CONTRASTS
Old England thinks our country
Is a wilderness at best--
And small New England thinks the same
Of the large free-minded West.
Some people know the good old way
Is the only way to do,
And find there must be something wrong
In anything that's new.
To Vivian the new life offered a stimulus, a sense of stir and promise
even beyond her expectations. She wrote dutiful letters to her mother,
trying to describe the difference between this mountain town and
Bainville, but found the New England viewpoint an insurmountable
obstacle.
To Bainville "Out West" was a large blank space on the map, and the
blank space in the mind which matched it was but sparsely dotted with
a few disconnected ideas such as "cowboy," "blizzard," "prairie
fire," "tornado," "border ruffian," and the like.
The girl's painstaking description of the spreading, vigorous young
town, with its fine, modern buildings, its banks and stores and
theatres, its country club and parks, its pleasant social life, made
small impression on the Bainville mind. But the fact that Miss Elder's
venture was successful from the first did impress old acquaintances,
and Mrs. Lane read aloud to selected visitors her daughter's accounts
of their new and agreeable friends. Nothing was said of "chaps,"
"sombreros," or "shooting up the town," however, and therein a
distinct sense of loss was felt.
Much of what was passing in Vivian's mind she could not make clear to
her mother had she wished to. The daily presence and very friendly
advances of so many men, mostly young and all polite (with the
exception of Dr. Hale, whose indifference was almost rude by
contrast), gave a new life and color to the days.
She could not help giving some thought to this varied assortment, and
the carefully preserved image of Morton, already nine years dim, waxed
dimmer. But she had a vague consciousness of being untrue to her ideals,
or to Mrs. St. Cloud's ideals, now somewhat discredited, and did not
readily give herself up to the cheerful attractiveness of the position.
Susie found no such difficulty. Her ideals were simple, and while
quite within the bounds of decorum, left her plenty of room for
amusement. So popular did she become, so constantly in demand for
rides and walks and oft-recurring dances, that Vivian felt called upon
to give elder sisterly advice.
But Miss Susan scouted her admonitions.
"Why shouldn't I have a good time?" she said. "Think how we grew up!
Half a dozen boys to twenty girls, and when there was anything to go
to--the lordly way they'd pick and choose! And after all our efforts
and machinations most of us had to dance with each other. And the
quarrels we had! Here they stand around three deep asking for
dances--and _they_ have to dance with each other, and _they_ do the
quarreling. I've heard 'em." And Sue giggled delightedly.
"There's no reason we shouldn't enjoy ourselves, Susie, of course, but
aren't you--rather hard on them?"
"Oh, nonsense!" Sue protested. "Dr. Bellair said I should get married
out here! She says the same old thing--that it's 'a woman's duty,' and
I propose to do it. That is--they'll propose, and I won't do it! Not
till I make up my mind. Now see how you like this!"
She had taken a fine large block of "legal cap" and set down their
fifteen men thereon, with casual comment.
1. Mr. Unwin--Too old, big, quiet.
2. Mr. Elmer Skee--Big, too old, funny.
3. Jimmy Saunders--Middle-sized, amusing, nice.
4. P. R. Gibbs--Too little, too thin, too cocky.
5. George Waterson--Middling, pretty nice.
6. J. J. Cuthbert--Big, horrid.
7. Fordham Greer--Big, pleasant.
8. W. S. Horton--Nothing much.
9. A. L. Dykeman--Interesting, too old.
10. Professor Toomey--Little, horrid.
11. Arthur Fitzwilliam--Ridiculous, too young.
12. Howard Winchester--Too nice, distrust him.
13. Lawson W. Briggs--Nothing much.
14. Edward S. Jenks--Fair to middling.
15. Mr. A. Smith--Minus.
She held it up in triumph. "I got 'em all out of the book--quite
correct. Now, which'll you have."
"Susie Elder! You little goose! Do you imagine that all these fifteen
men are going to propose to you?"
"I'm sure I hope so!" said the cheerful damsel. "We've only been
settled a fortnight and one of 'em has already!"
Vivian was impressed at once. "Which?--You don't mean it!"
Sue pointed to the one marked "minus."
"It was only 'A. Smith.' I never should be willing to belong to 'A.
