Kitabı oku: «The Rosie World», sayfa 16

CHAPTER XXXIX
THE WATCH-DOG

That night at supper, Ellen remarked casually: "Harry's coming to town on Saturday, and if he comes up here, I want you all to treat him nice."

Mrs. O'Brien glanced at Rosie a little nervously. "But, Ellen dear," she asked, "why does he want to be coming up here?"

Ellen smiled on her mother patronisingly. "It looks like he wants to call on me."

Mrs. O'Brien lifted hands in vague protest. "But tell me, now, do you think Jarge – " She hadn't courage to finish her sentence.

Terence looked over to Rosie with a sudden chuckle. "Say, Rosie, wouldn't it be fun if Jarge happened in? Let's drop him a line. Gee! Maybe he wouldn't do a thing to that St. Louis guy!"

"Ma!" Ellen admonished, sharply.

"Terry lad," Mrs. O'Brien began, obediently, "I'm surprised at you talkin' this way about the young gentleman that's coming to see your poor sister Ellen on Saturday night."

Terence pushed away his plate and began writing an imaginary postcard with a spoon. "Dear Jarge," he read slowly; "Won't you please come in on Saturday night? We're arranging a little surprise for Ellen. Yours truly, Terence O'Brien. Gee!" Terry murmured thoughtfully, "I wish he would come! It sure would be worth seeing!"

"Now, Terry," Mrs. O'Brien begged, "promise me you'll do nuthin' so foolish as that! You know yourself the awful temper Jarge has on him, an' if he was to come I'm afeared there'd be something serious. Don't you think, Ellen dear," she went on a little timidly, "that perhaps you'd better tell Mr. Harry not to come this week?"

Ellen looked at her mother defiantly. "I don't see why. This week's as good as any other for me."

"Well, then, don't you think that perhaps he'd better make you a little call down at the shop? With so many children and things the house is a wee bit untidy."

"It's his own idea to come up here." Ellen paused, a trifle embarrassed. "He says he wants to meet the family."

"H'm!" murmured Terry. "He's not like your old friend, Mr. Hawes, is he, Ellen?"

Ellen flushed. "No, Terry, he's not a bit like Mr. Hawes."

Small Jack piped up unexpectedly. "Is he like Jarge, Ellen?"

"No, he's not like George, either."

"Can he fight?"

Ellen tossed her head. "I should hope not! Harry Long is a gentleman!" Seeing that this was not a very strong recommendation to her brothers, she added: "But, unless I'm very much mistaken, he's plenty able to take care of himself. He's a fine swimmer, too."

"Is he a sport, Ellen?" Terry asked.

"He's certainly an elegant dresser, if that's what you mean. Just you wait and see."

Friday's letter put Ellen into something of a flurry.

"Ma, Harry thinks it would be awful nice if you would invite him to supper tomorrow night. He's coming to the shop in the morning. Then he'll take me out to lunch and we'll go somewheres in the afternoon, and he wants to know if we can't come back here for supper. He thinks that would be a good way for him to meet the whole family."

"Mercy on us!" Mrs. O'Brien wailed. "With all I've got to do, how can I get up a fine supper for a sporty young gent like Mr. Harry? Can't you keep him out, Ellen? I don't see why he's got to meet the family. We're just like any other family: a father, a mother, and five children."

"But, Ma, he makes such a point of it. I don't see how we can refuse. Besides, you know he's been pretty nice to me taking me out to dinner and things."

"If he was only Jarge Riley now," Mrs. O'Brien mused, "I wouldn't mind him at all, at all, for he wouldn't be a bit of trouble. Poor Jarge was always just like one of the family, wasn't he?"

Ellen drew her mother back to the subject of the moment. "So can I tell him to come?"

Mrs. O'Brien sighed. "Oh, I suppose so. That is, if Rosie'll help me. I tell you frankly, Ellen, I simply can't manage it alone."

Mrs. O'Brien called Rosie to get the promise of her assistance. Rosie listened quietly, then, instead of answering her mother, she turned to her sister.

"Ellen, I want to know one thing: Have you told this Harry about Jarge Riley?"

Ellen frowned. "I don't see what that's got to do with tomorrow's supper."

Rosie took a deep breath. "It's got a lot to do with it if I'm going to help."

