are half-baked things, and they take their own improvement with such
deadly seriousness. And it is such a smattering that you get in them. A
smattering is always forgotten; unless you know a lot about a thing you
forget it all."
"Oh, well, you know best what you like," said Darius, easily; "I only
thought you seemed a little dull." He dropped the subject; but she
repeated his words, often to herself; he never had thought her dull,
before. She noticed that Myrtie did not talk of her club. She was
puzzled. Outwardly, Myrtie was a handsome young woman with a highbred
repose of manner which she had acquired as a college editor and the
protector of new girls; inwardly, she was still shy, desperately in
dread of awkwardness, and brimming with enthusiasms. Not until she was
about to be married did her mother find a trace of her little girl in
this gently haughty young creature. And, then, there remained only
Myrtie's last photographs and Myrtie's empty chamber, and the weekly
letters for her mother's hungry heart. "I am not sure I know her," she
would often muse, those days, "I am only sure she doesn't know me!"
Myrtie lived in Chicago; she had married very well indeed; and had a
prosperous husband who was a graduate of Harvard and dallied with
reform; and there were two sweet little children who called Mrs. Hardy
"Granny"; and Myrtie always consulted her mother when they were ill; she
was a devoted daughter. "When my dear mother was alive," said Mrs.
Hardy, smiling rather grimly, "grannies were not very nice old cronies
who smoked pipes in the chimney corner; and 'Grandma' was good enough
for any grandmother; now, 'Grandma' is provincial and _I_ am a granny,
myself. It is a little puzzling."
The children were all out of the house, now. Ralph, the youngest, was at
college; she was well acquainted with him; she used to write him about
the books she read and he wrote her about the boys and football; she
knew a great deal about football. She lived in a stately new colonial
house with quaint little window-panes wherever they would not obstruct
the view, and snowy tiled bath-rooms, such as no colonial ever knew; and
terraces decked with pink and blue hydrangeas; and dazzling window
gardens. Myrtie had been as kind as possible about the house; and
Myrtie's taste was charming; it had been an education in colonial
history as well as architecture to have Myrtie help build the house;
even the architect was deferential to her. Across the street was
Darrie's less costly but no less correctly charming house. Hester had
done Myrtie's architectural bidding, also. Darrie was the best of sons.
She was proud of him; and his father depended more and more on him. She
loved his wife; and his children were her vivid delight. Darrie used to
fetch her flowers and new plants for the window gardens; and tell her
about the children's funny sayings. Darius, her husband, grew kinder and
more generous all the time; he gave her a check-book of her own; she
told her old friends that she had the best husband and children in the
world; and that she was a grateful woman; she duly remembered her
abundant mercies in her prayers; and yet--and yet she began to feel
herself retired. A most respectable position, that of a retired officer;
but, somehow, generals and admirals do not covet it. Nor did Myrtle
Hardy. She had been in the center of her own stage; now she felt herself
most gently, most civilly, pushed into the wings. Her daughter-in-law,
with all her admiration and her dutiful respect, had interests which she
never discussed; had a point of view and ideals which were outside her
comprehension. She felt fatigued and puzzled when she heard the younger
generation's familiar speech with itself. "I am not in it," she said to
herself. Darius, too, no longer consulted her; the old fashion of
confidence had somehow slipped away; he had not very much to say when
they were alone; and he was beginning to call her "Mother." Myrtle Hardy
considered. She thought for weeks and thought hard. She sat in her
sewing-room, up-stairs, where were the only two rocking-chairs that
Myrtie's impeccable taste had allowed to abide in the house. She sat
first in one and then in the other of the chairs, her needlework
unheeded in her lap; and watched her little grandson and his sister
playing while the nurse made an interminable German lace on the back
porch; and just across from her window, Hester, her daughter-in-law, sat
amid a heap of books, reading and making notes. "That child has been
studying for three months, every spare moment, on her paper about
'Scientific Plumbing in the Modern Mansion.'" Mrs. Hardy muttered, with
a frown, "well, I hope she will know something, if she keeps her mind!
