CHAPTER IV
IN SEARCH OF SOME DATES
Very promptly the next morning Mr. John Smith and his two trunksappeared at the door of his new boarding-place. Mrs. Jane Blaisdellwelcomed him cordially. She wore a high-necked, long-sleeved ginghamapron this time, which she neither removed nor apologized for--unlessher cheerful "You see, mornings you'll find me in working trim, Mr.Smith," might be taken as an apology.
Mellicent, her slender young self enveloped in a similar apron, wasdusting his room as he entered it. She nodded absently, with a casual"Good-morning, Mr. Smith," as she continued at her work. Even theplacing of the two big trunks, which the shuffling men brought in, wonfrom her only a listless glance or two. Then, without speaking again,she left the room, as her mother entered it.
"There!" Mrs. Blaisdell looked about her complacently. "With thiscouch-bed with its red cover and cushions, and all the dressing thingsmoved to the little room in there, it looks like a real sitting-room inhere, doesn't it?"
"It certainly does, Mrs. Blaisdell."
"And you had 'em take the trunks in there, too. That's good," shenodded, crossing to the door of the small dressing-room beyond. "Ithought you would. Well, I hope you'll be real happy with us, Mr.Smith, and I guess you will. And you needn't be a mite afraid ofhurting anything. I've covered everything with mats and tidies andspreads."
"Yes, I see." A keen listener would have noticed an odd something inMr. Smith's voice; but Mrs. Blaisdell apparently noticed nothing.
"Yes, I always do--to save wearing and soiling, you know. Of course, ifwe had money to buy new all the time, it would be different. But wehaven't. And that's what I tell Mellicent when she complains of so manythings to dust and brush. Now make yourself right at home, Mr. Smith.Dinner's at twelve o'clock, and supper is at six--except in the winter.We have it earlier then, so's we can go to bed earlier. Saves gas, youknow. But it's at six now. I do like the long days, don't you? Well,I'll be off now, and let you unpack. As I said before, make yourselfperfectly at home, perfectly at home."
Left alone, Mr. Smith drew a long breath and looked about him. It was apleasant room, in spite of its cluttered appearance. There was anold-fashioned desk for his papers, and the chairs looked roomy andcomfortable. The little dressing-room carried many conveniences, andthe windows of both rooms looked out upon the green of the common.
"Oh, well, I don't know. This might be lots worse--in spite of thetidies!" chuckled Mr. John Smith, as he singled out the keys of histrunks.
At the noon dinner-table Mr. Smith met Mr. Frank Blaisdell. He was aportly man with rather thick gray hair and "mutton-chop" gray whiskers.He ate very fast, and a great deal, yet he still found time to talkinterestedly with his new boarder.
He was plainly a man of decided opinions--opinions which he did nothesitate to express, and which he emphasized with resounding thumps ofhis fists on the table. The first time he did this, Mr. Smith, takenutterly by surprise, was guilty of a visible start. After that helearned to accept them with the serenity evinced by the rest of thefamily.
When the dinner was over, Mr. Smith knew (if he could remember them)the current market prices of beans, corn, potatoes, sugar, and flour;and he knew (again if he could remember) why some of these commoditieswere higher, and some lower, than they had been the week before. In away, Mr. John Smith was interested. That stocks and bonds fluctuated,he was well aware. That "wheat" could be cornered, he realized. But ofthe ups and downs of corn and beans as seen by the retail grocer heknew very little. That is, he had known very little until after thatdinner with Mr. Frank Blaisdell.
It was that afternoon that Mr. Smith began systematically to gathermaterial for his Blaisdell book. He would first visit by turns all theHillerton Blaisdells, he decided; then, when he had exhausted theirresources, he would, of course, turn to the town records and cemeteriesof Hillerton and the neighboring villages.
Armed with a pencil and a very businesslike looking notebook,therefore, he started at two o'clock for the home of James Blaisdell.Remembering Mr. Blaisdell's kind permission to come and ask all thequestions he liked, he deemed it fitting to begin there.
He had no trouble in finding the house, but there was no one in sightthis time, as he ascended the steps. The house, indeed, seemedstrangely quiet. He was just about to ring the bell when around thecorner of the veranda came a hurried step and a warning voice.
"Oh, please, don't ring the bell! What is it? Isn't it something that Ican do for you?"
Mr. Smith turned sharply. He thought at first, from the trim, slenderfigure, and the waving hair above the gracefully poised head, that hewas confronting a young woman. Then he saw the silver threads at thetemples, and the fine lines about the eyes.
"I am looking for Mrs. Blaisdell--Mrs. James Blaisdell," he answered,lifting his hat.
