DAYS IN NEW YORK
After Betty had waited about an hour her expectations were realized.
Mrs. Van Court and her daughter and son appeared in the doorway and said
respectively:
“Betty! how _did_ you get here?”
“My dear child, are you really safe?”
“I told ’em you’d land on your feet somehow, Popinjay!”
Explanations followed, and Betty told about her ride up-town with the
soldiers; and then Richard Van Court went to telephone to Mr. Morris and
Mr. Brewster, who were still down-town searching for the lost child.
“Betty,” said Mr. Dick, when he returned, “you’re a
‘man-of-infinite-resource-and-sagacity.’ But what would you have done if
you hadn’t met your military friends?”
“I don’t know, sir, but I think I would have made my way up here
somehow, for I knew it was the only chance of gettin’ myself found.”
“You showed good common sense,” said Miss Grace; “and now let us go to
our rooms and rest a little before dinner.”
To Betty’s great satisfaction, she was allowed to go down to dinner.
Mrs. Van Court disapproved of it, and said it would be much better for
her to have supper in her room, and go at once to bed, that she might be
refreshed for the excitements of the next day. But Miss Grace saw the
child’s disappointed face, and begged that she might be permitted to
dine with the rest and then go to bed directly after. So Mrs. Van Court
consented, and told Betty she might wear her blue silk dress.
This dress was Betty’s pride and delight. It was of blue China silk,
just the color of her eyes, and had a yoke and sleeves of white
embroidered muslin. Black silk stockings and slippers with shining
buckles completed the costume, and Miss Grace tied a blue ribbon through
the dark hair that clustered in ringlets all over the little Irish head.
“There,” she said; “you look very nice, Betty, and if you behave as well
as you look, no one will have any good reason to complain of you
to-night. Now run to mama’s room and ask her if she’s ready.”
As Betty walked along the softly carpeted hall, she felt that in all her
“pretendings” she had never imagined such good times as she was having
now, and the thought that they were only a prelude to the best time of
all, when she should have her own home, brought a radiant smile to her
face.
So it was a very pretty little picture that greeted Mrs. Van Court’s
eyes as she opened the door to Betty’s tap.
“Why, my child, how sweet you look!” said the lady, kissing her kindly.
And Betty replied seriously: “I do, ma’am; Miss Grace said so. But I’m
afraid, ma’am, I won’t have my manners right, an’ I’ll do little credit
to your teachin’.”
“Well, don’t bother about it,” said Mrs. Van Court, laughing. “Just do
the best you can, and don’t talk much when we’re in the public halls or
parlors.”
The party had a small dining-room to themselves; and though the
formalities of a table were entirely new to the little Irish girl, yet
her common sense and quick power of observation enabled her soon to
master them.
“Now,” said Mr. Morris, after they were seated at the table, “we must
lay our plans. Yes, we must arrange for the campaign. What shall we do
to-morrow?”
“Let us be systematic,” said Mrs. Van Court. “Let us make lists of the
furniture we have to buy, and attend to the various rooms on different
days.”
“And,” said Miss Grace, “we ought not to march this whole crowd around
together all the time. I propose that one or two of us accompany Betty
each day, and so divide the responsibility.”
“I quite agree with you,” said Mr. Brewster.
“Capital!” cried Richard. “I’ll go with you, Popinjay, to get the things
for your music-room. I know a place where they have the loveliest
music-boxes you ever saw, and hand-organs, too.”
“Don’t tease, Dick,” said his sister. “You _may_ look after the musical
instruments, for you know all about such things. _I_ will help you,
Betty, to furnish the parlors and halls and that lovely little landing
on the stairs.”
“I want Mrs. Van Court to pick out the furniture for my own room,” said
Betty; “for she knows what’s best for a little girl like me to have.”
Mrs. Van Court smiled at her, and said she would be glad to select the
furniture for all the sleeping-rooms in Betty’s new house.
