Amarilly of Clothes line Alley

B >> Belle K. Maniates >> Amarilly of Clothes line Alley

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

When Amarilly had faithfully pictured the service to the household,
Bud's anaemic face grew eager.

"Take me with yer, Amarilly, next time, won't yer?" he pleaded.

"It's too fer. You couldn't walk, Buddy," she answered, "and we can't
afford car-fare fer two both ways."

"I'll take him to-night," promised the Boarder. "We'll ride both ways,
so fur as we kin. I'd like to hear a sermon now and then, especially by
a young preacher."

The little family stayed up that night until the return of Bud and the
Boarder who were vociferous in approval of the service.

"It ain't much like our meetin'-house," said Bud. "It was het and lit.
And the way that orgin let out! Say, Amarilly, thar wasn't no man in
sight to play it! I s'pose they've got one of them things like a
pianner-player. Them surplused boys sung fine!"

"He give us a fine talk," reported the Boarder. "I've allers thought if
a man paid a hundred cents on the dollar, 't was all that was expected
of him. But I believe it's a good idee to go to church and keep your
conscience jogged up so it won't rust. I'll go every Sunday, mebby, and
take Bud so he kin larn them tunes."

"I never go to no shows nor nuthin'!" wailed Cory.

"I'll take you next time," soothed Amarilly. "I kin work you'se off on
the kinductor as under age, I guess, if you'll crouch down."

CHAPTER VI

Monday's mops and pails broke in upon the spell of Amarilly's spiritual
enchantment to some extent, but remembrance of the scenic effects
lingered and was refreshed by the clothes-line of vestal garb which
manifested the family prosperity, and heralded to the neighborhood that
the Jenkins's star was in the ascendant.

"Them Jenkinses," said Mrs. Hudgers, who lived next door, "is orful
stuck up sence they got the sudsin' of them surpluses."

This animadversion was soon conveyed to Amarilly, who instantly and
freely forgave the critic.

"She's old and rheumatic," argued the little girl. "She can't git to go
nowhars, and folks that is shut in too long spiles, jest like canned
goods. Besides, her clock has stopped. Nobody can't go on without no
clock."

Out of pity for the old woman's sequestered life, Amarilly was wont to
relate to her all the current events, and it was through the child's
keen, young optics that Mrs. Hudgers saw life. An eloquent and vivid
description of St. Mark's service was eagerly related.

"I allers thought I'd like to see them Episcopals," she remarked
regretfully. "Ef church air wa'n't so bad fer my rheumatiz, I'd pay
car-fare jest to see it onct. I was brung up Methodist though."

This desire suggested to Amarilly's fertile little brain a way to make a
contribution to John Meredith's pet missionary scheme, whose merits he
had so ardently expounded from the pulpit.

"I'll hev a sacrud concert like the one he said they was goin' to hev to
the church," she decided.

She was fully aware of the sensation created by the Thursday clothes-line
of surplices, and she resolved to profit thereby while the garments
were still a novelty. Consequently the neighborhood was notified that a
sacred concert by a "surplused choir" composed of members of the Jenkins
household, assisted by a few of their schoolmates, would be given a week
from Wednesday night. This particular night was chosen for the reason
that the church washing was put to soak late on a Wednesday.

There was a short, sharp conflict in Amarilly's conscience before she
convinced herself it would not be wrong to allow the impromptu choir to
don the surplices of St. Mark's.

"They wouldn't spile 'em jest awearin' 'em onct," she argued sharply,
for Amarilly always "sassed back" with spirit to her moral accuser.
"'Tain't as if they wa'n't agoin' into the wash as soon as they take 'em
off. Besides," as a triumphant clincher, "think of the cause!"

Amarilly had heard the Boarder and a young socialist exchanging views,
and she had caught this slogan, which was a tempting phrase and adequate
to whitewash many a doubtful act. It proved effectual in silencing the
conscience which Amarilly slipped back into its case and fastened
securely.

She held nightly rehearsals for the proposed entertainment. After the
first the novelty was exhausted, and on the next night there was a
falling off in attendance, so the young, director diplomatically
resorted to the use of decoy ducks in the shape of a pan of popcorn, a
candy pull, and an apple roast. By such inducements she whipped her
chorus into line, ably assisted by Bud, who had profited by his
attendance at St. Mark's.

The Jenkins dwelling was singularly well adapted for a public
performance, as, to use Mrs. Wint's phraseology, "it had no insides."
The rooms were partitioned off by means of curtains on strings. These
were taken down on the night of the concert. So the "settin'-room," the
"bedroom off" and the kitchen became one. Seats were improvised by means
of boards stretched across inverted washtubs.

