The Rejuvenation of Aunt Mary Part 46

Aunt Mary's lips wreathed in seraphic bliss.

"My!" she said. "I feel just as if I was back eatin' crabs' legs and tails again. No one'll ever know how I've missed city life this winter but-well, you saw Lucinda!"

The glance that accompanied the speech was mysterious but significant.

Janice nodded sympathetically.

"I hope you brought a trunk. I ain't a bit sure when I'll be able to let you go," pursued the old lady. "I don't believe I can let you go until I go, too. I've most died here alone."

"I brought a trunk," Janice cried into the ear trumpet.

"I'm glad," said Aunt Mary. She paused, and her eyes grew wistful.

"Granite," she asked, "do you think you could manage to do a skirt dance on the footboard? I'm 'most wild to see some lace shake."

Janice looked doubtfully at the footboard. It was wide for a footboard, but narrow-too narrow-for a skirt dance.

"But I can do one on the floor," she cried.

Aunt Mary's features became suffused with heavenly joy.

"Oh, Granite!" she murmured, in accents of greatest antic.i.p.ation.

The maid stood up, and, going off as far as the limits of the s.p.a.cious bedroom would allow, executed a most fetching and dainty _pas seul_ to a tune of her own humming.

"Give me suthin' to pound with!" cried her enthusiastic audience. "Oh, Granite, I ain't been so happy since I was home! Whatever you want you can have, only don't ever leave me alone with Lucinda again."

Janice was catching her tired breath, but she answered with a smile.

"Can't you get my Sunday umbrella out of the closet now an' do a parasol dance?" the insatiate demanded; "one of those where you shoot it open an'

shut when people ain't expectin'."

The maid went to the closet and brought out the Sunday umbrella; but its s.h.i.+ny black silk did not appear to inspire any fluffy maneuvres, so she utilized it in the guise of a broadsword and did something that savored of the Highlands, and seemed to rebel bitterly at the length of her skirt.

Aunt Mary writhed around in bliss-utter and intense.

"I feel like I was livin' again," she said, heaving a great sigh of content. "I tell you I've suffered enough, since I came back, to know what it is to have some fun again. Now, Granite, I'll tell you what we'll do,"

when the girl sat down to rest; "you write for those cigarettes while I take a little nap and afterwards we'll get the Universal Knowledge book and learn how to play poker. You don't know how to play poker, do you?"

"A little," cried the maid.

"Well, I want to learn how," said the old lady, "an' we'll learn when-when I wake up."

Janice nodded a.s.sent.

"Excuse me shuttin' my eyes," said Aunt Mary-and she was asleep in two minutes.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE - "GRANITE" - CONTINUED.

Mary and Arethusa-Aunt Mary's two nieces-were not uncommonly mercenary; but about three weeks after the new arrival they became seriously troubled over the ascendancy that she appeared to be gaining over the mind of their aunt. Lucinda's duties had included for many years the writing of a weekly letter which contained formal advices of the general state of affairs, and after Janice's establishment, these letters became so provocative of gradually increasing alarm that first Mary, and then Arethusa thought it advisable to make the journey for the purpose of investigating the affair personally. They found the new maid apparently devoid of evil intent, but certainly fast becoming absolutely indispensable to the daily happiness of their influential relative. Mary feared that a codicil for five thousand dollars would be the result; but Arethusa felt, with a sinking heart, that there was another naught going on to the sum, and that, unless the tide turned, the end might not be even then.

Aunt Mary was so cool that neither niece stayed long, and Lucinda's letters had to be looked to for the progress of events. Lucinda's letters were frequent and not at all rea.s.suring. After the sisters had talked them over, they sent them on to Jack.

She [thus Lucinda invariably began] is the same as ever. It's cross the heart and bend the knee, an' then you ain't down far enough to suit her. But she's gettin' so afraid she'll go that she's wax in her hands. It would scare you. She won't let her out of her sight a minute. I must say that whatever she's giving her, she certainly is earning the money, for she works her harder every day. The poor thing is hopping about, or singing, or playing cards, from dawn to dark, and unless it's a provision in her will I can't see what would pay her enough for working so. Lord knows I considered I earned my wages without skipping around with my legs crossed like she does, and she has no end of patience too, even if she won't ever let her take a walk. She's getting as pale as she is herself. Seems like something should be done.

Respectfully,

L. COOKE.

Three days later Lucinda wrote again:

She does seem to be getting worse and worse. She makes her sleep on a sofa beside her, and she begins to look dreadfully worn out.

I do believe she'll kill her, before she dies herself. I told her so to-day, but she only smiled. It's funny, but I like her even if I am bolted out all the time. I ain't jealous, and I'm glad of the rest. I should think her throat would split with talking so much, but she certainly does hear her better than anyone else. I think something must be done, though. She's getting as crazy as she is herself. They play cards and call each other "aunty" for two hours at a stretch some days.

Respectfully,

L. COOKE.

At the end of the week Lucinda wrote again:

I think if you don't come, she will surely die. She is very feeble herself, but that don't keep her from wearing her to skin and bone. She keeps her doing tricks from morning to night. Every minute that she is awake she keeps her jumping. It's a mercy she sleeps so much, or she wouldn't get any sleep at all. I can't do nothing, but I can see something has got to be done. She's killing her, and she's getting where she don't care for n.o.body but her, and if she's to be kept in trim to keep on amusing her she'll have to have some rest pretty quick.

Respectfully,

L. COOKE.

If the sisters were perturbed by the general trend of these epistles, Jack was half wild over the situation. He swore vigorously and he tramped up and down his room nights until the people underneath put it in their prayers that his woes might suggest suicide as speedily as possible. In vain he wrote to Mrs. Rosscott to restore Janice to her proper place in town; Mrs. Rosscott answered that as long as Aunt Mary desired Janice at her side, at her side Janice should stay. Jack knew his lady well enough to know that she would keep her word, and although he longed to a.s.sert his authority he was man enough to feel that he had better wait now and settle the debt after marriage.

Nevertheless the whole affair was unbearably vexatious and at last he felt that he could endure it no longer.

"I'm a fool," he said, in a spirit of annoyance that came so close to anger that it led to an utter loss of patience. "I'll take the train for Aunt Mary's to-day, and straighten out that mess in short order."

It was Sat.u.r.day, and he arranged to leave by the noon train. He laid in a heavy supply of bribes for his aged relative and of reading matter for himself, and went to the station with a heart divided 'twixt many different emotions. It was an unconscionably long ride, but he did get there safely about ten o'clock.

It was a pleasant night-not too cold-even suggestive of some lingering Indian summer intentions on the part of Jack's namesake. The young man thought that he would walk out to his childhood's home, and his decision was aided by the discovery that there was no other way to get there.

So he took his suit-case in his hand and set off with a stride that covered the intervening miles in short order and brought him, almost before he knew it, to where he could see Lucinda's light in the dining-room and her pug-nosed profile outlined upon the drawn shade.

Everyone else was evidently abed, and as he looked, she, too, arose and took up the lamp. He hurried his steps so that she might let him in before she went upstairs, but in the same instant the light went out and with its withdrawal he perceived a little figure sitting alone upon the doorstep.

His heart gave a tremendous leap-but not with fright-and he made three rapid steps and spoke a name.