But Jess had had ample warning. There would be something important heard
from Gee Gee if she neglected the regular work of her classes to devote
time and thought to that wonderful play.
It was hard to keep her mind off a task that had so gripped her heart
and mind. "The Spring Road" was in her thought almost continually. She
even dreamed about it at night. And it was a veritable wrench to get her
mind off the idyl of youth she was writing to set it upon the grim
realities of Latin, English, the higher mathematics, and other school
tasks.
It seemed to Jess Morse as though no other piece of writing could ever
be so enthralling as this she had undertaken. When she had begun it it
was with fear and trembling. The two hundred dollar prize was what
spurred her to the task. But now, she fairly loved it!
"The Spring Road" was a fantasy--a comedy--a love story; it was all
three in one, and she was writing it with the limitations of those who
would probably play it, in mind.
Many of the contestants for Mrs. Kerrick's prize thought not at all
about the players; but already in Jess's mind was fixed who, of her
schoolmates, would best fit into the parts. There was a character who
could not gain much sympathy from the audience, but who could wear
beautiful clothes--that would just suit Lily Pendleton.
And for the Spring Spirits, in the allegory, _Budding Tree_ and
_Laughing Brook_, who could be better fitted than Dora and Dorothy
Lockwood? While the heroine of the story must be beautiful Kate Protest,
of the Senior class, and the _Truant Lover_ the sparkling Launcelot
Darby.
At home matters were not going as smoothly as Jess had hoped, after her
mother obtained regular work upon the Centerport _Courier_. It was nice
to get the money regularly for that work; but somehow Mrs. Morse could
not see the wisdom of "paying as you go." Jess could not always take
cash with her when she went to the stores; and if her mother chanced to
be out herself and saw something particularly nice that Jess was likely
to fancy, she ordered it in without regard to how it was to be paid for.
But that had always been Mrs. Morse's way. She was over-generous with
Jess while she, herself, went with shabby gloves and mended shoes. But
any sensible plan of retrenchment in their household expenses had never
been evolved in her mind.
How they were to meet the added burden of the January rent never seemed
to trouble her. Jess only spoke of it once during that first fortnight
in December; then it disturbed her mother so much that the lamp of
genius refused to burn for a whole day, and, with a sigh, the girl gave
over discussing the point.
Checks for her mother's stories came few and far between these days,
Jess feared that they would soon owe Mr. Hargrew as large a bill as they
had at Mr. Closewick's store. And as for a new dress--well, the idea of
that was as far in the offing as ever.
All the girls she knew well were so busy scribbling away at their prize
plays that, had Jess been free herself out of school hours, she would
have been unable to find any of her usual companions at leisure.
Even Chet Belding, who was always at her beck and call, was terribly
busy these days. He and Lance Darby were hard at work upon some
wonderful sort of ice craft they were building down in Monson's old
boathouse, near the Girls' Branch Athletic League field and boathouse.
Each day saw the wintry winds grow colder, and soon the ice upon Lake
Luna was thick enough to bear. Some of the more reckless boys had skated
out to the steamboat channel, which had been sawed from the open water
in the middle of the lake, so that the freight boats from Lumberport and
Keyport could get to their docks.
Ice of such thickness on Lake Luna at this early date, however,
surprised even that apocryphal person, "the oldest inhabitant." And Jess
Morse would have been glad of a new coat, or the set of furs that her
mother had talked about. When she started for school some mornings, the
first blast of keen air off the lake seemed to cut through her like a
knife. She wouldn't have had her mother know how really thin her apparel
seemed for anything in the world.
And, very wisely, she kept up her gym. work faithfully. A few minutes'
vigorous exercise after the regular day's work at school was finished
put her in a glow, made her breathe more deeply and "put a shine in her
eyes," as Bobby expressed it.
"There isn't a girl in the class who doesn't need brisking up in the
gym. this weather--unless it's Eve Sitz," confided Bobby to Laura and
Jess as they left the gymnasium building together one afternoon. "Girls
are just like cats; they all like to mope around the register or the
steam radiator in cold weather. Why, Lil Pendleton wears a lace shawl
over her shoulders in the house, and hangs over the gas-log like an old
woman. We all ought to get back into basketball--and at the rowing
machines--again. Once a week on the court isn't enough to keep us
alive."
"If you knew the number of things Eve Sitz does, in and out of doors,
before she comes to school in the morning, and after she gets home
again, you wouldn't wonder that she keeps her color, and is so brisk and
strong," laughed Laura.
