“Has you-all done ’cided to do wid out yo’ suppers dis yer night? ’Cause if you is I ’spec’s I kin clar away,” was the autocratic inquiry of Mammy Melviny as she stood in the doorway of the living-room, her ample proportions very nearly filling it.
Hadyn Stuyvesant’s call had been of longer duration than Mammy approved, for her hot corn cakes were being rapidly ruined by the delayed meal, and this was an outrage upon her skill in cooking. Mammy had been Mrs. Carruth’s nurse “down souf” and still regarded that dignified lady as her “chile,” and subject to her dictation. She was the only servant which Mrs. Carruth now kept, the others having been what Mammy stigmatized as “po’ northern no ’count niggers” who gave the minimum of work for the maximum of pay, and were prompt to take their departure when adversity overtook their employer.
Not so Mammy. When the crisis came Mrs. Carruth stated the case to her and advised her to seek another situation where she would receive the wages her ability commanded, and which Mrs. Carruth, in her reduced circumstances, could no longer afford to pay her. The storm which the suggestion produced was both alarming and amusing. Placing her arms upon her hips, and raising her head like a war-horse scenting battle, Mammy stamped her foot and cried:
“Step down an’ out? Get out ’en de fambly? Go wo’k fer some o’ dese hyer strange folks what aint keer a cent fo’ me, an’ aint know who I is? Me? a Blairsdale! Huh! What sort o’ fool talk is dat, Baby? Yo’ cyant git me out. Yo’ need ’n ter try, kase ’taint gwine be no good ter. I’s hyer and hyer I’s gwine stay, no matter what come. ’Taint no use fer ter talk ter me ’bout money and wages an’ sich truck. What I kerrin’ fer dem? I’se got ’nough, an’ ter spare. What yo’ t’ink I’se been doin’ all dese years o’ freedom? Flingin’ my earnin’s ’way? Huh! You know I aint done no sich foolishness. I’se got a pile—yis, an’ a good pile too,—put ’way. I need n’t ter ever do a stroke mo’ work long ’s I live if I don’t wantter. I’se rich, I is. But I gwine ter work jist ’s long’s I’se mind ter. Ain’t I free? Who gwine ter say I cyant wo’k? Now go long an’ tend ter yo’ business and lemme lone ter tend ter mine, and dat’s right down wid de pots and de kettles, and de stew pans, an’ de wash biler and de wash tubs, an’ I reckon I kin do more ’n six o’ dese yer Norf niggers put togedder when I set out ter good an’ hard if I is most sixty years old. Hush yo’ talk chile, an’ don’t let me ketch you a interferin’ wid my doin’s agin. You heah me?” And at the end of this tirade, Mammy turned sharply about and marched off like a grenadier. Mrs. Carruth was deeply touched by the old woman’s loyalty, but knowing the antebellum negro as she did, she realized how wounded Mammy had been by the suggestion that she seek a more lucrative situation among strangers. Mammy had been born and raised a slave on Mrs. Carruth’s father’s plantation in North Carolina, and would always consider herself a member of Mrs. Carruth’s family. Alas for the days of such ties and such devotion!
So Mammy was now the autocrat of the household and ruled with an iron hand, although woe to anyone who dared to overstep the bounds she had established as her “Miss Jinny’s” rights, or the “chillen’s” privileges as “old marster’s gran’-chillern.” “Old Marster” was Mammy’s ideal of what a gentleman should be, and “de days befo’ de gre’t turmoil” were the only days “fitten for folks (always to be written in italics) to live in.”
She was an interesting figure as she stood in the doorway, and snapped out her question, although her old face, surmounted by its gay bandanna turban was the personification of kindliness, and her keen eyes held only love for her “white folks.”
She was decidedly corpulent and her light print gown and beautifully ironed white apron stood out from her figure until they completely filled the doorway.
Mrs. Carruth turned toward her and asked with a quizzical smile;
“What is spoiling, Mammy?”
“Huh! Ain’t nuffin spilin’s I knows on, but dat Miss Nornie done say she ain’t had no co’n cakes ’n ’bout ’n age an’ if she want ’em so turrible she’d better come and eat ’em,”—and with a decisive nod Mammy stalked off toward the dining-room.
“Come, girls, unless you want to evoke the displeasure of the presiding genius of the household,” said Mrs. Carruth smiling, as she led the way in Mammy’s wake.
It was a pleasant meal, for Mammy would not countenance the least lapse from the customs of earlier days, and the same pains were taken for the simple meals now served as had been taken with the more elaborate ones during Mr. Carruth’s lifetime. The linen must be ironed with the same care; the silver must shine as brightly, and the glass sparkle as it had always done. Miss Jinny must not miss any of the luxuries to which she had been born if Mammy could help it.
“Isn’t he splendid, mother?” asked Jean, as she buttered her third corn cake. “He was so good to Baltie and to me.”
“I am very glad to know him, dear, for Lyman was much attached to him.”
“Where has he been all these years, mother, that we have never met him in Riveredge?” asked Eleanor.
“He has lived abroad when not at college. He took his degree last spring. His mother died there a little more than a year ago, I understand. She never recovered from the blow of his father’s death when Hadyn was about fifteen years of age. She went abroad soon after for her health and never came back. He came over for his college course at Princeton, but always rejoined her during his holidays.”
“How old a man is he, mother? He seems both young and old,” said Constance.
“I am not sure, but think he must be about Lyman’s age—nearly twenty-four. But the Society seems to have made a wise choice in electing him its president; he has certainly taken energetic measures in this case and I am glad that he has, for it is disgraceful to have such a thing occur in Riveredge. Poor old horse! It would have been more merciful to shoot him. How could Jabe Raulsbury have been so utterly heartless?”
