CHAPTER V
IN MISS FLORA'S ALBUM
It was the next afternoon that Mr. Smith inquired his way to the homeof Miss Flora Blaisdell. He found it to be a shabby little cottage on aside street. Miss Flora herself answered his knock, peering at himanxiously with her near-sighted eyes.
Mr. Smith lifted his hat.
"Good-afternoon, Miss Blaisdell," he began with a deferential bow. "Iam wondering if you could tell me something of your father's family."Miss Flora, plainly pleased, but flustered, stepped back for him toenter.
"Oh, Mr. Smith, come in, come in! I'm sure I'm glad to tell youanything I know," she beamed, ushering him into the unmistakablylittle-used "front room." "But you really ought to go to Maggie. I cantell you some things, but Maggie's got the Bible. Mother had it, youknow, and it's all among her things. And of course we had to let itstay, as long as Father Duff lives. He doesn't want anything touched.Poor Maggie--she tried to get 'em for us; but, mercy! she never triedbut once. But I've got some things. I've got pictures of a lot of them,and most of them I know quite a lot about."
As she spoke she nicked up from the table a big red plush photographalbum. Seating herself at his side she opened it, and began to tell himof the pictures, one by one.
She did, indeed, know "quite a lot" of most of them. Tintypes,portraying stiffly held hands and staring eyes, ghostly reproductionsof daguerreotypes of stern-lipped men and women, in old-time stock andkerchief; photographs of stilted family groups after the"he-is-mine-and-I-am-his" variety; snap-shots of adorable babies withblurred thumbs and noses--never had Mr. John Smith seen their likebefore.
Politely he listened. Busily, from time to time, he jotted down a nameor date. Then, suddenly, as she turned a page, he gave an involuntarystart. He was looking at a pictured face, evidently cut from a magazine.
"Why, what--who--" he stammered.
"That? Oh, that's Mr. Fulton, the millionaire, you know." Miss Flora'shands fluttered over the page a little importantly, adjusting a cornerof the print. "You must have seen his picture. It's been everywhere.He's our cousin, too."
"Oh, is he?"
"Yes, 'way back somewhere. I can't tell you just how, only I know heis. His mother was a Blaisdell. That's why I've always been sointerested in him, and read everything I could--in the papers andmagazines, you know."
"Oh, I see." Mr. John Smith's voice had become a little uncertain.
"Yes. He ain't very handsome, is he?" Miss Flora's eyes were musinglyfixed on the picture before her--which was well, perhaps: Mr. JohnSmith's face was a study just then.
"Er--n-no, he isn't."
"But he's turribly rich, I s'pose. I wonder how it feels to have somuch money."
There being no reply to this, Miss Flora went on after a moment.
"It must be awful nice--to buy what you want, I mean, without frettingabout how much it costs. I never did. But I'd like to."
"What would you do--if you could--if you had the money, I mean?"queried Mr. Smith, almost eagerly.
Miss Flora laughed.
"Well, there's three things I know I'd do. They're silly, of course,but they're what I WANT. It's a phonygraph, and to see Niagara Falls,and to go into Noell's restaurant and order what I want without evenlooking at the prices after 'em. Now you're laughing at me!"
"Laughing? Not a bit of it!" There was a curious elation in Mr. Smith'svoice. "What's more, I hope you'll get them--some time."
Miss Flora sighed. Her face looked suddenly pinched and old.
"I shan't. I couldn't, you know. Why, if I had the money, I shouldn'tspend it--not for them things. I'd be needing shoes or a new dress. AndI COULDN'T be so rich I wouldn't notice what the prices was--of what Iate. But, then, I don't believe anybody's that, not even him." Shepointed to the picture still open before them.
"No?" Mr. Smith, his eyes bent upon the picture, was lookingthoughtful. He had the air of a man to whom has come a brand-new,somewhat disconcerting idea.
Miss Flora, glancing from the man to the picture, and back again, gavea sudden exclamation.
"There, now I know who it is that you remind me of, Mr. Smith. It'shim--Mr. Fulton, there."
"Eh? What?" Mr. Smith looked not a little startled.
"Something about the eyes and nose." Miss Flora was still interestedlycomparing the man and the picture, "But, then, that ain't so strange.You're a Blaisdell yourself. Didn't you say you was a Blaisdell?"
"Er--y-yes, oh, yes. I'm a Blaisdell," nodded Mr. Smith hastily. "Verylikely I've got the--er--Blaisdell nose. Eh?" Then he turned a leaf ofthe album abruptly, decidedly. "And who may this be?" he demanded,pointing to the tintype of a bright-faced young girl.
"That? Oh, that's my cousin Grace when she was sixteen. She died; butshe was a wonderful girl. I'll tell you about her."
"Yes, do," urged Mr. Smith; and even the closest observer, watching hisface, could not have said that he was not absorbedly interested in MissFlora's story of "my cousin Grace."
It was not until the last leaf of the album was reached that they cameupon the picture of a small girl, with big, hungry eyes looking outfrom beneath long lashes.
"That's Mellicent--where you're boarding, you know--when she waslittle." Miss Flora frowned disapprovingly. "But it's horrid, poorchild!"
