Amarilly of Clothes-line Alley Part 7

"And we took in thirty-seven cents," she said in breathless excitement, as she handed him the contents of the pie tin.

"Amarilly," he replied fervently, with the look that Colette was learning to love, "you did just right to use the surplices, and this contribution means more to me than any I have received. It was a sweet and generous thought that prompted your concert."

Amarilly's little heart glowed with pride at this acknowledgment.

At that moment came Bud, singing a s.n.a.t.c.h of his solo.

"Is this the little brother that sang the offertory?"

"Yes; that's him--Bud."

"Bud, will you sing it again for me, now?"

"Sure thing!" said the atom of a boy, promptly mounting a soap box.

He threw back a mop of thick black hair, rolled his eyes ceilingward, and let his sweet, clear voice have full sway.

"Oh, Bud, you darling! Why didn't you tell me he could sing like that, Amarilly?" cried Colette at the close of the song.

"We must have him in St. Mark's choir," declared Mr. Meredith. "You may bring him to the rectory to-morrow, Amarilly, and I will have the choirmaster try his voice. Besides receiving instruction and practice every week, he will be paid for his singing."

Money for Bud's voice! So much prosperity was scarcely believable.

"Fust the Guild school, Miss King's washing, the surpluses, and now Bud!" thought Amarilly exuberantly. "Next thing I know, I'll be on the stage."

"I must go," said Colette presently. "My car is just around the corner on the next street. John, will you ride uptown with me?"

He accepted the invitation with alacrity. Colette's sidelong glance noted a certain masterful look about his chin, and there was a warning, metallic ring in his voice that denoted a determination to overcome all obstacles and triumph by sheer force of will. She was not ready to listen to him yet, and, a ready evader of issues, chatted incessantly on the way to the car. He waited in grim patience, biding his time. As they neared the turn in the alley, she played her reserve card.

"Henry didn't think it prudent to bring the big car into the Jenkins's _cul-de-sac,_ so he waited in the next street. I expect father will be there by this time. We dropped him at a factory near by, where he was to speak to some United Workmen."

Colette smiled at the drooping of John's features as he beheld her father ensconced in the tonneau.

"Oh, John! I am glad you were here to protect my little girl through these byways. I was just on the point of looking her up myself."

When the car stopped at the rectory and Colette bade John good-night, the resolute, forward thrust was still prominent in his chin.

He went straight to his study and wrote an ardent avowal of his love.

Then he sealed the letter and dispatched it by special messenger. There would be no more suspense, he thought, for she would have to respond by a direct affirmation or negation.

CHAPTER VII

In the tide of the Jenkins's prosperity there came the inevitable ebb.

On the fateful Friday morning succeeding the concert, Mrs. Hudgers, looking from her window, saw a little group of children with books under their arms returning from school. Having no timepiece, she was accustomed to depend on the pa.s.sing to and fro of the children for guidance as to the performance of her household affairs.

"My sakes, but twelve o'clock come quick to-day," she thought, as she kindled the fire and set the kettle over it in preparation of her midday meal.

A neighbor dropping in viewed these proceedings with surprise.

"Why, Mrs. Hudgers, ain't you et yer breakfast yet?"

"Of course I hev. I'm puttin' the kittle over fer my dinner."

"Dinner! why, it's only a half arter nine."

Mrs. Hudgers looked incredulous.

"I seen the chillern agoin' hum from school," she maintained.

"Them was the Jenkinses, Iry hez come down with the scarlit fever, and they're all in quarrytine."

"How you talk! Wait till I put the kittle offen the bile."

The two neighbors sat down to discuss this affliction with the ready sympathy of the poor for the poor. Their pa.s.sing envy of the Jenkins's good fortune was instantly skimmed from the surface of their friendliness, which had only lain dormant and wanted but the touch of trouble to make them once more akin.

When the city physician had p.r.o.nounced Iry's "spell" to be scarlet fever, the other members of the household were immediately summoned by emergency calls. The children came from school, Amarilly from the theatre, and the Boarder from his switch to hold an excited family conference.

"It's a good thing we got the washin's all hum afore Iry was took,"

declared the optimistic Amarilly.

"Thar's two things here yet," reported Mrs. Jenkins. "Gus come hum too late last night to take the preacher's surplus and Miss King's lace waist. You was so tired I didn't tell you, 'cause I know'd you'd be sot on goin' with them yourself. They're all did up."

"Well, they'll hev to stay right here with us and the fever," said Amarilly philosophically.

At heart she secretly rejoiced in the retaining of these two garments, for they seemed to keep her in touch with their owners whom she would be unable to see until Iry had recovered.

"I don't see what we are going to do, Amarilly," said her mother despairingly. "Thar'll be nuthin' comin' in and so many extrys."

"No extrys," cheerfully a.s.sured the little comforter. "The city doctor'll take keer of Iry and bring the medicines. We hev laid by some sence we got the church wash. It'll tide us over till Iry gits well. We all need a vacation from work, anyhow."

At the beginning of the next week a ten-dollar bill came from Colette, "to buy jellies and things for Iry," she wrote. A similar contribution came from John Meredith.

"We air on Easy Street onct more!" cried Amarilly joyfully.

"I hate to take the money from them," sighed Mrs. Jenkins.

"We'll make it up to them when we kin work agin," consoled Amarilly.

"Better to take from friends than from the city. It won't be fer long.

Iry seems to hev took it light, the doctor said."

This diagnosis proved correct, but it had not occurred to Amarilly in her prognostications that the question of the duration of the quarantine was not entirely dependent upon Iry's convalescence. Like a row of blocks the children, with the exception of Flamingus and Amarilly, in rapid succession came down with a mild form of the fever. Mrs. Jenkins and Amarilly divided the labors of cook and nurse, but the mainstay of the family was the Boarder. He aided in the housework, and as an entertainer of the sick he proved invaluable. He told stories, drew pictures, propounded riddles, whittled boats and animals, played "Beggar my Neighbor," and sang songs for the convalescent ward.

When the last cent of the Jenkins's reserve fund and the contributions from the rector and Colette had been exhausted, the Boarder put a willing hand in his pocket and drew forth his all to share with the afflicted family. There was one appalling night when the treasury was entirely depleted, and the larder was a veritable Mother Hubbard's cupboard.

"Something will come," prophesied Amarilly trustfully.