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Page 39
. . . . . .
Spindler's house, or "Spindler's Splurge," as Rough and Ready chose
to call it, stood above the settlement, on a deforested hillside,
which, however, revenged itself by producing not enough vegetation
to cover even the few stumps that were ineradicable. A large
wooden structure in the pseudo-classic style affected by Westerners,
with an incongruous cupola, it was oddly enough relieved by a still
more incongruous veranda extending around its four sides, upheld by
wooden Doric columns, which were already picturesquely covered with
flowering vines and sun-loving roses. Mr. Spindler had trusted the
furnishing of its interior to the same contractor who had
upholstered the gilded bar-room of the Eureka Saloon, and who had
apparently bestowed the same design and material, impartially, on
each. There were gilded mirrors all over the house and chilly
marble-topped tables, gilt plaster Cupids in the corners, and
stuccoed lions "in the way" everywhere. The tactful hands of Mrs.
Price had screened some of these with seasonable laurels, fir
boughs, and berries, and had imparted a slight Christmas flavor to
the house. But the greater part of her time had been employed in
trying to subdue the eccentricities of Spindler's amazing relations;
in tranquilizing Mrs. "Aunt" Martha Spindler,--the elderly cook
before alluded to,--who was inclined to regard the gilded splendors
of the house as indicative of dangerous immorality; in restraining
"Cousin" Morley Hewlett from considering the dining-room buffet as a
bar for "intermittent refreshment;" and in keeping the weak-minded
nephew, Phinney Spindler, from shooting at bottles from the veranda,
wearing his uncle's clothes, or running up an account in his uncle's
name for various articles at the general stores. Yet the
unlooked-for arrival of the two children had been the one great
compensation and diversion for her. She wrote at once to her nieces
a brief account of her miraculous deliverance. "I think these poor
children dropped from the skies here to make our Christmas party
possible, to say nothing of the sympathy they have created in Rough
and Ready for Spindler. He is going to keep them as long as he can,
and is writing to the father. Think of the poor little tots
traveling a thousand miles to 'Krissmass,' as they call it!--though
they were so well cared for by the messengers that their little
bodies were positively stuffed like quails. So, you see, dear, we
will be able to get along without airing your famous idea. I'm
sorry, for I know you're just dying to see it all."
Whatever Kate's "idea" might have been, there certainly seemed now
no need of any extraneous aid to Mrs. Price's management.
Christmas came at last, and the dinner passed off without serious
disaster. But the ordeal of the reception of Rough and Ready was
still to come. For Mrs. Price well knew that although "the boys"
were more subdued, and, indeed, inclined to sympathize with their
host's uncouth endeavor, there was still much in the aspect of
Spindler's relations to excite their sense of the ludicrous.
But here Fortune again favored the house of Spindler with a
dramatic surprise, even greater than the advent of the children had
been. In the change that had come over Rough and Ready, "the boys"
had decided, out of deference to the women and children, to omit
the first part of their programme, and had approached and entered
the house as soberly and quietly as ordinary guests. But before
they had shaken hands with the host and hostess, and seen the
relations, the clatter of wheels was heard before the open door,
and its lights flashed upon a carriage and pair,--an actual private
carriage,--the like of which had not been seen since the governor
of the State had come down to open the new ditch! Then there was a
pause, the flash of the carriage lamps upon white silk, the light
tread of a satin foot on the veranda and in the hall, and the
entrance of a vision of loveliness! Middle-aged men and old
dwellers of cities remembered their youth; younger men bethought
themselves of Cinderella and the Prince! There was a thrill and a
hush as this last guest--a beautiful girl, radiant with youth and
adornment--put a dainty glass to her sparkling eye and advanced
familiarly, with outstretched hand, to Dick Spindler. Mrs. Price
gave a single gasp, and drew back speechless.
"Uncle Dick," said a laughing contralto voice, which, indeed,
somewhat recalled Mrs. Price's own, in its courageous frankness, "I
am so delighted to come, even if a little late, and so sorry that
Mr. M'Kenna could not come on account of business."
Everybody listened eagerly, but none more eagerly and surprisingly
than the host himself. M'Kenna! The rich cousin who had never
answered the invitation! And Uncle Dick! This, then, was his
divorced niece! Yet even in his astonishment he remembered that of
course no one but himself and Mrs. Price knew it,--and that lady
had glanced discreetly away.
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