United We Stand, Divided We Fall
It need hardly be stated that Mrs. Carruth had passed anything but a
tranquil morning. Indeed tranquillity of mind was almost unknown to
her now-a-days, and her nights were filled with far from pleasant
dreams.
From the hour her old home had burned, disasters had crowded upon her.
Her first alarm lest the insurance upon her property had lapsed, owing
to her inability to meet the premium punctually, had been allayed by
Mammy's prompt action and all seemed well. No one had given a thought
to the conditions of the agreement, and, alas! no one had thought of
Eleanor's laboratory. Indeed, had she done so, Mrs. Carruth was not
sufficiently well informed upon such matters to have attached any
importance to it. But one little clause in the policy had expressly
prohibited the presence of "gasoline, excelsior or chemicals of any
description upon the premises," and all three had been upon it when
the house burned; and, fatal circumstance, had been the _cause_ of the
fire.
Such investigations move slowly, and weeks passed before these facts
were brought to light and poor Mrs. Carruth learned the truth. She
strove in every way to realize even a small proportion of the sum she
could otherwise have claimed, and influential friends lent their aid
to help her. But the terms of the contract had, unquestionably, been
broken, even though done in ignorance--and the precautions taken for so
many years ended in smoke.
Mrs. Carruth had not meant to let the girls learn of it until, if
worse came to worst, all hope of recovering something had to be given
up.
But, several days before, Eleanor had found her mother in a state of
nervous collapse over the letter which brought the ultimatum, and had
insisted upon knowing the truth. Mrs. Carruth confessed it only upon
the condition of absolute secrecy on Eleanor's part, for Constance was
in the midst of mid-year examinations and her mother would not have an
extra care laid upon her just then. Eleanor had kept the secret until
this morning when Jean's outbreak seemed to make it wiser to tell the
truth, and, if the confession must be made, poor Eleanor could no
longer conceal her remorse for the mischief her experiments had
brought upon them all.
She had gone that morning to her Aunt Eleanor's home to confess the
situation to her, and to ask if she might leave school and seek some
position. The interview had been a most unpleasant one, for Mrs.
Eleanor Carruth, Senior, never hesitated to express her mind, and
having exceptional business acumen herself, had little patience with
those who had less.
"Your mother has no more head for business than a child of ten. Not as
much as _some_, I believe. And, your father wasn't much better. Good
heavens and earth! the idea of a man in his sane senses agreeing to
pay another man's debts. I don't believe he _was_ in his senses,"
stormed Mrs. Eleanor.
"Please, Aunt Eleanor, don't say such things to me about father and
mother," said Eleanor, with a little break in her voice. "Perhaps
mother doesn't know as much about business matters as she ought, and
father's heart got the better of his good sense, but they are father
and mother and have always been devoted to us. I don't want to be rude
to you, but I _can't_ hear them unkindly spoken of," she ended with a
little uprearing of the head, which suddenly recalled to the irate
lady a similar mannerism of her late husband who had been a most
forebearing man up to a certain point, but when that was reached his
wife knew a halt had been called; the same sudden uplifting of the
head now gave due warning.
However, Eleanor was only a child in her aunt's eyes, and, fond as she
was of her, in her own peculiar way, she could not resist a final
word:
"Well, I've no patience with such goin's on. And now here's a pretty
kettle of fish and no mistake. You've taken Hadyn Stuyvesant's house
for a year, and of course you've got to _keep_ it, yet every cent
you've got in this world to live on is twelve hundred dollars a year.
That means less than twenty-five dollars a week to house, clothe and
feed five people. I 'spose it can be done--plenty do it--but they're not
Carruths, with a Carruth's ideas. And now _you_ want to quit school
and go to work? Well, I don't approve of it; no, not for a minute.
You'll do ten times better to stay at school and then enter college
next fall. _You've_ got the ability to do it, and it's flyin' in the
face of Providence _not_ to."
Aunt Eleanor might just as well have added, "I representing
Providence," since her tone implied as much.
"Now run along home and leave me to think out this snarl. I can think
a sight better when I'm alone," and with that summary and rather
unsatisfactory dismissal, Eleanor departed for her own home to be met
by Jean with her trials and tribulations.
Meanwhile Mrs. Carruth had gone in quest of that young lady, for upon
Mammy's return from market, Jean, Baltie and the box of candy had been
missed, and the old woman had raised a hue and cry. At first they
believed it to be some prank, but as the hours slipped away and Jean
failed to reappear, Mrs. Carruth grew alarmed and all three set forth
in different directions to search for her. Constance going to Amy
Fletcher's home. Mammy to their old home, or at least all that was
left of it, for Jean frequently went there on one pretext or another,
and Mrs. Carruth down town, as the marketing section of Riveredge was
termed. While there, one of the shopkeepers told her that Jean had
driven by, headed for South Riveredge.