At seven o'clock on the night set for the concert the audience was
solemnly ushered in by the Boarder. No signs of the performers were
visible, but sounds of suppressed excitement issued from the woodshed,
which had been converted into a vestry.

Presently the choir, chanting a hymn, made an impressive and effective
entrance. To Amarilly's consternation this evoked an applause, which
jarred on her sense of propriety.

"This ain't no show, and it ain't no time to clap," she explained to the
Boarder, who cautioned the congregation against further demonstration.

Flamingus read a psalm in a sing-song, resonant voice, and then Amarilly
announced a hymn, cordially inviting the neighbors to "jine in." The
response was lusty-lunged, and there was a unanimous request for another
tune. After Amarilly had explained the use to which the collection was
to be put, Gus passed a pie tin, while an offertory solo was rendered by
Bud in sweet, trebled tones.

The sacred concert was pronounced a great success by the audience, who
promptly dispersed at its close. While the Boarder was shifting the
curtains to their former positions, and Mrs. Jenkins and Amarilly were
busily engaged in divesting the choir of their costumes, the front door
opened and disclosed a vision of loveliness in the form of Colette.

"I knocked," she explained apologetically to the Boarder, "but no one
heard me. Are the family all away?"

"They are in the woodshed. Walk right out," he urged hospitably.

Colette stepped to the door and, on opening it, gazed in bewilderment at
the disrobing choir.

"These are not St. Mark's choir-boys, are they?" she asked wonderingly.

Mrs. Jenkins felt herself growing weak-kneed. She looked apprehensively
at Amarilly, who stepped bravely to the front with the air of one who
feels that the end justifies the means.

"It was fer him--fer Mr. St. John I done it," she began in explanation,
and then she proceeded to relate the particulars of her scheme and its
accomplishment.

She had but just finished this narrative when suddenly in the line of
her vision came the form of the young rector himself. He had been
ushered out by the Boarder, who was still actively engaged in "redding
up."

"I came to call upon you, for I consider you one of my parishioners
now," he said to Amarilly, his face flushing at the unexpected encounter
with Colette.

Amarilly breathed a devout prayer of thankfulness that the last surplice
had been removed and was now being put to soak by her mother.

Colette's eyes were dancing with the delight of mischief-making as she
directed, in soft but mirthful tones:

"Tell Mr. St. John about your choir and concert."

Amarilly's eyes lowered in consternation. She was in great awe of this
young man whose square chin was in such extreme contradiction to his
softly luminous eyes, and she began to feel less fortified by the
reminder of the "cause."

"I'd ruther not," she faltered.

"Then don't, Amarilly," he said gently.

"Mebby that's why I'd orter," she acknowledged, lifting serious eyes to
his. "You said that Sunday that we wa'n't to turn out of the way fer
hard things."

"I don't want it to be hard for you to tell me anything, Amarilly," he
said reassuringly. "Suppose you show me that you trust me by telling me
about your concert."

So once more Amarilly gave a recital of her plan for raising money for
the mission, and of its successful fulfilment. John listened with
varying emotions, struggling heroically to maintain his gravity as he
heard of the realization of the long-cherished, long-deferred dream of
Mrs. Hudgers.

"And we took in thirty-seven cents," she said in breathless excitement,
as she handed him the contents of the pie tin.

"Amarilly," he replied fervently, with the look that Colette was
learning to love, "you did just right to use the surplices, and this
contribution means more to me than any I have received. It was a sweet
and generous thought that prompted your concert."

Amarilly's little heart glowed with pride at this acknowledgment.

At that moment came Bud, singing a snatch of his solo.

"Is this the little brother that sang the offertory?"

"Yes; that's him--Bud."

"Bud, will you sing it again for me, now?"

"Sure thing!" said the atom of a boy, promptly mounting a soap box.

He threw back a mop of thick black hair, rolled his eyes ceilingward,
and let his sweet, clear voice have full sway.

"Oh, Bud, you darling! Why didn't you tell me he could sing like that,
Amarilly?" cried Colette at the close of the song.

"We must have him in St. Mark's choir," declared Mr. Meredith. "You may
bring him to the rectory to-morrow, Amarilly, and I will have the
choirmaster try his voice. Besides receiving instruction and practice
every week, he will be paid for his singing."

Money for Bud's voice! So much prosperity was scarcely believable.

"Fust the Guild school, Miss King's washing, the surpluses, and now
Bud!" thought Amarilly exuberantly. "Next thing I know, I'll be on the
stage."

