CHAPTER III
THE SMALL BOY AT THE KEYHOLE
At the top of the stairs Benny tried to open the door, but as it didnot give at his pressure, he knocked lustily, and called "Aunt Jane,Aunt Jane!"
"Isn't this the bell?" hazarded Mr. Smith, his finger almost on a smallpush-button near him.
"Yep, but it don't go now. Uncle Frank wanted it fixed, but Aunt Janesaid no; knockin' was just as good, an' 'twas lots cheaper, 'cause'twould save mendin', and didn't use any 'lectricity. But Uncle Franksays---"
The door opened abruptly, and Benny interrupted himself to give eagergreeting.
"Hullo, Aunt Jane! I've brought you somebody. He's Mr. Smith. An'you'll be glad. You see if yer ain't!"
In the dim hallway Mr. Smith saw a tall, angular woman with grayingdark hair and high cheek bones. Her eyes were keen and just nowsomewhat sternly inquiring, as they were bent upon himself.
Perceiving that Benny considered his mission as master of ceremonies atan end, Mr. Smith hastened to explain.
"I came from your husband's brother, madam. He--er--sent me. He thoughtperhaps you had a room that I could have."
"A room?" Her eyes grew still more coldly disapproving.
"Yes, and board. He thought--that is, THEY thought that perhaps--youwould be so kind."
"Oh, a boarder! You mean for pay, of course?"
"Most certainly!"
"Oh!" She softened visibly, and stepped back. "Well, I don't know. Inever have--but that isn't saying I couldn't, of course. Come in. Wecan talk it over. THAT doesn't cost anything. Come in; this way,please." As she finished speaking she stepped to the low-burning gasjet and turned it carefully to give a little more light down the narrowhallway.
"Thank you," murmured Mr. Smith, stepping across the threshold.
Benny had already reached the door at the end of the hall. The womanbegan to tug at her apron strings.
"I hope you'll excuse my gingham apron, Mr.--er--Smith. Wasn't that thename?"
"Yes." The man bowed with a smile.
"I thought that was what Benny said. Well, as I was saying, I hopeyou'll excuse this apron." Her fingers were fumbling with the knot atthe back. "I take it off, mostly, when the bell rings, evenings orafternoons; but I heard Benny, and I didn't suppose 't was anybody buthim. There, that's better!" With a jerk she switched off the dark blueapron, hung it over her arm, and smoothed down the spotless white apronwhich had been beneath the blue. The next instant she hurried afterBenny with a warning cry. "Careful, child, careful! Oh, Benny, you'realways in such a hurry!"
Benny, with a cheery "Come on!" had already banged open the door beforehim, and was reaching for the gas burner.
A moment later the feeble spark above had become a flaring sputter offlame.
"There, child, what did I tell you?" With a frown Mrs. Blaisdellreduced the flaring light to a moderate flame, and motioned Mr. Smithto a chair. Before she seated herself, however, she went back into thehall to lower the gas there.
During her momentary absence the man, Smith, looked about him, and ashe looked he pulled at his collar. He felt suddenly a choking,suffocating sensation. He still had the curious feeling of trying tocatch his breath when the woman came back and took the chair facinghim. In a moment he knew why he felt so suffocated--it was because thatnowhere could he see an object that was not wholly or partially coveredwith some other object, or that was not serving as a cover itself.
The floor bore innumerable small rugs, one before each chair, eachdoor, and the fireplace. The chairs themselves, and the sofa, werecovered with gray linen slips, which, in turn, were protected bynumerous squares of lace and worsted of generous size. The green silkspread on the piano was nearly hidden beneath a linen cover, and thetable showed a succession of layers of silk, worsted, and linen, toppedby crocheted mats, on which rested several books with paper-envelopedcovers. The chandelier, mirror, and picture frames gleamed dully frombehind the mesh of pink mosquito netting. Even through the doorway intothe hall might be seen the long, red-bordered white linen path thatcarried protection to the carpet beneath.
"I don't like gas myself." (With a start the man pulled himselftogether to listen to what the woman was saying.) "I think it's afoolish extravagance, when kerosene is so good and so cheap; but myhusband will have it, and Mellicent, too, in spite of anything Isay--Mellicent's my daughter. I tell 'em if we were rich, it would bedifferent, of course. But this is neither here nor there, nor what youcame to talk about! Now just what is it that you want, sir?"
"I want to board here, if I may."
