THE CURTAIN RISES
The composition of a suitable reply to Burton Forbes' request proved
unexpectedly difficult. Agatha did not lack appreciation of the
histrionic demands of her rôle. She suspected the late John Forbes of
something more than a platonic admiration for her imaginary self and
it was out of the question to write his son the matter-of-fact letter
which would have sufficed for another blind man, desiring board in the
country. As she composed laborious missives only to destroy them on the
second reading, Agatha thanked heaven that the hardships of her lot had
not included the adoption of a literary career.
The completed letter, however, so far met her exacting requirements
that in satisfied contemplation of her intellectual offspring, she
forgot the pangs attending its birth. With a naive complacency not
unfamiliar among the craft, she read the masterpiece to Miss Finch:
"My Dear Mr. Forbes:
"Your letter, just received, both surprised and touched me. Your
memory must, indeed, be tenacious if you recall me, for in the twenty
years which have passed since your visit to Oak Knoll you have, I am
sure, seen much better worth remembering than a quiet, old country
woman the best of whose life is now its golden memories.
"I hardly need tell you that my door would be open to your father's
son under any circumstances, and the fact of your blindness--which I
sincerely trust will prove temporary--only makes you doubly welcome.
Fortunately I know exactly the person for your attendant, a young
friend of mine named Howard Sheldon. He is thoroughly reliable and
the salary will be a great help to him, as he is ambitious for an
education.
"Please let me know when to expect you. I am looking forward to
renewing the friendship begun so long ago that it almost seems as if
it must have been in another state of existence.
"Very truly yours,
"Agatha Kent."
Miss Finch did not share Agatha's enthusiasm. Her pinched little face
was wan and worried as she conscientiously did her best to dampen the
satisfaction of the proud author.
"That letter gives me a dreadful upset feeling, Agatha. I don't know as
I could put my finger on a downright lie, but it certainly ain't true."
"It is the truth and nothing but the truth, Fritzie. It is ridiculous
for a little four-page letter to claim to be the whole truth. Take, for
instance, the fact about his being doubly welcome because he is blind.
That's truer than he has any idea of."
"'Golden memories,'" quoted Miss Finch with severity. "A young girl
like you!"
"That's the best thing in the letter," cried Agatha, enraptured. "I
don't know how I ever came to think of anything so clever. 'Golden
memories,'" she repeated with the sentimental inflection she deemed
appropriate. "Do you know, Fritz, I don't believe it's as hard to write
books as the authors make out."
Disappointing as Miss Finch proved in the rôle of conspirator, Howard's
enthusiasm largely compensated for her deficiencies. Howard was in
his element. To share in a plot of this character was rapture beyond
words. The only drawback to his happiness was the fact that Agatha had
described him to his prospective employer as a reliable boy, ambitious
for an education. Howard felt that to live up to such a character
promised an insipid summer. It would have added a tang to existence had
he been cast for a refugee or a cowboy. It was with difficulty that
Agatha brought him to relinquish his determination to play some sort of
part.
"I could pretend to be an awfully ignorant cuss, don't you know, Aggie.
I could say 'betcher life' instead of 'yes,' and, 'not on your tintype'
for 'no.'"
Yielding to his sister's eloquent representations, Howard reluctantly
consented to confine himself to his normal mode of expression during
Mr. Forbes' stay and bend all his energy toward furthering his sister's
success in the impersonation fate demanded of her. His suggestions
proved an almost startling range of ingenuity. Agatha was to complain
frequently of rheumatic pains in her knees, and keep a cane handy for
strolling about the grounds. Another point on which Howard placed great
emphasis was the necessity of frequently mislaying her supposedly
indispensable spectacles.
"He'll be sure to suspect something," insisted Howard, "if you don't
keep losing your spectacles. Old folks always do. And when I find them
and bring them to you, you must always say that they are the ones you
use for looking far off and you want your reading glasses."
The exchange of several letters between Burton Forbes and his
prospective hostess resulted in an arrangement entirely satisfactory
from Agatha's standpoint. Her boarder was to make the trip from the
city without an attendant. Howard would meet him at the station with
the carryall and convey him to Oak Knoll, where Agatha would make
him welcome as the son of a friend long dead. The possibility of Mr.
Forbes' enlightenment through the interference of neighbors she had
met with characteristic decision by disseminating the information
that her home was to serve as temporary asylum for a blind gentleman,
broken in health and with an unconquerable aversion to society. Without
definitely reflecting on Mr. Forbes' mental condition, Agatha succeeded
in conveying the impression that any one attempting to interview her
blind boarder would do so at his own risk.
Youthful audacity, together with a daring peculiar to herself, carried
Agatha triumphantly through the successive stages of preparation. It
was not until Howard had actually driven to the station to meet the
expected arrival that she began to appreciate her own temerity in
committing herself to so reckless a scheme. To be an old lady for an
entire summer, to be discreet and dignified--sufficiently so at least
to deceive a blind man--began to seem to her a contract impossible to
carry out. Her knees weakened under her. An abnormal acceleration of
her pulses convinced her that she was more frightened than she was
willing to admit. As the time approached for Howard's return, she was
almost on the point of offering a prayer that Mr. Forbes had suddenly
decided on a summer in Canada.
The carryall drawn by the leisurely bays came in sight just when
apprehension was reaching the point of panic. Agatha strained her eyes.
