leaves
"WELL, Caleb," said Philip, on the day after Decoration Day, "how did the bath-house opening-day pan out?"
"First-rate—A 1," Caleb replied, rubbing his hands, and then laughing to himself a long time, although in a manner which implied that the excitement to laughter was of a confidential nature. But this merely piqued curiosity, so Philip said:—
"Do you think it fair to keep all the fun to yourself, you selfish scamp? Don't you know that things to laugh at are dismally scarce at this season of the year? As the boys say when another boy finds something, 'Halves.'"
"Well," said Caleb, "the fact is, some of the customers was scared to death, Black Sam says, for fear they'd catch cold after the bath. I'dexpected as much of some of our G. A. R. boys,—mentionin' no names,—so I'd took down to the house a dozen sets o' thin underclothin' that I'd ordered on suspicion. I always wear it—I learned the trick from one of our hospital doctors in the army, an' it gives me so much comfort that I talked it up to other men, but 'twas a new idee 'round here, an' ev'rybody laughed at me. The baths, though, scared a lot o' the boys into tryin' it. All day long they were kind o' wonderin', out loud, whether it was the cleanin' up or the underclothes that made 'em feel so much better'n usual; so I says to 'em, 'What's the matter with both? No one thing's ev'rythin', unless mebbe it's religion, an' even that loses its holt if you squat down with it an' don't do nothin' else.' 'But,' says some of 'em, 'what's to be did when the underclothes gets dirty?' 'Put on some clean ones,' says I, 'or wash the old ones overnight, 'fore you go to bed—that's what I done ev'ry night, when I was so poor that I couldn't afford a change.' Well, some of 'em'll do it, 'cause they're too poor to buy, but you'd better telegraph for a stock o' them thingoods; for when they don't find thick shirts an' pants stickin' to 'em all day, while they're at work, they'll be so glad o' the change that they'll want to stock up. They'll find out, as I've always b'lieved, that underclothes, an' plenty of 'em, is a means o' grace."
"More business for the store, as usual," said Philip.
"Yes," said Caleb, "but 'twon't be a patch to the run there'd be on ice-cream machines—if there was plenty of ice to be had. Some o' the boys from the farmin' district stopped with me last night, thinkin' it was better to get some sleep 'fore sun-up than go out home an' wake their folks up halfway between midnight and daylight, to say nothin' o' scarin' all the dogs o' the county into barkin', and tirin' out hosses that's got a day's work before 'em. Well, 'fore turnin' in, they said lots o' nice things—though no nicer than they ought—about the way they had been treated at your house, an' 'bout the way you both acted, as if you an' them had been cut from the same piece, but—"
"Don't make me conceited, Caleb."
"I won't; for, as I was goin' to say, theycome back ev'ry time to the friz milk, as they called it, an' how they wished their wives knew how to make it, an' what a pity 'twas there wa'n't ice-houses all over the county. Well—partly with an eye to business, knowin' that most any of 'em could stand the price of a freezer, an' the others could do it, too, if they'd save the price o' liquor they drink in a month or two—I says:—
"'Well, why don't you make 'em? You could do it o' slabs you could split out o' logs from your own woodland, an' the crick freezes ev'ry winter, when you an' your hosses has got next to nothin' to do. Besides havin' ice-cream from milk that you've all got more of than you know what to do with, you could kill a critter once in a while in the summer, an' keep the meat cool; you could have fresh meat off an' on, instead o' cookin' pork seven days o' the week in hot weather, when it sickens the women an' children to look at it.' They 'lowed that that was so, an' they jawed it over for a while, an'—well, three or four ice-houses are goin' up, between farms, next winter, an' we'll sell some freezers, an' some men'll let up on drinkin'; forthe worst bum o' the lot 'lowed that he'd trade his thirsty any time, an' throw in a quart o' Bustpodder's best to boot, for a good square fill o' friz milk."
"So even ice-cream is a means of grace, Caleb—eh?" said Philip.
"That's what it is, an' I notice, too, that you don't laugh under your mustache, like you used to do, when mention's made o' means o' grace."
But what rose is without its thorn? In the course of a few days the word went about, among the very large class to whom everything is fuel for the flame of gossip, that a lot of the Grand Army men had been taken into the Somerton house, and found it a palace, the things in which must have cost thousands of dollars, and that it was a shame and an outrage that money should have been made out of the poor, overworked country people to support two young stuck-ups from the city in more luxury than Queen Elizabeth ever dreamed of; for who ever read in history books of Queen Elizabeth having ice-cream? and didn't the history books say thatshe had only rushes on her floors, instead of even a rag carpet, to say nothing of picture carpets like the Somertons'?
When the rumor reached the store, Philip ground his teeth, but Grace laughed.
"I believe you'd laugh, even if they called your husband a swindler," said Philip.
"Indeed I would, at anything so supremely ridiculous," Grace said. "Wouldn't you, Caleb?"
"I reckon I would. Anyhow, it sounds a mighty sight better than the noise Philip made; besides, it's healthier for the teeth. It shows 'em off better, too."
"Now, Mr. Crosspatch, how do you feel?"
"Utterly crushed. But what are you going to do about it?"
"I'm going to make those gossips ashamed of themselves."
"How?"
