A Top-Floor Idyl

"Beg your pardon," she panted. "It's getting real warm and the stairs are becoming steeper every day. How's the angel lamb?"

"Miss Van Rossum," I said, "let me introduce our excellent friend Miss Frieda Long. Every one who knows her loves her. She's the next best painter to Gordon in this burg, or any other, and a second mother to Baby Paul."

Miss Sophia stared at her for an instant. Then, came a little smile in which there was relief and comprehension. She advanced with arm outstretched, and Frieda went right up to her.

"My dear," said the latter, "our dear old Dave and Gordon have told us enough about you to make me feel glad indeed to know you. I saw that portrait of yours and it didn't flatter you a bit, in fact, it seems to me that it missed something of your expression. But it was mighty good, just the same, like everything he ever did."

She backed off as far as the bed, on which she sat down, fanning herself violently with a newspaper. An instant later she rushed to Frances, took up the baby with the usual robust delicacy she always shows in that process, and began to ask news relating to important developments in dentition.

Miss Sophia observed her. I saw that some ray of gladness had entered her heart since a terrible question appeared to be settled satisfactorily. To her tall and graceful womanhood the idea that our darling, pudgy Frieda, with her crow's feet, from much staring through her spectacles, with that fright of a hat, could for a second have been mistaken for a rival was nothing less than amusing.

"Well, Mr. Cole, I think I will have to be going now," she said. "I – I am glad – oh, I mean that I hope you will be so kind as to let me know whether you get any further news. I shall always have a deep interest in Gordon's welfare. Letters would reach me at Southampton, all summer. Good-by, Mrs. Dupont, I am delighted to have had the pleasure of meeting you. Mrs. – I mean Miss Frieda, I hope you will be so kind as to let me see your pictures, some day. I remember now that Gordon showed me one of them at the winter exhibition. I wanted to buy it, but somebody had already snapped it up, of course, because it was so lovely. No, Mr. Cole, please don't take the trouble."

She had shaken hands with my two friends and insisted on kissing the baby, who appreciated the attention by crowing at her.

I followed her out in spite of her request.

"You must permit me to see you to the door, Miss Van Rossum," I said, "it is the least I can do. I will surely let you know, if I hear anything."

She nodded, very pleasantly, and went down the distressing stair-carpet with the ease of her perfect physical training. At the door there was a big brute of a sixty horsepower runabout and a chauffeur, who swiftly cast aside a half-consumed cigarette and stood at attention. She stopped on the stoop and turned to me.

"I – I don't think I know any more than when I came," she said, rather haltingly. "There – there wasn't anything wrong, was there, Mr. Cole?"

"My dear young lady, I am proud to say that Gordon is incapable of doing anything that would infringe the laws. But he certainly has done an evil thing, for he has treated you very brutally, and I will never forgive him. He has failed to appreciate – to understand. If he has discovered that his heart – that he was incapable of giving you the strongest and most genuine love, it is his misfortune and – I am afraid, perhaps yours, and he did well to go away. But he should have been more considerate, he ought to have explained things in person instead of – "

"But you must remember that I was in Florida, Mr. Cole," she interrupted.

"Then he should have taken the first train and joined you there. A man has no business to shirk a duty," I said indignantly.

"Oh! Mr. Cole! You must remember that Gordon isn't – isn't a man quite like others. He has the quick and impulsive temperament of so many artistic people."

"He always pretends to be so cool and to act only after the most mature deliberation," I objected.

"True enough, but then, you know, that sort of thing is often rather a pose. I suppose that none of us is quite free from a little pretense, under which the true man or woman shows."

"I am glad indeed to hear you take his part," I told her, "and I hope he will do some fine manly things over there and return in his right mind, with his eyes open to – to what he has been so foolish as to – "

"I know that he will give the best of himself, Mr. Cole," she put in. "Gordon is a first rate sportsman, and that means a man who will play the game, strongly and honestly, without taking the slightest advantage. And perhaps – "

"My dear lady, I know a good woman who burns candles when she wants anything badly, and prays before the Virgin. I shall get her to exert her good offices in our behalf. I'd give anything to know that everything will turn out as I heartily wish it may, for both your sakes. In you, I know that he has found all that a man may wish and long for in the world, and yet has failed to appreciate his good fortune."

She put her gloved hand in mine.

"Thank you," she said simply. "I – I'll wait, a long time."

She went down the steps and entered the machine, sitting before the big wheel, strongly aslant and grooved to give a strong grip. The chauffeur jiggled something, whereat the great beast began to hum. She nodded again to me and started without the slightest jerk. Evidently she drove better than Gordon. She turned the nose of the thing around till the front wheels were an eighth of an inch from the sidewalk, backed again in circular fashion, and swept off towards the avenue. Sixty horses, I reflected, could lie obediently in the hollow of her hand, but just one man, who should have thanked Heaven upon his knees, had squirmed away like an arrant fool.

I went up the stairs, slowly, chewing upon the fact that I had given her no inkling of how matters really stood. But, in deference to the feelings of Frances, it had been impossible for me to do so, especially since she was no longer an element in the case. Gordon had given up all hope of her and run away, so that this closed one part of the incident. Then, if I had told Miss Van Rossum of Gordon's proposal to Frances, it would have made her very unhappy and she might possibly have blamed the model. Women, the very best and dearest of them, are sometimes not quite fair to their own sex.

Yes, it was a matter that belonged to Frances and Gordon, and I had no right to be a bearer of tales, so that Miss Van Rossum is unaware that Gordon went away for love of another woman. I hope she never hears of it. Should anything happen to him, while driving his ambulance at the front, she will be able to maintain a high regard for his memory. As the months pass on, her feelings may become easier to bear. I wish she could meet and become fond of some fine fellow, who would recognize what a splendid woman she is and adore her ever after. I feel that she deserves it.

When I returned upstairs, I found my two friends discussing Miss Van Rossum, together with her nose and complexion and other appurtenances, including her dress. Their criticisms were highly flattering, I remember. Our stout friend soon left, having merely come in for her daily inspection of Baby Paul.

"Now, David," said Frances, "I must say that I feel more unhappy than ever over Mr. McGrath's conduct. It was abominable of him to jilt that girl, let alone proposing to me. She's a perfectly lovely woman."

"I am disposed to agree with you, Frances. His conduct is inexcusable. At the same time, I cannot blame him for falling in love with you. Any properly constituted man would do that without the slightest difficulty. I myself – "

"Please be serious, David," she interrupted.

"I was never more serious in my life," I assured her, "but – but tell me how you are getting on with the singing."

"I really think I am doing very well," she told me. "Listen, I will sing you a little thing. Baby likes it ever so much."

She sat right down to the piano, beginning at once without the slightest hesitation. It was the lullaby from Mignon. I remember hearing Plançon sing it once; it is a beautiful thing. Frances didn't put all her force in it, the whole strength of her voice, of course, but so much tender sentiment and such sweet understanding that the melody held me in thrall and made me close my eyes. What a fool I have been ever to have thought that a woman holding such a treasure would perhaps bestow herself, some day, upon an insignificant writer!

CHAPTER XIX

FRANCES GOES TO THE COUNTRY

I am very fond of my room on the top floor of Mrs. Milliken's house, but, as regards privacy, I might nearly as well have lodgings in a corner grocery. I had finally arranged that Frances was to go to a hilly part of New Jersey, near a very pretty lake, and gather health and a coat of tan for herself and Baby Paul. I was to leave with her on the one forty-five, in order to help her on the journey and see her safely installed. The noon hour had struck and the whistles of a few thousand factories were confirming the announcement, when a vision presented itself at my door. It was very prettily clad, with a love of a hat and a most becoming gown, and smiled engagingly. She had fluffy hair and first rate teeth. Also, she immediately developed a slight lisp that did not lack attractiveness.

"Mr. Cole!" she exclaimed. "May I come in? I am from the New York Banner. I should like to have you tell me all about your novels and your impressions of modern literary activities, and something as to your views upon the war, and – "

She was already in the middle of my room, and I could do no otherwise than to advance a chair for her.

"Pray take a seat, Miss – "

"I am Cordelia."

"Cordelia!"

"Yes, privately Josie Higgins. I hope that you can give me a photograph of yourself that we can publish. The public is dying to hear all about you. I must interview you or die in the attempt, which would be very inconvenient as I have an appointment to see Gretz at two-thirty, fellow who killed his mother-in-law. Thanks, I will take the chair. It is getting quite warm again, isn't it?"

