distinguished. She talked too much, as Harry had said. There are too
many American women who talk too much. Marie's mother used to talk
about six-thirds of the time. You had to hear it, and then you had to
get over it. She had a way of spiking the shoes of Time so that every
hour felt like a month while it was running over you. You ought to
have seen her climb the family tree or the sturdy old chestnut of her
own experience and shake down the fruit! Marie had one more tree in
her orchard. She had added the spreading peach of a liberal education
to the deadly upas of Benson genealogy and the sturdy old chestnut of
mama's experience. The _vox Bensonorum_ was as familiar as the
Congregational bell. The supply of it exceeded the demand, and after
every one was loaded and ready to cast off, the barrels came rolling
down the chute.
"The next time I saw Marie she was a bit cast down. She wished me to
suggest something for her to do. Said she wanted a mission--a chance
to do some good in the world. Thought she'd enjoy being a nurse. I
felt sorry for the girl, and suddenly I saw the flicker of a brilliant
thought.
"'Marie,' I said, 'as a member of The Society of Useful Women you are
under a serious obligation, and you have taste for missionary work.
Well, what's the matter with beginning on Nancy Doolittle? You owe her
a duty and ought to have the courage--nay, the kindness--to perform
it. Nancy talks too much.'
"'Well, I should say so,' said Marie. 'Nancy is a scourge--I have
often thought of it.'
"'She's downright wasteful,' I went on. 'She fills every hour with
information, and then throws on some more. It keeps coming. Your seams
open, and then it's every hand to the pumps! Dora Perkins and Rebecca
Ford are just as extravagant. They toss out gems of thought and
chunks of knowledge as if they were as common as caramels.
"'You should go to these girls and kindly but firmly remind them of
this fault. Tell them that too much conversation has created more old
maids and grass and parlor widows than any other cause. Give them a
little lecture on the old law of supply and demand. Show them that it
applies to conversation as well as to cabbages--that if one's talk is
too plentiful, it becomes very cheap. Suggest that if Methuselah had
lived until now and witnessed all the adventures of the human race, he
couldn't afford to waste his knowledge. If he talked only half the
time nobody would believe him. They'd think he was crazy, and they'd
know why, in past ages, everybody had died but him, and they'd wonder
how he had managed to survive the invention of gunpowder. These girls
have overestimated the value of good-will. Their securities are not
well secured. There are millions of watered stock in their
treasuries, and it isn't worth five cents on the dollar. Marie, you
can have a lot of fun. I almost envy you.
"'Tell these girls that the remedy is simple. They must be careful to
regulate the supply to the demand. They could easily raise the price
above par by denying now and then that they have any conversation in
the treasury.'
"Marie promised to undertake this important work, and I knew that in
connection with it she would also get some valuable advice.
"You see, this tendency to extravagant display has sunk in very deep.
Our young people really do know a lot, and they want others to know
that they know it. They are plumed with culture, and it has become a
charge instead of a credit.
"Well, things began to mend. Betsey and I went to dine with the
Bensons one evening, and Marie was as quiet as a lamb. She answered
modestly when we spoke to her. She told no stories; her jeweled crown
of culture was not in sight; she listened with notable success, and
delighted us with well-managed and illuminating silence. Neither she
nor her mother nor Mrs. Bryson ventured to interrupt the talk of a
noted professor who dined with us. Marie was charming.
"After dinner she led me into the library, where we sat down
together.
"She seemed a little embarrassed, and presently said, with a laugh, 'I
had a talk with those girls, as you suggested.'
"'What did they say?' I asked.
"'What didn't they say?' she exclaimed. 'They flew at me like
wildcats. They tore me to pieces--said I was the most dreaded talker
in Pointview, that I had talked a steady stream ever since I was born,
that nobody had a chance to get in a word with me, that I had made all
the boys sick who ever came to see me. What do you think of that?'
[Illustration: "WHAT DIDN'T THEY SAY? THEY FLEW AT ME LIKE WILDCATS."]
"'It's a gross exaggeration!' I said.
"'Well, I thought it over, and made up my mind they were right,' she
went on. 'We kissed and made up and organized the Listeners' Circle,
and mama and Mrs. Bryson and Mrs. Doolittle have joined. Our purpose
is to regulate our talk supply very strictly to the demand.'
"'It's a grand idea!' I exclaimed. 'The Ladies' Talk and Information
Trust! Why, it will soon control the entire product of Pointview, and
can fix the price. Marie, it's only a matter of time when the
conversation of you girls is going to be in the nature of a luxury and
as much desired as diamonds. It won't be long before some young fellow
will offer his life for one word from you.'