That was not the way we prepared club papers in my day; we decided on
our subjects one meeting and we read our essays on them the next; and
two weeks was enough for us; now, they spend a half year making a
programme and have it hanging over them a year in advance." She watched
her daughter-in-law, smiling grimly; then, suddenly, she rose, with the
motion of one who has come to a decision. "At least they are not
superficial, nowadays," she said, "and perhaps it is better to take
one's self too seriously than not seriously enough. And after all,
Hester did find out what was the matter with the laundry faucets."
One day she told her daughter-in-law that she wanted to join a class in
parliamentary law.
"But we haven't any," objected Mrs. Darius Hardy, Jr., meekly.
"Then get up one," said the one time president of clubs. "Get all you
can to join a class, send for a teacher, and I will make up the deficit,
in the subscription list."
A parliamentary teacher of renown came. She was also a teacher of
expression--that was her poetical word. Hester caught her breath the
first time her mother-in-law rose in the class to "speak to the motion."
She embraced her with beaming eyes and the prettiest rose of delight on
her cheeks. "Oh, how did you learn it?" she sighed, happily, "you are
the best of us all!"
"I took some private lessons in Chicago," said Mrs. Hardy--her quiet
manner did not betray an unexpected thrill.
"You're _beautiful_!" cried Hester.
After that, Hester always seconded her mother-in-law's motions; and
fought in the mimic debates as valiantly on her side as a natural
reticence would let her. It was odd (to Mrs. Hardy) what a different
relation grew up between them; a sense of comradeship and the pleasures
of partisanship, wherein it is not only the leader who exults in the
winning fray, the follower has a simpler and a nobler joy. The first
natural consequence of Hester's admiration was that she begged her
mother-in-law to join her club. Before the end of the year, Mrs. Hardy
was elected president of the club; before the end of the next year, she
was burrowing in books and magazines, as absorbed as Hester, in the
conduct of Great Britain to her colonies. She found herself suddenly
interested in the newspapers; Darrie talked politics with her; and they
were no longer unintelligible.
"Whew, isn't mother getting cultivated!" Darius whispered to his boy;
and they both grinned.
"She's growing handsomer, too," said Darius the younger.
"I hope she won't go to any of those fakirs in the newspapers who paint
you all over, so's you crack when you laugh," commented Darius,
anxiously, "and, say, Darrie, there's a way they have, nowadays, of
burning off your skin and giving you a new skin--they call it being
'_done over_'; it must be frightful torture--I'm not going to have your
mother's face sizzled up, that fashion."
"She doesn't need it; mother's skin is lovely," said the loyal son.
"Her not needing it is no reason why she won't want it--being a
woman--Darrie. Your mother is the most sensible woman in the world,
Darrie; but she's a woman. And I'm not sure whether a woman ought to
monkey with her age, the way mother is doing. What do you suppose I saw
with my own eyes, yesterday? There was mother, swinging her arms over
her head and bowing like a heathen Chinee, until her slender fingers
touched the floor; and then she went to kicking over the chairs--high
kicks!"
"Oh, that's only Delsarte--they only do that to limber up and make
themselves graceful. Hetty can kick the chandelier."
Myrtle caught echoes of this conversation; and was base enough to listen
behind her sewing-room curtains, giving no sign. It was true that a
change had come over her, and that her mirror reflected smarter toilets,
a different carriage, and a fresher charm. For one reason, she looked
younger because she was much more cheerful. "I am a child with a new
toy," she would say to herself. But there is no question that she found
a pungent enjoyment in her new activity. One of the perpetual wonders of
life is how small a figure the stake cuts in the game. It is infinitely
more exciting to make money, for example, than to have it. To keep our
souls in repair they need exercise; and the vicissitudes, the emotions,
the excitement of a career, happily do not depend on the size of the
stage. The great stake, the large stage, count; but they count less than
their claims. What comes to more than the pomp of success (as the vulgar
name an intangible thing) is the elation of using all one's powers; nor
is there any tawdry applause comparable to the rich and fine content of
accomplishment. But often Myrtle caught Darius's pondering eyes and
wondered to herself what he was thinking. Really, Darius was
experiencing the rather piquant emotions of a man who discovers an
entirely new creature in his own wife. By a natural transition his
thoughts went back to the days when he was courting Myrtle Danforth, and
"couldn't make her out;" by an equally natural process of selection, he
fumbled through dim passages in his soul, striving to see the relation
between this assured and graceful woman of affairs and the joyous young
beauty that he had won, the high-hearted comrade of his poverty and
struggles, the tender comforter of his sorrows. A hundred little
trivial, affecting incidents rose out of the hazy years to gripe his
heart. He felt a novel shyness, however; and the only token of his
feelings (outside the check-book) was a habit he had fallen into of
watching his wife when she was not looking.
