Stott meantime had been figuring on the time of Shirley's probable arrival. If the cablegram had been received in Paris the previous evening it would be too late to catch the French boat. The North German Lloyd steamer was the next to leave and it touched at Cherbourg. She would undoubtedly come on that. In a week at most she would be here. Then it became a question as to who should go to meet her at the dock. The judge could not go, that was certain. It would be too much of an ordeal. Mrs. Rossmore did not know the lower part of the city well, and had no experience in meeting ocean steamships. There was only one way out—would Stott go? Of course he would and he would bring Shirley back with him to Massapequa. So during the next few days while Stott and the judge toiled preparing their case, which often necessitated brief trips to the city, Mrs. Rossmore, seconded with sulky indifference by Eudoxia, was kept busy getting a room ready for her daughter's arrival.
Eudoxia, who came originally from County Cork, was an Irish lady with a thick brogue and a husky temper. She was amiable enough so long as things went to her satisfaction, but when they did not suit her she was a termagant. She was neither beautiful nor graceful, she was not young nor was she very clean. Her usual condition was dishevelled, her face was all askew, and when she dressed up she looked like a valentine. Her greatest weakness was a propensity for smashing dishes, and when reprimanded she would threaten to take her traps and skidoo. This news of the arrival of a daughter failed to fill her with enthusiasm. Firstly, it meant more work; secondly she had not bargained for it. When she took the place it was on the understanding that the family consisted only of an elderly gentleman and his wife, that there was practically no work, good wages, plenty to eat, with the privilege of an evening out when she pleased. Instead of this millennium she soon found Stott installed as a permanent guest and now a daughter was to be foisted on her. No wonder hard working girls were getting sick and tired of housework!
As already hinted there was no unhealthy curiosity among Massapequans regarding their new neighbors from the city but some of the more prominent people of the place considered it their duty to seek at least a bowing acquaintance with the Rossmores by paying them a formal visit. So the day following the conversation on the porch when the judge and Stott had gone to the city on one of their periodical excursions, Mrs. Rossmore was startled to see a gentleman of clerical appearance accompanied by a tall, angular woman enter their gate and ring the bell.
The Rev. Percival Pontifex Deetle and his sister Miss Jane Deetle prided themselves on being leaders in the best social circle in Massapequa. The incumbent of the local Presbyterian church, the Rev. Deetle, was a thin, sallow man of about thirty-five. He had a diminutive face with a rather long and very pointed nose which gave a comical effect to his physiognomy. Theology was written all over his person and he wore the conventional clerical hat which, owing to his absurdly small face, had the unfortunate appearance of being several sizes too large for him. Miss Deetle was a gaunt and angular spinster who had an unhappy trick of talking with a jerk. She looked as if she were constantly under self-restraint and was liable at any moment to explode into a fit of rage and only repressed herself with considerable effort. As they came up the stoop, Eudoxia, already instructed by Mrs. Rossmore, was ready for them. With her instinctive respect for the priestly garb she was rather taken back on seeing a clergyman, but she brazened it out:
“Mr. Rossmore's not home.” Then shaking her head, she added: “They don't see no visitors.”
Unabashed, the Rev. Deetle drew a card from a case and handing it to the girl said pompously:
“Then we will see Mrs. Rossmore. I saw her at the window as we came along. Here, my girl, take her this card. Tell her that the Reverend Pontifex Deetle and Miss Deetle have called to present their compliments.”
Brushing past Eudoxia, who vainly tried to close the door, the Rev. Deetle coolly entered the house, followed by his sister, and took a seat in the parlour.
“She'll blame me for this,” wailed the girl, who had not budged and who stood there fingering the Rev. Deetle's card.
“Blame you? For what?” demanded the clerical visitor in surprise.