SOME TRIALS OF GENIUS.
"The sum of the angles of a triangle is equal to two right angles."
Migwan drew the construction lines as indicated in the book and labored
valiantly to understand why the Angle A was equal to its alternate, DBA,
her brow puckered into a studious frown. Geometry was not her long suit,
her talents running to literature and languages. Outside the October sun
was shining on the crimson and yellow maples, making the long street a
scene of dazzling splendor. The carpet of dry leaves on the walk and
sidewalk tantalized Migwan with their crisp dryness; she longed to be
out swishing and crackling through them. She sighed and stirred
impatiently in her chair, wishing heartily that Euclid had died in his
cradle.
"I can't study with all this noise going on!" she groaned, flinging her
pencil and compass down in despair. Indeed, it would have taken a much
more keenly interested person than Migwan to have concentrated on a
geometry lesson just then. From somewhere upstairs there came an
ear-splitting din. It sounded like an earthquake in a tin shop, mingled
with the noise of the sky falling on a glass roof, and accompanied by
the tramping of an army; a noise such as could only have been produced
by an extremely large elephant or an extremely small boy amusing himself
indoors. Migwan rose resolutely and mounted the stairs to the room
overhead, where her twelve-year-old brother and two of his bosom friends
were holding forth. "Tom," she said appealingly, "wouldn't you and the
boys just as soon play outdoors or in somebody else's house? I simply
can't study with all that noise going on."
"But the others have no punching bag," said Tom in an injured tone, "and
Jim brought George over especially to-day to practice."
"Can't you take the punching bag over to Jim's?" suggested Migwan
desperately.
"Sure," said Jim good-naturedly; "that's a good idea." So the boys
unscrewed the object of attraction and departed with it, their pockets
bulging with ginger cookies which Migwan gave them as a reward for their
trouble. Silence fell on the house and Migwan returned to the mastering
of the sum of the angles. Geometry was the bane of her existence and she
was only cheered into digging away at it by the thought of the money
lying in her name in the bank, which she had received for giving the
clew leading to little Raymond Bartlett's discovery the summer before,
and which would pay her way to college for one year at least.
The theorem was learned at last so that she could make a recitation on
it, even if she did not understand it perfectly, and Migwan left it to
take up a piece of work which gave her as much pleasure as the other did
pain. This was the writing of a story which she intended to send away to
a magazine. She wrote it in the back of an old notebook, and when she
was not working at it she kept it carefully in the bottom of her
shirtwaist box, where the prying eyes of her younger sister would not
find it. She had all the golden dreams and aspirations of a young
authoress writing her first story, and her days were filled with a
secret delight when she thought of the riches that would soon be hers
when the story was accepted, as it of course would be. If she had known
then of the long years of cruel disillusionment that would drag their
weary length along until her efforts were finally crowned with success
it is doubtful whether she would have stayed in out of the October
sunshine so cheerfully and worked with such enthusiasm.
Migwan's family could have used to advantage all the gold which she was
dreaming of earning. After her father died her mother's income, from
various sources, amounted to only about seventy-five dollars a month,
which is not a great amount when there are three children to keep in
school, and it was a struggle all the way around to make both ends meet.
Mrs. Gardiner was a poor manager and kept no accounts, and so took no
notice of the small leaks that drained her purse from month to month.
She was fond of reading, as Migwan was, and sat up until midnight every
night burning gas. Then the next morning she would be too tired to get
up in time to get the children off to school, and they would depart with
a hasty bite, according to their own fancy, or without any breakfast at
all, if they were late. She bought ready-made clothes when she could
have made them herself at half the cost, and generally chose light
colors which soiled quickly. She never went to the store herself,
depending on Tom or scatter-brained Betty, her younger daughter, to do
her marketing, and in consequence paid the highest prices for
inferior-grade goods.
Thus the seventy-five dollars covered less ground every month as prices
mounted, and little bills began to be left outstanding. Part of the
income was from a house which rented for twenty dollars but this last
month the tenants had abruptly moved, and that much was cut off. Migwan,
unbusiness-like as she was, began to be worried about the condition of
their affairs, and worked on her story feverishly, that it might be
turned into money as soon as possible. She was deep in the intricacies
of literary construction when her mother entered the room, broom in hand
and dust cap on head, and sank into a chair.
"Do you suppose you could finish this sweeping?" she asked Migwan. "My
back aches so I just can't stand up any longer."
