CHAPTER VI.
WASH-DAY AND WASHINGTON
IT was wash-day at Ware's Wigwam; the first that Joyce and Jack hadpersonally conducted, as it was the first Monday after moving from Lee'sranch.
"'WE ALLEE SAMEE LAK CHINAMEN,' HE SAID"]
Out in the back yard a big tin wash-boiler sat propped up on stones,above a glowing camp-fire. From time to time Jack stooped to pokeanother stick of mesquite into the blaze, or give the clothes in theboiler a stir with an old broom-handle. Then tucking up hisshirt-sleeves more firmly above his elbows, he went back to the tub bythe kitchen door, and, plunging his arms into the suds, began themonotonous swash and rub-a-dub of clothes and knuckles on thewash-board.
"We allee samee lak Chinamen," he said to Joyce, who was bending overanother tub, rinsing and wringing. "Blimeby, when we do heap morewashee, a cue will glow on my head. You'll be no mo' Clistian lady.You'll be lil'l heathen gel."
"I believe you're right," laughed Joyce. "I certainly felt like aheathen by the time I had finished rubbing the first basket full ofclothes through the suds. The skin was off two knuckles, and my back wasso tired I could scarcely straighten up again. But it won't be so badnext week. Mamma says that we may draw enough out of bank to buy awashing-machine and a wringer, and that will make the work lots easier."
A long, shrill whistle out in the road made them both stop to listen."It's Phil," said Jack. "He said he would ride past this morning to showus the new horse he is going to buy. My! It's a beauty bright!" heexclaimed, peering around the corner of the kitchen, "Come out and lookat it."
Hastily wiping the suds from his arms, and giving a hitch to thesuspenders of his old overalls, he disappeared around the house. Joycestarted after him, then drew back, remembering her old shoes and wet,faded gingham, as she caught sight of Phil, sitting erect as acavalryman on the spirited black horse. From the wide brim of his soft,gray hat to the spurs on his riding-boots, he was faultlessly dressed. Anew lariat hung on the horn of his saddle, the Mexican quirt he carriedhad mountings of silver on the handle, and the holster that held hisrifle was of handsomely carved leather. While he talked to Jack, thehorse stepped and pranced and tossed its head, impatient to be off.
"Come on out, Joyce, and look at it," called Phil.
"I can't," she answered, peeping around the corner of the kitchen. "I'mrunning a Chinese laundry back here. Jack says I'm no longer a 'Clistianlady.'"
"Do you want any help?" he called, but there was no answer. She haddisappeared. Phil was disappointed. It was for her admiration more thanJack's that he had ridden by on the new horse. He was conscious that hemade a good appearance in the saddle, and he had expected her to showsome interest in his purchase. Usually she was so enthusiastic overeverything new. The work might have waited a few minutes, he thought.
But it was not the urgency of the work that sent Joyce back to the tubsin such a hurry. It was the rebellious feeling that swept over her atthe sight of his holiday appearance. She was tired and hot andbedraggled, having splashed water all over herself, and the contrastbetween them irritated her.
"If I have to be a Polly-put-the-kettle-on all the days of my life, I'lljust _be_ one," she said, in a half-whisper, giving the towel she waswringing a vicious twist. "I'm not going out there to have him feelsorry for me. He's used to seeing girls who are always dainty and fresh,like his sister Elsie, and I'm not going to let him see me looking likea poor, bedraggled Cinderella. It isn't fair that some people shouldhave all the good things in life, and others nothing but the drudgery.
"Jack doesn't seem to mind it. There he stands out in the road in hisold faded, paint-smeared overalls, and his sleeves rolled up, nevercaring how awkward and lanky he looks. He's taking as eager an interestin that horse's good points as if he were to have the pleasure of ridingit. But then Jack hasn't the artistic temperament. He likes this wildcountry out here, and he never can understand what a daily sacrifice itis for me to live in such a place. My whole life is just a sacrifice tomamma and the children."
By the time the basket was full of clothes, ready to be hung on theline, Joyce had worked herself up to such a pitch of self-pity that shefelt like a martyr going to the stake. She carried the basket to thesunny space behind the tents, where the line had been stretched. Here,with her sunbonnet pulled over her eyes, she could see without beingseen. Phil was just riding away whistling. She watched him out of sight.The desert seemed lonelier than ever when the sound of hoof-beats andthe cheery tune had passed. Her gaze wandered back to old CamelbackMountain. "We'll never get away, you and I," she whispered. "All thebright, pleasant things in life will ride by and leave us. Only the workand the waiting and the loneliness will stay."
