It is one thing to announce a heroic determination to become the family
bread winner. It is quite another to put that determination to practical
account, as Howard Benton was to learn in the days that followed his
sojourn at the sanitarium and since learning that his mother’s resources
were almost gone.
Particularly when one’s talents run only to running a sporty little
racer and a thorough knowledge of all the most recent dance steps and a
canny way of learning just where to find the best bootleggers—a talent
which the young man put into the limbo of forgotten things as his first
step in his new life.
Both he and his mother felt he could put his knowledge of automobiles to
practical account. But when he applied for one position after another
with automobile firms, he was laughed at for his pains. Not even he had
realized exactly how little he did know about machines. Too long had he
left the disagreeable part to mechanics.
His belief in friends (at first) had led him into the offices of those
he had known in palmier days. But it was with stung pride that he
abandoned this after a few efforts. They had all seemed kind
enough—patronizing even—but always it was the same thing he had heard
in Thurston’s bond office: “Nothing now, my boy—but if you don’t get
settled, you might call again some time.”
But Howard Benton never called again. Instead, he took to spending his
evenings with his mother, going over advertisements, writing answers to
which, because of his lack of experience, there were few replies. How
terribly had he wasted the years at college—years that could not now
help him earn a living!
It was when it actually became a question of food that he determined to
take whatever might be offered. Months had passed, and he had kept his
promise to his mother, but they had gone through hardships together, and
there were times when the price of a meal had been difficult to earn.
In the end, his earnestness won him a position in the office of a large
manufacturing concern. The salary was not large, but to Marjorie, and to
her son, the youth who had once squandered double the amount in a single
evening, but who had come to know what it meant to walk about for days
trying to earn enough to keep a shelter above their heads, it seemed a
small fortune.
And so two years had passed. As soon as possible they had moved into a
new home, a little four-room flat in Harlem. It was cozy and
comfortable, a sitting and dining room combined, two bedrooms and a tiny
kitchen. Marjorie did all of the work, even to their washing. At first,
Howard objected to this. She seemed so frail, he was sure that she could
never stand it; but when she assured him that she never felt better in
all her life, that the work was like play, and gave her something with
which to occupy herself while he was at work, he agreed to let her do as
she pleased.
He left at seven-thirty every morning to go to his work, and at six he
returned, always to find a hot, tempting dinner waiting for him. At
noon, when he opened his lunch-box, some new delicacy or dainty
invariably met his eye. How could he possibly know that Marjorie went
without her own lunch many a day in order to provide these little
luxuries for him?
How was he to know that when evening after evening she greeted him at
the door with a smile, she had dragged herself about all day doing her
work, cooking his dinner, mending his clothes, without uttering a word
of complaint, while she suffered the most excruciating pain? It had
begun about a year ago, while they were enduring so many hardships, a
sharp, stinging sensation, somewhere in the region of her heart, that at
times almost drove her insane.
Apparently they were both quite happy. They never referred to the past.
Their lives seemed to date from the day when they left Hugh Benton’s
house together. Howard could not know that at times Marjorie lay awake
all night wondering about Elinor and Hugh. She had never heard a word
from Elinor since the day she said good-by to her over the telephone,
and of Hugh, she had heard but twice, and that was through the society
columns of the paper.
The first time it had been quite by accident. Howard had been lying on
the couch one Sunday afternoon reading “The Times.” He had fallen
asleep, and the paper slipped to the floor. She picked it up, and the
name “Benton” caught her eye. It was a small item saying that Mr. and
Mrs. Hugh Benton had returned from Paris, and had reopened “The Castle,”
where they expected to entertain extensively during the coming season.
After that, she searched the paper every day, but she never saw another
article until one day, she read of the departure of Hugh Benton for
California for an indefinite stay.
On the other hand, how was she to know that at times Howard was lonely
and unhappy? He was just a boy—not quite twenty-three. All day long he
worked hard, and then came home to spend his evenings with her. It was
true that he loved her devotedly, and that he rejoiced in the thought of
being able to take care of her, but just the same, he was young, and at
times he craved young society. The monotony began to get on his nerves.
