“I should say I did, Nannie!”
“So do I,” added Lucy.
“Thank you, John,” said Nannie, smiling again.
* * * * *
The next evening Nannie and John walked about the front yard waiting
for Lucy to announce dinner. It was just after sunset and the tints in
the sky were gorgeous.
“Oh look at the lovely delicate mauve tint under that cloud!” exclaimed
John, pointing. Lucy joined them as he was speaking.
“Yes,” agreed Nannie. “It’s just the color of a dress I once had. Do
you remember that little dress, Lucy?”
“Yes, Mamma.” Lucy’s voice was weary. “Come on, or dinner will get
cold,” she added.
“Speaking of colors, what did you ever paint your house that horrid
shade for?” Nannie asked a moment later, when the family was seated and
she was serving the plates.
“Why I don’t think it’s horrid,” objected Lucy. “We all agreed it was
pretty. Jim selected it and----”
“Yes!” sneered Mrs. Merwent, “Mr. Sprague has to be pleased even in the
color of your house!” Lucy was pale and silent.
“I’ve thought myself since that a slate grey would have been more
effective,” said John.
“Why, John, you were the most enthusiastic of all over this fawn and
brown color scheme!” defended Lucy.
“Well? Is that any reason why I shouldn’t change my mind?” demanded
John sharply.
“It certainly is!” retorted Lucy with equal emphasis. “People ought to
know their own minds.”
“Like you!” snapped John.
“Dear me,” cooed Nannie, “you two have your little tiffs like other
people! I had always thought you _so_ happy.”
Lucy burst into tears and left the table.
After finishing his meal, John went to the door of Lucy’s room and
found it locked. He knocked.
“Please go away, John,” called Lucy.
“But, Lucy, you shouldn’t get angry at every suggestion Nannie makes.”
“I can’t talk, John. I’m _so_ tired.”
John returned to Nannie.
“Let’s us two wash the dishes,” he proposed. Dimmie had gone to sleep
in the Morris chair.
“Well, wait a minute, John. There was so much of this dessert left I
thought I’d take another helping,” Nannie explained, beginning to eat
again.
By the time they had cleaned the dishes and undressed Dimmie Nannie had
reiterated a favorite opinion.
“John, you _must_ get a servant for Lucy. I help her all I can but the
work is too heavy for her.”
Lucy objected strenuously to the scheme when it was brought up by John
the following morning. She was proud of her plan of putting the amount
of a servant’s wages in the bank every month.
“Well, Lucy, it’s only for your own good that I suggested it,” argued
Nannie.
“I can do the work all right,” Lucy protested. “I’ve not been very well
lately, but I’ll be all right.”
“I agree with Nannie,” decided John. “It will be a good thing for her,
too, for then you can go out with her more. She’s had to stay in most
of the time because there was no one to go with.”
“I’m not thinking of myself at all, John,” put in Nannie.
“I know you’re not,” returned John, “but we are.”
“But, John,” demurred Lucy, “we can’t afford it. Our bills are getting
bigger every week.”
“Well, a few dollars a month for servant hire isn’t going to make any
appreciable difference.”
“It isn’t only the wages, John, but a servant eats, and wastes, and
steals, and there are a lot of things to be thought of!” Lucy began to
weep.
“There! That’s an example. You’re all nervous and worn out and ready to
blow up at any time,” said John.
“Yes! And her friends blame it on me!” Nannie interrupted. “Mr. Sprague
and that Miss Storms both told _me_ that Lucy was working too hard.”
“I’d be obliged if both of them would attend to their own business,”
remarked John testily. “Well, it’s settled, and I’ll send a girl out at
once.”
“Please don’t, John,” begged Lucy as she followed him into the hall a
moment later. He took his hat from the rack.
“Yes, I will,” he repeated, laughing. “Good-bye,” and he was gone.
John, to Lucy’s relief, neglected to put into immediate execution his
threat of hiring a servant. She tried to conceal from him the extent of
her fear and perplexity as he seemed to regard her concern for their
affairs as a justification of his intention, and to evade Nannie’s
persistence was even more difficult.
XVII
Late in the afternoon of the first day of the month, Mrs. Merwent found
her daughter bending over some papers on the writing table in the
living room.
“What are you looking so cross about?” Nannie asked as she entered the
room.
“I didn’t know I was looking cross,” said Lucy. “I was worried.”
“Well, you were, and you oughtn’t to do it. The lines on your forehead
are already deeper than they are on mine. What in the world have you
got to worry over? If your life had been like mine you might have a
right to worry! With a husband like John you ought to be as happy as a
bird.”
Lucy did not reply.
“What is it especially that’s worrying you?” Nannie asked again.
“I’m worried about finances,” answered Lucy. “Our grocery bills have
already doubled and extra expenses have more than trebled.”
“Well, I certainly hope that _my_ coming hasn’t had anything to do with
it, Lucy.”
Lucy glanced up hesitatingly. “Well, to be frank, Mamma, we have a good
many people here at odd times since you came,” she said with sudden
resolution, “and I do wish you wouldn’t always be encouraging John to
spend money.”
“_I_ encourage John to spend money!” exclaimed Nannie. “I must say
that’s a considerate way to talk to a guest, especially when it’s your
own mother, and isolated as I am! You’re very kind and thoughtful.
Very, Lucy!”
“Listen, Mamma,” Lucy began patiently.
“I should think ordinary tact would keep you from saying such things as
that, Lucy, even if I were as callous as you seem to think, but when
I’ve tried so hard to help you----” Nannie was close to tears.
Lucy sighed.
“Such a speech is complimentary to your husband, too,” persisted Nannie.
“Now, see here, Mamma,” said Lucy, stung by the last remark, “I didn’t
mean anything you seem to imply, and if you can’t understand, we won’t
talk any more about it.”
“Oh, very well, Lucy! Of course _I’m_ to blame as usual. _I_ started
it. This is the gratitude I get for overlooking the past and coming
here. Poor Mamma, until the day of her death, never could get over the
way you treated _her_, and why should I expect anything different?
Well, it’s just as you like!” Nannie rose and swept into the hall.
Before she could ascend the stairs, John’s step was heard on the porch
and the front door was unlocked.
“Hello, Nannie!” he almost shouted. “Get your best bib and tucker on.
We’re going to see the _Madcap Girl_! It’s a dandy clear evening. You
said you wanted to see it and I’ve got tickets. Where’s Lucy? Let’s
have dinner at once.” and he passed on into the dining room where
Nannie followed him.
Lucy, who had gone into the kitchen, reappeared.
“Hurry up dinner, Lucy.” John’s manner was impatient. “We’re going to
the theatre.”
She stopped, with a dish in her hand, and considered an instant.
“What about Dimmie?” she asked. John frowned irritably.
“Hang Dimmie!” he ejaculated, petulantly. “I should think if Mrs.
Hamilton is such a friend as you say she might take care of him one
night!” Again Lucy was silent a moment.
“All right,” she acquiesced finally.
“You don’t seem very jubilant about it,” commented Nannie, who was now
all smiles. “_I_ appreciate it,” she added.
When they were seated at the table John produced the tickets.
“Oh! A box!” cried Nannie, examining them gleefully. “How nice! I’ve
wanted to see the _Madcap Girl_ for so long!” “It’s certainly a great
play, by all accounts,” observed Lucy acidly.
“Why, everybody says the costumes are lovely, and there are some of the
newest dances introduced,” contended Nannie. “I’ve been crazy to see
it.”
“We can’t afford a box, and besides I’ve no clothes suitable for a
box.” Lucy’s voice grew sharper with each word. “If you _would_ throw
away money, John, why didn’t you pick out something worth seeing? I’d
rather have seen Ethel Barrymore in _Midchannel_, even if I sat in the
gallery, than this nasty, silly thing in the best box in the house!”
“Why, you can see _Midchannel_ too,” interrupted John, somewhat
crestfallen.
“No, I can’t. We’ve spent twice as much on theatres already this month
as we ought to in half a year!”
“Well, Lucy, Nannie especially wanted to see this play, and I think we
ought _sometimes_ to sacrifice our own tastes for her.”
“I’m sure I didn’t know John was going to get tickets when I innocently
said I had wanted to see the play,” said Nannie. “I don’t see that I am
to blame for it.”
“No one’s to blame, Nannie,” championed John. Then, turning to Lucy, “I
don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, Lucy. If you don’t want to
go, say so.”
“Yes, indeed,” chimed in Nannie. “I don’t need to go. It’s not a
matter of life and death. In fact I have had a little headache anyway,
although _I_ wouldn’t _think_ of spoiling the evening after poor, dear
John has been so thoughtful.”
“Well, what are you going to do?” demanded John in the captious tone he
had come to use more and more often of late.
Lucy glanced at her mother before speaking.
“I’ll go,” she decided, rising from the table, “that is if Mrs.
Hamilton is going to be at home.”
As Nannie rose also a glance of sympathetic understanding passed
between her and John.
The two women ascended the stairs.
Lucy prepared Dimmie for the night, and, before changing her clothes
for the street, went out the back way and through an alley gate into
the Hamiltons’ yard. Dr. Hamilton called to her from the porch and she
made her request. She returned home without telling John the result of
her mission but when she dressed herself and descended to the living
room she found him waiting. She wore a blue foulard dress and a black
hat and as she came in she was drawing on her gloves.
“Mrs. Hamilton will be over here in a moment,” she informed him coldly
in answer to his glance of inquiry. The two sat in silence as they
waited for Mrs. Merwent to descend and the neighbor to arrive.
“I’m afraid we’ll be late,” remarked John regretfully, after a restless
pause. “When did Mrs. Hamilton say she could come? Hadn’t you better
call Nannie?”
“Mother knows perfectly well what time it is,” responded Lucy, and
added, “Mrs. Hamilton had just come in from a long day in town and had
to change her dress.”
“You’re not very considerate of Nannie, Lucy.”
“Well, you make up for it!” Lucy’s manner as she said this was a
surprise to John.
“Lucy, I don’t understand you at all.”
“Be careful not to try too hard, John.”
“Oh, well, if you want to be sarcastic, all right!” Silence descended
again.
Mrs. Hamilton entered the house through the kitchen where Lucy had left
a door ajar for her. She looked tired but apologized good humoredly for
her delay. John greeted her stiffly.
“The doctor may be called out,” she explained, “in which case he’ll
carry Dimmie over to our place.” Lucy bit her lips.
“I appreciate so much your doing this,” she said earnestly.
“My goodness! What are friends for!” Mrs. Hamilton laughed, trying to
draw John into the conversation.
After a quarter of an hour had elapsed Lucy walked into the hall and
called, “We’re waiting, Mamma.”
“Wait a minute, Lucy. You hurry me so I can’t half dress,” Nannie
shouted back.
When she finally appeared she wore a grey and green evening gown, a
grey opera cloak, and grey satin slippers.
She greeted plainly garbed Mrs. Hamilton with unusual geniality. “We
really ought to have a machine to go in!” John exclaimed when he saw
Nannie.
“Oh, no,” said Nannie cheerfully. “We’ll get through all
right--although it’s dear of you to think of such things, John.”
When they were seated in the train John said, “Jim is going, too. He
thought he couldn’t leave his work but I persuaded him.”
“Did you tell him we were _all_ coming?” queried Nannie.
“Oh, yes,” John answered.
Jim, in evening clothes, met them at the station.
“You go ahead with Lucy,” he suggested to John, after greetings were
exchanged. “You’ve got the tickets.”
“No. You go with Lucy,” said John, “and I’ll come on with Nannie.”
By the time they reached the theatre and entered their box the
overture was ending. The curtain rose as they seated themselves.
“Now, didn’t you like it?” Nannie asked Lucy as the curtain fell on the
final tableau of the first act.
“I certainly didn’t like that song,” returned Lucy.
“What song? The one about the butterfly?”
“No. The other one, ‘What Would Robinson Crusoe Have Done?’.”
“Why, I thought it was cute.”
“It was vulgar.”
“Why, I didn’t think of it’s being vulgar till you spoke of it just
now.” Nannie smiled at John.
“It sure was,” said Jim, rising. “May I go and smoke?” he asked Lucy.
“Yes,” she replied.
“And I, too,” said John.
“You sure can, John,” smiled Nannie.
“Didn’t you think the dresses in that yachting scene were just grand?”
she continued when the men had left her and Lucy alone.
“Yes,” agreed Lucy absently.
Nannie began to study the audience through her opera glass. “Why,
there’s Miss Powell!” she ejaculated in a pleased tone. “She’s bowing
to us. Don’t you see her, Lucy?”
