"Jim," said Colonel Kerry, meeting the young man at the post-office, "that cottage of Grant's, up near mine, has been rented at last. The parties took possession today."
"Who got it, Colonel?"
"One of the big millionaires of St. Louis, they say; and he's arrived with his wife and daughters and a whole gang of servants. Jarrod says he's a capital fellow, but didn't mention the size of the capital. Money won't buy health, Jim, and the poor Midas is an invalid and came here to try to brace up."
Jim was white and staring.
"You—you didn't hear the name, Colonel?"
"Why, yes; it's Everton."
The young man gave a low, solemn whistle and walked away with a guilty and disturbed demeanor, while the colonel favored a group that had overheard his remarks with further particulars concerning the new arrival.
There was considerable excitement in quiet Tamawaca over the advent of the Evertons; for while the resort boasted several families of great wealth, none was so marvelously rich or of such conspicuous note as the well known patent medicine man who had won mountains of gold by the sale of his remedies. And when it was understood his own poor health had brought him to this place to seek relief the folks were really shocked, and George B. Still declared he would send the poor man a bottle of "Everton's Magic Healer" and ask him to read the printed testimonials. The affair was a nine days' gossip because the people had for the time exhausted the subject of Easton & Wilder and craved excitement.
When Jim went to Susie with a hanging head and told her his father had come to the very place where he had himself taken refuge, the girl counselled with him seriously, and advised him not to run away but rather to meet his family frankly and if possible resume friendly relations with them.
"The only thing that Mr. Carleton urges against our engagement," she said, "is that you have not treated your parents fairly in this matter. And your poor father is ill, they say, and must be unhappy over the desertion of his only son. How do you feel about it, Jim?"
"Why, I haven't looked at the matter in that light before, Susie," he replied. "But I'll think it over and try to do what is right. What do we do this evening?"
"We're invited to Mrs. Herringford's party, and I'm curious to go and see what it will be like. The old lady is the mother of Mrs. Drybug—you remember the Drybugs, don't you? Both the little dears weigh about as much as a healthy schoolboy, and they remind one of ants because they're so busy and you have to be careful not to step on them."
"I remember. If Mrs. Herringford is the mother of the Drybugs she ought to be able to do stunts."
"Well, let's go."
So they went, as curious as every one else who had been invited, and were glad they did not miss the show.
The oldest inhabitant could not remember when Mrs. Herringford had ever entertained before. At the Yacht Club card parties she was always in evidence, and the little lady played such an earnest, strenuous game that the men rather avoided being her partners. Once George B. Still, being caught, "bid" with such desperate recklessness that he set back poor Mrs. Herringford far enough to ruin her game, and she went home broken-hearted. But usually she glared at her partner so fiercely that he played with unusual care and made the game a business and not a diversion. Every one liked her, when she was at some other card table.
Tonight the lady wished to repay all her social obligations in a bunch by giving a party at her cottage. Being rather nervous, she asked Mrs. McCoy and the Widow Marsh to assist her to receive. Mrs. McCoy was a sweet little woman who was every body's friend and therefore could refuse Mrs. Herringford nothing that might please her, while the Widow Marsh was possessed of such grace and beauty that she charmed every male heart in spite of her modest ways and made the women with husbands nervous whenever she was around.
With two such drawing cards the Herringford party could scarcely fail of success, yet as the guests slowly arrived the atmosphere of gloom that hung over the place was hard to dissipate. Mr. Idowno, one of the first comers, began to look at his watch and suggest that it was time to go, as "he had to work for a living;" but the Widow Marsh suspected his intention and made him forget his worries by sitting at his side and telling him how young he was growing.
The invited guests were so slow to arrive that some never came at all, but bye and bye there were enough to start the card playing, and then the hostess made them a clever speech.
"I haven't any prizes for the winners," she announced, "because I want a very harmonious gathering here tonight and prizes always result in disappointment, malice and envy. Besides, they're getting expensive. But I hope you'll all play in a friendly spirit for the honor of winning, and that you'll have a real good time."
