THE VIOLIN
There was no lying abed for Ellen the next morning. There were things to
be done, and to be done quickly, so she lost no time in getting ready
immediately after breakfast to go to her cousin’s house.
“I don’t see why you are in such a hurry,” complained Caro. “If you will
wait a while, I can go with you. Mother wants to try on the dress I am
to wear to Florence’s party this evening. Of course you will go, Ellen.”
“Oh, but I am not invited.”
“That is because Florence didn’t know you would be here. When she knows
you are visiting me of course she will expect you.”
Ellen shook her head. “I don’t think so. Moreover, I really don’t feel
in the humor for going; I am tired after all the excitement of the past
week.”
“Well, maybe you’ll change your mind before night. I do want you to go
with me.”
Ellen did not reply, but hurried off. It was a crisp, bright morning.
Snow, which had fallen a few days before, still lay in little heaps on
the spots untouched by the sun. As Ellen turned the key in the door
Wipers bounded to meet her from a warm corner where he had been curled
up. She stooped to stroke him, and then entered the chilly house. It was
very still and desolate, windows barred and lower rooms dark. Ellen did
not tarry on the lower floor, but mounted the stairs to her own room,
leaving her violin on the hall table.
How cold and silent it was, yet the sun was streaming in, and, as she
looked around at the familiar objects, she realized that this was home
and that she was glad to get back to it. She busied herself for a time
in putting together the things Miss Rindy had asked for, and when these
were ready she went back to her own room, took out her writing
materials, and sat thoughtfully looking out the window. She had kept on
her coat, so she decided that she would not take cold if she remained
long enough to write the note, which was an important one. How should
she begin it? Should she say “My dear Reed,” “Dear Cronine,” or “My dear
Mr. Marshall”? Finally she decided that as this was a strictly business
matter she would best be as formal as possible; therefore she wrote:
“My dear Mr. Marshall:
“If you were in earnest about wanting my father’s violin if I
ever wished to part with it, I am ready to offer it to you. The
hole is quite a deep one, otherwise I could not think of giving
up dear Mr. Barstow’s Christmas gift; you remember that he said
I could sell it if ever I was in a hole, so I must do it now.”
She read over carefully what she had written, and then added:
“Please don’t think you must take the violin if you don’t want
it. Perhaps you spoke on the spur of the moment, and didn’t
really mean me to take you seriously.”
She hesitated a moment before signing her name. Then she slipped the
note into the envelope, and began the address: “Mr. Reed Marshall.”
Suddenly she realized that she did not know where the young man lived.
“I shall have to send it in Mr. Barstow’s care,” she soliloquized, “and
I ought to write to him and explain. It wouldn’t do to sell his gift
without telling him why I am doing it.”
She wrote another note, enclosed the one to Reed, and felt that the
matter was concluded. “It can go off in the evening mail, and he should
get it to-morrow,” she told herself. “I should have an answer in a few
days.”
By this time her fingers were stiff with cold, and, as there was no
reason why she should linger, she hurried off, bearing the bag
containing her cousin’s belongings and her violin. The latter she wanted
to show to Jeremy Todd, but just as she was about to turn in at his gate
she saw him ahead of her, and hastened to catch up with him. This,
however, she did not do till he had reached the church, where he turned
in.
Ellen was right at his heels as he fitted the big key in the door.
“Happy New Year, Mr. Jeremy Todd!” she greeted him.
He flung open the door, and held out both hands. “Well, this is a
surprise,” he cried. “When did you get in? Have you seen Rindy? How is
she?”
“I got in yesterday and went right out to the hospital. Cousin Rindy is
doing as well as one could expect, but of course she worries. May I come
in with you? I have such a lot to tell you, and I want to consult you
about something. You know I am nothing if not a consulter.”
“Come right in and tell me all about it. We certainly have missed you,
child. It made me feel very lonesome to see the house next door shut up
and deserted.”
They entered the church and seated themselves near the organ. Then Ellen
poured forth her tale, concluding with: “So, you see, Mr. Todd, here is
my chance to do something for Cousin Rindy, something really worth
while. Of course I am sorry to give up dear Daddy’s violin, but I am not
used yet to owning it, so it is better to give it up before it becomes
harder to do. It will be a comfort to think that it is in the hands of
one who will treasure it, that is, if he really does want it. Besides, I
am not expecting to be a violinist.”
“And this young man is?”
“Why, he must be of a sort, although he is studying to be an artist he
told me. Funny I never thought to ask him to try the violin again. I saw
him only once, you know. I want you to try it and tell me what you think
of it.” She took it from its case and handed it over to him.
He handled it reverently, tuned it, and played a few measures. “It is a
very fine instrument,” he assured her, “and should be worth a big
price.”
