Quincy Adams Sawyer And Mason's Corner Folks Part 67

It was not necessary for Quincy to ask to whom she referred, nor to praise her powers of discernment. It was Aunt Ella's time for talking, and she was not inclined to brook any interference. So she went on.

"I want you to bring her here to me and have Rosa What-d'yer-call-her come with her. Here they can work and play until you get the nest ready for her down to Nantucket. You say she plays and sings. I love music pa.s.sionately, but I can't play a note, even on a jew's-harp; but if she plays a wrong note I shall feel inclined to call her attention to it.

When I used to go to the theatre with Robert, I delighted in telling him how badly some of the members of the orchestra were playing, but I repented of it. He got in the habit of going out between the acts to escape the music, he said, and I never could keep him in his seat after that."

Quincy laughed heartily at this. "I see no way of stopping this bad habit that gentlemen have of going out between the acts," said he, "unless you ladies combine, and insist on a higher grade of orchestral excellence."

"I have a large library," continued Aunt Ella, "and she may find many books in it that will be of use to her. Robert spent eighteen thousand dollars on it, and I've bought a couple of thousand dollars' worth more since his death. Now, what do you say, Quincy? You know I will do all in my power to make her comfortable and happy while she is here. If Maude runs up, and she's the only one that is likely to, I will tell her that I have friends here from England. I will keep her out of the way. Will you bring her?"

"If she will come, I will," Quincy replied.

"You will never repent it," said Aunt Ella. "Now let us go upstairs."

When they reached her room the cigars and cigarettes were again in requisition.

"I kept my promise the other day, Quincy," said she, "when the three girls were here. What a sweet, rosy-cheeked, healthy, happy trio they were! I wasn't more than twenty myself that day. I give you my solemn promise, Quincy, that I won't smoke a cigarette nor drink a gla.s.s of wine while Alice is here,--until after she goes to bed; and then I'll eat a clove and air the room out thoroughly before I let her in in the morning."

Quincy was up early next morning, and at ten minutes of nine reached the lodging house in Myrtle Street. He had taken a carriage, for he knew Miss Very would have her luggage, probably a trunk. His call at the door was answered by a sharp-eyed, hatchet-faced woman, whose face was red with excitement. To Quincy's inquiry if Miss Very was in, the woman replied, "that she was in and was likely to stay in."

"I trust she is not sick," said Quincy.

"No! she ain't sick," the woman replied, "what you mean by sick; but there's worse things than bein' sick, especially when a poor widder has a big house rent to pay and coal seven dollars and a half a ton."

A small trunk, neatly strapped, stood in the hallway. Glancing into the stuffy little parlor, he saw a woman, apparently young, with her veil down, seated on a sofa, with a large valise on the floor and a hand bag at her side.

Quincy divined the situation at once. Stepping into the hallway, he closed the parlor door, and, turning to the woman, said, "How much?"

"Three dollars," replied the woman, "and it's cheap enough for--"

"A miserable little dark stuffy side room, without any heat, up three flights, back," broke in Quincy, as he pa.s.sed her the money.

The woman was breathless with astonishment and anger. Taking advantage of this, Quincy opened the parlor door, first beckoning to the coachman to come in and get the trunk.

"Miss Very, I presume?" said Quincy, as he advanced towards the young lady on the sofa.

She arose as he approached, and answered, "Yes, sir."

"Come with me, please," said he, grasping the valise. She hesitated; he understood why. "It's all right," he said, in a low tone. "I've settled with the landlady, and you can settle with me any time."

"Thank you, so much," spoke a sweet voice from underneath the veil, and the owner of it followed close behind him, and he handed her into the carriage. As Quincy pulled the carriage door to, that of the lodging house closed with a report like that of a pistol, and Mrs. Colby went down stairs and told the servant, who was scrubbing the kitchen floor, what had occurred, and added that she "had always had her suspicions of that Miss Very."

While Quincy was talking with Alice the day before, his dinner that Mrs.

Hawkins had saved for him was being burned to a crisp in and on the stove. Mrs. Hawkins's attention was finally attracted to it, and, turning to Betsy, she said, "Law sakes, somethin' must be burnin'."

Running to the stove, she soon discovered the cause. "Mercy on me!" she e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "I left that damper open, and his dinner's burnt to a cinder. Wall, I don't care; he may be a good lodger, an' all that, but he's a mighty poor boarder; and it's no satisfaction gittin' up things for him to eat, and then lettin' them go to waste, even if he does pay for it. Them's my sentiments, and I'll feel better now I've spit it out."

