NEW FRIENDS AND OLD
'Twould be too bad to be true, my dear,
And wonders never cease;
Twould be too bad to be true, my dear,
If all one's swans were geese!
Vivian's startled cry of welcome was heard by Susie, perched on the
stairs with several eager youths gathered as close as might be about
her, and several pairs of hands helped her swift descent to greet her
brother.
Miss Orella, dropping Mr. Dykeman's arm, came flying from the ball-room.
"Oh, Morton! Morton! When did you come? Why didn't you let us know?
Oh, my _dear_ boy!"
She haled him into their special parlor, took his hat away from him,
pulled out the most comfortable chair.
"Have you had supper? And to think that we haven't a room for you! But
there's to be one vacant--next week. I'll see that there is. You
shall have my room, dear boy. Oh, I am so glad to see you!"
Susie gave him a sisterly hug, while he kissed her, somewhat gingerly,
on the cheek, and then she perched herself on the arm of a chair and
gazed upon him with affectionate interest. Vivian gazed also, busily
engaged in fitting present facts to past memories.
Surely he had not looked just like that! The Morton of her girlhood's
dream had a clear complexion, a bright eye, a brave and gallant
look--the voice only had not changed.
But here was Morton in present fact, something taller, it seemed, and
a good deal heavier, well dressed in a rather vivid way, and making
merry over his aunt's devotion.
"Well, if it doesn't seem like old times to have Aunt 'Rella running
'round like a hen with her head cut off, to wait on me." The simile
was not unjust, though certainly ungracious, but his aunt was far too
happy to resent it.
"You sit right still!" she said. "I'll go and bring you some supper.
You must be hungry."
"Now do sit down and hear to reason, Auntie!" he said, reaching out a
detaining hand and pulling her into a seat beside him. "I'm not hungry
a little bit; had a good feed on the diner. Never mind about the
room--I don't know how long I can stay--and I left my grip at the
Allen House anyway. How well you're looking, Auntie! I declare I'd
hardly have known you! And here's little Susie--a regular belle! And
Vivian--don't suppose I dare call you Vivian now, Miss Lane?"
Vivian gave a little embarrassed laugh. If he had used her first name
she would never have noticed it. Now that he asked her, she hardly
knew what answer to make, but presently said:
"Why, of course, I always call you Morton."
"Well, I'll come when you call me," he cheerfully replied, leaning
forward, elbows on knees, and looking around the pretty room.
"How well you're fixed here. Guess it was a wise move, Aunt 'Rella.
But I'd never have dreamed you'd do it. Your Dr. Bellair must have
been a powerful promoter to get you all out here. I wouldn't have
thought anybody in Bainville could move--but me. Why, there's Grandma,
as I live!" and he made a low bow.
Mrs. Pettigrew, hearing of his arrival from the various would-be
partners of the two girls, had come to the door and stood there
regarding him with a non-committal expression. At this address she
frowned perceptibly.
"My name is Mrs. Pettigrew, young man. I've known you since you were a
scallawag in short pants, but I'm no Grandma of yours."
"A thousand pardons! Please excuse me, Mrs. Pettigrew," he said with
exaggerated politeness. "Won't you be seated?" And he set a chair for
her with a flourish.
"Thanks, no," she said. "I'll go back," and went back forthwith,
attended by Mr. Skee.
"One of these happy family reunions, ma'am?" he asked with approving
interest. "If there's one thing I do admire, it's a happy surprise."
"'Tis some of a surprise," Mrs. Pettigrew admitted, and became rather
glum, in spite of Mr. Skee's undeniably entertaining conversation.
"Some sort of a fandango going on?" Morton asked after a few rather
stiff moments. "Don't let me interrupt! On with the dance! Let joy be
unconfined! And if she must"--he looked at Vivian, and went on
somewhat lamely--"dance, why not dance with me? May I have the
pleasure, Miss Lane?"
"Oh, no," cried Miss Orella, "we'd much rather be with you!"
