Mrs. Hardin had never had her tact so completely taxed. She balanced her answer carefully, with apprehension. Almost anything would sound wrong quoted as from her. She was Hardin’s wife; his success or failure must still involve her. She could hear her answer quoted to Mr. Rickard. “Mr. Hardin hoped it would not be necessary.” And then warmly she praised Rickard’s foresight in case anything did happen!
She went into the house, flushed and blinking and uncomfortable, revolving a better, more diplomatic answer. She was convinced that that last question had been the object of the visit. These top-buggy visits, as Innes called them, annoyed her. It was an irritation to all the women of the towns, for Mrs. Youngberg never had time to get out; she always would keep them standing restive under the glare of desert sun. From the wife of Youngberg, they would never have endured it. Senator Graves made the situation a trifle delicate.
CHAPTER XVI
THE BEST LAID SCHEMES
IT was the forenoon of the second. Several times during the morning Gerty left her preparations to take forecasts of the weather. It was not so hot as it had been and there was a moon. She congratulated herself; it would be a fine night.
Her tent door was locked all morning. A new variety of salad was on the way, the latest New York idea. For hours, Gerty’s fingers were shredding the skins from muscat grapes which were to be chilled, and served with French dressing on crisp desert lettuce. The grapes, too, were desert bred. It was a long task, and while her fingers worked, her mind ran ahead nervously to the few name-cards that had to be finished, white cards with a design of the palo verde, the characteristic tree of the region. The color scheme was pastel green and white. Pistachio ice-cream and vanilla had been ordered from Los Angeles, and Gerty herself had colored the cream peppermints. Innes had suggested using the yellow blossoms of the mesquit, but Mrs. Hardin hated yellow; it was too “positive.”
Her eyes watched the clock hands. Eleven o’clock, and those candle-shades not done! More time than she had reckoned on had gone into the building of the white mull lingerie dress; it had pressed her with the shades and cards. And she had no time to work at night, for the Hardins were always around then. Not that there was any reason why she should not occupy herself indeed just as she chose, but she hated interference. If there was anything she resented more than another, it was interference. Rather than explain why she wanted name-cards, or must have paper shades for the candles, or moreover why it was necessary to have a frock that had not been seen before, she preferred to lock her doors and work “like mad.” Tom’s ridicule was so stupid, and his sister was getting to be like him; not that she said much, but she had such a scornful look!
The clock hands were flying. She stopped to count the grapes already peeled and seeded. “At least fifteen to each plate,” she had calculated. “And twenty guests, twenty times fifteen—three hundred.” She counted them again. “Only two hundred!” The clock hands ticked away another half-hour. Her fingers began to go wild; several finished grapes fell to the floor. “I’ll wash them off,” she thought.
She was peeling the two hundred and fiftieth, when there was a sound of wheels. A clear “Oo-hoo” summoned her.
“It is Mrs. Youngberg.” She was horrified. “And she wasn’t to come until after lunch.” She slipped off her gingham apron and ran out breathless to the sidewalk.
“Hope you don’t mind my coming early,” called Mrs. Youngberg. “It was now or never. Can you come with me?” She waved to the greens in the box buggy. “And are these enough?”