Chapter XV
Jobyna and Louella got along well together. Jobyna was an admirable servant, a veritable lady Crichton. No task seemed beyond her capabilities. She cooked wonderfully and Louella did not bother about the meals. Jobyna prepared them and her creations were fit for the gods. She baked her own bread, pies, cakes. At every meal she served home-made biscuits.
"If you keep feeding me like this," objected Louella, "I'll grow fat."
Nevertheless that did not prevent her from enjoying the fried chicken, the corn pone and Virginia ham baked in egg and milk.
In her later years, when Louella was so ponderous that she was far beyond the stage where diet had any effect, she used to think about Jobyna and shake her head.
"She was the one real menace of my life," she reflected. "Had it not been for her I never would have eaten myself so permanently out of shape."
Louella found Jobyna's conversation interesting. She could converse on any subject. Every day when Madame was too tired to read the papers, Jobyna gave her a résumé of the news with strong emphasis on the sensational. She knew the tastes of her mistress.
But the most important knowledge which Jobyna possessed was the names and addresses of some of the richest clients of Miss Keller and it was not long before they were coming once more to the house they knew so well. Man is fickle in his amours and several there were who declared that Louella was far more interesting than Miss Keller had ever been.
The house was a cozy little place, with a patch of lawn in front and a large garden in the rear. Louella liked to walk about in the garden although she hardly knew one flower from another. Which was astonishing since she had been country born. Always she had been more interested in people than flowers. Flowers couldn't woo you. Every man to her was a possible lover.
Downstairs in the house were three rooms, a large living room and library combined, a smaller dining room and a kitchen that was a model of cleanliness. Upstairs were three large bedrooms and a bath. Louella's room had four windows in it, and ran completely across the front of the house. It was furnished with taste. Over the windows were curtains that might be drawn to prevent too much sun from pouring in. Louella did not care for strong sunlight. She thrived best in the evenings, under a blue night sky and a lantern moon.
Perfect decorum was demanded in the house. There must be no unseemly noise, nor raucous laughter. When anyone became boisterous he was politely invited to leave. It was seldom that strong arm tactics had to be resorted to, but in an emergency there was no hesitancy. Jake, a powerful Roumanian who tended the furnace and did odd jobs about the house, was summoned and the results were always quickly arrived at.
Jake lived in a tiny house at the foot of the garden. Connected with his room was a small bell. Whenever that bell rang he knew that he was wanted. He enjoyed those occasional battles even though they were always of short duration. Jake was stolid and dumb but he was faithful, like a great shaggy dog. As long as he had plenty to eat and plenty of tobacco he was satisfied.
One of the first things that Louella did in Peoria was to find out whether Hattie Holt still lived in the house on Washington Street. She had no desire to renew the acquaintance. She simply wished to know if Hattie were still there so that she could use care in avoiding her.
She employed Jobyna as a detective and a most capable one she proved to be. There was not much that went on in Peoria in which Jobyna was not able to pry. She discovered that Hattie Holt and Don Raymond, her husband, had left town more than six months before, after Don had got mixed up in a shooting.
"I'll find out more details if you want me to," Jobyna told Louella after she had rendered her rep t.
"It isn't necessary," was the reply. "You have done well enough. The important thing is that they have left town. Now there is no need for caution."
Louella had a horror of close friends. Casual acquaintances were good enough for anybody.
She still kept up her spasmodic correspondence with Templeton. If he was surprised at her frequent changes of address he made no comment. At Christmas time he always sent her a generous check. He was becoming wealthy. Occasionally she saw his name mentioned in the financial columns of the New York papers which she read every day.
Financially, Templeton Blaine was a wizard. His sister was coming to know that. He did not tell her, but the papers did, during the ten years she lived in that small, comfortable house in Peoria. They told her what wonders he was performing in the financial world. They told her, too, how when the United States entered the World War in 1917, he speculated in paraffin wax and lubricating oils. He knew that prices of these commodities would go sky high. He was right. They did. Wax which he bought at four cents a pound went to twelve. His profits were huge. Everything he touched was gold.
Then the first soldiers marched down Broadway, the first regiment back from overseas to aid in recruiting.
Templeton stood on the corner of Broadway and Wall, opposite Trinity Church, and chewed on his cigar. What were these boys getting out of the war? How different was their lot to his! Everything he touched was gold; everything they touched was filth and slime and blood.
What was this thing called patriotism? Why, the Wall Street mob were not patriots; they were bloodsuckers, profiteers, cheap gamblers, making money out of steel, powder, guns, oil, things that were to be used in manufacturing a holocaust that would blow men to death. God, what a huge joke was patriotism! Buying doughnuts from Salvation Army girls, investing in tax exempt bonds, singing stirring songs with hypocritical fervor.
During a war, he reflected, no individual should be allowed to profit in the sale of war supplies. If there were no profiteering, there would be no wars. Wars were the product of big business; they were manufactured by super-salesmen to create a market. War was a filthy, selfish thing. There was nothing grand about it but the uniforms, the music, and the bravery of men who gave all for their country.
Templeton walked all the way home that night. It was the first time he had done that since moving to Fifth Avenue. Nor was he aware that he did. He had come to a big decision. Other men might reap war profits. He was through. He wanted no more of that kind of money.
