Mary Gusta

J >> Joseph C. Lincoln >> Mary Gusta


"You can get up now," she said. "Some of it will tear off, anyway,
and if you hurry you will have time to run home and change your--your
clothes."

Crawford was evidently much surprised, also his embarrassment was not
lessened; but he rose.

"Then--then you knew?" he stammered.

"Of course I knew. I saw you sit down on it, didn't I? If I'd known what
you were going to do I'd have told you to look out. But you did it so
quick I couldn't. Now tear off as much as you can."

The young gentleman obeyed orders. "Does it show much?" he queried. "I
can't see. Is there much left?"

Mary-'Gusta smiled. His contortions were as violent as they were vain.
"There's enough," she said simply. "Here are the things you bought. Now
go out of the back door and cut across the fields. It's the shortest way
home."

Mr. Smith took his various parcels, including the six boxes of
marshmallows which Mary-'Gusta produced from beneath the counter. "I
thought you said these were stale," he observed, wonderingly.

"I said they weren't real fresh, but they're fresh enough for a toast.
I said that so that the Keith girl wouldn't wait. I didn't think you
wanted her to."

"You bet your life I didn't! So that's why you said you would have to
open the other box? Just--just to help me out?"

"Yes. Now don't stop any longer. You'll have to run, you know. Go out
the back way."

Crawford started for the door of the back room, but at that door he
paused.

"Say," he said, feelingly, "this is mighty white of you, do you know it?
And after the way I guyed you when I first came in! I guess I was rather
fresh, wasn't I?"

"Yes, you were."

"Yes, yes, I guess I was. I thought you were just a country kid, you
know, and I--say, by George, you WERE white. If I'd been you I'd have
got square. You had the chance; 'twould have served me right for playing
the smart Aleck. I beg your pardon. You're all RIGHT! And I'm awfully
sorry I was such a chump."

It was a straightforward, honest apology and confession of fault.
Mary-'Gusta was pleased, but she did not show it. He had referred to her
as a kid and she did not like that.

"If you don't hurry--yes, and run like everything," she said, "you won't
have time to get home and change and meet the others at the boat. And
somebody else will see you, too. You'd better go."

The young man went without further delay. Mary-'Gusta watching from the
back door saw him racing across the fields in the direction of the Keith
cottage. When her uncles returned she said nothing of the occurrence.
She considered it funny, but she knew Crawford Smith did not, and she
was sure he would prefer to have the secret kept.

The following afternoon the partners of Hamilton and Company entertained
a caller at the store. That evening Shadrach spoke of the call to
Mary-'Gusta.

"That young Smith feller that's been visitin' the Keiths was in today,"
said the Captain. "Didn't want to buy nothin'; said he just happened
in, that's all. Asked where you was, he did. I didn't know he knew you,
Mary-'Gusta."

Mary-'Gusta, who was busy clearing the supper table, answered without
looking round. "He and Edna Keith bought some things at the store
yesterday," she said.

"Yes, so he said. He said tell you everything was all right and he had
a fine time at the picnic. Seemed to cal'late you was a pretty bright
girl. We knew that afore, of course, but it was nice of him to say so.
He's leavin' on tomorrow mornin's train. Goin' way out West, he is, to
Nevada; that's where he and his dad live. His ma's dead, so he told us.
Must be tough to live so fur off from salt water: I couldn't stand it,
I know that. Funny thing about that young feller, too; his face looked
sort of familiar to me and Zoeth. Seemed as if he looked like somebody
we knew, but of course we didn't know any of his folks; we don't know
any Smiths from way off there."

The subject was dropped for the time, but two days later the expressman
brought a package to the house. The package was addressed to Miss
Mary Augusta Lathrop and contained a five-pound basket of expensive
chocolates and bonbons. There was a note with it which read as follows:


Hope you'll like these. They are fresh, at least Huyler's people swear
they are, but I don't believe they are as good as those marshmallows.
And I KNOW they are not as fresh as a certain person was at a certain
time. Please eat them and forget the other freshness.

C. S.

You were a perfect little brick not to tell.


Mary-'Gusta was obliged to tell then, but she made her uncles and Isaiah
promise not to do so. She, with the able assistance of the other members
of the household, ate the contents of the basket in due time. The basket
itself was taken to the parlor, where it was given a place beside the
other curiosities. As for the note, that disappeared. And yet, if one
had investigated the contents of the small drawer of Mary-'Gusta's
bureau, where she kept her most intimate treasures, the mystery of its
disappearance might have been solved.

