In Which I Break All Previous Resolutions and Make a New One
That afternoon tea on the lawn was the beginning of the great change
in our life at the rectory. Prior to that Hephzy and I had, golfly
speaking, been playing it as a twosome. Now it became a threesome, with
other players added at frequent intervals. At luncheon next day our
invalid, a real invalid no longer, joined us at table in the pleasant
dining-room, the broad window of which opened upon the formal garden
with the sundial in the center. She was in good spirits, and, as Hephzy
confided to me afterward, was “gettin' a real nice appetite.” In gaining
this appetite she appeared to have lost some of her dignity and chilling
condescension; at all events, she treated her American relatives as if
she considered them human beings. She addressed most of her conversation
to Hephzy, always speaking of and to her as “Miss Cahoon.” She still
addressed me as “Mr. Knowles,” and I was duly thankful; I had feared
being hailed as “Uncle Hosy.”
After lunch Mr. Judson called again. He was passing, he explained, on
his round of parish calls, and had dropped in casually. Mr. Worcester
also came; his really was a casual stop, I think. He and his brother
curate were very brotherly indeed, but I noticed an apparent reluctance
on the part of each to leave before the other. They left together, but
Mr. Judson again hinted at the promised golf game, and Mr. Worcester,
having learned from Miss Morley that she played and sang, expressed
great interest in music and begged permission to bring some “favorite
songs,” which he felt sure Miss Morley might like to run over.
Miss Morley herself was impartially gracious and affable to both the
clerical gentlemen; she was looking forward to the golf, she said, and
the songs she was certain would be jolly. Hephzy and I had very little
to say, and no one seemed particularly anxious to hear that little.
The curates had scarcely disappeared down the driveway when Doctor
Bayliss and his son strolled in from next door. Doctor Bayliss, Senior,
was much pleased to find his patient up and about, and Herbert, the
son, even more pleased to find her at all, I judge. Young Bayliss was
evidently very favorably impressed with his new neighbor. He was a big,
healthy, broad-shouldered fellow, a grown-up boy, whose laugh was a
pleasure to hear, and who possessed the faculty, envied by me, the
quahaug, of chatting entertainingly on all subjects from tennis and
the new American dances to Lloyd-George and old-age pensions. Frances
declared a strong aversion to the dances, principally because they were
American, I suspected.
Doctor Bayliss, the old gentleman, then turned to me.
“What is the American opinion of the Liberal measures?” he asked.
“I should say,” I answered, “that, so far as they are understood in
America, opinion concerning them is divided, much as it is here.”
“Really! But you haven't the Liberal and Conservative parties as we
have, you know.”
“We have liberals and conservatives, however, although our political
parties are not so named.”
“We call 'em Republicans and Democrats,” explained Hephzy. “Hosy is a
Republican,” she added, proudly.
“I am not certain what I am,” I observed. “I have voted a split ticket
of late.”
Young Bayliss asked a question.
“Are you a--what is it--Republican, Miss Morley?” he inquired.
Miss Morley's eyes dropped disdainfully.
“I am neither,” she said. “My father was a Conservative, of course.”
“Oh, I say! That's odd, isn't it. Your uncle here is--”
“Uncle Hosea, you mean?” sweetly. “Oh, Uncle Hosea is an American. I am
English.”
She did not add “Thank heaven,” but she might as well. “Uncle Hosea”
shuddered at the name. Young Bayliss grinned behind his blonde mustache.
When he left, in company with his father, Hephzy invited him to “run in
any time.”
“We're next-door neighbors,” she said, “so we mustn't be formal.”
I was fairly certain that the invitation was superfluous. If I knew
human nature at all I knew that Bayliss, Junior, did not intend to let
formality stand in the way of frequent calls at the rectory.
My intuition was correct. The following afternoon he called again.
So did Mr. Judson. Both calls were casual, of course. So was Mr.
Worcester's that evening. He came to bring the “favorite songs” and was
much surprised to find Miss Morley in the drawing-room. He said so.
Hephzy and I knew little of our relative's history. She had volunteered
no particulars other than those given on the occasion of our first
meeting, but we did know, because Mrs. Briggs had told us, that she had
been a member of an opera troupe. This evening we heard her sing for the
first time. She sang well; her voice was not a strong one, but it was
clear and sweet and she knew how to use it. Worcester sang well also,
and the little concert was very enjoyable.
It was the first of many. Almost every evening after dinner Frances sat
down at the old-fashioned piano, with the candle brackets at each side
of the music rack, and sang. Occasionally we were her only auditors,
but more often one or both of the curates or Doctor and Mrs. Bayliss or
Bayliss, Junior, dropped in. We made other acquaintances--Mrs. Griggson,
the widow in “reduced circumstances,” whose husband had been killed in
the Boer war, and who occupied the little cottage next to the draper's
shop; Mr. and Mrs. Samson, of Burgleston Bogs, friends of the Baylisses,
and others. They were pleasant, kindly, unaffected people and we enjoyed
their society.
Each day Frances gained in health and strength. The care-free,
wholesome, out-of-door life at Mayberry seemed to suit her. She seemed
to consider herself a member of the family now; at all events she
did not speak of leaving nor hint at the prompt settlement of her
preposterous “claim.” Hephzy and I did not mention it, even to each
other. Hephzy, I think, was quite satisfied with things as they were,
and I, in spite of my threats and repeated declarations that the present
state of affairs was ridiculous and could not last, put off telling
“my niece” the truth. I, too, was growing more accustomed to the
“threesome.”
