Opening a Chestnut Burr | Page 2

FOR LIFE AND LOVE

CHAPTER XXVIII
WHAT A LOVER COULD DO
CHAPTER XXIX
DEEPENING SHADOWS
CHAPTER XXX
KEPT FROM THE EVIL
CHAPTER XXXI
LIVE! LIVE! ANNIE'S APPEAL
CHAPTER XXXII
AT SEA--A MYSTERIOUS PASSENGER
CHAPTER XXXIII
A COLLISION AT SEA--WHAT A CHRISTIAN COULD DO
CHAPTER XXXIV
UNMASKED
CHAPTER XXXV
A CHESTNUT BURR AND A HOME
CHAPTER I
A HERO, BUT NOT HEROIC

"Shall I ever be strong in mind or body again?" said Walter Gregory,
with irritation, as he entered a crowded Broadway omnibus.
The person thus querying so despairingly with himself was a man not
far from thirty years of age, but the lines of care were furrowed so
deeply on his handsome face, that dismal, lowering morning, the first
of October, that he seemed much older. Having wedged himself in
between two burly forms that suggested thrift down town and good
cheer on the avenue, he appears meagre and shrunken in contrast. He is
tall and thin. His face is white and drawn, instead of being ruddy with
health's rich, warm blood. There is scarcely anything remaining to
remind one of the period of youth, so recently vanished; neither is there
the dignity, nor the consciousness of strength, that should come with
maturer years. His heavy, light-colored mustache and pallid face gave
him the aspect of a blase man of the world who had exhausted himself
and life at an age when wisely directed manhood should be just
entering on its richest pleasures.
And such an opinion of him, with some hopeful exceptions and
indications, would be correct. The expression of irritation and self-
disgust still remaining on his face as the stage rumbles down town is a
hopeful sign. His soul at least is not surrounded by a Chinese wall of
conceit. However perverted his nature may be, it is not a shallow one,
and he evidently has a painful sense of the wrongs committed against it.
Though his square jaw and the curve of his lip indicate firmness, one
could not look upon his contracted brow and half- despairing
expression, as he sits oblivious of all surroundings, without thinking of
a ship drifting helplessly and in distress. There are encouraging
possibilities in the fact that from those windows of the soul, his eyes, a
troubled rather than an evil spirit looks out. A close observer would see
at a glance that he was not a good man, but he might also note that he
was not content with being a bad one. There was little of the rigid pride
and sinister hardness or the conceit often seen on the faces of men of
the world who have spent years in spoiling their manhood; and the
sensual phase of coarse dissipation was quite wanting.
You will find in artificial metropolitan society many men so

emasculated that they are quite vain of being blase--fools that with
conscious superiority smile disdainfully at those still possessing simple,
wholesome tastes for things which they in their indescribable accent
characterize as a "bore."
But Walter Gregory looked like one who had early found the dregs of
evil life very bitter, and his face was like that of nature when smitten
with untimely frosts.
He reached his office at last, and wearily sat down to the routine work
at his desk. Instead of the intent and interested look with which a young
and healthy man would naturally enter on his business, he showed
rather a dogged resolution to work whether he felt like it or not, and
with harsh disregard of his physical weakness.
The world will never cease witnessing the wrongs that men commit
against each other; but perhaps if the wrongs and cruelties that people
inflict on themselves could be summed up the painful aggregate would
be much larger.
As Gregory sat bending over his writing, rather from weakness than
from a stooping habit, his senior partner came in, and was evidently
struck by the appearance of feebleness on the part of the young man.
The unpleasant impression haunted him, for having looked over his
letters he came out of his private office and again glanced uneasily at
the colorless face, which gave evidence that only sheer force of will
was spurring a failing hand and brain to their tasks.
At last Mr. Burnett came and laid his hand on his junior partner's
shoulder, saying, kindly, "Come, Gregory, drop your work. You are ill.
The strain upon you has been too long and severe. The worst is over
now, and we are going to pull through better than I expected. Don't take
the matter so bitterly to heart. I admit myself that the operation
promised well at first. You were misled, and so were we all, by
downright deception. That the swindle was imposed on us through you
was more your misfortune than your fault,