"Have a chair. I will call her," Clara Babcock said to the young man
who had called and asked for Ruth. She went to Ruth's room where she
was pounding away on a typewriter. Several months previous Ruth had
been hopeful of securing a raise in salary but the raise had not come.
When the second pay-day failed to bring the increase, she inserted an
advertisement in the paper asking for stenographic work to be done of
evenings. In this way she was able to earn from six to ten dollars a
week toward a fund to send her father to Dr. Lilly. She was joyful
every time she could add a dollar to this fund, although she knew that
she was doing this extra work at the expense of her health.
When her aunt entered her room she found Ruth playing a merry little
tune on the typewriter.
"Ruth, dear, there is a young gentleman here to see you."
"Is it Mr. King?"
"No, Mr. Golter. He is in his car. I suspect he has come to take you
for a ride."
"I haven't time to go riding. I have more work than I can get done by
tomorrow night."
"Ruth, you are sticking too close to your work. If you can't get the
work out and take an hour or so for recreation you had better let it go
until the next day."
"I don't like to disappoint my customers."
"I know you don't, dear, but it is not right for you not to take any
recreation."
"Well, if I take a little time off tonight maybe I can work a little
longer and faster and make it up tomorrow night."
"Tell him I will be in in a minute."
Her aunt left to deliver the message, and Ruth looked at herself in the
mirror, tucked in a few straggling wisps of hair, rubbed her face with
her powder puff, but the tired expression would not rub off. It stared
at her from the mirror. There was no disputing the fact that the home
work after banking hours was telling on her.
"Good evening, Mr. Golter," she greeted in a cheery voice when she
entered the room where the young man was seated.
"Good evening, Miss Babcock. I thought that perhaps you would like to
take a ride."
"I enjoy riding and would be pleased to go for a short ride. I have
such a demand on my time that I cannot be out late."
She walked to the far end of the living room where her father was
seated with the evening paper. "Papa," she said, "I am going for a
ride. I will not be gone long."
"All right, Ruth. Good evening, Mr. Golter."
"Good evening, Mr. Babcock."
After riding a few minutes in the fresh air Ruth felt revived. "How
invigorating the air is! It certainly refreshes one to ride in the
fresh air when tired."
"Yes, I couldn't get along without a car. That makes me think of it.
You remember that fellow you introduced me to in the park--let's see,
what is his name?"
"Do you mean Mr. King?"
"Yes, that's it--King. What I was going to tell you was that the Dodge
Auto Sales Company are offering the car they sold him a few months
ago, for sale at a bargain. It seems that they sold it to him on time
and had to take it back. I should think it would be very humiliating
to a man in business to have to do a thing of that kind." Ruth knew
all about his car deal. Harold had told her. His uncle owed him two
thousand dollars which was due three months after he purchased the
car. He had expected to finish paying for it out of this. When the
money came due his uncle had written him that he had been disappointed
in some financial matters and that it would work a hardship on him to
repay it at that time. Rather than work this hardship on his uncle he
turned the car back and lost what he had paid on it. Ruth wondered
whether Golter was simply telling this as a news item or whether
he was seeking to belittle Harold. She feared the latter and felt a
resentment rise within her. A desire to resent in strong language this
slur aimed at her friend tugged at her heart strings, but she held
herself in leash; her judgment told her that she might be mistaken as
to his motive, but she was sure she saw in the remark the manifestation
of littleness in Golter.
She replied, "Yes, of course it is embarrassing to anyone to be unable
to meet his obligations. Sometimes this is due to no fault of his own."
"Yes, there are occasional cases where that is true, but Uncle Jim says
that this fellow is a ne'er-do-well."
She felt her face burn and was thankful that it was too dark for him to
see her flushed face.
"Mr. King has been in business for himself but a short time. He is a
young man and has talent and ability, and I am sure when he has had his
chance he will succeed."
"He may have ability, but you know there are some people who never can
cash in their talents. Uncle Jim was saying the other day that so many
men with education lack practical knowledge. Uncle Jim has but little
education, but he has much practical sense, which has enabled him to
make money. Miss Babcock, do you know that in all probability Uncle Jim
is the wealthiest man in Wilford Springs?"
