The Twenty-Fourth of June: Midsummer's Day

by Grace S. Richmond

  CHAPTER III

  WHILE IT RAINS

  The advanced age of the Honourable Calvin Gray, and the precarious stateof his eyesight, made it possible for him to work at his belovedself-appointed task for only a scant number of hours daily. His newassistant, therefore, found his own working hours not only limited butvariable. Beginning at ten in the morning, by four in the afternoonJudge Gray was usually too weary to proceed farther; sometimes by theluncheon hour he was ready to lay aside his papers and dismiss hisassistant. On other days he would waken with a severe headache, theresult of the overstrain he was constantly tempted to give his eyes, inspite of all the aid that was offered him. On such days Richard couldnot always find enough to do to occupy his time, and would be obliged toleave the house so early that many hours were on his hands. When thishappened, he would take the opportunity to drop in at one or two of hisclubs, and so convey the impression that only caprice kept him away onother days. Curiously enough, this still seemed to him an object; hemight have found it difficult to explain just why, for he assuredly wasnot ashamed of his new occupation.

  Rather unexplainably to Richard, nearly the first fortnight of his newexperience went by without his meeting any members of the family exceptthe heads thereof and the younger son, Edgar, familiarly called by everyone "Ted." With this youthful scion of the house he was destined to formthe first real acquaintance. It came about upon a particularly rainyNovember day. Richard had found Judge Gray suffering from one of hisfrequent headaches, as a result of the overwork he had not been ablewholly to avoid. Therefore a long day's work of research in variousancient volumes had been turned over to his assistant by an employer wholeft him to return to a seclusion he should not have forsaken.

  Richard was accustomed to run down to an excellent hotel for hisluncheon, and was preparing to leave the house for this purpose when Tedleaped at him from the stairs, tumbling down them in great haste.

  "Mr. Kendrick, won't you stay and have lunch with me? It's pouring'great horn spoons' and I'm all alone."

  "Alone, Ted? Nobody here at all?"

  "Not a soul. Uncle Cal's going to have his upstairs and he says I mayask you. Please stay. I don't go to school in the afternoon and maybe Ican help you, if you'll show me how."

  Richard smiled at the notion, but accepted the eager invitation,and presently found himself sitting alone with the lad at a big,old-fashioned mahogany table, being served with a particularly temptingmeal.

  "You see," Ted explained, spooning out grapefruit with an energetichand, "father and mother and Steve and Rosy have gone to the country toa funeral--a cousin of ours. Louis and Rob aren't home till night exceptSaturdays and Sundays, and Ruth is at school till Friday nights. Itmakes it sort of lonesome for me. Wednesdays, though, every other week,Rob's home all day. When she's here I don't mind who else is away."

  "I was just going to ask if you had three brothers," observed Richard."Do I understand 'Rob' is a girl?"

  "Sure, Rob's a girl all right, and I'm mighty glad of it. I wouldn't bea girl myself, not much; but I wouldn't have Rob anything else--I shouldsay not. Name's Roberta, you know, after father. She's a peach of asister, I tell you. Ruth's all right, too, of course, but she'sdifferent. She's a girl all through. But Rob's half boy, or--I shouldsay there's just enough boy about her to make her exactly right, if youknow what I mean."

  He looked inquiringly at Richard, who nodded gravely. "I think I getsomething of your idea," he agreed. "It makes a fine combination, doesit?"

  "I should say it did. You know a girl that's all girl is too much girl.But one that likes some of the things boys like--well, it helps out alot. Through with the grapefruit, Mary," he added, over his shoulder, tothe maid. "Have you any brothers or sisters, Mr. Kendrick?" he inquiredinterestedly, when he had assured himself that the clam broth with whichhe was now served was unquestionably good to eat.

  "Not one--living. I had a brother, but he died when I was a littlechap."

  "That was too bad," said Ted with ready sympathy. He looked straightacross the table at Richard out of sea-blue eyes shaded by very heavyblack lashes, which, it struck Richard quite suddenly, were much likeanother pair which he had had one very limited opportunity of observing.The boy also possessed a heavy thatch of coal-black hair, a lock ofwhich was continually falling over his forehead and having to be thrustback. "Because father says," Ted went, on, "it's a whole lot better forchildren to be brought up together, so they will learn to be polite toeach other. I'm the youngest, so I'm most like an only child. But, yousee," he added hurriedly, "the older ones weren't allowed to give up tome, and I had to be polite to them, so perhaps"--he looked so in earnestabout it that Richard could not possibly laugh at him--"I won't turn outas badly as some youngest ones do."

