SWEET PEAS
When he confided to John Saxton his belief that there were those among
his fellow townsmen who thought him "crooked," William Porter had no
serious idea that such was the case. He had, however, an impression that
the term "crooked" implied a high degree of sagacity and shrewdness. He
knew men in other cities whose methods were, to put it mildly, indirect,
and their names were synonymous with success. It pleased him to think
that he was of their order, and he was rich enough to indulge this
idiosyncrasy without fear of the criticisms of his neighbors. It amused
him to quiz customers of his bank, though he took care not to estrange
them. While his fellow citizens never seriously reflected on his
integrity, yet they did say that "Billy" Porter knew his business; that
he was "on to his job"; or, that to get ahead of him one must "get up
early in the morning". "Billy Porter's luck" was a significant phrase in
Clarkson. Porter had occasionally scored phenomenal successes, until his
legitimate credit as a man of business was reinforced by this
reputation. He believed that he enjoyed the high favor of fortune, and
it lent assurance to his movements.
Porter lived well, as became a first citizen of Clarkson. His house
stood at the summit of a hill near the end of Varney Street, and the
gradual slope leading up to it was a pretty park, whose lawn and
shrubbery showed the intelligent care of a good gardener. The dry air
was still hot as John Saxton climbed the cement walk which wound over
the slope at the proper degree to bring the greatest comfort to
pedestrians. The green of the lawn was grateful to Saxton's eyes, which
dwelt with relief on the fine spray of the rotary sprinklers that hissed
coolly at the end of long lines of hose. Interspersed among the
indigenous scrub-oaks were elms, maples and cedars, and the mottled bark
of white birches showed here and there. The lawn was broken by beds of
cannas, and it was evident that the owner of the place had a taste for
landscape gardening and spent his money generously in cultivating it.
The house itself was of red brick dating from those years in which a
Mansard roof and a tower were thought indispensable in serious domestic
architecture. There was a broad veranda on the river side, accessible
through French windows of the same architectural period.
A maid admitted Saxton and left him to find his own way into the
drawing-room, through which a breeze was blowing pleasantly from across
the valley. The ceilings in the house were high and the hardwood floors
seemed inconsonant with them and had evidently been added at a later
date. A white marble mantel and the grate beneath it were hidden by
palms. Above the mantel was a large mirror framed in heavy gilt. A piano
formed a barricade across the lower end of the room. One wall was
covered with a wonderful old French tapestry depicting a fierce
hand-to-hand battle in which the warriors and their horses were greatly
confused.
Saxton sat in a deep wicker chair, mopping his forehead. He had spent a
busy day, and it was with real satisfaction that he found himself in a
cool house where the atmosphere of comfort and good taste brought ease
to all his senses. He had not expected to find so pleasant a house;
verily, the marks of philistinism were not upon it. It seemed to him
unlikely that Porter maintained solitary state here, and he wondered who
could be the other members of the household. The maid had disappeared
into the silent depths of the house without waiting for his name, and
did not return. His eyes moved again in leisurely fashion to the wall
before him, and to the mirror, which reflected nothing of his immediate
surroundings, but disclosed the shelves and books of a room on the
opposite side of the hall.
He was amusing himself in speculations as to what manner of library a
man like Porter would have, and whether he read anything but the
newspapers, when the shadow of a young woman crept into the mirror; she
stood placing flowers in a vase on a table in the center of the room. He
thought for a moment that a figure from a painting had given a pretty
head and a pair of graceful shoulders to the mirror. In the room where
he sat the frames contained peasants in sabots, generous panels of
Hudson River landscape, a Detaille and an Inness. He changed the
direction of his eyes to inspect again the Brittany girl that stood
looking out over the sea in the manner of Brittany girls in pictures.
