THE APARTMENT OVERFLOWS
The telephone bell in the Lanes' apartment rang sharply. It had rung
once before, but Sally, half-asleep on the couch in the middle of a warm
April morning, had not roused enough to notice. She moved reluctantly
toward it. Max's voice speaking urgently brought her back to her senses
with a jump.
"Sally, where on earth are you? I've just had a wire from the Chases that
they're coming through, and will stop off to see us. We'll have to put
them up somehow. Of course they don't know how we're fixed, but they'll
find out."
"Oh, Max!" Sally's tones were dismayed. "Why, we _can't_!"
"We'll have to. What would you have me do--wire them not to stop?
Besides, I couldn't get them. They've left the place they wired
from--reach here to-night at nine. You'll have to have some kind of
supper for them."
"But, Max--where--"
"Oh, figure it out somehow--you can, you know. I haven't a minute more
to talk--inspector's here--everybody busy--" and the click of the
receiver in Sally's ear ended the interview.
The Chases! They were young married people, who had been neighbours and
schoolmates of the Lanes. Dorothy Eustis, as an older girl, had been much
admired by Sally and Josephine until she married Neil Chase; that event
had made a great difference in their warmth of feeling. Sally did not
like Neil, never had liked him, and never would like him. A certain
pomposity of manner, which had been a characteristic of his, ever since
the days when he wore dresses and lorded it over the other infants in the
park, had made him unpopular. He had, however, become a successful young
attorney in his father's law firm, and had within the last year gone to a
larger city several hundred miles away to start practice for himself.
The thought of entertaining Neil and Dorothy Chase in the little
apartment was almost too much for Sally Lane. The Chases had gone away
just before the Lanes had sold the old house, and knew nothing of the new
quarters--evidently realized nothing of their small dimensions. It had
been characteristic of them to telegraph that they were coming, without
waiting for a reply. That was precisely like Neil.
Something must be done, and at once. It was now eleven o'clock. There was
none too much time in which to make ready. Sally began reluctantly to
plan. The Chases must have her room, of course; it was the best in the
flat, measuring eight feet by ten. Bob would have to go in with Uncle
Timothy and let Sally have his usual quarters, the couch in the
living-room. Sally's room must be hastily put in guest-room order--no
easy task, in a space where every inch counts because it must be made the
most of. She was thankful, for once, that she need expect none of her
family home to luncheon.
At noon, however, quite unexpectedly Bob ran in upon her, an errand from
the office where he worked having brought him within a stone's throw of
home. He liked to surprise Sally with two-minute visits, when he could do
so by making time over the rest of his course.
"Hello, what's up?" was his greeting, as he surveyed his sister standing
in the centre of an extraordinary confusion of furnishings which seemed
to him to extend over the entire flat.
Sally flung down her dust-cloth and sank into a chair, showing a flushed
face and disturbed eyes.
"Max telephoned that the Chases are coming to-night--Neil and Dorothy,
on their way somewhere. Isn't it horrible? What do you suppose they'll
think of things here?"
"Well, well--old Neil's coming to show us his chest expansion, is he? And
my Lady Dolly! Hum--well--I guess it will do'em good to see how some
people live. Mrs. Chase will bring four trunks and a lot of hand stuff,
will she? If she does, we'll move out and leave them the place."
"Mercy! They're only going to stay overnight--at least, I _think_ that's
all. The only thing that keeps me up is the thought that at this time
to-morrow they'll be gone! A hospitable hostess I am, Bob. But--Oh,
Bobby, my head aches so this morning I just can't rise to the occasion!"
"Your head aches? What's the reason for that?" Bob asked, in some dismay.
"You're not a headache sort of girl."
"No, and that's why it seems to take the pluck out of me so. It ached
yesterday, too. And I feel just heavy and stupid."
As she spoke, she turned and laid her head down on her arms on the back
of her chair. Bob darted across from the doorway and laid an awkwardly
sympathetic young hand on the flaxen masses of his sister's hair.
"It's a shame!" he said, warmly. "I wish I could stay and help you. But
I tell you what I'll do. I'll be up the minute I get out of the office.
Leave the heavy things for me to do. And don't try to house-clean the
whole flat just because of Mrs. Dorothy Chase. She isn't worth it."
He was as good as his word. Five o'clock in the afternoon saw him at home
again, helping Sally in every way he could think of. Bob was good help,
and she had seldom needed him more than to-day. She went about with
flushed cheeks, moving languidly, yet keeping steadily at work with the
determination of the young hostess who sees nothing else to do.
