A Top-Floor Idyl

by George Van Schaick

  CHAPTER XIX

  FRANCES GOES TO THE COUNTRY

  I am very fond of my room on the top floor of Mrs. Milliken's house,but, as regards privacy, I might nearly as well have lodgings in acorner grocery. I had finally arranged that Frances was to go to a hillypart of New Jersey, near a very pretty lake, and gather health and acoat of tan for herself and Baby Paul. I was to leave with her on theone forty-five, in order to help her on the journey and see her safelyinstalled. The noon hour had struck and the whistles of a few thousandfactories were confirming the announcement, when a vision presenteditself at my door. It was very prettily clad, with a love of a hat and amost becoming gown, and smiled engagingly. She had fluffy hair and firstrate teeth. Also, she immediately developed a slight lisp that did notlack attractiveness.

  "Mr. Cole!" she exclaimed. "May I come in? I am from the _New YorkBanner_. I should like to have you tell me all about your novels andyour impressions of modern literary activities, and something as to yourviews upon the war, and----"

  She was already in the middle of my room, and I could do no otherwisethan to advance a chair for her.

  "Pray take a seat, Miss----"

  "I am Cordelia."

  "Cordelia!"

  "Yes, privately Josie Higgins. I hope that you can give me a photographof yourself that we can publish. The public is dying to hear all aboutyou. I must interview you or die in the attempt, which would be veryinconvenient as I have an appointment to see Gretz at two-thirty, fellowwho killed his mother-in-law. Thanks, I will take the chair. It isgetting quite warm again, isn't it?"

  She pulled out a small note book and a business-like pencil from afrivolous handbag, as my heart sank within me. I shared the feelings ofa small boy haled before the principal of his school. She looked smalland inoffensive, but I knew that pencil of hers to be sharper than theserpent's tooth. Heavens! She was looking at the slouchy slippers Istill wore and at the bed, yet undone, since I had told the landlady shemight as well have it attended to after my departure. Her eyes wanderedswiftly from the inkspot on the carpet to the bundle of collars andshirts Eulalie had deposited on my trunk. She also picked up my fragrantcalabash from the desk close at hand and contemplated it, curiously. Allthis quick as a flash.

  After this, she scrutinized my countenance, with her head cocked alittle to one side, and jotted down something.

  "That's good," she declared, apparently much gratified. "I think I knowwhat you would say, but you had better tell it yourself. For nothing onearth would I fake an interview, and anyway you look very kind andobliging. Now tell me how you ever happened to think of 'Land o' Love.'"

  "I'm sure I don't know," I answered truthfully.

  "Undoubtedly," she acquiesced. "Ideas like that just worm themselvesinto one's head and one puts them down. But, of course, that won't quitedo. Don't you think we had better say that you have long been impressedby the sadness of most lives, in the end, and were anxious to show how,from unpromising beginnings, an existence may turn from dross intorefined gold by the exercise of will, of human sympathy, of tolerance offoibles and love for one's fellow man? That will do very nicely!"

  She was putting down her words with lightning speed.

  "Now tell me. Did you ever really know a counterpart of Jennie Frisbie?"she asked again. "She has become a sort of classic, you know. Women areweeping with her and love her to distraction. They wonder how a mere mancan have so penetrated the inwardness of their sex and painted such abeautiful picture of it at its best."

  "Don't know that I ever did, my dear young lady," I replied reluctantly.

  "Of course you didn't. They're not really made that way. For my part, Ithink that a lot of women are cats," said the famed Cordelia. "Butnaturally we can't say it in print. Your answer should be that beneaththe surface every woman holds the potentialities of a Jennie Frisbie.'No, I have never known my heroine in person,' said Mr. Cole, lookingdreamily out of the window, 'but I have known a thousand of her. She isa composite photograph, the final impression gathered by one who hasdone his best to obtain definite colors wherewith to paint a type,accurately and truthfully.' Yes, I think that'll do."

  Her pencil was flying, as I looked at her, aghast.

  "Miss Cordelia," I said, "you're a very attractive and bewitching youngfraud."

  She showed her pretty teeth, laughing heartily.

