The Good Fairy
So again Mrs. Whipp saw her friend and employer descend from the Barry
car.
She didn't open the door for her this time, but sat, rocking, in the
shop with Pearl in her lap, and sniffed at her as she entered.
"You and your fine friends," she scoffed. "Pretty soon you won't demean
yourself to use the trolley at all."
"If you had only been willing to come to church, Charlotte, they'd have
brought you home, too," said Miss Mehitable, hoping she was telling the
truth.
"'The Sabbath was made for man,'" snapped Mrs. Whipp, "not man for the
Sabbath, to go and hear that man talk through his nose!"
"Now, Charlotte, I refused to go home to dinner with them just so's you
and I could have our meal together; so don't you make me sorry."
Mrs. Whipp had started up at once alertly on her friend's entrance,
spilling Pearl, and was already removing Miss Mehitable's jacket and hat
with deft fingers and receiving the silk gloves she pulled off.
"H'm, I don't believe they'll eat any better things than we're goin' to
have. How can I go to church and have us a good hot dinner?"
"Sunday dinner should be cold mainly," returned Miss Upton calmly. "Mine
always was till you came. Of course you're such a splendid cook,
Charlotte, it's kind of a temptation to you to spoil me and feed me up,
yet you know I ought not to eat much."
"Oh, pshaw," returned Mrs. Whipp. "More folks die from the lack o' good
things than from eatin' 'em."
"You'll have to look out," said Miss Mehitable warningly, following her
friend's lead to the sunny living-room where the table was spread. "It's
a sayin' that good cooks are always cross. The better you cook the more
you must watch to have your temper as sweet as your sauces."
"Ho! Vinegar's just as important as oil," retorted the other. "You're so
smooth to everybody it's a good thing I came to live with you and keep
you from bein' imposed upon."
Miss Mehitable laughed. "You think together we make a pretty good salad,
do you?" she returned.
When dinner was on the table and they were both seated, Miss Upton spoke
again:
"I wonder how you're goin' to like it to the port?" she said.
"Awful rheumatic, I sh'd think 'twould be," returned Mrs. Whipp.
"Pretty soon we'll have to be goin'," said Miss Upton. "I usually lock
everything up here tight as a drum for three months. I was talkin' to a
man in town yesterday that thought it was a joke that folks in Keefe
just went a few miles to their seashore cottages. He was from Chicago
where you have to go a thousand miles to get anywhere. I told him I
couldn't see anything funny about it. Keefe was a village and Keefeport
was a resort; but he kept on laughin' and said it was like lockin' the
door of one home and goin' across the street to another, then back again
in the fall. I told him I was full as satisfied as I would be to have
to make my way through Indians and buffaloes to get anywhere as you have
to in those wild Western cities. He claimed that it was perfectly
civilized around Chicago now; but of course he'd say that."
"H'm," returned Mrs. Whipp, non-committally.
"Now I was thinkin', Charlotte, that there ain't a reason in the world
why you should go to the port if you don't want to. You can stay right
here and look after the house. I shall move the shop goods just as I
always do to my little port place."
"You don't get along there alone, do you?" asked Charlotte hastily.
"No; one o' the schoolgirls is always glad to live with me in vacation
and work for her board. I had Nellie McIntyre last summer."
"Oh, of course, if you'd rather have Nellie."
"I wouldn't," said Miss Upton calmly; "but she don't have rheumatism nor
mind the dampness. She thinks it's a great chance to be to the shore and
swim every day, and she's happy as a bird from mornin' till night. If
she ain't to go this year, I must let the child know, for I expect
she's lottin' on it."
The silence that followed this was broken only by the purring of Pearl
who had established herself upon a broad beam of sunshine which lay
across the ingrain carpet. Miss Mehitable was recklessly extravagant of
carpets in Mrs. Whipp's opinion. She would not allow the shutting-out of
the sunlight.
Miss Upton drank her tea busily now to conceal her desire to smile. Some
of Ben Barry's comments upon her companion returned to her irresistibly;
for she easily followed Charlotte's present mental processes.
