FESTIVITY
The Ladies' Society was to meet at the Temple of Vesta; or, rather
(since that name for the brick house was known only to the old and the
young doctor), at the Blyth Girls'. The sisters always entertained the
society once a year, and it was apt to be the favourite meeting of the
season. It was the peaceful pastime of two weeks, for Miss Phoebe and
Miss Vesta, to prepare for the annual festivity, by polishing the
already shining house to a hardly imaginable point of brilliant
cleanliness. In the kitchen of the Temple, Diploma Grotty ruled
supreme, as she had ruled for twenty years. Miss Phoebe was
occasionally permitted to trifle with a jelly or a cream, but even this
was upon sufferance; while if Miss Vesta ever had any culinary
aspirations, they were put down with a high hand, and an injunction not
to meddle with them things, but see to her parlours and her chaney.
This injunction, backed by her own spotless ideals, was faithfully
carried out by Miss Vesta. Miss Phoebe, by right of her position as
elder sister and martyr to rheumatism (though she sometimes forgot her
martyrdom in these days), took charge of the upper class of
preparation; examined the lace curtains in search of a possible stitch
dropped in the net, "did up" the frilled linen bags that formed the
decent clothing of the window-tassels, the tidies, and the entire stock
of "laces" owned by her and her sister. One could never be sure
beforehand which collar one would want to wear when the evening came,
and while one was about it, it was as well to do them all; so for many
days the sewing-room was adorned with solemn bottles swathed in white,
on which collars, cuffs, and scarfs were delicately stitched. Miss
Vesta--cleaned.
For some days the young doctor had been conscious of a stronger odour
than usual of beeswax and rosin. Also, the tiny room by the front door,
which was sacred as his office, began to shine with a kind of inward
light. No one was ever there when he came in,--no one, that is, save
the occasional patient,--but he always found that his papers had
assembled themselves in orderly piles on the table where he was wont to
throw them; that the table itself had become so glossy that things
slipped about or fell off whenever he moved them; and that no matter
where he left his pipes, he always found them ranged with exact
symmetry on the mantel-shelf. (If he could have known the affectionate
terror with which those delicate white old fingers touched the brown,
fragrant, masculine things! There were four of the pipes, Zuleika,
Haidee, Nourmahal, and Scheherezade; the fellows used to call them his
harem, and him Haroun Alraschid.)
Geoffrey was always careful about wiping his feet when he came in; he
was a well-brought-up lad, and never meant to leave a speck on the
polished floor. Now, however, he was aware of fragrant, newly rubbed
spots that appeared as if by magic every time he returned through the
entry after passing along it. Several times he saw a gray gown flutter
and disappear through a doorway; but it might have been Diploma.
One day, however,--it was the very day of the party,--he chanced to
come into the parlour for a match or the like, and found Miss Vesta on
her knees, apparently praying to one of the teak-wood chairs; and the
girl Vesta, white as wax, standing beside another, rubbing it with
even, practised strokes. The young doctor looked from one to the other.
"What does this mean?" he said. "What upon earth are you doing, you
two?"
Miss Vesta looked up, pink and breathless.
"My dear Doctor Strong, I wish you would use your professional
influence with Vesta. I am making a little preparation, as you see, for
this evening. It--I take pleasure in it, and find the exercise
beneficial. But Vesta is entirely unfit for it, as I have repeatedly
pointed out to her. She persists--" the little lady paused for breath.
The young doctor took the cloth from the girl's hand, and opened the
door.
"You would better go and lie down, Miss Blyth," he said, abruptly.
"I'll see to this--" he said "tomfoolery," but not aloud.
The colour crept into Vesta's white cheeks, the first he had seen
there. "I don't want to lie down, thank you!" she said, coldly. "Give
me the cloth, please!"
Their eyes measured swords for an instant. Then--
"You can hardly stand now," said Geoffrey, quietly. "If you faint I
shall have to carry you up-stairs, and that--"
She was gone, but he still saw her face like a white flame. He looked
after her a moment, then turned to Miss Vesta, who was still on her
knees. His look of annoyance changed to one of distress. "Dear Miss
Vesta, will you please get up this moment? What can you be doing? Are
you praying to Saint Beeswax?"
