stories of a western town-第12章

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　was　so　entirely　unaffected；　so　perfectly　unconscious；　that　there　was　nothing　at　all　embarrassing　for　anyone。　Even　the　Cabinet　girl；　with　a　grandmother　in　very　humble　life；　who　must　be　kept　in　the　background；　could　not　feel　disconcerted。　For　this　happy　result　Mrs。　Carriswood　owns　a　share　of　the　credit。　She　advanced　on　the　first　pause；　and　claimed　acquaintanceship　with　the　Fitzmaurices。　　The　story　of　their　last　meeting　and　Tommy's　first　triumph　in　oratory　came；　of　course；　the　famous　horseshoe　received　due　mention；　and　Tommy　described　with　much　humor　his　terror　of　the　stage。　From　the　speech　to　its　most　effective　passage　was　a　natural　transition；　equally　natural　the　transition　to　Tommy's　grandmother；　the　Irish　famine；　and　the　benevolence　of　Lady　Sackville。　Everybody　was　interested；　and　it　was　Sackville　himself；　who　brought　the　Fitzmaurices'　noble　ancestors；　the　apocryphal　Viscounts　Fitzmaurice　of　King　James's　creation；　on　to　the　carpet。　He　was　entirely　serious。　　〃My　grandmother　told　me　of　your　great…grandfather；　Lord　Fitzmaurice；　she　saw　him　ride　to　hounds　once；　when　she　was　a　little　girl。　　They　say　he　was　the　boldest　rider　in　Ireland；　and　a　renowned　duellist　too。　　King　James　gave　the　title　to　his　grandfather；　didn't　he？　and　the　countryside　kept　it；　if　it　was　given　rather　too　late　in　the　day　to　be　useful。　I　am　glad　you　have　restored　the　family　fortunes；　Mr。　Fitzmaurice。〃　The　Cabinet　girl　looked　on　Tommy　with　respect；　and　Miss　Van　Harlem　blushed　like　an　angel。　〃All　is　lost；〃　said　Mrs。　Carriswood　to　herself；　yet　she　smiled。　Going　home；　she　found　a　word　for　Tommy's　ear。　　The　old　Virginian　dinner　had　been　most　successful。　　The　Fitzmaurices　（who　had　been　almost　forced　into　the　banquet　by　Beatoun's　imperious　hospitality）　were　not　a　wet　blanket　in　the　least。　Patrick　Fitzmaurice；　brogue　and　all；　was　an　Irish　gentleman　without　a　flaw。　　He　blossomed　out　into　a　modest　wag；　and　told　two　or　three　comic　stories　as　acceptably　as　he　was　used　to　tell　them　to　a　very　different　circleonly；　carrying　a　fresher　flavor　of　wit　to　this　circle；　perhaps；　it　enjoyed　them　more。　Mrs。　Fitzmaurice　looked　scared　and　ate　almost　nothing；　with　the　greatest　propriety；　and　her　fork　in　her　left　hand。　Yet　even　she　thawed　under　Miss　Van　Harlem's　attentions　and　gentle　Mrs。　Beatoun's　tact；　and　the　winning　ways　of　the　last　Beatoun　baby。　She　took　this　absent　cherub　to　her　heart　with　such　undissembled　warmth　that　its　mother　ever　since　has　called　her　〃a　sweet；　funny　little　old　lady。〃　They　were　both　（Patrick　and　his　wife）　quite　unassuming　and　retiring；　and　no　urging　could　dissuade　them　from　parting　with　the　company　at　the　tavern　door。　〃My　word；　Tommy；　your　mother　and　I　can　git　home　by　ourselves；〃　whispered　honest　Patrick；　〃we've　not　exceededif　the　wines　WERE　good。　I　never　exceeded　in　my　life；　God　take　the　glory！〃　But　he　embraced　Tommy　so　affectionately　in　parting　that　I　confess　Mrs。　Carriswood　had　suspicions。　　Yet；　surely；　it　is　more　likely　that　his　brain　waslet　us　not　say　TURNED；　but　just　a　wee　bit　TILTED；　by　the　joy　and　triumph　of　the　occasion　rather　than　by　Beatoun's　port　or　champagne。　But　Mrs。　Carriswood's　word　had　nothing　to　do　with　Tommy's　parents；　ostensibly；　though；　in　truth；　it　had　everything　to　do。　　She　said：　〃Will　you　dine　with　us　to…morrow；　quite　_en　famille_；　Thomas？〃　〃I　ought　to　tell　you；　I　suppose；　that　I　find　your　house　a　pretty　dangerous　paradise；　Mrs。　Carriswood；〃　says　Tommy。　〃And　I　find　you　a　most　dangerous　angel；　Thomas；　butyou　see　I　ask　you！〃　〃Thank　you；〃　answers　Tommy；　in　a　different　tone；　〃you've　always　been　an　angel　to　me。　　What　I　owe　to　you　and　Harry　Lossingwell；　I　can't　talk　about　it。　　But　see　here；　Mrs。　Carriswood；　you　always　have　called　me　Tommy；　now　you　say　Thomas；　why　this　state？〃　〃I　think　you　have　won　your　brevet；　Thomas。〃　He　looked　puzzled；　and　she　liked　him　the　better　that　he　should　not　make　enough　of　his　conduct　to　understand　her；　but；　though　she　has　called　him　Tommy　often　since；　he　keeps　the　brevet　in　her　thoughts。　　In　fact；　Mrs。　Carriswood　is　beginning　to　take　the　Honorable　Thomas　Fitzmaurice　and　his　place　in　the　world　seriously；　herself。

