DAVID FINDS A FRIEND
"It's all right, Phyllis! Tom Curtis is a dear. David is to go with us."
Madge breathed a sigh of satisfaction over the success of her scheme.
Phyllis Alden laughed. She was buttoning the twins into clean pinafores.
"I am not surprised. I knew Tom would find a place for David if you
asked him to do so. Tom Curtis is quite likely to do Madge Morton's
will."
Madge flushed. "Don't be a goose, please, Phil," she begged. "You know
that as long as we are to take Miss Betsey Taylor on board our
houseboat, in order to be able to pay the expenses of our trip this
summer," Madge made a wry face, "that we ought not to leave poor David
high and dry without any work to do. I was awfully sorry for the boy
when he came here the other day and heard what Miss Betsey thought of
doing. He turned quite white, and when I asked him if he was sorry to be
thrown out of work, he said 'Yes,' and then he wouldn't talk any more."
Phyllis looked serious. "I hope it will turn out for the best, but it is
asking a good deal of Tom to take this strange boy way down to Virginia
with him. David hasn't a good reputation. Miss Taylor employs him only
because he is a distant cousin of hers. No one else will have anything
to do with him, he is so surly and unfriendly. He was turned out of the
district school, and----"
Madge pretended to put her fingers in her ears. "Don't tell me any more
mean things about that poor fellow, please, dear," she pleaded. "I
suppose it is because I have never heard a good word about him that I,
being an obstinate person, don't think he can be as bad as he is
painted. I am a black sheep myself, sometimes, when my horrid temper
gets the better of me, and I know how dreadful it is not to be trusted."
"You a black sheep! O Madge! how absurd you are," protested Phil.
But Madge was in earnest and would not be interrupted. "Tom really did
need some one on his motor boat, Phil. He wrote me that he meant to hire
some one to come along with him. Tom wishes to run his own engine, but
he doesn't yearn for the task of cleaning it or to do the very hard
work. Of course, that is all right. He has plenty of money and can do as
he chooses. But it's different with David."
"How many boys will Tom have on his motor boat while he has us in tow?"
inquired Phil. She realized that Madge had been seized with one of her
sudden fits of enthusiasm over Miss Betsey Taylor's "hired boy" and that
there was no sense in opposing her. The little captain would find out
later whether her enthusiasm had been right or wrong.
"Four or five," answered Madge absently. "Do stand still, Daisy Alden,
while I tie your sunbonnet, or I'll eat you alive!" she scolded kissing
one of the twin babies on her fat pink cheek. "Come on, Phil. Hold tight
to Dot. If we are going to drive out to Miss Betsey Taylor's to see
whether she still desires to pay us sixty dollars a month for food,
lodging and the pleasure of our delightful society aboard our precious
houseboat, we had better start at once."
Phil, Madge and the twins waved good-bye to Mrs. Alden, who was well
enough now to be about her house, as they piled themselves into the
physician's old buggy, which he had left for their use during the day.
The doctor's suggestion looked as though it were going to come true. At
first Madge and Phil protested that they simply couldn't bear to take a
fussy old maid on their houseboat excursion. But then, if they did not
take Miss Betsey, there wouldn't be any excursion. The girls were
between Scylla and Charybdis, like the ill-fated Ulysses on his journey
back from Troy. Scylla, Miss Betsey, went with them, or Charybdis, the
houseboat party, would have to decline Tom Curtis's offer to tow them up
the Rappahannock River. So the girls decided to choose "Miss Scylla," as
they nicknamed poor Miss Betsey.
As for Miss Betsey Taylor, she had been even more horrified than the two
houseboat girls when the doctor made the proposal to her. How was she to
cure her nerves by trusting herself to a party of gay young people with
a twenty-six-year-old chaperon as the only balance to the party. Absurd!
Miss Betsey wrung her hands at the very idea. But after a while the
allurement of the plan began to stir even her conventional old soul. The
thought of being borne gently along a beautiful river dividing the
Virginia shores wrought enchantment. There was something else that
influenced Miss Betsey. Years before she had had a "near romance." A
young Virginia officer had come to New York and had met Miss Betsey at
the home of a friend. During one winter he saw her many times, and
although he was too poor to speak of marriage, Miss Betsey was entitled
to believe that he had cared for her. One day Miss Betsey had an
argument with her admirer. It was a foolish argument, but the Virginia
officer believed that Miss Betsey had insulted him. He went away and
never saw her again. Afterward she learned that he had returned to his
ruined estate in Virginia.
