Produced by Sigal Alon, La Monte H.P. Yarroll and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: THE THRONG OF MOVING WORKMEN]
THE STORY OF GLASS
By
SARA WARE BASSETT
Author of
"The Story of Lumber"
"The Story of Wool"
"The Story of Leather"
"The Story of Sugar"
etc.
ILLUSTRATED BY
C. P. GRAY
THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
PHILADELPHIA
1917
COPYRIGHT 1916 BY
THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
_To G. C._
_a patient listener and a helpful critic I inscribe this book as a
reminder of many happy hours which we spent together in the Old
World_
_S. W. B._
Contents
I. A FRIENDLY FEUD 9
II. JEAN HAS A SURPRISE AND GIVES ONE 27
III. GIUSIPPE TELLS A STORY 50
IV. UNCLE BOB ENLARGES HIS PARTY 66
V. GIUSIPPE ENCOUNTERS AN OLD FRIEND 83
VI. UNCLE BOB AS STORY TELLER 99
VII. AMERICA ONCE MORE 121
VIII. JEAN THREATENS TO STEAL GIUSIPPE'S TRADE 140
IX. A REUNION 163
X. TWO UNCLES AND A NEW HOME 182
XI. JEAN'S TELEGRAM AND WHAT IT SAID 208
XII. JEAN AND GIUSIPPE EACH FIND A NICHE IN LIFE 220
Illustrations
Page
THE THRONG OF MOVING WORKMEN _Frontispiece_
"EVERY ONE KNOWS ME AT THE GLASS WORKS" 47
"I KNEW HER IN VENICE" 95
"IT IS SHAPED TO THE FORM REQUIRED" 160
"THE MELT IS POURED OUT ON AN IRON TABLE" 202
"I WANT THESE ORDERS FILLED" 223
THE STORY OF GLASS
CHAPTER I
A FRIENDLY FEUD
Jean Cabot "lived around." She did not live around because nobody
wanted her, however; on the contrary, she lived around because so many
people wanted her. Both her father and mother had died when Jean was a
baby and so until she was twelve years old she had been brought up by a
cousin of her mother's. Then the cousin had married a missionary and
had gone to teach the children in China, and China, as you will agree,
was no place for an American girl to go to school. Therefore Jean was
sent to Boston and put in charge of her uncle, Mr. Robert Cabot. Uncle
Bob was delighted with the arrangement, for they were great friends,
Jean and this boy-uncle of hers.
But no sooner did she arrive in Boston and settle down to live on
Beacon Hill than up rose Uncle Tom Curtis, Jean's other uncle, who
lived in Pittsburgh. He made a dreadful fuss because Jean had gone to
Uncle Bob's to live. _He_ wanted her out in Pittsburgh, and he wrote
that Fräulein Decker, who was his housekeeper, and had been governess
to Jean's own mother, wanted her too.
That started Hannah, Uncle Bob's housekeeper.
"The very idea," she said, "of that German woman thinking they want
Jean in Pittsburgh as much as we want her here in Boston. Didn't I
bring up Jean's father, I'd like to know; and her Uncle Bob as well? I
guess I can be trusted to bring up another Cabot. It's ridiculous--that's
what it is--perfectly _ree_-diculous!" That was Hannah's favorite
expression--"Ree-diculous!" "I'd like my job," went on Hannah, "sending
that precious child to Pittsburgh where her white dresses would get all
grimed up with coal soot."
But Hannah's scorn of Pittsburgh did not settle the matter.
Instead Mr. Carleton, Uncle Tom Curtis's lawyer, came to Boston as fast
as he could get there and one afternoon presented himself at Uncle
Bob's house on Beacon Hill. Uncle Bob was in the library when he
arrived and the two men sat down before the fire, for it was a chilly
day in early spring. After they had said a few pleasant things about
the weather, and Uncle Bob had inquired for Uncle Tom, they really got
started on what they wanted to say and my--how they did talk! It was
all good-natured talk, for Uncle Bob liked Uncle Tom Curtis very much;
nevertheless Uncle Bob and Uncle Tom's lawyer did talk pretty hard and
pretty fast, for they had lots of things to say.
At last Uncle Bob Cabot rose from his leather chair and going to the
fireplace gave the blazing logs a vicious little poke.
He was becoming nettled. Anybody could see that.
"The Curtises have not a whit more title to the child than I have," he
burst out. "You are a lawyer, Carleton, and you know that. I am just as
much Jean's uncle as Tom Curtis is; in fact I think I am more her uncle
because I am her father's own brother. I'm a Cabot, and so is Jean. I
should think that ought to be enough. Who would she live with, if not
with the Cabots?"