"'Oh, _I'm_ hopeless! Nobody cares for me--not a soul!' said Marie.
"'Wait and give 'em a chance,' I answered.
"'Do you think it's true that I've been such a pestilence?' she
asked, as her fingers toyed with the upholstery. 'You know you've been
a kind of father to me, and I want you to tell me frankly if I've
really made the boys sick.'
"'Why, my dear child, if I were a young man I'd be kneeling at your
feet,' I said; and no wonder, for they were a beautiful pair of feet,
and none ever supported a nobler girl. Then I went on: 'Marie, your
talk is charming. The demand continues. I feel honored by your
confidence. Please go on.'
"'I believe I've been foolish without knowing it,' she said, her smile
beautiful with its sadness.
"'My dear child, if there were no folly in the world it would be a
stupid place, and I for one should want to move,' I said. 'Some never
discover their own follies, and they _are_ hopeless. You are as wise
as you are dear. It's in your power to do a lot of good. Think what
you've already accomplished. I wish you would continue to help us
discourage foolish display in America.
"'Are there any more chestnuts in the fire?' she asked, with a laugh.
'Not that I'm afraid. I suppose the fire is good for me.'
"'Marie, I love your fingers too well to burn them unduly,' I said.
'By the way, I expect that Harry Delance will be wanting to marry you
soon.'
"'Harry!' she exclaimed. 'I talked him to death--and out of the
notion--long ago, and I'm not sorry. He isn't my kind.'
"'Harry's a good fellow,' I insisted.
"'But he's so dreadfully nice--such a hopeless aristocrat! Grandfather
would have a fit. I want a big, full-blooded, brawny chap, who isn't a
slave to his coat and trousers--the kind of man you've talked so much
about--one who could get his hands dirty and be a gentleman. I'm
longing for the outdoor life--and the outdoor man to live it with
me.'
"'Give Harry a chance--his uneducation had only just begun,' I urged.
"I left Marie with a rather serious look in her face, and began to
wonder how I should accomplish the uneducation of Harry.
"That young man came to see me, in a day or two, at our home. My new
set of Smollett lay on the piano, and he greatly admired it. Above all
things Harry loved books, and his specialty was Smollett; he had read
every tale in the series, at college, and made a mark with his thesis
on 'The Fathers of English Fiction.' He spent an hour of delight with
those books of mine. Then he said to me:
"'Only fifty copies printed?'
"'Only fifty,' I said.
"'Could I get a set?'
"'All sold,' I assured him, 'but I shall be glad to give these books
to you on two conditions.'
"He turned in astonishment.
"'They can do you no further harm, and my first request is that you do
not lend them. My second is that you take them home in my wheelbarrow
by daylight with your own hands.'
"He silently demurred.
"'At last those books have a chance to do some little good in the
world, and I don't want them to lose it,' I urged. 'The hands,
feet, and legs of the high and low born are slowly being deprived of
their rights in this community. Pride is robbing them of their
ancient and proper offices. How many of the young men and women of
our acquaintance would be seen on the street with a package in their
hands, to say nothing of a wheelbarrow? Their souls are above it!'
"'Why should they carry packages and roll wheelbarrows?' Harry asked.
'Stores deliver goods these days.'
"'That's one reason why it costs so much to live. We have to pay for
our pride and our indolence and the delivery of the goods. It's all
charged in the bill. Some member of the family used to go to market
every morning with his basket and carry the goods home with him.'
"'It would be ridiculous for me to do that,' said Harry. 'We're able
to pay the bills.'
"'But you're doing a great injustice to those who are not. You make
the delivery system a necessary thing, and those who can't afford it
have to help you stand the expense--a gross injustice. I want you to
help me in this cause of the hand and foot. Your example would be full
of inspiration. Excuse me a moment.'
"I went for the wheelbarrow and rolled it up to the front door. Then
we brought out the books and loaded them. That done, I seized the
handles of the barrow.
"'Come on,' I said. 'I'll do the work--you share the disgrace with
me.'
"My gray hairs were too much for him.
"'No; give me the handles,' he insisted. 'If it won't hurt you, it
won't hurt me--that's sure.'
"So, in his silk hat and frock-coat and spats, with a carnation in his
buttonhole, he seized the wheelbarrow like a man, and away we went. I
steered him up the Main Street, and people began to hail us with
laughter from automobiles, and to jest with us on the sidewalk, and
Marie came along with two other pretty girls, and the barrow halted in
a gale of merriment.
"'What in the world are you doing?' one of them asked.
"'It's the remains of the late Mr. Smollett,' I explained.