  There was really nothing priggish about this statement, however it maysound. And the next minute the boy had turned to a subject lesssuggestive of parental counsels. He launched into an account of hiselder brother Louis's prowess on the football fields of past years,where, it seemed, that young man had been a remarkable right tackle. Hegave rather a vivid account of a game he had witnessed last year,talking, as Richard recognized, less because he was eager to talk thanfrom a sense of responsibility as to the entertainment of his guest.

  "But he won't play any more," he added mournfully. "He took his degreelast year and he's in father's office now, learning everything from thebeginning. He's just a common clerk, but he won't be long," he assertedconfidently.

  "No, not long," agreed Richard. "The son of the chief won't be a commonclerk long, of course."

  "I mean," explained Ted, buttering a hot roll with hurried fingers,"he'll work his way up. He won't be promoted until he earns it; hedoesn't want to be."

  Richard smiled. The boy's ideals had evidently been given a start bysome person or persons of high moral character. He was considering thesubject in some further detail with the lad when the dining-room doorsuddenly opened and the owner of the black-lashed blue eyes, which in away matched Ted's, came most unexpectedly in upon them. She was instreet dress of dark blue, and her eyes looked out at them from underthe wide gray brim of a sombrero-shaped hat with a long quill in it, thewhole effect of which was to give her the breezy look of havingliterally blown in on the November wind which was shaking the treesoutside. Her cheeks had been stung into a brilliant rose colour. Twobooks were tucked under her arm.

  "Why, Rob!" cried her younger brother. "What luck! What brought youhome?"

  Rising from his chair Richard observed that Ted had risen also, and henow heard Ted's voice presenting him to his sister with the ease of thewell-bred youngster.

  From this moment Richard owed the boy a debt of gratitude. He had beenwaiting impatiently for a fortnight for this presentation and had begunto think it would never come.

  Roberta Gray came forward to give the guest her hand with a readycourtesy which Richard met with the explanation of his presence.

  "I was asked to keep your brother company in the absence of the family.I can't help being glad that you didn't come in time to forestall me."

  "I'm sure Ted's hospitality might have covered us both," she said,pulling off her gloves. He recognized the voice. At close range it waseven more delightful than he had remembered.

  "I doubt it, since he tells me that when you're here he doesn't mind whoelse is away."

  "Did you say that, Teddy?" she asked, smiling at the boy. "Then you'llsurely give me lunch, though it isn't my day at home. I'm so hungry,walking in this wind. But the air is glorious."

  She went away to remove her hat and coat, and came back quickly, hermasses of black hair suggesting but not confirming the impression thatthe wind had lately had its way with them. Her eyes scanned the tableeagerly like those of a hungry boy.

  "Some of your scholars sick?" inquired Ted.

  "Two--and one away. So I'm to have a whole beautiful afternoon, though Imay have to see them Wednesday to make up. I am a teacher in MissCopeland's private school," she explained to Richard as simply as one
ofthe young women he knew would have explained. "I have singing lessons ofServensky."

  This gave the young man food for thought, in which he indulged whileMiss Roberta Gray told Ted of an encounter she had had that morning witha special friend of his own. This daughter of a distinguished man--of afamily not so rich as his own, but still of considerable wealth andunquestionably high social position--was a teacher in a school forgirls; a most exclusive school, of course--he knew the one verywell--but still in a school and for a salary. To Richard the thing wasstrange enough. She must surely do it from choice, not from necessity;but why from choice? With her face and her charm--he felt the charmalready; it radiated from her--why should she want to tie herself downto a dull round of duty like that instead of giving her thoughts to thethings girls of her position usually cared for? Taking intoconsideration the statement Ted had lately made about his elder brother,it struck Richard Kendrick that this must be a family of rathereccentric notions. Somewhat to his surprise he discovered that the ideainterested him. He had found people of his own acquaintance tiresomelyalike; he congratulated himself on having met somebody who seemed likelyto prove different.

  "So you rejoice in your half-holiday, Miss Gray," Richard observed whenhe had the chance. "I suppose you know exactly what you are going to dowith it?"

