He had his loaf of bread at last and went with the check and his money to the cash window, hastily, to get out before he might meet those two disrespectable flappers and have to recognize them as fellow buyers.
He handed in his check at the little glass window and was suddenly aware of a pair of friendly eyes looking up at him and a shyly hesitant smile.
Chapter 7
Natalie Halsey! Here? Her pale little friendly face seemed like a pleasant oasis in this strange, unfriendly environment.
“Hello!” he said, almost eagerly, his face lighting up with a strange relief. “Is this where you hang out? I didn’t know it was in this neighborhood.”
“Yes.” She smiled again. “This is where you picked me up in your new car the other day and took me home. I’ll always be grateful to you for getting me home so soon. Mother had had a bad spell just before I left, and she was getting very nervous about my being gone so long. She might have had a relapse if I had been much longer.”
“You don’t say!” he said, startled, half pleased to be commended for something he had done after the unpleasant whisper he had just heard behind his back.
“You are home from college for the Thanksgiving holiday, aren’t you? Or—that would be over wouldn’t it? It must be a weekend,” she commented in a momentary lull from her store activities.
“No such luck!” he said, a dark cloud of remembrance passing over his face. “I didn’t get to go to college.”
“Oh,” said Natalie sympathetically. “Someone said you were at home, but I wasn’t sure. You—are working somewhere? But you’ll enjoy that, too. It’s nice to be doing something real.”
He looked down at the sweet, childish face, a little weary, a little blue under the eyes, and felt a sudden tenderness for her, and anger at himself. She was doing something real. She had found it for herself, and he, Chris Walton, couldn’t get anything. Not anything!
“I wish I were,” he said wistfully. “I’ve walked all over this little old town and nobody wants me.”
There was a strange humility about his words. Natalie looked up in wonder.
“You don’t know of a good job, do you?” he added wistfully.
“Oh”—breathed Natalie, her eyes thoughtfully watching him. “Yes, I do. But—you wouldn’t want such a job. I’m sure you wouldn’t.”
“Try me and see,” said Chris, with sudden determination as he thought of the little cozy room shut in by the curtains and his beautiful mother in that tiny kitchen getting supper. He must somehow make good. He was desperate.
“But,” said Natalie, growing a bit red and confused, “it’s only—a—it’s not in keeping with your—position,” she ended bravely.
“My position, lady,” said Chris, with a grim humility upon his face that made his chin look rugged and firm, “is away down at the foot of the ladder. I’m groveling at present, if you know what that means. If you have any such jobs as that, please lead me to them.”
A woman snapped in between them with a five dollar bill to be changed, and two others followed with their checks to be paid, and Chris had to step back for a moment.
He noted Natalie’s pale fingers as they flew among the dirty bills, checking off dimes and nickels, and wondered that he had never noticed before how delicate and fragile she was. Then the three women moved on and there was another moment’s cessation.
“It’s only right here, in this store.” She eyed him anxiously. “You wouldn’t want to work here, would you, in a plain, common place like this?”
“I don’t know why not,” said Chris gamely, swallowing hard at a surprised lump in his throat. “Is there a chance here, do you think? I must get a job.”
“We’re losing a man today,” said Natalie. “He got a telegram that his father had died, and he must go back to Wisconsin and stay with his mother and get a job there. Our manager is very cross about it. He needs someone right away, but he is very particular. I don’t know whether he has found anyone yet or not, and he must have someone Monday. If you could come back at a quarter to nine—we keep open till nine on Saturday nights, you know—I could speak to him about it. There might be a chance. But it’s only an under position, you know.”
Some women were approaching, loud-voiced among themselves, sticking out checks and money, all talking at once.
“I’ll be back,” said Chris, with sudden determination, and walked away out into the night and the evening smells of the common district where he had come to live. Pork and cabbage, and a fish frying in old grease. Pah! What a neighborhood! And he was going to be a common grocer’s clerk and sell cheese and rat traps and pickled pig’s feet to those gossipy women! Instead of halfback on the college football team, president of his fraternity, and son of a banker!
He saw himself going around in that crowded store, weighing sugar and cutting cheese and bringing up great cases of cereal and canned stuff. Girls like those two who had pointed him out would think they could say fresh things and kid with him. How his mother would hate it! How he would hate it!
Yet, there was a kind of elation about him to think that, perhaps, there was a job in sight. Besides, hadn’t he heard that there was a promotion in these stores? Of course, he would not stay a common clerk long. If he had inherited any of his father’s business ability, he could build up and get ahead. And when he got a little money saved up, if he didn’t like the grocery line, he could get into another line. But, after all, why weren’t stores where they sold eatables the best thing to tie to? People had to eat, no matter how hard the times were, nor what happened. That was an idea, too.
But he wouldn’t say anything about it at home until he knew more about it. And then, he hadn’t got the job yet, either. Natalie had only promised to speak to the manager. There might be another man by this time, or the manager might think him a snob, too. There was no telling in this strange, new, sad world into which he had come to live, it seemed.
