Eleanor H. Porter

“ Smith’s clasp loosened a little.
“I care—a great deal,” whispered Miss Maggie to the coat-collar, with shameless emphasis.
“You—darling!” triumphed the man, bestowing a rapturous kiss on the tip of a small pink ear—the nearest point to Miss Maggie’s lips that was available, until, with tender determination, he turned her face to his.
A moment later, blushing rosily, Miss Maggie drew herself away.
“There, we’ve been quite silly enough—old folks like us.”
“We’re not silly. Love is never silly—not real love like ours. Besides, we’re only as old as we feel. Do you feel old? ”

“ Poor Maggie! And you’ve had such a hard life—and your boarder leaving, too! That’ll make a lot of difference in your pocketbook, won’t it? But, Maggie, you’ll have to have some new clothes.”
“Of course. I’ve been shopping this afternoon. I’ve got to have—oh, lots of things.”
“Of course you have. And, Maggie,”—Miss Flora’s face grew eager,—“please, please, won’t you let me help you a little—about those clothes? And get some nice ones—some real nice ones, for once. You know how I’d love to! Please, Maggie, there’s a good girl!” ”

“ Love, indeed! I suppose it was love that made John Daly give one hundred dollars to the Pension Fund Fair—after he’d jewed it out of those poor girls behind his counters! And Mrs. Morse went around everywhere telling how kind dear Mr. Daly was to give so much to charity! Charity! Nobody wants charity—except a few lazy rascals like those beggars of Flora’s! But we all want our rights. And if half the world gave the other half its rights there wouldn’t be any charity, I believe.”
“Dear, dear! What have we here? A rabid little Socialist?” Mr. Smith held up both hands in mock terror. ”

“ I’ll spare you rhapsodies, Ned. They say, anyway, that there’s no fool like an old fool. But I will admit that that future looks very dark to me if I am not to have the companionship of the little woman, Maggie Duff. Oh, yes, it’s “Poor Maggie.” You’ve probably guessed as much. As for Miss Maggie herself, perhaps it’s conceited, but I believe she’s not entirely indifferent to Mr. John Smith. How she’ll like Mr. Stanley G. Fulton I have my doubts; but, alas! I have no doubts whatever as to what her opinion will be of Mr. Stanley G. Fulton’s masquerading as Mr. John Smith! ”

“ Jane knew nothing of Donald Gray till then.”
“Where does Carl Pennock come in?”
Miss Maggie gave a gesture of despair.
“Oh, he comes in anywhere that he can find a chance; though, to do her justice, Mellicent doesn’t give him—many chances.”
“What does her father say to all this? How does he like young Gray?”
Miss Maggie gave another gesture of despair.
“He says nothing—or, rather, he laughs, and says: ‘Oh, well, it will come out all right in time. Young folks will be young folks!’”
“But does he like Gray? He knows him, of course.” ”

“ The millionaire repeated the wry face of a moment before.
“I’m not a marrying man. I never did care much for women; and—I’m not fool enough to think that a woman would be apt to fall in love with my bald head. Nor am I obliging enough to care to hand the millions over to the woman that falls in love with them, taking me along as the necessary sack that holds the gold. If it comes to that, I’d rather risk the cousins. They, at least, are of my own blood, and they didn’t angle to get the money.” ”

“ But Mellicent thought you were, and it seems she was right. Oh, of course, we’d all thought once Mr. Smith might take a fancy to you, but we never dreamed of such a thing as this—Mr. Stanley G. Fulton! Sakes alive—I can hardly sense it yet!
Jane, for a minute, forgot how rich he was, and spoke right up real quick—“It’s for her money, of course. I knew some one would marry her for that fifty thousand dollars!” But she laughed then, right off, with the rest of us, at the idea of a man worth twenty millions marrying anybody for fifty thousand dollars. ”

“ Smith’s voice. “Hasn’t she a new house, and everything nice to go with it?”
Miss Maggie laughed. Then she sighed.
“Oh, yes—and that’s what’s the trouble. They’re too nice. She feels smothered and oppressed—as if she were visiting somewhere, and not at home. She’s actually afraid of her maid. You see, Miss Flora has always lived very simply. She isn’t used to maids—and the maid knows it, which, if you ever employed maids, you would know is a terrible state of affairs.” ”

“ Look at Bixby; and look at that poor little Marston girl, throwing herself away on that worthless scamp of a Gowing who’s only after her money, as everybody (but herself) knows! And if it doesn’t make knaves and martyrs of them, ten to one it does make fools of ’em. They’re worse than a kid with a dollar on circus day; and they use just about as much sense spending their pile, too. You should have heard dad tell about his pals in the eighties that struck it rich in the gold mines. One bought up every grocery store in town and instituted a huge free grab-bag for the populace ”

“ Everything’s the matter—with Father Duff! Oh, it’s nerves, mostly, the doctor says, and there are some other things—long names that I can’t remember. But, as I said, everything’s the matter with Father Duff. He’s one of those men where there isn’t anything quite right. Frank says he’s got so he just objects to everything—on general principles. If it’s blue, he says it ought to be black, you know. And, really, I don’t know but Frank’s right. How Maggie stands him I don’t see; but she’s devotion itself. ”

“ Miss Flora began to read it, gave a little cry, and sprang to her feet. Standing, her breath suspended, she finished it. Five minutes later, gloves half on and hat askew, she was hurrying across the common to her brother Frank’s home.
“Jane, Jane,” she panted, as soon as she found her sister-in-law. “I’ve had a letter from Maggie. Mr. Stanley G. Fulton has come back. He’s come back!”
“Come back! Alive, you mean? Oh, my goodness gracious! What’ll Hattie do? She’s just been living on having that money. And us, with all we’ve lost, too! ”

