PHYLLIS AND BARBARA ENTER THE LISTS
Aunt Henrietta always stayed until November in her cottage near
Marblehead. She said that she never enjoyed the ocean until she was
alone with it, and Jessamy suggested afterward that it was a trifle
hard on the ocean--a severe remark for Jessamy, whose genuinely high
standards of good breeding forbade unkind comment on others--even on
Aunt Henrietta, though she was trying.
Immediately on her return to town, Mrs. Hewlett came to look up "her
fallen kindred," as Barbara said. That young lady went down to the
parlor to conduct her great-aunt to her mother. "It would make a lovely
title for a Sunday-school book, wouldn't it?" she said, turning from
the glass, where she had been inspecting the last faint trace of the
mishap to her nose. "'Little Barbara's Upward Leading,' or 'Toward the
Skies,' or 'Helped Upward,' or 'Mounting Heavenward,' or even simply
'Uplifted.'"
"Barbara, I am ashamed of you!" said her mother, as severely as she
could, while trying not to laugh.
"Now, Bab, do be nice," pleaded Jessamy.
"Nice! I'd like to know what could be nicer than to plan moral little
titles like those?" said Bab, in an injured tone. "But don't worry;
I'll be a sweet morsel when I get down there."
"You look thinner," said Aunt Henrietta, when Barbara had delicately
touched the unresponsive cheek offered her to kiss.
"I _am_ thinner, aunt; we're none of us waxing fleshy. Black Sally's
marketing and cooking seemed rather more comforting than our present
fare," said Bab.
"H'm! Where under heavens are your rooms?" asked Mrs. Hewlett.
"Just there, Aunt Henrietta. Right under heavens--on the top floor,"
laughed Barbara.
"Do you mean to say you have taken your delicate mother up all those
flights?" demanded her great-aunt. "You ought to be ashamed of
yourselves."
"What could we do, aunt?" asked Barbara, meekly, though her cheeks grew
very red. "We were not able to make any boarding-house keeper give us
better rooms at our price for mama's sake."
"Do? You ought to be earning money--three great healthy girls--and
Phyllis only a niece-in-law of your mother's into the bargain! I came
to talk to you about this," said Mrs. Hewlett.
"Please wait till we get up-stairs; I fancy there are always ears
about here," said Bab, and led the way to their own quarters.
"'Excelsior!' is our motto, aunt," she said, pausing at the head of the
second flight, and finding malicious pleasure in her relative's labored
breathing.
"Well, Emily, the consequences of your imprudence are severe. I am
sorry to find you thus; you don't look well," was Aunt Henrietta's
greeting to Mrs. Wyndham. "Now, I want to get down to business without
delay," she added, removing her splendid furs. "I suppose you are using
your principal?"
"On the contrary, our living, such as it is, comes well within the
limits of our income," replied Mrs. Wyndham.
"Really!" exclaimed Mrs. Hewlett, disappointed of the chance to find
fault on that score, but swiftly rallying to another point of attack.
"Then it is because you are living so wretchedly in order to keep these
girls fine ladies. You always spoiled them, Emily; but your weakness
really should have some limit. It is outrageous for you to be compelled
to climb all these stairs, that a slender income may support four
people. These girls should be a source of income, not a drain upon you;
you can't be poor and be fine ladies at the same time."
"We hope that we can be, aunt," said Jessamy; "but you are quite
mistaken if you think we wish to spare ourselves at mother's expense."
Only Mrs. Wyndham's hand holding Bab's wrist tight kept that small
torpedo from exploding. "This question has been discussed among us,
aunt, especially lately," said Mrs. Wyndham, quietly, though her voice
trembled. "Jessamy has clearly determined her course; she has talent,
and we all think can do good book illustrations. She is going to fit
herself for her work, and we hope will be successful. From the first
Jessamy has declared that she should prepare herself to do something
well, and devote herself to one vocation."
"Jessamy has sense," said Aunt Henrietta, surveying the girl with
something like approbation. "She is so pretty that she will undoubtedly
marry before she follows any business long. I only hope that she will
remember your necessities, and marry well."
"If by 'well' you mean a good man, whom she loves, I hope so too,
Aunt Henrietta," said Mrs. Wyndham, with heightened color. "Bitter as
our recent trouble has been, it would be unbearable if I thought it
would lead one of my girls to sell herself, forgetful of self-respect,
goodness, and true womanliness. Thank heaven, I believe there is no
danger of what I should feel was a great crime."
