MR. ADDIS RECEIVES SUPPORT
Unconscious that destiny had its eye upon her, Bonnie May found
increasing comfort and contentment in her new home.
As a result of the delighted labors of Flora, her wardrobe had become
more complete than it had ever been before. She developed such pride
in the possession of many garments that Flora forgot her own needs and
gave disproportionately of her time and means to the “outfitting” of
the guest whose needs were so urgent.
As if for her special entertainment, unusual things happened.
For example, Mr. Addis called again. And a call from Mr. Addis became,
in Bonnie May’s drama-loving mind, the most delicious form of intrigue.
Mrs. Baron became indignant at the very mention of Mr. Addis’s name.
Flora became quietly wistful.
Kneeling on a low Brussels hassock at the front window of the upper
floor one night, Bonnie May saw the figure of a man extricate itself
from the passing current of humanity and make resolutely for the Baron
door.
She swiftly placed her finger on her lip and reflected. “Mr. Addis!”
she exclaimed in a whisper.
She made a supreme effort to leave the room without appearing to
have any definite purpose. Once out of sight in the hall, however,
she rushed down the stairs, just in time to open the door before the
bell was rung. She was in an elated state. She had the lower floor to
herself, save for Mrs. Shepard, who would be sure not to interrupt.
“Oh! Mr. Addis!” she whispered eagerly. She promptly ushered him into
the drawing-room and quietly closed the door with an effect of being
absent-minded, rather than designing. “Please sit down,” she said. She
had the light burning immediately.
She drew a chair forward and stood beside it a moment, and under her
inspection Mr. Addis’s cheeks took on even a deeper rosiness and his
brown eyes twinkled.
“How is--my confederate?” he asked.
She was delighted. “That’s it,” she said. “That’s what I want to be.
Your confederate. May I?”
“You may,” he said with emphasis.
She had sat down. “You know,” she confided, “I’m strong for what you
call heart interest. If you haven’t got anything but manners in your
show you soon find that people are patronizing the burlesque houses.
Don’t you think I’m right?”
Mr. Addis did not make a very pertinent response to this. “You’re a
queer little customer,” he said.
“That’s what I call favorable criticism put into plain words. I thank
you.” She added: “I want to be friends with you if you’ll let me
because I think we can’t have the right kind of heart interest around
here unless you--unless you take a more prominent part.”
Mr. Addis nodded. “That’s my idea, too. That’s why I called. If you’ll
tell Mrs. Baron I’m here, I’ll see if I can’t get her to agree with us.”
Bonnie May did not stir. “Please not just yet,” she begged. “Couldn’t
we talk things over first? If I could find out what’s wrong....” She
looked at him with pretty embarrassment.
“What, for instance, would you like to know?”
She pulled herself farther back into her chair and reflected a moment.
“Would you mind,” she asked, “telling me how you got acquainted with
Miss Flora?”
“Not at all. She’s been coming to my store--to order things--ever since
she was a little girl.”
“Oh! your store. Well, go on.”
“And occasionally I’ve dropped into the church she goes to. You know
who I am, I suppose?”
She beamed upon him. “I may not have all the details. Suppose you make
a complete confession.”
He shot a dubious glance at her; then he smiled. Bonnie May thought his
teeth were quite wonderful. “I’m the head of the Addis Stores Company.”
Bonnie May looked slightly dismayed.
“A business man,” added Mr. Addis firmly. “I’ve admired Miss Flora
a very long time. I had chances just to be nice and polite to her. I
haven’t taken any pains to hide from her, for a year or so----”
“I understand,” Bonnie May finished for him.
“Well, then. But the trouble is that Mrs. Baron----”
“She can only see you with a pencil behind your ear,” supplemented
Bonnie May.
Mr. Addis laughed. “Now you have it!” he agreed.
Bonnie May pondered. “You know you’re _not_ a regular-looking Romeo,”
she conceded.
