Mr. Gilpin had departed in what had perhaps been the late Mr. Darling's
last extravagant purchase, a motor-boat which at rest was a streak of
polished mahogany, and at full speed, a streak of foam. The reluctant
lawyer carried with him instructions to collect as much cash as possible
and place it to the credit of the equally reluctant Arthur Darling.
"Arthur," Mary had agreed, "is perhaps the only one of us who could be
made to understand that a bank account in his name is not necessarily at
his own personal disposal. Arthur is altruistically and Don Quixotically
honest."
It was necessary to warm the playroom with a tremendous fire, as October
had changed suddenly from autumn to winter. There was a gusty grayness
in the heavens that promised flurries of snow.
Since Mary's proposal of the day before to turn the expensive camp into
a profitable inn, the family had talked of little else, and a number of
ways and means had already been chosen from the innumerable ones
proposed. In almost every instance Arthur had found himself an amused
minority. His platform had been: "Make them comfortable at a fair
price."
But Mary, who knew the world, had retorted:
"We are not appealing to people who consider what they pay but to people
who only consider what they get. Make them luxurious; and they will pay
anything we choose to ask."
After Mr. Gilpin's chillsome departure in the _Streak_, the family
resumed the discussion in front of the great fire in the playroom. Wow,
the dog, who had been running a deer for twenty-four hours in defiance
of all game-laws, was present in the flesh, but his weary spirit was in
the land of dreams, as an occasional barking and bristling of his mane
testified. Uncas, the chipmunk, had also demanded and received
admittance to the council. For a time he had sat on Arthur's shoulder,
puffing his cheeks with inconceivable rapidity, then, soporifically
inclined by the warmth of the fire and the constant strain incident to
his attempts to understand the ins and outs of the English language when
rapidly and even slangily spoken, he dropped into Arthur's breast-pocket
and went to sleep.
Arthur sighed. He was feeling immensely fidgety; but he knew that any
sudden, irritable shifting of position would disturb the slumbers of
Uncas, and so for nearly an hour he held himself heroically, almost
uncannily, still.
Two years ago, dating from his graduation, Arthur had had a change of
heart. He had been so dissipated as to give his family cause for the
utmost anxiety. He had squandered money with both hands. He had had a
regular time for lighting a cigarette, namely, when the one which he had
been smoking was ready to be thrown away. He had been a keen hunter and
fisherman. His chief use for domestic animals was to tease them and play
tricks upon them. Then suddenly, out of this murky sky, had shone the
clear light of all his subsequent behavior. He neither drank nor smoked;
he neither slaughtered deer nor caught fish. He was never quarrelsome.
He went much into the woods to photograph and observe. He became almost
too quiet and self-effacing for a young man. He asked nothing of the
world--not even to be let alone. He was patient under the fiendish
ministrations of bores. He tamed birds and animals, spoiling them, as
grandparents spoil grandchildren, until they gave him no peace, and were
always running to him at inconvenient times because they were hungry,
because they were sleepy, because they thought somebody had been
abusing them, or because they wished to be tickled and amused.
"He's like a peaceful lake," Maud had once said, "deep in the woods,
where the wind never blows," and Eve had nodded and said: "True. And
there's a woman at the bottom of it."
The sisters all believed that Arthur's change of heart could be traced
to a woman. They differed only as to the kind.
"One of our kind," Mary thought, "who wouldn't have him."
"One of our kind," thought Maud, "who couldn't have him."
And the triplets thought differently every day. All except Gay, who
happened to know.
"But," said Maud, "if we are to appeal to people of our own class, all
mamma's and papa's old friends and our own will come to us, and that
will be much, too much, like charity."
"Right," said Mary. "Don't tell _me_ I haven't thought of that. I have.
Applications from old friends will be politely refused."
"We can say," said Eve, "that we are very sorry, but every room is
taken."
"But suppose they aren't?" objected Arthur.
Eve retorted sharply.
"What is that to do with it? We are running a business, not a Bible
class."
But Phyllis was pulling a long face.
"Aren't we ever to see any of our old friends any more?"
Lee and Gay nudged each other and began to tease her.
"Dearest Pill," they said, "all will yet be well. There is more than one
Geoffrey Plantagenet in the world. You shall have the pick of all the
handsome strangers."
"Oh, come, now!" said Arthur, "Phyllis is right. Now and then we must
have guests--who don't pay."
"Not until we can afford them," said Mary. "Has anybody seen the
sketch-map that papa made of the buildings?"
