MR. MACHIAVELLI TUCKER
Nan wondered what Mr. Tucker had in mind to relieve the situation which
she had so ingenuously disclosed to him on that little walk in the
moonlight. The next morning she watched him closely and there was
something about the businesslike way in which he sought out Mrs. Carter,
when that lady appeared long after breakfast, that made her divine he
had something up his sleeve.
The charming lady was looking especially lovely in a white linen morning
dress. She said she had slept splendidly in spite of the fact that she
rather missed the rolling of the ship. Again she had kept Susan so busy
waiting on her that the labor of serving breakfast properly had fallen
on Helen. A tray of breakfast had to be arranged exactly as though they
were still in the city, and Susan made many trips from the cabin to the
kitchen.
Mrs. Carter was one of those persons who was always treated as more or
less of an invalid because of a certain delicate look she had, but her
girls could not remember her having had a real illness. She must not be
awakened in the morning and she must never be asked to go out in bad
weather. She must have the daintiest food; the warmest corner in winter
and the coolest in summer. She had never demanded these things, but they
had always been given her as though she had a kind of divine right to
them. Her husband had, from the moment he saw her, the belle of belles
at White Sulphur, felt that she was to be served as a little queen and
the children had slipped into their father's way.
No one would have been more astonished than Annette Carter had anyone
accused her of selfishness. Selfishness was something ugly and greedy
and no one could say that she was that. She never made demands on
anyone. In fact, she quite prided herself on not making demands.
Everyone was kind and thoughtful of her, but then was she not kind and
thoughtful of everyone? Had she not brought a present to every one of
her girls and a great box of expensive toys for Bobby? It was not her
fault that Bobby preferred currying that disgraceful-looking old mule
to playing with the fine things she had purchased for him at the most
exclusive toy shop in New York. Had she not even remembered every one
of the servants, not only Susan and Oscar but the ones who had been in
her service when she had left Richmond? The fact that she had charged
all of these gifts and that the money to pay for them was to be worked
for by her daughters had not for a moment entered her mind.
"And how is camp life treating you this morning?" asked Jeffry Tucker,
as he led the little lady to a particularly pleasant corner of the
pavilion that commanded a view of the beautiful apple orchards of that
county of Virginia famous for the Albemarle pippins. "Did you ever see
such a morning? I can hardly believe that only last night we were in the
throes of the fiercest storm I have ever seen."
"Oh, I am quite in love with camp life. It is not so rough as I expected
it to be when I arrived yesterday. I have a very comfortable bed and a
nice bright fire cheered me up wonderfully after I left the pavilion
last night. I must confess I was scared to death during the storm,
although I held on to myself wonderfully."
"Yes, wonderfully!" but Jeffry Tucker crossed his fingers and reached
out for a bit of green from the pine tree growing close to the post. He
could not but picture the little woman of the evening before hanging on
to her husband, intent on protecting her dress and shrieking at every
close flash of lightning or loud clap of thunder.
"I am so glad you are here because I am thinking of leaving my girls at
the camp for a while, and of course I could not think of doing it unless
you were here to chaperone them."
"Oh, I never thought of my presence being necessary as a chaperone! You
know I am thinking of taking Douglas to the White for a fortnight."
"Oh, I am sorry. Of course I could not leave my girls unless they are to
be chaperoned."
"But Robert will be here; he is enough chaperone surely."
"Yes, enough in our eyes but not the eyes of the world. You see, I think
one cannot be too careful about what Mrs. Grundy will say," and Jeffry
Tucker crossed his fingers again and reached for more green, "especially
when girls are about the age of mine and yours, too, about to be
launched in the world, as it were."
He was devoutly thankful that his girls could not hear him indulging in
this homily. If there ever lived a person who scorned Mrs. Grundy that
was this same Jeffry Tucker. He devoutly hoped that Mrs. Carter would
not hear that Page Allison was in the habit of being chaperoned by him,
if one could call it being chaperoned. He well knew that as a chaperone
Robert Carter had him beat a mile but he felt that a little subterfuge
was permissable in as strenuous a case as this.
"Why, Mr. Tucker, I did not dream you were such a stickler for the
proprieties!"
