Chapter 05 - Supporting Facility and Process Flows

Service Management Operations

Strategy Information Technology 8th
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Chapter 05 - Supporting Facility and Process Flows

CHAPTER 5
SUPPORTING FACILITY AND PROCESS FLOWS

TEACHING NOTE
The environment of the service facility is referred to as a servicescape that influences the behavior of
both customers and employees. The design of the facility needs to consider several issues including
nature of the organization, land availability, security, flexibility, and the neighborhood community.
Being able to draw a process flow diagram is central to an understanding of service performance as
measured by metrics such as throughput time. A distinction is made between a flow- and a job-shop
process layout. The work allocation problem is shown as an opportunity to increase capacity in a product
layout without a need to add personnel. The relative location problem is treated as a central issue in the
design of a job-shop process layout. We have found that students enjoy applying the simple graphical
techniques for work allocation and relative location problems, because good solutions require some
imagination on their part.

SUPPLEMENTARY MATERIALS
Case: Shouldice Hospital Limited (HBS case 683-068)
A hospital located in a Canadian suburb of Toronto provides the limited service of repairing inguinal
hernias using a unique surgical technique developed by Dr. Earle Shouldice. The surgery, which is
accompanied by an active recovery regimen at the resort-like facility, has proved very successful.

Case: Transforming Singapore’s Public Libraries (HBS case 9-802-009)

A reengineering effort has transformed Singapore’s public libraries to create a new experience for
visitors to facilitate learning, exploring, and discovering in support of the national aim of becoming a
“learning nation.” The success of the effort is quantifiable in terms of low capital cost, a modest increase
in operating budget, a doubling of membership, and dramatically improved service standards (e.g.
waiting lines, material availability, ease of access, and librarian help).

LECTURE OUTLINE
1. Environmental Psychology and Orientation

2. Servicescapes (Figure 5.1)

Behaviors in Servicescapes (Figure 5.2)

Environmental Dimensions of Servicescapes

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Chapter 05 - Supporting Facility and Process Flows

3. Facility Design

Nature and Objectives of Organizations

Land Availability and Space Requirements

Flexibility

Security

Aesthetic Factors

The Community and the Environment

4. Process Analysis

Types of Processes (Table 5.1)

Flowcharting (Figure 5.3 and Figure 5.4)

Gantt chart (Figure 5.5)

Process Terminology

5. Facility Layout

Flow Process Layout and the Work Allocation Problem (Table 5.2, Figs. 5.6, 5.7)

Job Shop Process Layout and the Relative Location Problem (Table 5.3, Figs. 5.8, 5.9, 5.10)

TOPICS FOR DISCUSSION

1. Compare the attention to aesthetics in waiting rooms that you have visited. How did the different
environments affect your mood?

[This response was submitted by student Roger Bhalla]

Waiting rooms tend to fall into two broad categories: ones that were designed specifically with the
customer in mind and those that were installed solely out of necessity or as an afterthought. In fact some
waiting rooms might be designed to keep people from wanting to wait in them! In every case, however,
the aesthetics of the waiting area do affect the customer's mood.

Some service providers do as much as possible to make the customers "feel at home" while they
wait. Two examples of this situation that I have had were in professional offices. My dentist's office is
designed with soft-colored wood paneling, green plants and pictures of peaceful settings that help the
patient to relax. The dentist sees patients in an area far removed from the reception area to minimize the
possibility of waiting patients hearing disturbing sounds.

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Chapter 05 - Supporting Facility and Process Flows

The second example is an office for a corporation of psychologists where I worked as a

consultant. The waiting room is separated from the receptionist/sign-in area so that new patients are not
overwhelmed immediately when several patients are already waiting. Pastel paper covers the walls and
the chairs are very comfortable. The walls of another waiting area are covered with cartoons and the
place is equipped with toys and child-sized furniture so children can enjoy an appropriate environment.
Clearly, the goal of these practitioners is to minimize anxiety as much as possible, which is particularly
laudable given the fragile mental state of many of their patients.

On the other hand, I have had the oil in my automobile changed at two businesses that were not
oriented toward the comfort of customers; a condition that I think might be intentional. At Kmart, four
rigid plastic chairs are located behind a rail at the side of the service bays. The area is loud, dirty, and
very unpleasant. In fact, the surroundings make you want to go into the store where it is cool and
relatively quiet ... and where you can browse. This fact surely is not lost on the store managers. My
other experience was at Qwick Lube which had three hard plastic chairs located in front of the store just
20 feet from the road. Qwick Lube's goal is to do the oil change within 15 minutes so perhaps the
comfort of customers who wait such a short time is not important to the company. Perhaps management
thinks the lack of a comfortable waiting space projects the appearance of a speedy operation.

2. From a customer perspective, give an example of a servicescape that supports the service concept
and an example that detracts from the service concept. Explain the success and failure in terms of the
servicescape dimensions.

[This response was contributed by student Mads G. Damstrup.]

The airport in Copenhagen, Denmark, is laid out in a hub and spoke fashion that effectively groups
services in much the same way that Shouldice Hospital in Toronto is able to do by grouping its operating
theaters. The physical arrangement at Copenhagen Airport minimizes the distance that passengers will
have to traverse between the various "fingers" and "ports." This factor is especially important for an
airport that serves as a major hub for domestic flights and many international flights. The use of moving
sidewalks minimizes the time and difficulty of moving around the facility. Copenhagen Airport's hub-
and-spoke design allows all of the main services, such as information desks and the duty free shopping
area, to be located centrally and in conveniently-accessible areas. The airport is designed with high
ceilings and large windows that allow for natural light and a view of the airport operations.

It is somewhat difficult to find examples of services where the servicescape is a failure because
these services have an uncanny habit of disappearing! However, the best examples I can describe to
illustrate failures are some of the old hospitals in Denmark. They tend to have long dark hallways
connecting wings of the building and that were added incrementally as needs arose and finances
permitted. Consequently, the distances from patients’ rooms to the central units, such as x-ray rooms
and laboratories, increased with each new addition. Currently, several hospitals in this situation have
been closed, razed, and replaced with new facilities that are brighter inside with windows overlooking
trees and gardens.

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Chapter 05 - Supporting Facility and Process Flows

3. Select a service and discuss how the design and layout of the facility meet the five factors of nature
and objectives of the organization, land availability and space requirements, flexibility, aesthetics, and
the community and environment.

[This response was contributed by student Ronald Anderson.]

A visitor to Caesar's Palace in Las Vegas, Nevada, can see that every aspect of service design has been
exploited. Caesar's objective is to attract customers to its casino and shops, to entertain them, to keep
them there so that they leave as much of their money as possible, and finally return when they have
refilled their pockets. The Caesar's complex has been designed to fill that mission.

The exterior appearance is very inviting. The building has several entrances and moving
sidewalks that transport customers inside as if they were parts on an assembly line. Customers are
welcomed in several languages. A sign posts the day's winning up-to-the-second. Inside, the casino is
laid out radially with a bar in the middle to minimize the distance between the bar and all of the gambling
areas. Aisles form spokes out from the bar and they are lined with slot machines, game tables, and game
machines. No space is wasted. Machines have buttons that allow customers to call for (more) change
and bar-service without interrupting their gambling activities. Magnetic card readers that are mounted
on the machines can track the number of games played by frequent guests and award them gift credits.
Change booths that can handle special tasks, such as cashing travelers' checks, and restaurants are located
around the perimeter.

