Chapter 24

“Granite”

Joshua was despatched to drive through mud and rain to bring Aunt Mary’s solace from the station.

Aunt Mary had herself propped up in bed to be ready for the return before Billy’s feet had ceased to cry splash on the road outside of the gate. Her eagerness tinged her pallor pink. It was as if the prospect of seeing Janice gave her some of that flood of vitality which always seems to ebb and flow so richly in the life of a metropolis.

“My gracious heavens, Lucinda” (for Lucinda was back now), she said joyfully, “to think that I needn’t look at you for a week if I don’t want to! You haven’t any idea how tired I am of looking at you, Lucinda. If you looked like anything it would be different. But you don’t.”

Lucinda rocked placidly; hers was what is called an “even disposition.” If it hadn’t been, she might have led an entirely different life—in fact, she would most certainly have lived somewhere else, for she couldn’t possibly have lived with Aunt Mary.

The hour that ensued after Joshua’s departure was so long that it resulted in a nap for the invalid, and Lucinda had to wake her by slamming the closet door when the arrival turned in at the gate.

“Has he got her?” Aunt Mary cried breathlessly. “Has he got someone with him? Run, Lucinda, an’ bring her in. She needn’t wipe her feet, tell her; you can brush the hall afterwards. Well, why ain’t you hurryin’?”

Lucinda was hurrying, her curiosity being as potent as the commands of her mistress, and five seconds later Janice appeared in the door with her predecessor just behind her—a striking contrast.

“You dear blessed Granite!” cried the old lady, stretching out her hands in a sort of ecstasy. “Oh, my! but I’m glad to see you! Come right straight here. No, shut the door first. Lucinda, you go and do ’most anything. An’ how is the city?”

Janice came to the bedside and dropped on her knees there, taking Aunt Mary’s withered hand close in both of her own.

“You didn’t shut the door,” the old lady whispered hoarsely. “I wish you would—an’ bolt it, too. An’ then come straight back to me.”

Janice closed and bolted the door, and returned to the bedside. Aunt Mary drew her down close to her, and her voice and eyes were hungry, indeed. For a little she looked eagerly upon what she had so craved to possess again, and then she suddenly asked:

“Granite, have you got any cigarettes with you?”

The maid started a little.

“Do you smoke now?” she asked, with interest.

“No,” said Aunt Mary sadly, “an’ that’s one more of my awful troubles. You see I’m jus’ achin’ to smell smoke, an’ Joshua promised his mother the night before he was twenty-one. You don’t know nothin’ about how terrible I feel. I’m empty somewhere jus’ all the time. Don’t you believe’t you could get some cigarettes an’ smoke ’em right close to me, an’ let me lay here, an’ be so happy while I smell. I’ll have a good doctor for you, if you’re sick from it.”

The maid reflected; then she nodded.

“I’ll write to town,” she cried, in her high, clear tones. “What brand do you like best?”

“Mitchell’s,” said Aunt Mary. “But you can’t get those because he made ’em himself an’ sealed ’em with a lick. Oh!” she sighed, with the accent of a starving Sybarite, “I do wish I could see him do it again! Do you know,” she added suddenly, “he wrote me a letter and he’s goin’ to come here.”

“When?” asked Janice.

“After a while. But you must take off your things. That’s your room in there,” pointing toward a half-open door at the side. “I wanted you as close as I could get you. My, but I’ve wanted you! I can’t tell you how much. But a good deal—a lot—awfully.”

Janice went into the room that was to be hers, and hung up her hat and cloak.

When she returned Aunt Mary was looking a hundred per cent, improved already.

“Can you hum ‘Hiawatha’?” she asked immediately. “Granite, I must have suthin’ to amuse me an’ make me feel good. Can you hum ‘Hiawatha’ an’ can you do that kind of ‘sh—sh—sh—’that everybody does all together at the end, you know?”

Janice smiled pleasantly, and placing herself in the closest possible proximity with the ear trumpet, at once rendered the desired _morceau_ in a style which would have done credit to a soloist in a _café chantant_.

Aunt Mary’s lips wreathed in seraphic bliss.

“My!” she said. “I feel just as if I was back eatin’ crabs’ legs and tails again. No one’ll ever know how I’ve missed city life this winter but—well, you saw Lucinda!”

The glance that accompanied the speech was mysterious but significant. Janice nodded sympathetically.

“I hope you brought a trunk. I ain’t a bit sure when I’ll be able to let you go,” pursued the old lady. “I don’t believe I can let you go until I go, too. I’ve most died here alone.”

“I brought a trunk,” Janice cried into the ear trumpet.

“I’m glad,” said Aunt Mary. She paused, and her eyes grew wistful.

“Granite,” she asked, “do you think you could manage to do a skirt dance on the footboard? I’m ’most wild to see some lace shake.”

Janice looked doubtfully at the footboard. It was wide for a footboard, but narrow—too narrow—for a skirt dance.

“But I can do one on the floor,” she cried.

Aunt Mary’s features became suffused with heavenly joy.

“Oh, Granite!” she murmured, in accents of greatest anticipation.

The maid stood up, and, going off as far as the limits of the spacious bedroom would allow, executed a most fetching and dainty _pas seul_ to a tune of her own humming.

“Give me suthin’ to pound with!” cried her enthusiastic audience. “Oh, Granite, I ain’t been so happy since I was home! Whatever you want you can have, only don’t ever leave me alone with Lucinda again.”

Janice was catching her tired breath, but she answered with a smile.

“Can’t you get my Sunday umbrella out of the closet now an’ do a parasol dance?” the insatiate demanded; “one of those where you shoot it open an’ shut when people ain’t expectin’.”

The maid went to the closet and brought out the Sunday umbrella; but its shiny black silk did not appear to inspire any fluffy maneuvres, so she utilized it in the guise of a broadsword and did something that savored of the Highlands, and seemed to rebel bitterly at the length of her skirt. Aunt Mary writhed around in bliss—utter and intense.

“I feel like I was livin’ again,” she said, heaving a great sigh of content. “I tell you I’ve suffered enough, since I came back, to know what it is to have some fun again. Now, Granite, I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” when the girl sat down to rest; “you write for those cigarettes while I take a little nap and afterwards we’ll get the Universal Knowledge book and learn how to play poker. You don’t know how to play poker, do you?”

“A little,” cried the maid.

“Well, I want to learn how,” said the old lady, “an’ we’ll learn when—when I wake up.”

Janice nodded assent.

“Excuse me shuttin’ my eyes,” said Aunt Mary—and she was asleep in two minutes.