“CASH ONE-HUNDRED-AND-FIVE”
When Miss Cicely Duer made up her mind to do a thing, she generally
succeeded in doing it and she had determined to prove that her plan
was a good one. So, first of all, she set to work putting the family
in good humor. “For,” she said to herself, “they are ever so much more
likely to be reasonable if they are in a cheerful frame of mind.” So
she straightway wrote out a number of very elegant invitations bidding
Grandpapa and Grandmamma Duer, Uncle Robert and Aunt Louise Duer, Uncle
Arthur and Aunt Laura Hamilton, Uncle Elliot and Aunt Edith Duer, and
Father and Mother Duer, “to come to Priscilla’s unbirthday party on
Thursday afternoon, February 10th, at three o’clock and to bring with
them, each and every couple, a little girl not over twelve years of
age and not under six. The grandpapa and grandmamma or uncle and aunt
bringing the nicest little girl will receive a prize. R.S.V.P.”
The invitations were sent out promptly and the answers came in
without delay. Not one member of the family sent a regret: every one
was “Pleased to accept Miss Cicely Duer’s kind invitation to Miss
Priscilla Duer’s unbirthday party,” etc., etc.
“It is just like the Queen and Alice,” laughed Miss Cicely merrily, but
her face grew sober as she thought of the search she would probably
have before she could get anything like the right sort of little girl
“to set before the king,” for the right sort of little girl doesn’t
grow on every bush and Miss Cicely knew it, and even if it did its
parents would not be likely to want to give it away.
“I shall not insist on her being pretty, of course, but she mustn’t be
utterly hideous,” the young lady thought. “I don’t want her to be a
goody-goody little prig but I can’t possibly have a young demon. Oh,
dear me! Suppose I cannot find a child at all and have to go to the
party without my share of small girl! How they will poke fun at me! It
would be another case of
“‘Smarty, Smarty gave a party,
Nobody came but Smarty, Smarty.’”
Her mind was so full of her mission, that one day while she was
shopping she found herself replying to a salesman before whose counter
she stood, “Yes, please. I want one between six and twelve. Truthful
and not too mischievous,” and she only realized her mistake when he
paused in measuring off the yards of silk she had selected and looked
at her as if he thought she was mildly insane and ought to be carefully
guarded.
Miss Cicely blushed furiously and tried to hide her embarrassment with
a laugh. The shopman laughed too and Miss Cicely, to explain her absurd
blunder, confided to him that she was really looking for a little
girl between six and twelve years of age who was truthful and not too
mischievous, and did they keep any of the sort in stock?
The salesman laughed again.
“Why, yes, madam, we do,” he replied. “Most of them are somewhat older
than you want, to be sure, but we have one, at least right here now,
that, come to think of it, ought to just fill the bill. Here! Cash!
Cash one-hundred-and-five! Cash! Cash!”
As the salesman said no more Miss Cicely concluded he had merely
replied to her joking question with a joking answer. He made out her
bill-of-sale and placed it with her yards of silk and then again rapped
upon his counter with the blunt end of his lead-pencil, repeating:
“Cash! One-hundred-and five! Here, Cash!”
Miss Cicely felt vaguely disappointed. Of course she had known that,
even in such a great department store as this, they did not have little
girls on sale, but the shopman’s manner and his reply to her laughing
question had been so serious that, for a flash, she had really thought
he was in earnest when he said he thought they had one that might “just
fill the bill.”
“It was very clever of him to carry out the joke so completely, any
one would have thought him in earnest; but--well,--Miss Cicely was
disappointed. She had searched and searched and not even the wee-est
sample of a nice little girl had she been able so far to find. And
Thursday was the day after to-morrow!
“Dear, dear!” she mused, “what in the world shall I do? The only place
I haven’t tried is ‘The Home for Friendless Children’ and I purposely
avoided it because I knew grandmamma and the aunts would fly there the
first thing, and I thought I’d be superior and discover something quite
original. Well, I suppose it serves me right! and my pride ought to go
before a fall. But there’s nothing left but an institution evidently!
