Susan Clegg and Her Love Affairs Page 10

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  SUSAN CLEGG DEVELOPS IMAGINATION

  "Far be it from me, Mrs. Lathrop," said Susan Clegg, returning from anearly errand down-town and dropping in at Mrs. Macy's to find her friendstill in her own room and rocking in her old-gold stationary rocker. Itwas now autumn, and to take the chill off the room an oil burner wasbrightly ablaze. "Far be it from me to say anything disrespectful ofsuch a good Samaritan as your son Jathrop, but as we have it in thescriptures, he certainly does move in a mysterious way his neighbors toinform. It's mighty good of him to go to all the expense of buildingover my house in a way I'd never in this wide world have had it if Icould 'a' understood those plans of that boy architect, and it maybe--providing we escape earthquake, fire, blood, and famine--that I'llget into it once more before next summer, notwithstanding it's all oftwo months behind yours, you being his mother, Mrs. Lathrop, and me onlyyour friend. But a early frost is sure to crack the plaster, and, seeingas the glass blowers has gone on a strike, there's no telling whenthey'll blow the panes for the windows. Just the same, kind and good asJathrop is, he might have had more consideration for me as would thisday have been his wife, if I'd felt to answer him with a three-letterword instead of a two, than to put me on the pillar of scorn before acommunity as has known me always as a scrupulous lover of the voracioustruth."

  "You don't--" began Mrs. Lathrop, in mild astonishment.

  "Yes, I do," continued Susan, with growing indignation. "Jathrop hasdone his best to make me out a liar, and I don't know as I'll ever beable to hold my head up again. He's struck me in the tenderest spot hecould strike me in, and not boldly neither, but in a skulking,underhand way that makes it all the bitterer pill to swallow."

  "I can't see--" objected Mrs. Lathrop.

  "No, nor me neither. But he did, and in no time everybody'll know itfrom Johnny, at the station, to Mrs. Lupey in Meadville, not forgettin'the poor demented over to the insane asylum. And it all comes of thoseletters I have been getting from Jathrop during the summer."

  "But--"

  "Yes, I know and you know there was no letters a _tall_. But everybodyelse, except you and me and the postmaster, believed I had a letterregular every week. Whenever I run short of subjects at the SewingSociety, I just fell back on my last letter from Jathrop and told themall about what he was doing in those islands. I'd read the book he sent,and I'd read it to good profit. There was some things as I didn't quiteunderstand, of course, but on them I just put my own interpretations,and knowing Jathrop as I did, it was easy enough for me to figure outhow he'd be most likely to act in a strange, barbaric land. The bookdidn't have a word to say about the costumes of the native tribes, butI'm not so ignorant as not to know how those South Sea Islanders neverwear nothing more hamperin' than sea-shell earrings and necklaces ofsharks' teeth; and I'd read, too, that foreign visitors, on account ofthe unbearable heat, was in the habit of adoptin' the native fashions indress. When you get started makin' things up, there's no knowing justwhere you're likely as to end. It's so easy to go straight ahead and sayjust whatever you please that seems in any way interesting. And so, whenMrs. Fisher asked me one day whether I supposed there was any cannibalsthere, I said there was one cannibal tribe that was most ferocious andhad appetites that there was no such thing as quenchin'. I said that inJathrop's last letter he had written me about how this tribe hadcaptured the cook off the yacht and that when they finally found hiscaptors and defeated them in a desperate battle lasting three days, allthat was found of the cook was two chicken croquettes."

  "For gra--!" cried Mrs. Lathrop.

  "That's what Mrs. Fisher said. Of course, with the cook eat up--all butwhat was in the two croquettes, that is,--Jathrop and his millionairefriends was a good deal put about. There wasn't a one of 'em as knew thefirst thing about cooking, and after the exercise of the three days'battle they was most awful hungry. And then, I says, quoting from theletter from Jathrop which never came, they had a piece of real luck,just as millionaires is always having. They had taken one prisoner, andby means of signs, not knowin' a word of the cannibal language, theydiscovered that the prisoner was the cook of the tribe. He pointed tothe croquettes as a example of his handiwork, and Jathrop said that henever saw anything in the cookin' line that looked more toothsome thanthey did. So, of course they engaged the cannibal cook on the spot andcarried him back to the yacht with 'em. Everything went well for a fewdays, but on a day when they had invited the chief of a friendly tribeto dinner, there was something as aroused their suspicions. Theprincipal dish for the feast was, so far as they could make out from thecook's sign-language, a savory rabbit stew. Now as they had never seenor heard tell of a rabbit in the Bahamas, they was naturally curious tolearn where the cook had managed to dig it up. He either couldn't orwouldn't tell. I says that Jathrop says you might 'a' thought that thecook was a thirty-second degree mason and that the origin of the rabbitwas a thirty-second degree masonic secret. The millionaires gathered incouncil and discussed the question, pro and con, from every obtainableor imaginable angle. Then, just as they were about to adjourn withouthaving reached any conclusion whatever, they rang for the cabin boy tofetch some liquid refreshment. But there wasn't no answer. And theymight 'a' been ringing yet as to any good it would do. They never didsee that cabin boy, and the only one to eat the savory rabbit stew wasthe visiting chief."