  "I'm not at all a fraud," she disclaimed. "I deliver the goods, at leastto my paper, and I never hurt people who are decently civil. How aboutyour views on the Great American Novel?"

  "It will probably be written by a Frenchman or a Jap," I answered, "forno man can do perfect justice to his own people."

  "That's not so bad," she approved, "I think I'll put that down."

  She asked me a few more questions, which I mostly answered with my usualconfession of ignorance and which she replied to in her own fashion.

  "Well, that's a tip-top interview," she declared. "I'm ever so muchobliged to you and delighted to have met you. I don't think you lookmuch like one's idea of the writer of that book. I think I will say thatyour eyes have a youthful look. It will please the women. Why don't youlive somewhere else?"

  "Don't know," I said again, with little candor.

  "I had better put down that in this bit of old New York you find anoutlook more in sympathy with your lovable and homely characters.Wisteria blooming in the backyard," she observed, rising and leaning outof the window. "Geraniums on the sills opposite and an old grannydarning socks, her white-capped head bending over her work and framed bythe scarlet of the flowers. Neat little touch. Hope you'll like myarticle. Look for it in the number for Sunday week. My murderer goes inday after to-morrow. He won't keep much longer, people have alreadystopped sending him flowers. Well, good-by and thank you."

  I pressed the little hand she laughingly proffered, and she tripped out,meeting Frances in the hallway.

  "Isn't that a duck of a baby!" she exclaimed, smiling at the mother andrunning downstairs.

  "Frances, I am famous," I said. "Sunday after next I'll be in the_Banner_, three times the size of life, in at least three columns. Thatchit of a girl who just went out is the celebrated Cordelia. She hasinterviewed me and written down a thousand beautiful things I neversaid. She's a bright little creature."

  "She wears nice hats," commented Frances. "I hope she will do justice toyou. It is time we went down to lunch, if we are to catch that train. Isyour suitcase packed?"

  "Never thought of it!" I exclaimed. "You go right down and begin. I'llfollow in a moment."

  A half an hour later we were in a taxicab, speeding to the station.Eulalie was with us; I had insisted on her being brought along. Howcould Frances obtain the full rest she needed, unless some of thedetails of existence were attended to for her? She had objectedstrenuously and even threatened to unpack her little trunk and remain inNew York, but I successfully bullied her into acceptance by commentingon the alleged peaked look of Baby Paul. Maternal fears, despite theinfant's appearance of excellent health, prevailed at last. A man, Idiscover, needs a firm hand in dealing with the opposite sex.

  My dear sister had indicated to me a small farm near the lake, wherethree rooms were to be rented. According to her the cows gave absolutelygenuine milk and butter, while the hens laid undeniable eggs. Vegetablesgrew in profusion, the post office was but a half-mile away and therailway station within twenty minutes' walk. Privacy was also insured bythe fact that the big hotel and boarding houses were reasonably faraway. Mrs. Gobbins, who bossed the farm and its lord and master, wasexceedingly particular as to the occupants of her spare rooms, requiringon their parts qualifications, which appeared to range between theChristian virtues and appetites that would not crave too strongly forcity fleshpots.

  I was agreeably disappointed by the place. The lake was within a shortwalk; centenarian elms grew at the sides of the wide main street of thevillage close at hand; the hills were clad in tender greens, onlystreaked here and there by the trunks of blight-killed chestnuts. On theroad a pair of blu
ebirds had flitted in front of our chariot, like tworacing sapphires, and swallows perched on the telephone wires,twittering. Holstein cows in a pasture envisaged us with a melancholyair, deeming us harbingers of the summering crowd that would compel themto work overtime to supply the dairies. But for the snarling of a coupleof dogs having a misunderstanding, far away, the atmosphere was one ofpeace. Also, we passed a small forge where the blacksmith paused in theshoeing of a sleepy and spavined steed, the better to gaze at us. Henodded to our driver and resumed his occupation, unhurried.

  "This, Frances, holds some advantage over Washington Square as a placewherein to enjoy ease with dignity," I commented. "View the pretty houseat the turning of the road. One side is nearly smothered in climbingvines and the picket fence has the silvery look of ancient splitchestnut. The cherry trees, I should judge, are ready to awaken theambitions of youthful climbers. I hope your domicile will prove half aspretty."

