The Idyl of Twin Fires

by Walter Prichard Eaton

  Chapter XII

  SHOPPING AS A DISSIPATION

  I thought I could move into my house on the first of June--but Ididn't. A rainy day followed the holiday, and in the rain we firstset out the roses, which had arrived by freight and which Bert broughtover from the village on an early trip, and then tackled the rest ofthe interior of the house. I wouldn't let Miss Goodwin wash anywindows, as that appeared to me to be Mrs. Pillig's job, but we hung myfew remaining pictures in the dining-room and hall, set up my oldmahogany drop-leaf table for a dining-table--it was large enough forfour people, on a pinch--and placed the only two straight-backedchairs I possessed on either side of it.

  "Dear, dear!" said I. "I was going to have Mr. and Mrs. Bert and youas my guests at my first meal, but it looks as if you'd have to comealone."

  "You could bring in a chair and the piano bench from the south room,"she smiled. "A more important item seems to be dishes."

  "Heavens!" I cried, "I never thought of that! But I've got silver,anyway. I've kept all my mother's silver. It's in a tin box in thebottom drawer of my desk."

  "Well, that's something," she admitted. "Have you got tablecloths andnapkins and kitchen utensils--to cook with, you know? And have you gotsome bedding for Mrs. Pillig and son Peter?"

  I ruefully shook my head. "I've got a sleeping-bag, though, which Petercould put on the floor. What am I going to do?"

  "I think you're going to make a trip to-morrow to the nearest largetown, and stock up," she smiled.

  "Am I going alone?"

  She laughed at me. "No, you helpless child, mamma will go with you."

  So the next morning we set off early, provided with a list of necessaryarticles compiled with Mrs. Bert's assistance. We tramped over toBentford and took the train there for a city some seventeen miles away,which we reached about half-past eight. It was a clean, neat littlecity, with fine old trees on the residence streets, and prosperous,well-stocked shops. The girl was dressed jauntily in blue, and I woremy last year's best suit and a hat and collar. I sniffed the citysmell, and declared, "Rather nice, just for a contrast. I've got anall-dressed-up-in-my-best feeling. Have you?"

  "It is a lark," she smiled. "I never saw a city from the country pointof view before. It seems queer to me--as if I didn't belong in it."

  "You don't," said I; "you belong in the country."

  She said nothing, but led me into a shop. It was a household-goodsshop, and here we looked at dishes first. The woman who waited on usassumed a motherly air. It began to dawn upon me that she thought wewere stocking our little prospective home. I shot a covert glance at thegirl. Her eyes were twinkling, her colour high. I said nothing, butpointed to the dinner set I desired.

  She laughed. "That's Royal Worcester," she said.

  "What of it? I like it."

  "Well, then, look at it all you can now," she answered, "for youcan't have it."

  The clerk laughed. "You see what you're in for, young man," she said,with the familiarity which rather too often characterizes clerks in oursemi-rural regions.

  I fear I coloured more than Miss Goodwin, which didn't help matters any.

  "Please show us something at a reasonable cost," the girl said, with acurious, dignified severity, which was effective.

  "That will do, won't it, Mr. Upton?" she presently asked, with pointedemphasis on the formal address, as a pretty set of dishes with a simplepattern on the edge was displayed for $25.

  "Admirably," said I. "But I wanted the crimson and gold ones."

  "Now for the kitchen things," said she, with her old smile again.

  Here we made use of Mrs. Bert's list, and left our order to be filled.As we stepped out on the street, we looked at each other, and laughed.

  "It's preposterous, but I suppose the evidence is against us," shetwinkled.

  "The evidence is against us, at any rate," I answered.

  She looked away quickly, and said, "Where is the furniture store?"

  We found it, and here we looked at iron beds for Mrs. Pillig and sonPeter, and for one of the spare rooms so that I might have a guest upafter college closed. She let me have the bed I wanted for the spareroom, but the other two had to be plainer--or rather less plain, forthe cheaper furniture is, the more jimcracky it appears to be. I askedthe clerk why simplicity is always expensive, but he threw no lighton the point. Next we bought a few cheap bedroom chairs, and a cheapbureau for Mrs. Pillig, and a better bureau for the spare room. I boughtno other furniture, preferring to wait till I could get to New Yorkor Boston, or better yet pick up old mahogany at country auctions,which I then believed in my ignorance was possible. Then we invadedthe dry-goods shop, where again I stood helplessly by while the girlbought bedding and tablecloths and napkins and dishcloths and towels.

  "I know you haven't any decent towels," she said, "because you'vebeen a bachelor so long, and sent 'em to laundries. I send mine tolaundries, too. That's how I know."