The worst of it all was that he couldn’t see where it would ever change;
but he wouldn’t worry his mother, so he smiled and laughed always, and
made her believe he was contented and happy—just as she never permitted
him to know of her days of suffering, of her heartaches and longing, her
hours of loneliness. In front of the boy she worshiped, she was always
bright and smiling.
They were sitting down to dinner one evening when Howard, shyly and half
shame-facedly told his mother of a dance he would like to attend.
“I wonder if you would mind, dearest, if I went?” he asked.
“Why, no dear,” she answered heartily. “I’d be glad to have you go
anywhere for a little pleasure. You work so hard you need more
recreation.”
“But you know, I don’t like to leave you alone evenings, mother,” the
boy demurred. “Even when I go to the first show at the movies, and you
won’t go with me, I’m uneasy until I get back to you.”
“That’s foolish, dear. You shouldn’t feel like that.” She smiled at him
lovingly. “I’m rather tired at night, and I usually have some mending or
darning to do. But about this dance, shall I get your dress-suit out of
the trunk? You haven’t worn it in two years and I’m afraid you’ve
outgrown it.”
“No, indeed, mother!” He laughed heartily. “First of all, you’ll never
find it! I sold it long ago, when we were so hard up, and if I went to
this dance in a dress-suit, they’d mob me.”
“Why, Howard!” She was becoming alarmed. “What sort of a dance is it?”
“Oh, it’s a nice enough dance all right, but it isn’t a society affair.”
He laughed again. “It’s just a lot of plain working girls and boys like
myself. One of the boys in the office asked me to go.”
“That’s fine, dear. It will do you a lot of good. I’ll sponge and press
your blue suit and have it all ready for you.”
If a bride were being dressed, there couldn’t have been more excitement
in a home than there was in the little flat on Saturday night, when
Howard prepared to go to the dance. Marjorie had laid all his things out
on his bed during the afternoon. His suit nicely cleaned and pressed, a
beautifully laundered shirt, his tie, collar, handkerchief—everything
was ready.
“Why, mother,” he laughed, as she bustled about, handing him his things.
“I feel like a girl getting ready for my first party! I really believe
you’re enjoying all this.”
“I am, dear,” she answered, her cheeks bright with excitement.
“Well, I’m ready.” He stepped back from the mirror. “Do I look all
right?”
“I never saw anyone like you!” She clasped her hands and looked at him
adoringly. “All the girls will be fighting over you! You’re so handsome,
dear.”
“Mother, you’re a little flatterer.” He caught her up in his strong arms
to dance about the room with her.
“Oh, please, dear—please don’t!” she screamed. Her face paled, and she
held her hand to her side.
“Why, mother—you’re ill! What’s wrong with you?” He placed her gently
on the bed and knelt beside her.
“It’s—it’s—nothing, dear.” She forced a smile to her lips.
“But you screamed with pain—and you’re so white. I’m going to call a
doctor.”
“No—no—I won’t allow you to be so foolish. I—I’m perfectly all right,
dear. You picked me up so suddenly and you’re so big and strong. It was
just a stitch in my side. See, it’s entirely gone now.” She sat up on
the edge of the bed.
“Just the same,” he said resolutely, “I’m not going! I wouldn’t think of
leaving you alone.”
“But you are going, dear—I insist upon it. There’s not a thing in the
world the matter with me, but if you stayed at home, you’d make me think
I was really ill.”
For ten minutes she argued until he was finally persuaded to go. At the
door she kissed him affectionately. “Good-night, darling! Have a
wonderful time and don’t worry for a minute—I’m perfectly well.”
She never knew how she managed to reach her bed. For half an hour she
suffered the agony of death until the spasm passed.
But Howard Benton went to his first dance in two years with a heavy
heart. In spite of his mother’s repeated assurances that she was
perfectly well, he could not get her white, drawn face out of his mind.
Once or twice he was inclined to turn back, but the fear of aggravating
her prevented him. At all events, he would insist upon her seeing a
doctor to-morrow.
When he arrived at the Hall about nine-thirty, the dance was well under
way. He felt strange and ill at ease. The crowd was so entirely
different from the crowd in which he had mingled in the old days.
Outside of a few of the boys from the office, he didn’t know a soul. But
it didn’t take him very long to become acquainted. He was a good dancer,
handsome, and a gentleman—three things always bound to attract young
women in whatever station of life.
