Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 241, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 October 1915 — PERRYDILL PICKLES [ARTICLE]

PERRYDILL PICKLES

By JEAN DICKERSON.

The very day that the Masters opened thetr country house for the season found a large motor van turning In at the gates of the next estate, the Willows. Dorothy Masters from her couch hammock on the western terrace caught a glimpse through the trees of the big van as It flashed up the avenue door. “FenrydiL's Pickles!” she groaned, in despair, and then, turning to her amiable little mother, who was reading near by, Dorothy went on: “Mother, dear, Perrydlll’s Pickles have arrived." “No!"' denied Mrs. Masters, in astonishment. -i~r “I shall never forgive Major Blum for selling the Willows to such impossible people," pursued Mrs. Masters, folding her plump hands on her book. “Why, they say, Dolly, that Mrs. Perrydill actually began the business by making pickles in her own kitchen, and it became so profitable that her husband gave up his position, whatever it was, and helped her. Now they, have two immense factories and a number of small ones here and there!" “Fancy!" commented Dolly, wrinkling her pretty nose. “You can imagine what they will do to the Willows," complained Mrs. Masters, as if it really mattered to her, anyway; “paint the house red or green—have iron dogs and deer on the lawn and drive a big red car.” Dorothy laughed. “Don’t worry, mother; perhaps they have exquisite taste, after all —only, somehow, I seem to smell vinegar and pickles every time their name is mentioned. I wonder if there is a family?" “A girl, I believe—and your father said there was a very clever son who carried off all honors at college.” “Perhaps Bob knows him." “Hardly. I hope that Bob wont tell in love with the girl.” Dorothy laughed again. “Don’t borrow trouble, mother. It may be that the girl won’t look at Brother Bob.” Mrs. Masters bristled. “She is more than likely to notice him, Dolly, • she said, in an offended tone. “Your brother is very handsome and an extremely fascinating young man.” “Poor .Miss Perry dill Pickles!" mocked Dorothy. "I beg your pardon!” said a cool little voice. • Mrs Masters and her daughter jumped visibly. Below them on the shaded path stood a young girl of striking beauty, albeit her hair was a rich red and a few golden freckles powdered her ap-ple-blossom complexion. She wore a simple dress of white linen and she carried a white parasol. “I beg your pardon,” she repeated, composedly, “but I am wondering if you will be so kind as to let me use your telephone? They have not connected ours and it is very important that I should talk to New York at once.” Mrs. Masters was all cordiality at once. “Of course," she cried, rising and leading the way into the house. “Pray make use of it at your pleasure until your own has been installed. Moving is such a bore, isn’t it?” "I think it’s rather fun.” said the girl, furling her parasol and shooting an odd glance at Dorothy’s splendid young figure. “Oh, do you? Just fancy! I'm sure you are Miss Perrydill from the Willows. Yes? Let me introduce you to my daughter Dorothy—l hope we shall see a great deal of each other this summer.” Dorothy added a pretty speech to her mother’s, but Lina Perrydill only nodded and said that they went out very little —were perfect hermits, in fact. After that she went into the house with Mrs. Masters, and when she left it was by another door, so that Dorothy did not see her again that afternoon. Mrs. Masters came back to the terrace. “Well?" she asked Dorothy. “Pretty aB a picture," said Dorothy, generously. “Poor Bobby!” “Bob hates red hair," said Bob's mother. “She looks like a little spitfire.” “Bob likes that kind.” Insinuated Dorothy. "I asked her about the family—there's the mother, who has retired from the business —the father, who is head over heels in his pickle vats, I should judge from what she said — and a brother, whom she mentioned casually. We must call as soon as they are settled.” “You vowed you wouldn’t, Mother Masters!” “There is no harm in one call —If they are impossible—why, the acquaintance can die out.” *—■ ' “We sound dreadfully snobbish, mother, ’ laughed Dorothy,,, suddenly. "Were only mustard, you know! Masters’ Monarch Mustard.” Mrs. Masters winced. “That was In your grandfather’s time, my dear. Your father has not been actively connected with mustard for many years, and i doubt if people ever remember how all our money was made.” . “You don’t dejPPise the source of your money, mother?” asked Dorothy, quickly. ' • “No —but I did grow dreadfully tired es seeing the advertisements and hear-

