Part 13

“You, and not John, were the one who tried to queer Jim, and I would have taken the part of anyone under the circumstances,” returned Lucy indignantly, “and if you want to think evil of it, you can do so.”

“Well, John agreed with everything I said,” defended Nannie.

“Then, if he wants to think badly of me, he can too!” Lucy exclaimed angrily. “It would evidently suit you if he did.”

“How can you say that, Lucy, when I was trying to save you from just such things! That’s the gratitude a mother gets--especially if she’s forgiven a lot in her child,” complained Nannie in a tremulous voice.

“Most of the evil you are always so anxious to save me from only exists in your own mind, Mamma. I would be much more grateful if you would quit thinking of nasty things to forgive me for,” retorted Lucy bitterly.

“Well,” replied Mrs. Merwent, “I’m sure I’ve done my duty. I didn’t want John to get suspicious, but----”

“That’s why you keep suggesting vile interpretations of innocent things to him!” interpolated Lucy disgustedly, springing to her feet and gathering up her mending.

“Why, Lucy,” began Nannie, on the verge of tears. But Lucy went into the hall, and ascended the stairs.

A few moments later she returned with her hat and coat on.

“I’m going out,” she announced. Her voice was harsh. She paused in the doorway.

Nannie looked up and met her daughter’s eyes uncomfortably.

“Where are you going?” she asked finally, pulling at the handkerchief in her lap with uncertain fingers.

“I’m going to see Jim.”

“Lucy!” gasped Mrs. Merwent as the front door closed after her daughter. Jim was alone and hard at work when Lucy reached the office. The windows were open and a breeze fluttered the papers on his desk.

“Sit down,” he invited, leaning back in his chair and reaching for his pipe. “How are you all getting along at your house? Where’s the kid?”

“Dimmie’s at kindergarten.”

“Didn’t know he’d started to go,” said Jim.

“Lots of things have happened since you were out,” remarked Lucy quietly.

“Yes?” Jim lighted his pipe.

Lucy did not say more and Jim smoked a moment in silence.

“What is it, Lucy? Are you worried about something?” he inquired at last, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

Lucy nodded her head without speaking.

“Well, women always worry about one of two things, money, or another woman,” pursued Jim in a bantering tone. “Which is it?”

“Both,” said Lucy seriously.

Jim looked grave, and when he spoke again it was with a different manner.

“Can I help, Lucy?”

“I think you can, Jim. That’s why I’ve come.”

He waited for her to go on.

“John is spending too much, Jim, and Mamma encourages him in it,” Lucy began, rather suddenly, “and things are--are so I can’t do anything. I thought maybe if you--suggested to John--it might----” Lucy’s voice trailed off in embarrassment, and she opened and shut her purse nervously.

“I will,” Jim promised earnestly. “You can depend on me, Lucy.”

“I know I can, Jim.”

“And, Lucy----”

“Yes?”

“About the money. If your expenses have swamped you--you know I have something laid up. My living costs me very little, and you are awfully welcome to what I have.”

“Thank you, Jim, but you know I couldn’t take any money. Besides, we don’t need it yet, but I am frightened at the amount we are spending.”

“I didn’t mean--I mean you could pay it back if you wanted to.” Jim was very red.

“I understand, Jim, but it isn’t necessary.”

“I don’t see what’s gotten into John!” he ejaculated with feeling.

“It isn’t John,” said Lucy, “it’s Mamma.”

“Well, he ought to know----” Jim stopped speaking and glanced at Lucy.

“Yes, Jim, but so had she.”

Jim thought.

“Do you know yet if she’s going to stay--permanently?” he inquired after a pause.

“I don’t know, Jim. I shouldn’t be surprised. She talks sometimes as though she were eventually going to marry a Professor Walsh, back in Russellville. But I don’t know.”

Jim smoked hard for a while. When he spoke again his voice was low.

“Lucy, you know I would do anything in the world for you,” he said. “Anything,” he repeated vehemently.

“Yes, Jim. You are the best friend that ever was.” Lucy smiled at him frankly. “But I don’t see just how you can help in anything else.”

“I’d like to help,” he offered, almost wistfully.

“You have,” she declared, still smiling. “I feel a lot better already.”

“Do you, Lucy?” he asked eagerly. “Do I--do you--am I----” he stammered, growing red again.

“Why, of course you do,” she responded heartily and naturally. “It always does me good to talk to you.” Then she added rather plaintively, “Oh, Jim, why can’t people be honest with themselves and with others?”

