ELLEN HAS HER FLING
It is hard to be the self-appointed guardian of another's interests, for
one's standing is not, as it were, official. In the weeks that followed
Rosie felt this keenly. She gave up protesting to Ellen, for Ellen's
curt answer to everything she might say was always: "You mind your own
business!" Though she would not accept Ellen's dictum that George's
business was not hers, yet she was soon forced to give up direct action
and to seek her end through the interference of others. She tried her
mother.
"I don't care what you say, Ma, Ellen's just as crooked as she can be,
acting this way with other fellows when she doesn't even deny that she's
engaged to Jarge. And you ought to stop it, too! There, the very first
week he was gone, she went out three nights hand-running with that
feather man from St. Louis. You know she did! And now she's got that new
little dude with an off eye and, besides, Larry Finn's come back. I tell
you it ain't fair to Jarge and you're to blame, too, if you don't stop
it!"
Mrs. O'Brien shared with Rosie the conviction that an engaged girl
ought not so much as raise her eyes to other men. She was done forever
with all men but one. Ellen, for some reason, did not feel this
instinctively and, if a girl does not feel it instinctively, how is she
to be made to feel it? Mrs. O'Brien sighed. Unknown to Rosie she had
tried to speak to Ellen. Ellen had not let her go very far.
"Say, Ma, you dry up!" she had told her shortly. "I guess I know what
I'm doing."
"I'm sure you do," Mrs. O'Brien had murmured in humble apology; "but,
Ellen dear, be careful! There's a lot of people know you're engaged to
Jarge and I'm afraid they'll be talkin'."
"Let 'em talk!" was Ellen's snappish answer.
So when Rosie approached her mother on the same subject, Mrs. O'Brien
hemmed and hawed and ended by offering a defence of Ellen which sounded
hollow even to herself. "As for that feather fella, Rosie dear, you
mustn't get excited about him. It's a matter of business to keep him
jollied. Miss Graydon wants Ellen to be nice to him. And, as I says to
Ellen, 'If that's the case,' says I, 'of course you've got to accept his
little attentions. Miss Graydon,' says I, 'is your employer and a girl
ought always to please her employer.' As you know yourself, Rosie,
Ellen's certainly getting on beautifully in that shop. Miss Graydon told
me herself the other night that she had never had a girl so quick and
tasty with her needle and when I told her about me own poor dead
sister, Birdie, she said that explained it."
"But, Ma," Rosie cried, "what about poor Jarge?"
"Jarge? Why, Jarge is all right. He's out there in the country and you
know yourself he's crazy about the country. And more than that, Ellen
writes him a picture postcard every week. She gave me her word she'd do
it. I couldn't very well insist on her writing a letter, for you know
her long hours at the shop and it wouldn't be right to ask her to use
her eyes at night. 'But, Ellen dear,' says I to her, 'promise me
faithfully you'll never let a week go by without sending him a picture
postcard.' And she gave me her word she wouldn't."
Mrs. O'Brien could always be depended on to obscure reason in a dust of
words, especially at times when it would be embarrassing to face reason
in the open. After three or four attempts to arouse her mother to some
sort of action, Rosie had to give up. She felt as keenly as ever that
George was being basely betrayed, but she saw no way to protect him. She
had not written to him since he left, but she wrote every week to his
mother on the pretext that Mrs. Riley was deeply interested in Geraldine
and must be kept informed of Geraldine's growth and health. Rosie always
put in a sentence about Ellen: "Ellen's very busy but very well," or
"Ellen's hours are much longer now than they used to be and she hasn't
so very much time to herself, but she likes millinery, so it's all
right,"--always something that would assure George of Ellen's well-being
and excuse, if necessary, her silence. Rosie hated herself for thus
apparently shielding Ellen but, in her anxiety to spare George, she
would have gone to almost any length.
A sort of family pride kept her from confiding her worries to Janet
McFadden. Soon after George's departure she had remarked to Janet: "You
oughtn't to be surprised because you know the kind of girl Ellen is.
She's just got to amuse herself. Besides, you can't exactly blame her
because poor Jarge'd want her to have a good time." This attitude had
not in the least deceived Janet, but Janet was too tactful to question
it.
The reasons for not talking to Janet did not apply to Danny Agin, who,
being old and of another generation, was philosophical rather than
personal and had long since mastered the art of forgetting confidences
when forgetting was more graceful than remembering. So at last Rosie
opened her heart to Danny.
"Now take an engaged girl, Danny."
Rosie paused and Danny, nodding his head, said: "For instance, a girl
like Ellen."
Rosie was glad enough to be definite. "I don't mind telling you, Danny,
that it's Ellen I'm talking about. I just don't know what to do about it
and maybe you'll be able to help me."
Danny listened carefully while Rosie slowly unfolded her story. "And,
Danny," she said, as she reached the present in her narrative, "that St.
Louis fellow's just dead gone on her--that's all there is about it. He's
sending her picture postcards every day or every other day. I can't help
knowing because they come to the house. I suppose he doesn't like to
send them to the shop where the other girls would see them. He used to
sign the postcards with his full name but now he only signs 'Harry.'