She had spent the afternoon in the kitchen; she spent the evening in all
those little final tasks which seem so small and yet in the aggregate do
weigh heavily, upon the eve of entertaining.
Work at the bank kept Max until he had barely time to go to the station
for his guests. Alec, coming home to dinner, and finding himself put off
with what he hungrily characterized as a mere "bite," on account of the
necessities of the occasion, went off again somewhere, declaring that he
did not see the occasion for starving the family just on account of
entertaining two already overfed visitors. Uncle Timothy, as was to be
expected, as soon as he heard of the emergency, joined Bob in coming to
Sally's aid, and at half past seven in the evening might have been
discovered by the curious, sitting in the small kitchen, a blue-checked
apron tied about his neck, busily polishing silver.
"It seemed to me pretty bright before, Sally," was his only comment as he
worked. "But I suppose no man could really comprehend the difference
between the degree of brightness suitable for one's family and that
demanded by company."
"If you had seen Dorothy Chase's wedding silver--" responded Sally, and
stopped there, as if words could no further go.
"Yes, yes, I suppose so." Uncle Timothy was rubbing away at a set of thin
old teaspoons which had belonged to Sally's grandmother. "Still, my dear,
it seems as if things taste better out of these old spoons than out of
those handsome new ones the boys gave you Christmas."
"Oh, I love the old things." Sally held a china sugar bowl with a gold
band round it up to the light as she wiped it. She had taken all the best
old china out of its hiding place under the couch, and was giving it a
hot-water bath, drying each article herself, not daring to trust the
frail pieces to Bob's hands. "But Dorothy hates old stuff, and wants
everything modern."
"I remember," said Uncle Timothy, mildly. "I was always too antique for
her to notice. I sha'n't be surprised if she stumbles over me to-night,
not noticing that I'm here."
"If she does," called Bob, from the depths of a closet which he was
sweeping out under Sally's direction, "she'll settle with me! She'll find
I've grown a few inches since she used to call me Sally's 'everlasting
little brother.'"
It was all done at last. Sally went to dress, wearily exhorting herself
to remember that her room was not her room to-night, and that she must
not forget and leave so much as a stray hair-pin on the freshly washed
and ironed linen of the little toilet-table.
She stowed away, under the couch on which she was to sleep, the clean
cambric house-dress she meant to put on the next morning, feeling that it
would not be at all surprising if she were unable to rise from that couch
to get breakfast, and wondering what Dorothy Chase could do about
breakfast if thrown upon her own resources. It was so unusual for Sally's
vigorous young frame to experience such exhaustion after even more severe
effort than that of the past day that she could only wonder what it
meant, and finally decided, after some speculation, that it was the
effect of these first warm days of spring, combined with the stress of
entertaining under difficulties.
"Well, here we are!" Max's voice could be heard in the hall outside,
ushering in his guests. "Go single file down this passage--you can't get
through side by side!"
Sally went hurriedly forward and met Dorothy Chase's smartly tailored
figure in the middle of the tiny passage.
"Goodness gracious!" Bob and Alec and Mr. Timothy Rudd heard a familiar
high-pitched voice exclaim. "You don't mean to tell us you live in this
mouse-hole! Actually, my hat hits on both sides!"
Then came Neil Chase's barytone drawl--how well Bob remembered hating the
sound of it with a profound hatred when it had been addressed
contemptuously to him! "Really, Dorothy--you know--I told you that brim
of yours was an inch and a half beyond the limit, and this proves it!"
But Sally's pretty head was held high. If she had a headache, its effect
was visible only in her brilliant cheeks.
"You always ran to extremes, Dorothy, dear. Why didn't you take that
absurd creation off in the vestibule? Neil, how are you? Have you your
best Chesterfieldian manner with you? Because you'd better leave it
outside; the apartment's not large enough for you and it, too!"
"The same impertinent child," declared Mrs. Chase, surveying her hostess
in the light of the living-room. "And here's smart Alec," as that youth
came forward, his smile of welcome undergoing a wry twist at this
somewhat unusual greeting. "And Bob--heavens, child, how you've grown!
And this is--oh, yes--Mr. Rudd!"
Her careless hand, in its travelling glove, met Uncle Timothy's grasp,
and left it as casually as her bright hazel eyes left the glance of his
faded blue ones. Bob, watching, grinned at Uncle Timothy meaningly, and
received in return the mild sparkle of amusement with which the "antique"
was accustomed to show himself invulnerable to neglect from young persons
of Dorothy Chase's stamp.
