Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 41, Number 32, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 January 1909 — MR. ELLERY'S WHITE ELEPHANT. [ARTICLE]

MR. ELLERY'S WHITE ELEPHANT.

’ It had been the habit of Mr. Ellery, almost every day for quite a year, to jump on a car during the noon-hour and hasten out to- a certain highly respectable section of the city, to take a look at his white elephant. Having satisned himself that it had not happily disappeared since his last visit, but that, on the contrary, and worse luck to him, it was daily growing in proportions, he caught a returning car and went back, to his office, there to work on an unsolvable problem which he invariably laid aside with a sigh of disappointment when the remainder of the employes gathered at their desks, and the duties of the day were resumed. The problem was this: To subtract ten thousand from three thousand, and leave a comfortable balance, m other words, and to speak more plainly, to meet an annual expenditure of nbt less than ten thousand dollars with a yearly income of three thousand and have a remainder sufficient to clothe a fastidious young man and an extravagant young wife. It is scarcely a matter of surprise that by no possible necromancy of mathematics could he bring about the desired result, and that each day he returned to his drawings «na his blue-prints—for the young man was an architect —with increasing disgust. That which in the course of development he began to suspect was to take the form of an “elephant” was in the beginning nothing more than a most' valuable corner-lot, in a very desirably locality, the property of a wealthy brewer, by name Joseph Barney. Young Ellery had passed this corner on many a soft summer’s evening, in his strolls with Lucile Barney, during the halcyon days of courtship; he had walked heedlessly by it in the late hours when going home, and he had skidded around it, in her automobile, little dreaming that he was doomed to go through life with this valuable corner-lot, and the white palace that later grew there, bound to his back, like another Atlas. A manly young fellow was Ellery, Industrious, self-reliant, conscientious. He had wooed the heiress to the brewer’s vast wealth because he loved her. and he married her for the same sufficient reason, taking no account of her flattering prospects. After a public wedding, one of the fashionable events of the season, the young couple went to live in a select family-hotel, where they were happy until his white elephant began to assume formidable shape; and even then he was happy when it was possible for him to forget the perplexing problem in substraction which absolutely refused to afford him the desired solution. When he returned to the hotel one evening, he found the rotund and flor-id-faced Mr. Barney in close conversation with his daughter, and when he entered the room the brewer gave his child a command of secrecy in the way of a threatening scowl, which the latter in her Impulse of joy refused to notice.

"Oh. Paul, what do you think?" cried the young wife, enthusiastically after she had. given her husband a welcoming embrace. “Papa is going to build us a house. Isn’t he a dear?" “He’s a brick, that’s what he is," declared Paul, quite as impulsively, although he could not becomingly run to the pleased brewer and throw his arms around his neck, as did his wife. “I can’t let my Lucy live in this coop,” exclaimed the other, addressing Ellery. ‘There’s no place to breathe here. I give you my word, it would kill me.” "It Is rather small quarters,” admitted the young man. "All the new and desirable apartments seem to be small." "And, Paul dear, where do you . think It Is to be?” Interposed Lucile. "You can never guess. Do you remember that beautiful corner on Warsaw avenue?" "I should rather think so. Finest corner I know of anywhere." "That Is where our little home is to be. It is just lovely." It seemed so to Ellery. He had watched the excavation, and the laying of the substantial foundation with quite as much pleasure as his wife. Then a great edifice of white stone began to arise on the front of the lot, with a garage and a stable in the rear; and, becoming,alarmed, he took to figuring. Then came a tljme, when the home was completed, and the young couple were forbidden to enter, while, Mr. Barney was furnishing it according to bls own extravagant tastes. Finally, o?e day, the f?w belongings of the Ellery's were taken from the hotel, while Paul was at his work, and that night he stepped into his palatial home. His wife was awaiting him discreetly inside the door, for she could not with propriety run out to embrace him on the marble steps, in full view of their exclusive neighbors. There also were the beaming Mr. Barney and his less demonstrative wife. After an elaborate dinner, served In

