The Tracy diamonds

by Mary Jane Holmes

“Wall, I’ll be dumbed,” he exclaimed, setting his spectacles more squarely on his nose and running his eyes rapidly over the article. “Yes, I’ll be dumbed if this don’t beat all for a whopper. I shouldn’t s’pose Dotty would have writ it, and she a church member! Mebby she didn’t. Here, Dot,—Dorothy, come here.”

She came and listened wide eyed while her husband read and commented as he read. The scenery of Ridgefield was described in glowing terms. “Hills and valleys for pleasant drives, two ponds and a river for sailing, rowing and fishing; many points of interest, such as haunted houses, and the like.”

“That’s all so,” Zacheus said, “except the ‘haunted houses.’ There ain’t but one, and that’s about played out. Queer thing to put in a paper; but listen to the rest of the lockrum,” and he proceeded to read a description of the house, which was nearly as fine as if a Vanderbilt had planned it. The cuisine was first mentioned as unsurpassed, and superintended by the lady of the house. “That’s you, Dot,” and Zacheus nodded toward her. “That’s you, but what the old Harry is that cu-i-sine you superintend?”

Dot didn’t know, and her husband went on to the rooms, which were palatial in size, handsomely furnished,—hot and cold water,—with intimations of suites of apartments, each connected with a private bathroom and balcony. It didn’t say so in so many words, but the idea was there and Uncle Zach saw it and disclaimed against it as false. “Hot and cold water,” he said. “That’s great; only two fassets, and them in the hall under the stairs near the dinin’ room where it’s handy for the teamsters to wash up before goin’ to dinner; and what’s them suits of rooms, I’d like to know, with baths and things? It’s a fraud; only one bathroom in the house and that always out of gear and wantin’ plummin’,—and I’ve a good mind to write to the Times and tell ’em so. You didn’t have nothin’ to do with this, Dotty, did you?”

“No,” she replied, glancing at Mark Hilton, who sat in the office listening to the tirade and shaking with laughter.

“I wrote it,” he said at last, “and it is quite as true as most of the ads you see, and those rooms in the upper hall which open together are suites, if you choose to call them so.”

“Sweets! Who said anything about sweets? The paper called ’em suits,” the excited man rejoined, while Mark explained the sweets and cu-i-sine which had puzzled Zacheus more than the suits.

“I wanted something to attract New Yorkers,” Mark said, “and perhaps I did romance a little, but once get them here they’ll be all right.”

Partially satisfied with this explanation, but wondering why he should have mentioned the haunted house, with which, in a way, he was connected, and glad Dotty had nothing to do with the fraud, as he persisted in calling the advertisement, Zach gave up his idea of writing to the Times, and with his wife began to look for any result the advertisement might have. It came sooner than they anticipated in a letter from Mrs. Freeman Tracy of New York, whose grandfather, Gen. Allen, had lived behind the largest brass knocker and Corinthian columns in town and was lying under the tallest monument in Ridgefield cemetery. She had seen the advertisement, she wrote, and as she had, when a child, spent a few weeks with her grandfather, she had a most delightful recollection of the town and wished to revisit it. She would like a suite of rooms with bath adjoining for herself and daughter,—a smaller room near for her maid, and her meals served in her private parlor. She had just returned from abroad, and called it a salon, which puzzled Mrs. Taylor a little, until enlightened by Mrs. Mason, her Boston boarder, who, with her son Craig, was content with a table in the dining room. To be served in a salon was a new departure and if anything could have raised Mrs. Freeman Tracy in Mrs. Taylor’s estimation, the salon would have done it. This, however, was scarcely possible. The granddaughter of General Allen was a guest to be proud of without a salon, and Mrs. Taylor was thrown into a state of great excitement and Mark Hilton was told to write to the lady that she could be accommodated.

Here Uncle Zacheus interposed, saying he should write himself, and he did write a most wonderful letter! He would be glad to see Mrs. Tracy, he said, and would give her the best the house afforded. That notice in the paper overshot the mark some, but was none of his doings, nor Dotty’s either. Dotty was his wife. It was all true about the river and ponds and meadows and hills and views, but there wasn’t but one haunted house as he knew of and that was tumblin’ down. There was a good many places of interest, like old graves if she hankered after ’em, and an old suller hole where a garrison once stood, and as to the tavern, it was as good as they made ’em,—clean sheets, all the towels she wanted, spring beds, hair mattrasses, feathers if she’d rather have ’em, silver forks, too; none of your plated kind, and bread that would melt in her mouth. Dotty did all the cookin’ and washed her hands every time she turned round. The rooms was large and furnished comfortable, with a rockin’ chair in every one, and when they wanted to ride out in style he had two bloods, Paul and Virginny, which couldn’t be beat. But them elegancies the paper spoke on was all in your eye. There was only two fassets of hot and cold water, and the hot didn’t always work. There wasn’t any sweets, such as he guessed she meant, but there was some rooms openin’ together and jinin’ the bath room, which she could have, and she could eat her victuals by herself if she wanted to. He told her he knew her grandfather well,—had watched with him when he was sick,—sat up with him after he died, and did a good many things at the funeral. Signing himself, “Yours to command, Zacheus Taylor;” he handed the letter to his wife for her approval.