Chapter VI: Part 6

“Oh, yes. I forgot, Dimmie. See I’ve brought you some candy,” she continued, displaying the treasure.

Dimmie’s face lighted and he put out his hand.

“Wait a minute, Jimmie--Dimmie, I mean.” Nannie pushed his hand away.

The tragedy fell on Dimmie’s soul again.

“It’s yours, Jimmie, but you mustn’t try to grab things like that.”

“Can I have all of it?” he asked anxiously.

“Yes. It’s all for you if you will love Nannie.” The bribe changed hands. Dimmie was beaming.

“Now kiss Nannie,” she commanded. “Don’t touch me with your sticky fingers,” she warned as he obeyed.

“Come on. Let’s go and find Mother,” she smiled invitingly.

“She won’t let me,” declared Dimmie, reminiscent of past similar attempts.

“Yes, she will. I’ll go with you,” and Nannie led him down the stairs. “You’ll mind Nannie after this, won’t you, dear?”

“Yes,” he promised.

“He’s going to be a good boy now, Lucy,” Nannie announced as they reached the dining room, “and he’s sorry he was rude to Nannie. Aren’t you, Jimmie?”

The culprit looked at the paper bag in his hand.

“Yes,” he said, “but my name’s Dimmie.”

“Oh, yes! I forgot. Of course it is,” smiled Nannie.

“Well, I hope my sonny boy won’t say anything like that again,” Lucy said.

Dimmie went off with his candy, meditating.

* * * * *

An hour later Lucy decided to take some patterns over to Mrs. Hamilton who, a few days before, had expressed a wish to borrow them.

“Now, you stay with your grandmother,” she bade Dimmie. “I won’t be long.”

“All right,” he agreed, examining the interior of the now empty paper bag with evident regret.

A few moments after Lucy’s departure he began to whistle.

“Don’t whistle, Jimmie,” commanded Nannie from the rocking chair where she sat embroidering.

Dimmie ceased obediently and climbed into the Morris chair.

“Don’t sit with your feet under you,” she advised. “You’ll scratch the chair.”

Dimmie dutifully altered his position. After a time he slid to the floor and, going over to the side table where some of his nursery books were kept, selected _Mother Goose_ from among them.

“Don’t carry your book that way,” warned Nannie as he trudged back to the seat he had quitted, his favorite volume hugged under his arm. “You’ll wrench the cover off.” Dimmie duly reversed the position of the book.

“Don’t put your fingers in your mouth, Jimmie. You’re too big a boy to do that,” she continued, when he had seated himself for a comfortable examination of the illustrations he admired.

He glanced up from his book and at the same time thrust the offending fingers into a pocket.

“Now, don’t sit with your hands in your pockets. You’ll pull your clothes all out of shape.”

“How _shall_ I sit?” demanded Dimmie somewhat belligerently.

“Sit straight in your chair like you ought to.”

“Uncle Jim never makes me sit straight in my chair,” objected Dimmie.

“I don’t care what Uncle Jim does. You do as I tell you. And use your handkerchief. Don’t sniff.”

“I ain’t got any handkerchief,” he complained, rummaging in his pockets.

“I don’t know what your mamma means by not giving you a handkerchief. Why, there it is on the floor by your chair, right where you dropped it!”

“Don’t rumple your hair, Jimmie! It makes you look like a scarecrow,” was the next admonition.

“What can I do?” demanded Dimmie, looking about desperately.

“You can sit still and be a good little boy until Mamma comes back.”

“I don’t want to sit still,” he insisted.

“But I want you to.”

“When is Mamma coming home?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I’m goin’ to Mis’ Hamilton’s to find her.”

“No, you’re not going to do any such thing.”

Dimmie began to cry.

“Now, Jimmie, there’s no use in your crying, just because I want you to behave yourself half decently. Stop this instant!”

“I--I--w-want my m-mamma,” sobbed Dimmie louder than ever. “What in the world is the matter?” cried Lucy agitatedly, at this moment coming in through the kitchen on her return from her neighbor’s.

“It means that you have a very naughty little boy, Lucy. He wouldn’t do anything I told him while you were away.”

“I d-did too,” declared Dimmie between sobs. “I d-did lots of things.”

“Well, you wouldn’t sit still when I told you,” said Nannie.

“He’s a very little boy to have to sit still such a long time,” replied Lucy, taking Dimmie on her lap where he began to cry comfortably with his head against her bosom.

“Lucy, I’d like to know how you expect me to have any control over the child when you take his part like that!” Nannie protested.

“I don’t expect anyone to have control over him except his father and myself,” said Lucy.

“Yet you expect me to look after him without any authority over him whatever!” retorted Mrs. Merwent.

“I won’t worry you with him again, Mamma,” returned Lucy. “I didn’t think you would mind for a few minutes.”

“There you go, Lucy! Misunderstanding me again, as usual. And over such a trivial thing, too! Much gratitude I’ve received for overlooking the past and coming more than half way! I sometimes think dear Mother was right when she said you had no heart. She never got over the way you treated her.”

After John and Lucy had retired to their room that night, Lucy said, “I am going to send Dimmie to kindergarten, John. Mrs. Hamilton’s little girl goes, and I believe it’s a good thing for young children.”

“All right,” consented John, yawning.

* * * * *

Dimmie was in such a state of excitement over the prospect of going to kindergarten with Stella Hamilton that he could hardly eat his breakfast. Lucy had dressed him in his prettiest suit, and, after the meal, he wandered aimlessly about the house, too conscious of his ceremonious costume to play.

“Ain’t it time yet, Mamma?” he asked again and again.

“No, dear, not yet,” his mother replied on each occasion. Mrs. Merwent was still asleep when Lucy telephoned to the kindergarten for the carry-all to call for Dimmie. When Nannie came downstairs she was surprised to find him in such gala array.

“Why, what are you so fixed up for, Jimmie?” she asked.

Just then Lucy entered from the back yard with some flowers in her hand. It had rained during the night and the blossoms were wet and glistening.

“I’m going to take him to kindergarten,” Lucy explained. “He’s beginning this morning.” She was dressed for the street. “You can breakfast alone, can’t you, Mamma?”

