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THE LITTLE RED CHIMNEY
[Illustration: THE CANDY MAN]
The Little Red Chimney
_Being the Love Story of a Candy Man_
BY MARY FINLEY LEONARD
Illustrations in Silhouette by KATHARINE GASSAWAY
New York--Duffield & Company--1914
Copyright, 1914, by DUFFIELD & COMPANY
* * * * *
CONTENTS
_CHAPTER I_
In which the curtain rises on the Candy Wagon, and the leading
characters are thrown together in a perfectly logical manner by Fate.
_CHAPTER II_
In which the Candy Man walks abroad in citizen's clothes, and is
mistaken for a person of wealth and social importance.
_CHAPTER III_
In which the Little Red Chimney appears on the horizon, but without
a clue to its importance. In which also the Candy Man has a glimpse
of high life and is foolishly depressed by it.
_CHAPTER IV_
In which the Candy Man again sees the Grey Suit, and Virginia continues
the story of the Little Red Chimney.
_CHAPTER V_
In which the double life of the heroine is explained, and Augustus
McAllister proves an alibi.
_CHAPTER VI_
In which Margaret Elizabeth is discussed at the Breakfast Table; in
which also, later on, she and Virginia and Uncle Bob talk before the
fire, and in which finally Margaret Elizabeth seeks consolation by
relating to Uncle Bob her adventure in the park.
_CHAPTER VII_
Shows how the Candy Wagon is visited in behalf of the Squirrel, and how
pride suffers a fall; how Miss Bentley turns to Vedantic Philosophy to
drown her annoyance, and discovers how hard it is to forget when you
wish to.
_CHAPTER VIII_
In which the Miser's past history is touched upon; which shows how his
solitude is again invaded, and how he makes a new friend.
_CHAPTER IX_
Shows how Miss Bentley and the Reporter take refuge in a cave, and how,
in the course of the conversation which follows, she hears something
which disposes her to feel more kindly toward the Candy Man; shows also
how Uncle Bob proves faithless to his trust and his niece finds herself
locked out in consequence.
_CHAPTER X_
In which the Little Red Chimney keeps Festival, and the Candy Man
receives an unexpected invitation.
_CHAPTER XI_
In which a radical change of atmosphere is at once noticed; which shows
how Miss Bentley repents of a too coming-on disposition, and lends an
ear to the advantages of wealth.
_CHAPTER XII_
Which shows Miss Bentley recovering from a fit of what Uncle Bob calls
Cantankerousness; in which a shipwrecked letter is brought to light, and
Dr. Prue is called again to visit the child of the Park Superintendent.
_CHAPTER XIII_
In which the Candy Man relates his story, and the Miser comes upon
Volume I of the shabby book with the funny name.
_CHAPTER XIV_
Shows how Mrs. Gerrard Pennington, unhappy and distraught, beseeches
Uncle Bob to help her save Margaret Elizabeth; also how Mr. Gerrard
Pennington comes to the rescue, and how in the end his wife submits
gracefully to the inevitable, which is not so bad after all.
_CHAPTER XV_
In which the Fairy Godmother Society is again mentioned, among other
things.
ILLUSTRATIONS
THE CANDY MAN
MARGARET ELIZABETH
VIRGINIA
DR. PRUE
UNCLE BOB
THE MISER
COUSIN AUGUSTUS
MRS. GERRARD PENNINGTON
* * * * *
To
George Madden Martin
* * * * *
THE LITTLE RED CHIMNEY
CHAPTER ONE
_In which the curtain rises on the Candy Wagon, and the leading
characters are thrown together in a perfectly logical manner by
Fate_.
The Candy Wagon stood in its accustomed place on the Y.M.C.A. corner.
The season was late October, and the leaves from the old sycamores, in
league with the east wind, after waging a merry war with the janitor all
morning, had swept, a triumphant host, across the broad sidewalk, to lie
in heaps of golden brown along the curb and beneath the wheels of the
Candy Wagon. In the intervals of trade, never brisk before noon, the
Candy Man had watched the game, taking sides with the leaves.
Down the steps of the Y.M.C.A. building sauntered the Reporter.
Perceiving the Candy Wagon at the curb he paused, scrutinising it
jauntily, through a monocle formed by a thumb and finger.
The wagon, freshly emblazoned in legends of red, yellow and blue which
advertised the character and merits of its wares, stood with its
horseless shafts turned back and upward, in something of a prayerful
attitude. The Reporter, advancing, lifted his arms in imitation, and
recited: "Confident that upon investigation you will find everything as
represented, we remain Yours to command, in fresh warpaint." He seated
himself upon the adjacent carriage block and grinned widely at the
Candy Man.
In spite of a former determination to confine his intercourse with the
Reporter to strictly business lines, the Candy Man could not help a
responsive grin.
The representative of the press demanded chewing gum, and receiving it,
proceeded to remove its threefold wrappings and allow them to slip
through his fingers to the street. "Women," he said, with seeming
irrelevance and in a tone of defiance, "used to be at the bottom of
everything; now they're on top."
The Candy Man was quick at putting two and two together. "I infer you
are not in sympathy with the efforts of the Woman's Club and the Outdoor
League to promote order and cleanliness in our home city," he observed,
his eye on the débris so carelessly deposited upon the public
thoroughfare.