For a moment the sisters measured each other in silence. Then Ellen broke out petulantly:

"Well, then, Miss Busybody, if you've got to know, I haven't! And, what's more, I'm not going to!"

"You're not going to, eh? We'll see about that." Rosie turned to her mother. "Ma, I'll help you tomorrow night. We'll have a good supper. But I want to give you both fair warning: if Ellen don't tell this Harry about Jarge Riley, I will! She's trying to make a goat of both of them and I'm not going to stand for it."

"Ma!" screamed Ellen, "are you going to let her meddle with my affairs like that? You make her mind her own business!"

"Rosie dear," begged Mrs. O'Brien, "don't go excitin' your poor sister Ellen by any such foolish threats. You'd only be causin' trouble, Rosie, and I'm sure you don't want to do that. And, Ellen dear, don't raise your voice. The neighbours will hear you."

"I don't care!" Ellen shouted. "She's nothing but George's little watch-dog, and I tell you I'm not going to stand it!"

"Perhaps, Ellen dear," Mrs. O'Brien ventured timidly, "it might be just as well if you did tell him about Jarge."

Ellen burst into tears. "You're all against me, every one of you – that's what you are! You're so afraid I'll have a good time! Isn't George coming on Thanksgiving and aren't we to be married in the spring? I should think that would suit you! But, no, you've got to spoil my fun now and it's a mean shame – that's what it is!"

"Ah, now, Ellen dear, don't you cry!" Mrs. O'Brien implored. "I'm sure Rosie is not going to interfere, are you, Rosie?"

Rosie regarded her sister's tears unmoved. "I'm going to do exactly what I say I am, and Ellen knows I am."

Ellen straightened herself with a shake. "Very well," she said shortly. "I guess I can be mean, too! You just wait!"

CHAPTER XL
MR. HARRY LONG EXPLAINS

Rosie was more than true to her promise. She prepared a good supper and, in addition, made the kitchen neat and presentable, scrubbed Jack until his skin and hair fairly shone with cleanliness, and, long before supper time, had Mrs. O'Brien and Geraldine, both in holiday attire, seated in state on the front porch to receive Ellen and her admirer.

When Jack, who was perched on the front gate as family lookout, saw them coming, he rushed back to the kitchen to give Rosie warning and Rosie had time to slip behind the front door and, through the crack, to witness the arrival.

"And, Ellen dear," Mrs. O'Brien exclaimed in greeting, "do you mean to tell me that this is your friend, Mr. Harry Long! If I do say it, Mr. Long, I'm mighty pleased to see you! As I've said to Ellen, many's the time, 'Why don't you bring your friend out to see me? Bring him any time,' says I, 'for the friends of me children are always welcome in this house.' And himself says the same thing, Mr. Long."

The florid well-built young man who gave Rosie the impression of bright tan shoes, gray spats, a fancy vest, and massive watchfob, waited, smiling, until Mrs. O'Brien was done and then remarked in friendly, cordial tones: "Just call me Harry, Mrs. O'Brien. I'm plain Harry to my friends."

"Well, I'm sure you're among friends when you're here," Mrs. O'Brien said with a downcast look of melting coyness. "But I fear you won't think so if I keep you standing much longer. Won't you sit down, Mr. – I mean, won't you sit down, Harry? You see, Harry," she continued, "I'm taking you at your word. And now I must introduce Jackie to you. Jackie's me second b'y. Now, Jackie dear, shake hands with Mr. Long and tell him you're glad to see him. The baby's name, Harry, is Geraldine. Besides her, I've got Terence who's a fine lad – oh, I know you'll be glad to meet Terry! – and Rosie who's next to Terry and who's helping me with the supper tonight so's to give me a chance to say 'How do you do' to you. Ah, if I do say it, I've a fine brood of children and never a word of bickering among them… Now, Jackie dear, like a good b'y, will you run upstairs and tell your da to come down this minute, that we're waiting for him, and then run into the kitchen and ask sister Rosie if the supper's ready."

Rosie slipped hurriedly back to the kitchen and then, through Jack, summoned the family in.

When she was presented to the newcomer, she added to her first impressions the smooth pinkish face of a city-bred man who had never been exposed to the real violence of sun and wind, a cravat pin and seal ring that were fellows to the watchfob, and hands that bore themselves as if a little conscious of a recent visit to the manicure.