“I’m damned if I know!” he declared savagely, not looking at her.

“I’m sure I don’t either,” she said, regarding him affectionately. “Well, good-bye. I’m going home.” She rose and shook hands. “Good-bye, Lucy. You can depend on me.” Jim held her hand.

“Thank you, Jim,” she answered, pressing his hand.

And she was gone.

* * * * *

Mrs. Merwent was at the piano, practising, when Lucy reached home.

“Well, did you see Mr. Sprague?” Nannie asked sarcastically, going into the hall when she heard the front door open.

“Yes,” returned Lucy calmly.

“You ought to be careful, Lucy,” reminded Nannie. “Of course _I_ wouldn’t say anything to John, but others might.”

“You can say anything you like to him,” retorted Lucy in a disgusted tone. “I’m going to tell him myself.”

That night John returned late. Nannie, Lucy, and Dimmie had finished their evening meal, and Lucy had tucked Dimmie safely into bed, when the front door clicked and a cheerful voice was heard in the hall.

“Now, Lucy, your croaking was all for nothing,” were John’s first words. “Look there!” he commanded, rushing into the living room and throwing a pile of bills on the table, his manner almost hilarious.

“How nice!” murmured Nannie.

“Where did that come from?” Lucy inquired quickly.

“Why, Jim put over a deal today while I was away, and this is my share of the lucre,” and John put his hands in his pockets and began to whistle.

“What kind of a deal was it?” persisted Lucy.

“Oh, some private scheme of his. Sold building materials or something on commission,” answered John.

Lucy looked nonplussed.

“Didn’t Mr. Sprague say anything to you about it?” Nannie inquired of Lucy in an innocent voice.

“Why, was Jim out here today?” asked John in surprise.

“No. I was at the office,” Lucy explained without hesitation.

“Why, he didn’t tell me,” said John, as though mystified. Then, apologetically, “I was only there a minute, Lucy. Went to Benton Harbor on business. I forgot to say anything about going last night.”

“Your dinner’s getting cold,” was all Lucy’s reply.

As John seated himself at the table a faint cry was heard from the upper floor and Lucy, exclaiming, “That’s Dimmie!” left the room quickly.

“John, I wish you would ask Mr. Sprague out again,” requested Nannie, when she thought her daughter was safely upstairs.

John looked teasingly at her.

“What’s the matter? Are you getting lonesome, or just yearning for more of Jim’s society?”

“Will you ask him out?” she repeated.

“Yes. Of course I will. Let’s see. Today is Tuesday. I’ll bring him out Thursday night. He’s going to work late tomorrow, I heard him say.”

“Now, don’t forget,” warned Nannie.

XX

Mrs. Merwent came downstairs with a headache, but after her insistent complaints elicited some sympathetic remarks from Lucy, she settled herself resignedly to mend a small hole in one of the grey silk stockings which she had worn to _The Madcap Girl_. It was a dull day. Lucy picked up the morning paper from the floor where John had dropped it as he went out, halted near a window and read aloud at random the few items which she thought her mother might find of interest.

“I see here that Miss Powell was one of the hostesses last night at the Ravenswood Golf Club,” said Lucy in a determinedly pleasant voice, laying the paper down.

“She has relatives with money so she can do such things,” her mother sighed, dropping the stocking into her lap and staring moodily out the window. “Little did I think I would ever be dependent on your charity,” she mourned, after a pause.

Lucy looked quickly at her mother.

“Well, I don’t envy Miss Powell. She’s too self centered to be very happy,” said Lucy.

“Like me, I suppose you mean,” complained Nannie. “I’ve ceased to expect any sympathy from you, Lucy.”

“I didn’t mean any such thing, Mamma, and you know it!” Lucy spoke with forced good nature. “You know I don’t make oblique or sarcastic comments.”

“Well, do I?” demanded her mother. “Did I ever imply that you envied Miss Powell or anyone else?”

“I didn’t mean you envied her, either,” explained Lucy. “I only said _I_ didn’t.” She spoke over her shoulder as she left the room.

She had passed up the stairs when the tinkling of the telephone sounded from the hall and Nannie rose to answer it.

“This is John,” was the reply to her faint “hello.” “Is this Nannie speaking?” “Yes,” she affirmed weakly, remembering her aching head.

“Well, I was mistaken about Jim’s working tonight. It’s tomorrow night. So I’m going to bring him out this evening. Tell Lucy, will you?”

“Certainly,” responded Nannie in a livelier tone.

