Miss Theodosia's Heartstrings Part 5

"One! Two-o! Th-ree!" shrieked Evangeline, through to ten. Ten separate shrieks. Then, abruptly, she ceased.

"Mercy gracious, I've stopped! I hope Stefana wasn't listenin'. But she wasn't; she was cryin'. I left her cryin'. If you could come over--.

Honest, we can't do a thing! We thought you'd probably did up men."

Miss Theodosia never had. Not so--awful a thing as that!

"It stands up alone, with both arms out! I don't da.s.s to go back. I shall laugh if I do, an' if I laugh, Stefana'll cry. She don't think it's f-funny." The shrieks showed signs of returning, and Miss Theodosia again had recourse to stern measures.

"Count ten!" she demanded, as she shook.

They went back together to the mysterious something that stood alone with both arms out. It was in that pose as they approached it. Miss Theodosia thought it was f--funny; an awful desire to shriek like Evangeline took possession of her. She counted ten in inward haste.

"I can't do anything with it!" wailed poor Stefana. "And Elly Precious gets into it, and makes it walk! He's in it now."

"It's walkin'!" shrieked Evangeline, as the portentously stiff shirt staggered a little to one side. Stefana, filled with enthusiasm and generosity of soul, had starched not the bosom alone but the entire shirt. She had done it thoroughly. The result was alarming. It was a terrible shirt!

"Tell me what to do--somebody tell me!" entreated the little laundress.

"I've unstarched it, and unstarched it, and seems as if it got stiffer."

"Boiling water," breathed Miss Theodosia, too spent with her struggles not to laugh, to admit of further speech.

"Wait! Don't anybody da.s.s to pour boilin' water on till I get Elly Precious out! Come to Evangeline this minute, darlin' dear--no, they shan't boil him!"

Elly Precious emerged, crowing. The deaf-but-not-dumb little Flagg appeared, to swell the number around the Terrible Shirt. Stefana dried her tears. Miss Theodosia had the sense of being looked up to--relied upon. She rose to the occasion buoyantly. As unused as Stefana to men's bosoms, she yet stepped into the breach. Unused to issuing orders, she issued them.

"Evangeline, you and Carruthers see to the baby. Stefana, come with me.

Bring--it."

They went back to the big house, she with that new and intoxicating sense of importance, and Stefana with the Terrible Shirt.

"Whose is it--that?" she asked, indicating the creaking white garment.

"What were you doing with it?"

"Starching it," mumbled poor Stefana. "It took most a package. He said he liked his stiff. 'Put in plenty o' starch,' he said to Mother, and she always did. So I did. I thought if he said--"

"If who said?" It took a long time to establish the ident.i.ty of the Terrible Shirt.

"If he did, the man it belongs to."

"What man--who?"

"The man that writes things."

"What things?"

"We don't know exactly. Evangeline thinks tracts. She says his room was all full o' half sheets o' paper--lying all over everywhere. She saw 'Good Lord' on one. Perhaps it's sermons. Mother always sent Evangeline home with his wash; I never went. He is a very nice man--oh, that's why I feel so bad about his shirt! I wouldn't care if he was an--an infidel!"

"Bless your heart!"

Miss Theodosia turned suddenly and embraced Stefana and the shirt.

"Don't worry any more," she said; "you and I will work wonders with that Tract Man's shirt! Stefana, put the kettle on and we'll go to it!

There's nothing two determined people can't do, once they've put their minds on it."

Together they labored, and the impossible happened. Theodosia Baxter did up a man! She--and Stefana--succeeded in getting the starch out of the surrounding area and into the bosom of the Terrible Shirt. They got much starch in. Inspiration appeared to come to Miss Theodosia. Even the really awful task of ironing that bosom till it glittered and shone in unwrinkled board-like expanse was at length accomplished. Miss Theodosia was justly proud of herself--and of Stefana; she insisted upon including Stefana in her triumphs.

"Eureka!" she exulted. "Call Evangeline, Stefana, and Elly Precious, and Carruthers! Call in a Chinaman, if you like, and tell him to look at that! Ask him to beat it!"

"There isn't any in this town," responded literal Stefana. "That's why Mother did bosoms. She'd a good deal rather not've."

"But I love to do bosoms!" sang Miss Theodosia. "I never felt so worth while in my life before--an artist in starch, Stefana!"

"Well, you've done beautifully--I never did see!" the grateful Stefana cried. "But I'm afraid it's kind of gone to your head. I think you better lie down."

"Send for the Reformed Doctor! Stefana, what are you doing with my beautiful bosom?"

"I won't muss it. I'm just going to take it home and sew the b.u.t.tons on.

There's two off. Mother always sewed 'em on; he pays two cents extra for repairs."

Miss Theodosia's fair face flushed. "You don't stir a step with it! I have b.u.t.tons and a spool of thread--what I do, I finish doing! Give it to me."

For the first time, Miss Theodosia handled a man's garment intimately.

It lay stiffly across her lap. She sewed on the two b.u.t.tons; she mended a tiny "hog-tear." Life had taken on new interests--bosoms and b.u.t.tons.

She thrilled--when had she ever thrilled before? Ironing her own dresses had been a poor, tame business. She would be sorry to part with this shirt!

And then Evangeline came.

"Mercy gracious, doesn't it look elegant! I came over because he's come for his shirt. He says he's goin' to begin a new story, an' he always has to have a clean shirt on. An' his hair cut--he's got it cut. I guess that bosom'll match his hair all right! It's perfectly lovely!"

"What did you do with Elly Precious, Evangeline Flagg!" demanded Stefana.

"That's it--that's why I got to hurry back. He's keepin' Elly Precious for me, an' he don't know what to do with babies. He says all his are paper ones--paper babies! He gave Elly Precious his knife, an' opened the blades to amuse him! He said he guessed Elly Precious wouldn't hurt 'em!" Evangeline's face registered great scorn. "If you'll give it to me, I'll carry it to him," she concluded, holding out her hand for the shirt. But Miss Theodosia sewed calmly on. She had found a second tear larger than the first. It would be better to strengthen it with a little piece underneath. She would find a white sc.r.a.p in her bag of pieces.

"It is not ready yet. He can wait. But you must not wait, Evangeline.

Elly Precious may be playing with his pistol, if he carries one."

"He don't. He ain't a pistol-man, but, mercy gracious, how you scare me!

You comin' too, Stefana?"

"Yes, Stefana can go now. She is all through," which was Miss Theodosia's kind inclusion of Stefana. That, again, was curiously new to Miss Theodosia. Psychological changes were taking place--or were they just plain tugs on Miss Theodosia's heartstrings?

She sat and sewed.

"Patching--I'm patching!" she laughed to herself. "And here I've been hiring my own mending done! Theodosia Baxter, see what you are doing; you are patching a shirt for a man! No, I'm not, either! I'm doing it for Stefana--what are you talking about?"

Some one came up her steps and knocked on her open door. But she was too engrossed to hear. The patch underneath had slipped a little askew. She ripped out some of the st.i.tches and began again. She caught herself humming as she worked.

"Please may I have my shirt?" a voice asked meekly. "That story is promised for next month. It's the twenty-eighth, now."