It was a poor shadow of a romance, but Miss Betsey had never had
another. In late years she had begun to think of her past. It _did_ add
a flavor of romance to her trip in the houseboat to imagine that she
might have been a happy matron, living on one of the old places that she
would see in Virginia, instead of being Miss Betsey Taylor of Hartford,
who had never ventured farther than New York City in the sixty years of
her maiden life. To tell the truth, Miss Betsey was as enthusiastic over
the prospect of a trip in a houseboat as were the members of the "Merry
Maid's" crew.
When the two girls and the children drove into Miss Betsey's yard David
helped Madge, Phil and the twins out of the doctor's buggy, looking more
surly and impossible than ever. A secret bitterness was surging in him.
Miss Betsey had promised to give him steady work at "Chestnut Cottage"
all summer. Now she was going away on a trip with a lot of silly girls.
Once again he was to be balked in the cherished desire of his life. In
his bitterness of heart he pretended he had never seen Madge before.
"I would like to talk to you, David, after we have seen Miss Taylor,"
said Madge in a friendly fashion to the scowling youth. "I won't take up
much of your time."
David walked away without making any reply, which angered the girl, and
as she walked into the house she began to feel rather sorry that she had
tried to play Good Samaritan to such a churlish fellow.
To-day Miss Betsey really wished to make a good impression on Madge and
Phil. She was as anxious that they should like her as the girls were to
please the queer old lady. Miss Betsey was waiting for her guests in her
prim, old-fashioned parlor. The dim light from the closed green blinds
was grateful after the brilliant sunshine of the warm July day. On a
little, spindle-legged mahogany table were tall glasses of fruit
lemonade and a plate of assorted cakes.
Miss Betsey surveyed Madge Morton with keen, curious eyes. She already
knew Phil. But before she trusted her life to these girls she wished to
take their measure. Madge's appearance as she emerged from under the
overturned buggy had not been prepossessing. To-day Miss Betsey would be
able to judge her better. As she scrutinized the little captain she was
not altogether pleased with Madge's looks. She preferred Phil's dark,
serious face. There was too much ardor, too much warm, bright color
about Madge in her deep-toned auburn hair and the healthy scarlet of her
lips. Madge breathed a kind of radiant impulse toward a fullness of life
that was opposed to Miss Betsey Taylor's theory of existence. Still, she
could find no objection to the young girl's manner. Madge was so shy and
deprecating that Phil could hardly help laughing at her. What would Miss
Betsey think later on, when the little captain had one of her attacks of
high spirits?
Miss Taylor asked so many questions about the houseboat that Phil was
kept busy answering her. Madge spoke only in monosyllables, her
attention being devoted to the twins. The cake and lemonade having been
disposed of, these two tiny persons kept wriggling about the drawing
room in momentary peril of upsetting the tables and chairs.
"Miss Taylor," broke in Madge suddenly, in her usual, unexpected
fashion, "if you don't mind, I think I will take the little girls out
into your back garden. I wish to speak to your boy, David. I have asked
our friend, Tom Curtis, to take David to help him with his motor boat
during our trip. I hope you don't mind?"
Miss Betsey caught her breath. She was startled by the suddenness of
Madge's suggestion, as she was to be many times during her acquaintance
with that young woman. Then Miss Betsey looked dubious. "Take David
with us?" she faltered. "I don't advise it. It was good of you, child,
to think of it, and it would be a wonderful opportunity for the boy. But
I am obliged to tell you that David is not trustworthy. He spends too
many hours alone, and refuses to tell anybody what he is doing. Make him
confide in you, or else do not take him away with us. I'll try to find
something for the boy to do nearer home."
Madge thought she caught a gleam in Miss Betsey's eyes that revealed a
goodly amount of curiosity about David's secret occupations, as much as
it did interest in his welfare. She made up her mind that she would not
pry into poor David's secrets simply because she had a chance to offer
him the opportunity to make his living during the summer.
Holding Dot by one hand and Daisy by the other, Madge appeared at the
half-open barn-door, her eyes shining with friendliness.
David was working fiercely. He hated the cleaning of the barn, so he
chose to-day to do it as an outlet for his foolish feeling of injury.
"David," exclaimed Madge, "I must call you that, as I don't know your
other name, I would like to speak to you." There was no hint of
patronage in Madge's manner. She was too well-bred a young woman either
to feel or to show it. She really felt no difference between herself
and David, except that the boy had never had the opportunities that had
been hers.
But David never turned around to answer her. "Speak ahead," he answered
roughly. "I'm not deaf. I can hear what you've got to say to me in here
all right."
Madge colored angrily. A sound temper had never been her strong point.
