THE PAN-AMERICAN
If little has been said hitherto of Miss Ruby Caddie, it is not because
she was not an Institution of Cyrus; far from it! She was even more than
that, though that would be enough for most people; she was a National
Institution; she was the Pan-American! Miss Ruby spent her days in a box
measuring eight feet by ten, glazed on two sides; one window giving on
the street, the other on a small and dingy space which she called the
Outer Office. The other two sides were profusely adorned with
illuminated texts, of cheerful and admonitory nature. Miss Ruby's
visitors were advised that this was Her Busy Day; that it was proper to
Smile While You Wait: that
"When Time is withdrawn,
Will Eternity dawn!"
etc., etc. The latter sentiment was also inscribed in letters of gold
(decalcomania!) on a manuscript book which lay on Miss Ruby's desk, and
which was further labeled "Timely Texts for Troublous Telegrams." This
volume (a birthday present from Miss Pearl, who had spent a happy year
in its compilation) was a constant help to Miss Ruby in discharging the
responsibilities of her position, of which she was acutely conscious.
The electric telegraph was to her sensitive nature no mere affair of
keys, wires and switches: no, indeed! "It is a _Mighty Force_," the
little lady was wont to say, shaking her flaxen ringlets impressively,
"which through my agency raises the heart to the summit of joy or
plunges it in the gulf of despair."
Holding these views, Miss Ruby felt it her duty to wing the joyful
message with special shafts of cheer, and to prepare the way for the
sorrowful one with remarks of a fortifying nature. She invariably began,
"_Good_ morning! (or afternoon, as the case might be). This is the
Pan-American Telegraph Company." Then would follow, "Do not be alarmed!
the news is of a cheering nature." And then the listener would learn
that her Aunt Maria was coming that evening by the 8:3O train, or that
John Henry had passed his college examinations. But were the message one
of sorrowful import, Miss Ruby before delivering it would open the
manuscript volume and select an appropriate sentence: then we might hear
"Trouble is often benefit in disguise. Permit me to express my sympathy
before delivering the following message. 'Your Aunt Maria passed away
last night; a blessed release.'"
With these lofty views of her responsibilities, it need not be said that
Miss Ruby was the soul of conscientiousness in regard to the winged
words of which she was the transmitter. Not even to Miss Pearl, her twin
sister and other self, would she breathe a whisper of what passed over
the wires. Miss Pearl, equally conscientious, respected her sister's
reserve. If questioned by some thoughtless neighbor, she would say, "My
sister has her business, and I have mine. I should no more think of
asking her about the messages she receives than she would ask me the
amount of your bank deposit. We are in positions of Public Trust!"
Once only, in all the years of her service, was Miss Ruby tempted to
break her rule of silence; that was on a certain June evening, not long
after the events narrated in the last chapter. Miss Pearl had not
visited the office that afternoon; it was "the birthday of Sister and
Self," as she happily announced to all she met on her way home, and she
must prepare for the Treat. The Treat consisted of creamcakes, bought at
the bakery, as she hastened homeward; large pale yellow shells of
brittle crust, irregularly paneled like alligator-skin, filled with a
glutinous semi-liquid substance of irresistibly flowing nature. There
were other delicacies of home manufacture; stuffed eggs, and what Miss
Pearl called "lion's potatoes," with buttered toast and pickles; but the
creamcakes were the real Treat, as they had been ever since the little
Twins earned their first five cents apiece by picking berries for Madam
Flynt. There were three creamcakes; two apiece would be too much; on the
other hand, one was not quite enough; so the third was cut in two, with
astonishing results in the way of swift pursuit and skillful capture
(with spoons) of the glutinous substance before mentioned. The cakes
were displayed upon a beautiful old platter of "flowed blue," the pride
of the ladies' hearts. Have I said too much about the Treat? I always
thought it so dear and funny! and I never can forget how I chanced in on
an errand one Birthday evening, and found the Twins half way through
their whole cakes. They held them in their hands, and darted from edge
to edge as the custard threatened to overflow here or there. They
offered me the third cake; dear little ladies!
On the evening in question, Miss Ruby was not in her usual spirits. She
praised the "lovely supper," which Sister had prepared, and joined in
the annual duet of admiration for and joy in the flowed blue platter,
the pink lustre jug, and the sprigged tea-set. The sisters found it
convenient, as I have said, to spend their winters at the Mallow House.
