Mrs. Donovan looked with admiration at the sheer linen blouse that Miss
Thorley handed her.
"Sure, I'll do it up for you the very best I know how an' seems if you
can't expect a body to do more than that. If all of us who are in the
world just did our best it would be a different place than it is, now
wouldn't it? What's ailin' you, Miss Thorley? Seems if you don't look
so hearty as you did. Don't you work too hard. It's what you have in
your heart more'n what you have in your pocketbook that makes
happiness. A pretty young thing like you hain't no business to be
thinkin' of jam all the time. I hear you're makin' oodles of money
drawin' pictures for Mr. Bingham Henderson but let me tell you, my
girl, you can't make good red blood no matter how much money you have.
There's only one can do that."
"Who's that, Aunt Kate?" Mary Rose hungered for the information, as
she leaned against the table. "Who can make good red blood?"
"God Almighty, honey, an' he's the only one. Land, I remember Jim
Peaslie took a dozen raw eggs a day, a quart of cream an' beefsteak so
raw it dripped blood but he couldn't make none of those red corpuskles
an' so there wasn't nothin' for him to do but die an' he died. A body
can't live without plenty of red corpuskles an' by that same token, a
girl has got to have somethin' beside work. That's gospel true, Miss
Thorley. My ol' father used to say you robbed the ol' when you took
pleasures from the young an', seems if, that's gospel true, too. Land,
if I hadn't had good times when I was a girl to remember sometimes I'd
go crazy. Layin' up pleasant memories is what everyone can do an' it
means as much as money in the bank. This is pretty lace on your waist,
Miss Thorley. I dunno as I ever saw just this pattern."
"It's imported," Miss Thorley told her listlessly as she lingered in
the cosy kitchen. She was pale and her eyes were dull. She was tired,
she told herself impatiently. The summer had been hot and she had
worked hard. It irritated her that the keen eyes of Mrs. Donovan saw
that she was not happy but how could she be happy when she had so many
things to annoy her? She should be happy, she was independent, she had
work, the two things that had seemed so necessary to happiness but
recently she had been conscious of a desire for something more. It
made her furious to be restless and discontented and so listless and
colorless that people noticed it.
Mrs. Donovan snorted at the imported lace. "That's it. Girls nowadays
think 't fine clothes 'll make 'em happy. An imported waist costs
more'n one made in Waloo an' it keeps a girl strong enough to work for
the silk stockin's she's got to have," she said with scorn. "I don't
wonder there's so many bach'lors when I figure how much money it costs
now to dress a girl."
"Is that why men are bachelors?" asked astonished Mary Rose. "Mr.
Jerry is a bachelor, his Aunt Mary told him so right in front of me.
She doesn't like it in him. And Mr. Strahan's one and Jimmie Bronson
and Mr. Wells and Mr. Jarvis. Why, what a lot of bachelors are right
under this very roof!"
"That's just it," laughed Mrs. Donovan. "'Stead of havin' so many
bach'lor flats in Waloo there oughta be more fam'ly cottages."
"There's Mr. Jerry now." Mary Rose ran to the window to wave her hand
to her friend as he drove his car up the alley. Solomon was with him
and he looked quite as well on the front seat as Mr. Jerry had hoped he
would. "I could have asked him if that was why he was a bachelor if he
hadn't gone away."
Miss Thorley crossed the kitchen and stood beside her. She saw the
automobile turn the corner and disappear down the cross street.
"Mary Rose," she suddenly put her arm around the small shoulders beside
her. "Do you know I've never seen George Washington."
"You haven't?" Mary Rose twisted around and looked up into her face.
"Oh, you must see him. He's such a wonderful cat. But I can't bring
him here. It's against the law, you know. Would you--Oh, would
you!--come across the alley and see him in his boarding house? You
know he's only a cat," she explained slowly as if she were afraid that
Miss Thorley might expect to find George Washington something more.
"But he's wonderful just the same. He earns his own board, every
single drop. Mr. Jerry's Aunt Mary said so."
Miss Thorley and Aunt Kate smiled at each other above Mary Rose's
yellow head.
"I've never seen a self-supporting cat," Miss Thorley laughed. "I
should love to meet George Washington." She did not understand why she
would love to meet him now, why she wished to go across to Jerry
Longworthy's back yard, when until that afternoon nothing could have
induced her to go there.
"Come on." Mary Rose put out an eager hand and Miss Thorley took it in
hers. They were halfway across the alley when Mary Rose stopped. "I
forgot," she said, and her face was troubled. "I promised to let Mr.
Jerry know when you'd come."
"It's too late to tell him now. We saw him go off in the car." Miss
Thorley did not explain that that was the reason she was willing to
call on George Washington. "I shall be very busy after today, Mary
Rose. I might not be able to come again for several weeks."
"Is that so?" Mary Rose looked less doubtful. "Perhaps I can explain
that to Mr. Jerry." She led the way into Mr. Jerry's spacious yard.
"I expect George Washington's inside," she said when they failed to
find him outside.
"Run in and bring him out," suggested Miss Thorley, sitting down in one
of the wicker chairs that were under the big apple tree that had lived
there ever since Waloo had been some man's farm.
Mary Rose disappeared but before Miss Thorley had looked half over the
yard she was back. "He's asleep," she said in a loud whisper. "Do
come in and see him. He looks perfectly beautiful with a fern at his
head and a bunch of asters at his feet. Please, come." She took Miss
Thorley's hand and tried to pull her to her feet.
