Sunny Slopes

by Ethel Hueston

  CHAPTER III

  A BABY IN BUSINESS

  "Centerville, Iowa.

  "Dear Carol and David--

  "Please do not call me the baby of the family any more. I am inbusiness, and babies have no business in business. Very good, wasn'tit? I am practising verbosity for the book I am going to write someday. Verbosity is what I want to say, isn't it? I am never surewhether it is that or obesity. But you know what I mean.

  "To begin at the beginning, then, you would be surprised how sensiblefather is turning out. I can hardly understand it. You remember whenI insisted on studying stenography, Aunt Grace and Prue, yes, and allthe rest of you, were properly shocked and horrified, and thought Iought to teach school because it is more ministerial. But I knew Ishould need the stenography in my writing, and father looked at me, andthought a while, and came right out on my side. And that settled it.

  "Of course, when I wanted to cut college after my second year so Icould get to work, father talked me out of it. But I am reallyconvinced he was right that time, even though he wasn't on my side.But after I finished college, when they offered me the EnglishDepartment in the High School in Mount Mark at seventy-five per, andwhen I insisted on coming down here to Centerville to take thisstenographic job with Messrs. Nesbitt and Orchard, at eight a week,well, the serene atmosphere of our quiet home was decidedly murky for awhile. I said I needed the experience, both stenographic and literary,and this was my opportunity.

  "Aunt Grace was speechless. Prudence wept over me. Fairy laughed atme. Lark said she just wished you were home to take charge of me andteach me a few things. But father looked at me again, and thought veryseriously for a while, and said he believed I was right.

  "Consequently, I am at Centerville.

  "Isn't it dear of father? And so surprising. The girls think he needsmedical attention, and honestly I am a little worried over him myself.It was so unexpected. Really, I half thought he would 'put his footdown,' as the Ladies Aiders used to want Prudence to do with us. Hewas always resigned, father was, about giving the girls up in marriage,but every one always said he would draw the line there. He isdeveloping, I guess.

  "Do you remember Nesbitt and Orchard? Mr. Nesbitt was a member of thechurch when we lived here, but it was before I was born, so I don'tfeel especially well acquainted on that account. But he calls meConnie and acts very fatherly.

  "He is still a member of the church, and they say around town that heis not a bit slicker outside the church than he was when father was hispastor. He hurt me spiritually at first. So I wrote to father aboutit. Father wrote back that I must be charitable--must remember thatbelonging to church couldn't possibly do Mr. Nesbitt any harm, and forall we knew to the contrary, might be keeping him out of the electricchair every day of his life. And Mr. Nesbitt couldn't do theChristians any harm--the Lord is looking after them. And those outsidewho point to the hypocrites inside for excuses would have to think upsomething new and original if we eliminated the hypocrites on theiraccount,--'so be generous, Connie,' wrote father, 'and don't begrudgeMr. Nesbitt the third seat to the left for he may never get any nearerParadise than that.'

  "Father is just splendid, Carol. I keep feeling that the rest of youdon't realize it as hard as I do, but you will laugh at that.

  "Mr. Nesbitt likes me, but he has--well, he has what a minister shouldcall a 'bad disposition.' I'll tell you more about it in German when Imeet you. German is the only language I know that can do him justice.

  "I have been in trouble of one kind or another ever since I got here.Mr. Nesbitt owns a lot of houses around town, and we have charge oftheir rental. One day he gave me the address of one of his most tumbledown shacks, and promised me a bonus of five dollars if I rented it forfifteen dollars a month on a year's lease. About ten days later, sureenough I rented it, family to take possession immediately. Mr. Nesbittwas out of town, so I took the rent in advance, turned over the keys,and proceeded to spend the five dollars. I learned that system offrenzied finance from you twins in the old days in the parsonage.

  "Next morning, full of pride, I told Mr. Nesbitt about it.

  "'Rented 800 Stout,' he roared. 'Why, I rented it myself,--a threeyears' lease at eighteen a month,--move in next Monday.'

  "'Mercy,' says I. 'My family paid a month in advance.'

  "'So did mine.'

  "'My family is already in,' says I. That was a clincher.

  "He raved and he roared, and said I got them in and I could get themout. But when he grew rational and raised my bonus to ten dollars, Isaid I would do my best. He agreed to refund the month's rent, to paythe moving expenses both in and out, to take over their five dollardeposit for electric lights, and to pay the electric and gas billoutstanding, which wouldn't be much for two or three days.

