THE HOUSE-WARMING.
Joyce had never been used to rebuffs. Feeling like a child who has had
its gift of sweeties flung back into its face she turned slowly to
retrace her steps towards Madame Bonnivel, and even in the short circuit
of the crowded rooms she more than once caught words of criticism and
unfriendly comment. One man, who was gesticulating largely with his
somewhat grimy hands, uttered these words while she slid and sidled
through the unyielding group about him, almost like one trying to avoid
a blow--
"Generous! Who says he's generous? Don't you fool yourselves. We'll have
to pay for it somehow, you mark my words. Young Early's like his father,
only 'cuter. He's going to work things up till he makes folks think this
town's a little Eden and then, when more workers wants to come here
because it's sort o' neat and pretty, he'll begin to squeeze us on the
wages, and if we dare to kick he'll say coolly, 'Go, if you don't like
it. There's plenty ready and waiting to take your place.' Oh, I know
'em, root and branch, and we ain't no more'n just a pack o' cards in
their hands. They shuffle us, and deal us round where we can help 'em to
rake in the most chips, and when they're done with us--pouf! away we go
into the fire, for all they care."
Joyce, fairly stung, made a quick movement towards him, then,
remembering herself drew back, while the man, turning at the minute,
smiled and made way for her. She was only a pretty girl to him, and he
had not Rachel's discerning eyes, to observe that she was out of her
class here, and never for an instant imagined what his tirade had meant
to her.
When Joyce reached the Madame she was trembling a little, and pressed
herself against that lady's chair, longing for comfort. Yet, in reply to
the Madame's greeting she answered with but one word. She was afraid to
trust herself with more. The blind woman's keen instinct divined that
something was amiss. She had been talking placidly with many, and had
also heard all sorts of comments and conjectures, so could imagine the
feelings of this warm-hearted girl who had been giving so freely, and
who longed for some little expression of appreciation and gratitude in
return. But fearing themselves surrounded she could not speak quite
freely, so she clasped Joyce's trembling fingers warmly while she quoted
with an arch, smiling face.
"Perhaps it was well to dissemble your love,
But why did you kick me down-stairs?"
Joyce had to laugh heartily amid her gloom, and felt better for the
outburst.
"It's what I want to know, myself!" she cried warmly. "Have I quite
deserved it all?"
"It's the way of the world, my dear. But I've something to tell you, on
my side. I have just been talking to a young girl--I think they call her
Lucy--and she is so glad and happy over this house and its
possibilities! I wish you could have heard her talk. She says her mother
is dead, and she is busy all day with the housework and babies. But
to-night some good friend she called Nate, as I remember, who is not
invited till to-morrow evening, said he would sit with the children and
she should come with her father. It's the first party she was ever at,
and she has a new muslin for it, and some dear Marry, as she called her,
gave her a bit of nice lace for the neck, and it has been all bliss and
rapture! Her voice was fairly tremulous with happiness, Joyce."
"O!" cried the latter, feeling better and better, "It must have been
Lucy Hapgood. I wish I could have seen her, myself. Which way did she
go?"
"I don't know, dear. Who is near us now? No one very close, is there?"
"No--at least all are busy with their own affairs."
"Then I will say this; remember always that you are not doing these
things for gratitude, nor praise. That has always been understood,
hasn't it?"
"Yes, yes, of course. But--but it's hard to have abuse, ma mère!"
"They don't mean it for you, chèrie. Are they not all nice to you,
personally?"
"They treat me well enough, yes. But not as if they really care for me."
"And why should they, on so short acquaintance! Remember, they do not
dream who their good fairy really is. And you must always tell yourself
it is not _you_ they repulse. You simply stand for the class that has
oppressed and cheated them. They denounce "young Early" to-night, simply
for the sake of what has gone before. They cannot believe in real
friendliness all at once, and they look coolly on you, imagining you
have no interests in common with them. They look across a gulf of
suffering and privation at you, who seem never to suffer, and their eyes
grow hard and stony. Can you wonder? You should not be either surprised,
or hurt."
"But they don't treat you so, mother. And you are of my class, as you
call it."
