IV
THE Comptons were quickly settled in the little cottage in East Granite Street, for as Mrs. Hook’s furniture was solid Ida had not sold it. There was little to do, therefore, but repaper the walls, build a bathroom, furnish a dining-room, send the parlour furniture to the upholsterers—Ida had had enough of horsehair—and chattel the kitchen.
Ida had several virtues in which she took a vocal pride, and not the least of these was housekeeping in all its variety. The luxurious side of her nature might revel in front parlours, trashy magazines, rocking-chairs and chewing-gum, but she never indulged in these orgies unless her house were in order. After her arrival in Butte it was quite a month before she gave a thought to leisure. They spent most of this time at a hotel, but Ida was out before the stores opened, and divided her day between the workmen at the cottage, the upholsterer, and the bargain counter. She was “on the job” every minute until the cottage was “on wheels.” Her taste was neither original nor artistic, but she had a rude sense of effect, and a passion for what she called colour schemes. She boasted to Gregory at night, when she had him at her mercy at the hotel dinner-table, that although everything had to be cheap except the kitchen furnishings, colours did not cost any more than black or drab. When the cottage was in order, and they moved in, he saw its transfigured interior for the first time. The bedroom was done in a pink that set his teeth on edge, and the little parlour was papered, upholstered, carpeted, cushioned in every known shade of red.
“All you want is a chromo or two of Indian battlegrounds—just after,” he remarked.
Ida interrupted tartly:
“Well, I should think you’d be grateful for the contrastto them everlasting white or brown mountains. We don’t get away from them even in town, now the smoke’s gone.”
“One would think Montana had no springtime.”
“Precious little. That’s the reason I’ve got a green dining-room.”
Gregory, who had suffered himself to be pushed into an arm-chair, looked at his wife speculatively, as she rocked herself luxuriously, her eyes dwelling fondly on the magenta paper, the crimson curtains, the turkey red and crushed strawberry cushions of the divan, the blood-red carpet with its still more sanguinary pattern. What blind struggle was going on in that uninstructed brain against the commonplace, what seed of originality, perhaps, striving to shoot forth a green tip from the hard crust of ignorance and conceit?
He had made up his mind to suggest the tillage of that brain without delay, but, knowing her sensitive vanity, cast about for a tactful opening.
“Do you really intend to do your own work?” he asked. “I am more than willing to pay for a servant.”
“Not much. I’m goin’ to begin to save up for the future right now. I’ll put out the wash, but it’s a pity if a great husky girl like me can’t cook for two and keep this little shack clean. You ain’t never goin’ to be able to say I didn’t help you all I could.”
Gregory glowed with gratitude as he looked at the beautiful face of has wife, flushed with the ardour of the true mate.
“You are all right,” he murmured.
“The less we spend the quicker we’ll get rich,” pursued Mrs. Compton. “I don’t mind this triflin’ work, but it would have made me sick to stay much longer on that ranch workin’ away my youth and looks and nothin’ to show for it. Now that you’ve really begun on somethin’ high-toned and that’s bound to be a go, I just like the idea of havin’ a hand in the job.”
“Ah!— Well— If you have this faith in my power to make a fortune—if you are looking forward to being a rich man’s wife, to put it crudely—don’t you think you should begin to prepare yourself for the position——”
“Now what are you drivin’ at?” She sprang to her feet. Her eyes blazed. Her hands went to her hips. “D’you mean to say I ain’t good enough? I suppose you’dbe throwin’ me over for a grand dame when you get up in the world like some other millionaires we know of, let alone politicians what get to thinkin’ themselves statesmen, and whose worn-out old wives ain’t good enough for ’em. Well, take this from me and take it straight—I don’t propose to wear out, and I don’t propose——”
“Sit down. I shall be a rich man long before you lose your beauty. Nor have I any social ambitions. The world of men is all that interests me. But with you it will be different——”
“You may betcherlife it’ll be different—some! When I have a cream-coloured pressed brick house with white trimmings over there in Millionaire Gulch nobody’ll be too good for me.”
