“It’s where we’ll have to live, son,” insisted the mother. “There’s a big yard and a neat little house. I’m sure we can make it quite pleasant. Of course the houses in that locality are very plain and need fixing up. But we can move later if we have to.”
They argued pretty late that night, the mother still determined to move to Meachin Street.
“We can sell it later, perhaps, after we have made it pleasant and attractive.” She tried to smile brightly.
“You couldn’t sell anything to live in down there for even a song,” said the son. “I know that region. And the neighbors would be simply impossible! I’m not going to let my mother go into such a neighborhood!”
“They are probably only poor creatures who have lost their money just like ourselves,” said the mother calmly.
And then there was the whole argument to go over again.
At last, near midnight, they compromised. They would agree to move down there for a while if their mother would give up the idea of getting a job.
But the next morning it was all to do over again.
“Thurlow, you don’t understand,” said his mother firmly, with the look in her eye of having lain awake all night thinking about it. “I am determined that you shall finish your college studies! I can’t have your father’s well-laid plans frustrated. I can see how we can do it quite well. And a little later Rilla can go. At least she can attend the university in the city, and that won’t cost so much. But you must finish out your course in your college where you have begun.”
Thurlow’s eyes were misty as he looked at his sweet, stubborn mother, but he set his pleasant lips in a firm line of determination. He was just opening his mouth to say no in no uncertain terms when there came a loud throbbing of a car up the drive, a shout like an army with banners, then a thundering at the front door, mingled with cheerful young voices.
“Hi, Thurl! Where are you? Come out here, Thurl, old man!”
Thurlow sprang to his feet with startled delight, and his mother looked up fearsomely and exclaimed, “What is it?”
“It’s the college!” said Thurlow. “You must have invoked their presence.” And he went storming out joyously to meet half a dozen big fellows like himself.
CHAPTER IV
Thurlow brought them in to meet his mother and sister, introducing them all around: Pat Halstead, Bill Wishard, Twink Collins, Harding Roberts, called in affection “Bertie,” Jeff Jilton, and Graham Macaffee.
“Also, Whirl Reed,” added young Halstead with a flourish toward Thurlow. “We are seven! The Sacred Seven we are called. Surely he has told you about us, Mrs. Reed!”
There was a great deal of laughter and boisterous joking, and Rilla looked on in amazement. Suddenly Thurlow dropped off his solemnity of the last few weeks and was a boy among them again. She felt a catch in her throat when she looked at her brother. Poor Thurl! To have to give up this pleasant friendly turmoil and start to be a man! It didn’t matter so much about herself. She had never had all this. But a young man needed to have young men friends.
The mother felt it for him, too, and hurried away to the region of the kitchen to prepare something nice for them to eat. Rilla came, too, with very red cheeks, thinking of what that young Halstead had said to her:
“Sweet souls of my great-aunt’s garden roses! Whirl Reed, where have you been keeping a sister like this? What’s the little old idea, darlin’, that you should hide her away all these long years? I choose first chance, sweet lady. I know you won’t turn me down. I’ve been trained by a mother who knew her way around, and I give you my word I’m a favorite. Lady, will you walk with me at the next prom? Lady, will you talk with me out on the lawn under a tree somewhere? What I’ve missed all these years not seeing your lovely face!”
His Irish tongue rattled on, and his handsome eyes admired her. Oh, she knew he was more than three-quarters in fun. It didn’t mean a thing! He was just a rollicking, handsome, carefree youth having a good time. She had heard her brother talk about Pat. She knew he was irresistible. He knew everybody liked him, and he dared to say anything. Yet she could see there was a real liking behind his words, partly for her brother’s sake, of course. Yet her cheeks flamed scarlet and her heartbeats quickened just the least bit. It didn’t mean a thing, but it was nice to have admiring eyes look into yours and talk nonsense for a few minutes. It lightened the gloom of a day of disaster.
Mrs. Reed had baked a large dark chocolate cake with translucent layers of chocolate jelly between, with the secret intent of taking it to the Woman’s Exchange and selling it as a start toward a regular business for herself, unbeknownst to her children. But she brought it out now, thankful that she had it to give, and Rilla hurriedly rolled lemons and cracked ice and prepared a delightful lemonade.
The seven young men milling around in the living room shouting out nonsense to each other in the sheer joy of being reunited turned as one man to greet the cake, poured glasses of the delicious drink, and made short work of the big cake, cutting unbelievable wedges for themselves and each other. Thurlow sat in their midst and beamed. All the sorrow of the past few weeks, all the fears and the triumph, all the dread of the future fell away, and he was a college boy again, with interests outside the little triangle of his family. Even his bitterness about Barbara Sherwood was forgotten, and his face took on a look of at least two whole years ago.
Not till the last crumb of chocolate cake was gone and the pitcher drained of the last drop of the lemonade did they divulge their errand. It was Pat who unfolded it.
“Now, Whirl,” he began, pausing before his host with his empty glass in his hand, “toddle off upstairs and get yourself your noblest garments, a necktie of ample proportions, an extra pair of socksin fact, all your glad rags. We’ve come to kidnap you for the weekend, and you might as well be comfortable. Toothbrush not required unless you wish, but you’d better bring a bathing suit. You see, we’re off for the shore. Jeff here and Macaffee are giving us a party, and its’ going to be rare. We’ll be glad to have your sister come down tomorrow night on the train for the grand finale. I’ll meet her myself at the four-four train and make her my special guest!” Pat bowed low before Rilla with his hand on his heart. “But tonight and tomorrow daytime are sacred to the plans of our respected alma materno ladies allowed. So toddle off, darlin’, and make it snappy! We ought to be on our way. Even Jeff’s giant car can’t get us there in time for dinner unless we get a move on pretty soon.”
Suddenly Thurlow came to earth with a crash. The joy fell away from his face, the youth dropped out like a shadow and disappeared, the sparkle and the abandon and joviality were gone, and all his burdens dropped down and fitted themselves close upon his back again. Gravity and maturity stood out startlingly, with responsibility and anxiety like wraiths just behind him.
“Sorry, Pat,” he said, as if he were at least a decade ahead of Pat in experience. “I’d be delighted to go, but it’s impossible!”
Then rose a clamorall of them together slapping him on the back, shouting that he must go, that they wouldn’t take no for an answer, trying to make him believe that the whole expedition was gotten up with him as a center, yelling what this one and that one said, naming other fellow students who were to arrive at the shore that nightbut Thurlow stood in their midst smiling, pained but obdurate.
“You see, fellows, we’re moving!” he said. “I can’t be spared!” His mother opened her lips to tell him that they could get along without him perfectly well for a few days. Then she remembered Thurlow was not