“No,” answered Lucy, barely glancing in the direction her mother
indicated.
Nothing more was said until John and Jim appeared.
“Now let’s go and have a little supper,” John proposed when the
performance was at an end.
“That will be delightful!” cried Nannie, clapping her hands.
Lucy looked at John.
“We’ll get home so late,” she objected, “and Mrs. Hamilton can’t leave
until we get back.”
“Darn Mrs. Hamilton!” he declared. “She’s probably carried Dimmie over
to her house and there’s plenty of time before the last train.”
“I don’t want any supper,” persisted Lucy.
“Oh, come on, Lucy!” said John with his newly acquired querulousness.
“What do you want to spoil everything for?”
“But I’d rather not,” Lucy insisted.
“Why?”
“Well, I have a headache, for one thing.”
“All right,” acquiesced Nannie, in the tone of a patient martyr. “Let’s
go home then.”
“It’s a shame!” John asserted. “Your evening will be spoiled, Nannie.”
“Oh, my pleasure don’t matter, John. If Lucy would rather not it’s all
right.”
“I’ll take Lucy home and you two can stay,” interrupted Jim in a rather
aggressive tone.
“Oh, no,” refused Mrs. Merwent. “You needn’t do that. We’ll go.”
“I’m not very strong for eating at this hour myself,” Jim continued,
“and I don’t mind seeing Lucy home a bit.”
“Well, all right, Jim--if you don’t mind,” agreed John, helping Nannie
with her opera cloak.
In the foyer they met Miss Powell, in an elegant black décolleté gown,
and an opera cloak of old rose.
“Why, how do you do, Mrs. Merwent!” She came up to Nannie and shook
hands. “I’m so glad to see you.” Then, turning to John and Lucy, “Mr.
Winter, Mrs. Winter.” “You know Mr. Sprague, Miss Powell,” said Lucy.
“Why, yes. How do you do, Mr. Sprague?” She turned to Nannie again.
“How are you enjoying your stay in Chicago by this time, Mrs. Merwent?”
“Oh, very much, thank you,” replied Nannie.
“You are looking so well,” Miss Powell pursued. “I declare I’m jealous.
No one would ever dream of taking you for Mrs. Winter’s mother.”
“Thank you,” cooed Nannie once more.
“Won’t you have some supper with us?” John invited. “We’ll see you
safely home afterwards.”
“Oh, no, thank you very much. My brother is waiting for me. I must
run!” And with a smile and handshake, Miss Powell was gone.
“Come on, Lucy,” urged Jim, taking her arm. The two left the theatre,
John and Nannie going in the opposite direction, toward a fashionable
restaurant.
* * * * *
Jim and Lucy were both very quiet in the car that took them toward
Rosedene. It was moonlight outside. Jim scrutinized Lucy’s profile a
long while as she stared through the window, but he said nothing. When
they had alighted at their station and walked to the house, even after
the door was unlocked, Jim delayed a little on the porch, as if hoping
that Lucy would invite him in. But she did not.
It was very still down the street. Rosedene seemed to be asleep. On the
side of the house toward the country stretched the dim, misty vista of
a meadow, with here and there real estate agents’ sign boards looming
like crucified ghosts. The air had a tang of cold that belied the
promise of the summer which, according to the calendar, was already
upon them.
“Thank you so much for bringing me home,” was all Lucy said.
“Thank you for letting me,” he responded. “You know I would thank you
for letting me do more, Lucy.”
“I know, Jim.” Her tone was frank and friendly.
“Lucy----”
“What, Jim?” “Oh, well--nothing. Good-bye,” and he held out his hand.
Lucy put hers in it. His clasp was unwontedly warm. As he turned away
and she went into the hall she felt her fingers tingle.
Mrs. Hamilton had remained upstairs near Dimmie and when Lucy entered
the bedroom was seated in a rocking chair with her eyes closed
wearily. She started and looked up.
“I’m so sorry!” Lucy began feelingly, but Mrs. Hamilton interrupted her.
“Don’t say anything about it, Mrs. Winter. Under ordinary circumstances
I wouldn’t have even been tired, and it doesn’t matter a bit. I’ll just
go over home now.” She rose and smoothed down her dress.
“Aren’t you afraid to go alone? Let me go with you.” Lucy started after
her friend but Mrs. Hamilton was already half down the stairs.
“Not a bit!” she called cheerily over her shoulder, waving Lucy away.
“Shut the door after me.” Lucy descended to the kitchen and bolted the
door, then she went back to the bedroom and undressed but she did not
go to sleep.
It was a long time before John and Nannie arrived. They came in a
taxicab, their voices betraying high spirits, and before ascending the
stairs they talked and laughed in the dining room for a while.
Finally Nannie said warningly, “We might wake Lucy, John,” and the
voices and laughter became more subdued.
At last they tip-toed upstairs, where John found Lucy yet awake.
He called Nannie. As she came into the bedroom, Lucy reached for a
dressing sacque and threw it around her shoulders. Nannie and John sat
on the edge of the bed and described the supper.
“You don’t know what you missed, Lucy! We had a lobster à la Newburg,
and the _best_ wine! Sparkling Burgundy, wasn’t it, John? I didn’t know
you could get wine now. I never ate so much in my life. But dear John
has such perfect taste in ordering refreshments! We met Miss Powell
again in the restaurant,” Nannie rattled on, “and she introduced her
brother. That’s how the head waiter let us have the wine. I’m going
to a theatre with them next week. He’s said to be worth two million
dollars.” “We missed the last train,” volunteered John.
“We had the _best_ time,” declared Nannie ecstatically.
“Is your head better?” John inquired of Lucy.
“Yes, poor, dear Lucy! I was _so_ sorry. But I suppose you had a good
time too,” Nannie finished slyly.
“What do you mean, Mamma?”
Nannie laughed.
“Why, you and Mr. Sprague had a fine chance for a _tête-à-tête_.”
“Did Jim stay long?” John asked suddenly.
“No. He didn’t come in at all,” answered Lucy with forced naturalness.
“Well, I must go to sleep, or I’ll look a fright in the morning. Good
night, Lucy.”
“Good night, Mamma.”
“Good night, Nannie,” said John.
“Good night, dear John,” returned Nannie. “Here, wait a minute. I’ve
got to kiss you for giving me such a lovely evening,” and she suited
the action to her words. Then, with a silvery, “I hope you rest well,”
she tripped out of the bedroom and across the hall.
“You ought to have stayed, Lucy,” remarked John, as he was preparing
for bed. “We had lots of fun.”
Lucy did not speak.
“I would have come home with you if Jim hadn’t offered,” he went on,
in the tone of one combating an argument, “but seeing that he didn’t
care for any supper either, I thought there was no need for spoiling
Nannie’s enjoyment. Those Hamiltons are always bragging about liking us
and this is the first time we’ve ever asked anything of them as far as
I know.”
Lucy was still silent.
John completed his preparations for bed, whistling softly one of the
airs they had heard at the play. When ready, before turning off the
light, he came around to Lucy’s side of the bed and bent down to kiss
her.
She buried her face in the pillow.
“Oh, very well. Just as you like,” he said, and switched off the light.
XVIII
The morning after John’s theatre party Nannie breakfasted in high
spirits and when she had done with her meal she made her way into the
living room to practice the accompaniments to the two songs she had
admired in the _Madcap Girl_, the music of which John had purchased in
the theatre entrance after the performance.
Dimmie was amusing himself in the hall.
“Don’t make so much noise, Jimmie,” she called from the piano.
He stopped running about and sat down on a rug. In a few minutes he
began drumming on the floor with his heels.
“Jimmie! Did you hear me? I tell you to stop that noise!” Nannie’s tone
was one to which Dimmie was a stranger.
“What _can_ I do?” asked the child.
“Be still, like a good boy,” his grandmother answered.
“I am a good boy,” averred Dimmie, secure in his lifelong experience of
the approval of himself expressed by his parents and “Uncle Jim.”
“You’re not. You’re a very bad little boy,” declared Nannie.
Dimmie’s lip quivered. Then his eyes flashed, and a look came into them
which recalled Lucy.
“I _ain’t_ a bad boy! You’re a bad woman to say I’m a bad boy!”
“Well, it’s true, or I wouldn’t say it.”
“It ain’t true, neither. You’re a story to say what ain’t true about
me.”
“Do you mean to say that I lie, Jimmie? Don’t you know that it’s very
rude and wicked to call anybody a liar?”
“Well, you _are_ a liar!” shouted Dimmie in righteous wrath.
Lucy, entering from the kitchen, heard the indictment.
“Why, Dimmie! What in the world possessed you to say such an awful
thing?” demanded his mother in astonishment.
Dimmie began to cry.
“She said I was a naughty boy,” he wailed.
“Well, you are, when you talk like that,” affirmed Lucy. “You can go
upstairs to your room and stay till I tell you you can come out. I
won’t have my little boy saying things like this!”
A few minutes later Mrs. Merwent peered into Dimmie’s room and saw him
sitting on the floor in a corner, his mouth trembling and his eyes red
and tearful.
“Come here, Jimmie,” she tempted.
“I won’t,” he refused vehemently, in all the exaltation of bursting
pride that takes no heed of consequences.
“Come on, dear,” she pleaded.
“Go ’way!” he ordered gallantly. “I hate you!”
Nannie entered the room and went over to the child, kneeling down
beside him. Dimmie turned his back, resolutely winking away the
additional tears that flowed at the indignity of being spied on in his
humiliation.
“Don’t hate Nannie,” she whispered. “Nannie loves you. Poor Nannie!”
Dimmie, still silent, winked harder than ever.
“Nannie didn’t punish you. It was Mamma,” she pursued.
“You made her,” he insisted accusingly.
“No, I didn’t, Jimmie. If I had known she was going to send you up here
I wouldn’t have said anything.” Nannie’s voice was sweet and low.
“My name ain’t Jimmie. It’s Dimmie,” he stipulated, weakening.
“Oh, yes. I forgot, Dimmie. See I’ve brought you some candy,” she
continued, displaying the treasure.
Dimmie’s face lighted and he put out his hand.
“Wait a minute, Jimmie--Dimmie, I mean.” Nannie pushed his hand away.
The tragedy fell on Dimmie’s soul again.
“It’s yours, Jimmie, but you mustn’t try to grab things like that.”
“Can I have all of it?” he asked anxiously.
“Yes. It’s all for you if you will love Nannie.” The bribe changed
hands. Dimmie was beaming.
“Now kiss Nannie,” she commanded. “Don’t touch me with your sticky
fingers,” she warned as he obeyed.
“Come on. Let’s go and find Mother,” she smiled invitingly.
“She won’t let me,” declared Dimmie, reminiscent of past similar
attempts.
“Yes, she will. I’ll go with you,” and Nannie led him down the stairs.
“You’ll mind Nannie after this, won’t you, dear?”
“Yes,” he promised.
“He’s going to be a good boy now, Lucy,” Nannie announced as they
reached the dining room, “and he’s sorry he was rude to Nannie. Aren’t
you, Jimmie?”
The culprit looked at the paper bag in his hand.
“Yes,” he said, “but my name’s Dimmie.”
“Oh, yes! I forgot. Of course it is,” smiled Nannie.
“Well, I hope my sonny boy won’t say anything like that again,” Lucy
said.
Dimmie went off with his candy, meditating.
* * * * *
An hour later Lucy decided to take some patterns over to Mrs. Hamilton
who, a few days before, had expressed a wish to borrow them.
“Now, you stay with your grandmother,” she bade Dimmie. “I won’t be
long.”
“All right,” he agreed, examining the interior of the now empty paper
bag with evident regret.
A few moments after Lucy’s departure he began to whistle.
“Don’t whistle, Jimmie,” commanded Nannie from the rocking chair where
she sat embroidering.
Dimmie ceased obediently and climbed into the Morris chair.
“Don’t sit with your feet under you,” she advised. “You’ll scratch the
chair.”
Dimmie dutifully altered his position. After a time he slid to the
floor and, going over to the side table where some of his nursery books
were kept, selected _Mother Goose_ from among them.
“Don’t carry your book that way,” warned Nannie as he trudged back to
the seat he had quitted, his favorite volume hugged under his arm.
“You’ll wrench the cover off.” Dimmie duly reversed the position of the
book.
“Don’t put your fingers in your mouth, Jimmie. You’re too big a boy to
do that,” she continued, when he had seated himself for a comfortable
examination of the illustrations he admired.