Careful attention also has been given to managing the departure of guests. First, leaving the
premises is very inconvenient. The massive complex has only one nonemergency exit and most
customers must traverse the entire casino to reach it. The doors are heavily tinted so that outside lights
do not catch the attention of the people inside and lure them out. Outside, an attendant has a cab ready
for the departing visitor as if to suggest that he or she doesn't need to go anywhere else on the strip.

Caesar's is located on prime property in the center of the strip. Because available land on the
strip is scarce, most of the establishment's expansion has been upward and it still has room for more
development and flexibility. Changes in the attitudes of customers have reduced the demand for
gambling, so Caesar's has added an upscale shopping mall to its complex. The stores, as well as the
casino, are open 24 hours each day.

The aesthetic environment has received much attention. The decorative theme of the casino was
developed to make the customer feel like Roman royalty. Statues are positioned around the facility, live
models pose in Roman garb, the red carpets are plush, and the high ceilings produce an illusion of an
outdoor setting.

4. For Example 5.3, the Ocean World theme park, make an argument for not locating popular
attractions next to each other.

Ocean World deliberately avoids locating popular attractions next to each other in order to create a queue
of customers walking between the exhibits. This avoids much congestion by dispersing the visitors
around the whole park. Furthermore, the more area the visitors must cover in order to see

