for two days the patty-pans was hardly bereft of its young mistresses for an hour. it was fragrant with the odors of its sacrifices; cake-making and candy-making went on all thursday and friday in preparation for the opening of the tea room on saturday.
happie's strong point was fudge, and she made so much of it that it did not seem possible half of it would be sold, especially when margery had contributed her three pans each of vanilla and chocolate caramels.
bob and ralph escorted the three oldest girls down to the tea room after dinner on friday, laden with good things and to make sure that nothing was wanting for the morrow. sleep was light and broken for half of the eight excited tenants of the crowded patty-pans after they had come back that last night, and morning came sooner than the subdued light of the small chambers indicated.
laura was to have followed margery and happie on that opening day, after lunch when gretta came down, but her discontent at this arrangement was so great that kind little polly volunteered to wait, and laura set out with margery and happie when mrs. scollard went for[42]th with bob to the work of the day.
"good luck, three sisters!" said bob, shaking hands at parting. "so you are the three sisters—the fates, you see! isn't it great that all of us scollards are business men?"
mrs. scollard looked as if she might dispute the desirability of the situation. it was not easy for her to reconcile herself to the misfortunes attendant on her husband's death, which had deprived her children of their birthright of ease and social position. for herself the heroic little woman was not tempted to complain, but for them! even happie's light-heartedness could not take the sting out of the remembrance of what she had lost. but all she said was:
"we will meet in the restaurant for dinner, girls, and bob will fetch you. take care that nothing happens to penny after gretta gets her to you this afternoon. and good-bye, dear little tea ladies! good fortune, and don't be dismayed if you encounter customers who are less inclined to enjoy your tea room than you are."
they were inclined to enjoy it more than ever, the three girls, when margery, the portress, admitted them. happie drew back the soft green curtains on their brass-ringed rod and let in the sunshine she loved. laura opened the piano and rearranged the fronds of the fern which she had pleaded might sit on it, on a safely large brass tray. margery opened and delicately sniffed each tea caddy for the unnumbered time, to make pe[43]rfectly certain that she had labeled aright ceylon, english breakfast and oolong.
the girls were all to wear gowns alike in style, differing in colors. margery's was the dove color with a hint of lavender that so perfectly suited her dove-eyes and madonna face. happie's was a beautiful green, laura's a soft, faded pink, gretta's—when she came—would blend with them in its golden tint that was not yellow, buff nor brown, but suggested all three. polly's was blue—polly was to help serve if need were—as they hoped it would be. they were gowns with a full, tucked skirt, simple tucked waists, and fluffy point d'esprit fichus that turned the little costumes into something between a suggestion of marie antoinette at the petit trianon, and of priscilla, the puritan maiden, when she had attired herself becomingly in the demure hope that john alden might at last come to "speak for himself."
a card, not so bad as bob's proposed sign, stood in the window stating that here was "a tea room and library, conducted by six girls."
"we may as well count in penny for good measure, and to please her," happie had said, so "six girls" they announced themselves to be.
"i wish we knew what to do next," said laura. "has it opened?"
"yes, i think so," said margery with a hasty glance around her. "people look as they go by, and some don't go right by; they stop to stare in and to read our card. t[44]hey don't come inside."
"too early," said happy. "no one would want tea at this hour of the morning, unless it were a foreigner. there's some one now who certainly doesn't look american."
a man in a heavy caped cloak, with a broad brimmed soft felt hat drooping over his eyes, and with long moustaches and an imperial, was looking in at the window. he was tall and large of frame, yet the hand that pulled at the moustaches was supple, white and thin. he carried himself in soldierly fashion, yet had an air of uncertainty, an absent-minded effect that was at variance with the bearing. altogether, as he lingered long, and then walked slowly past the door, looking in hard as he went, the three scollards decided that they objected to him; he made them nervous. it was a relief when one of the many ladies who read their sign turned crisply, right about face, and descended their low steps.
"our first customer!" exclaimed margery.
"our first visitor, at least," added happie.
she was a resolute-looking personage, exceedingly well attired, with such an effect of having found the world her oyster,—already opened at that,—that it was surprising to discover she could hardly be an inch above five feet tall.
"what have you here?" she said by way of reply to margery's faintly murmured, "good-morning."
[45]
"a tea room and a circulating library," margery said unnecessarily, for the card had told her as much as that.
"why do you say: 'conducted by six girls'?" demanded the little lady.
"there are six of us," said happie, coming to margery's aid at a glance from her. "but, to be truthful, the youngest is only a silent partner."
"are you the proprietors?" cried this first visitor.
"we, with another girl my age and my little sister to help us," said happie with pardonable pride.
"ridiculous! i don't want tea now, but i shall want it later. i live near here. i will come in again at noon and see what absurd tea you have. are you poor? you look like ladies," said this candid person.
