This was ordinary rain. From a sullen sky it came driving down like a
sheet of fine wires, digging into the sodden ground, dashing on the
roof, beating down the tiny new leaves on the trees, riddling the muddy
water of the now hurrying river. This was the worst of three rainy days,
and the house on Sloan Street was in a sad state. There was water in the
cellar, there were spots of mold on the walls, and everywhere there was
a most miserable, dank, bleak chill, which even these two resolutely
cheerful women could not ignore. They did not appear to relish their
breakfast.
“I--” began Mrs. Journay, and, for the first time since Lynn had known
her, she visibly hesitated. “If you can look after the shop alone,” she
said, “I’d like to--to--attend to some business.”
Now, if she had not been so intent upon her own duplicity, Mrs. Journay
would have observed that Lynn’s conduct was unusual. The girl showed no
surprise at her aunt’s singular decision to go out in such weather. On
the contrary, she seemed relieved and pleased.
“I don’t mind at all,” she replied. “Not a bit! I--not a bit!”
So Mrs. Journay put on an old raincoat with capes, and a hat that was
good enough for the rain, and her overshoes, and set off.
Lynn, watching that erect and imposing figure tramping through the mud
of Sloan Street, took out a handkerchief and cried into it for a good
ten minutes. She planned treachery that day. She had made a secret
appointment with a wholesaler who would, she hoped, buy all those boxes
for a lump sum, and thus put an end to some of their financial
difficulties--and also to the shop.
Fortunate that she did not suspect her aunt’s errand! Even Mrs. Journay,
with her unconquerable spirit, was very, very unhappy that morning.
“But,” she said to herself, “there wouldn’t have been enough to pay that
man his rent on the 1st of next month, and that I could _not_ bear!”
She, too, had renounced the shop, and intended to tell Lynn so in the
evening.
In the meantime, on she pressed. The mud was slippery, the rain
disconcerted her by beating in her face, and her shoes were even more
uncomfortable when worn with rubbers. What was worse, her way lay
uphill, and up a mighty steep hill at that, and she had a heavy heart to
carry with her. She turned her ankle rather painfully, the top button
burst off her raincoat--she breathed so hard--and the rain ran down her
neck. Still, as was her admirable way, she reached her goal. At last she
stood upon the summit of the hill, and though to be sure she did not cry
“Excelsior!” she felt a little like that.
She turned for a last glance behind her. There lay Sloan Street far
below, and No. 93 was plainly visible in every detail. She sighed
sternly, faced her destiny again, and turned in at the gate of a fine
stone house before her. She rang the bell.
“Mrs. Aldrich?” said she to the maid, and presented her card.
She was asked to step into the music room, but would not. She was too
wet. She would stand in the hall; and there Mrs. Aldrich found her when
she descended.
Now Mrs. Aldrich, when she saw that card, had meant to treat Mrs.
Journay as Mrs. Journay had treated her; but it was impossible. In the
first place, Mrs. Aldrich was not capable of a majestic manner. She was
peppery and sharp, sometimes, but never hoity-toity. In the second
place, the caller looked so forlorn and tired and wet that all her
rancor vanished. She held out her hand with a smile and a friendly
greeting.
“Pardon me,” replied Mrs. Journay, in the most frigid tone she had ever
used. “I fear you mistake my purpose. I have come”--here she opened her
purse and took out a bit torn from a newspaper--“I have come to apply
for this position as cook.”
“Oh!” cried Mrs. Aldrich.
“If the position is not filled, I believe I have at least some of the
qualifications you desire. I understand cookery in all its branches. I
am honest, clean, and strictly sober.”
This was awful! This was intolerable!
“Oh, but, my dear Mrs. Journay!” cried Mrs. Aldrich, immeasurably
distressed. “I--don’t you see? I can’t! Let’s sit down and--”
“Thank you,” interrupted the other. “Then I must apply to the next place
on my list.”
“Oh, dear!” said Mrs. Aldrich, for she could not endure the thought of
Mrs. Journay going out into the rain again, and tramping about, looking
for a position as cook. She could not endure to see this magnificent
creature so humbled. “Can’t--something else be done?” she asked.
“Thank you, it cannot.”
“Then,” said Mrs. Aldrich, “if you really feel that you must, then
please stay here with me.”
“Thank you. I shall ask you to allow me to use the telephone for the
purpose of sending a message to my niece. May I safely say that I shall
return to her at ten o’clock this evening?”
“Oh, much earlier! Whenever you like!”
“Pardon me,” said Mrs. Journay, “but I believe I understand the
requirements of such a position.”