Chapter 11

"Andrew, I want you should go and bring Abilonia over here as soon as you git the work done up. There's so much I want to arrange with her, and you never know what day'll be to-morrow. And them moths ought to be seen to right off--

"What be you goin' up stairs for? You needn't put on your Sunday clothes jest for that. She'll have to see you in your old clothes many a year after you're--ah--when she comes to live here."

"Yes, but that's not now. I'm only engaged to her; I'm only sort of courtin' now, as you might say."

He came back in a little while, bringing a gentle, brown-eyed young woman, who laid away her things and took an apron from her bag with the air of one accustomed to do for others.

"Did you want to see me particularly, Mis' Dobson? I hope you're not feelin' worse?"

"I do' know's I slep' much las' night, and I have an awful funny feelin' round my heart this mornin'. I'm preparin' for the worst. You know 'Two men shall be grindin' at the mill and'--"

"Oh, now, you aren't so bad as all that. You look as smart as a spring robin--you do look wonderful well, Mis' Dobson. Now, what can I do for you?"

"There's a lot of things to look after, Abilonia, now that you--that you--that--"

"Yes, I know there are, and I'll just delight to take hold and do them. I told Mr. Dobson that I wanted to begin to do for you both right away. I'm real glad you thought--of it, Mis' Dobson, for I've nobody else, now, to care for, and I should love to take care of poor Mr. Dobson and try to make him happy--just real happy--the best of anybody in the world. He looked so pleased when I told him so."

"Did he? He did!"

"Yes, his face just lighted up when I told him that we all knew how faithful he'd been to his trust through such a long, hard siege, how kind and patient, and that it would be a privilege to try to make it up to him a little."

"Oh--ah--well, what did he say to that?"

"He just said the hand of the Lord had fallen rather heavy on him, but he'd tried to bear the burden the best he could, and if he held out to the end the Lord would reward him. And he said it was the Lord's mercy to give him such a good, clever wife to take care of--since she was sickly. Now, would you like me to bake you some cookies this morning, or do the mending?"

"I don't know. Did Andrew say that? Well, he has been faithful. You're goin' to git an awful good man, Abilonia. Say, don't you tell him, or it'll scare him, but I'm goin' to do a terrible resky thing. I'm goin' to set up here in the bed a little spell. Go you up to the top bureau drawer in the spare room and git my black shawl. I know I might fall over dead, but I'm goin' to take the resk."

"Why, Mis' Dobson, it isn't safe!"

"Safe or not, I'm goin' to do it. I'm goin' to set up a spell. I never stop for consequences to myself when I set out to do a thing."

The perilous feat was accomplished without tragedy. After she had had a nap, propped up in the bed, Mrs. Dobson's soul rose to greater heights of daring, when Abilonia remarked that Mrs. Dobson's plum-colored silk was the very thing for a lining to her own silk quilt, and as it would not be worn again she might as well take it over and make it up. She was adding that she would like to have a crayon portrait made of Mr. Dobson to hang beside that of his wife which adorned the parlor in ante-mortem state, when Marthy interrupted: "Abilonia, go you and git me a dress. There ought to be a brown poplin hangin' in the little room closet, unless somebody moved it last spring in housecleanin' time. You bring that down. I want to git my feet onto the floor."

When Andrew came home to get dinner he stopped in the kitchen door, dumb with amazement. Marthy sat by the table in the big wooden chair peeling apples, while Abilonia rolled out the pie crust and told about the church quilting bee.

The next Sunday Andrew did not change his best suit, as usual, after church, and his wife remarked the fact as she sat in a blanketed chair by the living room fire in the evening, with her "Christian Register" in her hand.

"Well, you know--I've ben thinkin'--Abby's settin' over there by herself, and it must be lonesome for the girl. And--if I'm--sort of--engaged to her--don't you see, Marthy? I don't want to leave you--but it's my duty to keep company with her. I want to carry out your wishes exact--every one. You can't ask a thing too hard for me to do."

"Yes, I know that, Andrew. If ever a man done his duty, it's you. And you've had little reward for it, too. I'm tryin' to git you a second wife that'll have her health and--and--yes, I presume to say that Abilonia'll ruther look for you to set a while, now that she is bespoke to you."

"Yes, that's what I guess I ought to do," and he rose briskly.

"Say, Andrew! Don't be in such a hurry. Come back a minute. You gear up ole Jule to the buggy and git down a comforter for me. I c'n walk some, to-day, and if you help me I c'n git into the buggy. I feel like the air would do me good.--Yes, I presume to say it'll be the death of me, but you never knew me to stop for that, did you? Git my circular cloak and the white cloud for my head. Yes, I'm goin', Andrew. When I git my mind made up, you know what it means."

There was a light in Abilonia's parlor when they drove up, and a man's figure showed through the glass panel of the door as he opened it.

