Part 16 (1/2)

Say, after I'd been led up to this faded old relic that's bolstered with pillows in the armchair by the window, and listened to her wavery, cracked voice, I couldn't see anything funny in it at all.

It's a vague, batty sort of talk we had. Mostly it's a monologue by her.

”I am quite annoyed,” says she, tappin' the chair arm with her thin, blue-white finger-nails. ”My income, you know. It must not be reduced in this way. You must attend to it at once. Those Inter-Lake securities. I've depended on those. Mr. Bagstock gave them to me on our fifth wedding anniversary. Of course, I am not a business woman.

One can't neglect one's social career. But I have always tried to look after my own securities. My father taught me to do that when I was a mere girl. So I wrote about my Inter-Lake Navigation shares. Why should your firm interfere? You say in a few months they will pay as well. But meanwhile? You see, there are my Wednesdays. I can't give them up. What would people say? For years that has been my day. No, no, young man, you must find a way. Tell your firm that I simply must keep up my Wednesdays.”

And, as she stops for breath, it's about the first chance I've had to spring anything on her. Old Hickory hadn't told me not to use his name, and was I to blame if he'd overlooked that point?

”Yes'm,” says I; ”I'll tell Mr. Ellins.”

”Who?” says she, steadyin' her wanderin' gaze. ”Mr. Ellins?”

”Old Hickory,” says I. ”He's president of the Corrugated Trust, ma'am.”

”Really!” says she. ”How odd! I--I used to know a young man of that name--a pus.h.i.+ng, presuming, impudent fellow. In fact, he had the audacity to call on me several times. He was quite impossible socially; uncouth, awkward, rough spoken. A mere clerk, I believe.

And I--well, I was rather a belle that season, I suppose. At least, I did not lack suitors. A brilliant season it was for me too, my first.

Our dinners, receptions, dances, were affairs of importance. How this raw Middle-Westerner came to be invited I've forgotten. Through my father, I presume. I had hardly noticed him among so many. At least, I am sure I never gave him an excuse for thinking that he could-- Oh, it was outrageous. I had been trying to dance with him and had given it up. We were in the little conservatory, watching the others, when--well, I found myself in his arms, crushed there. He--he was kissing me violently. I suppose I must have screamed before I fainted.

Anyway, there was a scene. He was given his hat and coat, shown the door. Father was in a rage. Of course, after that he was ostracized.

I never saw him again, never forgave him. And now-- Do you think this can be the same Mr. Ellins? He sent you to me, did he not? Did he mention anything about--”

”Not a word except business,” says I. ”And I must say that performance don't sound much like the boss.”

”Ah!” says the old girl, sighin' relieved. ”I am glad to hear you say so. I should not care to have any dealings with him.”

She was back in the '70's again, tryin' to look haughty and indignant.

Next minute she was protestin' about her income and announcin' that she must keep up her Wednesdays.

”Yes'm,” says I, backin' out; ”I'll tell him.”

”Well?” says Tessie, as we gets back to the parlor, ”Ain't that some bug-house proposition? Got an ear-full, didn't you? And to-morrow we'll-- There's that fool bell again. Oh, it's the doctor. I'll have to take him up. So long.”

She let the young doctor in as she let me out. I was half way down the block, too, when I turns and walks back. I waits in the tin runabout until the pill distributer comes out.

”What about the old lady in there?” says I. ”Kind of wabbly, ain't she?”

”Oh, she may last a month more,” says he. ”Wonderful vitality. And then again--oh, any time; like that!” and he snaps his fingers.

Maybe I didn't have some details to give Old Hickory.

”It's a case of better days,” says I. ”Must have been some society queen and she's never got over the habit. Still playin' the game.”

Then I describes the guestless teas she has. But never a smile out of Old Hickory. He listens grim without interruptin'.

”But what about her first name?” he asks at last.

”Oh, sure,” says I. ”Didn't I mention that? Natalie. And I expect she was some stunner. She's near the finish now, though. Shouldn't wonder but to-morrow might be her last third Wednesday.”

”Who says so?” demands Mr. Ellins savage.