Speed Nell
Molly Brown's Post-Graduate Days
“Where is the moon?” they all exclaimed at once. While they were eating and drinking and making themselves generally merry, the proverbial cloud, no bigger than a man’s hand, had grown and spread and now the moon was put out of business. The cliffs were so high that a storm had come up out of the west without any one dreaming of it.
“This creek can fill in such a hurry when a big rain comes we had better start,” said Kent.
“Oh, don’t be such a croaker, Kent. It can’t rain. The sky was as clear as a bell when we left home,” said Mrs. Brown, as eager as any of the young people to prolong the good times.
“All right, mother, just as you think best, but I am going to get the horses hitched up in case you change your mind.”
Change her mind she did in a very few minutes, as large drops of rain began to fall. The crowd came pell-mell and scrambled into the wagon. Mrs. Brown noticed in the confusion that she had lost her cavalier and that Professor Green had attached himself to Molly. She was pleased to see it, as she had felt sorry for the young man. He was evidently so miserable, and yet at the same time so determined to make himself agreeable to her that he had been really very charming. She loved to talk about books, and, as she said, seldom had the chance, for the people who knew about books and cared for them never seemed to realize that a busy mother and housekeeper could have similar tastes.
“I get so tired of swapping recipes for pickles and talking about how to raise children. Aunt Mary makes the pickle and my children are all raised,” she had confided to Edwin Green. “We had a very interesting guest on one occasion, a woman who had done a great many delightful things and knew many delightful literary people, and I hoped to have a real good talk with her about books; but she seemed to feel she must stick to the obvious when she conversed with me. I often laugh when I think of Aunt Mary’s retort courteous to this same lady. She was constantly asking me how we made this and what we did to have that so much better than other people, and I would always refer her to Aunt Mary.
“Once it was bread that was under discussion. You know how difficult it is to get a recipe from a darkey, as they never really know how they do the things they do best. Aunt Mary told her to the best of her ability what she did, but the woman was not satisfied. ‘Now, tell me exactly how many cups of flour you use.’ ‘Why, bless you, we done stop dolin’ out flour with a cup long ago an’ uses a ole broken pitcher.’ Another time it was coffee. ‘Now, you have told me about the freshly roasted and ground coffee, please tell me how much water.’ Aunt Mary gave a scornful sniff. ‘You mus’ think we are stingy folks ef you think we measure water!’ At another time she said, ‘Aunt Mary, you must have told me wrong, because I did exactly what you said and my popovers were complete failures.’ ‘Laws a mussy, I did fergit to tell you one thing, an’ that is that you mus’ stir in some gumption wif ev’y aig.’”
“De rain kep’ a-drappin’ in draps so mighty heavy;
De ribber kep’ a-risin’ an’ bus’ed froo de levvy,
Ring, ring de banjo, how I lub dat good ole song,
Come, come, my true love, oh, whar you been so long?”
It was Jimmy who broke into this rollicking song, and when all of the Brown boys, who had had an experience with this old dry creek bed once on a ’possum hunt, heard him, they felt that the song was singularly appropriate. They also thanked their stars that they had with them some one who would “whoop things up” and keep the crowd cheerful, and perhaps the ladies would not realize the danger they were in. This wet-weather creek was fed by innumerable small branches, all of them dry now from something of a drought that had been prevalent, and John, the woodsman, noticed that before they had much rainfall in the valley those small branches had begun to flow, showing that there had already been a great storm to the west of them.
“If the rain were merely local, old Stony Creek could not do much damage in itself, but it is the help of all of these wet-weather springs and branches that makes it play such havoc,” whispered John to Jimmy Lufton. “I have known it in two hours’ time to rise four feet, which sounds incredible; and then in two hours more subside two feet, and in a day be almost dry again. I spent four hours up on top of Black Rock once in a sudden freshet. I would have scaled the hills, but I had some young dogs hunting, and they were so panic-stricken and I was so afraid they would fall down the cliffs in the creek, that I just took them up on top of the rock; and there we sat huddled up in the driving rain until the water subsided enough for us to wade home. Swimming is out of the question for more than a few strokes, the current is so swift; and as for keeping your feet and walking, you simply can’t do it.”
