Cornelia had had a brief space of anxiety lest her brother should
begin to feel his own importance and perhaps offend his chief in
being entirely too smart in his own conceit. But it soon became
apparent that the chief was a big enough man to have impressed Carey
and made him a devoted servant. He kept quoting what he said with
awe and reverence and showing great delight at being admitted to the
inner sanctum and intrusted with important affairs.
Carey was to begin his new work on Monday morning, and all Saturday
as he went about doing various little things, pressing his trousers,
picking up his laundry, getting his affairs in order to leave all
day as other business men had to do every day, he kept dropping into
the room where his sister was at work on some pretty dresses for
Louise, and telling with a light in his eyes and a ring of pleasure
in his voice what “the boss” had said or done, or how the office was
furnished, and how many salesmen and stenographers there were. And he
could not say enough about Maxwell.
“That fellow’s a prince!” he exclaimed. “D’ye know it? A perfect
prince of a man. He might have run in any number of friends, old
friends, you know, instead of mentioning me. I can’t make out what
made him. The boss took me out to lunch with him today at a swell
restaurant. Gee! It was great! Lobster salad, café parfait, and
all that! Some lunch! Took the best part of a ten-dollar bill to
pay for it, too. Oh, boy! It was great! Think of _me_! And he told
me how much Maxwell thought of me, and how he believed I’d bear it
out, and all that dope. He talked a lot about personal appearance,
and a pleasant manner, and keeping my temper, and that line, you
know. Gee! It’s going to be hard, but it’s going to be great. He told
me that it was up to me how high I climbed. There wasn’t any limit
practically if I stuck it out and made good. And believe me, I’m
going to stick. I like that guy, and I like the business. Say, Nell,
do you think this necktie would clean? I always liked this necktie.
And whaddaya think? I’ve got to wear hard collars. Fierce, isn’t it?
but I guess I can get used to ’em. Say where’s that old silk shirt of
mine? I wonder if you could mend a tear in the sleeve. I’ll have to
keep dolled up in glad rags a lot now, and I have to get everything
in shape. Imagine it. I’ve got to take big guys out to lunch myself
sometimes, and show them the ropes, and all that. Gee! Isn’t it
wonderful?”
So Cornelia laid aside the rose-colored gingham and the blue-flowered
muslin she was making for Louise, and mended shirts, ironed neckties,
and helped press coats, until Carey expressed himself as altogether
pleased with his outfit, and joy bubbled over in the house. That
night and all the next day their hearts seemed so light that they
were in danger of having their feet lifted off the ground with the
joy of it.
Brand came over after lunch as usual, and heard the news. He looked a
bit sober over it, although he congratulated his friend warmly; but
once or twice Cornelia caught him looking wistfully at Carey, as if
somehow he had suddenly grown away from him; and she realized that
it was the first break in their boyhood life. For Carey was a new
Carey since the morning, walking with a spring in his step, giving
a command in the tone of one who had authority, making a decision
as one who had long been accustomed to being recognized as having a
right. He had in a single morning become a man, and seemed for the
time to have put away childish things. He even declined to take a
ride with Brand after dinner, to which Brand had stayed, saying that
he had promised to run over to the Kendalls after dinner and try
over the music for tomorrow. Ordinarily Brand would have gone along
without even being asked, but there was about Carey such a manner of
masterfulness, and of being aloof and having grave matters to attend
to, that the boy hesitated with a wistful, puzzled look; and, when
Cornelia, half sensing his feeling, said, “Well, Brand, you stay here
with me, and we’ll go over that music too,” he laughed happily, and
sat down again, letting Carey go out by himself.
It was altogether plain that Carey didn’t even see it. Carey was
exalted. His head was in the clouds, and a happy smile played over
his face continually.
Brand stayed all the evening till Carey came back at half past ten,
still with that happy, exalted smile on his face; and then Brand,
with an amused, almost hopeless expression, laughingly bade good
night to Cornelia, telling her he’d had “a peach of a time.” Just as
he was going out the door he looked back, and said soberly: “I might
have a job myself next week. Dad wants me to come in the office with
him this summer, and I believe I will.” Then he went away without any
of the usual racket and showing off of his noisy car.
Carey’s new dignity carried him to church the next morning, and to a
special Children’s Day service in the afternoon, where he had been
asked to usher; and joy still sat on his face when he returned at
four o’clock and lolled around the living room, restless and talking
of the morrow, now and then telling some trifling incident of the
afternoon, humming over a tune that had been sung, and finally asking
Cornelia to play and sing with him the music for the evening. It was
altogether so unusual to have Carey at home like this all day Sunday,
and seeming to be happy in it, that Cornelia was excitedly happy
herself, and every little while Louise would look at him joyously and
say, “O Carey, you look so nice in that new suit!”
