The Mermaid Shop
For the next few days Miss Mehitable had no time to worry over love-affairs. No matter how early she arose in the morning she found Pete arrayed in overalls sitting on the stone step of Upton's Fancy Goods and Notions, and when by the evening of the third day all her goods, wares, and chattels were deposited in the little shop at Keefeport, she wondered how she had ever got on without him.
On that very day Ben Barry received a threatening letter from Rufus Carder demanding the return of Pete, and he knew that no more time must be lost. He flew over to the Port that afternoon, and alighting on the landing-field which had been prepared near his cottage walked to the little shop near the wharf. Here he found Pete industriously obeying Miss Upton's orders in company with his idol, the whole quartet gay amid their chaos. Even Mrs. Whipp had postponed the fear of rheumatism and had learned how to laugh.
They had formed a line and were passing the articles from boxes to shelves when the leather-coated, helmeted figure stood suddenly before them.
The effect of the apparition upon Geraldine with its associations was so extreme as to make her feel faint for a minute, and Ben saw her face change as she leaned against the counter.
Miss Mehitable saw it too. "Aha!" she thought triumphantly. "Aha! It isn't so funny to break a body's heart, after all."
"Well, Ben Barry," she said aloud, "why didn't you wait till we got settled?"
The aviator stood in the doorway, but came no farther.
"Because I have to take Pete away. I've had a billet doux from Rufus Carder and he wants him."
The dwarf rushed to his new master on quaking legs. "Oh, Master! I won't go! I can't go." He looked off wildly on the big billows rolling in. "I'll throw myself in the sea."
Ben put a hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Of course you won't go," he said; "but you want to brighten up your wits now and remember everything that will help us. We're going to the city to-night and begin at once to settle that gentleman's affairs." He gave Geraldine a reassuring look. "I should like to take your father's letter with me," he added quietly.
"But we mustn't get Pete into trouble," she replied doubtfully.
"I'm not intending to show it. I want to familiarize myself with his handwriting. I expect to have an interview and perhaps there will be notes to examine."
"But not at the farm," protested the girl quickly. "You'll not go near the meadow?"
"No; the cows have nothing to fear from us this time."
"And you'll"—Geraldine swallowed—"you'll be careful?"
Ben nodded. "All my promises hold," he replied, looking straight into her eyes with only the ghost of his old smile, as Miss Upton noticed.
Geraldine ran upstairs, brought down her father's letter, and gave it to him.
He took it with a nod of thanks. "How do you think you will like to fly, Pete?" he asked. "You can go home with me, or, if you prefer it, in the trolley."
"Anywhere with you, Master," returned the boy. He felt certain that Rufus Carder would not be met among the clouds, but who could be sure that he would not pop up in a trolley car.
"Very well, then. Good-bye, everybody, and expect us when you see us."
"Good-bye, you dear boy," cried Miss Mehitable. Somebody should call him "dear." She was determined on that. "Always workin' for others," she continued loudly, "and riskin' your life the way you are." She moved to the door, and raised her voice still higher as the strangely assorted pair moved away up the road. "I hope you'll get your reward sometime!" she shouted; then she turned back and glared at Geraldine.
The girl put her hand on her heart. "It startled me so to see him—just as he looked on that—that—dreadful day," she was going to say, but how could she so characterize the day of her full joy and wonder? So her voice died to silence, and Miss Upton began slamming articles up on the shelves with unnecessary violence, while Geraldine, smiling into the packing-boxes, meekly set about helping her.
Pete, like Geraldine before him, was in such terror of his former master and so full of trust in his present one, that he swallowed his fears as the plane rose for its short trip, and he found the experience enjoyable. Ben, when they reached the house, sought his mother. She was walking on the piazza.
"You didn't tell me you were off for a flight," she said in an annoyed tone.
"Well, it was now you see me and now you don't this time, wasn't it? You had hardly time to miss me. I flew over to the Port to get Pete. We have to go to the city to-night. I'll be gone a few days, Mother, perhaps a week."
"On some disgusting business connected with that unspeakable man, I suppose."
"Verily I believe it will be very disgusting; but it has to be gone through with."
