CHAPTER VII
A week passed. In one corner of the _Times-Leader_ office there was anold-fashioned letter-press. You put the letters between two iron platesand slowly turned a bar that pressed a lever that squeezed the platestogether tighter and tighter. A grimy office boy was forever grinding,and as Mabel had many a long wait for her chief, Miss Gere, shecommenced to be fascinated by the operation. Her vivid imaginationcommenced to trouble her. She saw her hand, her arm, her whole selfbeing pressed flat by that dreadful boy. The boy, by the way, beingabout Mabel's age and totally unconscious of his grubby appearance,noticed Mabel's fascinated stare and accepted it as a personalcompliment. He turned the press with a grand flourish and squeezed itclose with a darkly frowning brow as though to call attention to hisstrength.
Life, after being so eagerly called, was beginning to squeeze Mabel alittle. Saturday noon found her half ill for food, as she had spent hersmall allowance almost at once and had had to live on the faithful boxof shredded wheat biscuit and the milk for which she did not have to paythe milkman until the first of the month.
After luncheon, consisting of a nut sundae which took all her remainingchange, she spent a few moments peering in at the vegetables andchickens displayed in a grocer's window. She did not see Miss Gere pass.When Mabel returned to the office, Miss Gere sent her up Fourth Streetto study the delicatessens and bread shops. It was agony. Mabel hadnever seen such delicious articles of food, had never dreamed of suchpenetrating and tantalizing odors. Mabel wondered if she could everstand it until six o'clock when she would be paid. She jotted down hernotes and, wending her way back to the office, settled down in a cornerto put her material in shape. It did not take long, and while she waitedfor Miss Gere who was almost always out, she reviewed the experiencesthat had beset her during the past few days. Of them all this day hadbeen the worst. And Mabel, who had fondly expected to have most of herSaturdays to herself, reflected that after six o'clock she would have totake her hungry and weary self back to the apartment and attempt toclean things up.
The dainty rooms looked as though a whirlwind had struck them. PoorMabel was not wholly to blame. She was carrying too great a load. Shehad school to think of, and as soon as she was released at noon she wasobliged to rush off to the dusty office for her orders for the rest ofthe day. She never reached home again until six and later, and onseveral occasions she had been obliged to accompany Miss Gere on longtiresome night trips by automobile or trolley into the surroundingcountry. Of her mother she had seen but little. Twice her mother hadcalled while she was out with Miss Gere, and Mabel, not knowing thatthis had been by arrangement between Mrs. Brewster and Miss Gere, washonestly disappointed. Several times she had met her mother down town,and once they had had luncheon together at a cafeteria.
On these occasions Mabel was forced to notice that her mother, whom shehad rather looked down on as a common or garden variety of parent, wasreally a most attractive and charming woman. She treated Mabel not atall like a little girl, spoke only of the surface things that interestedMrs. Brewster herself and lightly passed over all Mabel's wistfulreferences to home and Frank. Mrs. Brewster did say that they missedMabel and added with a rather sad smile that she had never thought tolose her little daughter and so on. Mabel felt herself saddened by thesemeetings. She found that she was thinking of her mother all the time,and sometimes she almost wished that she was just an ordinary girl andnot a genius, so she could stay at home and be taken care of. When thesecond Sunday came Mabel permitted herself the luxury of a good cry. Shewas too stubborn to confess that she was desperately sick of herfoolishness and wholly and utterly homesick, but angrily dried her tearsand started to dress.
The telephone rang. It was Mrs. Brewster. She sent a cheery good-morningover the wire and asked if Mabel had had breakfast. Mabel hopefully saidno, that she was just commencing to dress.
"Why, we are all through!" laughed Mrs. Brewster. "We are getting anearly start, because the Morrissons have asked us to drive to Lexingtonwith them. They wanted to ask you too, but I told them that you werealways too taken up with your other affairs and your writing to acceptany invitations and they were so disappointed."
"Who is going?" asked Mabel.
"Just the two Morrisson boys and Frank and myself."
The two Morrisson boys were quite the most popular young fellows inLouisville and Mabel saw, with a sense of defeat, that her biggestsocial chance had slipped from her grasp.
Her mother went cheerily on: "So Frank and I got up early and fixed ourshare of the luncheon, and prepared and ate our own breakfast, and nowwe are all ready."