  "I don't--" observed Mrs. Lathrop, rocking faster.

  "Well, Mrs. Lathrop, you're right about that," Susan confirmed,loosening her shawl, for the oil-stove was rapidly lifting the room'stemperature. "I don't see, myself, why anybody should ever have knownany better, and nobody would have, if it hadn't been as Jathrop took itinto his head to talk to a newspaper man at Atlantic City on about thesame day as I had him missing the cabin boy and refusing a helping tothe rabbit stew. Mr. Kimball showed me the paper as came from New Yorkwrapped around a new ledger he just received by express. The reporterhad written two columns and over about the 'Klondike Bonanza King,' andif Jathrop had set his mind to makin' me out a Ananias and a Saphiraboiled into one, he couldn't have succeeded better. He hasn't been inthe Bahamas a _tall_. The yacht started for there, but it went to Cubainstead, and he and his friends only stayed in Cuba a week. From therethey went down to Panama and looked over the canal as far as it's gone.They spent the summer sailin' from one summer resort to another, and Imust say I should think there was better ways of passin' the time thanthat. When it comes to eatin', I'd about as leave eat the dishes of acannibal cook as eat things made of the salt water that people gobathin' in, and that's what they do at Atlantic City. The ministershowed me some candy 'Liza Em'ly sent him from Atlantic City in July,and I know what I'm talkin' about, for it was printed on the paperaround each piece. 'Salt-water Taffy.' Think of that! It's plain to beseen that they ain't got any fresh water there, or they wouldn't usesalt. Jathrop and the other millionaires, I suppose, drink nothin' butwine, but the poor folks must drink salt water or go thirsty. I supposeit saves salt in seasonin', but I'd rather have my vituals unseasonedthan have 'em salted with water that folks has swum in. They certainlyain't got no enterprise, that's sure. If they had they'd pipewater--fresh water--from somewheres. And if there's no place near enoughto pipe it from, they'd build cisterns. But water's not the only thingas shows their shiftlessness. Our town isn't exactly a metropolis, butwe got a few cement sidewalks. Atlantic City ain't got a one. I heardabout that long ago. And in these days of progress, too! Nothing but aboard walk on its principal street--nothing a _tall_."

  "What did--?" asked Mrs. Lathrop.

