Each day brought graduation day nearer, and Mrs. Blaine, becoming more
and more nervous as the great event approached, made strenuous efforts
to get the dress finished in time. There were vexatious delays without
number. It was difficult to find the right material or else something
went wrong with the measurements and all had to be done over again.
From morning till night, day after day, the old lady sat in doors, at
the table piled high with dressmaker's litter, deeply engrossed in her
self-appointed labor of love.
In vain Virginia and Fanny protested. Their mother refused to listen
to them. This dress, she insisted, was her one joy in life. It would
be cruel to deprive her of anything which afforded her so much
pleasure. They said no more, but they noticed with alarm that each day
their mother seemed to age a year. Her cheeks became more hollow, her
face more chalky white. She complained continually of pains in the
region of the heart, and it was plainly discernible that she was
rapidly growing more feeble.
One day when Dr. Everett was paying them one of his regular weekly
visits Virginia took him aside and told him of her anxiety. He seemed
to know already what she had to say. Taking both her hands in his, in
that big-hearted, paternal manner so characteristic of him, he said
impressively:
"Dear child--you must be brave. You cannot expect to have your mother
always with you. She is tired and world-weary. She has earned that
beautiful, eternal sleep which alone brings perfect peace. An organic
disease of the heart, which remained latent up to the time of your
father's death, has now become very pronounced. Trouble and sorrow
have aggravated the condition. Your mother may live for years; then
again she may pass away from us any time. One never can tell what will
happen when the heart is in that state."
A long spell of weeping followed this confidential chat with the
doctor, and for days Virginia went about only a shadow of her former
self.
How cruel was life! she mused. First to lose her father, and now her
best, her only friend! What would she do when her mother was gone?
Fanny was hardly a companion. She was so different; her tastes and
pursuits were not the same. There was not the same bond of sympathy
between them. If anything happened, they would, of course, go on
living together as usual, but how different their life would be!
Nothing further had been said regarding Mr. Gillie's proposal. Fanny
had not mentioned it again, and both Virginia and Mrs. Blaine were
silent. Instinctively Fanny knew that her mother and sister
disapproved of the match and inwardly she resented it. Why should they
interfere with her happiness? She had a right to look after her own
interests. What better offer could she expect? Suppose James was a
rough diamond; he might still make a better husband than some other
man better educated. He had had no advantages, but he was respectable
and clever. Everyone admitted that he was smart. His ideas were simply
wonderful. One of these days he would make a lot of money with his
brains, and then she would be proud to be his wife. Thus she reasoned
and, once she made up her mind, nothing could alter it. Mr. Gillie
continued his visits and made himself quite at home until, at last,
they all called him by his first name and it became quite natural to
see him there. There was no more talk of marriage, but both Mrs.
Blaine and Virginia soon arrived at the conclusion that he and Fanny
were tacitly engaged.
Virginia sometimes wondered if she herself would ever marry, and, if
so, what kind of man she would choose for a husband. What she knew and
heard of marriage had not filled her with any keen anxiety to enter
the married state, or with any profound respect for matrimony as a
social institution. In theory it was beautiful; in practice it left
much to be desired. Like any thoughtful girl having a broad, sane
outlook on life, she fully appreciated the dangers and unhappiness
that may attend unions entered into lightly and carelessly, without
such safeguards as regards morals and health, as a paternal State
should properly control.
Although a girl of high moral principles, she was not innocent. Are
there any such? Innocence is, of necessity, the sister of ignorance.
The conditions of modern existence render it impossible for any girl,
once she has attained the age of fifteen, to continue unacquainted
with the main facts of life, and some are initiated at an even
tenderer age. How is it possible for any maiden to remain
unenlightened in this regard these days when sensational, muck-raking
prints throw the searchlight of publicity into every boudoir and spicy
details of society's philandering fill column after column in the
breakfast table newspaper? No matter how little curiosity a
healthy-minded girl may have, by reason of a natural coldness of
temperament, to acquire such knowledge, it becomes, in spite of her,
part of her daily surroundings and she cannot escape its
contaminating, demoralizing influence.
Virginia was no fool. Now nearly nineteen, she knew everything about
life which an intelligent girl should know. What puzzled her most was
to determine her own mental attitude towards marriage. Not yet having
met a man for whom she could feel any especial regard, the idea of
forming with any man as close an association as marriage would mean
was repellent to her. The intimate relation the marital tie
pre-supposes frightened and appalled her as it has done many times
before thousands of passionless, strongly intellectual women who,
bringing cold analysis to bear on the sexual instinct, rebel at the
subordinate, humiliating role which the weaker sex is called upon to
play in Nature's vast and wonderfully complex scheme.
