Kilo : being the love story of Eliph' Hewlitt, book agent Page 2

  CHAPTER II. Susan

  Mrs. Tarbro-Smith had arranged the picnic herself, hoping to bring alittle pleasure into the dullness of the summer, enliven the interest inthe little church, and make a pleasant day for the people of Clarence,and she had succeeded in this as in everything she had undertaken duringher summer in Iowa. As the leader of her own little circle of brightpeople in New York, she was accustomed to doing things successfully, andperhaps she was too sure of always having things her own way. As sisterof the world-famous author, Marriott Nolan Tarbro, she was alwaysreceived with consideration in New York, even by editors, but in seekingout a dead eddy in middle Iowa she had been in search of the two thingsthat the woman author most desires, and best handles: local color andtypes. The editor of MURRAY'S MAGAZINE had told her that his nativeground--middle Iowa--offered fresh material for her pen, and, intenton opening this new mine of local color, she had stolen away withoutletting even her most intimate friends know where she was going. To haveher coming heralded would have put her "types" on their guard, and forthat reason she had assumed as an impenetrable incognito one-half hername. No rays of reflected fame glittered on plain Mrs. Smith.

  While her literary side had found some pleasure in studying the peopleshe had fallen among, she was not able to recognize the distinctnessof type in them that the editor of MURRAY'S had led her to believe sheshould find. She had hoped to discover in Clarence a type as sharplydefined as the New England Yankee or the York County Dutch ofPennsylvania, but she could not see that the middle Iowan was anythingbut the average country person such as is found anywhere in Illinois,Indiana, and Ohio, a type that is hard to portray with fidelity, exceptwith rather more skill than she felt she had, since it is composed ofinnumerable ingredients drawn not only from New England, but from nearlyevery State, and from all the nations of Europe. However, her kindnessof heart had been able to exert itself bountifully, and she had hadenough experience in her sundry searches for local color to know thata lapse of time and of distance would emphasize the types she was nowseeing, and that by the middle of the winter, when once more in her NewYork apartment, her present experiences and observations would havethe right perspective, and their salient features would stand out moreplainly. So she won the hearts of her hostess, and of the dozen or morechildren of the house, with small gifts, and overjoyed with this she setabout making the whole community happier. Little presents, smiles, andkind words meant so much to the overworked, hopeless women, and hercheery manner was so pleasant to men and children, that all worshippedher--clumsily and mutely, but whole-heartedly. She was a fairy lady tothem.

  The truth was that, in her eagerness to secure the most vivid kind oflocal color, she had gone a step too far. Clarence, with its decayedsidewalks and rotting buildings, was not typical of middle Iowa any morethan a stagnant pool left by a receded river after a flood is typicalof the river itself. Before the days of railroads Clarence had beena lively little town, but it was on the top of a hill, and, when theengineer of the Jefferson Western Railroad had laid his ruler on the mapand had drawn a straight line across Iowa to represent the course of theroad, Clarence had been left ten or twelve miles to one side, and, asthe town was not important enough to justify spoiling the beauty of thestraight line by putting a curve in it, a station was marked on theroad at the point nearest Clarence, and called Kilo. For a while the newstation was merely a sidetrack on the level prairie, a convenience forthe men of Clarence, but before Clarence knew how it had happened Kilowas a flourishing town, and the older town on the hill had begun todecay. Even while Clarence was still sneering at Kilo as a sidetrackvillage, Kilo had begun to sneer at Clarence as a played-out crossroadssettlement. Clarence, when Mrs. Tarbro-Smith visited it, was no moretypical of middle Iowa than a sunfish really resembles the sun.

