Читать книгу Bought and Paid For; From the Play of George Broadhurst - George Howells Broadhurst - Страница 4

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"Fanny! Where are my scissors? Did you take my scissors?"

Seated in the centre of the small parlor, before a round table fairly well lighted by an electrolier suspended from the middle of the ceiling and littered with chiffons and laces, Mrs. Blaine stopped sewing and began a laborious search all over the board for the missing article. Finally the scissors were found hidden in the folds of what some day would be a graduation dress, but no sooner were they in use than something else was missing. Impatiently, the widow called out:

"Fanny! I do wish you'd come here. I'll never get this dress done. Did you see the roll of satin ribbon?"

But Fanny, busy just then with a customer in the outer shop, paid no attention to the summons. Virginia's new dress could wait—it was a whole month to graduation day anyhow—but business was not so good that one could afford to neglect a possible purchaser.

Four summers had gone by since John Blaine's death yet in that comparatively brief space of time, his widow appeared to have aged ten years or more. Now bent, infirm, a chronic invalid, she did not look as if she would long survive him. The world goes on just the same no matter whose heart is breaking, and time flies so quickly that the happenings of a decade seem only of yesterday. But John Blaine was not forgotten. The flowers that each week decorated his grave, placed there by loving hands, served to keep fresh the father's memory.

As far as was possible, the bereaved wife tried to keep to herself the sorrow that had slowly but surely undermined her health and made her an old woman before her hour. In her heart she knew that she would not long remain after the dear departed one; all she asked was that she should live long enough to see her girls happily married and taken care of. At first it had seemed as if existence without him was impossible, yet the regular routine of life must go on. Besides it was not fair to the girls. Her own life was irretrievably wrecked, but theirs had barely begun. It would be selfish to allow her grief to cast a permanent shadow over their young lives. They loved their father very dearly; his death had been a great shock to them. But they were young. They had a thousand outside interests to distract their attention. And youth, with its gaze still turned upward to the stars, soon forgets.

When everything was settled, the widow found herself with a little less than $3,000, all she possessed in the world. To attempt to live on the interest alone of such a slender capital was obviously an impossibility, so it was decided that they would move uptown, where they would not be known, and open a little millinery shop. This was a bright idea that had occurred to Fanny. She had always been clever at trimming hats. Why not put her skill to commercial profit? She and her mother could very well attend to such a business, while Virginia continued in school. If they were only fairly successful, the income would pay expenses, carry them along and help keep their capital intact. Dr. Everett heartily approved the plan, not only because it might prove a source of steady income, but also because it would be distraction for the widow and help her to forget. Mrs. Blaine somewhat reluctantly consented, and the girls set out enthusiastically to look for a shop.

After no end of running here and there all over New York, they found just what they wanted in one of the cheaper and more recently developed districts of Harlem. It was a narrow little store, with a fair-sized show window on Broadway, and with living rooms in the rear. Fanny declared it was just too cute for anything, and as she was the prime mover in the enterprise, a lease was signed without further delay, and the Blaine family took immediate possession.

At first the girls were as delighted with their new home as are children with a new toy. It being Summer time, there was no school for Virginia, so she was free to assist in the store. She dressed the window and waited on the customers, and after a very busy day, which kept her on her feet from morning till night, thought she had never had so much fun in her life. For the nonce, books and music were forgotten. She was a smart little saleslady, succeeding in selling one after the other, for ten dollars, hats which had cost Fanny not more than two. But her coöperation was not to be for long. It was quite decided that in the Fall she was to go to High School. This was her mother's wish, and it had also been insisted upon by Fanny as a condition of their taking the store. Virginia, at heart, was glad enough to acquiesce. As they were too poor to keep a maid, she would willingly have stayed at home and shouldered her share of the daily toil, but an education meant a great deal to her, more than to most girls, and she would have relinquished her schooling only with bitter regret.

Autumn came with its cooler weather and longer evenings, and when High School opened Virginia was sent to resume her studies, while her sister and mother, busy in the store, exerted every effort to keep the little household going. The younger girl felt keenly the sacrifice they were making for her, and determined to prove worthy of it. She began to apply herself more energetically than ever. A clever, brainy girl, she was highly sensitive to every surrounding influence, with ideas and ideals of her own, in full sympathy with the social side of life, yet independent and self-reliant, and just beginning to choose her own path in the bewildering maze of the world's devious thoroughfare. In High School she made astonishing progress. Her fine mentality enabled her to grasp quickly the most obtuse scientific and economic problems, and her natural taste for belles lettres making languages and general literature comparatively easy, she soon distinguished herself above the other girls of her class. Especial talent she showed for public speaking, having a good command of English, with forcible delivery and sound logic. So successful, indeed, was she in this respect, that in her final year, as graduation day drew near, she was picked out from among three hundred and fifty girls to deliver the class oration at the graduating exercises.