"But I'd rather dance than talk, any time," said he, and crooked his
elbow to Vivian with an impressive bow.
Somewhat uncertain in her own mind, and unwilling to again disappoint
Fordham Greer, who had already lost one dance and was visibly waiting
for her in the hall, the girl hesitated; but Susie said, "Go on, give
him part of one. I'll tell Mr. Greer." So Vivian took Morton's
proffered arm and returned to the floor.
She had never danced with him in the old days; no special memory was
here to contrast with the present; yet something seemed vaguely wrong.
He danced well, but more actively than she admired, and during the
rest of the evening devoted himself to the various ladies with an air
of long usage.
She was glad when the dancing was over and he had finally departed for
his hotel, glad when Susie had at last ceased chattering and dropped
reluctantly to sleep.
For a long time she lay awake trying to straighten out things in her
mind and account to herself for the sense of vague confusion which
oppressed her.
Morton had come back! That was the prominent thing, of which she
repeatedly assured herself. How often she had looked forward to that
moment, and felt in anticipation a vivid joy. She had thought of it in
a hundred ways, always with pleasure, but never in this particular
way--among so many strangers.
It must be that which confused her, she thought, for she was extremely
sensitive to the attitude of those about her. She felt an unspoken
criticism of Morton on the part of her new friends in the house, and
resented it; yet in her own mind a faint comparison would obtrude
itself between his manners and those of Jimmie Saunders or Mr. Greer,
for instance. The young Scotchman she had seen regarding Morton with
an undisguised dislike, and this she inwardly resented, even while
herself disliking his bearing to his aunt--and to her grandmother.
It was all contradictory and unsatisfying, and she fell asleep saying
over to herself, "He has come back! He has come back!" and trying to
feel happy.
Aunt Orella was happy at any rate. She would not rest until her
beloved nephew was installed in the house, practically turning out Mr.
Gibbs in order to accommodate him. Morton protested, talked of
business and of having to go away at any time; and Mr. Gibbs, who
still "mealed" with them, secretly wished he would.
But Morton did not go away. It was a long time since he had been petted
and waited on, and he enjoyed it hugely, treating his aunt with a
serio-comic affection that was sometimes funny, sometimes disagreeable.
At least Susie found it so. Her first surprise over, she fell back on
a fund of sound common sense, strengthened by present experience, and
found a good deal to criticise in her returned brother. She was so
young when he left, and he had teased her so unmercifully in those
days, that her early memories of him were rather mixed in sentiment,
and now he appeared, not as the unquestioned idol of a manless family
in a well-nigh manless town, but as one among many; and of those many
several were easily his superiors.
He was her brother, and she loved him, of course; but there were so
many wanting to be "brothers" if not more, and they were so much more
polite! Morton petted, patronized and teased her, and she took it all
in good part, as after the manner of brothers, but his demeanor with
other people was not to her mind.
His adoring aunt, finding no fault whatever with this well-loved nephew,
lavished upon him the affection of her unused motherhood, and he seemed
to find it a patent joke, open to everyone, that she should be so fond.
To this and, indeed, to his general walk and conversation, Mrs.
Pettigrew took great exception.
"Fine boy--Rella's nephew!" she said to Dr. Bellair late one night
when, seeing a light over her neighbor's transom, she dropped in for a
little chat. Conversation seemed easier for her here than in the
atmosphere of Bainville.
"Fine boy--eh? Nice complexion!"
Dr. Bellair was reading a heavy-weight book by a heavier-weight
specialist. She laid it down, took off her eyeglasses, and rubbed them.
"Better not kiss him," she said.
"I thought as much!" said Grandma. "I _thought_ as much! Huh!"
"Nice world, isn't it?" the doctor suggested genially.
"Nothing the matter with the world, that I know of," her visitor
answered.
"Nice people, then--how's that?"
"Nothing the matter with the people but foolishness--plain
foolishness. Good land! Shall we _never_ learn anything!"
