A SURPRISE
Betty Browning waited until she and her father were seated at dinner
that night before she told of the electrician’s important disclosures
concerning the defective wiring of Martin and Hull’s place.
Mr. Browning was greatly interested and promised Betty that he would
set an investigation afoot at once to discover whether there was any
truth in Mr. Shiff’s assertions.
“First of all, we’ll get a signed statement from this electrician.
Then with that we’ll confront Mr. Hull and ask him to confirm it. If
he will and if we can also find some one else who will testify that
the wiring was defective or can even testify that he heard Shiff say
as much previous to the blaze, we’ll have gone a long way toward
clearing Billy Dobson’s name. Jane will be glad,” he finished. “She
has always championed Billy.”
“I know.” Betty played with a spoon and did not look toward her
father. “And that brings me to something else I want to say, dad. I’d
just a little rather Jane didn’t know until--until we’ve got it all
fixed up.”
Mr. Browning regarded his daughter’s pretty profile thoughtfully a
moment. Then he put his hand understandingly over the hand that still
played restlessly with the spoon.
“A surprise? All right, honey; that’s an easy promise.”
Several days later--when Jane’s surprise was almost ready for
her--Jane herself received a shock that sent her little world
crashing about her ears.
It happened one day when she was out collecting rents from the
tenement dwellers on the farther side of the railroad tracks.
There was a new family in 18 Blecker Street, so Mr. Browning had told
her. Jane was to collect the first month’s rent from them that day
and in addition had been commissioned to look them over and report as
to their general character, reliableness, etc. Mr. Browning had long
ago found that Jane’s judgment in such matters was almost infallible.
If Jane found any one trustworthy in her estimation, Mr. Browning
regarded her recommendation more highly than the best references.
References he must have, of course, but Jane’s intuition, in her
employer’s opinion, was even more to be trusted.
So Jane toiled up the steps of the tenement house at 18 Blecker
Street, and with a feeling of curiosity rang the bell of Apartment 18.
A thin, dark-haired woman came to the door and regarded the girl with
suspicion. Jane was used to this. She supposed most rent collectors
had to be. She did not allow it to affect her friendly attitude nor
the pleasant way she stated her errand.
She was conscious that the woman was regarding her very intently, but
at that was scarcely prepared for the latter’s next statement, or
rather question.
“You’re the girl who used to live with Mrs. Cross, ain’t you?”
Jane was startled by the abrupt change of subject, but she said,
still pleasantly:
“I am Mrs. Cross’s daughter, yes.”
“Her daughter!” blurted the woman. “Why, she never had no daughter!”
“Never had a daughter!” Jane cried, anger mingling with her
astonishment. “What are you talking about? _I_ am her daughter!”
The woman appeared to be one of those little souls who delight in
creating a sensation, no matter who may be wounded or hurt during the
process.
“Me and my husband came to Coal Run about the same time as Mrs. Cross
and her man,” the woman continued, while Jane stood staring at her
in a daze. “But before that we lived in Walling--you mind that’s not
more than twenty miles from Coal Run. The Crosses lived there too,
and one day when the orphan asylum burned they adopted a little girl
who had been brought to the asylum when she was a baby.”
“A little girl,” said Jane dazedly. “And that little girl
was--was----”
“You,” said the woman, with a sharp laugh. “They called you Janet at
the asylum, but seems like that struck Mrs. Cross too fancy-like, so
she changed it to Jane.”
Since she had not given her name to this woman the fact that the
latter knew it seemed a sort of confirmation of her incredible story.
Jane felt numbed, and yet her brain was acting with extraordinary
clearness.
“If this thing is true,” she said slowly, “how is it that I don’t
recognize you?”
“We didn’t live in Coal Run long,” said the woman, with a shrug of
her shoulders. “Probably you was so little when we moved away that
you couldn’t remember us. Well, might as well get down to business. I
suppose you’ve got to have the rent?”
“Yes,” said Jane, speaking automatically, “I’ve got to have the rent.”
But after the woman had given her the money--her name was
Hensel--Jane collected no more rents that day.
She went straight home and walked in suddenly upon Mrs. Powell, who
was working in the kitchen.
The latter looked at Jane’s white, stricken face and dried her hands.
“My dear child! What is it?”
Jane dropped into one of the straight kitchen chairs and looked at
this kind friend, the friend that had tried to take a mother’s place
to her--a mother’s place----
“Aunt Lou! Aunt Lou!” she cried, her lips quivering, “who is my
mother?”
Mrs. Powell paused and looked strangely at Jane. Then with a cry she
sank to her knees and gathered the white-faced girl into her arms.
“Oh, my poor child! You’ve found out then----”
Jane pushed Mrs. Powell gently away from her and held her at arm’s
length for a moment. Her brown eyes were oddly still as they met the
pitying gaze of the older woman.
“It’s true then?” she said slowly. “I was--taken from an orphan
asylum by the one I thought was--my mother? My name--is not--Jane
Cross, at all?”
“I’m afraid not, Jane.” Mrs. Powell was abashed by the girl’s
quietness, by the intentness of her look. “Mrs. Cross took you from
an asylum in Walling when you were a small child. If she had lived
you might never have found out the truth.”
“When did you find this out?” asked Jane in the same quiet voice.
“Just a short time ago, Jane.” Mrs. Powell’s tone had become
pleading. She was more alarmed by the quietness of Jane’s manner than
she would have been by the most hysterical outburst of tears. “It was
when I found the material for your serge dress.”
