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diff --git a/361-h/361-h.htm b/361-h/361-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8f33b58 --- /dev/null +++ b/361-h/361-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12292 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> + <meta charset="UTF-8"> + <title> + Miss Billy--Married | Project Gutenberg </title> + <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> +<style> /* <![CDATA[ */ + + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .big {font-size: 1.5em;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Miss Billy Married, by Eleanor H. Porter</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Miss Billy Married</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Eleanor H. Porter</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 8, 2008 [EBook #361]<br> +[Most recently updated: May 26, 2023]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Charles Keller, and David Widger</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISS BILLY MARRIED***</div> + + + <p> + <br><br> + </p> + <h1> + MISS BILLY—MARRIED + </h1> + <p> + <br> + </p> + <h2> + By Eleanor H. Porter + </h2> + <p> + <br> + </p> + <h4> + Author Of Pollyanna, Etc. + </h4> + <p> + <br> <br> + </p> + <h4> + TO <br> My Cousin Maud + </h4> + <p> + <br> <br> + </p> + <hr> + <p> + <br> <br> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <span class="big"><b>CONTENTS</b></span> + </p> + <p> + <br> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>MISS BILLY—MARRIED</b></a> + <br> <br> <br> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> SOME + OPINIONS AND A WEDDING <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. + </a> FOR WILLIAM—A HOME <br><br> <a + href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> BILLY SPEAKS HER MIND + <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> "JUST + LIKE BILLY” <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> TIGER + SKINS <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> "THE + PAINTING LOOK” <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> THE + BIG BAD QUARREL <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> BILLY + CULTIVATES A “COMFORTABLE INDIFFERENCE” <br><br> <a + href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> THE DINNER BILLY TRIED + TO GET <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> THE + DINNER BILLY GOT <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> CALDERWELL + DOES SOME QUESTIONING <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. + </a> FOR BILLY—SOME ADVICE <br><br> <a + href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> PETE <br><br> <a + href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> WHEN BERTRAM CAME + HOME <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> AFTER + THE STORM <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> INTO + TRAINING FOR MARY ELLEN <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER + XVII. </a> THE EFFICIENCY STAR—AND BILLY <br><br> <a + href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> BILLY TRIES HER + HAND AT “MANAGING” <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> A + TOUGH NUT TO CRACK FOR CYRIL <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER + XX. </a> ARKWRIGHT'S EYES ARE OPENED <br><br> <a + href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a> BILLY TAKES HER TURN + AT QUESTIONING <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a> A + DOT AND A DIMPLE <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a> BILLY + AND THE ENORMOUS RESPONSIBILITY <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0024"> + CHAPTER XXIV. </a> A NIGHT OFF <br><br> <a + href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a> "SHOULD AULD + ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT” <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER + XXVI. </a> GHOSTS THAT WALKED FOR BERTRAM <br><br> <a + href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a> THE MOTHER—THE + WIFE <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. </a> CONSPIRATORS + <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a> CHESS + <br><br> <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. </a> BY A + BABY'S HAND <br><br> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br> <br> + </p> + <hr> + <p> + <br> <br> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <p class="big"> + MISS BILLY—MARRIED + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER I. SOME OPINIONS AND A WEDDING + </h2> + <p> + “I, Bertram, take thee, Billy,” chanted the white-robed clergyman. + </p> + <p> + “'I, Bertram, take thee, Billy,'” echoed the tall young bridegroom, his + eyes gravely tender. + </p> + <p> + “To my wedded wife.” + </p> + <p> + “'To my wedded wife.'” The bridegroom's voice shook a little. + </p> + <p> + “To have and to hold from this day forward.” + </p> + <p> + “'To have and to hold from this day forward.'” Now the young voice rang + with triumph. It had grown strong and steady. + </p> + <p> + “For better for worse.” + </p> + <p> + “'For better for worse.'” + </p> + <p> + “For richer for poorer,” droned the clergyman, with the weariness of + uncounted repetitions. + </p> + <p> + “'For richer for poorer,'” avowed the bridegroom, with the decisive + emphasis of one to whom the words are new and significant. + </p> + <p> + “In sickness and in health.” + </p> + <p> + “'In sickness and in health.'” + </p> + <p> + “To love and to cherish.” + </p> + <p> + “'To love and to cherish.'” The younger voice carried infinite tenderness + now. + </p> + <p> + “Till death us do part.” + </p> + <p> + “'Till death us do part,'” repeated the bridegroom's lips; but everybody + knew that what his heart said was: “Now, and through all eternity.” + </p> + <p> + “According to God's holy ordinance.” + </p> + <p> + “'According to God's holy ordinance.'” + </p> + <p> + “And thereto I plight thee my troth.” + </p> + <p> + “'And thereto I plight thee my troth.'” + </p> + <p> + There was a faint stir in the room. In one corner a white-haired woman + blinked tear-wet eyes and pulled a fleecy white shawl more closely about + her shoulders. Then the minister's voice sounded again. + </p> + <p> + “I, Billy, take thee, Bertram.” + </p> + <p> + “'I, Billy, take thee, Bertram.'” + </p> + <p> + This time the echoing voice was a feminine one, low and sweet, but clearly + distinct, and vibrant with joyous confidence, on through one after another + of the ever familiar, but ever impressive phrases of the service that + gives into the hands of one man and of one woman the future happiness, + each of the other. + </p> + <p> + The wedding was at noon. That evening Mrs. Kate Hartwell, sister of the + bridegroom, wrote the following letter: + </p> + <p> + BOSTON, July 15th. + </p> + <p> + “MY DEAR HUSBAND:—Well, it's all over with, and they're married. I + couldn't do one thing to prevent it. Much as ever as they would even + listen to what I had to say—and when they knew how I had hurried + East to say it, too, with only two hours' notice! + </p> + <p> + “But then, what can you expect? From time immemorial lovers never did have + any sense; and when those lovers are such irresponsible flutterbudgets as + Billy and Bertram—! + </p> + <p> + “And such a wedding! I couldn't do anything with <i>that</i>, either, + though I tried hard. They had it in Billy's living-room at noon, with + nothing but the sun for light. There was no maid of honor, no bridesmaids, + no wedding cake, no wedding veil, no presents (except from the family, and + from that ridiculous Chinese cook of brother William's, Ding Dong, or + whatever his name is. He tore in just before the wedding ceremony, and + insisted upon seeing Billy to give her a wretched little green stone idol, + which he declared would bring her 'heap plenty velly good luckee' if she + received it before she 'got married.' I wouldn't have the hideous, + grinning thing around, but William says it's real jade, and very valuable, + and of course Billy was crazy over it—or pretended to be). There was + no trousseau, either, and no reception. There was no anything but the + bridegroom; and when I tell you that Billy actually declared that was all + she wanted, you will understand how absurdly in love she is—in spite + of all those weeks and weeks of broken engagement when I, at least, + supposed she had come to her senses, until I got that crazy note from + Bertram a week ago saying they were to be married today. + </p> + <p> + “I can't say that I've got any really satisfactory explanation of the + matter. Everything has been in such a hubbub, and those two ridiculous + children have been so afraid they wouldn't be together every minute + possible, that any really rational conversation with either of them was + out of the question. When Billy broke the engagement last spring none of + us knew why she had done it, as you know; and I fancy we shall be almost + as much in the dark as to why she has—er—mended it now, as you + might say. As near as I can make out, however, she thought he didn't want + her, and he thought she didn't want him. I believe matters were still + further complicated by a girl Bertram was painting, and a young fellow + that used to sing with Billy—a Mr. Arkwright. + </p> + <p> + “Anyhow, things came to a head last spring, Billy broke the engagement and + fled to parts unknown with Aunt Hannah, leaving Bertram here in Boston to + alternate between stony despair and reckless gayety, according to William; + and it was while he was in the latter mood that he had that awful + automobile accident and broke his arm—and almost his neck. He was + wildly delirious, and called continually for Billy. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it seems Billy didn't know all this; but a week ago she came home, + and in some way found out about it, I think through Pete—William's + old butler, you know. Just exactly what happened I can't say, but I do + know that she dragged poor old Aunt Hannah down to Bertram's at some + unearthly hour, and in the rain; and Aunt Hannah couldn't do a thing with + her. All Billy would say, was, 'Bertram wants me.' And Aunt Hannah told me + that if I could have seen Billy's face I'd have known that she'd have gone + to Bertram then if he'd been at the top of the Himalaya Mountains, or at + the bottom of the China Sea. So perhaps it's just as well—for Aunt + Hannah's sake, at least—that he was in no worse place than on his + own couch at home. Anyhow, she went, and in half an hour they blandly + informed Aunt Hannah that they were going to be married to-day. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Hannah said she tried to stop that, and get them to put it off till + October (the original date, you know), but Bertram was obdurate. And when + he declared he'd marry her the next day if it wasn't for the new license + law, Aunt Hannah said she gave up for fear he'd get a special + dispensation, or go to the Governor or the President, or do some other + dreadful thing. (What a funny old soul Aunt Hannah is!) Bertram told <i>me</i> + that he should never feel safe till Billy was really his; that she'd read + something, or hear something, or think something, or get a letter from me + (as if anything <i>I</i> could say would do any good-or harm!), and so + break the engagement again. + </p> + <p> + “Well, she's his now, so I suppose he's satisfied; though, for my part, I + haven't changed my mind at all. I still say that they are not one bit + suited to each other, and that matrimony will simply ruin his career. + Bertram never has loved and never will love any girl long—except to + paint. But if he simply <i>would</i> get married, why couldn't he have + taken a nice, sensible domestic girl that would have kept him fed and + mended? + </p> + <p> + “Not but that I'm very fond of Billy, as you know, dear; but imagine Billy + as a wife—worse yet, a mother! Billy's a dear girl, but she knows + about as much of real life and its problems as—as our little Kate. A + more impulsive, irresponsible, regardless-of-consequences young woman I + never saw. She can play divinely, and write delightful songs, I'll + acknowledge; but what is that when a man is hungry, or has lost a button? + </p> + <p> + “Billy has had her own way, and had everything she wanted for years now—a + rather dangerous preparation for marriage, especially marriage to a fellow + like Bertram who has had <i>his</i> own way and everything <i>he's</i> + wanted for years. Pray, what's going to happen when those ways conflict, + and neither one gets the thing wanted? + </p> + <p> + “And think of her ignorance of cooking—but, there! What's the use? + They're married now, and it can't be helped. + </p> + <p> + “Mercy, what a letter I've written! But I, had to talk to some one; + besides, I'd promised I to let you know how matters stood as soon as I + could. As you see, though, my trip East has been practically useless. I + saw the wedding, to be sure, but I didn't prevent it, or even postpone it—though + I meant to do one or the other, else I should never have made that + tiresome journey half across the continent at two hours' notice. + </p> + <p> + “However, we shall see what we shall see. As for me, I'm dead tired. Good + night. + </p> + <p> + “Affectionately yours, + </p> + <p> + “KATE.” + </p> + <p> + Quite naturally, Mrs. Kate Hartwell was not the only one who was thinking + that evening of the wedding. In the home of Bertram's brother Cyril, Cyril + himself was at the piano, but where his thoughts were was plain to be seen—or + rather, heard; for from under his fingers there came the Lohengrin wedding + march until all the room seemed filled with the scent of orange blossoms, + the mistiness of floating veils, and the echoing peals of far-away organs + heralding the “Fair Bride and Groom.” + </p> + <p> + Over by the table in the glowing circle of the shaded lamp, sat Marie, + Cyril's wife, a dainty sewing-basket by her side. Her hands, however, lay + idly across the stocking in her lap. + </p> + <p> + As the music ceased, she drew a long sigh. + </p> + <p> + What a perfectly beautiful wedding that was! she breathed. + </p> + <p> + Cyril whirled about on the piano stool. + </p> + <p> + “It was a very sensible wedding,” he said with emphasis. + </p> + <p> + “They looked so happy—both of them,” went on Marie, dreamily; “so—so + sort of above and beyond everything about them, as if nothing ever, ever + could trouble them—<i>now</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril lifted his eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Well, as I said before, it was a very <i>sensible</i> wedding,” he + declared. + </p> + <p> + This time Marie noticed the emphasis. She laughed, though her eyes looked + a little troubled. + </p> + <p> + “I know, dear, of course, what you mean. <i>I</i> thought our wedding was + beautiful; but I would have made it simpler if I'd realized in time how + you—you—” + </p> + <p> + “How I abhorred pink teas and purple pageants,” he finished for her, with + a frowning smile. “Oh, well, I stood it—for the sake of what it + brought me.” His face showed now only the smile; the frown had vanished. + For a man known for years to his friends as a “hater of women and all + other confusion,” Cyril Henshaw was looking remarkably well-pleased with + himself. + </p> + <p> + His wife of less than a year colored as she met his gaze. Hurriedly she + picked up her needle. + </p> + <p> + The man laughed happily at her confusion. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing? Is that my stocking?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + A look, half pain, half reproach, crossed her face. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Cyril, of course not! You—you told me not to, long ago. You + said my darns made—bunches. + </p> + <p> + “Ho! I meant I didn't want to <i>wear</i> them,” retorted the man, upon + whom the tragic wretchedness of that half-sobbed “bunches” had been quite + lost. “I love to see you <i>mending</i> them,” he finished, with an + approving glance at the pretty little picture of domesticity before him. + </p> + <p> + A peculiar expression came to Marie's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Cyril, you mean you <i>like</i> to have me mend them just for—for + the sake of seeing me do it, when you <i>know</i> you won't ever wear + them?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure!” nodded the man, imperturbably. Then, with a sudden laugh, he + asked: “I wonder now, does Billy love to mend socks?” + </p> + <p> + Marie smiled, but she sighed, too, and shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid not, Cyril.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor cook?” + </p> + <p> + Marie laughed outright this time. The vaguely troubled look had fled from + her eyes + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Billy's helped me beat eggs and butter sometimes, but I never knew + her to cook a thing or want to cook a thing, but once; then she spent + nearly two weeks trying to learn to make puddings—for you.” + </p> + <p> + “For <i>me!</i>” + </p> + <p> + Marie puckered her lips queerly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I supposed they were for you at the time. At all events she was + trying to make them for some one of you boys; probably it was really for + Bertram, though.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” grunted Cyril. Then, after a minute, he observed: “I judge Kate + thinks Billy'll never make them—for anybody. I'm afraid Sister Kate + isn't pleased.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but Mrs. Hartwell was—was disappointed in the wedding,” + apologized Marie, quickly. “You know she wanted it put off anyway, and she + didn't like such a simple one. + </p> + <p> + “Hm-m; as usual Sister Kate forgot it wasn't her funeral—I mean, her + wedding,” retorted Cyril, dryly. “Kate is never happy, you know, unless + she's managing things.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” nodded Marie, with a frowning smile of recollection at + certain features of her own wedding. + </p> + <p> + “She doesn't approve of Billy's taste in guests, either,” remarked Cyril, + after a moment's silence. + </p> + <p> + “I thought her guests were lovely,” spoke up Marie, in quick defense. “Of + course, most of her social friends are away—in July; but Billy is + never a society girl, you know, in spite of the way Society is always + trying to lionize her and Bertram.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, of course Kate knows that; but she says it seems as if Billy needn't + have gone out and gathered in the lame and the halt and the blind.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” cried Marie, with unusual sharpness for her. “I suppose she + said that just because of Mrs. Greggory's and Tommy Dunn's crutches.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, they didn't make a real festive-looking wedding party, you must + admit,” laughed Cyril; “what with the bridegroom's own arm in a sling, + too! But who were they all, anyway?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you knew Mrs. Greggory and Alice, of course—and Pete,” smiled + Marie. “And wasn't Pete happy? Billy says she'd have had Pete if she had + no one else; that there wouldn't have been any wedding, anyway, if it + hadn't been for his telephoning Aunt Hannah that night.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; Will told me.” + </p> + <p> + “As for Tommy and the others—most of them were those people that + Billy had at her home last summer for a two weeks' vacation—people, + you know, too poor to give themselves one, and too proud to accept one + from ordinary charity. Billy's been following them up and doing little + things for them ever since—sugarplums and frosting on their cake, + she calls it; and they adore her, of course. I think it was lovely of her + to have them, and they did have such a good time! You should have seen + Tommy when you played that wedding march for Billy to enter the room. His + poor little face was so transfigured with joy that I almost cried, just to + look at him. Billy says he loves music—poor little fellow!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I hope they'll be happy, in spite of Kate's doleful prophecies. + Certainly they looked happy enough to-day,” declared Cyril, patting a yawn + as he rose to his feet. “I fancy Will and Aunt Hannah are lonesome, + though, about now,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” smiled Marie, mistily, as she gathered up her work. “I know what + Aunt Hannah's doing. She's helping Rosa put the house to rights, and she's + stopping to cry over every slipper and handkerchief of Billy's she finds. + And she'll do that until that funny clock of hers strikes twelve, then + she'll say 'Oh, my grief and conscience—midnight!' But the next + minute she'll remember that it's only half-past eleven, after all, and + she'll send Rosa to bed and sit patting Billy's slipper in her lap till it + really is midnight by all the other clocks.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril laughed appreciatively. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I know what Will is doing,” he declared. + </p> + <p> + “Will is in Bertram's den dozing before the fireplace with Spunkie curled + up in his lap.” + </p> + <p> + As it happened, both these surmises were not far from right. In the + Strata, the Henshaws' old Beacon Street home, William was sitting before + the fireplace with the cat in his lap, but he was not dozing. He was + talking. + </p> + <p> + “Spunkie,” he was saying, “your master, Bertram, got married to-day—and + to Miss Billy. He'll be bringing her home one of these days—your new + mistress. And such a mistress! Never did cat or house have a better! + </p> + <p> + “Just think; for the first time in years this old place is to know the + touch of a woman's hand—and that's what it hasn't known for almost + twenty years, except for those few short months six years ago when a + dark-eyed girl and a little gray kitten (that was Spunk, your predecessor, + you know) blew in and blew out again before we scarcely knew they were + here. That girl was Miss Billy, and she was a dear then, just as she is + now, only now she's coming here to stay. She's coming home, Spunkie; and + she'll make it a home for you, for me, and for all of us. Up to now, you + know, it hasn't really been a home, for years—just us men, so. It'll + be very different, Spunkie, as you'll soon find out. Now mind, madam! We + must show that we appreciate all this: no tempers, no tantrums, no showing + of claws, no leaving our coats—either yours or mine—on the + drawing-room chairs, no tracking in of mud on clean rugs and floors! For + we're going to have a home, Spunkie—a home!” + </p> + <p> + At Hillside, Aunt Hannah was, indeed, helping Rosa to put the house to + rights, as Marie had said. She was crying, too, over a glove she had found + on Billy's piano; but she was crying over something else, also. Not only + had she lost Billy, but she had lost her home. + </p> + <p> + To be sure, nothing had been said during that nightmare of a week of hurry + and confusion about Aunt Hannah's future; but Aunt Hannah knew very well + how it must be. This dear little house on the side of Corey Hill was + Billy's home, and Billy would not need it any longer. It would be sold, of + course; and she, Aunt Hannah, would go back to a “second-story front” and + loneliness in some Back Bay boarding-house; and a second story front and + loneliness would not be easy now, after these years of home—and + Billy. + </p> + <p> + No wonder, indeed, that Aunt Hannah sat crying and patting the little + white glove in her hand. No wonder, too, that—being Aunt Hannah—she + reached for the shawl near by and put it on, shiveringly. Even July, + to-night, was cold—to Aunt Hannah. + </p> + <p> + In yet another home that evening was the wedding of Billy Neilson and + Bertram Henshaw uppermost in thought and speech. In a certain little + South-End flat where, in two rented rooms, lived Alice Greggory and her + crippled mother, Alice was talking to Mr. M. J. Arkwright, commonly known + to his friends as “Mary Jane,” owing to the mystery in which he had for so + long shrouded his name. + </p> + <p> + Arkwright to-night was plainly moody and ill at ease. + </p> + <p> + “You're not listening. You're not listening at all,” complained Alice + Greggory at last, reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + With a visible effort the man roused himself. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I am,” he maintained. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you'd be interested in the wedding. You used to be friends—you + and Billy.” The girl's voice still vibrated with reproach. + </p> + <p> + There was a moment's silence; then, a little harshly, the man said: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps—because I wanted to be more than—a friend—is + why you're not satisfied with my interest now.” + </p> + <p> + A look that was almost terror came to Alice Greggory's eyes. She flushed + painfully, then grew very white. + </p> + <p> + “You mean—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he nodded dully, without looking up. “I cared too much for her. I + supposed Henshaw was just a friend—till too late.” + </p> + <p> + There was a breathless hush before, a little unsteadily, the girl + stammered: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm so sorry—so very sorry! I—I didn't know.” + </p> + <p> + “No, of course you didn't. I've almost told you, though, lots of times; + you've been so good to me all these weeks.” He raised his head now, and + looked at her, frank comradeship in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + The girl stirred restlessly. Her eyes swerved a little under his level + gaze. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I've done nothing—n-nothing,” she stammered. Then, at the + light tap of crutches on a bare floor she turned in obvious relief. “Oh, + here's mother. She's been in visiting with Mrs. Delano, our landlady. + Mother, Mr. Arkwright is here.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, speeding north as fast as steam could carry them, were the + bride and groom. The wondrousness of the first hour of their journey side + by side had become a joyous certitude that always it was to be like this + now. + </p> + <p> + “Bertram,” began the bride, after a long minute of eloquent silence. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, love.” + </p> + <p> + “You know our wedding was very different from most weddings.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it was!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but <i>really</i> it was. Now listen.” The bride's voice grew + tenderly earnest. “I think our marriage is going to be different, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Different?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” Billy's tone was emphatic. “There are so many common, everyday + marriages where—where—Why, Bertram, as if you could ever be to + me like—like Mr. Carleton is, for instance!” + </p> + <p> + “Like Mr. Carleton is—to you?” Bertram's voice was frankly puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “No, no! As Mr. Carleton is to Mrs. Carleton, I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” Bertram subsided in relief. + </p> + <p> + “And the Grahams and Whartons, and the Freddie Agnews, and—and a lot + of others. Why, Bertram, I've seen the Grahams and the Whartons not even + speak to each other a whole evening, when they've been at a dinner, or + something; and I've seen Mrs. Carleton not even seem to know her husband + came into the room. I don't mean quarrel, dear. Of course we'd never <i>quarrel!</i> + But I mean I'm sure we shall never get used to—to you being you, and + I being I.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed we sha'n't,” agreed Bertram, rapturously. + </p> + <p> + “Ours is going to be such a beautiful marriage!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it will be.” + </p> + <p> + “And we'll be so happy!” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be, and I shall try to make you so.” + </p> + <p> + “As if I could be anything else,” sighed Billy, blissfully. “And now we <i>can't</i> + have any misunderstandings, you see.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not. Er—what's that?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I mean that—that we can't ever repeat hose miserable weeks of + misunderstanding. Everything is all explained up. I <i>know</i>, now, that + you don't love Miss Winthrop, or just girls—any girl—to paint. + You love me. Not the tilt of my chin, nor the turn of my head; but <i>me</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “I do—just you.” Bertram's eyes gave the caress his lips would have + given had it not been for the presence of the man in the seat across the + aisle of the sleeping-car. + </p> + <p> + “And you—you know now that I love you—just you?” + </p> + <p> + “Not even Arkwright?” + </p> + <p> + “Not even Arkwright,” smiled Billy. + </p> + <p> + There was the briefest of hesitations; then, a little constrainedly, + Bertram asked: + </p> + <p> + “And you said you—you never <i>had</i> cared for Arkwright, didn't + you?” + </p> + <p> + For the second time in her life Billy was thankful that Bertram's question + had turned upon <i>her</i> love for Arkwright, not Arkwright's love for + her. In Billy's opinion, a man's unrequited love for a girl was his + secret, not hers, and was certainly one that the girl had no right to + tell. Once before Bertram had asked her if she had ever cared for + Arkwright, and then she had answered emphatically, as she did now: + </p> + <p> + “Never, dear.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you said so,” murmured Bertram, relaxing a little. + </p> + <p> + “I did; besides, didn't I tell you?” she went on airily, “I think he'll + marry Alice Greggory. Alice wrote me all the time I was away, and—oh, + she didn't say anything definite, I'll admit,” confessed Billy, with an + arch smile; “but she spoke of his being there lots, and they used to know + each other years ago, you see. There was almost a romance there, I think, + before the Greggorys lost their money and moved away from all their + friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he may have her. She's a nice girl—a mighty nice girl,” + answered Bertram, with the unmistakably satisfied air of the man who knows + he himself possesses the nicest girl of them all. + </p> + <p> + Billy, reading unerringly the triumph in his voice, grew suddenly grave. + She regarded her husband with a thoughtful frown; then she drew a profound + sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Whew!” laughed Bertram, whimsically. “So soon as this?” + </p> + <p> + “Bertram!” Billy's voice was tragic. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my love.” The bridegroom pulled his face into sobriety; then Billy + spoke, with solemn impressiveness. + </p> + <p> + “Bertram, I don't know a thing about—cooking—except what I've + been learning in Rosa's cook-book this last week.” + </p> + <p> + Bertram laughed so loud that the man across the aisle glanced over the top + of his paper surreptitiously. + </p> + <p> + “Rosa's cook-book! Is that what you were doing all this week?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; that is—I tried so hard to learn something,” stammered Billy. + “But I'm afraid I didn't—much; there were so many things for me to + think of, you know, with only a week. I believe I <i>could</i> make peach + fritters, though. They were the last thing I studied.” + </p> + <p> + Bertram laughed again, uproariously; but, at Billy's unchangingly tragic + face, he grew suddenly very grave and tender. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, dear, I didn't marry you to—to get a cook,” he said gently. + </p> + <p> + Billy shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “I know; but Aunt Hannah said that even if I never expected to cook, + myself, I ought to know how it was done, so to properly oversee it. She + said that—that no woman, who didn't know how to cook and keep house + properly, had any business to be a wife. And, Bertram, I did try, + honestly, all this week. I tried so hard to remember when you sponged + bread and when you kneaded it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't ever need—<i>yours</i>,” cut in Bertram, shamelessly; but + he got only a deservedly stern glance in return. + </p> + <p> + “And I repeated over and over again how many cupfuls of flour and pinches + of salt and spoonfuls of baking-powder went into things; but, Bertram, I + simply could not keep my mind on it. Everything, everywhere was singing to + me. And how do you suppose I could remember how many pinches of flour and + spoonfuls of salt and cupfuls of baking-powder went into a loaf of cake + when all the while the very teakettle on the stove was singing: 'It's all + right—Bertram loves me—I'm going to marry Bertram!'?” + </p> + <p> + “You darling!” (In spite of the man across the aisle Bertram did almost + kiss her this time.) “As if anybody cared how many cupfuls of + baking-powder went anywhere—with that in your heart!” + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Hannah says you will—when you're hungry. And Kate said—” + </p> + <p> + Bertram uttered a sharp word behind his teeth. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, for heaven's sake don't tell me what Kate said, if you want me to + stay sane, and not attempt to fight somebody—broken arm, and all. + Kate <i>thinks</i> she's kind, and I suppose she means well; but—well, + she's made trouble enough between us already. I've got you now, + sweetheart. You're mine—all mine—” his voice shook, and + dropped to a tender whisper—“'till death us do part.'” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; 'till death us do part,'” breathed Billy. + </p> + <p> + And then, for a time, they fell silent. + </p> + <p> + “'I, Bertram, take thee, Billy,'” sang the whirring wheels beneath them, + to one. + </p> + <p> + “'I, Billy, take thee, Bertram,'” sang the whirring wheels beneath them, + to the other. While straight ahead before them both, stretched fair and + beautiful in their eyes, the wondrous path of life which they were to + tread together. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER II. FOR WILLIAM—A HOME + </h2> + <p> + On the first Sunday after the wedding Pete came up-stairs to tell his + master, William, that Mrs. Stetson wanted to see him in the drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + William went down at once. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Aunt Hannah,” he began, reaching out a cordial hand. “Why, what's + the matter?” he broke off concernedly, as he caught a clearer view of the + little old lady's drawn face and troubled eyes. + </p> + <p> + “William, it's silly, of course,” cried Aunt Hannah, tremulously, “but I + simply had to go to some one. I—I feel so nervous and unsettled! Did—did + Billy say anything to you—what she was going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “What she was going to do? About what? What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “About the house—selling it,” faltered Aunt Hannah, sinking wearily + back into her chair. + </p> + <p> + William frowned thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Why, no,” he answered. “It was all so hurried at the last, you know. + There was really very little chance to make plans for anything—except + the wedding,” he finished, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” sighed Aunt Hannah. “Everything was in such confusion! + Still, I didn't know but she might have said something—to you.” + </p> + <p> + “No, she didn't. But I imagine it won't be hard to guess what she'll do. + When they get back from their trip I fancy she won't lose much time in + having what things she wants brought down here. Then she'll sell the rest + and put the house on the market.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of—of course,” stammered Aunt Hannah, pulling herself hastily + to a more erect position. “That's what I thought, too. Then don't you + think we'd better dismiss Rosa and close the house at once?” + </p> + <p> + “Why—yes, perhaps so. Why not? Then you'd be all settled here when + she comes home. I'm sure, the sooner you come, the better I'll be + pleased,” he smiled. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hannah turned sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Here!” she ejaculated. “William Henshaw, you didn't suppose I was coming + <i>here</i> to live, did you?” + </p> + <p> + It was William's turn to look amazed. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course you're coming here! Where else should you go, pray?” + </p> + <p> + “Where I was before—before Billy came—to you,” returned Aunt + Hannah a little tremulously, but with a certain dignity. “I shall take a + room in some quiet boarding-house, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Aunt Hannah! As if Billy would listen to that! You came before; + why not come now?” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hannah lifted her chin the fraction of an inch. + </p> + <p> + “You forget. I was needed before. Billy is a married woman now. She needs + no chaperon.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” scowled William, again. “Billy will always need you.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hannah shook her head mournfully. + </p> + <p> + “I like to think—she wants me, William, but I know, in my heart, it + isn't best.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + There was a moment's pause; then, decisively came the answer. + </p> + <p> + “Because I think young married folks should not have outsiders in the + home.” + </p> + <p> + William laughed relievedly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, so that's it! Well, Aunt Hannah, you're no outsider. Come, run right + along home and pack your trunk.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hannah was plainly almost crying; but she held her ground. + </p> + <p> + “William, I can't,” she reiterated. + </p> + <p> + “But—Billy is such a child, and—” + </p> + <p> + For once in her circumspect life Aunt Hannah was guilty of an + interruption. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, William, she is not a child. She is a woman now, and she has a + woman's problems to meet.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, why don't you help her meet them?” retorted William, still + with a whimsical smile. + </p> + <p> + But Aunt Hannah did not smile. For a minute she did not speak; then, with + her eyes studiously averted, she said: + </p> + <p> + “William, the first four years of my married life were—were spoiled + by an outsider in our home. I don't mean to spoil Billy's.” + </p> + <p> + William relaxed visibly. The smile fled from his face. + </p> + <p> + “Why—Aunt—Hannah!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + The little old lady turned with a weary sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know. You are shocked, of course. I shouldn't have told you. + Still, it is all past long ago, and—I wanted to make you understand + why I can't come. He was my husband's eldest brother—a bachelor. He + was good and kind, and meant well, I suppose; but—he interfered with + everything. I was young, and probably headstrong. At all events, there was + constant friction. He went away once and stayed two whole months. I shall + never forget the utter freedom and happiness of those months for us, with + the whole house to ourselves. No, William, I can't come.” She rose + abruptly and turned toward the door. Her eyes were wistful, and her face + was still drawn with suffering; but her whole frail little self quivered + plainly with high resolve. “John has Peggy outside. I must go.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but, Aunt Hannah,” began William, helplessly. + </p> + <p> + She lifted a protesting hand. + </p> + <p> + “No, don't urge me, please. I can't come here. But—I believe I won't + close the house till Billy gets home, after all,” she declared. The next + moment she was gone, and William, dazedly, from the doorway, was watching + John help her into Billy's automobile, called by Billy and half her + friends, “Peggy,” short for “Pegasus.” + </p> + <p> + Still dazedly William turned back into the house and dropped himself into + the nearest chair. + </p> + <p> + What a curious call it had been! Aunt Hannah had not acted like herself at + all. Not once had she said “Oh, my grief and conscience!” while the things + she <i>had</i> said—! Someway, he had never thought of Aunt Hannah + as being young, and a bride. Still, of course she must have been—once. + And the reason she gave for not coming there to live—the pitiful + story of that outsider in her home! But she was no outsider! She was no + interfering brother of Billy's— + </p> + <p> + William caught his breath suddenly, and held it suspended. Then he gave a + low ejaculation and half sprang from his chair. + </p> + <p> + Spunkie, disturbed from her doze by the fire, uttered a purring “me-o-ow,” + and looked up inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + For a long minute William gazed dumbly into the cat's yellow, sleepily + contented eyes; then he said with tragic distinctness: + </p> + <p> + “Spunkie, it's true: Aunt Hannah isn't Billy's husband's brother, but—I + am! Do you hear? I <i>am!</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Pur-r-me-ow!” commented Spunkie; and curled herself for another nap. + </p> + <p> + There was no peace for William after that. In vain he told himself that he + was no “interfering” brother, and that this was his home and had been all + his life; in vain did he declare emphatically that he could not go, he + would not go; that Billy would not wish him to go: always before his eyes + was the vision of that little bride of years long gone; always in his ears + was the echo of Aunt Hannah's “I shall never forget the utter freedom and + happiness of those months for us, with the whole house to ourselves.” Nor, + turn which way he would, could he find anything to comfort him. Simply + because he was so fearfully looking for it, he found it—the thing + that had for its theme the wretchedness that might be expected from the + presence of a third person in the new home. + </p> + <p> + Poor William! Everywhere he met it—the hint, the word, the story, + the song, even; and always it added its mite to the woeful whole. Even the + hoariest of mother-in-law jokes had its sting for him; and, to make his + cup quite full, he chanced to remember one day what Marie had said when he + had suggested that she and Cyril come to the Strata to live: “No; I think + young folks should begin by themselves.” + </p> + <p> + Unhappy, indeed, were these days for William. Like a lost spirit he + wandered from room to room, touching this, fingering that. For long + minutes he would stand before some picture, or some treasured bit of old + mahogany, as if to stamp indelibly upon his mind a thing that was soon to + be no more. At other times, like a man without a home, he would go out + into the Common or the Public Garden and sit for hours on some bench—thinking. + </p> + <p> + All this could have but one ending, of course. Before the middle of August + William summoned Pete to his rooms. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Pete, I'm going to move next week,” he began nonchalantly. His voice + sounded as if moving were a pleasurable circumstance that occurred in his + life regularly once a month. “I'd like you to begin to pack up these + things, please, to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + The old servant's mouth fell open. + </p> + <p> + “You're goin' to—to what, sir?” he stammered. + </p> + <p> + “Move—<i>move</i>, I said.” William spoke with unusual harshness. + </p> + <p> + Pete wet his lips. + </p> + <p> + “You mean you've sold the old place, sir?—that we—we ain't + goin' to live here no longer?” + </p> + <p> + “Sold? Of course not! <i>I'm</i> going to move away; not you.” + </p> + <p> + If Pete could have known what caused the sharpness in his master's voice, + he would not have been so grieved—or, rather, he would have been + grieved for a different reason. As it was he could only falter miserably: + </p> + <p> + “<i>You</i> are goin' to move away from here!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, man! Why, Pete, what ails you? One would think a body never + moved before.” + </p> + <p> + “They didn't—not you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + William turned abruptly, so that his face could not be seen. With stern + deliberation he picked up an elaborately decorated teapot; but the + valuable bit of Lowestoft shook so in his hand that he set it down at + once. It clicked sharply against its neighbor, betraying his nervous hand. + </p> + <p> + Pete stirred. + </p> + <p> + “But, Mr. William,” he stammered thickly; “how are you—what'll you + do without—There doesn't nobody but me know so well about your tea, + and the two lumps in your coffee; and there's your flannels that you never + put on till I get 'em out, and the woolen socks that you'd wear all summer + if I didn't hide 'em. And—and who's goin' to take care of these?” he + finished, with a glance that encompassed the overflowing cabinets and + shelves of curios all about him. + </p> + <p> + His master smiled sadly. An affection that had its inception in his + boyhood days shone in his eyes. The hand in which the Lowestoft had shaken + rested now heavily on an old man's bent shoulder—a shoulder that + straightened itself in unconscious loyalty under the touch. + </p> + <p> + “Pete, you have spoiled me, and no mistake. I don't expect to find another + like you. But maybe if I wear the woolen socks too late you'll come and + hunt up the others for me. Eh?” And, with a smile that was meant to be + quizzical, William turned and began to shift the teapots about again. + </p> + <p> + “But, Mr. William, why—that is, what will Mr. Bertram and Miss Billy + do—without you?” ventured the old man. + </p> + <p> + There was a sudden tinkling crash. On the floor lay the fragments of a + silver-luster teapot. + </p> + <p> + The servant exclaimed aloud in dismay, but his master did not even glance + toward his once treasured possession on the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Pete!” he was saying in a particularly cheery voice. “Have you + lived all these years and not found out that newly-married folks don't <i>need</i> + any one else around? Come, do you suppose we could begin to pack these + teapots to-night?” he added, a little feverishly. “Aren't there some boxes + down cellar?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll see, sir,” said Pete, respectfully; but the expression on his face + as he turned away showed that he was not thinking of teapots—nor of + boxes in which to pack them. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER III. BILLY SPEAKS HER MIND + </h2> + <p> + Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Henshaw were expected home the first of September. By + the thirty-first of August the old Beacon Street homestead facing the + Public Garden was in spick-and-span order, with Dong Ling in the basement + hovering over a well-stocked larder, and Pete searching the rest of the + house for a chair awry, or a bit of dust undiscovered. + </p> + <p> + Twice before had the Strata—as Bertram long ago dubbed the home of + his boyhood—been prepared for the coming of Billy, William's + namesake: once, when it had been decorated with guns and fishing-rods to + welcome the “boy” who turned out to be a girl; and again when with pink + roses and sewing-baskets the three brothers got joyously ready for a + feminine Billy who did not even come at all. + </p> + <p> + The house had been very different then. It had been, indeed, a “strata,” + with its distinctive layers of fads and pursuits as represented by Bertram + and his painting on one floor, William and his curios on another, and + Cyril with his music on a third. Cyril was gone now. Only Pete and his + humble belongings occupied the top floor. The floor below, too, was silent + now, and almost empty save for a rug or two, and a few pieces of heavy + furniture that William had not cared to take with him to his new quarters + on top of Beacon Hill. Below this, however, came Billy's old rooms, and on + these Pete had lavished all his skill and devotion. + </p> + <p> + Freshly laundered curtains were at the windows, dustless rugs were on the + floor. The old work-basket had been brought down from the top-floor + storeroom, and the long-closed piano stood invitingly open. In a + conspicuous place, also, sat the little green god, upon whose exquisitely + carved shoulders was supposed to rest the “heap plenty velly good luckee” + of Dong Ling's prophecy. + </p> + <p> + On the first floor Bertram's old rooms and the drawing-room came in for + their share of the general overhauling. Even Spunkie did not escape, but + had to submit to the ignominy of a bath. And then dawned fair and clear + the first day of September, bringing at five o'clock the bride and groom. + </p> + <p> + Respectfully lined up in the hall to meet them were Pete and Dong Ling: + Pete with his wrinkled old face alight with joy and excitement; Dong Ling + grinning and kotowing, and chanting in a high-pitched treble: + </p> + <p> + “Miss Billee, Miss Billee—plenty much welcome, Miss Billee!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, welcome home, Mrs. <i>Henshaw!</i>” bowed Bertram, turning at the + door, with an elaborate flourish that did not in the least hide his tender + pride in his new wife. + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed and colored a pretty pink. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you—all of you,” she cried a little unsteadily. “And how + good, good everything does look to me! Why, where's Uncle William?” she + broke off, casting hurriedly anxious eyes about her. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I should say so,” echoed Bertram. “Where is he, Pete? He isn't + sick, is he?” + </p> + <p> + A quick change crossed the old servant's face. He shook his head dumbly. + </p> + <p> + Billy gave a gleeful laugh. + </p> + <p> + “I know—he's asleep!” she caroled, skipping to the bottom of the + stairway and looking up. + </p> + <p> + “Ho, Uncle William! Better wake up, sir. The folks have come!” + </p> + <p> + Pete cleared his throat. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. William isn't here, Miss—ma'am,” he corrected miserably. + </p> + <p> + Billy smiled, but she frowned, too. + </p> + <p> + “Not here! Well, I like that,” she pouted; “—and when I've brought + him the most beautiful pair of mirror knobs he ever saw, and all the way + in my bag, too, so I could give them to him the very first thing,” she + added, darting over to the small bag she had brought in with her. “I'm + glad I did, too, for our trunks didn't come,” she continued laughingly. + “Still, if he isn't here to receive them—There, Pete, aren't they + beautiful?” she cried, carefully taking from their wrappings two + exquisitely decorated porcelain discs mounted on two long spikes. “They're + Batterseas—the real article. I know enough for that; and they're + finer than anything he's got. Won't he be pleased?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Miss—ma'am, I mean,” stammered the old man. + </p> + <p> + “These new titles come hard, don't they, Pete?” laughed Bertram. + </p> + <p> + Pete smiled faintly. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, Pete,” soothed his new mistress. “You shall call me 'Miss + Billy' all your life if you want to. Bertram,” she added, turning to her + husband, “I'm going to just run up-stairs and put these in Uncle William's + rooms so they'll be there when he comes in. We'll see how soon he + discovers them!” + </p> + <p> + Before Pete could stop her she was half-way up the first flight of stairs. + Even then he tried to speak to his young master, to explain that Mr. + William was not living there; but the words refused to come. He could only + stand dumbly waiting. + </p> + <p> + In a minute it came—Billy's sharp, startled cry. + </p> + <p> + “Bertram! Bertram!” + </p> + <p> + Bertram sprang for the stairway, but he had not reached the top when he + met his wife coming down. She was white-faced and trembling. + </p> + <p> + “Bertram—those rooms—there's not so much as a teapot there! + Uncle William's—gone!” + </p> + <p> + “Gone!” Bertram wheeled sharply. “Pete, what is the meaning of this? Where + is my brother?” To hear him, one would think he suspected the old servant + of having hidden his master. + </p> + <p> + Pete lifted a shaking hand and fumbled with his collar. + </p> + <p> + “He's moved, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Moved! Oh, you mean to other rooms—to Cyril's.” Bertram relaxed + visibly. “He's upstairs, maybe.” + </p> + <p> + Pete shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. He's moved away—out of the house, sir.” + </p> + <p> + For a brief moment Bertram stared as if he could not believe what his ears + had heard. Then, step by step, he began to descend the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean—to say—that my brother—has moved-gone away—<i>left</i>—his + <i>home?</i>” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Billy gave a low cry. + </p> + <p> + “But why—why?” she choked, almost stumbling headlong down the + stairway in her effort to reach the two men at the bottom. “Pete, why did + he go?” + </p> + <p> + There was no answer. + </p> + <p> + “Pete,”—Bertram's voice was very sharp—“what is the meaning of + this? Do you know why my brother left his home?” + </p> + <p> + The old man wet his lips and swallowed chokingly, but he did not speak. + </p> + <p> + “I'm waiting, Pete.” + </p> + <p> + Billy laid one hand on the old servant's arm—in the other hand she + still tightly clutched the mirror knobs. + </p> + <p> + “Pete, if you do know, won't you tell us, please?” she begged. + </p> + <p> + Pete looked down at the hand, then up at the troubled young face with the + beseeching eyes. His own features worked convulsively. With a visible + effort he cleared his throat. + </p> + <p> + “I know—what he said,” he stammered, his eyes averted. + </p> + <p> + “What was it?” + </p> + <p> + There was no answer. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Pete, you'll have to tell us, you know,” cut in Bertram, + decisively, “so you might as well do it now as ever.” + </p> + <p> + Once more Pete cleared his throat. This time the words came in a burst of + desperation. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. I understand, sir. It was only that he said—he said as + how young folks didn't <i>need</i> any one else around. So he was goin'.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't <i>need</i> any one else!” exclaimed Bertram, plainly not + comprehending. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. You two bein' married so, now.” Pete's eyes were still averted. + </p> + <p> + Billy gave a low cry. + </p> + <p> + “You mean—because <i>I</i> came?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, Miss—no—that is—” Pete stopped with an + appealing glance at Bertram. + </p> + <p> + “Then it was—it <i>was</i>—on account of <i>me</i>,” choked + Billy. + </p> + <p> + Pete looked still more distressed + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” he faltered. “It was only that he thought you wouldn't want him + here now.” + </p> + <p> + “Want him here!” ejaculated Bertram. + </p> + <p> + “Want him here!” echoed Billy, with a sob. + </p> + <p> + “Pete, where is he?” As she asked the question she dropped the mirror + knobs into her open bag, and reached for her coat and gloves—she had + not removed her hat. + </p> + <p> + Pete gave the address. + </p> + <p> + “It's just down the street a bit and up the hill,” he added excitedly, + divining her purpose. “It's a sort of a boarding-house, I reckon.” + </p> + <p> + “A <i>boarding-house</i>—for Uncle William!” scorned Billy, her eyes + ablaze. “Come, Bertram, we'll see about that.” + </p> + <p> + Bertram reached out a detaining hand. + </p> + <p> + “But, dearest, you're so tired,” he demurred. “Hadn't we better wait till + after dinner, or till to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “After dinner! To-morrow!” Billy's eyes blazed anew. “Why, Bertram + Henshaw, do you think I'd leave that dear man even one minute longer, if I + could help it, with a notion in his blessed old head that we didn't <i>want</i> + him?” + </p> + <p> + “But you said a little while ago you had a headache, dear,” still objected + Bertram. “If you'd just eat your dinner!” + </p> + <p> + “Dinner!” choked Billy. “I wonder if you think I could eat any dinner with + Uncle William turned out of his home! I'm going to find Uncle William.” + And she stumbled blindly toward the door. + </p> + <p> + Bertram reached for his hat. He threw a despairing glance into Pete's + eyes. + </p> + <p> + “We'll be back—when we can,” he said, with a frown. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” answered Pete, respectfully. Then, as if impelled by some + hidden force, he touched his master's arm. “It was that way she looked, + sir, when she came to <i>you</i>—that night last July—with her + eyes all shining,” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + A tender smile curved Bertram's lips. The frown vanished from his face. + </p> + <p> + “Bless you, Pete—and bless her, too!” he whispered back. The next + moment he had hurried after his wife. + </p> + <p> + The house that bore the number Pete had given proved to have a pretentious + doorway, and a landlady who, in response to the summons of the neat maid, + appeared with a most impressive rustle of black silk and jet bugles. + </p> + <p> + No, Mr. William Henshaw was not in his rooms. In fact, he was very seldom + there. His business, she believed, called him to State Street through the + day. Outside of that, she had been told, he spent much time sitting on a + bench in the Common. Doubtless, if they cared to search, they could find + him there now. + </p> + <p> + “A bench in the Common, indeed!” stormed Billy, as she and Bertram hurried + down the wide stone steps. “Uncle William—on a bench!” + </p> + <p> + “But surely now, dear,” ventured her husband, “you'll come home and get + your dinner!” + </p> + <p> + Billy turned indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “And leave Uncle William on a bench in the Common? Indeed, no! Why, + Bertram, you wouldn't, either,” she cried, as she turned resolutely toward + one of the entrances to the Common. + </p> + <p> + And Bertram, with the “eyes all shining” still before him, could only + murmur: “No, of course not, dear!” and follow obediently where she led. + </p> + <p> + Under ordinary circumstances it would have been a delightful hour for a + walk. The sun had almost set, and the shadows lay long across the grass. + The air was cool and unusually bracing for a day so early in September. + But all this was lost on Bertram. Bertram did not wish to take a walk. He + was hungry. He wanted his dinner; and he wanted, too, his old home with + his new wife flitting about the rooms as he had pictured this first + evening together. He wanted William, of course. Certainly he wanted + William; but if William would insist on running away and sitting on park + benches in this ridiculous fashion, he ought to take the consequences—until + to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. Up one path and down another trudged + the anxious-eyed Billy and her increasingly impatient husband. Then when + the fifteen weary minutes had become a still more weary half-hour, the + bonds Bertram had set on his temper snapped. + </p> + <p> + “Billy,” he remonstrated despairingly, “do, please, come home! Don't you + see how highly improbable it is that we should happen on William if we + walked like this all night? He might move—change his seat—go + home, even. He probably has gone home. And surely never before did a bride + insist on spending the first evening after her return tramping up and down + a public park for hour after hour like this, looking for any man. <i>Won't</i> + you come home?” + </p> + <p> + But Billy had not even heard. With a glad little cry she had darted to the + side of the humped-up figure of a man alone on a park bench just ahead of + them. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle William! Oh, Uncle William, how could you?” she cried, dropping + herself on to one end of the seat and catching the man's arm in both her + hands. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, how could you?” demanded Bertram, with just a touch of irritation, + dropping himself on to the other end of the seat, and catching the man's + other arm in his one usable hand. + </p> + <p> + The bent shoulders and bowed head straightened up with a jerk. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, bless my soul! If it isn't our little bride,” cried Uncle + William, fondly. “And the happy bridegroom, too. When did you get home?” + </p> + <p> + “We haven't got home,” retorted Bertram, promptly, before his wife could + speak. “Oh, we looked in at the door an hour or so back; but we didn't + stay. We've been hunting for you ever since.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, children!” Uncle William spoke with gay cheeriness; but he + refused to meet either Billy's or Bertram's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle William, how could you do it?” reproached Billy, again. + </p> + <p> + “Do what?” Uncle William was plainly fencing for time. + </p> + <p> + “Leave the house like that?” + </p> + <p> + “Ho! I wanted a change.” + </p> + <p> + “As if we'd believe that!” scoffed Billy. + </p> + <p> + “All right; let's call it you've had the change, then,” laughed Bertram, + “and we'll send over for your things to-morrow. Come—now let's go + home to dinner.” + </p> + <p> + William shook his head. He essayed a gay smile. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I've only just begun. I'm going to stay—oh, I don't know how + long I'm going to stay,” he finished blithely. + </p> + <p> + Billy lifted her chin a little. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle William, you aren't playing square. Pete told us what you said when + you left.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh? What?” William looked up with startled eyes. + </p> + <p> + “About—about our not <i>needing</i> you. So we know, now, why you + left; and we <i>sha'n't stand</i> it.” + </p> + <p> + “Pete? That? Oh, that—that's nonsense I—I'll settle with + Pete.” + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed softly. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Pete! Don't. We simply dragged it out of him. And now we're here to + tell you that we <i>do</i> want you, and that you <i>must</i> come back.” + </p> + <p> + Again William shook his head. A swift shadow crossed his face. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, no, children,” he said dully. + </p> + <p> + “You're very kind, but you don't need me. I should be just an interfering + elder brother. I should spoil your young married life.” (William's voice + now sounded as if he were reciting a well-learned lesson.) “If I went away + and stayed two months, you'd never forget the utter freedom and joy of + those two whole months with the house all to yourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle William,” gasped Billy, “what <i>are</i> you talking about?” + </p> + <p> + “About—about my not going back, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “But you are coming back,” cut in Bertram, almost angrily. “Oh, come, + Will, this is utter nonsense, and you know it! Come, let's go home to + dinner.” + </p> + <p> + A stern look came to the corners of William's mouth—a look that + Bertram understood well. + </p> + <p> + “All right, I'll go to dinner, of course; but I sha'n't stay,” said + William, firmly. “I've thought it all out. I know I'm right. Come, we'll + go to dinner now, and say no more about it,” he finished with a cheery + smile, as he rose to his feet. Then, to the bride, he added: “Did you have + a nice trip, little girl?” + </p> + <p> + Billy, too, had risen, now, but she did not seem to have heard his + question. In the fast falling twilight her face looked a little white. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle William,” she began very quietly, “do you think for a minute that + just because I married your brother I am going to live in that house and + turn you out of the home you've lived in all your life?” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, dear! I'm not turned out. I just go,” corrected Uncle William, + gayly. + </p> + <p> + With superb disdain Billy brushed this aside. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, you won't,” she declared; “but—<i>I shall</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Billy!” gasped Bertram. + </p> + <p> + “My—my dear!” expostulated William, faintly. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle William! Bertram! Listen,” panted Billy. “I never told you much + before, but I'm going to, now. Long ago, when I went away with Aunt + Hannah, your sister Kate showed me how dear the old home was to you—how + much you thought of it. And she said—she said that I had upset + everything.” (Bertram interjected a sharp word, but Billy paid no + attention.) “That's why I went; and <i>I shall go again</i>—if you + don't come home to-morrow to stay, Uncle William. Come, now let's go to + dinner, please. Bertram's hungry,” she finished, with a bright smile. + </p> + <p> + There was a tense moment of silence. William glanced at Bertram; Bertram + returned the glance—with interest. + </p> + <p> + “Er—ah—yes; well, we might go to dinner,” stammered William, + after a minute. + </p> + <p> + “Er—yes,” agreed Bertram. And the three fell into step together. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IV. “JUST LIKE BILLY” + </h2> + <p> + Billy did not leave the Strata this time. Before twenty-four hours had + passed, the last cherished fragment of Mr. William Henshaw's possessions + had been carefully carried down the imposing steps of the Beacon Hill + boarding-house under the disapproving eyes of its bugle-adorned mistress, + who found herself now with a month's advance rent and two vacant “parlors” + on her hands. Before another twenty-four hours had passed her quondam + boarder, with a tired sigh, sank into his favorite morris chair in his old + familiar rooms, and looked about him with contented eyes. Every treasure + was in place, from the traditional four small stones of his babyhood days + to the Batterseas Billy had just brought him. Pete, as of yore, was + hovering near with a dust-cloth. Bertram's gay whistle sounded from the + floor below. William Henshaw was at home again. + </p> + <p> + This much accomplished, Billy went to see Aunt Hannah. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hannah greeted her affectionately, though with tearfully troubled + eyes. She was wearing a gray shawl to-day topped with a black one—sure + sign of unrest, either physical or mental, as all her friends knew. + </p> + <p> + “I'd begun to think you'd forgotten—me,” she faltered, with a poor + attempt at gayety. + </p> + <p> + “You've been home three whole days.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, dearie,” smiled Billy; “and 'twas a shame. But I have been so + busy! My trunks came at last, and I've been helping Uncle William get + settled, too.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hannah looked puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle William get settled? You mean—he's changed his room?” + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed oddly, and threw a swift glance into Aunt Hannah's face. + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes, he did change,” she murmured; “but he's moved back now into + the old quarters. Er—you haven't heard from Uncle William then, + lately, I take it.” + </p> + <p> + “No.” Aunt Hannah shook her head abstractedly. “I did see him once, + several weeks ago; but I haven't, since. We had quite a talk, then; and, + Billy, I've been wanting to speak to you,” she hurried on, a little + feverishly. “I didn't like to leave, of course, till you did come home, as + long as you'd said nothing about your plans; but—” + </p> + <p> + “Leave!” interposed Billy, dazedly. “Leave where? What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, leave here, of course, dear. I mean. I didn't like to get my room + while you were away; but I shall now, of course, at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Aunt Hannah! As if I'd let you do that,” laughed Billy. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hannah stiffened perceptibly. Her lips looked suddenly thin and + determined. Even the soft little curls above her ears seemed actually to + bristle with resolution. + </p> + <p> + “Billy,” she began firmly, “we might as well understand each other at + once. I know your good heart, and I appreciate your kindness. But I can + not come to live with you. I shall not. It wouldn't be best. I should be + like an interfering elder brother in your home. I should spoil your young + married life; and if I went away for two months you'd never forget the + utter joy and freedom of those two months with the whole house ali to + yourselves.” + </p> + <p> + At the beginning of this speech Billy's eyes had still carried their + dancing smile, but as the peroration progressed on to the end, a dawning + surprise, which soon became a puzzled questioning, drove the smile away. + Then Billy sat suddenly erect. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Aunt Hannah, that's exactly what Uncle William—” Billy + stopped, and regarded Aunt Hannah with quick suspicion. The next moment + she burst into gleeful laughter. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hannah looked grieved, and not a little surprised; but Billy did not + seem to notice this. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, oh, Aunt Hannah—you, too! How perfectly funny!” she gurgled. + “To think you two old blesseds should get your heads together like this!” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hannah stirred restively, and pulled the black shawl more closely + about her. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, Billy, I don't know what you mean by that,” she sighed, with a + visible effort at self-control; “but I do know that I can not go to live + with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Bless your heart, dear, I don't want you to,” soothed Billy, with gay + promptness. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! O-h-h,” stammered Aunt Hannah, surprise, mortification, dismay, and a + grieved hurt bringing a flood of color to her face. It is one thing to + refuse a home, and quite another to have a home refused you. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! O-h-h, Aunt Hannah,” cried Billy, turning very red in her turn. + “Please, <i>please</i> don't look like that. I didn't mean it that way. I + do want you, dear, only—I want you somewhere else more. I want you—here.” + </p> + <p> + “Here!” Aunt Hannah looked relieved, but unconvinced. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Don't you like it here?” + </p> + <p> + “Like it! Why, I love it, dear. You know I do. But you don't need this + house now, Billy.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I do,” retorted Billy, airily. “I'm going to keep it up, and I + want you here. + </p> + <p> + “Fiddlededee, Billy! As if I'd let you keep up this house just for me,” + scorned Aunt Hannah. + </p> + <p> + “'Tisn't just for you. It's for—for lots of folks.” + </p> + <p> + “My grief and conscience, Billy! What are you talking about?” + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed, and settled herself more comfortably on the hassock at Aunt + Hannah's feet. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll tell you. Just now I want it for Tommy Dunn, and the Greggorys + if I can get them, and maybe one or two others. There'll always be + somebody. You see, I had thought I'd have them at the Strata.” + </p> + <p> + “Tommy Dunn—at the Strata!” + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed again ruefully. + </p> + <p> + “O dear! You sound just like Bertram,” she pouted. “He didn't want Tommy, + either, nor any of the rest of them.” + </p> + <p> + “The rest of them!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I could have had a lot more, you know, the Strata is so big, + especially now that Cyril has gone, and left all those empty rooms. <i>I</i> + got real enthusiastic, but Bertram didn't. He just laughed and said + 'nonsense!' until he found I was really in earnest; then he—well, he + said 'nonsense,' then, too—only he didn't laugh,” finished Billy, + with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hannah regarded her with fond, though slightly exasperated eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, you are, indeed, a most extraordinary young woman—at times. + Surely, with you, a body never knows what to expect—except the + unexpected.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Aunt Hannah!—and from you, too!” reproached Billy, + mischievously; but Aunt Hannah had yet more to say. + </p> + <p> + “Of course Bertram thought it was nonsense. The idea of you, a bride, + filling up your house with—with people like that! Tommy Dunn, + indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Bertram said he liked Tommy all right,” sighed Billy; “but he said + that that didn't mean he wanted him for three meals a day. One would think + poor Tommy was a breakfast food! So that is when I thought of keeping up + this house, you see, and that's why I want you here—to take charge + of it. And you'll do that—for me, won't you?” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hannah fell back in her chair. + </p> + <p> + “Why, y-yes, Billy, of course, if—if you want it. But what an + extraordinary idea, child!” + </p> + <p> + Billy shook her head. A deeper color came to her cheeks, and a softer glow + to her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think so, Aunt Hannah. It's only that I'm so happy that some of + it has just got to overflow somewhere, and this is going to be the + overflow house—a sort of safety valve for me, you see. I'm going to + call it the Annex—it will be an annex to our home. And I want to + keep it full, always, of people who—who can make the best use of all + that extra happiness that I can't possibly use myself,” she finished a + little tremulously. “Don't you see?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I <i>see</i>,” replied Aunt Hannah, with a fond shake of the + head. + </p> + <p> + “But, really, listen—it's sensible,” urged Billy. “First, there's + Tommy. His mother died last month. He's at a neighbor's now, but they're + going to send him to a Home for Crippled Children; and he's grieving his + heart out over it. I'm going to bring him here to a real home—the + kind that doesn't begin with a capital letter. He adores music, and he's + got real talent, I think. Then there's the Greggorys.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hannah looked dubious. + </p> + <p> + “You can't get the Greggorys to—to use any of that happiness, Billy. + They're too proud.” + </p> + <p> + Billy smiled radiantly. + </p> + <p> + “I know I can't get them to <i>use</i> it, Aunt Hannah, but I believe I + can get them to <i>give</i> it,” she declared triumphantly. “I shall ask + Alice Greggory to teach Tommy music, and I shall ask Mrs. Greggory to + teach him books; and I shall tell them both that I positively need them to + keep you company.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but Billy,” bridled Aunt Hannah, with prompt objection. + </p> + <p> + “Tut, tut!—I know you'll be willing to be thrown as a little bit of + a sop to the Greggorys' pride,” coaxed Billy. “You just wait till I get + the Overflow Annex in running order. Why, Aunt Hannah, you don't know how + busy you're going to be handing out all that extra happiness that I can't + use!” + </p> + <p> + “You dear child!” Aunt Hannah smiled mistily. The black shawl had fallen + unheeded to the floor now. “As if anybody ever had any more happiness than + one's self could use!” + </p> + <p> + “I have,” avowed Billy, promptly, “and it's going to keep growing and + growing, I know.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, don't!” exclaimed Aunt Hannah, + lifting shocked hands of remonstrance. “Rap on wood—do! How can you + boast like that?” + </p> + <p> + Billy dimpled roguishly and sprang to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Aunt Hannah, I'm ashamed of you! To be superstitious like that—you, + a good Presbyterian!” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hannah subsided shamefacedly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know, Billy, it is silly; but I just can't help it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but it's worse than silly, Aunt Hannah,” teased Billy, with a + remorseless chuckle. “It's really <i>heathen!</i> Bertram told me once + that it dates 'way back to the time of the Druids—appealing to the + god of trees, or something like that—when you rap on wood, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + “Ugh!” shuddered Aunt Hannah. “As if I would, Billy! How is Bertram, by + the by?” + </p> + <p> + A swift shadow crossed Billy's bright face. + </p> + <p> + “He's lovely—only his arm.” + </p> + <p> + “His arm! But I thought that was better.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it is,” drooped Billy, “but it gets along so slowly, and it frets him + dreadfully. You know he never can do anything with his left hand, he says, + and he just hates to have things done for him—though Pete and Dong + Ling are quarreling with each other all the time to do things for him, and + I'm quarreling with both of them to do them for him myself! By the way, + Dong Ling is going to leave us next week. Did you know it?” + </p> + <p> + “Dong Ling—leave!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Oh, he told Bertram long ago he should go when we were married; that + he had plenty much money, and was going back to China, and not be Melican + man any longer. But I don't think Bertram thought he'd do it. William says + Dong Ling went to Pete, however, after we left, and told him he wanted to + go; that he liked the little Missee plenty well, but that there'd be too + much hen-talk when she got back, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Why, the impudent creature!” + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed merrily. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; Pete was furious, William says, but Dong Ling didn't mean any + disrespect, I'm sure. He just wasn't used to having petticoats around, and + didn't want to take orders from them; that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Billy, what will you do?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Pete's fixed all that lovely,” returned Billy, nonchalantly. “You + know his niece lives over in South Boston, and it seems she's got a + daughter who's a fine cook and will be glad to come. Mercy! Look at the + time,” she broke off, glancing at the clock. “I shall be late to dinner, + and Dong Ling loathes anybody who's late to his meals—as I found out + to my sorrow the night we got home. Good-by, dear. I'll be out soon again + and fix it all up—about the Annex, you know.” And with a bright + smile she was gone. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me,” sighed Aunt Hannah, stooping to pick up the black shawl; “dear + me! Of course everything will be all right—there's a girl coming, + even if Dong Ling is going. But—but—Oh, my grief and + conscience, what an extraordinary child Billy is, to be sure—but + what a dear one!” she added, wiping a quick tear from her eye. “An + Overflow Annex, indeed, for her 'extra happiness'! Now isn't that just + like Billy?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER V. TIGER SKINS + </h2> + <p> + September passed and October came, bringing with it cool days and clear, + crisp evenings royally ruled over by a gorgeous harvest moon. According to + Billy everything was just perfect—except, of course, poor Bertram's + arm; and even the fact that that gained so slowly was not without its + advantage (again according to Billy), for it gave Bertram more time to be + with her. + </p> + <p> + “You see, dear, as long as you <i>can't</i> paint,” she told him + earnestly, one day, “why, I'm not really hindering you by keeping you with + me so much.” + </p> + <p> + “You certainly are not,” he retorted, with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Then I may be just as happy as I like over it,” settled Billy, + comfortably. + </p> + <p> + “As if you ever could hinder me,” he ridiculed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I could,” nodded Billy, emphatically. “You forget, sir. That was + what worried me so. Everybody, even the newspapers and magazines, said I + <i>would</i> do it, too. They said I'd slay your Art, stifle your + Ambition, destroy your Inspiration, and be a nuisance generally. And Kate + said—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Well, never mind what Kate said,” interrupted the man, savagely. + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed, and gave his ear a playful tweak. + </p> + <p> + “All right; but I'm not going to do it, you know—spoil your career, + sir. You just wait,” she continued dramatically. “The minute your arm gets + so you can paint, I myself shall conduct you to your studio, thrust the + brushes into your hand, fill your palette with all the colors of the + rainbow, and order you to paint, my lord, paint! But—until then I'm + going to have you all I like,” she finished, with a complete change of + manner, nestling into the ready curve of his good left arm. + </p> + <p> + “You witch!” laughed the man, fondly. “Why, Billy, you couldn't hinder me. + You'll <i>be</i> my inspiration, dear, instead of slaying it. You'll see. + <i>This</i> time Marguerite Winthrop's portrait is going to be a success.” + </p> + <p> + Billy turned quickly. + </p> + <p> + “Then you are—that is, you haven't—I mean, you're going to—paint + it?” + </p> + <p> + “I just am,” avowed the artist. “And this time it'll be a success, too, + with you to help.” + </p> + <p> + Billy drew in her breath tremulously. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't know but you'd already started it,” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “No. After the other one failed, and Mr. Winthrop asked me to try again, I + couldn't <i>then</i>. I was so troubled over you. That's the time you did + hinder me,” he smiled. “Then came your note breaking the engagement. Of + course I knew too much to attempt a thing like that portrait then. But now—<i>now</i>—!” + The pause and the emphasis were eloquent. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, <i>now</i>,” nodded Billy, brightly, but a little feverishly. + “And when do you begin?” + </p> + <p> + “Not till January. Miss Winthrop won't be back till then. I saw J. G. last + week, and I told him I'd accept his offer to try again.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he say?” + </p> + <p> + “He gave my left hand a big grip and said: 'Good!—and you'll win out + this time.'” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you will,” nodded Billy, again, though still a little + feverishly. “And this time I sha'n't mind a bit if you do stay to + luncheon, and break engagements with me, sir,” she went on, tilting her + chin archly, “for I shall know it's the portrait and not the sitter that's + really keeping you. Oh, you'll see what a fine artist's wife I'll make!” + </p> + <p> + “The very best,” declared Bertram so ardently that Billy blushed, and + shook her head in reproof. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! I wasn't fishing. I didn't mean it that way,” she protested. + Then, as he tried to catch her, she laughed and danced teasingly out of + his reach. + </p> + <p> + Because Bertram could not paint, therefore, Billy had him quite to herself + these October days; nor did she hesitate to appropriate him. Neither, on + his part, was Bertram loath to be appropriated. Like two lovers they read + and walked and talked together, and like two children, sometimes, they + romped through the stately old rooms with Spunkie, or with Tommy Dunn, who + was a frequent guest. Spunkie, be it known, was renewing her kittenhood, + so potent was the influence of the dangling strings and rolling balls that + she encountered everywhere; and Tommy Dunn, with Billy's help, was + learning that not even a pair of crutches need keep a lonely little lad + from a frolic. Even William, roused from his after-dinner doze by peals of + laughter, was sometimes inveigled into activities that left him + breathless, but curiously aglow. While Pete, polishing silver in the + dining-room down-stairs, smiled indulgently at the merry clatter above—and + forgot the teasing pain in his side. + </p> + <p> + But it was not all nonsense with Billy, nor gay laughter. More often it + was a tender glow in the eyes, a softness in the voice, a radiant + something like an aura of joy all about her, that told how happy indeed + were these days for her. There was proof by word of mouth, too—long + talks with Bertram in the dancing firelight when they laid dear plans for + the future, and when she tried so hard to make her husband understand what + a good, good wife she intended to be, and how she meant never to let + anything come between them. + </p> + <p> + It was so earnest and serious a Billy by this time that Bertram would turn + startled, dismayed eyes on his young wife; whereupon, with a very + Billy-like change of mood, she would give him one of her rare caresses, + and perhaps sigh: + </p> + <p> + “Goosey—it's only because I'm so happy, happy, happy! Why, Bertram, + if it weren't for that Overflow Annex I believe I—I just couldn't + live!” + </p> + <p> + It was Bertram who sighed then, and who prayed fervently in his heart that + never might he see a real shadow cloud that dear face. + </p> + <p> + Thus far, certainly, the cares of matrimony had rested anything but + heavily upon the shapely young shoulders of the new wife. Domestic affairs + at the Strata moved like a piece of well-oiled machinery. Dong Ling, to be + sure, was not there; but in his place reigned Pete's grandniece, a + fresh-faced, capable young woman who (Bertram declared) cooked like an + angel and minded her own business like a man. Pete, as of yore, had full + charge of the house; and a casual eye would see few changes. Even the + brothers themselves saw few, for that matter. + </p> + <p> + True, at the very first, Billy had donned a ruffled apron and a bewitching + dust-cap, and had traversed the house from cellar to garret with a + prettily important air of “managing things,” as she suggested changes + right and left. She had summoned Pete, too, for three mornings in + succession, and with great dignity had ordered the meals for the day. But + when Bertram was discovered one evening tugging back his favorite chair, + and when William had asked if Billy were through using his pipe-tray, the + young wife had concluded to let things remain about as they were. And when + William ate no breakfast one morning, and Bertram aggrievedly refused + dessert that night at dinner, Billy—learning through an apologetic + Pete that Master William always had to have eggs for breakfast no matter + what else there was, and that Master Bertram never ate boiled rice—gave + up planning the meals. True, for three more mornings she summoned Pete for + “orders,” but the orders were nothing more nor less than a blithe “Well, + Pete, what are we going to have for dinner to-day?” By the end of a week + even this ceremony was given up, and before a month had passed, Billy was + little more than a guest in her own home, so far as responsibility was + concerned. + </p> + <p> + Billy was not idle, however; far from it. First, there were the delightful + hours with Bertram. Then there was her music: Billy was writing a new song—the + best she had ever written, Billy declared. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Bertram, it can't help being that,” she said to her husband, one + day. “The words just sang themselves to me right out of my heart; and the + melody just dropped down from the sky. And now, everywhere, I'm hearing + the most wonderful harmonies. The whole universe is singing to me. If only + now I can put it on paper what I hear! Then I can make the whole universe + sing to some one else!” + </p> + <p> + Even music, however, had to step one side for the wedding calls which were + beginning to be received, and which must be returned, in spite of the + occasional rebellion of the young husband. There were the more intimate + friends to be seen, also, and Cyril and Marie to be visited. And always + there was the Annex. + </p> + <p> + The Annex was in fine running order now, and was a source of infinite + satisfaction to its founder and great happiness to its beneficiaries. + Tommy Dunn was there, learning wonderful things from books and still more + wonderful things from the piano in the living-room. Alice Greggory and her + mother were there, too—the result of much persuasion. Indeed, + according to Bertram, Billy had been able to fill the Annex only by + telling each prospective resident that he or she was absolutely necessary + to the welfare and happiness of every other resident. Not that the house + was full, either. There were still two unoccupied rooms. + </p> + <p> + “But then, I'm glad there are,” Billy had declared, “for there's sure to + be some one that I'll want to send there.” + </p> + <p> + “Some <i>one</i>, did you say?” Bertram had retorted, meaningly; but his + wife had disdained to answer this. + </p> + <p> + Billy herself was frequently at the Annex. She told Aunt Hannah that she + had to come often to bring the happiness—it accumulated so fast. + Certainly she always found plenty to do there, whenever she came. There + was Aunt Hannah to be read to, Mrs. Greggory to be sung to, and Tommy Dunn + to be listened to; for Tommy Dunn was always quivering with eagerness to + play her his latest “piece.” + </p> + <p> + Billy knew that some day at the Annex she would meet Mr. M. J. Arkwright; + and she told herself that she hoped she should. + </p> + <p> + Billy had not seen Arkwright (except on the stage of the Boston Opera + House) since the day he had left her presence in white-faced, stony-eyed + misery after declaring his love for her, and learning of her engagement to + Bertram. Since then, she knew, he had been much with his old friend, Alice + Greggory. She did not believe, should she see him now, that he would be + either white-faced, or stony-eyed. His heart, she was sure, had gone where + it ought to have gone in the first place—to Alice. Such being, in + her opinion, the case, she longed to get the embarrassment of a first + meeting between themselves over with, for, after that, she was sure, their + old friendship could be renewed, and she would be in a position to further + this pretty love affair between him and Alice. Very decidedly, therefore, + Billy wished to meet Arkwright. Very pleased, consequently, was she when, + one day, coming into the living-room at the Annex, she found the man + sitting by the fire. + </p> + <p> + Arkwright was on his feet at once. + </p> + <p> + “Miss—Mrs. H—Henshaw,” he stammered + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Mr. Arkwright,” she cried, with just a shade of nervousness in her + voice as she advanced, her hand outstretched. “I'm glad to see you.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. I wanted to see Miss Greggory,” he murmured. Then, as the + unconscious rudeness of his reply dawned on him, he made matters + infinitely worse by an attempted apology. “That is, I mean—I didn't + mean—” he began to stammer miserably. + </p> + <p> + Some girls might have tossed the floundering man a straw in the shape of a + light laugh intended to turn aside all embarrassment—but not Billy. + Billy held out a frankly helping hand that was meant to set the man + squarely on his feet at her side. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Arkwright, don't, please,” she begged earnestly. “You and I don't + need to beat about the bush. I <i>am</i> glad to see you, and I hope + you're glad to see me. We're going to be the best of friends from now on, + I'm sure; and some day, soon, you're going to bring Alice to see me, and + we'll have some music. I left her up-stairs. She'll be down at once, I + dare say—I met Rosa going up with your card. Good-by,” she finished + with a bright smile, as she turned and walked rapidly from the room. + </p> + <p> + Outside, on the steps, Billy drew a long breath. + </p> + <p> + “There,” she whispered; “that's over—and well over!” The next minute + she frowned vexedly. She had missed her glove. “Never mind! I sha'n't go + back in there for it now, anyway,” she decided. + </p> + <p> + In the living-room, five minutes later, Alice Greggory found only a + hastily scrawled note waiting for her. + </p> + <p> + “If you'll forgive the unforgivable,” she read “you'll forgive me for not + being here when you come down. 'Circumstances over which I have no control + have called me away.' May we let it go at that? + </p> + <p> + “M. J. ARKWRIGHT.” + </p> + <p> + As Alice Greggory's amazed, questioning eyes left the note they fell upon + the long white glove on the floor by the door. Half mechanically she + crossed the room and picked it up; but almost at once she dropped it with + a low cry. + </p> + <p> + “Billy! He—saw—Billy!” Then a flood of understanding dyed her + face scarlet as she turned and fled to the blessedly unseeing walls of her + own room. + </p> + <p> + Not ten minutes later Rosa tapped at her door with a note. + </p> + <p> + “It's from Mr. Arkwright, Miss. He's downstairs.” Rosa's eyes were + puzzled, and a bit startled. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Arkwright!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Miss. He's come again. That is, I didn't know he'd went—but he + must have, for he's come again now. He wrote something in a little book; + then he tore it out and gave it to me. He said he'd wait, please, for an + answer.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, very well, Rosa.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Greggory took the note and spoke with an elaborate air of + indifference that was meant to express a calm ignoring of the puzzled + questioning in the other's eyes. The next moment she read this in + Arkwright's peculiar scrawl: + </p> + <p> + “If you've already forgiven the unforgivable, you'll do it again, I know, + and come down-stairs. Won't you, please? I want to see you.” + </p> + <p> + Miss Greggory lifted her head with a jerk. Her face was a painful red. + </p> + <p> + “Tell Mr. Arkwright I can't possibly—” She came to an abrupt pause. + Her eyes had encountered Rosa's, and in Rosa's eyes the puzzled + questioning was plainly fast becoming a shrewd suspicion. + </p> + <p> + There was the briefest of hesitations; then, lightly, Miss Greggory tossed + the note aside. + </p> + <p> + “Tell Mr. Arkwright I'll be down at once, please,” she directed + carelessly, as she turned back into the room. + </p> + <p> + But she was not down at once. She was not down until she had taken time to + bathe her red eyes, powder her telltale nose, smoothe her ruffled hair, + and whip herself into the calm, steady-eyed, self-controlled young woman + that Arkwright finally rose to meet when she came into the room. + </p> + <p> + “I thought it was only women who were privileged to change their mind,” + she began brightly; but Arkwright ignored her attempt to conventionalize + the situation. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you for coming down,” he said, with a weariness that instantly + drove the forced smile from the girl's lips. “I—I wanted to—to + talk to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” She seated herself and motioned him to a chair near her. He took + the seat, and then fell silent, his eyes out the window. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you said you—you wanted to talk, she reminded him + nervously, after a minute. + </p> + <p> + “I did.” He turned with disconcerting abruptness. “Alice, I'm going to + tell you a story.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall be glad to listen. People always like stories, don't they?” + </p> + <p> + “Do they?” The somber pain in Arkwright's eyes deepened. Alice Greggory + did not know it, but he was thinking of another story he had once told in + that same room. Billy was his listener then, while now—A little + precipitately he began to speak. + </p> + <p> + “When I was a very small boy I went to visit my uncle, who, in his young + days, had been quite a hunter. Before the fireplace in his library was a + huge tiger skin with a particularly lifelike head. The first time I saw it + I screamed, and ran and hid. I refused then even to go into the room + again. My cousins urged, scolded, pleaded, and laughed at me by turns, but + I was obdurate. I would not go where I could see the fearsome thing again, + even though it was, as they said, 'nothing but a dead old rug!' + </p> + <p> + “Finally, one day, my uncle took a hand in the matter. By sheer will-power + he forced me to go with him straight up to the dreaded creature, and stand + by its side. He laid one of my shrinking hands on the beast's smooth head, + and thrust the other one quite into the open red mouth with its gleaming + teeth. + </p> + <p> + “'You see,' he said, 'there's absolutely nothing to fear. He can't + possibly hurt you. Just as if you weren't bigger and finer and stronger in + every way than that dead thing on the floor!' + </p> + <p> + “Then, when he had got me to the point where of my own free will I would + walk up and touch the thing, he drew a lesson for me. + </p> + <p> + “'Now remember,' he charged me. 'Never run and hide again. Only cowards do + that. Walk straight up and face the thing. Ten to one you'll find it's + nothing but a dead skin masquerading as the real thing. Even if it isn't + if it's alive—face it. Find a weapon and fight it. Know that you are + going to conquer it and you'll conquer. Never run. Be a man. Men don't + run, my boy!'” + </p> + <p> + Arkwright paused, and drew a long breath. He did not look at the girl in + the opposite chair. If he had looked he would have seen a face + transfigured. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he resumed, “I never forgot that tiger skin, nor what it stood + for, after that day when Uncle Ben thrust my hand into its hideous, but + harmless, red mouth. Even as a kid I began, then, to try—not to run. + I've tried ever since But to-day—I did run.” + </p> + <p> + Arkwright's voice had been getting lower and lower. The last three words + would have been almost inaudible to ears less sensitively alert than were + Alice Greggory's. For a moment after the words were uttered, only the + clock's ticking broke the silence; then, with an obvious effort, the man + roused himself, as if breaking away from some benumbing force that held + him. + </p> + <p> + “Alice, I don't need to tell you, after what I said the other night, that + I loved Billy Neilson. That was bad enough, for I found she was pledged to + another man. But to-day I discovered something worse: I discovered that I + loved Billy <i>Henshaw</i>—another man's wife. And—I ran. But + I've come back. I'm going to face the thing. Oh, I'm not deceiving myself! + This love of mine is no dead tiger skin. It's a beast, alive and alert—God + pity me!—to destroy my very soul. But I'm going to fight it; and—I + want you to help me.” + </p> + <p> + The girl gave a half-smothered cry. The man turned, but he could not see + her face distinctly. Twilight had come, and the room was full of shadows. + He hesitated, then went on, a little more quietly. + </p> + <p> + “That's why I've told you all this—so you would help me. And you + will, won't you?” + </p> + <p> + There was no answer. Once again he tried to see her face, but it was + turned now quite away from him. + </p> + <p> + “You've been a big help already, little girl. Your friendship, your + comradeship—they've been everything to me. You're not going to make + me do without them—now?” + </p> + <p> + “No—oh, no!” The answer was low and a little breathless; but he + heard it. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. I knew you wouldn't.” He paused, then rose to his feet. When + he spoke again his voice carried a note of whimsical lightness that was a + little forced. “But I must go—else you <i>will</i> take them from + me, and with good reason. And please don't let your kind heart grieve too + much—over me. I'm no deep-dyed villain in a melodrama, nor wicked + lover in a ten-penny novel, you know. I'm just an everyday man in real + life; and we're going to fight this thing out in everyday living. That's + where your help is coming in. We'll go together to see Mrs. Bertram + Henshaw. She's asked us to, and you'll do it, I know. We'll have music and + everyday talk. We'll see Mrs. Bertram Henshaw in her own home with her + husband, where she belongs; and—I'm not going to run again. But—I'm + counting on your help, you know,” he smiled a little wistfully, as he held + out his hand in good-by. + </p> + <p> + One minute later Alice Greggory, alone, was hurrying up-stairs. + </p> + <p> + “I can't—I can't—I know I can't,” she was whispering wildly. + Then, in her own room, she faced herself in the mirror. “Yes—you—can, + Alice Greggory,” she asserted, with swift change of voice and manner. + “This is <i>your</i> tiger skin, and you're going to fight it. Do you + understand?—fight it! And you're going to win, too. Do you want that + man to know you—<i>care</i>?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VI. “THE PAINTING LOOK” + </h2> + <p> + It was toward the last of October that Billy began to notice her husband's + growing restlessness. Twice, when she had been playing to him, she turned + to find him testing the suppleness of his injured arm. Several times, + failing to receive an answer to her questions, she had looked up to + discover him gazing abstractedly at nothing in particular. + </p> + <p> + They read and walked and talked together, to be sure, and Bertram's + devotion to her lightest wish was beyond question; but more and more + frequently these days Billy found him hovering over his sketches in his + studio; and once, when he failed to respond to the dinner-bell, search + revealed him buried in a profound treatise on “The Art of Foreshortening.” + </p> + <p> + Then came the day when Billy, after an hour's vain effort to imprison + within notes a tantalizing melody, captured the truant and rain down to + the studio to tell Bertram of her victory. + </p> + <p> + But Bertram did not seem even to hear her. True, he leaped to his feet and + hurried to meet her, his face radiantly aglow; but she had not ceased to + speak before he himself was talking. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, Billy, I've been sketching,” he cried. “My hand is almost steady. + See, some of those lines are all right! I just picked up a crayon and—” + He stopped abruptly, his eyes on Billy's face. A vaguely troubled shadow + crossed his own. “Did—did you—were you saying anything in—in + particular, when you came in?” he stammered. + </p> + <p> + For a short half-minute Billy looked at her husband without speaking. + Then, a little queerly, she laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, nothing at all in <i>particular</i>,” she retorted airily. The + next moment, with one of her unexpected changes of manner, she darted + across the room, picked up a palette, and a handful of brushes from the + long box near it. Advancing toward her husband she held them out + dramatically. “And now paint, my lord, paint!” she commanded him, with + stern insistence, as she thrust them into his hands. + </p> + <p> + Bertram laughed shamefacedly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say, Billy,” he began; but Billy had gone. + </p> + <p> + Out in the hall Billy was speeding up-stairs, talking fiercely to herself. + </p> + <p> + “We'll, Billy Neilson Henshaw, it's come! Now behave yourself. <i>That was + the painting look!</i> You know what that means. Remember, he belongs to + his Art before he does to you. Kate and everybody says so. And you—you + expected him to tend to you and your silly little songs. Do you want to + ruin his career? As if now he could spend all his time and give all his + thoughts to you! But I—I just hate that Art!” + </p> + <p> + “What did you say, Billy?” asked William, in mild surprise, coming around + the turn of the balustrade in the hall above. “Were you speaking to me, my + dear?” + </p> + <p> + Billy looked up. Her face cleared suddenly, and she laughed—though a + little ruefully. + </p> + <p> + “No, Uncle William, I wasn't talking to you,” she sighed. “I was just—just + administering first aid to the injured,” she finished, as she whisked into + her own room. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, bless the child! What can she mean by that?” puzzled Uncle + William, turning to go down the stairway. + </p> + <p> + Bertram began to paint a very little the next day. He painted still more + the next, and yet more again the day following. He was like a bird let out + of a cage, so joyously alive was he. The old sparkle came back to his eye, + the old gay smile to his lips. Now that they had come back Billy realized + what she had not been conscious of before: that for several weeks past + they had not been there; and she wondered which hurt the more—that + they had not been there before, or that they were there now. Then she + scolded herself roundly for asking the question at all. + </p> + <p> + They were not easy—those days for Billy, though always to Bertram + she managed to show a cheerfully serene face. To Uncle William, also, and + to Aunt Hannah she showed a smiling countenance; and because she could not + talk to anybody else of her feelings, she talked to herself. This, + however, was no new thing for Billy to do From earliest childhood she had + fought things out in like manner. + </p> + <p> + “But it's so absurd of you, Billy Henshaw,” she berated herself one day, + when Bertram had become so absorbed in his work that he had forgotten to + keep his appointment with her for a walk. “Just because you have had his + constant attention almost every hour since you were married is no reason + why you should have it every hour now, when his arm is better! Besides, + it's exactly what you said you wouldn't do—object—to his + giving proper time to his work.” + </p> + <p> + “But I'm not objecting,” stormed the other half of herself. “I'm <i>telling</i> + him to do it. It's only that he's so—so <i>pleased</i> to do it. He + doesn't seem to mind a bit being away from me. He's actually happy!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, don't you want him to be happy in his work? Fie! For shame! A fine + artist's wife you are. It seems Kate was right, then; you <i>are</i> going + to spoil his career!” + </p> + <p> + “Ho!” quoth Billy, and tossed her head. Forthwith she crossed the room to + her piano and plumped herself down hard on to the stool. Then, from under + her fingers there fell a rollicking melody that seemed to fill the room + with little dancing feet. Faster and faster sped Billy's fingers; swifter + and swifter twinkled the little dancing feet. Then a door was jerked open, + and Bertram's voice called: + </p> + <p> + “Billy!” + </p> + <p> + The music stopped instantly. Billy sprang from her seat, her eyes eagerly + seeking the direction from which had come the voice. Perhaps—<i>perhaps</i> + Bertram wanted her. Perhaps he was not going to paint any longer that + morning, after all. “Billy!” called the voice again. “Please, do you mind + stopping that playing just for a little while? I'm a brute, I know, dear, + but my brush <i>will</i> try to keep time with that crazy little tune of + yours, and you know my hand is none too steady, anyhow, and when it tries + to keep up with that jiggety, jig, jig, jiggety, jig, jig—! <i>Do</i> + you mind, darling, just—just sewing, or doing something still for a + while?” + </p> + <p> + All the light fled from Billy's face, but her voice, when she spoke, was + the quintessence of cheery indifference. + </p> + <p> + “Why, no, of course not, dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. I knew you wouldn't,” sighed Bertram. Then the door shut. + </p> + <p> + For a long minute Billy stood motionless before she glanced at her watch + and sped to the telephone. + </p> + <p> + “Is Miss Greggory there, Rosa?” she called when the operator's ring was + answered. + </p> + <p> + “Mis' Greggory, the lame one?” + </p> + <p> + “No; <i>Miss</i> Greggory—Miss Alice.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Yes'm.” + </p> + <p> + “Then won't you ask her to come to the telephone, please.” + </p> + <p> + There was a moment's wait, during which Billy's small, well-shod foot beat + a nervous tattoo on the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, is that you, Alice?” she called then. “Are you going to be home for + an hour or two?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, y-yes; yes, indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'm coming over. We'll play duets, sing—anything. I want some + music.” + </p> + <p> + “Do! And—Mr. Arkwright is here. He'll help.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Arkwright? You say he's there? Then I won't—Yes, I will, too.” + Billy spoke with renewed firmness. “I'll be there right away. Good-by.” + And she hung up the receiver, and went to tell Pete to order John and + Peggy at once. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I ought to have left Alice and Mr. Arkwright alone together,” + muttered the young wife feverishly, as she hurriedly prepared for + departure. “But I'll make it up to them later. I'm going to give them lots + of chances. But to-day—to-day I just had to go—somewhere!” + </p> + <p> + At the Annex, with Alice Greggory and Arkwright, Billy sang duets and + trios, and reveled in a sonorous wilderness of new music to her heart's + content. Then, rested, refreshed, and at peace with all the world, she + hurried home to dinner and to Bertram. + </p> + <p> + “There! I feel better,” she sighed, as she took off her hat in her own + room; “and now I'll go find Bertram. Bless his heart—of course he + didn't want me to play when he was so busy!” + </p> + <p> + Billy went straight to the studio, but Bertram was not there. Neither was + he in William's room, nor anywhere in the house. Down-stairs in the + dining-room Pete was found looking rather white, leaning back in a chair. + He struggled at once to his feet, however, as his mistress entered the + room. + </p> + <p> + Billy hurried forward with a startled exclamation. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Pete, what is it? Are you sick?” she cried, her glance encompassing + the half-set table. + </p> + <p> + “No, ma'am; oh, no, ma'am!” The old man stumbled forward and began to + arrange the knives and forks. “It's just a pesky pain—beggin' yer + pardon—in my side. But I ain't sick. No, Miss—ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + Billy frowned and shook her head. Her eyes were on Pete's palpably + trembling hands. + </p> + <p> + “But, Pete, you are sick,” she protested. “Let Eliza do that.” + </p> + <p> + Pete drew himself stiffly erect. The color had begun to come back to his + face. + </p> + <p> + “There hain't no one set this table much but me for more'n fifty years, + an' I've got a sort of notion that nobody can do it just ter suit me. + Besides, I'm better now. It's gone—that pain.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Pete, what is it? How long have you had it?” + </p> + <p> + “I hain't had it any time, steady. It's the comin' an' goin' kind. It + seems silly ter mind it at all; only, when it does come, it sort o' takes + the backbone right out o' my knees, and they double up so's I have ter set + down. There, ye see? I'm pert as a sparrer, now!” And, with stiff + celerity, Pete resumed his task. + </p> + <p> + His mistress still frowned. + </p> + <p> + “That isn't right, Pete,” she demurred, with a slow shake of her head. + “You should see a doctor.” + </p> + <p> + The old man paled a little. He had seen a doctor, and he had not liked + what the doctor had told him. In fact, he stubbornly refused to believe + what the doctor had said. He straightened himself now a little + aggressively. + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Beggin' yer pardon, Miss—ma'am, but I don't think much o' + them doctor chaps.” + </p> + <p> + Billy shook her head again as she smiled and turned away. Then, as if + casually, she asked: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, did Mr. Bertram go out, Pete?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Miss; about five o'clock. He said he'd be back to dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! All right.” + </p> + <p> + From the hall the telephone jangled sharply. + </p> + <p> + “I'll go,” said Pete's mistress, as she turned and hurried up-stairs. + </p> + <p> + It was Bertram's voice that answered her opening “Hullo.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Billy, is that you, dear? Well, you're just the one I wanted. I + wanted to say—that is, I wanted to ask you—” The speaker + cleared his throat a little nervously, and began all over again. “The fact + is, Billy, I've run across a couple of old classmates on from New York, + and they are very anxious I should stay down to dinner with them. Would + you mind—very much if I did?” + </p> + <p> + A cold hand seemed to clutch Billy's heart. She caught her breath with a + little gasp and tried to speak; but she had to try twice before the words + came. + </p> + <p> + “Why, no—no, of course not!” Billy's voice was very high-pitched and + a little shaky, but it was surpassingly cheerful. + </p> + <p> + “You sure you won't be—lonesome?” Bertram's voice was vaguely + troubled. + </p> + <p> + “Of course not!” + </p> + <p> + “You've only to say the word, little girl,” came Bertram's anxious tones + again, “and I won't stay.” + </p> + <p> + Billy swallowed convulsively. If only, only he would <i>stop</i> and leave + her to herself! As if she were going to own up that <i>she</i> was + lonesome for <i>him</i>—if <i>he</i> was not lonesome for <i>her!</i> + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! of course you'll stay,” called Billy, still in that + high-pitched, shaky treble. Then, before Bertram could answer, she uttered + a gay “Good-by!” and hung up the receiver. + </p> + <p> + Billy had ten whole minutes in which to cry before Pete's gong sounded for + dinner; but she had only one minute in which to try to efface the woefully + visible effects of those ten minutes before William tapped at her door, + and called: + </p> + <p> + “Gone to sleep, my dear? Dinner's ready. Didn't you hear the gong?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I'm coming, Uncle William.” Billy spoke with breezy gayety, and + threw open the door; but she did not meet Uncle William's eyes. Her head + was turned away. Her hands were fussing with the hang of her skirt. + </p> + <p> + “Bertram's dining out, Pete tells me,” observed William, with cheerful + nonchalance, as they went down-stairs together. + </p> + <p> + Billy bit her lip and looked up sharply. She had been bracing herself to + meet with disdainful indifference this man's pity—the pity due a + poor neglected wife whose husband <i>preferred</i> to dine with old + classmates rather than with herself. Now she found in William's face, not + pity, but a calm, even jovial, acceptance of the situation as a matter of + course. She had known she was going to hate that pity; but now, curiously + enough, she was conscious only of anger that the pity was not there—that + she might hate it. + </p> + <p> + She tossed her head a little. So even William—Uncle William—regarded + this monstrous thing as an insignificant matter of everyday experience. + Maybe he expected it to occur frequently—every night, or so. + Doubtless he did expect it to occur every night, or so. Indeed! Very well. + As if she were going to show <i>now</i> that she cared whether Bertram + were there or not! They should see. + </p> + <p> + So with head held high and eyes asparkle, Billy marched into the + dining-room and took her accustomed place. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VII. THE BIG BAD QUARREL + </h2> + <p> + It was a brilliant dinner—because Billy made it so. At first William + met her sallies of wit with mild surprise; but it was not long before he + rose gallantly to the occasion, and gave back full measure of retort. Even + Pete twice had to turn his back to hide a smile, and once his hand shook + so that the tea he was carrying almost spilled. This threatened + catastrophe, however, seemed to frighten him so much that his face was + very grave throughout the rest of the dinner. + </p> + <p> + Still laughing and talking gayly, Billy and Uncle William, after the meal + was over, ascended to the drawing-room. There, however, the man, in spite + of the young woman's gay badinage, fell to dozing in the big chair before + the fire, leaving Billy with only Spunkie for company—Spunkie, who, + disdaining every effort to entice her into a romp, only winked and blinked + stupid eyes, and finally curled herself on the rug for a nap. + </p> + <p> + Billy, left to her own devices, glanced at her watch. + </p> + <p> + Half-past seven! Time, almost, for Bertram to be coming. He had said + “dinner”; and, of course, after dinner was over he would be coming home—to + her. Very well; she would show him that she had at least got along without + him as well as he had without her. At all events he would not find her + forlornly sitting with her nose pressed against the window-pane! And + forthwith Billy established herself in a big chair (with its back + carefully turned toward the door by which Bertram would enter), and opened + a book. + </p> + <p> + Five, ten, fifteen minutes passed. Billy fidgeted in her chair, twisted + her neck to look out into the hall—and dropped her book with a bang. + </p> + <p> + Uncle William jerked himself awake, and Spunkie opened sleepy eyes. Then + both settled themselves for another nap. Billy sighed, picked up her book, + and flounced back into her chair. But she did not read. Disconsolately she + sat staring straight ahead—until a quick step on the sidewalk + outside stirred her into instant action. Assuming a look of absorbed + interest she twitched the book open and held it before her face.... But + the step passed by the door: and Billy saw then that her book was upside + down. + </p> + <p> + Five, ten, fifteen more minutes passed. Billy still sat, apparently + reading, though she had not turned a page. The book now, however, was + right side up. One by one other minutes passed till the great clock in the + hall struck nine long strokes. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, bless my soul!” mumbled Uncle William, resolutely forcing + himself to wake up. “What time was that?” + </p> + <p> + “Nine o'clock.” Billy spoke with tragic distinctness, yet very cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Only nine?” blinked Uncle William. “I thought it must be ten. Well, + anyhow, I believe I'll go up-stairs. I seem to be unusually sleepy.” + </p> + <p> + Billy said nothing. “'Only nine,' indeed!” she was thinking wrathfully. + </p> + <p> + At the door Uncle William turned. + </p> + <p> + “You're not going to sit up, my dear, of course,” he remarked. + </p> + <p> + For the second time that evening a cold hand seemed to clutch Billy's + heart. + </p> + <p> + <i>Sit up!</i> Had it come already to that? Was she even now a wife who + had need to <i>sit up</i> for her husband? + </p> + <p> + “I really wouldn't, my dear,” advised Uncle William again. “Good night.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I'm not sleepy at all, yet,” Billy managed to declare brightly. + “Good night.” + </p> + <p> + Then Uncle William went up-stairs. + </p> + <p> + Billy turned to her book, which happened to be one of William's on “Fake + Antiques.” + </p> + <p> + “'To collect anything, these days, requires expert knowledge, and the + utmost care and discrimination,'” read Billy's eyes. “So Uncle William <i>expected</i> + Bertram was going to spend the whole evening as well as stay to dinner!” + ran Billy's thoughts. “'The enormous quantity of bijouterie, Dresden and + Battersea enamel ware that is now flooding the market, is made on the + Continent—and made chiefly for the American trade,'” continued the + book. + </p> + <p> + “Well, who cares if it is,” snapped Billy, springing to her feet and + tossing the volume aside. “Spunkie, come here! You've simply got to play + with me. Do you hear? I want to be gay—<i>gay</i>—GAY! He's + gay. He's down there with those men, where he wants to be. Where he'd <i>rather</i> + be than be with me! Do you think I want him to come home and find me + moping over a stupid old book? Not much! I'm going to have him find me + gay, too. Now, come, Spunkie; hurry—wake up! He'll be here right + away, I'm sure.” And Billy shook a pair of worsted reins, hung with little + soft balls, full in Spunkie's face. + </p> + <p> + But Spunkie would not wake up, and Spunkie would not play. She pretended + to. She bit at the reins, and sank her sharp claws into the dangling + balls. For a fleeting instant, even, something like mischief gleamed in + her big yellow eyes. Then the jaws relaxed, the paws turned to velvet, and + Spunkie's sleek gray head settled slowly back into lazy comfort. Spunkie + was asleep. + </p> + <p> + Billy gazed at the cat with reproachful eyes. + </p> + <p> + “And you, too, Spunkie,” she murmured. Then she got to her feet and went + back to her chair. This time she picked up a magazine and began to turn + the leaves very fast, one after another. + </p> + <p> + Half-past nine came, then ten. Pete appeared at the door to get Spunkie, + and to see that everything was all right for the night. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Bertram is not in yet?” he began doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + Billy shook her head with a bright smile. + </p> + <p> + “No, Pete. Go to bed. I expect him every minute. Good night.