About eleven o’clock, Frank O’Connor, one of the Floor Committee came up
to him: “Say, Benton,” he offered, “I want to introduce you to a peach
of a girl. She’s a dandy dancer, and as pretty as a picture.”
“All right, you can’t hurt my feelings,” Howard laughed. “Lead the way!”
He followed him across the room to a corner, where a girl stood talking
to two other girls. O’Connor touched her on the shoulder: “Just a
minute, Kate—I want you to meet a friend of mine.”
She turned, and Howard was looking at one of the prettiest girls he had
ever seen. Her beauty was neither statuesque nor dainty and refined; it
was something quite different. Just a saucy, Irish face, with dark blue
roguish eyes, white and pink skin, a little turned-up nose, and bobbed,
black curls.
“Miss Walsh, meet Mr. Benton.” O’Connor performed the introductions.
“Happy to know you, Mr. Benton!” She smiled at him, revealing two rows
of dazzling white teeth.
“I’m very glad to meet you, Miss Walsh!” Howard bowed. “How about this
dance?” as the “specially engaged jazz-band” began to play “Mammy.”
“Sorry,” she answered. “Just promised it to a guy. But will you meet me
here for the next, if you ain’t got it taken?”
He met her for the next, and the next, and the next. By the time the
dance was over, he had been her partner eight times, and had gained her
consent to see her home.
She lived just three blocks from his own home, and a distance of twenty
blocks from the hall. But they walked slowly home in the moonlight, she
clinging to his arm and looking up into his face as she talked. They
hadn’t gone ten blocks before she had told him her life’s history—how
her mother had been married three times, and of all the children in the
family, real brothers and sisters, half brothers and sisters, and
step-brothers and sisters. She possessed real Irish wit, and her way of
telling these things was most amusing. Howard found himself laughing
heartily. Through it all, she told him she was perfectly independent, as
she had been self-supporting since she was ten years old.
“I ain’t never had much chance to go to school,” she said. “Just picked
up what learnin’ I could now and then. I never seen my real father—he
died when I was just a little thing, and step-fathers ain’t much for
lookin’ after other people’s kids. So I just had to work and take care
of myself.”
“You deserve a lot of credit for it, Miss Walsh,” Howard said
admiringly. “It’s pretty hard for a man to battle with the world, but it
must be mighty tough on a woman, especially a slip of a girl—like you.”
“I ain’t never noticed it much. Guess it’s cause I ain’t never knowed
the difference.”
“You live at home with your mother, don’t you?” he asked.
“Sure I do! Ma and me always gets along fine. She lets me do just as I
want, ’cause she knows I’m independent, and besides, she’s got her hands
full with the other kids.”
When they reached her door, she held out her hand. “I’m awful glad to
have met you, Mr. Benton. Hope I’ll see you again?”
“May I call?” he asked eagerly.
“Why sure you can. I’ll be glad to have you any time you say.”
“How about—to-morrow evening?”
“Gee! You believe in rushin’ things, don’t you?” She giggled. “All
right—to-morrow evenin’ ’ll be fine.”
She hurried upstairs and crawled into bed with three little sisters.
Soon she was dreaming about a boy with wonderful dark eyes and curly
hair.
As Howard walked the remaining three blocks to his home, he wondered
what had happened to him. He felt so happy and light-hearted. The
sensation of loneliness that had made him so miserable only yesterday,
seemed suddenly to have disappeared. As he inserted his key in the lock,
he felt like whistling or humming a tune, and it was only the
remembrance of the lateness of the hour that kept him from yielding to
his inclination.
“Howard!” Marjorie called from her room as she heard him come in.
He started suddenly as he opened her door and peered into the darkness:
“What are you doing awake as late as this, dearest? Are you feeling
better?”
“Of course, dear. I told you I was all right before you left. Did you
have a good time?”
“Yes, mother, I had a dandy time.”
“I’m so glad. To-morrow you shall tell me all about it. You must be
tired after so much dancing. Good-night, darling.”
“Good-night, dearest.” He bent over and kissed her tenderly.
