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Read Ebook: Her Lord and Master by Morton Victoria Adapter Morton Martha Christy Howard Chandler Illustrator MacNamara Esther Illustrator
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Ebook has 2243 lines and 66954 words, and 45 pages
HER LORD AND MASTER
Entered at Stationers' Hall, London
All Rights Reserved
CHAPTER
"I'd call the picture, 'Indiana.'"
Catching Pollywogs
"I--I--what have I said? I didn't mean it."
"I will have love to help me."
"Her Lord and Master," by Martha Morton, was first produced in New York, during the Spring of 1902. The play met with great success, and ran for over one hundred nights at the Manhattan Theatre.
Miss Victoria Morton, the sister of the playwright, now presents "Her Lord and Master" as a novel.
The play is being produced in the principal cities during this season.
"Did the ladies arrive, Mr. Stillwater?" inquired the clerk at the Waldorf Hotel, New York, as a tall, broad-shouldered man, unmistakably Western in appearance, walked smilingly up to the desk.
"Bag and baggage, bless their hearts!"
A dark, distinguished looking man, who was looking over the register, glanced at the speaker, then moved slightly to one side as the latter took up the pen. Stillwater registered in a quick, bold hand, and walked away. The dark gentleman turned again to the register and read:
"Horatio Stillwater, Stillwater, Indiana."
"Horatio Stillwater, Stillwater!" he remarked to the clerk with a cultured English accent. "A coincidence, I presume?"
"Not at all," answered the clerk laughing. "That often happens out West. You see, Stillwater founded the town. He owned most of the land, besides the largest interests in wheat and oil. It's a great wheat and oil centre. Naturally the town is named after him."
"Naturally," acquiesced the Englishman, staring blankly at the clerk. He lit a cigar and puffed it thoughtfully for about five minutes, then he exclaimed, "Extraordinary!"
"Beg pardon?" said the clerk.
"I find it most extraordinary."
"What are you referring to, Lord Canning?"
"I was referring to what you were telling me about this gentleman, of course!" Lord Canning pointed to Stillwater on the register.
"Oh!" laughed the clerk, amused that the facts he had given were still a matter for reflection. "Yes, he's one of our biggest capitalists out West. The family are generally here at this time of the year. The ladies have just arrived from Palm Beach."
"Palm Beach?"
"That's south, you know."
"Oh, a winter resort?"
"Exactly."
Lord Canning recommenced his study of the register.
"Mrs. Horatio Stillwater," he read. "Stillwater, Indiana. Miss Indiana Stillwater." He reflected a moment. "Miss Indiana Stillwater, Stillwater, Indiana. Here too, is a similarity of names. Probably a coincidence and probably not." He read on, "Mrs. Chazy Bunker, Stillwater, Indiana. Bunker, Bunker!" He pressed his hand to his forehead. "Oh, Bunker Hill," he thought, with sudden inspiration.
"Miss Indiana Stillwater, Stillwater, Indiana. If the town was named after the father, why should not the State--no, that could not be. But the reverse might be possible." He addressed the clerk.
"Would you mind telling me--oh, I beg your pardon," seeing that the clerk was very much occupied at that moment--"It doesn't matter--some other time." He turned and lounged easily against the desk, surveying the people walking about, with the intentness of a person new to his surroundings, and still pondering the question.
"Now," said Stillwater, after his family had been duly installed, "let me look at you. I'm mighty glad to see you all again." He swung his daughter Indiana up in his arms and kissed her, then set her on his knee and looked at her with open admiration.
Mr. Horatio Stillwater had never seen any reason why he should be ashamed of his great pride in his only child. Indiana herself had often been heard to remark, "Pa has never really recovered from the shock of my birth. It was a case of too much joy. He thinks I'm the greatest thing on record."
"Well, folks," he said, "I expect you're all dead tired."
"Not I," said Mrs. Bunker, his mother-in-law. She was a well-formed woman, with dark, vivacious eyes and a crown of white hair dressed in the latest mode. "I could take the trip all over again."
"Did you miss us, father?" asked Mrs. Stillwater, a gentle-looking, pretty woman, with soft, brown hair and dark blue eyes like her child's, only Indiana's were more alert and restless. "Ma has lovely eyes," Indiana was in the habit of remarking. "She takes them from me."
Mr. Stillwater put Indiana off his knees and sat by his wife.
"Did I miss you? Not a little bit."
"Your color's pretty bad, father," she said, "and you look dead tired. Perhaps," she rose impulsively, "perhaps you've been laid up."
"No, ma, no," he placed his big hands on her shoulders, forcing her down in her chair. "I haven't been laid up. But I've been feeling mighty queer."
He was immediately overwhelmed by a torrent of exclamations and questions from Mrs. Bunker and Indiana, while his wife sat pale and quiet, with heaving breast.
"No, I don't know what's the matter with me," he answered. "No, I can't describe how I feel. No, I have not been to a doctor, and I'm not going. There, you have it straight. I don't believe in them."
"Pa!" said Indiana, taking a stand in the centre of the room, "I want to say a few words to you."
"Oh, Lord!" thought Stillwater, "When Indiana shakes her pompadour and folds her arms, there's no telling where she'll end."
"I want to ask you if the sentiments which you have just expressed are befitting ones for a man with a family?"
"Mother," said Mrs. Stillwater, "he always takes your advice, tell him he should consult a doctor."
"Indiana has the floor!" said Mrs. Bunker.
"Is it right that you should make it necessary for me to remind you of a common duty; that of paying proper attention to your health, in order that we should have peace of mind?"
Indiana had been chosen to deliver the valedictory at the closing exercises at her school. This gave her a reputation for eloquence which she liked to sustain whenever an occasion presented itself.
"I see your finish," she wound up, not as elegantly as one might have expected. "You'll be a hopeless wreck and we'll all have insomnia from lying awake nights, worrying. When we once get in that state--" she turned to Mrs. Bunker.
"No cure," said the lady. "Nothing but time."
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