The Reckoning
The descending steam-roller slowed down and finally came to a
standstill within a few feet of the Professor, too non-plussed even to
snort or pant, while that imperturbable being stood hat in hand in the
sharp January air, and smiled upon it. There was something in the
smile that caused the steam-roller to reconsider its plan of action,
rapidly formed while descending the hill, for great had been the
consternation throughout the dwelling which housed it, and the cause
of all that consternation was now within reach of justice.
"Mammy Blairsdale?" repeated the Professor suavely.
"Mammy Blairsdale," echoed that worthy being, although the words were
not quite so blandly spoken.
"I am glad to make your acquaintance, Mammy. I have taken the liberty
of escorting this young lady back home. She is very entertaining, and
extremely practical, as well as enterprising. I am sure you will find
her a successful cooperator. She has done a most flourishing business
this morning."
"B'isness! B'isness! For de Lawd's sake wha' dat chile been at now,
an' we all cl'ar 'stracted 'bout her? Whar yo' bin at? Tell me dis
minute. An' yo' ma, and Miss Constance and me jist plumb crazy 'bout
you and dat hawse."
The Professor attempted to put in a word of explanation, but a wave of
Mammy's hand effectually silenced him and motioned him aside, as she
stepped closer to the phaeton. Baltie had instantly recognized her
voice and as she drew nearer, nickered.
"Yas, Baltie hawse, what dat chile been doin' wid yo'?" she said
softly as she laid her hand upon the old horse's neck. But the more
resolute tone was resumed as she turned again to the phaeton, and
demanded: "I wanter know wha' yo's been. You hear me? We's done chased
de hull town ober fer yo' an' dat hawse, an' yo' ma done teken de
trolley fer Souf Riveraige, kase someone done say dey seed yo' a gwine
off dat-a-way. Now whar in de name o' man _is_ yo' been ter?"
"I've been out to the Irving School selling your old _candy_, and your
cousins-in-the-Lord, over in South Riveredge, can _wait_ a while for
some. You and Connie thought you could fool me with your old talk but
you couldn't; I found out _all_ about it. _She_ makes it and _you_
sell it, and now _I've_ sold it--yes every single package--and there's
your money; I don't want it, but I've proved that I _can_ help mother,
so there now!" and, figuratively speaking, Jean hurled at Mammy's feet
the gauntlet, in the shape of her handkerchief, in which she had
carefully tied the proceeds of her morning's sale, a no mean sum, by
the way. Then, bounding out of the old phaeton, tore up the hill like
a small whirlwind, leaving Mammy and the Professor to stare after her
open-mouthed. The latter was the first to recover his speech.
"Well, really! Quite vehement! Good deal of force in a small body."
"Fo'ce! Well yo' ain' know dat chile ten years lak _I_ is. She cl'ar
break loose some times, an' dis hyre's one ob 'em. But I 'spicioned
dat she's done teken dat box o' candy. Minit my back turned out she
fly wid it. An' sell hit, too? What _yo'_ know 'bout it, sar? Is yo'
see her?"
"I certainly did, and I haven't seen such a sight in some time. She's
a good bit of a metaphysician into the bargain," and in a few words
Professor Forbes told of the morning's business venture, and the
lively experiences of the young merchant, Mammy listening attentively,
only now and again uttering an expressive "Um-m! Uh-h!" When he had
finished she looked at him sharply and said:
"You know what dat chile' oughter be named? Wal, suh,
Scape-many-dangers would fit her pine blank. De Lawd on'y knows what
she gwine tu'n out, but hits boun' ter be one ting or turrer; she
gwine be de banginest one ob de hull lot, or she gwine be jist nothin'
but a little debbil. Now, suh, who is _yo'_?"
The concluding question was sprung upon the Professor so suddenly that
he nearly jumped. He looked at the old woman a moment, the suggestion
of a twinkle in the eyes behind the big glasses, then answered
soberly:
"I might be termed a knight errant I presume; I've been guarding a
young lady from the perils of the highway."
