PREPARING THE PIT
For some time the question troubling the Lawton family had been how and
where to establish Sybil for the term of her engagement at the Globe.
Returning to Woodsedge after performances was not to be thought of. No,
a residence in the city was an absolute necessity.
Mrs. Lawton indignantly wondered if Sybil Van Camp had ever realized
that a sort of deputy-maternity devolved upon a god-mother--a term that
had taken Leslie Galt, who was sharing the family council, out of the
room in search of a handkerchief in his overcoat pocket. At which Mrs.
Lawton gloomily expressed a fear of his "becoming a fussy old man in
time, because," said she, "Leslie had a handkerchief in his breast
pocket that might easily have served his purpose. Now, Dorothy," she
continued, "take a mother's advice, and check at once any symptom of
faddishness that appears in him, or he'll have you in heelless shoes or
on a milk diet, or something of that sort, before you know it. But
really, dear, you shouldn't interrupt. [Leslie returned to his seat
here.] The question at this moment is, what is to become of your
unfortunate sister; for though she has cast in her lot with 'mere
players,' and has rejected the comfort and sweet privacy of home life,
it does not follow that she is prepared to pass the rest of her life
upon the unsheltered, stony streets of the city. What is the matter with
you, Leslie? You are not in need of another handkerchief, are you? As I
was saying when someone interrupted me, I doubt if Sybil Van Camp ever
had any idea of the duties of a god-mother."
"Rattle," counted Sybil on her fingers, "silver mug, corals----"
"Given long ago!" triumphed Dorothy.
"Renouncing the devil for you," went on Sybil, "and seeing that you knew
creed, prayers, commandments, and church catechism----"
"Which she didn't do!" cried Mrs. Lawton; "for I have heard your father
bribing you many a time to learn and repeat them to him. And now, if she
had any appreciation of the duties devolving upon her, would she not
open her home to her god-daughter, and shelter her for a brief period
from the perils of the city?"
"Upon my word, mamma," laughed Sybil, "if you keep on in that strain
I'll drop down on all fours and beg for a bone. Anyone would think you
were speaking of a homeless dog. God-mother Van Camp has done more for
me than I can ever repay, and she has invited me to stay in her house
during my engagement, but it is not to be thought of. Why, papa, dear, I
am now quite turning the household topsy-turvey by the irregularity of
my hours. Rehearsals may be short, or they may be long. The cook gets
cross, and god-mamma gets anxious. Her daily life is regulated like a
railroad schedule for precision and exactitude of time. Then, when
acting once begins, the watching for my late return at night would be a
cruel penance to god-mamma and ancient Margaret and the butler Murphy,
who is the greatest old woman of the lot. No, I can't think of so
desecrating that last retreat of all the Knickerbocker proprieties; but,
in a boarding-house----"
"A barracks!" said Leslie. "Oh, I know all about boarding-houses and
their keepers, from the black-bugled lady with ancestors down to the
loud-voiced, false-fronted person who makes her husband eat in the
kitchen, and I tell you a boarding-house is quite out of the question
for you."
"That's just what Mr. Thrall said," eagerly interrupted Sybil, "when the
matter was mentioned in his presence. And he knows a woman, whom he has
employed for years as a wardrobe woman and sort of general dresser, to
help those ladies who have no maids of their own. She is a widow, and
she owns--mortgaged, of course--one of those old-fashioned,
two-and-a-half-story, red-brick basemented houses----"
"Take a breath, Syb!" laughed Dorothy.
"That's a gem," gravely asserted Galt, "that descriptive sentence is.
Spoken rapidly it does leave the impression that the widow is mortgaged
and a doubt as to the red brick reaching beyond the basement. But when
one writes it all out, and punctuates carefully----"
"Leslie Galt, my young brother! Will you remember that you are still on
probation? Final vows have not yet been administered. Though under
instruction, you have not yet been admitted into the Lawton community
for life!"
"That's about the only thing I do remember at all clearly these days,"
answered Galt, smiling meaningly at Dorothy.
But John Lawton rumpled his thin hair, and said, anxiously: "Let's get
back to that mortgaged house, daughter--it's most train time for you,
dear."
"Well," went on Sybil, drawing her father's hand about her neck as she
spoke, "her name is--is, oh, something with an S, Mrs.--Stow--Stover--
Stine--Sty--Stivers! that's it! Mrs. Jane Stivers--odd, isn't it, papa?
