________________________________________________
_ That morning and noon had been warm, though the stirrings of a
feeble breeze made weather not flagrantly intemperate; but at
about three o'clock in the afternoon there came out of the
southwest a heat like an affliction sent upon an accursed people,
and the air was soon dead of it. Dripping negro ditch-diggers
whooped with satires praising hell and hot weather, as the
tossing shovels flickered up to the street level, where sluggish
male pedestrians carried coats upon hot arms, and fanned
themselves with straw hats, or, remaining covered, wore soaked
handkerchiefs between scalp and straw. Clerks drooped in silent,
big department stores, stenographers in offices kept as close to
electric fans as the intervening bulk of their employers would
let them; guests in hotels left the lobbies and went to lie
unclad upon their beds; while in hospitals the patients murmured
querulously against the heat, and perhaps against some noisy
motorist who strove to feel the air by splitting it, not troubled
by any fore- boding that he, too, that hour next week, might need
quiet near a hospital. The "hot spell" was a true spell, one
upon men's spirits; for it was so hot that, in suburban
outskirts, golfers crept slowly back over the low undulations of
their club lands, abandoning their matches and returning to
shelter.
Even on such a day, sizzling work had to be done, as in winter.
There were glowing furnaces to be stoked, liquid metals to be
poured; but such tasks found seasoned men standing to them; and
in all the city probably no brave soul challenged the heat more
gamely than Mrs. Adams did, when, in a corner of her small and
fiery kitchen, where all day long her hired African immune cooked
fiercely, she pressed her husband's evening clothes with a hot
iron. No doubt she risked her life, but she risked it cheerfully
in so good and necessary a service for him. She would have given
her life for him at any time, and both his and her own for her
children.
Unconscious of her own heroism, she was surprised to find herself
rather faint when she finished her ironing. However, she took
heart to believe that the clothes looked better, in spite of one
or two scorched places; and she carried them upstairs to her
husband's room before increasing blindness forced her to grope
for the nearest chair. Then, trying to rise and walk, without
having sufficiently recovered, she had to sit down again; but
after a little while she was able to get upon her feet; and,
keeping her hand against the wall, moved successfully to the door
of her own room. Here she wavered; might have gone down, had she
not been stimulated by the thought of how much depended upon
her;--she made a final great effort, and floundered across the
room to her bureau, where she kept some simple restoratives.
They served her need, or her faith in them did; and she returned
to her work.
She went down the stairs, keeping a still tremulous hand upon the
rail; but she smiled brightly when Alice looked up from below,
where the woodwork was again being tormented with superfluous
attentions.
"Alice, DON'T!" her mother said, commiseratingly. "You did all
that this morning and it looks lovely. What's the use of wearing
yourself out on it? You ought to be lying down, so's to look
fresh for to-night."
"Hadn't you better lie down yourself?" the daughter returned.
"Are you ill, mama?"
"Certainly not. What in the world makes you think so?"
"You look pretty pale," Alice said, and sighed heavily. "It
makes me ashamed, having you work so hard--for me."
"How foolish! I think it's fun, getting ready to entertain a
little again, like this. I only wish it hadn't turned so hot:
I'm afraid your poor father'll suffer--his things are pretty
heavy, I noticed. Well, it'll do him good to bear something for
style's sake this once, anyhow!" She laughed, and coming to
Alice, bent down and kissed her. "Dearie," she said, tenderly,
"wouldn't you please slip upstairs now and take just a little
teeny nap to please your mother?"
But Alice responded only by moving her head slowly, in token of
refusal.
"Do!" Mrs. Adams urged. "You don't want to look worn out, do
you?"
"I'll LOOK all right," Alice said, huskily. "Do you like the way
I've arranged the furniture now? I've tried all the different
ways it'll go."
"It's lovely," her mother said, admiringly. "I thought the last
way you had it was pretty, too. But you know best; I never knew
anybody with so much taste. If you'd only just quit now, and
take a little rest----"
"There'd hardly be time, even if I wanted to; it's after five but
I couldn't; really, I couldn't. How do you think we can manage
about Walter--to see that he wears his evening things, I mean?"
Mrs. Adams pondered. "I'm afraid he'll make a lot of
objections, on account of the weather and everything. I wish
we'd had a chance to tell him last night or this morning. I'd
have telephoned to him this afternoon except--well, I scarcely
like to call him up at that place, since your father----"
"No, of course not, mama."
"If Walter gets home late," Mrs. Adams went on, "I'll just slip
out and speak to him, in case Mr. Russell's here before he
comes. I'll just tell him he's got to hurry and get his things
on."