"Right you are. Your inference is absolutely correct. The foundations of
this American Commonwealth are threatened, and the _Evening Record_
don't stand for it. Life's made a burden, liberty curtailed, happiness
pursued at the point of the dust-pan. Here is the Democratic party of
the State pledged to School Suffrage. The Equal Rights Association is to
meet here next month, and--the mischief is, the pretty ones are taking
it up! The first thing you know the Girl of All Others will be saying,
'Embrace me, embrace my cause.' Why, my Cousin Augustus met a regular
peach of a girl at the country club,--visiting at the Gerrard
Penningtons', don't you know, and almost the first question she asked
him was did he believe in equal rights?" The Reporter paused for breath,
pushing his hat back to the farthest limit and regarding the Candy Man
curiously. "It is funny," he added, "how much you look like my Cousin
Augustus. I wonder now if he could have been twins, and one stolen by
the gypsies? You don't chance to have been stolen in infancy?"
This innocent question annoyed the Candy Man, although he ignored it,
murmuring something to the effect that the Reporter's talents pointed to
the stump. It might have been a guilty conscience or merely impatience
at such flagrant nonsense, for surely he could not reasonably object
to resembling Cousin Augustus. The Candy Man was a well-enough looking
young fellow in his white jacket and cap, but nothing to brag of, that
he need be haughty about a likeness to one so far above him in the
social scale, whom in fact he had never seen.
The Reporter lingered in thoughtful silence while some westbound
transfers purchased refreshment, then as a trio of theological students
paused at the Candy Wagon, he restored his hat to its normal position
and strolled away. On the Y.M.C.A. corner business had waked up.
For some time the Candy Wagon continued to reap a harvest from the rush
of High School boys and younger children. Morning became afternoon,
the clouds which the east wind had been industriously beating up
gathered in force, and a fine rain began to fall. The throng on the
street perceptibly lessened; the Candy Man had leisure once more to
look about him.
A penetrating mist was veiling everything; the stone church, the
seminary buildings, the tall apartment houses, the few old residences
not yet crowded out, the drug store, the confectionery--all were softly
blurred. The asphalt became a grey lake in which all the colour and
movement of the busy street was reflected, and upon whose bosom the
Candy Wagon seemed afloat. As the Candy Man watched, gleams of light
presently began to pierce the mist, from a hundred windows, from passing
street cars and cabs, from darting machines now transformed into
strange, double-eyed demons. It was a scene of enchantment, and with
pleasure he felt himself part of it, as in his turn he lit up his wagon.
The traffic officer, whose shrill whistle sounded continually above the
clang of the trolley cars and the hoarse screams of impatient machines,
probably viewed the situation differently. Given slippery streets,
intersecting car lines, an increasing throng of vehicles and
pedestrians, with a fog growing denser each moment, and the utmost
vigilance is often helpless to avert an accident. So it was now.
The Candy Man did not actually see the occurrence, but later it
developed that an automobile, in attempting to turn the corner,
skidded, grazing the front of a car which had stopped to discharge some
passengers, then crashing into a telegraph pole on the opposite side of
the street. What he did see was the frightened rush of the crowd to the
sidewalk, and in the rush, a girl, just stepping from the car, caught
and carried forward and jostled in such a manner that she lost her
footing and fell almost beneath the wheels of the Candy Wagon, and
dangerously near the hoofs of a huge draught horse, brought by its
driver to a halt in the nick of time.
The Candy Man was out and at her side in an instant, assisting her
to rise. The panic swept past them, leaving only a long-legged child
in a red tam, and a sad-faced elderly man in its wake. The Candy Man
had seen all three before. The wearer of the red tam was one of the
apartment-house children, the sad man was popularly known to the
neighbourhood as the Miser, and the girl, to whose assistance he had
sprung--well, he had seen her on two previous occasions.
As she stood in some bewilderment looking ruefully at the mud on her
gloves and skirt, the merest glance showed her to be the sort of girl
any one might have been glad to help.
"Thank you, I am not hurt--only rather shaken," she said in answer to
the Candy Man.
"Here's your bag," announced the long-legged child, fishing it out of
the soggy mass of leaves beneath the wagon. "And you need not worry
about your skirt. Take it to Bauer's just round the corner; they'll
clean it," she added.
The owner of the bag received it and the accompanying advice with an
adorable smile in which there was merriment as well as appreciation.
The Miser plucked the Candy Man by the sleeve and asked if the young
lady did not wish a cab.
She answered for herself. "Thank you, no; I am quite all right--only
muddy. But was it a bad accident? What happened?"
The Miser crossed the street where the crowd had gathered, to
investigate, and returning reported the chauffeur probably done for.
While he was gone the conductor of the street car appeared in quest of
the names and addresses of everybody within a radius of ten blocks. In
this way the Candy Man learned that her name was Bentley. She gave it
reluctantly, as persons do on such occasions, and he failed to catch
her street and number.
"I'm very sorry! I suppose there is nothing one can do?" she exclaimed,
apropos of the chauffeur, and the next the Candy Man knew she was
walking away in the mist hand in hand with the long-legged child.
"An unusually charming face," the Miser remarked, raising his umbrella.