It was the only epistle of its kind the girl had yet received; and,
after all, good-looking young college men are what they are. And
Mary-'Gusta, in spite of her queerness, was feminine--and human.




CHAPTER IX


When Mary-'Gusta was seventeen a great event took place. The happening
which led to it was trivial enough, but the results were important and
far-reaching. They led to the second great change in her life, a change
as important as that brought about by her memorable "visit" to South
Harniss.

She was a girl in years still, but tall for her age, and in thought and
manner almost a young woman. Her management of her uncles and Isaiah was
now complete. They no longer protested, even to each other, against the
management and, in fact, gloried in it. The cook and steward accepted
her orders concerning the daily marketing and he and she audited the
monthly bills. The white house by the shore was a different place
altogether now and "chicken-pox tablecloths" and tarnished silver were
things of the forgotten past. At the store she had become almost a
silent partner, and Hamilton and Company's "emporium" was, thanks to her
judgment and tact, if not yet an up-to-date establishment, at least a
shop where commodities to be sold were in places where they might be
seen by prospective purchasers and readily located by the proprietors.

She spent a good deal of her time, except in school hours, at the store
and much of the buying as well as the selling was done by her. The
drummers representing New York and Boston wholesale houses knew her and
cherished keen respect for her abilities as a selector and purchaser of
goods.

"Say," said one of these gentlemen, after a lengthy session during
which his attempts to work off several "stickers" had been frustrated by
Mary-'Gusta's common sense and discernment--"Say, that girl of yours is
a wonder, do you know it? She's the sharpest buyer I ever run across on
my trips down here. I don't take a back seat for anybody when it comes
to selling goods, and there's mighty little I can't sell; but I can't
bluff her. She knows what's what, you hear me!"

Shadrach, to whom this remark was made, chuckled. "You bet you!" he
declared, with enthusiasm. "Anybody that gets ahead of our Mary-'Gusta
has got to turn out afore the mornin' watch. She's smart. Zoeth and me
ain't aboard the same craft with her."

"I should say not. And you can't get gay with her, either. Most girls of
her age and as good a looker as she is don't object to a little ragging:
they're used to it and they like it--but not her. She isn't fishing for
boxes of candy or invitations to dances. That line of talk means good-by
and no sale where she is. Business and just business, that's all there
is to her. How long are you goin' to keep her here?"

"How long? Why, forever, I hope. What are you talkin' about?"

The drummer winked. "That's all right," he observed. "You want to keep
her, I don't doubt: but one of these days somebody else'll be wanting
her more than you do. Mr. Right'll be coming along here some time and
then--good night! She's young yet, but in a couple of years she'll be a
queen and then--well, then maybe I'll stand a better chance of unloading
those last summer caps the house has got in stock. Girls like her don't
stay single and keep store; there's too much demand and not enough
competition. Gad! If I wasn't an antique and married already I don't
know but I'd be getting into line. That's what!"

Captain Shadrach was inclined to be angry, but, although he would
not have admitted it, he realized the truth of this frank statement.
Mary-'Gusta was pretty, she was more than that, and the line was already
forming. Jimmie Bacheldor had long ago ceased to be a competitor; that
friendship had ended abruptly at the time of David's narrow escape; but
there were others, plenty of them. Daniel Higgins, son of Mr. Solomon
Higgins, the local lumber dealer and undertaker, was severely smitten.
Dan was at work in Boston, where he was engaged in the cheerful and
remunerative business of selling coffins for the American Casket
Company. He was diligent and active and his future promised to be
bright, at least so his proud father boasted. He came home for holidays
and vacations and his raiment was anything but funereal, but Mary-'Gusta
was not impressed either by the raiment or the personality beneath it.
She treated the persistent Daniel as a boy and a former schoolmate.
When he assumed manly airs she laughed at him and when he invited her to
accompany him to the Cattle Show at Ostable she refused and said she was
going with Uncle Zoeth.

Dan Higgins was not the only young fellow who found the store of
Hamilton and Company an attractive lounging place. Some of the young
gentlemen not permanent residents of South Harniss also appeared to
consider it a pleasant place to visit on Summer afternoons. They came to
buy, of course, but they remained to chat. Mary-'Gusta might have sailed
or picknicked a good deal and in the best of company, socially speaking,
if she had cared to do so. She did not so care.

"They don't want me, Uncle Shad," she said. "And I don't want to go."

"Course they want you," declared Shadrach, stoutly. "If they didn't want
you they wouldn't ask you, 'tain't likely. And I heard that young Keith
feller askin' you to go out sailin' with him this very afternoon."