a most luxurious dining room, with an impressive array of silver and cutglass, the young man was conducted through the house. They went through every room—thirty in alldown to the Wine cellar, and his heart sank as they descended. Paul fretted inwardly over the wasteful use of the electricity, the whole house being Illuminated; he regarded with perturbation the modern appliances at every turn, which would be very expensive to maintain; and he estimated with alarm that it would require at least one year’s income to stock the wine-cellar. , His three conductors, each in turn, pointed out to him the costly woodwork, the rich draperies, the expen sive rugs, the rare furniture; and he was extravagant in his praise, while mentally he was at work on his problem. “I never saw anything so complete in all my life,’’ declared his wife, when they were alone. “What on earth is the matter with you? You don’t seem one bit pleased.” “Getting used to it, I guess,” cautiously replied the husband, with a forced laugh. "It is certainly very fine.’’ * “You know papa,” she observed proudly. “He never stops at cost.” “By no means. I wonder if he was ever poor.” “Ol\, papa was frightfully poor when he came to America.” “To be sure,” he remarked in meditation. “Then he got a start. After you get a start once, you are all right. We must be very careful until we get. a start. “Yes, Indeed, very,” she exclaimed earnestly. “Won’t it be great fun to be saving?" “Oh, certainly, great fun,” he agreed vaguely, regarding her with perplexity. “Singular I never thought of it before in that way.” “You see, I have never had to be saving. I shall start in by getting a set of books and putting down every penny. I don’t know the first thing about book-keeping, but I shall manage somehow. Wouldn’t it be lovely to fix up an office, high desk, safe, and all that?” He suppressed a cry of alarm, and pretended to review the subject with careful deliberation before he observed: “Well, yes, it would be the proper thing, no doubt, but I would not do it just yet, dearest. Our income, you know, is very small.” “I have such a poor memory for figures. You told me it was thirty thousand, or thirteen; at any rate there was a three in it.” "Three thousand, my dear, just a miserable three thousand,” he said with emphasis.

"So It was,” agreed his wife, with supreme indifference. “Heavens!" he cried with consternation; then he managed to cover his dismay wit’h a weak smile, as he continued, “my right foot has gone asleep. If you don’t mind I’ll walk around the block before retiring." When he was out on the street, he relieved his pent-up feelings with great freedom, and directed a long string of imprecations on the offending mansion, with its windows still all ablaze and the lighting-bill mounting up at a frightful rate. “The child has not the faintest idea of our position. Three thousand or thirty thousand Is all one to her. Here Is a pretty state of affairs! Lights going In every room full blast, as If I were a millionaire. Servants so thick they stumble over one another. I’m afraid to count them! I wouldn’t be surprised If the cook’s pay Is as large as my own. Curse the luck, anyway! What right has a rich old father-in-law to saddle an elephant like this on a young fellow?" When he came home the next evening, a fresh surprise was awaiting him, In the person of a very dignified butler who met him at the door, —an old and valued acquaintance of his, who had long served In a similar capacity in the Barney family. He made some confused remarks about his pleasure In seeing him there, and then hurried up stairs in search of his wife. "I came across Dobson at the door,” he began cautiously. “Was It not a jolly surprise?" exclaimed his wife, with bubbling delight. “I never dreamed of such luck myself. Papa sent him over with a note that we were to keep him. Now, I think everything is complete, dearie, don’t you?” "But—you know —we cannot keep him," he observed, after a moment of painful hesitation. “You certainly know that it Is altogether Impossible." , “Is It?" she returned with surprise, looking up at him helplessly. "Of course we really need a butler, and Dobson Is so reliable.’’ "But, my dear girl, how shall we pay him?’’ "There it is again—those frightful figures!" she cried, with pouting petulance. “It Is really too bad that these nasty figures must bob up on every occasion.” He sat down beside her and took both her bands In his own. "When I asked you to be my wife, I told you all about my affairs. I was perfectly frank and honest about It" "I am not blaming you." "I know that, but you do not understand. We are just starting out In life, and we have a mighty rough road before us. How we are to get out of our difficulties is beyond me — but we shall hope for the best. I must get rid of Dobson —the first thing." “It will make papa very angry!"

Not when he understands the situation. Your father is a sensible man?’ He went down stairs and courageously faced the rather i unpleasant task of discharging the pompous butler. “Ah, Doftson, I am really very glad to have you with us. Mrs. Ellery informs me that Mr. Barney generously transferred your valuable services to us.” “That is correct, sir.” “There is some mistake about the matter, Dobson. You see we are rather as yet. In fact we are just getting settled, and we have not intended to engage a butler just • yet.” “I have been in Mr. Barney’s service a great many years,” remarked the other proudly. “Quite right. If we needed a butler there is no one we would prefer.” He observed the butler’s eyes calmly travel up the broad stair-way, and up one side of the spacious hall and down the other, majestically noting each door with accusing precision. “I have no doubt we do need one right now. I admit it. But the fact is, we have not got around to that subject yet.”

