CHAPTER III
For days Claire lay in a state of drowsy quiet.
She hardly realized the fact of her changed condition, that she wasbeing cared for, ministered to, looked after. She had brief, wakingmoments when she seemed to be aware that Martha was bringing in herbreakfast, or sitting beside her while she ate her dinner, but theintervening spaces, when "Ma" or Cora served, were dim, indistinctadumbrations of no more substantial quality than the vagrant dreams thatranged mistily across her relaxed brain.
The thin walls of the cheaply-built flat did not protect her from thenoise of the children's prattling tongues and boisterous laughter, butthe walls of her consciousness closed her about, as in a muffledsecurity, and she slept on and on, until the exhausted body wasreinforced, the overtaxed nerves infused with new strength.
Then, one evening, when the room in which she lay was dusky withtwilight shadows, she realized that she was awake, that she was alive.She had gradually groped her way through the dim stretches lying betweenthe region of visions and that of the actual, but the step into a fullsense of reality was abrupt. She heard the sound of children's voices inthe next room. So clear they were, she could distinguish every syllable.
"Say, now, listen, mother! What do you do when you go out working everyday?" It was Cora speaking.
"I work."
"Pooh, you know what I mean. What kinder work do you do?"
For a moment there was no answer, then Claire recognized Martha's voice,with what was, undeniably, a chuckle tucked away in its mellow depths,where no mere, literal child would be apt to discern it.
"Stenography an' typewritin'!"
"Are you a stenographer an' typewriter, mother? Honest?"
"Well, you can take it from me, if I was _it_ at all, I'd be it honest.What makes you think there's any doubt o' my being one? Don't I have theappearance of a high-toned young lady stenographer an' typewriter?"
A pause, in which Martha's substantial steps were to be heard busilypassing to and fro, as she went about her work. Her mother's replyevidently did not carry conviction to Cora's questioning mind, for asecond later she was up and at it afresh.
"Say, now, listen, mother--if you do stenography an' typewritin', whatmakes your apron so wet an' dirty, nights when you come home?"
"Don't you s'pose I clean my machine before I leave? What kindertypewriter d'you think I am? To leave my machine dirty, when a goodscrub-down, with a pail o' hot water, an' a stiff brush, an' Sapolio,would put it in fine shape for the next mornin'."
"Mother--say, now, listen! I don't _believe_ that's the way they cleantypewriters. Miss Symonds, she's the Principal's seckerterry to ourschool, an' she sits in the office, she cleans her machine with oil anda little fine brush, like you clean your teeth with."
"What you been doin' in the Principal's office, miss, I should like toknow? Been sent up to her for bad behavior, or not knowin' your lessons?Speak up now! Quick!"
"My teacher, she sends me on errands, an' I got a credit-card last weekan', say, mother, I don't _believe_ you're a young lady stenographer an'typewriter. You're just trying to fool me."
"Well, Miss Smarty, supposin' I am. So long's I don't succeed you've nokick comin'."
"Say, now listen, mother."
"Hush! You'll wake the pretty lady. Besides, too many questions beforedinner is apt to spoil the appetite, to say nothin' of the temper. Turnto, an' lend a hand with them potatoes. Smash 'em good first, an' thenbeat 'em with a fork until they're light an' creamy, an' you won't haveso much gimp left for snoopin' into things that don't concern you!"
"Say, now listen, mother!"
"Well?"
"Say, mother, something awful funny happened to me last night?"
"Are you tellin' what it was?"
"Something woke me up in the middle of the night, 'n' I got up out ofbed, an' the clock struck four, 'n' then I knew it was mornin'. 'N' Iheard a noise, 'n' I thought it was robbers, 'n' I went to the door, 'n'it was open, 'n' I went out into the hall, 'n'--"
"Well?"
"An' there was _you_, mother, on the stairs--kneelin'!"
"Guess you had a dream, didn't you?"
"No, I didn't."
"What'd I be kneelin' on the stairs for, at four o'clock in the mornin',I should like to know?"
"It looked like you was brushin' 'em down."
