CHAPTER IX

What Patty really thought about the provisions of her father's will is not recorded. Indeed, it is doubtful whether she had anything more nearly approaching consecutive thought on the subject than a vague resentment toward Sally and a querulous disposition to find fault with her. For, with the lapse of years, Patty was becoming less and less able to think rationally--to direct her thoughts--or to think consecutively on any subject. She had never been conspicuous for her ability in that direction. What she said was another matter. What business had Sally to benefit by her father's will? A poor relation whom she, Patty, had befriended, no more. It never occurred to her to blame her father any more than it occurred to her to tell the whole truth about that little matter of befriending. Patty thought that she told the truth. She meant to.

There was some excuse for Patty's disappointment. One does not easily rest content with but little more than half a fortune when one has, for years, had reason to expect the whole of it. It was a modest fortune enough, but the fact that it turned out to be nearly twice what Patty had counted upon, and that, consequently, she was left with just about what she had expected, did not make her disappointment any the lighter, but rather the reverse. And she did not stop to consider that she would be relieved of what she was pleased to term the burden of supporting the Ladues, and that she would have, at her own disposal, more money than she had ever had. Not at all. Even when Dick pointed out to her that very fact, it did not change her feeling. Somehow, she did not know exactly how, Sally had cheated her out of her birthright. She wouldn't call it stealing, but--

"No," Dick observed cheerfully. "I should think you had better not call it that. It will be as well if you restrain your speech on the subject."

That was rather a strong remark for Dick Torrington to make, but he felt strongly where Sally was concerned. He felt strongly where Patty was concerned; but the feeling was different.

It was not strange that, in the face of such feeling on Patty's part, Sally should feel strongly, too. She did feel strongly. She was genuinely distressed about it and would have been glad to give up any benefits under the will, and she went to Dick and told him so. He tried to dissuade her from taking such a course. There were other aspects of such a case than the mere feeling of one of the heirs about another. Why, wills would be practically upset generally if any one heir, by making a sufficiently strong protest, could, to use Dick's own words, freeze out the others, and it would be of little use for a man to make a will if many were of Sally's mind. In this case, as usually in such cases, the will expressed the testator's own well-founded intention. Mr. Hazen had expected some such outburst from Patty. Was that to prevent his wish, his will from being carried out? He earnestly hoped not. All socialists to the contrary, notwithstanding, he was of the opinion that any man, living or dead, should be able to do as he liked with his own; that is, with certain reasonable reservations, which would not apply in the case of her Uncle John.

"I suppose, Sally," he concluded, "that if he had given it to you while he was living, you would have taken it, perhaps?"

"No, indeed," Sally replied indignantly. "Of course I wouldn't. What made you think that, Dick?"

"To tell the truth," he said, "I didn't think it. Well, would it make any difference in your feeling about it to know that he felt that Miss Patty was not competent to take care of it?"

She shook her head and sighed. "I don't see that it would; I can't unravel the right and wrong of it. If you think that my taking it would have pleased Uncle John, and if you tell me that Patty has as much as she can wish--"

"Oh, not that. But she has enough to enable her to live in luxury the rest of her life."

Sally laughed. "We have great possibilities when it comes to wishing, haven't we? And you advise my taking it?"

"Most certainly."

"Then I will."

"I wonder why," Dick asked, "you don't want it?"

She hesitated for an instant. "I do," she said, then, laughing again. "That's just the trouble. If I hadn't wanted it I might have been more ready to take it."

She met Captain Forsyth on the way home. She had just been thinking that, after all, she could let Fox go ahead with his Retreat. She would not have to back out of that bargain, for which she was glad. And there were other things--

It was at this point in her reflections that Captain Forsyth bore down and hailed her. She answered his hail with a smile and waited.

"I was just going into Dick Torrington's office," he began, in a gentle roar, "to get him to reason with you. I heard, Sally, that you were thinking of refusing the legacy of your Uncle John."

She nodded. "I was, but--"

"Don't you do it," he shouted earnestly. He could have been heard for a block, if there had been anybody to hear him. "Don't you do it, Sally! You mustn't let Patty scare you out of taking what he meant that you should have--what he wanted you to have. She'll have enough; more than she can take care of. Patty couldn't take proper care of a cat. And John Hazen was very fond of you, Sally. You do this much for him."

"I'm going to, Captain Forsyth," she answered gently. "I've just told Dick so."

"Well, I'm glad," he said, with satisfaction. "It's been on my mind for some days, and I thought I'd better see what I could do about it. Your Uncle John said a good deal about you, first and last. He'd be pleased. When you want anything, come to me; though you're not likely to be wanting anything unless it's advice. I've barrels of that ready. Good-bye, Sally."

Sally went home--if Mrs. Stump's could be called home--rather depressed in spirits. In spite of what people considered her good fortune, she continued in low spirits all through that spring and summer. Patty, to be sure, was covertly hostile, but that was hardly enough to account for it. Sally was aware of the unhealthy state of her mind and thought about it more than was good for her. It is a bad habit to get into; a very reprehensible habit, and she knew it, but she couldn't help it. You never can help doing it when you most shouldn't. It reminded her of the shiftless man's roof, which needed shingling.

