"She thought it was.She laughed about it; said you handled the affair in a most businesslike and unsentimental way; she never felt more like a bundle of dry-goods in her life, but that that appeared to be your manner of handling people.It was a somewhat startling manner, but very effective, she said.I don't know what she meant by that."I knew, but I did not explain.
"You don't mean to say, Mother, that you glorified me to her for an hour?" I demanded.
"No, indeed.We talked of ever so many things.Of books, and pictures, and music.I'm afraid I was rather wearisome.It seemed so good to have some one--except you, of course, dear--to discuss such subjects with.Most of my callers are not interested in them."I was silent.
"She is coming again, she says," continued Mother."She has some new books she is going to lend me.You must read them to me.And aren't those roses wonderful? She picked them, herself, in their conservatory.I told her how fond you were of flowers."I judged that the young lady must have gone away with the idea that I was a combination of longshore lout and effeminate dilettante, with the financial resources of the former.She might as well have that idea as any other, I supposed, but, in her eyes, I must be more of a freak than ever.I should take care to keep out of the sight of those eyes as much as possible.But that the millionaire's daughter had made a hit on the occasion of her first call was plain.
Not only had Mother been favorably impressed, but even the practical and unromantic Dorinda's shell was dented.She deigned to observe that the young lady seemed to have "consider'ble common-sense, considerin' her bringin' up." This, from Dorinda, was high praise, and I wondered what the caller had said or done to win such a triumph.Lute made the matter clear.
"By time!" he said, when he and I were together, "that girl's a smart one.I'd give somethin' to have her kind of smartness.
Dorindy was terrible cranky all the time she was in your ma's room and I didn't know what would happen when she come out.But the fust thing she done when she come out was to look around the dinin'
room and say, 'Oh! what a pleasant, homey place! And so clean!
Why, it is perfectly spotless!' Land sakes! the old lady thawed out like a cranberry bog in April.After that they talked about housekeepin' and cookin' and such, sociable as could be.Dorindy's goin' to give her her receipt for doughnuts next time she comes.
And I bet that girl never cooked a doughnut in her life or ever will.If I could think of the right thing to say, like that, 'twould save me more'n one ear-ache.But I never do think of it till the next day, and then it's too late."He borrowed my tobacco, filled his pipe, and continued:
"Say, Ros," he asked, "what's your idea of what made her come here?""To see Mother, of course," I answered.
"That's your notion, is it?"
"Certainly.What else?"
"Humph! There's other sick folks in town.Why don't she go to see them?""Perhaps she does.I don't know."
"I bet you ten cents she don't.No, I've been reasonin' of it out, same as I gen'rally do, and I've got some notions of my own.You don't cal'late her pa sent her so's to sort of soft soap around toward his gettin' the Shore Lane? You don't cal'late 'twas part of that game, do you?"That supposition had crossed my mind more than once.I was ashamed of it and now I denied it, indignantly.
"Of course not," I answered.
"Well, I don't think so, myself.But if 'tain't that it's another reason.She may be interested in Comfort; I don't say she ain't;but that ain't all she's interested in."
"What do you mean?"
"Never mind.I ain't said nothin'.I'm just waitin' to see, that's all.I have had some experience in this world, I have.
There's different times comin' for this family, you set that down in your log-book, Ros Paine.""Look here, Lute; if you are hinting that Miss Colton or her people intend offering us charity--""Who said anything about charity? No; if she had that idee in her head, her talk with your ma would drive it out.'Tain't charity, Iain't sayin' what 'tis....I wonder how 'twould seem to be rich.""Lute, you're growing more foolish every day.""So Dorindy says; but she nor you ain't offered no proof yet.All right, you wait and see.And say, Ros, don't mention our talk to Dorindy.She's more'n extry down on me just now, and if I breathe that Mabel Colton's name she hops right up in the air.How'd Iknow that askin' if a woman who's been sick in bed six year or more was 'in' meant could she have folks come to see her?"Mother would have discussed the Coltons with me frequently, but Iavoided the subject as much as possible.The promised books arrived--brought over by Johnson, the butler, who viewed our humble quarters with lofty disdain--and I read one of them aloud to Mother, a chapter each evening.More flowers came also and the darkened bedroom became a bower of beauty and perfume.If I had yielded to my own wishes I should have returned both roses and books.It was better, as I saw it, that we and our wealthy neighbors had nothing to do with each other.Real friendship was out of the question; the memory of Mrs.Colton's frigid bow and her reference to me as a "person" proved that.Her daughter might think otherwise, or might think that she thought so, but I knew better.However, I did not like to pain Mother by refusing offerings which, to her, were expressions of sympathy and regard, so I had no protest and tried to enthuse over the gifts and loans.
After all, what did they amount to? One tea-rose bred from Dorinda's carefully tended bush, or one gushful story book selected by Almena Doane from the new additions to the town library and sent because she thought "Mrs.Comfort might find it sort of soothin'
and distractin'," meant more real unselfish thought and kindly feeling than all the conservatory exotics and new novels which the rich girl's whim supplied from her overflowing store.I was surprised only that the whim lasted so long.