Mrs. Whipp was in a most uncomfortable corner and her friend had driven
her into it with such bland kindness that it made the situation doubly
difficult. There was nothing Charlotte could resent in being offered a
summer of ease in the Keefe cottage; but to be confronted with the
alternatives of renouncing all right to complain of fog and storm, or
else to part from Miss Mehitable and allow her to run her own life and
notions for the whole summer, was a dilemma which drove her also to
drinking a great deal of tea, and leaving the floor to Pearl for some
minutes.
Miss Upton did not help her out, but, regaining control of her risibles,
continued to eat and drink placidly, allowing her companion to
cerebrate.
Well she knew that now was the time to defend herself from a summer of
grumbling as continuous as the swish of waves on the shore; and well she
knew also her companion's verbally unexpressed but intense devotion to
herself which made any prospect of their separation a panic. So she
waited and Pearl purred.
One Mr. Lugubrious Blue flits through the drawings of a certain famous
cartoonist. Mr. Blue's mission is to take the joy out of life and
Charlotte Whipp was his blood kin. The tip of her long nose was as
chilly as his and her gloom was similarly chronic. Miss Upton was
determined that she would not be the first to break in upon Pearl's
solo.
Finally Charlotte spoke:
"Do the Barrys have a house to the port?"
"Yes, a real cottage. The rest of us have shelters, but you can't call
'em houses."
Mrs. Whipp looked up apprehensively. "Do you mean they let in the rain?"
"Sometimes in storms," returned Miss Upton cheerfully, "but we run
around with pans and catch it."
Mrs. Whipp viewed her bread and butter gloomily, the down-drawn corner
of her one-sided mouth unusually depressed.
Miss Mehitable felt a wild desire to laugh. She wished she could keep
Ben Barry out of her mind during this important interview. Her kind
heart administered a little comfort.
"You see, there isn't any lath and plaster to the cottage, but it's good
and tight except in very bad weather," she said.
"It's a wonder you don't get rheumatics yourself," vouchsafed Charlotte.
"Nobody thinks of such a thing in that beautiful sun-soaked place,"
returned Miss Upton.
"Sun-stroke did you say?" asked Mrs. Whipp, looking up quickly.
"No." Miss Mehitable indulged in one frank laugh. "Sun-soaked."
"Sounds more like water-logged to me from your description," said the
other sourly, returning to her dinner. "I don't see why you go there."
"For two reasons. First, because I love it better than any place on
earth, and second, because it's good business. I do a better business
there than I do here. You think it over, Charlotte, because I ought to
let Nellie know."
"Well, you can let Nellie know that I'm goin'," replied Mrs. Whipp
crossly. "What sense is there in your takin' a girl to the port to go in
swimmin' while you work?"
"Nellie was a very good little helper," declared Miss Mehitable, again
taking refuge in her teacup. When she set it down she continued: "If you
think, Charlotte, that you can make up your mind to take the bitter with
the sweet, the rain and the sun, the fog and the wind, why, come along;
but it don't do a bit o' good to argue with Neptune. He'll stick his
fork right through you if you do."
Mrs. Whipp stared, but Miss Upton's eyes were twinkling so she suspected
this was just one of her jokes.
"I never was one to shirk," she declared curtly.
"Then I can tell Nellie you want to go?"
That word "want" made Charlotte writhe and was probably accountable for
the extra acidity of her reply:
"Yes, unless you're tongue-tied," she returned.
When dinner was over and the dishes washed and put away (Miss Upton's
Sunday suit being enveloped in a huge gingham apron during the
performance), Miss Mehitable watched solicitously to see if Charlotte
manifested any symptoms of going out for a constitutional. She asked
herself, with a good deal of severity, why she should dread to inform
Mrs. Whipp of her own plan for the afternoon.
"I guess I'm free, white, and twenty-one," thought Miss Upton. But all
the same she continued to cast furtive glances at Mrs. Whipp, who showed
every sign of relapsing into a rocking-chair with Pearl in her lap.
"It's a real pleasant day, Charlotte," she said. "Ain't you goin' to
walk?"
Mrs. Whipp yawned. "Dunno as I am."
"I've got to go out again," pursued Miss Mehitable intrepidly, but she
felt the dull gaze that at once turned and fixed upon her. "I've got to
see Ben Barry about some business that came up in the city yesterday."
"I knew you had something on your mind last night," returned Mrs. Whipp,
triumphantly. "I notice you wouldn't tell _me_."