Smith,' it's too indefinite--unless it was a last resort. Several more
are--well, extremely friendly! Now don't look so severe. You needn't
worry about me. I'm not quite so foolish as I talk, you know."
She was not. Her words were light and saucy, but she was as demure and
decorous a little New Englander as need be desired; and she could not
help it if the hearts of the unattached young men of whom the town was
full, warmed towards her.
Dr. Bellair astonished them at lunch one day in their first week.
"Dick Hale wants us all to come over to tea this afternoon," she said,
as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Tea? Where?" asked Mrs. Pettigrew sharply.
"At his house. He has 'a home of his own,' you know. And he
particularly wants you, Mrs. Pettigrew--and Miss Elder--the girls, of
course."
"I'm sure I don't care to go," Vivian remarked with serene
indifference, but Susie did.
"Oh, come on, Vivian! It'll be so funny! A man's home!--and we may
never get another chance. He's such a bear!"
Dr. Hale's big house was only across the road from theirs, standing in
a large lot with bushes and trees about it.
"He's been here nine years," Dr. Bellair told them. "That's an old
inhabitant for us. He boarded in that house for a while; then it was for
sale and he bought it. He built that little office of his at the
corner--says he doesn't like to live where he works, or work where he
lives. He took his meals over here for a while--and then set up for
himself."
"I should think he'd be lonely," Miss Elder suggested.
"Oh, he has his boys, you know--always three or four young fellows
about him. It's a mighty good thing for them, too."
Dr. Hale's home proved a genuine surprise. They had regarded it as a
big, neglected-looking place, and found on entering the gate that the
inside view of that rampant shrubbery was extremely pleasant. Though
not close cut and swept of leaves and twigs, it still was beautiful;
and the tennis court and tether-ball ring showed the ground well used.
Grandma looked about her with a keen interrogative eye, and was much
impressed, as, indeed, were they all. She voiced their feelings
justly when, the true inwardness of this pleasant home bursting fully
upon them, she exclaimed:
"Well, of all things! A man keeping house!"
"Why not?" asked Dr. Hale with his dry smile. "Is there any
deficiency, mental or physical, about a man, to prevent his attempting
this abstruse art?"
She looked at him sharply. "I don't know about deficiency, but there
seems to be somethin' about 'em that keeps 'em out of the business. I
guess it's because women are so cheap."
"No doubt you are right, Mrs. Pettigrew. And here women are scarce and
high. Hence my poor efforts."
His poor efforts had bought or built a roomy pleasant house, and
furnished it with a solid comfort and calm attractiveness that was
most satisfying. Two Chinamen did the work; cooking, cleaning,
washing, waiting on table, with silent efficiency. "They are as steady
as eight-day clocks," said Dr. Hale. "I pay them good wages and they
are worth it."
"Sun here had to go home once--to be married, also, to see his honored
parents, I believe, and to leave a grand-'Sun' to attend to the
ancestors; but he brought in another Chink first and trained him so
well that I hardly noticed the difference. Came back in a year or so,
and resumed his place without a jar."
Miss Elder watched with fascinated eyes these soft-footed servants
with clean, white garments and shiny coils of long, braided hair.
"I may have to come to it," she admitted, "but--dear me, it doesn't
seem natural to have a man doing housework!"
Dr. Hale smiled again. "You don't want men to escape from dependence, I
see. Perhaps, if more men knew how comfortably they could live without
women, the world would be happier." There was a faint wire-edge to his
tone, in spite of the courteous expression, but Miss Elder did not
notice it and if Mrs. Pettigrew did, she made no comment.
They noted the varied excellences of his housekeeping with high
approval.
"You certainly know how, Dr. Hale," said Miss Orella; "I particularly
admire these beds--with the sheets buttoned down, German fashion,
isn't it? What made you do that?"
"I've slept so much in hotels," he answered; "and found the sheets
always inadequate to cover the blankets--and the marks of other men's
whiskers! I don't like blankets in my neck. Besides it saves washing."
Mrs. Pettigrew nodded vehemently. "You have sense," she said.
The labor-saving devices were a real surprise to them. A "chute" for
soiled clothing shot from the bathroom on each floor to the laundry in
the basement; a dumbwaiter of construction large and strong enough to
carry trunks, went from cellar to roof; the fireplaces dropped their
ashes down mysterious inner holes; and for the big one in the
living-room a special "lift" raised a box of wood up to the floor
level, hidden by one of the "settles."
