“Ah!” said the minister interestedly.
“You’ll hafta come ta the tearoom when it’s ready,” volunteered Jimmy, with an air of proprietorship. “Thur’s goin’ to be eyes cream. Don’t you like eyes cream?”
“Ice cream? Why of course, Jimmy,” said the minister, smiling with kindred boyishness, “but what’s this about a tearoom? Are these new people really going to keep a tearoom?”
“Sure thing! She told me this mornin’, an’ she said I might tell folks ef I was a mind to. It’s a-goin’ to be peachy. Thur’s pams all round the room.”
By this, John Endicott expected to find it thoroughly furnished with palm leaf fans.
“You jest wait till you see her,” boasted Jimmy. “She’s a peach! Good-bye. I’m goin’ in here now to help Norah. Don’t you forget the eyes cream when the tearoom opens.”
“All right,” said the minister. “I’ll remember. And don’t you forget church next Sunday.”
“I’ll come, an’ I’ll bring her soon’s she gits home, ef I can, an’ I guess I can.”
Jimmy waved his hand and disappeared behind the cedars. The minister walked on, pondering what kind of family could have moved into the old house.
Chapter 11
Constance found that getting rid of the maid was rendered easy for her by the maid herself. She showed strong signs of homesickness, and when she received a letter saying that her mother was ill, she came to Constance, declaring that she would have to give up her position and go.
Mrs. Wetherill looked as if the foundations of the earth were being shaken when this announcement was made to her, and Constance was not a little troubled lest all the changes that were coming would be very hard upon her grandmother’s health. But she saw no other way, and she thought she knew her grandmother well enough to be sure that the changes would be less hard upon her than the knowledge of the true state of their circumstances.
“Never mind, Grandmother,” said Constance cheerily. “I’ll be your maid. Don’t you think I could, for a little while, at least? I think you might teach me how, and I’m sure it will be much less trouble when we’re traveling to have just us and not always be having to look out for the maid.”
It was a new way of looking at things. Mrs. Wetherill had been used to having all tasks performed for her. She could not remember a time when a maid had not made the way smooth before her gentle feet, carried her bundles, arranged her chair, and laid out the clothes she was to wear. She was as helpless as a baby as far as looking after herself was concerned, and it took much argument from Constance to overcome her dismay, but she finally agreed to try it.
The next morning, accordingly, the maid departed, and Constance and her grandmother, a day or two later, started in another direction. Constance had suggested that perhaps Norah would train into a good maid, and she decided to write and find out whether the girl would meet them somewhere on their journey. So the old lady went quite contentedly with Constance, finding, after all, that the young girl was as quick in anticipating her needs as the departed maid had been.
They started on their journeyings once more, for it was no part of Constance’s plan to bring her grandmother to Rushville at once, or to let her see the place until all things were in order. From one hotel to another they went, staying a day here and a day there, never going a great journey from Rushville, and yet visiting many pretty places, often driving about and drinking in the beauties of spring.
The old lady enjoyed it all in a way, but Constance could see that she was growing weary and restless for a quiet room and her own things about her. This was the time that Constance had been waiting for, and gently, little by little, she suggested the idea of taking permanent quarters for the summer in some quiet little country village.
About this time a letter reached her from Norah, reporting progress in the house, and she told her grandmother that Norah had consented to meet them and to do the best she could at anything they wished of her. The old lady brightened perceptibly at this prospect and readily agreed that it would be good to settle down and have some of their own things sent for. She expressed a desire for her favorite rocking chair and books and to have the New York papers reach her regularly each morning.
With a sigh of relief Constance sat down and wrote to Norah that she might expect them within a few days now. That afternoon, when her grandmother’s nap was finished, she got her out upon a quiet side veranda of the hotel, where she might look into lovely green woods, and began to describe the house in Rushville, which truly enough she said she had seen and fallen in love with on her way out to Chicago the first time. She said that there were pretty apartments where they might use their own furniture if they chose and that there was a lovely tearoom downstairs that would send up their meals to their own apartments. She felt sure that it would be a pleasant place in which to spend the summer, and if her grandmother approved, she would send word at once to have their furniture, at least a part of it, sent on and put in place. Norah would see that things were in order for them, and she thought it all might be arranged very soon.