“As much as a hundred dollars?” asked Ellen eagerly.
“It is worth more, though perhaps you may not get anything beyond that.
I wish it were my privilege to afford to buy it.”
“But you will keep it for me, won’t you, till Reed wants it? I would be
so glad if you would take charge of it.”
“Why not keep it yourself?”
Ellen shook her head. “No, the longer I have it the harder it will be to
part with it. I know it will be safe in your hands, and perhaps you will
like to play on it sometimes.”
“That I surely will. This Mr. Barstow of whom you speak, is his name
Peter, by any chance?”
“It is indeed, and he knows you. He was so glad when I could tell him
about you; said he was going to write to you.”
“My old friend, Don Pedro; well, well.”
“Oh, do you call him that? So did Daddy, and I do when I am with him.
Reed calls him Uncle Pete. Isn’t it funny that Reed’s father and mine
both were what Mr. Barstow calls old cronies, and Reed says I am a
cronette and he is a cronine in consequence. He is a very ridiculous
person.”
Mr. Todd looked at her thoughtfully. “And you like him very much, this
lad?”
“I liked him with a black face; I don’t know how much I should like him
with a white one. Probably he will seem quite a different person. I must
run along now, or Caro will think I am lost. I shall see you soon again,
I hope.”
“We begin our organ lessons again on Saturday, don’t we?”
“That’s up to you, Mr. Music Master.”
“Then by all means. I shall want your report of the sale of your violin
as soon as you have it.”
“That you shall.” She left him softly playing upon the violin, and went
on to mail her note. “It’s just as well that it is addressed to Don
Pedro,” she said to herself, “otherwise Mrs. Perry would be consumed
with curiosity to know who my new correspondent might be. She keeps a
mental list of all my other ones, I am sure.”
Caro was just stepping out of the completed party frock when Ellen came
into the room where she was. “What a time you have been,” she exclaimed.
“You haven’t been shut up in that cold house all this time, I hope.”
“Well, no; I was at the church with Mr. Todd part of the time, and I
went to the post-office to mail a letter.”
“Frank Ives has been trying to get you on the ’phone. He has called up
two or three times.”
“What did he want?”
“He wouldn’t leave his message, although I tried to get him to. He said
he must speak to you himself, and that he would come around before one
o’clock, so don’t run off again.”
Ellen’s only response was: “How pretty your dress is, Caro. It is mighty
becoming, too. You’ll be the belle of the ball.”
“Not if you are there.”
“Which I shall not be, and it is nonsense to say I would be a belle if I
were there. Florence would see to it that I played the part of wall
flower.”
“I’d like to see her try, then; not with Frank and Clyde and the other
boys there. You are not going to be so cruel as to refuse to go, Ellen,
when you know how disappointed I shall be, not to mention several
others. You can wear your lovely crêpe de Chine that you look so
perfectly dear in.”
Just here a big red car dashed up to the door and Frank Ives sprang out.
“I can’t go down,” declared Caro. “He wants to see you anyway, and I am
not dressed. Go along.”
There was nothing left to do but go, which Ellen did half reluctantly.
For some reason she didn’t care to see Frank just then. It was evident,
however, that he very much wanted to see her. “I came to apologize,”
were his first words. “Flo didn’t know you were here till I told her, so
that explains why you haven’t received an invitation to her party. If
you don’t mind the informality of it, I am the bearer of a verbal
invitation which we hope you will accept. I want to come for you, and
please give me as many dances as you can. Please don’t say No. You will
spoil my evening if you do.”
With two persons asserting that the evening would be spoiled for them if
she refused to attend the party, Ellen was obliged to give in, and sent
Frank off in high feather. If she had but known, the invitation was
entirely due to the stand he took in the matter, for he announced that
he would not appear unless Ellen were there. “I’ll go and spend the
evening with her,” he declared to his sister, “so count me out, Miss
Snobby.”
“I think you are perfectly horrid,” pouted Florence. “It’s my party, and
I reckon I can invite who I choose.”
“So you can,” retorted Frank, “but allee samee you can count me out, and
I’d advise you to give an hour’s study to your grammar before you mingle
in society.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Florence returned. “I reckon I
can talk as good grammar as you or any of the boys.”
Frank shrugged his shoulders and lifted his eyebrows as he turned to
walk away. He had not reached the door before Florence called him back.
“I never can have my own way,” she fumed. “What is it you want me to
do?”
“I want you to give me leave to invite Ellen in your name. I can make it
all right with her, I think.”
“What will you do for me if I consent?”
“I’ll dance with that little foolish Suzanne Mills, or any one else you
may select.”
“All right, but Ellen is such a Priss.”
