There were times when, in spite of disease, death, or disaster, Mrs.
John Upjohn had to have clothes; more clothes, no doubt I should say,
or other clothes. At any rate, when such occasions were imminent, Mrs.
Upjohn was wont to summon the dressmaker to come to her house, and the
dressmaker would come promptly and would camp in the house until the
siege was over, going home only to sleep. One would think that Mrs.
Upjohn might have offered Letty Lambkin a bed to sleep in, for Letty
had been a schoolmate of hers before misfortune overtook her; and Mrs.
Upjohn had beds to spare and Letty always arrived before breakfast and
stayed until after supper. Perhaps such an offer would have offended a
sensitive spirit. That is only a guess, of course, for I have no means
of knowing what Mrs. Upjohn's ideas were upon that subject. At all
events, she never gave Letty a chance of being offended at any such
offer.
An occasion such as I have mentioned arose on the day of the Hazens'
fire, and Mrs. Upjohn had accordingly sent John Junior around to
Letty's house with the customary message. Which message John Junior
had delivered with an air of great dejection and with the very evident
hope that Miss Lambkin would be unable to come. But, alas! Miss
Lambkin smiled at John cheerfully and told him to tell his mother that
she would be there bright and early in the morning; that she had felt
it in her bones that Alicia Upjohn would be wanting her on that day,
and she had put off Mrs. Robbins and Mrs. Sarjeant on purpose so's
Alicia wouldn't have to wait.
Whereupon John Junior muttered unintelligibly and turned away, leaving
Miss Lambkin gazing fondly after him and calling after him to know if
it wasn't cold. John Junior muttered again, inaudibly to Miss Lambkin,
but not unintelligibly. He was not fond of those sieges, to say the
least.
"Darn it!" he muttered, kicking viciously at the ice. "That means two
weeks and I can't stay at Hen's all the whole time for two weeks. A
fellow has to be at home for meals. If she only wasn't there for
breakfast and supper!" John Junior kicked viciously at the ice again;
and, the ice proving refractory, he stubbed his toe and almost fell.
"Ow!" he said; "darn it!" But that was an afterthought. He betook him
to the harbor.
There is some reason to believe that the late John Senior had not
regarded these visitations with more favor than did his son; there
were some that did not hesitate to say that his end had been hastened
by them and by the semiannual house-cleaning. Mrs. Upjohn was
considered a notable housekeeper. "She takes it hard," he had said to
Hen's father in an unguarded moment of confidence. Hen's father had
laughed. Hen's mother was not a notable housekeeper. John Senior had
sighed. At that time there was but one club in Whitby. He was not a
member of that club. Such men as Hugh Morton and Gerrit Torrington
were members; even John Hazen was said to be a member, although he was
never at the club-rooms. So even that solace was denied to John
Senior. He couldn't stay at Hen's house all the time either; and,
there seeming to be no other way of escape, he up and had a stroke and
died in two hours. At least, so rumor ran, the connection between
cause and effect being of rumor's making. I have no wish to contradict
it. I have no doubt that I should have wanted to do as John Senior had
done. Very possibly Patty had some such wish.
The two weeks of Letty were now up and the end was not in sight. She
and Mrs. Upjohn sat in Mrs. Upjohn's sewing-room, which was strewn
with unfinished skirts and waists and scraps of cloth. Letty sewed
rapidly on the skirt; Mrs. Upjohn sewed slowly--very, very slowly--on
something. It really did not matter what. If the completion of Mrs.
Upjohn's clothes had depended upon Mrs. Upjohn's unaided efforts she
would never have had anything to wear.
"Where's Patty gone, Alicia?" asked Letty, a thread between her teeth.
"Hospital?"
Mrs. Upjohn stopped sewing. "Yes," she replied in her deliberate way.
"I believe her father is worse. She got a message this morning before
you came, and I think it was unfavorable, to judge by her face."
"Land!" said Miss Lambkin. "I guess he's going to die. He's a pretty
old man. Eighty, if he's a day, would be my guess."
Mrs. Upjohn nodded. "Just eighty."
"Pretty good guess, I call it." Miss Lambkin laughed. "I thought he
must be pretty sick, or Patty wouldn't be out of the house as soon as
ever breakfast was over and not turn up again until dinner-time. Then,
as like as not, she'd be gone the whole afternoon. I hear he's got
pneumonia."
Mrs. Upjohn nodded again.
"And I hear," Letty continued, "that he got it getting chilled and wet
the night of the fire. 'T was an awful cold night, and he would stay
around the house and try to tell the firemen what they sh'd do. Of
course, they couldn't help squirting on him some."
"I hope," said Mrs. Upjohn, "that they didn't mean to."
"I hope not," Miss Lambkin returned. "I sh'd think the ones that did
it would have it on their consciences if they did. They tell me that
Sally Ladue discovered the fire. She and that Doctor Sanderson have
been at the Mortons' ever since and, if you can believe all you hear,
neither of 'em likes it any too well. Mrs. Morton's nice to her--she
can be as nice as nice to them that she likes, though you wouldn't
always think it--but Everett's the trouble."
