A Philanthropist
Page 4
and sandwiches with Kitty and Annabel?Really, dear Miss Gould, if you knew how horribly ill sarsaparilla iscertain to make me--I have loathed it from childhood--"
"Oh, no, no, no!" she interrupted, with her sweet, tolerant smile. Shesmiled at him as if he had been a child.
"You know I never meant that you should work all day, Mr. Welles. Itisn't at all necessary. I have always felt that an hour or two a day ofintelligent, cultivated work was fully equal to a much longer space ofmanual labor that is more mechanical, more tiresome."
"Better fifty years of poker than a cycle of croquet!" her lodgermurmured. "Yes, I have always felt that myself."
"And somebody must be there from ten to twelve, say, in the mornings,in what we call the office; just to keep an eye on things, and answerquestions about the kitchen, and watch the reading-room, and recommendthe periodicals, and take the children's Civic League reports, andoversee the Rooms generally. Now I'd be there Wednesdays to meet themothers, and Mrs. Underwood Saturdays for the Band of Hope and thekitchen-garden. It would be just Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursdays, andFridays from ten to twelve, say!"
"From ten to twelve, say," he repeated absently, with his eyes on herhandsome, eager face. He had never seen her so animated, so girlishlyinsistent. She urged with the vivid earnestness of twenty years.
"My dear lady," he brought out finally, "you are like Greek architectureor Eastlake furniture or--or 'God Save the Queen'--perfectly absolute!And I am so hideously relative--But, after all, why should a sense ofhumor be an essential? One is really more complete--I suppose Mahomethad none--When shall I begin?"
The interested villagers were informed early and regularly of theprogress of the latest scheme of their benefactress. Henry and Mr.Waters furnished most satisfactory and detailed bulletins to gatheringsof leisurely and congenial spirits, who listened with incredulousamazement to the accounts of Mr. Welles's proceedings.
"Him an' that hired man o' his, they have took more stuff over to themRooms than you c'd shake a stick at! I never see nothing like it--never!Waxed that floor, they have, and put more mats onto it--fur and colored.An' the stuff--oh, Lord! China--all that blue china he got fr'm ol' Mis'Simms, an' them ol' stoneware platters that Mis' Rivers was goin' tofire away, an' he give her two dollars for the lot--all that's scatteredround on tables and shelves. An' that ol' black secr'tary he got fr'mLord knows where, an' brakes growin' in colored pots standin' right upthere, an' statyers o' men an' women--no heads onto 'em, some ain't got;it's all one to him--he'd buy any ol' thing so's 'twas broke, you mightsay. An' them ol' straight chairs--no upholsterin' on 'em, an' some o'them wicker kind that bends any way, with piliers in 'em. An' cups andsassers, with a tea-pot 'n' kittle; an' he makes tea himself an' drinksit--I swear it's so. An' a guitar, an', Lord, the pictures! You can'tsee no wall for 'em!
"'It's a mighty lucky thing, havin' this room, Thompson,' says he tothat hired man, 'the things was spillin' over. We'll make it a bower o'beauty, Thompson,' says he. 'Yes, sir,' says the man. That's all he eversays, you might say. I never see nothin' like it, never, the way thathired man talks to him; you'd think he was the Queen o' Sheba.
"An' he goes squintin' about here an' there, changin' this an' that, an'singin' away an' laughin'--you'd think he'd have a fit. Seems's if heloved to putter about 'n' fool with things in a room, like women.I heard him say so myself. I was helpin' Miss Gould with the otherrooms--she ain't seen his; she don't know no more'n the dead what he'sgot in there--an' I was by the door when he said it.
"'Thompson,' says he, 'if I don't keep my present situation,' says he,'I c'n go out as a decorator an' furnisher. Don't you think I'd succeed,Thompson?' says he. 'Yes, sir,' says Thompson.
"'You see, we've got to do something Thompson,' says he. 'We've got terjustify our existence, Thompson,' an' he commenced to laugh. 'Yes, sir,'says Thompson. Beats all I ever see, the way that man answers back!"