"Why can't Betty do it?" asked Migwan a little impatiently, for she
thought she ought not be disturbed when she was engaged in such an
important piece of work.
"Betty's off in the neighborhood somewhere," said her mother wearily.
"Did you ever see her around when there was any work to be done?" Migwan
was filled with exasperation. That was the way things always went at
their house. Tom was allowed to upset the place from one end to the
other without ever having to pick up his things; Betty was never asked
to do any housework, and her mother left the Saturday dinner dishes
standing and began to sweep in the afternoon and then was unable to
finish. Migwan was just about to suggest a search for the errant Betty,
when she remembered the "Give Service" part of the Camp Fire Law. She
rose cheerfully and took the broom from her mother's hand.
"Lie down a while, mother," she said, plumping up the pillows on the
couch. Mrs. Gardiner sank down gratefully and Migwan put away her story
and went at the sweeping. She soon turned it into a game in which she
was a good fairy fighting the hosts of the goblin Dust, and must have
them completely vanquished by four o'clock, or her magic wand, which had
for the time being taken the shape of a broom, would vanish and leave
her weaponless. Needless to say, she was in complete possession of the
field when the clock struck the charmed hour. Being then out of the mood
to continue her writing, she passed on into the kitchen and attacked the
Fortress of Dishes, which she razed to the ground completely, leaving
her banner, in the form of the dish towel, flying over the spot.
"What are you planning for supper?" she asked her mother, looking into
the sitting room to see how she was feeling.
"Oh, dear, I don't know," said Mrs. Gardiner. "I hadn't given it a
thought. I don't believe there's anything left from dinner. Run down to
the store, will you, and get a couple of porterhouse steaks, there's a
dear. And stop at the baker's as you come by and get us each a cream
puff for dessert. Betty is so fond of them." Migwan returned to the
kitchen and got her mother's pocketbook. There was just twenty-five
cents in it. Migwan realized with a shock that it would not pay for what
her mother wanted, and her sensitive nature shrank from asking to have
things charged.
"I won't buy the cream puffs," she decided. "I wonder if there is
anything in the house I could make into a dessert?" Search revealed
nothing but a bag of prunes, which had been on the shelf for months, and
were as dry as a bone. They did not appeal to Migwan in the least, but
there was nothing else in evidence. "I might make prune whip," she
thought rather doubtfully. "They're pretty hard, but I can soak them.
I'll need the oven to make prune whip, so I will bake the potatoes too."
She hunted around for the potatoes and finally found them in a small
paper bag. "Buying potatoes two quarts at a time must be rather
expensive," she reflected. She put the prunes to soak and the potatoes
in the oven and went down to the store. "How much is porterhouse steak?"
she asked before she had the butcher cut any off.
"Twenty-eight cents a pound," answered the man behind the counter.
Migwan gave a little gasp. The money she had would not even buy a pound.
"How much is round steak?" she inquired.
"Twenty-two," came the reply.
"Give me twenty-five cents' worth," she said. It did not look
particularly tender and Migwan thought distressedly how her mother would
complain when she found round steak instead of porterhouse. "But there
is no help for it," she said to herself grimly, "beggars cannot be
choosers." She stopped on the way home to get the recipe for prune whip
from Sahwah. Sahwah was not at home, but her mother gave Migwan the
recipe and added many directions as to the proper mixing of the
ingredients. "Is--is there any way of making tough round steak tender?"
she asked timidly, just a little ashamed to admit that they had to eat
round steak.
"There certainly is," answered Mrs. Brewster. "You just pound all the
flour into it that it will take up. I hardly ever buy porterhouse steaks
any more since I learned that trick. I am having some to-night. It is
one of our favorite dishes here. Round steak prepared in this way is
known in the restaurants as 'Dutch steak,' and commands a high price."
Considerably cheered by this last intelligence, Migwan sped home and got
her prune dessert into the oven and then set to work transforming the
tough steak into a tender morsel.
"What kind of meat is this?" asked her mother when they had taken their
places at the table.
"Guess," said Migwan.
"It tastes like tenderloin," said her mother.
"Guess again," said Migwan gleefully; "it's round steak."
"The butcher must be buying better meat than usual, then," said Mrs.
Gardiner. "I never got such round steak as this out here before."
"And you never will, either," said Migwan, swelling with pride, "if you
leave it to the butcher," and she told how she had treated the steak to
produce the present result.
"I never heard of that before," said her mother, amazed at this simple
culinary trick.
