by Sewell Ford
CHAPTER XI
UNDER THE WIRE WITH EDWIN
If you must know, I was doin' a social duck. Not that I ain't more orless parlor broke by this time, or am apt to shy at a dinner coat, likea selfmade Tammany statesman when addressin' his fellow Peruvians.Nothing like that! Pick out the right comp'ny, and I can get throughquite some swell feed without usin' the wrong fork more'n once or twice.I don't mind little fam'ly gatherin's at Pinckney's or the Purdy-Pells'now. I can even look a butler in the eye without feelin' shivery alongthe spine. But these forty-cover affairs at the Twombley-Cranes', with adinner dance crush afterwards and a buffet supper at one-thirtyA.M.--that's where I get off.
Sadie likes to take 'em in once in awhile, though, and as long as she'llspend what there's left of the night with friends in town, and don'tkeep me hangin' round until the brewery trucks and milk wagons begin toget busy, I ain't got any kick comin'.
It was one of these fussy functions I was dodgin'. I'd had my dinner athome, peaceable and quiet, while Sadie was dressin', and at that therewas plenty of time left for me to tow her into town and land her at theTwombley-Cranes', where they had the sidewalk canopy out and an extracarriage caller on duty. I'd quit at the mat, though, and was slopin'down the front steps, when I'm held up by this sharp-spoken old girlwith the fam'ly umbrella and the string bonnet.
"Young man," says she, plantin' herself square in front of me, "is thisMr. Twombley-Crane's house?"
"This is where it begins," says I, lookin' her over some amused; forthat lid of hers sure was the quaintest thing on Fifth-ave.
"Humph!" says she. "Looks more like the way into a circus! What's thisthing for?" and she waves the umbrella scornful at the canopy.
"Why," says I, "this is to protect the guests from the rude stares ofthe common herd; also it's useful in case of a shower."
"Of all things!" says she, sniffin' contemptuous.
"If you don't like the idea," says I, "suppose I mention it to Mr.Twombley-Crane? Maybe he'll take it down."
"That'll do, young man!" says she. "Don't try to be smart with me! Anddon't think I'm asking fool questions just out of curiosity! I'm relatedto Twombley-Crane."
"Eh?" says I, gawpin' at her.
"Cousin by marriage," says she.
"I--I take it all back then," says I. "Excuse my gettin' so gay. Come ona visit, have you?"
"Ye-e-es," says she hesitatin'; "that is, I s'pose we have. We ain'tmade up our minds exactly."
"We?" says I, gazin' around.
"Mr. Leavitt is behind the tent there, as usual," says she, "and he----My land! I guess it's jest as well he is," she gasps, as a limousinerolls up to the front of the canopy, a liveried footman hops off thedriver's seat, whisks open the door, and helps unload Mrs. K. TaylorFrench.
Quite some wishbone in front and more or less spinal column aft Mrs. K.Taylor is exposin' as she brushes past us up the strip of red carpet. Soyou could hardly blame the old girl for bein' jarred.
"Young man," says she, turnin' on me severe, "what's going on hereto-night?"
"Dinner dance, that's all," says I.
"You mean they're having a lot of company in?" says she.
I nods.
"Then that settles it!" says she. "We don't go a step nearer to-night.But where we will stay, goodness only knows!"
She was pikin' off, her chin in the air, when it struck me that if thesereally was jay relations of the Twombley-Cranes, maybe I ought to lend'em a helpin' hand. So I trails along until she brings up beside anotherparty who seems to be waitin' patient just under the front windows.
He's a tall, stoop-shouldered gent, with a grayish mustache and a gooddeal of gold watch chain looped across his vest. In each hand he'sholdin' a package careful by the strings, and between his feet is one ofthese extension canvas grips that you still see in use out in thekerosene circuit.
