In the morning Nancy's thoughts flew to the proposed social work. What
on earth had she got herself into! Swept away, as usual, she had
confided her plans for a life of service to a man she barely knew, one
hour after she had decided to leave him alone! Well, there was nothing
to do now but make the best of it. Their talk had, as a matter of fact,
shown that she had been a little silly about the charade. He had
unsuspected depth. That had been made clear by his conversation about
education, and it was unlikely that anyone who felt as strongly as he
did could be wayward in a charade. So it might turn out all right, after
all, and she had better set about getting the workers.
Mary, to her surprise, was a disappointment. It seemed that with her
music, which she was studying seriously this year, with weekly trips to
Boston for a lesson, she had no time. Others of her friends to whom she
had naturally turned were unavailable for one reason or another, and the
affair began to look discouraging. On the fourth day, however, while
calling upon the Misses Forbes, she got an unsolicited recruit. Her mind
being full of the idea, she was talking about it before she knew it;
and to her astonishment, and a little to her dismay, Miss Jennie offered
her services. "I cannot," she said, "talk to the operatives about their
bodies, and, accordingly, it won't be necessary for me to attend the
physiological lectures, but I think I can be of use later on. When we
went to Miss Northcote's School we learned to weave mats and paint on
china, and I can give instructions in them. In their turn they will
instruct me, for I shall learn much about Housing Conditions and have an
opportunity to examine at first hand the various industrial problems of
the day. Who knows? when we are through, I may prepare a paper for the
_Nation_." Her sisters indicated their disapproval by rocking
hopelessly.
Tom, too, had met with difficulties. Upon thinking the matter over he
had little doubt as to its outcome. Enough of his Ephesus life remained
with him to tell him that factory hands are not to be reached by
lectures from academic ladies and gentlemen. He blushed, too, for
certain sentiments he had expressed upon the essence of education, but
they might be credited to the delicate frenzy of the dance and his
unexpected reconciliation. It was, of course, all Nancy. He could not
imagine himself proceeding upon such an affair with anyone else. Still,
he found it necessary to placate his conscience for the time taken from
the study of Beowulf which he was then making for his Ph.D. "All work
and no play makes Jack a dull boy" seemed, after a somewhat desperate
search, as sound a principle as any; and, furthermore, he would save
time from his exercise by running around the cemetery--the classic
running course--instead of playing squash at the Country Club. So that
problem was settled.
The young physiologist, however, upon whom he had been counting had
developed appendicitis, and he didn't feel that he knew any of the other
men in the department well enough to take their time for such a
speculative cause. Then he met old Professor Sprig, a Star man of '65,
who had been a celebrated physiologist in his time and who was now an
almost equally celebrated eccentric. Having complained of the present
status of the department and explained his problem, Tom was invited by
the old gentleman to bring Nancy to his rooms. "You know, I suppose,
where I live?" he asked with a crafty smile.
Tom did know where he lived. The old four-story frame building in
Whitmanville, the Diamond Building, the highest in the town, had been
made famous by his residence. The top floor was said to be his apartment
and it was commonly supposed that he kept chickens in it. There were
some dreadful stories about midnight dissections, but cooler heads
affirmed that if there were any chickens there at all, they were there
as the companions and not as the helpless victims of a debauched old
age. And now the two social workers were invited into these mysterious
precincts! The news might swell the roster to disconcerting
proportions. They should have to proceed with caution.
"All we want, sir, is a most elementary discussion. Just enough so we
can give the men and women in the Mills some simple facts about
themselves. Then, with that as a starter, we can build up more
intelligently."
"I shall be glad to give you whatever you want. Shall we say Tuesday
next? At eight o'clock? Don't dress, you know. Just come as you are.
This is business," and with another of his sly smiles he moved on down
the street.
When Tom called for Nancy on Tuesday night he found her equipped with
pad and pencils.
"Henry doesn't think too highly of this performance, I may say," she
said, smiling up at him, "but we simply couldn't have let people know
where we are going. They would have swamped the whole thing. I must say
I am a little afraid." She slipped her arm through his, and they hurried
on down Division Street, which connects Tutors' Lane with Whitmanville.
"If he only has chickens, I won't mind, but if he has bats I shall hate
it. I confess I'm a perfect fool about bats. They're loathsome. What
they really are, are hairy rats with wings like web feet, and they have
the most _loathsome_ mouths."
Tom was curiously excited. He felt buoyed up. It was like water-wings,
he told himself. And when he tried afterwards to think of the things he
had said, he could remember nothing except that he had quoted Alice's
perplexity about bats eating cats when she was falling down the well,
and that they had both laughed immoderately.
The Diamond Building, on their arrival, presented a somewhat portentous
picture. A Five, Ten, and Fifteen Cent store dimly showed forth strings
of penny postal cards and piles of dusty candy in its macabre windows.
The second floor was throbbing with the rich life of a poolhall, and as
they passed the Christian Science rooms on the third floor they carried
with them the strains of a therapeutic hymn. And then, at last, they
were before a door which bore over its bell the pencilled legend, H.
