The Wishing Carpet

IT was something less than a fortnight later that there was trouble with the power at the Altonia on a hectic day of high pressured rush. The machinery jerked itself to a standstill, like a faulty mechanical toy, and Gloriana-Virginia, waiting only to be certain that her frame was actually still, squatted thankfully in a corner and bent over her book, a sallow forefinger tracing the words laboriously, her lips moving in a blissful murmur.

Glen, hurrying through the spinning room with a message from Manders, stopped as always for a word. “Well, Glory—you’re in luck, anyway!” She leaned down to whisper. “We hope the old power will stay off, don’t we?”

“Yes, me’um,” the child returned, gratefully. “I sho’ do crave readin’ fairy tales’ stories!”

“But you’ve read that book ten times over, Glory! I must bring you another one.”

“No, me’um! Please, Glen, don’t yo’ take hit away! I crave to read hit ’twel I know hit from kiver to kiver! And this hyar is the ’citingest part!”

“What’s happening, Glory?”

“Oh ...” she emitted a little squeal of thrilled delight, “the Prince, he’s jes’ a-riding up to the Ogre’s Castle!”

It was at that very instant, making Gloriana-Virginia a prophet once removed, that M’liss’ Tolliver slouched into the superintendent’s office. “Feller out thar wants in,” she stated laconically.

“Who is he?”

“Didn’t say.”

“Well, you tell him we don’t admit visitors. If he’s got business, let him name it.” He turned again to the inter-phone and reviled the engine room savagely.

M’liss’, pausing long enough for a generous sniff of snuff, trailed out again, to return presently with the ghost of a grin on her lackluster face. “Feller says to name hit to yo’ that his business is pleasure.”

“Tell him to go to the devil!”

“Gime this hyar kyard,” she drawled, producing a small square of pasteboard with its block letters faintly embossed. “Said he ’lowed mebbe hit’d be the Open Sessymer—whatever that is.”

Luke Manders, still at the telephone, reached for it with his free hand. “Good God A’mighty!” he gasped.

“Is that who ’tis?” Miss Tolliver allowed herself a brief excursion in mirth. “Acts uppity ’nuff to be!”

“Ask him in! Tell him to come in, you fool! What are you waiting for? Bring him here. No—wait—” he looked hastily about the cluttered old office, and frowned. “Ask him to sit down in the front entrance, there—take out a chair for him. Tell him I’ll be with him in ten minutes—five minutes! And hurry up!” He almost pushed her out of the room, but in a surprisingly short interval, considering her rate of speed, she was back again.

“Feller’s gone.”

“Gone? Gone where?”

“How in time’d I know? Jes’ plain up’n went.” She bent suddenly and spat through the window.

“You took all night to—” he began roughly, and then he relaxed, sitting down in the swivel chair at his desk as heavily as Mr. ’Gene Carey might have done, and wiping his brow and his wrists with his handkerchief. “All right. You can go. Get out!”

Glen Darrow, meanwhile, returning by way of the spinning room, found a stranger in light and pleasant converse with Gloriana-Virginia Tolliver, who was smiling at him wanly and shyly.

He was a very young man, she saw at a glance, and his slimness and extreme fairness increased the boyishness—the almost childishness—of his appearance. He was dressed all in spotless white, save for the bright blue of his cravat, and he looked cool and serene in contrast to the palely sweating Glory.

“Yes,” he was saying cordially, “I certainly do like fairy tales, and I believe ’em, too! I’ve known the most amazing things to happen!”

“Yes, suh!” Her wise, kind little monkey face regarded him with respectful friendliness. She was lightly dusted with lint and wisps of thread hung here and there on her dress.

He did not hear her approach, so Glen stood still for an instant, looking at him and listening to him.

“I think I didn’t catch your name,” he was saying gravely.

“Gloriana-Virginia Tolliver, suh, but they mos’ gin’er’ly calls me ‘Glory.’”

“They call you Glory....” He bent upon her a thoughtful look. “And how old are you, Gloriana-Virginia?”

“I’m fo’teen, suh.”

“Fourteen?” Then as she nodded. “And how long have you been engaged in what the statisticians call gainful occupations?”

“Suh?” She stared at him.

“How long have you been working here?”

“Oh! Why sence I was erbout six, suh.”

“Six?” He seemed to take in facts slowly, the fair young man.

“Yes, suh. You see, nowadays they dassent hire young-uns ’twel they right big. They put the law on us. But I was lucky—I got in befo’ they got all the rules fixed up that-a-way.”

“You were lucky?”

