CHAPTER VII: TROUBLE
The next week was a week of trouble for Maida. Everything seemed togo wrong from the first tinkle of the bell, Monday morning, to thelast tinkle Saturday night.
It began with a conversation.
Rosie came marching in early Monday, head up, eyes flaming.
"Maida," she began at once, in her quickest, briskest tone, "I'vegot something to tell you. Laura Lathrop came over to Dicky's housethe other day while the W.M.N.T.'s were meeting and she told us thegreatest mess of stuff about you. I told her I was coming right overand tell you about it and she said, 'All right, you can.' Laura saidthat you said that last summer you had a birthday party that youinvited five hundred children to. She said that you said that youhad a May-pole at this party and a fish pond and a Punch and Judyshow and all sorts of things. She said that you said that you had abig doll-house and a little theater all your own. I said that Ididn't believe that you told her all that. Did you?"
"Oh, yes, I told her that--and more," Maida answered directly.
"Laura said it was all a pack of lies, but I don't believe that. Isit all true?"
"It's all true," Maida said.
Rosie looked at her hard. "You know, Maida," she went on afterawhile, "you told me about a lot of birds and animals that yourfather had. I thought he kept a bird-place. But Dicky says you toldhim that your father had twelve peacocks, not in a store, but in aplace where he lives." She paused and looked inquiringly at Maida.
Maida answered the look. "Yes, I told him that."
"And it's all true?" Rosie asked again.
"Yes, it's all true," Maida repeated.
Rosie hesitated a moment. "Harold Lathrop says that you're daffy."
Maida said nothing.
"Arthur Duncan says," Rosie went on more timidly, "that you probablydreamed those things."
Still Maida said nothing.
"Do you think you did dream them, Maida?"
Maida smiled. "No, I didn't dream them."
"Well, I thought of another thing," Rosie went on eagerly. "MissAllison told mother that Granny told her that you'd been sick for along time. And I thought, maybe you were out of your head andimagined those things. Oh, Maida," Rosie's voice actually coaxed herto favor this theory, "don't you think you imagined them?"
Maida laughed. "No, Rosie," she said in her quietest voice, "I didnot imagine them."
For a moment neither of the two little girls spoke. But they stared,a little defiantly, into each other's eyes.
"What did Dicky say?" Maida asked after awhile.
"Oh, Dicky said he would believe anything you told him, no matterwhat it was. Dicky says he believes you're a princess indisguise--like in fairy-tales."
"Dear, dear Dicky!" Maida said. "He was the first friend I made inPrimrose Court and I guess he's the best one."
"Well, I guess I'm your friend," Rosie said, firing up; "I told thatlittle smarty-cat of a Laura if she ever said one word against you,I'd slap her good and hard. Only--only--it seems strange that a littlegirl who's just like the rest of us should have story-book thingshappening to her all the time. If it's true--then fairy-tales aretrue." She paused and looked Maida straight in the eye. "I can'tbelieve it, Maida. But I know you believe it. And that's all thereis to it. But you'd better believe I'm your friend."
Saying which she marched out.
Maida's second trouble began that night.
It had grown dark. Suddenly, without any warning, the door of theshop flew open. For an instant three or four voices filled the placewith their yells. Then the door shut. Nothing was heard but thesound of running feet.
Granny and Maida rushed to the door. Nobody was in sight.
"Who was it? What does it mean, Granny?" Maida asked inbewilderment. "Only naughty b'ys, taysing you," Granny explained.
Maida had hardly seated herself when the performance was repeated.Again she rushed to the door. Again she saw nobody. The third timeshe did not stir from her chair.
Tuesday night the same thing happened. Who the boys were Maida couldnot find out. Why they bothered her, she could not guess.
"Take no notuce av ut, my lamb," Granny counselled. "When they foindyou pay no attintion to ut, they'll be afther stopping."
Maida followed Granny's advice. But the annoyance did not cease andshe began to dread the twilight. She made up her mind that she mustput an end to it soon. She knew she could stop it at once byappealing to Billy Potter. And, yet, somehow, she did not want toask for outside help. She had a feeling of pride about handling herown troubles.
