Little did poor Doctor Walker
imagine as he sat at his breakfast-table
next morning that the two sweet
girls
who sat on either side of him were deep in a conspiracy,
and that he, munching innocently at his muffins, was the
victim against whom their wiles were planned. Patiently
they waited until at last their opening came.
"It is a beautiful day," he
remarked. "It will do for Mrs.
Westmacott. She was thinking
of having a spin upon the tricycle."
"Then
we must call
early. We both
intended to
see her after
breakfast."
"Oh, indeed!" The
Doctor looked
pleased.
"You know, pa," said Ida, "it
seems to us that we really have
a very great advantage in having
Mrs. Westmacott living so near."
"Why
so, dear?"
"Well,
because she
is so advanced,
you know. If we only study her
ways we may advance ourselves
also."
"I think I have heard you say,
papa," Clara remarked, "that
she is the type of the woman
of the future."
"I
am very pleased
to hear you
speak so sensibly,
my dears.
I certainly think that she is
a woman whom you may very well
take as your model. The more
intimate you are with her the
better pleased I shall be."
"Then that is settled," said
Clara demurely, and the talk
drifted to other matters.
All the morning the two girls
sat extracting from Mrs. Westmacott
her most extreme view as to the
duty of the one sex and the tyranny
of the other. Absolute equality,
even in details, was her ideal.
Enough of the parrot cry of unwomanly
and unmaidenly. It had been invented
by man to scare woman away when
she poached too nearly upon his
precious preserves. Every woman
should be independent. Every
woman should learn a trade. It
was their duty to push in where
they were least welcome. Then
they were martyrs to the cause,
and pioneers to their weaker
sisters. Why should the wash-tub,
the needle, and the housekeeper's
book be eternally theirs? Might
they not reach higher, to the
consulting-room, to the bench,
and even to the pulpit? Mrs.
Westmacott sacrificed her tricycle
ride in her eagerness over her
pet subject, and her two fair
disciples drank in every word,
and noted every suggestion for
future use. That afternoon they
went shopping in London, and
before evening strange packages
began to be handed in at the
Doctor's door. The plot was ripe
for execution, and one of the
conspirators was merry and jubilant,
while the other was very nervous
and troubled.
When
the Doctor
came down to
the dining-room next morning,
he was surprised to find that
his daughters had already been
up some time. Ida was installed
at one end of the table with
a spirit-lamp, a curved glass
flask, and several bottles in
front of her. The contents of
the flask were boiling furiously,
while a villainous smell filled
the room. Clara lounged in an
arm-chair with her feet upon
a second one, a blue-covered
book in her hand, and a huge
map of the British Islands spread
across her lap. "Hullo!" cried
the Doctor, blinking and sniffing, "where's
the breakfast?"
"Oh, didn't you order it?" asked
Ida.
"I! No; why should I?" He rang
the bell. "Why have you not laid
the breakfast, Jane?"
"If
you please,
sir, Miss Ida
was a workin' at the table."
"Oh, of course, Jane," said
the young lady calmly. "I am
so sorry. I shall be ready to
move in a few minutes."
"But what on earth are you
doing, Ida?" asked the Doctor. "The
smell is most offensive. And,
good gracious, look at the mess
which you have made upon the
cloth! Why, you have burned a
hole right through."
"Oh, that is the acid," Ida
answered contentedly. "Mrs. Westmacott
said that it would burn holes."
"You might have taken her word
for it without trying," said
her father dryly.
"But
look here,
pa! See what
the book says: `The scientific
mind takes nothing upon trust.
Prove all things!' I have proved
that."
"You
certainly have.
Well, until
breakfast is
ready I'll
glance over the Times. Have you
seen it?"
"The
Times? Oh,
dear me, this
is it which I have under my spirit-lamp.
I am afraid there is some acid
upon that too, and it is rather
damp and torn. Here it is."
The
Doctor took
the bedraggled
paper with a rueful face. "Everything
seems to be wrong to-day," he
remarked. "What is this sudden
enthusiasm about chemistry, Ida?"