Mrs. Wetherill, having for so many years lived the peaceful life, saw no inconsistency in the idea of having their furniture brought and arranged within a few days, and readily gave her consent. Indeed, she was almost a child in matters that pertained to the world, and her mind had partially gone to sleep in many ways.
Jimmy was waiting at the station, with shining eyes full of expectation. If he had worn the full regalia of a liveried porter, he could not have swelled with more importance as he strutted up and down the platform. Constance had planned that they should arrive in the early evening, for she did not care to have her grandmother get a view of the forlorn little village that surrounded this new home of theirs. The worst part of Rushville, as of all small towns, was down by the station, of course. So Jimmy had been instructed to secure a closed car and have it in readiness to convey them to their new abode.
Jimmy had wheedled a friend of his brother’s into meeting the train with his neat sedan. He had roared with laughter over Jimmy’s offer of pay and had consented to go merely out of curiosity.
Jimmy, with the importance of having ordered the car, held his head high, jingled a silver quarter and two nickels in his pockets, and felt large.
“Oh, I say,” he called, hailing the minister who passed on his way from the bedside of a sick person to the prayer meeting, “she’s a-comin’ home tonight, an’ I’ll bring her next Sunday ef I kin work it.”
“Is she?” said the minister. “Do,” he added fervently.
At last Jimmy’s patience was rewarded, and the train rounded the curve and drew up to the station. He devoted himself vigilantly to the sweet-faced old lady, picking up her handkerchief when it fell, hovering round her, and in every way making himself the wheel on which all moved. He slammed the door shut with importance and slid into the front seat in spite of the driver’s protest that there was no call for an able-bodied boy to ride across the road. Jimmy held his seat and bounced to the ground to open the door for the ladies. He received as a reward a kindly smile of gracious acceptance from Madame Wetherill, and a silver half dollar, for in suchwise had she always been wont to pave her way.
They passed into the wide hall, and the old lady glanced with mild eyes into the long palm dining room and told Constance it seemed “very nice.” Norah appeared with voluble welcome at the top of the stairs and fairly lifted Mrs. Wetherill up. But when she came into the sitting room, and looked about, and saw everything arranged just as it had been in her sitting room at home, a room of very much this same shape and size, she dropped into her easy chair by the low stand where stood her own reading light, and Constance saw almost with fear how great had been the strain of the time spent out in the world. She said only, “Oh, this is good!” but there were tears of gratitude in her eyes, and she seemed entirely satisfied.
Had Constance known that the old lady had undertaken this hard journey for the sake of her beloved grandchild because she fanci
ed running away from an affair of the heart with Morris Thayer, who somehow needed a severe lesson, she might not have been so thoroughly satisfied with the easy way in which she had carried out her plans.
It was well, however, for Constance that she had no further burdens upon her, for there were enough with all the strange things she had undertaken, and all the mistakes she must inevitably make and the disappointments she must meet. She had been counting up that day. The thousand dollars she had nominally set aside to use for traveling expenses and in getting started had melted away like dew. There was none of it left, and she had even encroached upon the next thousand she had told the lawyer to put into the bank for her. Money must begin to come in at once, or they would soon have to spend some of their capital—and that, she knew, was swift and certain ruin.
She lay awake most of that first night planning and worrying, and on the next morning called a conference with Norah and Jimmy, as the result of which it was decided that the tearoom should be opened at once.
The room that was to be the scene of action was in immaculate order; the porch and front hall were neatness itself. Nothing could have been more attractive, even if large sums of money had been spent. Constance surveyed it and was satisfied. Moreover, she knew that Norah’s cooking would be as irreproachable as the room. Now, if people could be made to believe and come and see! And if a demand could only be created!