As Rosie gathered in these details, she saw, in contrast, the figure of George Riley: the roughened weatherbeaten face, the cheap ill-fitting clothes, the big hands coarsened with work, the heavy feet. Ellen, of course, and girls like Ellen would be taken in by the new man's flashy appearance and easy confident manner, but not Rosie. Rosie hated him on sight! She knew the difference between tinsel and solid worth and she longed to cry out to him: "You needn't think you can fool me, because you can't! Any one can dress well who spends all he makes on clothes! But how much money have you got salted away in the bank? Tell me that, now!"

She had to shake hands with him, but when he stooped down to kiss her, she jerked away and glared at him like an angry little cat.

"Why, Rosie!" Mrs. O'Brien exclaimed in shocked tones, "is that the way you treat a family friend like Mr. Harry?"

"Family friend!" stormed Rosie; "I've never laid eyes on him before and neither have you!"

Mrs. O'Brien's embarrassment deepened. "Rosie, I'm ashamed of you! Is that the way for you to be treatin' a gentleman who's taking supper with us? I tell you frankly I'm ashamed of you!"

Jamie O'Brien cleared his throat. "See here, Maggie, Rosie's perfectly right. There's no call for her to be kissing a stranger. She's too big a girl for that."

Mrs. O'Brien looked at her husband blankly. "Jamie O'Brien, how you talk! Do you think it's becoming to call a man a stranger who's sitting down with you at your own table?"

Jamie turned to his guest politely. "I'm sure, Mr. Long, I don't know what all this noise is about. I'm like Rosie here. I've never seen you before to me knowledge. But that's neither here nor there. You're here now and you're welcome, and I hope we'll be friends. So let us drop the argument and sit down."

It was an awkward beginning, but Jamie refused to be embarrassed and, after a moment of silence, the others tried hard to follow his example.

Harry was evidently bent on pleasing.

"Ever been in St. Louis, Mr. O'Brien?" He spoke with a proprietorial air as one might of a household pet, pronouncing the name of his city Louie. "Fine place, St. Louie!"

"For meself," Jamie answered unexpectedly, "I never much cared for it. It's a hot hole!"

Ellen flushed. "Why, Dad!"

Jamie looked up impatiently. "What's the matter now?"

"Dad, don't you know that St. Louie is where Harry lives?"

"I do not!" Jamie answered truthfully. "And, if you ask me, Ellen, I don't see why I should."

"Jamie O'Brien!" Mrs. O'Brien gasped, "what's come over you? I haven't heard you talk so much at table in ten years!" She turned to her guest. "Would you believe me, Harry, there are weeks on end when I never get a word out of him! Sometimes I think I'll forget how to talk meself for lack of some one to exchange a word with! And to think," she concluded, "that Jamie's been in St. Louie! I give you me word of honour I never heard that before! Tell me, Jamie, when was it?"

Jamie ruminated a moment. "It must have been before we were married."

Mrs. O'Brien nodded her head. "That just proves what I always say: little a woman can know about a man before she marries him."

She talked on and Harry gave her every encouragement, laughing heartily at her anecdotes, asking further details, and making himself so generally pleasant that, before supper was half done, the opening embarrassment was forgotten and Mrs. O'Brien was exclaiming: "Well, Harry, I must say one thing: I feel like I'd known you forever!"

Harry glanced at Ellen. "Shall we tell them?"

Ellen drew a quick breath. "We've got to sometime," she murmured.

Harry beamed on Mrs. O'Brien. "I'm mighty glad to hear you say that, Mrs. O'Brien. There's nothing would please me better than to have you like me. In fact, I'm hoping you like me well enough to take me for a son-in-law!"

Mrs. O'Brien gasped: "What's this you're saying, Harry?"

Rosie, pale and tense, stood up. "Ellen," she said, looking straight at her sister, "have you told him about Jarge Riley?"

Ellen laughed a little unsteadily. "Yes, Rosie, I told him. And I see now you were right. It wasn't fair to Harry not to tell him. And I want to apologize for getting so mad."

"Yes, Rosie was right," Harry repeated, smiling at her kindly. "Rosie must have known I was dead gone on Ellen and meant business."

Rosie was not to be taken in by any such palaver as that. "No, Mr. Long, you're mistaken. I was only thinking about Jarge Riley. Ellen's going to marry him in the spring."