When she went back to the house with her empty basket, Jack was rubbingaway with a vigour that was putting holes in one of Holland's shirts.
"Why didn't you come out and see Phil's new horse?" he cried,enthusiastically. "He let me try him, and he goes like a bird. And say,Joyce, he knows where I could get the best kind of an Indian pony foralmost nothing, at a camp near Scottsdale. It is good size, and it'sbroke either to the saddle or buggy, and the people will sell it foronly ten dollars. Just think of that. It's almost giving it away. Theman who had it died, and his wife couldn't take it back East with her,and she told them to sell it for anything they could get. Don't youthink we could manage in some way to get it, Joyce?"
"Why, Jack Ware! What can you be thinking of!" she cried. "For us tospend ten dollars on a horse that we don't need would be just as greatan extravagance as for some people to spend ten hundred. Don't you knowthat we can only buy things that we absolutely have to eat or to wear?You've surely heard it dinned into your ears long enough to get somesuch idea into your head."
"We don't absolutely have to have a washing-machine and wringer," hedeclared, nettled by Joyce's unusual tone. "A horse would be lots moreuse. We could have it to bring wood up with from the desert when we'veburned all that's close by. And we can't go on all year borrowing ahorse from Mrs. Lee every time we want to go to town, or have to have anew supply of groceries."
"But you know well enough that mamma's teaching Hazel, after awhile whenshe gets well enough, will more than make up for the borrowing we willdo," answered Joyce. "Besides it would only be the beginning of a lot ofexpense. There'd be feed and a saddle to start with."
"No, there wouldn't! There's all that alfalfa pasture going to wastebehind the house, and Mrs. Lee has a saddle hanging up in her atticthat somebody left on a board bill. She said I might use it as often asI pleased."
"Well, we can't afford to spend ten dollars on any such foolishness,"said Joyce, shortly. "So that is the end of it."
"No, it isn't the end of it," was the spirited answer. "I've set myheart on having that pony, and I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll take theplace of the washing-machine and wringer. You give me the five dollarsthey would cost, and I'll do every bit of the rubbing and wringing everyMonday morning. I'll borrow the other five dollars, and give a mortgageon the pony. I'll find some way to earn enough to pay it off before thesummer is over."
Joyce shook her head. "No, a mortgage makes a slave of anybody foolishenough to chain himself up with one, Grandpa Ware always used to say.I'm running the finances now, and I won't give my consent. I think it isbest to get the machine, and I don't intend to change my mind. You mayget a position next fall, and then I'd be left to do the work withoutany machine to help. Besides, you sha'n't run in debt to get somethingthat nobody really needs."
"I do need it," insisted Jack, "and I don't see why, when you are only ayear older than I am, that you should have the say-so about the way allthe money is to be spent."
"Because mamma wishes me to. Don't you see that the very fact of yourwanting to be extravagant in this case, and go in debt and load yourselfdown with a mortgage shows that I have better judgment than you?"
"Oh, you've got a great head for business!" sneered Jack. "Don't you seethat it wouldn't be the same as buying something to eat up or wear out?It's an i
nvestment. You put the money into the pony instead of the bank,and any time you want to get it out, you just sell the beast. I might beable to get twice as much for him next fall when the tourists begin tocome into Phoenix for the winter."
"Yes, you might, but it would be more like Ware luck for it to cutitself all to pieces on the barb-wire fences before then, or break itslegs stumbling into a gopher hole, or founder itself by getting into aneighbour's oat-bin. Something would be sure to happen. The money issafe where it is, and I believe in letting well enough alone."
"Banks bust sometimes, too," said Jack, moodily, "and _I_ believe that'nothing venture, nothing have.'"
It was the first quarrel they had had in months. Each, feeling firmlyconvinced of being in the right, grew indignant with the other, and theypassed from teasing banter to angry words, and then to an angriersilence. "It won't be any harder for him to give up what he had set hisheart on than it is for me," thought Joyce, as she hung up the lastgarment. "I have to do without things I want all the time. And I'm notgoing to let him think that I'll give in if he teases long enough. Iwouldn't have any authority at all over the children if I wasn't firmwith them."
As Jack emptied the last tubful of water, and stood the wash-board up todry, he broke the angry silence that had lasted fully ten minutes.
"Holland has a dollar in his savings-bank, and Mary has seventy-fivecents. We could all chip in with what we have, and then go withoutbutter or something for awhile till we'd saved enough."