And she----"
"My dear child," remonstrated Mrs. Lawton, somewhat wearily, "why will
you not adopt my method of remembering names? It's so embarrassing at
times to have a cognomen escape you, just when you feel it, too, on the
tip of your tongue, but can't get it off. Now, I always associate a name
with a thing or an action or an idea, and the result is I never have to
go skipping through the alphabet as you and Dorothy do. I recall the
case of Mrs.--Mrs.--dear me! Mrs.--you know, girls, to whom I
refer--that woman I disliked so. I like most people, but she was
underbred--at One Hundredth Street? You must remember her perfectly. I
know at the time I associated her name with something--er--er, something
she hated. Now, what did that woman hate? Her husband was bandy--polite
enough, but bandy, and he had a cross eye! Something she hated--now
what?"
"Perhaps she hated anything very straight," laughed Dorothy. "I think I
should under the circumstances!"
"There!" broke in Mrs. Lawton. "What did I tell you? Straight--she hated
anything straight, because her name was Crook! And Mr. Crook was
cross-eyed! It's infallible, my system! But do get on, Sybil, or really
you will lose that train!"
"Well, papa!" said the girl, in a quivering voice, "Mrs. Stivers's house
is--Mr. Thrall says--fairly near the theatre. It is quiet as a church,
and in a most respectable quarter. She has been in the habit of renting
the second floor to student lodgers. She has never kept regular
boarders, but Mr. Thrall thinks she might, for a few dollars increase in
the rent, take me in, instead, and do for me. He uses so many Englishy
expressions in ordinary conversation. He says her age, character, and
habits would recommend her, and another advantage would be that I could
go home nights under her wing, without troubling Mr. Roberts for escort,
who lives in the opposite direction. The parlor, he says, is given over
to horse-hair. Mrs. Stivers was married during the mahogany reign of
terror, you see. But I could do what I liked in my own room, to
modernize. And, mamma, he proposes, as she can't come from her work out
here, to be interviewed by you, that you authorize Mrs. Van Camp
[Letitia straightened up in her chair] to receive her and talk the
matter over, and then to report to you for your decision."
Mrs. Lawton closed her eyes, and said, impressively: "A most sensible
suggestion from a man tres comme il faut!"
To Sybil's questioning eyes Mr. Lawton answered: "Yes, dear! That has a
promising sound. What do you think, Leslie?"
"I agree with you, sir, if the woman is kindly disposed. The fact of her
working in the theatre should be a distinct advantage. The question is,
will she board as well as lodge her guest? For even if a restaurant were
next door Sybil is far too pretty a girl to pass in and out unnoticed."
"So very like me," breathed Letitia. "It's the Bassett coloring, I
think, that attracts the public eye."
"Dorothy!" exclaimed Sybil, turning from adjusting her hat before the
dim old mirror, "my descendants shall rise up and call you blessed, for
in the fine art of selecting a brother for your only sister you take the
cake. Oh, papa! I beg your pardon! I--I meant she wins the laurel!"
"Sybil!" moaned Mrs. Lawton, distressfully, "I don't wish to rebuke you
at the very moment of leave-taking, but, my very dear child, you must
really check your tendency toward reckless speech. To allude to your
descendants when you are not yet even engaged is not far from
indelicacy; and, Dorothy, causeless laughter is rightly esteemed a proof
of bad manners. Good-by, my dear; say to Mrs. Van Camp I am quite unable
to go to the city in this cold weather, and must therefore ask her to
act for me in the case of Mrs.--er, I don't think I quite caught the
name? Eh? oh, Stivers--yes, I shall easily remember that by connecting
it with a saying contradicted."
"A what, mamma?" laughed the girls.
"Stivers?" repeated Galt, meditatively, "a 'saying contradicted!' I
can't find the connection. It's a mystery--impenetrable!"
"Dear me!" exclaimed Mrs. Lawton, "it's very simple. You need just say
to yourself 'not worth a stiver'--there's your saying; but she owns a
house, there's your contradiction, and you have the name as quickly as
possible. Yes, I shall always remember the name Stivers!"
"If," slowly put in John, "if you don't happen to forget 'the saying.'"
And good-by being said, with arms about waists the sisters held in the
hall one of those secret conclaves over only heaven and themselves knew
what, but without which they were never known to part for more than
twenty-four hours.
Then with her moon face all red with heat and hurry Lena rushed out with
a package of hot cookies, crying: "I bake dem cake youst by der train
time, und dere blazes hot! But I tie 'em mit a long string so you don't
com' burnt by der hants!"
Mrs. Lawton came to the door and indignantly demanded: "What folly and
presumption is this, Lena Klippert? Retire at once and take your
obnoxious offering with you!"