"Not till it's too late apparently," the doctor gloomily agreed,
turning slowly in her swivel chair. "That boy never was taught
anything to protect him. What did Rella know? Or for that matter, what
do any boys' fathers and mothers know? Nothing, you'd think. If they
do, they won't teach it to their children."
"Time they did!" said the old lady decidedly. "High time they did!
It's never too late to learn. I've learned a lot out of you and your
books, Jane Bellair. Interesting reading! I don't suppose you could
give an absolute opinion now, could you?"
"No," said Dr. Bellair gravely, "no, I couldn't; not yet, anyway."
"Well, we've got to keep our eyes open," Mrs. Pettigrew concluded.
"When I think of that girl of mine----"
"Yes--or any girl," the doctor added.
"You look out for any girl--that's your business; I'll look out for
mine--if I can."
Mrs. Pettigrew's were not the only eyes to scrutinize Morton Elder.
Through the peep-hole in the swing door to the kitchen, Jeanne Jeaune
watched him darkly with one hand on her lean chest.
She kept her watch on whatever went on in that dining-room, and on the
two elderly waitresses whom she had helped Miss Elder to secure when
the house filled up. They were rather painfully unattractive, but
seemed likely to stay where no young and pretty damsel could be
counted on for a year. Morton joked with perseverance about their
looks, and those who were most devoted to Susie seemed to admire his
wit, while Vivian's special admirers found it pointless in the
extreme.
"Your waitresses are the limit, Auntie," he said, "but the cook is all
to the good. Is she a plain cook or a handsome one?"
"Handsome is as handsome does, young man," Mrs. Pettigrew pointedly
replied. "Mrs. Jones is a first-class cook and her looks are neither
here nor there."
"You fill me with curiosity," he replied. "I must go out and make her
acquaintance. I always get solid with the cook; it's worth while."
The face at the peep-hole darkened and turned away with a bitter and
determined look, and Master Theophile was hastened at his work till his
dim intelligence wondered, and then blessed with an unexpected cookie.
Vivian, Morton watched and followed assiduously. She was much changed
from what he remembered--the young, frightened, slender girl he had
kissed under the lilac bushes, a kiss long since forgotten among many.
Perhaps the very number of his subsequent acquaintances during a
varied and not markedly successful career in the newer states made
this type of New England womanhood more marked. Girls he had known of
various sorts, women old and young had been kind to him, for Morton
had the rough good looks and fluent manner which easily find their way
to the good will of many female hearts; but this gentle refinement of
manner and delicate beauty had a novel charm for him.
Sitting by his aunt at meals he studied Vivian opposite, he watched
her in their few quiet evenings together, under the soft lamplight on
Miss Elder's beloved "center table;" and studied her continually in
the stimulating presence of many equally devoted men.
All that was best in him was stirred by her quiet grace, her reserved
friendliness; and the spur of rivalry was by no means wanting. Both
the girls had their full share of masculine attention in that busy
houseful, each having her own particular devotees, and the position of
comforter to the others.
Morton became openly devoted to Vivian, and followed her about, seeking
every occasion to be alone with her, a thing difficult to accomplish.
"I don't ever get a chance to see anything of you," he said. "Come on,
take a walk with me--won't you?"
"You can see me all day, practically," she answered. "It seems to me
that I never saw a man with so little to do."
"Now that's too bad, Vivian! Just because a fellow's out of a job for
a while! It isn't the first time, either; in my business you work
like--like anything, part of the time, and then get laid off. I work
hard enough when I'm at it."
"Do you like it--that kind of work?" the girl asked.
They were sitting in the family parlor, but the big hall was as usual
well occupied, and some one or more of the boarders always eager to come
in. Miss Elder at this moment had departed for special conference with
her cook, and Susie was at the theatre with Jimmie Saunders. Fordham
Greer had asked Vivian, as had Morton also, but she declined both on the
ground that she didn't like that kind of play. Mrs. Pettigrew, being
joked too persistently about her fondness for "long whist," had retired
to her room--but then, her room was divided from the parlor only by a
thin partition and a door with a most inefficacious latch.
