Molly Brown of Kentucky Part 17

"And that I am not knowing, Miss. Sure and there is nothing in the house."

"Oh, Katy, and I have been dawdling up here for hours! I forgot about keeping house, I was so taken up with the baby."

"Yes, and no doubt your man will be sour about it, too."

Molly, still in her kimono, flew to the regions below and began frantically to search for something to concoct into luncheon. A forlorn piece of roast veal was excavated and half a loaf of stale baker's bread. A can of asparagus, a leftover from the housekeeping of the spring, was unearthed. Olive oil was in the refrigerator, also, b.u.t.ter, milk and eggs. The veal looked very hopeless, evidently having reposed for hours in a half cold oven before it had furnished forth a miserable dinner for the poor professor.

"Now I'll 'form a miracle on the vituals,' as dear Aunt Mary would say,"

declared Molly to herself. "Katy, get the dining room straight. Don't scrub anything but just clear off the table and then set it again as well as you can. Put on a fresh lunch cloth and clean napkins; then see that the fire in the library is all right."

The veal, run through the meat chopper, came out better than was to be expected, and croquettes were formed and frying in deep fat before the dazed Katy had cleared off the breakfast table.

"Katy, you must hurry or we won't have the master's luncheon ready when he gets in."

"Faith, and, Mrs. Green, you do be flying round so schwift like, that I can't get me breath. I feel like the wind from your schkirts was sinding me back. All I can do is schtand schtill and breast the wind."

"Well, I tell you what you do then," laughed Molly: "You come fly with the wind," and she caught the Irish girl by the hand and ran her around the dining room table just to show her how fast she could go if necessary. Katy, having got wound up, kept on going at a rate of speed that was astonis.h.i.+ng. To be sure, she broke a cup and a plate, but what was a little chaney to the master's luncheon being served on time?

The faithful can of asparagus was opened and heated; toast was made from the half loaf of stale bread, and a cream sauce prepared to pour over the asparagus on toast. Popovers were stirred up and in the oven before Katy got the table set, although she was going with the wind instead of trying to breast it. A few rosy apples from the orchard at Chatsworth, unearthed from the depths of the unpacked trunk, formed a salad with a mayonnaise made in such a hurry that Molly trembled for its quality; but luck being with her that day, it turned out beautifully.

"No lettuce, so we'll put the salad on those green majolica plates and maybe he won't notice," she called to Katy, just as the professor opened the front door.

"Mol--ly!" he called.

"Here I am."

The mistress of the house emerged from the kitchen in a state of mussiness but looking very pretty withal, her red-gold hair curling up in little ringlets from the steam and her cheeks as rosy as though she had joost come over wid Katy. Her blue kimono was very becoming but hardly what she would have chosen to appear in at luncheon.

"I am so sorry not to be dressed, but I had to hustle so as to get lunch ready in time. The clock struck twelve when I thought it was about ten."

"Did you have to get luncheon? Where was Katy?"

"She helped, but I wanted to have a finger in it. If you will wait a minute, I will get into a dress."

"Why, you look beautiful in that loose blue thing; besides, I have to eat and run. A faculty meeting is calling me."

The luncheon was delicious, and Edwin gave it all praise by devouring large quant.i.ties of it. Molly could not eat much as she was too hot, and hurrying is not conducive to appet.i.te. Mildred, who was sleeping on the porch, awoke when the meal was half over and Molly could not trust Katy to take her up.

"She might hold her upside down. I will bring her to the table and she can talk to you while you are finis.h.i.+ng!"

So Molly flew to the porch and picked up her darling. She had intended to take her to the dining room but she remembered it was time for Mildred to have her food and so the patient Edwin had to finish his meal alone.

He found his wife and baby on the upper back porch. The color had left Molly's cheeks and she was quite pale, and there was a little wan, wistful look in her countenance that Edwin did not like.

"Molly, honey, you are all tired out. You did not eat your luncheon and you got no sleep last night. What are we going to do about it?"

"Oh, I'm all right! Please don't bother about me! Did you like the apple salad? They were apples from Kentucky."

"Fine! Everything was delicious. But I don't want you to wear yourself out cooking. If Katy can't cook, we must get some one who can. If she can't cook and you won't let her nurse, why what is the use of her?"