“But, mother, suppose no one will take old Baltie and give him a home?” persisted Jean, “will he have to be shot then?”
“Would it not be kinder to end such a hapless existence than to leave it to an uncertain fate, dear?” asked Mrs. Carruth gently.
“Well, maybe, but I don’t want him killed. He loves me,” was Jean’s answer and the little upraising of the head at the conclusion of the remark conveyed more to Constance than to the others. Constance understood Jean better than any other member of the family, and during the summer just passed Jean had many times gone to the field in which Baltie was pastured to carry some dainty to the poor old horse and her love for him and compassion for his wretchedness were deep.
No more was said just then, but Constance knew that the subject had not passed from Jean’s thoughts and one afternoon, exactly two weeks from that evening, this was verified.
Mrs. Carruth had gone to sit with a sick friend. Eleanor was in her room lost to everything but a knotty problem for Monday’s recitation, and Mammy was busily occupied with some dainty dish against her Miss Jinny’s home-coming. Constance was laying the tea-table when the crunch-crunch, crunch-crunch, upon the gravel of the driveway caused her to look up, there to behold Jean with old Baltie in tow.
“Merciful powers, what has the child done now?” she exclaimed as she let fall with a clatter the knife and fork she was about to place upon the table and flew to the front door, crying as she hastily opened it: “Jean Carruth what in this world have you been doing?”
“I’ve brought him home. I had to. I went down to ask Mr. Pringle if anybody had come to take him, but he wasn’t there. There wasn’t _any_body there but old deaf Mike who cleans the stable and I couldn’t make him understand a single thing I said. He just mumbled and wagged his head for all the world like that China mandarin in the library, and didn’t do a thing though I yelled at him as hard as I could.”
“But how did you get Baltie and, greater marvel, how did you bring him all this way home?” persisted Constance, bound to get to the bottom of facts.
“I went into the box-stall—it’s close to the door you know—and got him and led him here.”
“But where was Mike, and what was he doing all that time to let you do such a thing?”
“O, he went poking off down the stable and didn’t pay any attention to me. It wouldn’t have made any difference if he had; I had gone there to rescue Baltie and save him from being shot, and I didn’t mean to come away without doing it. The two weeks were up to-day and he was there. If any one had been found to take him he wouldn’t have been there yet, would he? So that settled it, and I wasn’t going to take any chances. If I’d let him stay one day longer they might have shot him. If I could have found Mr. Pringle I’d have told him, but I couldn’t, and I didn’t dare to wait. I left my bank money, almost five dollars, to pay for this week’s board—Mr. Stuyvesant said it would be enough—and a little note to tell him it was for Baltie; I wrote it on a piece of paper in his office, and then I came home as fast as Baltie could walk, and here we are.”
Jean had talked very rapidly and Constance was too dumfounded for the time being, to interrupt the flow of words. Presently however, she recovered her speech and, resting one hand on Baltie’s withers and the other on Jean’s shoulder, asked resignedly:
“And now that you’ve got him, may I ask what in this world you propose to do with him?”
“Take him out to the stable of course and take care of him as long as he lives,” was the uncontrovertible reply.
“Mother will never let you do such a thing, Jean, and he must be taken back to Pringle’s at once,” said Constance, with more emphasis than usually entered her speech toward this mad-cap little sister.
“I won’t! I won’t! I won’t let him go back!” broke out Jean, a storm of sobs ending the protest and bringing Mammy upon the scene hot-foot, for Mammy’s ears were keen for notes of woe from her baby.
“What’s de matter, honey? What done happen ter yo’?” she cried as she came hurrying across the little porch upon which the dining-room opened. “Bress Gawd what yo’ got dere, chile? Huccum dat old horse here?”
“Oh Mammy, Mammy, its Baltie, and she says I can’t keep him, and they are going to kill him, ’cause he’s old and blind and hasn’t anyone to take care of him. And Mammy, Mammy, please don’t let ’em ’cause I love him. I do, I do, Mammy,” cried Jean as she cast Baltie’s leader from her and rushed to Mammy, to fling herself into those protecting arms and sob out her woes.
“Wha’, wha’, wha’, yo’ say, Baby?” stammered Mammy, whose tongue sometimes became unruly under great excitement. “Somebody gwine tek away dat old horse dat yo’ love, an’ breck yo’ heart? Huh! Who gwine do dat when Mammy stan’ by? I like ’er see ’em do it! Co’se I knows Baltie. Ain’ I seen him dese many years? An’ yo’ gwine pertec’ him an’ keer fer him in his discrepancy? Well, ef yo’ wantter yo’ shall, an’ dat’s all ’bout it.”
“But Mammy, Mammy, she can’t; she mustn’t; what will mother say?” remonstrated Constance smiling in spite of herself at the ridiculous situation for Mammy had promptly put on her war-paint, and was a formidable champion to overcome.
“An’ what yo’ ma gotter say ’bout it if I sets out ter tak’ care of an’ old horse? ’Taint her horse. She aint got nothin’ ’tall ter do wid him. He’s been a lookin’, an’ a waitin’; and de Lawd knows but he’s been a-prayin’ fer a pertecter——how we-all gwine know he aint prayed ter de Lawd fer ter raise one up fer him in his mis’ry? An’ now he’s got one an’ it’s me an’ dis chile. Go ’long an’ set yo’ table an’ let us ’lone. Come on honey; we’ll take old Baltie out yonder ter de stable an’ bed him down an’ feed him up twell he so sot up he like ’nough bus’ wid pride, an’ I just like ter see who gwine stop us. Hi yah-yah, yah,” and Mammy’s wrath ended in a melodious laugh as she caught hold of the leader and stalked off with this extraordinary addition to her already manifold duties, Jean holding her free hand and nodding exultingly over her shoulder at Constance who had collapsed upon the lower step.