“We have a creek up near Lexington that goes on just such unexpected sprees,” said Jimmy. “It will be a perfectly respectable citizen and every one will forget its bad behavior, when suddenly it will break loose and get so full it disgraces itself and brings shame on its family of branches.”
By this time the whole crowd was fairly damp, but they made a joke of it, with the exception of Miss Hunt, who was much irritated at the damage done her pretty dress. Although she was covered up with three coats, she clamored for more, but no more were offered her. Professor Green took off his coat and, folding it carefully, put it under the seat in the lunch hamper.
“I fancy you think this is a funny thing to do, but I have seen a wet crowd almost freeze after a storm like this, and it is a great mistake to get all of the wraps wet. It is much better to take the rain and get wet yourself, and keep the coats dry; and then, when the rain is over, have something warm and comfortable to put on.”
“That is a fine scheme,” said Paul, and all of the men followed Edwin Green’s example, and Molly and Judy, who had prudently brought their college sweaters, did the same.
“I think it is rather fun to get wet when you have on clothes that won’t get ruined,” said Judy.
“I am glad you like it,” answered Miss Hunt, still sore over her bout with Judy, “but I must say it is hard on me with this chiffon dress. What will it look like after this?”
“Well, you know, chiffon is French for rag so I fancy it will look like a Paris creation,” called back Judy from the front seat, where she was still installed by Kent. “I’ll bet anything her hair will come out of curl,” she whispered to her companion, “and I should not be astonished to see some of her beauty wash off.”
“Eany, meany,” laughed Kent. “You are already way ahead of her, Miss Judy. Do leave her her hair and complexion.”
“Well, I’ll try to be good,” said penitent Judy. “You and Molly are so alike, it is right amusing. And the worst of it is your goodness rubs off on everybody you come in contact with. Do you realize I have been in Kentucky for weeks and that Miss Hunt is the first person I have had a scrap with, and so far I have not got myself in a single ‘Julia Kean’ scrape? I have been in so many, that the girls at college have named the particular kind of scrape I get in after me, just as though I were a famous physician who had discovered a disease.”
“Just what kind of scrape do you usually get in?”
“The kind of scrape I get in is always one I can get out of, and usually one that I fall in from not looking ahead enough at the consequences.”
“Well, I pray God that this will be a ‘Julia Kean’ scrape we are in to-night. Certainly, lack of foresight got us in. I’d like to get that weather man and throw him in this creek. ‘Generally fair and variable winds,’ much!” said Kent with such a serious expression that Judy began to realize that this was not simply a case of a good wetting, but might mean something more.
The horses were knee deep in water now, but splashing bravely on. Molly noticed that in hitching up for the homeward trip Kent had put President in the lead.
“That is because old President has so much sense and will know how to pick his way and keep his feet when the other horses would get scared and begin to struggle and pull down the whole team,” said Molly to Professor Green. Molly was fully aware of the danger they were in, but was keeping her knowledge to herself for fear of starting a panic among the girls. “There is no real danger of drowning,” she whispered to her companion, “so long as we stay in the wagon. But the banks are so steep that if we should get out we might slip into the creek and then it would be about impossible to keep our feet. Look at the water now, up to the hubs of the wheels! I am sorry for the horses, and what an awful responsibility for Kent! But he is equal to it. Do you know, I really believe Kent is equal to anything!”
It was, of course, pitch dark now, except for frequent flashes of lightning that illuminated the raging torrents, so all were forced to realize the grave situation.
“The horses are behaving wonderfully well, and so far all the passengers are. I hope it will keep up,” muttered Kent. “It is awfully hard to keep your head when you are driving if any one screams.”
“The water is in the wagon bed now. I can tell by my feet. Don’t you think your mother ought to come on the front seat, where she can be out of it somewhat?” suggested Judy.
“You are right. Mother, come on up here and help me drive. There is plenty of room for three of us, and I believe you would be more comfortable.”
Mrs. Brown got up, glad to change her position. She was more frightened than she cared to own, and was anxious to find out just how Kent felt about the matter.