"You didn't hear his sister ask me, did you? There, there, Uncle Shad,
don't worry about me. I'm having a good time; a very much better time
than if I went sailing with the Keiths."

"What's the matter with the Keiths? They're as nice folks as come to
South Harniss."

"Of course they are."

"Well, then! And you're as good as they are, ain't you?"

"I hope so. Uncle Shad, why don't you wear a white flannel suit in hot
weather? Mr. Keith, Sam's father, wore one at the church garden party
the other day."

The Captain stared at her. "Why don't I wear--what?" he stammered.

"A white flannel suit. You're as good as Mr. Keith, aren't you?"

"I guess I am. I don't know why I ain't. But what kind of a question's
that? I'd look like a plain fool tagged out in one of them things:
anyway, I'd feel like one. I don't belong in a white flannel suit. I
ain't no imitation dude."

"And I don't belong in Sam Keith's yacht. At least Mr. Keith and Edna
would feel that I didn't. I don't want to be considered an imitation,
either."

Shadrach shook his head. "You ain't like anybody else," he said. "You're
a funny girl, Mary-'Gusta."

"I suppose I am; but I'm not as funny as I should be if I tried to BE
somebody else. No, Uncle Shad, you'll just have to bear with me as I am,
funniness and all."

A few days after this Keith, senior, came into the store. He was not
arrayed in the white flannels but was wearing a rather shabby but very
comfortable tweed jacket and trousers and a white canvas hat of the kind
which Hamilton and Company sold for fifty cents. His shirt was of the
soft-collared variety and his shoes were what South Harniss called
"sneakers."

John Keith's visits to Cape Cod were neither very frequent nor lengthy.
His wife and family came in June and remained until late September, but
his sojourns were seldom longer than a week at a time and there were
intervals of a month or more between them. In Chicago he was the head
of a large business and that business demanded close attention. When he
left it he left his cares with it and enjoyed himself in his own way.
That way included old clothes, golf, a boat, and just as few tea and
garden parties as his wife would permit.

He was planning a fishing trip and had stopped at the store to buy
some tobacco. The partners had gone home for dinner and Mary-'Gusta
was tending shop. At that moment she was busy with the traveling
representative of Messrs. Bernstein, Goldberg and Baun, of Providence,
wholesale dealers in stationery, cards and novelties. The time was
August, but Mr. Kron, the drummer, was already booking orders for the
Christmas season. His samples were displayed upon the counter and he and
Mary-'Gusta were deep in conversation.

"That's what you ought to have," declared Mr. Kron, with enthusiasm.
"Believe me, there's goin' to be some call for that line of stuff this
year. The house can't turn 'em out fast enough."

"But what is it?" asked Mary-'Gusta. "What's it for?"

"It's a combination calendar and beauty-box," explained Mr. Kron. "Hang
it on the wall by your bureau--see? In the mornin' you can't remember
what day it is. All right, there's the calendar. Then you want to doll
yourself up for--well, for the party you're goin' to--"

"The same morning?" interrupted Mary-'Gusta.

Mr. Kron grinned. He was a young man and this was his first trip in that
section. His clothes were neither modest nor retiring and he, himself,
did not suffer from these failings. Also he prided himself on having a
way with the ladies, especially the younger ladies. And Mary-'Gusta was
distinctly the most attractive young person he had met on this trip.

He laughed in appreciation of the joke.

"Say," he observed, admiringly, "you're up to the minute, ain't you!
You're some kidder, all right. Are there many more in this burg like
you? If there are I'm goin' to move in and settle down. What?"

Mary-'Gusta did not laugh, nor did she answer. Instead, she turned to
the gentleman who had entered the store.

"Good morning, Mr. Keith," she said. "Was there anything you wanted?"

Keith smiled. "No hurry," he said. "I've got a little time to kill and
if you don't mind I'll kill it here. I'll sit down and wait, if I may.
That boatman of mine will be along pretty soon."

He took the chair by the door. Mr. Kron continued his exploitation of
the combination calendar and beauty-box.

"You are goin' to a party," he went on, "either that night or that
afternoon or sometime. Sure you are! Girls like you ain't handed the
go-by on many parties in this neck of the woods--am I right? Well, then,
when the time comes, you pull down the flap. There's your beauty-box,
lookin'-glass, powder puff and powder, all complete. Now a novelty like
that will sell--"

"We couldn't use it," interrupted Mary-'Gusta. "Show me something else."