Next the prune whip was brought on and pronounced good by every one and
"bully" by Tom, who ate his in great spoonfuls. "I see I'll have to let
you get the meals after this," said Mrs. Gardiner to Migwan. "You have a
knack of putting things together, which I have not."
Migwan was too tired to write any more that night after the dishes were
done, but she was entirely light-hearted as she wove into her bead band
the symbols of that day's achievements--a broom and a frying pan. She
had learned something that afternoon besides how to prepare beefsteak.
She had waked up to the careless fashion in which the house was being
run, and her head was full of plans for cutting down expenses. Monday
afternoon, on her way home from school, Migwan saw a farmer's wagon
standing in front of the Brewsters' home, and Mrs. Brewster stood at the
curb, buying her winter supply of potatoes.
"Have you put your potatoes in yet?" she asked as Migwan came along.
Migwan stopped. "I don't believe we ever bought them in large
quantities," she answered. "How much are they a bushel?"
"Sixty-five cents," said the farmer. Migwan made a quick mental
calculation. At the rate they had been buying potatoes in two-quart lots
they had been paying a dollar and seventy-five cents a bushel. Migwan
came to a sudden decision.
"Are they all good?" she asked Mrs. Brewster.
"They have always been in the past years," answered Sahwah's mother,
"and I have bought my potatoes from this man for the last six winters."
"How many would it take for a family of four?" asked Migwan.
"About five bushels," answered Mrs. Brewster.
"All right," said Migwan to the man; "bring five bushels over to this
address." The potatoes were duly deposited in the Gardiner cellar,
without asking the advice of Mrs. Gardiner, which was the only safe way
of getting things done, for had she been consulted she would surely have
wanted to wait a while, and then would have kept putting it off until it
was too late. It was the same way with flour and sugar. Migwan found
that her mother had been buying these in small quantities at an
exorbitant price, and calmly took matters into her own hands, ordering a
whole barrel of flour, because there was more in a barrel even than in
four sacks. A certain large store was offering a liberal discount that
week on fifty pounds of sugar, and Migwan took advantage of this sale
also.
Then she had a terrified counting up. Those three items, potatoes, flour
and sugar, had used up every cent of that week's income, leaving nothing
at all for running expenses. All other supplies would have to be bought
on credit. Migwan made a careful estimate of the necessary expenses for
the coming week, and pare down as she might, the sum was nearly fifteen
dollars. The loss of the rent money was making itself keenly felt.
"Mother," she said quietly, looking up from her account book, "we can't
live on fifty-five dollars a month. We must rent the house again
immediately."
Mrs. Gardiner made a gesture of despair. "The sign has been up nearly a
month, and if people don't make inquiries I can't help it."
"Have you been in the house since the last people moved out?" asked
Migwan.
"No," said Mrs. Gardiner; "what good would that do? I haven't the time
to go all the way over to the East Side to look at that old house.
People know it's for rent, and if they want it they'll take it without
my sitting over there waiting for them."
Nevertheless, Migwan made the long trip the very next day after school
to look at the property. "It's no wonder no one has been making
inquiries for it," she said when she returned. "The 'For Rent' sign was
gone and I found it later when I was going back up the street. Some boys
had used it to make the end piece of a wagon. Then, the plumbing is bad
and the cellar is flooded, and the water will not run off in the kitchen
sink. These must have been the repairs the old tenants wanted made when
you told them you had no money to fix the house, and so they moved. I
don't blame them at all.
"Then, there is another thing I thought of when I was looking through
the rooms. You know that big unfinished space over the kitchen? Well, I
thought, why can't we make a furnished room of that? There is space
enough to build a large room and a bathroom, for part of it is just
above the bathroom downstairs. A large furnished room with a private
bath would bring in ten dollars a month. It is just at the head of the
back stairs and the side door where the back stairs connect with the
cellar way could be used as a private entrance, so the tenants of the
house would not be disturbed in the least. It would cost over a hundred
dollars to do it, most likely, but we could borrow the money from my
college fund and the extra rent would soon pay it back." Migwan's eyes
were shining with ambition.
Mrs. Gardiner shook her head wearily. "We never could do it," she
answered. "Something would surely happen to upset our plans."
But Migwan was not to be waved aside. She had seen a vision of increased
income and meant to make it come true. She argued the merits of her idea
until Mrs. Gardiner was too tired of the subject to argue back, and
agreed that if Miss Kent approved the step she would give her consent.
Nyoda was therefore called into consultation. She looked at the house
and saw no reason why the improvements could not be made to advantage.