Instead of undressing and hurrying into bed, he walked to the window in
his room and opened it wide, staring out upon the fire-escapes filled
with lines of washing.
He still couldn’t imagine what had happened to him that night; and he
was trying to fathom it. He wasn’t thinking of the dance or the girl he
had met. He was thinking that he had left his home heavy-hearted and
terribly worried over his beloved mother, and yet he had come back a few
hours later in such a state of exultation, that he had forgotten all
about her until she startled him by calling his name. It almost
frightened him—this thing that had taken possession of him—and that he
couldn’t explain, even to himself!
The next morning he slept until almost noon for Marjorie always let him
rest as long as he pleased on Sunday. He opened his eyes greatly
refreshed in mind and body. The feeling of light-heartedness still
remained with him. He could have started singing joyously—for some
unaccountable reason. But the anxious and worried feeling about his
mother he had the night before had disappeared. Somehow things appear so
different in the daylight than they do in the darkness.
He sat down to the tempting breakfast Marjorie placed before him.
“Umm—mother—waffles and maple-syrup? Just what I feel like eating.
Aren’t you going to have some?”
“No, indeed!” she laughed. “I’ve had my breakfast hours ago. It’s noon,
dear, but I knew you were tired after last night, so I just let you
sleep it out.”
“I’m glad you did; I feel thoroughly rested.”
She sat opposite him while he ate, enjoying the way he seemed to relish
each mouthful.
“Now tell me all about the dance,” she said. “Did they have a nice
crowd?”
“Yes—a very nice crowd.”
“Did you dance every dance?”
“Every blessed one! The music was fine, and as I told you, last night, I
had a dandy time. Would you like to go to Central Park this afternoon?”
he asked suddenly, anxious to change the subject.
Somehow he didn’t want to talk about last night, but couldn’t have given
a reason for the reluctancy he felt in mentioning it.
“No, dear,” Marjorie answered. “I prefer resting this afternoon, if you
don’t mind. But you go somewhere yourself—to a movie, or a vaudeville.”
“No, I’ll stay home with you. I—I may take a little run out—this
evening.”
“Certainly, dear. That’s right.” She began clearing away the dishes.
Kate Walsh received Howard Benton in the “front-room” of the Walsh
flat—a shabbily furnished little square of room that was used mainly
for three purposes—receiving company, exhibiting a new baby, or holding
a wake.
The family had been banished to the kitchen at the end of the hall for
the evening, with the exception of her mother, whom Kate brought into
introduce to Howard. Mrs. Walsh was a good-natured, stout little woman,
rather tired and faded looking. She had been in this country since she
was sixteen, but she still clung to her native brogue.
“Shure, Mister Benton, ’tis glad to meet ye Oi am. Kitty here’s been
tellin’ me what a foine young gintleman ye are.”
“Oh, Ma, you do say such things!” Kate giggled. “You ain’t got no
delicacy at all.”
Mrs. Walsh looked wise, but kept silent. She didn’t know exactly what
Kitty meant by delicacy. After a minute, she held out her hand to
Howard.
“If ye’ll be afther excusin’ me, Mister Benton,” she apologized, “Oi’ll
be sayin’ good-night to ye, and goin’ back to the babies. It’s about
toime they wuz in bed.”
And feeling that she had nobly done her duty by her daughter by coming
in to be introduced to the gentleman—the same as all the society
matrons did in the novels Kitty read and told her about—Mrs. Walsh
bowed herself out, and hastened to the more urgent duties awaiting her
in the kitchen.
Howard remained until ten-thirty. He enjoyed the evening immensely; Kate
was such good company.
“Of course,” he began making excuses to himself on his way home, “she is
illiterate, and she did say some of the most ridiculous things, trying
to use expressions she had picked up in novels. But altogether, she is a
sort of rough diamond, and after all, education doesn’t amount to very
much—I’ll tell the world mine hasn’t! And she’s so very young! A few
months’ instruction from a private teacher would do wonders for her,
or—um—um—maybe I could take her on myself.” The idea was far from
disagreeable to the youth who had never believed pedagogy to be anywhere
in his line.
At the end of the week, after he had seen Kate five more times, he knew
what was the matter with him. For the first time in his young life he
was madly in love!