October, with its wealth of color, its mellow days, and soft haze was passing quickly and November was not far off: November with its “melancholy days” of “wailing winds and wintry woods.”
Baltie had now been a member of the Carruth family for nearly a month and had improved wonderfully under Mammy Melviny’s care. How the old woman found time to care for him and the means to provide for him was a source of wonder not only to Mrs. Carruth, but to the entire neighborhood who regarded the whole thing as a huge joke, and enjoyed many a hearty laugh over it, for Mammy was considered a character by the neighbors, and nobody felt much surprised at any new departure in which she might elect to indulge. Two or three friends had begged Mrs. Carruth to let them relieve her of the care of the old horse, assuring her that they would gladly keep him in their stables as long as he needed a home, and ended in a hearty laugh at the thought of Mammy turning groom. But when Mrs. Carruth broached the subject to Mammy she was met with flat opposition:
“Send dat ole horse off ter folks what was jist gwine tek keer of him fer cha’ity? No I aint gwine do no sich t’ing. De Lawd sartin sent him ter me ter tek keer of an’ I’se gwin ter do it. Aint he mine? Didn’t Jabe Raulsbury say dat anybody what would tek keer of him could have him? Well I’se tekin’ keer of him so co’se he’s mine. I aint never is own no live stock befo’ an now I got some. Go ’long, Miss Jinny; you’se got plenty ter tend ter ’thout studyin’ ’bout my horse. Bimeby like ’nough I have him so fed up and spry I can sell him fer heap er cash—dough I don’ believe anybody’s got nigh ’nough fer ter buy him whilst Baby loves him.”
And so the discussion ended and Baltie lived upon the fat of the land and was sheltered in Mrs. Carruth’s unused stable. Dry leaves which fell in red and yellow clouds from the maple, birch and oak trees made a far softer bed than the old horse had known in many a day. A bag of bran was delivered at Mrs. Carruth’s house for “Mammy Melviny,” with Hadyn Stuyvesant’s compliments. Mammy herself, invested in a sack of oats and a bale of cut hay, to say nothing of saving all bits of bread and parings from her kitchen, and Baltic waxed sleek and fat thereon. Jean was his devoted slave and daily led him about the grounds for a constitutional. Up and down the driveway paced the little girl, the old horse plodding gently beside her, his ears pricked toward her for her faintest word, his head held in the pathetic, listening attitude of a blind horse. He knew her step afar off, and his soft nicker never failed to welcome her as she drew near. To no one else did he show such little affectionate ways, or manifest such gentleness. He seemed to understand that to this little child, which one stroke of his great hoofs could have crushed, he owed his rescue and present comforts.
And so the weeks had slipped away. The money which Jean had left for Mr. Pringle had been promptly refunded with a note to explain that the Society had borne all the expenses for Baltie’s board.
Mrs. Carruth sat in her library wrinkling her usually serene brow over a business letter this chilly Monday morning, and hurrying to get it completed before the arrival of the letter carrier who always took any letters to be mailed. Her face wore a perplexed expression, and her eyes had tired lines about them, for the past year had been harder for her than anyone suspected. Her income, at best, was much too limited to conduct her home as it had always been conducted, and the general expenses of living in Riveredge were steadily increasing. True, Mammy was frugality itself in the matter of providing, and Mrs. Carruth often marveled at the small amounts of her weekly bills. But the demands in other directions were heavy, and the expenses of the place itself were large. More than once had she questioned the wisdom of striving to keep the home, believing that the tax upon her resources, and her anxiety, would be less if she gave it up and removed to town where she could live for far less than in Riveredge. Then arose the memory of the building of the home, the hopes, the plans, and the joys so inseparable from it, the children’s well-being and their love for the house their father had built; their education, and the environment of a home in such a town as Riveredge.
Now, however, new difficulties were confronting her, for some of her investments were not making the returns she had expected and her income was seriously affected. In spite of the utmost frugality and care the outlook was not encouraging, and just now she had to meet the demand of the fire insurance upon the home and its contents, and just how to do so was the question which was causing her brows to wrinkle. She had let the matter stand until the last moment, but dared to do so no longer for upon that point Mr. Carruth had always been most emphatic; the insurance upon his property must never lapse. He had always carried one, and since his death his wife had been careful to continue it. But now how to meet the sum, and meet it at once, was the problem.
She had completed her letter when Mammy came to the door.
“Is yo’ here, Miss Jinny? Is yo’ busy? I wants to ax you sumpin’,” she said as she gave a quick glance at Mrs. Carruth from her keen eyes.
“Come in, Mammy. What is it?”
The voice had a tired, anxious note in it which Mammy was quick to catch.
“Wha’ de matter, honey? Wha’s plaguin’ you dis mawnin’?” she asked as she hurried across the room to rest her hand on her mistress’ shoulder.
Like a weary child Mrs. Carruth let her head fall upon Mammy’s bosom—a resting place that as long as she could remember had never failed her—as she said:
“Mammy, your baby is very weary, and sorely disheartened this morning, and very, very lonely.”
The words ended in a sob.