She had almost forgotten how angry she could be in the two peaceful
weeks she had spent with Phil. The hot blood surged to her cheeks at
David's rude behavior. The boy had gone on raking the hay into one
corner of the barn.
"I certainly shall not speak to you if you can't treat me courteously,"
she answered coldly. She took the little girls by the hands and walked
quietly away from the barn. The babies protested. Their black eyes were
wide with interest at the sight of "the big boy." They wished to stay
and talk to him.
David put his hand to his throat when Madge was out of sight. He felt as
though he were choking, and he knew it was from shame at his own uncivil
behavior to the girl who had treated him in such a friendly, gentle
fashion. David Brewster was a queer combination. He was enough of a
gentleman to know he had treated Madge discourteously, but he did not
know how to apologize to her. He glanced around the yard.
Madge had taken the twins and was seated with them under a big apple
tree in the back yard. She was making them daisy and clover chains, and
she seemed completely to have forgotten the rude boy.
David walked up behind the tree. If Madge saw or heard him, she gave no
sign. She was putting a tiny wreath of daisies on Daisy Alden's head and
crowning Dot with a wreath of clover.
"Miss," said a boy's embarrassed voice, "I know I was rude to you out in
the barn. I am sorry. I was worried about something and it put me in a
bad temper. Do you feel that you would be willing to speak to me now?"
he asked humbly.
Madge's face cleared. Yet she hesitated. She was beginning to fear that
she would be unwise to mention Tom's proposition to David. She knew that
Tom Curtis, with his frank, open nature, would have little use for an
ugly-tempered, surly youth on board his motor boat. Had she any right to
burden Tom with a disagreeable helper?
But David seemed so miserable, so shy and awkward, that Madge's heart
softened. Again she felt sorry for the boy, as she had done at her
first meeting with him. Whether for good or evil, she made up her mind
that David should accompany them on their houseboat excursion.
"Sit down, won't you, David?" she asked gently.
David sat down shyly, with his torn hat between the knees of his patched
trousers while Madge explained the situation to him. She told him that
she and Phil felt sorry that they were making him lose his place by
taking Miss Betsey away. She said that Tom Curtis needed some one to
help him with his motor boat, and that he was willing to take David with
him if he would be faithful and do the work that Tom required of him.
"Mr. Curtis will give you five dollars a week and your expenses if you
would care to make the trip with us," concluded Madge.
She was silent for a second. Her eyes were on the pretty twin babies,
who were chasing golden-brown butterflies on the grass just in front of
them, and screaming joyously at their own lack of success.
"Didn't you hear me, David?" inquired Madge a trifle impatiently.
The boy's face was working. His eyes were brimming with tears. He was
bitterly ashamed of them and tried to rub them off with his rough
coatsleeve. Then he said in a low voice:
"You mean that you got your friend to consent to take a fellow he knew
nothing about on a motor boat trip way down in Virginia, and just for
the little work that I can do on his boat? I can't understand it. You
see, I've never been twenty miles out of Hartford, and nobody thinks I
am much good around here. I know you have done this for me just because
you didn't want me to lose my job with Miss Betsey. I could see you were
sorry for me the other night, when I couldn't help showing that I cared.
Gee-whiz! I wonder how I will ever be able to pay you back?"
Madge laughed. She could see that David had forgotten her and was
thinking and talking aloud.
"You've paid me back already," she declared, smiling. "Didn't you help
pull me out from under the buggy the other day? You may have saved my
life. If old Prince had really tried to run away I might have been
killed. Please don't be grateful to me. You aren't obliged to be
grateful to any one, though, if you must, why, you can thank Tom Curtis.
It is his motor boat that is to tow our houseboat and take us on our new
adventures. He is a splendid fellow and I know you will like him. I am
sure you will get along nicely with him."
"I'll do the best I can to be worth my keep. You won't be sorry you
told your friend Mr. Curtis to take me along," he said huskily.
"It may not be easy for you all the time," added Madge, feeling that she
ought to give David some good advice. "There will be four or five young
men on board the motor boat, and they may all ask you to wait on them.
But I must not preach. I am dreadfully afraid I shall never be able to
get on with your cousin, Miss Taylor. You must tell me how to manage
her; because, if she and I were to quarrel, it would spoil the whole
houseboat trip. I have a very bad temper. I must go back to the house
now. Phil and Miss Betsey will wonder what has become of me. But where
are those children?" Madge sprang to her feet. The twins had been before
her eyes only a few seconds before. Now they had completely disappeared!
David ran toward the barn. Madge searched the yard frantically. The
children had not returned to the house.