by Nell Speed
CHAPTER VII.--DREAMS AND REALITIES.
The holidays were all too soon over. Much feasting went on, what withMolly's big turkey and her fruit cake and Rosemary pickles; and theinvitations to Mrs. McLean's and Miss Walker's; and Otoyo's Japanesespread, where she and Melissa charmed the company with the beautifullyarranged rooms and the dainty, delicious refreshments. Mr. Seshu,throughout, was very attentive to his little countrywoman, and the girlsdecided that he was in love with her just like any ordinary Americanmight be.
"I am so glad it is coming about this way," said Molly. "Just think howhard it might have been for our little Otoyo, now that she has been inthis country long enough to see how we do such things, had she beencompelled, by filial feeling, to marry some one whom she did not loveand who did not love her. I think she is all over the sentimentalattachment she used to have for the unconscious Andy, don't you, Nance?"
"I fancy she is," said the far from unconscious Nance, who always had aheightened color when young Andy's name got into the conversation. "Idon't think she ever really cared for Andy. He was just the first andonly young man who was ever nice to her, and it went to her head. Andyis so kind and good natured."
"You forget Professor Green. He was always careful and attentive, andOtoyo would chatter like a magpie with him."
"Oh, but he is so much older!" And then Nance wished she had bitten outher tongue, as Molly looked hurt and sad.
"Professor Green is not so terribly old! I think he is much moreagreeable than callow youths who have no conversation beyond their ownaffairs."
"Now, Molly Brown, I didn't mean to say a thing to hurt your feelings orto imply that Professor Green was anything but perfection. He is not tooold for y--us, I mean; but Otoyo is like a child."
"I am ashamed of myself, Nance, but I do get kind of tired ofeverybody's taking the stand that Professor Green is so old. He is thebest man friend I ever had, and--and----" But Nance kissed her fondly, andshe did not have to go on with her sentence, which was lucky, as she didnot know how she was going to finish it without committing herself.
Kent had to fly back to Louisville to work at his chosen profession andtry to learn how to do water color renderings of the architecturalelevations; Judy back to New York to dig at her charcoal drawings anddream of swimming in color, with Kent striking out beside her; Dodoagain at Johns Hopkins, learning much about medicine and how to "turkeytrot" with a broken sofa; young Andy and Mr. Seshu at Harvard, studyingthe laws of their country, for was not Mr. Seshu fast becoming anAmerican? They had their dreams, too, these two young men. Andy waslooking forward to the day when he would not have to stop talking toNance just at the most interesting turn of the argument, but could stayright along with her forever and ever,--and sure he was that they wouldnever talk out! Mr. Seshu's dreams--but, after all, what do we know ofhis dreams? Certain we are that he looked favorably on the little MissSen, and that honorable Father Sen and honorable Father Seshu had a longand satisfactory talk in the shop in Boston with the beautiful Japaneseprints hanging all around them, representing in themselves money enoughto make the prospective young couple very wealthy.
Mr. Oldham went back to Vermont, also dreaming that the day might comewhen his little Nance would keep house for him, and he could leave thehated boarding house, and have a real home. Richard Blount returned toNew York, dreaming, too, and his dream was of the beautiful mountaingirl with the dignity and poise of a queen, eyes like the clear brownpools of autumn and a purposeful look on her young face that showed evena casual observer that she had a mission in life.
Mid-year examinations came and went. Melissa and Otoyo came throughwithout a scratch, which made Molly rejoice as though it had been herown ordeal.
Domestic Science grew more thrilling; so interesting, indeed, that Mollycould not decide for a whole day whether she would rather be ascientific cook or a great literary success. But a note from a magazineeditor accepting her "Basket Funeral" and asking for more similarstories decided her in favor of literature. And on the same day, too,Professor Edwin Green said to her, "Please, Miss Molly, don't learn howto cook so well that you forget how to make popovers. I am afraid all ofthese scientific rules you are learning will upset the natural-bornknowledge that you already possess, and your spontaneous genius will bechoked by an academic style of cooking that would be truly deplorable."
Molly laughingly confided in the professor that she would not give oneof Aunt Mary's hot turnovers for all of Miss Morse's scientifically madebread.
"I know her bread is perfect, but it lacks a certain taste and life, andis to the real thing what a marble statue is to flesh and blood. Judydescribed it, in speaking of the food at a lunchroom for self-supportingwomen that she occasionally goes to in New York, as being 'too chaste.'"
"That is exactly it, too chaste," agreed Professor Green.
"Of course, cooking is a small part of what we learn in DomesticScience,--food values, economic housekeeping, etc. It really is a verybroad and far-reaching science."