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random and unrelated content:
expected to see the long forefinger of the portrait’s right hand point
directly at her.
It was a brief letter that Aunt Nan had written; and it explained why she
had left her library of precious books to this grandniece Mary whom she
had never seen.
Mary Corliss (it began): I shan’t call you dear Mary because I
don’t know whether you are dear or not. You may be if you like
the sort of things I always liked. And in that case I shall be glad
you have them for your own, when I can no longer enjoy them. I
mean the things in this room, which I have given all to you,
because there is no one else whom I can bear to think of as
handling them. I heard your father say once that he hated poetry.
That was enough for me! I never wanted to see him again. He can
have my house, but not my precious books. Well, I read in the
paper which your mother sent me that you had won a prize at
school for a composition about William Shakespeare, the greatest
poet who ever lived. You have begun well! If you go on, as I did,
you will care as I have cared about everything he wrote. So you
shall have my library and get what you can out of it. Be kind to
the books I have loved. Love them, if you can, for their own sake.
Your Great-Aunt,
N C .
“What a queer letter!” said John. “So it was your composition that did it.
My! Aren’t you lucky, Mary!”
“I do like Shakespeare already,” said Mary, glancing first at Aunt Nan’s
portrait, then at the bust of the poet below it. “And I guess I am going to
like Aunt Nan.” She smiled up at the portrait, which she now thought
seemed to smile back at her. “I must go and tell Father about it,” she said
eagerly, running out of the room; and presently she came back, dragging
him by the hand.
“Well, Mary!” said Dr. Corliss. “So it was your Shakespeare essay that
won you the library! I remember how fond Aunt Nan used to be of the
Poet. She was always quoting from him. I am glad you like poetry, my
dear; though for myself I never could understand it. This is, indeed, a
real poetry library. I am glad she gave it to you instead of to me, Mary.
There are any number of editions of Shakespeare here, I have noticed,
and a lot of books about him, too. I suppose she would have liked you to
read every one.”
“I mean to,” said Mary firmly. “I want to; and I am going to begin with
this one, ‘Shakespeare the Boy.’ I feel as if that was what she meant me
to do.”
As she said this Mary began to turn over the leaves of the book in which
she had found the note from Aunt Nan. “The story sounds very nice,”
she said.
Just then something fell from between the leaves and fluttered to the
floor. Her father stooped to pick it up.
“Aunt Nan’s bookmark,” he said. “It would be nice to keep her marks
when you can, Mary. Why!” he exclaimed suddenly, staring at what he
held in his fingers. It was long and yellow, and printed on both sides.
“Mary!” he cried, “did you ever see one of these before? I have never
seen many of them myself, more’s the pity!” And he handed the
“bookmark” to his daughter.
It was a hundred-dollar bill.
“Papa!” gasped Mary, “whose is it?”
“It is yours, Mary, just as much as the watch and chain were; just as
much as the library is,” said her father. “Everything in the room was to
be yours; Aunt Nan said so in her will. This is certainly a part of your
legacy. I wonder if Aunt Nan forgot it or put it there on purpose, as
another of her little jokes?”
“I think she put it there on purpose,” said John. “My! But she was a
queer old lady!”
“I think she was a very nice old lady,” said Mary. “Now I must go and
tell Katy Summers about it.”
 CHAPTER V
INSTRUCTIONS
WITH the hundred dollars which she had found in the book Mary started
an account in the Crowfield Savings Bank, under her own name. She was
very proud of her little blue bank-book, and she hoped that some time, in
some unexpected way, she would save enough money to go to college, as
John was to do.
But the outlook was rather hopeless. The Corliss family were far from
well off. Even in Crowfield, where expenses were low, they had a hard
time to live on the small income from what Dr. Corliss had managed to
save while he was Professor of Philosophy in the city college. Dr. Corliss
was writing a book which he hoped would some day make his fortune.
But the book would not be finished for many a day. Meanwhile, though
there was very little money coming in, it was steadily going out; as
money has a way of doing.
The best thing the family could do at present was to save as much as
possible by going without servants and dainties and fine clothes—just as
people have to do in war-time; and by doing things themselves, instead
of having things done for them. Mrs. Corliss was a clever manager. She
had learned how to cook and sew and do all kinds of things with her deft
fingers; and Mary was a good assistant and pupil, while John did
everything that a little boy could do to help. He ran errands and built the
fires, and even set the table and helped wipe the dishes when his mother
and sister were busy.
The neighbors were very friendly, and there were so many pleasant new
things in Crowfield that the family did not miss the pleasures they used
to enjoy in the city, nor the pretty clothes and luxuries which were now
out of the question. And Mary did not spend much time worrying about
college. There would be time enough for that.
After the finding of that hundred-dollar bill, Mary and John spent a great
deal of time in opening and shutting the leaves of books in the library,
hoping that they would come upon other bookmarks as valuable as that
first one. But whether Aunt Nan had left the bill there by mistake, as Dr.
Corliss imagined, or whether she had put it there on purpose, as Mary
liked to think, apparently the old lady had not repeated herself. The only
foreign things they found in the musty old volumes were bits of pressed
flowers and ferns, and now and then a flattened bug which had been
crushed in its pursuit of knowledge.
John soon grew tired of this fruitless search. But Mary came upon so
many interesting things in the books themselves that she often forgot
what she was looking for. Many of the books had queer, old-fashioned
pictures; some had names and dates of long ago written on the fly-leaf.
In many Mary found that Aunt Nan had scrawled notes and comments—
sometimes amusing and witty; sometimes very hard to understand.
Mary loved her library. She had never before had a corner all to herself,
except her tiny bedroom. And to feel that this spacious room, with
everything in it, was all hers, in which to do just as she pleased, was a
very pleasant thing.
“Where’s Mary?” asked Katy Summers one afternoon, running into the
Corliss house without knocking, as she had earned the right to do.
“I think she is in the library,” said Mrs. Corliss, who was busy sewing in
the living-room. “That is a pretty likely place in which to look nowadays,
when she isn’t anywhere else!”
“Shall I go there to find her?” asked Katy.
“Yes, Dear; go right in,” said Mrs. Corliss. “She will be glad to see you, I
am sure.”
The door of the library was hospitably open. And Katy Summers,
creeping up on tiptoe and peeping in softly, saw Mary with her thumb
between the leaves of a book, kneeling before one of the bookshelves.
“I spy!” cried Katy. “What’s the old Bookworm up to now? Or perhaps I
ought to say, considering your position, what’s she down to now?”
Mary jumped hastily to her feet. “Hello, Katy,” she said cordially. “I was
just looking up something. Say, Katy, do you know what fun it is to look
up quotations?”
“No,” said Katy, laughing. “I don’t see any fun in that. No more fun than
looking up things in a dictionary.”
“Well, it is fun,” returned Mary. “I think I must be something like Aunt
Nan. She loved quotations. Just look at this row of ‘Gems from the
Poets.’ They’re full of quotations, Katy. I’m going to read them all, some
time.”
“Goodness!” cried Katy. “What an idea! I think poetry is stupid stuff,
sing-song and silly.”
“So Daddy thinks,” said Mary. “But it isn’t, really. It is full of the most
interesting stories and legends and beautiful things. This library bores
Daddy almost to death, because all the books on these two walls are
poetry. I believe that Aunt Nan had the works of every old poet who ever
wrote in the English language. And see, these are the lives of the poets.”
She pointed to the shelves in one corner.
“Huh!” grunted Katy. “Well, what of it?”
“Well, you see,” said Mary, looking up at Aunt Nan’s portrait, “the more
I stay in this library, the more I like Aunt Nan’s books, and the more I
want to please Aunt Nan herself. I like her, Katy.”
“I don’t!” said Katy, eyeing the portrait sideways. “You never had her for