Mabel was furious. It was on her tongue's end to tell her mother that ofcourse she would be glad to go, but her stubbornness held her back, soshe said a brief and snippy good-bye and hung up the receiver. But shedid not leave the phone. A moment later she gave central Mrs.Morrisson's number, and flushed rather foolishly as she heard Mrs.Morrisson call hello.
"I want to thank you for having thought to ask me on your ride todayMrs. Morrisson," she said smoothly, in her best manner. "I was justtalking to mother, and she told me about it." Mabel stopped here andlistened eagerly for Mrs. Morrisson to renew the coveted invitation. Butalas, poor Mabel!
"We were all sorry that you could not go," said Mrs. Morrisson in asweet voice that you would never think could deal a blow to a girl'shopes. "And it is almost going to spoil the day for your mother, I know.She is always so happy when you are with her, my dear."
"It is dear of you all to want me," said Mabel, "and perhaps I canarrange things so I can go after all."
"Oh, my dear," exclaimed Mrs. Morrisson in a most distressed voice,"that is too awful! You see we never thought you would think of it, so Iasked another girl, a new girl the boys have met in dancing school. Sheis a Girl Scout and your mother thought it was just the thing to do."
Mabel swallowed hard.
"Well, I am sure she will have a good time," she replied in a thinvoice. "Is she a girl I know?"
"Her name is Claire Maslin," said Mrs. Morrisson, "and I think she isreally charming."
"I know her," said Mabel briefly and with a noticeable lack ofenthusiasm.
She was glad when the conversation came to an end, and rushing back toher tumbled bed, she threw herself down and wept loudly and long. Whenfinally she found that she could cry no more she dragged on her dressanyhow and went out to look in the tiny ice-chest. She knew what itcontained. There was the usual ready-to-eat cereal and milk for herbreakfast, and two discouraged looking pieces of cold boiled ham, herunfailing standby, on a saucer; but she had neglected to do any shoppingthe day before in the rush of necessary tasks, and there was nothingelse to eat. For all day! Sunday! And mother and Frank were off on aglorious picnic! Once more Mabel wept. She set the cereal back and wentwearily into the living-room. The bell rang, but Mabel did not care whoit was; she did not want to see anyone. She heard a rush of feet on thestairs, and the door knob was shaken violently as her brother Frankcalled through the crack:
"Hey, Mabe, let me in a second! Hurry up! Here's something for you!"
Mabel rushed to the door and let him in. He had a large box in his hand.
"Hello, sis!" he roared cheerfully. "Here's a box mother sent you. Sheis down in the car, but I told her not to come upstairs. I don't wanther to get tired. She sent you some dinner. It's good, I can tell you!Helped to fix it myself. She thought it would be a change from the swelleats you must be buying yourself. Just notice the chicken salad. Andshe said for you to--but there is a note inside. Sorry you can't come!Strange girl going, and I don't like 'em. Nuisance to get acquainted.Why, what's wrong, Mabe?" he asked as he looked at her for the firsttime and noticed her tear stained face. "Gosh, what's wrong? Are yousick? Shall I call mother?" He put an awkward but loving arm around hissister, but she shoved him violently away.
"Nothing's wrong!" she jerked out, her lips trembling in spite of her."Go along, and don't mind me!" She fairly pushed him toward the door andFrank, dazed and astonished, all
owed himself to be hurried into thesmall hallway.
There he faced her. "Why don't you get some common sense into yourhead?" he asked savagely. "I think it's a crime your coming here andtrying to live by yourself! I am ashamed to have the fellows know aboutit. They think it is awfully queer. Fellows like to look after theirsisters. It isn't right! I don't care if you _are_ a smart kid! You canbe just as smart over home as you can here. You don't seem to think ofmother at all. You don't care how _she_ feels. She would skin me if sheknew I was saying this to you, but I'll say you are the most selfishgirl I ever knew and that's the truth! Well, go ahead! We don't care; wecan rustle along without you!" He started for the stairs and flung thisover his shoulder: "But I bet you will be sorry some day!"
He hurried out of sight as a shrill whistle sounded from the streetwhere the Morrisson boys fretted in the waiting car.
