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A Sorrowful Guest
by
As I have said, my brother was constantly meeting some one of his old classmates or army comrades or school friends during that first winter; and, while sometimes he would ask them to dine at his club, he oftener brought them home to dine or to lunch; for we were both possessed with an amazing spirit of hospitality. I wish I could remember half the stories I have heard, or could keep track of the lives in which I often grew much interested. There is one curious story which I knew, and which seems very well worth telling,–an instance of the curious entanglement of two lives, and of those strange experiences which some people call supernatural, and others think simple enough and perfectly reasonable and explainable.
One short, snowy December day, just as it was growing dark, I was sitting alone in the library, and was surprised to hear my brother’s latch-key click in the hall-door; for he had told me, when he went out after our very late breakfast, that he should not be in before six, and perhaps dinner had better wait until seven. He threw off his wet ulster, and was talking for some time to the man, and at last came in to me.
“What brings you home so early?” said I.
“I’m going to have two or three friends to dine. I suppose it’ll be all right about the dinner? That was not why I came home, though: I had some letters to write which must go by the steamer, and I didn’t go to Cambridge after all. The snow-storm was too much for me, I wanted a good light there.”
“Sit down a while,” said I. “You have time enough for your letters; it’s only a little after four.” Jack hated to write at the library-table, and always went to the desk in his own book-room if he had any thing to do. He seemed a little tired, and threw me some letters the postman had given him as he came in at the door; then he sat down in his great chair near me, and seemed to be lost in thought. He was immensely interesting to me then; for we had only been together a few weeks, and I was often curious about his moods, and was apt to be much pained myself if any thing seemed to trouble him. I was always wishing we had not been separated so much, and I was afraid I might be wanting in insight and sympathy; but I think the truth has been that we are much more intimate, and are far better friends, and have less restraint, because we had seen so little of one another in the years that had passed. But we were terribly afraid of interfering with each other at first, and were so distractingly polite that we bored each other not a little; though that did not last long, happily, after we had convinced each other that we could behave well.
“You say it’ll be all right about dinner?” repeated my brother.
“Oh, yes!” said I, “unless you wish for something very grand. Would you like to have me put on my crown and sceptre?”
“There has never been a day yet when I should have been sorry to have brought a friend home,” said Jack, with a good deal of enthusiasm, and I was at once puffed up with pride; for Jack, though an uncomplaining soul, was also fastidious, and his praise was not given often enough to be unnoticed.
“I met an old classmate just now,” said he presently, rousing himself from his reverie. “I haven’t seen him for years before. He went out to South America just after the war, and I supposed he was there still. He used to be one of the best fellows in the class; and he enlisted when I did, though we did not belong to the same company. I heard once he was rather a failure; but something has broken him down horribly. He doesn’t look as if he drank,” said my brother, half to himself. “I met him over on Tremont Street, and I think he meant to avoid me; but I made him walk across the Common with me, for he was coming this way. He promised to come to dinner this evening; and I stopped at the club a few minutes as I came down the street, and luckily found George Sheffield, and he is coming round too. I told him seven o’clock, but I told Whiston we dined at six, without thinking; so he will be here early. Never mind: I’ll be ready, and we will take care of ourselves. I must finish my letters, though,” and he rose from his chair to go upstairs. “It is dreadful to see a man change so,” said Jack, still lingering. “He used to be one of the friskiest fellows in college. I hope he’ll come. I didn’t exactly like to ask where I could find him.”