“Bless my soul!” said Mr. Morris. “What’s left for me to do? Am I to be
out of this thing—out of it entirely? No! I will provide for your
dining-room and kitchen. Ah, yes; I will be of use there! Now, wait a
minute. I have a house of my own, and I understand culinary mysteries
that would floor these foolish young men—utterly floor them. With Mrs.
Van Court’s assistance, I will fit up your kitchen to a state of
perfection, a state of perfection, my dear.”
“I will select your library,” said Mr. Brewster. “A library you must
have—not a very large one at first, but one that shall be a foundation
for the future.”
So the plans were laid; and next morning all were filled with an eager
interest to put them at once into execution.
Mrs. Van Court, Mr. Morris, and Betty started on their expedition as
early as possible, saying they would be gone all day, and making an
appointment to meet the others at dinner and report progress.
And such a day as it was! Betty began to think she had stepped into a
fairy story, and pinched herself once in a while to make sure she was
awake.
Every purchase was made subject to her authority; but this soon came to
be merely nominal, for her kind friends had such superior knowledge and
judgment that she was only too glad to agree with their decisions.
As Mr. Morris had said, he and Mrs. Van Court knew how to furnish a
kitchen, and they bought a complete outfit of cooking-utensils and
kitchen furniture in a very short space of time. A few patent
labor-saving contrivances were purchased, but only those that the
sagacious buyers had tested and found useful.
The dining-room furniture came next. As the house had a sideboard, they
bought a dining-table and chairs, a pretty glass-cupboard, and a small
side-table.
“Shall you sit at the head of your own table, Betty?” inquired Mrs. Van
Court.
“No, ma’am; I think my gran’mother will sit there, an’ I’d like an
arm-chair for her, an’ also a high chair for the baby.”
These were added to the order; and then they selected dishes and
glassware and table-linen and silver. It was a difficult matter to know
just what style of furnishing to adopt for such unusual domestic
arrangements; but Mrs. Van Court decided on a general line that should
be in keeping with the house, and with the state of Betty’s finances,
without being in any way extravagant.
The sleeping-rooms came next. In deference to Betty’s wish, Mrs. Van
Court selected all the furniture for Betty’s own room. A brass bedstead
was chosen; then a dear little dressing-table with a wide, low mirror;
for this Mrs. Van Court found a dainty white cover, and then proceeded
to buy a bewildering array of trays, brushes, combs, and toilet
appliances of all kinds. Of some of these Betty knew neither the names
nor the uses.
Then she chose a wide, soft couch upholstered in blue, and a dozen jolly
big pillows to throw on it, a dear little rocking-chair, a lovely
work-table of inlaid wood, and another table to hold a pretty shaded
lamp. The carpet was blue and white, and the window-curtains were of
dainty, ruffled white muslin.
Although the library was yet to be furnished, Mrs. Van Court said that a
small writing-desk and a rack for favorite books were always pleasant to
have in one’s own room, and these were added.
There were other little things needed, but they decided to leave those
for the present and look at furniture for the other rooms. So a room for
the prospective grandmother was furnished next, and the tastes of an
imaginary old lady were carefully consulted.
“But she won’t be so _very_ old,” said Betty. “I want her so that she
can take care of me in some ways, and in some ways I can take care of
her.”
So the old lady was imagined several years younger than before, and her
comfort was arranged for accordingly.
Then the baby sister’s nursery was furnished, Betty informing them that
the sister would be about two years old when first introduced.
It was great fun buying a crib, a chiffonnier, a tiny bath-tub, and all
the paraphernalia of a baby’s toilet. Toys were suggested, but they were
left to be bought some other day, for Lame Jack’s room must be attended
to.
Betty hadn’t asked him yet to live in her home, but she felt no fear of
a refusal, and furnished his room in a way which she knew would appeal
to his tastes.
By this time it was growing late, and they returned to the hotel feeling
that the first day’s shopping had been a success.
It was a merry party at dinner that night, for each had something to
tell of the day’s experience, and there was much laughter and fun.
“Popinjay,” said Mr. Richard, “I think I will take you shopping
to-morrow, and see if we can’t do as well as the committee who went
to-day. We’ll buy music-boxes of all kinds, and then if there’s any time
left we’ll go sight-seeing.”