  In Clarence Mrs. Smith's best loved and best loving admirer was Susan,daughter of her hostess, and, to Mrs. Smith, Susan was the long soughtand impossible--a good maid. From the first Susan had attached herselfto Mrs. Smith, and, for love and two dollars a week, she learned allthat a lady's maid should know. When Mrs. Smith asked her if she wouldlike to go to New York, Susan jumped up and down and clapped her hands.Susan was as sweet and lovable as she was useful, and under Mrs. Smith'scare she had been transformed into such a thing of beauty that Clarencecould hardly recognize her. Instead of tow-colored hair, crowded back bymeans of a black rubber comb, Susan had been taught a neat arrangementof her blonde locks--so great is the magic of a few deft touches.Instead of being a gawky girl of seventeen, in a faded blue calicowrapper, Susan, as transformed by one of Mrs. Smith's simple whitegowns, was a young lady. She so worshipped Mrs. Smith that she imitatedher in everything, even to the lesser things, like motions of the hand,and tossings of the head.

  When Mrs. Smith broached the matter of taking Susan to New York, shereceived a shock from Mr. and Mrs. Bell. She had not for one momentdoubted that they would be delighted to find that Susan could have agood home, good wages, and a city life, instead of the existence in sucha town as Clarence.

  "Well, now," Mr. Bell said, "we gotter sort o' talk it over, me an' ma,'fore we decide that. Susan's a'most our baby, she is. T'hain't but fourof 'em younger than what she is in our fambly. We'll let you know, hey?"

  Ma and Pa Bell talked it over carefully and came to a decision.The decision was that they had better talk it over with some of theneighbors. The neighbors met at Bell's and talked it over openly in thepresence of Mrs. Smith.

  They agreed that it would be a great chance for Susan, and they saidthat no one could want a nicer, kinder lady for boss than what Mrs.Smith was--"but 'tain't noways right to take no risks."

  "You see, ma'am," said Ma Bell, "WE don't know who you are no more thannothin', do we? And we do know how as them big towns is ungodly to beatthe band, don't we? I remember my grandma tellin' me when I was a littlegirl about the awful goin's on she heard tell of one time when shewas down to Pittsburg, and I reckon New York must be twice the size ofPittsburg was them days, so it must be twice as wicked. So we tell youplain, without meanin' no harm, that WE don't know who you are, nor whatyou'd do with Susan, once you got her to New York."

  "Oh, I now what you want," said Mrs. Smith; "you want references."

  "Them's it," said Mrs. Bell, with great relief.

  "Well," said Mrs. Smith, "that is easy. I know EVERYBODY in New York."

  She thought a moment.

  "There's Mr. Murray, of MURRAY'S MAGAZINE," she suggested, mentioningher friend of the great monthly magazine.

  "Guess we never heard of that," said Mrs. Bell doubtfully.

  "Then do you know the AEON MAGAZINE? I know the editor of AEON."

  The neighbors and Mrs. Bell looked at each other blankly, and shooktheir heads.

  Mrs. Smith named ALL the magazines. She had contributed stories to mostof them, but not one was known, even by name, to her inquisitors. Oneshy old lady asked faintly if she had ever heard of Mr. Tweed. Shethought she had heard of a Mister Tweed of New York, once.

  Then, quite suddenly, Mrs. Smith remembered her own brother, the greatMarriott Nolan Tarbro, whose romances sold in editions of hundreds ofthousands, and who was, beyond all doubt, the greatest living novelist.Kings had been glad to meet him, and newsboys and gamins ran shouting athis heels when he walked the streets.

  "How silly of me," she said. "You must have heard of my brother,Marriott Nolan Tarbro, you know, who wrote 'The Marquis of Glenmore' and'The Train Wreckers'?"

  Mrs. Bell coughed apologetically behind her hand.

  "I'm not very littery, Mrs. Smith," she said kindly, "but mebby Mrs.Stein knows of him. Mrs. Stein reads a lot."

  Mrs. Stein, whose sole reading was the Bible and such advertisingbooklets as came by mail, or as she could pick up on the counter of thedrugstore, when she went to Kilo, moved uneasily. For years she had hadthe reputation of being a great reader, and brought face to face withthe sister of an author she feared her reputation was about to fall.

  "What say his name was?" she aske
d.

  "Tarbro," said Mrs. Smith, as one would mention Shakespeare or Napoleon."Tarbro. Marriott Nolan Tarbro."

