AUNT JANE PROPOSES
Aunt Jane Hammond stalked into the meagerly furnished parlor, and looked
around. It was the first time she had been to see the Bray girls since
their "come down" in the world.
She was a tall, gaunt woman--their mother's half-sister, and much older
than Mrs. Bray would have been had she lived. Aunt Jane, indeed, had
been married herself when her father, Dr. "Polly" Phelps, had married
his second wife.
"I must--say I--expected to--see some--angels sit--ting a--round--when
I got up here," panted Aunt Jane, grimly, and dropping into the most
comfortable chair. "Couldn't you have got a mite nearer heaven, if you'd
tried, Lyddy Bray?"
"Ye-es," gasped Lyddy. "There's another story on top of this; but it's
afire just now."
"_What?_" shrieked Aunt Jane.
"Do you really mean it, Lyddy?" cried her sister. "And that's what the
smoke means?"
"Well," declared their aunt, "them firemen will have to carry me out,
then. I couldn't walk downstairs again right now, for no money!"
'Phemie ran to the hall door. But when she opened it a great blast of
choking smoke drove in.
"Oh, oh!" she cried. "We can't escape by the stairway. What'll we do? What
_shall_ we do?"
"There's the fire-escape," said Lyddy, trembling so that she could
scarcely stand.
"What?" cried Aunt Jane again. "_Me_ go down one o' them dinky little
ladders--and me with a hole as big as a half-dollar in the back of my
stockin'? I never knowed it till I got started from home; the seam just
gave."
"I'd look nice going down that ladder. I guess not, says Con!" and she
shook her head so vigorously that all the little jet trimmings upon her
bonnet danced and sparkled in the gaslight just as her beadlike, black
eyes snapped and danced.
"We--we're in danger, Lyddy!" cried 'Phemie, tremulously.
"Oh, the boy!" exclaimed Lyddy, and flew to the kitchen, just in time to
see the Smith family sliding down the plank into the laboratory--the two
girls ahead, then Mother Smith, then Johnny Smith, and then the father.
And all while the boy next door held the plank firmly in place against the
window-sill of the burning flat.
Lyddy threw up the window and screamed something to him as the last Smith
passed him and disappeared. She couldn't have told what she said, for the
very life of her; but the young man across the shaft knew what she meant.
He drew back the plank a little way, swung his weight upon the far end
of it, and then let it drop until it was just above the level of her sill.
"Grab it and pull, Miss!" he called across the intervening space.
Lyddy obeyed. There was great confusion in the hall now, and overhead the
fire roared loudly. The firemen were evidently pressing up the congested
stairway with a line or two of hose, and driving the frightened people
back into their tenements. If the fire was confined to the upper floor
of the double-decker there would be really little danger to those below.
But Lyddy was too frightened to realize this last fact. She planted the
end of the plank upon her own sill and saw that it was secure. But it
sloped upward more than a trifle. How would they ever be able to creep up
that inclined plane--and four flights from the bottom of the shaft?
But to her consternation, the young fellow across the way deliberately
stepped out upon the plank, sat down, and slid swiftly across to her.
Lyddy sprang back with a cry, and he came in at the window and stood
before her.
"I don't believe you're in any danger, Miss," he said. "The firemen are on
the roof, and probably up through the halls, too. The fire has burned a
vent through the roof and----Yes! hear the water?"
She could plainly hear the swish of the streams from the hosepipes. Then
the water thundered on the floor above their heads. Almost at once small
streams began to pour through the ceiling.
"Oh, oh!" cried Lyddy. "Right on the supper table!"
A stream fell hissing on the stove. The big boy drew her swiftly out of
the room into her father's bedroom.
"That ceiling will come down," he said, hastily. "I'm sorry--but if you're
insured you'll be all right."
Lyddy at that moment remembered that she had never taken out insurance on
the poor sticks of furniture left from the wreck of their larger home.
Yet, if everything was spoiled----
"What's the matter with him?" asked the young fellow, looking at the bed
where Mr. Bray lay. He had wonderfully sharp eyes, it seemed.
"I don't know--I don't know," moaned Lyddy. "Do you think it is the smoke?
He has been ill a long time--almost too sick to work----"
"Your father?"
"Yes, sir," said the girl.
"I'll get an ambulance, if you say so--and a doctor. Are you afraid to
stay here now? Are you all alone but for him?"
"My sister--and my aunt," gasped Lyddy. "They're in the front room."
"Keep 'em there," said the young man. "Maybe they won't pour so much water
into those front rooms. Look out for the ceilings. You might be hurt if
they came down."
He found the key and unlocked and opened the door from the bedroom to the
hall. The smoke cloud was much thinner. But a torrent of water was pouring
down the stairs, and the shouting and stamping of the firemen above were
louder.
Two black, serpent-like lines of hose encumbered the stairs.