Upon the strength of this vague information Mrs. Carruth had 'phoned
home that she was setting out for South Riveredge by the trolley and
hoped to find the runaway.
But the search, naturally, was unavailing and she was forced to return
in a most anxious state of mind. As she turned into Hillside street
and began to mount the steep ascent, her limbs were trembling, partly
from physical and partly from nervous exhaustion. Before she reached
the top she saw the object of her quest bearing down upon her with
arms outstretched and burnished hair flying all about her.
Jean had not paused for the hat or coat, which she had impatiently
flung aside upon entering Eleanor's room. Her one impulse after
learning of the calamity which had overtaken them was to offer
consolation to her mother. The impact when she met that weary woman
came very near landing them both in the gutter, and nothing but the
little fly-away's agility saved them. Jean was wonderfully strong for
her age, her outdoor life having developed her muscles to a most
unusual degree.
"Oh, mother, mother. I'm _so_ sorry I frightened you. I didn't mean
to; truly I didn't. I only wanted to prove I _could_ help, and now I
_can_, 'cause I've got a _lot_ of new customers and made most four
dollars. I could have made more if some of the papers hadn't bursted
and spilt the candy in the road. We got some of it up, but it was all
dirty and I couldn't take any money for _that_, though the boys _ate_
it after they'd washed if off at the hose faucet. It wasn't so very
dirty, you know. And now I'm going out there every single Saturday
morning, and Connie and I--"
"Jean; Jean; stop for mercy's sake. What _are_ you talking about? Have
you taken leave of your senses, child?" demanded poor Mrs. Carruth,
wholly bewildered, for until this moment she had heard absolutely
nothing of the candy-making, Mammy and Constance having guarded their
secret well. It had never occurred to Jean that even her mother was in
ignorance of the enterprise, and now she looked at her as though it
had come her turn to question her mother's sanity. They had now
reached the house and were ascending the steps, Jean assisting her
mother by pushing vigorously upon her elbow.
"Come right into the living-room with me, Jean, and let me learn where
you've been this morning. You have alarmed me terribly, and Mammy has
been nearly beside herself. She was sure you and Baltie were both
killed."
"Pooh! Fiddlesticks! She might have known better. She thinks Baltie is
as fiery as Mr. Stuyvesant's Comet, and that nobody can drive him but
herself. I've been to East Riveredge with the candy--"
"_What_ candy, Jean? I do not know what you mean."
"_Constance's_ candy!" emphasized Jean, and then and there told the
whole story so far as she herself knew the facts regarding it. Mrs.
Carruth sat quite speechless during the recitation, wondering what new
development upon the part of her offspring the present order of things
would bring to light.
"And Mumsey, darling," continued Jean, winding her arms about her
mother's neck and slipping upon her lap, "I'm going to help _now_; I
really am, 'cause Nornie has told me about that horried old insurance
and I know we haven't much money and--"
"Nornie has told _you_ of the insurance trouble, Jean? How came she to
do such a thing?" asked Mrs. Carruth, at a loss to understand why
Eleanor had disobeyed her in the matter.
"She told me 'cause I was so mad at her and Connie for having secrets,
and treating me as if I hadn't the least little bit of sense, and
couldn't be trusted. I am little, Mumsey, dear, but I can help. You
see if I can't, and the boys were just splendid and want me to come
every Saturday. Please, please say I may go," and Jean kissed her
mother's forehead, cheeks and chin by way of persuasion.
It must be confessed that Mrs. Carruth responded to these endearments
in a rather abstracted manner, for she had had much to think of within
the past few hours.
"Please say yes," begged Jean.
"Childie, I can not say yes or no just this moment. I am too
overwhelmed by what I have heard. I must know _all_ now, and learn it
from Mammy and Constance. I cannot realize that one of my children had
actually entered upon such a venture. What _would_ your father say?"
ended Mrs. Carruth, as though all the traditions of the Carruths, to
say nothing of the Blairsdales, had been shattered to bits and thrown
broadcast.
"But you'll tell me before _next_ Saturday, won't you? You know the
boys will be on the lookout for their candy and will be _so_
disappointed if I don't take it."
"I can not promise _anything_ now. The first thing to do is to eat our
luncheon; it is long past two o'clock. _Then_ we will hold a family
council and I hope I shall recover my senses; I declare I feel as
though they were tottering."
Mrs. Carruth rose from her chair and with Jean dancing beside her
entered the dining-room to partake of a very indifferent meal, for
Mammy had been too exercised to give her usual care and thought to its
preparation.