The good woman went to work to clean up her stove, while Betsy kept on with the seemingly endless dish washing. Mrs. Hawkins finished her work, and, going to the sink, began to wipe the acc.u.mulated pile of dishes.

"I s'pose everybody in town will go to church next Sunday," said Mrs.

Hawkins, "to see them brides."

"Will they look any different than they did the other day?" Betsy innocently inquired.

"Well, I guess," remarked Mrs. Hawkins. "I saw Mandy yesterday and she told me all about her trip to the city. Mrs. Chessman went shoppin' with them, and the way she beat them shopkeepers down was a sight, Mandy says. It beats all how them rich folks can buy things so much cheaper than us poor people can. She took them all home to dinner, and Mandy says she lives in the most beautifulest house she ever saw. Then she went to the dressmakers with them, and she beat them down more'n five dollars on each gown. Then she took 'em to the millinery store, and she bought each one of them a great big handsome hat, with feathers and ribbons and flowers all over 'em. n.o.body has seen 'em yet, but all three on 'em are going to wear 'em to church next Sunday, and won't there be a stir? n.o.body'll look at the new orgin."

"I wish I could go," said Betsy.

Mrs. Hawkins rattled on: "Mandy says she took 'em all into a jewelry store, and bought each one on 'em a breast-pin, a pair of earrings, and a putty ring, to remember her by. Then she druv 'em down to the deepo in her carriage."

"I wish I could see them with all their fine things on," said Betsy, again.

"Well, you shall, Betsy," said good-hearted Mrs. Hawkins. "I'll make Jonas help me wash the dishes Sunday mornin', and you shall go to church."

Betsy's face was wreathed in smiles.

"You're so good to me, Mrs. Hawkins," she cried.

"Well," answered Mrs. Hawkins, "you've worked like a Trojan the last week, and you deserve it. I guess if I go up in the attic I can git a good look at them as they're walking home from church."

In her excitement the old lady dropped a cup and saucer on the floor, and both mistress and maid went down on their hands and knees to pick up the pieces.

CHAPTER x.x.xV.

"THE BIRD OF LOVE."

The carriage containing Quincy and Rosa was driven at a rapid rate toward the station. There was no time to lose, as some had already been lost in the altercation with Mrs. Colby. They had proceeded but a short distance, when Rosa took out a pocketbook, and, lifting her veil, turned her face to Quincy.

What a striking face it was! Large, dark blue eyes, regular features, a light olive complexion, with a strong dash of red in each cheek, full red lips, and hair of almost raven blackness. Like lightning the thought flashed through Quincy's mind, "What a contrast to my Alice!" for he always used the p.r.o.noun when he thought of her.

"Allow me to cancel part of my indebtedness to you," said Rosa, in a low, sweet voice, and Quincy again thought how pleasant that voice would be to Alice when Miss Very was reading to her.

As Rosa spoke she handed Quincy a two-dollar bill and seventy-five cents in currency.

"I owe you an explanation," she continued. "Mr. Ernst told me that I must be ready to accompany you the moment you called, so I packed and strapped my trunk last evening. When I returned from breakfast this morning I looked through my pocketbook, and found to my surprise that I lacked a quarter of a dollar of enough to pay for my week's lodging. In my haste I had put my jewel case, which contained the greater part of my money, in my trunk, and I realized that there would not be time to unpack and pack it again before your arrival. I offered Mrs. Colby the two seventy-five, and told her I would send her the balance in a letter as soon as I arrived at my destination. To my astonishment, she refused to take it, saying that she would have the three dollars or nothing."

"If I had known that," said Quincy, "she would have got nothing."

"Oh! it's all right," remarked Rosa, with a smile. "I know the poor woman has hard work to make a living, and I also know that she has lost considerable money from persons failing to pay at all or paying part of their bills and then not sending the balance, as they promised to do."

"And did she get up all that ugliness for a quarter of a dollar?"

inquired Quincy.

"Oh! that wasn't the reason at all," replied Rosa; "I've always paid her promptly and in advance. She was mad because I was going away. If she lets the room right off she will get double rent this coming week, for it so happened my week ended last night."

"Lodging-house keepers," said Quincy, "seem to be a cla.s.s by themselves, and to have peculiar financial and moral codes. Here we are at the station," he added, as the carriage came to a stop.