Part 31 (1/2)
”Now, tell me how to send this away.”
Mr. Wheelock took a pair of steel-rimmed spectacles out of the pocket of his grey alpaca coat, and put them on. Then he picked up the barrel top and looked at it in an astonishment that gave way presently to something like profound admiration.
”Well, I declare! If it ain't Mrs. Lambert! And its a mighty fine thing, too. How did you come by this?”
”_Do_ you think it's good, Mr. Wheelock?” cried Jane, eagerly, her face glowing.
”It's fine,” said Mr. Wheelock, in a tone that indicated that he considered his opinion quite final. ”And on the top of an old flour barrel, too!” he went on, turning the picture over. ”Ain't that quaint?
Well, now, where did you want it sent?”
Jane sat down and copied out the address for him.
”And you'll wrap it up _carefully_, Mr. Wheelock?”
”Sure thing. And send it by express, too.”
”And you won't tell a living soul?”
”Nary a breath. Here, hadn't you better write your address on the back of this here pitcher-or somewheres, case it might get lost.”
Jane had nearly forgotten this item. She took a post card, and wrote on it boldly, ”Paul Winkler, Frederickstown, N. C.”
”There, Mr. Wheelock, will you paste that on the back?”
Mr. Wheelock was inspecting the card.
”Paul Winkler! That young feller I seen around here a lot with you folks? Did he make this pitcher?”
”Yes,” said Jane proudly.
”I declare! Now I call that right smart. If it ain't Mrs. Lambert to the life I'll eat my hat.” And he set it up on his desk again, leaning against the wall. Jane looked at it intently. If only she knew just _how_ good it was. She did not feel that Mr. Wheelock was exactly an authoritative critic-then she remembered again that Paul had said it wasn't ”so bad,” and that settled her doubts.
It was, in fact, in spite of the crudities of which Paul had been very well aware, a piece of work that might have done credit to many a more experienced painter; and there were things in it that neither Jane nor Mr. Wheelock saw, vigor and harmony and beauty, over and above the superficial likeness to Mrs. Lambert that Mr. Wheelock found so amazing.
”You'll send it off right away, Mr. Wheelock? And-and let me know how much it costs. I can't pay before Sat.u.r.day.”
He laughed.
”I'll try to get along 'til then. Don't you bother your head, child.”
Satisfied, though full of hope and fear, Jane went home.
The family gathered for its noonday meal, Mr. Lambert taking his seat at the head of the table, grave and pompous as always in his well-brushed black coat. The difference of one place seemed to make the table unnaturally small, and yet no one seemed to notice it. Mr. Lambert talked about some man that had been in to see him, about the prospects of the new courthouse being finished, about the harvests. His family docilely listened to him, interpolating the proper question or remark here and there. Paul's name was not mentioned, it being tacitly understood that such were the wishes of the master of the house.
CHAPTER XV-AN UNSUSPECTED HERO
Paul's departure left the old problem still unsolved. Well, there was no help for it; if the family tradition was to be destroyed at last, so it must be. The time was coming when the ancient name of Winkler should be erased from the gla.s.s window of the Bakeshop, and a stranger's name put in its place. Even Granny, usually so little troubled from her serenity by the vicissitudes of earthly things, seemed to brood over the prospect with melancholy. But the subject was not discussed so frequently as of yore, partly because there was little to be gained from such discussion, and partly because it reminded Mr. Lambert of his nephew's delinquency and put him in a bad humor.
As September was always a hot month in that part of the country, school never began until early in October.