Chapter VIII: Days in New York

After Betty had waited about an hour her expectations were realized.

Mrs. Van Court and her daughter and son appeared in the doorway and said respectively:

“Betty! how _did_ you get here?”

“My dear child, are you really safe?”

“I told ’em you’d land on your feet somehow, Popinjay!”

Explanations followed, and Betty told about her ride up-town with the soldiers; and then Richard Van Court went to telephone to Mr. Morris and Mr. Brewster, who were still down-town searching for the lost child.

“Betty,” said Mr. Dick, when he returned, “you’re a ‘man-of-infinite-resource-and-sagacity.’ But what would you have done if you hadn’t met your military friends?”

“I don’t know, sir, but I think I would have made my way up here somehow, for I knew it was the only chance of gettin’ myself found.”

“You showed good common sense,” said Miss Grace; “and now let us go to our rooms and rest a little before dinner.”

To Betty’s great satisfaction, she was allowed to go down to dinner. Mrs. Van Court disapproved of it, and said it would be much better for her to have supper in her room, and go at once to bed, that she might be refreshed for the excitements of the next day. But Miss Grace saw the child’s disappointed face, and begged that she might be permitted to dine with the rest and then go to bed directly after. So Mrs. Van Court consented, and told Betty she might wear her blue silk dress.

This dress was Betty’s pride and delight. It was of blue China silk, just the color of her eyes, and had a yoke and sleeves of white embroidered muslin. Black silk stockings and slippers with shining buckles completed the costume, and Miss Grace tied a blue ribbon through the dark hair that clustered in ringlets all over the little Irish head.

“There,” she said; “you look very nice, Betty, and if you behave as well as you look, no one will have any good reason to complain of you to-night. Now run to mama’s room and ask her if she’s ready.”

As Betty walked along the softly carpeted hall, she felt that in all her “pretendings” she had never imagined such good times as she was having now, and the thought that they were only a prelude to the best time of all, when she should have her own home, brought a radiant smile to her face.

So it was a very pretty little picture that greeted Mrs. Van Court’s eyes as she opened the door to Betty’s tap.

“Why, my child, how sweet you look!” said the lady, kissing her kindly.

And Betty replied seriously: “I do, ma’am; Miss Grace said so. But I’m afraid, ma’am, I won’t have my manners right, an’ I’ll do little credit to your teachin’.”

“Well, don’t bother about it,” said Mrs. Van Court, laughing. “Just do the best you can, and don’t talk much when we’re in the public halls or parlors.”

The party had a small dining-room to themselves; and though the formalities of a table were entirely new to the little Irish girl, yet her common sense and quick power of observation enabled her soon to master them.

“Now,” said Mr. Morris, after they were seated at the table, “we must lay our plans. Yes, we must arrange for the campaign. What shall we do to-morrow?”

“Let us be systematic,” said Mrs. Van Court. “Let us make lists of the furniture we have to buy, and attend to the various rooms on different days.”

“And,” said Miss Grace, “we ought not to march this whole crowd around together all the time. I propose that one or two of us accompany Betty each day, and so divide the responsibility.”

“I quite agree with you,” said Mr. Brewster.

“Capital!” cried Richard. “I’ll go with you, Popinjay, to get the things for your music-room. I know a place where they have the loveliest music-boxes you ever saw, and hand-organs, too.”

“Don’t tease, Dick,” said his sister. “You _may_ look after the musical instruments, for you know all about such things. _I_ will help you, Betty, to furnish the parlors and halls and that lovely little landing on the stairs.”

“I want Mrs. Van Court to pick out the furniture for my own room,” said Betty; “for she knows what’s best for a little girl like me to have.”

Mrs. Van Court smiled at her, and said she would be glad to select the furniture for all the sleeping-rooms in Betty’s new house.

