APPARENTLY the Applebys’ customers had liked “The T Room” well enough—some of them had complimented Mrs. Appleby on the crispness of her doughnuts, the generousness of her chicken sandwiches. Those who had quarreled about the thickness of the bread or the vagueness of flavor in the tea Father had considered insulting, and he had been perky as a fighting-sparrow in answering them. A good many must have been pleased, for on their trip back from Provincetown they returned, exclaimed that they remembered the view from the rose-arbor, and chatted with Father about the roads and New York and fish. As soon as the first novelty of Miss Mitchin’s was gone, the Applebys settled down to custom which was just large enough to keep their hopes staggering onward, and just small enough to eat away their capital a few cents a day, instead of giving them a profit.
In the last week of July they were visited by their daughter Lulu—Lulu the fair, Lulu the spectacled, Lulu the lily wife of Harris Hartwig, the up-to-date druggist of Saserkopee, New York.
Lulu had informed them two weeks beforehand that they were to be honored with the presence of herself and her son Harry; and Father and Mother had been unable to think of any excuse strong enough to keep her away. Lulu wasn’t unkind to her parents; rather, she was too kind; she gave them good advice and tried to arrange Mother’s hair in the coiffures displayed by Mrs. Edward Schuyler Deflaver of Saserkopee, who gave smart teas at the Woman’s Exchange. Lulu cheerily told Father how well he was withstanding the hand of Time, which made him feel decrepit and become profane.
In fact, though they took it for granted that they adored their dear daughter Lulu, they knew that they would not enjoy a single game of cribbage, nor a single recital by Signor Sethico Applebi the mouth-organ virtuoso, as long as she was with them. But she was coming, and Mother frantically cleaned everything and hid her favorite old shoes.
Mrs. Lulu Hartwig arrived with a steamer-trunk, two new gowns, a camera, and Harry. She seemed disappointed not to find a large summer hotel with dancing and golf next door to “The T Room,” and she didn’t hesitate to say that her parents would have done better—which meant that Lulu would have enjoyed her visit more—if they had “located” at Bar Harbor or Newport. She rearranged the furniture, but as there was nothing in the tea-room but chairs, tables, and a fireplace, there wasn’t much she could do.
She descended on Grimsby Center, and came back enthusiastic about Miss Mitchin’s. She had met the young man with the Albanian costume, and he had talked to her about vorticism and this jolly new Polish composer with his suite for tom-tom and cymbals. She led Father into the arbor and effervescently demanded, “Why don’t Mother and you have a place like that dear old mansion of Miss Mitchin’s, and all those clever people there and all?”
Father fairly snarled, “Now look here, young woman, the less you say about Miss Mitten the more popular you’ll be around here. And don’t you dare to speak to your mother about that place. It’s raised the devil with our trade, and I won’t have your mother bothered with it. And if you mean the young fellow that needs a decent pair of pantaloons by this ‘Albanian costume’ business, why I sh’d think you’d be ashamed to speak of him.”
“Now, Father, of course you have particularly studied artists—”
“Look here, young woman, when you used to visit us in New York, it was all right for you to get our goats by sticking your snub nose in the air and asking us if we’d read a lot of new-fangled books that we’d never heard of. I’ll admit that was a good way to show us how superior you were. But this Miss Mitten place is a pretty serious proposition for us to buck, and I absolutely forbid you to bother your mother with mentioning it.”
Father stood straight and glared at her. There was in him nothing of the weary little man who was in awe of Miss Mitchin’s. Even his daughter was impressed. She forgot for a moment that she was Mrs. Hartwig, now, and had the best phonograph in Saserkopee. But she took one more shot: