Part 21

“Are you, Son?” Lucy untied his bib.

“Yes, and I want you to tell me stories like you promised to.”

“All right,” Lucy consented brightly. “Come on. Get down from your chair and kiss Papa good night, and we’ll go upstairs and I’ll tell you ever so many stories till you’re ready to go to bed.”

“Will you sing, too?” stipulated Dimmie.

“Yes, I’ll sing too,” she promised.

“I want to kiss Nannie, too,” Dimmie declared, climbing out of his chair.

“Of course you do. You wouldn’t forget Nannie, would you, Jimmie?” Mrs. Merwent put in quickly. “Wait a minute. Wipe your hands first.”

“Poor John!” sympathized Nannie as soon as they were alone. “I could see that you were tired before you spoke of it.”

“Oh, I’m all right,” exclaimed John irritably, at the same time lighting a cigarette. “I know you never let on, John, but you can always be sure that _I_ understand you, whether anyone else does or not.”

John drummed on the table.

“Let’s go into the sitting room,” suggested Mrs. Merwent, rising as Katy entered to clear the table. “Shall I sing for you?” She passed into the living room and moved toward the piano.

“I don’t believe I’ve got time,” explained John hurriedly. “I’ve got to go out tonight. I ought to catch that next train.”

“I’m so sorry,” said Nannie. “I especially wanted to talk some things over tonight. I got another letter from Professor Walsh,” she added significantly.

“Talk what things over?” John gave her a quick scrutiny.

Mrs. Merwent turned with a surprised air.

“Why, about Lucy principally, John, and--and about what ought to be done.”

“What about Lucy?”

“Well, nothing in particular, but she’s getting all worked up again about the housekeeping, and I thought you might speak to her.”

“Why should I speak to her?” John’s manner was combative. Nannie gazed at him reproachfully.

“Well, you know what you say has more effect on her than what I say. If you would just tell her to leave things to me as they have been, and not go and bother Katy with a lot of counter orders and that sort of thing. It’s pretty hard, John, for me to look after everything and then be interfered with all the time.”

John stood twirling the charm on his watch fob. When he spoke his voice showed embarrassment.

“I think, Nannie, that--that is--that it would be better--if you didn’t try to--to take things out of Lucy’s hands so much.”

Mrs. Merwent’s eyes filled with tears.

“Oh, John, how can you say such a thing when I try so hard, and all I do is for her sake? I’ve never considered myself at all.”

“I know you haven’t, Nannie,” acceded John miserably, “but I’m--I’m in a hard place. I wish you and Lucy didn’t have to--to disagree so much. I’m almost at my wits’ end.”

Nannie studied his perplexed face. Suddenly she seemed to decide something.

“All right, John. I’ll do anything you say,” she promised, wiping her eyes. “I would do _anything_ for you, John. You have been so good to me.”

John remained in an attitude of thought.

“Just try your best to get along without any friction, Nannie,” he begged. “I know it’s hard for you sometimes. Lucy’s peculiar about some things. But I’m about to go dippy with matters as they are, and I want you to help me out.”

“Poor John! Of course I will. If I had my way you would never have a care or a worry.”

“Thank you, Nannie. I knew you would help me all you could. Lucy is in a terribly nervous state and we’ve got to get her out of this silly notion that--that--well, that she’s left out--or she’ll do something foolish.”

“I understand, John. Lucy has always been curious and babyish, but now----” She paused expressively. “There has been so much tragedy in my life, John, and now to see you going through the same thing!”

“I guess you never had anybody to help you out, Nannie.” John’s voice was almost inaudible.

“John----”

“Yes, Nannie. I’ve got to be going, you know.” He moved toward the door.

Nannie linked and unlinked her fingers.

“We do sympathize with and understand each other, John! You know I told you I got another letter from Professor Walsh.”

“Well?”

“Oh, John, if it were anyone but you I would rather die than ask money of them--but the check didn’t come--and----Oh, John, what shall I do?” She began to cry.

“How much do you want, Nannie?”

“Just a little, John. But Lucy always misunderstands things--and I have no one else to go to!”

He took a bill from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. “But, John!” she protested, glancing at the denomination of the money.