He didn’t know whether his love was reciprocated or not. Kate seemed to
like him pretty well; she was glad to stay at home and have him call
when she might have gone out with some other chap. He had never even
attempted to kiss her. She wasn’t the kind of girl who invited that sort
of thing. He went with her steadily for another month, taking her to
movies, or dances, on the evenings he didn’t spend at her home.
“What did his mother think about his going out every night?” he
wondered. She never questioned him when evening after evening he kissed
her good-night and said: “I won’t be out very late, mother, just going
for a walk”; or, “Going to a show”; or, “Going to a dance to-night.”
Finally he felt that he must say something to her—sort of pave the way
as it were. She must know that he was going about with a girl, or else
some day it might prove too much of a shock.
“Dearest,” he said one evening, after he had kissed her good-by, “don’t
you think my going out like this every evening sort of—well—sort of
funny?”
“Why, no, dear,” she answered bravely, struggling hard to look
unconcerned lest he read the contradiction to her words in her face.
“I’m glad to see you go—you were getting into a rut, staying in so
much. You’re too young to do that.”
“It’s a joy to have a mother who looks at things as sensibly as you do,”
he answered, patting her hand affectionately. “You see, dear, I—I’ve
met a very nice little girl—and I enjoy going about with her.”
“Yes—dear——” Although she smiled, the mother’s heart held a leaden
weight. “That’s nice,” was her comment.
“I’m going to bring her to meet you some day,” he told her, but he was
careful not to say too much.
A month later Howard proposed to Kate. One Sunday afternoon and they had
gone for a long walk. Everything seemed to be in his favor. The day
could not have been more perfect—one of those glorious, crisp, sunshiny
days every New Yorker knows and loves. They came to a bench in one of
the smaller parks, and sat down to rest. The sky had never seemed so
blue nor the grass so green. The birds sang more sweetly than he had
ever known they could, and the flowers about them had wafted a fragrance
that was heady. What a wonderful place this old world was after all, he
thought, as he reached for her hand. Just made for love and joy and
youth!
“Katie, dear,” he said simply as his grip tightened on the capable
little fingers, “I—I want to tell you that I love you very, very
dearly.”
“Oh—Howard—” She hung her head.
“Do you—like me—a little?” He lifted her chin, and looked into her
eyes.
“Of course—I like you!” She was blushing rosy red. “But not a little!
I—I like you a whole lot.”
“You darling!” His arms went out to draw her to him. They were in a
secluded spot, but it would have made no difference to Howard Benton had
they been in the open. “You darling—little girl—I—I’m just crazy
about you!”
“Howard—someone might see you,” the girl demurred, but her sigh of
happiness contradicted her speech as she snuggled closer to him. “Gee,
but I’m happy you love me!”
“I’ve loved you since the first moment I met you, Katie—but I was
afraid you might not care about me.”
“Ain’t that funny now! I loved you too, from the start. It must abeen
love at first sight,” she giggled. “Only I was afraid a swell educated
fellow like you wouldn’t notice an ignorant girl like me.”
“You’re sweet and good—and I love you, dear.” He kissed her. “And after
we’re married, I’ll spend a lot of time teaching you, and in a short
time you won’t know yourself.”
“Gee, that’ll be great! Ain’t it a shame I never went to school much? I
had to work ever since I was a kid.”
“I’m sure you’re not to blame because you’ve never had the opportunity
to obtain an education. But that will come in time.”
“Well, I’ll try hard enough,” she replied earnestly.
“And you’ll succeed too,” he assured her. “Now, darling, I must tell you
something that I think you ought to know. It may make a difference in
your love for me.”
He told her all about the affair of two years ago—of Elinor, of his
father, of Mrs. DeLacy, of his wonderful mother. Everything just as it
had happened. He was a long time in telling it, as he dwelt on each
point, to make it all perfectly clear to her.
When he had finished, it was with a sad little smile he asked: “So now,
dear, you see, I’ve had quite a past. Will it make a difference?”
“Just this much of a difference.” The tears were streaming down her
cheeks as she clutched him. “That I love you more than ever. Why you’re
grand, dear! You’re a hero—I—I’m proud of you!”
“Oh, Katie, dear, you wonderful girl!”