To the sober mind "unusually charming" would seem a not unworthy
compliment, but the Candy Man, as he resumed his place in the wagon,
smiled scornfully at what he was pleased to consider its grotesque
inadequacy. If he had anything better to offer, the Miser did not stay
to hear it, but with a courteous "good evening" disappeared in his
turn in the mist. An ambulance carried away the injured man, the crowd
dispersed; the remains of the machine were towed away to a near-by
garage. Night fell; the throng grew less, the rain gathered courage and
became a downpour. There would be little doing in the way of business
to-night.
As he made ready for early closing the Candy Man fell to thinking of the
girl whose name was Bentley. Not that the name interested him save as a
means of further identification. It was a phrase used by the Reporter
this morning that occurred to him now as peculiarly applicable to her.
The Girl of All Others! He rolled it as a sweet morsel under his tongue,
undisturbed by the reflection that such descriptive titles are at
present overworked--in dreams one has no need to be original.
Neither did it strike him as incongruous that he should have seen her
first in the grocery kept by Mr. Simms, who catered to the needs of such
as got their own breakfasts, and whose boiled ham was becoming famous,
because it was really done. He went back to the experience, dwelling
with pleasure upon each detail of it, even his annoyance at the grocer's
daughter, who exchanged crochet patterns with the tailor's wife, after
the manner of a French exercise, and ignored him. It was early and
business had not yet begun on the Y.M.C.A. corner; still he could not
wait forever. The grocer himself, who was attending to the wants of a
lean and hungry-looking student, had just handed his rolls and smoked
sausage across the counter, with a cheery "Breakfast is ready, ring the
bell," when the door opened and the Girl of All Others came in.
She was tallish, but not very tall, and somewhat slight. She wore a grey
suit--the same which had suffered this afternoon from contact with the
street, and a soft felt hat of the same colour jammed down anyhow on her
bright hair and pinned with a pinkish quill--or so it looked. The face
beneath the bright hair was---- But at this point in his recollections
the Candy Man all but lost himself in a maze of adjectives and adverbs.
We know, at least, how the long-legged child ran to help, and finally
went off hand in hand with her, and what the Miser said of her, and
after all the best the Candy Man could do was to go back to the
Reporter's phrase.
He had withdrawn a little behind a stack of breakfast foods where he
could watch her, wondering that the clerks did not drop their several
customers without ceremony and fly to do her bidding. She stood beside
the counter and made overtures to a large Maltese cat who reposed there
in solemn majesty. Beside the Maltese rose a pyramid of canned goods,
and a placard announced, "Of interest to light house keepers." Upon this
her eyes rested in evident surprise. "I didn't know there were any
lighthouses in this part of the country," she said half aloud.
[Illustration: MARGARET ELIZABETH]
The Maltese laid a protesting paw upon her arm. It was not, however, the
absurdity of her remark, but the cessation of her caresses he protested
against. At the same moment her eyes met those of the Candy Man, across
the stack of breakfast foods. His were laughing, and hers were instantly
withdrawn. He saw her colour mounting as she exclaimed, addressing the
cat, "How perfectly idiotic!"
He longed to assure her it was a perfectly natural mistake, the placard
being but an amateurish affair; but he lacked the courage.
And then the grocer, having disposed of another customer, advanced to
serve her, and the grocer's daughter, it seemed, was also at leisure;
and though he would have preferred to watch the Girl of All Others doing
the family marketing in a most competent manner, a thoughtful finger
upon her lip, the Candy Man was forced to attend to his own business.
In selecting a basket of grapes and ordering them sent to St. Mary's
Hospital, he presently lost sight of her.
Once since then she had passed his corner on her way up the street.
That was all until to-night. It seemed probable that she lived in the
neighbourhood. Perhaps the Reporter would know.
Just here the recollection that he was a Candy Man brought him up short.
His bright dreams began to fade. The Girl of All Others should of course
be able to recognise true worth, even in a Candy Wagon, but such is the
power of convention he was forced to own to himself it was more than
possible she might not. Or if she did, her friends----
But these disheartening reflections were curtailed by the sudden
appearance of a stout, grey horse under the conduct of a small boy. The
shafts were lowered, the grey horse placed between them, and, after a
few more preliminaries, the Candy Wagon, Candy Man and all, were removed
from the scene of action, leaving the Y.M.C.A. corner to the rain and
the fog, the gleaming lights, and the ceaseless clang of the trolley
cars.
CHAPTER TWO
_In which the Candy Man walks abroad in citizen's clothes, and is
mistaken for a person of wealth and social importance._
The Candy Man strolled along a park path. The October day was crisp, the
sky the bluest blue, the sunny landscape glowing with autumn's fairest
colours. It was a Sunday morning not many days after the events of the
first chapter, and back in the city the church bells were ringing for
eleven o'clock service.
In citizen's clothes, and well-fitting ones at that, the Candy Man was
a presentable young fellow. If his face seemed at first glance a trifle
stern, this sternness was offset by the light in his eyes; a steady,
purposeful glow, through which played at the smallest excuse a humorous
twinkle.
After the ceaseless stir of the Y.M.C.A. corner, the stillness of the
park was most grateful. At this hour on Sunday, if he avoided the golf
grounds, it was to all intents his own. His objective point was a rustic
arbour hung with rose vines and clematis, where was to be had a view of
the river as it made an abrupt turn around the opposite hills. Here he
might read, or gaze and dream, as it pleased him, reasonably secure from
interruption once he had possession.
The Candy Man breathed deeply, and smiled to himself. It was a day to
inspire confident dreams, for the joy of fulfilment was over the land.
