Читать книгу Harold the Klansman - George Alfred Brown - Страница 10

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"Have a chair. I will call her," Clara Babcock said to the young man who had called and asked for Ruth. She went to Ruth's room where she was pounding away on a typewriter. Several months previous Ruth had been hopeful of securing a raise in salary but the raise had not come. When the second pay-day failed to bring the increase, she inserted an advertisement in the paper asking for stenographic work to be done of evenings. In this way she was able to earn from six to ten dollars a week toward a fund to send her father to Dr. Lilly. She was joyful every time she could add a dollar to this fund, although she knew that she was doing this extra work at the expense of her health.

When her aunt entered her room she found Ruth playing a merry little tune on the typewriter.

"Ruth, dear, there is a young gentleman here to see you."

"Is it Mr. King?"

"No, Mr. Golter. He is in his car. I suspect he has come to take you for a ride."

"I haven't time to go riding. I have more work than I can get done by tomorrow night."

"Ruth, you are sticking too close to your work. If you can't get the work out and take an hour or so for recreation you had better let it go until the next day."

"I don't like to disappoint my customers."

"I know you don't, dear, but it is not right for you not to take any recreation."

"Well, if I take a little time off tonight maybe I can work a little longer and faster and make it up tomorrow night."

"Tell him I will be in in a minute."

Her aunt left to deliver the message, and Ruth looked at herself in the mirror, tucked in a few straggling wisps of hair, rubbed her face with her powder puff, but the tired expression would not rub off. It stared at her from the mirror. There was no disputing the fact that the home work after banking hours was telling on her.

"Good evening, Mr. Golter," she greeted in a cheery voice when she entered the room where the young man was seated.

"Good evening, Miss Babcock. I thought that perhaps you would like to take a ride."

"I enjoy riding and would be pleased to go for a short ride. I have such a demand on my time that I cannot be out late."

She walked to the far end of the living room where her father was seated with the evening paper. "Papa," she said, "I am going for a ride. I will not be gone long."

"All right, Ruth. Good evening, Mr. Golter."

"Good evening, Mr. Babcock."

After riding a few minutes in the fresh air Ruth felt revived. "How invigorating the air is! It certainly refreshes one to ride in the fresh air when tired."

"Yes, I couldn't get along without a car. That makes me think of it. You remember that fellow you introduced me to in the park—let's see, what is his name?"

"Do you mean Mr. King?"

"Yes, that's it—King. What I was going to tell you was that the Dodge Auto Sales Company are offering the car they sold him a few months ago, for sale at a bargain. It seems that they sold it to him on time and had to take it back. I should think it would be very humiliating to a man in business to have to do a thing of that kind." Ruth knew all about his car deal. Harold had told her. His uncle owed him two thousand dollars which was due three months after he purchased the car. He had expected to finish paying for it out of this. When the money came due his uncle had written him that he had been disappointed in some financial matters and that it would work a hardship on him to repay it at that time. Rather than work this hardship on his uncle he turned the car back and lost what he had paid on it. Ruth wondered whether Golter was simply telling this as a news item or whether he was seeking to belittle Harold. She feared the latter and felt a resentment rise within her. A desire to resent in strong language this slur aimed at her friend tugged at her heart strings, but she held herself in leash; her judgment told her that she might be mistaken as to his motive, but she was sure she saw in the remark the manifestation of littleness in Golter.