“Why, of course!” explained Nannie. “That isn’t it. In fact you needn’t keep any breakfast for me when I’m not up to eat with you and John, as far as that’s concerned. I never want any extra trouble taken for me.”

“There’s the wagon! There’s the wagon!” shouted Dimmie impatiently as he ran in from the hall.

“Let me get your sailor hat,” said Lucy as she turned away, a note of impatience in her voice.

“What made you decide all of a sudden to send him to kindergarten?” asked Nannie. “It’s the first time I’ve heard of such a plan.”

“Hurry up,” commanded Dimmie. “They’ll go past.”

“They won’t go without you,” smiled Lucy. “Here’s your hat. Let me put it on for you.”

“Why are you sending him?” persisted Nannie.

“Why, he’s old enough to go, and he’s a good deal of bother, and John and I thought it would be good for him.”

“Come on, Mamma,” urged Dimmie, pulling at her skirt.

“Bother! I suppose it’s because I try to correct him a little occasionally. Oh, I comprehend perfectly, Lucy! You never let a chance slip to humiliate me and----”

The bell rang, and through the open front door a man’s voice was heard. Lucy went into the hall.

“Is your little boy going with us this morning?” the man inquired.

“Yes, we’re ready,” replied Lucy. “Come on, Son.”

Nannie heard them as they descended the steps. Dimmie’s shrill chatter was wafted back with the click of the gate, the crack of a whip, and the clatter of the horse’s hoofs as the carry-all passed up the street.

* * * * *

John was much occupied with new work and, to Lucy’s relief, continued to neglect to carry into effect his threat regarding a servant. However, try as she might to keep down the level of her expenditures, on the first day of the next month she found herself faced with an unexpected deficit.

The evening meal was over and Nannie, according to her habit, had gone into the living room to play some of her songs. John rose and was about to follow her when Lucy called him back. He sat down again.

“I want you to go over some accounts with me, John.”

“What for?” he demurred.

“Well, we’re running behind, John, and we must do something about it.”

“We’ve always had to figure closely, Lucy.” John’s manner was nervous and instead of looking at his wife, he glanced about the room. “We’re not rich people but I don’t see why it should be any worse now than any other time.”

“Our expenses have about doubled since Mamma came,” persisted Lucy.

“Oh, I don’t think she’s had anything to do with it, or, at least, very little. One more person makes practically no difference.” John made a motion as if to rise.

“Just a minute, John. It isn’t the household expenses so much, John, but we are spending money on flowers and fruit and candy and theatres and other amusements that we didn’t use to. Miss Powell and other people have taken to dropping in to tea in the afternoon. And it all counts up.”

“Well, it’s a sort of special time, now that Nannie’s here.” John’s tone was half apologetic yet showed a tinge of irritation. His gaze kept wandering toward the living room. “We can’t make her stick in the house all the time, and never give her any little pleasures. I’ve only bought her flowers once or twice, anyway.”

“Yes, John, but Mamma may stay a long while. We can’t go on this way,” said Lucy gravely.

Nannie appeared in the doorway. “Can’t go on what way?” she echoed interrogatively, smiling at John.

“Oh, Lucy is having her monthly fret over money matters,” John explained with uneasy lightness. “She has us in the poor house about once in so often.”

“What’s the matter, John? Is your business going badly?” Nannie inquired.

“Well, no worse than usual, Nannie, but it’s a small business and doesn’t bring us in as much as we’d like.”

“Mr. Sprague is a full partner with you, isn’t he?”

“Yes, but he’s a bachelor, and a half interest is enough for him to be comfortable on.”

“Jim gave John our interest in the business,” put in Lucy.

“Well, I’m sure he was thinking of his own good when he did so,” commented Nannie. “He probably had to have somebody.”

“Of course,” agreed Lucy hastily. “He needed a partner and was glad to get John.”

“Exactly. He knew what he was about,” averred Nannie. “Mr. Sprague is not the kind of a man to lose anything on account of friendship.”

“Jim is very loyal,” put in Lucy again, “and has been a good friend to John.”

“I didn’t say he wasn’t loyal, Lucy. I only said he knew which side his bread was buttered on,” retorted Nannie.

“Well, you implied that he was thinking only of himself, Mamma, and Jim is not a selfish man.”

“I guess I’ve not been a bad investment for the firm,” interrupted John, “even if I didn’t put any money into it at the first.”

“Well, I should fancy not!” Nannie applauded quickly.

“Of course not, John. That isn’t what I meant at all,” added Lucy. “Jim himself has said a dozen times that he couldn’t have gotten along without you. But I was just objecting to the idea that Jim had exploited you for his own interest without considering ours.”

“Lucy is always ready to defend Mr. Sprague,” remarked Nannie, smiling at John once more. “She’s loyal even if the rest of us may not be.” John regarded Lucy an instant, then lowered his eyes.

“No, Mamma! That isn’t it,” said Lucy, flushing, “but I do so like to be just to everybody.”

“Well, are John and I unjust to Mr. Sprague?” continued Nannie.

“John hasn’t been, but I thought what you said was,” reiterated Lucy steadily.

“Nannie didn’t say any more than I did,” insisted John aggressively. “I guess Jim doesn’t need our sympathy over having gotten me for a partner.”

“Why, John, how can you think I meant such a thing?” Lucy’s voice showed that she was hurt.

“Oh, well, let’s not think about it, as Lucy is always saying,” suggested Nannie sweetly.

“Yes, for the Lord’s sake!” exclaimed John. “Let’s quit stewing. We’re no poorer than we’ve always been,” he finished, as though dismissing the subject, “and we have some schemes on hand at the office that ought to net us a good thing during the next few months.”

“I’m sure you work too hard down at that old office, poor boy,” and Nannie timidly put back from John’s forehead the lock of hair which he had disarranged while talking.

“I like the work.”

“And you ought to be better paid for it,” Nannie went on.

“We have hopes,” smiled John.

“I don’t believe in women interfering in business, but if you went into something for yourself, don’t you think you could make more? As it is, you work yourself nearly to death, and Mr. Sprague gets half the profits.” Nannie’s voice and manner were very gentle.