"Am I? Well, granting all that, you forget I am blind. My affliction
brings me more in touch with them. I would have no feeling of
superiority--I could not; so they come nearer to me, perhaps. Or else I
have fallen among pleasanter people. Look your sweetest now, and try
once more. I'm sure you will find some warmer currents in this frozen
stream, if you sound it well."
Joyce smilingly pressed the gentle hand that caressed her own.
"I'll make another plunge," she said more hopefully. "Ah! here's Mr.
Dalton. I think he looks a bit _triste_, too. Good evening again, Mr.
Dalton. I want to ask you a question, please. Can you tell me who is
that man with the brown hair and bristling red beard, over in that group
by the door--there, he is just moving on."
"That? Oh yes, I see. Why, his name is Hapgood--Bill Hapgood, as we all
call him. His girl Lucy is here somewhere--a good child, sadly
overworked. He's no good, though; always quarreling with his bread and
butter, and much too fond of the saloon."
"Lucy Hapgood's father!" exclaimed Joyce under her breath, turning
surprised eyes upon Madame Bonnivel, as if that lady could meet her
speaking glance.
And so she could in spirit, for her perceptions amounted almost to
mind-reading. A smile of amusement lit up her sweet face, as she cried
merrily,
"Father and daughter, are they? What a coincidence!"
Dalton looked from one to the other, uncomprehending.
Then his gaze lingered on Joyce's flushing cheek. As she made no effort
to explain he said, presently, "I thought Mrs. Bonnivel might like some
refreshments, and I told Mr. Driscoll, if he would take his wife and
sister I would come for you two ladies. But he said they had gone home
with the baby."
"Have they? And what has become of Mrs. Phelps?" asked Joyce, feeling
somewhat forsaken by her clan.
"She went in with the doctor some time ago. I rather think she has left,
too. She had a headache, or something."
Joyce glanced around her with a dissatisfied expression.
"No," she said, "this won't do! We might as well all have stayed at home
as to come here just for a supercilious glance or two, while we huddle
together. And yet--whom can I ask to take me?"
Dalton, with his eyes upon her, wondered. Had she been at a ball, among
her own kind, who would not have wanted her? Even had no hint of
possessions gone abroad, she was peerless in beauty and brightness. He
made a queer little sound which Madame caught, and laughed softly.
"You could ask anybody to take _me_," she said with evident amusement,
"and possibly, if Mr. Dalton tries hard, he may find somebody even to
take you, Joyce. I scarcely think they would refuse him."
He evidently appreciated her fine sarcasm.
"I could try hard," he returned, "provided I am too good for the office,
myself. Let me see. I suppose Miss Lavillotte will not be satisfied
unless I bring somebody as unattractive as possible--wait, I have it!"
With a quick "Excuse me!" he hurried away, soon to return with a
grizzled man of uncertain age, who certainly was not attractive, though
so greatly improved by clean linen and a stiff collar that Dalton had
noticed the change at once. He was, in fact, the very man whom Dan so
often heard haranguing in the cobbler's shop, and knew as Tonguey
Murfree, though when voting he registered as Joseph H.
With an air of exaggerated courtesy Dalton led him up and introduced
him.
"Mrs. Bonnivel, Miss Lavillotte, let me present Mr. Murfree, well known
of all in Littleton because of his eloquence. I'm sure he will be glad
to take you out to supper, and give you his latest views on--well, say
anarchy."
The man winced a little, and his florid face took on an added color. In
his embarrassment he giggled like a bashful boy, and scraped one foot
behind him in a low obeisance.
"Glad to please the lady, I'm sure," he muttered, quite at his wits' end
what to do next.
Joyce rather resented the hint of derision in all this, and stepping
forth a bit proudly, said at once,
"Thank you. If you'll just pilot me through to the refreshment room, Mr.
Murfree--that is, if you know the way."
"Bet I do, 'm, and had a taste and sup myself, but I'm not backward to
go again. The coffee's rare good, 'm, an the san'wiches very satisfying.
But"--in a confidential tone, as they moved slowly through the
throng--"whoever's a-doing of all this has made one big mistake, ma'am,
and that's a fact."
"Indeed! How is that?"
