THE appearance of Miss Lucy Morgan the next day, as she sat in George's fast cutter, proved so charming that her escort was stricken to soft words instantly, and failed to control a poetic impulse. Her rich little hat was trimmed with black fur; her hair was almost as dark as the fur; a great boa of black fur was about her shoulders; her hands were vanished into a black muff; and George's laprobe was black. "You look like--" he said. "Your face looks like--it looks like a snowflake on a lump of coal. I mean a--a snowflake that would be a rose-leaf, too!"
"Perhaps you'd better look at the reins," she returned. "We almost upset just then."
George declined to heed this advice. "Because there's too much pink in your cheeks for a snowflake," he continued. "What's that fairy story about snow-white and rose-red--"
"We're going pretty fast, Mr. Minafer!"
"Well, you see, I'm only here for two weeks."
"I mean the sleigh!" she explained. "We're not the only people on the street, you know."
"Oh, they'll keep out of the way."
"That's very patrician charioteering, but it seems to me a horse like this needs guidance. I'm sure he's going almost twenty miles an hour."
"That's nothing," said George; but he consented to look forward again. "He can trot under three minutes, all right." He laughed. "I suppose your father thinks he can build a horseless carriage to go that fast!"
"They go that fast already, sometimes."
"Yes," said George; "they do--for about a hundred feet! Then they give a yell and burn up."
Evidently she decided not to defend her father's faith in horseless carriages, for she laughed, and said nothing. The cold air was polka-dotted with snow-flakes, and trembled to the loud, continuous jingling of sleighbells. Boys and girls, all aglow and panting jets of vapour, darted at the passing sleighs to ride on the runners, or sought to rope their sleds to any vehicle whatever, but the fleetest no more than just touched the flying cutter, though a hundred soggy mittens grasped for it, then reeled and whirled till sometimes the wearers of those daring mittens plunged flat in the snow and lay a-sprawl, reflecting. For this was the holiday time, and all the boys and girls in town were out, most of them on National Avenue.
But there came panting and chugging up that flat thoroughfare a thing which some day was to spoil all their sleigh-time merriment--save for the rashest and most disobedient. It was vaguely like a topless surry, but cumbrous with unwholesome excrescences fore and aft, while underneath were spinning leather belts and something that whirred and howled and seemed to stagger. The ride-stealers made no attempt to fasten their sleds to a contrivance so nonsensical and yet so fearsome. Instead, they gave over their sport and concentrated all their energies in their lungs, so that up and down the street the one cry shrilled increasingly: "Git a hoss! Git a hoss! Git a hoss! Mister, why don't you git a hoss?" But the mahout in charge, sitting solitary on the front seat, was unconcerned--he laughed, and now and then ducked a snowball without losing any of his good-nature. It was Mr. Eugene Morgan who exhibited so cheerful a countenance between the forward visor of a deer-stalker cap and the collar of a fuzzy gray ulster. "Git a hoss!" the children shrieked, and gruffer voices joined them. Git a hoss! Git a hoss! Git a hoss!"
George Minafer was correct thus far: the twelve miles an hour of such a machine would never overtake George's trotter. The cutter was already scurrying between the stone pillars at the entrance to Amberson Addition.
"That's my grandfather's," said George, nodding toward the Amberson mansion.
"I ought to know that!" Lucy exclaimed. "We stayed there late enough last night: papa and I were almost the last to go. He and your mother and Miss Fanny Minafer got the musicians to play another waltz when everybody else had gone downstairs and the fiddles were being put away in their cases. Papa danced part of it with Miss Minafer and the rest with your mother. Miss Minafer's your aunt, isn't she?"
"Yes; she lives with us. I tease her a good deal."
"What about?"
"Oh, anything handy--whatever's easy to tease an old maid about."
"Doesn't she mind?"
"She usually has sort of a grouch on me," laughed George. "Nothing much. That's our house just beyond grandfather's." He waved a sealskin gauntlet to indicate the house Major Amberson had built for Isabel as a wedding gift. "It's almost the same as grandfather's, only not as large and hasn't got a regular ballroom. We gave the dance, last night, at grandfather's on account of the ballroom, and because I'm the only grandchild, you know. Of course, some day that'll be my house, though I expect my mother will most likely go on living where she does now, with father and Aunt Fanny. I suppose I'll probably build a country house, too--somewhere East, I guess." He stopped speaking, and frowned as they passed a closed carriage and pair. The body of this comfortable vehicle sagged slightly to one side; the paint was old and seamed with hundreds of minute cracks like little rivers on a black map; the coachman, a fat and elderly darky, seemed to drowse upon the box; but the open window afforded the occupants of the cutter a glimpse of a tired, fine old face, a silly hat, a pearl tie, and an astrachan collar, evidently out to take the air.
