UNDER THE TULIP TREE
“Well, Peter, the years have dealt lightly with you,” was Miss Susanna’s
greeting as she held out a hand to Alec Carden’s runaway son.
She had heard from Marjorie of the recent agreeable change in Leslie
Cairns. Marjorie had felt it only fair to Leslie to acquaint Miss
Susanna with that change. The old lady now divined that Peter Carden had
come to the Arms on a friendly errand. Her quick brain had instantly
arrived at the truth as she glanced from Leslie to Peter Carden. Leslie
was his daughter. Followed immediately the recollection of the
financier’s altered name.
“So you changed your name to Cairns, and this is your daughter,” she
continued with abruptness. In her astonishment she momentarily forgot to
make introductions.
“Yes.” Peter Cairns showed admiration of the intrepid little woman who
had successfully fought off his bullying father and a college board
largely composed of rascals. His keen eyes registered an expression of
deference which he seldom accorded either men or women. “This is my
daughter, Leslie, Miss Susanna.” He drew Leslie gently forward. “She
came to meet you and to see Miss Dean. I came to see you.”
“I’m glad you have. I might not have said that years ago, but I can say
it now.” Miss Susanna introduced Peter Cairns and Leslie to Mrs. Dean,
and the financier to Marjorie. The latter and Leslie had already
exchanged friendly salutations.
Marjorie thought she had never before seen Leslie look so well. Beauty,
even prettiness of the regulation type she would never have. There was a
new expression of light and animation on her face, however, which made
her what her father had often called her as a child: “his ugly beauty.”
The loose, unprepossessing droop to her mouth which Marjorie had
formerly most disliked in her features was gone. A half humorous little
quirk had taken the place of the ugly droop. It brightened her face
wonderfully. Always of extremely symmetrical figure she was at her best
today in a pale blue broadcloth dress. The softening grace of a wide
summer fur draped her shoulders. Every detail of her apparently simple
toilet had been carefully chosen. Leslie was a model of smart attiring.
“I don’t feel much older than when I was Peter Harum-scarum, as John
used to call me,” smiled the financier. “I have had many a good and many
a bad time at the Hedge. It has been mine for two years. I bought it
from John. I am glad old Alec died. A hard thing to say of one’s own
father, perhaps. He had a hard hand, and a hard nature. I was glad to
hear that you fought things to a finish with him.”
“You may say what you please to me about Alec Carden, Peter. I know it
will be the truth. I dislike to hear a man who was detested by his
children while he lived hypocritically mourned by them after Providence
has mercifully removed him from their midst,” Miss Hamilton declared
with candid relish. “Come up to the house and have luncheon with us. I
hear you are a king of finance. Your history after you ran away from
home must be interesting. You weren’t more than twenty-four when you
went, were you?”
“Twenty-five.” Peter Cairns laughed, a short bitter sound. “Thank you
for the invitation, Miss Hamilton. Some other day we’ll accept with
pleasure. We have a business engagement today with a man named Peter
Graham.” He and Leslie looked at each other and laughed.
Her glance toward him was a vivid brightening of feature which Marjorie
thought beautiful. “Won’t you come over and sit down under the big tulip
tree?” she invited winningly. “We have been sitting there in the
sunshine loving the spring outdoors.”
“Yes, do. Peter, go and bring that seat over here under the tulip tree
with the other,” directed Miss Susanna pointing out a nearby rustic
seat.
“Yes’m.” The usually silent, taciturn man, who kept his large office
force in a state of continual awe, ran like a boy to bring up the rustic
bench and place it under the tulip tree opposite the other.
“Now, Peter, what in the world prompted you to come to see me?” the old
lady inquired briskly, as she re-seated herself on the bench. Mrs. Dean
courteously excused herself and walked on to the house. She decided that
the four she had left would get along better without her. Miss Susanna
and Leslie sat on one seat. Marjorie and Peter Cairns on the other.
“Oh, a number of things,” Peter Cairns replied with an odd little duck
of the head which Miss Susanna recalled him as a boy.
“You two,” she indicated father and daughter, “are full of pleasant
mystery. Your faces give you away.”
“It is pleasant mystery; very pleasant,” he replied with friendly
conviction. “This is what it’s all about.” In his short-cut fashion he
quickly outlined what he had already informed Leslie regarding the
ownership of the site she had chosen on which to build the garage.
“I took the property away from Leslie because I was not pleased with
her,” he continued frankly. “Saxe refunded the money. He was entirely
innocent in the matter. I took the sixty thousand dollars refund and
invested it for Leslie. It was her money. She had paid far too much for
the site. As the site belonged to the Carden estate and the Carden
estate belonged to me I took over the whole garage enterprise. Leslie
had to bear the loss of the money she had used for construction and
other foolish purposes. I wanted to show her what a flivver she’d made.
