Mr. Towle gave no sign of a continued interest in Jane's affairs; and
because he did not, that imprudent young person felt herself to be
lonely and neglected beyond her deserts. At night, in the stuffy
seclusion of the trunkroom, she wept large tears into her thin pillow,
and prayed with truly feminine inconsistency and fervor for numbers of
things which she as resolutely thrust aside by day.
Twice she sought solace and advice from Bertha Forbes, and as often
spurned both, when both were urged upon her.
"You remind me," said Miss Forbes at last, "of a horse we used to have
out in the country. My brothers were burning the stumps out of a
ten-acre wood lot one summer, and that animal _would_ jump over the
fence and go and roll in the hot coals and ashes whenever he got a
chance till his hide was burned into holes. The creature must have
suffered frightfully, but he persisted in doing it just the same. We had
to tie him up after a bit."
"Oh, thanks!" cried Jane angrily, "perhaps you think I need tying up."
"I do, indeed," agreed Bertha Forbes cheerfully. She studied the pretty,
wilful face in silence for a few moments. "You are much too fond of
having your own way," she added sententiously, "and one's own way is so
seldom the path of pleasantness that the Bible tells about. I know, for
I've tried it."
She swallowed hard once or twice, then she went on in her gruffest
voice. "Look here, Jane, I don't want to see you make the fool of
yourself that I did. I somehow got the notion that a woman was just as
able as a man to make her way in the world, and that I wasn't going to
depend upon 'petticoat push' for my living. I despised the idea of being
dependent upon anybody, and so I--I-- Well, to cut a long story short, I
told the only man who ever cared enough about me to want to take care
of me, that I could take care of myself. I told him so three times in
all, I remember. The third time he said, 'All right, Bertha; I reckon
you'll have to try.' A year later he married one of those soft
pink-and-white little things that I had always looked down upon as being
too insignificant to despise. Yesterday----"
Bertha Forbes paused to gulp painfully once or twice. "Yesterday that
woman passed me in her carriage. There was a child on either side of
her, and she was dressed like a flower; which means, you know, a bit
more magnificently than Solomon in all his glory. She didn't know me, of
course. And I tramped on down to my office. You know what my work is,
Jane."
"Yes, I know," and Jane blushed painfully. "I--I don't really like
taking care of myself," she murmured, after a little, "but I can't see
how I am going to help myself for a while. Anyway, you may be happier in
your horrid office than that woman in her carriage, unless she--loves
the man who gives it to her." The girl finished with a soft, far-away
look in her brown eyes.
"Right you are!" cried Bertha Forbes, bringing down her capable-looking
hand upon her knee with a businesslike whack. "I'm not envying the
woman; not I. Fancy me with a ridiculous feather bobbing over one eye,
and diamonds and folderols of all sorts disposed upon my person.
Wouldn't I be a holy show?"
"You're really very good looking, when one looks at you carefully,
Bertha," said the girl seriously, "but you need handsome clothes to
bring out your good points."
"Guess my points good or bad will have to remain in innocuous desuetude
then," Miss Forbes said gruffly. "'Nough said about B. F., my dear. And
if you're set on staying on in your servile position, and allowing that
absurdly pretentious little matron and her infant to walk all over you,
I've nothing to say, of course. Do the men treat you properly, child?"
Jane stared at her friend resentfully. "I don't know what you mean," she
said. "Mrs. Belknap's husband and brother are both gentlemen, and I--am
her servant."
"That's all right, child; but mind you keep that good-looking
chap--what's his name? Oh, Everett--yes; mind you keep him at his
distance, whatever you do."
"_Bertha!_" cried Jane.
"You needn't 'Bertha' me," said Miss Forbes severely. "I'm an old maid
all right; but I know a thing or two if I am forty, and now that Mr.
Towle has gone back to England----"
"Has he gone back?"
"Well; why not? You didn't want him to stay on in America, did you?"
"N-o," faltered Jane, "I-I'm glad he's gone." Nevertheless she felt a
more poignant throb of loneliness than usual as she stepped down from
the trolley car in the gathering twilight at the close of her "afternoon
out." Had it fallen to the lot of the Hon. Wipplinger Towle to present
himself at that moment Fortune might have been genuinely kind instead of
amusedly scornful in view of his aspirations.
That same evening Mrs. Belknap shut her chamber door safely after a
careful reconnaissance of the hall. "Jimmy, dear, I'm _almost_
distracted," she confided to her husband.
"Why, what's the matter, dear girl?" he asked, "has Buster been up to
his tricks again? Or is Mary's cousin's wife's mother's brother 'tuk bad
wid cramps'?"
Mrs. Belknap heaved a deep sigh as she shook her head; her pretty white
forehead was puckered into unbecoming folds of deep anxiety. "_It's
Jane_," she said in a sepulchral whisper.
"If you don't like the girl, get rid of her," advised Mr. Belknap
strongly. "I've thought all along this two-maid business is a mistake
for us. It's too--er--complicated, somehow."
"Oh, Jimmy Belknap!" exclaimed his wife reproachfully; "it was you who
advised me to get another girl. You simply made me do it; you know you
did. Mary is away so often, and----"
"Bounce Mary, too!" cried the perfidious Mr. Belknap cheerfully. "Let's
have a new deal all the way 'round, Margaret. That Mary's a fraud, or
I'm a duffer."