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, ma'am. Good night.” + </p> + <p> + The old man picked up the sleepy cat and went down-stairs. A little later + Billy heard his quiet steps coming back through the hall and ascending the + stairs. She listened until from away at the top of the house she heard his + door close. Then she drew a long breath. + </p> + <p> + Ten o'clock—after ten o'clock, and Bertram not there yet! And was + this what he called dinner? Did one eat, then, till ten o'clock, when one + dined with one's friends? + </p> + <p> + Billy was angry now—very angry. She was too angry to be reasonable. + This thing that her husband had done seemed monstrous to her, smarting, as + she was, under the sting of hurt pride and grieved loneliness—the + state of mind into which she had worked herself. No longer now did she + wish to be gay when her husband came. No longer did she even pretend to + assume indifference. Bertram had done wrong. He had been unkind, cruel, + thoughtless, inconsiderate of her comfort and happiness. Furthermore he <i>did + not</i> love her as well as she did him or he never, never could have done + it! She would let him see, when he came, just how hurt and grieved she was—and + how disappointed, too. + </p> + <p> + Billy was walking the floor now, back and forth, back and forth. + </p> + <p> + Half-past ten came, then eleven. As the eleven long strokes reverberated + through the silent house Billy drew in her breath and held it suspended. A + new look came to her eyes. A growing terror crept into them and culminated + in a frightened stare at the clock. + </p> + <p> + Billy ran then to the great outer door and pulled it open. A cold wind + stung her face, and caused her to shut the door quickly. Back and forth + she began to pace the floor again; but in five minutes she had run to the + door once more. This time she wore a heavy coat of Bertram's which she + caught up as she passed the hall-rack. + </p> + <p> + Out on to the broad top step Billy hurried, and peered down the street. As + far as she could see not a person was in sight. Across the street in the + Public Garden the wind stirred the gray tree-branches and set them to + casting weird shadows on the bare, frozen ground. A warning something + behind her sent Billy scurrying into the house just in time to prevent the + heavy door's closing and shutting her out, keyless, in the cold. + </p> + <p> + Half-past eleven came, and again Billy ran to the door. This time she put + the floor-mat against the casing so that the door could not close. Once + more she peered wildly up and down the street, and across into the + deserted, wind-swept Garden. + </p> + <p> + There was only terror now in Billy's face. The anger was all gone. In + Billy's mind there was not a shadow of doubt—something had happened + to Bertram. + </p> + <p> + Bertram was ill—hurt—dead! And he was so good, so kind, so + noble; such a dear, dear husband! If only she could see him once. If only + she could ask his forgiveness for those wicked, unkind, accusing thoughts. + If only she could tell him again that she did love him. If only— + </p> + <p> + Far down the street a step rang sharply on the frosty air. A masculine + figure was hurrying toward the house. Retreating well into the shadow of + the doorway, Billy watched it, her heart pounding against her side in + great suffocating throbs. Nearer and nearer strode the approaching figure + until Billy had almost sprung to meet it with a glad cry—almost, but + not quite; for the figure neither turned nor paused, but marched straight + on—and Billy saw then, under the arc light, a brown-bearded man who + was not Bertram at all. + </p> + <p> + Three times during the next few minutes did the waiting little bride on + the doorstep watch with palpitating yearning a shadowy form appear, + approach—and pass by. At the third heart-breaking disappointment, + Billy wrung her hands helplessly. + </p> + <p> + “I don't see how there can be—so many—utterly <i>useless</i> + people in the world!” she choked. Then, thoroughly chilled and sick at + heart, she went into the house and closed the door. + </p> + <p> + Once again, back and forth, back and forth, Billy took up her weary vigil. + She still wore the heavy coat. She had forgotten to take it off. Her face + was pitifully white and drawn. Her eyes were wild. One of her hands was + nervously caressing the rough sleeve of the coat as it hung from her + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + One—two—three— + </p> + <p> + Billy gave a sharp cry and ran into the hall. + </p> + <p> + Yes, it was twelve o'clock. And now, always, all the rest of the dreary, + useless hours that that clock would tick away through an endless + existence, she would have to live—without Bertram. If only she could + see him once more! But she could not. He was dead. He must be dead, now. + Here it was twelve o'clock, and— + </p> + <p> + There came a quick step, the click of a key in the lock, then the door + swung back and Bertram, big, strong, and merry-eyed, stood before her. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, hullo,” he called jovially. “Why, Billy, what's the matter?” + he broke off, in quite a different tone of voice. + </p> + <p> + And then a curious thing happened. Billy, who, a minute before, had been + seeing only a dear, noble, adorable, <i>lost</i> Bertram, saw now suddenly + only the man that had stayed <i>happily</i> till midnight with two + friends, while she—she— + </p> + <p> + “Matter! Matter!” exclaimed Billy sharply, then. “Is this what you call + staying to dinner, Bertram Henshaw?” + </p> + <p> + Bertram stared. A slow red stole to his forehead. It was his first + experience of coming home to meet angry eyes that questioned his behavior—and + he did not like it. He had been, perhaps, a little conscience-smitten when + he saw how late he had stayed; and he had intended to say he was sorry, of + course. But to be thus sharply called to account for a perfectly innocent + good time with a couple of friends—! To come home and find Billy + making a ridiculous scene like this—! He—he would not stand + for it! He— + </p> + <p> + Bertram's lips snapped open. The angry retort was almost spoken when + something in the piteously quivering chin and white, drawn face opposite + stopped it just in time. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Billy—darling!” he murmured instead. + </p> + <p> + It was Billy's turn to change. All the anger melted away before the + dismayed tenderness in those dear eyes and the grieved hurt in that dear + voice. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you—you—I—” Billy began to cry. + </p> + <p> + It was all right then, of course, for the next minute she was crying on + Bertram's big, broad shoulder; and in the midst of broken words, kisses, + gentle pats, and inarticulate croonings, the Big, Bad Quarrel, that had + been all ready to materialize, faded quite away into nothingness. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't have such an awfully good time, anyhow,” avowed Bertram, when + speech became rational. “I'd rather have been home with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” blinked Billy, valiantly. “Of course you had a good time; and + it was perfectly right you should have it, too! And I—I hope you'll + have it again.” + </p> + <p> + “I sha'n't,” emphasized Bertram, promptly, “—not and leave you!” + </p> + <p> + Billy regarded him with adoring eyes. + </p> + <p> + “I'll tell you; we'll have 'em come here,” she proposed gayly. + </p> + <p> + “Sure we will,” agreed Bertram. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; sure we will,” echoed Billy, with a contented sigh. Then, a little + breathlessly, she added: “Anyhow, I'll know—where you are. I won't + think you're—dead!” + </p> + <p> + “You—blessed—little-goose!” scolded Bertram, punctuating each + word with a kiss. + </p> + <p> + Billy drew a long sigh. + </p> + <p> + “If this is a quarrel I'm going to have them often,” she announced + placidly. + </p> + <p> + “Billy!” The young husband was plainly aghast. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I am—because I like the making-up,” dimpled Billy, with a + mischievous twinkle as she broke from his clasp and skipped ahead up the + stairway. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER VIII. BILLY CULTIVATES A “COMFORTABLE INDIFFERENCE” + </h2> + <p> + The next morning, under the uncompromising challenge of a bright sun, + Billy began to be uneasily suspicious that she had been just a bit + unreasonable and exacting the night before. To make matters worse she + chanced to run across a newspaper criticism of a new book bearing the + ominous title: “When the Honeymoon Wanes A Talk to Young Wives.” + </p> + <p> + Such a title, of course, attracted her supersensitive attention at once; + and, with a curiously faint feeling, she picked up the paper and began to + read. + </p> + <p> + As the most of the criticism was taken up with quotations from the book, + it was such sentences as these that met her startled eyes: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the first test comes when the young wife awakes to the + realization that while her husband loves her very much, he can still make + plans with his old friends which do not include herself.... Then is when + the foolish wife lets her husband see how hurt she is that he can want to + be with any one but herself.... Then is when the husband—used all + his life to independence, perhaps—begins to chafe under these new + bonds that hold him so fast.... No man likes to be held up at the end of a + threatened scene and made to give an account of himself.... Before a woman + has learned to cultivate a comfortable indifference to her husband's + comings and goings, she is apt to be tyrannical and exacting.” + </p> + <p> + “'Comfortable indifference,' indeed!” stormed Billy to herself. “As if I + ever could be comfortably indifferent to anything Bertram did!” + </p> + <p> + She dropped the paper; but there were still other quotations from the book + there, she knew; and in a moment she was back at the table reading them. + </p> + <p> + “No man, however fondly he loves his wife, likes to feel that she is + everlastingly peering into the recesses of his mind, and weighing his + every act to find out if he does or does not love her to-day as well as he + did yesterday at this time.... Then, when spontaneity is dead, she is the + chief mourner at its funeral.... A few couples never leave the Garden of + Eden. They grow old hand in hand. They are the ones who bear and forbear; + who have learned to adjust themselves to the intimate relationship of + living together.... A certain amount of liberty, both of action and + thought, must be allowed on each side.... The family shut in upon itself + grows so narrow that all interest in the outside world is lost.... No two + people are ever fitted to fill each other's lives entirely. They ought not + to try to do it. If they do try, the process is belittling to each, and + the result, if it is successful, is nothing less than a tragedy; for it + could not mean the highest ideals, nor the truest devotion.... Brushing up + against other interests and other personalities is good for both husband + and wife. Then to each other they bring the best of what they have found, + and each to the other continues to be new and interesting.... The young + wife, however, is apt to be jealous of everything that turns her husband's + attention for one moment away from herself. She is jealous of his + thoughts, his words, his friends, even his business.... But the wife who + has learned to be the clinging vine when her husband wishes her to cling, + and to be the sturdy oak when clinging vines would be tiresome, has solved + a tremendous problem.” + </p> + <p> + At this point Billy dropped the paper. She flung it down, indeed, a bit + angrily. There were still a few more words in the criticism, mostly the + critic's own opinion of the book; but Billy did not care for this. She had + read quite enough—too much, in fact. All that sort of talk might be + very well, even necessary, perhaps (she told herself), for ordinary + husbands and wives! but for her and Bertram— + </p> + <p> + Then vividly before her rose those initial quoted words: + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the first test comes when the young wife awakes to the + realization that while her husband loves her very much, he can still make + plans with his old friends which do not include herself.” + </p> + <p> + Billy frowned, and put her finger to her lips. Was that then, last night, + a “test”? Had she been “tyrannical and exacting”? Was she “everlastingly + peering into the recesses” of Bertram's mind and “weighing his every act”? + Was Bertram already beginning to “chafe” under these new bonds that held + him? + </p> + <p> + No, no, never that! She could not believe that. But what if he should + sometime begin to chafe? What if they two should, in days to come, + degenerate into just the ordinary, everyday married folk, whom she saw + about her everywhere, and for whom just such horrid books as this must be + written? It was unbelievable, unthinkable. And yet, that man had said— + </p> + <p> + With a despairing sigh Billy picked up the paper once more and read + carefully every word again. When she had finished she stood soberly + thoughtful, her eyes out of the window. + </p> + <p> + After all, it was nothing but the same old story. She was exacting. She + did want her husband's every thought. She <i>gloried</i> in peering into + every last recess of his mind if she had half a chance. She was jealous of + his work. She had almost hated his painting—at times. She had held + him up with a threatened scene only the night before and demanded that he + should give an account of himself. She had, very likely, been the clinging + vine when she should have been the sturdy oak. + </p> + <p> + Very well, then. (Billy lifted her head and threw back her shoulders.) He + should have no further cause for complaint. She would be an oak. She would + cultivate that comfortable indifference to his comings and goings. She + would brush up against other interests and personalities so as to be “new” + and “interesting” to her husband. She would not be tyrannical, exacting, + or jealous. She would not threaten scenes, nor peer into recesses. + Whatever happened, she would not let Bertram begin to chafe against those + bonds! + </p> + <p> + Having arrived at this heroic and (to her) eminently satisfactory state of + mind, Billy turned from the window and fell to work on a piece of + manuscript music. + </p> + <p> + “'Brush up against other interests,'” she admonished herself sternly, as + she reached for her pen. + </p> + <p> + Theoretically it was beautiful; but practically— + </p> + <p> + Billy began at once to be that oak. Not an hour after she had first seen + the fateful notice of “When the Honeymoon Wanes,” Bertram's ring sounded + at the door down-stairs. + </p> + <p> + Bertram always let himself in with his latchkey; but, from the first of + Billy's being there, he had given a peculiar ring at the bell which would + bring his wife flying to welcome him if she were anywhere in the house. + To-day, when the bell sounded, Billy sprang as usual to her feet, with a + joyous “There's Bertram!” But the next moment she fell back. + </p> + <p> + “Tut, tut, Billy Neilson Henshaw! Learn to cultivate a comfortable + indifference to your husband's comings and goings,” she whispered + fiercely. Then she sat down and fell to work again. + </p> + <p> + A moment later she heard her husband's voice talking to some one—Pete, + she surmised. “Here? You say she's here?” Then she heard Bertram's quick + step on the stairs. The next minute, very quietly, he came to her door. + </p> + <p> + “Ho!” he ejaculated gayly, as she rose to receive his kiss. “I thought I'd + find you asleep, when you didn't hear my ring.” + </p> + <p> + Billy reddened a little. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, I wasn't asleep.” + </p> + <p> + “But you didn't hear—” Bertram stopped abruptly, an odd look in his + eyes. “Maybe you did hear it, though,” he corrected. + </p> + <p> + Billy colored more confusedly. The fact that she looked so distressed did + not tend to clear Bertram's face. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course, Billy, I didn't mean to insist on your coming to meet + me,” he began a little stiffly; but Billy interrupted him. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Bertram, I just love to go to meet you,” she maintained indignantly. + Then, remembering just in time, she amended: “That is, I did love to meet + you, until—” With a sudden realization that she certainly had not + helped matters any, she came to an embarrassed pause. + </p> + <p> + A puzzled frown showed on Bertram's face. + </p> + <p> + “You did love to meet me until—” he repeated after her; then his + face changed. “Billy, you aren't—you <i>can't</i> be laying up last + night against me!” he reproached her a little irritably. + </p> + <p> + “Last night? Why, of course not,” retorted Billy, in a panic at the bare + mention of the “test” which—according to “When the Honeymoon Wanes”—was + at the root of all her misery. Already she thought she detected in + Bertram's voice signs that he was beginning to chafe against those + “bonds.” “It is a matter of—of the utmost indifference to me what + time you come home at night, my dear,” she finished airily, as she sat + down to her work again. + </p> + <p> + Bertram stared; then he frowned, turned on his heel and left the room. + Bertram, who knew nothing of the “Talk to Young Wives” in the newspaper at + Billy's feet, was surprised, puzzled, and just a bit angry. + </p> + <p> + Billy, left alone, jabbed her pen with such force against her paper that + the note she was making became an unsightly blot. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if this is what that man calls being 'comfortably indifferent,' I'd + hate to try the <i>un</i>comfortable kind,” she muttered with emphasis. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER IX. THE DINNER BILLY TRIED TO GET + </h2> + <p> + Notwithstanding what Billy was disposed to regard as the non-success of + her first attempt to profit by the “Talk to Young Wives;” she still + frantically tried to avert the waning of her honeymoon. Assiduously she + cultivated the prescribed “indifference,” and with at least apparent + enthusiasm she sought the much-to-be-desired “outside interests.” That is, + she did all this when she thought of it when something reminded her of the + sword of destruction hanging over her happiness. At other times, when she + was just being happy without question, she was her old self impulsive, + affectionate, and altogether adorable. + </p> + <p> + Naturally, under these circumstances, her conduct was somewhat erratic. + For three days, perhaps, she would fly to the door at her husband's ring, + and hang upon his every movement. Then, for the next three, she would be a + veritable will-o'-the-wisp for elusiveness, caring, apparently, not one + whit whether her husband came or went until poor Bertram, at his wit's + end, scourged himself with a merciless catechism as to what he had done to + vex her. Then, perhaps, just when he had nerved himself almost to the + point of asking her what was the trouble, there would come another change, + bringing back to him the old Billy, joyous, winsome, and devoted, plainly + caring nothing for anybody or anything but himself. Scarcely, however, + would he become sure that it was his Billy back again before she was off + once more, quite beyond his reach, singing with Arkwright and Alice + Greggory, playing with Tommy Dunn, plunging into some club or church work—anything + but being with him. + </p> + <p> + That all this was puzzling and disquieting to Bertram, Billy not once + suspected. Billy, so far as she was concerned, was but cultivating a + comfortable indifference, brushing up against outside interests, and being + an oak. + </p> + <p> + December passed, and January came, bringing Miss Marguerite Winthrop to + her Boston home. Bertram's arm was “as good as ever” now, according to its + owner; and the sittings for the new portrait began at once. This left + Billy even more to her own devices, for Bertram entered into his new work + with an enthusiasm born of a glad relief from forced idleness, and a + consuming eagerness to prove that even though he had failed the first + time, he could paint a portrait of Marguerite Winthrop that would be a + credit to himself, a conclusive retort to his critics, and a source of + pride to his once mortified friends. With his whole heart, therefore, he + threw himself into the work before him, staying sometimes well into the + afternoon on the days Miss Winthrop could find time between her social + engagements to give him a sitting. + </p> + <p> + It was on such a day, toward the middle of the month, that Billy was + called to the telephone at half-past twelve o'clock to speak to her + husband. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, dear,” began Bertram at once, “if you don't mind I'm staying to + luncheon at Miss Winthrop's kind request. We've changed the pose—neither + of us was satisfied, you know—but we haven't quite settled on the + new one. Miss Winthrop has two whole hours this afternoon that she can + give me if I'll stay; and, of course, under the circumstances, I want to + do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” echoed Billy. Billy's voice was indomitably cheerful. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, dear. I knew you'd understand,” sighed Bertram, contentedly. + “You see, really, two whole hours, so—it's a chance I can't afford + to lose.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you can't,” echoed Billy, again. + </p> + <p> + “All right then. Good-by till to-night,” called the man. + </p> + <p> + “Good-by,” answered Billy, still cheerfully. As she turned away, however, + she tossed her head. “A new pose, indeed!” she muttered, with some + asperity. “Just as if there could be a <i>new</i> pose after all those she + tried last year!” + </p> + <p> + Immediately after luncheon Pete and Eliza started for South Boston to pay + a visit to Eliza's mother, and it was soon after they left the house that + Bertram called his wife up again. + </p> + <p> + “Say, dearie, I forgot to tell you,” he began, “but I met an old friend in + the subway this morning, and I—well, I remembered what you said + about bringing 'em home to dinner next time, so I asked him for to-night. + Do you mind? It's—” + </p> + <p> + “Mind? Of course not! I'm glad you did,” plunged in Billy, with feverish + eagerness. (Even now, just the bare mention of anything connected with + that awful “test” night was enough to set Billy's nerves to tingling.) “I + want you to always bring them home, Bertram.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, dear. We'll be there at six o'clock then. It's—it's + Calderwell, this time. You remember Calderwell, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Not—<i>Hugh</i> Calderwell?” Billy's question was a little faint. + </p> + <p> + “Sure!” Bertram laughed oddly, and lowered his voice. “I suspect <i>once</i> + I wouldn't have brought him home to you. I was too jealous. But now—well, + now maybe I want him to see what he's lost.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bertram!</i>” + </p> + <p> + But Bertram only laughed mischievously, and called a gay “Good-by till + to-night, then!” + </p> + <p> + Billy, at her end of the wires, hung up the receiver and backed against + the wall a little palpitatingly. + </p> + <p> + Calderwell! To dinner—Calderwell! Did she remember Calderwell? Did + she, indeed! As if one could easily forget the man that, for a year or + two, had proposed marriage as regularly (and almost as lightly!) as he had + torn a monthly leaf from his calendar! Besides, was it not he, too, who + had said that Bertram would never love any girl, <i>really</i>; that it + would be only the tilt of her chin or the turn of her head that he loved—to + paint? And now he was coming to dinner—and with Bertram. + </p> + <p> + Very well, he should see! He should see that Bertram <i>did</i> love her; + <i>her</i>—not the tilt of her chin nor the turn of her head. He + should see how happy they were, what a good wife she made, and how devoted + and <i>satisfied</i> Bertram was in his home. He should see! And forthwith + Billy picked up her skirts and tripped up-stairs to select her very + prettiest house-gown to do honor to the occasion. Up-stairs, however, one + thing and another delayed her, so that it was four o'clock when she turned + her attention to her toilet; and it was while she was hesitating whether + to be stately and impressive in royally sumptuous blue velvet and ermine, + or cozy and tantalizingly homy{sic} in bronze-gold crêpe de Chine and + swan's-down, that the telephone bell rang again. + </p> + <p> + Eliza and Pete had not yet returned; so, as before, Billy answered it. + This time Eliza's shaking voice came to her. + </p> + <p> + “Is that you, ma'am?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, Eliza?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm, it's me, ma'am. It's about Uncle Pete. He's give us a turn that's + 'most scared us out of our wits.” + </p> + <p> + “Pete! You mean he's sick?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am, he was. That is, he is, too—only he's better, now, + thank goodness,” panted Eliza. “But he ain't hisself yet. He's that white + and shaky! Would you—could you—that is, would you mind if we + didn't come back till into the evenin', maybe?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course not,” cried Pete's mistress, quickly. “Don't come a minute + before he's able, Eliza. Don't come until to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Eliza gave a trembling little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, ma'am; but there wouldn't be no keepin' of Uncle Pete here + till then. If he could take five steps alone he'd start now. But he can't. + He says he'll be all right pretty quick, though. He's had 'em before—these + spells—but never quite so bad as this, I guess; an' he's worryin' + somethin' turrible 'cause he can't start for home right away.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” cut in Mrs. Bertram Henshaw. + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm. I knew you'd feel that way,” stammered Eliza, gratefully. “You + see, I couldn't leave him to come alone, and besides, anyhow, I'd have to + stay, for mother ain't no more use than a wet dish-rag at such times, + she's that scared herself. And she ain't very well, too. So if—if + you <i>could</i> get along—” + </p> + <p> + “Of course we can! And tell Pete not to worry one bit. I'm so sorry he's + sick!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, ma'am. Then we'll be there some time this evenin',” sighed + Eliza. + </p> + <p> + From the telephone Billy turned away with a troubled face. + </p> + <p> + “Pete <i>is</i> ill,” she was saying to herself. “I don't like the looks + of it; and he's so faithful he'd come if—” With a little cry Billy + stopped short. Then, tremblingly, she sank into the nearest chair. + “Calderwell—and he's coming to <i>dinner!</i>” she moaned. + </p> + <p> + For two benumbed minutes Billy sat staring at nothing. Then she ran to the + telephone and called the Annex. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hannah answered. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Hannah, for heaven's sake, if you love me,” pleaded Billy, “send + Rosa down instanter! Pete is sick over to South Boston, and Eliza is with + him; and Bertram is bringing Hugh Calderwell home to dinner. <i>Can</i> + you spare Rosa?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy! Of course I can—I mean I could—but + Rosa isn't here, dear child! It's her day out, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “O dear, of course it is! I might have known, if I'd thought; but Pete and + Eliza have spoiled me. They never take days out at meal time—both + together, I mean—until to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear child, what will you do?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know. I've got to think. I <i>must</i> do something!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you must! I'd come over myself if it wasn't for my cold.” + </p> + <p> + “As if I'd let you!” + </p> + <p> + “There isn't anybody here, only Tommy. Even Alice is gone. Oh, Billy, + Billy, this only goes to prove what I've always said, that <i>no</i> woman + <i>ought</i> to be a wife until she's an efficient housekeeper; and—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, Aunt Hannah, I know,” moaned Billy, frenziedly. “But I am a + wife, and I'm not an efficient housekeeper; and Hugh Calderwell won't wait + for me to learn. He's coming to-night. <i>To-night!</i> And I've got to do + something. Never mind. I'll fix it some way. Good-by!” + </p> + <p> + “But, Billy, Billy! Oh, my grief and conscience,” fluttered Aunt Hannah's + voice across the wires as Billy snapped the receiver into place. + </p> + <p> + For the second time that day Billy backed palpitatingly against the wall. + Her eyes sought the clock fearfully. + </p> + <p> + Fifteen minutes past four. She had an hour and three quarters. She could, + of course, telephone Bertram to dine Calderwell at a club or some hotel. + But to do this now, the very first time, when it had been her own + suggestion that he “bring them home”—no, no, she could not do that! + Anything but that! Besides, very likely she could not reach Bertram, + anyway. Doubtless he had left the Winthrops' by this time. + </p> + <p> + There was Marie. She could telephone Marie. But Marie could not very well + come just now, she knew; and then, too, there was Cyril to be taken into + consideration. How Cyril would gibe at the wife who had to call in all the + neighbors just because her husband was bringing home a friend to dinner! + How he would—Well, he shouldn't! He should not have the chance. So, + there! + </p> + <p> + With a jerk Mrs. Bertram Henshaw pulled herself away from the wall and + stood erect. Her eyes snapped, and the very poise of her chin spelled + determination. + </p> + <p> + Very well, she would show them. Was not Bertram bringing this man home + because he was proud of her? Mighty proud he would be if she had to call + in half of Boston to get his dinner for him! Nonsense! She would get it + herself. Was not this the time, if ever, to be an oak? A vine, doubtless, + would lean and cling and telephone, and whine “I can't!” But not an oak. + An oak would hold up its head and say “I can!” An oak would go ahead and + get that dinner. She would be an oak. She would get that dinner. + </p> + <p> + What if she didn't know how to cook bread and cake and pies and things? + One did not have to cook bread and cake and pies just to get a dinner—meat + and potatoes and vegetables! Besides, she <i>could</i> make peach + fritters. She knew she could. She would show them! + </p> + <p> + And with actually a bit of song on her lips, Billy skipped up-stairs for + her ruffled apron and dust-cap—two necessary accompaniments to this + dinner-getting, in her opinion. + </p> + <p> + Billy found the apron and dust-cap with no difficulty; but it took fully + ten of her precious minutes to unearth from its obscure hiding-place the + blue-and-gold “Bride's Helper” cookbook, one of Aunt Hannah's wedding + gifts. + </p> + <p> + On the way to the kitchen, Billy planned her dinner. As was natural, + perhaps, she chose the things she herself would like to eat. + </p> + <p> + “I won't attempt anything very elaborate,” she said to herself. “It would + be wiser to have something simple, like chicken pie, perhaps. I love + chicken pie! And I'll have oyster stew first—that is, after the + grapefruit. Just oysters boiled in milk must be easier than soup to make. + I'll begin with grapefruit with a cherry in it, like Pete fixes it. Those + don't have to be cooked, anyhow. I'll have fish—Bertram loves the + fish course. Let me see, halibut, I guess, with egg sauce. I won't have + any roast; nothing but the chicken pie. And I'll have squash and onions. I + can have a salad, easy—just lettuce and stuff. That doesn't have to + be cooked. Oh, and the peach fritters, if I get time to make them. For + dessert—well, maybe I can find a new pie or pudding in the cookbook. + I want to use that cookbook for something, after hunting all this time for + it!” + </p> + <p> + In the kitchen Billy found exquisite neatness, and silence. The first + brought an approving light to her eyes; but the second, for some + unapparent reason, filled her heart with vague misgiving. This feeling, + however, Billy resolutely cast from her as she crossed the room, dropped + her book on to the table, and turned toward the shining black stove. + </p> + <p> + There was an excellent fire. Glowing points of light showed that only a + good draft was needed to make the whole mass of coal red-hot. Billy, + however, did not know this. Her experience of fires was confined to + burning wood in open grates—and wood in open grates had to be poked + to make it red and glowing. With confident alacrity now, therefore, Billy + caught up the poker, thrust it into the mass of coals and gave them a fine + stirring up. Then she set back the lid of the stove and went to hunt up + the ingredients for her dinner. + </p> + <p> + By the time Billy had searched five minutes and found no chicken, no + oysters, and no halibut, it occurred to her that her larder was not, after + all, an open market, and that one's provisions must be especially ordered + to fit one's needs. As to ordering them now—Billy glanced at the + clock and shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “It's almost five, already, and they'd never get here in time,” she sighed + regretfully. “I'll have to have something else.” + </p> + <p> + Billy looked now, not for what she wanted, but for what she could find. + And she found: some cold roast lamb, at which she turned up her nose; an + uncooked beefsteak, which she appropriated doubtfully; a raw turnip and a + head of lettuce, which she hailed with glee; and some beets, potatoes, + onions, and grapefruit, from all of which she took a generous supply. Thus + laden she went back to the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + Spread upon the table they made a brave show. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, I'll have quite a dinner, after all,” she triumphed, cocking + her head happily. “And now for the dessert,” she finished, pouncing on the + cookbook. + </p> + <p> + It was while she was turning the leaves to find the pies and puddings that + she ran across the vegetables and found the word “beets” staring her in + the face. Mechanically she read the line below. + </p> + <p> + “Winter beets will require three hours to cook. Use hot water.” + </p> + <p> + Billy's startled eyes sought the clock. + </p> + <p> + Three hours—and it was five, now! + </p> + <p> + Frenziedly, then, she ran her finger down the page. + </p> + <p> + “Onions, one and one-half hours. Use hot water. Turnips require a long + time, but if cut thin they will cook in an hour and a quarter.” + </p> + <p> + “An hour and a quarter, indeed!” she moaned. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't there anything anywhere that doesn't take forever to cook?” + </p> + <p> + “Early peas—... green corn—... summer squash—...” + mumbled Billy's dry lips. “But what do folks eat in January—<i>January</i>?” + </p> + <p> + It was the apparently inoffensive sentence, “New potatoes will boil in + thirty minutes,” that brought fresh terror to Billy's soul, and set her to + fluttering the cookbook leaves with renewed haste. If it took <i>new</i> + potatoes thirty minutes to cook, how long did it take old ones? In vain + she searched for the answer. There were plenty of potatoes. They were + mashed, whipped, scalloped, creamed, fried, and broiled; they were made + into puffs, croquettes, potato border, and potato snow. For many of these + they were boiled first—“until tender,” one rule said. + </p> + <p> + “But that doesn't tell me how long it takes to get 'em tender,” fumed + Billy, despairingly. “I suppose they think anybody ought to know that—but + I don't!” Suddenly her eyes fell once more on the instructions for boiling + turnips, and her face cleared. “If it helps to cut turnips thin, why not + potatoes?” she cried. “I <i>can</i> do that, anyhow; and I will,” she + finished, with a sigh of relief, as she caught up half a dozen potatoes + and hurried into the pantry for a knife. A few minutes later, the + potatoes, peeled, and cut almost to wafer thinness, were dumped into a + basin of cold water. + </p> + <p> + “There! now I guess you'll cook,” nodded Billy to the dish in her hand as + she hurried to the stove. + </p> + <p> + Chilled by an ominous unresponsiveness, Billy lifted the stove lid and + peered inside. Only a mass of black and graying coals greeted her. The + fire was out. + </p> + <p> + “To think that even you had to go back on me like this!” upbraided Billy, + eyeing the dismal mass with reproachful gaze. + </p> + <p> + This disaster, however, as Billy knew, was not so great as it seemed, for + there was still the gas stove. In the old days, under Dong Ling's rule, + there had been no gas stove. Dong Ling disapproved of “devil stoves” that + had “no coalee, no woodee, but burned like hellee.” Eliza, however, did + approve of them; and not long after her arrival, a fine one had been put + in for her use. So now Billy soon had her potatoes with a brisk blaze + under them. + </p> + <p> + In frantic earnest, then, Billy went to work. Brushing the discarded + onions, turnip, and beets into a pail under the table, she was still + confronted with the beefsteak, lettuce, and grapefruit. All but the + beefsteak she pushed to one side with gentle pats. + </p> + <p> + “You're all right,” she nodded to them. “I can use you. You don't have to + be cooked, bless your hearts! But <i>you</i>—!” Billy scowled at the + beefsteak and ran her finger down the index of the “Bride's Helper”—Billy + knew how to handle that book now. + </p> + <p> + “No, you don't—not for me!” she muttered, after a minute, shaking + her finger at the tenderloin on the table. “I haven't got any 'hot coals,' + and I thought a 'gridiron' was where they played football; though it seems + it's some sort of a dish to cook you in, here—but I shouldn't know + it from a teaspoon, probably, if I should see it. No, sir! It's back to + the refrigerator for you, and a nice cold sensible roast leg of lamb for + me, that doesn't have to be cooked. Understand? <i>Cooked</i>,” she + finished, as she carried the beefsteak away and took possession of the + hitherto despised cold lamb. + </p> + <p> + Once more Billy made a mad search through cupboards and shelves. This time + she bore back in triumph a can of corn, another of tomatoes, and a glass + jar of preserved peaches. In the kitchen a cheery bubbling from the + potatoes on the stove greeted her. Billy's spirits rose with the steam. + </p> + <p> + “There, Spunkie,” she said gayly to the cat, who had just uncurled from a + nap behind the stove. “Tell me I can't get up a dinner! And maybe we'll + have the peach fritters, too,” she chirped. “I've got the peach-part, + anyway.” + </p> + <p> + But Billy did not have the peach fritters, after all. She got out the + sugar and the flour, to be sure, and she made a great ado looking up the + rule; but a hurried glance at the clock sent her into the dining-room to + set the table, and all thought of the peach fritters was given up. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER X. THE DINNER BILLY GOT + </h2> + <p> + At five minutes of six Bertram and Calderwell came. Bertram gave his + peculiar ring and let himself in with his latchkey; but Billy did not meet + him in the hall, nor in the drawing-room. Excusing himself, Bertram + hurried up-stairs. Billy was not in her room, nor anywhere on that floor. + She was not in William's room. Coming down-stairs to the hall again, + Bertram confronted William, who had just come in. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Billy?” demanded the young husband, with just a touch of + irritation, as if he suspected William of having Billy in his pocket. + </p> + <p> + William stared slightly. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I don't know. Isn't she here?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll ask Pete,” frowned Bertram. + </p> + <p> + In the dining-room Bertram found no one, though the table was prettily + set, and showed half a grapefruit at each place. In the kitchen—in + the kitchen Bertram found a din of rattling tin, an odor of burned food—, + a confusion of scattered pots and pans, a frightened cat who peered at him + from under a littered stove, and a flushed, disheveled young woman in a + blue dust-cap and ruffled apron, whom he finally recognized as his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Billy!” he gasped. + </p> + <p> + Billy, who was struggling with something at the sink, turned sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Bertram Henshaw,” she panted, “I used to think you were wonderful because + you could paint a picture. I even used to think I was a little wonderful + because I could write a song. Well, I don't any more! But I'll tell you + who <i>is</i> wonderful. It's Eliza and Rosa, and all the rest of those + women who can get a meal on to the table all at once, so it's fit to eat!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Billy!” gasped Bertram again, falling back to the door he had closed + behind him. “What in the world does this mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Mean? It means I'm getting dinner,” choked Billy. “Can't you see?” + </p> + <p> + “But—Pete! Eliza!” + </p> + <p> + “They're sick—I mean he's sick; and I said I'd do it. I'd be an oak. + But how did I know there wasn't anything in the house except stuff that + took hours to cook—only potatoes? And how did I know that <i>they</i> + cooked in no time, and then got all smushy and wet staying in the water? + And how did I know that everything else would stick on and burn on till + you'd used every dish there was in the house to cook 'em in?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Billy!” gasped Bertram, for the third time. And then, because he had + been married only six months instead of six years, he made the mistake of + trying to argue with a woman whose nerves were already at the snapping + point. “But, dear, it was so foolish of you to do all this! Why didn't you + telephone? Why didn't you get somebody?” + </p> + <p> + Like an irate little tigress, Billy turned at bay. + </p> + <p> + “Bertram Henshaw,” she flamed angrily, “if you don't go up-stairs and tend + to that man up there, I shall <i>scream</i>. Now go! I'll be up when I + can.” + </p> + <p> + And Bertram went. + </p> + <p> + It was not so very long, after all, before Billy came in to greet her + guest. She was not stately and imposing in royally sumptuous blue velvet + and ermine; nor yet was she cozy and homy in bronze-gold crêpe de Chine + and swan's-down. She was just herself in a pretty little morning house + gown of blue gingham. She was minus the dust-cap and the ruffled apron, + but she had a dab of flour on the left cheek, and a smutch of crock on her + forehead. She had, too, a cut finger on her right hand, and a burned thumb + on her left. But she was Billy—and being Billy, she advanced with a + bright smile and held out a cordial hand—not even wincing when the + cut finger came under Calderwell's hearty clasp. + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad to see you,” she welcomed him. “You'll excuse my not appearing + sooner, I'm sure, for—didn't Bertram tell you?—I'm playing + Bridget to-night. But dinner is ready now, and we'll go down, please,” she + smiled, as she laid a light hand on her guest's arm. + </p> + <p> + Behind her, Bertram, remembering the scene in the kitchen, stared in sheer + amazement. Bertram, it might be mentioned again, had been married six + months, not six years. + </p> + <p> + What Billy had intended to serve for a “simple dinner” that night was: + grapefruit with cherries, oyster stew, boiled halibut with egg sauce, + chicken pie, squash, onions, and potatoes, peach fritters, a “lettuce and + stuff” salad, and some new pie or pudding. What she did serve was: + grapefruit (without the cherries), cold roast lamb, potatoes (a mush of + sogginess), tomatoes (canned, and slightly burned), corn (canned, and very + much burned), lettuce (plain); and for dessert, preserved peaches and cake + (the latter rather dry and stale). Such was Billy's dinner. + </p> + <p> + The grapefruit everybody ate. The cold lamb too, met with a hearty + reception, especially after the potatoes, corn, and tomatoes were served—and + tasted. Outwardly, through it all, Billy was gayety itself. Inwardly she + was burning up with anger and mortification. And because she was all this, + there was, apparently, no limit to her laughter and sparkling repartee as + she talked with Calderwell, her guest—the guest who, according to + her original plans, was to be shown how happy she and Bertram were, what a + good wife she made, and how devoted and <i>satisfied</i> Bertram was in + his home. + </p> + <p> + William, picking at his dinner—as only a hungry man can pick at a + dinner that is uneatable—watched Billy with a puzzled, uneasy frown. + Bertram, choking over the few mouthfuls he ate, marked his wife's animated + face and Calderwell's absorbed attention, and settled into gloomy silence. + </p> + <p> + But it could not continue forever. The preserved peaches were eaten at + last, and the stale cake left. (Billy had forgotten the coffee—which + was just as well, perhaps.) Then the four trailed up-stairs to the + drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + At nine o'clock an anxious Eliza and a remorseful, apologetic Pete came + home and descended to the horror the once orderly kitchen and dining-room + had become. At ten, Calderwell, with very evident reluctance, tore himself + away from Billy's gay badinage, and said good night. At two minutes past + ten, an exhausted, nerve-racked Billy was trying to cry on the shoulders + of both Uncle William and Bertram at once. + </p> + <p> + “There, there, child, don't! It went off all right,” patted Uncle William. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, darling,” pleaded Bertram, “please don't cry so! As if I'd ever + let you step foot in that kitchen again!” + </p> + <p> + At this Billy raised a tear-wet face, aflame with indignant determination. + </p> + <p> + “As if I'd ever let you keep me <i>from</i> it, Bertram Henshaw, after + this!” she contested. “I'm not going to do another thing in all my life + but <i>cook!</i> When I think of the stuff we had to eat, after all the + time I took to get it, I'm simply crazy! Do you think I'd run the risk of + such a thing as this ever happening again?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XI. CALDERWELL DOES SOME QUESTIONING + </h2> + <p> + On the day after his dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Henshaw, Hugh + Calderwell left Boston and did not return until more than a month had + passed. One of his first acts, when he did come, was to look up Mr. M. J. + Arkwright at the address which Billy had given him. + </p> + <p> + Calderwell had not seen Arkwright since they parted in Paris some two + years before, after a six-months tramp through Europe together. Calderwell + liked Arkwright then, greatly, and he lost no time now in renewing the + acquaintance. + </p> + <p> + The address, as given by Billy, proved to be an attractive but modest + apartment hotel near the Conservatory of Music; and Calderwell was + delighted to find Arkwright at home in his comfortable little bachelor + suite. + </p> + <p> + Arkwright greeted him most cordially. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well,” he cried, “if it isn't Calderwell! And how's Mont Blanc? Or + is it the Killarney Lakes this time, or maybe the Sphinx that I should + inquire for, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Guess again,” laughed Calderwell, throwing off his heavy coat and + settling himself comfortably in the inviting-looking morris chair his + friend pulled forward. + </p> + <p> + “Sha'n't do it,” retorted Arkwright, with a smile. “I never gamble on + palpable uncertainties, except for a chance throw or two, as I gave a + minute ago. Your movements are altogether too erratic, and too + far-reaching, for ordinary mortals to keep track of.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, maybe you're right,” grinned Calderwell, appreciatively. “Anyhow, + you would have lost this time, sure thing, for I've been working.” + </p> + <p> + “Seen the doctor yet?” queried Arkwright, coolly, pushing the cigars + across the table. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks—for both,” sniffed Calderwell, with a reproachful glance, + helping himself. “Your good judgment in some matters is still unimpaired, + I see,” he observed, tapping the little gilded band which had told him the + cigar was an old favorite. “As to other matters, however,—you're + wrong again, my friend, in your surmise. I am not sick, and I have been + working.” + </p> + <p> + “So? Well, I'm told they have very good specialists here. Some one of them + ought to hit your case. Still—how long has it been running?” + Arkwright's face showed only grave concern. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come, let up, Arkwright,” snapped Calderwell, striking his match + alight with a vigorous jerk. “I'll admit I haven't ever given any <i>special</i> + indication of an absorbing passion for work. But what can you expect of a + fellow born with a whole dozen silver spoons in his mouth? And that's what + I was, according to Bertram Henshaw. According to him again, it's a wonder + I ever tried to feed myself; and perhaps he's right—with my mouth + already so full.” + </p> + <p> + “I should say so,” laughed Arkwright. + </p> + <p> + “Well, be that as it may. I'm going to feed myself, and I'm going to earn + my feed, too. I haven't climbed a mountain or paddled a canoe, for a year. + I've been in Chicago cultivating the acquaintance of John Doe and Richard + Roe.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean—law?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure. I studied it here for a while, before that bout of ours a couple of + years ago. Billy drove me away, then.” + </p> + <p> + “Billy!—er—Mrs. Henshaw?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I thought I told you. She turned down my tenth-dozen proposal so + emphatically that I lost all interest in Boston and took to the tall + timber again. But I've come back. A friend of my father's wrote me to come + on and consider a good opening there was in his law office. I came on a + month ago, and considered. Then I went back to pack up. Now I've come for + good, and here I am. You have my history to date. Now tell me of yourself. + You're looking as fit as a penny from the mint, even though you have + discarded that 'lovely' brown beard. Was that a concession to—er—<i>Mary + Jane</i>?” + </p> + <p> + Arkwright lifted a quick hand of protest. + </p> + <p> + “'Michael Jeremiah,' please. There is no 'Mary Jane,' now,” he said a bit + stiffly. + </p> + <p> + The other stared a little. Then he gave a low chuckle. + </p> + <p> + “'Michael Jeremiah,'” he repeated musingly, eyeing the glowing tip of his + cigar. “And to think how that mysterious 'M. J.' used to tantalize me! Do + you mean,” he added, turning slowly, “that no one calls you 'Mary Jane' + now?” + </p> + <p> + “Not if they know what is best for them.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” Calderwell noted the smouldering fire in the other's eyes a little + curiously. “Very well. I'll take the hint—Michael Jeremiah.” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks.” Arkwright relaxed a little. “To tell the truth, I've had quite + enough now—of Mary Jane.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good. So be it,” nodded the other, still regarding his friend + thoughtfully. “But tell me—what of yourself?” + </p> + <p> + Arkwright shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing to tell. You've seen. I'm here.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Very pretty,” scoffed Calderwell. “Then if <i>you</i> won't tell, + I <i>will</i>. I saw Billy a month ago, you see. It seems you've hit the + trail for Grand Opera, as you threatened to that night in Paris; but you + <i>haven't</i> brought up in vaudeville, as you prophesied you would do—though, + for that matter, judging from the plums some of the stars are picking on + the vaudeville stage, nowadays, that isn't to be sneezed at. But Billy + says you've made two or three appearances already on the sacred boards + themselves—one of them a subscription performance—and that you + created no end of a sensation.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! I'm merely a student at the Opera School here,” scowled + Arkwright. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, Billy said you were that, but she also said you wouldn't be, + long. That you'd already had one good offer—I'm not speaking of + marriage—and that you were going abroad next summer, and that they + were all insufferably proud of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” scowled Arkwright, again, coloring like a girl. “That is only + some of—of Mrs. Henshaw's kind flattery.” + </p> + <p> + Calderwell jerked the cigar from between his lips, and sat suddenly + forward in his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Arkwright, tell me about them. How are they making it go?” + </p> + <p> + Arkwright frowned. + </p> + <p> + “Who? Make what go?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “The Henshaws. Is she happy? Is he—on the square?” + </p> + <p> + Arkwright's face darkened. + </p> + <p> + “Well, really,” he began; but Calderwell interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come; don't be squeamish. You think I'm butting into what doesn't + concern me; but I'm not. What concerns Billy does concern me. And if he + doesn't make her happy, I'll—I'll kill him.” + </p> + <p> + In spite of himself Arkwright laughed. The vehemence of the other's words, + and the fierceness with which he puffed at his cigar as he fell back in + his chair were most expressive. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don't think you need to load revolvers nor sharpen daggers, just + yet,” he observed grimly. + </p> + <p> + Calderwell laughed this time, though without much mirth. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm not in love with Billy, now,” he explained. “Please don't think I + am. I shouldn't see her if I was, of course.” + </p> + <p> + Arkwright changed his position suddenly, bringing his face into the + shadow. Calderwell talked on without pausing. + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm not in love with Billy. But Billy's a trump. You know that.” + </p> + <p> + “I do.” The words were low, but steadily spoken. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you do! We all do. And we want her happy. But as for her + marrying Bertram—you could have bowled me over with a soap bubble + when I heard she'd done it. Now understand: Bertram is a good fellow, and + I like him. I've known him all his life, and he's all right. Oh, six or + eight years ago, to be sure, he got in with a set of fellows—Bob + Seaver and his clique—that were no good. Went in for Bohemianism, + and all that rot. It wasn't good for Bertram. He's got the confounded + temperament that goes with his talent, I suppose—though why a man + can't paint a picture, or sing a song, and keep his temper and a level + head I don't see!” + </p> + <p> + “He can,” cut in Arkwright, with curt emphasis. + </p> + <p> + “Humph! Well, that's what I think. But, about this marriage business. + Bertram admires a pretty face wherever he sees it—<i>to paint</i>, + and always has. Not but that he's straight as a string with women—I + don't mean that; but girls are always just so many pictures to be picked + up on his brushes and transferred to his canvases. And as for his settling + down and marrying anybody for keeps, right along—Great Scott! + imagine Bertram Henshaw as a <i>domestic</i> man!” + </p> + <p> + Arkwright stirred restlessly as he spoke up in quick defense: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but he is, I assure you. I—I've seen them in their home + together—many times. I think they are—very happy.” Arkwright + spoke with decision, though still a little diffidently. + </p> + <p> + Calderwell was silent. He had picked up the little gilt band he had torn + from his cigar and was fingering it musingly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I've seen them—once,” he said, after a minute. “I took dinner + with them when I was on, a month ago.” + </p> + <p> + “I heard you did.” + </p> + <p> + At something in Arkwright's voice, Calderwell turned quickly. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean? Why do you say it like that?” + </p> + <p> + Arkwright laughed. The constraint fled from his manner. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I may as well tell you. You'll hear of it. It's no secret. Mrs. + Henshaw herself tells of it everywhere. It was her friend, Alice Greggory, + who told me of it first, however. It seems the cook was gone, and the + mistress had to get the dinner herself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know that.” + </p> + <p> + “But you should hear Mrs. Henshaw tell the story now, or Bertram. It seems + she knew nothing whatever about cooking, and her trials and tribulations + in getting that dinner on to the table were only one degree worse than the + dinner itself, according to her story. Didn't you—er—notice + anything?” + </p> + <p> + “Notice anything!” exploded Calderwell. “I noticed that Billy was so + brilliant she fairly radiated sparks; and I noticed that Bertram was so + glum he—he almost radiated thunderclaps. Then I saw that Billy's + high spirits were all assumed to cover a threatened burst of tears, and I + laid it all to him. I thought he'd said something to hurt her; and I could + have punched him. Great Scott! Was <i>that</i> what ailed them?” + </p> + <p> + “I reckon it was. Alice says that since then Mrs. Henshaw has fairly + haunted the kitchen, begging Eliza to teach her everything, <i>every + single thing</i> she knows!” + </p> + <p> + Calderwell chuckled. + </p> + <p> + “If that isn't just like Billy! She never does anything by halves. By + George, but she was game over that dinner! I can see it all now.” + </p> + <p> + “Alice says she's really learning to cook, in spite of old Pete's horror, + and Eliza's pleadings not to spoil her pretty hands.” + </p> + <p> + “Then Pete is back all right? What a faithful old soul he is!” + </p> + <p> + Arkwright frowned slightly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he's faithful, but he isn't all right, by any means. I think he's a + sick man, myself.” + </p> + <p> + “What makes Billy let him work, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Let him!” sniffed Arkwright. “I'd like to see you try to stop him! Mrs. + Henshaw begs and pleads with him to stop, but he scouts the idea. Pete is + thoroughly and unalterably convinced that the family would starve to death + if it weren't for him; and Mrs. Henshaw says that she'll admit he has some + grounds for his opinion when one remembers the condition of the kitchen + and dining-room the night she presided over them.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Billy!” chuckled Calderwell. “I'd have gone down into the kitchen + myself if I'd suspected what was going on.” + </p> + <p> + Arkwright raised his eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it's well you didn't—if Bertram's picture of what he found + there when he went down is a true one. Mrs. Henshaw acknowledges that even + the cat sought refuge under the stove.” + </p> + <p> + “As if the veriest worm that crawls ever needed to seek refuge from + Billy!” scoffed Calderwell. “By the way, what's this Annex I hear of? + Bertram mentioned it, but I couldn't get either of them to tell what it + was. Billy wouldn't, and Bertram said he couldn't—not with Billy + shaking her head at him like that. So I had my suspicions. One of Billy's + pet charities?” + </p> + <p> + “She doesn't call it that.” Arkwright's face and voice softened. “It is + Hillside. She still keeps it open. She calls it the Annex to her home. + She's filled it with a crippled woman, a poor little music teacher, a lame + boy, and Aunt Hannah.” + </p> + <p> + “But how—extraordinary!” + </p> + <p> + “She doesn't think so. She says it's just an overflow house for the extra + happiness she can't use.” + </p> + <p> + There was a moment's silence. Calderwell laid down his cigar, pulled out + his handkerchief, and blew his nose furiously. Then he got to his feet and + walked to the fireplace. After a minute he turned. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if she isn't the beat 'em!” he spluttered. “And I had the gall to + ask you if Henshaw made her—happy! Overflow house, indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “The best of it is, the way she does it,” smiled Arkwright. “They're all + the sort of people ordinary charity could never reach; and the only way + she got them there at all was to make each one think that he or she was + absolutely necessary to the rest of them. Even as it is, they all pay a + little something toward the running expenses of the house. They insisted + on that, and Mrs. Henshaw had to let them. I believe her chief difficulty + now is that she has not less than six people whom she wishes to put into + the two extra rooms still unoccupied, and she can't make up her mind which + to take. Her husband says he expects to hear any day of an Annexette to + the Annex.