He glanced up from his book and at the same time thrust the offending
fingers into a pocket.
“Now, don’t sit with your hands in your pockets. You’ll pull your
clothes all out of shape.”
“How _shall_ I sit?” demanded Dimmie somewhat belligerently.
“Sit straight in your chair like you ought to.”
“Uncle Jim never makes me sit straight in my chair,” objected Dimmie.
“I don’t care what Uncle Jim does. You do as I tell you. And use your
handkerchief. Don’t sniff.”
“I ain’t got any handkerchief,” he complained, rummaging in his pockets.
“I don’t know what your mamma means by not giving you a handkerchief.
Why, there it is on the floor by your chair, right where you dropped
it!”
“Don’t rumple your hair, Jimmie! It makes you look like a scarecrow,”
was the next admonition.
“What can I do?” demanded Dimmie, looking about desperately.
“You can sit still and be a good little boy until Mamma comes back.”
“I don’t want to sit still,” he insisted.
“But I want you to.”
“When is Mamma coming home?”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I’m goin’ to Mis’ Hamilton’s to find her.”
“No, you’re not going to do any such thing.”
Dimmie began to cry.
“Now, Jimmie, there’s no use in your crying, just because I want you to
behave yourself half decently. Stop this instant!”
“I--I--w-want my m-mamma,” sobbed Dimmie louder than ever. “What in the
world is the matter?” cried Lucy agitatedly, at this moment coming in
through the kitchen on her return from her neighbor’s.
“It means that you have a very naughty little boy, Lucy. He wouldn’t do
anything I told him while you were away.”
“I d-did too,” declared Dimmie between sobs. “I d-did lots of things.”
“Well, you wouldn’t sit still when I told you,” said Nannie.
“He’s a very little boy to have to sit still such a long time,” replied
Lucy, taking Dimmie on her lap where he began to cry comfortably with
his head against her bosom.
“Lucy, I’d like to know how you expect me to have any control over the
child when you take his part like that!” Nannie protested.
“I don’t expect anyone to have control over him except his father and
myself,” said Lucy.
“Yet you expect me to look after him without any authority over him
whatever!” retorted Mrs. Merwent.
“I won’t worry you with him again, Mamma,” returned Lucy. “I didn’t
think you would mind for a few minutes.”
“There you go, Lucy! Misunderstanding me again, as usual. And over such
a trivial thing, too! Much gratitude I’ve received for overlooking the
past and coming more than half way! I sometimes think dear Mother was
right when she said you had no heart. She never got over the way you
treated her.”
After John and Lucy had retired to their room that night, Lucy said, “I
am going to send Dimmie to kindergarten, John. Mrs. Hamilton’s little
girl goes, and I believe it’s a good thing for young children.”
“All right,” consented John, yawning.
* * * * *
Dimmie was in such a state of excitement over the prospect of going
to kindergarten with Stella Hamilton that he could hardly eat his
breakfast. Lucy had dressed him in his prettiest suit, and, after the
meal, he wandered aimlessly about the house, too conscious of his
ceremonious costume to play.
“Ain’t it time yet, Mamma?” he asked again and again.
“No, dear, not yet,” his mother replied on each occasion. Mrs. Merwent
was still asleep when Lucy telephoned to the kindergarten for the
carry-all to call for Dimmie. When Nannie came downstairs she was
surprised to find him in such gala array.
“Why, what are you so fixed up for, Jimmie?” she asked.
Just then Lucy entered from the back yard with some flowers in her
hand. It had rained during the night and the blossoms were wet and
glistening.
“I’m going to take him to kindergarten,” Lucy explained. “He’s
beginning this morning.” She was dressed for the street. “You can
breakfast alone, can’t you, Mamma?”
“Why, of course!” explained Nannie. “That isn’t it. In fact you needn’t
keep any breakfast for me when I’m not up to eat with you and John, as
far as that’s concerned. I never want any extra trouble taken for me.”
“There’s the wagon! There’s the wagon!” shouted Dimmie impatiently as
he ran in from the hall.
“Let me get your sailor hat,” said Lucy as she turned away, a note of
impatience in her voice.
“What made you decide all of a sudden to send him to kindergarten?”
asked Nannie. “It’s the first time I’ve heard of such a plan.”
“Hurry up,” commanded Dimmie. “They’ll go past.”
“They won’t go without you,” smiled Lucy. “Here’s your hat. Let me put
it on for you.”
“Why are you sending him?” persisted Nannie.
“Why, he’s old enough to go, and he’s a good deal of bother, and John
and I thought it would be good for him.”
“Come on, Mamma,” urged Dimmie, pulling at her skirt.
“Bother! I suppose it’s because I try to correct him a little
occasionally. Oh, I comprehend perfectly, Lucy! You never let a chance
slip to humiliate me and----”
The bell rang, and through the open front door a man’s voice was heard.
Lucy went into the hall.
“Is your little boy going with us this morning?” the man inquired.
“Yes, we’re ready,” replied Lucy. “Come on, Son.”
Nannie heard them as they descended the steps. Dimmie’s shrill chatter
was wafted back with the click of the gate, the crack of a whip, and
the clatter of the horse’s hoofs as the carry-all passed up the street.
* * * * *
John was much occupied with new work and, to Lucy’s relief, continued
to neglect to carry into effect his threat regarding a servant.
However, try as she might to keep down the level of her expenditures,
on the first day of the next month she found herself faced with an
unexpected deficit.
The evening meal was over and Nannie, according to her habit, had gone
into the living room to play some of her songs. John rose and was about
to follow her when Lucy called him back. He sat down again.
“I want you to go over some accounts with me, John.”
“What for?” he demurred.
“Well, we’re running behind, John, and we must do something about it.”
“We’ve always had to figure closely, Lucy.” John’s manner was nervous
and instead of looking at his wife, he glanced about the room. “We’re
not rich people but I don’t see why it should be any worse now than any
other time.”
“Our expenses have about doubled since Mamma came,” persisted Lucy.
“Oh, I don’t think she’s had anything to do with it, or, at least, very
little. One more person makes practically no difference.” John made a
motion as if to rise.
“Just a minute, John. It isn’t the household expenses so much, John,
but we are spending money on flowers and fruit and candy and theatres
and other amusements that we didn’t use to. Miss Powell and other
people have taken to dropping in to tea in the afternoon. And it all
counts up.”
“Well, it’s a sort of special time, now that Nannie’s here.” John’s
tone was half apologetic yet showed a tinge of irritation. His gaze
kept wandering toward the living room. “We can’t make her stick in the
house all the time, and never give her any little pleasures. I’ve only
bought her flowers once or twice, anyway.”
“Yes, John, but Mamma may stay a long while. We can’t go on this way,”
said Lucy gravely.
Nannie appeared in the doorway. “Can’t go on what way?” she echoed
interrogatively, smiling at John.
“Oh, Lucy is having her monthly fret over money matters,” John
explained with uneasy lightness. “She has us in the poor house about
once in so often.”
“What’s the matter, John? Is your business going badly?” Nannie
inquired.
“Well, no worse than usual, Nannie, but it’s a small business and
doesn’t bring us in as much as we’d like.”
“Mr. Sprague is a full partner with you, isn’t he?”
“Yes, but he’s a bachelor, and a half interest is enough for him to be
comfortable on.”
“Jim gave John our interest in the business,” put in Lucy.
“Well, I’m sure he was thinking of his own good when he did so,”
commented Nannie. “He probably had to have somebody.”
“Of course,” agreed Lucy hastily. “He needed a partner and was glad to
get John.”
“Exactly. He knew what he was about,” averred Nannie. “Mr. Sprague is
not the kind of a man to lose anything on account of friendship.”
“Jim is very loyal,” put in Lucy again, “and has been a good friend to
John.”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t loyal, Lucy. I only said he knew which side his
bread was buttered on,” retorted Nannie.
“Well, you implied that he was thinking only of himself, Mamma, and Jim
is not a selfish man.”
“I guess I’ve not been a bad investment for the firm,” interrupted
John, “even if I didn’t put any money into it at the first.”
“Well, I should fancy not!” Nannie applauded quickly.
“Of course not, John. That isn’t what I meant at all,” added Lucy.
“Jim himself has said a dozen times that he couldn’t have gotten
along without you. But I was just objecting to the idea that Jim had
exploited you for his own interest without considering ours.”
“Lucy is always ready to defend Mr. Sprague,” remarked Nannie, smiling
at John once more. “She’s loyal even if the rest of us may not be.”
John regarded Lucy an instant, then lowered his eyes.
“No, Mamma! That isn’t it,” said Lucy, flushing, “but I do so like to
be just to everybody.”
“Well, are John and I unjust to Mr. Sprague?” continued Nannie.
“John hasn’t been, but I thought what you said was,” reiterated Lucy
steadily.
“Nannie didn’t say any more than I did,” insisted John aggressively.
“I guess Jim doesn’t need our sympathy over having gotten me for a
partner.”
“Why, John, how can you think I meant such a thing?” Lucy’s voice
showed that she was hurt.
“Oh, well, let’s not think about it, as Lucy is always saying,”
suggested Nannie sweetly.
“Yes, for the Lord’s sake!” exclaimed John. “Let’s quit stewing. We’re
no poorer than we’ve always been,” he finished, as though dismissing
the subject, “and we have some schemes on hand at the office that ought
to net us a good thing during the next few months.”
“I’m sure you work too hard down at that old office, poor boy,” and
Nannie timidly put back from John’s forehead the lock of hair which he
had disarranged while talking.
“I like the work.”
“And you ought to be better paid for it,” Nannie went on.
“We have hopes,” smiled John.
“I don’t believe in women interfering in business, but if you went into
something for yourself, don’t you think you could make more? As it
is, you work yourself nearly to death, and Mr. Sprague gets half the
profits.” Nannie’s voice and manner were very gentle.
“I’ve never thought about it,” John replied, rumpling his hair again.
“I’m sure it would be a great mistake,” advised Lucy quickly.
“Why?” inquired Nannie, looking at John.
“In the first place, it wouldn’t be right,” argued Lucy, somewhat
eagerly, “after all Jim has done for us--for John--it would be----”
“Disloyal, I suppose,” said Nannie, supplying the word as Lucy
hesitated, and appearing amused.
“Yes, disloyal,” repeated Lucy emphatically.
“Mr. Sprague certainly has a good friend in Lucy,” Nannie spoke to John.
Lucy flushed again. Her eyes flashed but she made no verbal retort.
“Is that your only reason, Lucy?” pursued Nannie in a purring tone.
“No!” Lucy’s attitude was almost defiant. “It’s not. Jim’s ability
and judgment are worth a great deal in any business, and it would be
foolish to----”
“I suppose, then, you think John is not capable of running a business
for himself,” interposed Nannie accusingly before Lucy had finished
speaking.
“Lucy is not very flattering.” John’s lip curled slightly. He produced
a cigarette from his case. “But I guess I’d probably have found some
way to support her, even if I had never known Jim.”
“Do you really think so, John?” asked Nannie ironically.
“Don’t you?” challenged John, half laughing.
“You dear boy, you know I think you could do anything,” she responded,
squeezing his arm. “Shall we go in and try the music now?”
“Come on,” urged John, stopping, however, to light his cigarette.
They went into the living room.
Lucy remained seated in the same position, a baffled expression on her
face. Dimmie had gone to sleep in a chair and a few moments later she
lifted him to her shoulder and carried him upstairs to bed.
She did not return.
XIX
“John said he was going to Benton Harbor today,” Nannie observed to
Lucy, who was seated near a window, darning Dimmie’s socks. She had
just washed her hair and come down to the sunny dining room to dry it.
“Did he?” Lucy raised her eyes in involuntary surprise, but glanced
quickly down at her sewing.
“Yes,” continued Nannie, seating herself in a comfortable rocker. “He
is going to see somebody about a house decoration contract.”
“Well, he’ll be back for dinner, won’t he?” Lucy inquired.
“Oh, yes. But he’ll be late, he said. He wanted me to go with him but I
was afraid of getting seasick. It’s a beautiful day after all, though!”
and she gazed out the window regretfully. “I have to look through a
trunk, anyway,” she added, as if comforting herself.
“I didn’t know he was going,” said Lucy.
“He was worried last night and I guess he forgot to tell you.”
Lucy began to sew with renewed determination.
“I was right sorry for John last night,” Mrs. Merwent declared. “You
should be more careful what you say, Lucy.”
“What do you mean, Mamma? What have I said?”
“Why, things that make John feel that--that--why, about Mr. Sprague.”