“Cut that out, Nannie!” John’s voice was gruff with emotion. “Some things may happen that I can’t help, but just remember, first, last, and always, that what belongs to me and Lucy belongs to you too, and if she----” He broke off abruptly and strode into the hall.

“Oh, John, I can’t tell you----” Nannie began; but for response the front door clicked.

She sighed and looked down at the money.

* * * * *

John walked up and down the street for more than half an hour. At the end of this time he met Dr. Hamilton returning from a patient.

“Well, Mr. Winter,” the doctor halted and shook hands, “you seem to be wandering around like a lost soul.”

“I had a slight headache,” lied John, “and came out to get a little fresh air.”

“Good stunt,” approved the doctor. “You lead a pretty sedentary life, and exercise is good for you. How is Mrs. Winter?”

“Oh, I think she’s all right now.” John shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Don’t allow anything to worry or excite her, Mr. Winter,” Dr. Hamilton urged earnestly. “Her nerves and heart won’t stand it. Well, good night. I’m going to get a cup of cocoa and go to bed.”

“Good night,” answered John. “I think I’ll turn in too.” And he made his way toward home.

Letting himself in through the front entrance, John found both living room and dining room dark.

“Where’s Mrs. Merwent?” he queried of Katy, who came in after locking the kitchen door and windows.

“Why, she done went to bed, Mr. Winter, right after you all went out.”

As he ascended the stairs, he saw through the transom of Lucy’s door that her light was burning. He had been sleeping in Jim’s room for some time past, and now made his way toward it. As he was opposite Lucy’s door he heard her call softly.

“Why don’t you come in, John?” she asked.

He halted and, after a slight hesitation, turned the handle of the lock and entered. Lucy was sitting on the edge of the bed braiding her hair. She smiled pityingly at his troubled face.

“I heard you go out,” she said. “I expect you had a disagreeable time, didn’t you? What did she say?”

“Why, I had a talk with Nannie,” John parried somewhat uncertainly, “and she has agreed to--to--not to--interfere in the running of the house, and to--well, _you_ know--cut out the kind of things that get on your nerves. I thought that if she would quit worrying you,” he went on rapidly, “that it would be more--more, well, more considerate and--better, not to actually put her out of the house, at least not without any warning.” He rattled the keys in his pocket, avoiding Lucy’s gaze. “Of course if she continues to--to--that is, I mean if you don’t want her at all, we can later gradually--and----”

“And you didn’t dare tell her to go?” Lucy sprang to her feet. Her loose hair flowing down from her pale face gave her a ghost-like appearance.

“Now, Lucy,” pleaded John, his eyes meeting hers for an instant and then falling, “I really don’t think we ought to----” His voice died away.

Lucy gathered up some clothing from the bed and walked past him into the hall. A second later he heard the door of Jim’s room shut and the key turn.

John went twice to the locked door, but did not knock. Finally he went to bed in Lucy’s room. He lay restless for a long time. Once he imagined he could hear Lucy sobbing, and at length he rose to investigate. He could distinguish nothing but Nannie’s gentle snoring, and returned to bed.

After midnight he fell into a sound sleep.

XXX

When John awoke it was late and he hastened to dress. On reaching the lower hall he found the front door open. Mrs. Merwent stood on the porch staring up and down the street.

“Where in the world is Lucy?” she began. “I heard her go to Mr. Sprague’s room last night, but the door was open this morning when I went past to go down to the kitchen.”

John had a frightened expression.

“She must have gone out for an early walk,” suggested Nannie, after a minute’s time. “She used to do such things often when she was a girl, whenever she got angry.”

“It looks like it was going to rain, too,” commented John worriedly.

He reëntered the hall and took his hat from the stand.

“Did you have a quarrel last night?” Nannie catechised in a matter of fact way.

“No,” he denied shortly.

“Well, come on in, John. Don’t go out now. Wait a minute.” He had made a motion toward the door. “Eat something first. She’ll probably be back before we finish.”

He hesitated, turning his hat in his hands.