"Saves work--saves dirt--saves expense," said Dr. Hale.
Miss Hale and her niece secretly thought the rooms rather bare, but
Dr. Bellair was highly in favor of that very feature.
"You see Dick don't believe in jimcracks and dirt-catchers, and he
likes sunlight. Books all under glass--no curtains to wash and darn
and fuss with--none of those fancy pincushions and embroidered
thingummies--I quite envy him."
"Why don't you have one yourself, Johnny?" he asked her.
"Because I don't like housekeeping," she said, "and you do. Masculine
instinct, I suppose!"
"Huh!" said Mrs. Pettigrew with her sudden one-syllable chuckle.
The girls followed from room to room, scarce noticing these comments, or
the eager politeness of the four pleasant-faced young fellows who formed
the doctor's present family. She could not but note the intelligent
efficiency of the place, but felt more deeply the underlying spirit, the
big-brotherly kindness which prompted his hospitable care of these nice
boys. It was delightful to hear them praise him.
"O, he's simply great," whispered Archie Burns, a ruddy-cheeked young
Scotchman. "He pretends there's nothing to it--that he wants
company--that we pay for all we get--and that sort of thing, you know;
but this is no boarding house, I can tell you!" And then he flushed till
his very hair grew redder--remembering that the guests came from one.
"Of course not!" Vivian cordially agreed with him. "You must have
lovely times here. I don't wonder you appreciate it!" and she smiled
so sweetly that he felt at ease again.
Beneath all this cheery good will and the gay chatter of the group her
quick sense caught an impression of something hidden and repressed.
She felt the large and quiet beauty of the rooms; the smooth comfort,
the rational, pleasant life; but still more she felt a deep keynote of
loneliness.
The pictures told her most. She noted one after another with inward
comment.
"There's 'Persepolis,'" she said to herself--"loneliness incarnate;
and that other lion-and-ruin thing,--loneliness and decay. Gerome's
'Lion in the Desert,' too, the same thing. Then Daniel--more lions,
more loneliness, but power. 'Circe and the Companions of
Ulysses'--cruel, but loneliness and power again--of a sort. There's
that 'Island of Death' too--a beautiful thing--but O dear!--And young
Burne-Jones' 'Vampire' was in one of the bedrooms--that one he shut
the door of!"
While they ate and drank in the long, low-ceiled wide-windowed room
below, she sought the bookcases and looked them over curiously.
Yes--there was Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus, Plato, Emerson and
Carlisle--the great German philosophers, the French, the English--all
showing signs of use.
Dr. Hale observed her inspection. It seemed to vaguely annoy him, as
if someone were asking too presuming questions.
"Interested in philosophy, Miss Lane?" he asked, drily, coming toward
her.
"Yes--so far as I understand it," she answered.
"And how far does that go?"
She felt the inference, and raised her soft eyes to his rather
reproachfully.
"Not far, I am afraid. But I do know that these books teach one how to
bear trouble."
He met her gaze steadily, but something seemed to shut, deep in his
eyes. They looked as unassailable as a steel safe. He straightened his
big shoulders with a defiant shrug, and returned to sit by Mrs.
Pettigrew, to whom he made himself most agreeable.
The four young men did the honors of the tea table, with devotion to
all; and some especially intended for the younger ladies. Miss Elder
cried out in delight at the tea.
"Where did you get it, Dr. Hale? Can it be had here?"
"I'm afraid not. That is a particular brand. Sun brought me a chest of
it when he came from his visit."
When they went home each lady was given a present, Chinese
fashion--lychee nuts for Sue, lily-bulbs for Vivian, a large fan for
Mrs. Pettigrew, and a package of the wonderful tea for Miss Orella.
"That's a splendid thing for him to do," she said, as they walked
back. "Such a safe place for those boys!"
"It's lovely of him," Sue agreed. "I don't care if he is a
woman-hater."
Vivian said nothing, but admitted, on being questioned, that "he was
very interesting."
Mrs. Pettigrew was delighted with their visit. "I like this country,"
she declared. "Things are different. A man couldn't do that in
Bainville--he'd be talked out of town."
That night she sought Dr. Bellair and questioned her.