"I know where it is," said Arthur, "but I can't get it now; because Wow
needs my feet for a pillow and at the moment Uncas is very sound
asleep."
"Can't you _tell_ us where it is?"
"Certainly," he said; "it's in the safe. The safe is locked."
"And where is the key?"
"Just under Uncas."
"Very well, then," said Mary, "important business must wait until
Stripes wakes up. Meanwhile, I think we ought to make up our minds how
and how much to advertise."
"There are papers," said Eve, "that all wealthy Americans always see,
and then there's that English paper with all the wonderful
advertisements of country places for sale or to let. I vote for a
full-page ad in that. People will say, 'Jove, this must be a wonderful
proposition if it pays 'em to advertise it in an English paper.'"
Everybody agreed with Eve except Arthur. He merely smiled with and at
her.
"We can say," said Eve, "shooting and fishing over a hundred thousand
acres. Does the State own as much as that, Arthur?"
He nodded, knowing the futility of arguing with the feminine conscience.
"Two hundred thousand?"
He nodded again.
"Then," said Eve, "make a note of this, somebody." Maud went to the
writing-table. "Shooting and fishing over hundreds of thousands of
acres."
"There must be pictures," said Maud, "in the text of the ad--the place
is full of them; and if they won't do, Arthur can take others--when Wow
and Uncas wake up."
"There must be that picture after the opening of the season," said Mary,
"the year the party got nine bucks--somebody make a point of finding
that picture."
"There are some good strings of trout and bass photographically
preserved," said Gay.
"A picture of chef in his kitchen will appeal," said Lee.
"So will interiors," said Maud. "Bedrooms with vistas of plumbing. Let's
be honestly grateful to papa for all the money he spent on porcelain and
silver plate."
"Oh, come," said Mary, "we must advertise in the American papers, too. I
think we should spend a good many thousand dollars. And of course we
must do away with the big table in the dining-house and substitute
little tables. I propose that we ransack the place for photographs, and
that Maud try her hand at composing full-page ads. And, Arthur, please
don't forget the sketch plan of the buildings--we'll have to make quite
a lot of alterations."
"I've thought of something," said Maud. "Just a line. Part of the ad, of
course, mentions prices. Now I think if we say prices from so and so
up--it looks cheap and commonplace. At the bottom of the ad, then, after
we've described all the domestic comforts of The Camp and its sporting
opportunities, let's see if we can't catch the _clientèle_ we are after
with this:
"'PRICES RATHER HIGH.'"
"Maud," said Mary, after swift thought, "your mind is as clear as a gem.
Just think how that line would have appealed to papa if he'd been
looking into summer or winter resorts. Make a note of it-- What are you
two whispering about?"
Lee and Gay looked up guiltily. They had not only been whispering but
giggling. They said: "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."
But presently they put on sweaters and rowed off in a guide boat, so
that they might converse without fear of being observed.
"Sure you've got it?" asked Lee.
"Umm," said Gay, "sure."
They giggled.
"And you think we're not just plain conceited?"
"My dear Lee," said Gay, "Mary, Maud, and Eve are famous for their faces
and their figgers--have been for years, poor old things. Well, in my
candid opinion, you and Phyllis are better-looking in every way. I look
at you two from the cool standpoint of a stranger, and I tell you that
you are incomparably good-looking."
Lee laughed with mischievous delight.
"And you look so exactly like us," she said, "that strangers can't tell
us apart."
"For myself," said Gay demurely, "I claim nothing. Absolutely nothing.
But you and Pill are certainly as beautiful as you are young."
"For the sake of argument, then," said Lee, "let's admit that we six
sisters considered as a collection are somewhat alluring to the eye.
Well--when the mail goes with the ads Maud is making up, we'll go with
it, and make such changes in the choice of photographs as we see fit."
"That won't do," said Gay. "There will be proofs to correct."
"Then we'll wait till the proofs are corrected and sent off."
"Yes. That will be the way. It would be a pity for the whole scheme to
fall through for lack of brains. I suppose the others would never
agree?"
"The girls _might_," said Lee, "but Arthur never. He would rise up like
a lion. You know, deep down in his heart he's a frightful stickler for
the proprieties."
"We shall get ourselves into trouble."
"It will not be the first or the last time. And besides, we can escape
to the woods if necessary, like Bessie Belle and Mary Grey."
"Who were they?"
"'They were two bonnie lassies.
They built a house on yon burn brae
And thecht it o'er wi' rashes.'"