Was it the sudden fear that some other dreamer might be before him, or
a subconscious prevision of what actually awaited him, that caused him
to quicken his steps as he neared the arbour? However it may have been,
as he took at a bound the three steps which led up to it, he came with
startling suddenness upon Miss Bentley entering from the other side,
her arms full of flowers. Their eyes met in a flash of recognition
which there was no time to control. She bowed, not ungraciously, yet
distantly, and with a faint puzzled frown on her brow, and he, as he
lifted his hat, spoke her name, which, as he was not supposed to know
it, he had no business to do; then they both laughed at the way in which
they had bounced in at the same moment from opposite directions.
With some remark about the delightful day, the Candy Man, as a gentleman
should, tried to pretend he was merely passing through, and though it
was but a feeble performance, Miss Bentley should have accepted it
without protest, then all would have been well. Instead, she said, still
with that puzzled half frown, "Don't go, I am only waiting here a moment
for my cousin, who has stopped at the superintendent's cottage." She
motioned over her shoulder to a vine-covered dwelling just visible
through the trees.
"Please do not put it in that way," he protested. "As if your being here
did not add tremendously to my desire to remain. I am conscious of
rushing in most unceremoniously upon you, and----"
Hesitating there, hat in hand, his manners were disarmingly frank. Miss
Bentley laughed again as she deposited her flowers, a mass of pink and
white cosmos, upon a bench, and sat down beside them. She seemed willing
to have him put it as he liked. She wore the same grey suit and soft
felt hat, jammed down any way on her bright hair and pinned with a
pinkish quill, and was somehow, more emphatically than before, the Girl
of All Others.
How could a Candy Man be expected to know what he was about? What wonder
that his next remark should be a hope that she had suffered no ill
effects from the accident?
"None at all, thank you," Miss Bentley replied, and the puzzled
expression faded. It was as if she inwardly exclaimed, "Now I know!"
"Aunt Eleanor," she added, "was needlessly alarmed. I seem rather given
to accidents of late." Thus saying she began to arrange her flowers.
The Candy Man dropped down on the step where the view--of Miss
Bentley--was most charming, as she softly laid one bloom upon another in
caressing fashion, her curling lashes now almost touching her cheek, now
lifted as she looked away to the river, or bent her gaze upon the
occupant of the step.
"Do you often come here?" she asked, adding when he replied that this
was the third time, that she thought he had rather an air of
proprietorship.
He laughed at this, and explained how he had set out to pay a visit to
a sick boy at St. Mary's Hospital, but had allowed the glorious day to
tempt him to the park.
Below them on the terraced hillside a guard sat reading his paper;
across the meadow a few golfers were to be seen against the horizon.
All about them the birds and squirrels were busily minding their own
affairs; above them smiled the blue, blue sky, and the cousin, whoever
he or she might be, considerately lingered.
Like the shining river their talk flowed on. Beginning like it as a
shallow stream, it broadened and deepened on its way, till presently
fairy godmothers became its theme.
Miss Bentley was never able to recall what led up to it. The Candy Man
only remembered her face, as, holding a crimson bloom against her cheek,
she smiled down upon him thoughtfully, and asked him to guess what she
meant to do when some one left her a fortune. "I have a strange
presentiment that some one is going to," she said.
"How delightful!" he exclaimed, but did not hazard a guess, and she
continued without giving him a chance: "I shall establish a Fairy
Godmother Fund, the purpose of which shall be the distribution of good
times; of pleasures large and small, among people who have few or none."
"It sounds," was the Candy Man's comment, "like the minutes of the first
meeting. Please explain further. How will you select your beneficiaries?"
"I don't like your word," she objected. "Beneficiaries and fairy
godmothers somehow do not go together. Still, I see what you mean, and
while I have not as yet worked out the plan, I'm confident it could be
managed. Suppose we know a poor teacher, for instance, who has nothing
left over from her meagre salary after the necessary things are provided
for, and who is, we'll say, hungry for grand opera. We would enclose
opera tickets with a note asking her to go and have a good time, signed,
'Your Fairy Godmother,' and with a postscript something like this, 'If
you cannot use them, hand them on to another of my godchildren.' Don't
you think she would accept them?"
Under the spell of those lovely, serious eyes, the Candy Man rather
thought she would.
"Of course," Miss Bentley went on, "it must be a secret society, never
mentioned in the papers, unknown to those you call its beneficiaries.
In this way there will be no occasion or demand for gratitude. No
obligations will be imposed upon the recipients--that word is as bad as
yours--let's call them godchildren--and the fairy godmother will have
her fun in giving the good times, without bothering over whether they
are properly grateful."
"You seem to have a grievance against gratitude," said the Candy Man
laughing.
"I have," she owned.
"There are people who contend that there is little or none of it in the
world," he added.
"And I am not sure it was meant there should be--much of it, I mean. It
is an emotion--would you call it an emotion?"
"You might," said the Candy Man.
"Well, an emotion that turns to dust and ashes when you try to
experience it, or demand it of others," concluded Miss Bentley with
emphasis. "And you needn't laugh," she added.
The Candy Man disclaimed any thought of such a thing. He was profoundly
serious. "It is really a great idea," he said. "A human agency whose
benefits could be received as we receive those of Nature or
Providence--as impersonally."
She nodded appreciatively. "You understand." And they were both aware
of a sense of comradeship scarcely justified by the length of their
acquaintance.
