CHAPTER III.
SOME TRIALS OF GENIUS.
"The sum of the angles of a triangle is equal to two right angles."Migwan drew the construction lines as indicated in the book and laboredvaliantly to understand why the Angle A was equal to its alternate, DBA,her brow puckered into a studious frown. Geometry was not her long suit,her talents running to literature and languages. Outside the October sunwas shining on the crimson and yellow maples, making the long street ascene of dazzling splendor. The carpet of dry leaves on the walk andsidewalk tantalized Migwan with their crisp dryness; she longed to beout swishing and crackling through them. She sighed and stirredimpatiently in her chair, wishing heartily that Euclid had died in hiscradle.
"I can't study with all this noise going on!" she groaned, flinging herpencil and compass down in despair. Indeed, it would have taken a muchmore keenly interested person than Migwan to have concentrated on ageometry lesson just then. From somewhere upstairs there came anear-splitting din. It sounded like an earthquake in a tin shop, mingledwith the noise of the sky falling on a glass roof, and accompanied bythe tramping of an army; a noise such as could only have been producedby an extremely large elephant or an extremely small boy amusing himselfindoors. Migwan rose resolutely and mounted the stairs to the roomoverhead, where her twelve-year-old brother and two of his bosom friendswere holding forth. "Tom," she said appealingly, "wouldn't you and theboys just as soon play outdoors or in somebody else's house? I simplycan't study with all that noise going on."
"But the others have no punching bag," said Tom in an injured tone, "andJim brought George over especially to-day to practice."
"Can't you take the punching bag over to Jim's?" suggested Migwandesperately.
"Sure," said Jim good-naturedly; "that's a good idea." So the boysunscrewed the object of attraction and departed with it, their pocketsbulging with ginger cookies which Migwan gave them as a reward for theirtrouble. Silence fell on the house and Migwan returned to the masteringof the sum of the angles. Geometry was the bane of her existence and shewas only cheered into digging away at it by the thought of the moneylying in her name in the bank, which she had received for giving theclew leading to little Raymond Bartlett's discovery the summer before,and which would pay her way to college for one year at least.
The theorem was learned at last so that she could make a recitation onit, even if she did not understand it perfectly, and Migwan left it totake up a piece of work which gave her as much pleasure as the other didpain. This was the writing of a story which she intended to send away toa magazine. She wrote it in the back of an old notebook, and when shewas not working at it she kept it carefully in the bottom of hershirtwaist box, where the prying eyes of her younger sister would notfind it. She had all the golden dreams and aspirations of a youngauthoress writing her first story, and her days were filled with asecret delight when she thought of the riches that would soon be herswhen the story was accepted, as it of course would be. If she had knownthen of the long years of cruel disillusionment that would drag theirweary length along until her efforts were finally crowned with successit is doubtful whether she would have stayed in out of the Octobersunshine so cheerfully and worked with such enthusiasm.
Migwan's family could have used to advantage all the gold which she wasdreaming of earning. After her father died her mother's income, fromvarious sources, amounted to only about seventy-five dollars a month,which is not a great amount when there are three children to keep inschool, and it was a struggle all the way around to make both ends meet.Mrs. Gardiner was a poor manager and kept no accounts, and so took nonotice of the small leaks that drained her purse from month to month.She was fond of reading, as Migwan was, and sat up until midnight everynight burning gas. Then the next morning she would be too tired to getup in time to get the children off to school, and they would depart witha hasty bite, according to their own fancy, or without any breakfast atall, if they were late. She bought ready-made clothes when she couldhave made them herself at half the cost, and generally chose lightcolors which soiled quickly. She never went to the store herself,depending on Tom or scatter-brained Betty, her younger daughter, to doher marketing, and in consequence paid the highest prices forinferior-grade goods.
Thus the seventy-five dollars covered less ground every month as pricesmounted, and little bills began to be left outstanding. Part of theincome was from a house which rented for twenty dollars but this lastmonth the tenants had abruptly moved, and that much was cut off. Migwan,unbusiness-like as she was, began to be worried about the condition oftheir affairs, and worked on her story feverishly, that it might beturned into money as soon as possible. She was deep in the intricaciesof literary construction when her mother entered the room, broom in handand dust cap on head, and sank into a chair.
"Do you suppose you could finish this sweeping?" she asked Migwan. "Myback aches so I just can't stand up any longer."
"Why can't Betty do it?" asked Migwan a little impatiently, for shethought she ought not be disturbed when she was engaged in such animportant piece of work.