“She is not at all. You don’t know her; she can be as jolly as the next,
and stars! how she can sing.”
“Oh, very well, go along and get your little red-headed missy, only
don’t expect me to fall on her neck.”
“You’ll have to be decently polite; that’s all I ask. I’ll see that she
has a good time, so I should worry.”
So that is how Ellen happened to go to the dance, and, to the chagrin of
her hostess, she had all the attention she could desire, and did not in
the least miss the blandishments which Florence bestowed upon some of
her guests, notably Suzanne Mills, who was a flapper of flappers, and as
brainless a little somebody as one could meet, but she glittered in
shining raiment, and was bestrung with gauds, so she could not help
attracting attention. “Her people are awful rich,—that’s a real pearl
necklace she’s got on,” Ellen heard Florence remark; and, thinking of
Mabel Wickham, who also was “awful rich” but who dressed simply and made
no display of jewelry, Ellen smiled. However, the blood rushed to her
face when Suzanne asked, “Who is the red-headed girl that your brother
Frank is so devoted to?”
“Oh, that’s a sort of a little ‘orphant Annie,’ taken up by one of her
relatives who lives here. She is poor as poverty, and I’d never have
invited her if Frank hadn’t insisted upon it.”
“She doesn’t look poor,” returned Suzanne. “That’s a handsome dress she
has on, and those look like real rock-crystal beads she wears.”
“Probably some rich friend gave them to her; her cousin couldn’t afford
either dress or beads, unless Ellen badgered her till she was obliged to
give them to her to keep peace. It’s pretty hard on Miss Rindy to have
to support a girl who is old enough to make her own living.”
Ellen’s face was flaming as the girls moved off. If only she could have
escaped from her corner before those two came near enough for her to
hear what they said. Eavesdropping? Perhaps it was, but she was hemmed
in by a screen of palms, and could not easily have made her way out
without crowding others. She was waiting for Frank, who had established
her there.
Presently he came up, bearing a plate of chicken salad in one hand and
one of oysters in the other. “I’ll get you some ice-cream and cake in a
minute,” he said. “This is a nice, quiet corner, isn’t it? Just big
enough for two. Rather a tight squeeze getting in and out, but room
enough when you get here. I’ve had my eye on it from the first. I’ll be
right back.” He set down the plates, and Ellen saw him threading his way
through the crowd.
She felt that the food would choke her if she attempted to eat it, but
how dispose of it? She could not let Frank see that it had not been
touched. She looked around wildly. It would never do to empty it in any
of the pots or tubs which held the palms. Then she realized that this
was a bay window. Perhaps she could lift one of the sashes. She made the
attempt, and found she could open the window far enough to allow her to
toss out the contents of the plates, trusting that a dog or cat would
discover it before morning. Then she sat back, fervently hoping that
Frank would not return before what would seem a reasonable time for one
to eat what he had brought. “He certainly will think I have a good
appetite,” she said to herself as she regarded the empty dishes which
she set down under one of the palms.
As luck would have it Frank did not return very soon. “There was such a
mob I could scarcely get near the tables,” he said, “but I knew how to
turn the trick by going around the back way, and I snatched a bite for
myself while the going was good.”
Ellen picked at the ice-cream and nibbled a macaroon, but permitted
herself to appear more absorbed in Frank’s long-winded account of how he
was nearly held up for speeding a few days before. Frank was never
eloquent, and his tales always held many digressions. Ellen made few
comments, for her thoughts were not on the subject. She longed for the
time to come when she might go, or, at least, that there might be an
interruption.
This came before long, when Clyde Fawcett’s face appeared between
branches of a tall palm. “So this is where you are twosing,” he
exclaimed. “I might have known foxy old Frank would seek some
out-of-the-way corner. They are going to start up the music again,
Ellen, and this is our dance. Tight squeeze getting out, isn’t it? Here,
I’ll help you. Step on the edge of that tub.”
With the help of her two cavaliers Ellen managed an escape from her
bower and was soon among the dancers, desperately longing for the time
to come when she could make her farewells. At last the hour arrived when
Caro in her rosy dress came up to her. “Dad is here for me,” she said.
“Are you going home with us, Ellen?”
“Not much she isn’t,” Frank spoke up. “I brought her and I shall take
her home. Stay for another dance or two, Hazel.”
“Oh, no, I mustn’t,” Ellen spoke hastily. “Mrs. Rowe will be sitting up
for us, and I must get back when Caro does.” And in spite of Frank’s
persuasions she kept to her decision, glad when she could follow in
Caro’s wake and murmur a few polite words to Florence as they took their
leave. As she stepped into the big red car she cast one backward look at
the pretentious, brilliantly lighted mansion. “Farewell, Castle Mammon,”
she said to herself. “I hope never to enter your walls again.”
