They appeared in the doorway suddenly after a sound like locomotives
rushing up the stairs, and surrounded her where she sat after one
astonished pause at the doorway, staring around the unfamiliar
apartment. They smothered her with hugs and kisses, and demanded to
know how she got so much done, and what she wanted of them anyway;
and they smeared her with gingerbread, and made her glad; and then
as suddenly Harry disappeared with the floating explanation trailing
back after him:
“Oh, gee! I gotta beat it.”
A few rustling movements in his own little closet of a room, and he
was back attired in an old Boy Scout uniform, and cramming down the
last bite of his gingerbread.
“Anything I can do before I go? Oh, here!” as he saw his sisters
about to put the bed together. “That won’t take a second! Say, you
girls don’t know how to do that. Lemme.”
And, surprising to state, he pushed them aside, and whacked the bed
together in no time, slatted on the mattress with his sturdy young
arms and was gone down through the dining-room and out into the
street with another huge slice of gingerbread in his hands.
Cornelia straightened her tired shoulders, and looked at the subdued
bed wonderingly. How handily he had done it! How strong he was! It
was amazing.
Louise stood looking about with shining eyes.
“Say, Nellie, it looks lovely here, so clean and nice. I never
thought it could be done, it looked so awful! I wanted to do
something, and I know mother felt fierce about not fixing his room
before she left; but I just couldn’t get time.”
“Of course you couldn’t, dear!” said Cornelia, suddenly realizing how
wise and brave this little sister had been. “You’ve been wonderful to
do anything. Why didn’t they send for me before, Louie? Tell me, how
long had you been in this house before mother was taken sick?”
“Why, only a day. She fainted, you know, trying to carry that marble
bureau-top upstairs, and fell down.”
“Oh! My dear!”
The two sisters stood with their arms about each other, mingling
their tears for a moment; and somehow, as she stood there, Cornelia
felt as if the years melted away, the college years while she had
been absent, and brought her back heart and soul to her home and her
loved ones again.
“But Louie, dear, what has become of the best furniture? Did they
have to rent the old house furnished? I can’t find mother’s mahogany,
or the parlor things, anything but the piano.”
The color rolled up into the little girl’s face, and she dropped her
eyes. “Oh, no, Nellie; they went long ago,” she said, “before we even
moved to the State Street house.”
“The State Street house?”
“Why, yes, father sold the Glenside house just after you went to
college. You knew that, didn’t you? And then we moved to an old
yellow house down farther toward the city. But it was pulled down
to make room for a factory; and I was glad, for it was horrid, and a
long walk to school. And then we went to a brick row down near the
factory, and it was convenient for father, but—”
“Factory? Father? What do you mean, dear? Has father gone into
business for himself? He was a bookkeeper at Dudley and Warner’s when
I left.”
“Oh, but he lost that a long, long time ago, after he was sick so
long.”
“Father sick? Louie! And I not told?”
“Why, I didn’t know they hadn’t told you. Maybe mother wouldn’t like
it——”
“Tell me everything, dear. How long was father sick?”
“About a year. He lost his position, and then wasn’t able to do
anything for ever so long; and, when he got out of the hospital, he
hunted and hunted, and there wasn’t anything for him. He got one good
job; but they said he had to dress better, and he lost that.”
Cornelia sank down on the floor again, and buried her face in her
hands.
“O Louie! And I was wearing nice clothes, and doing nothing to help!
Oh, why didn’t mother let me know?”
“Oh, mother kept saying she thought she could manage and it was
father’s dream you should get your education,” quoted the little girl
with dreamy eyes and the memory of many sacrifices sweetly upon her.
“Go on, Louie; what next?”
“Oh, nothing much. Mother sold the furniture to an ‘antique’ woman
that was hunting old things; and that paid for father’s medicine, and
they said they wouldn’t touch the money they had put in the bank for
your college; and then father got the place at the factory. It’s kind
of hard work, I guess; but it’s good pay, and father thought he’d
manage to let you finish; only mother gave out, and then everything
went to pieces.”
The small, red lips puckered bravely, and suddenly the child threw
her arms around her sister’s neck, and cried out, sobbing, “Oh, I’m
so glad you’ve come!” and Cornelia wrapped her close to her heart.
Into the midst of this touching scene there stole a sweetly pungent
odor of meat boiling dry, and suddenly Cornelia and Louise smelled it
at the same instant, and flew for the stairs.
“I guess it’s not really burned yet,” said wise Louise. “It doesn’t
smell that way,” comfortingly. “My, it makes me hungry!”
“And oh, my bread!” exclaimed Cornelia as she rounded the top of the
next flight. “It ought to go into the oven. It will get too light.”