“I am very sorry that I don’t suit you, sir,” was the reproachful reply, “Hang it, man, you suit all right. I have tried to explain it to you.” “Very well, sir,” began the offended and skeptical Dobson, after having allowed his eyes to take in once more the immediate conditions demanding the services of a butler, and doing it with a deliberation that plainly signified his opinion of the subterfuge. “I certainly hope, sir, that the butler you have engaged will prove satisfactory.” “You won’t have it any other way?” demanded Ellery, walking up close *to the other, quite threateningly. It afforded him just the opportunity he needed to assert his manhood. “I have tried to be decent to you. Now I want you to get out, and I want you to get out just as quickly as you can. You can go back to Mr. Barney—or you can go to the devil,, for all I care—only go somewhere, right away. Leaving Dobson staring at him with amazement —he who had been accustomed to the utmost deference —'Ellery hastened back to his wife, and after having wiped the perspiration from his face several times with nervous repetition, and having brought his temper into proper sub jection, he gave a sigh of relief almost amounting to happiness. “I hope you did hot offend him, Paul,” she observed. “There is no telling what he might tell papa if you have.”

“There is no cause for alarm, I assure you. Dobson and I parted the best of friends. He Is just about leaving now, I fancy. Lord, what a relief! Now, little girl, let us go down to dinner.” For the moment he thought no more of the burdens he was carrying, having rid himself of one of them. But his relief was to be very short; for they had not completed their dinner when Mr. Barney was announced. Mrs. Ellery was panicstricken forthwith, and unable to eat her dessert. “What shall we do?” she asked, lowering her voice as if fearful tnat her wrathful parent might hear her. “Why, you little goose, your father is not going to eat us," he asserted with a hearty laugh. “It is very proper that you should give him all respect, but there is no reason why you should fear him. In the first place I don’t think he was ever a ferocious man, and besides he no longer has authority over you. So cheer up, and let us go in and see the governor." The little brewer had selected a rather high chair, which at first glance Ellery thought suited very well for a throne, or a seat of justice. His short fat legs were straightened out and well apart; his chubby hands were clasped over his prominent front, and his red oil face was turned on the couple with an expression of judicial severity. His daughter ran to him, and would have kissed away his anger; but he pushed her from him with unusual roughness, without once taking his eyes off her busband, in whom he recognized the mutinous leader.

“Dobson just came back,” he remarked, as if nothing further were needed to bring the rebel to his knees. "Yes, I sent him back," casually returned the other. “Probably he didn’t like It very well, but I was compelled to do It.” "But —I seqt him here. I want a butler In this house, and I Intend to have one. too.” “We cannot afford it,’’, quietly remarKed Ellery. "You know I have no money to pay for such luxuries.” “Oh, Is that all there is to It?" asked Mr. Barney, with a broad smile of relief. "We can fix that easy enough. I’ll pay his wages." "So that is all settled," said Mrs. Ellery, with pleased finality. "It will be so nice to have Dobson." “But, we cannot have £itn,” said Paul, firmly, “because, as I have just told your father, we cannot afford it.” “What do you care—if you don’t have to pay for It?” demanded the other. "Why, don’t you see, Mh Barney, we cannot live on charity. You have done a great“tffitl for us. Candidly, I wish you had not dbne quite so much. I told you all about my poverty when I asked you for Lucile.

