And wears upon his baby brow the round and top of
sovereignty.—_Macbeth_, iv, 1.
Not only because her Cousin Putnam was an Adams, but also because he was
a soldier and an invalid, he was invested to Miss Esther’s mind with a
certain halo of romance. The mere incidental fact that his injury had
not been received on the field of battle, but in the more commonplace
pursuit of supervising the moving of certain heavy guns from the
ramparts of Fort Monroe on a peaceful June afternoon, made no difference
in her attitude toward it. She felt that a dearth of woman’s tears was
just as pathetic in an accident of this sort as in the case of an
Algiers hero, and she was resolved that there should be no lack of
woman’s nursing if she had her way about it. Since he had decided on the
career of a soldier and left home for West Point, Putnam Adams had seen
enough of woman’s tears, for they were not an unknown commodity in Cuba
and the Philippines, but he had had but little experience with the
woman’s nursing part of the problem. His work had been cut out for him
from the very day of his graduation, and when he was finally ordered
home and to service at the artillery school at Fort Monroe there had
been no thought but the accurate carrying out of the general and special
orders of his commanding officer, with, back of it, the firm resolve to
take his place at the very front rank of the profession which he loved
with that love which comes through generations of trained
soldiers—fighters.
And now in one of Miss Esther’s dimity-curtained bedrooms he was
receiving the gentle motherly care which he had never had since his
boyhood years. She did not fuss over him, or at least, if she did, it
was with that practical, sensible fussing which carried conviction and
brought a sense of absolute peace and rest.
The Westcotts were more easily disposed of. Miss Esther sent them off to
bed as unceremoniously as she would have done ten years earlier had they
visited her then. Their rooms boasted as many dimity-curtains and the
wall-paper as many pink roses as were to be found in Putnam Adams’s room
across the hall. But these details were entirely lost upon these two
healthy young cubs whose physical prowess far outstripped their artistic
instinct. They fell asleep without appreciating that the drapery of
their couches was the traditional lavender-scented Adams linen.
Having said good-night to her cousins, Miss Esther returned to her
library. The immediate success of her plans had surpassed all her
expectations. Within four days she had gathered under her own roof four
eligible candidates for the hands of the unconscious clients of her
Matrimonial Bureau. To be sure, she had only three clients, but it was
well to have an extra man in case another client presented herself.
“It seems to me, Portia,” she said, “that I have managed this thing
quite as well as even you could have done it. I have laid my plans
carefully, and I feel sure that they will work out successfully. Putnam
Adams is a dear, and, as I thought, he is just the one for Jean.
Winthrop Brewster I am not so sure of. He must be the one for Lillian,
for he came almost the very moment after I received the refusal from
Hiram Briggs. And Mr. Brewster is apparently very intellectual, though
he doesn’t seem to have any special leaning toward art. The Westcott
boys are all right. Either of them is good enough for Helen, and she can
take her choice. I don’t suppose they have very large castles as yet;
but the Westcott fortune is great and there is plenty of time. Yes,
things are certainly working out well. The Matrimonial Bureau has
already proved its right to existence, and I shall be glad to see my
girls married and settled.”
With the feeling of satisfaction that comes from an achieved purpose,
Miss Esther turned out the library lights and went slowly up the stairs.
As she passed Jack’s shipyard, she smiled happily. “And after the
weddings are all over,” she said, “Jack and I will go on with the
building of the ship.”
* * * * *
On the east side of the Adams house was a square porch which had been
built by Miss Esther’s father in order that he might have an out-of-door
reading-room when the days of summer made it too warm to remain
comfortably in the library. This was now inclosed in vines,—wistaria,
honeysuckle, and crimson ramblers,—which gave the place a frisky
appearance quite in contrast to the stately effect of the stone-floored,
white-columned front porch.
After breakfast next morning Miss Esther formally transferred this
desirable bit of property to the boys, and especially to Putnam. For his
especial benefit she had arranged a big wicker lounging-chair with a
convenient table by its side. Then there were rugs and hammocks,
ash-trays, and other things supposed to be necessary to the comfort of
the average man. Lieutenant Adams, who found himself after his tiresome
journey provokingly helpless, dropped gratefully into his pillow-filled
chair, but the Westcott boys promptly upset the orderly scheme of things
which Miss Esther had so happily arranged during the early morning
hours. Kenneth picked up a large palm in a pot which he summarily
deposited on the lawn outside. Mark pitched the pillows out of the
hammocks. “There’s no place for my feet,” he said.
Much as Miss Esther had enjoyed arranging these things for the comfort
of her guests, she enjoyed still more their high-handed demolishing of
that arrangement. “Now have you everything you want?” she asked, beaming
on the twelve-feet-six of Westcott humanity that was festooned end to
end across the porch.
“All but one thing,” said Kenneth, “and that’s some fishing-tackle. I
want to go fishing.”
“But there’s no place to fish.”
“That doesn’t make any difference. I don’t want to fish; I just want to
go fishing, and so I want some tackle and bait and a creel and a pair of
hip-boots.”
