ENGAGING BOARD
Whether Louis slept or not on that night after his near-extinction, he
was with us early the next morning to bring the glad news that the
Misses Laurens would consent to receive us in their home. The Greens
were as delighted as we were. Zebedee was to take the first available
train to Columbia, and as Professor Green had some important mail to get
off, arrangements were left to the females. We were to call on the
Misses Laurens at eleven o'clock, accompanied by Claire Gaillard.
"Just to think that we are actually going to live in that old house!"
exclaimed Mrs. Green, who was quite as enthusiastic over anything that
pleased her as any of us girls. "Do you think we can ever know the one
who sang, well enough to ask her to sing to us?"
"I doubt it!" from Dum. "If they are as top-loftical in their home as
they were in the bus the other morning, I doubt their even speaking to
us. But I want to see their furniture and portraits whether they speak
to us or not. I bet that house is just running over with beautiful
things."
Claire, whom we picked up at her home on the way to the Misses Laurens',
endeavored to prepare us for the stilted dignity of our prospective
hostesses. We had seen them in the bus and knew how they could conduct
themselves; but we had also seen them haggling for shrimps, so we knew
they had their weaknesses; and we had heard one of them sing, and knew
that she at least had a heart.
In answer to the bell, which, by the way, was the old-fashioned pulling
kind that made a faint jangle 'way off in the most remote end of the
house, a gawky, extremely black girl opened the door that led from the
street to a great long porch or gallery. Steps from this porch led to a
tangled old garden with palmettos and magnolias shading the walks, sadly
neglected and grass-grown, that wound around flower beds long since
given over to their own sweet will. A fat stone Cupid, heavily draped in
cumbersome stone folds, was in the act of shooting an iron arrow at a
snub-nosed Psyche some ten feet from him. There was a sun-dial in the
center of the garden, and every now and then one spied an old stone
bench, crumbling and moss-grown, through the tangle of vines and shrubs.
"Oh!" came from all of us with one accord. It was very lovely and very
pathetic, this old garden, so beautiful and so neglected and gone to
seed!
"Louis is wild to restore it," whispered Claire. "You know, he can do
the most wonderful things with a garden."
We did know, having peeped into their garden so rudely the day before,
but we kept very quiet about that.
The gawky black girl plunged ahead of us and ushered us into the house
door. This door was smaller than the one on the street, but followed the
same chaste style of architecture. The hall was astonishingly narrow,
but the room we were told to "Jes' go in an' res' yo'se'fs in yander!"
we found to be of fine proportions, a lofty, spacious room.
The fiddle-backed chairs and the spindle-legged tables and claw-footed
sofas in that room would have driven a collector green with envy.
Curtains hung at the windows that were fit for bridal veils, so fine
they were and so undoubtedly real. The portraits that lined the walls
were so numerous and so at home that somehow I felt it an impertinence
that I, a mere would-be boarder, should look at them. They belonged and
I didn't, and if by good luck I could obtain an introduction to them,
then I might make so bold as to raise my eyes to them, but not before.
There was a dim, religious light in the room, and the portraits, many of
them needing varnishing and cleaning, had almost retired into their
backgrounds. They peered out at us in some indignation, those great
soldiers and statesmen, those belles and beauties. I don't know why it
is that ancestors always attained eminence and were great whatever they
tried to do, while descendants have to struggle along in mediocrity, no
matter how hard they try.
The Misses Laurens glided into the room, and Claire introduced us. I
don't know how the girl had accounted for her acquaintance with us.
Perhaps she had not been compelled to account at all. We were received
with courtesy but with a strange aloofness that made me feel as though I
had just had the pleasure of being presented to one of the portraits,
not real flesh and blood. Arabella and Judith were their names. To our
astonishment the elder, Miss Arabella, turned out to be the sentimental
one with the voice, while Miss Judith, the younger, was the sterner of
the two and evidently the prime mover in this business of taking "paying
guests." Usually it is the younger sister who goes off to romance and
the elder who is more practical; at least, it is that way in fiction.
"We have come to you, hoping you will take us to"--Mrs. Green, who was
spokesman for us, faltered; could she say "board" to those two?
Never!--"will let us come to stay with you." That was better.
"We shall be very pleased to offer you the hospitality of our home
during your stay in Charleston," from Miss Judith.
"Yes, we Charlestonians are always sorry when guests to our city have to
accept entertainment at a hostelry," fluttered Miss Arabella. "For a
long time the better element of our community was greatly opposed to the
establishment of such places. We argued that when visitors came to
Charleston, if they were distinguished and worthy they should be
entertained in private homes; and if they were not distinguished and not
worthy, we did not care for them to sojourn here under any
circumstances."
