“Ah kissed ’er in de moufAn’ ah hugged ’er in de souf.”
“Ah kissed ’er in de mouf
An’ ah hugged ’er in de souf.”
“Ain’ you know bettah an’ to mek a noise dat a way, dis time in de mo’ning?” the irritated cook inquired.
“Ah ain’ mek no noise, Miss Sereny. Hit decaah,” he made reply in pleasant tones. It would be folly to irritate unduly the custodian of the chicken lest the fowl be consumed before friendly relations could be reestablished. His black face was bathed in good humor as he went on. “Miss Sereny, ma hand an’ ma foot done slip.”
That smile disarmed the cook. It was his strongest weapon, but Ike usually resorted to a sullen obstinacy which infuriated her, to his undoing. She glared at him for a moment and then his smile and the spirit of the morning claimed her. “You bettah watch you’ step, den,” she returned, and their voices blended in a boisterous gust of laughter.
Ike’s salute to his favorite fowl awakened Virginia from her sleep with a start. Sitting up in bed, she cast a frightened glance about her pretty bedroom. For a moment she listened intently, drawn up in a little white heap on her bed, her blue eyes misty with dreams, peeping out from a frame of towsled hair. “It’s Ike running the engine,” she decided.
She gave a little yawn as she poked her feet into herslippers and ran over to a window. From it she could look, between the tops of two great elms, across the valley in which South Ridgefield lay to the top of a small hill upon which, bathed in the morning sun, stood the brick hospital building. Her eyes rested upon it, thoughtfully, and she took a deep breath of morning air. She began to sing happily as she turned to dress.
Obadiah was shaving in his bath room. He used an old fashioned razor, the pride of his youth. His deep cut wrinkles made it a matter of care–almost a ceremony. Ike’s disturbance nearly resulted in the amputation of a lip. Obadiah was peeved. Rushing to the window, he threw it open. He heard Serena’s words of remonstrance and determined to dismiss Ike. He often did that.
Suddenly the morning breeze played caressingly about him. He pulled his bath robe closer to him and slammed the window down. His face felt stiff where the lather had dried upon it. “Darn the luck,” growled Obadiah. He washed his face, restropped his razor, reprepared his lather, and finally completed his shave by nicking his neck on his Adam’s apple. “Dang it all,” he howled. The world was ill using Obadiah and he resented it. He dressed slowly and from his bedroom window moodily viewed his beautiful grounds.
Into his view danced Virginia, swinging a wide brimmed hat by its streamers and singing gaily as she made for a bed of sweet peas.
Obadiah watched her, but the harsh lines upon his face did not soften nor the irascible look fade. Hegave a grim nod when the girl discovered him and shouted a merry greeting.
There was no one in the dining room when the manufacturer entered it that morning. He seated himself and began to eat his melon.
The rich voice of Serena with all of its carrying power came in at the window, “Yo’ all bettah git in yere mighty fas’. You’ Daddy done eat up all de breakfus’.”
Then sounded the answering words of the girl, ringing silvery and sweet, “Ask Daddy to wait. I have some beautiful flowers for him.”
Serena was suddenly beset with internal mutterings and grumblings and broke into incoherent utterances. “Ah ain’ got no time–no time–flowers–tell him dat–No siree–Ah ain’ no fool.” A few moments later she entered the dining room worrying aloud. “Dat chil’ gwine be fo’ced to eat a col’ breakfus. Ah caint keep grub hot all day.”
“She must learn to be on time at her meals,” Obadiah scolded.
Serena gave him a look of stern disapprobation. “Dat gal miss ’er breakfus er gittin’ flowers fo’ yo’ all.”
Light feet ran through the hall and Virginia skipped into the room, her face flushed, her hair tossed and a bunch of sweet peas in either hand.
Unexpectedly, two soft arms were about Obadiah’s neck. He found his face buried in a mass of blossoms while girlish laughter in peals of delight rang in his ears.
Virginia shifted her position to examine in mocksolemnity the sober face of her father blinking from the mass of delicate colors. She gave a shout of amusement. “Daddy, you don’t match very well.” She shifted the bouquets about his face. “There, that is much better,” she decided. “Don’t you think so, Serena?”
Obadiah sneezed.
“God bless you,” Virginia whispered.
“Take those things out of my nose,” protested Obadiah.
“You look so beautiful,” the girl giggled. “Doesn’t he, Serena?”
The colored woman watched the proceedings with great gravity. “Leave you’ Daddy ’lone, chil’,” she urged. “De breakfus gwine be ruined.”
Obadiah released himself from his daughter’s embrace and the blossoms dropped in a glowing mass upon the table. “Eat your breakfast and stop this foolishness,” he told her.
“I’ll eat anything you’ll give me, Daddy dear. I am as hungry as a bear.” She glanced at the clock. “It’s late. I must hurry to get over to the hospital.”
“What for?” he asked in apparent surprise.
“To see the man who was hurt yesterday. I spoke to you about it.”
“Yes, but upon reflection I think it inadvisable. You might catch some disease in a place like that. You must think of yourself.”
A look of disappointment came into her face. She ate in silence, the gayety of the morning swept away by his refusal.
When breakfast was over, she followed him into theliving room where he sank into a chair and devoted himself to his paper. Thinking deeply, she paused by the center table. Very quietly, she opened a drawer and took from it the book which had belonged to her mother. She caressed the little volume gently for a moment, a great tenderness in her eyes. Then she replaced it. Determination had driven disappointment from her face and there was a faint reflection of his obstinacy in her jaw when she went over and confronted her father. “Daddy,” she commenced, very softly. “All your life you have been helping people–thinking of others. In your thoughtfulness for my health you wish to keep me away from the hospital. But, don’t you see, I was to blame for that accident. It is my duty to help that man, if I can. I must go.”
Obadiah glanced over his paper at Virginia as she began to speak. Realizing that her words savored of rank rebellion, he reddened and glared at the sheet before him as if it contained a warning of the presence in his household of a serpent pledged to destroy its peace. “What–what–what’s this?” he spluttered.
“I can’t allow your love to make a coward of me–turn me from my duty, Daddy.”
Obadiah blinked as he considered this mutiny. Judgment and experience warned him to control himself. Unpleasant differences in the past had not always resulted as he could have wished. There had been times when he had been forced not only to sue Virginia for peace but likewise to make abject overtures to that firmest of allies, Serena.