  "Well," said Mrs. Stein slowly, turning her head on one side and lookingat the spot on the ceiling from which the plaster had fallen, "I won'tsay I haven't. And I won't say I have. When a person reads as much aswhat I do, she reads so many names they slip out of memory. Just thisminute I don't quite call him to mind. Mighty near, though; I mind afeller once that peddled notions through here name of Tarbox. Might youknow him?"

  "No," said Mrs. Smith, "I haven't the honor."

  "I thought mebby you might know him," said Mrs. Stein. "His businesstook him 'round considerable, and I thought mebby it might have took himto New York, and that mebby you might have met him."

  Mrs. Bell sighed audibly.

  "It's goin' to be an awful trial to Susan if she can't go," she said;"but I dunno WHAT to say. Seems like I oughtn't to say 'go,' an' yet Ican't abear to say 'stay.'"

  "I MUST have Susan," said Mrs. Smith, putting her arm about the girl. "Iknow you can trust her with me."

  "Clementina," said Mr. Bell suddenly, "why don't you leave it to theminister? He'd settle it for the best. Why don't you leave it to him?Hey?"

  "Well, bless my stars," said Mrs. Bell, brightening with relief, "I'dought to have thought of that long ago. He WOULD know what was for thebest. I'll ask him to-morrow."

  To-morrow was the picnic day.

  As Mrs. Smith led the way for Eliph' Hewlitt, the minister left thegroup of women who had clustered about him, and walked toward her.

  "Sister Smith," he said, in his grave, kind way, "Sister Bell tellsme you want to carry off our little Susan. You know we must be wise asserpents and gentle as doves I deciding, and"--he laid his hand on herarm--"though I doubt not all will be well, I must think over the mattera while. Welcome, brother," he added, offering his hand to Eliph'Hewlitt.

  The little book agent shook it warmly.

  "'I was a stranger and ye took me in,'" he said glibly. "Fine weatherfor a picnic."

  His eyes glowed. To meet the minister first of all! This was good,indeed. Years of experience had taught him to seek the minister first.To start the round of a small community with the prestige of havingsold the minister himself a copy of Jarby's Encyclopedia made success acertainty.

  He took the oilcloth-covered parcel from beneath his arm, and handed itto the minister gently, lovingly.

  "Keep it until the picnic is over," he said. "I'm a book agent. I sellbooks. THIS is the book I sell. Take it away and hide it, so I canforget it and be happy. Don't let me have it until the picnic is over.PLEASE don't!"

  He stretched out his arms in freedom, and the minister smiled and ledthe way toward the place where a buggy cushion had been laid on thegrass as his seat of honor.

  "I will retain the book," said the minister, with a smile, "although Idon't think you can sell the book here. My brethren in Clarence are notreaders. I read little myself. We are poor; we have no time to read.Except the Bible, I know of but one book in this entire community.Sister Dawson has a copy of Bunyan's sublime work, 'Pilgrim's Progress.'It was an heirloom. Be seated," he said, and Eliph' Hewlitt seatedhimself Turk-fashion, on the sod.

  The minister took the book carefully on his knees. Even to feel a newbook was a pleasure he did not often have, and his fingers itched uponit.

  In three minutes Eliph' Hewlitt knew the entire story of Mrs. Smith andSusan, so far as it was known to the minister, and he leaned over andtapped with his forefinger the book on the minister's knee.

  "Open it," he said.

  The minister removed the wrapper.

  "Page 6, Index," said Eliph' Hewlitt, turning the pages. He ran hisfinger down the page, and up and down page 7, stopped at a line on page8, and hastily turned over the pages of the book. At page 974 he laidthe book open, and the minister adjusted his spectacles and read wherethe book agent pointed. Then he pushed his spectacles up on hisforehead and looked carefully at the picnickers. He singled out Mrs.Tarbro-Smith, and waved her toward him with his hand. She came and stoodbefore him.

  The minister wiped his spectacles on his handkerchief, readjusted themon his nose, and bent over the book.

  "What is your brother's name?" he asked kindly, but with solemnity.

