CHAPTER XVI
SPOKES FROM THE HUB
Four days after New Year's began a week of shut-in weather, the kindof days which drive one nearly frantic, or make one perfectly happy,according to the state of mind in which they find one. The Wyndhams,"squared" once more, with Phyllis back and their home life resumed withnothing to mar it, were in precisely the perfect contentment whichhails with rapture weather shutting out the outside world and drawingcloser together the inside one. The snow fell steadily for three days,intermittently for four more; the walking was as bad as it could be,and the city lay muffled in stillness that was hypnotic in effect, andhelped keep people within doors who had not obligations to force themout.
Jessamy, Phyllis, and Barbara reveled in the pleasure of donning oldgowns every morning and settling down to the achievement of odd taskswithout fear of interruption, and also in the chance to get talked upto date after half a year of absence on Phyllis's part. There wasan old chair which had outlived its covering, though in a melancholystate of finish, which had been condemned to the tender mercies ofthe refuse gatherer by all but Bab. She, fired with economical zeal,had long declared that she would enamel it in black, re-cover it, andhave practically a new chair at the trifling expense of a can of paintand three quarters of a yard of worsted and linen tapestry. This wasprecisely the time for which she had waited, when an old sheet could bespread on the parlor rug, and the chair allowed plenty of time to dry,with no danger of callers to be shocked by the sight and sickened bythe odor of paint; so during this "spell of weather," as Violet calledit, she began the transformation of the chair.
Jessamy had a dress to turn, which she too had been waiting to beginuntil such time as threads on the floor would not matter; and Phyllisbrought out all the piece-boxes into the parlor to set them in order inthe midst of the general festive disorder.
Jessamy could never be seriously disheveled, but she had put on heroldest gown to do her ripping, and Phyllis was "neat, but not gaudy,"Tom said, in a faded pink shirt-waist and a skirt decidedly worse forwear; for boxes were dusty, and sorting scraps hard on skirt fronts. Ofcourse Tom was not deterred by weather or bad walking from dropping indaily to keep his eye on his future family and his particular propertyin it. Bab said that the worst of being engaged to a young doctor wasthat, having office hours and few patients, he was obliged to be outat certain times for appearances' sake, and had nowhere else to goexcept to see his betrothed, which gave her very little security oftime to herself. But it was quite apparent to every one that Babbie didnot object to an arrangement which allowed Tom to drop in daily at fourto join them in their afternoon tea--which was usually chocolate.
"It really is too cozy and heavenly to be real!" cried Phyllis,suddenly, looking up from a shabby bit of ribbon she was turning everyway in the gray light to determine whether it was to be discarded orretained. "It's the blessedest sort of thing to be busy, and a trifleshabby, and all shut in, with the world shut out."
"A good deal shabby, I should say," remarked Jessamy. "Not that itmatters. It does seem like 'Myself and my wife; my son John and hiswife; us four, and no more,' doesn't it?"
"I could purr like Trucie, and I know just how he feels when he cuddlesdown under the blanket on cold nights," said Phyllis. "Cats are theonly things that can express the kind of contentment these days giveme."
"I might purr if it weren't for this horrid chair," groaned Barbara. "Iwish I'd never touched the thing! Girls, that paint isn't one minutemore dry than it was the night before last!"
Bab was a sight to behold. A long muslin gown, far past its usefulnessand beauty, hung over her loosely, betraying through certain rents thefact that she wore a black skirt under it. Black enamel paint stoodout in bold relief in great blotches on its faded groundwork, blackpaint decorated the knuckles and finger-tips of her grimy little hands.One finger was bound up where she had hammered it black and blue; for,her patience exhausted waiting for the paint to dry, she had attemptedto cover the chair while it was yet wet. Her hair would have qualifiedher for Bloomingdale, for Bab had the sort of hair which comes downwhen its owner goes into any work in earnest, and she had stuck in thehair-pins, hit or miss fashion--chiefly miss--and black paint adornedher forehead where her knuckles had brushed it. But worst of all wasthe expression of rage and despair gradually transforming her face. Thechair was undeniably a failure, and Bab did not like to fail.
