The Indifference of Juliet Part 26

"May I turn off some of this light?" she asked. "You won't get the full beauty of your lamp till you give it a chance by itself."

Judith a.s.sented. Juliet snapped off three out of the four lights, and smiled mischievously at her friend. Then she extinguished the fourth, so that the only luminary left in the room was the lamp. Judith groaned.

"Maybe you like a gloomy room like this. I don't. Look at it. I can hardly see anything in the corners."

"Wait a little bit. You're so used to the glare your eyes are not good for seeing what I mean. Study the lamp itself a minute. Did you ever see anything so fascinating as the gleam through those jewels? An electric bulb inside would add to the brilliancy, though it's not so soft a light to read by, and the effect in the room isn't so warm. Observe those carnations under the lamplight, honey? Come over here to the doorway and look at your whole room under these new conditions. Isn't it charming?--enticing?--Let's draw that lovely Morris chair up close to the table, as if you were expecting Wayne to come in and read the evening paper by the lamp. _There!_"

Juliet softly clapped her hands, her face shining with friendly enthusiasm. There could be no question that the whole room, as she had said, had taken on a new look of homelike comfort and cheer which it had lacked before. Even Judith was forced to see it.

"It looks very well," she admitted. "But I should have more light from above. I like plenty of light."

"So do I, if you manage it well." Whereupon the guest, having gained her point and made sufficient demonstration of it, turned the conversation into other channels. But the lamp was not yet through with its position of reformer. The two men, having finished their cigars, and hearing sounds of merriment from the adjoining room, came strolling in. Anthony, comprehending at a glance the change which had come over the aspect of the room and the cause thereof, advanced, smiling. But Carey came to a standstill upon the threshold, his lips drawn into an astonished whistle.

"What's happened?" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, and stood staring.

"Do you like it?" asked his wife.

"I should say I did. But what's done it? What makes the room look so different? It looks--why it looks like your rooms!" he cried, gazing at Anthony.

"He can say nothing more flattering than that," said Judith, evidently not altogether pleased. "It's the highest compliment he knows."

Carey stared at the lamp. "I didn't know we had that," he said. "Is it that that does it?"

"I fancy it is," said Anthony. "I never understood it till I was taught, but it seems to be a fact that a low light in a room gives it a more homelike effect than a high one. I don't know why. It's one of my wife's pet theories."

"Well, I must say this is a pretty convincing demonstration of it," Carey agreed, sitting down in a chair in a corner, his hands in his pockets, still studying this, to him, remarkable transformation. "It certainly does look like a happy home now. Before, it was a place to receive calls in."

He turned, smiling contentedly, to his wife. Something about the glance which she returned warned him that further admiration was unnecessary. The contented smile faded a little. He got up and came over to the table.

"Now, let's have a good four-handed talk," he proposed.

Two hours later, in the seclusion of the guest-room upstairs, Anthony said under his breath:

"They're coming on, aren't they? Don't you see glimmerings of hope that some day this will resemble a home, in a sort of far-off way? Isn't Judith becoming domesticated a trifle? She didn't get up that dinner?"

Juliet turned upon him a smiling face, and laid her finger on her lip.

"Don't tempt me to discuss it," she warned him. "My feelings might run away with me, and that would never do under their very roof."

"Exemplary little guest! May I say as much as this, then? I'd give a good deal to see Wayne speak his mind once in a way, without a side glance to see if Her Royal Majesty approves."

But Juliet shook her head. "Don't tempt me," she begged again. "There's something inside of me that boils and boils with rage, and if I should just take the cover off----"

"Might I get scalded? All right--I'll leave the cover on. Just one observation more. When I get inside our own four walls again I'm going to give a tremendous whoop of joy and satisfaction that'll raise the roof right off the house!"

XXV.--THE ROBESON WILL

When people are busy and happy the years may go by like a dream. So the months rolled around and brought little Tony past the third anniversary of his birth, and into another summer of l.u.s.ty development. Except to the growing child, however, time seemed to bring slight changes to the little home under whose roof he grew. The mistress thereof lost no charm either for her husband or her friends--Anthony indeed insisted that she grew younger; certainly, as time taught her new lessons without laying hands upon her beauty, she gained attractiveness in every way.

