The Orchard of Tears Part 15

The door of Number 23 proved to be open, and Flamby, pa.s.sing in, stood looking around her and trying to realise that this was the stage upon which the next act of her life story should be played. She found herself in a rather small rectangular room, lighted by one large cas.e.m.e.nt window and a smaller latticed one, both of them overlooking the courtyard. The woodwork was oaken and the walls were distempered a discreet and restful shade of blue. There were a central electric fitting and another for a reading-lamp, a fireplace of the latest slow-combustion pattern and a door communicating with an inner chamber.

"Oh!" cried Flamby. "What a dear little place!"

Don, who had been watching her anxiously, saw that she was really delighted and he entered into the spirit of the thing immediately. "I think it is simply terrific," he said. "I have often envied the Aunt her abode and wished I were an eligible spinster or widow. You have not seen the inner sanctuary yet; it is delightfully like a state-room."

Flamby pa.s.sed through the doorway into the bedroom, which indeed was not much larger than a steamer cabin and was fitted with all those s.p.a.ce-saving devices which one finds at sea; a bureau that was really a wash-basin, and a hidden wardrobe.

"There is a communal kitchen," explained Don, "with up-to-date appointments, also a general laundry, and there are bathrooms on both floors. I don't mean perpendicular bathrooms, so I should perhaps have said on either floor. In that cunning little alcove in the sitting-room is a small gas-stove, so that you will have no occasion to visit the kitchen unless you are preparing a banquet. You enjoy the use of the telephone, which is in the reading-room over the main entrance--and what more could one desire?"

"It's just great," declared Flamby, "and I can never hope to thank you for being so good to me. But I am wondering how I am going to afford it."

"My dear Flamby, the rent of this retreat is astoundingly modest. You will use very little coal, electric and gas meters are of the penny-in-the-slot variety immortalised in song and story by Little Tich, and there you are."

"I was thinking about the furniture," said Flamby.

"Eh!" cried Don--"furniture? Yes, of course; upon more mature consideration I perceive distinctly that some few items of that kind will be indispensable. Furniture. Quite so."

"You hadn't thought of that?"

"No--I admit it had slipped my memory. The question of furniture does not bulk largely in the mind of one used to billeting troops, but of course it must be attended to. Now, how about the furniture of What's-the-name Cottage?"

Flamby shook her head. "We had hardly any. Dad used to make things out of orange boxes; he was very clever at it. He didn't like real furniture. As fast as poor mother saved up and bought some he broke it, so after a while she stopped. I've brought the clock."

"Ah!" cried Don gaily--"the clock. Good. That's a start. You will at least know at what time to rise in the morning."

"I shall," agreed Flamby--"from the floor!"

The fascinating dimple reappeared in her cheek and she burst into peals of most musical laughter. Don laughed, too; so that presently they became quite breathless but perfectly happy.

III

"I vote," said Don, "that we consult the Aunt. She resides at Number Nineteen on this floor, and her guidance in such a matter as furnis.h.i.+ng would be experienced and reliable."

"Right-oh," replied Flamby buoyantly. "I have a little money saved up."

"Don't worry about money. The pension has been finally settled between Mr. Nevin and the Government people, and it dates from the time----"

"Of dad's death? But mother used to draw that."

"I am speaking of the special pension," explained Don hurriedly, as they walked along the gallery, "which Mr. Nevin has been trying to arrange.

This ante-dates, and the first sum will be quite a substantial one; ample for the purpose of furnis.h.i.+ng. Here is the Aunt's."

Pausing before a door numbered 19, and bearing a bra.s.s plate inscribed "Mrs. Chumley," Don pressed the bell. Whilst they waited, Flamby studied the Aunt's curtains (which were snowy white) with critical eyes and tried to make up her mind whether she liked or disliked the sound of "Mrs. Chumley."

"The Aunt is apparently not at home," said Don, as no one responded to the ringing. "Let us return to Number 23 and summon Reuben, who will possibly know where she has gone."

Accordingly they returned to the empty suite and rang a bell which summoned the janitor. Following a brief interval came a sound resembling that of a drinking horse and there entered a red-whiskered old man with a neatly pimpled nose, introducing an odour of rum. He was a small man, but he wore a large green ap.r.o.n, and he touched the brim of his bowler hat very respectfully.