"Well, it's on the drinks, 'm. He might at least have give us
ginger-beer, or pop, if he's teetotal, as they say. It 'ud seem more
nateral, somehow, to be drinking stuff outen a glass. But take it all
together it's a pretty decent show, and the pictures and funnygraph, up
in the big room, was fine. But if it's jest a scheme to play some new
game on us they needn't try it. We've got our eyes peeled, and we don't
get tooken in again. Old Early played it up pretty cute once, or twice,
and we bit like suckers, only to wake up with a strong hook in our
gills; but this young feller hasn't got the old one's experyunce, and
he'll make a mess of it, if he tries any dodges. You jest set that down,
'fore you forgit it!"
"I don't see what dodge there can be in opening a pleasant house to you
and giving you a nice party," returned Joyce, trying to keep her tone
free of resentment.
"Oh well, we can't tell, yet. But maybe you ain't heard that they're
going to have fees, and tax the liquors, and all that? Well, I have, and
I say 'tain't fair, and he'd better not try it on us! We know our
rights, and we're going to have 'em."
He made a flourish with his hands that nearly knocked the hat from a
girl in the path they were slowly treading, and the young owner turned
suddenly. It was Lucy Hapgood.
"Look out there, you"--she began, then catching sight of Joyce she
blushed a little, ducked a courtesy, and turned once more to the man.
"What's the matter with you now, Tonguey Murfree? Ain't this good enough
for you? You'd blow if you was in a palace, sitting on a throne, I do
believe. You'd find some trick about it, some'ers."
Joyce met her laughing eyes and felt a hearty liking for her.
"You and I aren't looking for tricks, are we?" she said. "Have you had a
good time?"
"Boss! and I hate to go, but I ought to, 'cause poor Nate'll be sleepy,
and he has to get to work early mornings. He stayed with the young 'uns
for me."
"And you have seen everything, Lucy?"
"Guess I didn't miss much," laughing happily, "My! but the supper was
good. I only wished I could eat more, or else take some of it home. I
ain't much on the cooking yet."
"You'll soon learn," encouraged Joyce. "How would you enjoy joining a
cooking class, and learning how to do it all?"
The girl's honest gray eyes twinkled under the the long dark lashes,
which gave them such pretty shadows.
"Would they let you sample the truck they cooked? Guess I could stand
it, then! But I don't get much time for folderols."
Joyce saw that her escort was uneasy at the delay, so said good-night
cheerily and followed him. But her fastidious ideas received a shock at
the scene which met them before the refreshment-rooms. Two of the
parlors had been fitted up with chairs, ranged closely around the walls,
and a table heaped with cups and plates, in the center. About sixty
could be accommodated in each, but three times that number were
scrambling for admittance outside.
The attendants appointed at these doors seemed powerless to keep order,
and Larry had planted himself before one and was trying to pacify the
hungry crowd, and promote harmony. For the shoving, pushing and swearing
were not all good-natured, though largely so.
"Hold on there!" he called to a bull-headed Pole, who had just thrust
aside a little girl so roughly she cried out with pain, "Hold on!
There's enough to eat, and time enough to eat it in, but nobody gets
inside here unless he brings his manners with him. This isn't pay-day,
nor the menagerie, nor a bread riot; it's just a party of ladies and
gentlemen, and we've all got to brace up and remember it. Ladies first,
now, and stand aside there to let these folks out, or there can't
anybody get in. No hurry! No hurry! the cooks will keep the coffee hot,
and the sandwiches haven't even begun to give out. Hello, Joyce! Do you
want to come now?"
"No, no, we'll wait," nodding gaily. "Let these others in who have
waited longer."
The Pole turned to look at her, while he stood stolidly in the path, as
close to the door as he could crowd, and his expression startled her.
The gaunt eyes gleamed like those of a wolf, and over the high bones
above the sunken cheeks the skin glistened, as if so tightly stretched
as to be in danger of bursting. She felt that the man had been in
desperate straits, and while recoiling before the evil sullenness of his
look, she felt a deep pity for the pain in it. She turned to Murfree.
"Who is that?" she had it on her tongue's end to ask, but the look in
his face drove the query out of her mind. With hands clenched at his
side, eyes staring through his glasses, and lips curled fiercely back
from his set teeth, yellowed horribly with tobacco, the man was also
gazing at the Pole, too intent to remember her presence.