The cloud was always there, hanging over our heads and threatening a
storm at any moment, but I was learning to forget it. The situation
had its pleasant side; it was not all bad. For instance, meals in the
pleasant dining-room, with Hephzy at one end of the table, I at the
other, and Frances between us, were more social and chatty than they had
been. To have the young lady come down to breakfast, her hair prettily
arranged, her cheeks rosy with health, and her eyes shining with youth
and the joy of life, was almost a tonic. I found myself taking more
pains with my morning toilet, choosing my tie with greater care and
being more careful concerning the condition of my boots. I even began to
dress for dinner, a concession to English custom which was odd enough
in one of my easy-going habits and Bayport rearing. I imagine that
the immaculate appearance of young Bayliss, when he dropped in for the
“sing” in the drawing-room, was responsible for the resurrection of my
dinner coat. He did look so disgustingly young and handsome and at ease.
I was conscious of each one of my thirty-eight years whenever I looked
at him.
I was rejuvenating in other ways. It had been my custom at Bayport to
retire to my study and my books each evening. Here, where callers
were so frequent, I found it difficult to do this and, although the
temptation was to sit quietly in a corner and let the others do the
talking, I was not allowed to yield. The younger callers, particularly
the masculine portion, would not have objected to my silence, I am
sure, but “my niece” seemed to take mischievous pleasure in drawing the
quahaug out of his shell. She had a disconcerting habit of asking me
unexpected questions at times when my attention was wandering, and, if
I happened to state a definite opinion, taking the opposite side with
promptness. After a time I decided not to express opinions, but to agree
with whatever was said as the simplest way of avoiding controversy and
being left to myself.
This procedure should, it seemed to me, have satisfied her, but
apparently it did not. On one occasion, Judson and Herbert Bayliss being
present, the conversation turned to the subject of American athletic
sports. The curate and Bayliss took the ground, the prevailing thought
in England apparently, that all American games were not games, but
fights in which the true sporting spirit was sacrificed to the desire
to win at any cost. I had said nothing, keeping silent for two reasons.
First, that I had given my views on the subject before, and, second,
because argument from me was, in that company, fruitless effort. The
simplest way to end discussion of a disagreeable topic was to pay no
attention to it.
But I was not allowed to escape so easily. Bayliss asked me a question.
“Isn't it true, Mr. Knowles,” he asked, “that the American football
player wears a sort of armor to prevent his being killed?”
My thoughts had been drifting anywhere and everywhere. Just then they
were centered about “my niece's” hands. She had very pretty hands and
a most graceful way of using them. At the moment they were idly turning
some sheets of music, but the way the slim fingers moved in and out
between the pages was pretty and fascinating. Her foot, glimpsed beneath
her skirt, was slender and graceful, too. She had an attractive trick of
swinging it as she sat upon the piano stool.
Recalled from these and other pleasing observations by Bayliss's mention
of my name, I looked up.
“I beg pardon?” said I.
Bayliss repeated his question.
“Oh, yes,” said I, and looked down again at the foot.
“So I have been told,” said the questioner, triumphantly. “And without
that--er--armor many of the players would be killed, would they not?”
“What? Oh, yes; yes, of course.”
“And many are killed or badly injured as it is?”
“Oh, yes.”
“How many during a season, may I ask?”
“Eh? Oh--I don't know.”
“A hundred?”
The foot was swinging more rapidly now. It was such a small foot. My own
looked so enormous and clumsy and uncouth by comparison.
“A--oh, thousands,” said I, at random. If the number were large enough
to satisfy him he might cease to worry me.
“A beastly game,” declared Judson, with conviction. “How can a civilized
country countenance such brutality! Do you countenance it, Mr. Knowles?”
“Yes--er--that is, no.”
“You agree, then, that it is brutal?”
“Certainly, certainly.” Would the fellow never stop?
“Then--”
“Nonsense!” It was Frances who spoke and her tone was emphatic and
impatient. We all looked at her; her cheeks were flushed and she
appeared highly indignant. “Nonsense!” she said again. “He doesn't agree
to any such thing. I've heard him say that American football was not as
brutal as our fox-hunting and that fewer people were killed or injured.
We play polo and we ride in steeplechases and the papers are full of
accidents. I don't believe Americans are more brutal or less civilized
in their sports than we are, not in the least.”
Considering that she had at the beginning of the conversation apparently
agreed with all that had been said, and, moreover, had often, in
speaking to Hephzy and me, referred to the “States” as an uncivilized
country, this declaration was astonishing. I was astonished for one.
Hephzy clapped her hands.
“Of course they aren't,” she declared. “Hosy--Mr. Knowles--didn't mean
that they were, either.”
Our callers looked at each other and Herbert Bayliss hastily changed the
subject. After they had gone I ventured to thank my champion for coming
to the rescue of my sporting countrymen. She flashed an indignant glance
at me.
“Why do you say such things?” she demanded. “You know they weren't
true.”
“What was the use of saying anything else? They have read the accounts
of football games which American penny-a-line correspondents send to the
London papers and nothing I could say would change their convictions.”
“It doesn't make any difference. You should say what you think. To sit
there and let them--Oh, it is ridiculous!”
“My feelings were not hurt. Their ideas will broaden by and by, when
they are as old as I am. They're young now.”