Very likely she was only tired with her winter's teaching and with the events which had been crowded into those few weeks. They were important events for her and had been trying. She began to hesitate and to have doubts and to wonder. It was not like Sally to have doubts, and she who hesitates is lost. She said so to herself many times, with a sad little smile which would almost have broken Fox's heart if he had seen it, and would surely have precipitated an event which ought to have been precipitated.

But Fox was not there to see it and to help her in her time of doubt, and to be precipitate and unwise. She found herself wondering whether she had better keep on with her teaching, now that she did not have to. There was less incentive to it than there had been. Was it worth while? Was anything worth while, indeed? What had she to look forward to after years of teaching, when her enthusiasm was spent? Was it already spent? What was there in it but going over the same old round, year after year? What was there at the end? If the children could be carried on, year after year--if they were her own--and Sally blushed faintly and stopped there.

But she wondered whether Henrietta had been right. What Henrietta had said so lightly, the night of the fire, had sunk deeper than Sally knew or than Henrietta had intended. Sally was beginning to think that Henrietta was right and that girls, down at the bottom of their hearts, were looking for men. She didn't like to confess it to herself. She shrank from the whole subject; but why shouldn't they--the girls--provided it is only at the bottom of their hearts? They did; some of them did, at any rate. It is doubtful whether Sally probed as deep as the bottom of her heart. Perhaps she was afraid to.

Yes, as I started out by saying, no doubt she was only tired,--beat out, as Miss Lambkin would have said; and she was lonelier than she had ever been. She missed Uncle John. It seemed to her that there was nobody to whom she could turn. Probably Captain Forsyth had had some such idea when he made his clumsy offer of advice. But Captain Forsyth would not do. Sally would have been glad enough of somebody to turn to. It was a peculiarly favorable time for Fox, if he had only known it. It was a rather favorable time for anybody; for Jane Spencer, or even for Everett Morton. For Everett had begun, as anybody could see with half an eye, as Letty Lambkin put it briskly. Altogether Sally's affairs had become a fit topic of conversation for people who bother themselves about other people's business.

Miss Lambkin did. She had tried to talk with Mrs. Sarjeant about the matter, but Mrs. Sarjeant had promptly shut her up. Whereupon Miss Lambkin, with her head in the air, had betaken herself to Mrs. Upjohn.

Mrs. Upjohn did not shut her up. She wanted to hear what Letty had to tell and she wished to contribute whatever she could, that Letty did not know, to the fund of general information; without seeming to, of course.

"Well, Alicia," Letty began, as soon as she had got into the house and before she had had time to remove her hat, "I thought I'd come and do for you now, even if it is a week before the time I set. Mrs. Sarjeant can wait awhile, I guess. She can't need me. She told me yesterday that she didn't care to listen to gossip. As if I gossiped, Alicia! Why, I was only saying that Sally Ladue and Everett seemed to be pretty thick now, and I shouldn't wonder if they hit it off. And I shouldn't, either, Mrs. Sarjeant or no Mrs. Sarjeant. Anybody can see he's paying her attention and she's letting him." Miss Lambkin shut her lips with a snap. "Now, isn't he?"

Mrs. Upjohn did not answer her directly. She only laughed comfortably and suggested that they go right up to the sewing-room.

"Patty made you quite a visit, didn't she?" Letty began again, while she hunted scissors and needles and a tape. "Did you have to send her off to Miss Miller's?"

Mrs. Upjohn shook her head.

"That's a good thing. It wouldn't have been pleasant," Miss Lambkin resumed. "I hear that she's feeling real bitter towards Sally and that Sally means to live somewhere else, whether Patty repairs the house or not, but Patty won't hear to it. I notice, though, that nothing's been done to the house yet. I'm told that Patty's going right at it. She'd better, if she wants to live there before next summer, for this is September and the builders are awful deliberate. Now that Doctor Sanderson doesn't let the grass grow under his feet. Did you know that his new hospital's going to be ready before cold weather? And he hasn't been here, himself, more 'n a day at a time. Where's that little cutting-table, Alicia? In your room? I'll just run in and get it. You sit still."

Mrs. Upjohn did not like to trust Letty alone in her room, for she had the eye of a hawk; but Letty was gone before she could prevent her. She was back in a moment, and Mrs. Upjohn breathed more freely.

"As I was saying," Miss Lambkin continued, "that Doctor Sanderson had better be looking out if he wants Sally Ladue. Maybe he don't, but I notice that Eugene Spencer's fluttering around her again and Everett's doing more'n flutter.

"It seems queer to think of Everett as anything but what he has been for some years. He isn't much in favor with some of the older men. I heard that Cap'n Forsyth said that he wouldn't trust him with a slush-bucket. And that pup of a brother of Sally's is copying after Everett as well as he can. He's going to college in a couple of weeks and there's no telling what he'll be up to there. I'm glad I don't have the running of him. Everett's no pattern to cut _my_ goods to."

"No," agreed Mrs. Upjohn soberly. "I can't think what has come over Sally. I never thought she would be dazzled, though I won't deny that Everett can be attractive."

"Come to that," snapped Miss Lambkin, "Everett's handsome and rich and, as you say, he knows how to be attractive. Anyway, there's a plenty that would be only too glad to have a chance at him. Now, if you were of a suitable age, Alicia, you'd snap him up quick enough if you had the chance, and you know it."

Mrs. Upjohn only murmured an unintelligible protest, but her color rose. She would have snapped him up, and she knew it. Letty Lambkin was really getting to be unbearable.