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diff --git a/old/mrtnq10.txt b/old/mrtnq10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4d7af63 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/mrtnq10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14441 @@ +The Project Gutenberg Etext of Martie The Unconquered, by Kathleen Norris +#5 in our series by Kathleen Norris + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before distributing this or any other +Project Gutenberg file. + +We encourage you to keep this file, exactly as it is, on your +own disk, thereby keeping an electronic path open for future +readers. Please do not remove this. + +This header should be the first thing seen when anyone starts to +view the etext. 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They had +loitered on their way in, consciously wasting time; they had spent +fifteen minutes in the dark and dirty room upon an absolutely +unnecessary errand, and now they sauntered forth into the village +street keenly aware that the afternoon was not yet waning, and +disheartened by the slow passage of time. At five they would go to +Bonestell's drug store, and sit in a row at the soda counter, and +drink effervescent waters pleasingly mingled with fruit syrups and +an inferior quality of ice cream. Five o'clock was the hour for +"sodas," neither half-past four nor half-past five was at all the +same thing in the eyes of Monroe's young people. After that they +would wander idly toward the bridge, and separate; Grace Hawkes +turning toward the sunset for another quarter of a mile, Rose +Ransome opening the garden gate of the pretty, vine-covered cottage +near the bridge, and the Monroe girls, Sarah and Martha, in a +desperate hurry now, flying up the twilight quiet of North Main +Street to the long picket fence, the dark, tree-shaded garden, and +the shabby side-doorway of the old Monroe house. + +Three of these girls met almost every afternoon, going first to each +other's houses, and later wandering down for the mail, for some +trivial errand at drug store or dry-goods store, and for the +inevitable ices. Rose Ransome was not often with them, for Rose was +just a little superior in several ways to her present companions, +and frequently spent the afternoon practising on her violin, or +driving, or walking with the Parker girls and Florence Frost, who +hardly recognized the existence of Grace Hawkes and the Monroes. The +one bank in Monroe was the Frost and Parker Bank; there were Frost +Street and Parker Street, the Frost Building and the Parker +Building. May and Ida Parker and Florence Frost had gone to Miss +Bell's Private School when they were little, and then to Miss +Spencer's School in New York. + +But even all this might not have accounted for the exclusive social +instincts of the young ladies if both families had not been very +rich. As it was, with prosperous fathers and ambitious mothers, with +well-kept, old-fashioned homes, pews in church, allowances of so +many hundred dollars a year, horses to ride and drive, and servants +to wait upon them, the three daughters of these two prominent +families considered themselves as obviously better than their +neighbours, and bore themselves accordingly. Cyrus Frost and Graham +Parker had come to California as young men, in the seventies; had +cast in their lot with little Monroe, and had grown rich with the +town. It was a credit to the state now; they had found it a mere +handful of settlers' cabins, with one stately, absurd mansion +standing out among them, in a plantation of young pepper and willow +and locust and eucalyptus trees. + +This was the home of Malcolm Monroe, turreted, mansarded, generously +filled with the glass windows that had come in a sailing vessel +around the Horn. Incongruous, pretentious, awkward, it might to a +discerning eye have suggested its owner, who was then not more than +thirty years old; a tall, silent, domineering man. He was reputed +rich, and Miss Elizabeth--or "Lily"--Price, a pretty Eastern girl +who visited the Frosts in the winter of 1878, was supposed to be +doing very well for herself when she married him, and took her +bustles and chignons, her blonde hair with its "French twist," and +her scalloped, high-buttoned kid shoes to the mansion on North Main +Street. + +Now the town had grown to several hundred times its old size; +schools, churches, post-office, shops, a box factory, a lumber yard, +and a winery had come to Monroe. There was the Town Hall, a plain +wooden building, and, at the shabby outskirts of South Main Street, +a jail. The Interurban Trolley "looped" the town once every hour. + +All these had helped to make Cyrus Frost and Graham Parker rich. +They, like Malcolm Monroe, had married, and had built themselves +homes. They had invested and re-invested their money; they had given +their children advantages, according to their lights. Now, in their +early fifties, they were a power in the town, and they felt for it a +genuine affection and pride, a loyalty that was unquestioning and +sincere. In the kindly Western fashion these two were now accorded +titles; Cyrus, who had served in the Civil War, was "Colonel Frost," +and to Graham, who had been a lawyer, was given the titular dignity +of being "Judge Parker." + +Malcolm Monroe kept pace with neither his old associates nor with +the times. His investments were timid and conservative, his faith in +the town that had been named for his father frequently wavered. He +was in everything a reactionary, refusing to see that neither the +sheep of the old Spanish settlers nor the gold of the early pioneers +meant so much to this fragrant, sun-washed table land as did wheat +and grapes and apple trees. Monroe came to laugh at "old Monroe's" +pigheadedness. He fought the town on every question for +improvements, as it came up. The bill for pavements, the bill for +sewerage, the bill for street lights, the high school bill, found in +him an enemy as the years went by. He denounced these innovations +bitterly. When the level of Main Street was raised four feet, "old +Monroe" almost went out of his senses, and the home site, gloomily +shut in now by immense trees, and a whole block square, was left +four feet below the street level, so that there must be built three +or four wooden steps at all the gates. The Monroe girls resented +this peculiarity of their home, but never said so to their father. + +Rose Ransome, the pretty, neat little daughter of a pretty, neat +little widow, was cultivated eagerly by the Monroes, and patronized +kindly by the Frost and Parker girls. She had lived all of her +twenty years in Monroe, and was too conscientious and amiable to +snub the girls supposedly beneath her, and too merry, ladylike, and +entertaining to be quite ignored by the richer group. So she +brightly, obligingly, and gratefully lunched and drove, read and +walked, and practised music with May and Ida and Florence, when they +wanted her, and when they did not, or when Eastern friends visited +them, or there was for some reason no empty seat in the surrey, she +turned back to the company of Grace Hawkes and of Sally and Martie +Monroe. Rose admitted frankly to her mother that with the latter +group she had "more fun," but that with her more elevated friends +she enjoyed, of course, "nicer times." Politically she steered a +diplomatic middle course between the two, implying, with equal +readiness, that she only associated with the poor Monroes because +Uncle Ben made her, or that she accepted invitations from the Frost +and Parker faction simply to be amiable. + +Sally Monroe, innocent, simple, unexacting at twenty-one, really +believed Rose to be the sweetly frank and artless person she seemed, +but Martie, two years younger, had her times of absolutely detesting +Rose. Sally was never jealous, but Martie burned with a fierce young +jealousy of all life: of Rose, with her dainty frocks and her rich +friends, her curly hair and her violin; of Florence Frost's riding +horse; of Ida Parker's glib French; of her own brother, Leonard +Monroe, with his male independence; of the bare-armed women who +leaped on the big, flat-backed horses in the circus; of the very +Portuguese children who rode home asleep of a summer afternoon, in +fragrant loads of alfalfa. + +To-day she was vaguely smarting at Grace's news: Grace was going to +work. She, like the Monroe girls, had often discussed the +possibilities of this step, but opportunities were not many, and the +idle, pleasant years drifted by with no change. But Ellie Hawkes, +Grace's big sister, who had kept books in the box factory for three +years, was to be married now; a step down for Ellie--for her +"friend" was only Terry Castle, a brawny, ignorant giant employed by +the Express Company--but a step up for Grace. She would be a wage- +earner; her pretty, weak face grew animated at the thought, and her +shrill voice more shrill. + +Martie Monroe had no real desire to work in the box factory, to walk +daily the ugly half mile that lay between it and her home, to join +the ranks of toilers that filed through the poorer region of town +every morning. But like all growing young things she felt a +desperate, undefined need. She could not know that self-expression +is as necessary to natures like hers as breath is to young bodies. +She could only grope and yearn and struggle in the darkness of her +soul. + +She was nineteen, a tall, strong girl, already fully developed, and +handsome in a rather dull and heavy way. Her hands and feet were +beautifully made, her hair, although neglected, of a wonderful silky +bronze, and her skin naturally of the clear creamy type that +sometimes accompanies such hair. But Martie ruined her skin by +injudicious eating; she could not resist sweets; natural indolence, +combined with the idle life she led, helped to make her too fat. Now +and then, in the express office, in the afternoon, the girls got on +the big freight scales, and this was always a mortification to +Martie. Terry Castle and Joe Hawkes would laugh as they adjusted the +weights, and Martie always tried to laugh, too, but she did not +think it funny. Martie might have seemed to her world merely a +sweet, big, good-natured tomboy, growing into an eager, amusing, +ignorant young woman, too fond of sleeping and eating. + +But there was another Martie--a sensitive, ambitious Martie--who +despised idleness, dependence, and inaction; who longed to live a +thousand lives--to conquer all the world; a Martie who was one day a +great singer, one day a wartime nurse, one day a millionaire's +beautiful bride, the mother of five lovely children, all carefully +named. She would waken from her dreams almost bewildered, blinking +at Sally or at her mother in the surprised fashion that sometimes +made folk call Martie stupid, humbly enough she thought of herself +as stupid, too. She never suspected that she was really "dreaming +true," that the power and the glory lay waiting for the touch of her +heart and hand and brain. She never suspected that she was to Rose +and Grace and Sally what a clumsy young swan would be in a flock of +bustling and competent ducks. Martie did not know, yet, where her +kingdom lay, how should she ever dream that she was to find it? + +Rose was going back to stay with her cousin in Berkeley to-morrow, +it was understood, and so had to get home early this afternoon. +Rose, as innocent as a butterfly of ambition or of the student's +zeal, had finished her first year in the State University and was to +begin her second to-morrow. + +Monroe's shabby Main Street seemed less interesting than ever when +Rose had tripped away. A gusty breeze was blowing fitfully, whisking +bits of straw and odds and ends of paper about. The watering cart +went by, leaving a cool wake of shining mud. Here and there a +surrey, loaded with stout women in figured percales, and dusty, +freckled children, started on its trip from Main Street back to some +outlying ranch. + +As the three girls, arms linked, loitered across the square, Dr. Ben +Scott--who was Rose Ransome's mother's cousin and was regarded as an +uncle--came out of the Court House and walked toward his buggy. The +dreaming white mare roused as she heard his voice, and the old +brown-and-white setter sprang into the seat beside him. + +"Howdy, girls!" said the old man, his big loose figure bulging +grotesquely over the boundaries of the seat. "Father pretty well?" + +"Well enough, Doc' Ben, but not pretty!" Martie said, laughing. The +doctor's eyes twinkled. + +"They put a tongue in your head, Martie, sure enough!" he said, +gathering up the reins. + +"It was all they did put, then!" Martie giggled. + +The girls all liked Doc' Ben. A widower, rich enough now to take +only what practice he pleased, simple in his tastes, he lived with +his old servant, his horse and cow, his dog and cat, chickens and +bees, pigeons and rabbits, in a comfortable, shabby establishment in +an unfashionable part of town. Monroe described him as a "regular +character." His jouncing, fat figure--with tobacco ash spilled on +his spotted vest, and stable mud on his high-laced boots--was +familiar in all her highways and byways. His mellow voice, shot with +humorous undertones even when he was serious, touched with equal +readiness upon Plato, the habits of bees, the growth of fungus, +fashions, Wordsworth, the Civil War, or the construction of +chimneys. He was something of a philosopher, something of a poet, +something of a reformer. + +Martie, watching him out of sight, said to herself that she really +must go down soon and see old Dr. Ben, poke among his old books, +feed his pigeons, and scold him for his untidy ways. The girl's +generous imagination threw a veil of romance over his life; she told +Sally that he was like some one in an English story. + +After he had gone, the girls idled into the Town Library, a large +room with worn linoleum on the floor, and with level sunlight +streaming in the dusty windows. At the long table devoted to +magazines a few readers were sitting; others hovered over the table +where books just returned were aligned; and here and there, before +the dim bookcases that lined the walls, still others loitered, now +and then picking a book from the shelves, glancing at it, and +restoring it to its place. The room was warm and close with the +smell of old books. The whisking of pages, and occasionally a +sibilant whisper, were its only sounds. From the ceiling depended +signs, bearing the simple command: "Silence"; but this did not +prevent the girls from whispering to the energetic, gray-haired +woman who presided at the desk. + +"Hello, girls!" said Miss Fanny Breck cheerfully, in the low tone +she always used in the library. "Want anything to read? You don't? +What are you reading, Martie?" + +"I'm reading 'Idylls of the King,'" Sally said. + +"I've got 'Only the Governess,'" added Grace. + +"I didn't ask either of you," Miss Breck said with the brisk amused +air of correction that made the girls a little afraid of her. "It's +Martie here I'm interested in. I'm going to scold her, too. Are you +reading that book I gave you, Martie?" + +Martie, as Grace and Sally turned away, raised smiling eyes. But at +Miss Fanny's keen, kindly look she was smitten with a sudden curious +inclination toward tears. She was keenly sensitive, and she felt an +undeserved rebuke. + +"Don't like it?" asked the librarian, disposing of an interruption +with that casual ease that always fascinated Martie. To see Miss +Fanny seize four books from the hands that brought them into her +range of vision, flip open the four covers with terrific speed, +manipulate various paper slips and rubber stamps with energy and +certainty, vigorously copy certain mysterious letters and numbers, +toss the discarded books into a large basket at her elbow and then, +for the first time, as she handed the selected books to the +applicant, glance up with her smile and whispered "Good afternoon," +was a real study in efficiency. + +"I don't understand it," Martie smiled. + +"Did you read it?" persisted the older woman. + +"Well--not much." Martie had, in fact, hardly opened the book, an +excellent collection of some twenty essays for girls under the +general title "Choosing a Life Work." + +"Listen. Why don't you study the Cutter system, and familiarize +yourself a little with this work, and come in here with me?" asked +Miss Fanny, in her firm, pushing voice. + +"When?" Martie asked, considering. + +"Well--I can't say when. I'm no oracle, my dear. But some day the +grave and reverend seigneurs on my Board may give me an assistant, I +suppose." + +"Oh--I know--" Martie was vague again. "What would I get?" + +Miss Fanny's harsh cheeks and jaw stiffened, her eyes half closed, +as she bit her lip in thought. + +"Fifteen, perhaps," she submitted. + +Martie dallied with the pleasing thought of having fifteen dollars +of her own each month. + +"But can't Miss Fanny make you feel as if you were back in school?" +she asked, when the girls were again in Main Street. "I'd just as +lieves be in the lib'ary as anywheres," she added. + +"I drather be in the box factory," Grace said. "More money." + +"More work, too!" Martie suggested. "Come on, let's go to +Bonestell's!" + +Other persons of all ages were in the drug store, seated on stools +at the high marble counter, or at the little square cherry tables in +the dim room at the rear. Drugs were a lesser consideration than +brushes, stationery, cameras, candy, cigars, post cards, gum, +mirrors, celluloid bureau sets, flower seeds, and rubber toys and +rattles, but large glass flagons of coloured waters duly held the +corners of the show windows on the street, and dusty and fly-specked +cards advertising patent medicines overlapped each other. + +The three girls nodded to various acquaintances, and, as they slid +on to seats at the counter, greeted the soda clerk familiarly. This +was Reddy Johnson, a lean, red-headed youth in a rather dirty white +jacket buttoned up to the chin. Reddy was assisted by a blear-eyed +little Swedish girl of about sixteen, who rushed about blindly with +her little blonde head hanging. He himself did not leave the +counter, which he constantly mopped with a damp, mud-coloured rag. +He plunged the streaked and sticky glasses into hot water, set them +on a dripping grating to dry, turned on this faucet of sizzling +soda, that of rich slow syrup, beat up the contents of glasses with +his long-handled spoon, slipped them into tarnished nickelled +frames, and slid them deftly before the waiting boys and girls. Hot +sauce over this ice cream, nuts on that, lady fingers and whipped +cream with the tall slender cups of chocolate for the Baxter girls, +crackers with the tomato bouillon old Lady Snow was noisily sipping; +Reddy never made a mistake. + +Presently he, with a swift motion, set a little plate of sweet +crackers before the girls. These were not ordinarily served with +five-cent orders, and the three instantly divided them, concealing +the little cakes in their hands, and handing the tell-tale plate +back to the clerk. A wise precaution it proved, for a moment later +"old Bones," as the proprietor of the establishment was nicknamed, +sauntered through the store. In a gale of giggles the girls went +out, stealthily eating the crackers as they went. This adventure was +enough to put them in high spirits; Martie indeed was so easily +fired to excitement that the crossing of wits with Dr. Ben, the +personal word with Miss Fanny, and now Reddy's gallantry, had +brightened her colour and carried her elation to the point of +effervescence. Sparkling, chattering, flushed under her shabby +summer hat, Martie sauntered between her friends straight to her +golden hour. + +Face to face they came with a tall, loosely built, well-dressed +young man, with a straw hat on one side of his head. Such a +phenomenon was almost unknown in the streets of Monroe, and keenly +conscious of his presence, and instantly curious as to his identity, +the girls could not pass him without a provocative glance. +"Stunning!" said each girl in her heart. "Who on earth--?" + +Suddenly he blocked their way. + +"Hello, Sally! Hello, Martie! Too proud to speak to old friends?" + +"Why--it's Rodney Parker!" Martie said in her rich young voice. +"Hello, Rodney!" + +All four shook hands and laughed joyously. To Rodney the +circumstance, at the opening of his dull return home, was welcome; +to the girls, nothing short of delight. He was so handsome, so +friendly, and in the four years he had been at Stanford University +and the summers he had spent in hunting expeditions or in eastern +visits to his aunt in New York, he had changed only to improve! + +Even in this first informal greeting it was Martie to whom he +devoted his special attention. Sally was usually considered the +prettier of the two, but Martie was lovely to-night. Rodney turned +with them, and they walked to the bridge together. Sally and Grace +ahead. + +The wind had fallen with the day, the air was mild and warm, and in +the twilight even Monroe had its charm. Flowers were blooming in +many dooryards, yellow light streamed hospitably across the +gravelled paths, and in the early darkness women were waiting in +porches or by gates, and whirling hoses over the lawns were drawing +all the dark, hidden perfumes into the damp night air. + +"You've not changed much, Martie--except putting up your hair. I +mean it as a compliment!" said Rodney, eagerly, in his ready, boyish +voice. + +"You've changed a good deal; and I mean that as a compliment, too!" +Martie returned, with her deep laugh. + +His own broke out in answer. He thought her delightful. The creamy +skin, the burnished hair that was fanned into an aureole under her +shabby hat, the generous figure with its young curves, had helped to +bring about in Rodney Parker a sweet, irrational surrender of +reason. He had never been a reasonable boy. He knew, of course, that +Martie Monroe was not in his sisters' set, although she was a +perfectly NICE girl, and to be respected. Martie was neither one +thing nor the other. With Grace, indeed, who was frankly beneath the +Parkers' notice, he might have had almost any sort of affair; even +one of those affairs of which May and Ida must properly seem +unaware. He might have flirted with Grace, have taken her about and +given her presents, in absolute safety. Grace would have guessed him +to be only amusing himself, and even confident Rodney, his mother's +favourite and baby, would never have attempted to bring Grace Hawkes +home as his sisters' equal. + +But with Martie there was a great difference. The Monroes had been +going down slowly but steadily in the social scale, yet they were +Monroes, after all. Lydia Monroe had been almost engaged to Clifford +Frost, years ago, and still, at all public affairs, the Monroes, the +Parkers, and the Frosts met as old friends and equals. Indeed, the +Parker girls and Florence Frost had been known to ask the girls' +only brother, Leonard Monroe, to their parties, young as he was, men +being very scarce in Monroe, and Leonard, although his sisters were +not asked, had gone. + +So that when Rodney Parker stopped Martie Monroe on the way home, +and fell to flattering and teasing her, and walked beside her to the +bridge, he quite innocently plunged himself into social hot water, +and laid a disturbing touch upon the smooth surface of the girl's +life. + +They talked of trivialities, laughing much. Rodney asked her if she +remembered the dreadful day when they had been sent up to apologize +to the French teacher, and Martie said, "Mais oui.'" and thrilled at +the little intimate memory of disgrace shared. + +"And are you still such a little devil, Martie?" he asked, bringing +his head close to hers. + +"That I'll leave you to find out, Rod!" she said laughingly. + +"Well--that's one of the things I'm back here to find out!" he +answered gaily. + +Yes, he was back to stay; he was to go into the Bank. He confidently +expected to die of the shock and Martie must help him bear it. +Martie promised to open an account. His Dad might let him have a +car, if he behaved himself; did Martie like automobiles? Martie knew +very little about them, but was sure she could honk the horn. Very +well; Martie should come along and honk the horn. + +How did they come to be talking of dancing? Martie could not +afterward remember. Rodney had a visit promised from a college +friend, and wondered rather disconsolately what might be arranged to +amuse him. Fortnightly dances--that was the thing; they ought to +have Friday Fortnightlies. + +The very word fired the girl. She heard the whine of violins, the +click of fans, the light shuffle of satin-clad feet. Her eyes saw +dazzling lights, shifting colours, in the dull September twilight. + +"You could have one at your house," Rodney suggested. + +"Of course we could! Our rooms are immense," Martie agreed eagerly. + +"To begin--say the last Friday in October!" the boy said. "You look +up the date, and we'll get together on the lists!" + +Get together on the lists! Martie's heart closed over the phrase +with a sort of spasm of pleasure. She and Rodney conferring-- +arranging! The bliss--the dignity of it! She would have considered +anything, promised anything. + +Grace was gone now, and generous little Sally still ahead of them in +the shadows. Martie said a quick, laughing good-night, and ran to +join her sister just before Sally opened the side gate. It was now +quite dark. + +The two girls crossed the sunken garden where clumps of flowers +bloomed dimly under the dark old trees, gave one apprehensive glance +at the big house, which showed here and there a dully lighted +window, and fled noiselessly in at the side door. They ran through a +wide, bare, unaired hallway, and up a long flight of unlighted +stairs that were protected over their dark carpeting by a worn brown +oilcloth. + +Sally, and Martie breathless, entered an enormous bedroom, shabbily +and scantily furnished. The outline of a large walnut bedstead was +visible in the gloom, and the dark curtains that screened two bay +windows. Across the room by a wide, dark bureau, a single gas jet on +a jointed brass arm had been drawn out close to the mirror, and by +its light a slender woman of twenty-seven or eight was straightening +her hair. Not combing or brushing it, for the Monroe girls always +combed their hair and coiled it when they got up in the morning, and +took it down when they went to bed at night. Between times they only +"straightened" it. + +As the younger girls came in, and flung their hats on the bed, their +sister turned on them reproachfully. + +"Martie, mama's furious!" she said. "And I do think it's perfectly +terrible, you and Sally running round town at all hours like this. +It's after six o'clock!" + +"I can't help it if it is!" Martie said cheerfully. "Pa home?" + +She asked the all-important question with more trepidation than she +showed. Both she and Sally hung anxiously on the reply. + +"No; Pa was to come on the four-eleven, and either he missed it, or +else something's kept him down town," Lydia said in her flat, gentle +voice. "Len's not home either ..." + +"Praise God from whom all blessings flow!" Martie ejaculated +piously, with her gay, wild laugh. "Tell Lyd who we met, Sally!" she +called back, as she ran downstairs. + +She dashed through the dining room, noting with gratitude that dear +old Lyd had set the table in spite of her disapproval. Beyond the +big, gloomy room was an enormous pantry, with a heavy swinging door +opening into a large kitchen. In this kitchen, in the dim light from +one gas jet, and in the steam from sink and stove, Mrs. Monroe and +her one small servant were in the last hot and hurried stages of +dinner-getting. + +Martie kissed her mother's flushed and sunken cheek; a process to +which Mrs. Monroe submitted with reproachful eyes and compressed +lips. + +"I don't like this, Martie!" said her mother, shaking her head. +"What were you and Sally doing to be so late?" + +"Oh, nothing," Martie said ashamedly. "I'm awf'ly sorry. I had no +idea what time it was!" + +"Well, I certainly will have Pa speak to you, if you can't get into +the house before dark!" Mrs. Monroe said in mild protest. "Lyd +stopped her sewing to set the table." + +"Len home?" Martie, now slicing bread, asked resentfully. + +"No. But a boy is different," Mrs. Monroe answered as she had +answered hundreds of times before. "Not that I approve of Len's +actions, either," she added. "But a man can take care of himself, of +course! Len's always late for meals," she went on. "Seems like he +can't get it through his head that it makes a difference if you sit +down when things are ready or when they're all dried up. But Pa's +late anyway to-night, so it doesn't matter much!" + +Martie carried the bread on its ugly, heavy china plate in to the +table, entering from the pantry just as her father came in from the +hall. + +"Hello, Pa!" said the girl, placing the bread on the wrinkled cloth +with housewifely precision. + +Malcolm Monroe gave his youngest daughter glance of lowering +suspicion. But there was no cause for definite question, and Martie, +straightening the salt-cellars lovingly, knew it. + +"Where's your sister?" her father asked discontentedly. + +"Upstairs, straightening her hair for dinner, I THINK." Martie was +sweetly responsive. "But I can find out, Pa." + +"No matter. Here, take these things." Martie carried away the +overcoat and hat, and hung them on the hat rack in the hall. + +"Joe Hawkes wants to know if you wish to pay him for driving you up, +Pa," Sally said, coming in from the steps. Dutifully, meekly, she +stood looking at her father. Lydia, coming in from the kitchen, gave +him a respectful yet daughterly kiss. Singly and collectively there +was no fault to be found with the Monroe girls to-night, even by the +most exacting parent. + +"Your sister said you were upstairs, Sally," Malcolm said, narrowing +his eyes. + +"So I was, Pa, but I came down to light the hall gas, and while I +was there Joe came to the door," Sally answered innocently. + +"H'm! Well, you tell him to charge it." Malcolm sat down by the +fireplace. There was no fire, the evening was not cold enough for +one. He began to unlace his shoes. "Brother home?" he asked, +glancing from Lydia, who was filling the water glasses from a glazed +china pitcher, to Martie, who was dragging and pushing six chairs +into place. + +"Not yet--no, sir!" the two girls said together unhesitatingly. +Leonard could take care of himself under his father's displeasure. +Martie added solicitously, "Would you like your slippers, Pa? I know +where they are; by the chestard." + +He did not immediately answer, being indeed in no mood for a civil +response, and yet finding no welcome cause for grievance. He sat, a +lean, red-faced man, with a drooping black moustache, a high-bridged +nose, and grizzled hair, looking moodily about him. + +"Get them--get them; don't stand staring there, Martie!" he burst +out suddenly. Martie caught up his shoes and dashed upstairs. + +She went into the large, vault-like apartment that had been her +mother's bedroom for nearly thirty years. To a young and ardent +nature, facing the great question of loving and mating, any place +less indicative of the warmth and companionship of marriage could +hardly have been imagined. The bedstead of heavy redwood was wide, +flat, and hard. It was flanked by a marble-topped table and a chair. +There were two large, curtained bay windows in this room, too, a +faded carpet, a wash-stand with two pallid towels on the rack, +several other stiff-backed chairs, and a large bureau with a square +mirror and a brown marble slab. Over this slab a thin strip of +fringed scarf was laid, and on the scarf stood a brown satin box, +with the word "Gloves" painted over the yellow roses that ornamented +its cover. + +This was all. Mrs. Monroe kept in the box an odd castor, an empty +cologne bottle, a new corset string, five coat buttons, a rusty pair +of scissors, an old jet bar-brooch whose pin was gone, and various +other small odds and ends. She had but one pair of gloves, of black +shiny kid, somewhat whitened at the finger-tips, and worn only to +church or to funerals. They were a sort of institution, "my gloves," +and were kept in the bureau drawer. They distinguished her state +from that of Belle, the maid, who had no gloves at all. + +Opposite the bureau, but because of the enormous size of the room, +some twenty-five feet away, was the "chestard" the high "chest of +drawers" that had won its name from the children's contracted +pronunciation. This bleak article of furniture contained the smaller +pieces of Malcolm Monroe's wardrobe, which matched in plainness and +ugliness that of his wife. Stiff white collars caught and rasped +when the shallow upper drawer was opened; the middle drawers were +filled with brownish gray flannels, and shirts stiff-bosomed and +limp of sleeves. But if a curious Martie, making the bed, or putting +away the "wash," ever cautiously tugged out the lowest drawer, she +found it so loaded with papers, old account books, and bundles of +letters as to awe her young soul. These meant nothing to Martie, and +the drawer was heavy to open noiselessly and awkward to close in +haste, yet at intervals now and then she liked to peep at its +mysterious contents. + +To-night, however, Martie gave it neither glance nor thought. She +picked up her father's slippers and ran downstairs again, going to +kneel before him and put them on his feet. As she did so her young +warm hand felt the cool, slender length of his foot in the thin +stocking, and she was conscious of repugnance that even the +slightest contact with her father always caused her. There was a +definite antagonism between Malcolm and his youngest daughter, +suspected by neither. But Martie knew that she did not like the +faint odour of his moustache, his breath, and his skin, on those +rather infrequent occasions when he kissed her, and her father was +well aware that in baffling him, evading him, and anticipating him, +Martie was more annoying than the three other children combined. + +"Where's your son?" asked the man of the house, as the dinner, +accompanied by his wife, came in from the kitchen. + +"I don't know, Pa," Mrs. Monroe said earnestly yet soothingly. +"Come, girls. Come, Pa!" + +Malcolm rose stiffly, and went to his place. + +"He comes and goes as if his father's house was a hotel, does he?" +he asked, as one merely curious. "Is that the idea?" + +"Why, no, Pa." Mrs. Monroe was serving an uninteresting meal on +heavy plates decorated in toneless brown. Soda crackers and sliced +bread were on the table, and a thin slice of butter on a blue china +plate. The teaspoons stood erect in a tumbler of red pressed glass. +The younger girls had old, thin silver napkin rings; their mother's +was of orange-wood with "Souvenir of Santa Cruz" painted on it; and +Lydia and her father used little strips of scalloped and embroidered +linen. Lydia had read of these in a magazine and had made them +herself, and as her daughterly love swept over all the surface +ugliness of his character, she alone among his children sometimes +caught a glimpse of her father's heart. She had an ideal of +fatherhood, had gentle, silent, useless Lydia--formed upon the +genial, sunshiny type of parent popular in books, and she cast a +romantic veil over disappointed, selfish, crossgrained Malcolm +Monroe and delighted in little daughterly attentions to him. She sat +next to him at table, and put her own kindly interpretation upon his +moods. + +"I confess I don't understand your tactics with that boy!" he said +now irritably. + +"Well, he came in after school, and asked could he go out with the +other boys, and I didn't feel you would disapprove, Pa," Mrs. Monroe +said in a worried voice. "Do eat your dinner before it gets all +cold! Lenny'll be here. You'll get one of your bad headaches ... +here he is!" + +For, to the great relief of his mother and sisters, Leonard Monroe +really did break in from the hall at this point, flinging his cap +toward the hat rack with one hand as he opened the door with the +other. A big, well-developed boy of seventeen was Lenny, dearest of +all her children to his mother, her son and her latest-born, and the +secret hope of his father's heart. + +"Say--I'm awful sorry to be so late. Gosh! I ran all the way home. I +thought you'd be on the late train, Pa, and I waited to walk up with +you!" said Lenny, falling upon cooling mutton, boiled potatoes +glazed and sticky, and canned corn. + +"Where did you wait?" his father asked, laying one of his endless +traps for an untruth. + +"Bonestell's," Lenny answered, perceiving and evading it. + +"Young Hawkes drove me up," Malcolm said in a mollified tone. + +"Oh?" Lenny's mouth opened innocently. "That's the way I missed +you!" + +The inevitable ill-temper on their father's part being partly +dissipated by this time, the girls were free to begin a +conversation. Martie's happiness was flooding her spirit like a +golden tide; she was conscious, under all the sordid actualities of +a home dinner, that something sweet--sweet--sweet--had happened to +her. She bubbled news. + +Grace Hawkes actually was going to work Monday--Rose was going back +to visit Alma--they had met Doc' Ben, hadn't they, Sally? Oh, and +Rodney Parker was home! + +"Lucky stiff!" Lenny commented in reference to Rodney. + +"He's awfully nice!" Martie said eagerly. "He walked up with us!" + +"With us--with YOU!" Sally corrected archly. + +"What time was that?" their father asked suddenly. + +"About--oh, half-past four or five. Sally and I went down for the +mail." + +"Rodney Parker ..." Leonard began. "Say, mama, this is all cold," he +interrupted himself to say coaxingly. + +"I'll warm it for you, Babe," Lydia said, rising as her mother began +to rise, and reaching for the boy's plate. + +"Don't call me BABE!" he protested. + +His older sister gave his rough head a good-natured pat as she +passed him. + +"You're all the baby we have, Lenny--and he was an awfully sweet +baby, wasn't he, ma?" she said. + +"Rodney Parker's going to be in the Bank; I bet he doesn't stay," +Leonard resumed. "Could you get me into the Bank, Pa?" + +"Dear me--I remember that boy as such a handsome baby, before you +were born, Martie," her mother said. "And to think he's been through +college!" + +"I wish I could go to college, you bet!" observed Lenny. His father +shot him a glance. + +"Your grandfather was a college graduate, my son, and as you know +only an accident cut short my own stay at my alma mater--hem!" he +said pompously. "I have no money to throw away; yet, when you have +decided upon a profession, you need only come to your father with a +frank, manly statement of your plans, and what can be done will be +done; you know that." He wiped his moustache carefully, and glanced +about, meeting the admiring gaze of wife and daughters. + +"If you've got any sense, you'll go, Len," Martie said. "I wish +you'd let me go study to be a trained nurse, Pa! Miss Fanny wants me +to go into the lib'ary. I bet I could do it, and I'd like it, too ..." + +"And speaking of your grandfather reminds me," Malcolm said heavily, +"that one of the things that delayed me to-day was a matter that +came up a week or two ago. When the town buys the old Archer ranch +as a Park, they propose to put twelve thousand dollars into +improvements--" + +"Oh, joy!" said Martie. "Excuse me, Pa!" + +"The trolley will pass it," her father pursued, "the Park being +almost exactly half-way between Monroe and Pittsville. Now +Pittsville ..." + +"What do you bet they get all the glory?" Martie flashed. "Their +Woman's Club..." Her voice fell: "I DO beg your pardon, Pa!" she +said again contritely. + +"I can discuss this with your mother," Malcolm said in majestic +patience. + +"Oh, no! PLEASE, Pa!" + +Her father studied her coldly, while the table waited with bated +breath. + +"Pittsville," he resumed in a measured voice, without moving his +eyes from his third daughter, "is, as usual, making a very strong +and a most undignified claim for the Park. They wish it to be known +as the Pittsville Casino. But Selwyn told me to-day that our people +propose to take a leading share of the liability and to call the +Park the Monroe Grove." + +He paused. His listeners exchanged glances of surprise and +gratification. + +"Not that there's a tree there now!" Martie said cheerfully. + +It was an unfortunate speech, breaking irreverently as it did upon +this moment of exaltation. Lydia hastily came to Martie's relief. + +"Pa! ISN'T that splendid--for Grandfather Monroe! I think that's +very nice. They know what this town would have amounted to without +HIM! All those fine reference books in the library--and files and +files of bound magazine's! And didn't he give the property for the +church?" + +Every one present was aware that he had; there was enthusiastic +assent about the table. + +"They propose," Malcolm added as a climax, "to erect a statue of +Leonard Monroe in a prominent place in that Park; my gift." + +"Pa!" said a delighted chorus. The girls' shining eyes were moist. + +"It was Selwyn's idea that there should be a fund for the cost of +the statue," their father said. "But as the town will feel the added +taxation in any case, I propose to make that my gift. The cost is +not large, the time limit for paying it indefinite." + +"Twenty thousand dollars?" Martie, who had a passion for guessing, +ventured eagerly. + +"Not so much." But Malcolm was pleased to have the reality so much +more moderate than the guess. "Between two and three thousand." + +"Some money!" Leonard exclaimed. He grinned at Martie +contemptuously. "TWENTY!" said he. + +"Your sister naturally has not much idea of the value of money," +Malcolm said, with what was for him rare tolerance. "Yes, it is a +large sum, but I can give it, and if my townspeople turn to me for +this tribute to their most distinguished pioneer ..." + +During the rest of the meal no other subject was discussed. + +The evening was bright with memories and dreams for Martie. When a +large dish of stewed apples in tapioca had been eaten, the whole +family rose and left the room, and Belle, the little maid, came in +wearily, alone, to attack the disordered table. For two hours the +sound of running water and the dragging of Belle's heavy feet would +be heard in the kitchen. Meanwhile, Belle's mother, in a small house +down in the village, would keep looking at the clock and wondering +whatever had become of Belle, and Belle's young man would loiter +disconsolately at the bridge, waiting. + +The three Monroe girls and their mother went into the parlour, +Malcolm going across the hall to a dreary library, where he had an +old-fashioned cabinet desk, and Lenny gaining a reluctant consent to +his request to go down to "Dutch's" house, where he and Dutch would +play lotto. + +"Why doesn't Dutch Harrison ever come here to play lotto?" Martie +asked maliciously. "You go to Dutch's because it's right down near +Bonestell's and Mallon's and the Pool Parlour!" Leonard shot her a +threatening glance, accepted a half-permission, snatched his cap and +was gone. + +The parlour was large, cold, and uncomfortable, its woodwork brown, +its walls papered in dark green. Lydia lighted the fire, and as +Leonard had made his escape, Belle brought up a supplementary hodful +of coal. Martie lighted two of the four gas jets, and settled down +to solitaire. Sally read "Idylls of the King." Lydia and her mother +began to sew, the older woman busy with mending a hopelessly worn +table-cloth, the younger one embroidering heavy linen with hundreds +of knots. Lydia had been making a parasol top for more than a year. +They gossiped in low, absorbed tones of the affairs of friends and +neighbours; the endless trivial circumstances so interesting to the +women of a small town. + +There were two gas jets, also on hinged arms, beside the white +marble fireplace, and one of these Sally lighted, taking her +father's comfortable chair. A hood of thin plum-coloured flannel, +embroidered in coloured flowers, was on the mantel, with shells, two +pink glass vases, and a black marble clock. On the old square piano, +where yellowing sheets of music were heaped, there was a cover of +the same flannel. Albums and gift books, Schiller's "Bell" with +Flaxman plates, and Dante's "Inferno" with Dore's illustrations--lay +on the centre table; Martie pushed them back for her game. + +She looked a mere overgrown, untidy girl, to whose hair, belt, +finger-nails, and shoes she might have attended with advantage. But +Martie was a bride to-night, walking the realm of Romance. + +She had never had an admirer, nor had Sally. Neither girl admitted +it, but it was true. Poor Lydia had had a taste of the joy of life, +and a full measure of the sorrow, seven years ago, when Clifford +Frost, twelve years her senior, at thirty-one the perfect match, had +singled her out for his favour. Martie and Sally could remember how +pleasantly exciting it was to have Cliff Frost so much at the house, +how Lydia laughed and bloomed! Lydia had been just Sally then: her +age, and her double. + +What had gone wrong, the younger girls sometimes wondered. Pa had +been pompous, of course; Cliff had not been made exactly +comfortable, here by this marble mantel. Lydia had quavered out her +happy welcome, her mother had fluttered and smiled. And Cliff had +given her candy, and taken her to the Methodist Bazaar and the Elks' +Minstrels, and had given her a fan. The candy was eaten long ago, +and the dance music and the concerts long forgotten in the village, +but Lydia still had the fan. + +For a year, for two, for three, the affair went on. There was a +cloud in the sky before Mary Canfield came to visit Mrs. Frost, but +with her coming, joy died in Lydia's heart. Mary was made for +loving; Mary's mother and father and aunts and cousins all made it +easy for any man to fall in love with her. Mary danced, played the +piano, chattered French, changed from one pretty frock to another, +tirelessly. In short, Mary was a marketable product, and Lydia was +not. + +Cliff came to tell Lydia that he and Mary were to be married, and +that she had always been his best pal, and that their friendship had +been one of the sweetest things in his life. He kissed her in +brotherly fashion when he went away. Mary, lovely in bridal silks, +came to call on Lydia a few months later, and to this day when she +met faded, sweet Miss Monroe, the happy little wife and mother would +stop in street or shop and display little Ruth's charms, and chat +graciously for a few minutes. She always defended Lydia when the +Frost and Parker factions lamented that the Monroe girls were +inclined to be "common." + +Martie thought of none of these things to-night. She thought of +Rodney Parker, and her heart floated upon clouds of rose-coloured +delight. Dreamily manipulating the cards, she remembered that +twilight meeting. "Are you still a little devil, Martie ... I'm +going to find out." Again they were walking slowly toward the +bridge. "How many people have told you you've grown awfully pretty, +Martie? ... You and I'll get together on the lists. ..." + +The girl stopped, with arrested fingers and absent eyes. The rapture +of remembering thrilled her young body like a breath of flame blown +against her. She breathed with deep, slow respirations, holding her +breath with a risen breast, and letting it go with a long sigh. Now +and then she looked with an ashamed and furtive glance from her +mother's gray head and Lydia's busy fingers to Sally's absorbed face +under the opaque white globe of the gaslight, almost as if she +feared that the enchantment that held heart and brain would be +visible to watching eyes. + +"Mind you," Lydia was saying in a low tone, "Flora said that Lou +acted very queer, from the very moment she went in--Lou asked her if +she wanted to look at poor Mr. Lowney, and Flora went in, and he was +all laid out, with flowers and all, in that upstairs room where Al +died. Grandma Lowney was there, and--oh, quite a few others, coming +and going, Mrs. Mallon and the Baxter girls. Flora only stayed a +minute, and when she and Lou went out, she says, 'Lou, has Annie +Poett been here since he was taken sick?' and Lou began to cry and +said that her mother answered the telephone when Annie called up +last week, and it seems Annie asked was Joe Lowney sick and Mrs. +King said 'No.'" + +"For heaven's sake!" Mrs. Monroesaid, incredulous and absorbed. + +"Well, that's what Flora said. But mind you, Ma, on Tuesday night +little Hildegarde King went to the door, and she says that Annie +Poett came in and went upstairs--Lou was dishing supper, you know +the Allens and Mrs. Gorman were there for the funeral, and they were +all at table--and, by the way, Flora says that Lou says that Lizzie +Alien was there in that house for three days--that is, it was nearly +three days, for they stayed for supper Wednesday night--and that +Lizzie never raised her hand to ONE THING, just did nothing but sit +around and cry, and say what a good brother Joe was!" + +"Did you ever!" commented Mrs. Monroe. + +"Anyway, nobody got up from the table, and all they had for it was +Hildegarde's word, and she wasn't sure it was Annie. Grandma Lowney +was asleep--they'd gotten her to lie down; she took more care of Joe +than any one else, you know, and she sat up both nights. Clara +Baxter says she looks awful; she doesn't believe she'll get over +it." + +"I shouldn't wonder!" said Mrs. Monroe with a click of +commiseration. + +"Lou told Flora that the night Joe was dying, Grandma broke out and +said to Paul King that if Joe hadn't gone with him out to Deegan +Point two weeks ago, he never would have had that chill. But Flora +says ..." + +The low voices went on and on, even after Malcolm Monroe came in, +thoroughly tired and a little chilly, to take his own chair by the +fire. Sally, deposed, came to sit opposite Martie, and idly watched +the solitaire. + +"Isn't Rodney Parker nice?" Sally whispered cautiously, after a +while. + +"I think he is!" Martie answered hardily; but the happy colour came +to her cheeks. + +"I'll bet all the girls go crazy about him!" Sally submitted. + +A faint pang of jealousy, a vague sense of helplessness, seized upon +Martie. He had been so cordially gay and delightful with her; would +he be that with all the girls? Would Florence Frost, three years +older than he, fall a victim to his charm as quickly as she, Martie, +had fallen? Martie had mentioned Florence Frost this afternoon, and +by subtle, instinctive, girlish reasoning had found consolation in +his reply. "She's my sister's friend; she's awfully smart, you know- +-books and all that!" Rodney honestly felt an entire indifference to +this admirable young neighbour, and Martie understood his remark as +meaning exactly that. + +She went on with her patience, the particular game known as the +"Idle Year." Sometimes Sally touched or mentioned a card. Sometimes, +as a final problem presented itself, the girls consulted as to the +wisdom of this play or that. Between games Martie shuffled +vigorously, and they talked more freely. + +"I think he's crazy about you," said Sally. + +"Oh, Sally, don't be such a fool!" + +"I'm not fooling. Look at the way he turned back and walked with us, +and he never took his eyes off you!" Sally, somewhat dashed for an +instant by Martie's well-assumed scorn, gained confidence now, as +the new radiance brightened her sister's face. "Why, Mart," she said +boldly, "there is such a thing as love at first sight!" + +Love at first sight! Martie felt a sort of ecstatic suffocation at +the words. An uncontrollable smile twitched at her mouth, she +recommenced her game briskly. Her heart was dancing. + +"Lissun; do you suppose Ma would ever let us have a party here?" +Martie presently ventured. + +Sally pursed her lips and shook a doubtful head. + +"Oh, but, Sally, I don't mean a real party, of course. Just about +twenty--" Martie began. + +"Lemonade and cake?" Sally supplied. + +"Well--coffee and sandwiches, Rodney seemed to think. And punch." + +"Punch! Martie! You know Pa never would." + +"I don't see why not," Martie said discontentedly, slapping down her +cards noisily. Sally spoke only the truth, yet it was an irritating +truth, and Martie would have preferred a soothing lie. + +"What about music for dancing?" Sally asked, after a thoughtful +interval. + +"Angela Baxter," Martie said with reviving hope. + +"But she charges two dollars; at least she did for the Baptist +euchre." + +"Well--that's not so much!" + +"We could make those cute brown-bread sandwiches Rose had," Sally +mused, warming to the possibility. "And use the Canton set. Nobody +in town has china like ours, anyway!" + +"Oh, Sally," Martie was again fired, "we could have creamed chicken +and sandwiches--that's all anybody ever wants! And it's so much +sweller than messy sherbets and layer cake. And we could decorate +the rooms with greens--" + +"Our rooms are lovely, anyway!" Sally stated with satisfaction. + +"Why, with the folding doors open, and fires in both grates, they +would be perfectly stunning!" Martie spoke rapidly, her colour +rising, her blue eyes glittering like stars. "Of course, the back +room isn't furnished, but we could scatter some chairs around in +there; we'll need all the room for dancing, anyway!" + +"We couldn't dance on this carpet," Sally submitted, perplexed, as +she glanced at the parlour's worn floor-covering. + +"No, but we could in the back room--that floor's bare--and in the +hall," Martie answered readily. You see it's the first of a sort of +set of dances; the next would be at the Frosts' or the Barkers', and +it would mean that we were right in things--" + +"Oh, it would be lovely if we could do it!" Sally agreed with a +sigh. "Play the Queen on here, Martie, and then you'll have a +space." + +"Do you propose to play that game much longer, girls?" their father +asked, looking patiently over his book. + +"Are we disturbing you, Pa?" Martie countered politely. + +"Well--but don't stop on my account. Of course the sound of cards +and voices isn't exactly soothing. However, go on with your game--go +on with your game! If I can't stand it, I'll go back to the +library." + +"Oh, no, Pa, it's too cold in there; this is the time of year you +always get that cold in your nose," Mrs. Monroe said pleadingly. + +"I was going right up, anyway," Sally said with an apologetic air +and a glance toward the door. + +"I'll go, too!" Martie jumbled the cards together, and rose. "It's +nearly ten, anyway." + +A moment later she and Sally went out of the room together. But +while Sally went straight upstairs, to light the bedroom gas, fold +up the counterpane, and otherwise play the part of the good sister +she was, Martie noiselessly opened the side door and stepped out for +a breath of the sweet autumn night. + +There was a spectacularly bright moon, somewhere; Martie could not +see it, but beyond the sunken garden she caught glimpses of silvery +brightness on the roofs of Monroe. Even here, under the dark trees, +pools of light had formed and the heavy foliage was shot with shafts +of radiance. A strong wind was clicking the eucalyptus leaves +together, and carrying bits of rubbish here and there about the +yard. Martie could hear voices, the barking of dogs, and the whine +of the ten o'clock trolley, down in the village. + +The gate slammed. Leonard came in. + +"Pa tell you to watch for me?" he asked fearfully. + +"No." Martie, sitting on the top step and hugging her knees, +answered indifferently. "It's not ten yet. What you been doing?" + +"Oh, nothing!" Len passed her and went in. + +As a matter of fact, he had called for his chum, sauntered into the +candy store for caramels, joined the appreciative group that watched +a drunken man forcibly ejected from Casserley's saloon, visited the +pool room and witnessed a game or two, gone back into the street to +tease two hurrying and giggling girls with his young wit, and +drifted into a passing juggler's wretched and vulgar show. This, or +something like this, was what Len craved when he begged to "go out +for a while" after dinner. It was sometimes a little more +entertaining, sometimes less so; but it spelled life for the +seventeen-year-old boy. + +He could not have described this to Martie, even had he cared to do +so. She would not have understood it. But she felt a vague yearning, +too, for lights and companionship and freedom, a vague envy of +Leonard. + +The world was out there, beyond the gate, beyond the village. She +was in it, but not of it. She longed to begin to live, and knew not +how. Ten years before she had been only a busy, independent, happy +little girl; turning to her mother and sister for advice, obeying +her father without question. But Pa and Lydia, and Len with his +egotism, and Ma with her trials, were nothing to Martie now. In +battle, in pestilence, or after a great fire, she would have risen +head and shoulders above them all, would have worked gloriously to +reestablish them. She supposed that she loved them dearly. But so +terrible was the hunger of her heart for her share of life--for +loving, serving, planning, and triumphing--that she would have swept +them all aside like cobwebs to grasp the first reality flung her by +fate. + +Not to stagnate, not to smother, not to fade and shrink like Lydia-- +like Miss Fanny at the library, and the Baxter girls at the post- +office! Every healthy young fibre of Martie's soul and body rebelled +against such a fate, but she could not fully sense the barriers +about her, nor plan any move that should loosen her bonds. Martie +believed, as her parents believed, that life was largely a question +of "luck." Money, fame, friends, power, to this man; poverty and +obscurity and helplessness to that one. Wifehood, motherhood, honour +and delight to one school girl; gnawing, restless uselessness to the +next. "I only hope you girls are going to marry," their mother would +sometimes say plaintively; "but I declare I don't know who--with all +the nice boys leaving town the way they do! Pa gives you a good +home, but he can't do much more, and after he and I go, why, it will +be quite natural for you girls to go on keeping house for Len--I +suppose." + +Martie's sensitive soul writhed under these mournful predictions. +Dependence was bitter to her, Len's kindly patronage stung her only +a little less than his occasional moods of cheerful masculine +contempt. He meant to take care of his sisters, he wasn't ever going +to marry. Pa needn't worry, Len said. The house was mortgaged, +Martie knew; their father's business growing less year by year; +there would be no great inheritance, and if life was not satisfying +now, when she had youth and plenty, what would it be when Pa was +gone? + +It was all dark, confusing, baffling, to ignorant, untrained +nineteen. The sense of time passing, of opportunities unseen and +ungrasped, might well make Martie irritable, restless, and reckless. +Happiness and achievement were to be bought, but she knew not with +what coinage. + +To-day the darkness had been shot by a gleam of living light. +Through Rodney Parker's casual gallantries Martie's eyes looked into +a new world. It was a world of loving, of radiant self-confidence +and self-expression. Martie saw herself buying gowns for the +wedding, whisking in and out of Monroe's shops, stopped by +affectionate and congratulatory friends. She was dining at Mrs. +Barker's, dignified, and yet gracious and responsive, too. Dear old +Judge Parker was being courteous to her; Mrs. Parker advising +Rodney's young wife. There were grandchildren running over the old +place. Martie remembered the big rooms from long-ago red-letter days +of her childhood. How she would love her home, and what a figure of +dignity and goodness Mrs. Rodney Parker would be in the life of the +town. + +Oh, dear God--it was not so much to ask! People were getting married +all the time; Rodney Parker must marry some one. Lydia was unwed, +Sally had no lover; but out of so rich and full a world could not so +much be spared to Martie? Oh, how good she would be, how generous to +Pa and the girls, how kind to Ida and May! + +Martie bowed her head on her knees. If this one thing might come her +way, if it might be her fate to have Rodney Parker love her, to have +the engagement and the wedding follow in their happy order, she +would never ask more of God; gaining so much she would truly be +good, she would live for others then! + +When she raised her face it was wet with tears. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +The next morning, when the younger girls came down to breakfast, +they found only the three women in the kitchen. An odour of coffee +hung in the air. Belle was scraping burned toast at the sink, the +flying, sooty particles clinging to wet surfaces everywhere. Lydia +sat packing cold hominy in empty baking-powder tins; to be sliced +and fried for the noon meal. Mrs. Monroe, preferring an informal +kitchen breakfast to her own society in the dining room, was +standing by the kitchen table, alternating swallows from a +saucerless cup of hot coffee with indifferent mouthfuls of buttered +cold bread. She rarely went to the trouble of toasting her own +bread, spending twice the energy required to do so in protests +against the trouble. + +Lydia had breakfasted an hour ago. Sally and Martie sliced bread, +pushed forward the coffee pot, and entered a spirited claim for +cream. It was Saturday morning, when Leonard slept late. Pa was +always late. Lydia was anxious to save a generous amount of cream +for the sleepers. + +"Len often takes a second cup of coffee when he's got lots of time," +Lydia said. + +"Well, I don't care!" Martie said, suddenly serious. "I'm going to +take my coffee black, anyway. I'm getting too fat!" + +"Oh, Martie, you are not!" Sally laughed. + +"That's foolish--you'll just upset your health!" her mother added +disapprovingly. + +Martie's only answer was a buoyant kiss. She and Sally carried their +breakfast into the dining room, where they established themselves +comfortably at one end of the long table. While they ate, dipping +their toast in the coffee, buttering and rebuttering it, they +chattered as tirelessly as if they had been deprived of each other's +society and confidence for weeks. + +The morning was dark and foggy, and a coal fire slumbered in the +grate, giving out a bitter, acrid smell. Against the windows the +soft mist pressed, showing a yellow patch toward the southeast, +where the sun would pierce it after a while. + +Malcolm Monroe came downstairs at about nine o'clock, and the girls +gathered up their dishes and disappeared in the direction of the +kitchen. Not that Ma would not, as usual, prepare their father's +toast and bacon with her own hands, and not that Lydia would not, as +usual, serve it. The girls were not needed. But Pa always made it +impossible for them to be idle and comfortable over their own meal. +If he did not actually ask them to fetch butter or water, or if he +could find no reasonable excuse for fault-finding, he would surely +introduce some dangerous topic; lure them into admissions, stand +ready to pursue any clue. He did not like to see young girls care- +free and contented; time enough for that later on! And as years +robbed him of actual dignities, and as Monroe's estimate of him fell +lower and lower, he turned upon his daughters the authority, the +carping and controlling that might otherwise have been spent upon +respectful employees and underlings. He found some relief for a +chafed and baffled spirit in the knowledge that Sally and Martie +were helpless, were bound to obey, and could easily be made angry +and unhappy. + +Lydia, her father's favourite, came in with a loaded tray, just as +Len, slipping down the back stairs, was being stealthily regaled by +his mother on a late meal in the kitchen. Len had no particular +desire for his father's undiluted company. + +"Good morning, Pa!" Lydia said, with a kiss for his cool forehead. +"Your paper's right there by the fire; there's quite a fog, and it +got wet." + +Hands locked, she settled herself opposite him, and revolved in her +mind the terms in which she might lay before him the younger girls' +hopes. It was part of Lydia's concientiousness not to fail them now, +even though she secretly disapproved of the whole thing. + +"Pa," she began bravely, "you wouldn't mind the girls having some of +their friends in some evening, would you? I thought perhaps some +night when you were down in the city--" + +"Your idea, my dear?" Malcolm said graciously. + +"Well--Martie's really." Lydia was always scrupulously truthful. + +His face darkened a little. He pursed his lips. + +"Dinner, eh?" + +"Oh, no, Pa! Just dancing, or--" Lydia was watching him closely, "or +games," she substituted hurriedly. "You see the other girls have +these little parties, and our girls--" her voice fell. + +"Such an affair costs money, my dear!" + +"Not much, Pa!" + +His eyes were discontentedly fixed upon the headlines of his paper, +but he was thinking. + +"Making a lot of work for your mother," he protested, "upsetting the +whole house like a pack of wolves! Upon my word, I can't see the +necessity. Why can't Sally and Martie--" + +"But it's only once in a long while, Pa," Lydia urged. + +"I know--I know! Well, you ask Martie to speak to me about it in a +day or two. Now go call your mother." + +For the gracious permission Lydia gave him an appreciative kiss, +leaving him comfortable with his fire, his newspaper, and his +armchair, as she went on her errand. + +"Pa was terribly sweet about the dance," she told Martie and Sally. + +Belle was now deep in breakfast dishes, and the two girls had gone +out into the foggy dooryard with the chickens' breakfast. A flock of +mixed fowls were clucking and pecking over the bare ground under the +willows. Martie held the empty tin pan in one hand, in the other was +a half-eaten cruller. Sally had turned her serge skirt up over her +shoulders as a protection against the cool air, exposing a shabby +little "balmoral." + +"Oh, Lyd, you're an angel!" Martie said, holding the cruller against +Lydia's mouth. But Lydia expressed a grateful negative with a shake +of her head; she never nibbled between meals. + +She retailed the conversation with her father. Martie and Sally +became fired with enthusiasm as they listened. An animated +discussion followed. Grace was a problem. Dared they ignore Grace? +There was a lamentable preponderance of girls without her. All their +lists began and ended with, "Well, there's Rodney and his friends-- +that's two--" + +The day was as other days, except to Martie. When the chickens were +fed, she and Sally idled for perhaps half an hour in the yard, and +then went into the kitchen. Belle, sooty and untidy, had paused at +the kitchen table, with her dustpan resting three feet away from the +cold mutton that lay there. Mrs. Monroe's hair was in some disorder, +and a streak of black from the stove lay across one of her lean, +greasy wrists. The big stove was cooling now, ashes drifted from the +firebox door, and an enormous saucepan of slowly cooking beans gave +forth a fresh, unpleasant odour. At all the windows the fog pressed +softly. + +"Are you going down town, Sally?" the mother asked. + +"Well--I thought we would. We can if you want!" said Sally. + +"If you do, I wish you'd step into Mason & White's, and ask one of +the men there if they aren't ever going to send me the rest of my +box of potatoes." + +"All right!" Martie and Sally put their hats on in the downstair +hall, shouted upstairs to Lydia for the shoes, and sauntered out +contentedly into the soft, foggy morning. The Monroe girls never +heard the garden gate slam behind them without a pleasant yet +undefined sense of freedom. The sun was slowly but steadily gaining +on the fog, a bright yellow blur showed the exact spot where shining +light must soon break through. Trees along the way dripped softly, +but on the other side of the bridge, where houses were set more +closely together, and gardens less dense, sidewalks and porches were +already drying. + +The girls walked past the new, trim little houses and the clumsy, +big, old-fashioned ones, chattering incessantly. Their bright, +interested eyes did not miss the tiniest detail. The village, +sleepier than ever on the morning of the half-holiday, was full of +interest to them. + +Mrs. Hughie Wilson was sweeping her garden path, and called out to +them that the church concert had netted 327 dollars; wasn't that +pretty good? + +A few steps farther on they met Alice Clark, who kept them ten +minutes in eager, unimportant conversation. Her parting remark sent +the Monroe girls happily on their way. + +"I hear Rodney Parker's home--don't pretend to be surprised, Martha +Monroe. A little bird was telling me that I'll have to go up North +Main Street for news of him after this!" + +"Who do you s'pose told her we met Rod Parker?" Martie grinned as +they went on. + +"People see everything! Oh, Martie," said Sally earnestly, "I do +hope you are going to marry; no, don't laugh! I don't mean Rod, of +course, I'm not such a fool. But I mean some one." + +"You ought to marry first, Sally; you're the older," Martie said, +with averted eyes and a sort of delicious shame. + +"Oh, I don't mind that, Martie, if only we begin!" Sally answered +fervently. "When I think of what the next ten years MEAN for us, it +just makes me sick! Either we'll marry and have our own homes and +children, or we'll be like Alice, and the Baxters, and Miss Fanny--" + +"I'd just as soon have a good job like Miss Fanny," Martie said +hardily. "She gets sixty a month." + +"Well, I wouldn't!" Sally protested in a sudden burst. "Being in an +office would KILL me, I think! I just couldn't do it! But I believe +I COULD manage a little house, and children, and I'd like that! I +wouldn't mind being poor--I never really think of being anything +else--but what I'm so afraid of is that Len'll marry and we'll just +be--just be AUNTS!" + +Such vehemence was not usual to Sally, and as her earnestness +brought her to a full stop on the sidewalk, the two sisters found +themselves facing each other. They burst into a joyous laugh, as +their eyes met, and the full absurdity of the conversation became +apparent. + +Still giggling, they went on their way, past the old smithy, where a +pleasant breath of warmth and a splendid ringing of hammers came +from the forge, and past the new garage of raw wood with the still- +astonishing miracle of a "horseless carriage" in its big window, +pots of paint and oil standing inside its door, and workmen, behind +a barrier of barrels and planks, laying a cement sidewalk in front. +They passed the Five-and-Ten-Cent Store, its unwashed windows jammed +with pyramids of dry-looking chocolates, post cards, and jewellery, +and festoons of trashy embroidery, and the corner fruit stands +heaped with tomatoes and sprawling grapes. At the Palace Candy Store +a Japanese boy in his shirt-sleeves was washing the show window, +which was empty except for some rumpled sheets of sun-faded pink +crepe paper. By the door stood two large wooden buckets for packing +ice cream. The ice and salt were melted now, and the empty moulds, +still oozing a little curdled pink cream, were floating in the dirty +water. + +"Why aren't you girls at home sewing for the poor?" demanded a +pleasant voice over their shoulders. The girls wheeled about to +smile into the eyes of Father Martin. A tall spare old man, with +enormous glasses on his twinkling blue eyes, spots and dust on his +priestly black, and a few teeth missing from his kindly, big, homely +mouth, he beamed upon them. + +"Well, how are ye? And your mother's well? Well, and what are ye +buying--trousseaux?" + +"We're just looking, Father," Martie giggled. "Looking for husbands +first, and then clothes!" + +Laughing, the girls walked with him across the street to Mallon's +Hardware Emporium, where baskets of jelly glasses were set out on +the damp sidewalk, with enamel saucepans marked "29c." and "19c." in +black paint, carpet sweepers, oil stoves, and pink-and-blue glass +vases. They went on to the shoe shop, to the grocery, to the post- +office, past the express office, where Joe Hawkes sat whittling in +the sun. They paused to study with eager interest the flaring +posters on the fences that announced the impending arrival of +Poulson's Star Stock Company, for one night only, in "The Sword of +the King." They discovered with surprise that it was nearly twelve +o'clock, bought five cents' worth of rusty, sweet, Muscat grapes, to +be eaten on the way home, and turned their faces toward the bridge. + +But the morning, for Martie, had held its golden moment. When they +passed the Bank, Sally had been dreaming, as Sally almost always +was, but Martie's eyes had gone from shining gold-lettered window to +window, and with that new, sweet suffocation at her heart she had +found the object of her searching--the satiny crest of Rodney +Parker's sleek hair, the fresh-coloured profile that had been in her +waking and sleeping thoughts since yesterday. He was evidently hard +at work; indeed he was nervous and discouraged, had Martie but known +it; he did not look up. + +But Martie did not want him to look up. She wanted only the +stimulation to her thoughts that the sight of him caused, the +enchanting realization that he was there. She had a thrilling vision +of herself entering that bank, a privileged person, "young Mrs. +Rodney." Old Judge Parker coming out of his private office with his +hands full of papers would nod to her with his fatherly smile, +Rodney grin the proud yet embarrassed grin of a man confronted in +office hours by his women-folk. + +Suddenly Martie decided that she would begin to save money. She and +Sally had jointly fallen heir to a young Durham cow when Cousin +Sally Buckingham died, and the cow being sold for thirty-five +dollars, exactly seventeen dollars and fifty cents had been +deposited in the bank in each girl's name. This was four years ago; +neither one ever dreamed of touching the precious nest-egg; to them +it represented wealth. Len had no bank account, nor had Mama nor +Lydia. All Martie's dreams of the future began, included, or ended +on the expenditure of this sum. It bought text books, wedding veils, +railway tickets in turn. Now she thought that if she saved another +dollar, and went into the Bank duly to deposit it, Rodney must see +her, might even wait upon her; it would be a perfectly legitimate +way of crossing his line of vision. + +The Monroes had plenty of spending money; for although their father +was strongly opposed to the idea of making any child of his a +definite allowance, he allowed them to keep the change whenever they +executed small commissions for him, and to wheedle from him stray +quarter and half dollars. Lydia had only to watch for the favourable +moment to get whatever she asked, and with Leonard he was especially +generous. Martie knew that she could save, if she determined to do +so. She imagined Rodney's voice: "Bringing more money in? You'll +soon be rich at this rate, Martie!" + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +A few days later Rodney Parker walked home from the village with +Martie Monroe again. Meeting her in Bonestell's, he paid for her +chocolate sundae, and on their way up Main Street they stopped in +the Library, so that Miss Fanny saw them. Every one saw them: first +of all generous little Sally, who was to meet Martie in Bonestell's, +but who, perceiving that Rodney had joined her there, slipped away +unseen, and, blindly turning over the ribbons on Mason's remnant +counter, prayed with all her heart that Rodney would continue to +fill her place. + +They walked up Main Street, Martie glancing up from under her shabby +hat with happy blue eyes, Rodney sauntering contentedly at her side. + +How much he knew, how much he had done, the girl thought, with an +ache of hopeless admiration. Almost every sentence opened a new +vista of his experience and her ignorance. She did not suspect that +he meant it to be so; she only felt dazzled by the easy, glancing +references he made to men and books and places. + +They stopped at the railroad track to watch the eastward-bound train +thunder by. Five hours out of San Francisco, its passengers looked +quite at home in the big green upholstered seats. Bored women looked +idly out upon little Monroe, half-closed magazines in their hands. +Card-playing men did not glance up as the village flashed by. On the +platform of the observation car the usual well-wrapped girl and +pipe-smoking young man were carrying on the usual flirtation. Martie +saw the train nearly every day, but never without a thrill. She said +to herself, "New York!" as a pilgrim might murmur of Mecca or of +Heaven. + +"That's a good train," said Rodney. "Let's see, this is Wednesday. +They'll be in New York Sunday night. Awful place on Sunday--no +theatres, no ball games, no drinks--" + +"I could manage without theatres or ball games," Martie laughed. +"But I must have my whisky!" + +"It sounded as if I meant that, but you know me!" he laughed back. +"Lord, how I'd like to show you New York. Wouldn't you love it! +Broadway--well, it's a wonder! There's something doing every minute. +You'd love the theatres--" + +"I know I would!" Martie assented, glowing. + +"My aunt lives there; she has an apartment right on the Park, at +West Ninetieth," Rodney said. "Her husband has scads of money," the +boy pursued. "You'll have to go on, Martie, there's no two ways +about it." + +"And Delmonico's?" the girl suggested eagerly. "I've heard of +Delmonico's!" + +"Delmonico's is where the wedding parties go. Of course, if you say +so, Martie--" + +That was one of the sweet and thrilling things to remember. And +there were other things to make Martie's heart dance as she set the +dinner table. But she wondered if she should have asked him in. + +Martie stopped short, salt-cellars in her hand. How could she--with +Pa's arrival possible at any moment. Besides she had asked him, as +they lingered laughing at the gate. That was all right--it was late, +anyway. He had gaily refused, and she had not pressed him. And, +wonderful thought, they were going walking on Sunday. + +Monroe boys and girls usually walked on Sunday. They walked up the +track to the Junction, or up between bare fields past the Poor House +to the Cemetery. When a young man hired a phaeton at Beetman's, and +took his girl for a drive on Sunday, it was a definite avowal of +serious attachment. In that case they usually had their Sunday +supper at the home of the young man's mother, or married sister, or +with some female relative whose sanction upon their plans was +considered essential. + +Rodney Parker was not quite familiar with this well-established +precedent. His sisters were not enough of the village to be asked +either to walk or drive with the local swains, and he had been away +for several years. For two Sundays he walked with Martie, and then +he asked her to drive. + +For the girl, these weeks were suffused with a tremulous and +ecstatic delight beyond definition, beyond words. What she would not +have dared to hope, she actually experienced. No need to boast +before Sally and Grace and Florence Frost. They saw: the whole +village saw. + +Martie bloomed like a rose. She forgot everything--Pa, Len, the +gloomy home, the uncertain future--for joy. That her old hat was +shabby and her clothes inappropriate meant nothing to Martie; +ignorant, unhelped, she stumbled on her way alone. Nobody told her +to pin her bronze braids more trimly, to keep her brilliant skin +free from the muddying touch of sweets and pastries, to sew a hook +here and catch a looping hem there. Nobody suggested that she +manicure her fine big hands, or use some of her endless leisure to +remove the spots from her blue silk dress. + +More; the family dared take only a stealthy interest in Martie's +affair, because of Malcolm's extraordinary perversity and Len's +young scorn. Malcolm, angered by Lydia's fluttered pleasure in the +honour Rodney Parker was doing their Martie, was pleased to assume a +high and mighty attitude. He laughed heartily at the mere idea that +the attentions of Graham Parker's son might be construed as a +compliment to a Monroe, and sarcastically rebuked Lydia when, on a +Sunday afternoon, she somewhat stealthily made preparations for tea. +Martie and Rod were walking, and Martie, before she went, had said +something vague about coming back at half-past four. + +Lydia, abashed, gave up her plan for tea. But she did what she could +for Martie, by inveigling her father into a walk. Martie and Rod +came into an empty house, for Sally was out, no one knew where, and +Mrs. Monroe had gone to church where vespers were sung at four +o'clock through the winter. + +Martie's colour was high from fast walking in the cold wind, her +eyes shone like sapphires, and her loosened hair, under an old +velvet tam-o'-shanter cap, made a gold aureole about her face. +Rodney, watching her mount the little hill to the graveyard with a +winter sunset before her, had called her "Brunhilde," and he had +been talking of grand opera as they walked home. + +Enchanted at finding the house deserted, she very simply took him +into the kitchen. The kettle was fortunately singing over a sleeping +fire; Rodney sliced bread and toasted it, while Martie, trying to +appear quite at her ease, but conscious of awkward knees and elbows +just the same, whisked from pantry to kitchen busily, disappearing +into the dining room long enough to lay the tea cups and plates at +one end of the big table. + +Only a few moments before the little feast was ready, Lydia came +rather anxiously into the kitchen. She greeted Rodney smilingly, +seizing the first opportunity for an aside to say to Martie: + +"Pa's home, Mart. And he doesn't like your having Rod out here. I +walked him up to the Tates', but no one was home except Lizzie. +Shame! He saw Rodney's cap in the hall--he's in the dining room." +Aloud she said cheerfully: "I think this is dreadful--making you +work so hard, Rod. Come--tea's nearly ready. You and I'll wait for +it in the dining room, like the gentleman and lady we are!" + +"Oh, I'm having a grand time!" Rodney laughed. But he allowed +himself to be led away. A few minutes later Martie, with despair in +her heart, carried the loaded tray into the dining room. + +Her father, in one of his bad moods, was sitting by the empty +fireplace. The room, in the early autumn twilight, was cold. Len had +come in and expected his share of the unfamiliar luxury of tea, and +more than his share of the hot toast. + +Rodney, unaffected by the atmosphere, gaily busied himself with the +tray. Lydia came gently in with an armful of light wood which she +laid in the fireplace. + +"There is no necessity for a fire," Malcolm said. "I wouldn't light +that, my dear." + +"I thought--just to take the chill off," Lydia stammered. + +Her father shook his head. Lydia subsided. + +"We shall be having supper shortly, I suppose?" he asked patiently, +looking at a large gold watch. "It's after half-past five now." + +"But, Pa," Lydia laughed a little constrainedly, "we never have +dinner until half-past six!" + +"Oh, on week days--certainly," he agreed stiffly. "On Sundays, +unless I am entirely wrong, we sit down before six." + +"Len," Martie murmured, "why don't you go make yourself some toast?" + +"Don't have to!" Len laughed with his mouth full. + +"Here--I'll go out and make some more!" Rodney said buoyantly, +catching up a plate. Lydia instantly intervened; this would not do. +Pa would be furious. Obviously Martie could not go, because in her +absence Pa, Rodney, and Len would either be silent, or say what was +better unsaid. Lydia herself went out for a fresh supply of toast. + +Martie was grateful, but in misery. Lydia was always slow. The +endless minutes wore away, she and Rodney playing with their empty +plates, Len also waiting hungrily, her father watching them +sombrely. If Len hadn't come in and been so greedy, Martie thought +in confused anger, tea would have been safely over by this time; if +Pa were not there glowering she might have chattered at her ease +with Rodney, no tea hour would have been too long. As it was, she +was self-conscious and constrained. The clock struck six. Really it +WAS late. + +The toast came in; Sally came in demurely at her mother's side. She +had rushed out of the shadows to join her mother at the gate, much +to Mrs. Monroe's surprise. Conversation, subdued but general, +ensued. Martie walked boldly with Rodney to the gate, at twenty +minutes past six, and they stood there, laughing and