Neil's greetings of the family were also highly characteristic. One who
had never before seen him might have argued many things from the style of
his opening address:
"This is Alec, eh? Well, Alec, I see you're still the flower of the
family. Bob--how do you like sweeping out offices? Better than going to
school? And here's Uncle Thomas--beg pardon--Uncle Joshua. Not got it
right yet, Sally? Confound my memory--yes, yes--Uncle Timothy. How are
you, my dear sir?"
"I see," responded Mr. Rudd, suddenly grown quietly dignified, as he
surveyed this jocular young man whom he remembered as a youth whom he had
frequently longed to thrash, "that in spite of the pressure of years and
responsibility you happily retain your boyish characteristics."
Young Mr. Chase regarded Uncle Timothy for an instant without speaking.
Then he turned to Sally with a quite audible comment: "The old gentleman
hasn't changed much, has he? Keep him with you all the time?"
"We couldn't live without him," was Sally's quick reply. Uncle Timothy,
catching the answer, smiled to himself. It would take more than the
advent of these gay comets in his sky to disturb his content in the stars
which revolved loyally about him.
The two hours which followed were occupied in instructing the guests how
to bestow themselves in the unaccustomed limitations of the Lane
apartment without doing themselves physical injury. The Chases evidently
felt that the surest way to show their appreciation of the hospitality
offered them was to be uninterruptedly mirthful at its character.
"For goodness' sake, Sally," cried Mrs. Chase, with a little shriek,
"you're not going to put us both in here! Neil, don't you dare to come in
until I get out--there isn't room. Where shall I hang my coat? Oh, is
there a closet behind that curtain? Six hooks! Neil, you can't have but
one of them--I want the rest. Sally, how did you ever come to it, after
that great roomy old house of yours? I should suffocate in a week! It's
lucky we're going on to-morrow. I couldn't change my gowns in here."
"I thought you were an experienced traveller," retorted Sally, lightly
enough. She had known quite what to expect from Dorothy; it did not
disturb her seriously. "Good travellers can tuck themselves away
anywhere. Besides, this room is palatial in comparison with Uncle
Timothy's. There's not room for a dressing-table in his. You should be
thankful that you have one, and a mirror. The mirror's the one real
essential for Dorothy Eustis Chase. I made sure you had that."
"It's just like you not to own up that you're cramped." Dorothy was
taking full advantage of the mirror pointed out. Her elaborately waved
chestnut locks received her full attention for a space, and Sally slipped
away to the kitchen.
They sat down presently to something which was not a dinner, and proved
decidedly more than a lunch. The guests ate ravenously, but did not
forget to take note of their surroundings. Neil's back was too close to
the wall for Sally to squeeze by him when she rose to change the plates,
and this amused him very much. "Two more guests, and the room would
burst, wouldn't it?" he suggested, as he handed a plate at her request.
"I didn't know they ever made a flat as small as this"
"They make them much smaller," declared Max, with a sparkle of the eye.
"I assure you we have never felt crowded--until to-night."
"Oh, don't mind us!" Dorothy cried. "You see, we've just come from
visiting the Grandons, and their house is so enormous it makes everything
seem small. It was a day's journey across our room, and Neil's
dressing-room was as big as this whole flat. It's a lovely place to
visit, they do everything for you. They have so many servants, and such
well trained ones, you absolutely forget how to wait on yourself."
"How long were you there?" Alec inquired.
"Why, from Wednesday to--when did we leave there, Neil? Oh, yes, it must
have been yesterday morning."
"Three days? No wonder you became too used to such luxury to be able to
come down to waiting on yourselves." And Alec applied himself to his
plate with a sense of having evened things up with Mrs. Chase in return
for her "smart Alec."
It was Sally who kept matters running smoothly, her head throbbing all
the while. When the Chases had been finally tucked away--still
ironic--in their quarters, and the rest of the family had bestowed
themselves in the space belonging to them, she sat down by the open
window, too weary to undress. Here Bob, emerging from Uncle Timothy's
room in search of belongings necessary to his comfort, found her.
"Why don't you go to bed?" he asked.
"I'm going. But I'd like to sit here all night."
"You'll catch cold by that window. Head still ache?"
"I suppose so. I'm too tired to feel anything any more."
"Cheer up. I'll be around bright and early and do everything I know."
"Of course you will, Bobby," and she held out her hand. He grasped it.
"Your hand's hot," he observed. "Aren't sick, are you?"
"Of course not. I'm never sick. Go to bed, dear. I'll be all right in
the morning."
Optimistically, Bob thought she would. The next morning, however, the
Sally who confronted him looked so far from herself, as she went slowly
about the little kitchen, that he was worried, and said so.
"Never mind. Don't say anything. After breakfast I can rest."
