Part 12

“Don’t say anything about it, Mrs. Winter. Under ordinary circumstances I wouldn’t have even been tired, and it doesn’t matter a bit. I’ll just go over home now.” She rose and smoothed down her dress.

“Aren’t you afraid to go alone? Let me go with you.” Lucy started after her friend but Mrs. Hamilton was already half down the stairs.

“Not a bit!” she called cheerily over her shoulder, waving Lucy away. “Shut the door after me.” Lucy descended to the kitchen and bolted the door, then she went back to the bedroom and undressed but she did not go to sleep.

It was a long time before John and Nannie arrived. They came in a taxicab, their voices betraying high spirits, and before ascending the stairs they talked and laughed in the dining room for a while.

Finally Nannie said warningly, “We might wake Lucy, John,” and the voices and laughter became more subdued.

At last they tip-toed upstairs, where John found Lucy yet awake. He called Nannie. As she came into the bedroom, Lucy reached for a dressing sacque and threw it around her shoulders. Nannie and John sat on the edge of the bed and described the supper.

“You don’t know what you missed, Lucy! We had a lobster à la Newburg, and the _best_ wine! Sparkling Burgundy, wasn’t it, John? I didn’t know you could get wine now. I never ate so much in my life. But dear John has such perfect taste in ordering refreshments! We met Miss Powell again in the restaurant,” Nannie rattled on, “and she introduced her brother. That’s how the head waiter let us have the wine. I’m going to a theatre with them next week. He’s said to be worth two million dollars.” “We missed the last train,” volunteered John.

“We had the _best_ time,” declared Nannie ecstatically.

“Is your head better?” John inquired of Lucy.

“Yes, poor, dear Lucy! I was _so_ sorry. But I suppose you had a good time too,” Nannie finished slyly.

“What do you mean, Mamma?”

Nannie laughed.

“Why, you and Mr. Sprague had a fine chance for a _tête-à-tête_.”

“Did Jim stay long?” John asked suddenly.

“No. He didn’t come in at all,” answered Lucy with forced naturalness.

“Well, I must go to sleep, or I’ll look a fright in the morning. Good night, Lucy.”

“Good night, Mamma.”

“Good night, Nannie,” said John.

“Good night, dear John,” returned Nannie. “Here, wait a minute. I’ve got to kiss you for giving me such a lovely evening,” and she suited the action to her words. Then, with a silvery, “I hope you rest well,” she tripped out of the bedroom and across the hall.

“You ought to have stayed, Lucy,” remarked John, as he was preparing for bed. “We had lots of fun.”

Lucy did not speak.

“I would have come home with you if Jim hadn’t offered,” he went on, in the tone of one combating an argument, “but seeing that he didn’t care for any supper either, I thought there was no need for spoiling Nannie’s enjoyment. Those Hamiltons are always bragging about liking us and this is the first time we’ve ever asked anything of them as far as I know.”

Lucy was still silent.

John completed his preparations for bed, whistling softly one of the airs they had heard at the play. When ready, before turning off the light, he came around to Lucy’s side of the bed and bent down to kiss her.

She buried her face in the pillow.

“Oh, very well. Just as you like,” he said, and switched off the light.

XVIII

The morning after John’s theatre party Nannie breakfasted in high spirits and when she had done with her meal she made her way into the living room to practice the accompaniments to the two songs she had admired in the _Madcap Girl_, the music of which John had purchased in the theatre entrance after the performance.

Dimmie was amusing himself in the hall.

“Don’t make so much noise, Jimmie,” she called from the piano.

He stopped running about and sat down on a rug. In a few minutes he began drumming on the floor with his heels.

“Jimmie! Did you hear me? I tell you to stop that noise!” Nannie’s tone was one to which Dimmie was a stranger.

“What _can_ I do?” asked the child.

“Be still, like a good boy,” his grandmother answered.

“I am a good boy,” averred Dimmie, secure in his lifelong experience of the approval of himself expressed by his parents and “Uncle Jim.”

“You’re not. You’re a very bad little boy,” declared Nannie.

Dimmie’s lip quivered. Then his eyes flashed, and a look came into them which recalled Lucy.

“I _ain’t_ a bad boy! You’re a bad woman to say I’m a bad boy!”

“Well, it’s true, or I wouldn’t say it.”