Molly, worn out with the sleepless night and the record breaking getting of a meal out of nothing, felt as though she would disgrace herself in a minute and burst into tears. She could not discuss the matter with Edwin for fear of breaking down. Edwin kissed her good-by and tactfully withdrew.

"You goose, Molly Brown!" she scolded herself. "And what on earth are you so full of tears over? I know Edwin thinks I ought to have a nurse and I just can't trust Mildred to any one. I am going to try so hard to have everything so nice that he won't think about it any more."

A grand telephoning for provisions ensued, and a dinner was planned for six-thirty that would have taxed the culinary powers of a real chef and before which Katy bowed her head in defeat. It meant that by four Molly must be back in the kitchen to start things.

CHAPTER XVI.

IRISHMAN'S CURTAINS.

Callers came in through the afternoon to welcome back to Wellington the popular wife of the popular professor and to glimpse the new baby. Kind Mrs. McLean, the wife of the doctor, a little older than when last we saw her but showing it only in her whitening hair and not at all in her upright carriage and British complexion, stopped in "just for a moment"

to be picked up later by the doctor on his way to a country patient.

Miss Walker herself, the busy president of Wellington, ran in from the meeting of the faculty to greet her one time pupil and to give one kiss to the college baby. Several of the seniors, who were freshmen when Molly was still at college as post graduate and who had the delight of calling her Molly while most of the others had to say Mrs. Green, came in fresh from a game of basketball, glowing with health and enthusiasm.

While these friends were all gathered about Molly and the baby, Alice Fern, Edwin Green's cousin, driving in to Wellington in a very stylish new electric car, stopped to make a fas.h.i.+onable call on her law kin. She had never forgiven Molly for stealing (as she expressed it) Edwin's affections. She was still Miss Fern, and although she was possessed of beauty and intelligence, it was likely that she would remain Miss Fern.

Molly was never very much at her ease with Alice. She was particularly sensitive to any feeling of dislike entertained toward her, and Edwin's cousin always made her feel that she disapproved of her in some way.

The living room in the broad old red brick house on the campus, occupied by the professor of English, was a pleasant room, breathing of the tastes and pursuits of the owners. Low bookshelves were in every nook and cranny, filled with books, the shelves actually sagging with them.

Botticelli's Primavera, a present from Mary Stewart, adorned one wall; Mathew Jouette's portrait of Molly's great grandmother, a wedding present from Aunt Clay, another. This was the portrait that looked so much like Molly and also like the Marquise d'Ochte, between whom and Aunt Sarah Clay there was no love lost; indeed, it was this likeness that had induced Aunt Clay to part with such a valuable work of art. The other pictures were some das.h.i.+ng, clever sketches by Judy Kean, and Pierce Kinsella's very lovely portrait of Mrs. Brown, that had won honorable mention at the Salon and then had been sent by the young artist to adorn Molly's home. On the whole, it was a very satisfactory and tastefully furnished room and Molly and Edwin always declared they could talk better and think better in that room than in any they had ever seen.

On that first day home, Molly was a little conscious of the fact that the room needed a thorough cleaning, not the scrubbing that Katy was so desirous of administering, but just a good thorough cleaning. However, she was so glad to see her friends again and so proud of showing her wonderful baby to them that the cleaning seemed of small importance.

"I'll dust all the books to-morrow," she said to herself, "and have Katy wipe down the walls, polish the gla.s.s on the pictures, and above all, wash the windows."

She well knew that Miss Walker and dear Mrs. McLean were not noticing such things, or, if they did, they would make all excuses. As for the college girls--dirt was not what they came to see. They came to see the lovely Molly and her adorable baby. If the walls were festooned with cobwebs, why that was the way walls should be in the home of a learned professor of English, who had written several books, besides the libretto to a successful opera, and who was married to a beautiful t.i.tian-haired girl who was also a genius in her way, having been accepted in magazines when she was not even out of college. What did they care for dust on the books and smeary window panes? Molly was so popular with the college girls that in their eyes she was perfection itself.

