The Boss of Little Arcady Part 22

"I don't know, Marcella," she said in a dreamy undertone, after draining the cup to its cherry. "I don't know--it does seem to take hold, for all it tastes so trifling."

As each lady arrived she was led to the punch-bowl. When the last one had been taught the way to that cool nook, there was a pleasant hum of voices in the room. There was still an undercurrent of difference as to the punch's merit--other than mere coolness; though Miss Eubanks now agreed with Aunt Delia that it possessed virtues not to be discerned in the first careless draught. The conversation continued to be general, to the immense delight of the hostess, for she had dreaded the ordeal of that formal opening, with its minutes of the last meeting; and she had dared even to hope that the day's paper might, by tactful management, be averted.

She waxed more daringly hopeful when Clem came to refill the punch-bowl.

She felt that she owed much to the heat of the day, which was insuring the thirst of the arrivals. The punch and general conversation seemed to suffice them even after their first thirst had been allayed. She began to wonder if the ladies were not a more unbending and genial lot than she had once suspected.

A considerable group of them now chatted vivaciously about the replenished bowl, including Madam the President, who had arrived very thirsty indeed, and who was now, between sips, accounting for the singular favor which the Adams family had always found in the sight of G.o.d and the people of Ma.s.sachusetts. She seemed to be prevailed over, not without difficulty, by Aunt Delia, who related her failure to learn from Clem the ingredients of his acceptable punch. This was not surprising, for Clem was either never able or never willing to tell how he made anything whatever. Of this punch Aunt Delia had been able to wheedle from him only that it contained "some little fixin's." Insistent questioning did develop, further, that "cold tea" was one of these; but cold tea did not make plain its recondite potencies--did not explain why a beverage so una.s.suming to the taste should inspire one with a wish to partake of it continuously.

"We might get him to make a barrel of it for the Sunday-school picnic,"

said Marcella, brightly, over her fourth cup. "If it contains only a little tea, perhaps the effect upon the children would not be deleterious."

"We'll try it," said Aunt Delia, reaching for the ladle at sight of empty cups in the hands of Mrs. Judge Robinson and Mrs. Westley Keyts.

"_I'll_ furnish the cherries and the sugar and the tea."

How it came about was never quite understood by the ladies, but the true and formal note of a Ladies' Home Study Club was never once struck that afternoon. Madam the President did not call the meeting to order, the minutes of the last meeting are unread to this day, and a motion to adjourn never became necessary.

It had been thought wisest to keep entirely away from poetry at this meeting, and the paper for the day, to have been read by Marcella Eubanks, was "The Pathos of Charles d.i.c.kens." Marcella had taken unusual pains in its preparation, bringing with her two volumes of the author from which to read at the right moment the deaths of Little Nell and Paul Dombey. She had practised these until she could make her voice quaver effectively, and she had looked forward to a genuine ovation when she sat down.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "WE MIGHT GET HIM TO MAKE A BARREL OF IT FOR THE SUNDAY-SCHOOL PICNIC."]

If it is clearly understood, then, that no one thought of calling for the paper, that even its proud author felt the hours gliding by without any poignant regret, it should be seen that the occasion had strangely come to be one of pure and joyous relaxation, with never an instructive or cultured or studious moment.

There was talk of domestic concerns, sprightly town gossip, mirth, wit, and anecdotes. Aunt Delia McCormick told her parrot story, which was _risque_, even when no gentlemen were present, for the parrot said "d.a.m.n it!" in the course of his surprisingly human repartee under difficulties.

Mrs. Westley Keyts, the bars being down, thereupon began another parrot story. But Miss Eubanks, who had observed that all parrot stories have "d.a.m.n" in them, suddenly conceived that matters had gone far enough in _that_ direction. Affecting not to have heard Mrs. Keyts's opening of "A returned missionary made a gift of a parrot to two elderly maiden ladies--" Marcella led the would-be anecdotist to the punch-bowl, and, under the cover of operations there, spoke to her in an undertone. Mrs.

Keyts said that the thing had been printed right out on the funny page of "Hearth and Home," but over the cup of punch that Marcella pressed upon her, she consented to forego it on account of the minister's wife being present.

There were other anecdotes, however; not of a parrot character, but chiefly of funny sayings of the little ones at home. Mrs. Judge Robinson, with the artistic mendacity of your true _raconteur_, accredited to her own four-year-old a speech about the stars being holes in the floor of heaven, although it was said of this gem in "Harper's Drawer," where she had read it, that "the following good one comes to us from a lady subscriber in the well-known city of X----."

It could not be recalled afterwards how, from this harmless exchange, they had come to be listening to pa.s.sages from the adventurous life of Childe Harold, read crisply by their hostess. Still less could the ladies later comprehend how some of their number had been guilty of innuendos--or worse--against the well-known Bard of Avon. Yet, so it was.

