CHAPTER VIII
BERTHA RECEIVES AN INVITATION
Colorado Springs lies in a shallow valley, under a genial sun, at almostthe exact level of the summit of Mt. Washington. From the railway train,as it crawls over the hills to the east, it looks like a toy village,but is, in fact, a busy little city. To ride along its wide and leafystreets in summer, to breathe its crystalline airs in winter, is to losebelief in the necessity of disease. The grave seems afar off.
And yet it was built, and is now supported, by those who, fearing death,fled the lower, miasmatic levels of the world, and who, having abandonedall hope (or desire) of return, are loyally developing and adorningtheir adopted home. These fugitives are for the most part contentedexiles--men as well as women--who have come to enjoy their enforced stayhere beside the peaks; and their devotion to the town and itssurroundings is unmistakably sincere, for they believe that the climateand the water have prolonged their lives.
Not all even of these seekers for health are ill, or even weakly, atpresent; on the contrary, many of them are stalwart hands at golf, andothers are seasoned horsemen. In addition to those who are resident intheir own behalf are many husbands attendant upon ailing wives, andblooming wives called to the care of weazened and querulous husbands,and parents who came bringing a son or daughter on whom the pale shadowof the White Death had fallen. But, after all, these Easterners colorbut they do not dominate the life of the town, which is a market-placefor a wide region, and a place of comfort for well-to-do miners. It is,also, a Western town, with all a Western town's customary activities,and the traveller would hardly know it for a health resort, so cheerfuland lively is the aspect of its streets, where everything denotescomfort and content.
In addition to the elements denoted above, it is also taken to be adesirable social centre and a charming place of residence for men likeMarshall Haney, who, having made their pile in the mountain camps, havea reasonable desire to put their gold in evidence--"to get some good oftheir dust," as Williams might say. Here and there along the principalavenues are luxurious homes--absurdly pretentious in someinstances--which are pointed out to visitors as the residences of thebig miners. They are especially given to good horses also, and ride ordrive industriously, mixing very little with the more cultured andsophisticated of their neighbors, for whom they furnish a never-endingcomedy of manners. "A beautiful mixture for a novelist," Congdon oftensaid.
Yes, the town has its restricted "Smart Set," in imitation of New Yorkcity, and its literary and artistic groups (small, of course), and itsstaid circle of wealth and privilege, and within defined limits and atcertain formal civic functions these various elements meet and interfusegenially if not sincerely. However, the bitter fact remains that themicrocosm is already divided into classes and masses in a way whichwould be humorous if it were not so deeply significant of a deplorablechange in American life. Squire Crego, in discussing this very matterwith Frank Congdon, the portrait-painter, put it thus: "This division ofinterest is inevitable. What can you do? The wife of the man who cobblesmy shoes or the daughter of the grocer who supplies my sugar is, in theeyes of God, undoubtedly of the same value as my own wife, but theydon't _interest_ me. As a social democrat, I may wish sincerely to dothem good, but, confound it, to wish to do them good is an impertinence.And when I've tried to bring these elements together in my house I havealways failed. Mrs. Crego, while being most gracious and cordial, has,nevertheless, managed to make the upholsterer chilly, and to freeze thegrocer's wife entirely out of the picture."
"There's one comfort: it isn't a matter of money. If it were, wherewould the Congdons be?"
"No, it isn't really a matter of money, and in a certain sense it isn'ta matter of brains. It's a question of--"
"_Savoir faire._"
"Precisely. You haven't a cent, so you say frequently--" Congdon stoppedhim, gravely.
"I owe you fifty--I was just going down into my jeans to pay it, when Isuddenly recalled--"
"Don't interrupt the court. You haven't a cent, we'll say, but you goeverywhere and are welcome. Why?"
"That's just it. Why? If you really want to know, I'll tell you. It'sall on account of Lee. Lee is a mighty smart girl. She has a cinch onthe gray matter of this family."
"You do yourself an injustice."
"Thank you."
