Among the belongings in the carpetbag, which was no more—having been supplanted by a smart little suit-case marked with her initials—was a certificate from the Massachusetts Total Abstinence Society, duly signed by herself, and witnessed by the grammar-school teacher and the secretary of the organization. On this certificate (which was decorated by many presentations in dim black and white of mid-Victorian domestic life, and surmounted by a collection of scalloped clouds in which drifted three amateur looking angels amid a crowd of more professional cherubim) Eleanor had pledged herself to abstain from the use as a beverage of all intoxicating drinks, and from the manufacture or traffic in them. She had also subscribed herself as willing to make direct and persevering efforts to extend the principles and blessings of total abstinence.
“Red ink, Andrea,” her Uncle Jimmie had demanded, as the black-eyed waiter bent over him, “and ginger ale for the offspring.” Eleanor giggled. 79 It was fun to be with Uncle Jimmie in a restaurant again. He always called for something new and unexpected when he spoke of her to the waiter, and he was always what Albertina would consider “very comical” when he talked to him. “But stay,” he added holding up an admonitory finger, “I think we’ll give the little one eau rougie this time. Wouldn’t you like eau rougie, tinted water, Eleanor, the way the French children drink it?”
Unsuspectingly she sipped the mixture of water and ice and sugar, and “red ink” from the big brown glass bottle that the glowing waiter set before them.
As the meal progressed Jimmie told her that the grated cheese was sawdust and almost made her believe it. He showed her how to eat spaghetti without cutting it and pointed out to her various Italian examples of his object lesson; but she soon realized that in spite of his efforts to entertain her, he was really very unhappy.
“I’ve borrowed all the money I can, Angelface,” he confessed finally. “Tomorrow’s the last day of grace. If I don’t land that job at the Perkins agency I’ll have to give in and tell Peter and David, or wire Dad.” 80
“You could get some other kind of a job,” Eleanor said; “plumbing or clerking or something.” On Cape Cod the plumber and the grocer’s clerk lost no caste because of their calling. “Couldn’t you?”
“I could so demean myself, and I will. I’ll be a chauffeur, I can run a car all right; but the fact remains that by to-morrow something’s got to happen, or I’ve got to own up to the bunch.”
Eleanor’s heart sank. She tried hard to think of something to comfort him but she could not. Jimmie mixed her more eau rougie and she drank it. He poured a full glass, undiluted, for himself, and held it up to the light.
“Well, here’s to crime, daughter,” he said. “Long may it wave, and us with it.”
“That isn’t really red ink, is it?” she asked. “It’s an awfully pretty color—like grape juice.”