“I knew all along you wuz a swell, though, and didn’t belong with the
gang around here!” She nodded her head vigorously at the recognition of
her own sagacity.
“When can we get married, Katie? I hope we won’t have to wait too long?”
Now that he had spoken, Howard was all eagerness.
“I can be ready most any time. Of course,” she added with a twinkle in
her eye and her little nose wrinkled up in that maddening way she had,
“it may take a few months to get my troussee ready. I’ll see if Lady
Duff Gordon or Lucille can spare the time.”
“Funniest little kid!” he laughed heartily. “But let’s talk it over now
and try to settle upon a day.” He told her about his position and just
what he was earning.
“Gee, that’s a wonderful job, Howard, and you’re earning more than Ma’s
old man, and he’s been in one place for years.”
“Then you think we can manage on it all right?”
“Manage? Why, we’ll live like millionaires,” she enthused.
“Of course, we won’t have to get a house—that will help some. Our
flat’s furnished very nicely and we have four rooms.”
“I know—I ain’t never seen yours, but I’ve been in the buildin’ to see
Mrs. Lambert, and they’re beautiful flats. Say, do you think your
mother’s goin’ to like me?”
“How could _anyone_ help liking you? You’re so pretty, so sweet, Katie.”
“Maybe—but that don’t mean very much to most women,” she answered
dubiously.
“My mother’s different,” he defended. “She’ll be wonderful to you and
help you a lot. I know you two are going to get along wonderfully
together.”
“Why, Howard!” she sat back suddenly and looked at him. “You ain’t
figurin’ on your mother livin’ with us, are you?”
“Certainly, dear.” His astonishment was equal to her own. “Surely, you
didn’t think I intended to leave my mother?”
“Well, don’t every boy and every girl leave their mothers when they get
married? You ain’t no different!”
“No—but my mother’s different,” he answered tenderly. “Why, she’s a
brick, I tell you. She stood by me through thick and thin! She had a lot
of money two years ago, but she spent every dollar of it for me!”
“Well, it’s a mother’s duty to stand by her children, ain’t it?”
“I don’t know about that! I hadn’t been such a wonderful son to her, and
it’s only in the last two years we’ve grown so close to each other. I
wouldn’t hurt her for the world!” he declared.
“Oh, all right, kid!” Katie moved away from him. “If that’s the way you
feel about it—let’s just call our engagement off!”
“Katie! You wouldn’t do that! I love you too much!”
“And I love you, Howard. But there ain’t goin’ to be no mother-in-law
business in my life. My ma says to me: ‘Take it from me, Kitty, there
ain’t no home big enough for two families.’ And she ought to know. She’s
been married three times.”
“But there wouldn’t be anything like that with my mother—you’re bound
to love her.”
“Sure! That’s all right,” she answered heartily. “I want to love her,
and I want her to love me! But I don’t want to live with her.”
“It’s the terrible loneliness of it all that keeps me thinking,” Howard
went on ruminatively, as though he were thinking aloud. “You see, mother
never goes anywhere. Why she never leaves the flat unless it is to go on
an errand, or do her marketing. She hasn’t a friend or companion. She
just lives for me alone.”
“Well, we can see her every day, can’t we? She’ll get used to it all
right. Every mother’s got to see her kids grow up and get married, and
leave her. She didn’t think you was goin’ to be a—a—you know what I
mean—an old-maid man—did she?”
Howard smiled in spite of himself. “No, I suppose not. But come up now,
and meet my mother. You may feel differently after that.”
“I’ll go and meet your mother willingly—but I won’t change my mind,”
was his fiancée’s stubborn reply. “There ain’t goin’ to be no
mother-in-laws——”
He stopped her with a kiss as they started down the path.
Marjorie had just stepped out to go to the delicatessen store on the
corner for a few things. It was just a little after five, her table was
set, and everything ready for supper, although she didn’t expect Howard
for another hour. Very often on Sunday night, she arranged a cold meal.
Howard opened the door and drew the bashful Katie in after him.
“Come in, dear—I’ll call mother.” He went to the door leading to the
kitchen. “Oh, mother, dear.”
He looked in and then went to the bedroom. “She’s not here—” he turned
to Kate, “but she won’t be long. I suppose she has gone on an errand.