"I must go," said Colette presently. "My car is just around the corner
on the next street. John, will you ride uptown with me?"

He accepted the invitation with alacrity. Colette's sidelong glance
noted a certain masterful look about his chin, and there was a warning,
metallic ring in his voice that denoted a determination to overcome all
obstacles and triumph by sheer force of will. She was not ready to
listen to him yet, and, a ready evader of issues, chatted incessantly on
the way to the car. He waited in grim patience, biding his time. As they
neared the turn in the alley, she played her reserve card.

"Henry didn't think it prudent to bring the big car into the Jenkins's
_cul-de-sac,_ so he waited in the next street. I expect father will be
there by this time. We dropped him at a factory near by, where he was to
speak to some United Workmen."

Colette smiled at the drooping of John's features as he beheld her
father ensconced in the tonneau.

"Oh, John! I am glad you were here to protect my little girl through
these byways. I was just on the point of looking her up myself."

When the car stopped at the rectory and Colette bade John good-night,
the resolute, forward thrust was still prominent in his chin.

He went straight to his study and wrote an ardent avowal of his love.
Then he sealed the letter and dispatched it by special messenger. There
would be no more suspense, he thought, for she would have to respond by
a direct affirmation or negation.

CHAPTER VII

In the tide of the Jenkins's prosperity there came the inevitable ebb.
On the fateful Friday morning succeeding the concert, Mrs. Hudgers,
looking from her window, saw a little group of children with books under
their arms returning from school. Having no timepiece, she was
accustomed to depend on the passing to and fro of the children for
guidance as to the performance of her household affairs.

"My sakes, but twelve o'clock come quick to-day," she thought, as she
kindled the fire and set the kettle over it in preparation of her midday
meal.

A neighbor dropping in viewed these proceedings with surprise.

"Why, Mrs. Hudgers, ain't you et yer breakfast yet?"

"Of course I hev. I'm puttin' the kittle over fer my dinner."

"Dinner! why, it's only a half arter nine."

Mrs. Hudgers looked incredulous.

"I seen the chillern agoin' hum from school," she maintained.

"Them was the Jenkinses, Iry hez come down with the scarlit fever, and
they're all in quarrytine."

"How you talk! Wait till I put the kittle offen the bile."

The two neighbors sat down to discuss this affliction with the ready
sympathy of the poor for the poor. Their passing envy of the Jenkins's
good fortune was instantly skimmed from the surface of their
friendliness, which had only lain dormant and wanted but the touch of
trouble to make them once more akin.

When the city physician had pronounced Iry's "spell" to be scarlet
fever, the other members of the household were immediately summoned by
emergency calls. The children came from school, Amarilly from the
theatre, and the Boarder from his switch to hold an excited family
conference.

"It's a good thing we got the washin's all hum afore Iry was took,"
declared the optimistic Amarilly.

"Thar's two things here yet," reported Mrs. Jenkins. "Gus come hum too
late last night to take the preacher's surplus and Miss King's lace
waist. You was so tired I didn't tell you, 'cause I know'd you'd be sot
on goin' with them yourself. They're all did up."

"Well, they'll hev to stay right here with us and the fever," said
Amarilly philosophically.

At heart she secretly rejoiced in the retaining of these two garments,
for they seemed to keep her in touch with their owners whom she would be
unable to see until Iry had recovered.

"I don't see what we are going to do, Amarilly," said her mother
despairingly. "Thar'll be nuthin' comin' in and so many extrys."

"No extrys," cheerfully assured the little comforter. "The city
doctor'll take keer of Iry and bring the medicines. We hev laid by some
sence we got the church wash. It'll tide us over till Iry gits well. We
all need a vacation from work, anyhow."

At the beginning of the next week a ten-dollar bill came from Colette,
"to buy jellies and things for Iry," she wrote. A similar contribution
came from John Meredith.

"We air on Easy Street onct more!" cried Amarilly joyfully.

"I hate to take the money from them," sighed Mrs. Jenkins.

"We'll make it up to them when we kin work agin," consoled Amarilly.
"Better to take from friends than from the city. It won't be fer long.
Iry seems to hev took it light, the doctor said."

This diagnosis proved correct, but it had not occurred to Amarilly in
her prognostications that the question of the duration of the quarantine
was not entirely dependent upon Iry's convalescence. Like a row of
blocks the children, with the exception of Flamingus and Amarilly, in
rapid succession came down with a mild form of the fever. Mrs. Jenkins
and Amarilly divided the labors of cook and nurse, but the mainstay of
the family was the Boarder. He aided in the housework, and as an
entertainer of the sick he proved invaluable. He told stories, drew
pictures, propounded riddles, whittled boats and animals, played "Beggar
my Neighbor," and sang songs for the convalescent ward.