Instantly all Mammy’s sympathies were aroused. Gathering the weary head in her arms she stroked back the hair with her work-hardened hand, as she said in the same tender tones she had used to soothe her baby more than forty years ago:
“Dere, dere, honey, don’ yo’ fret; don’ yo’ fret. Tell Mammy jist what’s pesterin’ yo’ an’ she’ll mak’ it all right fer her baby. Hush! Hush. Mammy can tek keer of anythin’.”
“Oh, Mammy dear, dear old Mammy, you take care of so much as it is. What would we do without you?”
“Hush yo’ talk chile! What I gwine do widout yo’ all? Dat talk all foolishness. Don’t I b’long ter de fambly? Now yo’ mind yo’ Mammy an’ tell her right off what’s a frettin’ yo’ dis day. Yo’ heah me?”
Mammy’s voice was full of forty-five years of authority, but her eyes were full of sympathetic tears, for her love for her “Miss Jinny” was beyond the expression of words.
“O Mammy, I am so foolish, and I fear so pitifully weak when it comes to conducting my business affairs wisely. You can’t understand these vexatious business matters which I must attend to, but I sorely miss Mr. Carruth when they arise and must be met.”
“Huccum I cyan’t understand ’em? What Massa Bernard done tackle in his business dat I cyan’t ef yo’ kin? Tell me dis minute just what you’ gotter do, an’ I bate yo’ ten dollars I c’n do it.”
“I know there isn’t anything you would not try to do, Mammy, from taking care of an old horse, to moving the contents of the entire house if it became necessary,” replied Mrs. Carruth, smiling in spite of herself, as she wiped her eyes, little realizing how near the truth was her concluding remark regarding Mammy’s prowess.
“I reckon I c’d move de hull house if I had time enough, an’ as fer de horse—huh! ain’t he stanin’ dere a livin’ tes’imony of what a bran-smash an’ elbow-grease kin do? ’Pears lak his hairs rise right up an’ call me bres-sed, dey’s tekin’ ter shinin’ so sense I done rub my hans ober ’em,” and Mammy, true to her racial characteristics, broke into a hearty laugh; so close together lies the capacity for joy or sorrow in this child race. The next instant, however, Mammy was all seriousness as she demanded:
“Now I want yo’ ter tell me all ’bout dis bisness flummy-diddle what’s frettin’ yo’. Come now; out wid it, quick.”
Was it the old habit of obedience to Mammy’s dictates, or the woman’s longing for someone to confide in during these trying days of loneliness, that impelled Mrs. Carruth to explain in as simple language as possible the difficulties encompassing her?
The burden of meeting even the ordinary every-day expenses upon the very limited income derived from Mr. Carruth’s life insurance, which left no margin whatsoever for emergencies. Of the imperative necessity of continuing the fire insurance he had always carried upon the home and its contents, lest a few hours wipe out what it had required years to gather together, and his wife and children be left homeless. How, under their altered circumstances this seemed more than ever imperative, since in the event of losing the house and its contents there would be no possible way of replacing either unless they kept the insurance upon them paid up.
Mammy listened intently, now and again nodding her old head and uttering a Um-uh! Um-uh! of comprehension.
When Mrs. Carruth ceased speaking she asked:
“An’ how much has yo’ gotter plank right out dis minit fer ter keep dis hyer as’sur’nce f’om collaps’in’, honey?”
“Nearly thirty dollars, Mammy, and that seems a very large sum to me now-a-days.”
“Hum-uh! Yas’m. So it do. Um. An’ yo’ aint got it?”
“I have not got it to-day, Mammy. I shall have it next week, but the time expires day after to-morrow and I do not know whether the company will be willing to wait, or whether I should forfeit my claim by the delay. I have written to ask.”
“Huh! Wha’ sort o’ compiny is it dat wouldn’t trus’ a Blairsdale, I like ter know?” demanded Mammy indignantly.
Mrs. Carruth smiled sadly as she answered:
“These are not the old days, Mammy, and you know ‘corporations have no souls.’”
“No so’les? Huh, I’se seen many a corpo’ration dat hatter have good thick leather soles fer ter tote ’em round. Well, well, times is sho’ ’nough changed an’ dese hyer Norf ways don’t set well on my bile; dey rises it, fer sure. So dey ain’t gwine trus’ you, Baby? Where dey live at who has de sesso ’bout it all?”
“The main office is in the city, Mammy, but they have, of course, a local agent here.”
“Wha’ yo’ mean by a locum agen’, honey?”
“A clerk who has an office at 60 State street, and who attends to any business the firm may have in Riveredge.”
“Is yo’ writ yo’ letter ter him? Who is he?”
“No, I have written to the New York office, because Mr. Carruth always transacted his business there. I thought it wiser to, for this Mr. Sniffins is a very young man, and would probably not be prepared to answer my question.”
“Wha’ yo’ call him? Yo’ don’ mean dat little swimbly, red-headed, white-eyed sumpin’ nu’er what sets down in dat basemen’ office wid his foots cocked up on de rail-fence in front ob him, an’ a segyar mos’ as big as his laig stuck in he’s mouf all de time? I sees him eve’y time I goes ter market, an’ he lak’ ter mek me sick. Is he de agen’?”
“Yes, Mammy, and I dare say he is capable enough, although I do not care to come in contact with him if I can avoid it.”
“If I ketches yo’ in dat ’tater sprout’s office I gwine smack yo’ sure’s yo’ bo’n. Yo’ heah me? Why his ma keeps the sody-fountain on Main street. Wha-fo you gotter do wid such folks, Baby?”
“But, Mammy, they are worthy, respectable people,”—protested Mrs. Carruth.