The house was in a good neighborhood, and furnished rooms were always in
demand. She advised the step and gave Mrs. Gardiner the names of several
contractors whom she knew to be reliable. Mrs. Gardiner was a little
breathless at the speed with which things were moving, but there was no
stopping Migwan once she was started. A contractor was engaged and work
begun on the house one week from the day Migwan had thought of the plan.
Meanwhile financial matters at home were in bad shape, and Mrs. Gardiner
willingly gave over the distribution of the family budget to Migwan. She
herself was utterly unable to cope with the problem. And Migwan
surprised even herself by the efficient way in which she managed things.
By planning menus with the greatest care and omitting meat from the bill
of fare to a great extent she made it possible to live on their slender
income until the rent would begin to come in again.
"Whatever have you done with yourself?" asked Gladys at the weekly
meeting of the Camp Fire. "Of late you rush home from school as if you
were pursued." Migwan only laughed and said she had had uncommonly hard
problems to solve these last few weeks. The other girls of course did
not know the exact state of the Gardiner finances, and never dreamed
that Migwan was having a struggle even to stay in high school. She was
such a fine, aristocratic-looking girl, and was so sparkling and witty
all the time that it was hard to connect her with poverty and worry.
"Let's all go to the matinee next Saturday afternoon," suggested Gladys.
"The 'Blue Bird' is going to be played." The girls agreed eagerly and
asked Gladys to get seats for them, all but Migwan, who said nothing.
"Don't you want to go, Migwan?" they asked.
"Not this time," Migwan answered in a casual tone. "There is something
else I have to do Saturday afternoon." The girls accepted this
explanation readily. It never occurred to them that Migwan could not
afford to go.
"What is this mysterious something you are always doing?" asked Gladys
teasingly. "Girls, I believe Migwan is writing a book. She has retired
from polite society altogether." Migwan smiled blandly at her, but made
no answer.
At home that night, however, she felt very low-spirited indeed. She was
only human, after all, and wanted dreadfully to go to the matinee with
the girls. Gladys would take them all to Schiller's afterward for a
parfait and bring them home in style in her machine. It did not seem
fair that she should be cut off from every pleasure that involved the
spending of a little money. This was her last year in high school, the
year which should be the happiest, but she must resolutely turn her face
away from all those little festivities that add such touches of color to
the memory fabric of school days. She knew that at the merest hint of
her circumstances to Gladys or Nyoda they would have gladly paid her way
everywhere the group went, but Migwan's pride forbade this. If she could
not afford to go to places she would stay at home and nobody would be
any the wiser. Nevertheless, a few tears would come at the thought of
the good time she was missing, and she had no heart to work on her
story.
"Cry-baby!" she said to herself fiercely, winking the tears back.
"Crying because you can't do as you would like all the time! You're lots
better off than poor Hinpoha this very minute, even if she is rich. You
ought to be ashamed of yourself!" The thought of Hinpoha, who would
likewise miss the jolly party, comforted her somewhat, and she dried her
tears and fell to writing with a will.
Now Nyoda, although she did not know just how hard pressed the Gardiners
were at that time, rather surmised something of the kind, and wondered,
after she left the girls, if that were not the reason for Migwan's not
planning to go to the matinee. She remembered Migwan's saying some time
before that she wanted very much to see "The Bluebird" when it came. She
knew it would never do to offer to pay Migwan's way; Migwan was too
proud for that. She lay awake a long time over it and finally formulated
a plan. The next morning when Migwan came to school she saw a
conspicuous notice on the Bulletin Board:
LOST: Handbag containing book of lecture notes and ticket for Saturday
afternoon's performance of "The Bluebird." Finder may keep theater
ticket if he or she will return notebook to Miss Moore, Room 10.
Migwan read the notice and passed on, as did the other pupils. That
morning in English class Nyoda sent Migwan to an unused lecture room to
get an English book she had left there. When Migwan opened the door she
stumbled over something on the floor. It was a lady's handbag. She
opened it and found Miss Moore's notebook and the theater ticket inside.
Miss Moore was overjoyed at the return of the notebook and insisted on
her keeping the ticket, which Migwan at first declined to accept. "My
dear child," said Miss Moore, "if you knew what trouble I had collecting
those notes you would think, too, that it was worth the price of a
theater ticket to get them back!" And when Migwan's back was turned she
winked solemnly at Nyoda. By a curious coincidence that seat was
directly behind those occupied by the other Winnebagos!