  I stood by helplessly, but not without emotion. Many emotions arepossible to a man while watching a woman shop, the most common, perhaps,being impatience. Your average woman shopping is the epitome ofirresolution, or so it seems to the man. She always explains the hugepile of goods, which she compels the poor clerk to heap on the counter,by an alleged desire to get the most for her money--though she almostinvariably comes back to the first thing exhibited and buys that in theend. A mere man buys the first thing he likes then and there. But mycompanion was not the usual woman shopper. She wanted towels of acertain grade, for instance, inspected them, and if they were up toher standard bought them without further to-do. At my enthusiasticcomments she smiled. "That's because it is your money I'm spending. Idon't have to count the pennies!"

  No, my emotion was not one of impatience. Indeed, I should have likedto prolong the process. It was one which only a man with his bachelordays fresh in mind can understand. It was the subtle thrill of being ledhelpless by a woman who is intent on providing him creature comfortswhich he could not arrange for himself, of seeing her purchase for himthe most intimate of domestic necessities, and inevitably filling hismind with thoughts of her in his establishment. If I were a woman andwanted to win a man, I should make him take me shopping when he needednew towels!

  We finished in the dry-goods store at last, and I said, "I am sorry."

  "Why?" asked the girl.

  "Because," I answered, "with every purchase you make for me, you lay anew brick in the structure of our friendship--or a new towel!"

  She turned her face quickly away, and made no reply.

  Our next quest was for a sundial plate, but it was a vain search, fornot a store in town carried such an article. As we came out of the lastshop, she sighed. "Well, I can't spend any more of your money!" shesaid. "But I've really saved it for you. Goodness knows how muchyou'd have spent by yourself. Why, you wanted the most expensive kindof _everything_!"

  "Of course," said I; "nothing is too good for Twin Fires."

  "Well, it's lucky I was along, then."

  "Lucky isn't just the word," said I. "I feel already as if Twin Fireswas as much yours as mine."

  Again she made no reply, except to ask when the train went back. Butthe train had long since gone back. It was nearly two o'clock, and werealized that we were hungry. So we gayly hunted out the hotel, and hereI took command. "I'm going to order this lunch," I declared, "and theexpense go hang. We'll have a regular spree, cocktails and all."

  The hotel was really a good one, and the presence of several motorparties gave the cafe almost a metropolitan appearance. The change fromMrs. Bert's simple service to this was abrupt, and we were in thehighest spirits. The cocktails came, and we clinked glasses.

  "To Twin Fires!" said the girl.

  "To the fairy godmother of Twin Fires!" said I.

  Our eyes met as our glasses touched, and something electric passedbetween us. Then we drank.

  "That is my first cocktail," she laughed, as she set her glass down.

  "Heavens!" I exclaimed, "and we in a public
place!"

  It was my first since I came to Bentford, and we both enjoyed the luxuryof dissipation, and laughed brazenly at our enjoyment. Then the lunchcame, and we enjoyed that, and then we caught a train, and half an hourlater were walking toward the farm. We passed the golf links on theway, at the end of the beautiful, elm-hung main street of Bentford,and saw players striding over the green turf along the winding river.

  "Quick, drag me past!" I cried. "Oh, Lord, lead us not intotemptation!"

  "Haven't you joined yet?" she asked.

  "No, I don't dare. I shan't join till the farm is in running order.The game is like Brand's conscience, it demands all or nothing."

  "You men are dreadful babies about your sports," she said.

  "Yes'm," I replied, "quite so. We haven't the firm-mindedness ofyour sex, about bridge, for instance."

  "I never played a game of bridge in my life," said she indignantly.

  "I wasn't thinking of you, but your sex," I answered.

  "You find a difference?"

  "Decidedly."

  "That is just what Sentimental Tommy told every woman he met."

  "Except Grizel--of whom it was true." I looked at her keenly, and shecast down her eyes.

  "A farmer shouldn't talk in literary allusions," she said softly.

  "Well," I laughed, "they've got me past the golf links!"

  We reached Twin Fires, and walked out to see if the roses were all alive,though they hadn't had time to die. Then I went into the house to work,and she gathered a few sprays of lilac, and while I was settling downat my desk she arranged them in water and stood them on the mantels,humming to herself. Then she turned to go.

  "Don't go," I cried.

  She looked at me with a little smile, as if of query.

  "It's been such a nice day," I added, "and it's so pleasant to feelyou here in the house. Please strum something while I work."

  "For ten minutes," she replied, sitting down at the piano. "Then Imust work, too--horrid letters."

  She rose presently, while I was scarce aware of it, and slipped out. Iworked on, in silence save for the talk of the painters putting asidetheir brushes after the day's work. But I could smell the lilacs shehad left, and the scent of them seemed like the wraith of her presencein the sunny room.