"How long?"
"A year--two years, perhaps, if we are mutually satisfied."
"What do you do for a living?"
Smith coughed suddenly. Before he could catch his breath to answerBenny had jumped into the breach.
"He sounds something like a Congregationalist, only he ain't that, AuntJane, and he ain't after money for missionaries, either."
Jane Blaisdell smiled at Benny indulgently. Then she sighed and shookher head.
"You know, Benny, very well, that nothing would suit Aunt Jane betterthan to give money to all the missionaries in the world, if she onlyhad it to give!" She sighed again as she turned to Mr. Smith. "You'reworking for some church, then, I take it."
Mr. Smith gave a quick gesture of dissent.
"I am a genealogist, madam, in a small way. I am collecting data for abook on the Blaisdell family."
"Oh!" Mrs. Blaisdell frowned slightly. The look of cold disapprovalcame back to her eyes. "But who pays you? WE couldn't take the book,I'm sure. We couldn't afford it."
"That would not be necessary, madam, I assure you," murmured Mr. Smithgravely.
"But how do you get money to live on? I mean, how am I to know thatI'll get my pay?" she persisted. "Excuse me, but that kind of businessdoesn't sound very good-paying; and, you see, I don't know you. And inthese days--" An expressive pause finished her sentence.
Mr. Smith smiled.
"Quite right, madam. You are wise to be cautious. I had a letter ofintroduction to your brother from Mr. Robert Chalmers. I think he willvouch for me. Will that do?"
"Oh, that's all right, then. But that isn't saying how MUCH you'll pay.Now, I think--"
There came a sharp knock at the outer door. The eager Benny jumped tohis feet, but his aunt shook her head and went to the door herself.There was a murmur of voices, then a young man entered the hall and satdown in the chair near the hatrack. When Mrs. Blaisdell returned hereyes were very bright. Her cheeks showed two little red spots. Shecarried herself with manifest importance.
"If you'll just excuse me a minute," she apologized to Mr. Smith, asshe swept by him and opened a door across the room, nearly closing itbehind her.
Distinctly then, from beyond the imperfectly closed door, came to theears of Benny and Mr. Smith these words, in Mrs. Blaisdell's mostexcited accents:--"Mellicent, it's Carl Pennock. He wants you to goauto-riding with him down to the Lake with Katie Moore and that crowd."
"Mother!" breathed an ecstatic voice.
What followed Mr. Smith did not hear, for a nearer, yet more excited,voice demanded attention.
"Gee! Carl Pennock!" whispered Benny hoarsely. "Whew! Won't my sisterBess be mad? She thinks Carl Pennock's the cutest thing going. All thegirls do!"
With a warning "Sh-h!" and an expressive glance toward the hall, Mr.Smith tried to stop further revelations; but Benny was not to besilenced.
"They're rich--awful rich--the Pennocks are," he confided still morehuskily. "An' there's a girl--Gussie. She's gone on Fred. He's mybrother, ye know. He's seventeen; an' Bess is mad 'cause she isn'tseventeen, too, so she can go an' play tennis same as Fred does. She'llbe madder 'n ever now, if Mell goes auto-riding with Carl, an'--"
"Sh-h!" So imperative were Mr. Smith's voice and gesture this time thatBenny fell back subdued.
At once then became distinctly audible again the voices from the otherroom. Mr. Smith, forced to hear in spite of himself, had the air of onewho finds
he has abandoned the frying pan for the fire.
"No, dear, it's quite out of the question," came from beyond the door,in Mrs. Blaisdell's voice. "I can't let you wear your pink. You willwear the blue or stay at home. Just as you choose."
"But, mother, dear, it's all out of date," wailed a young girl's voice.
"I can't help that. It's perfectly whole and neat, and you must savethe pink for best."
"But I'm always saving things for best, mother, and I never wear mybest. I never wear a thing when it's in style! By the time you let mewear the pink I shan't want to wear it. Sleeves'll be small then--yousee if they aren't--I shall be wearing big ones. I want to wear bigones now, when other girls do. Please, mother!"
"Mellicent, why will you tease me like this, when you know it will dono good?--when you know I can't let you do it? Don't you think I wantyou to be as well-dressed as anybody, if we could afford it? Come, I'mwaiting. You must wear the blue or stay at home. What shall I tell him?"