"You look as much like a girl as ever," Anthony said to her one morning, as dressed for a trip into town she came out upon the porch where he and little Tony were frolicing together.

"You had ever a sweetly blarneying tongue," said she, and bestowed a parting caress impartially upon both the persons before her. "I feel a bit guilty at making a nursemaid of you for even one morning of your vacation, but----"

"That's all right. Do your errands with an easy conscience. I'll enjoy looking after the boy, and am rather glad your usual little maid is away.

That's one thing my vacation is for--to get upon a basis of mutual understanding and confidence with my son. We see too little of each other."

So Juliet caught the early car, and left the two male Robesons together, father and son, waving good-bye to her from the porch. When she was out of sight the elder Robeson turned to the younger.

"Now, son," he said, "I'm going to mow the lawn. What are you going to do?"

"I is going to mow lawn, too," announced Tony, Junior, with decision.

"All right, sir. Here we are. Get in front of me and mind you push hard.

That's the stuff!"

All went joyously for ten minutes. Then little Tony wriggled out from between his father's arms and went over to the porch step. He sat down and crossed two fat legs. He leaned his head upon his hand, his elbow on his knee, and watched with serious eyes the progress of the lawn-mower three times across before he said wistfully:

"Favver, I wis' you'd p'ay wiv me."

"When I get this job done perhaps I will," said Anthony, and made the gra.s.s fly merrily. Presently he put away the lawn-mower, and stood looking down at the st.u.r.dy little figure in the blue Russian blouse. "What do you want to play?" he asked. Tony's face lit up.

"Le's play fire-endjun," he proposed enthusiastically.

"Where shall we play the fire is?"

"Le's have weal fire," said Tony eagerly.

"Real fire? Well, I don't know about that, son," his father responded doubtfully. "Young persons of three are not considered old enough to play with the real thing. Won't make believe do just as well?"

"No, no--weal fire," repeated the child. "Le's put it out wiv sqi'yt watto. P'ease, favver--p'ease!"

"Sqi'wt watto," repeated Anthony, laughing. "What do you mean by----? Oh, I see----" as Tony demonstrated his meaning by running to the garden hose which remained attached to a hydrant behind the house. "Well, son--if I let you have a real fire and put it out with real water, will you promise me never to try anything of that sort by yourself?"

Tony walked over to his father and laid a little brown fist in Anthony's.

"Aw wight," he said solemnly. Anthony looked down at the clasped hands and smiled at the serious uplifted face. "Is that the way mother teaches you to promise her?" he asked, with interest.

Tony nodded. "Aw wight," he said. "Come on. Le's make fire!"

The fire was made, out of a packing-box brought up from the cellar. It burned realistically down by the orchard, and was only discovered by chance when Anthony Robeson, Junior, happened to glance that way.

"_Fire!--fire!_" he shouted, and alarmed the fire company, who, as fire companies should be, were ready to start on the instant. The hose-cart, propelled by a pair of stout legs, made a gallant dash down the edge of the garden, followed by the hook-and-ladder company, their equipment just three feet long. It took energetic and skilful work to quench the conflagration, which raged furiously and made plenty of good black smoke.

The fire chief rushed dramatically about, ordering his men with ringing commands. Once he stubbed his bare toe and fell, and for a moment it looked as though he must cry, but like the brave fellow that he was he smothered his pain behind an uplifted elbow, and in a moment was again in the thick of the fray. His men obeyed him with admirable prompt.i.tude, although, contrary to the usual custom of fire chiefs, he himself took hold of the hose and poured its volume upon the blazing structure.

When the fire was out the chief, breathless, his blue blouse bearing the marks of the encounter with flood and flame, sat down upon the overturned hose-cart and beamed upon his company.

"Vat was awful nice fire," he said. "Le's have anuver."

"Another? Oh, no," protested the company, hastily. "No more of that just now. Pick up your hook-and-ladder wagon and put it back where it belongs.