Chapter VIII

And wears upon his baby brow the round and top of
sovereignty.—_Macbeth_, iv, 1.

Not only because her Cousin Putnam was an Adams, but also because he was a soldier and an invalid, he was invested to Miss Esther’s mind with a certain halo of romance. The mere incidental fact that his injury had not been received on the field of battle, but in the more commonplace pursuit of supervising the moving of certain heavy guns from the ramparts of Fort Monroe on a peaceful June afternoon, made no difference in her attitude toward it. She felt that a dearth of woman’s tears was just as pathetic in an accident of this sort as in the case of an Algiers hero, and she was resolved that there should be no lack of woman’s nursing if she had her way about it. Since he had decided on the career of a soldier and left home for West Point, Putnam Adams had seen enough of woman’s tears, for they were not an unknown commodity in Cuba and the Philippines, but he had had but little experience with the woman’s nursing part of the problem. His work had been cut out for him from the very day of his graduation, and when he was finally ordered home and to service at the artillery school at Fort Monroe there had been no thought but the accurate carrying out of the general and special orders of his commanding officer, with, back of it, the firm resolve to take his place at the very front rank of the profession which he loved with that love which comes through generations of trained soldiers—fighters.

And now in one of Miss Esther’s dimity-curtained bedrooms he was receiving the gentle motherly care which he had never had since his boyhood years. She did not fuss over him, or at least, if she did, it was with that practical, sensible fussing which carried conviction and brought a sense of absolute peace and rest.

The Westcotts were more easily disposed of. Miss Esther sent them off to bed as unceremoniously as she would have done ten years earlier had they visited her then. Their rooms boasted as many dimity-curtains and the wall-paper as many pink roses as were to be found in Putnam Adams’s room across the hall. But these details were entirely lost upon these two healthy young cubs whose physical prowess far outstripped their artistic instinct. They fell asleep without appreciating that the drapery of their couches was the traditional lavender-scented Adams linen.

Having said good-night to her cousins, Miss Esther returned to her library. The immediate success of her plans had surpassed all her expectations. Within four days she had gathered under her own roof four eligible candidates for the hands of the unconscious clients of her Matrimonial Bureau. To be sure, she had only three clients, but it was well to have an extra man in case another client presented herself.

“It seems to me, Portia,” she said, “that I have managed this thing quite as well as even you could have done it. I have laid my plans carefully, and I feel sure that they will work out successfully. Putnam Adams is a dear, and, as I thought, he is just the one for Jean. Winthrop Brewster I am not so sure of. He must be the one for Lillian, for he came almost the very moment after I received the refusal from Hiram Briggs. And Mr. Brewster is apparently very intellectual, though he doesn’t seem to have any special leaning toward art. The Westcott boys are all right. Either of them is good enough for Helen, and she can take her choice. I don’t suppose they have very large castles as yet; but the Westcott fortune is great and there is plenty of time. Yes, things are certainly working out well. The Matrimonial Bureau has already proved its right to existence, and I shall be glad to see my girls married and settled.”

With the feeling of satisfaction that comes from an achieved purpose, Miss Esther turned out the library lights and went slowly up the stairs. As she passed Jack’s shipyard, she smiled happily. “And after the weddings are all over,” she said, “Jack and I will go on with the building of the ship.”

* * * * *

On the east side of the Adams house was a square porch which had been built by Miss Esther’s father in order that he might have an out-of-door reading-room when the days of summer made it too warm to remain comfortably in the library. This was now inclosed in vines,—wistaria, honeysuckle, and crimson ramblers,—which gave the place a frisky appearance quite in contrast to the stately effect of the stone-floored, white-columned front porch.

After breakfast next morning Miss Esther formally transferred this desirable bit of property to the boys, and especially to Putnam. For his especial benefit she had arranged a big wicker lounging-chair with a convenient table by its side. Then there were rugs and hammocks, ash-trays, and other things supposed to be necessary to the comfort of the average man. Lieutenant Adams, who found himself after his tiresome journey provokingly helpless, dropped gratefully into his pillow-filled chair, but the Westcott boys promptly upset the orderly scheme of things which Miss Esther had so happily arranged during the early morning hours. Kenneth picked up a large palm in a pot which he summarily deposited on the lawn outside. Mark pitched the pillows out of the hammocks. “There’s no place for my feet,” he said.

Much as Miss Esther had enjoyed arranging these things for the comfort of her guests, she enjoyed still more their high-handed demolishing of that arrangement. “Now have you everything you want?” she asked, beaming on the twelve-feet-six of Westcott humanity that was festooned end to end across the porch.

“All but one thing,” said Kenneth, “and that’s some fishing-tackle. I want to go fishing.”

“But there’s no place to fish.”

“That doesn’t make any difference. I don’t want to fish; I just want to go fishing, and so I want some tackle and bait and a creel and a pair of hip-boots.”

