Amarilly of Clothes-line Alley | Page 8

a hull lot more convenient," admitted Mrs. Jenkins hopefully. "Co spills things so, and the boys quarrel when you and the Boarder ain't here to keep peace. It was jest orful this noon. You wasn't here and the Boarder kerried his dinner. 'Cause Flam put too much vinegar on Milt's beans, Milt poured it down Flam's neck, and when I sent him away from the table he sassed me."
"Jiminy!" protested Amarilly indignantly. "I'd make Milt go without his supper to-night."
"'Tain't his stummick I'm agoin' to punish," said Mrs. Jenkins sarcastically. "I've laid by a willer switch that'll feel sharper than the vinegar he wasted. You'd better go to Miss King's right away--and, Amarilly, mind you ride both ways. It's too far to walk. Don't you sell the tickets!"
This last prohibitory remark was made in remembrance of Amarilly's commercial instincts.
When Amarilly was admitted to the basement of her young benefactress's home a trimly-capped little maid took her to Colette's boudoir.
"Sit down and talk to me, Amarilly. I want to hear more about Lord Algernon and Mr. Vedder and Pete. Here's a box of chocolate creams that must be eaten while they are fresh."
Amarilly was slightly awed at first by the luxurious appointments of the room, but she soon recovered her ease and devoured the novel sweets with appreciative avidity. Then she proved herself a fascinating raconteur of the annals of a world unknown to Colette. It was a matter of course to Amarilly that the leading lady should be supporting an invalid sister; that the languid Lord Algernon should be sending his savings to his old mother who lived in the country; that the understudy should sew industriously through rehearsals and behind the scenes between parts for her two little fatherless girls; that Pete Noyes should "bank" to buy a wheeled chair for his rheumatic father; that the villain was "layin' by" for his parents to come from the Fatherland, and that the company should all chip in to send the property woman's sick child to the seashore. But to Colette the homely little stories were vignettes of another side of life.
"Have you been to the rectory yet, Amarilly?" she asked presently, when Amarilly's memories of stage life lagged.
"No; Flammy has went fer Mr. St. Mark's things."
"Mr. St. Mark's!"
Colette laughed delightedly.
"I thought you told me that the preacher's name was Mr. St. Marks. You said mebby you could git his wash fer us."
"No, Amarilly. I did not mean that. St. Mark's is the name of the church where he officiates. He could never under any conditions be a St. Mark."
"Wat's his name?"
"St. John, of course. And most people call him a rector, but really your name suits him best. He does preach--sometimes--to me."
At the end of the week Colette again sent for John--to call "on laundry business"--her little note read.
"I couldn't wait," she said when he came, "to learn how Mrs. Jenkins pleased you. My waists were most beautifully laundered. She is certainly a Madonna of the Tubs."
"You have indeed secured a treasure for me, Colette. The linen is immaculate, and she shall have the laundering of it regularly."
"I am so glad!" exclaimed Colette fervently. "They need it so much, and they are so anxious to please. Amarilly was so apprehensive--"
John's face had become radiant.
"It is sweet in you to be interested, Colette, and--"
"I wish you would see her," said Colette, ignoring his commendatory words and voice. "She's an odd little character. I invited her to luncheon the other day, and the courses and silver never disturbed her apparently. She watched me closely, however, and followed my moves as precisely as a second oarsman. By the way, she called you St. Mark. I know some people consider you and St. Mark's as synonymous, but I explained the difference. She tells me absorbingly interesting stories of theatre life--the life behind the scenes. You see the 'scent of the roses,' John!"
The shadow fell again, but he made no response.
The following Monday the young minister chanced to be in the culinary precincts of the rectory when Amarilly called for the laundry, none of the boys having been available for the service.
An instant gleam of recognition came into his kindly eyes.
"You must be Amarilly Jenkins. I have heard very good accounts of you-- that you are industrious and a great help to your mother."
Amarilly looked at him shrewdly.
"She told you," she affirmed positively.
There was but one "she" in the world of these two, and John Meredith naturally comprehended.
"She's orful good to us," continued Amarilly, "and it was through her, Mr. St. John, that we got the surpluses."
"It was, indeed, Amarilly; but my name is not St. John. It is John Meredith."
"She was jest kiddin' me, then!" deduced Amarilly appreciatively. "I thought at fust as how yer name was St. Mark, and she said you could