CHAPTER X.
PHRONSIE HAS A PLAN.
Phronsie was the first to reach Charlotte's door.
"Charlotte?" she called softly through the keyhole. There was no answer,and after one or two ineffectual attempts, Phronsie turned fearfullyaway.
"I do believe something is in the room with Charlotte," she said, asPolly came running up the stairs. Then she sat down on the top step andclasped her hands. "I heard it raging up and down."
"Oh, no, Phronsie," said Polly reassuringly, "there couldn't be anythingin there with Charlotte. I'll try," and she laid a quick hand on theknob. "Oh, Charlotte, do open the door; you are worrying us all so,"called Polly imploringly.
Charlotte flung wide the door. Two red spots burned on her cheeks, andher pale blue eyes snapped. But when she saw Polly, she said, "I'm sorryI frightened you, but I'm best alone."
"Isn't there really anything in here with you, Charlotte?" askedPhronsie, getting off from her stair, to peer past Polly. "Oh, I'm sureI heard it raging up and down."
"That was I," said Charlotte; "I was the wild beast, Phronsie."
"Oh, dear," breathed Phronsie.
"And oh!" exclaimed Polly.
"Charlotte," said Phronsie, coming in to slip her hand into Charlotte's,"it was just beautiful when you sang; I thought it was birds when youwent clear up into the air. I did really, Charlotte."
"Oh, don't!" begged Charlotte, looking over at Polly.
"Come down to dinner, Charlotte," said Polly quickly. "Really you must,else I am afraid Grandpapa will be up here after you."
"I don't want any dinner," said Charlotte, drawing back.
"Indeed, but you must come down," said Polly firmly, holding out herhand. "Come, Charlotte."
"Let me smooth your hair," begged Phronsie, standing on tiptoe; "do benddown just a very little, please. There, that's it," patting Charlotte'shead with both hands; "now you look very nice; you really do--doesn'tshe, Polly."
"Yes, indeed," said Polly cheerily, "just as fine as can be. There, theyare coming after us," as quick footsteps sounded in the hall below."Hurry, Charlotte, do. We're coming, boys," she called.
They had just finished dinner, when a note was handed Polly. It ranthus:
"Do, dear Polly, run over to-morrow morning early. I want to consult youin regard to asking Miss Chatterton to sing at my next 'At Home.' Ishould be charmed to have her favor us.
"FELICIA A. CABOT."
"The very thing!" exclaimed Jasper, with only a thought for Polly'spleasure, when Polly had cried, "How nice of Mrs. Cabot!" "Don't you sayso, father?" he added.
"Assuredly," said old Mr. King with great satisfaction in Polly'spleasure, and at her success in drawing Charlotte out. And then hethought no more about it, and the bell ringing and Mr. Alstyne comingin, he went off into the library for a quiet chat.
And after this, there were no more quiet days for Charlotte Chatterton.Everybody who was musical, wanted to revel in her voice; and everybodywho wasn't, wanted the same thing because it was so talked about. So shewas asked to sing at musicales and receptions without end, until Alexiaexclaimed at last, "They are all raving, stark-mad over her, and it'sall Polly's own fault, the whole of it."
Phronsie laid down the note she was writing to Mrs. Fargo, a fortnightlater, and said to herself, "I would better do it now, I think," andgoing out, she went deliberately to old Mr. King's room, and rapped atthe door.
"Come in!" called the old gentleman, "come in! Oh, bless me, it's you,Phronsie!" in pleased surprise.
"Yes, Grandpapa," said Phronsie, coming in and shutting the doorcarefully, "I came on purpose to see you all alone."
"So you did, dear," said Mr. King, highly gratified, and pushing awayhis writing table, he held out his hand. "Now, then, Phronsie, you arenever going to be too big, you know, to sit on my knee, so hop up now."
"Oh, no, Grandpapa," cried Phronsie in a rapture, "I could never be toobig for that," so she perched up as of old on his knee, then she foldedher hands and looked gravely in his face.
"Well, my dear, what is it?" asked the old gentleman presently, "you'vecome to tell me something, I suppose."
"Yes, Grandpapa, I have," said Phronsie decidedly, "and it is mostimportant too, Grandpapa, and oh, I do wish it so much," and she claspedher hands tighter and sighed.
"Well, then, Phronsie, if you want it, I suppose it must be," said Mr.King, quite as a matter of course. "But first, child, tell me what itis," and he stroked her yellow hair.
"Grandpapa," asked Phronsie suddenly, "how much money did Mrs. Chattertonsay I was to have?"
"Oh, bless me!" exclaimed Mr. King, with a start. "Why, what makes youask such a question? Oh, she left you everything she had, Phronsie; acouple of millions or so it is; why?"