"Excuse me, Ma'am," says I, "but I'm more or less a friend of thefam'ly, and if you've come on special to visit 'em, maybe you'd betterwait while I let 'em know you're here. My name's McCabe, and if you'llgive me yours, why----"
"I'm Mrs. Sallie Leavitt, of Clarks Mills," says the old girl.
"Oh, yes," says I, "Clarks Mills. Up Skowhegan way, ain't it?"
"Vermont," says she. "This is Mr. Leavitt. I'm much obliged to you, Mr.McCabe, but you needn't bother about tellin' anyone anything. If they'vegot company, that's enough. I wish I'd never left Clarks Mills, that'swhat I wish!"
"Now, Sallie!" protests the other half of the sketch, speakin' mild andgentle.
"That'll do, Mr. Leavitt!" says she decided. "You know very well it wasall along of your fussing and fretting about never having seen yourcousin that we come to make this fool trip, anyway."
"I realize that, Sallie," says he; "but----"
"Mr. Leavitt," she breaks in, "will you be careful of them pies?" Thenshe turns to me apologizin'. "Course, it does seem sort of silly,travelin' around New York with two pumpkin pies; but I didn't know howgood a cook the folks had here; and besides I don't take a back seat foranybody when it comes to mince or pumpkin. You see, I was planning tosurprise Cousin Twombley by slipping 'em onto the table to-morrow forbreakfast."
Say, the thought of what the Twombley-Cranes' English flunkies would doat the sight of pumpkin pie on the breakfast table was most too much forme. As it was, I had a bad coughin' fit, and when I recovered I suggestseager, "Well, why not? They'll keep a day or so, won't they?"
"Not while I'm as hungry as I am now," says she. "And I'm dog tired too.Young man, where'll we find a good, respectable tavern around here?"
"A which?" says I. "Oh! I get you--hotel. Now let's see. Why, I expectthe best thing you can do is to jump in one of these motor buses andride down to--no, I might's well go along, as it's right on my way home.Here's one coming now."
So we piles in, umbrella, pies, and all, and inside of half an hourI've landed the whole shootin' match safe in a two-fifty air-shaft roomin one of those punk little ten-story hotels down in the 40's. I showed'em how to work the electric light switch, got 'em some ice water, andpointed out the fire escape. In fact, I done everything but tuck 'em inbed, and I had said good-night twice and was makin' my getaway, whenMrs. Leavitt follows me out into the hall, shuttin' Hubby in by himself.
"Just one thing more, Mr. McCabe," says she. "I guess you needn't sayanything to Twombley-Crane about our bein' here."
"Oh!" says I. "Goin' to spring it on him to-morrow yourself?"
"Maybe," says she, "and then again maybe I won't go near 'em at all. I'mgoing to think it over."
"I see," says I. "But I expect Mr. Leavitt will be up."
"What, alone?" says she. "Him? Not much!"
"Oh!" says I, and while I didn't mean it to show, I expect I must havehumped my eyebrows a little. Anyway, she comes right back at me.
"Well, why should he?" she demands.
"Why, I don't know," says I; "only he--he's the head of the house, ain'the?"
"No, he ain't," says she. "I don't say it in a boasting spirit, for it'salways been one of the trials of my life; but Mr. Leavitt ain't at thehead of anything--never was, and never will be."
"Had plenty of chance, I expect?" says I sarcastic.
"Just the same chances other men have had, and better," says she. "Why,when we was first married I thought he was going to be one of thebiggest men in this country. Everyone did. He looked it and talked it.Talk? He was the best talker in the county! Is yet, for that matter.Course, he'd been around a lot as a young man--taught school in Rutlandfor two terms, and visited a whole summer in Bellows Falls. Besidesthere was the blood, him being an own cousin to Twombley-Crane. Justthat was most enough to turn my head, even if that branch of the familynever did have much to do with the Leavitt side. But it's a fact thatMr. Leavitt's mother and Twombley-Crane's father were brother andsister."
"You don't mean it!" says I.