"You ain't a lawyer, Charlotte Whipp."
"Neither is that young whipper-snapper," rejoined the widow, "but then
of course he's a Barry."
"You do try my patience dreadfully, Charlotte," declared Miss Mehitable,
her plump cheeks scarlet. "If you didn't know when you came here that
Mrs. Barry is one o' the best friends I've got in the world, I'll tell
you so now. You needn't be throwin' 'em up to me just because they've
got money. I'm goin' there whenever they ask me, and this afternoon's
one o' the times."
She felt like a child who works its elbows to throw off some hampering
annoyance. How her companion managed to hold her under the spell of
domination which seemed merely a heavy weight of silent disapproval, she
did not understand. It always meant jealousy, Miss Mehitable knew that,
and usually her peace-loving, sunny nature pacified and coaxed the
offended one, but occasionally she stood her ground. She knew that
presently the Barry car would again draw up before her gate and she felt
she must forestall Charlotte's sneers.
"How soon you goin'?" inquired the latter mildly.
"At three o'clock," returned Miss Upton bravely.
"Let me fix your collar," said Charlotte, rising; "your apron rumpled it
all up."
"Why can't I remember to bully her oftener?" thought Miss Mehitable. "It
always does her good just like medicine."
Promptly at three Ben Barry jumped out of his car before Miss Upton's
Emporium, and Mrs. Whipp dodged behind the window-curtain and watched
them drive away.
"I saw that cute Lottie looking after us," said Ben.
"Poor thing, I kind o' hate to leave her on a Sunday," said Miss Upton,
sighing.
"'The better the day, the better the deed,'" remarked her companion.
"You've got me all het up about you and your umbrella. What's my part?
To keep you out of the lock-up? Whom did you 'sault 'n' batter? When
are you going to tell me?"
"You see that's one thing that's the matter with Charlotte," said Miss
Mehitable. "She does hate to think I'm keepin' anything from her and she
felt it in the air."
"Do you believe she'll visit you in prison? I'll address the jury
myself. I maintain that one punishment's enough. You at least deserve a
holiday. Say, Mehit, me dear, I've a big surprise for you, too. You know
I told you I warned mother to have no guests this afternoon."
"Yes, you said you wanted to write poetry--Ben"--the speaker suddenly
grasped the driver's coat-sleeve--"I never thought of it till this
minute, but, Ben Barry"--Miss Upton's voice expressed acute dismay--"are
you in love?"
"Why, does it mean so much to you, little one?" responded Ben
sentimentally.
"You wouldn't take near as much interest, not near as much if you've got
a girl on your mind."
"One? Dozens, Mehit. I'm only human, dear."
"If it's dozens, it's all right," returned Miss Upton, relieved.
"There's always room for one more in that case, but what is your
surprise, then, Ben?"
"I didn't want to be alone to write poetry. I wanted to gloat,
undisturbed. My dandy mother is giving me something I've been aching to
have."
Miss Upton's face brightened. "Yes, I know. Something's being built way
back o' your house. Folks are wonderin' what it is. It looks like some
queer kind of a stable. What in the world can you want, Ben! You've got
the cars and a motor-cycle, and a saddle-horse."
"Well"--confidentially--"don't tell, Mehit, but I wanted a zebra. Horses
are too commonplace."
"But they can't be tamed, zebras can't," returned Miss Upton, much
disturbed. "I've read about 'em. You'll be killed. I shall--"
"I _must_ have a zebra and a striped riding-suit to be happy. While
you're wearing the stripes in jail I'll come and ride up and down
outside your barred window and cheer you up."
"I don't believe it's a zebra," declared Miss Mehitable; "but if it is I
shall tell your mother you cannot have it, Ben Barry."
"And yet you expect me to sympathize with your umbrella--"
"Oh, how beautiful!" exclaimed Miss Upton suddenly; for now the tinted,
pearly pink cloud of the Barrys' apple-orchard came in view.
The house was a brick structure with broad verandas, set back among
well-kept lawns and drives, and its fine elm trees were noted. Mrs.
Barry was reclining in a hammock-chair under one of them as the car
drove in, and she rose and came to meet the guest. Miss Mehitable
thought she looked like a queen as her erect, graceful figure moved
across the lawn in the long silken cape that floated back and showed its
violet lining.
