The Blue Flower [33]
and bay-windows in amazing richness. Moreover, in
the front yard were cast-iron images painted white: a stag
reposing on a door-mat; Diana properly dressed and returning
from the chase; a small iron boy holding over his head a
parasol from the ferrule of which a fountain squirted. The
paths were of asphalt, gray and gritty in winter, but now, in
the summer heat, black and pulpy to the tread.
There were many feet passing over them this afternoon, for
Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Wilson were giving a reception to
celebrate the official entrance of their daughter Amanda into a
social life which she had permeated unofficially for several
years. The house was sizzling full of people. Those who were
jammed in the parlour tried to get into the dining-room, and
those who were packed in the dining-room struggled to escape,
holding plates of stratified cake and liquefied ice-cream high
above their neighbours' heads like signals of danger and
distress. Everybody was talking at the same time, in a loud,
shrill voice, and nobody listened to what anybody else was
saying. But it did not matter, for they all said the same things.
"Elegant house for a party, so full of--" "How perfectly
lovely Amanda Wilson looks in that--" "Awfully warm day!
Were you at the Tompkins' last--" "Wilson's Emporium must be
doing good business to keep up all this--" "Hear he's going
to enlarge the store and take Luke Woods into the--"
"Shouldn't wonder if there might be a wedding here before
next--"
The tide of chatter rose and swelled and ebbed and
suddenly sank away. At six o'clock, the minister and two
maiden ladies in black silk with lilac ribbons, laid down their
last plates of ice-cream and said they thought they must be
going. Amanda and her mother preened their dresses and patted
their hair. Come into the study," said Mr. Wilson to Luke. "I
want to have a talk with you."
The little bookless room, called the study, was the one
that kept its eye on the shop and the business, away down the
street. You could see the brick front, and the plate-glass
windows, and part of the gilt sign.
"Pretty good store," said Mr. Wilson, jingling the keys in
his pocket, "does the biggest trade in the county, biggest but
one in the whole state, I guess. And I must say, Luke Woods,
you've done your share, these last five years, in building it
up. Never had a clerk work so hard and so steady. You've got
good business sense, I guess."
"I'm glad you think so," said Luke. "I did as well as I
could."
"Yes," said the elder man, "and now I'm about ready to
take you in with me, give you a share in the business. I want
some one to help me run it, make it larger. We can double it,
easy, if we stick to it and spread out. No reason why you
shouldn't make a fortune out of it, and have a house just like
this on the other corner, when you're my age."
Luke's thoughts were wandering a little. They went out
from the stuffy room, beyond the dusty street, and the
jangling cars, and the gilt sign, and the shop full of
dry-goods and notions, and the high desks in the office--out
to the dim, cool forest, where Snowberry and Partridge-berry
and Wood-Magic grow. He heard the free winds rushing over the
tree-tops, and saw the trail winding away before him in the
green shade.
"You are very kind," said he, "I hope you will not be
disappointed in me. Sometimes I think, perhaps--"
"Not at all, not at all," said the other. "It's all
right. You're well fitted for it. And then, there's another
thing. I guess you like my daughter Amanda pretty well. Eh?
I've watched you, young man. I've had my eye on you! Now, of
course, I can't say much about it--never can be sure of these
kind of things, you know--but if you and she--"
The voice went on rolling out words complacently. But
something strange was working in Luke's blood,
and other voices were sounding faintly in his ears. He heard
the lisping of the leaves on the little poplar-trees, the
whistle of the black duck's wings as he circled in the
the front yard were cast-iron images painted white: a stag
reposing on a door-mat; Diana properly dressed and returning
from the chase; a small iron boy holding over his head a
parasol from the ferrule of which a fountain squirted. The
paths were of asphalt, gray and gritty in winter, but now, in
the summer heat, black and pulpy to the tread.
There were many feet passing over them this afternoon, for
Mr. and Mrs. Matthew Wilson were giving a reception to
celebrate the official entrance of their daughter Amanda into a
social life which she had permeated unofficially for several
years. The house was sizzling full of people. Those who were
jammed in the parlour tried to get into the dining-room, and
those who were packed in the dining-room struggled to escape,
holding plates of stratified cake and liquefied ice-cream high
above their neighbours' heads like signals of danger and
distress. Everybody was talking at the same time, in a loud,
shrill voice, and nobody listened to what anybody else was
saying. But it did not matter, for they all said the same things.
"Elegant house for a party, so full of--" "How perfectly
lovely Amanda Wilson looks in that--" "Awfully warm day!
Were you at the Tompkins' last--" "Wilson's Emporium must be
doing good business to keep up all this--" "Hear he's going
to enlarge the store and take Luke Woods into the--"
"Shouldn't wonder if there might be a wedding here before
next--"
The tide of chatter rose and swelled and ebbed and
suddenly sank away. At six o'clock, the minister and two
maiden ladies in black silk with lilac ribbons, laid down their
last plates of ice-cream and said they thought they must be
going. Amanda and her mother preened their dresses and patted
their hair. Come into the study," said Mr. Wilson to Luke. "I
want to have a talk with you."
The little bookless room, called the study, was the one
that kept its eye on the shop and the business, away down the
street. You could see the brick front, and the plate-glass
windows, and part of the gilt sign.
"Pretty good store," said Mr. Wilson, jingling the keys in
his pocket, "does the biggest trade in the county, biggest but
one in the whole state, I guess. And I must say, Luke Woods,
you've done your share, these last five years, in building it
up. Never had a clerk work so hard and so steady. You've got
good business sense, I guess."
"I'm glad you think so," said Luke. "I did as well as I
could."
"Yes," said the elder man, "and now I'm about ready to
take you in with me, give you a share in the business. I want
some one to help me run it, make it larger. We can double it,
easy, if we stick to it and spread out. No reason why you
shouldn't make a fortune out of it, and have a house just like
this on the other corner, when you're my age."
Luke's thoughts were wandering a little. They went out
from the stuffy room, beyond the dusty street, and the
jangling cars, and the gilt sign, and the shop full of
dry-goods and notions, and the high desks in the office--out
to the dim, cool forest, where Snowberry and Partridge-berry
and Wood-Magic grow. He heard the free winds rushing over the
tree-tops, and saw the trail winding away before him in the
green shade.
"You are very kind," said he, "I hope you will not be
disappointed in me. Sometimes I think, perhaps--"
"Not at all, not at all," said the other. "It's all
right. You're well fitted for it. And then, there's another
thing. I guess you like my daughter Amanda pretty well. Eh?
I've watched you, young man. I've had my eye on you! Now, of
course, I can't say much about it--never can be sure of these
kind of things, you know--but if you and she--"
The voice went on rolling out words complacently. But
something strange was working in Luke's blood,
and other voices were sounding faintly in his ears. He heard
the lisping of the leaves on the little poplar-trees, the
whistle of the black duck's wings as he circled in the