Miss Thorley did not wish to go into the house. She had had no
intention of doing more than to slip into the yard for a moment. Now
that she was there she felt uncomfortably conscious. But Mr. Jerry was
away, she had seen him go with her own eyes. It would be interesting
to see his home. Or perhaps the picture Mary Rose had described, a
sleeping cat with a fern at his head and asters at his feet, was
alluring. Whichever it was she allowed Mary Rose to lead her in at the
side door, through the dining-room that seemed far too large for only
Mr. Jerry and his Aunt Mary, into the big living-room that had begun
life as a front and back parlor. There on the wide window seat was the
self-supporting cat, George Washington himself, with a fern spreading
its feathery fronds above his head and a cluster of red asters in a
brass bowl at his tall. George Washington had calculated the amount of
space between the jardinière and the bowl to a nicety. There was not
the fraction of an inch to spare.
[Illustration: "There on the wide window seat was the self-supporting
cat."]
"There!" Mary Rose pointed a proud finger as she stopped before the
window.
"He is a beauty," Miss Thorley was honest enough to say. Her sense of
color was delighted at the play of sunshine on George Washington's gray
overcoat which had caught a warm glow from the red asters. "Wake him
up, Mary Rose. You really can't see a cat asleep any more than you can
a baby."
"Shall I?" Mary Rose would never in the world have disturbed a
sleeping baby and for the same reason she hesitated before a sleeping
cat. And while she hesitated Mr. Jerry's Aunt Mary came in and their
voices woke George Washington. He sprang up, artfully eluding bowl and
ferns, and stood in the sunlight stretching himself. He looked at Mary
Rose and at Miss Thorley and at Mr. Jerry's Aunt Mary with his calm
yellow eyes.
"That's a lot better than waking him," Mary Rose clapped her hands. "I
can't bear to waken anyone for fear of interrupting a dream.
Sometimes," she went on thoughtfully, "I'd give most anything to know
what's inside of George Washington's mind. He looks so wise. Isn't he
splendid?" she asked Miss Thorley, who had flushed uncomfortably when
Mr. Jerry's Aunt Mary came in and who now was standing rather stiffly
conscious, wishing with all her heart she had never come. Mary Rose
caught her cat and brought him to Miss Thorley. "You tell her how
self-supporting he is?" she asked Mr. Jerry's Aunt Mary in a voice that
reeked with pride.
"I think I can tell that story better than Aunt Mary." And lo and
behold, there was Mr. Jerry himself in the doorway, an unusual color in
his brown cheeks, a reproachful look in his eye.
Miss Thorley's face had more color than usual, also, as she bowed
coldly, but Mary Rose flew to take his hand.
"I'm so glad you came back. We saw you drive away but we had to come
now for Miss Thorley's going to be so awfully busy that she couldn't
come for weeks and weeks."
"Is she?" Mr. Jerry looked oddly at Miss Thorley, but Miss Thorley
refused to look at him. "The best laid plans of mice and men," he said
meaningly and paused until Mary Rose squeezed his hand.
"Are you telling her about George Washington?" she whispered.
He laughed and after a moment a faint smile lifted the corners of Miss
Thorley's lips. Mr. Jerry drew a sigh of relief and sat down.
"That's better," he said. "No, Mary Rose, I was not just then
referring to George Washington, but I can assure you that he is
untiringly on the job. He brought a dead mouse to me at six o'clock
this morning. At six o'clock!" impressively. "I thought I had the
nightmare when I opened my eyes and saw old George standing there with
a mouse in his mouth. He's working overtime. He should take a rest.
He'll injure his health if he attends too strictly to business, Mary
Rose."
"I know." Mary Rose nodded a wise head. "Too much work doesn't make
good red blood. Aunt Kate was just telling us, wasn't she, Miss
Thorley, that all the money you make won't buy good times nor red
blood. She was telling us that very thing not ten minutes ago." Mary
Rose was overjoyed to hear Mr. Jerry confirm what Aunt Kate had said.
Now, of course, Miss Thorley would have to believe that it was true.
"Your Aunt Kate is a very wise, wise woman. It's a pity others can't
see it." He sighed and looked at Miss Thorley, who stroked George
Washington's gray overcoat and refused to lift her eyes to meet his.
"If they could they'd have old heads on young shoulders, perhaps,"
suggested Mary Rose. "You wouldn't like that, would you? Just suppose
Mrs. Schuneman's head was on Miss Thorley's shoulders. How would you
like that?"
"I shouldn't like it at all. I shouldn't want any head on Miss
Thorley's shoulders but her very own. It suits me there--perfectly."
Mr. Jerry eyed Miss Thorley rather critically and screwed his eyes half
shut as Miss Thorley did when she was looking at the model she was
painting, and his voice was as firm as a voice could be. "Even to have
her as wise as your Aunt Kate I shouldn't want her to have Mrs.
Schuneman's head."
"And just suppose you had Mr. Wells' head and he had yours?" giggled
Mary Rose.
Mr. Jerry tweaked her pink ear. "Mr. Wells wouldn't keep my head for a
minute. Perhaps it is just as well to leave heads where they are."
"I used to want to change mine," Mary Rose confided to them soberly.
"You know I've millions of freckles and my hair's as straight as a
string. Nobody ever thinks I'm pretty like Gladys. One day Mrs. Evans
told me that pretty is as pretty does and for almost a week I did my
best to do pretty, the very prettiest I knew how. But no one ever
stopped and said, 'What a beautiful child,' as they do when they see
Gladys. Gladys is afraid of dogs and she screams when she sees a
mouse. She's even afraid of her tables. So I tried to think I had
more real good times by being brave instead of beautiful. Oh!" she
broke off with a squeal of delight, for Mr. Jerry's Aunt Mary brought
in a pitcher of lemonade and a plate of little cakes gay with white and
pink frosting. "Oh, Miss Thorley! aren't you glad now that you came?"