Without a Home

E >> E. P. Roe >> Without a Home

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Mildred meditatively bit her lip, and her cheeks had flushed with
excitement at Belle's story, but she would make no comment upon it
in words. "What does he want with so many books?" she asked, after
a moment.

"You'll see before you are gray."

"Indeed! has he taken you into his confidence, also?"

"That's my affair. I believe in him, and so will you some day. He
already knows more Latin than you do."

"That's not saying a great deal," replied Mildred, with a short,
vexed laugh. "How came he to know Latin?"

"He studied it at school as you did. The fact is, you are so
prejudiced you know nothing about him. He's strong and brave, and
he'll do what he attempts."

"He'll find that I am strong, too, in my way," said Mildred coldly.
"He said something that hurt me more than I hurt him, and all I ask
of him is to leave me alone. I wish him well, and all that, but we
are not congenial. Complete success in his wild ambition wouldn't
make any difference. He ought to remain at home and take care of
his own people."

"Well, I'm glad he's coming to New York, and I hope for my sake
you'll treat him politely."

"Oh, certainly for YOUR sake, Belle. Let us all stick to that."

"Belle's a mere child," said Mrs. Jocelyn, with her low laugh.

"I'm sixteen years old, I thank you; that is, I shall be soon; and
I know a real man from the ghost of one."

"Belle," cried Mildred, in a tone she rarely used, "I will neither
permit nor pardon any such allusions."

"Come, girls," expostulated their mother, "our nest is too small
for any disagreements, and we have a great deal too much to do for
such useless discussions. I'm sorry with Millie that Roger is bent
on leaving home, for I think his parents need him, and he could do
well in the country. The city is too crowded already."

"He'll make his way through the crowd," persisted Belle.

"Does his father or mother know of his plans?"

"Well, to tell the truth, I don't know very much about his plans.
He talks little concerning himself, but when he took me out to
drive the day after Millie left, he said he had decided to come to
New York and get an education, and that if I'd let him know where
we lived he'd come and see me occasionally. I said, 'What will they
do at home without you?' and he replied, 'I can do more for them
away from home by and by than here.' Now, mamma, you'll let him
come to see me, won't you?"

"Certainly, Belle. I'll be reasonable in this respect. I know young
people need company and recreation. My only aim has ever been to
secure you and Millie good company, and I hope your love for me,
Belle, will lead you to shun any other. As we are now situated you
must be very, very cautious in making new acquaintances. Young Mr.
Atwood is a good, honest-hearted fellow, and I think Millie is a
little prejudiced against him."

"Very well, mamma, I'll be all smiles so long as he devotes himself
to Belle; but he must stop there most emphatically."

Thus with busy tongues and busier hands they talked of the past
and the future while they unpacked and stowed away their belongings
with almost the same economy of space that is practiced on shipboard.
Mrs. Wheaton was introduced, and she at once became a fast ally of
Mrs. Jocelyn as well as of Mildred.

"I 'ope yer'll halways remember yer 'ave a neighbor that's 'andy
and villing," she said, as she courtesied herself out. "Hit's too
bad," she muttered, on her way back to her room, "that she's 'ad
to come down to this, for she's a born lady; she's has much a lady
as hany 'oo howned this 'ouse a 'undred years hago."

Thus their life began in the old mansion, and from its humble
shelter they looked abroad to see what they could obtain from the
great indifferent world without.

"Belle and I must not be idle an hour longer than we can help,"
said Mildred resolutely, on the following day; "and the only thing
is to find what it would be best to do. I am going out to try to
sell the work I did in the country, and see if I cannot get orders
for more of the same kind. My great hope is that I can work at
home. I wish I knew enough to be a teacher, but like all the rest
I know a little of everything, and not much of anything. Fancy work
will be my forte, if I can only sell it. I do hope I shan't meet
any one I know," and heavily veiled she took her way with her dainty
fabrics toward the region of fashionable shops. Those, however, who
were willing to buy offered her so little that she was discouraged,
and she finally left the articles at a store whose proprietor was
willing to receive them on commission.

"You must not calculate on speedy sale," the lady in charge remarked.
"People are very generally out of town yet, and will be for some
time. Your work is pretty, however, and will sell, I think, later
on, although in these hard times useful articles are chiefly in
demand."

