MR. BATTLES IS DISGUSTED.
Mrs. Smith settled her shawl with great anxiety, and going up to the
little mirror, smoothed out the bows of her bonnet-strings, which
certainly appeared all the better for it. Then the two old friends went
out together, and the tall footman came down from his seat with a
thunder-cloud on his august brow, and opened the carriage-door with a
protest in every gesture. At this Mrs. Carter chuckled inwardly, and
gave Mrs. Smith the seat of honor. She, good soul, drew a deep, deep
breath, as her calico-dress came into contact with the bright silken
cushions, and sat bolt upright, as if afraid that their yielding springs
would swallow her up, and leave Jerusha Maria an orphan.
“Dear me, how it gives!” she said, casting a half frightened look at her
old friend, who laughed with glee, and leaned back in her own luxurious
corner triumphing greatly while the carriage moved on.
The ride was brief but glorious. Seldom did a turn out of that
description come within blocks and blocks of the corner grocery. Mrs.
Smith had the satisfaction of knowing that every window, which bore upon
that point, was occupied when she came through the carriage-door and
swept into her husband’s place of business, side by side with that
gorgeously-dressed lady.
Boyce, who was behind the counter, posed himself at once for an
unlimited order; but Mrs. Smith passed him by with a wave of the hand,
and led the way up stairs to her own apartment, where Kate Gorman was
busy frying ham for dinner, and James Laurence was carrying Jerusha
Maria in his arms, trying to hush her into silence, by bending his head
and giving her tiny hands unlimited control of his hair, which was
always a resource on such occasions.
“Our last,” said Mrs. Smith, taking the child into her motherly arms,
and jerking down its long frock with one hand, as she presented the
young lady. Jerusha Maria took a firm grip on her mother’s shawl, and
being thus fortified began staring at the stranger with all her might;
finally, she broke into a smile, as a watch, set thick with diamonds,
went swinging to and fro before her face.
“Give me a kiss now, and you shall hear it tick,” said Mrs. Carter,
gathering the child to her own bosom, and throwing the watch-chain over
its neck, where it fell in glittering links adown the long frock. “Give
me another; there now, take it in your teanty, tointy little hands.
Smith, this is splendid! Such a weight! Oh, you little rogue, biting at
the diamonds, ha? If you were only mine, I’d feed you with ’em!”
Here Mrs. Carter dropped into a Boston rocking-chair, and laying the
child’s face close to her bosom, began to sing, and chirp, and kiss her
into sleepiness. After this she still cradled her lovingly in both arms
and indulging in a word of gossip, now and then, with the mother while
her chair kept in motion.
“That brother of yours—whatever became of him, Mrs. Carter? I remember
how anxious you and Carter were. How did he turn out?” inquired the
mother, when Jerusha Maria had dropped off. “Did you ever hear from
him?”
“That brother? Our Ross? Why, Smith, he’s back again, the most perfect
gentleman that you ever set eyes on. You know I told you often how he
was given to books, studying night and day; how he painted picters, and
went into the country, every year, making sketches, as he called it.
Never was worth a cent for business; but so handsome, and so wonderfully
good! Well, he went off as you know, and, somehow or another, got beyond
seas, where they think more of picters than we do, and made a
wonderfully great man of him; though not under the old name. He took out
a nom-de-something, as such people do, now and then, and left off the
last end of his name. So, instead of Herman Ross Baker, we call him
Herman Ross, which cuts him loose from the old poverty-stricken life,
for that makes him shudder when you mention it.”
“Proud, I suppose?”
“No; that isn’t it. He’s the last man on earth to be ashamed of honest
poverty. We are none of us mean enough for that, high as we hold our
heads among rich people. But there is something that I don’t quite
understand about Ross.”
“A love-secret, I should not wonder!” said Mrs. Smith.
Before Mrs. Carter could answer that, Kate Gorman put her head into the
room.
“Dinner’s ready, and Mr. Smith not home yet.”
Mrs. Smith arose blushing and embarrassed.
“Only ham and eggs,” she said; “but would you, just for the sake of old
times——”
“Would I?” cried Mrs. Carter, huddling the baby into it’s cradle, and
taking off her gloves.
“Won’t I?”