Oh, me! I wonder if there would be a presentable little waif at the
Orphan Asylum? Positively I must go there at once and see. How long one
has to wait at these shops! Why doesn’t that Cash come?”
Miss Cicely grew almost irritable as she thought of her defeat. She
had quite given up the idea of taking the prize at the contest she
herself had arranged, but she could not face the ridicule that she knew
would be heaped upon her by the family if, after all her fine talk,
she failed to “produce” a “specimen” at all. Oh, dear! Why didn’t that
Cash----
“Cash! Cash! One hundred-and-five!” called the salesman a third time.
A very thin, small arm was thrust forward toward the counter from
between Miss Cicely and the crowding shopper next to her and a very
small breathless voice replied:
“Yes, sir! Here, sir! Cash one-hundred-and-five, sir!”
The salesman nodded.
“This is the one I was speaking about, madam,” he said turning to Miss
Cicely and indicating the arm and the voice just beside her.
Miss Cissy bent her head and looked down. There, at her elbow, almost
crushed flat by the crowd, and breathless with running, stood a little
errand-girl. She could not have been more than ten years old, but her
great anxious eyes and the little grown-up furrow between her brows
made her appear much older. Miss Cissy saw her small hand tremble as
she handed the salesman her basket, and noticed, also in a flash, that
it was a clean hand and that the shabby-sleeve through which it was
thrust, was clean also. Miss Cicely moved to make room for the mite of
a business-woman. The business-woman looked up--and the next moment
Miss Cicely had put an arm about her.
“So you are Cash one-hundred-and-five?” she inquired, kindly drawing
her to her side.
The child nodded, murmuring, “Yes’m,” and shoved her basket toward
the salesman who pretended to busy himself putting the silk and
bill-of-sale into it.
“And how old are you, I wonder?” pursued Miss Cissy.
“Ten, ’m,” answered Cash, feeling worried at these unbusinesslike
interruptions, but trying not to let the fine lady see it.
“And your name is----?”
“Ca--I mean Polly--Polly Carter please, ’m.”
“Polly is one of our best cash-girls, madam,” put in the salesman
quietly. “I don’t know what we’d do without Polly. She’s so quick and
ready, we all try to get her to carry to the desk for us, and that’s
why she didn’t come at my first call. She wasn’t loitering. She was
just rushed with business. That’s what comes of being reliable and
popular. Polly can always be trusted and she’s never cross.”
“Why, that is a royal recommendation!” said Miss Cissy approvingly.
“Now, I wonder how it happens that Polly is a cash-girl? Hasn’t she
anybody to take care of her? No father or mother?”
[Illustration: MISS CICELY HAD HER ARM AROUND HER]
“They’re dead, ’m,” answered Polly promptly. “I have a big sister and
she used to take care of me and send me to school. She worked here. She
was behind a counter. And she did needlework besides, oh, beautiful
needlework! but she got hurted last winter run over by a truck, and
both her legs were under the wheels and--so now--I take care of her,
and the s’ciety lets me ’cause I study when I’m through here, and
sister, she teaches me and I’m never sick and it’s nec’ary, ’cause
sister can’t do anything but her needlework now.”
Miss Cissy’s arm tightened about the waist of the little bread-winner.
“Where does your big sister live?” she asked quietly.
Polly gave the down-town east-side street and number and then reached
out for her basket. She felt that she could not spare any more time
to her personal affairs in business hours, even for such an elegant
customer as this.
“Well, Polly, I’m very glad to have met you,” said Miss Cicely, “and I
hope we shall see each other again. Here is a bright, new fifty-cent
piece for you. Won’t you take it, please, and buy yourself something
with it--whatever you like best.”
It gave Miss Cissy a thrill to see Polly’s face as she took the bit of
shining silver; all in a flash it changed from the face of a little
careworn woman to that of a dimpled child.
“I’ll get sister a book,” she cried happily. “I thank you ever so much!”
“Why, she’s actually pretty,” thought Miss Cissy and she pictured to
herself Cash one-hundred-and-five clad in a neat white frock, with hair
cut square round her neck and tied with crisp ribbon-bows over her
temples. “She’ll do. Most certainly she’ll do. Now, if I can only get
her!” she thought.