"Oh, you're Mr. Smith. Aren't you Mr. Smith?" She smiled brightly, thenwent on before he could reply. "You see, Benny told me. He describedyou perfectly."
The man's eyebrows went up.
"Oh, did he? The young rascal! I fancy I should be edified to hearit--that description."
The other laughed. Then, a bit roguishly, she demanded:--"Should youlike to hear it--really?"
"I certainly should. I've already collected a few samples of Benny'sdescriptive powers."
"Then you shall have this one. Sit down, Mr. Smith." She motioned himto a chair, and dropped easily into one herself. "Benny said you weretall and not fat; that you had a wreath of light hair 'round a baldspot, and whiskers that were clipped as even as Mr. Pennock's hedge;and that your lips, without speaking, said, 'Run away, little boy,' butthat your eyes said, 'Come here.' Now I think Benny did pretty well.""So I judge, since you recognized me without any difficulty," rejoinedMr. Smith, a bit dryly. "But--YOU--? You see you have the advantage ofme. Benny hasn't described you to me." He paused significantly.
"Oh, I'm just here to help out. Mrs. Blaisdell is ill upstairs--one ofher headaches. That is why I asked you not to ring. She gets so nervouswhen the bell rings. She thinks it's callers, and that she won't beready to receive them; and she hurries up and begins to dress. So Iasked you not to ring."
"But she isn't seriously ill?"
"Oh, no, just a headache. She has them often. You wanted to see her?"
"Yes. But it's not important at all. Another time, just as well. Somequestions--that is all."
"Oh, for the book, of course. Oh, yes, I have heard about that, too."She smiled again brightly. "But can't you wait? Mr. Blaisdell will soonbe here. He's coming early so I can go home. I HAVE to go home."
"And you are--"
"Miss Duff. My name is Duff."
"You don't mean--'Poor Maggie'!" (Not until the words were out did Mr.Smith realize quite how they would sound.) "Er--ah--that is--" Hestumbled miserably, and she came to his rescue.
"Oh, yes, I'm--'Poor Maggie.'" There was an odd something in herexpressive face that Mr. Smith could not fathom. He was groping forsomething--anything to say, when suddenly there was a sound behindthem, and the little woman at his side sprang to her feet.
"Oh, Hattie, you came down!" she exclaimed as Mrs. James Blaisdellopened the screen door and stepped out on to the veranda. "Here's Mrs.Blaisdell now, Mr. Smith."
"Oh, it's only Mr. Smith!" With a look very like annoyance Mrs.Blaisdell advanced and held out her hand. She looked pale, and her hairhung a bit untidily about one ear below a somewhat twisted pyramid ofpuffs. Her dress, though manifestly an expensive one, showed haste inits fastenings. "Yes, I heard voices, and I thought some one hadcome--a caller. So I came down."
"I'm glad--if you're better," smiled Miss Maggie. "Then I'll go, if youdon't mind. Mr. Smith has come to ask you some questions, Hattie.Good-bye!" With another cheery smile and a nod to Mr. Smith, shedisappeared into the house. A minute later Mr. Smith saw her hurryingdown a side path to the street.
"You called to ask some questions?" Mrs. Blaisdell sank languidly intoa chair.
"About the Blaisdell family--yes. But perhaps an
other day, when you arefeeling better, Mrs. Blaisdell."
"Oh, no." She smiled a little more cordially. "I can answer to-day aswell as any time--though I'm not sure I can tell you very much, ever. Ithink it's fine you are making the book, though. Some way it gives afamily such a standing, to be written up like that. Don't you think so?And the Blaisdells are really a very nice family--one of the oldest inHillerton, though, of course, they haven't much money."
"I ought to find a good deal of material here, then, if they have livedhere so long."
"Yes, I suppose so. Now, what can I tell you? Of course I can tell youabout my own family. My husband is in the real estate business. Youknew that, didn't you? Perhaps you see 'The Real Estate Journal.' Hispicture was in it a year ago last June. There was a write-up onHillerton. I was in it, too, though there wasn't much about me. ButI've got other clippings with more, if you'd like to see them--whereI've poured, and been hostess, and all that, you know."
Mr. Smith took out his notebook and pencil.
"Let me see, Mrs. Blaisdell, your husband's father's name was Rufus, Ibelieve. What was his mother's maiden name, please?"
"His mother's maiden name? Oh, 'Elizabeth.' Our little girl is namedfor her--Bessie, you know--you saw her last night. Jim wanted to, so Ilet him. It's a pretty name--Elizabeth--still, it sounds a littleold-fashioned now, don't you think? Of course we are anxious to haveeverything just right for our daughter. A young lady soon coming out,so,--you can't be too particular. That's one reason why I wanted to getover here--on the West Side, I mean. Everybody who is anybody lives onthe West Side in Hillerton. You'll soon find that out."