“How’s your headache?”

“Oh, it’s ever so much better, thank you; it’s about all gone.”

“That’s good,” said John, and he hung up the receiver.

Lucy, dressed for the street, soon came down stairs.

“I’m going to do some shopping,” she informed Nannie. “I didn’t suppose you would care to go with your headache. I’ll be back by the time Dimmie comes from kindergarten and get him ready to go to Mrs. Hamilton’s. Your lunch is all fixed and in the refrigerator. There’s ice tea already made in the blue pitcher.”

“My headache’s not as bad as it was.”

“Well it’s too late now to wait for you to dress,” began Lucy.

“Oh, don’t worry, Lucy. I have no intention of going. I’ve got sense enough to know whether I’m wanted or not.”

“Mamma, please,” Lucy begged, almost in desperation.

“Well, Lucy, you started it.”

Lucy hurried toward the hall.

“Mr. Sprague is coming to dinner tonight,” Nannie called importantly.

Lucy halted an instant.

“Well, there’s plenty,” she called back enigmatically, and went out.

Nannie looked blank until the front door shut.

* * * * *

It was evening when Lucy returned from the city. On the train she encountered Mrs. Hamilton who had invited Dimmie to take tea with Stella. John and Jim had already arrived and were smoking in the dining room when Lucy came back from the Hamiltons’ where she had left Dimmie. Nannie, in a careful toilette with a rose in her hair, was chatting and laughing in the highest of spirits.

“Hello, Lucy!” exclaimed Jim cordially, rising and shaking hands. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m all right,” Lucy told him, smiling. “You’re not looking any too well,” he observed, glancing at her face.

“Well, I’m feeling fine, anyway.”

“Where’s Dimmie?” he inquired.

“He’s gone out to tea.”

“Getting to be quite a swell.” Jim smiled affectionately.

“Yes, and with a young lady, too,” she laughed.

“Mr. Sprague, I was talking to you,” interrupted Nannie, pouting.

“Beg your pardon, Mrs. Merwent,” said Jim, hastily resuming his chair.

“Oh, don’t apologize. I don’t expect to compete with Lucy,” she declared with the sweetest intonation of voice.

Jim colored.

“What were we talking about?” he asked, straightening his cravat.

“There! That shows how much attention you pay to _me_,” she gibed. “Come on, John! Let’s leave them together.” She rose and moved toward the living room.

“Well, dinner’s ready, so there’s no use in your taking John away,” remarked Lucy, without heat. And the four sat down at the table.

“It’s been a long time since you were here, Mr. Sprague,” began Nannie in a sprightly manner as she was serving the soup.

“Yes,” conceded Jim.

“You used to come out at least once every week before I came, so Lucy tells me, and always stayed all night, and sometimes over Sunday.”

“I have been very busy lately.” Jim’s tone was defensive and he glanced at Lucy.

“And very successful lately, I believe,” Nannie continued. “You made a fine deal yesterday, didn’t you? John told me all about it.”

“Yes--it was a good deal.”

Jim reddened again and stared at the table cloth.

Lucy’s eyes were upon him.

Shortly after dinner, Dimmie, escorted to the back gate by Mrs. Hamilton and Stella, came in through the kitchen. “Mrs. Hamilton brought me to the back gate,” he volunteered as he entered the dining room. Then, catching sight of Jim, he yelled, “Hello, Uncle Jim!” and rushed for his idol.

“You must go to sleepy town now, dear,” suggested Lucy, a few minutes later. “Say good night.” And Dimmie obeyed reluctantly, but with a special tight hug for “Uncle Jim.”

Soon the sound of Lucy’s voice as she sat upstairs singing Dimmie to sleep was heard by the trio in the dining room.

“I’ve often wondered why Lucy never sang before people,” declared Jim, lighting his pipe. “She certainly has a beautiful voice.”

“I gave her piano lessons for years,” answered Nannie quickly, “but she hasn’t kept it up. The reason I didn’t have her voice trained is that her ear is not true.”

“I never noticed that and I have overheard her singing a number of times,” persisted Jim. “Now take that thing from _Butterfly_ she is singing now, for instance. She places the difficult intervals with absolute precision. And Puccini’s music is tricky.”

“Oh, I never knew you understood music, Mr. Sprague. You never seemed particularly interested in it.”

“Why, I have listened to your singing with much pleasure, Mrs. Merwent.”

