The Darkest Day.
When Florence left the employ of Mrs. Leighton she had a few dollars
as a reserve fund. As this would not last long, she at once made an
effort to obtain employment.
She desired another position as governess, and made application in
answer to an advertisement.
Her ladylike manner evidently impressed the lady to whom she applied.
"I suppose you have taught before?" she said.
"Yes, madam."
"In whose family?"
"I taught the daughter of Mrs. Leighton, of West -- Street."
"I have heard of the lady. Of course you are at liberty to refer to
her?"
"Yes, madam," but there was a hesitation in her tone that excited
suspicion.
"Very well; I will call upon her and make inquiries. If you will call
to-morrow morning, I can give you a decisive answer."
Florence fervently hoped that this might prove favorable; but was
apprehensive, and with good reason, it appeared.
When she presented herself the next day, Mrs. Cole said:
"I am afraid, Miss Linden, you will not suit me."
"May I ask why?" Florence inquired, schooling herself to calmness.
"I called on Mrs. Leighton," was the answer. "She speaks well of you
as a teacher, but--she told me some things which make it seem
inexpedient to engage you."
"What did she say of me?"
"That, perhaps, you had better not inquire."
"I prefer to know the worst."
"She said you encouraged the attentions of her nephew, forgetting the
difference in social position, and also that your connections were not
of a sort to recommend you. I admit, Miss Linden, that you are very
ladylike in appearance, but, I can hardly be expected to admit into my
house, in the important position of governess to my child, the
daughter or niece of an apple-woman."
"Did Mrs. Leighton say that I was related to an apple-woman?"
"Yes, Miss Linden. I own I was surprised."
"It is not true, Mrs. Cole."
"You live in the house of such a person, do you not?"
"Yes, she is an humble friend of mine, and has been kind to me."
"You cannot be very fastidious. However, that is your own affair. I am
sorry to disappoint you, Miss Linden, but it will be quite impossible
for me to employ you."
"Then I will bid you good-morning, Mrs. Cole," said Florence, sore at
heart.
"Good-morning. You will, I think, understand my position. If you
applied for a position in one of the public schools, I don't think
that your residence would be an objection."
Florence left the house, sad and despondent. She saw that Mrs.
Leighton, by her unfriendly representations, would prevent her from
getting any opportunity to teach. She must seek some more humble
employment.
"Well, Florence, did you get a place?" asked Mrs. O'Keefe, as she
passed that lady's stand.
"No, Mrs. O'Keefe," answered Florence, wearily.
"And why not? Did the woman think you didn't know enough?"
"She objected to me because I was not living in a fashionable quarter
--at least that was one of her objections."
"I'm sure you've got a nate, clane home, and it looks as nate as wax
all the time."
"It isn't exactly stylish," said Florence, with a faint smile.
"You are, at any rate. What does the woman want, I'd like to know?"
"She doesn't want me. It seems Mrs. Leighton did not speak very highly
of me."
"The trollop! I'd like to give her a box on the ear, drat her
impudence!" said the irate apple-woman. "And what will you be doin'
now?"
"Do you think I can get some sewing to do, Mrs. O'Keefe?"
"Yes, Miss Florence--I'll get you some vests to make; but it's hard
work and poor pay."
"I must take what I can get," sighed Florence. "I cannot choose."
"If you'd only tend an apple-stand, Miss Florence! There's Mrs. Brady
wants to sell out on account of the rheumatics, and I've got a trifle
in the savings bank--enough to buy it. You'd make a dollar a day,
easy."
"It isn't to be thought of, Mrs. O'Keefe. If you will kindly see about
getting me some sewing, I will see how I can get along."
The result was that Mrs. O'Keefe brought Florence in the course of the
day half a dozen vests, for which she was to be paid the munificent
sum of twenty-five cents each.
Florence had very little idea of what she was undertaking.
She was an expert needlewoman, and proved adequate to the work, but
with her utmust industry she could only make one vest in a day, and
that would barely pay her rent.
True, she had some money laid aside on which she could draw, but that
would soon be expended, and then what was to become of her?
"Shure, I won't let you starve, Florence," said the warm-hearted
apple-woman.
"But, Mrs. O'Keefe, I can't consent to live on you."
"And why not? I'm well and strong, and I'm makin' more money than I
nade."
"I couldn't think of it, though I thank you for your kindness."
"Shure, you might write a letter to your uncle, Florence."
"He would expect me, in that case, to consent to a marriage with
Curtis. You wouldn't advise me to do that?"
"No; he's a mane blackguard, and I'd say it to his face."
Weeks rolled by, and Florence began to show the effects of hard work
and confinement.
She grew pale and thin, and her face was habitually sad.
She had husbanded her savings as a governess as closely as she could,
but in spite of all her economy it dwindled till she had none left.
Henceforth, she must depend on twenty-five cents a day, and this
seemed well-nigh impossible.
In this emergency the pawnbroker occurred to her.
She had a variety of nice dresses, and she had also a handsome ring,
given her by her uncle on her last birthday.
This she felt sure must have cost fifty dollars.
It was a trial to part with it, but there seemed to be no alternative.
"If my uncle has withdrawn his affection from me," she said to
herself, "why should I scruple to pawn the ring? It is the symbol of a
love that no longer exists."
So she entered the pawnbrowker's--the first that attracted her
attention--and held out the ring.
"How much will you lend me on this?" she asked, half frightened at
finding herself in such a place.
The pawnbroker examined it carefully. His practiced eye at once
detected its value, but it was not professional to admit this.
"Rings is a drug in the market, young lady," he said. "I've got more
than I know what to do with. I'll give you four--four dollars."
"Four dollars!" repeated Florence, in dismay. "Why, it must have cost
fifty. It was bought in Tiffany's."
"You are mistaken, my dear. Did you buy it yourself there?"
"No, my uncle gave it to me."
"He may have said he paid fifty dollars for it," said the pawnbroker,
wagging his head, "but we know better."
"But what will you give?" asked Florence, desperately.
"I'll give you five dollars, and not a penny more," said the broker,
surveying her distressed face, shrewdly. "You can take it or not."
What could Florence do?
She must have money, and feared that no other pawnbroker would give
her more.
"Make out the ticket, then," she said, wearily, with a sigh.
This was done, and she left the place, half timid, half ashamed, and
wholly discouraged.
But the darkest hour is sometimes nearest the dawn. A great
overwhelming surprise awaited her. She had scarcely left the shop when
a glad voice cried:
"I have found you at last, Florence!"
She looked up and saw--Dodger.
But not the old Dodger. She saw a nicely dressed young gentleman,
larger than the friend she had parted with six months before, with a
brighter, more intelligent, and manly look.
"Dodger!" she faltered.
"Yes, it is Dodger."
"Where did you come from?"
"From San Francisco. But what have you been doing there?"
And Dodger pointed in the direction of the pawnbroker's shop.
"I pawned my ring."
"Then I shall get it back at once. How much did you get on it?"
"Five dollars."
"Give me the ticket, and go in with me."
The pawnbroker was very reluctant to part with the ring, which he made
sure would not be reclaimed; but there was no help for it.
As they emerged into the street, Dodger said: "I've come back to
restore you to your rights, and give Curtis Waring the most
disagreeable surprise he ever had. Come home, and I'll tell you all
about it. I've struck luck, Florence, and you're going to share it."