"May I ask your ideas as to the amount of this fund?" he said.
She considered a moment. "Well, say a hundred thousand," she suggested.
"You are expecting a large bequest, then."
"An income of five thousand would not be too much," insisted Miss
Bentley. "We should wish to do bigger things than opera tickets, you
know."
"There are persons who perhaps need a fairy godmother, whom money
cannot help," the Candy Man continued thoughtfully. "There's an old
man--not so old either--a sad grey man, whom the children on our block
call the Miser. I am not an adept in reading faces, but I am sure there
is nothing mean in his. It is only sad. I get interested in people,"
he added.
"So do I," cried his companion. "And of course, you are right. The Fairy
Godmother Society would have to have more than one department. Naturally
opera tickets would not do your man any good--unless we could get him to
send them."
They laughed over this clever idea, and the Candy Man went on to say
that there were lonely people in the world, who, through no fault of
their own, were so circumstanced as to be cut off from those common
human relationships which have much to do with the flavour of life.
"I don't quite understand," Miss Bentley began. But these young persons
were not to be left to settle the affairs of the universe in one
morning. A handkerchief waved in the distance by a stoutish lady,
interrupted. "There's Cousin Prue," Miss Bentley cried, springing to
her feet.
Hastily dividing her flowers into two bunches, she thrust one upon the
Candy Man. "For your sick boy. You won't mind, as it isn't far. I have
so enjoyed talking to you, Mr. McAllister. I shall hope to see you soon
again. Aunt Eleanor often speaks of you."
This sudden descent to the conventional greatly embarrassed the Candy
Man, but he had no time for a word. Miss Bentley was off like a flash,
across the grass, before he could collect his scattered wits. He looked
after her, till, in company with the stout lady, she disappeared from
view. Then with a whimsical expression on his countenance, he took a
leather case from his breast pocket, and opening it glanced at one of
the cards within. It was as if he doubted his own identity and wished
to be reassured.
The name engraved on the card was not McAllister, but Robert Deane
Reynolds.
CHAPTER THREE
_In which the Little Red Chimney appears on the horizon, but without
a clue to its importance. In which also the Candy Man has a glimpse of
high life and is foolishly depressed by it._
Starting from the Y.M.C.A. corner, walking up the avenue a block, then
turning south, you came in a few steps to a modest grey house with a
grass plat in front of it, a freshly reddened brick walk, and flower
boxes in its windows. It was modest, not merely in the sense of being
unpretentious, but also in that of a restrained propriety. You felt it
to be a dwelling of character, wherein what should be done to-day, was
never put off till to-morrow; where there was a place for everything and
everything in it. Yet mingling with this propriety was an all-pervading
cheer that appealed strongly to the homeless passerby.
The grey house presented a gable end to the street, and stretched a
wing comfortably on either side. In one of these was a glass door, with
"Office Hours 10-1," which caused you to glance again at the sign on the
iron gate: "Dr. Prudence Vandegrift."
The other ell, which was of one story, had a double window, before
which a rose bush grew, and when the blinds were up you had sometimes a
glimpse of an opposite window, indicating that it was but one room deep.
From its roof rose a small chimney that stood out from all the other
chimneys, because, while they were grey like the house and its slate
roof, it was red.
Strolling by in a leisure hour the Candy Man had remarked it and
wondered why, and found himself continuing to wonder. Somehow that
little red chimney took hold on his imagination. It was a magical
chimney, poetic, alluring, at once a cheering and a depressing little
chimney, for it stirred him to delicious dreams, which, when they faded,
left him forlorn.
It was to Virginia he owed enlightenment. Virginia was the long-legged
child who had fished Miss Bentley's bag from beneath the Candy Wagon,
the indomitable leader of the Apartment House Pigeons, as the Candy Man
had named them.
The Apartment House did not exclude children, neither did it encourage
them, and when their individual quarters became too contracted to
contain their exuberance, they perforce sought the street. Like pigeons
they would descend in a flock, here, there, everywhere; perching in a
blissful row before the soda fountain in the drug store; or if the state
of the public purse did not warrant this, the curbstone and the wares
of the Candy Wagon were cheerfully substituted. By virtue no doubt of
her long legs and masterful spirit, Virginia ruled the flock. Under her
guidance they made existence a weariness to the several janitors on
the block.
As in defiance of law and order they circled one day on their roller
skates, down the avenue and up the broad alley behind the Y.M.C.A.,
round and round, Virginia issued her orders: "You all go on, I want to
talk to the Candy Man."
Being without as yet any theories, consistently democratic, she regarded
him as a friend and brother. A state of society in which the position of
Candy Man was next the throne, would have seemed perfectly logical to
Virginia.
[Illustration: VIRGINIA]
"You don't look much like Tim," she volunteered, dangling her legs from
the carriage block. Her hair was dark and severely bobbed; her miniature
nose was covered with freckles, and she squinted a little.
"No?" responded the Candy Man.
"Tim was Irish," she continued.
During business hours conversation of necessity took on a disjointed
character. Unless you had great power of concentration you forgot in the
intervals what you had been talking about. When a group of High School
boys had been served and had gone their hilarious way Virginia began
again. "You know the house with the Little Red Chimney?" she asked.
The Candy Man did.