Joyce only gave an impatient shrug as she replied: "Much comfort we'dget out of a horse that everybody had a share in. If Holland felt thathe'd sunk a dollar and several pounds of butter in that pony, he'd feelprivileged to ride it any hour of the day or night, no matter whowanted it, and he'd do it, too. You might as well give it up, Jack. Itis selfish of you to insist on spending so much on just your ownpleasure."
"Selfish!" blazed Jack. "It's _you_ that's selfish, wanting to be sobossy and have everything just your way. I haven't asked _you_ to dowithout anything, have I, or to put in any of _your_ money? And if I dothe work of the washing-machine and wringer, I don't see why I shouldn'thave what they would cost, to do what I please with. _You're_ theselfish one!"
He banged the tub up against the tree and walked off toward his tent,buttoning his shirt-sleeves, and muttering to himself as he went.
"Now, he'll go and tell mamma, I suppose, and worry her," thought Joyce,as she went into the kitchen. "But I'm too tired to care. If I hadn'tbeen so tired, I probably wouldn't have snapped him off so short, but itjust goes to prove that we can't do without a machine. The washing istoo hard for me without one. I can't afford to get so worn out everyweek. It is all right for him to offer to take the place of one. Hemight keep it up for weeks, and even months, but next fall, if he shouldget a position in Phoenix, the money would be spent and I'd be leftwith the bag to hold. I don't think that, under the circumstances, hehas any right to call me selfish. I'm _not_!"
The word stuck in her memory, and hurt, as she dragged herself wearilyinto the sitting-room, and lay down on the couch. After she had pulledthe afghan over her shoulders and buried her face in one of the pillows,a few hot tears trickled down through her closed eyelids, and made themsmart. The kitchen clock struck eleven.
"Oh, dear!" she said to herself, "I must get up in a few minutes and seeabout dinner." But the next thing she knew, Norman was ringing thedinner-bell in her ears, shouting that it was one o'clock, and that Jackhad dinner ready, and to come before it got cold.
"Oh, Jack, why didn't you call me?" she cried. "I didn't mean to fallasleep. I only stretched out to rest for a few minutes."
He made no answer, busying himself in carrying a hot dish of poachedeggs and toast to the table, and bringing his mother's tea. He wascarrying on a lively conversation with her.
"Still mad, I suppose," thought Joyce, when he ignored her repeatedquestion. "But evidently he hasn't said anything to mamma about it."
The meal seemed an unusually cheerful one, for although Jack and Joycehad nothing to say to each other, they kept up such a chatter with theirmother, that she ate her dinner serenely unconscious of their coolnesstoward each other. Afterward she insisted upon washing the dishes, sothat Joyce could take a well-earned rest, and Jack go down to the ranchto see Mr. Ellestad's new microscope, which had just come. Joyce wouldnot listen to her appeal that she was perfectly able to do that muchwork, and that she needed the exercise, but finally consented to herhelping wipe the dishes, while she cleared the table and washed them.But Jack, after a little urging, started down the road toward the ranch,to spend a long, interesting afternoon there. As he went whistling outof sight Mrs. Ware looked after him fondly.
"I know he's the best boy in the world," she said. "I wish I couldafford to give him some of the pleasures that other boys have."
"Seems to me he has about as much as the rest of us," said Joyce,rattling the cups and saucers in the dish-pan. But a picture rose in hermind as she spoke, that made her wish that she had not been so cross andso positive. It was Phil Tremont, on his horse, as he had looked thatmorning, handsome, fun-loving, and free to do as he pleased, and thenin sharp contrast, Jack, standing in the road beside him, in his oldoutgrown, paint-smeared overalls, his fingers red and wrinkled from thesuds, called from his work to see a pleasure in which he could notshare. Now that she was rested and refreshed by her dinner, matterslooked different. She could even see the force of Jack's argument aboutthe pony being an investment, and she wished again that she had not beenso positive in her refusal.
But having once said no, Joyce felt that it would not be dignified toyield. If she changed her mind this time, Jack would think that she wasinconsistent; and such is the unyielding policy of fifteen, that shefelt that she would rather be called selfish than to admit that she wasin the wrong or had been mistaken.
It was a long afternoon. The fact that she and Jack had quarrelled keptrecurring to her constantly, and made her uncomfortable and unhappy. Hecame back from the ranch at supper-time as if nothing had happened,however, and when she asked him some question about the new microscope,he answered with a full description that made her feel he had forgottentheir morning disagreement.
"I don't believe that he cares so much about that pony after all," shethought. After supper, when Holland and Mary had disposed of the dishes,she drew out the kitchen-table, and began sprinkling clothes ready forthe next day's ironing. The boys had gone to their tent. The door wasopen between the kitchen and the sitting-room so that the heat mightpass in to where Mrs. Ware sat knitting by the lamp. Mary was therealso, and her voice came out to Joyce shrilly, as if she were in theroom with her.