"Please do your best for me," said Mildred appealingly, "and please
let me know what you think will sell. I'm willing to do any kind
of work I can that will bring the money we need." After receiving
some suggestions she bought more material, and then sat down to
work in the hope that the returning citizens would purchase her
articles so liberally that she could do her share toward the family's
support.

She did not shrink from labor, but with the false pride so general
she did shrink morbidly from meeting those who knew her in the past,
and from their learning where and how she lived. She was wholly
bent on seclusion until their fortunes were greatly mended, fondly
hoping that her father would rally such a constituency from his
Southern acquaintance that he would soon command a fine salary.
And the expectation was not an unreasonable one, had Mr. Jocelyn
been able to work with persistent energy for a few years. The South
was impoverished, and while a remunerative trade might be built up
from it, patient and exceedingly aggressive labor would be required
to secure such a result. It is the curse of opium, however, to
paralyze energy, and to render all effort fitful and uncertain. He
should have written scores of letters daily, and attended to each
commission with the utmost promptness and care, but there were times
when the writing of a single letter was a burden, and too often
it was vague and pointless like the condition of his mind when it
was written. Mildred did not dream of this, and his employers felt
that they must give him time before expecting very much return for
his effort. Since he attended to routine duties fairly well there
was no cause for complaint, although something in his manner
often puzzled them a little. It was Mildred's belief that renewed
prosperity would soon enable them to live in a way entitling them
to recognition in the society to which Arnold belonged. If thus
much could be accomplished she felt that he own and her lover's
faithfulness would accomplish the rest. They were both young, and
could afford to wait.

"The world brings changes for the better sometimes," she thought,
as she plied her needle, "as well as for the worse; and no matter
what his proud mother thinks, I'm sure I could take better care of
him than she can. Whether they know it or not, the course of his
family toward him is one of cold-blooded cruelty and repression. If
he could live in a genial, sunny atmosphere of freedom, affection,
and respect, his manhood would assert itself, he would grow stronger,
and might do as much in his way as Roger Atwood ever can in his.
He has a fine mind and a brilliant imagination; but he is chilled,
imbittered, and fettered by being constantly reminded of his
weakness and dependence; and now positive unhappiness is added to
his other misfortunes, although I think my little note will do him
no harm"--she dreamed that it might be carried next to his heart
instead of mouldering where the faithless Jotham had dropped it.
"I shall not punish him for his family's harsh pride, from which he
suffers even more than I do. Turn, turn, fortune's wheel! We are
down now, but that only proves that we must soon come up again. Being
poor and living in a tenement isn't so dreadful as I feared, and
we can stand it for a while. As stout Mrs. Wheaton says, 'There's
vorse troubles hin the vorld.' Now that we know and have faced the
worst we can turn our hopes and thoughts toward the best."

Poor child! It was well the future was veiled.

The mode of Belle's activity was a problem, but that incipient
young woman practically decided it herself. She was outspoken in
her preference.

"I don't want to work cooped up at home," she said. "I'd go wild
if I had to sit and stitch all day. School half killed me, although
there was always some excitement to be had in breaking the rules."

"Naughty Belle!" cried her mother.

"Never naughty when you coax, mamma. I'd have been a saint if they'd
only taken your tactics with me, but they didn't know enough, thank
fortune, so I had my fun. If they had only looked at me as you do,
and put me on my honor, and appealed to my better feelings and all
that, and laughed with me and at me now and then, I'd been fool
enough to have kept every rule. You always knew, mamma, just how
to get me right under your thumb, in spite of myself."

"I hope I may always keep you there, my darling, in spite of this
great evil world, out into which you wish to go. It is not under
my thumb, Belle, but under my protecting wing that I wish to keep
you."

"Dear little mother," faltered the warm-hearted girl, her eyes filling
with tears, "don't you see I've grown to be too big a chicken to
be kept under your wing? I must go out and pick for myself, and
bring home a nice morsel now and then for the little mother, too.
Yes, I admit that I want to go out into the world. I want to be
where everything is bright and moving. It's my nature, and what's
the use of fighting nature? You and Millie can sit here like two
doves billing and cooing all day. I must use my wings. I'd die in
a cage, even though the cage was home. But never fear, I'll come
back to it every night, and love it in my way just as much as you
do in yours. You must put me in a store, mamma, where there are
crowds of people going and coming. They won't do me any more harm
than when I used to meet them in the streets, but they'll amuse me.
My eyes and hands will be busy, and I won't die from moping. I've
no more education than a kitten, but shop-girls are not expected
to know the dead languages, and I can talk my own fast enough."

