Oh, Money! Money! A Novel. Элинор Портер

to make this place my headquarters, and I am looking for an attractive boarding-place. Mr. Chalmers was good enough to refer me to you."

      "To us—for a BOARDING-place!" There was an unmistakable frown on Mrs.

       James D. Blaisdell's countenance as she said the words. "Well, I'm sure

       I don't see why he should. WE don't keep boarders!"

      "But, Hattie, we could," interposed her husband eagerly. "There's that big front room that we don't need a bit. And it would help a lot if—" At the wrathful warning in his wife's eyes he fell back silenced.

      "I said that we didn't keep boarders," reiterated the lady distinctly.

       "Furthermore, we do need the room ourselves."

      "Yes, yes, of course; I understand," broke in Mr. Smith, as if in hasty conciliation. "I think Mr. Chalmers meant that perhaps one of you"—he glanced uncertainly at the anxious-eyed little woman at his left—"might—er—accommodate me. Perhaps you, now—" He turned his eyes full upon Miss Flora Blaisdell, and waited.

      The little dressmaker blushed painfully.

      "Me? Oh, mercy, no! Why, I live all alone—that is, I mean, I couldn't, you know," she stammered confusedly. "I dressmake, and I don't get any sort of meals—not fit for a man, I mean. Just women's things—tea, toast, and riz biscuit. I'm so fond of riz biscuit! But, of course, you—" She came to an expressive pause.

      "Oh, I could stand the biscuit, so long as they're not health biscuit," laughed Mr. Smith genially. "You see, I've been living on those and hot water quite long enough as it is."

      "Oh, ain't your health good, sir?" The little dressmaker's face wore the deepest concern.

      "Well, it's better than it was, thank you. I think I can promise to be a good boarder, all right."

      "Why don't you go to a hotel?" Mrs. James D. Blaisdell still spoke with a slightly injured air.

      Mr. Smith lifted a deprecatory hand.

      "Oh, indeed, that would not do at all—for my purpose," he murmured. "I wish to be very quiet. I fear I should find it quite disturbing—the noise and confusion of a public place like that. Besides, for my work, it seemed eminently fitting, as well as remarkably convenient, if I could make my home with one of the Blaisdell family."

      With a sudden exclamation the little dressmaker sat erect.

      "Say, Harriet, how funny we never thought! He's just the one for poor

       Maggie! Why not send him there?"

      "Poor Maggie?" It was the mild voice of Mr. Smith.

      "Our sister—yes. She lives—"

      "Your SISTER!" Into Mr. Smith's face had come a look of startled surprise—a look almost of terror. "But there weren't but three—that is, I thought—I understood from Mr. Chalmers that there were but three Blaisdells, two brothers, and one sister—you, yourself."

      "Oh, poor Maggie ain't a Blaisdell," explained the little dressmaker, with a smile. "She's just Maggie Duff, father Duff's daughter by his first wife, you know. He married our mother years ago, when we children were little, so we were brought up with Maggie, and always called her sister; though, of course, she really ain't any relation to us at all."

      "Oh, I see. Yes, to be sure. Of course!" Mr. Smith seemed oddly thoughtful. He appeared to be settling something in his mind. "She isn't a Blaisdell, then."

      "No, but she's so near like one, and she's a splendid cook, and—"

      "Well, I shan't send him to Maggie," cut in Mrs. James D. Blaisdell with emphasis. "Poor Maggie's got quite enough on her hands, as it is, with that father of hers. Besides, she isn't a Blaisdell at all."

      "And she couldn't come and cook and take care of us near so much, either, could she," plunged in Benny, "if she took this man ter feed?"

      "That will do, Benny," admonished his mother, with nettled dignity.

       "You forget that children should be seen and not heard."

      "Yes'm. But, please, can't I be heard just a minute for this? Why don't ye send the man ter Uncle Frank an' Aunt Jane? Maybe they'd take him."

      "The very thing!" cried Miss Flora Blaisdell. "I wouldn't wonder a mite if they did."

      "Yes, I was thinking of them," nodded her sister-in-law. "And they're always glad of a little help—especially Jane."

      "Anybody should be," observed Mr. James Blaisdell quietly.

      Only the heightened color in his wife's cheeks showed that she had heard—and understood.

      "Here, Benny," she directed, "go and show the gentleman where Uncle

       Frank lives."

      "All right!" With a spring the boy leaped to the lawn and pranced to the sidewalk, dancing there on his toes. "I'll show ye, Mr. Smith."

      The gentleman addressed rose to his feet.

      "I thank you, Mr. Blaisdell," he said, "and you, ladies. I shall hope to see you again soon. I am sure you can help me, if you will, in my work. I shall want to ask—some questions."

      "Certainly, sir, certainly! We shall be glad to see you," promised his host. "Come any time, and ask all the questions you want to."

      "And we shall be so interested," fluttered Miss Flora. "I've always wanted to know about father's folks. And are you a Blaisdell, too?"

      There was the briefest of pauses. Mr. Smith coughed again twice behind his hand.

      "Er—ah—oh, yes, I may say that I am. Through my mother I am descended from the original immigrant, Ebenezer Blaisdell."

      "Immigrant!" exclaimed Miss Flora.

      "An IMMIGRANT!" Mrs. James Blaisdell spoke the word as if her tongue were a pair of tongs that had picked up a noxious viper.

      "Yes, but not exactly as we commonly regard the term nowadays," smiled

       Mr. Smith. "Mr. Ebenezer Blaisdell was a man of means and distinction.

       He was the founder of the family in this country. He came over in 1647."

      "My, how interesting!" murmured the little dressmaker, as the visitor descended the steps.

      "Good-night—good-night! And thank you again," bowed Mr. John Smith to the assembled group on the veranda. "And now, young man, I'm at your service," he smiled, as he joined Benny, still prancing on the sidewalk.

      "Now he's what I call a real nice pleasant-spoken gentleman," avowed Miss Flora, when she thought speech was safe. "I do hope Jane'll take him."

      "Oh, yes, he's well enough," condescended Mrs. Hattie Blaisdell, with a yawn.

      "Hattie, why wouldn't you take him in?" reproached her husband. "Just think how the pay would help! And it wouldn't be a bit of work, hardly, for you. Certainly it would be a lot easier than the way we are doing."

      The woman frowned impatiently.

      "Jim, don't, please! Do you suppose I got over here on the West Side to open a boarding-house? I guess not—yet!"

      "But what shall we do?"

      "Oh, we'll get along somehow. Don't worry!"

      "Perhaps if you'd worry a little more, I wouldn't worry so much," sighed the man deeply.

      "Well, mercy me, I must be going," interposed the little dressmaker, springing to her feet with a nervous glance at her brother and his wife. "I'm forgetting it ain't so near as it used to be. Good-night!"

      "Good-night, good-night! Come again," called the three on the veranda.

       Then the door closed behind them, as they entered the house.

      Meanwhile, walking across the common, Benny was entertaining Mr. Smith.