Part 11 (1/2)
”George, it was Penny, I'm sure!” she said. ”From what they said,--they talked all the time!--I think Penny went to see them, and sort of--sort of--suggested this! I'm so sorry, George--”
George was sulphurously silent.
”And Penny will make the most of it, you know!”
Genevieve went on quickly and nervously. ”If you should send them back, tonight, I know he'd tell Betty! And Betty says she is coming to see you because she has been asked to read an answer to your paper, at the Club, and she might--she has such a queer sense of humor--”
Silence. Genevieve wished that she was dead, and that every one was dead.
”I don't want to criticize you, dear,” George said presently, in his kindest tone. ”But the time to _act_, of course, was when they first arrived. I can't do anything now. We'll just have to face it through, for a few days.”
It was not much of a cloud, but it was their first. Genevieve went downstairs with tears in her eyes.
She had wanted their home to be so cozy, so dainty, so intimate! And now to have two grown women and a child thrust into her Paradise! Marie was sulky, rattling the silver-drawer viciously while her mistress talked to her, and Lottie had an ugly smile as she submitted respectfully that there wasn't enough asparagus.
Then George's remoteness was terrifying. He carved with appalling courtesy. ”Is there another chicken, Genevieve?” he asked, as if he had only an impersonal interest in her kitchen. No, there was only the one.
And plenty, too, said the guests pleasantly. Genevieve hoped there were eggs and bacon for Marie and Lottie and Frieda.
”I'm going to ask you for just a mouthful more, it tastes so delicious and homy!” said Alys. ”And then I want to talk a little business, George. It's about those houses of mine, out in Kentwood....”
George looked at her blankly, over his drumstick.
”Darling Tom left them,” said Tom's widow, ”and they really have rented well. They're right near the factory, you know. But now, just lately, some man from the agents has been writing and writing me; he says that one of them has been condemned, and that unless I do something or other they'll all be condemned. It's a horrid neighborhood, and I don't like the idea, anyway, of a woman poking about among drains and cellars. Yet, if I send the agent, he'll run me into fearful expense; they always do.
So I'm going to take them out of his hands tomorrow, and turn it all over to you, and whatever you decide will be best!”
”My dear girl, I'm the busiest man in the world!” George said. ”Leave all that to Allen. He's the best agent in town!”
”Oh, I took them away from Allen months ago, George. Sampson has them now.”
”Sampson? What the deuce did you change for? I don't know that Sampson is solvent. I certainly would go back to Allen--”
”George, I can't!”
The widow looked at her plate, swept him a coquettish glance, and dropped her eyes again.
”Mr. Allen is a dear fellow,” she elucidated, ”but his wife is dreadful!
There's nothing she won't suspect, and nothing she won't say!”
”My dear cousin, this isn't a question of social values! It's business!”
George said impatiently. ”But I'll tell you what to do,” he added, after scowling thought. ”You put it in Miss Eliot's hands; she was with Allen for some years. Now she's gone in for herself, and she's doing well.
We've given her several things--” ”Take it out of a man's hands to put it into a woman's!” Alys exclaimed. And Emelene added softly:
”What can a woman be thinking of, to go into a dreadful business like selling real estate and collecting rents!”
”Of course, she was trained by men!” Genevieve threw in, a little anxiously. Alys was so tactless, when George was tired and hungry. She cast about desperately for some neutral topic, but before she could find one the widow spoke again.
”I'll tell you what I'll do, George. I'll bring the books and papers to your office tomorrow morning, and then you can do whatever you think best! Just send me a check every month, and it will be all right!”
”Just gather me up what's there, on the plate,” Emelene said, with her nervous little laugh in the silence. ”I declare I don't know when I've eaten such a dinner! But that reminds me that you could help me out wonderfully, too, Cousin George--I can't quite call you Mr.
Remington!--with those wretched stocks of mine. I'm sure I don't know what they've been doing, but I know I get less money all the time!
It's the New Haven, George, that P'pa left me two years ago. I can't understand anything about it, but yesterday I was talking to a young man who advised me to put all my money into some tonic stock. It's a tonic made just of plain earth--he says it makes everything grow. Doesn't it sound reasonable? But if I should lose all I have, I'm afraid I'd _really_ wear my welcome out, Genevieve, dear. So perhaps you'll advise me?”