“We agreed to tell this tale together. I’ve told my part of it. Now
Leslie will tell hers. Your turn, Cairns II,” he raised his heavy brows
meaningly at Leslie.
“My father told me if I could think up a good reason for having my
garage site back again, he would give it to me. The requirements were
that whatever I wanted it for must benefit Hamilton College and all
connected with it. He said it must be an original reason.” Leslie came
to the point with the same celerity as was Peter Cairns’s habit.
“I tried at first to think of something that would work out with your
plans, Miss Dean,” she now addressed Marjorie. “I knew you had long
since provided against emergency. Every time I thought of the word
originality I thought of Leila Harper. I used to think when I was at
Hamilton that she _was_ originality.” Leslie smiled briefly. “Miss
Monroe raves over her. She says she is a dramatist, stage manager, actor
and so forth. This is my idea. I’d like to build a theatre on the garage
site. I’d call it the Leila Harper Playhouse. I’d present it to Hamilton
College with the proviso that Miss Harper should always control the
theatre and the policy of the plays. I would like to will her to
Hamilton College as a rare dramatist, actor and manager.” Leslie paused.
Once fairly started on her proposal she had grown more and more
animated.
“You take my breath!” Marjorie gave a little rapturous gasp. “I should
say your plan was original. I think it’s the very heart of gracious
generosity. I love Leila, Miss Cairns, and wish more than I can say to
have her appreciated and honored at Hamilton.”
“She ought to be appreciated. She is going to be. You see a theatre will
be of benefit to all the campus folks. It will be a source of amusement
and pleasure to all. The money resulting from the plays should go to
help the dormitory along. It will train girls who have histrionic
ability for the stage. It will encourage students to play-writing. There
will be prizes offered, so many each year for the best in plays, perhaps
for exceptionally fine acting. My father will endow it. I shall put a
part of my money into the endowment provided my idea is accepted by the
Travelers. My name is not to be mentioned in it. My father doesn’t wish
his to be, either.”
“None of the Travelers could or would refuse such an offer, Miss Cairns.
Remember it is first of all for Leila. She has worked so hard to give
the campus good plays. Not to mention all the splendid things she’s done
for Hamilton as a Traveler.” Marjorie sang Leila’s praises with a high
heart. “Yet none of us would wish yours or your father’s name to be
withheld. It would be our grateful pleasure to tell others of your
splendid gift.”
“You make it seem the thing for us to do—I don’t know. Let me come again
and talk with you about it. My father and I are partners now,” she threw
him a fond comradely glance. He and Miss Susanna had listened and let
youth talk out its own matters of interest.
It was an hour later when Peter Cairns and Leslie left the Arms, happy
in the long step that had been taken that day toward the partnership of
which they had talked and dreamed in bygone years in New York.
“Miss Susanna has changed more than any other person I ever knew,” were
the financier’s first words to Leslie as they drove away from Hamilton
Arms. “She was a sweet woman until after she had so much trouble with my
father and that rascally board. I was only a little boy then. I never
saw her again after I left Carden Hedge until a few years ago when I
came up here to see John. She looked like a fierce, sullen little
creature of the wild, ready to snarl at a word. Now she is charming. She
looks as though she had found what we have—happiness.”
“Blame it on Bean,” Leslie said with a shadow of her old satiric smile.
“She can change anything. She even put over the great transformation on
me.”
Back at the Arms Jerry, who had successfully put dozens of plump dahlia
tubers into the soft brown earth under Jonas’s somewhat critical eye,
was now racing across the lawn to the tulip tree.
“I saw the company from afar. Who were they?” she called out when within
a few feet of the rustic benches where Miss Susanna and Marjorie had
reseated themselves. “No one I ever saw before. I couldn’t label either
one of them.”
“You have seen them both before, Jeremiah,” Marjorie calmly assured.
“The young lady was Leslie Cairns. The man was—our gasoline bogie.”
“What-t? Has one hob-goblin wed another. Don’t tell me the grand
Hob-goblin is married!” Jerry looked ridiculous consternation.
“Who said anything about being married. The gasoline bogie is Leslie
Cairns’s father.”
“Then he must be a house robber. What was he doing around the Carden
estate at that hour of the night?” Jerry demanded.
“He is not a house robber.” Marjorie was now laughing. “He is a house
owner. He owns Carden Hedge, and his name is Peter Carden. He is the
Carden son who ran away from home and changed his name to Peter Cairns.
“Good night.” Her eyes on Marjorie, Jerry went to sit down on the end of
one of the two benches. She missed the bench and sat down forcefully on
the soft grass.
“Can you beat it?” she giggled as she scrambled to her feet and dropped
down beside Marjorie, this time in the middle of the bench. “Can you
blame me for that flivver? I’ve heard of being overcome by astonishment.
It just happened to Jeremiah.”
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