Mr. Kron, disappointed but far from discouraged, showed her something
else--many somethings. Concerning each he was enthusiastic, slangy, and
familiar. Mary-'Gusta paid little attention to slang or enthusiasm; the
familiarity she ignored utterly. She selected several of the novelties,
a rather extensive line of Christmas cards, and in the matters of
price and cash discounts was keen and businesslike. Keith watched and
listened, at first with amusement, then with growing admiration for the
girl's simplicity and good sense.

Mr. Kron's admiration was outspoken.

"Say," he said, as he repacked his samples, "you're a mighty clever
buyer, do you know it? That line of stuff you've ordered is the cream,
that's what it is. You made a mistake in not layin' in a dozen or two of
those combination beauty-boxes, but that's all right. Here, have one for
yourself. Take it with my compliments."

Mary-'Gusta declined. "No, thank you," she said.

"Why not? It don't come out of my pocket. The firm expects me to hand
out little keepsakes like that. I've been plantin' 'em with the girls
all the way down."

"No, thank you," she replied.

Mr. Kron, having finished his business as representative of Messrs.
Bernstein, Goldberg and Baun, attempted a stroke of his own.

"Say," he said, "I've got a little spare time on my hands this evenin';
I shan't make the next town until tomorrow. There's a new movie theater
just opened over to Orham. They tell me it's all to the mustard. I can
hire a rig here and you and me might drive over tonight and take it in.
What do you say, Kid?"

"No, thank you," said Mary-'Gusta again.

"But--"

"No, thank you. Good day."

She turned away to enter the order she had just given in a book on
the desk. Mr. Kron tried again, but she did not appear to hear him. He
grinned, observed "Oh, very well!" and, with a wink at Mr. Keith, went
out, a suitcase in each hand.

Keith rose from the chair and, walking over to the counter, requested to
be supplied with the tobacco he had come to buy. Mary-'Gusta gave it
to him. Her cheeks were red and Keith was surprised to notice that she
looked almost as if she would like to cry. He guessed the reason.

"That young man will get himself thoroughly kicked some day," he
observed; "I'm not sure that I oughtn't to have done it myself just now.
He annoyed you, I'm afraid."

Mary-'Gusta answered without looking at him.

"That's all right," she said. "I'm foolish, I guess. He meant to be
nice, perhaps. Some girls may like that sort of niceness; I don't."

"Why didn't you tell him to get out?"

"I wanted to see his samples. It is time for us to buy our Christmas
things and I had rather choose them myself, that's all."

"Oh! But Mr. Hamilton or the Captain--I should think--"

"Oh, they might have bought some that we couldn't sell."

"The beauty-boxes, for instance?"

Mary-'Gusta smiled. "Why, yes," she admitted; "perhaps."

"I see. But it was rather an ordeal for you. Do you have to endure much
of that sort of thing?"

"No more than any girl who keeps store, I guess."

At the dinner table that evening Keith referred to his experience as
listener in Hamilton and Company's shop.

"That girl with the queer name," he said, "a niece of those two old
chaps who run the place, I believe she is. Do you know anything about
her, Gertrude?"

Before Mrs. Keith could reply, Edna spoke:

"Ask Sam, Dad," she said, mischievously. "Sam knows about her. He just
adores that store; he spends half his time there."

"Nonsense, Edna!" protested Sam, turning red. "I don't do any such
thing."

"Oh, yes, you do. And you know about Mary-'Gusta too. He says she's a
peach, Daddy."

"Humph!" grunted her brother, indignantly. "Well, she is one. She's
got every girl in your set skinned a mile for looks. But I don't know
anything about her, of course."

Mrs. Keith broke in. "Skinned a mile!" she repeated, with a shudder.
"Sam, what language you do use! Yes, John," she added, addressing her
husband. "I know the girl well. She's pretty and she is sensible. For
a girl who has had no opportunities and has lived all her life here in
South Harniss she is really quite remarkable. Why do you speak of her,
John?"

Mr. Keith related a part of the conversation between Mary-'Gusta and Mr.
Kron.

"She handled the fellow splendidly," he said. "She talked business with
him and she wouldn't let him talk anything else. But it was plain enough
to see that she felt insulted and angry. It seems a pity that a girl
like that should have to put up with that sort of thing. I wonder if her
uncles, old Mr. Hamilton and Captain Shadrach, realize what happens when
they're not about? How would they take it, do you think, if I dropped a
hint?"