"'I'm setting an example to the young,' said Harry, as he mopped his
forehead. 'Couldn't help it. I had to do this thing.'
"'Great!' Marie exclaimed. 'Simply great! I'm going to get me a
wheelbarrow.'
"She would take hold of the handles and try it, and went on half a
block in spite of our protests, creating much excitement.
"That was the first rude beginning of The Basket and Wheelbarrow
Brigade in Pointview, of which I shall tell you later. And now I shall
explain my generosity--it can generally be explained--and how I came
by the Smollett."
VI
IN WHICH BETSEY COMMITS AN INDISCRETION
"Christmas was approaching, and Betsey said to me one day that she had
been guilty of a great extravagance.
"'I know you will forgive me just this once,' she went on. 'My love
for you is so extravagant that I had to keep pace with it. You've
simply got to accept something very grand.'
"'I can't think of anything that I need unless it's a new jack-knife,'
I said.
"'Nonsense!' she exclaimed. 'You've got to let me spend some money for
you. I've been held down in the expression of my affections as long as
I can stand it. I've doubled my charities since we were married, as a
token of my gratitude, and now I've a right to do something to please
myself.'
"'All right! We'll lift the lid,' I said. 'We can lie about it, I
suppose, and cover up our folly.'
"'Well, of course we don't have to tell what it cost,' said Betsey;
'and, Socrates, you can't expect to reform me in a year. It's taken
half a lifetime to acquire my follies.'
"That's one trouble with the whole problem. You can't tear down a
structure which has been slowly rising for half a century in a day, or
in many days.
"Christmas arrived, and Betsey went down-stairs with me and covered my
eyes in the hall and led me to the grand piano. Then I was permitted
to look, and there was the most gorgeous set of books that my eyes
ever beheld--a set of Smollett, in lovely brown calf, decorated with
magnificent gold tooling! Yes, I love such things--who doesn't?--and
I gave Betsey a great hug, and we sat down with tears in our eyes to
look at the pages of vellum and the wonderful etchings which adorned
so many of them. They were charming. I knew that the books had cost at
least a thousand dollars. Grandpa Smead looked awfully stern in his
gold frame on the wall.
"'Now don't think too badly of me,' she urged. 'Every poor family
within twenty miles is eating dinner at my expense this Christmas
Day.'
"'You are the dearest girl in all the land!' I said. 'There's nobody
like you.'
"'I knew that you were fond of the classics,' said Betsey, 'so I
consulted Harry Delance, and he suggested that I should give you a set
of Smollett; said it would renew your youth. You know he's devoted to
Smollett.'
"'And why shouldn't we keep up with Harry?' I said.
"'Well, you know he took the first prize in literature, and ought to
have excellent taste. Then the young man who sold the set to me is
working his way through Yale. I was glad to help him, too; he
recommended these books--said they were moral and uplifting--not at
all like the modern trash. He knew that we enjoyed home reading. Mary
will read them aloud to us, and we'll enjoy them together.'
"This father of romance was not unknown to me, and I did not share her
confidence in the joys ahead of us, but said nothing.
"After a fine dinner Betsey wanted to start in at once. We sat down by
the fireside while her secretary began to read aloud from one of the
treasured volumes. I had not read the story, and chose it as being the
least likely to make trouble. In a short time we came to rough going
and the young woman began to falter.
"'That will do,' said Betsey, suddenly, as I tried to conceal my
emotions.
"She took the book from the hands of her secretary and read on in
silence for a minute or so.
"'My land!' she exclaimed, with a look of horror. 'That book would
corrupt the morals of John Bunyan.'
"'Never mind; John never lived in Pointview,' I argued. 'He didn't
have a chance to get hardened.'
"Betsey had a determined look in her face, and rang for the coachman.
"'I'll have them stored in the stable,' said she, firmly.
"'If you don't keep it locked, all the women in the neighborhood'll be
in there,' I warned her, knowing that she couldn't help telling her
friends of what had happened.
"'That's no reason why the men should be unduly exposed,' said Betsey.
'Poor things! It's my duty to protect _you_ as long as I can,
Socrates.'
"I promised to get rid of the books somehow, and persuaded her to let
them stay where they were until I had had time to think about it. Then
she said:
"'Socrates, forgive me. I didn't mean it, and I wanted to be so nice
to you. I guess it's a just punishment for my extravagance. I thought
the modern novels were bad enough. What can I do for you now?'
"'Always, when you're in doubt, do nothing,' I suggested.
"'Oh, I know what I'll do!' she exclaimed, joyfully. 'I'll knit you a
pair of socks with my own hands.'