Miss Caroline herself had refrained from abusing him--had seemed to have forgotten him, indeed; but, as she read Byron to them, their hearts opened to her--rushed out, indeed, with a friendly wholeness that demanded something more than mere cordial applause of her favorite poet.

Some intimation of a sympathy with her view of the other poet came to seem not ungraceful. During one of the reader's pauses to impress upon them the splendors of the Byronic imagery, and eke its human heart-warmth, good Aunt Delia, with defiant looks about the circle, broke in with:--

"I shouldn't wonder if Shakspere _has_ been made too much over."

Mrs. Keyts stepped loyally into the breach thus effected.

"Westley thinks Shakspere isn't such an _awful_ good book," she said, feeling her way, "though it seems to me it has some very interesting and excellent pieces in it."

"Shakspere is _ver-ry_ uneven," remarked Mrs. Judge Robinson, in a tone of dignified concession.

"There is always a word to be said on either side of these matters--there is undeniably room for controversy." Thus Mrs. Potts, in her best manner of authority, from the punch-bowl.

"Let the dead rest!" gently murmured Miss Eubanks, from her dreamy corner of the biggest sofa. Her inflection was archly significant. One had to suspect that Shakspere, alive and a fair target for dispraise, might have learned something to his advantage if not to his delight.

Miss Caroline was both surprised and gratified. At the previous meeting she had detected no sign of this concurring sentiment. She plunged again into Byron with renewed enthusiasm.

The afternoon came to a glorious end, and the ladies departed with many expressions of rejoicing. They had found Miss Caroline so charming that several of them were torn with fresh pity and brought to the verge of tears when they thought of her furniture.

Marcella Eubanks did cry on the way home and had to put down her green barege veil. But that was for thinking of poor little Paul Dombey. She was mourning him as a personal loss. Also must she have adored the genius of a master who could thus move her from a calm that was const.i.tutional with every known Eubanks.

CHAPTER XVIII

IN WHICH THE GAME WAS PLAYED

The next _Argus_ said of Miss Caroline's afternoon that "the ladies present one and all report a most enjoyable time." There was another mysterious paragraph, too, farther down the column of "locals," which proclaimed that "The immovable body has at last been struck by the irresistible force and has failed to live up to its reputation. It moved and moved so you could see it move. Another bubble exploded! We live in a sensational age."

Now, while it is true that the ladies, "one and all," had spoken with entire enthusiasm of their afternoon at the unpretentious home of my neighbor, I, nevertheless, deemed it vital to hold plain speech with that impulsive woman immediately. I saw, indeed, that I should have acted after the incident of the mint juleps.

Solon Denney, who had experienced the hospitality of Miss Caroline, and who could speak from a wider knowledge than our minister or the ladies of the town, had once said:--

"Those mint juleps are simple, honest things. They taste injurious from the start. But that punch--it's hypocritical. It steals into your brain as a little child steals its rosebud hand into yours, beguiling you with prattle; but afterwards--well, if I had the choice, I'd rather be chloroformed and struck sharply with an axe. I'd be my old self again sooner." Whereupon he would have written a guarded piece for the paper about this had I not dissuaded him. But I saw that I must at once have with Miss Caroline what in a later day came to be called "a heart-to-heart talk"; and I forthwith summoned what valor I could for the ordeal.

"I never dreamed--I never suspected--how _should_ I?" she murmured pathetically, after my opening speech of a few simple but telling phrases. She listened in genuine horror while I gave the reasons why she might justly regard the call of our minister and her entertainment of the Club as nothing short of adventures--adventures which she had survived scathless not but by the favor of an indulgent Providence.

"So _that_ is what those little white satin bows mean?" she asked, and I said that it most emphatically was.

"I suspected it might be some kind of mourning for babies--a local custom, you know, though it did seem queer. What can they think of me?"

"They don't know what to think now," I said, "and if you are wise, you will never let them know."

"The Colonel was proud of that punch," she mused.

"I dare say he had reasons," I answered grimly.

"Especially after Cousin Looshe Peavey came to spend Christmas with us one time. The Colonel had always considered Cousin Looshe rather arrogant about this punch, and it may have been a special brew. I know that Cousin had an immense respect for it after he was able--that is--afterwards--"

"I can easily believe it."

"Cherry brandy--Jamaica rum--pint of Madeira--gill of port--a bit of cordial--some sherry--I forget if there's anything else."

I grasped the chair in which I sat.

"Heaven forbid!" I cried; "and don't tell me, anyway--I'm reeling now."

"But of course there are lemons and oranges and cherries and tea and _quant.i.ties_ of ice to weaken it--"

"The whole frozen polar sea itself couldn't weaken that mixture of elemental forces. See to it," I went on sternly, "that you remember only the innocent parts of it if you are ever asked for the recipe." She actually cowered.

"Also as to mint juleps--remember that you have forgotten, if you ever knew how they are made."

"Dear, _dear_--and our Bishop did enjoy his mint julep so!"