Mrs. Blaine, overjoyed at this fulfillment of her fondest hopes, at once said she would make the graduation dress. Fanny and Virginia, knowing well the labor it would involve, demurred. It was too much of an undertaking. Their mother was far from strong; the sewing would tire her eyes. Besides, they could not spare the time from the store. It would be cheaper and quicker to buy the dress ready made. Even Dr. Everett, when consulted, shook his head and tried to discourage the widow from a task which he was afraid might prove beyond her strength. But Mrs. Blaine was not to be put off so easily. Since their father's death, she had let the girls have much their own way, but this time she was determined. It would be a labor of love, she insisted. Daddie, himself, would have wished it. And so, without further ado, work on the beloved graduation dress was commenced.

And such work as it entailed! Running down town each instant, to buy satin and ribbon and laces and lining, unable to find what was wanted, or else purchasing something that did not suit and having to take it back and exchange it for something else. The girls literally wore their shoes to pieces, but they did not mind. They knew that making this graduation dress was the one great joy that had come into their mother's life since their father's death, and they were amply rewarded when, after a long and arduous shopping tour they returned home with the required article and handed it to her as she bent low over her work at the board she would look up with a smile and exclaim:

"Oh, isn't it beautiful? That's just what I wanted! Now I can get on with Virginia's dress."

Thus, between working and studying, the days passed pleasantly enough. The little shop prospered, and all three were happy, each in her own way, Fanny in looking after the customers, Virginia in doing her lessons, Mrs. Blaine in working on her beloved graduation dress.

It was about this time that a romance came into Fanny's heretofore prosaic existence. So far the poor girl had not enjoyed much of life. Her time spent between four walls, there was a very narrow horizon to her outlook on things. She rarely went out, took no part in the pleasures and gaieties of other young women of her age. When not waiting on customers, she was cooking. Yet she was always good-natured about it. Laughingly she called herself Cinderella, because, while her more favored sister might be dressing up to go to recitals, lectures or concerts, she would be in the kitchen washing up the dishes. She took it amiably, yet there were times when she had a quiet cry all to herself, when she thought that her mother, instead of being so much engrossed in making a fine graduation dress for sister, might remember that she, too, needed something pretty to wear.

When, therefore, one evening at a neighbor's party, she happened to meet a young man who went considerably out of his way to pay her attention, she was greatly flattered and gratified. The very novelty of it startled her. Until now none of the eligible young men had so much as looked at her. Virginia, quite innocently, of course, had always monopolized their society. But this particular young man, whose name was James Gillie, seemed not in the least attracted to Virginia. In fact, he rather avoided her, appearing to be somewhat intimidated by her well-bred manners and cultured conversation. He made no secret of his preference for the homelier virtues of the elder sister, whose irrepressible propensity for picturesque, up-to-date slang and free-and-easy style put them on a more equal social footing. So began an acquaintance which resulted in the young man becoming a frequent and intimate visitor at the Blaine home.

Mr. James Gillie was an original in more ways than one, and it was some time before either Mrs. Blaine or Virginia could bring themselves to approve Fanny's liking for a young man with ways so uncouth and vulgar and whose antecedents were obviously so plebeian. Of Irish parentage, but American born, James Gillie was a product of the newest America, the typical gamin of New York's streets, fresh and slangy in speech, keen to the main chance, not over scrupulous, shrewd and calculating. Fair and slight in build, he was about twenty-six years old and his upper lip was adorned with a few thinly scattered hairs, which he proudly termed a moustache. Otherwise he was unintelligent and ordinary looking, one of the many thousands of New York young men who, graduates of the slums, have been left to shift for themselves, and whose chief intellectual pastime has been standing on street corners reading baseball returns. Not only had he no education, but he was rather proud of the fact, affecting to despise bookish people as prigs and "high-brows." Incompetent and lazy, without any real ability, he worked only because he had to, and his standing grievance was that he was misunderstood, unappreciated and underpaid. The one good side to his nature, and the one which, perhaps, appealed most to Fanny, was the unconscious possession of a rich fund of humor. He was funny without intending to be, and this not only made him a diverting companion but ensured him a welcome everywhere. With the straightest of faces, he would say funny things in so ludicrous a manner that a roomful of people would go into convulsions. He laughed with them, not realizing they were laughing at him, but ever preening himself on being a very witty and clever person indeed. His greatest fault was inordinate vanity. He had the highest opinion of his own capacity, and he could never understand why capitalists generally did not tumble over each other to secure his services. At the present time he was earning the magnificent salary of ten dollars a week as shipping clerk, but this, he explained, was only a nominal stipend, as a starter. Before very long he would be president of the company. His hobby was inventing things. So far he had not made enough by his brain to purchase a collar button, but ideas were coming thick and fast, and he was convinced that the day was not far distant when he would make a great fortune. That is why, all things considered, he believed himself, despite his obscure origin and lack of education, a desirable match for the proudest girl in the land.