"Betty's off in the neighborhood somewhere," said her mother wearily."Did you ever see her around when there was any work to be done?" Migwanwas filled with exasperation. That was the way things always went attheir house. Tom was allowed to upset the place from one end to theother without ever having to pick up his things; Betty was never askedto do any housework, and her mother left the Saturday dinner dishesstanding and began to sweep in the afternoon and then was unable tofinish. Migwan was just about to suggest a search for the errant Betty,when she remembered the "Give Service" part of the Camp Fire Law. Sherose cheerfully and took the broom from her mother's hand.
"Lie down a while, mother," she said, plumping up the pillows on thecouch. Mrs. Gardiner sank down gratefully and Migwan put away her storyand went at the sweeping. She soon turned it into a game in which shewas a good fairy fighting the hosts of the goblin Dust, and must havethem completely vanquished by four o'clock, or her magic wand, which hadfor the time being taken the shape of a broom, would vanish and leaveher weaponless. Needless to say, she was in complete possession of thefield when the clock struck the charmed hour. Being then out of the moodto continue her writing, she passed on into the kitchen and attacked theFortress of Dishes, which she razed to the ground completely, leavingher banner, in the form of the dish towel, flying over the spot.
"What are you planning for supper?" she asked her mother, looking intothe sitting room to see how she was feeling.
"Oh, dear, I don't know," said Mrs. Gardiner. "I hadn't given it athought. I don't believe there's anything left from dinner. Run down tothe store, will you, and get a couple of porterhouse steaks, there's adear. And stop at the baker's as you come by and get us each a creampuff for dessert. Betty is so fond of them." Migwan returned to thekitchen and got her mother's pocketbook. There was just twenty-fivecents in it. Migwan realized with a shock that it would not pay for whather mother wanted, and her sensitive nature shrank from asking to havethings charged.
"I won't buy the cream puffs," she decided. "I wonder if there isanything in the house I could make into a dessert?" Search revealednothing but a bag of prunes, which had been on the shelf for months, andwere as dry as a bone. They did not appeal to Migwan in the least, butthere was nothing else in evidence. "I might make prune whip," shethought rather doubtfully. "They're pretty hard, but I can soak them.I'll need the oven to make prune whip, so I will bake the potatoes too."She hunted around for the potatoes and finally found them in a smallpaper bag. "Buying potatoes two quarts at a time must be ratherexpensive," she reflected. She put the prunes to soak and the potatoesin the oven and went down to the store. "How much is porterhouse steak?"she asked before she had the butcher cut any off.
"Twenty-eight cents a pound," answered the man behind the counter.Migwan gave a little gasp. The money she had would not even buy a pound.
"How much is round steak?" she inquired.
"Twenty-two," came the reply.
"G
ive me twenty-five cents' worth," she said. It did not lookparticularly tender and Migwan thought distressedly how her mother wouldcomplain when she found round steak instead of porterhouse. "But thereis no help for it," she said to herself grimly, "beggars cannot bechoosers." She stopped on the way home to get the recipe for prune whipfrom Sahwah. Sahwah was not at home, but her mother gave Migwan therecipe and added many directions as to the proper mixing of theingredients. "Is--is there any way of making tough round steak tender?"she asked timidly, just a little ashamed to admit that they had to eatround steak.
"There certainly is," answered Mrs. Brewster. "You just pound all theflour into it that it will take up. I hardly ever buy porterhouse steaksany more since I learned that trick. I am having some to-night. It isone of our favorite dishes here. Round steak prepared in this way isknown in the restaurants as 'Dutch steak,' and commands a high price."Considerably cheered by this last intelligence, Migwan sped home and gother prune dessert into the oven and then set to work transforming thetough steak into a tender morsel.
"What kind of meat is this?" asked her mother when they had taken theirplaces at the table.
"Guess," said Migwan.
"It tastes like tenderloin," said her mother.
"Guess again," said Migwan gleefully; "it's round steak."
"The butcher must be buying better meat than usual, then," said Mrs.Gardiner. "I never got such round steak as this out here before."
"And you never will, either," said Migwan, swelling with pride, "if youleave it to the butcher," and she told how she had treated the steak toproduce the present result.
"I never heard of that before," said her mother, amazed at this simpleculinary trick.
Next the prune whip was brought on and pronounced good by every one and"bully" by Tom, who ate his in great spoonfuls. "I see I'll have to letyou get the meals after this," said Mrs. Gardiner to Migwan. "You have aknack of putting things together, which I have not."
