What Patty really thought about the provisions of her father's will is
not recorded. Indeed, it is doubtful whether she had anything more
nearly approaching consecutive thought on the subject than a vague
resentment toward Sally and a querulous disposition to find fault with
her. For, with the lapse of years, Patty was becoming less and less
able to think rationally--to direct her thoughts--or to think
consecutively on any subject. She had never been conspicuous for her
ability in that direction. What she said was another matter. What
business had Sally to benefit by her father's will? A poor relation
whom she, Patty, had befriended, no more. It never occurred to her to
blame her father any more than it occurred to her to tell the whole
truth about that little matter of befriending. Patty thought that she
told the truth. She meant to.
There was some excuse for Patty's disappointment. One does not easily
rest content with but little more than half a fortune when one has,
for years, had reason to expect the whole of it. It was a modest
fortune enough, but the fact that it turned out to be nearly twice
what Patty had counted upon, and that, consequently, she was left with
just about what she had expected, did not make her disappointment any
the lighter, but rather the reverse. And she did not stop to consider
that she would be relieved of what she was pleased to term the burden
of supporting the Ladues, and that she would have, at her own
disposal, more money than she had ever had. Not at all. Even when Dick
pointed out to her that very fact, it did not change her feeling.
Somehow, she did not know exactly how, Sally had cheated her out of
her birthright. She wouldn't call it stealing, but--
"No," Dick observed cheerfully. "I should think you had better not
call it that. It will be as well if you restrain your speech on the
subject."
That was rather a strong remark for Dick Torrington to make, but he
felt strongly where Sally was concerned. He felt strongly where Patty
was concerned; but the feeling was different.
It was not strange that, in the face of such feeling on Patty's part,
Sally should feel strongly, too. She did feel strongly. She was
genuinely distressed about it and would have been glad to give up any
benefits under the will, and she went to Dick and told him so. He
tried to dissuade her from taking such a course. There were other
aspects of such a case than the mere feeling of one of the heirs about
another. Why, wills would be practically upset generally if any one
heir, by making a sufficiently strong protest, could, to use Dick's
own words, freeze out the others, and it would be of little use for a
man to make a will if many were of Sally's mind. In this case, as
usually in such cases, the will expressed the testator's own
well-founded intention. Mr. Hazen had expected some such outburst from
Patty. Was that to prevent his wish, his will from being carried out?
He earnestly hoped not. All socialists to the contrary,
notwithstanding, he was of the opinion that any man, living or dead,
should be able to do as he liked with his own; that is, with certain
reasonable reservations, which would not apply in the case of her
Uncle John.
"I suppose, Sally," he concluded, "that if he had given it to you
while he was living, you would have taken it, perhaps?"
"No, indeed," Sally replied indignantly. "Of course I wouldn't. What
made you think that, Dick?"
"To tell the truth," he said, "I didn't think it. Well, would it make
any difference in your feeling about it to know that he felt that Miss
Patty was not competent to take care of it?"
She shook her head and sighed. "I don't see that it would; I can't
unravel the right and wrong of it. If you think that my taking it
would have pleased Uncle John, and if you tell me that Patty has as
much as she can wish--"
"Oh, not that. But she has enough to enable her to live in luxury the
rest of her life."
Sally laughed. "We have great possibilities when it comes to wishing,
haven't we? And you advise my taking it?"
"Most certainly."
"Then I will."
"I wonder why," Dick asked, "you don't want it?"
She hesitated for an instant. "I do," she said, then, laughing again.
"That's just the trouble. If I hadn't wanted it I might have been more
ready to take it."
She met Captain Forsyth on the way home. She had just been thinking
that, after all, she could let Fox go ahead with his Retreat. She
would not have to back out of that bargain, for which she was glad.
And there were other things--
It was at this point in her reflections that Captain Forsyth bore down
and hailed her. She answered his hail with a smile and waited.
"I was just going into Dick Torrington's office," he began, in a
gentle roar, "to get him to reason with you. I heard, Sally, that you
were thinking of refusing the legacy of your Uncle John."
She nodded. "I was, but--"
"Don't you do it," he shouted earnestly. He could have been heard for
a block, if there had been anybody to hear him. "Don't you do it,
Sally! You mustn't let Patty scare you out of taking what he meant
that you should have--what he wanted you to have. She'll have enough;
more than she can take care of. Patty couldn't take proper care of a
cat. And John Hazen was very fond of you, Sally. You do this much for
him."
"I'm going to, Captain Forsyth," she answered gently. "I've just told
Dick so."
"Well, I'm glad," he said, with satisfaction. "It's been on my mind
for some days, and I thought I'd better see what I could do about it.
Your Uncle John said a good deal about you, first and last. He'd be
pleased. When you want anything, come to me; though you're not likely
to be wanting anything unless it's advice. I've barrels of that ready.
Good-bye, Sally."
Sally went home--if Mrs. Stump's could be called home--rather
depressed in spirits. In spite of what people considered her good
fortune, she continued in low spirits all through that spring and
summer. Patty, to be sure, was covertly hostile, but that was hardly
enough to account for it. Sally was aware of the unhealthy state of
her mind and thought about it more than was good for her. It is a bad
habit to get into; a very reprehensible habit, and she knew it, but
she couldn't help it. You never can help doing it when you most
shouldn't. It reminded her of the shiftless man's roof, which needed
shingling.