It was economical, Mr. Mallow being more than liberal in his rates for
"permanents"; it was also social, and saved much time in getting to and
from their business, for their cottage was quite at the end of the
village; but perhaps the happiest day of the year for the sisters was
that on which they "got back to their dishes!"
"For there is nothing like _your own_!" said Miss Pearl, shaking her
curls. "Not but what Mr. Mallow's pattern is handsome; it _is_, for them
that likes a band. But when you have grown up with a sprig, nothing else
is quite the same, seems as though."
Miss Ruby, as I say, joined in the duet, but not, her observant twin
thought, with her customary heartiness. Neither did she show her usual
keen enjoyment of the eggs (scrambled this time, with crisp curls of
bacon surrounding them) and the lion's potatoes. She was absent-minded
and took little notice even of the Sally Lunns. All this might have
passed as the result of fatigue, or an exceptionally busy day; but when,
on finishing her creamcake, Miss Ruby refused, positively refused, her
half of the odd one, Miss Pearl spoke with conviction.
"Sister," she said, "you have something on your mind; do not deny it!"
"Sister," replied Miss Ruby, "I _have_. Do not press me! I cannot eat
another morsel."
A troubled silence ensued. The table was cleared, the dishes washed and
put away, but not to the customary accompaniment of cheerful babble.
Miss Ruby sighed deeply over her "wiper," one of a set presented by Mr.
Mallow as a birthday gift. Miss Pearl, the elder by half an hour in this
world, and with all her maternal instinct centred in her sister, yearned
to comfort her; but the bond of discretion and custom kept her silent.
Anything that Sister felt at liberty to communicate, she would; far be
it from Miss Pearl to intrude upon the sanctity of Office!
Miss Ruby was the first to break the silence.
"Let's we come out on the stoop!" she said. (The Misses Caddie never
forgot that their father, the late lamented Cassius M. Caddie, had been
a New York Merchant. They were only ten years old when he died, and
their mother brought them back to her native Cyrus, but they said
"stoop" for "porch" and "aquascutum" for "waterproof," as long as they
lived.)
The sisters went out on the porch--I beg their pardon! the stoop!--and
sat down on a bench at the side. It was a lovely evening; the air was
full of peace and silence, broken now and then by a low call from some
nesting bird. Miss Ruby sighed again.
"Sister," Miss Pearl spoke timidly; "could you feel to free your mind?
You know that anything you might say would be sacred----"
"I know it well!" Miss Ruby touched her twin's shoulder lightly; it was
in the nature of a caress; they had not been brought up to kiss.
"I will own this much to you, Sister, that never, in the course of my
professional career, have I been so tempted to speak as I am this
night."
She paused; Miss Pearl made a little sound expressive of sympathy and
concern.
"It is not only," Miss Ruby went on, "the extra-ordinary nature of the
message itself, though--well, Sister, you really _never did_!--but it is
the feeling--" Miss Ruby glanced around her in the dusk and lowered her
voice--"the feeling that the sanctity of the Office has been _already
violated_."
"Sister Ruby! how _could_----"
"I feel it so to be! this much I can say, and will. Pearlie, the message
was for Kitty Ross, from California. I delivered it by telephone as
usual. 'Kitty,' I said, 'do not be alarmed; the message, though _most
unusual_, is not otherwise than cheerful, if correctly transmitted,
though of course at that distance it is impossible to be sure.' Then I
gave her the words of the message----"
"Yes, Sister!" Miss Pearl's voice was tense with eagerness.
"The words of the message!" Miss Ruby seemed to be holding herself in
forcible restraint. "I then asked her if it was clear, and she made
answer that it was. To make quite sure, I asked her to repeat it, and
she so did. Then she hung up; and--Sister, at that living moment of
time, _some one else hung up_! I cannot be deceived;" as Miss Pearl
uttered a cry of amazement, "and it is not the first time that it has
happened, but I am resolved it shall be the last. That----"
"Good evening, girls!" a high-pitched voice broke in on Miss Ruby's low,
impressive tones. Mrs. Sharpe appeared, slightly out of breath as usual.
"I thought I'd make a run in, and wish you joy; not that birthdays is
all joy in this world, especially when you're on in years. You're
gettin' quite gray, ain't you? Well, Ruby, _what_ do you make of that
message?"
Miss Ruby grew rigid. "To what do you allude, Sophia?" she asked.
