In Our Neighborhood
by
The Harts were going to give a party. Neither Mrs. Hart, nor the Misses Hart, nor the small and busy Harts who amused themselves and the neighborhood by continually falling in the gutter on special occasions, had mentioned this fact to anyone, but all the interested denizens of that particular square could tell by the unusual air of bustle and activity which pervaded the Hart domicile. Lillian, the aesthetic, who furnished theme for many spirited discussions, leaned airily out of the window; her auburn (red) tresses carefully done in curl papers. Martha, the practical, flourished the broom and duster with unwonted activity, which the small boys of the neighborhood, peering through the green shutters of the front door, duly reported to their mammas, busily engaged in holding down their respective door-steps by patiently sitting thereon.
Pretty soon, the junior Harts,–two in number–began to travel to and fro, soliciting the loan of a “few chairs,” “some nice dishes,” and such like things, indispensable to every decent, self-respecting party. But to all inquiries as to the use to which these articles were to be put, they only vouchsafed one reply, “Ma told us as we wasn’t to tell, just ask for the things, that’s all.”
Mrs. Tuckley the dress-maker, brought her sewing out on the front-steps, and entered a vigorous protest to her next-door neighbor.
“Humph,” she sniffed, “mighty funny they can’t say what’s up. Must be something in it. Couldn’t get none o’ my things, and not invite me!”
“Did she ask you for any?” absent-mindedly inquired Mrs. Luke, shielding her eyes from the sun.
“No-o–, but she’d better sense, she knows me–she ain’t–mercy me, Stella! Just look at that child tumbling in the mud! You, Stella, come here, I say! Look at you now, there–and there–and there?”
The luckless Stella having been soundly cuffed, and sent whimpering in the back-yard, Mrs. Tuckley continued,
“Yes as I was saying, ‘course, taint none o’ my business, but I always did wonder how them Harts do keep up. Why, them girls dress just as fine as any lady on the Avenue and that there Lillian wears real diamond ear-rings. ‘Pears mighty, mighty funny to me, and Lord the airs they do put on! Holdin’ up their heads like nobody’s good enough to speak to. I don’t like to talk about people, you know, yourself, Mrs. Luke I never speak about anybody, but mark my word, girls that cut up capers like them Hartses’ girls never come to any good.”
Mrs. Luke heaved a deep sigh of appreciation at the wisdom of her neighbor, but before she could reply a re-inforcement in the person of little Mrs. Peters, apron over her head, hands shrivelled and soap-sudsy from washing, appeared.
“Did you ever see the like?” she asked in her usual, rapid breathless way. “Why, my Louis says they’re putting canvass cloths on the floor, and taking down the bed in the back-room; and putting greenery and such like trash about. Some style about them, eh?”
Mrs. Tuckley tossed her head and sniffed contemptuously, Mrs. Luke began to rehearse a time worn tale, how once a carriage had driven up to the Hart house at nine o’clock at night, and a distinguished looking man alighted, went in, stayed about ten minutes and finally drove off with a great clatter. Heads that had shaken ominously over this story before began to shake again, and tongues that had wagged themselves tired with conjectures started now with some brand new ideas and theories. The children of the square, tired of fishing for minnows in the ditches, and making mud-pies in the street, clustered about their mother’s skirts receiving occasional slaps, when their attempts at taking part in the conversation became too pronounced.
Meanwhile, in the Hart household, all was bustle and preparation. To and fro the members of the house flitted, arranging chairs, putting little touches here and there, washing saucers and glasses, chasing the Hart Juniors about, losing things and calling frantically for each other’s assistance to find them. Mama Hart, big, plump and perspiring, puffed here and there like a large, rosy engine, giving impossible orders, and receiving sharp answers to foolish questions. Lillian, the aesthetic, practiced her most graceful poses before the large mirror in the parlor; Martha rushed about, changing the order of the furniture, and Papa Hart, just come in from work, paced the rooms disconsolately, asking for dinner.