"It's perfectly beautiful here to-day," she said as the hostess greeted
her; "but, oh, Mrs. Barry, I suppose I'm a fool to ever believe
Ben"--the speaker cast a glance around at her escort--"but you won't let
him have a zebra, will you? They're the most dangerous animals. He says
you're goin' to give him--"
"My dear Miss Upton," Mrs. Barry laughed, "I do need a scolding, I know.
I've allowed myself to be talked into something crazy--crazy. It's much
worse than a zebra, but you know what a big disappointment Ben had last
year--flapping his wings and aching and longing to go across the sea
while Uncle Sam obstinately refused to let him go over and end the War?
All dressed up and no place to go! Poor Benny!" Mrs. Barry glanced at
her son, laughing. "He did need some consolation prize, and anyway he
persuaded me to let him have an aeroplane."
"Mrs.--_Barry_!" returned Miss Mehitable, and she gazed around at Ben
with wide eyes.
"I'm such a bird, you see," he explained.
"Well," said the visitor after a pause, drawing her suspended breath,
"I'm glad I can talk to you before you're killed."
"Oh, not so bad as that," said Mrs. Barry. "He is at home in the air,
you know, and he assures me they will soon be quite common. Come up on
the veranda, Miss Upton. I'm going to hide you and Ben in a corner
where no one will disturb you."
"What a big place for you to live in all alone," observed Mehitable as
they moved toward the house, and Ben drove the car to the garage.
"Yes, it is; but I'm so busy with my chickens and my bees I'm never
lonely. I'm quite a farmer, Miss Upton. See how fine my orchard is this
year? I tell Ben that so long as he doesn't light in my apple-trees we
can be friends."
"I think you're awful venturesome, Mrs. Barry!"
That lady smiled as they moved up the steps to the veranda, the black
and violet folds of her shimmering wrap blowing about her in lines of
beauty that fascinated her companion.
"What else can the mother of a boy be?" she returned. "Ben has been
training me in courage ever since he was born; apparently the prize-ring
or the circus would have been his natural field of operations; so I have
chained him down to the law and given him an aeroplane so he can work
off his extra steam away from the publicity of earth."
At last the hostess withdrew, and Miss Upton found herself alone with
her embryo lawyer in a sheltered corner of the porch where the vines
were hastening to sprout their curtaining green, and a hammock,
comfortable chairs, a table and books proclaimed the place an
out-of-door sitting-room.
"Your mother is wonderful," she began when her companion had placed her
satisfactorily and had stretched himself out in a listening attitude,
his hands clasped behind his head and his eyes on hers.
What eyes they were, Miss Upton thought. Clear and light-brown, the
color of water catching the light in a swift, sunny brook.
"She is a queen," he responded with conviction.
"A pity such a woman hasn't got a daughter," said Miss Mehitable
tentatively.
"I'm going to give her one some day." A smile accompanied this.
"Is she picked out?"
Ben laughed at his companion's anxious tone. "You seem interested in my
prospects. That's the second time you have seemed worried at the idea.
No, she isn't picked out. I'm going to hunt for her in the stars. Why?
Have you some one selected?"
"Law, no!" returned Miss Upton, flushing. "It is a--yes, it is a girl
I've come to talk to you about, though." The visitor stammered and grew
increasingly confused as she proceeded. "I thought--I didn't know--the
girl needs somebody--yes, to--to look after her and I thought your
mother bein'--bein' all alone and the house so big, she might have some
use for a--young girl, you know, a kind of a helper; but Charlotte says
the girl would fall in love with you and--and--" Miss Upton paused,
drawing her handkerchief through and through her hands and looking
anxiously at her companion who leaned his head back still farther and
laughed aloud.
"Come, now, that's the most sensible speech that ever fell from Lottie's
rosebud lips." He sat up and viewed his visitor, who, in spite of her
crimson embarrassment, was gazing at him appealingly. "I don't believe,
Mehit, my dear, that you've begun at the beginning, and you'll have to,
you know, if you want legal advice."
"I never do, Ben; I am so stupid. I always do begin right in the middle,
but now I'll go back. You know I went to the city yesterday."
"You and the umbrella."