  "He said a good deal more'n his prayers, I can tell you that. He saidhis object in going to the Bahamas, to which he never went, after all,was to look into the possibility of securin' a large tract of land therefor the cultivation and growth of sisal. Now what under the sun wouldyou suppose sisal was? I saw in the book that sisal was being grown inincreasing quantities in the islands, and I just naturally supposed itwas some sort of animal. It might of been buffalo, or it might of beenguinea pigs, but wh
en I spoke at the Sewing Society of how Jathrop hadmentioned the great number of sisal, and Mrs. Allen says: 'What issisal?' I just right then and there on the spur of the minute says:'Why, don't you know? Sisal is a sort of small oxen striped like a zebraand spotted like a leopard.' And would you believe it, Mrs. Lathrop,when Mr. Kimball asked me that same question to-day, I said the verysame thing--small oxen striped like a zebra and spotted like a leopard.'That's what Mrs. Allen told me you said, Miss Clegg,' says he, 'butaccordin' to the paper, Jathrop Lathrop don't quite agree with you.' Idon't know, Mrs. Lathrop, I d'n know, I'm sure, why Jathrop should takepleasure in making me appear like a ignoramus, but there ain't noquestion about it that that's what he did when he gave that interview tothat there reporter. 'What kind of animal is a sisal, then, Mr.Kimball?' I asked, and you can believe me my blood was boilin' in myveins. 'It ain't no animal a _tall_,' he says. 'It's hemp what theymake ropes out of to hang murderers with. And the seeds they feedcanaries on.' 'Well,' I says, 'that may be the reporter's sisal, but itain't mine, and it ain't Jathrop's. The newspapers never get nothin'right nohow, but when it comes to reducin' cattle into rope andbirdseed, they are certainly goin' one better on the Chicago porkpackers.' In all my life I have never been a respecter of the untruth,but I know enough on the subject to tell a good lie when necessity callsupon me and to stick to it as long as it has an eyelid to hang by. But Iwill say this for your son Jathrop, Mrs. Lathrop, and that is thatbefore he got done with that reporter, he didn't leave so much as aeyelash, let alone a lid. It wasn't only that he'd never been to thoseislands a _tall_, and I'd been tellin' everybody in town as how I'd hada letter from him there every week the whole summer through, but he mustair his acquaintance with things on the islands just as if he'd beenborn and raised there. And it seems there ain't no natives within milesof the Bahamas, and hasn't been since Columbus and his people was there,goin' on fifteen hundred years ago. Columbus told 'em that he'd take 'emto the land where all their dead relatives and friends had gone to, aland flowin' with milk and honey, and he kept his word. Seems he shippedevery last mother's son and daughter of 'em back to Spain with him, andleft the islands bare for the next comers. It may have appeared a ratherroundabout way for the native Bahamians to reach heaven and theirdeparted folks, seeing as it led through hard work in the Spanish mines,but there ain't no question whatever that they every one got there inthe end."

  "You mean--" suggested Mrs. Lathrop.

  "I mean that unless Lathrop or the reporter made it up, or the pair of'em together, that nobody lives there now except whites and blacks, andthere's not enough whites to make a nice shepherd's plaid out of thecombination. But savagery, except for pirates, has never had any placethere, and cannibalism is absolutely unknown. It's all veryhumiliating, and it'd 'a' been much better to let people ask me andnever said nothing back a _tall_. When people is in the dark, they'vegot to imagine for themselves, and as long as they don't tell what theyimagine to others, no piece in a newspaper can never make 'em blush. Ican tell you it's learnt me a lesson as I won't soon forget. I'll neverget over the way Mr. Kimball looked at me when he said as how sisal washemp; and me thinking all the time it was a animal when it was a herb.Well, Mrs. Lathrop, it's a ill wind that don't chill the shorn lamb. I'mthat chilled that I feel I never shall talk again. I'll never say blackis black or white is white until I've looked at the color twice with myglasses on. Accuracy is the best policy, I says, from this dayhenceforth."

  "You might--" began Mrs. Lathrop sympathetically.

  "That's true, too. I might have known that it didn't sound true to begetting letters every week from a man who went away to the Klondike andnever sent his mother so much as a picture postal card in all the yearshe was there. But then, too, you've got to consider the kind of folks asyou're telling things to, and with all due respect to the ladies of theSewing Society, from Mrs. Allen to Gran'ma Mullins, they're notover-burdened with the kind of intellect as can add two and two and getthe same answer twice in succession. There wasn't a one of 'em asthought of that, or they'd 'a' said it straight out, without onceconsidering my feelings. And I'll say this much for you, Mrs. Lathrop:you're not the best housekeeper I ever see, and you're about a match forMrs. Sperrit's cousin when it comes to being practical, but you have gotsome brains, and I'd no more think of trying to deceive you than I'dthink of trying to deceive Judge Fitch when he'd got a big retainer toget the truth out of me."

  Mrs. Lathrop leaned down and turned out the oil burner.

  "Was that--?"

  "No, it wasn't all. There was something else that has set me all of aflutter. If it wasn't as you never can tell whether a newspaper isvoracious or just bearing false witness, I'd certainly feel as ifJathrop was playing fast and loose with my affections. I can remember,and you can remember, too, when the freedom of the press didn't meanfreedom to make a Pike's Peak out of a ant hill. But in these daysthere's no telling whether, when we read of a poor soul being attackedby a wild beast, it's a jungle tiger or just a pet yellow kitten. Folkswould rather read about the tiger than the kitten, and so the papersgive 'em what they want without any regard for the real facts a _tall_.Elijah Doxey, who's a real editor if there ever was one, and knows allabout the paper business, says that the newspaper, like everything else,has to keep abreast of the times or go to the wall, and that sincepeople in these days 'ld rather read fiction than history, it stands toreason a paper can't stand in its own light by sticking always to coldcommonplace facts."

