THE COUNT
"Isn't it fine not to have to bother about supper?" said Helen, as she
and Douglas were attempting to get some order out of the chaos of trunks
that had been brought from the station and systematically put in the
wrong place by the good-natured, shambling, inefficient darky who served
as factotum to the Misses Grant.
Helen and Douglas had decided to take one attic room in the old house
for their bedroom; Bobby was to have the other; the large chamber below
them was to serve as family sitting-room; Nan and Lucy were to have the
upstairs room in the new house; Mr. and Mrs. Carter the lower room; the
shed room was to serve as guest chamber when needed; the dining-room was
in the basement. Over the outside kitchen was another extremely low
attic room that was to be the servant's bedroom, when they got her.
This room was accessible from the kitchen by a flight of primitive
chicken steps, that is, accessible to the young and agile.
The two servants the Carters had had at the week-end camp had been eager
to come with them to the country, but Douglas and Helen had decided that
they were expensive luxuries, and as much as they hated to part with
them, had determined to have a country girl, accustomed to less wages
than Susan, and to do without a manservant in place of the faithful, if
high-priced, Oscar. Dr. Wright had insisted that some chores were
indispensable for Mr. Carter, such as chopping wood, carrying water,
etc., and that gentleman was eager to assist wherever he could.
"Surely you are not going to dress up to go out to supper this evening,"
said Douglas, as Helen shook out a pretty little old-rose dinner gown, a
leftover from the time when the Carters purchased clothes for every
occasion and for every passing style and season.
"I am going to dress suitably, but I don't call it dressing up," said
Helen, hunting for the stockings to match the gown. "I think Father is
well enough for me to wear silk stockings this evening," she said a
little wistfully. We all remember that in the first throes of agony over
her father's nervous breakdown Helen had taken an oath not to wear silk
stockings until he was well. "What do you think, Douglas?"
"Of course, you goose, just so you don't have to buy the stockings,"
laughed Douglas. "I am going to wear what I have on, I can tell you
that. There is a lot to do to get the beds made up and the house ready
to sleep in, and I have no idea of unpacking my own trunk until
tomorrow," and Douglas unlocked the trunk that held the bed linen.
"Oh, Douglas, please put on your grey crêpe de chine! I'll get it out
for you and find your stockings and everything," begged Helen. "I don't
think it is very respectful to our hostesses for you not to be suitably
dressed."
"Is it altogether our hostesses you are thinking about?" teased Douglas.
"Whom else should I consider?"
"How about the count?"
"Well, naturally I can't help thinking some about a nobleman," declared
Helen frankly. "Do you fancy he is young or old, rich or poor, handsome
or ugly? I am wild to see him."
"I can't imagine. They didn't even say what he was a count of. I hope he
is not German. I must say I'd hate to put on my best dress for a German
count," laughed Douglas.
"Why, Douglas, I wouldn't be so biased as all that. As long as our
country is neutral, I don't think it is fair for us to take such a
stand. I'd rather dress up for a German count than--than--a Russian
anarchist or maybe an Australian Bushman."
"Well, I am not pining to dress up for anybody, but if I must, I must.
How about Mumsy?"
"She has already got out her black lace and is going to wear her pearls.
She is trying to persuade Father into his tuxedo but I fancy he will
rebel."
"Mercy on us! I thought we would never have to dress in this
out-of-the-way spot," sighed Douglas.
"Well, I for one am glad to have a chance to dress. It seems to me we
have been khakied to death all summer, and I believe people deteriorate
when they stay in the same old clothes year in and year out. I could
wish my old-rose had another width in it. Skirts are much broader this
fall. The sleeves are quite right, though,--sleeves haven't changed
much."
Poor Helen! It was a keen misery to her not to be in the latest style.
She had a natural taste for dress and the tendency to overrate the
importance of clothes had been fostered in her by her frivolous mother.
Douglas, on the other hand, had a tendency to underrate the value of
dress and her inclination was to be rather careless of her attire.
After much scrabbling and stirring up of trunks the whole family was
dressed in what Mrs. Carter and Helen considered suitable garments, with
the exception of Mr. Carter, who could not be coerced into a dinner
coat.
"I can't think that a quiet supper in the country with two old ladies
who are renting us the overseer's cottage could possibly call for formal
dressing. Of course, you women know best what you want to wear, and very
handsome all of you look I am sure, but you must excuse me."
"That's what I say!" exclaimed Bobby, putting his hands in his pockets
and trying to balance himself with his feet very far apart. "Me'n Father
certainly do nachelly hate clean clothes. When I gits to be growed up,
I'm gonter be a barefoot tramp an' ain't never gonter wash nor nothin'."
Bobby was still smarting and indignant from the polishing Helen had
seemed to think the occasion demanded, especially concentrating on his
long-suffering ears.
"Sometimes I wisht I hadn't never had my curls cut off. Folks weren't
near so 'ticular 'bout my yers when I had curls. They kinder hid 'em."
