Nobody knew how much money she had been allowed to owe Bates. The clerks would not let her have anything more, but, by appealing to Mr. Bates, she could and did add to the debt. Mr. Bates, cornered, assented at once, trying sadly to stop her explanations; blinking at her as though he hoped that she might change into somebody else and spare him, not the small loss of goods, but the great ordeal of doing what he was a fool to do. His daughter, Geraldine, coming out of the post office, or any one of his clerks, would promptly start what Mr. Bates meekly called giving him hell; but he had never refused anyone credit to buy food. All of Mrs. Talbot's neighbours at some time or another found it necessary to owe Mr. Bates money. Laboriously they paid it to the last penny. It was hard to see Mrs. Talbot never paying, or ever likely to.
Mrs. Andrews, peering from a curtained window perhaps a hundred feet away beyond a fragment of picket fence, could not take the risk of visiting Mrs. Talbot. Others, farther along the street, but well aware of what was going on, felt the same. Mrs. Talbot, asked if there were anything they could do, would certainly say yes. She would need things which they could not afford to give. Like Mrs. Andrews, peeping restlessly, they were all ill at ease, distressed by their own unkind prudence. The only solace was that May Tupping appeared to be able, or at least willing, to bear the brunt, to act for all in the rôle of neighbour. May, they could reflect, got a regular salary from the telephone company. Thus, people who came to Mrs. Talbot would not be the ones nearest at hand.
The first one who did come was Mrs. Jackson. May, looking anxiously out of the front window for Doctor Bull's car, saw Mrs. Jackson at the back door of the plain, but very near, brightly red-painted little building which was the New Winton branch of Gosselin Brothers. Mrs. Jackson had a basket covered with newspaper on her arm. In clean white apron and coat, a cap bearing Gosselin's entwined scarlet monogram tilted on his head, her husband, who was the manager, stood in out of the rain, putting up her umbrella for her. By chance seeing this, May could not imagine where Mrs. Jackson was going, as she trudged straight across the back. Mrs. Jackson had gained the road, gone over it carefully through the puddles and softening mud, and May still didn't guess.
The Jacksons weren't New Winton people. Gosselin Brothers simply waved a hand, and up sprang the scarlet store, windows covered with brightly printed strips— Prunes. Average 55 to lb. 3 lbs. 19c.; Fancy Salt Pork lb. 15c. It was swept and spotless, backed by elaborate refrigerators, blazing with electric light, walled solidly with the profusion of brightly packed goods put down once or twice a week by Gosselin ten-ton trucks. Every item was three or seven or thirteen cents cheaper than the same thing at Bates' or Upjohn's. Mr. Jackson, with his apron, coat and cap fresh every morning, seemed as much part of the fixtures as the refrigerators. What was regarded as the unfairness of Gosselin's competition caused the Jacksons to be let alone socially, as though the people who could not resist trading there wished to pretend that they didn't. The last person in New Winton who might be expected to come was Mrs. Jackson. May, astounded, saw her walk deliberately up the ill-kept cinder path.
Turning, May called: "Mrs. Talbot, Mrs. Jackson is-coming in."
News so surprising should certainly draw a response, and getting none, May went to the door of the bedroom. Opening her mouth to repeat, she stopped, shocked. "Why, Mrs. Talbot, what's the matter?"
There was really no need to ask. May could see that Mrs. Talbot must have decided to let go again. Sitting on the bed, she had brought her feet up,, clasped her hands about her knees and laid her forehead against them. The posture, so suggestive of a terrible despair, and so absurd, almost jaunty in its youthful flexibility, irritated May nearly as much as it disturbed her. She went and took Mrs. Talbot by the shoulder. "If you don't feel well, you just lie down," she said, "but you can't sit there like that. Mrs. Jackson's coming up the path now."
Thus urged, half forced, by May's impatient hand, Mrs. Talbot moved, turning and putting her feet on the floor. "Seems like I can't get any peace," she said with unexpected harshness. "What's that woman want?"
Mrs. Jackson had reached the door and knocked on it. Mrs. Talbot, starting, seemed to weaken. "I don't believe I want to see her, May. I-—"
"She won't stay long, Mrs. Talbot. I think she's bringing you some things."
"No, none of them stay. They all get out as quick as they can. I don't have anybody who cares —"
"Now, Mrs. Talbot, that's not true —"
Since nothing could have been truer, May saved herself by rushing out to the door. "Come in, Mrs. Jackson. There, let me take your umbrella."