When the last cent of the Jenkins's reserve fund and the contributions
from the rector and Colette had been exhausted, the Boarder put a
willing hand in his pocket and drew forth his all to share with the
afflicted family. There was one appalling night when the treasury was
entirely depleted, and the larder was a veritable Mother Hubbard's
cupboard.

"Something will come," prophesied Amarilly trustfully.

Something did come the next day in the shape of a donation of five
dollars from Mr. Vedder, who had heard of the prolonged quarantine.
Amarilly wept from gratitude and gladness.

"The perfesshun allers stand by each other," she murmured proudly.

This last act of charity kept the Jenkins's pot boiling until the
premises were officially and thoroughly fumigated. Again famine
threatened. The switch remained open to the Boarder, and he was once
more on duty, but he had as yet drawn no wages, one morning there was
nothing for breakfast.

"I'll pawn my ticker at noon," promised the Boarder, "and bring home
something for dinner."

"There is lots of folks as goes without breakfast allers, from choice,"
informed Amarilly. "Miss Vail, the teacher at the Guild, says it's
hygeniack."

"It won't hurt us and the boys," said Mrs. Jenkins, "but Iry and Co is
too young to go hungry even if it be hygeniack."

"They ain't agoin' hungry," declared Amarilly. "I'll pervide fer them."

With a small pitcher under her cape she started bravely forth on a
foraging expedition. After walking a few blocks she came to a white
house whose woodhouse joined the alley. Hiding behind a barrel she
watched and waited until a woman opened the back door and set a soup
plate of milk on the lowest step.

"Come a kits! Come a kits!" she called shrilly, and then went back into
the house.

The "kits" came on the run; so did Amarilly. She arrived first, and
hastily emptied the contents of the soup plate into her pitcher. Then
she fled, leaving two dismayed maltese kittens disconsolately lapping an
empty dish.

"Here's milk for Iry," she announced, handing the pitcher to her mother.
"Now I'll go and get some breakfast for Co."

She returned presently with a sugared doughnut.

"Where did you borry the milk and nut-cake?" asked her mother
wonderingly.

"I didn't borry them," replied Amarilly stoically. "I stole them."

"Stole them! Am-a-ril-ly Jenk-ins!"

"Twan't exackly stealin'," argued Amarilly cheerfully. "I took the milk
from two little cats what git stuffed with milk every morning and night.
The doughnut had jest been stuck in a parrot's cage. He hedn't tetched
it. My! he swore fierce! I'd ruther steal, anyway, than let Iry and Co
go hungry."

"What would the preacher say!" demanded her mother solemnly. "He would
say it was wrong."

"He don't know nothin' about bein' hungry!" replied Amarilly defiantly.
"If he was ever as hungry as Iry, I bet he'd steal from a cat."

The season was now summer. Some time ago John Meredith had gone to the
seashore and the King family to their summer home in the mountains,
unaware that the fever had spread over so wide an area in the Jenkins
domain. The theatre and St. Mark's were closed for the rest of the
summer. The little boys found that their positions had been filled
during the period of quarantine. None of these catastrophes, however,
could be compared to the calamity of the realization that Bud alone of
all the patients had not convalesced completely. He was a delicate
little fellow, and he grew paler and thinner each day. In desperation
Amarilly went to the doctor.

"Bud don't pick up," she said bluntly.

"I feared he wouldn't," replied the doctor.

"Can't you try some other kinds of medicines?"

"I can, but I am afraid that there is no medicine that will help him
very much."

Amarilly turned pale.

"Is there anything else that will help him?" she demanded fiercely.

"If he could go to the seashore he might brace up. Sea air would work
wonders for him."

"He shall go," said Amarilly with determination.

"I can get a week for him through the Fresh Air Fund," suggested the
doctor.

He succeeded in getting two weeks, and, that time was extended another
fortnight through the benevolence of Mr. Vedder.

Bud returned a study in reds and browns.

"The sea beats the theayter and the church all to smitherines,
Amarilly!" he declared jubilantly. "I kin go to work now."

"No!" said Amarilly resolutely. "You air goin' to loaf through this hot
weather until church and school open."

The family fund once more had a modest start. Mrs. Jenkins obtained a
few of her old customers, Bobby got a paper route, Flamingus and Milton
were again at work, but Amarilly, Gus, and Cory were without vocations.