There was a pause, then there came an inarticulate word and a chokinghalf-sob. The next moment the door opened and Mrs. Blaisdell appeared.The pink spots in her cheeks had deepened. She shut the door firmly,then hurried through the room to the hall beyond. Another minute andshe was back in her chair.
"There," she smiled pleasantly. "I'm ready now to talk business, Mr.Smith."
And she talked business. She stated plainly what she expected to do forher boarder, and what she expected her boarder would do for her. Sheenlarged upon the advantages and minimized the discomforts, with theaid of a word now and then from the eager and interested Benny.
Mr. Smith, on his part, had little to say. That that little was mostsatisfactory, however, was very evident; for Mrs. Blaisdell was soonquite glowing with pride and pleasure. Mr. Smith was not glowing. Hewas plainly ill at ease, and, at times, slightly abstracted. His eyesfrequently sought the door which Mrs. Blaisdell had closed so firmly ashort time before. They were still turned in that direction whensuddenly the door opened and a young girl appeared.
She was a slim little girl with long-lashed, starlike eyes and awild-rose flush in her cheeks. Beneath her trim hat her light brownhair waved softly over her ears, glinting into gold where the lightstruck it. She looked excited and pleased, yet not quite happy. Shewore a blue dress, plainly made.
"Don't stay late. Be in before ten, dear," cautioned Mrs. Blaisdell."And Mellicent, just a minute, dear. This is Mr. Smith. You might aswell meet him now. He's coming here to live--to board, you know. Mydaughter, Mr. Smith."
Mr. Smith, already on his feet, bowed and murmured a conventionalsomething. From the starlike eyes he received a fleeting glance thatmade him suddenly conscious of his fifty years and the bald spot on thetop of his head. Then the girl was gone, and her mother was speakingagain.
"She's going auto-riding--Mellicent is--with a young man, CarlPennock--one of the nicest in town. There are four others in the party.They're going down to the Lake for cake and ice cream, and they're allnice young people, else I shouldn't let her go, of course. She'seighteen, for all she's so small. She favors my mother in looks, butshe's got the Blaisdell nose, though. Oh, and 'twas the Blaisdells yousaid you were writing a book about, wasn't it? You don't mean OURBlaisdells, right here in Hillerton?"
"I mean all Blaisdells, wherever I find them," smiled Mr. Smith.
"Dear me! What, US? You mean WE'll be in the book?" Now that the matterof board had been satisfactorily settled, Mrs. Blaisdell apparentlydared to show some interest in the book.
"Certainly."
"You don't say! My, how pleased Hattie'll be--my sister-in-law, Jim'swife. She just loves to see her name in print--parties, and clubbanquets, and where she pours, you know. But maybe you don't takewomen, too."
"Oh, yes, if they are Blaisdells, or have married Blaisdells."
"Oh! That's where we'd come in, then, isn't it? Mellicent and I? AndFrank, my husband, he'll like it, too,--if you tell about the grocerystore. And of course you would, if you told about him. You'd haveto--'cause that's all there is to tell. He thinks that's about allthere is in the world, anyway,--that grocery store. And 'tis a goodstore, if I do say it. And there's his sister, Flora; and Maggie--But,there! Poor Maggie! She won't be in it, will she, after all? She isn'ta Blaisdell, and she didn't marry one. Now that's too bad!"
"Ho! She won't mind." Benny spoke with conviction. "She'll just laughand say it doesn't matter; and then Grandpa Duff'll ask for his dropsor his glasses, or something, and she'll forget all about it. She won'tcare."
"Yes, I know; but--Poor Maggie! Always just her luck." Mrs. Blaisdellsighed and looked thoughtful. "But Maggie KNOWS a lot about theBlaisdells," she added, brightening; "so she could tell you lots ofthings--about when they were little, and all that."
"Yes. But--that isn't--er--" Mr. Smith hesitated doubtfully, and Mrs.Blaisdell jumped into the pause.
"And, really, for that matter, she knows about us NOW, too, better than'most anybody else. Hattie's always sending for her, and Flora, too, ifthey're sick, or anything. Poor Maggie! Sometimes I think they actuallyimpose upon her. And she's such a good soul, too! I declare, I neversee her but I wish I could do something for her. But, of course, withmy means--But, there! Here I am, running on as usual. Frank says Inever do know when to stop, when I get started on something; and ofcourse you didn't come here to talk about poor Maggie. Now I'll go backto business. When is it you want to start in--to board, I mean?"