  "Why do you think I do?" she asked with an odd little twist of the lip."Do you always plan even unexpected holidays so carefully?"

  It occurred to Richard that up to the last fortnight his days since heleft college had been all holidays, and there had been plenty of themthroughout college life itself. But he answered seriously: "I don'tbelieve I do. But I had the idea that teachers were so in the habit ofliving on schedules scientifically made out that even their holidayswere conscientiously lived up to, with the purpose of getting the fullvalue out of them."

  Even as he said it he could have laughed aloud at the thought of thesestraitlaced principles being applicable to the young person who sat atthe table with himself and Ted. She a teacher? Never! He had known nowomen teachers since his first governess had been exchanged for a tutor,the sturdy youngster having rebelled, at an extraordinarily early age,against petticoat government. His acquaintance included but one woman ofthat profession--and she was a college president. He and she had not goton well together, either, during the brief period in which they had beenthrown together--on an ocean voyage. But he had seen plenty of teachers,crossing the Atlantic in large parties, surveying cathedrals, takingcoach drives, inspecting art galleries--all with that conscientious airof making the most of it. Miss Roberta Gray one of that serious company?It was incredible!

  "Dear me," laughed Roberta, "what a keen observer you are! I am almostafraid to admit that I have no conscientiously thought-out plan--butone. I am going to put myself in Ted's hands and let him personallyconduct my afternoon."

  Blue eyes met blue eyes at that and flashed happy fire. Lucky Ted!

  "Oh, jolly!" exclaimed that delighted youth. "Will you play basket-ballin the attic?"

  "Of course I will. Just the thing for a rainy day."

  "Bowls?"

  "Yes, indeed."

  "Take a cross-country tramp?" His eyes were sparkling.

  Roberta glanced out of the window. The rain was dashing hard against thepane. "If you won't go through the West Wood marshes," she stipulated.

  "Sure I won't. They'd be pretty wet even for me on a day like this. Isthere anything you'd specially like to do yourself?" he bethoughthimself at this stage to inquire.

  Roberta shrugged her shoulders. "Of course it seems tame to proposesettling down by the living-room fire and popping corn, after we getback and have got into our dry clothes," said she, "but--"

  Ted grinned. "That's the stuff," he acknowledged. "I knew you'd think ofthe right thing to end up the lark with." He looked across at Richardwith a proud and happy face. "Didn't I tell you she was a peach of asister?" he challenged his guest.

  Richard nodded. "You certainly did," he said. "And I see no occasion toquestion the statement."

  His eyes met Roberta's. Never in his life had the thought of across-country walk in the rain so appealed to him. At the moment hewould have given his eagerly planned trip to the Far East for the chanceto march by her side to-day, even though the course should lie throughthe marshes of West Wood, unquestionably the wettest place in thecountry on that particular wet afternoon. But nobody would think ofinviting him to go--of course not. And while Roberta and Ted weredashing along country lanes--he could imagine how her cheeks would look,stung with rain, drops clinging to those bewildering lashes of hers--hehimself would be looking up references in dry and dusty State SupremeCourt records, and making notes with a fountain pen--a fountainpen--symbol of the student. What abominable luck!

  Roberta was laughing as his eyes met hers. The gay curve of her lipsrecalled to him one of the things Ted had said about her, concerning acertain boyish quality in her makeup, and he was strongly tempted totell her of it. But he resisted.

  "I can see you two are great chums," said he. "I envy you both yourafternoon, clear through to the corn-popping."

  "If you are still at work when we reach that stage we will--send you insome of it," she promised, and laughed again at the way his face fell.

  "I thought perhaps you were going to invite me in to help pop," hesuggested boldly.

  "I understand you are engaged in the serious labour of collectingmaterial for a book on a most serious subject," she replied. "Weshouldn't dare to divert your mind; and besides I am told that UncleCalvin intends to introduce you formally to the family by inviting youto dinner some evening next week. Do you think you ought to steal in bycoming to a corn-popping beforehand? You see now I can quite truthfullysay to Uncle Calvin that I don't yet know you, but after I had poppedcorn with you--"

  She paused, and he eagerly filled out the sentence: "You would know me?I hope you would! Because, to tell the honest truth, literary researchis a bit new and difficult to me as yet, and any diversion--"

  But she would not ask him to the corn-popping. And he was obliged tofinish his luncheon in short order because Roberta and Ted, plainlyanxious to begin the afternoon's program, made such short work of itthemselves. They bade him farewell at the door of the dining-room like apair of lads who could hardly wait to be ceremonious in their eagernessto be off, and the last he saw of them they were running up thestaircase hand in hand like the comrades they were.