"Sentimentality! You never were practical, Emily," said Aunt Henrietta,
impatiently, but too intent on her object to quarrel. "Now, how about
Phyllis and Barbara!"
"I agree with Aunt Henrietta that I, at least, ought to be earning
money," said Phyllis.
"Not you any more than me, Phyl," cried Barbara, with more warmth than
correctness.
"Well, I cut out an advertisement from the morning paper for one of
you to answer," said Aunt Henrietta, producing a clipping. "I want to
help you get started. Barbara, you might try this; it would probably be
easy employment, and you are too flighty for most things."
"Thanks, aunt," said Bab, with double intent, and read aloud: "'Wanted:
A young lady correspondence clerk in gentleman's office. Good salary to
right person. Address X. Y. Z. Trumpet, Downtown Office.'"
"That sounds rather nice," commented Barbara, spearing the slip to the
pin-cushion with a hat-pin. "I will answer it, Aunt Henrietta."
"If you write now, I'll post it when I go out," suggested Mrs. Hewlett.
"Afraid to trust me? I always do what I say I will, but I would as lief
write now as any time," said Bab, and seated herself at the table.
"How is this?" she asked later, and read: "'The inclosed advertisement
from "The Trumpet" noted. The undersigned applicant for the situation
would say that she is seventeen years old. This note is a specimen of
her handwriting; and for character, ability, personal qualities, etc.,
she can furnish best city references. An interview requested. Address,'
etc. Will that do? I'm not so sure about the reference for ability, but
I hope some one would guarantee my honesty."
"Mercy, Bab! where did you learn such business-like forms?" cried
Jessamy.
"Oh, but fancy my little Bab--my baby--going down to business every
day! There is no doubt that it is a misfortune for women to be forced
to compete with men; I never could let little Babbie do it," cried poor
Mrs. Wyndham.
"I promise not to compete, Madrina; the men shall go on as if
nothing--as if I, at any rate--had never happened. It can't do any harm
to send in my application," said Bab.
"There is just where your foolish pride comes in, Emily," said Aunt
Henrietta, sternly. "Your daughters are no better than other people's
daughters; and every one knows that if a girl behaves herself no harm
can befall her under any circumstances."
"It is not pride," said Mrs. Wyndham, stung to self-defense. "Nor do
I fear harm, exactly. Unwomenly women are a misfortune to themselves
and all the community, and it is impossible to knock about the world
without losing something of that dear and delicate loveliness which, at
best, is fast going out of fashion. If it can be avoided, I think no
girl should be placed in the thick of the fight, striding through the
world in fierce competition with men."
"If it can be avoided--precisely; but it cannot be avoided," said Aunt
Henrietta, calmly; "for none of your relatives can afford to help you,
Emily."
"Help? When did I ever dream of wanting or being willing to accept
help, aunt?" cried Mrs. Wyndham, hysterically. "But if I prefer to
practise stern self-denial to keep my girls sheltered until such time
as they can help me in more feminine ways than you propose--or
would let them follow if they were your own, I feel sure--is that
wrong?"
[Illustration: AUNT HENRIETTA.]
"Not wrong," said Aunt Henrietta, with exasperating soothing in her
voice, and entire conviction of being right, "but utterly foolish
and impractical. Now, I have a proposition for Phyllis. A friend--an
acquaintance of mine--desires a nursery governess. She has three
charming children, and will pay a girl twenty-five dollars a month to
teach them the simple things children between six and three years of
age learn, take them out--in short, be, as I said, nursery governess;
you know what those duties are as well as I do. There is no exposure to
the world in that position, so you ought to like it, Emily."
"Could I go and come every day, aunt?" asked Phyllis, while Mrs.
Wyndham twisted her handkerchief nervously. This was bringing poverty
home to her; she clung strongly, poor lady, to the hope of sheltering
her little brood, and no amount of privation at home seemed to her like
thrusting the burden on them, as did their going out into the world to
earn their living.
"She would want you to," said Aunt Henrietta, rising, well pleased
at finding her grand-nieces so amenable to reason--"amenable to
reason" meaning, to her mind, as to most others, readiness to accept
her opinion. "I wrote this introductory line on the back of my
visiting-card. You will find Mrs. Haines at that number on East Forty
---- Street, just beyond Fifth Avenue. You will do well to apply at
once, for there will be many after the situation."
