MRS. SCOTT'S PARTY
Mrs. Scott did not announce, when she sent Cora round the campus with
her invitations, that Mr. Utterly was to be her guest. She was not
certain, in the first place, that he would remain in Waltonville--what
kept him here she could not imagine. In the second place, she preferred
to behave as though distinguished persons were her daily visitors. She
invited, besides the three Listers, and Thomasina Davis, who had that
afternoon returned from Philadelphia, Dr. Green and Professor and Mrs.
Myers of the German Department. The college society was limited in
summer when all but a few of the faculty sought a cooler spot.
She liked to give parties, having an unalterable conviction that upon
her depended the literary and social life of the feminine portion of
Waltonville. Her parties were not like Mrs. Lister's, to which the
ladies took their sewing and where there were many good things to eat.
She set her astonished and frightened guests down to little tables,
furnished them with paper and pencil and required them to write, beside
the words "Popular Bishop" or "Little Misses' Adoration" or "Curiosity
Depicter," the names of the famous individuals whose initials were thus
indicated and whose qualities or achievements were thus described. In
planning her entertainments she always had consideration for the slight
attainments of her guests and never included from her long list of
eminent persons "Eulogizes Antipodes" or "Eminently Zealous" or "Won
England's Greatness."
For this party she provided no entertainment. Mr. Utterly would be
there, and during her impatient waiting inside her screen door she had
heard that he did not lack words or a will to use them. Thomasina Davis
could talk well when she wished, and there were Richard and Cora to sing
and play. Moreover, there was herself!
Cora put on one of her prettiest dresses, and, parasol and little bag in
hand, devoted a large part of the morning to her errand. At the Myerses
she did not linger; at the Listers she sat long enough to be certain
that Richard was nowhere about; at Thomasina's she stayed for an hour,
enjoying the cool, pleasant parlor and the quiet, and wishing that
Richard would come. She admired the chintz curtains which Thomasina
substituted for her winter hangings, she liked the bare floors and the
cool gray walls which her mother thought were so very homely and she
loved to listen to Thomasina's voice. Thomasina seemed to be so
complete, and though she gave so much to other people, she seemed to be
so wholly sufficient for herself. It must be dreadful, Cora thought, to
grow old and not to have been married, even though one had everything
else, good looks and a lovely house and beautiful clothes and perfect
independence. Even those could not compensate for being an old maid. But
Thomasina really seemed not to mind. She could, Cora believed, always
be happy with her books and her music and her flowers. One always felt,
when one was leaving her on a rainy morning after one's lesson, when the
day looked interminable, that it did not look interminable to her, and
that even if she were alone she would still be content. Cora wished that
she herself did not care so desperately for other people, especially for
Richard Lister. She had hoped in vain to see him this morning either at
his mother's or here. But his mother said that he would come to the
party--there was that to look forward to.
Having dispatched her messenger and having set herself and her maid to
the baking of cake and her husband to the turning of the ice-cream
freezer, Mrs. Scott was relieved to see that the stranger was still in
Waltonville after the four-o'clock train had gone. She grew more and
more elated as the hours passed. She had read of the curious and
interesting behavior of celebrated persons at parties--perhaps she would
henceforth have her own anecdotes to relate. She had asked a number of
persons about Basil Everman, including her black 'Celie, who rolled her
eyes and promised to inquire of the older members of the settlement. She
reported that 'Manda had said there was no harm in Marse Basil and that
Virginia's mother had said there was no good in him. He didn't do much
of anything and he was "pow'ful good-lookin'."
When she thought of Eleanor Bent, Mrs. Scott's curiosity grew torturing
in its keenness. Was Eleanor trying to get some sort of literary
position? Dr. Scott, when questioned, said that she was the best pupil
he had, the best he had ever had, he believed, but that she was hardly
prepared for any literary position.
"Besides, the Bents wouldn't know of any," said Mrs. Scott.
Dr. Scott was on the last lap of his task. Back and arms ached and
perspiration streamed from his body. When Mrs. Scott asked in sudden
uneasiness whether she had better provide a game of authors or some
similar entertainment, he looked up at her with the expression of a
kindly, inoffensive animal prepared for sacrifice and entirely aware of
the intentions of his master. He longed for his quiet study, longed for
his comfortable chair, longed for his English magazine with a new
article by Pater. The prospect of an evening spent in company with the
stranger and with the Myerses was almost intolerable. Even the Listers
and Dr. Green and Thomasina Davis, for whom he had usually the
friendliest regard, seemed to acquire unpleasant qualities. When Mrs.