He was almost home before he remembered that he had not thanked Natalie. Little pale-faced, eager, wistful Natalie, with her soft halo of hair and her tired, trusting eyes. It was kind of Natalie. He had never done anything for her, except to take her home that once with her bundles. Well, he would go back and see, anyway. He wouldn’t have to remember that he had turned any job down, no matter how unsatisfactory.
He came swinging into the house, whistling under his breath, forgetting his troubles for the moment. He was thinking that perhaps he was going to get some kind of a break after all. Only a grocery, but something better might turn up later. At least, if he could get it, he wouldn’t be exactly a slacker while he was looking around for something better. Of course, the salary wouldn’t be large at first, while he was learning.
They sat down to dinner as if it were a picnic. Somehow it didn’t seem so mournful, after all, as he had expected. Chris thought he would always remember his father’s first blessing at the little golden oak table, with mother’s coarsest tablecloth upon it and the old dishes that had been used mostly in the kitchen at the other house. It was, “Father, we remember that Your Son had not where to lay His head, at times, when He was upon the earth. We thank You for this comfortable, quiet home that You have given us and for this evening meal. Make us to show Your glory by the strength of it. Amen.”
Chris was very quiet and thoughtful during the meal, jumping up to get a pitcher of water and replenish the popovers from the pan in the warming oven, to save his mother and sister.
“We have much to be thankful for,” said the father, looking around on his family. “Mary, what wonderful children we have. I haven’t heard a murmur out of either one of them.”
“Why, Daddy, we’re having the times of our lives,” said Elise cheerfully.
“Same here!” Chris tried to say, guiltily choking over his glass of water and having to retire behind his napkin. He felt in his heart that it was not quite honest for him to say that. But he couldn’t bear not to be a good sport when his father and mother were so wonderful. Well, he was going to get
that job in the grocery, if it were a possible thing.
He helped Elise clear the table and put away the dishes in order, and about half past eight, he took his hat and went out.
“Oh, I thought we’d all go to bed early,” said his mother, looking at him in a troubled way as he opened the door.
“I won’t be long, Mother.” He tried to reassure her. “I want to see a man about a job I heard of. I can’t get him at any other time. It might turn out to be something.”
“Well, come home as soon as you can. You know this is a strange neighborhood, and we aren’t sure yet what kind of people live around here. I shall worry—”
“No, you don’t worry, Mother,” said Chris quickly. “You’ve been a good sport, and you’re not going to worry anymore.”
She looked after him wistfully as he went out, although she summoned a faint smile. But he knew that she was exceedingly weary, and in spite of all her brave smiles and cheery demeanor, this day must have been very hard for her. He felt condemned that he had thought so much about his own part of the disappointment.
As he neared the grocery store, his soul rebelled. How could he go in there and ask for a job recommended by a girl? A poor girl, who really knew him very little, too? Oughtn’t he to go back and get his father to write a letter, or get in touch with the head of all these stores, or do something that would place him on a regular footing and give him a worthwhile salary?
Then suddenly the words of those two obnoxious girls came to him, that he was a snob, and somehow he felt that he would rather stand on his own feet and work his way into any possible favor, than to try to hang on to the old life with its power and influence. So, he held his head up and walked in.
There were still a few last customers keeping the tired salesmen busy, and Natalie, in her little glass house, was busy, too, counting change and getting her cash register ready for the night. But she smiled at him distantly and briefly, as he stood by the door and waited until she seemed to have a moment of leisure. Then he went over and spoke to her in a low voice, as if he were just another customer.
“Wouldn’t you rather I came in Monday morning and went to the manager myself? I don’t want to keep you or bother you. And all these men look so doggone tired, I hate to butt in on them now.”
“No,” said Natalie quickly, “he expects you. I found a chance to tell him you were coming. I didn’t say much; I thought you’d rather do your own talking. I just said I knew a man who wanted work and I had told him to come around. He seemed relieved. He’s been worried all day about it, but he had no time to go out and look up anybody. And the district manager went to New York yesterday, so he can’t call on him for an extra man. There he is now, over by those crates, opening them. Now is as good a time as any to talk to him. There aren’t many customers left. His name is Foster.”
Chris summoned his nerve and walked over to the young fellow in the white linen coat and apron. Why, he didn’t look much older than himself!
“Is this Mr. Foster?” he asked, trying to remember that he was asking a favor, not granting one, by being willing to work in that store. “I heard you needed a man. Would I do?”
Foster looked him up and eyed Chris keenly, then grinned at him.
“Take hold and help me put these cans on the shelves, and let’s see how you can work,” he said. “After that, we’ll talk.”
Chris flung his cap on a barrel top and set to work stacking the cans in orderly rows on the shelves, saying nothing, but taking great armfuls from the crates and stalking back and forth as if his life depended on it. Foster did not appear to be watching him, did not even seem to be aware of him, except now and then for a necessary direction. And they worked away as if they had always done this. Chris found that it was actually interesting to put those cans in their ranks quickly and get back for another load in record time.
When the crates were empty, Foster gave him another grin.