Work had begun on the tracks for the new Junction, and that made the outlook more hopeful, but it might be months before any business could come from that quarter.
Now that she had spent so much time and thought and money, the awful thought kept crowding upon Constance that perhaps there were not people enough in this town who would want to eat outside of their own homes to make it pay. However, she had tried, and she could but fail. She must wait and see.
It so happened that all these fears had come to Jimmy also. He was young, but he was wise, and he wanted with his whole soul to have his beautiful lady succeed.
Jimmy was no fool. He knew that the greatest obstacle in the way of the success of her new enterprise was the ghost story attached to the old house. He had done his best during the last few days to make “the fellers” see how harmless the place was, but they seemed to suspect some trap, for they were exceedingly wary about going with him inside the gate. But he determined to begin to work upon their feelings and create customers for the new tearoom.
He was on hand bright and early the next morning for a game of marbles. He had not condescended to marbles much of late, he had been so busy in other directions. Marbles were a trifle out of season, but Rushville did not keep quite so closely to the fashions in games or anything as they do in many places; so marbles were still in vogue. He played abstractedly and did not seem to mind when two of his best marbles were won from him. He did not mind, because he saw it put the boys in good humor.
The new tearoom was open that day. A notice had been put into the village paper, and notices printed on thick white cards in Constance’s own lettering were posted in prominent places about the town. Jimmy had put them up the night before. They read:
THE CEDARS
MEALS AT ALL HOURS
TABLE D’HÔTE OR À LA CARTE
HOMEMADE ICE CREAM CAKES CANDY
Jimmy had read it over carefully every time he had tacked it up, standing back after the last tack was set, until he knew it by heart. He had learned what the mysterious foreign phrases meant, and felt he could explain to any inquiring citizen, though he was a trifle uncertain yet as to his pronunciation.
At right angles to a post of the great wooden gate of the old house hung a neat white sign with dark green lettering: THE CEDARS. The fence and gate had both been mended and painted a rich dark green.
About half past ten on that first morning of the opening, Jimmy stood among a crowd of boys.
“Say, ain’t any you fellers got fifteen cents, hev ye?” he asked disinterestedly, looking round upon the ring of boys. One boy said he had, and another, and another, and a fourth said he had twenty-five at home in his bank. Whereupon there arose a cry of scorn. What good was twenty-five cents at home in a bank? They demanded to see it before they would believe, and the urchin sped home to pry open the mouth and extract the money, but was discovered by his mother in the act, and returned crestfallen, with a boxed ear instead. Meantime Jimmy had proceeded.
“I know a place where there’s eyes cream!” remarked Jimmy with his eyes half closed, taking a sly squint at each boy in turn to try the effect of his words.
“Where?” demanded seven eager voices.
“Come with me an’ I’ll show ye,” said Jimmy slowly, drawing a grass blade between his lips, not, however, rising to go, for well he knew his case was not half won yet.
“Can’t git no eyes cream better’n the drugstore nowheres,” asserted one boy loftily.
“Aw, you don’t know everythin’, Lanky. Shut up!” said Jimmy shortly. He had no mind to be interrupted in the flow of his argument.
“Well, show us where you mean,” said one eager fellow, with his mouth watering for the treat. He had no money, but it might be possible to get some if he once saw the place and was sure of it.
“Don’t fool yerself, kid,” said the tall boy who had disputed the quality of the cream. “Jimmy here, he’s jest talkin’ to hear hisself talk. He don’t know ’bout no eyes cream. He jest wants to get you green little kids down there to the hanted house an’ git the ghost after yer; thet’s wot he’s after, kid. Don’t you let him put anything over on you.”
The blood flamed into Jimmy’s cheek and the fire into his eye. He clutched the silver half dollar that Mrs. Wetherill had given him, and resolved to vindicate himself or die in the attempt. But first he must settle with his adversary.
“Come on!” he cried, doubling up his fists. And leaving no choice for the other boy, he lowered his head and flew at him.