Toy are fl business man; surely you see that my Income will not meet all this lavish expense. I have three thousand dollars with which to pay yearly expenses of ten or fifteen thousand. I intended to run along until I was broke before bringing the matter to a crisis, but I believe we would better have it settled right now.” , “I like you, Paul,” acknowledged Mr. Barney, highly pleased that he could sweep away all difficulties by merely opening his purse. “You have got the grit. I am going to allow you ten thousand this year, and if that won’t see you through I’ll put a little more to it.” “You embarrass me by your kindness,” was Ellery's comment. “It places me in a very uncomfortable 'position. Really, Mr. Barney, I cannot accept your assistance.” The portly brewer bent forward with some difficulty, emiting a laborious grunt the while, and eyed his son-in-law shrewdly. He had met this kind before —the kind who play for high stakes. -"Well, you have got the best of me,” he remarked. “You have got my Lucy, and I can’t squeal. I guess you’re IT, young man. When I -saw she was bound to have you, I offered you a place in my brewery—” “Which I could not accept, because I knew nothing about the business.” “That's all right,” he continued, waving the subject away with a sweep of his hand. “If I was willing to pay you for doing nothing, I don’t see as jou had any kick coming. But that’s neither here nor there. Then I built you as fine a house as there is in the* city of Montgomery today. What are you playing so Paul? Come on—out with it. I’ll pay like a man.” • Ellery’s face flushed crimson with humiliation and with the resentment which he dare not express to the father of his wife. “You don’t seem to understand.” “Maybe I don’t; but then again, don’t put me down for no chump. I don’t want to have no trouble: ’but I’m going to stand up for my rights. You married my little girl and you have got to treat her right.” “Why papa,” protested Mrs. Ellery “You know Paul is perfectly lovely to me.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” was the contemptuous reply. “If he hugs and kisses you, that’s all there is to it, I suppose. But I don’t intend to let him make a pauper of you, just the same. I deeded this house to you, not to him, and I am going to see that it is run right, or know the reason why.” “By Jove, Mr. Barney, you make me feel ten years younger!” declared the young man joyously. “I have been worrying about this house until I am sick. With my little three thousand a year, I have been saddled with this elephant, that was eating my head off. I figured that about twelve weeks would wreck me; ‘but you have kindly brought it to a head before my money is all gone. I have close on to two thousand dollars in the bank; and I know of a very fine eight-room frame house for sale, that I can buy, one thousand down and the balance on payments. The otherthousand we will spend for furniture, on the Installment plan.” ‘‘Never!” roared the irate brewer. “My Lucy shall leave you first.” "We will be as happy as any* king and queen in their palace," ecstatically declared Ellery, addressing his wife. “You can take Agnes with you, for she can cook. Instead of an army of servants, we will have only Agnes. She shall be cook, laundress, housekeeper, lady’s maid, and all the other maids. Then there is that puffed-up chaffeur, we are through with him. I suppose it would be cruel to deprive you of your machine; but we can keep it at a public garage.” “Never!” repeated Mr. Barney, with another apoplectic outburst. “Lucy—you hear me? Never!" Poor Mrs. Ellery was bewildered and uncertain. The prospect of living in a frame house of eight roomq. of depending upon one servant, of being obliged, perhaps, to dress her own hair and to keep track of her own gowns, was so preposterous that she did not entertain the thought. But she knew that her Paul and her papa were in violent opposition—and whatever was she to do about It? "I can’t tell you how good I feel over this business," declared Ellery with the utmost pleasure. "You see, this gives me a chance to make something of myself.” “Didn’t you hear what I said?” demanded the brewer savagely, and yet reluctantly, for he knew there was to be a test of strength. “To be sure I did. We are going to move to our own little home. Tomorrow I shall close the deal; and the next day we shall vacate this gorgeous home for a millionaire. Speaking for both of us we are deeply grateful; but when you reflect upon It, you will realize how impossible the conditions are for a poor man." "What’s the use of waiting?" asked, the other with hot recklessness. “Why not settle it right now?" "It is all settled,” replied Ellery with surprise. “Oh, no, not much! I’ll bring you to time yet, young man. Whep I walk out of this house my little girl goes with me. Ha! you don't like that? I thought you wouldn’t." “It’s not that," replied Paul paln-

fully. “It seems a pity to put her to such a test. Not that I’m afraid.” “Either you agree to behave yourself, and do as I tell you, or in five minutes I take her away with me; and you can go to your little shanty by yourself.” “So be it!” cried Ellery, jumping up with intense earnestness, the fire of conflict shining in his eyes. “I accept the challenge. Understand, Mr. Barney, I am not obliged to. Lu* sile is bound to me by law, and you cannot take her from me. But I pass that advantage. Also you know that the position you have taken is dead wrong. You know it as well as I do. But, you thought after we were married that I would be content to live on your charity like a beggar. I am not of that kind, sir. Well, tne five minutes are up, Mr. Barney." The brewer’s face had lost its color. He got up slowly, giving every indication that he would like to back out of the dilemma. “Go, get your things, Lucy, and come home with me.” “What am I to do Paul?” pleaded the wife. “Why, dearest, it is not for me to say," replied her husband confidently. “That would be taking an unfair advantage."

“Do be reasonable. We can never live in a little workingman’s hovel.” “In that case, my dear, you must give me up, and go with your father.” “Come on, Lucy. I’m glad that you have got some sense. You see how much he cares for you.” “Yes, she knows how much I care for her," said Ellery simply. “Have we really got to .come down to it?” she asked, looking up at her husband with perplexity. “It is absolutely necessary. You married a poor man, and you must share his lot. You will find that it is not a hard lot. either.” “Well, papa,” she said with decision, without getting up, "I have no doubt Paul knows what is best. lam awfully sorry to make you angry, but I don’t Intend to give up Paul.” “When Barney reached the door and turned around to look at them, they were clasped in each others’ arms. He stood there some little time, with indecision; then he came toward them, and held out his hand to Ellery. “I guess you are right. I was poor myself once, but sometimes I forget it. I would rather have my Lucy married to a man like you, than to a man who would blow in her money. I’m not afraid but what you will take good care of her, and I guess you will be able to live in this house some day.” “I haven’t the least doubt of it,” declared the overjoyed young man. “Only let me get a start.” —Ernest T. Edgerton.