“Yes, sir,” said Betty, her eyes shining with delight; for Mr. Dick was
very kind to her, and having grown used to his teasing, she didn’t mind
it so much as at first.
“All aboard, Popinjay,” said the young man, soon after breakfast the
next morning. “Get on your smartest hat and come along with me. We’ll
join the hilarious populace in search of pleasure and profit.”
Betty ran to get ready, and soon appeared again, smiling and happy,
though a little shy.
“It’s good of you, sir, to take so much trouble for the likes of me,”
she said gratefully, as they started off.
“Now, Betty,” said Mr. Richard, seriously, “I will give you a bit of
sound advice which your other legal and spiritual advisers seem to have
omitted. ‘The likes of me’ is an expression you must not use. In the
first place, it is too Irish for an Americanized little girl; and
secondly, the spirit of it is wrong. In this country we are all free and
equal—that is, we are said to be, but in reality education and money
often give their possessors a certain superiority over their less
fortunate fellow-men. I don’t say this is right, but I say it is true.
Now, you have money, and soon, I hope, you will have a good education.
The rest of your claim to respect lies entirely within yourself. If you
are worthy of attention and consideration, you will get them, and if
not, you won’t. There’s the whole case in a nutshell; and if you
remember it, it will do you more good than a year of preaching. Now, as
I have told you before, little girl, I am your friend; consequently it
is a pleasure to me to aid you in any way I can; and so, Jocoseria, put
away that troubled look and smile again, and we’ll go and hunt that
festive quadruped, the piano.”
Betty felt grateful to Mr. Dick for his kind and straightforward talk,
and resolved to remember and profit by it. She smiled brightly, and
said:
“Is it a wild beast, sir?”
“So some folks would say; but we will track him to his lair and make him
roar for us. Then, when we find one that growls in just the right tones,
we’ll buy him.”
They went to piano warerooms, and Mr. Dick, who was a musician, played
on a great many pianos, while Betty sat and listened with intense
delight.
“Are you so fond of music, child?” asked Mr. Dick, noticing her absorbed
expression.
“Oh, yes, sir; I could listen to it forever. Can you sing, too?”
“Indeed I can—I sing like a bird. But not here, not here, my child. I
will wait until your music-room is in running order. Now, let us look
for a banjo.”
Betty could scarcely keep her feet still when Mr. Van Court played
snatches of rollicking dance-music on banjos or mandolins. Then, being a
versatile musician, he took up a violin, and drew from it wailing
strains that made Betty’s face grow solemn, and as the last note died
away she caught her breath with almost a sob.
“Come, come, chick, this won’t do,” said Mr. Dick, gaily; “you promised
to smile, you know. We will not buy this whole category of stringed
things; we’ll take a violin and a banjo, and as it will be some time
before you can learn to get the right noises out of them, I think we’ll
invest in that fraudulent imitation, a music-box.”
“Isn’t it right to have a music-box?”
“Oh, yes; it’s just the thing for chickabiddies like you, and it will
amuse the baby, too. By the way, Popinjay, when are you going to buy the
infant orphan?”
“I don’t know, sir, but I do want her most awfully. I think it would be
the makin’ of my home to have a cunning little baby sister to play with
and to take care of.”
“But have you realized the care and responsibility she will be to you?
She won’t stay an infant, you know; she’ll grow up; and you’ll have her
to feed and clothe and educate, all her youth.”
“Yes, sir; but I’ve money enough for all, an’ she’ll be part of my home,
an’—an’ I’ll love her so!”
“All right, Popinjay; have your sister,” said Mr. Dick, laughing. “And
now let’s get ahead of Grace and find an æolian harp for your staircase
window.”
This instrument was not so easy to find, but Mr. Van Court finally
succeeded in getting some materials, and full instructions for using
them, and he decided he could construct the harp himself.
The next day Miss Grace claimed Betty, and Mr. Brewster said he would go
with them, and then they could buy the library furniture, which was his
especial province, at the same time.