It was like a regular love-feast, and Cornelia began to tell her
anxious heart that Carey really was started on the right way. There
was no further need to worry about him at all. Perhaps there hadn’t
ever been. Perhaps it was all only because he hadn’t had the right
kind of job.
It was just six o’clock. The Copleys had elected to have their
Sunday-night supper after the evening service, and to that
end Cornelia had prepared delectable lettuce, cheese, and date
sandwiches, and had wrapped them in a damp cloth in the ice-box to
be ready. There was a fruit salad all ready also, and a maple cake.
It would take but a few minutes to make a pot of chocolate, and they
would eat around the fire in the living room. Maxwell had promised to
come early and go to church with them. Cornelia rather dreaded the
ordeal for she felt sure that Maxwell meant to tell her about the
crimson lady. Well, she might as well get it over at once and have
him understand that she knew exactly where she stood.
She had gone upstairs to dress and left Carey lying on the couch,
looking into the fire, dreamily listening to Louise and Harry playing
hymn tunes as duets. She planned to write a letter to her mother
early the next morning giving her a picture of their beautiful Sunday
and telling the news about Carey. She was flying around getting
dressed for the evening when she heard a car come up to the front and
stop. It came quietly, almost stealthily; so it could not be Brand.
Could it be that Arthur Maxwell had arrived so soon? She tiptoed into
her father’s room to look out of the window. If it was Maxwell, she
must hurry and go downstairs.
The car was a shabby old affair with a rakish air, and she could not
see the face of the man who sat in the driver’s seat. A small boy
was coming in the gate with a letter in his hand, which he pulled
from his pocket, looking up at the house apprehensively. There was
something familiar about the slouch of the boy, and about the
limpness of his unkempt hair as he dragged his cap off and knocked at
the door, but she could not place it.
A vague unnamed apprehension seized her, and her fingers flew fast
among the long strands of soft hair, putting them quickly into shape
so that she might go down and see what was the matter. Two or three
hairpins which had been in her hand as she hurried to the window
she stuck in anywhere to hold the coils. She hurried to her room,
seized her dress, began to slip it on, and flew back to the post of
observation at the window. She heard Carey get up and open the door,
and she strained to hear what the boy said, but could not make out
anything but a low mutter. Carey was reading the note. What could it
be? Clytie? Oh!
Her heart gave a great leap of terror. It was almost time for
Christian Endeavor! But surely, _surely_ Carey would not pay any
heed to that girl now. With all the new ambitions and opportunities
opening before him!
Carey had made an exclamation, and was following the boy rapidly out
to the car. Oh! What could he be going to do?
Cornelia fastened the last snap of her dress, and fairly flew
downstairs; but, when she reached the door the car was driving madly
off up the hill, and Carey was nowhere in sight. The children were
still playing duets, and had not noticed.
Cornelia turned back to look into the room again and make sure he
was not there, and she saw Carey’s new panama hat hanging on the
hook back by the staircase where he had put it when he came in from
afternoon service. She drew a breath of relief, and called, in a lull
of the music, “Louie, where is Carey?”
The little girl turned and looked wonderingly at her sister’s anxious
face.
“Why, he was here just a minute ago, Nellie; what’s the matter? I
think he went out the front door.”
He was gone! Cornelia knew it, and her heart sank with a horrible
sickening thud. She went back to the door, and looked down the street
and then up the hill, where the car was a mere black speck in the
distance. Her heart was beating so that it seemed the children must
hear it. She tried to think, but all that came was a wild jumble of
ideas. The meeting that night! Carey had a short solo in the anthem!
Suppose he shouldn’t get back! What should she say to Grace? How
could his absence possibly be explained? He couldn’t—he _wouldn’t_ do
a thing like that, would he? He had gone without his hat; perhaps he
expected to return immediately. She was foolish to get so frightened.
Carey had been doing so wonderfully all day. He certainly had sense
enough not to make a fool of himself now.
But her heart would not be quieted, and she trembled in every fibre.
She hurried down the steps and to the sidewalk looking up the hill
where the car had just disappeared, and her hand pressed against her
heart to steady its fluttering. She did not see Maxwell’s car drive
up until it stopped; and, when she looked at him, a new fear seized
her. Maxwell must not know that she was afraid about that girl. He
had gone to a lot of trouble for Carey, and he would not like it. It
might lose Carey the position. She tried to command a smile, but the
white face she turned toward him belied it.
“Is anything the matter?” he asked, stopping his car and jumping
out beside her. Then he stooped, and picked up something from the
pavement at her feet.
“Is this yours? Did you drop it?”
She looked down, took the bit of paper, and her face grew whiter
still as she caught the words, “Dear Carey.” It must be the note the
boy had brought, and suddenly she knew who that boy had been. It was
Clytie Dodd’s brother!