Of course, she was aware of it; she was thinking of it at this moment,
while the Massachusetts woman behind her unpacked her conscience on her
nearest Indiana neighbor.
"And how does Indiana stand?" said the evangelist, finally.
"Well, if you ask _me_," said the Indianian, wearily, "we have troubles
of our own; and we are not thinking much about it!"
At this, her companion (also from Massachusetts, but with a sense of
humor), giggled and essayed to cover her indecorum by asking Mrs. Hardy
if she had attended the industrial sessions. "I have tried to go to
them," she confessed, later, after they had become confidential. "My
husband is a manufacturer, and I was anxious to see whether they would
try to get light on the questions that they are tackling, or would
simply form an opinion beforehand and talk about it."
"Well, how did they strike you?"
"They didn't strike me at all; I went to two of them; but the first one,
two southern acquaintances of mine lured me out into a committee-room,
to tell me the dreadful things Massachusetts was going to do about the
color question--not one of which had entered our heads, by the way--and
the other meeting, I sat back in the hall and couldn't hear anything,
and a Massachusetts friend came in, very calm but deeply excited, and
got me out in the hall to tell me the plots of the Georgia delegation.
Between them, I didn't hear a word of the industrial question. I'm told
Missouri has been studying preventive legislation in regard to woman and
child labor for the last year; what did they decide to recommend?"
"Well," said Mrs. Hardy, drily, "you see they were studying for a
_year_; if they had taken the subject for a month or two, no doubt they
would have had opinions; but as it was, they didn't recommend anything.
But what you say about the sessions made me think. I find that there are
two classes of delegates, those who are interested in the meetings and
those who simply go to the meetings to get a better chance to pull
wires. It makes me more at sea than ever about the object of the
federation. What do _you_ think it is?"
The Massachusetts woman meditated. She was a handsome woman, a woman
with ancestors, it was evident, for the blue and gold of the Colonial
Dames badge, and the enamel star and scarlet ribbon of the Order of
Colonial Governors illuminated the white chiffon of her bodice; and
there were five bars on the scarlet ribbon. "My idea of the object is
simply that it is a clearing-house," said she; "and so far it is
democratic, for it brings us all together; and I," said the descendant
of governors and warriors, "_I'm_ democratic. Look at us. It is not only
that we represent so many different classes, we represent so many
sections of the country. In fact, about this color question, I feel that
it is more important for the north and the south to get acquainted and
friendly, working together, than it is for us to give the opportunities
of the federation to a few colored people."
"I don't look at it that way, it is a question of right and wrong"--thus
the ardent soul from Massachusetts unfurled her banner to the
breeze--"are you going to do what is right or what is expedient?" The
smouldering fire which had made the deck hot walking all through the
meetings, showed signs of breaking out of cover; everybody in hearing
craned her neck; there were murmurs of approval and polite sniffings of
dissent to the right and to the left. The Massachusetts woman said
"Life is a compromise;" and shrugged her shoulders. Mrs. Hardy put up
the white flag in a mild sentence: "Mrs. Lowe is calling us to order, I
think."
* * * * *
The convention had passed safely to the ballot. The opposition had
sprung its mines; and the regulars had discharged their heavy artillery
behind the proper parliamentary subterfuges. The undecided voters had,
as usual, asked to take back their ballots, and as usual had been
refused. The excitement had risen until it showed in white or flushed
faces and strained voices, in clapping, and hisses; but the chairman's
inscrutable calm never changed, and through it all she held the
convention perfectly in hand.
