Massachusetts -- Fiction; Working class -- Fiction
“I read accounts of them in the English papers. They must have been
very--original. But do you think that in a community like Hatboro'--Are
there enough who could--enter into the spirit?”
“Oh yes, indeed!” cried Mr. Brandreth ardently. “You've no idea what a
place Hatboro' has got to be. You've not been about much yet, Miss
Kilburn?”
“No,” said Annie; “I haven't really been off our own place since I came.
I've seen nobody but two or three old friends, and we naturally talked more
about old times than anything else. But I hear that there are great
changes.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Brandreth. “The social growth has been even greater than
the business growth. You've no idea! People have come in for the winter
as well as the summer. South Hatboro', where we live--you must see South
Hatboro', Miss Kilburn!--is quite a famous health resort. A great many
Boston doctors send their patients to us now, instead of Colorado or the
Adirondacks. In fact, that's what brought _us_ to Hatboro'. My mother
couldn't have lived, if she had tried to stay in Melrose. One lung all
gone, and the other seriously affected. And people have found out what
a charming place it is for the summer. It's cool; and it's so near, you
know; the gentlemen can run out every night--only an hour and a quarter
from town, and expresses both ways. All very agreeable people, too; and
cultivated. Mr. Fellows, the painter, makes a long summer; he bought an old
farm-house, and built a studio; Miss Jennings, the flower-painter, has a
little box there, too; Mr. Chapley, the publisher, of New York, has built;
the Misses Clevinger, and Mrs. Valence, are all near us. There's one family
from Chicago--quite nice--New England by birth, you know; and Mrs. Munger,
of course; so that there's a very pleasant variety.”
“I certainly had no idea of it,” said Annie.
“I knew you couldn't have,” said Mr. Brandreth, “or you wouldn't have felt
any doubt about our having the material for the theatricals. You see,
I want to interest all the nice people in it, and make it a whole-town
affair. I think it's a great pity for some of the old village families and
the summer folks, as they call us, not to mingle more than they do, and
Mrs. Munger thinks so too; and we've been talking you over, Miss Kilburn,
and we've decided that you could do more than anybody else to help on a
scheme that's meant to bring them together.”
“Because I'm neither summer folks nor old village families?” asked Annie.
“Because you're both,” retorted Mr. Brandreth.
“I don't see that,” said Annie; “but we'll suppose the case, for the sake
of argument. What do you expect me to do in theatricals, in-doors or out?
I never took part in anything of the kind; I can't see an inch beyond the
end of my nose without glasses; I never could learn the simplest thing by
heart; I'm clumsy and awkward; I get confused.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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