"Well, a nice old man named Uncle Bob lives there, and I asked him why
that chimney was red, and he said because it was new. A branch of a tree
fell on the old one. The tree where the squirrel house is, you know."
The Candy Man remembered the tree.
"He said the doctor was going to have it painted, but he kind of liked
it red, and so did her ladyship."
"And who might her ladyship be?" the Candy Man inquired.
"That's what I asked him, and he said, 'You come over and see,' and
then he said--now listen to this, for it's just like a story." Virginia
lifted an admonishing finger. "He said, whenever I saw smoke coming out
of that Little Red Chimney, I might know her ladyship had come to town.
You'd better believe I'm going to watch. And what do you think! I can
see it from our dining-room window!" she concluded.
"Most interesting," said the Candy Man politely, without the least idea
how interesting it really was.
Virginia's gaze suddenly fastened on a small book lying on the seat of
the Candy Wagon, and she had seized it before its owner could protest.
"What a funny name," she said. "'E p i c t e t u s.' What does that
spell? And what made you cut a hole in this page? It looks like a
window."
The page was a fly leaf, from which a name, possibly that of a former
owner, had been removed. Below it the Candy Man's own name was now
written.
"It was so when I got it," he answered, holding out his hand for it. He
had no mind to have his book in any other keeping, for somewhere within
its leaves lay a crimson flower.
Before she returned it Virginia examined the back. "Vol. I, what does
that mean?" she asked, and without waiting for an answer she tossed it
back to him, and ran to join the other pigeons.
From this time Virginia began to be almost as constant a visitor as
the Reporter. She had a way of bursting into conversation without any
preface whatever, speaking entirely from the fullness of her heart at
the moment.
"I'd give anything in the world to be pretty," she remarked one day,
resting her school bag on the carriage block and sighing deeply.
"But now honestly," said the Candy Man, regarding her gravely, "it seems
to me you are a very nice-looking little girl, and who knows but you may
turn out a great beauty some day? That is the way it happens in story
books."
Virginia returned his gaze steadily. "Do you really think there is any
chance? You are not laughing?"
He assured her he was intensely serious.
"Well, you are the first person who ever told me that. Uncle Harry said,
'Is it possible, Cornelia, that this is your child?' Cornelia is my
mother, and she is a beauty. My brother is awfully good looking, too.
Everybody thinks he ought to have been the girl. I'll tell you who I
want to look like when I grow up. Don't you know that young lady who
fell in the mud?"
Oh, yes, the Candy Man knew, and applauded Virginia's ambition. He would
have been pleased to enlarge on the subject, even to the extent of
neglecting business, but just as she began to be interesting Virginia
remembered an errand to the drug store, and ran away.
That Sunday morning meeting with Miss Bentley had been reviewed by the
Candy Man from every possible standpoint, and always, in conclusion,
with the same questions. Could he have done otherwise? What would she
think when she discovered her mistake? Who was his unknown double?
The opportunity offering, he made some guarded inquiries of the
Reporter.
"Bentley?" repeated that gentleman, as he sharpened a bright yellow
pencil. "Seem to have heard the name somewhere recently."
It was a matter of no particular importance to the Candy Man. He had
chanced to hear the name given to the conductor by the young lady who
was thrown down the night of the accident, and wondered----
The Reporter, who wasn't listening, here exclaimed: "I have it! It was
this A.M. Maimie McHugh was interviewing Mrs. Gerrard Pennington over
the office 'phone in regard to a luncheon she is giving this week in
honour of her niece. Said niece's name me-thinks was Bentley. You will
see it all in the social notes later. Covers for twelve, decorations in
pink, La France roses, place cards from somewhere." He paused to laugh.
"Maimie was doing it up brown, but she lacks tact. What does she do but
ask for Miss Bentley's picture for the Saturday edition! I tried to stop
her, but it was too late. You should have heard the 'phone buzz. 'My
niece's picture in the _Evening Record_!' 'I don't care, mean old
thing,' says Maimie, when she hung up. 'Nicer people than she is do it,
and are glad to. 'That's all right, my honey,' I told her, 'but there
are nice people and nice people, and it's up to you to know the variety
you are dealing with, unless you like to be snubbed.' Still," the
Reporter added reflectively, "Mrs. Gerrard Pennington and little McHugh
can't afford to quarrel. After the luncheon Mrs. G.P. will probably send
Maimie a pair of long white gloves, and when their pristine freshness
has departed, Maimie will wear them to the office a time or two."
The Candy Man wished to know who Mrs. Gerrard Pennington was, anyway.
"She, my ignorant friend, is a four-ply Colonial Dame, so to speak.
Distinguished grandfathers to burn, and the dough to support them,
unlike another friend of mine who possessed every qualification needed
to become a C.D. except on the clothes line."
"The joke," observed the Candy Man, "is old, but worth repeating. But did
I understand you to say _another_ friend? And am I to infer----?"
"You are far too keen for a Candy Man," said the Reporter, laughing.
"Mrs. G.P. is friendly with the wealthy branch of our family. She
regards my Cousin Augustus as a son. Now I think of it, your Miss
Bentley cannot be her niece. She could scarcely fall out of a street
car. A victoria or a limousine would be necessary in her case."
The Candy Man did not see his way clear to disclaim proprietorship in
Miss Bentley, so let it pass. Certainly, on other grounds his Miss
Bentley, to call her so, could not be Mrs. Gerrard Pennington's niece.