Crego pursued his argument. "There isn't any place that a man of yourtype can't go if you want to, because you take something with you. Youmix. And Haney, for example--to return to the concrete again--Haneywould make a most interesting guest at one's dinner-table, but the wife,clever as she is, is impossible--or, at least, Mrs. Crego thinks sheis."
Congdon fixed a finger pistol-wise and impressively said: "That littleMrs. Haney is a wonder. Don't make any mistake about her. She'll climb."
"I'm not making the mistake, it's Mrs. Crego. I've asked her to call onthe girl, but she evades the issue by asking: 'What's the use? Herinterests are not ours, and I don't intend to cultivate her as a freak.'So there we stand."
Congdon looked thoughtful. "She may be right, but I don't think so. Thegirl interests me, because I think I see in her great possibilities."
"Her abilities certainly are remarkable. She needs but one statement ofa point in law. She seems never to forget a word I say. Sometimes thisrealization is embarrassing. When she fixes those big wistful eyes on meI feel bound to give her my choicest diction and my soundest judgments.Haney, too, for all his wild career, attaches my sympathy. You'repainting his portrait--why don't you and Lee give them a dinner?"
"Good thought! I told Lee this morning that it was a shame to draw theline on that little girl just because that rotten, bad brother-in-law ofhers was base enough to slur her at the club. But, as you say, womencan't be driv. However, I think Lee can manage a dinner if anybody can.As you say, we're only artists, and artists can do anything--exceptborrow money. However, if you want to know, Lee says that this barberlover of Mrs. Haney's has done more to queer her with our set thananything else. They think her tastes are low."
"That incident is easily explained. Winchell knew her in Sibley, andthough he has undoubtedly followed her over here for love of her, heseems a decent fellow, and I don't believe intends any harm. I willadmit her stopping outside his door to talk with him was unconventional,but I can't believe that she was aware of any impropriety in the act.Nevertheless, that did settle the matter with Helen. 'You can dine withthem any day if you wish,' she says, 'but--' And there the argumentrests."
"Of course, you and I can put the matter on a basis of trade courtesy,"said Congdon; "but I confess they interest me enormously, and I wouldlike to do them some little favor for their own sakes. Poor Haney willnever be more of a man than he is to-day, and that little girl is goingto earn all the money she gets before she is done with him."
And so they parted, and Congdon went home to renew the discussion withhis wife. "You must call. It's only the decent thing to do, now that theportrait is nearly done," he said.
"I don't mind the calling, Frank," she briskly replied, "and I don'tmuch mind giving a little dinner, but I don't want to get the girl on mymind. She has so much to learn, and I haven't the time nor energy toteach her."
Congdon waved his finger. "Don't you grow pale over that," said he."That girl's no fool--she's capable of development. She will amaze youyet."
"Well, consider it settled. I'll call this afternoon and ask her todinner; but don't expect me to advise her and follow her up. Now, who'llwe ask to meet her--the Cregos?"
"Yes, I'd thought of them."
"Oh, I know all about it. You needn't stammer. You and Allen are gettinga good deal out of the Haneys, and want to be decent in return. Well, Ithink well of you for it, and I'll do my mite. I'll have young Fordycein, and Alice; being Quakers and 'plain people,' they won't mind. Ben iscrazy to see the rough side of Western life, anyway. Now run away,little boy, and leave the whole business to me."
As Crego had said, the Congdons were privileged characters in theSprings. They were
at once haughty with the pride of estheticcleverness, and humble with the sense of their unworthiness in the wideold-world of art. Lee was contemptuous of wealth when they had a pot ofbeans in the house, and Frank was imperiously truculent when borrowingten dollars from a friend or demanding an advance of cash from aprospective patron. They both came of long lines of native Americanancestry, and not only felt themselves as good as anybody, but a littlebetter than most. They gave wit for champagne, art instruction forautomobile rides, and never-failing good humor for house-room and theblazing fires of roomy hearths.