See the table is set for supper. Come take off your things,” attempting
to remove her hat.
“No, I won’t take off my hat.” She fidgeted about. “I’m so nervous—I’ll
just wait and meet your mother, and then I’ll run downstairs and visit
Mrs. Lambert.”
“You don’t have to be nervous, dear—everything’s bound to be all
right.” He pulled down the shade and switched on the light.
Kate looked about admiringly.
“My, this is a gorgeous flat. Ain’t the furniture handsome!” she
enthused.
“I’m so glad you like it. We’re going to be very happy. You do love me,
don’t you?” Howard caught her in his arms.
“Of course, I do—you big boob.” She kissed him. “You know, I’m just
crazy about you.”
“No more than I am about you.” He returned her kiss. “Still,” he added,
“I’d give anything dear, if I could only persuade you to let my mother
live with us.”
Kate turned irritably. “Do we have to start all over that thing again?”
she asked, with eyes flashing. “I thought it was all settled.”
Further discussion was interrupted by Marjorie’s entrance. She was
carrying a market basket and she looked pale and tired in her shabby
little dress.
“Good evening, dear,” she said, as Howard rushed to her, and relieved
her of the basket. “I didn’t expect you home so early. I have a cold
supper, just the things you like. I had a little time to spare so I ran
down to the corner to get a few things for to-morrow. Oh—I beg your
pardon.” She noticed Kate for the first time. “I didn’t know you had
company.”
“Mother,” he said, putting his arm about her, and leading her forward,
“I want you to meet Katie—Katie Walsh—the girl I told you—I—I cared
for. Well, she has promised—to—become my wife!”
“Your—your wife, dear? Why—why I am surprised.” She leaned against him
heavily.
“I’ve cared for Katie ever since the first night I met her—but I wasn’t
sure she loved me—until this afternoon. We came right up to tell you.”
“I—I see.” Marjorie was endeavoring, with all her might, to come out of
her state of bewilderment. Steadying herself with an effort she went
over to Kate and held out her hand.
“I’m glad to know you, dear,” she said in her sweet, simple tones, “and
I hope you will make my boy—very happy.”
“I’m goin’ to try to, Mrs. Benton,” Katie replied warmly. “I’m for him
as much as he is for me,—so I can’t see how we can help bein’ happy.”
Marjorie winced, but she spoke cheerfully. “Love is the foundation of
all real happiness, my dear. I’m glad you have the right idea. You must
stay and have supper with us—it won’t take a second to set another
place. I’m anxious to have you tell me all about yourself.”
“I—I don’t think I can stay.” Katie was evidently uncomfortable. “I was
just goin’ to run down to see Mrs. Lambert—before goin’ home. Howard
can come over after his supper.”
“But you mustn’t run away like this,” Marjorie urged. “I’ve only just
met you! We’ve so much to talk about, you know. Come, Howard, you coax
her to stay.”
“Of course, she’ll stay, mother.” Howard removed Katie’s hat without
asking her, whispering in her ear: “Stay if she wants you to, dear.”
“That’s fine!” Marjorie started for the kitchen. “I know you’ll excuse
me for a few minutes.”
Howard opened the door and carried her basket into the kitchen for her,
then he hurried back to Katie and squeezed her joyously.
“Now, wasn’t she fine? What did I tell you?”
“Whew!” Katie made a stab at whistling. “She’s so grand she makes the
chills run up and down my back! Do you know, Howard, all the time she
was talkin’ to me, I felt as if she was lookin’ right inside of
me—through my clothes and all.”
“Mother’s true blue all right!” Howard declared proudly. “The way she
took it is a great relief to me. I confess I was terribly nervous for a
minute. I hope we won’t have any trouble with your mother, dear?”
“Humph! My Ma’s goin’ to be tickled to death! Besides, she ain’t got
nothin’ to say about me—I told you I’ve always been self-supportin’.”
In the kitchen Marjorie was gathering up the dishes and cutlery for the
extra place at the table. Her tears were falling so fast they almost
blinded her. She kept brushing them away as she whispered over and over
to herself:
“Dear God, help me to-night. Give me the strength to make my
boy—happy!”