Not that she lacked the charm to grace any position however high, but
her simplicity and friendliness, the fact that she walked in the country
with a stoutish relative who was intimate with the family of the park
superintendent, the marketing he had witnessed, all went to prove his
point.
Yet on the occasion of a fashionable noon wedding at the stone church
near the Y.M.C.A. corner, all this impressive evidence was brought to
naught. In the crush of machines and carriages the Candy Wagon was all
but engulfed in high life. When the crowd surged out after the bridal
party, the congestion for a few minutes baffled the efforts of the corps
of police.
The Candy Man, looking on with much amusement at the well-dressed
throng, presently received a thrill at the sound of a clear young voice
exclaiming, "Here is the car, Aunt Eleanor--over here."
The haughtiest of limousines had taken up its station just beyond the
Candy Wagon, and toward this the owner of the voice was piloting a
majestic and breathless personage. If the Candy Man could have doubted
his ears, he could not doubt his eyes. Here was the grace, the sparkle,
the everything that made her his Miss Bentley, the Girl of All
Others--except the grey suit. Now she wore velvet, and wonderful white
plumes framed her face and touched her bright hair. No, there was no
mistaking her. Reviewing the evidence he found it baffling. That absurd
exclamation about lighthouses alone might be taken as indicating an
unfamiliarity with the humbler walks of life.
The Reporter was at this time in daily attendance upon a convention in
progress in a neighbouring hall, and he rarely failed to stop at the
carriage block and pass the time of day on his way to and fro.
"Ah ha!" he exclaimed, on one of these occasions, after perusing in
silence the first edition of the _Evening Record_; "I see my Cousin
Augustus, on his return from New York, is to give a dinner dance in
honour of Mrs. Gerrard Pennington's niece."
"I appreciate your innocent pride in Cousin Augustus, but may I inquire
if by chance he possesses another name?" The Candy Man spoke with
uncalled-for asperity.
"Sure," responded the Reporter, with a quizzical glance at his
questioner; "several of 'em. Augustus Vincent McAllister is what he
calls himself every day."
CHAPTER FOUR
_In which the Candy Man again sees the Grey Suit, and Virginia
continues the story of the Little Red Chimney._
It was Saturday afternoon, possibly the very next Saturday, or at most
the Saturday after that, and the Candy Wagon was making money. The day
of the week was unmistakable, for the working classes were getting home
early; fathers of families with something extra for Sunday in paper bags
under their arms. And the hat boxes! They passed the Candy Man's corner
by the hundreds. Every feminine person in the big apartment houses must
be intending to wear a new hat to-morrow.
There was something special going on at the Country Club--the Candy Man
had taken to reading the social column--and the people of leisure and
semi-leisure were to be well represented there, to judge by the machines
speeding up the avenue; among them quite probably Miss Bentley and Mr.
Augustus McAllister.
This not altogether pleasing reflection had scarcely taken shape in his
mind, when, in the act of handing change to a customer, he beheld Miss
Bentley coming toward him; without a doubt his Miss Bentley this time,
for she wore the grey suit and the felt hat, jammed down any way on her
bright hair and pinned with the pinkish quill. She was not alone. By
her side walked a rather shabby, elderly man, with a rosy face, whose
pockets bulged with newspapers, and who carried a large parcel. She was
looking at him and he was looking at her, and they were both laughing.
Comradeship of the most delightful kind was indicated.
Without a glance in the direction of the Candy Wagon they passed. Well,
at any rate she wasn't at the Country Club. But how queer!
Earlier in the afternoon Virginia had gone by in dancing-school array,
accompanied by an absurdly youthful mother. "I've got something to tell
you," she called, and the Candy Man could see her being reproved for
this unseemly familiarity.
His curiosity was but mildly stirred; indeed, having other things to
think of, he had quite forgotten the incident, when on Monday she
presented herself swinging her school bag.
"Say," she began, "I have found out about her Ladyship and the Little
Red Chimney."
"Oh, have you?" he answered vaguely.
Virginia, resting her bag on the carriage block, looked disappointed.
"I have been crazy to tell you, and now you don't care a bit."
"Indeed I do," the Candy Man protested. "I'm a trifle absent-minded,
that's all."
Thus reassured she began: "Don't you know I told you I could see
that chimney from our dining-room, and that I was going to watch it?
Well, the other day at lunch I happened to look toward the window, and
I jumped right out of my chair and clapped my hands and said, 'It's
smoking, it's smoking!' There was company, and mother said, 'Good
gracious, Virginia! what's smoking? You do make me so nervous!' Then
I was sorry I'd said anything, because she wouldn't understand, you
know. Well, after lunch I took one of Ted's balls, and went over to
Uncle Bob's, and I got a little darkey boy to throw it in the yard, and
then I went in to look for it. You see if Uncle Bob wasn't there and
anybody asked me what I was doing, I could say I was looking for my
brother's ball."
"I fear you are a deep one," remarked the Candy Man.
"No, I'm not, but I'm rather good at thinking of things," Virginia owned
complacently. "And then," she continued, "I poked around the rose bush,
and peeped in at the window, and sure enough she was there, brushing the
hearth. She saw me and came to the window, and when I ran away, 'cause
I thought maybe she was mad, she rapped, and then opened the window and
called: 'Come in, little girl, and talk to me.' And now who do you think
she turned out to be?"
