Martha By-the-Day

by Julie Mathilde Lippmann

  CHAPTER II

  They plodded along the flooded street in silence, Claire following afterMartha Slawson like a small child, almost clutching at her skirts. Itwas not easy to keep pace with the long, even strides that covered somuch ground, and Claire fell into a steady pony-trot that made herbreath come short and quick, her heart beat fast. She dimly wonderedwhat was going to happen, but she did not dare, or care, to ask. It wascomfort enough just to feel this great embodiment of human sympathy andstrength beside her, to know she was no longer alone.

  Before the house Martha paused a moment.

  "Now, my dear, there ain't goin' to be nothin' for you to do but justsit tight," she vouchsafed reassuringly. "Don't you start to butt in (ifyou'll pardon the liberty), no matter what I say. I'm goin' to be aperfect lady, never fear. I know my place, an' I know my dooty, an' ifyour boardin'-house lady knows hers, there'll be no troublewhatsomedever, so dontcher worry."

  She descended the three steps leading from the street-level down intothe little paved courtyard below, and rang the basement bell. A momentand an inner door was unlocked, flung open, and a voice from justwithin the grating of the closed iron area-gate asked curtly, "Well,what's wanted?"

  "Is this Mrs.----? I should say, is this the lady of the house?" MarthaSlawson's voice was deep, bland, prepossessing.

  "I'm Mrs. Daggett, yes, if that's what you mean."

  "That's what I mean. My name's Slawson. Mrs. Sammy Slawson, an' I cometo see you on a little matter of business connected with a young ladywho's been lodgin' in your house--Miss Lang."

  Mrs. Daggett stepped forward, and unlatched the iron gate. "Come in,"she said, in a changed voice, endeavoring to infuse into her acridmanner the grace of a belated hospitality.

  Claire, completely hidden from view behind Martha Slawson's heroicproportions, followed in her wake like a wee, foreshortened shadow as,at Mrs. Daggett's invitation, Mrs. Slawson passed through the areagateway into the malodorous basement hall, and so to the dingydining-room beyond. Here a group of grimy-clothed tables seemed to havealighted in sudden confusion, reminding one of a flock of pigeonshuddled together in fear of the vultures soon to descend on them withgreedy, all-devouring appetites.

  "We can just as well talk here as anywhere," announced Mrs. Daggett."It's quarter of an hour before dinnertime, but if you'd rather go up tothe parlor we can."

  "O, dear, no!" said Martha Slawson suavely. "_Any_ place is good enoughfor me. Don't trouble yourself. I'm not particular _where_ I am."Unbidden, she drew out a chair from its place beside one of theuninviting tables, and sat down on it deliberately. It creaked beneathher weight.

  "O--oh! Miss Lang!" said Mrs. Daggett, surprised, seeing her younglodger now, for the first time.

  Martha nodded. "Yes, it's Miss Lang, an' I brought her with me, throughthe turrbl storm, Mrs.--a--?"

  "Daggett," supplied the owner of the name promptly.

  "That's right, Daggett," repeated Martha. "I brought Miss Lang with me,Mrs. Daggett, because I couldn't believe my ears when she told me shewas goin' to be--to be _turned out_, if she didn't pay up to-night,_weather_ or no. I wanted to hear the real truth of it from you, ma'am,straight, with her by."

  Mrs. Daggett coughed. "Well, business is business. I'm not a capitalist.I'm not keeping a boarding-house for my health, you know. I can'tafford to give credit when I have to pay cash."

  "But, of course, you don't mean you'd ackchelly refuse the young ladyshelter a night like this, if she come to you, open an' honest, an' saidshe hadn't the price by her just at present, but she would have itsooner or later, an' then you'd be squared every cent. You wouldn't turnher down if she said that, would you?"

  "Say, Mrs. Slawson, or whatever your name is," broke in Mrs. Daggettsharply, "I'm not here to be cross-questioned. When you told me you'dcome on business for Miss Lang, I thought 'twas to settle what she owes.If it ain't--I'm a busy woman. I'm needed in the kitchen this minute, tosee to the dishing-up. Have the goodness to come to the point. Is MissLang going to pay? If she is, well and good. She can keep her room. Ifshe isn't--" The accompanying gesture was eloquent.

  Mrs. Slawson's chair gave forth another whine of reproach as she settleddown on it with a sort of inflexible determination that defied argument.

  "So that's your ultomato?" she inquired calmly. "I understand you to saythat if this young lady (who any one with a blind eye can see she's_quality_), I understand you to say, that if she don't pay down everycent she owes you, here an' now, you'll put her out, bag an' baggage?"

  "No, not bag and baggage, Mrs. Slawson," interposed the boarding-housekeeper with a wry smile, bridling with the sense that she was about tosay something she considered rather neat, "I am, as you might say,holding her bag and baggage--as security."

  "Now what do you think o' that!" ejaculated Martha Slawson.

  "It's quite immaterial to me what anybody thinks of it," Mrs. Daggettsnapped. "And now, if that's all you've got to suggest, why, I'm sureit's all I have, and so, the sooner we end this, the sooner I'll be atliberty to attend to my dinner."

  Still Mrs. Slawson did not stir.

