CHAPTER IXTHE AFTERNOON CALL
“Which way?” asked Ned as, a few minutes later, they went through the gate.
“Let’s go down to the river and along the road and see all the booful automobiles,” said Laurie.
“It’s not my idea of a pleasant walk,” returned Ned, “to get entirely covered with dust and then run over!”
“We’re not going to walk,” announced Polly. “Anyway, not yet. We’re going this way.” She and Mae turned toward School Park.
“Not going to walk?” exclaimed Laurie. “What are we going to do? Polly, don’t tell me you’ve gone and bought an automobile!”
“We’re going calling,” said Polly.
“What!” protested Ned. “Calling, did you say? Not much, Polly! At least, I’m not.”
“Now, Ned Turner—” began Polly.
“Oh, never mind him,” broke in Laurie. “I’llgo calling with you, Polly. I just love to go calling. Have you any one specially in mind? Or shall we just take them as they come?”
They were crossing the street now diagonally, Polly and Mae in the lead. Laurie was smoothing his hair and settling his tie smirkingly. Ned looked rebellious. “Who are we going to call on?” he demanded dejectedly.
“You’ll know soon enough,” laughed Polly. And he did, for the next instant she had pushed open a little gate between the lilac hedges and was leading the way up the short path to Miss Comfort’s door.
“Gee!” murmured Laurie. But he and Ned followed obediently and stared questioningly at Polly while somewhere at the rear of the little house, a bell jangled in response to her tug at the brown crockery knob. “What’s the big idea?” whispered Laurie to Mae, who was nearest. But Mae only shook her head. And then, with such promptitude as to suggest to Ned that he had not just imagined that face at the front window, the door opened, and Miss Comfort was giving them welcome. There were introductions in the small hall, during which Ned trod on Laurie’s footand Laurie pushed Mae into an umbrella-stand which had once been a length of drain-pipe and which now bore a faded design of cat-o’-nine-tails and swallows; and then, somehow, they were all seated in the front parlor, Laurie, who had neglected in the confusion to leave his cap in the hall, trying to stuff it into a side pocket.
The room was not over-furnished. There was a walnut sofa covered with faded green rep across one corner, a marble-topped walnut table between the two front windows, a bookcase midway of the inner wall, a number of straight chairs placed formally along the sides of the room, and an easy-chair at each window. There were also two foot-stools covered with crewel work, one of which Ned narrowly escaped, and a brightly hued Brussels carpet. A fireplace, surmounted by a white marble shelf, was blankly, inexorably closed by a glossy black sheet of iron. Two gilt candelabra adorned the ends of the mantel, and a black marble clock, whose stumpy hands had stopped at twelve minutes to nine on some long-past day, stood squarely in the center. There was a purple and green square of embroidery on the table and a few books of unexciting appearance. Everythingwas spotlessly clean, immaculately neat, depressingly orderly.
Polly and Mae, as usual, crowded into one of the easy-chairs, and Miss Comfort sat erectly in the other. Miss Comfort proved to be small and rather thin, with lightish hair that wasn’t brown and wasn’t white. She had small, delicate features and dark eyes that remained very bright and clear. Miss Comfort might be nearly seventy, as Polly had stated, but there was something youthful in her pleasant face, her quick movements, and her thin, soft voice. Laurie was receiving these impressions when that thin, soft voice pronounced his name and he discovered that his hostess had turned from the girls and was looking toward him, her head pushed forward a little as if, despite their brightness, her eyes were not as serviceable as they had been.
“Mr. Laurie,” Miss Comfort was saying, “I want to thank you for your interest in my affairs. I do think it was extremely kind of you to send that telegram to my brother-in-law. Although I am convinced that nothing will come of it, I assure you that I appreciate your helpfulness.”
It was rather a precise and formal little speech,and it is probable that Miss Comfort had prepared it in advance of the occasion. It left Laurie surprised and sputtering.
“But—but—why, that’s all right—if you mean—”
Polly came to his rescue: “It was mama who told, Laurie. She really didn’t mean to, but if you knew her as well as I do you’d know that she simply can’t keep a secret, no matter how hard she tried.”
