“That’s what he’s after,” Derrick explained. “Says he to himself: ‘I’ll rush the old lady off before they have a chance to say no, then they’ll just have to take her in.’ See? Trust Uncle Evarts for being sharp, every time.” But no one was heeding him. Mother and daughters were making a rush for that downstairs room to try to accomplish in breathless haste the dozen or more “last things” that were waiting for a leisure hour.
Left to himself the boy, with hands thrust into his pockets, tramped about the attic for a few minutes, curious to see what the great unfurnished room, which he seldom visited, had, stowed away in its keeping. He passed a number of interesting-looking packages, from whose bulging ends he caught glimpses of things that he could utilize in his “shop,” and mentally resolved to forage here some day and see what he could find. But he carried a divided mind, and although he whistled a few bars as he ran downstairs it was a rather gloomy-faced fellow who presently appeared before his mother for orders.
Being a boy who was distinctly loyal to his father, Derrick Forman had made very few remarks aloud about the family innovation; nobody but himself, at least so he fondly believed, knew how utterly he disliked the thought of it. He did not in the least remember his Aunt Elsie, although there was a tradition in the family that once in his very early childhood she had kissed him fervently and declared that he “looked enough like father” to be her brother.
“I’m awfully glad that I’m not!” he told himself, savagely, as he recalled the incident, “and I wish she were in Jericho. She isn’t a speck like my father, I know that; none of ’em are; but that’s something to be glad over. A fellow can afford to shout over the fact that he isn’t a bit like any of them.”
He had a distinct boyish recollection of his Aunt Caroline and his Uncle Evarts, and disliked them both. Aunt Caroline, as he remembered her, was always saying: “Dear me! Why do you yell so when you talk? None of your family is deaf.” Or: “If you were my boy I should give you a good whipping every time you rolled down stairs in that lubberly fashion.” Or: “For pity’s sake, Dick, don’t whistle all the time! your family do not seem to have any nerves.” “An everlasting nagger,” was the phrase with which he summed up her defects.
Yet after all, the real thorn in his heart was the fact that his aunt had not confined her “nagging” to the girls and himself, but was given to much advising his mother, and finding fault with her ways. He had a vivid memory of Aunt Caroline’s voice, high and insistent, as it came out to him when he stood in the hall waiting for a chance to speak to his mother: “You really ought to insist on Joseph’s having things fixed conveniently for you in the kitchen, at least; you can’t expect to keep a girl unless you furnish her with some of the modern conveniences; in these days they won’t stand it. Joseph ought to know that there are labor-saving devices that all respectable people use. He doesn’t understand, of course; men never do; but you ought to be firm about it; because he chose to trust a man that nobody else would, and so lost all his money, is no reason why he should let his family go without ordinary comforts. I’ll risk that he could raise some money for you if he knew he had to.” Then his mother’s voice, too low for him to hear, and his aunt’s again, in reply: “Oh, now, Louise, there is no use in getting on your dignity just because I mentioned Joseph; I’m sure I didn’t say anything against him; I said not a word more than I would of my own husband if he had been such a fool as to place confidence in that man. You need to remember that I knew Joseph long before you did, and, in some respects, I think I know him better now than you do.”
How the boy waiting in the hall hated her! He wanted to burst in upon her and say, fiercely: “You let my mother alone! She knows a great deal more than you do about everything; and don’t you dare to say another word about my father; he is the best father in the world, and we all think so; and I’m awful glad that he isn’t the least little speck like you.”
Of course, he did nothing of the kind; instead, he gave over the hope of a word with his mother, and went noisily down the hall, whistling very loud, and banged the door as hard as he could; these demonstrations being for his Aunt Caroline’s benefit. But he nursed his dislike of his aunt through the years; nothing in his after experiences helping to change his impressions of either her or his Uncle Evarts. He was all ready to dislike his Aunt Elsie as soon as she appeared. Even the memory of those early kisses rankled in his thoughts. What if she should think she could kiss him now, when he was taller than his father?
“If she tries it on me,” he muttered, “I’m afraid I’ll shake her. O yah! what a mess! Wish I was to be done with high school to-morrow, and could get out of this town. Home is spoiled, anyhow.”
His sister Ray, as she watched him a few minutes later swing down the street on an errand for his mother, had a shadow on her face over this very fear. It had been troubling her thoughts for days. Were they spoiling home for Derrick? If they were—ought it to be done? Derrick, the heedless, noisy, fun-loving boy, who rarely stopped to consider whether his fun was a pleasure or an annoyance to even his best friends. Derrick, who was inclined to be—gay; she had almost thought that hateful word “fast!” Already he liked the streets at night too well, and was chafing a little even under the very mild restraints that they had tried to throw around him. If this unknown aunt were like her sister and brother, might she not drive him from home altogether?