“What about him?”
Nannie’s gaze fell before Lucy’s.
“Nothing in particular, except that you show so plainly that you----”
“That I what?” Lucy demanded almost fiercely.
“Well, that you are interested in him,” murmured Nannie, with attempted
calmness, adding at once, “of course I know that there is nothing
between you and Mr. Sprague, but you should consider----” She stopped
abruptly.
“Consider what my husband might think, I suppose,” interrupted Lucy
hotly.
“Well, when you take his part against John and me you must admit that
you give people a right to think things.”
“You, and not John, were the one who tried to queer Jim, and I would
have taken the part of anyone under the circumstances,” returned Lucy
indignantly, “and if you want to think evil of it, you can do so.”
“Well, John agreed with everything I said,” defended Nannie.
“Then, if he wants to think badly of me, he can too!” Lucy exclaimed
angrily. “It would evidently suit you if he did.”
“How can you say that, Lucy, when I was trying to save you from just
such things! That’s the gratitude a mother gets--especially if she’s
forgiven a lot in her child,” complained Nannie in a tremulous voice.
“Most of the evil you are always so anxious to save me from only
exists in your own mind, Mamma. I would be much more grateful if you
would quit thinking of nasty things to forgive me for,” retorted Lucy
bitterly.
“Well,” replied Mrs. Merwent, “I’m sure I’ve done my duty. I didn’t
want John to get suspicious, but----”
“That’s why you keep suggesting vile interpretations of innocent things
to him!” interpolated Lucy disgustedly, springing to her feet and
gathering up her mending.
“Why, Lucy,” began Nannie, on the verge of tears. But Lucy went into
the hall, and ascended the stairs.
A few moments later she returned with her hat and coat on.
“I’m going out,” she announced. Her voice was harsh. She paused in the
doorway.
Nannie looked up and met her daughter’s eyes uncomfortably.
“Where are you going?” she asked finally, pulling at the handkerchief
in her lap with uncertain fingers.
“I’m going to see Jim.”
“Lucy!” gasped Mrs. Merwent as the front door closed after her
daughter. Jim was alone and hard at work when Lucy reached the office.
The windows were open and a breeze fluttered the papers on his desk.
“Sit down,” he invited, leaning back in his chair and reaching for his
pipe. “How are you all getting along at your house? Where’s the kid?”
“Dimmie’s at kindergarten.”
“Didn’t know he’d started to go,” said Jim.
“Lots of things have happened since you were out,” remarked Lucy
quietly.
“Yes?” Jim lighted his pipe.
Lucy did not say more and Jim smoked a moment in silence.
“What is it, Lucy? Are you worried about something?” he inquired at
last, blowing out a cloud of smoke.
Lucy nodded her head without speaking.
“Well, women always worry about one of two things, money, or another
woman,” pursued Jim in a bantering tone. “Which is it?”
“Both,” said Lucy seriously.
Jim looked grave, and when he spoke again it was with a different
manner.
“Can I help, Lucy?”
“I think you can, Jim. That’s why I’ve come.”
He waited for her to go on.
“John is spending too much, Jim, and Mamma encourages him in it,” Lucy
began, rather suddenly, “and things are--are so I can’t do anything.
I thought maybe if you--suggested to John--it might----” Lucy’s voice
trailed off in embarrassment, and she opened and shut her purse
nervously.
“I will,” Jim promised earnestly. “You can depend on me, Lucy.”
“I know I can, Jim.”
“And, Lucy----”
“Yes?”
“About the money. If your expenses have swamped you--you know I have
something laid up. My living costs me very little, and you are awfully
welcome to what I have.”
“Thank you, Jim, but you know I couldn’t take any money. Besides, we
don’t need it yet, but I am frightened at the amount we are spending.”
“I didn’t mean--I mean you could pay it back if you wanted to.” Jim was
very red.
“I understand, Jim, but it isn’t necessary.”
“I don’t see what’s gotten into John!” he ejaculated with feeling.
“It isn’t John,” said Lucy, “it’s Mamma.”
“Well, he ought to know----” Jim stopped speaking and glanced at Lucy.
“Yes, Jim, but so had she.”
Jim thought.
“Do you know yet if she’s going to stay--permanently?” he inquired
after a pause.
“I don’t know, Jim. I shouldn’t be surprised. She talks sometimes as
though she were eventually going to marry a Professor Walsh, back in
Russellville. But I don’t know.”
Jim smoked hard for a while. When he spoke again his voice was low.
“Lucy, you know I would do anything in the world for you,” he said.
“Anything,” he repeated vehemently.
“Yes, Jim. You are the best friend that ever was.” Lucy smiled at him
frankly. “But I don’t see just how you can help in anything else.”
“I’d like to help,” he offered, almost wistfully.
“You have,” she declared, still smiling. “I feel a lot better already.”
“Do you, Lucy?” he asked eagerly. “Do I--do you--am I----” he
stammered, growing red again.
“Why, of course you do,” she responded heartily and naturally. “It
always does me good to talk to you.” Then she added rather plaintively,
“Oh, Jim, why can’t people be honest with themselves and with others?”
“I’m damned if I know!” he declared savagely, not looking at her.
“I’m sure I don’t either,” she said, regarding him affectionately.
“Well, good-bye. I’m going home.” She rose and shook hands. “Good-bye,
Lucy. You can depend on me.” Jim held her hand.
“Thank you, Jim,” she answered, pressing his hand.
And she was gone.
* * * * *
Mrs. Merwent was at the piano, practising, when Lucy reached home.
“Well, did you see Mr. Sprague?” Nannie asked sarcastically, going into
the hall when she heard the front door open.
“Yes,” returned Lucy calmly.
“You ought to be careful, Lucy,” reminded Nannie. “Of course _I_
wouldn’t say anything to John, but others might.”
“You can say anything you like to him,” retorted Lucy in a disgusted
tone. “I’m going to tell him myself.”
That night John returned late. Nannie, Lucy, and Dimmie had finished
their evening meal, and Lucy had tucked Dimmie safely into bed, when
the front door clicked and a cheerful voice was heard in the hall.
“Now, Lucy, your croaking was all for nothing,” were John’s first
words. “Look there!” he commanded, rushing into the living room and
throwing a pile of bills on the table, his manner almost hilarious.
“How nice!” murmured Nannie.
“Where did that come from?” Lucy inquired quickly.
“Why, Jim put over a deal today while I was away, and this is my share
of the lucre,” and John put his hands in his pockets and began to
whistle.
“What kind of a deal was it?” persisted Lucy.
“Oh, some private scheme of his. Sold building materials or something
on commission,” answered John.
Lucy looked nonplussed.
“Didn’t Mr. Sprague say anything to you about it?” Nannie inquired of
Lucy in an innocent voice.
“Why, was Jim out here today?” asked John in surprise.
“No. I was at the office,” Lucy explained without hesitation.
“Why, he didn’t tell me,” said John, as though mystified. Then,
apologetically, “I was only there a minute, Lucy. Went to Benton Harbor
on business. I forgot to say anything about going last night.”
“Your dinner’s getting cold,” was all Lucy’s reply.
As John seated himself at the table a faint cry was heard from the
upper floor and Lucy, exclaiming, “That’s Dimmie!” left the room
quickly.
“John, I wish you would ask Mr. Sprague out again,” requested Nannie,
when she thought her daughter was safely upstairs.
John looked teasingly at her.
“What’s the matter? Are you getting lonesome, or just yearning for more
of Jim’s society?”
“Will you ask him out?” she repeated.
“Yes. Of course I will. Let’s see. Today is Tuesday. I’ll bring him out
Thursday night. He’s going to work late tomorrow, I heard him say.”
“Now, don’t forget,” warned Nannie.
XX
Mrs. Merwent came downstairs with a headache, but after her insistent
complaints elicited some sympathetic remarks from Lucy, she settled
herself resignedly to mend a small hole in one of the grey silk
stockings which she had worn to _The Madcap Girl_. It was a dull day.
Lucy picked up the morning paper from the floor where John had dropped
it as he went out, halted near a window and read aloud at random the
few items which she thought her mother might find of interest.
“I see here that Miss Powell was one of the hostesses last night at
the Ravenswood Golf Club,” said Lucy in a determinedly pleasant voice,
laying the paper down.
“She has relatives with money so she can do such things,” her mother
sighed, dropping the stocking into her lap and staring moodily out the
window. “Little did I think I would ever be dependent on your charity,”
she mourned, after a pause.
Lucy looked quickly at her mother.
“Well, I don’t envy Miss Powell. She’s too self centered to be very
happy,” said Lucy.
“Like me, I suppose you mean,” complained Nannie. “I’ve ceased to
expect any sympathy from you, Lucy.”
“I didn’t mean any such thing, Mamma, and you know it!” Lucy spoke
with forced good nature. “You know I don’t make oblique or sarcastic
comments.”
“Well, do I?” demanded her mother. “Did I ever imply that you envied
Miss Powell or anyone else?”
“I didn’t mean you envied her, either,” explained Lucy. “I only said
_I_ didn’t.” She spoke over her shoulder as she left the room.
She had passed up the stairs when the tinkling of the telephone sounded
from the hall and Nannie rose to answer it.
“This is John,” was the reply to her faint “hello.” “Is this Nannie
speaking?” “Yes,” she affirmed weakly, remembering her aching head.
“Well, I was mistaken about Jim’s working tonight. It’s tomorrow night.
So I’m going to bring him out this evening. Tell Lucy, will you?”
“Certainly,” responded Nannie in a livelier tone.
“How’s your headache?”
“Oh, it’s ever so much better, thank you; it’s about all gone.”
“That’s good,” said John, and he hung up the receiver.
Lucy, dressed for the street, soon came down stairs.
“I’m going to do some shopping,” she informed Nannie. “I didn’t
suppose you would care to go with your headache. I’ll be back by the
time Dimmie comes from kindergarten and get him ready to go to Mrs.
Hamilton’s. Your lunch is all fixed and in the refrigerator. There’s
ice tea already made in the blue pitcher.”
“My headache’s not as bad as it was.”
“Well it’s too late now to wait for you to dress,” began Lucy.
“Oh, don’t worry, Lucy. I have no intention of going. I’ve got sense
enough to know whether I’m wanted or not.”
“Mamma, please,” Lucy begged, almost in desperation.
“Well, Lucy, you started it.”
Lucy hurried toward the hall.
“Mr. Sprague is coming to dinner tonight,” Nannie called importantly.
Lucy halted an instant.
“Well, there’s plenty,” she called back enigmatically, and went out.
Nannie looked blank until the front door shut.
* * * * *
It was evening when Lucy returned from the city. On the train she
encountered Mrs. Hamilton who had invited Dimmie to take tea with
Stella. John and Jim had already arrived and were smoking in the dining
room when Lucy came back from the Hamiltons’ where she had left Dimmie.
Nannie, in a careful toilette with a rose in her hair, was chatting and
laughing in the highest of spirits.
“Hello, Lucy!” exclaimed Jim cordially, rising and shaking hands. “How
are you?”
“Oh, I’m all right,” Lucy told him, smiling. “You’re not looking any
too well,” he observed, glancing at her face.
“Well, I’m feeling fine, anyway.”
“Where’s Dimmie?” he inquired.
“He’s gone out to tea.”
“Getting to be quite a swell.” Jim smiled affectionately.
“Yes, and with a young lady, too,” she laughed.
“Mr. Sprague, I was talking to you,” interrupted Nannie, pouting.
“Beg your pardon, Mrs. Merwent,” said Jim, hastily resuming his chair.
“Oh, don’t apologize. I don’t expect to compete with Lucy,” she
declared with the sweetest intonation of voice.
Jim colored.
“What were we talking about?” he asked, straightening his cravat.
“There! That shows how much attention you pay to _me_,” she gibed.
“Come on, John! Let’s leave them together.” She rose and moved toward
the living room.
“Well, dinner’s ready, so there’s no use in your taking John away,”
remarked Lucy, without heat. And the four sat down at the table.
“It’s been a long time since you were here, Mr. Sprague,” began Nannie
in a sprightly manner as she was serving the soup.
“Yes,” conceded Jim.
“You used to come out at least once every week before I came, so Lucy
tells me, and always stayed all night, and sometimes over Sunday.”
“I have been very busy lately.” Jim’s tone was defensive and he glanced
at Lucy.
“And very successful lately, I believe,” Nannie continued. “You made a
fine deal yesterday, didn’t you? John told me all about it.”
“Yes--it was a good deal.”
