Governor Street was just as dirty and squalid as any other
tenement-house street in the poorer section of a middle-class city. The
street-cleaning department had given up all hope before they reached
Governor Street, and the middle of the way was a series of ridges and
mountains of heaped-up, dirty, frozen snow.
The snow had been cleaned from the sidewalks, and the gutters freed so
that the melting ice could run off by way of the sewers when the sun was
kind; but the way to Number 93 was not a pleasant one to travel.
However, Laura and Jess, with little Maggie, reached the door in
question in a few minutes, A puff of steamy air--the essence of
countless washings--met the girls as the lower door was pushed open.
That is the only way the long and barren halls were heated--by the steam
from the wash-boilers. For Number 93 Governor Street was one of those
tenement houses which seem always to be in a state of being washed, and
laundered, and cleaned up; yet which never show many traces of
cleanliness, after all.
"We live on the top floor," said Maggie, volunteering her first remark
since starting homeward.
"That doesn't scare us," said Laura, cheerfully. "Lead on, MacDuff!"
"No. My name's Plornish," said this very literal--and seemingly
dull--little girl.
"Very well, Maggie MacDuff Plornish!" laughed Mother Wit. "We follow
you."
The little girl toiled up the stairs like an old woman. Laura and Jess
caught glimpses of other tenements as they followed the child and saw
that there was real poverty here. Jess began to compare her situation
with that of these humble folk, and saw that she had much to be grateful
for.
She was troubled over the lack of a new party dress, perhaps, or because
there were times when she and her mother were pinched for money. But the
bare floors and uncurtained windows of these "flats," with the poor
furniture and raggedly clothed children, spelled a degree of poverty
deeper than Jess Morse had imagined before.
A sallow woman met them at the door of one of the top-floor flats. She
was as faded as her calico dress. Her arms were lean and her hands
wrinkled, and all the flesh about her finger nails was swollen and of a
livid hue, from being so much in hot water.
Indeed, two steaming tubs stood in the kitchen into which the girls of
Central High were ushered. A big wash was evidently under way, and Mrs.
Plornish wiped her arms and hands from the suds, as she invited the
girls in, staring in amazement at one and another meanwhile.
"Your little Maggie met with an accident, Mrs. Plornish," said Laura,
pleasantly, putting the packages she had carried upon the table. "And so
we helped her home with her groceries."
"And Mr. Vandergriff says never mind the bottle of milk that was
spilled," explained Jess, setting the second bottle on the table.
"You come from Mr. Vandergriff?" asked the woman, her faded cheek
coloring a trifle.
Laura explained more fully. Mrs. Plornish seemed to have had her
motherly instincts pretty well quenched by time and poverty.
"Yes'm. I expect Maggie'll git runned over and killed some day on that
there Market Street," she complained. "But I ain't got nobody else to
send. Bob and Betty, and Charlemagne, air either at school or to
work----"
"Where is your husband?" asked Laura, briskly. "Is he working?"
"Off an' on," said the woman, but looking at the visitors a little
doubtfully.
"Engaged just at present?" pursued Laura.
"Look here, Miss," said Mrs. Plornish, "air you charity visitors? Though
you _be_ young."
"We have nothing to do with charities," Laura said. "We just came to
help Maggie. I didn't know but I might know of something for your
husband to do if he is out of work."
"He ain't. He's got a job right now. And I guess it will turn out to be
a good one," spoke Mrs. Plornish, and she smiled with sudden
satisfaction.
"It seems to please you, Mrs. Plornish," said Jess, quickly. "I hope you
will not be disappointed. Where is he working?"
"Oh, this job o' work is goin' to take him out o' town for a while,"
returned the woman, doubtfully.
"Indeed? To Lumberport?" asked the insistent Jess.
"No."
"To Keyport, then?"
"I can't tell you. It--it's a secret--that is, it's sort of a private
affair. Abel is a very smart man in his way--and this--er--this job will
bring him considerable money, I expect. I hope we'll all be better off
soon."
