These commonplaces were leading nowhere, and they were becoming the least bit trying.
"My aunts have decided that the Montgomerys and the Holtons might as well bury the hatchet. They"re going to ask your Uncle William to my party. They can"t stand not knowing your aunt."
He did not at once grasp this. He was only dimly conscious of Montgomery social values and the prominence of his Uncle William"s wife had not seemed to him a matter of importance. His acquaintance with that lady was indeed slight, and he did not see at once wherein Phil"s aunts had anything to gain by cultivating her society, nor did Phil enlighten him.
This turn of the talk embarra.s.sed him by its suggestion of the escapade in which Phil"s mother and his uncle had figured. Phil was not apparently troubled by this.
"They didn"t invite you to my party, did they?"
He did not know exactly whom she meant by "they"; and he had not heard of Phil"s party.
"No," he answered, smiling; "they probably never heard of me."
"Well, you will be invited. Your brother and sister are coming. Your brother Charlie told me so. He"s going to give up a trip to New York just to be there."
Phil, he reflected, had been pleased by Charles"s magnanimity in changing plans that embraced the magical name of New York to be present at her coming-out party. From his knowledge of his brother he felt quite sure that Charles must think it worth while to abandon the visit to New York to pay the tribute of his presence to a daughter of the Montgomerys. This contributed to Fred"s discomfiture and made it more difficult to talk to Phil. On the face of it Phil was not a difficult person. He had seen her dance round a corn-shock in the moonlight, and a girl who would do that ought to be easy to talk to; and he had seen her, ap.r.o.ned at her kitchen door, throw an apple at a cat with enviable exactness of aim, and a girl who threw apples at cats should be human and approachable. It must be her smart city frock that made the difference: he hated Phil"s clothes, and he resented with particular animosity the gloves that concealed her hands.
She saw the frown on his face.
"I don"t believe I heard you say whether you were coming to my party or not. If you expect to travel about that time you needn"t put yourself out, of course. You shall have one of our regular engraved invitations.
How do you get mail out here?" she ended practically.
"R.F.D. 7. It will be thrilling to get something out of that bird"s nest besides bills, fertilizer and incubator circulars, and the bulletins of the Department of Agriculture. Thank you very much. But if, after conferring with your aunts, you find that they don"t approve of me, it will be all right."
"You have funny thoughts in your head, don"t you? Don"t you suppose I"m going to have something to say about my own party? Just for a postscript I"ll tell you now that I expect you to come. If I"ve got to have a party I want to have as many fellow-sufferers as possible."
"Does that mean"--and Fred laughed--"that you are not terribly excited about your own party? It sounded that way."
He was not interested in parties himself; he had hardly been to one since he was a child, and the thought of such an imposing function as he a.s.sumed Phil"s coming out would be appalled him. And there was the matter of clothes: the dress-suit he had purchased while he was in college had gone glimmering long ago. The Sunday best he wore to-day was two years old, and a discerning eye might have detected its imperfections which a recent careful pressing had not wholly obliterated. His gaze turned for a moment toward the land in which lay his hope; he had to look past Phil to see those acres. His thoughts were still upon her party and his relation to it, so that it was with a distinct shock that he heard her say softly and wistfully:--
"It"s queer, isn"t it?"
"What is?"
She lifted her arm with a sweeping gesture.
"The world--things generally--what interests you and me; what interests Uncle Amy and Mr. Perry; the buzzings in all our noddles. Thousands of people, in towns just like Montgomery, live along some way or other, and most of them do the best they can, and keep out of jails and poorhouses, mostly, and nothing very important happens to them or has to. It always strikes me as odd how unimportant we all are. We"re just us, and if G.o.d didn"t make us very big or wise or good, why, there"s nothing to be done about it. And no matter how hard we get knocked, or how often we stumble, why, most of us like the game and wouldn"t give it up for anything. I think that"s splendid; the way we just keep plugging on. We all think something pleasant is going to happen to-morrow or day-after-to-morrow. Everybody does. And that"s what keeps the world moving and everybody tolerably cheerful and happy."
Phil the philosopher was still another sort of person. She had spoken in her usual tone and he looked at her wonderingly. It was a new experience to hear life reduced to the simple terms Phil used. She seemed to him like a teacher who keeps a dull pupil after cla.s.s, and, by eliminating all unessential factors, makes clear what an hour before had been only a jumble of meaningless terms in the student"s mind.
He was still dumb before this new Phil with her a, b, c philosophy when her eyes brightened, and she sprang to her feet. Bending forward with her hand to her ear, and then dropping her arms to her sides, she said:--
"Adown the orchard aisles they come, methinks,-- My lord who guardest well his treasure chests, Attended by his squire and faithful drudge, And back to town I soon must lightly skip Else father will be roaring for his tea."
She was, indeed, a mystifying being! It was not until the absurdity of her last line broke upon him that he saw that this was only another side of Phil the inexplicable. She threw up her arm and signaled to her Uncle Amzi, who was approaching with Perry. The interruption was unwelcome. It had been a bewildering experience to sit beside Phil on the sunny orchard slope. He had not known that any girl could be like this.
"Do you write poetry?" he asked, from the depths of his humility.
She turned with a mockery of disdain.
"I should think you could see, Mr. Holton, that these are not singing robes, nor is this lovely creation of a hat wrought in the similitude of a wreath of laurel; but both speak for the plain prose of life. You have, therefore, no reason to fear me."
In a moment they were all on their way to the house; and soon Phil and Amzi were driving homeward.