It was contrary to Mrs. Upjohn's principles to look surprised at any
piece of information--and as if she had not heard it before. She gave
a little laugh.
"A good many girls," she remarked, "would give their eyes to be at the
Mortons' for two weeks."
"I guess that's what's the trouble with Everett," said Miss Lambkin
pointedly. "Too much girl; and I guess he isn't any too particular
about the kind either."
Mrs. Upjohn was curious. To be sure, she was always curious, which was
a fact that she flattered herself she concealed very neatly. Other
people were not of the same opinion.
"Why, Letty?" she asked frankly. She seldom allowed her curiosity to
be so evident. "I've never heard of his being seen with any girls that
he ought not to be with. Have you?"
"Oh, not in Whitby," replied Miss Lambkin. "Not for Joseph! As far's
that goes, he isn't seen very often with girls that he ought to be
with. But I hear that when he's in Boston it's a different story. Of
course, I haven't seen him with my own eyes, but I have reliable
information. You know he goes to Boston for weeks at a time."
"M-m," assented Mrs. Upjohn, rocking quietly and comfortably. "He
stays at the best hotels, I believe."
"_Registers_ at the most expensive," corrected Miss Lambkin, "I have
no doubt. I s'pose he stays there some of the time. To tell the
truth," she confessed, somewhat crestfallen at having to make the
humiliating confession, "I didn't just hear what Everett does that
Sally Ladue doesn't like."
"Oh," said Mrs. Upjohn. She did not look up and there was a certain
air of triumph in the way she uttered that simple syllable which
grated on Miss Lambkin's sensibilities.
"Sally's a sort of high-and-mighty girl," continued Miss Lambkin
tentatively.
"Sally's a nice girl and a good girl," said Mrs. Upjohn cordially;
"capable, I should say."
"No doubt she is," Letty returned without enthusiasm. "It's rather
strange that she is all that, considering what her father did."
Mrs. Upjohn laughed comfortably. "I used to know her father. There was
no telling what he would do."
"Ran off with another woman," said Letty, "and some money. That's what
I heard."
Mrs. Upjohn laughed again. "He disappeared," she conceded. "I never
heard that there was any other woman in the case and I'm reasonably
sure there wasn't any money."
"He hasn't ever been heard of since?"
Mrs. Upjohn shook her head.
"And he left them without any money? I thought he stole it."
"I don't think so. Doctor Sanderson kept them afloat for some time, I
believe, until Patty asked Sally here. Then he got Mrs. Ladue into
Doctor Galen's hospital."
"M-m," Letty murmured slowly. She had a needle between her lips or she
would have said "o-oh." She removed the needle for the purpose of
speech. "So that's Doctor Sanderson's connection with the Ladues. I
always wondered. It might have been 'most anything. His sister's up
and coming. She'll have Dick Torrington if he don't look out. She's
made the most of her visit."
Letty's murmur might have meant much or it might have meant nothing at
all. At all events, Mrs. Upjohn let it go unchallenged, possibly
because her curiosity was aroused by what Letty said later. She asked
no questions, however. She only waited, receptively, for further
communications on the subject of Henrietta and Dick. Miss Lambkin did
not vouchsafe further information on that subject, but immediately
branched off upon another.
"I'm told," she said, with the rapidity of mental change that marked
her intellectual processes, "that John Hazen's house was in an awful
state the morning after the fire. I went around there as soon's ever I
could, to see what I could see, but the door was locked and I couldn't
get in. I looked in the windows, though, and the furniture's all gone
from some of the rooms, even to the carpets. There was a ladder there,
and I went up it, and the bedroom was all stripped clean. I couldn't
carry the ladder, so I didn't see the others. I made some inquiries
and I was told that the furniture was all stored in the stable. That
wasn't burned at all, you know. I thought that perhaps Patty'd been
and had it moved, though it don't seem hardly like her. It's more like
John Hazen himself. But he wasn't able."
Mrs. Upjohn smiled and shook her head. "It wasn't Patty," she replied,
"or I should have known it. I guess it was Sally. Perhaps Doctor
Sanderson helped, but it is just like Sally. She's a great hand to
take hold and do things."
"You don't tell me!" said Miss Lambkin. "But I don't suppose she did
it with her own hands. I shouldn't wonder," she remarked, "if she'd
find some good place to board, the first thing you know. She might go
to Miss Miller's. She could take 'em, I know, but she wouldn't have
room for Doctor Sanderson, only Sally and her mother and Charlie.
Charlie's a pup, that's what he is. But I can't see, for the life of
me, what Doctor Sanderson keeps hanging around here for. Why don't he
go home?"
Not knowing, Mrs. Upjohn, for a wonder, did not undertake to say. Miss
Lambkin hazarded the guess that the doctor might be sparking around
Sally; but Mrs. Upjohn did not seem to think so.
"Well," Letty went on, "I wonder what the Hazens'll do. It'd cost an
awful sight to repair that house; almost as much as to build a new
one. What insurance did you hear they had? Has Patty said?--This skirt
is about ready to try on, Alicia. I want to drape it real nice. Can't
you stand on the table?"
She spread a folded newspaper on the top of the table.
"There! Now, you won't mar the top. Take your skirt right off and
climb up."
Mrs. Upjohn was a heavy woman and she obeyed with some difficulty.
Miss Lambkin continued in her pursuit of information while she draped
the skirt.
"You haven't answered about the insurance, Alicia. What did Patty say
about it? I don't suppose Patty'd know exactly and I wouldn't trust
her guess anyway. John Hazen never seemed to, to any extent. Patty's
kind o' flighty, isn't she, and cracked on the men, although you
wouldn't think it from her highty-tighty manner. She used to think she
was going to marry Meriwether Beatty, I remember. Land! He had no more
idea of marrying her than I had. And she's been cracked on every man
that's more'n spoken to her since. She's got the symptoms of nervous
prostration; all the signs of it. I shouldn't be a bit surprised if
she went crazy, one o' these days. If Doctor Sanderson is looking for
patients for his sanitarium he needn't look any farther. Patty's it.
Turn around, Alicia. I don't get a good light on the other side. Why,
Patty's--"
Mrs. Upjohn had heard the front door shut. "Sh-h-h!" she cautioned.
"Here's Patty now."
They heard Patty come slowly up the stairs and, although there were no
sounds of it, she seemed to be weeping.
"Now, I wonder," whispered Miss Lambkin, "what's the matter. Do you
s'pose her--"
"Sh, Letty! She'll hear you. I'll get down and go to her."
"Without a skirt, Alicia?"
But Mrs. Upjohn did not heed. She got down from the table, clumsily
enough, and went to the door. Patty had just passed it.
"Patty!" Mrs. Upjohn called softly. "Is there anything the matter?"
Patty turned a miserable, tear-stained face. "It--it's all o-over,"
she said dully.
"Your father?" asked Mrs. Upjohn. She spoke in an awe-struck whisper
in spite of herself. Did not Death deserve such an attitude?
Patty nodded silently. "I'm so sorry, Patty," Mrs. Upjohn's sympathy
was genuine. "I _am_ so sorry."
"Oh, Alicia," Patty cried in a burst of grief, "my father's d-dead."
Mrs. Upjohn folded ample arms about her and patted her on the shoulder
as if she had been a child. "There, there, Patty! I'm just as sorry as
I can be; and so will everybody be as soon as they hear of it. But
you just cry as much as you want to. It'll do you good."
So they stood, Mrs. Upjohn unmindful of the fact that she had no skirt
and Patty crying into a lavender silk shoulder.
"Land!" The voice was the voice of Miss Lambkin and it proceeded from
the doorway. "I'm awfully sorry to hear your father's dead, Patty. How
did--"
Patty lifted her head majestically from the lavender silk shoulder.
"My grief is sacred," she murmured; and fled to her room.
"Mercy me!" muttered Miss Lambkin. "I didn't have my kid gloves on. I
ought to have known better'n to speak to Patty without 'em. You may as
well come back, Alicia," she continued in a louder voice, "and finish
with that skirt. Perhaps, now, you'll be wanting a new black dress.
Your old one's pretty well out of fashion."
She filled her mouth with pins while Mrs. Upjohn again mounted the
table.
Mrs. Upjohn shook her head slowly. "No," she answered, "I guess the
old one will do for a while yet. I shouldn't want one for anything but
the funeral anyway, and you couldn't begin to get one done by that
time. It would be different if it was a relative."
"It's curious," remarked Miss Lambkin, as well as she could with her
mouth full of pins, "how things go. Now, there's many of our
relatives--mine, anyway--that we could spare as well as not; better
than some of those that are no kin to us. And we have to wear black
for them and try to look sorry. Black isn't becoming to some, but it
seems to me you'd look full as well in it as you do in that lavender,
and that place on your shoulder where Patty cried tears is going to
show anyway. But, as I was going to say, a man like John Hazen is
going to be missed. I wonder who was there, at his death-bed. Patty,
of course, and Sally Ladue, I s'pose, and maybe Mrs. Ladue and
Meriwether Beatty. Sally was real fond of her Uncle John and he of
her. It's my opinion that Sally'll be sorrier than Patty will. Come
right down to it, Patty isn't so broken-hearted as she likes to think,
though she'll miss him."
To this Mrs. Upjohn agreed, but Letty did not wait for her reply.
"And I wonder," she went on, working rapidly while she talked, "how
much he's left. Patty hasn't said, I s'pose. I don't s'pose she'd have
much of an idea anyway, and I don't know's anybody could tell until
his business is all settled up. He had quite a number of vessels, and
it seems a great pity that there isn't anybody to take his business up
where he left it. He did well with it, I'm told. It's my guess that
you'll find that John Hazen's left Sally a good big slice."
"I hope so, with all my heart." Mrs. Upjohn spoke cordially, as she
did invariably of Sally.
"My!" Letty exclaimed with an anticipatory squeal of delight.
"Wouldn't it put Patty in a proper temper if he had! Now, Alicia," she
said, standing back and looking the skirt up and down, "we'll call
that skirt right. It hangs well, if I do say it. Take it off and I'll
finish it right up. You can come down now."