"Oh,
I am trying
to live up
to Mrs. Westmacott's
teaching."
"Quite right! quite right!" said
he, though perhaps with less
heartiness than he had shown
the day before. "Ah, here is
breakfast at last!"
But nothing was comfortable
that morning. There were eggs
without egg-spoons, toast which
was leathery from being kept,
dried-up rashers, and grounds
in the coffee. Above all, there
was that dreadful smell which
pervaded everything and gave
a horrible twang to every mouthful.
"I don't wish to put a damper
upon your studies, Ida," said
the Doctor, as he pushed back
his chair. "But I do think it
would be better if you did your
chemical experiments a little
later in the day."
"But
Mrs. Westmacott
says that women
should rise
early, and
do their work before breakfast."
"Then they should choose some
other room besides the breakfast-room." The
Doctor was becoming just a little
ruffled. A turn in the open air
would soothe him, he thought. "Where
are my boots?" he asked.
But they were not in their
accustomed corner by his chair.
Up and down he searched, while
the three servants took up the
quest, stooping and peeping under
book-cases and drawers. Ida had
returned to her studies, and
Clara to her blue-covered volume,
sitting absorbed and disinterested
amid the bustle and the racket.
At last a general buzz of congratulation
announced that the cook had discovered
the boots hung up among the hats
in the hall. The Doctor, very
red and flustered, drew them
on, and stamped off to join the
Admiral in his morning walk.
As
the door slammed
Ida burst into
a shout of
laughter. "You
see, Clara," she cried, "the
charm works already. He has gone
to number one instead of to number
three. Oh, we shall win a great
victory. You've been very good,
dear; I could see that you were
on thorns to help him when he
was looking for his boots."
"Poor
papa! It is
so cruel. And
yet what are
we to do?"
"Oh, he will enjoy being comfortable
all the more if we give him a
little discomfort now. What horrible
work this chemistry is! Look
at my frock! It is ruined. And
this dreadful smell!" She threw
open the window, and thrust her
little golden-curled head out
of it. Charles Westmacott was
hoeing at the other side of the
garden fence.
"Good morning, sir," said
Ida.
"Good morning!" The
big man leaned
upon his hoe
and looked
up at her.
"Have
you any cigarettes,
Charles?"
"Yes,
certainly."
"Throw
me up two."
"Here
is my case.
Can you catch!"
A seal-skin case came with
a soft thud on to the floor.
Ida opened it. It was full.
"What are these?" she
asked.
"Egyptians."
"What
are some other
brands?"
"Oh,
Richmond Gems,
and Turkish,
and Cambridge. But why?"
"Never mind!" She nodded to
him and closed the window. "We
must remember all those, Clara," said
she. "We must learn to talk about
such things. Mrs. Westmacott
knows all about the brands of
cigarettes. Has your rum come?"
"Yes,
dear. It is
here."
"And
I have my stout.
Come along
up to my room
now. This
smell is too abominable. But
we must be ready for him when
he comes back. If we sit at the
window we shall see him coming
down the road."
The fresh morning air, and
the genial company of the Admiral
had caused the Doctor to forget
his troubles, and he came back
about midday in an excellent
humor. As he opened the hall
door the vile smell of chemicals
which had spoilt his breakfast
met him with a redoubled virulence.
He threw open the hall window,
entered the dining-room, and
stood aghast at the sight which
met his eyes.
Ida was still sitting among
her bottles, with a lit cigarette
in her left hand and a glass
of stout on the table beside
her. Clara, with another cigarette,
was lounging in the easy chair
with several maps spread out
upon the floor around. Her feet
were stuck up on the coal scuttle,
and she had a tumblerful of some
reddish-brown composition on
the smoking table close at her
elbow. The Doctor gazed from
one to the other of them through
the thin grey haze of smoke,
but his eyes rested finally in
a settled stare of astonishment
upon his elder and more serious
daughter.
"Clara!" he gasped, "I
could not have
believed it!"
"What
is it, papa?"
"You
are smoking!"
"Trying
to, papa. I
find it a little
difficult,
for I have
not been used to it."