"Why does it?" His mother stood before him and spoke desperately. "Why can't you let it alone?"
"I've told you—because it affects the happiness of my future wife."
Mrs. Barry's eyes were hard, though her cheeks grew crimson. "You haven't announced your engagement to me. Don't you think I should be one of the first to know?" she said.
"I'm not engaged." Ben smiled into her angry, hurt eyes. "Something stands in the way as yet."
"What?"
"Can't you guess?"
They continued to exchange a steady gaze. She spoke first.
"Do you mean to say that anyone concerned in the affair still considers me?"
Her boy's smile became a laugh at the deliberate manner of her sarcasm.
"Oh, cut it out, Mother mine," he said. And though she tried to hold stiffly away from him, he hugged her and kissed her and pulled her down beside him on a wicker seat.
She could not get away from his encircling arm and probably she did not wish to.
"Ben, I've had a most disagreeable day," she declared. "Everybody within fifteen miles knows that you flew into the village with a strange girl."
"They said she was pretty, didn't they?"
"I can't leave the house without somebody stopping me and asking me about it, and I'll have to order the telephone taken out if this goes on. I can hardly bear to answer it any more. I called on Miss Melody, but she had gone to town, and that hopeless Mrs. Whipp babbled about your attentions. I don't want you to break the apple blossoms anyway."
"All right, honey, I won't. They're nearly gone; but I shall always love apple blossoms. They're fragrant like her spirit, pink and white like her, wholesome like her, modest like her. You see she has always been kept in the background. No one has taken the bloom from her freshness. She has had blows, has come in contact with some of the world's mud, but it washed away and disappeared under her own purity."
Mrs. Barry looked into the speaker's flashing eyes. "My poor boy," she said at last. "I wonder whether you're crazy or whether you're right. What am I going to do!"
"Of course I don't know what you're going to do," he returned, his lips and voice suddenly serious. "It depends largely upon whether you want my future wife to hand out ice-cream cones to the trippers at Keefeport."
"What do you mean now?" Mrs. Barry asked it severely.
"Why, the little girl is going to try to earn her living, of course, and she will be slow to leave Miss Upton's protection, for she has proved, that a girl's beauty may be her worst enemy. Miss Upton will do a bigger business than ever, that is easily prophesied. The hilarious, rowdy parties that come over in motor-boats will pass the word along that there is something worth seeing at Upton's this year. They will crack their jokes, and Miss Melody will be loyal to her employer. She won't want to discourage trade. They will make longer visits than usual and the phonograph will work overtime."
Mrs. Barry had risen slowly during this harangue and now looked down upon her son with haughty, displeased eyes.
"I shall speak to Miss Upton," she said.
"I advise you not to," returned Ben dryly, crossing one leg over the other and embracing his knee. "I don't think you are in any position to dictate. I left a merry party down there just now. Mrs. Whipp cracking the air with chuckles, Mehitable rocking the store with her activities, Miss Melody enveloped in a gigantic apron and with a large smudge across her cheek, having the time of her life unpacking boxes. I was sorry to bereave them of Pete, but it won't take them long now to be ready for business."
Mrs. Barry did not speak. A catbird sang in an apple tree, a call to vespers.
"This won't do for me," said Ben, suddenly rising. "I'll go up and throw a few things into my bag. Give us a bite to eat, Mother dear, and tell Lawson to bring the car around. We must get the seven-thirty."
After her boy and his humble lieutenant had left for the train, the mother sat a long time on the piazza thinking. The telephone rang at last. She sighed, went to its corner, and sat down to stop its annoying peremptoriness. For days it had reminded her of an inescapable, buzzing gnat, a thousand times magnified.
"Oh, Mrs. Barry," came a girlish voice across the wire. "Don't think me too inquisitive, but we're all dying to know if that beautiful girl, Miss Melody, is going to live with Miss Upton? Mrs. Whipp said they were going to take her to Keefeport with them, and somebody said they did move to-day and that she did go with them. We thought she was visiting you and I wanted to ask when we might come to call. We're all dying to meet her. You know Ben has been a sort of brother to us all, and we're simply crazy to know this girl and hear about her rescue."
