CHAPTER VI
POOR MAGGIE
It was some days later that Mr. Smith asked Benny one afternoon to showhim the way to Miss Maggie Duff's home.
"Sure I will," agreed Benny with alacrity. "You don't ever have ter doany teasin' ter get me ter go ter Aunt Maggie's."
"You're fond of Aunt Maggie, then, I take it."
Benny's eyes widened a little.
"Why, of course! Everybody's fond of Aunt Maggie. Why, I don't knowanybody that don't like Aunt Maggie."
"I'm sure that speaks well--for Aunt Maggie," smiled Mr. Smith.
"Yep! A feller can take some comfort at Aunt Maggie's," continuedBenny, trudging along at Mr. Smith's side. "She don't have anythin'just for show, that you can't touch, like 'tis at my house, and thereain't anythin' but what you can use without gettin' snarled up in amess of covers an' tidies, like 'tis at Aunt Jane's. But Aunt Maggiedon't save anythin', Aunt Jane says, an' she'll die some day in thepoor-house, bein' so extravagant. But I don't believe she will. Do you,Mr. Smith?"
"Well, really, Benny, I--er--" hesitated the man.
"Well, I don't believe she will," repeated Benny. "I hope she won't,anyhow. Poorhouses ain't very nice, are they?"
"I--I don't think I know very much about them, Benny."
"Well, I don't believe they are, from what Aunt Jane says. And if theyain't, I don't want Aunt Maggie ter go. She hadn't ought ter haveanythin'--but Heaven--after Grandpa Duff. Do you know Grandpa Duff?"
"No, my b-boy." Mr. Smith was choking over a cough.
"He's sick. He's got a chronic grouch, ma says. Do you know what thatis?"
"I--I have heard of them."
"What are they? Anything like chronic rheumatism? I know what chronicmeans. It means it keeps goin' without stoppin'--the rheumatism, Imean, not the folks that's got it. THEY don't go at all, sometimes. OldDr. Cole don't, and that's what he's got. But when I asked ma what agrouch was, she said little boys should be seen and not heard. Maalways says that when she don't want to answer my questions. Do you?Have you got any little boys, Mr. Smith?"
"No, Benny. I'm a poor old bachelor."
"Oh, are you POOR, too? That's too bad."
"Well, that is, I--I--"
"Ma was wonderin' yesterday what you lived on. Haven't you got anymoney, Mr. Smith?"
"Oh, yes, Benny, I've got money enough--to live on." Mr. Smith spokepromptly, and with confidence this time.
"Oh, that's nice. You're glad, then, ain't you? Ma says we haven't--gotenough ter live on, I mean; but pa says we have, if we didn't try terlive like everybody else lives what's got more."
Mr. Smith bit his lip, and looked down a little apprehensively at thesmall boy at his side.
"I--I'm not sure, Benny, but _I_ shall have to say little boys shouldbe seen and not--" He stopped abruptly. Benny, with a stentorian shout,had run ahead to a gate before a small white cottage. On the cozy,vine-shaded porch sat a white-haired old man leaning forward on hiscane.
"Hi, there, Grandpa Duff, I've brought somebody ter see ye!" The gatewas open now, and Benny was halfway up the short walk. "It's Mr. Smith.Come in, Mr. Smith. Here's grandpa right here."
With a pleasant smile Mr. Smith doffed his hat and came forward.
"Thank you, Benny. How do you do, Mr. Duff?"
The man on the porch looked up sharply from beneath heavy brows.
"Humph! Your name's Smith, is it?"
"That's what they call me." The corners of Mr. Smith's mouth twitched alittle.
"Humph! Yes, I've heard of you."
"You flatter me!" Mr. Smith, on the topmost step, hesitated. "Isyour--er--daughter in, Mr. Duff?" He was still smiling cheerfully.
Mr. Duff was not smiling. His somewhat unfriendly gaze was still bentupon the newcomer.
"Just what do you want of my daughter?"
"Why, I--I--" Plainly nonplused, the man paused uncertainly. Then, witha resumption of his jaunty cheerfulness, he smiled straight into theunfriendly eyes. "I'm after some records, Mr. Duff,--records of theBlaisdell family. I'm compiling a book on--
"Humph! I thought as much," interrupted Mr. Duff curtly, settling backin his chair. "As I said, I've heard of you. But you needn't come hereasking your silly questions. I shan't tell you a thing, anyway, if youdo. It's none of your business who lived and died and what they didbefore you were born. If the Lord had wanted you to know he'd 'a' putyou here then instead of now!"
