Re-Creations Read online

  His face took on a firm, manly look, and his eyes grew alert and earnest.

  “Of course not!” he said crisply. “Father thinks I would, and I can’t make him see it any other way. He’s just plain disappointed in me, that’s all.” The young man’s tone took on a bitter tinge. “But I know it will be a step to something. Why, there’s all sorts of big companies now that make and sell machines, and if you understand all about machinery, you stand a better chance for getting in to be business manager someday. There’s tanks and oil wells and tractors and a lot of things. Of course I couldn’t jump into a thing like that at the start. Dad thinks I could. He thinks if I had any pep at all I could just walk up to the president of some big company and say, ‘Here I am; take me,’ and he’d do it, just like that. But—for one thing, look at me! Do I look like a businessman?” He stood back and lifted his arms with a dramatic gesture, pointing toward his shabby clothing.

  “And then another thing, I’ve got to get experience first. If I only had a pull somewhere, but—”

  “I’ll talk to Father,” said Cornelia soothingly. She looked at him thoughtfully. “You ought to earn enough for a new suit right away, of course, and have it ready—keep it nice, I mean, so that when a good opportunity offers, you will be suitably dressed to apply for it. Suppose I talk to Father? I’ll do it tonight. Meantime, you help me here a day or two, and then you go back to that garage and work for a week or two and earn money enough for your suit and what other things you need, and keep your eye open for something better all the while.”

  “That’s the talk!” said Carey joyfully. “Now you’re shouting! You put some heart in a fella. Gee, I’m glad you’re home. It’s been awful without Mother. It was bad enough the last few months when she was sick, but it was some dump when she went away entirely.”

  “Yes, I know,” said the sister sympathetically, reflecting that it would be wiser not to suggest that he might have helped to make the mother sick by his careless life. “Well, we must get things fixed up nice and pleasant for her when she gets back and try to keep her well and happy the rest of her life.”

  “That’s right!” said Carey with a sudden deep note in his voice that came from the heart and gave Cornelia a bit of encouragement.

  “I think I could clean that suit up a little for you and make it look better—”

  Carey looked down at himself doubtfully.

  “It’s pretty bad,” he said. “And it costs a lot to have it cleaned and pressed. I tried last week to do something, but we couldn’t find the irons.”

  “I found them yesterday,” said Cornelia brightly. “We’ll see what we can do this evening if you can be at home.”

  “Oh, this evening…” said Carey doubtfully.

  “Yes, we can’t spare the time till then, because this house has got to be put in order.” She gave him a swift, anxious glance and a winning smile. “If you have another engagement, break it for once. There’s so much to be done, dear, and we do need you terribly. Tell that Brand friend of yours that you’re busy for a few days, and you’ll make it up by inviting him to a fudge party when we get settled.”

  “Oh, gee! Could we?” said Carey half doubtful, half pleased. “Well, all right! I’ll do my best. Now, what do you want done with this old junk?”

  “Those go on in the back shed, over by the tubs. Take that out in the yard and burn it, and this pile goes upstairs. Just put it in the upper hall, and I’ll attend to it later. My! What a difference it makes to get a little space clear!”

  They worked steadily all the afternoon, Carey proving himself as willing as herself.

  They washed the windows and the floor and swept down the walls of the parlor and hall.

  “Ugly old wallpaper!” said Cornelia, eyeing it spitefully. “That’s got to come off if I have to do it myself and have bare walls.”

  “Why, that’s easy!” said Carey. “Give me an old rag!” And he began to slop the water on and scrape with an old case knife.

  “Well, that’s delightful!” said Cornelia with relief. “I didn’t know it would be so easy. We’ll do a little at a time until it is done, and then we’ll either paper it ourselves or paint it. I do wish we could manage to get a fireplace.”