“I am going on the front seat, too,” said the bedraggled Miss Hunt. “It seems to me Miss Julia Kean has had the best of everything long enough. I see no reason why she should sit high and dry during the whole drive, while here I am absolutely and actually sitting in the water.”
Kent bit his lips in fury, but held his horses and his tongue while the change was being made. Judy showed her breeding in a way that made Molly proud.
“High I may be, but not dry,” said Judy, playfully shaking herself on the already drenched Molly as she sank by her side on the soggy hay. “I am going to see how long our fair friend will stay up there. It is really the scariest place I ever got in. Down here you feel the water without seeing it, but up there every flash of lightning reveals terrors that down here are undreamed of.”
“Sit in the middle, mother, and Miss Hunt and I can take better care of you.”
“Oh, I am afraid to sit on the outside! Mrs. Brown is much larger than I am and could hold me in better than I could her,” said the selfish girl.
She squeezed in between mother and son, as Kent said afterward, taking up more room then any little person that he ever saw.
“Noah he did build an ark, one wide river to cross.
Built it out of hickory bark, one wide river to cross.
One wide river, and that wide river was Jordan,
One wide river, and that wide river to cross.”
“All join in the chorus,” demanded Jimmy.
There were many verses to the time-honored song, and before they got all the animals in the ark the moon suddenly came out from behind a very black cloud, and the rain was over, but not the flood.
“It took many days and nights for the water to subside for old Noah, and we may expect the same delay in our case,” said the happy and irrepressible Jimmy.
Kent was glad indeed for the light of the moon. He had really had to leave it to President to take the proper road, or, rather, channel. That brave old horse had gone sturdily on, and, when one of the younger horses had begun to struggle and pull back, he had turned solemnly around and given him a soft little bite.
“Mother, did you see that? And look at that off horse now! I bet he will behave after this.”
Sure enough, the admonished animal was pulling as steadily as President himself, and they had no more trouble with him.
There were many large holes in the creek bed, and, of course, the wheels often went into them. Once it looked for a moment as though they might have a turnover to add to their disasters. The wagon toppled, but righted itself in a moment. Miss Hunt, as Judy had said, on the front seat was able to see the danger as she could not down in the wagon, and when the wheels went down that particularly deep hole she let out a piercing scream and tried to seize the reins from Kent.
Kent pulled up his horses as soon as the wagon was on a level and called to John, “John, will you please help Miss Hunt back into the seat she has just vacated? She finds she is not comfortable here.”
At that Miss Hunt very humbly crawled back, and, like the Heathen Chinee, “subsequent proceedings interested her no more.”
As dawn was breaking they drove into the avenue at Chatsworth, not really very much the worse for wear. The warm, dry wraps produced from under the seat after the moon came out had been wonderfully comforting. Edwin Green had made Mrs. Brown take his coat, and as he folded it around her he had whispered, “Kentucky women are very remarkable. They meet danger as though it were a partner at a ball.”
“Yes,” said Kent, who had overheard him, “I could never have come through the deep waters if it had not been for the brave women. You saw how the one scream unnerved me, to say nothing of that little vixen grabbing my reins. Here, Ernest, we are on the pike at last, and I am just about all in. I wouldn’t give up until we got through, but take the reins. Maybe Miss Hunt would like to drive,” he had slyly added, but a low moan from under the wet coats was all the proud beauty could utter.
Aunt Mary greeted them at Chatsworth with much delight.
“The sto’m here been somethin’ turrible. I ain’t seed sich a wind sence the chilluns’ castle blowed down. All of yer had better come back to the kitchen whar it’s warm and eat somethin’. I got a big pot er hot coffee and pitchers er hot milk an’ a pan er quick yeast biscuit. I done notice ef you eat somethin’ when you is cold an’ wet, somehow you fergits ter catch cold.”
They all came trooping back to the warm old kitchen, “ev’y spot in it as clean as a bisc’it board,” and there they ate the hot buttered biscuit and drank the coffee and milk. It was noticed that John let the “extras” take care of Miss Hunt, and he devoted himself to his mother. Just as they were separating for the morning he hugged his mother and whispered to her, “You need not have any more uneasiness about me, mumsy. I don’t believe there is a Brown living who could go on loving a woman who has no more sense than to grab the reins.”