"Grandpapa," asked Phronsie, looking intently at him, "isn't Charlottevery, very poor?"
"Charlotte poor?" repeated the old gentleman. "Why, no, not exactly; herfather isn't rich, but Charlotte, I think, may do very well, especiallyas I intend to keep her here for a while, and then I shall never let hersuffer, Phronsie; never, indeed."
"Grandpapa," said Phronsie, "wasn't Mrs. Chatterton aunt to Charlotte?"
"Yes; that is, to Charlotte's father," corrected Mr. King. "But what ofthat, child, pray? What have you got into your head, Phronsie?"
"If Mrs. Chatterton was aunt to Charlotte," persisted Phronsieslowly, "it seems as if Charlotte ought to have some of the money. Itreally does, Grandpapa."
"But Cousin Eunice didn't think so, else she'd have left it toCharlotte," said Mr. King abruptly, "and she did choose to leave it toyou. So there's an end of it, Phronsie. I didn't want you to have it,but the thing was fixed, and I couldn't help myself. And neither can wedo anything now, but take matters as they are."
"I do think," said Phronsie, without taking her eyes from his face,"that maybe Mrs. Chatterton is sorry now, and wishes that she had leftsome money to Charlotte. Don't you suppose so, Grandpapa?" and one handstole up to his neck.
"Maybe," said the old gentleman, with a short laugh, "and I shouldn'twonder if Cousin Eunice was sorry over a few other things too,Phronsie."
"Wouldn't it make her very glad if I gave Charlotte some of the money?"Phronsie's red lips were very close to his ear now, "oh, I do want to somuch; you can't think, Grandpapa, how much!"
For answer, Mr. King set her down hastily on the floor, and took two orthree turns up and down the room. Phronsie stood a moment quite stillwhere he left her, then she ran up to him and slipped her hand withinhis.
"Oh, I do so wish I might," she said, "there's so much for a little girllike me. It would be so nice to have Charlotte have some with me."
Still no answer. So Phronsie went up and down silently by his side for afew more turns. Then she spoke again. "Does it make you sorry, Grandpapadear, to have me want Charlotte to have the money with me?" she askedtimidly.
"No, no, child," answered Mr. King hastily, "and yet I don't know whatto say. I don't feel that it would be right for you to give any of yourmoney to her."
"Right?" cried Phronsie, opening her brown eyes very wide. "Why, isn'tthe money my very own, Grandpapa?"
"Yes, yes, of course; but you are too young to judge of such things,"said the old gentleman decidedly, "as the giving away of property andall that."
"Oh, Grandpapa!" exclaimed Phronsie, in gentle reproach, and standingvery tall. "Why, I am thirteen."
"And when you get to be ten years older, you might blame me," said Mr.King, "and I can't say but what you'd have reason if I let you do such athing as to give away any money to Charlotte."
"Blame you? Why, Grandpapa, I couldn't." Phronsie drew a long breath,then threw herself convulsively into his arms, her face working hard inher efforts not to cry. But it was no use, and Mr. King caught her intime to see the quick drops roll down Phronsie's cheek and to feel themfall on his hand.
"Oh, dear me!" he cried in great distress, "there, there, child, youshall give away the whole if you wish; I've enough for you withouti
t--only don't cry, Phronsie. You may do anything you like, dear.There," mopping up her wet little face with his handkerchief, "nowthat's a good child; Phronsie, you are not going to cry, of course not.There, do smile a bit; that's my girl now," as a faint light stole intoPhronsie's eyes. "I didn't mean you'd really blame me, only"--
"I couldn't," still said Phronsie, and it looked as if the shower wereabout to fall again.
"I know, child; you think your old Grandpapa does just about right,"said Mr. King soothingly, and highly gratified.
"He's ever and always right," said Phronsie, still not moving.
"Bless you, child," cried the old gentleman, much moved, "I wish I couldsay I believed what you say. But many things in my life might have beenbettered."
"Oh, no, Grandpapa," protested Phronsie in a tone of horror, "theycouldn't have been better. Don't, Grandpapa, don't!" she caught himaround the neck imploringly.
"Well, I won't, child," promised Mr. King, holding her close. "And now,Phronsie, I'll tell you; I'll think of all this that you and I havetalked over, and I'll let you know by and by what you ought to do aboutit, and you mustn't say anything about it to anybody, not to a singlesoul, child. It shall be just a secret between you and me."
"I won't, Grandpapa," said Phronsie obediently, and patting his broadback with her soft hand.
"And, meantime," said Mr. King, quite satisfied, "why, Charlotte ishaving pretty good times, I think. Polly is looking out for that."