a neighbor, you see.”
“She never did anything to you, did she?” asked Mary.
“No-o,” drawled Katy reluctantly. “She never did anything either good or
bad to me. But—she was awfully queer!”
“Of course she was,” agreed Mary. “But that isn’t the worst thing in the
world, to be queer. And she was awfully kind to me.— Say, Katy, don’t
you like Shakespeare?”
“Not very well,” confessed Katy.
“Well, I do,” Mary asserted. “I haven’t read much of him, but I’m going
to. Every time I look at that head of Shakespeare on the mantelpiece, I
remember that it was my composition about Shakespeare that was at the
bottom of almost everything nice that has happened in Crowfield. Why,
if it hadn’t been for him, perhaps we shouldn’t have come to live here at
all, and then I shouldn’t ever have known you, Katy Summers!”
“Gracious!” exclaimed Katy. “Wouldn’t that have been awful? Yes, I
believe I do like him a little, since he did that. I wrote a composition
about him once, too. It didn’t bring anything good in my direction. But
then, it wasn’t a very good composition. I only got a C with it.”
“Well,” said Mary, “I feel as if I owe him something, and Aunt Nan
something. And sooner or later I’m going to read everything he ever
wrote.”
“Goodness!” said Katy. “Then you’ll never have time to read anything
else, I guess. Look!”— She pointed around the walls. “Why, there are
hundreds of Shakespeares. Hundreds and hundreds!”
“They are mostly different editions of the same thing,” said Mary wisely.
“I shan’t have to read every edition. There aren’t so very many books by
him, really. Not more than thirty, I think. I’ve been looking at this little
red set that’s so easy to handle and has such nice notes. I like the queer
spelling. I’m going to read ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream’ first. I think
that’s what Aunt Nan meant.”
“What do you mean by ‘what Aunt Nan meant’?” asked Katy curiously.
“Has she written you another letter?” Mary had told her about the will.
“No, not exactly,” confessed Mary. “But see what I found just now when
I finished reading ‘Shakespeare the Boy,’—the book that was lying on
her desk with that first note she wrote me.” And she opened the volume
which she held in her hand at the last page. Below the word “Finis” were
penned in a delicate, old-fashioned writing these words:—
Mem. Read in this order, with notes.
1. Midsummer Night’s Dream.
2. Julius Cæsar.
3. Twelfth Night.
4. Tempest.
5. As You Like It.
6. Merchant of Venice.
7. Hamlet, etc.
“Pooh!” cried Katy. “I don’t believe she meant that for you, at all! She
was just talking to herself. Let’s see if there was anything written at the
end of ‘Master Skylark.’ Didn’t you say that was lying on her desk,
too?”
They ran to get this other child’s book, which, queerly enough, had also
been left lying on the desk, as if Aunt Nan had just been reading both.
And there, too, at the end was written exactly the same list, with the
same instructions.
“That settles it!” exclaimed Mary. “She did mean me to see that list, so
she left it in both those children’s books, which she thought I would be
sure to read first. I am going to read Shakespeare’s plays in just the order
she wished. I’m going to read my very own books in my very own
library. I’m going to begin this very afternoon!” Mary was quite excited.
“Oh, no! Please not this afternoon!” begged Katy. “I want you to come
with me while I do an errand at the express office in Ashley. It is a three-
mile walk. I don’t want to go alone. Please, Mary!”
“Oh, bother!” Mary was about to say; for she wanted to begin her
reading. But she thought better of it. Katy had been so kind to her. And,
after all, it was a beautiful afternoon, and the walk would be very
pleasant down a new road which she had never traveled. She laid down
the book reluctantly.
“Well,” she said. “I can read my books any time, I suppose. Isn’t it nice
to think of that? Yes—I’ll go with you, Katy. It will be fun. Just wait till I
get my hat, and tell Mother.”
“You’re a dear!” burst out Katy, hugging her.
“If I go with you this time, Katy, you’ll have to read Shakespeare with
me another time,” bargained Mary with good-natured guile.
“All right,” said Katy. “Sometime, when it is not so nice and crisp and
walky out of doors, as it is to-day.”
And off the two girls started, with comradely arms about one another’s
shoulders.
 CHAPTER VI
THE LANTERN
MARY had no chance to begin reading her Shakespeare until the
following day. But just as soon as she had finished her French and
algebra home lessons, she laid aside those books and seized the list
which Aunt Nan had made for her.
“‘Mem. Read in this order—Midsummer Night’s Dream.’ That sounds
good for a beginning,” she said to herself. “I just love the name of it. I
wonder what it’s about?” Running to the bookshelves on the left side of
the fireplace, where one whole section was devoted to the works of
William Shakespeare, Mary began fumbling among the little red books.
“Here is ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’!” said she, settling herself in the
big leather armchair to read. “Why, it’s full of fairies and private
theatricals! I know it is going to be nice!”
Mary read for some time and found that she liked the play even better
than she had expected. She always liked to read about fairies, of whom,
indeed, the book was full. And the scene of the play-acting was very
funny, she thought, especially where Bottom wanted to play all the parts
himself.
Presently she came to a place in the text where a line was heavily
underscored. It was where Moon says, “This lantern is my lantern.” “I
wonder why Aunt Nan marked that line?” thought Mary. She turned to
see if there was anything about a lantern in the notes. And there she
found this remark in the writing which she had come to recognize as
Aunt Nan’s: “See lantern on mantelshelf. C !”
“That is a funny note!” thought Mary. “What mantelshelf? There isn’t
any in the play. Can she mean—why, yes! There’s a lantern over there on
my mantelshelf!”
Sure enough! Mary had not noticed it especially until this minute. But
there, not far from the bust of Shakespeare, was a queer old tin lantern,
pierced with holes for a candle to shine through—the very kind that
Moon must have used in the play, in Shakespeare’s day.
Mary dropped the book and went over to the lantern, with a pleasant
sense of possession. Everything in the room was hers. This would be just
the thing to play Pyramus and Thisbe with! She took up the old lantern
and examined it curiously. In the socket was the stub of a candle. “I
wonder who lighted it last?” thought Mary idly. She tried to pull out the
candle, but it stuck. She pulled harder, and presently—out it came! There
was something in the socket below—something that rattled. Mary shook
the lantern and out fell a tiny key; a gilt key with a green silk string tied
to the top. That was all.
“What a funny place for a key!” thought Mary. “I wonder how it got
there.” Then she thought again of the quotation which had been
underlined—“‘This lantern is my lantern.’ She wanted me to find it, I am
sure!” thought Mary eagerly. “It is the key to something. Oh, if I could
only find what that is! How in the world shall I know where to look?”
“Oh, John!” she cried, “John!”—for just then she heard his whistle in the
hall, and she ran down to show him her find.
Up came John; up the stairs two steps at a time, with Mary close after
him. “I bet I know what it is!” he cried. “It’s the key to a Secret Panel.
I’ve read about them in books, lots of times. Let’s hunt till we find the
keyhole.”
The wall of the library between the bookshelves was, indeed, paneled in
dark wood, like the doors. But there was little enough of this surface,
because the built-in bookshelves took up so much space. With the aid of
the library ladder it took Mary and John comparatively little time to go
over every inch of the paneling very carefully, thumping the wall with
the heel of Mary’s slipper, to see if it might be hollow. But no sound
betrayed a secret hiding-place. No scratch or knot concealed a tiny
keyhole. Tired and disgusted at last, they gave up the search.
“I think that’s a pretty poor joke!” said John. “A key without anything to
fit it to is about as silly as can be!”
“Aunt Nan made some silly jokes in other parts of the house,” said Mary.
“But she hasn’t done so in the library. I don’t believe she meant to tease
me. Let’s go and tell Father. Perhaps he will know what it means.” And
forthwith they tripped to the Doctor’s study, with the key and the lantern
and the marked copy of “Midsummer Night’s Dream,” to puzzle the
Philosopher. They laid the three exhibits on his desk, and stood off,
challenging him with eager eyes.
Dr. Corliss looked at these things critically; then he followed them back
