Paste Jewels

“No, my dear girl,” he said.  “I won’t, and I don’t.  I was thinking all through dinner about those girls down-stairs.  Perhaps—perhaps I had better talk to them, eh?  You are so awfully kind-hearted, and it does seem to me as though they imposed a little on you, that’s all.  The salad to-night was atrocious.  It should have been kept on the ice, instead of which it comes to the table looking like a last year’s bouquet.”

Bessie’s eyes grew watery.  “I’m afraid it was my fault,” she said.  “I ought to have looked after the salad myself.  I always did at home.  I suppose Jane got it out expecting me to prepare it.”

“Oh, well, never mind,” said Thaddeus, desirous of soothing the troubled soul of his wife.  “I wouldn’t have mentioned it, only Jane does too much thinking, in a thoughtless way, anyhow.  Servants aren’t paid to think.”

“I’ll tell you what, Thaddeus,” said Bessie, her spirits returning, “we are just as much to blame as they are; we’ve taken too much for granted, and so have they.  Suppose we spend the evening putting together a set of rules for the management of the house?  It will be lots of fun, and perhaps it will do the girls good.  They ought to understand that while our parents have had their ways—and reasonable ways—there is no reason why we should not have our ways.”

“In other words,” said Thaddeus, “what we want to draw up is a sort of Declaration of Independence.”

“That’s it, exactly,” Bessie replied.

“Better get a slate and write them on that,” suggested Thaddeus, with a broad grin.  “Then we can rub out whatever Jane and Ellen don’t like.”

“I hate you when you are sarcastic,” said Bessie, with a pout, and then she ran for her pad and pencil.

The evening was passed as she had suggested, and when they retired that night the house of Perkins was provided with a constitution and by-laws.

“I don’t suppose I shall recognize my surroundings when I get back home to-night,” said Thaddeus, when he waked up in the morning.

“Why not?” asked Bessie.  “What strange transformation is there to be?”

“The discipline will be so strict,” answered Thaddeus.  “I presume you will put those rules of ours into operation right away?”

“I have been thinking about that,” said Bessie, after a moment.  “You see, Thad, there are a great many things about running a house that neither you nor I are familiar with yet, and it seems to me that maybe we’d better wait a little while before we impose these rules on the girls; it would be awkward to have to make changes afterwards, you know.”

“There is something in that,” said Thaddeus; “but, after all, not so much as you seem to think.  All rules have exceptions.  I’ve no doubt that the cook will take exception to most of them.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of, and as she’s so old I kind of feel as if I ought to respect her feelings a little more than we would Norah’s, for instance.  I can just tell you I shall make Norah stand around.”

“I think it would be a good plan if you did,” said Thaddeus.  “I’m afraid Norah will die if you don’t.  She works too hard to be a real servant—real servants stand around so much, you know.”

“Don’t be flippant, Thaddeus.  This is a very serious matter.  Norah is a good girl, as you say.  She works so much and so quickly that she really makes me tired, and I’m constantly oppressed with the thought that she may get through with whatever she is doing before I can think of something else to occupy her time.  But with her we need have none of the feeling that we have with Jane and Ellen.  She is young, and susceptible to new impressions.  She can fall in with new rules, while the other two might chafe under them.  Now, I say we wait until we find out if we cannot let well enough alone, and not raise discord in our home.”

“There never was an Eden without its serpent,” sighed Thaddeus.  “I don’t exactly like the idea of fitting our rules to their idiosyncrasies.”

“It isn’t that, dear.  I don’t want that, either; but neither do we wish to unnecessarily hamper them in their work by demanding that they shall do it our way.”

“Oh, well, you are the President of the Republic,” said Thaddeus.  “You run matters to suit yourself, and I believe we’ll have the most prosperous institution in the world before we know it.  If it were a business matter, I’d have those rules or die; but I suppose you can’t run a house as you would a business concern.  I guess you are right.  Keep the rules a week.  Why not submit ’em to your mother first?”

“I thought of that,” said Bessie.  “But then it occurred to me that as Ellen had served always under your mother, it would be better if we consulted her.”

“I don’t,” said Thaddeus.  “She’d be sure to tell you not to have any rules, or, if she didn’t, she would advise you to consult with the cook in the matter, which would result in Ellen’s becoming President, and you and I taxpayers.  She used to run our old house, and now see the consequences!”

“What are the consequences?” asked Bessie.