MOTHER　EMERITUS　THE　Louders　lived　on　the　second　floor；　at　the　head　of　the　stairs；　in　the　Lossing　Building。　　There　is　a　restaurant　to　the　right；　and　a　new　doctor；　every　six　months；　who　is　every　kind　of　a　healer　except　〃regular；〃　keeps　the　permanent　boarders　in　gossip；　to　the　left；　two　or　three　dressmakers；　a　dentist；　and　a　diamond　merchant　up…stairs；　one　flight；　and　half　a　dozen　families　and　a　dozen　single　tenants　higherso　you　see　the　Louders　had　plenty　of　neighbors。　In　fact；　the　multitude　of　the　neighbors　is　one　cause　of　my　story。　Tilly　Louder　came　home　from　the　Lossing　factory　（where　she　is　a　typewriter）　one　February　afternoon。　　As　she　turned　the　corner；　she　was　face　to　the　river；　which　is　not　so　full　of　shipping　in　winter　that　one　cannot　see　the　steel…blue　glint　of　the　water。　Back　of　her　the　brick　paved　street　climbed　the　hill；　under　a　shapeless　arch　of　trees。　　The　remorseless　pencil　of　a　railway　has　drawn　black　lines　at　the　foot　of　the　hill；　and；　all　day　and　all　night；　slender　red　bars　rise　and　sink　in　their　black　sockets；　to　the　accompaniment　of　the　outcry　of　tortured　steam。　All　day；　if　not　all　night；　the　crooked　pole　slips　up　and　down　the　trolley　wire；　as　the　yellow　cars　rattle；　and　flash；　and　clang　a　spiteful　little　bell；　that　sounds　like　a　soprano　bark；　over　the　crossings。　It　is　customary　in　the　Lossing　Building　to　say；　〃We　are　so　handy　to　the　cars。〃　　The　street　is　a　handsome　street；　not　free　from　dingy　old　brick　boxes　of　stores　below　the　railway；　but　fast　replacing　them　with　fairer　structures。　The　Lossing　Building　has　the　wide　arches；　the　recessed　doors；　the　balconies　and　the　colonnades　of　modern　business　architecture。　The　occupants　are　very　proud　of　the　balconies；　in　particular；　and；　summer　days；　these　will　be　a　mass　of　greenery　and　bright　tints。　To…day；　it　was　so　warm；　February　day　though　it　was；　that　some　of　the　potted　plants　were　sunning　themselves　outside　the　windows。　Tilly　could　see　them　if　she　craned　her　neck。　　There　were　some　bouvardias　and　fuchsias　of　her　mother's　among　them。　〃It　IS　a　pretty　building；〃　said　Tilly；　and；　for　some　reason；　she　frowned。　She　was　a　young　woman；　but　not　a　very　young　woman。　Her　figure　was　slim；　and　she　looked　better　in　loose　waists　than　in　tightly　fitted　gowns。　　She　wore　a　dark　green　gown　with　a　black　jacket；　and　a　scarlet　shirt…waist　underneath。　Her　face　was　long；　with　square　chin　and　high　cheek…bones；　and　thin；　firm　lips；　yet　she　was　comely；　because　of　her　lustrous　black　hair；　her　clear；　gray　eyes；　and　her　charming；　fair　skin。　She　had　another　gift：　　everything　about　her　was　daintily　neat；　at　first　glance　one　said；　〃Here　is　a　person　who　has　spent　pains；　if　not　money；　on　her　toilet。〃　By　this　time　Tilly　was　entering　the　Lossing　Building。　Half…way　up　the　stairway　a　hand　plucked　her　skirts。　The　hand　belonged　to　a　tired…faced　woman　in　black；　on　whose　breast　glittered　a　little　crowd　of　pins　and　threaded　needles；　like　the　insignia　of　an　Order　of　Toil。　〃Please　excuse　me；　Miss　Tilly；〃　said　the　woman；　at　the　same　time　presenting　a　flat　package　in　brown　paper；　〃but　WILL　you　give　this　pattern　back　to　your　mother。　　I　am　so　very　much　obliged。　I　don't　know　how　I　WOULD　git　along　without　your　mother；　Tilly。〃　〃I'll　give　the　pattern　to　her；〃　said　Tilly；　and　she　pursued　her　way。　Not　very　far。　　A　stout　woman　and　a　thin　young　man；　with　long；　wavy；　red　hair；　awaited　her　on　the　landing。　