“You couldn’t get away from it,” Nannie laughed. “Come on, John. Shall I sing for you? Mr. Sprague can shut the door if he doesn’t like it!” Nannie passed into the living room, followed by John.

Lucy came down stairs.

“Well, Jim, are you deserted?” was her question, as she opened the dining room door and saw him there alone.

He nodded his head without speaking.

“Let’s go in and hear Mamma sing,” she suggested.

He hesitated an instant as if about to make some comment, and then followed her.

Mrs. Merwent ceased singing and swung around on the piano stool as they entered.

“Go on, Mamma. Don’t stop,” Lucy urged, seating herself and indicating a chair to Jim.

“Mr. Sprague had rather hear you,” said Nannie. “Nonsense, Mamma. You know I never sing,” protested Lucy, looking embarrassed. “What were you singing?”

“It’s a little thing called _Juliet at the Window_.”

“There’s to be a revival of _Romeo and Juliet_ at the Standard Theatre next week,” observed John.

“Yes. I saw by the papers that that little Hilda Knowlton is going to play Juliet. She’s much too young for the part,” said Nannie.

“I don’t see how she well could be,” objected Jim.

“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Sprague,” began Nannie. “I’ve seen Mary Anderson, and Adelaide Neilson, and Julia Arthur, and Eleanor Robson, and Julia Marlowe, all in the part, and they weren’t young girls in their teens.”

“Well, according to the play a young girl in her teens would be exactly suited to the rôle,” answered Jim tenaciously.

“I’m sure that’s the first time I ever heard anyone say such a thing,” retorted Nannie.

“I’m not the only one who said so.” Jim was smiling but obstinate.

“For instance?” demanded Nannie sneeringly.

“Shakespeare,” replied Jim.

“Nonsense!” Nannie exclaimed irritably.

Jim walked to the bookcase and took down a volume of Shakespeare’s plays.

“‘Act one, scene three,’” he read. “‘She’s not fourteen. Come Lammas-eve at night, she shall be fourteen.’”

“Well, I’ve always thought she was older anyway,” insisted Nannie, “and I’m sure almost everybody thinks so. I’ve never seen a young chit of a girl take the part, and it would generally be considered ridiculous.”

“Perhaps Shakespeare didn’t know,” said Jim.

“Oh, well, if you want to be sarcastic and nasty about it, we better not discuss it. I suppose you feel very superior and triumphant over having gotten the best of me. I’m sure it makes no difference to me how old Juliet is supposed to be. Of course _you_ never make any mistakes, Mr. Sprague.”

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Merwent, for having ventured to offer an opinion on the subject,” apologized Jim coldly.

“Here! You two people will be pulling hair in a minute,” interrupted John, breezily. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“With pleasure,” agreed Jim in the same frigid tone.

Mrs. Merwent rose without a word and made her way to the dining room.

“Where are you, Nannie?” John called after a few minutes. Receiving no reply, he stepped to the door.

“What are you sitting out here alone for?” he began. Then, in response to a sign from her, he entered the room.

“You and Jim don’t seem to get on very well tonight.” He spoke in a lowered voice as he seated himself by her side.

“Well, I’m amazed that you do,” she responded cryptically.

“What do you mean, Nannie?”

Mrs. Merwent raised her eyebrows significantly.

“You watch him,” she advised, almost in a whisper.

“Watch him?” John repeated in surprise. “Why, what for?”

“Remember what I say!” she whispered. “You watch his attitude toward Lucy. Didn’t you notice how anxious she was to defend him last night?”

An expression of understanding came into John’s eyes.

“Why, Nannie, you don’t mean----” He paused.

“I don’t mean anything.” She paused. “But it’s as I said the other night,” she added; “you’re too good and trusting, John.”

In the other room Jim had risen to take his departure.

“It’s early yet,” Lucy was saying.

“I must get back,” he insisted.

“Well, thank you for coming, anyway.”

“I’m afraid I’ve done no good,” he answered, discouragedly.

“You’ve certainly done no harm, Jim.”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head.

They went into the hall and he took up his hat.

“Good-bye, Mrs. Merwent. Good night, John,” he said formally, stepping to the dining room door.

“Good night,” returned John absently.

“Good-bye, Mr. Sprague,” Nannie responded in her usual silvery tones.

As he was leaving, Jim grasped Lucy’s hand warmly.

After he had gone, Lucy came to the dining room door and glanced in at Nannie and John. Then she turned away and ascended the stairs. Neither of them had noticed her.

