CHAPTER II
A moment later when a tall man came up the path and dropped on the topporch step with an air of being entirely at home, Mrs. Carew was stilldreaming, half-awake and half-asleep.
"Hello, Jeanette!" said the newcomer. "What's new with thee, coz?"
"Don't smoke there, Barry, and get things mussy!" said Mrs. Carew inreturn, smiling to soften the command, and to show Barry Valentine thathe was welcome.
Barry was usually welcome everywhere, although not at all approved inmany cases, and criticised even by the people who liked him best. Hewas a sort of fourth cousin of Mrs. Carew, who sometimes felt herselfcalled to the difficult task of defending him because of the distantkinship. He was very handsome, lean, and dark, with a sleepy smile andwith eyes that all children loved; and he was clever, or, at least,everyone believed him to be so; and he had charm--a charm of sheersweetness, for he never seemed to be particularly anxious to please.Barry was very gallant, in an impersonal sort of way: he took a keen,elder-brotherly sort of interest in every pretty girl in the village,and liked to discuss their own love affairs with them, with aseriousness quite paternal. He never singled any girl out forparticular attention, or escorted one unless asked, but he wasflatteringly attentive to all the middle-aged people of hisacquaintance and his big helpful hand was always ready for stumblingold women on the church steps, or tearful waifs in the street--healways had time to listen to other people's troubles. Barry--everyoneadmitted--had his points. But after all--
After all, he was lazy, and shiftless, and unambitious: he was contentto be assistant editor of the Mail; content to be bullied and belittledby old Rogers; content to go on his own idle, sunny way, playing withhis small, chubby son, foraging the woods with a dozen small boys athis heels, working patiently over a broken gopher-trap or a rustyshotgun, for some small admirer. Worst of all, Barry had beenintemperate, years ago, and there were people who believed that hisoccasional visits to San Francisco, now, were merely excuses for revelswith his old newspaper friends there.
And yet, he had been such a brilliant, such a fiery and ambitious boy!All Santa Paloma had taken pride in the fact that Barry Valentine, onlytwenty, had been offered the editorship of the one newspaper of Plumas,a little town some twelve miles away, and had prophesied a triumphantprogress for him, to the newspapers of San Francisco, of Chicago, ofNew York! But Barry had not been long in Plumas when he suddenlymarried Miss Hetty Scott of that town, and in the twelve years that hadpassed since then the golden dreams for his future had vanished one byone, until to-day found him with no one to believe in him--not evenhimself.
Hetty Scott was but seventeen when Barry met her, and already thewinner in two village contests for beauty and popularity. After theirmarriage she and Barry went to San Francisco, and shrewd, little,beautiful Hetty found herself more admired than ever, and began to talkof the stage. After that, Santa Paloma heard only occasional rumors:Barry had a position on a New York paper, and Hetty was studying in adramatic school; there was a baby; there were financial troubles, andBarry was drinking again; then Hetty was dead, and Barry, fearing thesevere eastern winters for the delicate baby, was coming back to SantaPaloma. So back they came, and there had been no indication since, thatthe restless, ambitious Barry of years ago was not dead forever.
"No smoking?" said Barry now, good-naturedly. "That's so; you've gotsome sort of 'High Jinks' on for to-night, haven't you? I brought upthose hinges for your mixing table, Jen," he went on, "but any timewill do. I suppose the kitchen is right on the fault, as it were."
"The kitchen DOES look earthquakey," admitted Mrs. Carew with a laugh,"but the girls would be glad to have the extra table; so go rightahead. I'll take you out in a second. I have been on the GO," she addedwearily, "since seven this morning: my feet are like balls of fire. Youdon't know what the details are. Why, just tying up the prizes takes agood HOUR!"
"Anything go wrong?" asked the man sympathetically.
"Oh, no; nothing particular. But you know how a house has to LOOK! Eventhe bathrooms, and our room, and the spare room--the children do getthings so mussed. It all sounds so simple; but it takes such a time."
"Well, Annie--doesn't she do these things?"
"Oh, ordinarily she does! But she was sweeping all morning, we movedthings about so last night, and there was china, and glasses to getdown, and the porches--"
"But, Jeanette," said Barry Valentine patiently, "don't you keep thishouse clean enough ordinarily without these orgies of cleaning theminute anybody comes in? I never knew such a house for women to openwindows, and tie up curtains, and put towels over their hair, and runaround with buckets of cold suds. Why this extra fuss?"
"Well, it's not all cleaning," said Mrs. Carew, a little annoyed. "It'slargely supper; and I'm not giving anything LIKE the suppers Mrs. Whiteand Mrs. Adams give."
"Why don't they eat at home?" said Mr. Valentine hospitably. "What dothey come for anyway? To see the house or each other's clothes, or toeat? Women are funny at a card party," he went on, always ready toexpand an argument comfortably. "It takes them an hour to settle downand see how everyone else looks, and whether there happens to be astreak of dust under the piano; and then when the game is just wellstarted, a maid is nudging you in the elbow to take a plate of hotchicken, and another, on the other side, is holding out sandwiches, andall the women are running to look at the prizes. Now when men playcards--
"Oh, Barry, don't get started!" his cousin impatiently implored. "I'mtoo tired to listen. Come out and fix the table."
"Wish I could really help you," said Barry, as they crossed the hall;and as a further attempt to soothe her ruffled feelings, he addedamiably, "The place looks fine. The buttercups came up, didn't they?"
"Beautifully! You were a dear to get them," said Mrs. Carew, quitemollified.
Welcomed openly by all four maids, Barry was soon contentedly busy withscrews and molding-board, in a corner of the sunny kitchen. He and Mrs.Binney immediately entered upon a spirited discussion of equalsuffrage, to the intense amusement of the others, who kept him suppliedwith sandwiches, cake and various other dainties. The little piece ofwork was presently finished to the entire satisfaction of everyone, andBarry had pocketed his tools, and was ready to go, when Mrs. Carewreturned to the kitchen wide-eyed with news.
"Barry," said she, closing the door behind her, "George is here!"
"Well, George has a right here," said Barry, as the lady cast acautious glance over her shoulder.
"But listen," his cousin said excitedly; "he thinks he has sold theHolly house!"
"Gee whiz!" said Barry simply.
"To a Mrs. Burgoyne," rushed on Mrs. Carew. "She's out there withGeorge on the porch now; a widow, with two children, and she looks sosweet. She knows the Hollys. Oh, Barry, if she only takes it; such adandy commission for George! He's terribly excited himself. I can tellby the calm, bored way she's talking about it."
"Who is she? Where'd she come from?" demanded Barry.
"From New York. Her father died last year, in Washington, I think shesaid, and she wants to live quietly somewhere with the children. Barry,will you be an angel?"
"Eventually, I hope to," said Mr. Valentine, grinning, but she did nothear him.
"Could you, WOULD you, take her over the place this afternoon, Barry?She seems sure she wants it, and George feels he must get back to theoffice to see Tilden. You know he's going to sign for a whole floor ofthe Pratt Building to-day. George can't keep Tilden waiting, and itwon't be a bit hard for you, Barry. George says to promise heranything. She just wants to see about bathrooms, and so on. Will you,Barry?"
"Sure I will," said the obliging Barry. And when Mrs. Carew asked himif he would like to go upstairs and brush up a little, he accepted thedelicate reflection upon the state of his hair and hands, and said"sure" again.
The Rich Mrs. Burgoyne Page 2