“Come on,” she coaxed. “There’s nothing to worry about.” Then, as he vacillated, she caught hold of his arm. “I’ll give you some coffee right away. The waffles won’t be fit to eat if you let them get cold, and Katy has already put them on the table. You can go and look for Lucy afterwards. She’s not gone far.”

As they turned to go in Dimmie appeared on the stairs in his night clothes.

“I want my breakfast,” he clamored. “Where’s Mamma? She ain’t in her room.” “Mamma will be back in a little while, Jimmie,” said Mrs. Merwent soothingly. “Come on and I’ll give you your breakfast.”

* * * * *

Lucy was in the train bound for the city.

She sat staring straight before her at the back of the next car seat. There were very few people going to town so early, and no one was seated beside her. Her lips moved as the train sped on.

“Jim is the only one,” she repeated over and over.

She was, if possible, paler than ever, and her eyes shone with a peculiar light.

At the station she boarded an electric car that passed the apartment house where Jim lived. She and John had been there several times together. In front of her sat a little boy in a wide sailor hat, and on the same seat was a middle-aged woman. The boy evinced all a child’s interest in his surroundings, and at length, turning around, wriggled to his knees and smiled up into Lucy’s face. His blue eyes, bobbed hair, and fresh color really suggested Dimmie, and to Lucy, in her overwrought state, the resemblance was startling.

“I can’t! Oh, I can’t do it!” she murmured passionately, to the child’s intense surprise.

His eyes opened wide and he stopped smiling, half frightened as she bent over and kissed his cheek. The middle-aged woman jerked him back into the seat and scrutinized Lucy suspiciously. Lucy rang the bell and descended from the car at the next corner.

“I’ll go back! I’ll go back!” she whimpered, as a punished child submits to an angry parent.

It had begun to drizzle. She was unmindful of the rain falling on her hat and of her bedraggled skirts. Tears rolled down her cheeks and fell with the rain drops to the pavement. She walked unsteadily and her breast heaved. Reaching the station she took the next train to Rosedene.

Midway between the station and the house she met John, who was striding along quickly, and anxiously scanning the street up and down.

“Where in the world have you been, Lucy? I’ve been worried almost crazy!” he exclaimed pettishly, coming up to her.

Staring straight before her, she did not answer or pause. John followed her to the house, glancing furtively, from time to time, at her immobile profile.

“Lucy! What in the world do you go out without telling anybody for?” cried Nannie who had been waiting in the hall. “It’s been raining, too. John and I were nervous about you.”

Without replying, Lucy proceeded upstairs. Dimmie ran through the upper hall to meet her.

“Hello, Mamma!” he called. “I thought you’d runned away. Nannie dressed me.”

Lucy caught him in her arms and went into her room, locking the door. Pulling him down beside her on the bed, she burst into a terrifying paroxysm of weeping. Dimmie soon began to cry also, from fright, and Lucy grew calmer.

“Oh, little son, little son!” she moaned again and again.

Soon Dimmie slipped to the floor and began to play with her work box, while she remained in the same position, utterly exhausted.

“It’s past time for you to go to Mrs. Hamilton’s, dear,” she observed finally, looking at the alarm clock on the table by the bed, and, at the same time, rising.

She brushed his hair and brought his hat from the wardrobe.

“Kiss Mother.”

Dimmie obeyed, then clattered down the stairs.

Once alone, Lucy rearranged her hair carefully, put on a fresh house dress, and descended to the living room.

John was walking up and down when Lucy appeared. They could hear Nannie in the dining room instructing Katy regarding luncheon. The windows were open and the breeze that stirred the curtains smelled of the rain and of some aromatic weed that grew high and thick in the adjoining meadow.

“You’ll miss your train, John,” Lucy suggested gently as she entered the room. She had regained her usual composure.

John consulted his watch. “It’s gone long ago,” he replied moodily.

“Well, you can catch the next one if you start at once.” Lucy picked up the small clock that stood beside Nannie’s metronome on the piano. “Go on,” she continued as he hesitated. “There’s no need for your staying.”

“Well, Lucy, if you’re going to do things like this at a moment’s notice, how can I----?”

“I’m not going to do anything more,” she returned calmly. “Go on to the office. You needn’t worry about me any more.”