"Maybe he won't come home to dinner," Alice suggested, rather
hopefully. "Sometimes he doesn't."
"No; I think he'll be here. When he doesn't come he usually
telephones by this time to say not to wait for him; he's very
thoughtful about that. Well, it really is getting late: I must
go and tell her she ought to be preparing her fillet. Dearie, DO
rest a little."
"You'd much better do that yourself," Alice called after her, but
Mrs. Adams shook her head cheerily, not pausing on her way to
the fiery kitchen.
Alice continued her useless labours for a time; then carried her
bucket to the head of the cellar stairway, where she left it upon
the top step; and, closing the door, returned to the
"living-room;" Again she changed the positions of the old plush
rocking-chairs, moving them into the corners where she thought
they might be least noticeable; and while thus engaged she was
startled by a loud ringing of the door-bell. For a moment her
face was panic-stricken, and she stood staring, then she realized
that Russell would not arrive for another hour, at the earliest,
and recovering her equipoise, went to the door.
Waiting there, in a languid attitude, was a young coloured woman,
with a small bundle under her arm and something malleable in her
mouth. "Listen," she said. "You folks expectin' a coloured
lady?"
"No," said Alice. "Especially not at the front door."
"Listen," the coloured woman said again. "Listen. Say, listen.
Ain't they another coloured lady awready here by the day?
Listen. Ain't Miz Malena Burns here by the day this evenin'?
Say, listen. This the number house she give ME."
"Are you the waitress?" Alice asked, dismally.
"Yes'm, if Malena here."
"Malena is here," Alice said, and hesitated; but she decided not
to send the waitress to the back door; it might be a risk. She
let her in. "What's your name?"
"Me? I'm name' Gertrude. Miss Gertrude Collamus."
"Did you bring a cap and apron?"
Gertrude took the little bundle from under her arm. "Yes'm. I'm
all fix'."
"I've already set the table," Alice said. "I'll show you what we
want done."
She led the way to the dining-room, and, after offering some
instruction there, received by Gertrude with languor and a slowly
moving jaw, she took her into the kitchen, where the cap and
apron were put on. The effect was not fortunate; Gertrude's eyes
were noticeably bloodshot, an affliction made more apparent by
the white cap; and Alice drew her mother apart, whispering
anxiously,
"Do you suppose it's too late to get someone else?"
"I'm afraid it is," Mrs. Adams said. "Malena says it was hard
enough to get HER! You have to pay them so much that they only
work when they feel like it."
"Mama, could you ask her to wear her cap straighter? Every time
she moves her head she gets it on one side, and her skirt's too
long behind and too short in front--and oh, I've NEVER seen such
FEET!" Alice laughed desolately. "And she MUST quit that
terrible chewing!"
"Never mind; I'll get to work with her. I'll straighten her out
all I can, dearie; don't worry." Mrs. Adams patted her
daughter's shoulder encouragingly. "Now YOU can't do another
thing, and if you don't run and begin dressing you won't be
ready. It'll only take me a minute to dress, myself, and I'll be
down long before you will. Run, darling! I'll look after
everything."
Alice nodded vaguely, went up to her room, and, after only a
moment with her mirror, brought from her closet the dress of
white organdie she had worn the night when she met Russell for
the first time. She laid it carefully upon her bed, and began to
make ready to put it on. Her mother came in, half an hour later,
to "fasten" her.
"I'M all dressed," Mrs. Adams said, briskly. "Of course it
doesn't matter. He won't know what the rest of us even look
like: How could he? I know I'm an old SIGHT, but all I want is
to look respectable. Do I?"
"You look like the best woman in the world; that's all!" Alice
said, with a little gulp.
Her mother laughed and gave her a final scrutiny. "You might use
just a tiny bit more colour, dearie-- I'm afraid the excitement's
made you a little pale. And you MUST brighten up! There's sort
of a look in your eyes as if you'd got in a trance and couldn't
get out. You've had it all day. I must run: your father wants
me to help him with his studs. Walter hasn't come yet, but I'll
look after him; don't worry, And you better HURRY, dearie, if
you're going to take any time fixing the flowers on the table."
She departed, while Alice sat at the mirror again, to follow her
advice concerning a "tiny bit more colour." Before she had
finished, her father knocked at the door, and, when she
responded, came in. He was dressed in the clothes his wife had
pressed; but he had lost substantially in weight since they were
made for him; no one would have thought that they had been
pressed. They hung from him voluminously, seeming to be the
clothes of a larger man.
"Your mother's gone downstairs," he said, in a voice of distress.
"One of the buttonholes in my shirt is too large and I can't keep
the dang thing fastened. _I_ don't know what to do about it! I
only got one other white shirt, and it's kind of ruined: I tried
it before I did this one. Do you s'pose you could do anything?"
