Miss Billie's Decision [2]
his rooms. Farther down somewhere comes Bertram. He's _the_ Bertram Henshaw, you understand; the artist.''
``Not the `Face-of-a-Girl' Henshaw?''
``The same; only of course four years ago he wasn't quite so well known as he is now. Well, to resume and go on. It was into this house, this masculine paradise ruled over by Pete and Dong Ling in the kitchen, that Billy's nave request for a home came.''
``Great Scott!'' breathed Arkwright, appreciatively.
``Yes. Well, the letter was signed `Billy.' They took her for a boy, naturally, and after something of a struggle they agreed to let `him' come. For his particular delectation they fixed up a room next to Bertram with guns and fishing rods, and such ladylike specialties; and William went to the station to meet the boy.''
``With never a suspicion?''
``With never a suspicion.''
``Gorry!''
``Well, `he' came, and `she' conquered. I guess things were lively for a while, though. Oh, there was a kitten, too, I believe, `Spunk,' who added to the gayety of nations.''
``But what did the Henshaws do?''
``Well, I wasn't there, of course; but Bertram says they spun around like tops gone mad for a time, but finally quieted down enough to summon a married sister for immediate propriety, and to establish Aunt Hannah for permanency the next day.''
``So that's how it happened! Well, by George!'' cried Arkwright.
``Yes,'' nodded the other. ``So you see there are untold possibilities just in a name. Remember that. Just suppose _you_, as Mary Jane, should beg a home in a feminine household--say in Miss Billy's, for instance!''
``I'd like to,'' retorted Arkwright, with sudden warmth.
Calderwell stared a little.
The other laughed shamefacedly.
``Oh, it's only that I happen to have a devouring curiosity to meet that special young lady. I sing her songs (you know she's written some dandies!), I've heard a lot about her, and I've seen her picture.'' (He did not add that he had also purloined that same picture from his mother's bureau--the picture being a gift from Aunt Hannah.) ``So you see I would, indeed, like to occupy a corner in the fair Miss Billy's household. I could write to Aunt Hannah and beg a home with her, you know; eh?''
``Of course! Why don't you--`Mary Jane'?'' laughed Calderwell. ``Billy'd take you all right. She's had a little Miss Hawthorn, a music teacher, there for months. She's always doing stunts of that sort. Belle writes me that she's had a dozen forlornites there all this last summer, two or three at a time-tired widows, lonesome old maids, and crippled kids--just to give them a royal good time. So you see she'd take you, without a doubt. Jove! what a pair you'd make: Miss Billy and Mr. Mary Jane! You'd drive the suffragettes into conniption fits--just by the sound of you!''
Arkwright laughed quietly; then he frowned.
``But how about it?'' he asked. ``I thought she was keeping house with Aunt Hannah. Didn't she stay at all with the Henshaws?''
``Oh, yes, a few months. I never knew just why she did leave, but I fancied, from something Billy herself said once, that she discovered she was creating rather too much of an upheaval in the Strata. So she took herself off. She went to school, and travelled considerably. She was over here when I met her first. After that she was with us all one summer on the yacht. A couple of years ago, or so, she went back to Boston, bought a house and settled down with Aunt Hannah.''
``And she's not married--or even engaged?''
``Wasn't the last I heard. I haven't seen her since December, and I've heard from her only indirectly. She corresponds with my sister, and so do I--intermittently. I heard a month ago from Belle, and _she_ had a letter from Billy in August. But I heard nothing of any engagement.''
``How about the Henshaws? I should think there might be a chance there for a romance-- a charming girl, and three unattached men.''
Calderwell gave a slow shake of the head.
``I don't think so. William is--let me see-- nearly forty-five,
``Not the `Face-of-a-Girl' Henshaw?''
``The same; only of course four years ago he wasn't quite so well known as he is now. Well, to resume and go on. It was into this house, this masculine paradise ruled over by Pete and Dong Ling in the kitchen, that Billy's na
``Great Scott!'' breathed Arkwright, appreciatively.
``Yes. Well, the letter was signed `Billy.' They took her for a boy, naturally, and after something of a struggle they agreed to let `him' come. For his particular delectation they fixed up a room next to Bertram with guns and fishing rods, and such ladylike specialties; and William went to the station to meet the boy.''
``With never a suspicion?''
``With never a suspicion.''
``Gorry!''
``Well, `he' came, and `she' conquered. I guess things were lively for a while, though. Oh, there was a kitten, too, I believe, `Spunk,' who added to the gayety of nations.''
``But what did the Henshaws do?''
``Well, I wasn't there, of course; but Bertram says they spun around like tops gone mad for a time, but finally quieted down enough to summon a married sister for immediate propriety, and to establish Aunt Hannah for permanency the next day.''
``So that's how it happened! Well, by George!'' cried Arkwright.
``Yes,'' nodded the other. ``So you see there are untold possibilities just in a name. Remember that. Just suppose _you_, as Mary Jane, should beg a home in a feminine household--say in Miss Billy's, for instance!''
``I'd like to,'' retorted Arkwright, with sudden warmth.
Calderwell stared a little.
The other laughed shamefacedly.
``Oh, it's only that I happen to have a devouring curiosity to meet that special young lady. I sing her songs (you know she's written some dandies!), I've heard a lot about her, and I've seen her picture.'' (He did not add that he had also purloined that same picture from his mother's bureau--the picture being a gift from Aunt Hannah.) ``So you see I would, indeed, like to occupy a corner in the fair Miss Billy's household. I could write to Aunt Hannah and beg a home with her, you know; eh?''
``Of course! Why don't you--`Mary Jane'?'' laughed Calderwell. ``Billy'd take you all right. She's had a little Miss Hawthorn, a music teacher, there for months. She's always doing stunts of that sort. Belle writes me that she's had a dozen forlornites there all this last summer, two or three at a time-tired widows, lonesome old maids, and crippled kids--just to give them a royal good time. So you see she'd take you, without a doubt. Jove! what a pair you'd make: Miss Billy and Mr. Mary Jane! You'd drive the suffragettes into conniption fits--just by the sound of you!''
Arkwright laughed quietly; then he frowned.
``But how about it?'' he asked. ``I thought she was keeping house with Aunt Hannah. Didn't she stay at all with the Henshaws?''
``Oh, yes, a few months. I never knew just why she did leave, but I fancied, from something Billy herself said once, that she discovered she was creating rather too much of an upheaval in the Strata. So she took herself off. She went to school, and travelled considerably. She was over here when I met her first. After that she was with us all one summer on the yacht. A couple of years ago, or so, she went back to Boston, bought a house and settled down with Aunt Hannah.''
``And she's not married--or even engaged?''
``Wasn't the last I heard. I haven't seen her since December, and I've heard from her only indirectly. She corresponds with my sister, and so do I--intermittently. I heard a month ago from Belle, and _she_ had a letter from Billy in August. But I heard nothing of any engagement.''
``How about the Henshaws? I should think there might be a chance there for a romance-- a charming girl, and three unattached men.''
Calderwell gave a slow shake of the head.
``I don't think so. William is--let me see-- nearly forty-five,