Through Bob Strahan, Jimmie obtained a paper route. Mr. Jerry's Aunt
Mary insisted that was work enough for him at present.
"A growing boy has to have plenty of time to eat and sleep," she said,
"and no one is using that attic bedroom."
"You can earn your board taking care of the lawn and lending a hand
with the car. The paper route 'll stand you in for clothes and
spending money," suggested Mr. Jerry. "Might as well take it easy
while you can."
"He's a prince, that's what he is!" Jimmie told Mary Rose somewhat
chokingly, when she came over to see how George Washington and Solomon
and Jimmie were doing. "I never knew such a man."
"Didn't you?" Mary Rose was surprised. "Mr. Jerry is splendid but
there are lots and lots of splendid people in the world, Jimmie
Bronson."
"Oh, are there!" snorted Jimmie. "Well, I haven't seen so many of
them, and that's straight. Judging from what I saw and heard that
first day I was in Waloo, you've run across at least one of the other
sort, too."
Mary Rose blushed. Her inability to make friends with Mr. Wells
annoyed her. "He's got dyspepsia," she said, as if that were an
excuse. "To tell you the truth, Jimmie Bronson, when I first came here
I nearly died. I had an awful time remembering that daddy said when
there were so many people in the world there were friends for
everybody. The people were so different and it was so funny to have
them live up and down instead of side by side. At first I thought I'd
never get used to it but I did. And I have lots of friends here now.
But Waloo isn't Mifflin." And she sighed because it wasn't.
"Mifflin!" jeered Jimmie. "Mifflin! You can be mighty good and glad
it isn't. I don't know where you got your idea of Mifflin, Mary Rose,
for it's about the deadest one-horse town I ever ran across. And the
people. Huh! A collection of boneheads."
"Why, Jimmie Bronson!" gasped Mary Rose. "Mifflin's the friendliest
town--"
"Friendly!" Jimmie elevated his nose at the word. "Prying,
interfering, gossiping! That's what it is. I guess I know. You're
all wrong, Mary Rose, all wrong. If you should go back you'd see.
You're nothing but a kid. You don't know. But take it from me you've
got entirely the wrong idea of your native town. If Mifflin was what
you think it was do you imagine Solomon and I would have left? No,
siree! We'd have stayed and been part of the happy crowd. But it
isn't. Honest! It's dead and narrow and one-horse and the people are
boneheads."
Mary Rose could not believe it. She stared at him and her lip quivered.
"Jimmie," she said at last and her voice was very low and shaky, "is
that what you want me to think of Mifflin? It's always been a
wonderful place to me. You see I was born there and no other city, no
matter how grand it is, can be my birthplace. It doesn't seem as if I
could be all wrong about it. And the people! Daddy always said
people's hearts were friendly and in Mifflin their faces were friendly,
too. Yes, they were, Jimmie Bronson, when I lived there. Perhaps they
have changed. It's a long time since I left."
Jimmie gave a whoop. "Long time! It isn't two months. And it would
take more than sixty days to put that sour look on old Mr. Mallow's
face. He nearly ate me up alive when I asked for a job after Aunt Nora
died. No, Mary Rose, you're wrong, all wrong, about Mifflin. There
isn't any place in this whole world that's like what you think that old
burg is."
"Isn't there, Jimmie?" Mary Rose was very troubled. "Is that what I'm
really to believe?"
There was a quiver in her voice that made James Bronson turn and look
at her. He flushed all over his freckled face, to the very roots of
his red hair. He even put out his tanned hand and patted Mary Rose's
arm. "No, Mary Rose," he said slowly. "I guess you're right. You're
always looking for friends and so you'll find them. You keep on being
a silly simp and thinking of Mifflin as the new Jerusalem and perhaps
it'll grow into one."
"It would if everyone thought it would," Mary Rose insisted and the
troubled look slipped away from her face. "If people feel friendly
they'll find friends."
"And she believes it," Jimmie told Mr. Jerry when they were cleaning
the car together that evening. "Gosh, aren't girl kids queer! I
couldn't tell her the truth but I guess I know Mifflin better than she
does."
"I'm glad you didn't tell her the truth, Jim." Mr. Jerry lighted his
pipe and gave Jimmie the hose. "She'll learn soon enough."
"Of course she will," agreed Jimmie. "She's just got to find out that
folks aren't going up and down the streets holding out the glad hand.
That's what I say, Mr. Jerry, if people feel so friendly inside why
don't they show it outside? Gee whiz!" he stopped to squeeze the water
out of the big sponge. "Wouldn't it be a great old world if they did,
if folks were what Mary Rose thinks they are?"
"It would. And as every little bit added to what there is makes a
little bit more you could help the good time along by feeling a bit
more friendly to the world yourself, James," advised Mr. Jerry,
stepping off to look at the car. "Mary Rose is right when she says
that smiles are just as catching as frowns. Take it from me that it
never makes a bad thing any worse by thinking that it is better than it
is."
Jimmie Bronson's opinion of Mifflin bothered Mary Rose and she
discussed it with everyone. It was not until they had all agreed with
her that people and places are what you think they are that she felt
comfortable again.
"I knew I was right all the time," she told Aunt Kate.
"If folks were really what she thinks they are, what a snap we'd have,"
Aunt Kate said to Uncle Larry, after Mary Rose had gone to bed. "To be
honest I'll have to admit that the atmosphere's a mite pleasanter here
but whether that's because of Mary Rose or because I haven't seen quite
so much of the tenants--I never do in summer--I can't say. Seems if
she does have the faculty of bringing out the kind side of folks. If I
hadn't seen it with my own eyes I never would have believed that Mrs.
Rawson would have loaned her machine to Mrs. Matchan or that Mrs.
Matchan would condescend to borrow it. Land, the rows they've had over
that machine and that piano! Perhaps there is somethin' in thinkin'
folks are friendly. What do you say, Larry?"
"What's thinkin' done for old Wells?" asked Uncle Larry. "He's worse'n
ever. Take my word for it, Kate, he'll make trouble for us. You might
as well begin to pack."