Bobbie, General Manager: A Novel

by Olive Higgins Prouty

I was dreadfully afraid I'd meet some one I knew on the way, and they'd inquire what I had in the bundle. It was the awkwardest thing I ever attempted to carry in my life. Try it sometime. When I struggled up to Dr. Maynard's front door, I wondered if he had been watching me from the windows, and asking himself what in the name of heaven was coming now. But he wasn't at home. Eliza who came to the door explained that Dr. Maynard had gone out horseback riding, but wouldn't I come in and wait?

I thanked Eliza—I'd never been inside Dr. Maynard's house before—and entered the hall. She showed me into a big square room at the left, and told me to sit down.

"I won't stop, I think," I said. "I'll just leave this. It's a Christmas present for Dr. Maynard. Don't tell him who left it. There's a card inside."

"I'll lay it right here on his desk," said Eliza, grinning with pleasure.

She'd no sooner put my bundle down than I heard the clatter of horse's hoofs on the hard driveway outside.

"I believe he's coming," I exclaimed. "How lucky! I'll wait."

After Eliza had gone back to the kitchen and I was alone, I gazed about the room. It was a dark, dull room with bronze-coloured walls. Low, black walnut bookcases were built in around two sides, and over them hung two solitary pictures—steel engravings of battle scenes. There were several huge leather armchairs, and a bare leather couch in one corner. There wasn't a single sofa-pillow on it. I didn't believe Dr. Maynard liked sofa-pillows after all. Everything was so big and dark and stiff in that room, I was afraid a pillow would look out of place. I walked over to Dr. Maynard's desk. It was just like the room—nothing pretty on it—a book or two, a big bronze horse, a piece of black onyx for a paperweight. There was also a small, dark leather frame, and in it a kodak picture of Alec on horseback. The horse was poor dear little Dixie, who had gone away. I remembered when Dr. Maynard had taken that picture. It was in our back yard last summer. The smoke-bush had been in full plumage. Just before he snapped the picture, he had called to me, "You get into it, too, Bobbie. Stand up here, in front, by Dixie's head." And there I was, as sure as life, pinching the dear little horse's soft under lip, and smiling at Dr. Maynard.

As I stood looking at the picture, wondering where Dixie had gone—for Alec hadn't told me and I dreaded to ask—Dr. Maynard passed by the window by my side. He was coming in from the stable by way of the front door, and Eliza would have no opportunity for telling him that he had a caller. As I heard him fitting his key into the lock of the outside door, it occurred to me that it would be fun to hide. I glanced around the room. There wasn't a drapery in sight. There wasn't a hanging of any description that I could crawl behind. So finally I dashed into what proved to be a closet—dark as pitch.

Dr. Maynard didn't stop in the hall. He didn't call Eliza. He came directly toward the library door and entered the room. The sun was just setting, and a few last rays came slanting through the windows. They burnished the room like magic brass-polish. The bronze-coloured walls shone like dull copper; the brown leather armchairs, the black walnut woodwork, the old camel-shaded rugs were absolutely golden. As Dr. Maynard stood in the late sunshine in his khaki coloured riding things, his face all aglow and ruddy with the cold, he too glowed like everything else. He looked very handsome in his riding boots (I could see him through the crack in the door) and much sportier than in automobile goggles and a visored cap.

He tossed down his riding whip and soft felt hat in a chair, rubbed his bare hands together as if they were cold, blew through his fingers, then abruptly flung himself full length on the leather couch. He clasped his two hands underneath his head, and lay there with his eyes wide open, staring up at the ceiling. I hoped he wouldn't keep me waiting long. A small travelling clock on the desk struck four-thirty, and he turned toward it. It was then that he saw the big white bundle resting on his blotter. He frowned a moment, as his gaze fell upon it (I was shaking with laughter) then got up and walked over to it. He picked it up, turned it over, and laid it down again. He examined the outside closely—for an address, I suppose—gave it up, then shoving his hands into his pockets, stood looking down at the bundle, as if some stranger had left a baby at his door and he didn't know what to do with it. Finally, he decided to open the thing at least, and began taking out the pins. Beneath the brown paper was the layer of white tissue paper, tied with red Christmas ribbon. I didn't think Dr. Maynard would ever get beneath that tissue paper. You would have thought that there was something explosive inside. He lifted up the rustling package gingerly by the red ribbon and looked it all over. My card was hanging from the under side. Dr. Maynard took it off at last and read it.