"Can you brace up to get through breakfast?" demanded Bob, anxiously.
Sally assured him that she could, and proved it. Somehow, after the
manner of women, she came to the table with a smile so bright that nobody
noticed that she ate almost nothing, that her hand shook as she poured
the coffee, and that her long-lashed blue eyes were very heavy.
Immediately after breakfast the Chases were off--in a cab engaged by Max,
in deference to Sally's wishes. Neil and Dorothy took a jocose farewell,
the one declaring that their presence had stretched the apartment till it
could be seen to gape at the seams, the other vowing that Sally must come
to see her soon, in order to be able to take a full breath again. Then
the cab bore them away.
"Well, of all the--" Alec left the sentence unfinished.
Max completed it for him. "Nerve! If that's a sample of legal brilliancy
of wit, I'm sorry for the defendant who employs him," he grunted.
The Chases had arrived on Saturday night, and were continuing their
journey without reference to the fact that it was Sunday. Sally turned
back into the passage, remembering that on Sundays her family were to be
provided for in the matter of luncheon, and that they were in the habit
of looking forward to the extra good things she was accustomed to serve
them upon that day. She sank into a chair and stared at the
breakfast-table standing just as they had all left it.
"Don't you stir, Sis!" cried Bob, returning with the others. "Al and I'll
do the dishes." Then, as he saw an expression of disfavour cross his
brother's face at this unwelcome proposal, he added quickly, "She's sick,
Sally is, with all this, and it's time somebody noticed it."
They all looked at her. She tried to smile up at them, but the
unwilling tears came instead. "I'll be all right, if I can just lie
down a while," she said.
Then they rallied, in alarm. Not one of them but loved Sally as the
dearest thing in the world, however careless of her comfort one or
another of them might now and then seem to be.
Max put a brotherly arm round her. "Tired out, little girl?" he asked,
gently, and led her toward the couch in the living-room.
"All for those ungrateful duffers!" As he followed to put a pillow under
his sister's head Alec looked as if he would like to knock at least one
of the "duffers" down.
"She's had all she could do to keep up, for twenty-four hours!" cried
Bob, pulling a small knit rug over Sally's feet.
She managed to smile at them, choking back quite unwonted tears--Sally
was no baby, to cry at a touch of fatigue. She had known they would be
very good to her, once they understood.
It was Uncle Timothy who at once became practical. He drew up a chair
beside the couch and took Sally's wrist in his, counting carefully. Then
he laid his hand on her forehead, against her flushed cheeks. He bade her
put out her tongue, and surveying that tell-tale member through his
spectacles, came to his conclusions. These he did not inflict upon Sally,
who had closed her eyes, and lay like a tired child. Instead, he beckoned
Max into another room, and said, "She's sick, sure enough. Pulse jumping,
skin hot and dry--and too tired to move. Suppose you telephone Doctor
Wood to look in this morning."
Max lost no time. He went down stairs to telephone, that Sally-might not
hear, and in his suddenly roused anxiety made his message so urgent that
the doctor arrived within the hour. He was the family physician long
employed by the Lanes, and he had known Sally from her babyhood. It took
him but the space of a brief, yet thorough, examination to form his
opinion. He communicated it, under his breath, to Sally's "four men," who
had tiptoed anxiously out into the hall where he had beckoned them.
"It looks mighty like typhoid," he said--and they winced at the word.
"It's too soon to be certain, but there's more or less of it about. You
can't take care of her here, and she'll be far better off at the
hospital. I'll send a carriage and a nurse by twelve o'clock."
So do hours change outlooks. The last thing any one of the Lanes had
expected to be doing at noon on that peaceful spring Sunday was to be
standing in the vestibule of the Winona flats, watching the little sister
being conveyed away, in the care of a nurse. But so it was.
"Don't look so blue, dears," Sally had murmured, as she left them. "I'll
soon be back, you know."
"Heaven grant it!" ejaculated Uncle Timothy, in his heart. As for the
others, they filed silently up stairs again, and into the empty room. It
was full of all the things that had seemed to make it home--with Sally
there. But somehow it looked empty now.
Nobody said much of anything unless it became necessary, but before
bedtime four pregnant sentences had been uttered.
"That nurse looked as if she knew something," said Max, suddenly.
"There's not a man in the city equal to Wood," declared Alec.
"Seems as if she couldn't smile quite like that if she was going to be
awfully sick," was Bob's contribution to the sum total of hopefulness.
But it was Uncle Timothy, as usual, who hit the nail on the head. "Boys,"
said he, "we can do our part--on our knees."
And, to a man, they nodded. Suddenly, they could not speak.