Now, Danny, do you think it's nice for a girl that's engaged to let
another fella send her postcards and sign 'em 'Harry'?"
Danny ruminated a moment. "Well, if you ask me, Rosie, I don't believe
that's so awful bad."
"But, Danny, that ain't all! Listen here: last week he sent a big box of
candy from Cleveland and this morning another box came from Pittsburg.
And there was a postcard this morning and what do you think it said? 'I
just can't wait till Saturday night!' And it was signed, 'With love,
Harry.' Now, Danny, what can that mean? I bet anything he's coming to
spend Sunday with her and, if he does come, what in the world am I to do
about it?"
Danny patted her hand gently. "Rosie dear, I don't see that you're to do
anything about it. Why do you want to do anything? Isn't it Ellen's
little party?"
Rosie shook off his hand impatiently. "I don't care about Ellen's side
of it! I'm thinking about Jarge! This kind of thing ain't square to
him, and that's all there is about it!"
"Of course it ain't," Danny agreed. "But, after all, Rosie, if Ellen
prefers Harry to Jarge, I don't see what we can do about it."
"But, Danny, she's engaged to Jarge!"
"Well, maybe she'll get disengaged."
Rosie shook her head. "You don't know Jarge. Jarge is a fighter. And
I'll tell you something else: once he gets a thing he never gives it up.
Now he's got Ellen or he thinks he's got her and he's going to keep her,
too. You just ought to see him when he's around Ellen. He's awful,
Danny, honest he is! He's so crazy about her that he forgets everything
else. If he thought she was fooling him, I think he might kill
her--really, Danny. And she's afraid of him, too. Why, if she wasn't
afraid of him, she'd break her engagement in a minute and tell him so. I
know that as well as I know anything. She expects to marry him. She's
scared not to now. But that don't keep her from letting those other
fellows act the fool with her. And if Jarge hears about them, I tell you
one thing: there's going to be the deuce to pay. Excuse the language,
Danny, but it's true."
Danny was impressed but not as impressed as Rosie expected. "That's
worse than I thought," he admitted; "but I don't see that there's any
great danger. Jarge is in the country and not likely to pop in on her,
is he?"
"No," Rosie answered, "he's not coming till Thanksgiving."
"Thanksgiving, do you say? Well, that's four weeks off. Plenty of things
can happen in four weeks."
In spite of herself, Rosie began to feel reassured. "But, Danny," she
insisted, "even if it's not dangerous, don't you think it's crooked for
a girl that's engaged to let other men give her presents and take her
out?"
"Maybe it is and maybe it ain't. I dunno. It's hard to make a rule about
it. You see it's this way, Rosie: When a girl's engaged she's usually in
love with the fella she's engaged to, or why is she engaged to him? Now,
when she's in love, she don't want presents from any but one man.
Presents from other fellas don't interest her. So, you see, there's no
need to be makin' a rule, for the thing settles itself. Now if Ellen is
getting presents from this new fella, Harry, it looks to me like she
ain't very much in love with Jarge."
"That's exactly what I'm telling you, Danny. She's not."
"So the likelihood is, she's not going to marry Jarge." Danny concluded
with a smile that was intended to cheer Rosie.
"I wish she wasn't," Rosie murmured. Then she added hastily: "No, I
don't mean that, because it would break Jarge's heart!"
Danny scoffed: "Break Jarge's heart, indeed! Many a young hothead
before Jarge has had a broken heart and got over it!"
"But, Danny," Rosie wailed, "you don't know Jarge!"
There were such depths of tenderness in Rosie's tone that Danny checked
the smile which was on his lips and made the hearty declaration: "He
sure is a fine lad, this same Jarge!"
"Well, Danny, listen here: if Harry comes on Saturday, shall I tell
Jarge?"
Danny looked at her kindly. "Mercy on us, Rosie, what a worryin' little
hen you are! If you ask me advice, I'd say: Let Saturday take care of
itself."
Rosie wiped her eyes slowly. "It's all very well for you to talk that
way. But I tell you one thing: if Jarge was your dear friend like he's
mine, you wouldn't want to stand by and see this Harry fella cut him
out."
Danny gave a non-committal sigh and looked away. "I don't know about
that, Rosie. I think it might be an awful good thing for Jarge if Harry
did cut him out."
"But, Danny," Rosie cried, "think how it would hurt Jarge!"
Danny's answer was unfeeling. "There's worse things can happen to a man
than being hurt."
Rosie's manner stiffened perceptibly. "Very well, Mr. Agin, if that's
how you feel about it, I guess I better be going."
"Ah, don't go yet," Danny begged.
Rosie, already started, turned back long enough to say, with frigid
politeness: "Good-bye, Mr. Agin."
At the gate, her heart misgave her. Danny, after all, had spoken
according to his lights. It was not his fault so much as his limitation
that he should judge George Riley by the standard of other young men.
Rosie would be magnanimous.
"I got to go anyhow, Danny," she called back sweetly.
Danny's chuckle reached her faintly. "But you're coming again, Rosie
dear, aren't you? You know I'll be wanting to hear about Saturday."
Danny was old and half sick, so Rosie felt she must be patient. "All
right," she sang out; "I'll come."