“As long ago as that!” said Jane softly. “And you never told me?”
“I didn’t dare, Jane,” pleaded Mrs. Powell. “I was afraid it would
break your heart. You are not angry with me for keeping the secret
from you, Jane?”
“No--oh, no!” In the same dazed way, Jane pushed Mrs. Powell gently
from her, got up, and walked over to the window. “How could I be
angry with you, who have been so good to me always? No, no, I’m not
angry.”
But when Mrs. Powell would have gone to her to take her in her arms
again and try to comfort her, Jane raised her hand in a weary little
gesture.
“Please,” she said very softly, “I want to be alone for a little
while, dear Aunt Lou. You don’t mind?”
Jane went toward the door, hand outstretched before her as though she
could not see.
Mrs. Powell watched her pityingly and heard her murmur just before
she crossed the threshold, “Mother! Who--was--my mother?”
Jane did not cry that day or the next while she went mechanically
about the business of collecting rents--the business she had
neglected the day before. She could not cry, but something within her
that had been bright and warm and laughter-loving had frozen into a
cold aching indifference to everything but her pain.
Because she was out of the office almost all the next day, Betty
had no chance to spring the “surprise” upon her that had been so
carefully prepared by her father and herself with the invaluable help
of Martin Shiff and several friends of the latter. These friends were
ready to swear at a moment’s notice that Shiff had made in their
presence much the same statement concerning the faulty wiring of
Martin and Hull’s that Mrs. Shiff had made to Betty.
Betty had been impatiently awaiting Jane’s arrival all afternoon, and
when the latter came at last, almost at closing time, Betty turned
eagerly toward the sound of the opening door.
“Oh, I’m so glad you came!” she cried, advancing eagerly toward Jane.
“I’ve got a surprise for you, Jane, a marvelous surprise!”
Jane regarded the vision of Betty’s flushed cheeks and dancing eyes
wonderingly. Betty had never approached her in this way before. Jane
took off her hat and coat and turned a wan, listless face to the
pretty girl.
“That’s nice,” she said, trying to smile. “What is it?”
Betty bore her triumphantly to the desk and picked up the paper that
had been written and signed by Martin Shiff, the electrician.
“Read that!” she said, thrusting the paper into Jane’s hand. “Read
that and tell me what you think of it!”
Jane read the paper at first indifferently and then with growing
interest.
“Why,” she said, looking up at Betty, who pressed laughingly close to
her shoulder, “this man seems to think it was defective wiring that
caused the Martin and Hull fire!”
Betty nodded.
“And what’s more, we’ve found lots of others who think so, Jane--now
that this electrician has had the courage to come out into the open
and declare himself. Even Mr. Hull admits that Shiff urged him time
and again to have his place newly wired!”
“Why, then,” said Jane, a thrill in her voice, “this thing
practically clears Billy----”
“Practically clears Billy! Hear the girl!” cried Betty gayly. “Why,
it clears Billy altogether! By this time next week I’m willing to
wager that not a person in town will believe that silly accusation
old Hull made against him!”
Jane had been reading the paper again. Now she glanced up at Betty.
“This was your surprise for me?” she asked slowly. “You did this for
me--because you knew it would please me?”
“Dad and I did--with the able assistance of this electrician person.
Why, Jane, I believe you’re crying!”
Jane got up quickly and walked over to her desk, where she stood with
her back to Betty, struggling with herself.
Betty hesitated a minute, then went over to the other girl and took
her cold hand within her own warm one.
“Jane--I--I believe there was something wrong when you came in just
now.” She hesitated, but a warm rush of pity urged her on. “Something
dreadful has happened to you, Jane, to make you look like that.
I--I know you--have reasons for not caring to confide in me. I’m
ashamed of the way I’ve acted sometimes. But, Jane, if--if you feel
like--letting me--help a little--I want to, really.”
“How would you like to find out suddenly that you had no mother?”
Jane’s fingers suddenly curled about Betty’s hand in a way that
hurt. Her voice was harsh with pain. “How would you like to find
out that the person you had loved as your mother, the person you
had mourned as your mother after her death, was not your mother at
all, but some one who, out of pity, had taken you from an orphan
asylum and brought you up in ignorance of the truth? How would you
like to feel,” Jane’s voice broke, but her grip on Betty’s hand did
not relax, “that--that you had never known your mother--or your
father----”
“Jane, dear!” pleaded Betty, but Jane rushed on, unheeding.
“To feel that you did not even know your right name--that--that you
had no real place in the world? Just an orphan, picked up out of an
asylum--no--no good to any one----”
“Why, Jane, do you know what I think?”
Betty at last broke through the rush of words and put her arm tight
about the trembling girl. Jane’s eyes were downcast and she traced
strange designs on the top of her desk with her finger.
“I think,” said Betty in a curiously sweet voice, “that there are
lots of people who know all about themselves--their names and
everything--that aren’t half the use in the world that you are, Jane.
Why, just look at me!” with a quiver of laughter that was half a
sob in her voice. “See what you’ve done to me, Jane! You’ve made me
see that the people who are really worth while are the people who
do things and don’t just sit around and watch other people do them.
You go around making life bright for people until they just can’t do
without you. Yes, you do! I’ve watched you, and I know! Dad’s one.
Billy’s another. And I--I’m another, Jane! If I had a sister I’d want
her just like you. Now, look here--this silly girl’s crying again.
Where _did_ I put that hanky!”