"_Me_ brushin' down _Snyder's_ stairs! Well, now what do you think o'that?" Her tone of amazement, at the mere possibility, struck Cora, andthere was a pause, broken at length by Martha, in a preternaturallysolemn voice. "I s'pose you never tumbled to it I might be _prayin'_."
Cora's eyes grew wide. "Prayin'!" she repeated in an awed whisper. "But,mother, what'd you want to go out in the hall for, to pray on the_stairs_, at four o'clock in the mornin'?"
"Prayin' is a godly ack. Wheresomedever, an' _when_somedever you do it."
"But, mother, I don't _believe_ you were prayin'. I heard the knockin'o' your whis'-broom. You was brushin' down the stairs."
"Well, what if I was? Cleanliness is next to godliness, ain't it?Prayin' an' cleanin', it amounts to the same thing in the end--it's justa question of what you clean, outside you or _in_."
"But say, now, listen, mother, you never cleaned down Mr. Snyder'sstairs before. An' you been making shirtwaists for Mrs. Snyder, afteryou get home nights. I saw her with one of 'em on."
"Cora, do you know what happened to a little girl oncet who asked toomany questions?"
"No."
"Well, I won't tell you now. It might spoil your appetite for dinner.But you can take it from me, the end she met with would surprise you."
Shortly after, Claire's door quietly opened, and Cora, with a lightedtaper in her hand, tiptoed cautiously in, like a young torch-bearing_avant-courriere,_ behind whom Mrs. Slawson, laden with a wonderfultray, advanced processionally.
"Light the changelier, an' then turn it low," Martha whispered. "An'then you, yourself, light out, so's the pretty lady can eat in comfort."
The pretty lady, sitting up among her pillows, awake and alert, almostbrought disaster upon the taper, and the tray, by exclaiming brightly,"Good-evening! I'm wide awake for good! You needn't tiptoe or hush anymore. O, I feel like new! All rested and well and--_ready_ again. And Iowe it, every bit, to you! You've been so _good_ to me!"
It was hard on Cora to have to obey her mother's injunction to "clearout," just when the pretty lady was beginning to demonstrate her rightto the title. But Martha's word in her little household was not to bedisputed with impunity, and Cora slipped away reluctantly, carrying withher a dazzling vision of soft, dark hair, starry blue-gray eyes,wonderful changing expressions, and, in and over all, a smile that waslike a key to unlock hearts.
"My, but it's good to see you so!" said Mrs. Slawson heartily. "I wasglad to have you sleep, for goodness knows you needed it, but if you'd'a' kep' it up a day or so longer, I'd 'a' called in a doctor--shoor!Just as a kind of nacherl percaution, against your settlin' down to apermanent sleepin'-beauty ack, for, you can take it from me, I haven'tthe business address of any Beast, here in New York City, could becounted on to do the Prince-turn, when needed. There's plenty ofbeasts, worse luck! but they're on the job, for fair. No magic,lightenin'-change about _them_. They stay beasts straight through theperformance."
Claire laughed.
"But, as it happened, I didn't need a Prince, did I? I didn't need aPrince or any one else, for I had a good fairy godmother who--O, Mrs.Slawson, I--I--can't--"
"You don't have to. An' I'm not Mrs. Slawson to you. I'm just Martha,for I feel like you was my own young lady, an' if you call me Mrs.Slawson, I won't feel so, an' here--now--see if you can clear up thistray so clean it'll seem silly to wash the dishes."