CHAPTER IX. – JIMMY
“Judy, Mrs. Woodsmall has just ‘phoned over that her hated R. F. D. Woodsmall is bringing you a letter from your father. She says she could only make out it was from him, but could not decipher anything else. She has an idea he is on his way, as the postmark showed it was mailed on the train somewhere in Kansas. Isn’t she too funny? She makes some of the neighbors furious, but we always laugh at her little idiosyncrasy. After all, it is perfectly harmless. She really is as kind a little soul as there is in the county. Her life has been so narrow. If she could have been a real worker in a big city she might have grown into a very remarkable person. What a detective she would have made!”
Judy yawned and stretched and sat up as Molly came in bearing a tray of lunch for her tired friend as well as the news of a letter from Mr. Kean, somewhere on the road, and to be delivered some time that day if Bud Woodsmall’s automobile behaved.
“Oh, Molly, I am tired! Are you the only one of the crowd to be up and doing after last night?”
“I have persuaded mother to stay in bed and get a good rest. The boys took a late train into town, and Miss Hunt never did go to bed. Aunt Mary said she came down early this morning and ’phoned over to Aunt Clay’s coachman to come for her immediately, and off she went without saying ‘boo to a goose.’ I wish you could have heard Aunt Mary’s description of her!
“‘Yo’ Aunt Clay’s comp’ny sho ain’t no wet weather beauty. Her ha’r was so flat her haid looked jes’ like a buckeye; and her dress ‘min’ me of a las’ year’s crow’s nes’. She was so shamefaced like she resem’led that ole peacock when Shep done pull out his tail.’”
Judy laughed. “Oh, I do love Aunt Mary! But, Molly, won’t it be fine to see mamma and papa? Do you suppose they are really on their way?”
“It will be fine to see them, but it will be pretty sad to have them take off my Judy. I am mighty afraid that is what they are going to do. Go back to sleep now and I will bring you your letter as soon as Bud puts in his appearance. I am going to have a hard game of tennis with Jimmy Lufton against Ernest and that nice Miss Rogers. Weren’t those girls spunky last night? An experience like that will make you know people better than years of plain, everyday life. Professor Green has struck up quite an acquaintance with Miss Ormsby. It seems they have many mutual friends, both of them having summered many times at ‘Sconset.’”
Molly spoke quietly, but there was a slight tremor of lip and a deepening of color that the sharp Judy saw and noted, but nothing would have made her let Molly know that she had betrayed herself in the least.
“Molly was perfectly unconscious of what she was doing last night,” thought Judy, “but all the same she was making poor Professor Green live up to his name with jealousy. I don’t know but it might make Molly open her childlike old eyes if the patient professor should kick up his staid heels and jump the fence and go grazing in another paddock for a while.” And then aloud she said, “All right, honey, I’ll take forty winks and then get up and come down to the tennis court.”
Mr. Kean’s letter arrived in due time and, sure enough, Mrs. Woodsmall’s surmises were correct. He was on the way to Kentucky with Mrs. Kean, and expected to be in Louisville the next day at a hotel, and would motor out to Chatsworth in the afternoon.
“Your father and mother must not think of stopping at a hotel, Judy,” declared Mrs. Brown. “We have an abundance of room. Miss Rogers and Miss Ormsby are going in town after supper to-night with Ernest and Professor Green. Mr. Lufton expects to go back to Lexington to-morrow, and Professor Green is only waiting for some mail and will take his departure, too. We shall be forlorn, indeed, when all of them go. I’ll make Kent look up what train Mr. Kean will come in on and he will meet it and send them both right out here.”
“Oh, Mrs. Brown, you are so good. I would love for mamma and papa to be here and to know all of you and have you know them. They are as wonderful in their way as you are in yours, and your meeting would be a grand combination.”
Molly rather dreaded the coming of evening. She had promised Jimmy to take a walk with him by moonlight, and she had a terrible feeling that he might bring up the subject of “lemons” again. She was not prepared for the question that she felt almost sure he was going to ask her.