Looking very much as if he had received a blow in the face, Mr. Smithfell back.
"Aw, grandpa"--began Benny, in grieved expostulation. But a cheeryvoice interrupted, and Mr. Smith turned to see Miss Maggie Duffemerging from the doorway.
"Oh, Mr. Smith, how do you do?" she greeted him, extending a cordialhand. "Come up and sit down."
For only the briefest of minutes he hesitated. Had she heard? Could shehave heard, and yet speak so unconcernedly? It seemed impossible. Andyet--He took the chair she offered--but with a furtive glance towardthe old man. He had only a moment to wait.
Sharply Mr. Duff turned to his daughter.
"This Mr. Smith tells me he has come to see those records. Now, I'm--"
"Oh, father, dear, you couldn't!" interrupted his daughter withadmonishing earnestness. "You mustn't go and get all those down!" (Mr.Smith almost gasped aloud in his amazement, but Miss Maggie did notseem to notice him at all.) "Why, father, you couldn't--they're tooheavy for you! There are the Bible, and all those papers. They're tooheavy father. I couldn't let you. Besides, I shouldn't think you'd wantto get them!"
If Mr. Smith, hearing this, almost gasped aloud in his amazement, hequite did so at what happened next. His mouth actually fell open as hesaw the old man rise to his feet with stern dignity.
"That will do, Maggie. I'm not quite in my dotage yet. I guess I'mstill able to fetch downstairs a book and a bundle of papers." With histhumping cane a resolute emphasis to every other step, the old manhobbled into the house.
"There, grandpa, that's the talk!" crowed Benny. "But you said--"
"Er--Benny, dear," interposed Miss Maggie, in a haste so precipitatethat it looked almost like alarm, "run into the pantry and see what youcan find in the cooky jar." The last of her sentence was addressed toBenny's flying heels as they disappeared through the doorway.
Left together, Mr. Smith searched the woman's face for some hint, somesign that this extraordinary shift-about was recognized and understood;but Miss Maggie, with a countenance serenely expressing only cheerfulinterest, was over by the little stand, rearranging the pile of booksand newspapers on it.
"I think, after all," she began thoughtfully, pausing in her work,"that it will be better indoors. It blows so out here that you'll bebothered in your copying, I am afraid."
She was still standing at the table, chatting about the papers,however, when at the door, a few minutes later, appeared her father, inhis arms a big Bible, and a sizable pasteboard box.
"Right here, father, please," she said then, to Mr. Smith's dumfoundedamazement. "Just set them down right here."
The old man frowned and cast disapproving eyes on his daughter and thetable.
"There isn't room. I don't want them there," he observed coldly. "Ishall put them in here." With the words he turned back into the house.
Once again Mr. Smith's bewildered eyes searched Miss Maggie's face andonce again they found nothing but serene unconcern. She was already atthe door.
"This way, please," she directed cheerily. And, still marveling, hefollowed her into the house.
Mr. Smith thought he had never seen so charming a living-room. Acomfortable chair invited him, and he sat down. He felt suddenly restedand at home, and at peace with the world. Realizing that, in some way,the room had produced this effect, he looked curiously about him,trying to solve the secret of it.
Reluctantly to himself he confessed that it was a very ordinary room.The carpet was poor, and was badly worn. The chairs, while comfortablelooking, were manifestly not expensive, and had seen long service.Simple curtain
s were at the windows, and a few fair prints were on thewalls. Two or three vases, of good lines but cheap materials, heldflowers, and there was a plain but roomy set of shelves filled withbooks--not immaculate, leather-backed, gilt-lettered "sets" but rows ofdingy, worn volumes, whose very shabbiness was at once an invitationand a promise. Nowhere, however, could Mr. Smith see protecting covermat, or tidy. He decided then that this must be why he felt suddenly sorested and at peace with all mankind. Even as the conviction came tohim, however he was suddenly aware that everything was not, after all,peaceful or harmonious.
