Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 193, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 August 1913 — TEA THAT WAS TEA [ARTICLE]

TEA THAT WAS TEA

And Results It Wrought Were Satisfactory to at Least Two People. I

By ANNA E. BLEY.

“Policy ready yet, Miss Birdsall?" “Ofi, is that you, Bobbie?” Miss Birdsall turned from the typewriter. •Wait a* minute,” running through a bundle of folded policies. “Here it is, "MacDougall & Son—lnsurance Brokers,’ ” she read from the printed sticker at the bottom. "It doesn’t take you long to turn ’em out, Miss Birdsall,” remarked the boy admiringly as he slipped it into this pocket. Louise Birdsall’s lips parted in a cmile. . “What’s in the kettle, Bobbie?” she inquired. "Nothing yet, it’s for tea for the old man.” “Does he like tea?” “Headache, and he’s had an awful Crouch on all morning.” “Poor old gentleman!” exclaimed Miss Birdsall sympathetically. “Where are you going to get the tea?” “At the Peerless.” “At the Peerless!” she ejaculated. "Why, it won’t be fit to drink.” “Can’t help it, nearest place,” and he (picked up the kettle to go. Miss Birdsall glanced at the clock: the other clerks would not return for a quarter of an hour. “Sit down, Bobbie, and I’ll make you some tea that is tea.” She pulled out the lower drawer of the typewriter desk and drew forth a email brass canister, from another recess came a teaspoon. « “Just a second, Bob,” she. laughed, and ran into the tiny dressing room adjoining the large airy office. In a twinkling, she returned, holding up a little blue and white china teapot. “The kettle was boiling, so it didn’t take long to make. By the time you get to the office it will be nicely steeped.” Bobble looked at the gay little teapot doubtfully. “Could you wrap it up?” he suggested. “Why, it is much easier to carry this way.” “I know, but if the fellows in Watkins’iofflce see me go by with a flossy little teapot like that, they’ll guy the life out o’ me.” With quick understanding, Miss Birdsall wrapped the teapot in the ' morning’s newspaper. “Bobble, I want this teapot returned with the tea leaves in it, no wiping out with the office towel. Do you get me, Robert?” "I gotcha,” he replied with a grin. The door slammed and Miss Birdsall settled down to work. The next day at noon a fashionably dressed young man walked into the office of the International Insurance company. Miss Birdsall* rose, her cheeks flushing slightly as she recognized young Mr. MacDougall. “Miss Birdsall?” he Interrogated pleasantly. J “Yes,” she said with quiet dignity. “I am returning the teapot with sincere thanks.” “Pray don’t Mention it. I hope the tea helped Mr. MacDougall’s head.” added: “In fact, he has been a new man ever since.” Miss Birdsall peeped absent-minded-ly inside. “We didn’t wash it out,” he apologized, and then they both laughed gaily, and Miss Birdsall remembered her admonition to Bobbie. With a few desultory remarks, Me MacDougall politely left. “What a delightful person,” thought Miss Birdsall, as she carried the teapot into the dressing room. “Delightful in spite of his money.” During the afternoon she recalled him again and again. Since she had been policy writer for the International she had heard continually of young MacDougall, of his money, of his extravagances, and of the beautiful old house occupied solely by his father and himself. It was therefore a surprise and a pleasure to find him quite natural and extremely agreeable. Two days later, Bobbie came in again at noon. "Nothing ready, Robert,” she called out in a business-like tone. “I’m not after policies.” Then, leaning confidentially over the counter, “Could you let me have some more tea, Miss Birdsall?” t “Why Bobbie—” Miss Birdsall wheeled'about in her chair. "The boss has a terrible headache; been raising Cain all morning.” •’ "Dear me,” murmured Miss Birdsall, “of course.” Rising quickly, she commenced collecting the tea things. While the kettle was boiling, a sudden thought struck her. “What does Mr. MacDougall drink the tea from?” "A. glass.” 1 , v . “Well upon my word!” and forthwith she produced a fragile teacup and saucer. From some nook in her desk, she took a lemon and deftly cut three or four slices with her penknife. These she slipped lnto«a clean envelope, together with several cubes of sugar and a teaspoon. “Now, Bobbie,” she warned after the tea was made, “carry these things carefully and tell old Mr. MacDougall that I hope the tea will cure his headache.” “I’ll tell him.” promised the boy, with a mischievous smile on his freckled face. The following day he brought back “Gee, Miss Birdsall.” he confided.