  “Well, maybe we can find some stone cheap where they’re hauling it away. Harry’ll know someplace likely; he gets around with that grocery wagon. You know I helped a stonemason last summer for a while. Mother hated it, though, so I quit, but I learned a lot about mixing cement and how to lay it on. I know about the drafts, too. I bet I could make as good a fireplace as the next one. Gee! I wish I knew where to get some stone or brick.”

  “Stone would be best,” said Cornelia. “It would make a lovely chimney mantel, but I suppose you couldn’t be so elaborate as making a mantel!”

  “Sure, I could! But it would take some stone to do all that.”

  “I know where there’s a lot of stone!” They turned around surprised, and there stood Harry in the doorway with Louise just behind him, looking in with delighted faces at the newly cleaned room and the hardworking elder brother.

  “Where?” Carey wheeled around eagerly.

  “Down on the dump. It was brought there yesterday, a whole lot of it, several cartloads. Came from a place where they have been taking down an old wall, and they had no place to put it, I guess. Anyhow, it’s there.”

  “I’ll go see if there’s enough,” said Carey, flashing out of the door and up the street.

  He was back in a minute with a big stone in his hand.

  “It’s just cellar stone,” he said deprecatingly, “but there’s plenty.”

  “Humph!” said Louise maturely. “Well, I never thought I’d be glad I lived near that old dump! Do you mean we’re going to have a real fireplace, Carey?”

  “That’s the idea, kid, and I guess I can make good. But how are we going to get that stone here?”

  “There’s the express-wagon,” said Louise thoughtfully. “Harry has to work, but I could haul some.”

  “You!” said Carey contemptuously. “Do you suppose I’d let a girl haul stone for me? No, I’ll go borrow a truck. I know a fella has one, and it’s almost quitting time. I know he’ll lend it to me; and if he does, I’ll work until I get those stones all landed, or like as not somebody else will get their eye on them. Stones like that cost a lot nowadays, even if they are only cellar stones.”

  “Cellar stones are lovely,” said Cornelia delightedly. “They have a lot of iron in them and make very artistic houses. I heard a big architect say that once in a lecture at college.”

  “Well, there’s nothing like being satisfied with what you have to have,” said Carey. “Here, Nell, you look out for the rest of that baseboard; I’m off to borrow a truck. Next time you see me I’ll be riding a load of stone!”

  “I’ll come down at six o’clock and help you load!” shouted Harry from the third story, where he was rapidly changing into his working clothes.

  “All right, kid, that’s the stuff. Nell will save us some supper, and we’ll work till dark.”

  “It won’t be dark,” said Louise sagely. “It’s moonlight tonight.”

  “That’s right, too,” said Carey as he seized his hat and dashed out of the house.

  Chapter 8

  You’ve got him to work!” said Louise joyously, looking at her sister with shining eyes.

  “I didn’t do it,” said Cornelia, smiling. “He came of his own accord and seems awfully interested.”

  “Well, it’s because you’re here, of course; that makes all the difference in the world.”

  “Thank you, Louie,” said her sister, stooping to kiss the warm cheek lovingly.

  “Now,” said Louise, pulling off her clean middy blouse and starting upstairs, “what do you want me to do first?”

  “Well, I thought maybe you’d like to dust these books and put them in the bookcase, dear. Then they’ll be out of our way.”

  Louise was rapidly buttoning herself into her old gingham work d
ress when Cornelia came hurriedly from the kitchen and called up the stairs, a note of dismay in her voice.

  “Louie, I don’t suppose you happen to know who owns this house, do you? It’s just occurred to me we’ll have to ask permission to build a fireplace, and that may upset the whole thing. Maybe the owner won’t want an amateur to build a fireplace in his house.”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” shouted Louise happily, appearing at the stair head. “Father owns it. It was the only thing he had left after he lost his money.”

  “Father owns it?” said Cornelia incredulously. “How strange! A house like this! When did he buy it?”

  “He didn’t buy it. He signed a note for a poor man, and then the man died and never paid the money, and Father had to take the house.”