Obadiah thought rapidly. Outside of moral suasion,modern opinion recognizes but few methods for the influencing of eighteen year old female insurgents. If Obadiah argued, he would get mad. In his dilemma, he surrendered, but not with good grace. “Well,” he yielded sulkily, “if you feel that way about it, have it your own way.” Scowling darkly, he flung his paper from him and departed for his office with asperity.
From the porch Virginia waved him a last good bye. “Poor Daddy. He is so afraid that I will get sick,” she thought, pensively, as she watched the disappearing car. But in a moment her good spirits returned and she hurried into the kitchen. Serena was forced to lay aside her work until the chicken was daintily arranged in a basket with other delicacies added by the old negress in reparation, possibly, for her weakness in yielding to Ike a small portion of the invalid’s fare.
Later that morning Virginia arrived at the hospital. Following the directions given her, she found herself standing in the doorway of a long room on the second floor. On each side of a center aisle ran a row of white bedsteads. The walls, painted a dull buff, were pierced by many windows and the linoleum in the aisle and the hard wood floor were waxed and polished until they shone. In this place, cleanliness, fresh air, and sunshine reigned.
The beds were filled with pajama clad men. To the embarrassed young girl it was as if she had blundered into a man’s bedroom, and impulsively she turned to flee.
A cheery voice arrested her, and the nurse whom she had met in the reception room on the previous daygreeted her. “I told you that I would meet you here.” She smiled with a frank cordiality which instantly dissipated the visitor’s embarrassment.
Virginia knew now that she liked this young woman, even though she was a great tease, so she answered the smile with one of equal friendliness and told her, “It is nice to find someone I know”; but instantly she referred to the cause for her visit. “How is he?”
“I think that we have his fever under control,” laughed the nurse.
“Now she is beginning to tease,” thought Virginia. “I won’t notice it.”
The nurse went on. “He is really getting along fine. If I were you I shouldn’t give a moment’s worry to that young man’s health. Don’t trouble to plan your remarks to him, either. He won’t listen to them. He does most of the talking.”
The walk down the aisle between those beds, each with its pair of masculine optics, was a trial for the girl. It seemed miles. At last, safely by this gauntlet of inquisitive male glances, she found herself looking down into those same black eyes which had looked into hers for a second out on Forest Avenue. Then they were dazed with pain, now they were filled with friendly inquiry.
The nurse, Miss Knight, was direct and explicit. “Joe,” she announced, “this is the young lady who says that she put you here.”
Joe accepted this surprising remark as a matter of amusement which increased as the nurse went on.
“Now she comes to soften the hard blows with tender words and kind attentions.”
Virginia blushed furiously. She thought Miss Knight’s manner towards men distinctly common.
A deep voice came from the bed. “I am very glad to meet you and be able to thank you for what I have been told you did for me, Miss Dale. That accident was my hard luck.” He put his whole soul into his smile of welcome and the girl knew that she liked it.
Having endeavored to relieve his guest’s embarrassment, he turned upon Miss Knight, the greatly delighted cause of it, and adapted his manner and speech to her case. “Say, sister, blow. Blow while the breeze will toss you away. I haven’t noticed any invitations for you to sit in on this peace conference.”
The nurse flared at his words, although his smile had tempered them. Drawing herself up, she made answer with great dignity.
“You don’t need to urge me not to hang around while your wounds are being dressed with soothing lotions. It’s not necessary to hit me with an automobile to get me out of the way,” she exclaimed with great sarcasm, and flounced away.
“The gloom of night departs,” he chuckled, and, turning dancing eyes upon his visitor, continued softly, “and now comes dawn.”
Virginia flushed again. “For all that you know, it may be stormy,” she retorted, astonished at her own glib tongue. The merry banter of the patient and nurse had surprised her. She had been taught that this sort of thing was vulgar. Yet, somehow, it didn’t seem so dreadful. She suspected that she rather liked it and was troubled by this symptom of innate depravity. Now she became aware that those black eyes werestudying her, and mischief gleamed in their depths.
“Our meeting was very sudden yesterday,” he laughed. “I didn’t have a chance to give you my card. My name is Joseph Tolliver Curtis. Those who–” he hesitated and then went on–“are my friends, call me Joe.” Happiness radiated from him. He was so good humored that it was contagious.
The visitor beamed upon the patient. “My name is Virginia Dale,” she explained.
“I know it,” he admitted, and then, with the manner of intense personal interest, he demanded, “Do your friends–your intimate friends–by any chance call you ‘Virge’?”
“I should say not.” The girl’s eyes flashed as she retorted, “They would hear from me.”
“By letter,” he inquired, “or telephone?” In a moment he continued, “I have it. You will sing to them just as you are going to sing to me.”
“Sing to you?”
“Of course you are going to sing to me. Every one who visits a hospital should sing. It was found wonderfully soothing to the patients in the big army hospitals during the war. After they had listened to the performers they were more contented to endure their suffering.”
“They would have died on the spot if I’d sung,” she answered.
They both laughed in the exuberance of their youth at their own nonsense until his injured ribs stopped him and she became very serious.
“I came, today–” her manner was almost shy–“to tell you how sorry I am for that accident. Itmakes me unhappy to think of you suffering here through my fault.”
“How can you blame yourself? You had nothing at all to do with it,” he declared with great earnestness.
“I told our chauffeur to hurry,” she explained, and then with finality, “if he hadn’t, there would have been no collision.”
Again his injured ribs subdued his laughter. “If everybody had stayed off the street, I wouldn’t have been hurt. That’s your argument.” He studied her face for a moment and then resumed. “Listen, I am going to tell you a secret. Promise never to tell.”
“Honest,” she agreed.
“I was running away over the speed limit. I must have been going forty miles an hour.”
Virginia became the custodian of his secret with great calmness and solemnly confessed, “We were running over the speed limit, too. Ike usually does. He knows that I enjoy going fast. The speed limit in this town is away too low, I think.”
“Yes,” he concurred, “I wouldn’t have been hurt worse if I had been running twice as fast. The point is, that we could both be arrested and fined for speeding.”
“They always arrest Ike,” she explained with complacency. “He doesn’t care a bit. He’s used to it.” Anxiety arose in her eyes. “Surely, they wouldn’t arrest one as badly hurt as you?”