"Come over here by the fire," said Morton, "and I'll tell you all
about it."
He seated himself on a sofa, comfortably adjacent to the fireplace,
but Vivian preferred a low rocker.
"I suppose you mean travelling--and selling goods?" he pursued. "Yes,
I like it. There's lots of change--and you meet people. I'd hate to be
shut up in an office."
"But do you--get anywhere with it? Is there any outlook for you?
Anything worth doing?"
"There's a good bit of money to be made, if you mean that; that is, if
a fellow's a good salesman. I'm no slouch myself, when I feel in the
mood. But it's easy come, easy go, you see. And it's uncertain. There
are times like this, with nothing doing."
"I didn't mean money, altogether," said the girl meditatively, "but
the work itself; I don't see any future for you."
Morton was pleased with her interest. Reaching between his knees he
seized the edge of the small sofa and dragged it a little nearer,
quite unconscious that the act was distasteful to her.
Though twenty-five years old, Vivian was extremely young in many ways,
and her introspection had spent itself in tending the inner shrine of
his early image. That ikon was now jarringly displaced by this
insistent presence, and she could not satisfy herself yet as to
whether the change pleased or displeased her. Again and again his
manner antagonized her, but his visible devotion carried an undeniable
appeal, and his voice stirred the deep well of emotion in her heart.
"Look here, Vivian," he said, "you've no idea how it goes through me
to have you speak like that! You see I've been knocking around here
for all this time, and I haven't had a soul to take an interest. A
fellow needs the society of good women--like you."
It is an old appeal, and always reaches the mark. To any women it is a
compliment, and to a young girl, doubly alluring. As she looked at
him, the very things she most disliked, his too free manner, his
coarsened complexion, a certain look about the eyes, suddenly assumed
a new interest as proofs of his loneliness and lack of right
companionship. What Mrs. St. Cloud had told her of the ennobling
influence of a true woman, flashed upon her mind.
"You see, I had no mother," he said simply--"and Aunt Rella spoiled
me--." He looked now like the boy she used to know.
"Of course I ought to have behaved better," he admitted. "I was
ungrateful--I can see it now. But it did seem to me I couldn't stand
that town a day longer!"
She could sympathize with this feeling and showed it.
"Then when a fellow knocks around as I have so long, he gets to where
he doesn't care a hang for anything. Seeing you again makes a lot of
difference, Vivian. I think, perhaps--I could take a new start."
"Oh do! Do!" she said eagerly. "You're young enough, Morton. You can
do anything if you'll make up your mind to it."
"And you'll help me?"
"Of course I'll help you--if I can," said she.
A feeling of sincere remorse for wasted opportunities rose in the
young man's mind; also, in the presence of this pure-eyed girl, a
sense of shame for his previous habits. He walked to the window, his
hands in his pockets, and looked out blankly for a moment.
"A fellow does a lot of things he shouldn't," he began, clearing his
throat; she met him more than half way with the overflowing generosity
of youth and ignorance:
"Never mind what you've done, Morton--you're going to do differently
now! Susie'll be so proud of you--and Aunt Orella!"
"And you?" He turned upon her suddenly.
"Oh--I? Of course! I shall be very proud of my old friend."
She met his eyes bravely, with a lovely look of hope and courage, and
again his heart smote him.
"I hope you will," he said and straightened his broad shoulders
manfully.
"Morton Elder!" cried his aunt, bustling in with deep concern in her
voice, "What's this I hear about you're having a sore throat?"
"Nothing, I hope," said he cheerfully.
"Now, Morton"--Vivian showed new solicitude--"you know you have got a
sore throat; Susie told me."
"Well, I wish she'd hold her tongue," he protested. "It's nothing at
all--be all right in a jiffy. No, I won't take any of your fixings,
Auntie."
"I want Dr. Bellair to look at it anyhow," said his aunt, anxiously.
"She'll know if it's diphtheritic or anything. She's coming in."
"She can just go out again," he said with real annoyance. "If there's
anything I've no use for it's a woman doctor!"
