THE PARABLE OF THE COCOANUT PIE
There was fluttering anticipation among the relatives as they
gathered in the breakfast room the next morning and dallied with
broiled kidneys and anchovy toast while awaiting Baxter's summons.
Which came presently when Hiram, red-faced and genial of visage,
opened the door.
"If you folks don't mind," he said, "I wish you'd join me in the
library for a little friendly talk."
At last the great moment had come, and, one by one, the relatives
passed through the hall into the room beyond, each showing in face
and manner an overbubbling delight at the thought of the benefits
they expected to receive from Cousin Hiram. And, one by one, they
seated themselves in the stiff, high-backed chairs that were ranged
along the wall. Baxter settled himself on the corner of the
davenport and faced them. His eyes were cheerful, his smile was
cordial; there was not the least indication of what was coming.
"Make yourselves comfortable, friends," began Hiram. "I've got a few
things to say, and ye might as well take it easy."
There was a shifting of positions, a little expectant coughing, and
then, just as Baxter was about to begin, Harriet Merle prodded
Horatio, who was staring absentmindedly before him.
"Horatio!" she whispered.
The curate came to himself with a start, blinked rapidly behind his
glasses, and then, remembering the duty his wife had put upon him,
rose solemnly to his feet and, in his most clerical manner, addressed
Hiram Baxter.
"Ahem! Mr. Baxter! In the name of the relatives gathered here,
allow me to extend to you our most cordial welcome on this occasion
of your return to England, together with the expression of our
gratitude for your large and unfailing generosity in the past
and--er--ahem!"
"Hear, hear!" applauded Lionel.
But Hiram lifted a hand for silence. "One moment, Brother Horatio,"
he drawled. "Before ye wind up yer speech, ye'd better let me make a
few remarks. Ye may want to change yer peroration."
"How delightful!" murmured Harriet.
"Go on, Cousin Hiram," urged Kate.
"Hear, hear!" repeated Lionel.
"Ahem!" coughed the curate and sat down.
"I've called you people in here," continued Baxter, "to tell ye
something that I've been thinkin' about fer quite a while. We're
goin' to Brighton to-day, Eleanor and me, fer a couple o' weeks--this
ghost business has broke Eleanor up a good deal--and I want to get
this thing off my chest before I leave. Yer all good friends o' mine
and yer all more or less in hard luck. Seems like things naturally
go wrong with ye--it's been so fer years, ever since I've had the
honor o' belongin' to this family. Well, a man hates to see his
wife's relations suffer and I've tried to do what I could, but--I'm
here to tell ye now that I don't feel as if I've ever done the right
thing by ye. No, sir. All these years I've tried to help ye out of
yer troubles, but I've never turned the trick."
"Oh, I say!" protested Lionel.
"You've been splendid," Kate declared.
"We wouldn't have you any different, dear Cousin Hiram," beamed
Harriet.
Baxter paused a moment and adjusted his spectacles. "Think I'm a
pretty good feller, don't ye? Well, yer wrong. Look at my friend,
Fitz-Brown, my wife's second cousin once removed. Up to his ears in
debt--always has been. Ain't that a shame! My wife's second cousin
once removed!"
The old boy leaned forward earnestly, his big, strong chin on his
big, strong hand and in his kindly, homely way addressed the
gentleman in question who was pulling fiercely at his yellow mustache.
"Now, friend Lionel, I'm goin' to show ye how ye can always have
money enough and never have any more debts or bother."
This roused the monocled one to genuine enthusiasm. "I say, I'll be
awfully pleased," he responded.
"I'll do it. And I'm goin' to show you," Hiram Baxter turned sharply
to the curate, "how you can cure that tired feelin' and hold a
preachin' job for more'n five consecutive minutes."
"Oh, thank you, sir," murmured Horatio.
"And I'm goin' to show you ladies how to be happy. Yes, sir.
Trouble with you is yer bored to death. That's why ye want to go
kitin' around to Monte Carlo and Jerusalem. I'll fix it so ye can't
ever be bored."
"I wish you could," laughed Kate.
"My dear Countess," reproved Harriet, "if Cousin Hiram agrees to do a
thing you can depend upon him absolutely."
