Chapter IV.
The Boarders Stay, and the Olivers Go
Dr. George found Mrs. Oliver too ill to be anything but reasonable. After a long talk about her own condition and Polly’s future, she gave a somewhat tearful assent to all his plans for their welfare, and agreed to make the change when a suitable tenant was found for the house.
So Polly eased the anxiety that gnawed at her heart by incredible energy in the direction of house-cleaning; superintending all sorts of scrubbings, polishings, and renovating of carpets with the aid of an extra Chinaman, who was fresh from his native rice-fields and stupid enough to occupy any one’s mind to the exclusion of other matters.
Each boarder in turn was asked to make a trip to the country on a certain day, and on his return found his room in spotless order; while all this time the tired mother lay quietly in her bed, knowing little or nothing of her daughter’s superhuman efforts to be “good.” But a month of rest worked wonders, and Mrs. Oliver finally became so like her usual delicate but energetic self that Polly almost forgot her fears, although she remitted none of her nursing and fond but rigid discipline.
At length something happened; and one glorious Saturday morning in October, Polly saddled Blanquita, the white mare which Bell Winship had left in Polly’s care during her European trip, and galloped over to the Nobles’ ranch in a breathless state of excitement.
Blanquita was happy too, for Polly had a light hand on the rein and a light seat in the saddle. She knew there would be a long rest at the journey’s end, and that, too, under a particularly shady pepper-tree; so both horse and rider were in a golden humor as they loped over the dusty road, the blue Pacific on the one hand, and the brown hills, thirsty for rain, on the other.
Polly tied Blanquita to the pepper-tree, caught her habit in one hand, and ran up the walnut-tree avenue to the Nobles’ house. There was no one in; but that was nothing unusual, since a house is chiefly useful for sleeping purposes in that lovely climate. No one on the verandas, no one in the hammocks; after seeking for some little time she came upon Margery and her mother at work in their orange-tree sitting-room, Mrs. Noble with her mending-basket, Margery painting as usual.
The orange-tree sitting-room was merely a platform built under the trees, which in the season of blossoms shed a heavy fragrance in the warm air, and later on hung their branches of golden fruit almost into your very lap.
“Here you are!” cried Polly, plunging through the trees as she caught sight of Margery’s pink dress. “You have n’t any hats to swing, so please give three rousing cheers! The house is rented and a lease signed for a year!”
“That is good news, indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Noble, laying down her needle. “And who is the tenant?”
“Whom do you suppose? Mrs. Chadwick herself! She has been getting on very nicely with the housekeeping (part of the credit belongs to me, but no one would ever believe it), and the boarders have been gradually weaned from mamma and accustomed to the new order of things, so they are tolerably content. Ah Foy also has agreed to stay, and that makes matters still more serene, since he is the best cook in Santa Barbara. Mrs. Chadwick will pay eighty-five dollars a month. Dr. George thinks we ought to get more, but mamma is so glad to have somebody whom she knows, and so relieved to feel that there will be no general breaking up of the ‘sweet, sweet home,’ that she is glad to accept the eighty-five dollars; and I am sure that we can live in modest penury on that sum. Of course Mrs. Chadwick may weary in well-doing; or she may die; or she may even get married,—though that’s very unlikely, unless one of the boarders can’t pay his board and wants to make it up to her in some way. Heigho! I feel like a princess, like a capitalist, like a gilded society lady!” sighed Polly, fanning herself with her hat.
“And now you and your mother will come to us for a week or two, as you promised, won’t you?” asked Mrs. Noble. “That will give you time to make your preparations comfortably.”
Polly took a note from her pocket and handed it to Mrs. Noble: “Mrs. Oliver presents her compliments to Mrs. Noble, and says in this letter that we accept with pleasure Mrs. Noble’s kind invitation to visit her. Said letter was not to be delivered, in case Mrs. Noble omitted to renew the invitation; but as all is right, I don’t mind announcing that we are coming the day after to-morrow.”
“Oh, Polly, Polly! How am I ever to live without you!” sighed Margery. “First Elsie, then Bell, now you!”
“Live for your Art with a big A, Peggy, but it’s not forever. By and by, when you are a successful artist and I am a successful something, in short, when we are both ‘careering,’ which is my verb to express earning one’s living by the exercise of some splendid talent, we will ‘career’ together in some great metropolis. Our mothers shall dress in Lyons velvet and point-lace. Their delicate fingers, no longer sullied by the vulgar dishcloth and duster, shall glitter with priceless gems, while you and I, the humble authors of their greatness, will heap dimes on dimes until we satisfy ambition.”
Mrs. Noble smiled. “I hope your ‘career,’ as you call it, will be one in which imagination will be of use, Polly.”
“I don’t really imagine all the imaginations you imagine I imagine,” said Polly soberly, as she gave Mrs. Noble’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “A good deal of it is ‘whistling to keep my courage up.’ But everything looks hopeful just now. Mamma is so much better, everybody is so kind, and do you know, I don’t loathe the boarders half so much since we have rented them with the house?
“They grow in beauty side by side,
They fill our home with glee.
“Now that I can look upon them as personal property, part of our goods and chattels, they have ceased to be disagreeable. Even Mr. Greenwood—you remember him, Margery?”
“The fat old man who calls you sprightly?”
“The very same; but he has done worse since that. To be called sprightly is bad enough, but yesterday he said that he shouldn’t be surprised if I married well—in—course—of—time!”
Nothing but italics would convey the biting sarcasm of Polly’s inflections, and no capitals in a printer’s case could picture her flashing eyes, or the vigor with which she prodded the earth with her riding-whip.
“I agree with him, that it is not impossible,” said Mrs. Noble teasingly, after a moment of silence.
“Now, dearest aunty Meg, don’t take sides with that odious man! If, in the distant years, you ever see me on the point of marrying well, simply mention Mr. Greenwood’s name to me, and I ‘ll draw back even if I am walking up the middle aisle with an ivory prayer-book in my hand!”
“Just to spite Mr. Greenwood; that would be sensible,” said Margery.
“You could n’t be so calm if you had to sit at the same table with him day after day. He belongs at the second table by—by every law of his nature! But, as I was saying, now that we have rented him to Mrs. Chadwick with the rest of the furniture, and will have a percentage on him just as we do on the piano which is far more valuable, I have been able to look at him pleasantly.”
“You ought to be glad that the boarders like you,” said Margery