“Well, if I was certain that you----”

“You can be certain,” assured Lucy quickly.

“Well, good-bye, then.” John moved slowly toward the hall.

“Good-bye, John,” Lucy answered.

The front door had scarcely closed after him when Nannie came in from the dining room.

“I was just giving Katy orders about luncheon, Lucy,” remarked Nannie suavely, “but of course if you want something different you can tell her and it will be all right.”

“It’s all right as it is, Mamma,” said Lucy.

Mrs. Merwent raised her eyebrows.

“Well! I’m glad you’ve started to call me by my right name.” Lucy did not speak and Nannie continued virtuously. “It’s just as you say about luncheon, Lucy. You are the mistress. I’m sure _I_ don’t want to do or say anything that will make unpleasantness. John has enough to worry about without us disagreeing. I wish we could get along without so many misunderstandings, Lucy. I’m sure I do _my_ part.”

“I wish so too, Mamma.” Lucy’s tone was free from irritation or sarcasm.

“Well, Lucy, maybe we can from now on. I know nobody tries harder or wants more to have things pleasant than I do.”

“Did you notice where my mending was put, Mamma?” Lucy inquired after a moment in the same propitiatory manner.

“Wait a minute. I think it’s under that flower stand.” Nannie brightened appreciably. “Did you find it?” she called back, on her way to the kitchen.

“Oh, yes. Here it is.” Lucy gave a trembling sigh and seated herself.

* * * * *

At almost the same moment that Lucy took up her sewing Jim was walking slowly down the boulevard, his fists in his coat pockets and his eyes fixed on the ground.

He did not notice Miss Storms’s car until it was drawn up to the kerb beside him, almost within reach.

She opened the door and leaned out.

“Get in, Jim. I want to talk to you a little,” she called. Jim obeyed without a word.

“Where were you going?” she asked, shaking hands with him.

“Nowhere in particular,” he answered.

Miss Storms gave an order through the speaking trumpet to her chauffeur, and the car started slowly.

“Jim, you’re a good boy,” she began.

“I’d rather have you think so than almost anyone,” he replied with a slight smile.

“But you’re not very deep,” she continued, smiling back at him.

“That’s no news,” he returned.

“I’ve been thinking of Lucy night and day lately. It’s up to you to straighten this thing out, Jim. I’ve tried and I can’t.”

Jim stared at the passing vehicles for several moments before he spoke.

“I know what you mean, Miss Storms. It’s no go. I’ve tried too, and only balled things all up.” He looked straight at her an instant, then glanced away once more, coloring painfully.

“But I’m helpless, Jim.”

“So am I.”

“Just wait a second.” Miss Storms touched his sleeve with her gloved fingers. “It isn’t just that Lucy’s mother thinks I’ve aided and abetted Ellen Low in stealing her husband. The trouble is that I’m not a man.” Jim’s smile was wry.

“Being a man wouldn’t help you any, Miss Storms.” He fumbled a tassel on the window curtain at his side. “I’ve tried to help Lucy all I could--and John,” he added.

Miss Storms scrutinized him with kindly eyes. He grew red to his hair.

“You poor boy!” she said at length, squeezing his hand. “Do you know, I’m inclined to fall in love with you myself.”

“Miss Storms,” he stammered, “that is--I’m afraid you don’t----”

“I’m afraid I do.” She contradicted him affectionately, releasing him and turning to the window. “Do you want to smoke?” she resumed abruptly.

“I’m afraid I’ll contaminate your cushions and curtains,” he objected.

“I wish they never had anything worse than you and your pipe around them!” Her expression was whimsical.

Jim lit his pipe.

“You’re a bad strategist, Jim,” she went on. “What is needed is attack and not defence. And Jim,” she laid her hand on his arm again, “we must save things _as they are_.”

“I understand.” He nodded. “You needn’t be afraid of me now.” He did not see the pity in her eyes at the “now.” “I don’t know what more I can do--either good or harm,” he supplemented.

“You can do everything--nearly.”

“I don’t see what you mean, Miss Storms.”

The ironical lines about her mouth deepened.

“Nobody sees,” she retorted almost impatiently. “That’s just it. Jim, I want you to memorize something. It may do you good.”