"Of course," she goes on, "the Leavitts always stayed poor countryfolks, and the Cranes went to the city and got rich. When the oldhome
stead was left to Mr. Leavitt, though, he said he wasn't going tospend the rest of his life on an old, worn-out farm. No, Sir! He wasgoing to do something better than that, something big! We all believedit too. For the first six months of our married life I kept my trunkpacked, ready to start any minute for anywhere, expecting him to findthat grand career he'd talked so much about. But somehow we neverstarted. That wa'n't the worst of it, either. A year slipped by, and wehadn't done a thing,--didn't even raise enough potatoes to last usthrough Thanksgivin', and if we hadn't sold the hay standing and theapple crop on the trees I don't know how we'd got through the winter.
"Along about the middle of March I got my eyes wide open. I saw that ifanything was done to keep us out of the poorhouse I'd got to do it. OldMr. Clark wanted someone to help in the general store about then, and Itook the job at six dollars a week. Inside of a year I was actin'postmistress, had full charge of the drygoods side, did all the grocerybuyin', and was agent for a horse rake and mower concern. Six monthslater, when Mr. Clark gave up altogether and the store was for sale, Ijumped in, mortgaged the Leavitt place all it would stand, borrowedfifteen hundred dollars from a brother-in-law back in Nova Scotia, andput a new sign over the door. That was over thirty years ago; but it'sthere yet. It reads, 'Mrs. Sallie Leavitt, General Merchandise.'"
"But where did Mr. Leavitt fit in?" says I.
"Humph!" says she. "Mostly he's set around the store and talked. Oh, hehelps with the mail, cooks a little when I'm too rushed and ain't gotany hired girl, and washes dishes. That's always been the one usefulthing he could do,--wash dishes. I expect that's why everybody at theMills calls him Mr. Sallie Leavitt. There! It's out. I don't know as Iever said that aloud before in my life. I've been too much ashamed. ButI might's well face the truth now. He's just Mr. Sallie Leavitt. And ifyou don't think that hurts for me to have to own up to it, then you'remighty mistaken. Maybe you can guess too why I ain't so anxious toparade a husband like that before folks."
"Oh, well," says I, "sometimes a man gets tagged with a nickname likethat and don't half deserve it."
"Huh!" says she. "You don't know Mr. Leavitt as I do. I wa'n't goin' tomention it; but--but--well, he's a book reader."
"A what?" says I.
"Reads books," says she. "Just reads and reads and reads. He's got whathe calls our circulatin' lib'ry in a room he's fixed up over the store.Lends out books at five cents a week, you know. But, land! he reads moreof 'em himself than any ten customers. History, explorin' books, andnovels--specially novels about English society folks, like 'LadyThingumbob's Daughter,' and so on. And the fool ideas he gets from 'em!I expect you'll laugh, but he actually tries to talk and act like thempeople he reads about. Learned to drink tea out of books, Mr. Leavitthas, and wants me to quit the store every afternoon about half past fourand drink it with him. Think of that! And instead of havin' his supperat night he wants to call it dinner. Did you ever? Yes, Sir, that's thekind of tomfoolery I've been puttin' up with all these years, and tryin'to hide from the neighbors! Maybe you'll notice I always call him Mr.Leavitt? That's why; to cover up the fact that he's only--well, whatthey call him. And so, cousin or no cousin, I don't see how I'm goin' tobring myself to let the Twombley-Cranes know. Anyway, I want to sleep onit first. That's why I'd just as soon you wouldn't tell 'em we're here."
"I see," says I. "And you can bank on me."
I didn't peep a word, either. It's only the followin' evenin', though,that Sadie announces:
"What do you think, Shorty? A Vermont cousin of Mr. Twombley-Crane is intown, with his wife, and they're going to give them a dinner partyFriday night."
"Gee!" says I. "I'd like to be there."
"You will be," says she; "for you are specially invited."
"Eh?" says I. "To meet the poor relations? How's that?"
