Evangeline Knapp was eating her breakfast with a good appetite, the
morning paper propped up in front of her, so that she could study
attentively Mrs. Willing’s clever advertising for the day. She admired
Mrs. Willing’s talent so much! That was something _she_ could never
do, not if her life depended on it! She had always hated writing,
even letters. Everything in her froze stiff when she took up a pen.
But she knew enough to appreciate somebody who could write. And Mrs.
Willing could. Her daily advertisements were positively as good as a
story--better than most stories because there was no foolishness about
them. This morning, for instance, as Evangeline sipped her coffee,
she enjoyed to the last word the account of the new kitchen-cabinets
at the Emporium, and Mrs. Willing’s little story about the wonderful
way in which American ingenuity had developed kitchen conveniences!
Good patriotism, that was, too. She knew that all over town women
were enjoying it with their breakfast and would look around their own
kitchens to see how they could be improved. The kitchen-ware department
would have a good day, she thought unenviously, her pride in the store
embracing all its departments.
She moved to the cashier’s desk to pay for her breakfast, for she took
her breakfast downtown, as the easiest way to manage things at home
in the morning. The children didn’t need to be off to school until an
hour after she left the house, and this plan left them more time to
get their breakfast without hurrying. The cashier gave her a pleasant
good-morning as he handed over the change, and asked how all the
family were that morning. Everybody in town knew what troubles Mrs.
Knapp had, and how brave she was about them. As he asked the question
he was thinking to himself, “Nobody ever heard her complain or look
depressed--and yet how forlorn for a home-body such as she had always
been to get her breakfast in a cafeteria like a traveling-man!”
“Mr. Knapp is really pretty well,” she answered cheerfully; “he gets
about in his wheel chair wonderfully well, considering. Takes care of
himself entirely now, even dressing and undressing. And the children
are splendid. So helpful and brave.”
“Your children _would_ be!” said the cashier, who was a distant
relative of Miss Flynn’s. But he really did admire Mrs. Knapp very
much. Evangeline smiled to acknowledge the compliment, which she
took very much as a matter of course. That was the kind of thing
every one always said to her. She corrected the smile with a sigh and
said earnestly, “Of course it is dreadfully hard for a mother to be
separated from her children; but we all have to do the best we can.”
“Oh, yes, dreadfully,” agreed the cashier sympathetically. Mrs. Knapp
had made the same remark to him several times before, but he was used
to that. Customers always repeated themselves. It was part of the
business not to notice it. She went on now, repeating herself again,
and he listened with his usual patience. “The _hard_est part for me was
to make up my mind to let things go at the house. If I do say it, I’d
always done my duty by my housekeeping.”
The cashier murmured his usual ejaculation of assent.
“Dr. Merritt had just put his foot _down_ that I was not to do one
thing at the house after I got home from the store. But you know how
it is, you can’t help yourself when you see all there is to be done. I
used to turn right in those first weeks and clean house every Sunday
from morning till night. But I had to give it up. I found I was no
good at the store on Mondays, unless I got my rest. And of course,
_that_....”
“Yes, of course _that_!” acquiesced the cashier.
“So now I just look the other way and think about something else,” she
said bravely, bestowing the change in her purse.
The cashier nodded as she turned away, noticing that she folded her
morning paper and put it under her arm with the exact gesture of any
other business-man.
He had sent her away, as he had intended, well satisfied with life,
and as she walked along to her work, she was turning over in her mind
some of the reasons for her satisfaction. The children were coming
along splendidly, she thought, remembering lovingly how sweet they
had looked this morning as she kissed them good-by; Helen still in
her petticoat, combing her hair, turning a freshly washed, rosy face
up towards her tall mother; Henry pulling on his little trousers and
reading out of that absurd conundrum book Lester had borrowed of Mattie
for him; Stephen poking his head out from under Lester’s bedclothes
like a chicken sticking its downy crest through the old hen’s wings!
Stephen slept downstairs, beside his father’s bed, in a little cot that
slipped under Lester’s bed in the daytime. He was always scrambling
into bed with Lester in the morning. As she dressed upstairs, she
often heard their voices, talking and laughing together. Lester had of
course plenty of time for that sort of thing, since he did not have
to hurry about getting an early breakfast for any one. And Stephen
seemed to have passed a sort of turning-point in his life and was much
less troublesome than he had been. Mattie Farnham had always said that
perhaps Stephen would just outgrow those naughty spells! She said
children often did between five and six.