This charitable remark seemed to have the effect of making her more
indignant than ever.
“Nonsense!” she cried. “You speak as if you were an Old Testament
patriarch.”
Hephzy put in a word.
“Why, Frances,” she said, “I thought you didn't like America.”
“I don't. Of course I don't. But it makes me lose patience to have him
sit there and agree to everything those boys say. Why didn't he answer
them as he should? If I were an American no one--NO one should rag me
about my country without getting as good as they gave.”
I was amused. “What would you have me do?” I asked. “Rise and sing the
'Star Spangled Banner'?”
“I would have you speak your mind like a man. Not sit there like a--like
a rabbit. And I wouldn't act and think like a Methusaleh until I was
one.”
It was quite evident that “my niece” was a young person of whims. The
next time the “States” were mentioned and I ventured to speak in their
defence, she calmly espoused the other side and “ragged” as mercilessly
as the rest. I found myself continually on the defensive, and this state
of affairs had one good effect at least--that of waking me up.
Toward Hephzy her manner was quite different. She now, especially when
we three were alone, occasionally addressed her as “Auntie.” And she
would not permit “Auntie” to be made fun of. At the least hint of such a
thing she snubbed the would-be humorist thoroughly. She and Hephzy
were becoming really friendly. I felt certain she was beginning to like
her--to discern the real woman beneath the odd exterior. But when I
expressed this thought to Hephzy herself she shook her head doubtfully.
“Sometimes I've almost thought so, Hosy,” she said, “but only this
mornin' when I said somethin' about her mother and how much she looked
like her, she almost took my head off. And she's got her pa's picture
right in the middle of her bureau. No, Hosy, she's nicer to us than she
was at first because it's her nature to be nice. So long as she forgets
who and what we are, or what her scamp of a father told her we were, she
treats us like her own folks. But when she remembers we're receivers of
stolen goods, livin' on money that belongs to her, then it's different.
You can't blame her for that, I suppose. But--but how is it all goin' to
end? _I_ don't know.”
I didn't know either.
“I had hoped,” I said, “that, living with us as she does, she might come
to know and understand us--to learn that we couldn't be the sort she has
believed us to be. Then it seems to me we might tell her and she would
listen to reason.”
“I--I'm afraid we can't wait long. You see, there's another thing, Hosy.
She needs clothes and--and lots of things. She realizes it. Yesterday
she told me she must go up to London, shopping, pretty soon. She asked
me to go with her. I put her off; said I was awful busy around the
house just now, but she'll ask me again, and if I don't go she'll go by
herself.”
“Humph! I don't see how she can do much shopping. She hasn't a penny, so
far as I know.”
“You don't understand. She thinks she has got a good many pennies, or
we've got 'em for her. She's just as liable to buy all creation and send
us the bills.”
I whistled. “Well,” I said, decidedly, “when that happens we must put
our foot down. Neither you nor I are millionaires, Hephzy, and she must
understand that regardless of consequences.”
“You mean you'll tell her--everything?”
“I shall have to. Why do you look at me like that? Are we to use
common-sense or aren't we? Are we in a position to adopt a young woman
of expensive tastes--actually adopt her? And not only that, but give her
carte blanche--let her buy whatever she pleases and charge it to us?”
“I suppose not. But--”
“But what?”
“Well, I--I don't see how we can stop her buying whatever she pleases
with what she thinks is her own money.”
“I do. We can tell her she has no money. I shall do it. My mind is made
up.”
Hephzy said nothing, but her expression was one of doubt. I stalked off
in a bad temper. Discussions of the kind always ended in just this way.
However, I swore a solemn oath to keep my word this time. There were
limits and they had been reached. Besides, as I had said, the situation
was changed in one way; we no longer had an invalid to deal with. No, my
mind was made up. True, this was at least the tenth time I had made it
up, but this time I meant it.
The test came two days later and was the result of a call on the
Samsons. The Samsons lived at Burgleston Bogs, and we drove to their
house in the trap behind “Pet,” the plump black horse. Mrs. Samson
seemed very glad to see us, urged us to remain for tea, and invited
us to attend a tennis tournament on their lawn the following week. She
asked if Miss Morley played tennis. Frances said she had played, but not
recently. She intended to practice, however, and would be delighted to
witness the tournament, although, of course, she could not take part in
it.
“Hosy--Mr. Knowles, I mean--plays tennis,” observed Hephzy, seizing the
opportunity, as usual, to speak a good word for me. “He used to play
real well.”
“Really!” exclaimed Mrs. Samson, “how interesting. If we had only known.
No doubt Mr. Knowles would have liked to enter. I'm so sorry.”
I hastened to protest. “My tennis is decidedly rusty,” I said. “I
shouldn't think of displaying it in public. In fact, I don't play at all
now.”
On the way home Frances was rather quiet. The next morning she announced
that she intended going to Wrayton that afternoon. “Johnson will drive
me over,” she said. “I shall be glad if Auntie will go with me.”
Wrayton was the county-seat, a good-sized town five miles from Mayberry.
Hephzy declined the invitation. She had promised to “tea” with Mrs.
Griggson that afternoon.
“Then I must go alone,” said Frances. “That is unless--er--Uncle Hosea
cares to go.”
“Uncle Hosea” declined. The name of itself was sufficient to make him
decline; besides Worcester and I were scheduled for golf.