  “Oh!” said Cornelia thoughtfully, seeing more tragedy in the family history and feeling a sudden great tenderness for the father who had borne so many disappointments and yet kept sweet and strong. “Well, then, anyhow we can do as we please with it,” she added happily. “I’m awfully glad. I guess we shan’t have to ask permission. Father’ll like it all right.”

  “Well, I rather guess he will, especially if it keeps Carey busy a little while,” said Louise.

  They worked rapidly and happily together, and soon the books were in orderly rows in the bookcase.

  Cornelia had found a bundle of old curtains in one of the boxes, and now she brought them out and began to measure the windows.

  “The lace curtains all wore out, and Mother threw them away,” volunteered Louise sadly.

  “Never mind. I’ve found a lot of pretty good scrim ones here, and I’m going to wash them and stencil a pattern of wild birds across them,” said Cornelia. “They’ll do for the bedrooms, anyway. The windows are the same size all over the house, aren’t they? I have some beautiful patterns for stenciling up in my trunk that I made for some of the girls’ curtains at college.”

  “How perfectly dear!” said Louise. “Can’t I go up and find them?”

  “Yes, they are in the green box just under the tray. I wish we had a couple more windows in this room; it is so dark. If I were a carpenter for a little while I would knock out that partition into the hall and saw out two windows, one each side of the fireplace over there,” said Cornelia, motioning toward the blank sidewalls where already her mind had reared a lovely stone fireplace.

  “There’s a carpenter lives next door,” said Louise thoughtfully. “He goes to work every morning at seven o’clock, but I suppose he would charge a lot.”

  “I wonder,” said Cornelia. “We’ll have to think about that.” And she stood off in the hall and began to look around with her eyelashes drawn down like curtains through which she was sharply watching a thought that had appeared on her mental horizon.

  On the whole it was a very exciting evening, and a happy one also. When Harry and his father came home, there were two loads of stone already neatly piled inside the little yard, and Carey was just flourishing up to the door with a loud honk of the horn on his borrowed truck, bringing a third load. Harry had of course told his father the new plans, and the father had been rather dubious about such a scheme.

  “He’ll just begin it and then go off and leave a mess around,” he had told Harry with a sigh.

  But, when he saw the eager light on his eldest son’s face, he took heart of hope. Carey was so lithe and alert, worked with so much precision, strength, and purpose, and seemed so intent on what he was doing. Perhaps, after all, something good would come of it, although he looked with an anxious eye at the borrowed car and wondered what he would do if Carey should break it and be liable for its price.

  Harry turned to and helped with the unloading, and both were persuaded to come in barely for five minutes’ bit at the good dinner that was already on the table. They dispatched it with eagerness and little ceremony and were off for another load, asking to have their pudding saved until they returned, as every minute must count before dark, and they had no time for pudding just now.

  When the boys were away again, Cornelia began to talk with her father about Carey. She told him a little of their talk that morning and persuaded him not to say anything for a while to stop Carey from working at the garage until he had earned enough to buy some new clothes and get a little start. The father reluctantly consented, although he declared it would not do any good, for Carey would spend every cent he earned on his wild young friends, and if he bought any clothes, they would be evening clothes. He had seen before how it worked. Nevertheless, although he spoke discouragedly, Cornelia knew that he would stand by her in her attempt to help Carey back to respectability, and she went about clearing off the supper table with a lighter heart.

  After supper she saw to it that there was plenty of hot water for baths when the boys got through their work, and she got out an old flannel shirt and a pair of Carey’s trousers and set a patch and mended a tear and put them in order for work. Then she had the ironing board and a basin and soap ready for cleaning his other clothes when he came in. Carey-like, he had gone to haul all that stone in the only suit he had to wear for good. She sighed as she thought what a task was before her. For something inside Carey needed taking out and adjusting before Carey would ever be a dependable, practical member of the family. Nevertheless, she was proud of him as she listened to the thud of each load and glanced out of the front window at the ever-increasing pile of stones that now ran over the tiny front yard and was encroaching on the path that led to the back door.