"But
why, in the
name of goodness--"
"Mrs.
Westmacott
recommends
it."
"Oh,
a lady of mature
years may do
many things
which a young
girl must avoid."
"Oh, no," cried Ida, "Mrs.
Westmacott says that there should
be one law for all. Have a cigarette,
pa?"
"No,
thank you.
I never smoke
in the morning."
"No?
Perhaps you
don't care
for the brand.
What are these,
Clara?"
"Egyptians."
"Ah,
we must have
some Richmond
Gems or Turkish. I wish, pa,
when you go into town, you would
get me some Turkish."
"I
will do nothing
of the kind.
I do not at all think that it
is a fitting habit for young
ladies. I do not agree with Mrs.
Westmacott upon the point."
"Really,
pa! It was
you who advised
us to imitate
her."
"But
with discrimination.
What is it
that you are
drinking,
Clara?"
"Rum,
papa."
"Rum? In the morning?" He sat
down and rubbed his eyes as one
who tries to shake off some evil
dream. "Did you say rum?"
"Yes,
pa. They all
drink it in
the profession
which I am
going to take up."
"Profession,
Clara?"
"Mrs.
Westmacott
says that every
woman should
follow a calling,
and that we ought to choose those
which women have always avoided."
"Quite
so."
"Well,
I am going
to act upon
her advice. I am going to be
a pilot."
"My
dear Clara!
A pilot! This
is too much."
"This
is a beautiful
book, papa.
`The Lights,
Beacons, Buoys,
Channels, and Landmarks of Great
Britain.' Here is another, `The
Master Mariner's Handbook.' You
can't imagine how interesting
it is."
"You
are joking,
Clara. You
must be joking!"
"Not
at all, pa.
You can't think
what a lot
I have learned
already. I'm to carry a green
light to starboard and a red
to port, with a white light at
the mast-head, and a flare-up
every fifteen minutes."
"Oh, won't it look pretty at
night!" cried her sister.
"And
I know the
fog-signals.
One blast means that a ship steers
to starboard, two to port, three
astern, four that it is unmanageable.
But this man asks such dreadful
questions at the end of each
chapter. Listen to this: `You
see a red light. The ship is
on the port tack and the wind
at north; what course is that
ship steering to a point?'"
The
Doctor rose
with a gesture
of despair. "I can't imagine
what has come over you both," said
he.
"My
dear papa,
we are trying
hard to live up to Mrs. Westmacott's
standard."
"Well,
I must say
that I do not
admire the
result. Your
chemistry,
Ida, may perhaps do no harm;
but your scheme, Clara, is out
of the question. How a girl of
your sense could ever entertain
such a notion is more than I
can imagine. But I must absolutely
forbid you to go further with
it."
"But, pa," asked Ida, with
an air of innocent inquiry in
her big blue eyes, "what are
we to do when your commands and
Mrs. Westmacott's advice are
opposed? You told us to obey
her. She says that when women
try to throw off their shackles,
their fathers, brothers and husbands
are the very first to try to
rivet them on again, and that
in such a matter no man has any
authority."
"Does Mrs. Westmacott teach
you that I am not the head of
my own house?" The Doctor flushed,
and his grizzled hair bristled
in his anger.
"Certainly.
She says that
all heads of
houses are
relics of
the dark ages."
The Doctor muttered something
and stamped his foot upon the
carpet. Then without a word he
passed out into the garden and
his daughters could see him striding
furiously up and down, cutting
off the heads of the flowers
with a switch.
"Oh, you darling! You played
your part so splendidly!" cried
Ida.
"But
how cruel it
is! When I
saw the sorrow
and surprise
in his eyes I very nearly put
my arms about him and told him
all. Don't you think we have
done enough?"
"No,
no, no. Not
nearly enough.
You must not turn weak now, Clara.
It is so funny that I should
be leading you. It is quite a
new experience. But I know I
am right. If we go an as we are
doing, we shall be able to say
all our lives that we have saved
him. And if we don't, oh, Clara,
we should never forgive ourselves." |