"Indeed you can!" cried Mildred.

"But, Belle," said her mother, who was strongly inclined toward
Mildred's idea of seclusion until fortune's wheel HAD turned,
"how will you like to have it known in after years that you were
a shopgirl?"

"Yes," added Mildred, "you may have to wait on some whom you
invited to your little company last spring. I wish you could find
something to do that would be quiet and secluded."

"Oh, nonsense!" cried Belle impatiently. "We can't hide like bears
that go into hollow trees and suck their paws for half a dozen years,
more or less"--Belle's zoological ideas were startling rather than
accurate--"I don't want to hide and cower. Why should we? We've
done nothing we need be ashamed of. Father's been unfortunate; so
have hundreds and thousands of other men in these hard times. Roger
showed me an estimate, cut from a newspaper, of how many had failed
during the last two or three years--why, it was an army of men.
We ain't alone in our troubles, and Roger said that those who cut
old acquaintances because they had been unfortunate were contemptible
snobs, and the sooner they were found out the better; and I want
to find out my score or two of very dear friends who have eaten
ice-cream at our house. I hope I may have a chance to wait on 'em.
I'll do it with the air of a princess," she concluded, assuming
a preternatural dignity, "and if they put on airs I'll raise
the price of the goods, and tell them that since they are so much
above other people they ought to pay double price for everything.
I don't believe they'll all turn up their noses at me," she added,
after a moment, her face becoming wistful and gentle in its expression
as she recalled some favorites whose whispered confidences and vows
of eternal friendship seemed too recent to be meaningless and empty.

The poor child would soon learn that, although school-girls' vows
are rarely false, they are usually as fragile and transient as
harebells. She had dropped into a different world, and the old one
would fade like a receding star. She would soon find her that her
only choice must be to make new associations and friendships and
find new pleasures; and this her mercurial, frank, and fearless
nature would incline her to do very promptly.

With Mildred it was different. The old life was almost essential
to her, and it contained everything that her heart most craved.

Her courage was not Belle's natural and uncalculating intrepidity.
She would go wherever duty required her presence, she would sacrifice
herself for those she loved, and she was capable of martyrdom for
a faith about as free from doctrinal abstractions as the simple
allegiance of the sisters of Bethany to the Christ who "loved"
them. Notwithstanding the truth of all this, it has already been
shown that she was a very human girl. Brave and resolute she could
be, but she would tremble and escape if possible. Especially would
she shrink from anything tending to wound her womanly delicacy and
a certain trace of sensitive Southern pride. Above all things she
shrank from that which threatened her love. This was now her life,
and its absorbing power colored all her thoughts and plans. Both
conscience and reason, however, convinced her that Belle was right,
and that the only chance for the vigorous, growing girl was some
phase of active life. With her very limited attainments, standing
behind a counter seemed the only opening that the family would
consider, and it was eventually agreed upon, after a very reluctant
consent from her father.

CHAPTER XVII

BELLE LAUNCHES HERSELF

Only the least of Belle's difficulties were past when she obtained
consent to stand behind a counter. With her mother she made many
a weary expedition through the hot streets, and was laughed at in
some instances for even imagining that employment could be obtained
at the dullest season of the year. As soon as their errand was
made known they were met by a brief and often a curt negative. Mrs.
Jocelyn would soon have been discouraged, but Belle's black eyes
only snapped with irritation at their poor success. "Give up?"
she cried. "No, not if I have to work for nothing to get a chance.
Giving up isn't my style, at least not till I'm tired of a thing;
besides it's a luxury poor people can't indulge in."

Mrs. Jocelyn felt that the necessity which compelled this quest
was a bitter one, and her heart daily grew sorer that she had not
resolutely saved part of every dollar earned by her husband in the
old prosperous times. As she saw the poor young creatures standing
wearily, and often idly and listlessly, through the long summer
days, as her woman's eyes detected in the faces of many the impress
of the pain they tried to conceal but could never forget, she half
guessed that few laborers in the great city won their bread more
hardly than these slender girls, doomed in most instances never
to know a vigorous and perfected womanhood. "Belle, my child, how
can you stand during these long, hot days? It's providential that
we can't find any place."