“Hush yo’ talk, chile. I reckon I knows de diff’rence twixt quality an’ de yether kind. Dat’s no place fer yo’ to go at,” cried Mammy, all her instincts rebelling against the experiences her baby was forced to meet in her altered circumstances. “Gimme dat letter. I’se gwine straight off ter markit dis minit and I’ll see dat it get sont off ter de right pusson ’for I’se done anudder ting.”
“But what did you wish to ask me, Mammy?”
“Nuffin’. ’Taint no ’count ’tall. I’ll ax it when I comes back. Go ’long up-stairs and mek yo’ bed if yo pinin’ for occerpation,” and away Mammy flounced from the room, leaving Mrs. Carruth more or less bewildered. She would have been completely so could she have followed the old woman.
Half an hour later a short, stout colored woman in neat, print gown, immaculate white apron, gorgeous headkerchief and gray plaid shawl, entered the office of the Red Star Fire Insurance Company, at No. 60 State street, and walking up to the little railing which divided from the vulgar herd the sacred precincts of Mr. Elijah Sniffins, representative, rested her hand upon the small swinging gate as she nodded her head slightly and asked:
“Is yo’ Mister Sniffins, de locum agen’ fer de Fire Insur’nce Comp’ny?”
“I am,” replied that gentleman,—without removing from between his teeth the huge cigar upon which he was puffing until he resembled a small-sized locomotive, or changing his position—“Mr. Elijah Sniffins, representative of the Red Star Insurance Company. Are you thinkin’ of taking out a policy?” concluded that gentleman with a supercilious smirk.
Mammy’s eyes narrowed slightly and her lips were compressed for a moment.
“No, sir, I don’ reckon I is studyin’ ’bout takin’ out no pol’cy. I jist done come hyer on a little private bisness wid yo’.”
Mammy paused, somewhat at a loss how to proceed, for business affairs seemed very complicated to her. Mr. Elijah Sniffins was greatly amused and continued to eye her and smile. He was a dapper youth of probably twenty summers, with scant blond hair, pale blue, shifty eyes, a weak mouth surmounted by a cherished mustache of numerable hairs and a chin which stamped him the toy of stronger wills. Mammy knew the type and loathed it. His smirk enraged her, and rage restored her self-possession. Raising her head with a little sidewise jerk as befitted the assurance of a Blairsdale, she cried:
“Yas—sir, I done come to ax yo’ a question ’bout de ’surance on a place in Riveredge. I hears de time fer settlin’ up gwine come day atter to-morrer an’ if ’taint settled up de ’surance boun’ ter collapse. Is dat so?”
“Unless the policy is renewed it certainly will ‘collapse,’” replied Mr. Sniffins breaking into an amused laugh.
“Huh! ’Pears like yo’ find it mighty ’musin’,” was Mammy’s next remark and had Mr. Elijah Sniffins been a little better acquainted with his patron he would have been wise enough to take warning from her tone.
“Well, you see I am not often favored with visits from ladies of your color who carry fire insurance policies. A good many carry life insurance, but as a rule they don’t insure their estates against fire, an’ the situation was so novel that it amused me a little. No offense meant.”
“An’ none teken—from your sort,” retorted Mammy. “But how ’bout dis hyer pol’cy? What I gotter do fer ter keep it f’om collapsin’ ef it aint paid by day atter to-morrer?”
“Pay it to-day, or to-morrow,” was the suave reply accompanied by a wave of the hand to indicate the ultimatum.
“’Spose dey ain’t got de money fer ter pay right plank down, but kin pay de week atter? Could’n’ de collapse be hild up twell den?”
“Ha! Ha!” laughed Mr. Elijah. “I’m ’fraid not; I’ve heard of those ‘next week’ settlements before, and experience tells me that ‘next week’ aint never arrived yet. Ha! Ha!”
“Den yo’ won’t trus’ de Ca— de fambly?” Mammy had very nearly betrayed herself.
“Well, if it was the Rogers, or the Wellmans, or the Stuyvesants, or some of them big bugs up yonder on the hill, that everybody knows has got piles of money, and that everybody knows might let the policy lapse just because it had slipped their memory—why, that ’d be a different matter. We’d know down in this here office that it was just an oversight, yer see; not a busted bank account. So, of course, we’d make concessions; just jog ’em up a little and a check ’d come ’long all O.K. and no fuss. But these small policies—why—well, I’ve got ter be more careful of the company’s interests; I hold a responsible position here.”
“De good Lawd, yo’ don’ sesso!” exclaimed Mammy, turning around and around to scrutinize every corner of the tiny office, and then letting her eyes rest upon the being whose sense of responsibility was apparently crushing him down upon his chair, if one could judge from his semi-recumbent position. “Dat’s shore ’nough a pity. Look lak it mought be mos’ too much fer yo’. Don’ seem right fer a comp’ny ter put sich a boy as yo’ is in sich a ’sponsible ’sition, do it now?”
Mammy’s expression was solicitude personified. Mr. Elijah Sniffins’ face became a delicate rose color, and his feet landed upon the floor with emphasis as he straightened in his chair, and dragged nervously at the infinitesimal mustache, meanwhile eying Mammy with some misgivings.
Mammy continued to smile upon him benignly, and her smile proved as disconcerting as she meant it should. She resolved to have her innings with the smug youth who had begun by slighting her race and ended by doing far worse; failing to class the Carruths among those whom everyone trusted as a matter of course. The former slight might have been disregarded; the latter? Never. Consequently Mammy had instantly decided “ter mak’ dat little no’count sumpin ’er ner’er squirm jist fer ter te’ch him what’s due de quality,” and the process had begun.