"Who said they were poor?" says Sadie. "Why, Twombley-Crane says thathis cousin's wife is one of the shrewdest business women he's ever heardof. He has been handling her investments, and says she must be worthhalf a million, at least; all made out of a country store, maple sugarbushes, and farm mortgages. I'm crazy to see her, aren't you?"
"What--Sallie?" says I. "Half a million! Must be some mistake."
Course I had to tell her then about the couple I'd run across, and aboutMr. Sallie, and the pies, and the string bonnet. We had such a warmdebate too, as to whether she was really well off or not, that next daymy curiosity got the best of me, and I calls up the hotel to see if theLeavitts are in. Well, they was, and Mrs. Leavitt, when she finds who itis, asks pleadin' if I won't run up and see 'em a little while.
"Please come," says she; "for I'm completely flabbergasted. It's--it'sabout Mr. Leavitt."
"Why, sure," says I. "I'll come right up."
I finds 'em sittin' in their dull, bare little hotel room, one on eachside of the bed, with the extension grip half packed on the floor."Well," says I, "what's up?"
"Ask him," says she, noddin' at Mr. Sallie.
But Leavitt only hangs his head guilty and shuffles his feet. "Then I'lltell you," says she. "Yesterday he slipped out, hunted up his cousin,and got us invited to dinner. More'n that, he said we'd come."
"Well, why not go?" says I.
"Because," says she, "I--I just can't do it. I--I'm--well, we've beenaround some since we got here, lookin' into the big stores and so on,and I've been noticin' the women, how they talk and act and dressand--and--oh, I'm afraid, that's all!"
"Why, Sallie!" says Mr. Leavitt.
"Yes, I am," she insists. "I'm plumb scared at the thought of mixin'with folks like that--just plumb scared. And, as you know, Mr. Leavitt,it's the first time in my life I've ever been afraid of anything."
"Yes, that's so," says he, "that's so, Sallie. But you're not going tobe afraid now. Why should you?"
"Listen to him, Mr. McCabe!" says she. "Do you know what he wants me todo? Spend a lot of money on clothes and rig myself up like--like thatwoman we saw the other night!"
"And you're going to do it too," says Mr. Leavitt. "You can afford tohave the best there is,--a Paris frock, and the things that go with it.I mean you shall, not for my sake, but for your own. You're a wonderfulwoman, Sallie, and you ought to know it for once in your life. I want mycousin to know it too. You've not only got more brains than most women,but you're mighty good looking, and in the proper clothes you could holdup your head in any company."
"Pshaw!" says Mrs. Leavitt, almost blushin'. "Right before Mr. McCabetoo!"
"Well, isn't it so?" demands Mr. Leavitt, turnin' to me.
"Why--er--of course it is," says I.
I tried to make it enthusiastic, and if it come out a little draggy itmust have been on account of that ancient lid of hers that's hangin' infull view on one of the bedposts. As a matter of fact, she's one ofthese straight-built, husky, well-colored dames, with fairly good linesin spite of what the village dressmaker had done to her.
"There!" says Mr. Leavitt. "Now let's have no more talk of going home.Let's go out and get the clothes right now. Perhaps Mr. McCabe can showus where we can buy the right things."
"Land sakes! What a man you are, Mr. Leavitt!" says Sallie, weakenin' alittle.
Five minutes more of that kind of talk, and he'd got her to tie on herbonnet. Then, with me leadin' the way and him urgin' her on from behind,we starts on our shoppin' expedition.
"It's to be a complete outfit, from the ground up, ain't it?" says I.
"That's it," says Mr. Leavitt.
So, instead of botherin' with any department stores, I steers 'emstraight for Madame Laplante's, where they set you back hard, but canfurnish a whole trousseau, I'm told, at an hour's notice.