“I shall go alone then,” said “my niece,” with decision. “Johnson will
look after me.”
But after luncheon, when I visited the stable to order Johnson to
harness “Pet,” I met with an unexpected difficulty. Johnson, it
appeared, was ill, had been indisposed the day before and was now at
home in bed. I hesitated. If this were Bayport I should have bade
the gardener harness “Pet” or have harnessed him myself. But this was
Mayberry, not Bayport.
The gardener, deprived of his assistant's help--Johnson worked about the
garden when not driving--was not in good humor. I decided not to ask
him to harness, but to risk a fall in the estimation of the servants by
doing it myself.
The gardener watched me for a moment in shocked disapproval. Then he
interfered.
“If you please, Mr. Knowles, sir,” he said, “I'll 'arness, but I can't
drive, sir. I am netting the gooseberries. Perhaps you might get a man
from the Inn stables, unless you or the young lady might wish to drive
yourselves.”
I did not wish to drive, having the golf engagement; but when I walked
to the Inn I found no driver available. So, rather than be disagreeable,
I sent word to the curate that our match was postponed, and accepted the
alternative.
Frances, rather to my surprise, seemed more pleased than otherwise to
find that I was to be her coachman. Instead of occupying the rear seat
she climbed to that beside me.
“Good-by, Auntie,” she called to Hephzy, who was standing in
the doorway. “Sorry you're not going. I'll take good care of Mr.
Knowles--Uncle Hosea, I mean. I'll see that he behaves himself and,”
with a glance at my, I fear, not too radiant visage, “doesn't break any
of his venerable bones.”
The road, like all English roads which I traveled, was as firm and
smooth as a table, the day was fine, the hedges were green and fragrant,
the larks sang, and the flocks of sheep in the wayside pastures were
picturesque as always. “Pet,” who had led an easy life since we came to
the rectory, was in high spirits and stepped along in lively fashion. My
companion, too, was in good spirits and chatted and laughed as she had
not done with me since I knew her.
Altogether it was a delightful ride. I found myself emerging from my
shell and chatting and joking quite unlike the elderly quahaug I was
supposed to be. We passed a party of young fellows on a walking tour,
knapsacked and knickerbockered, and the admiring glances they passed
at my passenger were flattering. They envied me, that was plain. Well,
under different circumstances, I could conceive myself an object of
envy. A dozen years younger, with the heart of youth and the comeliness
of youth, I might have thought myself lucky to be driving along such a
road with such a vision by my side. And, the best of it was, the vision
treated me as if I really were her own age. I squared my shoulders and
as Hephzy would have said, “perked up” amazingly.
We entered Wrayton and moved along the main street between the rows of
ancient buildings, past the old stone church with its inevitable and
always welcome gray, ivy-draped tower, to the quaint old square with the
statue of William Pitt in its center. My companion, all at once, seemed
to become aware of her surroundings.
“Why!” she exclaimed, “we are here, aren't we? Fancy! I expected a
longer drive.”
“So did I,” I agreed. “We haven't hurried, either. Where has the time
gone.”
“I don't know. We have been so busy talking that I have thought of
nothing else. Really, I didn't know you could be so entertaining--Uncle
Hosea.”
The detested title brought me to myself.
“We are here,” I said, shortly. “And now where shall we go? Have you any
stopping place in particular?”
She nodded.
“Yes,” she said, “I want to stop now. Please pull up over there, in
front of that shop with the cricket bats in the window.”
The shop was what we, in America, would have called a “sporting-goods
store.” I piloted “Pet” to the curb and pulled up.
“I am going in,” said Miss Morley. “Oh, don't trouble to help me. I can
get down quite well.”
She was down, springing from the step as lightly as a dandelion fluff
before I could scramble down on the other side.
“I won't be long,” she said, and went into the shop. I, not being
invited, remained on the pavement. Two or three small boys appeared from
somewhere and, scenting possible pennies, volunteered to hold the horse.
I declined their services.
Five minutes passed, then ten. My passenger was still in the shop. I
could not imagine what she was doing there. If it had been a shop of a
different kind, and in view of Hephzy's recent statement concerning the
buying of clothes, I might have been suspicious. But no clothes were on
sale at that shop and, besides, it never occurred to me that she would
buy anything of importance without mentioning her intention to me
beforehand. I had taken it for granted that she would mention the
subject and, when she did, I intended to be firm. But as the
minutes went by my suspicions grew. She must be buying something--or
contemplating buying, at least. But she had said nothing to me
concerning money; HAD she money of her own after all? It might be
possible that she had a very little, and was making some trifling
purchase.
She reappeared in the doorway of the shop, followed by a very polite
young man with a blonde mustache. The young man was bowing and smiling.
“Yes, miss,” he said, “I'll have them wrapped immediately. They shall be
ready when you return, miss. Thank you, miss.”
Frances nodded acknowledgment of the thanks. Then she favored me with
another nod and a most bewitching smile.
“That's over,” she announced, “and now I'm going to the draper's for a
moment. It is near here, you say?”
The young man bowed again.
“Yes, miss, on the next corner, next the chemist's.”
She turned to me. “You may wait here, Mr. Knowles,” she said. “I shall
be back very soon.”
She hurried away. I looked after her, and then, with all sorts of
forebodings surging in my brain, strode into that “sporting-goods
store.”
The blond young man was at my elbow.