"Polly is making her have beautiful times," said Phronsie happily, "oh,very beautiful times indeed, Grandpapa."
"I expect she's an awful nuisance," the old gentleman broke outsuddenly.
"Oh, Grandpapa!" exclaimed Phronsie, breaking away from him to look intohis face.
"Well, well, perhaps I shouldn't say quite that," said Mr. King,correcting himself. "But, well, now, Phronsie, you run back to yourplay, child, and I'll set to work at once to think out this matter."
"I was writing a note to Mrs. Fargo," said Phronsie, putting up her lipsfor a kiss. "You are sure you won't make your head ache thinking aboutit, Grandpapa?" she asked anxiously.
"Sure as I can be, Phronsie," said old Mr. King, smiling. "Good-by,dear."
* * * * *
"See here, Pickering," Mr. Cabot threw wide the door of his privateoffice with a nervous hand. "It is time I had a good talk with you. Comein; I never get one nowadays."
"Can't stop, Uncle," said Pickering hastily. "Besides, what would be theuse, you never see anything encouraging about me or my career. And Ibelieve I am going to the dogs."
"Indeed you are not, Pickering," cried Mr. Cabot quickly, the colorrising to his cheek. "There, there, my sister's boy shall never saythat. But come in, come in." He laid hold of Pickering's arm and gentlyforced him into the little room.
Not to be ungracious, the young man threw himself into a chair. "Well,what is it, Uncle? Do out with it; I'm in no mood for a lecture, though,this morning."
"I'm not going to lecture you, my boy," said Mr. Cabot, closing thedoor, then going to the mantel to lean one elbow on it, a favoriteattitude of his, while he scanned his nephew. "But something worse thancommon has come to you. Can I help in any way?"
"No, no, don't ask me," ejaculated Pickering, striking his knee with oneglove, and turning apprehensively in his chair. "Oh, hang it, Uncle, whycan't you let me alone?"
"I've seen this thing, whatever it is, coming upon you for sometime,"said Mr. Cabot, too nervous to notice the entreaty in Pickering's voiceand manner, "and I cannot wait any longer to find out the trouble. It'smy right, Pickering; you have no father to see to you, and I've alwayswanted to have the best success be yours." He turned away his head now,a break coming in his voice.
"I'M NOT GOING TO LECTURE YOU."]
"You have, Uncle, you have," assented Pickering, brought out a triflefrom his distress, "but then I'm not equal to the strain my relativesput upon me. Not worth it, either," he added, relapsing into his gloom.Then he shoved his chair so that he could not look his uncle in theface, and bent a steady glance out of the window.
Mr. Cabot gave a nervous start that carried him away from the mantel astep or two. But when he was there, he felt so much worse, that he soongot back into the old position.
"I don't see, Pickering," he resumed, "why you shouldn't get along.You're through college."
"Which is a wonder," interpolated Pickering.
"Well, I can't say but that I was a good deal disturbed at one time,"said Mr. Cabot frankly; "but never mind that now, you are through," andhe heaved a sigh of relief, "and nicely established with Van Metre andCartwright. It's the best law firm in the town, Pickering." Mr. Cabotbrought his elbow off from the mantel enough to smite his palms togethersmartly in enthusiasm. "I got you in there."
"I know you did, Uncle," said Pickering; "you've done everything that'sgood. Only I repeat I'm not worth it," and he drummed on the chair-arm.
"For Heaven's sake, Pickering!" cried his uncle, darting in front of thechair and its restless occupant, "don't say that again. It's enough tomake a man go to the bad, to lose hope. What have you been doing lately?Do you gamble?"
"What do you take me for?" demanded Pickering, starting to his feet withflashing eyes, and throwing open his top-coat as if the weight oppressedhim. "I've been a lazy dog all my life, and a good-for-naught; but Ihope I've not sunk to that."
"Oh, nothing, nothing--I'm sure I didn't mean," cried Mr. Cabot,starting back suddenly in astonishment. "Dear me, Pickering," taking offhis eyeglasses to blow his nose, "you needn't pick me up so violently.I've been much worried about you," settling his glasses again foranother look at his nephew. "And I can't tolerate any thoughts I cannotspeak."
"I should think not," retorted Pickering shortly; "the trouble is inhaving the thoughts."
"And I am very much relieved to find that my fearsare groundless--that you've been about nothing that my sister or Ishould be ashamed of," and he picked up courage to step forward gingerlyand pat the young man on the shoulder. "You are in trouble, though, andI insist on knowing what it is."
Pickering dropped suddenly beneath his uncle's hand, into the nearestchair.