“You don’t know that judge.” Joe spoke with experience. “If they brought a dying man into his court who had only fifty dollars to leave to his widow andchildren, that judge would take it from him for speeding. That is, if he rode a motorcycle.”
“Oh, the injustice of it. Doesn’t he care for motorcyclists?”
“No,” asserted Joe with great forcefulness. “Nobody likes a motorcyclist.”
“I do,” proclaimed Virginia, and then, after taking a moment to recover from the embarrassment of her own outspokenness, she continued, “It’s not right. They are entitled to equal justice,” as if enunciating a newly discovered truth.
“Sure, they are entitled to it, but they don’t get it. That’s why I must keep quiet. My accident insurance will take care of my hospital bills and my job will keep.”
“Why don’t you collect damages?” urged Virginia with great gravity.
“From whom?”
After a moment’s consideration, she solved the legal problem. “From me–that is, from my father, for me.”
At the reference to her father a change came in the injured man. His good humor faded. “No,” he said decidedly. “In the first place I wouldn’t accept money from your father and in the second place he would not give any.”
“You don’t know my father,” she said with pride. “He is a very just man. Sometimes he’s gruff and a little cross but he doesn’t mean anything by that. He always wants to do the right and generous thing.” Her face was alight with loyalty and admiration.
“Does he?” There was a note of sarcasm in hisvoice which disappeared, and he said no more after he had read her eyes.
She misinterpreted the change in him. “I have stayed too long,” she worried. “You are tired.” She remembered the chicken. “I brought you something.” She put the plate of fowl beside him.
He viewed it in joyous anticipation. “Fine,” he shouted. “If there is one thing I love, it is fried chicken. How did you guess it?”
She smiled at Miss Knight who had joined them. “A bird told me,” she answered him.
The nurse put her hands on her hips and viewed the visitor with marked suspicion at this remark, but, as if satisfied that her distrust was unfounded, she retired to the diet kitchen from which hearty laughter immediately thereafter resounded.
“Good bye,” she told him almost shyly.
His good spirits had returned. “You and I are friends, and remember, we are always going to be friends.”
She nodded and said again, “Good bye, Mr. Curtis.”
“My friends call me Joe,” he reminded her.
Virginia hesitated, and then, “Good bye–Joe,” she whispered and left the ward with a sweet little smile.
In the hall Miss Knight rejoined her. “Before you go I want to show you something which is our pride and joy at the present moment,” she explained to the girl. She opened a door and displayed a beautifully furnished room which glistened in its cleanliness.
“It is very attractive, but why is the room different?” asked Virginia.
The nurse pointed to a bronze tablet. It bore thename of the donor, one well known in South Ridgefield.
“What a beautiful idea,” the girl exclaimed.
“Isn’t it?” responded the nurse. “The gift includes not only the furniture but the endowment of the bed for five years.” She laughed. “The man who gave it is ahead of the game. He was hurt in a railroad accident and was here for a couple of months. He sued the railroad company and collected more than enough from them to do this.”
Afterwards, by Virginia’s express wish, she was taken to the nursery and permitted to hold a recently arrived guest in her arms, who happened at the moment to be awake. She was allowed to peek into the maternity ward with its beds filled with women, and her tour ended in the dispensary where she met Dr. Jackson and a nurse who were busily engaged in caring for the ailments of the sick babies the mothers brought in from outside. At last she left for home, and on the way she thought of this strange new world she had been shown in this big brick building, but principally she thought of a pair of black eyes that laughed and of the gross injustices to which down trodden motorcyclists were the victims.
Later that afternoon, Miss Knight was very busy among the shining utensils in the diet kitchen when she was disturbed by another visitor.
“I beg your pardon,” said a voice, “but could you direct me to a patient? My name,” he continued suavely, “is Wilkins–Hezekiah Wilkins.” He wiped his bald head, and went on. “It’s very warm today–extremely so.”
“Sure, it’s warm,” agreed Miss Knight, “and this electric heater makes it a darn sight warmer.”
Hezekiah intended to give the nurse a look of sympathetic understanding, but ended by giving her a friendly grin. “I comprehend your point of view,” he added. “A trip to a pleasant resort would be more agreeable, don’t you think?”
Miss Knight viewed his words in the sense of a tentative invitation and considered the merriment in his eyes suspicious in one of his age. She froze and demanded with the utmost frigidity, “Whom do you wish to see?”
Utterly innocent that he had all but persuaded this sophisticated nurse that he was one of those aged profligates of whom young women had best beware, Hezekiah drew forth an envelope upon which he had entered certain notes which he now found difficult to decipher, and told her.
She led the way and the lawyer followed through the ranks of curious eyes. He vigorously mopped at his shining cranium and held his inverted panama before him as if taking a collection of errant drops of moisture that they might not mar the polished floor. This detracted from the dignity of Hezekiah’s progress.
Seating himself by Joe Curtis’s bed, the attorney gazed at the youth for a few moments in polite curiosity.
The motorcyclist returned the look with one of undisguised distrust.
“My name is Hezekiah Wilkins,” announced the lawyer when the mutual scrutiny had continued so long that it threatened to become embarrassing. “I havereasons to believe that I am speaking to Mr. Joseph Tolliver Curtis.”
“You’ve got me, Steve,” responded Joe.
“I’ve what?” inquired Hezekiah, much perplexed. Light dawned upon him. “Oh, yes–quite so–assuredly,” he indulged in a soft chuckle. “I am dense at times. Slow might be better, eh?” Again he chuckled. “Slow for the rising generations, particularly–” he smiled genially at Joe–“when they ride motorcycles.”
Joe abated none of his vigilance. His policy was that of watchful waiting.
“The day is very warm,” continued Hezekiah, looking about the ward with interest. “This is a delightfully cool and pleasant place. You are to be congratulated upon having such comfortable quarters in which to recuperate.”
“Say!” Joe’s voice was distinctly hostile. “Are you the advertising agent for this hospital?”
Hezekiah’s trained ear sensed unfriendliness abroad. He changed his manner of approach with the quickness of a skilled strategist. “Mr. Curtis,” he went on briskly, “I represent Mr. Obadiah Dale. You have no doubt heard of him?”
Joe nodded.