"'Eureka!' I shouted. 'Those socks shall make footprints on the sands
of time.'"
VII
IN WHICH SOCRATES ATTACKS THE WORST DOERS AND BEST SELLERS
"One evening, soon after that, Betsey and I went to a party at Deacon
Benson's. The Deacon is Marie's grandfather--a strict, old-line
Congregationalist. The old gentleman owned some two hundred acres in
the very heart of Pointview and about a mile of shore-front. In all
the buying and selling, he had refused to part with an acre of his
land, now worth at least a million dollars. He had willed it all to
Marie.
"Deacon Joe was a relic of Puritan days, with shrewd eyes under heavy
gray tufts, and a mouth bent like a sickle, and whiskers under a
strong chin, and lines in his face that suggested the heart of a lion.
In his walks he was always accompanied by a hickory cane and a bulldog
whose countenance and philosophy were like unto those of the Deacon.
"He was a perfectly honest man who had joined the church with mental
reservations. He had reserved the right to employ certain adjectives
and nouns which had been useful in Pointview since the days of the
pioneer, and which had grown more and more indispensable to the
opinions of an honest man. The verb 'to damn' in all its parts and
relations had been one of them. The word 'hell' was another. It
represented a thing of great conversational value, and he recommended
it with perfect frankness to certain people. He loved hell and hard
cider, and hated Episcopalians. He loved to tell how one Episcopalian
had cheated him in a horse trade, and how another had never paid for a
bushel of onions. That was enough for him. He had always thought them
a loose, unprincipled lot with no adequate respect for fire and
brimstone. But Deacon Joe was honest, and his word was worth a hundred
cents on the dollar.
"Now the Delances were Episcopalians from away back--High-Church
Episcopalians, at that. The old man had sniffed a good deal when Harry
began to pay attention to Marie, and had come to see me about it.
"I eased his fears and appealed to his avarice. Harry had too much
money and some follies, I confessed, but he was sound at heart, and I
had hope of making a strong man of him, and of course his money might
be a great lever in his hands.
"'Very well--we'll keep an eye on him,' he snapped, and left me
without another word.
"After that Marie was allowed to go out with the young man in his drag
and tandem.
"Harry and his sister came to the party at Deacon Joe's, and brought
with them a late volume of D'Annunzio for Marie to read. Harry wished
to know if I had read it, and gave us a talk on the realism of this
modern Italian author.
"Again I drew on the memoirs of Dr. Godfrey Vogeldam Guph, and this
time I explained that the learned doctor had all the talents but one.
He never told a lie--never but once, and that was on his death-bed.
Yes, it was a little late, but still it was in time to save his
reputation, and, possibly, even his soul. To a man of his parts the
truth had always been good enough, and lying unnecessary. If he had
told a lie it wouldn't have amounted to anything--everybody would have
believed it. He wouldn't have got any credit--poor man! He had no more
use for a lie than a fish has for a mackintosh--until he came to his
last touching words, which were delivered to a minister and his sister
Sophia, who had been reading to him from a book of D'Annunzio.
"'My chance has arrived at last,' he said to Sophia, 'and in order
that I may make the most of it, you will please send for a minister.'
"The latter came, and, seeing the book, asked the good man if he had
read it.
"'Alas! my friend, that it should be necessary for me to tell a lie on
my death-bed,' said the Doctor. 'But now, at last, I tell it proudly
and promptly. I have not read that book.'
"'And therein I do clearly see the truth,' said the wise old
minister.
"'Which is this,' the learned Doctor confessed. 'I have come to an
hour when a lie, and nothing but a lie, can show my sense of shame. I
solemnly swear that I have not read it!'
"'Well, at least you're a noble liar,' said the man of God. 'I absolve
you.'
"'I claim no credit--I am only doing my duty,' said the good Doctor,
with a sign of ineffable peace.
"As soon as I could get his attention, I called Harry aside and
whispered: 'In Heaven's name, boy, get hold of that book and hang on
to it.'
"'Why?' he asked.
"'You don't know the old man as I do--that's why,' I said. 'If he
should happen to read it, he'd go after you with his grandfather's
sword the next time you showed up here.'
"Marie stood near us, and I beckoned to her, and she came to my side.
"'The book,' said Harry--'would you let me take it?'
"'I took it to my grandfather, and he is reading it in his room,' she
answered. 'Shall I go and get it?'
"Harry hesitated.
"'He won't mind,' said Marie; 'I'll go and get it.'
"And away she went.
"She came back to us soon, a bit embarrassed.