Harry still smiled at her ingratiatingly. "She's not going to marry him now, Rosie. She can't because, don't you see, she married me this afternoon!"

"What!" Rosie, feeling suddenly sick and weak, crumpled down into her chair, a nerveless little mass that gaped and blinked and waited for the world to come to an end.

There was a pause broken at last by an hysterical laugh from Ellen. "Don't look at me like that, Rosie! I should think you'd be glad I was married to some one else!"

Ellen's words brought Rosie to her senses. "I am glad!" she cried. "You never cared two straws about Jarge, anyhow! But why did you have to be so crooked with him? When he finds out the way you've done this, it'll just break his heart! I guess I know!"

Jamie O'Brien cleared his throat. "Rosie, you talk too much! Will you just hold your tongue a minute while I find out what all this clatter's about. Mr. Long, sir, will you be so good as to explain things?"

There was no smile on Jamie's face and Harry, looking at him, seemed to realize that it was not a time for pleasantries.

"I hope, Mr. O'Brien," he began soberly, "that you'll forgive me for not taking things more slowly. I expected to until this morning when Ellen told me about this Riley fellow. Then I sort of lost my head. I was afraid of delays and misunderstandings. I've been just crazy about Ellen. The first time I saw her I knew she was the girl for me and I came to town today to tell her so. I suppose she knew what I was going to say and down at the shop, the very first thing, she began telling me about Riley. Mighty straight of her, I call it. She had got herself engaged to him but she didn't want to marry him, and it just seemed to me that the easiest way out of things was for us to get married right quick. So we hustled over the river and got to the courthouse just before closing time. It was really my fault, Mr. O'Brien. I made Ellen do it."

Jamie looked at Ellen thoughtfully. "I don't believe you'd have made her do it if she hadn't wanted to do it."

"You're right, Dad," Ellen said; "I did want to. I didn't know how little I cared about George or any one else until Harry came along. George is good and kind and all that, but we'd never have made a team. I knew it perfectly well and I was wrong not to tell him so."

Jamie nodded his head. "You're right, Ellen. You've treated him pretty badly."

Her father's apparent blame of Ellen brought Mrs. O'Brien back to life and to speech. "Jamie O'Brien, I don't see how you can talk so about poor Ellen! You know yourself many's the time I've said to you, 'I can't see Ellen milkin' a cow.' For me own part I think she's wise to choose the life she has."

"Do you know the life she's chosen?" Jamie asked quietly. "I'm frank to say I don't." He turned to Harry. "Since you're me son-in-law, Mr. Long, perhaps you'll be willing to tell me who you are."

"Oh, Dad!" Ellen murmured, and Mrs. O'Brien whispered, "Why, Jamie!"

Harry flushed but answered promptly: "I'm twenty-six years old. I'm a St. Louie man. I'm a travelling salesman for the Great Ostrich Feather Company, head office at St. Louie. I'm on a twenty dollar a week salary with commissions that usually run me up to thirty dollars."

Harry paused and Jamie remarked: "Plenty for a single man. You might even have saved a bit on it, I'm thinking."

Harry hesitated. "No," he said slowly; "I'll tell you the truth. I've been kind of a fool about money. I haven't saved a cent."

Rosie sat up suddenly. "I knew it!" she cried.

"Rosie!" whispered Mrs. O'Brien. "Shame on you!"

"Well, I just did!" Rosie insisted.

Her father, paying no heed to her, went on with his catechism: "But even if you didn't save anything, I'm thinking with that salary you're not in debt."

"Dad!" murmured Ellen in an agony of embarrassment.

"Be quiet, Ellen, and let your husband talk."

The flush on Harry's face deepened. "I'm sorry to say I have a few debts – not many. I've been paying them off since I've known Ellen."

"There!" cried Mrs. O'Brien in triumph. "Do you hear that, Jamie!"

"Since you've known Ellen," Jamie repeated. "How long may that be?"

"I think it's nearly a month."

"H'm! Nearly a month… Well, now, Mr. Long, since you've got a wife and a few debts, is it your idea, if I might ask you, to start housekeeping?"

"Dad!" Ellen cried; "I don't see why you put it that way! We've got everything planned out."

Jamie was imperturbable. "I'd like to hear your plans, Ellen."

"We're not going housekeeping. I hate housekeeping, anyway. We're going boarding."