"But, Bobby, when you are going to have supper with a count you must be
very carefully dressed," explained Lucy. "Counts are not just common
persons like us."
"I thank you I'm no common person," drawled Nan. "I'm a good American
and fit to dine with any count living. That's the way Douglas and I
feel. We wouldn't have changed our dresses if Mother and Helen hadn't
made such a point of it."
"Good for you, Nan!" and her father put his arm around her. "Of course
you must dress as your mother sees fit, but don't, for goodness' sake,
think a man, because he is a count or even a king, must be treated
differently from any other gentleman of your acquaintance."
They were on their way to Grantly, only about five minutes' walk from
the farmhouse. The sun had set in a blaze of glory but already the great
October moon was doing her best to take his place. There was a hint of
frost in the air and our Carters were bringing their appetites with them
to grace the board of their hospitable landladies.
"I do hope Miss Ella and Miss Louise won't quarrel all the time,"
whispered Helen as they approached the imposing mansion.
"They remind me of the blue and white seidlitz powders," said Douglas:
"bound to sizzle when you mix 'em. They are so mild and gentle when they
are apart and the minute they get together--whiz!"
Mrs. Carter cast a triumphant glance at her husband as they entered the
parlor at Grantly. The Misses Grant were dressed in rustling black silk
with old lace berthas and cuffs, and the gentleman who sprang to his
feet, bringing his heels together with a click as he bowed low, was
attired in a faultlessly fitting dress suit.
Helen's questions were answered by one glance at this distinguished
stranger; certainly he was young and handsome; the chances were that he
was also not poor. That cut of dress suit did not go with poverty, nor
did the exquisite fineness of his linen. Douglas's question of his
nationality remained to be solved. "Count de Lestis" did not give the
girls a clue to the country from which this interesting person hailed.
"He does not look German," Douglas said to herself. "He is too dark and
too graceful."
She breathed a sigh of relief that her grey crêpe de chine had not been
donned in honor of a German, count or no count. When she saw that the
Misses Grant evidently considered their suppers worthy to be dressed up
for, she was glad she had listened to the dictates of Helen.
That young lady was looking especially charming in the old-rose gown, in
spite of the fact that the skirt did not flare quite enough. Helen had a
way of wearing her clothes and of arranging her hair that many a dame at
Palm Beach or Newport would have given her fortune to possess.
Mrs. Carter always was at her best in a parlor and now her beauty shone
resplendent, framed in black lace and pearls. Her gracious manner and
bearing marked her as one whose natural place was in society. Her gift
was social and it did seem a great waste that such a talent should
have to be buried under the bushel of an overseer's cottage in an
out-of-the-way spot in the country, with a once prosperous husband to
do the chores and a maid-of-all-work, chosen because of her cheapness
and not her worth.
The Misses Grant smiled their approval over the appearance of their
guests. The fact that they were two quarrelsome old sisters farming on
a dwindling estate did not lessen their importance in their own eyes,
and they always felt that the dignity of Grantly demanded ceremonial
dressing for the evening meal.
The sisters showed no marks of having toiled through the entire
afternoon to prepare the feast that they were to set before their
guests. Disagreeing as they did on every subject, food was not exempt.
If Miss Ella decided to make an angel's food cake, Miss Louise must
make a devil's food cake; if one thought the whites of eggs left from
the frozen custard would be well to use in a silver cake, the other
simultaneously determined to have apple float, requiring whites of eggs,
and then the yolks must be converted into golden cake. The consequence
was that their supper table groaned with opposing dishes. Each one
pressed upon the guests her own specialty, and if it so happened that
Miss Ella had to serve some dish of Miss Louise's concocting, she would
do it with a deprecating air as though she were helping you to cold
poison; and if Miss Louise perforce must hand you one of Miss Ella's
muffins, she would shake her head mysteriously as though to warn you
against them.
One thing was apparent from the beginning and that was that the count
was a good mixer. His English was perfect, except for an occasional
suggestion of an interchange of b and p, and also a too great stress on
his s. He was a brilliant conversationalist but had the wit not to be a
monologueist. He had done much traveling for a man under thirty and had
lived in so many places that it made him a real citizen of the world.
Evidently he had the Misses Grant charmed. From the moment that he
bought Weston, a fine old estate in the neighborhood, and came into
their county to settle, the old ladies had taken him to their hearts.
They seemed in danger of agreeing on the subject of this fascinating
young man's charms. However, they found something to quarrel about even
in this stranger: Miss Ella thought his mouth was his best feature,
while Miss Louise insisted that his eyes were.
Of course the Carters were one and all dying to know more about him: Who
was he? What was his nationality? Why had he settled in America? Where
were his people? Did he have a family?