A suspicion had been deepening in the Candy Man's breast for the last
few moments. His heart actually thumped. "Not--you don't mean----?"
Virginia nodded violently. "Yes, the lady who fell and got muddy. And
she's perfectly lovely, and I'm going there again. She asked me to."
Why, oh, why should such luck fall to the lot of a long-legged,
freckle-nosed little girl, and not to him, the Candy Man wondered.
He burned to ask innumerable questions, but compromised on one. Did
Virginia know whether or not she had come to stay?
"Why, I guess so. She didn't have her hat on, and she was cleaning
up--dusting, you know, and taking things out of a box."
"What sort of things?"
"Books and sofa pillows and pictures. I helped her, and by and by Uncle
Bob came in."
"And what did he say?" asked the Candy Man, just to keep her going.
"Why, he said, didn't he tell me so? And wasn't it great to have her
ladyship there?"
"And what did her ladyship say?"
"She said he was a dear, and I forget what else. Oh, but listen! I'll
bet you can't guess what her name is."
He couldn't. He had racked his brain for a name at once sweet enough and
possessing sufficient dignity. He had not found it for the good reason
that no such name has been invented.
"It's a long name," said Virginia, "as long as mine. I am named for
my grandmother, Mary Virginia, but they don't call me all of it." She
paused to watch two white-plumed masons on their way to the commandery
on the next block.
"Well?" said the Candy Man.
She laughed. "Oh, I forgot. Why, it is Margaret Elizabeth. The doctor
came in; she's a lady doctor, you know, and said, 'Margaret Elizabeth,
there'll be muffins for tea.' And she said, 'All right. Dr. Prue.' And
Dr. Prue said, 'And cherry preserves, if you and Uncle Bob want them,'
and Margaret Elizabeth said, 'Goody!' And I must go now," Virginia
finished. "There's Betty looking for me."
Virginia might go and welcome. He had enough to occupy his thought for
the present. Margaret Elizabeth! Such a name would never have suggested
itself to him, yet it suited her. Beneath her young gaiety and charm
there was something the name fitted. Margaret Elizabeth! He loved it
already.
Why had he not guessed that the Little Red Chimney belonged to her?
Had not the sight of it stirred his heart? And why should that have been
so, except for some subtle fairy godmother suggestion? The picture of
Margaret Elizabeth and Uncle Bob eating cherry preserves was a pleasant
one. It brought her nearer. The Candy Man was inclined to like Uncle
Bob, to think of him as a broad-minded person whose prejudices against
Candy Men, granting he had them, might in time be overcome.
From being a bit low in his mind, the Candy Man's mood became positively
jovial. When the sad grey man known to the children as the Miser, and
invested with mysterious and awful powers, stopped to buy some hoarhound
drops, he wished him a cheery good afternoon.
The Miser was evidently surprised, but responded courteously, and
recalling the accident of two weeks ago, asked if the Candy Man had
heard anything of the injured chauffeur.
It chanced that he had heard the Reporter say, only yesterday, that the
man was doing well and likely to recover.
"And the young lady? I think I saw her the other day going into a house
across the street from my own."
"The house with the Little Red Chimney?" asked the Candy Man
indiscreetly, forgetting himself for the moment.
A smile slowly dawned on the face of the sad man, but quickly faded, as
a flock of naughty pigeons tore by, screaming, "Lizer, Lizer, look out
for the Miser!" If he had been about to make a comment, he thought
better of it, and turned away.
Having identified the Little Red Chimney as the property of the Girl
of All Others, the Candy Man now made a new discovery. He had a room
in one of the old residences of the neighbourhood, so many of which in
these days were being given over to boarding and lodging. Its windows
overlooked a back yard, in which grew a great ash, and he had been
interested to observe how long after other trees were bare this one kept
its foliage. He found it one morning, however, giving up its leaves by
the wholesale, under the touch of a sharp frost; and, wonder of wonders!
through its bared branches that magical chimney came into view, with a
corner of grey roof.
Not far away rose the big smoke stack belonging to the apartment houses,
impressive in its loftiness, but to his fancy the Little Red Chimney
held its own with dignity, standing for something unattainable by great
smoke stacks, however important.
The Candy Man, it will be seen, did not attempt to reconcile conflicting
evidence. He took what suited him and ignored the rest. Was Miss Bentley
the niece of Mrs. Gerrard Pennington? She was also the niece of Uncle
Bob. Did she ride in haughty limousines? She also rode in street cars.
Was she wined and dined by the rich? She also ate muffins and cherry
preserves, and brushed up the hearth of the Little Red Chimney.
CHAPTER FIVE
_In which the double life led by the heroine is explained, and
Augustus McAllister proves an alibi._
"Yes," said Miss Bentley, "I liked him. He turned out to be altogether
different from my first impressions. That afternoon at the Country
Club he seemed rather stiff--nice, assured manners, of course, but
unresponsive. But then the way in which we bounced in upon each other
was enough to break any amount of ice." She laughed at the recollection,
clasping her hands behind her head.
Instead of the little grey hat jammed down anyhow, she wore this morning
the most bewitching and frivolous of boudoir caps upon her bright head,
and a shimmery, lacy empire something, that clung caressingly about her,
and fell back becomingly from her round white arms. Miles and miles away
from the Candy Wagon was Margaret Elizabeth, who had so recently
hobnobbed down the avenue with Uncle Bob.