"By refurnishing the parlor for the summer. The dust is ruining our nice things, so the change will be an economy. I'll do it so cheaply that almost any farmer in the county can afford to copy it, to the greatdelight of his wife, as well as himself. Let—me—see—" and Grace dropped her head over a bit of paper and a pencil, and Caleb looked at her admiringly, and winked profoundly at Philip, and then hurried into the back room so that his impending substitute for an ecstatic dance should not disturb the planner of the coming parlor decorations.
For some reason—perhaps excitement over the bath-house, or surprise at the uniforming of his Grand Army command, or the heat, or the debilitating effect of old wounds—Philip pretended to believe it was the effect of Grace's ice-cream upon a system not inured to such compounds—Caleb suddenly became disabled by a severe malarial attack with several complications. He did not take to his bed, but his movements were mechanical, his manner apathetic, and his tongue almost silent. He did not complain; and when questioned, he insisted that he suffered no pain. Philip and Grace endeavored to tempt his appetite, for he ate scarcely anything, and they tried to rally him by various mental means, but without effect. He noted their solicitude, andits sincerity impressed him so deeply that he said one day:—
"The worst thing about this attack is that I can't get words to tell you how good you both are bein' to me. But I'm the same as a man that's been hit with a club."
Then Philip and Grace insisted that Doctor Taggess should do something for Caleb, and the Doctor said nothing would give him more pleasure; for anything that would restore Caleb to health would probably be serviceable in other cases of the same kind, of which there were several on his hands. After listening to much well-meant but worthless suggestion, the Doctor said:—
"There's a new treatment of which I've heard encouraging reports, but it is quite costly. It is called the sea treatment. It is said, on good authority, that a month at sea, anywhere in the temperate zone, will cure any chronic case of malaria, and that the greater the attack of sea-sickness, the more thorough will be the cure."
"Caleb shall try it, no matter what the cost," said Philip.
The Doctor smiled, shook his head doubtfully, and said:—
"What if he won't? He is so bound up in you and your business, and his own many interests and duties, that he will make excuses innumerable."
"Quite likely, but I ought to be ingenious enough to devise some way of making it appear a matter of duty."
"I hope you can, and that you'll begin at once, if only for my sake, professionally, so that I may study the results."
Then, for a day, Philip became almost as silent as Caleb, and Grace assisted him. The next morning, he said:—
"Caleb, I want to start a new enterprise that will revolutionize this part of the country and part of Europe, too, if it succeeds, but it won't work unless you join me in it."
"You know I'm yours to command," Caleb replied, at the same time forcing a tiny gleam of interest.
"That's kind of you, but this project of mine is so unusual that I almost fear to suggest it. You know that the farmers ofthis section plant far more corn than anything else."
"Yes, 'n always will, I reckon, no matter how small the price of what they can't put into pork. The idee o' corn-plantin' 's been with 'em so long that I reckon it's 'petrified in their brain structure,' as a scientific sharp I once read about, said about somethin' else."
"Quite so, and we can't hope to change it unless labor and horses should suddenly become cheaper and more plentiful. Now I propose that we take advantage of this state of affairs by making some money and getting some glory, besides indirectly helping the farmers, by increasing the future demand for corn. You yourself once told me that if the people of Europe could learn to eat corn-bread, 'twould be money in their own pockets, relieve corn-bins here of surplus stock, and perhaps lessen the quantity of the corn spoiled by being made into whiskey."
"That's a fact," said Caleb.
"Very well. Corn never was cheaper here than it is now,—so I'm told,—nor were the mills ever so idle. I can buy the best of corn-meal,barrelled, and deliver it in London or Liverpool, freight paid, at less than two dollars per barrel, and I can buy all I want of it on my note at six months. If you'll go into the enterprise with me, every barrel shall be labelled 'Claybanks Western Corn-Flour: trademark registered by Philip Somerton.'"
"Hooray for Claybanks! Hooray for the West!" shouted Caleb, becoming more like his old self.
"Thank you. But as I've quoted to you about your bath-house project, 'You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink.' Meal has often been sent to the English market, and some dealers have even sent careful cooking and bread-making directions. The different methods of making good food from corn-meal must, I am satisfied, be shown, practically, before the eyes of possible consumers. So my plan is this: to send over, say, two hundred barrels to London; hire for a month a small shop in a district thickly inhabited by people who know the value of a penny saved, cook in various forms—hasty pudding, hoe-cake, dodgers, muffins, corn-bread,etc., at the rate of a barrel of meal a day, or as much as can be sold, or even given away as an advertisement of the 'Claybanks Western Corn-Flour'—meanwhile persuading grocers in the vicinity to keep the meal for sale to persons who are sensible enough to appreciate it. And finally, as you know how to make all sorts of good things of corn-meal, I'd like you to go over to England and manage the entire business."
"Wh-e-e-e-e-e-ew!"
"That's somewhat non-committal, isn't it?"
"Well!" said Caleb, "I reckon the malary's knocked plumb out o' me!"
"I hope so; but if it isn't, it will be; for Doctor Taggess says that a month at sea is the newest treatment prescribed for malaria, and that is said to be a sure cure. The trip over won't take a month, but a week or ten days of the ocean ought to make a beginning, and show you how 'twill act, and if the enterprise makes a hit, I'll show my appreciation by standing the expense of a trip up the Mediterranean and back by direct steamer to the United States. By the way, while you're upthe Mediterranean, you might join one of Cook's tourist parties, and see the Holy Land. How does the entire plan strike you?"