While this speech gushed into Mrs. Barry's unwilling ear, her martyred look was fixed upon the wall and her wits were working. It was Adele Hastings talking. She had always liked Adele. In fact this young girl had been her secret choice for Ben in those innocent days when she supposed she would have some voice in the most important affair of his life. She could not turn Adele off as she had other questioners.
"I suppose this is Adele Hastings speaking."
"Oh, didn't I say? I do beg your pardon. I just saw Ben on the station platform with the queerest little bow-legged boy. Ben looked like a giant beside him. I just flew home to the telephone to ask how you were and—and—about everything."
"That is just a servant Ben has picked up." ("A member of our new menagerie," Mrs. Barry felt like adding, but held her peace and continued to look at the wall.)
"Well, Mother wanted me to say to you that if you were house cleaning, or there was any other reason why it was inconvenient for you to have Miss Melody with you, she would be so glad to have her come to us till you are ready. I told Mother she had probably gone to Keefeport to recuperate in the quiet before the season really begins. I haven't seen Miss Upton or that cross thing that tends store for her, but some people have, and we've heard such fairy tales about that lovely creature—I saw her on the train with Miss Upton—about her being shut up with a madman and Ben literally flying to her rescue and carrying her off under the creature's nose. Why, it's perfectly wonderful! I can hardly wait to hear the truth about it. Talk about the prince on a milk-white steed that always rescued the princess—Ben in his aeroplane makes him look like thirty cents."
"Tut, tut," said Mrs. Barry; "you know I don't like slang."
The girlish voice laughed. "But, dear Mrs. Barry, 'marry come up' and 'ods bodikins' were probably slang in the day of the spear and shield. When may I see you and hear about it?"
This direct question forced Mrs. Barry to a decision. The impossible Charlotte Whipp, who had not hesitated to tell her regal self of her son's attentions to the waif, had doubtless poured enough of the yeast of gossip into eager ears to set the whole village to swelling with curiosity, and her dignity as well as Ben's depended on the attitude she took at the present moment.
Her rather stiff and formal voice took on a more confidential tone. "I'm going to ask you to wait a few days, Adele. We have been passing through rather stirring times. I thank your mother very much for her kind offer, but it seemed best for Miss Melody to go to the sea, at least for a few days. You know what an excellent soul Miss Upton is. Miss Melody knew her before, and as the girl was a good deal upset by some exciting experiences, and as I was a complete stranger, Miss Upton stepped into the breach. Please don't believe the exaggerated stories that may be going about. Ben was able to do the young lady a favor, that is all. As you say, she is very charming to look upon. We shall all know her better after a while."
"Well, just one thing before you hang up, dear Mrs. Barry. I know you will excuse my asking it, because I know your standards, and you have been an even stronger influence upon me socially than my own mother; but is—is Miss Melody the sort of girl you will entertain as an—an equal? or does she—it sounds horrid to ask it—or does she belong more in good Miss Upton's class?"
Mrs. Barry ground her teeth together, and luckily the wall of her reception room was of tough stuff or her look would have withered it. She had a mental flashlight of Geraldine serving trippers with ice-cream cones behind Miss Upton's counter.
"My dear," she said suavely, "do you sound a little bit snobbish?"
"No more than you have taught me to be," was the prompt reply. "I want to behave toward Miss Melody just as you wish me to. It looks to us all, of course, as if she were Miss Upton's friend and not yours."
Mrs. Barry's cheeks flamed. This dreadful youngster was forcing her, hurrying her, and she would be spokesman to the village. Ben's infatuation left her no choice.
"Oh, quite in ours, quite, I judge," she said graciously. "Ben thinks her quite exceptional."
The girlish voice laughed again: not so gleefully as Mrs. Barry could have wished. She hoped they were not sister-sufferers!
"I should judge so, from what Mrs. Whipp has told people. Well, I will be patient, Mrs. Barry. We want to show all courtesy to Ben's friend when the right time comes. Good-bye."
"Good-bye," replied Mrs. Barry, and hung up the receiver.
She sat a few minutes more without moving, deep in thought.
"I have no choice," she said to herself at last. "I have no choice."