“Yes, sir,” he said, ingratiatingly.
“Did--did that young lady make some purchases here?” I asked.
“Yes, sir. Here they are, sir.”
There on the counter lay a tennis racket, a racket press and waterproof
case, a pair of canvas tennis shoes and a jaunty white felt hat. I
stared at the collection. The clerk took up the racket.
“Not a Slazenger,” he observed, regretfully. “I did my best to persuade
her to buy a Slazenger; that is the best racket we have. But she decided
the Slazenger was a bit high in price, sir. However, sir, this one is
not bad. A very fine racket for lady's use; very light and strong, sir,
considering the cost--only sixteen and six, sir.”
“Sixteen and six. Four dollars and--Did she pay for it?”
“Oh no, sir. She said you would do that, sir. The total is two pound
eight and thruppence, sir. Shall I give you a bill, sir? Thank you,
sir.”
His thanks were wasted. I pushed him to one side and walked out of
that shop. I could not answer; if I answered as I felt I might be sorry
later. After all, it wasn't his fault. My business was not with him, but
with her.
It was not the amount of the purchase that angered and alarmed me. Two
pounds eight--twelve dollars--was not so much. If she had asked me, if
she had said she desired the racket and the rest of it during the drive
over, I think, feeling as I did during that drive, I should have bought
them for her. But she had not asked; she had calmly bought them without
consulting me at all. She had come to Wrayton for that very purpose. And
then had told the clerk that I would pay.
The brazen presumption of it! I was merely a convenience, a sort of
walking bank account, to be drawn upon as she saw fit, at her imperial
will, if you please. It made no difference, to her mind, whether I liked
it or not--whether I could afford it or not. I could, of course, afford
this trifling sum, but this was only the beginning. If I permitted this
there was no telling to what extent she might go on, buying and buying
and buying. This was a precedent--that was what it was, a precedent;
and a precedent once established... It should not be established. I had
vowed to Hephzy that it should not. I would prove to this girl that I
had a will of my own. The time had come.
One of the boys who had been so anxious to hold the horse was performing
that entirely unnecessary duty.
“Stay here until I come back,” I ordered and hurried to the draper's.
She was there standing before the counter, and an elderly man was
displaying cloths--white flannels and serges they appeared to be. She
was not in the least perturbed at my entrance.
“So you came, after all,” she said. “I wondered if you would. Now you
must help me. I don't know what your taste in tennis flannels may
be, but I hope it is good. I shall have these made up at Mayberry, of
course. My other frocks--and I need so many of them--I shall buy in
London. Do you fancy this, now?”
I don't know whether I fancied it or not. I am quite sure I could not
remember what it was if I were asked.
“Well?” she asked, after an instant. “Do you?”
“I--I don't know,” I said. “May I ask you to step outside one moment.
I--I have something I wish to say.”
She regarded me curiously.
“Something you wish to say?” she repeated. “What is it?”
“I--I can't tell you here.”
“Why not, pray?”
“Because I can't.”
She looked at me still more intently. I was conscious of the salesman's
regard also. My tone, I am sure, was anything but gracious, and I
imagine I appeared as disgusted and embarrassed as I felt. She turned
away.
“I think I will choose this one,” she said, addressing the clerk. “You
may give me five yards. Oh, yes; and I may as well take the same amount
of the other. You may wrap it for me.”
“Yes, miss, yes. Thank you, miss. Is there anything else?”
She hesitated. Then, after another sidelong glance at me, she said:
“Yes, I believe there is. I wish to see some buttons, some braid,
and--oh, ever so many things. Please show them to me.”
“Yes, miss, certainly. This way, if you please.”
She turned to me.
“Will you assist in the selection, Uncle Hosea?” she inquired, with
suspicious sweetness. “I am sure your opinion will be invaluable. No?
Then I must ask you to wait.”
And wait I did, for I could do nothing else. That draper's shop was not
the place for a scene, with a half-dozen clerks to enjoy it. I waited,
fuming, while she wandered about, taking a great deal of time, and
lingering over each purchase in a maddening manner. At last she seemed
able to think of no more possibilities and strolled to where I was
standing, followed by the salesman, whose hands were full.
“You may wrap these with the others,” she said. “I have my trap here and
will take them with me. The trap is here, isn't it--er--Uncle Hosea?”
“It is just above here,” I answered, sulkily. “But--”
“But you will get it. Thank you so much.”
The salesman noticed my hesitation, put his own interpretation upon it
and hastened to oblige.
“I shall be glad to have the purchases carried there,” he said. “Our boy
will do it, miss. It will be no trouble.”
Miss Morley thanked him so much. I was hoping she might leave the shop
then, but she did not. The various packages were wrapped, handed to
the boy, and she accompanied the latter to the door and showed him our
equipage standing before the sporting-goods dealer's. Then she sauntered
back.
“Thank you,” she said, addressing the clerk. “That is all, I believe.”
The clerk looked at her and at me.
“Yes, miss, thank you,” he said, in return. “I--I--would you be wishing
to pay at once, miss, or shall I--”
“Oh, this gentleman will pay. Do you wish to pay now--Uncle Hosea?”
Again I was stumped. The salesman was regarding me expectantly; the
other clerks were near by; if I made a scene there--No, I could not do
it. I would pay this time. But this should be the end.
