CHAPTER XI

First Ventures

"Did you get all the things, Mammy?" cried Constance, as she flew into the kitchen where Mammy stood puffing and panting like a grampus, for the new home was at the top of a rather steep ascent and the climb took the old woman's breath.

"Co'se Ise got 'em," panted Mammy, as she untied the strings of her bright purple worsted hood. "Dar dey is, all ob 'em, eve'y one, an yo' kin git busy jes' as fas' as yo's a mind ter. But, la, honey, don' yo' let yo' _ma_ know nothin' 'tall 'bout it, 'cause she lak 'nough frail me out fer lettin' yo' do hit. But sumpin 's gotter be done in dis yere fambly. What wid de rint fer _dis_ place, an' de taxes for de yether, an' de prices dey's teken' ter chargin', fer t'ings ter _eat_, I 'clar' ter goodness dar ain't gwine be nuffin 'tall lef' fer we-all ter fall back on ef we done teken sick, er bleeged ter do sumpin' extra," ended Mammy as she bustled about putting away her things and untying the packages as Constance lifted them from the basket.

"Yes, you've got every single thing I need, Mammy, and now I'll begin right off. Which kettles and pans can you spare for my very own? I don't want to bother to ask every time and if I have my own set at the very beginning that saves bother in the end," cried Constance, as she slipped her arms through the shoulder straps of a big gingham apron and after many contortions succeeded in buttoning it back of her shoulders.

"Dar you is!" said Mammy, taking from their hooks, above her range two immaculate porcelain saucepans, and standing them upon the well-scrubbed kitchen table with enough emphasis to give the transfer significance. "Dey's yours fer keeps, but don' yo' let me ketch yo' burnin' de bottoms of 'em."

Mammy could not resist this authoritative warning. Then bustling across to her pantry she took out three shining pans and placed them beside the saucepans, asking:

"Now is yo' fixed wid all de impert'nances ob de bisness?"

"All but the fire, Mammy," laughed Constance, rolling up her sleeves to disclose two strong, well-rounded arms.

"Well yo' fire's gwine ter be gas _dis_ time, chile'. Yo' kin do what yo's a-mind ter wid dat little gas refrig'rator, what yo' turns on an' off wid de spiggots; _I_ aint got er mite er use fer hit. It lak ter scare me mos' ter deaf de fust mawnin' I done try ter cook de breckfus on it,--sputterin' an' roarin' lak it gwine blow de hull house up. No-siree, I ain' gwine be pestered wid no sich doin's 's _dat_. Stoves an' wood 's good 'nough fer _dis_ 'oman," asserted Mammy with an empathic wag of her head, for she had never before seen a gas range, and was not in favor of innovations.

"Then I'm in luck," cried Constance, as she struck a match to light up her "gas refrigerator," Mammy meanwhile eying her with not a little misgiving, and standing as far as possible from the fearsome thing. "Tek keer, honey! Yo' don' know what dem new-fangled mak'-believe stoves lak ter do. Fust t'ing yo' know it bus' wide open mebbe."

"Don't be scared, Mammy. They are all right, and safe as can be if you know how to handle them, and lots less trouble than the stove."

"Dat may be too," was Mammy's skeptical reply. "But _I'll_ tek de trouble stidder de chance of a busted haid."

Before long the odor of boiling sugar filled the little kitchen, the confectioner growing warm and rosy as she wielded a huge wooden spoon in the boiling contents of her saucepans, and whistled like a song thrush. Constance Carruth's whistle had always been a marvel to the members of her family, and the subject of much comment to the few outsiders who had been fortunate enough to hear it, occasionally, for it was well worth hearing. It had a wonderful flute-like quality, with the softest, tenderest, low notes. Moreover, she whistled without any apparent effort, or the ordinary distortion of the mouth which whistling generally involves. The position of her lips seemed scarcely altered while the soft sounds fell from them. But she was very shy about her "one accomplishment," as she laughingly called it, and could rarely be induced to whistle for others, though she seldom worked without filling the house with that birdlike melody. As she grew more and more absorbed with her candy-making the clear, sweet notes rose higher and higher, their rapid _crescendo_ and increasing _tempo_ indicating her successful progress toward a desired end.

While apparently engaged in preparing a panful of apples, Mammy was covertly watching her, for, next to her baby, Jean, Constance was Mammy's pet.

When the candy was done, Constance poured it into the pans.

"Now in just about two jiffies that will be ready to cut. Keep one eye on it, won't you Mammy, while I run up-stairs for my paraffin paper," she said, as she set the pans outside to cool and whisked from the kitchen, Mammy saying under her breath as she vanished:

"If folks could once hear dat chile _whis'le_ dey'd hanker fef ter hear it agin, an' dey'd keep on a hankerin' twell dey'd _done_ hit. She beat der bu'ds, an' dat's a fac'."

"Now I guess I can cut it," cried Constance, as she came hurrying back.

The sudden chill of the keen November air had made the candy the exact consistency for cutting into little squares, and in the course of the next half hour they were all cut, carefully wrapped in bits of paraffin paper and neatly tied in small white paper packages with baby-ribbon of different colors. Four dozen as inviting parcels of delicious home-made candy as any one could desire, and all made and done up within an hour and a half.

"There, Mammy! What do you think of _that_ for my initial venture?" asked Constance, looking with not a little satisfaction upon the packages as they lay in the large flat box into which she had carefully packed them.

"Bate yo' dey hits de markit spang on de haid," chuckled Mammy. "An' now _I'se_ gwine tek holt. La, ain' I gwine cut a dash, dough! Yo' see _me_," and hastily donning her hood and shawl, and catching up an apple from her panful, off Mammy hurried to the little stable which stood in one corner of the small grounds, where Baltie had lived, and certainly flourished since the family came to dwell in this new home.