She said not a word to Caro of the conversation between Florence and
Suzanne, but she did pour out her heart to her good old friend, Jeremy
Todd. “They are so different, so very different from the people my
mother and father knew. Nobody cared who was rich or who was poor. If
they were good and talented and kind, it was all that mattered, and no
one could have better times than artists and their friends.”
Mr. Todd nodded in assent. “I know that full well. ‘The life is more
than meat, and the body than raiment.’”
“I never understood that so well before,” replied Ellen reflectively.
“It is like something my mother used to tell me her old mammy often said
of a certain sordidly rich family: ‘Dey has money, but dey hasn’t
nothin’ else.’ How true that can be of some.”
Mr. Todd laughed. “That’s worth remembering, and one should be sorry for
those who have nothing but money. With only that one cannot buy an
appreciation of beauty, nor character, nor truth; in fact, few of the
really worth-while things can be bought with money, and they are the
rich who can enjoy the heaven-sent gifts instead of grubbing for what
earth can supply.”
“But it is mighty nice to have riches,” sighed Ellen.
“To do good with, to help others, yes, and they are blest who have both
the heavenly spirit and the earthly means.”
“It is the earthly means I am yearning for just now. One reason I am so
angry with Florence is that she hit upon the truth when she said I
should be earning my living. Plenty of girls of sixteen do earn it, and
I must be casting around to find a way to do the same. It is intolerable
to be spoken of as a charity girl who is sponging on a relative.”
Mr. Todd looked distressed. “I think, my dear, that your work is cut out
for you while Rindy is laid up. When she is well it will be time enough
for you to think of your independence. By the way, have you heard from
your young friend about the violin?”
“Not yet, and it’s getting to be time that I did. Of course I can’t
expect he will be as prompt as I want him to be, but I am getting a
trifle impatient.”
Still it was several days before the letter did come, and in the
meantime Caro asked Ellen what she had done with the violin. “I am
letting Mr. Todd keep it,” she explained. “It is of more use to him than
to me.”
“Oh, but I love to hear you play that pretty piece on it.”
“You’d soon get tired of that; I’d be like a music box that plays only
one tune. No, it’s better Mr. Jeremy should keep it for the present.” In
this way she put off Caro, and felt that she had done it rather
cleverly.
To her great joy Reed’s letter came one day when she went herself to the
post-office. She could hardly wait to open it, and hurried back, not to
the doctor’s, but to her old home, where, “If I have to cry nobody will
see me,” she said to herself.
Up to her own little room she went, sat down, and held the letter a
moment or two before opening it, but, when she finally did, out fell a
check which she hurriedly scanned. Down went the letter on the floor.
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” she exclaimed. “It is too good to be true. It may be only
filthy lucre, but, oh, how glad I am to get it! Say what you will, Mr.
Todd, there are moments in life when there is nothing like a check to
satisfy one’s cravings.” She held out the check before her and gazed at
it fondly. “I could kiss you, but I will only press you to my heart,”
which she proceeded to do. “Now, let’s see what that nice boy has to
say.”
She picked up the letter, which read:
“Dear Cronette:
“You must think me a beast for not answering your note sooner,
but the fact of the matter is that I am laid up with a mean
attack of grippe, and, lest my temperature should be too
seriously affected by a note from you, Uncle Pete didn’t hand it
over till this morning.
“Of course I want the dear fiddle, want it like the mischief,
but I feel like a thief to take it from you. However, if it
helps you out of a hole to cash the within meagre check, I send
it along; and if the time comes when you want to buy it back,
the fiddle, I mean, you must feel free to do it. By that time it
may be a little shop-worn, so you should beat me down in the
price. Remember that I am not paying what it is worth, but
perhaps you will consider that my deep appreciation is worth
something.
“I wish I could come for it myself, but, ‘Nay, nay, Pauline,’
says the doctor. If you have a chance to send it by some
reliable messenger please do so, for it is too precious to be
sent by any ordinary means. If no such trustworthy person
appears on the horizon, just wait till I can come for it or can
send some one.
“It was bad luck not to have a chance of seeing you again, but I
shall do it yet. Somehow I feel it in my bones, honey chile, dat
we is gwine be de bes’ ob fren’s.
“Yo’ expectation fren’ an’ pal,
“Cronine.”
“What a nice, nice boy,” murmured Ellen as she folded the letter and put
it back in the envelope; but almost immediately she took it out and read
it all over again. Then she sat in deep thought for a while, but
suddenly she jumped up, gathered together her letter and check, and ran
in next door to show them to Mr. Todd.