Migwan was too tired to write any more that night after the dishes weredone, but she was entirely light-hearted as she wove into her bead bandthe symbols of that day's achievements--a broom and a frying pan. Shehad learned something that afternoon besides how to prepare beefsteak.She had waked up to the careless fashion in which the house was beingrun, and her head was full of plans for cutting down expenses. Mondayafternoon, on her way home from school, Migwan saw a farmer's wagonstanding in front of the Brewsters' home, and Mrs. Brewster stood at thecurb, buying her winter supply of potatoes.
"Have you put your potatoes in yet?" she asked as Migwan came along.
Migwan stopped. "I don't believe we ever bought them in largequantities," she answered. "How much are they a bushel?"
"Sixty-five cents," said the farmer. Migwan made a quick mentalcalculation. At the rate they had been buying potatoes in two-quart lotsthey had been paying a dollar and seventy-five cents a bushel. Migwancame to a sudden decision.
"Are they all good?" she asked Mrs. Brewster.
"They have always been in the past years," answered Sahwah's mother,"and I have bought my potatoes from this man for the last six winters."
"How many would it take for a family of four?" asked Migwan.
"About five bushels," answered Mrs. Brewster.
"All right," said Migwan to the man; "bring five bushels over to thisaddress." The potatoes were duly deposited in the Gardiner cellar,without asking the advice of Mrs. Gardiner, which was the only safe wayof getting things done, for had she been consulted she would surely havewanted to wait a while, and then would have kept putting it off until itwas too late. It was the same way with flour and sugar. Migwan foundthat her mother had been buying these in small quantities at anexorbitant price, and calmly took matters into her own hands, ordering awhole barrel of flour, because there was more in a barrel even than infour sacks. A certain large store was offering a liberal discount thatweek on fifty pounds of sugar, and Migwan took advantage of this salealso.
Then she had a terrified counting up. Those three items, potatoes, flourand sugar, had used up every cent of that week's income, leaving nothingat all for running expenses. All other supplies would have to be boughton credit. Migwan made a careful estimate of the necessary expenses forthe coming week, and pare down as she might, the sum was nearly fifteendollars. The loss of the rent money was making itself keenly felt."Mother," she said quietly, looking up from her account book, "we can'tlive on fifty-five dollars a month. We must rent the house againimmediately."
Mrs. Gardiner made a gesture of despair. "The sign has been up nearly amonth, and if people don't make inquiries I can't help it."
"Have you been in the house since the last people moved out?" askedMigwan.
"No," said Mrs. Gardiner; "what good would that do? I haven't the timeto go all the way over to the East Side to look at that old house.People know it's for rent, and if they want it they'll take it withoutmy sitting over there waiting for them."
Nevertheless, Migwan made the long trip the very next day after schoolto look at the property. "It's no wonder no one has been makinginquiries for it," she said when she returned. "The 'For Rent' sign wasgone and I found it later when I was going back up the street. Some boyshad used it to make the end piece of a wagon. Then, the plumbing is badand the cellar is flooded, and the water will not run off in the kitchensink. These must have been the repairs the old tenants wanted made whenyou told them you had no money to fix the house, and so they moved. Idon't blame them at all.
"Then, there is another thing I thought of when I was looking throughthe rooms. You know that big unfinished space over the kitchen? Well, Ithought, why can't we make a furnished room of that? There is spaceenough to build a large room and a bathroom, for part of it is justabove the bathroom downstairs. A large furnished room with a privatebath would bring in ten dollars a month. It is just at the head of theback stairs and the side door where the back stairs connect with thecellar way could be used as a private entrance, so the tenants of thehouse would not be disturbed in the least. It would cost over a hundreddollars to do it, most likely, but we could borrow the money from mycollege fund and the extra rent would soon pay it back." Migwan's eyeswere shining with ambition.
Mrs. Gardiner shook her head wearily. "We never could do it," sheanswered. "Something would surely happen to upset our plans."
But Migwan was not to be waved aside. She had seen a vision of increasedincome and meant to make it come true. She argued the merits of her ideauntil Mrs. Gardiner was too tired of the subject to argue back, andagreed that if Miss Kent approved the step she would give her consent.Nyoda was therefore called into consultation. She looked at the houseand saw no reason why the improvements could not be made to advantage.The house was in a good neighborhood, and furnished rooms were always indemand. She advised the step and gave Mrs. Gardiner the names of severalcontractors whom she knew to be reliable. Mrs. Gardiner was a littlebreathless at the speed with which things were moving, but there was nostopping Migwan once she was started. A contractor was engaged and workbegun on the house one week from the day Migwan had thought of the plan.