"I know that Mr. Stover is very wealthy and I have lots of confidence
in both his honesty and ability. Speaking of what he said about
educated people lacking practical knowledge, I have often heard my
father refer to their inability to make money. He said that one reason
so many educated men were poor was due to the fact that many of them
spent the best years of their lives in lines of work where there were
no opportunities to make money. This, he said, was often the case with
preachers and teachers. After they find that their meager salaries
will not provide for the increasing needs of their families, or when
they realize that old age is creeping on them and that when they can
no longer serve as pastor or teacher the gaunt wolf which has been
hounding their steps for years will draw nearer until at last his hot
breath will be felt on their cheeks and later his fangs will tear their
flesh, they quit their jobs in desperation and attempt to compete
without capital with men who have been studying the business game
and acquiring capital all of their lives; it is no wonder that many
fail. The wonder is that so many succeed. Sometimes the educated man
has ideals that will not permit him to make money in ways others who
succeed consider legitimate."
"I believe you have missed your calling. What an orator you are!"
"I was just telling you what my father said."
"No doubt what your father says is true in regard to the classes you
mentioned. I am thinking more of those who work all their lives in
the line of their talents but fail to cash in, as musicians, artists,
poets, designers, etc. Some fellows with ability often sit around and
let other fellows with much less talent surpass them in making money
out of their talents. Why? Because one fellow lacks practical sense and
the other possesses it."
Ruth felt that Golter had come just as near naming architects as he
felt he dared to.
"Changing the subject, who are you going to vote for, for mayor?" he
asked.
"I am not old enough to vote," she replied.
"Oh, excuse me, I should have thought of that. I am sure you do not
look old enough to be a voter. How stupid of me!" He continued to make
most profuse apologies.
"That's all right. You needn't try to fix it. I know you mistook me for
an old grandmother," she said, laughing.
After they had driven about for an hour Ruth suggested that she must
return home. As she stepped from the car Golter attempted to compliment
her on her good looks, but she interrupted him with a curt good-night.
She found her father still sitting where she had left him in his great
arm chair, asleep over his paper. She placed her hand gently on his
shoulder and spoke to him, "Daddy, wake up." He opened his eyes with a
start. "It's you, is it, Ruth? I was dreaming."
"What did you dream about, Daddy?"
"I remembered the rest of that combination. It was two turns to the
right, to the left to forty and then to the right to thirty-two.
I dreamed that I showed this combination to a man in whom I had
confidence and he stole my money."
"Father, we never had a safe except the bank safe, and you sold your
bank stock."
"I don't remember anything about having any bank stock, but if I did
have it and sold it, where is the money?"
"You owed Mr. Stover, and he took the bank stock to satisfy the debt
as an accommodation to you. You told me the night before you were hurt
that he was going to help you out. You know I have told you this many
times before."
"Yes, I know you have, and I have tried hard to remember, but I
can't--I just can't."
"Well, don't worry about it, Daddy. We have plenty to live on."
"But, dear," he said, placing his arm affectionately about her, "it
is you I am thinking about. I don't like to have you work so hard to
support an old worthless fellow like me. If I could just get over
having this pain in my head so much I would be able to work."
"There, there, Daddy, I don't want you to worry. Some of these times
we are going to send you to Dr. Lilly and get you fixed up so that you
will be as good as new. I have ninety dollars in my special fund for
this already."
The father stooped and kissed his daughter on the forehead and then
went to his room.
Ruth stood looking after him until he had closed the door to his room
behind him, then shook her head and sighed. As she passed her Aunt
Clara's room her aunt called to her, "Is that you, Ruth?"
"Yes."
"You had another caller. He came just a few minutes after you left."
"Who was it?"
"Mr. King. He sure looked down his nose when I told him that you had
gone riding."
"You should have told him I was 'not in.' I fear that I will have to
coach you," she said, laughing. "Really," she added, "I am sorry that I
was not at home when Mr. King called."
"Well, you needn't be," said her aunt, who had never had a love affair
and who was inclined to be mercenary, "you were with the one who has
some money of his own and who belongs to a wealthy family."
Ruth went on to her own room, closed the door behind her, threw herself
on the bed and gave way to tears.
When Harold King had been informed that Ruth was out riding he felt
keen disappointment and had a strong suspicion as to whom she was
riding with. As he was riding home on the street car his suspicions
were confirmed as a roadster passed the street car under an electric
light. He at once sank into the valley of despondency where jealousy
like a poisonous miasma sickens the heart.