"that is our only fortune," replied happie demurely. margery was too annoyed to speak, but happie's sense of humor made this form of impertinence seem to her merely amusing.
a shadow darkened the doorway, and before the first visitor could carry on her catechising further mrs. scollard's old friend, mrs. charleford, the "auntie cam" who had taken margery away with her to bar harbor the previous summer, came into the room, followed by her daughter edith, elsie barker, and eleanor vernon, happie's three best friends, whom she had not seen since april had taken her away from new york into the mountains.
the girls rushed upon happie and nearly devoured her. "oh, i am so glad!" "oh, happie, we have missed you so!" "oh,[46] you funny, darling old happie, if this isn't the queerest scheme, and just like you!" they cried in a trio.
the first visitor stalked out. "i shall return for my tea," she said in going.
"who's your friend?" asked elsie barker.
"we hoped that she was to be our first customer, but that's all we know," margery answered.
"she is mrs. jones-dexter," said mrs. charleford. "eccentric, said to be a most determined person, very wealthy, and wrapped up in her grandchild, who is a little pupil of your aunt keren's friend up-stairs, mrs. stewart."
"well, we shall never see her again," said happie. "she doesn't matter. oh, girls, tell me all about yourselves before any one comes."
there was not time for this, however. it lacked but a week of shopping days to christmas, and the street was soon crowded. happie did not get her talk. the tea room began to fill. in an hour there were more people than the girls could look after, and pretty edith charleford offered to attend to the library end of the business till gretta and polly arrived. elsie and eleanor departed with mrs. charleford, with only a whispered hint from happie that she had a plan for a good time all together very soon, to content them.
it was not long before all the books, twenty-five, had been given out and margery had their value deposited with her, ne[47]atly entered against the name of the person to whom each had gone.
"we haven't one book left!" she said to happie. "and we thought twenty-five almost too many to buy! what shall we do?"
"invest the deposits in as many more books," said edith charleford promptly. "let me run over to the book department at hauss'—it's so near!—and do the investing. i love to buy books. i'll get a messenger to carry them, so they'll be here as soon as i am."
"all right," said happie. "you'd better put all the money into 'the infusion of a soul,' and the other two everybody asks for. oh, dear, if gretta would only hurry!" edith ran off to buy the books, and when she came back gretta had arrived. polly was already serving tea in the steadiest, most capable manner, and gretta was behind the screen, taking margery's place at the gas stove, dismayed at the prospect of facing so many customers.
edith went home at last, looking tired but bearing the blessings of the girls who had needed her help.
happie looked up from the fudge she was weighing and saw mrs. jones-dexter unexpectedly returning down the steps.
"she's a man of her word, whatever else she is," thought happie, tying the gold and blue cord on which she prided herself, around the box of fudge. "i'd better wait on her; she would crush margery."
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she hastened to the table which the great little lady had appropriated.
"formosa oolong," she said severely. "i hope that you are sure there's no green tea in it!"
"only green little tea-maidens," smiled happie, and her customer said: "humph!"
the tea proved to be too strong, the crackers too sweet, both of which errors happie corrected philosophically.
"no lemon!" ejaculated the amiable mrs. jones-dexter. "no sane person takes lemon in his tea. it is a russian fad. i never read russian novels. you don't expect to succeed here, do you?"
"we hope to," said happie.
"you won't. however, your tea is passable. i shall come again. i want a book. come and get me one. your sister is prettier than you, but i like you better. what is that girl doing at the piano? if you are going to have music with your tea i shall never come again. how can one be expected to digest—even a liquid—to syncopated rag-time, or possibly a fugue? ruinous to digestion, profanation to music, execrable bad taste, this music in all eating places."
"we shall not have music here, mrs. jones-dexter. my sister laura is so fond of it that she can hardly resist the piano. i wish she would help margery with that party of four," said happie involuntarily.
"always so in every large family; one selfish one that does what she will—sometimes it's a he!—while the others do what they must. show me your books," said mrs. jones-d[49]exter rising. "how did you know my name?"
"aunt camilla—mrs. charleford—told us after you went out," said happie.
"was that mrs. charleford? are you her niece? what are you doing with a tea room then?" demanded mrs. jones-dexter.
"she is mother's oldest friend, but not really my aunt," said happie. "we have to have a tea room or something, mrs. jones-dexter, to help mother now that we are old enough. we have only the newest novels; i'm sorry."
"i'm not. what right have you to think me a fossil?" but this time mrs. jones-dexter had a glint in her eye that was not cross. she selected the very latest detective story, to happie's amazement, and departed.
happie turned back to her duties, and there, seated alone at the smallest and most distant of the tables, was the big man of the cloak and sombrero-like hat whom the girls had noticed with aversion as he looked in at the window that morning. polly was standing beside him in a matter-of-fact way, trying to get his attention to ask his desires, but he was unconscious of her.
laura was playing, playing well, as she always did. the mysterious stranger was watching and listening to her, and patient polly was unnoticed.