"Oh, no, Doctor Strong. We never--the Orthodox Church--but you are
jesting, my dear young friend. I--a little healthful exercise--oh,
please, Doctor Geoffrey!"
For two strong hands lifted her bodily, and set her down in her own
particular armchair. "Exercise is recommended for me," said the little
lady, piteously. "You yourself, Doctor Geoffrey, said I ought to take
more exercise."
"So you shall. You shall dance all the evening, if you like. I'll play
the fiddle, and you and the minister--no, no, I don't mean the
minister! Don't look like that! you and Deacon Weight shall dance
together. It will be the elephant and the fl--butterfly. But I am going
to do this, Miss Vesta."
He in turn went down on his knees to the teak-wood chair, and examined
it curiously. "Is this--supposed to need cleaning?" he asked; "or is it
to be used as a looking-glass? Perhaps you had just finished this one?"
He looked hopefully at Miss Vesta, and saw her face cloud with distress.
"I was about to polish it a little," she said. "It is already clean, in
a measure, but a little extra polish on such occasions--"
Geoffrey did not wait for more, but rubbed away with might and main,
talking the while.
"You see, Miss Vesta, it is very important for me to learn about these
things. You and Miss Phoebe may turn me out some day, and then the
lonely bachelor will have to set up his own establishment, and cook his
own dinner, and polish his own chairs. Do you think I could cook a
dinner? I'll tell you what we'll do, some day; we'll send Diploma off
for a holiday, and I'll get the dinner."
"Oh, my dear young friend, I fear that would not be possible. Diploma
is so set in her ways! She will hardly let me set foot in the kitchen,
but Sister Phoebe goes in whenever she pleases. I--I think that chair
is as bright as it _can_ be, Doctor Strong. I am greatly obliged to
you. It looks beautiful, and now I need not trouble you further; you
are much occupied, I am sure. Oh, pray--pray give me back the cloth,
Doctor Geoffrey."
But Geoffrey declared he had not had such fun for weeks. "Consider my
biceps," he said. "You ought to consider my biceps, Miss Vesta."
He went from chair to chair, Miss Vesta following him with little
plaintive murmurs, in which distress and admiration were equally
blended; and rubbed, and rubbed again, till all the room was full of
dark glory. There was one bad moment, when the weak leg of the
three-cornered table threatened to give way under his vigorous attack,
and protested with a sharp squeak of anguish; but though Geoffrey and
Miss Vesta both examined it with searching scrutiny, no new crack was
visible. He offered to bandage the old crack, warranting to make the
ailing leg the strongest of the four; but, on the whole, it did not
seem necessary.
"If only Deacon Weight does not lean on it!" said Miss Vesta. "Perhaps
you could manage to stand near it yourself, Doctor Geoffrey, if you
should see the deacon approaching it. He is apt, when engaged in
conversation, to rest both elbows on a table; it is a great strain on
any furniture."
Geoffrey looked a little blank. "Were you expecting me to join the
party?" he asked; "I thought--I should be rather in the way, shouldn't
I?" He read his answer in the piteous startled look of the little lady,
and hastened on before she could speak. "I didn't suppose I was
invited, Miss Vesta. Of course I shall come, if I may, with the
greatest pleasure."
"Dear Doctor Strong," said Miss Vesta, with a happy sigh, "it would
have been such a sad blow if we must have dispensed with your society."
It would indeed have been a tragic disappointment to both sisters if
their lodger had not appeared on the great occasion. As it was, Miss
Vesta was fluttered, and only restored to full composure when, at tea,
Doctor Strong begged to know the exact hour at which the guests were
expected, that he might be ready on time.
The pride of the good ladies knew no bounds when Doctor Strong entered
the parlour in faultless evening dress, with a tiny blush-rose, from
Miss Vesta's favourite tree, in his buttonhole. Evening dress was
becoming to Geoffrey. The Ladies' Society fluttered at sight of him,
and primmed itself, and shook out its skirts.