They were in the professor's study, where Molly had come to tell him thegood news about her story, and to ask his advice concerning what otherof her character sketches she should send to the magazine. She waswearing her cap and gown, as she was just returning from a formalcollege function. When the young man greeted her, he had quickly rolledup something, looking a little shamefaced. But as they talked, he rolledand unrolled and finally determined to show the papers to her.
"Miss Molly, Kent has sent me the plans for my bungalow that Icommissioned him at Christmas to get busy on. I wonder if you would careto see them."
"Of course I'd be charmed to, Professor Green. There is nothing in theworld that is more interesting to me than plans of a house. Kent and Ihave been drawing them ever since we could hold pencils. Kent was themaster hand at outside effects, and I was the housekeeper, who must havethe proper pantry arrangements and conveniences."
"Well, please pass on these. The outside effects seem lovely to me, butI cannot tell about the interior."
Molly seated herself and pored over the prints, soon mastering thedetails with a practiced eye, noting dimensions and windows and doors.
"I think it is splendid, but do you really want my criticism?"
"I certainly do, more than any one's."
"Well, there is waste space here that should be put in the store room.This little passage from dining-room to kitchen is entirely unnecessaryand should be incorporated in the butler's pantry. These twin doors inthe hall, one leading to the attic and one to the cellar, are no doubtvery pretty, but they are not wide enough. An attic is for trunks, andhow could one larger than a steamer trunk get through such a narrowdoor? A cellar is certainly for barrels and the like, and I am sure itwould be a tug to pull a barrel through this little crack of a door. I'dallow at least nine inches more on each door, and that means a foot anda half off something. Let me see. It seems a pity to take it off of theliving-room, and rather inhospitable to rob the guest chamber.
"Aunt Clay always puts the new towels in the guest chamber for thecompany to break in. She says company can't kick about the slickstiffness of them, and somehow it would seem rather Aunt Clayish to takethat eighteen inches off of the poor unsuspecting guests, whoever theymay be."
Molly sat a long time studying the plans, and she looked so sweet and soearnest that Edwin Green thought with regret of the tacit promise he hadmade Mrs. Brown: to let Molly stay a child for another year. How helonged to know his fate! How simple it would be while she was showingher interest in his little bungalow to ask her to tell him if shethought she could ever make it her little home, too! Was she the childher mother thought her? Did she think he was a "laggard in love," anddespise him for a "faint heart"? Or could it be that she thought of himonly as an old and trusted friend, too ancient to contemplate asanything but a professor of literature, and, at that, one who wasbuilding a home in which to spend his rapidly declining years?
"Time will tell," sighed the poor, conscientious young man, "but if I amletting
my happiness slip through my fingers from a mistaken sense ofduty, then I don't deserve anything but 'single blessedness'."
"I have it!" exclaimed Molly. "Have the cellar entrance outside by thekitchen door with a gourd pergola over both, and take this inside spacewhere the cellar door and steps were to be for a large closet in thepoor guests' room, to make up to them for coming so near to losing afoot and a half off of their room."
"That suits me, if it suits you. Is there anything else?"
"If you won't tell Kent it is my suggestion, I do think the bathroomdoor ought to open in and not out. He and I have disagreed about doorsever since we were children.
"Do you know what plan Kent is making for mother and me? He wants us togo abroad next winter. Sue is to be married to her Cyrus in June, muddylane and all; Paul and John are in Louisville most of the time, now thatPaul is on a morning paper and has to work at night, and John isbuilding up his practice and has to be on the spot; Kent hopes to beable to take a course at the Beaux Arts next winter if he can saveenough money, and that would leave no one at Chatsworth but mother andme. There is no reason why we should not go, and you know I am excitedabout it; and, as for mother, she says she is like our country cousinwho came to the exposition in Louisville and said in a grandiloquenttone, 'I am desirous to go elsewhere and view likewise.' Mother and Ihave never traveled anywhere, and it would be splendid for us. Don't youthink so?"
"I certainly do, especially as next year is my sabbatical year ofteaching, and I expect to have a holiday myself and do some traveling. Ihave something to dream of now, and that is to meet you and your motherin Europe and 'go elsewhere and view likewise' in your company!"
"Oh, Mother and I will be so glad to see you," exclaimed Molly. "I havebrought a letter from Mildred to read to you, Professor Green. It is solike Mildred and tells so much of her life in Iowa that I thought itmight interest you."
"Indeed it will. I have thought so often of that delightful young coupleand the wonderful wedding in the garden."
So Molly began:
"'Dearest Sister:--You complain of having only second-hand letters from me and you are quite right. There is nothing more irritating than letters written to other people and handed down. Your letters should belong to you, and you only, just as much as your tooth-brush. You remember how mad it used to make Ernest to have his letters sent to Aunt Clay, and how he would put in bad words just to keep Mother from handing them on.