"Well, mamma, I'm not very well up in the ways of Providence. I fear
the dull season has more to do with it. Nevertheless I'm going to
make a situation if I can't find one."

She had in her mind a shop on Sixth Avenue, which had the appearance
of a certain "go and life," as she phrased it.

"There's a strong-willed, wide-awake man back of that establishment,"
she had said to herself more than once, "and if I could get at him
I believe he'd give me work, but the hateful old foreman stands in
the way like a dragon".

She and her mother had been curtly informed by this well-dressed
"dragon," which parted its hair like a woman, that "there was
no use in bothering the proprietor; he never added to his help in
August--the idea was absurd."

One morning after Mrs. Jocelyn had about given up the hope of obtaining
a place until the autumn trade revived--as far as it would revive
in those languid years--Belle started out alone, heavily veiled, and
with her purpose also veiled from her mother and Mildred. She went
straight to the shop on Sixth Avenue that had taken her fancy, and
walked up to the obnoxious foreman without a trace of hesitation.
"I wish to see Mr. Schriven," she said, in a quiet, decisive manner.

"He is very busy, madam, and does not like to be disturbed. I will
attend to anything you wish."

"Thank you; then please direct me to the proprietor's office without
delay."

After a moment's hesitation the man complied. This veiled presence
had the appearance of a gentlewoman and was decided in manner.
Therefore he led the way to a small private office, and said, "A
lady, sir, who insists on seeing you," and then discreetly closed
the door and departed.

The man of business allowed his pen to glide to the end of his
sentence before turning to greet his visitor. Belle in the meantime
had advanced to a point from which she could look directly into
his face, for, child though she was, she understood that it was
her difficult task first to obtain a hearing, and then to disarm
his anger at her intrusion. Aware, however, that she had nothing
to lose and everything to gain by the adventure, her natural
fearlessness and quickness of tongue carried her through. She
had already guessed that an appeal for employment, even the most
pitiful, would meet with a flat, prompt refusal, therefore she had
resolved on different tactics.

At last the man lifted his head in his quick, imperious way, asking,
as he turned toward her, "What is your business with me, madam?"

"I like your store very much," Belle remarked quietly.

Mr. Schriven now really glanced at her, and he found her brilliant
black eyes and fair flushed face such pleasing objects of contemplation
that he was content to look for a moment while he puzzled a little
over the unexpected apparition. He then smiled satirically and
said, "What follows from so momentous a fact?"

"It follows that I would rather be employed here than in other
stores that I do not like so well. My mother and I have visited
nearly every one, and I like yours best."

"Well, this IS cool. You and your mother were refused employment
at this season at all the others, were you not?"

"Yes, sir."

"And my foreman declined your services here, also, did he not?"

"Yes, sir, but I was sure that if I saw you I should obtain my
wish. There's a life and snap about this place that I didn't see
elsewhere, and therefore I knew a live man, and not a machine, was
back of it, and that if I could see and talk with him he'd give me
a chance."

"You are exceedingly flattering," said the man, with another
satirical smile. "Has it not occurred to you that your course is
just tinged with assurance?"

"Have I said or done anything unbecoming a lady?" asked Belle
indignantly.

Mr. Schriven laughed good-naturedly, for Belle's snapping eyes and
brusque ways were beginning to interest him. "Oh, I forgot that you
American working-women are all ladies. I am told that you speak of
certain of your number as 'scrub-ladies' and 'washer-ladies.'"

"You may call me a shop-girl, sir, as soon as I am in your employ."

"And why not now?"

"Because I'm not yet a shop-girl, and never have been one. I've
often bought goods with my mother in this very store, and I come
from as good blood as there is in the South. A few months ago my
social position was as good as yours, and now that we have been
unfortunate and I must work, I see no presumption in asking you to
your face for honest work."

"Not at all, my dear young lady," resumed Mr. Schriven, still
maintaining his half-amused, half-ironical manner, "but I must inform
you that I cannot afford to employ my social equals as shop-girls."