“I’ve never thought about it,” John replied, rumpling his hair again.

“I’m sure it would be a great mistake,” advised Lucy quickly.

“Why?” inquired Nannie, looking at John.

“In the first place, it wouldn’t be right,” argued Lucy, somewhat eagerly, “after all Jim has done for us--for John--it would be----” “Disloyal, I suppose,” said Nannie, supplying the word as Lucy hesitated, and appearing amused.

“Yes, disloyal,” repeated Lucy emphatically.

“Mr. Sprague certainly has a good friend in Lucy,” Nannie spoke to John.

Lucy flushed again. Her eyes flashed but she made no verbal retort.

“Is that your only reason, Lucy?” pursued Nannie in a purring tone.

“No!” Lucy’s attitude was almost defiant. “It’s not. Jim’s ability and judgment are worth a great deal in any business, and it would be foolish to----”

“I suppose, then, you think John is not capable of running a business for himself,” interposed Nannie accusingly before Lucy had finished speaking.

“Lucy is not very flattering.” John’s lip curled slightly. He produced a cigarette from his case. “But I guess I’d probably have found some way to support her, even if I had never known Jim.”

“Do you really think so, John?” asked Nannie ironically.

“Don’t you?” challenged John, half laughing.

“You dear boy, you know I think you could do anything,” she responded, squeezing his arm. “Shall we go in and try the music now?”

“Come on,” urged John, stopping, however, to light his cigarette.

They went into the living room.

Lucy remained seated in the same position, a baffled expression on her face. Dimmie had gone to sleep in a chair and a few moments later she lifted him to her shoulder and carried him upstairs to bed.

She did not return.

XIX

“John said he was going to Benton Harbor today,” Nannie observed to Lucy, who was seated near a window, darning Dimmie’s socks. She had just washed her hair and come down to the sunny dining room to dry it.

“Did he?” Lucy raised her eyes in involuntary surprise, but glanced quickly down at her sewing.

“Yes,” continued Nannie, seating herself in a comfortable rocker. “He is going to see somebody about a house decoration contract.”

“Well, he’ll be back for dinner, won’t he?” Lucy inquired.

“Oh, yes. But he’ll be late, he said. He wanted me to go with him but I was afraid of getting seasick. It’s a beautiful day after all, though!” and she gazed out the window regretfully. “I have to look through a trunk, anyway,” she added, as if comforting herself.

“I didn’t know he was going,” said Lucy.

“He was worried last night and I guess he forgot to tell you.”

Lucy began to sew with renewed determination.

“I was right sorry for John last night,” Mrs. Merwent declared. “You should be more careful what you say, Lucy.”

“What do you mean, Mamma? What have I said?”

“Why, things that make John feel that--that--why, about Mr. Sprague.”

“What about him?”

Nannie’s gaze fell before Lucy’s.

“Nothing in particular, except that you show so plainly that you----”

“That I what?” Lucy demanded almost fiercely.

“Well, that you are interested in him,” murmured Nannie, with attempted calmness, adding at once, “of course I know that there is nothing between you and Mr. Sprague, but you should consider----” She stopped abruptly.

“Consider what my husband might think, I suppose,” interrupted Lucy hotly.

“Well, when you take his part against John and me you must admit that you give people a right to think things.”

“You, and not John, were the one who tried to queer Jim, and I would have taken the part of anyone under the circumstances,” returned Lucy indignantly, “and if you want to think evil of it, you can do so.”

“Well, John agreed with everything I said,” defended Nannie.

“Then, if he wants to think badly of me, he can too!” Lucy exclaimed angrily. “It would evidently suit you if he did.”

“How can you say that, Lucy, when I was trying to save you from just such things! That’s the gratitude a mother gets--especially if she’s forgiven a lot in her child,” complained Nannie in a tremulous voice.

“Most of the evil you are always so anxious to save me from only exists in your own mind, Mamma. I would be much more grateful if you would quit thinking of nasty things to forgive me for,” retorted Lucy bitterly.

“Well,” replied Mrs. Merwent, “I’m sure I’ve done my duty. I didn’t want John to get suspicious, but----”

“That’s why you keep suggesting vile interpretations of innocent things to him!” interpolated Lucy disgustedly, springing to her feet and gathering up her mending.

“Why, Lucy,” began Nannie, on the verge of tears. But Lucy went into the hall, and ascended the stairs.

A few moments later she returned with her hat and coat on.

“I’m going out,” she announced. Her voice was harsh. She paused in the doorway.

Nannie looked up and met her daughter’s eyes uncomfortably.

“Where are you going?” she asked finally, pulling at the handkerchief in her lap with uncertain fingers.

“I’m going to see Jim.”

“Lucy!” gasped Mrs. Merwent as the front door closed after her daughter. Jim was alone and hard at work when Lucy reached the office. The windows were open and a breeze fluttered the papers on his desk.

“Sit down,” he invited, leaning back in his chair and reaching for his pipe. “How are you all getting along at your house? Where’s the kid?”

“Dimmie’s at kindergarten.”

“Didn’t know he’d started to go,” said Jim.

“Lots of things have happened since you were out,” remarked Lucy quietly.

“Yes?” Jim lighted his pipe.

Lucy did not say more and Jim smoked a moment in silence.

“What is it, Lucy? Are you worried about something?” he inquired at last, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

Lucy nodded her head without speaking.

“Well, women always worry about one of two things, money, or another woman,” pursued Jim in a bantering tone. “Which is it?”

“Both,” said Lucy seriously.

Jim looked grave, and when he spoke again it was with a different manner.

“Can I help, Lucy?”

“I think you can, Jim. That’s why I’ve come.”

He waited for her to go on.

“John is spending too much, Jim, and Mamma encourages him in it,” Lucy began, rather suddenly, “and things are--are so I can’t do anything. I thought maybe if you--suggested to John--it might----” Lucy’s voice trailed off in embarrassment, and she opened and shut her purse nervously.

“I will,” Jim promised earnestly. “You can depend on me, Lucy.”

“I know I can, Jim.”