“Your motorcycle ran into Mr. Dale’s automobile yesterday,” the lawyer resumed. “I do not come to seek compensation for the injury to his car. I am delighted, finding you as I do upon a bed of pain, to be upon a much pleasanter mission.” Hezekiah smiled benignantly. “There was a witness to the accident. With some difficulty, I have located him and procuredhis statement. While it may be conceded that this person has no special skill or training in estimating the speed of moving vehicles, he is” (the attorney’s manner expressed assurance) “prepared to testify that you were operating your machine at a speed in excess of that permitted by law.” He paused as if awaiting an incriminating admission.
“Go on,” snapped Joe.
Hezekiah continued with increased emphasis. “Assuming this to be true, it appears that you were entirely or in part responsible for the accident and the consequent damage to Mr. Dale’s car and your own person.”
“Not on your life,” cried Joe with great excitement. “I have a witness who says the Dale car was to blame for the accident and that it was exceeding the speed limit.”
“Surely.” Mr. Wilkins chuckled. “There are always witnesses for both sides. My gracious, if this were not true how could we have law suits? It’s the reputation of a witness for truth and veracity which counts in court, my boy.”
“I know it.”
“Admitting your witness,” Hezekiah resumed with great cheerfulness, “the speed of your own machine is certain to be the subject of controversy. My client has no desire to enter into this. He waives it.” Hezekiah likewise waved his glasses and then went on speaking much more rapidly as one hurrying to be rid of a task in which he has no heart. “My client not only waives your personal responsibility and the material damage suffered by him, but authorizes me, in his behalf, to tender you this check in the sum of twenty-five dollarsto assist in the defrayment of your hospital expenses.”
Joe Curtis’s eyes flashed with temper. “Obadiah Dale and his money can go straight to the devil,” he roared, in a voice which startled the entire ward and made the lawyer jump.
“Calm yourself, Sir,” urged Hezekiah. “Undue excitement is injudicious in your physical condition. Bless my soul, there may be grounds for differences over the sum tendered, but I can see no reason for intense anger.”
Down the aisle came Miss Knight, stern of face. “Say,” she demanded, “do you think that this is a livery stable, Joe? If you do, you had better wake up. That rough stuff doesn’t go around here. Do you get me?”
He gave her a most sheepish glance. “Sister,” he began.
The nurse’s eyes flashed. “Must I speak to you again about that ‘sister’ habit. I won’t stand for it.” She explained to the lawyer, “I not only have to nurse these men but I have to teach them manners, too.”
Before her righteous indignation, a great meekness descended upon Joe. “I am sorry, Miss Knight. I didn’t mean to start a rough house, only I–got mad.” He smiled at her.
She surrendered to his humility and that smile. She adjusted his pillow and brushed the hair back from his eyes with her hand. “You are a bad boy, Joe. I am going to forgive you for this, but the next time you start anything, you will be punished.” She shook a threatening finger at him. “Do you understand?”
“Yes’m,” he answered in the tone and manner of anaughty small boy. He rolled his head towards the lawyer. “I owe you an apology for losing my temper.”
“Never mind, my boy,” said Hezekiah, who had viewed the calming of the storm with relief. “A gale clears the atmosphere. Plain speaking begets clear understanding.” Resuming his glasses, the lawyer regarded the youth with great friendliness, and, after a moment, deemed it safe to go on. “You expressed yourself so–ah–” (he sought for an inoffensive term) “with such certainty of feeling that I assume that you have determined upon some measure of adjustment yourself.”
Again Joe Curtis’s eyes flashed. “There can be no adjustment between Obadiah Dale and me,” he answered coldly.
“No?” Hezekiah’s regret had the ring of sincerity. “In a friendly spirit towards you, my boy,” he urged, “I would advise against the development of an hostile feeling towards Mr. Dale. He had no more to do with that accident than the man in the moon.”
“I know it,” admitted Joe.
“The institution of an action at law is an expensive proceeding. As a lawyer I warn you that the outcome would be extremely uncertain. Who can tell what a jury will do?” Hezekiah shook his head solemnly, thereby registering his grave doubts of the action of twelve men good and true.
“Institute an action,” repeated Joe, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Say, Uncle, when I sue that old skate, it sure is going to be some case.”
Hezekiah waxed indignant. This may have beendue either to Joe’s intimation of relationship to himself or to the opprobrious designation of his client as an old skate. “Don’t mislead yourself,” he exclaimed peevishly. “You will be thrown out of court.”
Joe ruffled visibly. “Who is going to throw me out of court?” he demanded. “Obadiah Dale?” Another idea struck him. He gave the lawyer a most threatening and pugnacious glance. “Maybe you thinkyoucan do it?”
Hezekiah’s amazement at the suspicion that either he or his client contemplated physical violence upon this young giant, swathed in bandages, was extreme. “Gorry diamonds, you must be crazy,” he gasped, and then the other’s point of view came to him. He burst into a big booming peal of honest amusement, an infectious laugh which brought instant peace. “My friend,” he chuckled, “you misunderstand me. I attempted to suggest that in view of the evidence which I can produce, a court would refuse to consider your claim.”
“Not with the witness I have,” Joe insisted.
“Well, what about this wonderful witness of yours?” chuckled Hezekiah, comfortable in the assurance of holding the master hand.
“My witness” (the calmness of his voice did not quite conceal a note of exultation in it) “is Virginia Dale.”
In the Dale home, dinner was served in the middle of the day on Sunday, and Serena caused the meal to partake of the nature of a banquet. Abstemious in week day luncheons, Obadiah succumbed to the flesh pots on the seventh day and thereafter relapsed into slumber during digestion even as a boa-constrictor.
He was sleeping off his Sunday engorgement in a porch chair. His head drooped awkwardly and he had slumped into his best clothes, while from time to time he choked and coughed and made weird noises. All about him lay the peace of a summer Sabbath broken only by the low hum of the bees gathering sweetness from the blooming honeysuckle vine near by. Only the energetic resisted the combined attacks of plenteousness and the somnolent afternoon.
Virginia had not surrendered to the soporific tendencies of the hour. She had conversed with her father until made aware that, mentally speaking, he was no longer with her. Such knowledge is discouraging even to the most enthusiastic of female dialogists, and so, as the minutes passed, her words lost force and her sentences fire. Compelled to seek other fields of interest, the girl strolled aimlessly about the lawn until she came to the gate. The street looked cool andinviting beneath its arching elms and she moved down it slowly. She had almost reached the corner when a woman’s voice sounded from an awning shaded porch, “Virginia, come here. Don’t you pass my house without stopping.” It was Mrs. Henderson.