tng the tiresome Jokes about Maaterti Mustard." “I suppose the Perrydllls feel the same way about their awful pickles,” said Dorothy. Then she edded, “Here comes Bob.” Bob Masters sauntered up the path and mounted the terrace to sink into an extension chair. His straw hat spun dizzily from his fingers to the grass. “It’s hot on the water,” he remarked. “Did you ever meet young Perrydill Pickle?” asked Dorothy. Bob stared and then uttered a loud laugh. “Is that what you call him, sis? We called him ‘Dill Pickle’— never minded it at all —fine, good-na-tured chap—awful grind, though.” “They say he carried off the honors of his class,” said Mrs. Masters. "They speak truly. He carried off the honors, all right—away from me and the rest of the fellows. I didn’t have a look-in on honors —old Dill carried away the whole bunch.” “Then It is quite—possible?" asked Mrs. Masters, with relief in her tones, for the Perrydllls were vastly rich and nowadays money did cover a multitude of sins. Bob roared. “Possible? Old Dill Pickle? Mother, dear, wait till you see him!” “I was afraid so,” murmured Mrs. Masters, as she followed Dorothy Into the house. The next afternoon Dorothy Masters was walking through the pine wood back of the orchard. When she reached & favorite spot she gathered an armful of pine needles and put them in the Inviting seat formed by five trees springing from a common root. The great trunks were wedged tightly together and formed a curious and natural resting place. Dorothy sat down In the seat, crossed her ankles, leaned back and surveyed the snowy tips of her little shoes. In her lap was a book and in the back of her head was a lazy idea that she would like to meet the impossible son of the Perrydllls—it must be rather stimulating to meet someone who wasn’t cut out by the regular college youth paper pattern. So she thought, and the thoughts ran Into dreams, half-waking, and Dorothy’s black eyelashes swept her pink-tinted cheeks and she almost slept. When she heard voices she did not trouble to lift her sleepy lids — the speakers would pass behind the trees and never glimpse her hiding place. Besides that, no one but servants would be wandering about the pine wood at this hour. There was a rich smell of tobacco smoke —Papa Masters had forbidden James to touch his cigars, but the footman was daily tempted thereto. Footsteps paused and somebody spoke. It was the crisp voice of Miss Perrydill. “What a charming pose, Roy! Isn’t she a perfect dear?” Another voice—such a voice—Dorothy had heard John Drew and Henry Miller In matinee love scenes, and the voice of the speaker was much more deep and tender than any of these. But the words he uttered! “So this is Miss Masters’ Monarch Mustard!” said the voice, musingly. “Roy Perrydill!” chided his sister. “If she were not asleep she would bear you.” “As a matter of fact, my dear Lina, the young lady is not asleep at all; she is listening to our compliments.” Dorothy’s eyes flew wide open with indignation. “I am sound asleep!” she contended, bravely. “I haven’t heard a thing you said —except about the mustard.” Both the Perrydllls laughed and were Instantly sobered as they real Ized that Miss Masters was deeply offended if not hurt. Her pretty hands, gay with Jewels, were before her lovely eyes and her shapely shoulders shook convulsively. Lina Perrydill dropped down on her knees beside the woe-begone figure in the tree chair while her handsome brother growled at his own witless remarks. “Dear, don’t cry,” soothed Lina, putting a slender hand under Dorothy’s chin. “We were only in fun and I really believed you were asleep. As for Roy, here —be is incorrigible. Roy, you must beg Miss Masters’ pardon.” “With pleasure,” he was beginning, contritely, when Dorothy’s hands came down and clung tightly to Lina Perrydill’s. But Dorothy was not crying; she was flushed with laughter, and her eyes sparkled merrily. With one graceful movement she was on her feet and shaking hands with Mr. Roy Perrydill. “It was the ‘Monarch Mustard’ that made me laugh,” she said, with engaging frankness. “I’ve been calling you the Perrydill Pickles and it is a revelation to me to learn that people still connect us with Masters’ Mustard — we’ve been so snobbish about it, too!” They all laughed then, and the three found each other so agreeable that when Bob Masters intruded upon their merry chat he could not believe that they had never met before. So together the four young people went down to the Masters house for a cup of tea and a game of tennis. Mrs. Masters, watching them from the terrace, smiled contentedly. “I wonder why they call him ‘impossible,’” she murmured. ‘lt must be a joke, for he is wonderful —wonderful! If I were a girl I would fall in love with him myself. I do hope—” What she hoped was not voiced. Nevertheless, one day it all came true in the shape of a doable wedding, and everybody was so happy that it didn t matter at all that the wags remarked that the onion of Masters’ Monarch Mustard and Perrydill’s Pickles was highly appropriate. (Copyright, 1916. by the McClure Newspw per Syndicate.)