They were not long at table, and by the time they were ready to depart it was about half-past five. But when they emerged into the street, it was discovered that once more the weather had abruptly changed. It was snowing thickly. Again a bitter wind from off the Lake tore through the streets. The slush and melted snow was freezing, and the north side of every lamp post and telegraph pole was sheeted with ice.
To add to their discomfort, the North State Street cars were blocked. When they gained the corner of Washington Street they could see where the congestion began, a few squares distant.
“There’s nothing for it,” declared Landry, “but to go over and get the Clarke Street cars—and at that you may have to stand up all the way home, at this time of day.”
They paused, irresolute, a moment on the corner. It was the centre of the retail quarter. Close at hand a vast dry goods house, built in the old “iron-front” style, towered from the pavement, and through its hundreds of windows presented to view a world of stuffs and fabrics, upholsteries and textiles, kaleidoscopic, gleaming in the fierce brilliance of a multitude of lights. From each street doorway was pouring an army of shoppers, women for the most part; and these—since the store catered to a rich clientele—fashionably dressed. Many of them stood for a moment on the threshold of the storm-doorways, turning up the collars of their sealskins, settling their hands in their muffs, and searching the street for their coupes and carriages.
Among the number of those thus engaged, one, suddenly catching sight of Laura, waved a muff in her direction, then came quickly forward. It was Mrs. Cressler.
“Laura, my dearest girl! Of all the people. I am so glad to see you!” She kissed Laura on the cheek, shook hands all around, and asked about the sisters’ new home. Did they want anything, or was there anything she could do to help? Then interrupting herself, and laying a glove on Laura’s arm:
“I’ve got more to tell you.”
She compressed her lips and stood off from Laura, fixing her with a significant glance.
“Me? To tell me?”
“Where are you going now?”
“Home; but our cars are stopped. We must go over to—”
“Fiddlesticks! You and Page and Mrs. Wessels—all of you are coming home and dine with me.”
“But we’ve had dinner already,” they all cried, speaking at once.
Page explained the situation, but Mrs. Cressler would not be denied.
“The carriage is right here,” she said. “I don’t have to call for Charlie. He’s got a man from Cincinnati in tow, and they are going to dine at the Calumet Club.”
It ended by the two sisters and Mrs. Wessels getting into Mrs. Cressler’s carriage. Landry excused himself. He lived on the South Side, on Michigan Avenue, and declaring that he knew they had had enough of him for one day, took himself off.
But whatever Mrs. Cressler had to tell Laura, she evidently was determined to save for her ears only. Arrived at the Dearborns’ home, she sent her footman in to tell the “girl” that the family would not be home that night. The Cresslers lived hard by on the same street, and within ten minutes’ walk of the Dearborns. The two sisters and their aunt would be back immediately after breakfast.
When they had got home with Mrs. Cressler, this latter suggested hot tea and sandwiches in the library, for the ride had been cold. But the others, worn out, declared for bed as soon as Mrs. Cressler herself had dined.
“Oh, bless you, Carrie,” said Aunt Wess’; “I couldn’t think of tea. My back is just about broken, and I’m going straight to my bed.”
Mrs. Cressler showed them to their rooms. Page and Mrs. Wessels elected to sleep together, and once the door had closed upon them the little girl unburdened herself.
“I suppose Laura thinks it’s all right, running off like this for the whole blessed night, and no one to look after the house but those two servants that nobody knows anything about. As though there weren’t heaven knows what all to tend to there in the morning. I just don’t see,” she exclaimed decisively, “how we’re going to get settled at all. That Landry Court! My goodness, he’s more hindrance than help. Did you ever see! He just dashes in as though he were doing it all, and messes everything up, and loses things, and gets things into the wrong place, and forgets this and that, and then he and Laura sit down and spoon. I never saw anything like it. First it’s Corthell and then Landry, and next it will be somebody else. Laura regularly mortifies me; a great, grown-up girl like that, flirting, and letting every man she meets think that he’s just the one particular one of the whole earth. It’s not good form. And Landry—as if he didn’t know we’ve got more to do now than just to dawdle and dawdle. I could slap him. I like to see a man take life seriously and try to amount to something, and not waste the best years of his life trailing after women who are old enough to be his grandmother, and don’t mean