She was so entertained by her visions of the imagined Polly that it did
not seem a second before the actual one had returned with her bundle
and change. Miss Cissy took them from the salesman and, with a twinkle
in her eyes, thanked him for helping her to find just the article she
wanted. Then she hurried out into the street where her carriage was
awaiting her.
It was a long, rough ride over the uneven stones of the down-town
streets, but Miss Cissy did not care for little inconveniences. She
was too full of hope to mind the jolts and jars that made the coachman
grind his teeth. She readily found the tenement in which “big sister”
lived and she had no trouble in finding “big sister” herself. The big
sister who, by the way, was not, as it happened, big at all, but quite
little, in fact, heard Miss Cissy out very patiently. She seemed
used to listening to a great deal of talk and to seeing a great many
strange, fine ladies, and to not allowing herself to be bewildered by
their promises or them. She was extremely quiet and gave no sign of
either pleasure or surprise as the splendid plans for Polly’s welfare
were unfolded to her. How was she to know that this fine lady was in
earnest and would prove as good as her word?
When Miss Cissy had quite finished she said slowly:
“It is very kind of you to offer to help us. It would be a grand thing
for me, of course, to go to a hospital and be treated right, and I
think your little cousin would like Polly, but--it would be very bad
for Polly if, after she had had a taste of easy living, she’d have
to go back to the cash-running again and--this,” pointing to the
poor room. “I don’t think I’d better risk it for her, miss. Polly
is a cheerful little soul, but you can’t tell, it might make her
discontented later.”
But Miss Cicely was not one to be easily discouraged. She reassured and
she explained, she argued and she urged.
At last big sister spoke.
“I’m bound to tell you this, miss,” she said anxiously. “You say your
little cousin doesn’t know how to play--well, by the same token,
neither does Polly, I’m afraid. Polly’s always been, as you might say,
old for her age, and the last year she’s done nothing but work and wait
on me. I’m afraid she’s forgotten how to frolic as children do--ought,
I mean. The ‘little mothers,’ as they call them down here, haven’t much
time for fun. Not but that she couldn’t learn, you know. And it all
might come back to her, for she used to be as playful as a kitten, and
there’s lots of life in her yet, poor lamb! But the cash-running has
taken it out of her a lot. It might not be a good thing to put a child
that has seen so much worry, with your little cousin that hasn’t seen
any.”
“I know it--I have thought of that--” interrupted Miss Cissy
eagerly,--“but children don’t take things to heart as we older ones are
apt to do. I mean they don’t brood over their ills, and I know that
after Polly gets rested she’ll forget her worries and be as gay as a
lark. I saw it in her face when I gave her a bit of money. She changed,
all in a twinkling, and was as plump and jolly as any child need be.
Do let her come! I know she’ll be the one chosen for the place and
think what it will mean if you can get proper care and treatment. It
is possible you might really be cured. Think what it would mean to be
really cured!”
Big sister’s eyes filled with tears. “Don’t speak of that, please,”
she said hurriedly. “I am trying not to think of it. If I let you have
Polly it won’t be because of what I’d get by it, I want you to believe
that. It will be for the good that will come to the child herself. But
I can’t answer you now anyway. I must think it over. And I must find
out if Polly would be willing. Of course I would not tell her just how
the case stands, for I don’t want her to know she will be on trial.
It would make her ‘show off’ maybe, and then, too, I think Polly’s a
dear, but I know there are many children much prettier and more taking
than she is. It’s more likely than not that she wouldn’t get the place
at all, and then, if she knew, she would be disappointed. I’ll let you
know--say, Thursday morning. Will that do? That will give me to-day and
to-morrow to consider. I don’t want to do anything hasty that, later,
I’d be sorry for.”
“Couldn’t you possibly make it to-morrow?” pleaded Miss Cissy
earnestly. “I’ll send a messenger down to you to-morrow. I want
time too--I want time to get a few things ready before Thursday
and--and--please do!”