"To-morrow, if I may." With some alacrity Mr. Smith got to his feet."And now we must be going--Benny and I. I'm at the Holland House. Withyour permission, then, Mrs. Blaisdell, I'll send up my trunks to-morrowmorning. And now good-night--and thank you."
"Why--but, Mr. Smith!" The woman, too, came to her feet, but her facewas surprised. "Why, you haven't even seen your room yet! How do youknow you'll like it?"
"Eh? What? Oh!" Mr. Smith laughed. There was a quizzical lift to hiseyebrows. "So I haven't, have I? And people usually do, don't they?Well--er--perhaps I will just take a look at--the room, though I'm notworrying any, I assure you. I've no doubt it will be quite right, quiteright," he finished, as he followed Mrs. Blaisdell to a door halfwaydown the narrow hall.
Five minutes later, once more on the street, he was walking home withBenny. It was Benny who broke the long silence that had immediatelyfallen between them.
"Say, Mr. Smith, I'll bet ye YOU'll never be rich!"
Mr. Smith turned with a visible start.
"Eh? What? I'll never be--What do you mean, boy?"
Benny giggled cheerfully.
"'Cause you paid Aunt Jane what she asked the very first time. Why,Aunt Jane never expects ter get what she asks, pa says. She sells himgroceries in the store, sometimes, when Uncle Frank's away, ye know. Pasays what she asks first is for practice--just ter get her hand in; an'she expects ter get beat down. But you paid it, right off the bat.Didn't ye see how tickled Aunt Jane was, after she'd got over bein'surprised?"
"Why--er--really, Benny," murmured Mr. Smith.
But Benny had yet more to say.
"Oh, yes, sir, you could have saved a lot every week, if ye hadn't bitso quick. An' that's why I say you won't ever get rich. Savin' 's whatdoes it, ye know--gets folks rich. Aunt Jane says so. She says a pennysaved 's good as two earned, an' better than four spent."
"Well, really, indeed!" Mr. Smith laughed lightly. "That does look asif there wasn't much chance for me, doesn't it?"
"Yes, sir." Benny spoke soberly, and with evident sympathy. He spokeagain, after a moment, but Mr. Smith did not seem to hear at once. Mr.Smith was, indeed, not a little abstracted all the way to Benny's home,though his good-night was very cheerful at parting. Benny would havebeen surprised, indeed, had he known that Mr. Smith was thinking, notabout his foolishly extravagant agreement for board, but about a pairof starry eyes with wistful lights in them, and a blue dress, plainlymade.
In the hotel that night, Mr. John Smith wrote the following letter toEdward D. Norton, Esq., Chicago:
MY DEAR N
ED,--Well, I'm here. I've been here exactly six hours, andalready I'm in possession of not a little Blaisdell data formy--er--book. I've seen Mr. and Mrs. James, their daughter, Bessie, andtheir son, Benny. Benny, by the way, is a gushing geyser of currentBlaisdell data which, I foresee, I shall find interesting, butembarrassing, perhaps, at times. I've also seen Miss Flora, and Mrs.Jane Blaisdell and her daughter, Mellicent.
There's a "Poor Maggie" whom I haven't seen. But she isn't a Blaisdell.She's a Duff, daughter of the man who married Rufus Blaisdell's widow,some thirty years or more ago. As I said, I haven't seen her yet, butshe, too, according to Mrs. Frank Blaisdell, must be a gushing geyserof Blaisdell data, so I probably soon shall see her. Why she's "poor" Idon't know.
As for the Blaisdell data already in my possession--I've no comment tomake. Really, Ned, to tell the truth, I'm not sure I'm going to relishthis job, after all. In spite of a perfectly clear conscience, and thevirtuous realization that I'm here to bring nothing worse than ahundred thousand dollars apiece with the possible addition of a fewmillions on their devoted heads--in spite of all this, I yet have anuncomfortable feeling that I'm a small boy listening at the keyhole.
However, I'm committed to the thing now, so I'll stuff it out, Isuppose,--though I'm not sure, after all, that I wouldn't chuck thewhole thing if it wasn't that I wanted to see how Mellicent will enjoyher pink dresses. How many pink dresses will a hundred thousand dollarsbuy, anyway,--I mean PRETTY pink dresses, all fixed up with frills andfurbelows?
As ever yours,
STAN--er--JOHN SMITH.
Oh, Money! Money! A Novel Page 3