"Ahem--I am more so than I used to be. Having these girls almost grown
makes me feel I must be more careful than--my nature--er--er--dictates."
"Exactly! I respect you for it. I, too, think it very important,
especially if a girl is to make a debut as I mean that Douglas shall. I
am very sorry, though, that you could not leave Virginia and Caroline up
here in Robert's care. I am sure it will be all right for once. I have
quite set my heart on White Sulphur for a few weeks. I think it gives a
girl a certain poise to be introduced to society in an informal way
before she makes her debut."
"Well, I am sorry, too, sorrier than I can say. You see, I had planned
to come up again myself next Saturday and I thought I would bring with
me Hiram G. Parker. He would like this sort of thing and fit in nicely
with these young girls. You know how much he takes to the girls before
they are quite grown."
"Ye--es!" and Mrs. Carter was lost in a revery.
She well knew that the name of Hiram G. Parker was one that controlled
society. He was the Beau Brummel of Richmond and in some unaccountable
way had become the dictator of society, that is of the debutante
society. He passed the word about whether or not a girl was to be a
belle and his judgment was seldom gainsaid. Mrs. Carter was thinking
that no doubt the presence of Hiram G. Parker in their camp would be of
more benefit than a trip to White Sulphur. Her position in society was
of course assured beyond a doubt but that did not mean a successful
debut for one of her daughters, certainly not for one who was to be
persuaded if not forced to be a debutante. The business of coming out
must be taken quite seriously and the importance of it not belittled.
Poor Douglas was taking it seriously enough, but not in a way her
mother thought desirable for success.
"Do you know, Mr. Tucker, I have half a mind to give up the trip to
White Sulphur.--It is so pleasant here and so delightful to be with my
children again; and if your daughters and that sweet little friend of
theirs care to remain with us, I shall be more than pleased to chaperone
them."
"Oh, you are kind!" exclaimed the wily Zebedee. "I cannot thank you
enough. If you choose to make it so, Camp Carter will vie with White
Sulphur as a resort. I shall certainly bring Parker up next week."
Mr. Tucker grasped the first opportunity to inform the anxious Nan of
his successfully performed mission.
"Oh, how did you do it?"
"By just a little twist of the wrist. You shall have to put up with my
girls though for another week or so. Your mother has promised to
chaperone them until I fetch them away."
"Splendid! Do they want to stay?"
"They are dying to. I only hope they won't tear things wide open at
camp. They are terribly hoydenish at times."
"Mr. Tucker, tell me: did you really get mother to give up White Sulphur
just to chaperone the twins and Page?"
"You ask her! I think she thinks she did."
"I believe I'll call you Mr. Machiavelli Tucker."
"Don't flatter me so yet. Wait until I accomplish the seemingly
impossible of making your mother decide of her own accord that your
sister had better not come out yet."
"Can you do that, too?"
"I don't want to sound conceited but I believe I can. This is our
secret, so don't tell a soul that we have any hand in this matter. Just
let Douglas think it is fortune smiling on her."
"All right, but nothing can ever make me forget your kindness!" and Nan
held his hand with both of hers with no more trace of shyness than Hiram
G. Parker might have shown in dancing a german.
"What on earth have you done to make Nan so eternally grateful?"
demanded Dum Tucker, coming suddenly around a spur of rock on the
mountain path where her father had accosted Nan.
"I am going to leave you girls up here for some days longer. Isn't that
enough for her to be grateful over?"
"We--ll, I don't know--that sounds rather fishy."
"And besides, I am going to send her up a ouija board to pass the hours
away until I return. How about that?"
"Oh, now you are talking! That is something to be grateful about. We are
all of us dying to try it," but Dum could not see why Nan was blushing
so furiously and evidently trying to hold in the giggles, and she
plainly caught a wink passing between her dignified parent and the
demure Nan.
"He's up to something, but it wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me to try
to find out if he doesn't want me to know," she said to herself.
The Tucker Twins had been motherless since they were tiny babies and
their ridiculously young father had had the rearing of them alone and
unaided. Many stepmothers had been picked out for these irrepressible
girls by well meaning friends and relatives, but Jeffry Tucker had
remained unmarried, much to the satisfaction of the said twins.
