CHAPTER VI
The next morning Eliza met her at the area-gate, showing a face ofominous sympathy, wagging a doleful head.
"What'd I tell you?" she exclaimed before she had even unlatched thespring-lock. "That young villyan has a head on him old enough to be hisfather's, if so be he ever had one. He's deep as a well. He didn't tellhis mother on ye yesterday mornin', but he done worse--the little fox!He told his uncle Frank when he got home last night. Leastways, Mr. Shawgot a message late in the evenin' from upstairs, which was, to tell Mrs.Slawson, Mr. Ronald wanted to see her after his breakfast this mornin',an' be sure she didn't forget."
Mrs. Slawson received the news with a smile as of such actual welcome,that Eliza, who flattered herself she knew a thing or two about humannature, was rather upset in her calculations.
"You look like you _relish_ bein' bounced," she observed tartly.
"Well, if I'm goin' to get my walkin'-papers, I'd rather get 'em fromMr. Frank than from anybody else. There's never any great loss withoutsome small gain. At least, if Mr. Frank is dischargin' me, he's noticin'I'm alive, an' that's somethin' to be thankful for."
"That's _as_ you look at it!" snapped Eliza. "Mr. Frank is all rightenough, but I must say I'd rather keep my place than have even him kickme out. An' you look as if his sendin' for you was to say you'd come infor a fortune."
"P'raps it is," said Martha. "You never can tell."
"Well, if _I_ was makin' tracks for fortunes, I wouldn't start in on Mr.Frank Ronald," Eliza observed cuttingly.
"Which might be exackly where you'd slip up on it," Martha returned witha bland smile.
And yet, in reality, she was by no means so composed as she appeared.She felt as might one who, moved by a great purpose, had rashly usurpedthe prerogative of fate and set in motion mighty forces that, if theydid not make for success, might easily make for disaster. She had verydefinitely stuck her thumb into somebody else's pie, and if her laudableintention was to draw forth a plum, not for herself but for the other,why, that was no proof that, in the end, she might not get smartlyscorched for her pains.
When the summons to the dining-room actually came, Martha felt such anunsubstantiality in the region of her knee-joints, that for a moment shealmost believed the bones had turned into breadcrumbs. Thenenergetically she shook herself into shape, spurning her momentaryweakness from her, with an almost visible gesture, and marched forwardto meet what awaited her.
Shaw had removed the breakfast dishes from the table beside which "LordRonald" sat alone. It was all very imposing, the place, the particularpurpose for which she had been summoned, and which was, as yet,unrevealed to her, the _person_, most of all.
Martha thought that perhaps she had been a little hard on Cora, "thetime she give her the tongue-lashin' for stumblin' over the first linesof her piece, that evenin' of the Sund'-School ent'tainment. It wasn'tso dead easy as a body might think, to stand up to a whole churchful o'people, or even one person, when he was the kind that's as good (or asbad) as a whole churchful."
Martha could see her now, as she stood then, announcing to the assembledmultitude in a high, unmodulated treble:
_"It was the t-time when l-lilies bub-blow"_
"an' her stockin' fixin' to come down any min'ute!"
"Ah, Martha, good-morning!"
At the first sound of his voice Mrs. Slawson recovered her poise. That_wouldn't-call-the-queen-your-cousin_ feeling came over her again, andshe was ready to face the music, whatever tune it might play. Sosusceptible is the foolish spirit of mortal to those subtle, impalpableinfluences of atmosphere that we try to describe, in terms of inexactscience, as personality, vibration, aura, magnetism.
"I asked to see you, Martha, because Radcliffe tells me--"
Martha's heart sank within her. So it was Radcliffe and the _grandbounce_ after all, and not--Well, it was a pity! After all her thinkin'it out, an' connivin', an' contrivin', to have nothin' come of it! To besent off before she had time to see the thing through!
"Radcliffe tells me," continued the clear, mellow voice, penetrating themist of her meditations, "that you own a very rare, a very unusual breedof dog. I couldn't make out much from Radcliffe's description, butapparently the dog is a pedigree animal."
Mrs. Slawson's shoulders, in her sudden revulsion of feeling, shook withsoundless mirth.
"Pedigree animal!" she repeated. "Certaintly! Shoor, he's a pedigreeanimal. He's had auntsisters as far back as any other dog, an' that's afack. What's the way they put it? 'Out of' the gutter, 'sired by'Kicks. You never see a little yeller, mongol, cur-dog, sir, that'syellerer or cur-er than him. I'd bet my life his line ain't never beencrossed by anythin' different, since the first pup o' them all set outto run his legs off tryin' to get rid o' the tin-can tied to his tail.But Flicker's a winner, for all that, an' he's goin' to keep my boySammy in order, better'n I could ever do it. You see, I just has to hintto Sammy that if he ain't proper-behaved I won't let Flicker 'sociatewith'm, an' he's as good as pie. I wouldn't be without that dog, sir,now I got intimately acquainted with him, for--"
"That touches the question I was intending to raise," interposed Mr.Ronald. "You managed to get Radcliffe's imagination considerably stirredabout Flicker, and the result is, he has asked me to see if I can't cometo an understanding with you. He wants me to buy Flicker."