talking, for +another ten minutes. + +When she went in, it was to face unpleasantness. Her mother, with +her bonnet strings dangling, was helping Lydia hastily to remove +signs of the recent tea party. Sally was in the kitchen; Len reading +opposite his father. + +"Come here a minute, Martie," her father called as I the girl +hesitated in the hallway. Martie came in and eyed him. "I would like +to know what circumstances led to young Parker's being here this +afternoon?" he asked. + +"Why--we were walking, and I--I suppose I asked him, Pa." + +"You SUPPOSE you asked him?" + +"Well--I DID ask him." + +"Oh, you DID ask him; that's different. You had spoken to your +mother about it?" + +"No." Martie swallowed. "No," she said again nervously. There was a +silence while her father eyed her coldly. + +"Then you ask whom you like to the house, do you? Is that the idea? +You upset your mother's and your sister's arrangement entirely at +your own pleasure?" he suggested presently. + +"I didn't think it was so much to ask a person to have a cup of +tea!" Martie stammered, with a desperate attempt at self-defense. +She felt tears pressing against her eyes. Lydia would have been +meek, Sally would have been meek, but Martie's anger was her nearest +weapon. It angered her father in turn. + +"Well, will you kindly remember in future that your ideas of what to +ask, and what not to ask, are not the ideas by which this house is +governed?" Malcolm asked magnificently. + +"Yes, sir." Martie stirred as if to turn and go. + +"One moment," Malcolm said discontentedly. "You thoroughly +understand me, do you?" + +"Yes, sir." Martie's eyes met Len's discreetly raised over the edge +of his book and full of reproachful interest. She went into the +kitchen. + +The spell of a nervous silence which had held the dining room was +broken. Mrs. Monroe and Lydia talked in low tones as they went to +and fro; Len shifted his position; Sally coming in with a plate of +sliced bread hummed contentedly. Martie appeared in her usual place +at supper, not too subdued to win a laugh even from her father with +some vivacious imitation of Miss Tate rallying the children for +Sunday School. Happiness was bubbling like a spring in her heart. + +After dinner, the dishes being piled in the sink to greet Belle on +Monday morning, she went to the piano and crashed into "Just a Song +at Twilight," and "Oh, Promise Me," and "The Two Grenadiers." These +and many more songs were contained in a large, heavy album entitled +"Favourite Songs for the Home." Martie had a good voice; not better +than Sally's or Lydia's, but Sally and Lydia rarely sang. Martie had +sung to her own noisy accompaniment since she was a child; she loved +the sound of her own voice. She had a hunger for accomplishment, +rattled off the few French phrases she knew with an unusually pure +accent, and caught an odd pleasing word or an accurate pronunciation +eagerly on the few occasions when lecturers or actors in Monroe gave +her an opportunity. + +To-night her father, in his library, heard the sweet, true tones of +her voice in "Lesbia" and "Believe Me," and remembered his mother +singing those same old songs. But when a silence followed he +remembered only faulty Martie, awkwardly making Rodney Parker +welcome at the most inconvenient time her evil genius could have +suggested, and he presently went into the sitting room with the +familiar scowl on his face. + +On the next Sunday Rodney hired a Roman-nosed, rusty white horse at +Beetman's, and for two hours he and Martie drove slowly about. They +drove up past the Poor House to the Cemetery, and into the Cemetery +itself, where black-clad forms were moving slowly among the graves. +The day was cold, with a bleak wind blowing; the headstones looked +bare and forlorn. + +At half-past three, driving down the Pittsville road, back toward +Monroe, Rodney said: + +"Why don't you come and have tea at our house, Martie?" + +Martie's heart rose on a great spring. + +"Why--would your mother--" She stopped short, not knowing quite how +to voice her hesitation. Had she expressed exactly what was in her +mind she might have said: "First, won't your mother and sisters snub +me? And secondly, is it quite correct, from a conventional +standpoint, for me to accept your casual invitation?" + +"Sure. Mother'll be delighted--come on!" Rodney urged. + +"I'd love to!" Martie agreed. + +"You know, the beauty about you, Martie, is that you're such a good +pal," Rodney said enthusiastically as he drove on. "I've always +wanted a pal. You and I like the same things; we're both a little +different from the common run, perhaps--I don't want to throw any +flowers at us, but that's true--and it's wonderful to me that living +here in this hole all your life you're so up-to-date--so darned +intelligent!" + +This was nectar to Martie's soul. But she had never been indulged so +recklessly in personalities before, and she did not quite know how +to meet them. She wanted to say the right thing, to respond +absolutely to his mood; a smile, half-deprecating, half-charmed, +fluttered on her lips when Rodney talked in this fashion, but even +to herself her words seemed ill-chosen and clumsy. A more +experienced woman, with all of Martie's love and longing surging in +her heart, would have vouchsafed him just that casual touch of hand +on hand, that slight, apparently involuntary swerve of shoulder +against shoulder that would have brought the boy's arms about her, +his lips to hers. + +It was her business in life to make him love her; the only business +for which her mother and father had ever predestined her. But she +knew nothing of it, except that no "nice" girl allowed a boy to put +his arm about her or kiss her unless they were engaged. She knew +that girls got into "trouble" by being careless on these matters, +but what that trouble was, or what led to it, she did not know. She +and Sally innocently believed that some mysterious cloud enveloped +even the most staid and upright girl at the touch of a man's arm, so +that of subsequent events she lost all consciousness. A girl might +attract a man by words and smiles to the point of wishing to marry +her, but she must never permit the slightest liberties, she must +indeed assume, to the very day of her marriage, that the desire for +marriage lived in the heart of the man alone. + +Martie never dreamed that the youth and sex within her had as +definite a claim on her senses as hunger had in the hour before +dinner time, or sleep had when she nodded over her solitaire at +night. But she drank in enchantment with Rodney's voice, his +laughter, his nearness, and the night was too short for her dreams +or the days for her happiness. + +They left the Roman-nosed horse and the surrey at Beetman's livery +stable, a damp and odorous enclosure smelling of wet straw, and with +the rear quarters of nervous bay horses stirring in the stalls. The +various men, smoking and spitting there in the Sunday afternoon +leisure, knew Martie and nodded to her; knew who her companion was. + +Martie and Rodney walked down South California Street, into the +town's nicest quarter, and passed the old-fashioned wooden houses, +set far back in bare gardens: the Wests' with its wooden palings; +the Clifford Frosts', with a hooded baby carriage near the side +door; and the senior Frosts', a dark red house shut in by a dark red +fence. The Barkers' house was the last in the row, rambling, ugly, +decorated with knobs and triangles of wood, with many porches, with +coloured glass frames on its narrow windows, yet imposing withal, +because of its great size and the great trees about it. Martie had +not been there since her childhood, in the days before Malcolm +Monroe's attitude on the sewer and street-lighting questions had +antagonized his neighbours, in the days when Mrs. Frost and Mrs. +Parker still exchanged occasional calls with Martie's mother. + +The girl found strangely thrilling Rodney's familiarity here. He +crossed the porch, opened the unlocked front door, and led Martie +through a large, over-furnished hall and a large, stately drawing +room. The rugs, lamps, chairs, and tables all belonged to entirely +different periods, some were Mission oak, some cherry upholstered in +rich brocade; there was a little mahogany, some maple, even a single +handsome square chair of teakwood from the Orient. On the walls +there were large crayon portraits made from photographs of the +girls, and there were cushions everywhere, some of fringed leather, +some of satin painted or embroidered, some of cigar ribbons of clear +yellow silk, some with college pennants flaunting across them. + +Beyond this room was another large one, looking out on the lawn and +the shabby willows at the side of the house. Into this room the more +favoured one had been casting off its abandoned fineries for many +years. There were more rugs, pillows, lamps, and chairs in here, but +it was all more shabby, and the effect was pleasanter and softer. +Ida's tea table stood by the hearth, with innovations such as a +silver tea-ball, and a porcelain cracker jar decorated with a rich +design in the minutely cut and shellacked details of postage stamps. +A fire winked sleepily behind the polished steel bars of the grate, +the western window was full of potted begonias and ferns, the air +was close and pleasantly scented with the odour of a good cigar. + +Judge Parker, a genial man looking more than his fifty-five years, +sat alone, smoking this cigar, and Martie, greeting him prettily, +was relieved to find that she must not at once face the ladies of +the house. Rather uncertainly she took off her hat, but did not +remove the becoming blue sweater. She sat erect in a low, +comfortable armchair whose inviting curves made her rigid attitude +unnatural and difficult, and talked to the Judge. The old man liked +all fresh young girls, and laughing with her, he vaguely wondered in +his hospitable heart why Monroe's girls were not more often at the +house. + +Ida and May, tall, colourless young women, presently came down. They +noticed Martie's shoe-lacings and the frill of muddy petticoat, the +ungloved hands and the absurdity of her having removed her hat, and +told Rodney about these things later. At the time they only made her +uncomfortable in quiet little feminine ways; not hearing her when +she spoke, asking her questions whose answers must surely embarrass +her. + +Tea came in. Martie smiled at Carrie David, who brought it. She +liked Carrie, who was the Hawkes' cousin, but did not quite think +she should speak to her here. Carrie, who was a big, gray-haired +woman of fifty, was in the room only a moment after all. + +Judge Parker, amiably under the impression that young people were +happier alone, went away to walk down Main Street, glancing at the +sky and greeting his townspeople in his usual genial fashion. May +poured the tea, holding Rodney in conversation the while. Ida talked +to Martie in a vivacious, smiling, insincere way, difficult to +follow. + +Martie listened sympathetically, more than half believing in the +bright picture of social triumphs and San Francisco admirers that +was presented her, even though she knew that Ida was twenty-six, and +had never had a Monroe admirer. Dr. Ben had once had a passing fancy +for May's company; May was older than Ida, and, though like her +physically, was warmer and more human in type. But even this had +never been a recognized affair; it had died in infancy, and the +Parker girls were beginning to be called old maids. + +Rodney walked with Martie to the gate when she left, but no farther, +and as she went on her way, uncomfortable thoughts were uppermost in +her mind. Martie had never driven with a young man before, and so +had no precedent to guide her, but she wondered if Rodney should not +have gone with her to her own gate. Perhaps she had stayed too long- +-another miserable possibility. And how "snippy" Ida and May had +been! + +Still, Monroe had seen her driving with Rodney, and she had had tea +at the Parkers'! So much was gain. She had almost reached the shabby +green gate that led into the sunken garden when Sally, flying up +behind her in the dusk, slipped a hand through her arm. Martie, +turning with a start and a laugh, saw Joe Hawkes, ten feet away, +smiling at her. + +"Hello, Joe!" she said, a little puzzled. Not that it was not quite +natural for Sally to stop and speak to Joe, if she wanted to; Joe +had been a familiar figure in their lives since they were children. +But-- + +But Sally was laughing and panting in a manner new and +incomprehensible. She caught Martie by both hands. All three, young +and not understanding themselves or life, stood laughing a little +vaguely in the sharp winter dusk. Joe was a mighty blond giant, only +Martie's age, and younger, except in inches and in sinews, than his +years. He had a sweet, simple face, rough, yellow hair, and hairy, +red, clumsy hands. A greater contrast to gentle little Sally, with +her timid brown eyes and the bloodless quiet of manner that was like +her mother and like Lydia, could hardly have been imagined. + +"Where've you been?" Martie asked. + +"We've been to church!" dimpled Sally with a glance at Joe. + +The pronoun startled Martie. + +"We were up in the organ loft," Joe contributed with his half- +laughing, half-nervous grin. + +Still bewildered, Martie followed her sister into the dark garden, +after a good-night nod to Joe, and went into the house. Their father +reluctantly accepted the girls' separate accounts of the afternoon: +Sally had been in church, Martie had driven about with Rod and had +gone to tea at his house. Lydia fluttered with questions. Who was +there? What was said? Malcolm asked Martie where Rodney had left +her. + +"At the gate, Pa," the girl responded promptly. + +All through the evening her eyes kept wandering in disapproval +toward Sally. Joe Hawkes!--it was monstrous. That stupid, common +lout of a boy--nearly two years her junior, too. + +They were undressing, alone in their room, when she spoke of the +matter. + +"Sally," said she, "you didn't really go sit in the choir with Joe +Hawkes, did you?" + +"Well--yes, in a way," Sally admitted, adding indulgently, "he's +SUCH an idiot!" + +"How do you mean?" Martie asked sharply. For Sally to flush and +dimple and give herself the airs of a happy woman over the calf-like +attentions of this clumsy boy of nineteen was more than absurd, it +was painful. "Sally--you couldn't! Why, you oughtn't even to be +FRIENDS with Joe Hawkes!" she stammered. "He gets--I suppose he gets +twenty dollars a month." + +"On, no; more than that!" Sally said, brushing her fine, silky, +lifeless hair. "He gets twenty-five from the express company, and +when he meets the trains for Beetman he gets half he makes." + +Martie stood astounded at her manner. That one of the Monroe girls +should be talking thus of Joe Hawkes! What mattered it to Sarah +Price Monroe how much Joe Hawkes made, or how? Joe Hawkes--Grace's +insignificant younger brother! Sally saw her consternation. + +"Now listen, Mart, and don't have a fit," she said, laughing. "I'm +not any crazier over Joe than you are. I know what Pa would say. I'm +not likely to marry any one on thirty dollars a month, anyway. But +listen, Joe has always liked me terribly--" + +"I never knew it!" Martie exclaimed. + +"No; well, neither did I. But last year when he broke his leg I used +to go in and see him with Grace, and one day she left the room for a +while, and he sort of--broke out--" + +"The GALL!" ejaculated Martie. + +"Oh, no, Mart--he didn't mean it that way. Really he didn't. He just +wanted--to hold my hand, you know--and that. And he never thinks of +money, or getting married. And, Mart, he's so GRATEFUL, you know, +for just a moment's meeting, or if I smile at him, going out of +church--" + +"I should think he might be!" Martie interpolated in fine scorn. + +"Yes, I know how you feel, Martie," Sally went on eagerly, "and +that's true, of course. I feel that way myself. But you don't know +how miserable he makes himself about it. And does it seem wrong to +you, Mart, for me just to be kind to him? I tell him--I was telling +him this afternoon--that some day he'll meet some nice sweet girl +younger than he, and that he'll be making more money then--you know- +-" + +Her voice faltered. She looked wistfully at her sister. + +"But I can't see why you let a big dummy like that talk to you at +all!" Martie said impatiently after a short silence. "What do you +care what he thinks? He's got a lot of nerve to DARE to talk to you +that way. I--well, I think Pa would be wild!" + +"Oh, of course he would," Sally agreed in a troubled voice. "And I +know how you feel, Martie, with Joe's aunt working for the Parkers, +and all," she added. "I'll--I'll stop it. Truly I will. I'm only +doing it to be considerate to Joe, anyway!" + +"You needn't do anything on my account," Martie said gruffly. "But I +think you ought to stop it on your own. Joe is only a kid, he +doesn't know beans--much less enough to really fall in love!" + +She lay awake for a long time that night, in troubled thought. Cold +autumn moonlight poured into the room; a restless wind whined about +the house. The cuckoo clock struck eleven--struck twelve. + +At all events she HAD gone driving with Rodney; she HAD had tea at +the Parkers'-- + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +"I honestly think that some of us ought to go down to-night and see +Grandma Kelly," said Lydia at luncheon a week later. November had +come in bright and sunny, but with late dawns and early twilights. +Rodney Parker's college friend having delayed his promised visit, +the agitating question of the Friday Fortnightly had been +temporarily laid to rest, but Martie saw him nearly every day, and +family and friends alike began to change in their attitude to +Martie. + +"I'll go," she and Sally said together--Martie, because she was in a +particularly amiable mood; Sally, perhaps because old Mrs. Kelly was +Joe Hawkes's grandmother. + +"Well, I wish you would, girls," their mother said in her gentle, +complaining voice. "She's a dear old lady--a perfect saint about +getting to church in all weathers! And while Pa doesn't care much +about having you so intimate with the Hawkeses, he was saying this +morning that Grandma Kelly is different. She was my nurse when all +four of you were born, and she certainly was interested and kind." + +"We can go down about seven," Lydia said, "and not stay too long. +But I suppose 'most every one in Monroe will run in to wish her many +happy returns. Tom David's wife will come in from Westlake with +Grandma's great-grandchildren, I guess, and all the others will be +there." + +"That houseful alone would kill me, let alone having the whole tribe +stream in, if _I_ were seventy-eight!" Martie observed. "But I'd +just as soon go. We'll see how we feel after dinner!" + +And after dinner, the night being fresh and sweet, and the meal +early concluded because Malcolm was delayed in Pittsville and did +not return for dinner, the three Monroes pinned on their hats, +powdered their noses, and buttoned on their winter coats. Any +excitement added to her present ecstatic mood was enough to give +Martie the bloom of a wild rose, and Sally had her own reasons for +radiance. Lydia alone, walking between them, was actuated by cool +motives of duty and convention and sighed as she thought of the heat +and hubbub of the Hawkes's house, and the hour that must elapse +before they were back in the cool night again. + +The Hawkeses had always lived in one house in Monroe. It was a +large, square, cheap house near the bridge, with a bare yard kept +shabby by picking chickens, and a fence of struggling pickets. +Behind the house, which had not been painted in the memory of man, +was a yawning barn which had never been painted at all. In the yard +were various odds and ends of broken machinery and old harness; a +wagon-seat, on which Grandma sometimes sat shelling beans or peeling +potatoes in the summer afternoons; old brooms, old saucepans, and +lengths of rope, clotted with mud. Fuchsia and rose-bushes +languished in a tipsy wire enclosure near the front door. + +To-night, although the yard presented a rather dismal appearance in +the early winter dark, the house was bursting with hospitality and +good cheer. From every one of the bare high windows raw gushes of +light tunnelled the gloom outside, and although the cold outside had +frosted all the glass, dim forms could be seen moving about, and +voices and laughter could be heard. + +Martie briskly twisted the little rotary bell-handle that was set in +the centre of the front door, and before its harsh noise had died +away, the door was flung open and the Monroe sisters were instantly +made a part of the celebration. Hilarious members of the family and +their even more hilarious friends welcomed them in; the bare hallway +was swarming with young persons of both sexes; girls were coming +down the stairs, girls going up, and the complementary boys lined +the wall, or, grinning, looked on from the doorways. + +The front room on the left, usually a bedroom, was used for a +smoking room to-night; the dining-room door had been locked, but on +the right two doors gave entrance to the long parlours, and here +were older men, older women--Mrs. Hawkes, big, energetic, perspiring +all over her delighted face; Carrie David, wild with hospitable +excitement; and Joe Hawkes, Senior, a lean little eager Irishman, +quite in his glory to-night. Throned on a sort of dais, in the front +bay window, was Grandma Kelly, a little shrivelled beaming old +woman, in a crumpled, shining, black satin gown. Her hair was +scanty, showing a wide bald parting, and to hear in all the +confusion she was obliged occasionally to cup one hand behind her +ear, but her snapping eyes were as bright as a monkey's and her +lips, over toothless gums, worked constantly with a rotary motion as +she talked and laughed. On each side of her were grouped other old +ladies--Mrs. Sark, Mrs. Mulkey, Mrs. Hansen, and Mrs. Mussoo--her +friends since the days, fifty years before, when they had crossed +the plains in hooded wagons, and fought out their simple and heroic +destinies on these strange western prairies. + +They had borne children, comforting and caring for each other in the +wilderness; they had talked of wolves and of Indians while trusting +little hands caught their knees and ignorant little lips pulled at +their breasts; they had known fire and flood and famine, crude +offense and cruder punishment; they had seen the Indians and the +buffalo go with the Missions and the sheep; they had followed the +gold through its sensational rise to its sensational fall, and had +held the wheat dubiously in their fingers before ever California's +dark soil knew it--had wondered whether the first apple trees really +might come to blossom and bear where the pines were cleared away. + +And now, with the second and third generation, had come schools and +post-offices, cable cars and gaslight; villages were cities; +crossroads were towns. At seventy-eight, Grandma Kelly was far from +ready for her nunc dimittis. Great days had been, no doubt, but +great days were also to be. Children, grandchildren, and great- +grandchildren kept the house swarming with life, and she could never +have enough of it. + +The air, never too fresh in the Hawkes's house, was hot and charged +with odours of cheap cologne, of powder, of human bodies, and of +perspiration-soaked garments. The very gaslights screamed above the +din as if they found it contagious. Large crayon portraits decorated +the walls, that of the late Mr. Kelly having attached to its frame +the sheaf of wheat that had lain on his coffin. On the walls also +were the large calendars of insurance companies, and one or two +china plaques in plush frames. A bead portiere hung between the two +parlours, constantly clicking and catching as the guests swarmed to +and fro. All the chairs in the house had been set about the walls, +and all were occupied. A disk on the phonograph was duly revolving, +in charge of a hysterical girl in blue silk and a flushed, humorous +young man, but the music was almost unheard. + +Whatever their attitude toward this merrymaking had previously been, +the Monroe girls were instantly drawn into the spirit of the +occasion. Martie and Sally were dragged upstairs, where they left +hats and coats, were taken downstairs again with affectionate, +girlish arms about their waists; and found themselves laughing and +shouting with the rest. Towed through the boiling crowd to Grandma, +they kissed the cool, soft old face. They greeted the other old +women with pretty enthusiasm. + +Lydia meanwhile had decorously delivered her message of good wishes +and had drifted to a chair against the wall, where matrons greeted +her eagerly and where, in her own way, she began to enjoy herself. +Sentiment, hospitality, gaiety filled the air. + +"Isn't Grandma wonderful?" said all the voices, over and over. "I +think she's wonderful! Mrs. Hawkes had a dinner for just the five +old ladies, you know. Wasn't that sweet? The family had to have +their dinner earlier--just the five old ladies. Wasn't that a cute +idea? Ellen said they looked perfectly dear, all together! Mary +Clute couldn't get here from San Francisco, you know, but she sent +Grandma a tea-pot cover--the cutest thing! Did you see the Davids' +baby? It's upstairs, I guess; it's a darling little thing! Think of +it, three great-grandchildren! Oh, I do, too; I think it's a lovely +party--I think the rooms look lovely--I think it was an awfully cute +idea!" + +The oldest David grandchild, becoming sodden with sleepiness, +climbed into Lydia's lap. Sally, after exchanging a conscious +undertone with young Joe, slipped through the dining-room door with +him, and happily joined the working forces in the kitchen. In her +mind Sally knew that the Hawkeses were but homely folk; she knew +that any Monroe should shrink from this hot and noisy kitchen. But +Sally's heart welcomed the eager bustle, the tasks so imperative +that her timid little entity was entirely forgotten, the talk that +was friendly and affectionate and comprehensible. + +Joe and she laughed over piecing tablecloths together for the long +table, and kept a jingling ripple of laughter accompanying the +jingling of plated spoons and the thick glasses. Ellen and Grace, as +the family debutantes, were inside with the company, but Carrie and +Min, the married daughters, were here, with old Mrs. Crowley, who +never missed an occasion of this kind, Mrs. Mulkey's daughter Annie +Tate, Gertie Hansen, and an excited fringe of children too young to +dance and too old to be sent off to bed. + +As it was the custom for the more intimate friends to bring a cake, +a pan of cookies, or a great jug of strong lemonade to such an +affair, there was more food than twice this surging group of men, +women, and children could possibly consume, so that the boys and +girls could keep their mouths full of oily, nutty, walnut wafers and +broken bits of layer cake without any conscientious scruples. One of +the large kitchen tables was entirely covered with plates bearing +layer cakes, with chocolate, maple, shining white, and streaky +orange icings, or topped with a deadly coating of fluffy cocoa-nut. +On the floor half a dozen ice cream freezers leaked generously; at +the sink, Mrs. Rose, who had been Minnie Hawkes, was black and +sticky to the elbows with lemon juice. + +Meanwhile Martie, more in tune with the actual jollity than either +of her sisters, was warming to her most joyous mood. Her costume of +thin white waist and worn serge skirt might have been considered +deficient in a more formal assembly, but here it passed without +comment; the girls' dresses varied widely, and no one seemed any the +less gay. Grace had a long streamer of what appeared to be green +window-net tied loosely about a worn pink satin slip; Elsa Prout +wore the shepherdess costume she had made for the Elks' Hallowe'en +Dance, and Mrs. Cazley, sitting with her back against the wall, wore +her widow's bonnet with its limp little veil falling down to touch +her fresh white shirtwaist. Martie improved her own costume by +pinning a large pink tissue-paper rose against her high white stock, +and fastening another in her bronze hair; the girls laughed +appreciatively at her audacity; a vase of the paper roses had been +in the parlour for years. Youth and excitement did the rest. + +Here, where her motives could not be misunderstood, where her +presence indeed was to be construed as adding distinction and +dignity to the festivities, Martie could be herself. She laughed, +she flirted with the common yet admiring boys, she paid charming +attention to the old women. A rambling musical programme was +presently set in motion; Martie's voice led all the voices. She was +presently asked to sing alone, and went through "Believe Me" +charmingly, putting real power and pathos into the immortal words. +Returning, flushed and happy in a storm of clapping, to her place +between Al Lunt and Art Carter on the sofa, she kept those +appreciative youths in such convulsions of laughter that their +entire neighbourhood was sympathetically affected. Carl Polhemus, +who played the organ at church, had begun a wandering improvisation +on the piano, evidently so taken with certain various chords and +runs that he could not resist playing them passionately over and +over. A dangerous laugh, started among the younger set, began to +strangle and stifle his audience. Martie, looking straight ahead of +her, gave only an occasional spasmodic heave of shoulders and +breast, but her lips were compressed in an agony, and her eyes full +of tears. From the writhing boys on each side of her came frequent +smothered snorts. + +In upon this scene came old Dr. Ben, who had worked hand in hand +with Grandma Kelly in the darkened rooms where many of these +hilarious youngsters had drawn their first breath. Although the +infatuated musician did not stop at this interruption, many of his +listeners rose to greet the newcomer, and the tension snapped. + +Dr. Ben sat down next to the old lady, and the room, from which the +older guests were quietly disappearing, was enthusiastically cleared +for dancing. The air, close already, became absolutely insufferable +now; the men's collars wilted, the girls' flushed faces streamed +perspiration. But the cool side-porch was accessible, and the +laughter and noise continued unabated. + +Quietly crossing the dark backyard for his horse and buggy at ten +o'clock, Dr. Ben came upon Joe Hawkes sitting on the shadowy steps +with--he narrowed his eyes to make sure--yes, with little Sally +Monroe. The old man formed his lips into a slow, thoughtful whistle +as he busied himself with straps and buckles. Slowly, thoughtfully, +he climbed into his buggy. + +"Sally!" he called, sitting irresolute with the reins in his hands. + +The opaque spot that was Sally's gown did not stir in the shadows. + +"Sally!" he called again. "I see ye, and Joe Hawkes, too. Come here +a minute!" + +She went then, slowly into the clear November moonlight. + +"What is it, Doc' Ben?" she asked, in a rather thick voice and with +a perceptible gulp. Even in this light he could see her wet lashes +glitter. + +For a minute he did not speak, fat hands on fat knees. Sally, +innocent, loving, afraid, hung her head before him. + +"Like Joe, do ye, Sally?" said the mild old voice. + +"I--" Sally's voice was almost inaudible--"why, I don't know, Doc, +Ben," she faltered. "My mother--my father--" she stopped short. + +"Your father and mother, eh?" Dr. Ben repeated musingly, as if to +himself. + +"I couldn't like--any one--if it was to make all the people who love +me unhappy, I suppose," Sally said in her mild, prim voice, with an +effort at lightness. "No happiness could come of that, could it, +Doctor?" + +To this dutiful expression the doctor made no immediate answer, +observing in a dissatisfied tone, after a pause: "That sounds like +your mother, or Lydia." + +Sally, leaning against the shabby cushions of the carriage, looked +down in silent distress. + +"There never could be anything serious between Joe Hawkes and I," +she said presently, with a little unnatural laugh. She was not quite +sure of her pronoun. She looked anxiously at Dr. Ben's face. It was +still troubled and overcast. Sally wondered uncomfortably if he +would tell her mother that she was seeing Joe frequently. As it +chanced, she and Joe had more than once encountered the old man on +their solitary walks and talks. She thought, in her amiable heart, +that if she only knew what Dr. Ben wanted her to say she would say +it; or what viewpoint he expected her to take she would assume it. + +"Joe and I were helping Mrs. David," she submitted timidly, "and we +came out to sit in the cool." + +"Don't be a hypocrite, Sally," the doctor said absently. Sally +laughed with an effort to make the conversation seem all a joke, but +she was puzzled and unhappy. "Well," said the doctor suddenly, +gathering up his reins and rattling the whip in its socket as a +gentle hint to the old mare, "I must be getting on. I want you to +come and see me, Sally. Come to-morrow. I want to talk to you." + +"Yes, sir," Sally answered obediently. She would have put out her +tongue for his inspection then and there if he had suggested it. + +When the old phaeton had rattled out of the yard she went back to +the shadows and Joe. She was past all argument, all analysis, all +reason, now. She hungered only for this: Joe's big clean young arms +about her; Joe's fresh lips, with their ignorant passion, against +hers. For years she had known Joe only by sight; a few months ago +she had been merely amused and flattered by the boy's crudely +expressed preference; even now she knew that for a Monroe girl, at +twenty-one, to waste a thought on a Hawkes boy of nineteen was utter +madness. But a week or two ago, walking home from church with her +mother and herself on Sunday night, Joe had detained her for a +moment under the dooryard trees--had kissed her. Sally was like a +young tiger, tamed, petted, innocuous, whose puzzled lips have for +the first time tasted blood. Every fibre in her being cried for Joe, +his bashful words were her wisdom, his nearness her very breath and +being. + +She clung to him now, in the dark kitchen porch, in a fever of pure +desire. Their hearts beat together. Sally's arms were bent against +the boy's big chest, as his embrace crushed her; they breathed like +runners as they kissed each other. + +A moment later they went back into the kitchen to scoop the hard- +packed ice cream into variegated saucers and enjoy unashamedly such +odd bits of it as clung to fingers or spoon. The cakes had all been +cut now, enormous wedges of every separate variety were arranged on +the plates that were scattered up and down the long stretch of the +table in the dining room. The dancers and all the other guests filed +out to enjoy the supper, the room rang with laughter and screamed +witticisms. A popular feature of the entertainment was the mottoes, +flat scalloped candies of pink and white sugar, whose printed +messages caused endless merriment among these uncritical young +persons. "Do You Love Me?"; "I Am A Flirt"; "Don't Kiss Me"; "Oh, +You Smarty," said the mottoes insinuatingly, and the revellers read +them aloud, exchanged them, secreted them, and even devoured them, +in their excessive delight. + +Presently they all toasted Grandma Kelly in lemonade. The old lady, +with Lydia and some of the older women, was enjoying her cake and +cream in the parlour, but tears of pride and joy came to her eyes +when the young voices all rose with lingering enjoyment on "Silver +Threads Among the Gold," and there was a general wiping of eyes at +"She's a Jolly Good Fellow" which followed it. Then some of the +girls rushed in to kiss her once more, and, as it was now nearly +twelve o'clock, Lydia called her sisters, and they said their good- +nights. + +Walking home under a jaded moon, yawning and cold in the revulsion +from hours of excitement and the change from the heated rooms to the +cold night air, Lydia was complacently superior; they were certainly +warm-hearted, hospitable people, the Hawkeses, and she was glad that +they, the Monroes, had paid Grandma the compliment of going. Sally, +hanging on Lydia's arm, was silent. Martie, on her other arm, was +smilingly reminiscent. "That Al Lunt was a caution," she observed. +"Wasn't Laura Carter's dance music good? Wasn't that maple walnut +cake delicious?" She had eaten goodness knows how much ice cream, +because she sat at table between Reddy Johnson and Bernard Thomas, +and every time Carrie David or any one asked them if they wanted any +more ice cream, Bernie had put their saucers in his lap, and told +Carrie that they hadn't had any yet. + +Len suddenly came up behind his sisters, frightening them with a +deep "Boo!" before he emerged from the blackness to join them. + +"Javva good time?" he asked, adding carelessly, "I was there." + +"Yes, you were!" Martie said incredulously. "You wish you were!" + +"Honest, I was," Len said. "Honest I was, Lyd." + +"Well, you weren't there until pretty late, Len," Lydia said in mild +disapproval. + +"Lissun," Len suggested pleadingly. "Tell Pa I brought you girls +home from Hawkes's--go on! Lissun, Lyd, I'll do as much for you some +time--" + +"Oh, Len, how can I?" Lydia objected. + +"Well, I went in, honest, early in the evening," the boy asserted +eagerly. "But I can't stand those boobs and roughnecks, so I went +down town for a while. Then I came back and waited until you girls +came out of the gate. I'll cross my heart and hope to die if I +didn't!" + +"If Pa asks me--" Lydia said inexorably. + +For a few moments they all walked together in the dark. Then Len +said suddenly: + +"Say, Mart, I saw Rod Parker to-night. He was down town, and he +asked me how my pretty sister was!" + +"Did he?" Martie spoke carelessly, but her heart leaped. + +"He talked a lot about you," went on Len, "he's going to call you up +in the morning about something." + +"Oh--?" Martie mused. "I shouldn't wonder if it was about a dance we +were talking about," she said thoughtfully. She was quite acute +enough to see perfectly that Len was trying to enlist her silence in +his cause should their father make a general inquiry, and +philosophical enough to turn his mood to her own advantage. "Lissun, +Len," said she, "if I try to have a party you'll get the boys you +know to come, won't you? There are always too many girls, and I want +it to go off nicely. You will, won't you?" + +"Sure I will," Len promised heartily. He and his sister perfectly +understood each other. + +They all went quietly upstairs; Len to dreamless sleep, Sally to +thrilled memories of Joe--Joe--Joe, and Martie to shifting happy +thoughts of the evening and its little triumphs, thoughts that +always came back to Len's talk with Rodney. Rodney had asked Len for +his pretty sister. + +Lydia lay wide awake for a long time. There was no doubt of it now; +she and her mother had told each other several times during the last +month or two that there was still doubt. But she was not mistaken +to-night in thinking that Len's breath was strong from something +alcoholic, that Len's eager, loose-lipped speech, his unusual +manner--She went over and over the words she would use in telling +her mother all about it in the morning. The two women would carry +heavy hearts on Len's account for the whole cold, silent day. But +they would not tell Pa--no, there was nothing sufficiently serious +as yet to tell Pa! + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +Martie and Sally loitered through the village, past the post-office +and the main shops and down through the poorer part of the town. +They entered a quiet region of shabby old houses, turned into a +deserted lane, and opened the picket gate before Dr. Ben's cottage. +The little house in winter stood in a network of bare vines; in +summer it was smothered in roses, and fuchsias, marguerites, +hollyhocks, and geraniums pressed against the fence. Marigolds, +alyssum, pansies, and border pinks flourished close to the ground, +with sweet William, stock, mignonette, and velvet-brown wallflowers. +Dr. Ben had planted all these himself, haphazard, and loved the +resulting untidy jumble of bloom, with the lilac blossoms rustling +overhead, birds nesting in his willow and pepper trees, and bees +buzzing and blundering over his flowers. + +The house was not quite definite enough in type to be quaint; it +presented three much-ornamented gables to the lane, its windows were +narrow, shuttered inside with dark brown wood. At the back-between +the house and the little river, and shut away from the garden by a +fence--were a little barn, decorated like the house in scalloped +wood, and various small sheds and out-houses and their occupants. + +Here lived the red cow, the old white mare, the chickens and +pigeons, the rabbits and bees that had made the place fascinating to +Monroe children for many years. Martie said to herself to-day that +she always felt like a child when she came to Dr. Ben's, shut once +more into childhood's world of sunshine and flowers and happy +companionship with animals and the good earth. + +To-day the old man, with his setter Sandy, was busy with his +bookshelves when the girls went in. Two of the narrow low bay +windows that looked directly out on the level of the kitchen path +were in this room; the third, the girls knew, was a bedroom. +Upstairs were several unused rooms full of old furniture and piles +of magazines, and back of the long, narrow sitting room were a +little dining room with Crimson Rambler roses plastered against its +one window, and a large kitchen in which old Mis' Penny reigned +supreme. + +Here in the living room were lamps, shabby chairs, an air-tight +stove, shells, empty birds' nests, specimens of ore, blown eggs, +snakeskins, moccasins, wampum, spongy dry bees' nests, Indian +baskets and rugs, ropes and pottery, an enormous Spanish hat of +yellow straw with a gaudy band, and everywhere, in disorderly +cascades and tumbled heaps, were books and pamphlets and magazines. + +Dr. Ben welcomed them eagerly and sent Martie promptly to the +kitchen to interview Mis' Penny on the subject of tea. The girls +were quite at home here, for the old doctor was Rose Ransome's +mother's cousin, and through their childhood the little gabled house +had been the favourite object of their walks. Sally, alone with her +host, began to help him in his hopeless attempt to get his library +in order. + +"The point is this, Sally," said Dr. Ben suddenly, after a few +innocuous comments on the weather and the health of the Monroe +family had been exchanged. "Have you and Joe Hawkes come to care for +each other?" + +Sally flushed scarlet. She had been thinking hard--for Sally, who +was not given to thought--in the hours since the party for Grandma +Kelly. Now she began readily, with a great air of frankness. + +"I'll tell you, Dr. Ben. I know you feel as if I was trying to hide +something from Ma and Pa, and it's worried me a good deal, too. But +the truth is, I've known Joe all my life, and he's only a boy, of +course--ever so much younger than I am--and he has just gotten this +notion into his head. Of course, it's perfectly ridiculous--because +naturally I am not going to throw my life away in any such fashion +as that! But Joe thinks now that he will never smile again--" + +Thus Sally, kneeling among the books, her earnest, pretty, young +face turned toward the doctor, her eyes widely opened, as the +extraordinary jumble of words poured forth. The unpleasant sensation +of their last meeting, the confusing feeling that she was not saying +what Dr. Ben wanted her to say, beset her. She felt a sudden, +dreadful inclination toward tears, although with no clear sense of a +reason for crying. + +"I suppose all boys go through their silly stages like measles," +said Sally rapidly. "And it's only my misfortune and Joe's that his +first love affair had to be me. One reason why I haven't mentioned +it at home is--" + +"Then you don't care for Joe?" the old man asked with his serious +smile. + +"Oh, Dr. Ben! Of course, I like Joe enormously, he's a dear sweet +boy," Sally answered smoothly. "But you know as well as I do how my +father feels toward the village people in Monroe, and while the +Hawkeses are just as nice as they can be in their way--" again +Sally's flow of eloquence was strangely shaken; she felt as a child +might, caught up in the arm of a much larger person and rushed along +helplessly with only an occasional heartening touch of her feet to +the ground--"after all, that isn't quite our way, is it?" she asked. +If only, thought the nervous little girl who was Sally, if only she +knew what Dr. Ben wanted her to say! + +"Why can't ye be honest with me, Sally?" said the doctor. "Ye love +Joe, don't ye?" + +Sally's head dropped, the colour rose in her cheeks, and the tears +came. She nodded, and through all her body ran a delicious thrill at +the acknowledged passion. + +"Ye've found each other out, in spite of them all!" said the old man +musingly. "And what does his age or yours, or his place or yours, +matter beside that? They've tried to fill you with lies, and you've +found that the lies don't hold water. Well--" + +He straightened up suddenly, and began to march about the room. +Sally, kneeling still over the books, tears drying on her cheeks, +watched him. + +"Sally," said the doctor, "God made you and Joe Hawkes and your love +for each other. I don't know who made the social laws by which women +govern these little towns, but I suspect it was the devil. You've +been brought up to feel that if you marry a man Mrs. Cy Frost +doesn't ask to her house, you'll be unhappy ever after. But I ask +you, Sally--I ask you as a man old enough to be your father--if you +had your home, your husband, your health, your garden, and your +children, wouldn't you be a far happier woman than--than Lydia say, +or Florence Frost, or all the other girls who sit about this town +waiting for a man with position enough--position, BAH!--to marry?" + +Sally's face was glowing. + +"Oh, Dr. Ben, _I_ don't care anything about position!" she said, all +her honest innocence in her face. + +"Then why do you act as if you did?" he said, well pleased. + +"And would you advise me to marry Joe?" she asked radiantly. + +"Joe--Tom--Billy, whomever you please!" he answered impatiently. +"But don't be afraid because he doesn't wear silk socks, Sally, or +smoke a monogrammed cigarette. Why, my child, that little polish, +that little fineness, is the woman's gift to her man! These Frosts +and Parkers: it was the coarse strength of their grandfathers that +got them across the plains; it was the women who packed the books in +the horsehair trunks, that read the Bibles and cleaned and sewed and +prayed in the old home way. You don't suppose those old miners and +grocers, who came later to be the city fathers, ever had as much +education as Joe Hawkes, or half as much!" + +"I wish my father felt as you do, Doc' Ben," Sally said presently, +the brightness dying from her face. "But Pa will never, never--And +even if there were no other reason, why Joe hasn't a steady job--" + +"That brings me to what I really want to say to you to-day, Sally," +the old man interrupted her briskly. He opened a desk drawer and +took from it a small, old-fashioned photograph. Sally saw a young +woman's form, disguised under the scallops, ruffles, and pleats of +the early seventies, a bright face under a cascade of ringlets, and +a little oval bonnet set coquettishly awry. "D'ye know who that is?" +asked Dr. Ben. + +"I--well, yes; I suppose?" murmured Sally sympathetically. + +"Yes, it's my wife," he answered. "Mary--Our boy would be thirty. +They went away together--poor girl, poor girl! We wanted a big +family, Sally; we hoped for a houseful of children. And I had her +for only fifteen months--only fifteen months to remember for thirty +years!" + +Sally was deeply impressed. She thought it strangely flattering in +Dr. Ben to take her into his confidence in this way, and that she +would tell Martie about it as they walked home. + +"No," he said musingly. "I never had a child! And Sally, if I had it +all to do over again, I'd marry again. I'd have sons. That's the +citizen's duty. Some day we'll recognize it, and then you bearers of +children will come into your own. There'll be recognition for every +one of them, we'll be the first nation to make our poor women proud +and glad when a child is coming. It's got to be, Sally." + +Sally was listening politely, but she was not interested. She had +heard all this before, many times. Dr. Ben's extraordinary views +upon the value of the family were familiar to every one in Monroe. +But her attention was suddenly aroused by the mention of her own +name. + +"Now, supposing that you and Joe take it into your heads to get +married some day," the doctor was saying, "how about children?" + +Sally's ready colour flooded her face. She made no attempt to answer +him. + +"Would ye have them?" the old man asked impatiently. + +"Why--why, Dr. Ben, I don't know!" Sally said in great confusion. +"I--I suppose people DO." + +"You suppose people do?" he asked scornfully. "Don't ye KNOW they +do?" + +"Well, I don't suppose any girl thinks very much of such things +until she's married," Sally said firmly. "Mama doesn't like us to +discuss--" + +"Doesn't your mother ever talk to you about such things?" the old +man demanded. + +"Certainly not!" Sally answered with spirit. + +"What DOES she talk to you about?" he asked amazedly. "It's your +business in life, after all. She's not taught ye any other. What +does she expect ye to do--learn it all after it's too late to +change?" + +"All what?" Sally said, a little frightened, even a little sick. He +stopped his march, and looked at her with something like pity. + +"All the needs of your soul and body," he said kindly, "and your +children's souls and bodies. Well! that's neither here nor there. +But the fact is this, Sally: I've no children of my own to raise. +And as ye very well know, I've got my own theories about putting +motherhood on a different basis, a business basis. I want you to let +me pay you--as the State ought to pay you--three hundred a year for +every child you bear. I want to demonstrate to my own satisfaction, +before I try to convince any Government, that if the child-bearing +woman were put on a plane of economic value, her barren, parasite +sister would speedily learn--" + +Sally had turned pale. Now she rose in girlish dignity. + +"I hope you'll forgive me, Dr. Ben, for saying that I won't listen +to ONE word more. I know you've been thinking about these things so +long that you forget how OUTRAGEOUS they sound! Motherhood is a +sacred privilege, and to reduce it to--" + +"So is wifehood, Sally!" the old man interposed soothingly. + +"Well," she flashed back, "nobody's PAID for wifehood!" + +"Oh, yes, my dear. You can sue a man for not supporting you. It's +done every day!" + +"Then--then a man ought to pay the three hundred a year!" countered +Sally. + +"Well, I'm with you there. But the world has got to see that before +you can force him." The doctor sighed. "So you won't let me stand +grandfather to your children, Sally?" "Oh, if you WERE their +grandfather'" she answered. "Then you could do as you liked!" + +"There you are, the parasite!" he said, smiling whimsically. "You're +your mother's daughter, Sally. Give you the least blood-claim on a +man's money, and you'll push it as far as you can. But offer to pay +you for doing the work God meant you to do and you're cut to the +soul. Well--" + +He was still holding forth eloquently on the subject of children and +nations when Martie came back, and Sally, with a scarlet face, was +evidently lost in thoughts of her own. + +As the girls walked home, Sally did not repeat to Martie her +conversation with the old doctor, nor for many weeks afterward. But +Martie did not notice her sister's indignant silence, for they met +Rodney Parker coming out of the Bank, and he walked with them to the +bridge, and asked Martie to go with him to see the Poulson Star +Stock Company in a Return Engagement Extraordinary on the following +night. + +Martie was conscious of passing a milestone in her emotional life on +the evening of this day, when she said to herself that she loved +Rodney Parker. She admitted it with a sort of splendid shame, as she +went about her usual household occupations, passing from the hot +pleasantness of the kitchen to the cool, stale odours of the dining +room; running upstairs to light the bathroom-and hall-gas for her +father and brother, and sometimes stepping for a moment into the +darkness of the yard to be alone with her enchanted thoughts. + +All the young Monroes regarded their father's temperamental +shortcomings with stoicism, so that it was in no sense resentfully +that she faced the inevitable preliminaries that night. + +"Pa," said she cheerfully over the dessert, "you don't mind if I go +to the show with Rodney to-morrow, do you?" + +"This is the first I've heard of any show," Malcolm said stiffly, +glancing at his wife. Mrs. Monroe patiently told him what she knew +of it. "Why, no, I suppose there is no reason you shouldn't go," he +presently said discontentedly. + +"Oh, thank you, Pa!" Martie said, with a soaring heart. He looked at +her dispassionately. + +"Your sisters and your brother are going, I suppose?" Malcolm asked, +glancing about the circle. Martie told herself she might have known +he was not done with the subject so easily. + +"I'm not--because I haven't the price!" grinned Leonard. His mother +and Lydia laughed. + +"I don't suppose Martie proposes going alone with young Parker?" +Malcolm asked in well-assumed amazement. + +"Why, Pa--I don't see why NOT" Mrs. Monroe protested weakly. + +Her husband was magnificent in his surprise. He looked about in a +sort of royal astonishment. + +"Don't you, my dear?" he asked politely. "Then permit me to say that +_I_ DO." + +Martie sat dumb with despair. + +"Certainly Martha may go, if Leonard and one of her sisters go; not +otherwise," said Malcolm. He retired to his library, and Martie had +to ease her boiling heart by piling the dinner dishes viciously, and +question no more. + +However, she consoled herself, there was something rather dignified +in this arrangement, after all; Len was presentable, and she was +always the happier for being with Sally. She washed her only gloves, +pressed her suit, and spent every alternate minute during the next +day anxiously inspecting her chin where an ugly pimple threatened to +form. The family was again at dinner when Len broached a change of +plan. + +"Can I go up to Wilson's to-night, Pa?" he asked. Martie flashed him +a glance. + +"I suppose so, for a little while," Malcolm said tolerantly. The +girls looked at each other. + +"But I thought you were going to the Opera House with us?" Martie +exclaimed. + +"Well, now you know I ain't," Len answered airily. + +"I am not, Len," corrected his mother. Martie gave him a look of +hate. + +"Len says he promised to go to Wilson's," Lydia said placatingly. +"So I thought perhaps Sally and I would go with you--I'm sorry, +Martie!" + +For Martie's breast was heaving dangerously. + +"Pa, didn't you say Len was to go with us?" she asked with desperate +calm. + +"I said SOME ONE was to go," Malcolm said, disapproving of her +vehemence. "I confess I cannot see why it must be Len!" + +"Because--because when a man asks a girl to go out with him he +doesn't ask the whole FAMILY!" Martie muttered in a fury. Her lip +trembled, and she got to her feet. "It doesn't matter in the least," +she said in a low, shaking voice, "because I am not going myself!" + +Flashing from the room, she ran upstairs. She flung herself across +her bed, and cried stormily for ten minutes. Then she grew calmer, +and lay there crying quietly, and shaken by only an occasional long +sob. It was during this stage that Lydia came into the room, and +sitting down beside Martie's knees, patted her hand soothingly. +Lydia's weak acceptance of the younger sister's distaste for her +company gave Martie a sort of shamed heart-sickness. + +"Don't!" said she huskily, jerking her arm away. + +But Lydia was not to be rebuffed, and Martie was but nineteen, after +all, and longing for the happiness she had denied. An hour later, +all the prettier for her tears, she met Rodney at the hall door, the +boy making no sign of disappointment when Lydia and Sally joined +them. + +"But say, Martie," he said at once, "I've got only the two seats!" + +"Oh, that's all right!" Lydia said quickly and cautiously. "We don't +have to SIT together!" + +Martie's mood brightened and she flushed like a rose when the boy +said eagerly: + +"Say, listen, Martie. My sister Ida's going to-night, and one or two +others, and Mrs. Cliff Frost is going to chaperon us afterward; ask +your mother if that's all right." + +The girl wasted no time on her mother, but crossed to the library +door. + +"Pa," said she without preamble, "Mrs. Cliff Frost is chaperoning +some of them after the theatre tonight. Can I go?" + +"Go where? Shut that door," her father said, half turning. + +"Oh--I don't know; to the hotel, I suppose." + +"Yes," her father said in a dry voice. "Yes," he added unwillingly. +"Go ahead." + +So the evening was a great success; one of the memorable times. +Martie and Rodney walked ahead of her sisters down town, the boy +gallantly securing the girls' tickets before he and Martie went up +the aisle to their own seats. All Monroe was in the Opera House. +Martie bowed and smiled radiantly. Rodney's sister and Mrs. Frost +and a strange man presently returned her smile. + +"Rod--wouldn't you rather be with your own family?" + +"Well--what do you think?" + +The enchantment of it, the warmth and stimulus of his admiration, +his absorbed companionship, how they changed the world for Martie! +There was a witchery in the air, the blood ran quick in her veins. +The dirty big hall, with its high windows, was fairyland; the +whispering crowd, Rodney's nearness, and the consciousness of her +own youth and beauty, her flushed cheeks and loosened bronze hair, +acted upon Martie like strong wine. She grew lovely beneath his very +eyes; she was nineteen, and she loved! + +They talked incessantly, elaborating the simple things they said +with a by-play of eyes and hands, making the insignificant words +rich with lowered tones, with smiles and the meeting of eyes. He +told Martie of his college days; borrowing episodes at random from +the lives of other men, men whom he admired. Martie believed it all, +believed that he had written the Junior Farce, that he had been +president of his class, that the various college societies had +disputed for his membership. In return, she spun her own romances, +flinging a veil of attractive eccentricity over her father's +character, generously giving Lydia an anonymous admirer, and +painting the dreary old mansion of North Main Street as a sort of +enchanted prison with her pretty restless self as captive therein. +The two exchanged brief French phrases, each believing the other to +have a fair command of the language, and Martie even quoted poetry, +to which Rodney listened in intense silence, his eyes fixed upon +hers. + +Suddenly the house was darkened and the curtain rose. The play was +"The Sword of the King," a drama that seemed to Martie well suited +to her own exalted mood. She thought the whole company wonderful, +the leading lady especially gifted. She learned with awe that Rodney +had known Wallace Bannister, the leading man, more or less +intimately for years. An aunt of his lived in Pittsville and the two +had met as boys and later had been classmates for the brief period +Bannister had remained at the Leland Stanford University. Martie +wrapped her beauty-starved young soul in the perfect past, when men +wore ruffles and buckles and capes, and were all gallantry and +courage, and when women were beautiful and desired. Between the acts +the delicious exchange of confidences between herself and Rodney +went on; they nibbled Bonestell's chocolates from a striped paper +bag as they talked, and when the final curtain fell on a ringing +line there were real tears of pleasure in Martie's eyes. + +"Oh, Rodney--this is LIVING!" she whispered, as they filed slowly +out. + +Sally and Lydia had considerately disappeared. Mrs. Clifford Frost +was waiting for them at the door, and Martie, with quick tact, fell +into conversation with the kindly matron, walking at her side down +the crowded street, and leaving Rodney to follow with the others. +Little Ruth Frost had had some trouble fearfully resembling +diphtheria, and Martie's first interested question was enough to +enlist the mother's attention. The girl did not really notice the +others in the party. + +They crossed muddy Main Street, passed Wilkins's Furniture and +Coffin Parlours, and went into the shabby French restaurant known as +Mussoo's. The little eating house, with its cheap, white-painted +shop window, looking directly upon the sidewalk, its pyramid of +oyster shells cascading from a box set by the entrance, its jangling +bell that the opening door set to clanging, its dingy cash register, +damp tablecloths, and bottles of red catsup, was not a place to +which Monroe residents pointed with pride. Martie would ordinarily +have passed it as one unaware of its existence. + +But it seemed a thoroughly daring and exciting thing to come here +to-night; quite another thing from going to the hotel for vanilla +ice cream and chocolate--even supposing the hotel had kept its +dining room open for a change, after the six o'clock supper--or to +Bonestell's for banana specials. This--this was living! Martie +established herself comfortably in the corner, slipped off her coat, +smiled lazily at Rodney's obvious manipulation of the party so that +he should be next her, played with her hot, damp, blackened knife +and fork, and was in paradise. + +Ida Parker was in the party, and Florence Frost. The men were +Clifford Frost, a pleasant young man getting stout and bald at +forty; Billy Frost, a gentle little lad of fifteen who was lame; +Rodney, and a rosy-cheeked, black-moustached Dr. Ellis from San +Francisco, whose occasional rather simple and stupid remarks were +received with great enthusiasm by Ida and Florence. + +In this group Martie shone. She had her own gift for ready nonsense, +and she was the radiant element that blended the varied types into a +happy whole. She skilfully ignored Rodney; Billy, Mary, Cliff, and +even Dr. Ellis were drawn into her fun. Rodney glowed. "Isn't she +great?" he said to Mary Frost in an aside. + +A large bowl of small crackers was set before them, damp squares of +strong butter on small nicked plates, finally a bowl of pink, +odorous shrimps. These were all gone when, after a long wait, the +fried oysters came smoking hot, slipped straight from the pan to the +plates. Martie drank coffee, as Mary did; the others had thick +goblets of red wine. With the hot, warming food, their gaiety waxed +higher; everybody felt that the party was a great success. + +The bell on the door reverberated, and a man came in alone, and +looked about undecidedly for a seat. + +"Hello!" said Rodney. "There's Wallace Bannister!" + +The young actor joined them. And this, to Martie, was one of the +most thrilling moments of her life. He quite openly wedged his way +in to sit on the other side of her; he said that he could see they +didn't need the gaslight when Miss Monroe was along. Rodney said she +was Brunhilde, and Bannister's comment was that she could save wig +bills with that hair! Florence said eagerly that she loved +Brunhilde--let's see, what opera did that come in? It was the Ring, +anyway. The spirits of the group rose every second. + +Ah, this was living--thought Martie. Oysters and wine and a real +actor, a man who knew the world, who chattered of Portland, Los +Angeles, and San Francisco as if they had been Monroe and +Pittsville. It was intoxicating to hear him exchanging comments with +Rodney; no, he hadn't finished "coll." "I'm a rolling stone, Miss +Monroe; we actor-fellows always are!" He was "signed up" now; he +gave them a glimpse of a long, typewritten contract. Martie ventured +a question as to the leading lady. + +"She's a nice woman," said Wallace Bannister generously. "I like to +play against Mabel. Jesse Cluett, her husband, is in the play; and +his kid, too, her stepson--Lloyd--he's seventeen. Ever try the +profession, Miss Monroe?" + +Martie flushed a pleased disclaimer. But the tiny seed was sown, +nevertheless. She liked the question; she was even vaguely glad that +Mrs. Cluett was forty and a married woman. + +Wallace Bannister was older than Rodney, thirty or thirty-two, +although even off the stage he looked much younger. He had dipped +into college work in a dull season, amusing himself idly in the +elementary classes of French and English where his knowledge in +these branches gave him immediate prominence--and drifting away in a +road company after only a few months of fraternity and campus +popularity. His mother and father were both dead; the latter had +been a theatrical manager in a small way, sending little stock +companies up and down the coast for one-night stands. + +Bannister was tall, well-built, and handsome. His cheeks had a fresh +fullness, and his black hair was as shining as wet coal. He was +eager and magnetic; musical, literary, or religious, according to +the company in which he found himself. Martie's thrilled interest +firing him to-night, he exerted himself: told stories in Chinese +dialect, in brogue, and with an excellent Scotch burr; he went to +the rickety piano, and from the loose keys, usually set in motion by +a nickel in the slot, he evoked brilliant songs, looking over his +shoulder with his sentimental bold eyes at the company as he sang. +And Martie said to herself, "Ah--this IS life!" + +Rodney took her home, the clock in the square booming the half hour +after midnight as they went by. And at the side door he told her to +look up at the Dipper throbbing in the cool sky overhead. Martie +knew what was coming, but she looked innocently up, and went to +sleep for the first time in her life with a man's kiss still +tingling on her smiling lips. + +The cold November weather might have been rosy June; the dull +routine of the Monroe home a life rich and full for Martie now. She +sang like a lark, feeding the chickens in the foggy mornings; she +dimpled at her own reflection in the mirror; she walked down town as +if treading the clouds. Anything interested her, everything +interested her. Mrs. Harry Locker, born Preble, said that Martie +just seemed inspired, the way she talked when old lady Preble died. +Miss Fanny, in the Library, began to entertain serious hopes that +the girl would take the Cutter system to heart, and make a clever +understudy at the old desk. Sally, watching, dreamed and yearned of +Martie's distinction, Martie's happiness; Lydia prayed. Malcolm +Monroe, as became a man of dignity, ignored the whole affair, but +Len, realizing that various advantages accrued, befriended his +sister, and talked to Rodney familiarly, as man to man. + +"I can't stand that fresh kid!" said Rodney of Len. Martie shrugged +without speaking. She owed Len no allegiance. Had it suited Rodney +to admire Len, Martie would have been a loyal sister. As it was, she +would not risk a difference with Rodney for any one like Len. She +was embarked now upon a vital matter of business. Had a few hundreds +of dollars been involved, Malcolm Monroe would have been at her +elbow, advising, commending. As it was, her happiness, her life, her +children, her whole future might be jeopardized or secured with no +sign from him. Interference from her mother or sisters would have +been considered indelicate. So Martie stood alone. + +Immediately after the theatre party, the question of a series of +dances again arose, and Martie somewhat hesitatingly repeated her +offer of the Monroe house for the first. Rodney's friend, Alvah +Brigham, was to come to the Parker family for Thanksgiving; the +dance was to be on Friday night, and a large picnic to Brewster's +Woods on Saturday. They would take a lunch, build a fire for their +coffee, and have the old school-day programme of singing and games. + +For the dance, the two big parlours and the back room must be +cleared; that was simple enough. Angela Baxter would be at the piano +for the music; sufficient, if not extraordinary, and costing only +two dollars. The supper would be sandwiches, cake, coffee, and +lemonade: Monroe's invariable supper. Rodney thought ices necessary, +and suggested at least a salad. Martie and Sally considered the +salad. + +"Lord, I wish we could have a punch," Rodney complained. The girls +laughed. + +"Oh, Rod--Pa would explode!" + +"Darn it," the boy mused, "I don't see WHY. He's not a teetotaler." +"Well, I know," Martie conceded. "But that's different, of course! +No--we can't have punch. I don't know how to make it, anyway--" She +was hardly following her own words. Under them lay the wonderful +consciousness that Rodney Parker was here at the house, sitting on +the porch steps on a warm November morning, as much at home as +Leonard himself. The sun was looking down into the dark garden, damp +paths were drying in sudden warmth after a rain. + +In such an hour and such a mood, Martie felt absolutely confident +that the dance would be a great success. More; it seemed to her in +the heartening morning sunlight that it would be the first of many +such innocent festivities, and that before it was over--before it +was over, she and Rodney might have something wonderful to tell the +girls and boys of Monroe. + +But in the long winter afternoons her confidence waned a little, and +at night, dreaming over her cards, she began to have serious +misgivings. Then the old house seemed cold and inhospitable and the +burden of carrying a social affair to success fell like a dreadful +weight on the girl's soul. Mama, Lydia, and Sally would cooperate to +the best of their power, of course; Pa and Len might be expected to +make themselves as annoying as possible. + +Supper, decorations, even the question of gowns paled before the +task of making a list of guests. Sally and Martie early realized +that they must inevitably hurt the feelings and disappoint the trust +of more than one old friend. Mrs. Monroe and Lydia grew absolutely +sick over the necessity. + +"Ma, this is just for the younger set," Martie argued. "And if +people like Miss Fanny and the Johnsons expect to come to it, why, +it's ridiculous, that's all!" + +"I know, dear, but it's the first party we have given in YEARS" her +mother said plaintively, "and one hates to--" + +"What I've DONE" said Martie in a worried tone, "is write down all +the POSSIBLE boys in Monroe, even counting Len and Billy Frost, and +Rod, and Alvah Brigham. Then I wrote down all the girls I'd like to +ask if I COULD, and there were about fourteen too many. So now I'm +scratching off all the girls I CAN--" + +"I do think you ought to ask Grace Hawkes!" Lydia said firmly and +reproachfully. + +"Well, I can't!" Martie answered quickly. "So it doesn't matter what +you think! I beg your pardon, Lyd," she added penitently, laying her +hand on Lydia's arm. "But you know Rodney's sisters would die if +Grace came!" + +"Well, I think it's a mistake to slight Grace," Lydia persisted. + +Martie studied her pencilled list gloomily for a few seconds. + +"Sometimes I wish we weren't having it!" she said moodily. + +"Oh, Martie, when we've always said we'd give ANYTHING to entertain +as other people do!" Sally exclaimed. "I DO think that's +unreasonable!" + +Martie made no answer. She was looking at a memorandum which read: +"Invitations--cream--Angela--stamps--illusion--slippers." + +As the days went by the thought of the dance grew more and more +troublesome. The details of the affair were too strange to be +entered into with any confidence, any rush of enthusiasm and +spontaneity. Every hour brought her fresh cause for worry. + +Nothing went well. The thought of her dress worried her. She had +conceived the idea of a black gown ornamented with cretonne roses, +carefully applied. She and Sally cut out the flowers, and applied +them with buttonhole stitch, sewing until their fingers were sore, +their faces flushed, and their hair in frowsy disorder. It was slow +work. Miss Pepper, the seamstress, engaged for one day only to do +the important work on both Sally's and Martie's gown, kept +postponing, as she always did postpone, the day, finally appointing +the Wednesday before Thanksgiving Day. Pa's cousin, a certain Mrs. +Potts, wrote from Portland that she was coming down for the holiday, +and Sally and Martie could have wept at the thought of the +complication of having her exacting presence in the house. Worse +than this Pa, who was to have gone to San Francisco on business on +Friday morning--whose decision to do so had indeed been one of +Martie's reasons for selecting this date for the affair--suddenly +changed his plan. He need not go until December, he said. + +Leonard, who at first had been faintly interested in the +proceedings, later annoyed his sisters by intimating that he would +not be present at the dance. Martie and Sally did not want him for +any social qualities he possessed, but he was a male; he would at +least help to offset the alarming plurality of females. + +Acceptances came promptly from the young women of Monroe, even from +Ida and May Parker. Florence Frost regretted; she was smitten even +now with the incurable illness that would end her empty life a few +years later. Such men as Martie and Sally had been able to list as +eligible--the new young doctor from the Rogers building, little +Billy Frost, the Patterson boys, home from college for Thanksgiving, +Reddy Johnson, and Carl Polhemus--answered not at all, as is the +custom with young men. Sally and Martie did not like the Patterson +boys; George was fat and stupid; Arthur at eighteen sophisticated +and blase, with dissipated eyes; both were supercilious, and the +girls did not really believe that they would come. Still, there was +not much to lose in asking them. + +There had been a debate over Reddy Johnson's name; but Reddy was a +wonderful dancer. So he was asked, and Martie went so far as to say +that had Joe Hawkes possessed an evening suit, he and Grace might +have been asked, too. As it was, Sally and Martie hoped they would +not meet Grace until the affair was over. + +They fumed and fussed over the list until they knew it by heart. +They wondered who would come first, how soon they should begin +dancing, how soon serve supper. Mrs. Monroe thought supper should be +served at half-past ten. Martie groaned. Oh, they couldn't serve +supper until almost midnight, she protested. + +Dinner was at noon on Thanksgiving Day, and the Monroes, sated and +overwarm, were sitting about the fire when Rodney Parker and his +friend, Alvah Brigham, came to take Martie and Sally walking. The +girls were sewing at the endless roses; but they jumped up in a +flutter, and ran for hats and sweaters. They did not exchange a +word, nor lose a second, while they were upstairs, running down +again immediately to end the uncomfortable silence that held the +group about the fire. + +It was a cold, bleak day, and the pure air was delicious to Martie's +hot cheeks after the close house. She had immediately taken +possession of Alvah; Sally and Rodney followed. They took the old +bridge road, which the girls loved for the memory of bygone days, +when they had played at dolls' housekeeping along the banks of the +little Sonora, climbed the low oaks, and waded in the bright shallow +water. Even through to-day's excitement Martie had time for a memory +of those long-ago summer afternoons, and she said to herself with a +vague touch of pain that it would of course be impossible to have +with any man the serene communion of those days with Sally. + +Mr. Brigham was a pale, rather fat young man with hair already +thinning. He did not have much to say, but he was always ready to +laugh, and Martie saw that he had cause for laughter. She rattled on +recklessly, anxious only to avoid silence; hardly conscious of what +she said. The effect of the cool, fresh air was lost upon Martie to- +day; she was fired to fever-pitch by Rodney's nearness. + +He had not ever said anything exactly loverlike, she said to +herself, with a sort of breathless discontent, when she was setting +the table for a cold supper that night. But he had brought his +friend to them after all! She must not be exacting. She had so much- +- + +"I beg your pardon, Cousin Allie?" she stammered. Her obnoxious +relative, a stout, moustached woman of fifty, warming her skirts at +the fire, was smiling at her unkindly. + +"You always was a great one to moon, Martha!" said Mrs. Potts, "I's +asking you what you see in that young feller to make such a to-do +about?" + +"Then you don't like him?" Martie countered, laughing. Mrs. Potts +bridled. Her favourite attitude toward life was a bland but +suspicious superiority; she liked to be taken seriously. + +"I didn't say I didn't like him," she answered, accurately, a little +nettled. "No, my dear, I didn't say that. No. I wouldn't say that of +any young man!" she added thoughtfully. + +Smiling a dark smile, she looked into the fire. Martie, rather +uncomfortable, went on with her task. + +"He's seemed to admire our Mart in a brotherly sort of way since the +very beginning," Lydia explained, anxious as usual to say the kind +thing, and succeeding as usual in saying the one thing that could +hurt and annoy. "He's quite a boy for the girls, but we think our +Martie is too sensible to take him seriously, yet awhile!" And Lydia +gave her sister a smile full of sweet significance. + +"HOPE she is!" Mrs. Potts said heavily. "For if that young feller +means business I miss MY guess!" + +"Oh, for pity's sake--can't a man ask a girl to go walking without +all this fuss!" Martie burst out angrily. "I NEVER heard so much-- +crazy--silly--talk--about--nothing!" + +The last words were only an ashamed mumble as she disappeared +kitchenward. + +"H'm!" said Mrs. Potts, eying Lydia over her glasses. "Kinder touchy +about him just the same. Well! what's he to that young feller used +to come see you, Lydia? Ain't the Frosts and the Parkers kin?" + +"I really think she's the most detestable old woman that ever was!" +Martie said, when the three girls were going to bed that night. +Lydia, loitering in her sister's room for a few minutes, made no +denial. + +"Well, by this time to-morrow night the party will be nearly over!" +yawned Sally. + +Martie looked at the clock. A quarter past eleven. What would be +happening at quarter past eleven to-morrow night? + +The girls awakened early, and were early astir. A rush of +preparation filled the morning, so soothing in its effect upon +nerves and muscles that Martie became wild with hope. The parlours +looked prettier than the girls had ever seen them; the pungent +sweetness of chrysanthemums and evergreen stealing into the clean, +well-aired spaces, and bowls of delicious violets sending out +currents of pure perfume. Martie swept, straightened, washed gas +globes, shook rugs. She gathered the flowers herself, straightening +the shoulders that were beginning to ache as she arranged them with +wet, cool fingers. Sally was counting napkins, washing china and +glass. Belle dragged through the breakfast dishes. Lydia was capably +mixing the filling for sandwiches. Outside, the morning was still; +fog dripped from the trees. Sometimes the sudden sputtering chuckle +of disputing chickens broke the quiet; a fish cart rattled by +unseen, the blare of the horn sending Mrs. Monroe with a large empty +platter to the gate. + +At two o'clock Lydia and Martie walked down town for the last +shopping. Martie was aware, under the drumming excitement in her +blood, that she was already tired. But to buy bottled cherries for +the lemonade, olives for the sandwiches, and flat pink and white +mint candies was exhilarating, and Reddy Johnson's cheery "See you +to-night, Martie!" made her blue eyes dance with pleasure. After +all, a dance was no such terrible matter! + +They were in Mason and White's, seated at a counter, in consultation +over a purchase of hairpins, when two gloved hands were suddenly +pressed over Martie's eyes, and a joyous voice said "Hello!" The +next instant Rose's eyes were laughing into hers. + +"Rose Ransome!" Martie and Lydia said together. The two younger +girls began to chatter eagerly. + +Why, when had she gotten home? Only this morning. And oh, it did +seem so good to be home! And how was everybody? And how was college? +Oh, fine! And was she still at the same house? Oh, yes! And so poor +old Mrs. Preble was dead? Uncle Ben had felt so badly-- + +"Say, Rose, we're having a sort of party to-night," Martie said +awkwardly, and with a certain hesitation. Details followed. Rose, as +pretty as a bird in her little checked suit and feathered hat, +listened with bright interest. "Why can't you come?" Martie finished +eagerly. "The more the merrier!" + +"Well--no." Rose hesitated prettily. "My first evening at home, you +know--I think I hadn't better. I'd love to, Martie. And about the +picnic to-morrow; that I CAN do! What'll I bring?" + +"Rose is a sweet little thing," Lydia said, when the sisters were +walking home again. "I'm sorry she can't come to-night; she has a +way of making things GO." + +Martie did not answer. She was mentally, for the hundredth time, +putting on the black gown with the pink roses stitched all about the +flounce, and piling up her bronze hair. + +The short afternoon waned, fog closing in the village again with the +dark. Martie and Sally came down to supper with thin little crepe +wrappers over their crisp skirts and best stockings and slippers. +Both girls had spent the late afternoon in bathing, taking last +stitches, laughing and romping over the upper floor, but the blazing +colour in their faces now was as much from nervous fatigue as from +excitement. Neither was hungry, nor talkative, and Mrs. Potts and +their father monopolized the conversation. + +Len was sulky because he had played his usual game badly this +evening, and chance failing him had favoured the girls. He had asked +to be excused from the party, to their deep but unexpressed +indignation, and had almost won his father's consent to a request to +go down town a while, when a casual inquiry from Malcolm as to what +he intended to do down town inspired Len to a reminiscent chuckle +and an artless observation that gee! he might get a chance to sit +outside of the hotel and watch Colonel Frost's new automobile for +him, if the Colonel, as was usual, came down to the monthly meeting +of the Republican Club. + +For a few seconds Malcolm did not sense the full indignity of his +son's position as groom for Cyrus Frost. When he did, Leonard had a +bad quarter of an hour, and was directed to get into his Sunday +suit, make himself as useful and agreeable to his sisters as was +possible, and let his father hear no more of this nonsense about old +Frost and his automobile. + +Chuckling over this turn of events, the girls went upstairs to +finish dressing. Sally, in an old pink gown, freshly pressed, was +pretty; but Martie, turning flushed and self-conscious from the dim +old mirror, was quite lovely. The black gown made her too-generous +figure seem almost slender; the cretonne roses glowed richly against +the black, and Martie's creamy skin and burnished hair were all the +more brilliant for the contrast. Her heart rose buoyantly as she +realized the success of the gown, and she ran downstairs with sudden +gay confidence in herself and her party. + +Her father and mother, with Mrs. Potts, had considerately +disappeared. Malcolm had gone down town; the ladies, wrapped in +shawls, were gossiping in Mrs. Potts's vaultlike chamber. Lydia was +moving about in the downstairs rooms. + +"Oh, Martie, Rose telephoned," Lydia said as her sister came in, +"and she says that Mr. Rice and her mother say she must come up to- +night, if it's only for a little while. She's going to bring her +violin." + +"Oh, that's good," Martie answered absently, sitting down to play +"The Two Grenadiers" with great spirit. "There's some one now, Lyd!" +she added in a half panic, as the doorbell rang. Lydia, her colour +rising suddenly, went to the door, raising her hand above as she +passed under the gaslight to turn the lights to their full +brilliancy. The first arrival was Angela Baxter, with her music roll +under her arm. She kissed Lydia, and went upstairs with Sally. + +Then there were other feet on the porch: in came the German girls +and Laura Carter, hooded in knitted fragile scarfs, and wrapped in +pale blue and pink circular capes edged narrowly with fluffy +eiderdown. Elmer King, hoarsely respectful, and young Potter Street +followed. Martie, taking the girls upstairs, called back to them +that she would send Len down. While they were all in Lydia's room, +laying off wraps and powdering noses, Maude Alien came up, and +"Dutch" Harrison's older sister Kate, and Amy Scott, and Martie was +so funny and kept them all in such roars of laughter that Sally was +conscious of a shameless wish that this was what Monroe called a +"hen party," with no men asked. Then they could have games, Proverbs +and even Hide-the-Thimble, and every one would feel happy and at +home. + +When they went down Robert Archer, a quiet mild young man who was in +the real estate business, had come; and he and Elmer and Potter were +sitting silently in the parlour. Martie and Sally and the other +girls went in, and every one tried to talk gaily and naturally as +the young men stood up, but there seemed to be no reason why they +should not all sit down, and, once seated, it seemed hard to talk. +What Martie said was met with a nervous glimmer of laughter and a +few throaty monosyllables. + +Sally wanted to suggest games, but did not dare. Martie, and indeed +every one else, would have been glad to play Proverbs and Twenty +Questions, but she did not quite like to begin anything so childish +at a real dance. She looked at the clock: just nine. The evening was +yet young. + +Suddenly Angela Baxter stopped murmuring to Lydia, and began to +rattle a quick two step from the piano. Robert Archer, sitting next +to Martie, asked her at once to dance, and Potter Street asked +Sally, but both girls, glancing self-consciously at their guests, +declined, and the young men subsided. So nobody danced the first +dance, and after it there was another lull. Then Martie cheerfully +asked Angela for a waltz, and said bravely: + +"Come on, some of you, DO dance this! I can't because I'm hostess." + +At this there was some subdued laughter, and immediately the four +young men found partners, and two of the girls danced together. Then +little Billy Frost came in, and after him, as fresh and sweet as her +name, came Rose with the Monroe's only dentist, Bruce Tate. Dr. Tate +was a rather heavy young man, flirtatious and conceited. + +Rose put her violin on the piano, and explained that she had met +Rodney Parker that afternoon, "hadn't seen him for YEARS!" and that +he had talked her into coming. No--she wouldn't play until later +laughed Rose; now she wanted to dance. + +The hours that followed seemed to Martie like years. She never +forgot them. She urged her guests into every dance with almost +physical force; she felt for the girls who did not dance a nervous +pity. Ida and May came in: neither danced, nor was urged to dance. +They went home at ten o'clock. It was immediately afterward that +Rodney came with his friend. Martie met them in the hall, ready for +the intimate word, the smile that should make all this tiresome +business of lights and piano and sandwiches worth while. Rodney was +a little flushed and noisy, Alvah red-faced, breathing and speaking +a little thickly. They said they were thirsty. + +"Lemonade?" Martie suggested confidently. + +Rodney glanced quickly at his friend. "Oh, Gawd!" said Mr. Brigham +simply. + +Then they were in the hot parlour, and Martie was introducing them +to a circle that smiled and said "Pleased to meet choo," over and +over. Alvah would not dance, remarking that he hated dancing. And +Rodney--Rodney had eyes for no one but Rose. Martie saw it, every +one saw it. + +Rose was at her best to-night. She knew college songs that Rodney +and Alvah knew, she dimpled and coquetted with the pretty confidence +of a kitten. She stood up, dainty and sweet in her pink gown, and +played her violin, with the gaslight shining down into her brown +eyes, and her lace sleeve slipping back and forth over her white arm +as the bow whipped to and fro. + +Rodney did not leave her side, except for a dance with Martie and +one with Sally. After a while he and Rose went out to sit on the +stairs. Alvah grew noisy and familiar, and Martie did not know quite +how to meet his hilarity, although she tried. She was afraid the +echoes of his wild laugh would greet her father's ears, if he had +come in and was upstairs, and that Pa might do something awful. + +The evening wore on. Lydia looked tired, and Sally was absolutely +mute, listening politely to Robert Archer's slow, uninteresting +narration of the purchase of the Hospital site. Martie felt as if +she had been in this dreadful gaslight forever; she watched the +clock. + +At eleven they all went out to the dining room, and here the first +real evidences of pleasure might be seen on the faces of the guests. +Now Lydia, too, was in her favourite element, superintending coffee +cups, while Sally, alert again, cut the layer cakes. The table +looked charming and the sandwiches and coffee, cream and olives, +were swiftly put in circulation. Under the heartening rattle of +cutlery and china every one talked, the air was scented with coffee, +the room so warm that two windows by general consent were opened to +the cool night. + +Martie took her share of the duties of hospitality as if in an +oppressive dream. Rodney sat beside her, and Rose on his other side. +To an outsider Martie might have seemed her chattering self, but she +knew--and Sally knew--that the knife was in her heart. She said +good-night to Rodney brightly, and kissed Rose. Rodney was to take +Rose home because, as she explained to Martie in an aside, it was +almost on his way, and it seemed a shame to take Dr. Tate so far. + +"I've been scolding Rod terribly; those boys had highballs or +something before they came here," Rose said, puckering her lips and +shaking her head as she carefully pinned a scarf over her pretty +hair. "So silly! That's what we were talking about on the stairs." + +She tripped away on Rodney's arm. Alvah, complaining of a splitting +head, went off alone. Somehow the others filtered away; Angela +Baxter, who was to spend the night with Lydia, piled the last of the +dishes with Lydia in the kitchen. Sally, silent and yawning, sank +into an armchair by the dying fire. Martie, watching the lanterns, +and hearing the voices die away after the last slamming of the gate, +stood on the dark porch staring into the night. The trees scarcely +showed against a heavy sky, a restless wind tossed their uppermost +branches; a few drops of rain fell on a little gust of air. The +night was damp and heavy; it pressed upon the village almost like a +soft, smothering weight. Martie felt as if she could hear the world +breathe. + +With miserable, dry eyes, she looked up at the enveloping blackness; +drops of rain on her burning face, a chill shaking her whole body in +the thin gown. Martie wanted to live no longer; she longed to press +somehow into that great silent space, to cool her burning head and +throbbing heart in those immeasurable distances on distances of +dark. She did not want to go back into the dreadful house, where the +chairs were pushed about, and the table a wreck of wilted flowers +and crumbs, where the air was still laden with the odour of coffee +and cigarettes. She did not want to reclaim her own shamed and +helpless little entity after this moment of escape. + +Her own pain and mortification--ah, she could have borne those. But +to have Lydia and Sally and Len and all Monroe sorry for her ... + +Martie did not sleep that night. She tossed in a restless agony of +remembering, and the pitiable party seemed a life-failure, as she +lay thinking of it in the dark, a colossal blunder never to be +obliterated. They were unlucky--the Monroes. They never could do +things like other people. + +Early in the cold dawn she heard the quiet slop and spatter of rain. +Thank God there could be no picnic to-day! Exhausted, she slept. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Whatever Lydia, her mother, and Sally agreed between themselves the +next day they never told, but there was a conspiracy immediately on +foot. Little was said of the party, and nothing of Rodney Parker, +for many days. And if Martie in her fever of hurt pride was not +openly grateful, at least they knew her benefited by the silence. +Rose had no such compunction. + +On the afternoon of the long rainy Saturday that was to have been +filled with a picnic, Rose telephoned. She just wanted to see how +every one was--and say what a lovely time she'd had! Ida Parker had +just telephoned, and Rose was going up there at about four o'clock +to stay for dinner, just informally, of course. She would go back to +Berkeley to-morrow night, but she hoped to see the girls in the +meantime. + +Silently, heavily, Martie went on wiping the "company" dishes, +carrying them into the pantry shelves where they had been piled +untouched for years, and where they would stand again unused for a +long, long time. Sally was tired, and complained of a headache. +Lydia was irritatingly cheerful and philosophical. Len had +disappeared, as was usual on Saturday, and Mrs. Monroe and Mrs. +Potts were talking in low tones over the sitting-room fire. Outside, +the rain fell and fell and fell. + +Martie thought of Rose, laughing, pink-cheeked, discarding her neat +little raincoat with Rodney's help at four o'clock, at the Parkers' +house, and bringing her fresh laughter into their fire. She thought +of her at six--at seven--and during the silent two hours when she +brooded over her cards. + +Coming out of church the next morning, Rose rejoiced over the clear +bath of sunlight that followed the rain. "Rod is going to take me +driving," she told Martie. "I like him ever so much; don't you, +Martie?" + +Alice Clark, coming in for a chat with Lydia late that afternoon, +added the information that when little Rose Ransome left the city at +four o'clock, Rod Parker and that fat friend of his went, too. +Escorting Rose--and he and Rose would have tea in the city before he +took her to Berkeley--Martie thought. + +That was the beginning, and now scarcely a day passed without its +new sting. The girl was not conscious of any instinct for bravery; +she did not want to be brave, she wanted to draw back from the rack- +-to escape, rather than to endure. A first glimpse of happiness had +awakened fineness in her nature; she had been generous, sweet, +ambitious, only a few weeks ago. She had given new thought to her +appearance, had carried her big frame more erectly. All her bigness, +all her capacity for loving and giving she would have poured at +Rodney's feet; his home, his people, his hopes, and plans--these +would have been hers. + +Repulsed, this gold of youth turned to brass; through long idle days +and wakeful nights Martie paid the cruel price for a few hours of +laughter and dreaming. She was not given another moment of hope. + +Not that she did not meet Rodney, for in Monroe they must often +meet. And when they met he greeted her, and they laughed and chatted +gaily. But she was not Brunhilde now, and if Sally or Lydia or any +one else was with her she knew he was not sorry. + +In the middle of December Rose's mother, the neat little widow who +was like an older Rose, told Sally that Rose was not going back to +college after Christmas. Quietly, without comment, Sally told this +to Martie when they were going to bed that night. + +Martie walked to the window, and stood looking out for a long time. +When she came back to Sally her face was pale, her breast moving +stormily, and her eyes glittering. + +"They're engaged, I suppose?" Martie said. + +Sally did not speak. But her eyes answered. + +"Sally," said her sister, in a voice thick with pain, as she sat +down on the bed, "am I to blame? Could I have done differently? Why +does this come to Rose, who has everything NOW, and pass me by? I--I +don't want to be like--like Lyd, Sally; I want to live! What can I +do? Oh, my GOD," said Martie, rising suddenly and beginning to walk +to and fro, with her magnificent mane of hair rolling and tumbling +about her shoulders as she moved, "what shall I do? There is a +world, out there, and people working and living and succeeding in +it--and here I am, in Monroe--dying, dying, DYING of longing! Sally +..." and with tears wet on her cheeks, and her mouth trembling, she +came close to her sister. "Sally," whispered Martie unsteadily, "I +care for--him. I wanted nothing better. I thought--I thought that by +this time next year we might--we might be going to have a baby-- +Rodney and I." + +She flung back her head, and went again to the window. Sally burst +into bitter crying. + +"Oh, Martie--Martie--I know! I know! My darling, splendid, glorious +sister--so much more clever than any one else, and so much BETTER! I +think it'll break my heart!" + +And in each other's arms, nineteen and twenty-one wept together at +the bitterness of life. + +The days wore by, and Rose came smiling home for Christmas, and +early in the new year Martie and Sally were asked to a pink luncheon +at the Ransome cottage, finding at each chair two little tissue- +paper heart-shaped frames initialled "R. P." and "R. R." with kodak +prints of Rose and Rodney inside. The Monroe girls gave Rose a +"linen shower" in return, and the whole town shared the pleasure of +the happy pair. + +Martie had enough to think of now. Not even the thoughts of the +prospective bride could dwell more persistently on her own affairs +than did Martie's thoughts. Rose, welcome at the Parkers', envied +and admired even by Ida and May and Florence; Rose, prettily buying +her wedding finery and dashing off apt little notes of thanks for +her engagement cups and her various "showers"; Rose, fluttering with +confidences and laughter to the admiring Rodney, with the diamond +glittering on her hand; these and a thousand other Roses haunted +Martie. Lydia and her mother admired and marvelled with the rest. +Lydia it was who first brought home the news that the young Parkers +were to be married at Easter, Sally learned from Rose's own lips +that they were to spend a week in Del Monte as honeymoon. + +The Monroe girls still wandered down town on weekday mornings, +loitering into the post-office, idling an hour away in the Library, +drifting home to mutton stew or Hamburg steak when the clock in the +town hall struck twelve. Sometimes Martie watched the big eastern +trains thunder by, looking with her wistful young blue eyes at the +card-playing men and the flushed, bored young women with their heads +resting on the backs of their upholstered seats. Sometimes she +stopped at the little magazine stand outside of Carlson's cigar +store; her eye caught by a photograph on the cover of a weekly: +"Broadway at Forty-Second," or "Night Lights from the Singer +Building," or the water-front silhouette that touches like the sight +of a beloved face even some hearts that know it not. She wanted to +do something, now that it was certain that she would not marry. +Slowly, and late, Martie's soul was awakening. + +She asked her father if she might go to work. Certainly she might, +her father said lifelessly. Well, what should she do?--the girl +persisted. + +"Ah, that's quite another thing!" Malcolm said, with his favourite +air of detecting an inconsistency. "You want to work? Well and good, +go ahead and do it! But don't expect me to tell you what to do. Your +mother may have some idea. Your grandmother--and she was the +loveliest woman I ever knew!--was content to be merely a lady, +something I wish my daughters knew a little more about. Her +beautiful home, her children and servants, her friends and her +church--that was her work! She didn't want to push coarsely out into +the world. However, if you do, go ahead! I confess I am tired of +seeing the dark, ugly expression you've worn lately, Martie. Go your +own way!" + +Armed with this ungracious permission, Martie went down to see Miss +Fanny, talked with Grace, and even, meeting him on a lonely walk, +climbed into the old phaeton beside Dr. Ben, and asked his advice. +Nothing definite resulted, yet Martie was the happier for the new +interest. Old Father Martin talked to her of her plans one day, and +presently put her in communication with a certain widow, Mrs. +O'Brien, of San Francisco, who wanted an intelligent young woman to +go with her to New York to help with the care and education of two +little O'Briens. + +This possibility fired Martie and Sally to fever-heat, and they +hoped and prayed eagerly while it was under discussion. New York at +last! said Martie, who felt that she had been waiting endless years +for New York. But Mrs. O'Brien, it seemed, wanted some one who would +be able to begin French and German and music lessons for little Jane +and Cora, and the question of Martie's fitness was settled. + +Still she was happier, and when Easter came, and the Monroe girls +were bidden to Rose's wedding, it was with a new and charming +gravity in face and manner that Martie went. + +The ceremony took place in the comfortable parlours of the Ransome +house; the pretty home wedding possible because Rodney was not a +Catholic. Just like Rose's luck--instead of being married in the +bare, big church, thought Martie, at whose age the religious side of +the question did not appear important. Dr. Ben gave his young cousin +away, and Rose's mother, whose every thought since the fatherless +child was born had been for the girl's good, who had schemed and +worked and prayed for twenty years that Rose might be happy, that +Rose might have music and languages, travel and friends, had her +reward when the lovely little Mrs. Parker flung her fragrant arms +about her, and gave her her first kiss. + +Rose looked her prettiest, just becomingly pale, becomingly merry, +becomingly tearful. Her presents, on view upstairs, were far finer +than any Monroe had seen since Cliff Frost was married. Rodney was +the usual excited, nervous, laughing groom. The wedding supper was +perfection, and the young people danced when Father Martin was gone, +and when the bride and groom had dashed away to the ten-o'clock +train. + +It was all over. Rose had everything, as usual, and Martie had +nothing. + +Easter was in early April that year, and the sweet, warm month was +dying away when one afternoon Miss Fanny, always hopeful for this +dreaming helpless young creature so full of big faults and big +possibilities, detained Martie in the Library for a little +dissertation upon card catalogues. Martie listened with her usual +enthusiastic interest. Yes--she understood; yes, she understood. + +"There's your telephone, Miss Fanny!" said she, in the midst of a +demonstration. The older woman picked up the instrument. + +"It's for you, Martie. It's Sally," she said, surprised. "Sally!" +Martie did not understand. She had left Sally at the bridge, and +Sally was to go on to the Town Hall for Pa, with a letter. + +"Hello, Martie!" said a buoyant yet tremulous voice. "Martie--this +is Sally. I'm over at Mrs. Hawkes's. Martie--I'm married!" + +"Married!" echoed Martie stupidly, eyeing the listening Miss Fanny +bewilderedly. + +"Yes--to Joe. Lissun--can't you come right over? I'll tell you all +about it!" + +Martie put back the receiver in a state of utter stupefaction. +Fortunately the Library was empty, and after telling Miss Fanny the +little she knew, she went out into the sweet, hot street. The town +was in a tent of rustling new leaves; lilacs were in heavy flower. +Roses and bridal-wreath and mock-orange trees were in bloom. Rank +brown grass stood everywhere; the fruit blossoms were gone, tall +buttercups were nodding over the grass. + +At the Hawkes's house there were laughter and excitement. Sally, +rosier and more talkative than even Martie had ever seen her before, +was the heroine of the hour. When Martie came in, she flew toward +her in an ecstasy, and with laughter and tears the tale was told. +She and Joe had chanced to meet on the Court House steps, Sally +coming out from the task of delivering a letter from Pa to Judge +Parker, Joe going in with a telegram for Captain Tate. And almost +without words from the lilac-scented, green-shaded street they had +gone into the License Bureau; and almost without words they had +walked out to find Father Martin. And now they were married! And the +thin old ring on Sally's young hand had belonged to Father Martin's +mother. + +Martie was too generous not to respond to her sister's demand, even +if she had not been completely carried away by the excitement about +her. + +Mrs. Hawkes, tears of joy in her eyes, yet smiles shining through +them, was brewing tea for the happy pair. Minnie Hawkes's Rose was +making toast when she was not jumping up and down half mad with +delight. Ellen Hawkes, now Mrs. Castle, was setting the table. +Grandma Kelly was quavering out blessings, and Joe's older brother, +Thomas, who worked at night, and had been breakfasting at four +o'clock, when the young pair burst in, rushed out to the bakery to +come back triumphantly with a white frosted cake. + +"It's a fair cake," said Mrs. Hawkes in the babel. "But you wait-- +I'll make you a cake!" + +"And you know, Joe and I between us just made up the dollar for the +license!" laughed Sally. + +"Say, listen," said Ellen suddenly, "you folks have got to take our +house for a few days; how about that, Mother? You and Joe can start +housekeeping there like Terry and me. How about it, Mother? We'll +come here!" + +"But, Sally--not to tell me!" Martie said reproachfully. + +"Oh, darling--I did that deliberately!" her sister answered +earnestly. "I'm going to telephone Pa, and I know he'll be wild. And +I DIDN'T want you to be in it! You'll have enough--poor Martie!" + +Already the shadow of the old house was passing from her. With what +gaiety she went about the old room, thought Martie, stopped by Mrs. +Hawkes's affectionate arms for a kiss, stopping to kiss Grandma +Kelly of her own free will. Sally had no sense of social values; she +loved to be here, admired, loved, busy. + +"Think of the priest giving her his mother's own ring!" said the +women over and over. "It'll bring you big luck, Sally!" + +They all sat down at the table, and Terry and John Healey came in to +rejoice, and the Healey baby awoke, and Grace came in from work. +When Martie left there was talk of supper; everybody was to stay for +supper. + +Walking home in the late spring twilight, Martie felt a certain +satisfaction. Sally was happy, and they would be good to her, and +she would be better off than Lydia, anyway. Joe as a husband was +perfectly absurd, of course, but Joe certainly did love Sally. +Monroe would buzz, but Martie had heard Monroe buzzing for a long +time now, and after the first shock, had found herself unhurt. +Curiously, Sally's plunge into a new life seemed to free her own +hands. + +"Now I am going to get out!" said Martie, opening her own gate. + +When Malcolm Monroe came home that night it was to a well-sustained +hurricane of tears and protest. Mrs. Monroe and Lydia shed genuine +tears, and Martie and Len added diplomatically to the hubbub. Pa +must suspect no one of sympathy for the shameless Sally. + +"To think, Pa, after all we've done for her!" sobbed Mrs. Monroe, +and Lydia, wiping her nose and shaking her head, kept saying with +reproachful firmness: "I can't believe it of Sally! Why shouldn't +she tell one of us. To stand up and be married all alone!" + +Her father took the news exactly as might have been expected. While +there was hope of convicting Martie or Lydia of complicity, he +questioned them sharply and sternly. When this was gone, he swiftly +worked himself into such a passion as his children had rarely seen +before. Sally and Joe were solemnly denounced, disinherited, and +abandoned. And any child of his who spoke to either should share +their fate. + +"Oh, Papa--don't!" quavered Lydia, as her father strode to the +Bible, and with horrible precision inked from the register the +record of Sally's birth. Mrs. Monroe looked terrified, and even +Leonard was pale. But Martie, to her own amazement, found a sudden +calm scorn in her heart. What a silly thing to do, just because poor +little Sally married the boy she loved. How dared Pa call himself a +Christian while he regarded Sally's downward step from a mere social +level a disgrace! And how cruel he was, playing upon poor Ma's and +Lydia's feelings just for his own satisfaction. + +"You understand me, don't you, Martie?" he asked grimly. + +"I suppose so." An ugly smile curved Martie's lips. Her lids were +half lowered. + +"Well--remember it. And never any one of you mention your sister's +name to me again!" + +"No, Pa," said four fervent voices. Then they had dinner. + +The next day the three women packed up Sally's things; Lydia and her +mother in tears, but Martie strangely content. Something had +happened at all events. She put Sally's baby sash and collar and +other treasured rubbish in the package, with two scribbled lines +pinned to them: "Praying for you, darling. Pa is furious. The +slipper is for luck. Your M." + +And then the eventless days began to wheel by again. Rose came home, +and came to see Martie, and Martie dined at the Parkers'. Rodney, +though obviously blind to all women but his wife, was cordial and +gallant to the guest and Rose took her up to her pretty, frilly +bedroom, so that Martie might take off her hat and coat, and told +Martie that Rod was the neatest man she had ever seen, such a fusser +about his bath and his clothes. On Rose's bureau was a big +photograph of Rodney in a silver frame, and on Rodney's high dresser +a charming photograph of Rose in her wedding gown. When she was +putting on her hat four hours later to be driven home by Rodney, +Martie heard Rose's wifely voice in the hall: "You are a darling to +do this, Rod!" The tone was that in which a man is praised by his +women for a hard duty cheerfully done. Martie was not surprised when +Rose merrily confided to her that Rod wanted his wife to go along-- +the silly!--and accompanied them on the short drive. + +She did not see much of the young Parkers after that, nor did she +expect to be counted among their intimate friends. She began to +drift into the public kindergarten in the mornings, to help Miss +Malloy with the unruly babies. And she missed Sally more every day. + +Sally and Joe had gone to Pittsville immediately after their +wedding; Joe having received a dazzling offer of forty dollars a +month for two summer months from the express company there. + +But when Sally had been married six weeks, Martie heard her voice +one day when the younger sister was passing the Hawkes's house. +Instantly she entered the gate, her heart beating high. Sally's +dear, unforgettable voice! And Sally's slender shoulders and soft, +loose hair! + +The girls were in each other's arms, laughing and crying as they +clung together. Martie thought she had never seen her sister look so +well, or seem so sweet and gay. There were a thousand questions on +each side to ask; Martie poured out the home news. Sally and Joe +were housekeeping in three rooms, and it was more FUN! And Sally +really cooked him wonderful dinners; his father and mother had come +over to one, and wasn't it good? Mrs. Hawkes enthusiastically +agreed. + +Of course, they had hardly ANYTHING, bubbled Sally, only two +saucepans and one frying pan and the coffee pot. But it was more +FUN! And in the evenings they walked around Pittsville, and went to +the ten-cent theatre, or bought candy and divided it. COULDN'T +Martie come some time to dinner? + +"Pa," said Martie simply. Sally's bright face clouded. She sent a +kiss to Ma and darling Lyd. She and Joe would come back to Monroe in +September, and then she would come see Pa and make him forgive her. +Tell him she still loved him! + +Martie delivered none of these airy messages. She secretly marvelled +at the happiness that could blind Sally to a memory of Pa, and Pa's +stubbornness. + +"Listen, Martie," said Sally, when for a moment the sisters were +alone, "it wasn't so sudden as you think, my marrying Joe!" She +stopped, interrupted by some thought, and added impulsively, "Isn't +it STRANGE, Mart, that we might have missed each other; it makes us +both just SHIVER to think of it! Well"--and with a visible effort +the little wife brought herself down from a roseate cloud to +realities again--"if--if Lyd had married Cliff Frost," she said +uncertainly, "I never should have DARED marry Joe!" + +"Or if I had married Rodney Parker, Sally?" Martie added steadily. + +"Well--" The colour flew to Sally's face. "As it was," she went on a +little hurriedly, "I just--couldn't bear to go on and on, it made me +desperate! And I thought Pa and Ma's way is no good, our house never +seems to have much happiness in it--and I'm going to get OUT! There +never was a place like this for good times, and babies, and jokes, +and company to dinner!" smiled Sally, looking about the Hawkeses' +parlour triumphantly. + +But then Sally was born devoid of a social sense, mused Martie, +walking home. What would life be without it--she wondered. No +affectations, no barriers, no pretenses-- + +"Flout me not, Sweet!" said some one at her side. She looked up into +the beaming eyes of Wallace Bannister. "Don't you remember me--I'm +the city feller that came here breakin' all hearts awhile back!" + +"You idiot!" Martie laughed, too. "I thought you were miles away!" + +"Well, judging by your expression, darling, you were miles away, +too," said the irrepressible Wallace. "How are you, Brunhilde? Ich +liebe dich! Yes'm, we ought to be miles away, but to tell you the +honest truth, the season is simply ROTTEN here on the coast. We've +bust up, for the moment, but dry those tears. Here's my contract for +seven weeks in San Francisco--seven plays. Sixty bones per week; +pretty neat, what? We begin rehearsing in July, open August eighth, +and if it's a go, go on indefinitely. The Cluetts and I are in this- +-the rest of the company's gone flooey. Meanwhile, I have three +weeks to wait, and I'm staying with my aunt in Pittsville studying +like mad." + +"And what are you doing in Monroe?" Martie said contentedly, as they +wandered along. + +"I came here a week ago to change some shoes," said Wallace, "and I +saw you. So to-day I came and made you a formal call." + +"You did NOT!" Martie ejaculated, laughing. + +"Why didn't I? I fell down eleven steps into your garden, knocked on +the front door, knocked on the side door, talked to some one called +'Ma,' talked to some one called 'Lydia,' and learned that Miss +Martha Brunhilde Monroe was out for a sashay. There!" + +"Well--for goodness sake!" Martie was conscious of flushing. From +that second she grew a little self-conscious. He was a funny +creature. He would have been unusually handsome, she thought, if it +were not for a certain largeness--it was not quite coarseness--of +feature. He would have been extraordinarily charming, decided +Martie, but for that same quality in his manner; recklessness, +carelessness. She knew he was not always telling the truth; these +honours, these affairs, these fascinating escapades were not all his +own. His exaggerated expressions of affection for herself were only +a part of this ebullient sense of romance. But he was amusing. + +"Bon soir, papillon!" he said at her gate. "How about a meet to- +morrow? Tie a pink scarf to thy casement if thy jailer sleeps. +Seriously, leave us meet, kid. Leave us go inter Bonestell's with +the crowd--watto? I'll wait for youse outside the Library at three." + +"With the accent on the WAIT," said Martie significantly. But she +did not think of Rodney that evening. She thought of Sally and of +Wallace Bannister. + +Fortunately for her, it did not occur to her father to cross-examine +her on any other event of the day except the circumstance that she +had been seen walking with an unknown young man. This was food for +much advice. + +"I don't like it, my daughter," said Malcolm, rubbing his shins +together and polishing his glasses as he sat by the fire. "I don't +like it at all. I don't like this tendency to permit familiarities +with this young man and that young man--all very well for a while, +but not the sort of thing a young man chooses in a WIFE." + +Martie, looking at him respectfully, as she placed a red Queen on a +black King, felt in her heart that she would like to kill him. + +The next afternoon she decided to clean the chicken house, one of +the tasks in which her strange nature delighted. To splash about +with hose and broom, tip over the littered drinking trough, wash +cobwebs from the windows with a well-directed stream of water; in +these things Martie found some inexplicable satisfaction. She went +upstairs after luncheon to get into old clothes, came down half an +hour later with her best hat on, walked straight out of the gate and +down town. + +Wallace was waiting, elated at her punctuality. Martie explaining +her fear that some one might report their meeting to her father, +they waited openly at Masset's corner, boarded the half-past three +o'clock trolley, and went to Pittsville. + +Pittsville was two miles away, but this adventure had all the charm +of foreign travel to Martie. Every house interested her, the main +street of the little town might have been Broadway in New York. The +people looked different, she said. She and Wallace laughed their way +through the Five-and-Ten-Cent Store, enjoyed a Floradora Special +composed of bananas, ice cream, nuts, whipped cream, maple syrup, +and cherries, and finally bought six cream puffs and carried them to +Sally. + +Sally's delight was almost tearful. She led Martie rapturously over +her domain: the little bedroom spotless and sunshiny in the summer +afternoon; the microscopic kitchen scented with the baked apples +that HAD burned a little and the cookies that would NOT brown; the +living-and-dining room that was at once so bare and so rich. It was +a home, Martie realized dimly, and Sally was a person at last. The +younger sister peeped interestedly into spice-tins and meat safe; +three eggs were in a small yellow bowl, two thin slices of bacon on +a plate. In the bread box was half a loaf of bread and one cut +slice. + +"Sally, it must be fun!" said Martie. "All this doll's house for six +dollars a month!" + +"Oh--fun!" Sally was rapturous beyond words. She gave them pale, hot +cookies; the cream puffs would delight Joe. + +The three laughed and feasted happily; Martie with a new sense of +freedom and independence that exhilarated her like wine. + +"Find us a nice little place like this, sister," said Wallace. +"Martie loves me, Sarah. Their lips met in one long, rapturous kiss. +The end." + +The girls laughed joyously. Martie went home at five, Wallace +accompanying her. She told her father that night that she had been +in the Library. + +The next day she did clean the chicken house, and did go down to +spend the afternoon with Miss Fanny. But freedom danced in her +veins; on the third afternoon she and Wallace took a long walk, and +stopped to see Dr. Ben, and, sitting on two barrels behind the old +railway station, ate countless cherries and apricots. Again--and +again--they went to Pittsville. Sally was in their confidence and +feasted them in the little flat or went with them on their innocent +expeditions. + +From their third meeting, it was cheerfully taken for granted that +Wallace and Martie belonged to each other. Martie never knew what he +really felt, any more than he dreamed of the girlish amusement and +distrust in which she held him. They flirted only, but they swiftly +found life uninteresting when apart. They never talked of marriage, +yet every time they parted it was reluctantly, and never without +definite plans for another immediate meeting. Wallace began to +advise Martie not to eat the rich things that made her sick; Martie +counselled him about his new suit, and listened, uneasy and ashamed, +to a brief, penitential reference to "crazy" things he had done, as +a "kid." He promised her never to drink again and incidentally told +her that his real name was Edward Tenney. Suddenly they found the +plural pronoun: we must do that; that doesn't interest us; Pa must +not suspect our affair. + +"The Cluetts are going to be in Pittsville," said Wallace one day. +"I want you to meet them. You'll like Mabel; she's got two little +kids. She and Jesse have been married only six years. And they'll +like you, too; I've told 'em you're my girl!" + +"Am I?" said Martie huskily. They were alone in Sally's little +house, and for answer he put his arms about her. "Do you love me, +Wallace?" she asked. + +The question, the raised blue eyes, fired him to sudden passion. +They kissed each other blindly, with shut eyes. After that, whenever +they might, they kissed, and sometimes Martie, ignorant and +innocent, wondered why the memory of his hot lips worried her a +little. + +There was nothing wrong in kissing! Martie still said to herself +that of course they would not marry; yet when she was with Wallace +she loved the evidences of her power over him, and seemed unable, as +he was unable, to keep from the constant question: "Do you love me?" + +In late June the Cluetts--pretty faded Mabel, her two enormous +babies, her stepson Lloyd, and Jesse, the husband and father--all +came to Pittsville for a few days' leisure before rehearsals began. +Lloyd was a "light juvenile," off as well as on the stage. Jesse +played father, judge, guardian, prime minister, and old family +doctor in turn. Mabel, rouged and befrilled, still made an +attractive foil for Wallace as the hero. Martie liked them all; +their chatter of the fairyland of the stage, their trunks plastered +with labels, their fine voices, their general air of being +incompetent children adrift in a puzzling world. Deep laughter +stirred within her when they spoke of business or of finance. + +They talked frankly, in their three cheap rooms at the "Pittsville +White House," before Wallace's girl. Jesse was pompous; Lloyd +boyishly fretful; Mabel, patient, sympathetic, discouraged, and +sanguine by turns. Martie was enraptured by the babies: Bernadette, +a crimped heavy little brunette of five, and Leroy delicious at +three months in limp little flannel wrappers. + +"I'll tell you what, Miss Monroe--I'm going to call you Martha--" +said Mabel, "I'm just about sick of California. I'm not a +Californian; little old New York for mine. I first seen the light of +day at the corner of Sixth Avenue and Sixteenth Street, and I wish +to the good Lord I was there now. You'll never get a fair deal in +Frisker, if any one should ride up on a bike and ask you, dear. We +were doing very good last fall when little Mister Man here decided +to join the party--after that I was simply no good! The box receipts +have fell off steadily since we put that awful girl in. Don't leave +that heavy child paralyze your limbs--she'll set there forever like +an immidge, if you go on telling her stories!" + +"I am amused--genuinely amused at the circumstances under which you +find us, Miss Monroe," said Jesse Cluett with a dignified laugh. +"And my friends in the East would be equally surprised. Professional +pride brought me West, the pride of a man whose public demands one +or two favoured parts from him, year after year. My three or four +successes were a great gratification to me; not only the public, but +my fellow actors at the Lambs, assured me that my future was MADE. +'Made?--no,' I said. 'No. I have no wish to become a one-part man.' +To John Drew I said--I met him going into the Club-'H'ar you, +Jesse?' he said. ... Oh, yes; we are warm friends, old friends. I +played for two years with John Drew. Very brilliant actor--in some +ways. And that is only one instance of the enthusiastic appreciation +to which I am accustomed. ... Are we going to eat, my dear?" For +Mrs. Cluett, who in her hospitable enthusiasm over Martie had taken +a little spirit lamp from the washstand and placed a full kettle +over the flame, was now looking about her in a vague, distressed +sort of way. + +"It's going out," said she blankly. Philosophically, Jesse put his +wide-brimmed hat over his loose curls and, straightening his +shoulders, walked mincingly out for alcohol with the younger men. +Mrs. Cluett spread a small, spotted fringed cloth on a trunk, +setting on it a cut and odorous lemon a trifle past its prime and a +sticky jar of jam. Martie continued to cuddle Leroy and tell +Bernadette a fairy tale. She found the crowded, tawdry bedroom +delightfully cosy, especially when the men came back with graham +crackers and cheese and spongy, greasy bakery doughnuts. + +They all laughed when Wallace asked for the rat-trap's delight; and +when Lloyd dropped a cruller on the floor and thumped his heel to +show its weight; and when Wallace said: "Don't jam or jar Miss +Monroe, Jesse!" But when, in retort for this latest witticism, +Martie said: "Put your hand where it hurts, Wallace, and show Mama"; +the laughter changed to actual shrieks of mirth; Jesse indulging in +a deep "ha-ha-ha!" and Mabel hammering her heels madly together and +sobbing put faintly that she should die--she should simply DIE! + +Martie almost missed the five o'clock trolley, but Wallace pushed +her upon the moving platform at the last possible moment, and she +laughed and gasped blindly half the way home, accepting his help +with her disordered hair and hat. When she finally raised her face, +and somewhat shamefacedly eyed the one or two other occupants of the +car, she saw Rose sitting opposite, a neat and interested Rose in +her trousseau tailor-made. + +Uncomfortable, Martie bowed, and Rose responded sweetly, presently +patting the seat beside her with an inviting glove. Somewhat +surprised at this unexpected graciousness, Martie and her escort +crossed the car. + +"No, MRS.--not Miss!" Rose contradicted Wallace merrily, looking up +at him prettily. "I know I'm not very imposing, but I'm a really +truly old married lady!" + +"This is Mrs. Rodney Parker, Wallace," Martie said. Instantly she +was pleasantly conscious that her easy use of this actor's name was +a surprise to Rose, and for the first time a definite pride in +possession seized her. He might not be perfection, but he was hers. + +"Is that so!" Wallace exclaimed, with new interest in eyes and +voice. "Gosh--what fun we had that night! Do you remember the night +we had oysters, and sat in that little place gassing for two hours? +You know," said he, in a confidential aside to Rose, "Martie's a +wonder when she gets started!" + +"Isn't she?" Rose responded politely. "That was before I met my +husband, I think," she added, "or rather re-met him, for years ago +Mr. Parker and I---" + +But Wallace, amused by the discussion that had arisen between the +conductor and a Chinese who was getting on the car, interrupted +abruptly to call Martie's attention to the affair, and Rose's +reminiscence was lost. She said, with her good-byes, that Mr. +Bannister must come and dine with them. + +"Gosh, I see myself!" ejaculated Wallace ungratefully, as he walked +with Martie to the gate. "I never could stand that ass Parker!" + +"Don't you think she's very pretty, Wallace?" + +"Oh, I don't know! I don't care much for those dolly women. I like +red hair and big women, myself. Listen, Martie. To-morrow---" + +No more was said of Rose. Martie wondered why she liked to hear +Rodney Parker called an ass. + +Malcolm Monroe came home for luncheon every day except Wednesday, +which made Wednesday for the women of the family the easy day of the +week. Their midday meal, never elaborate or formal, was less formal +and even simpler on this day; conversation was more free, and time +less considered. + +For several days after Sally's extraordinary marriage Mrs. Monroe +had wept continually, and even her always mild and infrequent +attempts at conversation had been silenced. Later, she and Lydia had +long and mournful discussions of the event, punctuating them with +heavy sighs and uncomprehending shaking of their heads. That a +Monroe in her senses could stoop to a Hawkes was a fact that would +never cease to puzzle and amaze, and what the town was saying and +thinking in the matter was an agonized speculation to Mrs. Monroe +and Lydia. "Socially, of course," said Lydia, "we will never hold up +our heads again!" + +But as the days went by and the divorce of the young Mulkeys, and +the new baby at Mrs. Hughie Wilson's, and the Annual Strawberry +Festival and Bazaar for the Church Debt came along to make the +gossip about Sally and Joe of secondary interest, Sally's mother and +sister revived. They came to take a bitter-sweet satisfaction in the +sympathy and interest that were shown on all sides. + +Martie was not often at home in these days. "She fairly lives at the +Library, and she takes long walks, I imagine, Ma," Lydia said once. +"You know Martie misses---she's lonely. And then--there was, of +course, the feeling about Rodney. It's just Martie's queer way of +righting herself." + +But on the hot Wednesday morning that brought in July Martie, with a +clear conscience, was baking gingerbread. She had improved in manner +and habit, of late, displaying an unwonted interest in the care of +herself and her person, and an unwonted energy in discharging +domestic duties. + +She was buttering pans vigorously, and singing "The Two Grenadiers," +when Lydia came into the kitchen. + +"Martie, Pa just came in the gate. Isn't that maddening! We'll have +to give him something canned; he hates eggs. Can't you make some +drop cakes of that batter so they'll be done?" + +"Sure I can!" Martie snatched a piece of paper to butter. "But what +brings him home?" + +"Why, I haven't the faintest---" Lydia was beginning, when her +father's voice came in a shout from the dining room: + +"Martie--Martie--MARTIE!" + +Terror seized Martie, her mouth watered saltly, her knees touched, +and a chill shook her. The hot day turned bleak. She and Lydia +exchanged a sick look before Martie, trembling, crossed the pantry, +littered by Lydia's silver polish and rags, and went in to face the +furious old man on the hearthrug. Malcolm was quivering so violently +that his own fear seemed to be that he would lose his voice before +he had gained his information. Martie was vaguely conscious that her +mother, frightened and pale, was in the room, and that Len had come +to the hall doorway. + +"Martie," said her father, breathing hard, "where were you yesterday +afternoon?" + +"At Alice Clark's Five Hundred with Lyd---" the girl was beginning +innocently. He cut her short with an impatient shake of the head. + +"I don't mean yesterday! Where were you on Monday?" + +"Monday? Why, Mama and I walked down to Bonestell's." + +"Yes, we did, Pa! Yes, we did!" quavered Mrs. Monroe. "Oh, Pa, WHAT +IS IT?" + +"And then what did you do?" he pursued blackly, turning to his wife. + +"Why--why, Martie said she was going to go over to Pittsville and +back, just for the ride--just to stay on the trolley, Pa!" explained +his wife. + +"Martie," thundered her father, "when you went to Pittsville you saw +your sister, didn't you?" + +Martie's head was held erect. She was badly frightened, but +conscious through all her fear that there was a certain satisfaction +in having the blow fall at last. + +"Yes, sir," she gulped; she wet her lips. "Yes, sir," she said +again. + +"You admit it?" said Malcolm, his eyes narrowing. + +Lydia, pale and terrified, had come in from the kitchen. Now she +suddenly spoke. + +"Oh, Pa, don't--don't blame Martie for that! You know what the girls +always were to each other--I don't mean to be impertinent, Pa--do +forgive me!--but Martie and Sally always---" "One moment, Lydia," +said her father, with a repressive gesture, the veins blue on his +forehead. "JUST--ONE--MOMENT." And, panting, he turned again to +Martie. "Yes, and who else did you see in Pittsville?" he whispered, +his voice failing. + +Martie, breathing fast, her bright eyes fixed upon him with a sort +of fascination, did not answer. + +"I'll tell you who you saw," said Malcolm at white heat. "I'll tell +you! You met this young whippersnapper Jackanapes--what's his name-- +this young one-night actor---" + +"Do you mean Mr. Wallace Bannister?" Martis asked with a sort of +frightened scorn. + +Lydia and her mother gasped audibly in the silence. Malcolm moved +his eyes slowly from his youngest daughter's face to his wife's, to +Lydia's, and back to Martie again. For two dreadful moments he +studied her, an ugly smile touching his harsh mouth. + +"You don't deny it," he said, after the interval, in a shaking +voice. "You don't deny that you've been disobeying me and lying to +me for weeks? Now I tell you, my girl--there's been enough of this +sort of thing going on in this family. You couldn't get the man you +wanted, so, like your sister, you pick up---" + +Martie laughed briefly and bitterly. The sound seemed to madden him. +For a moment he watched her, his head dropped forward like a +menacing animal. + +"Understand me, Martie," he said. "I'll break that spirit in you--if +it takes the rest of my life! You'll laugh in a different way! My +God--am I to be the laughing-stock of this entire town? Is a girl +your age to---" + +"Pa!" sobbed Mrs. Monroe. "Do what you think best, but don't--DON'T +excite yourself so!" + +Her clutching fingers on his arm seemed to soothe in through all his +fury. He fell silent, still panting, and eying Martie belligerently. + +"You--go to your room!" he commanded, pointing a shaking finger at +her. "Go upstairs with your sister, Lydia, and bring me the key of +her door. When I decide upon the measure that will bring this young +lady quickest to her senses, I'll let her know. Meanwhile---" + +"Oh, Pa, you needn't lock Martie in," quivered Lydia, "she'll stay-- +won't you, Martie?" + +Martie, like a young animal at bay, stood facing them all for a +breathless moment. In that time the child that had been in her, +through all these years of slow development, died. Anger went out of +her eyes, and an infinite sadness filled them. A quick tremble of +her lips and a flutter at her nostrils were the only signs she gave +of the tears she felt rising. She flung one arm about her mother and +kissed the wet, faded cheek. + +"Good-bye, Ma," she said quickly. In another instant she had crossed +to the entrance hall, blindly snatched an old soft felt hat from the +rack, caught up Len's overcoat, and slipped into it, and was gone. +Born in that moment of unreasoning terror, her free soul went with +her. + +The streets were flooded with hot summer sunshine, the sky almost +white. Not a breeze stirred the thick foliage of the elm trees on +Main Street as Martie walked quickly down to the Bank. + +It was Rodney Parker who gave her her money; the original seventeen +dollars and fifty cents had swelled to almost twenty-two dollars +now. Martie hardly saw the gallant youth who congratulated her upon +her becoming gipsy hat; mechanically she slipped her money into a +pocket, mechanically started for the road to Pittsville. + +Five minutes later she boarded the half-past twelve o'clock trolley, +coming in excited and exultant upon Sally who was singing quietly +over a solitary luncheon. The girls laughed and cried together. + +"The funny thing is, I am as free as air!" Martie exclaimed, her +cheeks glowing from the tea and the sympathy and the warm room. "But +I never knew it! If Pa had gotten on that trolley, I think I would +have fainted with shock. But what could he do? I am absolutely FREE, +Sally--with twenty-one dollars and eighty-one cents!" + +"I wish you had a husband---" mused Sally. + +"I'd rather have a job," Martie said with a quick, bright flush +nevertheless. "But I think I know how to get one. Mrs. Cluett is +going to be playing steadily now, and after this engagement they're +going to try very hard to get booked in New York. She's got to have +SOME ONE to look out for the children." + +"But Martie---" Sally said timidly, "you'd only be a sort of +servant---" + +"Well, that's the only thing I know anything about," Martie answered +simply. "It might lead to something---" + +"Then you and Wallace aren't---?" Sally faltered. "There's nothing +serious---?" + +Martie could not control the colour that swept up to the white +parting of her hair, but her mouth showed new firmness as she +answered gravely: + +"Sally--I don't know. Of course, I like him--how could I help it? +We're awfully good chums; he's the best chum I ever had. But he +never--well, he never asked me. Sally"--Martie rested her elbows on +the table, and her chin on her hands--"Sally, would you marry him?" + +"If I loved him I would," said Sally. + +"Yes, but did you KNOW you loved Joe?" Martie asked. Sally was +silent. + +"Well--not so much--before--as after we were married," she said +hesitatingly, after a pause. + +Martie suddenly sprang up. + +"Well, I'm going to see Mrs. Cluett!" + +"I'll go, too," said Sally, "and we'll stop at the express office +and tell Joe!" + +Mrs. Cluett was alone with her children when the callers went in, +and even Martie's sensitive heart could have asked no warmer +reception of her plan. + +The little actress kissed Sally, and kissed Martie more than once, +brimming over with interest and sympathy. + +"Dearie, it ain't much of a start for you, but it is a start!" said +Mabel warmly over the head of the nursing baby. "And you'll get your +living and your railroad fares out of it, anyway! It'll be an +ackshal godsend to Mr. Cluett and me, for the children have took to +you something very unusual. We'll have elegant times going around +together, and you'll never be sorry." + +These cheering sentiments Jesse echoed when he came in with Lloyd a +few minutes later. + +"Much depends upon our future contracts, Miss Monroe," said he, "but +I will go so far as to say this. Should you some time desire to try +the calling that Shakespeare honoured, the opportunity will not be +lacking!" + +This threw Sally, Martie, and Mabel into transports. It now being +after three o'clock tea was proposed. + +And now Martie busied herself happily as one belonging to the little +establishment. Sally had taken rapturous possession of Leroy. Mabel +lighted the alcohol lamp. Martie, delayed by the affectionate +Bernadette, shook out the spotted cloth, and cut the stale cake. + +They were all absorbed and chattering when Wallace Bannister opened +the door. At sight of him Martie straightened up, the long knife in +one hand, Bernadette's sticky little fingers clinging to the other. +The news was flung at him excitedly. Martie had left home--she was +never going back--she had only twenty dollars and an old coat and +hat--she was going to stay with Mabel for the present--- + +"What's this sweet dream about staying with Mabel?" Wallace said, +bewildered, reproachful, definite. He came over to Martie and put +one arm about her. "Look here, folks," he said, almost indignantly, +"Martie's my girl, aren't you, Martie? We're going to be married +right now, this afternoon; and hereafter what I do, she does--and +where I go, she goes!" + +The love in his eyes, the love in all their watching faces, Martie +never forgot. Like a great river of warmth and sunshine it lifted +her free of her dry, thirsty girlhood; she felt the tears of joy +pressing against her eyes. There was nothing critical, nothing +calculating, nothing repressing here; her lover wanted her, just as +she stood, penniless, homeless, without a dress except the blue +gingham she wore! + +The glory of it lighted with magic that day and the days to come. +They laughed over the pretty gipsy hat, over Len's coat, over the +need of borrowing Mabel's brush and comb. With Joe and Sally, they +all dined together, and wandered about the village streets in the +summer moonlight; then Martie went to bed, too happy and excited to +sleep, in Bernadette's room, wearing a much-trimmed nightgown of +Mabel's. It had been decided that the marriage should take place in +San Francisco, Wallace sensibly suggesting that there would be less +embarrassing questioning there, and also that Martie's money might +be spent to better advantage in the city. + +Martie's trunk came to Sally's house the next morning, unaccompanied +by message or note, and three days later Martie wrote her mother a +long letter from a theatrical boarding-house in Geary Street, +sending a copy of the marriage certificate of Martha Salisbury +Monroe to Edward Vincent Tenney in Saint Patrick's Church, San +Francisco, and observing with a touch of pride that "my husband" was +now rehearsing for an engagement of seven weeks at sixty dollars a +week. There was no answer. + + + + +BOOK II + +CHAPTER I + + +For days it was her one triumphant thought. She was married! She was +splendidly and unexpectedly a wife. And her life partner was no mere +Monroe youth, and her home was not merely one of the old, familiar +Monroe cottages. She was the wife of a rising actor, and she lived +in the biggest city of the State! + +Martie exulted innocently and in secret. She reviewed the simple +fact again and again. The two Monroe girls were married. A dimple +would deepen in her cheek, a slow smile tug at her lips, when she +thought of it. She told Wallace, in her simple childish way, that +she had never really expected to be married; she thought that she +would like to go back to Monroe for a visit, and let her old friends +see the plain gold ring on her big, white hand. + +Everything in Martie's life, up to this point, had helped her to +believe that marriage was the final step in any woman's experience. +A girl was admired, was desired, and was married, if she was, +humanly speaking, a success. If she was not admired, if no one asked +her in marriage, she was a failure. This was the only test. + +Martie's thoughts never went on to the years that followed marriage, +the experiences and lessons; these were all lost in the golden glow +that surrounded the step safely accomplished. That the years between +thirty and fifty are as long as the years between ten and thirty, +never occurred to her. With the long, dull drag of her mother's life +before her eyes, she never had thought that Rose's life, that +Sally's life, as married women, could ever be long and dull. They +were married--doubt and surmise and hope were over. Lydia and Miss +Fanny were not married. Therefore, Rose and Sally and Martie had an +obvious advantage over Lydia and Fanny. + +It was a surprise to her to find life placidly proceeding here in +this strange apartment in Geary Street, as if all the world had not +stopped moving and commenced again. The persons she met called her +"Mrs. Bannister" with no visible thrill. Nobody seemed surprised +when she and the big actor quietly went into their room at night and +shut the door. + +She had fancied that the mere excitement of the new life filled all +brides with a sort of proud complacency; that they felt superior to +other human beings, and secretly scorned the unwed. It was +astonishing to find herself still concerned with the tiny questions +of yesterday: the ruffle torn on the bureau, the little infection +that swelled and inflamed her chin, the quarter of a dollar her +Chinese laundryman swore he had never received. It was always +tremendously thrilling to have Wallace give her money: delightful +gold pieces such as even her mother seldom handled. She felt a naive +resentment that so many of them had to be spent for what she called +"uninteresting" things: lodging and food and car fares. They seemed +so more than sufficient, when she first touched them; they melted so +mysteriously away. She felt that there should be great saving on so +generous an allowance, but Wallace never saved, nor did any of his +friends and associates. + +So that a sense of being baffled began to puzzle her. She was +married now; the great question of life had been answered in the +affirmative. But--but the future was vague and unsettled still. Even +married persons had their problems. Even the best of husbands +sometimes left a tiny something to be desired. + +Husbands, in Martie's dreams, were ideal persons who laughed +indulgently at adored wives, produced money without question or +stint, and for twenty or fifty years, as the span of their lives +might decree, came home appreciatively to delicious dinners, +escorted their wives proudly to dinner or theatre, made presents, +paid compliments, and disposed of bills. That her mother had once +perhaps had some such idea of her father did not occur to her. + +"Lissen, dear, did I wake you up?" said Mrs. Wallace Bannister, +coming quietly into the sitting room that connected her bedroom with +that of Mrs. Jesse Cluett, in the early hours of an August morning. + +"No--o! This feller wakes me up," Mrs. Cluett said, yawning and +pale, but cheerful. She indicated the fat, serious baby in her arms. +"Honest, it's enough to kill a girl, playing every night and Sunday, +and trying to raise children!" she added, manipulating her flat +breast with ringed fingers to meet the little mouth. + +"I wish I could either have the baby nights, or play your parts!" +laughed Martie, reaching lazily for manicure scissors and beginning +to clip her nails, as she sat in a loose, blue kimono opposite the +older woman. + +"Dearie, you'll have your own soon enough!" Mabel answered +gratefully. "It won't be so hard long. They get so's they can take +care of themselves very quick. Look at Dette--goodness knows where +she's been ever since she got up. She must of drunk her milk and +eaten her san'wich, because here's the empty glass. She's playing +somewhere; she's all right." + +"Oh, sure--she's all right!" Martie said, smiling lazily. And as +Leroy finished his meal she put out her arms. "Come to Aunt Martie, +Baby. Oh, you--cunnin'--little--scrap, you!" + +"You'd ought to have one, Mart," said Mabel affectionately. + +The wife of a month flushed brightly. With her loosened bronze braid +hanging over her shoulder, her blue eyes soft with happiness, and +her full figure only slightly disguised by the thin nightgown and +wrapper she wore, she looked the incarnation of potent youth and +beauty. + +"I'd love it," she said, burying her hot cheeks in the little space +between Leroy's fluffy crown and the collar of his soggy little +double gown. + +"I love 'em, too," Mabel agreed. "But they cert'ny do tie you down. +Dette was the same way--only I sort of forgot it." + +"If this salary was going to keep up, I'd like a dozen of 'em!" +Martie smiled. + +"Well, Wallace ought to do well," Mabel conceded. "But of course, +you can't be sure. My idea is to plunge in and HAVE them, +regardless. Things'll fit if they've GOT to." + +"That's the NICEST way," Martie said timidly. She had married, +knowing nothing of wifehood and motherhood, except the one fact that +the matter of children must be left entirely to chance. But she did +not like to tell Mabel so. + +She sat on in the pleasant morning sunshine, utterly happy, utterly +at ease. The baby went to sleep as the two women murmured together. +Outside the lace-curtained windows busy Geary Street had long been +astir. Wagons rattled up and down; cable-cars clanged. Sunlight had +already conquered the summer fog. It was nine o'clock. + +Mabel was enjoying tea and toast, but Martie refused to join her. If +every hour had not been so blissful the young wife would have said +that the happiest time of the day was when she and Wallace wandered +out into the sunshine together for breakfast. + +Presently she slipped away to take the bath that was a part of her +morning routine now, and to wake Wallace. With his tumbled hair, his +flushed face and his pale blue pajama jacket open at the throat +Martie thought him no more than a delightful, drowsy boy. She sat on +the edge of the bed beside him, teasing him to open his eyes. + +"Ah--you darling!" Wallace was not too sleepy to appreciate her +cool, fresh kisses. "Oh, Lord, I'm a wreck! What time is it?" + +"Nearly ten. You've had ten hours' sleep, darling. I don't know what +you WANT!" Martie answered--at the bureau now, with the glory of her +hair falling about her. + +While they dressed they talked; delicious irrelevant chatter +punctuated with laughter and kisses. The new stock company was a +success, and Wallace working hard and happily. At ten the young +Bannisters went forth in search of breakfast, the best meal of the +day. + +Martie loved the city: Market Street, Kearney Street, Union Square. +She loved the fresh breath of the morning in her face. She always +had her choice of flowers at the curb market about Lotta's fountain, +pinning a nodding bunch of roses, Shasta daisies, pansies, or +cafnations at the belt of her white shirtwaists. They went to the +Vienna Bakery or to Swain's for their leisurely meal, unless Wallace +was hungry enough to beg for the Poodle Dog, or they felt rich +enough for the Palace. Now and then they walked out of the familiar +neighbourhood and tried a strange restaurant or hotel--but not +often. + +Usually Martie had Swain's famous toasted muffins for her breakfast, +daintily playing with coffee and fruit while Wallace disposed of +cereal, eggs and ham, and fried potatoes. She used to marvel that he +never grew fat on this hearty fare; sometimes he had sharp touches +of indigestion. + +Over their meal they talked untiringly, marvelling anew at the +miracle of their finding each other. Martie learned her husband's +nature as if it had been a book. Sensitive here--evasive there; a +little coarse, perhaps, a little simple. However surprising his +differences it was for her to adapt herself. She was almost glad +when his unconscious demands required of her the smallest sacrifice; +getting so much, how glad she was to give! + +After breakfast, when Wallace was not rehearsing and they were free +to amuse themselves, they prowled through the Chinese quarter, and +through the Italian colony. They rode on windy "dummies" out to the +beach, and went scattering peanut shells along the wet sands. They +visited the Park, the Mint, and the big baths, or crossed to Oakland +or Sausalito, where Martie learned to swim. Martie found Wallace +tireless in his appetite for excursions, and committed herself +cheerfully to his guidance. Catching a train, they rejoiced; missing +it, they were none the less happy. + +Twice a week a matinee performance brought Wallace to the Granada +Theatre at one o'clock. On other days, rehearsals began at eleven +and ended at three or occasionally as late as four. The theatre life +charmed Martie like a fairy tale. She never grew tired of its +thrill. + +It was gratifying in the first place to enter the door marked +"Stage" with a supplementary legend, NO ADMITTANCE, and pass the old +doorkeeper who knew and liked her. The dark passages beyond, +smelling of escaping gas and damp straw, of unaired rooms and +plumbing and fresh paint, were perfumed with romance to her, as were +the little dressing rooms with old photographs stuck in the loosened +wallpaper and dim initials scratched on the bare walls, and odd wigs +and scarfs and paint jars littering the shelves. Wallace making up +his face was an exalted being in the eyes of his wife. + +When the play began, she took her station in the wings--silent, +unobtrusive, eager to keep out of everybody's way, eager not to miss +a word of the play. The man over her head, busy with his lights; the +one or two shirt-sleeved, elderly men who invariably stood +dispassionately watching the performance; the stage-hands; the +various members of the cast: for all these she had a smile, and +their answering smiles were Martie's delight. + +"Take off ten pounds, Martie, and Bellew will give you a show some +time!" said Maybelle La Rue, who was Mabel Cluett in private life. +Martie gasped at the mere thought. She determined to diet. + +A few months before, she had supposed that social intercourse was a +large factor in the actor's life, that midnight suppers were shared +by the cast, and that intimacy of an unconventional if harmless +nature reigned among them. Now, with some surprise, she learned that +this was not the case. The actors, leaving the play at different +moments, quietly got into their street clothes and disappeared; so +that Mabel and Wallace, usually holding the stage for the last few +moments by reason of their respective parts of maid and lover, often +left a theatre empty of performers except for themselves. Jesse +would frequently reach home enough earlier to be sound asleep when +his wife rushed in to seize her hungry and fretting baby. Little +Leroy spent the early evening in Martie's bed; one of the maids in +the house being paid in Mabel's old finery for coming to look at the +children now and then. + +At intervals the Bannisters and the Cluetts did have little after- +theatre suppers, but Martie was heroically dieting, Mabel tired and +sleepy, and both gentlemen somewhat subject to indigestion. So +Martie and Wallace more often went alone, Martie drinking bouillon +and nibbling a cracker, and her husband devouring large orders of +coffee and scrambled eggs. + +They had been married perhaps eight weeks when Wallace astonished +her by drinking too much. She had always fancied herself too broad- +minded to resent this in the usual wifely way, but the fact angered +her, and she suffered over the incident for days. + +It was immediately after the termination of his successful +engagement, and he and the Cluetts were celebrating the inauguration +of a rest. With two or three other members of the cast, they went to +dine at the Cliff House, preceding the dinner with several cocktails +apiece. There was a long wait for the planked steak, during which +time more cocktails were ordered; Martie, who had merely tasted the +first one, looking on amiably as the others drank. + +Presently Mabel began to laugh unrestrainedly, much to Martie's +half-comprehending embarrassment. The men, far from seeming to be +shocked by her hysteria, laughed violently themselves. + +"Time f'r 'nother round cocktails!" Jesse said. Martie turned to her +husband. + +"Wallace! Don't order any more. Not until we've had some solid food, +anyway. Can't you see that we don't need them?" + +"What is it, dear?" Wallace moved his eyes heavily to look at her. +His face was flushed, and as he spoke he wet his lips with his +tongue. "Whatever you say, darling," he said earnestly. "You have +only to ask, and I will give you anything in my power. Let me know +what you wish---" + +"I want you not to drink any more," Martie said distressedly. + +"Why not, Martie--why not, li'l girl?" Wallace asked her +caressingly. He put his arm about her shoulders, breathing hotly in +her face. "Do you know that I am crazy about you?" he murmured. + +"If you are," Martie answered, with an uncomfortable glance about +for watching eyes, "please, please---!" + +"Martie," he said lovingly, "do you think I am drinking too much?" + +"Well--well, I think you have had enough, Wallace," she stammered. + +"Dearie, I will stop if you say so," he answered, "but you amuse me. +I am just as col' sober---" And, a fresh reinforcement of cocktails +having arrived, he drank one off as he spoke, setting down the +little empty glass with a long gasp. + +After that the long evening was an agony to Martie. Mabel laughed +and screamed; wine was spilled; the food was wasted and wrecked. +Wallace's face grew hotter and hotter. Jesse became sodden and +sleepy; champagne packed in a bucket of ice was brought, and Martie +saw Wallace's gold pieces pay for it. + +It was not an unusual scene. She had looked on at just such scenes, +taking place at the tables all about her, more than once in the last +few weeks. Even now, this was not the only group that had dined less +wisely than well. But the shame of it, the fear of what might happen +before Wallace was safely at home in bed, sickened Martie to the +soul. + +She went to the dressing room with Mabel, who was sick. Presently +they were all out in a drizzling rain, stumbling their way up the +hill and blundering aboard a street car. Two nice, quiet women on +the opposite seat watched the group in shocked disgust; Martie felt +that she would never hold up her head again. Wallace fell when they +got off, and his hat rolled in the mud. Martie tried to help him, +somehow got him upstairs to his room, somehow got him into bed, +where he at once fell asleep, and snored. + +It was just eleven o'clock. Martie washed her face, and brushed her +hair, and sat down, in a warm wrapper, staring gloomily at the +unconscious form on the bed. She could hear Mabel and Jesse laughing +and quarrelling in the room adjoining. Presently Mabel came in for +the baby, who usually slept in Martie's room during the earlier part +of the night, so that his possible crying would not disturb +Bernadette. + +"Poor Wallace--he is all in, down and out!" Mabel said, settling +herself to nurse the baby. She looked flushed and excited still, but +was otherwise herself. "He certainly was lit up like a battleship," +she added in an amused voice; "as for me, I'm ashamed of myself--I'm +always that way!" + +Martie's indignant conviction was that Mabel might indeed be ashamed +of herself, and this airy expression of what should have been +penitence too deep for words, gave her a curious shock. + +"They all do it," said Mabel, smiling after a long yawn, "and I +suppose it's better to have their wives with 'em, than to have 'em +go off by themselves!" + +"They all SHOULDN'T do it!" Martie answered sombrely. + +"Well, no; I suppose they shouldn't!" Mabel conceded amiably. She +carried the baby away, and Martie sat on, gazing sternly at the +unconscious Wallace. + +Half an hour passed, another half hour. Martie had intended to do +some serious thinking, but she found herself sleepy. + +After a while she crept in beside her husband, and went to sleep, +her heart still hot with anger. + +But when the morning came she forgave him, as she was often to +forgive him. What else could she do? The sunlight was streaming into +their large, shabby bedroom, cable cars were rattling by, fog +whistles from the bay penetrated the soft winter air. Martie was +healthily hungry for breakfast, Wallace awakened good natured and +penitent. + +"You were a darling to me last night, Mart," he said appreciatively. + +Martie had not known he was awake. She turned from her mirror, +regarding him steadily between the curtains of her shining hair. + +"And you're a darling not to rub it in," Wallace pursued. + +"I WOULD rub it in," Martie said in a hurt voice, "if I thought it +would do any good!" + +Wallace sat up, and pressed his hands against his forehead. + +"Well, believe me--that was the last!" he said fervently. "Never +again!" + +"Oh, dearest," Martie said, coming to sit beside him, "I hope you +mean that!" That he did mean it, they both believed. + +Half an hour later, when they went out to breakfast, she was in her +happiest mood. The little cloud, in vanishing, had left the sky +clearer than before. But some little quality of blind admiration and +faith was gone from her wifeliness thereafter. + +In December the stock company had a Re-engagement Extraordinary, and +Martie got her first part. It was not much of a part--three lines-- +but she approached it with passionate seriousness, and when the +first rehearsal came, rattled off her three lines so glibly that the +entire jaded company and the director enjoyed a refreshing laugh. At +the costumier's, in a fascinating welter of tarnished and shabby +garments, she selected a suitable dress, and Wallace coached her, +made up her face, and prompted her with great pride. So the tiny +part went well, and one of the papers gave a praising line to +"Junoesque Miss Salisbury." These were happy days. Martie loved the +odorous, dark, crowded world behind the scenes, loved to be a part +of it. This was living indeed! + +And Sally was expecting a baby! Martie laughed aloud from sheer +excitement and pleasure when the news came. It was almost like +having one herself; in one way even more satisfactory, because she +was too busy now to be interrupted. She spent the first money she +had ever earned in sending Sally a present for the baby; smiling +again whenever she pictured Sally was showing it to old friends in +Monroe: "From Martie; isn't it gorgeous?" + +The weeks fled by. Wallace began to talk of moving to New York. It +was always their dream. Instinctively they wanted New York. Their +talk of it, their plans for it, were as enthusiastic as they were +ignorant, if Wallace could only get the chance to play on Broadway! +That seemed to both of them the goal of their ambition. Always +hopeful of another part, Martie began to read and study seriously. +She had much spare time, and she used it. From everybody and +everything about her she learned: a few German phrases from the +rheumatic old man whose wife kept the lodging house; Juliet's lines +and the lines of Lady Macbeth from Mabel's shabby books; and +something of millinery from the little Irishwoman who kept a shop on +the corner, with "Elise" written across its window. She learned all +of Wallace's parts, and usually Mabel's as well. Often she went to +the piano in the musty parlour of the Geary Street house and played +"The Two Grenadiers" and "Absent." She brimmed with energy; while +Wallace or Mabel wrangled with the old costumier, Martie was busily +folding and smoothing the garments of jesters and clowns and Dolly +Vardens. She had a curious instinct for trade terms; she could not +buy a yard of veiling without an eager little talk with the +saleswoman; the chance phrase of a conductor or the woman in the +French laundry amused and interested her. + +Away from all the repressing influences of her childhood, healthy +and happy, she met the claims of the new state with a splendid and +unthinking passion. To yield herself generously and supremely was +the only natural thing; she had no dread and no regret. From the old +life she brought to this hour only an instinctive reticence, so that +Mabel never had the long talks and the short talks she had +anticipated with the bride, and never dared say a word to Martie +that might not have been as safely said to Bernadette. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +On A hot Sunday in early March Martie came back from church to find +Wallace gone. She had had no breakfast, but had stopped on the way +home to get six enormous oranges in a paper bag. The heat had given +her a stupid headache, and she felt limp and tired. It was delicious +to undress, to climb into the smoothed bed, and to sink back against +the pillows. + +A bulky newspaper, smelling of printer's ink, was on the chair +beside her bed, but Martie did not open it for a while. Serious +thoughts held her. Opening her orange, she said to herself, with a +little flutter at her heart, that it must be so. She was going to +have a baby! + +Fear and pride shook her. It seemed a tremendous thing; not at all +like the other babies other women had been having since time began. +She could not believe it--of herself, Martie Monroe, who had been an +ignorant girl only a few months ago! + +Yet she had been vaguely suspecting the state of affairs for more +than a week; when morning after morning found her languid and weary, +when Wallace's fork crushing an egg-yolk had given her a sudden +sensation of nausea. She felt so stupid, so tired all the time. She +could not sleep at night; she could hardly stay awake in the +daytime. + +Her eyes were heavy now. She glanced indifferently at the newspaper, +smiled a contented little smile, and, murmuring, "I wonder--I +wonder--" and fell into delicious sleep. + +She slept for a long time. Wallace, coming in at two o'clock, +awakened her. Afternoon sunlight was streaming into the room, which +was scented with the decaying sweetness of orange peel. Dazed and +stupid, yet dreamily content, Martie smiled upon him. He hated +Sunday rehearsals: she could see that he was in a bad mood, and his +obvious effort to think of her and to disguise his own feeling +touched her. + +"Tired?" she asked affectionately. "Isn't it hot?" + +"How are you?" Wallace questioned in turn. "You felt so rotten +yesterday." + +He sat down beside her, and pushed the dark hair from his big +forehead, and she saw that his face was damp and pale. + +"Fine!" she assured him, laying her hand over his. + +They remained so for a full minute, Wallace staring gloomily at +nothing, Martie's eyes idly roving about the room. Then the man +reached for a section of the paper, glanced at it indifferently, and +flung it aside. + +"There wasn't any rehearsal this morning," he observed after a +pause. He cleared his throat self-consciously before speaking and +Martie, glancing quickly at him, saw that he intended the statement +to have a significance. + +"Where were you then?" she asked duly. + +"I was--I was--" He hesitated, expelling a long breath suddenly. +"Something came up," he amended, "and I had to see about it." + +"What came up?" Martie pursued, more anxious to set his mind at +rest, than curious. + +"Well--it all goes back to some time ago, Mart; before I knew you," +Wallace said, in a carefully matter-of-fact tone. But she could see +that he was troubled, and a faint stir of apprehension shook her own +heart. + +"Money?" she guessed quickly. + +"No," he said reassuringly, "nothing like that!" + +He got up, and restlessly circled the room, drawing the shade that +was rattling gently at the window, flinging his coat across a chair. + +Then he went back, and sat down by the bed again, locking his +dropped hands loosely between his knees, and looking steadily at the +worn old colourless carpet. + +"You see this Golda--" he began. + +"Golda who?" Martie echoed. + +"This girl I've been talking to this morning," Wallace supplied +impatiently; "Golda White." + +"Who is she?" Martie asked, bewildered, as his heavy voice stopped +on the name. + +"Oh, she's a girl I used to know! I haven't seen her for eight or +ten years--since I left Portland, in fact." + +"But who IS she, Wallie?" Martie had propped herself in pillows, she +was wide awake now, and her voice was firm and quick. + +"Well, wait and I'll tell you, I'll tell you the whole thing. I +don't believe there's anything in it, but anyway, I'll tell you, and +you and I can sort of talk it over. You see I met this girl in +Portland, when I was a kid in my uncle's lumber office. I was about +twenty-two or three, and she was ten years older than that. But we +ran with the same crowd a lot, and I saw her all the time---" + +"She was in the office?" + +"Sure. She was Uncle Chester's steno. She was a queer sort of girl; +pretty, too. I was sore because my father made me work there, and I +wanted to join the navy or go to college, or go on the stage, and +she'd sit there making herself collars and things, and sort of +console me. She was engaged to a fellow in Los Angeles, or she said +she was. + +"We liked each other all right, she'd tell me her troubles and I'd +tell her mine; she had a stepfather she hated, and sometimes she'd +cry and all that. The crowd began to jolly us about liking each +other, and I could see she didn't mind it much---" + +"Perhaps she loved you, Wallie?" Martie suggested on a quick, +excited breath. + +"You bet your life she loved me!" he affirmed positively. + +"Poor girl!" said the wife in pitying anticipation of a tragedy. + +"Don't call her 'poor girl!'" Wallace said, his face darkening. +"She'll look out for herself. There's a lot of talk," he added with +a sort of dull resentment, "about 'leading young girls astray,' and +'betraying innocence,' and all that, but I want to tell you right +now that nine times out of ten it's the girls that do the leading +astray! You ask any fellow---" + +The expression on Martie's face did not alter by the flicker of an +eyelash. She had been looking steadily at him, and she still stared +steadily. But she felt her throat thicken, and the blood begin to +pump convulsively at her heart. + +"But Wallace," she stammered eagerly, "she wasn't--she wasn't---" + +"Sure she was!" he said coarsely; "she was as rotten as the rest of +them!" + +"But--but---" Martie's lips felt dry, her voice failed her. + +"I was only a kid, I tell you," said Wallace, uneasily watching her. +"Why, Mart," he added, dropping on his knees beside the bed, and +putting his arms about her, "all boys are like that! Every one knows +it. There isn't a man you know---And you're the only girl I ever +loved, Sweetheart, you know that. Men are different, that's all. A +boy growing up can't any more keep out of it---And I never lied to +you, Mart. I told you when we were engaged that I wished to God, for +your sake, that I'd never---" + +"Yes, I know!" Martie whispered, shutting her eyes. He kissed her +suddenly colourless cheek, and she heard him move away. + +"Well, to go on with the rest of this," Wallace resumed suddenly. +Martie opened tired eyes to watch him, but he did not meet her look. + +"Golda and I went together for about a year," he said, "and finally +she got to talking as if we were going to be married. One day--it +was a rainy day in the office, and I had a cold, and she fixed me up +something hot to drink--she got to crying, and she said her +stepfather had ordered her out of the house. I didn't believe it +then, and I don't believe it now, but anyway, we talked it all over, +and she said she was going down to Los Angeles and hunt up this +other fellow. Well, that made me feel kind of sick, because we had +been going together for so long, and her talking about how things +would be when we were married and all that, and I said--you know the +way you do--'What's the matter with us getting married, right now?'" + +Martie's face was fixed in a look of agonized attention: she made no +sound. + +"She said we wouldn't have anything to live on," Wallace pursued, +not looking at his wife, "and that she wanted to take a rest when +she got married, and have a little fun. Well, I says, we can keep it +quiet for awhile. Well, we talked about it that day, and after that +we would kind of josh about it, and finally one day we walked over +to the bureau and got out a license, and the Justice of the Peace--- +" + +"Wallie--my God!" Martie breathed. + +"Well, listen!" he urged her impatiently. "I put a wrong age on the +license and so did she, and she had told me a lot of lies about +herself, as I found out later, Martie---" + +"So that it wasn't legal!" + +"Well, listen. After that we went on with the crowd for a few weeks, +and we didn't tell anybody. And then this Dr. Prendergast turned up- +--" + +"WHAT Dr. Prendergast!" + +"I don't know who he was--a dentist anyway. And he had known Golda +before, somewhere, and he was crazy about her. His wife was getting +a divorce, it seems; anyway, he butted right in, and she let him. I +don't think she had awfully good sense, she would act sort of crazy +sometimes, as if she didn't know what she was doing. Well, I told +her I wouldn't stand for that, and we had some fights. But just then +my dad wrote and told me that he would finance me for a year at +Stanford, and I began to think I'd like to cut the whole bunch. So I +said to Golda: 'I'm done. I'm going to get out! You keep your mouth +shut, and I'll keep mine!' She says, 'Leon'--that was Prendergast-- +'is going to marry me, and you'll talk before I do!' So---" + +"But, Wallace---" + +"But what, dearie?" + +"But it wasn't left that way?" + +"Now, listen, dearie. Of course it wasn't! She and Prendergast were +going to leave town, a few days later, but I was kind of worried +about it, and I finally told my uncle the whole story. Of course he +blew up! He sent for her, and she came right in, scared to death. He +told her that he'd give away the whole story to Prendergast, or else +he'd give her a check for five hundred dollars on her wedding day. +She fell for it, and we said good-bye. She swore it was only a sort +of joke anyway, and that the day we--we did it, she'd been filling +me up with whisky lemonades and all that, and that the whole thing +was off. And let me tell you that I was glad to beat it! I never saw +her again until this morning! I went on the stage, and changed my +name because the leading lady in that show happened to be Thelma +Tenney. About a month later my uncle wrote me that she had sent him +a newspaper notice of her marriage, and he had sent her the check. +I'll never forget reading that letter. I'd been worrying myself +black in the face, but that day I went on a bust, I can tell you!" + +"That marriage would cancel the other?" Martie asked, with a dry +throat. + +"Sure it would!" he said easily. + +"But now--now---" she pursued fearfully. + +"Now she's turned up," he said, a shadow falling on his heavy face +again. "She was at the theatre last night. God knows what she's been +doing all these years; she looks awful. She saw my picture in some +paper, and she came straight to the city. She found out where I +lived, and this morning, while you were at church, Mabel came in and +said a lady wanted to see me. I took her to breakfast. I didn't know +what to do with her--and we talked." + +"And what does she say, Wallie--what does she want?" + +"Oh, she wants anything she can get! She doesn't know that I'm +married. If she did, I suppose she might make herself unpleasant +along that line!" + +"But she has no claim on you! She married another man!" + +"She says now that she never was married to Prendergast!" + +"But she WAS!" Martie said hotly. Her voice dropped vaguely. Her +eyes were fixed and glassy with growing apprehension. "Perhaps she +was lying about that," she whispered, as if to herself. + +"She'd lie about anything!" Wallace supplied. + +"But if she wasn't, Wallace, if she wasn't--then would that second +marriage cancel the first?" she asked feverishly. + +"I should THINK so!" he answered. "Shouldn't you?" + +"Shouldn't _I_?" she echoed, with her first flash of anger. "Why, +what do _I_ know about it? What do _I_ know about it? I don't know +anything! You come to me with this now--NOW!" + +"Don't talk like that!" he pleaded. "I feel--I feel awfully about +it, Martie! I can't tell you how I feel! But the whole thing was so +long ago it had sort of gone out of my mind. Every fellow does +things that he's ashamed of, Mart--things that he's sorry for; but +you always think that you'll marry some day, and have kids, and that +the world will go on like it always has---" + +The fire suddenly died out of Martie. In a deadly calm she sat back +against her pillows, and began to gather up her masses of loosened +hair. + +"If she is right---" she began, and stopped. + +"She's not right, I tell you!" Wallace said. "She hasn't got a leg +to stand on!" + +"No," Martie conceded lifelessly, patiently. "But if she SHOULD be +right---" + +"But I tell you she isn't, Mart!" + +"Yes, I know you do." The deadly gentleness was again in her voice. +"I know you do!" she repeated mildly. "Only--only---" Her lip +trembled despite her desperate effort, she felt her throat thicken +and the tears come. + +Instantly he was beside her again, and with her arms still raised +she felt him put his own arms about her, and felt his penitent +kisses through the veil of her hair. A sickness swept over her: they +were here in the sacred intimacy of their own room, the room to +which he had brought her as a bride only a few months before. + +She freed herself with what dignity she could command. He asked her +a hundred times if she loved him, if she could forgive him. Her one +impulse was to silence him, to have him go away. + +"I know--I know how you feel, Wallie! I'm sorry--for you and myself, +and the whole thing! I'm terribly sorry! I--I don't know what we can +do. I have to go away, of course; I can't stay here until we know; +and you'll have to investigate, and find out just what she claims. +I'll go to Sally, I suppose. People can think I've come up to help +when the baby comes--I don't care what they think!" + +"I thought you might go to Oakland for awhile," he agreed, +gratefully; "but of course it'll be best to have you go to Sally-- +it'll only be for a few days. Mart, I feel rotten about it!" + +"I know you do, Wallace," she answered nervously. + +"To spring this on you--it's just rotten!" + +Martie was silent. Her mind was in a whirl. + +"Will you go out?" she asked simply. "I want to dress." + +"What do you want me to go out for?" he asked, amazed. + +Again his wife was silent. Her cheeks were bright scarlet, her eyes +hard and dry. She looked at him steadily, and he got clumsily to his +feet. + +"Sure I'll go out!" he said stupidly. "I'll do anything you want me +to. I feel like a skunk about this--it had sort of slipped my mind, +Mart! Every fellow lets himself in for something like this." + +Trapped. It was the one thought she had when he was gone, and when +she had sprung feverishly from bed, and was quickly dressing. +Trapped, in this friendly, comfortable room, where she had been so +happy and so proud! She had been so innocently complacent over her +state as this man's wife, she had planned for their future so +courageously. Now she was--what? Now she was--what? + +Just to escape somehow and instantly, that was the first wild +impulse. He was gone, but he was coming back: he must not find her +here. She must disappear, nobody must ever find her. Sally and her +father, Rose and Rodney must never know! Martie Monroe, married to a +man who was married before, disgraced, exiled, lost. Nobody knew +that she was going to have a baby, but Monroe would surmise that. + +Oh, fool--fool--fool that she had been to marry him so! But it was +too late for that. She must face the situation now, and fret over +the past some other day. + +She had felt the thought of a return to Monroe intolerable: but +quickly she changed her mind. Sally's home might be an immediate +retreat, she could rest there, and plan there. Her sister was +eagerly awaiting an answer to the letter in which she begged Martie +to come to her for the month of the baby's birth. + +Martie, packing frantically, glanced at the clock. It was two +o'clock now, she could get the four o'clock boat. She would be in +peaceful Monroe at seven. And after that---? + +After that she did not know. Should she ever return to Wallace, +under any circumstances? Should she tell Sally? Should she hide both +Wallace's revelations and the morning's earlier hopes of motherhood? + +Child that she was, she could not decide. She had had no preparation +for these crises, she was sick with shock and terror. Married to a +man who was already married--and perhaps to have a baby! + +But she never faltered in her instant determination to leave him. If +she was not his wife, at least she could face the unknown future far +more bravely than the dubious present. If she had been wrong, she +would not add more wrong. + +With her bag packed, and her hat pinned on, she paused, and looked +about the room. The window curtain flapped uncertainly, a gritty +wind blew straight down Geary Street. The bed was unmade, the sweet +orange peels still scented the air. + +Martie suddenly flung her gloves aside, and knelt down beside her +bed. She had an impulse to make her last act in this room a prayer. + +Wallace, pale and quiet, opened the door, and as she rose from her +knees their eyes met. In a second they were in each other's arms, +and Martie was sobbing on his shoulder. + +"Mart--my darling little girl! I'm so sorry!" + +"I know you are--I know you are!" + +"It's only for a few days, dearie--until I settle her once and for +all!" + +"That's all!" + +"And then you'll come back, and we'll go have Spanish omelette at +the Poodle Dog, won't we?" + +"Oh, Wallie, darling, I hope--I hope we will!" + +She gasped on a long breath, and dried her eyes. + +"How much money have you got, dearie?" + +"About--I don't know. About four dollars, I think." + +"Well, here--" He was all the husband again, stuffing gold pieces +into her purse. "You're going down to the four boat? I'll take you +down. And wire me when you get there, Martie, so I won't worry. And +tell Sally I wish her luck, I'll certainly be glad to hear the +news." They were at the doorway; he put his arm about her. "You DO +love me, Mart?" + +"Oh, Wallie---!" The tender moment, following upon her hour of +lonely agony, was almost too much. "We--we didn't think--this would +be the end of our happy time, did we?" she stammered. And as they +kissed again, both faces were wet with tears. + +Sally met her; a Sally ample of figure and wonderful in complexion. +All the roses of spring were in Sally's smiling face; she laughed +and rejoiced at their meeting with a certain quality of ease and +poise for which Martie was puzzled to account, but which was new to +quiet, conventional Sally. Sally was in the serene mood that +immediately precedes motherhood; all the complex elements of her +life were temporarily lapped in a joyous peace. Of Martie's hidden +agony she suspected nothing. + +She took Martie to the tiny house by the river; the plates and +spoons and pillow-slips looked strange to Martie, and for every one +of them Sally had an amused history. Martie felt, with a little +twinge of pain, that she would have liked a handsomer home for +Sally, would have liked a more imposing husband than the tired, +dirty, boyish-looking Joe, would have liked the first Monroe baby to +come to a prettier layette than these plain little slips and +flannels; but Sally saw everything rose-coloured. They had almost no +money, she told Martie, with a happy laugh. Already Sally, who had +been brought up in entire ignorance of the value of money, was +watching the pennies. Never had there been economy like this in Pa's +house! + +Sally kept house on a microscopic scale that amused and a little +impressed Martie. Every apple, every onion, was used to the last +scrap. Every cold muffin was reheated, or bit of cold toast was +utilized. When Carrie David brought the young householders a roasted +chicken, it was an event. The fowl was sliced and stewed and minced +and made into soup before it went into the family annals to shine +forevermore as "the delicious chicken Cousin Carrie brought us +before the baby was born." Sally's cakes were made with one egg, her +custards reinforced with cornstarch, her cream was only "top milk." +Even her house was only half a house: the four rooms were matched by +four other rooms, with only a central wall between. But Sally had a +square yard, and a garden, and Martie came to love every inch of the +little place, so rich in happiness and love. + +The days went on and on, and there was no word of Wallace. Martie's +heart was like lead in her breast. She talked with Sally, set +tables, washed dishes, she laughed and planned, and all the while +misgivings pressed close about her. Sometimes, kneeling in church in +the soft warm afternoons of early spring, she told herself that if +this one cup were taken from her lips, if she were only proved to be +indeed an honourable wife, she would bear with resignation whatever +life might bring. She would welcome poverty, welcome humiliations, +welcome the suffering and the burden of the baby's coming--but dear +Lord, dear Lord, she could not face the shame that menaced her now! + +Sally saw the change in her, the new silence and gravity, and +wondered. + +"Martie, dearest, something's worrying you?" + +"Nothing much, dear. Wallace--Wallace doesn't write to me as often +as I should like!" + +"You didn't quarrel with him, Mart?" + +"Oh, no--he's the best husband in the world. We never quarrel." + +"But it's not like you to fret so," Sally grieved. Presently she +ventured a daring question: "Has it ever occurred to you, Mart, that +perhaps---" + +Martie laughed shakily. + +"The way you and Grace wish babies on to people--it's the limit!" + +Sally laughed, too, and if she was unconvinced, at least she said no +more. She encouraged Martie to take long walks, to help with the +housework, and finally, to attempt composition. Sitting at the clean +little kitchen table, in the warm evenings, Martie wrote an article +upon the subject of independence for women. + +For a few days she laboured tirelessly with it: then she tired of +it, and flung it aside. Other things absorbed her attention. + +First came the expected letter from Wallace. Martie's hand shook as +she took it from the postman. Now she would know--now she would +know! Whatever the news, the suspense was over. + +Perhaps the hardest moment of the hard weeks was when she realized +that the tension was not snapped, after all. Wallace wrote +affectionately, but with maddening vagueness. He missed his girl, he +had a rotten cold, he was not working now. Golda was raising hell. +He did not believe half that she said, but he had written to his +uncle, who advised him to go to Portland, and investigate the matter +there. So unless Martie heard to the contrary he would probably go +north this week. Anyway, Martie had better stay where she was, and +not worry. + +Not worry! It became a marvel to Martie that life could go on for +any one while her own future was so frightfully uncertain. She was +going to have a baby, and she was not married--that was the summary +of the situation. It was like something in a book, only worse than +any book that she had ever read. Sometimes she felt as if her brain +were being affected by the sheer horror of it. Sometimes, Sally +noticed, Martie fell into such deep brooding that she neither heard +nor saw what went on about her. Her mind was in a continual fever; +she was exhausted with fruitless hoping and unavailing endurance. + +At the end of a hot, endless April day, into the darkness of Sally's +disordered bedroom, came life. A little hemstitched blanket had been +made ready for the baby; it seemed to Martie's frightened heart +nothing short of a miracle when Sally's crying daughter was actually +wrapped in it. Martie had travelled a long road since the placid +spring afternoon when they had made that blanket. + +But the strain and fright were over now; Sally lay at peace, her +eyes shut in a white face. The tears dried on Martie's cheeks; Mrs. +Hawkes and Dr. Ben were even laughing as they consulted and worked +together. Martie took the baby down to the kitchen for her bath, and +it seemed strange to her that the dried peaches Sally had set on the +stove that morning were still placidly simmering in their saucepan. + +For a day or two everything was unreal, the smoke of battle and the +shadow of death still hung over the little household. Gradually, the +air cleared. Joe and Martie ate the deluge of layer cakes and apple +pies--debated over details. Joe's mother came in to bathe the baby +and Sally did nothing but laugh and eat and sleep. She called her +first-born Elizabeth, for her mother; and sometimes the sisters +wondered if Ma and Lydia ever talked about the first baby, and ever +longed to see her first tiny charms. + +The event shook Martie from her brooding, and brought her the first +real happiness she had known since the terrible morning of Golda's +appearance. She and Sally found the care of the baby only a delight, +and disputed for the privilege of bathing and dressing her. + +One episode in the tiny Elizabeth's life was unusual, and long years +afterward Martie found a place for it in her own slowly-forming +theories. At the time the three young persons debated it amusedly +and carelessly before it came to be just an accepted, if +incomprehensible, fact. + +Dr. Ben, whose modest bill for attendance upon Sally was promptly +paid, had sent the baby a check for seventy-five dollars. The card +with this check was merely pencilled: "For Miss Elizabeth's first +quarter, from Uncle Ben." At first Sally and Martie and Joe were +puzzled to understand it. + +Then suddenly Sally remembered her talk with the doctor a year ago. +This was the "mother's pay" he had spoken about then. + +"It does seem funny that we were only girls then, and that to speak +of such things really made me almost die of embarrassment," smiled +Sally, "and now, here we are, and we know all about it! But now, the +question is, what to do?" + +Sally and Joe were at first for a polite refusal of the money. It +was so "queer," they said. It seemed too "odd." It was not as if Pa +had decided to do it, or as if Dr. Ben really was the child's uncle. +It was better not to chance possible complications-- + +Presently Joe dropped out of this debate. He said simply that it was +a deuce of a lot of money, and that there were lots of things that +the baby needed, but he didn't care either way. Sally then said that +it was settled, for if he didn't care the check should go back. + +But here Martie found herself with an opinion. She said suddenly +that she thought Sally would be foolish to refuse. It was Dr. Ben's +money. If he endowed a library, or put a conservatory into the +Monroe Park, Sally would enjoy them to the full. Why shouldn't he do +this? His money and the way he spent it were his own affair. + +"He's working out an experiment, Sally. I don't see why you +shouldn't let him. You may never have another baby, but if you do, +why six hundred a year is just that much better than three!" + +There were several days of debate. It was inevitable that the check +lying on Sally's cheap little three-drawer bureau should suggest +things it would purchase. Martie summarily took it to the Bank one +day and brought home crackling bills in exchange. One of the first +things that was purchased was the perambulator in which 'Lizabeth +was proudly wheeled to call upon her benefactor. + +Then the dreadful days began to go by again, and still there was no +letter from Wallace. June came in with enervating, dry heat, and +Martie wilted under it. There was no longer any doubt about her +condition. The hour was coming closer when Sally must know, when all +Monroe must know just how mad a venture her marriage had been. + +One day she had a letter from Mabel, who begged her to come back to +the city. Jesse was sure he could get her an occasional engagement; +it was better than fretting herself to death there in that "jay" +town. + +Martie sat thinking for a long time with this letter in her hand. +For the first time thoughts consciously hostile to Wallace swept +through her mind. She analyzed the motives that had urged her into +marriage; she had been taught to think of it as a woman's surest +refuge. If she had not been so taught, what might she have done for +herself in this year? Was it fair of him to take what she had to +give then, in quick and generous devotion, and to fail her so +utterly now, when the old physical supremacy was gone, and when she +must meet, in the future, not only her own needs but the needs of a +child? He had known more of life than she--her mother and father had +known more--why had nobody helped her? + +That evening, when Sally and Joe had gone to the moving pictures, +leaving Martie to listen for 'Lizabeth's little snuffle of +awakening, should she unexpectedly awake, Martie cleared the dining- +room table and wrote to Wallace. + +This was not one of her cheerful, courageous letters, filled with +affectionate solicitude for him, and brave hope for the future. She +wept over the pages, she reproached and blamed him. For the first +time she told him of the baby's coming. She was his wife, he must +help her get away, at least until she was well again. She was sick +of waiting and hoping; now he must answer her, he must advise her. + +Her face was wet with tears; she went that night to mail it at the +corner. Afterward she lay long awake, wondering in her ignorant +girl's heart if such an unwifely tirade were sufficient cause for +divorce, wondering if he would ever love her again after reading it. + +Wallace brought the answer himself, five days later. Coming in from +a lonely walk, Martie found him eating bread and jam and scrambled +eggs in Sally's kitchen. The sight of him there in the flesh, +smiling and handsome, was almost too much for her. She rushed into +his arms, and sobbed and laughed like a madwoman, as she assured +herself of his blessed reality. + +Sally, in sympathetic tears herself, tried to join in Wallace's +heartening laugh, and Martie, quieted, sat on the arm of her +husband's chair, feeling again the delicious comfort of his arm +about her, and smiling with dark lashes still wet. + +After a while they were alone, and then they talked freely. + +"Wallie--only tell me this! Have you got enough money to get me away +somewhere? I can't stay here! You see that! Oh, dearest, if you +knew---" + +"Get you away! Why, you're going with me! We're going to New York!" + +Her bewildered eyes were fixed upon him with dawning hope. + +"But Golda!" she said. + +"Oh, Golda!" He dismissed the adventuress impatiently. "Now I'll +tell you all about that some time, dear---" + +"But, Wallace, it's--it's ALL RIGHT?" Martie must turn the knife in +the wound now, there must be no more doubt. + +"All RIGHT?" The old bombastic, triumphant voice! "Her husband's +alive, if you call THAT all right!" + +"Her husband?" Martie's voice died in a sort of faintness. + +"Sure! She was married six years before I ever saw her. Uncle Chess +says he heard it, and then forgot it, you know the way you do? I've +been to Portland and Uncle Chess was bully. His old lawyer, whom he +consulted at the time I left there, was dead, but we dug up the +license bureau and found what we were after. She had been married +all right and her husband's still living. We found him in the Home +for Incurables up there; been there fifteen years. I got a copy of +her marriage license from the Registrar and if Mrs. Golda White +Ferguson ever turns up again we'll see who does the talking about +bigamy! The she-devil! And I told you about meeting Dawson?" + +"Oh, God, I thank Thee--I thank Thee!" Martie was breathing to +herself, her eyes closed. "Dawson?" she asked, when he repeated the +name. + +Wallace had straightened up; it was quite in his old manner that he +said: + +"I--would--rather work for Emory Dawson than for any man I know of +in New York!" + +"Oh, a manager?" + +"The coming manager--you mark what I say!" + +"And you met him?" Martie was asking the dutiful questions; but her +face rested against her husband's as she talked, and she was crying +a little, in joy and relief. + +For answer Wallace gently dislodged her, so that he might take from +his pocket a letter, the friendly letter that the manager had dashed +off. + +"He swears he'll book me!" Wallace said, refolding the letter. "He +said he needs me, and I need him. I borrowed two hundred from Uncle +Chess, and now it's us to the bright lights, Baby!" + +"And nothing but happiness--happiness--happiness!" Martie said, +returning his handkerchief, and finishing the talk with one of her +eager kisses and with a child's long sigh. + +"I was afraid you might be a little sorry about--November, Wallie," +said she, after a while. "You are glad, a little; aren't you?" + +"Sure!" he answered good-naturedly. "You can't help it!" + +Martie looked at him strangely, as if she were puzzled or +surprised. Was it her fault? Were women to be blamed for bearing? +But she rested her case there, and presently Sally came in, wheeling +the baby, and there was a disorderly dinner of sausages and fresh +bread and strawberries, with everybody jumping up and sitting down +incessantly. Wallace was a great addition to the little group; they +were all young enough to like the pose of lovers, to flush and +dimple over the new possessives, over the odd readjustment of +relationships. The four went to see the moving pictures in the +evening, and came home strewing peanut-shells on the sidewalk, +laughing and talking. + +Two little clouds spoiled the long-awaited glory of going to New +York for Martie, when early in July she and Wallace really arranged +to go. One was the supper he gave a night or two before they left to +various young members of the Hawkes family, Reddy Johnson, and one +or two other men. Martie thought it was "silly" to order wine and to +attempt a smart affair in the dismal white dining room of the hotel; +she resented the opportunity Wallace gave her old friends to see him +when he was not at his best. She scolded him for incurring the +unnecessary expense. + +The second cloud lay in the fact that, without consulting her, he +had borrowed money from Rodney Parker. This stung Martie's pride +bitterly. + +"Wallace, WHY did you?" she asked with difficult self-control. + +"Oh, well; it was only a hundred; and he's coining money," Wallace +answered easily. "I breezed into the Bank one day, and he was +boasting about his job, and his automobile. He took out his bank +book and showed me his balance. And all of a sudden it occurred to +me I might make a touch. I told him about Dawson." He looked at his +wife's dark, resentful face. "Don't you worry, Mart," he said. "YOU +didn't borrow it!" + +Martie silently resuming her packing reflected upon the irony of +life. She was married, she was going to New York. What a triumphant +achievement of her dream of a year ago! And yet her heart was so +heavy that she might almost have envied that old, idle Martie, +wandering under the trees of Main Street and planning so hopefully +for the future. + +On the day before she left, exhilarated with the confusion, the new +hat she had just bought, the packed trunks, she went to see her +mother. It was a strange hour that she spent in the old sitting +room, in the cool, stale, home odours, with the home pictures, the +jointed gas brackets under which she had played solitaire and the +square piano where she had sung "The Two Grenadiers." Outside, in +the sunken garden, summer burgeoned fragrantly; the drawn window +shades bellied softly to and fro, letting in wheeling spokes of +light, shutting down the twilight again. Lydia and her mother, like +gentle ghosts, listened to her, reproving and unsympathetic. + +"Pa is angry with you, Martie, arid who can blame him?" said Lydia. +"I'm sure I never heard of such actions, coming from a girl who had +loving parents and a good home!" + +This was the mother's note. Lydia was always an echo. + +"It isn't as if you hadn't had everything, Mart. You girls had +everything you needed--that party at Thanksgiving and all! And +you've no idea of the TALK in town! Pa feels it terribly. To think +that other girls, even like Rose, who had no father, should have so +much more sense than OUR girls." + +Martie talked of Sally's baby. "Named for you, Ma," she told her +mother. And with sudden earnestness she added: "WHY don't you go see +it some day? It's the dearest baby I ever saw!" + +Mrs. Monroe, who had a folded handkerchief in her bony, discoloured +fingers, now pressed it to her eyes, shaking her head as she did so. +Lydia gave Martie a resentful look, and her mother a sympathetic +one, before she said primly: + +"If Sally Monroe wanted Ma and me to go see her and her baby, why +didn't she marry some man Pa could have been proud of, and have a +church wedding and act in a way becoming to her family?" + +To this Martie had nothing to say. She left messages of love for Len +and for her father. Her mother and sister came with her for good- +byes to the old porch with its peeling dark paint and woody rose- +vines. + +"Pa said at noon that you had 'phoned you wanted to come say good- +bye," said her mother mildly. "I hope you'll always be happy, +Martie, and remember that we did our best for you. If you're a good +girl, and write some day and ask Pa's forgiveness, I think he may +come 'round, because he was always a most affectionate father to his +children." + +The toneless, lifeless voice ceased. Martie kissed Lydia's +unresponsive warm cheek, and her mother's flat soft one. She walked +quickly down the old garden, through the still rich green, and +smelled, as she had smelled a thousand times before, the velvety +sweetness of wallflowers. As she went, she heard her sister say, in +a quick, low tone: + +"Look, Ma--there's Angela Baxter with that man again. I wonder who +on earth he is?" + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +The big train moved smoothly. Martie, her arm laid against the +window, felt it thrill her to her heart. She smiled steadily as she +watched the group on the platform, and Sally, Joe, and all the +others who had come to say good-bye smiled steadily back. Sometimes +they shouted messages; but they all were secretly anxious for the +train to move, and Martie, for all her smiling and nodding, was in a +fever to be gone. + +They vanished; all the faces she knew. The big train slid through +Monroe. Martie had a last glimpse of Mason and White's--of the +bridge--of the winery with its pyramids of sweet-smelling purple +refuse. Outlying ranches, familiar from Sunday walks and drives, +slipped by. Down near the old Archer ranch, Henry Prout was driving +his mother into town. The surrey and the rusty white horse were +smothered in sulphurous dust. It seemed odd to Martie that Henny was +driving Mrs. Prout into town with an air of actual importance; Henny +was clean, and the old lady had on cotton gloves and a stiff gray +percale. Yet they were only going to hot little Monroe. Martie was +going to New York! + +All her life she remembered the novelty and delight of the trip. +Wallace was at his best; the new hat had its share in the happy +recollection. The dining car, the berths, the unchanging routine of +the day--all charmed her. + +She watched her first thunder storm in Chicago with awed pleasure. +The hour came, when, a little jaded, feeling dirty and tumbled, +feeling excited and headachy and nervous, Martie saw her neighbours +in the car begin to straighten garments and gather small +possessions. They were arriving! + +She was silent, as first impressions jumbled themselves together in +her tired brain. Wallace, at her elbow, was eager with information. + +"Look, Mart--this is the Grand Central. They're going to tear all +this down! Look--that's the subway--those hoods, where the people +are going down! See over that way--this is Forty-Second Street, one +of the biggest cross-streets there is--and over that way is +Broadway! We can't take the subway, I wish we could--you wait until +you see the expresses! But I'll tell you what we'll do, we'll go +over and take a 'bus, on the Avenue--see, here's a Childs'--see, +there's the new Library! Climb right up on the 'bus, if you get a +chance, because then we can see the Park!" + +Bewildered, dirty, tired, she stumbled along at his side, her eyes +moving rapidly over the strange crowds, the strange buildings, the +strange streets and crossings. That must be an elevated train +banging along; here was a park, with men packed on the benches, and +newspapers blowing lazily on the paths. And shops in all the +basements--why had no one ever told her that there were shops in all +the basements? And a placid church facade breaking this array of +trimmed windows and crowded little enterprises! It was hot: she felt +her forehead wet, her clothes seemed heavy and sticky, and her head +ached dully. + +"Howd' you like it?" Wallace asked enthusiastically. + +"I love it, sweetheart!" + +Wallace, frankly embarrassed for money, took her at once to Mrs. +Curley's big boarding-house in East Seventieth Street, where the +Cluetts had stayed. + +Mabel had told Martie that "Grandma Curley" was a "character." She +was a plain, shrewd, kindly old woman, who lived in an old +brownstone house that had been acquired after his death, Martie +learned, for a bad debt of her husband's making. She liked everybody +and believed in nobody; smiling a deep, mysterious smile when her +table or her management was praised. She eyed Martie's fresh beauty +appraisingly, immediately suspected her condition, was given the +young wife's unreserved confidence, and, with a few brief pieces of +advice, left her new boarders entirely to their own devices. +Wallace's daring compliments fell upon unhearing ears; she would not +lower her prices for anybody, she said. They could have the big room +for eighteen, or the little one for fourteen dollars a week. + +"Sixteen for the big one! You know you like our looks," said +Wallace. + +"I'd be losing money on it, Mr. Bannister. You can take it or leave +it, just as you like." + +He was a little daunted by her firmness, but in the end he told +Martie that eighteen was cheap enough, and as she scattered her +belongings about, his wife gave a happy assent. It was fun to be +married and be boarding in New York. + +She was too confused, too excited, to eat her dinner. They were both +in wild spirits; and went out after dinner to take an experimental +ride on the elevated train. That evening the trunk came, and Martie, +feeling still in a whirl of new impressions, unpacked in the big +bare bedroom; as pleased as a child to arrange her belongings in the +empty bureau or hang them in the shallow closet. She had been +looking forward, for five hot days, to the pleasure of a bath and a +quiet bed. The bath was not to be had; neither faucet in the +bathroom ran hot; but the bed was deliciously comfortable, and +Martie tumbled into it with only one thought in her head: + +"Anyway, whatever happens now--I'm here in New York!" + +The first few days of exploration were somewhat affected by the fact +that Wallace had almost no money; yet they were glorious days, +filled with laughter and joy. The heat of summer had no terrors for +Martie as yet, she was all enthusiasm and eagerness. They ate butter +cakes and baked apples at Child's, they bought fruit and ice cream +bricks and walked along eating them. All New York was eating, and +panting, and gasping in the heat. They went to Liberty Island, and +climbed the statue, and descended into the smothering subway to be +rushed to the Bronx Zoo. + +And swiftly the city claimed Martie's heart and mind and body, +swiftly she partook of its freedom, of its thousand little pleasures +for the poor, of its romance and pathos and ugliness and beauty. +Even to the seasoned New Yorkers she met, she seemed to hold some +key to what was strange and significant. + +Italian women, musing bareheaded and overburdened in the cars, +Rabbis with their patriarchal beards, slim saleswomen who wore +masses of marcelled curls and real Irish lace, she watched them all. +She drank in the music of the Park concerts, she dreamed in the +libraries, she eagerly caught the first brassy mutter of the thunder +storms. + +"If five million other people can make a living here, can't we?" she +amused Wallace by asking with spirit. + +"There's something in that!" he assured her. + +A day came when Wallace shaved and dressed with unusual care, and +went to see Dawson. Hovering about him anxiously at his toilet, his +wife had reminded him bravely that if Dawson failed, there were +other managers; Dawson was not the only one! The great thing was +that he was HERE, ready for them. + +Dawson, however, did not fail him. Wallace came back buoyantly with +the contract. He had been less than a week in New York, and look at +it! Seventy-five dollars a week in a new play. Rehearsals were to +start at once. + +The joy that she had always felt awaited her in New York was +Martie's now! She told Wallace that she had KNOWN that New York +meant success. She went to his rehearsals, feeling herself a proud +part of the whole enterprise, keenly appreciative of the theatre +atmosphere. When he went away with his company in late August, +Martie saw him off cheerfully, moved to a smaller room, and began to +plan for his return, and for the baby. She was in love with life-- +she wrote Sally. + +"You're lucky our climate don't affect you no more than it does," +observed Mrs. Curley comfortably. "I suffer considerable from the +heat, myself; but then, to tell you the honest truth, I'm fleshy." + +"I like it!" Martie answered buoyantly. "The thunder storms are +delicious! Why, at home the gardens are as dry as bones, now, and +look at Central Park--as green as ever. And I love the hurdy-gurdies +and the awnings and the elevated trains and the street markets!" + +"I like the city," said the old woman, with a New Yorker's approval +of this view. "My daughter wants me to go down and open a house in +Asbury; she has a little summer place there, with a garage and all. +But I tell her there's almost nobody in the house now, and we get a +good draf' through the rooms. It's not so bad!" + +"It's better for me," said the young wife, "because of the +uncertainty of Mr. Bannister's plans." + +"They're all uncertain--men," submitted Mrs. Curley thoughtfully. +"That is, the nice ones are," she added. "You show me a man whose +wife isn't always worrying about him and I'll show you a fool!" + +"Which was Mr. Curley?" Martie asked, twinkling. For she and his +relict were the only women in the big boarding-house during the hot +months, and they had become intimate. + +"Curley," said his widow solemnly, "was one of God's own. A better +father seven children never had, nor a better neighbour any man! +He'd be at his place in church on a Sunday be the weather what it +might, and that strong in his opinions that the boys would ask him +this and that like the priest himself! I'm not saying, mind you, +that he wouldn't take a drop too much, now and then, and act very +harshly when the drink was on him, but he'd come out of it like a +little child---" + +She fell into a reverie, repeating dreamily to herself the words "a- +-little--child---" and Martie, dreaming, too, was silent. + +The two women were in one of the cool back bedrooms. For hot still +blocks all about the houses were just the same; some changed into +untidy flats, some empty, some with little shops or agencies in +their basements, and some, like this one, second-class boarding- +houses. On Second and Third avenues, under the elevated trains, were +miles of shops; all small shops, crowded upon each other. Every +block had its two or three saloons, its meat market, its delicacy +store, its tiny establishments where drygoods and milk and shoes and +tobacco and fruit and paints and drugs and candies and hats were +sold, and the women who drifted up and down all morning shopping +usually patronized the nearest store. In the basements were smaller +stores where ice and coal and firewood and window-glass and tinware +might be had, and along the street supplementary carts of fruit and +vegetables were usually aligned, so that, especially to +inexperienced eyes like Martie's, the whole presented a delightfully +distracting scene. + +She accepted the fact that Wallace must come and go as best suited +his engagements. Her delight in every novel phase of life in the big +city fired his own enthusiasm, and it was with great satisfaction +that he observed her growing friendship with Mrs. Curley. + +There were four or five men in the boarding-house, but they usually +disappeared after an early breakfast and did not come back until +supper, so that the two women had a long, idle day to themselves. +Henny, the coloured maid, droned and laughed with friends of her own +in the kitchen. Mrs. Curley, mighty, deep-voiced, with oily, graying +hair and spotted clothes, spent most of the day in a large chair by +the open window, and Martie, thinly dressed, wandered about +aimlessly. She never tired of the old woman's pungent reminiscences, +browsing at intervals on the old magazines and books that were +scattered over the house, even going into the kitchen to convulse +the appreciative Henny, and make a cake or pudding for dinner. + +Summer smouldered in the city. The sun seemed to have been shining +hot and merciless for hours when Martie rose at six, to stand +yawning at her window. At nine families began to stream by, to the +Park; perspiring mothers pushing the baby carriages, small children, +already eating, staggering before and behind. By ten the streets +were deserted, baked, silent, glaring. Martie and Mrs. Curley would +establish themselves in a cool back room, as to-day, with a pitcher +of iced tea near at hand. + +Somehow the hot, empty hours dragged by. At four o'clock the two, +with perhaps a friend or two who had come in, would begin to gasp +that this was the worst yet. This was awful. The heat had a positive +and brassy quality, there was no air stirring. The children in the +Park would drag home in the hot sunset light, tired, dirty, whining, +and a breathless evening follow the burning day. Then Martie and +Mrs. Curley and mild little Mr. Bull and bellicose Mr. Snow would +perhaps sit on the steps until eleven o'clock, exchanging +pleasantries with various neighbours, wilted like themselves in the +furnace of the day. + +Martie liked the sense of extremes, as they all did. In a few months +they would be shaking their heads over a blizzard with the same +solemn enjoyment. She liked the suddenly darkening sky, the ominous +rattle of thunder; "like boxes being smashed," she wrote Sally. She +fairly sang when the rain began to stream down, washing, cooling, +cleansing. + +From the window of the back bedroom she looked down to-day upon a +stretch of bare, fenced backyards. Here and there a cat slept in the +shade, or moved silently from shadow to shadow. From some of the +opposite windows strings of washed garments depended, and upon one +fire-escape two girls were curled, talking and reading. + +Her hostess was the source of much affectionate amusement to Martie, +and as the old lady liked nothing so much as an appreciative +listener, they got on splendidly. Martie laughed at the older +woman's accounts of quarrels, births, and law-suits, thrilled over +the details of sudden deaths, murders, and mysteries, and drank in +with a genuine dramatic appreciation the vision of a younger, +simpler city. No subway, no telephones, no motor cars, no elevated +roads--what had New York been like when Mrs. Curley was a bride? +Booth and Parepa Rosa and Adelina Patti walked the boards again; the +terrible Civil War was fought; the draft riots raged in the streets; +the great President was murdered. There was no old family in the +city of whose antecedents Mrs. Curley did not know something. "The +airs of them!" she would say, musing over a newspaper list of "among +those present." "I could tell them something!" + +Martie did not understand how any woman could really be content with +this dark old house, this business, these empty days, but she +realized that Mrs. Curley was free to adopt some other mode of +living had she pleased. Gradually Martie pieced the old woman's +history together; there had been plenty of change, prosperity, and +excitement in her life. She had had seven children, only three of +whom were living: Mary, a prosperous, big matron whose husband, Joe +Cunningham, had some exalted position on the Brooklyn police force; +Ralph, who was a priest in California; and George, the youngest, a +handsome ne'er-do-well of about twenty-five, who was a "heart +scald." George floated about his own and neighbouring cities, only +coming to see his mother when no other refuge offered. + +The four children who had died were quite as much in their mother's +thoughts and conversation, and probably more in her prayers, than +the living ones. Of "Curley," too, Martie heard much. She was able +to picture a cheerful, noisy home, full of shouting, dark, untidy- +headed children, with an untidy-headed servant, a scatter-brained +mother, and an unexacting father in charge. "Curley" usually went to +sleep on the sofa after dinner, and Mrs. Curley's sister, Mrs. +Royce, with her children, or her sister-in-law, "Mrs. Dan," with +hers, came over to pick up the Curleys on the way to a Mission +sermon, a church concert, or a meeting of the Women's Auxiliary of +the Saint Vincent de Paul. + +"... Or else maybe the priest would step in," said Mrs. Curley, +remembering these stirring days, "or often I'd take Mollie or Katie- +-God rest her!--and go over to see the Sisters. But many a night +there'd be sickness in the house--Curley had two cousins and an aunt +that died on us--and then I'd be there sitting up with the +medicines, and talking with this one and that. I was never one to +run away from sickness, nor death either for that matter. I'm a +great hand with death in the house; there's no sole to my foot when +I'm needed! I'll never forget the day that I went over to poor Aggie +Lemmon's house--she was a lovely woman who lived round the corner +from me. Well, I hadn't been thinking she looked very well for +several weeks, do you see?--and I passed the remark to my brother +Thomas's wife--God rest her---" + +A reminiscence would follow. Martie never tired of them. Whether she +was held, just now, in the peaceful, unquestioning mood that +precedes a serious strain on mind and body, or whether her old +hostess really had had an unusually interesting experience, she did +not then or ever decide. She only knew that she liked to sit playing +solitaire in the hot evenings, under a restricted cone of light, +with Mrs. Curley sitting in the darkness by the window, watching the +lively street, fanning herself comfortably, and pouring forth the +history of the time Curley gave poor Ralph a "crule" beating, or of +the day Alicia Curley died in convulsions at the age of three. + +Martie had hoped to be in her own little home when the baby came, +but this was swiftly proven impossible. Wallace's play failed after +the wonderful salary had been paid for only eight weeks. He idled +about with his wife for a few happy weeks, and then got another +engagement with a small comic opera troupe, and philosophically and +confidently went on the road. Presently he was home again and in +funds, but this time it was only a few days before the next parting. + +The golden Indian Summer came, and the city blazed in glorious +colour. Homecoming began; the big houses on the Avenue were opened. +Martie never saw the burning leaves of September in later years +without a memory of the poignant uneasiness with which she first had +walked beneath them, worrying about money, about Wallace's +prospects, about herself and her child. Many of her walks were +filled with imaginary conversations with her husband, in which she +argued, protested, reproached. She was lonely, she was still strange +to the city, and she was approaching her ordeal. + +Even when he was with her, she missed the old loverlike attitude. +She was wistful, gentle, dependent now, and she knew her wistfulness +and gentleness and dependence vaguely irritated. But she could not +help it; she wanted to touch him, to cling to him, to have him +praise and encourage her, and tell her how much he loved her. + +Her hour came near, and she went bravely to meet it. Wallace was in +Baltimore, playing juvenile roles in a stock company. Martie went +alone to the big hospital, and put herself into the hands of a +capable but indifferent young nurse, who candidly explained that she +had more patients than she could care for without the newcomer. +Martie, frightened by the businesslike preparations and the clean, +ether-scented rooms, submitted and obeyed with a sick heart. Through +the dull quiet of a dark November day the first snow of the season, +the first Martie had ever seen, began to flutter. Moving restlessly +about her little room, she stopped at the window to look out upon it +through a haze of pain. + +Heat and hot lights, strange halls, a strange doctor, and early +evening in a great operating-room; she had only a dazed impression +of them all. Life roared and crackled about her. She leaped into the +offered oblivion with no thought of what it might entail.... + +After a long while she awakened, in a peaceful dawning, to hear +nurses cheerfully chatting, and the boy warmly fussing and grunting +in his basket. The little room was flooded with sunlight, sunlight +bright on a snowy world, and the young women who had been so +casually indifferent to another woman's agony were proudly awake to +the charms of the baby. The cocoon was lifted; Martie in a tremor of +love and tenderness looked down at the scowling, wrinkled little +face. + +Instantly terror for his safety, for his health, for his immortal +soul possessed her. She looked uneasily at Miss Everett, when that +nurse bore him away. Did the woman realize what motherhood MEANT? +Did she dream the value of that flannel bundle she was so jauntily +carrying? + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +Rain was falling in such sweeping sheets that the windows actually +shook under the onslaught; all day long a high wind had raged about +the house. Above the noise of the November storm in the warm +basement bedroom rose the steady click and purr of the sewing- +machine and the chattering of a child's voice, and from outside, on +the pavement, was a furious rushing of coal. The big van had been +backed up against the curb, and the cascading black torrent +interrupted the passers-by. + +"Heavens! Was there ever such an uproar!" exclaimed Martie, ceasing +her operations at the machine and leaning back in her chair with a +long sigh. The lengths of flimsy white curtaining she had been +hemming slipped to the floor; she put her hands behind her head, and +yawned luxuriously. The room was close, and even at four o'clock +there was need of lights; its other occupants were only two, the +child who played with the small gray and red stone blocks upon the +floor, and the old woman who was peering through her glasses at the +curtaining that lay across her lap, and manipulating it with knotted +hands. Mrs. Curley was "Nana" to little Teddy Bannister now, and +this shabby room overlooking a cemented area, and with its windows +safeguarded by curved ornamental iron bars from attack from the +street, would be his first memory of life. + +But it was a comfortable room; once the dining room, it had been +changed and papered and carpeted for its present tenants when +Martie, as housekeeper of the boarding-house, had decided to move +the dining room into the big, useless rear parlour upstairs. She and +Teddy had privacy here; they had plenty of room, and the feet that +crisped by on the sidewalk, the noises from the kitchen behind her, +and the squeaking of rats about the basement entrance at night +annoyed her not at all. She had her own telephone here, her own +fireplace, and she was comfortably accessible for the maids--there +were two maids now--for the butcher and ice-man. Between her and +the kitchen was a small dark space, named by herself the "Cold +Lairs," where she had a wash-stand and a small bath-tub. A bead of +gas burned here night and day, but if Teddy ever became REALLY +naughty he was to be placed in here as punishment and the gas turned +out entirely. Teddy had never deserved this terrible fate, but he +did not like the Cold Lairs, where his little crash wash-rag and his +tiny toothbrush glimmered at him in the half-light, and where he +always smelled the raw smell of the lemon his mother kept to whiten +her hands. + +He idolized his mother; they had a separate game for every hour and +every undertaking of his happy day. He climbed out of his crib, in +his little faded blue pajamas, for uproarious tumbling and pillow- +fighting every morning. Then it was seven o'clock, and she told him +a story while she dressed, and recited poems and answered his +questions. There was a game about getting all the tangles out of his +hair, the father and mother tangles, and the various children, and +even the dog and cat. Then for months it was a game to have her go +on washing Teddy's face as long as he cried, and stop short when he +stopped, so that after a while he did not cry at all. But by that +time he could spell "Hot" and "Cold" from the faucets, and could +clean out the wash-stand with great soaping and scrubbing all by +himself. + +Then he and Mother went into the big dark kitchen, where Henny and +Aurora were yawning over the boarders' breakfasts, Henny perhaps +cutting out flat little biscuit, and Aurora spooning out prunes from +a big stone jar with her slender brown thumb getting covered with +juice. His mother stirred the oatmeal, and, if it were summer, +sometimes quickly and suspiciously tasted the milk that was going +into all the little pitchers. Then they went upstairs. + +The boarders had their meals at little separate tables now, and the +"family," which was Mother and Nana, and Aunt Adele and Uncle John, +were together at the largest table at the back where the serving and +carving were done, and where the big shiny percolator stood. Teddy +knew all the boarders--old Colonel and Mrs. Fox from the big +upstairs bedroom, and Miss Peet and her sister, the school-teachers, +from the hall-room on that floor, and the Winchells, mother and +daughter and son, in the two front rooms on the third floor, and the +two clerks in the back room. Uncle John and Aunt Adele had the +pleasant big back room on the middle floor, and Nana existed darkly +in the small room that finished that floor. The persons who filled +his world, if they went away to the country at all in summer, went +only for a fortnight, and this gave Mother only the time she needed +to have their blankets washed and their rooms papered and the +woodwork cleaned before their return. + +Of them all, of course he liked Uncle John and Aunt Adele best, as +Mother did. He had seen Aunt Adele kiss his mother, and often she +and Uncle John would get into such gales of laughter at dinner that +even Nana, even Teddy, in his high-chair, would laugh violently in +sympathy. All the boarders were kind to Teddy, but Uncle John was +much more than kind. He brought Teddy toys from Broadway, sombreros +and moccasins and pails. He was never too tired when he came home at +night to take Teddy into his lap, and murmur long tales of giants +and fairies. And on long, wet Sundays he had been known to propose +trips to the Zoo and the Aquarium. + +Flanking his own picture on his mother's bureau was a photograph of +a magnificent person in velvet knickerbockers and a frilled shirt +with a cocked hat under his arm. This was Daddy, Teddy's mother told +him; he must remember Daddy! But Teddy could not remember him. + +"Darling--don't you remember Muddy taking you down to a train, and +don't you remember the big man that carried you and bought you a +sand-machine?" + +"Where is my sand-machine, Moth'?" the little boy would demand +interestedly. + +"But Teddy, my heart, you were a big boy then, you were long past +two. CAN'T you remember?" + +No use. When Wallace came back he must make the acquaintance of his +son all over again. Martie would sigh, half-vexed, half-amused. + +"Aren't they the queer little things, Adele? He remembers his sand- +machine and doesn't remember his father!" + +"Oh, I don't know, Martie. That was just after we came, you know. +And I remember thinking that Teddy was a mere baby then!" + +"Well, Wallace may be back any day now." Martie always sighed deeply +over the courageous phrase. Wallace had followed a devious course in +these years of the child's babyhood. Short engagements, failures, +weeks on the road, some work in stock companies in the lesser +cities--it was a curious history. He had seen his wife at long +intervals, sometimes with a little money, once or twice really +prosperous and hopeful, once--a dreadful memory--discouraged and +idle and drinking. This was the last time but one, more than a year +ago. Then had come the visit when she had met him, and he had given +Teddy the sand toy. Martie had clung to her husband then; he had not +looked well; he would never make anything of this wretched +profession, she had pleaded. She was doing well at the boarding- +house; he could stay there while he looked about him for regular +work. + +But Wallace was "working up" a new part, and it was going to be a +great hit, he said. Every one was crazy about it. He would not go to +the boardinghouse; he said that his wife's work there was the +"limit." For his three days in town he lived with a fellow-actor at +a downtown hotel, and Martie had a curious sense that he did not +belong to her at all. There was about him the heavy aspect and +manner of a man who has been drinking, but he told her that he was +"all to the wagon." His associate, a heavy, square-jawed man with a +dramatic manner, praised Wallace's professional and personal +character highly. Martie, deeply distressed, saw him go away to try +the new play and went back to her own life. + +This was in a bitter January. Now Teddy, building houses on the +floor, had passed his third enchanting birthday, and winter was upon +the big city again. Martie awaited it philosophically. Her coal was +in, anyway, or would be in, in another hour, and if the coal- +drivers' strike came to pass she might sleep in the comfortable +consciousness that no one under her roof would suffer. Her clean +curtains would go up this week; it had been an endless job; it was +finished. + +"And the next thing on the programme is Thanksgiving!" she said +between two yawns + +"Most of them goes out for that," said Mrs. Curley. "But the Colonel +and her will stay. Nice to be them that never had to ask the price +of turkey-meat this ten years!" + +"Oh, well--we don't have it but twice a year!" Martie was folding +the new curtains; presently she gave the neat pile a brisk, +condensing slap with the flat of her hand. "There now, look what +your smart Nana and Mother did, Ted!" she boasted. "And come here +and give hims mother seventeen kisses and hugs, you darling, +adorable, fat, soft, little old monkey!" The last words were +smothered in the fine, silky strands under Teddy's dark, thick mop, +on his soft little neck. He submitted to the tumbling and hugging, +trying meanwhile to keep one eye upon the ship he had been building +from an upturned chair. + +Breathless, Martie looked up from the embrace to see a pretty +smiling woman standing in the doorway, a wet raincoat over one arm, +and a wet hat balanced on her hand. + +"Hello, people!" said the newcomer. "I'm drenched. I don't believe +this can keep up, it's frightful." + +"Hello, Adele!" Martie said, setting Teddy on his feet. "Come in, +and spread those things on the heater. Sit there where your skirts +will get the heat. How was the matinee?" + +"It was killing," said Mrs. Dryden, establishing herself comfortably +by the radiator. She was a slender, bright-eyed woman of perhaps +thirty, whose colouring ran to cool browns: clear brown eyes, brown +hair prettily dressed, a pale brown skin under which a trace of red +only occasionally appeared. To-day her tailor-made suit was brown, +and about her throat was a narrow boa of some brown fur. "Here, +Teddy, take these to your mother," she added, extending a crushed +box half full of chocolates. "The place was PACKED," she went on, +crunching. "And, my dear!--coming out we were right CLOSE to Doris +Beresford, in the most divine coat I ever laid eyes on! I suppose +they all like to have an idea of what's going on at the other +theatres. I don't believe she uses one bit of make-up; wonderful +skin! There was such a mob in the car it was something terrible. A +man crushed up against Ethel; she said she thought he'd break her +arm! I got a seat; I don't know how it is, but I always do. We'd +been running, and I suppose my colour was high, and a man got up +IMMEDIATELY. Nice--I always thank them. I think that's the least you +can do. Ethel said he sat and stared at me all the way up to Fifty- +ninth, where he got off. He was an awfully nice-looking fellow; I'll +tell you what he looked like: a young doctor. Don't you know those +awfully CLEAN-looking men---" + +Martie, now changing Teddy's little suit for dinner, let the stream +run on unchecked. Mrs. Curley, who did not particularly fancy Mrs. +Dryden, had gone upstairs, but Martie really liked to listen to +Adele. Presently she turned on the lights, and led Teddy into the +Cold Lairs, to have his face washed. Adele reached for the evening +paper, and began to peruse it idly. When Martie came out of the +bath-room, it was to hear a knock at the door. + +"It's John!" predicted Adele. A moment later her husband came into +the room. Like his wife, he was cold and wet and rosy from the +street, but he had evidently been upstairs, for he wore his old +house-coat and dry slippers, and had brushed his hair. He was +younger than Adele by three or four years, but he looked like a boy +of twenty; squarely built, not tall, but giving an impression of +physical power nevertheless. Martie had first thought his face odd, +then interesting; now she found it strangely attractive. His eyes, +between sandy lashes and under thick sandy brows, were of a sea-blue +in colour, his head was covered with a cap of thick, lustreless, +sand-coloured hair. Something odd, elfin, whimsical, in his crooked +smile lent an actual charm to his face, for Martie at least. She +told him he looked like Pan. + +Early in their acquaintance she had asked him if he were not a Dane, +not a Norwegian, if he had not viking blood? She said that he +suggested sagas and berserkers and fjords--"not that I am sure what +any of those words mean!" His answering laugh had been as wild as a +delighted child's. No; he was American-born, of an English father +and an Irish mother, he said. He had never been abroad, never been +to college, never had any family that he remembered, except Adele. +He had meant to be a "merchant sailor"--a term he seemed to like, +although it conveyed only a vague impression to Martie--but his +lungs hadn't been strong. So he went to Arizona and loafed. And +there he met Adele; her mother kept the boarding-house in which he +lived, in fact, and there they were married. Adele had a glorious +voice and she wanted to come to New York to cultivate it. And then +Adele had been ill. + +His voice fell reverently when he spoke of this illness. Adele had +nearly died. What the hope that had also really died at this time +meant to him, Martie could only suspect when she saw him with Teddy. +Adele herself told her that she was never strong enough for new +hopes. + +"We couldn't afford it, of course; so perhaps it was just as well," +said Adele one day when she and Martie had come to be good friends, +and were confidential. "I felt terribly for a while, because I have +a wonderful way with children; I know that myself. They always come +to me--funniest thing! Dr. Poole was saying the other day that I had +a remarkable magnetism. I said, 'I don't know about THAT,'--and I +don't, Martie! I don't think I'm so magnetic, do you--'BUT,' I said, +'I really do seem to have a hold on children!' Jack loves children, +too, but he spoils them. I don't believe in letting children run a +house; it isn't good for them, and it isn't good for you. Let them +have their own toys and treat them as kindly as possible, but---" + +John Dryden was a salesman in a furniture house; perhaps the city's +finest furniture house. Martie suspected that his pleasant, half- +shy, yet definite manner, made him an excellent salesman. He talked +to her about his associates, whom he took upon their own valuations, +and deeply admired. This one was a "wizard" at figures, and that one +had "a deuce of a manner with women." John chuckled over their +achievements, but she knew that he himself must be the secret wonder +of the place. He might be more or less, but he was certainly not a +typical furniture salesman. Sometimes the manager took him to lunch; +Martie wondered if he quoted the queer books he read, and made the +staid echoes of the club to which they went awake to his pagan +laughter. + +His extraordinarily happy temperament knew sudden despairs, but they +were usually because he had made a "rotten mistake," or because he +was "such a fool" about something. He never complained of the stupid +daily round; perhaps it was not stupid to him, who always had a book +under his arm, and to whom the first snow and the first green leaves +were miracles of delight every year. He treated Adele exactly as if +she had been an engaging five-year-old, and she had charming +childish mannerisms for him alone. He pacified her when she fretted +and complained, and was eagerly grateful when her mood was serene. +Her prettiness and her little spoiled airs, Martie realized +surprisedly, were full of appeal for him. + +"You don't mean that--you don't mean that!" he would say to her when +she sputtered and raged. He listened absently to her long +dissertation upon the persons--and for Adele the world was full of +them--who tried to cheat her, or who were insolent to her, and to +whom she was triumphantly insolent in return. She found Martie much +more sympathetic as a listener. + +Toward Martie, too, John soon began to display a peculiar +sensitiveness. At first it was merely that she spurred his sense of +humour; he began to test the day's events by her laughter. After +that her more general opinions impressed him; he watched her at +dinner and accepted eagerly her verdict upon political affairs or +the books and plays of the hour. She noticed, and was a little +touched to notice, that he quoted her weeks after she had expressed +herself. He brought her books and they disagreed and argued about +them. In summer, with Adele languid under her parasol, and Teddy +enchanting in white, they went to the park concerts, or to the +various museums, and wrangled about the new Strauss and Debussy, and +commented upon the Hals canvases and the art of Meissonier and +Detaille. + +This evening he had a book for her from the Public Library; he had +been dipping into it on the elevated train. + +"Which ticket is this on, John?" + +"Yours." + +"Well, then, you paid my dues on the other! How much?" + +"Six cents." + +She showed him the six coppers on her white palm. + +"You were an angel to do it. Listen; do you want to read this when +I'm through?" + +"Well, if you think so." + +"Think so?--Carlyle's 'Revolution'? Of course you ought to! Adele, +isn't he ignorant?" + +"I read that in High School," smiled Adele. "It's awfully good." + +"Mis' Ban'ster," Aurora was at the door, "Hainy was cuttin' open the +chickens f' t'morrer, and she says one of 'em give an awful queer +sort of POP--!" + +"Oh, for Heaven's sake!" Martie started kitchenward. John Dryden +gave a laugh of purest joy; Aurora was one of his delights. "We +always say we're going to read aloud in the evenings," she called +back. "Now here's a chance--a wet evening, and Adele and I with +oceans of sewing!" + +She went from the kitchen upstairs, finding the various boarders +quietly congregating in the hall and parlour, awaiting the opening +of the dining-room door. Adele had gone up to her room, but Teddy +and John were roaming about. Rain still slashed and swished out of +doors. The winter was upon them. + +"Seems to be such a smell of PAINT," said the younger Miss Peet. + +"Well, that's just trying out the radiators," Martie said +hearteningly. "It won't last. Did you get caught?" + +"Sister did; I got home just before it started. It seems to me we're +having rain early this year--" + +"We had had two inches at this time last year," said old Colonel Fox. +Martie knew that this unpromising avenue would lead him immediately +to Chickamauga; she slipped into the dining room and began to carve. +Aurora was rushing about with butter-plates, her cousin Lyola, +engaged merely for the dinner-hour, was filling glasses. A moment +later the entire household assembled for the meal. Mrs. Fox, a +gentle, bony old lady, with clean, cool hands, and with a dowdy +little yoke of good lace in the neck of her old silk, smiled about +her sadly. Mrs. Winchell was a plump little woman who always burst +out laughing as a preliminary to speech. Her daughter was eye- +glassed, pretty, capable, a woman who realized perfectly, at twenty- +six, that she had no charm whatever for men. She realized, too, that +Mrs. Bannister, with her bronze hair and quick speech, was full of +it, and envied the younger woman in a bloodless sort of way. Her +brother, known as "Win," had already had a definite repulse from +Mrs. Bannister, and nothing was too bad for the snubbed suitor to +intimate about her in consequence. Win had never seen "this husband +of hers"; Win thought she looked "a little gay, all right." He had a +much more successful friendship with Adele, who slapped his hand and +told him he was the "limit." + +To-night one of the clerks from the top floor, shaking out his +napkin, called gaily to Mrs. Bannister that this was his birthday. +It was characteristic of her kindly relationship that she came +immediately to his table. Now why hadn't he told her yesterday? He +should have had a cake, and chicken-pie, because he had once said +chicken was his favourite "insect." He was twenty-eight? He seemed +such a boy! + +She went back to her place, determining that she would set out a +little supper of cake and crackers and cheese for him to find when +his room-mate and he came in tired and wet from their theatre that +night. She looked at Teddy; would he keep a birthday in a boarding- +house some day with only the housekeeper to mother him? + +"We're betting that you're younger than I am, Mrs. Bannister!" + +"You win." She smiled at him frankly. "I'm not yet twenty-four!" +Martie was conscious of a little pang as she met his surprised +almost pitying look. + +"I think that talk about ages was just a little undignified," said +Edna Winchell later that night. + +"Yes, I do, too!" her mother answered quickly. + +"There's something about that girl we don't understand, you bet," +contributed the son. "When I went down for a match she was just +getting a special delivery letter, and she looked as if she was +going to drop. You mark my words--it had something to do with that +mysterious husband of hers!" + +For the boarding-house had never seen Wallace, who held the whole +place in bitter scorn. He resented the fact of Martie's position +there; the fact of her having made herself useful to old Mrs. Curley +represented a difference in their point of view. When, in Teddy's +first year, regular letters and a regular remittance from Wallace +ceased to appear, Martie had gone through an absolute agony of +worry. Her husband was then on the road, and she was not even sure +that her letters reached him. + +Alone except for the baby, in the freezing, silent cold of the city, +she had pondered, planned, and fretted for day after weary day. The +one or two acquaintances she had made in Wallace's profession would +have advised her not to worry, nobody ever was turned out for board +in these days. But Martie was too proud to appeal to them for +counsel, and for other but even stronger reasons she could not +confide in Mrs. Curley. So passed the first Christmas alone, doubly +sad because it reminded her of the Christmas a year before, when +they had been so happy and so prosperous in San Francisco. + +In snowy February, however, Mrs. Curley herself had unconsciously +offered a solution. She wanted to go to her daughter in Brooklyn for +a fortnight. "Run the house for me, that's the good girl," she said +to Martie. "You can do it as good as I can, any day of the world! +Aurora knows what the menus for the week are and all you've got to +do is to do the ordering and show the rooms to folks that come +looking for them." + +Martie had been feeling a little more comfortable about her overdue +board, because Wallace, playing in stock in Los Angeles, had sent +her one hundred dollars early in the year. It was not enough, but it +sufficed to pay a comfortable installment on her bill, and to keep +her in money for another week or two. But she was sick of waiting +and worrying, and she seized the opportunity to be helpful. Chance +favoured her, for during the old woman's visit the daughter in +Brooklyn fell ill, and it was mid-March before the mother came home +again. By that time the trembling Martie had weathered several +storms, had rented the long-vacant front room, and was more brisk +and happy than she had been for months, than she had ever been +perhaps. So the arrangement drifted along. There was no talk of a +salary then, but in time Martie came to ask for such money as she +needed--for Teddy's rompers, for gingham dresses for summer, for +stationery and stamps--and it was always generously accorded. + +"Get good things while you're about it," Mrs. Curley would say. "You +buy for the ragman when you buy trash. This lad here," she would +indicate the splendid Teddy, with his loose dark curls and his +creamy skin, "he wants to look elegant, so that the girls will run +after him!" + +Martie felt more free to obey her because the business was in a +steadily improving condition. This fancy for keeping a few "paying +guests" had become a sort of expensive luxury for the solitary +woman, whose children no longer needed her, and who would not live +with any of them. Mrs. Curley was not entirely dependent upon her +boarding-house, but she had never been reconciled to the actual loss +of money in the business. She liked to have other persons about, she +having no definite interests of her own, and the new arrangement +suited her perfectly: an attractive young woman to help her, a baby +to lend a familiar air to the table, and money enough to pay all +bills and have something left over. + +Amazingly, the money flowed in. Martie told them one night at dinner +that she had always fancied a boarding-house was a place where a +slap-heeled woman climbed bleak stairs to tell starving geniuses +that their rent was overdue. Mrs. Curley had laughed comfortably at +the picture. + +"You can always make money feeding people," she had asserted. John +had given Martie a serious look after his laugh. + +"Geniuses don't HAVE to starve," he had submitted thoughtfully. + +"There's always plenty of work in the world, if people will do it!" +Adele had added. "Dear me, I often wonder if the people who talk +charity--charity--charity--realize that it's all two thirds laziness +and dirt. I don't care HOW poor I was, I know that I would keep my +little house nice; you don't have to have money to do that! But +you'll always hear this talk of the unemployed--when any employer +will tell you the hard thing is to get trustworthy men! The other +day Ethel was asking me to join some society or other--take tickets +for an actors' benefit, I think it was--and I begged to be excused. +I told her we didn't have any money to spare for that sort of thing! +Genius, indeed! Why don't they get jobs?" + +"Jobs in a furniture store, eh, John?" Martie smiled. The man +answered her smile sturdily. + +"It isn't so rotten!" he said. + +Her letters to-night, for there were two in the special delivery +stamped envelope, were from Lydia and Sally. Sally had written often +to her sister during the years, and Martie was fairly in touch with +Monroe events: the young Hawkeses had three babies now, and Grace +had twins. Rose had been ill, and had lost her hopes a second time, +but she was well now, and she and Rodney had been to New York. +People said that the Parkers were coining money, and Rose had +absolutely everything she wanted. Colonel Frost was dead. Miss Frost +looked like death--Martie had smiled at the old phrase--and Grandma +Kelly was dead; Father Martin was quoted as saying that she was a +saint if ever there was one. George Patterson had been sued by a +girl in Berkeley, and Monroe was of the opinion that the Pattersons +never would hold up their heads again. Pa and Len were in some real +estate venture together, Len had talked Pa into it at last. And +finally, Sally and the children were well, and Joe wrote her every +day. + +This last sentence had puzzled Martie; where was Joe Hawkes then, +that he must write every day to his wife? She had intended to write +Sally in the old affectionate, confidential strain, and ask all the +questions that rose now and then in her thoughts of Monroe. But she +had not written for months, and now--now this. + +She grasped the news in the tear-stained sheets at a first glance. +Her mother was dead. Martie repeated the words to herself with a +stupid realization that she could not grasp their meaning. The old +dark house in the sunken square would know that slender, gentle +presence no more. She had never felt the parting final; a chill wind +from some forgotten country smote her. Her mother was dead, her +child was growing up, her husband had failed her. + +Sally's letter was brief, restrained, and tender. Martie could read +Sally's development in the motherly lines. But Lydia had written in +a sort of orgy of grief. Ma had "seemed like herself all Wednesday," +and had gone with Lydia to see old Mrs. Mussoo, and had eaten her +dinner that night, and the next day, Thursday, she had come down as +usual to breakfast, and so on and on for ten long days, every hour +of which was treasured now in Lydia's heart. "And poor Pa," wrote +the older sister, "I must be all in all to him now; I never can +marry now. And oh, Martie, I couldn't help wishing, for your sake, +that you could feel that you had never, even as a thoughtless girl, +caused our dear angel an hour of grief and pain! You must say to +yourself that she forgave you and loved you through it all ..." + +Martie made a wry mouth over the letter. But into the small hours of +the morning she lay awake, thinking of her mother and of the old +days. Odd little memories came to her: the saucer pies that she and +Sally used to have for their tea-parties, out under the lilac trees, +and a day when she, Martie, had been passionately concerned for the +fate of a sick cat, and had appealed to her mother for help. Mrs. +Monroe had been filling lamps, and her thin dark hands were oily and +streaked with soot, but she had been sympathetic about the kitten, +and on her advice the invalid had been wrapped in a clean cloth, and +laid tenderly on the heaps of soft, sweet, dying grass that had been +raked to one side of the lawn. Here kindly death had found the +kitten a little later, and Martie, cat and all, had climbed into her +mother's lap and cried. But she was not a little girl any longer-- +she would never feel her mother's arms about her again. + +The next day she received a box of roses, not remarkable roses, +inasmuch as they were rather small, of a solid red, and wired +heavily from the end of their sterns to the very flower. But the +enclosed note in which John Dryden said that he knew how hard it was +for her, and was as sorry as he could be, touched Martie. A far more +beautiful gift would not have gone to her heart quite so deeply as +did this cheap box and the damp card with its message smudged and +blurred. + +Through the long icy winter she began to feel, with a sense of vague +pain, that life was passing, that if she and Wallace were ever to +have that big, shadowy studio, that long-awaited time of informal +hospitality and financial ease, it must come soon. Her marriage was +already measured by years; yet she was still a child in Wallace's +hands. He could leave her thus bound and thus free; she was +helpless, and she began to chafe against the injustice of it. One +day she found, and rewrote her old article, filled with her own +resentful theories of a girl's need of commercial fitness. She sent +it to a magazine; it was almost immediately returned. + +But the episode bore fruit, none the less. For, discussing it with +John, as she discussed everything with John, she was led to accept +his advice as to the appearance of the closely written sheets. It +would have a much better chance if it were typewritten, he assured +her. He carried it off to his stenographer. + +This was in April, and as, with characteristic forgetfulness, he +failed to bring it back, Martie, chancing to pass his office one +day, determined to go in and get it for herself. She had never been +in John's place of business before. She went from the spring warmth +and dazzle of the street into the pleasant dimness of the big store +that smelled pleasantly of reedy things, wickerwork and carpets. + +Three or four salesmen "swam out like trout" from the shadows to +meet her, she told John presently, evoking one of his bursts of +laughter. One of them called him, and Martie had a sensation of real +affection as he came down, his eager, faunlike face one radiant +smile. She spoke of the manuscript, but he hardly heard her. Where +could they talk?--he said concernedly. He glanced about; his face +brightened. + +"I know! There's a set of five rooms just finished by our decorator +on the fourth floor; we'll go there!" + +"But, John--truly I haven't but a minute!" Martie protested. + +He did not hear her. He touched the elevator bell, and they went +upstairs. + +The furnished suite was unbelievably lovely to Martie's unaccustomed +eyes. She wanted to exclaim over the rugs and chairs; John wanted to +talk. They wandered through the perfect rooms, laughing like happy +children. + +"I came down to get some things for to-morrow--Teddy needs a straw +hat, if we're really going to Coney"--Martie found his steady look a +little confusing. "You like my pongee, and my four-dollar hat?" she +said. + +"I think you're PERFECTLY--GORGEOUS!" he answered intensely. "To +have you come in here like this!