to the library and glanced about the walls.
“Well, Father?” asked Mary at last. “What do you think it means?”
The Doctor hummed and hawed. “Why, I think it means that Aunt Nan
was playing a joke on you this time, Mary!” he said, laughing. “It would
be just like her, you know. You can’t hope to be the only one to escape
her humors. Besides, this key doesn’t look to me like a real key to
anything. You mustn’t expect too much, my girl, nor get excited over this
legacy of yours, or I shall be sorry you have it. I suspect there are no
more gold watches and hundred-dollar bills floating around in your
library. It wouldn’t be like Aunt Nan to do the same thing twice. It was
the unexpected that always pleased her. You had better make the most of
your books for their own sakes, Mary.”
“Yes, I am going to do that,” said Mary, taking the key from her father
and putting the green string around her neck. “I am going to wear it as a
sort of ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream’ charm. And I believe that some day
I shall find out the key to the key, if I look long enough.”
“If you read long enough, perhaps you may,” said her father, laughing. “I
have heard that they find queer things in Shakespeare sometimes—
ciphers and things like that. But I never had time to study them up. A
cipher is nothing to me.” And he chuckled at his little joke.
“If I read long enough, perhaps I may find out something. That’s so!”
said Mary. “I’ll keep on reading.”
“Pooh! That’s a slow way!” said John. “If there was anything in my
library, I’d want to find it out right away!”
“If she has put anything in my library, that isn’t the way Aunt Nan meant
me to find it,” retorted Mary. “I am going to do what Aunt Nan wanted,
if I can discover what that is.”
“That’s right, Mary!” said her father. “I believe you are on the right
track.”
Just at this moment there was a queer sound, apparently in one corner of
the room.
“Hark!” said Dr. Corliss. “What was that, Mary?”
“It sounded like something rapping on the floor!” said John, with wide
eyes.
“Oh, I hear sounds like that quite often,” said Mary carelessly. “At first it
frightened me, but I have got used to it. I suppose it must be a rat in the
cellar.”
“Yes, I dare say it is a rat,” said her father. “Old houses like this have
strange noises, often. But I have never seen any rats.”
“It sounded too big for a rat,” declared John. “Aren’t you afraid, Mary?”
“No,” declared Mary; “I’m not afraid, whether it’s a rat or not. Some
way, I think I couldn’t be afraid in this room.”
“I thought girls were always afraid of rats,” murmured John.
 CHAPTER VII
CALIBAN
WITH rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes Mary returned from a walk with
Katy Summers. It had been pleasant but uneventful. Just as she turned in
at the little dooryard of home, she thought she spied a black Something
dart like a shadow across the little strip of green beside the house.
“It looks like a cat,” said Mary to herself. “I will see where it went to.”
She followed to the end of the house, where the shape had seemed to
disappear. There was nothing to be seen. She went around the ell, and
back to the front of the house again. Still there was no trace of the little
shadow that had streaked into invisibility.
“If it was not my imagination, it must have gone under the house,” said
Mary to herself. “Two or three times I have thought I spied a black blur
in the act of disappearing; and I believe we are haunted by something on
four legs. I will ask the family.”
That night at the supper-table she broached the question.
“Mother, have you ever seen a cat about the place—a black cat, a swift
cat, a cat that never stays for a second in one spot—a mysterious cat that
is gone as soon as you see it?”
“That sounds spooky enough!” commented Dr. Corliss. “You make the
shivers run down my sensitive spine!”
“I have not seen any cat,” said Mrs. Corliss. “I think you must be
mistaken, Mary.”
“Yes, I’ve seen a cat!” volunteered John,—“a thin black cat, oh, so thin!
I saw him run across the lawn once; and once I saw him crouching down
by the lilac bush near the back door. I think he was catching mice.”
“Then there is a cat,” said Mary. “I thought I might be dreaming. He
must be very wild. I believe he lives under our house.”
“Under the house!” exclaimed Mrs. Corliss. “Surely, we should all have
seen him if he lived so near. I can’t think he could have escaped my eyes.
But now, I remember, I have heard strange noises in the cellar once or
twice.”
“I have, often,” said Mary, “under my library.”
“Maybe it is a witch-cat!” suggested Dr. Corliss, pretending to look
frightened. “You people are all so fond of poetry and ravens and mystery
and magics—you attract strange doings, you see. Maybe Aunt Nan had a
witch-cat who helped her play tricks on the ever-to-be-surprised world.”
“Daddy!” cried John, “there’s no such thing as a witch-cat, is there,
truly?”
“Of course not!” laughed his mother. “Daddy is only joking. And now I
come to think of it, I have wondered why the scraps I put out for the
birds always vanished so quickly. A hungry cat prowling about would
explain everything.”
“It might be Aunt Nan’s cat,” said Mary thoughtfully. “Poor thing! He
might have run away when he couldn’t find Aunt Nan any more. He
might have been frightened, and have hid under the house.”
“I think in that case he would have starved to death in all these weeks,”
said Mrs. Corliss. “Besides, I should think the neighbors would have told
us, or that Aunt Nan herself would have left some word.”
“I’m going to find out, if I can,” said Mary. “If it’s Aunt Nan’s cat I want
to be good to him. We want to be good to him, anyway, don’t we?”
“Of course we do,” said Mrs. Corliss. “But there is nothing so hard to
tame as a wild cat.”
Katy Summers knew nothing of any cat belonging to Miss Corliss.
Neither did the other neighbors.
That next day on coming home from school Mary again spied the cat.
Just as she clicked the gate she saw the long, black shape scurry across
the lawn and vanish under the ell, under Mary’s library. Mary tiptoed to
the house and, stooping, called gently, “Kitty! Kitty! Kitty!”
At first there was no response. But presently there came a feeble and
doleful “Miaou!” And Mary thought she could catch the gleam of two
green eyes glaring out of the darkness.
“I must get him something to eat,” said Mary. “Perhaps I can tempt him
to make friends.” And running into the house she returned with a saucer
of milk and a bit of meat, which she set down close to the house. “Kitty!
Kitty! Kitty!” she called, in a tone of invitation.
“Miaou!” cried the forlorn cat again. But he did not come forth from his
hiding-place.
“I shall have to go away, and give him a chance to eat when I am not
by,” thought Mary. And this she did. From her chamber window she
could just manage to watch the hole under the ell. After a long time she
was rewarded by seeing the cat’s head emerge from the hole. For a
minute he stared around with wild eyes, his body ready to spring. But
finding himself safe, he hungrily seized the meat and retreated with it
under the house. Presently he came out again, licking his chops eagerly,
and began to lap the milk, retreating every now and then as if some
fancied sound alarmed him. The poor creature’s sides were so thin that
he resembled a cut-out pasteboard cat. His tail was like that of a long
black rat. He seemed to be wearing a collar about his neck.
“He must have been somebody’s pet cat,” said Mary to herself. “I must
try to tame him.”
But it took a great deal of time and patience to make friends with the
poor black pussy, which had evidently been greatly frightened and
almost starved. Day after day Mary set out the saucer of milk and a bit of
meat. And each time she did so, she talked kindly to the cat hidden under
the house, hoping that he would come out while she was still there. But it
was many days before she got more than the mournful “Miaou!” in
answer to her coaxing words.
At last, one day, after waiting a long time beside the saucer of milk and a
particularly savory plate of chicken-bones, Mary was rewarded by seeing
the cat timidly thrust out his head while she was talking. He drew back
almost immediately. But finally the smell of the chicken tempted him
beyond caution, and he got up courage to face this stranger who seemed
to show no evil intentions. He snatched a chicken-bone and vanished.
But this was the beginning of friendship.
The next day the cat came out almost immediately when Mary called
him. Presently he would take things from her hand, timidly at first, then
with increasing confidence, when he found that nothing dreadful
happened. But still Mary had no chance to examine the collar, on which
she saw that there were some words engraved.
