015 - The Gilded Age a Tale of Today Chapter 14

father's house in Philadelphia. It was one of the pleasantest of the many charming suburban houses in that hospitable city, which is territorially one of the largest cities in the world, and only prevented from becoming the convenient metropolis of the country by the intrusive strip of Camden and Amboy Sand which shuts it off from the Atlantic Ocean. It is a city of steady thrift, the arms of which might well be the deliberate but delicious terrapin that imparts such

a royal flavor to its feasts. It was a spring morning, and perhaps it was the influence of it that made Ruth a little restless, satisfied neither with the outdoors nor the indoors. Her sisters had gone to the city to show some country visitors Independence Hall, Gerard College, and Fairmount, water works and park, four objects which Americans cannot die peacefully, even in Naples without having seen. But Ruth confessed that she was tired of them, and also of the mint.

She was tired of other things. She tried this morning an air or two upon the piano, sang a simple song in a sweet but slightly metallic voice, and then, seating herself by the open window, read Philip's letter. Was she thinking about Philip as she gazed across the fresh lawn, over the tree tops, to the Chelton Hills, or of that world which his entrance into her tradition bound life had been one of the means of opening to her whatever she thought. She was not idly musing, as one

might see by the expression of her face. After a time, she took up a book. It was a medical work, and to all appearance, about as interesting to a girl of eighteen as the statutes at large. But her face was soon a glow over its pages, and she was so absorbed in it that she did not notice the entrance of her mother at the open door. Ruth Well, mother, said the young student, looking up with a shade of impatience. I wanted to talk with THEE a little about thy plans. Mother,

THEE knows I couldn't stand it at Westfield. The school stifled me. It's a place to turn young people into dried fruit, I know, said Margaret Bolton with a half anxious smile. The chafes against all the ways of friends. But what will THEE do? Why is THEE so discontented? If I must say it, Mother, I want to go away and get out of this dead level. With a look half of pain and half of pity. Her mother answered,

I am sure THEE is little interfered with. THEE dresses as THEE will, and goes where THEE pleases, to any church THEE likes, and THEE has music. I had a visit yesterday from the Society's committee by way of discipline, because we have a piano in the house, which is against the rules. I hope THEE told the elders that Father and I are responsible for the piano, and that much as THEE love's music, THEE is never in the room when it is played. Fortunately, Father is already out

of meeting, so they can't discipline him. I heard Father tell cousin Abner that he was whipped so often for whistling when he was a boy that he was determined to have what compensation he could get. Now thy ways greatly, try me, Ruth, and all thy relations. I desire thy happiness first of all. But THEE is starting out on a dangerous path. Is thy father willing THEE should go

away to a school of the world's people? I have not asked him, Ruth replied, with a look that might imply that she was one of those determined little bodies who first made up her own mind and then compelled others to make up theirs in accordance with hers. And when THEE has got the education, THEE wants and lost all relish for the society of thy friends and the

ways of thy ancestors. What then Ruth turned square round to her mother, and, with an impassive face and not the slightest change of tone, said mother, I am going to study medicine. Margaret Bolton almost lost for a moment her habitual placidity. THEE study medicine, a slight frailed girl, like THEE study medicine? Does THEE think THEE could stand at six months and the lectures and the dissecting rooms, has the thought of the dissecting rooms. Mother said Ruth calmly.

I have thought it all over. I know I can go through the whole clinics dissecting room, and all does THEE think I lack nerve? What is there to fear in a person dead more than a person living? But thy health and strength, child, they can never stand the severe application. And besides, suppose THEE does learn medicine, I will practice it here here where THEE and thy family

are known. If I can get patience, I hope at least Ruth, THEE will let us know when THEE opens an office, said her mother, with an approach to sarcasm that she rarely indulged in. As she rose and left the room, Ruth sat quite still for a time, with face intent and flushed. It was out now she had begun her open battle. The sightseers returned in high spirits from the city. Was there any building in Greece to

compare with Girard College? Was there ever such a magnificent pile of stone devised for the shelter of poor orphans? Think of the stone shingles of the roof eight inches thick. Ruth asked the enthusiasts if they would like to live in soch a sounding mausoleum, with its great halls and echoing rooms, and no comfortable place in it for the accommodation of anybody. If they were orphans, would they like

to be brought up in a Grecian temple? And then there was Broad Street, wasn't it the broadest and the longest street in the world. There certainly was no end to it, And even Ruth was Philadelphian enough to believe that a street ought not to have any end or architectural point upon which the weary eye could rest. But neither Saint Gerard nor Broad Street, neither wonders of the mint, nor the glories of the hall where the ghosts of