Martha's genial smile faded. "Why, goodness gracious, Lor--I _should_say, _Mr._ Ronald, the poor little rascal, dog rather, ain't worth twocents. He's just a young flagrant pup, you wouldn't be bothered tonotice, 'less you had the particular likin' for such things we got."
"Radcliffe wants Flicker. I'll give you ten dollars for him."
"I--I couldn't take it, Mr. Ronald, sir. It wouldn't be fair to you!"
"Fifteen dollars."
"It ain't the money--"
"Twenty!"
"I--I can't!"
"Twenty-five dollars, Martha. Radcliffe's heart is set on the dog."
A quick observer, looking attentively at Mrs. Slawson's face, could haveseen something like a faint quiver disturb the firm lines of her lipsand chin for a moment. A flash, and it was gone.
"I'd _give_ you the dog, an' welcome, Mr. Ronald," she said presently,"but I just can't do it. The little feller, he never had a square dealbefore, an' because my husband an' the rest of us give it to him, heloves us to death, an' you'd think he'd bark his head off for joy whenthe raft o' them gets home after school. An' then, nights--(I benworkin' overtime lately, doin' outside jobs that bring me homelate)--nights, when I come back, an' all in the place is abed an'asleep, an' I let myself in, in the black an' the cold, the only livin'creature to welcome me is Flicker. An' there he stands, up an' ready forme, the minute he hears my key in the lock, an' when I open the door,an' light the changelier (he don't dare let a bark out of'm, he knowsbetter, the smart little fella!), there he stands, a-waggin' his stumpof a tail like a Christian, an'--Mr. Ronald, sir--that wag ain't forsale!"
For a moment something akin in both held them silent. Then Mr. Ronaldslowly inclined his head. "You are quite right, Martha. I understandyour feeling."
Martha turned to go. She had, in fact, reached the door when she wasrecalled.
"O--one moment, please."
She came back.
"My sister tells me you worked in my rooms yesterday. Was any one therewith you at the time?"
"No, sir. Mrs. Sherman said I might have one of the girls, but I perferto see to your things myself."
"Then you were quite alone?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you know if any one else in the household had occasion to go into myrooms during the day?"
"Of course I can't be pos'tive. But I don't think so, sir."
"Then I wonder if this belongs to you?" He extended his hand toward her.In his palm lay a small, flat, gold locket.
Something like the faintest possible electric shock passed up Mrs.Slawson's spine, and contracted the muscles about her mouth. For asecond she positively grinned, then quickly her face re
gained itscustomary calm. With a clever, if slightly tardy, movement, her handwent up to her throat.
"Yes, sir--shoor, it's mine! Now what do you think of that! Me losin'somethin' I think the world an' all of, an' have wore for, I do' knowhow long, an' never missin' it!"
Mr. Ronald's eyes shot out a quick, quizzical gleam.
"O, you have been accustomed to wear it?"
"Yes, sir."
"Mrs. Sherman tells me she never remembers to have seen you with anysort of ornament, even a gold pin. She thought the locket could notpossibly belong to you."
"Well, it does. An' the reason she hasn't noticed me wearin' it is, Iwear it under my waist, see?"
Again Mr. Ronald fixed her with his keen eyes. "I see. You wear it underyour waist. Of course, that explains why she hasn't noticed it. Yet,_if_ you wear it under your waist, how came it to get out from under andbe on my desk?"
Martha's face did not change beneath his scrutiny. During a rather longmoment she was silent, then her answer came glibly enough.
"When I'm workin' I'm ap' to get het-up, an' then I sometimes undoes theneck o' my waist, an' turns it back to give me breathin'-room."
Mr. Ronald accepted it gravely. "Well, it is a very pretty locket,Martha--and a very pretty face inside it. Of course, as the trinket wasin my room, and as there was no name or sign on the outside to identifyit, I opened it. I hope you don't mind."
"Certainly not," Martha assured him. "Certainly not!"
"The inscription on the inside puzzles me. 'Dear Daddy, from Claire.'Now, assuredly, you're not _dear Daddy,_ Martha."
