Laughing Last — Themes and Context

Sidney had certainly started something! The very atmosphere of the familiar room in which they were assembled seemed charged with strange currents. Never had any family council taken such a tone. Sidney thrilled to the knowledge that she was now a vital part of it. Her eyes, so recently wet, brightened and her cheeks flushed. So interested was she in what Issy would answer to Vick that she ignored the opening Vick had made for her.

But it was Trude who answered Vicky--Trude, the peaceful.

"Come! Come! First thing we know we'll actually be feeling sorry for ourselves! I sometimes get awfully tired living up to Dad's greatness, but I don't think that's being disrespectful to his memory. I don't suppose there are any girls, even rich ones, who don't sigh for something they haven't. But just to stiffen our spines let's sum up our assets. We're not quite as poor as church mice; we have this old house that isn't half bad, even if the roof does leak, and the government bonds and the royalties and living the way we had to live with Dad taught us to have fun among ourselves which is something! We're not dependent upon outsiders for _that_. You, Issy, have your personality which will get you anywhere you want to go. And Vick's better dressed on nothing than any girl in Middletown. We older girls do have a little more than Sid, so I vote she has the Egg this time all to herself to do exactly as she pleases with it--go 'round the world in search of adventure or any old thing. How's that, family?"

The tension that had held the little circle broke under Trude's practical cheeriness. Isolde smiled. Vick liked being told she looked well-dressed, she worked hard enough to merit that distinction. Sid had the promise of the Egg, which, be it known, was the royalty accruing each year from a collection of whimsical verse entitled "Goosefeathers" and which these absurd daughters of a great but improvident man set aside from the other royalties to be spent prodigally by each in turn.

"I'm quite willing," Isolde conceded. "I was going to suggest that we agree to use it this time to fix the roof where it leaks but if Sid's heart is set on it--"

"It would have been my turn--that is not counting Sid," Vick reminded them, "and I'd have used it having that fur coat Godmother Jocelyn sent me made over. But let the roof leak and the coat go--little Sid must have her fling! I hope you're happy now, kid. What will you really do with all that money?"

At no time had Sidney definitely considered such a question. Her point won she found herself embarrassed by victory. She evaded a direct answer.

"Oh--ho, mysterious! Well, there won't be so much that you'll hurt yourself in your youthful extravagance. Now that this momentous _affaire de famille_ is settled, what are you girls going to do this morning?"

"As soon as these dishes are out of the way I'm going to trim that vine on the front wall. It's disgustingly scraggly."

"Oh, Trude--you _can't_! You forget--_it's Saturday_!"

Trude groaned. Vicky laughed naughtily. Saturday--that was the day of the week which the Middletown Branch of the League of American Poets kept for the privilege of taking visitors to the home of Joseph Romley, the poet. In a little while they would begin to come, in twos and threes and larger groups. First they'd stand outside and look at the old house from every angle. They would say to the strangers who were visiting the shrine for the first time: "No, the house wasn't in his family but Joseph Romley made it peculiarly his; it's as though his ancestors had lived there for generations--nothing has been changed--that west room with the bay window was his study--yes, his desk is there and his pencils and pens--just as he left them--even his old house jacket--of course we can go in--our League paid off the mortgage as a memorial and we have Saturday as a visiting day--there are four girls, most interesting types, but Isolde, the oldest, is the only one of them who is at all like the great poet--"