I
Mrs. Durland, no doubt to show her sympathetic interest in her
daughters’ labors, asked innumerable questions every evening when the
family gathered at the supper table. As Ethel’s experiences were much
less interesting than Grace’s, the burden of these conversations fell
largely upon Grace. Whenever Grace mentioned some customer her mother
or Ethel knew or knew about, that person was subjected to the most
searching analysis. It was incredible that they could be so interested
in people of whom they knew only from reading of their social
activities in the newspapers.
Ethel’s preoccupations with her church and philanthropic affairs took
her away several evenings in the week, and at such times Grace played
checkers or sniff with her father while Mrs. Durland read or sewed.
The fact that Grace’s earnings averaged higher than Ethel’s made it
necessary for Mrs. Durland to soothe any feeling the older daughter
manifested as to this disparity.
Grace found no joy in Ethel. Ethel hinted constantly that her work in
Gregg and Burley’s office placed her in a class much above that of a
salesgirl. She had brought to perfection a kind of cloying sweetness in
her attitude toward the other members of the family which Grace found
hard to bear. Ethel was at pains to remind her father from time to time
that it was due to his lack of foresight and initiative that she had
been obliged to become a wage-earner. Her remarks expressed something
of the solicitude a mother might manifest toward a slightly deficient
child. The effect of this upon Grace was to deepen her affection and
sympathy for her father. Several times she persuaded him to go down
town with her to a big motion picture house where there was good music.
He enjoyed the pictures, laughing heartily at the comics; and laughter
had been the rarest of luxuries in Stephen Durland’s life. Mrs. Durland
refused to accompany them; all the pictures she had ever seen had been
vulgar and she was on a committee of the State Federation to go before
the legislature and demand a more rigid censorship.
Grace’s announcement that, on evenings when she went to the French
class she had entered with Irene, she would stay down town for supper
did not pass unchallenged at the supper table, which she had begun to
dread for its cheerlessness and the opportunity it afforded her mother
and sister to express their dire forebodings as to the future of the
human race. One evening after listening to a reiteration of their
predictions of calamity Grace broke the silence in which she usually
listened to these discussions.
“I don’t know where you get these ideas, Ethel. You must be unfortunate
in your acquaintances if you’re talking from your own knowledge.”
Mrs. Durland rallied at once to Ethel’s support.
“Now, Grace, you know Ethel is older and views everything much more
soberly than you do. You know she’s in touch with all these agencies
that are trying to protect the young from the evils of a growing city.”
“Just what evils?” Grace demanded.
“There are some things,” said Ethel impressively, “that it’s better not
to talk about.”
“That’s always the way!” Grace flared. “You’re always insinuating that
the world’s going to the devil but you never say just how. I know
perfectly well what you’re driving at. You think because I work in a
department store I can’t be as good as you are! I’ll tell you right now
that the girls I know in Shipley’s are just as good as any girls in
town--perfectly splendid hard-working girls. And one other thing I can
tell you, they don’t spend their time sneering at everybody else. I’d
rather be the worst sinner in creation than so pure I couldn’t see a
little good in other people.”
“Please, Grace!” Mrs. Durland pleaded. “You’re unreasonable. No one was
saying anything about you or any other girl in Shipley’s.”
“Oh, Ethel doesn’t have to say it straight out! I’m not so stupid!
Every time she takes that sanctified air she’s preaching at me. I don’t
pretend to be an angel but I’m tired of hearing how wicked everybody
is. I don’t dare ask any of the girls I work with to the house; you
think they’re all rotten.”
“I don’t think they’re all bad, and I’ve never said such a thing,”
Ethel declared, “But I _have_ said that Irene Kirby is not the type of
girl I’d deliberately choose to be my sister’s most intimate friend,
and I say it again.”
“Now, Ethel, you girls mustn’t hurt each other’s feelings! If you must
quarrel please don’t do it before your father and me.”
This consideration for her father’s feelings was so unusual that
Grace laughed. Durland had been twisting uneasily in his chair.
His sympathies were wholly with Grace. Ethel’s indirect method of
criticizing her younger sister enraged him, and in this particular
instance he was secretly pleased that Grace was striking back. He
glanced about the table, cleared his throat and asked in his mild tone
for a second cup of coffee.
“I hardly know Irene Kirby,” said Ethel, “but I have heard some things
about her I hate to hear about _any_ girl.”
“Such as what? Tell me just what you’ve heard,” said Grace, sharply.
“Well, if you _insist_,” replied Ethel, with affected reluctance,
“she’s keeping company with a married man. It’s been going on for some
time. They were seen together last Sunday night, quite late, driving
into town. Suppose you ask Irene where she was last Sunday.”
“What’s the man’s name?” Grace demanded.
“Oh, I needn’t mention his name! You ask Irene to tell you. A girl
friend of mine who used to work in his office saw them.”
“I don’t believe a word of it,” said Grace. “You or I or any other girl
might be seen driving with a married man without there being anything
wicked about it.”
“Well, you asked me and I told you,” returned Ethel complacently. “It’s
not a new story. I knew it when I tried to persuade you not to go into
Shipley’s, but I thought I wouldn’t tell you why I thought it best for
you to keep away from Irene.”
“Irene has been fine to me,” said Grace quickly; “she’s one of the
nicest and one of the most intelligent girls I ever knew. I think it
poor business for a girl like you, who pretends to be a Christian, to
listen to scandalous stories about some one you hardly know. I’ll say
for Irene that I never heard her speak an unkind word of any one. Every
day she does a lot of little kindnesses for people and she doesn’t
strut around about it either.”
“I don’t question that you believe all that, Grace,” remarked Mrs.
Durland as she served the rice pudding that was the regular dessert for
Thursday evening. “But you know Ethel is very careful what she says
about _every_ one.”
“Yes, I’ve noticed that,” said Grace coldly.
Durland had eaten his pudding and was stolidly slipping his napkin into
its ring. The better course might be to follow his example. Silence,
Grace reflected, offered the surest refuge from family bickering. She
saw the years stretching on endlessly, with her work-day followed by
evenings of discord in the cheerless home circle. The prospect was not
heartening. It was two against two, and her father was only passively
an ally. When Roy came home he would be pretty sure to align himself
with his mother and Ethel, in keeping with his general policy of taking
the easier and more comfortable way in everything. It flashed through
her mind that she might leave home and take a room somewhere or join
with two or three girls and rent an apartment. But her parents needed
her help. She knew that her father was wholly unlikely to assist
materially with the household expenses. Ethel had not demurred when
she volunteered to contribute in ratio to her earnings, which made her
share at least a third more each week than Ethel’s.