Notwithstanding John’s watercolors on the walls, it was rather a bare little place, as Nannie had said. The twilight entered between the muslin curtains, however, and the modest array of silver and glassware glittered on the table. A breeze scattered the odor of the small bouquet of flowers.
As John entered Nannie switched on the electric light.
Lucy placed the food on the dishes and Nannie carried them to the table.
“My, that smells good!” John exclaimed boyishly. “What have you got for us?” He and Nannie had seated themselves.
“It’s a steak en casserole with mushrooms,” explained Nannie, picking a tiny bit of lint from his sleeve. “I hope you enjoy it. Poor boy, how hungry you must be working until this hour of the day!”
“I’m hungry, too,” announced Dimmie, who had come in and seated himself unnoticed.
Lucy now appeared, her apron removed. “Are you, dear?” She hesitated by the table without seating herself.
“Why don’t you sit down, Lucy?” John asked.
Lucy seated herself.
“Will you hand me my napkin ring, Mamma,” she requested, at the same time passing a folded napkin without a ring to her mother.
“Why, is this your place?” exclaimed Nannie, rising. “Come, let’s change. I didn’t notice.”
“It makes no difference, Nannie,” put in John. “Sit down and let’s have dinner.”
“No, it makes no difference,” acquiesced Lucy, and Mrs. Merwent reseated herself.
“Well, as I’m here, I might as well serve the plates,” remarked Nannie. “I want to do something to help.”
During the meal John talked of art, his manner youthfully eager, and his hair falling over his forehead from which he pushed it back with the graceful gesture peculiar to him.
“I have to design cheap houses, Nannie,” he bewailed whimsically, “instead of listening to the voices of the unseen that are calling to me.”
“It’s a pity you haven’t money so you could follow your natural bent and be an artist,” said Nannie.
“I am an artist,” John rejoined, rather warmly. “One doesn’t need to hold oneself aloof from common life to be an artist. On the other hand one must learn not to despise common things, but to see beauty in them.”
“I only meant I wished you didn’t have to worry about money,” she persisted.
“Of course, I know you understand, Nannie, but one doesn’t need to crowd his soul with small things just because he’s poor. If he will he can see beauty that is not for the eye of his senses.” John glanced up at his pictures.
“Lucy tells me all these beautiful watercolors are yours, John.” Nannie let her gaze travel about the room. “They’re simply exquisite.”
“Well,” John’s tone was deprecating, “if I’d had a chance I might have done something at it.”
“It’s too bad you don’t have time to be more with artistic people, John,” Lucy put in with an affectionate look at her husband.
“I love pretty things too, John,” Nannie said quickly. Lucy glanced at her mother, who was regarding John.
“I’ll have to play for you after dinner,” Nannie offered a few minutes later.
“I remember Lucy told me you played,” he answered. “We got the piano over a year ago, but Lucy never has time to touch it, and I can’t do anything but drum.”
“It takes a lot of willpower to practice regularly,” replied Nannie, “but then I love my music so. I never let a day go by without practicing.”
“We’ll have to go to some concerts next winter,” John continued.
“How nice,” Nannie smiled, “but I don’t know whether I shall be here next winter. There may be somebody else who’ll have something to say about that.” She glanced down demurely.
“Listen to that, Lucy!”
“Of course you’ll be here next winter, Mamma.” Lucy spoke with an effort.
“And we’ll go to the symphony concerts.” John was enthusiastic. “It’ll be great, Nannie. Lucy and I went to some of them, but it’s hard to drag her out of the house in cold weather. You remember, Lucy, we heard Beethoven’s ‘Symphony in C Minor.’ It was simply grand, Nannie.”
“It must have been,” Nannie agreed sweetly.
“The allegro makes me think of the human soul struggling against its fate.” John’s gaze was rapt. “The andante is—is the doubt and questionings of the heart—and their answer.” His face was flushed. Dimmie, his mouth open, stared at his father with a fascinated look.
“Music makes me feel just that way, John,” Nannie confided, “but I can’t express myself as well as you.”
“It takes me right off my feet, Nannie. There’s the scherzo of that C Minor. There’s where the struggle gets breathless. The trio and recapitulation sort of wonder about the struggle and tragedy. Then there’s a little pianissimo that is near the answer. Then the finale comes along and takes it up till it winds up in a kind of shout of victory. It’s great, Nannie!”
Lucy watched John admiringly.
“You ought to have been a critic, John,” Nannie declared. “Music means so much to me, too.”
“I’m nutty about it, Nannie,” John vowed boisterously. “We’ll go to all the concerts that come along and have a general good time.”
Lucy said nothing.
“Can I have a good time, too?” asked Dimmie suddenly.
“Sure, Son,” John agreed. “Now Nannie’s here we’ll all have a good time, won’t we?”
After dinner John and Nannie went into the living room where John smoked while she played to him. The Winters had a good piano but Lucy played indifferently and, being very busy and not strong, had discontinued practice. They had often talked of buying a player piano, but the amount asked by the dealer above the value of their own instrument had put the luxury out of their reach.
Dimmie helped his mother clear the table and wash the dishes, and when the tasks were done these two joined John and Nannie. However, Dimmie soon grew sleepy and Lucy led him away to bed, remaining with him to tell stories and sing lullabies until he was sound asleep.
When she returned to the living room John and her mother were talking earnestly.
“Come here, Lucy,” John called from the lounge. “Nannie has been