Jim reddened again and stared at the table cloth.
Lucy’s eyes were upon him.
Shortly after dinner, Dimmie, escorted to the back gate by Mrs.
Hamilton and Stella, came in through the kitchen. “Mrs. Hamilton
brought me to the back gate,” he volunteered as he entered the dining
room. Then, catching sight of Jim, he yelled, “Hello, Uncle Jim!” and
rushed for his idol.
“You must go to sleepy town now, dear,” suggested Lucy, a few minutes
later. “Say good night.” And Dimmie obeyed reluctantly, but with a
special tight hug for “Uncle Jim.”
Soon the sound of Lucy’s voice as she sat upstairs singing Dimmie to
sleep was heard by the trio in the dining room.
“I’ve often wondered why Lucy never sang before people,” declared Jim,
lighting his pipe. “She certainly has a beautiful voice.”
“I gave her piano lessons for years,” answered Nannie quickly, “but she
hasn’t kept it up. The reason I didn’t have her voice trained is that
her ear is not true.”
“I never noticed that and I have overheard her singing a number of
times,” persisted Jim. “Now take that thing from _Butterfly_ she is
singing now, for instance. She places the difficult intervals with
absolute precision. And Puccini’s music is tricky.”
“Oh, I never knew you understood music, Mr. Sprague. You never seemed
particularly interested in it.”
“Why, I have listened to your singing with much pleasure, Mrs. Merwent.”
“You couldn’t get away from it,” Nannie laughed. “Come on, John. Shall
I sing for you? Mr. Sprague can shut the door if he doesn’t like it!”
Nannie passed into the living room, followed by John.
Lucy came down stairs.
“Well, Jim, are you deserted?” was her question, as she opened the
dining room door and saw him there alone.
He nodded his head without speaking.
“Let’s go in and hear Mamma sing,” she suggested.
He hesitated an instant as if about to make some comment, and then
followed her.
Mrs. Merwent ceased singing and swung around on the piano stool as they
entered.
“Go on, Mamma. Don’t stop,” Lucy urged, seating herself and indicating
a chair to Jim.
“Mr. Sprague had rather hear you,” said Nannie. “Nonsense, Mamma. You
know I never sing,” protested Lucy, looking embarrassed. “What were you
singing?”
“It’s a little thing called _Juliet at the Window_.”
“There’s to be a revival of _Romeo and Juliet_ at the Standard Theatre
next week,” observed John.
“Yes. I saw by the papers that that little Hilda Knowlton is going to
play Juliet. She’s much too young for the part,” said Nannie.
“I don’t see how she well could be,” objected Jim.
“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Sprague,” began Nannie. “I’ve seen
Mary Anderson, and Adelaide Neilson, and Julia Arthur, and Eleanor
Robson, and Julia Marlowe, all in the part, and they weren’t young
girls in their teens.”
“Well, according to the play a young girl in her teens would be exactly
suited to the rôle,” answered Jim tenaciously.
“I’m sure that’s the first time I ever heard anyone say such a thing,”
retorted Nannie.
“I’m not the only one who said so.” Jim was smiling but obstinate.
“For instance?” demanded Nannie sneeringly.
“Shakespeare,” replied Jim.
“Nonsense!” Nannie exclaimed irritably.
Jim walked to the bookcase and took down a volume of Shakespeare’s
plays.
“‘Act one, scene three,’” he read. “‘She’s not fourteen. Come
Lammas-eve at night, she shall be fourteen.’”
“Well, I’ve always thought she was older anyway,” insisted Nannie, “and
I’m sure almost everybody thinks so. I’ve never seen a young chit of a
girl take the part, and it would generally be considered ridiculous.”
“Perhaps Shakespeare didn’t know,” said Jim.
“Oh, well, if you want to be sarcastic and nasty about it, we better
not discuss it. I suppose you feel very superior and triumphant over
having gotten the best of me. I’m sure it makes no difference to me how
old Juliet is supposed to be. Of course _you_ never make any mistakes,
Mr. Sprague.”
“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Merwent, for having ventured to offer an
opinion on the subject,” apologized Jim coldly.
“Here! You two people will be pulling hair in a minute,” interrupted
John, breezily. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“With pleasure,” agreed Jim in the same frigid tone.
Mrs. Merwent rose without a word and made her way to the dining room.
“Where are you, Nannie?” John called after a few minutes. Receiving no
reply, he stepped to the door.
“What are you sitting out here alone for?” he began. Then, in response
to a sign from her, he entered the room.
“You and Jim don’t seem to get on very well tonight.” He spoke in a
lowered voice as he seated himself by her side.
“Well, I’m amazed that you do,” she responded cryptically.
“What do you mean, Nannie?”
Mrs. Merwent raised her eyebrows significantly.
“You watch him,” she advised, almost in a whisper.
“Watch him?” John repeated in surprise. “Why, what for?”
“Remember what I say!” she whispered. “You watch his attitude toward
Lucy. Didn’t you notice how anxious she was to defend him last night?”
An expression of understanding came into John’s eyes.
“Why, Nannie, you don’t mean----” He paused.
“I don’t mean anything.” She paused. “But it’s as I said the other
night,” she added; “you’re too good and trusting, John.”
In the other room Jim had risen to take his departure.
“It’s early yet,” Lucy was saying.
“I must get back,” he insisted.
“Well, thank you for coming, anyway.”
“I’m afraid I’ve done no good,” he answered, discouragedly.
“You’ve certainly done no harm, Jim.”
“I don’t know.” He shook his head.
They went into the hall and he took up his hat.
“Good-bye, Mrs. Merwent. Good night, John,” he said formally, stepping
to the dining room door.
“Good night,” returned John absently.
“Good-bye, Mr. Sprague,” Nannie responded in her usual silvery tones.
As he was leaving, Jim grasped Lucy’s hand warmly.
After he had gone, Lucy came to the dining room door and glanced in at
Nannie and John. Then she turned away and ascended the stairs. Neither
of them had noticed her.
XXI
Egged on by Nannie, John, though temporarily distracted by other
matters, had not relinquished his determination to secure a servant,
and one morning, as the result of his efforts, a girl from an
employment agency presented herself.
“My name is Grace Stanley,” she announced, handing Lucy the note of
introduction which John had sent, “and I do no washing, ironing, or
mending, and I want Thursday and Saturday afternoons off. Of course
I’ll stay today,” she concluded.
Lucy, whose protests had been in vain, had been warned of John’s
intention the morning before and now without comment led the girl to
the servant’s room.
About noon Nannie appeared, carefully made up and tastefully dressed in
a white and green linen gown. The new servant had removed her corsets
and exchanged her shoes for felt house slippers. And, when Nannie
entered the dining room, was cleaning the silver ware. Grace, from the
corner of her eye, gave Mrs. Merwent a shrewd glance.
“Good morning,” said Nannie, passing on to the next room where she sat
down to the piano.
She finished running over some music and turned on the stool.
“My, but you sing pretty!” exclaimed Grace, who had been watching
unnoticed in the doorway.
“Thank you.” Nannie smiled condescendingly, rising to pick up a volume
of songs which she had laid on a nearby chair.
“Is there anything I can do for you before I start luncheon, Mrs.
Winter?” the servant inquired, still hesitating in the doorway.
“I am Mrs. Merwent. Mrs. Winter is my daughter. Yes, you can come
upstairs with me and I will show you how I wish my room done every day.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Merwent,” acceded Grace. And the two went upstairs
together.
“I surely never would have taken you to be Mrs. Winter’s mother,” the
girl asserted with conviction, as they entered Nannie’s room.
“Grace!” Lucy called from the lower hall a few minutes later. “Where
are you, Grace?”
“I’m busy, Mrs. Winter,” the girl called in answer.
“Well, leave whatever you are doing. I want you to begin luncheon. It’s
late already.”
“I can’t come now, Mrs. Winter,” was Grace’s retort. “I’m helping Mrs.
Merwent.”
“Wait a minute, Lucy. I’m explaining the work to Grace,” Nannie shouted
impatiently.
Lucy went to the kitchen and began to prepare the meal herself.
“Is that a picture of you, Mrs. Merwent?” Grace was asking Nannie,
pointing to a photograph on the dressing table.
“Yes, but it was taken a long time ago,” Nannie explained modestly.
“It’s a good likeness,” declared Grace.
“Oh, I look lots older than that now!” protested Nannie.
“Well, maybe you do look a teeny bit older, but I didn’t notice it,”
Grace admitted, scrutinizing the picture again. “Ain’t Mrs. Winter your
step-daughter?” she pursued.
“No. She’s my own daughter,” confessed Nannie.
“My, but you must have got married young!” exclaimed the girl.
“Now, you can go down and help Mrs. Winter,” suggested Nannie
pleasantly. “You understand how I want things. And don’t forget to do
my room first always.”
“I’ll not forget,” Grace promised, “and whenever you want anything, you
just call me, Mrs. Merwent.”
“I will, thank you, Grace.” Nannie smiled, and the servant descended to
the kitchen.
Lucy was looking hot and tired when luncheon was served.
“Why is it that Jimmie always goes so early to kindergarten
now-a-days?” Mrs. Merwent asked her when they had seated themselves at
the table.
“He goes over to Mrs. Hamilton’s after his breakfast,” replied Lucy,
“and the wagon calls there for both children.”
“I should think you would let him go from here,” observed Nannie. “I
don’t see the advantage of his going over to Mrs. Hamilton’s so early.
And after he comes back you always send him or take him some place. A
child ought not to be away from home so much. It’s not good for him.”
Lucy made no answer.
“One would think that you’d like to see more of your child, Lucy. I
used to be miserable when you were at school. But it looks as though
you send him away on purpose. Perhaps you want to keep him away from my
evil influence?”
Lucy continued silent.
“Why don’t you say right out, Lucy, that you don’t want me to have
anything to do with him?”
“That isn’t true, Mamma, that I don’t want you to see _anything_ of
him.”
“I suppose, then, you didn’t send him to kindergarten to get him away
from me?”
“Well, I thought he bothered you a great deal, Mamma, and you and he
are always quarreling.”
“Quarreling! I quarrel with a five year old child! You have a very
dignified mother, I must say! No, that excuse won’t work. The real
reason is that you want to estrange the child from me so you can have
his affection all for yourself.”
“No, Mamma. That’s not so. But I do think it is bad for Dimmie to have
you correcting him every time he breathes. Children should have a great
deal of consideration.”
“And I have no consideration for him! I nag him every time he
breathes! Lucy, of all the unjust, unkind things to say, and from my
own daughter, too! After all I’ve gone through for you! If I’d only
followed poor Mother’s advice and never come! Well, I’ll tell you this
much, Lucy, _I_ have some rights in the matter too, and I will not have
my own grandson poisoned against me!” “Well, I have some rights, too!”
flared Lucy. “I will not have my child badgered to death by anybody!”
“Badgered! Well, I never! The child doesn’t belong to you alone, Lucy.
He has a father, too, and we’ll see what John has to say about it!”
“It makes no difference what he says,” returned Lucy hotly. “You shall
not ruin my boy, and neither shall his father!” Her eyes shone and her
breast heaved.
“Why, Lucy! What are you getting into such a rage about?” Nannie
temporized suddenly. “Anyone would think I was asking permission to
murder him instead of----”
“That’s exactly what you _are_ doing!” cried Lucy bitterly. “You would
like to murder his soul. You want to interfere with every thought and
impulse the child has!”
“Why, Lucy----” Nannie began again indignantly.
“Don’t ‘Lucy’ me!” interrupted her daughter vehemently, rising from
her chair. “I tell you I won’t have my child tortured by you or anyone
else. If it’s to be that or nothing we had better decide to part right
now. So far as my own life goes, I say nothing, but my child----” She
halted for breath, trembling with emotion.
“Lucy!” Nannie almost shrieked, rising also.
Lucy stared at her mother steadfastly for a moment, and did not speak.
Nannie broke into hysterical sobbing. Lucy continued to regard her
unmoved.
“Oh, Lucy, do you want to break my heart?” Nannie wailed.
“No,” said Lucy at last, the peculiar hard expression on her face
relaxing slightly.
“Things used to be so different,” moaned Mrs. Merwent between sobs. “We
were so congenial. And now that poor Mother’s dead, when I’m all alone
and need affection so badly, and have forgiven all the past, to think
that you could say such things to me!” And she wept afresh.
Lucy gazed at her with a look which mingled pity with contempt.
“Oh, Lucy, do you hate me?” Nannie’s voice was beseeching.