Poor Mammy! She would never learn that in the northern world where her lot was now cast the almighty dollar was king, queen and court combined. That its possession could carry into high places bad manners, low birth, aye actual rascality and hold them up to the shallow as enviable things when veneered with golden luster. That “de quality” without that dazzling reflector were very liable to be cast aside as of no value, as the nugget of virgin gold might be tramped upon and its worth never suspected by the unenlightened in their eagerness to reach a shining bit of polished brass farther along the path.
But Mammy’s traditions were deeply rooted.
“I think I can take care of the position. What can I do for you? My time is valuable,” snapped Mr. Elijah Sniffins, rising from his chair and coming close to the dividing railing, as a hint to Mammy to conclude her business.
“De Lawd er massy! Is dat so? Now I ain’t never is ’spitioned dat f’om de looks ob t’ings. ’Pears lak yo’ got a sight o’ time on han’. Wal I ’clar fo’ it I do’n un’nerstan’ dese hyer bisness places no how. Well! Well! So yo’ want me fer ter state mine an’ cl’ar long out, does yo’ Mr. ’Lijah? ’Lijah; ’Lijah. Was yo’ ma a studyin’ ’bout yo’ doin’s when she done giv’ yo’ dat name? Sort o’ fits yo’ pine blank, don’ it now? Like ’nuf de cha’iot ’ll come kitin’ ’long one o’ dese hyer days an’ hike yo’ inter de high places. Yah! Yah!” and Mammy’s mellow laugh filled the office.
“See here, old woman, if you’ve got some little picayune payment to make, make it and clear out. I ain’t got time ter stand here talkin’ ter niggers,” cried the agent, his temper taking final flight.
Mammy eyed him steadily as she said:
“Wall dis yere time yo’s gwine deal wid a nigger, an’ yo’s gwine do lak she say. Dis yere comp’ny ’sures de Carruth house an’ eve’y last t’ing what’s inside it, an’ de policy yo’ say ’s gotter be settled up when it’s gotter be, or de hul t’ing ’ll collapse? Now Miss Jinny ain’t never is had no dealin’s wid yo’, case I don’ let her have dealin’s wid no white trash—I handles dat sort when it has ter be handled—an’ I keeps jist as far f’om it as ever I kin while I handles it. But I’se gotter settle up dis policy fer de fambly so what is it? How much is I gotter pay yo’?”
The varying expressions passing over Mr. Sniffins’ countenance during Mammy’s speech would have delighted an artist.
“What er? What er? What er you telling me?” he stammered.
“De ain’t no ‘watter’ ’bout it; it’s fire, an’ I done come ter settle up,” asserted Mammy.
“Have you brought the necessary papers with you? Have we a record in this office?”
“Don’ know nuffin’ ’tall ’bout no papers nor no records. Jist knows dat Miss Jinny’s insured fer $15,000,” said Mammy, causing the youth confronting her to open his eyes. “Dis hyer letter what she done wrote dis mawn’in tells all ’bout it I ’spec’. She tol’ me pos’ it ter de comp’ny an’ I reckons yo’ll do fer de comp’ny dis time when de time’s pressin’ an’ der ain’t nuffin’ better ter han’.”
The contempt in Mammy’s tone was tangible, as she held the letter as far from her as possible. Mr. Sniffins took it, noted the address and broke the seal. When he had read the letter he said with no little triumph in his voice:
“But in this letter Mrs. Carruth says distinctly that she is not prepared to pay the sum which falls due day after to-morrow, and asks for an extension of time. I am not prepared to make this extension. That’s up to the company,” and he held the letter toward Mammy as though he washed his hands of the whole affair.
Mammy did not take it. Instead she said very much as she would have spoken to a refractory child who was not quite sure of what he could or could not do: “La Honey, don’ yo’ ’spose I sensed dat long go? Co’se I knows yo’ cyant do nuffin’ much; yo’s only a lil’ boy, an’ der cyant no boy do a man’s wo’k. Yo’s hyer fer ter tek in de cash, an’ so dat’s what I done come ter pay. Miss Jinny she done mek up her mine dat she better pay dat policy dan use de money fer frolic’in’. I reckons yo’ can tek cyer of it an’ sen’ it long down yonder whar de big comp’ny ’s at. Dat’s all I want yo’ ter do, so now go ’long an’ git busy an’ do it. Dere’s thirty dollars; count it so’s yo’s suah. Den write it all out crost de back ob Miss Jinny’s letter so’s I have sumpin fer ter show dat it’s done paid.”
“But I’ll give you a regular receipt for the amount,” said the clerk, now eager to serve a customer whose premium represented so large a policy.
“Yo’ kin give me dat too if yo’ wantter, but I wants de sign on de letter too, an’ yo’ full name, Mr. Elijah Sniffins, ter boot, you knows what yo’ jist done said ’bout trus’in’ folks, an’ yo’ don’ berlong ter de Rogersers, ner de Wellmans, ner de Stuyvesants, but I berlongs ter de Blairsdales!”
Mammy grew nearly three inches taller as she made this statement, while her hearer seemed to grow visibly shorter. The receipt was duly filled out, likewise an acknowledgment written upon the blank side of Mrs. Carruth’s letter and Elijah Sniffins’ name signed thereto. Mammy took them scrutinized both with great care (she could not read one word) nodded and said:
“Huh, Um. Yas, sir. I reckon dat all squar’. If de house burn down ter night we all gwine git de ’surance sure ’nough. Yas—yas.”
“You certainly could collect whatever was comin’ to you,” Mr. Sniffins assured her, his late supercilious smile replaced by a most obsequious one for this representative of the possessors of the dollars he worshiped. Mr. Sniffins meant to have a good many dollars himself some day and the luxuries which dollars stand for.