--I had no idea of it! Brewer simply +came and said 'a lady'--I thought it was that woman from the hotel. +I'll never forget the instant my eyes fell upon you, standing there +by old Pitcher. It--honestly, Martie, it seemed to me like a burst +of sunshine!" + +"Why--you goose!" she said, a little shaken. The circumstance of +their being here, in this exquisite semblance of domestic comfort, +the sweet summer day, the new flowery hat and cool pongee gown, +combined to stir her blood. She forgot everything but that she was +young, and that it was strangely thrilling to have this man, so +ardent and so forceful, standing close beside her. + +It was almost with a sense of relief, a second later, that she +realized that other groups were drifting through the little +apartment, that she and John were not alone. She remembered, with a +strange, poignant contraction of her heart, the expression in his +eyes as they met, the authoritative finger with which he had touched +the elevator bell. + +John spoke appreciatively of her visit that night at the table; +Adele said that Martie had told her of it. + +"I was going down town with her," said Adele, playing idly with +knife and fork. "But I got started on that disgusting centrepiece +again, and Ethel came in, and we just sewed. I'm so sick of the +thing now I told Miriam I was going to give it to her and let her +finish it herself--I'll have to go down town Monday and match the +silk anyway; it's too maddening, for there's just that one leaf to +do, but I might as well keep AT it, and get RID of it! If we go to +Coney to-morrow I believe I'll take it along, and go on with it; I +suppose it would look funny, but I don't know why not. Ethel went to +Coney last week with the Youngers in their auto; she said it was a +perfect scream all the way; Tom WOULD pass everything on the road, +and she said it was a scream! She says Mrs. Younger talks about +herself and her house and her servants all the time, and she +wouldn't get out of the car, so it wasn't much fun. I asked her why +she wouldn't get out of the car, and she said her complexion. I +didn't see anything so remarkable about it myself; anyway, if you +rub plenty of cream in--I'm going to do that to-morrow, Martie, and +you ought to!--and then wear a veil, I don't mean too heavy a veil, +but just to keep your hat tight, why, you don't burn!" + +"Both you girls come down town Monday, and I'll show you a rug worth +fifty thousand dollars," suggested John. + +"Oh, thank you, dear!" Adele said in bright protest. "But if you +knew what I've got to do Monday! I'm going to have my linen fitted, +and I'm going in to see the doctor about that funny, giddy feeling +I've had twice. And Miriam wants me to look at hats with her. I'll +be simply dead. Miriam and I will get a bite somewhere; we're dying +to try the fifty-cent lunch at Shaftner's; they say it isn't so bad. +It'll be an awful day, to say nothing of being all tired out from +Coney. But I suppose I'll have to get through it." + +She smiled resignedly at Martie. But Martie had fallen suddenly into +absent thought. She was thinking of the odd look on John's face as +he came forward in the pleasant dimness and coolness of the big +store. + +The next day they went duly to Coney Island; their last trip +together, as it chanced, and one of the most successful of their +many days in the parks or on the beaches. John, Martie, and Teddy +were equally filled with childish enthusiasm for the prospect, and +perhaps Adele liked as well her role of amused elder. + +It was part of the pleasure for Martie to get up early, to slip off +to church in the soft, cool morning. The dreaming city, awaiting the +heat of the day, was already astir, churchgoers and holiday-makers +were at every crossing. Freshly washed sidewalks were drying, +enormous Sunday newspapers and bottles of cream waited in the +doorways. Fasting women, with contented faces, chatted in the bakery +and the dairy, and in the push-cart at the curb ice melted under a +carpet cover. It was going to be a scorcher--said the eager boys and +girls, starting off in holiday wear, coatless, gloveless, frantic to +be away. Little families were engineered to the surface cars, clean +small boys in scalloped blue wash suits, mother straining with the +lunch-basket, father carrying the white-coated baby and the +newspaper and the children's cheap coats. + +Martie, kissing Teddy as a preliminary to her delayed breakfast, +came home to discuss the order of events. The route and the time +were primarily important: Teddy's bucket, John's camera, her own +watch, must not be forgotten. There were last words for Henny and +Aurora, good-byes for Grandma; then they were out in the Sunday +streets, and the day was before them! + +John took charge of the child; Adele and Martie talked and laughed +together all the long trip. The extraordinary costumes of the boys +and girls about them, the sights that filled the streets, these and +a thousand other things were of fresh interest. Adele's costume was +discussed. + +"My gloves washed so beautifully; he said they would, but I didn't +believe him! My skirt doesn't look a bit too short, does it, Martie? +I put this old veil on, and then if we have dinner any place decent, +I'll change to the other. I wore these shoes, because I'll tell you +why: they only last one summer, anyway, and you might as well get +your wear out of them. Listen, does any powder show? I simply put it +on thick, because it does save you so. It's that dead white. I told +her I didn't have colour enough for it; she said I had a beautiful +colour--absurd, but I suppose they have to say those things!" + +And Adele, her clear brown eyes looking anxiously from her slender +brown face, leaned toward Martie for inspection. Martie was always +reassuring. Adele looked lovely; she had her hat on just right. + +At Coney Teddy played bare-legged in the warm sand. Adele had a +beach chair near by. She put on her glasses, and began her sewing; +later they would all read parts of the paper, changing and +exchanging constantly. Martie and John, beaming upon all the world, +joined the long lines that straggled into the bath-houses, got their +bundled suits and their gray towels, and followed the attendant +along the aisles that were echoing with the sound of human voices, +and running with the water from wet bathing-suits. Fifteen minutes +later they met again, still beaming, to cross under the damp, icy +shadow of the boardwalk, and come out, fairly dancing with high +spirits, upon the long, hot curve of the beach. The delicious touch +of warm sand under her stockinged feet, the sunlight beating upon +her glittering hair, Martie would run down the shore to the first +wheeling shallows of the Atlantic. + +"Nothing I have ever done in my life is so wonderful as this!" she +shouted as the waves caught them, and carried them off their feet. +John swam well; Martie a little; neither could get enough of the +tumbling blue water. + +Breathless, they presently joined Adele; Martie spreading her +glittering web of hair to dry, as she sat in the sand by the other +woman's chair; John stretched in the hot sand for a nap; Teddy +staggering to and fro with a dripping pail. They liked to keep a +little away from the crowd; a hundred feet away the footmarked sand +was littered with newspapers, cigarette-butts, gum-wrappers, and +empty paper-bags, the drowsing men and women were packed so close +that laughing girls and boys, going by in their bathing-suits, had +to weave a curving path up and down the beach. + +Presently they had a hearty meal: soft-shell crabs fried brown, with +lemon and parsley, coffee ready-mixed with milk and sugar, sliced +tomatoes with raw onions, all served in cheap little bare rooms, at +scarred little bare tables, a hundred feet from the sea. Later came +the amusements: railways and flying-swings enjoyed simultaneously +with hot sausages and ice-cream cones. + +Adele liked none of this so much as she liked to go up toward the +big hotels at about five o'clock, to find a table near the +boardwalk, and sit twirling her parasol, and watching the people +stream by. The costumes and the types were tirelessly entertaining. +At six they ordered sandwiches and beer, and Teddy had milk and +toast. The uniformed band, coming out into its pagoda, burst into a +brassy uproar, the sun sank, the tired crowd in its brilliant +colours surged slowly to and fro. Beyond all, the sea softly came +and went, waves broke and spread and formed again unendingly. + +Martie felt that she would like to sit so forever, with her son's +soft, relaxed little body in her arms. To-night she did not analyze +the new emotion that John's glances, John's voice, John's quiet +solicitude for her comfort, had lent the day. Of course he liked +her; of course he admired her; that was a fact long recognized with +maternal amusement by Adele and herself. Of course he laughed at +her, but every one laughed at Martie when she chose to be humorous. +Let it go at that! + +Sandy, sore, sleepy, and sunburned, they were presently in the +returning cars, all wilted New York returning with them. Teddy slept +soundly, sometimes in his mother's arms, sometimes in John's. It was +John who carried him up the steps of the Seventieth Street house at +ten o'clock. + +A gentleman waiting to see Mrs. Bannister? Goodness, Aurora, why +didn't you ask Mrs. Curley to see him? Martie surrendered her loose +coat and hat to the maid, put a hand to her disordered hair. +Apologetic, smiling, she went into the parlour. + +Wallace Bannister was waiting for her; she was in her husband's +arms. + +"But, Wallace--Wallace--Wallace, what does it matter, dear? You +don't have to tell me all about it, all the sickness and failure and +bad luck! You're home again, now, and you've gotten back into your +own line, and that's all that matters!" + +Thus Martie, laughing with lashes still wet. She understood, she +forgave; what else was a wife for? All that mattered was that he was +here, and was deep in new plans, he had a new part to work up, he +was to begin rehearsing next week, and the past was all a troubled +dream. Ah, this was worth while; this made up for it all! + +Not quite a dream, for he seemed much older; the boyish bravado was +gone. He was stout, settled, curiously deliberate in manner. But +then she was older, too. + +He answered her generous concession only with compliments. She had +grown handsome, by George, she had a stunning figure, she had a +stunning air! Martie laughed; she knew it was true. + +He felt his old hatred for her employment at the boarding-house, and +she was as eager as he to launch into real housekeeping at last. +After the lonely years, it was wonderful to have a husband again! He +bought whatever she wanted, took her proudly about. She went with +him to his first rehearsals, finding the old stage atmosphere +strangely exhilarating. Adele was frankly jealous of this new +development, Martie saw and heard her as little as she noticed +John's silence and seriousness, and Mrs. Curley's dubious +cooperation. + +A friend of Wallace proposed to sub-let them a furnished apartment +in East Twenty-sixth Street. Martie inspected it briefly, with eyes +too dazzled with dreams to see it truly. + +She was not trained to business responsibility: she merely laughed +because her old employer was annoyed to have her housekeeper desert +her. After all, could there be a better reason for any move than +that one's husband wished it? Swiftly and gaily she snapped the ties +that bound her to the boarding-house. + +There seemed to be plenty of money for teas and dinners: she stared +about the brightly lighted restaurants like an excited child. +Wallace was boisterously fond of his son, but he was too busy to be +much with Teddy, and he wanted his wife all day and every day. So +Martie engaged a housekeeper to take her place in the house, and a +little coloured girl to take care of Teddy, and devoted herself to +Wallace. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +The flat in East Twenty-sixth Street was not what Martie's lonely +dreams had fashioned, but she accepted it with characteristic +courage and made it a home. She had hoped for something irregular, +old-fashioned: big rooms, picturesque windows, picturesque +inconveniences, interesting neighbours. + +She found five rooms in a narrow, eight-story, brick apartment- +house; a narrow parlour with a cherry mantel and green tiles, +separated from a narrow bedroom by closed folding doors, a narrow, +long hall passing a dark little bathroom and the tiny dark room that +Teddy had, a small dining room finished in black wood and red paper, +and, wedged against it, a strip of kitchen. + +These were small quarters after the airy bareness of the Curley +home, and they were additionally reduced in effect by the peculiar +taste their first occupant had shown in furnishing. The walls were +crowded with heavily framed pictures, coloured photographs of +children in livid pink and yellow gowns dancing to the music played +by draped ladies at grand pianos; kittens in hats, cheap prints of +nude figures, with ugly legends underneath. The chairs were of every +period ever sacrificed to flimsy reproduction: gilt, Mission, Louis +XIV, Pembroke, and old English oak. There were curtains, tassels, +fringes, and portieres everywhere, of cotton brocade, velours, +stencilled burlap, and "art" materials generally. There was a +Turkish corner, with a canopy, daggers, crescents, and cushions. The +bookcase in the parlour and the china cabinet in the dining room +were locked. The latter was so large, and the room it adorned so +small, that it stood at an angle, partly shutting out the light of +the one window. Every room except the parlour opened upon an air- +well, spoken of by the agent as "the court." The rent was fifty +dollars, and Wallace considered the place a bargain. + +For the first day or two Martie laughed bravely at her surroundings, +finding in this vase or that picture cause for great amusement. She +promised herself that she would store some of these horrors, but +inasmuch as there was not a spare inch in the flat for storage, it +was decidedly simplest to leave them where they were. Wallace did +not mind them, and Wallace's happiness was her aim in life. + +But, strangely, after the first excitement of his return was over, a +cool distaste descended upon her. Before the first weeks of the new +life were over, she found herself watching her husband with almost +hostile eyes. It must be wrong for a wife to feel so abysmal--so +overwhelming an indifference toward the man whose name she bore. +Wallace, weary with the moving, his collar off, his thick neck bare, +his big pale face streaked with drying perspiration, was her husband +after all. She was angry at herself for noticing that his sleek hair +was thinning, that the old look of something not fine was stamped +more deeply upon his face. She resolutely suppressed the deepening +resentment that grew under his kisses; kisses scented with alcohol. + +Generations of unquestioning wives behind her, she sternly routed +the unbidden doubts, she deliberately put from her thoughts many +another disillusion as the days went by. She was a married woman +now, protected and busy; she must not dream like a romantic girl. +There was delightfully novel cooking to do; there was freedom from +hateful business responsibility. All beginnings were hard, she told +her shrinking soul; she was herself changed by the years; what +wonder that Wallace was changed? + +Perhaps in his case it was less change than the logical development +of qualities that would have been distinctly discernible to clearer +eyes than hers in the very hour of their meeting. Wallace had always +drifted with the current, as he was drifting now. He would have been +as glad as she, had success come instead of failure; he did not even +now habitually neglect his work, nor habitually drink. It was merely +that his engagement was much less distinguished than he had told her +it was, his part was smaller, his pay smaller, and his chances of +promotion lessening with every year. He had never been a student of +life, nor interested in anything that did not touch his own comfort; +but in the first days of their love, days of youth and success and +plenty, Martie had been as frankly an egotist as he. His heaviness, +his lack of interest in what excited her, his general +unresponsiveness, came to her now more as a recollection than a +surprise. + +The farce in which he had a part really did prove fairly successful, +and his salary was steady and his hours comfortable until after the +new year. Then the run ended, and Wallace drifted for three or four +weeks that were full of deep anxiety for Martie. + +When he was engaged again, in a vaudeville sketch that was booked +for a few weeks on one of the smaller circuits about New York, she +had some difficulty in making him attend rehearsals, and take his +part seriously. His friends were generally of the opinion that it +was beneath his art. His wife urged that "it might lead to +something." + +Wallace was amused at her concern. Actors never worked the whole +year round, he assured her. There was nothing doing in the +summertime, ever. Martie remarked, with a half-sorry laugh, that a +salary of one hundred dollars a week for ten weeks was less than +eighty-five dollars a month, and the same salary, if drawn for only +five weeks, came to something less than a living income. + +"Don't worry!" Wallace said. + +"Wallace, it's not for myself. It's for the--the children. My dear! +If it wasn't for that, it would be a perfect delight to me to take +luck just as it came, go to Texas or Canada with you, work up parts +myself!" she would answer eagerly. She wanted to be a good wife to +him, to give him just what all men wanted in their wives. But under +all her bravery lurked a sick sense of defeat. He never knew how +often he failed her. + +And he was older. He was not far from forty, and his youth was gone. +He did not care for the little dishes Martie so happily prepared, +the salads and muffins, the eggs "en cocotte" and "suzette." He +wanted thick broiled steak, and fried potatoes, and coffee, and +nothing else. He slept late in the mornings, coming out frowsy- +headed in undershirt and trousers to breakfast at ten or eleven, +reading the paper while he ate, and scenting the room with thick +cigar smoke. + +Martie waited on him, interrupting his reading with her chatter. She +would sit opposite him, watching the ham and eggs vanish, and the +coffee go in deep, appreciative gulps. + +"How d'you feel, Wallie?" + +"Oh, rotten. My head is the limit!" + +"Too bad! More coffee?" + +"Nope. Was that the kid banging this morning?" + +"My dear, he was doing it just for the time it took me to snatch the +hammer away! I was so sorry!" + +"Oh, that's all right." He would yawn. "Lord, I feel rotten!" + +"Isn't it perhaps--drinking and smoking so much, Wallace?" Martie +might venture timidly. + +"That has nothing to do with it!" + +"But, Wallie, how do you know it hasn't?" + +"Because I do know it!" + +He would return to his paper, and Martie to her own thoughts. She +would yawn stupidly, when he yawned, in the warm, close air. +Sometimes she went into the tumbled bedrooms and put them in order, +gathering up towels and scattered garments. But usually Wallace did +not bathe until after his breakfast, and nothing could be done until +that was over. Equally, Martie's affairs kitchenward were delayed; +sometimes Wallace's rolls were still warming in the oven when she +put in Teddy's luncheon potato to bake. The groceries ordered by +telephone would arrive, and be piled over the unwashed dishes on the +table, the frying pan burned dry over and over again. + +After Teddy and his mother had lunched, if Wallace was free, they +all went out together. He was devoted to the boy, and broke +ruthlessly into his little schedule of hours and meals for his own +amusement. Or he and Martie went alone to a matinee. But when he was +playing in vaudeville, even if he lived at home, he must be at the +theatre at four and at nine. Often on Sunday afternoons he went out +to meet his friends, to drift about the theatrical clubs and hotels, +and dine away from home. + +Then Martie would take Teddy out, happy times for both. They went to +the library, to the museums, to the aquarium and the Zoo. Martie +came to love the second-hand book-stores, where she could get George +Eliot's novels for ten cents each, a complete Shakespeare for +twenty-five. She drank in the passing panorama of the streets: the +dripping "L" stations, the light of the chestnut dealer, a blowing +flame in the cold and dark, the dirty powder of snow blowing along +icy sidewalks, and the newspapers weighted down at corner stands +with pennies lying here and there in informal exchange. Cold, rosy +faces poured into the subway hoods, warm, pale faces poured out, wet +feet slipped on the frozen rubbish of the sidewalks, little +salesgirls gossiped cheerfully as they dangled on straps in the +packed cars. + +Often Martie and Teddy had their supper at Childs', in the clean +warm brightness of marble and nickel-plate. Teddy knew their +waitress and chattered eagerly over his rice and milk. Martie had a +sandwich and coffee, watching the shabby fingers that fumbled for +five-cent tips, the anxious eyes studying the bill-of-fare, the pale +little working-women who favoured a supper of butter cakes and lemon +meringue pie after the hard day. + +She would go home to find the breakfast dishes waiting, the beds +unmade, the bathroom still steamed from Wallace's ablutions. Teddy +tucked away for the night, she would dream over a half-sensed book. +Why make the bed she was so soon to get into? Why wash the dishes +now rather than wait until she was in her comfortable wrapper? She +went back to her old habit of nibbling candy as she read. + +The jolly little Bohemian suppers she had foreseen never became a +reality. Wallace hated cheap food; he was done with little +restaurants, he said. More than that, among his friends there did +not seem to be any of those simple, busy, gifted artists to whose +acquaintance Martie had looked forward. The more distinguished +members of his company he hardly knew; the others were semi- +successful men like himself, women too poor and too busy to waste +time or money, or other women of a more or less recognized looseness +of morals. Martie detested them, their cologne, their boasting, +their insinuations as to the personal lives of every actor or +actress who might be mentioned. They had no reserves, no respect for +love or marriage or parenthood; they told stories entirely beyond +her understanding, and went about eating, drinking, dressing, and +dancing as if these things were all the business of life. + +Wallace's favourite hospitality was extended to six silent, +overdressed, genial male friends, known as "the crowd." These he +frequently asked to dinner on Sunday nights, a hard game of poker +always following. Martie did not play, but she liked to watch her +husband's hands, and during this winter he attributed his phenomenal +good luck to her. He never lost, and he always parted generously +with such sums as he won. He loved his luck; the envious comments of +the other players delighted him; the good dinner, and the presence +of his beautiful wife always put him in his best mood. They called +him "Three deuces Wallie," and Martie's remark that his weight was +also "Two--two--two" passed for wit. + +She took his winnings without shame. It was to take them, indeed, +that she endured the long, silent evening, with its incessant +muttering and shuffling and slapping of cards. The gas whined and +rasped above their heads, the air grew close and heavy with smoke. +Ash-trays were loaded with the stumps and ashes of cigars; sticky +beer glasses ringed the bare table. But Martie stuck to her post. At +one o'clock it would all be over, and Wallace, carrying a glass of +whisky-and-soda to his room, would be undressing between violent +yawns and amused recollections. + +"Some of that comes to me, Wallie. I have the rent coming this +week!" + +"Sure. Take all you want, old girl. You're tired, aren't you?" + +"Tired and cold." Martie's circulation was not good now, and she +knew why. Her meals had lost their interest, and sometimes even +Teddy's claims were neglected. She was sleepy, tired, heavy all the +time. "When I see a spoon lying on the dining-room floor, and +realize that it will lie there until I pick it up I could scream!" +she told Wallace. + +"It's a shame, poor old girl!" + +"Oh, no--it's all right." She would blink back the tears. "I'm not +sorry!" + +But she was sorry and afraid. She resented Wallace's easy sympathy, +resented the doctor's advice to rest, not to worry, his mild +observation that a good deal of discomfort was inevitable. + +Early in the new year she began to agitate the question of a dinner +to the Drydens. Wallace, who had taken a fancy to Adele, agreed +lazily to endure John's company, which he did not enjoy, for one +evening. But he obstinately overruled Martie on the subject of a +dinner at home. + +"Nix," said Wallace flatly. "I won't have my wife cooking for +anybody!" + +"But Wallace--just grape-fruit and broilers and a salad! And they'll +come out and help cook it. You don't know how informally we did +things at Grandma's!" + +"Well, you're not doing things informally now. It would be different +if you had a couple of servants!" + +"But it may be years before we have a couple of servants. Aren't we +ever going to entertain, until then?" + +"I don't know anything about that. But I tell you I won't have them +thinking that we're hard up. I'll take them to a restaurant +somewhere, and show that little boob a square meal!" + +He finally selected an oppressively magnificent restaurant where a +dollar-and-a-half table-d'hote dinner was served. + +"But I'd like to blow them to a real dinner!" he regretted. + +"Oh, Wallace, I'm not trying to impress them! We'll have more than +enough to eat, and music, and a talk. Then we can break up at about +ten, and we'll have done the decent thing!" + +The four were to meet at half-past six, but both Adele and Wallace +were late, and John and Martie had half an hour's talk while they +waited. Martie fairly bubbled in her joy at the chance to speak of +books and poems, ideals and reforms again. She told him frankly and +happily that she had missed him; she had wanted to see him so many +times! And he looked tired; he had had grippe? + +"Always motherly!" he said, a smile on the strange mouth, but no +corresponding smile in the faunlike eyes. + +Wallace arrived in a bad mood, as Martie instantly perceived. But +Adele, radiant in a new hat, was prettily concerned for his cold and +fatigue, and they were quickly escorted to a table near the +fountain, and supplied with cocktails. Cheered, Wallace demanded the +bill-of-fare, "the table-d'hote, Handsome!" said he to the +appreciative waiter. + +The man lowered his head and murmured obsequiously. The table-d'hote +dinner was served only on the balcony, sir. + +This caused a halt in the rising gaiety. The group looked a little +blank. They were established here, the ladies had surrendered their +wraps, envious late-comers were eying their table. Still Martie did +not hesitate. She straightened back in her chair, and pushed her +hands at full length upon the table, preliminary to rising. + +"Then we'll go up!" she said sensibly. But Wallace demurred. What +was the difference! They would stay here. + +The difference proved to be about twenty dollars. + +"I hope it was worth it to you!" Wallace said bitterly to his wife +at breakfast the next day. "Twenty-six dollars the check was. It was +worth about twenty-six cents to me!" + +"But, Wallie, you didn't have to order wine!" + +"I didn't expect to order it, and if that boob had had the sense to +know it, it was up to him to pay for it!" + +"Why, he's a perfect babe-in-the-woods about such things, Wallie! +And none of us wanted it!" Martie tried to speak quietly, but at the +memory of the night before her anger began to smoulder. Wallace had +deliberately urged the ordering of wine, John quite as innocently +disclaimed it. Adele had laughed that she could always manage a +glass of champagne; Martie had merely murmured, "But we don't need +it, Wallie; we've had so much now!" + +"We couldn't sit there holding that table down all evening," Wallace +said now. Martie with a great effort kept silence. Opening his +paper, her husband finished the subject sharply. "I want to tell you +right now, Mart, that with me ordering the dinner, it was up to him +to pay for the wine! Any man would know that! Ask any one of the +crowd. He's a boob, that's all, and I'm done with him!" + +Martie rose, and went quietly into the kitchen. There was nothing to +say. She did not speak of the Drydens again for a long while. Her +own condition engrossed her; and she was not eager to take the +initiative in hospitality or anything else. + +In April Wallace went on the road again for eleven weeks, and Martie +and Ted enjoyed a delicious spring together. They spent hours on the +omnibuses, hours in the parks. Spring in the West was cold, erratic; +spring here came with what a heavenly wash of fragrance and heat! It +was like a re-birth to abandon all the heavy clothing of the winter, +to send Teddy dancing into the sunshine in socks and galatea and +straw hat again! + +Martie's son was almost painfully dear to her. Every hour of his +life, from the helpless days in the big hospital, through creeping +and stammering and stumbling, she had clung to his little phases +with hungry adoration, and that there was a deep sympathy between +their two natures she came to feel more strongly every day. They +talked confidentially together, his little body jolting against hers +on the jolting omnibus, or leaning against her knees as she sat in +the Park. She lingered in the lonely evening over the ceremony of +his bath, his undressing, his prayers, and the romping that was +always the last thing. For his sake, her love went out to meet the +newcomer; another soft little Teddy to watch and bathe and rock to +sleep; the reign of double-gowns and safety-pins and bottles again! +Writing Wallace one of the gossipy, detailed letters that +acknowledged his irregular checks, she said that they must move in +the fall. They really, truly needed a better neighbourhood, a better +nursery for "the children." + +One hot, heavy July morning she fell into serious musing over the +news of Grandma Curley's death. Her son, a spoiled idler of forty, +inherited the business. He wanted to know if Mrs. Bannister could +come back. The house had never prospered so well as under her +management. She could make her own terms. + +The sun was pouring into East Twenty-sixth Street, flashing an ugly +glaring reflection against the awnings. At nine, the day was burning +hot. Teddy, promised a trip to the Zoo, was loitering on the shady +steps of the houses opposite, conscious of clean clothes, and of a +holiday mood. The street was empty; a hurdy-gurdy unseen poured +forth a brassy flood of sound. Trains, on the elevated road at the +corner, crashed by. Martie had been packing a lunch; she went slowly +back to the cut loaf and the rapidly softening butter. + +"Happy, Teddy?" she asked, when they had found seats in the train, +and were rushing over the baking stillness of the city. + +"Are you, Moth'?" he asked quickly. + +She nodded, smiling. But, for some reasons vaguely defined, she was +heavy-hearted. The city's endless drama of squalor and pain was all +about her; she could not understand, she could not help, she could +not even lift her own little problem out of the great total of +failures! All day long the sense of impotence assailed her. + +Wallace was at home, when they came back, heavily asleep across his +bed. Martie, with firmly shut lips, helped him into bed, and made +the strong coffee for which he longed. After drinking it, he gave +her a resentful, painstaking account of his unexpected return. His +face was flushed, his voice thick. She gathered that he had lost his +position. + +"He came right up to me before Young, d'ye see? He put it up to me. +'Nelson,' I says, 'Nelson, this isn't a straight deal!' I says. 'My +stuff is my stuff,' I says, 'but this is something else again.' +'Wallie,' he says, 'that may be right, too. But listen,' he says. I +says, 'I'm going to do damn little listening to you or Young!' I +says, 'Cut that talk about my missing rehearsals--'" + +The menacing, appealing voice went on and on. Martie watched him in +something far beyond scorn or shame. He had not shaved recently, his +face was blotched. + +"What else could I do, Mart?" he asked presently. She answered with +a long sigh: + +"Nothing, I suppose, Wallace." + +After a while he slept heavily. The afternoon was brassy hot. Women +manipulated creaking clotheslines across the long double row of +backyards; the day died on a long, gasping twilight. Martie let +Teddy go to the candy store for ten cents' worth of ice cream for +his supper. She made herself iced tea, and deliberately forced +herself to read. To-night she would not think. After a while she +wrote her letter of regret to George Curley. + +The situation was far from desperate, after all. Wallace had a +headache the next day, but on the day after that he shaved and +dressed carefully, assured his wife that this experience should be +the last of its type, and began to look for an engagement. He had +some money, and he insisted upon buying her a thin, dark gown, loose +and cool. He carried Teddy off for whole afternoons, leaving Martie +to doze, read, and rest; and learning that she still had a bank +account of something more than three hundred dollars--left from +poker games and from her old bank account--she engaged a stupid, +good-natured coloured girl to do the heavy work. Isabeau Eato was +willing and strong, and for three dollars a week she did an +unbelievable amount of drudgery. Martie felt herself fortunate, and +listened to the crash of dishes, the running of water, and the swish +of Isabeau's broom with absolute satisfaction. + +One broiling afternoon she was trying to read in the darkened dining +room. Heat was beating against the prostrate city in metallic waves, +but since noon there had been occasional distant flashes toward the +west, and faint rumblings that predicted the coming storm. In an +hour or two the streets would be awash, and white hats and flimsy +gowns flying toward shelter; meanwhile, there was only endurance. +She could only breathe the motionless leaden air, smell the dry, +stale odours of the house, and listen to the thundering drays and +cars in the streets. + +Wallace had gone to Yonkers to see a moving picture manager; Isabeau +had taken Teddy with her on a trip to the Park. Sitting back in a +deep chair, with her back to the dazzling light of the window, +Martie closed her book, shut her eyes, and fell into a reverie. +Expense, pain, weakness, helplessness; she dreaded them all. She +dreaded the doctor, the hospital, the brisk, indifferent nurses; she +hated above all the puzzled realization that all this cost to her +was so wasted; Wallace was not sorry for the child's coming, nor was +she; that was all. No one was glad. No one praised her for the slow +loss of days and nights, for dependence, pain, and care. Her +children might live to comfort her; they might not. She had been no +particular comfort to her own father--her own mother-- + +Tears slipped through her closed lids, and for a moment her lips +quivered. She struggled half-angrily for self-control, and opened +her book. + +"Martie?" said a voice from the doorway. She looked up to see John +Dryden standing there. + +The sight of the familiar crooked smile, and the half-daring, half- +bashful eyes, stirred her heart with keen longing; she needed +friendship, sympathy, understanding so desperately! She clung +eagerly to his hands. + +He sat down beside her, and rumpled his hair in furious +embarrassment and excitement, studying her with a wistful and +puzzled smile. She did not realize how her pale face, loosely massed +hair, and black-rimmed eyes impressed him. + +"John! I am so glad! Tell me everything; how are you, and how's +Adele?" + +Adele was well. He was well. His wife's sister, Mrs. Baker of +Browning, Indiana, was visiting them. Things were much the same at +the office. He had not been reading anything particularly good. + +She laughed at his sparse information. + +"But, John--talk! Have you been to any lectures lately? What have +you been doing?" she demanded. + +"I've been thinking for days of what we should talk about when we +saw each other," he said, laughing excitedly. "But now that I'm here +I can't remember them!" + +The sense his presence always gave her, of being at ease, of being +happily understood, was enveloping Martie. She was as comfortable +with John as she might have been with Sally, as sure of his +affection and interest. She suddenly realized that she had missed +John of late, without quite knowing what it was she missed. + +"You're going on with your writing, John?" + +"Oh"--he rumpled his hair again--"what's the use?" + +"Why, that's no way to talk. Aren't you doing ANYTHING?" + +"Not much," he grinned boyishly. + +"But, John, that's sheer laziness! How do you ever expect to get out +of the groove, if you don't make a start?" + +"Oh, damn it all, Martie," he said mildly, with a whimsical smile, +"what's the use? I suppose there isn't a furniture clerk in the city +that doesn't feel he is fit for great things!" + +"You didn't talk like this last year," Martie said, in +disappointment and reproach. John looked at her uneasily, and then +said boldly: + +"How's Ted?" + +"Sweet." Martie laid one hand on her breast, and drew a short, +stifled breath. "Isn't it fearful?" she said, of the heat. + +John nodded absently: she knew him singularly unaffected by anything +so trivial as mere heat or cold. He was fingering a magazine +carelessly, suddenly he flung it aside. + +"I am writing something, of course!" he confessed. "But it seems +sort of rotten, to me." + +"But I'm glad!" she said, with shining eyes. + +"I work at it in the office," John added. "And what is it?" + +"You know what it is: you suggested it!" + +"_I_ did?" + +"You said it would make a good play." + +Martie's thin cheek dimpled, she widened her eyes. + +"I don't remember!" + +"It was when I was reading Strickland's 'Queens.' You said that this +one's life would make a good play." + +"Oh, I do dimly remember!" She knotted her brows. "Mary--Mary +Isabelle--an Italian girl?--wasn't it?" + +"Mary Beatrice," he corrected simply. + +"Of course! And does it work up pretty well?" + +"Fine!" + +"How much have you done, John?" + +"Oh, not much!" + +"Oh, John, for heaven's sake--you will drive me insane!" she laughed +joyously, laying her hand over his. "Tell me about it." She laughed +again when he drew some crumpled pages from his pocket. But he was +presently garrulous, sketching his plan to her, reading a passage +here and there, firing her with his own interest and delight. He had +as little thought of boring her as she of being bored, they fled +together from the noise and heat of the city, and trod the Dover +sands, and rode triumphant into the old city of London at the King's +side. + +"I'm not a judge--I wish I was," she said finally. "But it seems to +me extraordinary!" + +He silently folded the sheets, and put them away. Glancing at his +face, she saw that its thoughtful look was almost stern. Martie +wondered if she had said something to offend him. + +When he sat down beside her again, she again laid her hand on his. + +"What is it, John?" she asked anxiously. + +"Nothing!" he said, with a brief glance and smile. + +"I've made you cross?" + +"You!" His dark gaze was on the floor, his hands locked. For a full +minute there was silence in the room. Then he looked up at her with +a disturbing smile. "I am human, Martie," he said simply. + +The note was so new in their relationship that Martie's heart began +to hammer with astonishment and with a curious thrilling pleasure. +There was nothing for her to say. She could hardly believe that he +knew what he implied, or that she construed the words aright. He was +so different from all other men, so strangely old in many ways, so +boyish in others. A little frightened, she smiled at him in silence. +But he did not raise his eyes to meet her look. + +"I did not think that when I was thirty I would be a clerk in a +furniture house, Martie!" he said sombrely, after awhile. + +"You may not be!" she reminded him hearteningly. And presently she +added: "I did not think that I would be a poor man's wife on the +upper East Side!" + +He looked up then with a quick smile. + +"Isn't it the deuce?" he asked. + +"Life is queer!" Martie said, shrugging. + +"I was up in Connecticut last week," John said, "and I'll tell you +what I saw there. I went up to that neighbourhood to buy some old +furniture for an order we were filling--I was there only a few +hours. I found a little old white house, on a river bank, with big +trees over it. It was on a foundation of old stones, that had been +painted white, and there was an orchard, with a stone wall. The man +wanted eighteen hundred dollars for it." + +"Is THAT all?" Martie asked, amazed. + +"That's all. I sat there and talked to him for awhile." + +"Well?" said Martie, as he stopped. + +"Well, nothing," he answered, after a moment's pause. "Only I've +been thinking about it ever since--what it would be to live there, +and write, and walk about that little farm! Funny, isn't it? +Eighteen hundred dollars--not much, only I'll never have it. And you +are another poor man's wife--only not mine! Do you believe in God?" + +"You know I do!" she answered, laughing, but a little shaken by his +seriousness. + +"You think GOD manages things this way?" + +"John, don't talk like a high school boy!" + +"I suppose it sounds that way," he said mildly, and he rose suddenly +from his chair. "Well, I have to go!" He looked at her keenly. "But +you don't look very well, Martie," he said. "You've no colour at +all. Is it the weather?" + +"John, what a baby you are!" But Martie was amazed, under her flush +of laughter, at his simplicity. Could it be possible that he did not +know? "I am expecting something very precious here one of these +days," she said. He looked at her with a polite smile, entirely +uncomprehending. "Surely you know that we--that I--am going to have +another baby, John?" she asked. + +She saw the muscles of his face stiffen, and the blood rise. He +looked at her steadily. A curious silence hung between them. + +"Didn't you know?" Martie pursued lightly. + +"No," he said at last thickly, "I didn't know." He gave her a look +almost frightening in its wildness; shot to the heart, he might have +managed just such a smile. He made a frantic gesture with his hands. +"Of course--" he said at random. "Of course--a baby!" He walked +across the room to look at a picture on the wall. "That's rather-- +pretty!" he said in a suffocating voice. Suddenly he came back, and +sat close beside her; his face was pale. "Martie," he said +pitifully, "it's dangerous for you--you're not strong, and if you-- +if you die, you know---You look pale now, and you're so thin. I +don't know anything about it, but I wish it was over!" + +Tears sprang to Martie's eyes, but they were tears of exquisite joy. +She laid a warm hand over his. + +"Why, John, dear, there's no danger!" + +"Isn't there?" he asked doubtfully. + +"Not the least, you goose! I'm ever so glad and proud about it-- +don't look so woe-begone!" + +Their hands were tightly locked: her face was radiant as she smiled +up at him. + +"It all works out, John--the furniture clerking, you know, and the +being poor, and all that!" + +"Sure it does!" + +"Other people have succeeded in spite of it, I mean, so why not you +and I?" + +"Of course, they're not BORN rich and successful," he submitted +thoughtfully. + +"Look at Lincoln--and Napoleon!" Martie said hardily. + +John scowled down at the hand he held. + +"Well, it's easier for some people than others," he stated firmly. +"Lincoln may have had to split rails for his supper--what DO you +split rails for, anyway?" he interrupted himself to ask, suddenly +diverted. + +"Fences, I guess!" Martie offered, on a gale of laughter. + +"Well, whatever it was. But I don't see what they needed so many +fences for! But anyway, being poor or rich doesn't seem to matter +half as much as some other things! And now I'm going. Good-bye, +Martie." + +"And write me, John, and send me books!" she urged, as he turned +away. + +He was at the door: meditating with his hand on the knob, and his +back turned to her. Martie watched him, expecting some parting word. +But he did not even turn to smile a farewell. He let himself quietly +out without another glance, and was gone. A moment later she heard +the outer door close. + +She sat on, in the darkening room, her book forgotten. The storm was +coming fast now. Women in the backyards were drawing in their +clothes-lines with a great creaking and rattling, and the first rush +of warm, sullen drops struck the dusty dining-room window. Curtains +streamed, and pictures on the wall stirred in the damp, warm wind. + +Half an hour of furious musketry passed: blue dashes lighted the +room with an eerie splendour, thunder clapped and rolled; died away +toward the south as a fresh onslaught poured in from the north. + +Martie heeded nothing. Her soul was wrapped in a deep peace, and as +the cooling air swept in, she dropped her tired head against the +chair's cushion, and drifted into a dream of river and orchard, and +of a white house set in green grass. + +She knew that John would write her: she held the unopened envelope +in her fingers the next morning, a strange, sweet emotion at her +heart. The beautiful, odd handwriting, the cleanly chosen words, +these made the commonplace little note significant. + +"Who's your letter from?" Wallace asked idly. She tossed it to him +unconcernedly: she had told him of John's call. "He must have a case +on you, Mart!" Wallace said indifferently. + +"Well, in his curious way, perhaps he has," she answered honestly. + +Ten days later she wrote him an answer. She thanked him for the +books, and announced that her daughter Margaret was just a week old, +and sent her love to Uncle John. Adele immediately sent baby roses +and a card to say that she was dying to see the baby, and would come +soon. She never came: but after that John wrote occasionally to +Martie, and she answered his notes. They did not try to meet. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Wallace was playing a few weeks' engagement in the vaudeville houses +of New Jersey and Brooklyn when his second child was born. He had +been at home for a few hours that morning, coming in for clean +linen, a good breakfast, and a talk with his wife. He was getting +fifty dollars a week, as support for a woman star, and was happy and +confident. The hard work--twelve performances a week--left small +time for idling or drinking, and Martie's eager praise added the +last touch to his content. + +She was happy, too, as she walked back into the darkened, orderly +house. It was just noon. Isabeau, having finished her work, had +departed with Teddy to see a friend in West One Hundredth Street; +John had sent Martie Maeterlinck's "Life of the Bee," and a fat, +inviting brown book, "All the Days of My Life." She had planned to +go to the hospital next week, Wallace coming home on Sunday to act +as escort, and she determined to keep the larger book for the stupid +days of convalescence. + +She stretched herself on the dining-room couch, reached for the +smaller book, and began to read. For a second, a look of surprise +crossed her face, and she paused. Then she found the opening +paragraph, and plunged into the story. But she had not read three +sentences before she stopped again. + +Suddenly, in a panic, she was on her feet. Frightened, breathless, +laughing, she went into the kitchen. + +"Isabeau out ... Heavenly day! What shall I do!" she whispered. "It +can't be! Fool that I was to let her go ... what SHALL I do!" + +Life caught her and shook her like a helpless leaf in a whirlwind. +She went blindly into the bedroom and began feverishly to fling off +her outer garments. Presently she made her way back to the kitchen +again, and put her lips to the janitor's telephone. + +Writhing seconds ensued. Finally she heard the shrill answering +whistle. + +"Mr. Kelly, is Mrs. Brice at home, do you know? Or Mrs. Napthaly? +This is Mrs. Bannister... I'm ill. Will you get somebody?" + +She broke off abruptly; catching the back of a chair. Kelly was a +grandfather ... he would understand. But if somebody didn't come +pretty soon... + +It seemed hours; it was only minutes before the blessed sound of +waddling feet came to the bedroom door. Old Grandma Simons, Mrs. +Napthaly's mother, came in. Martie liked and Teddy loved the +shapeless, moustached old woman, who lived out obscure dim days in +the flat below, washing and dressing and feeding little black-eyed +grandchildren. Martie never saw her in anything but a baggy, spotted +black house-dress, but there were great gatherings and feasts +occasionally downstairs, and then presumably the adored old head of +the family was more suitably clad. + +"Vell ... vot you try and do?" said Grandma Simons, grasping the +situation at once, and full of sympathy and approval. + +"I don't know!" half-laughed, half-gasped Martie from the pillows. +"I'm awfully afraid my baby..." A spasm of pain brought her on one +elbow, to a raised position. "Oh, DON'T DO THAT!" she screamed. + +"I do nothing!" said the old woman soothingly. And as Martie sank +back on the pillows, gasping and exhausted, yet with excited relief +brightening her face, Grandma Simons added triumphantly: "Now you +shall rest; you are a goot girl!" + +A second later the thin cry with which the newborn catch the first +weary breath of an alien world floated through the room. Protesting, +raw, it fell on Martie's ears like the resolving chord of an +exquisite melody. Still breathless, still panting from strain and +fright, she smiled. + +"Ah, the darling! Is he all right?" she whispered. + +"You haf a girl!" the old woman interrupted her clucking and +grumbling to say briefly. "Vill you lay still, and let the old +Grandma fix you, or not vill you?" she added sternly. "Grandma who +has het elefen of dem...." + +"Don't cry, little Margaret!" Martie murmured, happy under the +kindly adjusting old hands. The old woman stumped about composedly, +opening bureau drawers and scratching matches in the kitchen, before +she would condescend to telephone for the superfluous doctor. She +was pouring a flood of Yiddish endearments and diminutives about the +newcomer, when the surprised practitioner arrived. Mrs. Simons +scouted the idea of a nurse; she would come upstairs, her daughters +would come upstairs--what was it, one baby! Martie was allowed a +cupful of hot milk, and went to sleep with one arm about the flannel +bundle that was Margaret. + +Well--she thought, drifting into happy dreams--of course, the +hospital was wonderful: the uniformed nurses, the system, the +sanitation. But this was wonderful, too. So many persons had to be +consulted, had to be involved, in the coming of a hospital baby; so +much time, so many different rooms and hallways. + +The clock had not yet struck two; she had given Wallace his +breakfast at eleven, Isabeau would be home at five; Grandma had gone +downstairs to borrow some of the put-away clothes of the last little +Napthaly. Martie had nothing to do but smile and sleep. To-morrow, +perhaps, they would let her go on with "The Life of the Bee." + +Peace lapped soul and body. The long-approaching trial was over. In +a few days she would arise, mistress of herself once more, and free +to remake her life. + +First, they must move. Even if they could afford to pay six hundred +dollars a year in rent, this flat was neither convenient nor +sanitary for little children. Secondly, Wallace must understand that +while he worked and was sober, his wife would do her share; if he +failed her, she must find some other life. Thirdly, as soon as the +baby's claims made it possible, Martie must find some means of +making money; her own money, independent of what Wallace chose to +give. + +She pondered the various possibilities. She could open a boarding- +house; although that meant an outlay for furniture and rent. She +could take a course in library work or stenography; that meant +leaving the children all day. + +She began to study advertisements in the newspapers for working +housekeepers, and one day wrote a businesslike application to the +company that controlled a line of fruit steamers between the city +and Panama. Mrs. Napthaly's sister-in-law was stewardess on one of +these, and had good pay. Short stories, film-plays, newspaper work-- +other women did these things. But how had they begun? + +"Begin at the beginning!" she said cheerfully to herself. The move +was the beginning. Through the cool autumn days she resolutely +hunted for flats. It was a wearisome task, especially when Wallace +accompanied her, for his tastes ran to expensive and vestibuled +apartments and fashionable streets. Martie sternly held to quiet +side streets, cut off from the city by the barriers of elevated +trains and the cheap shopping districts. + +When she found what she wanted, she and Wallace had a bitter +struggle. He refused at first to consider four large bare shabby +rooms in a poor street, overlooking a coal-yard, and incidentally, +on the very bank of the East River. What cars went there, he +demanded indignantly; what sort of neighbours would they have? What +would their friends think! + +Martie patiently argued her point. The neighbourhood, the east +fifties, if cheap and crowded, was necessarily quiet because the +wide street ended at the river. The rooms were on a first floor, and +so pleasantly accessible for baby and baby-carriage. The coalyard, +if not particularly pleasant, was not unwholesome; there was +sunshine in every room, and finally, the rent was eighteen dollars. +They must entertain their friends elsewhere. + +She did not know then that what really won him was her youth and +beauty; the new brilliant colour, the blue, blue eyes, the revived +strength and charm of the whole, lovely woman. She put her arms +about him, and he kissed her and gave her her way. + +Happily they went shopping. Martie had gathered some furniture in +her various housekeeping adventures; the rest must be bought. They +prowled through second-hand stores for the big things: beds, tables, +a "chestard" for Wallace. The cottage china, chintzes, net curtains, +and grass rugs were new. Martie conceded a plaster pipe-rack, set +with little Indian faces, to Wallace; her own extravagance was a +meat-chopper. Wallace got a cocktail shaker, and when the first +grocery order went in, gin and vermouth and whisky-were included. +Martie made their first meal a celebration, in the room that was +sitting-and dining-room combined, and tired and happy, they sat long +into the evening over the table, talking of the future. + +Theoretically, Wallace agreed with her. If they were to succeed, +there must be hard work, carefully controlled expenditure, and +temperance. They were still young, their children were well, and +life was before them. In a few years Wallace might make a big +success; then they could have a little country home, and belong to a +country club, and really live. Eager tears brimmed Martie's eyes as +she planned and he approved. + +Actually, Wallace was not quite so satisfactory. He would be sweet- +tempered and helpful for a few days, but he expected a reward. He +expected his wife's old attitude of utter trust and devotion. +Rewarded by a happy evening when they dined and talked in utter +harmony, he would fail her again. Then came dark days, when Martie's +heart smouldered resentfully hour after busy hour. How could he--how +could he risk his position, waste his money, antagonize his wife, +break all his promises! She could not forgive him this time, she +could not go through the humiliating explanations, apologies, +asseverations, again be reconciled and again deceived! + +He knew how to handle her, and she knew he knew. When the day or two +of sickness and headache were over he would shave and dress +carefully and come quietly and penitently back into the life of the +house. Would Ted like to go off with Dad for a walk? Couldn't he go +to market for her? Couldn't he go along and wheel Margaret? + +Silently, with compressed lips, Martie might pass and repass him. +But the moment always came when he caught her and locked her in his +arms. + +"Martie, dearest! I know how you feel--I won't blame you! I know +what a skunk and a beast I am. What can I do? How can I show you how +sorry I am? Don't--don't feel so badly! Tell me anything--any oath, +any promise, I'll make it! You're just breaking my heart, acting +like this!" + +For half an hour, for an hour, her hurt might keep her unresponsive. +In the end, she always kissed him, with wet eyes, and they began +again. + +Happy hours followed. Wallace would help her with the baby's bath, +with Teddy's dressing, and the united Bannisters go forth for a +holiday. Martie, her splendid square little son leaning on her +shoulder, the veiled bundle of blankets that was Margaret safely +sleeping in the crib, her handsome husband dressing for "a party," +felt herself a blessed and happy woman. + +Frequently, when he was not playing, they went to matinees, +afterward drifting out into the five o'clock darkness to join the +Broadway current. Here Wallace always met friends: picturesque +looking men, and bright-eyed, hard-faced women. Invariably they went +into some hotel, and sat about a bare table, for drinks. Warmed and +cheered, the question of convivialities arose. + +"Lissen; we are all going to Kingwell's for eats," Wallace would +tell his wife. + +"But, Wallace, Isabeau is going to have dinner at home!" It was no +use; the bright eye, the thickened lips, the loosened speech evaded +her. He understood her, he had perfect self-control, but she could +influence him no longer. Mutinous, she would go with the chattering +women into the dressing room, where they powdered, rouged lips and +cheeks, and fluffed their hair. + +"Lord, he is a scream, that boy!" Mrs. Dolly Fairbanks might remark +appreciatively, offering Martie a mud-coloured powder-pad before +restoring it to the top of her ravelled silk stocking. "I'll bet +he's a scream in his own home!" + +Martie could only smile forcedly in response. She was not in +sympathy with her companions. She hated the extravagance, the noise, +and the drinking that were a part of the evening's fun. Wallace's +big, white, ringed hand touched the precious greenbacks so readily; +here! they wanted another round of drinks; what did everybody want? + +Wherever they went, the scene was the same: heat, tobacco smoke, +music; men drinking, women drinking, greenbacks changing hands, +waiters pocketing tips. Who liked it? she asked herself bitterly. In +the old days she and Sally had thought it would be fun to be in New +York, to know real actors and actresses, to go about to restaurants +in taxicabs. But what if the money that paid for the taxicabs were +needed for Ted's winter shirts and Margar's new crib? What if the +actors were only rather stupid and excitable, rather selfish and +ignorant men and women, to whom homes and children, gardens and +books were only words? + +Presumably the real actors, the real writers and painters led a mad +and merry life somewhere, wore priceless gowns and opened champagne; +but it was not here. These were the imitators, the pretenders, and +the rich idlers who had nothing better to do than believe in the +pretenders. + +Still, when Wallace suggested it, Martie found it wise to yield. He +might stumble home beside her at eleven, the worse for the eating +and drinking, but at least he did come home, and she could tell +herself that the men in the car who had smiled at his condition were +only brutes; she would never see them again; what did their opinion +matter! In other ways she yielded to him; peace, peace and affection +at any cost. Yet it cost her dear, for the possibility of another +child's coming was the one thought that frightened and dismayed her. + +Strongly contrasted to Wallace's open-handedness when he was with +his friends was the strict economy Martie was obliged to practise in +her housekeeping. She went to market herself, as the spring came on, +heaping her little purchases at Margar's feet in the coach. Teddy +danced and chattered beside her, neighbours stopped to smile at the +baby. At the fruit carts, the meat market, the grocery, Martie +pondered and planned. Oranges had gone up, lamb had gone up--dear, +dear, dear! + +Sitting at the grocery counter, she would rearrange her menus. + +"Butter fifty--my, that is high! Hasn't the new butter come in? I +had better have half a pound, I think. And the beans, and the +onions, yes. Let me see--how do you sell the canned asparagus-- +that's too much. Send me those things, Mr. O'Brien, and I'll see +what I can get in the market." + +All about her, in the heart-warming spring sunshine, other women +were mildly lamenting, mildly bartering. Martie's brain was still +busily milling, as she wheeled the coach back through the checkered +sun and shade of the elevated train. She would bump the coach down +into the area, carefully loading her arms with small packages, +catching Margar to her shoulder. + +Panting, the perspiration breaking out on her forehead, she would +enter the dining room. + +"Take her, Isabeau! My arms are breaking! Whew!--it is HOT! Not now, +Teddy, you can't have anything until lunch time. Amuse her a minute, +Isabeau, I can't take her until--I get--my breath! I had to change +dinner; he had no liver. I got veal for veal loaf; Mr. Bannister +likes that; and stuffed onions, and the pie, and baked potatoes. +Make tea. Put that down, Teddy, you can't have that. Now, my +blessedest girl, come to your mother! She's half asleep now; I'll +change her and put her out for her nap!" + +The baby fed and asleep, Ted out again, Martie would serve Wallace's +breakfast herself rather than interrupt the steady thumping of irons +in the kitchen. She tried to be patient with his long delays. + +"How's the head?" she would ask, sitting opposite him with little +socks to match, or boxed strawberries to stem. + +"Oh, rotten! I woke up when the baby did." + +"But, Wallie--that was seven o'clock! You've been asleep since." + +"Just dozing. I heard you come in!" + +"Well, I think I'll move her clothes out of that room. Aren't your +eggs good?" + +"Nope. They taste like storage. I should think we could get good +eggs now!" + +"They OUGHT to be good!" + +"You ought to get a telephone in here," he might return sourly. +"Then you could deal with some decent place! I hate the way women +pinch and squeeze to save five cents; there's nothing in it!" + +Silence. Martie's face flushed, her fingers flew. + +"What are you doing to-day?" she might ask, after a while. + +"Oh, I'll go down town, I guess. Never can tell when something'll +break. Bates told me that Foster was anxious to see me. He says +they're having a deuce of a time getting people for their plays. +Bates says to stick 'em for a couple of hundred a week." + +Martie placed small hope in such a hint, but she was glad he could. +When he had sauntered away, she would go on patiently, mixing the +baby's bottles, picking toys from the floor, tying and re-tying +Ted's shoe-laces. This was a woman's life. Martha Bannister was not +a martyr; nobody in the city could stop to help or pity her. + +The hot summer shut down upon them, and the baby drooped, even +though Martie was careful to wheel her out into the shade by the +river every day. She herself drooped, staring at life helplessly, +hopelessly. In March there would be a third child. + +After a restless night, the sun woke her, morning after morning, +glaring into her room at six. Wearily, languidly, she dressed the +twisting and leaping Teddy, fastened little Margar, with her string +of spools and her shabby double-gown, in the high-chair. The kitchen +smelled of coffee, of grease; the whole neighbourhood smelled in the +merciless heat of the summer day. Had that meat spoiled; was the +cream just a little turned? + +Ted, always absorbed in wheels, pulleys, and nails, would be in an +interrogative mood. + +"Mother, could a giant step across the East River?" + +"What was it, dear?--the water was running; Mother didn't hear you." + +"Could a giant step across a river?" + +"Why, I suppose he could. Don't touch that, Ted." + +"Could he step across the whole WORLD?" + +"I don't know. Here's your porridge, dear. Listen---" + +For Wallace was shouting. Martie would go to the bedroom door, to +interrogate the tousle-headed, heaving form under the bedclothes. + +"Say, Martie, isn't there an awful lot of noise out there?" + +Martie would stand silent for a moment. + +"You can't blame the children for chattering, Wallace." + +"Well, you tell Ted he'll catch it, if I hear any more of it!" + +She would go lifelessly back to the kitchen, to sip a cup of +scalding black coffee. Margar went into her basket for her +breakfast, banging the empty bottle rapturously against the wicker +sides as a finale. + +"Wash both their faces, Isabeau," Martie would murmur, flinging back +her head with a long, weary sigh. "There are no buttons on this +suit; I'll have to go back into Mr. Bannister's room--too bad, for +he's asleep again! Yes, dear, you may go to market and push the +carriage--DON'T ask Mother that again, Ted! I always let you go, and +you ALWAYS push Sister." Her voice would sink to a whisper, and her +face fall into her hands. "Oh, Isabeau, I do feel so wretched. +Sometimes it seems as if---However!" and with a sudden desperate +courage, Martie would rally herself. "However, it's all in the day's +work! Run down to the sidewalk, Ted, and Mother'll be right down +with the baby!" + +Coming in an hour later perhaps, Wallace, better-natured now, would +call her again. + +"Come in, Mart! Hell-oo! Is that somebody that loves her Daddy?" + +"She's just going to have her bottle, Wallie" Martie would fret. + +"Well, here! Let me give it to her." Sitting up in bed, his +nightgown falling open at the throat, Margar's father would hold out +big arms for the child. + +"No, you can't. She'll never go to sleep at that rate; and if she +misses her nap, that upsets her whole day!" + +"Lord, but you are in a grouch, Mart. For Heaven's sake, cheer up!" +Wallace, rumpling and kissing his daughter, would give her a +reproachful look. + +Martie's face always darkened resentfully at such a speech. +Sometimes she did not answer. + +"Perhaps if YOU couldn't sleep," she might say in a low, shaken +tone, "and you felt as miserable as I do, you might not be so +cheerful!" + +"Oh, well, I know! But you know it's nothing serious, and it won't +last. Forget it! After all, your mother had four children, and mine +had seven, and they didn't make such a fuss!" + +He did not mean to be unkind, she would remind herself. And what he +said was true, after all. There was nothing more to say. + +"Wallie, have you any money for the laundry?" + +"Oh, Lord! How much is it?" + +"Two dollars and thirteen cents; four weeks now." + +"Well, when does he come?" + +"To-day." + +"Well, you tell him that I'll step in to-morrow and pay the whole +thing. I'm going to see Richards to-day; I won't be home to dinner." + +"But I thought you were going to see that man in the Bronx, about +the moving picture job to-morrow?" + +"Yes, I am. What about it?" + +"Nothing. Only, Wallie, if you have dinner with Mr. Richards and all +those men, you know--you know you may not feel like--like getting up +early to-morrow!" Martie, hesitating in the doorway with the baby, +wavered between tact and truth. + +"Why don't you say I'll be drunk, while you're about it?" + +The ugly tone would rouse everything that was ugly in response. + +"Very well, I WILL say that, if you insist!" The slamming door ended +the conversation; Martie trembled as she put the child to bed. +Presently Isabeau would come to her to say noncommittally, but with +watchful, white-rimmed eyes, that Mist' Bans'ter he didn' want no +breakfuss, he jus' take hisse'f off. For the rest of the day, Martie +carried a heart of lead. + +Mentally, morally, physically, the little family steadily descended. +With Martie too ill to do more than drag herself through the autumn +days, Wallace idle and ugly, Isabeau overworked and discontented, +and bills accumulating on every side, there was no saving element +left. Desperately the wife and mother plodded on; the children must +have milk and bread, the rent-collector must be pacified if not +satisfied. Everything else was unimportant. Her own appearance +mattered nothing, the appearance of the house mattered nothing. She +pinned the children's clothing when their buttons disappeared; she +slipped a coat wearily over her house-dress, and went to the +delicatessen store five minutes before dinner-time. She was thin +enough now,--Martie, who had always longed to be thin. Sometimes, +sitting on the side of an unmade bed, with a worn little shirt of +Ted's held languidly in her hands, she would call the maid. + +"Isabeau! Hasn't Teddy a clean shirt?" + +"No, MA'AM! You put two them shirts in yo' basket 'n' says how you's +going to fix 'em!" + +"I must get at those shirts," Martie would muse helplessly. "Come, +Ted, look what you're doing! Pay attention, dear!" + +"Man come with yo meat bill, Mis' Ban'ster," Isabeau might add, +lingering in the doorway. "Ah says you's OUT." + +"Thank you, Isabeau." Perhaps Martie would laugh forlornly. "Never +mind--things must change! We can't go on THIS way!" + +Suddenly, she was ill. Without warning, without the slip or stumble +or running upstairs that she was quite instinctively avoiding, the +accident befell. Martie, sobered, took to her bed, and sent Isabeau +flying for Dr. Converse, the old physician whose pleasant wife had +often spoken to Teddy in the market. Strange--strange, that she who +so loved children should be reduced now to mere thankfulness that +the little life was not to be, mere gratitude for an opportunity to +lie quiet in bed! + +"For I suppose I should stay in bed for a few days?" Martie asked +the doctor. Until she was told she might get up. Very well, but he +must remember that she had a husband and two children to care for, +and make that soon. + +Dr. Converse did not smile in answer. After a while she knew why. +The baffling weakness did not go, the pain and restlessness seemed +to have been hers forever. Day after day she lay helpless; while +Isabeau grumbled, Margar fretted, and Teddy grew noisy and +unmanageable. Wallace was rarely at home, the dirt and confusion of +the house rode Martie's sick brain like a nightmare. She told +herself, as she lay longing for an appetizing meal, an hour's +freedom from worry, that there was a point beyond which no woman +might be expected to bear things, that if life went on in this way +she must simply turn her face to the wall and die. + +Ghost-white, she was presently on her feet. The unbearable had been +borne. She was getting well again; ridden with debts, and as shabby +and hopeless as it could well be, the Bannister family staggered on. +Money problems buzzed about Martie's eyes like a swarm of midges: +Isabeau had paid this charge of seventy cents, there was a drug bill +for six dollars and ten cents--eighty cents, a dollar and forty +cents, sixty-five cents--the little sums cropped up on all sides. + +Martie took pencil and paper, and wrote them all down. The hideous +total was two hundred and seventeen dollars on the last day of +October. But there would be rent again on the eleventh-- + +Her bright head went suddenly down on her arms. Oh, no--no--no! It +couldn't be done. It was all too hard, too bewildering-- + +Suddenly, looking at the pencilled sums, the inspiration came. Was +it a memory of those days long ago in Monroe, when she had +calculated so carefully the cost of coming on to the mysterious +fairyland of New York? As carefully now she began to count the cost +of going home. + +It was five years since she had seen her own people; and in that +time she had carried always the old resentful feeling that she would +rather die than turn to Pa for help! But she knew better now; her +children should not suffer because of that old girlish pride. + +Her mother was gone. Len and his wife, one of the lean, tall Gorman +girls, were temporarily living with Pa in the old place. Sally had +four children, Elizabeth, Billy, Jim, and Mary, and lived in the old +Mussoo place near Dr. Ben. Joe Hawkes was studying medicine, Lydia +kept house for Pa, of course, and Sally and her father were +reconciled. "We just started talking to each other when Ma was so +ill," wrote Sally, "and now he thinks the world and all of the +children." + +All these changes had filtered to Martie throughout the years. Only +a few weeks ago a new note had been sounded. Pa had asked Sally if +she ever heard of her sister; had said that Mary Hawkes was like her +Aunt Martie, "the cunningest baby of them all." + +Wild with hope, Sally had written the beloved sister. It was as if +all these years of absence had been years of banishment to Sally. +Martie recognized the unchanging Monroe standard. + +She got Sally's letter now, and re-read it. If Pa could send her a +few hundreds, if she could get the children into Lydia's hands, in +the old house in the sunken garden, if Teddy and Margar could grow +up in the beloved fogs and sunshine, the soft climate of home, then +how bravely she could work, how hopefully she could struggle to get +a foothold in the world for them! She wrote simply, lovingly, +penitently, to her father--She was convalescent after serious +illness; there were two small children; her husband was out of work; +could he forgive her and help her? In the cold, darkening days, she +went about fed with a secret hope, an abounding confidence. + +But she held the letter a fortnight before sending it. If her father +refused her, she was desperate indeed. Planning, planning, planning, +she endured the days. Wallace was not well; wretched with grippe, he +spent almost the entire day in bed when he was at home, dressing at +four o'clock and going out of the house without a farewell. +Sometimes, for two or three nights a week, Martie did not know where +he was; his friends kept him in money, and made him feel himself a +deeply wronged and unappreciated man. She could picture him in bars, +in cafes, in hot hotel rooms seriously talking over a card-table, +boasting, threatening. + +She dismissed Isabeau Eato with a promise that the girl accepted +ungraciously. + +"If I had the money Isabeau, you should have it; you know that!" + +"Yas'm. Hit's what dey all says'm." + +"You SHALL have it," Martie promised, with hot cheeks. She breathed +easier when the girl was gone. She told the grocer that she had +written her father, and that his bills should be paid; she reminded +the big rosy man that she had been ill. He listened without comment, +cleaning a split thumb-nail. The story was not a new one. + +No answer came to her letter, and a sick suspicion that no answer +would come began to trouble her. December was passing. Teddy was +careful to tell her just what he wanted from Santa Claus. On +Christmas Eve she asked Wallace, as he was silently going out, for +some money. + +"I want to get Ted SOMETHING for Christmas, Wallie." + +"What does he want?" + +"Well, of course he wants a coaster and skates, but that's absurd. I +thought some sort of a gun--he's gun-mad, and perhaps a book of +fairy-tales." + +With no further comment her husband gave her a five-dollar-bill, and +went on his way. She saw that he had other bills, and went +impulsively after him. + +"Wallie! Could you let me have a little more? I do need it so!" + +Still silent, he took the little roll from his pocket, and gave her +another five dollars. She saw still a third, and a one dollar bill. + +But this was more than her wildest hopes. Joyfully, she went, shabby +and cold, through the happy streets. She walked four blocks to a new +market, and bought bread and butter and salt codfish and a candy +cane. She went into a department store, leaving Teddy to watch the +coach on the sidewalk, and got him the gun and the book. She gave +her grocer four, her butcher three dollars, with a "Merry +Christmas!" Did both men seem a little touched, a little pitying, or +was it just the holiday air? The streets were crowded, the leaden +sky low and menacing; they would have a white Christmas. + +Teddy hung up his stocking at dark. The big things, he explained, +would have to go on the floor. + +"What big things, my heart?" Martie was toasting bread, eying the +browned fish cakes with appetite. + +"Well, the coaster or the skates!" he elucidated off-hand. + +His mother's breast rose on a long sigh. She came to put one arm +about him, as she knelt beside him on the floor. + +"Teddy, dear, didn't Mother tell you that old Santa Claus is poor +this year? He has so many, many little boys to go to! Wouldn't my +boy rather that they should all have something, than that some poor +little fellows should have nothing at all?" She stopped, sick at +heart, for the child's lip was trembling, and a hot tear fell on her +hand. + +"But--but I've been good, Mother!" he stammered with a desperate +effort at self-control. + +Well, if he could not be brave, she must be. She began to tell him +about going to California, to Grandfather's house. Later she put the +orange, the apple, the gun, with a triangle puzzle given away at the +drug store, a paper cow from the dairy, and five cents' worth of +pressed figs, into the little dangling stocking, placed the book +beside it, and hung the candy cane over all. Mrs. Converse, the +doctor's wife, had sent a big flannel duck, obviously second-hand, +but none the less wonderful for that, for Margar; Teddy had not seen +it, so it would be one more Christmas touch! + +And at eight o'clock, as she was putting her kitchen in order, a +tired driver appeared, clumsily engineering something through the +narrow hall; a great coaster, its brave red and gold showing through +the flimsy, snow-wet wrappings. + +"Teddy from Dad," Martie, bewildered, read on the card. Not to the +excited child himself would it bring the joy it gave his mother. +Poor Wallace--always generous! He had gone straight from her plea +for the boy's Christmas to spend his money for this. She hoped he +would come home to-morrow; that they might spend the day together. +Some of the shops would be open for a few hours; if he brought home +money, she could manage a chicken, and one of the puddings from the +French confectioner's-- + +Another ring at the bell? Martie wiped her hands, and went again to +the door. A telegram-- + +She tore and crumpled the wet yellow paper. The wonderful words +danced before her eyes: + +Pa says come at once told Lydia he would give you and children home +as long as he lives sends his love merry Christmas darling + +SALLY. + +Martie went back to the kitchen, and put her head down on the little +table and cried. + +Wallace did not come home for Christmas Day, nor for many days. +Teddy rejoiced in his coaster while his mother went soberly and +swiftly about her plans. Perhaps Pa had realized that she did not +actually have a cent, and was sending a check by mail. The perfect +telegram would have been just a little more than perfect, if he had +said so. But if he were not sending money, she must go nevertheless. +She must give up this house on January tenth, landlord and grocer +must trust her for the overdue rent and bill. If they would not, +well, then they must have her arrested; that was all. + +The fare to California would be less than two hundred dollars. She +was going to borrow that from John. + +Martie herself was surprised at the calm with which she came to this +decision. It had all the force of finality to her. She cared for the +hurt to her pride as little as she cared for what Rose Parker would +think of her ignominious return, as little as she cared for what the +world thought of a wife who deliberately left the father of her +children to his fate. + +Early in January she planned to take the children with her, and find +John in his office. That very day the tickets should be bought. If +Wallace cared enough for his family to come home in the meantime, +she would tell him what she was doing. But Martie hoped that he +would not. The one possible stumbling-block in her path would be +Wallace's objection; the one thing of which she would not allow +herself to think was that he MIGHT, by some hideous whim, decide to +accompany them. Thinking of these things, she went about the process +of house-cleaning and packing. The beds, the chairs, the china and +linen and blankets must bring what they could. On the third day of +the year, in his room, Martie, broom in hand, paused to study +Wallace's "chestard." That must go, too. It had always been a +cheaply constructed article, with one missing caster that had to be +supplied by a folded wedge of paper. Still, in a consignment with +other things, it would add something to the total. Martie put her +hand upon it, and rocked it. As usual, the steadying wedge of paper +was misplaced. + +She stooped to push the prop into position again; noticed that it +was a piece of notepaper, doubly folded; recognized John Dryden's +handwriting-- + +The room whirled about her as she straightened the crumpled and +discoloured sheet, and smoothed it, and grasped at one glance its +contents: + +DEAR MR. BANNISTER: + +I am distressed to hear of Mrs. Bannister's illness, and can readily +understand that she must not be burdened or troubled now. Please let +me know how she progresses, and let me be your banker again, if the +need arises. I am afraid she does not know how to save herself. + +Faithfully yours, + +JOHN DRYDEN. + +The date was mid-December. + +Martie read it once, read it again, crushed it in her hand in a +spasm of shame and pain. She brought the clenched hand that held it +against her heart, and shut her eyes. Oh, how could he--how could +he! To John, the last refuge of her wrecked life, he had closed the +way in the very hour of escape! + +For a long time she stood, leaning against the tipped chest, blind +and deaf to everything but her whirling thoughts. After a while she +looked apathetically at the clock; time for Margar's toast and +boiled egg. She must finish in here; the baby would be waking. + +Somehow she got through the cold, silent afternoon. She felt as if +she were bleeding internally; as if the crimson stain from her +shaken heart might ooze through her faded gingham. She must get the +children into the fresh air before the snow fell. + +Out of doors a silence reigned. A steady, cold wind, tasting already +of snow, was blowing. The streets were almost deserted. Martie +pushed the carriage briskly, and the sharp air brought colour to her +cheeks, and a sort of desperate philosophy to her thoughts. Waiting +for the prescription for Margar's croup, with the baby in her lap, +Martie saw herself in a long mirror. The blooming young mother, the +rosy, lovely children, could not but make a heartening picture. +Margar's little gaitered legs, her bright face under the shabby, +fur-rimmed cap; Teddy's sturdy straight little shoulders and his +dark blue, intelligent eyes; these were Martie's riches. Were not +comfort and surety well lost for them at twenty-seven? At thirty- +seven, at forty-seven, there would be a different reckoning. + +No woman's life was affected, surely, by a trifle like the tourist +fare to California, she told herself sensibly. If the money was not +to come from John, it must be forthcoming in some other way, if not +this month, then next month, or the next still. Perhaps she would +still go to John, and tell him the whole story. + +Pondering, planning, she went back to the house, her spirits sinking +as the warm air smote her, the odour of close rooms, and of the +soaking little garments in the kitchen tub. Wallace had come in, had +flung himself across his bed, and was asleep. + +Martie merely glanced at him before she set about the daily routine +of undressing the baby, setting the table, getting a simple supper +for Teddy and herself. No matter! It was only a question of a little +time, now. In ten days, in two weeks, she would be on the train; the +new fortune hazarded. The snoring sleeper little dreamed that some +of her things were packed, some of the children's things packed, +that Margar's best coat had been sent to the laundry, with the +Western trip in view; that a furniture man had been interviewed as +to the disposal of the chairs and tables. + +At six o'clock Margar, with her bottle, was tucked away in the front +room, and Martie and Teddy sat down to their meal. Roused perhaps by +the clatter of dishes, Wallace came from the bedroom to the kitchen +door, and stood looking in. + +"Wallace," Martie said without preamble, "why did you never tell me +that you borrowed money from Mr. Dryden?" + +He stared at her stupidly, still