At the table Mr. Duff and his daughter were arranging the Bible and thepapers. Miss Maggie suggested piles in a certain order: her fatherpromptly objected, and arranged them otherwise. Miss Maggie placed thepapers first for perusal: her father said "Absurd!" and substituted theBible. Miss Maggie started to draw up a chair to the table: her fatherderisively asked her if she expected a man to sit in that--and drew upa different one. Yet Mr. Smith, when he was finally invited to take aseat at the table, found everything quite the most convenient andcomfortable possible.
Once more into Miss Maggie's face he sent a sharply inquiring glance,and once more he encountered nothing but unruffled cheerfulness.
With a really genuine interest in the records before him, Mr. Smithfell to work then. The Bible had been in the Blaisdell family forgenerations, and it was full of valuable names and dates. He began atonce to copy them.
Mr. Duff, on the other side of the table, was arranging into piles thepapers before him. He complained of the draft, and Miss Maggie shut thewindow. He said then that he didn't mean he wanted to suffocate, andshe opened the one on the other side. The clock had hardly struck threewhen he accused her of having forgotten his medicine. Yet when shebrought it he refused to take it. She had not brought the right kind ofspoon, he said, and she knew perfectly well he never took it out ofthat narrow-bowl kind. He complained of the light, and she lowered thecurtain; but he told her that he didn't mean he didn't want to see atall, so she put it up halfway. He said his coat was too warm, and shebrought another one. He put it on grudgingly, but he declared that itwas as much too thin as the other was too thick.
Mr. Smith, in spite of his efforts to be politely deaf and blind, foundhimself unable to confine his attention to birth, death, and marriagenotices. Once he almost uttered an explosive "Good Heavens, how do youstand it?" to his hostess. But he stopped himself just in time, andfiercely wrote with a very black mark that Submit Blaisdell was born ineighteen hundred and one. A little later he became aware that Mr.Duff's attention was frowningly turned across the table toward himself.
"If you will spend your time over such silly stuff, why don't you use abigger book?" demanded the old man at last.
"Because it wouldn't fit my pocket," smiled Mr. Smith.
"Just what business of yours is it, anyhow, when these people lived anddied?"
"None, perhaps," still smiled Mr. Smith good humoredly.
"Why don't you let them alone, then? What do you expect to find?"'
"Why, I--I--" Mr. Smith was plainly non-plused.
"Well, I can tell you it's a silly business, whatever you find. If youfind your grandfather's a bigger man than you are, you'll be proud ofit, but you ought to be ashamed of it--'cause you aren't biggeryourself! On the other hand, if you find he ISN'T as big as you are,you'll be ashamed of that, when you ought to be proud of it--'causeyou've gone him one better. But you won't. I know your kind. I've seenyou before. But can't you do any work, real work?"
"He is doing work, real work, now, father," interposed Miss Maggiequickly. "He's having a woeful time, too. If you'd only help him, now,and show him those papers."
A real terror came into Mr. Smith's eyes, but Mr. Duff was already onhis feet.
"Well, I shan't," he observed tartly. "I'M not a fool, if he is. I'mgoing out to the porch where I can get some air."
"There, work as long as you like, Mr. Smith. I knew you'd rather workby yourself," nodded Miss Maggie, moving the piles of papers nearer him.
"But, good Heavens, how do you stand--" exploded Mr. Smith before herealized that this time he had really said the words aloud. He blusheda painful red.
Miss Maggie, too, colored. Then, abruptly, she laughed. "After all, itdoesn't matter. Why shouldn't I be frank with you? You couldn't helpseeing--how things were, of course, and I forgot, for a moment, thatyou were a stranger. Everybody in Hillerton understands. You see,father is nervous, and not at all well. We have to humor him."
"But do you mean that you always have to tell him to do what you don'twant, in order to--well--that is--" Mr. Smith, finding himself in verydeep water, blushed again painfully.
Miss Maggie met his dismayed gaze with cheerful candor.
"Tell him to do what I DON'T want in order to get him to do what I dowant him to? Yes, oh, yes. But I don't mind; really I don't. I'm usedto it now. And when you know how, what does it matter? After all, whereis the difference? To most of the world we say, 'Please do,' when wewant a thing, while to him we have to say, 'Please don't.' That's all.You see, it's really very simple--when you know how."
"Simple! Great Scott!" muttered Mr. Smith. He wanted to say more; butMiss Maggie, with a smiling nod, turned away, so he went back to hiswork.