“There is a little bit of a brook that runs through the east meadow,” said Miss Esther, thinking hard in her endeavor to provide what was wanted. “But there are no fish in it that I know of.”

“That will do nicely, thank you. Of course, I would have preferred something with tarpon in it; but a brook is a brook, after all. Where are the things?”

“Father used to have all those things. They’re in the big attic now. I’ll go and get them.”

“Not on your life you won’t!” And Kenneth bounced out of the hammock, picked Miss Esther up bodily and carefully deposited her in his place, tucking some pillows about her feet. “I’ll get them myself. You stay right there. Watch her, fellows!”

The screen door slammed behind him and Kenneth went in search of his fishing-tackle. He returned triumphantly with the hip-boots and much other paraphernalia which he scattered over the floor, chairs, and also over his hostess, whom he decorated with red and yellow trout flies. Even after the good lady had escaped and unwillingly obeyed Nora’s summons to the kitchen, Kenneth was still fussing with his flies.

“By Jove!” exclaimed Putnam, looking down across the lawn, “what a picture!” Kenneth paused, and, looking through a vine-framed opening, saw an exceeding fat baby propelling herself on all-fours through a too-small aperture in the boxwood hedge. Halfway through she had paused perforce and beamed contentedly. Then redoubling her efforts she wriggled through the rest of the way, stood upright and carefully brushed the dirt from her tiny skirts, and started toward the house. She walked deliberately, as one with a set purpose. At a rose-bush a few feet from the hedge she stopped, kissed one of the roses, patted another lovingly, clasped her fat little hands and stood for a moment in rapt adoration of the flowers. Then she turned and trotted on toward the house.

A small toad hopped in front of her. The baby gave a little squeal, and putting her hands over her eyes, she walked carefully and deliberately around the toad, leaving plenty of room between them. Contentedly then she came slowly on.

“Hullo, Yellowtop!” called out Mark, who with the others had watched the eventful journey across the lawn.

At this the baby looked up, saw the three strange men, and with a sudden absolute collapse she dropped to the ground where she stood, sitting squarely down, her chubby fingers outstretched on either side of her, and her feet sticking up in front. For a moment she stared blankly at the awful sight before her, and then, opening her mouth wide, there came forth a wail of terror and indignant surprise such as never was on land or sea.

“Bless your baby heart!” said Kenneth, “what in the world’s the matter?”

The response to this was another yell, more prolonged and terrified than the first. This brought Miss Esther.

“What are you doing to Chub?” she exclaimed.

“Nothing,” said Kenneth, honestly; “she’s hollering at me.”

“I’ll get her,” said Mark, helpfully, and bounding down the steps he picked up the tumultuous morsel of humanity. Pausing in the vocal demonstration of her temper, she resorted to effective pugilism and pounded Mark with her dimpled fists, her blue eyes flashing with the indignation of outraged dignity.

“Don’t hit him so hard, Baby,” laughed Putnam; “you’ll kill him!”

“Will I?” asked Chub, pausing in her warlike enterprise, and looking straight into Mark’s eyes.

“Of course you will,” said Mark, reproachfully. “I’m almost dead now.”

“I wath goin’ to thtop anyway,” said Chub with a final thump on his chest. Then she threw her arms around him as far as they would go and beamed adoringly at him.

From that moment Mark bent his neck to Chub’s yoke. Her monarchy was absolute. Anything less than instantaneous obedience occasioned blood-curdling yells that always reduced Mark to sudden subjection, not only in self-defense but for the sake of suffering humanity. By the time Mark had reached the porch Chub had reached a state of intermittent calm, and submitted with a fine air of condescension to the introductions thrust upon her.

She greeted Lieutenant Adams and Kenneth Westcott pleasantly at Miss Esther’s bidding, but allowed it plainly to be seen that she very much preferred Mark’s society.

Miss Esther, seeing that Chub was peacefully settled, turned to enter the house.

“Don’t go,” called Lieutenant Adams after her.

“I must,” said Miss Esther; “I have a lot of things to attend to.”

“They can wait; I want you. I wish you’d get one of the new magazines and read me a story.”

Miss Esther went into the house and soon returned with several magazines. “Here are the books,” she said, “but I can’t read to you. I have a hundred things to do this morning.”

Putnam looked at her calmly. “You are not going to do any of them,” he said; “you are going to stay right straight here with me—and read to me. Sit down in that chair.”

Miss Esther sat down, and Putnam regarded her with a look of entire satisfaction. “Any story will do,” he said.

She turned the pages, hunting for the most interesting story.

Her mind was slightly distracted by the novel sensation of submitting to irresistible authority. The feeling was distinctly pleasant.

“Romeo couldn’t have done that,” she thought. “A lover is more condoling, but my chief humor is for a tyrant. Well, I’ve certainly found one in this dominating cousin of mine.”