  "So off marches the business baby to the conflict.

  "They didn't like it a bit, and talked very crossly indeed, and saidperfectly horrible, but quite true, things about Messrs. Nesbitt andOrchard. But finally they said they would move out, only they musthave until Friday to find a new house. They would move out onSaturday, and leave the keys at the office.

  "Mr. Nesbitt was much pleased, and said I had done nicely, gave me theten dollars and a box of chocolates and we were as happy as cooingdoves the rest of the day.

  "But my family must have been more indignant than I realized. OnSaturday, at one o'clock, Mr. Nesbitt told me to go around by the houseon my way home to make sure the front door was locked. It was lockedall right, but I noticed that the electric lights were burning. Mr.Nesbitt had not sent the key with me, as it was an automatic lock, andit really was none of my business if folks moved out and left thelights on. Still it seemed irregular, and when I got home I tried toget Mr. Nesbitt on the phone. But he and Mr. Orchard had left theoffice and gone out into the country for the afternoon.Business,--they never go to the country for pleasure. So I comfortablyforgot all about the electric lights.

  "But Monday afternoon, Mr. Nesbitt happened to remark that his familywould not move in until Wednesday. Then I remembered.

  "I said, 'What is the idea in having the electric lights burning downthere?'

  "'What?' he shouted. He always shouts unless he has a particularreason for whispering.

  "'Why, the electric lights were burning in the house when I went bySaturday.'

  "'All of them?'

  "'Looked it from the outside.'

  "'Did you turn them off?'

  "'I should say not. I hadn't the key. Besides I didn't turn them on.I didn't know who did, nor why. I just left them alone.'

  "That meant a neat little electric bill of about six dollars, and Mr.Nesbitt talked to me in a very un-neutral way, and I got my hat andwalked off home. He called me up after a while and tried to makepeace, but I said I was ill from the nervous shock and couldn't workany more that day. So he sent me a box of candy to restore myshattered nerves, and the next day they were all right.

  "One day I got rather belligerent myself. It was just a week after Icame. One of his new tenants phoned in that Nesbitt must get therubbish out of the alley back of his house or he would move out. Mr.Nesbitt tried to evade a promise, but the man was curt. 'You get thatrubbish out to-day, or I get out to-morrow.'

  "Mr. Nesbitt was just going to court, so he told me to call up agarbage man and get the rubbish removed.

  "I didn't know the garbage men from the ministers, and they weren'tclassified in the directory. So I went to Mr. Orchard, a youngish sortof man, very pleasant, but slicker than Nesbitt himself.

  "I said, not too amiably, 'Who are the garbage haulers in this town?'

  "He said: 'Search me,' and went on writing.

  "I dropped the directory on his desk, and said, "'Well, if Mr. Nesbittloses a good tenant, I should worry.'

  "Then he looked up and said: 'Oh, let's see. There's Jim Green, andSofty Meadows, and--and--Tully Scott--and--that's enough.'

  "So I called them up. Jim Green was in jail for petty
larceny. SoftyMeadows was in bed with a broken leg. Tully Scott would do it forthree fifty. So I gave him the number and told him to do it thatafternoon without fail.

  "Pretty soon Mr. Nesbitt came home. 'How about that rubbish?'

  "'I got Tully Scott to do it for three fifty.'

  "He fairly tore his hair. 'Three fifty! Tully Scott is the biggesthighway robber in town, and everybody knows it! Why didn't you get themayor and be done with it? Three fifty! Great Scott! Three fifty!You call his lordship Tully Scott up and ask him if he'll haul thatrubbish for a dollar and a half, and if he won't you can call off thedeal.'

  "I called him up, quietly, but inwardly raging.

  "'Will you haul that rubbish for a dollar and a half?'

  "'No,' he drawled through his nose, 'I won't haul no rubbish for nodollar and a half, and you can tell old Skinflint I said so.'

  "He hung up. So did I.

  "'What did he say?'

  "I thought the nasal inflection made it more forceful, so I said, 'No,I won't haul no rubbish for no dollar and a half, and you can tell oldSkinflint I said so.'

  "Mr. Orchard laughed, and Mr. Nesbitt got red.

  "'Call up Ben Moore and see if he can do it.'