“It ain’t true, neither. You’re a story to say what ain’t true about me.”

“Do you mean to say that I lie, Jimmie? Don’t you know that it’s very rude and wicked to call anybody a liar?”

“Well, you _are_ a liar!” shouted Dimmie in righteous wrath.

Lucy, entering from the kitchen, heard the indictment.

“Why, Dimmie! What in the world possessed you to say such an awful thing?” demanded his mother in astonishment.

Dimmie began to cry.

“She said I was a naughty boy,” he wailed.

“Well, you are, when you talk like that,” affirmed Lucy. “You can go upstairs to your room and stay till I tell you you can come out. I won’t have my little boy saying things like this!”

A few minutes later Mrs. Merwent peered into Dimmie’s room and saw him sitting on the floor in a corner, his mouth trembling and his eyes red and tearful.

“Come here, Jimmie,” she tempted.

“I won’t,” he refused vehemently, in all the exaltation of bursting pride that takes no heed of consequences.

“Come on, dear,” she pleaded.

“Go ’way!” he ordered gallantly. “I hate you!”

Nannie entered the room and went over to the child, kneeling down beside him. Dimmie turned his back, resolutely winking away the additional tears that flowed at the indignity of being spied on in his humiliation.

“Don’t hate Nannie,” she whispered. “Nannie loves you. Poor Nannie!”

Dimmie, still silent, winked harder than ever.

“Nannie didn’t punish you. It was Mamma,” she pursued.

“You made her,” he insisted accusingly.

“No, I didn’t, Jimmie. If I had known she was going to send you up here I wouldn’t have said anything.” Nannie’s voice was sweet and low.

“My name ain’t Jimmie. It’s Dimmie,” he stipulated, weakening.

“Oh, yes. I forgot, Dimmie. See I’ve brought you some candy,” she continued, displaying the treasure.

Dimmie’s face lighted and he put out his hand.

“Wait a minute, Jimmie--Dimmie, I mean.” Nannie pushed his hand away.

The tragedy fell on Dimmie’s soul again.

“It’s yours, Jimmie, but you mustn’t try to grab things like that.”

“Can I have all of it?” he asked anxiously.

“Yes. It’s all for you if you will love Nannie.” The bribe changed hands. Dimmie was beaming.

“Now kiss Nannie,” she commanded. “Don’t touch me with your sticky fingers,” she warned as he obeyed.

“Come on. Let’s go and find Mother,” she smiled invitingly.

“She won’t let me,” declared Dimmie, reminiscent of past similar attempts.

“Yes, she will. I’ll go with you,” and Nannie led him down the stairs. “You’ll mind Nannie after this, won’t you, dear?”

“Yes,” he promised.

“He’s going to be a good boy now, Lucy,” Nannie announced as they reached the dining room, “and he’s sorry he was rude to Nannie. Aren’t you, Jimmie?”

The culprit looked at the paper bag in his hand.

“Yes,” he said, “but my name’s Dimmie.”

“Oh, yes! I forgot. Of course it is,” smiled Nannie.

“Well, I hope my sonny boy won’t say anything like that again,” Lucy said.

Dimmie went off with his candy, meditating.

* * * * *

An hour later Lucy decided to take some patterns over to Mrs. Hamilton who, a few days before, had expressed a wish to borrow them.

“Now, you stay with your grandmother,” she bade Dimmie. “I won’t be long.”

“All right,” he agreed, examining the interior of the now empty paper bag with evident regret.

A few moments after Lucy’s departure he began to whistle.

“Don’t whistle, Jimmie,” commanded Nannie from the rocking chair where she sat embroidering.

Dimmie ceased obediently and climbed into the Morris chair.

“Don’t sit with your feet under you,” she advised. “You’ll scratch the chair.”

Dimmie dutifully altered his position. After a time he slid to the floor and, going over to the side table where some of his nursery books were kept, selected _Mother Goose_ from among them.

“Don’t carry your book that way,” warned Nannie as he trudged back to the seat he had quitted, his favorite volume hugged under his arm. “You’ll wrench the cover off.” Dimmie duly reversed the position of the book.

“Don’t put your fingers in your mouth, Jimmie. You’re too big a boy to do that,” she continued, when he had seated himself for a comfortable examination of the illustrations he admired.

He glanced up from his book and at the same time thrust the offending fingers into a pocket.