Mrs. Slawson laughed. "Not on your life, I ain't _Dear Daddy,_ sir. DearDaddy was Judge Lang of Grand Rapids--you know, where the furnitur' an'the carpet-sweepers comes from--He died about a year ago, an' MissClaire, knowin' how much store I set by her, an' how I'd prize herpicture, she give me the locket, as you see it."
"You say Grand Rapids?--the young lady, Miss Claire, as you call her,lives in Grand Rapids?"
"Yes, sir."
"I suppose you think I am very inquisitive, asking so many questions,but the fact is, I am extremely interested. You will see why, when Iexplain that several weeks ago, one day downtown, I saw a little girl--ayoung lady--who might have been the original of this very picture, theresemblance is so marked. But, of course, if your young lady lives inGrand Rapids, she can't be my little girl--I should say, the young womanI saw here in New York City. But if they were one and the same, theycouldn't look more alike. The only difference I can see, is that theoriginal of your picture is evidently a prosperous 'little sister of therich,' and the original of mine--the one I've carried in my mind--is abreadwinner. She was employed in an office where I had occasion to goone day on business. The next time I happened to drop in there--a fewdays later--she was gone. I was sorry. That office was no place for her,but I would have been glad to find her there, that I might have placedher somewhere else, in a safer, better position. I hope she has come tono harm."
Martha hung fire a moment. Then, suddenly, her chin went up, as with theimpulse of a new resolve.
"I'll be open an' aboveboard with you, sir," she said candidly. "Theworld is certaintly small, an' the way things happen is a caution. Now,who'd ever have thought that you'd 'a' seen my Miss Claire, but I trulybelieve you have. For after her father died she come to New York, thepoor lamb! for to seek her fortune, an' her as innercent an'unsuspectin' as my Sabina, who's only three this minit. She tried herhand at a lot o' things, an' thank God an' her garden-angel for keepin'her from harm, for as delicate an' pretty as she is, she can't _help_attractin' attention, an' you know what notions some as calls themselvesgen'lemen has, in this town. Well, Miss Claire is livin' under my roof,an' you can betcher life I'm on the job--relievin' her garden-angel o'the pertectin' end o' the business. But Miss Claire's that proud an'inderpendent-like she ain't contented to be idle. She's bound to makeher own livin', which, she says, it's everybody's dooty to do, some waysor other. So my eye's out, as you might say, for a place where she canteach, like she's qualified to do. Did I tell you, she's a college lady,an' has what she calls a 'degree,' which I didn't know before anythin'but Masons like himself had 'em.
"You oughter see how my boy Sammy gets his lessons, after she's learned'em to him. She's a wizard at managin' boys. My Sammy useter to be up toall sorts o' mischief. They was a time he took to playin' hookey. He'dmarch off mornin's with his sisters, bold as brass, an' when lunchtimecome, in he'd prance, same as them, an' nobody ever doubtin' he hadn'tbeen to his school. An' all the time, there he was playin' in the openlots with a gang o' poor little neglected dagos. I noticed him comin' inevenin's kinder dissipated-lookin', but I hadn't my wits about me enoughto be onto'm, till his teacher sent me a note one day, by his sisterCora, askin' what was ailin' Sammy. That night somethin' ailed Sammy forfair. He stood up to his dinner, an' he wouldn't 'a' had a cravin' toset down to his breakfast next mornin', only Francie put a pilla in hischair. But Miss Claire, she's got him so bewitched, he'd break his heartbefore he'd do what she wouldn't like. The thought of her goin' awaymakes him sick to his stummick, the poor fella! Yet, it ain't to besupposed anybody so smart, an' so good-lookin' as her, but would besnapped up quick by them as has the sense to see the worth of her.There's no question about her gettin' a job, the only worry _I_ have isher gettin' one that will take her away from this, out of New York City,where I can't see her oncet in a while. She's the kind you'd miss, likeyou would a front tooth. You feel you can't get on without her, an' truefor you, you can't. But, beggin' your pardon, sir, for keepin' you solong with my talkin'. If that's all, I'll get to my work."
"That is all," said Mr. Ronald, "except--" He rose and handed her thelocket.
She took it from him with a smile of perfect good-fellowship, and passedfrom the room. Once outside the threshold, with the door closed uponher, she drew a long, deep breath of relief.
"Well, I'm glad _that's_ over, an' I got out of it with a whole skin,"she ruminated. "Lord, but I thought he had me shoor, when he took me upabout how the thing got out o' me dress, with his gimlet eyes neverstirrin' from my face, an' me tremblin' like an ashpan. If I hadn't 'a'had my wits about me, I do' know where I'd 'a' come out. But all's wellthat ends swell, as Miss Claire says, an' bless her heart, it's heras'll end swell, if what I done this day takes root, an' I believe itwill."
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