Mr. Carleton cleared his throat.
"You certainly have a strong claim to the little girl," he agreed. "But
you see my other client puts up an equally convincing story. In fact,
he uses almost your identical words. He says he is Jean's mother's own
brother, and argues no one can have a closer right than that."
"But what does he know about bringing up a little girl? Isn't he an old
bachelor?"
"You are not married yourself, Mr. Cabot."
"Well, no. So I'm not. However, that's neither here nor there. Tom
Curtis is fifty if he's a day. He is too old to bring up a child,
Carleton."
"He complains that you are only thirty, and too young."
Mr. Robert Cabot, who was walking excitedly about the room, turned
quickly.
"But I have Hannah. You do not know Hannah or you would feel
differently. It is hard to tell you what Hannah is. You just have to
know her. She is the mainspring of my household. Not only does she
cook, clean, mend, and market for me; she does a score of things
besides. Why, I couldn't live without her. She is one of those motherly
souls whose wisdom is of the sages. She has been in our family since I
was a baby. Most of my bringing up, in fact, was due to her and," he
added whimsically, "behold the work of her hands!"
Mr. Carleton smiled.
"I cannot deny the product is good, Mr. Cabot. But again, all these
arguments you put forth Mr. Tom Curtis also reëchoes in behalf of his
German Fräulein. She too has been for years in the Curtis family and
brought up their children, and Mr. Curtis feels that since she trained
Jean's mother she is eminently the person to train Jean."
"Humph!"
"The claims seem about equal."
"No, they're not. That's where you are wrong. Allowing everything else
to be equal even you must grant that there is one serious objection of
which you have not spoken. Mr. Tom Curtis lives in _Pittsburgh_! That
is enough to overthrow the whole thing. Pittsburgh! Think of bringing
up a child in Pittsburgh when she could be brought up in Boston.
Boston, my good man, is intellectually--well, of course I do not wish
to appear prejudiced, but you will, I am sure, admit that Boston----"
Mr. Bob Cabot dropped helplessly into his chair, leaving the sentence
unfinished. There seemed to be no words in the English language
adequate to express what, in Mr. Bob Cabot's estimation, Boston
actually was.
Mr. Carleton started to laugh, but after glancing furtively at Mr. Bob
Cabot he changed his mind and coughed instead.
"We all grant Boston is without an intellectual peer," he answered with
a grave inclination of his head. "Even I, who was born in Indiana,
grant that, although out in my state we think we run you a close
second. Boston moreover has a background of which we in the West cannot
boast--history, you know, and all that sort of thing. It would be a
great privilege for little Miss Jean Cabot to receive a home and an
education in Boston. There are, however, many fine things in
Pittsburgh; it is not all soot, or panting factories."
"I suppose not. Jean's mother was a Pittsburgh girl, and certainly she
was a wonderful type of woman. Yet you cannot tell what result a Boston
environment might have had on such a nature as hers. She might have
been even nearer perfection. Yet after all she was quite fine enough
for human clay, Carleton, quite fine enough. And the little girl
promises to be like her--an uncommonly sweet, gentle child, and pretty,
too--very pretty. To send her to Pittsburgh--hang it all! Why must Tom
Curtis live in Pittsburgh?"
"Mr. Curtis, as you seem to have forgotten, Mr. Cabot, is the owner of
one of the largest plate glass factories in the country. He has built
up a fortune by his business and he is no more ready to hurl his life's
work to the winds and come to Boston to live than you are to toss aside
your own business and move to Pittsburgh. And by the way, speaking of
business, Mr. Cabot, if it does not seem an impertinent question, what
is _your_ business?"
"My business? Well, for a good many years my chief business seemed to
be getting over a bad knee I got when playing tackle on the Harvard
football eleven. We wiped up the ground with Yale, though, so it was
worth it. Of late I spend more or less time in seeing that Hannah does
not feed me too well and starve herself. Part of my business, too, is
to argue with disagreeable old lawyers like yourself, Carleton." Mr.
Bob Cabot chuckled. "When I am not doing some of these things and have
the surplus time I am incidentally an interior decorator. Oh, I do not
go out papering and painting; oh dear, no! I just tell other people how
to spend a fortune furnishing their houses. I advise brocade hangings,
Italian marbles and every sort of rare and beautiful thing, and since I
do not have these luxuries to pay for I find my vocation a tremendously
interesting one."