“You shall live your life to suit yourself, in the biggest house in Butte, if that is what you want. But there is more in it than that.”
“Clothes, of course.Gowns!And jewels, and New York—Lord! wouldn’t I like to swell up and down Peacock Ally! And Southern California, and Europe, and givin’ balls, and bein’ a member of the Country Club.”
“All that, as a matter of course! But you would not be content with the mere externals. Whether you know it or not, Ida, you are an ambitious woman.” This was a mere gambler’s throw on Gregory’s part. He knew nothing of her ambitions, and would have called them by another name if he had.
“Not know it? Well, you may just betcherlife I know it!”
“But hardly where ambition leads. No sooner would you be settled in a fine house, accustomed to your new toys, than you would want society. I don’t mean that you would have any difficulty gaining admittance to Butte society, for it is said that none in the world is more hospitable and less particular. But whether you makefriendsof the best people here, much less become a leader, depends—well, upon several things——”
“Fire away,” said Ida sulkily. “You must be considerable in earnest to talk a blue streak!”
“Business may take me to New York from time to time, but my home shall remain here. I never intend to abandon my state and make a fool of myself on New York’s doorstep as so many Montanans have done. Nail up thatfact and never forget it. Now, you would like to win an unassailable position in your community, would you not?”
“Yep.”
Gregory abandoned tact. “Then begin at once to prepare yourself. You must have a teacher and study—English, above all things.”
“My Goo-r-rd!” She flushed almost purple. For the moment she hated him. “I’ve always suspicioned you thought I wasn’t good enough for you, with your graduatin’ from the High School almost while you was in short pants, and them two years and over at that high-brow School of Mines; and now you’re tellin’ me you’ll be ashamed of me the minute you’re on top!”
Gregory made another attempt at diplomacy. What his wife achieved socially was a matter of profound indifference to him, but she must reform her speech if his home life was to be endurable.
“I am forcing my imagination to keep pace with your future triumphs,” he said with the charming smile that disarmed even Ida when irate. “If you are going to be a prominent figure in society——”
“My land, you oughter heard the grammar and slang of some of the newest West Siders when they were makin’ up their minds at Madame O’Reilley’s, or havin’ their measures took. They don’t frighten me one little bit.”
“There is a point. To lead them you must be their superior—and the equal of those that have made the most of their advantages.”
“That’s not such a bad idea.”
“Think it over.” He rose, for he was tired of the conversation. “These western civilisations are said to be crude, but I fancy they are the world in little. Subtlety, a brain developed beyond the common, should go far——”
“Greg, you are dead right!” She had suddenly remembered that she must play up to this man who held her ambitions in his hand, and she had the wit to acknowledge his prospicience, little as were the higher walks of learning to her taste. She sprang to her feet with a supple undulating movement and flung herself into his arms.
“I’ll begin the minute you find me a teacher,” she exclaimed. Then she kissed him. “I’m goin’ to keep right along with you and make you proud of me,” she murmured. “I’m crazy about you and always will be. Swearright here you’ll never throw me over, or run round with a P’rox.”
Gregory laughed, but held her off for a moment and stared into her eyes. After all, might not study and travel and experience give depth to those classic eyes which now seemed a mere joke of Nature? Was she merely the natural victim of her humble conditions? Her father had been a miner of a very superior sort, conservative and contemptuous of agitators, but a powerful voice in his union and respected alike by men and managers. Mrs. Hook had been a shrewd, hard-working, tight-fisted little woman from Concord, who had never owed a penny, nor turned out a careless piece of work. Both parents with education or better luck might have taken a high position in any western community. He knew also the preternatural quickness and adaptability of the American woman. But could a common mind achieve distinction?
Ida, wondering “what the devil he was thinking about,” nestled closer and gave him a long kiss, her woman’s wisdom, properly attributed to the serpent, keeping her otherwise mute. Gregory snatched her suddenly to him and returned her kiss. The new hope revived a passion by no means dead for this beautiful young creature, and for the hour he was as happy as during his rosy honeymoon.