“Yes, Hennie, I’m coming. I was sure that you were taking a nap.” The girl turned up a walk, bordered with blooming rose bushes, towards an old-fashioned house. “You are as busy as usual, I suppose?” she continued, after she had been affectionately greeted by her hostess.
Mrs. Henderson nodded. No other woman in South Ridgefield gave as much of her time and, proportionately, of her wealth to help others as did this strangely constituted widow. Hers was a frank nature, given to the expression of its views without regard to time or place. She had the faculty of so phrasing her remarks that they cut their victim cruelly and convulsed her hearers. So, respected for her innate goodness, and feared for her sharp tongue, Mrs. Henderson had many acquaintances but few friends. She was judged in the light of a magazine of high explosives, dangerous to those near, but likely to blow up if left without attention. Many were her friends because they were afraid not to be, but there were those who appreciated her character. Strangely, these were they who had waged mighty battles with her, to emerge from strife her devoted adherents. Having felt her sting, they dubbed her harmless as a dove, delighting in her intimate companionship. Such a one had been Virginia’s mother.
But Obadiah had no place in this category. Soonafter the death of his wife, Mrs. Henderson had discovered that a girl who worked in his mill was sick and in dire want. She asked him to assist the sufferer, but, to her surprise, the mill owner refused. Thereupon, Mrs. Henderson, without mincing words, expressed her opinion of him. Also, she repeated her remarks to a friend.
Obadiah’s legs were thin, and under stress of excitement he pitched his voice high. When it became known that Mrs. Henderson had likened the mill owner, to his face, to a mosquito sucking blood from his employees, the whole town laughed. The tale spread to his mill, during a time of labor unrest, and a cartoon portraying the manufacturer as a mosquito hovering about emaciated workers was circulated.
A strike followed in which the employees were successful and Obadiah never forgave Mrs. Henderson for giving a weapon to his opponents. Yet, strangely enough, he had never attempted to interfere with her friendship for his daughter. Possibly, knowing the widow, he feared that she would openly defy him, and, abetted by Serena, carry the war into his own house, to the greater enjoyment of his fellow townsmen.
As Mrs. Henderson welcomed Virginia, she was thinking of other things than Obadiah. She was filled with amusement and gave vent to laughter. “Dearie, how on earth did you get mixed up with that minstrel parade? I never dreamed that my little girl would startle this town.” Again the widow gave way to merriment. She was thinking of a group of women she had caught discussing with great unkindness the outcome of the girl’s efforts to make the pickaninnieshappy. Hennie’s championship of her favorite had been unusually vigorous, and the endeavors of the critics to reverse themselves had resembled a stampede.
“We had nothing to do with the parade,” Virginia told her. “We followed it so that the orphans might enjoy the music. As we had nearly frightened them out of their wits, I took them for a ride to make up.”
“I heard how you came to take the orphans for a ride. I could understand that, but the minstrel part puzzled me,” Mrs. Henderson’s amusement faded into seriousness. “That ride idea is a splendid one. It would add so much to the happiness of those children.” She continued, “I have been on the Board of that Home for years. There are so many things to be done over there and so little to do with. No one is particularly interested in the place. We must find some way, though, to arrange rides for those orphans now that you have started things going.”
Virginia was instantly fired with great enthusiasm. “I’ll take them out each week, myself,” she promised.
Mrs. Henderson smiled. “We can’t allow you to continue to excite too much interest in this town.”
The girl disregarded the objection. “But I started it, Hennie.”
“That is very true, but you can’t expect your father to let you use his fine car for those children. Anyway, it is not necessary to bother about that, because it is entirely too small. We need a truck. Something in which movable seats can be placed.”
“Like those at the mill? Why not ask Daddy for one of them?” suggested Virginia.
“They would be the very thing,” Mrs. Henderson admitted, but she shook her head hopelessly. “Your father would never let you have one of them. We must look elsewhere.”
“Oh, yes, he will, Hennie,” Virginia assured her with great confidence. The widow’s doubting eye moved the girl to remonstrate, “You don’t know him at all. I think that it is the strangest thing, that you have been my father’s neighbor all of these years and don’t understand him better.”
Mrs. Henderson displayed sudden stern-eyed interest in a flower bed upon her lawn, and the toe of her shoe softly tapped the floor of the porch.
The girl leaned towards the older woman, her face aglow with pride and admiration, as she searched for some acknowledgment of her words. “Daddy is so noble and so good,” she explained in a voice modulated by tenderness. “He spends all of his time thinking about other people.”
The lines of Mrs. Henderson’s mouth relaxed, and the tempo of the tapping toe slowed. Her eyes twinkled merrily.
“Isn’t it wonderful, Hennie?” and Virginia looked up to a face for a moment puzzled.
“Very wonderful, child,” responded the widow, and Virginia never dreamed that there was a delicate note of sarcasm in the voice. Leaning forward, Mrs. Henderson clasped the girl’s hand. “Your father is a lucky man to have such love and affection,” she said, and then as though thinking aloud, she murmured, “I hope that he appreciates it.” After a pause she returned to the subject of the orphans with great vigor.“Some one in this town must loan us a truck. That is all there is about it.”
“Let Daddy do it. He will love to.”
The hopeful enthusiasm of the girl was lost upon the older woman. “Well, it will do no harm to give him the opportunity,” she conceded dryly; “but I wouldn’t count on it too much if I were you.” Suddenly, she remembered something. “Dear me, I almost forgot it. I must run over to the Lucinda Home a minute. You come along, dear,” she urged.
“Hennie, I can’t. I haven’t a hat. I am not dressed to go out.”
Mrs. Henderson smiled. “It doesn’t make any difference what you wear over there. Most of the old ladies are so nearly blind that they can’t tell what you have on.”
So Virginia agreed to go, and, as the distance to the institution was short, in a few minutes they entered the grounds.
The Lucinda Home for Aged Women occupied a large brick building. A triple-decked porch, supported by posts and brackets of ornamental iron work covered the entire front of the edifice and afforded delightful resting places from which to view the beautiful grounds.
The two women ascended the steps to the lower porch. On either side of the entrance stretched a line of chairs occupied by old ladies. They rocked and fanned and stared across the grounds with dulled, unseeing eyes, as if watching and waiting for something.
The afternoon light flashed against the spectacles. It brought out the snow of the moving heads. Itshowed the deep carved lines of age and it disclosed the hands, knotted and toil worn.
