Democratic Sentinel, Volume 14, Number 38, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 October 1890 — POOR AND PROUD. [ARTICLE]

POOR AND PROUD.

“I’m afraid we can’t go to Saratoga this summer,” said Mrs. Whitby to her eldest daughter, a stylish-looking girl of nineteen. “I have pinched and contrived in every possible way, and yet I can hardly make both ends meet.” “But what will everybody say of us ?” answered the daughter. “Very true,” replied the mother. So they went to Saratoga. By what strategy it was effected we cannot pretend to tell. Some people have a way of cutting down their servants’ wages, and of haggling with a seamstress about the price of a day’s work; and Mrs. Whitby was one of these. It was by what she called economy, but plain people call meanness, that she saved the money for her summer trip. The day had been fixed for their departure, and the elder daughter had begun to pack her trunk, when Mrs. Whitby came into the room, with an open letter in her hand and dismay written on her countenance. “You might as well put your things back in their drawers,” said the mother. “Heie is a letter nom your aunt Ellen. She is sick and out of work as well as out of money, she says. I declare, it’s too provoking. She has always been a burden to the family. She might have married when she was young, and then your father wouldn’t have had to support her, as he has had to do, half the time. There was old Mr. Smith was dying for her, when she ras your age, and still pretty. But, with her ridiculous notions about love and similarity of tastes she refused him; and now. without a penny, would starve, if it wasn’t for us. And goodness knows, we’ve enough to do to take care of ourselves.” “But, ma, we can’t give up Saratoga,” said thedaughter. “We should never be able to hold up our heads again, if we do. People will suspect the truth. We’ve talked too much about it to stay at home. Besides, I told Dr. Burnet we were going ; and he said at once that he’d meet us there. ” And she looked quite conscious. For Dr. Burnet was no antiquated physician with a gray poll and a gold headed cane, but a handsome young man just entering his profession, and the inheritor of a competent income. All the gitls in the Whitby set declared him “a love of a man.” He was, in reality, very much more than this silly term implied, having first-rate abilities, a high sense of honor, and a manly character. The pretty face of Miss Whitby had pleased him, and he had been showing her considerable attention. “That alters the case,” said the mother, decidedly. “Your aunt must get somebody else to help her. She’s no right, either, to ask us; we’ve already done enough for her. Besides, she’ll get sewing again if she looks out sharp for it. Of course, it won’t do to sit with her hands folded. I wonder what would become of us all if I did it ?” So they went to Saratoga. To have seen the Whitbys at Congress Hall, a stranger would have thought they had not a care on earth. Little did people there imagine the shifts to which Mrs. Whitby had been driven in order to raise funds for this expedition. Meantime Dr. Burnet was hurrying through his engagements, so that he might follow a certain pretty face to Saratoga. He was not one to neglect a duty, however ; hence, while one or two patients continued so ill, he could not persuade himself that it was right to leave. But one day after watching a little boy through a dangerous illness, he was drawing on his gloves at his final visit, when the mother spoke: “I wish, Doctor, if you could, you would go up stairs and see a sick lady. She has lodged in our front attic these last two years; you know we let a part of our house out to lodgers. She’s a Teal lady, and has rich relations.” “Rich relations!” said the Doctor, ■“and she living in a garret?” “Well, they live in good style and E retend to be somebody. But they lqt er starve almost. She’s been out of work for a long time; the sewing machines, you know, make it hard for people that live by the needle; and now, I fear, she is really sick ?” “Have these relations been applied

“Yet they had money, it seems, lo go to Saratoga.” “That’s just it. —If-thev were starring themselves there might be some excuse. But people that can afford to go to Saratoga can surely afford to help, a relation. “I don’t believe Miss Whitby has had anything to eat fora week, except what I’ve sent up to her.” “What name did you say?” asked the Doctor, a stiange feeling coming over him. “Whitby. She’s an own sister to Lawyer Whitby, who has the pretty daughter.” “1 will go up,” said the Doctor. “As you say, I, may dq some good.” “Good heavens!” said the Doctor to himself, as he rode away, “what an escape I have made. To think that there should be such people in the world. Poor and proudf Poor and proud! That, I suppose, is the whole story. To keep up appearances they let their own flesh and blood die of starvation. The last time I made a morning call at the Whitbys, Miss Clara was sitting in the drawing-room, in costly slippers and morning dress, dawdling over a novel. What shams they are! It is clear, too, that the heartless indifference of her relations is hastening this poor old creature’s death.” “Oh, yes. She sent, I know, just before they went off to Saratoga. She was too sick to go herself, so she wrote a note and got my eldest boy to take it. But her sister-in-law wrote word back that they’d enough to do to take care of themselves.”

Dr. Burnet did not go to Saratoga. The Whitbys wondered why, and still hoped he would come, till, at last, their time was up, and they were forced to go home. But, when there, the mystery was explained. A note was found on the table, which had been left there that day, announcing the death of their aunt. The note was in the handwriting of Dr. Burnet. A little inquiry revealed to the Whitbys that the Doqtor had supported the invalid during the last month of her existence, and even made, arrangements for her burial, “unless,” as the note said in conclusion, “Mr. Whitby, as the nearest relative, would prefer assuming direction of the sad ceremonies.” They saw that no explanation that could be made would satisfy the Doctor. So they did not attempt it. But Mr. Whitby paid the undertaker’s bill, and forwarded a check to Dr. Burnet, in a formal note, for “professional services.” The check was returned in a blank envelope. Dr. Burnet is now married. He first met his wife, we happen to know, in the house of a poor family, where the same common humanity had led them both. He met her there several times, and bad fallen in love with her before he knew her name. At last she passed him one day in one of the stateliest equipages of the city. But he married Helen Wakefield, not for her fortune, but for her accomplishments and work.