XXI

Egged on by Nannie, John, though temporarily distracted by other matters, had not relinquished his determination to secure a servant, and one morning, as the result of his efforts, a girl from an employment agency presented herself.

“My name is Grace Stanley,” she announced, handing Lucy the note of introduction which John had sent, “and I do no washing, ironing, or mending, and I want Thursday and Saturday afternoons off. Of course I’ll stay today,” she concluded.

Lucy, whose protests had been in vain, had been warned of John’s intention the morning before and now without comment led the girl to the servant’s room.

About noon Nannie appeared, carefully made up and tastefully dressed in a white and green linen gown. The new servant had removed her corsets and exchanged her shoes for felt house slippers. And, when Nannie entered the dining room, was cleaning the silver ware. Grace, from the corner of her eye, gave Mrs. Merwent a shrewd glance.

“Good morning,” said Nannie, passing on to the next room where she sat down to the piano.

She finished running over some music and turned on the stool.

“My, but you sing pretty!” exclaimed Grace, who had been watching unnoticed in the doorway.

“Thank you.” Nannie smiled condescendingly, rising to pick up a volume of songs which she had laid on a nearby chair.

“Is there anything I can do for you before I start luncheon, Mrs. Winter?” the servant inquired, still hesitating in the doorway.

“I am Mrs. Merwent. Mrs. Winter is my daughter. Yes, you can come upstairs with me and I will show you how I wish my room done every day.”

“Certainly, Mrs. Merwent,” acceded Grace. And the two went upstairs together.

“I surely never would have taken you to be Mrs. Winter’s mother,” the girl asserted with conviction, as they entered Nannie’s room.

“Grace!” Lucy called from the lower hall a few minutes later. “Where are you, Grace?”

“I’m busy, Mrs. Winter,” the girl called in answer.

“Well, leave whatever you are doing. I want you to begin luncheon. It’s late already.”

“I can’t come now, Mrs. Winter,” was Grace’s retort. “I’m helping Mrs. Merwent.”

“Wait a minute, Lucy. I’m explaining the work to Grace,” Nannie shouted impatiently.

Lucy went to the kitchen and began to prepare the meal herself.

“Is that a picture of you, Mrs. Merwent?” Grace was asking Nannie, pointing to a photograph on the dressing table.

“Yes, but it was taken a long time ago,” Nannie explained modestly.

“It’s a good likeness,” declared Grace.

“Oh, I look lots older than that now!” protested Nannie.

“Well, maybe you do look a teeny bit older, but I didn’t notice it,” Grace admitted, scrutinizing the picture again. “Ain’t Mrs. Winter your step-daughter?” she pursued.

“No. She’s my own daughter,” confessed Nannie.

“My, but you must have got married young!” exclaimed the girl.

“Now, you can go down and help Mrs. Winter,” suggested Nannie pleasantly. “You understand how I want things. And don’t forget to do my room first always.”

“I’ll not forget,” Grace promised, “and whenever you want anything, you just call me, Mrs. Merwent.”

“I will, thank you, Grace.” Nannie smiled, and the servant descended to the kitchen.

Lucy was looking hot and tired when luncheon was served.

“Why is it that Jimmie always goes so early to kindergarten now-a-days?” Mrs. Merwent asked her when they had seated themselves at the table.

“He goes over to Mrs. Hamilton’s after his breakfast,” replied Lucy, “and the wagon calls there for both children.”

“I should think you would let him go from here,” observed Nannie. “I don’t see the advantage of his going over to Mrs. Hamilton’s so early. And after he comes back you always send him or take him some place. A child ought not to be away from home so much. It’s not good for him.”

Lucy made no answer.

“One would think that you’d like to see more of your child, Lucy. I used to be miserable when you were at school. But it looks as though you send him away on purpose. Perhaps you want to keep him away from my evil influence?”

Lucy continued silent.

“Why don’t you say right out, Lucy, that you don’t want me to have anything to do with him?”

“That isn’t true, Mamma, that I don’t want you to see _anything_ of him.”

“I suppose, then, you didn’t send him to kindergarten to get him away from me?”

“Well, I thought he bothered you a great deal, Mamma, and you and he are always quarreling.”

“Quarreling! I quarrel with a five year old child! You have a very dignified mother, I must say! No, that excuse won’t work. The real reason is that you want to estrange the child from me so you can have his affection all for yourself.”

“No, Mamma. That’s not so. But I do think it is bad for Dimmie to have you correcting him every time he breathes. Children should have a great deal of consideration.”