"I'll see," she said.
"My collar's got a frayed edge," he complained, as she examined
his troublesome shirt. "It's a good deal like wearing a saw; but
I expect it'll wilt down flat pretty soon, and not bother me
long. I'm liable to wilt down flat, myself, I expect; I don't
know as I remember any such hot night in the last ten or twelve
years." He lifted his head and sniffed the flaccid air, which
was laden with a heavy odour. "My, but that smell is pretty
strong!" he said.
"Stand still, please, papa," Alice begged him. "I can't see
what's the matter if you move around. How absurd you are about
your old glue smell, papa! There isn't a vestige of it, of
course."
"I didn't mean glue," he informed her. "I mean cabbage. Is that
fashionable now, to have cabbage when there's company for
dinner?"
"That isn't cabbage, papa. It's Brussels sprouts."
"Oh, is it? I don't mind it much, because it keeps that glue
smell off me, but it's fairly strong. I expect you don't notice
it so much because you been in the house with it all along, and
got used to it while it was growing."
"It is pretty dreadful," Alice said. "Are all the windows open
downstairs?"
"I'll go down and see, if you'll just fix that hole up for me."
"I'm afraid I can't," she said. "Not unless you take your shirt
off and bring it to me. I'll have to sew the hole smaller."
"Oh, well, I'll go ask your mother to----"
"No," said Alice. "She's got everything on her hands. Run and
take it off. Hurry, papa; I've got to arrange the flowers on the
table before he comes."
He went away, and came back presently, half undressed, bringing
the shirt. "There's ONE comfort," he remarked, pensively, as she
worked. "I've got that collar off--for a while, anyway. I wish
I could go to table like this; I could stand it a good deal
better. Do you seem to be making any headway with the dang
thing?"
"I think probably I can----"
Downstairs the door-bell rang, and Alice's arms jerked with the
shock.
"Golly!" her father said. "Did you stick your finger with that
fool needle?"
She gave him a blank stare. "He's come!"
She was not mistaken, for, upon the little veranda, Russell stood
facing the closed door at last. However, it remained closed for
a considerable time after he rang. Inside the house the warning
summons of the bell was immediately followed by another sound,
audible to Alice and her father as a crash preceding a series of
muffled falls. Then came a distant voice, bitter in complaint.
"Oh, Lord!" said Adams. "What's that?"
Alice went to the top of the front stairs, and her mother
appeared in the hall below.
"Mama!"
Mrs. Adams looked up. "It's all right," she said, in a loud
whisper. "Gertrude fell down the cellar stairs. Somebody left a
bucket there, and----" She was interrupted by a gasp from Alice,
and hastened to reassure her. "Don't worry, dearie. She may
limp a little, but----"
Adams leaned over the banisters. "Did she break anything?" he
asked.
"Hush!" his wife whispered. "No. She seems upset and angry
about it, more than anything else; but she's rubbing herself, and
she'll be all right in time to bring in the little sandwiches.
Alice! Those flowers!"
"I know, mama. But----"
"Hurry!" Mrs. Adams warned her. "Both of you hurry! I MUST let
him in!"
She turned to the door, smiling cordially, even before she opened
it. "Do come right in, Mr. Russell," she said, loudly, lifting
her voice for additional warning to those above. "I'm SO glad to
receive you informally, this way, in our own little home.
There's a hat-rack here under the stairway," she continued, as
Russell, murmuring some response, came into the hall. "I'm
afraid you'll think it's almost TOO informal, my coming to the
door, but unfortunately our housemaid's just had a little
accident--oh, nothing to mention! I just thought we better not
keep you waiting any longer. Will you step into our living-room,
please?"
She led the way between the two small columns, and seated herself
in one of the plush rocking-chairs, selecting it because Alice
had once pointed out that the chairs, themselves, were less
noticeable when they had people sitting in them. "Do sit down,
Mr. Russell; it's so very warm it's really quite a trial just to
stand up!"
"Thank you," he said, as he took a seat. "Yes. It is quite
warm." And this seemed to be the extent of his responsiveness
for the moment. He was grave, rather pale; and Mrs. Adams's
impression of him, as she formed it then, was of "a
distinguished-looking young man, really elegant in the best sense
of the word, but timid and formal when he first meets you." She
beamed upon him, and used with everything she said a continuous
accompaniment of laughter, meaningless except that it was meant
to convey cordiality. "Of course we DO have a great deal of warm
weather," she informed him. "I'm glad it's so much cooler in the
house than it is outdoors."