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” grunted Calderwell, as he turned and began to walk up and down + the room. “Bertram is still painting, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “What's he doing now?” + </p> + <p> + “Several things. He's up to his eyes in work. As you probably have heard, + he met with a severe accident last summer, and lost the use of his right + arm for many months. I believe they thought at one time he had lost it + forever. But it's all right now, and he has several commissions for + portraits. Alice says he's doing ideal heads again, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Same old 'Face of a Girl'?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose so, though Alice didn't say. Of course his special work just + now is painting the portrait of Miss Marguerite Winthrop. You may have + heard that he tried it last year and—and didn't make quite a success + of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. My sister Belle told me. She hears from Billy once in a while. Will + it be a go, this time?” + </p> + <p> + “We'll hope so—for everybody's sake. I imagine no one has seen it + yet—it's not finished; but Alice says—” + </p> + <p> + Calderwell turned abruptly, a quizzical smile on his face. + </p> + <p> + “See here, my son,” he interposed, “it strikes me that this Alice is + saying a good deal—to you! Who is she?” + </p> + <p> + Arkwright gave a light laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I told you. She is Miss Alice Greggory, Mrs. Henshaw's friend—and + mine. I have known her for years.” + </p> + <p> + “Hm-m; what is she like?” + </p> + <p> + “Like? Why, she's like—like herself, of course. You'll have to know + Alice. She's the salt of the earth—Alice is,” smiled Arkwright, + rising to his feet with a remonstrative gesture, as he saw Calderwell pick + up his coat. “What's your hurry?” + </p> + <p> + “Hm-m,” commented Calderwell again, ignoring the question. “And when, may + I ask, do you intend to appropriate this—er—salt—to—er—ah, + season your own life with, as I might say—eh?” + </p> + <p> + Arkwright laughed. There was not the slightest trace of embarrassment in + his face. + </p> + <p> + “Never. <i>You're</i> on the wrong track, this time. Alice and I are good + friends—always have been, and always will be, I hope.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing more?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing more. I see her frequently. She is musical, and the Henshaws are + good enough to ask us there often together. You will meet her, doubtless, + now, yourself. She is frequently at the Henshaw home.” + </p> + <p> + “Hm-m.” Calderwell still eyed his host shrewdly. “Then you'll give me a + clear field, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” Arkwright's eyes met his friend's gaze without swerving. + </p> + <p> + “All right. However, I suppose you'll tell me, as I did you, once, that a + right of way in such a case doesn't mean a thoroughfare for the party + interested. If my memory serves me, I gave you right of way in Paris to + win the affections of a certain elusive Miss Billy here in Boston, if you + could. But I see you didn't seem to improve your opportunities,” he + finished teasingly. + </p> + <p> + Arkwright stooped, of a sudden, to pick up a bit of paper from the floor. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said quietly. “I didn't seem to improve my opportunities.” This + time he did not meet Calderwell's eyes. + </p> + <p> + The good-byes had been said when Calderwell turned abruptly at the door. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say, I suppose you're going to that devil's carnival at Jordan Hall + to-morrow night.” + </p> + <p> + “Devil's carnival! You don't mean—Cyril Henshaw's piano recital!” + </p> + <p> + “Sure I do,” grinned Calderwell, unabashed. “And I'll warrant it'll be a + devil's carnival, too. Isn't Mr. Cyril Henshaw going to play his own + music? Oh, I know I'm hopeless, from your standpoint, but I can't help it. + I like mine with some go in it, and a tune that you can find without + hunting for it. And I don't like lost spirits gone mad that wail and + shriek through ten perfectly good minutes, and then die with a gasping + moan whose home is the tombs. However, you're going, I take it.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I am,” laughed the other. “You couldn't hire Alice to miss one + shriek of those spirits. Besides, I rather like them myself, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I suppose you do. You're brought up on it—in your business. + But me for the 'Merry Widow' and even the hoary 'Jingle Bells' every time! + However, I'm going to be there—out of respect to the poor fellow's + family. And, by the way, that's another thing that bowled me over—Cyril's + marriage. Why, Cyril hates women!” + </p> + <p> + “Not all women—we'll hope,” smiled Arkwright. “Do you know his + wife?” + </p> + <p> + “Not much. I used to see her a little at Billy's. Music teacher, wasn't + she? Then she's the same sort, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “But she isn't,” laughed Arkwright. “Oh, she taught music, but that was + only because of necessity, I take it. She's domestic through and through, + with an overwhelming passion for making puddings and darning socks, I + hear. Alice says she believes Mrs. Cyril knows every dish and spoon by its + Christian name, and that there's never so much as a spool of thread out of + order in the house.” + </p> + <p> + “But how does Cyril stand it—the trials and tribulations of domestic + life? Bertram used to declare that the whole Strata was aquiver with fear + when Cyril was composing, and I remember him as a perfect bear if anybody + so much as whispered when he was in one of his moods. I never forgot the + night Bertram and I were up in William's room trying to sing 'When Johnnie + comes marching home,' to the accompaniment of a banjo in Bertram's hands, + and a guitar in mine. Gorry! it was Hugh that went marching home that + night.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, from reports I reckon Mrs. Cyril doesn't play either a banjo or + a guitar,” smiled Arkwright. “Alice says she wears rubber heels on her + shoes, and has put hushers on all the chair-legs, and felt-mats between + all the plates and saucers. Anyhow, Cyril is building a new house, and he + looks as if he were in a pretty healthy condition, as you'll see to-morrow + night.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! I wish he'd make his music healthy, then,” grumbled Calderwell, as + he opened the door. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XII. FOR BILLY—SOME ADVICE + </h2> + <p> + February brought busy days. The public opening of the Bohemian Ten Club + Exhibition was to take place the sixth of March, with a private view for + invited guests the night before; and it was at this exhibition that + Bertram planned to show his portrait of Marguerite Winthrop. He also, if + possible, wished to enter two or three other canvases, upon which he was + spending all the time he could get. + </p> + <p> + Bertram felt that he was doing very good work now. The portrait of + Marguerite Winthrop was coming on finely. The spoiled idol of society had + at last found a pose and a costume that suited her, and she was graciously + pleased to give the artist almost as many sittings as he wanted. The + “elusive something” in her face, which had previously been so baffling, + was now already caught and held bewitchingly on his canvas. He was + confident that the portrait would be a success. He was also much + interested in another piece of work which he intended to show called “The + Rose.” The model for this was a beautiful young girl he had found selling + flowers with her father in a street booth at the North End. + </p> + <p> + On the whole, Bertram was very happy these days. He could not, to be sure, + spend quite so much time with Billy as he wished; but she understood, of + course, as did he, that his work must come first. He knew that she tried + to show him that she understood it. At the same time, he could not help + thinking, occasionally, that Billy did sometimes mind his necessary + absorption in his painting. + </p> + <p> + To himself Bertram owned that Billy was, in some ways, a puzzle to him. + Her conduct was still erratic at times. One day he would seem to be + everything to her; the next—almost nothing, judging by the ease with + which she relinquished his society and substituted that of some one else: + Arkwright, or Calderwell, for instance. + </p> + <p> + And that was another thing. Bertram was ashamed to hint even to himself + that he was jealous of either of those men. Surely, after what had + happened, after Billy's emphatic assertion that she had never loved any + one but himself, it would seem not only absurd, but disloyal, that he + should doubt for an instant Billy's entire devotion to him, and yet—there + were times when he wished he <i>could</i> come home and not always find + Alice Greggory, Calderwell, Arkwright, or all three of them strumming the + piano in the drawing-room! At such times, always, though, if he did feel + impatient, he immediately demanded of himself: “Are you, then, the kind of + husband that begrudges your wife young companions of her own age and + tastes to help her while away the hours that you cannot possibly spend + with her yourself?” + </p> + <p> + This question, and the answer that his better self always gave to it, were + usually sufficient to send him into some florists for a bunch of violets + for Billy, or into a candy shop on a like atoning errand. + </p> + <p> + As to Billy—Billy, too, was busy these days chief of her concerns + being, perhaps, attention to that honeymoon of hers, to see that it did + not wane. At least, the most of her thoughts, and many of her actions, + centered about that object. + </p> + <p> + Billy had the book, now—the “Talk to Young Wives.” For a time she + had worked with only the newspaper criticism to guide her; but, coming at + last to the conclusion that if a little was good, more must be better, she + had shyly gone into a bookstore one day and, with a pink blush, had asked + for the book. Since bringing it home she had studied assiduously (though + never if Bertram was near), keeping it well-hidden, when not in use, in a + remote corner of her desk. + </p> + <p> + There was a good deal in the book that Billy did not like, and there were + some statements that worried her; but yet there was much that she tried + earnestly to follow. She was still striving to be the oak, and she was + still eagerly endeavoring to brush up against those necessary outside + interests. She was so thankful, in this connection, for Alice Greggory, + and for Arkwright and Hugh Calderwell. It was such a help that she had + them! They were not only very pleasant and entertaining outside interests, + but one or another of them was almost always conveniently within reach. + </p> + <p> + Then, too, it pleased her to think that she was furthering the pretty love + story between Alice and Mr. Arkwright. And she <i>was</i> furthering it. + She was sure of that. Already she could see how dependent the man was on + Alice, how he looked to her for approbation, and appealed to her on all + occasions, exactly as if there was not a move that he wanted to make + without her presence near him. Billy was very sure, now, of Arkwright. She + only wished she were as much so of Alice. But Alice troubled her. Not but + that Alice was kindness itself to the man, either. It was only a peculiar + something almost like fear, or constraint, that Billy thought she saw in + Alice's eyes, sometimes, when Arkwright made a particularly intimate + appeal. There was Calderwell, too. He, also, worried Billy. She feared he + was going to complicate matters still more by falling in love with Alice, + himself; and this, certainly, Billy did not want at all. As this phase of + the matter presented itself, indeed, Billy determined to appropriate + Calderwell a little more exclusively to herself, when the four were + together, thus leaving Alice for Arkwright. After all, it was rather + entertaining—this playing at Cupid's assistant. If she <i>could</i> + not have Bertram all the time, it was fortunate that these outside + interests were so pleasurable. + </p> + <p> + Most of the mornings Billy spent in the kitchen, despite the remonstrances + of both Pete and Eliza. Almost every meal, now, was graced with a + palatable cake, pudding, or muffin that Billy would proudly claim as her + handiwork. Pete still served at table, and made strenuous efforts to keep + up all his old duties; but he was obviously growing weaker, and really + serious blunders were beginning to be noticeable. Bertram even hinted once + or twice that perhaps it would be just as well to insist on his going; but + to this Billy would not give her consent. Even when one night his poor old + trembling hands spilled half the contents of a soup plate over a new and + costly evening gown of Billy's own, she still refused to have him + dismissed. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Bertram, I wouldn't do it,” she declared hotly; “and you wouldn't, + either. He's been here more than fifty years. It would break his heart. + He's really too ill to work, and I wish he would go of his own accord, of + course; but I sha'n't ever tell him to go—not if he spills soup on + every dress I've got. I'll buy more—and more, if it's necessary. + Bless his dear old heart! He thinks he's really serving us—and he + is, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, you're right, he <i>is!</i>” sighed Bertram, with meaning + emphasis, as he abandoned the argument. + </p> + <p> + In addition to her “Talk to Young Wives,” Billy found herself encountering + advice and comment on the marriage question from still other quarters—from + her acquaintances (mostly the feminine ones) right and left. Continually + she was hearing such words as these: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, what can you expect, Billy? You're an old married woman, now.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, you'll find he's like all the rest of the husbands. You just + wait and see!” + </p> + <p> + “Better begin with a high hand, Billy. Don't let him fool you!” + </p> + <p> + “Mercy! If I had a husband whose business it was to look at women's + beautiful eyes, peachy cheeks, and luxurious tresses, I should go crazy! + It's hard enough to keep a man's eyes on yourself when his daily interests + are supposed to be just lumps of coal and chunks of ice, without flinging + him into the very jaws of temptation like asking him to paint a pretty + girl's picture!” + </p> + <p> + In response to all this, of course, Billy could but laugh, and blush, and + toss back some gay reply, with a careless unconcern. But in her heart she + did not like it. Sometimes she told herself that if there were not any + advice or comment from anybody—either book or woman—if there + were not anybody but just Bertram and herself, life would be just one long + honeymoon forever and forever. + </p> + <p> + Once or twice Billy was tempted to go to Marie with this honeymoon + question; but Marie was very busy these days, and very preoccupied. The + new house that Cyril was building on Corey Hill, not far from the Annex, + was almost finished, and Marie was immersed in the subject of + house-furnishings and interior decoration. She was, too, still more deeply + engrossed in the fashioning of tiny garments of the softest linen, lace, + and woolen; and there was on her face such a look of beatific wonder and + joy that Billy did not like to so much as hint that there was in the world + such a book as “When the Honeymoon Wanes: A Talk to Young Wives.” + </p> + <p> + Billy tried valiantly these days not to mind that Bertram's work was so + absorbing. She tried not to mind that his business dealt, not with lumps + of coal and chunks of ice, but with beautiful women like Marguerite + Winthrop who asked him to luncheon, and lovely girls like his model for + “The Rose” who came freely to his studio and spent hours in the beloved + presence, being studied for what Bertram declared was absolutely the most + wonderful poise of head and shoulders that he had ever seen. + </p> + <p> + Billy tried, also, these days, to so conduct herself that not by any + chance could Calderwell suspect that sometimes she was jealous of + Bertram's art. Not for worlds would she have had Calderwell begin to get + the notion into his head that his old-time prophecy concerning Bertram's + caring only for the turn of a girl's head or the tilt of her chin—to + paint, was being fulfilled. Hence, particularly gay and cheerful was Billy + when Calderwell was near. Nor could it be said that Billy was really + unhappy at any time. It was only that, on occasion, the very depth of her + happiness in Bertram's love frightened her, lest it bring disaster to + herself or Bertram. + </p> + <p> + Billy still went frequently to the Annex. There were yet two unfilled + rooms in the house. Billy was hesitating which two of six new friends of + hers to choose as occupants; and it was one day early in March, after she + had been talking the matter over with Aunt Hannah, that Aunt Hannah said: + </p> + <p> + “Dear me, Billy, if you had your way I believe you'd open another whole + house!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know?—that's just what I'm thinking of,” retorted Billy, + gravely. Then she laughed at Aunt Hannah's shocked gesture of protest. + “Oh, well, I don't expect to,” she added. “I haven't lived very long, but + I've lived long enough to know that you can't always do what you want to.” + </p> + <p> + “Just as if there were anything <i>you</i> wanted to do that you don't do, + my dear,” reproved Aunt Hannah, mildly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know.” Billy drew in her breath with a little catch. “I have so + much that is lovely; and that's why I need this house, you know, for the + overflow,” she nodded brightly. Then, with a characteristic change of + subject, she added: “My, but you should have tasted of the popovers I made + for breakfast this morning!” + </p> + <p> + “I should like to,” smiled Aunt Hannah. “William says you're getting to be + quite a cook.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, maybe,” conceded Billy, doubtfully. “Oh, I can do some things all + right; but just wait till Pete and Eliza go away again, and Bertram brings + home a friend to dinner. That'll tell the tale. I think now I could have + something besides potato-mush and burned corn—but maybe I wouldn't, + when the time came. If only I could buy everything I needed to cook with, + I'd be all right. But I can't, I find.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't buy what you need! What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed ruefully. + </p> + <p> + “Well, every other question I ask Eliza, she says: 'Why, I don't know; you + have to use your judgment.' Just as if I had any judgment about how much + salt to use, or what dish to take! Dear me, Aunt Hannah, the man that will + grow judgment and can it as you would a mess of peas, has got his fortune + made!” + </p> + <p> + “What an absurd child you are, Billy,” laughed Aunt Hannah. “I used to + tell Marie—By the way, how is Marie? Have you seen her lately?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I saw her yesterday,” twinkled Billy. “She had a book of + wall-paper samples spread over the back of a chair, two bunches of samples + of different colored damasks on the table before her, a 'Young Mother's + Guide' propped open in another chair, and a pair of baby's socks in her + lap with a roll each of pink, and white, and blue ribbon. She spent most + of the time, after I had helped her choose the ribbon, in asking me if I + thought she ought to let the baby cry and bother Cyril, or stop its crying + and hurt the baby, because her 'Mother's Guide' says a certain amount of + crying is needed to develop a baby's lungs.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hannah laughed, but she frowned, too. + </p> + <p> + “The idea! I guess Cyril can stand proper crying—and laughing, too—from + his own child!” she said then, crisply. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but Marie is afraid he can't,” smiled Billy. “And that's the trouble. + She says that's the only thing that worries her—Cyril.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” ejaculated Aunt Hannah. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but it isn't nonsense to Marie,” retorted Billy. “You should see the + preparations she's made and the precautions she's taken. Actually, when I + saw those baby's socks in her lap, I didn't know but she was going to put + rubber heels on them! They've built the new house with deadening felt in + all the walls, and Marie's planned the nursery and Cyril's den at opposite + ends of the house; and she says she shall keep the baby there <i>all</i> + the time—the nursery, I mean, not the den. She says she's going to + teach it to be a quiet baby and hate noise. She says she thinks she can do + it, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” sniffed Aunt Hannah, scornfully. + </p> + <p> + “You should have seen Marie's disgust the other day,” went on Billy, a bit + mischievously. “Her Cousin Jane sent on a rattle she'd made herself, all + soft worsted, with bells inside. It was a dear; but Marie was + horror-stricken. 'My baby have a rattle?' she cried. 'Why, what would + Cyril say? As if he could stand a rattle in the house!' And if she didn't + give that rattle to the janitor's wife that very day, while I was there!” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” sniffed Aunt Hannah again, as Billy rose to go. “Well, I'm + thinking Marie has still some things to learn in this world—and + Cyril, too, for that matter.” + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't wonder,” laughed Billy, giving Aunt Hannah a good-by kiss. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIII. PETE + </h2> + <p> + Bertram Henshaw had no disquieting forebodings this time concerning his + portrait of Marguerite Winthrop when the doors of the Bohemian Ten Club + Exhibition were thrown open to members and invited guests. Just how great + a popular success it was destined to be, he could not know, of course, + though he might have suspected it when he began to receive the admiring + and hearty congratulations of his friends and fellow-artists on that first + evening. + </p> + <p> + Nor was the Winthrop portrait the only jewel in his crown on that + occasion. His marvelously exquisite “The Rose,” and his smaller ideal + picture, “Expectation,” came in for scarcely less commendation. There was + no doubt now. The originator of the famous “Face of a Girl” had come into + his own again. On all sides this was the verdict, one long-haired critic + of international fame even claiming openly that Henshaw had not only + equaled his former best work, but had gone beyond it, in both artistry and + technique. + </p> + <p> + It was a brilliant gathering. Society, as usual, in costly evening gowns + and correct swallow-tails rubbed elbows with names famous in the world of + Art and Letters. Everywhere were gay laughter and sparkling repartee. Even + the austere-faced J. G. Winthrop unbent to the extent of grim smiles in + response to the laudatory comments bestowed upon the pictured image of his + idol, his beautiful daughter. + </p> + <p> + As to the great financier's own opinion of the work, no one heard him + express it except, perhaps, the artist; and all that he got was a grip of + the hand and a “Good! I knew you'd fetch it this time, my boy!” But that + was enough. And, indeed, no one who knew the stern old man needed to more + than look into his face that evening to know of his entire satisfaction in + this portrait soon to be the most recent, and the most cherished addition + to his far-famed art collection. + </p> + <p> + As to Bertram—Bertram was pleased and happy and gratified, of + course, as was natural; but he was not one whit more so than was Bertram's + wife. Billy fairly radiated happiness and proud joy. She told Bertram, + indeed, that if he did anything to make her any prouder, it would take an + Annex the size of the Boston Opera House to hold her extra happiness. + </p> + <p> + “Sh-h, Billy! Some one will hear you,” protested Bertram, tragically; but, + in spite of his horrified voice, he did not look displeased. + </p> + <p> + For the first time Billy met Marguerite Winthrop that evening. At the + outset there was just a bit of shyness and constraint in the young wife's + manner. Billy could not forget her old insane jealousy of this beautiful + girl with the envied name of Marguerite. But it was for only a moment, and + soon she was her natural, charming self. + </p> + <p> + Miss Winthrop was fascinated, and she made no pretense of hiding it. She + even turned to Bertram at last, and cried: + </p> + <p> + “Surely, now, Mr. Henshaw, you need never go far for a model! Why don't + you paint your wife?” + </p> + <p> + Billy colored. Bertram smiled. + </p> + <p> + “I have,” he said. “I have painted her many times. In fact, I have painted + her so often that she once declared it was only the tilt of her chin and + the turn of her head that I loved—to paint,” he said merrily, + enjoying Billy's pretty confusion, and not realizing that his words really + distressed her. “I have a whole studio full of 'Billys' at home.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, have you, really?” questioned Miss Winthrop, eagerly. “Then mayn't I + see them? Mayn't I, please, Mrs. Henshaw? I'd so love to!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course you may,” murmured both the artist and his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. Then I'm coming right away. May I? I'm going to Washington + next week, you see. Will you let me come to-morrow at—at half-past + three, then? Will it be quite convenient for you, Mrs. Henshaw?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite convenient. I shall be glad to see you,” smiled Billy. And Bertram + echoed his wife's cordial permission. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. Then I'll be there at half-past three,” nodded Miss Winthrop, + with a smile, as she turned to give place to an admiring group, who were + waiting to pay their respects to the artist and his wife. + </p> + <p> + There was, after all, that evening, one fly in Billy's ointment. + </p> + <p> + It fluttered in at the behest of an old acquaintance—one of the + “advice women,” as Billy termed some of her too interested friends. + </p> + <p> + “Well, they're lovely, perfectly lovely, of course, Mrs. Henshaw,” said + this lady, coming up to say good-night. “But, all the same, I'm glad my + husband is just a plain lawyer. Look out, my dear, that while Mr. Henshaw + is stealing all those pretty faces for his canvases—just look out + that the fair ladies don't turn around and steal his heart before you know + it. Dear me, but you must be so proud of him!” + </p> + <p> + “I am,” smiled Billy, serenely; and only the jagged split that rent the + glove on her hand, at that moment, told of the fierce anger behind that + smile. + </p> + <p> + “As if I couldn't trust Bertram!” raged Billy passionately to herself, + stealing a surreptitious glance at her ruined glove. “And as if there + weren't ever any perfectly happy marriages—even if you don't ever + hear of them, or read of them!” + </p> + <p> + Bertram was not home to luncheon on the day following the opening night of + the Bohemian Ten Club. A matter of business called him away from the house + early in the morning; but he told his wife that he surely would be on hand + for Miss Winthrop's call at half-past three o'clock that afternoon. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, do,” Billy had urged. “I think she's lovely, but you know her so + much better than I do that I want you here. Besides, you needn't think <i>I'm</i> + going to show her all those Billys of yours. I may be vain, but I'm not + quite vain enough for that, sir!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't worry,” her husband had laughed. “I'll be here.” + </p> + <p> + As it chanced, however, something occurred an hour before half-past three + o'clock that drove every thought of Miss Winthrop's call from Billy's + head. + </p> + <p> + For three days, now, Pete had been at the home of his niece in South + Boston. He had been forced, finally, to give up and go away. News from him + the day before had been anything but reassuring, and to-day, Bertram being + gone, Billy had suggested that Eliza serve a simple luncheon and go + immediately afterward to South Boston to see how her uncle was. This + suggestion Eliza had followed, leaving the house at one o'clock. + </p> + <p> + Shortly after two Calderwell had dropped in to bring Bertram, as he + expressed it, a bunch of bouquets he had gathered at the picture show the + night before. He was still in the drawing-room, chatting with Billy, when + the telephone bell rang. + </p> + <p> + “If that's Bertram, tell him to come home; he's got company,” laughed + Calderwell, as Billy passed into the hall. + </p> + <p> + A moment later he heard Billy give a startled cry, followed by a few + broken words at short intervals. Then, before he could surmise what had + happened, she was back in the drawing-room again, her eyes full of tears. + </p> + <p> + “It's Pete,” she choked. “Eliza says he can't live but a few minutes. He + wants to see me once more. What shall I do? John's got Peggy out with Aunt + Hannah and Mrs. Greggory. It was so nice to-day I made them go. But I must + get there some way—Pete is calling for me. Uncle William is going, + and I told Eliza where she might reach Bertram; but what shall <i>I</i> + do? How shall I go?” + </p> + <p> + Calderwell was on his feet at once. + </p> + <p> + “I'll get a taxi. Don't worry—we'll get there. Poor old soul—of + course he wants to see you! Get on your things. I'll have it here in no + time,” he finished, hurrying to the telephone. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Hugh, I'm so glad I've got <i>you</i> here,” sobbed Billy, stumbling + blindly toward the stairway. “I'll be ready in two minutes.” + </p> + <p> + And she was; but neither then, nor a little later when she and Calderwell + drove hurriedly away from the house, did Billy once remember that Miss + Marguerite Winthrop was coming to call that afternoon to see Mrs. Bertram + Henshaw and a roomful of Billy pictures. + </p> + <p> + Pete was still alive when Calderwell left Billy at the door of the modest + little home where Eliza's mother lived. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you're in time, ma'am,” sobbed Eliza; “and, oh, I'm so glad you've + come. He's been askin' and askin' for ye.” + </p> + <p> + From Eliza Billy learned then that Mr. William was there, but not Mr. + Bertram. They had not been able to reach Mr. Bertram, or Mr. Cyril. + </p> + <p> + Billy never forgot the look of reverent adoration that came into Pete's + eyes as she entered the room where he lay. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Billy—my Miss Billy! You were so good-to come,” he whispered + faintly. + </p> + <p> + Billy choked back a sob. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I'd come, Pete,” she said gently, taking one of the thin, worn + hands into both her soft ones. + </p> + <p> + It was more than a few minutes that Pete lived. Four o'clock came, and + five, and he was still with them. Often he opened his eyes and smiled. + Sometimes he spoke a low word to William or Billy, or to one of the + weeping women at the foot of the bed. That the presence of his beloved + master and mistress meant much to him was plain to be seen. + </p> + <p> + “I'm so sorry,” he faltered once, “about that pretty dress—I + spoiled, Miss Billy. But you know—my hands—” + </p> + <p> + “I know, I know,” soothed Billy; “but don't worry. It wasn't spoiled, + Pete. It's all fixed now.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm so glad,” sighed the sick man. After another long interval of + silence he turned to William. + </p> + <p> + “Them socks—the medium thin ones—you'd oughter be puttin' 'em + on soon, sir, now. They're in the right-hand corner of the bottom drawer—you + know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Pete; I'll attend to it,” William managed to stammer, after he had + cleared his throat. + </p> + <p> + Eliza's turn came next. + </p> + <p> + “Remember about the coffee,” Pete said to her, “—the way Mr. William + likes it. And always eggs, you know, for—for—” His voice + trailed into an indistinct murmur, and his eyelids drooped wearily. + </p> + <p> + One by one the minutes passed. The doctor came and went: there was nothing + he could do. At half-past five the thin old face became again alight with + consciousness. There was a good-by message for Bertram, and one for Cyril. + Aunt Hannah was remembered, and even little Tommy Dunn. Then, gradually, a + gray shadow crept over the wasted features. The words came more brokenly. + The mind, plainly, was wandering, for old Pete was young again, and around + him were the lads he loved, William, Cyril, and Bertram. And then, very + quietly, soon after the clock struck six, Pete fell into the beginning of + his long sleep. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIV. WHEN BERTRAM CAME HOME + </h2> + <p> + It was a little after half-past three o'clock that afternoon when Bertram + Henshaw hurried up Beacon Street toward his home. He had been delayed, and + he feared that Miss Winthrop would already have reached the house. Mindful + of what Billy had said that morning, he knew how his wife would fret if he + were not there when the guest arrived. The sight of what he surmised to be + Miss Winthrop's limousine before his door hastened his steps still more. + But as he reached the house, he was surprised to find Miss Winthrop + herself turning away from the door. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Miss Winthrop,” he cried, “you're not going <i>now!</i> You can't + have been here any—yet!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no, I—I haven't,” retorted the lady, with heightened color + and a somewhat peculiar emphasis. “My ring wasn't answered.” + </p> + <p> + “Wasn't answered!” Bertram reddened angrily. “Why, what can that mean? + Where's the maid? Where's my wife? Mrs. Henshaw must be here! She was + expecting you.” + </p> + <p> + Bertram, in his annoyed amazement, spoke loudly, vehemently. Hence he was + quite plainly heard by the group of small boys and girls who had been + improving the mild weather for a frolic on the sidewalk, and who had been + attracted to his door a moment before by the shining magnet of the + Winthrop limousine with its resplendently liveried chauffeur. As Bertram + spoke, one of the small girls, Bessie Bailey, stepped forward and piped up + a shrill reply. + </p> + <p> + “She ain't, Mr. Henshaw! She ain't here. I saw her go away just a little + while ago.” + </p> + <p> + Bertram turned sharply. + </p> + <p> + “You saw her go away! What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + Small Bessie swelled with importance. Bessie was thirteen, in spite of her + diminutive height. Bessie's mother was dead, and Bessie's caretakers were + gossiping nurses and servants, who frequently left in her way books that + were much too old for Bessie to read—but she read them. + </p> + <p> + “I mean she ain't here—your wife, Mr. Henshaw. She went away. I saw + her. I guess likely she's eloped, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Eloped!” + </p> + <p> + Bessie swelled still more importantly. To her experienced eyes the + situation contained all the necessary elements for the customary flight of + the heroine in her story-books, as here, now, was the irate, deserted + husband. + </p> + <p> + “Sure! And 'twas just before you came—quite a while before. A big + shiny black automobile like this drove up—only it wasn't quite such + a nice one—an' Mrs. Henshaw an' a man came out of your house an' got + in, an' drove right away <i>quick!</i> They just ran to get into it, too—didn't + they?” She appealed to her young mates grouped about her. + </p> + <p> + A chorus of shrill exclamations brought Mr. Bertram Henshaw suddenly to + his senses. By a desperate effort he hid his angry annoyance as he turned + to the manifestly embarrassed young woman who was already descending the + steps. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Miss Winthrop,” he apologized contritely, “I'm sure you'll + forgive this seeming great rudeness on the part of my wife. + Notwithstanding the lurid tales of our young friends here, I suspect + nothing more serious has happened than that my wife has been hastily + summoned to Aunt Hannah, perhaps. Or, of course, she may not have + understood that you were coming to-day at half-past three—though I + thought she did. But I'm so sorry—when you were so kind as to come—” + Miss Winthrop interrupted with a quick gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Say no more, I beg of you,” she entreated. “Mrs. Henshaw is quite + excusable, I'm sure. Please don't give it another thought,” she finished, + as with a hurried direction to the man who was holding open the door of + her car, she stepped inside and bowed her good-byes. + </p> + <p> + Bertram, with stern self-control, forced himself to walk nonchalantly up + his steps, leisurely take out his key, and open his door, under the + interested eyes of Bessie Bailey and her friends; but once beyond their + hateful stare, his demeanor underwent a complete change. Throwing aside + his hat and coat, he strode to the telephone. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, is that you, Aunt Hannah?” he called crisply, a moment later. “Well, + if Billy's there will you tell her I want to speak to her, please?” + </p> + <p> + “Billy?” answered Aunt Hannah's slow, gentle tones. “Why, my dear boy, + Billy isn't here!” + </p> + <p> + “She isn't? Well, when did she leave? She's been there, hasn't she?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, I don't think so, but I'll see, if you like. Mrs. Greggory and I + have just this minute come in from an automobile ride. We would have + stayed longer, but it began to get chilly, and I forgot to take one of the + shawls that I'd laid out.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; well, if you will see, please, if Billy has been there, and when she + left,” said Bertram, with grim self-control. + </p> + <p> + “All right. I'll see,” murmured Aunt Hannah. In a few moments her voice + again sounded across the wires. “Why, no, Bertram, Rosa says she hasn't + been here since yesterday. Isn't she there somewhere about the house? + Didn't you know where she was going?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no, I didn't—else I shouldn't have been asking you,” snapped + the irate Bertram and hung up the receiver with most rude haste, thereby + cutting off an astounded “Oh, my grief and conscience!” in the middle of + it. + </p> + <p> + The next ten minutes Bertram spent in going through the whole house, from + garret to basement. Needless to say, he found nothing to enlighten him, or + to soothe his temper. Four o'clock came, then half-past, and five. At five + Bertram began to look for Eliza, but in vain. At half-past five he watched + for William; but William, too, did not come. + </p> + <p> + Bertram was pacing the floor now, nervously. He was a little frightened, + but more mortified and angry. That Billy should have allowed Miss Winthrop + to call by appointment only to find no hostess, no message, no maid, even, + to answer her ring—it was inexcusable! Impulsiveness, + unconventionality, and girlish irresponsibility were all very delightful, + of course—at times; but not now, certainly. Billy was not a girl any + longer. She was a married woman. <i>Something</i> was due to him, her + husband! A pretty picture he must have made on those steps, trying to + apologize for a truant wife, and to laugh off that absurd Bessie Bailey's + preposterous assertion at the same time! What would Miss Winthrop think? + What could she think? Bertram fairly ground his teeth with chagrin, at the + situation in which he found himself. + </p> + <p> + Nor were matters helped any by the fact that Bertram was hungry. Bertram's + luncheon had been meager and unsatisfying. That the kitchen down-stairs + still remained in silent, spotless order instead of being astir with the + sounds and smells of a good dinner (as it should have been) did not + improve his temper. Where Billy was he could not imagine. He thought, once + or twice, of calling up some of her friends; but something held him back + from that—though he did try to get Marie, knowing very well that she + was probably over to the new house and would not answer. He was not + surprised, therefore, when he received no reply to his ring. + </p> + <p> + That there was the slightest truth in Bessie Bailey's absurd “elopement” + idea, Bertram did not, of course, for an instant believe. The only thing + that rankled about that was the fact that she had suggested such a thing, + and that Miss Winthrop and those silly children had heard her. He + recognized half of Bessie's friends as neighborhood youngsters, and he + knew very well that there would be many a quiet laugh at his expense + around various Beacon Street dinner-tables that night. At the thought of + those dinner-tables, he scowled again. <i>He</i> had no dinner-table—at + least, he had no dinner on it! + </p> + <p> + Who the man might be Bertram thought he could easily guess. It was either + Arkwright or Calderwell, of course; and probably that tiresome Alice + Greggory was mixed up in it somehow. He did wish Billy— + </p> + <p> + Six o'clock came, then half-past. Bertram was indeed frightened now, but + he was more angry, and still more hungry. He had, in fact, reached that + state of blind unreasonableness said to be peculiar to hungry males from + time immemorial. + </p> + <p> + At ten minutes of seven a key clicked in the lock of the outer door, and + William and Billy entered the hall. + </p> + <p> + It was almost dark. Bertram could not see their faces. He had not lighted + the hall at all. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he began sharply, “is this the way you receive your callers, + Billy? I came home and found Miss Winthrop just leaving—no one here + to receive her! Where've you been? Where's Eliza? Where's my dinner? Of + course I don't mean to scold, Billy, but there is a limit to even my + patience—and it's reached now. I can't help suggesting that if you + would tend to your husband and your home a little more, and go + gallivanting off with Calderwell and Arkwright and Alice Greggory a little + less, that—Where is Eliza, anyway?” he finished irritably, switching + on the lights with a snap. + </p> + <p> + There was a moment of dead silence. At Bertram's first words Billy and + William had stopped short. Neither had moved since. Now William turned and + began to speak, but Billy interrupted. She met her husband's gaze + steadily. + </p> + <p> + “I will be down at once to get your dinner,” she said quietly. “Eliza will + not come to-night. Pete is dead.” + </p> + <p> + Bertram started forward with a quick cry. + </p> + <p> + “Dead! Oh, Billy! Then you were—<i>there!</i> Billy!” + </p> + <p> + But his wife did not apparently hear him. She passed him without turning + her head, and went on up the stairs, leaving him to meet the sorrowful, + accusing eyes of William. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XV. AFTER THE STORM + </h2> + <p> + The young husband's apologies were profuse and abject. Bertram was + heartily ashamed of himself, and was man enough to acknowledge it. Almost + on his knees he begged Billy to forgive him; and in a frenzy of + self-denunciation he followed her down into the kitchen that night, + piteously beseeching her to speak to him, to just <i>look</i> at him, + even, so that he might know he was not utterly despised—though he + did, indeed, deserve to be more than despised, he moaned. + </p> + <p> + At first Billy did not speak, or even vouchsafe a glance in his direction. + Very quietly she went about her preparations for a simple meal, paying + apparently no more attention to Bertram than as if he were not there. But + that her ears were only seemingly, and not really deaf, was shown very + clearly a little later, when, at a particularly abject wail on the part of + the babbling shadow at her heels, Billy choked into a little gasp, half + laughter, half sob. It was all over then. Bertram had her in his arms in a + twinkling, while to the floor clattered and rolled a knife and a + half-peeled baked potato. + </p> + <p> + Naturally, after that, there could be no more dignified silences on the + part of the injured wife. There were, instead, half-smiles, tears, sobs, a + tremulous telling of Pete's going and his messages, followed by a tearful + listening to Bertram's story of the torture he had endured at the hands of + Miss Winthrop, Bessie Bailey, and an empty, dinnerless house. And thus, in + one corner of the kitchen, some time later, a hungry, desperate William + found them, the half-peeled, cold baked potato still at their feet. + </p> + <p> + Torn between his craving for food and his desire not to interfere with any + possible peace-making, William was obviously hesitating what to do, when + Billy glanced up and saw him. She saw, too, at the same time, the empty, + blazing gas-stove burner, and the pile of half-prepared potatoes, to warm + which the burner had long since been lighted. With a little cry she broke + away from her husband's arms. + </p> + <p> + “Mercy! and here's poor Uncle William, bless his heart, with not a thing + to eat yet!” + </p> + <p> + They all got dinner then, together, with many a sigh and quick-coming tear + as everywhere they met some sad reminder of the gentle old hands that + would never again minister to their comfort. + </p> + <p> + It was a silent meal, and little, after all, was eaten, though brave + attempts at cheerfulness and naturalness were made by all three. Bertram, + especially, talked, and tried to make sure that the shadow on Billy's face + was at least not the one his own conduct had brought there. + </p> + <p> + “For you do—you surely do forgive me, don't you?” he begged, as he + followed her into the kitchen after the sorry meal was over. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, dear, yes,” sighed Billy, trying to smile. + </p> + <p> + “And you'll forget?” + </p> + <p> + There was no answer. + </p> + <p> + “Billy! And you'll forget?” Bertram's voice was insistent, reproachful. + </p> + <p> + Billy changed color and bit her lip. She looked plainly distressed. + </p> + <p> + “Billy!” cried the man, still more reproachfully. + </p> + <p> + “But, Bertram, I can't forget—quite yet,” faltered Billy. + </p> + <p> + Bertram frowned. For a minute he looked as if he were about to take up the + matter seriously and argue it with her; but the next moment he smiled and + tossed his head with jaunty playfulness—Bertram, to tell the truth, + had now had quite enough of what he privately termed “scenes” and + “heroics”; and, manlike, he was very ardently longing for the old + easy-going friendliness, with all unpleasantness banished to oblivion. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but you'll have to forget,” he claimed, with cheery insistence, “for + you've promised to forgive me—and one can't forgive without + forgetting. So, there!” he finished, with a smilingly determined + “now-everything-is-just-as-it-was-before” air. + </p> + <p> + Billy made no response. She turned hurriedly and began to busy herself + with the dishes at the sink. In her heart she was wondering: could she + ever forget what Bertram had said? Would anything ever blot out those + awful words: “If you would tend to your husband and your home a little + more, and go gallivanting off with Calderwell and Arkwright and Alice + Greggory a little less—“? It seemed now that always, for evermore, + they would ring in her ears; always, for evermore, they would burn deeper + and deeper into her soul. And not once, in all Bertram's apologies, had he + referred to them—those words he had uttered. He had not said he did + not mean them. He had not said he was sorry he spoke them. He had ignored + them; and he expected that now she, too, would ignore them. As if she + could!” If you would tend to your husband and your home a little more, and + go gallivanting off with Calderwell and Arkwright and Alice Greggory a + little less—” Oh, if only she could, indeed,—forget! + </p> + <p> + When Billy went up-stairs that night she ran across her “Talk to Young + Wives” in her desk. With a half-stifled cry she thrust it far back out of + sight. + </p> + <p> + “I hate you, I hate you—with all your old talk about 'brushing up + against outside interests'!” she whispered fiercely. “Well, I've 'brushed'—and + now see what I've got for it!” + </p> + <p> + Later, however, after Bertram was asleep, Billy crept out of bed and got + the book. Under the carefully shaded lamp in the adjoining room she turned + the pages softly till she came to the sentence: “Perhaps it would be hard + to find a more utterly unreasonable, irritable, irresponsible creature + than a hungry man.” With a long sigh she began to read; and not until some + minutes later did she close the book, turn off the light, and steal back + to bed. + </p> + <p> + During the next three days, until after the funeral at the shabby little + South Boston house, Eliza spent only about half of each day at the Strata. + This, much to her distress, left many of the household tasks for her young + mistress to perform. Billy, however, attacked each new duty with a + feverish eagerness that seemed to make the performance of it very like + some glad penance done for past misdeeds. And when—on the day after + they had laid the old servant in his last resting place—a despairing + message came from Eliza to the effect that now her mother was very ill, + and would need her care, Billy promptly told Eliza to stay as long as was + necessary; that they could get along all right without her. + </p> + <p> + “But, Billy, what <i>are</i> we going to do?” Bertram demanded, when he + heard the news. “We must have somebody!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I'm</i> going to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! As if you could!” scoffed Bertram. + </p> + <p> + Billy lifted her chin. + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't I, indeed,” she retorted. “Do you realize, young man, how much + I've done the last three days? How about those muffins you had this + morning for breakfast, and that cake last night? And didn't you yourself + say that you never ate a better pudding than that date puff yesterday + noon?” + </p> + <p> + Bertram laughed and shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “My dear love, I'm not questioning your <i>ability</i> to do it,” he + soothed quickly. “Still,” he added, with a whimsical smile, “I must remind + you that Eliza has been here half the time, and that muffins and date + puffs, however delicious, aren't all there is to running a big house like + this. Besides, just be sensible, Billy,” he went on more seriously, as he + noted the rebellious gleam coming into his young wife's eyes; “you'd know + you couldn't do it, if you'd just stop to think. There's the Carletons + coming to dinner Monday, and my studio Tea to-morrow, to say nothing of + the Symphony and the opera, and the concerts you'd lose because you were + too dead tired to go to them. You know how it was with that concert + yesterday afternoon which Alice Greggory wanted you to go to with her.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't—want—to go,” choked Billy, under her breath. + </p> + <p> + “And there's your music. You haven't done a thing with that for days, yet + only last week you told me the publishers were hurrying you for that last + song to complete the group.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't felt like—writing,” stammered Billy, still half under her + breath. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you haven't,” triumphed Bertram. “You've been too dead tired. + And that's just what I say. Billy, you <i>can't</i> do it all yourself!” + </p> + <p> + “But I want to. I want to—to tend to things,” faltered Billy, with a + half-fearful glance into her husband's face. + </p> + <p> + Billy was hearing very loudly now that accusing “If you'd tend to your + husband and your home a little more—” Bertram, however, was not + hearing it, evidently. Indeed, he seemed never to have heard it—much + less to have spoken it. + </p> + <p> + “'Tend to things,'” he laughed lightly. “Well, you'll have enough to do to + tend to the maid, I fancy. Anyhow, we're going to have one. I'll just step + into one of those—what do you call 'em?—intelligence offices + on my way down and send one up,” he finished, as he gave his wife a + good-by kiss. + </p> + <p> + An hour later Billy, struggling with the broom and the drawing-room + carpet, was called to the telephone. It was her husband's voice that came + to her. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, for heaven's sake, take pity on me. Won't you put on your duds and + come and engage your maid yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Bertram, what's the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Matter? Holy smoke! Well, I've been to three of those intelligence + offices—though why they call them that I can't imagine. If ever + there was a place utterly devoid of intelligence-but never mind! I've + interviewed four fat ladies, two thin ones, and one medium with a wart. + I've cheerfully divulged all our family secrets, promised every other + half-hour out, and taken oath that our household numbers three adult + members, and no more; but I simply <i>can't</i> remember how many + handkerchiefs we have in the wash each week. Billy, will you come? Maybe + you can do something with them. I'm sure you can!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course I'll come,” chirped Billy. “Where shall I meet you?” + </p> + <p> + Bertram gave the street and number. + </p> + <p> + “Good! I'll be there,” promised Billy, as she hung up the receiver. + </p> + <p> + Quite forgetting the broom in the middle of the drawing-room floor, Billy + tripped up-stairs to change her dress. On her lips was a gay little song. + In her heart was joy. + </p> + <p> + “I rather guess <i>now</i> I'm tending to my husband and my home!” she was + crowing to herself. + </p> + <p> + Just as Billy was about to leave the house the telephone bell jangled + again. + </p> + <p> + It was Alice Greggory. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, dear,” she called, “can't you come out? Mr. Arkwright and Mr. + Calderwell are here, and they've brought some new music. We want you. Will + you come?” + </p> + <p> + “I can't, dear. Bertram wants me. He's sent for me. I've got some <i>housewifely</i> + duties to perform to-day,” returned Billy, in a voice so curiously + triumphant that Alice, at her end of the wires, frowned in puzzled wonder + as she turned away from the telephone. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVI. INTO TRAINING FOR MARY ELLEN + </h2> + <p> + Bertram told a friend afterwards that he never knew the meaning of the + word “chaos” until he had seen the Strata during the weeks immediately + following the laying away of his old servant. + </p> + <p> + “Every stratum was aquiver with apprehension,” he declared; “and there was + never any telling when the next grand upheaval would rock the whole + structure to its foundations.” + </p> + <p> + Nor was Bertram so far from being right. It was, indeed, a chaos, as none + knew better than did Bertram's wife. + </p> + <p> + Poor Billy! Sorry indeed were these days for Billy; and, as if to make her + cup of woe full to overflowing, there were Sister Kate's epistolary “I + told you so,” and Aunt Hannah's ever recurring lament: “If only, Billy, + you were a practical housekeeper yourself, they wouldn't impose on you + so!” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hannah, to be sure, offered Rosa, and Kate, by letter, offered advice—plenty + of it. But Billy, stung beyond all endurance, and fairly radiating hurt + pride and dogged determination, disdained all assistance, and, with head + held high, declared she was getting along very well, very well indeed! + </p> + <p> + And this was the way she “got along.” + </p> + <p> + First came Nora. Nora was a blue-eyed, black-haired Irish girl, the sixth + that the despairing Billy had interviewed on that fateful morning when + Bertram had summoned her to his aid. Nora stayed two days. During her + reign the entire Strata echoed to banged doors, dropped china, and slammed + furniture. At her departure the Henshaws' possessions were less by four + cups, two saucers, one plate, one salad bowl, two cut glass tumblers, and + a teapot—the latter William's choicest bit of Lowestoft. + </p> + <p> + Olga came next. Olga was a Treasure. She was low-voiced, gentle-eyed, and + a good cook. She stayed a week. By that time the growing frequency of the + disappearance of sundry small articles of value and convenience led to + Billy's making a reluctant search of Olga's room—and to Olga's + departure; for the room was, indeed, a treasure house, the Treasure having + gathered unto itself other treasures. + </p> + <p> + Following Olga came a period of what Bertram called “one night stands,” so + frequently were the dramatis personæ below stairs changed. Gretchen drank. + Christine knew only four words of English: salt, good-by, no, and yes; and + Billy found need occasionally of using other words. Mary was impertinent + and lazy. Jennie could not even boil a potato properly, much less cook a + dinner. Sarah (colored) was willing and pleasant, but insufferably untidy. + Bridget was neatness itself, but she had no conception of the value of + time. Her meals were always from thirty to sixty minutes late, and + half-cooked at that. Vera sang—when she wasn't whistling—and + as she was generally off the key, and always off the tune, her almost + frantic mistress dismissed her before twenty-four hours had passed. Then + came Mary Ellen. + </p> + <p> + Mary Ellen began well. She was neat, capable, and obliging; but it did not + take her long to discover just how much—and how little—her + mistress really knew of practical housekeeping. Matters and things were + very different then. Mary Ellen became argumentative, impertinent, and + domineering. She openly shirked her work, when it pleased her so to do, + and demanded perquisites and privileges so insolently that even William + asked Billy one day whether Mary Ellen or Billy herself were the mistress + of the Strata: and Bertram, with mock humility, inquired how <i>soon</i> + Mary Ellen would be wanting the house. Billy, in weary despair, submitted + to this bullying for almost a week; then, in a sudden accession of + outraged dignity that left Mary Ellen gasping with surprise, she told the + girl to go. + </p> + <p> + And thus the days passed. The maids came and the maids went, and, to + Billy, each one seemed a little worse than the one before. Nowhere was + there comfort, rest, or peacefulness. The nights were a torture of + apprehension, and the days an even greater torture of fulfilment. Noise, + confusion, meals poorly cooked and worse served, dust, disorder, and + uncertainty. And this was <i>home</i>, Billy told herself bitterly. No + wonder that Bertram telephoned more and more frequently that he had met a + friend, and was dining in town. No wonder that William pushed back his + plate almost every meal with his food scarcely touched, and then wandered + about the house with that hungry, homesick, homeless look that nearly + broke her heart. No wonder, indeed! + </p> + <p> + And so it had come. It was true. Aunt Hannah and Kate and the “Talk to + Young Wives” were right. She had not been fit to marry Bertram. She had + not been fit to marry anybody. Her honeymoon was not only waning, but + going into a total eclipse. Had not Bertram already declared that if she + would tend to her husband and her home a little more— + </p> + <p> + Billy clenched her small hands and set her round chin squarely. + </p> + <p> + Very well, she would show them. She would tend to her husband and her + home. She fancied she could <i>learn</i> to run that house, and run it + well! And forthwith she descended to the kitchen and told the then + reigning tormentor that her wages would be paid until the end of the week, + but that her services would be immediately dispensed with. + </p> + <p> + Billy was well aware now that housekeeping was a matter of more than + muffins and date puffs. She could gauge, in a measure, the magnitude of + the task to which she had set herself. But she did not falter; and very + systematically she set about making her plans. + </p> + <p> + With a good stout woman to come in twice a week for the heavier work, she + believed she could manage by herself very well until Eliza could come + back. At least she could serve more palatable meals than the most of those + that had appeared lately; and at least she could try to make a home that + would not drive Bertram to club dinners, and Uncle William to hungry + wanderings from room to room. Meanwhile, all the time, she could be + learning, and in due course she would reach that shining goal of + Housekeeping Efficiency, short of which—according to Aunt Hannah and + the “Talk to Young Wives”—no woman need hope for a waneless + honeymoon. + </p> + <p> + So chaotic and erratic had been the household service, and so quietly did + Billy slip into her new role, that it was not until the second meal after + the maid's departure that the master of the house discovered what had + happened. Then, as his wife rose to get some forgotten article, he + questioned, with uplifted eyebrows: + </p> + <p> + “Too good to wait upon us, is my lady now, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “My lady is waiting on you,” smiled Billy. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I see <i>this</i> lady is,” retorted Bertram, grimly; “but I mean + our real lady in the kitchen. Great Scott, Billy, how long are you going + to stand this?” + </p> + <p> + Billy tossed her head airily, though she shook in her shoes. Billy had + been dreading this moment. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not standing it. She's gone,” responded Billy, cheerfully, resuming + her seat. “Uncle William, sha'n't I give you some more pudding?” + </p> + <p> + “Gone, so soon?” groaned Bertram, as William passed his plate, with a + smiling nod. “Oh, well,” went on Bertram, resignedly, “she stayed longer + than the last one. When is the next one coming?” + </p> + <p> + “She's already here.” + </p> + <p> + Bertram frowned. + </p> + <p> + “Here? But—you served the dessert, and—” At something in + Billy's face, a quick suspicion came into his own. “Billy, you don't mean + that you—<i>you</i>—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she nodded brightly, “that's just what I mean. I'm the next one.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” exploded Bertram, wrathfully. “Oh, come, Billy, we've been all + over this before. You know I can't have it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you can. You've got to have it,” retorted Billy, still with that + disarming, airy cheerfulness. “Besides, 'twon't be half so bad as you + think. Wasn't that a good pudding to-night? Didn't you both come back for + more? Well, I made it.” + </p> + <p> + “Puddings!” ejaculated Bertram, with an impatient gesture. “Billy, as I've + said before, it takes something besides puddings to run this house.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know it does,” dimpled Billy, “and I've got Mrs. Durgin for that + part. She's coming twice a week, and more, if I need her. Why, dearie, you + don't know anything about how comfortable you're going to be! I'll leave + it to Uncle William if—” + </p> + <p> + But Uncle William had gone. Silently he had slipped from his chair and + disappeared. Uncle William, it might be mentioned in passing, had never + quite forgotten Aunt Hannah's fateful call with its dire revelations + concerning a certain unwanted, superfluous, third-party husband's brother. + Remembering this, there were times when he thought absence was both safest + and best. This was one of the times. + </p> + <p> + “But, Billy, dear,” still argued Bertram, irritably, “how can you? You + don't know how. You've had no experience.” + </p> + <p> + Billy threw back her shoulders. An ominous light came to her eyes. She was + no longer airily playful. + </p> + <p> + “That's exactly it, Bertram. I don't know how—but I'm going to + learn. I haven't had experience—but I'm going to get it. I <i>can't</i> + make a worse mess of it than we've had ever since Eliza went, anyway!” + </p> + <p> + “But if you'd get a maid—a good maid,” persisted Bertram, feebly. + </p> + <p> + “I had <i>one</i>—Mary Ellen. She was a good maid—until she + found out how little her mistress knew; then—well, you know what it + was then. Do you think I'd let that thing happen to me again? No, sir! I'm + going into training for—my next Mary Ellen!” And with a very + majestic air Billy rose from the table and began to clear away the dishes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVII. THE EFFICIENCY STAR—AND BILLY + </h2> + <p> + Billy was not a young woman that did things by halves. Long ago, in the + days of her childhood, her Aunt Ella had once said of her: “If only Billy + didn't go into things all over, so; but whether it's measles or mud pies, + I always know that she'll be the measliest or the muddiest of any child in + town!” It could not be expected, therefore, that Billy would begin to play + her new rôle now with any lack of enthusiasm. But even had she needed any + incentive, there was still ever ringing in her ears Bertram's accusing: + “If you'd tend to your husband and your home a little more—” Billy + still declared very emphatically that she had forgiven Bertram; but she + knew, in her heart, that she had not forgotten. + </p> + <p> + Certainly, as the days passed, it could not be said that Billy was not + tending to her husband and her home. From morning till night, now, she + tended to nothing else. She seldom touched her piano—save to dust it—and + she never touched her half-finished song-manuscript, long since banished + to the oblivion of the music cabinet. She made no calls except occasional + flying visits to the Annex, or to the pretty new home where Marie and + Cyril were now delightfully settled. The opera and the Symphony were over + for the season, but even had they not been, Billy could not have attended + them. She had no time. Surely she was not doing any “gallivanting” now, + she told herself sometimes, a little aggrievedly. + </p> + <p> + There was, indeed, no time. From morning until night Billy was busy, + flying from one task to another. Her ambition to have everything just + right was equalled only by her dogged determination to “just show them” + that she could do this thing. At first, of course, hampered as she was by + ignorance and inexperience, each task consumed about twice as much time as + was necessary. Yet afterwards, when accustomedness had brought its reward + of speed, there was still for Billy no time; for increased knowledge had + only opened the way to other paths, untrodden and alluring. Study of + cookbooks had led to the study of food values. Billy discovered suddenly + that potatoes, beef, onions, oranges, and puddings were something besides + vegetables, meat, fruit, and dessert. They possessed attributes known as + proteids, fats, and carbohydrates. Faint memories of long forgotten school + days hinted that these terms had been heard before; but never, Billy was + sure, had she fully realized what they meant. + </p> + <p> + It was at this juncture that Billy ran across a book entitled “Correct + Eating for Efficiency.” She bought it at once, and carried it home in + triumph. It proved to be a marvelous book. Billy had not read two chapters + before she began to wonder how the family had managed to live thus far + with any sort of success, in the face of their dense ignorance and her own + criminal carelessness concerning their daily bill of fare. + </p> + <p> + At dinner that night Billy told Bertram and William of her discovery, and, + with growing excitement, dilated on the wonderful good that it was to + bring to them. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you don't know, you can't imagine what a treasure it is!” she + exclaimed. “It gives a complete table for the exact balancing of food.” + </p> + <p> + “For what?” demanded Bertram, glancing up. + </p> + <p> + “The exact balancing of food; and this book says that's the biggest + problem that modern scientists have to solve.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” shrugged Bertram. “Well, you just balance my food to my hunger, + and I'll agree not to complain.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but, Bertram, it's serious, really,” urged Billy, looking genuinely + distressed. “Why, it says that what you eat goes to make up what you are. + It makes your vital energies. Your brain power and your body power come + from what you eat. Don't you see? If you're going to paint a picture you + need something different from what you would if you were going to—to + saw wood; and what this book tells is—is what I ought to give you to + make you do each one, I should think, from what I've read so far. Now + don't you see how important it is? What if I should give you the saw-wood + kind of a breakfast when you were just going up-stairs to paint all day? + And what if I should give Uncle William a—a soldier's breakfast when + all he is going to do is to go down on State Street and sit still all + day?” + </p> + <p> + “But—but, my dear,” began Uncle William, looking slightly worried, + “there's my eggs that I <i>always</i> have, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “For heaven's sake, Billy, what <i>have</i> you got hold of now?” demanded + Bertram, with just a touch of irritation. + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed merrily. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I suppose I didn't sound very logical,” she admitted. “But the book—you + just wait. It's in the kitchen. I'm going to get it.” And with laughing + eagerness she ran from the room. + </p> + <p> + In a moment she had returned, book in hand. + </p> + <p> + “Now listen. <i>This</i> is the real thing—not my garbled + inaccuracies. 'The food which we eat serves three purposes: it builds the + body substance, bone, muscle, etc., it produces heat in the body, and it + generates vital energy. Nitrogen in different chemical combinations + contributes largely to the manufacture of body substances; the fats + produce heat; and the starches and sugars go to make the vital energy. The + nitrogenous food elements we call proteins; the fats and oils, fats; and + the starches and sugars (because of the predominance of carbon), we call + carbohydrates. Now in selecting the diet for the day you should take care + to choose those foods which give the proteins, fats, and carbohydrates in + just the right proportion.'” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Billy!” groaned Bertram. + </p> + <p> + “But it's so, Bertram,” maintained Billy, anxiously. “And it's every bit + here. I don't have to guess at it at all. They even give the quantities of + calories of energy required for different sized men. I'm going to measure + you both to-morrow; and you must be weighed, too,” she continued, ignoring + the sniffs of remonstrance from her two listeners. “Then I'll know just + how many calories to give each of you. They say a man of average size and + weight, and sedentary occupation, should have at least 2,000 calories—and + some authorities say 3,000—in this proportion: proteins, 300 + calories, fats, 350 calories, carbohydrates, 1,350 calories. But you both + are taller than five feet five inches, and I should think you weighed more + than 145 pounds; so I can't tell just yet how many calories you will + need.” + </p> + <p> + “How many we will need, indeed!” ejaculated Bertram. + </p> + <p> + “But, my dear, you know I have to have my eggs,” began Uncle William + again, in a worried voice. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you do, dear; and you shall have them,” soothed Billy, + brightly. “It's only that I'll have to be careful and balance up the other + things for the day accordingly. Don't you see? Now listen. We'll see what + eggs are.” She turned the leaves rapidly. “Here's the food table. It's + lovely. It tells everything. I never saw anything so wonderful. A—b—c—d—e—here + we are. 'Eggs, scrambled or boiled, fats and proteins, one egg, 100.' If + it's poached it's only 50; but you like yours boiled, so we'll have to + reckon on the 100. And you always have two, so that means 200 calories in + fats and proteins. Now, don't you see? If you can't have but 300 proteins + and 350 fats all day, and you've already eaten 200 in your two eggs, + that'll leave just—er—450 for all the rest of the day,—of + fats and proteins, you understand. And you've no idea how fast that'll + count up. Why, just one serving of butter is 100 of fats, and eight + almonds is another, while a serving of lentils is 100 of proteins. So you + see how it'll go.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I see,” murmured Uncle William, casting a mournful glance about the + generously laden table, much as if he were bidding farewell to a departing + friend. “But if I should want more to eat—” He stopped helplessly, + and Bertram's aggrieved voice filled the pause. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Billy, if you think I'm going to be measured for an egg and + weighed for an almond, you're much mistaken; because I'm not. I want to + eat what I like, and as much as I like, whether it's six calories or six + thousand!” + </p> + <p> + Billy chuckled, but she raised her hands in pretended shocked protest. + </p> + <p> + “Six thousand! Mercy! Bertram, I don't know what would happen if you ate + that quantity; but I'm sure you couldn't paint. You'd just have to saw + wood and dig ditches to use up all that vital energy.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” scoffed Bertram. + </p> + <p> + “Besides, this is for <i>efficiency</i>,” went on Billy, with an earnest + air. “This man owns up that some may think a 2,000 calory ration is + altogether too small, and he advises such to begin with 3,000 or even + 3,500—graded, of course, according to a man's size, weight, and + occupation. But he says one famous man does splendid work on only 1,800 + calories, and another on even 1,600. But that is just a matter of chewing. + Why, Bertram, you have no idea what perfectly wonderful things chewing + does.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I've heard of that,” grunted Bertram; “ten chews to a cherry, and + sixty to a spoonful of soup. There's an old metronome up-stairs that Cyril + left. You might bring it down and set it going on the table—so many + ticks to a mouthful, I suppose. I reckon, with an incentive like that to + eat, just about two calories would do me. Eh, William?” + </p> + <p> + “Bertram! Now you're only making fun,” chided Billy; “and when it's really + serious, too. Now listen,” she admonished, picking up the book again. “'If + a man consumes a large amount of meat, and very few vegetables, his diet + will be too rich in protein, and too lacking in carbohydrates. On the + other hand, if he consumes great quantities of pastry, bread, butter, and + tea, his meals will furnish too much energy, and not enough building + material.' There, Bertram, don't you see?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I see,” teased Bertram. “William, better eat what you can + to-night. I foresee it's the last meal of just <i>food</i> we'll get for + some time. Hereafter we'll have proteins, fats, and carbohydrates made + into calory croquettes, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Bertram!” scolded Billy. + </p> + <p> + But Bertram would not be silenced. + </p> + <p> + “Here, just let me take that book,” he insisted, dragging the volume from + Billy's reluctant fingers. “Now, William, listen. Here's your breakfast + to-morrow morning: strawberries, 100 calories; whole-wheat bread, 75 + calories; butter, 100 calories (no second helping, mind you, or you'd ruin + the balance and something would topple); boiled eggs, 200 calories; cocoa, + 100 calories—which all comes to 570 calories. Sounds like an English + bill of fare with a new kind of foreign money, but 'tisn't, really, you + know. Now for luncheon you can have tomato soup, 50 calories; potato salad—that's + cheap, only 30 calories, and—” But Billy pulled the book away then, + and in righteous indignation carried it to the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + “You don't deserve anything to eat,” she declared with dignity, as she + returned to the dining-room. + </p> + <p> + “No?” queried Bertram, his eyebrows uplifted. “Well, as near as I can make + out we aren't going to get—much.” + </p> + <p> + But Billy did not deign to answer this. + </p> + <p> + In spite of Bertram's tormenting gibes, Billy did, for some days, arrange + her meals in accordance with the wonderful table of food given in “Correct + Eating for Efficiency.” To be sure, Bertram, whatever he found before him + during those days, anxiously asked whether he were eating fats, proteins, + or carbohydrates; and he worried openly as to the possibility of his + meal's producing one calory too much or too little, thus endangering his + “balance.” + </p> + <p> + Billy alternately laughed and scolded, to the unvarying good nature of her + husband. As it happened, however, even this was not for long, for Billy + ran across a magazine article on food adulteration; and this so filled her + with terror lest, in the food served, she were killing her family by slow + poison, that she forgot all about the proteins, fats, and carbohydrates. + Her talk these days was of formaldehyde, benzoate of soda, and salicylic + acid. + </p> + <p> + Very soon, too, Billy discovered an exclusive Back Bay school for + instruction in household economics and domestic hygiene. Billy + investigated it at once, and was immediately aflame with enthusiasm. She + told Bertram that it taught everything, <i>everything</i> she wanted to + know; and forthwith she enrolled herself as one of its most devoted + pupils, in spite of her husband's protests that she knew enough, more than + enough, already. This school attendance, to her consternation, Billy + discovered took added time; but in some way she contrived to find it to + take. + </p> + <p> + And so the days passed. Eliza's mother, though better, was still too ill + for her daughter to leave her. Billy, as the warm weather approached, + began to look pale and thin. Billy, to tell the truth, was working + altogether too hard; but she would not admit it, even to herself. At first + the novelty of the work, and her determination to conquer at all costs, + had given a fictitious strength to her endurance. Now that the novelty had + become accustomedness, and the conquering a surety, Billy discovered that + she had a back that could ache, and limbs that, at times, could almost + refuse to move from weariness. There was still, however, one spur that + never failed to urge her to fresh endeavor, and to make her, at least + temporarily, forget both ache and weariness; and that was the comforting + thought that now, certainly, even Bertram himself must admit that she was + tending to her home and her husband. + </p> + <p> + As to Bertram—Bertram, it is true, had at first uttered frequent and + vehement protests against his wife's absorption of both mind and body in + “that plaguy housework,” as he termed it. But as the days passed, and + blessed order superseded chaos, peace followed discord, and delicious, + well-served meals took the place of the horrors that had been called meals + in the past, he gradually accepted the change with tranquil satisfaction, + and forgot to question how it was brought about; though he did still, + sometimes, rebel because Billy was always too tired, or too busy, to go + out with him. Of late, however, he had not done even this so frequently, + for a new “Face of a Girl” had possessed his soul; and all his thoughts + and most of his time had gone to putting on canvas the vision of + loveliness that his mind's eye saw. + </p> + <p> + By June fifteenth the picture was finished. Bertram awoke then to his + surroundings. He found summer was upon him with no plans made for its + enjoyment. He found William had started West for a two weeks' business + trip. But what he did not find one day—at least at first—was + his wife, when he came home unexpectedly at four o'clock. And Bertram + especially wanted to find his wife that day, for he had met three people + whose words had disquieted him not a little. First, Aunt Hannah. She had + said: + </p> + <p> + “Bertram, where is Billy? She hasn't been out to the Annex for a week; and + the last time she was there she looked sick. I was real worried about + her.” + </p> + <p> + Cyril had been next. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Billy?” he had asked abruptly. “Marie says she hasn't seen her + for two weeks. Marie's afraid she's sick. She says Billy didn't look well + a bit, when she did see her.” + </p> + <p> + Calderwell had capped the climax. He had said: + </p> + <p> + “Great Scott, Henshaw, where have you been keeping yourself? And where's + your wife? Not one of us has caught more than a glimpse of her for weeks. + She hasn't sung with us, nor played for us, nor let us take her anywhere + for a month of Sundays. Even Miss Greggory says <i>she</i> hasn't seen + much of her, and that Billy always says she's too busy to go anywhere. But + Miss Greggory says she looks pale and thin, and that <i>she</i> thinks + she's worrying too much over running the house. I hope she isn't sick!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no, Billy isn't sick. Billy's all right,” Bertram had answered. He + had spoken lightly, nonchalantly, with an elaborate air of carelessness; + but after he had left Calderwell, he had turned his steps abruptly and a + little hastily toward home. + </p> + <p> + And he had not found Billy—at least, not at once. He had gone first + down into the kitchen and dining-room. He remembered then, uneasily, that + he had always looked for Billy in the kitchen and dining-room, of late. + To-day, however, she was not there. + </p> + <p> + On the kitchen table Bertram did see a book wide open, and, mechanically, + he picked it up. It was a much-thumbed cookbook, and it was open where two + once-blank pages bore his wife's handwriting. On the first page, under the + printed heading “Things to Remember,” he read these sentences: + </p> + <p> + “That rice swells till every dish in the house is full, and that spinach + shrinks till you can't find it. + </p> + <p> + “That beets boil dry if you look out the window. + </p> + <p> + “That biscuits which look as if they'd been mixed up with a rusty stove + poker haven't really been so, but have only got too much undissolved soda + in them.” + </p> + <p> + There were other sentences, but Bertram's eyes chanced to fall on the + opposite page where the “Things to Remember” had been changed to “Things + to Forget”; and here Billy had written just four words: “Burns,” “cuts,” + and “yesterday's failures.” + </p> + <p> + Bertram dropped the book then with a spasmodic clearing of his throat, and + hurriedly resumed his search. When he did find his wife, at last, he gave + a cry of dismay—she was on her own bed, huddled in a little heap, + and shaking with sobs. + </p> + <p> + “Billy! Why, Billy!” he gasped, striding to the bedside. + </p> + <p> + Billy sat up at once, and hastily wiped her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, is it you, B-Bertram? I didn't hear you come in. You—you s-said + you weren't coming till six o'clock!” she choked. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, what is the meaning of this?” + </p> + <p> + “N-nothing. I—I guess I'm just tired.” + </p> + <p> + “What have you been doing?” Bertram spoke sternly, almost sharply. He was + wondering why he had not noticed before the little hollows in his wife's + cheeks. “Billy, what have you been doing?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, n-nothing extra, only some sweeping, and cleaning out the + refrigerator.” + </p> + <p> + “Sweeping! Cleaning! <i>You!</i> I thought Mrs. Durgin did that.” + </p> + <p> + “She does. I mean she did. But she couldn't come. She broke her leg—fell + off the stepladder where she was three days ago. So I <i>had</i> to do it. + And to-day, someway, everything went wrong. I burned me, and I cut me, and + I used two sodas with not any cream of tartar, and I should think I didn't + know anything, not anything!” And down went Billy's head into the pillows + again in another burst of sobs. + </p> + <p> + With gentle yet uncompromising determination, Bertram gathered his wife + into his arms and carried her to the big chair. There, for a few minutes, + he soothed and petted her as if she were a tired child—which, + indeed, she was. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, this thing has got to stop,” he said then. There was a very + inexorable ring of decision in his voice. + </p> + <p> + “What thing?” + </p> + <p> + “This housework business.” + </p> + <p> + Billy sat up with a jerk. + </p> + <p> + “But, Bertram, it isn't fair. You can't—you mustn't—just + because of to-day! I <i>can</i> do it. I have done it. I've done it days + and days, and it's gone beautifully—even if they did say I + couldn't!” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't what?” + </p> + <p> + “Be an e-efficient housekeeper.” + </p> + <p> + “Who said you couldn't?” + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Hannah and K-Kate.” + </p> + <p> + Bertram said a savage word under his breath. + </p> + <p> + “Holy smoke, Billy! I didn't marry you for a cook or a scrub-lady. If you + <i>had</i> to do it, that would be another matter, of course; and if we + did have to do it, we wouldn't have a big house like this for you to do it + in. But I didn't marry for a cook, and I knew I wasn't getting one when I + married you.” + </p> + <p> + Billy bridled into instant wrath. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I like that, Bertram Henshaw! Can't I cook? Haven't I proved that I + can cook?” + </p> + <p> + Bertram laughed, and kissed the indignant lips till they quivered into an + unwilling smile. + </p> + <p> + “Bless your spunky little heart, of course you have! But that doesn't mean + that I want you to do it. You see, it so happens that you can do other + things, too; and I'd rather you did those. Billy, you haven't played to me + for a week, nor sung to me for a month. You're too tired every night to + talk, or read together, or go anywhere with me. I married for + companionship—not cooking and sweeping!” + </p> + <p> + Billy shook her head stubbornly. Her mouth settled into determined lines. + </p> + <p> + “That's all very well to say. You aren't hungry now, Bertram. But it's + different when you are, and they said 'twould be.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph! 'They' are Aunt Hannah and Kate, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—and the 'Talk to Young Wives.'” + </p> + <p> + “The w-what?” + </p> + <p> + Billy choked a little. She had forgotten that Bertram did not know about + the “Talk to Young Wives.” She wished that she had not mentioned the book, + but now that she had, she would make the best of it. She drew herself up + with dignity. + </p> + <p> + “It's a book; a very nice book. It says lots of things—that have + come true.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is that book? Let me see it, please.” + </p> + <p> + With visible reluctance Billy got down from her perch on Bertram's knee, + went to her desk and brought back the book. + </p> + <p> + Bertram regarded it frowningly, so frowningly that Billy hastened to its + defense. + </p> + <p> + “And it's true—what it says in there, and what Aunt Hannah and Kate + said. It <i>is</i> different when they're hungry! You said yourself if I'd + tend to my husband and my home a little more, and—” + </p> + <p> + Bertram looked up with unfeigned amazement. + </p> + <p> + “I said what?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + In a voice shaken with emotion, Billy repeated the fateful words. + </p> + <p> + “I never—when did I say that?” + </p> + <p> + “The night Uncle William and I came home from—Pete's.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment Bertram stared dumbly; then a shamed red swept to his + forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, <i>did</i> I say that? I ought to be shot if I did. But, Billy, + you said you'd forgiven me!” + </p> + <p> + “I did, dear—truly I did; but, don't you see?—it was true. I + <i>hadn't</i> tended to things. So I've been doing it since.” + </p> + <p> + A sudden comprehension illuminated Bertram's face. + </p> + <p> + “Heavens, Billy! And is that why you haven't been anywhere, or done + anything? Is that why Calderwell said to-day that you hadn't been with + them anywhere, and that—Great Scott, Billy! Did you think I was such + a selfish brute as that?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but when I was going with them I <i>was</i> following the book—I + thought,” quavered Billy; and hurriedly she turned the leaves to a + carefully marked passage. “It's there—about the outside interests. + See? I <i>was</i> trying to brush up against them, so that I wouldn't + interfere with your Art. Then, when you accused me of gallivanting off + with—” But Bertram swept her back into his arms, and not for some + minutes could Billy make a coherent speech again. + </p> + <p> + Then Bertram spoke. + </p> + <p> + “See here, Billy,” he exploded, a little shakily, “if I could get you off + somewhere on a desert island, where there weren't any Aunt Hannahs or + Kates, or Talks to Young Wives, I think there'd be a chance to make you + happy; but—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but there was truth in it,” interrupted Billy, sitting erect again. + “I <i>didn't</i> know how to run a house, and it was perfectly awful while + we were having all those dreadful maids, one after the other; and no woman + should be a wife who doesn't know—” + </p> + <p> + “All right, all right, dear,” interrupted Bertram, in his turn. “We'll + concede that point, if you like. But you <i>do</i> know now. You've got + the efficient housewife racket down pat even to the last calory your + husband should be fed; and I'll warrant there isn't a Mary Ellen in + Christendom who can find a spot of ignorance on you as big as a pinhead! + So we'll call that settled. What you need now is a good rest; and you're + going to have it, too. I'm going to have six Mary Ellens here to-morrow + morning. Six! Do you hear? And all you've got to do is to get your + gladdest rags together for a trip to Europe with me next month. Because + we're going. I shall get the tickets to-morrow, <i>after</i> I send the + six Mary Ellens packing up here. Now come, put on your bonnet. We're going + down town to dinner.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XVIII. BILLY TRIES HER HAND AT “MANAGING” + </h2> + <p> + Bertram did not engage six Mary Ellens the next morning, nor even one, as + it happened; for that evening, Eliza—who had not been unaware of + conditions at the Strata—telephoned to say that her mother was so + much better now she believed she could be spared to come to the Strata for + several hours each day, if Mrs. Henshaw would like to have her begin in + that way. + </p> + <p> + Billy agreed promptly, and declared herself as more than willing to put up + with such an arrangement. Bertram, it is true, when he heard of the plan, + rebelled, and asserted that what Billy needed was a rest, an entire rest + from care and labor. In fact, what he wanted her to do, he said, was to + gallivant—to gallivant all day long. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” Billy had laughed, coloring to the tips of her ears. “Besides, + as for the work, Bertram, with just you and me here, and with all my vast + experience now, and Eliza here for several hours every day, it'll be + nothing but play for this little time before we go away. You'll see!” + </p> + <p> + “All right, I'll <i>see</i>, then,” Bertram had nodded meaningly. “But + just make sure that it <i>is</i> play for you!” + </p> + <p> + “I will,” laughed Billy; and there the matter had ended. + </p> + <p> + Eliza began work the next day, and Billy did indeed soon find herself + “playing” under Bertram's watchful insistence. She resumed her music, and + brought out of exile the unfinished song. With Bertram she took drives and + walks; and every two or three days she went to see Aunt Hannah and Marie. + She was pleasantly busy, too, with plans for her coming trip; and it was + not long before even the remorseful Bertram had to admit that Billy was + looking and appearing quite like her old self. + </p> + <p> + At the Annex Billy found Calderwell and Arkwright, one day. They greeted + her as if she had just returned from a far country. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you aren't the stranger lady,” began Calderwell, looking frankly + pleased to see her. “We'd thought of advertising in the daily press + somewhat after this fashion: 'Lost, strayed, or stolen, one Billy; + comrade, good friend, and kind cheerer-up of lonely hearts. Any + information thankfully received by her bereft, sorrowing friends.'” + </p> + <p> + Billy joined in the laugh that greeted this sally, but Arkwright noticed + that she tried to change the subject from her own affairs to a discussion + of the new song on Alice Greggory's piano. Calderwell, however, was not to + be silenced. + </p> + <p> + “The last I heard of this elusive Billy,” he resumed, with teasing + cheerfulness, “she was running down a certain lost calory that had slipped + away from her husband's breakfast, and—” + </p> + <p> + Billy wheeled sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Where did you get hold of that?” she demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I didn't,” returned the man, defensively. “I never got hold of it at + all. I never even saw the calory—though, for that matter, I don't + think I should know one if I did see it! What we feared was, that, in + hunting the lost calory, you had lost yourself, and—” But Billy + would hear no more. With her disdainful nose in the air she walked to the + piano. + </p> + <p> + “Come, Mr. Arkwright,” she said with dignity. “Let's try this song.” + </p> + <p> + Arkwright rose at once and accompanied her to the piano. + </p> + <p> + They had sung the song through twice when Billy became uneasily aware + that, on the other side of the room, Calderwell and Alice Greggory were + softly chuckling over something they had found in a magazine. Billy + frowned, and twitched the corners of a pile of music, with restless + fingers. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder if Alice hasn't got some quartets here somewhere,” she murmured, + her disapproving eyes still bent on the absorbed couple across the room. + </p> + <p> + Arkwright was silent. Billy, throwing a hurried glance into his face, + thought she detected a somber shadow in his eyes. She thought, too, she + knew why it was there. So possessed had Billy been, during the early + winter, of the idea that her special mission in life was to inaugurate and + foster a love affair between disappointed Mr. Arkwright and lonely Alice + Greggory, that now she forgot, for a moment, that Arkwright himself was + quite unaware of her efforts. She thought only that the present shadow on + his face must be caused by the same thing that brought worry to her own + heart—the manifest devotion of Calderwell to Alice Greggory just now + across the room. Instinctively, therefore, as to a coworker in a common + cause, she turned a disturbed face to the man at her side. + </p> + <p> + “It is, indeed, high time that I looked after something besides lost + calories,” she said significantly. Then, at the evident uncomprehension in + Arkwright's face, she added: “Has it been going on like this—very + long?” + </p> + <p> + Arkwright still, apparently, did not understand. + </p> + <p> + “Has—what been going on?” he questioned. + </p> + <p> + “That—over there,” answered Billy, impatiently, scarcely knowing + whether to be more irritated at the threatened miscarriage of her + cherished plans, or at Arkwright's (to her) wilfully blind insistence on + her making her meaning more plain. “Has it been going on long—such + utter devotion?” + </p> + <p> + As she asked the question Billy turned and looked squarely into + Arkwright's face. She saw, therefore, the great change that came to it, as + her meaning became clear to him. Her first feeling was one of shocked + realization that Arkwright had, indeed, been really blind. Her second—she + turned away her eyes hurriedly from what she thought she saw in the man's + countenance. + </p> + <p> + With an assumedly gay little cry she sprang to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, what are you two children chuckling over?” she demanded, + crossing the room abruptly. “Didn't you hear me say I wanted you to come + and sing a quartet?” + </p> + <p> + Billy blamed herself very much for what she called her stupidity in so + baldly summoning Arkwright's attention to Calderwell's devotion to Alice + Greggory. She declared that she ought to have known better, and she asked + herself if this were the way she was “furthering matters” between Alice + Greggory and Arkwright. + </p> + <p> + Billy was really seriously disturbed. She had never quite forgiven herself + for being so blind to Arkwright's feeling for herself during those days + when he had not known of her engagement to Bertram. She had never + forgotten, either, the painful scene when he had hopefully told of his + love, only to be met with her own shocked repudiation. For long weeks + after that, his face had haunted her. She had wished, oh, so ardently, + that she could do something in some way to bring him happiness. When, + therefore, it had come to her knowledge afterward that he was frequently + with his old friend, Alice Greggory, she had been so glad. It was very + easy then to fan hope into conviction that here, in this old friend, he + had found sweet balm for his wounded heart; and she determined at once to + do all that she could do to help. So very glowing, indeed, was her + eagerness in the matter, that it looked suspiciously as if she thought, + could she but bring this thing about, that old scores against herself + would be erased. + </p> + <p> + Billy told herself, virtuously, however, that not only for Arkwright did + she desire this marriage to take place, but for Alice Greggory. In the + very nature of things Alice would one day be left alone. She was poor, and + not very strong. She sorely needed the shielding love and care of a good + husband. What more natural than that her old-time friend and + almost-sweetheart, M. J. Arkwright, should be that good husband? + </p> + <p> + That really it was more Arkwright and less Alice that was being + considered, however, was proved when the devotion of Calderwell began to + be first suspected, then known for a fact. Billy's distress at this turn + of affairs indicated very plainly that it was not just a husband, but a + certain one particular husband that she desired for Alice Greggory. All + the more disturbed was she, therefore, when to-day, seeing her three + friends together again for the first time for some weeks, she discovered + increased evidence that her worst fears were to be realized. It was to be + Alice and Calderwell, not Alice and Arkwright. Arkwright was again to be + disappointed in his dearest hopes. + </p> + <p> + Telling herself indignantly that it could not be, it <i>should</i> not be, + Billy determined to remain after the men had gone, and speak to Alice. + Just what she would say she did not know. Even what she could say, she was + not sure. But certainly there must be something, some little thing that + she could say, which would open Alice's eyes to what she was doing, and + what she ought to do. + </p> + <p> + It was in this frame of mind, therefore, that Billy, after Arkwright and + Calderwell had gone, spoke to Alice. She began warily, with assumed + nonchalance. + </p> + <p> + “I believe Mr. Arkwright sings better every time I hear him.” + </p> + <p> + There was no answer. Alice was sorting music at the piano. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you think so?” Billy raised her voice a little. + </p> + <p> + Alice turned almost with a start. + </p> + <p> + “What's that? Oh, yes. Well, I don't know; maybe I do.” + </p> + <p> + “You would—if you didn't hear him any oftener than I do,” laughed + Billy. “But then, of course you do hear him oftener.” + </p> + <p> + “I? Oh, no, indeed. Not so very much oftener.” Alice had turned back to + her music. There was a slight embarrassment in her manner. “I wonder—where—that + new song—is,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + Billy, who knew very well where the song lay, was not to be diverted. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! As if Mr. Arkwright wasn't always telling how Alice liked this + song, and didn't like that one, and thought the other the best yet! I + don't believe he sings a thing that he doesn't first sing to you. For that + matter, I fancy he asks your opinion of everything, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Billy, he doesn't!” exclaimed Alice, a deep red flaming into her + cheeks. “You know he doesn't.” + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed gleefully. She had not been slow to note the color in her + friend's face, or to ascribe to it the one meaning she wished to ascribe + to it. So sure, indeed, was she now that her fears had been groundless, + that she flung caution to the winds. + </p> + <p> + “Ho! My dear Alice, you can't expect us all to be blind,” she teased. + “Besides, we all think it's such a lovely arrangement that we're just glad + to see it. He's such a fine fellow, and we like him so much! We couldn't + ask for a better husband for you than Mr. Arkwright, and—” From + sheer amazement at the sudden white horror in Alice Greggory's face, Billy + stopped short. “Why, Alice!” she faltered then. + </p> + <p> + With a visible effort Alice forced her trembling lips to speak. + </p> + <p> + “My husband—<i>Mr. Arkwright!</i> Why, Billy, you couldn't have seen—you + haven't seen—there's nothing you <i>could</i> see! He isn't—he + wasn't—he can't be! We—we're nothing but friends, Billy, just + good friends!” + </p> + <p> + Billy, though dismayed, was still not quite convinced. + </p> + <p> + “Friends! Nonsense! When—” + </p> + <p> + But Alice interrupted feverishly. Alice, in an agony of fear lest the true + state of affairs should be suspected, was hiding behind a bulwark of + pride. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Billy, please! Say no more. You're quite wrong, entirely. You'll + never, never hear of my marrying Mr. Arkwright. As I said before, we're + friends—the best of friends; that is all. We couldn't be anything + else, possibly!” + </p> + <p> + Billy, plainly discomfited, fell back; but she threw a sharp glance into + her friend's flushed countenance. + </p> + <p> + “You mean—because of—Hugh Calderwell?” she demanded. Then, for + the second time that afternoon throwing discretion to the winds, she went + on plaintively: “You won't listen, of course. Girls in love never do. Hugh + is all right, and I like him; but there's more real solid worth in Mr. + Arkwright's little finger than there is in Hugh's whole self. And—” + But a merry peal of laughter from Alice Greggory interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “And, pray, do you think I'm in love with Hugh Calderwell?” she demanded. + There was a curious note of something very like relief in her voice. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I didn't know,” began Billy, uncertainly. + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll tell you now,” smiled Alice. “I'm not. Furthermore, perhaps + it's just as well that you should know right now that I don't intend to + marry—ever.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Alice!” + </p> + <p> + “No.” There was determination, and there was still that curious note of + relief in the girl's voice. It was as if, somewhere, a great danger had + been avoided. “I have my music. That is enough. I'm not intending to + marry.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but Alice, while I will own up I'm glad it isn't Hugh Calderwell, + there <i>is</i> Mr. Arkwright, and I did hope—” But Alice shook her + head and turned resolutely away. At that moment, too, Aunt Hannah came in + from the street, so Billy could say no more. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hannah dropped herself a little wearily into a chair. + </p> + <p> + “I've just come from Marie's,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “How is she?” asked Billy. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hannah smiled, and raised her eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + “Well, just now she's quite exercised over another rattle—from her + cousin out West, this time. There were four little silver bells on it, and + she hasn't got any janitor's wife now to give it to.” + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed softly, but Aunt Hannah had more to say. + </p> + <p> + “You know she isn't going to allow any toys but Teddy bears and woolly + lambs, of which, I believe, she has already bought quite an assortment. + She says they don't rattle or squeak. I declare, when I see the woolen + pads and rubber hushers that that child has put everywhere all over the + house, I don't know whether to laugh or cry. And she's so worried! It + seems Cyril must needs take just this time to start composing a new opera + or symphony, or something; and never before has she allowed him to be + interrupted by anything on such an occasion. But what he'll do when the + baby comes she says she doesn't know, for she says she can't—she + just can't keep it from bothering him some, she's afraid. As if any opera + or symphony that ever lived was of more consequence than a man's own + child!” finished Aunt Hannah, with an indignant sniff, as she reached for + her shawl. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XIX. A TOUGH NUT TO CRACK FOR CYRIL + </h2> + <p> + It was early in the forenoon of the first day of July that Eliza told her + mistress that Mrs. Stetson was asking for her at the telephone. Eliza's + face was not a little troubled. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid, maybe, it isn't good news,” she stammered, as her mistress + hurriedly arose. “She's at Mr. Cyril Henshaw's—Mrs. Stetson is—and + she seemed so terribly upset about something that there was no making real + sense out of what she said. But she asked for you, and said to have you + come quick.” + </p> + <p> + Billy, her own face paling, was already at the telephone. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Aunt Hannah. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, if you <i>can</i>, come up here, + please. You must come! <i>Can't</i> you come?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, of course. But—but—<i>Marie!</i> The—the <i>baby!</i>” + </p> + <p> + A faint groan came across the wires. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy! It isn't <i>the</i> baby. It's <i>babies!</i> + It's twins—boys. Cyril has them now—the nurse hasn't got here + yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Twins! <i>Cyril</i> has them!” broke in Billy, hysterically. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and they're crying something terrible. We've sent for a second nurse + to come, too, of course, but she hasn't got here yet, either. And those + babies—if you could hear them! That's what we want you for, to—” + </p> + <p> + But Billy was almost laughing now. + </p> + <p> + “All right, I'll come out—and hear them,” she called a bit wildly, + as she hung up the receiver. + </p> + <p> + Some little time later, a palpably nervous maid admitted Billy to the home + of Mr. and Mrs. Cyril Henshaw. Even as the door was opened, Billy heard + faintly, but unmistakably, the moaning wails of two infants. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Stetson says if you will please to help Mr. Henshaw with the + babies,” stammered the maid, after the preliminary questions and answers. + “I've been in when I could, and they're all right, only they're crying. + They're in his den. We had to put them as far away as possible—their + crying worried Mrs. Henshaw so.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I see,” murmured Billy. “I'll go to them at once. No, don't trouble + to come. I know the way. Just tell Mrs. Stetson I'm here, please,” she + finished, as she tossed her hat and gloves on to the hall table, and + turned to go upstairs. + </p> + <p> + Billy's feet made no sound on the soft rugs. The crying, however, grew + louder and louder as she approached the den. Softly she turned the knob + and pushed open the door. She stopped short, then, at what she saw. + </p> + <p> + Cyril had not heard her, nor seen her. His back was partly toward the + door. His coat was off, and his hair stood fiercely on end as if a nervous + hand had ruffled it. His usually pale face was very red, and his forehead + showed great drops of perspiration. He was on his feet, hovering over the + couch, at each end of which lay a rumpled roll of linen, lace, and + flannel, from which emerged a prodigiously puckered little face, two + uncertainly waving rose-leaf fists, and a wail of protesting rage that was + not uncertain in the least. + </p> + <p> + In one hand Cyril held a Teddy bear, in the other his watch, dangling from + its fob chain. Both of these he shook feebly, one after the other, above + the tiny faces. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush,” he begged + agitatedly. + </p> + <p> + In the doorway Billy clapped her hands to her lips and stifled a laugh. + Billy knew, of course, that what she should do was to go forward at once, + and help this poor, distracted man; but Billy, just then, was not doing + what she knew she ought to do. + </p> + <p> + With a muttered ejaculation (which Billy, to her sorrow, could not catch) + Cyril laid down the watch and flung the Teddy bear aside. Then, in very + evident despair, he gingerly picked up one of the rumpled rolls of + flannel, lace, and linen, and held it straight out before him. After a + moment's indecision he began awkwardly to jounce it, teeter it, rock it + back and forth, and to pat it jerkily. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush,” he begged again, + frantically. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps it was the change of position; perhaps it was the novelty of the + motion, perhaps it was only utter weariness, or lack of breath. Whatever + the cause, the wailing sobs from the bundle in his arms dwindled suddenly + to a gentle whisper, then ceased altogether. + </p> + <p> + With a ray of hope illuminating his drawn countenance, Cyril carefully + laid the baby down and picked up the other. Almost confidently now he + began the jouncing and teetering and rocking as before. + </p> + <p> + “There, there! Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush,” he + chanted again. + </p> + <p> + This time he was not so successful. Perhaps he had lost his skill. Perhaps + it was merely the world-old difference in babies. At all events, this + infant did not care for jerks and jounces, and showed it plainly by + emitting loud and yet louder wails of rage—wails in which his + brother on the couch speedily joined. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come, come, pretty baby, good baby, hush, hush—<i>confound it</i>, + HUSH, I say!” exploded the frightened, weary, baffled, distracted man, + picking up the other baby, and trying to hold both his sons at once. + </p> + <p> + Billy hurried forward then, tearfully, remorsefully, her face all + sympathy, her arms all tenderness. + </p> + <p> + “Here, Cyril, let me help you,” she cried. + </p> + <p> + Cyril turned abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “Thank God, <i>some</i> one's come,” he groaned, holding out both the + babies, with an exuberance of generosity. “Billy, you've saved my life!” + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed tremulously. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I've come, Cyril, and I'll help every bit I can; but I don't know a + thing—not a single thing about them myself. Dear me, aren't they + cunning? But, Cyril, do they always cry so?” + </p> + <p> + The father-of-an-hour drew himself stiffly erect. + </p> + <p> + “Cry? What do you mean? Why shouldn't they cry?” he demanded indignantly. + “I want you to understand that Doctor Brown said those were A number I + fine boys! Anyhow, I guess there's no doubt they've got lungs all right,” + he added, with a grim smile, as he pulled out his handkerchief and drew it + across his perspiring brow. + </p> + <p> + Billy did not have an opportunity to show Cyril how much or how little she + knew about babies, for in another minute the maid had appeared with the + extra nurse; and that young woman, with trained celerity and easy + confidence, assumed instant command, and speedily had peace and order + restored. + </p> + <p> + Cyril, freed from responsibility, cast longing eyes, for a moment, upon + his work; but the next minute, with a despairing glance about him, he + turned and fled precipitately. + </p> + <p> + Billy, following the direction of his eyes, suppressed a smile. On the top + of Cyril's manuscript music on the table lay a hot-water bottle. Draped + over the back of his favorite chair was a pink-bordered baby blanket. On + the piano-stool rested a beribboned and beruffled baby's toilet basket. + From behind the sofa pillow leered ridiculously the Teddy bear, just as it + had left Cyril's desperate hand. + </p> + <p> + No wonder, indeed, that Billy smiled. Billy was thinking of what Marie had + said not a week before: + </p> + <p> + “I shall keep the baby, of course, in the nursery. I've been in homes + where they've had baby things strewn from one end of the house to the + other; but it won't be that way here. In the first place, I don't believe + in it; but, even if I did, I'd have to be careful on account of Cyril. + Imagine Cyril's trying to write his music with a baby in the room! No! I + shall keep the baby in the nursery, if possible; but wherever it is, it + won't be anywhere near Cyril's den, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + Billy suppressed many a smile during the days that immediately followed + the coming of the twins. Some of the smiles, however, refused to be + suppressed. They became, indeed, shamelessly audible chuckles. + </p> + <p> + Billy was to sail the tenth, and, naturally, during those early July days, + her time was pretty much occupied with her preparations for departure; but + nothing could keep her from frequent, though short, visits to the home of + her brother-in-law. + </p> + <p> + The twins were proving themselves to be fine, healthy boys. Two trained + maids, and two trained nurses ruled the household with a rod of iron. As + to Cyril—Billy declared that Cyril was learning something every day + of his life now. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, he's learning things,” she said to Aunt Hannah, one morning; + “lots of things. For instance: he has his breakfast now, not when he wants + it, but when the maid wants to give it to him—which is precisely at + eight o'clock every morning. So he's learning punctuality. And for the + first time in his life he has discovered the astounding fact that there + are several things more important in the world than is the special piece + of music he happens to be composing—chiefly the twins' bath, the + twins' nap, the twins' airing, and the twins' colic.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hannah laughed, though she frowned, too. + </p> + <p> + “But, surely, Billy, with two nurses and the maids, Cyril doesn't have to—to—” + She came to a helpless pause. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” laughed Billy; “Cyril doesn't have to really attend to any of + those things—though I have seen each of the nurses, at different + times, unhesitatingly thrust a twin into his arms and bid him hold the + child till she comes back. But it's this way. You see, Marie must be kept + quiet, and the nursery is very near her room. It worries her terribly when + either of the children cries. Besides, the little rascals have apparently + fixed up some sort of labor-union compact with each other, so that if one + cries for something or nothing, the other promptly joins in and helps. So + the nurses have got into the habit of picking up the first disturber of + the peace, and hurrying him to quarters remote; and Cyril's den being the + most remote of all, they usually fetch up there.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean—they take those babies into Cyril's den—<i>now</i>?” + Even Aunt Hannah was plainly aghast. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” twinkled Billy. “I fancy their Hygienic Immaculacies approved of + Cyril's bare floors, undraped windows, and generally knick-knackless + condition. Anyhow, they've made his den a sort of—of annex to the + nursery.” + </p> + <p> + “But—but Cyril! What does he say?” stammered the dumfounded Aunt + Hannah. “Think of Cyril's standing a thing like that! Doesn't he do + anything—or say anything?” + </p> + <p> + Billy smiled, and lifted her brows quizzically. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Aunt Hannah, did you ever know <i>many</i> people to have the + courage to 'say things' to one of those becapped, beaproned, bespotless + creatures of loftily superb superiority known as trained nurses? Besides, + you wouldn't recognize Cyril now. Nobody would. He's as meek as Moses, and + has been ever since his two young sons were laid in his reluctant, + trembling arms. He breaks into a cold sweat at nothing, and moves about + his own home as if he were a stranger and an interloper, endured merely on + sufferance in this abode of strange women and strange babies.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” scoffed Aunt Hannah. + </p> + <p> + “But it's so,” maintained Billy, merrily. “Now, for instance. You know + Cyril always has been in the habit of venting his moods on the piano (just + as I do, only more so) by playing exactly as he feels. Well, as near as I + can gather, he was at his usual trick the next day after the twins + arrived; and you can imagine about what sort of music it would be, after + what he had been through the preceding forty-eight hours. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I don't know exactly what happened, but Julia—Marie's + second maid, you know—tells the story. She's been with them long + enough to know something of the way the whole household always turns on + the pivot of the master's whims; so she fully appreciated the situation. + She says she heard him begin to play, and that she never heard such queer, + creepy, shivery music in her life; but that he hadn't been playing five + minutes before one of the nurses came into the living-room where Julia was + dusting, and told her to tell whoever was playing to stop that dreadful + noise, as they wanted to take the twins in there for their nap. + </p> + <p> + “'But I didn't do it, ma'am,' Julia says. 'I wa'n't lookin' for losin' my + place, an' I let the young woman do the job herself. An' she done it, pert + as you please. An' jest as I was seekin' a hidin'-place for the explosion, + if Mr. Henshaw didn't come out lookin' a little wild, but as meek as a + lamb; an' when he sees me he asked wouldn't I please get him a cup of + coffee, good an' strong. An' I got it.' + </p> + <p> + “So you see,” finished Billy, “Cyril is learning things—lots of + things.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my grief and conscience! I should say he was,” half-shivered Aunt + Hannah. “<i>Cyril</i> looking meek as a lamb, indeed!” + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed merrily. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it must be a new experience—for Cyril. For a man whose daily + existence for years has been rubber-heeled and woolen-padded, and whose + family from boyhood has stood at attention and saluted if he so much as + looked at them, it must be quite a change, as things are now. However, + it'll be different, of course, when Marie is on her feet again.” + </p> + <p> + “Does she know at all how things are going?” + </p> + <p> + “Not very much, as yet, though I believe she has begun to worry some. She + confided to me one day that she was glad, of course, that she had two + darling babies, instead of one; but that she was afraid it might be hard, + just at first, to teach them both at once to be quiet; for she was afraid + that while she was teaching one, the other would be sure to cry, or do + something noisy.” + </p> + <p> + “Do something noisy, indeed!” ejaculated Aunt Hannah. + </p> + <p> + “As for the real state of affairs, Marie doesn't dream that Cyril's sacred + den is given over to Teddy bears and baby blankets. All is, I hope she'll + be measurably strong before she does find it out,” laughed Billy, as she + rose to go. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XX. ARKWRIGHT'S EYES ARE OPENED + </h2> + <p> + William came back from his business trip the eighth of July, and on the + ninth Billy and Bertram went to New York. Eliza's mother was so well now + that Eliza had taken up her old quarters in the Strata, and the household + affairs were once more running like clockwork. Later in the season William + would go away for a month's fishing trip, and the house would be closed. + </p> + <p> + Mr. and Mrs. Bertram Henshaw were not expected to return until the first + of October; but with Eliza to look after the comfort of William, the + mistress of the house did no worrying. Ever since Pete's going, Eliza had + said that she preferred to be the only maid, with a charwoman to come in + for the heavier work; and to this arrangement her mistress had willingly + consented, for the present. + </p> + <p> + Marie and the babies were doing finely, and Aunt Hannah's health, and + affairs at the Annex, were all that could be desired. As Billy, indeed, + saw it, there was only one flaw to mar her perfect content on this holiday + trip with Bertram, and that was her disappointment over the very evident + disaster that had come to her cherished matrimonial plans for Arkwright + and Alice Greggory. She could not forget Arkwright's face that day at the + Annex, when she had so foolishly called his attention to Calderwell's + devotion; and she could not forget, either, Alice Greggory's very obvious + perturbation a little later, and her suspiciously emphatic assertion that + she had no intention of marrying any one, certainly not Arkwright. As + Billy thought of all this now, she could not but admit that it did look + dark for Arkwright—poor Arkwright, whom she, more than any one else + in the world, perhaps, had a special reason for wishing to see happily + married. + </p> + <p> + There was, then, this one cloud on Billy's horizon as the big boat that + was to bear her across the water steamed down the harbor that beautiful + July day. + </p> + <p> + As it chanced, naturally, perhaps, not only was Billy thinking of + Arkwright that morning, but Arkwright was thinking of Billy. + </p> + <p> + Arkwright had thought frequently of Billy during the last few days, + particularly since that afternoon meeting at the Annex when the four had + renewed their old good times together. Up to that day Arkwright had been + trying not to think of Billy. He had been “fighting his tiger skin.” + Sternly he had been forcing himself to meet her, to see her, to talk with + her, to sing with her, or to pass her by—all with the indifference + properly expected to be shown in association with Mrs. Bertram Henshaw, + another man's wife. He had known, of course, that deep down in his heart + he loved her, always had loved her, and always would love her. Hopelessly + and drearily he accepted this as a fact even while with all his might + fighting that tiger skin. So sure was he, indeed, of this, so implicitly + had he accepted it as an unalterable certainty, that in time even his + efforts to fight it became almost mechanical and unconscious in their + stern round of forced indifference. + </p> + <p> + Then came that day at the Annex—and the discovery: the discovery + which he had made when Billy called his attention to Calderwell and Alice + Greggory across the room in the corner; the discovery which had come with + so blinding a force, and which even now he was tempted to question as to + its reality; the discovery that not Billy Neilson, nor Mrs. Bertram + Henshaw, nor even the tender ghost of a lost love held the center of his + heart—but Alice Greggory. + </p> + <p> + The first intimation of all this had come with his curious feeling of + unreasoning hatred and blind indignation toward Calderwell as, through + Billy's eyes, he had seen the two together. Then had come the overwhelming + longing to pick up Alice Greggory and run off with her—somewhere, + anywhere, so that Calderwell could not follow. + </p> + <p> + At once, however, he had pulled himself up short with the mental cry of + “Absurd!” What was it to him if Calderwell did care for Alice Greggory? + Surely he himself was not in love with the girl. He was in love with + Billy; that is— + </p> + <p> + It was all confusion then, in his mind, and he was glad indeed when he + could leave the house. He wanted to be alone. He wanted to think. He must, + in some way, thrash out this astounding thing that had come to him. + </p> + <p> + Arkwright did not visit the Annex again for some days. Until he was more + nearly sure of himself and of his feelings, he did not wish to see Alice + Greggory. It was then that he began to think of Billy, deliberately, + purposefully, for it must be, of course, that he had made a mistake, he + told himself. It must be that he did, really, still care for Billy—though + of course he ought not to. + </p> + <p> + Arkwright made another discovery then. He learned that, however + deliberately he started in to think of Billy, he ended every time in + thinking of Alice. He thought of how good she had been to him, and of how + faithful she had been in helping him to fight his love for Billy. Just + here he decided, for a moment, that probably, after all, his feeling of + anger against Calderwell was merely the fear of losing this helpful + comradeship that he so needed. Even with himself, however, Arkwright could + not keep up this farce long, and very soon he admitted miserably that it + was not the comradeship of Alice Greggory that he wanted or needed, but + the love. + </p> + <p> + He knew it now. No longer was there any use in beating about the bush. He + did love Alice Greggory; but so curiously and unbelievably stupid had he + been that he had not found it out until now. And now it was too late. Had + not even Billy called his attention to the fact of Calderwell's devotion? + Besides, had not he himself, at the very first, told Calderwell that he + might have a clear field? + </p> + <p> + Fool that he had been to let another thus lightly step in and win from + under his very nose what might have been his if he had but known his own + mind before it was too late! + </p> + <p> + But was it, after all, quite too late? He and Alice were old friends. Away + back in their young days in their native town they had been, indeed, + almost sweethearts, in a boy-and-girl fashion. It would not have taken + much in those days, he believed, to have made the relationship more + interesting. But changes had come. Alice had left town, and for years they + had drifted apart. Then had come Billy, and Billy had found Alice, thus + bringing about the odd circumstance of their renewing of acquaintanceship. + Perhaps, at that time, if he had not already thought he cared for Billy, + there would have been something more than acquaintanceship. + </p> + <p> + But he <i>had</i> thought he cared for Billy all these years; and now, at + this late day, to wake up and find that he cared for Alice! A pretty mess + he had made of things! Was he so inconstant then, so fickle? Did he not + know his own mind five minutes at a time? What would Alice Greggory think, + even if he found the courage to tell her? What could she think? What could + anybody think? + </p> + <p> + Arkwright fairly ground his teeth in impotent wrath—and he did not + know whether he were the most angry that he did not love Billy, or that he + had loved Billy, or that he loved somebody else now. + </p> + <p> + It was while he was in this unenviable frame of mind that he went to see + Alice. Not that he had planned definitely to speak to her of his + discovery, nor yet that he had planned not to. He had, indeed, planned + nothing. For a man usually so decided as to purpose and energetic as to + action, he was in a most unhappy state of uncertainty and changeableness. + One thing only was unmistakably clear to him, and that was that he must + see Alice. + </p> + <p> + For months, now, he had taken to Alice all his hopes and griefs, + perplexities and problems; and never had he failed to find comfort in the + shape of sympathetic understanding and wise counsel. To Alice, therefore, + now he turned as a matter of course, telling himself vaguely that, + perhaps, after he had seen Alice, he would feel better. + </p> + <p> + Just how intimately this particular problem of his concerned Alice + herself, he did not stop to realize. He did not, indeed, think of it at + all from Alice's standpoint—until he came face to face with the girl + in the living-room at the Annex. Then, suddenly, he did. His manner became + at once, consequently, full of embarrassment and quite devoid of its usual + frank friendliness. + </p> + <p> + As it happened, this was perhaps the most unfortunate thing that could + have occurred, so far as it concerned the attitude of Alice Greggory, for + thereby innumerable tiny sparks of suspicion that had been tormenting the + girl for days were instantly fanned into consuming flames of conviction. + </p> + <p> + Alice had not been slow to note Arkwright's prolonged absence from the + Annex. Coming as it did so soon after her most disconcerting talk with + Billy in regard to her own relations with him, it had filled her with + frightened questionings. + </p> + <p> + If Billy had seen things to make her think of linking their names + together, perhaps Arkwright himself had heard some such idea put forth + somewhere, and that was why he was staying away—to show the world + that there was no foundation for such rumors. Perhaps he was even doing it + to show <i>her</i> that— + </p> + <p> + Even in her thoughts Alice could scarcely bring herself to finish the + sentence. That Arkwright should ever suspect for a moment that she cared + for him was intolerable. Painfully conscious as she was that she did care + for him, it was easy to fear that others must be conscious of it, too. Had + she not already proof that Billy suspected it? Why, then, might not it be + quite possible, even probable, that Arkwright suspected it, also; and, + because he did suspect it, had decided that it would be just as well, + perhaps, if he did not call so often. + </p> + <p> + In spite of Alice's angry insistence to herself that, after all, this + could not be the case—that the man <i>knew</i> she understood he + still loved Billy—she could not help fearing, in the face of + Arkwright's unusual absence, that it might yet be true. When, therefore, + he finally did appear, only to become at once obviously embarrassed in her + presence, her fears instantly became convictions. It was true, then. The + man did believe she cared for him, and he had been trying to teach her—to + save her. + </p> + <p> + To teach her! To save her, indeed! Very well, he should see! And + forthwith, from that moment, Alice Greggory's chief reason for living + became to prove to Mr. M. J. Arkwright that he needed not to teach her, to + save her, nor yet to sympathize with her. + </p> + <p> + “How do you do?” she greeted him, with a particularly bright smile. “I'm + sure I <i>hope</i> you are well, such a beautiful day as this.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I'm well, I suppose. Still, I have felt better in my life,” + smiled Arkwright, with some constraint. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'm sorry,” murmured the girl, striving so hard to speak with + impersonal unconcern that she did not notice the inaptness of her reply. + </p> + <p> + “Eh? Sorry I've felt better, are you?” retorted Arkwright, with nervous + humor. Then, because he was embarrassed, he said the one thing he had + meant not to say: “Don't you think I'm quite a stranger? It's been some + time since I've been here.” + </p> + <p> + Alice, smarting under the sting of what she judged to be the only possible + cause for his embarrassment, leaped to this new opportunity to show her + lack of interest. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, has it?” she murmured carelessly. “Well, I don't know but it has, now + that I come to think of it.” + </p> + <p> + Arkwright frowned gloomily. A week ago he would have tossed back a + laughingly aggrieved remark as to her unflattering indifference to his + presence. Now he was in no mood for such joking. It was too serious a + matter with him. + </p> + <p> + “You've been busy, no doubt, with—other matters,” he presumed + forlornly, thinking of Calderwell. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I have been busy,” assented the girl. “One is always happier, I + think, to be busy. Not that I meant that I needed the work to <i>be</i> + happy,” she added hastily, in a panic lest he think she had a consuming + sorrow to kill. + </p> + <p> + “No, of course not,” he murmured abstractedly, rising to his feet and + crossing the room to the piano. Then, with an elaborate air of trying to + appear very natural, he asked jovially: “Anything new to play to me?” + </p> + <p> + Alice arose at once. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I have a little nocturne that I was playing to Mr. Calderwell last + night.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, to Calderwell!” Arkwright had stiffened perceptibly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. <i>He</i> didn't like it. I'll play it to you and see what you say,” + she smiled, seating herself at the piano. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if he had liked it, it's safe to say I shouldn't,” shrugged + Arkwright. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” laughed the girl, beginning to appear more like her natural + self. “I should think you were Mr. Cyril Henshaw! Mr. Calderwell <i>is</i> + partial to ragtime, I'll admit. But there are some good things he likes.” + </p> + <p> + “There are, indeed, <i>some</i> good things he likes,” returned Arkwright, + with grim emphasis, his somber eyes fixed on what he believed to be the + one especial object of Calderwell's affections at the moment. + </p> + <p> + Alice, unaware both of the melancholy gaze bent upon herself and of the + cause thereof, laughed again merrily. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Mr. Calderwell,” she cried, as she let her fingers slide into soft, + introductory chords. “He isn't to blame for not liking what he calls our + lost spirits that wail. It's just the way he's made.” + </p> + <p> + Arkwright vouchsafed no reply. With an abrupt gesture he turned and began + to pace the room moodily. At the piano Alice slipped from the chords into + the nocturne. She played it straight through, then, with a charm and skill + that brought Arkwright's feet to a pause before it was half finished. + </p> + <p> + “By George, that's great!” he breathed, when the last tone had quivered + into silence. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, isn't it—beautiful?” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + The room was very quiet, and in semi-darkness. The last rays of a late + June sunset had been filling the room with golden light, but it was gone + now. Even at the piano by the window, Alice had barely been able to see + clearly enough to read the notes of her nocturne. + </p> + <p> + To Arkwright the air still trembled with the exquisite melody that had but + just left her fingers. A quick fire came to his eyes. He forgot everything + but that it was Alice there in the half-light by the window—Alice, + whom he loved. With a low cry he took a swift step toward her. + </p> + <p> + “Alice!” + </p> + <p> + Instantly the girl was on her feet. But it was not toward him that she + turned. It was away—resolutely, and with a haste that was strangely + like terror. + </p> + <p> + Alice, too, had forgotten, for just a moment. She had let herself drift + into a dream world where there was nothing but the music she was playing + and the man she loved. Then the music had stopped, and the man had spoken + her name. + </p> + <p> + Alice remembered then. She remembered Billy, whom this man loved. She + remembered the long days just passed when this man had stayed away, + presumably to teach <i>her</i>—to save <i>her</i>. And now, at the + sound of his voice speaking her name, she had almost bared her heart to + him. + </p> + <p> + No wonder that Alice, with a haste that looked like terror, crossed the + floor and flooded the room with light. + </p> + <p> + “Dear me!” she shivered, carefully avoiding Arkwright's eyes. “If Mr. + Calderwell were here now he'd have some excuse to talk about our lost + spirits that wail. That <i>is</i> a creepy piece of music when you play it + in the dark!” And, for fear that he should suspect how her heart was + aching, she gave a particularly brilliant and joyous smile. + </p> + <p> + Once again at the mention of Calderwell's name Arkwright stiffened + perceptibly. The fire left his eyes. For a moment he did not speak; then, + gravely, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Calderwell? Yes, perhaps he would; and—you ought to be a judge, I + should think. You see him quite frequently, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, of course. He often comes out here, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I had heard that he did—since <i>you</i> came.” + </p> + <p> + His meaning was unmistakable. Alice looked up quickly. A prompt denial of + his implication was on her lips when the thought came to her that perhaps + just here lay a sure way to prove to this man before her that there was, + indeed, no need for him to teach her, to save her, or yet to sympathize + with her. She could not affirm, of course; but she need not deny—yet. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” she laughed lightly, pleased that she could feel what she + hoped would pass for a telltale color burning her cheeks. “Come, let us + try some duets,” she proposed, leading the way to the piano. And + Arkwright, interpreting the apparently embarrassed change of subject + exactly as she had hoped that he would interpret it, followed her, sick at + heart. + </p> + <p> + “'O wert thou in the cauld blast,'” sang Arkwright's lips a few moments + later. + </p> + <p> + “I can't tell her now—when I <i>know</i> she cares for Calderwell,” + gloomily ran his thoughts, the while. “It would do no possible good, and + would only make her unhappy to grieve me.” + </p> + <p> + “'O wert thou in the cauld blast,'” chimed in Alice's alto, low and sweet. + </p> + <p> + “I reckon now he won't be staying away from here any more just to <i>save</i> + me!” ran Alice's thoughts, palpitatingly triumphant. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXI. BILLY TAKES HER TURN AT QUESTIONING + </h2> + <p> + Arkwright did not call to see Alice Greggory for some days. He did not + want to see Alice now. He told himself wearily that she could not help him + fight this tiger skin that lay across his path, The very fact of her + presence by his side would, indeed, incapacitate himself for fighting. So + he deliberately stayed away from the Annex until the day before he sailed + for Germany. Then he went out to say good-by. + </p> + <p> + Chagrined as he was at what he termed his imbecile stupidity in not + knowing his own heart all these past months, and convinced, as he also + was, that Alice and Calderwell cared for each other, he could see no way + for him but to play the part of a man of kindliness and honor, leaving a + clear field for his preferred rival, and bringing no shadow of regret to + mar the happiness of the girl he loved. + </p> + <p> + As for being his old easy, frank self on this last call, however, that was + impossible; so Alice found plenty of fuel for her still burning fires of + suspicion—fires which had, indeed, blazed up anew at this second + long period of absence on the part of Arkwright. Naturally, therefore, the + call was anything but a joy and comfort to either one. Arkwright was + nervous, gloomy, and abnormally gay by turns. Alice was nervous and + abnormally gay all the time. Then they said good-by and Arkwright went + away. He sailed the next day, and Alice settled down to the summer of + study and hard work she had laid out for herself. + </p> + <p> + On the tenth of September Billy came home. She was brown, plump-cheeked, + and smiling. She declared that she had had a perfectly beautiful time, and + that there couldn't be anything in the world nicer than the trip she and + Bertram had taken—just they two together. In answer to Aunt Hannah's + solicitous inquiries, she asserted that she was all well and rested now. + But there was a vaguely troubled questioning in her eyes that Aunt Hannah + did not quite like. Aunt Hannah, however, said nothing even to Billy + herself about this. + </p> + <p> + One of the first friends Billy saw after her return was Hugh Calderwell. + As it happened Bertram was out when he came, so Billy had the first + half-hour of the call to herself. She was not sorry for this, as it gave + her a chance to question Calderwell a little concerning Alice Greggory—something + she had long ago determined to do at the first opportunity. + </p> + <p> + “Now tell me everything—everything about everybody,” she began + diplomatically, settling herself comfortably for a good visit. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, I'm well, and have had a passably agreeable summer, barring + the heat, sundry persistent mosquitoes, several grievous disappointments, + and a felon on my thumb,” he began, with shameless imperturbability. “I + have been to Revere once, to the circus once, to Nantasket three times, + and to Keith's and the 'movies' ten times, perhaps—to be accurate. I + have also—But perhaps there was some one else you desired to inquire + for,” he broke off, turning upon his hostess a bland but unsmiling + countenance. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, how could there be?” twinkled Billy. “Really, Hugh, I always knew + you had a pretty good opinion of yourself, but I didn't credit you with + thinking you were <i>everybody</i>. Go on. I'm so interested!” + </p> + <p> + Hugh chuckled softly; but there was a plaintive tone in his voice as he + answered. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, no. I've rather lost my interest now. Lack of appreciation always + did discourage me. We'll talk of something else, please. You enjoyed your + trip?” + </p> + <p> + “Very much. It just couldn't have been nicer!” + </p> + <p> + “You were lucky. The heat here has been something fierce!” + </p> + <p> + “What made you stay?” + </p> + <p> + “Reasons too numerous, and one too heart-breaking, to mention. Besides, + you forget,” with dignity. “There is my profession. I have joined the + workers of the world now, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, fudge, Hugh!” laughed Billy. “You know very well you're as likely as + not to start for the ends of the earth to-morrow morning!” + </p> + <p> + Hugh drew himself up. + </p> + <p> + “I don't seem to succeed in making people understand that I'm serious,” he + began aggrievedly. “I—” With an expressive flourish of his hands he + relaxed suddenly, and fell back in his chair. A slow smile came to his + lips. “Well, Billy, I'll give up. You've hit it,” he confessed. “I <i>have</i> + thought seriously of starting to-morrow morning for <i>half-way</i> to the + ends of the earth—Panama.” + </p> + <p> + “Hugh!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I have. Even this call was to be a good-by—if I went.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Hugh! But I really thought—in spite of my teasing—that + you had settled down, this time.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, so did I,” sighed the man, a little soberly. “But I guess it's no + use, Billy. Oh, I'm coming back, of course, and link arms again with their + worthy Highnesses, John Doe and Richard Roe; but just now I've got a + restless fit on me. I want to see the wheels go 'round. Of course, if I + had my bread and butter and cigars to earn, 'twould be different. But I + haven't, and I know I haven't; and I suspect that's where the trouble + lies. If it wasn't for those natal silver spoons of mine that Bertram is + always talking about, things might be different. But the spoons are there, + and always have been; and I know they're all ready to dish out mountains + to climb and lakes to paddle in, any time I've a mind to say the word. So—I + just say the word. That's all.” + </p> + <p> + “And you've said it now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think so; for a while.” + </p> + <p> + “And—those reasons that <i>have</i> kept you here all summer,” + ventured Billy, “they aren't in—er—commission any longer?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + Billy hesitated, regarding her companion meditatively. Then, with the + feeling that she had followed a blind alley to its termination, she + retreated and made a fresh start. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you haven't yet told me everything about everybody, you know,” she + hinted smilingly. “You might begin that—I mean the less important + everybodies, of course, now that I've heard about you.” + </p> + <p> + “Meaning—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Aunt Hannah, and the Greggorys, and Cyril and Marie, and the twins, + and Mr. Arkwright, and all the rest.” + </p> + <p> + “But you've had letters, surely.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I've had letters from some of them, and I've seen most of them since + I came back. It's just that I wanted to know <i>your</i> viewpoint of + what's happened through the summer.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well. Aunt Hannah is as dear as ever, wears just as many shawls, and + still keeps her clock striking twelve when it's half-past eleven. Mrs. + Greggory is just as sweet as ever—and a little more frail, I fear,—bless + her heart! Mr. Arkwright is still abroad, as I presume you know. I hear he + is doing great stunts over there, and will sing in Berlin and Paris this + winter. I'm thinking of going across from Panama later. If I do I shall + look him up. Mr. and Mrs. Cyril are as well as could be expected when you + realize that they haven't yet settled on a pair of names for the twins.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it—and the poor little things three months old, too! I think + it's a shame. You've heard the reason, I suppose. Cyril declares that + naming babies is one of the most serious and delicate operations in the + world, and that, for his part, he thinks people ought to select their own + names when they've arrived at years of discretion. He wants to wait till + the twins are eighteen, and then make each of them a birthday present of + the name of their own choosing.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if that isn't the limit!” laughed Calderwell. “I'd heard some such + thing before, but I hadn't supposed it was really so.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it is. He says he knows more tomboys and enormous fat women named + 'Grace' and 'Lily,' and sweet little mouse-like ladies staggering along + under a sonorous 'Jerusha Theodosia' or 'Zenobia Jane'; and that if he + should name the boys 'Franz' and 'Felix' after Schubert and Mendelssohn as + Marie wants to, they'd as likely as not turn out to be men who hated the + sound of music and doted on stocks and dry goods.” + </p> + <p> + “Humph!” grunted Calderwell. “I saw Cyril last week, and he said he hadn't + named the twins yet, but he didn't tell me why. I offered him two + perfectly good names myself, but he didn't seem interested.” + </p> + <p> + “What were they?” + </p> + <p> + “Eldad and Bildad.” + </p> + <p> + “Hugh!” protested Billy. + </p> + <p> + “Well, why not?” bridled the man. “I'm sure those are new and unique, and + really musical, too—'way ahead of your Franz and Felix.” + </p> + <p> + “But those aren't really names!” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed they are.” + </p> + <p> + “Where did you get them?” + </p> + <p> + “Off our family tree, though they're Bible names, Belle says. Perhaps you + didn't know, but Sister Belle has been making the dirt fly quite lively of + late around that family tree of ours, and she wrote me some of her + discoveries. It seems two of the roots, or branches—say, are + ancestors roots, or branches?—were called Eldad and Bildad. Now I + thought those names were good enough to pass along, but, as I said before, + Cyril wasn't interested.” + </p> + <p> + “I should say not,” laughed Billy. “But, honestly, Hugh, it's really + serious. Marie wants them named <i>something</i>, but she doesn't say much + to Cyril. Marie wouldn't really breathe, you know, if she thought Cyril + disapproved of breathing. And in this case Cyril does not hesitate to + declare that the boys shall name themselves.” + </p> + <p> + “What a situation!” laughed Calderwell. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it? But, do you know, I can sympathize with it, in a way, for I've + always mourned so over <i>my</i> name. 'Billy' was always such a trial to + me! Poor Uncle William wasn't the only one that prepared guns and fishing + rods to entertain the expected boy. I don't know, though, I'm afraid if + I'd been allowed to select my name I should have been a 'Helen Clarabella' + all my days, for that was the name I gave all my dolls, with 'first,' + 'second,' 'third,' and so on, added to them for distinction. Evidently I + thought that 'Helen Clarabella' was the most feminine appellation + possible, and the most foreign to the despised 'Billy.' So you see I can + sympathize with Cyril to a certain extent.” + </p> + <p> + “But they must call the little chaps <i>something</i>, now,” argued Hugh. + </p> + <p> + Billy gave a sudden merry laugh. + </p> + <p> + “They do,” she gurgled, “and that's the funniest part of it. Oh, Cyril + doesn't. He always calls them impersonally 'they' or 'it.' He doesn't see + much of them anyway, now, I understand. Marie was horrified when she + realized how the nurses had been using his den as a nursery annex and she + changed all that instanter, when she took charge of things again. The + twins stay in the nursery now, I'm told. But about the names—the + nurses, it seems, have got into the way of calling them 'Dot' and + 'Dimple.' One has a dimple in his cheek, and the other is a little smaller + of the two. Marie is no end distressed, particularly as she finds that she + herself calls them that; and she says the idea of boys being 'Dot' and + 'Dimple'!” + </p> + <p> + “I should say so,” laughed Calderwell. “Not I regard that as worse than my + 'Eldad' and 'Bildad.'” + </p> + <p> + “I know it, and Alice says—By the way, you haven't mentioned Alice, + but I suppose you see her occasionally.” + </p> + <p> + Billy paused in evident expectation of a reply. Billy was, in fact, quite + pluming herself on the adroit casualness with which she had introduced the + subject nearest her heart. + </p> + <p> + Calderwell raised his eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I see her.” + </p> + <p> + “But you hadn't mentioned her.” + </p> + <p> + There was the briefest of pauses; then with a half-quizzical dejection, + there came the remark: + </p> + <p> + “You seem to forget. I told you that I stayed here this summer for reasons + too numerous, and one too heart-breaking, to mention. She was the <i>one</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. The usual thing. She turned me down. Oh, I haven't asked her yet as + many times as I did you, but—” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Hugh!</i>” + </p> + <p> + Hugh tossed her a grim smile and went on imperturbably. + </p> + <p> + “I'm older now, of course, and know more, perhaps. Besides, the finality + of her remarks was not to be mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + Billy, in spite of her sympathy for Calderwell, was conscious of a throb + of relief that at least one stumbling-block was removed from Arkwright's + possible pathway to Alice's heart. + </p> + <p> + “Did she give any special reason?” hazarded Billy, a shade too anxiously. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. She said she wasn't going to marry anybody—only her + music.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” ejaculated Billy, falling back in her chair a little. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I said that, too,” gloomed the man; “but it didn't do any good. You + see, I had known another girl who'd said the same thing once.” (He did not + look up, but a vivid red flamed suddenly into Billy's cheeks.) “And she—when + the right one came—forgot all about the music, and married the man. + So I naturally suspected that Alice would do the same thing. In fact, I + said so to her. I was bold enough to even call the man by name—I + hadn't been jealous of Arkwright for nothing, you see—but she denied + it, and flew into such an indignant allegation that there wasn't a word of + truth in it, that I had to sue for pardon before I got anything like + peace.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh-h!” said Billy, in a disappointed voice, falling quite back in her + chair this time. + </p> + <p> + “And so that's why I'm wanting especially just now to see the wheels go + 'round,” smiled Calderwell, a little wistfully. “Oh, I shall get over it, + I suppose. It isn't the first time, I'll own—but some day I take it + there will be a last time. Enough of this, however! You haven't told me a + thing about yourself. How about it? When I come back, are you going to + give me a dinner cooked by your own fair hands? Going to still play + Bridget?” + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed and shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “No; far from it. Eliza has come back, and her cousin from Vermont is + coming as second girl to help her. But I <i>could</i> cook a dinner for + you if I had to now, sir, and it wouldn't be potato-mush and cold lamb,” + she bragged shamelessly, as there sounded Bertram's peculiar ring, and the + click of his key in the lock. + </p> + <p> + It was the next afternoon that Billy called on Marie. From Marie's, Billy + went to the Annex, which was very near Cyril's new house; and there, in + Aunt Hannah's room, she had what she told Bertram afterwards was a + perfectly lovely visit. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hannah, too, enjoyed the visit very much, though yet there was one + thing that disturbed her—the vaguely troubled look in Billy's eyes, + which to-day was more apparent than ever. Not until just before Billy went + home did something occur to give Aunt Hannah a possible clue as to what + was the meaning of it. That something was a question from Billy. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Hannah, why don't I feel like Marie did? why don't I feel like + everybody does in books and stories? Marie went around with such a + detached, heavenly, absorbed look in her eyes, before the twins came to + her home. But I don't. I don't find anything like that in my face, when I + look in the glass. And I don't feel detached and absorbed and heavenly. + I'm happy, of course; but I can't help thinking of the dear, dear times + Bertram and I have together, just we two, and I can't seem to imagine it + at all with a third person around.” + </p> + <p> + “Billy! <i>Third person</i>, indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “There! I knew 'twould shock you,” mourned Billy. “It shocks me. I <i>want</i> + to feel detached and heavenly and absorbed.” + </p> + <p> + “But Billy, dear, think of it—calling your own baby a third person!” + </p> + <p> + Billy sighed despairingly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know. And I suppose I might as well own up to the rest of it too. + I—I'm actually afraid of babies, Aunt Hannah! Well, I am,” she + reiterated, in answer to Aunt Hannah's gasp of disapproval. “I'm not used + to them at all. I never had any little brothers and sisters, and I don't + know how to treat babies. I—I'm always afraid they'll break, or + something. I'm just as afraid of the twins as I can be. How Marie can + handle them, and toss them about as she does, I don't see.” + </p> + <p> + “Toss them about, indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it looks that way to me,” sighed Billy. “Anyhow, I know I can never + get to handle them like that—and that's no way to feel! And I'm + ashamed of myself because I <i>can't</i> be detached and heavenly and + absorbed,” she added, rising to go. “Everybody always is, it seems, but + just me.” + </p> + <p> + “Fiddlededee, my dear!” scoffed Aunt Hannah, patting Billy's downcast + face. “Wait till a year from now, and we'll see about that third-person + bugaboo you're worrying about. <i>I'm</i> not worrying now; so you'd + better not!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXII. A DOT AND A DIMPLE + </h2> + <p> + On the day Cyril Henshaw's twins were six months old, a momentous + occurrence marked the date with a flaming red letter of remembrance; and + it all began with a baby's smile. + </p> + <p> + Cyril, in quest of his wife at about ten o'clock that morning, and not + finding her, pursued his search even to the nursery—a room he very + seldom entered. Cyril did not like to go into the nursery. He felt ill at + ease, and as if he were away from home—and Cyril was known to abhor + being away from home since he was married. Now that Marie had taken over + the reins of government again, he had been obliged to see very little of + those strange women and babies. Not but that he liked the babies, of + course. They were his sons, and he was proud of them. They should have + every advantage that college, special training, and travel could give + them. He quite anticipated what they would be to him—when they + really knew anything. But, of course, <i>now</i>, when they could do + nothing but cry and wave their absurd little fists, and wobble their heads + in so fearsome a manner, as if they simply did not know the meaning of the + word backbone—and, for that matter, of course they didn't—why, + he could not be expected to be anything but relieved when he had his den + to himself again, with a reasonable chance of finding his manuscript as he + had left it, and not cut up into a ridiculous string of paper dolls + holding hands, as he had once found it, after a visit from a woman with a + small girl. + </p> + <p> + Since Marie had been at the helm, however, he had not been troubled in + such a way. He had, indeed, known almost his old customary peace and + freedom from interruption, with only an occasional flitting across his + path of the strange women and babies—though he had realized, of + course, that they were in the house, especially in the nursery. For that + reason, therefore, he always avoided the nursery when possible. But to-day + he wanted his wife, and his wife was not to be found anywhere else in the + house. So, reluctantly, he turned his steps toward the nursery, and, with + a frown, knocked and pushed open the door. + </p> + <p> + “Is Mrs. Henshaw here?” he demanded, not over gently. + </p> + <p> + Absolute silence greeted his question. The man saw then that there was no + one in the room save a baby sitting on a mat in the middle of the floor, + barricaded on all sides with pillows. + </p> + <p> + With a deeper frown the man turned to go, when a gleeful “Ah—goo!” + halted his steps midway. He wheeled sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Er—eh?” he queried, uncertainly eyeing his small son on the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Ah—goo!” observed the infant (who had been very lonesome), with + greater emphasis; and this time he sent into his father's eyes the most + bewitching of smiles. + </p> + <p> + “Well, by George!” murmured the man, weakly, a dawning amazement driving + the frown from his face. + </p> + <p> + “Spgggh—oo—wah!” gurgled the boy, holding out two tiny fists. + </p> + <p> + A slow smile came to the man's face. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll—be—darned,” he muttered half-shamefacedly, wholly + delightedly. “If the rascal doesn't act as if he—knew me!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah—goo—spggghh!” grinned the infant, toothlessly, but + entrancingly. + </p> + <p> + With almost a stealthy touch Cyril closed the door back of him, and + advanced a little dubiously toward his son. His countenance carried a + mixture of guilt, curiosity, and dogged determination so ludicrous that it + was a pity none but baby eyes could see it. As if to meet more nearly on a + level this baffling new acquaintance, Cyril got to his knees—somewhat + stiffly, it must be confessed—and faced his son. + </p> + <p> + “Goo—eee—ooo—yah!” crowed the baby now, thrashing legs + and arms about in a transport of joy at the acquisition of this new + playmate. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, young man, you—you don't say so!” stammered the + growingly-proud father, thrusting a plainly timid and unaccustomed finger + toward his offspring. “So you do know me, eh? Well, who am I?” + </p> + <p> + “Da—da!” gurgled the boy, triumphantly clutching the outstretched + finger, and holding on with a tenacity that brought a gleeful chuckle to + the lips of the man. + </p> + <p> + “Jove! but aren't you the strong little beggar, though! Needn't tell me + you don't know a good thing when you see it! So I'm 'da-da,' am I?” he + went on, unhesitatingly accepting as the pure gold of knowledge the + shameless imitation vocabulary his son was foisting upon him. “Well, I + expect I am, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Cyril!” The door had opened, and Marie was in the room. If she gave a + start of surprise at her husband's unaccustomed attitude, she quickly + controlled herself. “Julia said you wanted me. I must have been going down + the back stairs when you came up the front, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Please, Mrs. Henshaw, is it Dot you have in here, or Dimple?” asked a new + voice, as the second nurse entered by another door. + </p> + <p> + Before Mrs. Henshaw could answer, Cyril, who had got to his feet, turned + sharply. + </p> + <p> + “Is it—<i>who</i>?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Oh, Mr. Henshaw,” stammered the girl. “I beg your pardon. I didn't + know you were here. It was only that I wanted to know which baby it was. + We thought we had Dot with us, until—” + </p> + <p> + “Dot! Dimple!” exploded the man. “Do you mean to say you have given my <i>sons</i> + the ridiculous names of '<i>Dot</i>' and '<i>Dimple</i>'?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no—yes—well, that is—we had to call them + something,” faltered the nurse, as with a despairing glance at her + mistress, she plunged through the doorway. + </p> + <p> + Cyril turned to his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Marie, what is the meaning of this?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Cyril, dear, don't—don't get so wrought up,” she begged. “It's + only as Mary said, we <i>had</i> to call them something, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Wrought up, indeed!” interrupted Cyril, savagely. “Who wouldn't be? 'Dot' + and 'Dimple'! Great Scott! One would think those boys were a couple of + kittens or puppies; that they didn't know anything—didn't have any + brains! But they have—if the other is anything like this one, at + least,” he declared, pointing to his son on the floor, who, at this + opportune moment joined in the conversation to the extent of an + appropriate “Ah—goo—da—da!” + </p> + <p> + “There, hear that, will you?” triumphed the father. “What did I tell you? + That's the way he's been going on ever since I came into the room; The + little rascal knows me—so soon!” + </p> + <p> + Marie clapped her fingers to her lips and turned her back suddenly, with a + spasmodic little cough; but her husband, if he noticed the interruption, + paid no heed. + </p> + <p> + “Dot and Dimple, indeed!” he went on wrathfully. “That settles it. We'll + name those boys to-day, Marie, <i>to-day!</i> Not once again will I let + the sun go down on a Dot and a Dimple under my roof.” + </p> + <p> + Marie turned with a quick little cry of happiness. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Cyril, I'm so glad! I've so wanted to have them named, you know! And + shall we call them Franz and Felix, as we'd talked?” + </p> + <p> + “Franz, Felix, John, James, Paul, Charles—anything, so it's sane and + sensible! I'd even adopt Calderwell's absurd Bildad and—er—Tomdad, + or whatever it was, rather than have those poor little chaps insulted a + day longer with a 'Dot' and a 'Dimple.' Great Scott!” And, entirely + forgetting what he had come to the nursery for, Cyril strode from the + room. + </p> + <p> + “Ah—goo—spggggh!” commented baby from the middle of the floor. + </p> + <p> + It was on a very windy March day that Bertram Henshaw's son, Bertram, Jr., + arrived at the Strata. Billy went so far into the Valley of the Shadow of + Death for her baby that it was some days before she realized in all its + importance the presence of the new member of her family. Even when the + days had become weeks, and Bertram, Jr., was a month and a half old, the + extreme lassitude and weariness of his young mother was a source of + ever-growing anxiety to her family and friends. Billy was so unlike + herself, they all said. + </p> + <p> + “If something could only rouse her,” suggested the Henshaw's old family + physician one day. “A certain sort of mental shock—if not too severe—would + do the deed, I think, and with no injury—only benefit. Her physical + condition is in just the state that needs a stimulus to stir it into new + life and vigor.” + </p> + <p> + As it happened, this was said on a certain Monday. Two days later + Bertram's sister Kate, on her way with her husband to Mr. Hartwell's old + home in Vermont, stopped over in Boston for a two days' visit. She made + her headquarters at Cyril's home, but very naturally she went, without + much delay, to pay her respects to Bertram, Jr. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Hartwell's brother isn't well,” she explained to Billy, after the + greetings were over. “You know he's the only one left there, since Mother + and Father Hartwell came West. We shall go right on up to Vermont in a + couple of days, but we just had to stay over long enough to see the baby; + and we hadn't ever seen the twins, either, you know. By the way, how + perfectly ridiculous Cyril is over those boys!” + </p> + <p> + “Is he?” smiled Billy, faintly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. One would think there were never any babies born before, to hear him + talk. He thinks they're the most wonderful things in the world—and + they are cunning little fellows, I'll admit. But Cyril thinks they <i>know</i> + so much,” went on Kate, laughingly. “He's always bragging of something one + or the other of them has done. Think of it—<i>Cyril!</i> Marie says + it all started from the time last January when he discovered the nurses + had been calling them Dot and Dimple.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” smiled Billy again, faintly, lifting a thin, white, very + un-Billy-like hand to her head. + </p> + <p> + Kate frowned, and regarded her sister-in-law thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Mercy! how you look, Billy!” she exclaimed, with cheerful tactlessness. + “They said you did, but, I declare, you look worse than I thought.” + </p> + <p> + Billy's pale face reddened perceptibly. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! It's just that I'm so—so tired,” she insisted. “I shall + be all right soon. How did you leave the children?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and happy—'specially little Kate, because mother was going + away. Kate is mistress, you know, when I'm gone, and she takes herself + very seriously.” + </p> + <p> + “Mistress! A little thing like her! Why, she can't be more than ten or + eleven,” murmured Billy. + </p> + <p> + “She isn't. She was ten last month. But you'd think she was forty, the + airs she gives herself, sometimes. Oh, of course there's Nora, and the + cook, and Miss Winton, the governess, there to really manage things, and + Mother Hartwell is just around the corner; but little Kate <i>thinks</i> + she's managing, so she's happy.” + </p> + <p> + Billy suppressed a smile. Billy was thinking that little Kate came + naturally by at least one of her traits. + </p> + <p> + “Really, that child is impossible, sometimes,” resumed Mrs. Hartwell, with + a sigh. “You know the absurd things she was always saying two or three + years ago, when we came on to Cyril's wedding.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I remember.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I thought she would get over it. But she doesn't. She's worse, if + anything; and sometimes her insight, or intuition, or whatever you may + call it, is positively uncanny. I never know what she's going to remark + next, when I take her anywhere; but it's safe to say, whatever it is, + it'll be unexpected and <i>usually</i> embarrassing to somebody. And—is + that the baby?” broke off Mrs. Hartwell, as a cooing laugh and a woman's + voice came from the next room. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. The nurse has just brought him in, I think,” said Billy. + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll go right now and see him,” rejoined Kate, rising to her feet + and hurrying into the next room. + </p> + <p> + Left alone, Billy lay back wearily in her reclining-chair. She wondered + why Kate always tired her so. She wished she had had on her blue kimono, + then perhaps Kate would not have thought she looked so badly. Blue was + always more becoming to her than— + </p> + <p> + Billy turned her head suddenly. From the next room had come Kate's + clear-cut, decisive voice. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, I don't think he looks a bit like his father. That little snubby + nose was never the Henshaw nose.” + </p> + <p> + Billy drew in her breath sharply, and pulled herself half erect in her + chair. From the next room came Kate's voice again, after a low murmur from + the nurse. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but he isn't, I tell you. He isn't one bit of a Henshaw baby! The + Henshaw babies are always <i>pretty</i> ones. They have more hair, and + they look—well, different.” + </p> + <p> + Billy gave a low cry, and struggled to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” spoke up Kate, in answer to another indistinct something from + the nurse. “I don't think he's near as pretty as the twins. Of course the + twins are a good deal older, but they have such a <i>bright</i> look,—and + they did have, from the very first. I saw it in their tiniest baby + pictures. But this baby—” + </p> + <p> + “<i>This</i> baby is <i>mine</i>, please,” cut in a tremulous, but + resolute voice; and Mrs. Hartwell turned to confront Bertram, Jr.'s + mother, manifestly weak and trembling, but no less manifestly blazing-eyed + and determined. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Billy!” expostulated Mrs. Hartwell, as Billy stumbled forward and + snatched the child into her arms. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he doesn't look like the Henshaw babies. Perhaps he isn't as + pretty as the twins. Perhaps he hasn't much hair, and does have a snub + nose. He's my baby just the same, and I shall not stay calmly by and see + him abused! Besides, <i>I</i> think he's prettier than the twins ever + thought of being; and he's got all the hair I want him to have, and his + nose is just exactly what a baby's nose ought to be!” And, with a superb + gesture, Billy turned and bore the baby away. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIII. BILLY AND THE ENORMOUS RESPONSIBILITY + </h2> + <p> + When the doctor heard from the nurse of Mrs. Hartwell's visit and what had + come of it, he only gave a discreet smile, as befitted himself and the + occasion; but to his wife privately, that night, the doctor said, when he + had finished telling the story: + </p> + <p> + “And I couldn't have prescribed a better pill if I'd tried!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Pill</i>—Mrs. Hartwell! Oh, Harold,” reproved the doctor's wife, + mildly. + </p> + <p> + But the doctor only chuckled the more, and said: + </p> + <p> + “You wait and see.” + </p> + <p> + If Billy's friends were worried before because of her lassitude and lack + of ambition, they were almost as worried now over her amazing alertness + and insistent activity. Day by day, almost hour by hour, she seemed to + gain in strength; and every bit she acquired she promptly tested almost to + the breaking point, so plainly eager was she to be well and strong. And + always, from morning until night, and again from night until morning, the + pivot of her existence, around which swung all thoughts, words, actions, + and plans, was the sturdy little plump-cheeked, firm-fleshed atom of + humanity known as Bertram, Jr. Even Aunt Hannah remonstrated with her at + last. + </p> + <p> + “But, Billy, dear,” she exclaimed, “one would almost get the idea that you + thought there wasn't a thing in the world but that baby!” + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, do you know, sometimes I 'most think there isn't,” she retorted + unblushingly. + </p> + <p> + “Billy!” protested Aunt Hannah; then, a little severely, she demanded: + “And who was it that just last September was calling this same + only-object-in-the-world a third person in your home?” + </p> + <p> + “Third person, indeed! Aunt Hannah, did I? Did I really say such a + dreadful thing as that? But I didn't know, then, of course. I couldn't + know how perfectly wonderful a baby is, especially such a baby as Bertram, + Jr., is. Why, Aunt Hannah, that little thing knows a whole lot already. + He's known me for weeks; I know he has. And ages and ages ago he began to + give me little smiles when he saw me. They were smiles—real smiles! + Oh, yes, I know nurse said they weren't smiles at the first,” admitted + Billy, in answer to Aunt Hannah's doubting expression. “I know nurse said + it was only wind on his stomach. Think of it—wind on his stomach! + Just as if I didn't know the difference between my own baby's smile and + wind on his stomach! And you don't know how soon he began to follow my + moving finger with his eyes!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I tried that one day, I remember,” observed Aunt Hannah demurely. “I + moved my finger. He looked at the ceiling—<i>fixedly</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, probably he <i>wanted</i> to look at the ceiling, then,” defended + the young mother, promptly. “I'm sure I wouldn't give a snap for a baby if + he didn't sometimes have a mind of his own, and exercise it!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Billy, Billy,” laughed Aunt Hannah, with a shake of her head as Billy + turned away, chin uptilted. + </p> + <p> + By the time Bertram, Jr., was three months old, Billy was unmistakably her + old happy, merry self, strong and well. Affairs at the Strata once more + were moving as by clockwork—only this time it was a baby's hand that + set the clock, and that wound it, too. + </p> + <p> + Billy told her husband very earnestly that now they had entered upon a + period of Enormous Responsibility. The Life, Character, and Destiny of a + Human Soul was intrusted to their care, and they must be Wise, Faithful, + and Efficient. They must be at once Proud and Humble at this their Great + Opportunity. They must Observe, Learn, and Practice. First and foremost in + their eyes must always be this wonderful Important Trust. + </p> + <p> + Bertram laughed at first very heartily at Billy's instructions, which, he + declared, were so bristling with capitals that he could fairly see them + drop from her lips. Then, when he found how really very much in earnest + she was, and how hurt she was at his levity, he managed to pull his face + into something like sobriety while she talked to him, though he did + persist in dropping kisses on her cheeks, her chin, her finger-tips, her + hair, and the little pink lobes of her ears—“just by way of + punctuation” to her sentences, he said. And he told her that he wasn't + really slighting her lips, only that they moved so fast he could not catch + them. Whereat Billy pouted, and told him severely that he was a bad, + naughty boy, and that he did not deserve to be the father of the dearest, + most wonderful baby in the world. + </p> + <p> + “No, I know I don't,” beamed Bertram, with cheerful unrepentance; “but I + am, just the same,” he finished triumphantly. And this time he contrived + to find his wife's lips. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Bertram,” sighed Billy, despairingly. + </p> + <p> + “You're an old dear, of course, and one just can't be cross with you; but + you don't, you just <i>don't</i> realize your Immense Responsibility.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I do,” maintained Bertram so seriously that even Billy herself + almost believed him. + </p> + <p> + In spite of his assertions, however, it must be confessed that Bertram was + much more inclined to regard the new member of his family as just his son + rather than as an Important Trust; and there is little doubt that he liked + to toss him in the air and hear his gleeful crows of delight, without any + bother of Observing him at all. As to the Life and Character and Destiny + intrusted to his care, it is to be feared that Bertram just plain gloried + in his son, poked him in the ribs, and chuckled him under the chin + whenever he pleased, and gave never so much as a thought to Character and + Destiny. It is to be feared, too, that he was Proud without being Humble, + and that the only Opportunity he really appreciated was the chance to show + off his wife and baby to some less fortunate fellow-man. + </p> + <p> + But not so Billy. Billy joined a Mothers' Club and entered a class in + Child Training with an elaborate system of Charts, Rules, and Tests. She + subscribed to each new “Mothers' Helper,” and the like, that she came + across, devouring each and every one with an eagerness that was tempered + only by a vague uneasiness at finding so many differences of opinion among + Those Who Knew. + </p> + <p> + Undeniably Billy, if not Bertram, was indeed realizing the Enormous + Responsibility, and was keeping ever before her the Important Trust. + </p> + <p> + In June Bertram took a cottage at the South Shore, and by the time the + really hot weather arrived the family were well settled. It was only an + hour away from Boston, and easy of access, but William said he guessed he + would not go; he would stay in Boston, sleeping at the house, and getting + his meals at the club, until the middle of July, when he was going down in + Maine for his usual fishing trip, which he had planned to take a little + earlier than usual this year. + </p> + <p> + “But you'll be so lonesome, Uncle William,” Billy demurred, “in this great + house all alone!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, I sha'n't,” rejoined Uncle William. “I shall only be sleeping + here, you know,” he finished, with a slightly peculiar smile. + </p> + <p> + It was well, perhaps, that Billy did not exactly realize the significance + of that smile, nor the unconscious emphasis on the word “sleeping,” for it + would have troubled her not a little. + </p> + <p> + William, to tell the truth, was quite anticipating that sleeping. + William's nights had not been exactly restful since the baby came. His + evenings, too, had not been the peaceful things they were wont to be. + </p> + <p> + Some of Billy's Rules and Tests were strenuously objected to on the part + of her small son, and the young man did not hesitate to show it. Billy + said that it was good for the baby to cry, that it developed his lungs; + but William was very sure that it was not good for <i>him</i>. Certainly, + when the baby did cry, William never could help hovering near the center + of disturbance, and he always <i>had</i> to remind Billy that it might be + a pin, you know, or some cruel thing that was hurting. As if he, William, + a great strong man, could sit calmly by and smoke a pipe, or lie in his + comfortable bed and sleep, while that blessed little baby was crying his + heart out like that! Of course, if one did not <i>know</i> he was crying—Hence + William's anticipation of those quiet, restful nights when he could not + know it. + </p> + <p> + Very soon after Billy's arrival at the cottage, Aunt Hannah and Alice + Greggory came down for a day's visit. Aunt Hannah had been away from + Boston for several weeks, so it was some time since she had seen the baby. + </p> + <p> + “My, but hasn't he grown!” she exclaimed, picking the baby up and stooping + to give him a snuggling kiss. The next instant she almost dropped the + little fellow, so startling had been Billy's cry. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, wait, Aunt Hannah, please,” Billy was entreating, hurrying to the + little corner cupboard. In a moment she was back with a small bottle and a + bit of antiseptic cotton. “We always sterilize our lips now before we kiss + him—it's so much safer, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hannah sat down limply, the baby still in her arms. + </p> + <p> + “Fiddlededee, Billy! What an absurd idea! What have you got in that + bottle?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Aunt Hannah, it's just a little simple listerine,” bridled Billy, + “and it isn't absurd at all. It's very sensible. My 'Hygienic Guide for + Mothers' says—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I suppose I may kiss his hand,” interposed Aunt Hannah, just a + little curtly, “without subjecting myself to a City Hospital treatment!” + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed shamefacedly, but she still held her ground. + </p> + <p> + “No, you can't—nor even his foot. He might get them in his mouth. + Aunt Hannah, why does a baby think that everything, from his own toes to + his father's watch fob and the plush balls on a caller's wrist-bag, is + made to eat? As if I could sterilize everything, and keep him from getting + hold of germs somewhere!” + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to have a germ-proof room for him,” laughed Alice Greggory, + playfully snapping her fingers at the baby in Aunt Hannah's lap. + </p> + <p> + Billy turned eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, did you read about that, too?” she cried. “I thought it was <i>so</i> + interesting, and I wondered if I could do it.” + </p> + <p> + Alice stared frankly. + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean to say they actually <i>have</i> such things,” she + challenged. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I read about them in a magazine,” asserted Billy, “—how you + could have a germ-proof room. They said it was very simple, too. Just + pasteurize the air, you know, by heating it to one hundred and ten and + one-half degrees Fahrenheit for seventeen and one-half minutes. I remember + just the figures.” + </p> + <p> + “Simple, indeed! It sounds so,” scoffed Aunt Hannah, with uplifted + eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, I couldn't do it, of course,” admitted Billy, regretfully. + “Bertram never'd stand for that in the world. He's always rushing in to + show the baby off to every Tom, Dick and Harry and his wife that comes; + and of course if you opened the nursery door, that would let in those germ + things, and you <i>couldn't</i> very well pasteurize your callers by + heating them to one hundred and ten and one-half degrees for seventeen and + one-half minutes! I don't see how you could manage such a room, anyway, + unless you had a system of—of rooms like locks, same as they do for + water in canals.