But, if society did not recognize Mamie, the masculine element of it
did, in a hidden, stealthy way.
Even when she had gone to High School the most desirable boys had
offered her—secretly—invitations, moonlight drives—the best people of
Millersville did not allow their daughters to drive after sundown with
masculine escorts—and other forbidden pleasures. When she was younger
Mamie accepted these invitations, but when she grew older and came
to the Busy Bee to work, she learned how unpleasant they could be.
Gradually, the men had ceased bothering about her. After all, she was
only old Carpenter’s daughter and not a good sport—no pep to her.
In the Busy Bee, too, had come invitations from the commercial
travellers who hung around the Grand Hotel. Mamie accepted them for
a while. She wanted a good time. She flirted and laughed, went for
walks and drives. But finally she stopped going with the travelling
men—refused their invitations altogether. She didn’t know why—just no
fun any more, nothing to it.
Not that these refusals helped her reputation in Millersville. A girl
as pretty as Mamie and coming from such a neighbourhood as Gillen Row
and with Joe Carpenter as a father had no reputation to lose.
But when she quit “running around” it left her pretty much alone. She
even refused the invitations of the girls who worked with her at the
Busy Bee. Their homes were neater than hers. She couldn’t return their
invitations. Anyhow, she didn’t care anything about them. Their beaux,
decent clerks, annoyed her. Occasionally, lately, she had allowed Will
Remmers, of the New York Store, to take her to some of Millersville’s
infrequent theatrical performances. She didn’t care for Will Remmers, a
stupid fellow who thought he was doing her a favour, but, at least, he
was decent—some one to go with. She didn’t care for any one especially.
She had learned a lot about men, being pretty and meeting them since
she was sixteen.
Mamie had tried to think of some way to get out of Millersville, but
she never went far enough to plan anything definitely. The home in
Gillen Row took all of her money; she could barely keep out enough to
dress decently. She saw no future by the route of the drummers of the
Grand Hotel. She had no profession or training. Really, she didn’t
dislike being in Millersville. If she could have been one of the
society set she felt she would have liked it very well indeed. It was
just her position that annoyed her—having nothing, no pretty things,
being nothing—when girls like the Reddings had so much.
The Reddings especially annoyed Mamie.
There were two Redding girls: Sophie, the older, rather fat and white
with colourless hair, and Esther, a bit more presentable, but a trifle
more stupid, if anything. The Redding girls giggled, holding their
heads on one side. They tossed their light curls. They snuggled up to
their young men. They were always coming into the Busy Bee, the head
of a little group, laughing and chatting, selecting tables with great
care, ordering elaborate sundaes or sodas. They always had new little
tricks, new clothes. If they recognized Mamie as one of their old
schoolmates, they gave no sign. They had each had a year at the Craig
School, a second-rate boarding school that New York maintained for rich
Westerners, and liked to forget that they had ever attended any other
institution.
When Marlin Embury came into the Busy Bee to make a purchase, Mamie
might have paid no attention to him at all if Rose Martin hadn’t nudged
her.
“That’s William E. Embury’s son,” she said. “He’s back in town. Do
you know him? I read in the _Eagle_ he’s gone in with his father in
business. He goes with Sophie Redding. They say he is going to marry
her, though they haven’t announced the engagement.”
Mamie looked at Embury and liked him. That nice-looking fellow—for
Sophie Redding! Not nearly as handsome as the man who had played
in the stock company in Millersville the month before, but not
bad-looking—didn’t compare with Wallace Reid or John Barrymore, but
then they were only on the screen—pictures as far as she was concerned,
and married—she’d read that in a magazine—and Embury was right here.
She knew who Embury was, had seen him, years ago, before he went away
to college, had sort of kept track of him through the papers. She had
read, several months before, that he was back in Millersville, after
two years as manager of some of his father’s oil wells in Oklahoma.
And now he was going with Sophie Redding! Good-looking and rich—the
only son of rich parents—and Sophie Redding would get him! He had
a good face, was young, couldn’t be more than twenty-four. That
young kind is easy—falls for anything. Mamie knew that. He had
gone to a boys’ preparatory school, then to a college that was not
co-educational, then two years in a little town. Why he didn’t
know anything about girls. He’d be easy even for Sophie Redding to
capture—Sophie, with her home, “Crestwood,” out in Maple Road, her
father, grey-haired and pompous, and her mother, fat and smiling—always
giving parties—good times.
No wonder Sophie could get him, even if she was fat and white and
silly! Sophie had everything. What chance had she against Sophie?
Until then it hadn’t occurred to Mamie that she was entitled to a
chance—that there was even the possibility of her and Sophie having
aims in the same direction. And yet—
She looked at Embury.
He had bought a huge box of candy. It was being wrapped up for him. He
was a nice boy with sleek black hair, not especially tall, but then she
herself was small and didn’t like tall men. He had nice shoulders, a
slim figure, a good head, just a boy. Fat Sophie Redding, with her pale
eyes and giggles—why, she _knew_ she was prettier—smarter than Sophie!
And yet—Sophie—!
Why not do something about it? _Do_ something? Get Embury? Why not?
Wasn’t his father about the richest man in Millersville? Wasn’t he the
most eligible man in town, now that Bliss Bingham had gone to Chicago
and Harold Richardson was married?
There were other men, of course, but either they were old bachelors
who knew too much about her, old and snobbish, or poor or too young.
Embury had already made good in Oklahoma. Now his father had taken him
into business, wouldn’t disinherit him—if he married her. Wasn’t it
rumoured that Mrs. Embury—stately and dignified enough now—had before
her marriage “worked out”? She wouldn’t dare object too strenuously to
Joe Carpenter’s daughter as her daughter-in-law.
After all, Mamie had always wondered if she could do something clever
if she had a chance. Here was her chance—she’d never have a better
one, she knew that. After all, no one would help her—all she had was
herself. Maybe, if she tried hard enough....
Embury took his package and went out of the store. He had not noticed
Mamie Carpenter.