One afternoon Laura came into the shop. It was the first time thatMaida had seen her since the afternoon of her call and Maida did notspeak. She felt that she could not have anything to do with Lauraafter what had happened. But she looked straight at Laura andwaited.
Laura did not speak either. She looked at Maida as if she had neverseen her before. She carried her head at its highest and she movedacross the room with her most important air. As she stood a momentgazing at the things in the show case, she had never seemed morepatronizing.
"A cent's worth of dulse, please," she said airily.
"Dulse?" Maida repeated questioningly; "I guess I haven't any. Whatis dulse?"
"Haven't any dulse?" Laura repeated with an appearance of beinggreatly shocked. "Do you mean to say you haven't any dulse?"
Maida did not answer--she put her lips tight together.
"This is a healthy shop," Laura went on in a sneering tone, "nomollolligobs, no apple-on-the-stick, no tamarinds, no pop-cornballs, no dulse. Why don't you sell the things we want? Half thechildren in the neighborhood are going down to Main Street to getthem now."
She bustled out of the shop. Maida stared after her with wide,alarmed eyes. For a moment she did not stir. Then she ran into theliving-room and buried her face in Granny's lap, bursting intotears.
"Oh, Granny," she sobbed, "Laura Lathrop says that half the childrendon't like my shop and they're going down to Main Street to buythings. What shall I do? What shall I do?"
"There, there, acushla," Granny said soothingly, taking thetrembling little girl on to her lap. "Don't worry about anny t'ingthat wan says. 'Tis a foine little shop you have, as all the grownfolks says."
"But, Granny," Maida protested passionately, "I don't want to pleasethe grown people, I want to please the children. And papa said Imust make the store pay. And now I'm afraid I never will. Oh, whatshall I do?"
She got no further. A tinkle of the bell, followed by patteringfootsteps, interrupted. In an instant, Rosie, brilliant in herscarlet cape and scarlet hat, with cheeks and lips the color ofcherries, stood at her side.
"I saw that hateful Laura come out of here," she said. "I just knewshe'd come in to make trouble. What did she say to you?"
Maida told her slowly between her sobs.
"Horrid little smarty-cat!" was Rosie's comment and she scowleduntil her face looked like a thunder-cloud.
"I shall never speak to her again," Maida declared fervently. "Butwhat shall I do about it, Rosie?--it may be true what she said."
"Now don't you get discouraged, Maida," Rosie said. "Because I cantell you just how to get or make those things Laura spoke of."
"Oh, can you, Rosie. What would I do without you? I'll puteverything down in a book so that I shan't forget them."
She limped over to the desk. There the black head bent over thegolden one.
"What is dulse?" Maida demanded first.
"Don't you know what dulse is?" Rosie asked incredulously. "Maida,you are the queerest child. The commonest things you don't knowanything about. And yet I suppose if I asked you if you'd seen aflying-machine, you'd say you had."
"I have," Maida answered instantly, "in Paris."
Rosie's face wrinkled into its most perplexed look. She changed thesubject at once. "Well, dulse is a purple stuff--when you see a lotof it together, it looks as if a million toy-balloons had burst.It's all wrinkled up and tastes salty."
Maida t
hought hard for a moment. Then she burst into laughter,although the big round tear-drops were still hanging from the tipsof her lashes. "There was a whole drawerful here when I first came.I remember now I thought it was waste stuff and threw it all away."
Rosie laughed too. "The tamarinds you can get from the man who comesround with the wagon. Mrs. Murdock used to make her ownapples-on-the-stick, mollolligobs and corn-balls. I've helped her many atime. Now I'll write you a list of stuff to order from the grocer. I'llcome round after school and we'll make a batch of all those things.To-night you get Billy to print a sign, '_apples on the stick andmollolligobs to-day_.' You put that in the window to-morrow morningand by to-morrow night, you'll be all sold out."
"Oh, Rosie," Maida said happily, "I shall be so much obliged toyou!"
