AN AFTERNOON OFF
"Dis yere fambly ain' nevah ready to eat. Dey allers has sumpin else
dey gotta do," grumbled Serena as she moved out upon the front porch
of the Dale home.
Virginia stood upon the greensward listening to the call of a song
sparrow in the tree above her head. The notes of the bird rang clear
upon the morning air in all of their sweetness, until overwhelmed in
competition with a jazz melody whistled by Ike as he moved about dragging
a serpent-like length of hose behind him.
"Cum in to you' breakfus, chil'," commanded Serena.
"In a moment. Isn't it a beautiful day for the concert?"
Although Virginia's tardiness was yet uppermost in her mind, Serena
deigned to examine the heavens above and the earth beneath with a
critical eye which proposed to allow no fault to escape it. Then she
made answer in a cryptic reply, "You ain' said nothin' chil', you
ain' said nothin' a tall."
"Virginia," said Obadiah, when they met at the breakfast table, "Mr.
Wilkins was here again yesterday afternoon and you were not at home."
The girl laughed. "I know it, Daddy," she confessed, as she poured a
generous measure of thick cream over her dish of sliced peaches. The
charge of absenteeism made against her did not appear to be affecting her
appetite as she began to eat.
"I warned you that he was coming," Obadiah continued, impressively.
"Yes, Daddy." The girl was enjoying her peaches and cream. "After you
told me about it I waited for him and he didn't come," she explained
virtuously. "The next afternoon, I had to go out and--of course, he
had to come. The afternoon after that, I waited at home expecting Mr.
Wilkins and he never came near. Yesterday I had to go out--and he had
to come." She laughed gaily. "We have been playing a game of hide
and seek. Mr. Wilkins has been it and hasn't caught me yet."
"It's been an expensive game for me," protested Obadiah. "I pay Mr.
Wilkins a large salary for his time and services and I can use them to
better advantage than in making calls upon you."
"That's an ungallant speech. I am filled with shame for my own
father." She shook her head sadly in token of her disgrace. "If Mr.
Wilkins wants to see me, why doesn't he arrange to come when I am
home?" she argued stoutly.
Obadiah became stern. "You should have remained home for Mr. Wilkins.
You are out a great deal, anyway."
A look of mock horror came into Virginia's face. "Would you have me
sit alone in this big house, waiting with folded arms for Mr. Wilkins?"
she giggled.
Even Obadiah relented before this sorrowful picture. "Who said anything
about folded arms," he demanded shortly, "or about sitting alone,
either? You are out some place in that machine every day. It won't
hurt you to remain at home until Mr. Wilkins has seen you. My affairs
are of more importance than yours."
Virginia looked at him with great solemnity. "You want to be cross at
me, Daddy, and you can't make yourself," she laughed. "These peaches
and cream are protecting me. If they didn't taste so good to you, I
would get a scolding. I don't deserve it, though, because, after all, my
affairs are always your affairs. Ike says that the machine runs better if
it is used every day. I keep it in splendid order for you."
The efforts of his daughter did not appear to impress Obadiah.
She went on with an air of pride, "Lately, I have been busy on a
surprise for you." She assumed an air of dignity. "I am giving an
entertainment to the old ladies of the Lucinda Home this afternoon. I
planned it all by myself and I invite you to be present. There'll be a
concert by a brass band. Aren't you surprised, Daddy?"
Obadiah was surprised. Without reference to natural perplexity as to
why festivities for the benefit of the old ladies should be a matter
of astonishment to him, there were ample grounds for amazement in
the knowledge that his youthful daughter had assumed management of a
production involving a brass band. It was as if she had announced her
connection with a circus for the aged.
"Where did you get the band?" demanded Obadiah, in the tone of an
anxious parent whose infant has returned bearing personal property
suspected of belonging to a neighbor.
"Colonel Ryan loaned it to me. He is coming, too. Won't you come, Daddy
dear, please?" There was a wistful look in the girl's face. "It's
going to be lovely."
Obadiah was uncomfortable. "I can't come today," he replied, finally.
"Oh Daddy--" her disappointment showed in every note of her voice--"I
have counted so much on having you. I would be so proud of you." She
glanced imploringly at him.
"I'm going out of town," he said.
"Can't you put it off?"
"No, Virginia, I have made my plans to go today. I can't let anything
interfere with business arrangements. They mean dollars and cents."
"All right, Daddy," she surrendered with a sad little sigh and tried
to cheer herself. "Some day when I have something else you'll plan to
come, won't you, dear?"