She pulled out a small note book and a business-like pencil from a frivolous handbag, as my heart sank within me. I shared the feelings of a small boy haled before the principal of his school. She looked small and inoffensive, but I knew that pencil of hers to be sharper than the serpent's tooth. Heavens! She was looking at the slouchy slippers I still wore and at the bed, yet undone, since I had told the landlady she might as well have it attended to after my departure. Her eyes wandered swiftly from the inkspot on the carpet to the bundle of collars and shirts Eulalie had deposited on my trunk. She also picked up my fragrant calabash from the desk close at hand and contemplated it, curiously. All this quick as a flash.

After this, she scrutinized my countenance, with her head cocked a little to one side, and jotted down something.

"That's good," she declared, apparently much gratified. "I think I know what you would say, but you had better tell it yourself. For nothing on earth would I fake an interview, and anyway you look very kind and obliging. Now tell me how you ever happened to think of 'Land o' Love.'"

"I'm sure I don't know," I answered truthfully.

"Undoubtedly," she acquiesced. "Ideas like that just worm themselves into one's head and one puts them down. But, of course, that won't quite do. Don't you think we had better say that you have long been impressed by the sadness of most lives, in the end, and were anxious to show how, from unpromising beginnings, an existence may turn from dross into refined gold by the exercise of will, of human sympathy, of tolerance of foibles and love for one's fellow man? That will do very nicely!"

She was putting down her words with lightning speed.

"Now tell me. Did you ever really know a counterpart of Jennie Frisbie?" she asked again. "She has become a sort of classic, you know. Women are weeping with her and love her to distraction. They wonder how a mere man can have so penetrated the inwardness of their sex and painted such a beautiful picture of it at its best."

"Don't know that I ever did, my dear young lady," I replied reluctantly.

"Of course you didn't. They're not really made that way. For my part, I think that a lot of women are cats," said the famed Cordelia. "But naturally we can't say it in print. Your answer should be that beneath the surface every woman holds the potentialities of a Jennie Frisbie. 'No, I have never known my heroine in person,' said Mr. Cole, looking dreamily out of the window, 'but I have known a thousand of her. She is a composite photograph, the final impression gathered by one who has done his best to obtain definite colors wherewith to paint a type, accurately and truthfully.' Yes, I think that'll do."

Her pencil was flying, as I looked at her, aghast.

"Miss Cordelia," I said, "you're a very attractive and bewitching young fraud."

She showed her pretty teeth, laughing heartily.

"I'm not at all a fraud," she disclaimed. "I deliver the goods, at least to my paper, and I never hurt people who are decently civil. How about your views on the Great American Novel?"

"It will probably be written by a Frenchman or a Jap," I answered, "for no man can do perfect justice to his own people."

"That's not so bad," she approved, "I think I'll put that down."

She asked me a few more questions, which I mostly answered with my usual confession of ignorance and which she replied to in her own fashion.

"Well, that's a tip-top interview," she declared. "I'm ever so much obliged to you and delighted to have met you. I don't think you look much like one's idea of the writer of that book. I think I will say that your eyes have a youthful look. It will please the women. Why don't you live somewhere else?"

"Don't know," I said again, with little candor.

"I had better put down that in this bit of old New York you find an outlook more in sympathy with your lovable and homely characters. Wisteria blooming in the backyard," she observed, rising and leaning out of the window. "Geraniums on the sills opposite and an old granny darning socks, her white-capped head bending over her work and framed by the scarlet of the flowers. Neat little touch. Hope you'll like my article. Look for it in the number for Sunday week. My murderer goes in day after to-morrow. He won't keep much longer, people have already stopped sending him flowers. Well, good-by and thank you."

I pressed the little hand she laughingly proffered, and she tripped out, meeting Frances in the hallway.

"Isn't that a duck of a baby!" she exclaimed, smiling at the mother and running downstairs.

"Frances, I am famous," I said. "Sunday after next I'll be in the Banner, three times the size of life, in at least three columns. That chit of a girl who just went out is the celebrated Cordelia. She has interviewed me and written down a thousand beautiful things I never said. She's a bright little creature."