"Willy Parks!" cried Mrs. Dobson in a queer voice.

"Yes, walk right in, Mr. Dobson. That isn't Mrs. Dobson with you--is it possible!--after so many years. Let me help you steady her. Well, this is a surprise! Just walk into the parlor and sit down. Abby's down cellar putting away the milk, but she'll be up in a minute."

"It's consid'able of a surprise to see you here, Willy; it's consid'able of a disapp'intment--to Mis' Dobson. She had set her mind on--on--" ventured Andrew mildly.

"Yes, so I heard--and I thought I'd come home. Abby tells me that she is engaged to you--that she has given her solemn promise."

"That's what she has," said Andrew firmly. "That's what she has, and Mis' Dobson has set her mind on it--and I never refuse her nothin'. I don't want nothin' to reproach myself for. You went off and left that girl--the finest girl in town--and near about broke her heart. You ought to be ashamed to show yourself now."

"I am, Mr. Dobson," said the young man gravely, "and I deserve to lose her. But when I heard that she was engaged to you--as it were--it brought me to my senses, and, since you are my rival, I am going to ask you to be magnanimous. She is so good and true that I believe she will forgive me and take me back if you will release her--you and Mrs. Dobson. You wouldn't hold her while Mrs. Dobson looks so smart as she does to-night--"

"No, Andrew, we won't hold her. It wouldn't be right. She's young--and--and real good lookin', and it would be a pity to spile a good match for her. We oughtn't to hold her--here she is. We will release you from your engagement to--to us, Abilonia--and may you be happy! I'm feelin' a sight better lately; that last bitters you got for me is a wonderful medicine, Andrew. I presume to say I'll be round on my feet yet, before long, and be able to take as good care of you as you have took of me all these years. It's a powerful medicine, that root bitters. We better be goin', Andrew. They've got things to talk about. Good night, Abilonia. Good night, Willy."

THE KAISER'S FAREWELL TO PRINCE HENRY

BY BERT LESTON TAYLOR

Auf wiedersehen, brother mine! Farewells will soon be kissed; And, ere you leave to breast the brine, Give me once more your fist;

That mailed fist, clenched high in air On many a foreign shore, Enforcing coaling stations where No stations were before;

That fist, which weaker nations view As if 'twere Michael's own. And which appals the heathen who Bow down to wood and stone.

But this trip no brass knuckles. Glove That heavy mailed hand; Your mission now is one of Love And Peace--you understand.

All that's American you'll praise; The Yank can do no wrong. To use his own expressive phrase, Just "jolly him along."

Express surprise to find, the more Of Roosevelt you see, How much I am like Theodore, And Theodore like me.

I am, in fact, (this might not be A bad thing to suggest,) The Theodore of the East, and he The William of the West.

And, should you get a chance, find out-- If anybody knows-- Exactly what it's all about, That Doctrine of Monroe's.

That's _entre nous_. My present plan You know as well as I; Be just as Yankee as you can; If needs be, eat some pie.

Cut out the kraut, cut out Rhine wine, Cut out the Schützenfest, The Sängerbund, the Turnverein, The Kommers, and the rest.

And if some fool society "Die Wacht am Rhein" should sing, You sing "My Country 'tis of Thee"-- The tune's "God Save the King."

To our own kindred in that land There's not much you need tell. Just tell them that you saw me, and That I was looking well.

JOHNNY'S LESSONS[9]

BY CARROLL WATSON RANKIN

'Tis very, very late; poor mamma and Cousin Kate, Papa and Aunty Jane, all know it to their sorrow. Struggling with the mystery of Latin, Greek, and history, They're learning Johnny's lessons for the morrow.

His relatives are bright; still, it takes them half the night With only four of them--ofttimes a friend they borrow-- To grapple with hard sums, and to fill young John with crumbs Of wisdom 'gainst the coming of the morrow.

They bitterly complain; still, with only _one_ small brain, The boy needs all his kin can give him, for oh! These lessons, if they slight 'em, how _can_ poor John recite 'em To a dozen wiser teachers on the morrow.

FOOTNOTES:

[9] Lippincott's Magazine.

GRANDFATHER SQUEERS

BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

"My grandfather Squeers," said the Raggedy Man, As he solemnly lighted his pipe and began--

"The most indestructible man, for his years, And the grandest on earth, was my grandfather Squeers!

"He said, when he rounded his three-score-and-ten, 'I've the hang of it now and can do it again!'

"He had frozen his heels so repeatedly, he Could tell by them just what the weather would be;

"And would laugh and declare, 'while _the Almanac_ would Most falsely prognosticate, _he_ never could!'