He was interested in his newspaper now. "Perhaps," he finally answered
absently without looking up.
For a time they ate in silence. "The afternoon frightens me, Daddy,"
she told him with a worried air. "It's a big responsibility. What if
it should be a failure?"
He crushed his paper down by his plate and snapped, "You got into the
thing of your own accord. It's up to you to see it through. To make a
success of it--a Dale success. You can do it."
His assurance braced the girl. "I'll make a go of it, Daddy," she
promised, and then, "It's wrong for me to expect Mr. Wilkins to run
after me. I will go to his office this morning and see him."
He gave her a look of approval. "That's business," he agreed.
She hovered about him after they rose from the table. "Could I ask Mr.
Wilkins to come to my concert, Daddy?" There was an appealing look in
the big blue eyes. "I don't want it to seem as if I have no friends."
He gave her an uneasy glance and there was almost a note of regret in
his voice when he answered, "I am sorry that I can't come. Certainly,
you may ask Mr. Wilkins. Tell him that I want him to go. Ask any one you
like." Yet in spite of these concessions his conscience disturbed him.
"How will you meet the expenses of the entertainment," he inquired.
"They won't be much. Serena had the things which I needed charged at
the store."
Obadiah appeared about to protest but changed his mind.
"I can pay for anything else I need out of my allowance," she went on.
An unusual wave of generosity engulfed Obadiah, due, no doubt, to pricks
of his unquiet conscience. "Don't do that," he objected. "Send the
bills to me."
A delighted Virginia lifted up her voice, joyously, "How perfectly
grand! I'll order ice cream for everybody."
Pain rested upon Obadiah's countenance, due, no doubt, rather to a
twinge of indigestion at the mention of a large quantity of ice cream
during the breakfast hour than to regret at the result of his unusual
liberality. He sought relief in reproving Ike sternly, ere departing for
his office.
Virginia spent a busy morning. She telephoned to Colonel Ryan, visited
Mrs. Henderson and conferred at length with Mrs. Smith, the matron at the
Lucinda Home, regarding the approaching festivities.
Later, she repaired to the establishment of Mr. Vivian, glittering
brilliantly in the morning sun and graced even at this early hour by
thirsty members of South Ridgefield's younger set.
Her deliberations with the genial proprietor were prolonged. Complex
factors hindered the meeting of minds regarded as essential to the
contractual relationship of commerce. Mr. Vivian's knowledge of the
law of probabilities as applied to the consumption of ice cream and
cake by infants, by adults, or by infants and adults together, was as
deep as the information of an insurance actuary on the mortality of
fellow men. But specialists gain their reputation through years of
toil, and they object to risking it on the uncertain. To Mr. Vivian
the capacity of old ladies and aged soldiers for delicate confections
was an unknown factor. He had no digest of leading cases to consult,
no vital statistics to inspect, no medical journals to study. He was
venturing into unexplored territory. Without premises he was asked to
deduct a conclusion. Mr. Vivian was reduced to an unscientific guess.
Yet, if necessary, guesses can be made. So it came to pass that Mr.
Vivian bowed the manufacturer's daughter from his emporium, and, with
the sweet smell of his wares in his nostrils, raised eyes of loving
kindness from the profitable order in his hand, due account thereof to be
rendered unto Obadiah for payment, and gazed after her in respectful
admiration.
Shortly after this, the judicial solemnity of the chamber of Hezekiah
Wilkins, Attorney at Law, situate and being, opposite the suite of
Obadiah, was disturbed by a timid knock. It failed to attract Hezekiah's
attention. This was strange. The room was not unusually large. Also,
its size was diminished by cases of reports, digests and encyclopedias
covering the walls, except where they were pierced by the windows and
door or broken by the fireplace and its broad chimney face. Upon this
hung a picture of the Supreme Court and on the mantel below stood a bust
of John Marshall, the stern eyes of which viewed the polished back of
Hezekiah's head as he sat at his desk.
It is possible that the lawyer was preoccupied through profound
consideration of some abstract point of law. Before him lay an open
court report and his desk was littered with documents. His head was
bowed forward, his hands clasped over his abdomen and his eyes closed.
"Tap--tap," sounded again at the door. Hezekiah brushed at his face as
if to shoo a disturbing fly. Yet, so deep were his meditations that he
failed to note the interruption.
"Knock--knock--bang." The noise swelled to a well-defined blow of
sufficient authority to recall the greatest mental concentration from
the most tortuous legal labyrinth of the most learned court in the world.