They rescued the meat not at all hurt but just lusciously browned and
most appetizing; and then they put the bread into the oven and turned
their attention to potatoes and waffles.
“I’m going to make some maple-syrup,” said Cornelia; “it’s better
home-made. I bought a bottle of mapleine this morning. We used to
make maple fudge with it, and it’s good.”
“Isn’t this great?” exclaimed the little girl, watching the bubbling
sugar and water. “Won’t father be glad?”
“But, Louie, where is Carey?” asked Cornelia suddenly.
The little girl’s face grew dark.
“He’s off!” she said shortly. “I guess he didn’t come home at all
last night. Father worries a lot about him, and mother did too; but
he’s been worse since mother was sick. He hardly ever comes in till
after midnight, and then he smokes and smokes. Oh, it makes me sick!
I told Harry if he grew up that way I’d never speak to him. And Harry
says, if he ever does, he gives me leave to turn him down. Oh, Carey
acts like a nut! I don’t see how he can, when he knows how father has
to work, and everything. He just won’t get a position anywhere. He
wants to have a good time. He plays ball, and he rides around in a
rich fellow’s car, and he has a girl! Oh, he’s the _limit_.”
Cornelia felt her heart sinking.
“What kind of a girl, Louie?”
“Oh, a girl with flour on her face, and an awful tight skirt; and
when she goes out evenings, she wears her back bare way down almost
to her waist. I saw her in a concert at our church, and she was
dressed that way there; and folks were all looking at her, and saying
it wasn’t nice. She dances, too, and kicks, with lots of skirts and
ruffles and things, made of chiffon; and she makes eyes at boys; and
I know a girl at school that says she saw her smoking cigarettes at
a restaurant once. You see it isn’t much use to fix up Carey’s room
when he does things like that. He doesn’t deserve it.”
Cornelia looked aghast.
“Oh, but we must, Louie! We must all the more then. And perhaps the
girl isn’t so bad if we knew her, and—and tried to help her. Some
girls are awfully silly at a certain age, dear.”
“Well, you oughtta see her. Harry knows, and he thinks she’s the
limit. He says the boys all talk about her. She paints her face, too,
and wears big black earrings down on her shoulders sometimes, and she
wears her hair just like the pictures of the devil!”
Cornelia had to laugh at the earnest, fierce little face; and the
laugh broke the tension somewhat.
“Well, dearie, we’ll have to find a way to coax Carey back to us,”
she said soothingly, even while her heart was sinking. “He’s our
brother, you know; and we love him, and it would break mother’s
heart.”
“Oh, I know,” sighed the little girl. “I’ve tried to think of
something; but we’re so poor, and this house is dreadful. Of course,
it’s a lot better than State Street, though,” she said, brightening.
“It is?” Cornelia’s voice conveyed dismay.
“Oh yes,” said Louise, not noticing her sister’s face. “We hadn’t
any side windows at all there; the houses were close up, and there
were very unpleasant people all around. It wasn’t at all a good
neighborhood. Carey hated it. He wouldn’t come home for days and
days. He said it wasn’t fit for pigs.”
“Where did he go? Where has he gone now, do you suppose?”
“Oh, off with the boys somewhere. Sometimes to their houses.
Sometimes they take trips around. One of them has a car. His father’s
rich. But I don’t like him. His name’s Brand Barlock. He drives
wherever he likes. They went to Washington once, and were gone a
week. Mother never slept a wink those nights, just sat at the front
window and watched after we went to bed. I know, for I woke up and
found her so several times. He might ’av gone to Baltimore now.
There’s a game down that way sometime soon. I guess it was last
night. Harry heard ’em talking about it. They go with the gang of
fellows that used to play on our high school team when Carey was in
school.”
“School?” Cornelia caught at the word hopefully. “Perhaps it’s only
fun, then, Louie. Maybe, it’s nothing really bad.”
“No. They’re pretty tough,” sighed the wise child. “Harry knows. He
hears the boys talk.”
“Well, dear, we’ll have to forget it now, anyway, and get to work. We
must fix Carey’s room so he can sleep there tonight if he does come
back, and we must have supper ready when father gets home.”
The child brightened. “Won’t they be surprised?” she said with a
happy light in her eyes. “What do you want me to do? Shall I peel the
potatoes?”
“Yes, do, and have plenty. We’ll mash them, shall we? I found the
potato-masher in the bottom of a barrel in the parlor; so I don’t
believe you’ve been using it lately.”
“That’s right. We had all we could do to bake them or boil them
whole,” said Louise. “You bake the bread, and I’ll get the potatoes
on. Then we’ll have plenty of time to put those things away upstairs
and make Carey’s bed.”
