Part 7 (1/2)

”Yes. But--that isn't--er--” Mr. Smith hesitated doubtfully, and Mrs.

Blaisdell jumped into the pause.

”And, really, for that matter, she knows about us NOW, too, better than 'most anybody else. Hattie's always sending for her, and Flora, too, if they're sick, or anything. Poor Maggie! Sometimes I think they actually impose upon her. And she's such a good soul, too! I declare, I never see her but I wish I could do something for her. But, of course, with my means--But, there! Here I am, running on as usual. Frank says I never do know when to stop, when I get started on something; and of course you didn't come here to talk about poor Maggie. Now I'll go back to business. When is it you want to start in--to board, I mean?”

”To-morrow, if I may.” With some alacrity Mr. Smith got to his feet.

”And now we must be going--Benny and I. I'm at the Holland House. With your permission, then, Mrs. Blaisdell, I'll send up my trunks to-morrow morning. And now good-night--and thank you.”

”Why--but, Mr. Smith!” The woman, too, came to her feet, but her face was surprised. ”Why, you haven't even seen your room yet! How do you know you'll like it?”

”Eh? What? Oh!” Mr. Smith laughed. There was a quizzical lift to his eyebrows. ”So I haven't, have I? And people usually do, don't they?

Well--er--perhaps I will just take a look at--the room, though I'm not worrying any, I a.s.sure you. I've no doubt it will be quite right, quite right,” he finished, as he followed Mrs. Blaisdell to a door halfway down the narrow hall.

Five minutes later, once more on the street, he was walking home with Benny. It was Benny who broke the long silence that had immediately fallen between them.

”Say, Mr. Smith, I'll bet ye YOU'll never be rich!”

Mr. Smith turned with a visible start.

”Eh? What? I'll never be--What do you mean, boy?”

Benny giggled cheerfully.

”'Cause you paid Aunt Jane what she asked the very first time. Why, Aunt Jane never expects ter get what she asks, pa says. She sells him groceries in the store, sometimes, when Uncle Frank's away, ye know. Pa says what she asks first is for practice--just ter get her hand in; an'

she expects ter get beat down. But you paid it, right off the bat.

Didn't ye see how tickled Aunt Jane was, after she'd got over bein'

surprised?”

”Why--er--really, Benny,” murmured Mr. Smith.

But Benny had yet more to say.

”Oh, yes, sir, you could have saved a lot every week, if ye hadn't bit so quick. An' that's why I say you won't ever get rich. Savin' 's what does it, ye know--gets folks rich. Aunt Jane says so. She says a penny saved 's good as two earned, an' better than four spent.”

”Well, really, indeed!” Mr. Smith laughed lightly. ”That does look as if there wasn't much chance for me, doesn't it?”

”Yes, sir.” Benny spoke soberly, and with evident sympathy. He spoke again, after a moment, but Mr. Smith did not seem to hear at once. Mr.

Smith was, indeed, not a little abstracted all the way to Benny's home, though his good-night was very cheerful at parting. Benny would have been surprised, indeed, had he known that Mr. Smith was thinking, not about his foolishly extravagant agreement for board, but about a pair of starry eyes with wistful lights in them, and a blue dress, plainly made.

In the hotel that night, Mr. John Smith wrote the following letter to Edward D. Norton, Esq., Chicago:

MY DEAR NED,--Well, I'm here. I've been here exactly six hours, and already I'm in possession of not a little Blaisdell data for my--er--book. I've seen Mr. and Mrs. James, their daughter, Bessie, and their son, Benny. Benny, by the way, is a gus.h.i.+ng geyser of current Blaisdell data which, I foresee, I shall find interesting, but embarra.s.sing, perhaps, at times. I've also seen Miss Flora, and Mrs.

Jane Blaisdell and her daughter, Mellicent.

There's a ”Poor Maggie” whom I haven't seen. But she isn't a Blaisdell.

She's a Duff, daughter of the man who married Rufus Blaisdell's widow, some thirty years or more ago. As I said, I haven't seen her yet, but she, too, according to Mrs. Frank Blaisdell, must be a gus.h.i.+ng geyser of Blaisdell data, so I probably soon shall see her. Why she's ”poor” I don't know.

As for the Blaisdell data already in my possession--I've no comment to make. Really, Ned, to tell the truth, I'm not sure I'm going to relish this job, after all. In spite of a perfectly clear conscience, and the virtuous realization that I'm here to bring nothing worse than a hundred thousand dollars apiece with the possible addition of a few millions on their devoted heads--in spite of all this, I yet have an uncomfortable feeling that I'm a small boy listening at the keyhole.