"Fanny! Where's my tape measure? I can't find my tape measure."

Once more Mrs. Blaine laid down her work and began to rummage among the mass of chiffons and laces piled up before her. In the shop outside she could hear her daughter laughing and talking. Impatiently the widow called out:

"Can't you come and help me, Fanny? Who are you talking to?"

"It's Mr. Gillie, mother," came the answer. "He's helping me close the store."

A look of anxiety crossed Mrs. Blaine's face. It went against the grain to entertain a person like Mr. Gillie, but for her child's sake she said nothing, and when he called, as he had done very frequently recently, she had tried to receive him as cordially as possible. But to-night she was very tired. At times she felt dizzy and faint. His interminable chatter and boasting would only weary her more. So, hoping the visitor would take the hint, she called out again:

"Isn't Virginia home yet? It's getting very late."

"She couldn't be here yet," called out Fanny. "The concert's not over till ten. We've all closed up now. I'm coming right in."

A moment later the young girl appeared, followed more leisurely by Mr. Gillie.

The shipping clerk entered jauntily, a lighted cigar in his mouth, full of self-assurance. He wore a check suit much too small for him, a pink tie, and patent-leather shoes. Fanny's face was red and her manner somewhat flustered, but this the mother, bent low over her work, did not notice.

"Good evening, m'm," said Mr. Gillie, coolly seating himself without waiting to be asked. Sitting back, crossing his legs and carelessly flecking his cigar ash on the floor, he added in patronizing tones: "How's the world using you?"

"Good evening, Mr. Gillie," returned the widow graciously. "How are you?"

"Oh, fairly well to middlin'." Glancing at the littered table, he said: "Still busy on the graduation dress, I see."

Mrs. Blaine sighed wearily.

"Yes—it's taking me longer than I bargained for. Sometimes I feel very tired. I wish Virginia was here to try it on."

Fanny glanced at the clock. With a quick, significant look at Mr. Gillie, she said quickly:

"She'll be here any moment now. The concert is usually out by this time." There was an awkward pause and then she stammered: "Mr. Gillie has something to say to you, mother."

Mrs. Blaine laid down her work and looked up in surprise.

"Something to say to me?" she echoed in amazement, looking inquiringly from her daughter to the visitor.

But Fanny, her face crimson, had already bolted into the kitchen, while Mr. Gillie, his chair tilted backward, a picture of magnificent unconcern, coolly blew smoke rings into the air.

"Something to say to me?" repeated Mrs. Blaine.

"Asch—ooah!"

His chair suddenly returning to the floor level with a thud that shook the house, Mr. Gillie sneezed violently, a physiological phenomenon which curiously enough never failed to present itself when any extraordinary pressure was put upon his brain cells. Wiping his watery eyes with a pink-bordered handkerchief—a color he rather affected—he began eloquently:

"Mrs. Blaine, you're a sensible woman. I feel I can talk to you plain. There comes a time in every man's life when he feels lonesome—when it looks good to him to have someone round all the time, looking after things—his dinner, his clothes, and so on. Why, sometimes I go around for weeks with my suspenders only half fastened, just because I've got no one to sew a button on. It gets on a feller's nerves—yes, it does—until at last he says to himself: 'Jimmie, my boy, you've knocked about alone long enough. You want to hitch up with some girl and take it easy a bit.'" He stopped a moment to gauge the effect of his words, but as Mrs. Blaine gave no sign that she understood what he was driving at, he proceeded: "I'm not much good at speechifying. With the frills all cut and to come to the point, this is what it is: Fanny seems the kind of girl I'm looking for, and I don't see I could do any better. I've just asked her, and now it's kinder up to you—"

The widow took off her spectacles and gasped. Could she have heard aright? He was actually asking for Fanny. She was amazed not so much at his monumental selfishness and impudence as that Fanny herself could have given him the slightest encouragement. She fully realized that times had changed since the days when they lifted their heads proudly in the world, but to sink as low as this seemed too terrible, too humiliating. Yet, after all, could she blame her daughter? What was her present life, what would be her future, without education, without money—unless she had someone who could take care of her? Dissembling her indignation as much as possible, she inquired suavely:

"This takes me very much by surprise, Mr. Gillie. You will, of course, allow me leisure to talk it over with my daughter. May I ask if your means permit you to provide a comfortable home for Fanny—the kind of home to which she has been accustomed?"

