A Good-For-Nothing | Page 7

he unconsciously fell to analyzing Bertha's character, wondering
vaguely that a person who moved so timidly in social life, appearing so
diffident, from an ever-present fear of blundering against the
established forms of etiquette, could judge so quickly, and with such a
merciless certainty, whenever a moral question, a question of right and
wrong, was at issue. And, pursuing the same train of thought, he
contrasted her with himself, who moved in the highest spheres of
society as in his native element, heedless of moral scruples, and
conscious of no loftier motive for his actions than the immediate
pleasure of the moment.
As Ralph turned the corner of a street, he heard himself hailed from the
other sidewalk by a chorus of merry voices.
"Ah, my dear Baroness," cried a young man, springing across the street
and grasping Ralph's hand (all his student friends called him the

Baroness), "in the name of this illustrious company, allow me to salute
you. But why the deuce--what is the matter with you? If you have the
Katzenjammer* soda-water is the thing. Come along--it's my treat!"
* Katzenjammer is the sensation a man has the morning after a
carousal.
The students instantly thronged around Ralph, who stood distractedly
swinging his cane and smiling idiotically.
"I am not quite well," said he; "leave me alone."
"No, to be sure, you don't look well," cried a jolly youth, against whom
Bertha had frequently warned him; "but a glass of sherry will soon
restore you. It would be highly immoral to leave you in this condition
without taking care of you."
Ralph again vainly tried to remonstrate; but the end was, that he
reluctantly followed.
He had always been a conspicuous figure in the student world; but that
night he astonished his friends by his eloquence, his reckless humor,
and his capacity for drinking. He made a speech for "Woman," which
bristled with wit, cynicism, and sarcastic epigrams. One young man,
named Vinter, who was engaged, undertook to protest against his
sweeping condemnation, and declared that Ralph, who was a universal
favorite among the ladies, ought to be the last to revile them.
"If," he went on, "the Baroness should propose to six well-known
ladies here in this city whom I could mention, I would wager six
Johannisbergers, and an equal amount of champagne, that every one of
them would accept him."
The others loudly applauded this proposal, and Ralph accepted the
wager. The letters were written on the spot, and immediately
despatched. Toward morning, the merry carousal broke up, and Ralph
was conducted in triumph to his home.

III
Two days later, Ralph again knocked on Bertha's door. He looked paler
than usual, almost haggard; his immaculate linen was a little crumpled,
and he carried no cane; his lips were tightly compressed, and his face
wore an air of desperate resolution.
"It is done," he said, as he seated himself opposite her. "I am going."
"Going!" cried she, startled at his unusual appearance. "How, where?"
"To America. I sail to-night. I have followed your advice, you see. I
have cut off the last bridge behind me."
"But, Ralph," she exclaimed, in a voice of alarm. "Something dreadful
must have happened. Tell me quick; I must know it."
"No; nothing dreadful," muttered he, smiling bitterly. "I have made a
little scandal, that is all. My father told me to-day to go to the devil, if I
chose, and my mother gave me five hundred dollars to help me along
on the way. If you wish to know, here is the explanation."
And he pulled from his pocket six perfumed and carefully folded notes,
and threw them into her lap.
"Do you wish me to read them?" she asked, with growing surprise.
"Certainly. Why not?"
She hastily opened one note after the other, and read.
"But, Ralph," she cried, springing up from her seat, while her eyes
flamed with indignation, "what does this mean? What have you done?"
"I didn't think it needed any explanation," replied he, with feigned
indifference. "I proposed to them all, and, you see, they all accepted me.
I received all these letters to-day. I only wished to know whether the

whole world regarded me as such a worthless scamp as you told me I
was."
She did not answer, but sat mutely staring at him, fiercely crumpling a
rose-colored note in her hand. He began to feel uncomfortable under
her gaze, and threw himself about uneasily in his chair.
"Well," said he, at length, rising, "I suppose there is nothing more.
Good-by."
"One moment, Mr. Grim," demanded she, sternly. "Since I have
already said so much, and you have obligingly revealed to me a new
side of your character, I claim the right to correct the opinion I
expressed of you at our last meeting."
"I