"It's a shame, Babette. I wouldn't bother with the old thing anotherminute," said Jessamy, sympathetically. "I don't see why that paintdoesn't dry, or even stick to the chair; but it doesn't, so I wouldn'tget any more tired over it. It must be poor paint."
"It is fast enough anywhere but on the chair," said Barbara, surveyingher painted hands, and not grateful for Jessamy's advice. "It dries onme, and sticks wherever it lights."
"Give it up, Bab; don't spoil this beautiful, closed-in day withanything that worries," said Phyllis. "Oh, catch Truchi-ki, Jessamy;if he rubs against that enamel paint, he and I will both have an awfultime getting it off his fur! Isn't it nice that you've learned how toturn and make over your dresses, Jessamy! It is such an economy!"
"Jessamy won't admit, even to herself, that she does it to economize,"laughed Bab, the wrinkles smoothing out of her forehead as she sat backon the sheet covering the floor and clasped her knees with her hands."She pretends she makes over her dresses because she likes to, andregards the dress when it is done as such a bit of elegance that shehypnotizes others into thinking it is elegant. If you notice, Phyl,Jessamy never does admit that we are scrabbling along; and that is thereason she appears so much more high-bred than you and I do. We rathermore than merely admit that we consider a turned dress less desirablethan a new one. But Jessamy ignores, even to herself, the fact that thegoods have another side, and her dresses look cloth-of-goldy becauseshe expects no less of them. We pretend to outsiders, but Jessamypretends consistently, even to herself, and that's why it is so muchbetter pretense."
"Pretense! Oh, Bab!" cried Jessamy, reproachfully; and at that instantthe bell rang.
"It's the milkman with his bill," said Jessamy, easily. "I know hisring; besides, he is due to-day; Violet has the money ready."
It was the milkman; but as Violet, having paid him, was about toclose the door, two tall figures bounded up the stairs, and a breezymasculine voice cried: "One moment, please. Is Miss Phyllis Wyndham athome?"
"Y-es, sah," stammered Violet, with an apprehensive glance over hershoulder at the disordered parlor, where Bab was sitting on the floor,horror-stricken at the question, and Phyllis was wildly scooping up anarmful of bits from the sofa in a frantic effort to flee. But flightwas impossible, for the only exit from the small parlor was into thehall, directly opposite the door which Violet was inhospitably holdingpartly closed.
"Please give her these cards," continued the voice, and two young menentered with the serene unconsciousness of their age and sex.
"How are you, Miss Phyllis!" cried one of the arrivals, catchingsight of the object of his search in his line of vision, and utterlyoblivious to the situation.
In spite of her chagrin, Phyllis was quite honest in the cry ofpleasure with which she recognized him. "Alan Armstrong!" sheexclaimed, "and Mr. Campbell! Well, I am glad, though you have caughtus in a plight. Girls, these are my Boston friends. Miss Wyndham, MissBarbara Wyndham--Mr. Armstrong and Mr. Campbell."
Jessamy arose with the grace of the princess they called her. It reallydid not matter whether Jessamy was in rags or velvets while she woreher beautiful manner.
"You can't imagine how glad we are to see those who made dear Phyllishappy while she was away from home," Jessamy said with simplegraciousness. "It is so good of you to come all the way up-town in thisbad weather! We felt sure no one would be kind enough to come to seeus to-day, so we got out all sorts of disagreeable work; but you won'tmind disorder, I'm sure."
"We can't see it," said Alan, thinking privately Jessamy was theloveliest girl he had ever seen, and that it was quite true that no one
would waste a glance on a room when she was in it.
"If I had known you were coming I would have painted my face moreartfully," said Bab, really very much embarrassed as she thought withhorror of the muslin wrapper covering her gown, her fly-away hair, andher bedaubed hands and face.
"I should think it likely Alan or David Campbell could tell you whyyour chair won't dry, Babbie," said Phyllis, trying to help her out."My cousin has been trying to repair this rocker, and she has hammeredher finger sore covering it, and the paint sticks to everything but thewood; why is that?"