“And, Lucy----”

“Yes?”

“About the money. If your expenses have swamped you--you know I have something laid up. My living costs me very little, and you are awfully welcome to what I have.”

“Thank you, Jim, but you know I couldn’t take any money. Besides, we don’t need it yet, but I am frightened at the amount we are spending.”

“I didn’t mean--I mean you could pay it back if you wanted to.” Jim was very red.

“I understand, Jim, but it isn’t necessary.”

“I don’t see what’s gotten into John!” he ejaculated with feeling.

“It isn’t John,” said Lucy, “it’s Mamma.”

“Well, he ought to know----” Jim stopped speaking and glanced at Lucy.

“Yes, Jim, but so had she.”

Jim thought.

“Do you know yet if she’s going to stay--permanently?” he inquired after a pause.

“I don’t know, Jim. I shouldn’t be surprised. She talks sometimes as though she were eventually going to marry a Professor Walsh, back in Russellville. But I don’t know.”

Jim smoked hard for a while. When he spoke again his voice was low.

“Lucy, you know I would do anything in the world for you,” he said. “Anything,” he repeated vehemently.

“Yes, Jim. You are the best friend that ever was.” Lucy smiled at him frankly. “But I don’t see just how you can help in anything else.”

“I’d like to help,” he offered, almost wistfully.

“You have,” she declared, still smiling. “I feel a lot better already.”

“Do you, Lucy?” he asked eagerly. “Do I--do you--am I----” he stammered, growing red again.

“Why, of course you do,” she responded heartily and naturally. “It always does me good to talk to you.” Then she added rather plaintively, “Oh, Jim, why can’t people be honest with themselves and with others?”

“I’m damned if I know!” he declared savagely, not looking at her.

“I’m sure I don’t either,” she said, regarding him affectionately. “Well, good-bye. I’m going home.” She rose and shook hands. “Good-bye, Lucy. You can depend on me.” Jim held her hand.

“Thank you, Jim,” she answered, pressing his hand.

And she was gone.

* * * * *

Mrs. Merwent was at the piano, practising, when Lucy reached home.

“Well, did you see Mr. Sprague?” Nannie asked sarcastically, going into the hall when she heard the front door open.

“Yes,” returned Lucy calmly.

“You ought to be careful, Lucy,” reminded Nannie. “Of course _I_ wouldn’t say anything to John, but others might.”

“You can say anything you like to him,” retorted Lucy in a disgusted tone. “I’m going to tell him myself.”

That night John returned late. Nannie, Lucy, and Dimmie had finished their evening meal, and Lucy had tucked Dimmie safely into bed, when the front door clicked and a cheerful voice was heard in the hall.

“Now, Lucy, your croaking was all for nothing,” were John’s first words. “Look there!” he commanded, rushing into the living room and throwing a pile of bills on the table, his manner almost hilarious.

“How nice!” murmured Nannie.

“Where did that come from?” Lucy inquired quickly.

“Why, Jim put over a deal today while I was away, and this is my share of the lucre,” and John put his hands in his pockets and began to whistle.

“What kind of a deal was it?” persisted Lucy.

“Oh, some private scheme of his. Sold building materials or something on commission,” answered John.

Lucy looked nonplussed.

“Didn’t Mr. Sprague say anything to you about it?” Nannie inquired of Lucy in an innocent voice.

“Why, was Jim out here today?” asked John in surprise.

“No. I was at the office,” Lucy explained without hesitation.

“Why, he didn’t tell me,” said John, as though mystified. Then, apologetically, “I was only there a minute, Lucy. Went to Benton Harbor on business. I forgot to say anything about going last night.”

“Your dinner’s getting cold,” was all Lucy’s reply.

As John seated himself at the table a faint cry was heard from the upper floor and Lucy, exclaiming, “That’s Dimmie!” left the room quickly.

“John, I wish you would ask Mr. Sprague out again,” requested Nannie, when she thought her daughter was safely upstairs.

John looked teasingly at her.

“What’s the matter? Are you getting lonesome, or just yearning for more of Jim’s society?”

“Will you ask him out?” she repeated.

“Yes. Of course I will. Let’s see. Today is Tuesday. I’ll bring him out Thursday night. He’s going to work late tomorrow, I heard him say.”

“Now, don’t forget,” warned Nannie.

XX

Mrs. Merwent came downstairs with a headache, but after her insistent complaints elicited some sympathetic remarks from Lucy, she settled herself resignedly to mend a small hole in one of the grey silk stockings which she had worn to _The Madcap Girl_. It was a dull day. Lucy picked up the morning paper from the floor where John had dropped it as he went out, halted near a window and read aloud at random the few items which she thought her mother might find of interest.

“I see here that Miss Powell was one of the hostesses last night at the Ravenswood Golf Club,” said Lucy in a determinedly pleasant voice, laying the paper down.

“She has relatives with money so she can do such things,” her mother sighed, dropping the stocking into her lap and staring moodily out the window. “Little did I think I would ever be dependent on your charity,” she mourned, after a pause.

Lucy looked quickly at her mother.

“Well, I don’t envy Miss Powell. She’s too self centered to be very happy,” said Lucy.

“Like me, I suppose you mean,” complained Nannie. “I’ve ceased to expect any sympathy from you, Lucy.”

“I didn’t mean any such thing, Mamma, and you know it!” Lucy spoke with forced good nature. “You know I don’t make oblique or sarcastic comments.”

“Well, do I?” demanded her mother. “Did I ever imply that you envied Miss Powell or anyone else?”

“I didn’t mean you envied her, either,” explained Lucy. “I only said _I_ didn’t.” She spoke over her shoulder as she left the room.

She had passed up the stairs when the tinkling of the telephone sounded from the hall and Nannie rose to answer it.

“This is John,” was the reply to her faint “hello.” “Is this Nannie speaking?” “Yes,” she affirmed weakly, remembering her aching head.

“Well, I was mistaken about Jim’s working tonight. It’s tomorrow night. So I’m going to bring him out this evening. Tell Lucy, will you?”

“Certainly,” responded Nannie in a livelier tone.

“How’s your headache?”