Meanwhile financial matters at home were in bad shape, and Mrs. Gardinerwillingly gave over the distribution of the family budget to Migwan. Sheherself was utterly unable to cope with the problem. And Migwansurprised even herself by the efficient way in which she managed things.By planning menus with the greatest care and omitting meat from the billof fare to a great extent she made it possible to live on their slenderincome until the rent would begin to come in again.
"Whatever have you done with yourself?" asked Gladys at the weeklymeeting of the Camp Fire. "Of late you rush home from school as if youwere pursued." Migwan only laughed and said she had had uncommonly hardproblems to solve these last few weeks. The other girls of course didnot know the exact state of the Gardiner finances, and never dreamedthat Migwan was having a struggle even to stay in high school. She wassuch a fine, aristocratic-looking girl, and was so sparkling and wittyall the time that it was hard to connect
her with poverty and worry.
"Let's all go to the matinee next Saturday afternoon," suggested Gladys."The 'Blue Bird' is going to be played." The girls agreed eagerly andasked Gladys to get seats for them, all but Migwan, who said nothing.
"Don't you want to go, Migwan?" they asked.
"Not this time," Migwan answered in a casual tone. "There is somethingelse I have to do Saturday afternoon." The girls accepted thisexplanation readily. It never occurred to them that Migwan could notafford to go.
"What is this mysterious something you are always doing?" asked Gladysteasingly. "Girls, I believe Migwan is writing a book. She has retiredfrom polite society altogether." Migwan smiled blandly at her, but madeno answer.
At home that night, however, she felt very low-spirited indeed. She wasonly human, after all, and wanted dreadfully to go to the matinee withthe girls. Gladys would take them all to Schiller's afterward for aparfait and bring them home in style in her machine. It did not seemfair that she should be cut off from every pleasure that involved thespending of a little money. This was her last year in high school, theyear which should be the happiest, but she must resolutely turn her faceaway from all those little festivities that add such touches of color tothe memory fabric of school days. She knew that at the merest hint ofher circumstances to Gladys or Nyoda they would have gladly paid her wayeverywhere the group went, but Migwan's pride forbade this. If she couldnot afford to go to places she would stay at home and nobody would beany the wiser. Nevertheless, a few tears would come at the thought ofthe good time she was missing, and she had no heart to work on herstory.
"Cry-baby!" she said to herself fiercely, winking the tears back."Crying because you can't do as you would like all the time! You're lotsbetter off than poor Hinpoha this very minute, even if she is rich. Youought to be ashamed of yourself!" The thought of Hinpoha, who wouldlikewise miss the jolly party, comforted her somewhat, and she dried hertears and fell to writing with a will.
Now Nyoda, although she did not know just how hard pressed the Gardinerswere at that time, rather surmised something of the kind, and wondered,after she left the girls, if that were not the reason for Migwan's notplanning to go to the matinee. She remembered Migwan's saying some timebefore that she wanted very much to see "The Bluebird" when it came. Sheknew it would never do to offer to pay Migwan's way; Migwan was tooproud for that. She lay awake a long time over it and finally formulateda plan. The next morning when Migwan came to school she saw aconspicuous notice on the Bulletin Board:
LOST: Handbag containing book of lecture notes and ticket for Saturdayafternoon's performance of "The Bluebird." Finder may keep theaterticket if he or she will return notebook to Miss Moore, Room 10.
Migwan read the notice and passed on, as did the other pupils. Thatmorning in English class Nyoda sent Migwan to an unused lecture room toget an English book she had left there. When Migwan opened the door shestumbled over something on the floor. It was a lady's handbag. Sheopened it and found Miss Moore's notebook and the theater ticket inside.Miss Moore was overjoyed at the return of the notebook and insisted onher keeping the ticket, which Migwan at first declined to accept. "Mydear child," said Miss Moore, "if you knew what trouble I had collectingthose notes you would think, too, that it was worth the price of atheater ticket to get them back!" And when Migwan's back was turned shewinked solemnly at Nyoda. By a curious coincidence that seat wasdirectly behind those occupied by the other Winnebagos!
The Camp Fire Girls at School; Or, The Wohelo Weavers Page 3