"We are a party of six," continued Mrs. Green, doing her best to be
businesslike in the interview. "My husband and I, these three young
ladies, and Mr. Tucker, the father of these two," indicating Tweedles,
who were breathing heavily, a sure sign of laughter that must come
sooner or later. "Mr. Tucker is now in Columbia," she went on to
explain, "but will shortly return."
"We shall be pleased to see him whenever his affairs permit him to leave
the capital of our State."
"You will have room, then, for all of us?"
"Certainly; we have entertained as many as twenty guests quite often.
Not recently; but we still can accommodate that number without
inconvenience or crowding."
Miss Judith was spokesman now, while Miss Arabella glided from the room.
In a moment the ungainly girl who had opened the door came in, evidently
in response to a signal from the mistress, bearing a silver tray with a
Bohemian glass decanter and beautiful glasses with slender stems and a
plate of wafers that were so thin and delicate one could easily have
eaten a barrel of them without feeling stuffed.
"That will do, Dilsey," said Miss Judith, evidently knowing better than
to trust the handmaiden, who certainly had the appearance of what Mammy
Susan called "a corn fiel' nigger," with the rare old Bohemian glass.
Miss Judith served us herself to apricot cordial, the most delicious
thing I ever tasted. "We brewed it ourselves from a recipe that has been
in our family for centuries," she said, with the simplicity that one
might use in saying "like the pies mother used to make."
Still there was no talk of terms or question of our viewing our rooms.
Such things are not discussed with guests. The guests are simply given
the best the house affords, and of course are too well-bred to do
anything but be pleased.
"When may we come?" ventured Dum.
"At any time that suits your convenience."
"After luncheon today, then, will be a good time," suggested Mrs. Green,
and I thought the two ladies breathed a small sigh of relief. Maybe they
thought the Philistines were already upon them and come to stay.
"We three girls can sleep in one room!" I exclaimed, not having opened
my mouth before except to take in the cordial and wafers. My voice
sounded strange and harsh to me, somehow.
"We are under no necessity for crowding," quietly from Miss Judith, who
looked at me, I thought, in disapproval. What business was it of guests
to dictate to the hostess what their sleeping arrangements should be? I
subsided.
"You will have your boxes sent when it suits you. I am sorry we have no
one to send for them." A boarding-house keeper to send for your luggage!
What next?
There seemed no reason to linger longer since the ladies made no move to
show us the rooms we were to occupy, and we all of us felt that to
mention money would be too brutal. Mrs. Green rose to take leave, and
all of us followed suit.
"We will return at about four, if that is convenient."
"We shall be pleased to see you at any time."
We bowed, the ladies bowed, and the portraits seemed to incline their
painted heads a bit.
Dilsey was standing in readiness to show us out of the street door, and
the sight of her grinning human countenance did me good. She at least
was alive.
Once on the street, we looked at one another knowingly, but the presence
of Claire barred us from saying anything. We walked the block to her
house, talking of the pleasure it would be to be so near her, and
expressing to her our appreciation of the trouble she had taken to place
us with her friends.
"Oh, we are too delighted to have you near," she declared. "Louis and I
can talk of nothing else. Of course we are hoping to see a great deal of
you."
We wondered if the pompous old father seconded this, and how the young
Gaillards would get by with us. We were not, according to his ideas,
desirable acquaintances. At least we fancied we would not be. Surely,
however, Mrs. Green could pass muster anywhere.
"Louis wants to take you to see the old oak in Magnolia Cemetery just as
soon as you feel like going."
"Oh, we couldn't go to a cemetery without Zebedee," declared Dee. "He
loves them so!"
"Well, how about the Magnolia Gardens this afternoon? He is eager to be
your guide there as well."
"Is that where the azaleas are so beautiful?" asked Dum.
"Yes, and they are just right to see now. I hear they were never more
beautiful than now."
"See them without Zebedee? Never!" Dee still objected. "He adores
flowers as much as he does old tombstones."
"Well, then, Sullivan's Island, where Poe's 'Gold Bug' was written?"
laughed Claire.
"Go somewhere that is interesting on account of Edgar Allan Poe without
Zebedee! We could never be so heartless. Why, he knows Poe by heart."
"Well, Dee, I don't see any place we could go without Zebedee, according
to you, unless it is back at school or to a dry goods shop."
"Well, Virginia Tucker, we could go see some pictures or something close
by that he can run in on any time."
"Certainly you could! There's the wonderful collection of paintings at
the City Hall," suggested Claire courteously, wondering a little, no
doubt, at Dee's persistency in waiting for her father for all
sight-seeing, and at her evident impatience with Dum. When the twins
called each other Virginia and Caroline, it was, as a rule, something
quite serious. So we settled on the City Hall as entertainment for the
afternoon before our installment in our new quarters.
