Beyond seeing to it that the alluring picture of his sisters should not
appear in any future issues of the magazines, Arthur did not refer to
the matter again. The girls, more particularly Lee and Gay, always
attributed the instant success of The Camp to the picture; but it is
sanely possible that an inn run upon such very extravagant principles
was bound to be a success anyway. America is full of people who will pay
anything for the comforts of home with the cares and exasperations left
out.
A majority of the early applications received at The Camp office, and
politely rejected by Maud, were from old friends of the family, who were
eagerly willing to give its fallen finances a boost. But the girls were
determined that their scheme should stand upon its own meritorious feet
or not at all.
* * * * *
When Samuel Langham learned that the ice was going out of New Moon Lake,
he wrote that he would arrive at Carrytown at such and such an hour,
and begged that a boat of some sort might be there to meet him. His
guests, he explained, would follow in a few days.
"Dear me," said Maud, "it will be very trying to have him alone--just
like a real guest. If he'd only bring his friends with him, why, they
could entertain him. As it is, we'll have to. Because, even if we are
innkeepers now, we belong to the same station in life that he does, and
he knows it and we know it. I don't see how we can ever have the face to
send in a bill afterward."
"I don't either," said Mary, "but we must."
"I've never pictured him," said Arthur, "as a man who would brave early
spring in the Adirondacks for the sake of a few trout."
"I bet you my first dividend," said Lee, "that his coat is lined with
sable."
It was.
As the _Streak_, which had gone to Carrytown to meet him, slid for the
dock (his luggage was to follow in the _Tortoise_, a fatter, slower
power-boat), there might have been seen standing amidships a tall, stout
gentleman of about thirty-six or more, enveloped in a handsome overcoat
lined with sable.
He wore thick eye-glasses which the swiftness of the _Streak_'s going
had opaqued with icy mist, so that for the moment Mr. Samuel Langham
was blind as a mole. Nevertheless, determined to enjoy whatever the
experience had in store for him, he beamed from right to left, as if a
pair of keen eyes were revealing to him unexpected beauties and
delights.
Arthur, loathing the rôle, was on the float to meet him.
On hearing himself addressed by name, Mr. Samuel Langham removed one of
his fur-lined gloves and thrust forward a plump, well-groomed hand.
"I believe that I am shaking hands with Mr. Darling," he said in a slow,
cultivated voice; "but my glasses are blurred and I cannot see anything.
Is my foot going for the float--or the water?"
"Step boldly," said Arthur; and, in a hurried aside, as he perceived the
corner of a neatly folded greenback protruding between two of Mr.
Langham's still-gloved fingers: "You are not to be subjected to the
annoyance of the tipping system. We pay our servants extra to make the
loss up to them."
Mr. Langham's mouth, which was rather like a Cupid's bow, tightened. And
he handed the greenback to the engineer of the _Streak_, just as if
Arthur's remonstrance had not been spoken. On the way to the office he
explained.
"Whenever I go anywhere," he said, "I find persons in humble situations
who smile at me and wish me well. I smile back and wish them well. It is
because, at some time or other, I have tipped them. To me the system has
never been an annoyance but a delightful opportunity for the exercise of
tact and judgment."
He came to a dead halt, planting his feet firmly.
"I shall be allowed to tip whomsoever I like," he said flatly, "or I
shan't stay."
"Our ambition," said Arthur stiffly, "is to make our guests comfortable.
Our rule against tipping is therefore abolished."
They entered the office. Mr. Langham could now see, having wiped the fog
from his glasses. He saw a lovely girl in black, seated at a table
facing him. Beyond her was a roaring fire of backlogs. Arthur presented
Mr. Langham.
"Are you frozen?" asked Maud. "Too cold to write your name in our
brand-new register?"
He took the pen which she offered him and wrote his name in a large,
clear hand, worthy of John Hancock.
"It's the first name in the book," he said. "It's always been a very
lucky name for me. I hope it will be for you."
Arthur had escaped.
"There is one more formality," said Maud: "breakfast."
"I had a little something in my car," said Mr. Langham; "but if it
wouldn't be too much trouble--er--just a few little eggs and things."
"How would it be," said Maud, "if I took you straight to the kitchen? My
sister Mary presides there, and you shall tell her exactly what you
want, and she will see that you get it."
A rosy blush mounted Mr. Langham's good-natured face.