“Now, don’t sit with your hands in your pockets. You’ll pull your clothes all out of shape.”

“How _shall_ I sit?” demanded Dimmie somewhat belligerently.

“Sit straight in your chair like you ought to.”

“Uncle Jim never makes me sit straight in my chair,” objected Dimmie.

“I don’t care what Uncle Jim does. You do as I tell you. And use your handkerchief. Don’t sniff.”

“I ain’t got any handkerchief,” he complained, rummaging in his pockets.

“I don’t know what your mamma means by not giving you a handkerchief. Why, there it is on the floor by your chair, right where you dropped it!”

“Don’t rumple your hair, Jimmie! It makes you look like a scarecrow,” was the next admonition.

“What can I do?” demanded Dimmie, looking about desperately.

“You can sit still and be a good little boy until Mamma comes back.”

“I don’t want to sit still,” he insisted.

“But I want you to.”

“When is Mamma coming home?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I’m goin’ to Mis’ Hamilton’s to find her.”

“No, you’re not going to do any such thing.”

Dimmie began to cry.

“Now, Jimmie, there’s no use in your crying, just because I want you to behave yourself half decently. Stop this instant!”

“I--I--w-want my m-mamma,” sobbed Dimmie louder than ever. “What in the world is the matter?” cried Lucy agitatedly, at this moment coming in through the kitchen on her return from her neighbor’s.

“It means that you have a very naughty little boy, Lucy. He wouldn’t do anything I told him while you were away.”

“I d-did too,” declared Dimmie between sobs. “I d-did lots of things.”

“Well, you wouldn’t sit still when I told you,” said Nannie.

“He’s a very little boy to have to sit still such a long time,” replied Lucy, taking Dimmie on her lap where he began to cry comfortably with his head against her bosom.

“Lucy, I’d like to know how you expect me to have any control over the child when you take his part like that!” Nannie protested.

“I don’t expect anyone to have control over him except his father and myself,” said Lucy.

“Yet you expect me to look after him without any authority over him whatever!” retorted Mrs. Merwent.

“I won’t worry you with him again, Mamma,” returned Lucy. “I didn’t think you would mind for a few minutes.”

“There you go, Lucy! Misunderstanding me again, as usual. And over such a trivial thing, too! Much gratitude I’ve received for overlooking the past and coming more than half way! I sometimes think dear Mother was right when she said you had no heart. She never got over the way you treated her.”

After John and Lucy had retired to their room that night, Lucy said, “I am going to send Dimmie to kindergarten, John. Mrs. Hamilton’s little girl goes, and I believe it’s a good thing for young children.”

“All right,” consented John, yawning.

* * * * *

Dimmie was in such a state of excitement over the prospect of going to kindergarten with Stella Hamilton that he could hardly eat his breakfast. Lucy had dressed him in his prettiest suit, and, after the meal, he wandered aimlessly about the house, too conscious of his ceremonious costume to play.

“Ain’t it time yet, Mamma?” he asked again and again.

“No, dear, not yet,” his mother replied on each occasion. Mrs. Merwent was still asleep when Lucy telephoned to the kindergarten for the carry-all to call for Dimmie. When Nannie came downstairs she was surprised to find him in such gala array.

“Why, what are you so fixed up for, Jimmie?” she asked.

Just then Lucy entered from the back yard with some flowers in her hand. It had rained during the night and the blossoms were wet and glistening.

“I’m going to take him to kindergarten,” Lucy explained. “He’s beginning this morning.” She was dressed for the street. “You can breakfast alone, can’t you, Mamma?”

“Why, of course!” explained Nannie. “That isn’t it. In fact you needn’t keep any breakfast for me when I’m not up to eat with you and John, as far as that’s concerned. I never want any extra trouble taken for me.”

“There’s the wagon! There’s the wagon!” shouted Dimmie impatiently as he ran in from the hall.

“Let me get your sailor hat,” said Lucy as she turned away, a note of impatience in her voice.

“What made you decide all of a sudden to send him to kindergarten?” asked Nannie. “It’s the first time I’ve heard of such a plan.”

“Hurry up,” commanded Dimmie. “They’ll go past.”

“They won’t go without you,” smiled Lucy. “Here’s your hat. Let me put it on for you.”

“Why are you sending him?” persisted Nannie.