“I am nothing but a kid, after all,” moaned Molly to herself. “Professor Green was right in calling me ‘dear child.’ Mother was married when she was my age, but somehow I can’t seem to grow up. Jimmy is so nice, and I do like him so much, but as for spending the rest of my life with him – oh, I just simply can’t contemplate it. Why, why doesn’t he see how it is without having to talk it over? I wish none of them would ever get sentimental over me.” And then she blushed and told herself that she was a big story teller and sentimentality from some one who should be nameless would not be so trying, after all.
Supper was over, Professor Green and Ernest had gone gaily off, driving Miss Rogers and Miss Ormsby to Louisville, Judy and Kent were making a long-talked-of duty call on Aunt Clay, “just to show Miss Hunt there is no hard feeling,” laughed Judy. And now it was time to take the promised walk with Jimmy Lufton.
“You look a little tired, Miss Molly. Maybe you would rather not go. You must not let me bore you,” said Jimmy, a little wistfully.
“Oh, no, I’m all right. I fancy it will take all of us a few days to get over last night. I have wanted to tell you how fine you were and what it meant to all of us to have you so cheerful and tactful. The boys can’t say enough in your praise. We had to have some safety valve, and if we had not been laughing we might have been crying.”
“Oh, I’m a cheerful idiot, all right, all right. I have such a short upper lip and such an eternal grin on me that no one ever seems to think I have any feelings. I get no more sympathy than a fat man. I wish I could make people understand that I am as serious as the next, but somehow me Irish grandmither comes popping out in me and I have to joke if I am to die the next minute.”
“I think your disposition is most enviable,” said Molly kindly, “and, as for the dash of Irish, I always think that is what makes our mother so charming. It was almost a fad with our professor of English at college to find the Irish mother or grandmother for almost all of the great poets or essayists.” Molly could not quite trust herself to say Professor Green’s name, the picture of the seemingly ecstatic Edwin driving off with Miss Ormsby was too fresh in her mind, and she could not help smiling at herself for her formal “our professor of English.”
Their footsteps led them into the garden and then through the apple orchard down by the little stream, and on to the beech woods.
“I wonder why we are coming this way,” thought Molly, trying to keep her mind off another walk she had taken over that same ground not so long ago.
“Let’s sit down here,” said Jimmy, stopping under the great beech tree where Molly and Edwin had sat on that memorable day when he had spoken of his vision of the white-haired Molly, and then had stopped himself so suddenly with a joke about his own possible baldness.
“Oh, not right here,” said Molly hurriedly. “I know a nice rock a little farther on.”
“Molly, Miss Molly, Miss Brown! – Oh, Molly, darling, there is no use in going any farther because I know you know that I have brought you out here to tell you that I – ”
“Jimmy, please don’t say anything more. It ’most kills me to hurt you.”
“Is there no hope for me? I’ll wait a week, oh, I don’t mean a week, I’ll wait forever if there is a chance for me. I know this is a low question to ask you, but is there any one else?”
Honest Molly hung her head. “Not exactly.”
That “not exactly” was enough for Jimmy. He smiled a wan little smile that would have put his Irish grandmother to shame.
“Well, don’t you mind, Miss Molly. I wouldn’t have you feel blue about me for a million. You never did lead me on one little bit, and I was almost sure when I came to Kentucky that there would be nothing doing for yours truly; but somehow men are made so they have to make sure about such things. You and I have too much sense of the ridiculous to do any spiel about the brother and sister business, but I’ll tell you one thing, I am your friend forever, and you must know that, and understand that as long as I live I’ll hold myself in readiness to do your bidding.”
“Oh, Jimmy, you are so good and generous,” holding out her hand to him, “I am your friend forever, and I hope we shall always see a lot of each other.”
Jimmy took her hand and for a moment bowed his curly black head over it. Molly put her other hand on his head, feeling somehow that it was like comforting Kent.
“You are sure, Molly?”
“Yes, Jimmy.”
“Well, le’s go home. I know you are tired.
“‘If no one ever marries me
I sha’n’t mind very much;
I shall buy a squirrel in a cage,
And a little rabbit-hutch,’”
sang the irrepressible.
When Judy got back to Chatsworth she found Molly weeping her soul out on the pillow, and she had noticed as they passed the office porch that for once Jimmy Lufton was whistling in the minor.
