Raspberry Jam | Page 3

had curbed
her tendency to fly into a rage and had made her far more equable and
placid of disposition.
His methods had been drastic--somewhat like those of Petruchio
toward Katherine. When his wife grew angry, Sanford Embury grew
more so and by harder words and more scathing sarcasms he--as he
expressed it--took the wind out of her sails and rendered her helplessly
vanquished.
And yet they were a congenial pair. Their tastes were similar; they
liked the same people, the same books, the same plays. Eunice

approved of Sanford's correct ways and perfect intuitions and he
admired her beauty and dainty grace.
Neither of them loved Aunt Abby--the sister of Eunice's father --but her
annual visit was customary and unavoidable.
The city apartment of the Sanfords had no guestroom, and therefore the
visitor must needs occupy Eunice's charming boudoir and
dressing-room as a bedroom. This inconvenienced the Emburys, but
they put up with it perforce.
Nor would they have so disliked to entertain the old lady had it not
been for her predilection for occult matters. Her visit to their home
coincided with her course of Clairvoyant Sittings and her class of
Psychic Development.
These took place at houses in undesirable, sometimes unsavory
localities and only Aunt Abby's immovable determination made it
possible for her to attend.
A large text-book, "The Voice of the Future," was her inseparable
companion, and one of her chief, though, as yet, unfulfilled, desires
was to have a Reading given at the Embury home by the Swami
Ramananda.
Eunice, by dint of stern disapproval, and Sanford, by his good-natured
chaffing and ridicule had so far prevented this calamity, but both feared
that Aunt Abby might yet outwit them and have her coveted seance
after all.
Outside of this phase of her character, Miss Ames was not an
undesirable guest. She had a good sense of humor, a kind and generous
heart and was both perceptive and responsive in matters of household
interest.
Owing to the early death of Eunice's mother, Aunt Abby had brought
up the child, and had done her duty by her as she saw it.

It was after Eunice had married that Miss Ames became interested in
mystics and with a few of her friends in Boston had formed a circle for
the pursuance of the cult.
Her life had otherwise been empty, indeed, for the girl had given her
occupation a-plenty, and that removed, Miss Abby felt a vague want of
interest.
Eunice Ames had not been easy to manage. Nor was Miss Abby Ames
the best one to be her manager.
The girl was headstrong and wilful, yet possessed of such winsome,
persuasive wiles that she twisted her aunt round her finger.
Then, too, her quick temper served as a rod and many times Miss Ames
indulged the girl against her better judgment lest an unpleasant
explosion of wrath should occur and shake her nervous system to its
foundation. So Eunice grew up, an uncurbed, untamed, self-willed and
self-reliant girl, making up her quarrels as fast as she picked them and
winning friends everywhere in spite of her sharp tongue.
And so, on this occasion, neither of the combatants held rancor more
than a few minutes. Eunice went on writing letters and Miss Abby went
on reading her paper, until at five o'clock, Ferdinand the butler brought
in the tea-things.
"Goody!" cried Eunice, jumping up. "I do want some tea, don't you,
Aunty?"
"Yes," and Miss Ames crossed the room to sit beside her. "And I've an
idea, Eunice; I'll take Ferdinand with me to-morrow!"
The butler, who was also Embury's valet and a general household
steward, looked up quickly. He had been in Miss Ames' employ for
many years before Eunice's marriage, and now, in the Embury's city
home was the indispensable major-domo of the establishment.
"Yes," went on Aunt Abby, "that will make it all quite circumspect and

correct. Ferdinand, tomorrow you accompany me to Newark, New
Jersey."
"I think not," said Eunice quietly, and dismissing Ferdinand with a nod,
she began serenely to make the tea.
"Don't be silly, Aunt Abby," she said; "you can't go that way. It would
be all right to go with Ferdinand, of course, but what could you do
when you, reached Newark? Race about on foot, following up this
clown, or whoever is performing?"
"We could take a taxicab--"
"You might get one and you might not. Now, you will wait till San
comes home, and see if he'll let you have the big car."
"Will you go then, Eunice?"
"No; of course not. I don't go to such fool shows! There's the door!
Sanford's coming."
A step was heard in the hall, a cheery voice spoke to Ferdinand as he
took his master's coat and hat and then a big man entered