“Bless my soul!” said Mr. Morris. “What’s left for me to do? Am I to be out of this thing—out of it entirely? No! I will provide for your dining-room and kitchen. Ah, yes; I will be of use there! Now, wait a minute. I have a house of my own, and I understand culinary mysteries that would floor these foolish young men—utterly floor them. With Mrs. Van Court’s assistance, I will fit up your kitchen to a state of perfection, a state of perfection, my dear.”

“I will select your library,” said Mr. Brewster. “A library you must have—not a very large one at first, but one that shall be a foundation for the future.”

So the plans were laid; and next morning all were filled with an eager interest to put them at once into execution.

Mrs. Van Court, Mr. Morris, and Betty started on their expedition as early as possible, saying they would be gone all day, and making an appointment to meet the others at dinner and report progress.

And such a day as it was! Betty began to think she had stepped into a fairy story, and pinched herself once in a while to make sure she was awake.

Every purchase was made subject to her authority; but this soon came to be merely nominal, for her kind friends had such superior knowledge and judgment that she was only too glad to agree with their decisions.

As Mr. Morris had said, he and Mrs. Van Court knew how to furnish a kitchen, and they bought a complete outfit of cooking-utensils and kitchen furniture in a very short space of time. A few patent labor-saving contrivances were purchased, but only those that the sagacious buyers had tested and found useful.

The dining-room furniture came next. As the house had a sideboard, they bought a dining-table and chairs, a pretty glass-cupboard, and a small side-table.

“Shall you sit at the head of your own table, Betty?” inquired Mrs. Van Court.

“No, ma’am; I think my gran’mother will sit there, an’ I’d like an arm-chair for her, an’ also a high chair for the baby.”

These were added to the order; and then they selected dishes and glassware and table-linen and silver. It was a difficult matter to know just what style of furnishing to adopt for such unusual domestic arrangements; but Mrs. Van Court decided on a general line that should be in keeping with the house, and with the state of Betty’s finances, without being in any way extravagant.

The sleeping-rooms came next. In deference to Betty’s wish, Mrs. Van Court selected all the furniture for Betty’s own room. A brass bedstead was chosen; then a dear little dressing-table with a wide, low mirror; for this Mrs. Van Court found a dainty white cover, and then proceeded to buy a bewildering array of trays, brushes, combs, and toilet appliances of all kinds. Of some of these Betty knew neither the names nor the uses.

Then she chose a wide, soft couch upholstered in blue, and a dozen jolly big pillows to throw on it, a dear little rocking-chair, a lovely work-table of inlaid wood, and another table to hold a pretty shaded lamp. The carpet was blue and white, and the window-curtains were of dainty, ruffled white muslin.

Although the library was yet to be furnished, Mrs. Van Court said that a small writing-desk and a rack for favorite books were always pleasant to have in one’s own room, and these were added.

There were other little things needed, but they decided to leave those for the present and look at furniture for the other rooms. So a room for the prospective grandmother was furnished next, and the tastes of an imaginary old lady were carefully consulted.

“But she won’t be so _very_ old,” said Betty. “I want her so that she can take care of me in some ways, and in some ways I can take care of her.”

So the old lady was imagined several years younger than before, and her comfort was arranged for accordingly.

Then the baby sister’s nursery was furnished, Betty informing them that the sister would be about two years old when first introduced.

It was great fun buying a crib, a chiffonnier, a tiny bath-tub, and all the paraphernalia of a baby’s toilet. Toys were suggested, but they were left to be bought some other day, for Lame Jack’s room must be attended to.

Betty hadn’t asked him yet to live in her home, but she felt no fear of a refusal, and furnished his room in a way which she knew would appeal to his tastes.

By this time it was growing late, and they returned to the hotel feeling that the first day’s shopping had been a success.

It was a merry party at dinner that night, for each had something to tell of the day’s experience, and there was much laughter and fun.