Mammy never entered that stable without some tidbit for her pet, for she had grown to love the blind old horse as well as Jean did, and was secretly consumed with pride at his transformation. As she entered the stable, Baltie greeted her with his soft nicker.

"Yas, honey, Mammy's comin'; comin' wid yo' lolly-pop, kase she want yo' ter step out spry. Yo's gwine enter a pa'tner-ship, yo' know _dat_, Baltie-hawse? Yo' sure _is_. Yo's de silen' pa'tner, yo' is, an' de bline one too. Jis as well ter hab one ob 'em bline mebbe," and Mammy chuckled delightedly at her own joke. "Now come 'long out an' be hitched up, kase we's gwine inter business, yo' an' me' an' we gotter do some hustlin'. Come 'long," and opening the door of the box-stall in which old Baltie now-a-days luxuriated, Mammy dragged him forth by his forelock and in less time than one could have believed it possible, had him harnessed to the old-fashioned basket phaeton which during Mrs. Stuyvesant's early married life had been a most up-to-date equipage, but which now looked as odd and antiquated as the old horse harnessed to it. But in Mammy's eyes they were tangible riches, for Hadyn Stuyvesant had presented her with both phaeton and harness.

Opening wide the stable doors, Mammy clambered into her chariot, and taking up the reins, guided her steed gently forward. Baltie ambled sedately up to the back door where Constance was waiting to hand Mammy the box.

"Mind de do' an' don' let my apples bake all ter cinders," warned Mammy.

"I will. I won't. Good luck," contradicted Constance, as she ran back into the house, and Mammy drove off toward South Riveredge; a section of the town as completely given over to commercial interests as Riveredge proper was to its homes. There a large carpet factory throve and flourished giving employment to many hands. There, also, stood a large building called the Central Arcade in which many business men had their offices. It was about a mile from the heart of Riveredge proper and as Mammy jogged along toward her destination, she had ample time to think, and chuckle to herself at her astuteness in carrying out her own ideas of the fitness of things while apparently fully concurring with Constance's wishes. Mammy had no objections to Constance _making_ all the candy she chose to make; that could be done within the privacy of her own home and shock _no_ one's sensibilities. But when the girl had announced her intention of going among her friends to secure customers, Mammy had descended upon her with all her powers of opposition. The outcome had been the present compromise. Very few people in South Riveredge knew the Carruths or Mammy, and this was exactly what the old woman wished.

Driving her "gallumping" steed to the very heart of the busy town she drew up at the curbstone in front of the Arcade just a few moments before the five o'clock whistles blew. Stepping from her vehicle she placed a campstool upon the sidewalk beside it, and lifting her box of candy from the seat established herself upon her stool with the open box upon her lap. Within two minutes of the blowing of the whistles the streets were alive with people who came hurrying from the buildings on every side. Mammy was a novelty and like most novelties took at once, so presently she was doing a thriving business, her tongue going as fast as her packages of candy. People are not unlike sheep; where one leads, all the others follow.

"Home-made candy, sah! Fresh f'om de home-kitchen; jis done mek hit. Ain' hardly col'. Ten cents a package, sah. Yes _sah_, yo' better is bleeve hit's deleshus. Yo' ain' tas' no pralines lak dem in all yo' bo'n days," ran on Mammy handing out her packages of candy and dropping her dimes into the little bag at her side.

"Here, Aunty, give me four of those packages of fudge," cried a genial, gray-haired, portly old gentleman with a military bearing. "Porter, here, has just given me some of his and they're simply great! Did you make 'em? They touch the spot."

"La, suh, I ain' _got_ four left: I ain', fer a fac'. Tek some of de pralines; deys mighty good, suh," bustled Mammy, offering her dainties.

"Take all you've got. Did _you_ make 'em?" persisted her customer.

"My _pa'tner_ done mak 'em," said Mammy with dignity, as she handed over her last package.

"Well you darkies _can_ cook," cried the gentleman as he took the candy.

For a moment it seemed as though Mammy were about to fly at him, and her customer was not a little astounded at the transformation which came over her old face. Then he concluded that the term "darkie" had been the rock on which they had split, and smiled as he said:

"Better set up business right here in the Arcade. Buy you and your _partner_ out every day. Good-bye, Auntie."

"Good-bye, suh! Good-bye," responded Mammy, her equanimity quite restored, for her good sense told her that no reflections had been cast upon her "pa'tner" in Riveredge, or her identity suspected. Moreover, her late customer had put a new idea into her wise old head which she turned over again and again as she drove back home.

Constance was waiting with the lantern, and hurried out to the stable as Mammy turned in at the gate.

"Oh, Mammy, did you _sell_ some?" she asked eagerly.

"Sell some! What I done druv dar fer? Co'se I sell some; I sell eve'y las' bit an' grain. Tek dat bag an' go count yo' riches, honey. _Sell some!_ Yah! Yah!" laughed Mammy as she descended from her chariot and began to unharness her steed, while Constance hugged the bag and hurried into the house.

"What are you hiding under your cape?" demanded Jean as her sister ran through the hall, and up the stairs. Jean's eyes did not often miss anything.

"My deed to future wealth and greatness," answered Constance merrily, as she slipped into her room and locked the door, where she dumped the contents of the bag, dimes, nickels, and pennies, into the middle of the bed.

"Merciful sakes! Who would have believed it?" she gasped. "Four dollars and eighty cents for one afternoon's work, and at least three-eighty of it clear profit, and Mammy has _got_ to share some of it. Mumsie, dear, I think I can keep the family's feet covered at all events," she concluded in an ecstatic whisper.