“Mother and father have been driven into a hotel, and the children have all been married.”

“That’s awful,” laughed Bessie.

And so the rules were filed away for future reference.  That they would have remained on file for an indefinite period if Thaddeus had not asked a friend to spend a few weeks with him, I do not doubt.  Bessie grew daily more mistrustful of their value, and Thaddeus himself preferred the comfort of a quiet though somewhat irregular mode of living to the turmoil likely to follow the imposition of obnoxious regulations upon the aristocrats below-stairs.  But the coming of Thaddeus’s friend made a difference.

The friend was an elderly man, with a business and a system.  He was a man, for instance, who all his life had breakfasted at seven, lunched at one, and dined at six-thirty, of which Thaddeus was aware when he invited him to make his suburban home his headquarters while his own house was being renovated and his family abroad.  Thaddeus was also aware that the breakfast and dinner hours under Bessie’s régime were nominally those of his friend, and so he was able to assure Mr. Liscomb that his coming would in no way disturb the usual serenity of the domestic pond.  The trusting friend came.  Breakfast number one was served fifteen minutes after the hour, and for the first time in ten years Mr. Liscomb was late in arriving at his office.  He had not quite recovered from the chagrin consequent upon his tardiness when that evening he sat down to dinner at Thaddeus’s house, served an hour and ten minutes late, Ellen having been summoned by wire to town to buy a pair of shoes for one of her sister’s children, the sister herself suffering from poverty and toothache.

“I hope you were not delayed seriously this morning, Mr. Liscomb,” said Bessie, after dinner.

“Oh no, not at all!” returned Liscomb, polite enough to tell an untruth, although its opposite was also a part of his system.

“Ellen must be more prompt with breakfast,” said Thaddeus.  “Seven, sharp, is the hour.  Did you speak to her about it?”

“No, but I intend to,” answered Bessie.  “I’ll tell her the first thing after breakfast to-morrow.  I meant to have spoken about it to-day, but when I got down-stairs she had gone out.”

“Was it her day out?”

“No; but her sister is sick, and she was sent for.  It was all right.  She left word where she was going with Jane.”

“That was very considerate of her,” said Liscomb, politely.

“Yes,” said Bessie.  “Ellen’s a splendid woman.”

Later on in the evening, about half-past nine, when Mr. Liscomb, wearied with the excitement of the first irregular day he had known from boyhood, retired, Thaddeus took occasion to say:

“Bessie, I think you’d better tell Ellen about having breakfast promptly in the morning to-night, before we go to bed.”

“Very well,” returned Bessie, “I’ll go down now and do it;” and down she went.  In a moment she was back.  “The poor thing was so tired,” she said, “that she went to bed as soon as dinner was cooked, so I couldn’t tell her.”

“Why didn’t you send up word to her by Jane?”

“Oh, she must be asleep by this time!”

“Oh!” said Thaddeus.

It was nine o’clock the next morning when Ellen opened her eyes.  Breakfast had been served a half-hour earlier, Jane and Bessie having cooked some eggs, which Bessie ate alone, since Thaddeus and Liscomb were compelled to take the eight-o’clock train to town, hungry and forlorn.  Liscomb was very good-natured about it to Thaddeus, but his book-keeper had a woful tale to tell of his employer’s irritability when he returned home that night.  As for Thaddeus, he spoke his mind very plainly—to Liscomb.  Bessie never knew what he said, nor did any of the servants; but he said it to Liscomb, and, as Liscomb remarked later, he seemed like somebody else altogether while speaking, he was so fierce and determined about it all.  That night a telegram came from Liscomb, saying that he had been unexpectedly delayed, and that, as there were several matters requiring his attention at his own home, he thought he would not be up again until Sunday.

Bessie was relieved, and Thaddeus was mad.

“We must have those rules,” he said.

And so they were brought out.  Ellen received them with stolid indifference; Jane with indignation, if the slamming of doors in various parts of the house that day betokened anything.  Norah accepted them without a murmur.  It made no difference to Norah on what day she swept the parlor, nor did she seem to care very much because her “days at home” were shifted, so that her day out was Friday instead of Thursday.

“Has Ellen said anything about the rules, my dear?” asked Thaddeus, a week or two later.

“Not a word,” returned Bessie.

“Has she ‘looked’ anything?”

“Volumes,” Bessie answered.

“Does she take exception to any of them?”