WILLY CROUP AS A PHILANTHROPIC DIPLOMATIST
Mrs. Cliff was late to breakfast that day, and the reason was that
thinking so much about what Willy had said to her she had been very slow
in dressing. As soon as she had a chance, Mrs. Cliff took Willy aside
and told her that she had determined to adopt her advice about the
Thorpedykes.
"The more I think of the plan," she said, "the better I like it! But we
must be very, very careful about what we do. If Miss Eleanor suspects
that I invite them to come to my house because I think they are poor,
she will turn into solid stone, and we will find we cannot move her an
inch,--but I think I can manage it! When we go home, I will tell them
how pleasant we found it for us all to be together, and speak of the
loneliness of my new big house. If I can get Miss Eleanor to believe
that she is doing me a favor, she may be willing to come; but on no
account, Willy, do you say a word to either of them about this plan. If
you do, you will spoil everything, for that's your way, Willy, and you
know it!"
Willy promised faithfully that she would not interfere in the least; but
although she was perfectly satisfied with this arrangement, she was not
happy. How could she be happy knowing what she did about Miss Barbara?
That poor lady was looking sadder than ever, and Willy was very much
afraid that she had had another letter from that horrid Mr. Bullock,
with whom, she was delighted to think, Mrs. Cliff had never dealt.
It would be some days yet before they would go home and make the new
arrangement, and then there would be the bill and the collector, and all
that horrid business, and if Miss Eleanor found out the condition of
affairs,--and if the bill was not paid, she must find out,--she would
never come to them. She would probably stay at home and live on bread!
Now, it so happened that Willy had in her own possession more than
enough money to pay that wretched Bullock bill. Mrs. Cliff made her no
regular allowance, but she had given her all the money that she might
reasonably expect to spend in New York, and Willy had spent but very
little of it, for she found it the most difficult thing in the world to
select what it was she wanted out of all the desirable things she saw.
It would rejoice her heart to transfer this money to Miss Barbara; but
how in the world could she do it? She first thought that she might offer
to buy something that was in the Thorpedyke house, but she knew this
idea was absurd. Then she thought of mentioning, in an off-hand way,
that she would like to put some money out at interest, and thus,
perhaps, induce Miss Barbara to propose a business transaction. But this
would not do. Even Miss Barbara would suspect some concealed motive.
Idea after idea came to her, but she could think of no satisfactory plan
of getting that money into Miss Barbara's possession.
She did not go out with the party that morning, but sat in her room
trying in vain to solve this problem. At last she gave it up and
determined to do what she wanted to do without any plan whatever.
She went into Miss Barbara's room and placed upon the table, in the very
spot where the bill had been lying, some bank-notes, considerably more
than sufficient to pay the amount of the bill, which amount she well
remembered. It would not do to leave just money enough, for that would
excite suspicion. And so placing Miss Barbara's hair-brush upon the
bank-notes, so that she would be sure not to overlook them, for she
would not think of going down to luncheon without brushing her hair,
Willy retired to her own room, nearly closing the door, leaving only a
little crack through which she might see if any servant entered the room
before Miss Barbara came back.
Then Willy set herself industriously to work hemming a pocket
handkerchief. She could not do this very well, because she was not at
all proficient in fine sewing, but she worked with great energy,
waiting and listening for Miss Barbara's entrance.
At last, after a long time, Willy heard the outer door of the other room
open, and glancing through the crack, she saw Miss Barbara enter. Then
she twisted herself around towards the window and began to sew savagely,
with a skill much better adapted to the binding of carpets than to any
sort of work upon cambric handkerchiefs.
In a few minutes she heard a little exclamation in the next room, and
then her door was opened suddenly, without the customary knock, and Miss
Barbara marched in. Her face was flushed.
"Willy Croup," said she, "what is the meaning of that money on my
table?"
"Money?" said Willy, turning towards her with as innocent an expression
as her burning cheeks and rapidly winking eyes would permit; "what do
you mean by--money?"
Miss Barbara stood silent for some moments while Willy vainly endeavored
to thread the point of her needle.
"Willy," said Miss Barbara, "did you come into my room last night, and
look at the bill which was on my table?"
Now Willy dropped her needle, thread, and handkerchief, and stood up.
"Yes, I did!" said she. Miss Barbara was now quite pale.
"And you read the note which Mr. Bullock had put at the bottom of it?"
"Yes, I read it!" said Willy.
"And don't you know," said the other, "that to do such a thing was
most--"
"Yes, I do!" interrupted Willy. "I knew it then and I know it now, but I
don't care any more now than I did then! I put it there because I wanted
to! And if you'll take it, Miss Barbara, and pay it back to me any time
when you feel like it,--and you can pay me interest at ten per cent if
you want to, and that will make it all right, you know; and oh, Miss
Barbara! I know all about that sort of bill, because they used to come
when my father was alive. And if you'd only take it, you don't know how
happy I would be!"