Mrs. Jackson seemed to be in an anguish of embarrassment. "Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Tupping!" she faltered. "My, isn't it a mean day! I just want to tell Mrs. Talbot how awfully sorry Malcolm and I are about her bereavement. I just know how awfully she feels. I just thought I might bring her something. I mean, I know how it is and I thought some things that wouldn't need cooking—"
Agitated, she pulled off the wet newspapers covering the basket. May could see a ham, and at least a dozen cans of various sorts and sizes. Mr. Jackson could get them at cost, of course, but even so that basketful came to money. May found herself almost as embarrassed as Mrs. Jackson. "Oh, that's kind of you —" she said.
"Well, I just thought—my sister-in-law had a little girl die when we lived in Bayonne, New Jersey. At such a time, it just doesn't seem as if you could do anything, and —"
Mrs. Jackson was still floundering, dismayed by the difficulties which she had nervously foreseen. She couldn't quite manage the assured, sympathetic patronage of her less fortunate neighbours. Mrs. Tupping, who was actually nothing but a thin blonde girl, came in her civil reserve closer to patronizing Mrs. Jackson. Mrs. Talbot herself hadn't even bothered to put in an appearance. They did not know what to do with Mrs. Jackson, formerly of Bayonne, New Jersey, even when she brought gifts.
Mrs. Jackson, hazily in her own mind envisioning the opportunity of saying to Mrs. Vogel, or Mrs. Ely, or both, that she had just felt that she ought to do something for that poor Mrs. Talbot over the back street, saw that it would not mean what she thought. Mrs. Tupping and poor Mrs. Talbot would have known what to do with the Vogels or Elys. They went just a shade under Bates, Ordway, Quimby, Harris, Weems, Upjohn; a shade over Talbot, Tupping, Clark, Webster, Foster, Andrews. Since no one, by his behaviour, gave the faintest sign of considering himself inferior to anyone else, these were subtleties you had to recognize by long acquaintance. Mrs. Jackson was not being recognized as anything; no one had taken her in and so given her a level and a place which everyone else could understand. The Vogels, the Elys, and Mrs. Fell whose husband owned the meat market were the ones she seemed to be thrown with, but they did not treat her as though the things that interested them could be expected to interest her. They did not ask about her or tell her about themselves. Thus she was greatly confused when she had learned for the first time (months after she had been acting as neighbourly as she could) that the Vogels weren't German, in the sense of being born in Europe, the way everyone with a foreign-sounding name was in Bayonne. They had been right there for a hundred and fifty years, descendants of the foremen of the old furnace. You had to live here all your life to know, with that perfect assurance, all these things about everybody. There was not one woman in town who called Mrs. Jackson by her Christian name, or offered to share anything but the most superficial and impersonal gossip with her.
May, seeing Mrs. Jackson's disappointment, though not clearly over what, decided that she wanted appreciation of her generosity. "Mrs. Talbot," she called, "I want to show you the lovely things Mrs. Jackson brought."
Mrs. Talbot groaned, for the first time audible. "Yes, May, I'm coming. She put in her bedraggled appearance, holding the door jamb. "I'm sure it's very kind of you, Mrs. Jackson. I thank you very much."
Mrs. Jackson gathered herself together. "I don't want to intrude at a time like this," she said. "I just wanted to tell you how awfully sorry Malcolm and I —"
>
"Yes, that's very nice of you," said Mrs. Talbot without conviction.
"I think you'd better lie down again, Mrs. Talbot," suggested May, blushing at the listlessness of the acknowledgment. The sound of a motor coming to a halt outside reached her and she said: "I believe that's Doctor Bull now. You lie down, Mrs. Talbot, and before he goes we'll have him look at you —"
"Well, I will. I don't feel very good, if Mrs. Jackson will excuse me."
"Yes, of course. I just wanted to—"
There was a rap on the door and May went to it.
"Oh," she said, much relieved, "Mrs. Bates. Do come in. Hello, Gerry."
Geraldine Bates carried the basket. "Want me to put the junk out in the kitchen, May?" she asked. She glanced briefly at Mrs. Jackson and nodded.
"Oh, how do you do, Mrs. Jackson," said Mrs. Bates, surprised. "Isn't the weather terrible! May, I'll just speak to Mrs. Talbot a moment and we'll go along." She lowered her voice. "Howard been over yet?"