"But she looks so--so sad," murmured Mr. Smith.
"Yes, I know. She always did." Miss Flora sighed and frowned again. Shehesitated, then burst out, as if irresistibly impelled from within."It's only just another case of never having what you want WHEN youwant it, Mr. Smith. And it ain't 'cause they're poor, either. TheyAIN'T poor--not like me, I mean. Frank's always done well, and he'sbeen a good provider; but it's my sister-in-law--her way, I mean. Notthat I'm saying anything against Jane. I ain't. She's a good woman, andshe's very kind to me. She's always saying what she'd do for me if sheonly had the money. She's a good housekeeper, too, and her house is asneat as wax. But it's just that she never thinks she can USE anythingshe's got till it's so out of date she don't want it. I dressmake forher, you see, so I know--about her sleeves and skirts, you know. And ifshe ever does wear a decent thing she's so afraid it will rain shenever takes any comfort in it!"
"Well, that is--unfortunate."
"Yes, ain't it? And she's brought up that poor child the same way. Why,from babyhood, Mellicent never had her rattles till she wanted blocks,nor her blocks till she wanted dolls, nor her dolls till she was bigenough for beaus! And that's what made the poor child always look sowall-eyed and hungry. She was hungry--even if she did get enough toeat."
"Mrs. Blaisdell probably believed in--er--economy," hazarded Mr. Smith.
"Economy! My stars, I should think she did! But, there, I ought not tohave said anything, of course. It's a good trait. I only wish someother folks I could mention had more of it. There's Jim's wife, forinstance. Now, if she's got ten cents, she'll spend fifteen--and fivemore to show HOW she spent it. She and Jane ought to be shaken up in abag together. Why, Mr. Smith, Jane doesn't let herself enjoy anything.She's always keeping it for a better time. Though sometimes I think sheDOES enjoy just seeing how far she can make a dollar go. But Mellicentdon't, nor Frank; and it's hard on them."
"I should say it might be." Mr. Smith was looking at the wistful eyesunder the long lashes.
"'T is; and 't ain't right, I believe. There IS such a thing as beingtoo economical. I tell Jane she'll be like a story I read once about aman who pinched and saved all his life, not even buying peanuts, thoughhe just doted on 'em. And when he did get rich, so he could buy thepeanuts, he bought a big bag the first thing. But he didn't eat 'em. Hehadn't got any teeth left to chew 'em with."
"Well, that was a catastrophe!" laughed Mr. Smith, as he pocketed hisnotebook and rose to his feet. "And now I thank you very much, MissBlaisdell, for the help you've been to me."
"Oh, you're quite welcome, indeed you are, Mr. Smith," beamed MissBlaisdell. "It's done me good, just to talk to you about all thesefolks and pictures. I we enjoyed it. I do get lonesome sometimes, allal
one, so! and I ain't so busy as I wish I was, always. But I'm afraidI haven't helped you much--just this."
"Oh, yes, you have--perhaps more than think," smiled the man, with anodd look in his eyes.
"Have I? Well, I'm glad, I'm sure. And don't forget to go to Maggie's,now. She'll have a lot to tell you. Poor Maggie! And she'll be so gladto show you!"
"All right, thank you; I'll surely interview--Miss Maggie," smiled theman in good-bye.
He had almost said "poor" Maggie himself, though why she should be POORMaggie had come to be an all-absorbing question with him. He had beentempted once to ask Miss Flora, but something had held him back. Thatevening at the supper table, however, in talking with Mrs. JaneBlaisdell, the question came again to his lips; and this time it foundutterance.
Mrs. Jane herself had introduced Miss Maggie's name, and had said aninconsequential something about her when Mr. Smith asked:--
"Mrs. Blaisdell, please,--may I ask? I must confess to a greatcuriosity as to why Miss Duff is always 'poor Maggie.'"
Mrs. Blaisdell laughed pleasantly.
"Why, really, I don't know," she answered, "only it just comes natural,that's all. Poor Maggie's been so unfortunate. There! I did it again,didn't I? That only goes to show how we all do it, unconsciously."
Frank Blaisdell, across the table, gave a sudden emphatic sniff.
"Humph! Well, I guess if you had to live with Father Duff, Jane, itwould be 'poor Jane' with you, all right!"
"Yes, I know." His wife sighed complacently.
"Father Duff's a trial, and no mistake. But Maggie doesn't seem tomind."
"Mind! Aunt Maggie's a saint--that's what she is!" It was Mellicent whospoke, her young voice vibrant with suppressed feeling. "She's thedearest thing ever! There COULDN'T be anybody better than Aunt Maggie!"
Nothing more was said just then, but in the evening, later, afterMellicent had gone to walk with young Pennock, and her father had goneback down to the store, Mrs. Blaisdell took up the matter of "PoorMaggie" again.
"I've been thinking what you said," she began, "about our calling her'poor Maggie,' and I've made up my mind it's because we're all so sorryfor her. You see, she's been so unfortunate, as I said. Poor Maggie!I've so often wished there was something I could do for her. Of course,if we only had money--but we haven't; so I can't. And even moneywouldn't take away her father, either. Oh, mercy! I didn't mean that,really,--not the way it sounded," broke off Mrs. Blaisdell, in shockedapology. "I only meant that she'd have her father to care for, just thesame."