Hezekiah jumped. He raised his head with a jerk and his eyes opened.
One unacquainted with the abysmal excogitations of judicial mentalities
might describe them as having a startled look. He rubbed them with his
fists, stroked his smooth shaven cheeks and replaced his glasses on his
nose. Having by such simple expedients withdrawn his mind from the
fathomless depths of legal lore into which it seemingly had been plunged,
he shouted, "Come in."
Virginia entered.
Hezekiah, recognizing the daughter of his employer, sprang to his feet,
greeting her, "I am honored, indeed, Miss Dale."
"Mr. Wilkins, my father says that I have done wrong in allowing you to
come to our house twice and not find me at home." She smiled sweetly
at him as she held out her hand to him. "I am sorry. I thought that my
best apology would be to save you another trip by coming to see you."
"You are very considerate, Miss Dale," he responded, as he offered her
his visitor's chair.
She sat down filled with great curiosity as to his business with her.
He did not approach it directly. "We are having beautiful weather, Miss
Dale. Being given to out of door pursuits and pastimes--athletic, as it
were--you must find it very agreeable."
"I do enjoy these beautiful spring days. I like to be out of doors, too.
But I am not what they call an athletic girl, Mr. Wilkins."
"I plead guilty to an inaccuracy of nomenclature," Hezekiah responded
with great solemnity, removing his glasses and flourishing them.
"What did you say, Mr. Wilkins?" asked Virginia in smiling bewilderment.
His eyes began to twinkle and in spite of his serious face she caught
his mood and they burst into a peal of laughter.
"Miss Dale--" he began.
She interrupted him. "Call me Virginia as you always have done, Mr.
Wilkins," she urged. "Please do."
"It will be easier," he admitted, and then for a moment he studied
her face thoughtfully. "You are looking more like your mother, every
day, Virginia. She was a beautiful woman--a very beautiful woman," he
continued dreamily. "As good, too, as she was beautiful. It seems to
me, now, that her life was given up to doing kindnesses to others. I have
always been proud that your mother accepted me as one of her friends."
His words awakened eager interest in the girl. "Tell me about her,
please, Mr. Wilkins," she begged, as he paused.
He smiled gently into the wistful eyes of blue, as happy remembrances
of the past returned to him. "Your mother came into our lives as a
gentle zephyr from her own beautiful Southland. With her came memories
of bright sunshine, growing flowers and perfumed air. These things
radiated from her--a part of her life. Happiness and joy were ever her
constant companions and the gifts she would shower."
Virginia's eyes were big with the tender longings of her heart. "My
mother tried to make every one else happy, didn't she?"
The countenance of Hezekiah softened and his voice was tempered by gentle
memories as he said, "If she tried to do that, she succeeded. Every one
who knew your mother was the happier for it."
"Oh--what a beautiful thing to say about her, Mr. Wilkins," she
whispered.
After a few moments of silence, Hezekiah resolutely thrust aside the
reveries into which he and his visitor had plunged. "Ahem," he coughed
and then he polished his scalp so vigorously that it became suffused with
a purplish tinge. "Virginia," he inquired sternly, "are you acquainted
with one Joseph Tolliver Curtis?"
For an instant Virginia was unable to identify Joe under his formal
appellation. "Yes, he is the man at the hospital who was hurt by our
machine," she answered finally.
"You have visited him?"
She nodded.
He removed his glasses and tapped his teeth. "Did you ever discuss with
the said Joseph Tolliver Curtis the accident heretofore referred to?"
"What did you say, Mr. Wilkins?" worried Virginia.
"Will you please state," demanded Hezekiah absently, "whether at any
time or any place you discussed the subject matter of this action with
the plaintiff."
"Mr. Wilkins, what are you talking about?" Virginia cried in dismay.
Hezekiah came out of his preoccupation. "I beg your pardon," he said
hastily. "I asked if you ever talked over the accident with Curtis."
"Is that the question you asked me, Mr. Wilkins?"
"Honest," he chuckled.
"Oh, I can answer that easily. I talked it all over with him."
"Have you objection to advising me of the substance--" Hezekiah stopped
and restated his question--"Will you tell what you said, Virginia?"
"Certainly, I told Mr. Curtis that I was to blame for the accident and
he said it was his own fault."
The lawyer was surprised. "Did he admit negligence?"
Virginia deemed this question to imply danger to Joe and she remembered
her promise. "I am not at liberty to say, Mr. Wilkins," she answered
stoutly. "I can't discuss Mr. Curtis's part in the accident."