"How—does it—strike me?" drawled Caleb. Then he pulled himself together and continued: "Why, it's struck me all of a heap. Say, Philip, you've got a mighty long head—do you know it? I ain't sayin' that I can't do the work middlin' well, though I have heard that it takes a pickaxe an' a corkscrew to get any new idee into the commoner kinds of the English skull. An' a trip through the Holy Land! But say—who'd look after my Sunday-school class while I was away?"
"Oh, I will, if you can't find a better substitute. You've been doing your best to get me into church work—you know you have, you sly scamp. Now's your chance."
"To break you into that sort o' work," said Caleb, slowly, "I'd be willin' to peddle ice in Greenland, an' live on the proceeds. But there's my other class—though I s'pose I could farm that out for a spell. Then there's a lot o' folks that's been lookin' to me for one thing an' another so long that—"
"That perhaps 'twould do them good to be obliged to depend upon themselves for a few weeks."
"Phil dear, don't be heartless! Caleb, couldn't you trust those people to a woman for a little while?"
"Oh, couldn't I! An' I thank you from the bottom of my heart besides. London! Then I could see Westminster Abbey, an' the Tower o' London, an' go to John Wesley's birthplace, an'—"
"Yes," said Philip, "and you could run over to Paris, too."
"No, sir!" exclaimed Caleb. "When I want to see Satan an' his kingdom, I won't have to travel three thousan' mile to do it. But—"
"But me no more buts, Caleb—unless you would rather not go."
"Rather not, indeed! If I was dyin' as hard of malary as I'm dyin' to see some things in England, I guess I'd turn up in kingdom-come in about three days, almanac-time. What I was 'buttin'' about was only this: are you plumb sure that I'm the right man for the job?"
"Quite sure; for you're entirely honest, industrious, and persistent; you're as corn-crazy as any other Western man; you've taught my wife and me how to work a lot of unsuspected delicacies out of corn-meal; and, more important than all else, for this purpose, you've the special Western faculty of taking a man's measure at once and treating him accordingly. If that won't work with the English,—and the worst of them can't be any stupider than certain people here,—nothing will. So the matter is settled, and you're to start at once—to-morrow, if possible; for first I want you to buy me a lot of goods in New York. My wife and I have determined to carry a larger stock and more variety, and—"
"Start to-morrow!" interrupted Caleb, incredulously.
"Yes; the longer you wait, the longer 'twill take you to get away. Besides, I want to keep the corn-meal enterprise a secret, and you're so honest that it'll leak from you if you don't get off at once."
"But I can't get—"
"Yes, you can, no matter what it is. Andwhile you are attending to business in New York you must sleep down by the seaside, so that the sea air shall begin its fight with the malaria as soon as possible. I shall engage a room for you by telegraph to-day; you can reach it by rail within an hour from any part of the city, and return in the morning as early as you like."
"But, man alive, you haven't got the corn-meal yet."
"I shall have a lot of it on the rail by a week from to-day; the rest can follow. You'll need a fortnight in New York, to do the buying and see the sights, for the town is somewhat larger than Claybanks. Besides, no self-respecting American should go abroad until he has seen Niagara Falls, Independence Hall, Bunker Hill Monument, and the National Capital. The Falls are directly on your route East, Washington is a short and cheap trip from New York, with Philadelphia between the two cities, and you can take a steamer from Boston. Now pack your gripsack at once—there's a good fellow, and don't say a single good-by. I'm told they're dreadfully unlucky. After you'vestarted, I'll explain to every one that you've gone East to buy some goods for me. At present I'll settle down to making you a route-book, with information about all sorts of things that you may wish, after you're off, that you'd asked about."
Caleb retired slowly to his room over the store; Philip and Grace took turns for an hour in watching the street for Doctor Taggess and in sending messengers in every direction for him, and when the Doctor arrived, they unfolded to him, under injunctions of secrecy, the entire plan regarding Caleb. The Doctor listened with animated face and twinkling eyes, until the story ended; then he relieved himself of a long, hearty laugh, and said:—
"What would your Uncle Jethro say to such an outlay of money?"
"If he's where I hope he is," Philip replied, "he knows that Caleb richly deserves it in addition to his salary, for his many years of service. Besides, we've earned the money, in excess of any previous half-year of trade; so even if the commercial project failsI shall be out only three or four hundred dollars."
"And without doubt," said the Doctor, "'twill be the remaking of Caleb."
"I hope so," Philip replied, "for he has been remaking me."
leaves
ALL of Grace's spare hours for a fortnight after Caleb's departure were spent in recalling and applying the makeshift furniture devices of her native village and those described in back numbers of "Ladies' Own" papers and magazines, as well as all the upholstery and other decorative methods of her sister-saleswomen in the days when she and they had far more taste than money. Chairs and lounges were extemporized from old boxes and barrels, cushioned with straw or corn-husks, and covered with chintz. A roll of cheap matting, ordered from the city, drove the rugs from the sitting room and parlor, and the cheapest of hangings replaced the lace curtains at the windows. All of the framed pictures were sent upstairs, and upon the walls were affixed, with furniture tacks, many borderless pictures, plain and colored, from the collectionwhich Philip and Grace had made, in past years, from weekly papers and Christmas "Supplements."
The vases, too, disappeared, though substitutes for them were found. Dainty tables, brackets, etc., were replaced by some made from fragments of boxes, the completed structures being stained to imitate more costly woods, and instead of the couple's darling bric-à-brac appeared oddities peculiar to the country—some birds and small animals stuffed by Black Sam, birds'-nests, dried flowers, a mass of heads of wheat, oats, rye, and sorghum arranged as a great bouquet, some turkey-tail fans, and so many other things that had attracted Grace in her drives and walks that there seemed no room on mantel, tables, and walls for all of them.
"There!" Grace exclaimed, as she ushered her husband into the parlor at the end of a day expended on finishing touches. "What do you think of it?"
"Bless me!" Philip exclaimed. "Absolutely harmonious in color, besides being far fuller than it was before. 'Tis quite as pretty, too, ingeneral effect. Don't imagine for a moment, however, that your selected list of old cats will appreciate it."
"Ishallimagine it, and I don't believe I shall be disappointed. All human nature is susceptible to general effect. Besides, Mrs. Taggess is to be here, and all of them are fond of her, and she will say many things that I can't. I shall boast only when they tell me that they suppose my husband did most of the work—if any of them are clever enough to detect the difference between what is here and what the G. A. R. men and other guests have reported."
The invitations were given informally, though long in advance, to a midday dinner on the first day of "Court-week,"—a day set apart by common consent in hundreds of counties, for a general flocking to town. The guests selected were—according to Caleb, who was consulted when the plan was first formed—the ten most virulent feminine gossips in the county. Black Sam's wife had been employed to assist for the day at cooking and serving, and among the dishes were many which would be entirely new to the guests. At one end of the table satGrace, "dressed," as one of the guests said afterwards, "as all-fired as a gal that was expectin' her feller, an' was boun' to make him pop the question right straight off." At the other end of the table was Mrs. Taggess, plainly attired, except for her habitual smile, and at either side sat five as differing shapes—except for sharp features and inquiring eyes—as could be found anywhere. One wore black silk with much affectation of superiority to the general herd, but the others seemed to have prepared for a wild competition in colors of raiment and ribbons, and one had succeeded in borrowing for the day the original and many-colored silk of Mrs. Hawk Howlaway, described in an early chapter of this narrative.
The guests did full justice to the repast. One by one they became mystified by the number of courses, for they had expected pie or pudding to follow the first dish. Some began to be apprehensive of the future, but with the fine determination characteristic of "settlers," good and bad alike, they continued to ply knife and fork and spoon. For some time the efforts of the hostess and Mrs. Taggess to encourage conversationwere unrewarded, though some of the guests exchanged questions and comments in guarded tones. All acted with the apparent unconcern of the North American Indian; but curiosity, a tricky quality at best, suddenly compelled one gaunt woman to exclaim, as she contemplated the dish before her and raised it to her prominent nose:—
"What on airth is that stuff, I'd like to know?"
"That is lobster salad," Grace replied.
"Oh! I couldn't somehow make out what kind of an animile the meat come off of."
"Nuther could I," said her vis-à-vis, with a full mouth, "but I'm goin' to worry my ole man to raise some of 'em on the farm, for it's powerful good, an' no mistake."
A buzz of assent went round the table; the ice was broken, so another guest said:—
"Mis' Somerton, I've been dyin' to know what that there soup was made of that we begun on. I never tasted anythin' so good in all my born days."
"Indeed? I'm very glad you liked it. 'Twas made of crawfish."
A score of knives and forks clattered upon plates, and ten women assumed attitudes of amazement and consternation. Finally one of them succeeded in gasping:—
"Them little things that bores holes 'longside the crick? the things that boys makes fish-bait of?"
"The same, though only millionnaires' sons could afford to use them for bait in the East. Crawfish meat in New York costs as much as—oh, a single pound of it costs as much as a big sugar-cured ham. I never dreamed of buying it—I never dared hope that I might taste it—until I came out here."
The appearance of a new course checked conversation on the subject, but one of the guests eyed suspiciously a tiny French chop, the tip of its bone covered with paper, and said to the woman at her right:—
"Don't appear to know what we're bein' fed with here. Wonder what this is? It's little enough to be a side bone o' cat. Must be all right, though; Mis' Taggess is eatin' hern."
A form of blanc-mange was another mystery. Said one woman to another:—
"It must be the ice-cream the soldiers told about, for it's powerful cold, besides bein' powerful good."
"That's so," was the reply; "but 'pears to me I didn't hear the men say nothin' about there bein' gravy poured on theirn."
Some of the guests were becoming full to their extreme capacity,—a condition which stimulates geniality in some natures, ugliness in others. They had come to criticise—to learn of their hostess's extravagance. They had remained in the parlor only long enough to be entirely overcome by its magnificence and to exchange whispered remarks about the shameful waste of money wrung from the hard-working farmers.
The dinner had been good beyond their wildest expectations; not the best Fourth of July picnic refreshments, or even the memorable dinner given by Squire Burress, the richest farmer in the county, when his daughter was married, compared with it. What was so good must also have been very expensive. Criticism must begin with something, and the blanc-mange seemed a propersubject to one woman, who was reputed to be very religious. So she groaned:—
"This—whatever it is—is so awful good that it must ha' been sinful costly—actually sinful."
"Yes, indeed," sighed another. "One might say, a wicked waste o' money."
"Blanc-mange?—costly?" Grace said, curbing an indignant impulse; "why, 'tis nothing but corn-starch, milk, sugar, and a little flavoring. I wonder what dessert dish could be cheaper!"
