CHAPTER IV
THE MORNING OF THE PARTY
“Yes, I hope it will rain,” Herbert said to himself as he went tearing along the road towards home.
Just why he wished it to rain he did not know, except to spite somebody—his father, perhaps, who was so unreasonably bitter against the Greys, “the very nicest people in town, while Louie was certainly the prettiest girl, and would cast in the shade anyone, whether from Springfield or Worcester or Boston,” and he wanted Fred Lansing to see her. It was a decided shame that she was not coming. Yes, he hoped it would rain so hard nobody would come.
It did not rain, but there was a shower in the night, which laid the dust and made the morning fresher and more delightful.
“Just the time for a drive,” the judge said to his guests after breakfast was over. “We want to get away from this clatter, with things generally upside down and Susan so rattled she don’t know what she is about.”
A part of the waiters from Worcester had come to look over the premises and make suggestions, and they were already in the kitchen and butler’s pantry and rousing the ire of the cook and housemaids with their criticisms. A florist was there with his assistants, and the rooms were full of palms and flowers and potted plants. Crash was being laid down for the dancing on a very broad and long piazza, which was screened from public view by wide awnings, which could be rolled up if the night proved hot, as it bade fair to do. At one end of the piazza the orchestra was to sit, and the piano had to be moved into its place, with chairs and rugs and divans for the lookers-on.
In the grounds preparations were making for the band which was to play between the dances. Chinese lanterns were being suspended in fanciful lines from the trees and from the house to the entrance of the grounds, and everywhere were the hurry and bustle attending preparations for a large entertainment, both outdoors and in. Not accustomed to giving companies, Mrs. White was threatened with a nervous headache, and was in a state of wild excitement, giving the most contradictory orders and bewildering her assistants generally. Taken as a whole, the house was topsy-turvy, with sixteen people at work, and none of them seemingly level-headed except Fred Lansing, who, if allowed to do it, would have brought order out of confusion, so quiet and systematic were all his plans and movements. But the judge insisted upon taking him for a drive, saying they would go to the bank first, as he wanted to see his cashier, who had sent him a note early that morning, telling him that Godfrey Sheldon, a farmer, who lived in the country and was his heaviest depositor, had told him the night before that he was coming the next day to draw out his five thousand dollars.
“Of course, we can stand a great deal more than that,” the cashier wrote, “but wouldn’t it be safe to ask Sheldon to leave a part for a day or two, until we receive that loan due to-morrow?”
“No, sir!” the judge said, as he read the note. “I’ll never ask any man to wait for a dollar. My bank asking time! I’d laugh. Let Sheldon have his money. He is an old curmudgeon, anyway, and has to be handled with gloves. I wonder if he was invited to our party. It is like him to take a miff if he isn’t; he feels himself of so much importance because he was sent to the Legislature one winter and had Hon. before his name. Susan, where are you?”
Susan came with a big white apron on, her mouth full of pins and a ball of twine in her hands.