Mrs. Sharpe laughed, a high excited titter. "That telephone!" she cried:
"it is the beat! I keep tellin' and tellin' Jonas Chamberlain, and he
doesn't do a thing about it. Everything that goes to Kitty Ross's goes
_right through_ my house. I s'posed you knew, of course. It's real
annoying; I should think they would stop it. But--well, if that is _so_,
girls, we shall see great times in Cyrus, what say, Pearlie?"
"I do not understand you!" Miss Pearl spoke stiffly.
"What!" Mrs. Sharpe bent forward eagerly, trying through the twilight to
scrutinize the features of the twins. "You don't mean to say--you don't
mean Ruby _hasn't told_ you? Well! It's _my_ belief that such things
should be made public. The idea! Is this a Republic, I ask you, or a
Monarchy? '_Coming, coach and six. Duke._' Did you ever? If that isn't
English Aristocracy trying to lord it over----"
She stopped. The twin sisters had risen to their feet; their round
spectacles glistened through the dim twilight.
"Sophia Sharpe!" Miss Ruby spoke slowly, her curls nodding emphasis.
"Sophia Sharpe, you have tampered with the sanctity of Public Office. I
_forbid_ you to repeat what you have criminally--I repeat, _criminally_
overheard!"
"You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" piped Miss Pearl, her bird-like
voice shrill with indignation. "To cast reflection upon Sister's
faithfulness in office!"
"Oh!" Mrs. Sharpe's tone was shriller yet. "I've come here to be
instructed, have I? By two old maids, too, who have never had any
encouragement that _I_ know of to change their state! This is what I get
by coming out of my way to wish you joy on your _birthday_! a precious
day it is! so _important_ to everybody! One sure thing, you've had
_enough_ of 'em, te hee! I guess my run-in will be a run-off, though you
_are_ so pleasant and hospitable, I'm sure!"
"Do not darken these doors again!" said Miss Pearl.
"Do not speak to me in the street!" said Miss Ruby. "The acquaintance is
at an end!"
"I thank you for the favor!" the visitor flung back over her departing
shoulder. "Of course it's been a _great privilege_ to come traipsing out
here to the other end of nowhere, but it's one I _can_ dispense with, if
I try hard; and as for _speaking_ to two poor mildewed little old maids
that stick to their jobs like seaweed to a rock, and that's kept there
out of _pity_--out of _pity_!----"
The sound of the closing door checked her flow of eloquence; she
departed.
This is the true story of the quarrel between the Misses Caddie, "two
ladies as highly respected in our midst for their ability and discretion
as beloved for their many endearing social qualities," as Mr. Jordano
took occasion to say in the next _Centinel_, and one who from this time
on was commonly spoken of as "that _mean_ Sophia Sharpe!"
But the deed was done. Before morning all Cyrus knew that Kitty Ross was
about to receive a visit from an English Nobleman, and that: A, he
expected to be met by a coach and six horses, or, B, that his arrival by
such conveyance was to be anticipated.
Before considering the effect of this news upon Cyrus, let us glance for
a moment into Madam Flynt's parlor on the evening of the day just past.
Madam Flynt was receiving a visitor; alone, Miss Croly having gone for
the quiet stroll which was her delight on summer evenings. "With
Nature!" the good lady would explain. "I love to stroll hand in hand
with Nature: so vast, yet so benignant, in her gentler aspects." She
recited poetry as she strolled, finding it most beneficial.
Madam Flynt's visitor stood by the door, declining a proffered seat; an
apron thrown over her head announced in some subtle way that her visit
was one of urgency; she spoke in low, emphatic tones.
"No'm! no! she wasn't feverish that I could see; I couldn't feel her
pult, but her skin felt natural. She acted more like she was out of her
mind. I thought I'd step over!"
"You were quite right, Sarepta! Tell me again just how it was, will you?
I didn't quite take it in the first time."
Evidently nothing loth, Sarepta spoke as follows:
"It was five o'clock, or thereabouts. She had just come in from the
stable; she feeds too much sugar to them hosses, and so I tell John
Tucker, but of course he knew all about hosses before they was created.
