People of the Whirlpool: From The Experience Book of a Commuter's WifeWright, Mabel Osgood
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People of the Whirlpool: From The Experience Book of a Commuter's Wife
Wright, Mabel Osgood
Diary fiction; Epistolary fiction; United States -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction
"Indeed, mum, but I wish you joy, and that he'll lead you as easy a life
as Tim'thy here does me, 'deed I do, and _no_ disrespeck intended," was
Martha's parting sentence; and then our wonder as to whether Martin was
going to town, or what, was cut short by his rising, looking at his
watch, and saying in the most matter-of-fact way to Lavinia: "Is your bag
ready? You know we leave in an hour."
"Does Lucy expect you?" I ventured to ask.
"Oh no, I shall not trouble her until the day appointed. We shall go to
the Manhattan, I think."
"How about your cousin Lydia?" asked father, who could not resist a
chance to tease.
"I forgot all about her!" exclaimed poor Lavinia, clasping her hands
tragically and looking really conscience-stricken. "And I," said Evan,
who had suddenly jumped up and rammed his hand into his side pocket,
"forgot to post your letter to her!"
* * * * *
_October_ 31. We have all been to New York to visit the runaway
Cortrights, as Evan calls them, now that they are settled, and it is
pleasant to see that so much belated happiness is possible. The fate of
Lavinia's house is definitely arranged; they will remain in "Greenwich
Village," in spite of all advice to move up in town. The defunct back
yard is being covered by an extension that will give Martin a fine
library, with a side window and a scrap of balcony, while the ailantus
tree is left, that bob-tailed Josephus may not be deprived of the feline
pleasures of the street or his original way of reaching it over the side
fence; and the flower garden that was, will be the foundation of a garden
of books under the kindly doctrine of compensation.
Above is to be a large guest room for Sylvia and Horace, or Evan and me,
so that there will be room in plenty when by and by we bring the boys to
see our New York.
Mrs. Jenks-Smith, who has formed a sincere attachment to Lavinia
Cortright, did all in her power to persuade her to be her neighbour up in
town, offering a charming house at a bargain and many advantages.
Finally becoming piqued at the refusal, she said:--
"Why will you be so stupid? Don't you know that this out-of-the-way
street is in the social desert?"
"It may be in a desert, as you say," said Lavinia, gently, "but we mean
at least to make it an oasis for our friends who are weary of the
whirling of the pool."
* * * * *
We stood looking at the boys as they slept tonight. Strange thoughts will
crop up at times most unexpectedly. Horns blowing on the highway
proclaimed the late arrival of a coaching party at the Bluffs. "Would you
like to have money if you could, and go about the world when and where
you please?" I asked Evan, but he, shaking his head, drew me towards him,
answering my question with another--
"Would you, or why do you ask?"
I never thought that Mrs. Jenks-Smith's stricture would turn to a
prayer upon my lips, but before I knew it I whispered, "God keep us
comfortably poor."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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