For a moment there was silence in the little room, while Claire tried tocompose herself, and Martha pretended to be busy with the tray. ThenClaire said, "I'll be very glad to call you Martha if you'll let me, andthere's something I'd like to say right off, because I've been lyinghere quite a while think
ing about it, and it's very important, indeed.It's about my future, and--"
"You'll excuse my interruckting, but before you reely get your steamup, let me have a word on my own account, an' then, if you want to, youcan fire away--the gun's your own. What I mean _is_--I don't believe inlyin' awake, thinkin' about the future, when a body can put in goodlicks o' sleep, restin' from the past. It's against my principles. I'mby the day. I work by the day, an' I live by the day. I reasoned it outso-fashion: the past is over an' done with, whatever it may be, an' youcan't change it, for all you can do, so what's the use? You can bet onone thing, shoor, whatever ain't dead waste in your past is, somehow,goin' to get dished up to you in your present, or your future. You ain'tgoin' to get rid of it, till you've worked it into your system _forhealth_, as our dear old friend, Lydia Pinkham, says. As to the future,the future's like a flea--when you can put your finger on the future,it's time enough to think what you'll do with it. Folkes futures'd beall right, if they'd just pin down a little tighter to _to-day_, an'make that square up, the best they can, with what they'd oughter do.Now, as to _your_ future, there's nothin' to fret about for a minute init. Jus' now, you're here, safe an' sound, an' here you're goin' to stayuntil you're well an' strong an' fed up, an' the chill o' Mrs. Daggettis out o' your body an' soul. You can take it from me, that woman isworse than any line-storm _I_ ever struck for dampenin'-down purposes,an' freeze-out, an' generl cussedness. Your business to-day--now--is toget well an' strong. Then the future'll take care of itself."
"But meanwhile," Claire persisted, "I'm living on you. Eating food forwhich I haven't the money to pay, having loving care for which Icouldn't pay, if I had all the money in the world. I guess I know howyou settled my account with Mrs. Daggett. You gave her money you hadbeen saving for the rent, and now you are working, slaving overtime, atfour o'clock mornings, sweeping down the stairs, and late nights, makingshirtwaists for Mrs. Snyder, to help supply what's lacking."
"Just you wait till I see that Cora," observed Mrs. Slawsonirrelevantly. "That's the time _her_ past will have slopped over on herpresent, so's she can't tell which is which. Just you wait till I seethat Cora!"
"No, no--_please_! Martha _dear_! It wasn't Cora! She's not to blame.I'd have known sooner or later anyway. I always reason things out formyself. Please promise not to scold Cora."
"Scold Cora? Not on your life, my dear; I won't scold Cora. I'mold-fashioned in my ways with childern. I don't believe in scoldin'. Itspoils their tempers, but a good _lickin'_ oncet in a while, helps 'emto remember, besides bein' good for the circulation."
Claire was ready to cry. "It's all my fault," she lamented. "I wasclumsy. I was tactless. And now Cora will be punished for it, and--Imake nothing but trouble for you all."
"There, there! For mercy sake, don't take on like that. I promise I'lllet Cora go free, if you'll sit back quiet an' eat your dinner in peace.So now! That's better!"
"What I was going to say, Martha dear, is, I'm quite well and strongnow, and I want to set about immediately looking for something to do. Iought to be able to support myself, you know, for I'm able-bodied, andnot so stupid but that I managed to graduate from college. Once, twosummers ago, I tutored--I taught a young girl who was studying to takethe Wellesley entrance exams. And I coached her so well she went throughwithout a condition, and she wasn't very quick, either. I wonder if Icouldn't teach?"
"Shoor, you could!"
"If I could get a position to teach in some school or some family, Icould, maybe, live here with you--rent this room--unless you have someother use for it."
"Lord, no! I _call_ it the boarder's room because this flat is reallytoo rich for my blood, but you see I don't want the childern brought upin a bad neighborhood with low companions. Well, Sammy argued the rentwas too high, till I told'm we'd let a room an' make it up that way,but what with this, an' what with that, we ain't had any boardersexceptin' now an' then some friend of himself out of a job, or one o'the girls, livin' out in the houses where I work, gettin' bouncedsuddent, an' in want of a bed, an' none of 'em ever paid us a cent orwas asked for it."
"Well, if I could get a position as teacher or governess, I'd soon beable to pay back what you've laid out for me, and more besides, and--Inthe houses where you work, are there any children who need a governess?Any young girls who need a tutor? That's what I wanted to ask you,Martha."
Mrs. Slawson deliberated in silence for a moment.