Not that she was passionless or lacking in temperament. The girl in
"whose veins ran lightning" could hardly be accused of indifference to
the opposite sex. She liked several young men, but there was not one
of them whom she could bring herself to think of in the light of a
husband. Girls often married for other than sentimental reasons. Of
that she was well aware. Self-interest was at the bottom of most
marriages. Cupid, guileless as he seems, is often a shrewd,
calculating little gnome in disguise. If a girl has no means, no
friends, no way of earning a living, what is going to become of her
unless she seeks refuge in marriage? Her first instinct is to find a
husband, a man sufficiently well off to support both. There was, of
course, only one word with which to brand that sort of thing. It was a
legalized form of prostitution, an approved system of cohabitation
which must be horrible and detestable to any girl of decent instincts,
no matter which way she looked at it, and yet it was a state of white
slavery which society fully condoned and ever approved. Hundreds of
virtuous girls thus sold themselves--to the highest bidder. The slums
had no monopoly of the white slave traffic; it flourished equally well
on fashionable Fifth Avenue, where its countless victims, for the
honor of the system, managed to conceal their tears from the world.
What did bridge-playing mothers care about their daughters' happiness
so long as they were able to procure for them rich men who could give
them fine houses, servants, and automobiles? It was all hideous and
ghastly, when viewed thus sanely, and Virginia shuddered as she
thought of it. To such degradation as this she would never sink. Never
would she marry a man whom she did not truly love. If it came to the
worst she would go as domestic servant or even starve rather than
surrender her self-respect.
Graduation day was almost at hand, but the dress was still unfinished.
There was considerable work yet to be done on it. The nearer came the
important event, the more nervous and exhausted Mrs. Blaine showed
herself. She had already had several fainting spells and on one
occasion the girls were so alarmed that they thought the end had come,
peacefully and suddenly. But the widow rallied and, in spite of her
daughter's protests, insisted on continuing with her work. Marvelling
at her determination, touched by this pathetic exhibition of maternal
devotion, Virginia would sit silently for hours, her eyes filled with
tears, watching the dear, tired fingers swiftly and skillfully plying
the needle.
One evening the little family was assembled in the stuffy parlor back
of the store. Mrs. Blaine, tired after a long day's toil, had sunk
back in her armchair, dozing. Her head had fallen forward on her
breast, a piece of hemming on her knee. In order not to disturb her,
the girls conversed in low tones. Virginia was reading, her favorite
occupation, while her elder sister, engaged perhaps more usefully, was
darning stockings.
Suddenly the front door bell rang. With an anxious glance at her
mother to make sure that the noise had not disturbed her, Fanny
tip-toed out of the room and presently returned, followed by James
Gillie. The shipping clerk entered clumsily, in his characteristic,
noisy style. Jocularly he cried out:
"Good evening, everybody!"
Virginia quickly held up a protesting finger, while Fanny exclaimed
angrily:
"Don't you see that mother's asleep?"
Throwing his hat and coat on a sofa, the newcomer sat down gingerly on
a chair. With a glance at the old lady, he demanded:
"What's she sleepin' here for? Why don't she go to bed?"
Virginia, always irritated by his _gaucheries,_ pretended not to
hear and went on with her book, but Fanny answered him. In a whisper
she said:
"She's tired out." Anxiously she, added: "I don't like the way she
looks to-day. I think it's the heart. I'll telephone the doctor
to-morrow--"
Jimmie gave a snort of disapproval.
"Pshaw! What's the good?" he exclaimed contemptuously. "Those doctors
can't do nothing; they're the worst kind of fakers. All they do is to
look wise, scribble on a bit of paper some words no one can read--not
even the druggist--and charge you a two-spot. It's to laugh!"
"Dr. Everett doesn't charge us anything--so you're wrong for once,"
interrupted Virginia, glad of the opportunity to give him a dig.
"I ain't talkin' about any particular doctor," went on the shipping
clerk, unabashed. "I'm agin all doctors. They're a bunch of crooks, I
tell you. It's you women with your imaginary ailments who keep 'em
going. If doctors had to depend on men for a living, they'd have to
take to shovelling snow."
"Hardly in summer time," said Virginia dryly.
"No," he retorted as quickly; "then they could run ice cream parlors."
Fanny, who had resumed darning her socks, smiled. She enjoyed these
little encounters between her sister and her fiancé. Virginia was no
mean antagonist when it came to an argument, but she was no match for
Jimmie. However, thinking the sparring had gone far enough, she
adroitly changed the conversation.
