The Captain was turning about, trying to see how the coat set in the back and at the same time watching the hang of the trousers. Evidently he was satisfied with it. For he said: “Well–guess I’ll be going. I’ll just mosey down to Mrs. Herdicker’s to give Emmy and Marthy and Ruthy something to keep ’em from thinking of their real troubles–eh?” And with a flourish he was gone.
When Grant’s order was filled, he said, “Violet will call for this, George; I have some other matters to attend to.”
As he assembled the goods for the order, Mr. Brotherton called out, “Well, how is Violet, anyway?” Grant smiled. “Violet is doing well. She is blooming over again, and when she found herself before a typewriter–it really seemed to take the curve out of her back. Henry declares that the typewriter put ribbon in her hair. Laura Van Dorn, I believe, is responsible for Violet’s shirt waists. Henry Fenn comes to the office twice a day, to make reports on the sewing business. But what he’s really doing, George, is to let her smell his breath to prove that he’s sober, and so she runs the two jobs at once. Have you seen Henry recently?”
“Well,” replied Brotherton, “he was in a month or so ago to borrow ten to buy a coat–so that he could catch up 464with the trousers of that suit before they grew too old. He still buys his clothes that way.”
Grant threw back his red head and grinned a grim, silent grin: “Well, that’s funny. Didn’t you know what is keeping him away?” Again Grant grinned. “The day he was here he came wagging down with that ten-dollar bill, but his conscience got the best of him for lavishing so much money on himself, so he slipped it to Violet and told her to buy her some new teeth–you know she’s been ashamed to open her mouth now for years. Violet promised she would get the teeth in time for Easter. And pretty soon in walks Mrs. Maurice Stromsky–who scrubs in the Wright & Perry Building, whose baby died last summer and had to be buried in the Potter’s field–she came in; and she and Violet got to talking about the baby–and Violet up and gave that ten to Mrs. Stromsky, to get the baby out of the Potter’s field.”
Mr. Brotherton laughed his great laugh. Grant went on:
“But that isn’t all. The next day in walks Mrs. Maurice Stromsky, penitent as a dog, and I heard her squaring herself with Violet for giving that old saw-buck of yours to the Delaneys, whose second little girl had diphtheria and who had no money for antitoxin. I never saw your ten again, George,” said Grant. “It seemed to be going down for the last time.” He looked at Brotherton quizzically for a second and asked:
“So old Henry hasn’t been around since–isn’t that joyous? Well–anyway, he’ll show up to-day or to-morrow, for he’s got the new coat; he got it this morning. Jasper was telling me.”
In an hour Grant, returning after his morning’s errands, was standing by the puny little blaze that John Dexter had stirred out of the logs in the Serenity. The two were standing together. Mr. Brotherton, reading his Kansas City paper at his desk, called to them: “Well, I see Doc Jim’s still holding his deadlock and they can’t elect a United States Senator without him!”
A telegraph messenger boy came in, looked into the Serenity, and said, “Mr. Adams, I was looking for you.”