Very likely she was only tired with her winter's teaching and with the
events which had been crowded into those few weeks. They were
important events for her and had been trying. She began to hesitate
and to have doubts and to wonder. It was not like Sally to have
doubts, and she who hesitates is lost. She said so to herself many
times, with a sad little smile which would almost have broken Fox's
heart if he had seen it, and would surely have precipitated an event
which ought to have been precipitated.
But Fox was not there to see it and to help her in her time of doubt,
and to be precipitate and unwise. She found herself wondering whether
she had better keep on with her teaching, now that she did not have
to. There was less incentive to it than there had been. Was it worth
while? Was anything worth while, indeed? What had she to look forward
to after years of teaching, when her enthusiasm was spent? Was it
already spent? What was there in it but going over the same old round,
year after year? What was there at the end? If the children could be
carried on, year after year--if they were her own--and Sally blushed
faintly and stopped there.
But she wondered whether Henrietta had been right. What Henrietta had
said so lightly, the night of the fire, had sunk deeper than Sally
knew or than Henrietta had intended. Sally was beginning to think that
Henrietta was right and that girls, down at the bottom of their
hearts, were looking for men. She didn't like to confess it to
herself. She shrank from the whole subject; but why shouldn't
they--the girls--provided it is only at the bottom of their hearts?
They did; some of them did, at any rate. It is doubtful whether Sally
probed as deep as the bottom of her heart. Perhaps she was afraid to.
Yes, as I started out by saying, no doubt she was only tired,--beat
out, as Miss Lambkin would have said; and she was lonelier than she
had ever been. She missed Uncle John. It seemed to her that there was
nobody to whom she could turn. Probably Captain Forsyth had had some
such idea when he made his clumsy offer of advice. But Captain Forsyth
would not do. Sally would have been glad enough of somebody to turn
to. It was a peculiarly favorable time for Fox, if he had only known
it. It was a rather favorable time for anybody; for Jane Spencer, or
even for Everett Morton. For Everett had begun, as anybody could see
with half an eye, as Letty Lambkin put it briskly. Altogether Sally's
affairs had become a fit topic of conversation for people who bother
themselves about other people's business.
Miss Lambkin did. She had tried to talk with Mrs. Sarjeant about the
matter, but Mrs. Sarjeant had promptly shut her up. Whereupon Miss
Lambkin, with her head in the air, had betaken herself to Mrs. Upjohn.
Mrs. Upjohn did not shut her up. She wanted to hear what Letty had to
tell and she wished to contribute whatever she could, that Letty did
not know, to the fund of general information; without seeming to, of
course.
"Well, Alicia," Letty began, as soon as she had got into the house and
before she had had time to remove her hat, "I thought I'd come and do
for you now, even if it is a week before the time I set. Mrs.
Sarjeant can wait awhile, I guess. She can't need me. She told me
yesterday that she didn't care to listen to gossip. As if I gossiped,
Alicia! Why, I was only saying that Sally Ladue and Everett seemed to
be pretty thick now, and I shouldn't wonder if they hit it off. And I
shouldn't, either, Mrs. Sarjeant or no Mrs. Sarjeant. Anybody can see
he's paying her attention and she's letting him." Miss Lambkin shut
her lips with a snap. "Now, isn't he?"
Mrs. Upjohn did not answer her directly. She only laughed comfortably
and suggested that they go right up to the sewing-room.
"Patty made you quite a visit, didn't she?" Letty began again, while
she hunted scissors and needles and a tape. "Did you have to send her
off to Miss Miller's?"
Mrs. Upjohn shook her head.
"That's a good thing. It wouldn't have been pleasant," Miss Lambkin
resumed. "I hear that she's feeling real bitter towards Sally and that
Sally means to live somewhere else, whether Patty repairs the house or
not, but Patty won't hear to it. I notice, though, that nothing's been
done to the house yet. I'm told that Patty's going right at it. She'd
better, if she wants to live there before next summer, for this is
September and the builders are awful deliberate. Now that Doctor
Sanderson doesn't let the grass grow under his feet. Did you know that
his new hospital's going to be ready before cold weather? And he
hasn't been here, himself, more 'n a day at a time. Where's that
little cutting-table, Alicia? In your room? I'll just run in and get
it. You sit still."
Mrs. Upjohn did not like to trust Letty alone in her room, for she had
the eye of a hawk; but Letty was gone before she could prevent her.
She was back in a moment, and Mrs. Upjohn breathed more freely.
"As I was saying," Miss Lambkin continued, "that Doctor Sanderson had
better be looking out if he wants Sally Ladue. Maybe he don't, but I
notice that Eugene Spencer's fluttering around her again and
Everett's doing more'n flutter.
"It seems queer to think of Everett as anything but what he has been
for some years. He isn't much in favor with some of the older men. I
heard that Cap'n Forsyth said that he wouldn't trust him with a
slush-bucket. And that pup of a brother of Sally's is copying after
Everett as well as he can. He's going to college in a couple of weeks
and there's no telling what he'll be up to there. I'm glad I don't
have the running of him. Everett's no pattern to cut _my_ goods to."
"No," agreed Mrs. Upjohn soberly. "I can't think what has come over
Sally. I never thought she would be dazzled, though I won't deny that
Everett can be attractive."
"Come to that," snapped Miss Lambkin, "Everett's handsome and rich
and, as you say, he knows how to be attractive. Anyway, there's a
plenty that would be only too glad to have a chance at him. Now, if
you were of a suitable age, Alicia, you'd snap him up quick enough if
you had the chance, and you know it."
Mrs. Upjohn only murmured an unintelligible protest, but her color
rose. She would have snapped him up, and she knew it. Letty Lambkin
was really getting to be unbearable.