Soon after the quarantine was lifted Amarilly went forth to deliver the
surplice and the waist which had hung familiarly side by side during the
weeks of trouble. The housekeeper at the rectory greeted her kindly and
was most sympathetic on learning of the protracted confinement. She made
Amarilly a present of the surplice.

"Mr. Meredith said you were to keep it. He thought your mother might
find it useful. It is good linen, you know, and you can cut it up into
clothes for the children. He has so many surplices, he won't miss this
one."

"I'll never cut it up!" thought Amarilly as she reverently received the
robe. "I'll keep it in 'membrance of him."

"It's orful good in him to give it to us," she said gratefully to the
housekeeper.

That worthy woman smiled, remembering how the fastidious young rector
had shrunk from the thought of wearing a fumigated garment.

At the King residence Amarilly saw the caretaker, who gave her a similar
message regarding the lace waist.

"I'll keep it," thought Amarilly with a shy little blush, "until I'm
merried. It'll start my trousseau."

She took the garments home, not mentioning to anyone the gift of the
waist, however, for that was to be her secret--her first secret. She hid
this nest-egg of her trousseau in an old trunk which she fastened
securely.

On the next day she was summoned to help clean the theatre, which had
been rented for one night by the St. Andrew's vested choir, whose
members were to give a sacred concert. A rehearsal for this
entertainment was being held when Amarilly arrived.

"These surplices are all too long or too short for me," complained the
young tenor, who had recently been engaged for the solo parts.

Amarilly surveyed him critically.

"He's jest about Mr. St. John's size," she mused, "only he ain't so fine
a shape."

With the thought came an inspiration that brought a quickly waged
battle. It seemed sacrilegious, although she didn't express it by that
word, to permit another to wear a garment so sacred to the memory of Mr.
Meredith, but poverty, that kill-sentiment, had fully developed the
practical side of Amarilly.

She made answer to her stabs of conscience by action instead of words,
going straight to her friend, the ticket-seller.

"That feller," she said, indicating the tenor, "ain't satisfied with the
fit of his surplus. I've got one jest his size. It's done up spick and
span clean, and I'll rent it to him fer the show. He kin hev it fer the
ev'nin' fer a dollar. Would you ask him fer me?"

"Certainly, Amarilly," he agreed.

He came back to her, smiling.

"He'll take it, but he seems to think your charge rather high--more than
that of most costumers, he said."

"This ain't no common surplus," defended Amarilly loftily. "It was wore
by the rector of St. Mark's, and he give it to me. It's of finer stuff
than the choir surpluses, and it hez got a cross worked onto it, and a
pocket in it, too."

"Of course such inducements should increase the value," confirmed Mr.
Vedder gravely, and he proceeded to hold another colloquy with the
twinkling-eyed tenor. Amarilly went home for the surplice and received
therefor the sum of one dollar, which swelled the Jenkins's purse
perceptibly.

And here began the mundane career of the minister's surplice.

CHAPTER VIII

Ever apt in following a lead, Amarilly at once resolved to establish a
regular costuming business. It even occurred to her to hire out the lace
waist, but thoughts of wedding bells prevailed against her impulse to
open this branch of the business.

When the young tenor returned the surplice he informed Amarilly that two
young ladies of his acquaintance were going to give a home entertainment
for charity. Among the impromptu acts would be some tableaux, and the
surplice was needed for a church scene. So the new venture brought in
another dollar that week.

One day Bud came home capless, having crossed a bridge in a high wind.

"I seen an ad," said the thrifty Flamingus, "that the Beehive would give
away baseball caps to-day."

Amarilly immediately set out for the Beehive, an emporium of fashion in
the vicinity of the theatre. It was the noon hour, and there were no
other customers in evidence.

The proprietor and a clerk were engaged in discussing the design for a
window display, and were loath to notice their would-be beneficiary.
Finally the clerk drawled out:

"Did you want anything, little girl?"

"I called," explained Amarilly with grandiose manner, "to git one of
them caps you advertised to give away."

"Oh, those were all given out long ago. You should have come earlier,"
he replied with an air of relief, as he turned to resume the
all-absorbing topic with the proprietor.

Amarilly's interest in the window display dispelled any disappointment
she might have had in regard to Bud's head covering.

"Now," said the clerk didactically, "my idea is this. Have a wedding--a
church wedding. I can rig up an altar, and we'll have the bride in a
white, trailing gown; the groom, best man, and ushers in dress suits to
advertise our gents' department, the bridesmaids and relatives in
different colored evening dresses, and in this way we can announce our
big clearing sale of summer goods in the ready-to-wear department. It'll
make a swell window and draw crowds. Women can never get by a wedding."

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11