"It seems a waste of time for me to be learning new pieces to say atschool when I know at least a dozen old ones that I recited inPlainsville that would be new out here. But teacher picked this out forme. She's going to keep us in at recess if we don't know our piecesFriday. This has forty-eight lines in it, and I've only four nights tolearn it in."
"That is not bad," said Mrs. Ware, consolingly. "Only twelve lines anevening. Read it all to me, then I'll help you with the first quarter."
Joyce stopped her humming as Mary began dramatically:
"'A Boy of Seventy-six.' That's the name of it." She read unusually wellfor a child of her age, and the verses were new to Joyce:
"You have heard the story, time and again, Of those brave old heroes, the 'Minute Men,' Who left their homes to fight or fall, As soon as they heard their country's call. Let me tell you of one, unnamed, unknown, A brave boy-hero, who fought alone. When the breathless messenger drew rein He had started whistling, down the lane With his rod and line, to the brook for trout, But he paused as he heard the warning shout, And his father called to him, 'Ben, my son, I must be off to Lexington! There is little time for fishing now, You must take father's place behind the plough.' One quick good-bye! The boy stood still, Watching him climb the homeward hill-- In and out of t
he house again, With his musket, to join the 'Minute Men.' Then he turned the furrows, straight and true, Just as he'd seen his father do. He dropped the corn in the narrow rows, And fought for its life with the weeds and crows. Oh, it was hard, as the days wore on, To take the place of that father, gone. The boyish shoulders could hardly bear All their burden of work and care. But he thought, 'It is for my country's sake That father's place at the plough I take. When the war is over, and peace is won, How proud he'll be of his little son!' But they brought him home to a soldier's grave, Wrapped in the flag he had died to save. And Ben took up his burden again, With its added weight of grief and pain, Saying bravely, 'In all things now I must take father's place behind the plough.' Seed-time and harvest came and went, Steadily still to the work he bent, For the family needed bread, and then, So did the half-starved fighting men. Only a boy! Not a hero bold, Whose deeds in the histories are told. Still, there fell under British fire, No braver son of a patriot sire Than this young lad, who for duty's sake Said, 'This is the task I'll undertake. I cannot fight for my country now, But I'll take father's place behind the plough.'"
"I wonder why it is," said Mary, thoughtfully, as she came to the end,"that all the heroes live so far away that nobody knows them except thepeople who write the books and poetry about them. I wish I knew a boylike that."
"You do," said her mother, quietly. "One who has been just as faithfulto duty, just as much of a hero in his small way as Ben. Who said thesame thing, 'In all things now, I must take father's place behind theplough,' and who has done it, too, so faithfully and well that he haslifted a great burden from his mother's heart, and made living easierfor all the family."
"Why, mamma, do I know him? Was it somebody in Plainsville? What was hisname?"
"John Alwyn Ware," said her mother, with a smile, although her lipstrembled.
"John Alwyn Ware," repeated Mary, with a puzzled expression. "Why, thatwas papa's name, and you said that he was a boy that I knew."
"Isn't it Jack's name, too?" asked her mother.
"Yes, so it is! But how could _he_ take his father's place behind theplough? Papa was a lawyer, and never had any plough."
"Whatever is a man's life-work may be called his plough," explained Mrs.Ware, gently, "and papa's duties were not all in his law-office. Theywere at home, too, and there is where Jack tried to take his place. Hewas such a little fellow. My first thought was, 'Oh, how am I ever goingto bring up my three boys without their father's help and nobleexample!' and he came to me, his little face all streaked with tears,and put his arms around me, and said, 'Don't cry, mother, I'll takepapa's place now, and help take care of the family. If I can't doanything for awhile but just be a good boy, I'll do that much, and setthem a good example.' And from that day to this he has never given me ananxious moment. He is a high-strung boy, fond of having his own way, andit has often been a struggle for him to resist the temptation of doingas his chums did, when they were inclined to be a little wild. But hehas always been true to his promise, and Holland and Norman have bothbeen easier to manage, because of the example of obedience he has alwaysset them. So you see the heroes don't always live so far away after all.You've been living in the same house with one, and didn't know it."