For a moment Hezekiah eyed the girl thoughtfully. He arose and took a
turn up and down the room while his eyes danced with mischief. He reached
a decision which changed his line of questioning when he reseated
himself. "Virginia, do you think that you were to blame for that
accident?" he asked the girl.
"I know that I was."
"If you were a witness in court, would you testify that the accident was
your fault?"
"I would admit my blame anywhere and any place, Mr. Wilkins."
"Did Mr. Curtis say anything to you about bringing a suit for damages
against your father?"
"No, he wouldn't do that, I'm sure."
"Why are you sure?"
"I told him that I believed my father should pay him damages."
"What did he say to that?" asked Hezekiah with interest.
"He said that he wouldn't take money from my father."
"Was he angry, Virginia?"
"Oh, no indeed." She hesitated for a moment. "He seemed tired and worn
out and so I left him."
"Well, Virginia, what would you say if I told you that I tried to reach
an agreement with Mr. Curtis the other day and he refused to accept
anything in settlement?"
"I say that my father is just the dearest and noblest man that ever
lived. He sent you to do that, didn't he, Mr. Wilkins, and never said a
word about it to me? Isn't that just like Daddy?"
Hezekiah smiled but said no word. Possibly he remembered the amount of
the check. Professional confidences make lawyers cynical. He drummed a
spirited march upon his desk with his fingers and took no other part in
the acclaim of Obadiah.
"Mr. Wilkins," worried Virginia, "do you suppose that you could have
hurt Mr. Curtis's feelings?"
"I did not intend to. Men are never as gentle as women, though."
Hezekiah was playing a foxy game. "A man is rougher. It is easy for him
to hurt the feelings of a sensitive person without having the slightest
intention of doing so."
[Illustration: "THIS REQUEST APPEARED TO REQUIRE DEEP THOUGHT"]
Virginia gave serious regard to memories of a pair of black eyes. "I
think Joe Curtis is very sensitive," she said softly.
"Probably," agreed the crafty Hezekiah.
"Would you mind, Mr. Wilkins--" she gave the lawyer an appealing glance
after some moments of consideration--"if I talked with Mr. Curtis about
it?"
This request appeared to require deep thought, judging from the
seriousness of Hezekiah's face for a few moments. Then it lightened
as he decided, "I can see no objection to your talking to Mr. Curtis."
The attorney's manner became cheery and hopeful. "Now, if you two
could arrive at a friendly settlement, it might be a most satisfactory
arrangement." Hezekiah slapped his palms together and squeezed his own
fingers as if shaking hands with himself at the successful outcome of
his benevolent moves. Then he chuckled softly and went on, "Let's
see what kind of an adjustment you two youngsters can make. If I can
approve it, I will be glad to submit it to your father."
"I will see him as soon as I can, Mr. Wilkins. I can't go to the
hospital this afternoon." Virginia's manner became very dignified,
as she continued, "I am giving a concert, at the Lucinda Home."
"Delightful." Hezekiah bowed low at the news.
"I can see Mr. Curtis in the morning."
"That will be quite time enough. Don't inconvenience yourself,
Virginia." Hezekiah smiled as they arose.
"Mr. Wilkins, won't you come to my concert?" asked Virginia, shyly.
"It would be a pleasure, indeed, but, business first, you know." He
waved his hands, palms upward, as if protesting the lowness of his profit.
"My father said that I might tell you that he would be glad if you could
arrange to come. He is out of town."
"Oh, in that case--" Hezekiah's manner was courtly--"I deem myself
highly privileged in accepting your invitation."
As Virginia left Hezekiah's office, she found herself facing the
open door of her father's suite. Through it Mr. Jones was visible at
his desk, improving his mind in Obadiah's absence by reading a refined
story by a polished author concerning genteel people. Mr. Jones needed
physical rest and mental recreation. Upon the previous evening, Mike
Kelly had seized his person and regardless of vigorous protests had put
him through such a series of calisthenics, runnings, jumpings and
rubbings that the particular soreness of each bone and muscle had merged
into one great and common ache.
At the opening of Hezekiah's door, Mr. Jones raised his eyes and,
consequently, his head. A wave of pain swept his muscles. He grimaced
frightfully. It was upon this distorted countenance that Virginia
gazed. The terrifying effect of the face held the girl for a second,
but believing it occasioned by grievous illness she hastened to the aid
of the stricken one.