Big sister thought it over for a moment. Then she nodded her head
assentingly.
“All right, I will, miss, I’ll let you know to-morrow,” she said.
So it was settled and Miss Cicely drove away, if not quite in triumph,
at least having gained a partial victory. She knew there would be no
difficulty in getting Polly’s dismissal from the store. The firm would
be glad to oblige so valuable a customer as Miss Duer, and she “felt
it in her bones,” as she said to herself, that she would receive a
satisfactory word next day from big sister. And, sure enough, she did.
Early Wednesday forenoon her messenger brought back the intelligence
that big sister was willing, and so was Polly, and that if Miss Cicely
could arrange it with the store it would be all right.
How Miss Cissy did fly around after that! She astonished the
superintendent at the store by flashing in upon him, with a demand for
Cash one-hundred-and-five, and flashing out again with his consent to
take her. Then she astonished Polly by popping her up-stairs into the
“Misses’ Furnishing Department” and having her fitted out from head to
heels in new clothes. Shiny black shoes and spotless white stockings;
a lot of neat underclothes with trimmings at the edges, such as Polly
had never even dreamed of before; a “sweet” white frock; a warm outer
coat; a big felt hat with ribbons on it, and, last of all, and wonder
of wonders! gloves and handkerchiefs and ribbons for her hair! Then off
flew Miss Cissy to the hospital to arrange matters for big sister. Then
back home again through the evening darkness and just in time to dress
for dinner. She had not stopped to think how tired she was, and she
did not now, but she was glad when she was at last able to go to her
own room and to bed. It had been a long, and busy day.
The next morning she waked with the feeling that great things were to
be accomplished, and before she was fairly dressed there was a knock
upon her door, and on the threshold stood Polly with the maid who
had gone down-town to bring her up. It seemed to Miss Cissy almost
like playing dolls again to be washing and dressing this little girl;
cutting her hair in a straight line around her neck, tying it with
two bits of rosy ribbon over her temples, and slipping on her pretty
underclothes and dainty frock.
The anxious look had faded from Polly’s eyes and the anxious furrows
had disappeared from between her brows when, at length, she stood
before Miss Cicely’s cheval-glass all “booted and spurred and fit
for the fight” as her hostess merrily sang. They had a cozy luncheon
up-stairs--just Miss Cissy and Polly together--at which Polly was so
excited she could hardly eat. It seemed as if it would never be three
o’clock and time to go to the party, but at last it was time and then
off they rolled in, what seemed to Polly, the most splendid carriage
in the world; just exactly as if she were Cinderella herself and Miss
Cissy the Fairy-Godmother.
By this time Polly knew about Priscilla, of course, but she did not
know about the other children who, like herself, were to be brought
to Priscilla’s home, the best to be chosen for Priscilla’s playmate.
She just thought she was going to a party and to make a long visit
afterwards, for Miss Cicely had decided that if Polly were not voted
the best, and another child was selected in her stead she herself would
keep the little girl for a while, at least, and in the meantime big
sister should be sent to a hospital where she would receive the best of
treatment and the kindest of care.
So, when the carriage came to a halt before the great house in which
Priscilla lived, Polly’s little heart beat quick with pleasure and
excitement. To go to a real party! In brand-new clothes! Why it was
just too good to be true! Miss Cicely looked into the bright little
face and sparkling eyes and was glad that Polly did not know the real
state of the case--that, in fact, her present and, maybe her future,
was to depend on the way she behaved at Priscilla’s “unbirthday party.”
It might have sobered her happy heart had she known it, for Polly,
young as she was, had felt responsibility before, and would have
realized what a heavy one lay upon her now. But she did not know and
Miss Cicely did not give her the least little bit of a hint.
“I want her to be quite herself--quite natural,” she thought. “That
will be the only way to decide the stuff she’s made of, and whether
she is really the best or not.”
So Polly and Miss Cissy went hand-in-hand up the broad flight of steps,
from the street. A big door was mysteriously opened as soon as they
reached the top, and then, as it closed behind them, Polly heard a loud
hum of voices, saw a soft flood of light and knew she was really at the
party.