The muscles of Mr. Gillie's nostrils contracted and for a moment it looked as if his slight frame were again about to be shaken convulsively by a mighty sneeze, but the spasm passed. He merely coughed loudly to clear his throat. Then, glancing round the room in which he was sitting, he said:

"Oh, I guess we'll be able to put on as good a front as this, all right, all right." Tilting his chair back until it seemed physically impossible that he could maintain his balance, he went on between puffs of his cigar:

"You see, m'm, I'm not the kind of man that's satisfied to go on working all his life for only just enough to keep body and soul together. That's all right maybe for pikers—poor devils that have no spunk—but not for 'yours truly.' I'm a pusher, a climber, I am, and, what's more, I'm a man with ideas. No one can keep me down in the world. One of these days I'll be driving my own automobile and Fanny will be riding in it with me. It's no 'guff' I'm giving you. I'm the real 'goods.'"

"You are a shipping clerk, I believe," said Mrs. Blaine when she could get in a word sideways.

"Yes, m'm," he snapped, "a shipping clerk—what of it?"

"Is that a very—lucrative position?"

He laughed derisively as if it was absurd to imagine he was going to remain a shipping clerk all his life.

"Oh, I'm only a clerk now, but I'll be boss some day—see if I don't."

"Might I ask what your present income is?" inquired the widow blandly.

For the first time Mr. Gillie seemed at a loss for an answer. Awkwardly shifting his cigar to the other corner of his mouth, he stammered:

"I'm not getting much now—ten a week—that's all." Hastily he continued: "But it won't be for long. The big men down town know me—they know what I'm worth to them. They're just watching me. Any day they may make me an offer that would land me in Easy Street. Besides, sooner or later I'll astonish people with one of my inventions. I'm full of new ideas. Some of them are bound to make money. It's a cinch!"

How long he would have continued in this strain there is no telling, for, although not talkative usually, he always became extraordinarily loquacious when encouraged to speak of his own affairs. Utterly exhausted by his chatter and feeling dreadfully tired, Mrs. Blaine began to wish that her unwelcome visitor would go. The room was full of tobacco smoke and his free-and-easy manner irritated her extremely. Of course, his proposal was ridiculous, an impertinence. It was Fanny's fault for having encouraged him. But it was best to say nothing—to just drop him gently. An awkward pause followed during which the widow, fatigued as she was, plied her needle more industriously than ever, while the would-be Benedict, nicely balanced on his chair, amused himself sending rings of smoke up to the ceiling. Happily, at this juncture, Fanny returned from the kitchen. She had noticed the strained silence and feared it boded ill. A glance at her mother's face was enough. Quickly she exclaimed:

"Now, mother, you must go to bed. Mr. Gillie will excuse you, I'm sure. It's getting real late."

Taking the hint, the shipping clerk rose to his feet. With a grin he said:

"That's right, m'm—all work and no play don't agree with nobody. That's my maxim. Well, good night, ladies!" As he shuffled off, accompanied to the door by Fanny, he said in an undertone: "It's O.K., Fan—I put it to her good and hard—it's you for mine, all right!"

As they passed along the dark passage he profited by the opportunity to snatch a kiss, and as they bade each other good-bye he said:

"You'd better get after mother. She was for handing me a nice, juicy lemon, but I gave her a line of talk that fetched her. Good night, sweetheart!"

Just as he was going out at the front door, Virginia came up.

"Good evening, Mr. Gillie," she said politely.

He laughed as he chucked her playfully under the chin.

"Mr. Gillie?" he echoed. "What's the matter with James or Jimmie? Good night, little sis!"

With a boisterous laugh he went out into the street and shut the door. Virginia, astounded, looked at her sister and laughed.

"What's the matter with him to-night?" she exclaimed. "Is he crazy?" Without waiting for an answer, she added quickly: "How's mother?"

Fanny averted her face. She dreaded taking Virginia into her confidence; somehow she could not tell her. Briefly she said:

"She's very tired—been working until now. We expected you home earlier. She wanted to try on the dress."

Quickly removing her hat and coat which she threw on a convenient chair, Virginia answered:

"The concert was out later than usual. Dr. Everett was there. He brought me to the corner. How long has Mr. Gillie been here?"

"All evening," replied Fanny. Then suddenly the elder sister flung her arms round Virginia's neck.

"Virgie!" she exclaimed, "what do you think? Mr. Gillie has asked me to marry him."