The girl in the mirror was not the same; moreover, he could hear her
humming softly; her head moved gracefully; there was no question of her
reality. Her hands had brought a bunch of sweet peas within the mirror's
compass, and were detaching a part of them for the vase by which she
stood. She hummed on in her absorption, bending again, so that Saxton
lost sight of her; then she stood upright, holding the unused flowers as
if uncertain what to do with them. The head flashed out of the mirror,
which reflected again only the library shelves and books. Then he heard
a light step crossing the hall, and the girl, still singing softly to
herself, passed back of him to a little stand which stood by one of the
drawing-room windows. The back of the wicker chair hid him; she was
wholly unconscious that any one was there. The breath of the sweet peas
which she was distributing suddenly sweetened the cool air of the room.
Seeing that the girl did not know of his presence in the house, and that
she would certainly discover him when she turned to go, he rose and
faced her.
"I beg your pardon!"
"Oh!" The sweet peas fell to the floor, and the girl looked anxiously
toward the hall door.
"I beg your pardon," Saxton repeated. "I think--I fear--I wasn't
announced. But I believe that Mr. Porter is expecting me."
"Yes?" The girl looked at John for the first time. He was taking the
situation seriously, and was sincerely sorry for having startled her.
His breadth of shoulders was impressive; he was clad in gray homespun,
and there seemed to be a good deal of it in the room. His smooth-shaven
face was sunburned. She thought he might be an Englishman. He was of the
big blond English type common in the American cattle country.
"Father will be here very soon, I think." She moved toward the door
with dignity, ignoring the fallen flowers, and Saxton stepped forward
and picked them up.
"Allow me." The girl took them from him, a little uncertainly and
guardedly, then returned to the vase and placed the flowers in it.
"Thank you very much," she said. "I think I hear my father now." She
went to the outer door and opened it, inclining her head slightly as she
passed John, who also heard Mr. Porter's voice outside. He was
remonstrating with the gardener about the position of the sprinklers,
which he wished reset in keeping with ideas of his own.
"Well, Evelyn?" he said, as he came up the steps. Saxton could hear the
young woman making an explanation in low tones to her father. He knew,
of course, that she was telling him that some one was waiting, and Mr.
Porter stood suddenly in the door with his hat still on his head.
"Well, this beats me," he began effusively, coming forward and wringing
Saxton's hand. "This beats me! I'm not going to try to explain. I simply
forgot, that's all." He took Saxton's arm and turned him toward the door
where the girl still stood, smiling.
"Evelyn, this is Mr. Saxton. He's come to dine with us. Bless my soul!
but I forgot all about it. See here, Evelyn, you've got to square this
for me," he concluded, and pushed his hat back from his forehead as he
appealed to her.
[Illustration]
She came forward and shook hands with Saxton.
"I don't know how it can be 'squared.' This is only one of father's
lapses, Mr. Saxton. You may be sure he didn't mean to do it."
"No, indeed," declared Porter, "but I'm ashamed of myself. Guess I'm
losing my wits." He waved the young people to seats with his hat, as if
anxious to have the apologies over as quickly as possible. "Positively
no reflection,--no, sir. Why, the last time it happened--"
"A week ago to-night," his daughter interpolated.
"The victim was the lord mayor of somewhere, who was passing through
town, and I asked him and his gang for dinner, and actually didn't
telephone to the house about it until half-past five in the afternoon.
I'm losing my wits, that's all." He continued to paint his social
crimes, while his daughter disappeared to correct his latest error by
having a plate laid for the unannounced guest. When she returned he left
the room, but reappeared at the lower door of the drawing-room, still
holding his hat, and exclaimed sharply: "Evelyn, I'm sure I must have
told you about Mr. Saxton being here when we were talking of the
Poindexter place last night. I told you some one was coming out to take
charge of those things."
"Very well, father," she said patiently, turning toward him. He again
vanished into the hall having, he thought, justified himself before his
guest.
"This is one of our standing jokes, you see, and father feels that he
must defend himself. I was away for so long and father lived down town
until his domestic instinct has suffered."
"But I'm sure he hasn't lost his instinct of hospitality," said Saxton.