Fortunately, I had money in my pocket--two five-pound notes and some
silver. I paid the bill. Then, and at last, my niece led the way to the
pavement. We walked together a few steps in silence. The sporting-goods
shop was just ahead, and if ever I was determined not to do a thing that
thing was to pay for the tennis racket and the rest.
“Frances,” I began.
“Well--Mr. Knowles?” calmly.
“Frances, I have decided to speak with you frankly. You appear to take
certain things for granted in your--your dealings with Miss Cahoon and
myself, things which--which I cannot countenance or permit.”
She had been walking slowly. Now she stopped short. I stopped, too,
because she did.
“What do you mean?” she asked. “What things?”
She was looking me through and through. Again I hesitated, and my
hesitation did not help matters.
“What do you mean?” she repeated. “What is it you cannot countenance
or”--scornfully--“permit concerning me?”
“I--well, I cannot permit you to do as you have done to-day. You did not
tell your aunt or me your purpose in coming to Wrayton. You did not tell
us you were coming here to buy--to buy various things for yourself.”
“Why should I tell you? They were for myself. Is it your idea that I
should ask YOUR permission before buying what I choose?”
“Considering that you ask me to pay, I--”
“I most distinctly did NOT ask you. I TOLD you to pay. Certainly you
will pay. Why not?”
“Why not?”
“Yes, why not. So this was what you wished to speak to me about. This
was why you were so--so boorish and disagreeable in that shop. Tell
me--was that the reason? Was that why you followed me there? Did you
think--did you presume to think of preventing my buying what I pleased
with my money?”
“If it had been your money I should not have presumed, certainly. If you
had mentioned your intention to me beforehand I might even have paid for
your purchases and said nothing. I should--I should have been glad to do
so. I am not unreasonable.”
“Indeed! Indeed! Do you mean that you would have condescended to make
me a present of them? And was it your idea that I would accept presents
from you?”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her that she had already accepted
a good deal; but somehow the place, a public sidewalk, seemed hardly
fitting for the discussion of weighty personal matters. Passers-by were
regarding us curiously, and in the door of the draper's shop which we
had just left I noticed the elderly clerk standing and looking in our
direction. I temporized.
“You don't understand, Miss Morley,” I said. “Neither your aunt nor
I are wealthy. Surely, it is not too much to ask that you consult us
before--before--”
She interrupted me. “I shall not consult you at all,” she declared,
fiercely. “Wealthy! Am _I_ wealthy? Was my father wealthy? He should
have been and so should I. Oh, WHAT do you mean? Are you trying to tell
me that you cannot afford to pay for the few trifles I have bought this
afternoon?”
“I can afford those, of course. But you don't understand.”
“Understand? YOU do not understand. The agreement under which I came
to Mayberry was that you were to provide for me. I consented to forego
pressing my claim against you until--until you were ready to--to--Oh,
but why should we go into this again? I thought--I thought you
understood. I thought you understood and appreciated my forbearance. You
seemed to understand and to be grateful and kind. I am all alone in the
world. I haven't a friend. I have been almost happy for a little while.
I was beginning to--”
She stopped. The dark eyes which had been flashing lightnings in my
direction suddenly filled with tears. My heart smote me. After all, she
did not understand. Another plea of that kind and I should have--Well,
I'm not sure what I should have done. But the plea was not spoken.
“Oh, what a fool I am!” she cried, fiercely. “Mr. Knowles,” pointing to
the sporting-goods store, “I have made some purchases in that shop also.
I expect you to pay for those as well. Will you or will you not?”
I was hesitating, weakly. She did not wait for me to reply.
“You WILL pay for them,” she declared, “and you will pay for others that
I may make. I shall buy what I please and do what I please with my money
which you are keeping from me. You will pay or take the consequences.”
That was enough. “I will not pay,” I said, firmly, “under any such
arrangement.”
“You will NOT?”
“No, I will not.”
She looked as if--Well, if she had been a man I should have expected a
blow. Her breast heaved and her fingers clenched. Then she turned and
walked toward the shop with the cricket bats in the window.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“I am going to tell the man to send the things I have bought to Mayberry
by carrier and I shall tell him to send the bill to you.”
“If you do I shall tell him to do nothing of the kind. Miss Morley, I
don't mean to be ungenerous or unreasonable, but--”
“Stop! Stop! Oh!” with a sobbing breath, “how I hate you!”
“I'm sorry. When I explain, as I mean to, you will understand, I think.
If you will go back to the rectory with me now--”
“I shall not go back with you. I shall never speak to you again.”
“Miss Morley, be reasonable. You must go back with me. There is no other
way.”
“I will not.”
Here was more cheer in an already cheerful situation. She could not get
to Mayberry that night unless she rode with me. She had no money to take
her there or anywhere else. I could hardly carry her to the trap by main
strength. And the curiosity of the passers-by was more marked than ever;
two or three of them had stopped to watch us.
I don't know how it might have ended, but the end came in an unexpected
manner.
“Why, Miss Morley,” cried a voice from the street behind me. “Oh, I say,
it IS you, isn't it. How do you do?”
I turned. A trim little motor car was standing there and Herbert Bayliss
was at the wheel.
“Ah, Knowles, how do you do?” said Bayliss.
I acknowledged the greeting in an embarrassed fashion. I wondered how
long he had been there and what he had heard. He alighted from the car
and shook hands with us.