“Yes, suh! My po’ little cousin, Henry Clay Bean, that we mos’ly calls Beany, we’re plumb scared we can’t git him in at all! Mr. Carey, he owns this mill—he won’t let the least ones work, but M’liss’, that’s my aunt, she named hit to Super, and he ’lowed he could sneak Beany in, somehow.”

“Well, that was extremely nice of Super, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, suh,” she agreed a trifle doubtfully. “Super said he could hide when Mr. Carey come by, or ary them club ladies that nose round, an’ Beany kin say he’s jes’ dinner-totin’.”

“Dinner-toting?”

“Yes, suh.”

“Indoor sports of all nations! And what is dinner-toting?”

“Why, suh, why—dinner-totin’, that’s jes’, well—” she strove for simplification in the face of this amazing ignorance—“hit’s jes’ plain dinner-totin’, that’s all! Jes’ totin’ dinners!”

“Ah! Carrying dinners!”

“Yes, suh!” She beamed encouragement on the dullard. “Cy’arin’ er totin’—hit’s pintly th’ same!”

Glen Darrow stepped suddenly forward.

“Good morning! How do you do?” The stranger spoke quickly, regarding her with keen interest. “Are you connected with the mill?”

“Yes,” she answered eagerly. “I’m the superintendent’s secretary.”

“Well, now, that’s awfully nice for the superintendent!” he remarked cordially. “I suppose it’s all right for me to wander about a bit and look things over. Want to get an idea—study conditions—all that sort of thing, you know——”

The hope in her eyes warmed to a glad certainty. “Oh, then you are——”

“Certainly I are—am! What?”

She lowered her voice so that not even the child could hear. “You’re an investigator?”

He considered it thoughtfully. “Well, I daresay that’s what you’d call it. At any rate, investigating at the moment.”

Sudden color flooded her golden-olive cheeks and she impulsively held out a hand which the youth took very willingly.

“Oh, I’m so glad! So glad and thankful that you’ve come!”

“I’m so glad you’re glad,” he said cordially.

“I wrote so urgently,” she said in a low tone. “I couldn’t understand why they didn’t send some one— I asked them to—to consider my letter as confidential, and if you don’t mind— Will you please not mention to—to the superintendent or to the owner that I sent for you?”

“That shall be our secret,” said the young man solemnly and a little bewilderedly, retaining her hand.

“But I will show you everything, and tell you everything, and help you every way I possibly can!”

“Well, that sounds fair enough,” he said reasonably. “And whom have I the pleasure——”

“My name is Glen Darrow.”

“Glen Darrow!” The fair young man repeated it with evident pleasure. “Glen Darrow ... you sound like a piece of Scotch scenery, but you look even nicer than that.”

Glen retrieved her hand gently and rather absently. “This is the spinning room, and this little girl——”

“Gloriana-Virginia and I have already met, thank you very much. Well, Glory,” he spoke to the child who had dipped into her book again, “what’s happening now?”

“Oh, suh, hit’s jes’ so fine hit’s purely my delight! The Prince, he’s jes’ come to the Ogre’s castle and found the Princess!”

The youth in spotless white laughed aloud. “Sounds like a bit out of a Hollywood continuity, doesn’t it?” He looked at Glen with appraisal and approval.

She had not heard him, or at least she had not taken in the sense or the nonsense of his words. “I expect you’ll want to go all through, first, and then take it room by room,” she said absorbedly, “and talk with the hands, after hours, of course, in their homes. I could give you a list——”

But he had not paid any more attention to her words than she had to his. He was looking at her with a growing intentness, and his mind was still on Gloriana-Virginia’s last sentence. “The Prince and the Princess and the Ogre’s castle,” he repeated. “We’re all set! But where’s the Ogre?”

“I could meet you somewhere—” Glen was going on earnestly.

“You could meet me anywhere!” the youth interrupted her warmly. “You can date me out for any time or place! We can——”

The door opened abruptly and Luke Manders, only a trifle late on his cue, strode in. “Oh, there you are, sir!” he said thankfully. “I’m right sorry that fool woman was so slow in asking you in! I was afraid you’d left, and I’ve been hunting everywhere— Mr. ’Gene Carey has been sick—I reckon you know that—and he still doesn’t get down here. But I’m his superintendent, Luke Manders, and anything I can do for you, Mr. Parker——”

Glen, who had been staring in astonishment at Luke’s cordiality to the unknown investigator, so utterly at variance with his rule of “No Visitors Allowed,” caught her breath at sound of the name. “What? What did you say, Luke?”