Mammy nodded, and placing the receipt and letter in her bag gave a slight nod and turned to leave the office. Mr. Sniffins hurried to open the door for her. As she was about to cross the threshold she paused, eyed him keenly from the crown of his smoothly brushed head to his patent-leather-shod feet and then asked:
“Huccum yo’ opens de do’ fer niggers? Ef yo’ b’longed ter de quality yo’d let de niggers open de do’s fer yo. Yo’ better run ’long an’ ten’ yo’ ma’s sody foun’in ’twell yo’ learns de quality manners.”
An hour later Mammy was busy in her kitchen, the receipts safely pinned within her bodice and no one the wiser for the morning’s business transaction.
“Eleanor! Eleanor! where are you?” cried Constance at the foot of the third-story stairs the following day after luncheon.
Blue Monday had passed with its dull gray clouds and chill winds to give place to one of those rare, warm days which sometimes come to us late in October, as though the glorious autumn were loath to depart and had turned back for a last smile upon the land it loved.
The great river lay like shimmering liquid gold, the air was filled with the warm, pungent odors of the late autumn woods, and a soft haze rested upon the opposite hills.
“Here in my room,” answered Eleanor. “What is it? What do you want? I can’t come just this minute. Come up if it’s important.” The voice was somewhat muffled as though the speaker’s head were covered.
Constance bounded up the stairs, hurried across the hall and entered the large third-story front room which Eleanor occupied. There was no sign of its occupant.
“More experiments I dare say,” she murmured as she entered, crossed the room and pushed open the door leading into a small adjoining room whereupon her nostrils were assailed by odors not of Araby—the blessed.
“Phew! Ugh! What an awful smell! What under the sun are you doing? If you don’t blow yourself to glory some day I shall be thankful,” she ended as she pinched her nostrils together.
“Shut the door quick and don’t let the smell get through the house or mother will go crazy when she gets home. Yes, it is pretty bad, but tie your handkerchief over your nose and then you won’t mind it so much. As for blowing myself to glory, perhaps that will be my only way of ever coming by any, so I ought to be willing to take that route. But what do you want?” concluded Eleanor, pouring one smelly chemical into a small glass which contained another, whereupon it instantly became a most exquisite shade of crimson.
Constance watched her closely without speaking. Presently she said:
“Well I dare say it is ‘everyone to her fancy,’ as the old lady said when she kissed her cow (Jean could appreciate that, couldn’t she? She kisses Baltie often enough) but I’d rather be excused when chemical experiments are in order. Don’t for the life of me understand how you endure the smells and the mess. What is that horrid looking thing over there?” and Constance pointed to a grewsome-looking object stretched upon a small glass table at the farther side of the room.
“My rabbit. I got it at the school laboratory and I’ve been examining its respiratory organs. They’re perfectly wonderful, Constance. Want to see them? I’ll be done with this in just a minute.”
“No I don’t!” was the empathic negative. “I dare say it’s all very wonderful and interesting and I ought to know all about breathing apparatus——es, or apparatti, or whatever the plural of our wind-pump machine is, but if I’ve got to learn by hashing up animals I’ll never, never know, and that’s all there is about it. I’ll take my knowledge on theory or supposition or whatever you call it. But I’ve nearly forgotten to tell you the news. I’ve had a letter from Mrs. Hadyn, Mr. Stuyvesant’s aunt, the one he is named for you know, asking me to help at the candy counter at the Memorial Hospital Fair, week after next, and, incidentally, contribute some of my ‘delicious pralines and nut fudge’—that’s in quotes remember,—and remain for the dance which will follow after ten-thirty on the closing evening. She will see that I reach home safely. How is that for a frolic? I’ve been wild for a dance the past month.”
“Is mother willing? What will you wear?” was the essentially feminine inquiry which proved that Eleanor, even though absorbed in her sciences and isms, was a woman at heart.
“What is the use of asking that? You know I’ve got to wear whatever is on hand to be utilized into gay and festive attire. I can’t indulge in new frocks now-a-days when the finances are at such a low ebb. Need all we’ve got for necessities without thinking of spending money for notions. But I’ll blossom out gloriously; see if I don’t. That was one reason I came up to talk to you. Can you tear yourself away from your messes long enough to come up to the attic with me? I’ve been wanting to rummage for days, but haven’t been able to get around to it. So tidy up, and come along. You’ve absorbed enough knowledge to last you for one while.”
Eleanor wavered a moment and then began to put aside her materials, and a few moments later the two girls were up in the attic.
“Do you know what I believe I’ll do?” said Constance, after a half hour’s rummaging among several trunks had brought forth a perplexing array of old finery, winter garments and outgrown apparel. “I believe I’ll just cart down every solitary dud we’ve got here and have them all aired. I heard mother say last week that they ought to be, and she would have it done the first clear, dry day, and this one is simply heavenly. Come on; take an armful and get busy. They smell almost as abominably from tar camphor as your laboratory smells of chemicals.”
“Think I’d rather have the chemicals if my choice were consulted,” laughed Eleanor as obedient to instructions, she gathered up an armful of clothing and prepared to descend the stairs.
“Thanks, I’ll take the tar. Go on; I’ll follow.”
Little was to be seen of either girl as she moved slowly down the stairs. At the foot stood Mammy.
“Fo’ de Lawd sake wha’ yo’ chillen at now?” she demanded as she stood barring their progress.