Benny, wandering in from the kitchen, with both hands full of cookies,plumped himself down on the cushioned window-seat, and drew a sigh ofcontent.
"Say, Aunt Maggie."
"Yes, dear."
"Can I come ter live with you?"
"Certainly not!" The blithe voice and pleasant smile took all the stingfrom the prompt refusal.
"What would father and mother do?"
"Oh, they wouldn't mind."
"Benny!"
"They wouldn't. Maybe pa would--a little; but Bess and ma wouldn't. AndI'D like it."
"Nonsense, Benny!" Miss Maggie crossed to a little stand and picked upa small box. "Here's a new picture puzzle. See if you can do it."
Benny shifted his now depleted stock of cookies to one hand, dropped tohis knees on the floor, and dumped the contents of the box upon theseat before him.
"They won't let me eat cookies any more at home--in the house, I mean.Too many crumbs."
"But you know you have to pick up your crumbs here, dear."
"Yep. But I don't mind--after I've had the fun of eatin' first. Butthey won't let me drop 'em ter begin with, there, nor take any of theboys inter the house. Honest, Aunt Maggie, there ain't anything afeller can do, 'seems so, if ye live on the West Side," he persistedsoberly.
Mr. Smith, copying dates at the table, was conscious of a slightlyapprehensive glance in his direction from Miss Maggie's eyes, as shemurmured:--
"But you're forgetting your puzzle, Benny. You've put only five piecestogether."
"I can't do puzzles there, either." Benny's voice was still mournful.
"All the more reason, then, why you should like to do them here. See,where does this dog's head go?"
Listlessly Benny took the bit of pictured wood in his fingers and beganto fit it into the pattern before him.
"I used ter do 'em an' leave 'em 'round, but ma says I can't now.Callers might come and find 'em, an' what would they say--on the WestSide! An' that's the way 'tis with everything. Ma an' Bess are alwaysdoin' things, or not doin' 'em, for those callers. An' I don't see why.They never come--not new ones.'
"Yes, yes, dear, but they will, when they get acquainted. You haven'tfound where the dog's head goes yet."
"Pa says he don't want ter get acquainted. He'd rather have the oldfriends, what don't mind baked beans, an' shirt-sleeves, an' doin' yerown work, an' what thinks more of yer heart than they do of yerpocketbook. But ma wants a hired girl. An' say, we have ter wash ourhands every meal now--on the table, I mean--in those little glasswash-dishes. Ma went down an' bought some, an' she's usin' 'em everyday, so's ter get used to 'em. She says everybody that is anybody has'em nowadays. Bess thinks they're great, but I don't. I don't like 'ema mite."
; "Oh, come, come, Benny! It doesn't matter--it doesn't really matter,does it, if you do have to use the little dishes? Come, you're not halfdoing the puzzle."
"I know it." Benny shifted his position, and picked up a three-corneredbit of wood carrying the picture of a dog's paw. "But I was justthinkin'. You see, things are so different--on the West Side. Why evenpa--he's different. He isn't there hardly any now. He's got a new job."
"What?" Miss Maggie turned from the puzzle with a start.
"Oh, just for evenin's. It's keepin' books for a man. It brings inquite a lot extry, ma says; but she wouldn't let me have some newroller skates when mine broke. She's savin' up for a chafin' dish.What's a chafin' dish? Do you know? You eat out of it, some way--Imean, it cooks things ter eat; an' Bess wants one. Gussie Pennock's gotone. ALL our eatin's different, 'seems so, on the West Side. Ma hasdinners nights now, instead of noons. She says the Pennocks do, an'everybody does who is anybody. But I don't like it. Pa don't, either,an' half the time he can't get home in time for it, anyhow, on accountof gettin' back to his new job, ye know, an'--"
"Oh, I've found where the dog's head goes," cried Miss Maggie, Therewas a hint of desperation in her voice. "I shall have your puzzle alldone for you myself, if you don't look out, Benny. I don't believe youcan do it, anyhow."
"I can, too. You just see if I can't!" retorted Benny, with suddenspirit, falling to work in earnest. "I never saw a puzzle yet Icouldn't do!"
Mr. Smith, bending assiduously over his work at the table, heard MissMaggie's sigh of relief--and echoed it, from sympathy.