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happie walked towards the table, passing before the piano, and thus diverted the man's eyes to polly.
"yes, if you please," she heard him say then. "english breakfast tea, as strong as possible. no cream, but lemon, yes. who plays there?"
"my sister," said polly proudly. "she sings, too, and she makes up lovely music to words she writes; poetry, you know. she's gifted."
"poor child! what age has she?" asked the man.
"thirteen, just," said polly. "i'll get your tea."
"you have a queer little kindergarten tea room," remarked the singular man as happie passed him. "i hear small feet and small voices above stairs."
"a dancing school, but that is not ours," replied happie. but it seemed to her that her answer fell on ears that did not hear, for there was no response in the melancholy face that turned again towards laura, as the long hand went up to the drooping moustaches and the man waited for his tea.
he sat there a long time. laura played on, at first with an eye to applause, but after a while losing herself in her music, as she always did, and improvising, entirely forgetful of hearers. she was a puzzling mixture to downright happie, with her posing, her affectations, her selfishness, and yet her genuine passion for music and her extraordinary talents.
the strange man lingering so long made margery and happie so uneasy that margery at last called laura from the piano, but still he sat there, drinking so much tea that gretta became uneasy from another cause.
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"i shouldn't leave him have it," she said with a rare relapse into her dialect, caused by extreme earnestness. "he'll get down sick for us, right here. he acts behexed."
"oh, gretta, what is that?" laughed happie. "hexe, a witch, in german,—i see! i'm not afraid of his hurting himself, but i do wish he'd go."
after a while the man arose to his great height and slowly walked down the room. he paused at the piano, moved one hand over the keys as though he would have struck them, did not, put on his drooping hat, removed it instantly, turned and bowed to the young maids of the tea room and departed.
there was a lull in business in the middle of the afternoon; it revived between four and five, and at six, when polly pulled close the curtains of the window and locked the door, it being the hour at which mrs. scollard had insisted the business of the day should end, there were five tired, but triumphant girls who drew five long breaths and looked at one another.
"what a day!" cried happie. "just as busy as we could be, and look at my fudge!"
"how can we, when it's all gone except those crumbly bits?" inquired polly.
"and all the books out, only those four, and they had the prettiest bindings!" added laura.
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"we never could keep it up every day like this. if we could what would become of the flat?" asked gretta.
"oh, well, of course it won't keep up like this! this is holiday time. if we succeed we shall have a quiet little business at other times. let's count up!" margery produced her cash box as she spoke, her face flushed and excited.
she piled bills, half dollars, quarters, dimes and nickels separately, and counted the cheering heaps. "thirty-eight dollars and sixty cents!" she cried triumphantly. "and that does not include the rent of books, for that isn't paid till they are returned. there are forty-six books out—that makes two dollars and thirty cents more. oh, i wonder how much of this is profit? my goodness, happie, i wonder what rent we pay?"
happie laughed. "sure enough! oh, it doesn't matter, not as much as forty dollars and ninety cents a day, and that's what we've taken in. to be sure there are crackers, sugar, tea, lemons, cream, candy materials—— well, at the worst we've made a lot."
"polly, dear, what are you doing?" gretta asked.
there was polly, leaning almost into the middle of a table, pencil in hand,—wetting it often at her puckered lips,—while she set down figures on a piece of wrapping-paper.
"trying to see how much money we'll have a year," said this practical little woman of ten. "see, happie. i multiplied $40.90 by six; that's right, isn't it? because we won't come down sundays. and—oh, don't laugh! see if it's [53]right. six times ought is ought, and six times nine is fifty-four? i never feel sure of the nines. six times ought—no, set down the five, and six times four is twenty-four. isn't that two hundred and forty-five dollars and forty cents a week? then how many weeks in the year? isn't this the way to get it?"
"it's all right, polly-pet. the only thing is that you're counting chickens where i see only a basketful of eggs!" cried happie. "there's one thing certain; you've worked like a whole river bank of beavers, and done your full share in making this day a success. but what a success it is, margery and gretta! laura, play just one little waltz to relieve our feelings while we're waiting for bob; the door's locked!"
but even as she spoke bob rattled the door knob and penny stampeded to let him in, poor little penny, who had been very good through a tediously long afternoon.
"we're rich, robert!" cried happie. "it's been wonderful."
"good for the teasers!" bob shouted. "take me around to the waldorf and dine me!"
"well, it's begun—well begun," said happie with a long breath as "the teasers" emerged with bob on the street, locked their door, and set their faces dinnerward. but how much had begun, nor where it was to end, she little dreamed.
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