Mabel picked up the box and carried it into the kitchen. Then for thethird time that day she rushed into her bed-room, fell on thelong-suffering bed and cried; cried tears of mingled rage anddisappointment. She could not understand why Frank's ravings, as shecalled his outburst, should make her feel so strangely mean and smalland in the wrong when she positively _knew_ that she was on the righttrack. But you cannot live principally on cold boiled ham, olives andshredded wheat day in and out, you cannot leave a comfy, homey sort ofhome even for the luxury of a modern apartment without a pang ofhomesickness hitting you sooner or later, and Mabel was pierced with it.And you can't have good reason for tears three times in one morningwithout losing a little of your courage, at least for the time being.Mabel thought of the jolly party motoring along the level roads, alllaughing over the sallies of the older Morrisson boy. She could almostsee Claire Maslin in her lovely green motor coat and close hat set tightover the shining red hair.
Mabel burrowed her wet face deeper in the moist pillow. Her sobs rose.
"Oh, oh, I wish I was home!" she whispered finally, and then, like themartyr that she felt herself, she sat up, wiped her eyes, and wonderedwhat was in the box her mother had sent over. Things to eat, Mabelreflected, as she opened parcel after parcel and found that a wholeSunday dinner was hers. She put it in the ice-box and wearily started toclear up the dusty and untidy rooms. The sink was full of dishes, and assoon as the water was hot in the boiler, she attacked the piles ofplates and cereal dishes. By the time they were washed and dried and putaway and the rooms swept and dusted, Mabel was too tired to think ofgetting herself any dinner, even though it was waiting for her in thebox her mother had sent over. So she curled up in a corner of the divanand tried to read. She could not interest herself in her novel, and atlast she sat staring moodily at the room, studying its complicated andfussy furnishings and comparing them with the simple, quiet arrangementof her mother's house. Mabel had had occasion to see a number of homesduring the time she had worked with Miss Gere and it was dawning on MissMabel that there was a certain charm and beauty about her mother'ssimple and unpretentious arrangements that were sadly lacking in many ofthe most luxurious places. She had never thought of this until a womanwho stood very high in the social world of Louisville had asked her ifshe was related to the Mrs. Brewster who was doing interior decorating.Mabel flushed with embarrassment and said in a small voice that Mrs.Brewster was her mother.
"How fortunate you are!" said the great lady. "Your mother is the mostartistic person I have ever known. She is perfectly wonderful and willcertainly make a fortune. I am trying to get her to go to New York whereshe can have a studio and command top prices. I don't see why she didnot go into this years and years ago."
Mabel, almost too surprised to reply, managed to mumble that shesupposed her mother had been pretty busy bringing up her brother Frankand herself.
"Well, I suppose she feels that she is really free now," said the ladywith a smile, "since you are starting out for yourself. Although," sheadded, "I think your mother is very brave to let you start out of thenest so soon. You seem such a young girl to be off by yourself. Ofcourse it is not at all my affair, but I should think that you wouldhate to be away from such a talented mother as yours."
As Mabel recalled this conversation, she saw her mother in a new lightand somehow the new light blazed almost too strongly on Mabel herself.She felt strangely small. She had this disagreeable dwindling sensationmore and more as she compared her mother with other women inprofessional and business and social circles, the three great groupsthat made their influence strongly felt throughout the city.
Mabel found too that her Great Experiment, instead of bringing her theenvy and admiration of her mates, seemed in some strange way to makeher the object of a kind of scorn that was very hard to bear. The verygirls who had applauded her most loudly at first showed her inunmistakable small ways that she was doing something foolish instead ofsomething brave and grand. But Mabel would not give in. She was notbrave enough.
It was an endless Sunday. She did not go to church, no one came to seeher, and she would not go for her usual afternoon walk. Several timesshe started for the phone, intending to call Rosanna or Helen, thendecided against it. Finally she took up the long neglected Girl ScoutManual and read steadily as far as the page that had caught Claire'sattention.
"Loyalty." The word stood out black and threatening on the page."Loyalty to father and mother." Was she loyal to her talented mother,the mother who had laid aside all her gifts in order to give all hertime and strength to her two children? Wasn't it her place now tolighten some of her mother's household cares and make it possible forher to gain the reward she deserved?
Mabel, like Claire, threw the book angrily away from her. But unlikeClaire, she could not throw her thoughts away. She was very unhappy.
The Girl Scout's Triumph; or, Rosanna's Sacrifice Page 7