"Oh," he said, with the deepest sincerity, "if I am to have the _entrée_
to the kitchen, I shall be happy. I will tell you a secret. At my club I
always breakfast in the kitchen. It's against the rules, but I do it. A
friendly chef--beds of glowing charcoal--burnished copper--piping-hot
tidbits."
It was up-hill to Smoke House, and Mr. Langham, in his burdensome
overcoat, grew warm on the way, and was puffing slightly when he got
there.
"Mary," Maud called--"Mr. Langham!"
"The kitchen is the foundation of all domestic happiness," said he. "I
have come to yours as fast as I could. I think--I _know_, that I never
saw a brighter, happier-looking kitchen."
He knew also that he had never seen so beautiful a presiding deity.
"Your sister," he said, "told me that I could have a little breakfast
right here." And he repeated the statement concerning his club kitchen.
"Of course, you can!" said Mary.
"Just a few eggs," he said, "and if there's anything green----"
They called the chef. He was very happy because the season had begun. He
assigned Mr. Langham a seat from which to see and at which to be served,
then with the wrist-and-finger elegance of a prestidigitator, he began
to prepare a few eggs and something green.
"The trout--" Mary began dutifully, as it was for the sake of these that
Mr. Langham had ostensibly come so early in the season.
"Trout?" he said.
"The fishing--" She made a new beginning.
"The fishing, Miss Darling," he said, "will be of interest to my
friends. For my part, I don't fish. I have, in common with the kind of
boat from which fishing is done, nothing but the fact that we are both
ticklish. I saw your prospectus. I said: 'I shall be happy there, and
well taken care of.' Something told me that I should be allowed to
breakfast in the kitchen. The more I thought about it the less I felt
that I could wait for the somewhat late opening of your season, so I
pretended to be a fisher of trout. And here I am. But, mark you," he
added, "a few trout on the table now and then--I like that!"
"You shall have them," said Mary, "and you shall breakfast in the
kitchen. I do--always."
"Do you?" he exclaimed. "Why not together, then?"
His eyes shone with pleasure.
"I should be too early for you," she said.
"You don't know me. Is it ever too early to eat? Because I am stout,
people think I have all the moribund qualities that go with it. As a
matter of fact, I rise whenever, in my judgment, the cook is dressed and
down. Is it gross to be fond of food? So many people think so. I differ
with them. Not to care what you eat is gross--in my way of thinking. Is
there anything, for instance, more fresh in coloring, more adequate in
line, than a delicately poached egg on a blue-and-white plate? You call
this building Smoke House? I shall always be looking in. Do you mind?"
"Indeed we don't," said Mary. "Do we, chef?"
Chef laid a finger to his lips. It was no time for talk. "Never disturb
a sleeping child or a cooking egg," was one of his maxims.
"I knew that I should be happy here," said Mr. Langham. "I am."
Whenever he had a chance he gazed at Mary. It was her face in the row of
six that had lured him out of all his habits and made him feel that the
camp offered him a genuine chance for happiness. To find that she
presided over the kitchen had filled his cup to the brim. But when he
remembered that he was fat and fond of good things to eat and drink, his
heart sank.
He determined that he would eat but three eggs. They were, however,
prepared in a way that was quite new to him, and in the determined
effort to discern the ingredients and the method he ate five.
"There is something very keen about your Adirondack air," he explained
guiltily.
But Mary had warmed to him. Her heart and her reputation were involved
in the _cuisine_. She knew that the better you feed people the more they
love you. She was not revolted by Mr. Langham's appetite. She felt that
even a canary of a man must have fallen before the temptation of those
eggs.
They were her own invention. And chef had executed them to the very turn
of perfection.
Almost from the moment of his arrival, then, Mr. Samuel Langham began to
eat his way into the heart of the eldest Miss Darling.
In culinary matters a genuine intimacy sprang up between them. They
exchanged ideas. They consulted. They compared menus. They mastered the
contents of the late Mr. Darling's cellars.
Mr. Langham chose Lone House for his habitation. He liked the little
balcony that thrust out over the lake between the two pine-trees. And by
the time that his guests were due to arrive, he had established himself,
almost, in the affections of the entire family.
"He may be greedy," said Arthur, "but he's the most courteous man that
ever 'sat at meat among ladies'!"
"He's got the kindest heart," said Mary, "that ever beat."