AMONG THE LINDENS
_By the Same Author._
THE LITTLE LADY OF THE HORSE.
_Illustrated by Frank T. Merrill._
THE MUSHROOM CAVE.
_Illustrated by Victor A. Searles._
A CAPE MAY DIAMOND.
_Illustrated by Lilian Crawford True._
Square 12mo. Cloth, extra. $1.50.
THE LITTLE RED SCHOOLHOUSE.
_Illustrated by Victor A. Searles._
Square 12mo. Cloth. $1.25.
[Illustration: BEARING IN HER ARMS THE BASKET OF CHRYSANTHEMUMS.]
AMONG THE LINDENS
BY
EVELYN RAYMOND
AUTHOR OF
“THE LITTLE LADY OF THE HORSE,” “THE MUSHROOM CAVE”
“A CAPE MAY DIAMOND,” “THE LITTLE RED
SCHOOLHOUSE,” ETC.
Illustrated
BY VICTOR A. SEARLES
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1898
_Copyright, 1898_,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved._
University Press:
JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. A KINDLY DEED 1
II. PINK PETALS AND BRIGHT VISIONS 13
III. A CHRYSANTHEMUM DINNER 28
IV. A GENEROUS CONSPIRACY 41
V. IN OLD TRINITY 54
VI. “HUMPTY-DUMPTY’S” NOVEL EXPERIENCE 67
VII. DINING IN STATE 81
VIII. PROPOUNDING A RIDDLE 94
IX. THE FIRST EVENING IN THE NEW HOME 108
X. ANOTHER LITTLE EPISODE 121
XI. MISS JOANNA 136
XII. BITS OF NATURAL HISTORY 150
XIII. GETTING DOWN TO REALITIES 161
XIV. APIS MELLIFICA 175
XV. STREAKS OF HUMAN NATURE 187
XVI. A MODERN KING ARTHUR 201
XVII. ROLAND’S PROJECT 217
XVIII. ROBERT’S OCCUPATION GONE 229
XIX. ROBERT’S HAPPY GUESS 244
XX. WISTARIA 261
XXI. THREE YEARS LATER.--THE RESULT 277
ILLUSTRATIONS.
FROM DRAWINGS BY VICTOR A. SEARLES.
PAGE
“BEARING IN HER ARMS THE BASKET OF CHRYSANTHEMUMS” _Frontispiece_
“HE CAST A SUPERCILIOUS GLANCE ABOUT UPON THE SPECTATORS” 94
“‘WULL, BE YOU THE EGG WOMAN?’” 145
“‘LET ME ASK YOU ONE OR TWO THINGS. MAY I?’” 184
“‘WHY, FOLKS! WHAT’S ALL THIS?’” 233
“THERE WAS NO ANSWER, AND MISS JOANNA TURNED ABOUT SWIFTLY” 267
AMONG THE LINDENS.
CHAPTER I.
A KINDLY DEED.
“Look out! Oh, look out, sir!”
“Is the man senseless?” cried a second voice.
“This way, sir--this way--quick! Dear me! Are you hurt?”
The school-girl who had uttered the first exclamation darted suddenly
forward into the midst of the crowd, and pulled from under the very
hoofs of the horses, attached to a heavy dray, the queer little old
gentleman who had occasioned her outcry.
Every New Yorker knows how thronged is that particular point, at
the southwestern corner of pretty Madison Square, where Broadway,
Fifth Avenue, and Twenty-third Street--all favorite thoroughfares of
the shoppers--meet to shake hands, as it were; while each adds its
complement of humanity on foot and humanity in vehicles to swell the
current eddying about the corner.
A gay and lively place it was, on that early afternoon. All the
curbstone merchants had come out with their mechanical toys, forever
getting under the pedestrians’ feet, tripping them up, and threatening
more than one with mischance.
Among such was an old gentleman whose dress was quaint and out of
style, while his manner was that of one unused to scenes of confusion.
For some moments he had stood upon the sidewalk, watching with curious
interest what went on about him; but when a papier-maché monkey gave
a realistic spring from the end of an elastic cord, and clasped his
ankle, he stepped boldly forth into the whirlpool of wheels. For half
the short distance between curbs all went well; then he slipped upon
the slimy pavement, and just where hoofs and wheels were in most
hopeless tangle, he fell.
There was an outcry of horror from many throats.
The policeman piloting a party of women over the crossing turned
hurriedly, just in time to see what had happened, as well as a slim
girlish figure spring to the rescue.
“Stop! That’s dangerous! Why should two be killed?”