Alice Fern's entrance broke up the cheerful group gathered around Molly and the rosy Mildred. Miss Walker suddenly remembered that she had an important engagement and hurried off, and Mrs. McLean, who made no endeavor to hide her impatience at Miss Fern's exceeding smugness, went outside to wait for the doctor. The girls stayed, however, hoping to sit out the unwelcome interrupter.

These girls were favorites of Molly's. The harum scarum Billie McKym from New York reminded her in a way of her own Judy, although no one else could see it. Josephine Crittenden, Tom boy of college and leader in all sports, hailed from Kentucky, and being a distant relative of Crittenden Rutledge, Mildred Brown's husband, was of course taken immediately under the wing of the loyal Molly. She had what she called a crush on Molly, and not a little did she amuse that young matron, as well as annoy her, by her gifts of flowers and candy.

The third girl was from the West. Thelma Olsen was her name, and although her family had been in America for three generations, Thelma had inherited the characteristics of a Viking maiden along with the name. She was very tall, with an excellent figure and the strength of a man. Her hair was as yellow as gold and her eyes as blue as corn flowers. She moved with dignity, holding her head up like a queen. Her expression was calm and kindly. She had, in very truth, worked her way through college, which of course appealed to Molly, remembering well her own boot blacking days and her many schemes for making a few pennies.

But what most touched our Molly was the fact that Thelma had a writing bee in her bonnet. The girl had an instinct for literature and a longing for expression that must come out. Professor Green thought very highly of her gift for prose and did much to encourage her.

These three girls formed a strange trio, but they were inseparable, having roomed together since their freshman year. Billie was very rich in her own name, since she was an orphan with nothing closer than a guardian and an aunt-in-law. Money meant no more to her than black-eyed peas. She was intensely affectionate and where she loved, she loved so fiercely that it positively hurt, she used to say. She was witty and clever but not much of a student, as is often the case where learning comes too easily. She was so generous it was embarra.s.sing to her friends. Her talent lay in clothes. She knew more about clothes than Paquin and Doucet and all the others. It positively hurt her when her friends did not wear becoming clothes, just as it hurt her when she loved them so hard. The object of her life was to clothe her dear friend Thelma in dark blue velvet. Thelma was too proud to be clothed in anything that she had not paid for herself, and the consequence was that coa.r.s.e blue serge was as near as she came to poor Billie's dream.

Alice Fern seated herself on the front of a chair with very much of a lady-come-to-see expression and then formally entered into a conversation, going through the usual questions about when Molly had arrived and how old the baby was, polite inquiries regarding the relatives in Kentucky, etc.

Molly was eager to get into the kitchen just for a moment to start Katy on the right track, well knowing that nothing would be doing until she did, but Alice Fern's arrival made that impossible. She would not in the least have minded excusing herself for a moment to the girls, but if Edwin Green had to wait until midnight for his dinner, she could not be guilty of such a breach of etiquette with the cousin-in-law, whose disapproval she felt was ever on the alert for a _raison d'etre_. A leg of lamb, and well grown lamb at that, must have plenty of time and the oven must be hot (something Katy knew nothing about), but the wife of Professor Green must not let his relatives know that she was such a poor manager as to have to leave the parlor to attend to cooking at a time in the afternoon when callers were supposed to be doing their calling.

Alice Fern was really a very pretty young woman, and since she had nothing to do but attend to her person, she was always excellently well groomed. No blemish was allowed on her faultless complexion from sun or wind. An hour a day was religiously given up to ma.s.sage and manicure.

Her hair was always coiffed in the latest mode, and not one lock was ever known to be out of place. Her costume was ever of the richest and most stylish.

On that afternoon, as she rode up in her closed electric car, dressed in a fawn-colored suit with spotless white gloves and spats, she really looked like a beautiful wax figure in a showcase. Beside her, poor Molly looked like a rumpled Madonna. She had on a very becoming blue linen house dress that she had donned as not only suitable for possible callers but also not too pure or good in which to cook her husband's food. The baby had delighted the admiring audience, before the arrival of Miss Fern, by clutching a handful of her mother's pretty hair and having to have her little pink fingers opened one by one to disengage them. No doubt it was a highly intelligent and charming performance, but it had played sad havoc with Molly's hair.

"We are so glad you are back, Molly, for more reasons than one,"