"She wears nice hats," commented Frances. "I hope she will do justice to you. It is time we went down to lunch, if we are to catch that train. Is your suitcase packed?"

"Never thought of it!" I exclaimed. "You go right down and begin. I'll follow in a moment."

A half an hour later we were in a taxicab, speeding to the station. Eulalie was with us; I had insisted on her being brought along. How could Frances obtain the full rest she needed, unless some of the details of existence were attended to for her? She had objected strenuously and even threatened to unpack her little trunk and remain in New York, but I successfully bullied her into acceptance by commenting on the alleged peaked look of Baby Paul. Maternal fears, despite the infant's appearance of excellent health, prevailed at last. A man, I discover, needs a firm hand in dealing with the opposite sex.

My dear sister had indicated to me a small farm near the lake, where three rooms were to be rented. According to her the cows gave absolutely genuine milk and butter, while the hens laid undeniable eggs. Vegetables grew in profusion, the post office was but a half-mile away and the railway station within twenty minutes' walk. Privacy was also insured by the fact that the big hotel and boarding houses were reasonably far away. Mrs. Gobbins, who bossed the farm and its lord and master, was exceedingly particular as to the occupants of her spare rooms, requiring on their parts qualifications, which appeared to range between the Christian virtues and appetites that would not crave too strongly for city fleshpots.

I was agreeably disappointed by the place. The lake was within a short walk; centenarian elms grew at the sides of the wide main street of the village close at hand; the hills were clad in tender greens, only streaked here and there by the trunks of blight-killed chestnuts. On the road a pair of bluebirds had flitted in front of our chariot, like two racing sapphires, and swallows perched on the telephone wires, twittering. Holstein cows in a pasture envisaged us with a melancholy air, deeming us harbingers of the summering crowd that would compel them to work overtime to supply the dairies. But for the snarling of a couple of dogs having a misunderstanding, far away, the atmosphere was one of peace. Also, we passed a small forge where the blacksmith paused in the shoeing of a sleepy and spavined steed, the better to gaze at us. He nodded to our driver and resumed his occupation, unhurried.

"This, Frances, holds some advantage over Washington Square as a place wherein to enjoy ease with dignity," I commented. "View the pretty house at the turning of the road. One side is nearly smothered in climbing vines and the picket fence has the silvery look of ancient split chestnut. The cherry trees, I should judge, are ready to awaken the ambitions of youthful climbers. I hope your domicile will prove half as pretty."

She assented, smilingly, and assured Baby Paul, sleeping in her arms, that he would be very happy and comfy and grow fat. At this moment our Jehu stopped before the very house I had pointed out and turned the horse's head into a grassy driveway. Then he drove on by the side of the house and swept, at a mile and a half an hour, in front of the back door. A large and beaming mongrel rose on the small porch, wagging a remnant of tail. Chickens had been fleeing before us, suspecting the purity of our intentions in regard to broilers, and three fat ducks waddled off, greatly disturbed. An ancient turkey-cock uplifted his fan and gobbled a protest, but Mrs. Gobbins appeared, smiling and clad in highly respectable black, relieved by a little white at her neck.

"Welcome, ma'am," she said. "Just hand me that there baby and then ye can get out handy. Look out for that dust on the buggy wheels. That's right! Howdy, Mr. Cole, I'm glad to see ye. I can see you favor your sister some, not but what she's a good lookin' woman. When she wrote as 'twas her brother wanted to come I knew ye'd be all right. Walk in."

We trooped into the kitchen, neat as a pin, whereat Eulalie smiled in approval, and were shown upstairs. A large room facing the north was papered with a design of roses about the size of prize cabbages. The windows were shaded by a couple of the big cherry trees.

"In a few days you will be able to pick ripe fruit by merely putting your hand out," I told Frances.

"Yes," Mrs. Gobbins informed us. "Your sister's two boys was always at them and filled theirselves so full they couldn't hardly eat no decent victuals, let alone havin' stomach ache. This here small room will do for the other lady and yours is over on the other side of the house, sir."