"Boarding, do you say?" Jamie ruminated a moment. "If you were to ask me, Mr. Long, I'd tell you that twenty dollars won't go far in supporting a wife in idleness."

"Ellen don't want to be idle, Mr. O'Brien. It's her own idea to keep on with millinery, and of course I can get her into a good shop in St. Louie."

It was Mrs. O'Brien's turn to feel dismay. "Do you mean to tell me, Ellen, that, as a married woman, you're keeping on working?"

Ellen's answer was decided. "I'd rather do millinery than housekeeping. Millinery ain't half as hard for me. I told Harry so this afternoon and he said all right."

"But, Ellen dear," wailed Mrs. O'Brien, "people'll be thinking that your husband can't support you!"

Ellen laughed. "As long as I know different, that won't matter."

Jamie gave Ellen unexpected support. "Maggie, I think Ellen's right. It'll be much better to be a good milliner than a poor housekeeper." Jamie paused and looked at the young people thoughtfully. "Well, you're married now, both of you, and perhaps you're well matched. I dunno. Ellen's been a headstrong girl, never thinking of any one but herself and, from your own account, Harry, you're much the same. You've both jumped into this thing without thinking, but you'll have plenty of time for thinking from now on. Well, it's high time you both had a bit of discipline. It'll make a man and a woman of you. I don't altogether like the way you've started out, but you're started now and there's no more to say. So here's my hand on it, Harry, and may neither of you regret this day!"

Jamie reached across the table and the younger man, in grateful humility, grasped his hand. "Thank you, Mr. O'Brien," he said simply. "You've made me see a few things."

Ellen got up and went around to her father's chair. "I have been thoughtless and selfish, Dad. I see that now. I hope you'll forgive me." There were tears in her eyes, and her lips, as she put them against her father's cheek, trembled a little.

Harry turned himself to the task of winning his mother-in-law. "Is it all right, Mrs. O'Brien?"

All right, indeed! Who could resist so handsome a son-in-law? Certainly not Mrs. O'Brien. She broke out in tears and laughter.

"Ah, Harry, you rogue, come here and kiss me this minute!.. Why," she continued, "do you know, Harry, I had a presintimint the moment you entered the gate! 'What a fine-looking couple!' says I to meself. And the next minute I says, 'I wouldn't be a bit surprised if they made a match of it!' Why, Harry, I've never seen a fella come and turn us all topsy-turvy as you've done! Here I am talkin' me head off and Jamie O'Brien's been doing the same! Do you mind, Ellen, the way your da's been talkin'? You're not sick, are you, Jamie?"

Jamie chuckled quietly. "It's just I'm a little excited having a daughter run off and get married."

"Oh, Dad!" Ellen begged.

"I suppose," Jamie went on, "Rosie'll be at it next."

They all looked at Rosie, who sat, oblivious of them, staring off into nothing.

"What's the matter, Rosie?" her father asked.

Rosie roused herself. "I was just thinking about Jarge. Who's going to tell him?"

"Ellen, of course," Jamie said. "Ellen'll have to write him."

"But will she do it?" Rosie persisted.

A look of annoyance crossed Ellen's face. "Of course I will. I'll have plenty of time because I'm not going to St. Louie for a week. I'll write him tomorrow."

Rosie looked at her sister curiously. She wanted to say: "You know perfectly well you won't write him tomorrow or the next day or the day after. You'll put it off from day to day and at last you'll go, and then you'll never think of it again and poor Jarge'll come down here on Thanksgiving expecting to find you, and then we'll have to tell him."

This is what Rosie wanted to say. But she restrained herself. When she spoke, it was in a different tone. "All right, Ellen, I won't bother you again. What dad says is true: you and Harry are married and that's all there is about it. I hope you'll both be happy." Rosie hesitated a moment, then walked over to Harry's chair. "And, Harry, I'm sorry I was rude to you when you tried to kiss me. You see, I didn't know you were Ellen's husband."

Rosie hadn't intended to be funny, but evidently she was, for a shout of laughter went up and Harry gathered her in with a hug and a kiss.

"You're all right, Rosie!" he whispered. "I like you for the way you stand up for George!"

For the way she stood up for George!… Tears filled Rosie's eyes. She had tried faithfully to guard George's interests like the little watch-dog Ellen had called her. But George would never know. How could he? All he would know now was that he had been betrayed.