Miss Billy by Eleanor Hodgman Porter (best ebook reader for surface pro TXT) đ
- Author: Eleanor Hodgman Porter
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âChanged? Spunkâs name changed?â demanded Billy, in a horrified voice. âWhy, Aunt Hannah, it canât be changed; itâs HIS, you know.â Then she laughed merrily. ââThomas,â indeed! Why, you old dear!âjust suppose I should ask YOU to change your name! Now I like âHelen Clarabellaâ lots better than âHannah,â but Iâm not going to ask you to change thatâand Iâm going to love you just as well, even if you are âHannahââsee if I donât! And youâll love Spunk, too, Iâm sure you will. Now watch me find the end of this snarl!â And she danced over to the dumbfounded little lady in the big chair, gave her an affectionate kiss, and then attacked the tangled mass of black with skilful fingers.
âBut, Iâyouâoh, my grief and conscience!â finished the little woman whose name was not Helen Clarabella.ââOh, my grief and conscience,â according to Bertram, was Aunt Hannahâs deadliest swear-word.
In Aunt Hannahâs black silk lap Spunk stretched luxuriously, and blinked sleepy eyes; then with a long purr of content he curled himself for another napâstill Spunk.
It was some time after luncheon that day that Bertram heard a knock at his studio door. Bertram was busy. His particular pet âFace of a Girlâ was to be submitted soon to the judges of a forthcoming Art Exhibition, and it was not yet finished. He was trying to make up now for the many hours lost during the last few days; and even Bertram, at times, did not like interruptions. His model had gone, but he was still working rapidly when the knock came. His tone was not quite cordial when he answered.
âWell?â
âItâs IâSpunk and I. May we come in?â called a confident voice.
Bertram said a sharp word behind his teethâbut he opened the door.
âOf course! I wasâpainting,â he announced.
âHow lovely! And Iâll watch you. Oh, myâwhat a pretty room!â
âIâm glad you like it.â
âIndeed I do; I like it ever so much. I shall stay here lots, I know.â
âOh, youâwill!â For once even Bertramâs ready tongue failed to find fitting response.
âYes. Now paint. I want to see you. Aunt Hannah has gone out anyway, and Iâm lonesome. I think Iâll stay.â
âBut I canâtâthat is, Iâm not used to spectators.â
âOf course you arenât, you poor old lonesomeness! But it isnât going to be that way, any more, you know, now that Iâve come. I shaânât let you be lonesome.â
âI could swear to that,â declared the man, with sudden fervor; and for Billyâs peace of mind it was just as well, perhaps, that she did not know the exact source of that fervency.
âNow paint,â commanded Billy again.
Because he did not know what else to do, Bertram picked up a brush; but he did not paint. The first stroke of his brush against the canvas was to Spunk a challenge; and Spunk never refused a challenge. With a bound he was on Bertramâs knee, gleeful paw outstretched, batting at the end of the brush.
âTut, tutâno, noânaughty Spunk! Say, but wasnât that cute?â chuckled Billy. âDo it again!â
The artist gave an exasperated sigh.
âMy dear girl,â he protested, âcruel as it may seem to you, this picture is not a kindergarten game for the edification of small cats. I must politely ask Spunk to desist.â
âBut he wonât!â laughed Billy. âNever mind; we will take it some day when heâs asleep. Letâs not paint any more, anyhow. Iâve come to see your rooms.â And she sprang blithely to her feet. âDear, dear, what a lot of faces!âand all girls, too! How funny! Why donât you paint other things? Still, they are rather nice.â
âThank you,â accepted Bertram; dryly.
Bertram did not paint any more that afternoon. Billy found much to interest her, and she asked numberless questions. She was greatly excited when she understood the full significance of the omnipresent âFace of a Girlâ; and she graciously offered to pose herself for the artist. She spent, indeed, quite half an hour turning her head from side to side, and demanding âNow howâs that?â and that?â Tiring at last of this, she suggested Spunk as a substitute, remarking that, after all, catsâpretty cats like Spunkâwere even nicer to paint than girls.
She rescued Spunk then from the paint-box where he had been holding high carnival with Bertramâs tubes of paint, and demanded if Bertram ever saw a more delightful, more entrancing, more altogether-to-be-desired model. She was so artless, so merry, so frankly charmed with it all that Bertram could not find it in his heart to be angry, notwithstanding his annoyance. But when at four oâclock, she took herself and her cat cheerily upstairs, he lifted his hands in despair.
âGreat Scott!â he groaned. âIf this is a sample of whatâs comingâ Iâm GOING, thatâs all!â
Billy had been a member of the Beacon Street household a week before she repeated her visit to Cyril at the top of the house. This time Bertram was not with her. She went alone. Even Spunk was left behindâBilly remembered her prospective hostâs aversion to cats.
Billy did not feel that she knew Cyril very well. She had tried several times to chat with him; but she had made so little headway, that she finally came to the conclusionâprivately expressed to Bertramâthat Mr. Cyril was bashful. Bertram had only laughed. He had laughed the harder because at that moment he could hear Cyril pounding out his angry annoyance on the piano upstairsâCyril had just escaped from one of Billyâs most determined âattempts,â and Bertram knew it. Bertramâs laugh had puzzled Billyâand it had not quite pleased her. Hence to-day she did not tell him of her plan to go upstairs and see what she could do herself, alone, to combat this âfoolish bashfulnessâ on the part of Mr. Cyril Henshaw.