“No,” Lucy repeated impassively, hesitating a moment before she
answered. “Then, love me, Lucy! Don’t look at me that way!” Nannie
threw her arms around her daughter’s neck.
For a moment Lucy submitted to the caress without responding. Then she
put her arms around her mother.
“I can’t bear to have anything between us. We have always been so close
together,” said Nannie, sniffing gently.
Lucy glanced across her mother’s shoulder and saw Grace standing in the
doorway.
“You can clear the table,” Lucy ordered the girl sharply, at the same
time loosening herself from Nannie’s embrace.
“Yes, ma’am,” agreed Grace cheerfully.
Nannie went upstairs to her room. She was followed, almost at once, by
Grace.
“Poor Mrs. Merwent,” the girl began, coming into Nannie’s room without
knocking. “You look all pale and wore out.”
Nannie observed her rouged cheeks in the mirror, peering over the
girl’s head surreptitiously.
“Am I pale, Grace?” she inquired nervously.
“No. Not exactly pale,” amended the girl, “but your eyes look tired and
you are worried.”
“Do I show wrinkles?” insisted Nannie.
“Not at all,” said Grace hastily, “but it breaks my heart to see you
look so sad.”
“It’s nothing, Grace. We all have our troubles. But you are a good,
kind-hearted girl. Thank you.”
“Is there anything you want?” offered Grace solicitously.
“No. Not now. You can help Mrs. Winter. If I need you, I’ll call.”
“All right, Mrs. Merwent. I’ll run up again after a while.” And Grace
descended the stairs, humming a song under her breath.
Lucy was in the kitchen beating eggs.
“Did you move some money that was on the writing table in the living
room, Grace?” she asked as the girl entered.
“Why, no ma’am. Of course not!” denied Grace vigorously.
“I can’t find it,” said Lucy.
“Well, I didn’t touch it,” reasserted the girl with some indignation.
“I don’t do such things, Mrs. Winter.” “I didn’t say you took it,
Grace,” responded Lucy patiently. “I thought you might have moved it,
that’s all. I’ve looked every place for it.”
“No, I didn’t touch it,” Grace repeated.
Lucy went upstairs.
“Mamma, did you put away some money that was on the desk in the dining
room?” she inquired.
“Why, no, Lucy, I _never_ touch _anything_,” Nannie stated.
“Well, it’s very funny. I laid it down and came up here, and when I
went back it was gone.”
“Maybe you locked it up, Mrs. Winter, and then forgot it.” Grace’s
voice startled them both.
Lucy turned toward the girl who was standing in the hall just outside
the door.
“What do you mean by following me about, Grace?” she reproved with
vexation.
“I only came up to see how Mrs. Merwent was.” Grace had an injured air.
“Why, are you sick?” Lucy faced her mother quickly.
“No-o. Just a slight headache, that’s all,” murmured Nannie with some
confusion.
“You didn’t tell me anything about it,” said Lucy.
“Why, it’s nothing.”
“You better start your work, Grace, if you expect to have dinner on
time.” Lucy spoke to the girl again.
Grace went off sulkily.
“I don’t like that girl,” Lucy complained when Grace had gone.
“Why, I don’t see anything the matter with her. She is extremely
thoughtful and respectful.”
“Well, she doesn’t do her work, for one thing, and eavesdrops for
another, and I am going to have the matter of this money cleared up.”
“I don’t think you ought to accuse her of stealing without any proof,
Lucy. It is so easy to be unjust. I know what it is to be misunderstood
myself.”
“Injustice is the last thing I have in mind,” declared Lucy as she was
leaving the room, “but I can’t let a thing like this pass without doing
something.” In about an hour Grace tapped at Nannie’s door.
“Come in,” Nannie called.
The girl entered noiselessly, as usual. She carried a tray on which
were a teapot, cup and saucer, and a plate of buttered toast.
“I’ve fixed you a little tea and toast, Mrs. Merwent,” she announced.
“Maybe if you eat a little it will make you feel better.”
“Wait a minute, till I put these things away.” Nannie glanced up from
the open bureau drawer before which she was kneeling. Then, seeing the
tray, she rose to her feet.
“Thank you, Grace, but I don’t feel like eating,” she protested
mournfully.
“Oh, try just a teeny bit. Here, I’ll pour the tea out for you. Eat
just this little bit of toast. See how brown and crisp it is. You ought
to try to eat, Mrs. Merwent. I noticed you ate hardly any lunch at all.”
“Well, all right, Grace, seeing that you have been thoughtful enough to
fix it.” And Nannie began to eat with good appetite. “I didn’t think
I could touch a bite, but you’ve fixed everything so nicely. I don’t
usually eat much,” she declared defensively after a few moments. She
smiled wanly at Grace, munching the toast as she spoke.
“That’s right,” said the girl approvingly. “You ought to eat more.”
There was a pause.
“Did Mrs. Winter find the money she misplaced?” Grace questioned
casually. “Here, let me pour you another cup of tea,” she added.
“I don’t think so, Grace. But it will turn up some place or other,”
replied Nannie, holding out her cup for the girl to fill.
“Well, if it don’t, I never touched it.”
“I’m sure you didn’t, Grace.”
“We’re going to have cold roast and hot potatoes for dinner, Mrs.
Merwent. How do you like potatoes best? Shall I fix them _au gratin_?”
asked Grace, mispronouncing the French very badly.
“I like scalloped potatoes best,” specified Nannie. “All right. I’ll
fix ’em that way. And the salad, shall I fix mayonnaise or French
dressing?”
“Mayonnaise, if it’s not too much work.”
“Oh, I don’t mind the work.” Grace laughed. “I want to have things as
you like ’em.” She picked up the tray. “If you want me, just call me,”
she reminded Nannie, and departed as before, humming the same song.
Lucy came into the kitchen a little later.
“You can get the potatoes ready to bake, Grace,” she directed, “and
make the French dressing for the salad while they are baking.”
“I was goin’ to scallop the potatoes,” objected Grace. “Mrs. Merwent
said she liked ’em that way, and she wanted mayonnaise for the salad.”
“Well, I don’t care, if you have time to do it. Mr. Winter likes to
have his dinner promptly.”
“I’ll get it in time, all right, all right. You just leave me alone,”
stipulated Grace.
* * * * *
It was several days before Lucy made an issue of Grace.
About ten o’clock one morning, missing the girl from the kitchen, she
tapped at the door of the servant’s room. Receiving no response to her
knock, and hearing the sound of snoring, she looked in. Finding Grace
asleep, she awakened her.
“Haven’t you anything to do, Grace? Go and start luncheon at once.”
The girl descended the stairs, Lucy following her.
“You can hash and brown the potatoes that were left. They’re in the
refrigerator.”
“There ain’t no potatoes left,” objected Grace sulkily.
“Why, where are they? I told you to save them for luncheon.”
“I throwed ’em away.”
“What did you mean by throwing them away after I told you to put them
in the refrigerator?”
“I don’t like warmed over things,” Grace informed her insolently.
“You will not be needed after tomorrow, Grace,” pronounced Lucy
angrily. “Your week is up then. Of course I will pay you an extra
week’s wages.”
“Why, what have I done, Mrs. Winter?” was the answer in a tone of
injured innocence.
“We need not discuss it. It is sufficient that I shall not require your
services after tomorrow.”
“If you are hinting that I took that money, Mrs. Winter, I will just
let you know that there is protection for a girl who is accused falsely
of stealing.”
“I’m not accusing you,” returned Lucy. “The money disappeared. So did a
dollar bill I purposely placed on the table. I have no proof that you
took either sum, but I am not compelled to keep anyone in my employ
unless I wish, so we will consider the matter settled.”
Grace sought Nannie’s room without delay.
Not long after, Nannie presented herself in the living room where Lucy
was engaged in straightening some papers on the desk. The girl had
remained upstairs.
“What are you discharging Grace for, Lucy?” Nannie began excitedly.
“I think I have good reasons, Mamma, or I shouldn’t do it.”
“I’m afraid you are prejudiced against her, Lucy. She complains to me
that you are not treating her fairly.”
“I must be the judge of what I am doing, Mamma.”
“Well, I should be careful about reflecting on her character and
honesty. You don’t know that she took that money, and I am convinced
that she didn’t. A girl who is considerate and thoughtful of others is
not likely to be a thief.”
“I have accused her of nothing, Mamma, but I will not have her around.”
“Now, Lucy, of course I know that you think I should never say a word
in this house, but I think it’s my duty to protest in this matter.”
Mrs. Merwent assumed an expression of great dignity.
“I’m a better judge than you are of what kind of a servant I want,”
retorted Lucy, her cheeks flushing.
“In other words, I should attend to my own business.”
“Well, Mamma, you certainly ought to know that I am the one to take
the responsibility in such matters.” “Without considering the wishes
or comfort of anyone else in the family!” snapped Nannie. “Of course I
might have known that _I_ needn’t expect to be considered. _I_ never
count for anything.”
“I think the lack of consideration is on your part, Mamma. You don’t
care if the girl is lazy and inefficient and dishonest. Just so long as
she flatters you and pays you special attention, you stand up for her.
The welfare of the family is nothing.”
“Of course I might have expected to be insulted. It’s not true, I tell
you! I wasn’t thinking of myself at all. I know you are jealous and
resentful whenever anybody pays me the least attention, but my only
thought was simple justice to the girl. I don’t propose to see anybody
misused. We’ll see what John says to your putting a girl in the street
without provocation.”
“You can tell John, or anybody else you want to, but I shall do as I
please in my own house,” flared Lucy, and left the room.
* * * * *
When John came home that evening he found Nannie alone in the living
room. She was in tears.
“Why what’s the matter, Nannie?” he cried in consternation.
“Oh, John!” She wept. “I don’t know what has come over Lucy! I’ve
tried so hard to overlook everything, and came here with a fixed
determination to forget the past and all I’ve suffered on account of
her, and now she treats me like this! She knows that I’m at her mercy,
too. I was brought up to expect such a different fate!”
“Why, what has she done?” he asked anxiously.
“She wants to dismiss Grace just because the girl likes me, and Lucy
can’t bear to have anybody prefer me to her.”
Lucy entered the living room.
“What’s this about your wanting to discharge the girl, Lucy?” he
questioned. “Have you got any reason for it?”
“I certainly shouldn’t want to unless I had,” replied Lucy coldly.
“Well, Lucy, you know you acknowledged yourself that you had no proof
that she took the money,” put in Nannie gently, wiping her eyes.
“Yes. I didn’t think she took it when you told me, Lucy,” supplemented
John.
“It was twice----” began Lucy.
“You probably spent it and forgot all about it,” interrupted John.
“No, I didn’t.” Lucy’s tone was rebellious. “I always put down every
cent I spend, and besides, I don’t like the girl anyway.”
“You’ve never liked her, Lucy,” put in Nannie again.
“Now, Lucy, you shouldn’t let personal prejudices make you unjust.”
John’s manner was lofty. “If Grace has faults, speak to her about them,
but don’t allow a whim to destroy the girl’s livelihood. If Nannie
wants the girl to stay, surely it is a little thing to make enough
effort to readjust things, instead of putting her in the street.”
“John,” Lucy began once more in a suppressed voice, “my comfort and
convenience and welfare used to be enough to justify any change I saw
fit to make in our home.”
“Of course _I_ have changed you into an inconsiderate husband, John,”
jeered Nannie.
“Oh, nonsense, Lucy,” answered John irritably. “You are always
magnifying every suggestion into some terrible injury now-a-days.
You should get more sense of humor. There’s no sense or reason for
discharging Grace and you shouldn’t act babyish about it.”
Lucy controlled herself with an effort. Tears stood in her eyes.
“There is a reason, more than one reason, John.”
“What?”
“Well, she is wasteful, for one thing. She uses a third more groceries
than I did.”
“Rot! That’s just an excuse. You don’t like the girl because Nannie
_does_. She’s going to stay. I’m not going to hunt up a new girl every
week!”
Lucy gave him a look that startled him with its hostility, and left the
room without a word. When she did not appear for dinner Mrs. Merwent
went upstairs to call her, but returned alone.
“She says she doesn’t want any dinner,” Nannie informed John. “Shall we
begin without her?”
“Why, of course. If she wants to pout, let her.”
“You poor boy!” continued Nannie, straightening his cravat. “It isn’t
pleasant for you to come home and find things like this, when you work
so hard all day. But you must be patient with Lucy, John. I used to
have to be when she was a girl.”
Without waiting for him to reply Nannie went into the kitchen.