  "Marriott Nolan Tarbro," she answered.

  He traced the lines carefully with his finger.

  "Born?" he asked.

  "June 4, 1864, at Tarrytown-on-the-Hudson."

  "And he is married?"

  "Married Amanda Rogers Long, at Newport, Rhode Island, June 14, 1895."

  "Where is he living now?" he asked.

  "Last year he was living in New York--I am a widow, as you know--butlast fall he went to Algiers."

  "The book says Algiers. What-er-clubs is he a member of?"

  "Oh, yes," said Mrs. Smith; "The Authors and The Century."

  "I have no doubt," said the minister, "from what the book says, and whatyou say, that you are indeed the sister of this--ah--celebrated"--helooked at the book--"celebrated novelist, who is a man of such standingthat he received--ah--several more lines in this work than the average,more, in fact, than Talmage, more than Beecher, and more than thepresent governor of the State of Iowa. I think I may safely advise Mrs.Bell to let Susan go with you."

  "One!" said Eliph' Hewlitt quickly. "That's just ONE question that cameup flaring, and was mashed flat by Jarby's Encyclopedia of Knowledgeand Compendium of Literature, Science and Art, a book in which areten thousand and one subjects, fully treated by the best minds of thenineteenth and twentieth centuries. One subject for every day in theyear for twenty-seven years, and some left over. Religion, politics,literature, every subject under the sun, gathered in one grand colossalencyclopedia with an index so simple that a child can understand it.See page 768, 'Texts, Biblical; Hints for Sermons; The Art of PulpitEloquence.' No minister should be without it. See page 1046, 'PulpitOrators--Golden Words of the Greatest, comprising selections fromSpurgeon, Robertson, Talmage, Beecher, Parkhurst,' et cetery. A bookthat should be in every home. Look at 'P': Poets, Great. Poison,Antidotes for. Poker, Rules of. Poland, History and Geography of, withMap. Pomeroy, Brick. Pomatum, How to Make. Ponce de Leon, Voyages andLife of. Pop, Ginger,' et cetery, et cetery. The whole for the small sumof five dollars, bound in cloth, one dollar down and one dollar a monthuntil paid."

  The minister turned the pages slowly.

  "It seems a worthy book," he said hesitatingly.

  Eliph' Hewlitt looked at Mrs. Smith, with a question in his eyes.

  She nodded.

  "Ah!" he said. "Mrs. Smith, sister of the well-known novelist, MarriottNolan Tarbro, takes two copies of Jarby's Encyclopedia of Knowledge andCompendium of Literature, Science and Art, bound in full morocco, one ofwhich she begs to present to the worthy pastor of this happy flock, withher compliments and good wishes."

  "I can't thank you," stammered the minister; "it is so kind. I have sofew books, and so few opportunities of securing them."

  Eliph' Hewlitt held out his hand for the sample volume.

  "When you have this book," he declared, "you NEED no others. It makes aCarnegie library of the humblest home."

  The entire picnic had gradually gathered around him.

  "Ladies and gents," he said, "I have come to bring knowledge and powerwhere ignorance and darkness have lurked. This volume----"

  He stopped and handed his sample to the minister.

  "Introduce me to the lady in the blue dress," he said to Mrs. Smith, andshe stepped forward and made them acquainted.

  "Miss Briggs, this is Mr----"

  "Hewlitt," he said quickly, "Eliph' Hewlitt."

  "Mr. Hewlitt," said Mrs. Smith. "Miss Sally Briggs of Kilo."

  "I'm glad to know you, Miss Briggs," said Eliph' Hewlitt. "I hope wemay become well acquainted. As I was sayin' to Mrs. Smith, I'm a bookagent."

  For the chapter on Jarby's Encyclopedia that dealt with "Courtship--Howto Win the Affections," said that the first
step necessary was to becomewell acquainted with the one whose affections it was desired to win. Itwas not Eliph' Hewlitt way to waste time when making a sale of Jarby's,and he felt that no more delay was necessary in disposing of his heart.