At this she began to cry, and then Miss Barbara burst into tears, and
the two sat down beside each other on a lounge and cried earnestly, hand
in hand, for nearly ten minutes.
"I'm so glad you'll take it!" said Willy, when Miss Barbara went into
her room, "and you may be just as sure as you're sure of anything that
nobody but our two selves will ever know anything about it!"
Immediately after luncheon Miss Barbara went by herself to the
post-office, and when she came back her sister said to her that New York
must just be beginning to agree with her.
"It is astonishing," said Miss Eleanor, "how long it takes some people
to get used to a change, but it often happens that if one stays long
enough in the new place, great benefit will be experienced, whereas, if
the stay is short, there may be no good result whatever!"
That afternoon Mrs. Cliff actually laughed at Miss Barbara--a thing she
had never done before. They were in a large jewelry store where they
were looking at clocks, and Miss Barbara, who had evinced a sudden
interest in the beautiful things about her, called Mrs. Cliff's
attention to a lovely necklace of pearls.
"If I were you," said Miss Barbara, "I would buy something like that! I
should not want to wear it, perhaps, but it would be so delightful to
sit and look at it!"
The idea of Miss Barbara thinking of buying necklaces of pearls! No
wonder Mrs. Cliff laughed.
When the party returned to Plainton, Mrs. Cliff was amazed to find her
new house almost completely furnished; and no time was lost in proposing
the Thorpedyke project, for Mrs. Cliff felt that it would be wise to
make the proposition while the sense of companionship was still fresh
upon them all.
Miss Thorpedyke was very much surprised when the plan was proposed to
her, but it produced a pleasant effect upon her. She had much enjoyed
the company she had been in; she had always liked society, and lately
had had very little of it, for no matter how good and lovable sisters
may be, they are sometimes a little tiresome when they are sole
companions.
As to Barbara, she trembled as she thought of Mrs. Cliff's offer:
trembled with joy, which she could not repress; and trembled with fear
that her sister might not accept it. But it was of no use for her to say
anything,--and she said nothing. Eleanor always decided such questions
as these.
After a day's consideration Miss Thorpedyke came to a conclusion, and
she sent Miss Barbara with a message to Mrs. Cliff to the effect that as
the winters were always lonely, and as it would be very pleasant for
them all to be together, she would, if Mrs. Cliff thought it would be an
advantage to her, come with her sister and live in some portion of the
new building which Mrs. Cliff did not intend to be otherwise occupied,
and that they would pay whatever board Mrs. Cliff thought reasonable and
proper; but in order to do this, it would be necessary for them to rent
their present home. They would offer this house fully
furnished,--reserving the privilege of removing the most valuable
heirlooms which it now contained, and, as soon as such an arrangement
could be made, they would be willing to come to Mrs. Cliff and remain
with her during the winter.
When Miss Barbara had heard this decision her heart had fallen! She knew
that it would be almost impossible to find a tenant who would take that
house, especially for winter occupancy, and that even if a tenant could
be found, the rent would be very little. And she knew, moreover, that
having come to a decision Eleanor could not be moved from it.
She found Mr. Burke and Willy with Mrs. Cliff, but as he knew all about
the project and had taken great interest in it, she did not hesitate to
tell her message before him. Mrs. Cliff was very much disappointed.
"That ends the matter!" said she. "Your house cannot be rented for the
winter!"
"I don't know about that!" exclaimed Mr. Burke. "By George! I'll take
the house myself! I want a house,--I want just such a house; I want it
furnished,--except I don't want to be responsible for old heirlooms, and
I'm willing to pay a fair and reasonable rent for it; and I'm sure,
although I never had the pleasure of being in it, it ought to bring rent
enough to pay the board of any two ladies any winter, wherever they
might be!"
"But, Mr. Burke," Miss Barbara said, her voice shaking as she spoke, "I
must tell you, that the roof is very much out of repair, and--"
"Oh, that doesn't matter at all!" said Burke. "A tenant, if he's the
right sort of tenant, is bound to put a house into repair to suit
himself. I'll attend to the roof if it needs it, you may be sure of
that! And if it doesn't need it, I'll leave it just as it is! That'll be
all right, and you can tell your sister that you've found a tenant. I'm
getting dreadfully tired of living at that hotel, and a house of my own
is somethin' that I've never had before! But one thing I must ask of
you, Miss Thorpedyke: don't say anything to your sister about tobacco
smoke, and perhaps she will never think of it!"