A RELUCTANT ALTRUIST
As spring came and Carl was more out of doors playing ball and tramping
the open country his watchful eyes were continually scanning passing
motors for a possible glimpse of the mysterious red racing car and its
genial owner. The boy had never forgotten this delightful stranger or
quite abandoned the hope that he might sometime see him again. But,
alas, day succeeded day and never did any of the fleeting vehicles his
glance followed contain the person he sought. Neither was the search
for the sender of the Christmas baskets rewarded.
Spasmodically since mid-winter the Harlings and McGregors had cudgeled
their brains to discover this elusive good fairy until at length,
exhausted by fruitless effort, they agreed to inter Louise's
philanthropic Mr. X in a nameless grave. Despite that fact, however, he
was not forgotten and tender thoughts clustered about his memory.
In the meantime May followed on April's heels and presently June, with
her greenery and wealth of roses arrived, and then the startling
tidings buzzed through Baileyville that Mr. John Coulter was to be
married. The news thrilled young and old alike for was not young Mr.
Coulter the junior partner of Davis and Coulter; and was not Davis and
Coulter the heart and soul of Baileyville? Davis and Coulter meant the
mills and the mills meant the town itself. Without them there would
have been no village at all. Boys and girls, men and women toiled year
in and year out in the factories as their fathers and mothers, often
their grandfathers and grandmothers had done before them. If you were
not connected with Davis and Coulter's you were not of Baileyville's
aristocracy.
Hence it followed that the prospective marriage of Mr. John Coulter
could not but be an event concerning which the entire community
gossiped with eager and kindly interest. The lady was from New York,
people said, and Mr. John had met her while doing war work in France.
Both of them had large fortunes. But the fact that appealed to the
villagers far more than this was the intelligence that the wedding was
to take place at the old Coulter homestead and be followed by a fete to
which all the mill people and their families were to be invited. How
exciting that was! And how exultant were those whose connection with
the mills insured them a card to this mammoth festivity!
Rumor whispered there were to be gigantic tents with games and dancing;
bands of music; fireworks; and every imaginable dainty to eat. Some
even went so far as to assert there would be boats on the miniature
lake and a Punch and Judy show. Oh, it was to be a fete indeed!
For weeks the town talked of nothing else; and as Carl McGregor
listened to these stories his regrets at not being numbered among Davis
and Coulter's elect waxed keener and keener. One did not enjoy being
left out of a function of such magnitude, a party to which everybody
else was going. Not only did it make you feel lonely and stranded but
it mortified you to be obliged to own you were not of the happy band
included in so magnificent a celebration.
"Now if you'd only have let me take a job at the mills as I wanted to,
Ma, we might have been going to Mr. Coulter's party along with the rest
of the world," Carl bemoaned. "I always told you I ought to go into
those mills the way the other fellows do. But you wouldn't hear to it.
Now see what's come of it. We are left high and dry. I'll bet we are
the only people in Baileyville who are not invited to that party.
Everybody is to be there. If even one member of a family works at the
mill that lets in the bunch."
"Like the garden parties great families used to give their tenants in
the old country," Mrs. McGregor murmured reminiscently.
"I don't know about the old country," replied Carl ungraciously, "but
that is what Mr. Coulter is going to do--ask whole families. Gee, but
it makes me sore!"
"If your father had lived we would have been there," said the boy's
mother sadly. "Your father used to be very good friends with old Mr.
Coulter and he would have seen to it that none of this household was
left out. But Mr. John we never knew. He was always away
studying--first at school, then at college, and then in Europe. Later
he started in to be a lawyer in New York and but for the war and his
father's death he'd most likely be doing that now. But when the old
gentleman died Mr. John gave up everything else and came home to take
his place in the firm as his father had wished he should. Folks say
that in spite of not caring much for the mills at first he has
persisted at his job until he has become genuinely interested in them.
I honor him for it, too, for a business life wasn't his real choice. Of
course being away so much as he has he is little known among the mill
people yet; but evidently he means to settle down here and is anxious
to get better acquainted. This wedding party shows that."
"Well, there are some he won't get acquainted with," lamented Carl.
"If you mean us I reckon he can worry along without," Mrs. McGregor
retorted, with a twinkle in her eye. "He's managed to up to now."
"We're just as good as anybody else," her son blazed.
"Undoubtedly we are," was the good-humored answer. "Nevertheless we
won't be missed in a crowd like that."
"Don't you _want_ to go to the party, Ma?"
"Why, to tell the truth, I haven't had time to think much about it,
sonny--that is, not to be disappointed. I'm not pretending, though,
that so many parties come my way that a fine one such as this wouldn't
be a treat. I can't remember the day I've been to anything of the
sort. It's a quarter of a century or more, certainly--not since I was
a girl and went to the balls the gentry gave in Scotland."
"Oh, I do so wish we were going to Mr. Coulter's," Carl repeated.
"I'll not deny I'd like to," confessed his mother a bit wistfully.
"Still, were we to go what a stew we'd be in! It would mean days of
washing and ironing; new neckties and maybe shoes for you boys; and
hair ribbons and folderols for Mary and Nell. Before we were all
properly equipped it would cost a pretty penny. We'd have no right to
go without looking decent and being a credit to your father and to Mr.
