Читать книгу White Banners - Lloyd C. Douglas - Страница 7

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After luncheon—Paul did not come home on Tuesdays—Hannah came upstairs to say that Mr Ward had given her permission to dispose of some old furniture in the basement. She had telephoned to a second-hand dealer who would be there about three.

"I'm going down now to give the desk and the filing-cabinet a good polishing before the man comes. That's where I'll be if you want anything."

"Seems to me you're putting yourself to unnecessary bother," said Marcia. "The man will know what the furniture is worth, even if it is a little dusty."

"Yes—that's the trouble. If the furniture is dusty, the man will know what it's worth to us and he'll offer a price to fit. But if it's clean and looks as if we thought something of it ourselves, the offer will be several dollars more."

"Hannah," said Marcia, laughing, "I certainly shouldn't want to do any bargaining with you."

"I was just coming to that, Mrs Ward. How would you like to let me stay—at least until the baby arrives and you are well again? You need me, and I like it here."

"I wish we could, Hannah. You've been such a help. But—as I told you—we haven't the money. How do you suppose it would make us feel—having you work for us without wages? No, we shouldn't consider it for a minute."

"But if I figured some way," persisted Hannah, "so that you could pay me wages without spending any more money, would you let me stay? How much do you think it costs you a month for food?"

Marcia gave herself to some mental calculation and surmised that it might be about sixty-five dollars. "Or seventy, at the outside," she added prudently.

"If you let me have sixty dollars, I'll run the table and pay myself fair wages.... And I'll guarantee that we shall all have plenty to eat too."

"It's a bargain," declared Marcia. "I hope you can do it. I'm sure I shouldn't be able to."

An hour later there was a considerable stir in the basement, sound of voices, Hannah's and a man's. After much animated parley there was the screech and bump of furniture being dragged about. Marcia went to the window and watched a truck taking the load.

Hannah came up now attired in her ridiculous street outfit. "We did pretty well, Mrs Ward. Thirty-nine dollars. I'm going down to the market if you can spare me for a while."

"But can't you use the telephone and save yourself a trip? It's snowing again."

"My kind of shopping can't be done on the telephone, Mrs Ward. I arranged for some coal to be here in a couple of hours. I asked this man where he bought his coal, and he said there was a car in the railroad yards. People who are willing to go down there and shovel it out—"

"Hannah! Don't tell me you're going to do that!" Marcia sat up in bed, wide-eyed.

"Of course not." Hannah laughed heartily, almost girlishly, abandoning her reserve for an instant. Then, remembering the considerable difference in their status, she sobered and went on: "If people shovel it out and haul it away themselves, it's about half-price. I told him to bring us two tons. We pay him well for the trucking. I guess we'll save enough on that coal to cover about all I'm likely to spend to-day at the market."

At five, Hannah came back staggering under the weight of a large basket. Marcia, full of curiosity, went to the kitchen, found her sitting there panting, and reproached her for carrying such a load.

"It was only a block from the street-car," defended Hannah. "There were some good bargains to-day. I didn't want to let them go. I ordered enough at one place to have it delivered free—parsnips, potatoes, apples, and such things. There's a good storage-room in the cellar. I'll have some sand hauled in to keep the roots in fine condition."

"What on earth, Hannah!" Marcia lifted the paper cover and looked into the basket.

"It's a hog's head. It cost seventy cents. A lot of meat on it. Very tasty, too, if you know how to make it up. There's almost everything in a hog's head—lard, sausage, mincemeat, scrapple—"

Marcia's serious interest in this recital was so amusing to Hannah that she added a few more by-products, "Chops, bacon, ham."

"And eggs, I dare say," assisted Marcia. "But what are we going to do with all this canned corn?"

"Don't you like corn?"

"Yes—but here is a whole dozen—and a dozen tomatoes!"

"Well," drawled Hannah, "we shan't try to eat it all up to-day. It will be nice to have a few things on hand. These tomatoes cost eighty-four cents; exactly the same tomatoes that you buy on the telephone for a dollar-forty, except the label isn't quite so fancy. And there isn't much you can do with a lovely tin-can but pay a man to haul it away.... I think you'll be satisfied with the food I'm going to give you, Mrs Ward. There won't be any French chops with pink panties and a little bite of meat about the size of a peppermint lozenge, for we can't afford that, but we'll have things that stick to the ribs. Next week I'm going to buy a breast of mutton and let you see what can be done with another cheap cut."

Marcia helped to put away the supply on the pantry shelves, finding herself quite enthusiastic over the prospect of these substantial economies.

"This will relieve my husband," she confided impulsively. "I know he worries—though he doesn't talk much about it."

"It isn't any of my business, Mrs Ward," ventured Hannah, encouraged by this unpremeditated remark, "but what does your husband make up in that room in the attic? I saw a lot of tools and funny bottles when I was up there hunting for a basket. There's a little lathe, too."

"That's his workshop. He can't go up there in cold weather. It's a pity, too," regretted Marcia, "for it is the only recreation he has."

"Well, all he needs is a half-dozen two-by-fours and some beaver-board to make a partition, and a small oil-stove. He could be snug and warm. But what's he trying to do? Little pieces of furniture, maybe?"

"No—it's an invention—or something," said Marcia vaguely. "He hasn't really worked at it for a long time. Perhaps he has given it up. I haven't heard him say—not for weeks."

Hannah began preparations for dinner.

"Maybe we can get him at it again," she suggested. "Maybe he has got something. You never can tell. But—I wouldn't have thought Mr Ward was mechanical. He seems so sort o' helpless, and gentle. But then"—she repeated, half to herself—"you never can tell."

Marcia said she presumed that was true and left to look after the children.

"It isn't something that's going to make perpetual motion, is it?" called Hannah.

"No," replied Marcia. "I don't understand it, but I know it isn't that.... Something in chemistry, more likely."

"Well," said Hannah, in a tone of relief, "that's good news, anyway. We couldn't afford to buy him a stove if he had anything like perpetual motion up his sleeve."