"Excuse me breathin' 'eavy, sir," he said, "but it's the _hahsma_. The place is hall ready for the young madam, sir, to move 'er furniture in, and Mrs. Chumley she's in the readin'-room."

"Ah, very good, Reuben," replied Don. "Will you get the trunk and basket in from the taxi, and you might pay the man. The fare was four and something-or-other. Here are two half-crowns and sixpence."

"Yes, sir," responded Reuben; "and what time am I to expect the other things?"

"Miss Duveen is not quite sure, Reuben, when they will arrive. As a matter of fact, she has several purchases to make. But probably the bulk of it will arrive to-morrow afternoon."

"Yes, sir," said Reuben, and departed respiring noisily. As he made his exit Flamby carefully closed the door, and--"Oh," she cried, "what a funny old man! Whatever did he mean by _hahsma_?"

"I have been struggling with the same problem," declared Don, "and I have come to the conclusion that he referred to asthma."

"Oh," said Flamby breathlessly. "I hope he won't mind me laughing at him."

"I am sure he won't. He is a genial soul and generally liked in spite of his spirituous aroma. Now for the Aunt."

They walked around two angles of the gallery and entered a large room the windows of which overlooked the front lawn. It was furnished cosily as a library, and a cheerful fire burned in the big open grate. From the centre window an excellent view might be obtained of Reuben struggling with the cabin-trunk, which the placid taxi-driver had unstrapped and lowered on to the janitor's shoulders without vacating his seat.

"I hope he won't break the clock," said Flamby, _sotto voce_. She turned as Don went up to a little table at which a round old lady, the only occupant of the room, was seated writing. This old lady had a very round red face and very round wide-open surprised blue eyes. Her figure was round, too; she was quite remarkably circular.

"Ha, the Aunt!" cried Don, placing his hands affectionately upon her plump shoulders. "Here is our country squirrel come to town."

Mrs. Chumley laid down her pen and turned the surprised eyes upon Don.

Being met with a smile, she smiled in response--and her smile was oddly like that of her nephew. Flamby knew in a moment that Mrs. Chumley was a sweet old lady, and that hers was one of those rare natures whose possessors see ill in no one, but good in all.

"Dear me," said Mrs. Chumley, in a surprised silvery voice, a voice peculiarly restful and soothing, "it is Don." She stood up. "Yes, it is Don, and this is Flamby. Come here, dear, and let me look at you."

Flamby advanced swiftly, holding out her hand, which Mrs. Chumley took, and the other as well, drawing her close and kissing her on the cheek in the simple, natural manner of a mother. Then Mrs. Chumley held her at arms' length, surveying her, and began to muse aloud.

"She is very pretty, Don," she said. "You told me she was pretty, I remember. She is a sweet little girl, but I don't think black suits her.

Do you think black suits her?"

"Any old thing suits her," replied Don, "but she looks a picture in white."

"Quite agree, Don, she would. Couldn't you dress in white, dear?"

"If n.o.body thought it too awful I would. Dad never believed in mourning."

"Quite agree. Most peculiar that I should agree with him, but I do. Don does not believe in mourning, either. I should be most annoyed if he wore mourning. Was your mother pretty? Don't tell me if it makes you cry. What beautiful hair you have. Hasn't she beautiful hair, Don? May I take your hat off, dear?"

"Of course," said Flamby, taking off her hat immediately, whereupon the mop of unruly hair all coppery waves and gold-flecked foam came tumbling about her face.

"Dear me," continued Mrs. Chumley, whilst Don stood behind her watching the scene amusedly, "it _is_ remarkable hair." Indeed the sight of Flamby's hair seemed almost to have stupefied her. "She is really very pretty. I like you awfully, dear. I am glad you are going to live near me. What did you call her, Don?"

"What did I call her, Aunt?"

"When you first came in. Oh, yes--a squirrel." She placed her arm around Flamby and gave her a little hug. "Quite agree; she _is_ a squirrel. You are a country squirrel, dear. Do you mind?"

"Of course not," said Flamby, laughing. "You couldn't pay me a nicer compliment."