There were groans and execrations from the drivers of carts and
carriages, the swiftly forming blockade which follows any break in
the routine of city transit, and the patrolman was back, seizing the
old man’s shoulder and demanding why he should make so much more
disturbance than was necessary by tumbling down in that ridiculous
manner. Or if the policeman did not put his inquiry in just those
words he made it distinctly evident to Mr. Philipse Chidly Brook that
visitors who could not conduct themselves any better than he had done
might likely find themselves at the station-house, to be cared for at
the public expense.
“Come this way with me, will you? Come this way just for a moment!”
cried the old gentleman, and seized upon Bonny’s hand so forcibly that,
whether she would or no, she had to follow where he led. This was
into the flower-shop close by, and she obeyed readily enough, after
all; for she loved an adventure dearly and therefore--so her sister
declared--was always meeting with one.
Isabelle, who had been with her all along, now interposed: “Bonny! What
are you doing? You must not go anywhere with a stranger. Come away at
once!” and she laid her hand in firm remonstrance upon thoughtless
Beatrice’s shoulder.
“Yes, Belle; directly. But I must see if he is hurt. Come along, too.”
“Yes, certainly; come along, too,” repeated Mr. Brook, turning toward
the elder miss.
“Thank you. It is impossible. Come, Bonny.”
But fun-loving Bonny had already followed the man into the shop; where,
with a smile of gratitude upon his very muddy face, he asked: “Who are
you, my dear?”
“Oh! no matter about that, sir. Are you hurt?”
“Not at all, I think. Time will tell. I might have some cracked bones
about my anatomy somewhere, and yet not know it, amid all this whirl
and racket. Five-and-twenty years since I set foot in the streets of
New York before, and I find them greatly changed. But I must know
your name, please. I must know to whom I am indebted for my life. I
should have been killed but for your courage, my dear; or have been
arrested and sent to the lock-up, than which I would almost think death
preferable.”
“Bonny! Bonny Beckwith! Come at once! Mother would be very much
displeased! The idea of your following a stranger about in this
way!” cried Belle, now opening the door of the shop, and looking
threateningly at her sister.
“Directly, dear. Now, sir, can you tell me where you are stopping? If
you are such a stranger here, I should think you would better take a
carriage to your home--or hotel. After twenty-five years the town must
seem like a new world to you, or, I mean--”
“Bonny!”
“Can I serve you, miss?” asked a clerk, coming forward, and Miss
Beatrice interpreted his tone to mean: “If I can I wish to do so at
once. If I cannot I would like to have the store vacated. This is no
rendezvous for adventurers.”
“No, I need nothing,” said Bonny, and moved to the door, nodding her
head brightly toward her old gentleman, but casting rather wistful
glances at the counters full of beautiful blossoms as she passed them
on her way.
“Wait a moment! Wait a moment, my dear! I have heard your name, you
see. Your sister spoke it. Here is my card; and if you will not tell
me where you live that I may call and thank you, at least let me give
you a posy before we part. Pick out what you like. Pick out what you
like, my dear, and I will pay for it. Here is my card,--Philipse Chidly
Brook, New Windsor, New York. Everybody thereabouts knows me, as
everybody hereabouts used to know me half a century ago,
‘When I was young as you are young,
And love-lights in the casement hung.’”
Bonny dropped her hand from the door-knob. “Why, that is Thackeray,
sir! So you know him, too?”
“Beatrice Beckwith! Will you--or will you not--come? I--am--going!”
cried the indignant Isabelle, moving slowly away from her ill-conducted
little sister. She was greatly shocked and mortified by Bonny’s
readiness to take up with anything and anybody, and was quite justified
in her feeling; for in most cases there is danger in any girl following
a stranger, for even so slight a distance as Bonny had done, in a great
city like New York.
But this time she happened to be safe enough. Old Chidly Brook was a
gentleman if ever one lived; and queer and quaint as he now appeared,
time had been when he was a great favorite even in the most exclusive
circles of New York’s best society.
“My dear, my age is sufficient guaranty of my honor. Do allow me to
give you a little bouquet of some sort. No? Then--have you a mother?”
“Certainly. I have a dear, dear mother, who will be troubled if I stay
from home longer. Good-by.”
“Her name? Her number? I must be allowed to call and pay her my
respects!” In his eagerness, which was almost childish, the old man
laid his thin hand upon Bonny’s wrist.
She glanced down upon it; its delicacy and refinement appealed to her;
she longed to know more of its owner, and replied: “My mother is Mrs.
Rachel Beckwith, Number Blank, Second Avenue.” Then she darted out of
the shop and tried to look defiantly into the vexed face of her pretty
sister Belle.
But it was of no use. The defiance faded soon, and a whimsical humility
took its place. “I’m sorry, I’m awfully sorry, dear, that I didn’t mind
you. I’m sorry I didn’t let the dear old fellow lie there to be hurt.