That night he told Helen he intended enlisting. He would go to France where his knowledge of railroading would help in the movement and shifting of troops. Helen was white as she listened. But she made no objection. It was fine of him, she thought. He was far over draft age and there was little chance he would ever be called. He had the opportunity to double his fortune. Yet in this supreme moment he cared nothing for money.
His wife was proud of Templeton Blaine. So, too, was his sister Mary when she heard. It was Louella Leota's greatest contribution to the War, in spite of the money she spent.
Three months later Templeton sailed for France. Through influence in Washington he was commissioned a major. He was a born leader. Men liked him. He was fair, and he worked as hard as any of those under him. In France he made no effort to bask in the lime-light. He worked as long hours as he had ever worked in Wall Street. When the war was over he returned to his desk in Broad Street, and few even knew he had been away.
Louella learned all that gradually, as she had at first learned of his success. She was glad for him and proud of him, but thankful for herself that he never asked her to come and take up her residence with him.
Nor did he ever tell her, in his brief letters, much about his personal affairs, except to mention that he was doing well and was quite able to help her out if ever she was in need of money. He did not give evidence that he was aware of her mode of living, so she naturally assumed he did not know.
Louella might have remained longer than ten years in the Peoria house had it not been for the sudden death of Jobyna. The two had grown to mean a great deal to each other. Jobyna was ever-thoughtful, ever-faithful. After she was gone, Louella could not stand the house. It made her sad. So she sold out and went to Nashville.
But those ten years had not been unhappy ones. They were perhaps the calmest she had ever lived. Gradually she had weeded out her clientele until only the best men came to her. Best insofar as position was concerned. She was not interested in their religious prejudices. During her residence in Peoria, Louella went to church regularly. The services meant no more to her than a visit to the theatre. She simply went because she imagined it gave her background. She wished to appear refined. In any event her churchly visits gave her an opportunity to wear stunning clothes. Men were captivated by her appearance.
Many of them who visited her house liked to sit and talk with her. In her they found a willing listener. Listening is a fine art. Louella knew this and cultivated it. Many a person has earned the title of philosopher simply because he was able to keep quiet and not proclaim his own ignorance. Louella's men poured out all their troubles, domestic, business, financial and even their affairs of the heart that had turned out disastrously. Louella listened to the stories and was sympathetic. She gave advice only when she was asked for it, and then the scantiest, and most evasive. She had learned that it wasn't good to be too definite because if the advice were wrong, it might lead to angry interludes. This she wished to avoid.
Her friends were among the young and old. Bruce Webster was one of them. He was a young interne at the Children's Hospital. He took his work seriously and the little tots were never out of his mind. When he saw them suffering he was unutterably miserable. He often stayed on duty long after he had been relieved. Somehow he simply couldn't pull himself away from the children.
He was a born doctor. His hands were gentle, healing. When he touched little feverish brows with his slim fingers all pain vanished. At least many children declared that it did and in time he grew to believe there might be something in what they said. He tried to have faith in his healing power.
He wanted to be the most famous children's doctor in America. When he was not on duty he studied until far into the night. He hardly ever slept more than a few hours at a time. When his nerves became too frayed to stand the strain any longer he went to Madame Leota. He found peace as he sat and talked to her.
"You, too, are a doctor," he said. "When I am with you I seem to grow strong again."
"Why don't you go off to the mountains for a rest?" she asked. "A couple of months out West or up in the Black Hills would do you a world of good."
"I'd miss the kids too much," he said. "And what is worse they'd miss me. Gosh! if you could see the poverty of some of those babies, you'd be amazed. Many of them come in nothing but skin and bone, almost dead from malnutrition. Not even a few cents in the family to buy milk. What is wrong with this country when children are allowed to starve while pet dogs live on chicken and go about in carriages? There's something rotten somewhere in our economic structure. A country that cannot keep its children from starving isn't fit to be classed among the great nations of the world."
"But isn't that true of all countries?" she asked.
"Yes," he said bitterly, "it is. And it is due to the fact that people the world over are selfish. Few there are who are interested in the welfare of their fellow man. As long as their fat paunches are filled, what matter if all their neighbors starve? There is more than enough food in existence to feed every person in the world. The fault lies in the mode of food distribution. In China thousands upon thousands die of starvation every year. Their sufferings are more hideous than anything Poe ever devised. Readers of the world notice cabled references to them in their papers and are not disturbed. In India conditions in some parts are not much better. There are thousands of natives who never had a full meal since they were born. And in America lap-dogs are nursed by smirking women and given every luxury."
"After all," she reflected, "it is sad but there is nothing you can do about it. Styles change, new inventions are discovered, men are born and die. Still as the generations succeed one another there is no real progress. The world doesn't move. Even after you have crumbled back into dust, China's poor will be dying of starvation by the thousands and the poor of America will still be suffering."
"That is pitifully true," said he thoughtfully. "Though at least while I am here I can devote my time to the children. I can help a little. It is a wonder to me that more of the rich do not go in for this sort of philanthropy."
Louella sprang to her feet. "Why," she cried jubilantly, "I never thought of it before! I'll help! I've simply got oodles of money. I love kids and never will have any of my own. Can I come to your hospital? Think the kids would like me?"
"They'd love you," he exclaimed. "You're swell!"
"I guess I'm a bit of a fool as well," said she.