“Why, he’s old enough to go, and he’s a good deal of bother, and John and I thought it would be good for him.”

“Come on, Mamma,” urged Dimmie, pulling at her skirt.

“Bother! I suppose it’s because I try to correct him a little occasionally. Oh, I comprehend perfectly, Lucy! You never let a chance slip to humiliate me and----”

The bell rang, and through the open front door a man’s voice was heard. Lucy went into the hall.

“Is your little boy going with us this morning?” the man inquired.

“Yes, we’re ready,” replied Lucy. “Come on, Son.”

Nannie heard them as they descended the steps. Dimmie’s shrill chatter was wafted back with the click of the gate, the crack of a whip, and the clatter of the horse’s hoofs as the carry-all passed up the street.

* * * * *

John was much occupied with new work and, to Lucy’s relief, continued to neglect to carry into effect his threat regarding a servant. However, try as she might to keep down the level of her expenditures, on the first day of the next month she found herself faced with an unexpected deficit.

The evening meal was over and Nannie, according to her habit, had gone into the living room to play some of her songs. John rose and was about to follow her when Lucy called him back. He sat down again.

“I want you to go over some accounts with me, John.”

“What for?” he demurred.

“Well, we’re running behind, John, and we must do something about it.”

“We’ve always had to figure closely, Lucy.” John’s manner was nervous and instead of looking at his wife, he glanced about the room. “We’re not rich people but I don’t see why it should be any worse now than any other time.”

“Our expenses have about doubled since Mamma came,” persisted Lucy.

“Oh, I don’t think she’s had anything to do with it, or, at least, very little. One more person makes practically no difference.” John made a motion as if to rise.

“Just a minute, John. It isn’t the household expenses so much, John, but we are spending money on flowers and fruit and candy and theatres and other amusements that we didn’t use to. Miss Powell and other people have taken to dropping in to tea in the afternoon. And it all counts up.”

“Well, it’s a sort of special time, now that Nannie’s here.” John’s tone was half apologetic yet showed a tinge of irritation. His gaze kept wandering toward the living room. “We can’t make her stick in the house all the time, and never give her any little pleasures. I’ve only bought her flowers once or twice, anyway.”

“Yes, John, but Mamma may stay a long while. We can’t go on this way,” said Lucy gravely.

Nannie appeared in the doorway. “Can’t go on what way?” she echoed interrogatively, smiling at John.

“Oh, Lucy is having her monthly fret over money matters,” John explained with uneasy lightness. “She has us in the poor house about once in so often.”

“What’s the matter, John? Is your business going badly?” Nannie inquired.

“Well, no worse than usual, Nannie, but it’s a small business and doesn’t bring us in as much as we’d like.”

“Mr. Sprague is a full partner with you, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but he’s a bachelor, and a half interest is enough for him to be comfortable on.”

“Jim gave John our interest in the business,” put in Lucy.

“Well, I’m sure he was thinking of his own good when he did so,” commented Nannie. “He probably had to have somebody.”

“Of course,” agreed Lucy hastily. “He needed a partner and was glad to get John.”

“Exactly. He knew what he was about,” averred Nannie. “Mr. Sprague is not the kind of a man to lose anything on account of friendship.”

“Jim is very loyal,” put in Lucy again, “and has been a good friend to John.”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t loyal, Lucy. I only said he knew which side his bread was buttered on,” retorted Nannie.

“Well, you implied that he was thinking only of himself, Mamma, and Jim is not a selfish man.”

“I guess I’ve not been a bad investment for the firm,” interrupted John, “even if I didn’t put any money into it at the first.”

“Well, I should fancy not!” Nannie applauded quickly.

“Of course not, John. That isn’t what I meant at all,” added Lucy. “Jim himself has said a dozen times that he couldn’t have gotten along without you. But I was just objecting to the idea that Jim had exploited you for his own interest without considering ours.”

“Lucy is always ready to defend Mr. Sprague,” remarked Nannie, smiling at John once more. “She’s loyal even if the rest of us may not be.” John regarded Lucy an instant, then lowered his eyes.

“No, Mamma! That isn’t it,” said Lucy, flushing, “but I do so like to be just to everybody.”

“Well, are John and I unjust to Mr. Sprague?” continued Nannie.

“John hasn’t been, but I thought what you said was,” reiterated Lucy steadily.