“Popinjay,” said Mr. Richard, “I think I will take you shopping to-morrow, and see if we can’t do as well as the committee who went to-day. We’ll buy music-boxes of all kinds, and then if there’s any time left we’ll go sight-seeing.”

“Yes, sir,” said Betty, her eyes shining with delight; for Mr. Dick was very kind to her, and having grown used to his teasing, she didn’t mind it so much as at first.

“All aboard, Popinjay,” said the young man, soon after breakfast the next morning. “Get on your smartest hat and come along with me. We’ll join the hilarious populace in search of pleasure and profit.”

Betty ran to get ready, and soon appeared again, smiling and happy, though a little shy.

“It’s good of you, sir, to take so much trouble for the likes of me,” she said gratefully, as they started off.

“Now, Betty,” said Mr. Richard, seriously, “I will give you a bit of sound advice which your other legal and spiritual advisers seem to have omitted. ‘The likes of me’ is an expression you must not use. In the first place, it is too Irish for an Americanized little girl; and secondly, the spirit of it is wrong. In this country we are all free and equal—that is, we are said to be, but in reality education and money often give their possessors a certain superiority over their less fortunate fellow-men. I don’t say this is right, but I say it is true. Now, you have money, and soon, I hope, you will have a good education. The rest of your claim to respect lies entirely within yourself. If you are worthy of attention and consideration, you will get them, and if not, you won’t. There’s the whole case in a nutshell; and if you remember it, it will do you more good than a year of preaching. Now, as I have told you before, little girl, I am your friend; consequently it is a pleasure to me to aid you in any way I can; and so, Jocoseria, put away that troubled look and smile again, and we’ll go and hunt that festive quadruped, the piano.”

Betty felt grateful to Mr. Dick for his kind and straightforward talk, and resolved to remember and profit by it. She smiled brightly, and said:

“Is it a wild beast, sir?”

“So some folks would say; but we will track him to his lair and make him roar for us. Then, when we find one that growls in just the right tones, we’ll buy him.”

They went to piano warerooms, and Mr. Dick, who was a musician, played on a great many pianos, while Betty sat and listened with intense delight.

“Are you so fond of music, child?” asked Mr. Dick, noticing her absorbed expression.

“Oh, yes, sir; I could listen to it forever. Can you sing, too?”

“Indeed I can—I sing like a bird. But not here, not here, my child. I will wait until your music-room is in running order. Now, let us look for a banjo.”

Betty could scarcely keep her feet still when Mr. Van Court played snatches of rollicking dance-music on banjos or mandolins. Then, being a versatile musician, he took up a violin, and drew from it wailing strains that made Betty’s face grow solemn, and as the last note died away she caught her breath with almost a sob.

“Come, come, chick, this won’t do,” said Mr. Dick, gaily; “you promised to smile, you know. We will not buy this whole category of stringed things; we’ll take a violin and a banjo, and as it will be some time before you can learn to get the right noises out of them, I think we’ll invest in that fraudulent imitation, a music-box.”

“Isn’t it right to have a music-box?”

“Oh, yes; it’s just the thing for chickabiddies like you, and it will amuse the baby, too. By the way, Popinjay, when are you going to buy the infant orphan?”

“I don’t know, sir, but I do want her most awfully. I think it would be the makin’ of my home to have a cunning little baby sister to play with and to take care of.”

“But have you realized the care and responsibility she will be to you? She won’t stay an infant, you know; she’ll grow up; and you’ll have her to feed and clothe and educate, all her youth.”

“Yes, sir; but I’ve money enough for all, an’ she’ll be part of my home, an’—an’ I’ll love her so!”

“All right, Popinjay; have your sister,” said Mr. Dick, laughing. “And now let’s get ahead of Grace and find an æolian harp for your staircase window.”

This instrument was not so easy to find, but Mr. Van Court finally succeeded in getting some materials, and full instructions for using them, and he decided he could construct the harp himself.

