A Modern Chronicle | Page 2

the lady's chief characteristics; the only
daughter of a carefully dressed and carefully, preserved widower,
likewise a linguist,--whose super-refined tastes and the limited straits to
which he, the remaining scion of an old Southern family, had been
reduced by a gentlemanly contempt for money, led him 'to choose Paris
rather than New York as a place of residence. One of the occasional
and carefully planned trips to the Riviera proved fatal to the beautiful
but reckless Myrtle Allison. She, who might have chosen counts or
dukes from the Tagus to the Danube, or even crossed the Channel; took
the dashing but impecunious American consul, with a faith in his future
that was sublime. Without going over too carefully the upward path
which led to the post of their country's representative at the court of St.
James, neither had the slightest doubt that Randolph Leffingwell would
tread it.
It is needless to dwell upon the chagrin of Honora's maternal
grandfather, Howard Allison Esquire, over this turn of affairs, this
unexpected bouleversement, as he spoke of it in private to his friends in
his Parisian club. For many years he had watched the personal
attractions of his daughter grow, and a brougham and certain other
delights not to be mentioned had gradually become, in his mind,
synonymous with old age. The brougham would have on its panels the
Allison crest, and his distinguished (and titled) son-in-law would drop
in occasionally at the little apartment on the Boulevard Haussmann.
Alas, for visions, for legitimate hopes shattered forever! On the day that
Randolph Leffingwell led Miss Allison down the aisle of the English
church the vision of the brougham and the other delights faded.
Howard Allison went back to his club.

Three years later, while on an excursion with Sir Nicholas Baker and a
merry party on the Italian aide, the horses behind which Mr. and Mrs.
Leffingwell were driving with their host ran away, and in the flight
managed to precipitate the vehicle, and themselves, down the side of
one of the numerous deep valleys of the streams seeking the
Mediterranean. Thus, by a singular caprice of destiny Honors was
deprived of both her parents at a period which--some chose to
believe--was the height of their combined glories. Randolph
Leffingwell lived long enough to be taken back to Nice, and to consign
his infant daughter and sundry other unsolved problems to his brother
Tom.
Brother Tom--or Uncle Tom, as we must call him with
Honora--cheerfully accepted the charge. For his legacies in life had
been chiefly blessings in disguise. He was paying teller of the Prairie
Bank, and the thermometer registered something above 90deg
Fahrenheit on the July morning when he stood behind his wicket
reading a letter from Howard Allison, Esquire, relative to his niece. Mr.
Leffingwell was at this period of his life forty-eight, but the habit he
had acquired of assuming responsibilities and burdens seemed to have
had the effect of making his age indefinite. He was six feet tall,
broad-shouldered, his mustache and hair already turning; his eyebrows
were a trifle bushy, and his eyes reminded men of one eternal and
highly prized quality--honesty. They were blue grey. Ordinarily they
shed a light which sent people away from his window the happier
without knowing why; but they had been known, on rare occasions, to
flash on dishonesty and fraud like the lightnings of the Lord. Mr. Isham,
the president of the bank, coined a phrase about him. He said that
Thomas Leffingwell was constitutionally honest.
Although he had not risen above the position of paying teller, Thomas
Leffingwell had a unique place in the city of his birth; and the esteem
in which he was held by capitalists and clerks proves that character
counts for something. On his father's failure and death he had entered
the Prairie Bank, at eighteen, and never left it. If he had owned it, he
could not have been treated by the customers with more respect. The
city, save for a few notable exceptions, like Mr. Isham, called him Mr.

Leffingwell, but behind his back often spoke of him as Tom.
On the particular hot morning in question, as he stood in his seersucker
coat reading the unquestionably pompous letter of Mr. Allison
announcing that his niece was on the high seas, he returned the
greetings of his friends with his usual kindness and cheer. In an
adjoining compartment a long-legged boy of fourteen was busily
stamping letters.
"Peter," said Mr. Leffingwell, "go ask Mr. Isham if I may see him."
It is advisable to remember the boy's name. It was Peter Erwin, and he
was a favourite in the bank, where he had been introduced by Mr.
Leffingwell himself. He was an orphan and lived with his grandmother,
an impoverished old lady with good blood