"I can't explain the hammering," said Alan, "but I suspect the troublewith the chair is that the wood was oily when you painted it. There isalways a deposit of oil from hands on chair-arms. If you had washed itin an alkali before you began, it would have been all right."
"Perhaps I would better try your prescription on myself," said Barbara."Though I am afraid nothing but a turpentine bath will do for me.It is too late to help the chair, isn't it? If you will forget youmet me in this guise, I'll come back in a few moments and let you beintroduced to Phyllis's respectable cousin Barbara."
"It is too late to do anything with the chair, I'm afraid, but we don'twant to forget we have met you," said Alan, rising to open the doorfor Bab with such politeness that she said afterward he "made her feelas neat and nice as if he had been a paint-eraser."
"Call Violet to take away the chair; tell her to send it down to thejanitor, and fold up this sheet on the floor, Bab," said Jessamy. "Ialways did suspect the women's corners in papers that tell one how tomake toilet-tables and chairs out of old barrels or packing-cases. Babhas spent three days struggling with this chair, only to throw it awayat last."
"One of the New York papers had a burlesque Household Department once,"said Alan, as he closed the door behind Bab, and turned to help Phyllistie up her boxes. "Among other things, it told the gentle reader neverto throw away her cold buckwheat cakes--that they made a lovely dadoglued at irregular intervals on blue denim, or, used in the same way,were most artistic as a porti?re border. I always think of it when Iread these crazy directions for making furniture out of coal-hods andthings. Look here; why do you all put away your work, Miss Phyllis?You'll make Heather and me feel ourselves nuisances."
"We were only doing these things for want of better interests," saidPhyllis. "I'd like to show you my little home looking respectable. I'vetold you so much of how it came to be. Do you still call David Heather?That was Rick's name for him. And you need not call me _Miss_ Phyllishere, any more than in Boston. We are all going to be informal friends."
"There's Tom!" exclaimed Jessamy, as the bell rang twice, and twiceagain, with a short pause between, and sprang to open the door for thedoctor.
"How is everything to-day, Jessamy? Where's Bab? What isthis--company?" added Tom, lowering his voice, but to a no less audiblekey.
"Mr. Armstrong, Mr. Campbell--Dr. Leighton," said Jessamy, ushering Tominto the room; "Phyllis's Boston friends, you know, Tom. And Nixie,"she added, as the little dog followed, shaking off the snow.
"Glad to see you," said Tom, with cordial hand-grasps to each. "Here'smy little lady," he added, turning joyfully to meet Bab transformedinto her pretty self, though black paint still surmounted her knuckles.Jessamy took the opportunity to slip out for like improvements, andTom cried: "Guess what's happened, Bab! I was called in for croup tothe millionaire baby on the corner, and delighted the family by myskill; relieved the choking heir at once--that's not a pun; I didn'tmean choking air! Only think! And there are five millionaire offspringin the family, not one of whom has had a single childish disease; themother told me so! Suppose I should get that practice!"
"Hope you will, I'm sure. Phyllis told us about you, and your otherprospects," said Alan, glancing at Barbara, who was gazing proudly atTom.
"The door-bell again!" cried Phyllis, as it rang. "That's Ruth'sring." And she opened the door to their friend.
"Such walking, Phyl! But I had to come. I have sat over my embroiderywithout a breath of air for five days, and I was nearly wild. Is it aparty?" added Ruth, stopping suddenly as she caught a glimpse of theparlor.
"It is rather a good imitation of one for such weather," laughedPhyllis. "My friends from Boston, who, I told you, were to be in NewYork this winter, are come, and Tom is here; that is all. Here areJessamy and auntie. I'm going to make myself presentable now; you go inwith them."
"Your friends have consented to stay to tea, Phyllis; and Ruth willstay all night," said Mrs. Wyndham, as Phyllis came back, looking sweetand fresh in her gray crepon. "We are going to have a real stormy-nightgood time, though I've no idea of what we shall find for supper."
