Blind Mice

The suburban train was crowded and the stops were frequent.

Two young men, who had secured seats near the end of their car, were occupied, one in reading an evening paper and the other in making some calculations in a note book. The one reading stopped often to quote a news item to his companion, or to make some remark. This was John Winter. He was rather short and well nourished, one of the men who indicate that in later years they will grow stout. He had very blue eyes and fair hair and his clear skin was smoothly shaven. His cheeks were pink and white, his lips very red. His clothing, which was of the latest cut, was dark blue. He wore, as was his invariable custom, a necktie the exact color of his eyes, which was for him a most becoming combination. With this exception, however, his dress showed a noticeable lack of care. He had a somewhat boisterous and affectionate manner, and a rather loud voice. When excited or interested he had a boyish way of removing his hat and running his fingers through his hair.

His friend, James Sprague, did not seem to mind John’s interruptions and replied good naturedly. Both appeared in the best of spirits and the good understanding between them was evident.

Sprague was tall and slender, with large hands and feet. An even color glowed through his darkly tinted skin. He had deep set brown eyes. The other features were large; the mouth straight. A brown moustache, closely cut as was his dark hair, shaded his heavy upper lip.

Mrs. Merwent had watched John and Jim until they turned the corner. When they were out of sight she came and sat by the kitchen table where Lucy was washing the breakfast dishes.

“Let me help you, dear,” Nannie offered.

“No, thank you, Mamma. It isn’t much and it’ll be done in a minute.”

“Now you mustn’t hesitate to ask me to do anything I can,” went on the older woman. “I don’t want to be a burden on John and you. I want you to realize that I am willing to help and that I cherish no ill feeling about anything that has happened.”

Lucy looked at her in surprise.

“Well, you rest up today from your journey,” she answered after a moment. She was placing dishes in the china cupboard. “You must be tired.”

“I never saw such a poor service on any railway,” resumed Mrs. Merwent, having interrupted the conversation by going into the dining room and bringing a rocking chair out into the kitchen for herself. “There were no sterilized drinking cups and no electric lights in the berths. I don’t think they should be allowed to run such old, out-of-date cars.”

Lucy worked a moment in silence.

“But I must say the service on the diner was good,” pursued Nannie. “I had some fried spring chicken that was so tender and juicy it fairly melted in your mouth.”

Anna, or Nannie as she was called, delighted in showing her power, and was relentless in exacting notice and recognition of her position. She stuck pins into the arms of Aunt Martha, her nurse, while the old negress was dressing her; she stepped on the bare toes of the small black children on her father’s place, and invented punishments for the dogs, cats, and other domestic animals that happened to be at her mercy.

Especially she enjoyed her tyranny over Troupe, as the large family dog was named. It pleased her to see him grovel before her when she scolded him. She often played a game that she called “circus.” She would tie the dog with a rope that had a loop which she could slip over a stake driven into the ground, and with a buggy whip she would make him run round and round. He would look back at her with pleading eyes, his tail clamped to his body, but she did not pity him. When he was completely exhausted he would lie down, his tongue lolling and the saliva dripping from his mottled black gums. After she untied him he would run about, crazy with joy, barking and licking at her hands and ankles. She paid no attention to these demonstrations.

“Everybody has left me to amuse myself, Mr. Sprague.” Nannie looked up at him challengingly from the depths of the Morris chair in which she was reclining.

“Why where’s John?” he asked.

“He’s gone out some place for a few minutes. I don’t know where,” she said. “Wouldn’t you like to smoke?” She rose. “I’ll get some of John’s cigarettes.”

“No, thank you. I don’t smoke cigarettes. I’ll fill my pipe if you don’t mind.”

“I smoke cigarettes sometimes, when I’m quite alone,” she confided, laughing slightly.

“Yes?”

“I suppose you don’t approve of ladies smoking, do you?” she insisted.

“If they want to.”

“Does Lucy smoke?”

“No.”

Mrs. Merwent laughed again.

“I didn’t know,” she declared.

Jim gazed at her steadily. The front door clicked and she started.

“Was that John?” she asked.

Jim rose and glanced through the window.

“No,” he responded. “It was Dimmie. He threw his ball into the street. Did you want anything, Mrs. Merwent?”

“Oh, no,” she assured him. “I just wondered. He said he was coming right back. Well, we don’t need a chaperone, do we?”

“Hardly,” replied Jim.

Mrs. Merwent dropped a marquise ring she had been pulling on and off her finger. Jim picked it up and handed it to her.

“Thank you. I shouldn’t be wearing rings with this old gown. I just put it on from force of habit.”

“Which?” asked Jim, smiling.

“The ring, of course, you sarcastic thing,” she retorted, striking his knee with the lace handkerchief in her hand.

“The dress is charming, Mrs. Merwent.”

“Oh, thank you. You’re going to be nice after all. Well, I was quite prepared to find you so. Lucy and John can’t say enough good things about you.”

The torpor of summer was in the air, but it did not affect Jim’s industry. Coming into the office from a luncheon he had scarcely tasted, he removed his coat, and settled himself for a hard afternoon’s work. The windows were raised but not a breath came to stir the papers on his desk. The murmur of the street sounded as remote as the echo of the ocean in a shell.

The door opened and Lucy came in. Jim glanced up, startled, but did not speak.

“I want to talk to you, Jim,” Lucy said without preamble. Her face was set.

“Sit down,” he replied, looking at her keenly. The pencil in his hand trembled.

“I couldn’t say anything last night, Jim. I am in the greatest trouble of my life.” She picked up a paper weight and examined it as she spoke.

“I know, Lucy,” he said, laying down his pencil.

She shivered as though chilled by the warm summer atmosphere. Her forced calmness forsook her suddenly.

“Oh, Jim!” she sobbed, and leaning forward on the desk, hid her face in her arms.

He reached out his hand to take hers, then withdrew it, and, picking up the pencil again, began tapping the desk with it.

“What shall I do, Jim?” Lucy lifted her head. She had command of herself now.

Jim went on tapping the desk until Lucy reached over and took the pencil from him and laid it down.

“Your mother must go away,” he declared at last.

“But where can she go? She has no money. Cousin Minnie doesn’t want her. She has no other relations, and besides, John won’t hear of her going.”

“She must go anyway,” he repeated.