The　woman　held　a　plate　of　cake　which　she　thrust　at　Tilly　the　instant　they　were　on　the　same　level；　saying：　　〃The　cake　was　just　splendid；　tell　your　mother；　it's　a　lovely　recipe；　and　will　you　tell　her　to　take　this；　and　see　how　well　I　succeeded？〃　〃AndahMiss　Louder；〃　said　the　man；　as　the　stout　woman　rustled　away；　〃here　are　some　_Banner　of　Lights；_　I　think　she'd　be　interested　in　some　of　the　articles　on　the　true　principles　of　the　inspirational　faith　〃　Tilly　placed　the　bundle　of　newspapers　at　the　base　of　her　load〃andand；　I　wish　you'd　tell　your　dear　mother　that；　under　the　angels；　her　mustard　plaster　really　saved　my　life。〃　〃I'll　tell　her；〃　said　Tilly。　She　had　advanced　a　little　space　before　a　young　girl　in　a　bright　blue　silk　gown　flung　a　radiant　presence　between　her　and　the　door。　〃Oh；　Miss　Tilly；〃　she　murmured；　blushing；　〃will　you　just　give　your　mother　this？it'sit's　Jim's　photograph。　You　tell　her　it's　ALL　right；　and　SHE　was　exactly　right；　and　_I_　was　wrong。　　She'll　understand。〃　Tilly；　with　a　look　of　resignation；　accepted　a　stiff　package　done　up　in　white　tissue　paper。　　She　had　now　only　three　steps　to　take：　she　took　two；　only　two；　for〃Miss　Tilly；　PLEASE！〃　a　voice　pealed　around　the　corner；　while　a　flushed　and　breathless　young　woman；　with　a　large　baby　toppling　over　her　lean　shoulder；　staggered　into　view。　　〃My！〃　she　panted；　〃ain't　it　tiresome　lugging　a　child！　I　missed　the　car；　of　course；　coming　home　from　ma's。　Oh；　say；　Tilly；　your　mother　was　so　good；　she　said　she'd　tend　Blossom　next　time　I　went　to　the　doctor's；　and　〃　〃I'll　take　the　baby；〃　said　Tilly。　　She　hoisted　the　infant　on　to　her　own　shoulder　with　her　right　arm。　　〃Perhaps　you'll　be　so　kind's　to　turn　the　handle　of　the　door；〃　said　she　in　a　slightly　caustic　tone；　〃as　I　haven't　got　any　hands　left。　Please　shut　it；　too。〃　As　the　young　mother　opened　the　door；　Tilly　entered　the　parlor。　For　a　second　she　stood　and　stared　grimly　about　her。　　The　furniture　of　the　room　was　old…fashioned　but　in　the　best　repair。　　There　was　a　cabinet　organ　in　one　corner。　　A　crayon　portrait　of　Tilly's　father　（killed　in　the　civil　war）　glared　out　of　a　florid　gilt　frame。　Perhaps　it　was　the　fault　of　the　portrait；　but　he　had　a　peevish　frown。　There　were　two　other　portraits　of　him；　large　ghastly　gray　tintypes　in　oval　frames　of　rosewood；　obscurely　suggesting　coffins。　In　these　he　looked　distinctly　sullen。　　He　was　represented　in　uniform　（being　a　lieutenant　of　volunteers）；　and　the　artist　had　conscientiously　gilded　his　buttons　until；　as　Mrs。　Louder　was　wont　to　observe；　〃It　most　made　you　want　to　cut　them　off　with　the　scissors。〃　There　were　other　tintypes　and　a　flock　of　photographs　in　the　room。　What　Mrs。　Louder　named　〃a　throw〃　decorated　each　framed　picture　and　each　chair。　　The　largest　arm…chair　was　drawn　up　to　a　table　covered　with　books　and　magazines：　　in　the　chair　sat　Mrs。　Louder；　reading。　At　Tilly's　entrance　she　started　and　turned　her　head；　and　then　one　could　see　that　the　tears　were　streaming　down　her　cheeks。　〃Now；　MOTHER！〃　exploded　Tilly。　　Kicking　the　door　open；　she　marched　into　the　bed…chamber。　An　indignant　sweep　of　one　arm　sent　the　miscellany　of　gifts　into　a　rocking…chair；　an　indignant　curve　of　the　other　landed　the　baby　on　the　bed。　Tilly　turned　on　her　mother。　　〃Now；　mother；　what　did　you　promise　HUSH！　will　you？〃　　（The　latter　part　of　the　sentence　a　fierce　〃ASIDE〃　to　the　infant　on　the　bed。）　　In　a　second　Mrs。　Louder's　arms　were　encircling　him；　and　she　was　soothing　him　on　her　broad　shoulder；　where　I　know　not　how　many　babies　have　found　comfort。　Jane　Louder　was　a　tall　womantall　and　portly。　She　had　a　massive　repose　about　her；　a　kind　of　soft　dignity；　and　a　stranger　would　not　guess　how　tender　was　her　heart。　Deprecatingly　she　looked　up　at　her　only　child；　standing　in　judgment　over　her。　　Her　eyes　were　fine　still；　though　they　had　sparkled　and　wept　for　more　than　half　a　century。　　They　were　not　gray；　like　Tilly's；　but　a　deep　violet；　with　black　eye