* * * * *
As always she was the first of the selling force in at the doors of
the Emporium and the first in her department. She loved this tranquil
taking possession of the day’s work. It was one of the reasons why
she breakfasted at the cafeteria. She liked to check up on all the
necessary, before-opening-time activities, and be sure they were all
finished in good shape by the time the first customer came in. This
was not really her business of course, but as she always willingly
lent a hand, the stock-girls and cleaning women did not object. This
morning she found that the stock-girls had not finished taking off the
covers, and at once began to help, reminding the stock-boy over her
shoulder about the thorough morning airing which Mr. Willing thought so
important.
What a wonderful man he was! It was an education to work for him. He
never forgot a detail. “If the air in the store is close and low in
oxygen, the whole selling pace is slower,” he had told her; “customers
are dopy and salespersons can’t stay right up on their toes as they
ought.” How true that was! And how wise! She had had no idea there was
so much _to_ retail selling.
As her long, quick fingers folded the great covers, she was thinking
of those fascinating books Mr. Willing had loaned her, books she had
devoured as a child devours fairy-tales, which she was now re-reading
slowly and making her own. The chapter on textiles, how to distinguish
linen from cotton and all that--how absorbingly interesting that had
been! She had sat up till midnight to finish it. She had never dreamed
that anything in a book could hold her attention so. How like amateur
guesswork it made all her earlier information seem. And then to have
Mrs. Willing loan her that microscope, “to keep as long as you need,”
to study and analyze fabrics. How good the Willings were to her! Such
kind young people as well as such awfully clever and educated ones.
Together with the stock-girl she began running through her stock to
make sure everything was right before the real business of selling
began. She had timed herself and found that it took her just forty
seconds per suit or cloak to make sure that hooks and eyes were
firmly on, buttons all right, belts properly tacked in place, and the
price-ticket on. There was therefore no reason why she shouldn’t go
through all the stock for which she was responsible every morning
and lay to one side any garment that needed attention. Afterwards,
rapidly as she sewed, a quarter of an hour of work with needle and
thread, and there she was, ready for the day, her mind at peace about
her merchandise. If there was anything she detested it was to see a
garment offered to a customer with a hook hanging loose, or a button
dangling, or to see a saleswoman paw it all over without finding any
price-ticket. It gave her a warm feeling of comfort to be quite sure
that this could not happen with any of the garments in her department.
Also she enjoyed, sensuously enjoyed, handling those beautiful,
well-made garments, with their exquisitely tailored details which she
who had struggled so long with the construction of garments could so
professionally appreciate.
And the new merchandise, as it was brought in from the receiving-room!
What a joyful, excitement to welcome the newcomers, with their amusing
and ingenious little novelties of finish and style and cut! What a
wonderful buyer Mr. Willing was! Nobody had ever seen such garments
in town before, so simple, so artistic, so perfect! They filled one’s
cup to overflowing with speechless satisfaction, they were so exactly
_right_! Here was that new homespun suit, just in yesterday, in that
lovely new shade of mauve. Whoever in _that_ town had heard of a mauve
tailor-made suit? And yet how lovely it was, and how suitable, even
for a middle-aged woman. Why, yes, especially for a middle-aged woman!
It would be a real comfort to a woman who had just begun to feel sad
over losing her youth. Every time she put the suit on it would be a
kind, strong reassurance that although youth was going, comeliness and
a quieter beauty were still within reach.
Evangeline held the suit up, looking at it and thinking gratefully how
it would help some woman through a difficult year in her life. She
remembered suddenly the Mrs. Warner who had so pathetically longed
for that bright green sports sweater. This would satisfy her wistful,
natural longing for pretty things and yet be quite suitable for her
age. Evangeline had so much sympathy for women struggling with the
problem of dressing themselves properly at difficult ages! Of course
this suit was much, much more expensive than anything Mrs. Warner had
ever worn. But, thought Evangeline earnestly, wasn’t it always the
truest wisdom to make any sacrifice for the sake of getting the _real
thing_?
She slipped it back on the hanger and turned to that black
velours-de-laine fur-trimmed cloak that had been so slow to sell. What
ever was the matter with it? Why couldn’t they get rid of it! Marked
down as it was by this time, it was a wonderful bargain! How queer
it was about some things, how--quite mysteriously--they simply did
not take. That black cloak was known all over the floor, and when a
saleswoman got it out to show a customer, all the other salespersons
turned their heads to watch if this time it wouldn’t go. But it never
had.