Mr. Jones instantly recognized her and the course of destiny was made
manifest. Regardless of untoward events, his social merit was appreciated
and now one approached seeking counsel or bearing invitations to
social festivities. She should not seek in vain. Percy Jones, private
secretary and social adviser, was at her service. He sprang from his
chair to meet the maid of blood with knightly bow and courtly grace.
Alack and aday, that snare of the devil, his waste basket, was misplaced.
He tripped against it. To avoid the thing, he raised his foot only to
step into the throat-like neck of the monster which instantly clove
to his shoe. Simultaneously, a flood of pain protested against his
violent movements. In his agony, Mr. Jones lost his balance and fell
over his desk. His outstretched hands sought safe anchorage amidst ink
stands and mucilage bottles to rest finally in an ever spreading lake of
ink.
Virginia halted. Mr. Jones's face, rent by emotion and struggle,
convinced her that he must be in parlous case.
Kelly hurried in at the crash. He observed Mr. Jones's predicament
with great calmness. Nodding to Virginia, he held the basket until the
stenographer could extract his foot. Then he turned to the girl and
said very soberly, in spite of the glint of amusement in his eye, "Mr.
Jones is the victim of an accident and requests permission to retire
and cleanse himself."
As the crestfallen private secretary departed, Kelly and Virginia moved
over to a window. The summer day in all of its beauty fought back the
ugliness of the tin roofs and chimneys. The bookkeeper viewed the
prospect. "By gum," he asked, "how'd you like to go snowshoeing?"
This marvelous witticism was greeted by a burst of laughing applause
from its author and the girl, far in excess of its merit.
"Jones doesn't feel very well today," Kelly explained to her. "He is
the victim of unusual exercise."
"He doesn't look like a man who would over-exercise. He does not strike
me as a man who is in the best of health," she responded.
"He isn't. That's why he's so stiff and sore after a few little
stunts. He doesn't get enough fresh air." Kelly cast a longing
glance out of the window and turned to inspect the room. "There isn't
enough fresh air in this place, anyway. Jones has sat in here day after
day, sucking on cigarettes and beating on that typewriter, until good
health no longer knows him. But," announced the bookkeeper with great
confidence, "I am old Doctor Fix'em. I'm giving him a course in
physical training which will fix him. I'm going to make that lad forget
his present pains by giving him worse ones."
"I think it is perfectly fine of you, Mr. Kelly, to help Mr. Jones,"
exclaimed Virginia, highly interested in the bookkeeper's plans for the
benefit of the stenographer. "It must make you very happy to be able
to do it."
"Sure," he agreed. "I laugh myself sick every time I give him a new
stunt to do. That fellow has good points. One of these days he's going
to have the smile on some one else. You can't keep a good man down."
"Couldn't I help Mr. Jones, too?" asked the girl eagerly.
Kelly stared at her in amazement. "No, it can't be done," he cried,
emphatically. "Whoever heard of a woman trainer? You've had no
experience anyway."
Virginia blushed. "I didn't mean to help train him." She waxed
indignant at the thought. "I only offered to do those things which I
could do."
"Oh--" Kelly was relieved--"go as far as you like. There is plenty of
chance for all on that fellow. It would be dandy if you could work it to
get him out of doors once in awhile."
"Watch me," she promised.
Mr. Jones reentered the room physically clean and mentally chastened but
deep in gloom. He had forgotten that the darkest hour comes just before
dawn. Yet, a private secretary must not allow his personal feelings to
interfere with duty. He approached Virginia in what might be described
as a graceful manner marred by lameness. "I regret the unfortunate
occurrence which delayed me," he apologized. "If Miss Dale wishes to
see her father--"
A pair of blue eyes rested upon him in the kindest manner and a most
attractive mouth said, "I know that my father is away today and that
neither of you has much to do."
Obadiah's official staff looked guilty.
Virginia went on with enthusiasm. "We are going to give a concert this
afternoon for the old ladies at the Lucinda Home. It will be lovely. A
brass band--ice cream--Mr. Wilkins--"
The high interest of the young man cooled slightly at the lawyer's name,
regardless of the pleasing company in which he was mentioned.
"Won't you both come? You could help me so much."
"We can't get off," declared the practical Kelly.
"Yes, you can. My father said that I could invite whom I pleased."
She turned pleadingly to Mr. Jones. "You'll come and bring Mr. Kelly,
won't you?"
The victim of disaster was as one hypnotized by the charm of her
presence. Before the wiles of women, his gallant soul became as putty.
Mr. Jones stammered, he stuttered, he blushed--and from his lips came
the whispered answer, "Yes, Ma'am."