“Oh, Glen!” He turned to her and handed over the card which he was still carrying. “This is Mr. Peter Parker, and that fool, M’liss’ kept him waiting outside till— This is Glen Darrow, Mr. Parker, who——”

“I already know Miss Darrow,” said the young owner genially, “but I should enjoy shaking hands again, now that we are formally introduced.” He advanced toward her and held out his hand engagingly.

The girl put both her hands behind her. “And I know you, Peter Parker,” she said whitely. “I know you—now!”—and with a long look of concentrated scorn and contempt at the fair face and the white clad figure of the amazed young man she turned and flung herself out of the room.

“Well, now, Mr. Parker, it’s right sultry to-day,” said Luke Manders hastily, seeking to cover up his assistant’s rude exit, “and about dinner time, and I reckon you’d rather go on back to the hotel now and come here later in the afternoon when it’s cooler, wouldn’t you, sir?” He started toward the door, to lead the way. “I’ll fix it so I’m free, then, to go over things with you.”

“That’s awfully nice of you, old top,” Peter Parker stopped looking at the door through which Glen Darrow had vanished and regarded his superintendent genially, “but I don’t want to bother you.”

“No bother at all, sir,” he assured him, still moving toward the door as the whistle blew shrilly for the noon hour, “and anyhow, we’re quitting for dinner now——”

“But I didn’t breakfast until ten, you see,” the youth explained, “so I can, without actual suffering, wait until one or one-thirty for my luncheon, and I shall enjoy just browsing about by myself.”

“But I could explain——”

“Of course you could,” his employer agreed gratefully, “and I’ll wager you’re one of our best explainers, but even at that, I probably wouldn’t get you. You can’t think what a fool I am about machinery ... and my friend, Gloriana-Virginia can tell me all I need to know for the present ... all that I can assimilate on a day like this....” He screened a yawn and fanned himself with his exquisite panama. “And here comes my messenger!”

M’liss’ Tolliver was crossing the room at her slouching gait and gave him a brief, incurious glance of recognition. She was followed by a very little boy, and a tall, stooped old man came after him, a large dinner bucket on his arm, and both hands engaged with the wheezing harmonica at his mouth which was producing, with gaps here and there which needed to be filled in with memory or imagination, a time-honored tune:

It was not a very positive assertion, rather a tentative statement which was open to question.

“Yo’ quit that, Pap!” his daughter snapped at him, snatching the bucket from his arm. “I ’low I’ll ‘happy land’ yo’, ef yo’ don’t leggo that dawg-gawn tune! Hyar, yo’ Glory, and Beany, pitch in and eat!” She sat down on the floor with her back against the wall and the two children squatted obediently beside her.

“This is the quickest way out, sir,” said Luke Manders, pointing to the door which led into the lane.

“Now, look here, old son,” Peter Parker grinned at him engagingly, “you know I’ll have a lot better time by myself! I can see all I want to see without troubling you for a minute, and I promise you faithfully not to get caught in the machinery! All I want to do is watch the wheels go round for a little while, and then I’ll call on Mr. Carey, and then I’ll be off again for the great open spaces!”

“Oh—then you’re not—not going to make a long stay, Mr. Parker?”

“Not if I keep my health and agility,” he looked without pleasure at the scene about him. “I have come, at the earnest request of a very earnest parent, to have a look at my mill, and having had it, will be very swiftly on my way again.”

“I see,” said Luke Manders. “Very well, then, sir—if you should want me, I’ll be in the office.”

“The possibility is extremely remote,” said the visitor, “but I shall be greatly obliged if you will send the assistant to me at once.”

“Who?”

“The assistant—your assistant! Our assistant! The girl with the sunset hair, who left us recently, with so much emphasis.”

“Glen Darrow?” The dark face of the mountaineer seemed to darken still further as the blood mounted in it.

“That is, I believe, her singularly picturesque name. Tell her, if you will be so kind, that I desire her presence immediately.”

The superintendent started to speak but changed his mind quite visibly, and said, after an instant’s burdened pause, “All right, Mr. Parker, sir,” and went into his office.

Peter Parker renewed his fascinated study of the Tolliver family. “And you,” he addressed the old man, “are what is called a dinner-toter?”

The old fellow hung his head. “Jes’ beginning to-day, suh. Super, he ’lows I’m jes’ pintly too old fo’ any good use.”

“Well, yo’ air, Pap,” said his daughter. “Yo’ sho’ air, and ef yo’ keep on pestering me with that tarnation tune——”

Gloriana-Virginia, her wise little monkey eyes soft with sympathy, patted her grandfather’s sleeve with her sallow claw. “Jes’ think how fine hit’ll be to set in the sun and rest, Gran-pappy!”