Scott suggested his hanging Chinese lanterns from the roof of the porch,
he rebelled and fled.
Utterly arrived early, and Mrs. Scott, to her intense annoyance, was not
quite ready to receive him, nor was Dr. Scott. While she struggled with
the most elaborate of her dresses and her husband labored with his
necktie, Utterly sat on the front porch with Cora, who answered him in
monosyllables. Cora was always ready for everything, and in her quiet
way was equal to any task which might fall to her lot. She did not like
the stranger, and when he began to sing the praises of Eleanor Bent's
appearance and pretty manners and bright mind, she felt a sharp
antagonism. She was thankful when her mother billowed noisily down the
stairway, her silk skirts rustling, for then she could sit chin on hand
on the step and look off toward the dim bulk of the Lister house.
As Mrs. Scott reached the porch, Professor and Mrs. Myers came into
sight. Except with a view to providing a sufficient number for her
party, Mrs. Scott had no special reason for inviting them. Professor
Myers spoke English with difficulty, and his wife scarcely spoke at all
in any language, and never upon subjects which did not have to do with
the nursery or the kitchen. Mrs. Scott felt that neither was worthy for
an instant of the brilliant give-and-take of her own conversation.
Beside the tall stranger Professor Myers looked like a fat and very dull
cherub. When Utterly addressed Mrs. Myers, with what was to Mrs. Scott
delightful courtesy, she looked upon his overtures with an emotion which
was plainly alarm. She answered him only with a shake of the head and a
faint smile which to Mrs. Scott savored of imbecility.
Before Mrs. Scott could "save him," as she phrased it, from the Myerses,
the Listers had come. At sight of Utterly in the midst of her friends,
Mrs. Lister gave a little gasp and tightened her grasp on her husband's
arm.
"Would you like to go home, mother?" asked Dr. Lister, himself annoyed.
"I'll make excuses for you, and Richard and I will go on."
"What's the matter?" asked Richard, from the other side of his mother.
Thus Mrs. Lister liked to walk and sit and live, beside and close to the
two whom she loved.
"Nothing is the matter," said she in an even tone, and, more erect than
ever, she mounted the steps and replied to Mrs. Scott's greetings. She
selected a chair as far from Mr. Utterly as possible. He, she was sure,
looked sorry to see her. Had he meant to conduct a sort of symposium
about Basil? But she had come in the nick of time and she would stay and
if necessary outstay him.
When Thomasina Davis arrived in her soft, flowing gray dress with her
great red fan in her hand, Utterly almost gave audible expression to his
favorite "By Jove!" Here was, at last, he said to himself, a real
person, here was some one with spirit and sense, and, unless he read all
signs wrongly, with a mind. There was a little stir among Mrs. Scott's
guests. Mrs. Lister's face lost its stiff look as she cried, "Why,
Thomasina, when did you come back?" Dr. Scott's face glowed, and Richard
and Cora sprang up from the step and escorted her in, one on each side.
Thomasina had a singularly bright glance and a singularly winning smile.
She bestowed them both upon the tall stranger who greeted her with the
lowest of bows. She wondered where Mrs. Scott had found this citizen of
the world. She did not accept the offer of his chair, but swept back to
sit by Mrs. Lister and to bestow upon Mrs. Myers just as beaming a
smile. Once established she talked to Mrs. Myers about her babies. She
spoke English and Mrs. Myers German, but there was perfect understanding
between them.
Dr. Green was the only guest who had not arrived. He had no patients at
this hour; indeed, he sat deliberately waiting until it drew near the
time when Waltonville customarily served its ice-cream. Upon arriving he
would take a sardonic delight in complimenting Dr. Scott upon the
excellence of his product. He believed that every married man had his
symbol of subjection, every Hercules his distaff. Dr. Scott's was an
ice-cream freezer. His failure to arrive on time did not disturb any
one, least of all his hostess. She established herself beside Utterly
and looked up at him with an expression which had been used long ago
with telling effect upon Dr. Scott, but which was now reserved for
persons of greater brilliancy and promise.