The tall boy sidled away from the fence and prepared to return fight. The small ring of onlookers formed about the two, ready to follow the victor, whichever he might be. Then followed a confusion of arms and bare legs, the sound of ripping garments, and the quick revolution of two sturdy bodies this way and that. The tall boy was agile, but he was also lazy; and, besides, he had not the incentive to fight that Jimmy had. Jimmy fought with a great purpose, and he was as determined to win as any knight fighting for the honor of a fair lady would be. He had all he could do, for the bigger boy gave him a tremendous pummeling. His nose was bleeding, his shirt minus one sleeve, and his hair, which for a wonder had been nicely combed that morning, stood up fiercely all over his round, belligerent head.
But when the fight had gone on for some minutes and the revolutions of the pair had become so rapid as to make it impossible to distinguish the legs of the tall boy from the legs of Jimmy, there was a sudden murmur of admiration from the ring of observers, which had increased in number as the fight went on, and the animated bundle in the center suddenly became quiet. When the dust subsided, Jimmy could be seen red and triumphant, sitting upon his prostrate opponent, his knee upon the insulting breast, one eye rather the worse for wear, and a stream of blood running down his face and across his faded little blouse.
“Now,” said the victor, when he could get his breath again, “you stays there till you owns up I ain’t no liar, and promises you’ll go an’ git some eyes cream an’ see fer yourself; an’ I’ll tell you what you does. These here little kids”—motioning to the two smaller boys who had owned to having no money—“is a goin’ with me to have eyes cream.” He looked at them with a fatherly wink, and the two small boys huddled together, pleased and frightened, and looked upon each other with awe, for they had great fear of that ghost, and yet great curiosity to see her. “An’ they don’t have nothin’ to pay, fer I’ll stand ’em treat; but the rest of you fellers pays yer own way, an’ ef ye don’t come ’t all, it’s cause yer ’fraidy cats, so there! Now, Lanky Jones, do you choose to git up an’ walk over to thet there tearoom pe
aceable an’ pay fer yer own eyes cream, er hev I got ter lick yer some more?”
He punctuated these sentences by punches in the ribs of his victim, and Lanky was glad enough to promise all that was asked of him.
“Ye hear wot he says?” said Jimmy, his bloody little face looking solemnly about the company. “An’ you all stands by me an’ makes him do it?”
There was loud assent. The rest were with Jimmy unanimously. They wished to see this thing carried to a close now and began to believe in the ice cream. Besides, what ghost would walk amid such numbers? Their courage was up, and they would be glad of the adventure. It would be something of which to boast during all their future lives.
So the band retired to the spigot at the garage, each one taking a turn to make himself presentable, then they started on their way. Jimmy, his wet hair licked down as smoothly as two hands could pat it, led the way, with his tall prisoner walking crestfallen by his side. Thus, by might, if not by right, the first guests entered the Cedars, braved the mahogany furniture and Oriental rugs, and sat down to partake of a ghostly dish of cream.
Jimmy gave the orders, but first he made each boy lay down his money on the table before him, and he himself gathered the whole collection and swept it with his own fifty cents into Norah’s hand. The four older boys who had confessed to having money cast a lingering farewell look after it, half regretfully.
But when Norah appeared in the doorway a few minutes thereafter, a huge tray in her hands, upon which stood seven immense bowls of delectable ice cream, their eyes bulged, their mouths watered, and they smacked their lips, prepared to enjoy themselves as they had never enjoyed themselves before. They cast no more furtive glances back of them for ghosts. They applied themselves to their several dishes of unadulterated bliss. Seven pairs of bare legs swung contentedly or braced seven sets of toes whose owners dared not move lest the wondrous dainty should disappear before their gaze. There was contentment, and there was a great silence in the new tearoom until every dish had been scraped, and in some cases licked. Then those seven boys rose, silently stole forth over the Persian rugs, and filed down the path till they reached safely the other side of the gate, where they with one accord threw up their caps and raised a great shout. Jimmy was declared victor.
The White Lady Page 10