Rosie was as good as her word. She appeared that afternoon wearing along-sleeved apron under the scarlet cape. It seemed to Maida thatshe worked like lightning, for she made batch after batch of candy,moving as capably about the stove as an experienced cook. In themeantime, Maida was popping corn at the fireplace. They mountedfifty apples on skewers and dipped them, one at a time, into theboiling candy. They made thirty corn-balls and twenty-fivemollolligobs, which turned out to be round chunks of candy, stuck onthe end of sticks.
"I never did see such clever children anywhere as there are inPrimrose Court," Maida said that night with a sigh to Granny. "Rosietold me that she could make six kinds of candy. And Dicky can cookas well as his mother. They make me feel so useless. Why, Granny, Ican't do a single thing that's any good to anybody."
The next day the shop was crowded. By night there was not an apple,a corn-ball or a mollolligob left.
"I shall have a sale like this once a week in the future," Maidasaid. "Why, Granny, lots and lots of children came here who'd neverbeen in the shop before."
And so what looked like serious trouble ended very happily.
Trouble number three was a great deal more serious and it did not,at first, promise to end well at all. It had to do with ArthurDuncan. It had been going on for a week before Maida mentioned it toanybody. But it haunted her very dreams.
Early Monday morning, Arthur came into the shop. In his usual gruffvoice and with his usual surly manner, he said, "Show me some ofthose rubbers in the window."
Maida took out a handful of the rubbers--five, she thought--and putthem on the counter. While Arthur looked them over, she turned toreplace a paper-doll which she had knocked down.
"Guess I won't take one to-day," Arthur said, while her back wasstill turned, and walked out.
When Maida put the rubbers back, she discovered that there were onlyfour. She made up her mind that she had not counted right andthought no more of the incident.
Two days later, Arthur Duncan came in again. Maida had just beenselling some pencils--pretty striped ones with a blue stone in theend. Three of them were left lying out on the counter. Arthur askedher to show him some penholders. Maida took three from the shelvesback of her. He bought one of these. After he had gone, shediscovered that there were only two pencils left on the counter.
"One of them must have rolled off," Maida thought. But although shelooked everywhere, she could not find it. The incident of the rubberoccurred to her. She felt a little troubled but she resolved to putboth circumstances out of her mind.
A day or two later, Arthur Duncan came in for the third time. Ithappened that Granny was out marketing.
Piled on the counter was a stack of blank-books--pretty books theywere, with a child's head in color on the cover. Arthur asked forletter-paper. Maida turned back to the shelf. With her hand on thesliding door, she stopped, half-stunned.
_Reflected in the glass she saw Arthur Duncan stow one of the blankbooks away in his pocket._
Maida felt sick all over. She did not know what to do. She did notknow what to say.
She fumbled with trembling hands among the things on the shelf. Shedreaded to turn for fear her face would express what she had seen.
"Perhaps he'll pay for it," she thought; "I hope he will."
But Arthur made no offer to pay. He looked over the letter-paperthat Maida, with downcast eyes, put before him, decided that he didnot want any after all, and walked coolly from the shop.
Granny, coming in a few moments later, was surprised to find Maidaleaning on the counter, her face buried in her hands.
"What's the matter with my lamb?" the old lady asked cheerfully.
"Nothing, Granny," Maida said. But she did not meet Granny's eye andduring dinner she was quiet and serious.
That night Billy Potter called. "Well, how goes the _Bon Marche of_Charlestown?" he asked cheerfully.
"Billy," Maida said gravely, "if you found that a little boy--I can'tsay what his name is--was stealing from you, what would you do?"
Billy considered the question as gravely as she had asked it. "Tellthe policeman on the beat and get him to throw a scare into him," hesaid at last.
"I guess that's what I'll have to do." But Maida's tone wasmournful.
But Granny interrupted.
"Don't you do ut, my lamb--don't you do ut!" She turned to themboth--they had never seen her blue eyes so fiery before. "Suppose youwas one av these poor little chilthren that lives round here that'salways had harrd wurruds for their meals and hunger for theirpillow, wudn't you be afther staling yersilf if ut came aisy-loikeand nobody was luking?"