The next day Miss Grace claimed Betty, and Mr. Brewster said he would go with them, and then they could buy the library furniture, which was his especial province, at the same time.

So they bought lovely tables and chairs for the parlors, and pretty little taborets and cabinets; and they bought a desk for the library, and leather-covered chairs, and a revolving bookcase—only one, for there were other bookcases already in the room. The books, Mr. Brewster said, he would order later, as his lists were not yet completed. And then, having a little time yet on their hands, he proposed that they visit an orphan asylum.

They soon found one, and were cordially received by the matron, who was pleased when she learned their errand, and took them at once to the nursery.

There were so many babies to choose from that Betty gave up in despair, and began to play with them all.

But after a talk with the matron, Miss Grace decided upon a chubby, brown-eyed midget named Polly. Her past history, though short, seemed satisfactory, and the baby herself was so merry and healthy that she seemed the best selection.

“We may as well decide now as any time,” said Mr. Brewster, and so they told the matron they would probably take the child away in the course of a few weeks.

Polly dimpled and smiled, and seemed quite to understand that she was the gem of the collection, and with a parting kiss Betty reluctantly left her.

That night at dinner Mrs. Van Court had a little story to tell: “I called on Mrs. Rogers this afternoon, and in the course of conversation she told me of a sad case that has recently come under her notice. A friend of hers who had been living in affluence became very much reduced in fortune—in fact, her husband lost all his money; and soon after he died, leaving his wife penniless, with an infant daughter to support. Being a delicate, fragile creature, the mother became ill and died, leaving the baby without a home. I believe there are no relatives, or, if there are, they won’t take the child, and it is about to be sent to an institution.

“I told her about you, Betty, and feeling sure you would like the sweet little one, I told Mrs. Rogers you would take her. She is delighted, of course, and will keep the baby herself until you are settled and ready for it.”

“Bless my soul!” exclaimed Mr. Morris, “what have I done? Oh, madam, what have I done?”

He alternately wrung his hands and drummed on the table; then he pounded his fists together, and indeed seemed unable to find any gesture vigorous enough to express his consternation.

“Why, I too have engaged a baby sister for Miss McGuire! Now, wait a minute. I haven’t signed any papers, you know, not signed any papers; but I gave my word, yes, I certainly gave my word. I said I knew of a good home for the child, and in every way it was such a satisfactory infant that I thought there was no doubt, no doubt at all, of the acceptability. Bless my soul! what shall we do? She can’t adopt two children. Now, wait a minute—”

“Wait a minute yourself,” broke in Mr. Brewster. “Miss Grace and I went to an orphan asylum with Betty this afternoon, and _we_ engaged the baby sister. She is a dear little child named Polly, and—”

“Bless my soul!” began Mr. Morris, again. “You engaged a child, too? Three infants! Why, what shall we do? This is awful—truly awful.”

He sat back in his chair, appalled at the awfulness of it. Mrs. Van Court looked worried; Miss Grace laughed, so of course Mr. Brewster did too; and Betty sat wondering what would be expected of her, when Richard Van Court said in an apologetic tone:

“I don’t know what you’ll all say to me; but I ran across Barker this afternoon, and he told me of a perfect gem of a baby waiting to be adopted, and—I didn’t know this wholesale purchase was going on, so—I, too, thought I’d help along Betty’s affairs—and—how many does this make?”

“Four!” exclaimed Mr. Morris. “Four! Bless my soul, what _can_ we do? This is a serious matter—a very serious matter. But I think, I really think it would be best to keep the one I chose, and make arrangements to countermand the others.”

“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Van Court; “let us keep the one that Mrs. Rogers recommended, as that is a really superior child. I have seen it and—”

“We’ve seen Polly, too,” said Miss Grace, “and she is a little darling; and besides, she is Betty’s choice.”

And then Mr. Dick spoke, with an air of settling the question, and said that after his agreement with Barker he thought it was really obligatory upon them to back him up.