"Den you don' vant dem cookies, my Miss Lady? You tink I com' by der
cheek, uf I bring 'em here?" poor Lena quavered, shamefacedly.
But Sybil fitted the looped string over her finger and flashed a radiant
smile at the faithful little German drudge, and, dangling the package in
the air, quoted:
"'This little pig went to market!' Just wait till to-night, Lena, when
I'm alone in my room, and the little pig will have cookies, eh?"
"Ja! ja!" nodded and smiled Lena. "You com' make very fine little pig,
Miss Sybbils; sometimes you can com' black, but ven you smiles, your
lips youst curl up like a flower!"
And, amid general laughter, Sybil departed for the city with Leslie
doing escort duty, while John and Dorothy Lawton received an informing
lecture upon the structure, quality, and quantity of brain to be found
in the low-class Germans that nicely filled up the rest of their
afternoon.
At Mrs. Van Camp's house Sybil's return was followed almost immediately
by the announcement from the wearer of the mulberry livery of: "A
person--an elderly female person--to see you, ma'am; by appointment, she
claims, ma'am. Show her up? Yes, ma'am. Hem! if you'll excuse the
boldness--Mr. Poll's in the library, and he do be swearing awful, beyond
anythink, ma'am. What for is it? Why, ma'am, someone--I suppose it's the
young lady, ma'am--put a shaving-glass in his cage, and he's been
cussin' of he'self ever since he laid eyes on it. Shall I be carryin'
him to the basement, or covering him up? I don't know. Yes, ma'am, I'll
take him down as you say." And a few moments later he returned,
haughtily ushered in Mrs. Jane Stivers, and retired.
Sybil, entering by the opposite door, saw a thin, elderly woman, whose
dark hair sprinkled with gray and banded smoothly down over each ear,
whose small, dark eyes, whose thin, pale-lipped, closely closed mouth,
and long, drooping nose spelled as plainly as letters could the
word--discreet. Her black gown and unspeakably respectable bonnet, her
thick but plain cloak, her neat cashmere gloves, were all prim adjuncts
to that picture of _discretion_. She stood in true servant-like
attitude, eyes down and hands crossed at the exact waist-line; and as
Sybil reached her god-mother's side that lady, raising her glasses to
look at the stranger, said: "Mrs. Stivers, I wish to--why! why! you're
Martin--you are surely Jane Martin?" and sat staring.
"Yes, Madam Van Camp," she replied, "I am Jane that was in your
sewing-room three years and more. I didn't think you'd remember a
servant's face so long, so I didn't tell Mr. Thrall I'd been in your
service. My husband was a boss carpenter in a theatre, and that took me
there. Me being a good needle-woman, I got work in the wardrobe, and
gradually learned the business thorough-like; and when my husband died,
as I wanted to hold on to the house, I began taking lodgers as well as
working at the theatre, so as to pay off the mortgage some time, I do
hope, ma'am."
Both women sighed sympathetically as they listened to Mrs. Stivers's
calm and self-controlled statement of her financial and professional
situation, little dreaming that the oppressive mortgage existed only in
the imagination of the undemonstrative widow, who found it too powerful
a lever in raising the rent of rooms, in raising her salary, and in
raising the hats of compassionate observers--to be willingly abandoned.
But though the house mortgage had been cancelled long ago, she was then
by way of secretly placing a mortgage upon her own character for upright
honesty, for sincerity, for honor. True, there was no overt agreement to
dupe a young girl and to circumvent her friends; yet if she made no
slip, trip, or blunder in this matter intrusted to her, she surely knew
that at its end Stewart Thrall, who guided, governed, and controlled
her, would hold first mortgage on her character, since by tacit,
unspoken agreement she would become a living surveillance, a personified
treachery, while still deceptively wearing the livery of prim
respectability and honest labor.
Now, Mrs. Van Camp asked the woman to be seated; expressed regret for
her bereavement, and, because of the excellent impression Jane Martin
had made upon her in the past, looked with unusually lenient eyes upon
Jane Stivers of the present, and accepted readily her statements, and
trustingly saw in her rectitude, her intelligence, and her respectful
and deferential manner the most desirable sort of combination--landlady,
maid, and sheep-dog.
When terms came to be considered, though they seemed surprisingly easy,
Sybil nervously checked Mrs. Van Camp's acceptance of them, saying that
her salary hardly justified such an outlay.