The telephone rang and she went. It was Ruby Caddie's voice. I could
tell by the cackle; she sounds for all the world like our Black Spanish
hen; of course I couldn't hear what she said. 'Yes,' says Kitty. 'Yes,
quite clear! Yes, I understand entirely.' Then I judge Ruby asked her to
repeat the message, for she says, kind o' singin' it, Madam Flynt, the
way I never heard her speak before since she _could_ speak: '_Comin',
coach and six. Duke!_'
"Well: Kitty covered her face with her two hands and stood there a
spell: if you'll excuse me mentionin' it, as if she was _prayin'_! Then
she hung up, and swung round, and see me standin' there. I had no idea
of listenin' you understand, Madam Flynt. I would scorn the action. I
was just passin' through the hall, and the sound of her voice--well, it
was so _peculiar_, I just stopped in my steps. First of it when she
looked up, she was white as my apurn: then, all in a flash, the child's
face was like she was afire, so to express it; her eyes were shinin',
and her cheeks--well, there! I expected to hear the flames cracklin'.
She rushes up to me and takes my two hands. 'Dance, Sarepta!' she says,
wild as a hawk. 'Dance! you _must_ dance!' and she drags me up and down
that hall--you know the stren'th of her wrists, drivin' like she
does--till the breath was out of my body; and all the time she was
singin', a crazy kind of jig tune she's ben singin' about the house this
two weeks past till I thought I should _fly_. 'Do for the land's sake,'
I'd say, 'sing something that has some _sense_ to it!' It don't begin
nor end anywhere, goes round and round like a cat's cradle--well, it's
crazy, that's all there is to it! She sang and danced till _her_ breath
gave out; I was past speech or cry by that time. Then she throws her
arms round me and hugs me till--well, I _hadn't_ any breath, but if I
had, I wouldn't of, if you understand what I mean: and then off she
flings out the back door, and I heard her routin' round in the stable,
and next thing out she comes with Pilot in the light wagon and off they
go down the ro'd like Job's cat after a fish. That was two hours ago,
and she ain't come back yet. I thought I'd step over----"
"Where is John Tucker?" asked Madam Flynt.
"Home sick, with the rheumatism. If he'd ben there, I don't know as I
need to have troubled you; not that he has much sense, but still he has
_some_. Hark! there! I do believe--yes'm, there she is; just turnin'
into the yard. Thanks be! I must hasten back."
"You are a good soul, Sarepta Darwin!" Madam Flynt spoke with feeling.
"You were very right to come over. Get Kitty to come in and see me in
the morning, will you? Make some errand, so she won't know----"
"Yes'm, I will! I'll borry an egg or something; thank _you_, Madam
Flynt! Good-night!"
Kitty, dancing into the kitchen half an hour later, found a grim figure
sitting bolt upright, reading a religious paper of austere appearance.
Her gay "Supper, please, Sarepta!" was rewarded with the information
that there was no supper that Sarepta knew of. Supper was at six
o'clock; if folks were here, they'd get it; if they preferred to get
their victuals elsewhere, it was no concern of hers that she knew of.
Kitty opened wide eyes.
"Oh! Excuse me for living!" she said. "Am I so _very_ late? The
moonlight is so heavenly, Sarepta, I think I was very good to come in at
all; and of course I had to see to those Lambs before I had my own
supper. John Tucker wanted to send Timmy over, but I wouldn't let him; I
love to put them to bed once in a while. But no matter, Sarepta. I'll
find a doughnut and some milk; don't bother. I'm not really hungry!"
Kitty's hand was on the buttery door when Sarepta intervened with a
truly awful aspect.
"When you wish me to go, Kitty Ross, you can say so and I will. While I
stay, I calc'late to attend to things in this kitchen. You go into the
sittin'-room and I'll bring you a tray."
The tray, when brought, displayed a most tempting little meal: creamed
chicken, buttered scones, cocoa and strawberry jam; but for once Kitty
seemed hardly conscious of the good things. She looked up as if in a
dream, her eyes soft and dewy.
"Are you very cross, Sarepta?" she asked. "I'm sorry I was late."
"Humph!" Sarepta apparently extremely cross, and busy setting down the
tray.
"Don't you love me?" asked the girl, as she had been used to ask when
she was six and wanted an extra cooky. No answer being returned, Kitty
came out of her dream, her own alert, thoughtful self; looked and saw
the grim lips quivering, the workworn hands trembling as they hovered
about the tray.
"Sarepta!" Kitty sprang up, threw her arms round the neck of her
faithful friend, and whispered three words in her ear.
"So you see!" she said.
Sarepta Darwin threw her apron over her head and departed, to hurry up
to her room and lock her door. For this time, Sarepta _was_ crying, and
no one must ever know it. The idea!