The Story of Glass | Page 3

"When I am not doing some of these things and have the surplus time I am incidentally an interior decorator. Oh, I do not go out papering and painting; oh dear, no! I just tell other people how to spend a fortune furnishing their houses. I advise brocade hangings, Italian marbles and every sort of rare and beautiful thing, and since I do not have these luxuries to pay for I find my vocation a tremendously interesting one."
"You have set a worthy example in your own house," observed Mr. Carleton, glancing about with admiration.
"Oh, I've done a little--not much. I like the old landscape paper in this library; some of my antique furniture, too, is rather nice. I picked up many of the best pieces in the South. The house itself came to me from my father, and I have altered it very little, as I was anxious to keep its old colonial atmosphere. Hannah and I live here most peacefully with a waitress and inside man to help us. With Jean added to the household we shall have just the touch of young life that we need. I am very fond of children, and----"
"You seem very certain that Jean is to settle with you, Mr. Cabot. Now let me own up to something; although Mr. Tom Curtis sent me to have this talk with you and pave the way, it chances--no, chance is not the right word--on the contrary it is an intentional fact that Mr. Tom Curtis is at this very moment here in Boston."
Mr. Bob Cabot started.
"Tom Curtis here!"
"Yes. He is putting up at the University Club, and he wanted me to ask you if you would be so good as to dine there with him to-night."
"So he has come over to enter the fray himself, has he? Well, well! Why didn't he come right here? Of course I'll join him. I always liked Tom Curtis. The only things I have against him are that he will live in Pittsburgh--and that he wants Jean."
Mr. Carleton rose with satisfaction. At least part of his mission had been successfully accomplished. He could afford to overlook the slur on Pittsburgh which, as it happened, was his home as well as that of Mr. Tom Curtis.
"Then I'll call up Mr. Curtis," he said, "and tell him he may expect you. Will seven o'clock be all right?"
"Certainly. I suppose I shall not see you again, Carleton?"
Mr. Carleton hesitated.
"It is just possible that I may drop in on you and Mr. Curtis after dinner."
"Oh, I see. A plot."
"Not at all. I have some business to settle with Mr. Curtis before I return to Pittsburgh."
"Going back to that grimy coal hole, are you?" blustered Mr. Bob Cabot. "How you fellows can live there when you might spend your days in Bost----"
The door slammed.
Mr. Carleton was gone.
Shrugging his shoulders Mr. Bob Cabot glanced at the clock. He had just about time to dash off a necessary letter, dress, and get to the University Club.
"Hannah!" he called.
A small dark-haired woman appeared in the doorway. She had sharp little black eyes that twinkled a great deal, and she had a mouth that turned up at the corners; furthermore she had a plump figure neatly dressed in gray, and a white apron tied behind in an enormous and very spirited bow.
"Yes, Mr. Bob."
"Hannah, Mr. Tom Curtis is in town with a rascal of a lawyer. They have come to see about taking Jean to live in Pittsburgh."
"Pittsburgh! My soul, Mr. Bob! You'll not let her go, of course. Pittsburgh, indeed! Don't we know that Boston----"
"We certainly do, Hannah. Nobody knows what Boston is better than we do. But Mr. Tom Curtis unfortunately was not born in Boston."
"More's the pity! Still, I suppose he cannot be blamed for that. It wasn't really his fault."
Mr. Bob Cabot laughed and dropped a big, kindly hand on the shoulder of the woman beside him.
"I will try and impress upon him all that he has missed when I see him to-night. I am to dine with him at the University Club at seven."
"You're not dining out!" ejaculated Hannah in dismay.
"I'm afraid so."
"Oh, Mr. Bob! And fried chicken for dinner--just the way you like it, too."
"I'm sorry, Hannah."
"And me browning all those sweet potatoes!"
"I'm lots more disappointed than you are--truly I am. It can't be helped, though. Now let me finish this letter and you go and lay out my dress shirt and studs and things, or I'll be late."
Hannah darted from the room.
"I made you a Brown Betty pudding, too, Mr. Bob!" she called over her shoulder. "But no matter. There is no evil without some good; your trousers are freshly pressed and handsome as pictures--if I do say it as shouldn't. I'll lay 'em out for you, and your dinner coat as