“Oh,” said Laurie. “Well, you don’t need to thank me—us a bit, Miss Comfort. I—we were mighty glad to do anything we could, and we wish there was more we might do. I guess Polly’s told you that that—er—that your brother-in-law hasn’t answered yet.”
Miss Comfort nodded. “Yes, and I’m not surprised. Mr. Goupil is a very busy man, I suppose, and I dare say he hasn’t time to—to look after all matters himself.”
“Well, if you ask me—” began Laurie indignantly.
“But she hasn’t,” interrupted Ned warningly. “I guess what Laurie was going to say, Miss Comfort, is that he—that is, we—both of—neitherof us—” Laurie was smiling enjoyably—“can understand how your brother-in-law could act so—so—”
“Rotten,” supplied the irrepressible Laurie.
“I know,” replied Miss Comfort. “Perhaps I can explain a little. You might say that Mr. Goupil and I are strangers. Yes, that is scarcely an exaggeration. My sister Amanda met him in New Jersey fourteen years ago when she was teaching school there. Amanda was much younger than I and—and impulsive. I knew nothing about Mr. Goupil until she wrote to me from Chicago saying that she was married and on her way west with her husband. I was dreadfully surprised, as you can well understand, for Amanda was—” Miss Comfort hesitated, coughed and continued—“was almost fifty years of age, and I had never thought of her becoming married. In my surprise, I fear that my letter to her was not—well, quite as sympathetic as it should have been. I suppose I showed her that I was a little bit hurt because she had not confided in me earlier. That was most unfortunate, because it led to a—a misunderstanding. I tried very hard to atone, but she never forgave me, and after two years shestopped answering my letters.” Miss Comfort was silent a moment, gazing down at the thin hands folded in her lap. “I fear,” she went on at length, “Amanda gathered the impression that I didn’t approve of her husband. Well, I don’t suppose I did. I mean that I didn’t approve of him for her. You see, he was younger than Amanda by several years, and then he was a foreigner.”
“A foreigner!” exclaimed Polly. “Why, I didn’t know that, Miss Comfort.”
Miss Comfort nodded. “Yes, he was a Frenchman, Polly. Of course there are undoubtedly many most estimable French gentlemen, but it did seem to me that if Amandahadto marry she might have found a man of her own race.” Miss Comfort sighed and then she laughed apologetically. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. Oh, yes, I was trying to explain about Mr. Goupil, wasn’t I? Well, you see, after Amanda was married I never saw either her or her husband. They lived in Chicago a year or so and then moved further west, and after that I lost all trace of them until I received word lately of Amanda’s death. After that came this letterfrom the lawyer about the house. Maybe, you see, Mr. Goupil doesn’t feel very kindly toward me, and if he doesn’t I don’t suppose I should blame him one bit.”
“This house belongs to him now?” asked Laurie.
“Yes. My mother left a will that gave everything to Amanda, but allowed me the use of this place until Amanda’s death. Of course mother never meant it the way she wrote it. She just got a little mixed up, and as she didn’t employ a lawyer to do it for her, why, it stood just as she wrote it. I’ve often wondered,” added Miss Comfort, wrinkling her forehead, “what shedidmean. I suppose she meant me to live here until my death, and not Amanda’s.”
“I’ll bet you could break a will like that,” declared Laurie eagerly.
“So Mr. Whipple told me,” responded Miss Comfort. “He was the lawyer. He’s dead now. But I didn’t like to do it. It seemed kind of—of disrespectful to mother. Besides, I never had any suspicion that I would outlast poor Amanda.”