"Supper does not matter," said David Campbell, crossing to Phyllis'sside. "I have been waiting to show you a bit of pebble my sister sentover to me. I asked her if she would let me have it for you. It camefrom the bank of Loch Leven."
"Oh, that was ever so kind of you!" cried Phyllis, gratefully, reallypleased with the thought for her the lame lad showed. "I always lovedpoor Mary Stuart; I hope you don't think her bad?"
"Bad!" echoed David, with the emphasis of a Scotsman. "Her conductmay have been somewhat erroneous, but she was brought up in an evilcourt, and was but a young bit lassie when she came to her own, and toobeautiful to be left to wicked counselors. But bad! She was never that,you know."
"I am sure she wasn't, for I always was too sorry for her not to judgeher partially; I shall prize this little stone, thinking her weary feetmay have trodden it," said Phyllis.
"That's not, so to say, possible," said honest Davy; "for most like thepebbles that were on the surface three hun'er years ago are buried now.It's juist a memento, no mair."
"Ah, well; it will do no harm to dream about it," said Phyllis. "Ishall want you to tell me all your plans after supper. Now we must allgo to work. Alan, you are to make the coffee as you did on the yacht."
"I had an aunt," Ruth was saying to Alan at that moment, and Alan didnot hear Phyllis as she spoke--"I had an aunt who married an Armstrong.That is, she was my mother's sister-in-law; her husband was FordyceArmstrong, and he lived in Boston."
"He was my father's cousin," said Alan, surprised. "Isn't that odd!Your aunt-in-law married my second cousin. What relation are we then,Miss Wells? Phyllis, your friend and I are relations of some sort;come, unsnarl us. Oh, never mind, though; we are cousins too; that'sa nice, elastic relationship, anyway."
Mrs. Wyndham brought out the chafing-dish, and Jessamy took it incharge. Jessamy was getting more and more into the way of slipping intovacancies and smoothing out possible complications in the tiny home.Bab was very occupied being engaged, and Phyllis was throwing herselfincreasingly into her hopes and work.
The supper was a success. It was settled that no one should getanything from outside; but Welsh rabbit in the chafing-dish, toast,cold meat, coffee, Bab's fresh cake, preserves, the result of Jessamy'sproud first effort in that very feminine, old-time accomplishment of"putting up" fruit--going out of fashion since women's exchanges andfancy groceries make canned goods so easily purchasable--all thesethings, brought forth from the little pantry, made a supper fit for aking, breaking up even David's silence into merriment.
When the feast was over, and the young people once more back in thelittle parlor, leaving Mrs. Wyndham with Violet to straighten mattersin the kitchen, the bell rang again, stopping Barbara's accompanimentto a college song which they were all getting ready to sing.
"Isn't it funny how people keep coming when we felt so sure of asolitary day?" said Phyllis, as she went unceremoniously to openthe door herself. It was Robert Lane whom she ushered in with moreconstraint of manner than she had shown the other visitors. OnlyJessamy felt well acquainted with the young lawyer.
Robert contrived to get Jessamy to himself for a brief but apparentlyearnest conversation under the cover of the singing; and the littleparty broke up early, after a few songs had been sung by what Tomcalled "the invested choir."
Barbara bore off Ruth to s
hare her bed. Jessamy called back Phyllis,who was following them, stopping herself to turn off the gas. "Phyl,"she said, "do you know why Mr. Lane came here to-night?"
"Apparently to see you," returned Phyllis. "He hardly noticed any oneelse."
"Yes; but it was to tell me something particular," said Jessamy, withthe suspicion of a blush in the dim light. "He thinks--oh, Phyl, hereally thinks that the information he has in regard to Mr. Abbott'sactions two years ago is going to get us back some of our money; and hesays Mr. Hurd thinks so too. Isn't it fine?"
"Oh, Jessamy, wouldn't I be thankful! But not for my own sake," addedPhyllis, hastily. "Mr. Lane seems to be very nice, Amy."
"So are both your friends very nice, Phyllis," returned Jessamy,turning out the gas, as she spoke, so Phyllis could not see her face.