Part 25 (1/2)

”Gee!” says I. ”I'd like to be there.”

”You will be,” says she; ”for you are specially invited.”

”Eh?” says I. ”To meet the poor relations? How's that?”

”Who said they were poor?” says Sadie. ”Why, Twombley-Crane says that his cousin's wife is one of the shrewdest business women he's ever heard of. He has been handling her investments, and says she must be worth half a million, at least; all made out of a country store, maple sugar bushes, and farm mortgages. I'm crazy to see her, aren't you?”

”What--Sallie?” says I. ”Half a million! Must be some mistake.”

Course I had to tell her then about the couple I'd run across, and about Mr. Sallie, and the pies, and the string bonnet. We had such a warm debate too, as to whether she was really well off or not, that next day my curiosity got the best of me, and I calls up the hotel to see if the Leavitts are in. Well, they was, and Mrs. Leavitt, when she finds who it is, asks pleadin' if I won't run up and see 'em a little while.

”Please come,” says she; ”for I'm completely flabbergasted. It's--it's about Mr. Leavitt.”

”Why, sure,” says I. ”I'll come right up.”

I finds 'em sittin' in their dull, bare little hotel room, one on each side of the bed, with the extension grip half packed on the floor.

”Well,” says I, ”what's up?”

”Ask him,” says she, noddin' at Mr. Sallie.

But Leavitt only hangs his head guilty and shuffles his feet. ”Then I'll tell you,” says she. ”Yesterday he slipped out, hunted up his cousin, and got us invited to dinner. More'n that, he said we'd come.”

”Well, why not go?” says I.

”Because,” says she, ”I--I just can't do it. I--I'm--well, we've been around some since we got here, lookin' into the big stores and so on, and I've been noticin' the women, how they talk and act and dress and--and--oh, I'm afraid, that's all!”

”Why, Sallie!” says Mr. Leavitt.

”Yes, I am,” she insists. ”I'm plumb scared at the thought of mixin'

with folks like that--just plumb scared. And, as you know, Mr. Leavitt, it's the first time in my life I've ever been afraid of anything.”

”Yes, that's so,” says he, ”that's so, Sallie. But you're not going to be afraid now. Why should you?”

”Listen to him, Mr. McCabe!” says she. ”Do you know what he wants me to do? Spend a lot of money on clothes and rig myself up like--like that woman we saw the other night!”

”And you're going to do it too,” says Mr. Leavitt. ”You can afford to have the best there is,--a Paris frock, and the things that go with it.

I mean you shall, not for my sake, but for your own. You're a wonderful woman, Sallie, and you ought to know it for once in your life. I want my cousin to know it too. You've not only got more brains than most women, but you're mighty good looking, and in the proper clothes you could hold up your head in any company.”

”Pshaw!” says Mrs. Leavitt, almost blus.h.i.+n'. ”Right before Mr. McCabe too!”

”Well, isn't it so?” demands Mr. Leavitt, turnin' to me.

”Why--er--of course it is,” says I.

I tried to make it enthusiastic, and if it come out a little draggy it must have been on account of that ancient lid of hers that's hangin' in full view on one of the bedposts. As a matter of fact, she's one of these straight-built, husky, well-colored dames, with fairly good lines in spite of what the village dressmaker had done to her.

”There!” says Mr. Leavitt. ”Now let's have no more talk of going home.