AT THE HIGGLEDY PIGGLEDY SHOP
The Higgledy Piggledy Shop had proved even more successful than its
owners had dreamed possible even in their most wildly sanguine moments.
When Josie O’Gorman, the detective’s daughter--herself a budding
detective--had gone into partnership with Elizabeth Wright and they
had opened the Higgledy Piggledy Shop, it had been with the idea of
building up a business gradually. But the first six months, indeed the
first three months, had demonstrated to them and to Dorfield that such
a shop was much needed in the town.
Elizabeth held up the secretarial end, doing all of the typing,
correcting manuscript for would-be authors, writing club papers for
aspiring females, and, occasionally, even love letters for bashful
youths or maidens whose hearts were bigger than their heads or whose
love burned too fiercely to make it safe for them to approach too
closely to such inflammable material as scented note paper. Josie was
the blanchisseuse au fin who laundered the fine laces and linen brought
to the shop by their wealthy clients. And she did most of the research
work in the books of reference from her father’s magnificent technical
library. Another one of her duties was the matching of silks and wools.
It was one that she did not relish much, as clothes and fancy work were
her abomination, but her eye was so sure that she never made a mistake
and Elizabeth found herself constantly making slight errors in shades
when she undertook to do that part of the work.
The clipping bureau, that had been started with some trepidation
because of the outlay necessary to subscribe to so many papers and
magazines to enable them to carry on the work successfully, had
developed into a thriving branch of the business. It was really
astonishing to see how many persons were willing and anxious to pay
so that, if their names appeared in print, they would be sure to know
about it.
Irene Macfarlane still took entire charge of the fine needlework,
orders for which poured in on the girls. She had not been content until
she had learned to put in an invisible patch as well as the nefarious
Hortense Markle whose whereabouts was still a mystery to the detective
force. Certainly Hortense had been as much a party to the frauds
practiced by her husband as Felix Markle himself; but she had seemingly
disappeared from the face of the earth. After Mary Louise’s wedding,
she had tripped away from the festivities gowned in palest diaphanous
grey with stockings, slippers and gloves to match and a picture hat
that could have been identified by everyone at the wedding, since it
had been noted and admired by all the guests as being a work of real
art. She had tripped away, and, for all the police could find out, the
earth might have opened and swallowed her.
Josie always had a feeling that, sooner or later, the Hortense Markle
mystery would be solved. She had the thought constantly in the back of
her busy brain, but, since the men who were implicated in the wholesale
robberies that had been committed throughout the whole of the United
States, had one and all been caught, the police seemed to feel that the
woman was not worth hunting for. Josie knew that it was the genius of
the woman as much as that of her husband that had made the robberies so
successful and she knew also that a character like Hortense Markle’s
could not be downed but would, in the course of time, assert itself in
other channels of wickedness. No doubt she had left America and was
in some foreign country awaiting the release of her husband from the
penitentiary. The love she bore her husband was the one good point in
her character. At least, it was the only good point Josie was ready to
grant her. With all Hortense’s charm, wit and beauty, artistic taste,
and efficiency, she was, according to Josie and Mary Louise’s other
friends, rotten to the core.
What they could not forgive in the fascinating Mrs. Markle was her
treachery in regard to Mary Louise, the beloved of Dorfield. Mary
Louise herself made excuses for the Markles, but then Mary Louise
always made excuses for everybody.
“They were brought up wrong!” or, “They must have been greatly
tempted!” or perhaps, “They inherited some weakness from their
ancestors!” she would say when the exciting topic of the attempted
robbery of all her wedding gifts was under discussion, as it often was
at the Higgledy Piggledy Shop.
“Oh, gracious me, Mary Louise, you can’t see straight for sheer
goodness!” Josie exclaimed at one of these occasions. “If the Markles
weren’t wicked--as wicked as his Satanic Majesty--then their parents
must have been, to bring them up so badly; or, if not their parents, at
least some of their forbears from whom they inherited their traits. The
blame has to go somewhere and it might just as well be put on Felix and
the fair Hortense as on their dead progenitors. No doubt said Satanic
Majesty is able to entertain the whole bunch of them in the lower
regions.”
Mary Louise smiled and, taking from the book shelves a well worn copy
of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, turned the leaves at random and read
bits aloud.
“With Earth’s first Clay They did the Last Man knead,
And there of the Last Harvest sow’d the Seed:
And the first Morning of Creation wrote
What the Last Dawn of Reckoning shall read.
* * * * * *
As under cover of departing Day
Slunk hunger-stricken Ramazán away,
Once more within the Potter’s house alone
I stood, surrounded by the Shapes of Clay.
Shapes of all Sorts and Sizes, great and small,
That stood along the floor and by the wall;
And some loquacious vessels were; and some
Listen’d perhaps, but never talk’d at all.
Said one among them--‘Surely not in vain
My substance of the common Earth was ta’en
And to this figure, moulded to be broke
Or trampled back to shapeless Earth again.’
Then said a Second--‘Ne’er a peevish Boy
Would break the Bowl from which he drank in joy;
And He that with his hand the Vessel Made
Will surely not in after Wrath destroy.’
After a momentary silence spake
Some vessel of a more ungainly make:
‘They sneer at me for leaning all awry:
What! Did the hand then of the Potter shake?’
Whereat some one of the loquacious Lot--
I think a Sufi pipkin--waking hot--
‘All this of Pot and Potter--Tell me then
Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?’
‘Why,’ said another, ‘Some there are who tell
Of one who threatens he will toss to Hell
The luckless Pots he marr’d in making--Pish!
He’s a Good Fellow, and ’twill all be well.’”
“That expresses what I want to say better than I ever could,” said Mary
Louise. “I can’t blame anybody very much because he or she may have
been marred in the making.”