“I know that very well. But at the same time----”
She gave him time to finish; then, as he seemed to lack words, she
came to his aid again: “If you undertook to pay a lady’s travelling
expenses, it would take a pretty smooth Iago to make you do anything
nasty.”
“That’s it!” agreed Mr. Addis with emphasis.
“Have you tried the--the little, unimportant things?”
“As for example?”
“Well, just as a suggestion: you know you weren’t carrying a stick when
you came in to-night.”
“Oh, that sort of thing. You see, that’s not in my line at all. I
wouldn’t know how to carry a stick, or where to put it. I don’t see any
use in ’em except to beat off dogs, maybe--and all the dogs like me!”
Bonnie May nodded. “After all, I believe you’re right in not taking up
that sort of thing. Anyway, I wasn’t criticising. What I was saying was
just--just confederate stuff, you know.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Would you.... Would you mind telling me what you think about mostly?
When you’re not thinking about Miss Flora?”
Mr. Addis smiled quite delightedly. “Not at all. I think of a nice
home, you know. A place out in the suburbs, with several acres of
ground, with a driveway, and--and chickens,” he concluded somewhat
lamely.
“Chickens!” echoed Bonnie May.
“Well, there would be fresh eggs, you know; and then the look of them
about the place--especially the little ones, and roosters crowing in
the morning.”
She shook her head dubiously. “What else?” she asked.
“Oh, such things as investments. Ground in the new additions, where the
values are going up fast. Such things.”
Bonnie May put up a restraining hand. “That will do,” she said. “Now
tell me what chance you have of seeing Flora when you--when you haven’t
got your pencil behind your ear.”
“Why, there’s church. I can always go to church. They make a real
to-do over me there. They like to come to me for subscriptions, you
know.”
At the word church she looked at him with quickened interest. “Did they
try to put over anything on you the first time you went there?” she
asked.
“Not a thing.”
“That’s funny.” She put her own experiences out of her mind. “Well,”
she resumed, “why don’t you go to church regularly and let them see how
nice and friendly you look when you haven’t got your make-up on?”
“I’ve thought of that. But you see, it doesn’t seem quite honest. As
I understand it, church is mostly for singing, and I couldn’t carry a
tune any more than a bird could carry a bank-account. I’d feel like an
impostor if I went.”
Bonnie May, sitting bolt upright in her chair, put her hand on her
heart and moved her head, carefully erect, as far forward as possible,
without changing the attitude of her shoulders.
“I greet you,” she said. “I can’t sing, either.”
“And so going to church don’t seem to put me in Miss Flora’s class at
all.”
“Still,” observed Bonnie May thoughtfully, “Flora is not one of the
Original Songbird Sisters herself.”
“No, but she follows along. And I never could get the hang of the thing
at all.”
Bonnie May laughed swiftly, and then cast a cautious eye at the
ceiling, and checked herself. “After all,” she said, “we’re not getting
at the real trouble, whatever it is. You know the difference between
the old families and the--the others, is that the others talk about
making money, while the old families talk about spending it. You’re not
an old family, probably?”
“Well, I never talk about it, if I am. I like to work. I like to
be interested in things that everybody else is interested in. The
objection to me, I think, is that my business happens to be groceries.
People think of soap, I suppose, and a crate of eggs with here and
there a broken one in it. Ugly things, you know.”
Bonnie May shuddered. “Please don’t!” she implored. “You must keep your
mind off of it. Your suburban-home idea is nice. But put a soft pedal
on the chickens. Think of Chinese lanterns. Lawn-parties, I mean. Talk
about _al fresco_ performances of Shakespeare and house-parties. Don’t
let anybody think about how you earn money. Let them believe you’ve
just got it. Really, it’s not a very nice subject. If the word ‘money’
ever comes up, just yawn and say something about not being able to
decide whether you want to spend the summer in the Yellowstone or in
the Thousand Islands.”
Mr. Addis shook his head. “No,” he said. “I couldn’t put on airs. You
see, I think Miss Flora thinks enough of me as I am, and I couldn’t be
something different just to please her mother.”
“Had you thought of the old-fashioned way--of running away?”
