Suzanna Stirs the Fire Part 6

Maizie's face grew luminous. "And so I'll do good too, just like you,"

she said, with a beautiful faith.

"You will do good, too, my daughter," he answered, with exquisite egotism in his inclusion.

Peter, eager-eyed, looked up at his father.

"Do you think I have a color, too, daddy?" he asked.

"Yes, Peter. Take your place."

Peter did so.

For him there grew a tongue of st.u.r.dy bronze. In the dim light it waved across the surface of the gla.s.s plate.

And Mr. Procter said: "In time our little boy Peter will build great bridges."

"That four horses can walk across, daddy?" Peter cried in ecstasy.

"That a hundred horses can walk across, and a big engine pull safely its train of cars."

Then again into the inventor's eyes leaped a radiance. He placed his hand lovingly upon the machine as though it were alive, and indeed so it seemed to be, for into it he had put his finest ideals, his deepest hopes for the development of man.

"A few months more of work," he cried. "And then it will be ready to give to the world."

Someone came lightly up the stairs. A head appeared, then a body, then a hearty voice: "May I come in?" it asked.

Mrs. Procter swung the door wide to Mr. Reynolds, neighbor across the way. He entered with a little hesitation. He was a large man with a heavy brick-colored face, yet with eyes that had preserved some spirit of youth. Mr. Reynolds was as great an idealist as his friend, the inventor, though his idealism gave out in totally different directions.

He read all sorts of books, but reacted to them with originality. His imagination only grasped their meanings, not his intellect. He worked in another town, several miles from Anchorville, in a large chair factory, and several times a week in the evening he stood upon a soap box on a street corner, and amused a mixed audience by his picturesque setting forth of what he thought was wrong with the world; also what methods he believed would, if employed, straighten out the tangles.

Since he spoke "straight from the shoulder," as he put it, touching dramatically upon the hand of wealth as causing the tangles, he had called down upon himself the wrath of the town's richest man, old John Ma.s.sey, owner of the Ma.s.sey Steel Mills. Twice Mr. Ma.s.sey had threatened the eloquent and fearless orator with arrest, and twice for some unknown reason he had refrained from carrying out his threat, and the authorities of the town complacently allowed Mr. Reynolds to continue his pastime.

"I knew you were at home today," said Mr. Reynolds, "and I must see the machine." He looked at the joyous face of the inventor.

"Why, have you been trying it out?" he cried.

"Yes, and with a fair degree of success. Of course, I realize it may not always work as it did today. Indeed, the colors are not so strong as I expect eventually to get them."

"A great piece of work," said Mr. Reynolds, advancing to the middle of the room and falling into the orator's att.i.tude. "I've thought of it every day since you told me of it. When I see men in the factory working at jobs they fair hate, because they and theirs need bread--and breaking under the bondage--Oh, I say, Procter, I wish you could bring the machine to perfection soon and get others to believe in it."

Mr. Procter's eyes lost their light. "That's it, to make others believe!"

Mrs. Procter went to her husband. She put her hand on his arm and looked up into his face with a gaze of perfect faith. "A big purposeful idea like yours, that's going to make humanity happier, can't fail but some day to be brought to the world's attention. Never lose faith, my man."

The shadow of discouragement fell swiftly from him.

"And, now," she continued before he could speak, "all wait here a little while. The baby's still asleep," she flung over her shoulder as she left the room.

Shortly she returned bearing a large tray which she set down on the table. Then she lit the side lamp; it cast a soft glow over the room.

"Now all draw close," Mrs. Procter invited.

So they drew chairs near the table. There was milk for the children, little seed cakes, thin bread and b.u.t.ter, and cups of strong tea for the inventor and the visitor.

The children, sipping their milk and eating the little sweet cakes, listening to the talk of their father and Mr. Reynolds, their expressed hopes for the success of the machine and its effect upon humanity, gazed at the invention. The sense of a community of interest filled them. They felt that they, each and all, had put something of everlasting worth into The Machine, just as it had put some enduring understanding into them.

"I feel," whispered Suzanna to Maizie, "as though we were in church."

Mr. Reynolds caught the whisper. "And well you may, little la.s.sie," he returned. "Your father is a fine, good man with no thought at all of himself, and some day," finished Mr. Reynolds, grandly, "his name will go rolling down the ages as a benefactor to all mankind."

A tribute and a prophecy! The children were glad that Mr. Reynolds had such clear vision.

CHAPTER IV

THE NEW DRESS

An influence vaguely felt by all the Procter family lingered for days after father's Sat.u.r.day afternoon at home. And then ordinary hours intruded and filled the small lives with their duties and their pleasures. Still shadowy, deeply hidden, the influence of the visionary father lay. Even small Maizie awoke to tiny dreams, her literalness for moments drowned out.

At school, Maizie and Suzanna were perhaps the least extravagantly dressed little girls. Exquisitely clean, often quaintly adorned with ribbons placed according to Suzanna's fancies, it still could be seen that they came from an humble home.

Still, in their att.i.tude there was toward their companions an unconscious patronage, felt but hardly resented by the others, since Suzanna and Maizie gave love and warmth besides.

And this unconscious feeling of superiority sprang from "belonging" to a father who worked in his free hours that others out in the big world might some day be glad he had lived! This idealism lent l.u.s.ter even to his calling of weighing nails and selling washboards to the town of Anchorville.

Jenny Bryson, in Suzanna's cla.s.s, bragged of her father's financial condition, and indeed she was a resplendent advertis.e.m.e.nt of his success.

Suzanna listened interestedly. She gazed with admiration at the velvet dress, the gold ring, and the pearl neck beads. She loved them all--the smoothness of the velvet, the sparkle of the gold, the soft l.u.s.ter of the pearls. But she felt no envy. She loved the adornments with her imagination, not with desire. And though she could not say so to Jenny, she rather pitied her for not having a father to whom a future generation would bow in great grat.i.tude.

Then too, as mother said, if you merely bought clothes, you lost the joy of creating. Witness the ingenious way, following Suzanna's suggestion, that mother had draped a lace curtain over a worn blue dress, and behold, a result wonderful.

It was fun then to "make the best of your material," as mother again said. Mother, who, when not too tired from many tasks, could paint rare word pictures, build for eager little listeners castles of hope; build, especially for Suzanna, colorful palaces with flaming jewels, crystal lamps, scented draperies.

Joys sometimes come close together. Father's day, then Sunday with an hour spent in the Ma.s.sey pew with gentle Miss Ma.s.sey, old John Ma.s.sey's only child, setting forth the lesson from the Bible, and then the thrilling announcement by the Superintendent that a festival was to be given by the primary teachers some time in August, the exact date to be told later.

Miss Ma.s.sey, taking up the subject when the Superintendent had finished, thought it might add to the brilliance of the affair if Suzanna were to recite. So she gave Suzanna a sheet of paper printed in blue ink, with a t.i.tle in red. "The Little Martyr of Smyrna," Suzanna spelled out.

"You are to learn the poem by heart, of course, Suzanna," said Miss Ma.s.sey, "and if you need any help as to emphasis or gesture, you may come to me on any afternoon."

Suzanna flushed exalted. "I don't believe I'll need any help, thank you, Miss Ma.s.sey," she said. She could scarcely wait then till she reached home to tell her mother the great news.

"You'll have to study hard," said Mrs. Procter after she had read over the verses, "but Suzanna, you have nothing suitable to wear."

"The lace curtain dress, mother?" asked Suzanna, hopefully.

"Beyond repair," returned Mrs. Procter.

Father, sitting near, looked around at his small daughter. "I have two dollars that I couldn't possibly use. Take them for a dress, Suzanna."