"Tell me about that man," she demanded. "How old is he?"
"Not as old as he looks by ten years," said the doctor. "No, I can't
tell you why his hair's gray."
"What woman upset him?" asked the old lady.
Dr. Bellair regarded her thoughtfully. "He has made me no confidences,
Mrs. Pettigrew, but I think you are right. It must have been a severe
shock--for he is very bitter against women. It is a shame, too, for he
is one of the best of men. He prefers men patients--and gets them. The
women he will treat if he must, but he is kindest to the 'fallen' ones,
and inclined to sneer at the rest. And yet he's the straightest man I
ever knew. I'm thankful to have him come here so much. He needs it."
Mrs. Pettigrew marched off, nodding sagely. She felt a large and growing
interest in her new surroundings, more especially in the numerous boys,
but was somewhat amazed at her popularity among them. These young men
were mainly exiles from home; the older ones, though more settled
perhaps, had been even longer away from their early surroundings; and a
real live Grandma, as Jimmy Saunders said, was an "attraction."
"If you were mine," he told her laughingly, "I'd get a pianist and
some sort of little side show, and exhibit you all up and down the
mountains!--for good money. Why some of the boys never had a Grandma,
and those that did haven't seen one since they were kids!"
"Very complimentary, I'm sure--but impracticable," said the old lady.
The young men came to her with confidences, they asked her advice,
they kept her amused with tales of their adventures; some true, some
greatly diversified; and she listened with a shrewd little smile and a
wag of the head--so they never were quite sure whether they were
"fooling" Grandma or not.
To her, as a general confidant, came Miss Peeder with a tale of woe. The
little hall that she rented for her dancing classes had burned down on a
windy Sunday, and there was no other suitable and within her means.
"There's Sloan's; but it's over a barroom--it's really not possible.
And Baker's is too expensive. The church rooms they won't let for
dancing--I don't know what I _am_ to do, Mrs. Pettigrew!"
"Why don't you ask Orella Elder to rent you her dining-room--it's big
enough. They could move the tables----"
Miss Peeder's eyes opened in hopeful surprise. "Oh, if she _would_! Do
_you_ think she would? It would be ideal."
Miss Elder being called upon, was quite fluttered by the proposition,
and consulted Dr. Bellair.
"Why not?" said that lady. "Dancing is first rate exercise--good for
us all. Might as well have the girls dance here under your eye as
going out all the time--and it's some addition to the income. They'll
pay extra for refreshments, too. I'd do it."
With considerable trepidation Miss Orella consented, and their first
"class night" was awaited by her in a state of suppressed excitement.
To have music and dancing--"with refreshments"--twice a week--in her
own house--this seemed to her like a career of furious dissipation.
Vivian, though with a subtle sense of withdrawal from a too general
intimacy, was inwardly rather pleased; and Susie bubbled over with
delight.
"Oh what fun!" she cried. "I never had enough dancing! I don't believe
anybody has!"
"We don't belong to the Class, you know," Vivian reminded her.
"Oh yes! Miss Peeder says we must _all_ come--that she would feel _very_
badly if we didn't; and the boarders have all joined--to a man!"
Everyone seemed pleased except Mrs. Jeaune. Dancing she considered
immoral; music, almost as much so--and Miss Elder trembled lest she
lose her. But the offer of extra payments for herself and son on these
two nights each week proved sufficient to quell her scruples.
Theophile doubled up the tables, set chairs around the walls, waxed the
floor, and was then sent to bed and locked in by his anxious mother.
She labored, during the earlier hours of the evening, in the
preparation of sandwiches and coffee, cake and lemonade--which viands
were later shoved through the slide by the austere cook, and
distributed as from a counter by Miss Peeder's assistant. Mrs. Jeaune
would come no nearer, but peered darkly upon them through the
peep-hole in the swinging door.
It was a very large room, due to the time when many "mealers" had been
accommodated. There were windows on each side, windows possessing the
unusual merit of opening from the top; wide double doors made the big
front hall a sort of anteroom, and the stairs and piazza furnished
opportunities for occasional couples who felt the wish for retirement.
In the right-angled passages, long hat-racks on either side were hung
with "Derbies," "Kossuths" and "Stetsons," and the ladies took off
their wraps, and added finishing touches to their toilettes in Miss
Elder's room.
The house was full of stir and bustle, of pretty dresses, of giggles
and whispers, and the subdued exchange of comments among the
gentlemen. The men predominated, so that there was no lack of partners
for any of the ladies.
Miss Orella accepted her new position with a half-terrified enjoyment.
Not in many years had she found herself so in demand. Her always neat
and appropriate costume had blossomed suddenly for the occasion; her
hair, arranged by the affectionate and admiring Susie, seemed softer
and more voluminous. Her eyes grew brilliant, and the delicate color
in her face warmed and deepened.
Miss Peeder had installed a pianola to cover emergencies, but on this
opening evening she had both piano and violin--good, lively,
sole-stirring music. Everyone was on the floor, save a few gentlemen
who evidently wished they were.
Sue danced with the gaiety and lightness of a kitten among wind-blown
leaves, Vivian with gliding grace, smooth and harmonious, Miss Orella
with skill and evident enjoyment, though still conscientious in every
accurate step.
Presently Mrs. Pettigrew appeared, sedately glorious in black silk,
jet-beaded, and with much fine old lace. She bore in front of her a
small wicker rocking chair, and headed for a corner near the door. Her
burden was promptly taken from her by one of the latest comers, a tall
person with a most devoted manner.
"Allow _me_, ma'am," he said, and placed the little chair at the point
she indicated. "No lady ought to rustle for rockin' chairs with so
many gentlemen present."
He was a man of somewhat advanced age, but his hair was still more
black than white and had a curly, wiggish effect save as its
indigenous character was proven by three small bare patches of a
conspicuous nature.
He bowed so low before her that she could not help observing these
distinctions, and then answered her startled look before she had time
to question him.
"Yes'm," he explained, passing his hand over head; "scalped three
several times and left for dead. But I'm here yet. Mr. Elmer Skee, at
your service."
"I thought when an Indian scalped you there wasn't enough hair left to
make Greeley whiskers," said Grandma, rising to the occasion.
"Oh, no, ma'am, they ain't so efficacious as all that--not in these
parts. I don't know what the ancient Mohawks may have done, but the
Apaches only want a patch--smaller to carry and just as good to show
off. They're collectors, you know--like a phil-e-a-to-lol-o-gist!"
"Skee, did you say?" pursued the old lady, regarding him with interest
and convinced that there was something wrong with the name of that
species of collector.
"Yes'm. Skee--Elmer Skee. No'm, _not_ pronounced 'she.' Do I look like
it?"
Mr. Skee was an interesting relic of that stormy past of the once Wild
West which has left so few surviving. He had crossed the plains as a
child, he told her, in the days of the prairie schooner, had then and
there lost his parents and his first bit of scalp, was picked up alive
by a party of "movers," and had grown up in a playground of sixteen
states and territories.
Grandma gazed upon him fascinated. "I judge you might be interesting
to talk with," she said, after he had given her this brief sketch of
his youth.
"Thank you, ma'am," said Mr. Skee. "May I have the pleasure of this
dance?"
"I haven't danced in thirty years," said she, dubitating.
"The more reason for doing it now," he calmly insisted.
"Why not?" said Mrs. Pettigrew, and they forthwith executed a species
of march, the gentleman pacing with the elaborate grace of a circus
horse, and Grandma stepping at his side with great decorum.
Later on, warming to the occasion, Mr. Skee frisked and high-stepped
with the youngest and gayest, and found the supper so wholly to his
liking that he promptly applied for a room, and as soon as one was
vacant it was given to him.
Vivian danced to her heart's content and enjoyed the friendly
merriment about her; but when Fordham Greer took her out on the long
piazza to rest and breathe a little, she saw the dark bulk of the
house across the street and the office with its half-lit window, and
could not avoid thinking of the lonely man there.
He had not come to the dance, no one expected that, of course; but all
his boys had come and were having the best of times.
"It's his own fault, of course; but it's a shame," she thought.
The music sounded gaily from within, and young Greer urged for another
dance.
She stood there for a moment, hesitating, her hand on his arm, when a
tall figure came briskly up the street from the station, turned in at
their gate, came up the steps----
The girl gave a little cry, and shrank back for an instant, then
eagerly came forward and gave her hand to him.
It was Morton.