"Oh, but, Jimmy, she's such a good cook! And I'm sure I couldn't get
another like her. Why, poor Mrs. Bliss hasn't had a girl these last two
months, and she tells me she's tried _everywhere_! And the people across
the street are alone, too, and----"
"_I_ can cook," put in Mr. Belknap confidently. "You just let me get the
breakfast. When I put my mind to it there's nothing I can't do about a
house."
"Oh, _you_!" scoffed his wife, reaching up to pull a lock of wavy hair
on Mr. Belknap's tall head. "After you've gotten breakfast, Jimmy, it
takes me all the morning to put the kitchen to rights again."
"But my coffee is out of sight," pursued Mr. Belknap complacently, "and
my poached eggs can't be beat. I believe,"--boldly,--"I could make a
pie!"
"Of course you could," agreed his wife ironically, "but I shouldn't want
to be obliged to eat it. But, seriously, Jimmy, I'm _losing_
things--almost every day some little thing. Do you suppose it's _Jane_?"
Mr. Belknap looked grave. "It's more likely to be Mary," he said.
"Perhaps," he added hopefully, "it's Buster. He's a regular magpie. Do
you remember about my slippers?"
Both parents paused to indulge in reminiscent laughter over the memory
of the missing slippers which had been found, after days of fruitless
searching, in the spare bedroom under the pillows.
"He was helping me pick up--the blessed lamb!" said Mrs. Belknap fondly.
"But I'm sure he hasn't picked up my shell comb, two hat pins, half a
dozen handkerchiefs, my best white silk stockings, and your college
fraternity badge."
Mr. Belknap whistled sharply. "What?" he exclaimed, "has my frat pin
disappeared? I say, Margaret, that looks serious!"
"It was in my jewel box," went on Mrs. Belknap solemnly, "pinned
carefully onto the lining of the cover. You know I scarcely ever wear
it now; I'm saving it for Buster. But I happened to go to the box for
something else the other day; and, Jimmy, it's gone!"
Mr. Belknap fidgeted uneasily in his chair. "Confound it!" he murmured.
"Well, Margaret, I'd advise you to get rid of both of 'em; and meanwhile
lock up your valuables. We can take our meals out for a while, if worse
comes to worst."
"I hate to think it's Jane," sighed Mrs. Belknap; "she seems such a nice
girl. But appearances are so often deceptive; I really ought to have
_insisted_ upon references."
"From the lady smuggler?" Mr. Belknap wanted to know.
His wife dissolved in helpless laughter. "I never believed that story
for a minute," she said, "nor the Jane Evelyn Aubrey-Blythe part,
either. She simply wanted me to think that she wasn't an ordinary
servant, poor thing. It would be dreadful to go drifting around the
world, drudging first in one house and then in another; wouldn't it,
Jimmy? I am sure I can't think what sort of a maid I should have been."
Mr. Belknap surveyed his wife smilingly. "You'd have got _me_ all right,
whatever you were doing," he assured her.
"Not _really_?"
"Sure! I never could have resisted those eyes, dear, nor that
mouth--never in the world!" And Mr. Belknap illustrated his present
susceptibility to the compelling charms of the features in question in a
way which caused his pretty wife to laugh and blush, and assure him
(fondly) that he was a foolish boy.
"Then you really think I would better give both the girls warning?" Mrs.
Belknap asked rather faintly, visions of the empty kitchen with its
manifold tasks rising fearfully in her mind.
"That's what I do when there's a bad snarl in the office," Mr. Belknap
told her seriously. "A good clean breeze of discipline that sweeps
everything before it is a mighty good thing at times. Let 'em go. We got
along all right before we ever saw Mary MacGrotty or Jane
hyphen-what-you-may-call-her, either; and we shall live all the
peacefuller after they're gone."
"But the missing articles--don't you think I ought to make her give them
back? Isn't it a bad thing for a young girl like Jane to think she
can--be so wicked with impunity?"
"It isn't 'impunity,' as you call it, if she loses her place."
"Yes, Jimmy, it is. She could get a dozen other places to-morrow. People
are so nearly frantic for help that they'll take anybody. Why, Mrs. De
Puyster Jones actually told me that she _expected_ to lose a certain
amount every year. She says that it used to worry her terribly when she
first began housekeeping; but now she just mentally adds it to the
wages, and says nothing about it, if it isn't _too_ outrageous."
Mr. Belknap laughed dubiously. "Why, I say, Margaret, that's what they
call compounding felony, or mighty near it," he said slowly. "I don't
believe I could stand for that sort of thing."
"Mrs. De Puyster Jones says that, of course, she hasn't a particle of
self-respect left when it comes to servants," continued Mrs. Belknap
feelingly. "But she's too delicate to do her own work, and Mr. Jones
won't board; so what _can_ she do? What can _I_ do?"
Mr. Belknap softly whistled a popular coon song as he walked about the
room. Then of a sudden and with entire irrelevance he broke into loud
and cheerful singing:
"Oh, I may be cra-a-zy!
But I ain't no--fool!"