Two men had safely run the gauntlet of ticket takers, and were seated in
the lower gallery. They were a middle-aged man, dark, portly, carefully
dressed in silver-gray tweeds, with a silk shirt; and a young man, dark,
slender, in a lighter suit, with a stiff white collar on his pink
negligee shirt. There was an air of distinction about both men; they
looked to be men of importance in their own locality, men accustomed to
command and deference; but nothing of gentler modesty and meekness than
their demeanor can be imagined. They shrank back in their seats and sat
close to each other, as one will observe timid children sitting, who
have wandered into a strange house.
"You--you don't suppose they will put us out? eh, Darrie?" said the
elder, in a low voice, "not _now_?"
"Of course not," responded Darrie, with simulated lightness; "look there
to the left, there's Myrtie. That president is a good presiding officer;
you would not guess all this row is over her, she's absolutely
impartial--by Jove!"
"What's the matter? Do you see mother anywhere?"
"No, sir; did you catch that, the secretary's explanation of the
parliamentary question? Pretty clear, I call it; but they're getting in
all their points, I observe, working questions of privilege for all they
are worth."
"Very clever, very clever," assented Darius; "there's Hester, mother
isn't with _her_; you don't suppose mother would stay away, this
afternoon?"
"Never; this is the election afternoon."
"Myrtie said mother was very much admired and sought after, lots of
invitations; maybe she has gone out to some tea--"
"They wouldn't have anything this afternoon; don't you see how keyed up
they all are?"
"I thought I was monstrous clever planning all this," pursued Darius,
with a knitted brow; "your mother forgot this was our anniversary, but I
didn't; I have her present in my pocket; and the dinner ordered; and I
was expecting to surprise her; but if she isn't here--she couldn't have
gone _home_?"
"Of course not--there she is, don't you see her? looking fresh as
paint!"
A lady had risen, her voice, mellow and clear, dove through the sonorous
buzz of the hall.
"Why it's _mother_!" cried Darius, "and if she isn't taking an appeal
from the chair; mother has her nerve with her, to-day."
Darrie grinned; but as he watched his father's face kindle, his own
changed; he laid his hand on his father's, nodding, softly: "I tell you,
mother's _great_," said he.
"That little dark-eyed lady is speaking on mother's side"--Darius was
leaning forward with excited interest--"isn't she a pretty creature,
she's little--but, oh my! How clearly she puts it; these southerners
have a natural gift of oratory. Don't think much of that woman who's
trying to call mother down!"
He was as eager as a boy, the man whose cool head and hard sense had won
him a great fortune; his eyes glistened, the color crept into his cheek;
and he drew a long sigh when the appeal was withdrawn. "Very pretty,
Darrie," he said, "appeal withdrawn, but they have got in their work on
the voters; chairman had to decide against her own friends, and did it
like a Roman soldier. The extraordinary thing to me, Darrie, is how well
they are all keeping their temper. Darrie, didn't you think mother's
voice was good when she spoke; how'd she learn to speak so well?"
"Oh, she took lessons," returned Darrie, easily; "Hester got her into
them; Hester and mother are great pals."
"I know; Hester's a remarkable girl, Darrie; she has always appreciated
your mother. Begun again, have they? Started something else while the
ballots are counted. Like a continuous show, isn't it?"
He listened with a slackened zest while the questions of reorganization
and details of the duties of chairmen pattered through the hour, the
rain after the thunder-storm. Then, unexpectedly, Mrs. Hardy made her
little speech. It was an excellent little speech, good-natured, full of
sense, and with a dash of humor. At first, she was a little nervous, but
she was too interested in her subject to be nervous more than an
instant. Had she known of the presence of two auditors in the gallery,
perhaps her composure had wavered. There could be no doubt regarding
their agitation. They turned pale and clutched each other; then, first
on Darrie's, next on his father's features, dawned and spread a light of
exceeding confidence; with shameless effrontery--considering their
relationship--they stimulated the applause; they beamed over the hits;
and at the close they were radiant. Without a word Darius held out his
hand to his son, who wrung it. Then, they both took a long, long breath
of relief and satisfaction. Darius was the first to speak: "My son,"
said he, "I have known your mother for forty years and have been her
husband for thirty-three, but she can surprise me still!"
"Mother certainly _is_ great," assented Darrie, solemnly; he added his
own little feather of marital triumph: "Hetty always told me so," said
he.