Mrs. Leavitt was still protestin' that maybe she wouldn't do any morethan look at the things, and how she wouldn't promise to wear 'em evenif she did buy a few; but you know what smooth salesladies they have insuch places. When I left two of 'em was gushin' over Mrs. Leavitt'schestnut-tinted hair that she had piled up in slick coils under thebonnet, and a third was runnin' a tape over h
er skillful. If it had beenanybody but Mrs. Sallie Leavitt, I'd have hated to take chances onhavin' to write the check when it was all over.
"Well, is she coming?" asks Sadie that night.
"Search me," says I. "I wouldn't bet a nickel either way."
That was Wednesday. All day Thursday I was expectin' to be called inagain, or hear that Sallie had made a break back for Vermont. But not aword. Nor on Friday, either. So at seven o'clock that night, as wecollected in the Twombley-Cranes' drawin' room, there was some suspense;for at least half of us were wise to the situation. At seven-fifteen,though, they arrives.
And, say, I wish you could have seen Mrs. Sallie Leavitt of ClarksMills! I don't know what it cost to work the miracle, but, believe me,it was worth twice the money! Leavitt was dead right. All she needed wasthe regalia. And she'd got it too,--sort of a black lacy creation, withjet spangles all over it, and long, sweepin' folds from the waist down,and with all that hair of hers done up flossy and topped with a fancyrhinestone headdress, she looked tall and classy. And stunnin'? Say, shehad a neck and shoulders that made that Mrs. K. Taylor French partylook like a museum exhibit!
Then there was Mr. Leavitt, all dolled up as correct as any cotillionleader, balancin' his silk tile graceful on one wrist, and strokin' hisclose-cropped mustache with his white glove, just as Mrs. Humphry Warddescribes on page 147.
"Well!" gasps Sadie. "I thought you said they were a pair of countrifiedfreaks!"
"You should have seen 'em when they landed with the pies," says I.
And, if you'll believe me, Mr. Leavitt not only had on the costume, buthe had the lines too. Sounded a little booky in spots maybe; but he wasright there with the whole bag of chatty tricks,--the polite salute forthe hostess, a neat little epigram when it come his turn to fill in thetalk, a flash or so of repartee, and an anecdote that got a good handall round the table. You see, he was sort of doublin' in brass, as itwere; conversin' for two, you know. For Sallie was playin' it safe,watchin' how the others negotiated the asparagus, passin' up all thedishes she couldn't dope out, and sayin' mighty little. Mostly she'swatchin' Mr. Leavitt, her eyes growin' brighter and rounder as the mealprogresses, and at last fairly beamin' across the table at him.
I didn't quite get the slant of all this until later, when we'd finishedand was trailin' into the lib'ry. Mrs. Leavitt breaks loose fromTwombley-Crane and falls back alongside of me.
"Well, how goes it?" says I. "Wasn't so bad, after all, was it?"
"Don't tell anyone," she whispers, "but I'm so scared I'd like to yelland run away. I would too, if it wasn't for Edwin."
"Who?" says I.
"Mr. Leavitt," says she. "He's going to be Edwin to me after this,though--my Edwin. Isn't he great, though? Course, I always knew he was agood talker, and all that; but to do it in comp'ny, before a lot of cityfolks--well, I must say I'm mighty proud of such a husband, mightyproud! And anybody who ever calls him Mr. Sallie Leavitt again has gotto reckon with me! They'll never have a chance to do it in Clarks Mills.The Mills ain't good enough for Edwin. I've just found that out. And tothink that all these years I've believed it was the other way round! ButI'm going to make up for all that. You'll see!"
Uh-huh! Mrs. Leavitt's a woman of her word. Soon as she can settle upthings at the store, foreclose a few mortgages, and unload a few blocksof stock that can't be carried safe without watchin', it's goin' to bethe grand European tour for her and Edwin, and maybe a house in townwhen they come back.
"Which only goes to show, Mrs. McCabe," says I, "how it's never toolate to discover that, after all, old Hubby's the one best bet on thecard."
"Pooh!" says Sadie. "It isn't always safe to let him know it, even ifyou have."