There were times when, in spite of disease, death, or disaster, Mrs. John Upjohn had to have clothes; more clothes, no doubt I should say, or other clothes. At any rate, when such occasions were imminent, Mrs. Upjohn was wont to summon the dressmaker to come to her house, and the dressmaker would come promptly and would camp in the house until the siege was over, going home only to sleep. One would think that Mrs. Upjohn might have offered Letty Lambkin a bed to sleep in, for Letty had been a schoolmate of hers before misfortune overtook her; and Mrs. Upjohn had beds to spare and Letty always arrived before breakfast and stayed until after supper. Perhaps such an offer would have offended a sensitive spirit. That is only a guess, of course, for I have no means of knowing what Mrs. Upjohn's ideas were upon that subject. At all events, she never gave Letty a chance of being offended at any such offer.
An occasion such as I have mentioned arose on the day of the Hazens' fire, and Mrs. Upjohn had accordingly sent John Junior around to Letty's house with the customary message. Which message John Junior had delivered with an air of great dejection and with the very evident hope that Miss Lambkin would be unable to come. But, alas! Miss Lambkin smiled at John cheerfully and told him to tell his mother that she would be there bright and early in the morning; that she had felt it in her bones that Alicia Upjohn would be wanting her on that day, and she had put off Mrs. Robbins and Mrs. Sarjeant on purpose so's Alicia wouldn't have to wait.
Whereupon John Junior muttered unintelligibly and turned away, leaving Miss Lambkin gazing fondly after him and calling after him to know if it wasn't cold. John Junior muttered again, inaudibly to Miss Lambkin, but not unintelligibly. He was not fond of those sieges, to say the least.
"Darn it!" he muttered, kicking viciously at the ice. "That means two weeks and I can't stay at Hen's all the whole time for two weeks. A fellow has to be at home for meals. If she only wasn't there for breakfast and supper!" John Junior kicked viciously at the ice again; and, the ice proving refractory, he stubbed his toe and almost fell. "Ow!" he said; "darn it!" But that was an afterthought. He betook him to the harbor.
There is some reason to believe that the late John Senior had not regarded these visitations with more favor than did his son; there were some that did not hesitate to say that his end had been hastened by them and by the semiannual house-cleaning. Mrs. Upjohn was considered a notable housekeeper. "She takes it hard," he had said to Hen's father in an unguarded moment of confidence. Hen's father had laughed. Hen's mother was not a notable housekeeper. John Senior had sighed. At that time there was but one club in Whitby. He was not a member of that club. Such men as Hugh Morton and Gerrit Torrington were members; even John Hazen was said to be a member, although he was never at the club-rooms. So even that solace was denied to John Senior. He couldn't stay at Hen's house all the time either; and, there seeming to be no other way of escape, he up and had a stroke and died in two hours. At least, so rumor ran, the connection between cause and effect being of rumor's making. I have no wish to contradict it. I have no doubt that I should have wanted to do as John Senior had done. Very possibly Patty had some such wish.
The two weeks of Letty were now up and the end was not in sight. She and Mrs. Upjohn sat in Mrs. Upjohn's sewing-room, which was strewn with unfinished skirts and waists and scraps of cloth. Letty sewed rapidly on the skirt; Mrs. Upjohn sewed slowly—very, very slowly—on something. It really did not matter what. If the completion of Mrs. Upjohn's clothes had depended upon Mrs. Upjohn's unaided efforts she would never have had anything to wear.
"Where's Patty gone, Alicia?" asked Letty, a thread between her teeth. "Hospital?"
Mrs. Upjohn stopped sewing. "Yes," she replied in her deliberate way. "I believe her father is worse. She got a message this morning before you came, and I think it was unfavorable, to judge by her face."
"Land!" said Miss Lambkin. "I guess he's going to die. He's a pretty old man. Eighty, if he's a day, would be my guess."
Mrs. Upjohn nodded. "Just eighty."