"You don't say!" exclaimed a woman less malevolent or more practical than the others. "Now, I just ain't a-goin' to give you no peace till you give me the receipt for it."
"I'll give it, with pleasure; or better still, you shall have a package of the corn-starch,—'tis worth only a few cents,—with full directions on the label. I might possibly forget some part of them, you know."
"Me too," said several women as one, and criticism was temporarily abated. Before a new excuse for reviving it could be found, the ice-cream—the real article, and without gravy,of course—made its appearance. It was consumed in silence, in as much haste as possible with anything so cold, and also with evident enjoyment. Then the opponent of sinful extravagance remarked:—
"It's awful good—too good! It 'pears wicked to enjoy any earthly thing so much. Besides, you needn't tell me thatitain't awful costly, 'cause I shan't believe it."
"If my word is of so doubtful quality," said Grace, with rising color, "perhaps Mrs. Taggess, with whom you're better acquainted, will inform you."
"'Tis nothing but milk, cream, and sugar," said Mrs. Taggess, who had borrowed Grace's freezer and experimented with it, "and most of you know very well that you've so much milk that you feed some of it to your pigs. The cream in what all of you have eaten would make, perhaps, a single pound of butter, which you would be glad to sell for fifteen cents. The sugar cost not more than five or six cents, and the flavoring, to any one with raspberries in their own garden, would have cost nothing."
The guests gasped in chorus, but the tormentor quickly said:—
"But the ice! Us poor farmin' folks can't afford ice; it's only them that makes their livin' out of us—"
"Excuse me," said Mrs. Taggess, "but many of the farmers, your husband among them, have been telling Doctor Taggess recently that they were going to put up ice-houses next winter, and that they were foolish or lazy for not having already done so before. I'm sure that all of you who have enjoyed the cream so greatly will keep your husbands in mind of it, especially as ice-cream, made at home, is as cheap as the poorest food that any farmer's family eats."
The coming of the coffee caused conversation to abate once more, for in each cup floated a puff of whipped cream—a spectacle unfamiliar to any of the gossips, some of whom hastily spooned and swallowed it, in the supposition that it was ice-cream, put in to cool the coffee somewhat. Those who followed the motions of their hostess and Mrs. Taggess stirred the whipped cream intothe coffee, and enjoyed the result, but again the voice of the tormentor arose:—
"We buy all our coffee at your store, but we don't never have none that tastes like this here."
"Indeed?" Grace said, with an air of solicitude. "I wonder why, for there is but one kind in the store, and this was made from it. Perhaps we prepare it in different ways."
"I bile mine a plumb half-hour," said the tormentor, "so's to git ev'ry mite o' stren'th out o' it."
"Oh! I never boil mine."
She never boiled coffee! Would the wonders of this house and its housekeeper never cease?
"For pity sakes, how does any one make coffee without boilin',I'dlike to know?" said a little woman with a thin, aquiline nose and a piercing voice.
"I used to do it," said Grace, "by putting finely ground coffee in a strainer, and letting boiling water trickle through it, but the strainer melted off one day, through my carelessness, so now I put the coffee in a cottonbag, tie it, throw it into the pot, pour on boiling water, set it on the cooler part of the stove, and let it stand without boiling for five minutes. Then I take out the bag and its contents, to keep the coffee from getting a woody taste. My husband, who often makes the coffee in the morning, throws the ground coffee into cold water, lets it stand on the stove until it comes to a boil, and removes it at once. I'm not yet sure which way is the best."
"Nor I," said Mrs. Taggess, "although I've tasted it here made in both ways, and seen it made, too."
The guests were so astonished that each took a second cup—not that they really wanted it, as one explained to two others, but to see whether it really was as good as it had seemed at first. Then Grace arose, and led the way to the parlor. Some of the guests were loath to follow, among them the tormentor, who said:—
"I s'pose if I'd talked about these crockery dishes, she'd have faced me down, an' tried to make me believe they didn't cost as much as mine."
"Oh, no, she wouldn't," said Mrs. Taggess, who overheard the remark; "but I think 'twas very kind of her to set out her very best china, don't you? Most people do that only for their dearest friends—never for people who forget the manners due to the woman of the house, whoever she may be."
"I don't see what you mean by that, Mis' Taggess, I'm sure. I only—"
"Ah, well, try not to 'only' in the parlor, for Mrs. Somerton is trying very hard to make us feel entirely at home."
"Well,Ithink she's just tryin' to show off, 'cause she's come into old Jethro's money."
"Show off with what? Do tell me."
"Why, with her fine furniture an' fixin's. If that best room o' hern was mine, I'd be 'feared to use it, an' I'd expect the house to be struck by lightnin' to punish me for my wicked pride."
"I'm a-dyin' to ask her what some o' them things cost," said another, "but I don't quite dass to."
"Then you may stop dying at once, for I'll ask her for you, although I already know,within a few cents, the price of everything in the room. Come along, now. Ahem! Mrs. Somerton, there's much curiosity among the ladies as to the cost of furnishing your beautiful parlor. Won't you tell us?"
"Very gladly," Grace said, "for I'm very proud of it."
"Didn't I tell you?" whispered the tormentor.
"Everything in the parlor, except the piano, which is the ugliest thing in it," Grace continued, "cost less than twenty dollars."
"Sho!" exclaimed one woman, incredulously. "Why, that's no more money than Squire Burress paid for the sofy that his gals is courted on, for Mis' Burress told me the price o' that sofy herself, an' showed me the bill to prove it."