"Yes, and I was mad at myself for luggin' it around all the mornin' when
the weather turned out so pleasant and I had so many other things; but
never _mind_"--the narrator tightened her lips impressively--"that
umbrella was all _right_."
"Sure thing," put in Ben. "How could you have rescued the girl without
it?"
Miss Upton's eyes widened. "How did you know I did?"
"The legal mind, you know, the legal mind."
"Oh, but I didn't rescue her near enough, not near enough," mourned Miss
Mehitable. "I must go on. I got awful tired shoppin' and I went into a
restaurant for lunch. I got set down to one table, but it was so
draughty I moved to another where a young girl was sittin' alone. A man,
a homely, long-necked critter made for that place too, but I got there
first. I don't know whether I'm glad or sorry I did. Ben, she was the
prettiest girl in this world."
Miss Upton paused to see if this solemn statement awakened an interest
in her listener.
"Maybe," he replied placidly; "but then there are the stars, you know."
"She had lots of golden hair, and dark eyes and lashes, with kind o'
long dark corners to 'em, and a sad little mouth the prettiest shape you
ever saw. We got to talkin' and she told me about herself. It was like a
story. She had a cruel stepmother who didn't want her around, so kept
her away at school, and a handsome, extravagant father without enough
backbone to stand up for her; and on top of everything he died suddenly.
Her stepmother had money and she put this poor child in a cheap
lodgin'-house tellin' her to find a job, and she herself went calmly off
travelin'. This poor lamb tried one place after another, but her beauty
always stood in her way. I'm ashamed to speak of such things to you,
Ben, but I've got to, to make you understand. She said she wondered if
there were any good men in this world. She was in despair."
Ben's eyes twinkled, but his lips were serious as he returned his
friend's valiant gaze.
"Her name is Geraldine Melody. Did you ever hear such a pretty name?"
Miss Upton scrutinized her listener's face for some stir of interest.
"I never did. Your girl was a very complete story-teller. You blessed
soul! and you've had all these thrills over that!" Ben leaned forward
and took his companion's hand affectionately. "I didn't believe even you
would fall for drug-store hair, darkened eyes, and that chestnut story.
What did the fair Geraldine touch you for?"
Miss Upton returned his compassionate gaze with surprise and
indignation. "She didn't touch me. What do you mean? Why shouldn't she
if she wanted to? I tell you her eyes and her story were all the truth,
Ben Barry. I ain't a fool."
"No, dear, no. Of course. But how much did you give her?"
"Give her what?"
"Money."
"I didn't give her any, poor lamb." Into Miss Mehitable's indignant eyes
came a wild look. "I wonder if I'd ought to have. I wonder if it would
have helped any."
Ben gave a low laugh. "I'll bet she had the disappointment of her young
life: to tell you that yarn, and tell it so convincingly, and yet dear
old Mehit never rose to the bait!"
Miss Upton glared at him and pulled her hand away. He leaned back and
resumed his former easy attitude. "When are you going to reach the
umbrella?" he asked.
"I've passed it," snapped Miss Mehitable, angry and baffled. "I kept
that long-necked, gawky man off with it, pretty near tripped him up so's
I could get to the table with that poor child."
Ben shook his head slowly. "To think of it! That good old umbrella after
a well-spent life to get you into a trap like that. All the same"--he
looked admiringly at his companion--"there's no hay-seed in _your_ hair.
The dam-sell--pardon, Mehit, it's all right to say damsel, isn't
it?--didn't think best to press things quite far enough to get into your
pocket-book. You call it a rescue. Why do you? Geraldine might have got
something out of the gawk."
Miss Upton's head swung from side to side on her short neck as she gazed
at her friend for a space in defiant silence. His smile irritated her
beyond words.
"Look here, Ben Barry," she said at last; "young folks think old folks
are fools. Old folks _know_ young folks are. Now I want to find that
girl. I see you won't help me, but you can tell me where to get a
detective."
Ben raised his eyebrows. "Hey-doddy-doddy, is it as serious as that?
Geraldine is some actress. It would be a good thing if you could let
well enough alone; but I suspect you'll have to find her before you can
settle down and give Lottie that attention to which she has been
accustomed. I will help you. We won't need any detective. You shall meet
me in town next Saturday. We'll go to that restaurant and others. Ten to
one we'll find her."
