A Philanthropist | Page 8

his; she don't know no more'n the dead what he's got in
there--an' I was by the door when he said it.
"'Thompson,' says he, 'if I don't keep my present situation,' says he, 'I
c'n go out as a decorator an' furnisher. Don't you think I'd succeed,
Thompson?' says he. 'Yes, sir,' says Thompson.
"'You see, we've got to do something Thompson,' says he. 'We've got
ter justify our existence, Thompson,' an' he commenced to laugh. 'Yes,
sir,' says Thompson. Beats all I ever see, the way that man answers
back!"
An almost unprecedented headache, brought on by her unremitting
labor in effecting the change in the Rooms, kept Miss Gould in the
house for two days after the new headquarters had been satisfactorily
arranged; and as Mr. Welles had refused to open his office for
inspection till it was completely furnished, she did not enter that
characteristic apartment till the third day of its official existence.
As she went through the narrow hallway connecting the four rooms on
which the social regeneration of her village depended, she caught the
sweet low thrum of a guitar and a too familiarly seductive voice burst
forth into a chant, whose literal significance she was unable to grasp,
owing to lack of familiarity with the language in which it was couched,
but whose general tenor no one could mistake, so tender and arch was
the rendering.
With a vague thrill of apprehension she threw open the door.
Sunk in cushions, a tea-cup on the arm of his chair, a guitar resting on

his white flannel sleeve, reclined the director of the Rooms. Over his
head hung a large and exquisite copy of the Botticelli Venus. Miss
Gould's horrified gaze fled from this work of art to rest on a
representation in bronze of the same reprehensible goddess, clothed, to
be sure, a little more in accordance with the views of a retired New
England community, yet leaving much to be desired in this direction.
Kitty Waters attentively filled his empty cup, beaming the while, and
the once errant Annabel, sitting on a low stool at his feet, with a red
bow in her pretty hair, and her great brown eyes fixed adoringly on his
face as he directed the fascinating incomprehensible little song straight
at her charming self, was obviously in no present danger of running the
streets.
"Good morning, Miss Gould!" he said cheerfully, rising and handing
the guitar to the abashed Annabel. "And you are really quite recovered?
C'est bien! Business is dull, and we are amusing each other, you see.
How do you like the rooms? I flatter myself--"
"If you flattered none but yourself, Mr. Welles, much harm would be
avoided," she interrupted with uncompromising directness. "Kitty and
Annabel, I cannot see how you can possibly tell how many people may
or may not be wanting lunch!"
"Billy Rider tells us when any one comes," the director assured her.
"They don't come till twelve, anyway, and then they want to see the
room, mostly--which we show them, don't we, Annabel?"
Annabel blushed, cast down her eyes, lifted them, showed her dimples,
and replied in the words, if not in the accents, of Thompson: "Yes, sir!"
"It's really going to be an education in itself, don't you think so?" he
continued. "It's amazing how the people like it--it's really quite
gratifying. Perhaps it may be my mission to abolish the chromo and the
tidy from off the face of New England! We have had crowds here--just
to look at the pictures."
"I don't doubt it!" replied Miss Gould briefly.

"And I got the most attractive sugar-bowl from the little boy who
brought in the reports about picking up papers and such things from the
streets. He said he ought to have five cents, so I gave him a dime--I
hadn't five--and I bought the bowl. Annabel, my child, bring me--"
But Annabel and her fellow-waitress had disappeared. Miss Gould sat
in silence. At intervals her perplexed gaze rested unconsciously on the
Botticelli Venus, from which she instantly with a slight frown lowered
it and regarded the floor. When she at last met his eyes the expression
of her own was so troubled, the droop of her firm mouth so pathetic
and unusual, that he left his chair and dragged the little stool to her feet,
assuming an attitude so boyish and graceful that in spite of herself she
smiled at him.
"What is the matter?" he asked confidentially. "Is anything wrong?
Don't you like the room? I enjoy it tremendously, myself. I've been here
almost all the time since it was done. I think Tom Waters must be
tremendously impressed--"
"That's the trouble; he is," said Miss Gould simply.
"Trouble? trouble? Is his impression unfavorable? Heavens, how
unfortunate!" exclaimed the director