"No; but it's his instinct of consideration for the housekeeper that's
blunted." She was still smiling over the incident in a way that had the
effect of including Saxton as a party to the joke, rather than as its
victim. He found himself feeling altogether comfortable and was able to
lead off into a discussion of the heat and of the appearance of the
grounds, which he pronounced charming.
"Oh, that's father's great delight," she said. "I tell him he's far more
interested in the grounds than the house. He's an easy prey to the
compilers of flower catalogues, and people who sell trees go to him
first; then they never need to go any farther. He always buys them out!"
They were touching upon the beneficence of Arbor Day when Porter
returned with an appearance of clean cuffs and without his hat, and
launched into statistics as to the number of trees that had been planted
in the state by school children during the past year. The maid came to
announce dinner, and Porter talked on as he led the way to the
dining-room. As they were taking their seats a boy of twelve took the
place opposite Saxton.
"This is my brother Grant," said Miss Porter. The boy was shy and silent
and looked frail. The efforts of his sister to bring him into the talk
were fruitless. When his father or sister spoke to him it was with an
accented kindness. He would not talk before a stranger; but his face
brightened at the humor of the others.
There was a round table very prettily set with glass candlesticks at the
four plates and a bowl of sweet peas in the center. Porter began a
discussion of some problems relating to improvements and changes in the
grounds, talking directly across to his daughter, as she served the
soup. Her manner with him was very gentle. She added "father" to most of
her sentences in addressing him, and there was a kind of caress in the
word as she spoke it. Her head, whose outlines had seemed graceful to
Saxton as he studied them in the mirror, was now disclosed fully in the
soft candle-light of the table. She had a pretty way of bending forward
when she spoke which was characteristic and quite in keeping with the
frankness of her speech; there was no hint of coquetry or archness about
her. Her eyes, which Saxton had thought blue in the drawing-room, were
now gray by candle-light. She was very like her father; she had his
clear-cut features, though softened and refined, and thoroughly
feminine. His eyes were smaller, and there was a quizzical, furtive play
of humor in them, which hers lacked. William Porter always seemed to be
laughing at you; his daughter laughed with you. You might question the
friendliness of her father's quiet joking sometimes, but there was
nothing equivocal in her smile or speech.
A woman who is not too subservient to fashion may reveal a good deal of
herself in the way she wears her hair. The straight part in Evelyn
Porter's seemed to be akin to her clear, frank eyes, contributing to an
impression of simplicity and directness. The waves came down upon her
forehead and then retreated quickly to each side, as if they had been
conscious intruders there, and were only secure when they found refuge
in the knot that was gathered low behind. There was in her hair that
pretty ripple which men are reluctant to believe is acquired by
processes in which nature has little part. The result in Evelyn's case
was to give the light a better playground, and it caught and brightened
wherever a ripple held it. Her arms were bare from the elbow and there
were suppleness and strength in their firm outlines; her hands were long
and slender and had known vigorous service with racket and driver.
Porter was full of a scheme for planting a line of poplars around some
lots, which, it seemed, he owned in another part of the town; but he
dropped this during a prolonged absence of the waitress from the room,
to ask where the girl had gone and whether there was going to be any
more dinner.
"It's bad enough, child, for us to forget we've got a guest for dinner,
but we needn't rub it in by starving him after he's at the table."
"There is food out there, father, if you'll abide in patience. This is a
new girl and she's pretty green. She let Mr. Saxton in and then forgot
to tell anybody he'd come." She wished to touch on this, without
recurring to the awkward plight in which Saxton had been placed; and
John now seized the chance to minimize it so that the incident might be
closed.
"Oh, it was very flattering to me! She left me alone with an air that
implied my familiar acquaintance with the house. It was much kinder than
asking for credentials."
"You're not hard enough on these people, Evelyn," declared Porter.
"That's something they didn't teach you at college. If you let the
impression get out that you're easy, you'll never make a housekeeper.
