CHAPTER VII
These were busy days in the once quiet and sleepy office of the SantaPaloma Morning Mail. A wave of energy and vigor swept over the place,affecting everybody from the fat, spoiled office cat, who found himselfpushed out of chairs, and bounced off of folded coats with smallcourtesy, to the new editor-manager and the lady whose timelyinvestment had brought this pleasant change about. Old Kelly, theproof-reader, night clerk, Associated Press manager, and assistanteditor, shouted and swore with a vim unknown of late years; MissWatson, who "covered" social events, clubs, public dinners, "dramatic,"and "hotels," cleaned out her desk, and took her fancy-work home, and"Fergy," a freckled youth who delighted in calling himself a "cub,"although he did little more than run errands and carry copy to thepress-room, might even be seen batting madly at an unused typewriterwhen actual duties failed, so inspiring was the new atmosphere.
Mrs. Burgoyne had a desk and a corner of her own, where her trim figuremight be seen daily for an hour or two, from ten o'clock until thesmall girls came in to pick her up on their way home from school forluncheon. Barry found her brimming with ideas. She instituted the"Women's Page," the old familiar page of answered questions, andformulas for ginger-bread, and brief romances, and scraps of poetry,and she offered through its columns a weekly cash prize forcontributions on household topics. An exquisite doll appeared in thewindow of the Mail office, a doll with a flower-wreathed hat, and aruffled dress, and a little parasol to match the dress, and loiteringlittle girls, drawn from all over the village to study this dream ofbeauty, learned that they had only to enter a loaf of bread of theirown making in the Mail contest, to stand a chance of carrying thelittle lady home. Beside the doll stood a rifle, no toy, but a genuinetwenty-two Marlin, for the boy whose plans for a vegetable gardenseemed the best and most practical, Mrs. Burgoyne herself talked to thechildren when they came shyly in to investigate. "She seems to want toknow every child in the county, the darling!" said Miss Watson to Fergy.
The Valentines, father and son, came into the Mail office one warm Junemorning, to find the editor of the "Women's Page" busy at her desk,with the sunlight lying in a bright bar across her uncovered hair, anda vista of waving green boughs showing through the open window behindher.
"What are you two doing here at this hour?" said Sidney, laying downher pen and leaning back in her chair as if glad of a moment's rest."Why, Billy!" she added in admiring tones, "let me see you! How very,VERY nice you look!"
For the little fellow was dressed in a new sailor suit that was a fullsize too large for him, his wild mop had been cut far too close, and alarge new hat and new shoes were much in evidence.
"D'you think he looks all right?" said Barry with an anxiouswistfulness that went straight to her heart. "He looks better, doesn'the? I've been fixing him up."
"And free sailor waists, and stockings, and nighties," supplementedBilly, also anxious for her approval.
"He looks lovely!" said Sidney, enthusiastically, even while she wasmentally raising the collar of his waist, and taking an inch or two offthe trousers. She lifted the child up to sit on his father's desk, andkissed the top of his little cropped head.
"We may not express ourselves very fluently," said Barry, who wasseated in his own revolving chair and busily opening and shutting thedrawers of his desk, "but we appreciate the interest beautiful ladiestake in our manners and morals, and the new tooth-brushes they buy us--"
"My dear!" protested Mrs. Burgoyne, between laughter and tears, "Ellenused his old one up, cleaning out their paint-boxes!" And she put herwarm hand on his shoulder, and said, "Don't be a goose, Barry!" asunselfconsciously as a sister might. "Where are you two boys going,Billy?" she asked, going back to her own desk.
"'Cool," Billy said.
"He's going over to the kindergarten. I've got some work I ought tofinish here," Barry supplemented. "I'll take you across the street,Infant, I'll be right back, Sidney."
"But, Barry, why are you working now?" asked the lady a few minuteslater when he took his place at his desk.
"Oh, don't you worry," he answered, smiling; "I love it. The thought ofold Rogers' face when he opens his paper every morning does me good,I'm writing this appeal for the new reservoir now, and I've got to playup the Flower Festival."
"I'm not interested in the Flower Festival," said Mrs. Burgoynegood-naturedly, "and the minute it's over I'm going to start a crusadefor a girls' clubhouse in Old Paloma. Conditions over there for thegirls are something hideous. But I suppose we'll have to go on with theFestival for the present. It's a great occasion, I suppose?"
"Oh, tremendous! The Governor's coming, and thousands of visitorsalways pour into town. We'll have nearly a hundred carriages in theparade, simply covered with flowers, you know. It's lovely! You waituntil things get fairly started!"
"That'll be Fourth of July," Sidney said thoughtfully, turning back toher exchanges, "I'll begin my clubhouse crusade on the fifth!" sheadded firmly.
For a long time there was silence in the office, except for therustling of paper and the scratch of pens. From the sunny worldout-of-doors came a pleasant blending of many noises, passing wagons,the low talk of chickens, the slamming of gates, and now and then thenot unmusical note of a fish-horn. Footsteps and laughing voices wentby, and died into silence. The clock from Town Hall Square struckeleven slowly.
"This is darned pleasant," said Barry presently, over his work.
"Isn't it?" said the editor of the "Women's Page," and again there wassilence.
After a while Barry said "Finished!" with a great breath, and, leaningback in his chair, wheeled about to find the lady quietly watching him.
"Barry, are you working too hard?" said she, quite unembarrassed.