"I expect she is a busy little bee," admitted Bobby.
"She helps milk the cows night and morning----"
"There!" interrupted the irrepressible Bobby. "That's what I've always
intended to ask Eve; but I forget it."
"What's that?" asked Jess.
"Why, when you have finished milking a cow, how do you turn the milk
off?"
"Isn't she the ridiculous girl?" chuckled Laura, as Bobby ran up the
side street toward her own door. Then Mother Wit turned on her chum,
with her brisk, bird-like way: "How's the play going, Jess?"
"I'm--I'm afraid it's finished," said her chum, slowly.
"'Afraid!'" repeated Laura, in amazement.
"Yes. As far as I can finish it."
"But you're not going to give it up in the middle?" cried Laura.
"No. It is complete. Only it doesn't satisfy me," returned Jess, shaking
her head. "And it never will."
"Ah! there speaks real genius!" declared Laura, smiling.
"Don't you believe it," was her friend's hasty reply. "I just don't know
enough to write it well enough to suit me."
"Modesty!"
"Sense," corrected Jess, laughing a little dolefully. "How are you
getting along?"
"Just as Mr. Sharp said, I am no female Shakespeare," said Laura. "But I
have hopes that maybe my play isn't so bad."
Jess was not sanguine about "The Spring Road," however. She knew that it
might be written so much better, if one only knew how!
And while they discussed the play Jess heard somebody calling her by
name. Laura grabbed her arm and pointed.
"Isn't that Mrs. Prentice--the very rich Mrs. Prentice--in her electric
runabout? And, I declare, Jess! she's calling to you."
"Yes. I know her; she wants me," said Jess breathlessly, and she ran
across the street to where the electric car was standing beside the
curb.
"I want you, child," said the lady, with decision. "Can you excuse
yourself to your friend?"
Jess waved her hand to Laura, and called:
"I'll be up after supper, dear."
Laura nodded, and smiled, and went on; but she was evidently puzzled as
she turned to gaze after the runabout as it moved off swiftly with her
chum beside the lady in the magnificent furs.
"And how are you and your mother getting along?" asked Mrs. Prentice, as
soon as the car had started.
"Why--why about as usual, Mrs. Prentice," stammered Jess, who was much
puzzled as to why the lady should want her to take this ride. "Only
mother is regularly employed by Mr. Prentice, and is very grateful for
the work--as you must know, ma'am."
"Oh, don't speak of that," said Mrs. Prentice, laughing. "I fancy that
Pat is getting full measure for his money; he usually does. But tell me,
child, are you going to remain in that cottage of Mr. Chumley's?"
"Why--I really don't know, Mrs. Prentice. There seems no other place to
go----"
"He is horribly overcharging you, child," said the lady, quickly.
"I know. But there are so few small places in decent
neighborhoods--mother says she doesn't know what to do about it."
"I fancy, Jessica----Is that your name?"
"Josephine, Mrs. Prentice; only they all call me Jess."
"Very well--Jess. Sounds a good practical name--and you are a practical
girl; I can see that. Now, Jess, I fancy you have to do something
yourself toward moving, to get your mother started, eh?"
"Oh! but I don't know where to go----"
The car began to slow down. Mrs. Prentice had run into a quiet side
street, not two blocks from the cottage at the foot of Whiffle Street.
"See here," said the lady, stopping the motor and preparing to alight.
"I want you to see this little dove-cote--that's what I have always
called it. It is set behind a grassy front yard and there is a little
garden at the back. You'll love it in spring and summer."
"Oh, but Mrs. Prentice, is it empty?"
"It's too empty. That's the trouble. The tenant I had left
unexpectedly." She neglected to say that she had paid the tenant a
certain sum to leave the cottage and move into another house. "I don't
want the house empty during the cold weather. I have paid to have a fire
kept up in the furnace for a week so that the pipes would not freeze.
Come in."
It was a dear little cottage; Jess Morse was delighted with it. And so
much more convenient than Mr. Chumley's. Besides, there was a good
reason why the owner paid to have the fires kept up all this week of
cold weather. Every room was fresh with paint and paper--the smell of
varnish was still plain. It was really a delightful little place and the
furniture at home would fit into the several rooms so nicely!
Jess Morse saw all this at once. She was delighted----And two dollars
less a month than the cottage in which they had lived so long!
"It is a way opened, Mrs. Prentice!" she murmured. "Better than we could
ever expect. I thank you from the very bottom of my heart!"