Howard occupied the driver's place and in the comparative obscurity
of the back seat the outlines of a masculine figure were visible. Her
throat dry and her forehead unpleasantly moist, Agatha went out upon
the piazza to receive her guest.
Under ordinary circumstances Howard's passenger would not have seemed
a formidable personage. In spite of the disfiguring blue goggles, his
clear-cut features were distinctly prepossessing. Moreover, his air
of helplessness would have appealed to the maternal instinct of any
female five years old, and led her to constitute herself his protector.
Only a guilty conscience accounted for the shrinking with which Agatha
advanced to welcome him.
"How do you do, Mr. Forbes." She spoke in the repressed tones she
imagined befitting age, and her fluttering heart imparted a suitable
_tremolo_ to the greeting.
Forbes snatched off his hat and put out a groping hand. His abundant
brown hair, cut severely close, showed a well-shaped head. His voice,
too, was in his favor.
"Have I the pleasure--"
"I am Miss Kent." Agatha took his hand and quickly released it. "Bring
Mr. Forbes' suit-case, Howard. I suppose you'd like to go to your room,
Mr. Forbes. Shall I help you?"
She put her hand through his arm to guide him, her face aflame. Yet
her youthful zest for adventure was asserting itself and there was
something contagious in Howard's delight over actually embarking on
the anticipated conspiracy. Agatha's breathing steadied. She caught
Howard's eye and flashed a smile at him. The experience was like a
plunge into a mountain stream, exhilarating after the first shock was
over.
"This is very good of you, Miss Kent," Forbes was saying as they
ascended the wide staircase, side by side. "I shan't be quite so
helpless as this when I've once got my bearings." His voice took on an
interrogative note. "I hardly suppose you would have known me?"
Agatha threw him an appreciative glance. "I think it would be out of
the question for any one who had known you to forget you."
"Really?" He seemed pleased. "But surely I have changed."
"In twenty years? Certainly. Even I"--she smiled in enjoyment of her
own daring--"even I have changed since your last visit."
Howard, on the stairs behind them, coughed loudly by way of applause,
but Agatha's complacency was destined to be jarred. "Don't make rash
claims," the new arrival said severely, "I feel you're nothing but a
girl."
"I--I--"
"At least that is how you impressed me the first time I saw you--the
only time I've seen you," Forbes corrected, "as if you would never grow
old."
Agatha made a quick recovery. "I try to keep a young heart," she
replied demurely. "Now, Mr. Forbes, remember that when you get to the
top of the stairs you turn toward the front of the house, and the door
of your room is the first on your right."
The big front room for all its appalling shabbiness, was deliciously
airy. Forbes stood between the open windows and drew deep breaths.
"This is what I've been pining for without knowing it," he burst out.
"I have a presentiment that this air is going to be just the tonic I
need, and that I'll be seeing again in a week or two."
"I hope--so," lied Agatha with the jerkiness of one unused to
falsehood. "Howard, get Mr. Forbes everything he needs and bring him
down to the porch when he is ready, unless he would like to lie down."
She withdrew sedately and then atoned for her unnatural repression by
galloping down the stairs and falling upon Miss Finch, who, having
viewed the arrival from a convenient window, had withdrawn to her own
little rocking chair, a prey to lugubrious forebodings.
The panting Agatha revealed no traces of her late misgivings. "It's
ridiculously easy, Fritz, and the greatest fun. I believe I'd have made
a star actress. I honestly felt as old as the hills, exactly as if he
were a young fellow I'd known years ago, when he was a little boy. I
was almost tempted to smooth back his hair from his forehead--he has
such a nice thoughtful forehead, Fritz--and imprint a benevolent kiss
above his nose."
"Yes, I saw he was nice-looking," sighed Miss Finch. "Such a pity he
can't see. I've often thought I wouldn't mind marrying a blind man or
a cripple and sacrificing my entire life to making him happy. But I'm
afraid you'd tire of it, Agatha."
"I'm sure I should. It makes me tired even to think of such a thing,"
admitted Agatha shamelessly. "But you don't get my point of view,
Fritz. The kiss was to have been maternal or even grandmotherly. He
thinks I am an old lady and in spite of everything, I regard myself
from his standpoint. I never looked forward to a summer so much in all
my life. It'll be like going to a play morning, noon and night."
Voices sounded on the stairs, a man's deep notes blending pleasantly
with the fresh tones of a growing lad. Agatha seized Miss Finch's arm.
"Come out and meet him, Fritz. And I believe I'll begin calling you
Zaida. You're considerably younger than I, you know. Why, what's the
matter?"
Terror in her eyes, Miss Finch was resisting the friendly propulsion.
"I'm afraid to go near him. I'll be letting the cat out of the bag, and
I'm not going to have lies on my conscience even for you, Agatha."
With a laugh the girl released her. "Poor old Fritz, you never were
intended for a diplomatic career. But you'll get used to it. Train
yourself to think of me as some one venerable and stately, long, long
past the follies of youth." She advanced to the door with a dancing
step borrowed from Mrs. Vernon Castle as depicted on the screen, turned
to kiss her hand to the crushed Miss Finch, and disappeared in the
direction of the kitchen. And presently, mingling with the composite
fragrance of the garden and distant hay-fields, the appreciative
nostrils of Mr. Burton Forbes differentiated the less esthetic but
equally delectable odor of frying chicken.