"Oh, Miss Lawton, if you'll pardon the interruption," said Jane Stivers,
"your salary will be quite a different thing when you begin playing
Juliet. Anyone would know that, as a mere matter of course. But besides
that, when Mr. Thrall did me the service of mentioning this matter, he
honored my little home with a call, and as he was going he puts on his
hat and says: 'And I must have now a bit of a business talk with our
little Royal Princess'--that's you, Miss; theatrical people are great
for tagging folks with names, be you high or be you low--you're bound to
get a tag; even I, miss, have been 'Jane Penny' ever since some
rattle-brain found that Stiver was Dutch for a penny."
Sybil recalled her mother's old saying, "Not worth a stiver," and
laughed, while Jane went on.
"Yes, ma'am, he said he must have a little talk with the Royal Princess
and add a cipher to her salary, so she could settle down with a quiet
mind, free for Juliet alone."
And on the strength of that report Mrs. Van Camp accepted the offered
terms, but advised Sybil to run over with "Martin," as she would call
her, "to look at the apartments and ascertain if there was a sun
exposure for at least one room; and whether the drains were all right,
and the gas-pipes innocent of dangerous leakage."
And Sybil--the wish being father to the thought--declared the house
quite perfect. Mrs. Lawton was notified by letter, and while awaiting
her answer a "lightning-change artist" had been at work upon walls and
floor of the front room. The drab and blue horror of the wall had become
a clear primrose yellow with white enamelled picture-rails. The floor
being of old, badly matched pine-boards, and there being no time for
painting or staining, was completely covered with a dull grayish-green
carpet, with pure white rugs before sofa, writing-desk, etc.; and with
flowing white curtains with broad primrose ribbon-ties and a
white-framed rocker with cushion of grayish green, flowered over with
pale primroses. These changes made so magical an effect that Sybil,
coming on the third day to take possession, stood astounded.
"Yes, ma'am," evenly admitted Jane Stivers, "it was a bit of a rush, and
I could not manage to get the second room done so quickly. The expense?
Oh, I have been saving up for months for the express purpose of doing up
my rooms."
But Sybil was amazed at the artistic taste shown here; it was in such
strange contrast to the black hair-cloth, the shiny white and gold
paper, the wax flowers of the parlor, that yet evidently filled Jane's
soul with pride.
"Whom did you advise with, Mrs. Stivers?" she asked, as her fingers
stroked the flowered cushion.
"No one. I did it all myself." Then, as a quick side-glance caught the
unbelief on her lodger's face, she added: "No, I don't know, on second
thought, but what I did get a hint about the color you would be likely
to favor. I recall now that Mr. Thrall remarked, seeing that paper
hanging in the dealer's window: 'What a fine background for some
dark-haired woman.' So I just caught the idea, as you may say."
"You are a very clever woman, I see," answered Sybil, who went joyously
about her unpacking, looking every ten minutes from the window for
Dorothy, who was coming with home photographs, Lena's personally
constructed pillow-sham with a large blue cotton "S. L." worked in the
middle, a beautiful old paper-knife from papa, a silver powder-box from
Leslie, and two pretty but broken fans from mamma, who thought they
would decorate a room nicely, giving quite a little studio-like
touch--all to be used in "homing the rooms," as Dorothy put it.
Godmamma Van Camp sent three really precious old engravings that
Dorothy, with hat still on, went about rapturously holding up against
the clear yellow wall, smacking her young lips as though she were
tasting something.
The most exciting moment of the girls' day was when going into the
second room Dorothy pointed to a corner cabinet and said: "What's that,
Syb?"
"What's what?" asked that person from near the bottom of the trunk Jane
was waiting to remove to the attic.
"That in the corner?"
Sybil rose, red and hot, and looked while Jane pulled the trunk out.
Then she exclaimed: "Why, that was not there when I came to look at the
rooms first!" She went over to it. A small visiting-card was attached to
the key--the card of Stewart Thrall. She opened the cabinet door and
revealed a coffee outfit. Two cries of delight arose; alcohol was sent
for--the picnic was on!
In Africa when a creature is too mighty for the hunters, the wily
natives contrive a great trap--they dig a deep pit, and then cover it
over with frail green boughs and grasses, until it looks like the rest
of the green matted ground about it. They are careful, too, to place
this trap in the neighborhood of some rushing river or some stilly pool
where in the moonlight or at earliest flush of dawn the great creature
must go to lap the cooling water. Then, when it has crashed through into
helpless captivity, the small cunning enemy may work their will upon it.
Now, the strange thing is--this cruel and treacherous practice is not
confined to Africa. Sometimes pits are dug before young feet and
carefully hidden beneath boughs of friendship and flowers of love. Right
here in our great city, if we listen closely, we may hear the crashing
fall of the victim!