He brightened. “That’s so, Glory, and jes’ think how much time I’ll git fo’ my practicing!”

“Glory, yo’ hesh yo’ clack and eat!” her aunt rebuked her.

The child picked up a chunk of cold corn pone. “Hit’s quare, M’liss’, some way; I figger and figger ’bout my dinner and how good hit’ll taste, and then, when hit comes, I cain’t eat skurse a bite.”

“Hit’s kaze yo’ so plumb full o’ lint,” M’liss’ explained to her indifferently. “Beany, he kin eat what yo’ don’t want.”

Young Mr. Parker turned his attention to the very little boy and asked him gravely how he did.

“I’m right peart, suh,” the child answered solemnly.

“You are? Well, I might state in passing that you hardly look the part, old-timer. You wouldn’t romp home with any blue ribbon from a Better Baby Contest, would you?”

“No, suh,” he assured him earnestly.

“And what’s your name?”

“Henry Clay Bean, suh.”

“But folks mos’ giner’ly calls him Beany fo’ short,” his cousin Glory added.

“And you’re a dinner-toter, too, Henry Clay?”

“Not no mo’, suh,” he corrected him pridefully. “Super, he put me on when he laid gran-pappy off. Glory, she’s going to learn me.”

“Well, now, that’s awfully nice of Glory, isn’t it?”

“Yes, suh.”

He had never seen such a solemn child. Gloriana-Virginia’s wise little face lighted swiftly at the suggestion of mirth, and M’liss’s saturnine countenance was capable of grim comedy, and the old man had a mild and toothless smile which gave him the effect of an elderly infant, but Henry Clay Bean was a study in utter sobriety. Young Mr. Parker made the face which had added materially to his childhood fame, but while Glory gave a little squealing giggle the small boy was impassive.

“Was it an election bet, or do they dock you for ribald laughter, Beany?”

“Yes—no, suh.” A faint frown knitted his forehead for an instant but his round eyes never left his questioner’s face. He was suddenly lifted and flung to a seat on a white shoulder. “And you know, Henry Clay, there are those who consider me a comedian?”

“Yes, suh.”

“Where do you suppose that young woman is, Beany, to whom we issued a royal command? Suppose we go in search for her!” He started toward the office, but the door opened and Glen stood on the threshold. “Ah, here she is, now! A little slow, but——”

“I am not coming in answer to your order, Mr. Parker,” she said levelly. “I just——”

“But you came,” he said indulgently, “and that is, after all——”

“But I didn’t come—” she was white still, save for two dabs of furious color on her cheekbones and her eyes were almost black, but she fought hard for control.

“Oh, I get you! You just came to say that you’re not coming? You will recall, however, that you offered to show me and tell me and teach me, and suggested that we make a date for this evening? Any hour which you——”

“I came,” she cut into his persiflage, “because I had to tell you how I hate you and despise you——”

“Why, you didn’t have to tell me that,” he said in gentle surprise. “It seems very un——”

“—for what you are and what you do, and the life you live,” the words came swiftly with the beat of little hammers, “and because you are idle-born and overfed and underworked, and because——”

“Help!” cried young Mr. Peter Parker feebly, putting Henry Clay Bean on the floor, and staring at her like a bewildered child, hurt but stoutly conscious of rectitude. “It’s simply a case of mistaken identity, that’s all! You’ve got me confused with somebody else. Why, I’m one of the nicest fellows you ever knew in your life. Aren’t I, Gloriana-Virginia?”

“Oh, yes, suh!” Glory moved close to him with a positively protective attitude and lifted a reproachful look to Glen’s bitter face.

“I don’t see how you can possibly hate and despise me already! Why, it always takes people years to do that, and very few ever accomplish it at all, after a life of earnest effort. I must reluctantly hand it to you for a fast and snappy worker!” He dropped his gaze to Gloriana-Virginia who had slipped a comforting hand into his. “Glory,” he lowered his voice, “what is the matter with this young woman? First she gives me the right hand of fellowship and endeavors to date me out and then— Is she quite all right, mentally, do you think? So young, so fair, and yet so—” he raised his wistful eyes to the doctor’s daughter once more and considered her in a long, reproachful scrutiny. Then at the swift illumination of a thought he flung back his head and laughed long and heartily, and Glory’s wise little face registered happy relief.

“By gad,” he gasped, “by gad, you know I believe you sent me that article in The Torch!”

Glen Darrow gave him back his look with one of scorn and loathing before she answered him, very steadily, without lifting her voice.

“I wrote it!”