"Take care of yourself," called the young man. "I'll be back in a jiffy
with the doctor," and, bareheaded, and in shirt-sleeves as he was, he
dashed down the dark and smoky stairway.
Lyddy bent over her father again; he was breathing more peacefully, it
seemed. But when she spoke to him he did not answer.
'Phemie ran in, crying. "What is the matter with father?" she demanded,
as she noted his strange silence. Then, without waiting for an answer, she
snapped:
"And Aunt Jane's got her head out of the window scolding at the firemen
in the street because they do not come up and carry her downstairs again."
"Oh, the fire's nearly out, I guess," groaned Lyddy.
Then the girls clutched each other and were stricken speechless as a great
crash sounded from the kitchen. As the young man from the laboratory had
prophesied, the ceiling had fallen.
"And I had the nicest biscuits for supper I ever made," moaned Lyddy.
"They were just as fluffy----"
"Oh, bother your biscuits!" snapped 'Phemie. "Have you had the doctor for
father?"
"I--I've sent for one," replied Lyddy, faintly, suddenly
conscience-stricken by the fact that she had accepted the assistance of
the young stranger, to whom she had never been introduced! "Oh, dear! I
hope he comes soon."
"How long has he been this way, Lyd? Why didn't you send for me?" demanded
the younger sister, clasping her hands and leaning over the unconscious
man.
"Why, he came home from work just as usual. I--I didn't notice that he was
worse," replied the older girl, breathlessly. "He said he'd lie down----"
"You should have called the doctor then."
"Why, dear, I tell you he seemed just the same. He almost always lies down
when he comes home now. You know that."
"Forgive me, Lyddy!" exclaimed 'Phemie, contritely. "Of course you are
just as careful of father as you can be. But--but it's so _awful_ to see
him lie like this."
"He fainted without my knowing a thing about it," moaned Lyddy.
"Oh! if it's only just a faint----"
"He couldn't even have heard the noise upstairs over the fire."
Just then a stream of water descended through the cracked bedroom ceiling,
first upon the back of 'Phemie's neck, and then upon the drugget which
covered the floor.
"Suppose _this_ ceiling falls, too?" wailed Lyddy, wringing her hands.
"I hope not! And we'll have to pay the doctor when he comes, Lyd. Have
you got money enough in your purse?"
"I--I guess so."
"I'll not have any more after this week," broke out 'Phemie, suddenly.
"They told me to-day the rush for Easter would be over Saturday night and
they would have to let me go till next season. Isn't that mean?"
Lydia Bray had sat down upon the edge of their father's bed.
"I guess everything _has_ happened at once," she sighed. "I don't see what
we shall do, 'Phemie."
There came a scream from Aunt Jane. She charged into the bedroom wildly,
the back of her dress all wet and her bonnet dangling over one ear.
"Why, your parlor ceiling is just spouting water, girls!" she cried.
Then she turned to look closely at the man on the bed. "John Bray looks
awful bad, Lyddy. What does the doctor say?"
Before her niece could reply there came a thundering knock at the hall
door.
"The doctor!" cried 'Phemie.
Lyddy feared it was the young stranger returning, and she could only gasp.
What should she say to him if he came in? How introduce him to Aunt Jane?
But the latter lady took affairs into her own hands at this juncture and
went to the door. She unlocked and threw it open. Several helmets and
glistening rubber coats appeared vaguely in the hall.
"Getting wet down here some; aren't you?" asked one of the firemen. "We'll
spread some tarpaulins over your stuff. Fire's out--about."
"And the water's _in_," returned Aunt Jane, tartly. "Nice time to come and
try to save a body's furniture----"
"Get it out of the adjusters. They'll be around," said the fireman, with
a grin.
"How much insurance have you, Lyddy?" demanded the aunt, when the firemen,
after covering the already wet and bedraggled furniture, had clumped
out in their heavy boots.
"Not a penny, Aunt Jane!" cried her niece, wildly. "I never thought of it!"
"Ha! you're not so much like your mother, then, as I thought. _She_ would
never have overlooked such a detail."
"I know it! I know it!" moaned Lyddy.
"Now, you stop that, Aunt Jane!" exclaimed the bolder 'Phemie. "Don't you
hound Lyd. She's done fine--of course she has! But anybody might forget a
thing like insurance."
"Humph!" grunted the old lady. Then she began again:
"And what's the matter with John?"
"It's the shop, Aunt," replied Lyddy. "He cannot stand the work any
longer. I wish he might never go back to that place again."
"And how are you going to live? What's 'Phemie getting a week?"
"Nothing--after this week," returned the younger girl, shortly. "I sha'n't
have any work, and I've only been earning six dollars."
"Humph!" observed Aunt Jane for a second time.
There came a light tap on the door. They could hear it, for the confusion
and shouting in the house had abated. The fire scare was over; but the
floor above was gutted, and a good deal of damage by water had been done
on this floor.