Norman came clamouring into the kitchen for something that Holland hadsent for, and Joyce lost the rest of the conversation, but what she hadheard stayed with her. Little scenes that she had almost forgotten cameup in her mind. Now she understood why Jack had so often refused to joinin the larks of the other boys. It was not because he was lazy andindifferent, as she had sometimes thought, when he had settled down witha book at home, instead of going with them in the evenings. Sheunderstood, too, why he never "answered back" or asked why. Not becausehe had any less spirit than Holland, or cared less for his own way. Itwas because of the promise he had made beside his father's coffin. Hewas setting the highest example he knew of obedience and faithfulness toduty.
"How could I have called him selfish?" she asked herself, "when this isthe first time he has asked for anything for his own pleasure since wehave been here. He has stayed at home and dug and delved like an old maninstead of a boy of fourteen, and of course it must be as dull for himas it is for me. I suppose I didn't realize it, because he nevercomplains as I do. I've had so many more good times than he has," shewent on in her self-communing. "My trip to Europe, and the LittleColonel's house-party,--and he was never even out of Plainsville untilwe came here."
As she thought of the house-party, she caught the gleam of the littlering, the lover's knot of gold on her finger that Eugenia had given herto remind her of the Road of the Loving Heart, and she stood quite stillfor a moment, looking at it.
"I believe I'll do it," she decided, finally, and fell to work soenergetically that the last damp roll of clothes was soon tucked away inthe basket. Then taking the candle from the shelf, and shading itcarefully with her hand, she hurried out to her tent. Dropping on herknees beside her trunk, she began turning over its contents till shereached a pink bonbon-box at the very bottom.
Inside the box was a letter, and inside the letter was a gold coin, thefive dollars that Cousin Kate had sent her Christmas. She had put itsacredly away as a nest-egg, intending to add to it as she could, untilthere was enough to pay for a course of instruction in illustrating, bycorrespondence. The address of an art school which advertised to givesuch lessons, was copied on the envelope.
As she turned the letter irresolutely in her hands, she heard Jack'svoice in the next tent, talking to Holland:
"I wonder who'll take my place in the high school nine this year?Wouldn't I give my eyes to pitch for them when they play the Plainsville'Invincibles'! Wish I could see old Charlie Scudder's red head behindthe bat again! And don't I wish I could hear him giving his call for meout by the alley gate! I'd walk from here to Phoenix just to hear itagain."
"I don't miss the fellows much as I thought I would," said Holland, whowas hunting for a certain hook he wanted in what looked to be a hopelesssnarl of fishing-tackle. "There's some first-rate kids go to thisschool, and I see about as much fun out here as I did at home."
"I suppose it would be different with me if I went to school," saidJack. "But it gets mighty monotonous poking around the desert byyourself, even if you have got a gun. Now that Phil Tremont has hishorse, that will cut me out from going with him, for I'll have to footit wherever I go."
"Oh, I know where there's a dandy Indian pony for sale over byScottsdale," began Holland. "George Lee told me about it. They're goingto put it up at auction Saturday, if they don't sell it before. Don'tyou wish you had it?"
"You can bet your only dollar I do! I tried to talk Joyce into thinkingwe could afford it, but she wouldn't be convinced."
"I don't see why she should always have the say-so," said Holland."She's only a year older than you are, anyhow. She sits down oneverything we want to do, as if she was our grandmother. She's toobossy."
"No, she isn't," answered Jack, loyally. "She knows what she is talkingabout. She's had a mighty tough time trying to make one dollar do thework of two since we've been out here. And she's worked like a squaw,and it's powerful hard on her having so much responsibility. What shesays in this wigwam _goes_, even if it doesn't suit our tastes!"
A warm little glow came into Joyce's heart as she knelt there beside thetrunk, unconsciously playing eavesdropper. How good it was of Jack touphold her that way with Holland, who was always resenting herauthority, and inclined to be rebellious. Hesitating no longer, shereached into the tray of her trunk for the purse which held the monthlyhousekeeping allowance. Taking out a crisp five-dollar bill, she foldedthe coin in it, and ran out toward the boys' tent.
The candle-light, streaming through the canvas, made a transparency onwhich the green-eyed gods of the Dacotahs stood out in startlingdistinctness. Holland's shadow, bending over the fishing-tackle besidethe candle, reached to
the top of the tent. Jack's waved its heels overthe foot-board of the bed on which he had thrown himself.
"Jack," she said, putting her head through the opening of the tent wherethe flap was pinned back, "I've changed my mind about that investment.I've decided to go in with you. I'll put in Cousin Kate's Christmasmoney, and if you still want to take the place of the washing-machineand wringer, we'll use the five dollars they would cost, to buy thepony. Then I think the most appropriate name we could give it would be_Washing_-ton!"
The Little Colonel in Arizona Page 6