“Oh, it’s ever so much better, thank you; it’s about all gone.”

“That’s good,” said John, and he hung up the receiver.

Lucy, dressed for the street, soon came down stairs.

“I’m going to do some shopping,” she informed Nannie. “I didn’t suppose you would care to go with your headache. I’ll be back by the time Dimmie comes from kindergarten and get him ready to go to Mrs. Hamilton’s. Your lunch is all fixed and in the refrigerator. There’s ice tea already made in the blue pitcher.”

“My headache’s not as bad as it was.”

“Well it’s too late now to wait for you to dress,” began Lucy.

“Oh, don’t worry, Lucy. I have no intention of going. I’ve got sense enough to know whether I’m wanted or not.”

“Mamma, please,” Lucy begged, almost in desperation.

“Well, Lucy, you started it.”

Lucy hurried toward the hall.

“Mr. Sprague is coming to dinner tonight,” Nannie called importantly.

Lucy halted an instant.

“Well, there’s plenty,” she called back enigmatically, and went out.

Nannie looked blank until the front door shut.

* * * * *

It was evening when Lucy returned from the city. On the train she encountered Mrs. Hamilton who had invited Dimmie to take tea with Stella. John and Jim had already arrived and were smoking in the dining room when Lucy came back from the Hamiltons’ where she had left Dimmie. Nannie, in a careful toilette with a rose in her hair, was chatting and laughing in the highest of spirits.

“Hello, Lucy!” exclaimed Jim cordially, rising and shaking hands. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m all right,” Lucy told him, smiling. “You’re not looking any too well,” he observed, glancing at her face.

“Well, I’m feeling fine, anyway.”

“Where’s Dimmie?” he inquired.

“He’s gone out to tea.”

“Getting to be quite a swell.” Jim smiled affectionately.

“Yes, and with a young lady, too,” she laughed.

“Mr. Sprague, I was talking to you,” interrupted Nannie, pouting.

“Beg your pardon, Mrs. Merwent,” said Jim, hastily resuming his chair.

“Oh, don’t apologize. I don’t expect to compete with Lucy,” she declared with the sweetest intonation of voice.

Jim colored.

“What were we talking about?” he asked, straightening his cravat.

“There! That shows how much attention you pay to _me_,” she gibed. “Come on, John! Let’s leave them together.” She rose and moved toward the living room.

“Well, dinner’s ready, so there’s no use in your taking John away,” remarked Lucy, without heat. And the four sat down at the table.

“It’s been a long time since you were here, Mr. Sprague,” began Nannie in a sprightly manner as she was serving the soup.

“Yes,” conceded Jim.

“You used to come out at least once every week before I came, so Lucy tells me, and always stayed all night, and sometimes over Sunday.”

“I have been very busy lately.” Jim’s tone was defensive and he glanced at Lucy.

“And very successful lately, I believe,” Nannie continued. “You made a fine deal yesterday, didn’t you? John told me all about it.”

“Yes--it was a good deal.”

Jim reddened again and stared at the table cloth.

Lucy’s eyes were upon him.

Shortly after dinner, Dimmie, escorted to the back gate by Mrs. Hamilton and Stella, came in through the kitchen. “Mrs. Hamilton brought me to the back gate,” he volunteered as he entered the dining room. Then, catching sight of Jim, he yelled, “Hello, Uncle Jim!” and rushed for his idol.

“You must go to sleepy town now, dear,” suggested Lucy, a few minutes later. “Say good night.” And Dimmie obeyed reluctantly, but with a special tight hug for “Uncle Jim.”

Soon the sound of Lucy’s voice as she sat upstairs singing Dimmie to sleep was heard by the trio in the dining room.

“I’ve often wondered why Lucy never sang before people,” declared Jim, lighting his pipe. “She certainly has a beautiful voice.”

“I gave her piano lessons for years,” answered Nannie quickly, “but she hasn’t kept it up. The reason I didn’t have her voice trained is that her ear is not true.”

“I never noticed that and I have overheard her singing a number of times,” persisted Jim. “Now take that thing from _Butterfly_ she is singing now, for instance. She places the difficult intervals with absolute precision. And Puccini’s music is tricky.”

“Oh, I never knew you understood music, Mr. Sprague. You never seemed particularly interested in it.”

“Why, I have listened to your singing with much pleasure, Mrs. Merwent.”

“You couldn’t get away from it,” Nannie laughed. “Come on, John. Shall I sing for you? Mr. Sprague can shut the door if he doesn’t like it!” Nannie passed into the living room, followed by John.

Lucy came down stairs.

“Well, Jim, are you deserted?” was her question, as she opened the dining room door and saw him there alone.

He nodded his head without speaking.

“Let’s go in and hear Mamma sing,” she suggested.

He hesitated an instant as if about to make some comment, and then followed her.

Mrs. Merwent ceased singing and swung around on the piano stool as they entered.

“Go on, Mamma. Don’t stop,” Lucy urged, seating herself and indicating a chair to Jim.

“Mr. Sprague had rather hear you,” said Nannie. “Nonsense, Mamma. You know I never sing,” protested Lucy, looking embarrassed. “What were you singing?”

“It’s a little thing called _Juliet at the Window_.”

“There’s to be a revival of _Romeo and Juliet_ at the Standard Theatre next week,” observed John.

“Yes. I saw by the papers that that little Hilda Knowlton is going to play Juliet. She’s much too young for the part,” said Nannie.

“I don’t see how she well could be,” objected Jim.

“I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Sprague,” began Nannie. “I’ve seen Mary Anderson, and Adelaide Neilson, and Julia Arthur, and Eleanor Robson, and Julia Marlowe, all in the part, and they weren’t young girls in their teens.”

“Well, according to the play a young girl in her teens would be exactly suited to the rôle,” answered Jim tenaciously.

“I’m sure that’s the first time I ever heard anyone say such a thing,” retorted Nannie.

“I’m not the only one who said so.” Jim was smiling but obstinate.

“For instance?” demanded Nannie sneeringly.

“Shakespeare,” replied Jim.

“Nonsense!” Nannie exclaimed irritably.

