Raspberry Jam. Wells Carolyn
Читать онлайн книгу.
the breakfast napkin she was still holding.
“What for?” was the repeated inquiry.
“Oh, you see—I might want to do a little shopping in Newark.”
“Shop in Newark! That’s a good one! Why, girlie, you never want to shop outside of little old New York, and you know it. Shop in Newark!”
Embury laughed at the very idea.
“But—I might see something in a window that’s just what I want.”
“Then make a note of it, and buy it in New York. You have an account at all the desirable shops here, and I never kick at the bills, do I, now?”
“No; but a woman does want a little cash with her—”
“Oh, that, of course! I quite subscribe to that. But I gave you a couple of dollars yesterday.”
“Yes, but I gave one to a Red Cross collector, and the other I had to pay out for a C.O.D. charge.”
“Why buy things C.O.D. when you have accounts everywhere?”
“Oh, this was something I saw advertised in the evening paper—”
“And you bought it because it was cheap! Oh, you women! Now, Eunice, that’s just a case in point. I want my wife to have everything she wants—everything in reason, but there’s no sense in throwing money away. Now, kiss me, sweetheart, for I’m due at a directors’ meeting in two shakes—or thereabouts.”
Embury snapped the fastening of his second glove, and, hat in hand, held out his arms to his wife.
She made one more appeal.
“You’re quite right, San, maybe I didn’t need that C.O.D. thing. But I do want a little chickenfeed in my purse when I go out to-day. Maybe they’ll take up a collection.”
“A silver offering for the Old Ladies’ Home,—eh? Well, tell ‘em to come to me and I’ll sign their subscription paper! Now, good-by, Dolly Gray! I’m off!”
With a hearty kiss on Eunice’s red lips, and a gay wave of his hand to Aunt Abby, Embury went away and Ferdinand closed the door behind him.
“I can’t stand it, Aunt Abby,” Eunice exclaimed, as the butler disappeared into the pantry; “if Sanford were a poor man it would be different. But he’s made more money this year than ever before, and yet, he won’t give me an allowance or even a little bit of ready money.”
“But you have accounts,” Aunt Abby said, absently, for she-was scanning the paper now.
“Accounts! Of course, I have! But there are a thousand things one wants cash for! You know that perfectly well. Why, when our car was out of commission last week and I had to use a taxicab, Sanford would give me just enough for the fare and not a cent over to fee the driver. And lots of times I need a few dollars for charities, or some odds and ends, and I can’t have a cent to call my own! Al Hendricks may be of coarser clay than Sanford Embury, but he wouldn’ treat a wife like that!”
“It is annoying, Eunice, but Sanford is so good to you—”
“Good to me! Why shouldn’t he be? It isn’t a question of goodness or of generosity—it’s just a fool whim of his, that I mustn’t ask for actual cash! I can have all the parties I want, buy all the clothes I want, get expensive hats or knick-knacks of any sort, and have them all charged. He’s never even questioned my bills—but has his secretary pay them. And I must have some money in my purse! And I will! I know ways to get it, without begging it from Sanford Embury!”
Eunice’s dark eyes flashed fire, and her cheeks burned scarlet, for she was furiously angry.
“Now, now, my dear, don’t take it so to heart,” soothed Aunt Abby; “I’ll give you some money. I was going to make you a present, but if you’d rather have the money that it would cost, say so.”
“I daren’t, Aunt Abby. Sanford would find it out and he’d be terribly annoyed. It’s one of his idiosyncrasies, and I have to bear it as long as I live with him!”
The gleam in the beautiful eyes gave a hint of desperate remedies that might be applied to the case, but Ferdinand returned to the room, and the two women quickly spoke of other things.
Hendricks’ perfectly appointed and smooth-running car made the trip to Newark in minimum time. Though the road was not a picturesque one, the party was in gay spirits and the host was indefatigable in his efforts to be entertaining.
“I’ve looked up this Hanlon person,” he said, “and his record is astonishing. I mean, he does astonishing feats. He’s a juggler, a sword swallower and a card sharp—that is, a card wizard. Of course, he’s a faker, but he’s a clever one, and I’m anxious to see what his game is this time. Of course, it’s, first of all, advertisement for the paper that’s backing him, but it’s a new game. At least, it’s new over here; they tell me it’s done to death in England.”
“Oh, no, Alvord, it isn’t a game,” insisted Miss Ames; “if the man is blindfolded, he can’t play any tricks on us. And he couldn’t play tricks on newspaper men anyway—they’re too bright for that!”
“I think they are, too; that’s why I’m interested. Warm enough, Eunice?”
“Yes, thank you,” and the beautiful face looked happily content as Eunice Embury nestled her chin deeper into her fur collar.
For, though late April, the day was crisply cool and there was a tang in the bright sunshiny air. Aunt Abby was almost as warmly wrapped up as in midwinter, and when, on reaching Newark, they encountered a raw East wind, she shrugged into her coat like a shivering Esquimau.
“Where do we go to see it?” asked Eunice, as later, after luncheon, she eagerly looked about at the crowds massed everywhere.
“We’ll have to reconnoiter,” Hendricks replied, smiling at her animated face. “Drive on to the Oberon, Gus.”
As they neared the theatre the surging waves of humanity barred their progress, and the big car was forced to come to a standstill.
“I’ll get out,” said Hendricks, “and make a few inquiries. The Free Press office is near here, and I know some of the people there.”
He strode off and was soon swallowed up in the crowd.
“I think I see a good opening,” said Gus, after a moment. “I’ll get out for a minute, Mrs. Embury. I must inquire where cars can be parked.”
“Go ahead, Gus,” said Eunice; “we’ll be all right here, but don’t go far. I’ll be nervous if you do.”
“No, ma’am; I won’t go a dozen steps.”
“Extry! Extry! All about the Great Magic! Hanlon the Wonderful and his Big Stunt! Extry!”
“Oh, get a paper, Eunice, do,” urged Aunt Abby from the depths of her fur coat. “Ask that boy for one! I must have it to read after I get home—I can’t look at it now, but get it! Here, you—Boy—say, Boy!”
The newsboy came running to them and flung a paper into Eunice’s lap.
“There y’are, lady,” he said, grinning; “there’s yer paper! Gimme a nickel, can’t yer? I ain’t got time hangin’ on me hands!”
His big black eyes stared at Eunice, as she made no move toward a purse, and he growled: “Hurry up lady; I gotta sell some papers yet. Think nobuddy wants one but you?”
Eunice flushed with annoyance.
“Please pay him, Aunt Abby,” she said, in a low voice; “I—haven’t any money.”
“Goodness gracious me! Haven’t five cents! Why, Eunice, you must have!”
“But I haven’t, I tell you! I can’t see Alvord, and Gus is too far to call to. Go over there, boy, to that chauffeur with the leather coat—he’ll pay you.”
“No, thanky mum! I’ve had that dodge tried afore! Pity a grand dame like you can’t