Neither Billy nor Maida spoke for a moment.
"I guess Granny's right," Billy said finally.
"I guess she is," Maida said with a sigh.
It was three days before Arthur Duncan came into the shop again. Butin the meantime, Maida went one afternoon to play with Dicky. Dickywas drawing at a table when Maida came in. She glanced at his work.He was using a striped pencil with a blue stone in its end, ablank-book with the picture of a little girl on the cover, a rubber ofa kind very familiar to her. Maida knew certainly that Dicky hadbought none of these things from her. She knew as certainly thatthey were the things Arthur Duncan had stolen. What was theexplanation of the mystery? She went to bed that night miserablyunhappy.
Her heart beat pit-a-pat the next time she saw Arthur open the door.She folded her hands close together so that he should not see thatshe was trembling. She began to wish that she had followed Billy'sadvice. Sitting in the shop all alone--Granny, it happened again, wasout--it occurred to her that it was, perhaps, too serious a situationfor a little girl to deal with.
She had made up her mind that when Arthur was in the shop, she wouldnot turn her back to him. She was determined not to give him thechance to fall into temptation. But he asked for pencil-sharpenersand pencil-sharpeners were kept in the lower drawer. There wasnothing for her to do but to get down on the floor. She rememberedwith a sense of relief that she had left no stock out on thecounter. She knelt upright on the floor, seeking for the box.Suddenly, reflected in the glass door, she saw another terrifyingpicture.
_Arthur Duncan's arm was just closing the money drawer._
For an instant Maida felt so sick at heart that she wanted to runback into the living-room, throw herself into Granny's big chair andcry her eyes out. Then suddenly all this weakness went. A feeling,such as she had never known, came into its place. She was stillangry but she was singularly cool. She felt no more afraid of ArthurDuncan than of the bowl of dahlias, blooming on the counter.
She whirled around in a flash and looked him straight in the eye.
"If there is anything in this shop that you want so much that youare willing to steal, tell me what it is and I'll give it to you,"she said.
"Aw, what are you talking about?" Arthur demanded. He attempted toout-stare her.
But Maida kept her eyes steadily on his. "You know what I'm talkingabout well enough," she said quietly. "In the last week you'vestolen a rubber and a pencil and a blank-book from me and just nowyou tried to take some money from the money-drawer."
Arthur sneered. "How are you going to prove it?" he askedimpudently.
M
aida was thoroughly angry. But something inside warned her that shemust not give way to temper. For all her life, she had beenaccustomed to think before she spoke. Indeed, she herself had neverbeen driven or scolded. Her father had always reasoned with her.Doctors and nurses had always reasoned with her. Even Granny hadalways reasoned with her. So, now, she thought very carefully beforeshe spoke again. But she kept her eyes fixed on Arthur. His eyes didnot move from hers but, in some curious way, she knew that he wasuneasy.
"I can't prove it," she said at last, "and I hadn't any idea oftrying to. I'm only warning you that you must not come in here ifyou're not to be trusted. And I told you the truth when I said Iwould rather give you anything in the shop than have you steal it.For I think you must need those things very badly to be willing toget them that way. I don't believe anybody _wants_ to steal. Nowwhen you want anything so bad as that, come to me and I'll see if Ican get it for you."
Arthur stared at her as if he had not a word on his tongue. "If youthink you can frighten me,--" he said. Then, without ending hissentence, he swaggered out of the shop. But to Maida his swaggerseemed like something put on to conceal another feeling.
Maida suddenly felt very tired. She wished that Granny Flynn wouldcome back. She wanted Granny to take her into her lap, to cuddleher, to tell her some merry little tale of the Irish fairies. But,instead, the bell rang and another customer came in. While she waswaiting on her, Maida noticed somebody come stealthily up to thewindow, look in and then duck down. She wondered if it might beBilly playing one of his games on her.
The customer went out. In a few moments the bell tinkled again.Maida had been leaning against the counter, her tired head on heroutstretched arms. She looked up. It was Arthur Duncan.
He strode straight over to her.