  She assented, smilingly, and assured Baby Paul, sleeping in her arms,that he would be very happy and comfy and grow fat. At this moment ourJehu stopped before the very house I had pointed out and turned thehorse's head into a grassy driveway. Then he drove on by the side of thehouse and swept, at a mile and a half an hour, in front of the backdoor. A large and beaming mongrel rose on the small porch, wagging aremnant of tail. Chickens had been fleeing before us, suspecting thepurity of our intentions in regard to broilers, and three fat duckswaddled off, greatly disturbed. An ancient turkey-cock uplifted his fanand gobbled a protest, but Mrs. Gobbins appeared, smiling and clad inhighly respectable black, relieved by a little white at her neck.

  "Welcome, ma'am," she said. "Just hand me that there baby and then yecan get out handy. Look out for that dust on the buggy wheels. That'sright! Howdy, Mr. Cole, I'm glad to see ye. I can see you favor yoursister some, not but what she's a good lookin' woman. When she wrote as'twas her brother wanted to come I knew ye'd be all right. Walk in."

  We trooped into the kitchen, neat as a pin, whereat Eulalie smiled inapproval, and were shown upstairs. A large room facing the north waspapered with a design of roses about the size of prize cabbages. Thewindows were shaded by a couple of the big cherry trees.

  "In a few days you will be able to pick ripe fruit by merely puttingyour hand out," I told Frances.

  "Yes," Mrs. Gobbins informed us. "Your sister's two boys was always atthem and filled theirselves so full they couldn't hardly eat no decentvictuals, let alone havin' stomach ache. This here small room will dofor the other lady and yours is over on the other side of the house,sir."

  My own residence was also spick and span, and I decided that we hadfallen into an oasis of delight. A few minutes sufficed me to repair thedamage done by the journey, and I went downstairs. The front door wasnow open. To one side of it there was a dining-room adorned with chromosadvertising gigantic vegetables and fruit, apparently imported from thePromised Land. Opposite this was a parlor where bottle-green plushreigned in unsunned violence of hue and aggressive gilt framessurrounded works of art of impetuous tints. On going out I was met bythe dog, who accepted my advances with the greatest urbanity. Towser hadstill a touching faith in human nature and deemed me inoffensive andfully competent to scratch the back of his head.

  Presently, arrived an elderly gentleman in blue jeans, his chinornamented with whisker and his mouth with a corncob pipe.

  "How be ye?" he asked. "Gettin' real hot and the corn's comin' up fine.Wonderful year for strawberries an' sparrer-grass. How's things in thecity?"

  He sat down on the steps of the veranda, inviting me to do the same,with a civil wave of his pipestem, and we entered into pleasantconverse, until the voice of his mate shrilly commanded him to arise andwash his hands and shed the overalls, whereat he hastily deserted me.

  Came a supper at which I was able to comment agreeably on the creamserved with the berries, whereat Mr. Gobbins gave out dark hints ofwatery malefactions on the part of some of the keepers of boardinghouses in the neighborhood. There was cold pork, usually potent to bringme nightmares, and an obese pie to be washed down with pale tea. Undermy breath I deplored the luck that had made me forget to bring digestivetablets and, spurred by unusual appetite, I gorged myself.

  The evening was a short one, spent on the porch where I lolled in ahammock, while Frances rocked in a big chair. There was no need to talk,for it was all very new and beautiful. The katydids and tree-frogs tookcharge of the conversation for us. After a time Eulalie joined us,sitting modestly on the steps. With much genuine sentiment she spoke ofthe cabbages of her own land and of cows she had once cherished.

  "It is like the heaven of the _Bon Dieu_ to smell these things again,"she informed us, and I decided that she had spoken a great and splendidtruth.