Instead of applauding this speech, Mr. Idowno looked at his watch, but his wife pinched him and made him put it away and take a seat at one of the card tables.
It is impossible to repress Tamawaca folks when they are out for a good time—which is the only reason they are ever out. "These people," whispered Lucy Kerry to her neighbor, "would enjoy themselves at a funeral." "True," was the reply; "especially if they could pick the corpse."
To relieve any chill in the temperature they at once began to laugh and joke with one another, while Mrs. McCoy and the Widow Marsh fluttered around to see that all were properly paired and the cards were rightly sorted. The game began with as much energy as a lack of prizes would warrant, but no effort could make it a whirlwind of joy, so presently they gave up the cards and played blindman's bluff and puss-in-the-corner. Mrs. Herringford was worried to death lest some one should catch her and kiss her, but no man was so ungentlemanly.
Although these youthful frolics served to while away the front of the evening, there was no temptation to linger very late, so when Mr. Stakes suggested that they all "go home and have a good time" the party was on the verge of breaking up.
"Wait—wait!" cried Mrs. Herringford. "We're going to have refreshments."
Being cowed by wonder and made curious by the unexpected revelation, they waited.
The hostess disappeared into the kitchen.
"It hardly seems possible," murmured Mrs. Purspyre, "but truth is stranger than Mrs. Herringford. We shall see what we shall see. Her grocery bill was twenty-eight cents last week, and she is said to have half a million in government four-per-cents. Perhaps she's going to open her heart, to prove she's alive and not a resuscitated Egyptian mummy, as Mr. Wright claims she is. Let's wait."
They waited, and waited so long that the Widow Marsh and Mrs. McCoy had hard work to prevent a stampede through the front door. But finally the hostess appeared, bearing two plates and radiant with the joy of generous hospitality.
"Run, Lucy and Grace and Ada and Mary," she called, "and help me bring in the plates. The refreshments are all ready!"
They ran and brought in the plates. Upon each one was placed with dainty care one soda cracker, one withered ginger-snap and one puffy cracknel. The guests took the "refreshments" in dismal silence and began to gnaw.
"But there's no plate for you, my dear," said Mrs. McCoy to the hostess, in a solicitous tone.
"Never mind," returned the little lady, cheerfully; "I ain't hungry, so I guess I can wait till breakfast."
Mrs. Purspyre choked on the puffy cracknel and was saved to the world by a glass of water. Mrs. Herringford thoughtfully brought water for them all.
"You'll find it nice and fresh," she said, with pardonable pride, as she poured the precious fluid with a lavish hand.
"Then it's different from this ginger-snap," remarked Mr. Wogie, nursing a jarred tooth.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" announced Mr. Sherlock, getting upon his feet and waving one arm. "Let us thank Mrs. Herringford for her kind entertainment, which will be a red letter event in our calendar of glorious memories. This dissipation is unusual with us all, but I hope in no case will it prove fatal. Once in a while it is good for stagnant humanity to indulge in high life and cracknels—"
"Bravo!" shouted one of the Naylor girls, who had pocketed her refreshments to carry home as a souvenir.
"Therefore," concluded the orator, "let us leave the glamour and bewildering gaiety of these festivities and seek a more common-place seclusion. Let us thank Mrs. Herringford once again—and go home."
"Bravo!" yelled Idowno, jumping up, and instantly the meeting adjourned.
"Mr. Jarrod" said Jim when he went to work next morning, "father's here."
"I've just been to call upon him," returned the lawyer, looking steadily at the young man; "but you haven't."
Jim flushed.
"Does he know I'm here?" he asked, hesitatingly.
"I told him. He didn't know it until then. Your mother and Nellie and May are all delighted and eager to see you."
"And father?"
"He did not express himself as glad or sorry. You've offended him deeply, Jim."
The boy thrust his hands into his pockets and looked thoughtful.
"I'd like to see mother," he said, musingly. "She's as tender and sweet as any mother can be, Mr. Jarrod; but the poor dear is entirely under my father's thumb, and even his frown terrifies her."