"When I enter your employ of my own free will," responded Belle
promptly, "I the same as promise to obey all the rules and regulations
of your establishment, and I'll do it, too. What's more, I'll sell
so many goods in dull times and all times that you can well afford
to make a place for me if you have none. One thing is certain--I'm
going to get work, and my work will repay those who employ me a
hundred times."

"Well, you are an odd fish," Mr. Schriven ejaculated; "I beg your
pardon, you are not yet in my employ--you are an eccentric young
lady, and a very young one, too, to be making your way in the world
in this irresistible style. You mean what you say, that if employed
you will put on no airs and conform to rules?"

"I mean just what I say."

Mr. Schriven fell into a foxy fit of musing, and there rose before
his mind the pale face and dragged, weary, listless look of a girl
now standing at the ribbon counter. "She'll break down when hard
work begins again," he thought; "she's giving way now with nothing
much to do. To be sure she has been here a long time, and has done
her best and all that, but her day is past, and here's plenty of
young flesh and blood to fill her place. This one is rather young,
but she's smart as a whip--she's full of mettle and is fresh and
healthy-looking. It won't do to have pale girls around, for it
gives cursed busybodies a chance to rant about women standing all
day. (Out of the corner of his eye he measured Belle from head to
foot.) She can stand, and stand it, too, for a long while. She's
compact and stout. She's built right for the business." At last he
said, aloud, "In case I should so far depart from my usual custom
and make a place for you, as you suggest, what do you propose to
charge for the services you rate so highly?"

"What you choose to give."

"Well," was the laughing answer, "there's method in your madness.
Take that pen and write what I dictate."

Belle wrote a few sentences in a dashing, but sufficiently legible
hand.

"You will have to practice a little, and aim at distinctness
and clearness. That's more than style in business," Mr. Schriven
continued deliberately, for the young creature was so delightfully
fresh and original that he began to regard her as an agreeable
episode in the dull August day. "I'll make a place for you, as you
say, if you will come for three dollars a week and comply with the
rules. You are to do just as you are bid by those having charge of
your department, and you had better keep on their right side. You
are not to come to me again, remember, unless I send for you," he
concluded, with his characteristic smile; "an event that you must
not look forward to, for I assure you such interviews are rare
in my experience. Come next Monday at seven if you agree to these
conditions."

"I agree, and I thank you," the girl promptly answered, her
brilliant eyes glowing with triumph, for thoughts like these were
in her mind: "How I can crow over mamma and Millie, who said this
very morning there was no use in trying! Won't it be delicious to
hand papa enough money to pay the rent for a month!" No wonder the
child's face was radiant.

The thoughts of her employer were of quite a different character.
He gave her a look of bold admiration, and said familiarly, "By
Jupiter, but you are a daisy!"

Belle's manner changed instantly. He caught a swift, indignant flash
in her dark eyes, and then she laid her hand on the door-knob and
said, with the utmost deference and distance of manner, "I will try
to attend to the duties of my station in a way that will cause no
complaint. Good morning, sir."

"Wait a moment," and Mr. Schriven touched a bell, and immediately
the foreman appeared.

"Give this girl a place next Monday at the ribbon counter," he said,
in the quick staccato tones of one who is absolute and saves time
even in the utterance of words. "I also wish to see you two hours
hence."

The man bowed, as if all were a matter of course, but when he was
alone with Belle he said sharply, "You think you got ahead of me."

He would indeed have been the most malicious of dragons had not
Belle's smiling face and frank words disarmed him.

"I did get ahead of you, and you know it, but you are too much of
a man to hold a grudge against a poor girl who has her bread to
earn. Now that I am under your charge I promise that I'll do my
best to please you."

"Very well, then; we'll see. I'll have my eye on you, and don't
you forget it."

Mrs. Jocelyn and Mildred laughed, sighed, and shook their heads over
Belle's humorous account of her morning's adventure. They praised
her motive, they congratulated her on her success, but her mother
said earnestly, "My dear little girl, don't get bold and unwomanly.
We had all better starve than come to that. It would wound me to
the heart if your manner should ever cause any one to think of you
otherwise than as the pure-hearted, innocent girl that you are. But
alas! Belle, the world is too ready to think evil. You don't know
it yet at all."

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