At last came a day when the cat let Mary stroke his fur, now grown much
sleeker and covering a plumper body. And from that time it became
easier to make friends. Soon Mary held the creature on her lap for a
triumphant minute. And the next day she had a chance to examine the
engraved collar. On the silver plate was traced,—“Caliban. Home of N.
Corliss. Crowfield.”
“He was Aunt Nan’s cat!” cried Mary in excitement. And she ran into the
house with the news.
Mrs. Corliss was astonished. “We must make Caliban feel at home
again,” she said. “He must have had a terrible fright. But we will help
him to forget that before long.”
In a little while Mary succeeded in coaxing Caliban into the house. And
once inside he did not behave like a stranger. For a few moments, indeed,
he hesitated, cringing as if in fear of what might happen. But presently
he raised his head, sniffed, and, looking neither to right nor left, marched
straight toward the library. Mary tiptoed after him, in great excitement.
Caliban went directly to the big armchair beside the desk, sniffed a
moment at the cushion, then jumped up and curled himself down for a
nap, giving a great sigh of contentment. From that moment he accepted
partnership with Mary in the room and all its contents.
“Well, I never!” cried Mrs. Corliss, who had followed softly. “The cat is
certainly at home. I wonder how he ever happened to go away? I suppose
we shall never know.”
And they never did. They made inquiries of the neighbors. But nobody
could tell them anything definite about Aunt Nan’s cat. Some persons
had, indeed, seen a big black creature stalking about the lawn in the old
lady’s time, and had not liked the look of him, as they said. But as Miss
Corliss had never had anything to do with her neighbors, so her cat
seemed to have followed her example. And when Aunt Nan’s day was
over, the cat simply disappeared.
Caliban must have lived precariously by catching mice and birds. But he
never deserted the neighborhood of the old house when the new tenants
came to live there; though it took him some time to realize that these
were relatives of his mistress whom he might trust.
Once more an inmate of the house, Caliban never wandered again. He
adopted Mary as his new mistress, and allowed her to take all kinds of
liberties with him. But to the rest of the family he was always rather
haughty and stand-offish. John never quite got rid of the idea that
Caliban was a witch-cat. And sometimes he had a rather creepy feeling
when the great black cat blinked at him with his green eyes.
But Mary said it was all nonsense. “He’s just a dear, good, soft pussy-
cat,” she cried one day, hugging the now plump and handsome Caliban
in her arms.
And Caliban, stretching out a soft paw, laid it lovingly against his little
mistress’s cheek.
But John vowed that at the same moment Caliban winked wickedly at
him!
 CHAPTER VIII
THE BUST
FOR some weeks life went on quietly for the Corliss family, made more
interesting by the coming of Caliban, who resembled his late mistress in
some unexpected qualities. But the family had got used to being
surprised by Aunt Nan’s jokes, so that they were no longer jokes at all.
And nothing further of a mysterious nature happened in Mary’s library,
so that everybody had about forgotten the excitement of the watch, the
bookmark, and the unexplained key.
The more Mary read her Shakespeare, the better she liked the plays,
which, as she said, were “just full of familiar quotations!” Caliban
approved heartily of Mary’s reading. He liked nothing better than to curl
up in her lap while she sat in the big easy-chair, with her book resting on
its broad arm; and his rumbling purr made a pleasant accompaniment
whenever she read aloud. For Mary liked to read aloud to herself and to
him. It made her understand the story so much better.
Probably Caliban was used to assisting Aunt Nan in this same way. He
was truly a cat of fine education. Mary wondered if he knew all the
books in the library. “He looks wise enough to,” she thought.
“I think Caliban likes some plays better than others,” she confided to her
mother. “He didn’t seem to care so much for ‘Midsummer Night’s
Dream,’ But then, I had almost finished it before he came. He was crazy
over ‘Julius Cæsar,’—you ought to have heard him purr at Marc
Antony’s great speech! And now that I have begun ‘The Tempest,’ he
gets so excited, Mother!”
“Of course,” said Mrs. Corliss; “that’s where he comes in, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said Mary. “Oh, Mumsie, I was so surprised when I found
Caliban’s name in the list of characters! I just shouted it right out; and
you ought to have seen Caliban arch his neck and rub his head against
me, and purr like a little furnace. I’m sure he knew it was his play. And
isn’t it a lovely play, Mother? I like it best of all.”
“So do I,” said her mother.
One day Mary coaxed Katy Summers home with her after school. “The
time has come for you to keep your promise, Katy,” said Mary. “You’ve
got to listen to Shakespeare now.”
“All right,” said Katy resignedly. “I suppose I must, sooner or later.”
“I am going to read you some of ‘The Tempest,’” said Mary. “I want you
to like it as well as I do.”
“You know I never cared for poetry,” said Katy doubtfully.
“But you will care for this,” said Mary positively, “especially if you hear
it read. That’s the way everybody ought to know poetry, I think. Why,
even Caliban likes to hear me read poetry. See, here he comes to listen.”
Sure enough, at the sound of Mary’s voice Caliban had come running
into the library with a little purr. He looked very handsome and fluffy
these days. Waving his tail majestically, he jumped up into Mary’s lap
and sat on her knee blinking his green eyes at Katy as if to say, “Now
you are going to hear something fine!”
“I believe John is right,” said Katy. “He does look like a witch-cat. He’s
too knowing by half! I suppose I shall have to like the reading, if he says
so.” Katy was just a bit jealous of Mary’s new friend.
“Of course Caliban knows what is best!” chuckled Mary. “Now, listen,
Katy.” And she began to read the beautiful lines. Presently she caught up
with her own bookmark, and went on with scenes which she had not read
before. Mary read very nicely, and Katy listened patiently, while Caliban
purred more and more loudly, “knitting” with busy paws on Mary’s
knees.
After a while Katy saw Mary’s eyes grow wide, and she paused in the
reading, ceasing to stroke Caliban’s glossy fur. Caliban looked up at her
and stopped purring, as if to say, “What is it, little Mistress?”
“What is the matter? Go on, Mary,” cried Katy. “I like it!”
“It’s a Song,” said Mary, in a queer voice, “and words of it are
underlined, Katy, in the same way that the other place I told you of was
underlined.”
Katy nodded eagerly. She had heard about the clue to the finding of the
key. “What does it say?” she asked.
And Mary read the lines of the Song:—
 “Full fathom five thy father lies;
Of his bones are coral made;
Those are pearls, that were his eyes;
Nothing of him that doth fade,
But doth suffer a sea-change
Into something rich and strange.
Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell;
Hark! now I hear them—Ding-dong, bell!”
“It’s lovely!” cried Katy. “And which lines are underscored, Mary?”
“‘Of his bones are coral made,’ and ‘Those are pearls that were his
eyes,’ and ‘something rich and strange.’ Oh, Katy, what do you suppose
Aunt Nan meant this time?” said Mary with eager eyes.
 “OH, KATY, WHAT DO YOU SUPPOSE AUNT NAN MEANT
THIS TIME?”
At this point Caliban arched his back and yawned prodigiously, then
jumped down on the floor and sat at Mary’s feet, switching his tail.
“Hurry and look at the notes at the end of the book, Mary!” cried Katy,
almost as much excited as her friend. “I did not know that poetry could
be so interesting.”
Mary turned hastily to the back of the book. In the margin beside the
printed notes were penned several words; references to other plays which
evidently Aunt Nan wanted Mary to look up. “Bother!” said Mary in
disappointment; “it’s only more quotations. I don’t want to stop for
them.”
“You had better, Mary,” suggested Katy. “Perhaps if you do they will
give you still another clue. See how queer Caliban looks!”
The cat was looking up in Mary’s face expectantly; and when she
stooped to pat him, he opened his mouth and gave a strange, soundless
“Miaou!”
“It looked as if he said ‘Yes!’ didn’t it, Katy?” said Mary. “Well, then, I
suppose I had better do it. The first reference is to ‘As You Like It,’ Act
, Scene i.”
Mary went to the Shakespeare shelf, found the volume quickly, and
looked up the proper place. “Yes!” she exclaimed, “there is a line
underscored here, too,—‘Wears yet a precious jewel in his head.’ What a