"You won't mind if Phyllis mentions that she is your niece, in case she
does decide to apply?" inquired Jessamy, with meaning hidden under a
gentle manner.
But the satire was quite lost on Aunt Henrietta. "Not at all; you are
only my grand-nieces, and my social position is beyond being affected
by trifles," she said, in self-gratulatory tones. Then she went away,
leaving a perturbed roomful behind her.
"Now, let me tell you, my dearest auntie-mother, that I think I'll
try the nursery governess," said Phyllis. "Twenty-five dollars a
month will nearly pay my board, and I'd be happier to feel I were
helping. It won't be the end of my career, I hope, but it will answer
for a beginning. I honestly think our beloved metallic great-aunt is
right--that we ought to be bettering matters, rather than settle down
satisfied to such a life as this. Jessamy and I have reached that
conclusion lately."
Mrs. Wyndham was crying softly. "To think that if I had heeded Mr. Hurd
we should still have enough," she moaned.
"If--if! Mama, what is the use of 'ifs' now?" cried Barbara. "You
did what you thought right, and we can't bear to have you reproach
yourself. My letter has gone, and we will try to enter the lists to
fight for you like true knights--pity we're girls, for it spoils my
fine simile."
"I think not, Babbie baby; a knightly spirit is quite as often in a
girl's breast as in a boy's," said her mother, kissing her.
"The worst of it is that I feel so mean and selfish to let you all
help, while I stay at home," said Jessamy. "But I honestly believe
I can do more and help better by waiting and following my natural
bent. You won't think me shirking? When even little Bab is answering
advertisements, I feel horribly indolent and self-seeking."
"'Even little Bab'--who is anything but even--is only a year younger
than you, miss," said Bab; while Phyllis put her arms around Jessamy
and kissed her as she said: "No one could ever suspect you of not
playing fair, my crystal cousin."
Phyllis went forth in her dark-blue gown the next day to "secure the
young ideas which in the end she would probably want to shoot," Bab
said.
Mrs. Haines was at home, and came down immediately. Phyllis presented
her card of introduction, and stated her errand.
"It seems absurd to inquire into the qualifications of a Miss Wyndham
to teach children as young as mine are--but do you understand
kindergarten methods?" Mrs. Haines asked affably.
"I am sorry, but I do not," said Phyllis.
"No; you would hardly have studied them, not having foreseen the
necessity of teaching. The books can give you suggestions, and you can
easily pick up those charming song-games. You sing?"
"A little; enough for that," said Phyllis.
"And speak French?"
"As well as English," said Phyllis, glad to answer one inquiry
affirmatively.
"Oh, then I should be glad if you would speak it with the children,"
exclaimed Mrs. Haines. "Fancy having a daughter of Mr. Henry Wyndham
for one's nursery governess! What a land of reverses America is!
Frankly, I made up my mind to take you the moment you came."
The vulgarity of this remark struck Phyllis dumb for a moment. Never
in her life had she felt that the money standard existed. In her home
she had been surrounded by luxury, but never before had she imagined
that any one could estimate a person by what he had, or desire to know
those who had wealth, merely for that reason. In a flash, the vision of
a world of shams, snobbishness, insincerity, spread before her, calling
forth the fierce revolt, the sickening repulsion, proper and natural to
her youth and better teaching.
"I am not Mr. Henry Wyndham's daughter," she said; "I am his brother's
daughter, but I have lived with my uncle since I was almost a baby,
and neither of my cousins feels any difference between me and her own
sister."
"Oh, but there _is_ a difference; your uncle and aunt must have felt
it, if the children did not, or if they were too kind to let you see
it. They were very nice to look after you. Are you the only one who
is going to work, now that the money is gone? Why did not one of
the others come?" asked Mrs. Haines, with evident disappointment,
wrinkling her pretty, if rather common, face fretfully.
"Miss Wyndham and Miss Barbara Wyndham have other plans," said Phyllis,
haughtily. Then, realizing that she was actually the applicant for
a position, and that this tone would never do, she added, with the
intention of influencing the shallow creature before her, though she
despised herself for appealing to such motives: "I doubt very much if
the world knows which is niece and which are daughters. We have always
been to every one merely 'the Wyndham girls,' with no distinction to
outsiders any more than among ourselves."
"How lovely! Of course it makes no real difference; you must come to
me, just the same," said Mrs. Haines, brightening. "Would you like to
see the children and the nursery? All mothers _think_ their babies
sweetest, but I _know_ that mine are." And she led the way up-stairs.