“There is a little bit of a brook that runs through the east meadow,”
said Miss Esther, thinking hard in her endeavor to provide what was
wanted. “But there are no fish in it that I know of.”
“That will do nicely, thank you. Of course, I would have preferred
something with tarpon in it; but a brook is a brook, after all. Where
are the things?”
“Father used to have all those things. They’re in the big attic now.
I’ll go and get them.”
“Not on your life you won’t!” And Kenneth bounced out of the hammock,
picked Miss Esther up bodily and carefully deposited her in his place,
tucking some pillows about her feet. “I’ll get them myself. You stay
right there. Watch her, fellows!”
The screen door slammed behind him and Kenneth went in search of his
fishing-tackle. He returned triumphantly with the hip-boots and much
other paraphernalia which he scattered over the floor, chairs, and also
over his hostess, whom he decorated with red and yellow trout flies.
Even after the good lady had escaped and unwillingly obeyed Nora’s
summons to the kitchen, Kenneth was still fussing with his flies.
“By Jove!” exclaimed Putnam, looking down across the lawn, “what a
picture!” Kenneth paused, and, looking through a vine-framed opening,
saw an exceeding fat baby propelling herself on all-fours through a
too-small aperture in the boxwood hedge. Halfway through she had paused
perforce and beamed contentedly. Then redoubling her efforts she
wriggled through the rest of the way, stood upright and carefully
brushed the dirt from her tiny skirts, and started toward the house. She
walked deliberately, as one with a set purpose. At a rose-bush a few
feet from the hedge she stopped, kissed one of the roses, patted another
lovingly, clasped her fat little hands and stood for a moment in rapt
adoration of the flowers. Then she turned and trotted on toward the
house.
A small toad hopped in front of her. The baby gave a little squeal, and
putting her hands over her eyes, she walked carefully and deliberately
around the toad, leaving plenty of room between them. Contentedly then
she came slowly on.
“Hullo, Yellowtop!” called out Mark, who with the others had watched the
eventful journey across the lawn.
At this the baby looked up, saw the three strange men, and with a sudden
absolute collapse she dropped to the ground where she stood, sitting
squarely down, her chubby fingers outstretched on either side of her,
and her feet sticking up in front. For a moment she stared blankly at
the awful sight before her, and then, opening her mouth wide, there came
forth a wail of terror and indignant surprise such as never was on land
or sea.
“Bless your baby heart!” said Kenneth, “what in the world’s the matter?”
The response to this was another yell, more prolonged and terrified than
the first. This brought Miss Esther.
“What are you doing to Chub?” she exclaimed.
“Nothing,” said Kenneth, honestly; “she’s hollering at me.”
“I’ll get her,” said Mark, helpfully, and bounding down the steps he
picked up the tumultuous morsel of humanity. Pausing in the vocal
demonstration of her temper, she resorted to effective pugilism and
pounded Mark with her dimpled fists, her blue eyes flashing with the
indignation of outraged dignity.
“Don’t hit him so hard, Baby,” laughed Putnam; “you’ll kill him!”
“Will I?” asked Chub, pausing in her warlike enterprise, and looking
straight into Mark’s eyes.
“Of course you will,” said Mark, reproachfully. “I’m almost dead now.”
“I wath goin’ to thtop anyway,” said Chub with a final thump on his
chest. Then she threw her arms around him as far as they would go and
beamed adoringly at him.
From that moment Mark bent his neck to Chub’s yoke. Her monarchy was
absolute. Anything less than instantaneous obedience occasioned
blood-curdling yells that always reduced Mark to sudden subjection, not
only in self-defense but for the sake of suffering humanity. By the time
Mark had reached the porch Chub had reached a state of intermittent
calm, and submitted with a fine air of condescension to the
introductions thrust upon her.
She greeted Lieutenant Adams and Kenneth Westcott pleasantly at Miss
Esther’s bidding, but allowed it plainly to be seen that she very much
preferred Mark’s society.
Miss Esther, seeing that Chub was peacefully settled, turned to enter
the house.
“Don’t go,” called Lieutenant Adams after her.
“I must,” said Miss Esther; “I have a lot of things to attend to.”
“They can wait; I want you. I wish you’d get one of the new magazines
and read me a story.”
Miss Esther went into the house and soon returned with several
magazines. “Here are the books,” she said, “but I can’t read to you. I
have a hundred things to do this morning.”
Putnam looked at her calmly. “You are not going to do any of them,” he
said; “you are going to stay right straight here with me—and read to
me. Sit down in that chair.”
Miss Esther sat down, and Putnam regarded her with a look of entire
satisfaction. “Any story will do,” he said.
She turned the pages, hunting for the most interesting story.
Her mind was slightly distracted by the novel sensation of submitting to
irresistible authority. The feeling was distinctly pleasant.
“Romeo couldn’t have done that,” she thought. “A lover is more
condoling, but my chief humor is for a tyrant. Well, I’ve certainly
found one in this dominating cousin of mine.”