"No, he hasn't, Mrs. Bates. We're still waiting for Doctor Bull."
"My goodness, hasn't he been here at all?"
"Not yet."
"I mean, wasn't he here when it happened?"
"No, he wasn't."
"Well, I do call that dreadful!"
"Oh, my," agreed Mrs. Jackson. "That is terrible, isn't it?"
"Didn't anybody call him, May?"
"He was out all afternoon, Mrs. Bates. I expect he was on another case, and Mrs. Cole had gone to Sansbury."
"Well, why didn't someone try to get Doctor Verney?"
"Doctor Verney won't take any calls up here, except for the Bannings, Mrs. Bates. He always says he simply can't do it."
"Well, it's really an outrage! Doctor Bull hasn't any right to go gadding about when he has a patient as sick as Mamie. It isn't as if it were the first time, either."
"Oh," said Geraldine wearily, "I guess everybody knows he's a bum doctor by now. Keep your hair on Ma."
"Now, you needn't be so impertinent," Mrs. Bates told her. "Honestly, May, I think something ought to be done to make George Bull realize his responsibilities."
"Yes, I do think you're right," said Mrs. Jackson, attempting to seize an opening. "Mrs. Ely was telling me about the case of that boy at Truro who had diphtheria —"
"There are plenty of cases," said Mrs. Bates flatly. "I suppose nothing can be done now, but there ought to be a law —"
"Sh!" whispered May, "I think he's coming."
"I declare, I wouldn't mind telling him to his face. It's his duty to take care of the sick in this town, and —"
The door opened, admitting Howard Upjohn, his long face very solemn, and Mr. Banning. Mr. Banning said at once: "How do you do, Mrs. Bates. Good morning, May. Ah, good morning, Mrs. Jackson. Good morning, Geraldine." Howard Upjohn said generally, "Morning. 'Lo, May. Doc Bull here yet?"
"Not yet," said May.
"Then we'll just have to wait, I guess. Hermann Vogel said he'd be over and lend me a hand in about twenty minutes. What's keeping the Doc?"
"May," said Mr. Banning, "will you ask Mrs. Talbot if she feels able to see me a moment?"
"Why, of course, Mr. Banning," May nodded. "I'll just ask her —"
The change in atmosphere had become instantly apparent. Every eye, every interest, had transferred to the person who had the means, and it now could be guessed, the intention to pay. After he had gone in, May, withdrawing beyond the door, could hear fragments of Mr. Banning's lowered voice: "Mrs. Talbot . . . our deepest sympathy. I hope you will . . ." He turned presently and said, "May, would you ask Howard to come here a moment?"
Mrs. Talbot had begun abruptly to sniffle, doubtless forgetting that last night her idea had been to revile and abuse the Bannings as the whole cause of her misfortune. Howard Upjohn, entering to stand by the bed, too, was nodding with reflective consideration. May couldn't blame him for being cheered to know that the expenses of burying Mamie would unquestionably be paid. Mrs. Talbot, in a teary unsteadiness of gratitude, got out a few high, very clearly carried phrases: ". . . don't know how to —" and ". . . never be able to —"
In the front room, Geraldine Bates was looking, with obvious amazement, at the contents of Mrs. Jackson's basket; but Mrs. Jackson and Mrs. Bates were both tense, listening as hard as possible. Mr. Banning was going to pay, and in a reluctant, tortuous way, they both resented it, while both tried not to. To Heaven, the widow's mite perhaps had value; but-on this earth, you had to see that the widow was merely absurd. What weighed in the scale of mercy and human happiness were the rich men casting their gifts. Mr. Banning came and with his good, kind money, in one gesture swept away all common difficulties and pulled Mrs. Talbot from the pit. May saw Mrs. Bates looking at Mrs. Jackson, their slight constraint for the moment forgotten. Mrs. Jackson gave quick lip-service to Mr. Banning's virtue: "My, that's mighty nice of him —"
Mrs. Bates, living all her life in the shadow of the Bannings' prestige and high fortunes, said dryly: "Well, I think people ought to help according to their means and abilities."
"Come on, Ma," said Geraldine. "Let's go." On the outer door a heavy hand fell. The door opened then, showing them Doctor Bull's bold red face and massive figure. "Good morning," he said, glancing down at Mrs. Bates and Mrs. Jackson. He put his bag on the table, shrugged off his raincoat and laid it on a chair with his wet hat. "Well, this is too bad, isn't it? Where's Mrs. Talbot?"