The next day she moved about restlessly amid her accustomed occupations and by evening had come to a conclusion and made a plan which on the following afternoon she carried out.
After an early luncheon she set forth in her motor for Keefeport. Miss Upton's little establishment was in nice order by this time and the sign had been hung up over the door: "The Mermaid Shop." By the time Mrs. Barry's car stopped before it, the three residents had eaten their dinner and the dishes were set away.
"There's so few folks here yet, there's hardly anything to do in the store," said Miss Mehitable to Geraldine. "Now's the time for you to go out and walk around and see the handsome cottages and the grand rocky shore. This wharf ain't anything to see."
"Do you think Pearl would like to go to walk?" said the girl, picking up the handsome cat, while Charlotte looked on approvingly.
"Pearl does hate this movin' business," she said. "It'll be weeks before she'll find a spot in the house where she can really settle down."
Geraldine was burying her face in the soft fur when the motor flashed up to the grassy path before the shop, and stopped.
"For the land's sake!" said Miss Mehitable. "It's the Barry car." She hurried forward, and Geraldine, still holding the cat against her cheek, saw the chauffeur open the door and Mrs. Barry emerge.
Ben's assurance flashed into her thought. "Whatever she may do hereafter, remember it is of her own volition."
The lady came in, and, smiling a return to Miss Mehitable's welcome, looked at the girl in the blue dress. She liked the self-possessed manner with which Geraldine greeted her.
"I'm trying to make Pearl feel at home, you see," said the girl. "Mrs. Whipp says it is very hard for her to move."
"Yes, I know that is a pussy's nature. I like cats, but I like birds better, so I don't keep any. How nice you look here. Oh, what charming roses!" going to the nodding beauties standing in a vase on the counter. "Are those for sale? If so they're going home to Keefe."
"No, Mrs. Barry, they ain't for sale," replied Miss Mehitable. "I'm so proud of 'em I can hardly stand it. Ben sent 'em to me. Wasn't he the dear boy to give the Mermaid such a send-off?"
"He is a nice boy, isn't he, Miss Upton?" returned the visitor graciously. "I'm glad to see you looking so well, Miss Melody."
Geraldine certainly had plenty of color and she held to the cat as an embarrassed actor does to a prop. "I tried to see you one day at Keefe, but you were out."
"Yes, I was dressin' the doll that day," said Miss Mehitable, smiling. She discerned friendliness in the air and was elated.
"The result is very nice," said Mrs. Barry graciously.
"Yes, I think blue serges are about the best thing at the seaside. I wanted to get her one o' these here real snappy sailor dresses, but she kept holdin' me back, holdin' me back, till it's a wonder we got any clothes at all!" Miss Upton laughed, and as Geraldine turned toward her with a smile, Mrs. Barry was conscious of a faint echo of that smile's effect upon her son.
Charlotte stood at the back of the shop looking on and reflectively picking her teeth with a pin. "She's a real good worker, Geraldine is," she remarked with a sniff, "I'll say that for her."
An angry flash leaped up Mrs. Barry's spine. That settled it. This exquisite creature must not stay where that charwoman could speak of her so familiarly.
"Certainly there has been a lot of good work done here," she said, looking about, "but it is a little early to come down yet. I have a lot of curtains to make for my cottage. Miss Melody"—turning to the girl with her most winning look—"you have these people all settled, don't you want to come home with me and help me make my curtains?"
Geraldine's heart leaped in her throat. Although she had put up a brave front she was terribly afraid of the queen of Keefe.
"Why, that would be fine!" exclaimed Miss Mehitable, her optimistic spirit at once seeing her clouds roll away and disperse in mist.
"I don't think everything is done here," said Geraldine; "I don't think you can spare me."
"Of course I can," returned Miss Mehitable vehemently. "You can go just as well as not." She perceived that this was not at all the answer the girl wanted, but she was determined to override all objections and even Geraldine's own feelings.
The latter looked at Mrs. Barry with a faint smile. She only hoped that Miss Upton's mental processes were not such an open book to the visitor as they were to herself. She saw plainly that if it came to the necessity Miss Mehitable would throw her into the motor with her own hands.