Once these faces were soft and full; these eyes snapped with health and joy. Love showered its kisses. The world showed wondrously beautiful in the tender light of romance and the voice of hope rang clear and strong. Came babies for these hands to fondle and caress, and tiny forms to be upheld as little feet struggled in first steps upon the rough and hilly path. Noble deeds of unselfishness gleamed in the shadowed lives of these women as they battled with the adversities which all who live must face. Slowly their beauty faded; their eyes no longer sparkled; their hands were red and hard. Little ones grew into men and women and went away, filled with hope and proud in their strength, leaving loneliness behind. Through the years, a shadow, almost indiscernible to youthful eyes, drew ever closer. One by one, they had seen friends and loved ones pass behind the black veil, until they were alone in a world, cold, loveless, without hope, waiting––
Waiting. Yes, waiting–slowly rocking and fanning–living anew the past, and peering out into the sunshine as if they sought with their poor eyes to glimpse the approach of that enfolding shadow of mystery.
The visitors paused for a moment at the entrance, sobered by the tragedy of age. Near them, an old woman became suddenly active. The sweep of her chair increased as she glanced at Virginia. She stopped and whispered to her neighbor.
This aged one started, as if awakened fromslumber, and she, too, inspected the girl. Then, she placed her lips by the ear of her deaf companion and in a shrill voice of great carrying power, cried, “Powder makes her look pale. They all use it nowadays.” She stopped for breath and screamed, “Her dress is too short. Her mother ought to have better sense than to let her run around that way.”
Luckily for the embarrassed girl, at this moment Mrs. Henderson led her into the reception room and left her to regain her composure while she transacted her business with the matron in an adjoining room.
The remarkable quiet which reigned in this home of age oppressed Virginia, so that when Mrs. Henderson returned with the matron, she cried, impulsively, “Oh, Hennie, I am glad that you are back. This place is so still that it is lonesome.”
Mrs. Henderson turned to Mrs. Smith, the matron. “That is what I have always said,” she argued. “The old ladies like it quiet, but we overdo it here. The place is a grave. We should have more entertainment.” She looked questioningly at the girl. “What do you think should be done, child?”
Virginia’s blue eyes were very serious as she answered, “I hardly know–almost anything which would make it happier. It needs something to stir it up,” she ended impulsively.
The older woman laughed and Mrs. Henderson put her arm about the girl’s waist, and suggested, “You have nothing on your hands, child. Why can’t you arrange some sort of an entertainment for these elderly women?”
“Oh, I couldn’t,” she demurred shyly.
“Certainly you can, you are quite old enough to undertake the task of making these old people happier for an afternoon.”
Into the girl’s mind came a remembrance of her birthday gift. “I will be glad to do it, Hennie,” she agreed with great seriousness.
They paused at Mrs. Henderson’s gate as they returned from the Lucinda Home. “Won’t you come in, dear?” urged the older woman.
The girl, dreamily engaged in planning marvelous but impossible entertainments for the stirring up of the old ladies, did not hear.
“Come and have tea with a solitary somebody?” the widow begged the girl wistfully. “You think that the Lucinda Home is lonesome, but don’t forget that an old lady who loved your mother and who loves you is lonesome, too.”
“Dearest Hennie, you haven’t the slightest idea of what loneliness is.” Virginia smiled sweetly at the older woman and kissed her. “I would enjoy taking tea with you but I must not forget my father. Probably all afternoon he has been making plans to help the people who work in his mill. I think he is so like my mother–always trying to make other people happier. You loved her, Hennie, and you know him. I want you to help me to be unselfish like them.”
During this recital, Mrs. Henderson underwent a severe test in self-repression, the high praise of Obadiah’s disinterestedness nearly causing severe internal injury. There was yet an ominous flash in her eye as she bade the girl farewell.
Virginia found her father awaiting her. Hisdigestive organs were protesting by certain unpleasant twinges, against the extra work he had forced upon them.
“Where have you been?” he demanded of her sharply.
She dropped into the chair by his side. “At Mrs. Henderson’s, Daddy.”
“You left me alone,” he complained.
“You went to sleep and I was so lonesome, Daddy dear.”
“That makes no difference. You should not have left me. You have the week days to yourself. I ought to have your Sundays.”
“Oh, I am sorry that I was so thoughtless,” Virginia reproached herself, with a suspicion of tears in her eyes.
“Yes, you were thoughtless,” Obadiah grumbled. “You must learn to think of others. Don’t get teary. That always disturbs me.”
Virginia was engaged in a battle to keep back her tears when the notes of a ragtime melody resounded through the calm of the Sabbath evening. Ike approached. The gorgeousness of his apparel eliminated every variety of lily, except the tiger, from consideration. His suit was of electric blue. His shirt was white, broadly striped with royal purple, and it peeped modestly from beneath a tie of crimson. His hat was straw, decorated with a sash of more tints than the bow of promise.
Ike was happy. He had loitered through the afternoon before the meeting house of his faith, impressing the brethren and the sisters with the magnificenceof his attire. He deemed it, socially speaking, to have been a perfect day.
It was now his intention to partake of refreshment before returning again into the shadow of the sacred edifice, not then, however, to give pleasure to the faithful in general, but rather for the special and particular delight of an amber hued maiden who at the moment held his flitting fancy.
Filled with pleasant anticipations and in cadence with his melody, Ike approached the house.
Obadiah arose hastily as the sweet tones struck his ear and awaited the arrival of the musical one at the edge of the porch.
At the sight of the gaunt form of the manufacturer, a dulcet timbre departed from Ike’s performance and as he approached, the volume of sound diminished in proportion to the square of the distance. Opposite the mill owner it ceased.
“Good evening Misto Dale.” The voice was humbly courteous.
Disdaining the kindly salutation of his hireling, Obadiah made outcry. “I want the car. Get the car,” he commanded.
Ike halted.
These were portentous words. The Dale car was not often used on the seventh day. Ike himself was opposed to the Sunday riding habit. Assuming a confidential attitude towards his employer as if imparting a secret of moment, he intimated, “Ah ain’ got no confidence in dat lef’ han’ hin’ tiah, Misto Dale, a tall.”
Obadiah glared at the tasty garb of his minion withdisgust, and flew into a rage. “I pay you to put confidence in that tire,” he bleated.