“That’s all. You seem to have pep enough. Just take those empty crates down to the cellar, door over to your right, smash them up with the ax you’ll see at the foot of the stairs, and pile them with the other wood against the wall. When you come back, we’ll talk business.”
When Chris came upstairs, the customers were gone and the front door closed. Natalie was putting on her hat and coat in her little glass den.
Foster had a pencil and notebook, and began asking him questions. His name, age, experience. Was he a stranger? Was he willing to obey orders?
Chris answered briefly and studied his new boss. A quick, keen, alert young man without conceit. He liked him.
“All right,” said Foster, “you report Monday morning at eight o’clock. You understand I haven’t authority to hire you permanently. But I’ll try you out for a week and report to my boss when he gets back next week. If you make good, I’ll be glad to have you. You worked well tonight. Good night. See you Monday.” And the interview was over.
Chris went out just behind Natalie, and they walked down the street together, she a little shy and beaming.
“He liked you. I could see,” she said.
“I guess you’ve been saying something pretty nice about me,” said Chris gratefully. “That was awfully nice of you. I appreciate it. If I get the job, I guess I’ll owe it to you.”
“Oh, I just told him you were all right, steady and dependable, you know. He used to know my grandmother and my father, and he knows I wouldn’t say that if it were not so.” Natalie walked gravely beside him, putting aside her part in the matter as if it were very slight. “I told him we had been in the same school and you always had good marks.”
“Well, I won’t forget it,” he said with a friendly smile. “Say, let me carry that bundle. Sorry I haven’t any car, anymore, to take you home.”
“Oh, I’m used to bundles.” She laughed. “You mustn’t go out of your way for me. We’re just fellow laborers. You mustn’t feel that way about it. A working girl has to carry her own bundles.”
“Not if there is a gentleman about,” said Chris, masterfully possessing himself of the heavy carton she was carrying.
“You’ll have your own bundles to carry presently,” she said. “You know employees get a low price on things, and sometimes there are perishable things Saturday nights that they let us have for almost nothing. I save a lot that way, carrying things home.”
“I suppose you do,” said Chris thoughtfully. “I hadn’t even thought about saving on things like that. I guess I’ll have to take lessons from you. Though my mother used to tell us stories about how they lived on very little when she was a girl.”
“She’ll know then,” assured the girl. “It doesn’t take long to learn to save. But, really, you mustn’t go out of your way for me. Please let me take it now. This is my corner.”
“It’s not out of my way,” said Chris gravely. “You didn’t know I lived on the street next to yours, did you?”
“Oh!” said Natalie, startled. Then “Oh!” in a sorrowful little voice. “I’m sorry you had to leave that lovely home. I always enjoyed looking at it. I saw your mother coming out the door one day. She’s beautiful. I thought she fitted there so well. I liked to think of her living in such lovely surroundings. My mother had a nice home, too, when she was young.”
Chris looked down on her with interested eyes, his heart warming toward her because she admired his mother, and because she was sorry about his lost home. There seemed, somehow, a bond between them.
“I guess it’s hard for a girl”—he hesitated shyly, fumbling around in his mind for the right words—“to grow up, not having everything she wants.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Natalie, with her cheerful little laugh again. “We’ve had some wonderful good times. When Father was alive, we used to enjoy what we did have, much more than some people seem to who have everything. But, it was always nice to hear Mother tell about the hardwood floors and oriental rugs and lovely things they had in her home when she was a girl. Of course, when we didn’t have thing
s, we usually made them, somehow, if it was possible.”
“It’s rotten for a girl like you to have to do that,” he said impulsively.
She looked up at him, surprised.
“Why no! I don’t think so,” she said gravely.
“You don’t think so?” It was his turn to be surprised.
“Not at all.” Her tone almost held reproof. “Nothing that God allows to come to His children is a rotten deal. He loves us and knows what we need most. He wouldn’t let it come to us if it wasn’t for our best.”
“You believe He sends such things then?”
“He lets them come,” she said seriously. “Nothing can come to us unless it first passes through His hands.” There was a sweet trustfulness about her tone that filled him with sudden reverence toward her. “Of course, some of the hard things are testings for us, but He permits them, and what He permits must be best for us.”
“What possible good could come out of having to be poor and work for your living and carrying bundles too heavy for you?”
“Well,” said Natalie with sudden whimsical laughter. “It might be to keep me from being a snob. I’m afraid I would have been an awful snob if I had a lovely home and all the nice things some girls have.”
“You?” said Chris wonderingly, and then he laughed, too. “Do you know, I just heard myself called a snob, this afternoon, back there in the store by two little snub-nosed, lipsticked flappers that used to be in the grammar school when we were in high.”
“I know who you mean. But they only thought so because you weren’t fresh with them, the way some of the other boys were. You never were a snob. You were always kind and pleasant to everybody. Look how you picked me up and took me home, with all my bundles, in your beautiful new car.”
“But why shouldn’t I?”
“That’s it,” said Natalie, decidedly. “You’re a gentleman. You never were a snob. Now, Bob Tyson wouldn’t have done that. He wouldn’t even have seen me as he whizzed by.”
Treasured Brides Collection Page 28
