Part 14 (1/2)

Little Roscoe coughed sympathetically and remarked, before he lost his chance for a word: ”The boy of to-day is the man of to-morrow. Parents cannot be too careful about what their little ones will read during the long winter evenings that will soon be upon us.” He coughed again when he had finished.

”The press is a mighty lever of civilization,” continued the mother, with an approving glance at her boy, ”and you, Mr. Denney, should feel proud indeed of your sacred mission to instruct and elevate these poor people. Of course I shall have other duties to occupy my time--”

Solon had glanced up brightly, but gloom again overspread his face as she continued:--

”Yet I shall make it not the least of my works--if a poor weak woman may so presume--to help you in correcting certain faults of style and taste in your sheet, for it goes each week into many homes where the light must be sorely needed, and surely you and I would not be adequately sensible of our responsibilities if we continued to let it go as it is.

_Would_ we?” And again she glowed upon Solon with the condescending sweetness of a Sabbath-school teacher to the littlest boy in her cla.s.s.

But now we both breathed more freely, for she allowed the wretched _Argus_ to drop from her disapproving fingers, and began to ask us questions, as to a place of wors.h.i.+p, a house suitable for residence purposes, a school for little Roscoe, and the nature of those clubs or societies for mental improvement that might exist among us. And she asked about Families. We were obliged to confess that there were no Families in Little Arcady, in the true sense of the term, though we did not divine its true sense until she favored us with the detail that her second cousin had married a relative of the Adams family. We said honestly that we were devoid of Families in that sense. None of us had ever been able to marry an Adams. No Adams with a consenting mind--not even a partial Adams--had ever come among us.

Still, Mrs. Potts wore her distinction gracefully, and was even a little apologetic.

”In Boston, you know, we rather like to know 'who's who,' as the saying is.”

”Out here,” said Solon, ”we like to know what's what.” He had revived wonderfully after his beloved _Argus_ was dropped. But at his retort the lady merely elevated her rather fine brows and remarked, ”Really, Mr.

Denney, you speak much as you write--you must not let me forget to give you that little book I spoke of.”

As we went down the stairs Solon placed ”One Hundred Common Errors in Speaking and Writing” close under his arm, adroitly s.h.i.+elding the t.i.tle from public scrutiny. We stood a moment in the autumn silence outside the hotel door, watching a maple across the street, the line of its boughs showing strong and black amid its airy yellow plumage. The still air was full of leaves that sailed to earth in leisurely sadness. We were both thoughtful.

”Mrs. Potts is a very alert and capable woman,” I said at last, having decided that this would be the most suitable thing to say.

”I tell you she has _powers_,” said Solon, in a tone almost of awe.

”She will teach you to make something of yourself,” I hazarded.

”One minute she makes me want to fight, and the next I surrender,” he answered pathetically.

We separated on this, Solon going toward the _Argus_ office with slow steps and bowed head, while I went thoughtfully abroad to ease my nerves by watching the splendid death of summer. Above the hills, now royally colored, as by great rugs of brown and crimson velvet flung over their flanks, I seemed to hear the echoes of ironic laughter--the laughter of perverse G.o.ds who had chosen to avenge the slight put upon an inferior Potts.

CHAPTER XI

HOW LITTLE ARCADY WAS UPLIFTED

The winter that followed proved to be a season of unrest for our town.

Mrs. Aurelia Potts was a leaven of yeast that fermented its social waters, erstwhile calm, not to say stagnant.

Early in November an evening affair was held in her honor at the Eubanks home. The Eubankses being our leading Presbyterians, and Mrs. Potts having allied herself with that church, it was felt that they were best fitted to give the lady her initial impression of Little Arcady's society. Not only were the three Eubanks girls talented, but the mother was a social leader, Eustace was travelled, having been one of an excursion party to the Holy Land, and the family had relatives living in Philadelphia. None of the girls had married, nor had Eustace. The girls, it was said, had not wished to marry. Eustace had earnestly wished to, it was known; but two of our young women who had successively found favor in his sight had failed to please his mother and sisters, and Eustace was said to be watching and waiting for one upon whom all could agree, though every one but Eustace himself knew this was an utterly hopeless vigil. Meantime the mother and sisters looked up to him, guarding him jealously from corrupting a.s.sociations, saw that he wore his overshoes when clouds lowered, and knitted him chest protectors, gloves, and pulse warmers which he was not allowed to forget. He taught the Bible Cla.s.s in the Presbyterian Sabbath school, sang ba.s.s in the choir, and, on occasion, gave an excellent entertainment with his magic lantern, with views of the Holy Land, which he explained with a running fire of comment both instructive and entertaining.

The Eubanks home that evening was said by a subsequent _Argus_ to have been ”ablaze with lights” and ”its handsome and s.p.a.cious parlors thronged with the elite of the town who had gathered to do honor to the noted guest of the evening.”

There first occurred a piano duet, rendered expertly by the two younger Misses Eubanks, ”Listen to the Mocking Bird,” with some bewildering variations of an imitative value, done by the Miss Eubanks seated at the right.

Then the front parlor was darkened and, after the consequent t.i.ttering among the younger set had died away, Eustace threw his pictures upon a hanging sheet and delivered his agreeable lecture about them, beginning with the exciting trip from Jaffa to Jerusalem. Most of those present had enjoyed the privilege of this lecture enough times to know what picture was coming next and what Eustace would say about it. But it was thought graceful now, considering the presence of a stranger, to simulate the expectancy of the uninformed, and to emit little gasps of astonished delight when Eustace would say, ”Pa.s.sing from the city gates, we next come upon a view that is well worthy a moment of our attention.”

With the lights up again, a small flask of water from the river Jordan was handed about, to be examined, by those who knew it too well, in the same loyal spirit of curiosity. A guest would hold it reverently a moment, then glance up in search of some one to whom it might be heartily extended.

This over, the elder Miss Eubanks--Marcella of the severe mien--sang interestingly, ”I gathered Sh.e.l.ls upon the Sh.o.r.e,” and for an encore, in response to eager demands, ”Comin' thro' the Rye.” Not coyly did she give this, with inciting, blus.h.i.+ng implications, but rather with an unbending, disapproving sternness, as if with intent to divert the minds of her listeners from the song's frank ribaldry to its purely musical values.

Eustace followed with a solo:--