Jim walked to the bookcase and took down a volume of Shakespeare’s plays.

“‘Act one, scene three,’” he read. “‘She’s not fourteen. Come Lammas-eve at night, she shall be fourteen.’”

“Well, I’ve always thought she was older anyway,” insisted Nannie, “and I’m sure almost everybody thinks so. I’ve never seen a young chit of a girl take the part, and it would generally be considered ridiculous.”

“Perhaps Shakespeare didn’t know,” said Jim.

“Oh, well, if you want to be sarcastic and nasty about it, we better not discuss it. I suppose you feel very superior and triumphant over having gotten the best of me. I’m sure it makes no difference to me how old Juliet is supposed to be. Of course _you_ never make any mistakes, Mr. Sprague.”

“I beg your pardon, Mrs. Merwent, for having ventured to offer an opinion on the subject,” apologized Jim coldly.

“Here! You two people will be pulling hair in a minute,” interrupted John, breezily. “Let’s talk about something else.”

“With pleasure,” agreed Jim in the same frigid tone.

Mrs. Merwent rose without a word and made her way to the dining room.

“Where are you, Nannie?” John called after a few minutes. Receiving no reply, he stepped to the door.

“What are you sitting out here alone for?” he began. Then, in response to a sign from her, he entered the room.

“You and Jim don’t seem to get on very well tonight.” He spoke in a lowered voice as he seated himself by her side.

“Well, I’m amazed that you do,” she responded cryptically.

“What do you mean, Nannie?”

Mrs. Merwent raised her eyebrows significantly.

“You watch him,” she advised, almost in a whisper.

“Watch him?” John repeated in surprise. “Why, what for?”

“Remember what I say!” she whispered. “You watch his attitude toward Lucy. Didn’t you notice how anxious she was to defend him last night?”

An expression of understanding came into John’s eyes.

“Why, Nannie, you don’t mean----” He paused.

“I don’t mean anything.” She paused. “But it’s as I said the other night,” she added; “you’re too good and trusting, John.”

In the other room Jim had risen to take his departure.

“It’s early yet,” Lucy was saying.

“I must get back,” he insisted.

“Well, thank you for coming, anyway.”

“I’m afraid I’ve done no good,” he answered, discouragedly.

“You’ve certainly done no harm, Jim.”

“I don’t know.” He shook his head.

They went into the hall and he took up his hat.

“Good-bye, Mrs. Merwent. Good night, John,” he said formally, stepping to the dining room door.

“Good night,” returned John absently.

“Good-bye, Mr. Sprague,” Nannie responded in her usual silvery tones.

As he was leaving, Jim grasped Lucy’s hand warmly.

After he had gone, Lucy came to the dining room door and glanced in at Nannie and John. Then she turned away and ascended the stairs. Neither of them had noticed her.

XXI

Egged on by Nannie, John, though temporarily distracted by other matters, had not relinquished his determination to secure a servant, and one morning, as the result of his efforts, a girl from an employment agency presented herself.

“My name is Grace Stanley,” she announced, handing Lucy the note of introduction which John had sent, “and I do no washing, ironing, or mending, and I want Thursday and Saturday afternoons off. Of course I’ll stay today,” she concluded.

Lucy, whose protests had been in vain, had been warned of John’s intention the morning before and now without comment led the girl to the servant’s room.

About noon Nannie appeared, carefully made up and tastefully dressed in a white and green linen gown. The new servant had removed her corsets and exchanged her shoes for felt house slippers. And, when Nannie entered the dining room, was cleaning the silver ware. Grace, from the corner of her eye, gave Mrs. Merwent a shrewd glance.

“Good morning,” said Nannie, passing on to the next room where she sat down to the piano.

She finished running over some music and turned on the stool.

“My, but you sing pretty!” exclaimed Grace, who had been watching unnoticed in the doorway.

“Thank you.” Nannie smiled condescendingly, rising to pick up a volume of songs which she had laid on a nearby chair.

“Is there anything I can do for you before I start luncheon, Mrs. Winter?” the servant inquired, still hesitating in the doorway.

“I am Mrs. Merwent. Mrs. Winter is my daughter. Yes, you can come upstairs with me and I will show you how I wish my room done every day.”

“Certainly, Mrs. Merwent,” acceded Grace. And the two went upstairs together.

“I surely never would have taken you to be Mrs. Winter’s mother,” the girl asserted with conviction, as they entered Nannie’s room.

“Grace!” Lucy called from the lower hall a few minutes later. “Where are you, Grace?”

“I’m busy, Mrs. Winter,” the girl called in answer.

“Well, leave whatever you are doing. I want you to begin luncheon. It’s late already.”

“I can’t come now, Mrs. Winter,” was Grace’s retort. “I’m helping Mrs. Merwent.”

“Wait a minute, Lucy. I’m explaining the work to Grace,” Nannie shouted impatiently.

Lucy went to the kitchen and began to prepare the meal herself.

“Is that a picture of you, Mrs. Merwent?” Grace was asking Nannie, pointing to a photograph on the dressing table.

“Yes, but it was taken a long time ago,” Nannie explained modestly.

“It’s a good likeness,” declared Grace.

“Oh, I look lots older than that now!” protested Nannie.

“Well, maybe you do look a teeny bit older, but I didn’t notice it,” Grace admitted, scrutinizing the picture again. “Ain’t Mrs. Winter your step-daughter?” she pursued.

“No. She’s my own daughter,” confessed Nannie.

“My, but you must have got married young!” exclaimed the girl.

“Now, you can go down and help Mrs. Winter,” suggested Nannie pleasantly. “You understand how I want things. And don’t forget to do my room first always.”

“I’ll not forget,” Grace promised, “and whenever you want anything, you just call me, Mrs. Merwent.”

“I will, thank you, Grace.” Nannie smiled, and the servant descended to the kitchen.

Lucy was looking hot and tired when luncheon was served.

“Why is it that Jimmie always goes so early to kindergarten now-a-days?” Mrs. Merwent asked her when they had seated themselves at the table.

“He goes over to Mrs. Hamilton’s after his breakfast,” replied Lucy, “and the wagon calls there for both children.”