"She's in there, talking to Mr. Banning and Mr. Upjohn," Mrs. Bates said.
"Right," nodded Doctor Bull. "Well, May! Tell your husband I'll try to step in and see him this afternoon." He stood in the bedroom door. His voice boomed. "Hello, Banning. Hellow, Howard. Very sorry to hear about this, Mrs. Talbot. I'll just look at her, please. All right, Howard, come along." Carrying his bag, he went to the closed door of the back bedroom. "Why didn't you tell him that stuff you were going to, Ma?" whispered Geraldine.
"Geraldine, you just keep still —"
They all stood waiting, and now Doctor Bull came out again tucking a stethoscope carelessly into his pocket, proceeding to the table, where he pushed things aside. Sitting down, he took his fountain pen and spread out a printed form. Mrs. Bates, reddening, said rather weakly: "Pity you couldn't get here yesterday afternoon. I suppose you might have saved her."
"Not likely," said Doctor Bull, continuing to write. "It's really a self-limiting infection. There are a good many types of the pneumococcus. If it happens to be type one, there's a serum some think helps. I don't believe it. Seventy per cent, of the cases recover anyway, so how can you prove the serum did it? Probably you either have the stamina to hang on while you develop resistance, or else you haven't. Mamie hadn't. Too puny. Girl like Geraldine would probably pull through fine. Got some meat on her. Well, that's all I guess. When's the funeral going to be?"
"Why, I don't know —" said Mrs. Bates, worse confused now that George Bull turned his bright, cheerfully contemptuous blue eyes on her.
May came across the room. "Doctor Bull," she said, "do you think you could do anything for Mrs. Talbot? She's so upset, I mean; and —"
"Did she sleep last night?"
"Why, yes."
"How do you know?"
"I was over here."
"Well, then there's nothing to be done now. She'll be all right. She might be better if some of you cleared out. It keeps her worked up. Probably she doesn't feel like doing much, so if you want to help, take her over to your place and give her lunch, Mrs. Bates. You have a car out there.".
Mrs. Bates, taken by surprise, hesitated, reddening again with embarrassment, for it was one thing to look in at Mrs. Talbot's, and another to have that dirty creature at your table. With accounts thus so well squared, Doctor Bull grinned cordially. "Or don't, if you don't like the idea. Just trying to suggest some way you could help. Get the body out as soon as you can, Howard. Not a very cheerful thing to have around."
Mr. Banning had come out now. He stood erect and precise, pulling his gloves on. Do
ctor Bull thrust his big hands into the sleeves of his raincoat, humped his shoulders into it, clapped his hat on. "Decided when the funeral's going to be, Banning?"
"Mrs. Talbot wishes to have it Tuesday, Doctor. We'll have to consult the Rector about the time."
"Oh! That's right. Mamie was an Episcopalian, wasn't she? I forgot. The Talbots were always Congregationalists in the old days. I'd have probably gone to the wrong church." He opened the door, stepping out into the rain. Mr. Banning nodded to the women, following him. On the path, he said: "If you'll send your bill to me, Doctor, I'll be glad to settle it."
"All right, Banning," said Doctor Bull with relish. "I'll be glad to have it settled."
Upstairs in Upjohn's Hall three rooms looked out, one long window apiece, on the open triangle behind the New Winton station. Each corner room had an extra window, one north, one south. The three shabby, varnished doors on the little hall had been lettered in black paint: Town Clerk; Auditor; Collector of Taxes. Clarence Upjohn, who had been Town Clerk, no matter what other officials changed around him, for seventeen years, donated the rooms, rent free. A meagre sarcasm, living on from the time of Clarence's first offer of them and the lettering of the doors, described the arrangement as City Hall.
Except when the Board of Relief met; or ballots, cast downstairs, were counted; or Clarence was moved to bring over a week or two's work as Clerk—he did the work in the office of Upjohn Brothers' store across the street—to file in the fireproof record cabinets with which the south room was lined, no one bothered about City Hall, or had any reason to come up there. Henry Harris, Collector of Taxes, used the north room designated for him in such merely private affairs as sitting and thinking or to hold confidential interviews and discussions.
The Last Adam Page 9