“Didn't see you, Knowles, at first,” he said. “Saw Miss Morley here and
thought she was alone. Was going to beg the privilege of taking her home
in my car.”
Miss Morley answered promptly. “You may have the privilege, Doctor
Bayliss,” she said. “I accept with pleasure.”
Young Bayliss looked pleased, but rather puzzled.
“Thanks, awfully,” he said. “But my car holds but two and your uncle--”
“Oh, he has the dogcart. It is quite all right, really. I should love
the motor ride. May I get in?”
He helped her into the car. “Sure you don't mind, Knowles,” he asked.
“Sorry there's not more room; but you couldn't leave the horse, though,
could you? Quite comfy, Miss Morley? Then we're off.”
The car turned from the curb. I caught Miss Morley's eye for an instant;
there was withering contempt in its look--also triumph.
Left alone, I walked to the trap, gave the horse-holding boy sixpence,
climbed to the seat and took up the reins. “Pet” jogged lazily up the
street. The ride over had been very, very pleasant; the homeward journey
was likely to be anything but that.
To begin with, I was thoroughly dissatisfied with myself. I had bungled
the affair dreadfully. This was not the time for explanations; I should
not have attempted them. It would have been better, much better, to have
accepted the inevitable as gracefully as I could, paid the bills, and
then, after we reached home, have made the situation plain and “have put
my foot down” once and for all. But I had not done that. I had lost my
temper and acted like an eighteen-year-old boy instead of a middle-aged
man.
She did not understand, of course. In her eyes I must have appeared
stingy and mean and--and goodness knows what. The money I had refused to
pay she did consider hers, of course. It was not hers, and some day she
would know that it was not, but the town square at Wrayton was not the
place in which to impart knowledge of that kind.
She was so young, too, and so charming--that is, she could be when she
chose. And she had chosen to be so during our drive together. And I
had enjoyed that drive; I had enjoyed nothing as thoroughly since our
arrival in England. She had enjoyed it, too; she had said so.
Well, there would be no more enjoyment of that kind. This was the end,
of course. And all because I had refused to pay for a tennis racket and
a few other things. They were things she wanted--yes, needed, if she
were to remain at the rectory. And, expecting to remain as she did, it
was but natural that she should wish to play tennis and dress as did
other young players of her sex. Her life had not been a pleasant one;
after all, a little happiness added, even though it did cost me some
money, was not much. And it must end soon. It seemed a pity to end it in
order to save two pounds eight and threepence.
There is no use cataloguing all my thoughts. Some I have catalogued and
the others were similar. The memory of her face and of the choke in her
voice as she said she had been almost happy haunted me. My reason told
me that, so far as principle and precedent went, I had acted rightly;
but my conscience, which was quite unreasonable, told me I had acted
like a boor. I stood it as long as I could, then I shouted at “Pet,” who
was jogging on, apparently half asleep.
“Whoa!” I shouted.
“Pet” stopped short in the middle of the road. I hesitated. The
principle of the thing--
“Hang the principle!” said I, aloud. Then I turned the trap around and
drove back to Wrayton. The blond young man in the sporting-goods store
was evidently glad to see me. He must have seen me drive away and have
judged that his sale was canceled. His judgment had been very near to
right, but now I proved it wrong.
I paid for the racket and the press and the shoes and the rest. They
were wrapped and ready.
“Thank you, sir,” said the clerk. “I trust everything will be quite
satisfactory. I'm sorry the young lady did not take the Slazenger, but
the one she chose is not at all bad.”
I was on my way to the door. I stopped and turned.
“Is the--the what is it--'Slazenger' so much better?” I asked.
“Oh, very much so, sir. Infinitely better, sir. Here it is; judge for
yourself. The very best racket made. And only thirty-two shillings,
sir.”
It was a better racket, much better. And, after all, when one is hanging
principle the execution may as well be complete.
“You may give me that one instead of the other,” I said, and paid the
difference.
On my arrival at the rectory Hephzy met me at the door. The between-maid
took the packages from the trap. I entered the drawing-room and Hephzy
followed me. She looked very grave.
“Frances is here, I suppose,” I said.
“Yes, she came an hour ago. Doctor Bayliss, the younger one, brought
her in his auto. She hardly spoke to me, Hosy, and went straight to her
room. Hosy, what happened? What is the matter?”
“Nothing,” said I, curtly. “Nothing unusual, that is. I made a fool of
myself once more, that's all.”
The between-maid knocked and entered. “Where would you wish the parcels,
sir?” she asked.
“These are Miss Morley's. Take them to her room.”
The maid retired to obey orders. Hephzy again turned to me.
“Now, Hosy, what is it?” she asked.
I told her the whole story. When I had finished Hephzy nodded
understandingly. She did not say “I told you so,” but if she had it
would have been quite excusable.
“I think--I think, perhaps, I had better go up and see her,” she said.
“All right. I have no objection.”
“But she'll ask questions, of course. What shall I tell her?”
“Tell her I changed my mind. Tell her--oh, tell her anything you like.
Don't bother me. I'm sick of the whole business.”
She left me and I went into the Reverend Cole's study and closed the
door. There were books enough there, but the majority of them were
theological works or bulky volumes dealing with questions of religion.
Most of my own books were in my room. These did not appeal to me; I was
not religiously inclined just then.
So I sat dumbly in the rector's desk chair and looked out of the window.
After a time there was a knock at the door.
