White Ashes | Page 3

for you," she said. "There are so
many things he could do if he chose."
"He was good enough to offer me a job as conductor on one of his
street cars, the last time I mentioned the subject," the other responded
cheerfully. "But I told him that the company's system of espionage was
reputed to be so nearly perfect that I doubted whether I could make the
position pay--that is, pay as it ought. And you know, Isabel," he added,
"that with all due respect to my esteemed relation, he's exceedingly
awkward to get anything out of. Can either of you gentlemen," he
turned to the others, "suggest anything along these lines? I would be
willing to pay a liberal commission."

"Well," said the painter, "if he wanted to buy a Caneletto cheap, I know
where you could pick one up for him. It would rather damage my
reputation to recommend him to buy it, but you could do it all right,
Charlie. Guaranteed authentic by European experts--they're easily fixed.
And if he didn't like the Caneletto, you could get him a very fair Franz
Hals--by the same artist."
Miss Hurd, whose feelings had not been in the least lacerated by the
reference to her parent's notable eccentricity of retentiveness, but who
had been amused at the suggestion, interposed.
"I'm afraid it couldn't be done," she said. "Louis von Glauber passes on
every picture that father buys."
"That settles that, then," Pelgram rejoined.
"Well, Benny, anything to suggest?" Wilkinson inquired.
"I don't know," said Cole, slowly. The germ of an idea had flashed on
him. "I don't know," he repeated. The impecunious one regarded him
attentively.
"My dear Benny, an unconvincing prevarication is of less practical
value than--" he began, but he was interrupted by the appearance of a
young lady who came through the doorway.
The three men rose quickly, and even the languid face of Stanwood
Pelgram took on a look of a little sharper interest than he had so far
shown. From the tea table Miss Hurd cordially greeted the newcomer.
"Tea, Helen?" she asked. "You're quite late. What have you been
doing?"
"Thank you, Isabel," the other replied. "Quite strong, and with sugar
and lemon--both." She sat down and commenced to pull off her long
gloves. "I've been helping Cousin Henrietta Lyons select wall papers
for her new apartment. I still live, but I've had a very trying time."

"Was it so difficult?" Bennington Cole asked politely. He did not know
her very well.
"Well," responded Miss Maitland, "I can think of nothing more difficult
than selecting wall papers--excepting, perhaps, Cousin Henrietta Lyons.
As I picked out her papers, I think I'm entitled to abuse her," she
explained with some feeling. "Wall papers in themselves are bad
enough." She paused.
"Well, they ought to be," Wilkinson cheerfully put in, adroitly diverting
the attack from Miss Lyons. "I understand that most of them are
designed by individuals who have failed to succeed as sign painters on
account of color-blindness, or by draughtsmen who have lost their
positions because of the paramount influence of epilepsy on their
work."
"I should estimate that they have about twenty-eight thousand samples
at Heminway and Shipman's," the girl continued. "Cousin Henrietta
possesses a fine old spirit of thoroughness which made it necessary for
us to see them all. We sat on a red plush sofa while a truly affable
young man kept flopping the sheets of samples over the back of an
easel. That is, he was truly affable for an hour or two; after that he grew
a little reticent. At first some of the samples interested me. There was
one design of a row of cockatoos, each one standing on a wreath of
lilacs, that was fascinating, and I liked one that looked like a flock of
nectarines hiding in the interstices of a steam radiator. The young man
made encouraging suggestions at first, but at the last,
scarcely,--although I was so nearly stupefied that I doubt whether I
would have heard him even if he had said what he really thought." She
took up her cup. "But the walk here did me a lot of good--I walked
fast."
"Where your cousin made her mistake," Wilkinson observed, "was in
going in for wall papers at all. She should have abandoned the idea of
papering her walls, and retained our talented friend, Stanwood Pelgram,
to paint them, instead. A splendid conception! How I should like to
have attended the pirate view of Miss Lyons's flat, when the last coat of
distemper had dried on the parlor ceiling and Stanwood had put the

affectionate finishing touches on the decorative panel portrait of
Lucretia Borgia in the oval above the kitchen stove! The whole thing
would have been a magnificent and unusual symbol of the