"Night errand? 'Tain't no night errand as _I_ kin see. Can't be much
broader day dan tis dis minute," retorted Mammy, looking up at the
blazing luminary directly over her head by way of proving her
assertion. "If you's on a errand dat's yo' b'isness; 'taint mine. But
I'd lak ter know yo' name suh, so's I kin tell Miss Jinny."
"Is Miss Jinny the older sister who manufactures that delicious
candy?" asked the Professor, as he drew his card case from his pocket
and handed Mammy his card.
"No, suh, she's _my_ Miss Jinny: Miss Jinny Blairsdale; I mean
Carruth. My mistis. Dat chile's mother. Thank yo', suh. I'll han' her
dis cyard. Is she know yo', suh?"
"No, I haven't the pleasure of Mrs. Carruth's acquaintance though I
hope to before long. (Mammy made a slight sound through her
half-closed lips.) My grandmother was a Blairsdale."
"Open sesame" was a trifling talisman compared with the name of
Blairsdale.
"Wha', wha', wha', yo say, suh?" demanded Mammy, stammering in her
excitement. "Yo's a Blairsdale?"
"No, I am Homer Forbes. My mother's mother was a Blairsdale. I cannot
claim the honor."
"Yo' kin claim de _blood_ dough, an' dat's all yo' hatter claim. Yo'
don' need ter claim nuttin' else ef yo' got some ob _dat_. But I
mustn't stan' here talkin' no longer. Yo' kin come an' see my Miss
Jinny ef yo' wantter. If yo's kin ob de Blairsdales' she'll be
pintedly glad fer ter know yo'," ended Mammy, courtesying to this
branch of the blood royal, and turning to lead Baltie up the hill.
"Thank you. I think I'll accept the invitation before very long. I'd
like to know Miss Jean a little better. Good-day Mammy _Blairsdale_."
"Good-day, suh! Good-day," answered Mammy, smiling benignly upon the
favored being.
As she drew near the house a perplexed expression overspread her old
face. She still held the handkerchief with its weight of change;
earnest of the morning's good intentions. Yet what a morning it had
been for her and the others!
"I clar ter goodness dat chile lak ter drive us all 'stracted. Fust
she scare us nigh 'bout ter death, an' we ready fer ter frail her out
fer her doin's. Den she come pa'radin' home wid a bagful ob cash kase
she tryin' fer ter help we-all. _Den_ what yo' gwine 'do wid her?
Smack her kase she done plague yo', or praise her kase she doin' her
bes' fer ter mek t'ings go a little mite easier fer her ma?" ended
Mammy, bringing her tongue against her teeth in a sound of irritation.
Meanwhile the cause of all the commotion had gone tearing up the hill
and into the house where she ran pell-mell into Eleanor who had just
come home, and who knew nothing of the excitement of the past few
hours. Constance had gone over to Amy Fletcher's to inquire for the
runaway. Jean was on the border land between tears and anger, and
Eleanor was greeted with:
"Now I suppose _you_ are going to lecture me too, tell me I'd no
business to go off. Well you just needn't do any such a thing, and I
don't care if I _did_ scare you. It was all your own fault 'cause you
wouldn't let me into your old secret, and I'm _glad_ I scared you. Yes
I am!" the words ended in a storm of sobs.
For a moment Eleanor stood dumfounded. Then realizing that something
more lay behind the volley of words than she understood, she said:
"Come up to my room with me, Jean. I don't know what you are talking
about. If anything is wrong tell me about it, but don't bother mother.
The little Mumsey has a lot to bother her as it is."
Jean instantly stopped crying and looked at this older sister who
sometimes seemed very old indeed to her.
"_You_ don't know what all the fuss is about, and why Mammy is waiting
to give me Hail Columbia?" she asked incredulously.
"I have just this moment come in. I have been out at Aunt Eleanor's
all the morning, as you know quite well if you will stop to think,"
answered Eleanor calmly.
"Then come up-stairs quick before Mammy gets in; I see her coming in
the gate now. I did something that made her as mad as hops and scared
mother. Come I'll tell you all about it," and Jean flew up the stairs
ahead of Eleanor. Rushing into her sister's room she waited only for
Eleanor to pass the threshold before slamming the door together and
turning the key.