"You have set a worthy example in your own house," observed Mr.
Carleton, glancing about with admiration.
"Oh, I've done a little--not much. I like the old landscape paper in
this library; some of my antique furniture, too, is rather nice. I
picked up many of the best pieces in the South. The house itself came
to me from my father, and I have altered it very little, as I was
anxious to keep its old colonial atmosphere. Hannah and I live here
most peacefully with a waitress and inside man to help us. With Jean
added to the household we shall have just the touch of young life that
we need. I am very fond of children, and----"
"You seem very certain that Jean is to settle with you, Mr. Cabot. Now
let me own up to something; although Mr. Tom Curtis sent me to have
this talk with you and pave the way, it chances--no, chance is not the
right word--on the contrary it is an intentional fact that Mr. Tom
Curtis is at this very moment here in Boston."
Mr. Bob Cabot started.
"Tom Curtis here!"
"Yes. He is putting up at the University Club, and he wanted me to ask
you if you would be so good as to dine there with him to-night."
"So he has come over to enter the fray himself, has he? Well, well! Why
didn't he come right here? Of course I'll join him. I always liked Tom
Curtis. The only things I have against him are that he _will_ live
in Pittsburgh--and that he wants Jean."
Mr. Carleton rose with satisfaction. At least part of his mission had
been successfully accomplished. He could afford to overlook the slur on
Pittsburgh which, as it happened, was his home as well as that of Mr.
Tom Curtis.
"Then I'll call up Mr. Curtis," he said, "and tell him he may expect
you. Will seven o'clock be all right?"
"Certainly. I suppose I shall not see you again, Carleton?"
Mr. Carleton hesitated.
"It is just possible that I may drop in on you and Mr. Curtis after
dinner."
"Oh, I see. A plot."
"Not at all. I have some business to settle with Mr. Curtis before I
return to Pittsburgh."
"Going back to that grimy coal hole, are you?" blustered Mr. Bob Cabot.
"How you fellows can live there when you might spend your days in
Bost----"
The door slammed.
Mr. Carleton was gone.
Shrugging his shoulders Mr. Bob Cabot glanced at the clock. He had just
about time to dash off a necessary letter, dress, and get to the
University Club.
"Hannah!" he called.
A small dark-haired woman appeared in the doorway. She had sharp little
black eyes that twinkled a great deal, and she had a mouth that turned
up at the corners; furthermore she had a plump figure neatly dressed in
gray, and a white apron tied behind in an enormous and very spirited
bow.
"Yes, Mr. Bob."
"Hannah, Mr. Tom Curtis is in town with a rascal of a lawyer. They have
come to see about taking Jean to live in Pittsburgh."
"Pittsburgh! My soul, Mr. Bob! You'll not let her go, of course.
Pittsburgh, indeed! Don't we know that Boston----"
"We certainly do, Hannah. Nobody knows what Boston is better than we
do. But Mr. Tom Curtis unfortunately was not born in Boston."
"More's the pity! Still, I suppose he cannot be blamed for that. It
wasn't really his fault."
Mr. Bob Cabot laughed and dropped a big, kindly hand on the shoulder of
the woman beside him.
"I will try and impress upon him all that he has missed when I see him
to-night. I am to dine with him at the University Club at seven."
"You're not dining out!" ejaculated Hannah in dismay.
"I'm afraid so."
"Oh, Mr. Bob! And fried chicken for dinner--just the way you like it,
too."
"I'm sorry, Hannah."
"And me browning all those sweet potatoes!"
"I'm lots more disappointed than you are--truly I am. It can't be
helped, though. Now let me finish this letter and you go and lay out my
dress shirt and studs and things, or I'll be late."
Hannah darted from the room.
"I made you a Brown Betty pudding, too, Mr. Bob!" she called over her
shoulder. "But no matter. There is no evil without some good; your
trousers are freshly pressed and handsome as pictures--if I do say it
as shouldn't. I'll lay 'em out for you, and your dinner coat as well.
But to think of that pudding! Why couldn't Mr. Curtis have invited you
the night the beef stew was scorched."