My own residence was also spick and span, and I decided that we had fallen into an oasis of delight. A few minutes sufficed me to repair the damage done by the journey, and I went downstairs. The front door was now open. To one side of it there was a dining-room adorned with chromos advertising gigantic vegetables and fruit, apparently imported from the Promised Land. Opposite this was a parlor where bottle-green plush reigned in unsunned violence of hue and aggressive gilt frames surrounded works of art of impetuous tints. On going out I was met by the dog, who accepted my advances with the greatest urbanity. Towser had still a touching faith in human nature and deemed me inoffensive and fully competent to scratch the back of his head.

Presently, arrived an elderly gentleman in blue jeans, his chin ornamented with whisker and his mouth with a corncob pipe.

"How be ye?" he asked. "Gettin' real hot and the corn's comin' up fine. Wonderful year for strawberries an' sparrer-grass. How's things in the city?"

He sat down on the steps of the veranda, inviting me to do the same, with a civil wave of his pipestem, and we entered into pleasant converse, until the voice of his mate shrilly commanded him to arise and wash his hands and shed the overalls, whereat he hastily deserted me.

Came a supper at which I was able to comment agreeably on the cream served with the berries, whereat Mr. Gobbins gave out dark hints of watery malefactions on the part of some of the keepers of boarding houses in the neighborhood. There was cold pork, usually potent to bring me nightmares, and an obese pie to be washed down with pale tea. Under my breath I deplored the luck that had made me forget to bring digestive tablets and, spurred by unusual appetite, I gorged myself.

The evening was a short one, spent on the porch where I lolled in a hammock, while Frances rocked in a big chair. There was no need to talk, for it was all very new and beautiful. The katydids and tree-frogs took charge of the conversation for us. After a time Eulalie joined us, sitting modestly on the steps. With much genuine sentiment she spoke of the cabbages of her own land and of cows she had once cherished.

"It is like the heaven of the Bon Dieu to smell these things again," she informed us, and I decided that she had spoken a great and splendid truth.

We retired early. In my own little room, with the oil-lamp burning, I commented sadly on the fact that it was only half past nine, the hour at which my busy life commonly begins. Upon the bed I looked hopelessly; it was inviting enough, but, at this time of day, about as attractive as plum-pudding for breakfast. For an hour I read a magazine; the katydids were still clamoring softly and, in the distance, in the direction of the lake, I heard the plaintive notes of whippoorwills. Then I caught myself in a blessed yawn and went to bed. But a few moments seemed to have gone by, when I awoke in a room flooded with sunshine and penetrated by a myriad of joyful sounds coming from the Noah's Ark of the farm. Looking out of the window I was shamed by the sight of Eulalie who, with Baby Paul in her arms, strolled about the kitchen garden, evidently lost in rapture at the sight of leeks and radishes.

I hurried my dressing, donning a pair of white flannel trousers I had bought for the sake of bestowing upon myself some atmosphere of the country, and found Frances sitting in the hammock with Towser's big, nondescript head in her lap.

"I hope you slept ever so well," she told me, looking very radiant and putting out her hand. "And, David, I'm so wonderfully happy. Look at the beautiful lake! We will have to go over there after breakfast, and, perhaps, you can row in a boat, and we will take Eulalie and Baby with us. Or perhaps you can go fishing, or may be you would rather stay quietly here and have a nice long rest. And just listen to that wood-thrush over there. She's up in the cherry tree; or perhaps it's a he, and probably there's a nest somewhere with dear little fellows just hatched out. Isn't it lovely?"

My enthusiasm was just as great as her own. There seemed to be altogether too many beautiful things to do, and to look at, and to allow to soak into one, like some penetrating water from the fountain of youth.

"I'm so glad you like it, Frances," I told her.

And so we spent a heavenly day, and, in the morning, I took the early train and went back to the city, Frances looking rather regretfully at me. But I had decided that I must not remain there; it would not do. One evening after another, of moonlit glory, of whispering winds bearing fragrance and delight, of nearness to this wonderful woman with the heart of a child and the beauty of a goddess, endowed with that voice sounding like melodies from on high, must surely break down my courage. How could I stand it day after day? No, I intended to return for weekends, propped up by new resolve to be silent. A chill would come over me at the idea of suddenly blurting out my love to her and having her look at me as she once gazed on Gordon, perhaps even more sorrowfully, because I think I have become a more valued friend.