"Here's three cents for your rubber," he said, "and five for yourpencil, five for the blank book and there's two dimes I took out ofthe money-drawer."
Maida did not know what to say. The tears came to her eyes androlled down her cheeks. Arthur shifted his weight from one foot tothe other in intense embarrassment.
"I didn't know it would make you feel as bad as that," he said.
"I don't feel bad," Maida sobbed--and to prove it she smiled whilethe tears ran down her cheeks--"I feel glad."
What he would have answered to this she never knew. For at thatmoment the door flew open. The little rowdy boys who had beentroubling her so much lately, let out a series of blood-curdlingyells.
"What's that?" Arthur asked.
"I don't know who they are," Maida said wearily, "but they do thatthree or four times every night. I don't know what to do about it."
"Well, I do," Arthur said. "You wait!"
He went over to the door and waited, flattening himself against thewall. After a long silence, they could hear footsteps tip-toeing onthe bricks outside. The door flew open. Arthur Duncan leaped like acat through the opening. There came back to Maida the sound ofrunning, then a pause, then another sound very much as if two orthree naughty little heads were being vigorously knocked together.She heard Arthur say:
"Let me catch one of you doing that again and I'll lick you till youcan't stand up. And remember I'll be watching for you every nightnow."
Maida did not see him again then. But just before dinner the bellrang. When Maida opened the door there stood Arthur.
"I had this kitten and I thought you might like him," he saidawkwardly, holding out a little bundle of gray fluff.
"Want it!" Maida said. She seized it eagerly. "Oh, thank you,Arthur, ever so much. Oh, Granny, look at this darling kit-kat. Whata ball of fluff he is! I'll call him Fluff. And he isn't an Angoraor a prize kitty of any kind--just a beautiful plain everyday cat--thekind I've always wanted!"
Even this was not all. After dinner the shop bell rang again. Thistime it was Arthur and Rosie. Rosie's lips were very tight as if shehad made up her mind to some bold deed but her flashing eyes showedher excitement.
"Can we see you alone for a moment, Maida?" she asked in her mostbusiness-like tones.
Wondering, Maida shut the door to the living-room and came back tothem.
"Maida," Rosie began, "Arthur told me all about the rubber and thepencil and the blank book and the dimes. Of course, I felt prettybad when I heard about it. But I wanted Arthur to come right overhere and explain the whole thing to you. You see Arthur took thosethings to give away to Dicky because Dicky has such a hard timegetting anything he wants."
"Yes, I saw them over at Dicky's," Maida said.
"And then, there was a great deal more to it that Arthur's just toldme and I thought you ought to know it at once. You see Arthur'sfather belongs to a club that meets once a month and Arthur goesthere a lot with him. And those men think that plenty of people havethings that they have no right to--oh, like automobiles--I mean,things that they haven't earned. And the men in Mr. Duncan's clubsay that it's perfectly right to take things away from people whohave too much and give them to people who have too little. But I saythat may be all right for grown people but when children do it, it'sjust plain _stealing_. And that's all there is to it! But I wantedyou to know that Arthur thought it was right--well sort of right, youunderstand--when he took those things. You don't think so now, doyou, after the talking-to I've given you?" She turned severely onArthur.
Arthur shuffled and looked embarrassed. "No," he said sheepishly,"not until you're grown up."
"But what I wanted to say next, Maida," Rosie continued, "is, pleasenot to tell Dicky. He would be so surprised--and then he wouldn'tkeep the things that Arthur gave him. And of course now that Arthurhas paid for them--they're all right for him to have."
"Of course I wouldn't tell anybody," Maida said in a shocked voice,"not even Granny or Billy--not even my father."
"Then that's settled," Rosie said with a sigh. "Good night."
The next day the following note reached Maida:
You are cordully invited to join the W.M.N.T. Club which meets three times a week at the house of Miss Rosie Brine, or Mr. Richard Dore or Mr. Arthur Duncan.
P.S. The name means, WE MUST NEVER TELL.
Maida dreamed nothing but happy dreams that night.
Maida's Little Shop Page 7