Eleanor dropped her things upon the bed and sitting down upon a low
chair, said:
"Come here, Jean." Jean threw herself upon her sister's lap, and
clasping her arms about her, nestled her head upon her shoulder.
Eleanor held her a moment without speaking, feeling that it would be
wiser to let her excitement subside a little. Then she said: "Now tell
me the whole story, Jean."
Jean told it from beginning to end, and ended by demanding:
"Don't you really, truly, know anything about the candy Constance is
making to sell?"
"I know that she is making candy, and that she contrives somehow to
sell a good deal of it, but she and Mammy have kept the secret as to
_how_ it is sold. They did not tell me, and I wouldn't ask," said
Eleanor looking straight into Jean's eyes.
"Oh!" said Jean.
"Mammy has rather high ideas of what we ought or ought not to do, you
know, Jean," continued Eleanor, "and she was horrified at the idea of
Constance making candy for money. And yet, Jean, both Constance and I
_must_ do something to help mother. You say we keep you out of our
secrets. We don't keep you _out_ of them, but we see no reason _why_
you should be made to bear them. Constance and I are older, and it is
right that we should share some of the burden which mother must bear,
but you are only a little girl and ought to be quite care-free."
Jean's head dropped a trifle lower.
"But since you have discovered so much, let _me_ tell you a secret
which only mother and I know, and then you will understand why she is
so troubled now-a-days. Even Connie knows nothing of it. Can I trust
you?"
"I'd _die_ before I'd tell," was the vehement protest.
"Very well then, listen: You know our house was insured for a good
deal of money--fifteen thousand dollars. Well, mother felt quite safe
and comfortable when she found that Mammy had paid the premium just
before the house burned down, and we all thought we would soon have
the amount settled up by the company and that the interest would be a
big help--"
"What is the interest?" demanded Jean.
"I can't stop to explain it all now, but when people put money in a
savings bank a certain sum is paid to them each year. The bank pays
the people the smaller sum each year because it--the bank, I mean--has
the use of the larger amount for the time being. Do you understand?"
"Yes, it's just as if I gave you my five dollars to use and you gave
me ten cents each week for lending you the five dollars till I wanted
it, isn't it?"
"Yes, exactly. Well mother thought she would have about six hundred
dollars each year, and everything seemed all right, and so we came to
live here because it was less expensive. But, oh, Jean, my miserable
experiments! My dreadful chemicals! When the insurance company began
to look into the cause of the fire and learned that I had gasoline,
and those powerful acids in my room, and the box of excelsior in which
they had been sent out from the city was in the room where the fire
started, they--they would not settle the insurance, and _all_ the money
we had paid out was lost, and we could hardly collect anything. And it
was _all_ my fault. _All_ my fault. But I did not know it! I did not
guess the harm I was doing. I only thought of what I could learn from
my experiments. And _see_ what mischief I have done," and poor
Eleanor's story ended in a burst of sobs, as she buried her head
against the little sister whom she had just been comforting.
Jean was speechless for a moment. Then all her sympathies were alert,
and springing from Eleanor's lap she flung her arms about her crying:
"Don't cry, Nornie; don't cry! You didn't _mean_ to. You didn't know.
You were trying to be good and learn a lot. You didn't know about
those hateful old companies."
"But I _ought_ to have known! I ought to have understood," sobbed
Eleanor.
"How _could_ you? But don't you cry. I'm glad now I _did_ run away
with the box, 'cause I've found a way to make some money every single
Saturday and I'm going to _do it_, Mammy or no Mammy. Baltie is just
as much my horse as hers, and if he can't help us work I'd like to
know why. Now don't you cry any more, 'cause it isn't your fault, and
I'm going right straight down stairs to talk with mother, and tell her
I'm sorry I frightened her but _I'm not_ sorry I went," and ending
with a tempestuous hug and an echoing kiss upon her sister's cheek,
little Miss Determination whisked out of the room.