"It ain't necessary to go into details, but each one of you knows
what ye've had from me straight and regular every year for the last
five years. It makes quite a total, ten thousand pounds or more,
fifty thousand dollars that I've spent tryin' to get you people on
yer feet, and I ain't ever been able to do it. Each year yer in
worse'n the year before, and it's all my fault. Want to know why?
Because I've been tryin' to help ye on the European plan, which ain't
worth shucks; but I've had my eyes opened, and now I'm goin' to
change and help ye on the good old-fashioned American plan, warranted
never to fail."
"Yes?"
"Tell us!"
"Please tell us!"
"Hear, hear!" buzzed the eager chorus.
Then came the first intimation of the truth, slowly and smilingly
delivered, but bringing shattering disillusion, nevertheless, to the
trusting relatives: "The American plan of helpin' people consists in
showin' 'em how they can help themselves."
The effect came gradually in a movement of general surprise and
consternation.
"Oh, I say!"
"But----"
"You don't mean--you surely don't mean----"
"Tell ye exactly what I mean. Yer all nice people, but ye've been
trained wrong. Your idea is to sit in the sunshine and let somebody
shake plums into yer lap, which is all right if ye can find a feller
to do it, but I'm tired o' shakin' plums and the tree's pretty well
skinned, so----" Here he turned to the countess and Harriet with his
most ingratiating smile: "Ladies, I want to ask you a question.
Suppose you were on a desert island and were gettin' terribly hungry,
and suppose ye looked up and saw some nice, ripe cocoanuts waitin' to
be picked. You'd say to yourselves: 'Them cocoanuts look awful
good,' and ye'd ring like fury for the butler and the maid to come
and pick 'em and make 'em into cocoanut pies. But the butler and the
maid wouldn't show up, because yer on a desert island--uninhabited.
See? So after a while ye'd get tired o' ringin' and ye'd say to the
countess----" here he beamed on Mrs. Merle, "'Countess,' ye'd say,
'it ain't according to Hoyle fer ladies to climb cocoanut trees, but
this is a case of hustle or starve, so we'll flip up a cent to see
which one of us boosts the other into them branches.'"
"Never," declared the curate's wife, scandalized.
"Yes, ye would!" pursued Hiram. "And before night ye'd be eatin' the
finest cocoanut pie ye ever tasted, for----" he paused and then added
with his most impressive drawl: "Take it from me, ladies, there ain't
no pie in the world like a self-made pie."
This statement was received in silence, in thin-lipped, despairing
silence. Slowly but surely the relatives were beginning to get dear
Cousin Hiram's idea.
"Ahem! Mr. Baxter!" coughed Horatio, rising again. "In the name of
the relatives gathered here, allow me to thank you for the
beautiful--shall I say touching--parable of the cocoanut pie. I
think, however, that I voice the desire of the relatives gathered
here in asking you to make your ideas a little clearer in
their--shall I say in their immediate application?"
"All right, Brother Horatio," smiled Hiram, as the curate resumed his
seat. "I'll come down to cases. We're members o' the same family
and we've got to stand together."
"Ah!" approved Harriet.
"Just now it happens that I need your help. I've got big resources,
but I'm in a hard campaign. I've got my back to the wall fighting
for my life and--well, we'll come through all right and you'll
benefit with me, but for a while we've got to cut down on expenses
and--er--you people'll have to--er----"
The bolt was about to fall, the words were on Hiram's lips: "You
people'll have to do some work," but as he looked into the faces
before him, pathetic, incredulous, the old fellow weakened. "You
people'll have to--er--give this thing your--er--serious
consideration," he substituted.
But the countess understood, and, with a little laugh and a shrug of
her shapely shoulders, she came straight to the point. "You mean
we'll have to--have to--work?"
Hiram nodded slowly.
"Understand, there's no hurry about this. I want to treat ye right.
I want to help ye. I want to see yer faces bright and yer needs
provided for, but I can tell ye this, from a long experience, that
the thing in my life that's made me happiest is the honest work I've
done. Remember, things go on here in Ipping House just the same,
whatever you folks decide. If ye can't think of anything practical
to do, why, never mind. I'll stand by ye as well as I can; but if ye
could think o' something that yer fitted to do and could put yer
heart in, why it would solve your problems and it'd help solve mine.
You'll be sore on me for a while, like the kid that sputters and
kicks and swallers a quart of water when you chuck him in a pond to
learn him to swim."