Mr. Addis became quite serious. “Miss Flora’s not that kind,” he said
promptly. “No, I’ve got to fight it out with--with the mother.”
* * * * *
At this juncture Mrs. Baron, in her sitting-room, closed the anthology
with the flexible leather covers and inclined her head slightly.
“Flora,” she called, “I’m sure I hear voices down-stairs. Will you go
see?”
Flora appeared in the doorway. “I can’t hear anything,” she said.
“Where’s Bonnie May? I thought she was here with you.”
“I thought she was here, too, until just now. She may be ‘receiving’
to-night. Of course, she wouldn’t think it necessary to take us into
her confidence.”
Flora sighed softly. “I really don’t hear anybody,” she said. “I expect
she’s gone up to Victor’s room.” A smile came to her lips as she went
down-stairs. Her mother’s petulance had been of the sort she might be
expected to manifest if her own child had irritated her.
She was startled when she opened the drawing-room door and confronted
Mr. Addis and Bonnie May.
“Enter the heroine!” was the child’s greeting. “Exit the crowd.” She
would have left the room, then, but Miss Baron stood in her way.
[Illustration: “Enter the heroine!” was the child’s greeting.]
“Bonnie May!” she cried with gentle severity, “I’m afraid you’re going
to get us all into trouble one of these days.” She turned with a flush
to Mr. Addis. “Good evening,” she said, with reproach in her tone. She
added, with gentle mischief: “You seem to have gained an ally.”
Mr. Addis was on his feet, shaking her hand vigorously. “I have,” he
confessed. “But please don’t blame her. I think I haven’t set her a
very good example.”
Flora turned to the child with a kind of forlorn fondness and made a
characteristic movement, as if she were pushing escaping strands of
hair into place. She appeared not to observe that Mr. Addis was still
holding her hand. Then with evident decision she moved away from him.
“It won’t do,” she declared, meeting the visitor’s eyes. “It’s not the
right way to do things.”
“I’ve been trying to think of the right way,” replied Mr. Addis with
dignity.
“But doing things secretly ... I don’t believe anything is worth having
unless you can have it honestly--even a friendship. You know how mother
feels. And--and I can’t quarrel with her. I think a little injustice
is better than quarrelling.” Her voice held a note of sadness, of
discouragement.
Mr. Addis suddenly stood more erect. “Miss Flora, you’re right,” he
said. “I mustn’t try to hide anything. I won’t.”
“Bonnie May,” said Flora, “will you please go and ask mother to come
down?”
“That’s it,” agreed Mr. Addis. “The thing for me to do is to have a
little talk with her.” And then they waited, without looking at each
other, until Mrs. Baron descended the stairs and entered the room.
The poor old lady’s manner hardened the instant she appeared.
“Good evening, Mr. Addis,” she said in a tone of frank resentment. “I
don’t believe we were expecting you.”
“No, I wasn’t expected,” replied Mr. Addis. “I hope you’ll excuse me
for taking you by surprise.”
Flora was holding to a chair as if for support. She did not sit down.
“There’s no harm done,” said Mrs. Baron. “I dare say there won’t be.”
She seated herself with great firmness of purpose and looked from Mr.
Addis to Flora, and then back to Mr. Addis without winking.
This aloof form of bullying had a happy effect upon Mr. Addis. He
became ominously calm.
“No, no harm at all,” he said. “On the contrary. I think a little
plain talk may be the best thing for all of us. Maybe I haven’t come
to the point as I should have done, up to now. I think I’ve been a
little timid, you know. But here’s the fact. I think Miss Flora here
is the finest girl I’ve ever met. I’ve got great respect for you, too,
Mrs. Baron. And for your family. But--the plain truth is, I want Miss
Flora. I don’t say she’s mine for the asking. But I want the right and
the chance to consult her about it. If she tells me she’s quite sure
I won’t do, that’ll settle it. But you seem to have made up your mind
beforehand that Flora shall not have a mind of her own. One of the
reasons why I think so highly of her is that she is a good daughter.