She seemed excited by the prospect of her husband's secret employment,
yet she was doubtful, too. Laura and Jess looked at each other and they
both came to the same conclusion. If Abel Plornish, alias "Mr. Pizotti,"
was scheming to get some money from the Pendletons, Mrs. Plornish knew
at least a little something about it.
But Laura did not know how to get this information from the woman; nor
did the girl believe that it was really right for her to do so. But
Mother Wit thought it would do no harm to help the family if she could
do so without offending. She drew forth her purse and looked gently at
Mrs. Plornish.
"You won't mind if I give you something to spend on Maggie?" asked
Mother Wit, in her most winning way. "Do let me help her, Mrs. Plornish!
I really mean no offense."
"Why, you look an honest enough young lady," said the woman.
"Maggie says she needs shoes so that she can go to school. Don't you
think you can spare her for at least a part of the time?"
"Mebbe I'd better, Miss. The truant officer's been around once," said
Mrs. Plornish. "But the baby's so small----"
"If your husband is as successful as you think he'll be," interposed
Jess, sharply, "you'll be able to afford to let her go, eh? Then you
will not have to work so hard yourself."
"That's right, Miss!" cried Mrs. Plornish, briskly.
Laura put the money for Maggie's shoes into her hand. "I hope we may
come and see Maggie again?" she said, pinching the thin cheek of the
little girl, who had been staring at them all this time, without
winking, and without a word.
"Sure you can, Miss! And thank you. Thank the young lady, Maggie,"
ordered Mrs. Plornish.
Maggie gave a funny, bobbing little courtesy as the older girls went
out. Laura and Jess said nothing to each other until they reached the
street. Then the latter declared:
"She knows something about it."
"About what?" asked Laura.
"Whatever it is that's going on. Whatever it is 'Pizotti' is doing."
"And we know he is staging your play for the M. O. R.'s," said Laura,
quietly. "That's all we _do_ know at present."
"But there's something else."
"That we don't know. I wish we did."
"And he's going out of town!"
"Perhaps that is not so," returned Laura, thoughtfully. "Of course his
wife knows that he works under an assumed name. That is no crime, of
course----"
"But there's something odd about it all," cried Jess.
"All right. How are we going to find out? Lil won't tell us----"
"And it is her business--or her mother's," said Jess. "And that's a
fact."
"She's one of us--she's a Central High girl," repeated Laura. "If we can
save her from the result of her own awful folly, we should do so."
"Huh! And we don't know what she's to be saved from as yet!" cried Jess,
which ended the discussion for the time being.
But that evening Bobby Hargrew hailed Jess in her father's store.
"Say, Eminent Author! what do you know about _this?_"
"About what, Bobby?" returned Jess.
Bobby was unfurling some sort of a folded paper which she had drawn from
that inexhaustible pocket of hers.
"See! it's a show bill. My cousin, Ed Pembroke, sent it to me from
Keyport. He says the town is plastered with them. Does it remind you of
anything?" and she began to read in a loud voice:
"'Coming! Coming! Coming! North Street Orpheum----' same date as your
show here on Friday night, Jess."
"I see," said Jess, peering over her shoulder as Bobby unctuously read
on:
"'High Class Entertainment for High Class people!' Ha! that's good,"
sniffed Bobby. "'The Lady of the Castle' played by a capable cast of
professional Thespians, who will assist the Talented Young Amateur,
GREBA PENDENNIS. 'Her portrayal of the _Duchess_ is a Work of Art.' Wow,
wow! Listen to that now!" cried Bobby, in great delight. "Wouldn't you
think that was Lil Pendleton?"
Jess stared at the bill, and whispered: "I would indeed."
"But of course it isn't!" gasped Bobby, looking at Jess, in sudden
curiosity.
"What is Lil's middle name?" demanded Jess, suddenly.
"Why--I---- Ah! she _has_ got a middle name, hasn't she? She signs it
'Lillian G. Pendleton!'"
"That is it," said Jess.
"But of course this can't be Lil?" cried Bobby, aghast. "'The Lady of
the Castle' might be another name for 'The Duchess of Doosenberry';
though. What do you think, Jess?"
"I don't know what to think," said Jess. "But you give me that bill,
Bobby, and I'll show it to Mother Wit."