"'He seems to be very much interested and--and a little cross,' said
she. 'I think he will bring it out to you soon.'
"Harry turned pale.
"'You look sick, old man,' I said.
"'I'm not feeling very well,' said he, 'and I think I shall excuse
myself and go home.'
"There was danger of a scene, but he got away unharmed. By and by the
lionhearted deacon came out of his room, asked severely for 'young
Delance,' wandered through the crowd, answered indignantly a few
inquiries about his health, and returned to his lair.
"I saw that the Deacon was mad. New New England had imprudently bumped
into old New England, and it was too soon to estimate the damage."
The Honorable Socrates Potter laughed as he filled his pipe, and
resumed with an attitude of ease and comfort;
"I'm a bit of a Puritan myself, although I understood Harry better
than did the Deacon. The young people have been captured by the
frankness of the Latin races. They call it emancipation. Travel and
the higher education have opened the storage vats of foreign
degeneracy and piped them into our land. Certain young men who have
been 'finished' abroad, where they filled their souls with Latin
lewdness, have turned it into fiction and a source of profit. Women
buy their books and rush through them, and only touch the low places.
There they lie entranced, thick as autumnal leaves that strew the
brooks in Vallombrosa. Like the women in the sack of Ismail, they sit
them down and watch for the adultery to begin.
"The imagination of the old world seems to have gone wild--Oscar
Wilde! How the Oscars have thriven there since the first of them went
to jail!--a degenerate dynasty!--hiding the stench of spiritual rot
with the perfume of faultless rhetoric, speaking the unspeakable with
the tongues of angels and of prophets! And mostly, my boy, they have
thriven on the dollars of American women under the leadership of
modern culture. And, you know, the maiden follows mama. She is an
apologist of sublime lewdness, of emancipated human caninity. Now I am
no prude. I can stand a fairly strong touch of human nature. I can
even put up with a good deal of the frankness of the cat and dog. But
the frankness of some modern authors makes me sorry that Adam was a
common ancestor of theirs and mine. It's a disgrace to Adam and the
whole human brotherhood. We sons of the Puritans ought to get busy in
the old cause. Noah had the good sense to keep the animals and the
people apart, and that's what we've always stood for."
VIII
IN WHICH SOCRATES ATTACKS THE HELMET AND THE BATTLE-AX
"Marie came to see us at our home next morning and began to cry as
soon as she had sat down in the library. The thing I had looked for
had come to pass. Her grandfather had dropped Harry from his list, and
warned him to keep off the rag-carpet. There was to be no more
prancing around in the 'toot-coach' and the 'Harry-cart,' as he called
them, for Marie. In his view it was the surest means of getting to
perdition. Harry was an idler, and he had always found that an idle
brain was the devil's workshop. Marie might be polite to the young
man, but she must keep her side of the road and see that there was
always plenty of room between them.
"'He's so hateful,' Marie said of her grandfather. 'He made such a
fuss about our getting a crest that we've a perfect right to! Mama had
to give it up.'
"'What! Do you mean to tell me that you have no crest!' I inquired,
anxiously.
"'We have one, but we cannot use it; our hands are tied,' was her
sorrowful answer.
"'I'm astonished. Why, everybody is going to have a crest in
Pointview.
"'The other day I suggested to Bridget Maloney, our pretty chambermaid,
that she ought to have the Maloney crest on her letter-heads.
"'"What's that?" says Bridget.
"'"What's that!" I said, with a look of pity.
"'Then I showed her a letter from Mrs. Van Alstyne, with a lion and a
griffin cuffing each other black and blue at the top of the sheet.
"'"It's grand!" said she.
"'"It's the Van Alstyne crest," I said. "It's a proof of respectability.
Aren't you as good as they are?"
"'"Every bit!" said she.
"'"That's what I thought. Don't you often feel as if you were better
than a good many people you know?"
"'"Sure I do."
"'"Well, that's a sign that you're blue-blooded," said I. "Probably
you've got a king in your family somewhere. A crest shows that you
suspect your ancestors--nothing more than that. It isn't proof, so
there's no reason why you shouldn't have it. You ought not to be going
around without a crest, as if you were a common servant-girl. Why,
every kitchen-maid will be thinking she's as good as you are. You want
to be in style. You have money in the bank, and not half the people
who have crests are as well able to afford 'em."
"'"How much do they cost?"
[Illustration: "'IT'S THE VAN ALSTYNE CREST,' I SAID. 'IT'S A PROOF OF
RESPECTABILITY.'"]
"'"Nothing--at least, yours'll cost nothing, Bridget. I shall be glad
to buy one for you."