"She's left the city," announced Miss Upton curtly.
"She told you so?" the amused question was very gentle.
"That cat of a stepmother had a relative on a farm, some place so
God-forsaken they couldn't keep help, so the cat kindly told the girl
she was desertin' that if other jobs failed she could go there. I've
told you why the other jobs did fail, and it's the truth whether you
believe it or not, and at the time I met her the poor child had given up
hope and decided to take that last resort."
Ben bit his lip. "Back to the farm, Geraldine!"
Miss Upton's head again swung from side to side and again she glared at
her companion.
"It would surprise you very much if we were to meet her in town next
Saturday, wouldn't it?" he added.
"I'd be so glad I'd hug her beautiful little head off," returned Miss
Mehitable fervently.
"Do that, dear, if you must. It would be better than bringing her out
here to be a companion to mother." Miss Upton's eyes were so fiery that
Ben smothered his laugh. "I'm nearly sure that Miss Melody wouldn't suit
mother as a companion."
"I wouldn't allow her to come anywhere near you," returned Miss Upton
hotly. "I s'pose you think she didn't go to the farm. Well, I saw her go
myself with that very gawk I tripped up with my umbrella."
"Of course you did," laughed Ben; "and pretty mad he was doubtless when
she told him she hadn't got a rise out of you. Those people usually work
in pairs. We'll probably see him, too."
Miss Upton clutched the iron table in front of her and swung herself to
her feet with superhuman celerity.
"Ben Barry, you're entirely too smart for the law!" she said. "You'll
never stoop to try a case. You'll know everything beforehand. You're a
kind of a mixture of a clairvoyant and a Sherlock Holmes, you are. If
you'd seen as I did that beautiful, touchin' young face turn to stone
when that raw-boned, cross-eyed thing looked at her so--so hungry-like,
and took possession of her as though he was only goin' to wait till they
got home to eat her up--and I let 'em go!" Miss Upton reverted to her
chief woe. "I let 'em go without findin' out _where_, when in all the
world that poor child had nobody but me, a country jake she met in a
restaurant, to care whether that Carder picked her bones after he got
her to his cave."
"That what?"
"Carder, Rufus Carder. The one thing I have got is his hateful name. He
lives 'way off on a farm somewheres, but knowin' his name, a detective
ought to--"
Ben Barry leaned forward in his chair and his eyes ceased to twinkle.
"Rufus Carder? If it is the one I'm thinking of, he's one of the biggest
reprobates in the country."
"That's him," returned Miss Upton with conviction. "At first I sized him
up as just awkward and countrified; but the way he looked at the child
and the way he spoke to her showed he wa'n't any weaklin'."
"I should say not. He's as clever as they make 'em and he has piles of
money--other people's money. He can get out of the smallest loophole
known to the law. He always manages to save his own skin while he takes
the other fellow's. Rufus Carder." Ben frowned. "I wonder if it can be."
Miss Upton received his alert gaze and looked down on him in triumph.
"You're wakin' up, are you?" she said. "I guess I don't meet you in town
next Saturday, do I? Oh, Ben"--casting her victory behind her--"do you
mean to say you know where he lives?"
"I know some of the places."
"That farm"--eagerly--"do you know that?"
"Yes. Pretty nearly. I can find it."
"And you mean you will find it? You dear boy! And you'll take me with
you, and we'll bring her back with us. I can make room for her at my
house."
"Hold on, Mehitable. We're dealing with one of the biggest rascals on
the top side of earth. If he wants to keep the girl it may not be simple
to get her. At any rate, it's best for me to go alone first. You write a
note to her and I'll take it and bring back news to you of the lay of
the land."
Miss Upton gazed in speechless hope and gratitude at the young man as he
rose and paced up and down the piazza in thought.
"Oh, Ben," she ejaculated, clasping her hands, "to think that I'm in
time to get you to do this before you kill yourself in that aeroplane!"
"Nothing of the sort, my dear Mehit" he returned. "Remember that, unlike
the zebra, they are tamable in captivity, you'll be soaring with me
yet."
Miss Upton laughed in her relief. "If all they want is something heavier
than air, I'm _it_," she returned.