sleepy, and taken unawares. + +"He told you, huh?" he said heavily, after a pause. + +"I found his note!" Martie said, beginning to breathe quickly. + +Without glancing at Wallace, she put a buttered slice of bread +before Teddy. + +"I didn't want to distress you with it, Mart," Wallace said weakly. + +"Distress me!" his wife echoed with a bitter laugh. + +"Of course, some of it is paid back," Wallace added unconvincingly. +Martie shot him a quick, distrustful glance. Ah, if she could +believe him! "I have his note acknowledging half of it, seventy- +five," added Wallace more confidently. "I'll show it to you!" + +"I wish you would!" Martie said in cold incredulity. Teddy, deceived +by his mother's dispassionate tone, gave Wallace a warm little +smile, embellished by bread and milk. + +"I guess you've been wondering where I was?" ventured Wallace, +rubbing one big bare foot with the other, and hunching his shoulders +in his disreputable wrapper. Unshaven, unbrushed, he gave a +luxurious yawn. + +"No matter!" Martie said, shrugging. She poured her tea, noticed +that her fingernails were neglected, and sighed. + +"I don't see why you take that attitude, Mart," Wallace said mildly, +sitting down. "In the first place, I sent you a letter day before +yesterday, which Thompson didn't mail--" + +"Really!" said Martie, the seething bitterness within her making +hand and voice tremble. + +"I have the deuce of a cold!" Wallace suggested tentatively. His +wife did not comment, or show in any way that she had heard him. "I +know what you think I've been doing," he went on. "But for once, +you're wrong. A lot of us have just been down at Joe's in the +country. His wife's away, and we just cooked and walked and played +cards--and I sat in luck, too!" He opened the wallet he held in his +hands, showing a little roll of dirty bills, and Martie was ashamed +of the instant softening of her heart. She wanted money so badly! "I +was coming home Monday," pursued Wallace, conscious that he was +gaining ground, "but this damn cold hit me, and the boys made me +stay in bed." + +"Will you have some tea?" Martie asked reluctantly. He responded +instantly to her softened tone. + +"I WOULD like some tea. I've been feeling rotten! And say, Mart," he +had drawn up to the table now, and had one wrappered arm about +Teddy, "say, Mart," he said eagerly, "listen! This'll interest you. +Thompson's brother-in-law, Bill Buffington, was there; he's an +awfully nice fellow; he's got coffee interests in Costa Rica. We +talked a lot, we hit it off awfully well, and he thinks there's a +dandy chance for me down there! He says he could get me twenty jobs, +and he wants me to go back when he goes--" + +"But, Wallace--" Martie's quick enthusiasm was firing. "But what +about the children?" + +"Why, they'd come along. Buff says piles of Americans down there +have children, you just have to dress 'em light--" + +"And feed them light; that's the most important!" Martie added +eagerly. + +"Sure. And I get my transportation, and you only half fare, so you +see there's not much to that!" + +"Wallace!" The world was changing. "And what would you do?" + +"Checking cargoes, and managing things generally. We get a house, +and he says the place is alive with servants. And he asked if you +were the sort of woman who would take in a few boarders; he says the +men there are crazy for American cooking, and that you could have +all you'd take--" + +"Oh, I would!" Martie said excitedly. "I'd have nothing else to do, +you know! Oh, Wallie, I am delighted about this! I am so sick of +this city!" she added, smiling tremulously. "I am so sick of cold +and dirt and worry!" + +"Well," he smiled a little shamefacedly, "one thing you'll like. No +booze down there. Buff says there's nothing in it; it can't be done. +He says that's the quickest way for a man to FINISH himself!" + +The kitchen had been brightening for Martie with the swift changes +of a stage sunrise. Now the colour came to her face, and the happy +tears to her eyes. For the first time in many months she went into +her husband's arms, and put her own arms about his neck, and her +cheek against his, in the happy fashion of years ago. + +"Oh, Wallie, dear! We'll begin all over again. We'll get away, on +the steamer, and make a home and a life for ourselves!" + +"Don't you WANT to go, Moth'?" Teddy asked anxiously. Martie laughed +as she wiped her eyes. + +"Crying for joy, Ted," she told him. "Don't sit there sneezing, +Wallie," she added in her ordinary tone. Her husband asked her, +dutifully, if she would object to his mixing a hot whisky lemonade +for his cold. After a second's hesitation she said no, and it was +mixed, and shortly afterward Wallace went to bed and to sleep. At +eight Martie tucked Teddy into bed, straightening the clothes over +Margar before she went into the dining room for an hour of +solitaire. + +"Mrs. Bannister's Boarding House"; she liked the sound. The men +would tell each other that it was luck to get into Mrs. Bannister's. +White shoes--thin white gowns--she must be businesslike--bills and +receipts--and terms dignified, but not exorbitant--when Ted was old +enough for boarding-school--say twelve--but of course they could +tell better about that later on! + +A little sound from the front bedroom brought her to her feet, +fright clutching her heart. Margar was croupy again! + +It was a sufficiently familiar emergency, but Martie never grew used +to it. She ran to the child's side, catching up the new bottle of +medicine. A hideous paroxysm subsided as she took the baby in her +arms, but Margar sank back so heavily exhausted that no coaxing +persuaded her to open her eyes, or to do more than reject with +fretful little lips the medicine spoon. She is very ill--Martie said +to herself fearfully. She flew to her husband's side. + +"Wallie--I hate to wake you! But Margar is croupy, and I'm going to +run for Dr. Converse. Light the croup kettle, will you, I won't be a +moment!" + +His daughter was the core of Wallace's heart. He was instantly +alert. + +"Here, let me go, Mart! I'll get something on--" + +"No, no, I'm dressed! But look at her, Wallie," Martie said, as they +came together to stand by the crib. "I don't like the way she's +breathing--" + +She looked eagerly at his face, but saw only her own disquiet +reflected there. + +"Get the doctor," he said, tucking the blankets about the shabby +little double-gown. "I'll keep her warm--" + +A moment later Martie, buttoned into her old squirrel-lined coat, +was in the quiet, deserted street, which was being muffled deeper +and deeper in the softly falling snow. Steps, areas, fences, were +alike furred in soft white, old gratings wore an exquisite coating +over their dingy filigree. The snow was coming down evenly, +untouched by wind, the flakes twisting like long ropes against the +street lights. A gang of men were talking and clanking shovels on +the car tracks; an ambulance thudded by, the wheels grating and +slipping on the snow. + +Dr. and Mrs. Converse were in their dining room, a pleasant, shabby +room smelling of musk, and with an old oil painting of fruit, a cut +watermelon, peaches and grapes, a fringed napkin and a glass of red +wine, over the curved black marble mantel. The old man was enjoying +a late supper, but struggled into his great coat cheerfully enough. +Mrs. Converse tried to persuade Martie to have just a sip of sherry, +but Martie was frantic to be gone. In a moment she and the old man +were on their way, through the silent, falling snow again, and in +her own hallway, and she was crying to Wallace: "How is she?" + +The room was steamy with the fumes of the croup kettle; Wallace, the +child in his arms, met them with a face of terror. Both men bent +over the baby. + +"She seems all right again now," said Wallace in a sharp whisper, +"but right after you left--my God, I thought she would choke!" + +Martie watched the doctor's face, amazement and fright paralyzing +every sense but sight. The old man's tender, clever hands rested for +a moment on the little double-gown. + +"Well, poor little girl!" he said, softly, after a moment of pulsing +silence. He straightened up, and looked at Martie. "Gone," he said +simply. "She died in her father's arms." + +"Gone!" Martie echoed. The quiet word fell into a void of silence. +Father and mother stood transfixed, looking upon each other. Martie +was panting like a runner, Wallace seemed dazed. They stood so a +long time. + +Relief came first to Wallace; for as they laid the tiny form on the +bed, and arranged the shabby little gown about it, he suddenly fell +upon his knees, and flung one arm about his child and burst into +bitter crying. But Martie moved about, mute, unhearing, her mouth +fallen a little open, her breath still coming hard. She answered the +doctor's suggestions only after a moment's frowning concentration-- +what did he say? + +After a while he was gone, and Wallace was persuaded to go to bed +again, Teddy tucked in beside him. Then Martie lowered the light in +what had been the children's room, and knelt beside her dead. + +The snow was still falling with a gentle, ticking sound against the +window. Muffled whistles sounded on the river; the night was so +stilled that the clanking of shovels and the noise of voices came +clearly from the car-tracks at the corner. + +Hour after hour went by. Martie knelt on; she was not conscious of +grief or pain; she was not conscious of the world that would wake in +the morning, and go about its business, and of the bright sun that +would blaze out upon the snow. There was no world, no sun, no +protest, and no hope. There was only the question: Why? + +In the soft flicker of the gaslight Margar lay in unearthly beauty, +the shadow of her dark eyelashes touching her cheek, a smile +lingering on her baby mouth. She had been such a happy baby; Martie +had loved to rumple and kiss the aureole of bright hair that framed +the sleeping face. + +The old double-gown--with the middle button that did not match-- +Martie had ironed only yesterday. She would not iron it again. The +rag doll, and the strings of spools, and the shabby high-chair where +Margar sat curling her little bare toes on summer mornings; these +must vanish. The little feet were still. Gone! + +Gone, in an hour, all the dreaming and hoping. No Margar in a +cleaned coat would run about the decks of the steamer-- + +Martie pressed her hand over her dry and burning eyes. She wondered +that she could think of these things and not go mad. + +The days went by; time did not stop. Wallace remained ill; Teddy had +a cold, too. Mrs. Converse and John and Adele were there, all +sympathetic, all helpful. They were telling Martie that she must +keep up for the others. She must drink this; she must lie down. + +Presently the front room, so terribly occupied, was more terribly +empty. Little Margaret Bannister was laid beside little Mary and +Rose and Paul Converse at Mount Kisco. Children, many of them, died +thus every year, and life went on. Martie had the perfect memory, +and the memory of Adele's tears, of Mrs. Converse's tears, of John's +agony of sympathy. + +Then they all went out of her life as suddenly as they had entered +it. Only the old doctor came steadily, because of Teddy's cold and +Wallace's cold. Martie worked over their trays, read fairy-tales to +Teddy, read the newspaper to Wallace, said that she felt well, she +HAD eaten a good lunch, she WAS sleeping well. + +When the first suspicion of Wallace's condition came to her she was +standing in the kitchen, waiting for a kettle to boil, and staring +dully out into a world of frozen bareness. Margaret had been with +her a week ago; a week ago it had been her privilege to catch the +warm little form to her heart, to kiss the aureole of gold, to +listen to the shaken gurgle of baby laughter-- + +The doctor came out from Wallace's room; Martie, still wrapped in +her thoughts, listened to him absently. ... pneumonia. Suddenly she +came to herself with a shock, repeating the word. Pneumonia? What +was he saying? But, Doctor--but Doctor--is Mr. Bannister so ill? + +He was very ill; gravely ill. The fact that taken in time, and +fought with every weapon, the disease had gained, augured badly. +Martie listened in stupefaction. + +She suggested a nurse. The old doctor smiled at her affectionately. +Perhaps to-morrow, if he was no better, they might consider it. +Meanwhile, he was in excellent hands. + +A strange, silent day followed. Martie looked at her husband now +with that augmented concern that such a warning brings. He slept, +waked, smiled at her, was not hungry. His big hand, when she touched +it, was hot. Teddy, coughing, and with oil-saturated flannel over +his chest, played with his blocks and listened to fairy-tales. +Outside, a bitter cold wind swept the empty streets. Her husband +ill, perhaps dying, Margar gone; it was all unreal and unconvincing. + +At four o'clock the doctor came back, and at five the nurse +pleasantly took possession of the sick room. She was a sensible New +England woman, who cooked potatoes in an amazing way for Teddy's +supper, and taught Martie a new solitaire in the still watches of +the night. Martie was anxious to make her comfortable; she must lie +down; and she must be sure to get out into the fresh air to-morrow +afternoon. + +But Miss Swann did not leave her case the next day, a Sunday, and +Martie, awed and silent, spent the day beside the bed. Wallace died +at five o'clock. + +He wandered in a light fever that morning, and at two o'clock fell +into the stupor that was not to end in this world. But Martie had, +to treasure, the memory of the early morning when she slipped +quietly into the room that was orderly, dimly lighted, and odorous +of drugs now. He was awake then, his eyes found her, and he smiled +as she knelt beside him. + +"Better?" she said softly. + +The big head nodded almost imperceptibly. He moistened his lips. + +"I'm all right," he said voicelessly. "Bad--bad cold!" + +He shut his eyes, and with them shut, added in a whisper: "Sweet, +sweet woman, Martie! Remember that day--in Pittsville--when you had +on--your brother's--coat? Mabel--and old Jesse--!" + +Heavenly tears rushed to her eyes; she felt the yielding of her +frozen heart. She caught his hand to her lips, bowing her face over +it. + +"Ah, Wallace dear! We were happy then! We'll go back--back to that +time--and we'll start fresh!" + +A long silence. Then he opened his eyes, found her, with a start, as +if he had not been quite sure what those opening eyes would see, and +smiled sleepily. + +"I'll make it--up to you, Martie!" he said heavily She had her arms +about him as he sank into unnatural sleep. At eight, whispering in +the kitchen with John, who had come for Teddy, she said that Wallie +was better; and busy with coffee and toast for Miss Swann, she began +to plan for Costa Rica. Beaten, crushed, purified by fire, healed by +tears, she was ready for life again. + +But that was not to be. Wallace was dead, and those who gathered +about Martie wondered that she wept for her husband more than for +her child. + +Wept for the wasted life, perhaps, and for the needless suffering +and sorrow. But even in the first hours of her widowhood Martie's +heart knew a deep and passionate relief. Vague and menacing as was +the future, stretching before her, she knew that she would never +wish Wallace back. + + + + +BOOK III + +CHAPTER I + + +There were times when Martie found it difficult to believe that she +had ever been away from Monroe at all; evenings, when she and Lydia +sat talking in the shabby sitting room of the old house; or mornings +when she fed the chickens in the soft fog under the willow trees of +the yard. Len and Sally were married and gone, dear Ma was gone, and +Belle had married, too; a tall gaunt woman called Pauline was in her +place. + +But these things might all have transpired without touching Martie's +own life directly. She might still, in many ways, have been the +dreaming, ambitious, helpless girl of seven years ago. Sometimes the +realization of all she had endured came to her with an odd sense of +shock. She would glance down at her thin hand, in its black cuff, +and fall into deep musing, her face grave and weary. Or she would +call Teddy from his play, and hold his warm little body close, +staring at him with a look that always made the child uneasy. Third +Avenue, barred with sun and shade, in the early summer mornings; +Broadway on a snowy winter afternoon with the theatre crowd +streaming up and down, spring and babies taking possession of the +parks--were these all a dream? + +No; she had gained something in the hard years; she saw that more +and more. Her very widowhood to Monroe had the stamp of absolute +respectability. Even Pa was changed toward her; or was it that she +was changed toward him? However caused, in their relationship there +was a fundamental change. + +Pa had been a figure of power and tyranny seven years ago. Now he +seemed to Martie only an unreasonable, unattractive old man, +thwarted in his old age in everything his heart desired. Lydia was +still tremblingly filial in her attitude toward Pa, but Martie at +once assumed the maternal. She scolded him, listened to him, and +dictated to him, and he liked it. Martie had never loved him as +Lydia did; she had defied and disobeyed and deserted him, yet he +transferred his allegiance to her now, and clung to her helplessly. + +He liked to have her walk down to his office beside him in the +mornings, in her plain black. While they walked he pointed out +various pieces of property, and told her how cheaply they had been +sold forty years ago. The whole post-office block had gone for seven +hundred dollars, the hotel site had been Mason's cow-yard! Old man +Sark had lived there, and had refused to put black on his house when +Lincoln was assassinated. + +"And didn't he go to jail for that, Pa?" + +"Yes, ma'am, he did!" + +"But YOU--" + +"I was in jail, too." Malcolm Monroe would chuckle under his now +gray moustache that was yellowed with tobacco stains. "Yes, sir, I +rounded up some of the boys, the Twentyonesters, we called +ourselves, and we led a riot 'round this town! The ringleaders were +arrested, but that was merely a form--merely a form!" + +"You must have been a terror, Pa." + +"Well--well, I had a good deal of your grandmother's spirit! And I +suppose they rather looked to me to set the pace--" + +Smiling, they would go along in the sunlight, past the little homes +where babies had been turned out into grassy yards, past the +straggling stables and the smithy, and the fire-house, and the +office of the weekly Zeus. There was more than one garage in Monroe +now and the squared noses of Ford cars were at home everywhere. +Mallon's Hardware Emporium, the Five-and-Ten-Cent Store, still with +its pillars of twisted handkerchiefs, Mason and White's--how +familiar they were! And the old Bank, with its wide windows and +double roller shades was familiar, too. Martie learned that the Bank +had duly worn black a year or two ago for kindly old Colonel Frost; +his name had been obliterated from the big window, and Clifford +Frost was vice-president now. + +"One death is two deaths, they say," Lydia had sighed, telling +Martie of the Colonel's death. "You know Cliff's wife died only two +months before his father did. That was a terrible thing! Her little +girl was seven years old, and she was going to have another--" + +When Martie, in the early afternoon of a warm sweet day on mid- +February, had stepped from the train, with Teddy's little fingers +held tight in hers, Sally's face, running over with tears and +smiles, had been the first she found. Curiously changed, yet +wonderfully familiar, the sisters had clung together, hardly knowing +how to begin their friendship again after six long years. There were +big things to say, but they said the little things. They talked +about the trip and the warm weather that had brought the buttercups +so soon, and the case that had kept Pa on jury duty in Pittsville. + +Len--rather pompous, and with a moustache!--explained why his wife +could not be there: the two-year-old daughter was not very well. +Martie questioned him eagerly of his two children. Both girls, Len +said gloomily; he asked his sister if she realized that there was +not a Monroe yet. + +Lydia wept a few tears; "Martie, dear, to see you in black!" and +Martie's eyes watered, and her lip shook. + +"Grace and all the others would have come," Sally said quickly, "but +we knew you'd be tired, and then it's homecoming, Martie, and you'll +have lots of time to see us all!" + +She introduced Elizabeth, a lovely, fly-away child with bright loose +hair, and Billy, a freckled, ordinary-looking boy, who gave his aunt +a beautiful smile from large, dark eyes. The others were left with +"Mother"--Joe's mother. + +"But, Sally, you're so fat!" + +"And, Mart, you're so thin!" + +"Never mind; it's becoming to you, Sally. You look still like a +little girl. Really, you do! And how's Joe?" + +"Oh, Joe's lovely. I went down and spent a week with him. I had the +choice of that or a spring suit, and I took that!" + +"Went--but where is he? I suppose he hasn't been sent to San +Quentin?" + +"Oh, Martie, don't! You know Russell Harrison, 'Dutch's' cousin, +that used to play with Len, really WAS sent there!" + +"For Heaven's sake, what for?" + +"Well, Hugh Wilson had some trouble with Paul King, and--it was +about money--and Russell Harrison went to Hughie and told him--" + +So the conversation was diverted over and over again; and the +inessential things were said, and the important ones forgotten. Len +had borrowed the firm's motor car, and they all got in. Martie, used +to Wallace's careless magnificence, was accustomed enough to this +mode of travel, but she saw that it was a cause of great excitement +to the children, and even to Sally. + +"You say the 'firm,' Len--I'll never get used to my little brother +with a moustache! What do you mean by the 'firm?'" asked Martie. "My +goodness--goodness--goodness, there's the Library and Lacey's!" she +added, her eyes eagerly roving the streets. + +"Miss Fanny is still there; she always speaks so affectionately of +you, Martie," said Lydia eagerly and tremulously. Martie perceived +that in some mysterious way Lydia was ill at ease. Lydia did not +quite know how to deal with a younger sister who was yet a widow, +and had lived in New York. + +"There was an awful lot of talk about getting her out of the +Library," contributed Sally; "they said the Streets were at the back +of it; they wanted to put a man in! There was the greatest +excitement; we all went down to the Town Hall and listened to the +speeches--it was terrific! I guess the Streets and their crowd felt +pretty small, because they got--what was it, Len?" + +"Seventeen votes out of one hundred and eleven!" Len said, not +moving his eyes from the road before him. + +"My house is right down there, next door to Uncle Ben's," said +Sally, craning her neck suddenly. "You can't see it, but no matter; +there's lots of time! Here's the Hawkes's place; remember that?" + +"I remember everything," Martie said, smiling. "We're nearly home!" + +The old Monroe house looked shabby, even in the spring green. Martie +had seen the deeper, fresher green of the East for six successive +springs. The eucalyptus trees wore their tassels, the willows' fresh +foliage had sprung over the old rusty leaves. A raw gateway had been +cut, out by the old barn, into Clipper Lane, and a driveway filled +in. Tired, confused, train-sick, Martie got down into the old yard, +and the old atmosphere enveloped her like a garment. The fuchsia +bushes, the marguerites so green on top, so brown and dry under +their crown of fresh life, the heliotrope sprawling against the +peeling boards under the dining-room windows, and tacked in place +with strips of kid glove--how well she knew them! + +They went in the side door, and through the dark dining room, +odorous of vegetable soup and bread and butter. An unearthly quiet +held the house. Pa's door was closed; Martie imagined the room +darker and more grim than ever. + +Lydia had given her her old room; the room in which she and Sally +had grown to womanhood. It was as clean and bare as a hotel room. +Lydia and Sally had discussed the advisability of a bowl of flowers, +but had decided flowers might remind poor Mart of funerals. Martie +remembered the counterpane on the bed and the limp madras curtains +at the windows. She put her gloves in a bureau drawer lined with +folded newspaper, and hung her wraps in the square closet that was, +for some unimaginable reason, a step higher than the room. + +Lydia sat on the bed, and Sally on a chair, while Martie slowly +moved about her new domain. The children had gone into the yard, +'Lizabeth and Billy charged not to let their little cousin get his +clothes dirty; when the trunks came, with his overalls, he could get +as dirty as he pleased. + +The soiled, tumbled contents of the hand bag, after the five days' +trip, filled Martie with a sort of weary concern. She stood, +puzzling vaguely over the damp washcloth that was wrapped about a +cake of soap, the magazines of which she had grown so tired, the +rumpled night-wear. + +"I suppose I should hang these up; we may not get the trunks to- +night." + +"Oh, you will!" Lydia reassured her. A certain blankness fell on +them all. It was the glaring spring hour of four o'clock; not lunch +time, nor dinner time, nor bed time, nor time to go to market. +Suddenly a tear fell on Martie's hand; she sniffed. + +"Ah, don't, Mart!" Lydia said, fumbling for her own handkerchief. +"We know--we know how hard it is! Your husband, and Ma not here to +welcome you--" + +The sisters cried together. + +But she slept well in the old walnut bed, and enjoyed a delicious, +unfamiliar leisure the next morning, when Teddy was turned out to +the safety of the yard, and Pa, after paternally reassuring her as +to her welcome and pompously reiterating that her old father's home +was hers for the rest of her life, was gone. She and Lydia talked +deeply over the breakfast table, while Pauline rattled dishes in the +kitchen and a soft fog pressed against the windows. + +Martie had said that she was going over to Sally's immediately after +breakfast, but, in the old way, time drifted by. She went upstairs +to make her bed, and she and Lydia talked again, from doorway to +doorway. When they were finally dressed to walk down town, Lydia +said that she might as well go to market first; they could stop at +Sally's afterward. + +Teddy galloped and curveted about them; Monroe enchanted Teddy. The +sunshine was just pushing back the fog, and the low hills all about +the town were coming into view, when Martie took her son in to meet +Miss Fanny. + +Grayer and thinner, the librarian was otherwise unchanged. The old +strong, coarse voice, the old plain dress, serviceable and +comfortable, the old delighted affection. Miss Fanny wore glasses +now; she beamed upon Teddy as she put them on, after frankly wiping +her eyes. + +She made a little fuss about Martie's joining the Library, so that +Teddy could take home "Davy and the Goblin." + +They went out into the warming, drying Main Street again; everywhere +Martie was welcomed. In the shops and on the street humble old +friends eyed her black respectfully. + +The nervousness that she had felt about coming back began to melt +like the mist itself. She had dreaded Monroe's old standards, +dreaded Rose and Len, and the effect her poverty must have on them. +Now she began to see that Rose mattered as little here as she had +mattered when Martie was struggling in East Twenty-sixth Street. +Rose "went" with the Frosts and the Streets and the Pattersons now. +Her intimate friend was Dr. Ellis's wife, a girl from San Francisco. + +"Shall we go in for a minute, and make a little visit?" said Lydia, +as she had said years ago, whenever they passed the church. Martie +nodded. They creaked into the barnlike shabbiness of the edifice; +the little red light twinkled silently before the altar. Clara +Baxter was tiptoeing to and fro with vases. Teddy twisted and +turned, had to be bumped to his knees, was warned in a whisper that +he must not talk. + +Father Martin was not well; he had an assistant, Lydia said. The +bishop wanted to establish a convent here, and old Mrs. Hanson had +left eleven hundred dollars for it. Gertie Hanson lived in +Fruitvale; she was married to a widower. She had threatened to fight +the will, but people said that she got quite a lot of money; the +Hansons were richer than any one thought. Anyway, she had not put up +a gravestone to her mother yet, and Alice Clark said that Gertie had +said that she couldn't afford it. + +"Why, that house must have been worth something!" Martie commented, +picking up the threads with interest. + +"Well, wouldn't you think so!" Lydia said eagerly. + +The morning had been so wasted that Sally was in a whirl of dinner- +getting when they reached her house. She had her hearty meal at noon +on the children's account; her little kitchen was filled with smoke +and noise. To-day she had masses of rather dark, mushy boiled rice, +stewed neck of lamb, apples, and hot biscuits. Martie, fresh from +New York's campaign of dietetic education, reflected that it was +rather unusual fare for small children, but Sally's quartette was +healthy-looking enough, and full of life and excitement. 'Lizabeth +set the table; there was great running about, and dragging of +chairs. + +Martie studied her sister with amused admiration. There was small +room for maternal vapours in Sally's busy life. Her matter-of-fact +voice ruled the confusion. + +"Jim, you do as 'Lizabeth tells you, or you'll get another whipping, +sir! Pour that milk into the pitcher, Brother. Put on both sugar +bowls, darling; Brother likes the brown. Martie, dearest, I am +ashamed of this muss, but in two minutes I'll have them all started- +-there's baby--'Lizabeth, there's baby; you'll have to go up--" + +"I'll go up!" Lydia and Martie said together. Martie went through +the bare little hallways upstairs, and peeped into shabby bedrooms +full of small beds and dangling nightgowns and broken toys. + +Mary was sitting up in her crib, tumbled, red-cheeked, tears hanging +on her lashes. The room was darkened for her nap; she wore a worn +little discoloured wrapper; she clung to her rag doll. Martie, with +deathly weakness sweeping over her, smiled, and spoke to her. The +baby eyed her curiously, but she was not afraid. Martie picked her +up, and stood there holding her, while the knife turned and twisted +in her heart. + +After a while she wrapped a blanket about Mary, and carried her +downstairs. Sally saw that Martie's face was ashen, and she knew +why. Lydia saw nothing. Lydia would have said that Martie had placed +poor Wallace's picture on her bureau that morning, and had talked +about him, calmly and dry-eyed; so why should she feel so much more +for her baby? Teddy had been a little strange, if eagerly friendly, +with his other cousins; but he knew how to treat Mary. He picked up +the things she threw down from her high-chair, and tickled her, and +made her laugh. + +"If this elaborate and formal meal is dinner, Sally dear, what is +supper?" + +"Oh, Martie, it's so delicious to hear you again! Why, supper will +be apple sauce and bread and butter and milk, and gingerbread and +cookies. It's the same the year round! I like it, really; after we +go up to Pa's to supper the children don't sleep well, and neither +do I." + +"You haven't told me yet where Joe is." + +"Oh, I know, and I WILL! We get talking, and somehow there's so much +to say. Why, Joe's finishing his course at Cooper's College in San +Francisco; he'll graduate this May. Dr. J. F. Hawkes; isn't that +fun!" + +"A regular doctor!" Martie exclaimed. "But--but is he going to BE +one?" + +"BE one! I should think he is!" Sally announced proudly. "Uncle Ben +says he's a born doctor--" + +"And how long has it been UNCLE Ben?" + +"Oh, 'Lizabeth adopted him. He adores the children." + +"He loaned Joe the money," Lydia said with her old air of delicately +emphasizing an unsavoury truth. + +Sally gave her younger sister a rather odd look at this, but she did +not deny the statement. + +"And who keeps the quartette going?" asked Martie, glancing about. + +"Joe's people; and Pa does send barrels of apples and things, +doesn't he, Sally?" Lydia supplied. + +"Oh, yes; we only pay twelve dollars rent, and we live very +cheaply!" Sally said cheerfully, with another mysterious look. + +A day or two later, when they were alone, she told Martie the whole +truth. + +"It's Uncle Ben, of course, Mart; you remember his old offer, if +ever I had any children? He pays me twelve hundred a year for my +four. Nobody knows it, not even Lyd. People would only talk, you +know, and it's none of their affair. It's his fad, you know. We +married young, and Joe had no profession. Uncle Ben thinks the State +ought to pay women for bearing children. He says it's their business +in life. Women are taking jobs, foregoing marriage, and the nation +is being robbed of citizens. He believes that the hardest kind of +work is the raising of children, and the women who do it for the +State ought to be paid by the State. He does it for me, and I feel +as if he was a relation. It's meant everything to Joe and me, and +the children, too. Sometimes, when I stop to think of it, it is a +little queer, but--when you think of the way people DO spend money, +for orchids or old books or rugs--it's natural after all! He simply +invests in citizens, that's what he says. I would have had them +anyway, but I suppose, indeed I know, Mart, that there are lots of +women who wouldn't!" + +"And is he financing Joe, too?" + +"Oh, no, indeed! Uncle Ben never speaks of money to me; I don't ever +get one cent except my regular allowance. Why, when Joe was ill, and +one of the babies--Billy, it was--was coming, he came in to see me +now and then, but he never said boo about helping! Joe is working +his way; he's chauffeur for Dr. Houston; that's something else +nobody knows." + +"I think that's magnificent of Joe!" Martie said, her face glowing. + +"He graduates this year," Sally said proudly, "and then I think he +will start here. For a long time we thought we'd have to move away +then, because every one remembers little Joe Hawkes delivering +papers, and working in the express office. But now that the +hospital, up toward the Archer place, is really going to be built, +Uncle Ben says that Joe can get a position there. It's Dr. Knowles's +hospital, and Uncle Ben is his best friend. Of course that's big +luck for Joe." + +"Not so much luck," Martie said generously, "as that Joe has worked +awfully hard, and done well." + +"Oh, you don't know how hard, Mart! And loving us all as he does, +too, and being away from us!" Sally agreed fervently. "But if he +really gets that position, with my hundred, we'll be rich! We'll +have to keep a Ford, Mart; won't that be fun?" + +"Dr. Ben might die, Sally," Martie suggested. + +"That wouldn't make any difference," the older sister said +composedly. "I have the actual deeds--the titles, whatever they are- +-to the property MY money comes from. He gave me them a year ago, +when he was sixty. I certainly dread the talk there'll be when his +will comes to light, but Joe will be here then, and Joe isn't afraid +of any one." + +"He's done for you what Pa should have done," Martie mused. + +"Oh, well, Pa did his best for us, Mart." Sally said dutifully; "he +gave us a good home--" + +"WAS it a good home?" Martie questioned mildly. + +"It was a much finer home than MY children have, Mart." + +"As far as walls and tables and silver spoons, I suppose it was. +But, Sally, there's no child alive who has a sweeter atmosphere than +this--always with mother, always learning, and always considered! +Why, my boy is blooming already in it!" + +Sally's face flushed with pleasure. + +"Martie, you make me so proud!" + +"If you can only keep it up, Sally. With me it doesn't matter so +much, because I've only the one, and no husband whose claims might +interfere. But when 'Lizabeth and Mary, as well as the boys, are +older--" + +"You mean--always let them have their friends at the house, and so +on?" Sally asked slowly. + +"Yes, but more than that! Let them feel as much a part of the world +as the boys do. Put them into any work--only make them respect it!" + +"Pa might have helped us, only neither you nor I, nor Lyd, ever +showed the least interest in work," Sally submitted thoughtfully. + +"Neither did Len--but he MADE Len!" + +"Yes, I see what you mean," Sally admitted with an awakening face. +"But we would have thought he was pretty stern, Mart," she added. + +"Just as children do when they have to learn to read and write," +countered Martie. "Don't you see?" + +Sally did not see, but she was glad to see Martie's interest. She +told Lydia later that Martie really seemed better and more like her +old self, even in these few days. + +With almost all the women of Monroe, Lydia now considered Martie's +life a thing accomplished, and boldly accomplished. To leave home, +to marry, to have children in a strange city, to be honorably +widowed and to return to her father's home, and rear her child in +seclusion and content; this was more than fell to the lot of many +women. Lydia listened with actual shudders to Martie's casually +dropped revelations. + +"This John Dryden that I told you about, Lyd--the man who wrote the +play that failed--was anxious for me to go on with the Curley +boarding-house," Martie said one day, "and sometimes now I think I +should have done so." + +"Good heavens!" Lydia, smoothing the thin old blankets on Martie's +wide, flat bed, stopped aghast. "But why should you--Pa is more than +willing to have you here!" + +"I know, darling. But what really deterred me was not so much Pa's +generosity, but the fact that I would have had to lease the property +for three years; George Curley wanted to be rid of the +responsibility. And to really make the thing a success, I should +have had the adjoining house, too; that would have been about four +thousand rent." + +"Four thousand--Martie, you would have been crazy!" + +Martie, tinkling pins into a saucer on the bureau, opening the upper +drawer to sweep her brush and comb into it, and jerking the limp +linen scarf straight, only smiled and shrugged in answer. She had +been widowed three months, and already reviving energy and self- +confidence were running in her veins. Already she realized that it +had been a mistake to accept her father's hospitality in the first +panic of being dependent. However graceful and dignified her +position was to the outsider's eye, in this old house in the sunken +block, she knew now that Pa was really unable to offer her anything +more than a temporary relief from financial worry, and that her +chances of finding employment in Monroe as compared to New York were +about one to ten. + +Malcolm Monroe had been deeply involved for several years in "the +firm" by which term he and Len referred to their real estate +business together. A large tract of grassy brown meadow, south of +the town, had been in his possession for thirty years; it was only +with the opening of the new "Monroe's Grove" that he had realized +its possibilities, or rather that Len had realized them. + +Len had held one or two office positions in Monroe unsatisfactorily +before his twentieth year, and then had persuaded his father to send +him to Berkeley, to the State University. Ma and Lydia had been +proud of their under-graduate for one brief year, then Len was back +again, disgusted with study. After a few months of drifting and +experimenting, the brilliant idea of developing the old south tract +into building sites had occurred to Len, and presently his father +was also persuaded that here was a splendid opportunity. A little +office on Main Street was rented, and its window embellished with +the words "Own a Home in the Monroe Estates." Len really worked +violently for a time; he rode his bicycle back and forth tirelessly. +He married, and moved out into the Estates, and he personally +superintended the work that went on there. Streets and plots were +laid out, trees planted, the fresh muddy roads were edged with +pyramids of brown sewer pipes. + +The financial outlay was enormous, unforeseen. Taxes went up, +sidewalks crumbled back into the grass again, the four or five +unfenced little wooden houses that were erected and occupied added +to the general effect of forlornness. The Estates were mortgaged, +and to the old mortgage on the homestead another was added. + +Len took Martie out to see the place. Slim little trees were bending +in a sharp April wind; a small woman at the back of one of the small +houses was taking whipping clothes from a line. The streets were +deep in mud; Martie smiled as she read the crossposts: "High +Street," "Maple Avenue," and "Sunset Avenue." Here and there a sign +"Sold" embellished a barren half-acre. + +"You've really done wonders, Len," she said encouragingly. "And of +course there's nothing like LAND for making money!" + +"Oh, there's a barrel of money in it," he answered dubiously, +kicking a lump of dirt at his feet. They had left the little car at +a comparatively dry crossing, and were walking about. "We've put in +a hundred more trees this year, and I think we'll start another +house pretty soon." And when they got back in the car, his face +flushed from vigorous cranking, he added, "I talked Pa into getting +the car; it makes it look as if we were making money!" + +"Of course it does," Martie said amiably. She thought her own +thoughts. + +Lydia had nothing but praise for Len; he had worked like a Trojan, +she said. And Pa had been wonderfully patient and good about the +whole thing. + +"Pa was telling me the other day that he could have gotten ever so +much money for this place, if he had had it levelled the time the +whole town was," Lydia said, in her curious tone that was +triumphantly complaining, one day. + +"I wonder what it's worth, as it stands," mused Martie. + +"Oh, Martie, I don't know! I don't know anything about it; he just +happened to say that!" + +It was later on this same day that Martie went in to see Miss Fanny, +and put her elbows on the desk, resting her troubled face in her +hands. + +"Miss Fanny, sometimes I despair! Heaven knows I have had hard +knocks enough, and yet I never learn," she burst out. "Seven years +ago I used to come in here to you, and rage because I was so +helpless! Well, I've had experience since, bitter experience, and +yet here I am, helpless and a burden still!" + +Miss Fanny smiled her wide, admiring smile. Without a word she +reached to a shelf behind her, and handed Martie a familiar old +volume: "Choosing a Life Work." The colour rushed into Martie's face +as she took it. + +"I'll read it NOW!" she said simply. + +"If you really want to work, Martie," suggested the older woman, +"why don't you come in here with me? Now that we've got the Carnegie +endowment, we have actually appropriated a salary for an assistant." + +Martie looked at her thoughtfully, looked backward perhaps over the +long years. + +"I will," she said. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +There was a storm at home over this decision, but Martie weathered +it. Even Sally demurred, observing that people would talk. But one +or two persons approved, and if Martie had needed encouragement, it +would not have been wanting. + +One of her sympathizers was Dr. Ben. The two had grown to be good +friends, and Martie's boy was as much at home in the little crowded +garden and the three-peaked house as Sally's children were. + +"You're showing your common sense, Martie," said the old man; "stick +to it. I don't know how one of your mother's children ever came to +have your grit!" + +"I seem to have brought little enough back from New York," Martie +said a little sadly. "But at least what Monroe thinks doesn't matter +to me any more! People do what they like in the East." + +"You're coming on!" Dr. Ben smiled at his velvet wallflowers. + +Surprisingly, Joe Hawkes was another ally. He came back in May, +penniless, but full of honours, and with his position in the new +hospital secure. A small, second-hand car, packed with Hawkeses of +all ages, began to be seen in Monroe streets, and Sally grew rosier +and fatter and more childish-looking every day. Sally would never +keep her hair neat, or care for hands or complexion, but evidently +Joe adored her as he had on their wedding day. + +"Your father'll have nothing to leave, Martie," Joe said. "What +little the Estates don't eat up must go to Lydia, and if you make a +start here, why, you'll move on to something better!" + +"Miss Fanny hasn't moved on to something better," Martie submitted +with a dubious smile. + +"Miss Fanny isn't you, Mart. She's gotten a long way for her. You +know her father was the Patterson's hired man, and her mother +actually had town help for a while, when he died. Now they have that +cottage free of debt, and something in the Bank, and Miss Fanny +belongs to the woman's club--that's enough for her. You can do +better, and you will!" + +"I like you, Joe!" said Martie at this, quite frankly, and her +brother-in-law's pleasant eyes met hers as he said: + +"I like you, too!" + +Sally, herself, did not belong to the Woman's Social and Civic Club; +a fact that caused her some chagrin. Rose had actually been +president once, as had May Parker, and among the thirty-six or seven +members she and May were pleasantly prominent. + +"I never see Rose, but I should have thought she might elect me to +the club," Sally said to Martie. "Unless, of course," she added, +brightening, "Rose realizes how busy I am, and that it really would +be an extravagance." + +"But why do you want to go, Sis? What do they do--sit around and +read papers?" + +"Oh, well, they have tea, and they entertain visitors in town. And +they have a historical committee to keep up the fountains and +statues--well, I don't care!" Sally interrupted herself with a +reluctant smile as Martie laughed. "It makes me sick for Rose to +have everything and always be so smug!" + +"Oh, Sally Price Hawkes! Look at the children, and look at Joe, +covering himself with glory!" + +"Well, I know." Sally looked ashamed. "But sometimes it does seem as +if it wasn't fair!" + +"I met Rodney Parker the other day," Martie said thoughtfully. "It +isn't that he wasn't extremely pleasant--not to say flattering! No +one could have been more so. He told me that Rose was in the +hospital, and that they had been so busy since I got to town--I told +you all this? But as we parted my only thought was gratitude to +Heaven that I had never married Rodney Parker!" + +Lydia, sitting sewing near by, coloured with shame at the indelicacy +of this, and made her characteristic comment. + +"You don't mean that you--ALWAYS felt so, Martie?" + +"Always!" Martie echoed healthily. "Why, I was crazy about him." + +Lydia visibly shrank. + +"He's so LIMITED" Martie continued with spirit. "I'm glad that +things have gone well with them, and that they have a baby at last! +But to sit opposite that pleasant, fat face--he is getting quite +fat!--and hear that complacent voice all the days of my life, those +little puns, and that cheerful way of implying that he is the +greatest man since Alexander--no, I couldn't!" + +"He has built Rose a lovely home, and made her a very happy woman," +Lydia said sententiously. + +"Well, I suppose that when I thought of marrying Rod, I thought of +the old house," Martie pursued. "Of course, they HAVE built a nice +home, but the glory for me was the old place! Rose has a big drawing +room, and a big bedroom, and a guest's bath, and pantries and a side +porch--but I like your house better, Sally, with its trees and +flowers and babies!" + +"You're just SAYING that!" Sally observed. + +"I like civic pride," Martie, who was rambling on in her old +inconsequential way, presently added, "but Rod is merely SMUG. I +happened to mention some building in New York--I didn't know what to +talk to the man about! He immediately told me that the Mason +building down town was reinforced concrete throughout. I said that I +had always missed the orchards in the East, and he said, with such +an unpleasant laugh, 'We lead the world, Martie, you can't get away +from it. Do you suppose I'd stay here one moment if I didn't think +that there is a better chance of making money right here to-day than +anywhere else in the world?'" + +She had caught his tone, and Sally disrespectfully laughed. + +"Well, I know he is one of our most prominent young men, and Rose +was president of the club, and I suppose we less fortunate people +can talk all we please, they'll be just that much better off than we +are!" Lydia said with a little edge to her voice. + +"Because his father is rich, Lyd. If it wasn't for the dear old +Judge, who pioneered and mined and planned and foresaw, where would +Rod be to-day, telling me that HE thought it best that Rose should +nurse the baby, and that he does this and thinks that?" + +"Oh, no, Mart, you can't say that. Rodney is really an awfully +clever, steady fellow!" Sally said quickly. + +"Sometimes I think we talk lightly about making money," said Lydia, +"but it's not such an easy thing to do!" + +Martie coloured. + +"Well, I'm making a start!" she said cheerfully. It was Lydia's turn +to colour with resentment; she thought that Martie's acceptance of +Miss Fanny's offer was something only a trifle short of disgrace. + +In the pleasant summer mornings Martie walked down town with her +father, as she had done since she came home. But she left him at the +big brick doorway of the Library now, and by the time the fogs had +risen from Main Street, she was tied into her silicia apron and +happily absorbed in her work. She and Miss Fanny tiptoed about the +wide, cool spaces of the airy rooms, whispering, conferring. +Sometimes, in mid-morning, Teddy came gingerly in with Aunt Lydia. + +"You're talking out loud, Moth'!" + +"Because there's nobody else here, darling!" + +Martie would catch the child to her heart with a joyous laugh. She +was expanding like a flower in sunlight. Her work interested her, +she liked to pick books for boys and girls, old women and children. +She liked moving about in a businesslike way--not a casual caller, +but a part of the institution. She had long, whispered +conversations, at the desk, with Dr. Ben, with the various old +friends. Sometimes Sally brought the baby in, and Martie sat Mary on +the desk, and talked with one arm about the soft little body. + +Her duties were simple. She mastered them, to Miss Fanny's +amazement, on the very first day, and in a week she felt herself +happily at home. + +All Monroe passed before her desk, and every one stopped for a +whispered chat. Martie came to like the wet days, when the rain +slashed down, and the boys, reading at the long table, rubbed wet +shoes together. There was a warmth and brightness and openness about +the Library entirely different from the warmest home. And she took a +deep interest in the members, advised them as to books, and held +good books for them. She studied human nature under her green +hanging-lamp; her eager eyes and brain were never satisfied. Not the +least advantage to her new work was that she could carry home the +new books. + +Where the happiness that began to flood her heart and soul came from +had its source she could not tell. Like all happiness, it was made +of little things; elements that had always been in Monroe, but that +she had not seen before. She was splendidly well, as Teddy was, and +their laughter made the days bright in the old house. Also she was +lovely to look upon, and she must have been blind not to know it. +Her tall, erect figure looked its best in plain black; Martie would +never be fat again; her skin was like an apple blossom, white +touched deeply with rose, her eyes, with their tender sadness and +veiled mirth, were more blue than ever. Monroe came to know her +buoyant step, her glittering, unconquered hair, her voice that had +in it tones unfamiliar and charming. She scattered her gay and +friendly interest everywhere; the women said that she had something, +not quite style, better than style, an "air." + +One summer day Lydia saw her absorbed in the closely written sheets +of a long letter from New York. + +"It's from Mr. Dryden, my friend there." Martie said, in answer to +her mild look of questioning. "Don't you remember that I told you he +had written a play that no manager would produce?" + +"You didn't tell ME, dear," Lydia amended, darning industriously. + +"Oh, yes, I did, Lyddy! I remember telling you!" + +"No, dear, perhaps you thought you did," Lydia persisted. + +"Oh, well! Anyway, I wrote and suggested that he try to get it +published instead, and my dear--it's to be published next month. +Isn't that glorious?" + +"That is all worn under the arms," Lydia murmured over an old waist +that had been for months in her sewing basket, "I believe I will cut +off the buttons and give it to the poor!" + +"The old idiot!" Martie mused over her letter. + +"Does his wife encourage this writing, Martie?" + +"Adele? She isn't with him now at all. She's left him, in fact. I +believe she wants a divorce." + +"Oh?" Lydia commented, in a peculiar tone. + +"He wrote me that some weeks ago," Martie explained, suddenly +flushing. "She was a queer, unhappy sort of woman. She and this +doctor of hers had some sort of affair, and the outcome was that she +simply went to friends, and wrote John a hysterical girly-girly sort +of letter--" + +"John?" + +"Mr. Dryden, that is." + +"He must be crushed and heartbroken," Lydia said emphatically. + +"Well, no, he isn't," Martie said innocently. "He isn't like other +people. If she wants a divorce--John won't mind awfully. He's +really--really unusual." + +"He must be," Lydia said witheringly, and trembling a little with +excitement, "to let his own wife leave him while he writes letters +asking the advice of a--a--another woman who is recently--recently +widowed!" + +Martie glanced at her, smiled a little, shrugged her shoulders, and +calmly re-read her letter. + +Lydia resumed her work, a flush on her cheeks. + +"He can't have much respect for you, Martie," she said quietly, +after a busy silence. + +Martie looked up, startled. + +"John can't? Oh, but Lyddy, you don't know him! He's such an +innocent goose; he absolutely depends upon me! Why, fancy, he's the +man who wanted me to open the boarding-house so that he and his wife +could live there--he's as simple as that!" + +"As simple as what?" Lydia asked with her deadly directness. + +"Well--I mean--that if there were anything--wrong in his feeling for +me--" Martie floundered. + +"Oh, Martie, Martie, Martie, I tremble for you!" Lydia said sadly. +"A married man, and you a married woman! My dear, can't you see how +far you've drifted from your own better self to be able to laugh +about it?" + +"You goose!" Martie kissed the cool, lifeless cheek before she ran +upstairs with her letter. John's straight-forward sentences kept +recurring to her mind through many days. His letter seemed to bring +a bracing breath of the big city. A day or two later she and Teddy +chanced to be held in mid-street while the big Eastern passenger +train thundered by, and she shut her fingers on John's letter in her +pocket, and said eagerly, confidently, "Oh, New York! I wish I was +going back!" + +But Lydia wore a grave face for several days, and annoyed and amused +her younger sister with the attitude that something was wrong. + +Lydia had changed more than any one of them, Martie thought, +although her life was what it had always been. She had been born in +the old house, and had moved about it for these more than thirty +years almost without an interruption. But in the last six years she +had left girlhood forever behind; she was a prim, quiet, contentedly +complaining woman now, a little too critical perhaps, a little self- +righteous, but kind and good. Lydia's will was always for the +happiness of others: Pa's comfort, Pauline's rights, and the wisest +course for Martie and Sally to take occupied her mind and time far +more than any personal interest of her own. But she had a limited +vision of duty and convention, and even Sally fretted under her +sway. Her father openly transferred his allegiance to Martie, and +Lydia grieved over the palpable injustice without the slightest +appreciation of its cause. + +She was infinitely helpful in times of emergency, and would take +charge of Sally's babies, if Sally were ill, or slave in Sally's +nursery if all or any of the children were indisposed. But she was +not so obliging if mere pleasure took Sally away from her maternal +duties. Sally told Martie that there was no asking Lyd to help, +either she did it voluntarily, or wild horses couldn't make her do +it at all. + +If her younger sisters entrusted their children to Aunt Lydia, she +was an adoring and indulgent aunt. She loved to open her cookie jar +for their raids, and to have them beg her favours or stories. But if +Lydia had expressed the opinion that it was too cold for the +children to go barefoot, and Martie or Sally revoked the decision, +then Lydia wore a dark, resentful look for hours, and was apt to +vent her disapproval on the children themselves. + +"No, get out of my lap, Jimmy. I don't want a boy that runs to his +Mama and doesn't trust his Auntie," Lydia would say patiently, +firmly, and kindly. Martie and Sally, wives for years, were able to +refrain from any comment. To be silent when children are disciplined +is one of the great lessons of marriage. + +"But I don't believe that a woman who ever had had a baby COULD +rebuff a child like that," Martie told Sally. "I don't know, though, +some aunts are wonderful! Only that pleasant justice does seem +wasted on a child; it merely stings without being comprehensible in +the least!" + +So the younger girls dismissed it philosophically. But it was one of +the results of a life like Lydia's that human intercourse had no +lighter phases for her. She must analyze and suspect and brood. +Wherever a possible slight was hidden Lydia found it. She sometimes +disappeared for a few hours upstairs, and came back with reddened +eyes. + +Her father's devotion to Martie she bore with martyred sweetness. +When they laughed together at dinner she listened with downcast +eyes, a faint, pained smile on her lips. + +"Would you like Martie to sit in Ma's place, Pa?" she asked one +morning, when she was folding her napkin neatly into the orange-wood +napkin-ring marked "Souvenir of Santa Cruz." Her father's surprised +negative hardly interrupted the account he was giving his youngest +daughter of the law-suit he had won years ago against old man +Thomas. But after breakfast Martie found Lydia crying into one of +the aprons that Were hanging in the side-entry. "It's nothing!" she +gulped as Martie's warm arms went about her. "Only--only I can't +bear to have Ma forgotten already! You heard how Pa spoke-so short +and so cold!" + +"Oh, Lyddy, DARLING!" Martie protested, half-amused, half- +sympathetic. Lydia straightened herself resentfully. + +"I suppose I'm foolish," she said. "I suppose the best thing for us +all to do is to forget and laugh, and go on as if life and death +were only a JOKE!" + +But these storms were rare. Lydia's was a placid life. She was +deeply delighted when her cooking was praised, although she +pretended to be annoyed by it. She was wearing dresses now that had +been hers six years ago; sometimes a blue gingham or a gray madras +was worn a whole season by Lydia without one trip to the tub. She +carried a red and gray parasol that Cliff Frost had given her ten +years ago; her boots were thin, unadorned kid, creased by her narrow +foot; they seemed never to wear out. + +As the years went by she quoted her mother more and more. The rather +silent Mrs. Monroe had evidently left a fund of advice behind her. +Nothing was too trivial to be affected by the memory of Ma's +opinion. + +"Nice thick cream Williams is giving us," Lydia might say at the +breakfast table. "Dear Ma used to say that good cream was half the +secret of good coffee!" "I remember Ma used to say that marigolds +were rather bold, coarse flowers," she confided to Martie, "and +isn't it true?" + +Her appetite for the news of the village was still insatiable; it +was rarely uncharitable, but it never ended. Martie came to +recognize certain tones in Lydia's voice, when she and Alice Clark +or Angela Baxter or young Mrs. King were on the shady side porch. +There was the delicately tentative tone in which she trod upon +uncertain ground: "How do you mean she's never been the same since +last fall, Lou? I don't remember anything special happening to +Minnie Scott last fall." There was a frankly and flatly amazed tone, +in which Lydia might say: "Well, Clara told me yesterday about +Potter Street, and if you'll tell me what POSSESSED that boy, I'll +be obliged to you!" And then there was the tone of incredible +announcement: "Alice, I don't know that I should tell this, because +I only heard it last night, but I haven't been able to think of one +other thing ever since, and I believe I'll tell you; it won't go any +further. Mrs. Hughie Wilson came in here last night, and we got to +talking about old Mrs. Mulkey's death--" + +And so on, for perhaps a full hour. Martie, smiling over her +darning, would hear Alice's gratifying, "Well, for pity!" and "Did +you EVER!" at intervals. Sometimes she herself contributed +something, a similar case in New York, perhaps, but the others were +not interested. They knew, without ever having expressed it, that +there is no intimacy like that of a small village, no novelty or +horror that comes so closely home to the people of the Eastern +metropolis as did these Monroe events to their own lives. + +Martie loved her sister, and they came to understand each other's +ways perfectly. Teddy was happy with Aunt Lyd when his mother was at +the Library, and Lydia liked her authority over the child and his +companionship. There was no peace in the old house, for all her +silent meekness, unless Lydia's curious sense of justice was +satisfied, and Martie took pains to satisfy it. + +One memorable day, just before Christmas, Martie opened a small +package, to find John Dryden's book. She was in the Library when +Miss Fanny came in with the mail, and her hand trembled as she cut +the strings. The flimsy tissue paper jacket blew softly over her +hand; a dark blue book, slim, dignified: "Mary Beatrice." + +He had not autographed it, but then John would never think of doing +so. Martie smiled her motherly smile at the memory of his childish +dependence upon her suggestions as to the smaller points of living. +Her letter of congratulation began to run through her mind as she +turned the title page. + +Suddenly her heart stopped beating. She wet her lips and glanced +about. Miss Fanny had gone into the coat-room; nobody was near. + +Oh, madman, madman! He had dedicated it to her! A detected felony +could not have given Martie a more sinking sensation than she +experienced at the sight. + +Her initials: M. S. B.--she need puzzle only a second over the +selection, for her letters to him were always signed, "Martha +Salisbury, Bannister." And under the initials, this: + +Even as to Caesar, Cassar's toll, To God what in us is divine; So to +your soul above my soul Whatever life finds good in mine. Martie +read the four lines as many times, then she lifted the page to her +cheek, and held it there, shutting her eyes, and drawing a deep, +ecstatic breath. + +"Oh, John, JOHN, how wonderful of you!" she whispered, her heart +rising on a swift, triumphant flight. Ah, this was something to have +brought from the long years; this counted in that inner tribunal of +hers. + +After awhile she began to turn the pages, wishing that she were a +better judge of all these phrases. The play was short: three brief +acts. + +"I think it's wonderful!" Martie decided. "I KNOW it is!" + +For the little volume, even at this first quick glimpse, was stamped +with something fiery and strange. Martie's eyes drifted here and +there; presently fell upon the lines that brought the frightened +little Italian princess, fresh from her convent, to the strange +coast of England, and to the welcome of the strange King, her +prospective husband's brother. The words were simplicity's self, +like all inspired words, yet they brought the colour to Martie's +face, and a yearning pain to her heart. Youth and love in all their +first gold glory were captured here, and something of youth and +glory seemed to flood the Library throughout the quiet winter +afternoon. + +The hours droned on, Martie, moving noiselessly about, and touching +the switch that suddenly lighted the dim big room, paused at the +window to look down upon Monroe. An early twilight was creeping into +the village street, and the drug-store windows glowed with globes of +purple and green. The shops were already disguised under bushy +evergreens; wreaths of red and green paper made circles of steam +against the show windows. Silva, of the fruit market opposite, was +selling a Christmas tree from the score that lay at the curb, to a +stout country woman, whose shabby, well-wrapped children watched the +transaction breathlessly from a mud-spattered surrey. The Baxter +girls went by, Martie saw them turn into the church yard, and +disappear into the swinging black doors, "for a little visit." + +Nothing dramatic or beautiful in the scene: a little Western village +street, on the eve of Christmas Eve, but to-night it was lighted for +Martie with poetry and romance. The thought of a slim, dark-blue +book with its four magic lines thrilled in her heart like a song. + +"Christmas day after to-morrow!" she said to Fanny, "don't you love +Christmas?" + +But she knew that her real Christmas joy had come to-day. + +The December kitchen was gas-lighted long before she got there, and +Pauline was deep in calm preparation for dinner. Pauline was a +Canadian girl, and if her work ever confused or fatigued her, at +least she never betrayed the fact. There never were pots and pans +awaiting cleaning in Pauline's sink, there never was a teaspoonful +of flour spilled upon her biscuit board. Her gingham cuffs were +always starched and stiff, her colourless hair smooth. She was a +silent, dun-coloured creature, whose most violent expression was an +occasional deep, unctuous laugh at Mrs. Bannister's nonsense. + +Pauline did not prepare a meal in a series of culminating +convulsions, with hair rumpling, face reddening, and voice rising +every passing minute. She moved a shining pot forward on a shining +stove, she took plates of inviting cold things from the safe, and +lifted a damp napkin from her pats of butter. Then she said, in an +uninterested voice: "You might tell your p'pa, Miss Lydia--" + +Humble as her business was, she had been taught it well. Martie, +insatiable on this particular topic, sometimes questioned Pauline. +She was given a meagre picture of a farmhouse on Prince Edward's +Island, of a stern, exacting, loving mother who "licked" daughters +and sons alike with a "trace-end" for any infractions of domestic +rule. Of snows so lasting and deep that housewives buried their +brown linens in October, and found them again, snowy white, on the +April grass. Pauline's mother, dying of "a shock," had been the +devoted daughter's charge for eleven hard years, then Pauline had +married at thirty, only to be made a widow, by a lumber jam, at +thirty-two. So it was fortunate that she could cook, for she was a +plain woman, and what the country folk call "dumb," meaning dull, +and unresponsive, and unambitious. + +To-night there was a little unusual clutter in the big, hot, clean +kitchen; Lydia was making sandwiches for the Girls' Sodality +Christmas Tree at the large table. Two or three empty cardboard +boxes stood waiting the neatly trimmed and pressed bread: Lydia did +this sort of thing perfectly. At the end of the table, his cheeks +glowing, and his dark mop in a tumble, Teddy was watching in deep +fascination. + +The room had the charm that use and simplicity lend to any room. +There was nothing superfluous here, and nothing assumed. Martie knew +every crack in the yellow bowl that held a crinkled rice-pudding; +the broom had held that corner for thirty years; for thirty years +the roller towel had dangled from that door. She and Len and Sally +had seen their mother go to the broom for a straw, to test baking +cake, a hundred times; their sticky little faces had been dried a +hundred times on the towel. + +But to-night a new, homely sweetness seemed to permeate the place. +Martie had left the slim, dark-blue book upstairs in her bureau +drawer, but her mood of exquisite lightheartedness she had not laid +aside. She sat down in the kitchen rocker, and Teddy climbed into +her lap, and, while she talked with Lydia, distracted her with +little kisses, with small hands squeezing her cold cheeks, and with +the casual bumping of his hard little head against her face. + +"I declare it begins to feel Christmassy, Lyd! Did you get down town +to see the stores? I never saw anything like Bonestell's in my life. +It's cold, too--but sort of bracing cold! We had both the stoves +going all day; we had to light the lights at four! It was rather +nice, everybody coming in to say 'Merry Christmas!'" + +"The children had their closing exercises at school this morning," +Lydia contributed, "and afterward Sally and I walked down town, with +all the children. She expects Joe to-morrow. She wanted Billy and +Jim to get in a nap, so I brought Ted home." + +"And I took a long nap!" Teddy whispered in his mother's ear. + +"I don't know what possesses the child to whisper that way!" Lydia +said, annoyed. + +"He just said that he had a nap, Lyd, I think he didn't want to +interrupt." + +"Oh, he got a good nap in," Lydia admitted, pacified, "if you're +really going to take him to-night, I've laid out his clean things." + +"I saw them on the bed, Lyd--you're a darling!" + +"Am I going?" Teddy asked, with a bounce. + +"Is Aunt Sally going to take the children?" Martie temporized. But +Teddy knew from her tone that he was safe. Indeed, his mother loved +the realization that she was his court of last appeal, that it was +to her memory of authority abused that his happiness was entrusted. +It was her joy to explain, to adjust, to reconcile, the little +elements of his life. She taught him the rules of simplicity and +industry and service as another mother might have taught him his +multiplication table. Teddy might have poverty and discouragement to +face some day, but life could never be all dark to him while his +mother interpreted it. + +She took him upstairs now, to dress for the great occasion of the +Sodality Christmas tree, and dressed herself, prettily, as well. But +before she turned out the gas, and followed the galloping small boy +downstairs, she opened her bureau drawer. + +And again the slim book was in her hands, and again her dazzled eyes +were reading the few words that gave her new proof that John had not +forgotten. + +For a few minutes she stood dreaming; dreaming of the old boarding- +house, and the little furniture clerk with his eager, faun-like +smile. And for the first time she let her fancy play with the +thought of what life might be for the woman John Dryden loved. + +But she put the book and the thought quickly away, her cheeks +burning, and went down to the homely, inviting odours of supper, of +Pauline's creamed salmon and fluffy rolls. Her father sat beside the +fire, in a sort of doze, his long, lean hands idly locked, his +glasses pushed up on his lead-coloured forehead. + +Martie kissed him, catching the old faint unpleasant smell of breath +and moustache as she did so, helped him to the table, and tied +Teddy's napkin under the child's round, firm chin. She talked of +anything and everything, of Christmas surprises, and Christmas +duties-- + +And all the while her heart sang. When with Teddy on one side, and +Lydia leaning on the free arm, she was walking through the winter +darkness her feet wanted to dance on the cold, hard earth. + +"It's Christmas--Christmas--Christmas!" she laughed, when the little +boy commented upon her gaiety. Lydia found the usual damper for her +mood. + +"Very different for you from last Christmas, poor Mart!" she +observed, with a long sigh. + +Martie was sobered. They went into the church for a moment's prayer, +and Teddy wriggled against her in the dark, and managed to get a +little arm about her neck, for he knew that she was crying. The +revulsion had come, and Martie, tears running down her face in the +darkness, was only a lonely woman again, unsuccessful, worried, +trapped in a dull little village, missing her baby! + +Women were coming and going on the altar, trimming it with odorous +green for Christmas. There was a pungent smell of evergreen in the +air. About the confessionals there was a constant shuffle, +whispering and stirring; radiators hissed and clanked, the big doors +creaked and swung windily. + +Sally and her whispering tribe were just in front of them; presently +they all went out into the cold, and across a bare yard to the +lights and warmth and noise and music of the Sodality Hall. Sally +saw that Martie had been crying, and when they were seated together +in one of the rows of chairs against the wall, with their laps full +of children's coats, she touched the hidden hurt. + +"Martie, dearest, I'm so sorry!" + +"I know!" Martie blinked and managed a smile. + +"I'll be glad for you when this first Christmas is over!" Sally said +earnestly. + +Martie's answering look was full of gratitude: she thought it +strangely touching to see the blooming little mother deliberately +try to bring her gay Christmas mood into tune with sorrow and loss. +Sally's beautiful Elizabeth was one of the Christmas angels in the +play to-night, and Sally's pride was almost too great to bear. Billy +was sturdily dashing about selling popcorn balls, and Jim was +staggering to and fro flirting with admiring Sodality girls. The +young Hawkeses were at their handsome best, and women on all sides +were congratulating Sally. + +What could Sally dream, Martie mused, of a freezing Eastern city +packed under dirty snow, of bitter poverty, of a tiny, gold-crowned +girl in a shabby dressing-gown, of a coaster wrapped in wet paper, +and delivered in a dark, bare hall? Sally's serene destiny lay here, +away from the damp, close heat under which milk poisoned and babies +wilted, away from the icy cold that caught shuddering flesh and +blood under its solid pall. These friendly, chattering women were +Sally's world, these problems of school and rent and food were +Sally's problems. + +But Martie knew now that she was not of Monroe, that she must go +back. She was not Sally, she was not Rose; she had earned her entry +into a higher school. Those Eastern years were not wasted, she must +go on now, she must go on--to what?--to what? + +And with New York her thoughts were suddenly with John, and Sally, +glancing anxiously at her, saw that she was smiling. Martie did not +notice the look: she was far away. She saw the Christmas tree, and +the surging children, through a haze of dreams. + +Mysterious, enviable, unattainable--thought the Sodality girls, +eying the black-clad figure, with its immaculate touches of white at +wrists and throat. Mrs. Bannister had run away with an actor and had +lived in New York, and was a widow, they reminded each other, and +thrilled. She never dreamed that they made her a heroine and a +model, quoted her, loitered into the Library to be enslaved afresh +by her kind, unsmiling advice. She felt herself far from the +earliest beginnings of real achievement: to them, as to herself ten +years ago, she was a person romantic and exceptional--a somebody in +Monroe! + +Somebody brought her Jim, sweet and sleepy, and he subsided in her +lap. Len's wife sank into a neighbouring chair, to express worried +hopes that the March baby would be a boy, a male in the Monroe line +at last. Rose fluttered near, with pleasant plans for a dinner +party. Martie's thought were with a slim, dark-blue book, safe in +her bureau drawer. + +She wrote John immediately. There was no answer, but she realized +that the weeks that went on so quietly in Monroe were bringing him +rapidly to fame and fortune. + +"Mary Beatrice" was an instantaneous success. It was not quite +poetry, not quite drama, not quite history. But its combination of +the three took the fancy, first of the critics, then of the public. +It was read, quoted, and discussed more than any other book of the +year. Martie found John's photograph in all the literary magazines, +and saw his name everywhere. Interviews with him frequently stared +at her from unexpected places, and flattering prophecies of his +future work were sounded from all sides. Three special performances +of "Mary Beatrice," and then three more, and three after that, were +given in New York, and literary clubs everywhere took up the book +seriously for study. + +Well, Martie thought, reviewing the matter, it was not like one's +dreams, but it was life, this curious success that had come to the +husband of a woman like Adele, the odd, inarticulate little clerk in +a furniture store. She wondered if it had come in time to save the +divorce, wondered where John was living, what change this +extraordinary event had made in his life. + +Her own share in it came to seem unreal, as all the old life was +unreal. Gradually, what Monroe did and thought and felt began to +seem the real standard and the old life the false. Martie agreed +with Lydia that the little Eastman girl had a prettier voice than +any she had ever heard in New York; she agreed with Rose that the +Woman's Club was really more up-to-date than it was possible for a +club to be in the big Eastern city. + +"I know New York," smiled Rose, "and of course, I love it. Rod and I +have been there twice, and we do have the best times! And I admit +that Tiffany's and the big shops and so on, well, of course, they're +wonderful! We stayed there almost three weeks the last time, and we +just WENT every moment of the time--" + +Martie, leaning on the desk before her and smiling vaguely, was not +listening. The other woman's words had evoked a sudden memory of the +early snows and the lights in the Mall, of the crashing elevated +trains with chestnut-sellers' lights blowing beneath them, of summer +dawns, when the city woke to the creeping tide of heat, and of +autumn afternoons, when motor cars began to crowd the Avenue, and +leaves drifted--drifted--in the Park. To Rose she answered duly: +"You must have had great fun!" But to herself she said: "Ah, you +don't know MY New York!" + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +One wet January night Malcolm came home tired and cross to find his +younger daughter his only company for dinner. Lydia had been sent +for in haste, by Mrs. Harry Kilroy, whose mother was not expected to +live, said the panting messenger, thereby delicately intimating that +she WAS expected to die. Teddy was as usual at Aunt Sally's. + +Martie coaxed the fire to a steady glow, and seated herself opposite +her father with a curiosity entirely unmixed with the old +apprehension. Pa was unmistakably upset about something. + +Under her pleasant questioning it came out. Old Tate and Cliff Frost +had come into the office of the Monroe Estates that afternoon to +make him an offer for the home site. Martie could see that her +father regretted that Lydia and Lydia's horrified protests were +missing. + +"I looked them in the eye," said Malcolm, wiping his moustache +before he gave her an imitation of his own scorn, "and I said, +'Gentlemen, before the home that was my father's, and will be my +son's, passes from my hands, those hands will be dust!'" + +"But why do they want it?" asked Martie after duly applauding this +sentiment. + +She was rapidly thinking. The old house was mortgaged, and doubly +mortgaged. It was useless to the average buyer, for besides the fact +that the neighbourhood was no longer Monroe's best, it was four feet +below street level. It was surrounded by useless shabby barns and +outhouses, it was five times too large for the diminished family, +and, in case of Pa's death--and Pa was nearly seventy--it must fetch +what it might, for between Len's constant need of money for the +Estates, and Lydia's mild helplessness, there could be no holding it +for a fair price. + +"For the new High School--for the new High School!" her father said +impatiently. For perhaps twenty years he had had occasional offers +for the property, and had always scornfully refused them. + +"Yet I think that's rather touching, Pa," Martie said. + +"What's touching?" he asked suspiciously, after a moment in which he +obviously tried to see any touching aspect in the affair. + +"Why, to have the Monroe High School on the old Monroe site!" Martie +said innocently. "Of course Mr. Tate and Cliff Frost know what it +means to you, and yet I suppose they realize that the neighbourhood +is changing, and that those shops have come in, this side of the +bridge, and that, even if we lived here ten years more, we couldn't +twenty. I agree with your decision, Pa, of course; but at the same +time, I see that no other plot in Monroe would be so fitting!" + +Malcolm stirred his tea, raised the cup, and drank off the hot fluid +with great gusto. A faint frown darkened his brow. + +"And, pray, where would the family live?" he asked presently. + +"Where we ought to be now," Martie answered promptly. "In the +Estates. I have been thinking lately, Pa, that nothing would give +that development such prestige as to have you there! Put up as +pretty a house as you choose, build a drive, and put in a handsome +fence, but be Malcolm Monroe of the Monroe Estates!" + +Always captured by phrases, she saw him tug at his moustache to hide +a smile. + +"Well!" he said presently. "Well! You astonish me. But yes, I see +your point. I must candidly admit you have a point there. With +another attractive home there--yes, there is something in that. But +I had supposed that you girls had a sentiment for this old place," +he added almost reproachfully. + +"And so we have!" Martie answered quickly. "But it is one thing to +sell this place in small lots, Pa, and have it chopped into shops +and shanties, and another to have a three-hundred-thousand-dollar +building go in here. The new High School on the old Monroe place; +you'll admit there's a great difference?" + +Had her bombastic father always been so easily influenced? Martie +wondered, remembering the old storms and the old stubbornness. It +was true, some persons couldn't do things; other persons could. +Lydia and Ma would have goaded him into an obstinacy that no later +judgment could dispel, and after his death Monroe would have +lamented that he had left next to nothing, for the place had to go +for taxes and interest overdue, and Lydia and Ma would have settled +themselves comfortably on Len for life. + +"All the difference in the world," Malcolm said, now deep in +thought. + +"You could send a letter to the Zeus," Martie added presently, +"saying that you had never even considered such a step before, but +that to sell for educational purposes was--you know!