"Yes," he said. "It is pleasanter indoors." And, stopping with
this single untruth, he permitted himself the briefest glance
about the room; then his eyes returned to his smiling hostess.
"Most people make a great fuss about hot weather," she said.
"The only person I know who doesn't mind the heat the way other
people do is Alice. She always seems as cool as if we had a
breeze blowing, no matter how hot it is. But then she's so
amiable she never minds anything. It's just her character.
She's always been that way since she was a little child; always
the same to everybody, high and low. I think character's the
most important thing in the world, after all, don't you, Mr.
Russell?"
"Yes," he said, solemnly; and touched his bedewed white forehead
with a handkerchief.
"Indeed it is," she agreed with herself, never failing to
continue her murmur of laughter. "That's what I've always told
Alice; but she never sees anything good in herself, and she just
laughs at me when I praise her. She sees good in everybody ELSE
in the world, no matter how unworthy they are, or how they behave
toward HER; but she always underestimates herself. From the time
she was a little child she was always that way. When some other
little girl would behave selfishly or meanly toward her, do you
think she'd come and tell me? Never a word to anybody! The
little thing was too proud! She was the same way about school.
The teachers had to tell me when she took a prize; she'd bring it
home and keep it in her room without a word about it to her
father and mother. Now, Walter was just the other way. Walter
would----" But here Mrs. Adams checked herself, though she
increased the volume of her laughter. "How silly of me!" she
exclaimed. "I expect you know how mothers ARE, though, Mr.
Russell. Give us a chance and we'll talk about our children
forever! Alice would feel terribly if she knew how I've been
going on about her to you."
In this Mrs. Adams was right, though she did not herself suspect
it, and upon an almost inaudible word or two from him she went on
with her topic. "Of course my excuse is that few mothers have a
daughter like Alice. I suppose we all think the same way about
our children, but SOME of us must be right when we feel we've got
the best. Don't you think so?"
"Yes. Yes, indeed."
"I'm sure _I_ am!" she laughed. "I'll let the others speak for
themselves." She paused reflectively. "No; I think a mother
knows when she's got a treasure in her family. If she HASN'T got
one, she'll pretend she has, maybe; but if she has, she knows it.
I certainly know _I_ have. She's always been what people call
'the joy of the household'-- always cheerful, no matter what went
wrong, and always ready to smooth things over with some bright,
witty saying. You must be sure not to TELL we've had this little
chat about her--she'd just be furious with me--but she IS such a
dear child! You won't tell her, will you?"
"No," he said, and again applied the handkerchief to his forehead
for an instant. "No, I'll----" He paused, and finished lamely:
"I'll--not tell her."
Thus reassured, Mrs. Adams set before him some details of her
daughter's popularity at sixteen, dwelling upon Alice's
impartiality among her young suitors: "She never could BEAR to
hurt their feelings, and always treated all of them just alike.
About half a dozen of them were just BOUND to marry her!
Naturally, her father and I considered any such idea ridiculous;
she was too young, of course."
Thus the mother went on with her biographical sketches, while the
pale young man sat facing her under the hard overhead light of a
white globe, set to the ceiling; and listened without
interrupting. She was glad to have the chance to tell him a few
things about Alice he might not have guessed for himself, and,
indeed, she had planned to find such an opportunity, if she
could; but this was getting to be altogether too much of one, she
felt. As time passed, she was like an actor who must improvise
to keep the audience from perceiving that his fellow-players have
missed their cues; but her anxiety was not betrayed to the still
listener; she had a valiant soul.
Alice, meanwhile, had arranged her little roses on the table in
as many ways, probably, as there were blossoms; and she was still
at it when her father arrived in the dining-room by way of the
back stairs and the kitchen.
"It's pulled out again," he said. "But I guess there's no help
for it now; it's too late, and anyway it lets some air into me
when it bulges. I can sit so's it won't be noticed much, I
expect. Isn't it time you quit bothering about the looks of the
table? Your mother's been talking to him about half an hour now,
and I had the idea he came on your account, not hers. Hadn't you
better go and----"
"Just a minute." Alice said, piteously. "Do YOU think it looks
all right?"
"The flowers? Fine! Hadn't you better leave 'em the way they
are, though?"
"Just a minute," she begged again. "Just ONE minute, papa!" And
she exchanged a rose in front of Russell's plate for one that
seemed to her a little larger.
"You better come on," Adams said, moving to the door.
"Just ONE more second, papa." She shook her head, lamenting.
"Oh, I wish we'd rented some silver!"
"Why?"
"Because so much of the plating has rubbed off a lot of it. JUST
a second, papa." And as she spoke she hastily went round the
table, gathering the knives and forks and spoons that she thought
had their plating best preserved, and exchanging them for more
damaged pieces at Russell's place. "There!" she sighed, finally.