“Yas’r, yas’r,” Ike surrendered hurriedly. “Ah gwine pump er li’l aiah in dat tiah. Dat fix ’im.”
When Ike, shorn of his finery, returned with the car, Virginia, in obedience to an abrupt invitation from her father, was prepared to join him for the ride.
Obadiah’s conscience did not usually trouble him; but today, as the machine started and he settled himself by his daughter, it struck him that she seemed unusually pale. He could not well overlook, either, the note of sadness which had played about the girl’s mouth and eyes since his remarks to her. These things made Obadiah uncomfortable. His explosion at Ike had acted as a counter-irritant to his indigestion, and he felt relieved.
They passed a woman driving a pretty runabout. In times of great good feeling Obadiah had avowed his intention of purchasing Virginia a light car which she could drive herself. However, it took direct affirmative action to persuade the mill owner to open his check book even for his own family; and, as Virginia had been contented with the big car and Ike to drive it, nothing had ever come of the intention.
“Did you notice that runabout?” Obadiah inquired. “How would one of that type suit you?” If he could get Virginia to chatter along as usual, he could enjoy his evening.
“Oh, I’d like it,” she exclaimed. The girl was thinking rapidly. Not for nothing was she Obadiah’s daughter when it was necessary to take advantage of asituation. “I thought that you had given up the idea of getting me a car, Daddy.”
“No, indeed. It seemed to me that you were not particularly interested in one.” He shrewdly placed the responsibility for delay upon her.
“I amnow. More so than ever,” Virginia declared. “I wasn’t sure before what kind of a car I wanted. Now I know.”
“Well?” Obadiah’s enthusiasm in the proposed purchase had cooled as hers increased.
She squeezed his arm up against her and announced breathlessly, “I want a truck, Daddy.”
“A truck!” Obadiah viewed his daughter as if he deemed the immediate attentions of an alienist essential in her case. “What on earth would you do with a truck?”
“I need it to take those colored orphans out for a ride each week,” she explained, full of the plan. “I am going to have benches made to fit on each side of the truck so that it will take them all comfortably. Isn’t it a fine idea?”
Obadiah, dumfounded for the moment, regained speech and sought information as one who had not heard aright. “Do you mean to say that you want me to buy a truck to haul those negro children around town?”
“Yah–yah–yah.” Upon the front seat, Ike so far forgot the proprieties of his station that he gave vent to noisy merriment at the domestic perplexities of gentlefolk.
“Keep your mind on your business,” Obadiah commanded, glaring at his chauffeur’s neck.
Virginia, disregarding thefaux pasof the chauffeur and its condign reproof, proceeded to explain her plans. “We have decided, Daddy, that those orphans must be taken for a ride every week.”
“Who has decided that?”
“Hennie and I have worked it all out.”
“What has that woman got to do with it?” he snapped. “Does she expect me to buy trucks to haul all the negro children in town on pleasure trips?”
Violent paroxysms beset Ike and bent him as a sapling in a gale.
Obadiah’s eyes glared at the black neck as if, discharging X-rays, they might expose the chauffeur’s malady.
Heedless of disturbing influences, Virginia went on, “Hennie thought that this car was too small. She felt that it would be better to get a truck which would carry all the orphans than to use this.”
“Indeed!” interjected Obadiah.
“I suggested to her that I would get you to loan us a truck from the mill; but Hennie said that she was sure that you wouldn’t let us have it.”
“Ahem–ahem,” choked the mill owner, getting red in the face.
“I told her that I knew you would be glad to let us have it because you did so love to help people,” explained Virginia with great pride.
Obadiah shifted uneasily in his seat. “What did she say?”
“Hennie said that she wished me success.”
Obadiah relaxed as one relieved from strain.
Sensing the change in him, Virginia cuddled up toher father full of happiness and contentment as if the purchase of the truck was settled. “Isn’t it sweet, Daddy dear,” she murmured gently, “within an hour after I talked to Hennie you offer to buy me a car? Of course, you don’t care, so long as I am satisfied, whether I choose a runabout or a truck.” She took his hand and held it in her own, pressing it.
Obadiah appeared greatly interested in something upon the skyline.
“A truck,” Virginia continued thoughtfully, “especially a fine large one such as we would need–” Obadiah flinched–“would be in the way. Our garage wouldn’t hold it and Serena would object to it being left in the yard.” She arrived at a sudden determination. “Choose, Daddy, whether you will buy me a truck or loan me one from the mill.”
Obadiah’s response was not delayed. “You had better use a mill truck,” he agreed with a sigh which might have been of relief.
“Thank you, Daddy. I can hardly wait to tell Hennie,” she exclaimed, highly delighted at the outcome of her efforts.
Obadiah leaned towards his chauffeur. “Ike,” he ordered, “you get the new truck down at the mill, the first thing in the morning. Run it out to Mrs. Henderson’s house. Make all the row around her place you wish. Tell her,” Obadiah continued, “that it is there by my instructions, to take those negro orphans riding.” He paused. “Ike,” he resumed more forcibly, “don’t you forget the noise.”
“Yas’r,” promised Ike with happy smiles of anticipation.
“That will be a dandy joke on Hennie,” giggled Virginia. “Go very early, Ike.”
They were following a boulevard which now brought them to the Soldiers’ Home. Its fine buildings and large acreage were matters of great pride to South Ridgefield. As they approached the central group of edifices, they heard music.
“Let’s stop for the band concert,” suggested Virginia.
Obadiah, much relieved physically and mentally from recent disquietude, was unusually complaisant. “Drive in, Ike,” he directed.
They turned into a broad, paved road which followed the sides of a square about which were located the principal buildings of the institution. It bounded a tree shaded park with a band-stand in the center. Walks radiating to the sides and corners of the square were lined with benches occupied by veterans in campaign hats and blue uniforms, smoking, chatting, and enjoying the music.
The inner edge of the roadway was lined with automobiles full of visitors. Ike stopped upon the opposite side, in front of the quarters of the Commanding Officer.
Hardly had they paused when a tall, fine looking man of a distinctly military bearing, despite his white hair, hurried out to meet them.
“Mr. Dale,” he greeted the manufacturer in a big booming voice, “I am glad to welcome you to the Home.”
Obadiah genially returned the salutation of Colonel Ryan. That officer, being a man of rank, in charge ofthe Soldiers’ Home, with power of recommendation in government purchases, was one whose acquaintance it was wise for even wealthy mill owners to cultivate.