"She is not very complimentary, is she?" she remarked. "I thought I was so important."
"She hain't seen the Port yet either. Have you, Gerrie?" came from the back of the store.
Miss Mehitable turned on the speaker. "As if there was any hurry about that!" she said, so fiercely that Charlotte evaporated through the back door of the shop into the regions beyond.
"I'm sure you were important," said Mrs. Barry, "but it is I who need you now."
"I'll help you get your things," said Miss Upton, moving to the stairs with alacrity.
Geraldine dropped Pearl. She could not defend her any longer.
"Wait, Miss Upton," said Mrs. Barry. "How would it be for you to pack Miss Melody's trunk and express it after we are gone?"
Miss Mehitable's face was one broad beam. A trunk!
"She hasn't got any," she replied. "Of course hers was left in that No Man's Land and we just brought things down here in suit-cases and boxes."
"Very well, then, we can take them with us."
"But I shan't need—" began Geraldine.
Mrs. Barry interrupted her. "It is always hard to foresee just what one will need even in a week's time. We may as well take everything."
"Such a small everything," added Geraldine.
A little pulse was beating in her throat. She dreaded to find herself alone with this grande dame. She believed that Ben had kept his promise and that this move of his mother was being made of her own volition, but in what capacity was she being invited? Was it a case of giving a piece of employment to a needy girl in her son's absence, or was she being asked on the footing of a friend? In any case, she knew her lover would wish her to go, and as for Miss Upton she would use violence if necessary.
She went upstairs and came down wearing the black sailor hat of the Keefe brand, and carrying a suit-case. Miss Mehitable followed with sundry boxes which she took to the motor. Lamson jumped out and came to the shop to get the suit-case.
"One moment more, please," said Miss Upton, and vanished upstairs. She returned bearing a large hatbox.
"Oh, no, Miss Upton!" exclaimed Geraldine as Miss Mehitable had known she would. "Keep that till I come back. It's a seashore hat."
"It is not," said Miss Mehitable defiantly. "It is a town hat. She got the present of a beautiful hat, Mrs. Barry—"
"Dear Miss Upton doesn't say that she gave it to me herself," put in Geraldine.
No, dear Miss Upton did not; for she had a New England conscience; but she continued firmly:
"She may want to wear it; she's got a white dress."
Geraldine colored. Mrs. Barry had seen her white dress.
"By all means let us take the hat," said that lady, and Lamson bore off the box.
"Au revoir, then," said Geraldine, trying to speak lightly, and kissing Miss Mehitable. "I'll let you know what day I am coming back. Say good-bye to Mrs. Whipp for me."
Mrs. Barry's face became inscrutable as Geraldine spoke. She had seen the counter, and the phonograph, and in fancy she could see the impending excursionists.
"Good-bye, Miss Upton." And the shining motor started. "To Rockcrest, Lamson."
Miss Mehitable went back into the house. She suspected she should find Charlotte weeping, and she did.
"I s'pose I can't never say anything right," sniffed the injured one upon her employer's entrance.
"Never mind us, Charlotte," responded Miss Upton. "That's a very big thing that's just happened. I'm so tickled I'd dance if I thought the house would stand it."
"I don't see anything so wonderful in that stuck-up woman givin' the girl a job o' sewin'," returned Mrs. Whipp, blowing her nose. "When will Gerrie come back? How we'll miss her!"
"I think," said Miss Upton, impressively—"I think it is very safe to say—Never!"
"Why, what do you mean!"
"I mean Mrs. Barry ain't goin' to let that girl stand behind my counter this summer." Miss Mehitable gave a sudden, sly laugh. "I wasn't goin' to let her anyway," she added, in a low tone as if the walls might have ears, "but Mrs. Barry don't know that, and I'm glad she don't."
Miss Upton sat down and laughed and rocked, and rocked and laughed until Mrs. Whipp began to worry.
"Thumbscrews," said Miss Mehitable, between each burst, "thumbscrews!"
"Where shall I git 'em?" asked Charlotte, rising and staring about her vaguely.
"Nevermind. Let's have some tea," said Miss Mehitable, wiping her eyes.