"Hm," said the lawyer. "I thought that kind of wives became extinct years ago."
"Mother's the old-fashioned sort, sir. And the girls are all right, in their way—for sisters. But dad has a dreadful temper, and when he gets on his high horse all I can do is to jaw back."
"No two in a family should try to ride the high horse at the same time," observed Jarrod; "and you must remember that the head of the house controls the stables. He's sick, Jim, and his pain makes him crabbed. Why not try to bear with him, and be friendly?"
"That's what Susie says. Perhaps I really ought to go up to the cottage and call."
"There's no question about it. Go now."
Jim hesitated.
"I said I'd never darken his doors again, you know," he intimated, weakly.
"These are not his doors. It's Grant's cottage."
"So it is. Well, I'll go."
He pulled his hat down over his ears desperately, buttoned his coat in spite of the heat, and with tense muscles but trembling lips marched up the hill to the Grant cottage.
Before he could knock the door flew open and he was in his mother's arms. The poor lady was sobbing with joy, and led her errant son into the room where his father sat propped with cushions in an easy chair.
"Here's Jim!" she said, trembling with uncertainty and a well founded fear of the interview to follow.
Mr. Everton looked at his boy and nodded.
"Sit down, Jim," he said. The tone was not harsh, but lacked cordiality.
Jim sat down.
"How are you, sir?"
"Pretty bad. I don't seem to find any relief."
Once Jim had wickedly suggested that he take his own rheumatism cure; but the remark had led to all their trouble, so he twirled his hat and answered perfunctorily:
"I'm sorry, sir."
Such mildness of demeanor ought to have placated the father. But Everton was eyeing his son suspiciously.
"They tell me you're working. A lawyer's clerk."
"I'm Mr. Jarrod's private secretary, sir."
"Huh! Good job for a college man, isn't it? Nice investment I made when I sent you to Cornell."
Jim wondered what he would say if he knew he had until recently been a dry-goods clerk.
"Haven't you had about enough of this two-penny folly?" demanded his father, more harshly.
"Oh, I've discovered that I can earn my own living," said the boy, flushing.
"That isn't the point. I reared you with the expectation that you would be of some use to me when I grew old and feeble. That time has arrived. I need you to help look after the business. Look here: do you owe nothing to me?"
Jim examined the pattern on the rug.
"Just as much as I owe myself, sir. Surely not more."
"Then pay your obligation to me first, and you can do as you please afterward."
"All right. That's fair."
His mother, who sat beside him silently holding his hand, hugged him again, and even Mr. Everton seemed pleased by the frank answer.
"You jeered at the business once, and called it a—a fake!" resumed the elder man, somewhat bitterly; "but it's nothing of the sort. Every one of the Everton Remedies is prepared according to the formula of a skillful physician, and they've helped lots of suffering people. Is not my name highly respected? Answer me!"
"I think it is."
"Very well. You shall be my assistant and have an interest in the business. I'll allow you ten thousand a year."
"Good!" said Jim, brightening suddenly. "Then I can get married."
"Oh, Jim!" cried his mother.
"To whom, sir?" asked his father.
"Why, to Susie. Perhaps you haven't heard of her. She's a girl I met at Tamawaca."
"What's her other name?"
"Smith. Susie Smith," dwelling on it lovingly.
"Smith! Well, who is she?"
"The sweetest girl in all the world, sir."
"Bah! Who are her people? Where does she come from?"
"I don't know."
"Nonsense."
"I haven't asked about her family. Why should I, when she's all right herself? She's stopping with Mr. Carleton—W. E. Carleton, the railway contractor. He says he knows you."
"Well?"
"Susie lives in New York, I think, or some Eastern city. Her mother is dead but her father is still on deck—I'm positive of that, for she often speaks of him."
"What does he do?"
"Can't imagine, I'm sure."
"Jim, you're a fool—a doddering imbecile!"
"All right."
"Oh, Henry—please don't quarrel!" exclaimed Mrs. Everton, beginning to weep anew.
But the invalid was suffering twinges and would not be stayed.