He seemed to be equally curious about them. Why should city people of
such breeding and beauty come and live in a little tumbledown shack in
the country? He had merely been told by the Misses Grant that the
tenants who had just moved into the little farmhouse were to have supper
with them, when these visions of loveliness burst upon him. He couldn't
decide which one of the sisters was the most attractive. Douglas was the
most beautiful with her titian hair and clear complexion, not ruined by
the summer out-of-doors as her mother had feared. But Helen--there was
a piquancy about Helen that was certainly very fetching; her brown hair
was so beautifully arranged at exactly the right and becoming angle; her
little head was so gracefully set on her athletic shoulders; her bearing
was so gallant;--certainly Helen was very attractive. Then there was Nan
with her soft loveliness, her great eyes now shining with excitement and
now dreaming some entrancing dream. She was only sixteen but there was
something about her countenance that gave promise of great cleverness.
Lucy was growing more like Helen and much of Helen's charm was hers,
although the child had strong characteristics all her own.
While Count de Lestis was deciding which one of the sisters was
most attractive, he did the extremely tactful and suitable thing of
addressing his remarks to their mother, not forgetting to give the
hostesses a full share of attention. Mr. Carter, who since his illness
had been inclined to be very quiet, was drawn into the conversation and
held his own with his old time power. Little wonder that his daughters
were grateful to this interesting stranger who had this effect on their
beloved father.
The young man told them he was Hungarian and had bought the estate of
Weston with a view to entering into intensive farming.
"Then you are not Prussian!" exclaimed Douglas. "Oh, I am so glad!"
"Ah!" and his handsome eyes flashed for a moment. Then he looked amused.
"And why are you so glad?"
"Why, of course anyone would be glad," and Douglas blushed. "Who would
want to have a Prussian for a neighbor?"
"Do you dislike them so much then?"
"I hate them!"
"And you, too?" turning to Helen.
"I am trying to remain neutral as our president has asked us to. I don't
feel so terribly Anglo-Saxon as my sister."
Of course this started the question of the war, which was in the minds
of everybody. Count de Lestis rather surprised Mr. Carter by his frank
announcement concerning his connection with Berlin.
"I, no doubt, would be fighting with the Central Powers if I had not
committed political suicide four years ago."
"And how was that?"
"I wrote a book in which I made a plea for a democratization of
Austria-Hungary. In it I intimated that the Hohenzollerns had no right
to dictate to the universe. I was requested to leave the country. I was
then living in Vienna, making short trips to my estate, which lies
partly in Austria and partly in Hungary. Now there is danger of my
entire possessions being confiscated."
"Oh, but when Germany is finally whipped you can come into your own
again," asserted Douglas. "The outcome is merely a matter of time."
"And so Germany is to be whipped?" his eyes flashing again.
"Of course," said Douglas simply.
"And why of course?"
"'Because God's in his Heaven,'" whispered Nan, but the count heard her.
"Yes, but whose God?"
"The God of Justice and of Right."
"How about the God of Might?"
"There is no such God," and this time Douglas's eyes did some flashing.
"I believe the United States will intervene before so very long," said
Mr. Carter as he and the count strolled out on the veranda to enjoy
their cigars. The older man was enjoying his talk with this young
foreigner. He looked forward with pleasure to seeing much of him, since
Weston was only about three miles from the farm. They made plans to do
some shooting together, as the open season was only a week off.
When de Lestis learned that Mr. Carter was an architect he asked him to
visit him at his earliest convenience at Weston to advise with him
concerning the restoration of the old house to its original grandeur.
"I'm not supposed to be doing any work for at least a year," sighed Mr.
Carter, "but I might look it over and tell you what I think and then
recommend a suitable architect to take it in hand."
Douglas and Helen had a talk with Miss Louise on the subject of a
country girl to come to them as maid of all work.
"They are all of them thoroughly trifling," declared that lady in her
soft round voice, "but this creature we have has a sister who could come
to you. I beg of you not to give her any more wages than ours receives,
as in that case we should have to go up."
"Certainly not," said Douglas. "Just tell us what that is." But on
learning that it was only seven dollars a month, the girls felt that it
was no wonder the creatures were thoroughly trifling.
"Did she cook this wonderful supper?" asked Helen.
"No, indeed! Ella and I always cook everything we eat and this Tempy
washes the dishes and cleans."
"But we want someone to cook. Do you think I might train the sister?"
"Well, I have heard you can train monkeys but I have never seen it
done," laughed the fat old lady. "Come with me now and we can speak to
Tempy about her sister Chloe."
They found Tempy in the pantry, peacefully sleeping in the midst of the
unwashed dishes. Not in the least abashed at being caught napping, she
waked up and told Helen that no doubt Chloe would be pleased fur ter
come. She promised to fetch her on the morrow.
"I will pay her just what the Misses Grant pay you," said Helen.
"Lawsamussy, missy, she ain't wuth what I is. She ain't nebber wucked
out ter say much. I done started at six and wucked up ter seben, an' if
Chloe gits now what I gits, she'll be too proudified. You jis' start her
at six same as Miss Ellanlouise done me."