“What is it?” Jim looked puzzled.

Miss Storms held up one finger as though speaking to a child, and repeated gravely,

“Three blind mice, See how they run. They all run after the farmer’s wife. She cut off their tails with a carving knife. Did you ever see such fools in your life, As three blind mice?”

Jim regarded her with a curious expression.

“That’s it,” she ended. “There’s nothing more that could be said.”

“We’re blind mice, all right,” Jim remarked without spirit, as if to himself.

“Poor boy!” Miss Storms spoke simply, almost with tenderness.

“She’s cut more than our tails off,” he growled huskily.

Miss Storms laid her hand softly on his.

“Miss Storms, if you’ll tell me what to do, I’ll do it.” His voice had a new note.

“A flank movement is the best, Jim. You must tell Lucy’s mother that you are going to Russellville and will see the Professor Walsh she is going to marry.”

“Oh!” There was understanding and admiration in Jim’s voice.

“You might mention Minnie Sheldon, too, and I’ll find out a few more from some old letters of Ellen Low’s I have. As I told you, I am helpless on account of Ellen and Arthur Merwent. Anything I might do would make things worse, but you are exactly in the position to succeed, Jim, and it will be easy.”

“I wonder where Lucy’s mother could go,” he mused.

“Ruthlessness appears to be a purely female trait.” Miss Storms’ half humorous air was full of bitterness.

“Oh, I’ll do it all right,” Jim promised. “Don’t you worry.”

“I won’t. I’ll call you up and give you the ammunition early in the morning.”

“We’re only two blocks from the office. Let me out here,” requested Jim, observing the buildings. “Good-bye.”

“Good-bye, Jim.” They shook hands warmly.

* * * * *

John’s expression as he came into the house in the evening was worried and uncertain. He had left the office a little earlier than usual and reached Rosedene on a train which arrived there before the customary hour. He found Lucy, Dimmie, and Nannie sitting in the dining room. Lucy was reading aloud to Dimmie from a book of fairy tales and Mrs. Merwent was embroidering some underwear she had purchased on the previous day in consultation with Miss Powell. As John entered both women ceased their employment.

“Did you find everything all right at the office?” Lucy inquired with her usual simple manner.

“And are you all tired out, John?” added Nannie, smiling at him.

“No, I’m not tired,” he answered. “I was worried, that’s all.” As he spoke, he seated himself and lit a cigarette.

“Don’t worry, John,” Lucy said, drawing Dimmie to her side.

“No,” supplemented Mrs. Merwent. “There’s nothing to worry about, you poor boy.”

“Well, I’m glad if there isn’t.” He drew a long breath.

“I’m going down town again in the morning,” Nannie continued a moment later. “I just must get some more of this _lingérie_. It’s perfectly lovely. I’m going to show you _part_ of what I bought after dinner, John.” She laughed coquettishly.

“Anyone would think you were making a _trousseau_,” he commented jealously.

Nannie became suddenly serious.

“No, John. Not for the present, at least.”

There was a brief pause.

“I see Carter’s are selling out. You might add to your collection there, Mamma.” Lucy’s hands moved uneasily over Dimmie’s hair as she talked. As she turned toward the child the light falling on her face revealed its haggard outlines.

No one responded to her remark. She glanced up and caught John’s gaze fixed on her mother. He drew another sigh of evident relief.

“Do you know,” he began with something of his old expansive manner, pushing his hair back from his forehead, “I went to see the sculptures of that new Polish artist today at lunch time. He is the beginning of a new movement away from the Rodin worship of sex and emotion in art.”

“I don’t think they ought to allow some statues to be exhibited,” declared Nannie.

“It isn’t so much the moral or ethical objection that influences me,” John elaborated, “but, as I have said before, I don’t believe in the emotional and literary in art. The artist’s business is to create beauty, not to comment upon it. The public is intelligent enough to understand and appreciate real artistic achievement, without tricks to call their attention to it. You really ought to see the exhibit, Lucy.”

“I should like to,” said Lucy encouragingly.

“And I too,” seconded Nannie.

“Well, we’ll all go,” he proposed.