“You can put the dinner on, Grace,” she instructed.
“Do I have to go, Mrs. Merwent?” asked Grace in a low tone.
“No, Grace, but you must be careful not to offend Mrs. Winter again.”
“Oh, thank you, Mrs. Merwent.”
“Hurry up, Grace, and serve the soup. Mr. Winter is waiting for his
dinner.”
“All right, Mrs. Merwent. Go in and sit down. It won’t be a minute.”
* * * * *
Lucy had begun to grow pale and silent, speaking only when addressed,
or when necessary orders were to be given the servant. Late one
afternoon she entered the kitchen to inspect preparations for dinner.
“You can put this cauliflower in the ice chest when it is done,” she
directed, “and we’ll have it for salad with French dressing.”
“Mrs. Merwent told me to serve it hot with cream dressing,” answered
Grace.
“I don’t want to use up the milk for cream dressing,” Lucy informed her
sharply. “There won’t be enough for Dimmie.”
“I can go out and get some more,” returned Grace stubbornly.
“It isn’t necessary. We’re getting a quart of milk a day extra already.
You fix the cauliflower as I said.”
“Well, what about what Mrs. Merwent says?” inquired Grace impudently.
“I am mistress here. You do as I say, or leave the house,” ordered Lucy
angrily.
“I dunno as I have to do either,” sneered Grace.
Lucy went into the dining room and returned with some money.
“Here are your wages. Get out of the house,” she commanded, a curious
expression in her eyes that impressed Grace against her will.
“Mrs. Winter----” the girl began to parley.
“Get your things together and go,” repeated Lucy, moving slowly toward
her.
Grace backed out of the kitchen, and, turning, ascended the stairs,
sobbing. She was followed by Lucy. In a few minutes the two came
through the upstairs hall. Grace had her hat and coat on and carried
her suit case in her hand. Nannie, hearing the girl’s sobs, opened her
door and looked out.
“Why, Grace, what in the world is the matter?” she queried.
“Oh, Mrs. Merwent, Mrs. Winter is sending me away,” cried the girl.
“Now, Lucy,” Nannie began, taking hold of her daughter’s arm.
Lucy shook off Nannie’s hand and faced her threateningly.
“Will you keep out of this, Mother?” she asked with a suppressed
vehemence that staggered Nannie.
“Come now. Go at once,” Lucy told Grace, who, cowed as she was, allowed
herself, without further protest, to be bundled down the stairs and
through the front door.
Lucy then went to the kitchen to complete the preparations for dinner.
Mrs. Merwent came after her, sad and injured.
“Mother!” Nannie repeated, echoing Lucy’s intonation. “You’ll be
calling me Mrs. Merwent next! Lucy, you are certainly the hardest
hearted----”
“Please! Don’t talk to me,” interrupted Lucy.
“But, Lucy----”
“Don’t talk to me!” ordered Lucy, her voice shrill.
Nannie retreated to her bedroom.
Soon after John entered the house whistling. Meeting no one in the
hall and living room, he peered into the kitchen. “Where’s Nannie?” he
inquired of Lucy.
“I don’t know,” she replied shortly.
“What are you doing in the kitchen? Where’s your girl?” he persisted.
“I don’t know,” reiterated Lucy in the same tone.
Nannie, who had heard John’s voice, hurried down the stairs and came
into the kitchen.
“Let me help you put the dinner on, Lucy,” she offered, after smiling
at John.
“Please leave me alone,” answered Lucy in the same hostile enigmatic
manner.
“Whew!” ejaculated John. “Let me get out of this! Come on, Nannie!” And
the two went into the living room.
When Lucy had placed the dinner on the table, she returned to her
bedroom. The meal had not been announced and it was not until Dimmie,
entering the living room, wanted to know why Papa and Nannie did not
come to dinner, that Nannie followed the child back to the dining room
and discovered the cooling dishes.
“Why, John, dinner is on the table and getting cold!” she called.
“There is cream pea soup, too. It’s so good when it’s hot and now it’s
all spoiled,” she added disappointedly.
“Well, let’s eat,” said John, appearing in the doorway.
“I wonder whether Lucy is coming or whether she is not,” he remarked
when they were seated.
“I’ll go and see,” offered Mrs. Merwent.
“No. If she wants to sulk, let her sulk,” John declared. “I’m getting
tired of this kind of thing.”
Nannie rose and went to the kitchen.
“Where’s Grace?” John asked when Mrs. Merwent reseated herself.
“She’s gone.” Nannie’s air was mysterious.
“Gone where?”
“Well, John, I don’t want to say anything----”
“Did Lucy send her away?”
“Yes, John.”
“What for?”
“I don’t know, John. I was in my room and heard the girl crying, and
when I came out Lucy was in such a temper I was afraid to inquire or
say anything.”
John struck the table with his fist.
“I’m not going to stand Lucy’s tantrums much longer!” he cried. His
lips were drawn back and showed the edges of his teeth.
Dimmie, who had with difficulty climbed from his mother’s chair into
his own highchair, sat there unnoticed, staring at his father, his eyes
very wide open and his lips parted.
“Now, John,” Nannie began soothingly. “I know you have been like a
saint, but you mustn’t get discouraged. I’m going to talk to Lucy and
maybe things will be better.”
“You’re the saint, Nannie.”
“Well, now promise me that for my sake you will go on being just as
forbearing as you have been so far? I couldn’t bear to have anything
come between you and Lucy.”
“I don’t enjoy quarreling, Nannie, but I’m sick of coming home every
night and finding a situation like this all fixed up for me.”
“I know it, poor fellow, but you just _must_ promise me that you will
be patient till I can bring Lucy to see what she is doing.” Then, after
a moment, she continued. “I got another letter from Professor Walsh
today. He is as anxious to have me back as ever, but I can’t bear to
think of leaving you and Lucy, especially when _you_ need me so, John,
dear.”
There was a short silence.
“I should hope not,” John said, at last, stirring his soup viciously.
“You’re a good sort, Nannie,” he finished, not looking at her as he
spoke.
“Thank you, dear boy,” cooed Mrs. Merwent. “After dinner I’m going to
sing all your favorite songs. Let me help you to a little more meat,
won’t you?”
“Thanks, I will.” John passed his plate.
“But you mustn’t call me good,” she objected archly, as she put the
meat on the plate. “You’re the one who’s good.”
“You’re an angel,” declared John.
“Ain’t I goin’ to have any dinner?” asked Dimmie.
XXII
The Winter’s second servant was a stout negress. Nannie received her at
the front door.
“Go ’round to the back door. What is your name?” she greeted the
newcomer.
“Yes, ma’am. My name’s Katy, ma’am,” replied the woman, bowing several
times, and she waddled breathlessly around the house.
Nannie, passing through the hall and dining room, met her in the
kitchen.
“Now, we want things taken care of without any nonsense, Katy. I’m from
the South, Katy, and I know how things ought to be done.”
“Yes, ma’am, Miss--Miss----What’s yo’ name, miss?”
“I’m Mrs. Merwent.”
“I mean, what’s yo’ baby name?”
“My name is Anna, but my family call me Nannie.”
“Nannie! Dat’s sho’ a fine name, an’ I’ll take keer o’ you, Miss
Nannie. Don’t you fret any. When you doan’ like things you jes’ scold
old Katy, an’ it’ll be all right.”
“Well, you can begin luncheon now, and anything you can’t find you can
ask me or Mrs. Winter. That’s my daughter.”
“What’s her name, Miss Nannie?”
“Her name is Lucy.”
“Dat’s a fine name, too. All right, Miss Nannie. You jes’ run away an’
’muse yo’se’f an’ quit studyin’ ’bout de kitchen, an’ old Katy’ll look
after things. Run on now. I doan’ want you all pesterin’ ’round when
I’se busy.”
Nannie went upstairs to where Lucy was sewing.
“The new servant has come,” she announced. “John wrote that she is
just from Tennessee and has never worked in the North before. She’ll
take care of us like a servant ought to. You won’t need to worry about
anything now. I showed her where things were and set her to work.”
Lucy continued to sew without replying. “Northerners don’t understand
negroes,” went on Nannie. “If you’ll leave this Katy to me you’ll see
how a servant ought to be handled. There’s no sense in having to worry
over every detail in the house. That’s what negroes are for.”
Yet Lucy did not speak.
“What in the world’s the matter with you? Can’t you say anything?”
Lucy stared at her mother for a moment in a disconcerting manner.
“I don’t see what there is to say, Mother,” she answered finally.
“‘Mother!’” repeated Nannie. “I declare I don’t know what has gotten
into you, Lucy! You treat me like a perfect stranger. Anyone would
think you had no affection whatever in your makeup to hear you.”
Lucy went on sewing in silence.
“Lucy!” exclaimed Nannie nervously. “What’s the matter with you? I feel
like I wanted to shake you. Why don’t you talk?”
“I don’t feel like talking,” said Lucy quietly.
“Now, Lucy, just because we may have had an occasional little tiff or
two, that’s no reason why you should be resentful and act like this.
Such trifles are not worth mentioning, much less brooding over.” And
Mrs. Merwent went to Lucy’s chair and bent down over her.
Lucy rose hastily and left the room.
In a few minutes Nannie found her in the living room.
“Lucy,” Nannie began, “I don’t think you ought to treat me this way.
When I make all the first advances you ought at least be ready to make
up.”
“I’d rather not talk about it, Mother,” insisted Lucy.
“There you go again! ‘Mother’! Lucy, if you want us to be enemies
instead of friends, why don’t you say so and be done with it?”
“Well, aren’t we enemies?” Lucy gazed into her mother’s eyes.
“Lucy!” Nannie’s eyes filled with tears. “What in the world _is_ the
matter? Are you crazy?”
“I’m not sure,” answered Lucy in a low voice. “Come on, Lucy,” pleaded
Nannie. “Let’s be friends again. Kiss me,” and she moved toward Lucy.
Lucy rose again.
“Don’t!” she ejaculated excitedly. “I can’t stand it!” and she put out
her hand as though to hold her mother away.
They stood staring at each other.
Lucy made a motion as if to go.
“Oh, don’t bother to leave!” snapped Nannie angrily. “If my presence is
so distasteful to you _I_ will go.” And she left the room.
When John came home Mrs. Merwent met him at the door and there was a
short conference between them before he entered the living room alone.
“Lucy,” he began, “what in creation do you want to treat Nannie this
way for?”
Lucy eyed him without stirring or answering.
“She’s gone upstairs to cry, you hurt her feelings so. You’ll drive her
into marrying that Walsh man yet. She heard from him only today, she
says. I should think you’d have a little pity in your makeup.”
“John,” said Lucy, at last, “you don’t understand or _you_ would have a
little pity.”
“Understand what?” he responded irritably. “What has she done?”
“If you can’t see, I doubt if there’s any use telling you.” Lucy’s
voice was that of one suffering physical pain.
“Well, I’m sure _I_ don’t know what it is, and she says she doesn’t. If
it’s a little fancied slight, or some such thing, for heaven’s sake say
what it is, and don’t be babyish.”
A little shiver went through Lucy, but she controlled herself and her
voice was steady.
“I don’t think I am babyish, John, and I don’t think I am merely
pouting over a fancied slight. And as you can’t see how things are, and
have asked me, I will tell you.”
John’s eyes swerved a little.
“I don’t say mother is consciously trying to come between us, John. She
doesn’t think things through sufficiently for that. But unless you and
I can understand each other, she will ruin our home.” “I don’t know
what you are driving at, Lucy. Nannie said it began with some trifling
misunderstanding about the servant.”
“It isn’t _anything_ in particular. Oh, John, can’t you see?”
“I sure can’t. I’m blest if I can figure out any reason for all this
tragic stuff. I didn’t take any stock at first in what Nannie said,
that you had always been jealous of her, ever since you grew up, but
I’ll swear it looks a little like it.”
Lucy regarded him in silence, her face drawn.
“What are you going to do about it? Are you going to keep on like this?
You can’t put your mother in the street. She’s got no place to go. Your
cousin has written her practically saying right out that she doesn’t
want her.”
“No. That’s true,” Lucy almost moaned. “She has no place to go! Oh,
John, what has changed you so? If we could only stand together in this!”
“Stand together in what?” John’s voice and manner were increasingly
impatient. “You’re the one who has changed. You talk and act as if
Nannie were a villainess in a melodrama, and yet you can’t state
a single thing she has done. I’m getting about at the end of my
forbearance.”
“So am I,” echoed Lucy, as though mentioning an unimportant fact.
