it must have slipped into Holden’s hand when I shook hands with him.” His face wreathed itself in a bland and hopeful smile as he looked up. “Lucky I did though, wasn’t it? Else Miss Vaine, er, Mrs. Holden wouldn’t have been able to wear it today.”

The End.

[4000 words]