Raspberry Jam | Page 2

Miss Abby Ames was a lady of decision, and she had one
hobby, for the pursuit of which she would attempt to overcome any
obstacle.
"You needn't hear any more of it, Eunice," she said, curtly. "I am not a
child to be allowed out or kept at home! I shall go to Newark
to-morrow to see this performance, and I shall go alone, and--"
"You'll do nothing of the sort! You'd look nice starting off alone on a
railroad trip! Why, I don't believe you've ever been to Newark in your
life! Nobody has! It isn't done!"
Eunice was half whimsical, half angry, but her stormy eyes presaged
combat and her rising color indicated decided annoyance.
"Done!" cried her aunt. "Conventions mean nothing to me! Abby Ames
makes social laws--she does not obey those made by others!"
"You can't do that in New York, Aunt Abby. In your old Boston,
perhaps you had a certain dictatorship, but it won't do here. Moreover, I
have rights as your hostess, and I forbid you to go skylarking about by
yourself."
"You amuse me, Eunice!"
"I had no intention of being funny, I assure you."
"While not distinctly humorous, the idea of your forbidding me is,
well--oh, my gracious, Eunice, listen to this: 'The man chosen for
Hanlon's "guide" is the Hon. James L. Mortimer--' --h'm--'High Street--'
Why, Eunice, I've heard of Mortimer --he's--"
"I don't care who he is, Aunt Abby, and I wish you'd drop the subject."
"I won't drop it--it's too interesting! Oh, my! I wish we could go out
there in the big car--then we could follow him round--"

"Hush! Go out to Newark in the car! Trail round the streets and alleys
after a fool mountebank! With a horde of gamins and low, horrid men
crowding about--"
They won't be allowed to crowd about!"
"And yelling--"
"I admit the yelling--"
"Aunt Abby, you're impossible!" Eunice rose, and scowled irately at
her aunt. Her temper, always quick, was at times ungovernable, and
was oftenest roused at the suggestion of any topic or proceeding that
jarred on her taste. Exclusive to the point of absurdity, fastidious in all
her ways, Mrs, Embury was, so far as possible, in the world but not of
it.
Both she and her husband rejoiced in the smallness of their friendly
circle, and shrank from any unnecessary association with hoi polloi.
And Aunt Abby Ames, their not entirely welcome guest, was of a
different nature, and possessed of another scale of standards. Secure in
her New England aristocracy, calmly conscious of her innate
refinement, she permitted herself any lapses from conventional laws
that recommended themselves to her inclination.
And it cannot be denied that the investigation of her pet subject, the
satisfaction of her curiosity concerning occult matters and her diligent
inquiries into the mysteries of the supernatural did lead her into places
and scenes not at all in harmony with Eunice's ideas of propriety.
"Not another word of that rubbish, Auntie; the subject is taboo," and
Eunice waved her hand with the air of one who dismisses a matter
completely.
"Don't you think you can come any of your high and mighty airs on
me!" retorted the elder lady. "It doesn't seem so very many years ago
that I spanked you and shut you in the closet for impudence. The fact

that you are now Mrs. Sanford Embury instead of little Eunice Ames
hasn't changed my attitude toward you!"
"Oh, Auntie, you are too ridiculous!" and Eunice laughed outright. "But
the tables are turned, and I am not only Mrs, Sanford Embury but your
hostess, and, as such, entitled to your polite regard for my wishes."
"Tomfoolery talk, my dear; I'll give you all the polite regard you are
entitled to, but I shall carry out my own wishes, even though they run
contrary to yours. And to-morrow I prance out to Newark, N.J., your
orders to the contrary notwithstanding!"
The aristocratic old head went up and the aristocratic old nose sniffed
disdainfully, for though Eunice Embury was strong-willed, her aunt
was equally so, and in a clash of opinions Miss Ames not infrequently
won out.
Eunice didn't sulk, that was not her nature; she turned back to her
writing desk with an offended air, but with a smile as of one who
tolerates the vagaries of an inferior. This, she knew, would irritate her
aunt more than further words could do.
And yet, Eunice Embury was neither mean nor spiteful of disposition.
She had a furious temper, but she tried hard to control it, and when it
did break loose, the spasm was but of short duration and she was sorry
for it afterward. Her husband declared he had tamed her, and that since
her marriage, about two years ago, his wise, calm influence