Geoffrey's face was radiant over his white tie. He had planned a cozy
evening in his own room, with a new treatise on orthopaedics that had
just come; but no one would have thought that he took delight in
anything except Society meetings. He went from group to group, as if he
were the son of the house, cheering the forlorn, lightening the heavy,
smoothing down the prickly,--a medical Father O'Flynn. But it was the
elderly and the middle-aged that he sought out; the matrons whose
children he had tended, the spinsters whose neuralgia he had relieved.
The few younger members of the Society bridled and simpered in vain;
the young doctor never looked their way.
"Good evening, Mrs. Worrett; sorry I missed you the other day; but Miss
Blyth prescribed for you, and she is as good a doctor as I am, any day.
How _is_ the baby now? quite well! Good; Yes; oh, yes, excellent. In
simple cases these mild carminatives are just the thing. Keep his diet
steady, though, while the warm weather lasts. I saw him with a doughnut
the other day, and took it away from him; knew he got it by accident,
of course. Yes, bread and milk, that kind of thing. Fine little fellow,
and we want him to have the best chance there is.
"Miss Wax, I am glad to see you here. Headache all gone, eh? Hurrah!
I'd keep on with those powders, though, if I were you, for a week or
two. You're looking fine, as the Scotch say. Hope you won't want to see
me again for a long time, and it's very good and unselfish of me to say
that, for I haven't forgotten the plum-cake you gave me.
"How do you do, Deacon? glad to see you! yes, glorious weather." Here
Geoffrey moved easily between Deacon Weight and the three-cornered
table, which the deacon was approaching. "Suppose we stand here in the
corner a moment! Men are always rather in the way, don't you think, at
things of this kind? Mrs. Weight here to-night? ah! yes, I see her. How
well she's looking! Not been well yourself, Deacon? I'm sorry to hear
that. What's the--dyspepsia again? that's bad. Have you tried the light
diet I recommended? Well, I would, if I were in your place. I'd knock
off two or three pounds of your usual diet, and get a bicycle--yes, you
could. A cousin of mine in New York weighed three hundred pounds before
he got his bicycle; had one made to order, of course, special weight;
now he weighs a hundred and seventy-five, and is as active as a cat.
Great thing! ah, excuse me, Deacon!"
He crossed the room, and bowed low before a lady with white hair and an
amazing cap, who had been gazing at him with twinkling eyes. This was
Mrs. Tree, the Misses Blyths' aunt.
"Mrs. Tree, how do you do? why were you looking at me in that way? I've
been trying to speak to you all the evening, but you have been
surrounded. I think it's a shame for a women over twenty-five" (Mrs.
Tree was ninety, and immensely proud of her age) "to monopolise all the
attention. What do you think?"
"I think you're a sassy boy!" replied Mrs. Tree, with vivacity. "I
think children should speak when they're spoken to; that's what I
think."
She clicked some castanets in her throat, which was her way of laughing.
"But you didn't speak to me," said Geoffrey. "You wouldn't speak. Do
you suppose I was going to wait all the evening? What a wonderful cap
you've got, Mrs. Tree! I'm going to have one made exactly like it. Will
you go in to supper with me? Do! I want to cut out the minister, and he
is coming to ask you now. I am much more amusing than he is, you know I
am."
Mrs. Tree did know it. The minister was waved off, and the oldest
parishioner sailed in to supper on Doctor Strong's arm.
"Why don't you get married," she asked on the way, "instead of fooling
around old folks this way? If I was your ma'am, I'd find a wife for ye,
first thing I did. You're too sassy to stay unmarried."
"Miss Vesta won't have me," said Geoffrey; "and I won't have anybody
else, unless you will relent, Mrs. Tree. Now, what do you want? lobster
salad? Well, I shall not give you that. If you eat it you will be ill
tomorrow, and then Direxia will send for me, and you will throw my
medicine out of the window and get well without it, and then laugh in
my face. I know you! have some escalloped oysters, there's a dear!"
"I wish't I'd come in with the minister now!" said Mrs. Tree.
"I don't believe a word of it!" said Geoffrey. "It's much less
dangerous for you to flirt with me, you know it is; though even now
Miss Phoebe is looking at us very seriously, Mrs. Tree, very seriously
indeed."
"If I was Phoebe, I'd send you to bed!" said Mrs. Tree. "That's what
I'd do!"