Mrs. Congdon, of direct Virginian ancestry, was named Lee by astate's-rights mother, who sent her abroad to "study art." She ended bypretending to be a sculptor--and she still did occasionally model afigurine of her friends or her friends' babies; mainly, she was theaider and abettor of her husband, a really clever portrait-painter,whose ill health had driven him from New York to Colorado, and who wasmaking a precarious living in the Springs--precarious for the reasonthat on bright days he would rather play golf than handle a brush, andon dark days he _couldn't_ see to paint (so he said). In truth, he wasnot well, and his slender store of strength did not permit him to do ashe would. To cover the real seriousness of his case he loudly admittedhis laziness and incompetency.
Lee was a devoted wife, and when she realized that his interest in theHaneys was deep and genuine her slight opposition gave way. It meant acouple of thousand dollars to Frank, but money was the least of theirtroubles--credit seemed to come along when they needed it most, and eachof them had become "trustful to the point of idiocy," Mrs. Crego wasaccustomed to say. Mrs. Crego really took charge of their affairs, andwhen they needed food helped them to it.
Starting for the Haneys on the street-car that very afternoon, Leereached the gate just as Bertie was helping Mart into his carriage.There was something so genuine and so touching in this picture of theslender young wife supporting her big and crippled husband that Mrs.Congdon's nerves thrilled and her face softened. Plainly thisconsideration on the part of Mrs. Haney was habitual and ungrudging.
Bertie, as she faced her caller, saw only a pale little woman withflashing eyes and smiling mouth, whose dress was as neat as a man's andalmost as plain (Lee prided herself on not being "artistic" in dress),and so waited for further information.
"How do you do, Mrs. Haney?" Lee began. "I'm Mrs. Congdon."
Bertha threw the rug over Mart's knees before turning to offer her hand."I'm glad to meet you," she responded, with gravity. "I've seen you onthe street."
Lee couldn't quite make out whether this remark was intended forreproach or not, but she went on, quickly: "I was just about to call.Indeed, I came to ask you and Mr. Haney to dine with us on Thursday."She nodded and smiled at Mart, who sat with impassive countenancelistening with attention--his piercing eyes making her ratheruncomfortable. "We dine at seven. I hope you can come."
Bertha looked up at her husband. "What do you say, Captain?"
"I don't see any objection," he answered, without warmth.
Bertha turned, with still passive countenance. "All right," she said,"we'll be there. Won't you jump in and take a ride with us?"
Lee, burning with mingled flames of resentment and humor, replied:"Thank you, I have another call to make--Thursday, then, at seveno'clock."
"We'll connect. Much obliged," replied Bertha, and sprang into thecarriage. "Go ahead, Dan. Good-day, Mrs. Congdon."
Lee stood for an instant in amazement at this easy, not to sayindifferent, acceptance of her tremendous offering. "Well, if that isn'tcool!" she gasped, and walked on thoughtfully.
Humor dominated her at last, and when she entered Mrs. Crego's house shewas flushed with laughter, and recounted the words of the interview withso many subtle interpretations of her own that Mrs. Crego was delighted.
Mrs. Congdon did not spare herself. "Helen, she made me feel like abill-collector! 'All right,' said she, 'I'll be there,' and left mestanding in the middle of the street. You've got to come now, Helen, topreserve my dignity."
"I'm wild to come, really. I want to see what she'll do to us'professional people.' Maybe she will patronize us too."
When Lee told Frank about it at night he failed to laugh as heartily asshe had expected. "That's all very funny, the way you tell it, but as amatter of fact the girl did all she knew. She accepted your invitationand civilly asked you to take a ride. What more could mortal womanproffer?"
"She might have invited me into the house."
"Not at the moment. It was Mart's hour for a drive, and you wereinterfering with one of her duties. I think she treated you very well."
"Anyhow, she's coming, and so is Helen. It tickled Helen nearly intofits, of course, and she's coming--just to see me 'put to it to managethese wet valley bronchos.'"
"The girl may look like a bronk, but she's got good blood in her. She'llhold her own anywhere," replied Congdon, with conviction.
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