"Look at those women all around her," said Darius, "patting her on the
shoulder and whispering; _they_ know. Darrie, I'll bet you anything,
there hasn't been another speech in this convention that has put things
as clearly as mother's."
* * * * *
Myrtle started when she saw her husband and son smiling in the doorway.
Her daughter-in-law was on one side, her daughter on the other, half a
dozen of her delegation radiated complacency in her wake. "Hasn't she
covered us with glory?" one of the followers called, gleefully to
another. And a little din of compliments fell upon Darius' ears. It is
pleasant to reflect that all over the hall similar groups were exulting
unselfishly over their own prowess and their own heroines. Little did
Darius Hardy concern himself with them. He took his wife under his arm
with a proud and blissful smile. He waved a direction at Darrie: "You
take the girls, Darrie, you'll find a cab, somewhere; I want your mother
to myself. Now, Myrtle, if sated vanity can demand any more, I'll give
it to you in the carriage!"
A few minutes later, she was gazing, through a happy mist, at the gems
on her heart-shaped locket, murmuring: "And I thought you had forgotten
the day. And you planning this lovely, lovely surprise for me. Oh, I am
so glad, Dar, I didn't know you were there, I couldn't have said a
_word_! Did I--were you--was it _passable_?"
"You're fishing!" chuckled he; and he kissed her hand. But he whispered
in her ear; and she blushed like a young girl.
Presently he laughed. "By the way, Myrtle, you haven't told me! Have you
discovered what is the object of the federation?"
"Certainly," said she, "I don't know what it is for others, but in my
case it is to help me find myself--and my husband!"
THE LITTLE LONELY GIRL
The golf links were picturesque; spreading along the shore or climbing
through the heart of the island set in the great river; here and there a
vista of the huge bulk of the arsenal-shops; walled over the river by
the hills behind opulent, bustling little cities, the fair greens
jeweled by the sun and dappled with shadow from trees older than the
Louisiana Purchase. A breeze shifted the shadows. Willy Butler felt its
touch on his wet forehead.
He half turned to take out his handkerchief. In the act he saw her. It
was the same girl who had followed the course yesterday. She was alone,
just as she had been alone yesterday.
The gallery was bobbing like the crest of a wave over the brow of the
hill; the carriages and machines glittered in slow pomp after the rope,
while the favorites and their caddies marched over the slope toward the
bunkers. But Willy and Dickson had only this one follower, a little
lonely figure, slim and straight and nimble, in white linen, whose
brown arms and brown face against her dazzling gown made the effect of a
Russian eikon minus the gold-incrusted robe. She halted when Willy
halted. With impersonal interest she watched Dickson make a strike. At
the clean, beautiful drive she nodded approval. Then her black brows met
in a slightly worried frown. Willy, club in hand, was aware of the
frown. He was aware--in a sort of subconscious way--that she wanted him
to play well; and he was acutely aware that he had not played well this
afternoon. Even his direction, which had always been his best ally, had
not kept its form. Twice had he gone into the rough, losing a shot each
time, despite his really hair-raising recoveries. Now the other man was
two up, with only four more holes to play. At best Willy could but halve
this hole, at best, with a perfect approach and a long putt. "A duffer
at golf, like everything else!" ran his own bitter comment to himself.
He didn't know why he looked up; swinging his club for a trial stroke on
a leaf. Look he did, however, to catch the dark eyes of the little
lonely girl intently watching him. If she had called to him aloud "Brace
up!" he couldn't have heard the words more distinctly. He almost
thought he did hear them, and gave the child an involuntary,
half-starved smile.
With the same smile on his lips he sent a faultless approach into easy
putting distance, and he felt absurdly pleased because she clapped her
hands. They halved the hole. Dickson, the Harvard champion, looked bored
as he sank on the bench by the red water-cooler. He had been Willy's
classmate a year ago at college, knowing him as the man who makes all
the best societies and "leads the life" may know the recluse who makes
none; he was conscious of a certain irritation peppering his cool
superiority. To think of the millions that shuffling, cowed-looking,
insignificant chap would have, while he, Dickson, had to slave on a
salary. A duffer who couldn't even win a golf game that belonged to him,
because he was rattled! Dickson felt that the ways of Fate were
scandalous.