“Nannie didn’t say any more than I did,” insisted John aggressively. “I guess Jim doesn’t need our sympathy over having gotten me for a partner.”

“Why, John, how can you think I meant such a thing?” Lucy’s voice showed that she was hurt.

“Oh, well, let’s not think about it, as Lucy is always saying,” suggested Nannie sweetly.

“Yes, for the Lord’s sake!” exclaimed John. “Let’s quit stewing. We’re no poorer than we’ve always been,” he finished, as though dismissing the subject, “and we have some schemes on hand at the office that ought to net us a good thing during the next few months.”

“I’m sure you work too hard down at that old office, poor boy,” and Nannie timidly put back from John’s forehead the lock of hair which he had disarranged while talking.

“I like the work.”

“And you ought to be better paid for it,” Nannie went on.

“We have hopes,” smiled John.

“I don’t believe in women interfering in business, but if you went into something for yourself, don’t you think you could make more? As it is, you work yourself nearly to death, and Mr. Sprague gets half the profits.” Nannie’s voice and manner were very gentle.

“I’ve never thought about it,” John replied, rumpling his hair again.

“I’m sure it would be a great mistake,” advised Lucy quickly.

“Why?” inquired Nannie, looking at John.

“In the first place, it wouldn’t be right,” argued Lucy, somewhat eagerly, “after all Jim has done for us--for John--it would be----” “Disloyal, I suppose,” said Nannie, supplying the word as Lucy hesitated, and appearing amused.

“Yes, disloyal,” repeated Lucy emphatically.

“Mr. Sprague certainly has a good friend in Lucy,” Nannie spoke to John.

Lucy flushed again. Her eyes flashed but she made no verbal retort.

“Is that your only reason, Lucy?” pursued Nannie in a purring tone.

“No!” Lucy’s attitude was almost defiant. “It’s not. Jim’s ability and judgment are worth a great deal in any business, and it would be foolish to----”

“I suppose, then, you think John is not capable of running a business for himself,” interposed Nannie accusingly before Lucy had finished speaking.

“Lucy is not very flattering.” John’s lip curled slightly. He produced a cigarette from his case. “But I guess I’d probably have found some way to support her, even if I had never known Jim.”

“Do you really think so, John?” asked Nannie ironically.

“Don’t you?” challenged John, half laughing.

“You dear boy, you know I think you could do anything,” she responded, squeezing his arm. “Shall we go in and try the music now?”

“Come on,” urged John, stopping, however, to light his cigarette.

They went into the living room.

Lucy remained seated in the same position, a baffled expression on her face. Dimmie had gone to sleep in a chair and a few moments later she lifted him to her shoulder and carried him upstairs to bed.

She did not return.

XIX

“John said he was going to Benton Harbor today,” Nannie observed to Lucy, who was seated near a window, darning Dimmie’s socks. She had just washed her hair and come down to the sunny dining room to dry it.

“Did he?” Lucy raised her eyes in involuntary surprise, but glanced quickly down at her sewing.

“Yes,” continued Nannie, seating herself in a comfortable rocker. “He is going to see somebody about a house decoration contract.”

“Well, he’ll be back for dinner, won’t he?” Lucy inquired.

“Oh, yes. But he’ll be late, he said. He wanted me to go with him but I was afraid of getting seasick. It’s a beautiful day after all, though!” and she gazed out the window regretfully. “I have to look through a trunk, anyway,” she added, as if comforting herself.

“I didn’t know he was going,” said Lucy.

“He was worried last night and I guess he forgot to tell you.”

Lucy began to sew with renewed determination.

“I was right sorry for John last night,” Mrs. Merwent declared. “You should be more careful what you say, Lucy.”

“What do you mean, Mamma? What have I said?”

“Why, things that make John feel that--that--why, about Mr. Sprague.”

“What about him?”

Nannie’s gaze fell before Lucy’s.

“Nothing in particular, except that you show so plainly that you----”

“That I what?” Lucy demanded almost fiercely.

“Well, that you are interested in him,” murmured Nannie, with attempted calmness, adding at once, “of course I know that there is nothing between you and Mr. Sprague, but you should consider----” She stopped abruptly.

“Consider what my husband might think, I suppose,” interrupted Lucy hotly.

“Well, when you take his part against John and me you must admit that you give people a right to think things.”