“Right dangerous doctrine for us to practice in regard to ourselves,”
said Josie. “It’s all right to feel that way about the other fellow,
but, if we get to feeling that way about ourselves and excusing our
every fault because we were made that way, we’d be a mighty lopsided
bunch. For my part, I’d rather think of myself as wet clay--never dried
and baked--always wet and pliable, and with it my own job to mould
myself into some kind of useful and even beautiful shape. I don’t want
to blame a soul but myself for my shortcomings.” She put a book back in
place with a vigorous push.
Mary Louise had come to the Higgledy Piggledy Shop to try to throw off
some of the misery and gloom she felt enveloping her. She longed to
tell Josie about her predicament, but Elizabeth Wright was present and
Irene had just come gliding in her wheel chair from the dumb waiter,
an arrangement Danny had perfected so that the lame girl could come to
the shop whenever she wanted to and not be dependent on anyone to be
carried up stairs. Entering from the rear of the building, she merely
wheeled herself into the large dumb waiter and, with a few pulls of
the rope, landed on the second floor.
Mary Louise shrank from discussing her trouble concerning her
grandfather with Irene because of the fact of her living next door
and of Uncle Peter Conant’s being such a friend of Grandpa Jim. The
poor girl had become very sensitive and, because of Colonel Hathaway’s
feeling against Danny, feared perhaps his friends were sharing that
feeling. She was sure her grandfather quite freely expressed his
opinion of Danny to anyone who would listen to him. That in itself was
very unlike Grandpa Jim, who had always been reticent about his affairs
even with an old and tried friend like Mr. Peter Conant.
Josie has such a level head. Perhaps she could suggest something
to do. At least, it would be a relief to talk it over with her. It
seemed strange and wrong for anything to have come into her life
that she could not discuss with Danny, but she felt that it would
be rank disloyalty to poor Grandpa Jim if she mentioned the trouble
to him. It was plain to see that the young man was puzzled and hurt
by the Colonel’s treatment of him and now was becoming irritated
and impatient. It seemed absurd to accuse Colonel Hathaway of
being not quite himself since the stand he had taken in regard to
his grandson-in-law was the only evidence of it. He attended to his
affairs as usual, looking after his investments with punctilious care,
clipping coupons, seeing that his property was kept up with all repairs
necessary, and reinvesting his money as bonds matured. He had even made
quite an extensive sale of real estate, selling at a large profit and
investing the money to great advantage, so he declared, in some mines.
This particular investment had caused Mary Louise more sorrow than she
had known before in all her life. It seemed to the girl that even the
death of her mother had not brought such intense suffering.
The Colonel had come home after selling a large number of bonds,
loudly proclaiming, “I’ll tie it up, too, so that rascal can’t get his
clutches on it. The worthless fellow!”
Mary Louise did not understand that her Danny was the rascal and
worthless fellow and had asked in some astonishment “What rascal,
Grandpa Jim?”
And he had answered sadly, “You poor child, I mean your husband.”
She had burst out crying and Colonel Hathaway had taken her action
as proof that she was being abused by Danny and had continued his
invectives against that innocent and long suffering young man. Vainly
Mary Louise had endeavored to stem the flow of his abuse.
“Women always take up the defense for their worthless husbands,” he had
said, “but it makes no impression on me. He is a rascal and I don’t
care who knows I think so.”
Danny had overheard the remark and it had added fuel to the fires
of his resentment. He had rushed from the house without waiting for
dinner, and Mary Louise regretted the fact that he had given the front
door an ear-splitting slam. This gave Colonel Hathaway a real grievance
which be aired during the miserable meal that followed. As soon as it
was over, Mary Louise had fled to the Higgledy Piggledy Shop.
“How is everybody?” called Irene as her chair rolled smoothly across
the floor. It was the best one of its kind that could be bought and
moved so easily that the girl could wheel herself many city blocks
without the least fatigue. It was a present from Colonel Hathaway,
with whom the lame girl was a great favorite. He was constantly doing
something kind for her.
“We are fine,” answered Josie, “and glad to see you. A job of mending
has come in that must be done immediately. It beats me how rich people
wait until the last minute to attend to their own affairs and then come
with a great rush for poor people to do their part. It is a set of real
lace curtains--exquisite things--but there are many small breaks to be
darned and Mrs. Sears wants it rushed through as fast as possible so
they can be hung in time for the reception she is giving next week. She
might just as well have brought them six weeks ago,” grumbled Josie.
“Well, I guess I can do them in time,” laughed Irene. “Let me see them.
Why, I’ll have to appliqué these corners on net. Just see how shot with
holes they are! Anyhow, it is easier to appliqué than to darn.”
“It all seems terribly hard to me. I can mend only with hammer and
nails and a glue-pot,” declared Josie. “I suppose you want me to go out
and match the net. Let me see the mesh.”
“That would be mighty good of you,” said Irene. “Do you want me to give
you a tiny sample? I could snip it off under the casing at the top.”
“No, I can remember it! That’s the kind of memory I have and so had my
father. He had a photographic mind and I seem to have one too. Come on,
Mary Louise, and go with me.”
Josie’s keen eye had seen from the first that something was worrying
her dear friend and she divined that her advice and sympathy were
wanted and that Mary Louise had been disappointed to find Elizabeth
in the shop. She had also detected a shade of annoyance at Irene’s
entrance. It had taken sharp perception indeed to realize this, for
Mary Louise’s manner had been as courteous as ever with the other girls
and her greeting as affectionate. But little escaped the sharp eyes and
ears of Josie. The warp and woof of the lives of her acquaintances were
as clearly defined in her mind as the net of the curtains she was to
match. Something was wrong with the tapestry Fate was working on the
life of dear Mary Louise. Josie knew it for sure and she determined to
find out if possible and to help her if she could.