The rooms were all provided with open fireplaces for heating purposes, but the cooking apparatus consisted of a gas stove. Gas, electricity, steam heating and both hot and cold water were furnished by the Association at a small cost. In fact the rent of the house, its lighting and heating as well as its supply of water, cost me only one hundred and forty-four dollars per year, or twelve dollars per month, and the service was complete. Besides this, any repairs needed were attended to at once and the house was kept in perfect order. The furniture was also provided by the department store as selected by myself. Even the carpets were manufactured in Co-opolis. This furniture was paid for by me in Commonwealth orders and was mine without reservation.
In those times most of us preferred to prepare our breakfasts at home, but we usually either had our other meals sent from the public kitchens close at hand or went to the public dining halls or hotel. The Domestic department had charge of the entire domestic work of the city and companies were stationed in each precinct for that purpose. Whenever any house wanted domestic work performed it was only necessary to telephone to the proper station and a well-trained domestic, either man or woman, as desired, was sent for the purpose. The time of the domestic was charged to the house and the cost of the service collected by the department each month, like the rent, gas, telephone, water and heating bills. The streets and grounds were kept in order by the city at the public expense.
For nearly a year an aunt of mine, an old widow of most excellent character, had been keeping house for me. She was not a member of the association, did no service and drew no pay, but lived entirely on my bounty. She was a strict Congregationalist of the New England type, read her bible diligently, assisted in maintaining a religious society of that denomination, and was one of the most kindly and lovable souls in our neighborhood. She was, of course, too old to become an active member of the society and too poor to purchase a membership. She did not altogether approve the system in operation in Co-opolis, but rarely ever expressed any criticism upon it.
I think she was as comfortable and happy as any old lady in the country, for her time was employed, either in sewing, light domestic work, reading, writing letters home, or riding with the motorcycle which I kept at her disposal. She was always endeavoring to economize in household matters because she felt that she was a charge upon me. It was in vain that I assured her of the growing wealth of Co-opolis, and tried to get her to realize that I had a share in all this wealth which would last me my lifetime. She could not comprehend it and still continued to save.
This morning she was quite busy, according to her usual custom, and it was not long after I sat down to read that her cheerful voice called me to partake of the morning meal. It was not an elaborate one, but it was an Idaho production almost entirely. The rolled oats were grown, rolled and prepared in Co-opolis; the flour, maple syrup, butter and even the sugar were made in Idaho, and none better were ever made elsewhere. The sugar was the product of the beet-sugar factory at Laselle, which had been established by the National Brotherhood two years before. The salt was manufactured by our Association, and this morning we had plates which were among the first productions of a new industry added by the Department of Manufactures just two months previously. The silver on the table was some which I had inherited from my mother and was highly prized. The oak extension table, sideboard and chairs in the dining room also represented our Co-opolitan labor. Aunt Lydia sat at the table with me and served the coffee.
“Willie,” said she, as she reached me the cream, “I guess I won’t go to-day. I promised Mrs. Cressy that I would spend a day with her, and she has a holiday; so, if you have no objection, I will go there instead of the lake.”
“Why, Aunt Lydia,” I exclaimed, “what has made you change so suddenly? Of course you must go with us. Mr. Fuller and Joe Preston are all going and if you don’t go I’ll simply have to ride alone. You must go.”
“No, Willie.” She always called me Willie. “No,” she declared again. “The Prestons have company just from Boston, a Miss Woodberry; I met her yesterday. She seems to be a very nice young lady and I want you to go with her and show her the valley.”
“Why, aunt,” I replied, “I will do nothing of the kind. I want you to go and have made my arrangements accordingly.”
But my aunt was obdurate and all I could say was unavailing. The truth was she was anxious that I should marry and was, very much to my annoyance at times, always contriving to throw me in the way of young ladies, hoping that I would meet my fate. I suspected that this was another scheme of that kind and felt provoked. If I could have found a good excuse I would have canceled my engagement and remained at home. But no excuse presented itself. What was even worse, as I thought, my aunt had gone so far as to invite Miss Woodberry to take her place in the party, which that young lady as a guest of the Prestons, who were also going, very naturally and promptly accepted. Of course I could not scold the dear old meddling lady, and so, although much put out, I philosophically submitted to the inevitable.