Other Peoples Business

Other People's Business, by Harriet L. Smith

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Title: Other People's Business The Romantic Career of the Practical Miss Dale
Author: Harriet L. Smith

Release Date: October 23, 2007 [eBook #23157]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OTHER PEOPLE'S BUSINESS***
E-text prepared by Al Haines

OTHER PEOPLE'S BUSINESS
The Romantic Career of the Practical Miss Dale
by
HARRIET LUMMIS SMITH

Indianapolis The Bobbs-Merrill Company Publishers
Copyright 1916 The Bobbs-Merrill Company

CONTENTS
I INTRODUCING PERSIS
II THE LOVER
III A FITTING
IV THE WOMAN'S CLUB
V DIANTHA GROWS UP
VI THE NEW ARRIVAL
VII A CONFIDENTIAL CHAT
VIII EVE AND THE APPLE
IX A DAY TO HERSELF
X SHOULD AULD ACQUAINTANCE BE FORGOT
XI TWIXT THE CUP AND THE LIP
XII A CONFESSION TOO MANY
XIII THE MAIL BAG
XIV AN ACQUISITION
XV A WOMAN AT LAST
XVI WHERE ANGELS FEAR TO TREAD
XVII ENID
XVIII A STALLED ENGINE
XIX A DEFERRED INTERMENT
XX CHECKMATE
XXI DE PROFUNDIS
XXII EAVESDROPPING
XXIII WEDDING BELLS
XXIV FAIR PLAY

OTHER PEOPLE'S BUSINESS
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCING PERSIS
The knocking at the side door and the thumping overhead blended in a travesty on the anvil chorus, the staccato tapping of somebody's knuckles rising flute-like above the hammering of Joel's cane. TO some temperaments the double summons would have proved confusing, but Persis Dale dropped her sewing and moved briskly to the door, addressing the ceiling as she went. "'Twon't hurt you to wait."
The stout woman on the steps entered heavily and fell into a chair that creaked an inarticulate protest. Persis' quick ear caught the signal of distress.
"Mis' West, you'd be more comf'table in the armchair. I fight shy of it because it's too comf'table. If I set back into the hollow, it's because my work's done for the day. And here's a palm-leaf. You look as hot as mustard-plaster."
Having thus tactfully interfered for the preservation of her property, Persis cast a swiftly appraising glance at the chair her caller had vacated. "Front rung sprung just as I expected," was her unspoken comment. "It's a wonder that Etta West don't use more discretion about furniture."
Mrs. West dabbed her moist forehead with her handkerchief, flopped the palm-leaf indeterminately and cast an alarmed glance heavenward. "Gracious, Persis, first thing you know, he'll be coming through."
"'Twon't hurt him to wait," Persis said again, as if long testing had proved the reliability of the formula. "He called me up-stairs fifteen minutes ago," she added, "to have me get down the 'cyclopedia and find out when Confucius was born."
"I want to know," murmured Mrs. West, visibly impressed. "He's certainly got an active mind."
"He has," Persis agreed dryly. "And it's the sort of mind that makes lots of activity for other folks' hands and feet. Does that noise worry you, Mis' West? For if it does, I'll run up and quiet him before we get down to business."
Mrs. West approved the suggestion. "I brought my black serge," she explained, "to have you see if it'll pay for a regular making-over--new lining and all--or whether I'd better freshen it up and get all the wear I can out of it, just as 'tis. But I declare! With all that noise over my head, I wouldn't know a Dutch neck from a placket-hole. I don't see how you stand it, Persis, day in and day out."
"There's lots in getting used to things," Persis explained, and left the room with the buoyant step of a girl. She looked every one of her six and thirty years, but her movements still retained the ardent lightness of youth. Beaten people drag through life. Only the unconquered move as Persis moved, as though shod with wings.
The anvil chorus ceased abruptly when Persis opened the door of her brother's room. She entered with caution for the darkness seemed impenetrable, after the sunny brightness of the spring afternoon. Joel Dale's latest contribution to hygienic science was the discovery that sunshine was poison to his constitution. Not only were the shutters closed, and the shades drawn, but a patch-work bed-quilt had been tacked over the window that no obtrusive ray of light should work havoc with his health. Joel's voice was hoarsely tragic as he called to his sister to shut the door.
"I'm going to as soon as I can find my way to the knob. It's so pitch-dark in here that I'm as blind as an owl till I get used to it."
"Maybe 'twould help your eye-sight if you was the one getting poisoned," Joel returned sarcastically in the querulous tones of the confirmed invalid. "I've 'suffered the pangs of three several deaths,' as Shakespeare says, because you left the door part way open the last time you went to the 'cyclopedia." For twenty