In the ensuing silence Polly and Mae gazed sympathetically at Miss Comfort, who, smoothingthe old black dress over her knees, appeared lost in her thoughts. Finally:
“Well,” began Laurie. Then he stopped, cleared his throat, and said: “Look here, Miss Comfort, I’d like to ask you— It may sound cheeky— Well, what I mean is, haven’t you—that is, are you—” Laurie’s cheeks reddened as he floundered on. “Haven’t you any—any means at all? Maybe it’s none of my business—”
“No, Mr. Laurie, I haven’t,” replied Miss Comfort quietly. “There wasn’t ever much money after my father died, and mother’s will left what there was to Amanda. That was just as it should have been, for as long as I had this house I was quite all right.” She smiled gently. “But, land sakes, I don’t want you young folks to trouble your heads about me and my affairs. Troubles aren’t for the young, Mr. Laurie.”
“That’s all right,” was the dogged response, “but—but something—somebody— It doesn’t seem right for you to have to go to—to that place!”
“Why, I don’t know,” said Miss Comfort thoughtfully. “I guess lots of perfectly respectablefolks have gone to the poor-farm. I dare say there’s no disgrace. And they do say that the—the institution is conducted very nicely. No doubt I’ll be quite comfortable there. And—and it isn’t as though I’d have to stay very long.”
“Oh,” exclaimed Ned relievedly, “then you expect to—” But Polly interrupted him.
“Now, Miss Comfort,” cried Polly indignantly, “don’t you talk like that! Why, goodness gracious, you aren’t old at all! The—the idea!”
“I should say not!” said Mae warmly. “The idea!”
Miss Comfort chuckled softly. “Well, I ain’t helpless yet, I know, Polly, but I’m—” she coughed daintily— “I’m getting along in years, my dear.”
“Seems to me,” exploded Laurie, “there ought to be some place in this town where you could go. Wouldn’t you a whole lot rather live in a—a—” he had started to say “barn,” but changed it to—“a—a shed than go to that poor-farm place?”
“Why, yes, I don’t know but what I would,”said Miss Comfort, “as long as it had a roof and I could go on with my work. But I’m afraid I couldn’t even pay the rent for a shed, Mr. Laurie. Now I ain’t going to let you talk a minute longer about me. Why, I’m just ashamed of myself!” She arose quickly and crossed to the door with short, firm steps. “Will you excuse me a minute?” she asked.
When she had gone the four visitors looked at each other silently. Finally, “Rotten shame, I call it,” muttered Laurie. Ned nodded agreement. Polly, whose gaze was fixed on Laurie expectantly, said suddenly: “Laurie, if you have anything in mind I think you’d ought to tell her. It might make her feel more comfortable.”
“Anything in mind?” echoed Laurie. “I haven’t. At least, only—”
Miss Comfort’s return with a dish of cake stopped him.
A little later they were outside again, walking silently away from the little white house with the brown shutters. When they were at last out of sight of the front windows Polly turned eagerly toward Laurie.
“What were you going to say?” she demanded.“You have thought of some plan, haven’t you?”
Laurie hesitated, frowning thoughtfully. “Not much of a one,” he answered. “I guess it doesn’t amount to anything. Only—well, now look here, doesn’t it seem that there ought to be some place somewhere in this town that would do for her? It wouldn’t have to bemuch, would it? Maybe just a sort of shed that could be fixed up and made comfortable? Or a nice stable that has rooms above it. You know some stables have quarters for the coachman or chauffeur or gardener. Maybe—”
“Why, I think it’s a perfectly stunning idea!” cried Polly. “No one thought of that!”
“But she’d have to pay rent just the same, wouldn’t she?” asked Ned dubiously. “Some rent, anyhow? And she said—”
“If we explained about her,” said Polly, “I’m sure no one would think of asking rent for just a stable attic—” Laurie’s chuckles interrupted. “Well, whatever you call it. Loft, isn’t it? Anyhow, perhaps just a—a nominal rent would be all they’d ask.”
“Why don’t we look right now and see if we can’t find something?” asked Mae excitedly.
“Why don’t we?” cried Polly eagerly.
“Just what I was about to propose,” said Laurie a bit patronizingly, “when Ned butted in. Let’s start in and do the old burg systematically. Which way shall we go first?”
Dusk had settled over Orstead when the four, footsore and weary, returned to the shop. Their quest had been fruitless.