'Crit and I are more and more pleased with our little home out here in this Western town (not that they call themselves Western, and on the map they are really more Eastern than Western). The people are lovely, and so neighborly and hospitable. It is a good thing for Southern people to get away from home occasionally and come to the realization that they have not got a corner on hospitality. Entertaining out here really means trouble to the hostess, as there are no servants and the ladies of the house have all the work to do; and still they entertain a great deal and do it very well, too.
'I have never seen anything like the system the women have evolved for their work. For instance: they wash on Monday morning and have a "biled dinner." When washing is over, they are too tired to do any more work, so they usually go calling or have club meetings or some form of amusement to rest up for Tuesday, ironing day. Wednesday, they bake. Thursday is the great day for teas and parties. Friday is thorough cleaning day, and I came very near making myself very unpopular because in my ignorance, when I first came here, I returned some calls on that fateful day. I was greeted by irate dames at every door, their heads tied up in towels and their faces very dirty. I could hardly believe they were the same elegant ladies I had met at the Thursday reception, beautifully gowned and showing no marks of toil. On Saturday they bake again and get ready for Sunday, and on Sunday no one ever thinks of staying away from church because of cooking or house work.
'I am so glad our mother taught us how to work some, at least not to be afraid of work, but I do wish I had been as fond of the kitchen as you always were and had learned how to cook from Aunt Mary. My sole culinary accomplishment was cloudbursts, and if Crit is an angel he has to have something to go on besides cloudbursts. The restaurants and hotels here are impossible and there are no boarding houses. There are only twenty servants in the whole town and they already have a waiting list of persons who want them when the present employers are through with them, which only death or removal from the town would make possible, so you see we have to keep house. I am learning to cook, and simply adore Friday when I can tie up my head and pull the house to pieces and make the dust fly. Crit calls me a Sunbonnet Baby because I am so afraid of not keeping to the schedule set down for me by my neighbors. Crit has bought me every patent convenience on the market to make the work easy: washing machine, electric iron and toaster, fancy mop wringer, and a dust pan that can stand up by itself and let you sweep the dirt in without stooping, vacuum carpet cleaner (but no carpets as yet), window washer and dustless dusters, fireless cooker and a steamer that can cook five things at once and blows a little whistle when the water gets low in the bottom vessel. I have no excuse for not being a good cook except that I lack the genius that you have. I thought I never should learn how to make bread but I have mastered it at last and can turn out a right good loaf and really lovely turnovers.
'Thank you so much for your hints from your Domestic Science class. I really got a lot from them. I had an awfully funny time with some bread last week. You see, having once learned how to make it, it was terribly mortifying to mix up a big batch and have it simply refuse to rise. I didn't want Crit to see it, so I took it out in the backyard and buried it in some sand the plasterers had left there. Crit came home to dinner and went out in the yard to see if his radishes were up and came in much excited: said he had found a new mushroom growth (you remember he was always interested in mushrooms and knew all kinds of edible varieties that we had never heard of). Sure enough there was a brand new variety. That hateful old dough had come up at last! The hot sand had been too much for it and it was rising to beat the band. I was strangely unsympathetic with Crit and his mushroom cult, so he came in to dinner. As soon as Crit went back to work, I went out and covered up the disgraceful failure with a lot more sand, hammered it down well and put a chicken coop on it, determined to get rid of it; but surely murder must be like yeast and it will out. When Crit came back to supper that old leaven had found its way through the cracks under the chicken coop and a little spot was appearing to the side of the sand pile. Crit was awfully excited and began to pull off pieces to send to Washington for the Government to look into the specimens, and I had to give in and tell him the truth. He almost died laughing and decided to send some anyhow, just to see what Uncle Sam would make out of it. The report has not come yet. I have lots more things to tell you about my housekeeping but I must stop now. I am so sorry I can not come home to Sue's wedding, but it is such an expensive trip out here that I do not see how Crit and I can manage it just now. Of course Crit could not come anyhow as the bridge would surely fall down if he were not here to hold it up, and even if we could afford it I should hate to leave him more than I can tell you. Oh, Molly, he is so precious! We have been married almost a year now and when I was cross about his mushrooms was the nearest we have ever come to a misunderstanding. That is doing pretty well for me who am a born pepper pot. It is all Crit, who is an angel, as I believe I remarked before. Please write to me all about your class reunion, and give my love to that adorable Julia Kean, and also remember me to that nice Professor Green.
'Your 'special sister, Mildred Brown Rutledge.'"
"What a delightful letter and how happy they are," said the professor,fingering his roll of blue prints with a sad smile. "It was good of herto remember me. Please give her my love when you write."
"I did not tell you quite all she said," confes
sed Molly, opening theletter again and reading. "She says, 'remember me to that nice ProfessorGreen, who is almost as lovely as Crit,'" and Molly beat a hastyretreat.