So they bought lovely tables and chairs for the parlors, and pretty
little taborets and cabinets; and they bought a desk for the library,
and leather-covered chairs, and a revolving bookcase—only one, for
there were other bookcases already in the room. The books, Mr. Brewster
said, he would order later, as his lists were not yet completed. And
then, having a little time yet on their hands, he proposed that they
visit an orphan asylum.
They soon found one, and were cordially received by the matron, who was
pleased when she learned their errand, and took them at once to the
nursery.
There were so many babies to choose from that Betty gave up in despair,
and began to play with them all.
[Illustration: “WITH A PARTING KISS BETTY RELUCTANTLY LEFT HER.”]
But after a talk with the matron, Miss Grace decided upon a chubby,
brown-eyed midget named Polly. Her past history, though short, seemed
satisfactory, and the baby herself was so merry and healthy that she
seemed the best selection.
“We may as well decide now as any time,” said Mr. Brewster, and so they
told the matron they would probably take the child away in the course of
a few weeks.
Polly dimpled and smiled, and seemed quite to understand that she was
the gem of the collection, and with a parting kiss Betty reluctantly
left her.
That night at dinner Mrs. Van Court had a little story to tell: “I
called on Mrs. Rogers this afternoon, and in the course of conversation
she told me of a sad case that has recently come under her notice. A
friend of hers who had been living in affluence became very much reduced
in fortune—in fact, her husband lost all his money; and soon after he
died, leaving his wife penniless, with an infant daughter to support.
Being a delicate, fragile creature, the mother became ill and died,
leaving the baby without a home. I believe there are no relatives, or,
if there are, they won’t take the child, and it is about to be sent to
an institution.
“I told her about you, Betty, and feeling sure you would like the sweet
little one, I told Mrs. Rogers you would take her. She is delighted, of
course, and will keep the baby herself until you are settled and ready
for it.”
“Bless my soul!” exclaimed Mr. Morris, “what have I done? Oh, madam,
what have I done?”
He alternately wrung his hands and drummed on the table; then he pounded
his fists together, and indeed seemed unable to find any gesture
vigorous enough to express his consternation.
“Why, I too have engaged a baby sister for Miss McGuire! Now, wait a
minute. I haven’t signed any papers, you know, not signed any papers;
but I gave my word, yes, I certainly gave my word. I said I knew of a
good home for the child, and in every way it was such a satisfactory
infant that I thought there was no doubt, no doubt at all, of the
acceptability. Bless my soul! what shall we do? She can’t adopt two
children. Now, wait a minute—”
“Wait a minute yourself,” broke in Mr. Brewster. “Miss Grace and I went
to an orphan asylum with Betty this afternoon, and _we_ engaged the baby
sister. She is a dear little child named Polly, and—”
“Bless my soul!” began Mr. Morris, again. “You engaged a child, too?
Three infants! Why, what shall we do? This is awful—truly awful.”
He sat back in his chair, appalled at the awfulness of it. Mrs. Van
Court looked worried; Miss Grace laughed, so of course Mr. Brewster did
too; and Betty sat wondering what would be expected of her, when Richard
Van Court said in an apologetic tone:
“I don’t know what you’ll all say to me; but I ran across Barker this
afternoon, and he told me of a perfect gem of a baby waiting to be
adopted, and—I didn’t know this wholesale purchase was going on, so—I,
too, thought I’d help along Betty’s affairs—and—how many does this
make?”
“Four!” exclaimed Mr. Morris. “Four! Bless my soul, what _can_ we do?
This is a serious matter—a very serious matter. But I think, I really
think it would be best to keep the one I chose, and make arrangements to
countermand the others.”
“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Van Court; “let us keep the one that Mrs. Rogers
recommended, as that is a really superior child. I have seen it and—”
“We’ve seen Polly, too,” said Miss Grace, “and she is a little darling;
and besides, she is Betty’s choice.”
And then Mr. Dick spoke, with an air of settling the question, and said
that after his agreement with Barker he thought it was really obligatory
upon them to back him up.