"He's something of a trial, I take it, eh?" smiled Mr. Smith.
"Trial! I should say he was. Poor Maggie! How ever she endures it, Ican't imagine. Of course, we call him Father Duff, but he's really notany relation to us--I mean to Frank and the rest. But their mothermarried him when they were children, and they never knew their ownfather much, so he's the father they know. When their mother died,Maggie had just entered college. She was eighteen, and such a prettygirl! I knew the family even then. Frank was just beginning to court me.
"Well, of course Maggie had to come home right away. None of the restwanted to take care of him and Maggie had to. There was another Duffsister then--a married sister (she's died since), but SHE wouldn't takehim, so Maggie had to. Of course, none of the Blaisdells wanted thecare of him--and he wasn't their father, anyway. Frank was wanting tomarry me, and Jim and Flora were in school and wanted to stay there, ofcourse. So Maggie came. Poor girl! It was real hard for her. She was soambitious, and so fond of books. But she came, and went right into thehome and kept it so Frank and Jim and Flora could live there just thesame as when their mother was alive. And she had to do all the work,too. They were too poor to keep a girl. Kind of hard, wasn't it?--andMaggie only eighteen!"
"It was, indeed!" Mr. Smith's lips came together a bit grimly.
"Well, after a time Frank and Jim married, and there was only Flora andFather Duff at home. Poor Maggie tried then to go to college again. Shewas over twenty-one, and supposed to be her own mistress, of course.She found a place where she could work and pay her way through college,and Flora said she'd keep the house and take care of Father Duff. But,dear me; it wasn't a month before that ended, and Maggie had to comehome again. Flora wasn't strong, and the work fretted her. Besides, shenever could get along with Father Duff, and she was trying to learndressmaking, too. She stuck it out till she got sick, though, then ofcourse Maggie had to come back."
"Well, by Jove!" ejaculated Mr. Smith.
"Yes, wasn't it too bad? Poor Maggie, she tried it twice again. Shepersuaded her father to get a girl. But that didn't work, either. Thefirst girl and her father fought like cats and dogs, and the last timeshe got one her father was taken sick, and again she had to come home.Some way, it's always been that way with poor Maggie. No sooner doesshe reach out to take something than it's snatched away, just as shethinks she's got it. Why, there was her father's cousin George--he wasgoing to help her once. But a streak of bad luck hit him at just thatminute, and he gave out."
"And he never tried--again?"
"No. He went to Alaska then. Hasn't ever been back since. He's donewell, too, they say, and I always thought he'd send back something; buthe never has. There was some trouble, I believe, between him and FatherDuff at the time he went to Alaska, so that explains it, probably.Anyway, he's never done anything for them. Well, when he gave out,Maggie just gave up college then, and settled down to take care of herfather, though I guess she's always studied some at home; and I knowthat for years she didn't give up hope but that she could go some time.But I guess she has now. Poor Maggie!"
"How old is she?"
"Why, let me see--forty-three, forty-four--yes, she's forty-five. Shehad her forty-third birthday here--I remember I gave her a handkerchieffor a birthday present--when she was helping me take care of Mellicentthrough the pneumonia; and that was two years ago. She used to comehere and to Jim's and Flora's days at a time; but she isn't quite sofree as she was--Father Duff's worse now, and she don't like to leavehim nights, much, so she can't come to us so often. See?"
"Yes, I--see." There was a queer something in Mr. Smith's voice. "Andjust what is the matter with Mr. Duff?"
"Matter!" Mrs. Jane Blaisdell gave a short laugh and shrugged hershoulders. "Everything's the matter--with Father Duff! Oh, it's nerves,mostly, the doctor says, and there are some other things--long namesthat I can't remember. But, as I said, everything's the matter withFather Duff. He's one of those men where there isn't anything quiteright. Frank says he's got so he just objects to everything--on generalprinciples. 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'tsee; but she's devotion itself. Why, she even gave up her lover yearsago, for him. She wouldn't leave her father, and, of course, nobodywould think of taking HIM into the family, when he wasn't BORN into it,so the affair was broken off. I don't know, really, as Maggie caredmuch. Still, you can't tell. She never was one to carry her heart onher sleeve. Poor Maggie! I've always so wished I could do something forher!
"There, how I have run on! But, then, you asked, and you're interested,I know, and that's what you're here for--to find out about theBlaisdells."
"To--to--f-find out--" stammered Mr. Smith, grown suddenly very red.
"Yes, for your book, I mean."
"Oh, yes--of course; for my book," agreed Mr. Smith, a bit hastily. Hehad the guilty air of a small boy who has almost been caught in a raidon the cooky jar.
"And although poor Maggie isn't really a Blaisdell herself, she'snearly one; and they've got lots of Blaisdell records down there--amongMother Blaisdell's things, you know. You'll want to see those."
"Yes; yes, indeed. I'll want to see those, of course," declared Mr.Smith, rising to his feet, preparatory to going to his own room.