"Dum, I didn't mean to be grouchy," said the repentant Dee, as soon as
we got out of sight of Claire. "I was trying to head off a trip where
carfare would be necessary. You know Louis never has any money of his
own, and he would be wanting to pay for all of us, and I know would be
cut to the quick if we didn't let him. You see, Zebedee is so bumptious
he just naturally steps up and pays the fare before anybody else has
time even to dig down in their jeans."
"My husband might have held his own with Louis," suggested Mrs. Green.
"Yes, I know; I thought of that, but then I did not know whether he
would go or not. I think your husband is just lovely. I didn't mean
he'd be the kind to hang back." Dee spoke so ingenuously and sincerely
that the young wife had to forgive any fancied slight to her Edwin.
It turned out, however, that Professor Green was still writing letters,
and had decided to spend the afternoon finishing them up, so he would
not have been able to hold his own digging in his jeans. It was like Dee
to think of that matter of carfare. She had so much sympathy for the
poor and miserable of creation that she seemed to be able to put herself
in their places as it were. I fancy there is no more miserable person on
earth than a youth who aspires to be squire of dames and has no money to
pay the fare.
Professor Green was writing in the palmetto-shaded court of the hotel,
and had seen us from there as we came up the street. He begged us to
join him and tell him what success we had met with the Misses Laurens.
"Oh, Edwin, it was lovely! You never saw such a beautiful old house and
furniture. The garden is a dream, has a sun-dial and stone benches and
statues!"
"The portraits are splendid, and there was a Wedgewood pitcher on the
mantelpiece that I wouldn't trust Zebedee alone with if I were those
ladies," exclaimed Dum.
"They had a lovely cat, too; so clean and soft, and he came to me in the
friendliest way," from Dee.
"They gave us apricot cordial in Bohemian glass tumblers, and wafers you
could see through," I put in.
"Well, all this sounds fine. How about the bedrooms? Were they
attractive, too?"
"Bedrooms! We didn't see them."
"Oh, then you expect to sleep on the stone benches, perhaps."
"I wanted to ask to see them, but the ladies were so funny and stiff and
seemed to want us to pretend to be guests, so that naturally we just
pretended."
"I see. You came to terms with them, however, of course."
"Terms! You mean money terms? Why, Edwin, we could no more mention money
in their presence than we could rope in a house where the father has
been hanged."
Professor Green went off into a fit of laughter that made me think that
after all maybe he was younger than Zebedee. He kissed his wife twice
right before us and in plain view of the passersby on Meeting Street,
but he couldn't help it. She was so adorably girlish in her reasons for
engaging board from Charleston aristocrats without even seeing the
bedrooms, and with absolutely no idea of what remuneration those
unbending dames would expect.
"I did say that Tweedles and I could sleep three in a room, and I wish
you could have seen the way they jumped at me. It was Miss Judith. 'We
are under no necessity for crowding,'" I mimicked her. "I did not like
to insist, but of course I meant it might make our board a little
cheaper. If you had been there, you would have knuckled under just like
the rest of us."
"Do you think it would be wise to go without knowing? I don't want to
seem mercenary with all of you high-minded ladies, but I do think there
would be a certain satisfaction in knowing just what one was paying for
sun-dials and wafers that can be seen through."
"Well, then, you can do the asking! I can't. Was there ever a moment
when we could broach the subject, girls?"
"Never!" we chorused loyally.
"We will just go 'buying a pig in a poke,' as it were, and maybe after a
night on the garden bench I can muster up courage to ask them what I owe
them for the privilege," teased the professor.
"I don't like betting on a certainty, but I don't believe you will be
able to do it, and am willing to wager almost anything that you can't
get yourself to the point any more than we could. You might ask Miss
Arabella, but if you tackle Miss Judith and she looks at you as she did
at me when I suggested three in a room, I bet you father's copy of
Timrod's poetry that you change the subject."
"Done! I bet you the volume of J. Gordon Coogler's 'Purely Original
Verse' that I am living at the Maison Laurens on a purely business
basis within the next seven hours. I am going to settle it before
tonight."
"Will it be Miss Judith?" I asked, fearing Miss Arabella might be the
cause of my losing the Timrod poetry, which I was anxious to write
father I had found for him at the second-hand book store.
"Miss Judith and no other! I should feel very sneaky if I got my
information through the easier channel of Miss Arabella. Miss Judith,
and by seven o'clock."
"I hope we will know before Zebedee comes back," said Dee. "We shall
never hear the last of it if he finds us boarding for untold sums."
"I shall feel myself a failure as a chaperone surely," remarked Mrs.
Green.
"We think you a tremendous success," tweedled the twins.