“the boss says that lemon’s a great stunt.” . - 7- . “I am delighted, Robert.” ’. “Yes, he wants to meet you.” “Meet —me —?” she questioned, her eyes wide open in astonishment “That wasn’t just what he said,” explained Bobbie consulting a slip of paper. “Present my compliments to Miss Birdsall and ask her of she will come up to the office this afternoon so that I may thank her In person,” he repeated glibly. Miss Birdsall gasped. •** “They’re the boss’ orders,” observed Bobbie, with finality. “Well, he isn’t my boss,” expostulated Miss Birdsall indignantly. “When the boss wants a thing, he always gets it” Miss Birdsall reflected. Mr. MacDougall was a very irascible and a very old gentleman. If those were his wishes why should she hesitate to gratify an old man’s whim? “I’ll ask my boss, Bobbie,” she agreed with a faint smile. “All right,” and Bobbie departed promptly. That afternoon she mentioned the matter to the manager. “Old MacDougall,” he mused. “I didn’t know he was back; he’s been in Florida all winter. Certainly, go right over, Miss Birdsall. Ab Miss Birdsall was ushered into the sumptuous private office of MacDougall & Son, she raged inwardly at finding herself in such a position. Young MacDougall came cordially indicated a chair and seated himself comfortably hear her. "Your father —” began Miss Birdsall stiffly, i The young man, usually at his ease, grew red and embarrassed. “Miss Birdsall, I owe you an explanation. I trust you will hear me to the end.” Miss Birdsall moved uneasily. "You see,”. he went on, “I couldn’t explain the matter to you down there, with an office full of gaping clerks, but each time I’ve seen you I’ve thought what awfully good friends we might become if we wre acquainted.”. “Mr. MacDougall,” interrupted Miss Birdsall, rising, “this is simply preposterous.” “Please hear me to the end,” he urged. Miss Birdsall sat down. “We don’t know each other’s friends and there* seemed to be no way in which I could do the thing in the conventional manner till the Heaven-sent tea episode,” he continued more cheerfully. “That young rascal, Bobbie, probably alluded to me as ’the ojd man,’ and you naturally took it to be my father.” Louise Birdsall bit her lips in vexation. Other words of Bobbie’s recurred to her. “He always gets what he wants.” She would show him that the old Birdsall spirit still survived, even if she had been forced to earn her own living. “Mr. MacDougall,” she said, looking him squarely in the eyes, “I have few friends, but these few I value more than anything on earth. A friendship to me is something sacred, not to.be based merely upon a good time. There are some things in this world that money cannot buy.” The young man flushed hotly. “It’s no more than I deserve, Miss Birdsall, but I’m not the selfish brute I’m painted. I’m lonely, miserably lonely. I have money, a house —not a home—and a vast following of fawning creatures who are pleased to term themselves my friends; it was you, and the tea, I suppose, that made me realize how little I have,” he finished lamely. They were quiet for a moment; the clickety-click of busy typewriters in the office beyond came faintly through the closed door. Young MacDougall sat, chin in hand, looking off into space. Mies Birdsall watched the hurt look upon the strong, handsome features. she thought of the big house, and then it came to her how lonely her own little home would be were it not for the mother always there to welcome her at night and to encourage her when she left in the morning. “I am sorry." i “Don’t,” he begged without turning, ‘Tve been a perfect fool, only I hoped you would understand.” She touched his coat sleeve softly, “I do understand.” (Copyright, 1913, by ths McClurs Newspaper Syndicate.)