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my grief and conscience—locks, indeed!” almost groaned Aunt + Hannah. “Here, Alice, will you please take this child—that is, if + you have a germ-proof certificate about you to show to his mother. I want + to take off my bonnet and gloves.” + </p> + <p> + “Take him? Of course I'll take him,” laughed Alice; “and right under his + mother's nose, too,” she added, with a playful grimace at Billy. “And + we'll make pat-a-cakes, and send the little pigs to market, and have such + a beautiful time that we'll forget there ever was such a thing in the + world as an old germ. Eh, babykins?” + </p> + <p> + “Babykins” cooed his unqualified approval of this plan; but his mother + looked troubled. + </p> + <p> + “That's all right, Alice. You may play with him,” she frowned doubtfully; + “but you mustn't do it long, you know—not over five minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “Five minutes! Well, I like that, when I've come all the way from Boston + purposely to see him,” pouted Alice. “What's the matter now? Time for his + nap?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, not for—thirteen minutes,” replied Billy, consulting the + watch at her belt. “But we never play with Baby more than five minutes at + a time. My 'Scientific Care of Infants' says it isn't wise; that with some + babies it's positively dangerous, until after they're six months old. It + makes them nervous, and forces their mind, you know,” she explained + anxiously. “So of course we'd want to be careful. Bertram, Jr., isn't + quite four, yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, of course,” murmured Alice, politely, stopping a pat-a-cake + before it was half baked. + </p> + <p> + The infant, as if suspecting that he was being deprived of his lawful baby + rights, began to fret and whimper. + </p> + <p> + “Poor itty sing,” crooned Aunt Hannah, who, having divested herself of + bonnet and gloves, came hurriedly forward with outstretched hands. “Do + they just 'buse 'em? Come here to your old auntie, sweetems, and we'll go + walkee. I saw a bow-wow—such a tunnin' ickey wickey bow-wow on the + steps when I came in. Come, we go see ickey wickey bow-wow?” + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Hannah, <i>please!</i>” protested Billy, both hands upraised in + horror. “<i>Won't</i> you say 'dog,' and leave out that dreadful 'ickey + wickey'? Of course he can't understand things now, really, but we never + know when he'll begin to, and we aren't ever going to let him hear + baby-talk at all, if we can help it. And truly, when you come to think of + it, it is absurd to expect a child to talk sensibly and rationally on the + mental diet of 'moo-moos' and 'choo-choos' served out to them. Our + Professor of Metaphysics and Ideology in our Child Study Course says that + nothing is so receptive and plastic as the Mind of a Little Child, and + that it is perfectly appalling how we fill it with trivial absurdities + that haven't even the virtue of being accurate. So that's why we're trying + to be so careful with Baby. You didn't mind my speaking, I know, Aunt + Hannah.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, of course not, Billy,” retorted Aunt Hannah, a little tartly, and + with a touch of sarcasm most unlike her gentle self. “I'm sure I shouldn't + wish to fill this infant's plastic mind with anything so appalling as + trivial inaccuracies. May I be pardoned for suggesting, however,” she went + on as the baby's whimper threatened to become a lusty wail, “that this + young gentleman cries as if he were sleepy and hungry?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he is,” admitted Billy. + </p> + <p> + “Well, doesn't your system of scientific training allow him to be given + such trivial absurdities as food and naps?” inquired the lady, mildly. + </p> + <p> + “Of course it does, Aunt Hannah,” retorted Billy, laughing in spite of + herself. “And it's almost time now. There are only a few more minutes to + wait.” + </p> + <p> + “Few more minutes to wait, indeed!” scorned Aunt Hannah. “I suppose the + poor little fellow might cry and cry, and you wouldn't set that clock + ahead by a teeny weeny minute!” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” said the young mother, decisively. “My 'Daily Guide for + Mothers' says that a time for everything and everything in its time, is + the very A B C and whole alphabet of Right Training. He does everything by + the clock, and to the minute,” declared Billy, proudly. + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hannah sniffed, obviously skeptical and rebellious. Alice Greggory + laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Hannah looks as if she'd like to bring down her clock that strikes + half an hour ahead,” she said mischievously; but Aunt Hannah did not deign + to answer this. + </p> + <p> + “How long do you rock him?” she demanded of Billy. “I suppose I may do + that, mayn't I?” + </p> + <p> + “Mercy, I don't rock him at all, Aunt Hannah,” exclaimed Billy. + </p> + <p> + “Nor sing to him?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not.” + </p> + <p> + “But you did—before I went away. I remember that you did.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know I did,” admitted Billy, “and I had an awful time, too. Some + evenings, every single one of us, even to Uncle William, had to try before + we could get him off to sleep. But that was before I got my 'Efficiency of + Mother and Child,' or my 'Scientific Training,' and, oh, lots of others. + You see, I didn't know a thing then, and I loved to rock him, so I did it—though + the nurse said it wasn't good for him; but I didn't believe <i>her</i>. + I've had an awful time changing; but I've done it. I just put him in his + little crib, or his carriage, and after a while he goes to sleep. + Sometimes, now, he doesn't cry hardly any. I'm afraid, to-day, though, he + will,” she worried. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I'm afraid he will,” almost screamed Aunt Hannah, in order to make + herself heard above Bertram, Jr., who, by this time, was voicing his + opinion of matters and things in no uncertain manner. + </p> + <p> + It was not, after all, so very long before peace and order reigned; and, + in due course, Bertram, Jr., in his carriage, lay fast asleep. Then, while + Aunt Hannah went to Billy's room for a short rest, Billy and Alice went + out on to the wide veranda which faced the wonderful expanse of sky and + sea. + </p> + <p> + “Now tell me of yourself,” commanded Billy, almost at once. “It's been + ages since I've heard or seen a thing of you.” + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing to tell.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! But there must be,” insisted Billy. “You know it's months since + I've seen anything of you, hardly.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. We feel quite neglected at the Annex,” said Alice. + </p> + <p> + “But I don't go anywhere,” defended Billy. “I can't. There isn't time.” + </p> + <p> + “Even to bring us the extra happiness?” smiled Alice. + </p> + <p> + A quick change came to Billy's face. Her eyes glowed deeply. + </p> + <p> + “No; though I've had so much that ought to have gone—such loads and + loads of extra happiness, which I couldn't possibly use myself! Sometimes + I'm so happy, Alice, that—that I'm just frightened. It doesn't seem + as if anybody ought to be so happy.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Billy, dear,” demurred Alice, her eyes filling suddenly with tears. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I've got the Annex. I'm glad I've got that for the overflow, + anyway,” resumed Billy, trying to steady her voice. “I've sent a whole lot + of happiness up there mentally, if I haven't actually carried it; so I'm + sure you must have got it. Now tell me of yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing to tell,” insisted Alice, as before. + </p> + <p> + “You're working as hard as ever?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—harder.” + </p> + <p> + “New pupils?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and some concert engagements—good ones, for next season. + Accompaniments, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Billy nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I've heard of you already twice, lately, in that line, and very + flatteringly, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you? Well, that's good.” + </p> + <p> + “Hm-m.” There was a moment's silence, then, abruptly, Billy changed the + subject. “I had a letter from Belle Calderwell, yesterday.” She paused + expectantly, but there was no comment. + </p> + <p> + “You don't seem interested,” she frowned, after a minute. + </p> + <p> + Alice laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, but—I don't know the Lady, you see. Was it a good + letter?” + </p> + <p> + “You know her brother.” + </p> + <p> + “Very true.” Alice's cheeks showed a deeper color. “Did she say anything + of him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. She said he was coming back to Boston next winter.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. She says that this time he declares he really <i>is</i> going to + settle down to work,” murmured Billy, demurely, with a sidelong glance at + her companion. “She says he's engaged to be married—one of her + friends over there.” + </p> + <p> + There was no reply. Alice appeared to be absorbed in watching a tiny white + sail far out at sea. + </p> + <p> + Again Billy was silent. Then, with studied carelessness, she said: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and you know Mr. Arkwright, too. She told of him.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes? Well, what of him?” Alice's voice was studiedly indifferent. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there was quite a lot of him. Belle had just been to hear him sing, + and then her brother had introduced him to her. She thinks he's perfectly + wonderful, in every way, I should judge. In fact, she simply raved over + him. It seems that while we've been hearing nothing from him all winter, + he's been winning no end of laurels for himself in Paris and Berlin. He's + been studying, too, of course, as well as singing; and now he's got a + chance to sing somewhere—create a rôle, or something—Belle + said she wasn't quite clear on the matter herself, but it was a perfectly + splendid chance, and one that was a fine feather in his cap.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he won't be coming home—that is, to Boston—at all this + winter, probably,” said Alice, with a cheerfulness that sounded just a + little forced. + </p> + <p> + “Not until February. But he is coming then. He's been engaged for six + performances with the Boston Opera Company—as a star tenor, mind + you! Isn't that splendid?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed it is,” murmured Alice. + </p> + <p> + “Belle writes that Hugh says he's improved wonderfully, and that even he + can see that his singing is marvelous. He says Paris is wild over him; but—for + my part, I wish he'd come home and stay here where he belongs,” finished + Billy, a bit petulantly. + </p> + <p> + “Why, why, Billy!” murmured her friend, a curiously startled look coming + into her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I do,” maintained Billy; then, recklessly, she added: “I had such + beautiful plans for him, once, Alice. Oh, if you only could have cared for + him, you'd have made such a splendid couple!” + </p> + <p> + A vivid scarlet flew to Alice's face. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense!” she cried, getting quickly to her feet and bending over one of + the flower boxes along the veranda railing. “Mr. Arkwright never thought + of marrying me—and I'm not going to marry anybody but my music.” + </p> + <p> + Billy sighed despairingly. + </p> + <p> + “I know that's what you say now; but if—” She stopped abruptly. + Around the turn of the veranda had appeared Aunt Hannah, wheeling Bertram, + Jr., still asleep in his carriage. + </p> + <p> + “I came out the other door,” she explained softly. “And it was so lovely I + just had to go in and get the baby. I thought it would be so nice for him + to finish his nap out here.” + </p> + <p> + Billy arose with a troubled frown. + </p> + <p> + “But, Aunt Hannah, he mustn't—he can't stay out here. I'm sorry, but + we'll have to take him back.” + </p> + <p> + Aunt Hannah's eyes grew mutinous. + </p> + <p> + “But I thought the outdoor air was just the thing for him. I'm sure your + scientific hygienic nonsense says <i>that!</i>” + </p> + <p> + “They do—they did—that is, some of them do,” acknowledged + Billy, worriedly; “but they differ, so! And the one I'm going by now says + that Baby should always sleep in an <i>even</i> temperature—seventy + degrees, if possible; and that's exactly what the room in there was, when + I left him. It's not the same out here, I'm sure. In fact I looked at the + thermometer to see, just before I came out myself. So, Aunt Hannah, I'm + afraid I'll have to take him back.” + </p> + <p> + “But you used to have him sleep out of doors all the time, on that little + balcony out of your room,” argued Aunt Hannah, still plainly unconvinced. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know I did. I was following the other man's rules, then. As I + said, if only they wouldn't differ so! Of course I want the best; but it's + so hard to always know the best, and—” + </p> + <p> + At this very inopportune moment Master Bertram took occasion to wake up, + which brought even a deeper wrinkle of worry to his fond mother's + forehead; for she said that, according to the clock, he should have been + sleeping exactly ten and one-half more minutes, and that of course he + couldn't commence the next thing until those ten and one-half minutes were + up, or else his entire schedule for the day would be shattered. So what + she should do with him for those should-have-been-sleeping ten minutes and + a half, she did not know. All of which drew from Aunt Hannah the + astounding exclamation of: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my grief and conscience, Billy, if you aren't the—the limit!” + Which, indeed, she must have been, to have brought circumspect Aunt Hannah + to the point of actually using slang. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIV. A NIGHT OFF + </h2> + <p> + The Henshaw family did not return to the Strata until late in September. + Billy said that the sea air seemed to agree so well with the baby it would + be a pity to change until the weather became really too cool at the shore + to be comfortable. + </p> + <p> + William came back from his fishing trip in August, and resumed his old + habit of sleeping at the house and taking his meals at the club. To be + sure, for a week he went back and forth between the city and the beach + house; but it happened to be a time when Bertram, Jr., was cutting a + tooth, and this so wore upon William's sympathy—William still could + not help insisting it <i>might</i> be a pin—that he concluded peace + lay only in flight. So he went back to the Strata. + </p> + <p> + Bertram had stayed at the cottage all summer, painting industriously. + Heretofore he had taken more of a vacation through the summer months, but + this year there seemed to be nothing for him to do but to paint. He did + not like to go away on a trip and leave Billy, and she declared she could + not take the baby nor leave him, and that she did not need any trip, + anyway. + </p> + <p> + “All right, then, we'll just stay at the beach, and have a fine vacation + together,” he had answered her. + </p> + <p> + As Bertram saw it, however, he could detect very little “vacation” to it. + Billy had no time for anything but the baby. When she was not actually + engaged in caring for it, she was studying how to care for it. Never had + she been sweeter or dearer, and never had Bertram loved her half so well. + He was proud, too, of her devotion, and of her triumphant success as a + mother; but he did wish that sometimes, just once in a while, she would + remember she was a wife, and pay a little attention to him, her husband. + </p> + <p> + Bertram was ashamed to own it, even to himself, but he was feeling just a + little abused that summer; and he knew that, in his heart, he was actually + getting jealous of his own son, in spite of his adoration of the little + fellow. He told himself defensively that it was not to be expected that he + should not want the love of his wife, the attentions of his wife, and the + companionship of his wife—a part of the time. It was nothing more + than natural that occasionally he should like to see her show some + interest in subjects not mentioned in Mothers' Guides and Scientific + Trainings of Infants; and he did not believe he could be blamed for + wanting his residence to be a home for himself as well as a nursery for + his offspring. + </p> + <p> + Even while he thus discontentedly argued with himself, however, Bertram + called himself a selfish brute just to think such things when he had so + dear and loving a wife as Billy, and so fine and splendid a baby as + Bertram, Jr. He told himself, too, that very likely when they were back in + their own house again, and when motherhood was not so new to her, Billy + would not be so absorbed in the baby. She would return to her old interest + in her husband, her music, her friends, and her own personal appearance. + Meanwhile there was always, of course, for him, his painting. So he would + paint, accepting gladly what crumbs of attention fell from the baby's + table, and trust to the future to make Billy none the less a mother, + perhaps, but a little more the wife. + </p> + <p> + Just how confidently he was counting on this coming change, Bertram hardly + realized himself; but certainly the family was scarcely settled at the + Strata before the husband gayly proposed one evening that he and Billy + should go to the theater to see “Romeo and Juliet.” + </p> + <p> + Billy was clearly both surprised and shocked. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Bertram, I can't—you know I can't!” she exclaimed reprovingly. + </p> + <p> + Bertram's heart sank; but he kept a brave front. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “What a question! As if I'd leave Baby!” + </p> + <p> + “But, Billy, dear, you'd be gone less than three hours, and you say + Delia's the most careful of nurses.” + </p> + <p> + Billy's forehead puckered into an anxious frown. + </p> + <p> + “I can't help it. Something might happen to him, Bertram. I couldn't be + happy a minute.” + </p> + <p> + “But, dearest, aren't you <i>ever</i> going to leave him?” demanded the + young husband, forlornly. + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, of course, when it's reasonable and necessary. I went out to + the Annex yesterday afternoon. I was gone almost two whole hours.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, did anything happen?” + </p> + <p> + “N-no; but then I telephoned, you see, several times, so I <i>knew</i> + everything was all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well, if that's all you want, I could telephone, you know, between + every act,” suggested Bertram, with a sarcasm that was quite lost on the + earnest young mother. + </p> + <p> + “Y-yes, you could do that, couldn't you?” conceded Billy; “and, of course, + I <i>haven't</i> been anywhere much, lately.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I could,” agreed Bertram, with a promptness that carefully hid his + surprise at her literal acceptance of what he had proposed as a huge joke. + “Come, is it a go? Shall I telephone to see if I can get seats?” + </p> + <p> + “You think Baby'll surely be all right?” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly do.” + </p> + <p> + “And you'll telephone home between every act?” + </p> + <p> + “I will.” Bertram's voice sounded almost as if he were repeating the + marriage service. + </p> + <p> + “And we'll come straight home afterwards as fast as John and Peggy can + bring us?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I think—I'll—go,” breathed Billy, tremulously, plainly + showing what a momentous concession she thought she was making. “I do love + 'Romeo and Juliet,' and I haven't seen it for ages!” + </p> + <p> + “Good! Then I'll find out about the tickets,” cried Bertram, so elated at + the prospect of having an old-time evening out with his wife that even the + half-hourly telephones did not seem too great a price to pay. + </p> + <p> + When the time came, they were a little late in starting. Baby was fretful, + and though Billy usually laid him in his crib and unhesitatingly left the + room, insisting that he should go to sleep by himself in accordance with + the most approved rules in her Scientific Training; yet to-night she could + not bring herself to the point of leaving the house until he was quiet. + Hurried as they were when they did start, Billy was conscious of Bertram's + frowning disapproval of her frock. + </p> + <p> + “You don't like it, of course, dear, and I don't blame you,” she smiled + remorsefully. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I like it—that is, I did, when it was new,” rejoined her + husband, with apologetic frankness. “But, dear, didn't you have anything + else? This looks almost—well, mussy, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “No—well, yes, maybe there were others,” admitted Billy; “but this + was the quickest and easiest to get into, and it all came just as I was + getting Baby ready for bed, you know. I am a fright, though, I'll + acknowledge, so far as clothes go. I haven't had time to get a thing since + Baby came. I must get something right away, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed,” declared Bertram, with emphasis, hurrying his wife into the + waiting automobile. + </p> + <p> + Billy had to apologize again at the theater, for the curtain had already + risen on the ancient quarrel between the houses of Capulet and Montague, + and Billy knew her husband's special abhorrence of tardy arrivals. Later, + though, when well established in their seats, Billy's mind was plainly not + with the players on the stage. + </p> + <p> + “Do you suppose Baby <i>is</i> all right?” she whispered, after a time. + </p> + <p> + “Sh-h! Of course he is, dear!” + </p> + <p> + There was a brief silence, during which Billy peered at her program in the + semi-darkness. Then she nudged her husband's arm ecstatically. + </p> + <p> + “Bertram, I couldn't have chosen a better play if I'd tried. There are <i>five</i> + acts! I'd forgotten there were so many. That means you can telephone four + times!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear.” Bertram's voice was sternly cheerful. + </p> + <p> + “You must be sure they tell you exactly how Baby is.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, dear. Sh-h! Here's Romeo.” + </p> + <p> + Billy subsided. She even clapped a little in spasmodic enthusiasm. + Presently she peered at her program again. + </p> + <p> + “There wouldn't be time, I suppose, to telephone between the scenes,” she + hazarded wistfully. “There are sixteen of those!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, hardly! Billy, you aren't paying one bit of attention to the play!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course I am,” whispered Billy, indignantly. “I think it's + perfectly lovely, and I'm perfectly contented, too—since I found out + about those five acts, and as long as I <i>can't</i> have the sixteen + scenes,” she added, settling back in her seat. + </p> + <p> + As if to prove that she was interested in the play, her next whisper, some + time later, had to do with one of the characters on the stage. + </p> + <p> + “Who's that—the nurse? Mercy! We wouldn't want her for Baby, would + we?” + </p> + <p> + In spite of himself Bertram chuckled this time. Billy, too, laughed at + herself. Then, resolutely, she settled into her seat again. + </p> + <p> + The curtain was not fairly down on the first act before Billy had laid an + urgent hand on her husband's arm. + </p> + <p> + “Now, remember; ask if he's waked up, or anything,” she directed. “And be + sure to say I'll come right home if they need me. Now hurry.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear.” Bertram rose with alacrity. “I'll be back right away.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I don't want you to hurry <i>too</i> much,” she called after him, + softly. “I want you to take plenty of time to ask questions.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” nodded Bertram, with a quizzical smile, as he turned away. + </p> + <p> + Obediently Bertram asked all the question she could think of, then came + back to his wife. There was nothing in his report that even Billy could + disapprove of, or worry about; and with almost a contented look on her + face she turned toward the stage as the curtain went up on the second act. + </p> + <p> + “I love this balcony scene,” she sighed happily. + </p> + <p> + Romeo, however, had not half finished his impassioned love-making when + Billy clutched her husband's arm almost fiercely. + </p> + <p> + “Bertram,” she fairly hissed in a tragic whisper, “I've just happened to + think! Won't it be awful when Baby falls in love? I know I shall just hate + that girl for taking him away from me!” + </p> + <p> + “Sh-h! <i>Billy!</i>” expostulated her husband, choking with half-stifled + laughter. “That woman in front heard you, I know she did!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I shall,” sighed Billy, mournfully, turning back to the stage. + </p> +<p style="margin-left:5%;"> + “'Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,<br> + That I shall say good night, till it be morrow,”' +</p> + <p> + sighed Juliet passionately to her Romeo. + </p> + <p> + “Mercy! I hope not,” whispered Billy flippantly in Bertram's ear. “I'm + sure I don't want to stay here till to-morrow! I want to go home and see + Baby.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Billy!</i>” pleaded Bertram so despairingly, that Billy, really + conscience-smitten, sat back in her seat and remained, for the rest of the + act, very quiet indeed. + </p> + <p> + Deceived by her apparent tranquillity, Bertram turned as the curtain went + down. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Billy, surely you don't think it'll be necessary to telephone so + soon as this again,” he ventured. + </p> + <p> + Billy's countenance fell. + </p> + <p> + “But, Bertram, you <i>said</i> you would! Of course if you aren't willing + to—but I've been counting on hearing all through this horrid long + act, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Goodness me, Billy, I'll telephone every minute for you, of course, if + you want me to,” cried Bertram, springing to his feet, and trying not to + show his impatience. + </p> + <p> + He was back more promptly this time. + </p> + <p> + “Everything O. K.,” he smiled reassuringly into Billy's anxious eyes. + “Delia said she'd just been up, and the little chap was sound asleep.” + </p> + <p> + To the man's unbounded surprise, his wife grew actually white. + </p> + <p> + “Up! Up!” she exclaimed. “Do you mean that Delia went down-stairs to <i>stay</i>, + and left my baby up there alone?” + </p> + <p> + “But, Billy, she said he was all right,” murmured Bertram, softly, casting + uneasy sidelong glances at his too interested neighbors. + </p> + <p> + “'All right'! Perhaps he was, <i>then</i>—but he may not be, later. + Delia should stay in the next room all the time, where she could hear the + least thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear, she will, I'm sure, if you tell her to,” soothed Bertram, + quickly. “It'll be all right next time.” + </p> + <p> + Billy shook her head. She was obviously near to crying. + </p> + <p> + “But, Bertram, I can't stand it to sit here enjoying myself all safe and + comfortable, and know that Baby is <i>alone</i> up there in that great big + room! Please, <i>please</i> won't you go and telephone Delia to go up <i>now</i> + and stay there?” + </p> + <p> + Bertram, weary, sorely tried, and increasingly aware of those annoyingly + interested neighbors, was on the point of saying a very decided no; but a + glance into Billy's pleading eyes settled it. Without a word he went back + to the telephone. + </p> + <p> + The curtain was up when he slipped into his seat, very red of face. In + answer to Billy's hurried whisper he shook his head; but in the short + pause between the first and second scenes he said, in a low voice: + </p> + <p> + “I'm sorry, Billy, but I couldn't get the house at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn't get them! But you'd just been talking with them!” + </p> + <p> + “That's exactly it, probably. I had just telephoned, so they weren't + watching for the bell. Anyhow, I couldn't get them.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you didn't get Delia at all!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not.” + </p> + <p> + “And Baby is still—all alone!” + </p> + <p> + “But he's all right, dear. Delia's keeping watch of him.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment there was silence; then, with clear decisiveness came Billy's + voice. + </p> + <p> + “Bertram, I am going home.” + </p> + <p> + “Billy!” + </p> + <p> + “I am.” + </p> + <p> + “Billy, for heaven's sake don't be a silly goose! The play's half over + already. We'll soon be going, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + Billy's lips came together in a thin little determined line. + </p> + <p> + “Bertram, I am going home now, please,” she said. “You needn't come with + me; I can go alone.” + </p> + <p> + Bertram said two words under his breath which it was just as well, + perhaps, that Billy—and the neighbors—did not hear; then he + gathered up their wraps and, with Billy, stalked out of the theater. + </p> + <p> + At home everything was found to be absolutely as it should be. Bertram, + Jr., was peacefully sleeping, and Delia, who had come up from downstairs, + was sewing in the next room. + </p> + <p> + “There, you see,” observed Bertram, a little sourly. + </p> + <p> + Billy drew a long, contented sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I see; everything is all right. But that's exactly what I wanted to + do, Bertram, you know—to <i>see for myself</i>,” she finished + happily. + </p> + <p> + And Bertram, looking at her rapt face as she hovered over the baby's crib, + called himself a brute and a beast to mind <i>anything</i> that could make + Billy look like that. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXV. “SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT” + </h2> + <p> + Bertram did not ask Billy very soon again to go to the theater. For some + days, indeed, he did not ask her to do anything. Then, one evening, he did + beg for some music. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, you haven't played to me or sung to me since I could remember,” he + complained. “I want some music.” + </p> + <p> + Billy gave a merry laugh and wriggled her fingers experimentally. + </p> + <p> + “Mercy, Bertram! I don't believe I could play a note. You know I'm all out + of practice.” + </p> + <p> + “But why <i>don't</i> you practice?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Bertram, I can't. In the first place I don't seem to have any time + except when Baby's asleep; and I can't play then-I'd wake him up.” + </p> + <p> + Bertram sighed irritably, rose to his feet, and began to walk up and down + the room. He came to a pause at last, his eyes bent a trifle + disapprovingly on his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Billy, dear, <i>don't</i> you wear anything but those wrapper things + nowadays?” he asked plaintively. + </p> + <p> + Again Billy laughed. But this time a troubled frown followed the laugh. + </p> + <p> + “I know, Bertram, I suppose they do look dowdy, sometimes,” she confessed; + “but, you see, I hate to wear a really good dress—Baby rumples them + up so; and I'm usually in a hurry to get to him mornings, and these are so + easy to slip into, and so much more comfortable for me to handle him in!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course, of course; I see,” mumbled Bertram, listlessly taking up + his walk again. + </p> + <p> + Billy, after a moment's silence, began to talk animatedly. Baby had done a + wonderfully cunning thing that morning, and Billy had not had a chance yet + to tell Bertram. Baby was growing more and more cunning anyway, these + days, and there were several things she believed she had not told him; so + she told them now. + </p> + <p> + Bertram listened politely, interestedly. He told himself that he <i>was</i> + interested, too. Of course he was interested in the doings of his own + child! But he still walked up and down the room a little restlessly, + coming to a halt at last by the window, across which the shade had not + been drawn. + </p> + <p> + “Billy,” he cried suddenly, with his old boyish eagerness, “there's a + glorious moon. Come on! Let's take a little walk—a real + fellow-and-his-best-girl walk! Will you?” + </p> + <p> + “Mercy! dear, I couldn't,” cried Billy springing to her feet. “I'd love + to, though, if I could,” she added hastily, as she saw disappointment + cloud her husband's face. “But I told Delia she might go out. It isn't her + regular evening, of course, but I told her I didn't mind staying with Baby + a bit. So I'll have to go right up now. She'll be going soon. But, dear, + you go and take your walk. It'll do you good. Then you can come back and + tell me all about it—only you must come in quietly, so not to wake + the baby,” she finished, giving her husband an affectionate kiss, as she + left the room. + </p> + <p> + After a disconsolate five minutes of solitude, Bertram got his hat and + coat and went out for his walk—but he told himself he did not expect + to enjoy it. + </p> + <p> + Bertram Henshaw knew that the old rebellious jealousy of the summer had + him fast in its grip. He was heartily ashamed of himself, but he could not + help it. He wanted Billy, and he wanted her then. He wanted to talk to + her. He wanted to tell her about a new portrait commission he had just + obtained; and he wanted to ask her what she thought of the idea of a + brand-new “Face of a Girl” for the Bohemian Ten Exhibition next March. He + wanted—but then, what would be the use? She would listen, of course, + but he would know by the very looks of her face that she would not be + really thinking of what he was saying; and he would be willing to wager + his best canvas that in the very first pause she would tell about the + baby's newest tooth or latest toy. Not but that he liked to hear about the + little fellow, of course; and not but that he was proud as Punch of him, + too; but that he would like sometimes to hear Billy talk of something + else. The sweetest melody in the world, if dinned into one's ears day and + night, became something to be fled from. + </p> + <p> + And Billy ought to talk of something else, too! Bertram, Jr., wonderful as + he was, really was not the only thing in the world, or even the only baby; + and other people—outsiders, their friends—had a right to + expect that sometimes other matters might be considered—their own, + for instance. But Billy seemed to have forgotten this. No matter whether + the subject of conversation had to do with the latest novel or a trip to + Europe, under Billy's guidance it invariably led straight to Baby's + Jack-and-Jill book, or to a perambulator journey in the Public Garden. If + it had not been so serious, it would have been really funny the way all + roads led straight to one goal. He himself, when alone with Billy, had + started the most unusual and foreign subjects, sometimes, just to see if + there were not somewhere a little bypath that did not bring up in his own + nursery. He never, however, found one. + </p> + <p> + But it was not funny; it was serious. Was this glorious gift on parenthood + to which he had looked forward as the crowning joy of his existence, to be + nothing but a tragedy that would finally wreck his domestic happiness? It + could not be. It must not be. He must be patient, and wait. Billy loved + him. He was sure she did. By and by this obsession of motherhood, which + had her so fast in its grasp, would relax. She would remember that her + husband had rights as well as her child. Once again she would give him the + companionship, love, and sympathetic interest so dear to him. Meanwhile + there was his work. He must bury himself in that. And fortunate, indeed, + he was, he told himself, that he had something so absorbing. + </p> + <p> + It was at this point in his meditations that Bertram rounded a corner and + came face to face with a man who stopped him short with a jovial: + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it—by George, it is Bertie Henshaw! Well, what do you think + of that for luck?—and me only two days home from 'Gay Paree'!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Seaver! How are you? You <i>are</i> a stranger!” Bertram's voice and + handshake were a bit more cordial than they would have been had he not at + the moment been feeling so abused and forlorn. In the old days he had + liked this Bob Seaver well. Seaver was an artist like himself, and was + good company always. But Seaver and his crowd were a little too Bohemian + for William's taste; and after Billy came, she, too, had objected to what + she called “that horrid Seaver man.” In his heart, Bertram knew that there + was good foundation for their objections, so he had avoided Seaver for a + time; and for some years, now, the man had been abroad, somewhat to + Bertram's relief. To-night, however, Seaver's genial smile and hearty + friendliness were like a sudden burst of sunshine on a rainy day—and + Bertram detested rainy days. He was feeling now, too, as if he had just + had a whole week of them. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am something of a stranger here,” nodded Seaver. “But I tell you + what, little old Boston looks mighty good to me, all the same. Come on! + You're just the fellow we want. I'm on my way now to the old stamping + ground. Come—right about face, old chap, and come with me!” + </p> + <p> + Bertram shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry—but I guess I can't, to-night,” he sighed. Both gesture and + words were unhesitating, but the voice carried the discontent of a small + boy, who, while the sun is still shining, has been told to come into the + house. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, rats! Yes, you can, too. Come on! Lots of the old crowd will be there—Griggs, + Beebe, Jack Jenkins, and Tully. We need you to complete the show.” + </p> + <p> + “Jack Jenkins? Is he here?” A new eagerness had come into Bertram's voice. + </p> + <p> + “Sure! He came on from New York last night. Great boy, Jenkins! Just back + from Paris fairly covered with medals, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, so I hear. I haven't seen him for four years.” + </p> + <p> + “Better come to-night then.” + </p> + <p> + “No-o,” began Bertram, with obvious reluctance. “It's already nine + o'clock, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Nine o'clock!” cut in Seaver, with a broad grin. “Since when has your + limit been nine o'clock? I've seen the time when you didn't mind nine + o'clock in the morning, Bertie! What's got—Oh, I remember. I met + another friend of yours in Berlin; chap named Arkwright—and say, + he's some singer, you bet! You're going to hear of him one of these days. + Well, he told me all about how you'd settled down now—son and heir, + fireside bliss, pretty wife, and all the fixings. But, I say, Bertie, + doesn't she let you out—<i>any</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, Seaver!” flared Bertram in annoyed wrath. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, why don't you come to-night? If you want to see Jenkins + you'll have to; he's going back to New York to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + For only a brief minute longer did Bertram hesitate; then he turned + squarely about with an air of finality. + </p> + <p> + “Is he? Well, then, perhaps I will,” he said. “I'd hate to miss Jenkins + entirely.” + </p> + <p> + “Good!” exclaimed his companion, as they fell into step. “Have a cigar?” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. Don't mind if I do.” + </p> + <p> + If Bertram's chin was a little higher and his step a little more decided + than usual, it was all merely by way of accompaniment to his thoughts. + </p> + <p> + Certainly it was right that he should go, and it was sensible. Indeed, it + was really almost imperative—due to Billy, as it were—after + that disagreeable taunt of Seaver's. As if she did not want him to go when + and where he pleased! As if she would consent for a moment to figure in + the eyes of his friends as a tyrannical wife who objected to her husband's + passing a social evening with his friends! To be sure, in this particular + case, she might not favor Seaver's presence, but even she would not mind + this once—and, anyhow, it was Jenkins that was the attraction, not + Seaver. Besides, he himself was no undeveloped boy now. He was a man, + presumedly able to take care of himself. Besides, again, had not Billy + herself told him to go out and enjoy the evening without her, as she had + to stay with the baby? He would telephone her, of course, that he had met + some old friends, and that he might be late; then she would not worry. + </p> + <p> + And forthwith, having settled the matter in his mind, and to his complete + satisfaction, Bertram gave his undivided attention to Seaver, who had + already plunged into an account of a recent Art Exhibition he had attended + in Paris. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVI. GHOSTS THAT WALKED FOR BERTRAM + </h2> + <p> + October proved to be unusually mild, and about the middle of the month, + Bertram, after much unselfish urging on the part of Billy, went to a + friend's camp in the Adirondacks for a week's stay. He came back with an + angry, lugubrious face—and a broken arm. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Bertram! And your right one, too—the same one you broke + before!” mourned Billy, tearfully. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” retorted Bertram, trying in vain to give an air of jauntiness + to his reply. “Didn't want to be too changeable, you know!” + </p> + <p> + “But how did you do it, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “Fell into a silly little hole covered with underbrush. But—oh, + Billy, what's the use? I did it, and I can't undo it—more's the + pity!” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you can't, you poor boy,” sympathized Billy; “and you sha'n't + be tormented with questions. We'll just be thankful 'twas no worse. You + can't paint for a while, of course; but we won't mind that. It'll just + give Baby and me a chance to have you all to ourselves for a time, and + we'll love that!' + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course,” sighed Bertram, so abstractedly that Billy bridled with + pretty resentment. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I like your enthusiasm, sir,” she frowned. “I'm afraid you don't + appreciate the blessings you do have, young man! Did you realize what I + said? I remarked that you could be with <i>Baby</i> and <i>me</i>,” she + emphasized. + </p> + <p> + Bertram laughed, and gave his wife an affectionate kiss. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I do appreciate my blessings, dear—when those blessings are + such treasures as you and Baby, but—” Only his doleful eyes fixed on + his injured arm finished his sentence. + </p> + <p> + “I know, dear, of course, and I understand,” murmured Billy, all + tenderness at once. + </p> + <p> + They were not easy for Bertram—those following days. Once again he + was obliged to accept the little intimate personal services that he so + disliked. Once again he could do nothing but read, or wander + disconsolately into his studio and gaze at his half-finished “Face of a + Girl.” Occasionally, it is true, driven nearly to desperation by the + haunting vision in his mind's eye, he picked up a brush and attempted to + make his left hand serve his will; but a bare half-dozen irritating, + ineffectual strokes were usually enough to make him throw down his brush + in disgust. He never could do anything with his left hand, he told himself + dejectedly. + </p> + <p> + Many of his hours, of course, he spent with Billy and his son, and they + were happy hours, too; but they always came to be restless ones before the + day was half over. Billy was always devotion itself to him—when she + was not attending to the baby; he had no fault to find with Billy. And the + baby was delightful—he could find no fault with the baby. But the + baby <i>was</i> fretful—he was teething, Billy said—and he + needed a great deal of attention; so, naturally, Bertram drifted out of + the nursery, after a time, and went down into his studio, where were his + dear, empty palette, his orderly brushes, and his tantalizing “Face of a + Girl.” From the studio, generally, Bertram went out on to the street. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes he dropped into a fellow-artist's studio. Sometimes he strolled + into a club or café where he knew he would be likely to find some friend + who would help him while away a tiresome hour. Bertram's friends quite + vied with each other in rendering this sort of aid, so much so, indeed, + that—naturally, perhaps—Bertram came to call on their services + more and more frequently. + </p> + <p> + Particularly was this the case when, after the splints were removed, + Bertram found, as the days passed, that his arm was not improving as it + should improve. This not only disappointed and annoyed him, but worried + him. He remembered sundry disquieting warnings given by the physician at + the time of the former break—warnings concerning the probable + seriousness of a repetition of the injury. To Billy, of course, Bertram + said nothing of all this; but just before Christmas he went to see a noted + specialist. + </p> + <p> + An hour later, almost in front of the learned surgeon's door, Bertram met + Bob Seaver. + </p> + <p> + “Great Scott, Bertie, what's up?” ejaculated Seaver. “You look as if you'd + seen a ghost.” + </p> + <p> + “I have,” answered Bertram, with grim bitterness. “I've seen the ghost of—of + every 'Face of a Girl' I ever painted.” + </p> + <p> + “Gorry! So bad as that? No wonder you look as if you'd been disporting in + graveyards,” chuckled Seaver, laughing at his own joke “What's the matter—arm + on a rampage to day?” + </p> + <p> + He paused for reply, but as Bertram did not answer at once, he resumed, + with gay insistence: “Come on! You need cheering up. Suppose we go down to + Trentini's and see who's there.” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” agreed Bertram, dully. “Suit yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Bertram was not thinking of Seaver, Trentini's, or whom he might find + there. Bertram was thinking of certain words he had heard less than half + an hour ago. He was wondering, too, if ever again he could think of + anything but those words. + </p> + <p> + “The truth?” the great surgeon had said. “Well, the truth is—I'm + sorry to tell you the truth, Mr. Henshaw, but if you will have it—you've + painted the last picture you'll ever paint with your right hand, I fear. + It's a bad case. This break, coming as it did on top of the serious injury + of two or three years ago, was bad enough; but, to make matters worse, the + bone was imperfectly set and wrongly treated, which could not be helped, + of course, as you were miles away from skilled surgeons at the time of the + injury. We'll do the best we can, of course; but—well, you asked for + the truth, you remember; so I had to give it to you.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVII. THE MOTHER—THE WIFE + </h2> + <p> + Bertram made up his mind at once that, for the present, at least, he would + tell no one what the surgeon had said to him. He had placed himself under + the man's care, and there was nothing to do but to take the prescribed + treatment and await results as patiently as he could. Meanwhile there was + no need to worry Billy, or William, or anybody else with the matter. + </p> + <p> + Billy was so busy with her holiday plans that she was only vaguely aware + of what seemed to be an increase of restlessness on the part of her + husband during those days just before Christmas. + </p> + <p> + “Poor dear, is the arm feeling horrid to-day?” she asked one morning, when + the gloom on her husband's face was deeper than usual. + </p> + <p> + Bertram frowned and did not answer directly. + </p> + <p> + “Lots of good I am these days!” he exclaimed, his moody eyes on the armful + of many-shaped, many-sized packages she carried. “What are those for-the + tree?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and it's going to be so pretty, Bertram,” exulted Billy. “And, do + you know, Baby positively acts as if he suspected things—little as + he is,” she went on eagerly. “He's as nervous as a witch. I can't keep him + still a minute!” + </p> + <p> + “How about his mother?” hinted Bertram, with a faint smile. + </p> + <p> + Billy laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm afraid she isn't exactly calm herself,” she confessed, as she + hurried out of the room with her parcels. + </p> + <p> + Bertram looked after her longingly, despondently. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder what she'd say if she—knew,” he muttered. “But she sha'n't + know—till she just has to,” he vowed suddenly, under his breath, + striding into the hall for his hat and coat. + </p> + <p> + Never had the Strata known such a Christmas as this was planned to be. + Cyril, Marie, and the twins were to be there, also Kate, her husband and + three children, Paul, Egbert, and little Kate, from the West. On Christmas + Day there was to be a big family dinner, with Aunt Hannah down from the + Annex. Then, in concession to the extreme youth of the young host and his + twin cousins, there was to be an afternoon tree. The shades were to be + drawn and the candles lighted, however, so that there might be no loss of + effect. In the evening the tree was to be once more loaded with + fascinating packages and candy-bags, and this time the Greggorys, Tommy + Dunn, and all the rest from the Annex were to have the fun all over again. + </p> + <p> + From garret to basement the Strata was aflame with holly, and aglitter + with tinsel. Nowhere did there seem to be a spot that did not have its bit + of tissue paper or its trail of red ribbon. And everything—holly, + ribbon, tissue, and tinsel—led to the mysteriously closed doors of + the great front drawing-room, past which none but Billy and her accredited + messengers might venture. No wonder, indeed, that even Baby scented + excitement, and that Baby's mother was not exactly calm. No wonder, too, + that Bertram, with his helpless right arm, and his heavy heart, felt + peculiarly forlorn and “out of it.” No wonder, also, that he took himself + literally out of it with growing frequency. + </p> + <p> + Mr. and Mrs. Hartwell and little Kate were to stay at the Strata. The + boys, Paul and Egbert, were to go to Cyril's. Promptly at the appointed + time, two days before Christmas, they arrived. And from that hour until + two days after Christmas, when the last bit of holly, ribbon, tissue, and + tinsel disappeared from the floor, Billy moved in a whirl of anxious + responsibility that was yet filled with fun, frolic, and laughter. + </p> + <p> + It was a great success, the whole affair. Everybody seemed pleased and + happy—that is, everybody but Bertram; and he very plainly tried to + seem pleased and happy. Even Cyril unbent to the extent of not appearing + to mind the noise one bit; and Sister Kate (Bertram said) found only the + extraordinarily small number of four details to change in the + arrangements. Baby obligingly let his teeth-getting go, for the occasion, + and he and the twins, Franz and Felix, were the admiration and delight of + all. Little Kate, to be sure, was a trifle disconcerting once or twice, + but everybody was too absorbed to pay much attention to her. Billy did, + however, remember her opening remarks. + </p> + <p> + “Well, little Kate, do you remember me?” Billy had greeted her pleasantly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” little Kate had answered, with a winning smile. “You're my Aunt + Billy what married my Uncle Bertram instead of Uncle William as you said + you would first.” + </p> + <p> + Everybody laughed, and Billy colored, of course; but little Kate went on + eagerly: + </p> + <p> + “And I've been wanting just awfully to see you,” she announced. + </p> + <p> + “Have you? I'm glad, I'm sure. I feel highly flattered,” smiled Billy. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I have. You see, I wanted to ask you something. Have you ever + wished that you <i>had</i> married Uncle William instead of Uncle Bertram, + or that you'd tried for Uncle Cyril before Aunty Marie got him?” + </p> + <p> + “Kate!” gasped her horrified mother. “I told you—You see,” she broke + off, turning to Billy despairingly. “She's been pestering me with + questions like that ever since she knew she was coming. She never has + forgotten the way you changed from one uncle to the other. You may + remember; it made a great impression on her at the time.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I—I remember,” stammered Billy, trying to laugh off her + embarrassment. + </p> + <p> + “But you haven't told me yet whether you did wish you'd married Uncle + William, or Uncle Cyril,” interposed little Kate, persistently. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, of course not!” exclaimed Billy, with a vivid blush, casting her + eyes about for a door of escape, and rejoicing greatly when she spied + Delia with the baby coming toward them. “There, look, my dear, here's your + new cousin, little Bertram!” she exclaimed. “Don't you want to see him?” + </p> + <p> + Little Kate turned dutifully. + </p> + <p> + “Yes'm, Aunt Billy, but I'd rather see the twins. Mother says <i>they're</i> + real pretty and cunning.” + </p> + <p> + “Er—y-yes, they are,” murmured Billy, on whom the emphasis of the + “they're” had not been lost. + </p> + <p> + Naturally, as may be supposed, therefore, Billy had not forgotten little + Kate's opening remarks. + </p> + <p> + Immediately after Christmas Mr. Hartwell and the boys went back to their + Western home, leaving Mrs. Hartwell and her daughter to make a round of + visits to friends in the East. For almost a week after Christmas they + remained at the Strata; and it was on the last day of their stay that + little Kate asked the question that proved so momentous in results. + </p> + <p> + Billy, almost unconsciously, had avoided tête-á-têtes with her small + guest. But to-day they were alone together. + </p> + <p> + “Aunt Billy,” began the little girl, after a meditative gaze into the + other's face, “you <i>are</i> married to Uncle Bertram, aren't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I certainly am, my dear,” smiled Billy, trying to speak unconcernedly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, what makes you forget it?” + </p> + <p> + “What makes me forget—Why, child, what a question! What do you mean? + I don't forget it!” exclaimed Billy, indignantly. + </p> + <p> + “Then what <i>did</i> mother mean? I heard her tell Uncle William myself—she + didn't know I heard, though—that she did wish you'd remember you + were Uncle Bertram's wife as well as Cousin Bertram's mother.” + </p> + <p> + Billy flushed scarlet, then grew very white. At that moment Mrs. Hartwell + came into the room. Little Kate turned triumphantly. + </p> + <p> + “There, she hasn't forgotten, and I knew she hadn't, mother! I asked her + just now, and she said she hadn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Hadn't what?” questioned Mrs. Hartwell, looking a little apprehensively + at her sister-in-law's white face and angry eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Hadn't forgotten that she was Uncle Bertram's wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Kate,” interposed Billy, steadily meeting her sister-in-law's gaze, “will + you be good enough to tell me what this child is talking about?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hartwell sighed, and gave an impatient gesture. + </p> + <p> + “Kate, I've a mind to take you home on the next train,” she said to her + daughter. “Run away, now, down-stairs. Your Aunt Billy and I want to talk. + Come, come, hurry! I mean what I say,” she added warningly, as she saw + unmistakable signs of rebellion on the small young face. + </p> + <p> + “I wish,” pouted little Kate, rising reluctantly, and moving toward the + door, “that you didn't always send me away just when I wanted most to + stay!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Kate?” prompted Billy, as the door closed behind the little girl. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I suppose I'll have to say it now, as long as that child has put her + finger in the pie. But I hadn't intended to speak, no matter what I saw. I + promised myself I wouldn't, before I came. I know, of course, how Bertram + and Cyril, and William, too, say that I'm always interfering in affairs + that don't concern me—though, for that matter, if my own brother's + affairs don't concern me, I don't know whose should! + </p> + <p> + “But, as I said, I wasn't going to speak this time, no matter what I saw. + And I haven't—except to William, and Cyril, and Aunt Hannah; but I + suppose somewhere little Kate got hold of it. It's simply this, Billy. It + seems to me it's high time you began to realize that you're Bertram's wife + as well as the baby's mother.” + </p> + <p> + “That, I am—I don't think I quite understand,” said Billy, + unsteadily. + </p> + <p> + “No, I suppose you don't,” sighed Kate, “though where your eyes are, I + don't see—or, rather, I do see: they're on the baby, <i>always</i>. + It's all very well and lovely, Billy, to be a devoted mother, and you + certainly are that. I'll say that much for you, and I'll admit I never + thought you would be. But <i>can't</i> you see what you're doing to + Bertram?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Doing to Bertram!</i>—by being a devoted mother to his son!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, doing to Bertram. Can't you see what a change there is in the boy? + He doesn't act like himself at all. He's restless and gloomy and entirely + out of sorts.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know; but that's his arm,” pleaded Billy. “Poor boy—he's so + tired of it!” + </p> + <p> + Kate shook her head decisively. + </p> + <p> + “It's more than his arm, Billy. You'd see it yourself if you weren't + blinded by your absorption in that baby. Where is Bertram every evening? + Where is he daytimes? Do you realize that he's been at home scarcely one + evening since I came? And as for the days—he's almost never here.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Kate, he can't paint now, you know, so of course he doesn't need to + stay so closely at home,” defended Billy. “He goes out to find distraction + from himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, 'distraction,' indeed,” sniffed Kate. “And where do you suppose he + finds it? Do you <i>know</i> where he finds it? I tell you, Billy, Bertram + Henshaw is not the sort of man that should find too much 'distraction' + outside his home. His tastes and his temperament are altogether too + Bohemian, and—” + </p> + <p> + Billy interrupted with a peremptorily upraised hand. + </p> + <p> + “Please remember, Kate, you are speaking of my husband to his wife; and + his wife has perfect confidence in him, and is just a little particular as + to what you say.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; well, I'm speaking of my brother, too, whom I know very well,” + shrugged Kate. “All is, you may remember sometime that I warned you—that's + all. This trusting business is all very pretty; but I think 'twould be a + lot prettier, and a vast deal more sensible, if you'd give him a little + attention as well as trust, and see if you can't keep him at home a bit + more. At least you'll know whom he's with, then. Cyril says he saw him + last week with Bob Seaver.” + </p> + <p> + “With—Bob—Seaver?” faltered Billy, changing color. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I see you remember him,” smiled Kate, not quite agreeably. “Perhaps + now you'll take some stock in what I've said, and remember it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll remember it, certainly,” returned Billy, a little proudly. “You've + said a good many things to me, in the past, Mrs. Hartwell, and I've + remembered them all—every one.” + </p> + <p> + It was Kate's turn to flush, and she did it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know. And I presume very likely sometimes there <i>hasn't</i> been + much foundation for what I've said. I think this time, however, you'll + find there is,” she finished, with an air of hurt dignity. + </p> + <p> + Billy made no reply, perhaps because Delia, at that moment, brought in the + baby. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Hartwell and little Kate left the Strata the next morning. Until then + Billy contrived to keep, before them, a countenance serene, and a manner + free from unrest. Even when, after dinner that evening, Bertram put on his + hat and coat and went out, Billy refused to meet her sister-in-law's + meaning gaze. But in the morning, after they had left the house, Billy did + not attempt to deceive herself. Determinedly, then, she set herself to + going over in her mind the past months since the baby came; and she was + appalled at what she found. Ever in her ears, too, was that feared name, + “Bob Seaver”; and ever before her eyes was that night years ago when, as + an eighteen-year-old girl, she had followed Bertram and Bob Seaver into a + glittering café at eleven o'clock at night, because Bertram had been + drinking and was not himself. She remembered Bertram's face when he had + seen her, and what he had said when she begged him to come home. She + remembered, too, what the family had said afterward. But she remembered, + also, that years later Bertram had told her what that escapade of hers had + really done for him, and that he believed he had actually loved her from + that moment. After that night, at all events, he had had little to do with + Bob Seaver. + </p> + <p> + And now Seaver was back again, it seemed—and with Bertram. They had + been seen together. But if they had, what could she do? Surely she could + hardly now follow them into a public café and demand that Seaver let her + husband come home! But she could keep him at home, perhaps. (Billy quite + brightened at this thought.) Kate had said that she was so absorbed in + Baby that her husband received no attention at all. Billy did not believe + this was true; but if it were true, she could at least rectify that + mistake. If it were attention that he wanted—he should want no more. + Poor Bertram! No wonder that he had sought distraction outside! When one + had a horrid broken arm that would not let one do anything, what else + could one do? + </p> + <p> + Just here Billy suddenly remembered the book, “A Talk to Young Wives.” If + she recollected rightly, there was a chapter that covered the very claim + Kate had been making. Billy had not thought of the book for months, but + she went at once to get it now. There might be, after all, something in it + that would help her. + </p> + <p> + “The Coming of the First Baby.” Billy found the chapter without difficulty + and settled herself to read, her countenance alight with interest. In a + surprisingly short time, however, a new expression came to her face; and + at last a little gasp of dismay fell from her lips. She looked up then, + with a startled gaze. + </p> + <p> + <i>Had</i> her walls possessed eyes and ears all these past months, only + to give instructions to an unseen hand that it might write what the eyes + and ears had learned? For it was such sentences as these that the + conscience-smitten Billy read: + </p> + <p> + “Maternity is apt to work a miracle in a woman's life, but sometimes it + spells disaster so far as domestic bliss is concerned. The young mother, + wrapped up in the delights and duties of motherhood, utterly forgets that + she has a husband. She lives and moves and has her being in the nursery. + She thinks baby, talks baby, knows only baby. She refuses to dress up, + because it is easier to take care of baby in a frowzy wrapper. She will + not go out with her husband for fear something might happen to the baby. + She gives up her music because baby won't let her practice. In vain her + husband tries to interest her in his own affairs. She has neither eyes nor + ears for him, only for baby. + </p> + <p> + “Now no man enjoys having his nose put out of joint, even by his own + child. He loves his child devotedly, and is proud of him, of course; but + that does not keep him from wanting the society of his wife occasionally, + nor from longing for her old-time love and sympathetic interest. It is an + admirable thing, certainly, for a woman to be a devoted mother; but + maternal affection can be carried too far. Husbands have some rights as + well as offspring; and the wife who neglects her husband for her babies + does so at her peril. Home, with the wife eternally in the nursery, is apt + to be a dull and lonely thing to the average husband, so he starts out to + find amusement for himself—and he finds it. Then is the time when + the new little life that is so precious, and that should have bound the + two more closely together, becomes the wedge that drives them apart.” + </p> + <p> + Billy did not read any more. With a little sobbing cry she flung the book + back into her desk, and began to pull off her wrapper. Her fingers shook. + Already she saw herself a Monster, a Wicked Destroyer of Domestic Bliss + with her thoughtless absorption in Baby, until he had become that Awful + Thing—a <i>Wedge</i>. And Bertram—poor Bertram, with his + broken arm! She had not played to him, nor sung to him, nor gone out with + him. And when had they had one of their good long talks about Bertram's + work and plans? + </p> + <p> + But it should all be changed now. She would play, and sing, and go out + with him. She would dress up, too. He should see no more wrappers. She + would ask about his work, and seem interested. She <i>was</i> interested. + She remembered now, that just before he was hurt, he had told her of a new + portrait, and of a new “Face of a Girl” that he had planned to do. Lately + he had said nothing about these. He had seemed discouraged—and no + wonder, with his broken arm! But she would change all that. He should see! + And forthwith Billy hurried to her closet to pick out her prettiest house + frock. + </p> + <p> + Long before dinner Billy was ready, waiting in the drawing-room. She had + on a pretty little blue silk gown that she knew Bertram liked, and she + watched very anxiously for Bertram to come up the steps. She remembered + now, with a pang, that he had long since given up his peculiar ring; but + she meant to meet him at the door just the same. + </p> + <p> + Bertram, however, did not come. At a quarter before six he telephoned that + he had met some friends, and would dine at the club. + </p> + <p> + “My, my, how pretty we are!” exclaimed Uncle William, when they went down + to dinner together. “New frock?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, no, Uncle William,” laughed Billy, a little tremulously. “You've + seen it dozens of times!” + </p> + <p> + “Have I?” murmured the man. “I don't seem to remember it. Too bad Bertram + isn't here to see you. Somehow, you look unusually pretty to-night.” + </p> + <p> + And Billy's heart ached anew. + </p> + <p> + Billy spent the evening practicing—softly, to be sure, so as not to + wake Baby—but <i>practicing</i>. + </p> + <p> + As the days passed Billy discovered that it was much easier to say she + would “change things” than it was really to change them. She changed + herself, it is true—her clothes, her habits, her words, and her + thoughts; but it was more difficult to change Bertram. In the first place, + he was there so little. She was dismayed when she saw how very little, + indeed, he was at home—and she did not like to ask him outright to + stay. That was not in accordance with her plans. Besides, the “Talk to + Young Wives” said that indirect influence was much to be preferred, + always, to direct persuasion—which last, indeed, usually failed to + produce results. + </p> + <p> + So Billy “dressed up,” and practiced, and talked (of anything but the + baby), and even hinted shamelessly once or twice that she would like to go + to the theater; but all to little avail. True, Bertram brightened up, for + a minute, when he came home and found her in a new or a favorite dress, + and he told her how pretty she looked. He appeared to like to have her + play to him, too, even declaring once or twice that it was quite like old + times, yes, it was. But he never noticed her hints about the theater, and + he did not seem to like to talk about his work, even a little bit. + </p> + <p> + Billy laid this last fact to his injured arm. She decided that he had + become blue and discouraged, and that he needed cheering up, especially + about his work; so she determinedly and systematically set herself to + doing it. + </p> + <p> + She talked of the fine work he had done, and of the still finer work he + would yet do, when his arm was well. She told him how proud she was of + him, and she let him see how dear his Art was to her, and how badly she + would feel if she thought he had really lost all his interest in his work + and would never paint again. She questioned him about the new portrait he + was to begin as soon as his arm would let him; and she tried to arouse his + enthusiasm in the picture he had planned to show in the March Exhibition + of the Bohemian Ten, telling him that she was sure his arm would allow him + to complete at least one canvas to hang. + </p> + <p> + In none of this, however, did Bertram appear in the least interested. The + one thing, indeed, which he seemed not to want to talk about, was his + work; and he responded to her overtures on the subject with only moody + silence, or else with almost irritable monosyllables; all of which not + only grieved but surprised Billy very much. For, according to the “Talk to + Young Wives,” she was doing exactly what the ideal, sympathetic, + interested-in-her-husband's-work wife should do. + </p> + <p> + When February came, bringing with it no change for the better, Billy was + thoroughly frightened. Bertram's arm plainly was not improving. He was + more gloomy and restless than ever. He seemed not to want to stay at home + at all; and Billy knew now for a certainty that he was spending more and + more time with Bob Seaver and “the boys.” + </p> + <p> + Poor Billy! Nowhere could she look these days and see happiness. Even the + adored baby seemed, at times, almost to give an added pang. Had he not + become, according to the “Talk to Young Wives” that awful thing, a <i>Wedge</i>? + The Annex, too, carried its sting; for where was the need of an overflow + house for happiness now, when there was no happiness to overflow? Even the + little jade idol on Billy's mantel Billy could not bear to see these days, + for its once bland smile had become a hideous grin, demanding, “Where, + now, is your heap plenty velly good luckee?” + </p> + <p> + But, before Bertram, Billy still carried a bravely smiling face, and to + him still she talked earnestly and enthusiastically of his work—which + last, as it happened, was the worst course she could have pursued; for the + one thing poor Bertram wished to forget, just now, was—his work. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXVIII. CONSPIRATORS + </h2> + <p> + Early in February came Arkwright's appearance at the Boston Opera House—the + first since he had sung there as a student a few years before. He was an + immediate and an unquestioned success. His portrait adorned the front page + of almost every Boston newspaper the next morning, and captious critics + vied with each other to do him honor. His full history, from boyhood up, + was featured, with special emphasis on his recent triumphs in New York and + foreign capitals. He was interviewed as to his opinion on everything from + vegetarianism to woman's suffrage; and his preferences as to pies and + pastimes were given headline prominence. There was no doubt of it. Mr. M. + J. Arkwright was a star. + </p> + <p> + All Arkwright's old friends, including Billy, Bertram, Cyril, Marie, + Calderwell, Alice Greggory, Aunt Hannah, and Tommy Dunn, went to hear him + sing; and after the performance he held a miniature reception, with enough + adulation to turn his head completely around, he declared deprecatingly. + Not until the next evening, however, did he have an opportunity for what + he called a real talk with any of his friends; then, in Calderwell's room, + he settled back in his chair with a sigh of content. + </p> + <p> + For a time his own and Calderwell's affairs occupied their attention; + then, after a short pause, the tenor asked abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “Is there anything—wrong with the Henshaws, Calderwell?” + </p> + <p> + Calderwell came suddenly erect in his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you! I hoped you'd introduce that subject; though, for that matter, + if you hadn't, I should. Yes, there is—and I'm looking to you, old + man, to get them out of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I?” Arkwright sat erect now. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “In a way, the expected has happened—though I know now that I didn't + really expect it to happen, in spite of my prophecies. You may remember I + was always skeptical on the subject of Bertram's settling down to a + domestic hearthstone. I insisted 'twould be the turn of a girl's head and + the curve of her cheek that he wanted to paint.” + </p> + <p> + Arkwright looked up with a quick frown. + </p> + <p> + “You don't mean that Henshaw has been cad enough to find another—” + </p> + <p> + Calderwell threw up his hand. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, not that! We haven't that to deal with—yet, thank goodness! + There's no woman in it. And, really, when you come right down to it, if + ever a fellow had an excuse to seek diversion, Bertram Henshaw has—poor + chap! It's just this. Bertram broke his arm again last October.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, so I hear, and I thought he was looking badly.” + </p> + <p> + “He is. It's a bad business. 'Twas improperly set in the first place, and + it's not doing well now. In fact, I'm told on pretty good authority that + the doctor says he probably will never use it again.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, by George! Calderwell!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Tough, isn't it? 'Specially when you think of his work, and know—as + I happen to—that he's particularly dependent on his right hand for + everything. He doesn't tell this generally, and I understand Billy and the + family know nothing of it—how hopeless the case is, I mean. Well, + naturally, the poor fellow has been pretty thoroughly discouraged, and to + get away from himself he's gone back to his old Bohemian habits, spending + much of his time with some of his old cronies that are none too good for + him—Seaver, for instance.” + </p> + <p> + “Bob Seaver? Yes, I know him.” Arkwright's lips snapped together crisply. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He said he knew you. That's why I'm counting on your help.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean I want you to get Henshaw away from him, and keep him away.” + </p> + <p> + Arkwright's face darkened with an angry flush. + </p> + <p> + “Great Scott, Calderwell! What are you talking about? Henshaw is no kid to + be toted home, and I'm no nursery governess to do the toting!” + </p> + <p> + Calderwell laughed quietly. + </p> + <p> + “No; I don't think any one would take you for a nursery governess, + Arkwright, in spite of the fact that you are still known to some of your + friends as 'Mary Jane.' But you can sing a song, man, which will promptly + give you a through ticket to their innermost sacred circle. In fact, to my + certain knowledge, Seaver is already planning a jamboree with you at the + right hand of the toastmaster. There's your chance. Once in, stay in—long + enough to get Henshaw out.” + </p> + <p> + “But, good heavens, Calderwell, it's impossible! What can I do?” demanded + Arkwright, savagely. “I can't walk up to the man, take him by the ear, and + say: 'Here, you, sir—march home!' Neither can I come the + 'I-am-holier-than-thou' act, and hold up to him the mirror of his + transgressions.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but you can get him out of it <i>some</i> way. You can find a way—for + Billy's sake.” + </p> + <p> + There was no answer, and, after a moment, Calderwell went on more quietly. + </p> + <p> + “I haven't seen Billy but two or three times since I came back to Boston—but + I don't need to, to know that she's breaking her heart over something. And + of course that something is—Bertram.” + </p> + <p> + There was still no answer. Arkwright got up suddenly, and walked to the + window. + </p> + <p> + “You see, I'm helpless,” resumed Calderwell. “I don't paint pictures, nor + sing songs, nor write stories, nor dance jigs for a living—and you + have to do one or another to be in with that set. And it's got to be a + Johnny-on-the-spot with Bertram. All is, something will have to be done to + get him out of the state of mind and body he's in now, or—” + </p> + <p> + Arkwright wheeled sharply. + </p> + <p> + “When did you say this jamboree was going to be?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Next week, some time. The date is not settled. They were going to consult + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Hm-m,” commented Arkwright. And, though his next remark was a complete + change of subject, Calderwell gave a contented sigh. + </p> + <p> + If, when the proposition was first made to him, Arkwright was doubtful of + his ability to be a successful “Johnny-on-the-spot,” he was even more + doubtful of it as the days passed, and he was attempting to carry out the + suggestion. + </p> + <p> + He had known that he was undertaking a most difficult and delicate task, + and he soon began to fear that it was an impossible one, as well. With a + dogged persistence, however, he adhered to his purpose, ever on the alert + to be more watchful, more tactful, more efficient in emergencies. + </p> + <p> + Disagreeable as was the task, in a way, in another way it was a great + pleasure to him. He was glad of the opportunity to do anything for Billy; + and then, too, he was glad of something absorbing enough to take his mind + off his own affairs. He told himself, sometimes, that this helping another + man to fight his tiger skin was assisting himself to fight his own. + </p> + <p> + Arkwright was trying very hard not to think of Alice Greggory these days. + He had come back hoping that he was in a measure “cured” of his “folly,” + as he termed it; but the first look into Alice Greggory's blue-gray eyes + had taught him the fallacy of that idea. In that very first meeting with + Alice, he feared that he had revealed his secret, for she was plainly so + nervously distant and ill at ease with him that he could but construe her + embarrassment and chilly dignity as pity for him and a desire to show him + that she had nothing but friendship for him. Since then he had seen but + little of her, partly because he did not wish to see her, and partly + because his time was so fully occupied. Then, too, in a round-about way he + had heard a rumor that Calderwell was engaged to be married; and, though + no feminine name had been mentioned in connection with the story, + Arkwright had not hesitated to supply in his own mind that of Alice + Greggory. + </p> + <p> + Beginning with the “jamboree,” which came off quite in accordance with + Calderwell's prophecies, Arkwright spent the most of such time as was not + given to his professional duties in deliberately cultivating the society + of Bertram and his friends. To this extent he met with no difficulty, for + he found that M. J. Arkwright, the new star in the operatic firmament, was + obviously a welcome comrade. Beyond this it was not so easy. Arkwright + wondered, indeed, sometimes, if he were making any progress at all. But + still he persevered. + </p> + <p> + He walked with Bertram, he talked with Bertram, unobtrusively he contrived + to be near Bertram almost always, when they were together with “the boys.” + Gradually he won from him the story of what the surgeon had said to him, + and of how black the future looked in consequence. This established a new + bond between them, so potent that Arkwright ventured to test it one day by + telling Bertram the story of the tiger skin—the first tiger skin in + his uncle's library years ago, and of how, since then, any difficulty he + had encountered he had tried to treat as a tiger skin. In telling the + story he was careful to draw no moral for his listener, and to preach no + sermon. He told the tale, too, with all possible whimsical lightness of + touch, and immediately at its conclusion he changed the subject. But that + he had not failed utterly in his design was evidenced a few days later + when Bertram grimly declared that he guessed <i>his</i> tiger skin was a + lively beast, all right. + </p> + <p> + The first time Arkwright went home with Bertram, his presence was almost a + necessity. Bertram was not quite himself that night. Billy admitted them. + She had plainly been watching and waiting. Arkwright never forgot the look + on her face as her eyes met his. There was a curious mixture of terror, + hurt pride, relief, and shame, overtopped by a fierce loyalty which almost + seemed to say aloud the words: “Don't you dare to blame him!” + </p> + <p> + Arkwright's heart ached with sympathy and admiration at the proudly + courageous way in which Billy carried off the next few painful minutes. + Even when he bade her good night a little later, only her eyes said “thank + you.” Her lips were dumb. + </p> + <p> + Arkwright often went home with Bertram after that. Not that it was always + necessary—far from it. Some time, indeed, elapsed before he had + quite the same excuse again for his presence. But he had found that + occasionally he could get Bertram home earlier by adroit suggestions of + one kind or another; and more and more frequently he was succeeding in + getting him home for a game of chess. + </p> + <p> + Bertram liked chess, and was a fine player. Since breaking his arm he had + turned to games with the feverish eagerness of one who looks for something + absorbing to fill an unrestful mind. It was Seaver's skill in chess that + had at first attracted Bertram to the man long ago; but Bertram could beat + him easily—too easily for much pleasure in it now. So they did not + play chess often these days. Bertram had found that, in spite of his + injury, he could still take part in other games, and some of them, if not + so intricate as chess, were at least more apt to take his mind off + himself, especially if there were a bit of money up to add zest and + interest. + </p> + <p> + As it happened, however, Bertram learned one day that Arkwright could play + chess—and play well, too, as he discovered after their first game + together. This fact contributed not a little to such success as Arkwright + was having in his efforts to wean Bertram from his undesirable companions; + for Bertram soon found out that Arkwright was more than a match for + himself, and the occasional games he did succeed in winning only whetted + his appetite for more. Many an evening now, therefore, was spent by the + two men in Bertram's den, with Billy anxiously hovering near, her eyes + longingly watching either her husband's absorbed face or the pretty little + red and white ivory figures, which seemed to possess so wonderful a power + to hold his attention. In spite of her joy at the chessmen's efficacy in + keeping Bertram at home, however, she was almost jealous of them. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Arkwright, couldn't you show <i>me</i> how to play, sometime?” she + said wistfully, one evening, when the momentary absence of Bertram had + left the two alone together. “I used to watch Bertram and Marie play years + ago; but I never knew how to play myself. Not that I can see where the fun + is in just sitting staring at a chessboard for half an hour at a time, + though! But Bertram likes it, and so I—I want to learn to stare with + him. Will you teach me?” + </p> + <p> + “I should be glad to,” smiled Arkwright. + </p> + <p> + “Then will you come, maybe, sometimes when Bertram is at the doctor's? He + goes every Tuesday and Friday at three o'clock for treatment. I'd rather + you came then for two reasons: first, because I don't want Bertram to know + I'm learning, till I can play <i>some</i>; and, secondly, because—because + I don't want to take you away—from him.” + </p> + <p> + The last words were spoken very low, and were accompanied by a painful + blush. It was the first time Billy had ever hinted to Arkwright, in words, + that she understood what he was trying to do. + </p> + <p> + “I'll come next Tuesday,” promised Arkwright, with a cheerfully + unobservant air. Then Bertram came in, bringing the book of Chess + Problems, for which he had gone up-stairs. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXIX. CHESS + </h2> + <p> + Promptly at three o'clock Tuesday afternoon Arkwright appeared at the + Strata, and for the next hour Billy did her best to learn the names and + the moves of the pretty little ivory men. But at the end of the hour she + was almost ready to give up in despair. + </p> + <p> + “If there weren't so many kinds, and if they didn't all insist on doing + something different, it wouldn't be so bad,” she sighed. “But how can you + be expected to remember which goes diagonal, and which crisscross, and + which can't go but one square, and which can skip 'way across the board, + 'specially when that little pawn-thing can go straight ahead <i>two</i> + squares sometimes, and the next minute only one (except when it takes + things, and then it goes crooked one square) and when that tiresome little + horse tries to go all ways at once, and can jump 'round and hurdle over <i>anybody's</i> + head, even the king's—how can you expect folks to remember? But, + then, Bertram remembers,” she added, resolutely, “so I guess I can.” + </p> + <p> + Whenever possible, after that, Arkwright came on Tuesdays and Fridays, + and, in spite of her doubts, Billy did very soon begin to “remember.” + Spurred by her great desire to play with Bertram and surprise him, Billy + spared no pains to learn well her lessons. Even among the baby's books and + playthings these days might be found a “Manual of Chess,” for Billy + pursued her study at all hours; and some nights even her dreams were of + ruined, castles where kings and queens and bishops disported themselves, + with pawns for servants, and where a weird knight on horseback used the + castle's highest tower for a hurdle, landing always a hundred yards to one + side of where he would be expected to come down. + </p> + <p> + It was not long, of course, before Billy could play a game of chess, after + a fashion, but she knew just enough to realize that she actually knew + nothing; and she knew, too, that until she could play a really good game, + her moves would not hold Bertram's attention for one minute. Not at + present, therefore, was she willing Bertram should know what she was + attempting to do. + </p> + <p> + Billy had not yet learned what the great surgeon had said to Bertram. She + knew only that his arm was no better, and that he never voluntarily spoke + of his painting. Over her now seemed to be hanging a vague horror. + Something was the matter. She knew that. But what it was she could not + fathom. She realized that Arkwright was trying to help, and her gratitude, + though silent, knew no bounds. Not even to Aunt Hannah or Uncle William + could she speak of this thing that was troubling her. That they, too, + understood, in a measure, she realized. But still she said no word. Billy + was wearing a proud little air of aloofness these days that was + heart-breaking to those who saw it and read it aright for what it was: + loyalty to Bertram, no matter what happened. And so Billy pored over her + chessboard feverishly, tirelessly, having ever before her longing eyes the + dear time when Bertram, across the table from her, should sit happily + staring for half an hour at a move she had made. + </p> + <p> + Whatever Billy's chess-playing was to signify, however, in her own life, + it was destined to play a part in the lives of two friends of hers that + was most unexpected. + </p> + <p> + During Billy's very first lesson, as it chanced, Alice Greggory called and + found Billy and Arkwright so absorbed in their game that they did not at + first hear Eliza speak her name. + </p> + <p> + The quick color that flew to Arkwright's face at sight of herself was + construed at once by Alice as embarrassment on his part at being found + tête-á-tête with Bertram Henshaw's wife. And she did not like it. She was + not pleased that he was there. She was less pleased that he blushed for + being there. + </p> + <p> + It so happened that Alice found him there again several times. Alice gave + a piano lesson at two o'clock every Tuesday and Friday afternoon to a + little Beacon Street neighbor of Billy's, and she had fallen into the + habit of stepping in to see Billy for a few minutes afterward, which + brought her there at a little past three, just after the chess lesson was + well started. + </p> + <p> + If, the first time that Alice Greggory found Arkwright opposite Billy at + the chess-table, she was surprised and displeased, the second and third + times she was much more so. When it finally came to her one day with + sickening illumination, that always the tête-á-têtes were during Bertram's + hour at the doctor's, she was appalled. + </p> + <p> + What could it mean? Had Arkwright given up his fight? Was he playing false + to himself and to Bertram by trying thus, on the sly, to win the love of + his friend's wife? Was this man, whom she had so admired for his brave + stand, and to whom all unasked she had given her heart's best love (more + the pity of it!)—was this idol of hers to show feet of clay, after + all? She could not believe it. And yet— + </p> + <p> + Sick at heart, but imbued with the determination of a righteous cause, + Alice Greggory resolved, for Billy's sake, to watch and wait. If necessary + she should speak to some one—though to whom she did not know. + Billy's happiness should not be put in jeopardy if she could help it. + Indeed, no! + </p> + <p> + As the weeks passed, Alice came to be more and more uneasy, distressed, + and grieved. Of Billy she could believe no evil; but of Arkwright she was + beginning to think she could believe everything that was dishonorable and + despicable. And to believe that of the man she still loved—no wonder + that Alice did not look nor act like herself these days. + </p> + <p> + Incensed at herself because she did love him, angry at him because he + seemed to be proving himself so unworthy of that love, and genuinely + frightened at what she thought was the fast-approaching wreck of all + happiness for her dear friend, Billy, Alice did not know which way to + turn. At the first she had told herself confidently that she would “speak + to somebody.” But, as time passed, she saw the impracticability of that + idea. Speak to somebody, indeed! To whom? When? Where? What should she + say? Where was her right to say anything? She was not dealing with a + parcel of naughty children who had pilfered the cake jar! She was dealing + with grown men and women, who, presumedly, knew their own affairs, and + who, certainly, would resent any interference from her. On the other hand, + could she stand calmly by and see Bertram lose his wife, Arkwright his + honor, Billy her happiness, and herself her faith in human nature, all + because to do otherwise would be to meddle in other people's business? + Apparently she could, and should. At least that seemed to be the rôle + which she was expected to play. + </p> + <p> + It was when Alice had reached this unhappy frame of mind that Arkwright + himself unexpectedly opened the door for her. + </p> + <p> + The two were alone together in Bertram Henshaw's den. It was Tuesday + afternoon. Alice had called to find Billy and Arkwright deep in their + usual game of chess. Then a matter of domestic affairs had taken Billy + from the room. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I'll have to be gone ten minutes, or more,” she had said, as + she rose from the table reluctantly. “But you might be showing Alice the + moves, Mr. Arkwright,” she had added, with a laugh, as she disappeared. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I teach you the moves?” he had smiled, when they were alone + together. + </p> + <p> + Alice's reply had been so indignantly short and sharp that Arkwright, + after a moment's pause, had said, with a whimsical smile that yet carried + a touch of sadness: + </p> + <p> + “I am forced to surmise from your answer that you think it is <i>you</i> + who should be teaching <i>me</i> moves. At all events, I seem to have been + making some moves lately that have not suited you, judging by your + actions. Have I offended you in any way, Alice?” + </p> + <p> + The girl turned with a quick lifting of her head. Alice knew that if ever + she were to speak, it must be now. Never again could she hope for such an + opportunity as this. Suddenly throwing circumspect caution quite aside, + she determined that she would speak. Springing to her feet she crossed the + room and seated herself in Billy's chair at the chess-table. + </p> + <p> + “Me! Offend me!” she exclaimed, in a low voice. “As if I were the one you + were offending!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, <i>Alice!</i>” murmured the man, in obvious stupefaction. + </p> + <p> + Alice raised her hand, palm outward. + </p> + <p> + “Now don't, <i>please</i> don't pretend you don't know,” she begged, + almost piteously. “Please don't add that to all the rest. Oh, I + understand, of course, it's none of my affairs, and I wasn't going to + speak,” she choked; “but, to-day, when you gave me this chance, I had to. + At first I couldn't believe it,” she plunged on, plainly hurrying against + Billy's return. “After all you'd told me of how you meant to fight it—your + tiger skin. And I thought it merely <i>happened</i> that you were here + alone with her those days I came. Then, when I found out they were <i>always</i> + the days Mr. Henshaw was away at the doctor's, I had to believe.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped for breath. Arkwright, who, up to this moment had shown that + he was completely mystified as to what she was talking about, suddenly + flushed a painful red. He was obviously about to speak, but she prevented + him with a quick gesture. + </p> + <p> + “There's a little more I've got to say, please. As if it weren't bad + enough to do what you're doing <i>at all</i>, but you must needs take it + at such a time as this when—when her husband <i>isn't</i> doing just + what he ought to do, and we all know it—it's so unfair to take her + now, and try to—to win—And you aren't even fair with him,” she + protested tremulously. “You pretend to be his friend. You go with him + everywhere. It's just as if you were <i>helping</i> to—to pull him + down. You're one with the whole bunch.” (The blood suddenly receded from + Arkwright's face, leaving it very white; but if Alice saw it, she paid no + heed.) “Everybody says you are. Then to come here like this, on the sly, + when you know he can't be here, I—Oh, can't you see what you're + doing?” + </p> + <p> + There was a moment's pause, then Arkwright spoke. A deep pain looked from + his eyes. He was still very pale, and his mouth had settled into sad + lines. + </p> + <p> + “I think, perhaps, it may be just as well if I tell you what I <i>am</i> + doing—or, rather, trying to do,” he said quietly. + </p> + <p> + Then he told her. + </p> + <p> + “And so you see,” he added, when he had finished the tale, “I haven't + really accomplished much, after all, and it seems the little I have + accomplished has only led to my being misjudged by you, my best friend.” + </p> + <p> + Alice gave a sobbing cry. Her face was scarlet. Horror, shame, and relief + struggled for mastery in her countenance. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I didn't know, I didn't know,” she moaned, twisting her hands + nervously. “And now, when you've been so brave, so true—for me to + accuse you of—Oh, can you <i>ever</i> forgive me? But you see, + knowing that you <i>did</i> care for her, it did look—” She choked + into silence, and turned away her head. + </p> + <p> + He glanced at her tenderly, mournfully. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, after a minute, in a low voice. “I can see how it did + look; and so I'm going to tell you now something I had meant never to tell + you. There really couldn't have been anything in that, you see, for I + found out long ago that it was gone—whatever love there had been for—Billy.” + </p> + <p> + “But your—tiger skin!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I thought it was alive,” smiled Arkwright, sadly, “when I asked + you to help me fight it. But one day, very suddenly, I discovered that it + was nothing but a dead skin of dreams and memories. But I made another + discovery, too. I found that just beyond lay another one, and that was + very much alive.” + </p> + <p> + “Another one?” Alice turned to him in wonder. “But you never asked me to + help you fight—that one!” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “No; I couldn't, you see. You couldn't have helped me. You'd only have + hindered me.” + </p> + <p> + “Hindered you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You see, it was my love for—you, that I was fighting—then.” + </p> + <p> + Alice gave a low cry and flushed vividly; but Arkwright hurried on, his + eyes turned away. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I understand. I know. I'm not asking for—anything. I heard some + time ago of your engagement to Calderwell. I've tried many times to say + the proper, expected pretty speeches, but—I couldn't. I will now, + though. I do. You have all my tenderest best wishes for your happiness—dear. + If long ago I hadn't been such a blind fool as not to know my own heart—” + </p> + <p> + “But—but there's some mistake,” interposed Alice, palpitatingly, + with hanging head. “I—I'm not engaged to Mr. Calderwell.” + </p> + <p> + Arkwright turned and sent a keen glance into her face. + </p> + <p> + “You're—not?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “But I heard that Calderwell—” He stopped helplessly. + </p> + <p> + “You heard that Mr. Calderwell was engaged, very likely. But—it so + happens he isn't engaged—to me,” murmured Alice, faintly. + </p> + <p> + “But, long ago you said—” Arkwright paused, his eyes still keenly + searching her face. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind what I said—long ago,” laughed Alice, trying + unsuccessfully to meet his gaze. “One says lots of things, at times, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + Into Arkwright's eyes came a new light, a light that plainly needed but a + breath to fan it into quick fire. + </p> + <p> + “Alice,” he said softly, “do you mean that maybe now—I needn't try + to fight—that other tiger skin?” + </p> + <p> + There was no answer. + </p> + <p> + Arkwright reached out a pleading hand. + </p> + <p> + “Alice, dear, I've loved you so long,” he begged unsteadily. “Don't you + think that sometime, if I was very, very patient, you could just <i>begin</i>—to + care a little for me?” + </p> + <p> + Still there was no answer. Then, slowly, Alice shook her head. Her face + was turned quite away—which was a pity, for if Arkwright could have + seen the sudden tender mischief in her eyes, his own would not have become + so somber. + </p> + <p> + “Not even a little bit?” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't ever—begin,” answered a half-smothered voice. + </p> + <p> + “Alice!” cried the man, heart-brokenly. + </p> + <p> + Alice turned now, and for a fleeting instant let him see her eyes, glowing + with the love so long kept in relentless exile. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't, because, you see-I began—long ago,” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Alice!” It was the same single word, but spoken with a world of + difference, for into it now was crowded all the glory and the wonder of a + great love. “Alice!” breathed the man again; and this time the word was, + oh, so tenderly whispered into the little pink and white ear of the girl + in his arms. + </p> + <p> + “I got delayed,” began Billy, in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Oh-h!” she broke off, beating a hushed, but precipitate, retreat. + </p> + <p> + Fully thirty minutes later, Billy came to the door again. This time her + approach was heralded by a snatch of song. + </p> + <p> + “I hope you'll excuse my being gone so long,” she smiled, as she entered + the room where her two guests sat decorously face to face at the + chess-table. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know you said you'd be gone ten minutes,” Arkwright reminded + her, politely. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know I did.” And Billy, to her credit, did not even smile at the + man who did not know ten minutes from fifty. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br><br><br><br> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER XXX. BY A BABY'S HAND + </h2> + <p> + After all, it was the baby's hand that did it, as was proper, and perhaps + to be expected; for surely, was it not Bertram, Jr.'s place to show his + parents that he was, indeed, no Wedge, but a dear and precious Tie binding + two loving, loyal hearts more and more closely together? It would seem, + indeed, that Bertram, Jr., thought so, perhaps, and very bravely he set + about it; though, to carry out his purpose, he had to turn his steps into + an unfamiliar way—a way of pain, and weariness, and danger. + </p> + <p> + It was Arkwright who told Bertram that the baby was very sick, and that + Billy wanted him. Bertram went home at once to find a distracted, + white-faced Billy, and a twisted, pain-racked little creature, who it was + almost impossible to believe was the happy, laughing baby boy he had left + that morning. + </p> + <p> + For the next two weeks nothing was thought of in the silent old Beacon + Street house but the tiny little life hovering so near Death's door that + twice it appeared to have slipped quite across the threshold. All through + those terrible weeks it seemed as if Billy neither ate nor slept; and + always at her side, comforting, cheering, and helping wherever possible + was Bertram, tender, loving, and marvelously thoughtful. + </p> + <p> + Then came the turning point when the universe itself appeared to hang upon + a baby's breath. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, came the fluttering back + of the tiny spirit into the longing arms stretched so far, far out to meet + and hold it. And the father and the mother, looking into each other's + sleepless, dark-ringed eyes, knew that their son was once more theirs to + love and cherish. + </p> + <p> + When two have gone together with a dear one down into the Valley of the + Shadow of Death, and have come back, either mourning or rejoicing, they + find a different world from the one they had left. Things that were great + before seem small, and some things that were small seem great. At least + Bertram and Billy found their world thus changed when together they came + back bringing their son with them. + </p> + <p> + In the long weeks of convalescence, when the healthy rosiness stole bit by + bit into the baby's waxen face, and the light of recognition and + understanding crept day by day into the baby's eyes, there was many a + quiet hour for heart-to-heart talks between the two who so anxiously and + joyously hailed every rosy tint and fleeting sparkle. And there was so + much to tell, so much to hear, so much to talk about! And always, running + through everything, was that golden thread of joy, beside which all else + paled—that they had Baby and each other. As if anything else + mattered! + </p> + <p> + To be sure, there was Bertram's arm. Very early in their talks Billy found + out about that. But Billy, with Baby getting well, was not to be daunted, + even by this. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, darling—not paint again, indeed! Why, Bertram, of course + you will,” she cried confidently. + </p> + <p> + “But, Billy, the doctor said,” began Bertram; but Billy would not even + listen. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, what if he did, dear?” she interrupted. “What if he did say + you couldn't use your right arm much again?” Billy's voice broke a little, + then quickly steadied into something very much like triumph. “You've got + your left one!” + </p> + <p> + Bertram shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I can't paint with that.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you can,” insisted Billy, firmly. “Why, Bertram, what do you suppose + you were given two arms for if not to fight with both of them? And I'm + going to be ever so much prouder of what you paint now, because I'll know + how splendidly you worked to do it. Besides, there's Baby. As if you + weren't ever going to paint for Baby! Why, Bertram, I'm going to have you + paint Baby, one of these days. Think how pleased he'll be to see it when + he grows up! He's nicer, anyhow, than any old 'Face of a Girl' you ever + did. Paint? Why, Bertram, darling, of course you're going to paint, and + better than you ever did before!” + </p> + <p> + Bertram shook his head again; but this time he smiled, and patted Billy's + cheek with the tip of his forefinger. + </p> + <p> + “As if I could!” he disclaimed. But that afternoon he went into his + long-deserted studio and hunted up his last unfinished picture. For some + time he stood motionless before it; then, with a quick gesture of + determination, he got out his palette, paints, and brushes. This time not + until he had painted ten, a dozen, a score of strokes, did he drop his + brush with a sigh and carefully erase the fresh paint on the canvas. The + next day he worked longer, and this time he allowed a little, a very + little, of what he had done to remain. + </p> + <p> + The third day Billy herself found him at his easel. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder—do you suppose I could?” he asked fearfully. + </p> + <p> + “Why, dearest, of course you can! Haven't you noticed? Can't you see how + much more you can do with your left hand now? You've <i>had</i> to use it, + you see. <i>I've</i> seen you do a lot of things with it, lately, that you + never used to do at all. And, of course, the more you do with it, the more + you can!” + </p> + <p> + “I know; but that doesn't mean that I can paint with it,” sighed Bertram, + ruefully eyeing the tiny bit of fresh color his canvas showed for his long + afternoon's work. + </p> + <p> + “You wait and see,” nodded Billy, with so overwhelming a cheery confidence + that Bertram, looking into her glowing face, was conscious of a curious + throb of exultation, almost as if already the victory were his. + </p> + <p> + But it was not always of Bertram's broken arm, nor even of his work that + they talked. Bertram, hanging over the baby's crib to assure himself that + the rosiness and the sparkle were really growing more apparent every day, + used to wonder sometimes how ever in the world he could have been jealous + of his son. He said as much one day to Billy. + </p> + <p> + To Billy it was a most astounding idea. + </p> + <p> + “You mean you were actually jealous of your own baby?” she gasped. “Why, + Bertram, how could—And was that why you—you sought distraction + and—Oh, but, Bertram, that was all my f-fault,” she quavered + remorsefully. “I wouldn't play, nor sing, nor go to walk, nor anything; + and I wore horrid frowzy wrappers all the time, and—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come, come, Billy,” expostulated the man. “I'm not going to have you + talk like that about <i>my wife!</i>” + </p> + <p> + “But I did—the book said I did,” wailed Billy. + </p> + <p> + “The book? Good heavens! Are there any books in this, too?” demanded + Bertram. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the same one; the—the 'Talks to Young Wives,'” nodded Billy. + And then, because some things had grown small to them, and some others + great, they both laughed happily. + </p> + <p> + But even this was not quite all; for one evening, very shyly, Billy + brought out the chessboard. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I can't play well,” she faltered; “and maybe you don't want to + play with me at all.” + </p> + <p> + But Bertram, when he found out why she had learned, was very sure he did + want very much to play with her. + </p> + <p> + Billy did not beat, of course. But she did several times experience—for + a few blissful minutes—the pleasure of seeing Bertram sit + motionless, studying the board, because of a move she had made. And + though, in the end, her king was ignominiously trapped with not an + unguarded square upon which to set his poor distracted foot, the memory of + those blissful minutes when she had made Bertram “stare” more than paid + for the final checkmate. + </p> + <p> + By the middle of June the baby was well enough to be taken to the beach, + and Bertram was so fortunate as to secure the same house they had occupied + before. Once again William went down in Maine for his fishing trip, and + the Strata was closed. In the beach house Bertram was painting + industriously—with his left hand. Almost he was beginning to feel + Billy's enthusiasm. Almost he was believing that he <i>was</i> doing good + work. It was not the “Face of a Girl,” now. It was the face of a baby: + smiling, laughing, even crying, sometimes; at other times just gazing + straight into your eyes with adorable soberness. Bertram still went into + Boston twice a week for treatment, though the treatment itself had + changed. The great surgeon had sent him to still another specialist. + </p> + <p> + “There's a chance—though perhaps a small one,” he had said. “I'd + like you to try it, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + As the summer advanced, Bertram thought sometimes that he could see a + slight improvement in his injured arm; but he tried not to think too much + about this. He had thought the same thing before, only to be disappointed + in the end. Besides, he was undeniably interested just now in seeing if he + <i>could</i> paint with his left hand. Billy was so sure, and she had said + that she would be prouder than ever of him, if he could—and he would + like to make Billy proud! Then, too, there was the baby—he had no + idea a baby could be so interesting to paint. He was not sure but that he + was going to like to paint babies even better than he had liked to paint + his “Face of a Girl” that had brought him his first fame. + </p> + <p> + In September the family returned to the Strata. The move was made a little + earlier this year on account of Alice Greggory's wedding. + </p> + <p> + Alice was to be married in the pretty living-room at the Annex, just where + Billy herself had been married a few short years before; and Billy had + great plans for the wedding—not all of which she was able to carry + out, for Alice, like Marie before her, had very strong objections to being + placed under too great obligations. + </p> + <p> + “And you see, really, anyway,” she told Billy, “I owe the whole thing to + you, to begin with—even my husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! Of course you don't,” disputed Billy. + </p> + <p> + “But I do. If it hadn't been for you I should never have found him again, + and of <i>course</i> I shouldn't have had this dear little home to be + married in. And I never could have left mother if she hadn't had Aunt + Hannah and the Annex which means you. And if I hadn't found Mr. Arkwright, + I might never have known how—how I could go back to my old home (as + I am going on my honeymoon trip), and just know that every one of my old + friends who shakes hands with me isn't pitying me now, because I'm my + father's daughter. And that means you; for you see I never would have + known that my father's name was cleared if it hadn't been for you. And—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Alice, please, please,” begged Billy, laughingly raising two + protesting hands. “Why don't you say that it's to me you owe just + breathing, and be done with it?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I will, then,” avowed Alice, doggedly. “And it's true, too, for, + honestly, my dear, I don't believe I would have been breathing to-day, nor + mother, either, if you hadn't found us that morning, and taken us out of + those awful rooms.” + </p> + <p> + “I? Never! You wouldn't let me take you out,” laughed Billy. “You proud + little thing! Maybe <i>you've</i> forgotten how you turned poor Uncle + William and me out into the cold, cold world that morning, just because we + dared to aspire to your Lowestoft teapot; but I haven't!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Billy, please, <i>don't</i>,” begged Alice, the painful color + staining her face. “If you knew how I've hated myself since for the way I + acted that day—and, really, you did take us away from there, you + know.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I didn't. I merely found two good tenants for Mr. and Mrs. Delano,” + corrected Billy, with a sober face. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I know all about that,” smiled Alice, affectionately; “and you + got mother and me here to keep Aunt Hannah company and teach Tommy Dunn; + and you got Aunt Hannah here to keep us company and take care of Tommy + Dunn; and you got Tommy Dunn here so Aunt Hannah and we could have + somebody to teach and take care of; and, as for the others,—” But + Billy put her hands to her ears and fled. + </p> + <p> + The wedding was to be on the fifteenth. From the West Kate wrote that of + course it was none of her affairs, particularly as neither of the + interested parties was a relation, but still she should think that for a + man in Mr. Arkwright's position, nothing but a church wedding would do at + all, as, of course, he did, in a way, belong to the public. Alice, + however, declared that perhaps he did belong to the public, when he was + Don Somebody-or-other in doublet and hose; but when he was just plain + Michael Jeremiah Arkwright in a frock coat he was hers, and she did not + propose to make a Grand Opera show of her wedding. And as Arkwright, too, + very much disapproved of the church-wedding idea, the two were married in + the Annex living-room at noon on the fifteenth as originally planned, in + spite of Mrs. Kate Hartwell's letter. + </p> + <p> + It was soon after the wedding that Bertram told Billy he wished she would + sit for him with Bertram, Jr. + </p> + <p> + “I want to try my hand at you both together,” he coaxed. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course, if you like, dear,” agreed Billy, promptly, “though I + think Baby is just as nice, and even nicer, alone.” + </p> + <p> + Once again all over Bertram's studio began to appear sketches of Billy, + this time a glorified, tender Billy, with the wonderful mother-love in her + eyes. Then, after several sketches of trial poses, Bertram began his + picture of Billy and the baby together. + </p> + <p> + Even now Bertram was not sure of his work. He knew that he could not yet + paint with his old freedom and ease; he knew that his stroke was not so + sure, so untrammeled. But he knew, too, that he had gained wonderfully, + during the summer, and that he was gaining now, every day. To Billy he + said nothing of all this. Even to himself he scarcely put his hope into + words; but in his heart he knew that what he was really painting his + “Mother and Child” picture for was the Bohemian Ten Club Exhibition in + March—if he could but put upon canvas the vision that was spurring + him on. + </p> + <p> + And so Bertram worked all through those short winter days, not always upon + the one picture, of course, but upon some picture or sketch that would + help to give his still uncertain left hand the skill that had belonged to + its mate. And always, cheering, encouraging, insisting on victory, was + Billy, so that even had Bertram been tempted, sometimes, to give up, he + could not have done so—and faced Billy's grieved, disappointed eyes. + And when at last his work was completed, and the pictured mother and child + in all their marvelous life and beauty seemed ready to step from the + canvas, Billy drew a long ecstatic breath. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Bertram, it <i>is</i>, it is the best work you have ever done.” Billy + was looking at the baby. Always she had ignored herself as part of the + picture. “And won't it be fine for the Exhibition!” + </p> + <p> + Bertram's hand tightened on the chair-back in front of him. For a moment + he could not speak. Then, a bit huskily, he asked: + </p> + <p> + “Would you dare—risk it?” + </p> + <p> + “Risk it! Why, Bertram Henshaw, I've meant that picture for the Exhibition + from the very first—only I never dreamed you could get it so + perfectly lovely. <i>Now</i> what do you say about Baby being nicer than + any old 'Face of a Girl' that you ever did?” she triumphed. + </p> + <p> + And Bertram, who, even to himself, had not dared whisper the word + exhibition, gave a tremulous laugh that was almost a sob, so overwhelming + was his sudden realization of what faith and confidence had meant to + Billy, his wife. + </p> + <p> + If there was still a lingering doubt in Bertram's mind, it must have been + dispelled in less than an hour after the Bohemian Ten Club Exhibition + flung open its doors on its opening night. Once again Bertram found his + picture the cynosure of all admiring eyes, and himself the center of an + enthusiastic group of friends and fellow-artists who vied with each other + in hearty words of congratulation. And when, later, the feared critics, + whose names and opinions counted for so much in his world, had their say + in the daily press and weekly reviews, Bertram knew how surely indeed he + had won. And when he read that “Henshaw's work shows now a peculiar + strength, a sort of reserve power, as it were, which, beautiful as was his + former work, it never showed before,” he smiled grimly, and said to Billy: + </p> + <p> + “I suppose, now, that was the fighting I did with my good left hand, eh, + dear?” + </p> + <p> + But there was yet one more drop that was to make Bertram's cup of joy brim + to overflowing. It came just one month after the Exhibition in the shape + of a terse dozen words from the doctor. Bertram fairly flew home that day. + He had no consciousness of any means of locomotion. He thought he was + going to tell his wife at once his great good news; but when he saw her, + speech suddenly fled, and all that he could do was to draw her closely to + him with his left arm and hide his face. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Bertram, dearest, what—what is it?” stammered the thoroughly + frightened Billy. “Has anything-happened?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no—yes—yes, everything has happened. I mean, it's going + to happen,” choked the man. “Billy, that old chap says that I'm going to + have my arm again. Think of it—my good right arm that I've lost so + long!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Oh, Bertram!</i>” breathed Billy. And she, too, fell to sobbing. + </p> + <p> + Later, when speech was more coherent, she faltered: + </p> + <p> + “Well, anyway, it doesn't make any difference <i>how</i> many beautiful + pictures you p-paint, after this, Bertram, I <i>can't</i> be prouder of + any than I am of the one your l—left hand did.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I have you to thank for all that, dear.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you haven't,” disputed Billy, blinking teary eyes; “but—” she + paused, then went on spiritedly, “but, anyhow, I—I don't believe any + one—not even Kate—can say <i>now</i> that—that I've been + a hindrance to you in your c-career!” + </p> + <p> + “Hindrance!” scoffed Bertram, in a tone that left no room for doubt, and + with a kiss that left even less, if possible. + </p> + <p> + Billy, for still another minute, was silent; then, with a wistfulness that + was half playful, half serious, she sighed: + </p> + <p> + “Bertram, I believe being married is something like clocks, you know, + 'specially at the first.” + </p> + <p> + “Clocks, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I was out to Aunt Hannah's to-day. She was fussing with her clock—the + one that strikes half an hour ahead—and I saw all those quantities + of wheels, little and big, that have to go just so, with all the little + cogs fitting into all the other little cogs just exactly right. Well, + that's like marriage. See? There's such a lot of little cogs in everyday + life that have to be fitted so they'll run smoothly—that have to be + adjusted, 'specially at the first.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Billy, what an idea!” + </p> + <p> + “But it's so, really, Bertram. Anyhow, I know my cogs were always getting + out of place at the first,” laughed Billy. “And I was like Aunt Hannah's + clock, too, always going off half an hour ahead of time. And maybe I shall + be so again, sometimes. But, Bertram,”—her voice shook a little—“if + you'll just look at my face you'll see that I tell the right time there, + just as Aunt Hannah's clock does. I'm sure, always, I'll tell the right + time there, even if I do go off half an hour ahead!” + </p> + <p> + “As if I didn't know that,” answered Bertram, very low and tenderly. + “Besides, I reckon I have some cogs of my own that need adjusting!” + </p> + <p> + <br><br> + </p> + + + + + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MISS BILLY MARRIED ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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