Poor Phyllis! Her heart melted somewhat toward her future employer at
this remark, but when she reached the nursery even her innocence could
hardly help discovering that this too was a pose. No mother-light
leaped into Mrs. Haines's eyes at the sight of the three little
creatures playing there, nor did the children spring to meet her, as
the three little Wyndhams had always sprung at the sight of their
mother--mother to them all equally, in spite of Mrs. Haines's doubt.
Phyllis loved children, and her quick perception of the lack in the
lives of these filled her with pity. She stooped down to them, and ran
her fingers through the curls of the second child, a girl of four, and
drew the baby, another girl of three, toward her. The eldest, a pale
boy of six, gazed at her steadily. "Who are you?" then he said.
"This is Miss Wyndham, and she is coming to teach you and play with you
every day," said his mother.
"Oh, wouldn't it be better for them to call me Miss Phyllis? It sounds
less distant, and I want them to love me. You will love me, won't you?"
said Phyllis.
"Don't touch my hair; you'll spoil it!" said the elder girl; but the
baby laughed and cuddled closer, and the boy said gravely: "I think I
shall, because you've got such a lamp behind your eyes."
"Decidedly, one of my charges is going to prove interesting," thought
Phyllis; but she only said: "Won't you tell me your name, and your
sisters'?"
"Mine is Lionel Ferdinand Haines. What would you do if the boys up in
the park called you 'Nellie' Because you wore curls? My mother won't
cut them off."
"Then I should laugh at the boys for trying to tease me when I didn't
care what they said; and I should try to like curls because my mother
liked them," said Phyllis. "And the girls' names?"
"The big one is Muriel Dorothy Haines, and the littlest one is Gladys
Gertrude Haines," said Master Lionel, and was about to propound another
question when his mother interrupted him to say that she must take
Phyllis away, because she had an engagement.
"Shall I consider the matter settled, Miss Wyndham, and that you are
coming?" she asked.
"Yes, please," said Phyllis.
"And at twenty-five dollars a month? Mrs. Hewlett mentioned the wages,
I suppose?"
"Yes--please," said Phyllis again, forcing the last word, as she kissed
the baby.
Lionel extended his hand to be shaken, but Muriel said "Good-by"
crossly, refusing to be touched.
"I am engaged, girls," said Phyllis, coming into the room with very red
cheeks on her return, and maintaining silence as to the discouraging
aspects of her new employment.
Phyllis began her labors on the following Monday. Barbara, who had
heard nothing further from her application for the correspondence
clerkship, now turned to Mr. Hurd for help, and the little lawyer
obtained for her the position of cashier with a friend of his own,
where the young girl would at least be secure from many of the
drawbacks to a business career which her mother dreaded for her.
But, to Bab's unspeakable mortification, she found that she was
incompetent to fill the position. She made change slowly, often
wrongly, and at night her columns would not add up right, no matter
how often she went over them nor how carefully she counted her
fingers. At the end of a week she came home crestfallen, having been
kindly dismissed, to be comforted and petted by her mother and the
girls. Accomplishments she had, but practical knowledge, especially
arithmetic, she lacked. Phyllis had been right, in the first place,
when she said they were not able to compete with their inferiors in
doing the serious work of the world.
After this experience, Mr. Hurd placed Barbara in an office to address
envelops. This she did well, for her fingers and brain were quick; but
she was far from an expert, and her salary was but three dollars and a
half a week. Fortunately, the office was within walking distance for
her, so that car fare did not have to be deducted from this magnificent
result of six days' labor.
Jessamy was working hard at her drawing. Phyllis said little of her
daily experiences, from which her family concluded that they were not
wholly pleasant.
A single ray of hope shone out of the gloom for Phyllis. A little story
she had written was accepted by one of the large syndicates and paid
for--fifteen dollars. The money was not much, though it was more than
half of what she was paid monthly by Mrs. Haines; but the glory and the
hope it shed on the future were invaluable.
On the whole, Phyllis and Barbara found their entrance into the lists
not easy, and the blows of the tourney hard, but they kept on with a
courage fine to see.
They all felt that in some way their skies would brighten when Mrs.
Van Alyn returned; she was their "Lady from Philadelphia," and would
be sure to find a way through their difficulties. But Mrs. Van Alyn
had gone to England till February, and in the meantime the Wyndhams
struggled on to the best of their ability.