"Now I'll come." But at the door she paused to look back
dubiously, over her shoulder.
"What's the matter now?"
"The roses. I believe after all I shouldn't have tried that vine
effect; I ought to have kept them in water, in the vase. It's so
hot, they already begin to look a little wilted, out on the dry
tablecloth like that. I believe I'll----"
"Why, look here, Alice!" he remonstrated, as she seemed disposed
to turn back. "Everything'll burn up on the stove if you keep
on----"
"Oh, well," she said, "the vase was terribly ugly; I can't do any
better. We'll go in." But with her hand on the door-knob she
paused. "No, papa. We mustn't go in by this door. It might
look as if----"
"As if what?"
"Never mind," she said. "Let's go the other way."
"I don't see what difference it makes," he grumbled, but
nevertheless followed her through the kitchen, and up the back
stairs then through the upper hallway. At the top of the front
stairs she paused for a moment, drawing a deep breath; and then,
before her father's puzzled eyes, a transformation came upon her.
Her shoulders, like her eyelids, had been drooping, but now she
threw her head back: the shoulders straightened, and the lashes
lifted over sparkling eyes; vivacity came to her whole body in a
flash; and she tripped down the steps, with her pretty hands
rising in time to the lilting little tune she had begun to hum.
At the foot of the stairs, one of those pretty hands extended
itself at full arm's length toward Russell, and continued to be
extended until it reached his own hand as he came to meet her.
"How terrible of me!" she exclaimed. "To be so late coming down!
And papa, too--I think you know each other."
Her father was advancing toward the young man, expecting to shake
hands with him, but Alice stood between them, and Russell, a
little flushed, bowed to him gravely over her shoulder, without
looking at him; whereupon Adams, slightly disconcerted, put his
hands in his pockets and turned to his wife.
"I guess dinner's more'n ready," he said. "We better go sit
down."
But she shook her head at him fiercely, "Wait!" she whispered.
"What for? For Walter?"
"No; he can't be coming," she returned, hurriedly, and again
warned him by a shake of her head. "Be quiet!"
"Oh, well----" he muttered.
"Sit down!"
He was thoroughly mystified, but obeyed her gesture and went to
the rocking-chair in the opposite corner, where he sat down, and,
with an expression of meek inquiry, awaited events.
Meanwhile, Alice prattled on: "It's really not a fault of mine,
being tardy. The shameful truth is I was trying to hurry papa.
He's incorrigible: he stays so late at his terrible old
factory--terrible new factory, I should say. I hope you don't
HATE us for making you dine with us in such fearful weather! I'm
nearly dying of the heat, myself, so you have a fellow-sufferer,
if that pleases you. Why is it we always bear things better if
we think other people have to stand them, too?" And she added,
with an excited laugh: "SILLY of us, don't you think?"
Gertrude had just made her entrance from the dining-room, bearing
a tray. She came slowly, with an air of resentment; and her
skirt still needed adjusting, while her lower jaw moved at
intervals, though not now upon any substance, but reminiscently,
of habit. She halted before Adams, facing him.
He looked plaintive. "What you want o' me?" he asked.
For response, she extended the tray toward him with a gesture of
indifference; but he still appeared to be puzzled. "What in the
world----?" he began, then caught his wife's eye, and had
presence of mind enough to take a damp and plastic sandwich from
the tray. "Well, I'll TRY one," he said, but a moment later, as
he fulfilled this promise, an expression of intense dislike came
upon his features, and he would have returned the sandwich to
Gertrude. However, as she had crossed the room to Mrs. Adams he
checked the gesture, and sat helplessly, with the sandwich in his
hand. He made another effort to get rid of it as the waitress
passed him, on her way back to the dining-room, but she appeared
not to observe him, and he continued to be troubled by it.
Alice was a loyal daughter. "These are delicious, mama," she
said; and turning to Russell, "You missed it; you should have
taken one. Too bad we couldn't have offered you what ought to go
with it, of course, but----"
She was interrupted by the second entrance of Gertrude, who
announced, "Dinner serve'," and retired from view.
"Well, well!" Adams said, rising from his chair, with relief.
"That's good! Let's go see if we can eat it." And as the little
group moved toward the open door of the dining-room he disposed
of his sandwich by dropping it in the empty fireplace.
Alice, glancing back over her shoulder, was the only one who saw
him, and she shuddered in spite of herself. Then, seeing that he
looked at her entreatingly, as if he wanted to explain that he
was doing the best he could, she smiled upon him sunnily, and
began to chatter to Russell again. _
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