In spite of her bravery, Billy waited quite one whole minute at the top of the stairs before she had the courage to knock at Cyrilâs door.
The door was opened at once.
âWhyâBilly!â cried the man in surprise.
âYes, itâs Billy. IâI came up toâto get acquainted,â she smiled winningly.
âWhy, erâyou are very kind. Will youâcome in?â
âThank you; yes. You see, I didnât bring Spunk. Iâremembered.â
Cyril bowed gravely.
âYou are very kindâagain,â he said.
Billy fidgeted in her chair. To her mind she was not âgetting onâ at all. She determined on a bold stroke.
âYou see, I thought ifâif I should come up here, where there wouldnât be so many around, we might get acquainted,â she confided; âthen I would get to like you just as well as I do the others.â
At the odd look that came into the manâs face, the girl realized suddenly what she had said. Her cheeks flushed a confused red.
âOh, dear! That is, I meanâI like you, of course,â she floundered miserably; then she broke off with a frank laugh. âThere! you see I never could get out of anything. I might as well own right up. I DONâT like you as well as I do Uncle William and Mr. Bertram. So there!â
Cyril laughed. For the first time since he had seen Billy, something that was very like interest came into his eyes.
âOh, you donât,â he retorted. âNow that isâerâvery UNkind of you.â
Billy shook her head.
âYou donât say that as if you meant it,â she accused him, her eyes gravely studying his face. âNow IâM in earnest. I really want to like YOU!â
âThank you. Then perhaps you wonât mind telling me why you donât like me,â he suggested.
Again Billy flushed.
âWhy, IâI just donât; thatâs all,â she faltered. Then she cried aggrievedly: âThere, now! youâve made me be impolite; and I didnât mean to be, truly.â
âOf course not,â assented the man; âand it wasnât impolite, because I asked you for the information, you know. I may conclude then,â he went on with an odd twinkle in his eyes, âthat I am merely classed with tripe and rainy days.â
âWithâwha-at?â
âTripe and rainy days. Those are the only things, if I remember rightly, that you donât like.â
The girl stared; then she chuckled.
âThere! I knew Iâd like you better if youâd only SAY something,â she beamed. âBut letâs not talk any more about that. Play to me; wonât you? You know you promised me âThe Maidenâs Prayer.ââ
Cyril stiffened.
âPardon me, but you must be mistaken,â he replied coldly. âI do not play âThe Maidenâs Prayer.ââ
âOh, what a shame! And I do so love it! But you play other things; Iâve heard you a little, and Mr. Bertram says you doâin concerts and things.â
âDoes he?â murmured Cyril, with a slight lifting of his eyebrows.
âThere! Now off you go again all silent and horrid!â chaffed Billy. âWhat have I said now? Mr. Cyrilâdo you know what I think? I believe youâve got NERVES!â Billyâs voice was so tragic that the man could but laugh.
âPerhaps I have, Miss Billy.â
âLike Miss Lettyâs?â
âIâm not acquainted with the lady.â
âGee! wouldnât you two make a pair!â chuckled Billy unexpectedly. âNo; but, really, I meanâdo you want people to walk on tiptoe and speak in whispers?â
âSometimes, perhaps.â
The girl sprang to her feetâbut she sighed.
âThen Iâm going. This might be one of the times, you know.â She hesitated, then walked to the piano. âMy, wouldnât I like to play on that!â she breathed.
Cyril shuddered. Cyril could imagine what Billy would playâand Cyril did not like âragtime,â nor âThe Storm.â
âOh, do you play?â he asked constrainedly.
Billy shook her head.
âNot much. Only little bits of things, you know,â she said wistfully, as she turned toward the door.
For some minutes after she had gone, Cyril stood where she had left him, his eyes moody and troubled.
âI suppose I might have playedâsomething,â he muttered at last; âbutââThe Maidenâs Prayerâ!âgood heavens!â
Billy was a little shy with Cyril when he came down to dinner that night. For the next few days, indeed, she held herself very obviously aloof from him. Cyril caught himself wondering once if she were afraid of his ânerves.â He did not try to find out, however; he was too emphatically content that of her own accord she seemed to be leaving him in peace.
It must have been a week after Billyâs visit to the top of the house that Cyril stopped his playing very abruptly one day, and opened his door to go downstairs. At the first step he started back in amazement.
âWhy, Billy!â he ejaculated.
The girl was sitting very near the top of the stairway. At his appearance she got to her feet shamefacedly.
âWhy, Billy, what in the world are you doing there?â
âListening.â
âListening!â
âYes. Do you mind?â
The man did not answer. He was too surprised to find words at once, and he was trying to recollect what he had been playing.
âYou see, listening to music this way isnât like listening toâto talking,â hurried on Billy, feverishly. âIt isnât sneaking like that; is it?â
âWhyâno.â
âAnd you donât mind?â
âWhy, surely, I ought not to mindâthat,â he admitted.
âThen I can keep right on as I have done. Thank you,â sighed Billy, in relief.
âKeep right on! Have you been here before?â
âWhy, yes, lots of days. And, say, Mr. Cyril, what is thatâthat thing thatâs all chords with big bass notes that keep saying something so fine and splendid that it marches on and on, getting bigger and grander, just as if there couldnât anything stop it, until it all ends in one great burst of triumph? Mr. Cyril, what is that?â
âWhy, Billy!ââthe interest this time in the manâs face was not faintââI wish I might make others catch my meaning as I have evidently
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