She asked leading questions, putting into practice for once the precept
that it is more polite to let others talk than to talk one's self. What
was being done in Boston in a literary way? She looked amazed, yet
became immediately sympathetic when Utterly laughed at Boston. Such
iconoclasm was daring and delightful. What, then, was doing in New York?
Utterly answered at length. As he had discoursed to Eleanor Bent, so he
now discoursed to Mrs. Scott and her guests, especially to Thomasina
Davis. American literature, if such a thing as American literature
could be said to exist, was in a parlous state. America had never done
much of importance. There were, of course, Poe and Whitman, but--
"But Longfellow!" cried Mrs. Scott.
Utterly laughed.
"A few sonnets! You don't take Longfellow seriously, my dear Mrs.
Scott."
Up to this moment Mrs. Scott had taken Longfellow very seriously indeed.
"And Bryant! And Whittier!" she cried in more explosive tones.
"'Thanatopsis,' Mr. Utterly! And 'Snow-Bound'!"
"The feeble expression of a little talent at peace with itself and the
world."
"Oh, naughty, naughty!" cried Mrs. Scott, playfully. "You astonish me!"
She looked about at her neighbors as if to say, "Oh, see what I've got!"
No one else made any response. If silence is a tribute to eloquence and
a plea for further utterance, Utterly was thoroughly justified in going
on. He could see the shimmer of Thomasina's beautiful dress, the slow
waving to and fro of her great fan, and once or twice the gleam of her
bright eyes. He fancied that Thomasina hung upon his words. He sought to
surpass himself, and little by little he shed his veneer of fine
manners. To the mouth agape beside him he brought large mouthfuls. There
were anecdotes of celebrated writers, true and untrue, pleasant and
unpleasant, new and ancient, widely circulated or unknown, published and
sometimes not fit for publication. This man, the author of peculiarly
spiritual essays and exhortations, was in private life peculiarly
unspiritual and evil. For a day each week his long-suffering wife
imprisoned him in a room and the next day herself carried the products
of his sober meditation to the publishers so that she and her children
might live. The last chapters of Lawrence Miller's brilliant novel had
been written in prison. Edward Dillingham did not dare to leave a little
Western town where, unknown, he had found for many years a haven.
But the moral state of American writers was, as Utterly pictured it,
nothing to compare with that of literary men abroad. He wandered now
into the past and demolished famous reputations, as sacred in
Waltonville as those of Biblical heroes and heroines.
Mrs. Scott was enchanted. Trying with all her might to impress upon her
tenacious memory each incident, each smart expression, she paid small
heed to her other guests, and did not observe that upon Dr. Lister's
countenance astonishment struggled with weariness, that Professor Myers
was half and Mrs. Myers wholly asleep, and that Thomasina was perfectly
silent and that therefore she neither admired nor agreed.
On the step Cora and Richard exchanged an occasional whisper, and once
or twice Richard turned an impertinently inquiring face toward the
speaker. Cora was amused and made no effort to restrain him.
It became at last evident to Mrs. Scott that her guest was not
receiving that attention which his parts deserved. Professor Myers,
awaking as if from a dream, sat up in his chair with a loud exclamation.
"It is true, there is nothing worth in American literature, nothing!"
Utterly had left that subject so far behind that Professor Myers's
inattention was clear even to Mrs. Scott. Thus recalled to the fact that
all were not able to enjoy the mental food which she found palatable,
she summoned Cora and Richard to the piano, and they obeyed promptly,
Miss Thomasina following after. Utterly at once left his place on the
porch and went in to sit beside Thomasina on the parlor sofa.
Cora sang in a pretty voice to Richard's accompaniment. Once or twice he
corrected her in his commanding young way and she obeyed smilingly and
gratefully. To Thomasina the state of Cora's mind was as plain as the
blush on her cheek.
Then the two played furiously together. The piano was a generation
younger than the Lister piano, but it had long since passed its first
youth. As a demonstration of digital agility and of power to make a loud
noise, the performance was a success; otherwise it was worse than a
failure. Cora glanced out of the corner of her eye at Richard. Upon his
face was an expression of excitement. It frightened her in a vague way,
and she was thankful when Thomasina called a gentle "Quietly, children!"
Utterly bent toward Thomasina.
"Have you lived long in Waltonville, Miss Davis?"
"All my life." Thomasina answered without that pleasant enthusiasm
inciting to further talk which was one of her chief charms. She liked
this stranger less and less. "That is about forty-five years."