"There's the Livingstons," she mused, "but they ain't any childern. Onlya childish brother-in-law. He's not quite _all there,_ as you might say.It'd be no use tryin' to learn him nothin', seein' he's soodd--seventy-odd--an' his habits like to be fixed. Then, there's theFarrands. But the girls goes to Miss Spenny's school, an' the son's atColumbia. It might upset their plans, if I was to suggest their givin'up where they're at, an' havin' you. Then there's the Grays, an' theGranvilles, an' the Thornes. Addin' 'em all together for childern,they'd come to about half a child a pair. Talk about your race suicide!They say they 'can't afford to have childern.' You can take it from me,it's the poor people are rich nowadays. _We_ can afford to havechildern, all right, all right. Then there's Mrs. Sherman--She's got oneboy, but he--Radcliffe Sherman--well, he's a limb! A reg'lar youngvillain. You couldn't manage _him_. Only Lord Ronald can manageRadcliffe Sherman, an' he--"
"Lord Ronald?" questioned Claire, when Mrs. Slawson's meditationthreatened to become static.
"Why, he's Mrs. Sherman's brother, Mr. Frank Ronald, an' no real lordcould be handsomer-lookin', or grander-behavin', or richer than him.Mrs. Sherman is a widder, or a divorcy, or somethin' stylish like that.Anyhow, I worked for her this eight years an' more--almost ever sinceRadcliffe was born, an' I ain't seen hide nor hair o' any Mr. Shermanyet, an' they never speak o' him, so I guess he was either too good ortoo bad to mention. Mr. Frank an' his mother lives with Mrs. Sherman,an' what Mr. Frank says _goes_. His word is law. She thinks the worldof'm, an' well she may, for he's a thorerbred. The way he treats me, forinstants. You'd think I was the grandest lady in the land. He never seesme but it's, 'How d'do, Martha?' or, 'How's the childern an' Mr. Slawsonthese days?' He certainly has got grand ways with'm, Mr. Frank has. An'yet, he's never free. You wouldn't dare make bold with'm. His eyes hasa sort o' _keep-off-the-grass_ look gener'ly, but when he smiles down atyou, friendly-like, why, you wouldn't call the queen your cousin.Radcliffe knows he can't monkey with his uncle Frank, an' when he's by,butter wouldn't melt in that young un's mouth. But other times--my! Yousee, Mrs. Sherman is dead easy. She told me oncet, childern ought to bebrought up 'scientifically.' Lord! She said they'd ought to be let_express their souls_, whatever she means by that. I told her I thoughtit was safer not to trust too much to the childern's souls, but to helpalong some occasional with your own--the sole of your slipper. It wasthen she said she 'abserlootly forbid' any one to touch Radcliffe. Shewanted him 'guided by love alone.' Well, that's what he's been guidedwith, an', you can take it from me, love's made a hash of it, as itushally does when it ain't mixed with a little common sense. You'doughta see that fella's anticks when his mother, an' Lord Ronald, ain'tby. He'd raise the hair offn your head, if you hadn't a spear of itthere to begin with. He speaks to the help as if they was dirt under hisfeet, an' he'd as lief lie as look at you, an' always up to some newdevilment. It'd take your time to think fast enough to keep up with'm.But he ain't all bad--I don't believe no child _is_, not on your life,an' my idea is, he'd turn out O.K. if only he'd the right sort o'handlin'. Mr. Frank could do it--but when Lord Ronald is by, Radcliffeis a pet lamb--a little woolly wonder. You ast me why I call Mr. FrankLord Ronald. I never thought of it till one time when Cora said a pieceat a Sund'-School ent'tainment. I can't tell you what the piece was,for, to be perfectly honest, I was too took up, at the time, watchin'Cora's stockin', which was comin' down, right before the wholechurchful. It reely didn't, but I seen the garter hangin', an' I thoughtit would, any minute. I remember it was somethin' about a fella calledLord Ronald, who was a reel thorerbred, just like Mr. Frank i
s. Irecklect one of the verses went:
"'Lord Ronald had the lily-white dough--'
(to my way o' thinkin' it's no matter about the color, white or gold orjust plain, green paper-money, so long's you've _got_ it), anyhow,that's what it said in the piece--
"'Lord Ronald had the lily-white dough,Which he gave to his cousin, Lady Clare.'
Say, wasn't he generous?--'give to his cousin--Lady Clare'--an'--goodgracious! O, excuse me! I didn't mean to jolt your tray like that, but Ijust couldn't help flyin' up, for I got an idea! True as you live, I gotan idea!"
Martha By-the-Day Page 3