“I should think you would let him go from here,” observed Nannie. “I don’t see the advantage of his going over to Mrs. Hamilton’s so early. And after he comes back you always send him or take him some place. A child ought not to be away from home so much. It’s not good for him.”

Lucy made no answer.

“One would think that you’d like to see more of your child, Lucy. I used to be miserable when you were at school. But it looks as though you send him away on purpose. Perhaps you want to keep him away from my evil influence?”

Lucy continued silent.

“Why don’t you say right out, Lucy, that you don’t want me to have anything to do with him?”

“That isn’t true, Mamma, that I don’t want you to see _anything_ of him.”

“I suppose, then, you didn’t send him to kindergarten to get him away from me?”

“Well, I thought he bothered you a great deal, Mamma, and you and he are always quarreling.”

“Quarreling! I quarrel with a five year old child! You have a very dignified mother, I must say! No, that excuse won’t work. The real reason is that you want to estrange the child from me so you can have his affection all for yourself.”

“No, Mamma. That’s not so. But I do think it is bad for Dimmie to have you correcting him every time he breathes. Children should have a great deal of consideration.”

“And I have no consideration for him! I nag him every time he breathes! Lucy, of all the unjust, unkind things to say, and from my own daughter, too! After all I’ve gone through for you! If I’d only followed poor Mother’s advice and never come! Well, I’ll tell you this much, Lucy, _I_ have some rights in the matter too, and I will not have my own grandson poisoned against me!” “Well, I have some rights, too!” flared Lucy. “I will not have my child badgered to death by anybody!”

“Badgered! Well, I never! The child doesn’t belong to you alone, Lucy. He has a father, too, and we’ll see what John has to say about it!”

“It makes no difference what he says,” returned Lucy hotly. “You shall not ruin my boy, and neither shall his father!” Her eyes shone and her breast heaved.

“Why, Lucy! What are you getting into such a rage about?” Nannie temporized suddenly. “Anyone would think I was asking permission to murder him instead of----”

“That’s exactly what you _are_ doing!” cried Lucy bitterly. “You would like to murder his soul. You want to interfere with every thought and impulse the child has!”

“Why, Lucy----” Nannie began again indignantly.

“Don’t ‘Lucy’ me!” interrupted her daughter vehemently, rising from her chair. “I tell you I won’t have my child tortured by you or anyone else. If it’s to be that or nothing we had better decide to part right now. So far as my own life goes, I say nothing, but my child----” She halted for breath, trembling with emotion.

“Lucy!” Nannie almost shrieked, rising also.

Lucy stared at her mother steadfastly for a moment, and did not speak. Nannie broke into hysterical sobbing. Lucy continued to regard her unmoved.

“Oh, Lucy, do you want to break my heart?” Nannie wailed.

“No,” said Lucy at last, the peculiar hard expression on her face relaxing slightly.

“Things used to be so different,” moaned Mrs. Merwent between sobs. “We were so congenial. And now that poor Mother’s dead, when I’m all alone and need affection so badly, and have forgiven all the past, to think that you could say such things to me!” And she wept afresh.

Lucy gazed at her with a look which mingled pity with contempt.

“Oh, Lucy, do you hate me?” Nannie’s voice was beseeching.

“No,” Lucy repeated impassively, hesitating a moment before she answered. “Then, love me, Lucy! Don’t look at me that way!” Nannie threw her arms around her daughter’s neck.

For a moment Lucy submitted to the caress without responding. Then she put her arms around her mother.

“I can’t bear to have anything between us. We have always been so close together,” said Nannie, sniffing gently.

Lucy glanced across her mother’s shoulder and saw Grace standing in the doorway.

“You can clear the table,” Lucy ordered the girl sharply, at the same time loosening herself from Nannie’s embrace.

“Yes, ma’am,” agreed Grace cheerfully.

Nannie went upstairs to her room. She was followed, almost at once, by Grace.

“Poor Mrs. Merwent,” the girl began, coming into Nannie’s room without knocking. “You look all pale and wore out.”

Nannie observed her rouged cheeks in the mirror, peering over the girl’s head surreptitiously.

“Am I pale, Grace?” she inquired nervously.

“No. Not exactly pale,” amended the girl, “but your eyes look tired and you are worried.”

“Do I show wrinkles?” insisted Nannie.

“Not at all,” said Grace hastily, “but it breaks my heart to see you look so sad.”

“It’s nothing, Grace. We all have our troubles. But you are a good, kind-hearted girl. Thank you.”

“Is there anything you want?” offered Grace solicitously.

“No. Not now. You can help Mrs. Winter. If I need you, I’ll call.”

“All right, Mrs. Merwent. I’ll run up again after a while.” And Grace descended the stairs, humming a song under her breath.

Lucy was in the kitchen beating eggs.

“Did you move some money that was on the writing table in the living room, Grace?” she asked as the girl entered.

“Why, no ma’am. Of course not!” denied Grace vigorously.

“I can’t find it,” said Lucy.

“Well, I didn’t touch it,” reasserted the girl with some indignation. “I don’t do such things, Mrs. Winter.” “I didn’t say you took it, Grace,” responded Lucy patiently. “I thought you might have moved it, that’s all. I’ve looked every place for it.”

“No, I didn’t touch it,” Grace repeated.

Lucy went upstairs.

“Mamma, did you put away some money that was on the desk in the dining room?” she inquired.

“Why, no, Lucy, I _never_ touch _anything_,” Nannie stated.

“Well, it’s very funny. I laid it down and came up here, and when I went back it was gone.”

“Maybe you locked it up, Mrs. Winter, and then forgot it.” Grace’s voice startled them both.

Lucy turned toward the girl who was standing in the hall just outside the door.

“What do you mean by following me about, Grace?” she reproved with vexation.

“I only came up to see how Mrs. Merwent was.” Grace had an injured air.

“Why, are you sick?” Lucy faced her mother quickly.

“No-o. Just a slight headache, that’s all,” murmured Nannie with some confusion.

“You didn’t tell me anything about it,” said Lucy.

“Why, it’s nothing.”

“You better start your work, Grace, if you expect to have dinner on time.” Lucy spoke to the girl again.