"What was Fred Holton talking to you about?" asked Amzi, as he shook the reins over the back of his roadster.
"He wasn"t talking to me, Amy; I was talking to him. He"s a nice boy."
"He doesn"t run so much to gold watches and chains as the rest of "em.
He seems to be pretty decent. Perry says he"s got the right stuff in him." And then, with more animation: "Those Holtons! Thunder!"
CHAPTER X
PHIL"S PARTY
Mr. Amzi Montgomery thought it only proper to learn all that was possible of the affairs of his customers. This was the part of wisdom in a cautious banker; and he was distressed when checks that were not self-explanatory pa.s.sed through the receiving-teller"s window. A small bank is a good place in which to sharpen one"s detective sense. Every check tells a story and is in some degree a clue.
No account on his bank"s ledgers was more often scrutinized than that of Nancy Bartlett, and when she deposited a draft for $2115.15, the incident was not one to be pa.s.sed lightly. No such sum had ever before been placed to Nan"s credit. He knew that she received five- and ten- and even fifty-dollar drafts from Eastern periodicals, and he had touched these with reverent hands: but two thousand dollars in a lump from one of the best-known publishers in the country staggered Amzi. To add to his mystification, half the amount plus one cent, to-wit, $1057.58, was immediately transferred to Thomas Kirkwood"s account, and this left Amzi away up in the air. Just what right Tom Kirkwood had to partic.i.p.ate in Nan"s earnings Amzi did not know, nor did he see immediately any way of finding out.
What did happen, though, coincident with this event, and much to his gratification, was the installation of a girl-of-all-work in Kirkwood"s house. Phil had been dislodged from the kitchen, and Amzi was mightily relieved by this. A kitchen was no place for his niece, that flower of the Montgomery flock. His spirits rose when Phil hailed him one morning as he stood baring his head to the November air on the bank steps, and told him that her occupation was gone. She made the confession ruefully; it was unfair for her father to discharge her just as she was getting the hang of the range and learning to broil a steak without incinerating it. "Just for that" she would spend a great deal of time in Main Street, and ruin her const.i.tution at Struby"s soda-fountain.
While Amzi was still trying to account for Nan"s check, two other incidents contributed further to his perplexities. On his way home one evening he saw Nan and Kirkwood walking together. It was only a fair a.s.sumption that the two friends had met by chance and that Kirkwood was merely accompanying Nan to her door, as he had every right to do. They were walking slowly and talking earnestly. To avoid pa.s.sing them, Amzi turned off at the first cross-street, but stood for a moment staring after them. Then the next evening he had gone to call at the Bartletts"
and all his intervening speculations were overthrown when he found Kirkwood there alone with Rose, Nan being, it seemed, in Indianapolis on a visit. Rose and Kirkwood had evidently been deeply engrossed, too, when Amzi interrupted their conference with the usual thump of the drumstick. The piano, he observed, was closed, and it was inexplicable that Kirkwood should be spending an unmusical evening with Rose. Nor was Phil with her father. This was another damaging fact. It was a blow to Amzi to find that such things could happen in his own town, and under his very eyes.
If it hadn"t been for Phil"s party, the preparations for which gave him plenty to do, Amzi"s winter would have opened most unhappily; but Phil"s party was an event of importance not only in her life, but in Amzi"s as well. Everybody who had the slightest t.i.tle to consideration received an invitation. He was glad his sisters had suggested that the Holtons be invited. It gave him an excuse for opening the doors wide. He heard much from his kinsfolk about the prosperity of the Holtons, who were held up to him in rebuke for his own sluggish business methods. He wanted his sisters and the rest of the world to know that the First National Bank of Montgomery aroused in him no jealous pangs.
Phil arrived at Amzi"s early and ran upstairs to take off her wraps.
When this was accomplished and her Aunt f.a.n.n.y"s housemaid, lent for the occasion, had duly admired her, she knocked boldly on her uncle"s door.
"Come in, you Phil," he shouted.
Amzi stood before his chiffonier in his shirt sleeves, trying to make a bow of his white tie. A cigar, gripped firmly in his teeth, was not proving of much a.s.sistance in the operation. As Phil crossed the room, he jerked off the strip of lawn and threw it into the open drawer.
"See what you"ve done? See all that litter? All that stuff crumpled up and wasted just on your account? I told that fellow in Indianapolis to give me the ready-made kind that buckles behind, but he wouldn"t listen; said they don"t keep "em any more. And look at that! It"s a good thing I got a dozen! Thunder!"
The "Thunder" was due to the fact that in his excess of emotion over the difficulties with his raiment, his eyes had not until that instant taken in Phil. His jaw fell as he stared and tears filled his eyes. Above the soft folds of her white crepe gown the firm clean lines of her shoulders and throat were revealed and for the first time he fully realized that the Phil who had gladdened his days by her pranks--Phil the romp and hoyden--had gone, and that she would never be quite the same again.
There was a distinct shock in the thought. It carried him back to the day when her mother had danced across the threshold from youth to womanhood, with all of Phil"s charm and grace and her heart of laughter.
Phil fanned herself languidly, feigning to ignore his bewilderment. An aigrette in her hair emphasized her height. She lifted her arms and, whistling softly, pirouetted about the room. Her movements were those of vigorous, healthy youth. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks aglow.
"Thunder!" gasped Amzi, feeling absently of his collar. "Is that you, Phil?"
"Generally speaking, it _ain"t_, Amy. What do you think of the gladness of these joyful rags anyhow?"
"You look right, Phil. You"ve grown about six inches since I saw you last. High heels?"