She looked at it hard, boring her mind into the problem as deep as she
could drive it. But no inspiration came. The garment went back on the
hanger after an inspection of its fastenings. Ah, here was the first
customer! She turned to greet her warmly, with the exhilarated dash
of a swimmer running out along the spring-board for the first dive of
the day. “Good-morning, Mrs. Peterson,” she said, smiling her welcome.
“Come to see that sports suit for your daughter again? I’m so thankful
I can tell you that it is still here. It was almost sold yesterday.
Mrs. Hemingway was considering it. But it is really much more suitable
for your Evelyn, with that glorious coloring of hers.”
She had plunged off the spring-board with her athletic certainty of
movement. And now she was in her real element, glowing and tingling,
every nerve-center timed up to the most heartily sincere interest in
what Mrs. Peterson’s daughter would wear that spring. Evelyn Peterson
would look simply stunning in that sports suit, with those rose-pink
cheeks and her glistening blonde hair! Evangeline gloried in the
brilliant good looks of girls! There was a period between eighteen and
twenty-three when it was as good as a feast to dress one.
Mrs. Peterson was drawn along after her enthusiasm as a piece of paper
is drawn fluttering after an express train. She said, “Well, I _had_
come to say that Mr. Peterson and I have about decided that it was too
expensive a suit for Evelyn, but now I’m here, I guess I’ll look at it
again.”
Mrs. Knapp’s day had begun.
* * * * *
That evening after supper they had the comfortable game of whist which
had come to be one of the family institutions of late. Lester had
taught Helen and Henry how to play and after Stephen was in bed in his
little cot, sociably close to them, they usually moved into the next
room for a rubber. Evangeline thought that she thought it rather a
foolish waste of time; but she did not demur, because she did not like
to refuse poor Lester anything that would lighten his dreary life.
She had liked to play cards in her youth and found that she had still
quite a taste for the game. She played well, too, and usually held good
hands. Henry had, it now appeared, inherited from her considerable
“card sense” and with her as a partner, they more than held their end
up. Lester and Helen, notoriously absent-minded, often made fearful
mistakes, which set them all into gales of laughter and advanced the
cause of their opponents notably. One of the family jokes was the time
when Lester, holding only one trump, had triumphantly led it out as a
sneak lead!
“If it amuses Lester and the children....” thought Evangeline, dealing
the cards swiftly and deftly, and enjoying herself very much, she and
Henry just now having won their third game in succession.
* * * * *
She did not know that they were all frightfully uneasy that evening.
Stephen had been coming in and out of the house all day, and just
the instant before Mother was expected, they discovered that on one
occasion he must have climbed up on the sofa with his muddy rubbers!
There were lumps of crumbling, drying mud all up and down it. They were
wildly brushing it off when they heard Mother’s quick strong step on
the porch and had scurried to cover. There were lots of lumps left yet.
Suppose Mother should see them.
It was all right so long as they were playing whist. They had put
Mother’s chair with its back to the sofa. But afterwards, when she and
Father settled down to their evening of reading and studying, what
would happen?
When nine o’clock struck, Helen and Henry stood up to start to bed. And
Mother ... oh! ... after strolling about absently a moment she went
and sat down on the sofa!
And never said a word. Never noticed a thing! Just sat there for a
moment, thinking, and then jumped up to make a note in her store-book
where she methodically put down her every idea! How was that for luck,
their shining eyes said to each other silently, as the children kissed
their father and mother good-night, and went off upstairs.
* * * * *
It had come to her, right out of nowhere, as one’s best thoughts
always come, that the thing to do with that black, fur-trimmed
velours-de-laine cloak was to sell it to Mrs. Prouty in place of
the fur coat which she coveted so and couldn’t possibly afford. It
would actually, honestly, look better on Mrs. Prouty’s too-rounded
dumpy figure than the fur coat. Her conviction was instantly warm!
The earnest words came rushing to her lips. She heard herself saying
fervently, “You see, Mrs. Prouty, a fur coat has no _line_. The only
people who look well in one are the flat, long, bean-pole variety. But
a well-cut, well-tailored coat like this ... just see how that flat,
strap trimming carries the eye up and down and doesn’t add to the bulk.
And those great fur cuffs and collar give all the _richness_ of the fur
coat without the....” Oh, she knew she could do it! She could just see
Mrs. Prouty’s wistful eyes brightening, her anxious face softening into
satisfaction and content.
And what a feather in her cap if she could be the one to work off that
unsalable cloak!
PART THREE