queer saying, Katy! What do you suppose it means? And this is the next
quotation, in the ‘Sonnets’—Number , Line 1. Here it is!
‘Whoever has her wish, you have your Will.’ Now, what connection can
there be between those two things, Katy?”
“I don’t know!” said Katy, disappointed. “Is that all, are you sure? It
doesn’t seem to mean anything, does it?”
“Wait a minute!” added Mary. “Here in the Sonnet-margin she has
written, ‘Will S.—Yours. Look!’”
“Look where?” wondered Katy. “What Will S. have you, Mary?”
At the word “Look!” Mary had glanced up at the portrait of Aunt Nan,
and it seemed to her as if the eyes in the picture were cast down on
something below them. Mary’s own eyes followed the look, and fell on
the bust of Shakespeare in the middle of the mantelshelf. “Does she
mean—perhaps she does—that bust of Will Shakespeare?” said Mary. “It
is mine now, of course. ‘Whoever has her wish’—‘Wears yet a precious
jewel in his head’—‘Something rich and strange.’”
“Oh, Mary! It all fits together!” cried Katy, clapping her hands. “Do have
a look at that bust, dear! If it is your Will.”
“That’s just what I will do!” cried Mary, running to the mantelpiece, with
Katy close behind her, and Caliban following them both.
The bust was a plaster one about six inches high, and it stood on a black
marble block like a little pedestal. Mary had dusted it many times and
she knew it was not fastened to the pedestal and that it was hollow. But
was it also empty?
While the girls were looking at the bust, Caliban suddenly made two
leaps, one to a chair, then to the mantelshelf which he reached without a
slip. Then he took up his pose beside the bust of Shakespeare, and sat
blinking wisely at them.
“Do look at Caliban!” cried Katy. “He certainly looks as if he knew
secrets!”
“Perhaps he does,” said Mary. “Maybe there is a secret about this bust. I
am going to see. If you please, Master Will S.”
She took down the bust and shook it gently. Nothing rattled inside.
Nothing fell out. She poked with her finger as far as she could reach.
There seemed to be nothing in the interior.
“Try again, Mary,” begged Katy, producing something from her pocket.
“Here’s my folding button-hook.” Cautiously Mary thrust the hook up
into the place where the brains of William S. would have been, were they
not distributed about the library instead in the form of books.
Yes! There was something up in the head; something that was yielding to
the touch of the steel; something that came out at last in her hand. It was
a piece of soft chamois-skin, folded and tied with green silk cord like
that on which hung the mysterious key.
“Oh, Mary!” cried Katy, holding her breath. “What is it?”
“Sh!” said Mary, with shining eyes. Cautiously she undid the little
packet; and there inside was another packet, wrapped in silver foil, very
tiny, very hard. Mary squeezed it gently, but the feeling gave no clue as
to the contents.
While Katy watched her with bulging eyes, Mary peeled off the silver
paper, a bit at a time. First of all was revealed a pink bead; more pink
beads; a whole necklace, strung on a pink thread, of the most beautiful
coral.
“Miaou!” cried Caliban suddenly.
“Oh-h!” cried Katy. “I never saw anything so sweet!”
“‘Of his bones are coral made,’” quoted Mary. “Oh, clever Aunt Nan!—
What else?” for the next quotation was running in her head, and she was
very eager. With trembling fingers she unwrapped the rest of the
package, and brought to light a tiny pasteboard box of not more than an
inch in any dimension.
“I know what it is!” whispered Katy.
But she gasped when she saw what really came out—yes, a ring, on a
white velvet bed. But such a ring! It had two big pearls in it, side by side,
as big as the end of Mary’s little finger.
“Oh!” cried Mary with delight. “What a beautiful ring! I do love pearls.
—‘Those are pearls which were his eyes,’ Katy, do you see? And this is
the ‘something rich and strange.’ What fun it is to find a treasure all by
the aid of lovely quotations!”
“I think it is wonderful!” said Katy. “It is so poetic.”
“Come; let’s show these to Father and Mother,” said Mary, giving
Caliban a big hug. And off the two girls ran to exhibit the treasures.
Mrs. Corliss was delighted with her daughter’s find. “I am glad you have
the pretty necklace to wear with your best dresses,” she said. “It is very
nice and suitable for a schoolgirl. But the pearl ring—I think we must put
that away until you are older. It is too valuable and too conspicuous. I
don’t like to see little girls wearing jewelry.”
“I can wear it when I go to college—if I go; may I not, Mother?” asked
Mary wistfully.
“Oh, yes, if you go to college, Dearie,” sighed her mother. “At any rate,
you can wear it when you are eighteen.”
Dr. Corliss examined the ring carefully. “Yes, I am sure I have seen Aunt
Nan wear it,” he said. “It must be one of the set of famous pearls that she
was once proud of. Doubtless she sold the rest long ago and gave the
money to her hospital. I am glad Mary has this; but Mother is right.
School-girls should not wear jewelry. Put it away until you are grown-
up, my daughter.”
So Mary fastened the pretty necklace about her round throat, and shut the
pearl ring away in her bureau drawer, with a sigh.
But Katy Summers said:—
“I wouldn’t mind, Mary, even if you can’t wear it yet. Just to think that
you have it, and that you got it in such a mysterious way! Why, it is like
a story-book!”
“Doesn’t it make you want to hear some more Shakespeare?” demanded
Mary, laughing.
“Indeed it does!” agreed Katy. “I’ll come and listen whenever you will
let me. Who knows what may happen? Yes, I’ll wager that Caliban
knows.”
“The same thing never happens twice,” sighed Mary.
John was disgusted when he came home from a meeting of the Big Four
to find that he had missed this most exciting discovery; although, after
all, when it came to the jewelry, John thought the result rather small.
“My goodness, Mary!” he exclaimed, “I’ll bet there are lots more things
hidden in that old library of yours. Don’t you go and do all the hunting
when I’m not here.”
“I don’t,” said Mary. “I didn’t mean to hunt. I don’t ever mean to hunt.
But if things come—all right.”
“I wish you’d let me have the fun of hunting in the library all I want, just
once,” said John wistfully.
Mary hesitated. She did not want anybody to rummage among her books.
But she hated to be “stingy,” and she felt as if she were really having
more than her share of fun out of Aunt Nan’s legacy, in spite of John’s
two thousand dollars. So she said generously, without letting John see
how great an effort it was: “All right, Johnny. To-morrow is Saturday,
and I’ll give you free leave to hunt all you want to in my library. I won’t
even come to bother you.”
“Bully for you!” crowed John. “Finding’s having?”
But that was more than Mary bargained for.
“Oh, no, John!” she cried. “I don’t think Aunt Nan would like that. Do
you?”
“Oh, bother! I suppose not,” grumbled John. “She was a queer one!”
The next Saturday morning John spent in hunting that library from floor
to ceiling. Caliban, sitting on a corner of the mantelpiece, watched him
gravely during the whole operation, but offered no suggestions. John
poked behind the books, in every corner, under every rug. He even
ripped open a bit of the cover on the old sofa. But nothing interesting
could he find.
“I say, Caliban, can’t you help me?” he said once, to the watching cat.
But Caliban only blinked, and gave his tail a little switch.
“I’ll give it up!” growled John at last, disgustedly, when Mary came to
call him to dinner. “I guess you’ve got about all you are ever going to get
out of Aunt Nan’s legacy. If Caliban knows anything more about it he
won’t tell me. Anyway, I’ve got my two thousand, and that’s best of all.”
“All right, John,” retorted Mary good-naturedly. “I’ve got my two
thousand books, anyway, and Caliban. So I am not complaining.”
She did not tell John that she still hoped to solve the mystery of the key
on the green silk cord; not to solve it by hunting or by hurrying, but in
Aunt Nan’s own way, whatever that might be.
And Caliban, looking up at her, switched his tail and gave a wise, solemn
wink.
 CHAPTER IX
THE ATTIC
THE Corliss family were sadly in need of funds. There were the butcher
and the baker and the candlestick-maker politely presenting their bills to
the family recently arrived in Crowfield, suggesting in print and in
writing and by word of mouth that “bills are payable monthly.” Now it
was the end of the month, and there was no money to pay these same
bills; for the expense of moving and settling in a new place had been
heavy, and their small income had already disappeared.
“How much money is it that we need for immediate bills, Mother?”