* * * *
Promptly on the stroke of seven Uncle Bob Cabot presented himself at
the University Club, where Uncle Tom Curtis was waiting for him, and
the two men grasped hands cordially. How big Uncle Tom Curtis looked
and, despite Hannah's remarks, how rosy and how clean! And what a nice
smile he had! The dinner was extraordinarily good. The filet was done
to a turn, and there was just enough seasoning on the mushrooms. As for
the grilled potatoes, even Hannah herself couldn't have improved upon
them. An old Harvard "grad" came over from the next table and greeted
Uncle Tom Curtis, telling him he did not look a day older than when he
was in college, and in spite of his gray hairs Uncle Tom Curtis seemed
to believe it. Then they talked of the last Harvard boat race; the
winning eleven; the D. K. E. with its initiation pranks; and the old
professors. And after the other man had left the waiter brought coffee
which was deliciously hot and cheese that was exactly ripe enough.
Uncle Tom Curtis seemed to have no end of stories at which Uncle Bob
Cabot laughed until he was very red in the face, and afterward Uncle
Bob told some stories and Uncle Tom Curtis sat back in his chair and
laughed and wiped his eyes and mopped his forehead. Then Uncle Bob said
that of course the Club was all very well, but he should insist on
Uncle Tom's tossing his things into his grip and coming over to Beacon
Hill with him to finish up his Boston visit.
They did not talk about Jean any more that night, but the next morning
after breakfast they went at the discussion and were just in the midst
of it when who should walk in but Jean herself. She had been spending
two or three days with a friend of her mother who lived in the suburbs.
"Uncle Bob!" she called as she dashed her hat and muff down upon the
settle in the hall. "Uncle Bob! Oh, I had a perfectly lovely time. And
what do you think! Mrs. Chandler has three darling Irish terrier
puppies, and she is going to give me one if you are willing that I
should have it. You do like puppies, don't you? I know you'd like these
anyway; they are so blinky, and fat, and little."
Tossing her coat on top of the hat and muff she ran up the front stairs
and into the library.
"Why, Uncle Tom Curtis!" she cried. "Whatever brought you here?"
Fluttering to the big man's side she gave him a prodigious hug and at
the same time dropped a butterfly kiss on the top of his shiny bald
head. The next instant she was perched on the arm of Uncle Bob's chair,
eyeing her two uncles expectantly.
"You both look so hot and so--well, almost cross, you know. What is the
matter?"
"We are talking about you, honey," ventured Uncle Bob after a short,
uneasy silence.
"About _me_! And it makes you look as solemn and ruffled up as this?
Whatever have I done? Did Mrs. Chandler telephone you about the puppy?
Don't worry. I do not mind if I don't have it--really I don't."
"No, dear, it wasn't the puppy. You shall have all the puppies you want
so far as I'm concerned," Uncle Bob answered, stroking the tiny hand
that nestled in his. "No, your Uncle Tom and I were talking about where
you are to live."
"But I thought I was to live here."
"I thought so too," agreed Uncle Bob. "Uncle Tom, though, is not
satisfied with that arrangement. He says he wants you to come and live
with him."
"But I couldn't leave you, Uncle Bob--you know that; at least, not for
all the time. If there were only two of me and I could live with each
of you how nice it would be. Of course I'd love to be with Uncle Tom
sometimes. Why couldn't I live with one of you part of the time and
with the other the rest of the year? I'd rather be here in the summer,
though, I think, because it's near the ocean."
How simple the great tangle over which the two men had argued suddenly
seemed!
"Jean has settled it herself!" Uncle Tom exclaimed. "It shall be
Pittsburgh winters and Boston summers. I wonder we didn't solve it that
way in the beginning."
So everybody was pleased. Even Hannah admitted that if that was the
best that could be done she would put up with it; but she made Uncle
Tom Curtis promise to lay in a big supply of soap.
"You must scrub her face and hands three times a day, and at least once
between meals if she is to live in Pittsburgh," remarked she. "And
please remember to have the grime soaked out of her white dresses, Mr.
Curtis. Borax and a little ammonia will do it," she concluded
seriously.
"We will wash not only the clothes in ammonia water, but Jean if you
say so, Hannah," promised Uncle Tom.
At this everybody laughed.
Then by and by they had luncheon, and Uncle Tom Curtis said it was a
much better meal than he had had at the Club the night before; and
Hannah said that maybe Pittsburgh was not so black as it was painted;
and Uncle Bob said he'd send the inside man to the Chandlers' to get
the puppy that very afternoon. And he did. And the puppy came, and he
was very small, and very fat, and very wobbly. His head was much too
large for him and so were his feet.
"You must name him Beacon Hill and call him Beacon for short, Jean,"
said Uncle Tom Curtis--which, coming from Uncle Tom Curtis, who thought
there was no place on earth like Pittsburgh, was a generous
condescension.