“Are there any clean sheets? I didn’t know where to look.”
“No, there’s only one pair, and I kept them for you next week.”
“We can’t keep anything for me, duckie dear,” said Cornelia,
laughing. “Carey’s got to have clean sheets this very night. I have a
hunch he’s coming home, and I want that room to be ready. That’s the
first step in getting him back to us, you know.”
“Oh, well, all right,” said the little sister. “They are in the lower
drawer of our bureau. How good that bread smells! My, it was nice of
you to make it! And how dear the dining-table looks with that little
flower in the middle. Some girls’ sisters would have thought that
was unnecessary. They would have made us wait for pretty things.
But you didn’t, did you? I guess that’s what makes you an interior
decorator, isn’t it? Father and mother are awfully proud of you. They
talked about it most every night before Carey got to going away, how
you would be a great artist some day, and all that; and my! it most
killed them to have to call you home.”
Louise chattered on, revealing many a household tragedy, until
Cornelia was cut to the heart and wanted to drop down and cry; only
she had too much at stake to give up now.
They went upstairs presently with the clean sheets, and the blankets
that had almost miraculously got themselves dry owing to a bright sun
and a strong west wind that had arrived soon after they were put out;
and they had a beautiful time making that bed. Carey wouldn’t know
himself in such a bed. Then they hunted out a bureau-scarf, and they
went through the tousled drawers of the chiffonier and bureau, and
put things to rights, laying out a pile of things that needed mending
or washing, and making the room look cheery and bright.
“It ought to have something pretty like a flower here, too,” sighed
Louise, taking a final glance around as Cornelia folded the old
eider-down quilt in a self-respecting puff at the foot of the bed,
and gave another pat to the clean white pillow. “I know!” said Louise
suddenly flitting downstairs to her own room and hurrying back again
with a small oval easel picture of her mother, dusting it carefully
with her handkerchief as she came. “There! Won’t that look better?”
“Indeed it will,” said her sister, her eyes filling with tears as she
looked into the loving eyes of the dear mother from whom she had been
separated so long; “and perhaps it will do Carey good to look into
his mother’s eyes when he comes home; who knows?”
So they went down together to put the finishing touches to the supper
and to talk of many things. Louise even got around to the play and
the costume she was going to try to make; and Cornelia delighted her
heart by saying she was sure she had just the very costume in her
trunk, one that she wore in a college play herself, and she would
help her make it over to fit.
Everything was ready for supper at last, and it was time within three
minutes for father’s car to arrive. Harry would likely meet him at
the corner and come with him. Cornelia was taking up the pot-roast,
and telling Louise about beating the mashed potatoes to make them
lighter. The waffle-iron had been found under the piano-stool in the
parlor, and was sizzling hot and well greased awaiting the fluffy
batter. The hot maple syrup was on the table and everything exactly
ready. Suddenly they heard a noisy automobile thunder up to the front
of the house and pause, a clatter of voices, and the car thundered
on again. Footsteps up the walk, and the front door banged open and
shut; feet stamped up the stairs, while a faint breath of cigarette
smoke trailed out and penetrated into the kitchen to mingle with the
fragrance of the dinner. The two cooks stopped, and looked at each
other understandingly.
“He’s come,” said the eyes of the little sister.
“We must make him very welcome,” answered the eyes of the big sister,
so tired she could hardly hold her young shoulders straight.
“Maybe he won’t stay,” whispered Louise softly a minute later.
“Sometimes he doesn’t; he might have a date.”
“Here’s hoping,” said Cornelia gayly, as she dabbed the batter into
the irons for the first waffle. “You’ll have to contrive to catch him
if he tries to go away, Lou.”
“I wonder what he thinks of his room,” giggled the little sister. “I
guess maybe he thought he’d made a mistake and got into the wrong
house.”
It was all very still upstairs. There were not even any footsteps
going around, not for what seemed like several minutes; then slowly
the footsteps came down the stairs again, hesitating, paused at the
second flight, and came on until they reached the open dining-room
door.
Carey stood there gazing at the table as Louise came in bearing the
dish of potatoes, and Cornelia followed her with the platter of meat,
both earnestly intent and flushed with their work; and just at that
moment, before the girls had looked up, the front door opened, and in
came the father, with Harry whistling gayly behind him.
“Oh, gee!” he cried, stopping his whistling. “Don’t that supper smell
good? Here’s hoping there’s plenty of it.”
It was at that instant that Cornelia looked up, and her eyes met
the eyes of her handsome, reckless-looking brother, astonishment,
bewilderment, shame, delight, and embarrassment struggling in his
face.