Utterly was about to express a polite doubt of Thomasina's having lived
anywhere that long, but thought better of it.
"It is a very interesting town, isn't it?"
"Very," answered Thomasina shortly.
"One feels that the lives spent here must be happy."
"Not necessarily. The average of happiness is probably no higher here
than elsewhere. People carry the material of happiness in their hearts."
Utterly listened a little impatiently. It was a period when abstract
opinions fell oftener from the lips of men than of women.
"Did you ever know Basil Everman?" he asked.
Thomasina laid her crimson fan across her knees. The children came
suddenly to a climax and somewhat boisterously, went to bring in the
refreshments provided by Mrs. Scott, the sound of voices from the porch
had sunk to a gentle murmur. Into Thomasina's face came a bewildered
expression; she looked at the same time incredulous, and intensely
desirous of hearing more.
"Did I know Basil Everman?" She repeated the question as though she were
trying to make herself believe that it had really been uttered.
"Yes," said Utterly, "Basil Everman."
"I knew him all his life."
"Will you tell me about him?"
"Tell you what about him?"
"Tell me what he looked like, how he spoke and walked--all your
impressions of him."
Thomasina lifted her fan and held it spread out against her breast as
though it were a shield. She could not quite trust the stranger, though
he had uttered a magic name.
"What do _you_ know about him?"
"He published some anonymous work in 'Willard's Magazine' and we are
anxious to learn everything we can about his history."
"Basil Everman!" said Thomasina again, slowly. Then the words came
rapidly, as rapidly as she could speak. "How he looked? He was tall and
very slender. I should say his most remarkable feature was his eyes.
They were gray with flecks of black in them. They seemed almost to give
out light. Webster's eyes are said to have had that effect. If you had
ever seen Basil, you would know what that meant. He was extraordinarily
quick of mind and speech and motion. Sometimes, as a boy, he seemed to
give an impression of actual flight. He had mentally also the gift of
wings. He seemed to live in a different world, to have deeper emotions
and more vivid mental experiences than the rest of mankind. He was the
most radiant person I ever knew--I think that is the best word for him.
He was a creature of great promise. He--"
Utterly turned his head to follow the direction of Thomasina's gaze,
which seemed to expand as her speech ceased. He could not see the
white, startled face of Mrs. Lister, cameo-like, against the black
foliage of the honeysuckle vines. It was plain to Thomasina that what
she was saying gave Mrs. Lister distress. Moreover, she remembered, now
that her first bewilderment had passed, the stranger's astonishing and
ill-natured gossip.
"And then?" Utterly was sure of his quarry at last.
"There isn't much more." From Thomasina's voice the life had gone. "He
died when he was a very young man."
Utterly looked about him furiously. He did not know what had stopped
Thomasina, but, moved either from within or without, she had paused. He
raised his voice so that Dr. Green, approaching, heard him many yards
away.
"Basil Everman was a great writer," he declared for Mrs. Lister's
benefit. "Worth a dozen Longfellows and Bryants and Whittiers. The world
has a right to know all about him, and those who keep back the facts of
his life are cheating him of the fame which he deserves, they are
willfully and intentionally doing him an injury. It is a strange thing
that here in this college community, where one would expect an interest
in literature, nobody is interested or can tell anything or will tell
anything about this man. I would give," cried Utterly in conclusion, "a
thousand dollars for one of his stories!"
Mrs. Scott said "Gracious alive!" Then Dr. Green began to talk in a loud
voice about nothing. He saw Mrs. Lister's white, shocked face and
watched a little uneasily the rapid pulse in her neck. He continued to
talk until Richard and Cora had finished passing the ice-cream and cake.
The stranger seemed to be drowned by his words.
Then every one sat dully. Utterly said no more. Mrs. Lister waited for
him to go. He waited for Thomasina and she waited for Mrs. Lister.
Finally Mrs. Myers rose, still half asleep. Thomasina found Utterly at
her side.
"May I come to see you to-morrow morning?"
"Yes."
"Would you like to see Basil Everman's stories?"
"Yes."
"I'd quite forgotten about Basil Everman," said Dr. Green as he and
Thomasina passed through the campus gate. "He was Mrs. Lister's brother
and he has been dead for many years, hasn't he?"
"Yes."
"Did you know that he was a writer?"