Grace went off sulkily.

“I don’t like that girl,” Lucy complained when Grace had gone.

“Why, I don’t see anything the matter with her. She is extremely thoughtful and respectful.”

“Well, she doesn’t do her work, for one thing, and eavesdrops for another, and I am going to have the matter of this money cleared up.”

“I don’t think you ought to accuse her of stealing without any proof, Lucy. It is so easy to be unjust. I know what it is to be misunderstood myself.”

“Injustice is the last thing I have in mind,” declared Lucy as she was leaving the room, “but I can’t let a thing like this pass without doing something.” In about an hour Grace tapped at Nannie’s door.

“Come in,” Nannie called.

The girl entered noiselessly, as usual. She carried a tray on which were a teapot, cup and saucer, and a plate of buttered toast.

“I’ve fixed you a little tea and toast, Mrs. Merwent,” she announced. “Maybe if you eat a little it will make you feel better.”

“Wait a minute, till I put these things away.” Nannie glanced up from the open bureau drawer before which she was kneeling. Then, seeing the tray, she rose to her feet.

“Thank you, Grace, but I don’t feel like eating,” she protested mournfully.

“Oh, try just a teeny bit. Here, I’ll pour the tea out for you. Eat just this little bit of toast. See how brown and crisp it is. You ought to try to eat, Mrs. Merwent. I noticed you ate hardly any lunch at all.”

“Well, all right, Grace, seeing that you have been thoughtful enough to fix it.” And Nannie began to eat with good appetite. “I didn’t think I could touch a bite, but you’ve fixed everything so nicely. I don’t usually eat much,” she declared defensively after a few moments. She smiled wanly at Grace, munching the toast as she spoke.

“That’s right,” said the girl approvingly. “You ought to eat more.”

There was a pause.

“Did Mrs. Winter find the money she misplaced?” Grace questioned casually. “Here, let me pour you another cup of tea,” she added.

“I don’t think so, Grace. But it will turn up some place or other,” replied Nannie, holding out her cup for the girl to fill.

“Well, if it don’t, I never touched it.”

“I’m sure you didn’t, Grace.”

“We’re going to have cold roast and hot potatoes for dinner, Mrs. Merwent. How do you like potatoes best? Shall I fix them _au gratin_?” asked Grace, mispronouncing the French very badly.

“I like scalloped potatoes best,” specified Nannie. “All right. I’ll fix ’em that way. And the salad, shall I fix mayonnaise or French dressing?”

“Mayonnaise, if it’s not too much work.”

“Oh, I don’t mind the work.” Grace laughed. “I want to have things as you like ’em.” She picked up the tray. “If you want me, just call me,” she reminded Nannie, and departed as before, humming the same song.

Lucy came into the kitchen a little later.

“You can get the potatoes ready to bake, Grace,” she directed, “and make the French dressing for the salad while they are baking.”

“I was goin’ to scallop the potatoes,” objected Grace. “Mrs. Merwent said she liked ’em that way, and she wanted mayonnaise for the salad.”

“Well, I don’t care, if you have time to do it. Mr. Winter likes to have his dinner promptly.”

“I’ll get it in time, all right, all right. You just leave me alone,” stipulated Grace.

* * * * *

It was several days before Lucy made an issue of Grace.

About ten o’clock one morning, missing the girl from the kitchen, she tapped at the door of the servant’s room. Receiving no response to her knock, and hearing the sound of snoring, she looked in. Finding Grace asleep, she awakened her.

“Haven’t you anything to do, Grace? Go and start luncheon at once.”

The girl descended the stairs, Lucy following her.

“You can hash and brown the potatoes that were left. They’re in the refrigerator.”

“There ain’t no potatoes left,” objected Grace sulkily.

“Why, where are they? I told you to save them for luncheon.”

“I throwed ’em away.”

“What did you mean by throwing them away after I told you to put them in the refrigerator?”

“I don’t like warmed over things,” Grace informed her insolently.

“You will not be needed after tomorrow, Grace,” pronounced Lucy angrily. “Your week is up then. Of course I will pay you an extra week’s wages.”

“Why, what have I done, Mrs. Winter?” was the answer in a tone of injured innocence.

“We need not discuss it. It is sufficient that I shall not require your services after tomorrow.”

“If you are hinting that I took that money, Mrs. Winter, I will just let you know that there is protection for a girl who is accused falsely of stealing.”

“I’m not accusing you,” returned Lucy. “The money disappeared. So did a dollar bill I purposely placed on the table. I have no proof that you took either sum, but I am not compelled to keep anyone in my employ unless I wish, so we will consider the matter settled.”

Grace sought Nannie’s room without delay.

Not long after, Nannie presented herself in the living room where Lucy was engaged in straightening some papers on the desk. The girl had remained upstairs.

“What are you discharging Grace for, Lucy?” Nannie began excitedly.

“I think I have good reasons, Mamma, or I shouldn’t do it.”

“I’m afraid you are prejudiced against her, Lucy. She complains to me that you are not treating her fairly.”

“I must be the judge of what I am doing, Mamma.”

“Well, I should be careful about reflecting on her character and honesty. You don’t know that she took that money, and I am convinced that she didn’t. A girl who is considerate and thoughtful of others is not likely to be a thief.”

“I have accused her of nothing, Mamma, but I will not have her around.”

“Now, Lucy, of course I know that you think I should never say a word in this house, but I think it’s my duty to protest in this matter.” Mrs. Merwent assumed an expression of great dignity.

“I’m a better judge than you are of what kind of a servant I want,” retorted Lucy, her cheeks flushing.

“In other words, I should attend to my own business.”

“Well, Mamma, you certainly ought to know that I am the one to take the responsibility in such matters.” “Without considering the wishes or comfort of anyone else in the family!” snapped Nannie. “Of course I might have known that _I_ needn’t expect to be considered. _I_ never count for anything.”

“I think the lack of consideration is on your part, Mamma. You don’t care if the girl is lazy and inefficient and dishonest. Just so long as she flatters you and pays you special attention, you stand up for her. The welfare of the family is nothing.”