  "Did the--?" Mrs. Lathrop attempted mildly to question.

  "I don't know, I d'n know, I'm sure, Mrs. Lathrop. But the interviewwith Jathrop wasn't all interview, by no means. It said a lot about hisparty, and it mentioned each of the millionaires as was in it. Seems theinterview was given on one of those Atlantic City board walks, and itwas given--from what on earth do you think, Mrs. Lathrop? From a wheelchair. Jathrop in a wheel chair! Think of that! And not alone, either.'Beside him,' wrote the interviewer, 'was the beautiful, dark-eyed Cubansenora who, rumor says, is soon to become his bride.' My lands! If ithadn't been for Mr. Kimball's apple barrel, I certainly would havedropped. It would 'a' been bad enough if they was both strong and well,but to think of Jathrop being too weak to walk and going to marry aforeigner no more robust than himself. You can't imagine the shock itgive me. For a minute I was clean speechless, and I'd 'a' been dumb yet,I do believe, if it wasn't as I begun to figure things out in my headand got sight of a ray of hope. Just as like as not, I says, Jathrop wassuffering from the sudden change of climate,--from the Klondike to Cubaseems to me a pretty rigorous switch for any constitution,--and theCuban woman was more'n likely his trained nurse fetched from the island.Either that or the woman was just recovering from a illness, and Jathropgot in to ride with her out of pure kindness of heart. Then, too, Iremembered that: 'rumor says,' and cheered right up. Rumor never toldthe truth yet, as far as I know, and it's not in reason to believe theshameless thing is going to reform in these degenerate days. Jathrop maybe going to marry the senora, I don't say he isn't, and I don't say heis. But before I believe it, I've got to have some better authority thanwhat rumor says. He's steered clear of wives in the Klondike, and he'ssteered clear of 'em in other places, and I don't see as there's anyreason to think his steering apparatus come to grief while he was inCuba. 'How's Susan Clegg?' That was what he wrote in the first letteryou'd had from him in a dog's age, Mrs. Lathrop, and it showed prettyclear to me who he was thinking of while engaged in the steeringoperation."

  "You don't think--" Mrs. Lathrop began distressfully.

  "No man as was seriously sick, Mrs. Lathrop, ever talked two whole longnewspaper columns to a reporter. You can bank on that. He was wellenough to make me out the king of prevaricators, and it took somestrength and a good deal of attention to small details to do it, and asthe Cuban senora never said one word in all that time, I can't think asshe is cutting any figure eights in his affairs. Consequently, I don'tbelieve it'll pay either of us to do any great lot of worrying."

  "If--" Mrs
. Lathrop attempted once more to interpolate.

  "That's just what I told Mr. Kimball. 'If Mrs. Lathrop could only seethis paper,' I says, 'I know she'd be delighted.' It stands to reasonas a mother must be proud of a son who, after having no more sense thanto take a kicking cow for a bad debt, goes to the Klondike and comesback a millionaire; but it stands to reason, too, that she'd be moreproud of him to get two columns of free advertising in a New York paperthat can sell its columns to the department stores for real money. Well,I asked him for the paper just to show you, and though he didn't feel topart with it, just the same he did in the end, and I carried it away intriumph."

  "You've brought--"

  "No, I haven't. I'm sorry to disappoint you, Mrs. Lathrop, more sorrythan I am to disappoint Mr. Kimball in not being able to return it, butthe truth is I lost it on the way home."

  "Lost--"

  "Every last scrap of it. And I can't say as it was altogether accidentaleither. As Shakespeare says: 'Self-protection is the best part ofvalor.' If that paper was ever to get before the Sewing Society, mycharacter would be stripped off me to the last rag. Mr. Kimball can saywhat was in it, but without the paper itself, he'll have a hard timeproving anything, and my word when it comes to a dispute is as good ashis and a thousand times better."

  Mrs. Lathrop leaned forward and for a moment stopped rocking.

  "You--" she said quietly but tensely.

  "Tore it into small bits," returned Susan, rising, "and scattered themto the winds of heaven. There's a paper trail all the way from thesquare to Mrs. Macy's gate."

  Mrs. Lathrop resumed her rocking and relapsed into silence.

  Susan Clegg, laying her finger to her lips as a parting warning, wentquietly out.