"Such a hale constitution had grandfather Squeers That, though he'd used '_navy_' for sixty odd years,

"He still chewed a dime's-worth six days of the week, While the seventh he passed with a chew in each cheek:

"Then my grandfather Squeers had a singular knack Of sitting around on the small of his back,

"With his legs like a letter Y stretched o'er the grate Wherein 'twas his custom to ex-pec-tor-ate.

"He was fond of tobacco in _manifold_ ways, And would sit on the door-step, of sunshiny days,

"And smoke leaf-tobacco he'd raised strictly for The pipe he'd used all through The Mexican War."

And The Raggedy Man said, refilling the bowl Of his _own_ pipe and leisurely picking a coal

From the stove with his finger and thumb, "You can see What a tee-nacious habit he's fastened on me!

"And my grandfather Squeers took a special delight In pruning his corns every Saturday night

"With a horn-handled razor, whose edge he excused By saying 'twas one that his grandfather used;

"And, though deeply etched in the haft of the same Was the ever-euphonious Wostenholm's name,

"'Twas my grandfather's custom to boast of the blade As 'A Seth Thomas razor--the best ever made!'

"No Old Settlers' Meeting, or Pioneers' Fair, Was complete without grandfather Squeers in the chair,

"To lead off the programme by telling folks how 'He used to shoot deer where the Court-House stands now'--

"How 'he felt, of a truth, to live over the past, When the country was wild and unbroken and vast,

"'That the little log cabin was just plenty fine For himself, his companion, and fambly of nine!--

"'When they didn't have even a pump, or a tin, But drunk surface-water, year out and year in,

"'From the old-fashioned gourd that was sweeter, by odds, Than the goblets of gold at the lips of the gods!'"

Then The Raggedy Man paused to plaintively say It was clockin' along to'rds the close of the day--

And he'd _ought_ to get back to his work on the lawn,-- Then dreamily blubbered his pipe and went on:

"His teeth were imperfect--my grandfather owned That he couldn't eat oysters unless they were 'boned';

"And his eyes were so weak, and so feeble of sight, He couldn't sleep with them unless, every night,

"He put on his spectacles--all he possessed,-- Three pairs--with his goggles on top of the rest.

"And my grandfather always, retiring at night, Blew down the lamp-chimney to put out the light;

"Then he'd curl up on edge like a shaving, in bed, And puff and smoke pipes in his sleep, it is said:

"And would snore oftentimes, as the legends relate, Till his folks were wrought up to a terrible state,--

"Then he'd snort, and rear up, and roll over; and there In the subsequent hush they could hear him chew air.

"And so glaringly bald was the top of his head That many's the time he has musingly said,

"As his eyes journeyed o'er its reflex in the glass,-- 'I must set out a few signs of _Keep Off the Grass!_'

"So remarkably deaf was my grandfather Squeers That he had to wear lightning-rods over his ears

"To even hear thunder--and oftentimes then He was forced to request it to thunder again."

THE GENTLE ART OF BOOSTING

BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS

The Idiot was very late at breakfast, so extremely late in fact that some apprehension was expressed by his fellow boarders as to the state of his health.

"I hope he isn't ill," said Mr. Whitechoker. "He is usually so prompt at his meals that I fear something is the matter with him."

"He's all right," said the Doctor, whose room adjoins that of the Idiot in Mrs. Smithers-Pedagog's Select Home for Gentlemen. "He'll be down in a minute. He's suffering from an overdose of vacation--rested too hard."

Just then the subject of the conversation appeared in the doorway, pale and haggard, but with an eye that boded ill for the larder.

"Quick!" he cried, as he entered. "Lead me to a square meal. Mary, please give me four bowls of mush, ten medium soft-boiled eggs, a barrel of sautée potatoes and eighteen dollars' worth of corned beef hash. I'll have two pots of coffee, Mrs. Pedagog, please, four pounds of sugar and a can of condensed milk. If there is any extra charge you may put it on the bill, and some day when Hot Air Common goes up thirty or forty points I'll pay."

"What's the matter with you, Mr. Idiot?" asked Mr. Brief. "Been fasting for a week?"

"No," replied the Idiot. "I've just taken my first week's vacation, and between you and me I've come back to business so as to get rested up for the second."

"Doesn't look as though vacation agreed with you," said the Bibliomaniac.

"It doesn't," said the Idiot. "Hereafter I am an advocate of the Russell Sage system. Never take a day off if you can help it. There's nothing so restful as paying attention to business, and no greater promoter of weariness of spirit and vexation of your digestion than the modern style of vacating. No more for mine, if you please."

"Humph!" sneered the Bibliomaniac. "I suppose you went to Coney Island to get rested up Bumping the Bump and Looping the Loop and doing a lot of other crazy things."

"Not I," quoth the Idiot. "I didn't have sense enough to go to some quiet place like Coney Island, where you can get seven square meals a day, and then climb into a Ferris Wheel and be twirled around in the air until they have been properly shaken down. I took one of the 400 Vacations. Know what that is?"

