Eve to the Rescue Part 22

"Oh, yes, I do. I am thrilled and happy and throbbing myself right now.

There is something about this Cote in the Clouds that--"

"And dear Eileen has lived alone so long, poor thing."

"I can sympathize with her all right. I have, too."

"And now she will have a home, a real home--"

"My own dream for years."

"Sweet companions.h.i.+p--"

"Heaven on earth, Eveley, heaven on earth."

"Something to live for--"

"Alas, how I envy her."

"Nolan, if you do not keep still and pay attention, I shall stop talking and let you propose,--right before Marie,--and then where will you be?"

"Married, I hope."

So Eveley decided there was no use to try to talk sense with Nolan, but she arranged to call for him at eight o'clock the next morning to take him to Eileen's and show him the blue Red-Riding-Hoods and the toys.

As she left the house to keep her engagement with Nolan, she was surprised to see Mrs. Severs starting out, for Mrs. Severs was not used to being out so early.

"Why, little Bride, whither away?" laughed Eveley.

Mrs. Severs flushed. "I am going to spend the day with father," she admitted, rather shyly. "It is sort of lonesome here alone all the time,--and we have lots of fun in the little cottage on the hill. And sometimes we go out on the beach and lie on the sand,--he takes me in his jitney. He thinks I need more suns.h.i.+ne and fresh air."

"He is great, isn't he?" said Eveley warmly.

"He is dear," cried Mrs. Severs, the quick color surging her face. "I am not very well, and he is so gentle and sweet to me. I--wish I had been more patient,--I am very lonely now. But we are great chums. He has taught me to play pinochle, and I fill his pipe for him. And onions aren't so bad."

"Hum," thought Eveley, as she drove down-town. "You can't suit some people, no matter how finely you adjust their difficulties." Then she brightened. "Still, it is better to love each other in two houses, than to be bad friends in one,--as they were."

That evening, she and Eileen stood at the station impatiently waiting,--having arrived at five-thirty, fearing the train might come ahead of time.

"Oh, Eveley," Eileen wailed. "Suppose they should not like me?"

Eveley laughed at that. "Suppose you do not like them?" she parried.

"I do. I haven't seen them for over two years, but they are adorable.

They are seven now. The prettiest things,--long yellow curls, and--"

"Billy will probably be shaved by this time,--I mean barbered."

"Oh, never. No one would cut off curls like his. Their hair will be longer I suppose, probably darker,--and Betty lisps and swallows while she is talking,--"

"Oh, she will be over that now."

"In two years? Why, certainly not. They will be just the same, only more so."

Eveley began to experience a curious internal sinking. Eileen was too deliriously optimistic about those children. They were angel babies, of course, for Eileen said so, but Eveley remembered Nathalie and Dan, angels, too,--but how they shouted and tore through the house. And they were always exhibiting fresh cuts and bruises, and Dan had insisted on the confiscation of his curls at four years. If Billy was still wearing curls at seven, he needed a tonic for he was not regular.

"Eileen," she began very gently, "you--you mustn't expect too many dimples and curls. Children are angels,--but they are funny, too. They are always bleeding, you know, and--"

"Bleeding!" gasped Eileen. "Agnes never mentioned bleeding! Do they always do it?"

"Always. They are always getting themselves smashed and scratched, and blood runs all over them, and gets matted in their hair, and their hands are const.i.tutionally dirty, and--they always have at least one finger totally and irrevocably smashed. Some times it is two fingers, and once in a while a whole hand, but the average is one finger."

Eileen looked at her friend in a most professional manner.

"I do not know if you are trying to be insulting, or just amusing, but I saw those children. I was right there for three weeks only two years ago, and they were always clean, they had curls, and they were certainly not smashed or I should have noticed it."

"They shout, too, Eileen," Eveley went on wretchedly, determined to prepare Eileen for the shock that was sure to follow. "They--they just whoop. And--"

"If you can not be a little pleasanter, dear, suppose you go and wait for me in the car. I am too nervous. I simply can not stand it."

"I do not want to be unpleasant, and I shall not say another word. I just wanted to remind you of--of the shouting--and the blood."

"One would think they were savages, Eveley, instead of my own sister's little babies."

"Here comes the train," cried Eveley, and added in a soft whisper that Eileen could not hear, "Oh, please, for Eileen's sake, let 'em have dimples and curls, and don't get 'em smashed before the train stops."

Hand in hand, with eager s.h.i.+ning eyes, the girls ran along the platform, and when the porter put down his stool beneath the steps, the first thing that appeared was a small dimpled girl with golden curls, and a flower-like face beneath a flower-laden bonnet.

Eileen leaped upon her, catching her in her arms, and in her rapturous delight, she did not hear a small brusk voice exclaiming, "Oh, pooh, I don't need your old stool."

And she did not notice Eveley's gasp,--for Eveley had seen a small sailor-clad form hurtle itself from the step and fall flat upon the gravel platform. It was not until a sudden l.u.s.ty roar went up that Eileen remembered she had two babies en route. She dropped Betty like a flash, and turned.

The porter very grimly picked up the child, and held him out, and Eileen saw with horror that his face was fairly sandpapered from the fall, and blood was starting from a dozen tiny p.r.i.c.ks.

"If this is yourn, for Gawd's sake, take 'im," begged the porter. "He's fell off'n everything and into everything between here and Seattle."

Eileen clung desperately to Betty's moist hand.

"Don't get scared, Auntie," chirped the small bright voice. "Billy always falls into things, and he ain't never broke anything yet,--himself, I mean, arms or legs or necks,--he breaks lots of dishes and vases and things like that."

Eileen was stricken dumb, but Eveley took the writhing roaring boy from the porter's hand, and dusted him lightly with her handkerchief.

"Why, where are your curls, Billy?" she demanded, hoping to distract his attention. And she succeeded only too well, for he stopped so suddenly in the midst of a loud wail that he almost choked. When he finally recovered his breath, he snorted derisively.

"Curls! Huh! I ain't no girl. I ain't got any curls. I never did have curls."

"Oh, yes, you did," she argued. "Two years ago you had beautiful, long golden curls just like Betty's."

Billy hunched up his shoulders and clenched a small brown fist.