"Am I? Lord, not I wish the days were twice as long. I"--Barry rumpledhis thick hair with a gesture that was familiar to Sidney now--"I guesswork agrees with me. By George, I hate to eat, and I hate to sleep; Iwant to be down here all the time, or else rustling up subscriptionsand 'ads.',"
"And I thought you were lazy," said Sidney, finding herself, for thefirst time in their friendship, curiously inclined to keep theconversation personal, this warm June morning. It was a thing extremelydifficult to do, with Barry. "You certainly gave me that impression,"she said.
"Yes; but that was two months ago," said Barry, off guard. A secondlater he changed the topic abruptly by asking, "Did your roses come?"
"All of them," answered Sidney pleasantly. And vaguely conscious ofmischief in the air, but led on by some inexplicable whim, she pursued,"Do you mean that it makes such a difference to you, Rogers being gone?"
Barry trimmed the four sides of a clipping with four clips of hisshears.
"Exactly," said he briefly. He banged a drawer shut, closed a book andlaid it aside, and stuck the brush into his glue-pot. "Getting enoughof dinner parties?" he asked then, cheerfully.
"Too much," said Sidney, wondering why she felt like a reprimandedchild. "And that reminds me: I am giving two dinners for the VonPraags, you know. I can't manage everybody at once; I hate more thanten people at a dinner. And you are asked to the first."
"I don't go much to dinners," Barry said.
"I know you don't; but I want you to come to this one," said Sidney."You'll love old Mr. von Praag. And Richard, the son, is a dear! Ireally want you."
"He's an artist, too, isn't he?" said Barry without enthusiasm.
"Who, Richard?" she asked, something in his manner putting her a littleat a loss. "Yes; and he's very clever, and so nice! He's like a brotherto me."
Barry did not answer, but after a moment he said, scowling a little,and not looking up:
"A fellow like that has pretty smooth sailing. Rich, the son of a bigman, traveling all he wants to, studio in New York, clubs--"
"Oh, Richard has his troubles," Sidney said. "His wife is verydelicate, and they lost their little girl... Are you angry with meabout anything, Barry?" she broke off, puzzled and distressed, for thisunresponsive almost sullen manner was unlike anyth
ing she had ever seenin him.
But a moment later he turned toward her with his familiar sunny smile.
"Why didn't you say so before?" he said sheepishly.
"Say--?" she echoed bewilderedly. Then, with a sudden rush ofenlightenment, "Why, Barry, you're not JEALOUS?"
A second later she would have given much to have the words unsaid. Theyfaced each other in silence, the color mounting steadily in Sidney'sface.
"I didn't mean of ME," she stammered uncomfortably; "I meant ofeverything. I thought--but it was a silly thing to say. It sounded--Ididn't think--"
"I don't know why you shouldn't have thought it, since I was foolenough to show it," said Barry after a moment, coming over to her deskand facing her squarely. Sidney stood up, opposite him, her heartbeating wildly. "And I don't know why I shouldn't be jealous," he wenton steadily, "at the idea that some old friend might come in here andtake you away from Santa Paloma. You asked me if it was old Rogers'going that made a difference to me--"
"I know," interrupted Sidney, scarlet-cheeked. "PLEASE"--
"But you know better than that," Barry went on, his voice rising alittle. "You know what you have done for me. If ever I try to speak ofit, you say, as you said about the kid just now, 'My dear boy, I liketo do it.' But I'm going to say what I mean now, once and for all. Youloaned me money, and it was through your lending it that I got creditto borrow more; you gave me a chance to be my own master; you showedyou had faith in me; you reminded me of the ambition I had as a kid,before Hetty and all that trouble had crushed it out of me; you camedown here to the office and talked and planned, and took it for grantedthat I was going to pull myself together and stop idling, and kicking,and fooling away my time; and all through these six weeks of roughsailing, you've let me go up there to the Hall and tell youeverything--and then you wonder if I could ever be jealous!" His tone,which had risen almost to violence, fell suddenly. He went back to hisdesk and began to straighten the papers there, not seeing what he did."I never can say anything more to you, Sidney, I've said too much now,"he said a little huskily; "but I'm glad to have you know how I feel."
Sidney stood quite still, her breath coming and going quickly. She wasfundamentally too honest a woman to meet the situation with one of thehundred insincerities that suggested themselves to her. She knew shewas to blame, and she longed to undo the mischief, and put theirfriendship back where it had been only an hour ago. But the right wordsdid not suggest themselves, and she could only stand silently watchinghim. Barry had opened a book, and, holding it in both hands, wasapparently absorbed in its contents.
Neither had spoken or moved, and Sidney was meditating a sudden,wordless departure, when Ellen Burgoyne burst noisily into the room.Ellen was a square, splendid child, always conversationally inclined,and never at a loss for a subject.
"You look as if you wanted to cry, Mother," said she. "Perhaps youdidn't hear the whistle; school's out. We've been waiting ever so long.Mother, I know you said you hoped Heaven would not send any more dogsour way for a long while, but Jo and Jeanette and I found one by theschool fence. Mother, you will say it has the most pathetic face youever saw when you see it. Its ear was bloody, and it licked Jo's handso GENTLY, and it's such a lit-tul dog! Jo has it wrapped up in hercoat. Mother, may we have it? Please, PLEASE--"
Barry wheeled about with his hearty laugh, and Mrs. Burgoyne, laughingtoo, stopped the eager little mouth with a kiss.
"It sounds as if we must certainly have him, Baby!" said she.
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