Clever Betsy. Clara Louise Burnham

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СКАЧАТЬ has what’s-her-name there, that girl she adopted,” he responded carelessly. “Why doesn’t she shift such duties upon her?”

      “Oh, you remember Rosalie, do you?” asked Betsy dryly, as she resumed her work.

      “To be sure. That was her name. Pretty name. Pretty girl. A real village beauty.”

      “Yes,” said Betsy. “You very likely remember Mrs. Bruce took a lot of interest in her. Had her here to speak poetry one day.”

      “Oh, I remember her very well,” returned the young man. “I don’t recall the poetry though. So that was her forte. Apt to interfere with opening up and airing out other people’s cottages, I suppose.”

      “Yes, if it’s encouraged. Hers was encouraged.”

      Betsy’s lips snapped together and her tone caused her companion to glance around at her over his shoulder.

      “Mildew sort of got on your nerves, Betsy?” he asked, amused. “Don’t worry. There’s a free-for-all chemistry here that will fix it up in no time. Drop that duster and come and look at the ocean. It will steady you.”

      “Steady me!” Betsy gave a derisive grunt. “Tell that to the marines. I’ve had experience of its steadiness the last month, haven’t I?”

      Irving laughed at certain memories of his companion’s walnut profile, with lips pursed in the throes of endurance.

      “You aren’t a star sailor, are you?” he returned.

      “I learned the meanin’ o’ one phrase o’ Scripture; learned it for life. ‘Unstable as water.’ It fits some folks just splendid and you couldn’t say anything worse about ’em. My! will I ever forget tryin’ to wait on Mrs. Bruce and fix my hair in that stateroom! Never got my arms up that there didn’t come a lurch and knock my elbow against the woodwork fit to break the skin.”

      “You ought to be better upholstered, Betsy,” said Irving.

      “And varnish!” she continued, with reminiscent loathing. “Shall I ever be able to use varnish again!”

      “Joy!” exclaimed Irving. “Then I’m not in any danger of being shellacked! I never felt certain in childhood’s happy hour that keeping me surgically clean would wholly satisfy you.”

      “No, sir,” said Betsy warmly, “the ocean won’t get me to look at it this summer. All diamonds, and blue sparkles, and white feathers, just as if butter wouldn’t melt in its mouth; then when it gets you in its clutches, bangs you around from pillar to post and nearly blows the hair off your head. I know its tricks now. It’ll never deceive me again.”

      Irving smiled out at the maligned billows. “Looks pretty good to me,” he returned. “Wonder what I shall do about a boat. Has Mrs. Bruce said any more about the Yellowstone?”

      “Yes, spoke of it this mornin’ to Cap’n Salter.”

      “Oh, has she been out with Hiram already?”

      “No, he was lally-gaggin’ around here for a while.”

      “How is old Hiram?” The question was affectionate.

      Betsy pushed an upturned rug under a table-leg.

      “Oh, about as usual, I guess. Gets more like himself every year, same as we all do.”

      “Well, he couldn’t do better. He’s a good sort.” Irving smiled at some memory. “I must have made that man’s life a burden. What a lot of patience he had! But when the end was reached, I can feel that hand of his come down on me, big as a ham, and toss me away as if I’d been a cunner he was throwing back. Mrs. Salter, too. Talk about salt of the earth! I suppose that must have been a stock Fairport pun during her life. Many a time she begged me off. The gentle Annie! I should think so. Let’s see. How long has she been gone?”

      “Five years.”

      “And the captain has never taken notice since, has he?”

      “Don’t ask me,” was the curt response; and a table was whisked completely around with a celerity which must have given it vertigo.

      “Betsy! Betsy!” It was a cautious call which came quietly from the invisible.

      Betsy straightened herself and moved toward it, and the silent moment was followed by the swift entrance of Mrs. Bruce.

      “My dear boy!” she exclaimed, aggrieved. “I thought I heard a man’s voice. How long have you been here? Betsy, why didn’t you tell me!”

      The young man’s eyes were kind as he turned and came to meet the speaker, and his manner seemed very quiet in contrast to her alert, fussy personality and the froufrou of her taffetas.

      “Good-morning, Madama,” he said, returning her nervous embrace lightly. “I’ve asked Betsy so many questions since I broke in here, that she couldn’t in civility leave me.”

      Betsy returned to her labors, deaf to her mistress’s remarks. She knew that Mrs. Bruce had a chronic objection to her having a tête-à-tête, however short, with Irving. It was as if the widow were jealous of the twelve years’ advantage which her maid had over her; and notwithstanding Betsy’s humble position, her mistress constantly imagined that they referred, when together, to events which she had not shared, and spoke on subjects which would be dropped upon her appearance.

      The newcomer slipped her hand through the young man’s arm, and moved with him as he returned to the window.

      “Why didn’t you telegraph? How did you happen to come so soon?”

      “Oh, I just saw that the bank was run by a lot of egoists who supposed that they could manage it without me, just as they have for thirty years, so I thought I would make the most of this last summer of their self-satisfaction, and take all that was coming to me, before I get into the harness.”

      “Very wise; and I hope when you do get into harness you’ll never make such a slave of yourself as your dear father did.”

      “You never can tell. I rather dread my own proclivities. If I should ever work as hard as I’ve played, the business world is going to be jarred when I leap into it.”

      Mrs. Bruce hung fondly on his arm, rejoicing in the hard muscle she felt through his light sleeve.

      “Well,” she said, “I’m glad you could come. There is such a wonderful feeling of freedom in this restful spot. Sometimes,” pensively, “I think the greatest blessing we have in life is personal freedom. I suffocate without it, and it is astonishing how difficult it is to get, in the ordinary affairs of life.” Then, with sudden attention, “What makes you wear that tie with that suit? I don’t like it at all, anyway. That isn’t one that I gave you.”

      The young man’s hand mechanically sought his throat. “No, Madama,” he admitted, still looking absently from the window.

      “I should think, Irving, as many neckties as I pick out for you, you might wear one of them when you’re going to be with me.”

      “But I can’t bear to wear your neckties,” he returned gently, “they’re so decorative in my room. To tie them all up and bury them under a collar and vest would be a shame. I hang them on my tie-rack, where they can be admired СКАЧАТЬ