“Bringing out our winter wardrobes, Mammy. Good deal of it as to quantity; what it will turn out as to quality remains to be seen,” cried Constance cheerily.
“Lak’ ’nough mos’ anyt’ing if yo’ had de handlin’ ob it. Yo’ sartin’ is de banginest chile wid yo’ han’s,” was Mammy’s flattering reply.
“Perhaps if I could ‘bang’ as well with my brains as with my hands I might amount to something, Mammy. But Nornie has all the brains of the family. She’ll make our fame and fortune some day; see if she doesn’t.”
“Guess I’ll have to do something clever then if I am to become famous in this day and age,” said Eleanor, as she made her way past Mammy. “Thus far I haven’t given very noble promise.”
“Who sesso?” demanded Mammy. “Ain’ yo’ de fust and fo’most up dere whar de school’s at? What fur ole Miss sendin’ yo’ dar fer den? Huh, I reckon she know whar ter spen’ her money, an’ Gawd knows she ain’ spendin’ none what ain’ gwine ter pintedly make up fer all she gin out. She no fool, I tell yo’.”
The girls broke into peals of laughter, for Mammy’s estimation of “ol’ Miss,” as she called Mr. Carruth’s aunt by marriage, was a pretty accurate one, “Aunt Eleanor” being a lady who had very pronounced ideas and no hesitation whatever in giving expression to them, as well as a very strong will to back them up. She also had a pretty liberally supplied purse, the supply being drawn from a large estate which she had inherited from her father, a Central New York farmer, who had made a fortune in fruit-growing and ended his days in affluence, although he had begun them in poverty. She had no children, her only son having died when a child, and her husband soon afterward. Bernard Carruth had always been a favorite with her, although she never forgave him for what she pronounced his “utter and imbecilic folly.” It was Aunt Eleanor who made the seminary possible for the niece who had been named for her; a compliment which flattered the old lady more than she chose to let others suspect, for the niece was manifesting a fine mind, and the aunt had secretly resolved to do not a little toward its development although she took pains to guard the fact.
“Go along up-stairs and get an armful of things, Mammy. That will keep you from flattering me and making me conceited,” cried Eleanor, when the laugh ended.
“Huh! Mek a Blairsdale ’ceited?” retorted Mammy, as she started up to the attic. “Dey’s got too much what dey knows is de right stuff fer ter pester dey haids studyin’ ’bout it; it’s right dar all de endurin’ time; dey ain’ gotter chase atter it lessen dey loses it.”
“Was there ever such a philosopher as Mammy?” laughed Constance as they got beyond hearing.
“Wish there were a few more with as much sound sense—black or white—” answered Eleanor as she shook out one of Jean’s frocks and hung it across the clothes-line.
A moment later Mammy joined them with more garments which cried aloud for the glorious fresh air and sunshine. She hung piece after piece upon the line, giving a shake here, a pat there, or almost a caress upon another, for each one recalled to her loving old heart the memory of more prosperous days, and each held its story for her. When all were swinging in the sunshine she stepped back and surveyed the array, her mouth pursed up quizzically, but her eyes full of kindness.
“What are you thinking of Mammy?” asked Constance, slipping her fingers into Mammy’s work-hardened hand very much as she had done when a little child.
“Hum; Um: What’s I t’inkin’ of? I’se t’inkin’ dat ar lot ob clo’se supin lak we-all here: De’y good stuff in um, an’ I reckon dey c’n stan’ ’spection, on’y dey sartin do stan’ in need ob jist a leetle spondulix fer ter put em in shape. Dar’s too much ob em spread all ober. What dey needs is ter rip off some o’ dem ruffles and jis hang ter de plain frocks ter tek keer ob. We spen’s a heap ob time breshin’ ruffles dat we better spen’ tekin’ keer ob de frocks in,” concluded Mammy with a sage nod as she turned and walked into the house.
“Upon my word I believe Mammy’s pretty near right Eleanor. We have got a good many ruffles to take care of on this big place and I sometimes feel that mother is wearing herself out caring for them. Perhaps we would be wiser to give them up.”
“Perhaps we would,” agreed Eleanor, “but where will we go if we give up the home? We have hardly known any other, for we were both too little to think much about homes or anything else when we came into this one. For my part, I am ready to do whatever is best and wisest, although I love every stick and stone here. Mother has looked terribly worried lately although she hasn’t said one word to me. Has she to you?
“No, nothing at all. But I know what you mean; her eyes look so tired. I wonder if anything new has arisen to make her anxious. She says so little at any time. I mean to have a talk with her this evening if I can get a chance. Do you get Jean out of the way. She is such an everlasting chatterbox that there is no hope of a quiet half hour while she is around. Now let’s take an inventory of this array and plan my frivolity frock,” and Constance drew Eleanor down upon a rustic seat at one side of the lawn to discuss the absorbing question of the new gown to be evolved from some of the old ones which were swaying in the wind.
Perhaps a half hour passed, the girls were giving little heed to time, for the drowsy dreamy influence of the afternoon was impressing itself upon them. Constance had planned the gown to the minutest detail, Eleanor agreeing and secretly marveling at her ability to do so, when both became aware of a strong odor of smoke.
“What is burning, I wonder?” said Constance, glancing in the direction of a patch of woodland not far off.
“Leaves, most likely. The Henrys’ gardener has burned piles and piles of them ever since they began falling. I shouldn’t think there would be any left for him to burn,” answered Eleanor, looking in the same direction.
“It doesn’t smell like leaves, it smells like wood, and—oh! Eleanor, Eleanor, look! look at your window! The smoke is just pouring from it! The house is a-fire! Run! Run! Quick! Quick!”