  "I suppose you think you're a lady," she observed without the faintestsuggestion of heat. "I suppose you think you're a lady, but youcertainly ain't workin' at it now. What takes my time, though, is theway you ackchelly seem to be meanin' what you say! Why, I wouldn't turna dog out a night like this, an' you'd let a delicate young girl go intothe drivin' storm, a stranger, without a place to lay her head--that is,for all _you_ know. I could bet my life, without knowin' a thing aboutit, that the good Lord never let you have a daughter of your own. Hewouldn't trust the keepin' of a child's body, not to speak of her soul,to such as you. That is, He wouldn't if He could help Himself. But,thanks be! Miss Lang ain't dependent. She's well an' able to pay all sheowes. Supposin' she _has_ been kinder strapped for a little while back,an' had to economize by comin' to such a place as this! I've knowedothers, compelled to economize with three trunks alongside ahall-bedroom wall, for a while, too, an' by an' by their circumstanceswas such that they had money to burn. It's not for the likes of MissLang to try to transack business with your sort. It would soil her lipsto bandy words, so I, an old fam'ly servant, an' proud of it! amsettlin' up her affairs for her. Be kind enough to say how much it isyou are ready to sell your claim to Christian charity for? How much isit you ain't willin' to lend to the Lord on Miss Lang's account?" Sheplucked up her skirts, thrust her hand, unembarrassed, into herstocking-leg, and brought forth from that safe depository a roll ofwell-worn _greenbacks_.

  Mrs. Daggett named the amount of Claire's indebtedness, and MarthaSlawson proceeded to count it out in slow, deliberate syllables. She didnot, however, surrender the bills at once.

  "I'll take a receipt," she quietly observed, and then sat back with anair of perfect imperturbability, while the boarding-house keepernervously fussed about, searching for a scrap of paper, hunting for apen, trying to unearth, from the most impossible hiding-places, a bottleof ink, her indignation at Martha's _cheek_ escaping her in audiblemumblings.

  "Impudence! What right have you to come here, holding me to account?I've my own way of doing good--"

  Mrs. Slawson shrugged. "Your own way? I warrant you have! Nobody else'drecognize it. I'd like to bet, you don't give a penny to charity oncetin five years. Come now, do you?"

  "God doesn't take into account the amount one gives," announced Mrs.Daggett authoritatively.

  "P'raps not, but you can take it from _me_, He keeps a pretty closewatch on what we have left--or I miss my guess. An' now, Miss Clairedarlin', if you'll go an' get what belongin's you have, that thisgenerous lady ain't stripped off'n you, to hold for _security_, as shecalls it, we'll be goin'. An expressman will be 'round here the firstthing in the mornin' for Miss Lang's trunk, an' it's up to you, Mrs.Daggett, to see it's ready for'm when he comes. Good-night to you,ma'am, an' I wish you luck."

  Never after could Claire recall in detail what followed. She had a dimvision of glistening pavements on wh
ich the rain dashed furiously, onlyto rebound with resentful force, saturating one to the skin. Of fierceblasts that seemed to lurk around every corner. Of street-lamps gleamingmeaninglessly out of the murk, curiously suggesting blinking eyes set ina vacant face, and at last--at last--in blessed contrast--an open door,the sound of cheery voices, the feel of warmth and welcome, the sight ofa plain, wholesome haven--rest.

  Martha Slawson checked her children's vociferous clamor with a word.Then her orders fell thick and fast, causing feet to run and hands tofly, causing curiosity to give instant way before the pressure ofbusy-ness, and a sense of cooperation to make genial the task of each.

  "Hush, everybody! Cora, you go make up the bed in the boarder's room.Turn the mattress, mind! An' stretch the sheets good an' smooth, like Ilearned you to do. Francie, you get the hot-water bottle, quick, so's Ican fill it! Sammy, you go down to the cellar, an' tell Mr. Snyder yourmother will be much obliged if he'll turn on a' extra spark o'steam-heat. Tell'm, Mrs. Slawson has a lady come to board with her for aspell, that's fixin' for chills or somethin', onless she can be kep'warm an' comfortable, an' the radianator in the boarder's room don'tsend out much heat to speak of. Talk up polite, Sammy; d'you hear me?An' be sure you don't let on Snyder might be keepin' a better fire inhis furnace if he didn't begrutch the coal so. It's gospel truth, o'course, but landlords is _supposed_ to have feelin's, same as the restof us, an' a gentle word turneth aside wrath. Sabina, now show what abig girl you are, an' fetch mother Cora's nicest nightie out o' thedrawer in my beaurer--the nightie Mrs. Granville sent Cora lastChristmas. Mother wants to hang it in front of the kitchen-range, so'sthe pretty lady can go by-bye all warm an' comfy, after she's took hersupper off'n the tray, like Sabina did when she had the measles."

  Huge Sam Slawson, senior, overtopping his wife by fully half a head,gazed down upon his little hive, from shaggy-browed, benevolent eyes. Heuttered no complaint because his dinner was delayed, and he, hungry as abear, was made to wait till a stranger was served and fed. Instead, hewandered over to where Martha was supplementing "Ma's" ministrations atthe range, and patted her approvingly on the shoulder.

  "Another stray lamb, mother?" he asked casually.

  Martha nodded. "Wait till the rush is over, an' the young uns abed an'asleep, an' I'll tell you all about it. Stray lamb! I should say asmuch! A little white corset-lamb, used to eat out o' your hand, with ablue ribbon round its neck. Goin' to be sent out to her death--orworse, by a sharp-fangled wolf of a boardin'-house keeper, who'd gnawthe skin off'n your bones, an' then crack the bones to get at themarrer, if you give her the chanct. I'll tell you all about it later,Sammy."