That isn’t such a common thing nowadays, Mrs. Baron. She’s nice and
high-minded. She wouldn’t stoop to any tricks. She’s a young lady who
tells the truth. And that, if you will excuse me, is something I like
to do myself. What I want to point out is that I don’t believe you’ve
thought what it means for you to take advantage of her obedience and
respect. You don’t want her to pay a penalty for being a good girl.
Give her a chance. Give me a chance. I don’t mind your proving to her
that I wouldn’t make her a good husband--if you can. But you can trust
to her sense and to her honor. Be frank with her. Don’t treat her as
if she were a child. You know, ma’am, it’s her affair more than it is
yours, after all. Give her and me a chance to talk it over.”
Flora’s color came and went during this patient, rather labored
recital. The utterly prosaic course events were taking, as a result
of her mother’s prejudice, impressed her strangely. She could have
laughed--but also she could have wept.
Mrs. Baron had refused to meet Mr. Addis’s eyes while he spoke, but
now she compelled herself to regard him. Her eyebrows were at a most
formidable elevation. “I have tried to impress you with the fact, Mr.
Addis,” she said, “that I do not consider you a suitable person to--to
become associated in any way with my family.”
Mr. Addis flushed. “The loss would be mine, ma’am, if I were not
permitted to be friendly toward all the members of your family, but,
if you will pardon me, I can very easily console myself for the loss,
if I have Miss Flora.” These words Mr. Addis spoke with unmistakable
emphasis.
“Would you mind,” said Mrs. Baron, speaking very evenly, “would you
mind not speaking quite so loudly?”
She succeeded in conveying the idea that he had violated all the laws
of good taste, and that she had borne with him like a martyr.
Mr. Addis looked at her questioningly. When he spoke again his voice
was low, his words were measured.
“I beg your pardon,” he said. “I always tell my young men not to become
too spirited when they’re in earnest. If I have offended in that way I
ask you to excuse me.”
There was a lump in Flora’s throat. He had accepted a rebuke which
seemed to her needless, and even cruel, with just the kind of dignity
which her mother should have prized above all other qualities. And he
seemed so splendidly simple and earnest and strong.
She came forward with an obvious effort to speak and move easily.
“Mother,” she said, “Mr. Addis is only asking to be received here
as a visitor. He has paid us the compliment of wishing to become
better acquainted with us. Can you think of any good reason why he
shouldn’t?--because, really, I can’t think of any at all.”
“Oh, you can’t!” responded her mother. “Then I’ll make it plain to
you. For the present I must ask you to go up-stairs and let me have a
word with this--this gentleman, who appears to have his own method of
getting into houses where he isn’t invited.”
Flora was too deeply wounded to respond to this. Shame and grief were
in her glance. “Good night,” she said. She went out of the room without
glancing back. But there was something strangely eloquent in her exit.
She seemed to take with her beauty and light, and to leave the room a
prey to all manner of unloveliness.
Something in her bearing had dismayed Mrs. Baron. Something, too, in
the cold, steady glance of Mr. Addis dismayed her. She turned nervously
toward the hall. “Flora!” she called. “Flora!” And she followed her
daughter up the broad stairway.
They had all forgotten Bonnie May. When she had summoned Mrs. Baron,
at the behest of Flora and Mr. Addis, she had returned, quietly and
unobserved, and had taken her place inconspicuously in a far corner of
the room.
Now she came forward, a light of eagerness in her eyes.
“That was a great speech you made,” she said.
Mr. Addis, gazing toward the empty staircase, seemed unaware of her
presence.
“It was good stuff,” she added, and then Mr. Addis turned to her with
an almost unseeing glance.
“I think it’s time for you to go off-stage,” she added nervously. “But
I’ll bet you one thing. When the big climax comes, you and Flora will
be standing in the middle of the stage, close together, and the rest
will be grouped about just to fill out the picture.”
She let him out at the door. She did not seem to be at all disturbed
because he seemed scarcely conscious of her presence.