Harriet's face was a study in horror. "Good heavens, you're not
going to----"
"Chuck us in a pond? Eh, what?" gasped Lionel.
"No, no. I mean work is like swimmin'. Ye hate it until ye learn
how and then yer crazy about it. Why, you people'll feel just fine
when ye've cut out this bluff and fake business. Do ye know what a
little useful work'll do? It'll make men and women of ye."
"But what work can we do?" protested the countess.
"Jolly good point, that," echoed Lionel.
Hiram reflected a moment.
"I suppose there are things you folks could do, if ye had to, plenty
o' things. Maybe I'm mistaken, maybe it's a crazy idea, but----"
Here suddenly the curate spoke. "I think Mr. Baxter is quite right,"
he began in a low tone vibrant with feeling.
"Horatio!" glared Mrs. Merle, but the little man faced her calmly.
"My dear, I beg you not to interrupt." Then, turning to the master
of the house: "Speaking for myself," he continued, "and not for the
relatives gathered here, I wish to say that, in view of your great
past kindness, my dear Mr. Baxter, I feel that you are justified,
fully justified, in asking us to help you meet the serious and, let
us hope, temporary difficulties that beset you. And I would remind
the relatives gathered here of King Solomon's beautiful and
impressive words: 'Whoso keepeth the fig trees shall eat the fruit
thereof, and whoso waiteth on his master shall be honored.'"
There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. Disapproving as they
were, and bitterly disappointed, the relatives, in spite of
themselves, were impressed by a certain unsuspected moral strength in
this gentle utterance.
"King Solomon cert'ly knew his business," approved Hiram, as much
surprised as the others at this turn of affairs.
"And I beg to suggest," proceeded Merle, appealing to the astonished
group, "as the least important and the least worthy person here, yet
one who has sincerely at heart the welfare of all, I venture to
suggest that, before any hasty words are spoken or any irrevocable
action is taken by the relatives gathered here, I would suggest, I
say, that the relatives withdraw to their rooms or elsewhere for a
little--er--thought and--shall I say self-examination?"
"Good idea! Fine idea!" nodded Baxter, and a moment later, with a
quizzical look in his cheery blue eyes, he watched the relatives file
out silently, one by one, a mighty sore bunch, he reflected, mouths
down and noses up, Horatio going last and bowing respectfully to
Hiram as he closed the door behind him.
For some moments the old man sat in the corner of the davenport,
smiling at this latest development. Who would have thought of it?
The Reverend Merle a champion of honest labor! Standin' up like a
little bantam rooster against them relatives!
Presently Bob entered, eager for news.
"Well?" inquired the son.
"Bob," drawled the big fellow, "I'll bet ye four dollars and a
quarter King Solomon wrote them proverbs o' his after he'd been
worked by relatives. Say, with a thousand wives he must have had an
everlasting lot of 'em!"
An hour later the luggage cart appeared for the three large boxes,
the two steamer trunks and the assortment of Gladstone bags,
hold-alls, and dress-suit cases that Eleanor had caused to be packed
for their brief and simple sojourn in Brighton. Some of these
things, it is true, belonged to Betty, whose services were required
by Mr. Baxter, and who now appeared, ready for the journey, a radiant
summer vision all in white except for a bunch of pansies at her waist
and a graceful, pale-blue plume in the wide-brimmed straw hat that
becomingly shaded her eyes.
The car drew up at the door, coughing and sputtering, with Bob Baxter
at the wheel. Hiram sat in front beside his son, Eleanor and Betty
on the seat behind. And, just as they were starting, Kate Clendennin
tripped down the steps and, declining to squeeze in among the bags
and bundles, leaped lightly upon the footboard at Bob's side and
remained there, despite Eleanor's protest, all the way to the station.
Poor Betty! There was a moment's delay in starting the train, after
the guard had given the signal and slammed the doors, and the
banished secretary, looking backward through the window, caught a
glimpse of the departing motor as it rounded the nasturtium bed.
Kate was on the front seat next to Bob, and they both looked back,
the countess laughing and waving her hand. Then the car turned a
wooded corner, and that was the last picture--Kate and Bob together,
close together, gliding swiftly, perhaps slowly, through those
leaf-arched lanes and delicious lonesome glades of the forest. They
had taken the longer way home, but there was time enough--there was
not the slightest need for Kate and Bob to hurry.