“ It costs not only the money itself, but all the interest that the money could be earning. Why, Maggie, I never saw anything like it.” Her face grew suddenly alert and happy. “I never knew before how much money, just money, could earn, while you didn’t have to do a thing but sit back and watch it do it. It’s the most fascinating thing I ever saw. I counted up the other day how much we’d have if we didn’t spend a cent of it for ten years—the legacy, I mean.”
“But, great Scott, madam!” expostulated Mr. Smith. “Aren’t you going to spend any of that money before ten years’ time?” ”

“ To Miss Maggie that evening Mr. Smith said, after recounting the earlier portion of the conversation: “So you see you were right, after all. I shall have to own it up. Mr. Frank Blaisdell had plenty to retire upon, but nothing to retire to. But I’m glad—if he’s happy now.”
“And he isn’t the only one that that forty-thousand-dollar loss has done a good turn to,” nodded Miss Maggie. “Mellicent has just been here. You know she’s home from school. It’s the Easter vacation, anyway, but she isn’t going back. It’s too expensive.” ”

“ Jane, in particular, is always wishing she could do something for “Poor Maggie,” so I dare say she’ll be looked out for all right.
As to who will prove to be the wisest handler of the hundred thousand, and thus my eventual heir, I haven’t the least idea. As I said before, they all need money, and need it badly—need it to be comfortable and happy, I mean. They aren’t really poor, any of them, except, perhaps, Miss Flora. She is a little hard up, poor soul. Bless her heart! I wonder what she’ll get first, Niagara, the phonograph, or something to eat without looking at the price. ”

“ I gave it to John Smith—gentleman, I supposed. A man—poor, yes, I believed him poor; but a man who at least had a right to his name! I didn’t give it to Mr. Stanley G. Fulton, spy, trickster, who makes life itself a masquerade for sport! I do not know Mr. Stanley G. Fulton, and—I do not wish to.” The words ended in a sound very like a sob; but Miss Maggie, with her head still high, turned her back and walked to the window. ”

“ Smith, wheeling about. “That’s exactly it!”
Mrs. Jane sighed and shook her head. She gazed at Miss Maggie with fondly reproving eyes.
“Yes, we all know your ideas of money, Maggie. You’re very sweet and dear, and we love you; but you are extravagant.”
“Extravagant!” demurred Miss Maggie.
“Yes. You use everything you have every day; and you never protect a thing. Actually, I don’t believe there’s a tidy or a linen slip in this house.” (DID Mr. Smith breathe a fervent “Thank the Lord!” Miss Maggie wondered.) ”

“ To be sure, that seemed a pity—a man so kind and thoughtful and so delightfully companionable! But then, it was nothing to her, of course—only she did hope he was not feeling unhappy over Mellicent!
Miss Maggie wished, too, that Mr. Smith would not bring flowers and candy so often. It worried her. She felt as if he were spending too much money—and she had got the impression in some way that he did not have any too much money to spend. And there were the expensive motor trips, too—she feared Mr. Smith was extravagant. ”

“ A passionate earnestness came to her eyes. “Don’t blame the money—blame the spending of it! The money isn’t to blame. The dollar that will buy tickets to the movies will just as quickly buy a good book; and if you’re hungry, it’s up to you whether you put your money into chocolate eclairs or roast beef. Is the money to blame that goes for a whiskey bill or a gambling debt instead of for shoes and stockings for the family?”
“Why, n-no.” Mr. Smith had apparently lost his own irritation in his amazement at hers. “Why, Miss Maggie, you—you seem worked up over this matter.” ”

“ He turned his eyes full upon Miss Flora Blaisdell, and waited.
The little dressmaker blushed painfully.
“Me? Oh, mercy, no! Why, I live all alone—that is, I mean, I couldn’t, you know,” she stammered confusedly. “I dressmake, and I don’t get any sort of meals—not fit for a man, I mean. Just women’s things—tea, toast, and riz biscuit. I’m so fond of riz biscuit! But, of course, you—” She came to an expressive pause.
“Oh, I could stand the biscuit, so long as they’re not health biscuit,” laughed Mr. Smith genially. “You see, I’ve been living on those and hot water quite long enough as it is.” ”

“ They’re perfectly horrid—every one of them, and I hate them!”
“Oh, Hattie, Hattie!”
“Well, I do. Look at what they’ve done to Fred, and Bessie, too! I shan’t let her be with them any more, either. There aren’t any folks here we can be with now. That’s why I don’t mind going away. All our friends that we used to know don’t like us any more, they’re so jealous on account of the money. Oh, yes, I know you think I’m to blame for that,” she went on aggrievedly. “I can see you do, by your face. Jim says so, too. And maybe I am. But it was just so I could get ahead. I did so want to be somebody!” ”

“ You can imagine there wasn’t much time left for books. I think, when he first went there, he thought he was still going to write the great poem, the great play, the great novel, that was to bring him fame and money. But he soon learned better. Hattie had little patience with his scribbling, and had less with the constant necessity of scrimping and economizing. She was always ambitious to get ahead and be somebody, and, of course, as the babies came and the expenses increased, the demand for more money became more and more insistent. But Jim, poor Jim! He never was a money-maker. ”

“ But even the gossip and the questioning aren’t the worst. It’s the family themselves. Between Hattie’s pulling one way and Jane the other, I feel like a bone between two quarrelsome puppies. Hattie is already house-hunting, on the sly, and she’s bought Bessie an expensive watch and a string of gold beads. Jane, on the other hand, insists that Mr. Fulton will come back and claim the money, so she’s running her house now on the principle that she’s lost a hundred thousand dollars, and so must economize in every possible way. ”