  We retired early. In my own little room, with the oil-lamp burning, Icommented sadly on the fact that it was only half past nine, the hour atwhich my busy life commonly begins. Upon the bed I looked hopelessly; itwas inviting enough, but, at this time of day, about as attractive asplum-pudding for breakfast. For an hour I read a magazine; the katydidswere still clamoring softly and, in the distance, in the direction ofthe lake, I heard the plaintive notes of whippoorwills. Then I caughtmyself in a blessed yawn and went to bed. But a few moments seemed tohave gone by, when I awoke in a room flooded with sunshine andpenetrated by a myriad of joyful sounds coming from the Noah's Ark ofthe farm. Looking out of the window I was shamed by the sight of Eulaliewho, with Baby Paul in her arms, strolled about the kitchen garden,evidently lost in rapture at the sight of leeks and radishes.

  I hurried my dressing, donning a pair of white flannel trousers I hadbought for the sake of bestowing upon myself some atmosphere of thecountry, and found Frances sitting in the hammock with Towser's big,nondescript head in her lap.

  "I hope you slept ever so well," she told me, looking very radiant andputting out her hand. "And, David, I'm so wonderfully happy. Look at thebeautiful lake! We will have to go over there after breakfast, and,perhaps, you can row in a boat, and we will take Eulalie and Baby withus. Or perhaps you can go fishing, or may be you would rather stayquietly here and have a nice long rest. And just listen to thatwood-thrush over there. She's up in the cherry tree; or perhaps it's ahe, and probably there's a nest somewhere with dear little fellows justhatched out. Isn't it lovely?"

  My enthusiasm was just as great as her own. There seemed to bealtogether too many beautiful things to do, and to look at, and to allowto soak into one, like some penetrating water from the fountain ofyouth.

  "I'm so glad you like it, Frances," I told her.

  And so we spent a heavenly day, and, in the morning, I took the earlytrain and went back to the city, Frances looking rather regretfully atme. But I had decided that I must not remain there; it would not do. Oneevening after another, of moonlit glory, of whispering winds bearingfragrance and delight, of nearness to this wonderful woman with theheart of a child and the beauty of a goddess, endowed with that voicesounding like melodies from on high, must surely break down my courage.How could I stand it day after day? No, I intended to return forweekends, propped up by new resolve to be silent. A chill would comeover me at the idea of suddenly blurting out my love to her and havingher look at me as she once gazed on Gordon, perhaps even moresorrowfully, because I think I have become a more valued friend.

  I explained to her that I had some most important work to do andimagined all sorts of meetings with publishers. Also a moving-picturegentleman had thrown out dark hints. The atmosphere of the blazing city,I told her, was utterly needed for my new book. All she had to do was tobe very patient, grow strong and brown, watch Baby Paul thrive, andawait my coming on Saturday afternoons. In the meanwhile I would sendher books and magazines, besides a button hook she had forgotten, and apackage of the tea we were partial to, and--and a week was anexceedingly short space of time.

  So I said good-by and waved my hand at the turning in the road, andreturned to the big city, which I could, without much regret, have seenreduced to the condition of Sodom an
d Gomorrha, since it would havegiven me a good excuse to take the next train back.

  Upon entering my room, I decided that it was a beastly hole. So hatefuldid it seem that I strolled off into the opposite one. It seemed like arather sneaking and underhanded thing to do and, I dare say, I had someof the feelings of a burglar. My old piano was there, upon which sheplayed softly and sang exercises that were perfectly beautiful, andsongs beyond compare. The very atmosphere of her was still in the placeand things of hers were yet on the dressing table, including the buttonhook, which I pocketed. They made me think of saintly relics to beworshipped. Baby Paul's crib appealed to me. She had so often bent overit, wistfully, as I watched her, admiring the wondrous curve of herneck, the sunlit glory of her hair.

  Mrs. Milliken suddenly caught me there, and I felt a sense of heat in mycheeks.

  "Yes," she said, "I'll give it a thorough cleaning. It needs it realbad. And next week I'll put new paper on the walls and have the carpettook up and beaten. I was wishin' you'd stay away long enough so I coulddo the same to yours. I've known all my life men are mussy, but thatroom of yours is the limit, Mr. Cole, all littered up with paper so abody don't dare touch anything."

  I made no answer. I suppose that house cleaning is a necessary evil buther contemplated invasion of Frances's room seems to me like thedesecration of a shrine. It should be locked up and penetrated only bypeople soft of foot and low of voice.