"Well, how's business to-day, Jim?"
"Oh, on the blink--as usual. Nothing doing; I'm sick of the whole
outfit. But say, girls--!"
"What?" exclaimed Fanny.
"You won't tell anyone if I tell you something?"
Virginia looked up from her book. Even she was interested.
"No," said Fanny, "we won't tell. What is it?"
Jimmie sat up and cleared his throat as if preparing to make some
highly important communication. Then, leaning forward, he said in an
impressive tone:
"I've got the greatest idea--"
"Really?" exclaimed Virginia sceptically.
Too full of egotism and self-importance to note her sarcasm, the young
man beamed with self-satisfaction as he proceeded enthusiastically:
"Greatest thing you ever heard of! There's millions in it. My name
will ring round the world. If only I can get the backing, my fortune
is made--"
Fanny's face flushed with pleasure as she bent eagerly forward to hear
every detail of this scheme which would some day make her a rich
woman. Even if the dream never came true, the mere hope that it might
was enough to give her a thrill. Virginia remained cold. She was more
cynical, having already heard many speeches of the same kind and from
the same quarter--all dealing with wonderful projects that invariably
met with a sudden death. This announcement of a new idea, therefore,
did not even make her look up.
Expanding his chest, Jimmie proceeded with dignity.
"This idea of mine will revolutionize railroad travel in this
country--do you know that? It will bring Chicago far nearer New York
than it is now. How? By cutting down the running time of the fastest
trains. When the railroad men hear of it--and see how simple it
is--they'll hail me as a public benefactor--"
"But what is it?" interrupted Fanny eagerly. "You haven't told us what
it is."
Beaming with self-importance, he tilted forward on his chair. Fanny,
tense with the excitement of suspense, strained her ears. Even
Virginia deigned to stop reading and pay attention. Clearing his
throat he began:
"You must first understand that the chief difficulty railroads meet
with in maintaining a fast schedule is the vexatious delays caused by
stops at way-stations. My idea does away with all stops. I eliminate
them entirely, and yet I pick up all the passengers who wish to travel
by that particular train--"
He stopped and looked at them as if he expected exclamations of wonder
and demands for further explanation. Virginia looked puzzled. Fanny,
quite excited, beamed with enthusiasm.
"How do you do it?" exclaimed the elder sister admiringly. Assuredly
she had made no mistake when she had selected so gifted a life
partner.
"Yes," demanded Virginia. "How do you pick them up?"
The young man laughed outright. Confidently he went on:
"Pick 'em up? It's so easy that I can't understand why no one ever
thought of it before. Did you ever see the way the fast expresses pick
up mail bags? Near the track there is an upright post, from which
extends an arm. On this arm is suspended the mail bag. The onrushing
train, which is travelling perhaps at a speed of a mile a minute, is
fitted on the outside with a sort of hook which catches the mail bag
and jerks it into the car. Well, that same idea can just as well be
applied to waiting passengers as to waiting mail bags. The passengers
would all be gathered together in a car which would wait on a siding
for the arrival of the express. By some mechanical
contrivance--exactly what it would be I haven't yet figured out--this
waiting car would be instantly switched on to the rapidly-moving
express--would become, so to speak, the rear car. The passengers would
go forward through the vestibule to take their seats in the train
proper and the emptied waiting car would then be unswitched and go
back to the station to begin the performance all over again--all this
while the train was going at top speed. Isn't that some idea? Isn't it
a dandy?"
Fanny was silent. Virginia, hardly able to control her merriment, took
up her book again. Jim was about to enter into further details when
suddenly there was a noise behind them. Fanny started up with a cry.
"Virginia! Look!" she exclaimed.
Mrs. Blaine had half fallen out of her chair. In her sleep she had
lost her balance and slipped down sideways. With the clerk's
assistance the two girls sat her up again. Apparently she was not
hurt, but her eyes were closed. She was strangely silent, and her
hands were very cold. When they laid her head gently back on the back
of the armchair they noticed that she was very white.
"She's fainted!" cried Fanny excitedly.
Virginia, greatly alarmed, exclaimed anxiously:
"Mother, dear, what's the matter? Speak to me."
Still no answer. The girls, now thoroughly frightened, ran for
restoratives. Virginia poured out some brandy. Even Jimmie was
frightened out of his usual levity and self-possession. Quickly taking
her hand, which hung over the chair limp and lifeless, he put his
finger on her pulse.
"Please telephone for the doctor, Jim!" cried Virginia, distracted,
almost in tears.
The young man looked at both girls, his face serious and white. For
once he controlled the situation. Soberly he said:
"It's too late."