When presented to Virginia, the Colonel bowed deeply. “I want you to come up to the house and meet Mrs. Ryan,” he urged. “You can hear the music more comfortably there. I am proud of my band. They are old fellows like you and me, Dale, but give them a horn and they have lots of musical ‘pep’ left.”
Mrs. Ryan met them at the head of the porch steps. “You have often heard me speak of Mr. Dale,” the Colonel, discreetly noncommittal as to his manner of speaking, reminded her.
“Oh, yes, and I have heard of you, too.” She smiled at Virginia and explained to Obadiah, “I happen to have a good friend in that splendid Mrs. Henderson, your neighbor.”
The mill owner received this information with little enthusiasm, but, learning that Mrs. Ryan was a victim of rheumatism, he advocated the use of a liniment prepared by his father and applied with remarkable results to both man and beast. Obadiah was hazy upon the mixture’s ingredients but was clear upon its curative qualities. Mrs. Ryan evincing marked interest, the manufacturer entertained her with the intimate details of miraculous recoveries.
Neither Virginia nor the Colonel being rheumatic, they failed to give Obadiah’s discourse the rapt interest of a true brother in pain. Their attention wavered, wandered and failed, and the band played a crashing air; but the rheumatic heeded not.
All hope of a general conversation having departed,the Colonel praised his band to Virginia. “Every man in that organization is over sixty years old,” he bragged. “They get as much pleasure out of playing as their audience does from their concert. It’s a great band.”
“Theydoplay well,” the girl agreed. “I don’t wonder that you are proud of them. I love a brass band, myself. You do, too, Colonel Ryan. I can tell by your face, when they play.”
The Colonel grinned boyishly. “Yes,” he admitted, “I think a band is one of humanity’s boons. I can’t get close enough to one, when they are playing, to satisfy me. I have to have some sort of an excuse to do that, now-a-days–you’ll do fine–let’s go nearer.”
The medical lecture was disturbed, that the audience might nod understandingly to its husband, as they departed.
The Colonel chatted gaily. In the presence of a pretty woman he was a typical soldier. About them were the benches filled with the white headed veterans, as they entered the square. But a few years and these had been the fighting men of the country–its defence–playing parts modest or heroic on a hundred half forgotten battle fields. Now, they, too, bowed with age, rested in their years, and waited–waited calmly, as true soldiers should, with the taste of good tobacco upon their lips and the blare of martial music in their ears, the coming of the ever nearing shadow.
“Why have I never heard this band down town, Colonel Ryan? It is a shame when they play so beautifully. Do they charge for concerts?” asked Virginia, as an idea developed behind the blue eyes.
“People want young and handsome men to play for them if they pay for it,” laughed Colonel Ryan. “So my old codgers don’t get many chances of that sort.”
“Who has charge of the band?” Virginia’s manner meant business.
The Colonel loved a pretty face. He was enjoying himself. “Do you want to object to the leader about his interpretation of a favorite air?”
“Don’t tease, Colonel Ryan,” she protested. “I want to know who has authority to make engagements for the band. Please be serious.”
“You frighten me into submission, Miss Dale. Do you wish to engage the band?”
“I do, Colonel Ryan.” The girl’s voice was almost imploring.
He looked down into the depths of the pleading eyes. Never in his long life had he refused a pretty woman anything, and it is doubtful if he could have done so. Yet, he desired to prolong the pleasure of the moment. “May I ask, without undue curiosity, for what purpose you desire the organization?”
“I want them to give a concert for the old ladies at the Lucinda Home,” she explained.
Colonel Ryan choked. He recovered himself quickly. Military training is of value in difficult moments.
“I was over there this afternoon, Colonel Ryan. The place was so lonesome that I thought it needed some excitement. They asked me to give an entertainment. Your band would be the very thing. It plays so loud that even the deaf ladies could hear.”
He who had borne the burden of a regiment of menbowed sympathetically, but his face and neck displayed symptoms of apoplexy.
“The Lucinda Home is a graveyard, Colonel Ryan. When I see all of these old men sitting around and talking and smoking while the band plays lively airs to them, it makes me sorry for those women. I should love to live here. But I should die over there. It is dreadful to be lonesome.”
Colonel Ryan agreed with great gravity.
Virginia waxed forceful. “Those old ladies should be made as happy as these soldiers,” she argued. “Isn’t a woman as good as a man, Colonel Ryan?”
The Commandant by his silence refused this challenge to a discussion upon woman’s rights.
“Those old ladies should have everything that these men have,” maintained the girl, with great emphasis.
“Including tobacco?” suggested the Colonel solicitously.
“Of course not.” Blue eyes snapped indignantly.
The boyish look was back in the Colonel’s face. “I only wanted to be sure,” he explained soberly. “It has a very important place here.”
“Oh, Colonel Ryan, you will joke, and I am so in earnest.” Her eyes were dark and tender and a soft pink flushed her cheeks. “A concert at the Lucinda Home would be a wonderful thing if I could get your band.”
“You can,” the Colonel promised, laconically, “and it won’t cost you a cent.” He became enthusiastic, “It will be a fine treat for the old ladies and my boys will enjoy it, too. I’ll have to warn the old rascals about flirting,” he chuckled. “They think that they areregular devils among the ladies. I think that I will have to come along myself to keep the old boys from breaking any ancient hearts.”
“Will you come, Colonel Ryan?”
“Surely. You may count on me. Are there to be refreshments?”
“Why–yes!” She had never given a thought to them before, and when she considered the food that it would take it almost frightened her.
“My old boys can eat as well as ever, particularly if it is soft stuff. That band has less teeth than any similar organization in the world. It is the toothless wonder,” chuckled the Colonel. “Be sure that you have plenty to eat.”
As they ascended the steps of the Colonel’s porch, Virginia warned him, “Don’t mention the concert to my father. I want to surprise him.”
They found that Obadiah had exhausted his praises of the marvelous liniment. Mrs. Ryan was now talking, and, though the subject-matter was the same, the mill owner was not a reciprocal listener. He felt that an immediate departure for home was necessary.
The Dale car rolled away from the Soldiers’ Home, leaving the Commanding Officer standing, hat in hand, upon the curb. A broad smile broke over his face. “A band concert at the Lucinda Home,” he chuckled. “You might as well give one out in the cemetery.” His face softened. “Bless her heart,” he whispered, as he turned back towards his house.