asked Dr. Corliss wearily. It always tired him to talk about money.
“Just about a hundred dollars would bridge us over nicely,” said his wife,
with an anxious pucker in her forehead. “But I don’t see any sign of our
getting that hundred dollars for a month to come. And then it will be
needed for fresh bills.”
“Why, of course, you must take my hundred dollars that I found in Aunt
Nan’s book,” said Mary cheerfully, though it cost her a pang to think of
using up her wonder-gift so soon in this way. “I’ll just take it out of the
bank next Saturday morning.”
“I hate to touch that money of yours, Mary, even if we put it back for you
when we can,” sighed her mother. “I hoped we could save that for your
nest-egg toward a college fund. Let me think it over a bit longer. Perhaps
something will happen to help us. Or I may think of some way to earn
the money.”
They left discussion of the matter for that time. But they all took the
troublesome problem away with them into their daily tasks.
“It is a shame for Mary to have to give up her hundred dollars,” thought
John. “I wish I could help earn some money so that she needn’t do it. If I
was in the city I could sell papers or something. But what can I do here
when I have to go to school every day? School takes up such a lot of
time!”
John sighed as he swung his books over his shoulder and started off for
school. All day he thought about that needed money; and it was in his
mind when he turned in at the gate that night.
“I wish I was clever and could think up something,” said John to
Caliban, who was sitting on the top step looking at him when John came
in. “I wonder you don’t help us, Caliban. Come, now, can’t you think of
something, old witch-cat?”
Caliban did not seem to mind being spoken to in this impolite way. But
he did look at John in a fashion that the boy thought very knowing, and
he did unmistakably wink one eye.
“Miaou!” said Caliban, and he turned his back on John, and began to
walk upstairs.
John was going upstairs too; so he followed Caliban, who, however,
hopped three steps at a time, while John could only take two with his
short legs. When they reached the top of the flight, Caliban looked about
to see if John was still following him. John had not meant to do so, but
when he saw Caliban turn and look, with that queer expression in his
green eyes, John had an idea.
“Maybe he wants me to follow him,” said he to himself. He tossed his
books on to a chair and tiptoed after the big black cat. Caliban ambled
unconcernedly along the hall and suddenly darted up the attic stairs.
“Hello!” said John, with a whistle under his breath. “What is Caliban up
to now? I thought he never went far from Mary’s library. But, I declare,
he is coaxing me to follow him up into the attic! You bet I’ll follow you,
old boy!”
John had never paid much attention to the attic. He had looked into it, of
course. But it was so dark and dusty and cobwebby that it was not much
fun poking about up there. Since their first visit the family had not been
there except to store away some of Aunt Nan’s superfluous old furniture
and ornaments.
If the house had seemed like a museum to the family when they first
entered it, this attic looked like a junk-shop. Every corner was filled with
furniture, boxes, bundles, strange garments hanging from hooks, bales
bursting with mysterious contents. Away back in the dusty corners,
where it was so dark that John’s eye could not distinguish, bulked other
dim shapes.
Caliban walked across the floor in a furtive fashion, then suddenly made
a dive into a distant dark corner, where John immediately heard a
scurrying and scratching.
“He’s after a mouse!” thought John excitedly. And he, too, dived into the
darkness after the cat, who had disappeared. But Caliban had scuttled
into some hole too small for John to enter. John could hear him still
scratching and sniffing. And an occasional squeak betrayed the
misfortune of some long-tailed dweller in the garret that Caliban had
taken by surprise.
John got down on his hands and knees the better to investigate that
corner. But still he could not spy the cat and his prey. He only bumped
his nose against the low beams, and got his mouth full of cobwebs. But
in that dark hiding-place he came upon an unexpected thing. This was
something that at first he took to be a bicycle. But he soon found by
feeling of it that there was but one wheel, and that it was made of wood.
At one end was a curious bunch of what felt like long hair; it made John
shudder. But presently he remembered.
“It must be a spinning-wheel,” said John to himself. “I remember seeing
one in the picture of Priscilla and John Alden.” Just then he bumped his
head on something hard. “What is this great long-handled pan?” he said.
“I’ve seen those in the curiosity shops, too. Hello! Here’s a cradle, the
kind that rocks. I’ve seen those in pictures. And here’s a pair of andirons.
My! this is a regular old curiosity shop. These things must be worth a lot
of money.”
Then a sudden wonderful idea popped into John’s head. “Why can’t we
sell them, if they are worth a lot of money? Why, of course we can sell
them, and save Mary’s hundred dollars! Maybe that is just what old
Caliban knew, when he coaxed me to follow him up here. Say, you old
rascal, where are you? Here, ’Ban! ’Ban! Come on out and let me see
what you think about it!”
But Caliban had disappeared with his mouse, or whatever it was, which
had ceased to squeak. And there was nothing but darkness and silence in
the old attic beside the little boy and that strange litter of ancient things.
John looked around and shivered. “I guess I’ll be going,” he said. “I
won’t stop to examine anything more. They all belong to Mother. I’ll let
her do the looking-up. I’ll run down and tell her what I’ve found.”
And hurrying as fast as he could out of the dark corner, where the
cobwebs and the dust were trying to keep intruders away from the old
things to which they clung, John made for the attic stairs. Two or three
times he thought he heard strange noises behind him, and he couldn’t go
fast enough. Probably it was Caliban still scratching in some dark
subway under the rafters. But John had no wish to stop and investigate.
He came clattering down the stairs, and burst into his mother’s room.
“Mother!” he cried, “I’ve found something!”
“Goodness, John!” she said. “What a dirty face you have, and your
eyebrows are all cobwebby. Where in the world have you been, and what
have you found?”
“I’ve found things up in the attic!” exclaimed John triumphantly.
“Caliban showed me the way. It was all his doings. I think he did it on
purpose—to help Mary.”
“To help Mary! What in the world do you mean?” cried Mrs. Corliss.
“Have you found a treasure, John, or some more mysterious secrets?”
“Well, no, not exactly,” confessed John, somewhat crestfallen. “Unless
we make it a secret. I’d like that. But I think it’s a nice surprise, Mumsie,
and I think it will save some of Mary’s hundred dollars. Mother,—all the
furniture belongs to you, doesn’t it?”
“Why, yes, Johnny,” she answered, wondering. “Why do you ask?”
“Because,” said John importantly, “I have been snooping around the
attic, Mumsie, and I think there are a lot of things you can sell.”
“What kind of things do you mean, John?” she asked, looking interested.
“Why, you know, Mother,” said John, “there’s a lot of old truck in the
corners up there that looks just like the stuff we used to see in the
curiosity shops in the city. I didn’t look very far, Mumsie, ’cause it was
so—well, so dirty in there. But there’s wheels and andirons and things
that I bet are worth lots of money!”
“Are there, John?” said Mrs. Corliss. “How clever of you to think of it! I
never dreamed of looking in Aunt Nan’s attic to find the way out of our
difficulty. Perhaps this is the solution!”
“It’s Caliban’s idea,” said John, wishing to be fair and not to claim too
much credit, but feeling well pleased with himself, just the same.
“Let’s go up right away and see what we can find; shall we, John?” said
his mother. “I can’t wait!”
“All right,” agreed John. “But you’d better take a candle, Mumsie. It’s
terribly dark and spooky up there. And noises sound louder in the dark.”
Back to the garret they went, Mrs. Corliss as eager as John. And into
those dark corners which had been undisturbed for many, many years
they shed the light of their blinking, inquisitive candle. Mrs. Corliss was
more thorough than John had cared to be. She untied strings, and lifted
lids of trunks, and unwrapped coverings. Out of chests and bundles and
crates they dragged things that had been waiting through generations of
Aunt Nan’s ancestors for some one to make them useful; things that had
been discarded or pushed back still farther in order to make room for her
whims and “jokes.”