"There's your grandfather now," said Lucy. "Isn't it?"
George's frown was not relaxed. "Yes, it is; and he ought to give that rat-trap away and sell those old horses. They're a disgrace, all shaggy--not even clipped. I suppose he doesn't notice it--people get awful funny when they get old; they seem to lose their self-respect, sort of."
"He seemed a real Brummell to me," she said.
"Oh, he keeps up about what he wears, well enough, but--well, look at that!" He pointed to a statue of Minerva, one of the cast-iron sculptures Major Amberson had set up in opening the Addition years before. Minerva was intact, but a blackish streak descended unpleasantly from her forehead to the point of her straight nose, and a few other streaks were sketched in a repellent dinge upon the folds of her drapery.
"That must be from soot," said Lucy. "There are so many houses around here."
"Anyhow, somebody ought to see that these statues are kept clean. My grandfather owns a good many of these houses, I guess, for renting. Of course, he sold most of the lots--there aren't any vacant ones, and there used to be heaps of 'em when I was a boy. Another thing I don't think he ought to allow: a good many of these people bought big lots and they built houses on 'em; then the price of the land kept getting higher, and they'd sell part of their yards and let the people that bought it build houses on it to live in, till they haven't hardly any of 'em got big, open yards any more, and it's getting all too much built up. The way it used to be, it was like a gentleman's country estate, and that's the way my grandfather ought to keep it. He lets these people take too many liberties: they do anything they want to."
"But how could he stop them?" Lucy asked, surely with reason. "If he sold them the land, it's theirs, isn't it?"
George remained serene in the face of this apparently difficult question. "He ought to have all the trades-people boycott the families that sell part of their yards that way. All he'd have to do would be to tell the trades-people they wouldn't get any more orders from the family if they didn't do it."
"From 'the family'? What family?"
"Our family," said George, unperturbed. "The Ambersons."
"I see!" she murmured, and evidently she did see something that he did not, for, as she lifted her muff to her face, he asked:
"What are you laughing at now?"
"Why?"
"You always seem to have some little secret of your own to get happy over!"
"'Always!'" she exclaimed. "What a big word. when we only met last night!"
"That's another case of it," he said, with obvious sincerity. "One of the reasons I don't like you--much!--is you've got that way of seeming quietly superior to everybody else."
"I!" she cried. "I have?"
"Oh, you think you keep it sort of confidential to yourself, but it's plain enough! I don't believe in that kind of thing."
"You don't?"
"No," said George emphatically. "Not with me! I think the world's like this: there's a few people that their birth and position, and so on, puts them at the top, and they ought to treat each other entirely as equals." His voice betrayed a little emotion as he added, "I wouldn't speak like this to everybody."
"You mean you're confiding your deepest creed--or code, whatever it is--to me?"
"Go on, make fun of it, then!" George said bitterly. "You do think you're terribly clever! It makes me tired!"
"Well, as you don't like my seeming 'quietly superior,' after this I'll be noisily superior," she returned cheerfully. "We aim to please!"
"I had a notion before I came for you to-day that we were going to quarrel," he said.
"No, we won't; it takes two!" She laughed and waved her muff toward a new house, not quite completed, standing in a field upon their right. They had passed beyond Amberson Addition, and were leaving the northern fringes of the town for the open country. "Isn't that a beautiful house!" she exclaimed. "Papa and I call it our Beautiful House."
George was not pleased. "Does it belong to you?"
"Of course not! Papa brought me out here the other day, driving in his machine, and we both loved it. It's so spacious and dignified and plain."
"Yes, it's plain enough!" George grunted.
"Yet it's lovely; the gray-green roof and shutters give just enough colour, with the trees, for the long white walls. It seems to me the finest house I've seen in this part of the country."
George was outraged by an enthusiasm so ignorant--not ten minutes ago they had passed the Amberson Mansion. "Is that a sample of your taste in architecture?" he asked.
"Yes. Why?"
"Because it strikes me you better go somewhere and study the subject a little!"
Lucy looked puzzled. "What makes you have so much feeling about it? Have I offended you?"
