The Girls of Hillcrest Farm: or, The Secret of the Rocks. Marlowe Amy Bell
for all three of them!
What could she get for their soaked furniture? These thoughts were with her while she was dressing.
’Phemie had hurried away after making her sister promise to telephone as to her father’s condition the minute they allowed Lyddy to see him at the hospital. Aunt Jane was a luxurious lie-abed, and had ordered tea and toast for nine o’clock. Her oldest niece put on her shabby hat and coat and went out to the nearest lunch-room, where coffee and rolls were her breakfast.
Then she walked down to Trimble Avenue and approached the huge, double-decker where they had lived. Salvage men were already carrying away the charred fragments of the furniture from the top floor. Lyddy hoped that, unlike herself, the Smiths and the others up there had been insured against fire.
She plodded wearily up the four flights and unlocked one of the flat doors and entered. Two of the salvage men followed her in and removed the tarpaulins–which had been worse than useless.
“No harm done but a little water, Miss,” said one of them, consolingly. “But you talk up to the adjuster and he’ll make it all right.”
They all thought, of course, that the Brays’ furniture was insured. Lyddy closed the door and looked over the wrecked flat.
The parlor furniture coverings were all stained, and the carpet’s colors had “run” fearfully. Many of their little keepsakes and “gim-cracks” had been broken when the tarpaulins were spread.
The bedrooms were in better shape, although the bedding was somewhat wet. But the kitchen was ruined.
“Of course,” thought Lyddy, “there wasn’t much to ruin. Everything was cheap enough. But what a mess to clean up!”
She looked out of the window across the air-shaft. There was the boy!
He nodded and beckoned to her. He had his own window open. Lydia considered that she had no business to talk with this young man; yet he had played the “friend in need” the evening before.
“How’s your father?” he called, the moment she opened her window.
“I do not know yet. They told me not to come to the hospital until nine-thirty.”
“I guess you’re in a mess over there–eh?” he said, with his most boyish smile.
But Lyddy was not for idle converse. She nodded, thanked him for his kindness the evening before, and firmly shut the window. She thought she knew how to keep that young man in his place.
But she hadn’t the heart to do anything toward tidying up the flat now. And how she wished she might not have to do it!
“If we could only take our clothing and the bedding and little things, and walk out,” she murmured, standing in the middle of the little parlor.
To try to “pick up the pieces” here was going to be dreadfully hard.
“I wish some fairy would come along and transport us all to Hillcrest Farm in the twinkling of an eye,” said Lyddy to herself. “I–I’d rather starve out there than live as we have for the past three months here.”
She went to the door of the flat just as somebody tapped gently on the panel. A poorly dressed Jewish man stood hesitating on the threshold.
“I’m sorry,” said Lyddy, hastily; “but we had trouble here last night–a fire. I can’t cook anything, and really haven’t a thing to give – ”
Her mother had boasted that she had never turned away a beggar hungry from her door, and the oldest Bray girl always tried to feed the deserving. The man shook his head eagerly.
“You ain’t de idee got, lady,” he said. “I know dere vas a fire. I foller de fires, lady.”
“You follow the fires?” returned Lyddy, in wonder.
“Yes, lady. Don’dt you vant to sell de house-holdt furnishings? I pay de highest mar-r-ket brice for ’em. Yes, lady–I pay cash.”
“Why–why – ”
“You vas nodt insured–yes?”
“No,” admitted Lyddy.
“Den I bay you cash for de goots undt you go undt puy new–ain’dt idt?”
But Lyddy wasn’t thinking of buying new furniture–not at all. She opened the door wider.
“Come in and look,” she invited. “What will you pay?”
“Clodings, too?” he asked, shrewdly.
“No, no! We will keep the clothing, bedding and kitchenware, and the like. Just the furniture.”
The man went through the flat quickly, but his bright, beady eyes missed nothing. Finally he said:
“I gif you fifteen tollar, lady.”
“Oh, no! that is too little,” gasped Lyddy.
She had begun to figure mentally what it would cost to replace even the poor little things they had. And yet, if she could get any fair price for the goods she was almost tempted to sell out.
“Lady! believe me, I make a goot offer,” declared the man. “But I must make it a profit–no?”
“I couldn’t sell for so little.”
“How much you vant, den?” he asked shrewdly.
“Oh! a great deal more than that. Ten dollars more, at least.”
“Twenty-fife tollars!” he cried, wringing his hands. “Belief me, lady, I shouldt be shtuck!”
His use of English would have amused Lyddy at another time; but the girl’s mind was set upon something more important. If she only could get enough money together to carry them all to Hillcrest Farm–and to keep them going for a while!
“Fifteen dollars would not do me much good, I am afraid,” the girl said.
“Oh, lady! you could buy a whole new house-furnishings mit so much money down–undt pay for de rest on de installment.”
“No,” replied Lyddy, firmly. “I want to get away from here altogether. I want to get out into the country. My father is sick; we had to send him to the hospital last night.”
The second-hand man shook his head. “You vas a kindt-hearted lady,” he said, with less of his professional whine. “I gif you twenty.”
And above that sum Lyddy could not move him. But she would not decide then and there. She felt that she must see her father, and consult with ’Phemie, and possibly talk to Aunt Jane, too.
“You come here to-morrow morning and I’ll tell you,” she said, finally.
She locked the flat again and followed the man down the long flights to the street. It was not far to the hospital and Lyddy did not arrive there much before the visitors’ hour.
The house physician called her into his office before she went up to the ward in which her father had been placed. Already she was assured that he was comfortable, so the keenness of her anxiety was allayed.
“What are your circumstances, Miss Bray?” demanded the medical head of the hospital, bluntly. “I mean your financial circumstances?”
“We–we are poor, sir. And we were burned out last night, and have no insurance. I do not know what we really shall do–yet.”
“You are the house-mother–eh?” he demanded.
“I am the oldest. There are only Euphemia and me, beside poor papa – ”
“Well, it’s regarding your father I must speak. He’s in a bad way. We can do him little good here, save that he will rest and have nourishing food. But if he goes back to work again – ”
“I know it’s bad for him!” cried Lyddy, with clasped hands. “But what can we do? He will crawl out to the shop as long as they will let him come – ”
“He’ll not crawl out for a couple of weeks–I’ll see to that,”