Sprig.
They were admitted by a flunkey named Herbert. Herbert's period of
usefulness in the laboratory had terminated with that of the Professor,
and the latter had engaged him as a body servant, not only because of
his proved capacity and loyalty, but because of the unusual shape of his
head, upon which the Professor found it restful to gaze. He was black,
was Herbert, and was at present clothed in gorgeous blue livery with
gold buttons. He bowed the guests inside and led them through a narrow
hallway to a comfortable room of generous size, the Professor's library.
At one end was a long table, and behind it was Mr. Sprig, clad in a
morning coat. Behind him on the walls were half a dozen diagrams of Man
the Master, designed to gratify students whose thirst was for the
anatomical. Before Mr. Sprig were a pitcher of iced water, a tumbler,
and a sheaf of notes.
Mr. Sprig rose as Nancy and Tom entered and bowed pleasantly, at the
same time waving them to two chairs placed close together before his
table. When they had seated themselves he bowed again, and, without more
ado, began an address. He spoke in a low, deep, if somewhat quavery
voice, and with an elegant ease of manner. It was his purpose, he
explained, to give them an elementary course in the primary systems of
the body, together with two supplementary lectures on hygiene, in order
that they might go out and instruct the poor in the proper care of their
bodies. Tonight he would have only time for the respiratory and
circulatory systems, next time would come the digestive and excretory
tracts, and he hoped to finish in six lectures. It was, of course, a
broad subject and much water had passed under the bridge since his day,
but with their generous help he hoped that the thing might be done.
He talked for fifty minutes, that being a college period, and at its
close he bowed again. He then came from behind the table and shook them
warmly by the hand. "You will forgive a foolish old man, I know. You see
I haven't given a lecture since I resigned eight years ago, and I
thought I'd like to do it up brown. And now, Herbert"--for the elaborate
old man had appeared at the close of the lecture--"please bring in the
things."
The "things" were some little round cup cakes, three wine glasses, and
a large bottle of sauterne.
"The summer we graduated," Mr. Sprig went on, "my classmate Curtis and I
went abroad. We took a walking trip south of Bordeaux, and on that walk
we discovered this wine. I have kept in touch with the people who make
it ever since, and although I shall never get any more, I shall have
enough to last me. You must try a glass, Miss Whitman. I assure you it
will improve all of your systems!"
When Nancy first looked at her watch it was nearly eleven.
"You mustn't go, of course, until you have seen the chickens," said Mr.
Sprig.
The chickens! Under the charm of the softly lighted room, the old
gentleman's quiet flow of half-whimsical, half-serious reminiscence,
they had been carried back to the rosy days that were before their
birth. Now they dreaded lest their host should show himself a little
mad, after all.
He lit a bedside candle, and at his request they followed him out upon a
sun parlour. And there, indeed, was a wire-enclosed runaway with a
white-washed shelf at the end supporting four sleeping forms. The candle
moved nearer, and there they were--beyond any possible doubt, Plymouth
Rocks.
To see them at night was a nice problem, he explained. Being a little
light-minded about sunshine, it seemed that they were unable to
discriminate between heaven's high lamp and the electric one on the
porch, and would dutifully arise when either appeared. Once down from
their perch, they would refuse to return until the sun was removed; and
when it chanced to be the one on the porch and was switched off, they
were unable to return because their endowment of optic nerve was small
and their homing instinct, so strong in bees and eagles, smaller. There
was created, accordingly, an _impasse_, but Mr. Sprig, who knew his
hens, circumvented it. He lit a bedside candle which merely troubled his
friends' sleep.
"The one on the extreme left is Helen of Troy. She is a stunning
creature, as you can see. She produced an egg for me only this morning.
Next is Malvolio. I confess I am partial to him. Then comes Little Nell.
She is extremely demure and inclined to be sentimental. And last is
Carol Kennicott, who chatters so much I am afraid I shall shortly have
to pop her into a pie." He gazed at her affectionately. "Well," he
continued as he led the way back into his library, "I have now shown you
my treasures. They, of course, seem a little crazy to you, and I hope
your lives will end so fully that you won't have to fall back on them.
But in case either of you should find yourself old and foolish and
alone, I can recommend them as pleasant and amiable companions. You will
find them curiously simple--they are not offended if you don't call upon
them or write them letters,--and then from time to time they yield up to
you the shining miracle of an egg, for which they ask no recompense; and
when they come to lay down their lives they do it with a gesture and
make the day a feast."
He was standing before the dying fire, surrounded by its genial light,
as his guests withdrew. Near him, just touched by the firelight, were
the crumbs of their supper and the stately old bottle which had given
its bouquet to the room. Old Herbert, moving out of the shadow
noiselessly and pleasantly, bowed them out, and as the vision faded one
of the guests, at least, pictured the four friends on the sun porch
readjusting themselves, after their fitful fever, to the gentle life of
their home.