“So far as I can see, Nannie has done absolutely nothing, and you are
the one to blame for getting things into this beautiful mess.” John’s
voice was like that of a judge, cold and impersonal.
Tears sprang to Lucy’s eyes.
“Oh, but she _has_, John. I am _not_ to blame. Oh, why can’t you see
through her! Look at our home. Look at us. See how _everything_ is
changed. Even Jim sees it. He realizes----” Lucy bit her lip.
“Yes, that’s probably the great trouble. Jim Sprague is more
sympathetic than I am!”
“Oh, _don’t_, John,” pleaded Lucy, her eyes darkening.
“Yes. Nannie has been unfortunate enough to object to your showing so
much interest in him. I had never thought anything about it, but it
certainly explains----”
Lucy sprang to her feet.
“Be careful what you say,” she commanded. “Well, be careful what you
do,” he retorted weakly, his eyes falling before hers.
Lucy left him standing there.
John and Nannie again sat down to dinner alone, talking in low tones.
Dimmie came into the room while they were having soup and Nannie lifted
her brows to John significantly.
“Tell the new servant to give you your dinner out in the kitchen. Your
mother’s not coming down,” John told the child.
Dimmie hesitated, looking very much disappointed.
“Run along. That’s a good boy, Jimmie,” Nannie urged, smiling at him.
He turned on his heel and went out. A few minutes later he could be
heard ascending the stairs to his mother’s room.
“Do you know, John, dear,” said Nannie after the child had gone, “that
I sometimes think that Lucy is getting into an abnormal state. She is
so melancholy and sensitive.”
“It certainly begins to look like it,” admitted John.
“If that is true, we must both be patient with her,” added Nannie.
John did not reply.
“That is one reason I hate so terribly to think of leaving you,” she
remarked after a pause.
“Leaving us?” John glanced up quickly.
“I--I told you how I felt about Professor Walsh’s letter.” Nannie’s
voice was unsteady and she stared at her plate.
“Nannie!” John leaned forward earnestly and laid his hand on hers where
it rested on the table. “I want you to cut that nonsense out! Do you
hear me?”
Nannie lifted her eyes.
“But, John----” she began.
“Don’t you ever talk of leaving us,” he interrupted. “It’s as you say.
Lucy is in an abnormal state. She needs you to put some sanity into
her. This is your home for as long as you will--for as long as you
live----” John’s voice broke.
Nannie smiled uneasily. The two gazed at one another in silence.
“Thank you, dear John,” said Nannie, averting her face.
John withdrew his hand. There was another long pause.
“Will you pass me the spinach, John, dear,” Nannie requested in a tone
different from that in which she had previously spoken.
* * * * *
On the succeeding morning Nannie rose early to eat with John. Lucy
dressed Dimmie for kindergarten and sent him downstairs but she herself
did not appear for breakfast.
John had hardly reached the office when the telephone rang.
“Miss Storms wants to speak to you, John,” said Jim, who had answered
the call.
John took up the receiver.
“Good morning, Miss Storms.”
“Good morning, John. How did you leave Lucy this morning?”
“Oh, she’s all right,” he responded after a moment’s hesitation.
“I didn’t call up the house because I fancy Mrs. Merwent feels I am a
sort of female Machiavelli.” Miss Storms laughed slightly. “I want to
ask a favor, John. I am all tied up with engagements and can’t get down
to your office. Can you come in for a few minutes this afternoon? I
want to speak with you about something very important.”
John thought an instant.
“Yes,” he acceded.
“Could you come about four o’clock?”
“All right. Good-bye.” And he hung up the receiver.
* * * * *
Jim was silent all morning and seemed to be pondering something. When
the two went out to luncheon together he unburdened himself.
“John, don’t you think Lucy is looking badly?” he demanded suddenly.
“I hadn’t noticed it,” John answered shortly.
“She’s thinner and paler and looks terribly worried,” Jim persisted.
John stared at his plate and made no reply. Jim was not to be
discouraged.
“See here, John. You and I have been pretty close together ever since
we were small kids--and I doubt if there’s anyone in the world who has
the welfare of you and Lucy more at heart than I have.” Jim paused
before resuming his unwonted loquacity.
John was still silent.
“I’ve got something on my mind, John, and I hope you won’t be offended
at what I say?” Jim hesitated questioningly. “I know you are in a hard
place, and it’s a hard thing to say, but if you don’t do something
radical, Lucy’s mother is going to play hell in your home.” Jim stopped
and showed his embarrassment. “I hope you don’t think I’m meddling.
I’ve thought a long time before saying anything, and I expect you’ve
lost more sleep over it than I have.”
“No, I’m not offended,” said John, flushing, “but I don’t think you
understand the situation. It’s evident enough that you don’t like her.”
“Don’t like Lucy?” Jim almost gasped. “Since when?”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that you like Lucy,” returned John coldly.
Jim set down his stein and motioned the waiter to bring his check.
“I’m going down the street. I’ll be back to the office about three
o’clock,” he volunteered, after paying the cashier, and he went off in
a direction opposite to that taken by John.
* * * * *
John rang at Miss Storms’ apartment at four o’clock.
“Come in, John,” she invited, opening the door.
She was alone. The servant was not to be seen.
“I was just going to make some tea for myself. Sit down.” She indicated
an easy chair.
“I don’t believe I care for any tea, thanks,” John said a little
stiffly when she was ready to pour it.
“No? Well, you smoke then. This is an age of nerves.”
“I think I will, thank you.” John lighted a cigarette.
“That’s right.” Miss Storms sipped her tea. “I hope I didn’t interrupt
any business this morning when I called you up. I saw Lucy day before
yesterday, and she frightened me. I never saw her looking so worn and
harassed. She said she was well, but I couldn’t get her out of my mind.”
“She has seemed nervous and----” John paused uncomfortably.
“Irritable?” suggested Miss Storms, smiling kindly.
“Yes, irritable,” admitted John, looking at his cigarette.
“Lucy is a dear girl,” Miss Storms remarked.
John smoked moodily.
“I was thinking yesterday about the time when she was here. I shall
always remember it and what a privilege and pleasure it was to have
her. I did so miss her when she left me. She met you at my first little
party for her, didn’t she?”
John nodded his head.
“And then the day you were married--she looked radiant. You know an old
maid loves to watch things she can’t have.” This was the first time
Miss Storms had ever spoken intimately to John.
Without replying John lit another cigarette.
It was not Miss Storms’s way to be devious.
“I’m not asking you to confide in me, John,” she said, looking at him
directly, “but something ought to be done.”
“There is nothing to confide, Miss Storms,” he answered, still
distantly. “Lucy seems to have gotten a case of nerves lately, that’s
all. I have about decided to have a doctor look her over. I’m sure I’m
quite as interested in her health as you are.”
“Of course you are, more than I am,” agreed Miss Storms heartily,
ignoring his tone, “but,” and her voice became grave, “I’m afraid you
are the doctor, John.”
“I know you are fond of Lucy, Miss Storms,” returned John, nettled,
“and I appreciate your interest. But if you think I am responsible for
her state of mind you are mistaken.”
“If I had thought that I shouldn’t have asked you to come here,” was
Miss Storms’s reply. “I know exactly who is to blame. And I realize
that you are in almost as difficult a situation as Lucy. I have known a
great deal of Mrs. Merwent for years.”
“From others,” put in John.
Miss Storms looked startled.
“Yes, from others,” she admitted, gazing curiously at him, “but
certainly enough to understand some things.”
“You can discount most of what you hear from her enemies,” said John,
coloring. “Men are stronger on justice than women.” Miss Storm’s smile
was a little bitter. “They can afford it better. But listen to my plan.
Mrs. Merwent is fond of society and--well, admires rich people. Now I
have some friends to whom I can get Miss Powell to introduce her, and
they will invite her to their country place, and in general take her
out of the way for a part of the summer at least. You and Lucy can----”
“I don’t see any need at all for any such thing, Miss Storms. You
entirely misjudge Mrs. Merwent. She is as anxious about Lucy as----”
Miss Storms set down her cup.
“Have you seen the Art Loan Exhibition?” she inquired in a changed
manner. “We have a fine showing of the younger Spanish schools, loaned
from Madrid.”
“No,” said John, surprised.
“Well, you must take Lucy and Mrs. Merwent to see it. It’s really worth
while.”
“I will,” promised John perfunctorily, rising with a dazed air.
“Must you go? Well, good-bye. It was good of you to come. Give my love
to Lucy, and remember me to Jim Sprague. I haven’t seen him for a long
time.”
They touched hands stiffly.
When John had gone, Miss Storms went into her bedroom and shook her
fist at her reflection in the pier glass.
* * * * *
John walked toward the office with his head bent and his eyes fixed
on the ground, a puzzled, abstracted expression on his face. He did
not see Jim who came out of the office building as he reached it. Jim
passed on down the street in the direction of Layard’s.
It had begun to drizzle. John went into the draughting room and closed
some windows which had been left open. Then he sat down in front of his
desk with his hat on.
Lucy’s picture in a leather easel frame confronted him. He took it up
and studied the clear eyes and beautiful mouth. Resting his chin on
his hand he remained so, frowning at the wall.
XXIII
John left the office earlier than usual and reached home before anyone
expected him. Nannie had just completed her toilette, however, and she
fluttered into the hall to meet him.
“Are you tired, John, dear?” she asked as he hung up his hat.
“No, I’m not tired,” he answered without glancing at her. “Where’s
Lucy?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” she replied in a hurt tone of voice. “I
suppose she is in her own room.”
John ascended the stairs without further conversation.
Left alone, Nannie examined her carefully groomed image in the hall
mirror, and saw there a rather nonplussed face.
John entered the bedroom and found Lucy seated in a rocking chair
crooning to Dimmie who was in her lap. The light in the room was dim,
and her profile, as she bent over the child, was silhouetted against
the glowing square of a western window.
“How do you feel, Lucy?” John asked, going over to her and hesitating
awkwardly by her chair.
“I’m feeling all right. Why?” she returned, looking up quickly.
“Why--nothing. That is, I’ve been thinking that you haven’t looked
very well of late. And you weren’t downstairs so I came up to see if
anything was the matter.”
“Oh, thank you, John! I thought you----” Lucy could say no more. The
tears began to roll down her cheeks.
“Thought what? You little goose!” His voice shook slightly but it had
something of its old time tone of affectionate banter. “You’re all
frazzled out nervously. That’s what’s the matter with you. I’ve been
noticing for some time that you didn’t look well. Come on down to
dinner and quit thinking about imaginary troubles.” Lucy’s eyes were
grateful. Her lips quivered a little.
“All right,” she answered, smiling with tears still on her lashes.
“Come on, Son,” invited John, lifting Dimmie to his shoulder. And the
three descended the stairs.
Mrs. Merwent was sitting in the shadowy dining room without a light.
John opened the electric switch.
“Kin I put de dinnah on?” asked Katy, emerging from the kitchen.
“Yes, Katy. I think everybody is ready at last,” responded Nannie,
rising from her chair with reproachful dignity.
“Gee, but I’m hungry!” exclaimed John.
“Me, too!” chimed in Dimmie.
“How about you, Lucy?” laughed John.
“I think I am, too.” Lucy smiled rather wanly.
“Well, let’s eat.” John picked up his napkin. “The soup smells good.”
“It’s crawfish bisque,” Nannie put in quickly. “I had it made
especially for you.”
“Can’t the rest of us have any?” asked Lucy with a slight attempt at
pleasantry.
“I didn’t mean that,” observed Nannie acidly. “I only meant that I
thought of John. He said the other day that he had never eaten any. But
of course I might have expected that you would misunderstand me.”
“Now, Nannie,” expostulated John, “that was only an innocent joke. For
heaven’s sake let’s not have another quarrel! I’d like a little peace.”
Mrs. Merwent’s eyes filled with tears.
“Well, I’ll go and--leave you in peace,” she sniffed, laying down her
napkin and rising from the table.
“Well, what do you know about that!” ejaculated John after Nannie had
left the room. “You two women will run me crazy. If it’s not one it’s
the other.”
“John, I’m not to blame!” Lucy uttered this in the form of a statement
but her tone was tremulously beseeching.
“I’m hanged if _I_ know who’s to blame!” declared John petulantly. “All
I’m certain of is that I’ve got about all I can stand of it.” Katy
rushed breathlessly into the room.
“Miss Lucy,” she wheezed, “I ’spec’s Miss Nannie am dretful sick. She
am groanin’ an’ cryin’ pow’ful bad.”