An almost unprecedented headache, brought on by her unremitting labor ineffecting the change in the Rooms, kept Miss Gould in the house for twodays after the new headquarters had been satisfactorily arranged; andas Mr. Welles had refused to open his office for inspection till it wascompletely furnished, she did not enter that characteristic apartmenttill the third day of its official existence.
As she went through the narrow hallway connecting the four rooms onwhich the social regeneration of her village depended, she caught thesweet low thrum of a guitar and a too familiarly seductive voice burstforth into a chant, whose literal significance she was unable to grasp,owing to lack of familiarity with the language in which it was couched,but whose general tenor no one could mistake, so tender and arch was therendering.
With a vague thrill of apprehension she threw open the door.
Sunk in cushions, a tea-cup on the arm of his chair, a guitar resting onhis white flannel sleeve, reclined the director of the Rooms. Overhis head hung a large and exquisite copy of the Botticelli Venus.Miss Gould's horrified gaze fled from this work of art to rest on arepresentation in bronze of the same reprehensible goddess, clothed,to be sure, a little more in accordance with the views of a retired NewEngland community, yet leaving much to be desired in this direction.Kitty Waters attentively filled his empty cup, beaming the while, andthe once errant Annabel, sitting on a low stool at his feet, with a redbow in her pretty hair, and her great brown eyes fixed adoringly onhis face as he directed the fascinating incomprehensible little songstraight at her charming self, was obviously in no present danger ofrunning the streets.
"Good morning, Miss Gould!" he said cheerfully, rising and handing theguitar to the abashed Annabel. "And you are really quite recovered?_C'est bien!_ Business is dull, and we are amusing each other, you see.How do you like the rooms? I flatter myself--"
"If you flattered none but yourself, Mr. Welles, much harm would beavoided," she interrupted with uncompromising directness. "Kitty andAnnabel, I cannot see how you can possibly tell how many people may ormay not be wanting lunch!"
"Billy Rider tells us when any one comes," the director assured her."They don't come till twelve, anyway, and then they want to see theroom, mostly--which we show them, don't we, Annabel?"
Annabel blushed, cast down her eyes, lifted them, showed her dimples,and replied in the words, if not in the accents, of Thompson: "Yes,sir!"
"It's really going to be an education in itself, don't you think so?"he continued. "It's amazing how the people like it--it's really quitegratifying. Perhaps it may be my mission to abolish the chromo and thetidy from off the face of New England! We have had crowds here--just tolook at the pictures."
"I don't doubt it!" replied Miss Gould briefly.
"And I got the most attractive sugar-bowl from the little boy whobrought in the reports about picking up papers and such things from thestreets. He said he ought to have five cents, so I gave him a dime--Ihadn't five--and I bought the bowl. Annabel, my child, bring me--"
But Annabel and her fellow-waitress had disappeared. Miss Gould sat insilence. At intervals her perplexed gaze rested unconsciously on theBotticelli Venus, from which she instantly with a slight frown loweredit and regarded the floor. When she at last met his eyes the expressionof her own was so troubled, the droop of her firm mouth so patheticand unusual, that he left his chair and dragged the little stool toher feet, assuming an attitude so boyish and graceful that in spite ofherself she smiled at him.
"What is the matter?" he asked confidentially. "Is anything wrong?Don't you like the room? I enjoy it tremendously, myself. I've beenhere almost all the time since it was done. I think Tom Waters must betremendously impressed--"
"That's the trouble; he is," said Miss Gould simply.
"Trouble? trouble? Is his impression unfavorable? Heavens,how unfortunate!" exclaimed the director airily. "Surely, myapplication--Does the room fail to meet his approval, or--"
"Yes, it does," she interrupted. "He says it's no place for a man to bein; and he says the pictures are--are--well, he says they are improper!"glancing at the Venus.
"Ah!" responded the director with a suspicious sweetness. "He does notcare for the nude, then?"
She sighed deeply. "Oh, Mr. Welles!"
"It is indeed to be regretted that Mr. Waters's ideals are