  “Gotta get ‘em all, or somebody else’ll get onto it and take ‘em,” declared Harry when he came in for a drink, his face and hands black and a happy, manly look around his mouth and eyes.

  It was ten o’clock when the last load was dumped, by the light of all the lamps in the house brought out into the yard, and it was more than an hour later before the boys got back from returning the truck to its owner. They were tired and dirty almost beyond recognition but happier than they had been for many a day, and glad of the bit of a feast that their sister had set out for them, and of the hot baths.

  “Well, if we don’t have a fireplace now, it won’t be my fault!” declared Harry, mopping a warm red face with a handkerchief that had seen better days. “Gee! We certainly did work. Carey can work, too, when he tries, I’ll say.” And there was a note of admiration in his voice for his elder brother, which was not missed by either the brother or the watching sisters. Everybody slept well that night, and they were all so weary that they came near to oversleeping the next morning.

  It was after the children had gone to school and Carey was off getting lime and sand and cement for his work that Cornelia went out into the backyard to hang up the curtains that she had just washed, and turning toward the line, she encountered a pair of curious eyes under the ruffle of a pretty calico nightcap whose owner was standing on the neighboring back porch, the one to the left, where Louise had said the carpenter lived.

  “Good morning!” said the other woman briskly, as if she had a perfect right to be intimate. “You all ain’t going to build, are you? I see all them stones come last night, and I couldn’t make out what in life you all was going to do with ‘em, lessen you was goin’ to pull down and build out.”

  Cornelia had a foolish little hesitancy in responding to this lively overture, for her instinct was to look down upon people who lived in so poor a neighborhood, but she reflected quickly that she was living there herself, and perhaps these people didn’t like it any better than she did. Why should she look down upon them? So she looked up with a pleasant smile, if a trifle belated.

  “Oh, good morning. No, we’re only going to have a fireplace. I wish we were going to build; the house isn’t arranged at all the way I should like it, and it’s such fun to have things made the way you want them, don’t you think?”

  “Yes,” said the neighbor, eyeing her curiously. “I s’pose it is. I never have tried it. My husband’s a carpenter, and of course he don’t have time to make things for me. It’s
like the shoemaker’s children goin’ barefoot, as the sayin’ is. I was going to say that, if you all was buildin’, my husband, being a carpenter, might be handy for you. He takes contracts sometimes.”

  “Oh, does he?” Cornelia’s color rose brightly. “I certainly wish we could afford to have some work done. There are two windows I need badly and a partition I want down, but I can’t do it now. Perhaps later, when Mother gets home from the hospital and we’re not under such heavy expense, we can manage it.”

  The neighbor eyed her thoughtfully.

  “Be nice if you could have ‘em done when she got back,” she suggested. “Your mother looked to be an awful sweet woman. I saw her when she come here first, and I said to my husband, I said, ‘Jim, them’s nice people. It does one good to have a woman like that livin’ next door; she’s so ladylike and pretty, don’t you know, and so kinda sweet.’ I was awful sorry when I heard she had to go to the hospital. Say, she certainly did look white when they took her away. My, but ain’t she fortunate she’s got a daughter old enough to fill her place? You been to college, ain’t you? My, but that’s fine! Well, say, I’ll tell Jim about it. Mebbe he could do your work for you nights if you wasn’t in a hurry, and then it wouldn’t come so high, you know. It would be nice if you could get it all fixed up for your ma when she comes back. Jim wouldn’t mind when you paid him, you know. I’ll tell him to come in and look it over when he gets in this afternoon, anyhow.”

  “Oh!” said Cornelia, taking a quick breath of astonishment. “Oh, really I couldn’t believe you more. Of course, I might manage part of what I want if it didn’t cost too much, but I’ve heard all building is very high now.”

  She was making a lightning calculation and thinking of the money she had brought back from college. Would it—could she? Ought she? It would be so nice if she dared!