"Yes."
"And that he published what he wrote?"
"No."
"I think he had just gone away when I entered college. This man Utterly
was at Commencement. I never saw a man I liked less. What did you do
while you were away?"
"I bought some clothes and visited an old friend and selected a piano, a
very fine piano for Eleanor Bent."
"She plays well, doesn't she?"
"Yes, but not as well as Richard Lister." In the darkness Thomasina
turned upon Dr. Green an inquiring glance. "It is the finest piano in
the county."
Dr. Green did not seem interested in Eleanor Bent's piano. "This man
said he found some stories of Basil Everman's; wasn't that it?"
"Yes."
"Was Basil Everman an extraordinary person?"
Thomasina stumbled a little on the brick pavement whose roughnesses she
should have known thoroughly.
"There have been two persons in Waltonville in fifty years who have been
ambitious," said she grimly. "I was one, and Basil Everman was the
other. In addition to his ambition, Basil had genius. He could have done
anything. He is dead, he died before he had really lived. And here am I,
burning to the socket!"
Dr. Green looked at Thomasina in amazement. They had traversed the flag
walk and had come to her broad doorstone upon which a light from within
shone dimly. It was evident that she was deeply stirred. Dr. Green was
not in the habit of giving much thought to the problems of other people,
and now it came upon him with a shock that she could hardly have arrived
at the peaceful haven in which she seemed to spend her days without some
sort of voyage to reach it. Disappointed ambition was enough to chasten
any one, thought Dr. Green, and Dr. Green knew.
"You mean you would like to have been a musician?"
Thomasina answered cheerfully, already ashamed of herself.
"Yes," she said; "that is what I mean. Thank you for seeing me safely
home."
Dr. Green bade her good-night, and went swiftly out the flag walk. Basil
Everman's step could have been no more rapid or more light.
Inside her door Thomasina stripped from head and shoulders the filmy
lace with which she had covered them. Then she went into her parlor and
turned out the light and opened a long French door at the back of the
room and sat down in a deep chair just inside it and looked out upon her
garden. The garden was shut in by a high wall; in the center stood a
pair of old, low-spreading apple trees; round its edge ran a flag walk,
and between the wall and the walk were beds in which grew all manner of
sweet flowers. Dr. Scott, when he first saw it, had said "San Marco!"
and Thomasina's eyes had glowed.
"It has required the most Herculean of labors to establish it and the
greatest Niagaras of water. You are the first human being who has known
what I have tried to do. You have been there, of course?"
"No," answered Dr. Scott, sadly, "I have never been there."
Now the moon floated over its scented loveliness. There was neither
sound nor motion except that of a moth, huge and heavy-winged. Thomasina
herself sat perfectly still, her hands folded in her lap. Presently she
raised them, one to each burning cheek.
"What is to come of this?" said she aloud.
After a while she rose and stepped out into the garden and began to
pace up and down. An hour later, when even Mrs. Scott was asleep,
Thomasina was still pacing up and down.
Dr. and Mrs. Lister did not cross the campus directly, but went round by
one of the paths, since a direct course would have brought upon them the
company of the Myerses. Mrs. Lister was trembling; her husband felt her
lean more and more heavily upon him.
"Mother," said he impatiently, "what is the matter? What is it that
troubles you?"
Mrs. Lister did not answer until they had reached the porch.
"They dare not drag poor Basil from his grave! I can't have it! It can't
be!"
"But is there anything against Basil? Did he commit any crime? Did he
wrong any one? This young man is ill-bred, but he is evidently sincere
in his admiration. What is there to fear? What can be found out?"
Mrs. Lister answered hesitatingly, choosing her words.
"He did not get on with my father. He--he went away. He was always
strange--we loved him dearly. I--oh, Thomas, he went away in anger and
we couldn't find him; we never saw him or heard of him till he was dead.
No one knew that he was alienated from us. I cannot endure it that any
one should know!"
Then Richard came up on the porch.
"Little Cora might have amounted to something with another mother,"
said he. "Who is this man Utterly? He sat there beside Miss Thomasina
and rattled like a dry gourd full of seeds. What is his business here?"
Dr. Lister remembered that Richard had been out of the room when Utterly
had said his say about Basil Everman. Mrs. Lister found in his absence
one cause for thankfulness. She answered with an evasion and the three
went into the house.