Coulter who was good enough to ask us. So, you see, there are
advantages in everything. If we are not invited we shall have none of
the trouble and expense of it," concluded the woman philosophically.
"I wouldn't mind the trouble, Mother," burst out Carl. "I wouldn't
even care if I didn't have new shoes. Why, I'd go in my bathing suit."
Nodding her head his mother regarded him with withering censure.
"Yes, I believe you would," she agreed, "I believe you would--if you
were permitted. But how lucky it is you have a mother. Without me
you'd be disgracing your name, Mr. Coulter, Baileyville, and Mulberry
Court."
Carl grinned in sickly fashion.
"I'd be having the time of my life!" announced he, undaunted.
"Going to an affair like that in your bathing suit, you mean? I'm not
so sure about that. You are always begging to be allowed to wear that
costume or grumbling because you cannot wear it. Once, I recall, you
actually suggested wearing it to church on a hot Sunday. I'm sorely
tempted sometime to let you have your way and see what would come of
it. Think, for instance, of your sailing into Mr. John Coulter's
wedding party in a get-up like that. You'd be ducked in the pond in a
second."
"I'd be ready for it," was the provoking answer.
"Well, you aren't going to the Coulter party, as it happens, so
there'll be no question of what you'll wear," returned Mrs. McGregor
grimly.
"I know I'm not; but you don't have to rub it in, Ma," Carl answered.
"I didn't mean to rub it in, dear," was the gentle response. "I was
merely stating facts. Maybe it's as well, too, that we're not going
ourselves, for with the Sullivans, Murphys, and O'Dowds all invited
we'll have as much as we can do to get them all creditably rigged out.
I shall let Julie wear my black skirt--it just fits her; and Mrs.
Sullivan my best hat. My waist Mrs. Murphy shall take if I can get it
washed in time. Most likely, too, the O'Dowds will need your clothes
and Timmie's."
"Need my clothes!" Carl shouted.
"Certainly. Julie can't hope to provide things for all that big family
to appear in at once. Somebody will have to turn to and lend a helping
hand."
"But what'll I do while the O'Dowd boys wear my clothes?" wailed Carl.
"Why, you can stay in the house. It won't hurt either you or Tim to
take an afternoon of rest," came stoically from his mother.
"But I don't want to take an afternoon of rest," Carl protested
wrathfully. "Not on that day of all others. I'm going up to Coulters
to hang round outside and watch the fun. If I'm not invited I can at
least do that."
"Carl McGregor! You'll do nothing of the sort. Hang round outside,
indeed! Haven't you any pride at all? If you're not asked to the
party I should hope you'd have the good taste to keep out of the way of
it. Hang round outside! You ought to be ashamed even to suggest such a
thing," said Mrs. McGregor with scorn. "No, you'll do no lingering on
the outskirts of Mr. John's reception, you can make up your mind to
that. You'll stay politely at home as the rest of us plan to do and
keep under cover so folks won't be asking you why you're not up at
Coulters. I've some regard for the family dignity if you haven't. And
since you'll be at home anyway, you may as well take the chance to do a
kindly deed and let Frankie O'Dowd wear your clothes. You don't want to
grow up to be selfish."
"My pants will be miles too long for that O'Dowd kid," responded the
unwilling altruist grudgingly.
"Oh, his mother can baste them up so they'll do for one afternoon," was
the serene answer.
"Huh! I don't envy Frank going to that party with two thicknesses of
trousers on his legs," Carl declared. "If it's a hot day he'll melt."
"Beggars cannot be choosers," Mrs. McGregor asserted. "Likely Frankie
will be that tickled to go to the lawn party that he won't care what he
has on any more than you would. You'd go quicker than a wink in
basted-up trousers if you got the chance."
"You bet I would! Why, I'd go in--in--in _anything_!" was the fervent
affirmation. "Somehow, Ma, it just seems as if I couldn't give up the
idea of going. I feel as if something _must_ happen so we'd get asked."
"Why, Carl--you silly boy! You don't mean to say you are actually
cherishing the thought you may be invited yet?" his mother exclaimed
incredulously. "Put it out of your head, son, like a sensible lad.
There isn't a chance of it, dear. The invitations were sent out last
week and had you been going to get one you would have received it days
ago. There'll be no more people asked now."
"There might be--some might have been forgotten by mistake. Or the
invitation might have got stuck in the letter box and delayed."
"I'm afraid not, Carlie!" his mother said gently. "Mark my words, all
the invitations there are going to be to that garden party have gone
out. There won't be any more. The folks that haven't had theirs already
won't have none and if you're wise you will face that fact and give up
thinking about Mr. Coulter and his wedding."
The corners of Carl's mouth drooped but he stubbornly insisted:
"Well, anyhow, Ma, don't you tell Frankie O'Dowd he can have my clothes
until the very last minute, will you? Promise me that."
"Aye! I'll not mention the clothes yet awhile. I'll wait at least a day
or two. Most likely Julie or the Murphys will be up by that time and
ask for 'em."
And with this scanty comfort Carl was obliged to be content.
Even the concession that he would be allowed to wear his bathing suit
while at home was but feeble consolation. What did it matter what he
wore if he couldn't go to the Coulter fete?