Part 2 (2/2)
Well, did they lock him out?”
She let herself and a freezing gust of air into the dark hall, groping to the hat-rack for matches. While she was lighting the gas, a very pretty girl of sixteen, with crimson cheeks and tumbled soft dark hair, came to the dining-room door. This was her sister Julie, Margaret's roommate and warmest admirer, and for the last year or two her inseparable companion. Julie had her finger in a book, but now she closed it, and said affectionately between her yawns: ”Come in here, darling! You must be dead.”
”Don't let Bran in,” cried some one from upstairs.
”He is in, Mother!” Margaret called back, and Rebecca and the three small boys--Theodore, the four-year-old baby, Robert, and Duncan, a grave little lad of seven--all rushed out of the dining-room together, shouting, as they fell on the delighted dog:--
”Aw, leave him in! Aw, leave the poor little feller in! Come on, Bran, come on, old feller! Leave him in, Mark, can't we?”
Kissing and hugging the dog, and stumbling over each other and over him, they went back to the dining-room, which was warm and stuffy. A coal fire was burning low in the grate, the window-panes were beaded, and the little boys had marked their initials in the steam. They had also pushed the fringed table-cover almost off, and scattered the contents of a box of ”Lotto” over the scarred walnut top. The room was shabby, ugly, comfortable. Julie and Margaret had established a tea table in the bay window, had embroidered a cover for the wide couch, had burned the big wooden bowl that was supposedly always full of nuts or grapes or red apples. But these touches were lost in the ma.s.s of less pleasing detail. The ”body Brussels” carpet was worn, the wall paper depressing, the woodwork was painted dark brown, with an imitation burl smeared in by the painter's thumb. The chairs were of several different woods and patterns, the old black walnut sideboard clumsy and battered. About the fire stood some comfortable worn chairs. Margaret dropped wearily into one of these, and the dark-eyed Julie hung over her with little affectionate attentions. The children returned to their game.
”Well, what a time you had with little Dolly Scott!” said Julie, sympathetically. ”Ted's been getting it all mixed up! Tell us about it. Poor old Mark, you're all in, aren't you? Mark, would you like a cup of tea?”
”Love it!” Margaret said, a little surprised, for this luxury was not common.
”And toast--we'll toast it!” said Theodore, enthusiastically.
”No, no--no tea!” said Mrs. Paget, coming in at this point with some sewing in her hands. ”Don't spoil your dinner, now, Mark dear; tea doesn't do you any good. And I think Blanche is saving the cream for an apple tapioca. Theodore, Mother wants you to go right downstairs for some coal, dear. And, Julie, you'd better start your table; it's close to six. Put up the game, Rebecca!”
There was general protest. Duncan, it seemed, needed only ”two more”
to win. Little Robert, who was benevolently allowed by the other children to play the game exactly as he pleased, screamed delightedly that he needed only one more, and showed a card upon which even the blank s.p.a.ces were lavishly covered with gla.s.s. He was generously conceded the victory, and kissed by Rebecca and Julie as he made his way to his mother's lap.
”Why, this can't be Robert Paget!” said Mrs. Paget, putting aside her sewing to gather him in her arms. ”Not this great, big boy!”
”Yes, I am!” the little fellow a.s.serted joyously, dodging her kisses.
”Good to get home!” Margaret said luxuriously.
”You must sleep late in the morning,” her mother commanded affectionately.
”Yes, because you have to be fresh for the party Monday!” exulted Julie. She had flung a white cloth over the long table, and was putting the ringed napkins down with rapid bangs. ”And New Year's Eve's the dance!” she went on buoyantly. ”I just love Christmas, anyway!”
”Rebecca, ask Blanche if she needs me,”--that was Mother.
”You'd go perfectly crazy about her, Ju, she's the most fascinating, and the most unaffected woman!” Margaret was full of the day's real event.
”And Mother theth that Ted and Dunc and I can have our friendth in on the day after Chrithmath to thee the Chrithmath tree!” That was Rebecca, who added, ”Blanche theth no, Mother, unleth you want to make thom cream gravy for the chopth!”
”And, Mark, Eleanor asked if Bruce and you and I weren't going as Pierrot and Pierettes; she's simply crazy to find out!” This was Julie again; and then Margaret, coaxingly, ”Do make cream gravy for Bruce, Mother. Give Baby to me!” and little Robert's elated ”I know three things Becky's going to get for Christmas, Mark!”
”Well, I think I will, there's milk,” Mrs. Paget conceded, rising.
”Put Bran out, Teddy; or put him in the laundry if you want to, while we have dinner.” Margaret presently followed her mother into the kitchen, stopping in a crowded pa.s.sageway to tie an ap.r.o.n over her school gown.
”Bruce come in yet?” she said in a low voice.
Her mother flashed her a sympathetic look.
”I don't believe he's coming, Mark.”
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