"No," said Mr. Brief. "I didn't know there were 400 Vacations with only 365 days in the year. What do you mean?"

"I mean the kind of Vacation the people in the 400 take," explained the Idiot. "I've been to a house-party up in Newport with some friends of mine who're in the swim, and I tell you it's hard swimming. You'll never hear me talking about a leisure class in this country again. Those people don't know what leisure is. I don't wonder they're always such a tired-looking lot."

"I was not aware that you were in with the smart set," said the Bibliomaniac.

"Oh yes," said the Idiot. "I'm in with several of 'em--way in. So far in that I'm sometimes afraid I'll never get out. We're carrying a whole lot of wild-cats on margin for Billie Van Gelder, the cotillion leader; Tommy de Cahoots, the famous yachtsman, owes us about $8,000 more than he can spare from his living expenses on one of his plunges into Copper, and altogether we are pretty long on swells in our office."

"And do you mean to say those people invite you out?" asked the Bibliomaniac.

"All the time," said the Idiot. "Just as soon as one of our swell customers finds he can't pay his margins he comes down to the office and gets very chummy with all of us. The deeper he is in it the more affable he becomes. The result is there are house-parties and yacht cruises and all that sort of thing galore on tap for us every summer."

"And you accept them, eh?" said the Bibliomaniac scornfully.

"As a matter of business, of course," replied the Idiot. "We've got to get something out of it. If one of our customers can't pay cash, why we get what we can. In this particular case Mr. Reginald Squandercash had me down at Newport for five full days, and I know now why he can't pay up his little shortage of $800. He's got the money, but he needs it for other things, and now that I know it I shall recommend the firm to give him an extension of thirty days. By that time he will have collected from the De Boodles, whom he is launching in society--C. O. D.--and will be able to square matters with us."

"Your conversation is Greek to me," said the Bibliomaniac. "Who are the De Boodles, and for what do they owe your friend Reginald Squandercash money?"

"The De Boodles," explained the Idiot, "are what is known as Climbers, and Reginald Squandercash is a Booster."

"A what?" cried the Bibliomaniac.

"A Booster," said the Idiot. "There are several Boosters in the 400. For a consideration they will boost wealthy Climbers into Society. The Climbers are people like the De Boodles, who have suddenly come into great wealth, and who wish to be in it with others of great wealth who are also of high social position. They don't know how to do the trick, so they seek out some Booster like Reggie, strike a bargain with him, and he steers 'em up against the 'Among Those Present' Game until finally you find the De Boodles have a social cinch."

"Do you mean to say that Society tolerates such a business as that?" demanded the Bibliomaniac.

"Tolerates?" laughed the Idiot. "What a word to use! Tolerates? Why, Society encourages, because Society shares the benefits. Take this especial vacation of mine. Society had two five-o'clock teas, four of the swellest dinners you ever sat down to, a cotillion where the favors were of solid silver and real ostrich feathers, a whole day's clam-bake on Reggie's steam yacht, with automobile runs and coaching trips galore. Nobody ever declines one of Reggie's invitations, because what he has from a Society point of view is the best the market affords. Why, the floral decorations alone at the _Fête Champêtre_ he gave in honor of the De Boodles at his villa last Thursday night must have cost $5,000, and everything was on the same scale. I don't believe a cent less than $7,500 was burned up in the fire-works, and every lady present received a souvenir of the occasion that cost at least $100."

"Your story doesn't quite hold together," said Mr. Brief. "If your friend Reggie has a villa and a steam yacht, and automobiles and coaches, and gives _fêtes champêtres_ that cost fifteen or twenty thousand dollars, I don't see why he has to make himself a Booster of inferior people who want to get into Society. What does he gain by it? It surely isn't sport to do a thing like that, and I should think he'd find it a dreadful bore."

"The man must live," said the Idiot. "He boosts for a living."

"When he has the wealth of Monte Cristo at his command?" demanded Mr. Brief.

"Reggie hasn't a cent to his name," said the Idiot. "I've already told you he owes us $800 he can't pay."

"Then who in thunder pays for the villa and the lot and all those hundred-dollar souvenirs?" asked the Doctor.

"Why--this year, the De Boodles," said the Idiot. "Last year it was Colonel and Mrs. Moneybags, whose daughter, Miss Fayette Moneybags, is now clinching the position Reggie sold her at Newport over in London, whither Reggie has consigned her to his sister, an impecunious American Duchess--the Duchess of Nocash--who is also in the boosting business. The chances are Miss Moneybags will land one of England's most deeply indebted peers, and if she does, Reggie will receive a handsome cheque for steering the family up against so attractive a proposition."

"And you mean to tell us that a plain man like old John De Boodle, of Nevada, is putting out his hard-earned wealth in that way?" demanded Mr. Brief.