--was in accord +with the spirit of your father--that sort of thing!" + +"And so it was!" he answered warmly. + +"A few ready thousands would be the making of the Estates, now," +said Martie, "but naturally the town need know nothing of that!" + +Malcolm shrugged a careless assent, and silently finished his pie. + +"Your sister Lydia--" he began suddenly, shaking his head. + +"Yes, Lyd will object," Martie assented, as his voice stopped. "Lyd +is a conservative, Pa. She has very little of the spirit that +brought Grandfather Monroe here; she doesn't, in the Estates, see +property that will be just as beautiful and just as valuable as +anything in Monroe in a few years. Why, Pa, you must remember the +days when our trees in the yard here were only saplings?" + +"Remember?" he echoed impressively. "Why, I remember Monroe as the +field between two sheep-ranches. There was not a blade of wheat, not +a fruit tree--" + +He was well started. Martie listened to an hour's complacent +reminiscence. At eight o'clock he went to his study, but came back a +moment later, with his glasses pushed up on his lead-coloured +forehead, to say that the sum old Tait mentioned would clear the +mortgage, build a handsome house, and perhaps leave a bit over for +Martie and her boy. At nine he appeared again, to say that he would +deed the new house to Lydia, who would undoubtedly take the change a +little hard--a little hard! + +"Yes," said old Malcolm thoughtfully, from the doorway, glancing, +with his spectacles still on his forehead, at the pencilled list he +had in his hand. "Yes, I believe I have hit upon the solution! I-- +believe--I--have--hit--it!" + +Old Mrs. Sark having fulfilled her family's mournful expectations, +Lydia stayed for the funeral, and was so deeply absorbed and +satisfied by her position in the Kilroy house that she returned home +still impressive, consolatory, and crushed in manner. + +She sat beside Martie on the front steps, in the warm March +twilight, retailing the events of the last three days, and living +again their moments of grief and stress. + +"I know I was a consolation to them, Mart--of course, there's little +enough one can do! But yesterday morning--I sat up both nights; I +declare I don't know where the strength comes from--yesterday +morning, before the funeral, I went up to Louis Kilroy--I never saw +a grown man take a thing so hard--and I said, 'Louis, you must come +and have a cup of hot, strong coffee!' Bessie was there, and I must +say she seemed as devoted to Grandma as if she'd been her own +daughter, and she came and took my hands, and she said, 'Lydia, I +never will forget all you've done for us!' Well," Lydia went on, +with a sad little deprecatory shrug, "I didn't do much. But it was +somebody THERE, you know! Somebody to do the plain little everyday +things that MUST be done, whether death is in the house, or not!" +And Lydia sighed in weary content. "Carrie David says she believes +Tom'll go next--"she was pursuing mournfully, when Martie +interrupted. + +"Say, Lyd dear, we've been having great times since you were away--I +didn't have a chance to say a word to you at the funeral--but the +school board, or the city fathers, or some one, has made Pa an offer +for the house!" + +"What house?" Lydia asked interestedly. + +"THIS one." Martie began to chew the fresh sprout of a yellow +banksia rose. + +"This one!" Lydia's mouth remained a little open, her eyes were +wild. + +"Yes; this whole tract. They'll fill it in; they want if for the new +High School." + +"Well--" Lydia tossed her head loftily. "Of course, Pa told them--?" + +"Yes, he did tell them, as he always has--that nothing would +persuade him to part with it!" + +"WELL!" said Lydia, breathing again. + +"But he's been thinking it over, Lyd, and he's really seriously +reconsidering it. You see the instant Pa dies, the Bank will +foreclose, for neither you nor I have a cent, and Len is tied up for +years with the Estates--" + +Martie began to speak eagerly and quickly. But her voice died before +Lydia's look. + +"Martie! How can you! Speaking of Pa's death in that callous, cold- +blooded way; when poor Ma hasn't been buried three years--and now +dear old Grandma Sark--" + +Lydia fumbled for a handkerchief, and began to sob. After a few +moments, in which Martie only offered a few timid pats on her +shoulder for consolation, she suddenly dried her eyes, and began +with bitter clearness: + +"I know who has done this, Mart! I don't say much, but I see. I see +now where all your petting of Pa, and humouring Pa, was leading! Oh, +how can you--how can you--how CAN you! My home, the dear old Monroe +place, that three generations of us--but I won't stand it! I feel as +if Ma would rise up and rebuke me! No, you and Pa can decide what +you please, but no power on earth will make me--and where would we +live, might I ask? We couldn't go to the Poor House, I suppose?" + +"Pa'd build a lovely house, smaller and more modern, on the +Estates," Martie explained. Lydia assumed a look of high scorn. + +"Oh, indeed!" she said, gulping and wiping her eyes again. "Indeed! +Is that so? Move out there so that Len would prosper, so that there +would be one more house out on that DESOLATE flat field--very well, +you and Pa can go! But I stay here!" + +And trembling all over, as she always did tremble when forced into +anything but a mildly neutral position, Lydia went upstairs. The +dinner hour was embittered by a painful discussion and by more +tears. + +Malcolm was somewhat inclined to waver toward Lydia's view, but +Martie was firm. When Lydia tearfully protested that, just as it +stood, the house would made an ideal "gentleman's estate," Martie +mercilessly answered that at its present level, without electric +light or garage or baths, it was just so much "old wood and +plaster." Lydia winced at this term as if she had been struck. + +"How would you pay taxes and interest, if anything happened to Pa?" +Martie demanded briskly. + +"We would have no rent to pay," Lydia countered quickly, red spots +burning in her cheeks, and giving her mild face an unusually wild +look. "Why do people own their homes, if there's no economy in it?" + +"Rent doesn't come to three thousand a year!" Martie reminded her. +Lydia looked startled. "We could rent that whole upper floor," she +said hesitatingly. + +"But you would rather have this place a school house than a +boarding-house?" argued Martie. + +Lydia's wet eyes reddened again. + +"DON'T say such horrible things, Martie! The way you put things it's +enough to scare Pa to death! Why shouldn't we live here, as we +always have lived?" She turned to her father. "Pa, it's not RIGHT +for you to consider such a change just because Martie---" + +"I'm doing it for you, Lyd," Martie said quickly. "I shall be in New +York--" + +They hardly heard her; Martie had talked of New York since she was a +child. But Martie suddenly realized that it was true; she had really +been planning and contriving to go back through all these placid +months. + +"I'll discuss it with your brother," Malcolm finally said. "I'll see +what Leonard thinks." + +"But, Pa," Martie protested, "what does LEN know about it?" + +"I suppose a man may be supposed to know more about business than a +woman!" Lydia exclaimed. + +"Yes--yes, this is a man's affair," Malcolm conceded, scraping his +chin. "Your brother has been associated with men in business affairs +for years; he had some college work. I'll see Len." + +There was nothing more to say. Martie felt instinctively that Len +would approve of the sale of the old place, and she was right, but +it was galling to have his opinion so eagerly sought by her father, +and to have him so gravely quoted. Len, slow witted and suspicious, +thought that there was "something in the idea," but added pompously +that he could not see that the Monroes, as a family, were under any +need of obliging the Frosts and the Tates, and that the property was +there in any case, and there was no occasion for hurry. + +Malcolm repeated these views at the dinner table with great +seriousness, and Lydia triumphantly echoed them over and over. As +she and Martie dusted and made beds the older sister poured forth a +quiet stream of satisfied comment. Such things were for men's +deciding, after all, and she, Lydia, never would and never could +understand how they were able to settle things so quickly and so +wisely. + +But Martie was not beaten. She knew that Len was wrong; there was no +time to waste. The old Mussoo tract, down at the other end of the +town, was also under consideration, and the deal might be closed any +day. One quiet, wet day she asked Miss Fanny for leave of absence, +and went to the office of old Charley Tate. Mr. Tate was not there, +Potter Street told her, taking his feet from a desk, and slapping +his book shut. However, if there was anything he could do, Mart--? + +No; she thanked him. She would go up to the Bank, and see Mr. Frost. +She met Rose coming out as she went in. + +"Hello, Martie!" Rose was all cordiality. "Nice weather for ducks, +isn't it? But fortunately you and I aren't sugar or salt, are we? +Were you going to see Rodney?" + +"Clifford Frost," Martie told her. Did Rose's face really brighten a +little--she wondered? + +"Oh! Well, he's there! Come soon and see Doris!" Rose got into the +motor car, and Martie went into the Bank. + +Clifford was a tall man, close to fifty, thinner than Dr. Ben, more +ample of figure than Malcolm. He wore a thin old alpaca coat in the +Bank in this warm spring weather. A green shade was pushed up +against his high forehead, which shone a little, and as Martie +settled herself opposite him, he took off his big glasses, and dried +them in a leisurely fashion with a rotary motion of his white +handkerchief. + +He was reputedly the richest man in town, but rich in country +fashion. Such property as he had, cattle, a farm or two, several +buildings in Main Street, and stock in the Bank, he studied and +nursed carefully, not from any feeling of avarice, but because he +was temperate and conservative in all his dealings. + +Martie liked his office, much plainer than Rodney's, but with +something dignified about its well-worn furnishings that Rodney's +shining brass and glass and mahogany lacked. She thought that +perhaps Ruth had given her father the two pink roses that were +toppling in a glass on the desk; she eyed the big photograph of +Colonel Frost respectfully. + +"Well, well, Mrs. Bannister, how do you do! I declare I haven't seen +much of you since you came back! How's that boy of yours? Nice boy-- +nice little feller." + +"He's well, thank you, Clifford; he's never been ill. And how's your +own pretty girl?" Martie smiled, using the little familiarity +deliberately. + +When he answered, with a father's proud affection, he called her +"Martie," as she suspected he might. She went to her point frankly. +Pa, she explained, was playing fast and loose with the town's offer +for the property. The man opposite her frowned, nodded, and stared +at the floor. + +"You girls naturally feel--" he nodded sympathetically. + +"Lydia does. But, Clifford, that's just where I need your help. I +think it would be madness not to sell!" + +"Madness NOT to?" It was not clear yet. "Then you WANT to?" + +She went over her ground patiently. His face brightened with +comprehension. + +"I see! Well, now, that puts a different face on it," he said. "Of +course, I want the deal to go through," he admitted, "and if you can +talk your father over--" + +"That's what I want you to do!" Martie assured him gaily. + +He laughed in answer. + +"He don't pay any attention to me!" he confessed. "I's telling him +only yes'day that it wasn't good business to hang onto that piece. I +told--" + +"But Clifford," she suggested, "I want you to take this tack. I want +you to tell him that the town has a sentiment about it--the old +Monroe place, you know. Tell him that people feel it OUGHT to be +public property, and then, when he agrees, whip some sort of paper +out of your pocket, and have him sign it then and there!" + +Clifford Frost was not quick of thought, but he was shrewd, and his +smile now was compounded of admiration for the scheme and the +schemer alike. + +"I declare you're quite a business woman, Martie!" he said. "It's a +pity Len hasn't got it, too. I b'lieve I can work your Pa that way; +anyway, I'll try it! I supposed you girls were hanging on like grim +death to that piece--" + +After this the conversation rambled pleasantly; presently, in the +midst of a discussion of mortgages, he took one of the roses, and +called her attention to it. It had had some special care; Martie +could honestly admire it. Clifford told her to keep it, and her blue +eyes met his friendly ones, behind the big glasses, as she pinned it +on her blouse. + +"I declare you've got quite a different look since you came back, +Martie," he said. "You're quite a New Yorker! I said to Ruthie a +while back, that there was a strange lady in town; I'd seen her with +Mrs. Joe Hawkes. 'Why, Papa,' she says, 'that's Mrs. Bannister!' I +assure you I could hardly believe it. You've took off considerable +flesh, haven't you?" + +"I've had my share," Martie answered in the country phrase, with a +smile and a sigh. + +"Well, I guess that's so, too!" he said quickly with an answering +sigh. "What was the--the cause?" he asked delicately. "He was a big, +strong fellow. I remember him quite well; friend of Rodney's." + +He told her circumstantially, in return for her brief confidences, +of his wife's death. How she had not been well, and how she had +refused the regular dinner on a certain night, first mentioned as +"the Tuesday," and then corrected to "the Wednesday," and had asked +Polly to boil her two eggs, and then had not wanted them, either. +With loving sorrow he had remembered it all; frank tears came to his +eyes, and Martie liked him for them. + +When they parted, he walked with her to the Bank door, and asked +her, if she was interested in roses, to let him drive her up some +day to see his. + +"An old-fashioned garden--an old-fashioned garden!" he said, smiling +from the doorway. Martie, pleasantly stirred, went back to the +Library, to put her rose in water and congratulate herself upon her +mission. + +"Poor Clifford! He will never get over his wife's death!" Lydia said +that evening. "Where'd you meet him, Mart?" + +"I deposited some money in the Bank," Martie said truthfully. "He's +awfully pleasant, I think." + +Lydia paid no further attention. She presently went back to another +topic. "Nelson Prout said he was going to take it up with the +Principal. He says there's no earthly reason in the world why +Dorothy shouldn't have passed this Christmas. Elsa told me Dorothy +has been crying ever since and they're worried to death about her--" + +Lydia suspected no treachery. What Len and Pa had settled was +settled. She felt that Martie was merely easing her indignation when +the younger sister spent several evenings attempting to write an +article on the subject of economic independence for women. Martie +had tried to write years ago; it was a safe and ladylike amusement. + +"What's it all about?" Lydia asked. + +"Oh, it's practically an appeal to give girls the same chance that +boys have!" + +Lydia smiled. + +"But don't they HAVE it? Girls don't want it, that's all." + +"Neither do boys, Lyd." + +"So your idea would be to force something they didn't want on girls, +just because it's forced on boys?" Lydia said, quietly triumphant. + +Martie, looking up from her scratched sheets, smiled and blinked at +her sister for a few seconds. + +"Exactly!" she said then, pleasantly. + +She finished the little article, and called it "Give Her A Job!" It +was only what she had attempted to express during her first return +visit to Monroe years ago; during those days and nights of fretting +when the thought of Golda White had ridden her troubled thoughts +like an evil dream. Later, she had re-written the article, just +before Wallace's return from long absence to New York. Now she wrote +it again: it was a relief to have it finally polished and finished, +and sent away in the mail. She had never before despatched it so +indifferently. + +Even when the editor's brief, pleasant note was in her hand, three +weeks later, and when she had banked the check for thirty-five +dollars, Martie was not particularly thrilled. It was so small a +drop in the ocean of magazine reading--it was so short a step toward +independence! She told Miss Fanny and Sally about it, and for a +month or two watched the magazine for it. Then she forgot it. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +She forgot it for a new dream. For long before the tangled +negotiations that surrounded the sale of the old Monroe place were +completed, Martie's thoughts were absorbed by a new and tremendous +consideration: Clifford Frost was paying her noticeable attention. + +Monroe saw this, of course, before she did. Without realizing it, +Martie still kept a social gulf between herself and the Frost and +Parker families. They were the richest and most prominent people in +the village, she was just one of the Monroe girls. She was too busy, +and too little given to thought of herself, to waste time on +speculations of this nature. + +More than that, Lydia's deep resentment of the sale of the old home +gave Martie food for thoughts of another nature. Lydia never let the +subject rest for an instant. She came to the table red-eyed and +sniffing. It was no use to plant sweet-peas this year, it was no use +to prune the roses. Whether Lydia was sitting rocking on the side +porch silently, through the spring twilight, or impatiently flinging +a setting hen off the nest, with muttered observations concerning +the senseless scattering of the Monroe family before that setting of +eggs could be hatched, Martie felt her deep and angry disapproval. + +It was several weeks, and April had clothed Monroe in buttercups and +new grass, before Martie became aware that the name of Clifford +Frost was frequently associated with Lydia's long protests. + +"I suppose it's the new way of doing things," she heard her sister +saying one day. "Delicacy--! They don't know what it is nowadays. Do +as you like--run into a man's office--meet him on the steps after +church--!" + +Martie felt a sudden prick. She had indeed gone more than once to +Clifford's office, and last Sunday she had indeed chanced to meet +him after church--! + +"Tear away old associations!" Lydia was continuing darkly. "Slash-- +chop--nothing matters! I know I am old-fashioned," she added, with a +sort of violent scorn. "But I declare it makes me laugh to remember +how dignified _I_ was--Ma used to say that it was born in me to hold +aloof! A man had to say something PRETTY DEFINITE before I was +willing to fling myself into his arms! And what's the result, I'm an +old maid--and I have myself to thank!" + +"Lyddy, darling, WHAT are you driving at?" + +The sisters were at supper together, on a warm spring Sunday. +Martie, removing from his greasy little hand a chop-bone that Teddy +had chewed white, looked up to see that her sister's face was pale, +and her eyes reddened with tears. Cornered, Lydia took refuge in +pathos. + +"Oh--I don't know! I suppose it's just that I cannot seem to feel +that one of those bare little houses in the Estates EVER will seem +like home," faltered Lydia. "You and Pa must do as you think best, +of course--you're young and bright and full of life, and naturally +you forget--but I suppose I feel that Ma--that Ma--!" + +She left the table in tears, Martie staring rather bewilderedly +after her. Teddy gazed steadily at his mother, a question in his +dark eyes. He was not a talkative child, except occasionally, when +she and he were alone, but they always understood each other. To +Martie he was the one exquisite and unalloyed joy in life. His +splendid, warm little person was at once the tie that bound her to +the old days, and to the future. Whatever that future might be, it +would bring her nothing of which she could be so proud. Nobody else +might claim him; he was hers. + +He suddenly smiled at her now, and slipping from the table with a +great square of sponge cake in his hand, backed up to his mother to +have his napkin untied. He guarded his cake as best he could when +his mother suddenly beset him with a general rumpling and kissing, +and then slipped out into the yard as silently as a little rabbit. + +But Martie sat on, musing, trying to catch the inference that she +knew she had missed from Lydia's tirades. Lydia was furious about +the sale of the house, of course--but this new note--? + +In a rush, comprehension came. Alone in the dark old dining room, in +the disorder of the Sunday suppertable, Martie's cheeks were dyed a +bright, conscious crimson. Could Lydia mean--could Lydia possibly be +implying that Cliff--that Cliff--? + +For half an hour she sat motionless--thinking. The richest--the most +respected man in Monroe, and herself engaged to him, married to him. +But could it be true? + +She began to remember, to recall and dissect and analyze her recent +encounters with Clifford, and as she did so, again the warm girlish +colour flooded her cheeks with June. No questioning it, he had +rather singled her out for his companionship of late. Last Sunday, +and the Sunday before, he had come to call--once, most +considerately, the girls thought, to show Pa the plans for the new +High School, once to take Martie and Sally and the children driving. +Martie had sat next him on the front seat, during the drive, her +black veil blowing free about her wide-brimmed hat, her blue eyes +dancing with pleasure, and her cheeks rosy in the cool foggy air. + +Well, she was widowed. She was free to marry again. It seemed +strange to her that in eighteen months she had never once weighed +the possibility. She had pondered every other avenue open to women; +she had considered this work and that, but marriage had not once +crossed her mind. + +She said to herself that she would not allow herself to think of it +now, probably Clifford had never thought of it, and if he had, he +was notoriously slow about making up his mind. Her only course was +to be friendly and dignified, and to meet the issue when it came. + +But if--but if it were her fortune to win the affections of this +man, to take her place, here among her old friends, as their leader +and head, to entertain in the old house with the cupola, under the +plumy maple and locust trees--? If Teddy might grow to a happy +boyhood, here with Sally's children, and friendly, gentle little +Ruth Frost might find a real mother in her father's young wife--? + +Martie's blood danced at the thought. She hardly saw Cliff's +substantial figure and kindly face for the glamour of definite +advantages that surrounded him. She would be rich, rich enough to do +anything and everything for Sally's children, for instance. And what +pleasure and pride such a marriage would bring to Lydia, and Pa, and +Sally! And how stupefied Len would be, to have the ugly duckling +suddenly show such brilliant plumage! + +She thought of Rodney and Rose. Rodney was getting stout now, he was +full of platitudes, heavy and a little tiresome. Rose was still +birdlike, still sure that what she had and did and said and desired +were the sum of earthly good. A smile twitched Martie's sober mouth +as she thought of Rose's congratulations. + +Rose would give her a linen shower, with delicious damp little +sandwiches, and maple mousse, or a dainty luncheon with silk-clad, +flushed women laughing about the table. And Martie would join the +club--be its president, some day-- + +Meanwhile, once more she must wait. A woman's life was largely +waiting. She had waited on Rodney's young pleasure, years ago; +waited for Wallace, at rehearsals, or at night; waited for news of +Golda; waited for Teddy; and for Wallace again and again; waited for +Pa's letter and the check. Patience, Martie said to her eager heart. + +Bright, sisterly, Rose presently came into the office, to put a +plump little arm about Martie, and give her a laughing kiss. Rose +had discovered that Martie was at home again, and wanted her to come +to dinner. + +It was one of many little signs of the impending event. Martie had +not been blind to the whispering and watching all about her. Fanny +had subtly altered her attitude, even Sally was changed. Now came +Rose, to prove that the matter was reaching a point where it must be +taken seriously. + +Martie went to the dinner, a little ashamed of herself for doing so. +Rose had ignored her for more than a year. But just now she could +not afford to ignore Rose. + +She was ashamed of Lydia's innocent pride in the invitation. Sally, +too, who came to the old house to watch Martie dress, had the old +attitude. There was an unexpressed feeling in the air that Martie +was stepping up, and stepping away from them. The younger sister, in +her filmy black, with her bright hair severely banded, and her quiet +self-possession, had some element in her that they were content to +lack. + +Lydia's red, clean little hands were still faintly odorous of +chopped onion, as she moved them from hook to hook. Sally wore an +old plaid coat that hung open and showed her shabby little serge +gown. The very room, where these girls had struggled with so many +inadequate garments, where they had pressed and pieced and turned a +hundred gowns, spoke to Martie of her own hungry girlhood. + +A motor horn sounded outside. Rodney had come for her. He came in, +in his big coat, and shook hands with Sally and Lydia. His eyes were +on Martie as she slipped a black cloak over her floating draperies, +and the fresh white of throat and arms. + +"What have you done to make yourself so pretty?" he asked gallantly, +when they were in the car. + +"Am I pretty?" she asked directly, in a pleased tone. + +It was a tone she could not use with Rodney. She was astonished to +have him fling his arm lightly about her shoulders for a minute. + +"Just as pretty as when you broke my heart eight years ago!" he said +cheerfully. Martie was too much surprised to answer, and as he +busied himself with the turns of the road, she presently began to +speak of other things. But when they had driven into the driveway of +the new Parker house, and had stopped at the side door, he jumped +from the car, and came around it to help her out. + +She felt him lightly detain her, and looked up at him curiously. + +"Well, what's the matter--afraid of me?" + +"No-o." Martie was a little confused. "But--but hadn't I better go +in?" + +"Well--what do I get out of it?" he asked, in the old teasing voice +of the boy who had liked to play "Post-office" and "Clap-in-and- +clap-out" years ago. + +But they were not children now, and there was reproach in the glance +Martie gave him as she ran up the steps. + +Rose, in blue satin, fluttered to meet her and she was conveyed +upstairs on a sort of cloud of laughter and affection. Everywhere +were lights and pretty rooms; wraps were flung darkly across the +Madeira embroidery and filet-work of Rose's bed. + +"Other people, Rose?" + +"Just the Ellises, Martie, and the Youngers--you don't know them. +And a city man to balance Florence, and Cliff." Rose, hovering over +the dressing-table exclaimed ecstatically over Martie's hair. "You +look lovely--you want your scarf? No, you won't need it--but it's so +pretty--" + +She laid an arm about Martie's waist as they went downstairs. + +"You've heard that we've had trouble with the girls?" Rose said, in +a confidential whisper. "Yes. Ida and May--after all Rodney had done +for them, too! He did EVERYTHING. It was over a piece of property +that their grandfather had left their father--I don't know just what +the trouble was! But you won't mention them to Rod--?" + +Everything was perfection, of course. There were cocktails, served +in the big drawing room, with its one big rug, and its Potocka and +le Brun looking down from the tinted walls. Martie sat between +Rodney and the strange man, who was unresponsive. + +Rodney, warmed by a delicious dinner, became emotional. + +"That was a precious friendship of ours, to me, Martie," he said. +"Just our boy-and-girl days, but they were happy days! I remember +waking up in the mornings and saying to myself, 'I'll see Martie to- +day!' Yes," said Rodney, putting down his glass, his eyes watering, +"that's a precious memory to me--very." + +"Is Rodney making love to you, Martie?" Rose called gaily, "he does +that to every one--he's perfectly terrible!" + +"How many children has Sally now?" Florence Frost, sickly, +emaciated, asked with a sort of cluck. + +"Four," Martie answered, smiling. + +"Gracious!" Florence said, drawing her shawl about her. + +"Poor Sally!" Rose said, with the merry laugh that accompanied +everything she said. + +Cliff did not talk to Martie at all, nor to any of the other women. +He and the other men talked politics after dinner, in real country +fashion. The women played a few rubbers of bridge, and Rose had not +forgotten a prize, in tissue-paper and pink ribbon. The room grew +hot, and the men's cigars scented the close air thickly. + +Rose said that she supposed she should be able to offer Martie a +cigarette. + +"It would be my first," Martie said, smiling, and Rose, giving her +shoulders a quick little impulsive squeeze, said brightly: "Good for +you! New York hasn't spoiled YOU!". + +When at eleven o'clock Martie went upstairs for her wraps, Rose +came, too, and they had a word in private, in the pretty bedroom. + +"Martie--did Cliff say that you and he were going on a--on a sort of +picnic on Sunday?" + +"Why, yes," Martie admitted, surprised, "Sally is going down to the +city to see Joe, and I'll have the children. I happened to mention +it to Cliff, and he suggested that he take us all up to Deegan's +Point, and that we take a lunch." + +Innocently commenced, the sentence ended with sudden self- +consciousness. Martie, putting a scarf over her bronze hair saw her +own scarlet cheeks in the mirror. + +"Yes, I know!" Rose cocked her head on one side, like a pretty bird. +"Well, now, I have a plan!" she said gaily, "I suggest that Cliff +take his car, and we take ours, and the Ellises theirs, and we all +go--children and all! Just a real old-fashioned family picnic." + +"I think that would be fun," Martie said, with a slow smile. + +"I think it would be fun, too," Rose agreed, "and I've been sort of +half-planning something of the sort, anyway! And--perhaps, just +now," she added sweetly, "it would be a little wiser that way. You +see, _I_ understand you, Martie, and I know we seem awfully small +and petty here, but--since we ARE in Monroe, why, isn't it better +not to give any one a chance to talk? Well, about the picnic! Ida +and May always bring cake; I'll take the fried chicken; and Mrs. +Ellis makes a delicious salad--" + +Martie's heart was beating high, and two little white lines marked +the firm closing of her lips. Rose's brightly flung suggestion as to +the impropriety of her going off for the day with Clifford, Teddy, +and Ruth, was seething like a poison within her. But presently she +was mechanically promising sandwiches, and Rose was so far +encouraged that she could give Martie's arm a little squeeze in +farewell. + +It had seemed such a natural thing to propose, when Sally announced +that she was to go down to San Francisco for the day. Martie had +asked for the two older children, and had in all innocence suggested +to Clifford that they make it a picnic. She carried all day a +burning resentment of Rose's interference, and something like anger +at him for consulting Rose. + +But she showed nothing. She duly kissed Rose, and thanked her for +the lovely dinner, and Rodney took her home. Undressing, with +moonlight pouring in two cool triangles on the shabby carpet, Martie +yawned. The whole experience had been curiously flat, except for +Rose's little parting impertinence. But there was no question about +it, it had had its heartening significance! It was the future Mrs. +Clifford Frost who had been entertained to-night. + +Plans for the picnic proceeded rapidly, and Martie knew, as they +progressed, that she need only give Cliff his opportunity that day +to enter into her kingdom. His eagerness to please her, his +unnecessary calls at the Library to discuss the various details, and +the little hints and jests that fluttered about her on all sides, +were a sure clue. + +The morning came when the Frost's big car squeaked down the raw +driveway from Clipper Lane, with little Ruth, in starched pink +gingham, beaming on the back seat. Martie, in white, with a daisy- +crowned hat mashed down over her bright hair, came out from the +shadow of the side porch, the children and boxes were duly +distributed: they were off. + +Martie glanced back to see Lydia's slender form, in a severe gray +percale, under one of the lilacs in the side yard. Mary and Jim +Hawkes were with her: they all waved hands. Lydia had shaded her +face with her fingers, and was blinking in the warm June sunlight. +Poor Lydia, Martie thought, she should have been beside Cliff on +this front seat, she should have been the happy mother of a sturdy +Cliff and Lydia, where Ruth and Teddy and the Hawkes children were +rioting in the tonneau. + +They went to the Parkers', where the other cars had gathered: there +was much laughing and running about in the bright sunlight. The day +would be hot--ideal picnic weather. Rodney, directing everybody, +managed to get close to Martie, who was stacking coats in the car. + +"Like old times, Martie! Remember our picnics and parties?" + +Martie glanced at him quickly, and smiled a little doubtfully. She +found nothing to say. + +"I often look back," Rodney went on. "And I think sometimes that +there couldn't have been a sweeter friendship than yours and mine! +What good times we had! And you and I always understood each other; +always, in a way, brought out the best of each other." He looked +about; no one else was in hearing. "Now, I've got the sweetest +little wife in the world," he said. "I worked hard, and I've +prospered. But there's nothing in my life, Martie, that I value more +than I do the memory of those old days; you believe that, don't +you?" + +"Indeed I do," Martie said cordially, over a deep amusement that was +half scorn. + +Rodney's next remark was made in a low, intense tone and accompanied +by a direct look. + +"You've grown to be a beautiful woman, Martie!" + +"I have?" she laughed uncomfortably. + +"And Cliff," he said steadily, "is a lucky fellow!" + +He had noticed it, then? It must be--it must be so! But Martie could +not assume the implied dignity. + +"Cliff is a dear!" she said lightly, warmly. + +"Rose has seen this coming for a long time," Rodney pursued. "Rose +is the greatest little matchmaker!" + +This was the final irony, thought Martie. To have Rose credited with +this change in her fortunes suddenly touched her sense of humour. +She did not speak. + +"The past is the past," said Rodney. "You and I had our boy-and-girl +affair--perhaps it touched us a little more deeply than we knew at +the time; but that's neither here nor there! But in any case, you +know that you haven't a warmer or a more devoted friend than I am- +you do know that, don't you?-and that if ever I can do anything for +you, Martie, I'll put my hand in the fire to do it!" + +And with his eyes actually a little reddened, and his heart glowing +with generous affection, Rodney lightly pressed her hand, laughed, +blinked, and turned away. A moment later she heard him call Rose +"Dearest," as he capably held her dust-coat for his wife, and +capably buttoned and straightened it. They were starting. + +The three cars got away in a straggling line, trailed each other +through Main Street, and separated for the eleven-mile run. Martie +was listening with a half-smile to the children's eager chatter, and +thinking vaguely that Clifford might ask her to-day, or might not +ask her for three years, when a half-shy, half-husky aside from him, +and a sudden exchange of glances ended the speculation once and for +all. + +"Makes me feel a little bit out of it, seeing all the boys with +their wives," he said, with a rueful laugh. + +"Well, DOESN'T it?" she agreed cordially, and she added, in a +thoughtful voice: "Nothing like happy married life, is there, +Cliff?" + +"You said it," he answered soberly. "I guess you were pretty happy, +Martie?" he questioned delicately. + +"In some ways--yes," she said. "But I had sorrow and care, too." +They were on the top of the hill now, and could look back at the +roofs of Monroe, asleep in Sunday peace, and to the plumy tree-tops +over the old graveyard where Ma lay sleeping; "asleep," as the worn +legend over the gateway said, "until resurrection morn." Near the +graveyard was the "Town farm," big and black, with bent old figures +moving about the bare garden. "That's one reason why I love it all +so, now," she said softly. "I'm safe-I'm home again!" + +"You've certainly got a lot of friends here, Martie." + +"Yes, I know I have!" she said gratefully. + +He cleared his throat. + +"You've got one that will be mighty sorry to have you ever go away +from California again." He became suddenly confused and embarrassed +by his own words. + +"I don't suppose--I don't suppose you'd care to--to try it again, +Martie? I'm considerable older than you are--I know that. But I +don't believe you'd ever be sorry--home for the boy--" + +Colour rushed to her face: voiceless, she looked at him. + +"Don't be in any hurry to make up your mind," he said kindly. "You +and me are old neighbours and friends--I'm not a-going to rush you-- +" + +Still Martie was speechless, honestly moved by his affection. + +"It never entered my head to put any one in Mary's place," he said, +gaining a little ease as he spoke, "until you came back, with that +boy to raise, and took hold so plucky and good-natured. Ruth and I +are alone now: I've buried my wife and my brother, and my father and +mother, and poor Florence ain't going to live long--poor girl. I +believe you'd have things comfortable, and, as I say--" + +"Why, there's only one thing I can say, Cliff," Martie said, finding +words as his voice began to flounder. "I--I'm glad you feel that +way, and I hope--I hope I can make you happy. I certainly--I surely +am going to try to!" + +He turned her a quick, smiling glance, and drew a great breath of +relief. + +"Well, sir--then a bargain's a bargain!" he said in great +satisfaction. "I've been telling myself for several days that you +liked me enough to try it, but when it came right down to it I-- +well, I was just about scared blue!" + +Martie's happy laugh rang out. She laid her smooth fingers over his +big ones, on the wheel, for a second. "I don't know that I ever felt +any happier in my life!" the man presently declared. "We may not be +youngsters, but I don't know but what we can give them all cards and +spades when it comes to sure-enough, old-fashioned happiness!" + +So it was settled, in a few embarrassed and clumsy phrases. Martie's +heart sang with joy and triumph. She really felt a wave of devotion +to the big, gentle man beside her; all the future was rose-coloured. +She had reached harbour at last. + +There was time for little more talk before they were at the beach, +and the excitement of luncheon preparations were upon them. The bay, +a tidal bay perhaps a mile in circumference, was framed in a fine, +sandy shore: long, natural jetties of rock had been flung out far +into the softly rippling water. The tide was making, perhaps a dozen +feet below the fringe of shells and seaweed, cocoanuts and driftwood +that marked high-water. + +In a group of great rocks the boxes and baskets were piled, and the +fire kindled. The wind blew a shower of fine sand across the faces +of the laughing men and women, the children screamed and shouted as +they flirted with the lazily running waves. Women, opening boxes of +neatly packed food, exclaimed with full mouths over every +contribution but their own. + +"Martie, this spice cake--! Mine never looks like this. Oh, May, you +villain! You said you weren't going to bother with the lettuce +sandwiches; they look perfectly delicious! What's in these?--cream +cheese and pineapple--they look delicious! Look out for the eggs, +George!" + +Salt sifted from a folded paper, white enamelled cups were set upon +a level surface of the rock, a quart glass jar held lump sugar. The +smoke of the fire shifted capriciously, reddening eyes, and bearing +with it the delicious odour of brewing coffee. + +Bending over the cake she was cutting, Martie sensed that Cliff was +beside her. She dared not give him a betraying word, the others were +too close, but she sent him an upward glance. His answering glance +was so full of pride and excitement, Martie felt her soul flood with +content. Driving home, against the straight-falling spokes of the +setting sun, they could talk a little, shyly and inconsequently. A +first dew had fallen, bringing a sharp, sweet odour from the brown +grass; Monroe seemed a dear and homely place as they came home. + +"Were you surprised, Martie?" + +"When I first thought of it? I was absolutely stunned! But to-day?-- +no, I wasn't exactly surprised to-day." + +"I had no idea, even this morning!" he confessed. She wondered if +her admission smacked of the designing widow. + +"Other people will be!" she said in smiling warning. + +He chuckled mischievously. + +"Well, won't they?" He smiled for a moment or two in silence, over +his wheel. Martie made another tiny misstep. + +"I suppose there's no reason why I shouldn't tell Lydia--" she began +musingly. + +"Don't tell a soul!" he said quickly. "Not for a while, anyway. When +we get all our plans made, then we'll tell 'em, and turn around and +get married before you could say 'Jack Robinson!'" + +She felt a little chill; a younger woman, with a younger lover, +would have had her pouting and her petting for this. But what did it +matter? Clifford had his first kiss in the dim old parlour with the +gas-brackets that evening; and after a few days he was as fervent a +lover as any woman could ask, eager to rush through the necessary +preparations for their marriage, and to let the world know of his +happiness. + +He was more demonstrative than Martie had anticipated, or than she +really cared to have him. She found odd girlish reserves deep in her +being when he put his arms about her. He was never alone with her +for even a minute without holding her close, turning up her lovely +face for his smiling kisses, locking a big warm arm about her +shoulders. + +After some thought, she told Lydia and Sally, on a hot afternoon +when they were upstairs in the cool window end of the hallway, +patiently going over boxes and boxes of old letters. She had been +absent-minded and silent that day, and Sally had once or twice +looked at her in surprise. + +"Girls--listen. I'm going to be married!" she said abruptly, her +eyes childishly widened, dimples struggling at the corners of her +demure mouth. Sally leaped up in a whirlwind of letters, and gave a +shout of delight. + +"I knew it! I knew it! You can't tell ME! I said so to Joe. Oh, +Mart, you old darling, I'm so glad--I'm gladder than I can say!" + +"Well, dear, I hope you'll be just as happy as possible!" said +Lydia's wilted voice. Martie kissed her cheek, and she returned the +kiss. "I can't say I'm surprised, for nothing very much surprises me +now," Lydia went on. "Cliff was simply heartbroken when Mary died, +and he said then to Angela that there would never be another woman +in his life, but of course we all know how much that means, and +perhaps it's better as it is. I often wish I was constituted as most +people seem to be nowadays--forget, and rush on to something else; +that's the idea! But I hope you'll be very happy, Martie; you'll +certainly have everything in the world to make you happy, but that +doesn't always do it, of course. I believe I'll take these letters +of Ma's to Aunt Sally downstairs; they might get mixed in with the +others and burned. I suppose I'm not much in the mood for weddings +and jollifications now, what with all this change bringing back--our +loss. If other people can be happy, I hope they will; but sometimes +I feel that I'll be glad to get out of it all! I'll leave you two +girls to talk wedding, and if you need me again, call me." + +"Isn't she the limit!" Sally said indignantly, when Lydia had +trailed away. "Just when you're so happy! For Heaven's sake tell me +all about it, and when it's going to be, and how it began, and +everything!" + +Martie was glad to talk. She liked to hear Sally's praise of Cliff; +she had much to praise in him herself. She announced a quiet +wedding; indeed they were not going to spread the news of the +engagement until all their plans were made. Perhaps a week or two +before the event they would tell a few intimate friends, and be +safely away on their honeymoon before the village was over the first +gasp. + +"Don't mind Lyd," Sally said consolingly. "She'll have a grand talk +with Pa, and feel martyred, and talk it over with Lou and Clara, and +come to the conclusion that it's all for the best. Poor Lyd, do you +remember how she used to laugh and dance about the house when we +were little? Do you remember the Spider-web Party?" + +"Do you remember the pink dress, Sally? I used to think Lyd was the +loveliest thing in creation in that dress!" + +Sally was flushed and dimpling; she was not listening. + +"Mart! I think it's the most exciting thing--! Shall you tell +Teddy?" + +"Sally, I don't dare." A shadow fell across Martie's bright face. In +these days she was wistfully tender and gentle with her son. Teddy +would not always be first in her consideration; there might be +serious rivals some day. Life was changing for little unconscious +Teddy. + +He would not remember his father, and the little sister laughing in +her high-chair, and the cold, dirty streets, and the shabby, silent +mother with her busy, tired hands and her frozen heart. It was all +gone, like a dream of struggle and shame, love and hate, joy and +suffering. + +One day, with Teddy and Clifford, she went up to the old house. +Ruth, clean and mannerly, raised her innocent girl's face for her +new mother's kiss, for Ruth was in the secret. Martie liked Ruth, a +simple, normal little person who played "jacks" and "houses" with +her friends under the lilac trees, and had a "best dress" and loved +"Little Women" with a shy passion. Martie foresaw only a pleasant +relationship with the child. What she lacked in imagination was more +than made up in sense. Ruth would graduate, marry, have children, as +placidly as a stout and sturdy little cow. But Martie and Ruth would +always love, even if they did not understand, each other. + +The house was old-fashioned: big double parlours, big folding doors, +and one enormous square bathroom on the second floor, for the needs +of all the house. The cheerful, orderly pantries smelt of painted +wood; the kitchen had cost old Polly two or three unnecessary miles +of walking every month of her twenty-six years' tenancy. Martie +liked the garden best, and the old stables painted white. She loved +the rich mingled scents of wallflower and alyssum and lemon verbena; +and, as they walked about, she tucked a velvet plume of dark +heliotrope into the belt of her thin white gown. "My first colour!" +she said to Clifford. + +Ruth assumed charming, older-sister airs with Teddy. She laughed at +his comments, and quoted him to Martie: "He says he's going to learn +to ride Whitey!" "He says he doesn't like such big houses!" + +Clifford opened doors and smiled at Martie's interest. She could see +that he loved every inch of the old place. She saw herself +everywhere, writing checks at the old walnut desk, talking with +Polly in the pantry. She could sow Shirley poppies in the bed +beneath the side windows; she could have Mrs. Hunter, the village +sewing woman, comfortably established here in the sewing-room for +weeks, if she liked, making ginghams for Ruth and Ruth's new mother. + +When those days came Clifford would gradually abandon this unwelcome +role of lover, and be her kindly, middle-aged old friend again. +Sometimes, in the new shrinking reluctance she felt when they were +alone, she wondered what had become of the old Clifford. There was +something vaguely offending, something a little undignified, about +this fatuous, eager, elderly man who could so poorly simulate +patience. He was not passionate--she might have forgiven him that. +But he was assuming passion, assuming youth, happily egotistical. + +He was fifty-one: he had won a beautiful woman hardly more than half +his age. He wanted to talk about it, to have the conversation always +congratulatory and flattering. He had the attitude of a young +husband, without his youth, to which everything is forgiven. + +Altogether, Martie found her engagement strangely trying. Rose, +instantly suspicious, was presently told of it, and Martie's sisters +and Rose planned an announcement luncheon for early July. Martie +thought she would really be glad when the fuss and flurry was over. + +Long familiar with money scarcity, she wondered sometimes just what +her financial arrangement with her new husband would be. Clifford +was the richest man in Monroe. Not a shop would refuse her credit; +nor a woman in town feel so sure of her comfort and safety. + +But what else? Bitter as her long dependence had been, and widowed +and experienced as she was, she dared not ask. There was something +essentially indelicate in any talk of an allowance now. She would +probably do what was done by almost all the wives she knew: charge, +spend little, and when she must have money, approach her husband at +breakfast or dinner: "Oh, Clifford, I need about ten dollars. For +the man who fixed the surrey, dear, and then if I take all the +children in to the moving pictures, they'll want ice-cream. And I +ought to send flowers to Rose; we don't charge there. Although I +suppose I could send some of our own roses just as well!" + +And Clifford, like other husbands, would take less money than was +suggested from his pocket and say: "How's seven? You can have more +if you want it, but I haven't any more here! But if you like, send +Ruth down to the Bank--" + +"What a fool I am!" Martie mused. "What does independence amount to, +anyway? If I ever had it, I'd probably be longing to get back into +shelter again. + +"Teddy, do you understand that Mother is going to marry Uncle +Cliff?" she asked the child. He rested his little body against her, +one arm about her neck, as he stood beside her chair. + +"Yes, Mother," he answered unenthusiastically. After a second's +thought he began to twist a white button on her blouse. "And then +are we going back to New York?" he asked. + +"No, Loveliness, we stay here." She looked at the child's downcast +face. "Why, Teddy?" she urged. + +Ever since he could speak at all, he had had a fashion of whispering +to her anything that seemed to him especially important or precious, +even when, as now, they were quite alone. He put his lips to her +ear. + +"What is it, dearest? I can't hear you!" + +"I said," he said softly, his lips almost touching her cheek, "that +I would like to go back to New York just with you, and have you take +me out in the snow again, and have you let me make chocolate +custard, the way you always did--for just our own supper, our two +selves. I like all my aunts and every one here, but I get lonesome." + +"Lonesome?" she echoed, trying to laugh over a little pang. + +"Lonesome--for you!" he answered simply. Martie caught him to her +and smothered him in her embrace. + +"You little troubadour!" she laughed, with her kiss. + +The three sisters had never been so much together in their lives as +they were when the time came to demolish the old home. Sally, with a +train of dancing children, came up every morning after breakfast, +and she and Martie and Lydia patiently plodded through store-rooms, +attics, and closets that had not been disturbed for years. + +Lydia's constant cry was: "Ah, don't destroy that; I remember that +ever since I was a baby!" Sally was more apt to say: "I believe I +could use this; it's old, but it could be put in order cheaper than +buying new!" Martie was the iconoclast. + +"Now here's this great roll of silk from Grandmother Price's wedding +dress; what earthly good is this to any one?" she would demand +briskly. "And here's the patchwork quilt Ma started when Len was a +baby, with all the patches pinned together! Why should we keep these +things? And Lydia's sketch-books, when she was taking lessons, and +the old air-tight stove, and Pa's brother's dentist chair--it's +hopelessly old-fashioned now! And what about these piles and piles +of Harper's and Scribner's, and the broken washstand that was in +Belle's, room and the curtains, that used to be in the back hall? I +move we have a bonfire and keep it going all day--" + +"I'd forgotten that the old rocking-horse was here," Sally said one +day, with pleasure. "The boys will love it! And do you know, Lyd, I +was thinking that this little table with the leg mended and painted +white wouldn't be a bit bad in my hall. I really need a table there, +for Joe brings in his case, or the children get the mail--we'd have +lots of use for it. And here's the bedside table, that's an awfully +good thing to have, because in case of illness--" + +"Heavens!" said Martie. "She's trying to break something to us; she +suspects that there may be an illness some day in her house--" + +"Oh, I do not!" said Sally, flushing and giggling in the old way. + +"Len's first little suit," Lydia mused. "Dear me--dear me! And this +old table-cover; I remember when that was new! And here are Aunt +Carrie's things; she sent Ma a great box of them when she died; +look, Sally, the old-fashioned sleeves with fibre-chamois in them! +This box is full of hats; this was my Merry Widow hat; it was always +so pretty I hated to destroy it, but I suppose it really isn't much +good! I wonder if some poor woman could use it. And these are all +old collars of Pa's and Len's--it seems a shame to throw them away. +I wonder if we could find some one who wears this size? Martie, +don't throw that coat over there in the pile for the fire--it's a +good piece of serge, and that cape style may come in again!" + +Absorbed and interested, the three worked among memories. Sometimes +for an hour at a time there was silence in the attic. Martie, with a +faded pink gingham dress spread across her lap, would be eight +again, trotting off to school with Sally, and promising Ma to hold +Len's hand when they crossed Main Street. How clean and trim, how +ready for the day, she had felt, when her red braid was tied with a +brown ribbon, and this little garment firmly buttoned down the back, +and pressed with a great sweep of Ma's arms to crush the too stiffly +starched skirt! + +Sally observed amusedly, perhaps a little pityingly, that Lydia +wanted everything. There was nothing in the old house for which +Lydia did not expect to have immediate need in the new. This little +table for the porch, this extra chair for the maid's room, this +mirror, this mattress, this ladder. The older sister reserved enough +furniture to fill the new house twice over; she would presently pack +the new rooms with cumbersome, useless possessions, and go to her +death believing herself the happier for having them. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +The Eastern editor who had taken her first article presently wrote +her again. Martie treasured his letter with burning, secret pride, +and with perhaps a faint, renunciatory pang. She had pushed in her +opening wedge at last, too late! For no trifling literary success +could change the destined course of Mrs. Clifford Frost. + +This was the letter: + +DEAR MRS. BANNISTER: We are constantly receiving more letters from +women who read "Give Her A Job," and find that what you had to say +upon an apparently well-worn subject struck a most responsive chord. +Can you not give us another two thousand words upon this, or a +similar subject? This type of article is always most welcome. + +That was all. But it inspired Martie to try again. After all, even +as a rich man's wife, she might amuse herself in this way as well as +another. + +Between the move from the old house, her wedding plans, the claims +of her husband-to-be, and the Library work, she was busy now, every +instant of the day. Yet she found time, as only a busy woman can, +for writing, and put a new ardour into her attempts, because of the +little beginning of encouragement. Hoping and fearing, she presently +sent a second article on its way. + +One July evening she stayed rather late at the Library working on a +report. Clifford was delayed in Pittsville, and would not see her +until after dinner; the rare opportunity was too precious to lose. +In a day or two all Monroe would know of her new plans: in six weeks +she would be Clifford's wife. + +When the orderly sheets had been put into a long envelope, Martie +pinned on her white hat, and stepped into the level rays of sunset +light that were pouring into Main Street. The little fruit stand +opposite seemed wilted in the heat; hot little summer breezes were +tossing chaff and papers about the street. + +Martie's eyes instantly found an unexpected sight: a low, rakish +motor car drawn up to the curb. She had not seen it before in +Monroe, nor did she recognize the man who sat on the seat next the +driver's seat, with his hat pulled over his eyes. + +The driver, a handsome big fellow of perhaps forty or more, had just +jumped from the car, and now came toward her. She smiled into a +clever, unfamiliar face that yet seemed oddly recognizable. He asked +her something. + +"I beg your pardon?" she had to say, her eyes moving quickly from +him to his companion, who had turned about in the seat, and was +watching them. Her heart stopped beating for a second, then, +commenced to race. Her colour rose in a radiant flood. With three +swift steps she had passed the big man, and was at the curb, and +leaning over the car. + +"John--!" she stammered. "My dear--my dear!" + +The man in the car turned upon her the smile she knew so well: a +child's half-merry, half-wistful smile, from sea-blue eyes in fair +lashes. Time vanished, and Martie felt that she might have seen it +yesterday; have felt yesterday the muscular grip of John Dryden's +hand. Bewildered at their own emotion, laughing and confused, their +fingers clung together. + +"Hello--Martie!" he said, in a shaken voice, his blue eyes suddenly +blazing as he saw her. Martie's eyes were wet, her delight turning +her cheeks to rose. John did not speak, unless his burning eyes +spoke; and Martie for a few minutes was hardly intelligible. It was +the stranger who spoke. + +"I'm Dean Silver, Mrs. Bannister--you don't have to be introduced to +me, because I know John here. You're his favourite topic, you know." + +"Dean Silver!" Martie smiled bewilderedly at the novelist; she knew +that name! He was a writer with twenty books to his credit. He had a +ranch somewhere in California; he spent his winters there. Some hazy +recollection struggled for recognition. + +"But, John!" she laughed. "Here in Monroe! My dear, you'll never +know what it meant to glance up and see you--and you look so well! +And you're famous, too; isn't it wonderful! And, tell me, what +brings you to California!" + +The quick, authoritative glance was delightfully familiar, yet +somehow new. + +"Why, you brought me, of course, Martie," he said unsmilingly, as if +any other supposition would have been absurd. He had not spoken +before; she knew now that she had hungered for his rather deep, +ready voice. Her colour came up, her heart gave a curious twist, and +she dropped her eyes. + +"Dryden and I have been batching it together in New York," said Dean +Silver. "My wife's been here since April with her mother and our +kid. When I came on, I got Dryden here to come, too. They want me to +take a long sea trip: I hope you'll help me persuade him to come, +too. He's trying to double-cross me on it, I think. He said he'd +come as far as California, and then see how things looked. So we +shipped the car last month, and left New York a week ago to-day." + +"Well, Monroe is honoured," Martie smiled, amused, fluttered, a +little confused by this open recognition of John's feeling. "But now +that you're here, I don't know quite what to do with you!" + +"There's a hotel?" asked the novelist. + +"Oh, it's not that. I'm only anxious to make the most of you," said +Martie. "We've more than enough room at our house! But, like poor +Fanny Squeers, I do so palpitate!" + +"Palpitate away!" said Dean Silver. "We're in your hands. You can +send us off right now, or let us take you to dinner somewhere, or +direct us to the hotel--for three thousand miles our main idea was +to find you, and we've done it!" + +"Well, but JOHN!" Martie was still dazed and exulting. "It's so GOOD +to see you!" + +"I had to see you," he said, in his simple way, his eyes never +leaving her. + +"But now, let me plan!" she said, with an excited laugh. "If you'll +let me get in the car with you, and--and let me see, we'd better get +something extra for company--" + +"Now, that's just what you shan't do," Dean Silver said decisively. +"I don't propose to have you--" + +"Oh, she likes it," John assured him, with his dreamy air that was +yet so positive. "Don't waste time, Dean." + +Martie laughed; John sat between herself and the novelist in the +wide seat. He turned his head so that she was always under the fire +of his adoring eyes. And in the old way he laughed, thrilled, +exulted in everything she said + +Half an hour later, as gaily as if she had known them both all her +life, she introduced them to Pa. Pa, whose youngest daughter was +just now in high favour, was mildly pleased with the invasion. This +impromptu hospitality smacked of prosperity, of worldliness. He went +stiffly into the study with John, to bore the poet with an old +volume about California: "From the Padres to the Pioneers." + +Martie, cheerfully setting the dining table, kept a brisk +conversation moving with Dean Silver, who sat smoking on the side +porch. + +Presently she came put with an empty glass bowl, which she set down +beside him. He followed her down into the tipsy brick paths, under +the willows, while she gathered velvet wallflowers to fill it. + +"You're very clever at this village sort of thing," the writer said. +"And I must say I like it myself. Old-fashioned street full of kids +streaming in for ice-cream, garden with stocks and what-you-call- +'ems all blooming together--you know, I had a sort of notion you +weren't half as nice as you are!" + +Martie laughed, pleased at the frank audacity. + +"You fit into it all so pleasantly!" he expanded his thought. + +"I don't know why you say that," she answered, surprised. "I was +born here. I belong here. I lived for years in New York without +being able to demonstrate that I could do anything better!" + +"Dryden has a great idea of what you can do," Silver suggested. + +"Oh, well, John!" she laughed maternally. "If you've been listening +to John--" + +"I've HAD to listen to him," the novelist said mildly. + +"Tell me," she said suddenly, "I don't want to say the awkward thing +to him--has he got his divorce?" + +He looked at her, amazed. + +"Don't you correspond?" + +"Twice a year, perhaps." + +Dean Silver flung away his cigarette, and sunk his hands in his +pockets. + +"Certainly he's divorced," he said briefly. + +Martie's heart thumped. The flowers in her hands, she stood staring +away from him, unseeing. + +"I hope you'll forgive me--I feel like a fool touching the thing at +all," Dean Silver said, after a silence. "But I thought that there +was some sort of an understanding between you." + +"Oh, no!" Martie half-whispered, with a fluttered breath. + +"There isn't?" he asked, in a tone of keen protest. + +"Oh, no!" + +The novelist whistled a few notes and shrugged his shoulders. + +"Well, then, there isn't," he said philosophically. He stooped to +pick a fragrant spike of mignonette, and put it in his buttonhole. +When he began speaking again, he did not look at Martie. "A few of +us have come to know Dryden well, this winter," he said gravely. +"He's a rare fellow, Mrs. Bannister--a big man, and he's got his +field to himself. You wouldn't believe me if I told you what a fuss +they've been making over him--back there, and how little it matters +to him. He's going a long way. You--you've got to be kind to him, my +dear girl." + +"I'm a Catholic, and he's a divorced man," Martie said, turning +troubled eyes toward him. "I never thought of him in that way!" + +Dean Silver raised his eyebrows. + +"People are still believing that sort of thing, are they?" + +"Only about a hundred million!" she answered, drily in her turn. + +The man laughed shortly. + +"Sweet complication!" he observed. + +"More than that," Martie said hurriedly, "I'm engaged to be married +to the president of the bank here, in about six weeks!" + +Their eyes met steadily for a full minute. + +"I devoutly trust you are not serious?" said Dean Silver then. + +"Oh, but I am!" she said, with a nervous laugh. + +For answer he merely shrugged his shoulders again. In silence they +turned toward the house. + +"That is an actual settled fact, is it?" Silver asked, when they +were at the steps. + +"Why, yes!" Martie answered, feeling a strange inclination toward +tears. "I've been here for a year and a half," she added lamely. +"I've not seen John--I tell you I never thought of him as anything +but Adele's husband! And Clifford--the man I am to marry--is a good +man, and it means a home for life for my boy and me--and it means +the greatest pleasure to my father and sisters--" + +"I think I never heard such a damnable set of reasons for a +beautiful woman's marriage!" Silver said, as she paused. + +Martie could find no answer. She was excited, bewildered, thrilled, +all at once. She felt that another word would be too much. Silently +she picked up her bowl and her flowers, and crossed the porch to the +house. + +Lydia, coming in late from a meeting of the Fair Committee, was +speechless. In a pregnant silence she lent cold aid to her audacious +sister. The big bed in Len's room was made, the bureau spread with a +clean, limp towel. Pauline was interviewed; she brightened. Dean +Silver was from Prince Edward's Island, too, it seemed. Pauline +could make onion soup, and rolls were set, thanks be! She could open +preserves; she didn't suppose that sliced figs were good enough for +a company dessert. + +They had the preserves, and the white figs, too; figs that Teddy and +Martie had knocked that morning from the big tree in the yard. Lydia +noticed with resentment that Pa had really brightened perceptibly +under the unexpected stimulus. It was Lydia who said mildly, almost +reproachfully, "I'm sorry that I have to give you a rather small +napkin, Mr. Dryden; we had company to dinner last night, and I find +we're a little short--" + +John hardly heard her; he saw nothing but Martie, and only rarely +moved his eyes from her, or spoke to any one else. He glowed at her +lightest word, laughed at her mildest pleasantry; he frequently +asked her family if she was not "wonderful." + +This was the attitude of that old lover of her dreams, and in spite +of amusement and trepidation and nervous consciousness that she was +hopelessly entangling her affairs, Martie's heart began to swell, +and her senses to feel creeping over their alertness a deadly and +delicious languor. She had been powerless all her life: she thrilled +to the knowledge of her power now. + +Dean Silver easily kept the conversation moving. They learned that +he had been overworking, had been warned by his physician that he +must take a rest. So he and John were off for the Orient: he himself +had always wanted to sail up the Nile, and to see Benares. + +"John, what a year in fairyland!" Martie exclaimed. + +"Well, that's what I tell him," said the novelist. "But he isn't at +all sure he wants to go!" + +As John merely gave Martie an unmistakable look at this, she tried +hurriedly for a careless answer. + +"John, you would be mad not to go!" + +"You and I will talk it over after awhile," he suggested, with an +enigmatic smile. + +This was terrible. Martie gave one startled look at Lydia, who had +compressed her mouth into a thin line of disapproval. Lydia was +obviously thinking of Cliff, who might come in later. Martie found +herself unable to think of Cliff. + +They had coffee in the garden, in the still summer dusk. Teddy +rioted among the bushes, as alert and strategic as was his gray +kitten. John sat silent beside Martie, and whenever she glanced at +him she met his deep smile. Lydia preserved a forbidding silence, +but Malcolm's suspicions of his younger daughter were pleasantly +diverted by the novelist. Dean Silver was probing into the early +history of the State. + +"But there must have been silver and gold mines up as far as this, +then; aren't you in the gold belt?" + +"In the year 1858," Malcolm began carefully, "a company was formed +here for the purpose of investigating the claims made by--" + +John finished his coffee with a gulp, and walked across the dim +grass to Martie, and she rose without a word. + +"Martie, isn't it Teddy's bedtime?" asked Lydia. John frowned +faintly at her. + +"Can't you put him to bed?" he asked directly. Lydia's cool cheek +flushed. + +"Why, yes--I will--" she answered confusedly. Martie called her +thanks over her shoulder as they walked away. She was reminded of +the day she had called on John at his office. + +Quick and shaken, the beating of her heart bewildered her; she +hardly knew where they walked, or how they began to talk. The +velvety summer night was sweet with flowers; the moon would be late, +but the sky was high and dark, and thick with stars. In the silver +glimmer the town lights, and the dim eye of the dairy, far up on the +range, burned red. Children were shouting somewhere, and dogs +barking; now and then the other mingled noises were cut across by +the clear, mellow note of a motor car's horn. + +They came to the lumber-yard by the river, and went in among the +shadowy piles of planks. The starry dome was arched, infinitely far +and yet friendly, above them; the air here was redolent of the clean +wood. From houses near by, but out of sight beyond the high wall, +they heard occasional voices: a child was called, a wire-door +slammed. But they were alone. + +John was instantly all the acknowledged if not the accepted lover. +Once fairly inside the fence, she found her heart beating madly +against his own; as tall as he, she tried to deny him her lips. Her +arms were pinioned. Man and woman breathed fast. + +"Martie--my wonderful--my beautiful--girl! I never lived until now!" +he said after a silence. + +"But, John--John--" He had taken her off her guard; she was +stammering like a school-girl. "Please, dear, you mustn't--not now. +I want to talk to you--I must. Won't you wait until we have had a +talk--please--you're frightening me!" + +His hold was instantly loosed. + +"My dearest child, I wouldn't frighten you for anything in the +world. Let us have the talk--here, climb up here! It was only-- +realizing--what I've been dreaming about all these months! I'm flesh +and blood, you know, dear. I shall not feel myself alive--you know +that!--until you are in my arms, my own--my wife." + +She had seated herself on the top of the pile; now he sat on the +ledge that was a few inches lower, and laid his arms across her +knees, so that his hands were clasped in both her own. Her senses +were swimming, her heart itself seemed turned to liquid fire, and +ran trembling through her body. + +"My wife!" John said, eager eyes fairly devouring her. "My glorious +wife, the loveliest woman in the world! Do you know what it means, +Martie? Do you know what it means, after what we both have known?" + +The sight of his wistful, daring smile in the starlight, the touch +of his big, eager hands, and the sound of the odd, haunting voice +turned the words to magic. She tightened her fingers on his. + +"I bought the Connecticut house on the river," he said presently. +"It belonged to a carpenter, a fine fellow; but the railroad doesn't +go there, and he and his wife wanted to go to a bigger place. Silver +and I went up and saw it, but I didn't want to do anything until you +came. But there are rocks, you know--" Hearing something between a +laugh and a sigh, he stopped short. "Rocks," he repeated, "you know +all those places are rocky!" + +"I know, dearest boy!" + +The term overwhelmed him. She heard him try to go on; he choked, +glanced at her smilingly, and shook his head. A second later he laid +his face against her hands, and she felt that it was wet. + +The clock in the Town Hall struck nine--struck ten, and still they +sat on, sometimes talking, sometimes staring up at the steadily +beating stars. Quiet fell upon Monroe, lights moved in the little +houses and went out. There was a little stir when the crowd poured +out from the moving pictures: voices, shouts, laughter, then silence +again. + +Suddenly Martie decreed their return to the house. But the ecstasy +of finding each other, again was too new. They passed the dark old +gateway to the sunken garden, and walked on, talking thirstily, +drinking deep of the joy of words. + +Hand in hand they went up the hill, and time and space might have +equally been demolished. That hill had seemed a long climb to Martie +years ago: to-night it seemed a dream hill, she and John were so +soon at its little summit. + +Below them lay the dark village and the furry tops of trees flooded +with gray moonlight. The odours of a summer night crept out to meet +them, odours of flowers and dew-wet, sunburned grass. The roadside +fences were wreathed with wild blackberry vines that took weird +shapes in the dark. In the idle fields spreading oaks threw shadows +of inky blackness. + +Martie hardly thought of Clifford. Across her spinning senses an +occasional thought of him crept, but he had no part in to-night. To- +morrow she must end this dream of exquisite fulfillment, to-morrow, +somehow, she must send John away. But to-night was theirs. + +Their talk was that of lovers, whose only life is in each other's +presence. They leaned on an old fence, above the town, and whether +they were grave, or whether Martie's gay laugh and his eager echoing +laugh rang out, the enchantment held them alike. + +It was after one o'clock when they came slowly down the hill, and +let themselves silently into the shadowy garden. Martie fled +noiselessly past the streak of light under Lydia's door, gained her +own room, and blinked at her lighted gas. + +The mirror showed her a pale, exalted face, with glittering blue +eyes under loosened bronze hair. She was cold, excited, tired, and +ecstatic. She moved the sprawling Teddy to the inside of the bed, +stooping to lay her cold cheek and half-opened lips to his flushed +little face. She got into a wrapper, her hair falling free on her +shoulders, and sat dreaming and remembering. + +Lydia, in her gray wrapper, came in, with haggard, reproachful eyes. +Lydia was pale, too, but it was the paleness of fatigue, and had +nothing in common with Martie's starry pallor. + +"Martie, do you know what time it is?" + +"Lyd--I know it's late!" + +"Late? It's two o'clock." + +"Not really?" Martie bunched her splendid hair with a white hand +under each ear, and faced her affronted sister innocently. + +"Don't say 'not really!'" Lydia, who happened to hate this +expression, which as a matter of fact Martie only used in moments of +airy rebellion, said sharply: "If that man hasn't any sense, you +ought to have!" + +"We used to be intimate friends a few years ago," Martie offered +mildly. "We had a lot to say." + +"A lot that couldn't be said before Pa and me, I suppose?" Lydia +asked bitingly. Martie was silent. "What do you propose to tell +Cliff of this delightful friendship?" Lydia pursued. "And how long a +visit do your friends propose to make?" + +"Only until to-morrow. Mrs. Silver wants me to visit them, you know, +at Glen Mary." + +"Do you intend to go?" Lydia asked stonily. + +"Well, I suppose not. But it would be a wonderful experience, of +course. But I suppose not." Martie sighed heavily. "I really hadn't +thought it out," she pleaded. + +"I should think you hadn't! I never heard anything like it," Lydia +said. "I should think the time had come when you really might think +it out--I don't know what things are coming to--" + +"Oh, Lyddy dear, don't be so tiresome!" Martie said rudely. Lydia at +once left the room, with a short goodnight, but the interrupted mood +of memories and dreams did not return. Martie sat still a long time, +wrapped in the blanket she caught from the bed, staring vaguely into +space. + +"I've got to think it all out," she told herself, "I mustn't make-- +another mistake." + +And yet when she crept in beside Teddy, and flung her arm about him, +she would not let the half-formed phrase stand. The step that had +brought her splendid boy to her arms was not a mistake. + +She slept lightly, and was up at five o'clock. Teddy, just shifting +from the stage when nothing could persuade him to sleep in the +morning to the stage when nothing could persuade him to wake, merely +rolled over when she left him. Martie, bathed, brushed, dressed in +white, went into the garden. They had arranged no meeting, but John +came toward her under the pepper trees as she closed the door. + +Again they walked, this time in morning freshness. Martie showed him +the school gate, with "Girls" lettered over it, where she had +entered for so many years. They walked past the church, and up +toward the hills. She said she must get home in time to help Pauline +with breakfast for the augmented family, and John went with her into +the old kitchen, and cut peaches and mixed muffins with the +enthusiasm of an expert, talking all the time. + +"But tell me about Adele, John!" she said suddenly, when Lydia and +her father had left the breakfast table, and they two were alone +again. "How do you EXPLAIN it?" + +"Oh, well!" He brought his mind with an obvious effort to Adele. "We +had sort of a hard time of it--she wasn't well, and I wasn't. Her +sister came on--she's--she's quite a woman!" Evidently still a +little impressed by some memory, he made a wild gesture with his +hands. "She thought I didn't understand Adele?" he went on +questioningly. "After she left, Adele simply went away. She went to +a boarding-house where she knew the woman, and when I went there to +see her she told me that it was all over. That's what she said: it +was all over. I went to see the doctor, and he didn't deny that they +had gone somewhere--Atlantic City, I think it was, together! She +asked for a divorce, and I gave it to her, and her sister came on to +stay with her for the time she got it. She seemed awfully unhappy. +It was just before my book was taken. Her sister said she was +unlucky, and I guess she was--poor Adele!" + +"And there was never any fight, or any special cause?" + +"Oh, no!" He smiled his odd and charming smile. "But I think I bored +her!" he said. "I do bore most people! But most people don't--don't +understand me, Martie," he went on, with a quality almost like +hunger in his eyes and voice. "And that's why I have been longing +and longing to see you again. YOU understand! And with you I always +feel as if I could talk, as if what I said mattered, as if--well, as +if I had been on a hot desert walk, and came suddenly to trees, and +shade, and a bubbling spring!" + +"You poet!" she smiled. But a pang shook her heart. It was sweet, it +was perilously sweet, but it could not be for long now. + +"John," she began, when like a happy child he had loitered out with +her to feed the chickens, "I've got something to tell you. I'm +sorry." + +Scattering crumbled cornbread on the pecked, bare ground under the +willows, he gave her a confiding look. Her heart stopped. + +"It's about Mr. Frost," Martie went on, "I've known him all my life; +he's one of the nicest men here. I'm--I'm engaged to him, John!" + +His hand arrested, John looked at her steadily. There was a silence. + +"How do you mean--to be married?" he asked tonelessly, without +stirring. + +Martie nodded. Under the willows, and in the soft fog of the +morning, the thing suddenly seemed a tragedy. + +"Aren't you," he said simply, "aren't you going to marry me?" + +His tone brought the tears to her eyes. + +"I can't!" she whispered. "John, I'm sorry!" + +"Sorry," he echoed dully. "But--but I don't understand. You can't +mean that you have promised--that you expect--to marry any one else +but me?" And as Martie again allowed a silence to fall, he took a +few steps away from her, walking like a person blinded by sudden +pain. "I don't understand," he said again. "I never thought of +anything but that we belonged to each other--I've thought of it all +the time! And now you tell me--I can't believe it! Is it settled? Is +it all decided?" + +"My family and his family know," Martie said. + +"Oh, but Martie--you can't mean that!" he burst out in agony. "What +have I done! What have I done--to have you do this! You don't love +him!" + +"John," she said steadily, catching his hands, "even if I were free, +you aren't, dear. We could never be married while Adele lives." + +He turned his steady gaze upon her. + +"Then last night--" he asked gravely. + +"Last night I was a fool, John--I was all to blame! I'm so sorry-- +I'm so terribly sorry!" + +"I thought last night--" He turned away under the willows, and she +anxiously followed him. "You let me think you cared!" + +"John, I do care!" + +"You SAID you did!" + +"I don't know what was the matter with me," Martie said wretchedly, +"I was so carried away by seeing you so suddenly--and thinking of +old times--and of all we had been through together--" + +"But it wasn't of that we talked, Martie!" + +"I know." Her head drooped. "I know!" + +"I'm so sorry," he said, bewildered and hurt. "I don't understand +you. I can't believe that you are going to marry that man, whoever +he is; you didn't say anything about him last night! Who is he--what +right has he got to come into it?" + +"He's a good and honourable man, John, and he asked me. And I said +yes." + +"You said yes--loving me?" + +"Oh, John dear--you don't understand--" + +"No," he said heavily, "I confess I don't." + +The tone, curt and cold, brought tears to her eyes, and he saw them. +Instantly he was all penitence. + +"Martie--ah, don't cry! Don't cry for me! Don't--I tell you, or I +shall rush off somewhere--I can't see you cry! I'll try to +understand. But you see last night--last night made me hope that you +might care for me a little--I couldn't sleep, Martie, I was so +happy! But I won't think of that. Now tell me, I'm quite quiet, you +see. Tell me. You don't mean that you don't--feel anything about +it?" + +"John," she said simply, "I don't know whether I love you or not. I +know that--that last night was one of the wonderful times of my +life. But it came on me like a thunderbolt--I never felt that way +before--even when I was first engaged, even when I was married! But +I don't know whether that's love, or whether it's just you--the +extraordinary effect of you! You belong to one of the hardest parts +of my life, and at first, last night, I thought it was just seeing +you again--like any other old friend. Now--this morning--I don't +know." She stopped, distressed. The man was silent. "If I've really +made you unhappy, it will kill me, I think," Martie began, again, +pleadingly. "How can I go on into this marriage feeling that you are +lonely and hurt about it?" + +They had sat down on the old iron bench that had for fifty years +stood rooted in the earth far down at the end of the garden, under +pepper trees and gnarled evergreens and rusty pampas grass. + +"I thought you would marry me," John said, "and that we would go to +live in the farmhouse with the white rocks." + +His tone made her eyes fill again. + +"I'm sorry," she said. + +"Yes, but I can't leave it this way, Martie," John said. "If I DID +come suddenly upon you, if I DID take you by surprise: why, I can +give you time. You can have all the time you want! I'll stay here in +the village--at the hotel, and see you every day, and we'll talk +about it." + +"Talking wouldn't make you anything but a divorced man, John," she +said. + +"But you can't blame me for that--Adele did that!" + +"Yes, I know, dear. But the fact is a fact, just the same." + +"But--" He began some protest eagerly; his voice died away. + +"See here, John." Martie locked her hands about the empty, battered +pan that had held the chickens' breakfast. "I was a girl here, ten +years ago, and I gave my parents plenty of trouble. Then I married, +and I suffered--and paid--for that. Then I came home, shabby and sad +and poor, and my father and sister took me in. Now comes this +opportunity to make a good man happy, to give my boy a good home, to +make my father and sisters proud and satisfied, to do, in a word, +the dutiful, normal thing that I've been failing to do all these +years! He loves me, and--I've known him since I was a child--I do +truly love him. This is July--we are to be married in August." + +"You are NOT!" he said, through set jaws. + +"But I am. I've always been a trial and a burden to them, John--I +could work my hands to the bone, more, I could write another 'Mary +Beatrice' without giving them half the joy that this marriage will +give!" + +"That's the kind they are!" he said, with a boyish attempt at a +sneer. + +She laughed forgivingly, seeing the hurt beneath the unworthy +effort, and laid her fingers over his. + +"That's the kind I am, too! This is my home, and this is my life, +and God is good to me to make it so pleasant and so easy!" + +"Do you dare say, Martie, that if it were not for Adele you would +not marry me?" + +Martie considered seriously. + +"No, I can't say that, John. But you might as well