Edna laughed. "You would have to be very careful, Daddy," she said. "Mr.
Hamilton and the Captain idolize Mary-'Gusta and she just worships them.
Besides, she isn't really their niece, you know. She is a young lady of
independent means--at least, so everybody says."

Her father was surprised. He asked what she meant by "independent
means." Mrs. Keith answered.

"The means are not very extensive, I imagine," she said. "The story is
that this Mary-'Gusta--why they persist in calling her by that dreadful
name I can't understand--is the daughter of a former friend and partner.
Mr. Hamilton and Captain Gould adopted her and she has lived with them
ever since. She has money of her own, though no two of the townspeople
agree as to how much. I've heard it estimated all the way from five to
fifty thousand. She never speaks of it and those queer old uncles of
hers keep their affairs very much to themselves. But I agree with you,
John; it is a shame that she should have to spend her life here in South
Harniss. I think we ought to do something for her, if we can. I shall
think it over."

Mrs. Keith was always doing something for somebody. At home in Chicago
she was president of her women's club and identified with goodness knows
how many charitable societies. In South Harniss she was active in church
and sewing circles. Her enthusiasm was always great, but her tact was
sometimes lacking. South Harniss people, some of them, were inclined
to consider her as a self-appointed boss interfering where she had no
business.

Her husband looked a trifle dubious.

"Be careful, Gertrude," he cautioned. "Look out you don't offend.
These Cape Codders are self-respecting and touchy, you know. Anyone
interfering with their private affairs is likely to get into trouble."

His wife resented the warning. "Don't throw cold water on everything,
John," she said. "I know more about Cape Codders than you do. You only
meet them for a few weeks each summer. I flatter myself that I know them
and that they know and trust me. Of COURSE I shall be careful. And I
shall think the Mary-'Gusta matter over."

She did think it over and a week later she came to her husband
overflowing with the excitement of a brilliant idea. A cousin of hers,
a maiden lady of sixty or thereabouts, wealthy and a semi-invalid who
cherished her ill-health, was in need of a female companion. Mrs. Keith
was certain that Mary-'Gusta would be just the person to fill that need.

Mr. Keith was by no means so certain. He raised some objections.

"Humph," he said. "Well, Gertrude, to be frank, I don't think much
of the scheme. Cousin Clara has had one companion after the other for
thirty years. None of them has stayed with her very long. She requires
a sort of combination friend and lady's maid and secretary and waitress,
and I don't think our Mary-'Gusta would enjoy that sort of job. I
certainly shouldn't--with Clara."

His wife was indignant. "I might have known you would be ready with the
cold water," she declared. "Clara is--well, cranky, and particular and
all that, but the opportunity is wonderful. The girl would travel and
meet the best people--"

"She might remove their wraps, I admit."

"Nonsense! And if Clara took a fancy to her she might leave her a good
sum of money when she died."

"Perhaps, providing the girl didn't die first. No, Gertrude, I'm
sorry to disappoint you, but I don't think much of your idea. Anyway,
according to my belief, you're approaching this thing from the wrong
end. It isn't the girl herself you should try to influence, but her
uncles, or guardians, or whatever they are. If I know her, and I've been
making some inquiries, she won't leave them. She will consider that they
need her at the house and store and she'll stay. They are the ones to
influence. If the matter of her welfare and future was put to them in
the right light they might--well, they might sacrifice themselves to
benefit her."

"Rubbish! I know I'm right. She'll jump at the opportunity. I shall tell
her about it this very afternoon."

"She won't accept; I'll bet on it."

His principal reason for non-belief in Mary-'Gusta's acceptance was his
knowledge of his wife's lack of tact. The girl did not consider herself,
nor was she, a subject of charity. And the position of combination
friend and servant would not appeal to her. John Keith had an idea of
his own concerning Mary-'Gusta, but it could wait until his wife's had
failed.


It failed, of course, and Mrs. Keith, that evening, was indignant and
angry.

"I never was so treated in my life," she declared. "That girl didn't
know her place at all. I'm through. I wash my hands of the whole
matter."

"Wasn't she polite?" inquired Keith.

"Oh, she was polite enough, as far as that goes, but she wouldn't even
consider my proposal. Wouldn't even hear me through. She said she had no
thought of leaving South Harniss. She was quite satisfied and contented
where she was. One would think I had come to ask a favor instead of
conferring one. Why, she seemed to think my plan almost ridiculous."

"Did she say so?"

"No, of course she didn't. She thanked me and all that; but she snubbed
me just the same. I'm disgusted. I'm through--absolutely and completely
through trying to help that girl!"