"Oh hush, hush!" cried Vivian, too late.
"Don't apologize," said Dr. Bellair from her doorway. "I'm not in the
least offended. Indeed, I had rather surmised that that was your
attitude; I didn't come in to prescribe, but to find Mrs. Pettigrew."
"Want me?" inquired the old lady from her doorway. "Who's got a sore
throat?"
"Morton has," Vivian explained, "and he won't let Aunt Rella--why
where is she?"
Miss Elder had gone out as suddenly as she had entered.
"Camphor's good for sore throat," Mrs. Pettigrew volunteered. "Three
or four drops on a piece of sugar. Is it the swelled kind, or the kind
that smarts?"
"Oh--Halifax!" exclaimed Morton, disgustedly. "It isn't _any_ kind. I
haven't a sore throat."
"Camphor's good for cold sores; you have one of them anyhow," the old
lady persisted, producing a little bottle and urging it upon Morton.
"Just keep it wet with camphor as often as you think of it, and it'll
go away."
Vivian looked on, interested and sympathetic, but Morton put his hand
to his lip and backed away.
"If you ladies don't stop trying to doctor me, I'll clear out
to-morrow, so there!"
This appalling threat was fortunately unheard by his aunt, who popped
in again at this moment, dragging Dr. Hale with her. Dr. Bellair
smiled quietly to herself.
"I wouldn't tell him what I wanted him for, or he wouldn't have come,
I'm sure--doctors are so funny," said Miss Elder, breathlessly, "but
here he is. Now, Dr. Hale, here's a foolish boy who won't listen to
reason, and I'm real worried about him. I want you to look at his
throat."
Dr. Hale glanced briefly at Morton's angry face.
"The patient seems to be of age, Miss Elder; and, if you'll excuse me,
does not seem to have authorized this call."
"My affectionate family are bound to have me an invalid," Morton
explained. "I'm in imminent danger of hot baths, cold presses, mustard
plasters, aconite, belladonna and quinine--and if I can once reach my
hat--"
He sidled to the door and fled in mock terror.
"Thank you for your good intentions, Miss Elder," Dr. Hale remarked
drily. "You can bring water to the horse, but you can't make him drink
it, you see."
"Now that that young man has gone we might have a game of whist," Mrs.
Pettigrew suggested, looking not ill-pleased.
"For which you do not need me in the least," and Dr. Hale was about to
leave, but Dr. Bellair stopped him.
"Don't be an everlasting Winter woodchuck, Dick! Sit down and play; do
be good. I've got to see old Mrs. Graham yet; she refuses to go to
sleep without it--knowing I'm so near. By by."
Mrs. Pettigrew insisted on playing with Miss Elder, so Vivian had the
questionable pleasure of Dr. Hale as a partner. He was an expert, used
to frequent and scientific play, and by no means patient with the
girl's mistakes.
He made no protest at a lost trick, but explained briefly between
hands what she should have remembered and how the cards lay, till she
grew quite discouraged.
Her game was but mediocre, played only to oblige; and she never could
see why people cared so much about a mere pastime. Pride came to her
rescue at last; the more he criticised, the more determined she grew
to profit by all this advice; but her mind would wander now and then
to Morton, to his young life so largely wasted, it appeared, and to
what hope might lie before him. Could she be the help and stimulus he
seemed to think? How much did he mean by asking her to help him?
"Why waste a thirteenth trump on your partner's thirteenth card?" Dr.
Hale was asking.
She flushed a deep rose color and lifted appealing eyes to him.
"Do forgive me; my mind was elsewhere."
"Will you not invite it to return?" he suggested drily.
He excused himself after a few games, and the girl at last was glad to
have him go. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts.
Mrs. Pettigrew, sitting unaccountably late at her front window,
watched the light burn steadily in the small office at the opposite
corner. Presently she saw a familiar figure slip in there, and, after
a considerable stay, come out quietly, cross the street, and let
himself in at their door.
"Huh!" said Mrs. Pettigrew.