I-- No, I don’t mean that. But I’ll try to behave next time. I truly
will.”
“H’m-m!” replied Isabelle; and vouchsafed nothing further till they had
reached their home, a cosey if small and plainly furnished “flat” at
the location which Bonny had given Mr. Brook.
That old gentleman, left in the flower-store after his young rescuer
had departed, turned at once to the clerk. “I saw the child cast her
eyes rather longingly, I thought, upon that vase of salmon-colored
artemisias. Are they for sale?”
“Certainly,” replied the attendant, and moved the vase forward upon the
counter. “They are the same thing as artemisias, sir, but the popular
name is chrysanthemum. These are prize flowers, from the late show. A
rare color. One of our own originating.”
“H’m-m, h’m-m. Very pretty, but roses suit me better. However, she
looked at these more than she did at the roses and pinks, and I’ll take
them. How much are they?”
“Seventy-five cents each.”
“W-h-a-t? How--much?”
“Seventy-five cents each. Chrysanthemums are the fashionable flower
now. All the people at the horse-show--”
“That’s what I came into town to see. Thinks I to myself, Old fellow,
brace up yourself a bit and take one more look at life before you step
behind the curtain. A great town, young man, and full of pitfalls.”
“Yes, sir,” respectfully. “Will you take more than one of the blooms,
sir?”
“More than one! What do you think of me, lad? If you were going to send
a posy to a pretty little girl, would you send her a pitiful, solitary
blossom? If you would you ought to be ashamed of yourself!”
The salesman laughed pleasantly, and awaited directions, which came
promptly.
“Pick me out the prettiest and biggest basket you have in the shop.
Then fill it with these artemisias--if there are enough. If not, finish
out with white ones. She looked just like a pretty pink and white
blossom herself, with her rosy cheeks and white teeth. And what eyes
she had--did she not? Yes, yes; a big basket of posies is a small price
to pay for old bones saved from breaking! It must be of the best.”
“How will this please you?” asked the attendant, showing a pretty
willow affair, shaped like the baskets seen in old-fashioned “Annuals”
as held by the hands of high-coiffured dames with sloping shoulders and
simpering mouths.
Mr. Chidly Brook was charmed directly. “That’s it! That is just the
very thing! Some of the good old notions have survived these silly
later fashions, then? Glad to hear it! I am exceedingly glad to hear
it. Now, young man, will you lend me a pen and paper, if you have such
a thing handy?”
“Certainly. Will you, please, step to the desk?”
“Just to write a little note, you know. A sort of _billet-doux_, as
we called them in the old days. I was a hand--I was a master hand at
writing _billet-doux_ then. Let me see. Number Blank, Second Avenue. A
most aristocratic neighborhood, is it not?”
“Well--sir--I don’t know. It might be. It was once, they say. I--”
“Enough. I hate these eternal ‘was onces’! No matter. What will do
for a home for that little girl must be a pretty sort of place any
way. On our farm, my uncle’s, it was just above that grand street of
millionaire residents-- Fourteenth-- What are you staring at, sir?”
“Nothing. Nothing whatever, beg pardon. But you must have known New
York for many years. Fourteenth Street is now a synonym for a street
of cheap lodging-houses and such; that is, the resident portion. The
business part is fine enough. It will take about forty-three or five
chrysanthemums to fill this basket. But we have smaller ones, sir, of
the same shape. Will you look at them?”
“I said the biggest. I didn’t mean the smallest. Thank Heaven, Philipse
Chidly Brook is still able to pay for a decent basket of posies for his
little lady, I should hope! Thank you. I will have the note written by
the time the basket is filled. And I wish to have especial care used in
the delivery of the same. The _billet-doux_ is important. I would not
have it lost.”
“It shall not be. But the filling of the basket will take some time, a
half-hour at least.”
“No matter. I am not pressed for time. Yet. I will wait.”
He did wait, with what those better acquainted with him would have
considered an unusual amount of patience; but the truth was that
the old fellow had had a pretty severe shaking-up, and now that his
excitement over the accident began to ebb, he was more and more
conscious of pains and bruises.
Finally, when the basket, perfect in its beauty, was tendered for his
inspection, he rose very stiffly and barely looked at it.
“Here is the bill, sir. Forty-three chrysanthemums at seventy-five
cents, thirty-two dollars, twenty-five cents; one basket, five--”
“The amount, lad! The amount! I hate detail.”
“Thirty-nine dollars, twenty-five cents.”
“All right. Two twenty-dollar pieces. Keep the change and buy one posy
for your girl!” And with this fine sarcasm, as he considered it, the
old gentleman left the flower-shop, entered the cab which a cash-boy
had called for him, and gave the direction: “Astor House. At once.”