"He is much too young and inexperienced to marry," they would say when
the matter was broached by wily mammas who hoped to settle their
daughters. And so he did seem to be. Time had no power to age Jeffry
Tucker. He was in reality very young to be the father of these great
girls, as the romance of his life had occurred when he was only twenty,
still in college, and the little wife had died after only a year of
happiness.
In rearing his girls he had had only one rule to go by: they must
conduct themselves like gentlemen on all occasions. "I don't know what
ladylike rules are but I do know what is expected of a gentleman, and if
my girls come up to that standard I am sure they will pass muster," he
had declared. As a rule the twins did pass muster. They were perfectly
honorable and upright and the mischief they got into was never anything
to be ashamed of--only something to be gotten out of, never too serious
to tell their father all about.
The fact that they were to stay longer than the week-end was greeted
with joy by the Carters. Page had already made herself popular, too.
Douglas was soon informed by her mother that she had given up the trip
to the White, so some of the load was lifted from the poor girl's heart.
There was much more talk, however, of the proposed debut and Helen
upheld her mother in thinking that since Douglas was not going to
college she must come out.
"But, Helen, the money for a debut! And if we go into our house and turn
out the desirable tenants, where are we to get an income to exist on?"
"Oh, always money, money! It can be gotten, and mother says our credit
is as good as the U. S. mint. She has often heard father say so."
"Of course it was as good, but now that father is no longer able to earn
money it would not be quite square to presume on that credit when we
have no way of paying the bills." Douglas would go over and over the
same argument and Helen would still not be convinced.
"Are we to spend the rest of our lives digging and delving for gold and
then not use the money? How does our bank account stand now?"
"I don't know, but it is not so large that we could make a debut on it,"
smiled Douglas.
"But we could make a start and then earn some more."
"But why spend it on me when I don't want to go into society?"
"Why, for mother's sake, goose. She has set her heart on it and you know
we have always let her do whatever she wanted to. It would make father
miserable to think mother wanted something and could not have it."
"Yes, I know! He mustn't know she wants it and can't have it."
"But she must have it. She is planning all the time for your being a
great belle."
"Dr. Wright said that father----" but Helen flounced off, refusing to
hear what Dr. Wright said. She had overcome all of her antipathy for
that young physician and in fact liked him rather more than anyone of
her acquaintance of the male persuasion, but she still resented any
tendency on his part to dictate to her.
Mrs. Carter, having given up her trip to White Sulphur, felt that virtue
must be rewarded and so actually persuaded Douglas to protect her
complexion. She was not allowed to go in the sun at all and in the shade
she must wear a great hat tied under her chin, with a curtain of blue
veiling draped over it. Every night she must be anointed with some kind
of cucumber cream and her hair must be brushed with one hundred licks
every night and morning.
Lewis Somerville and Bill Tinsley made their sorrowful adieux. Everyone
missed them. They seemed as important to the camp as the great poplar
tree in the center of the pavilion was to that edifice. There was a
feeling that everything might topple over now that those two young men
were gone. It didn't, however. Skeeter Halsey and Frank Maury did what
they could to fill their places, but as they expressed it, they "sho'
did rattle 'round in 'em."
Mr. Carter, too, delighted to be of use and to find something he could
do without using his poor fagged brain too much, was busy at something
from morning until night. First the reservoir must be repaired after the
heavy rain had caved in part of the dam; then the roof of the cabin
needed a shingle here and there. A rustic bench must be put by the
spring which formed the reservoir, and then a table was added so that
afternoon tea might be served there on occasions. He was so busy and so
happy in being busy that it was delightful to see him. Bobby was his
companion at all times, even deserting the beloved Josh and Josephus to
be with his father. This was a new father, one who had time to play and
talk. Together they made wonderful little water wheels and put them in a
tiny mountain stream where they turned continuously to the delight of
Bobby. The successful architect of other days drew plans for bird houses
and he and his little son whittled them out of stray bits of lumber and
cigar boxes and placed them in the trees, no doubt filling a long felt
want for suburban villas in bird society.
The miracle was happening! The cure that Dr. Wright had predicted was
taking place. Robert Carter was on the high road to recovery.