"I've no bills to show," Grace said, with a laugh, "for the largest articles are made of scraps, such as my husband gives away to any one who asks for them. See here—" as she spoke she turned a chair upside down to show that its basis was a barrel. Then she raised the drapery of a divan to show the unpaintedboxes beneath. "The matting on the floor is three times as cheap as rag carpet. You can buy the window hangings in the store at fifteen cents a yard—though don't imagine I'm trying to advertise the goods. All the furniture covers are of cheap bedquilt chintzes. Examine everything, ladies; for, as I've already said, I'm very proud of my cheap little parlor."
"You didn't say nothin' about the cost of the labor," said the tormentor.
"True," Grace admitted, "but I can reckon it with very little trouble, for I did it all myself; I've no grown sons and daughters, like some of you, so I did it alone. Besides my time it cost me—well, to be exact, one thumb bruised with the hammer; one finger ditto; a bad scratch on one hand, caused by a saw slipping; half a day of pain in one eye, into which I blew some sawdust; two sore knees, got while putting down the matting; and one twisted ankle—I accidentally stepped from a box while tacking a picture to the wall."
"Well, I'm clean beat out o' my senses!" confessed one guest. "I never heerd tellthat they learned such work to women in cities."
"Perhaps they don't," Grace said, "but I learned most of it when I was a country girl in western New York."
"What? You a country gal?"
"Indeed I am. I can milk cows, churn butter, make garden, take care of chickens, saw wood and split it, wash clothes, and do any other country housework, besides making my own clothes."
The woman who had elicited this information looked slowly from face to face among her acquaintances, and then said:—
"I reckon we're a passel o' fools."
"Oh,—excuse me; but I assure you that I meant nothing of the kind."
"But I do, an' I mean it strong, too; yes, ma'am. We're a passel o' fools. I won't feel over an' above safe until I git home an' take a good long think, an' I reckon the sooner the rest of us go too, the seldomer we'll put our foot in it."
There was general acquiescence in this suggestion; even the tormentor seemed suppressed,but suddenly her eyes glared, her lips hardened, and she said:—
"I suppose that scrumptious dress o' yourn was made o' scraps, too?"
Grace laughed merrily, and replied:—
"You're not far from right, for 'tis made of old Madras window curtains that cost eight cents a yard when new. There wasn't enough of the stuff to cover all my windows here, so I made it up into a dress rather than waste it, for I liked the pattern of it very much. Oh, yes—and there's sixteen cents' worth of ribbon worked into it—I'd forgotten that. But your dress—oh, I shouldn't dare wear one so costly as a black silk. Really, I should think it a sinful waste of money that might do so much good to the poor, or to the Missionary Society, or the Bible Society, or—"
"What time's it gittin' to be?" asked the tormentor. "I'll bet my husban' is jest rarin' 'roun' like a bob-tail steer in fly-time, an' tellin' all the other men that women never know when it's time to go home, an' what a long drive he's got before him, an' all the stock to water when he gits thar. Good-by, Mis' Somerton. Someday I'll borrer that ice-cream machine o' yourn, an' a hunk o' ice, if you don't mind."
The other women also took their leave, and soon Grace was alone with Mrs. Taggess, who said:—
"I'd apologize for them, my dear, if you hadn't known in advance that they were the most malicious lot in the county."
Grace laughed, and replied:—
"But weren't they lots of fun?" Mrs. Taggess embraced her hostess, and said:—
"I believe you'd find something to laugh at even in a cyclone."
"If not," Grace replied, "'twouldn't be for lack of trying."
leaves
CALEB'S departure was effected without publicity, no one having known of its probability but the Somertons and Pastor Grateway, whom Caleb had asked to provide a temporary substitute to lead his weekly "class-meetin'." The substitute, however, made haste to tell of his new dignity, so within twenty-four hours the entire town knew that Caleb had gone to New York, and great was the wonder; for from the date of the foundation of the town no Claybanker had been known to go to New York intentionally, although it was reported that an occasional native had reached the metropolis in the course of a desultory journey to the bad.
Philip felt quite competent to manage the business without assistance, early summer being, like spring, a period of business inactivity; but within a week he was mystified by the appearanceof many people who had never before entered the store, but who now evinced not only a willingness but a strong desire to become customers. Referring to a full list which Caleb had prepared months before, but which until now had lain unnoticed in the desk,—a list of adults throughout the county,—Philip found opposite the names of the visitors some comments not entirely uncomplimentary; among them, "Tricky"; "Shaky"; "Never believe him"; "Don't sell to her without written order from her dad"; "Thief"; "Require his note, with good endorsement—he can get it"; "Her husband's published notice against trusting her"; etc. The incursion increased in volume as time went on, and compelled Philip to say to Grace, at the end of the seventh day:—
"I didn't suppose there could be so many undesirable people in a single fairly respectable and small county. They've evidently thought me 'an easy mark,' as the city boys say, if I could be found away from Caleb's sheltering wing, but not one of them has succeeded in getting the better of me. Men talk of the tactneeded in avoiding the plausible scamps who invade business circles in the city, but after this week's experience I think I could pass inspection for a city detective's position."