“Come in,” said I, expecting Hephzy. It was not Hephzy who came,
however, but Miss Morley herself. And she closed the door behind her.
I did not speak. She walked over and stood beside me. I did not know
what she was going to say and the expression did not help me to guess.
For a moment she did not say anything. Then:
“So you changed your mind,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
“You don't know. Yet you changed it.”
“Yes. Oh yes, I changed it.”
“But why? Was it--was it because you were ashamed of yourself?”
“I guess so. As much that as anything.”
“You realize that you treated me shamefully. You realize that?”
“Yes,” wearily. “Yes, I realize everything.”
“And you felt sorry, after I had gone, and so you changed your mind. Was
that it?”
“Yes.”
There was no use in attempting justification. For the absolute surrender
I had made there was no justification. I might as well agree to
everything.
“And you will never, never treat me in that way again?”
“No.”
“And you realize that I was right and understand that I am to do as I
please with my money?”
“Yes.”
“And you beg my pardon?”
“Yes.”
“Very well. Then I beg yours. I'm sorry, too.”
Now I WAS surprised. I turned in my chair and looked at her.
“You beg my pardon?” I repeated. “For what?”
“Oh, for everything. I suppose I should have spoken to you before buying
those things. You might not have been prepared to pay then and--and that
would have been unpleasant for you. But--well, you see, I didn't think,
and you were so queer and cross when you followed me to the draper's
shop, that--that I--well, I was disagreeable, too. I am sorry.”
“That's all right.”
“Thank you. Is there anything else you wish to say?”
“No.”
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you buy the Slazenger racket instead of the other one?”
I had forgotten the “Slazenger” for the moment. She had caught me
unawares.
“Oh--oh,” I stammered, “well, it was a much better racket and--and, as
you were buying one, it seemed foolish not to get the best.”
“I know. I wanted the better one very much, but I thought it too
expensive. I did not feel that I should spend so much money.”
“That's all right. The difference wasn't so much and I made the change
on my own responsibility. I--well, just consider that I bought the
racket and you bought none.”
She regarded me intently. “You mean that you bought it as a present for
me?” she said slowly.
“Yes; yes, if you will accept it as such.”
She was silent. I remembered perfectly well what she had said concerning
presents from me and I wondered what I should do with that racket when
she threw it back on my hands.
“Thank you,” she said. “I will accept it. Thank you very much.”
I was staggered, but I recovered sufficiently to tell her she was quite
welcome.
She turned to go. Then she turned back.
“Doctor Bayliss asked me to play tennis with him tomorrow morning,” she
said. “May I?”
“May you? Why, of course you may, if you wish, I suppose. Why in the
world do you ask my permission?”
“Oh, don't you wish me to ask? I inferred from what you said at Wrayton
that you did wish me to ask permission concerning many things.”
“I wished--I said--oh, don't be silly, please! Haven't we had silliness
enough for one afternoon, Miss Morley.”
“My Christian name is Frances. May I play tennis with Doctor Bayliss
to-morrow morning, Uncle Hosea?”
“Of course you may. How could I prevent it, even if I wished, which I
don't.”
“Thank you, Uncle Hosea. Mr. Worcester is going to play also. We need
a fourth. I can borrow another racket. Will you be my partner, Uncle
Hosea?”
“_I_? Your partner?”
“Yes. You play tennis; Auntie says so. Will you play to-morrow morning
as my partner?”
“But I play an atrocious game and--”
“So do I. We shall match beautifully. Thank you, Uncle Hosea.”
Once more she turned to go, and again she turned.
“Is there anything else you wish me to do, Uncle Hosea?” she asked.
The repetition repeated was too much.
“Yes,” I declared. “Stop calling me Uncle Hosea. I'm not your uncle.”
“Oh, I know that; but you have told everyone that you were, haven't
you?”
I had, unfortunately, so I could make no better reply than to state
emphatically that I didn't like the title.
“Oh, very well,” she said. “But 'Mr. Knowles' sounds so formal, don't
you think. What shall I call you? Never mind, perhaps I can think while
I am dressing for dinner. I will see you at dinner, won't I. Au revoir,
and thank you again for the racket--Cousin Hosy.”
“I'm not your cousin, either--at least not more than a nineteenth
cousin. And if you begin calling me 'Hosy' I shall--I don't know what I
shall do.”
“Dear me, how particular you are! Well then, au revoir--Kent.”
When Hephzy came to the study I was still seated in the rector's chair.
She was brimful full of curiosity, I know, and ready to ask a dozen
questions at once. But I headed off the first of the dozen.
“Hephzy,” I observed, “I have made no less than fifty solemn resolutions
since we met that girl--that Little Frank of yours. You've heard me make
them, haven't you.”
“Why, yes, I suppose I have. If you mean resolutions to tell her the
truth about her father and put an end to the scrape we're in, I have,
certain.”
“Yes; well, I've made another one now. Never, no matter what happens,
will I attempt to tell her a word concerning Strickland Morley or
her 'inheritance' or anything else. Every time I've tried I've made
a blessed idiot of myself and now I'm through. She can stay with us
forever and run us into debt to her heart's desire--I don't care. If
she ever learns the truth she sha'n't learn it from me. I'm incapable
of telling it. I haven't the sand of a yellow dog and I'm not going to
worry about it. I'm through, do you hear--through.”
That was my newest resolution. It was a comfort to realize that THIS
resolution I should probably stick to.