  During his intensely stupid researches Richard Kendrick could hearfaintly in the distance the thud of the basket-ball and the rumble ofthe bowls. But within the hour these tantalizing sounds ceased, and, inthe midst of the fiercest dash of rain against the library window-panesthat had yet occurred that day, he suddenly heard the bang of theback-hall entrance-door. He jumped to his feet and ran to reconnoitre,for the library looked out through big French windows upon the lawnbehind the house, and he knew that the pair of holiday makers wouldpass.

  There they were! What could the rain matter to them? Clad in highhunting boots and gleaming yellow oilskin coats, and with hunters' capson their heads, they defied the weather. Anything prettier thanRoberta's face under that cap, with the rich yellow beneath her chin,her face alight with laughter and good fellowship, Richard vowed tohimself he had never seen. He wanted to wave a farewell to them, butthey did not look up at his window, and he would not knock upon thepane--like a sick schoolboy shut up in the nursery enviously watchinghis playmates go forth to valiant games.

  When they had disappeared at a fast walk down the gravelled path to thegate at the back of the grounds, taking by this route a straight coursetoward the open country which lay in that direction not more than a mileaway, the grandson of old Matthew Kendrick went reluctantly back to hiswork. He hated it, yet--he was tremendously glad he had taken the job.If only there might be many oases in the dull desert such as this hadbeen!

  * * * * *

  "How do you like him, Rob?" inquired the young brother, splashing alongat his sister
's side down the country road.

  "Like whom?" Roberta answered absently, clearing her eyes of raindropsby the application of a moist handkerchief.

  "Mr. Kendrick."

  "I think Uncle Cal might have looked a long way and not picked out aless suitable secretary," said she with spirit.

  "Is that what he is? What is a seccertary anyway?" demanded Ted.

  "Several things Mr. Kendrick is not."

  "Oh, I say, Rob! I can't understand--"

  "It is a person who has learned how to be eyes, ears, hands, and brainfor another," defined Roberta.

  "Gee! Hasn't Uncle Cal got all those things himself--except eyes?"

  "Yes, but anybody who serves him needs them all, too. I don't believeMr. Kendrick ever helped anybody before in his life."

  "Maybe he has. He's got loads of money, Louis says."

  "Oh, money! Anybody can give away money."

  "They don't all, I guess," declared Ted, with boyish shrewdness. "Say,Rob, why wouldn't you ask him to the corn-pop frolic?"

  Roberta looked round at him. Drenched violets would have been dull andcolourless beside the living tint of her eyes, the raindrops clinging toher lashes. "Because he was too busy," she replied, and looked awayagain.

  "I didn't think he seemed so very much in a hurry to get back to thelibrary," observed Ted. "When I went down to the kitchen after the cornI looked in the door and he was sitting at the desk looking out of thewindow. But then I look out of the window myself at school," headmitted.

  "Ted, shall we take this path or the other?" asked his sister, haltingwhere three trails across the meadow diverged.

  "This one will be the wettest," said he promptly. "But I like it best."

  "Then we'll take it." And she plunged ahead.

  "I say, Rob, but you're a true sport!" acknowledged her young brotherwith admiration. "Any girl I know would have wanted the dry path."

  "Dry?" Roberta showed him a laughing profile over her shoulder. "Whereall paths are soaking, why be fastidious? The wetter we are the morecredit for keeping jolly, as Mark Tapley would say. Lead on, MacDuff!"

  "You seem to be leading yourself," shouted Ted, as she unexpectedlybroke into a run.

  "It's only seeming, Ted," she called back. "Whenever a woman seems to beleading, you may take my word for it she's only following the coursepointed out by some man. But--when she seems to be following, look outfor her!"

  But of this oracular statement Ted could make nothing and wisely did nottry. He was quite content to splash along in Rob's wake, thinkingcomplacently how hot and buttery the popped corn would be an hour hence.