Fire them! fire them whenever you find they're no good!" He looked to
Saxton for corroboration, with a severe air, as if this were something
that masculine minds understood but which was beyond the reach of women.
When all were served he grew abstracted as he ate, and Saxton appealed
to his hostess, as one college graduate may appeal to another, along the
line of their college experiences. They had, it appeared, several
acquaintances in common, and Saxon recalled that some of his classmates
had often visited the college in which Miss Porter had been a student;
and a little of the old ache crept into his heart as he remembered the
ways in which the social side of college life had meant so much less to
him than to most of the men he knew; but as she talked freely of her own
experience, he found that her humor was contagious, and he even fell so
far under its spell as to recount anecdotes of his own student life in
which his part had not been heroic. Porter came back occasionally from
the land of his commercial dreams, and they all laughed together at the
climaxes. He presently directed the talk to the cattle business.
"You'd better get Mr. Saxton to tell you how much fun ranching is," he
said, turning to the boy, who at once became interested in Saxton.
"I'm going to be a ranchman," the lad declared. "Father's going to buy
me the Poindexter ranch some day."
"That's one of Mr. Saxton's properties. Maybe he'd trade it to you for a
tin whistle."
"Is it as bad as that?" asked Saxton.
"Just wait until you see it. It's pretty bad."
"The house must have been charming," said Miss Porter.
"And that's about all it was," replied her father.
The dinner ended with a salad. This was not an incident but an event.
The highest note of civilization is struck when a salad is dressed by a
master of the chemistry of gastronomy. The clumsy and unworthy hesitate
in the performance of this sacred rite, and are never sure of their
proportions; the oil refuses intimacy with the vinegar, and sulks and
selfishly creates little yellow isles for itself in the estranging sea
of acid. The salt becomes indissoluble and the paprika is irrecoverable
flotsam. The clove of garlic, always recalcitrant under clumsy handling,
refuses to impart the merest hint of its wild tang, but the visible and
tangible world reeks with it. It was a joy to John Saxton to see the
deftness with which Evelyn Porter performed her miracle; he did not know
much about girls, but he surmised that a girl who composed a salad
dressing with such certainty did many things gracefully and well. There
were no false starts, no "ohs" of regret and appeal, no questions of
quantity. The light struck goldenly on the result as she poured it
finally upon the crisply-curling lettuce leaves which showed discreetly
over the edge of a deep Doulton bowl. It seemed to him high treason that
his host should decline the dressing thus produced by an art which
realized the dreams of alchemy, and should pour vinegar from the cruet
with his own hand upon the helpless leaves.
Porter demanded cigars before the others had finished, and smoked over
his coffee. He was in a hurry to leave, and at the earliest possible
moment led the way to the veranda, picking up his hat as he stepped
blithely along.
It was warmer outside than in, but Porter pretended that it was
pleasanter out of doors, and insisted that there was always a breeze on
the hill at night. He ran on in drawling monologue about the weather
conditions, and how much cooler it was in Clarkson than at the summer
places which people foolishly sought at the expense of home comforts. He
made his shy boy report his experiences of the day. In addressing the
lad he fell into his quizzical manner, but the boy understood it and
yielded to it with the same submission that his father's customers
adopted when they sought a loan and knew that Porter must prod them with
immaterial questions, and irritate them with petty ironies, before he
finally scribbled his initials in the corner of their notes and passed
them over to the discount clerk.
Raridan appeared at the step presently. They all rose as he came up, and
he said to Saxton as he shook hands with him last: "I see you've found
the way to headquarters. All roads lead up to this Alpine height,--and I
fear--I fear--that all roads lead down again," he added, with a doleful
sigh, and laughed. He drew out his cigarettes and began making himself
greatly at home. He assured Mr. Porter, with amiable insolence, that his
veranda chairs were the most uncomfortable ones he knew, and went to
fetch himself a better seat from the hall.
"Mr. Raridan likes to be comfortable," said Miss Porter in his absence.
"But he finds pleasure in making others comfortable, too," Saxton
ventured.