"If you had a list like Caleb's to refer to, so that you might know what to expect of every one you met," Grace added, with a roguish twinkle in her eyes, for which the eyes themselves were obscured a moment, after which infliction Philip continued:—
"I really wish that an important trade or two, of almost any kind, would turn up, for me to manage without assistance; not that I underrate Caleb's value, but I should like to demonstrate that besides having been an apt pupil, I've at least a little ability that is wholly and peculiarly mine. Then I should like to write Caleb about it; the honest chap would be quite as pleased as I at any success I might report, and he would feel less uneasy at being away."
Within an hour or two, a native whom Philip knew by sight and name, although not one of his own customers, shuffled into the store, and asked:—
"Don't know nobody that wants to trade goods for forty acre o' black wannut land, I s'pose?"
"Black walnut timber? How old?"
"Well, the best way to find out's to look at it for yourself."
"Whereabouts is it? I may take a look at it when I get a chance."
"'Tain't more'n two mile off. What's to keep ye from gittin' on yer hoss now an' ridin' out with me? We can git there an' back in an hour."
"Do it, Phil," Grace whispered. "The horse needs exercise, and so do you. I can hold the fort for an hour."
"The land's too fur from my place," explained the farmer, as the two men rode along at an easy canter, "an' I can't keep track o' the lumber market, to know when to cut an' ship wannut lawgs, but 'tain't that way with you."
"How much do you want for it?"
"Well, I reckon five dollar an acre won't hurt ye—five dollars in goods. I've been a holdin' it a long time, 'cause wannut land iswuth more'n more ev'ry year; but my folks wants an awful lot o' stuff, an' my boys want me to lay in a lot o' new farmin' tools, an' make an' addition to the barn, an' I kind o' ciphered up what ev'rythin' wanted, all told, would cost, an' I made out 'twould be nigh onto two hundred dollars, an' I sez to myself, sez I, 'By gum, I'll sell the wannut lot; that's what I'll do.' It's all free an' clear—I've got the deed in my pocket, an' 'twon't take ye ten minutes at the County Clerk's office to find that there's no mortgages on it. Whoa! There! Did ye ever see finer wannut land'n that? Let's ride up an' down through it. I dunno any trees that grows that's as cherful to look at, from the money standp'int, as tall, thick black wannuts."
Philip was not an expert on standing timber, but it was plain to see that the ground over which he rode, to and fro, was well sprinkled with fine black walnut trees. It lay low enough to be subject to the annual overflow of the creek, not far away, but Philip was bargaining for timber—not for land. The two men continued to ride until the farmer said:—
"Here's my line—see the blaze on this tree? You can see t'other end o' the line way down yander, ef you skin yer eye—a big blazed hick'ry; or, we'll ride down to it."
"Never mind," said Philip. "I'll give you two hundred in goods as soon as you like."
"I thort you would," said the farmer. "Well, I'll bring in the papers, fully executed, to-morrer, an' I'll leave a list o' stuff that ye might lay out, to save time; my wife can do her sheer o' the tradin' when she comes in to-morrer. An' I'll assign ye my own deed, when we get back to town, so's ye can have the title examined to-day, ef ye like, an' put a stopper agin any new incumbrances, though I ain't the kind o' man to make 'em after passin' my word. 'A bargain's a bargain!' that's my motto."
When Philip returned to the store he found awaiting him a young man on horseback, whose face was unfamiliar. When the seller of the walnut land had departed, the young man said:—
"See anythin' wrong 'bout this hoss?"
After a hasty but close examination Philip admitted that he did not.
"Glad o' that," said the man, "'cause o' this." As he spoke he handed Philip a bit of paper on which was written, in Caleb's familiar chirography and over Caleb's signature:—
"Dear Jim: Anybody would be glad to give you seventy-five dollars in cash for your colt, but you're foolish to sell now. Keep him a year, and you'll get fifty more, but if you're bound to sell, please give Mr. Somerton first show."Yours truly,"Caleb Wright."
"Dear Jim: Anybody would be glad to give you seventy-five dollars in cash for your colt, but you're foolish to sell now. Keep him a year, and you'll get fifty more, but if you're bound to sell, please give Mr. Somerton first show.
"Yours truly,"Caleb Wright."
"I suppose, from this, that you'd rather have seventy-five dollars than your colt?" Philip said, as he returned the letter.
"That's about the size of it; but if you ain't sharp-set for a healthy three-year-old, of the kind they hanker after up to the city, I reckon I can find somebody that is, seein' that Caleb's a good judge an' never over-prices hosses when he thinks he's likely to do the buyin' of 'em."
"Come in," said Philip, who quickly made out a receipt for seventy-five dollars for one sorrel horse, aged three years, which the young man signed.
"James Marney," said Philip, reading the signature. "I thought I knew every name in the county, but—"
"But I come from the next county," said the young man. "Caleb'll be disappointed not to see me, but this young woman says he's gone East. What'll you gimme for the saddle an' bridle? I'm goin' to the city an' can't use 'em there."
The equipments named were in fair condition, so after some "dickering" Philip exchanged six dollars for them, and the young man sauntered off in the direction of Claybanks' single "saloon."
"'A fool and his money,'" quoted Philip to Grace; "but as he didn't heed Caleb's injunction, I don't suppose any word of mine would have had any effect. Mark my words: I'll clear twenty-five at least on that transaction within a week, for there's a city dealer here now to buy a string of young horses. Thatforty acres of walnut trees is ours, too, and cheap enough to hold until winter, when labor will be cheap; then I'll have the trees cut and hauled to the creek, to be rafted out when the overflow comes."