  "I looked him straight in the eye. 'Nothing doing,' I said, withdignity. 'If you want any more garbage haulers, you can get them.'

  "I sat down to the typewriter. Mr. Orchard nearly shut himself up in abig law book in his effort to keep from meeting anybody's eye. ButNesbitt went to the phone and called Ben Moore. Ben Moore had a fourdays' job on his hands. Then he called Jim Green, and Softy Meadows,and finally in despair called the only one left. John Knox,--niceorthodox name, my dear. John Knox would do it for the modest sum offive dollars, and not a--well, I'll spare you the details, but hewouldn't do it for a cent less. Nesbitt raved, and Nesbitt swore, butJohn Knox, while he may not be a pillar in the church, certainly stoodlike a rock. Nesbitt could pay it or lose his tenant. He paid.

  "Mr. Orchard got up and put on his hat. 'Miss Connie wants someflowers and some candy and an ice-cream soda, my boy, and I want somecigars, and a coca cola. It's on you. Will you come along and pay thebill, or will you give us the money?'

  "'I guess it will be cheaper to come along,' said Nesbitt, lookingbashfully at me, for I was very haughty. But I put on my hat, and itcost him just one dollar and ninety cents to square himself.

  "But they both like me. In fact, Mr. Orchard suggested that I marryhim so old Nesbitt would have to stop roaring at me, but I tell himhonestly that of the two evils I prefer the roaring.

  "No, Carol, I am not counting on marriage in my scheme of life. Notyet. Sometimes I think perhaps I do not believe in it. It doesn'twork out right. There is always something wrong somewhere. Look atPrudence and Jerry,--devoted to each other as ever, but Jerry'sbusiness takes him out among men and women, into the life of the city.And Prudence's business keeps her at home with the children. He's out,and she's in, and the only time they have to love each other is in theevening,--and then Jerry has clubs and meetings, and Prudence is alwayssleepy. Look at Fairy and Gene. He is always at the drug store, andFairy has nothing but parties and clubs and silly things like that tothink about,--a big, grand girl like Fairy. And she is always lookingcovetously at other women's babies and visiting orphans' homes to seeif she can find one she wants to adopt, because she hasn't one of herown. Always that sorrow behind the twinkle in her eyes! If she hadn'tmarried, she wouldn't want a baby. Take Larkie and Jim. Always Larkiewas healthy at home, strong, and full of life. But since little Violetcame, Lark is pale and weak, and has no strength at all. Aunt Grace isstaying with her now. Why, I can't look at dear old Larkie withouthalf crying.

  "Take even you, my precious Carol, perfectly happy, oh, of course, butall your originality, your uniqueness, the very you-ness of you, willbe absorbed in a round of missionary meetings, and prayer-meetings, andchoir practises, and Sunday-school classes. The hard routine, my dear,will take the sparkle from you, and give you a sweet, but un-Carol-likeprecision and method. Oh, yes, you are happy, but thank you, dear, Ithink I'll keep my Self and do my work, and--be an old maid.

  "Mr. Orchard offers himself as an alternative to the roars every nowand then, and I expound this philosophy of mine in answer. He shoutswith laughter at it. He says it is so, so like a baby in business. Hereminds me of the time when gray hairs and crow's-feet will mar myserenity, and when solitary old age will take the lightness from mystep. But I've never noticed that husbands have a way of banishinggray hairs and crow's-feet and feeble knees, have you? Babies arenice, of course, but I think I'll baby myself a little.

  "I do get so homesick for the good old parsonage days, and all thebunch, and-- Still, it is nice to be a baby in business, and think howwonderful it will be when I graduate from my baby-hood, and have brainsenough to write books, big books, good books, for all the world to read.

  "Lovingly as always,

  "Baby Con."

  When Carol read that letter she cried, and rubbed her face against herhusband's shoulder,--regardless of the dollar powder on his black coat.

  "A teeny bit for father," she explained, "for all his girls are gone.And a little bit for Fairy, but she has Gene. And quite a lot forLarkie, but she has Jim and Violet." And then, clasping her arm abouthis shoulders, which, despite her teasing remonstrance, he allowed todroop a little, she cried exultantly: "But not one bit for me, for Ihave you, and Connie is a poor, poverty-stricken, wretched little waif,with nothing in the world worth having, only she doesn't know it yet."