"You'll have to give up that girl for good and all," he roared. "Susie Smith! Some cheap stenographer or a paid companion to Mrs. Carleton, I suppose. Some designing hussy who thinks you'll have money, and wants to get her clutches on it. Susie Smith! For heaven's sake, Jim, why can't you have a little sense?"
Jim got up, slowly and with a white face.
"Father, I don't know much about Susie except that I love her and mean to marry her. And I won't have you sneer at her, even if you are ill and bad tempered. You have no reason to say a word against her."
"Smith!"
"I know," a smile creeping over his face to soften its fierceness; "but I'll change that name, pretty soon. Susie Everton isn't so bad, is it?"
"Give her up, Jim. Don't let her come between us."
"She's there, Dad, and you can't thrust her away."
"Give her up."
"I won't!"
Mrs. Everton was sobbing softly. The invalid turned on his cushions with a sigh. But his jaws were closed tight and his brow bent to a frown. Jim had quite regained his composure.
"I hope you'll soon get better, sir," he remarked. "I shall be in Tamawaca for some weeks yet, and if I can be of any help in any way, let me know. Good bye, mother."
As he turned to go the door burst open and Nellie and May dashed in and threw themselves upon their brother with glad cries and smothering kisses. They were bright, pretty girls, and Jim loved them and was proud of them.
"Is it all made up, Jim?" asked Nell, anxiously.
"Not quite, little sister," smiling at her.
"Oh, but it must be! It's all wrong, dear, for us to be separated this way. Tell him so, father!" turning appealingly to the invalid.
"He refused my overtures," said Mr. Everton, testily.
"Oh, no!" laughed Jim; "he refused my sweetheart."
The girls clapped their hands gleefully.
"We've heard all about it, in the town," said one. "Oh, Jim, you lucky boy!"
"And whom do you think it is, Dad?" asked the other eagerly, as she seated herself beside her father's chair.
"I don't know; and Jim don't know."
"Butweknow! She's an old friend of ours. We knew her at Wellesley, and we've just called upon her and kissed her and hugged her for old times' sake. Father, it's Susie Smith!"
"Smith!" with a snort of contempt.
"The only, only child of the great Agamemnon Smith, the richest Standard Oil magnate after Rockefeller himself!"
Jim fell into a chair and stared at his father. His father stared at him.
"And that isn't all," said May, gushingly. "Susie's as lovely as she is rich—the sweetest, cutest, brightest and cunningest little thing that ever lived."
"To think that Susie Smith will be our sister!" cried Nell, clasping her hands ecstatically.
"And—and—Jim can change that name of Smith, you know," faltered poor Mrs. Everton, glancing at her husband nervously.
The invalid roused himself and looked up with a smile.
"So he can," he observed, drily. "Hang up your hat, Jim, and let's talk it over."
Jim hung up his hat.
Things settled into easy grooves at Tamawaca.
Now that Wilder was no longer a public autocrat people accepted him in his new role as an humble member of the community, according him the consideration due any well behaved cottager. Easton kept out of the way for a time, and gradually folks forgot him and regained their accustomed cheerfulness. He had been a thorn in their sides, but the wound soon healed when the thorn was removed. Few of us care to remember unpleasant things, and communities are more generous than we are inclined to give them the credit for being.
The "New Tamawaca" began to arouse the interest of the cottagers, who threw themselves heart and soul into its regeneration. Things were done for the first time in the history of the place, and done with a will and enthusiasm that accomplished wonders in a brief period. Miles of cement walks were laid through the woods, and a broad thoroughfare now extends the length of the lake front, where once it was dangerous to travel on foot. To the visitor it is the chief charm of the place. There are new public buildings, too, and the little parks that were formerly dumps for refuse are made sweet and enticing with shrubs and flowers.
Because of all this, and the era of prosperity that has dawned upon it, Tamawaca is growing steadily and many pretty cottages are springing up on the vacant lots. One of the most attractive of these is owned by Jim and Susie, who have ample reason to be fond of the delightful resort where they had the good fortune to first meet.