Grace looked at her husband admiringly, contemplatively, exultantly, and said:—
"Who'd have thought it a year ago?"
"Thought what, ladybird?"
"Oh, that you would have blossomed into a keen-eyed, quick, successful trader."
"It does seem odd, doesn't it? There's more profit in to-day's transactions than my city salary for a month amounted to. Ah, well; live and learn. If you'll keep shop a few minutes longer, I'll put both horses into the barn and go up to the court-house and see if Weefer's title to the forty acres of walnut is clear."
In a few moments he returned with some papers in his hands and a countenance more than ordinarily cheerful, so that Grace said:—
"Apparently the title is good."
"Oh, yes; but here's something unexpected, and quite as gratifying,—a letter from Caleb.I didn't imagine, till now, how glad I should be to hear from the dear old chap."
"Read it—aloud—at once!" Grace said, clapping her hands in joyous anticipation. "Where does he write from?"
"New York. H'm—here goes.
"'Dear Philip, Hoping you're both well, I write to say that I'm a good deal better, though Niagara nearly knocked me deaf, and New York's about finished the job. If we had water-power like Niagara at Claybanks, it would be the making of the town. I told Miss Truett that I thought the foam on the falls beat any lace in her store, and she thought so too.'"
"Oh, what fun she'll have with Caleb!" Grace exclaimed.
"Probably, as you think so; but who is she?"
"She's the head of one of the departments of the store I was in. I gave Caleb letters to her and some of the other people who would give him information, for my sake, about goods he was to buy for us. Mary Truett is the ablest business woman in the place, and besides, she's as good as gold;not exactly pretty, but wonderfully charming, and as merry as a grig. She's a perfect witch; I'd give anything to see her demure face as she listens to Caleb, and then to hear her 'take him off' after he has gone. But do go on with the letter."
"Where was I? Oh—'New York's noisier than Niagara, and all the noises don't play the same tune, either, but my second day here was Sunday, so I got broke in gradual, for which I hope I was truly grateful. I sampled the different kinds of churches, one of them being Miss Truett's.'"
"She's an Episcopalian," Grace said. "I wonder how Caleb got along with the service."
"Perhaps we can find out. He says: 'I don't know whether I stood up most, or sat down most, but I do know that I wouldn't have knowed when to do either if Miss Truett hadn't given me a powerful lot of nudges and coat-tail pulls, besides swapping books with me mighty lively while the minister was going forward and backward in them. I won't describe the service; for asyou and your wife belong to that sect, I guess you know more than I can tell you, but I will say that there was enough "amens" in it to show where us Methodists got the habit of shouting out in meeting; and though I can't make up my mind after only one try, as a lot of our customers said when your Uncle Jethro put on sale the first box of lump sugar that ever came to Claybanks, I reckon that it is a first-rate manner of worship for them that are used to it, seeing that John Wesley was in it, and you two, and Miss Truett, for she looked like a picture of an angel when she was reading and singing and praying.'"
"Poor Caleb!" Grace sighed. "He's like all the other men who have met Mary Truett."
"Does she flirt even in church?"
"She never flirts. Don't be horrid! Go on with the letter."
"H'm. 'New York is hotter than Claybanks'—rank heresy, Caleb—'according to the thermometer, and the way the heat sizzles out of the sidewalks, and meanders upward,ought to be a warning to hardened sinners, and there are plenty of them here. Why, I asked a policeman on Broadway where was a first-class eating-house, and he pointed to one that he said was the best in town, and I had fried ham, and they charged me seventy-five cents for it, though it wouldn't have weighed half a pound raw. I don't harbor bad feelings, but the owner of that eating-house had better shy clear of me on Judgment Day. Miss Truett says it was extortionate, and I wish he could have seen her eyes when she said it.'"
"I wish I too could have seen them, for they are superb," Grace said. "I must write her for a full report on Caleb. But I'm interrupting."
"'That seaside boarding-place you engaged for me,'" continued Philip from the letter, "'is knocking my malaria endwise, which it ought to, seeing the price of board that is tacked up on the door, but anyhow, I feel like a giant every morning when I start for the city; that is, I think I do, though I never was a giant to find out for sure. Itake a walk morning and evening, looking at the ocean, and trying to tell myself what I think of it, but not a word can I get hold of. Miss Truett says it's just so with her.' H'm—there's that woman again!"
"Bless her!"
"I shouldn't say so. I'm afraid Caleb has lost his head over her."
"He'll find it again. Any good man will be bettered by meeting her. Is there anything more about her?"
"Yes, and at once. Here it is: 'Miss Truett is all interest about your wife, and I like to get her going on the subject, for she thinks that Mrs. Somerton is everything that is nice and good and splendid; and when Miss Truett thinks anything, she knows how to say it in a style that beats any lawyer or preacher I ever heard. It ain't a pretty thing to say about a woman, maybe, but I mean only what's right when I say that when she talks it always seems to me that sometime or other she swallowed a big dictionary, colored pictures and all, and not a scrap of it disagreed with her. She says she wishes she had a jobjust like Mrs. Somerton's, and I told her that there was only one way to get it, and that if ever I saw an unmarried Western merchant of about your age and general style, I'd give him her name and some pointed advice.
"'Most of the goods you wanted are bought and shipped, and when the corn-meal gets here I'll get out for England.
"'With hearty regards to Mrs. Somerton, I am