"Oh, he's the very kindest of men," Miss Porter affirmed.
"What a nuisance you are, Warry," said Porter, as the young man fussed
about to find a place for his chair. "We were all very easy here till
you came. Even the breeze has died out."
"Father insists that there has been a breeze," said Miss Porter. "But it
really has gone."
"_Et tu, Brute?_ What we ought to do, Mr. Porter," said Raridan, who had
at last settled himself, "is to organize a company to supply breezes.
'The Clarkson Breeze Company, Limited.' I can see the name on the
factory now, in my mind's eye. We'd get up an ice trust first, then
bring in the ice cream people and make vast fortunes out of it, besides
becoming benefactors of our kind. The ice and the ice cream would pay
for the cold air; our cold air service would bring a clear profit. We'd
guarantee a temperature through the summer months of, say, seventy
degrees."
"Then," Porter drawled, "the next thing would be to get the doctors in,
for a pneumonia branch; and after that the undertakers would demand
admission, and then the tombstone people. You're a bright young man,
Warry. I heard you stringing that Englishman at the club the other day
about your scheme for piping water from the Atlantic Ocean to irrigate
the American desert, and he thought you meant it."
"Then we'll all suffer," Miss Porter declared, "for he'll go home and
put it in a book, and there'll be no end of it."
Raridan was in gay spirits. He had come from a call on a young married
couple who had just gone to housekeeping. He had met there a
notoriously awkward young man, who moved through Clarkson houses leaving
ruin in his wake.
"There ought to be some way of insuring against Whitely," said Raridan,
musingly. "Perhaps a social casualty company could be formed to protect
people from his depredations. You know, Mr. Saxton, they've really had
to cut him off from refreshments at parties,--he was always spilling
salads on the most expensive gowns in town. And these poor young married
things, with their wedding loot huddled about them in their little
parlors! There is a delightful mathematical nicety in the way he sweeps
a tea table with his coat tails. He never leaves enough for a sample.
But this was the worst! You know that polar bear skin that Mamie Shepard
got for a wedding present; well, it makes her house look like a
menagerie. Whitely was backing out--a thing I've begged him never to
try--and got mixed up with the head of that monster; kicked all the
teeth out, started to fall, gathered in the hat rack, broke the glass
out of it, and before Shepard could head him off, he pulled down the
front door shade."
"But Mr. Whitely sings beautifully," urged Miss Porter.
"He'd have to," said Warry, "with those feet."
"You needn't mind what Raridan says," Mr. Porter remarked. "He's very
unreliable."
"The office of social censor is always an ungrateful one," Raridan
returned, dolefully. "But I really don't know what you'd do without me
here."
"I notice that you never give us a chance to try," said Mr. Porter,
dryly.
"That is the unkindest cut; and in the shadow of your own house, too."
Saxton got up to go presently and Raridan rose with him, declaring that
they had been terribly severe and that he could not be left alone with
them.
"I hope you'll overlook that little slip of mine," said Mr. Porter, as
he shook hands with Saxton. "You'd better not tell Raridan about it. It
would be terrible ammunition in his hands."
"And we'll all do better next time," said Miss Porter; "so do come again
to show that you don't treasure it against us."
"I don't know that anything's happened," pleaded John, "except that I've
had a remarkably good time."
"I fear that's more generous than just; but the next time I hope the
maid will do better."
"And next time I hope I shan't frighten you," Saxton went on. Raridan
and Mr. Porter had walked down the long veranda to the steps, and Saxton
and Miss Porter were following.
"Oh, but you didn't!" the girl laughed at him.
"But you dropped the flowers--"
"But you shouldn't have noticed! It wasn't gallant!"
They had reached the others, and Raridan broke in with his good night,
and he and Saxton went down the walk together.
"They seem to have struck up an acquaintance," observed Mr. Porter,
settling himself to a fresh cigar.
"Mr. Saxton is very nice," said Evelyn.
"Oh, he's all right," said her father, easily.