"No doubt, no doubt! And your mother Blaisdell's surname?" Mr. Smith'spencil was poised over the open notebook.
"Surname? Mother Blaisdell's? Oh, before she was married. I see. But,dear me, I don't know. I suppose Jim will, or Flora, or maybeFrank--though I don't believe HE will, unless her folks kept groceries.Did you ever see anybody that didn't know anything but groceries likeFrank Blaisdell?" The lady sighed and shrugged her somewhat heavyshoulders with an expressive glance.
Mr. Smith smiled understandingly.
"Oh, well, it's good--to be interested in one's business, you know."
"But such a business!" murmured the lady, with another shrug.
"Then you can't tell me Mrs. Rufus Blaisdell's surname?"
"No. But Jim--Oh, I'll tell you who will know," she broke offinterestedly; "and that's Maggie Duff. You saw her here a few minutesago, you know. Father Duff's got all of Mother Blaisdell's papers anddiaries. Oh, Maggie can tell you a lot of things. Poor Maggie! Bennysays if we want ANYTHING we ask Aunt Maggie, and I don't know but he'sright. And here I am, sending you to her, so soon!"
"Very well, then," smiled Mr. Smith. "I don't see but what I shall haveto interview Miss Maggie, and Miss Flora. Is there nothing more, then,that you can tell me?"
"Well, there's Fred, my son. You haven't seen him yet. We're very proudof Fred. He's at the head of his class, and he's going to college andbe a lawyer. And that's another reason why I wanted to come over tothis side--on Fred's account. I want him to meet the right sort ofpeople. You know it helps so much! We think we're going to have Fred abig man some day."
"And he was born, when?" Mr. Smith's pencil still poised above analmost entirely blank page.
"He's seventeen. He'll be eighteen the tenth of next month."
"And Miss Bessie, and Benny?"
"Oh, she's sixteen. She'll be seventeen next winter. She wants to comeout then, but I think I shall wait--a little, she's so very young;though Gussie Pennock's out, and she's only seventeen, and the Pennocksare some of our very best people. They're the richest folks in town,you know."
"And Benny was born--when?"
"He's eight--or rather nine, next Tuesday. Dear me, Mr. Smith, don'tyou want ANYTHING but dates? They're tiresome things, I think,--makeone feel so old, you know, and it shows up how many years you've beenmarried. Don't you think so? But maybe you're a bachelor."
"Yes, I'm a bachelor."
"Are you, indeed? Well, you miss a lot, of course,--home and wife andchildren. Still, you gain some things. You aren't tied down, and youdon't have so much to worry about. Is your mother living, or yourfather?"
"No. I have no--near relatives." Mr. Smith stirred a little uneasily,and adjusted his book. "Perhaps, now, Mrs. Blaisdell, you can give meyour own maiden name."
"Oh, yes, I can give you that!" She laughed and bridledself-consciously. "But you needn't ask when I was born, for I shan'ttell you, if you do. My name was Hattie Snow."
"'Harriet,' I presume." Mr. Smith's pencil was busily at work.
"Yes--Harriet Snow. And the Snows were just as good as the Blaisdells,if I do say it. There were a lot that wanted me--oh, I was pretty THEN,Mr. Smith." She laughed, and bridled again self-consciously. "But Itook Jim. He was handsome then, very--big dark eyes and dark hair, andso dreamy and poetical-looking; and there wasn't a girl that hadn't sether cap for him. And he's been a good husband to me. To be sure, heisn't quite so ambitious as he might be, perhaps. _I_ always didbelieve in being somebody, and getting somewhere. Don't you? ButJim--he's always for hanging back and saying how much it'll cost. Tento one he doesn't end up by saying we can't afford it. He's likeJane,--Frank's wife, where you board, you know,--only Jane's worse thanJim ever thought of being. She won't spend even what she's got. Ifshe's got ten dollars, she won't spend but five cents, if she can helpit. Now, I believe in taking some comfort as you go along. ButJane--greatest saver I ever did see. Better look out, Mr. Smith, thatshe doesn't try to save feeding you at all!" she finished merrily.
"I'm not worrying!" Mr. Smith smiled cheerily, snapped his book shutand got to his feet.
"Oh, won't you wait for Mr. Blaisdell? He can tell you more, I'm sure."
"Not to-day, thank you. At his office, some time, I'll see Mr.Blaisdell," murmured Mr. Smith, with an odd haste. "But I thank youvery much, Mrs. Blaisdell," he bowed in farewell.
Oh, Money! Money! A Novel Page 4