our fathers sit. Always signing the declaration impressed the visitors so much as the splendors of the Chestnut Street windows and the bargains on Eighth Street. The truth is that the country cousins had come to town to attend the yearly meeting, and the amount of shopping that preceded that religious event was scarcely exceeded by the preparations for the opera. In more worldly circles, is thee going to the yearly meeting Ruth asked one of the girls, I have nothing

to wear, replied that demure person. If THEE wants to see new bonnets orthodox to a shade and conform to the letter of the true form, THEE must go to the Arch Street meeting. Any departure from either color or shape would be instantly taken note of. It has occupied Mother a long time to find at the shop's the exact shade for her new bonnet. Oh, THEE must go by all means. But THEE won't see there a sweeter woman than Mother, And THEE won't go. Why should I.

I've been again and again. If I go to meeting at all, I like best to sit in the quiet old house in Germantown, where the windows are all open, and I can see the trees and hear the stir of the leaves. It's such a crush at the yearly meeting at Arch Street, and then there's the row of sleek looking young men who line the curbstone and stare at us as we come out. No, I don't feel at home there. That evening, Ruth and her father sat late by the drawing room fire, as they were quite

apt to do at night. It was always a time of confidences. THEE has another letter from young Sterling, said Eli Bolton. Yes, Philip has gone to the far west. How far he doesn't say, but it's on the frontier, and on the map everything beyond it is marked indians and desert and looks as desolate as a Wednesday meeting. Hum. It was time for him to do something? Is he going to start a daily newspaper among the kickapoos? Father?

He's unjust to Philip. He's going into business. What sort of business can a young man go into without capital? He doesn't say exactly what it is, said Ruth, a little dubiously, but it's something about land and railroads. And THEE knows, father, that fortunes are made, nobody knows exactly how in a new country, and I should think so, you innocent puss, and in an old one too. But Philip is honest, and he has talent enough if he

will stop scribbling to make his way. But THEE may as well take care of THEE self, Ruth, and not go dawdling along with a young man in his adventures until thy own mind is a little more settled. What THEE wants? This excellent advice did not seem to impress Ruth greatly, for she was looking away with that abstraction of vision which often came into her gray eyes. And at length she exclaimed, with a sort of impatience, I

wish I could go west or south or somewhere. What a box women are put into, measured for it, and put in young if we go anywhere, it's in a box, veiled and pinioned and shut in by disabilities. Father, I would like to break things and get loose. What a sweet voice, little innocent it was, to be sure THEE will no doubt break things enough when thy time comes. Child? Women always have. But what does THEE want now that the he hasn't? I want to be something, to make

myself something, to do something. Why should I rust and be stupid and sit in inaction because I'm a girl. What would happen to me if THEE should lose thy property and die? What one useful thing could I do for a living for the support of mother and the children? And if I had a fortune, would THEE want me to lead a useless life? Has thy mother led a useless life? Somewhat? That depends upon whether her children amount

to anything? Retorted the sharp little disputant, what's the good father of a series of human beings who don't advance any friend, Eli, who had long ago laid aside the Quaker dress and was out of meeting, and who, in fact, after a youth of doubt, could not yet define his belief nevertheless looked with some wonder at this fierce young eagle of his hatched in a friend's dovecote. But he only said, has THEE consulted thy mother about a career? I suppose it is a career THEE wants. Ruth did

not reply directly. She complained that her mother didn't understand her, but that wise and placid woman understood the sweet rebel a great deal better than Ruth understood herself. She also had a history, possibly, and had some time beaten her young wings against the cage of custom, and indulged in dreams of a new social order, and had passed through that fiery period when it seems possible for one mind, which has not yet tried its limits, to break up

and re arrange the world. Ruth replied to Philip's letter in due time, and in the most cordial and unsentimental manner. Philip liked the letter as he did everything she did, but he had a dim notion that there was more about herself in the letter than about him. He took it with him from the Southern Hotel when he went to walk, and read it over and again in an

unfrequented street as he stumbled along the rather commonplace. An unformed handwriter seemed to him peculiar and characteristic, different from that of any other woman. Ruth was glad to hear that Philip had made a push into the world, and she was sure that his talent and courage would make a way for him. She would pray for his success at any rate, and especially that the Indians in Saint

Louis would not take his scalp. Philip looked rather dubious at this sentence, and wished that he had written nothing about Indians. End of Chapter fourteen.