It was a physician, bag in hand. 'Phemie let him in. Lyddy explained how
her father had come home and lain down and she had found him, when the
fire scare began, unconscious on the bed--just as he lay now.
A few questions explained to the physician the condition of Mr. Bray, and
his own observation revealed the condition of the tenement.
"He will be better off at the hospital. You are about wrecked here, I see.
That young man who called me said he would ring up the City Hospital."
The girls were greatly troubled; but Aunt Jane was practical.
"Of course, that's the best place for him," she said. "Why! this flat
isn't fit for a well person to stay in, let alone a sick man, until it
is cleared up. I shall take you girls out with me to my boarding house
for the night. Then--we'll see."
The physician brought Mr. Bray to his senses; but the poor man knew
nothing about the fire, and was too weak to object when they told him
he was to be removed to the hospital for a time.
The ambulance came and the young interne and the driver brought in the
stretcher, covered Mr. Bray with a gray blanket, and took him away. The
interne told the girls they could see their father in the morning and
he, too, said it was mainly exhaustion that had brought about the sudden
attack.
Aunt Jane had been stalking about the sloppy flat--from the ruined kitchen
to the front window.
"Shut and lock that kitchen window, and lock the doors, and we'll go out
and find a lodging," she said, briefly. "You girls can bring a bag for
the night. Mine's at the station hard by; I'm glad I didn't bring it up
here."
It was when Lyddy shut and locked the kitchen window that she remembered
the young man again. The plank had been removed, the laboratory window
was closed, and the place unlighted.
"I guess he has some of the instincts of a gentleman, after all," she told
herself. "He didn't come back to bother me after doing what he could to
help."
Two hours later the Bray girls were seated in their aunt's comfortable
room at a boarding house on a much better block than the one on which the
tenement stood. Aunt Jane had ordered up tea and toast, and was sipping
the one and nibbling the other contentedly before a grate fire.
"This is what I call comfort," declared the old lady, who still kept her
bonnet on--nor would she remove it save to change it for a nightcap when
she went to bed.
"This is what I call comfort. A pleasant room in a house where I have no
responsibilities, and enough noise outside to assure me that I am in a
live town. My goodness me! when Hammond came along and wanted to marry
me, and I knew I could leave Hillcrest and never have to go back----Well,
I just about jumped down that man's throat I was so eager to say 'Yes!'
Marry him? I'd ha' married a Choctaw Injun, if he'd promised to take me
to the city."
"Why, Aunt Jane!" exclaimed Lyddy. "Hillcrest Farm is a beautiful place.
Mother took us there once to see it. Don't you remember, 'Phemie? _She_
loved it, too."
"And I wish she'd had it as a gift from the old doctor," grumbled Aunt
Jane. "But it wasn't to be. It's never been anything but a nuisance to
me, if I _was_ born there."
"Why, the view from the porch is the loveliest I ever saw," said Lyddy.
"And all that romantic pile of rocks at the back of the farm!" exclaimed
'Phemie.
"Ha! what's a view?" demanded the old lady, in her brusk way. "Just dirt
and water. And that's what they say _we're_ made of. I like to study human
bein's, I do; so I'd ruther have my view in town."
"But it's so pretty----"
"Fudge!" snapped Aunt Jane. "I've seen the time, when I was a growin' gal,
and the old doctor was off to see patients, that I've stood on that same
porch at Hillcrest and just _cried_ for the sight of somethin' movin' on
the face of Natur' besides a cow.
"View, indeed!" she pursued, hotly. "If I've got to look at views, I want
plenty of 'life' in 'em; and I want the human figgers to be right up close
in the foreground, too!"
'Phemie laughed. "And I think it would be just _blessed_ to get out of
this noisy, dirty city, and live in a place like Hillcrest. Wouldn't you
like it, Lyd?"
"I'd love it!" declared her sister.
"Well, I declare!" exclaimed Aunt Jane, sitting bolt upright, and looking
actually startled. "Ain't that a way out, mebbe?"
"What do you mean, Aunt Jane?" asked Lydia, quickly.
"You know how I'm fixed, girls. Hammond left me just money enough so't
I can live as I like to live--and no more. The farm's never been aught
but an expense to me. Cyrus Pritchett is supposed to farm a part of it
on shares; but my share of the crops never pays more'n the taxes and the
repairs to the roofs of the old buildings.
"It'd be a shelter to ye. The furniture stands jest as it did in the old
doctor's day. Ye could move right in--and I expect it would mean a lease
of life to your father.
"A second-hand man wouldn't give ye ten dollars for your stuff in that
flat. It's ruined. Ye couldn't live comfortable there any more. But if
ye wanter go to Hillcrest I'm sure ye air more than welcome to the use of
the place, and perhaps ye might git a bigger share of the crops out of
Cyrus if ye was there, than I've been able to git.
"What d'you say, girls--what d'you say?"