ask me what I +would do if Cliff's wife were alive and yours dead!" + +"I see," he said hopelessly. + +For a few minutes there was silence in the old garden. John stared +at the neglected path, where shade lay so heavily that even in +summer emerald green moss filmed the jutting bricks. Martie +anxiously watched him. + +"What do you want me to do?" he asked, presently, in a dead voice. + +"I ask you not to make my life hard again, just when I have made it +smooth," she said eagerly. "I've been fighting all my life, John-- +now I've won! I'm not only doing something that pleases them, I'm +doing the one thing that could please them most! And that means joy +for me, too--it's ALL right, for every one, at last! Dear, if I +could marry you, then that would be something else to think about, +but I can't. It would never be a marriage at all, in my eyes--" + +"Oh, how I hate this petty talk of marriage, and duty, and all the +rest of it!" he burst out bitterly. "Tied to a little village, and +its ideals--YOU! Oh, Martie, why aren't you bigger than all this, +why don't you snap your fingers at them all? Come away with me--come +away with me, Sweetheart, let's get out of it--and away from them! +You and I, Martie, what do we need of the world? Oh, I want you so-- +I want you so! We'll go to Connecticut, and live on the bank of our +river, and we'll make boats for Teddy--" + +Teddy! If she had been wavering, even here in the old garden, which +was still haunted for her with memories of little girl days, of +Saturday mornings with dolls, houses and sugar pies, the child's +name brought her suddenly to earth. Teddy--! That was her answer. + +She got to her feet, and began to walk steadily toward the house. He +followed her. + +"I ask you--for my sake--to give up the thought of it," she said +firmly. "I BEG you--! I want you to go away--to India, John, and +forget me--forget it all!" + +He walked beside her for a moment in silence. When he spoke his +voice was dead and level. + +"Of course if you ask me, the thing is done, my dear!" + +"Thank you, John," she said, with a sinking heart. + +"Not at all." + +When they reached the side doorway, he went quickly and quietly in. +Dean Silver, sauntering around from the front garden, met her. He +had his watch in his hand. The gray car was waiting in the drive. + +"If we have to make Glen Mary to-night, Mrs. Bannister," he began. +"And I want your answer to my wife's invitation," he added, with a +concerned and curious look at her agitated face. + +"Oh, Mr. Silver," she said unhappily, "I can't come and visit you-- +it's all been a mistake--I think I must have been crazy last night! +I'm so sorry--but things can't be changed now, I want you to take +him away--to sail up the Nile--if you really are going--" + +"My dear girl," the man said patiently, "he hasn't the faintest idea +of sailing with me--I wish to the Lord he had!" + +"He said he would," she said lifelessly. + +"Dryden did?" Silver turned upon her suddenly. + +"Yes, he just said he would." + +"DRYDEN?" + +"Yes." Martie picked a dead marguerite from a bush, and crumbled it +in her fingers. + +"When did he?" + +"Just now." + +Dean Silver looked keenly at her face and shook his head +bewilderedly. + +"You are really going through with it, then?" + +"Oh, yes, I must!" she answered feverishly. And she added: "I want +to!" + +"I see you want to!" the novelist said drily. And his voice had lost +its brotherly, affectionate tone when he added: "Very well, then, if +you two have settled it between you, I will not presume to +interfere, I was going down to the city to-morrow to see about +reservations; if Dryden means it--of course it alters the entire +aspect of affairs to me!" + +"Oh, don't use that tone!" she said agitatedly, "I didn't ask him to +come here--I never encouraged him--why, I never thought of him! Am I +to blame?" + +"Look here," said Silver suddenly. "You can't fool me. You know you +love him!" + +Martie did not answer. Her colour had faded, and she looked pale and +tired. She dropped her eyes Pity suddenly filled his own. + +"I'm sorry!" the man said quickly; "I'm awfully sorry. I'll help you +if I can. He may buck the last moment, but perhaps he won't. And you +think it over. Think it all over. And if you send me a wire one +minute before the boat sails--that'll be time enough! We'll come +back. I'll keep you informed--and for God's sake, wire if you can!" + +"We'll leave it that way," Martie said gratefully. + +"I believe you'll wire," Silver said, with another searching look. +She only shrugged her shoulders wearily in answer. + +They were silent for a few minutes, and then John came out of the +house with his bag in his hand. Lydia followed him down the steps. + +Lydia was somewhat puzzled by the manner of the visitors, but +relieved to see that they were not planning to strain the +hospitality of the house for lunch. It was merely a question of +thanks and good-byes now, and these she had come forth to receive +with dignity. + +"Your suitcase is in?" John said to his friend. He put his own into +the rumble, snaps were snapped and locks closed. He did not look at +Martie. He lifted his cap, and took Lydia's hand. "Good-bye, Miss +Monroe, and thank you. Good-bye, Martie. Everything all right, +Dean?" + +He got into his seat. Lydia gave her hand in turn to the novelist. + +"You mustn't count on a visit from this girl here, at Glen Mary," +Lydia said in pleasant warning. "She's going to be a pretty busy +girl from now on, I expect!" + +"So she was saying," Dean Silver said gravely. "Our own plans may be +changed," he added casually. "I may yet persuade Dryden here to sail +up the Nile with me!" + +"I certainly think any one who has such a wonderful opportunity +would be foolish to decline it," Lydia observed cheerfully. + +"Good-bye," said the writer to Martie. "You'll wire me if you can, I +know!" + +"Good-bye," she said, hardly conscious of what was being done and +said, in the fever of excitement that was consuming her. "And thank +you!" + +He jumped into the car. Martie, trembling, stepped back beside Lydia +as the engine began to throb. + +"Good-bye, John," she faltered. John lifted his cap; the driver +waved a gloved hand. + +They were gone. + +"I'm so glad you told him about your engagement, Martie!" Lydia said +approvingly. "It was the only honest thing to do. And dear me, isn't +it quite a relief to think that they've had their visit, and it's +over, and everything is explained and understood?" + +"Isn't it?" Martie echoed dully. + +She went upstairs. The harsh light of the summer noon did not +penetrate the old Monroe house. Martie's room was full of greenish +light; there was an opaque streak across the old mirror where she +found her white, tired face. + +She flung herself across the bed. Her heart was still beating high, +and her lips felt dry and hot. She could neither rest nor think, but +she lay still for a long while. + +Chief among her confused emotions was relief. He had come, he had +frightened and disturbed her. Now he was gone again. She would +presently go down to mash Teddy's baked potato, and serve watery +canned pears from the pressed glass bowl. She would dress in white, +and go driving with Cliff and Teddy and Ruth in the late afternoon. +Life would resume its normal placidity. + +A week from to-day Rose and Sally would give her the announcement +party. Martie resolutely forced her thoughts to the hour of John's +arrival: of what had she been thinking then? Of her wedding gown of +blue taffeta, and the blue straw hat wreathed with roses. She must +go down to the city, perhaps, for the hat--? + +But the city brought John again to her mind, and for a few delicious +minutes she let herself remember his voice, his burning words, his +deep, meaning look. + +"Well, it's wonderful--to have a man care that way!" she said, +forcing herself to get up, and set about dressing. "It's something +to have had, but it's over!" + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Over, however, the episode was not, and after a few days Martie +realized with a sort of shame that she did not wish it to be over. +She could not keep her memory away from the enchanted hours when +John's presence had lent a glory to the dark old house and the +prosaic village. She said with a pang: "It was only yesterday--it +was only two--only three--days ago, that he was here, that all the +warmth and delight of it was mine!" + +The burning lightness and dryness seemed still to possess her: she +was hardly conscious of the days she was living, for the poignancy +and power of the remembered days. The blue taffeta dress had lost +its charm, everything had grown strangely dull and poor. + +She passed the lumber-yard with a quickened heart; she climbed the +hill alone, and leaned on the fence where they had leaned, and let +the full, splendid recollection sweep across her. She knelt in +church and prayed that there would be a letter from Dean Silver, +saying that Adele was dead-- + +A little cottage on a river bank in Connecticut became her Heaven. +She gave it an old flag-stone walk, she sprinkled the green new +grass of an Eastern spring with daisies. She dreamed of a simple +room, where breezes and sunshine came by day, and the cool moon by +night, and where she and John laughed over their bread and cheese. + +So far it was more joy than pain. But there swiftly came a time when +pain alone remained. Life became almost intolerable. + +Clifford, coming duly to see her every evening, never dreamed of the +thoughts that were darkening her blue eyes. He sat in the big chair +opposite Malcolm's, and they talked about real estate, and about the +various business ventures of the village. At nine o'clock Malcolm +went stiffly upstairs, attended by Lydia, and then Martie took her +father's seat, and Clifford hitched his chair nearer. + +He would ask her what she was sewing, and sometimes she laughed, +spreading the ruffle of a petticoat over her knee, and refused to +consider his questions. They talked of little things pertaining to +their engagement: Martie was sure somebody suspected it, Clifford +had been thinking of the Yellowstone for a wedding trip, and had +brought folders to study. Rarely they touched upon politics, or upon +the questions of the day. + +His opinions were already stiff-jointed, those of an elderly man. He +did not believe in all this prohibition agitation, he believed that +a gentleman always knew where to stop in the matter of wine. What +right had a few temperance fanatics to vote that seven hundred acres +of his, Clifford Frost's property, should be made valueless because +they happened to be planted to grapes? + +He disapproved of this agitation concerning the social evil. There +had always been women in that life, and there always would be. They +were in it because they liked it. They didn't have to choose it. Why +didn't they go into somebody's kitchen, and save money, and have +good homes, if they wanted to? He told Martie a little story that he +thought was funny of one of these women. It was the sort of story +that a man might tell the widow who was to be his wife. It made +Martie want to cry. + +She had always felt herself too ignorant to form an opinion of these +things. But she found herself rapidly forming opinions now, and they +were not Clifford's opinions. + +Three days after his departure, Dean Silver wrote her briefly. John +was "taking it very quietly, but didn't seem to know just what had +happened." He, Dean, hoped to get the younger man safely on board +the vessel before this mood broke. He had therefore engaged passage +on the Nippon Maru, for Thursday, four days ahead. They were all in +San Francisco, Mrs. Silver and the little girl had come down with +them, and John was interested in the steamer, and seemed perfectly +docile. He never mentioned Martie. + +This letter threw her into an agony of indecision. There were a few +moments when she planned to go down to the city herself, and see +him--hear him again. Just a few minutes of John's eyes and his +voice, of the intoxication of being so passionately loved--! + +She put aside this impulse, and went to write a telegram. But her +hand trembled as she did so, and her soul sickened. What could she +offer him, what but pain and fresh renunciation? + +She had made many mistakes in her life. But through them all a +certain underlying principle had kept her safe. Could she fling that +all aside now; that courage that had made her, a frightened girl of +twenty, come with her unborn baby, away from the man whose marriage +to her was in question, the faith that had helped her to kneel calm +and brave beside the child who had gone? + +To do that would make it all wasted and wrong. To do that would be +to lose the little she had brought from the hard years. She knew +that she would not do it. She put it all away, when the constant +thought of it arose, as weakness and madness. + +Thursday came, and Martie, walking toward Sally's house, where she +and Teddy always had their Thursday supper, bought a paper, and read +that the Nippon Maru had duly sailed. + +On the way she met Teddy himself--he had been to the store for Aunt +Sally--with 'Lizabeth and Billy; he was happy, chattering and +curveting about her madly in the warm twilight. He was happy here, +and safe, she told herself. And the Nippon Maru had sailed-- + +Sally was in her kitchen, her silky hair curled in damp rings on her +forehead. She had on her best gown, a soft blue gingham, for Sally +had just been elected to the club, and had been there this +afternoon. She had turned up the skirt of her dress, and taken off +the frilled white collar, laying it on a shelf until the dinner fuss +and hurry should be over. Mary was sitting in the high-chair, clean +and expectant, Jim was hammering nails in porch. + +The children put down their bread and butter, Sally kissed her +sister. Martie began to butter swiftly, and spread it with honey. + +"San Francisco paper, Mart?" + +"Yes." Martie did not look up. "Mr. Dryden and Mr. Silver sailed +this morning," she said. + +"Oh, really?" Sally turned a flushed face from the stove. "Lyd was +talking about him to-day, and the way he acted, carrying you off for +a walk, or something," Sally pursued cheerfully. "And until she +happened to say that his wife is living, I declare I was frightened +to death for fear he was in love with you, Mart!" + +Martie stared at her in simple bewilderment. Could it be possible +that Sally had seen nothing of the fevers and heartaches of this +memorable week? Her innocent allusion to the night of their walk-- +only a week ago!--brought Martie an actual pang. + +For just one other such evening, for just one more talk, Martie was +beginning to feel she would go mad. They had said so little then, +they had known so little what this new separation would mean! + +And Sally knew nothing of it. A sudden lonely blankness fell upon +Martie's soul; it mattered nothing to Lydia and Rose and Sally that +John Dryden loved her. It mattered more than life to her. + +What use to talk of it? How flat the words would seem for that +memory of everything high and splendid. Yet she felt the need of +speech. She must talk of him to some one, now when it was too late: +when he was out on the ocean: when she was perhaps never to see him +again. + +"Sis," she said, setting the filled plate in the centre of the +table, "do you specially remember him?" + +Sally had chanced to come to the old home for just a minute on the +morning of her talk with John in the garden. Sally nodded now +alertly. + +"Certainly I do! He seemed a dear," she said cordially. + +"I wish they had not come!" Martie said sombrely. + +"You--wish--?" Sally's anxious eyes flashed to her face. + +"That they had never come!" + +"Oh, Mart! Oh, Mart, why?" + +"Because--because I think perhaps I should not marry Cliff, feeling +as I do to John!" Martie said desperately. + +She had not quite meant it when she said it: her sick heart was +merely trying to reach Sally's concern, it frightened her now to +feel that it was almost true. + +"WHAT!" Sally whispered. + +She was roused now: too much roused. Martie began hastily to +reassure Sally, and herself, too. + +"Oh, I will, Sally. Of course I will. And nobody will ever know this +except you and me!" + +"Martie, dear, he DOES care then?" + +"Oh, yes, he cares!" + +"But, Mart--that's terrible!" + +Martie laughed ruefully. + +"It's miserable!" she agreed, her eyes watering even while she +smiled. + +"He knew about Cliff?" Sally questioned. + +"Oh, yes!" + +"And his own wife is alive?" + +"Oh, yes!" + +"Well, then?" Sally concluded anxiously. "What does he want--what +does he expect you to do?" + +To this Martie only answered unhappily: + +"I don't know." + +Sally, staring at her in distress, was silent. But as Martie +suddenly seemed to put the subject aside, and called the children +for supper, she turned back to the stove in relief. Presently they +were all gathered about the kitchen table, Martie encouraging the +children, as usual, to launch into the conversation, and laughing in +quite her usual merry manner at their observations. She took Mary +into her lap, ruffling the curly little head with her kisses, and +whispering endearments into the small ear. But Sally noticed that +she was not eating. + +Later, when they had put away the hot, clean dishes, and made the +kitchen orderly for the night, Sally touched somewhat awkwardly upon +the delicate topic. + +"Too bad--about Mr. Dryden," Sally ventured. Martie, at the open +doorway, gave no sign of hearing. Her splendid bronze head was +resting against the jamb, she was looking down the shabby little +littered backyard to the river. And suddenly it seemed to Sally that +restless, lovely Martie did not really belong to Monroe, that this +mysterious sister of hers never had belonged to Monroe, that +Martie's well-groomed hair and hands were as little in place here as +Martie's curious aloofness from the town affairs, as Martie's blue +eyes through which her hungry soul occasionally looked. "I'm awfully +sorry for him," Sally went on, a little uncertainly. "But what can +you do? He must realize--" + +"He realizes nothing!" Martie said, half-smiling, half-sighing. + +"He's not a Catholic, then?" + +"No. He's--nothing." + +"But you explained to him? And you told him about Cliff?" + +"Yes; he knew about Cliff." But Martie's tone was so heavy, and the +fashion in which she raised a hand to brush the hair from her white +forehead was so suggestive of pain, that Sally felt a little tremor +of apprehension. + +"Martie--you don't--CARE, too?" she asked fearfully. + +"With every fibre of my soul and body!" Martie answered, in a low, +moody voice from the doorway. "Sally--Sally--Sally--to be free!" she +went on, speaking, as Sally was vaguely aware, more for the relief +of her own heart than for any effect on her sister. "To have him +free! We always liked each other--loved each other, I think. What a +life--what joy we would have! Oh, I can't bear it. I can't bear to +have the days go by, and the years go by, and never--never see him +or hear him again! I can't help Cliff; I can't help John's wife; I +can't help it if he seems odd and boyish and different to other +people--! That's what makes him John--what he is!" + +"I never dreamed it," Sally marvelled. + +"I never dreamed it myself, a week ago. I always had a sort of +special feeling toward John, and I knew he had toward me. But I've +been a romantic sort of fool all my life--my Prince Charming had to +come dashing up on a white horse--I didn't recognize him because he +was a little clerk in a furniture store, and married to the +stupidest woman the Lord ever made!" + +Sally laughed in spite of herself. Martie turned from the dimness of +the doorway, and came into the hot, clean little room. She sat down +at the table, and spread her arms across it, locking her white +hands. + +"It's all so funny. Sally," she said childishly. "A week ago, I was +sailing along, humbly grateful and happy because Cliff loved me. To- +day John Dryden sails for a year in the Orient. And between those +few days he drifts in here just long enough to bring my plans all +tumbling about my ears." + +"I'm sorry!" Sally, busily setting bread, could say nothing more +significant. But as Martie remained silent, brooding eyes on her own +fingers, the older sister added timidly: "Do--do you think perhaps +you'll get over that--that feeling?" + +"That is my only hope!" Martie said courageously. + +"And after all," Sally went on, eagerly, "what could he offer you? +Cliff is--he's devoted to you, and he's steadiness itself! And I do +believe you would be perfectly contented if you just put the other +thing out of your mind, and tried to make the greatest happiness +possible out of your new life! Lydia and Pa, and all of us, and Ruth +and Teddy are all so happy about it And you know there's no safety +like the safety of being married to a good man!" + +Martie laughed. + +"You're quite right, Sally! But," she added, her face growing +serious again, "the terrible thing is this: If I marry Cliff, I do +it--just a LITTLE--with other things in view. The children, as you +say, and the good opinion of the town, and Pa's happiness, and Len's +prosperity, and the pleasure of being mistress of the old house, and +dear knows what! Of course I LIKE Cliff--but I tell you frankly that +I'm looking even now to the time when our honeymoon shall be over, +and the first strangeness of--well, of belonging to him is over!" + +Sally's face was flaming. She had stopped working, and both sisters +faced each other consciously. + +"In other words," smiled Martie, "I wish I had been married to him +ten years ago, and by this time had little Sally and Cliffy--" + +"Oh, dearest, I do hope there are children!" Sally said eagerly. + +"I hope so, too!" Martie said simply. And with suddenly misting eyes +Sally heard her say softly, half to herself, "I want another girl!" +Then her lip trembled, and to the older sister's consternation she +began to cry, with her shining head laid on her arms. "I don't know +w-w-what to do, Sally!" she sobbed. "I don't know what is right! I +know I'm desperately tired of worrying and fretting and being +criticised! I don't see why it should be my life that is always +being upset and disorganized, while other women go on placidly +having children and giving dinners!" + +"Perhaps because you are so different from other? women?" Sally +suggested, somewhat timidly. She was not sure that Martie would like +this. + +But Martie gave her a grateful glance, and immediately dried her +eyes with a brisk evidence of returning self-control. + +"Well!" she said sensibly. "It is that way, anyhow, and I have to +make the best of it. I married foolishly, in some ways, and I paid +the price--nobody knows what it was! Then I came back here, and had +really worked out a happy life for myself, when Cliff came along, +and no sooner was I adjusted to Cliff--to the thought of marriage +again, when John upset it all!" + +"The happiness of the woman who marries Cliff ought to be pretty +safe," offered Sally. + +"Yes, I know it. But Sally," Martie said, looking at her sister +questioningly, "sometimes I feel that I don't dare risk it! I can't +marry John, but I can't seem to--to let him go, either. I know what +madness that visit was, and yet--and yet every minute that we were +together was like--I don't know--like swimming in a sea of gold! I +didn't know what I wore or ate in those days! Pa and Lyd--other +people didn't seem to exist! I never believed before that any one +could feel as strange--as bewildered and excited and happy--as I did +then. It was like being hungry and satisfied at the same time. It +was just like being under a spell! His voice, Sally, and the way he +speaks of men and books--so surely, and yet in that boyish way--and +his hands, and the way he smiles through his lashes--I can't forget +one instant of it! We got breakfast together; I can't go into the +kitchen now without remembering it, and longing to have him there +again, whipping eggs and hunting about for the butter, while all the +time we were laughing and talking so wonderfully! It's that--loving +that way, that makes life worth while, Sally. Nothing else counts! +Nothing that we did together seemed insignificant, and nothing that +I do without him is worth while--I can't--can't--can't let him go!" + +Sally was frightened as her sister's head went down again. She could +think of nothing to say. "I can't help thinking that our life would +be that," Martie went on presently, raising her sombre face to rest +it on one hand, her elbows propped on the table. "Everything would +be wonderful, just because we love each other so! He writes, and I +would write---" + +"Feeling as you do," Sally said after a troubled silence, "I would +really say that you oughtn't to marry any one else, Mart. But even +if Cliff gave you up, how could you marry a divorced man?" + +"Oh, Sally--don't keep reiterating that it's impossible!" Martie +said with a flash of impatience. "I know it--I know it--but that +doesn't make it any easier to bear! You women who have so much can't +realize---" + +"You have Teddy," Sally suggested, in the silence. + +"Yes, I have Teddy--God bless him!" his mother said, with a sudden +tender smile. And she seemed to see a line of little Teddies, +playing with Grandma Curley's spools, glancing fearfully at the +"Cold Lairs," walking sturdily beside Margar's shabby coach, +chattering to a quiet, black-clad mother on the overland train. She +had her gallant, gay little Teddy still. "I don't know why I talk so +recklessly, Sally," she said sensibly. "It's only that I am so +worried--and troubled. I don't know what I ought to do! Suppose I +tell Cliff frankly, and we break the engagement? Then John will come +back, and there'll be all that to go over and over!" + +"But that's--just selfishness," said Sally, spreading a checked blue +towel neatly over her pan of dough, and adding last touches to the +now orderly kitchen. + +"Oh, men are all selfish!" Martie conceded. "Every one's selfish! +Cliff quite placidly broke Lydia's heart years ago; Rose and Rodney +between them nearly broke mine. But now Cliff wants something from +me, and Rose realizes that she has something to gain, and it's +roses, roses all the way." + +"Well, that's life, Mart," submitted the older sister. + +"If I had it all to do over again," Martie mused, "I wouldn't come +back after Wallace's death. Teddy and I could have made our way +comfortably in New York. By coming, I have more or less obliged +myself to accept the Monroe point of view---" + +"Oh, but Mart, we've had such wonderful times together, and it means +so much to me to have you like Joe and the children!" said Sally. + +"Yes," Martie's arm went about her sister, "that's been the one +definite gain, Sally, to see you so happy and prosperous, and to +realize that life is going so pleasantly for you. As the years go +by, Joe'll gain steadily; he's that sort; and Dr. Hawkes's children +won't have to envy any children in Monroe. But, oh, Sis--if I could +get away!" + +The old cry, Sally thought, as she anxiously studied the beautiful, +discontented face. + +Presently Clifford came, to take his future wife home, and Joe came +back from the hospital in the Ford, and there was much friendly talk +and laughter. But Sally watched her sister a little wistfully that +evening; didn't Martie think this was all pleasant--all worth while? + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +Rose's little daughter, pawn that she was in the game of Martie's +fortunes, was pushed into play the following day. For Rose +telephoned Martie at the Library, in the foggy early morning, that +Doris was not well: there was a rather suspicious rash on the baby's +chest, and if it really were measles, there must be no announcement +luncheon to-day. + +Martie had been eagerly awaiting that luncheon, when a dozen of the +prominent young matrons of Monroe should learn of her engagement. +She put up the telephone thoughtfully. Another delay. Another +respite, when she might still say to herself over and over: "I COULD +end it now. It isn't too late yet!" + +In her hand to-day was a brief note brought to land by the tender of +the Nippon Maru. Dean Silver and John had duly sailed, they were far +out on the ocean now. That was settled. Now there was nothing to do +but go on serenely with her interrupted plans. + +And yet the restless excitement caused by his coming was still about +her, she could not make herself forget. Everything that his odd and +vibrant personality had touched was changed to her. The wallflowers +he had twisted unseeingly in his nervous fingers, the kitchen where +their eager, ardent talk had gone on over the boiling of coffee and +the mixing of muffins, the hill they had climbed in gray, warm +moonlight, these things belonged to him now. Martie touched the +books he had praised tenderly, hearing his words again. + +He had not written her: she knew why. She must be all or nothing to +John now. He had not spoken of her to Dean, he was trying in his +blundering boyish way to forget. + +The novelist's note was short, and written in a tone of +disappointment and reproach. Martie read it, and winced as she +crumpled it in her hand. Presently she straightened it out, and read +it again. She flattened it on the desk before her, and studied it +resolutely, with reddened cheeks, and with a little pang at her +heart. + +Sally came in, full of happy plans. There was talk now of making Joe +resident physician at the hospital, with a little house up there +right near the big building. It would be so dignified, bubbled +Sally, setting little Mary on the desk, where she and Aunt Mart +could each tie a small, dragging shoe-lace. + +"Of course, this won't be for a year or two, Mart--but think of the +fun! A pretty house with a big porch, to match the main building, I +suppose--" + +"But you'll be a mile out of town, Sis!" + +"Oh, I know--but I can run the children in to school in the Ford, +and you'll have your own car, and that's all I really care about! +This is only a possibility, you know. What are you thinking about, +Mart?" + +Martie laughed guiltily. + +"I don't know what I was thinking," she confessed. Sally flushed, +studying her with bright eyes. + +"Have you heard--" + +"From John? No, but he sailed. I have a note from Mr. Silver here. +He was anxious to get him away, and they left suddenly. The sailing +list was in the paper, too, with a little notice of them both. It's +better so, I'm glad it's settled. But I wish I was a little more +sure of what the next step should be." + +"I don't believe Rose's Doris has the measles at all," Sally said +thoughtfully, "and in that case, the luncheon will be in a day or +two, and won't that be rather--rather a relief to you? Oh, and +Mart," she broke off suddenly to say, "I have a letter for you here- +-Teddy and Billy called for the mail yesterday, and they left this +with mine." + +Martie took the big envelope, smiling. The smile deepened as she +read. After a minute she turned the letter about on the desk, so +that Sally might read it too. + +"From the editor of the magazine that took my other article," Martie +explained. "I sent them another, two weeks ago." + +Sally read: + +MY DEAR MRS. BANNISTER: + +Your second article has been read with much interest in this office, +and we are glad to use it. Enclosed is a check for $100, which we +hope will be satisfactory to you. Our readers have taken so +continued an interest in your first article that we are glad to give +them something more from your pen. + +If you are ever in New York, will you favor us with a call? It is +possible that we might interest you with an offer of permanent work +on our staff. We make a special feature, as perhaps you know, of +articles of interest to growing girls, and when we find a writer +whose work has this appeal, we feel that she belongs to us. + +In any case, let us hear from you soon again. + +"A hundred dollars!" Sally said proudly, handing the letter back. +"You smart thing! That's a nice letter, isn't it? Don't you think it +is? I do. Listen, Mart, don't say anything about Joe's plans, will +you? That's all in the air. I've got to go now, it's eleven. And +Mart, don't worry too much about anything. It will all seem +perfectly natural and pleasant once it's DONE. Good-bye, dear, I +wish I could have been some help to you about it all!" + +"You have been, Sally--I believe you've been the greatest help in +the world!" Martie answered enigmatically, kissing Mary's soft +little neck where the silky curls showed under the little scalloped +bonnet. "Good-bye, dear--don't walk too fast in this sun!" + +When Sally had tripped away, Martie sat on at the Library desk, +staring vaguely into space. Outside, the village hummed with the +peaceful sounds of a mild autumn morning. A soft fog had earlier +enveloped it; it was rising now; every hour showed more of the +encircling brown hills; by noon the school children would rush into +a sunshiny world. Shopping women pushed baby-carriages over the +crossings; a new generation of boys and girls would swarm to +Bonestell's in the late afternoon. Time was always moving, under it +all; in a few weeks the Clifford Frosts would be home again; in a +few months the High School would stand on the ground where little +Sally and Martie Monroe had played dolls' house a few years ago. + +This was her last week at the Library; Daisy David was coming in to +take her place. Already Miss Fanny suspected the truth, and her +manner had changed toward Martie a little, already she was something +of a personage in Monroe. + +Women and children and old men came out and in, their whispers +sounding in the quiet, airy space. Len's wife came in, with the +third daughter who should have been a son. Teddy and Billy came in; +they wanted five cents for nails; they had run out of nails. Measles +had closed the little boys' classes, and they were wild with the joy +of unexpected holiday. + +Martie presently found herself telling Miss Fanny that she would +like a few hours' freedom that afternoon: she had shopping to do. +She ate her basket lunch as usual, then she walked out into the +glaring afternoon light of Main Street. A summer wind was blowing, +the warm air was full of grit and dust. + +The Bank first, then Clifford's office, then a long, silent hour +praying, in the empty little church, where the noises of Main Street +were softened, as was the very daylight that penetrated the cheap +coloured windows. Then Martie went to Dr. Ben's, and last of all to +Sally's house. + +She was to take Teddy home and Sally came with them to the gate. It +was sunset and the wind had fallen. There was a sweet, sharp odour +of dew on the dust. + +"Be good to my boy, Sally!" + +"Martie--as if he was mine!" Sally's eyes filled with tears at her +sister's tone: she was to have Teddy during the honeymoon. + +Martie suddenly kissed her, an unusually tender kiss. + +"And love me, Sis!" + +"Martie," Sally said troubled, "I always DO!" + +"I know you do!" + +Martie laughed, with her own eyes suddenly wet, caught Teddy's +little hand, and walked away. Sally watched the tall, splendid +figure out of sight. + +At the supper-table she was unusually thoughtful. Her eyes travelled +about the familiar room, the room where her high-chair had stood +years ago, the room where the Monroes had eaten tons of +uninteresting bread and butter, and had poured gallons of weak cream +into strong tea, and had cut hundreds of pies to Ma's or Lydia's +mild apologies for the crust or the colour. How often had the +windows of this room been steamy with the breath of onions and +mashed potatoes, how many; limp napkins and spotted tablecloths had +had their day there! Martie remembered, as long as she remembered +anything, the walnut chairs, with their scrolls and knobs, and the +black marble fireplace, with an old engraving, "Franklin at the +Court of France," hanging above it. Mould had crept in and had +stained the picture, which was crumpled in deep folds now, yet it +would always be a work of art to Pa and to Lydia. + +She looked at Lydia; gentle, faded, dowdy in her plum-coloured cloth +dress, with imitation lace carefully sewed at neck and sleeves; at +Lydia's flat cheeks and rather prim mouth. She was like her mother, +but life had perforce broadened Ma, and it was narrowing Lydia. +Lydia was young no longer, and Pa was old. + +He sat chewing his food uncomfortably, with much working of the +muscles of his face; some teeth were missing now, and some replaced +with unmanageable artificial ones. The thin, oily hair was iron- +gray, and his moustache, which had stayed black so much longer, was +iron-gray, too, and stained yellow from the tobacco of his cigars. +His eyes were set in bags of wrinkles; it was a discontented face, +even when Pa was amiable and pleased by chance. Martie knew its +every expression as well as she knew the brown-and-white china, and +the blue glass spoon holder, and the napkin-ring with "Souvenir of +Santa Cruz" on it. She could not help wondering what they would make +of the new house when they got into it, and how the clumsy, shabby +old furniture would look. + +"Pa and Lyd," she said suddenly in a silence. Her tone was +sufficiently odd to arrest their immediate attention. "Pa--Lyd--I +went in to see Clifford this afternoon, and told him that I wanted +to--to break our engagement!" + +An amazed silence followed. Teddy, chewing steadily on raisin +cookies, turned his eyes smilingly to his mother. He didn't quite +understand, but whatever she did was all right. Malcolm settled his +glasses with one lean, dark hand, and stared at his daughter. Lydia +gave a horrified gasp, and looked quickly from her father to her +sister: a look that was intended to serve the purpose of a fuse. + +"How do you mean?" Malcolm asked painfully, at last. + +"Well!" said Lydia, whose one fear was that she would not be able to +fully express herself upon this outrage. + +"I mean that I--I don't truly feel that I love him," Martie said, +fitting her phraseology to her audience. "I respect him, of course, +and I like him, but--but as the time came nearer, I COULDN'T feel--" + +Her voice dropped in an awful silence. + +"You certainly waited some time to make up your mind, Martie," said +her father then, catching vaguely for a weapon and using it at +random. + +"But, Martie, what's your REASON?" Lydia overflowed suddenly. "What +earthly reason can you have--you can't just say that you don't want +to, now--you can't just suddenly--I never heard of anything so--so +inconsiderate! Why, what do you suppose everybody--" + +"This is some of your heady nonsense, Martie," said her father's +heavy voice, drowning down Lydia's clatter. "This is just the sort +of mischief I expected to follow a visit from men as entirely +irresponsible as these New York friends of yours. I expected +something of this sort. Just as you are about to behave like a +sensible woman, they come along to upset you--" + +"Exactly!" Lydia added, quivering. "I never said a word to you, Pa," +she went on hurriedly, "but _I_ noticed it! I think it's perfectly +amazing that you should; of COURSE it's that! Martie listened to +him, and Martie walked with him, and several people noticed it, and +spoke to me about it! It's none of my business, of course, and I'm +not going to interfere, but all I can say is THIS, if Martie Monroe +plays fast and loose with a man like Cliff Frost, it will hurt us in +this village more than she has ANY idea! What are people going to +think, that's all! I certainly hope you will use your authority to +bring her to her senses--just a few days before the wedding, with +everybody expecting--" + +"Perhaps you will tell me what Clifford thinks of this astonishing +decision?" Malcolm asked, again interrupting Lydia's wild rush of +words. + +"Cliff was very generous, Pa. He feels that it is only a passing +feeling, and that I must have time to think things over if I want +it," Martie began. + +"Ha! I should think so!" Lydia interpolated scornfully. + +"At first he was inclined to laugh about it, and to think that it +was nothing," Martie said almost timidly, glancing from one to the +other, and keeping one hand over Teddy's hand. + +"What makes you feel that you HAVEN'T given the thing due +consideration, Martie?" her father asked darkly, with the air of +humouring a child's fantastic whims. + +"Yes! You've been engaged for months!" Lydia shot in. + +"Well, it's only lately, Pa," Martie confessed mildly. + +"Exactly! Since somebody came along to upset you!" said Lydia. "All +I can say is, that I think it would break Ma's heart!" she added +violently. "You give up a fine man like Cliff Frost, and now I +suppose we'll have some of your divorced friends hanging about--" + +"Lyd, dear, don't be so bitter," Martie said gently, almost +maternally. "Mr. Dryden has gone off for a long tour; he may not be +back for years. What I plan to do now is go to New York. I told +Cliff that--that I wanted to go." + +"May I ask how you intend to live there?" Malcolm asked, with +magnificent and obvious restraint. + +"By writing, Pa." + +"You plan to take your child, and reenter--" + +"I think I would leave Teddy, Pa, for a while at least." They had +all left the table now, and gone into the parlour, and Martie, +sinking into a chair, rested her chin on her hand, and looked +bravely yet a trifle uncomfortably at her interlocutors. Teddy had +dashed out into the yard. + +"Now, I think we have heard about enough of this nonsense, Martie," +said her father, in a changed and hostile tone. Lydia gave a +satisfied nod; Pa was taking a stand at last. "You didn't have to +say that you would marry Clifford," he went on sternly. "You did so +as a responsible woman, of your own accord! Now you propose to make +him and your family ridiculous, just for a whim. I sent you money to +come on here, after your husband's death, and all your life I have +tried to be a good father to you. What is my reward? You run away +and marry the first irresponsible scamp that asks you; you show no +sign of repentance or feeling until you are in trouble; you come +back, at my invitation, and are made as welcome here as if you had +been the most dutiful daughter in the world, and then--THEN--you +propose to bring fresh sorrow and disgrace upon the parent who +lifted you out of your misery, and offered you a home, and forgot +and forgave the past! I am not a rich man, but what I have has been +freely yours, your child has been promised a home for my lifetime. +What more can you ask? But no," said Malcolm, pacing the floor, "you +turn against me; yours is the hand that strikes me down in my age! +Now I tell you, Martie, that things have gone far enough. If you +follow your own course in this affair, you do so at your own risk. +The day you break your engagement, you are no longer my daughter. +The day you let it be known that you are acting in this flighty and +irresponsible way, that DAY your welcome here is withdrawn! I will +not be made the laughing-stock of this town!" + +Lydia was in tears; Martie pale. But the younger woman did not +speak. She had been watching her father with slightly dilated eyes +and a rising breast, while he spoke. + +"Cliff generous?" Malcolm went on. "Of course he's generous! He +probably doesn't know what to make of it; responsible people don't +blow hot and cold like this! The idea of your going in to him with +any such cock-and-bull story as this! You'll break your engagement, +eh?--and go on to New York for a while, eh?--and then come smiling +back, I suppose, and marry him when it suits your own sweet will? +Well, now, I'll tell you something, young lady," he added, with a +sort of confident menace, "you'll do nothing of the kind! You sit +down now and write Clifford a note, and tell him you were a fool. +And don't let me ever hear another word of this New York nonsense! +Upon my word, I don't know how I ever came to have such children! +Other people's children seem to have some sense, and act like +reasonable human beings, but mine--however, you know what I feel +now, Martie. Going into the Bank indeed, and telling the man you're +going to marry that you are 'afraid' this and you 'fancy' that! I'll +not have it, I tell you!" + +"I told him that I knew I was acting badly," Martie said, "I said +that I felt terribly about it. I even cried--I'm not proud of +myself, Pa! And he asked me to think it over, and not to worry about +postponing the wedding, and--I think he was tremendously surprised, +but he didn't say one unkind word!" + +"Well, he should have, then," Malcolm said harshly. "And you are a +fortunate woman if, when it suits your high-and-mightiness to come +to your senses, he doesn't take his turn to jilt YOU! On my word, I +never heard anything like it! What possesses you is more than I can +understand. You deliberately bring unhappiness down on your family, +and act as if you were proud of yourself! I don't pretend to be +perfect, but all my life I have given my children generously--" + +"Pa," Martie said suddenly, "I wonder if you believe that!" She +stood up now, facing him, her breath coming quickly. It seemed to +Martie that she had been waiting all her life to say this: hoping +for the opportunity, years ago, dreading the necessity now. "I +wonder if you believe," she said, trembling a little, "that you--and +half the other fathers and mothers in the world--are really in the +right! I didn't ask to be born; Sally didn't ask to be born. We +didn't choose our sex. We came and we grew up, and went to school, +and we had clothing and food enough. But then--THEN!--when we must +really begin to live, you suddenly failed us. Oh, you aren't +different from other fathers, Pa. It's just that you don't +understand! What help had we then in forming human relationships? +When did you ever tell us why this young man was a possible husband, +and that one was not? I wanted to work, I wanted to be a nurse, or a +bookkeeper--you laughed at me! I had a bitter experience--an +experience that you could have spared me, and Lydia before me, if +you had cared!--and I had a girl's hell to bear; I had to go about +among my friends ASHAMED! You didn't comfort me; you didn't tell me +that if I learned a little French, and brushed up my hair, and +bought white shoes, the NEXT young man wouldn't throw me over for a +prettier and more accomplished woman! You were ashamed of me! Sally, +just as ignorant as Teddy is this minute, dashed into marriage; she +was afraid, as I was, of being a dependent old maid! She married a +good man--but that wasn't your doing! I married a bad man, a man +whose selfishness and cruelty ruined all my young days, crushed the +youth right out of me, and he might be living yet, and Teddy and I +tied to him yet but for a chance! I suffered dependence and hunger-- +yes, and death, too," said Martie, crying now, "just because you +didn't give me a livelihood, just because you didn't make me, and +Sally, and Lydia, too, useful citizens! You did Len; why didn't you +give us the same chance you gave Len? Len had college; he not only +was encouraged to choose a profession, but he was MADE to! Our +profession was marriage, and we weren't even prepared for that! I +didn't know anything when I married. I didn't know whether Wallace +was fit to be a husband or a father! I didn't know how motherhood +came--all those first months were full of misgivings and doubts! I +knew I was giving him all I had, and that financially I was just +where I had been--worse off than ever, in fact, for there were the +children to think of! Why didn't I have some work to do, so that I +could have stepped into it, when bitter need came, and my children +and I were almost starving? What has Len cost you, five thousand +dollars, ten thousand? What did that statue to Grandfather Monroe +cost you? Sally and I have never cost you anything but what we ate +and wore!" + +Malcolm had risen, too, and they were glaring at each other. The old +man's putty-coloured face was pale, and his eyes glittered with +fury. + +"You were always a headstrong, wicked girl!" he said now, in a +toneless dry voice, hardly above a whisper. "And heartless and +wicked you will be to the end, I suppose! How dare you criticise +your father, and your sainted mother? You choose your own life; you +throw in your fortune with a ne'er-do-well, and then you come and +reproach me! Don't--don't touch me!" he added, in a sort of furious +crow, and as Martie laid a placating hand on his arm: "Don't come +near me!" + +"No, don't you dare come near him!" sobbed Lydia. "Poor, dear Pa, +always so generous and so good to us! I should think you'd be +afraid, Martie--I should think you'd actually be afraid to talk so +wickedly!" + +She essayed an embrace of her father, but Malcolm shook her loose, +and crossed the hall; they heard the study door slam. For a few +minutes the sisters stared at each other, then Martie went to the +side door, and called Teddy in as quiet a voice as she could +command, and Lydia vanished kitchenward, with only one scared and +reproachful look. + +But the evening was not over. After Teddy was in bed, Martie, +staring at herself in the mirror, suddenly came to a new decision. +She ran down to the study, and entered informally. + +"Pa!" She was on his knee, her arms about him. "I'm sorry I am such +a problem--so little a comfort!--to you. Forgive me, Pa, for I +always truly loved you--" + +"If you truly want my forgiveness," he said stiffly, trying to +dislodge the clinging young arms, "you know how to deserve it--" + +The old phraseology, and the old odour of teeth and skin! Martie +alone was changed. + +"But forgive me, Pa, and I'll truly try never to cross you again." +Reluctantly, he conceded a response to her kiss, and she sat on the +arm of his chair, and played with the thin locks of his hair while +she completed the peace. Then she went into the kitchen, where Lydia +was sitting at the table, soaking circles of paper in brandy for the +preservation of the glasses of jelly ranged before her. + +"Lyd, I just went and told Pa that I was sorry that I am such a +beast, and we've made it up--" + +"I don't think you ought to talk as if it was just a quarrel," Lydia +said. "If Pa was angry with you, he had good cause--" + +"Darling, I know he did! But I couldn't bear to go to sleep with ill +feeling between us, and so I came down, and apologized, and did the +whole thing handsomely--" + +"You couldn't talk so lightly if you really CARED, Mart!" + +"I care tremendously, Lyd. Why don't you use paraffin?" + +"I know," Lydia said with interest, "Angela does. But somehow Ma +always did it this way." + +"Well, I'll mark 'em for you!" Martie began to cut neat little +labels from white paper, and to write on them, "Currant Jelly with +Rasp. 1915." Presently she and Lydia were chatting pleasantly. + +"I really put up too much one year," Lydia said, "and it began to +spoil, so I sent a whole box of it out to the Poor House; I don't +suppose they mind! But Mrs. Dolan there never sent my glasses back! +However, this year I'll give you some, Mart; unless Polly put some +up." + +"Unless I go to New York!" Martie suggested. + +Lydia's whole face darkened. + +"And if I do, you and Sally will be good to Teddy?" his mother +asked, her tone suddenly faltering. + +"Martie, what POSSESSES you to talk about going to New York now?" + +"Oh, Lyddy, you'd never understand! It's just the longing to do +something for myself, to hold my own there, to--well, to make good! +Marrying here, and being comfortably supported here, seems like-- +like failure, almost, to me! If it wasn't for Teddy, I believe that +I would have gone long ago!" + +"And a selfish feeling like that is strong enough to make you +willing to break a good man's heart, and desert your child?" asked +Lydia in calm tones. + +"It won't break his heart, Lyd--not nearly so much as he broke +yours, years ago! And when I can--when I could, I would send for my +boy! He'd be happier here--" Martie, rather timidly watching her +sister's face, suddenly realized the futility of this and changed +her tone. "But let's not talk about it any more to-night, Lydia, +we're both too tired and excited!" + +"I don't understand you," Lydia said patiently and wearily, "I never +did. I should think that SOMETIMES you'd wonder whether you're +right, and everybody else in the world is wrong--or whether the rest +of us know SOMETHING--" + +Martie generously let her have the prized last word, and went +upstairs again. + +To her surprise she found Teddy awake. She sat down on the edge of +the bed, and leaned over the small figure. + +"Teddy, my own boy! Haven't you been asleep?" + +"Moth'," he said, with a child's uncanny prescience of impending +events, "if I were awfully, awfully bad--" + +"Yes, Ted?" she encouraged him, as he paused. + +"Would you ever leave me?" he asked anxiously. + +The question stabbed her to the heart. She could not speak. + +"I'm enough for you, aren't I?" he said eagerly. Still she did not +speak. "Or do you need somebody else?" he asked urgently. + +A pang went through her heart. She tightened her arm about him. + +"Teddy! You are all I have, dear!" + +His small warm hand played with the ruffle of her blouse. + +"But--how about Uncle Cliff, and Uncle John, and all?" he asked. +Martie was silent. "Are you going to marry them?" he added, with a +child's hesitation to say what might be ridiculous. + +"No, Ted," she answered honestly. + +"Well, promise me," he said urgently, sitting up to tighten his arms +about her throat, "promise me that you will never leave me! I will +never leave you, if you will promise me that! PROMISE!" + +He was crying now, and Martie's own tears started thick and fast. + +"I might have to leave you--just for a while--" she began. + +"Not if you promised!" he said jealously. + +"Even if I went away from Aunt Sally and the children, Ted, and we +had to live in a little flat again?" she stammered. + +"Even THEN!" he said, with a shaken attempt at a manly voice. "I +remember the pears in the carts, and the box you dropped the train +tickets into," he said encouragingly, "and I remember Margar's +bottles that you used to let me wash! You'd take me into the parks, +and down to the beach, wouldn't you, Moth'?" + +"Oh, Teddy, my little son! I'd try to make a life for you, dear!" + +"And WE'D be our family, just you and me!" he said uncertainly. + +"We'd be a family, all by ourselves," she promised him, laughing and +crying. And she clung to him hungrily, kissing the smooth little +forehead under the rich tumble of hair, her tears falling on his +face. Ah, this was hers, this belonged to her alone, out of all the +world. "I'm glad you told me how you felt about this, Teddy," she +said. "It makes it all clearer to me. You and I, dear--that's the +only real life for us. I owe you that. I promise you, we'll never be +separated while Mother can help it." + +His wet little face was pressed against hers. + +"And you'll NEVER talk about it any more!" he said violently. +"Because I cry about it sometimes, at night--" + +"Never again, my own son!" He lay back on his pillow with a breath +of relief, but she kept her arms about him. + +"Because you don't know how a boy feels about his own mother!" he +assured her. Kneeling there, Martie wondered how she had come to +forget his rights, forget his point of view for so long! He would +always seem a baby to her, but he was a person now, and he had his +part in, and his influence upon, her life. Suppose she had left him +to cry out this secret hunger of his uncomforted; suppose, while she +thought him contentedly playing with Billy and 'Lizabeth, he had +been judging and blaming his mother? + +While she knelt, thinking, he went to sleep. But Lydia wondered what +was keeping Martie awake. The light in Martie's room was turned up, +and fell in a yellow oblong across the gravel; Lydia dozed and +awakened, but the light was always there. + +Morning broke softly in a fog which did not lift as the hours went +by. Malcolm was at home until after lunch, to which meal Teddy and +Martie came downstairs unusually well dressed, Martie observing that +she had errands down town. Teddy kissed Grandpa good-bye as usual, +and his mother kissed Grandpa, too, which was not quite usual, and +clung with her white hands to his lapel. + +"Teddy and I have shopping to do down town, Pa, and I've written +Cliff a note!" she said. Her father brightened. + +"I'm glad you're inclined to act sensibly, my dear!" he said, +departing. "I thought we'd hear a different story this morning!" + +"What are you going down town for?" asked Lydia. "I ought to have +some rubber rings from Mallon's." + +"I'm taking a lot of things down--I have to pass the cleaner's +anyway," answered Martie. "I'll get them, and send them." + +"Oh, bring them; they'll go in your pocket," Lydia said. "Well, Ted, +what'll you do when these measles are over, and you have to go back +to school? You've put an awful good suit on him, Mart, just to play +in." + +"He'll change before he plays," Martie answered, nervously smiling. +"Come, dear!" + +"Don't forget your things for the cleaner's!" Lydia said, handing +her her suitcase. Martie surprised the older sister with a sudden +kiss. + +"Thanks, Lyd, dear!" she said. "Good-bye! Come, Ted!" + +They went down through the quiet village, shabby after the burning +of the summer. Fog lay in wet, dark patches on the yellow grass, and +in the thinning air was the good smell of wood fires. Grapes were +piled outside the fruit stores and pasted at a slant on Bonestell's +window was a neatly printed paper slip, "Chop Suey Sundae, 15c." Up +on the brown hills the fog was rising. + +They went to see Dr. Ben in his old offices opposite the Town Hall, +and he gave Teddy a pink "sucker pill," as he had given Martie years +ago. + +At the grocery they met Sally, with all four children, and two small +children more, and Aunt Mart had her usual kisses. Sally was afraid +that Grace's baby boy had the measles, she confided to her sister, +and had taken the twins for a time. + +"Martie, how smart you look, and Ted all dressed up!" said Sally. +"And look at my tramps in their old clothes! Mart, do go past Mason +and White's and see the linen dress patterns in the window; there's +a blue-and-tan there, and an all-white--they're too lovely!" + +"Why don't you let me send you one, Sally?" Martie asked +affectionately. "I'm rich! I drew my two hundred and eleven dollars' +bank account yesterday, and cashed a check from my editor, and +Cousin Allie's wedding check!" Sally flamed into immediate protest. + +"Martie, I'll be wild if you do--you mustn't! I never would have +spoken of it--" + +Martie laughed as she kissed her sister, and presently Sally wheeled +Mary's carriage away. But Teddy and his mother went into Mason and +White's, nevertheless, and both the tan-and-blue and the all-white +dress were taken out of the window and duly paid for and sent away. +Teddy shouted to his mother when they were in the street again that +there was Uncle Joe in the car, and he could have taken the dresses +to Aunt Sally. + +No, his mother told him, that was to be a surprise! But she crossed +the street to talk in a low tone to Uncle Joe. Uncle Joe said more +than once, "I'm with you--I think you're right!" and finally kissed +Teddy, and suddenly kissed his mother, before he drove away. + +Teddy was bursting with the thought of the surprise. But this +afternoon was full of surprises. They were strolling along, +peacefully enough, when suddenly his mother took his small arm and +guided him into the station where they had arrived in Monroe nearly +two years before. + +A big train came thundering to a stop now as then, and Teddy's +mother said to him quickly and urgently: "Climb in, Love. That's my +boy! Get in, dear; mother'll explain to you later!" + +She took a ticket from her bag, and showed it to the coloured +porter, and they went down the little passage past the dressing +room, and came to the big velvet seats which he remembered +perfectly. His mother was breathing nervously, and she was quite +pale as she discussed the question of Teddy's berth with the man who +had letters on his cap. + +She would not let Teddy look out of the windows until the train +started, but it started in perhaps two minutes, and then she took +off his hat and her own, and smoothed back his hair, and laughed +delightfully like a little girl. + +"Where are we goin'?" asked Teddy, charmed and excited. + +"We're going to New York, Loveliness! We're going to make a new +start!" she said. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +From that hour Martie knew the joy of living. She emerged from the +hard school in which she had been stumbling and blundering so long; +she was a person, an individuality, she was alive and she loved +life. + +Her heart fairly sang as she paid for Teddy's supper, the lovely +brown hills of California slipping past the windows of the dining +car. The waiter was solicitous; would the lady have just a salad? +No, said the lady, she did not feel hungry. She and Teddy went out +to breathe the glorious air of the mountains from the observation +car, and to flash and clatter through the snow sheds. + +And what a delight it was to be young and free and to have this +splendid child all for her own, thought Martie, her heart swelling +with a wonderful peace. Everybody liked Teddy, and Teddy's touching +happiness at being alone with his adored mother opened her eyes to +the feeling that had been hidden under a child's inarticulateness +all these months. + +The two hundred dollars between her and destitution might have been +two million; she was rich. She could treat the troubled, pale little +mother and the two children from the next section to lemonades every +afternoon, and when they reached Chicago, hot and sunshiny at last, +she and Teddy spent the day loitering through a big department +store. Here Teddy was given a Boy Scout suit, and Martie bought +herself a cake of perfumed soap whose odour, whenever she caught it +in after times, brought back the enchanting emotion of these first +days of independence. + +Tired, dirty, they were sitting together late in the afternoon of +the fifth day, when she felt a sudden tug at her heart. Outside the +car window, slipping steadily by, were smoke-stained brick +factories, and little canals and backwaters soiled with oil and +soot, and heaps of slag and scrap iron and clinkers. Then villages +swept by--flat, orderly villages with fences enclosing summer +gardens. Then factories again--villages--factories--no more of the +flat, bare fields: the fields were all of the West. + +But suddenly above this monotonous scene Martie noticed a dull glow +that grew rosier and steadier as the early evening deepened. Up +against the first early stars the lights of New York climbed in a +wide bar of pink and gold, flung a quivering bar of red. + +She was back again! Back in the great city. She belonged once more +to the seething crowds in the Ghetto, to the cool arcades between +the great office buildings, to Broadway with its pushing crowds of +shoppers, to the Bronx teeming with tiny shops and swung with the +signs of a thousand apartments to let. The hotels, with their +uniformed starters, the middle Forties, with their theatrical +boarding-houses, the tiny experimental art shops and tea shops and +gift shops that continually appear and disappear among the basements +of old brown-stone houses--she was back among them all! + +Tears of joy and excitement came to her eyes. She pressed her face +eagerly beside the child's face at the window. + +"Look down, Ted, that's the East Side, dear, with all the children +playing; do you remember? And see all the darling awnings flapping!" + +"I shouldn't wonder if we should have an electric storm!" said +Teddy, finding the old phrase easily, his warm little cheek against +hers. + +"We're back in New York, Teddy! We're home again!" She was gathering +her things together. A thought smote her, and she paused with +suddenly colouring cheeks. This might so easily have been her +wedding-trip; she and Clifford might have been together now. + +Poor Clifford, with his stiffly moving brain and his platitudes! She +hoped he would marry some more grateful woman some day. What a +Paradise opening for Lydia if he could ever fancy her again! Martie +spent a moment in wonder as to what the story given Monroe would be. +She had mailed a letter to Lydia, and one to Clifford, during that +last, quiet, foggy morning--letters written after the packing had +been done on that last night. She had suggested that Monroe be given +a hint that business had taken Mrs. Bannister suddenly eastward. It +would be a nine days' wonder; in six months Monroe would only +vaguely remember it. Gossips might suspect the truth: they would +never know it. Clifford himself, in another year, would be placidly +implying that there never had been anything in the rumour of an +engagement. Rose would dimple and shake her head; Martie was always +just a little ODD. Lydia would confide to Sally that she was just +sick for fear that Dryden man--and Sally, sternly inspecting Jimmy's +little back for signs of measles, would quote Joe. Joe ALWAYS +thought Martie would make good, and Joe wasn't one bit sorry she had +done as she had. Dr. Ben would defend her, too, for on that sudden +impulsive call she had let her full heart thank him for all his +fatherly goodness to her beloved Sally, and had told him what she +was doing. + +"Mark ye, if you was engaged to me, ye wouldn't jump the traces like +this!" the old man had assured her. + +"Dr. Ben, I wouldn't want to!" she had answered gaily. "You're older +than Cliff; I know that. But you're broad, Dr. Ben, and you're +simple, and you aren't narrow! You've grown older the way I want to, +just smiling and listening. And you know more in your little finger +than--than some people know in their whole bodies!" And she put her +arms about his neck, and gave him a daughter's laughing kiss. + +"Looky here," said the old man, warming, "a man's got to be dead +before he can stand for a thing like this! You haven't got a +waiting-list, I suppose, Miss Martie?" + +"No, sir!" she answered positively. "But if ever I do I'll let you +know!" + +She and Teddy ate their first meal at Childs'. Little signs bearing +the single word "strawberries" were pasted on the window; Martie +felt a real thrill of affection for the place as she went in. After +a while "Old Southern Corn Cakes" would take the place of the +strawberries, and then grape-fruit "In Season Now." + +"After a while we'll be too rich to come here, Ted!" she said as +they went out. + +"Wull we?" Teddy asked regretfully. They went into the pushing and +crowding of the streets; heard the shrill trill of the crossing +policeman's whistle again; caught a glimpse of Broadway's lights, +fanning lower and higher, and as the big signs rippled up and down. + +Martie drank it in eagerly, no faintest shadow of apprehension fell +upon this evening. She and Teddy walked to their little hotel; to- +morrow she would see her editor, and they would search for cheaper +quarters. She would get the half-promised position or another; it +mattered not which. She would board economically, or find diminutive +quarters for housekeeping; be comfortable either way. If they kept +house, some kindly old woman would be found to give Teddy bread and +butter when he came in from school. And on hot summer Sundays she +and Teddy would pack their lunch, and make an early start for the +beach; theoretically, it would be an odd life for the child, but +actually--how much richer and more sympathetic she would make it +than her own had been! Children are natural gypsies, and Teddy would +never complain because his mother kept him up later than was quite +conventional in the evening, and sometimes took him to her office, +to draw pictures or look at books for a quiet hour. + +And she would have friends: women who were working like herself, and +men, too. She was as little afraid of the other as of the one now. +There would be visits to country cottages; there would be winter +dinners, down on the Square. And some day, perhaps, she would have +the studio with the bare floors and the dark rugs. Over and over +again she said the words to herself: she was free; she was free. + +Dependence on Pa's whim, on Wallace's whim, was over. She stood +alone, now; she could make for herself that life that every man was +always free to make; that every woman should be offered, too. She +had suffered bitterly; she might live to be an old, old woman, but +she knew that the sight of a fluffy-headed girl baby must always +stab her with unendurable pain. She had been shabby, hungry, +ashamed, penniless, humiliated. She had been ill, physically +handicapped for weary weeks upon weeks. + +And she had emerged, armed for the fight. The world needed her now, +Cliff and Pa needed her, even Dr. Ben and Sally and Len would have +been proud to offer her a home. Miss Fanny was missing her now; a +dozen persons idling into the Library in sleepy little Monroe's +summer fog, to-morrow morning, would wish that Miss David was not so +slow, would wish that Mrs. Bannister was back. + +The editor himself was out of town; but his assistant was as +encouraging as a somewhat dazzled young man could be. + +"She's a corker," said the assistant later. "She's pretty and she +talks fast and she's full of fun; but it's not that. She's got a +sort of PUSH to her; you'll like her. I bet she'll be just the +person. I told her that you'd be here this morning, and she said +she'd call again." + +"I hope she does!" the editor said. Her card was handed him a moment +later. + +In came the tall, severely gowned woman with the flashing smile and +blue eyes, and magnificent bronze hair. She radiated confidence and +power. He had hoped for something like this from her letters; she +was better than his hopes. She wanted a position. She hoped, she +said innocently, that it was a good time for positions. + +It was always a good time for certain people, the editor reflected. +They talked for half an hour, irrelevant talk, Martie thought it, +for it was principally of her personal history and his own. Then a +stenographer interrupted; the little boy was afraid that his mother +had gone away through some other door! + +The little boy came in, and shook hands with Mr. Trowbridge, and +subsided into his mother's lap. Then the three had another half- +hour's talk. Mr. Trowbridge had boys, too, but they were up in the +country now. + +He himself escorted them over the office, through large spaces +filled with desks, past closed doors, through a lunch-room and a +library. Respectful greetings met them on all sides. Martie was glad +she had on her wedding suit, and the new hat that had been in a +department store on Sixth Avenue yesterday afternoon. Mr. Trowbridge +called Mrs. Bannister's attention to a certain desk. When they went +back to the privacy of his own office, he asked her if she would +like to come to use that desk, say on Monday? + +"There's a bunch of confidential letters there now, for you to +answer," he said. "Then there are always articles to change, or cut, +or adapt. Also our Miss Briggs, in the 'My Own Money Club,' needs +help. We may ask you sometimes to take home a bunch of stories to +read; we may ask you to do something else!" + +"I'll address envelopes or stoke the furnace!" said Martie, bright +tears in her smiling eyes. "I don't know whether I'm worth all that +money," she added, "for it doesn't seem to me that anybody in the +world really EARNS as much as twenty dollars a week, but I'll try to +be! I'm twenty-eight years old, and I've been waiting all my life +for this chance!" + +"Well, even at that age, you may have a year or two of usefulness +left, if your health is spared you." the editor said. They parted +laughing, and Martie went out into the wonderful, sunny, hospitable +city as gay as Teddy was. Oh, how she would work, how she would +work! She would get down to the office first of all; she would wear +the trimmest suits; she would never be cross, never be tired, never +rebel at the most flagrant imposition! She would take the cold baths +and wear the winter underwear that kept tonsilitis at bay; she would +hire a typewriter, and keep on with her articles. If ever a woman in +the world kept a position, then Martie would keep hers! + +And, of course, women did. There was that pretty, capable woman who +came into Mr. Trowbridge's office, and was introduced as the +assistant editor. Coolly dressed, dainty and calm, she had not +suggested that the struggle was too hard. She had smilingly greeted +Martie, offered a low-voiced suggestion, and vanished unruffled and +at peace. + +"Why, that's what this world IS," Martie reflected. "Workers needing +jobs, and jobs needing workers." And suddenly she hit upon the +keynote to her new philosophy. "MEN don't worry and fidget about +keeping their jobs, and _I_'M not going to. I'm just as necessary +and just as capable as if I were--say, Len. If Len came on here for +a job I wouldn't worry myself sick about his ever getting it!" + +What honeymoon would have been half so thrilling, she reflected, as +this business of getting herself and Teddy suitably established? Her +choice, not made until Sunday afternoon, fell upon a quiet boarding- +house on West Sixty-first Street. It was kept by a kindly Irishwoman +who had children younger and older than Teddy, and well-disposed +toward Teddy, and it was only half a block from the Park. At first +Mrs. Gilfogle said she would charge nothing at all for the child; a +final price for the two was placed at fifteen dollars a week. Martie +suspected that the young Gilfogles would accompany Teddy and herself +on their jaunts occasionally, and would help him scatter his stone +blocks all over her floor on winter nights. But the luncheon for +which they stayed was exceptionally good, and she was delighted with +her big back room. + +"I'm alone wid the two of thim to raise," said Mrs. Gilfogle. "I +know what it is. He died on me just as I got three hundred dollars' +worth of furniture in, God rest him. I didn't know would I ever pay +for it at all, with Joe here at the breast, and Annie only walking. +But I've had good luck these seven years! You'll not find elegance, +but at that you'll never go hungry here. And you lost the child, +too?--that was hard." + +"My girl would be three," Martie said wistfully. And suddenly +reminded, she thought that she would take Teddy and go to see the +old Doctor and Mrs. Converse. + +That they welcomed her almost with tears of joy, and that her +improved appearance and spirits gave them genuine parental delight +was only a part of her new experience. Mrs. Converse wanted her to +settle down with Teddy in her old room. Martie would not do that; +she must be near the subway, she said, but she promised them many a +Sunday dinner-hour. + +"And that Mrs. Dryden got divorced, but she never married again," +marvelled the old lady mildly. + +"Oh, she didn't marry her doctor, then?" + +"No, I think somebody told Doctor that she couldn't. Wasn't she just +the kind of woman who could spoil the lives of two good men? +Somebody told Doctor that the doctor was reconciled to his wife, and +they went away from New York, but I don't know." + +Martie wondered. She thought that she would look up the doctor's +name in the telephone book, anyway, and perhaps chance an anonymous +telephone call. Suppose she asked for Mrs. Cooper, and Adele +answered? + +But before she did so, she met Adele. She had held her new position +for six weeks then, and Indian Summer was giving way to the +delicious coolness of the fall. Martie was in a department store, +Teddy beside her, when a woman came smiling up to her, and laid a +hand on her arm. She recognized a changed Adele. The beauty was not +gone, but it seemed to have faded and shrunk upon itself; Adele's +bright eyes were ringed with lead, the old coquetry of manner was +almost shocking. + +"Martie," said Adele, "this is my sister, Mrs. Baker." + +Mrs. Baker, a big wholesome woman, who looked, Martie thought, as if +she might have a delicate daughter, married young, and a husband +prominent in the Eastern Star, and be herself a clever bridge +player, and a most successful hostess and guest at women's hilarious +lunch-eons, looked at the stranger truculently. She was a tightly +corseted woman, with prominent teeth, and a good-natured smile. +Martie felt sure that she always had good clothes, and wore white +shoes in summer, and could be generous without any glimmering of a +sense of justice. She was close to fifty. + +"How do, Mrs. Bannister," she said heartily. "I've heard Adele +mention your name. How do you think she looks? I think she looks +like death. How do, dear?" she added to Teddy. "Are you mama's boy? +I don't live in New York like you do; I live in Browning, Indiana. +Don't you think that's a funny place to live? But it's a real pretty +place just the same." + +"Have you had your lunch?" Adele was asking. "We haven't. I was kept +by the girl at the milliner's--" + +It was one o'clock on a Saturday afternoon. Martie was free to lunch +where she pleased. She was free even to sit down with a woman whose +name was under a cloud. They all crowded into an express elevator, +and sat down at a table in the restaurant on the twelfth floor. + +Presently the unreality of it faded from Martie's uppermost +consciousness and she began to enjoy herself. To sit with the wife +of a Mystic Shriner, and the woman who had done what Adele had done, +and whose husband incidentally was deeply devoted to herself, was +not according to Monroe. But she was in New York! + +"I guess I was a silly girl, misled by a man of the world," Adele +was saying in her old, complaining, complacent voice. "I know I was +a fool, Martie, but don't men do that sort of thing all the time, +and get over it? Why should us women pay all the time? You know as +well as I do that John Dryden was just as queer as Dick's hatband; I +was hungering, as a girl will, for pleasure and excitement--" + +"It was a dirty crime, the way that doctor acted," Mrs. Baker +contributed, her tone much pleasanter than her words. "He must have +been a skunk, if you ask me. Adele here was wrong, Mrs. Bannister; +you and I won't quarrel about that. But Adele wasn't nothing but a +child at heart--" + +"I believed anything he told me!" Adele drawled, playing with her +knife and fork, her lashes dropped. + +"Dryden," the loyal sister continued majestically, "threw her over +the second he got a chance; that's what she got for putting up with +HIM for all those years! And then, if you please, this other feller +discovers that he can't get rid of his wife. I came on then," she +said warmly as Martie murmured her sympathy, "and I says to Adele, +throw the whole crowd of them down. Billy Baker and I have plenty, +and my daughter--Ruby, she's a lovely girl and she's married an +elegant feller whose people own about all the lumber interests in +our part of the country--she doesn't need anything from us. But if +you ask me, it's just about killed Adele," she went on frankly, +glancing at her sister, "she looks like a sick girl to me. We came +on two or three days ago, to see a specialist about her, and I +declare I'll be glad to get her back." + +"What has become of Dr. Cooper?" Martie felt justified in asking. + +"He lost all the practice he ever had, they say," Mrs. Baker said +viciously. "And good enough for him, too! His wife won't even see +him, and he lives at some boarding-house; and serve him right!" + +"And Jack's book such a success!" Adele said, widening her eyes at +Martie. "Do you ever see him?" + +"He's got a great friend in Dean Silver, the novelist," Martie +answered composedly. "I believe they're abroad." + +"The idea!" Adele said lifelessly. She was playing with her +bracelets now, and looked about her in an aimless way. + +"Well, if this little girl has any sense she'll let the past be the +past," remarked the optimistic Mrs. Baker. "There's a fellow out our +way, Joe Chase; he's got a cattle ranch. You never heard of him? +He's a di'mond in the rough, if you ask me, but he's been crazy +about Adele ever since she first visited me. He'd give her anything +in God's world." + +"But I think I'd die of loneliness winters!" Adele said, with the +smile of a petted child. + +So there was a third man eager to sacrifice his life to her, Martie +marvelled. Adele would consider herself a martyr if she succumbed to +the wiles of the rough diamond; she would puzzle and distress him in +his ranch-house; she would Fret and exact and complain. Probably one +of the Swedish farmers thereabout could give him a daughter who +would make him an infinitely better wife, and bear him children, and +worship him blindly. But no; he must yearn for this neurotic, +abnormal little creature, with her ugly history and her barren brain +and body. + +"Isn't it funny how unlucky I am, Martie?" Adele asked at parting. +"If you'll tell me why one woman has to have so much bad luck, and +others just sail along on the top of the wave, I'll be obliged to +you!" She came close to Martie, her faded, bitter little face +flushing suddenly. "Now this Mrs. Cooper," she said in a low tone, +"her father was a shoe manufacturer, and left her half a million +dollars. Of course, it's a SNAP for her to say she'll do this, and +say she'll do that! She says it's for the children she refuses the +divorce, but the real reason is she wants him back. She can live in +New York--" + +Adele's voice trailed off disconsolately. Martie felt a genuine pang +of sympathy for the unhappy little creature whose one claim had been +of sex, and who had made her claim so badly. + +"Write me now and then!" she said warmly. + +"Oh, I will!" Adele stretched up to kiss the taller woman, and Mrs. +Baker kissed her, too. Martie went away smiling; over all its waste +and suffering life was amusing, after all. + +Would John, with his irregular smile and his sea-blue eyes and his +reedy voice, also come back into her life some day? She could not +say. The threads of human intercourse were tangled enough to make +living a blind business at best, and she had deliberately tangled +the web that held them even more deeply than life had done. Before +he himself was back from long wandering, before he learned that she +was in the city, and that there had been no second marriage, months, +perhaps years, must go by. + +Martie accepted the possibility serenely. She asked nothing better +than work and companionship, youth and health, and Teddy. Every day +was a separate adventure in happiness; she had never been happy +before. + +And suppose this was only the beginning, she wondered. Suppose real +achievement and real success lay ahead? Suppose she was one of the +women to whom California would some day point with pride? Deep in +her singing heart she suspected that it was true. How it was to come +about she could only guess. By her pen, of course. By some short +story suddenly inspired, or by one of her flashing articles on the +women's problems of the day. She was not a Shakespeare, not a George +Eliot, but she had something for which the world would pay. + +Nine years since the September when Rodney Parker had flashed into +her world; a long nine years. Sitting under her green-shaded reading +lamp, Martie reviewed them, for herself, and for Sally. She and +Sally had thought of Dr. Ben as only an amiable theorist then, but +there had been nothing theoretical about the help he had given Sally +and Joe with their problem. + +Martie had solved her own alone. Rodney, Pa, Wallace, and John had +all entered into it, but no one of them had helped her. It was in +spite of them rather than because of them that she was sitting here +poised, established, needed at last. She saw her life to-night as a +long road, climbing steadily up from the fields and valleys, +mounting, sometimes in storm, and sometimes in fog, but always +mounting toward the mountains. Rose and Adele and Lydia were content +with the lowlands, the quiet, sunny plains below. She must have the +heights. + +There were other women seeking that rising road; perhaps she might +help them. Love and wifehood and motherhood she had known, now she +would know the joy of perfected expression, the fulfillment of the +height. She dedicated herself solemnly, joyfully, to the claim of +the years ahead. Ten years ago she might have said that at twenty- +eight the best of a woman's life was over. Now she knew that she had +only begun to live. + +THE END + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Martie The Unconquered, by Kathleen Norris + diff --git a/old/mrtnq10.zip b/old/mrtnq10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..272350d --- /dev/null +++ b/old/mrtnq10.zip |