ALONE IN THE CITY
At heart, Frieda Hammer was not a bad girl. But for all these years her
moral sense had remained undeveloped. She was like a man who has worked
in a factory all his life, where the continuous roar of the machinery
dulls his sense of hearing, so that all the finer tones are lost upon
him. Frieda was so unaccustomed to the qualities of unselfishness and
friendliness, that when she came in contact with them she could only
mistrust them. Ruth Henry was the only member of the Girl Scout troop
that she could seem to understand, for she was the only one who was out
and out for herself. Marjorie Wilkinson was a puzzle to her, and always
had been.
And just as the man without an ear for music would not appreciate an
orchestra if he heard one, so this mentally-starved girl could not
understand the charity and sweetness of the Scouts. But gradually, under
the influence of her teacher, of Mrs. Johnson, and of her normal life,
she began to realize what it all meant. She secretly liked Marjorie,
but she was too proud to show it; instead, she decided to study hard,
and bring credit to the Scouts.
All this was before the Japanese fête. Then, that night, like a harsh
discord on one instrument breaking the harmony of an orchestra, she
heard Ruth's detestable remark: "Here comes Frieda Hammer--look out for
your jewelry!" her whole nature rebelled. Sick at heart, and regretting
that she had ever allowed the Scouts to persuade her to leave home, she
now wanted, more than anything else, to get away from them. She hated
them all, Marjorie included!
Her first thought was to leave immediately for home, but upon
remembering that while there she was always unhappy and wishing to be
elsewhere, it occurred to her that this was her opportunity to strike
out for herself. Casting about in her mind for some loophole of escape,
she hit upon the plan of stealing Marjorie's canoe, paddling down the
creek till it joined the river; and then, at the approach of some town,
of attempting to sell it for what she could get, and continuing the
remainder of her journey to New York by train. Why New York, rather than
any other city, she never stopped to consider; it stood out as the one
town to which anyone would wish to go.
That this way of traveling was much slower and more laborious than
setting out upon foot at the outset, never occurred to her; it seemed
like an easy way, less liable of detection, and it appealed to her love
of adventure. Once in New York, she calculated, she would become a
waitress in some "swell" restaurant, where she would make lots of money
to spend for clothes. A hired girl of the Brubakers who had been a
waitress in New York, once told her of the lavish tips she used to
receive; and the future, as Frieda pictured it, seemed particularly rosy
and independent. But to get there was the thing; once there--almost
anything might happen! Why, some rich man might fall in love with her
and marry her. That she was but fourteen, and neither attractive nor
cultured, never entered her head; she had always longed for adventure,
and she meant to have it.
Frieda would have put her plan into effect immediately, if she had only
possessed a little money. As it was, she was afraid to set out with an
empty purse. But when, over a week later, the Scouts sent her the cash
for her ticket home at Thanksgiving, it seemed as if all obstacles were
now removed.
Accordingly, she carried out her project the following day. She attended
school in the morning, and came home for lunch as usual, so as not to
arouse suspicion; but shortly after one o'clock, she slipped out with
her bag all packed. And her most precious possessions were Marjorie's
pink dress and sweater!
If she had carefully calculated her time, she could not have chosen a
more favorable hour for escape. All of Miss Allen's girls, and the
teachers as well, were at luncheon, and the public school children were
already back at their desks. Finally, one-thirty in the afternoon was
just the time that Mrs. Johnson invariably selected for her nap!
Cautiously watching the campus, she untied the rope, and stepped into
the canoe. It was a simple matter to paddle across the lake to the spot
where the small stream joined it; but it was a more difficult feat to
carry the canoe even a short distance on dry land. Frieda Hammer was a
strong girl, but had it not been for the thought of the price she could
get for it, and the distress its loss would bring to the Scouts, she
would have cast aside her heavy burden then and there. She wished, too,
that it had belonged to Ruth instead of to Marjorie, but she kept
assuring herself that she was glad to bring trouble to any member of
Pansy troop.
The distance, however, was short, and in a few minutes she was back
again on the water. She paddled on and on, encountering no further
obstacles, but was surprised at the speed with which the afternoon
seemed to pass. The shadows began to lengthen; and there was still no
sight of a river. She realized that soon she would be obliged to stop
for the night. Through the trees, over on the left bank of the stream,
she distinguished a house. Perhaps she might rest there for the night!
It was the "haunted house" which the Scouts later visited, but Frieda
did not know that. Had she heard the tale of the ghost, she would
probably have hesitated before remaining there alone all night; but no
such story troubled her imagination. She was thankful for the shelter
and protection, for the night was chilly.
Opening her bag, she took out the hasty lunch she had packed, and ate it
greedily. She was hungry and tired. A few minutes later, she was fast
asleep on the floor.
She awoke at dawn, thoroughly chilled, but refreshed, nevertheless, by
her night's sleep. She did not lose a moment in collecting her things,
and ran down to the creek. To her joy, she found the canoe just where
she had left it.
The remainder of the journey, the sale of the canoe to the boatman by
the river-front, and the ride to New York, were accomplished without
accident or delay, and the girl finally found herself in the great
city--the place of her dreams!
Perhaps it was Frieda's good fairy, or perhaps it was the answer to
Marjorie's prayers, that brought the strange girl to the attention of
the Traveler's Aid agent. Confused by the crowd, dazzled by the vastness
of the station, unable to tell one direction from another, she stood
bewildered, seeing steps on all sides. What should she do? She
hesitated; turned around, and bumped into this good friend.
"Excuse me," she said, in the manner her teacher had taught her at
school, "but could you tell me of a nice boarding house? I came here to
work."
The woman looked at her kindly, pitying her from the bottom of her
heart. To her, she was only a child, alone, strange, in the great city
of New York.
"Yes, I know of a nice boarding house," she replied. "But have you a
place to work?"
"Not yet!"
"Have you any money?"
"Over thirty dollars!" replied Frieda, to whom it was a princely sum.
Frieda was grateful, indeed, to be put upon the right car, and to have
in her hand the written directions to the boarding house which the agent
mentioned. In a short time she was established in her room--a bare
unattractive one on the fourth floor, not nearly so nice as Mrs.
Johnson's, but as good as she could afford. She meant to get work at
once; already she was beginning to appreciate what the Girl Scouts had
done for her.
She walked the streets for ten days, without success, looking for work.
And then, on the eleventh, just when her money was beginning to be
exhausted, she found it. Stating her age as seventeen, she obtained a
situation as waitress in an attractive little tea-room on Fifth Avenue.
Under ordinary circumstances she would never have been able to get such
a place, for the other girls were of a higher type, but two waitresses
had developed scarlet fever, and the proprietress was encountering
difficulty in replacing them.
Frieda was given a black sateen dress and a white cap and apron, and
instructed in the finer points of courtesy and service. She spent some
of her first wages for powder and rouge, and learned to twist her hair
up, according to the prevailing fashion. On the whole, she passed very
easily for seventeen or eighteen.
But as the days went by, she found her life singularly monotonous. The
proprietress paid the girls small salaries, expecting them to live on
tips. But Frieda Hammer received very few tips, for she was not a very
successful waitress. The regular patrons avoided her table, and the
newcomers were usually displeased with her service, and tipped her
grudgingly, or not at all.
Then, during the Thanksgiving holidays, she saw Marjorie and Lily, and a
great longing to go back seized her, a desire to study more, and to
accept the friendship these Girl Scouts so generously offered. But she
thought of the canoe and the money she had stolen, and, overcome with
shame, she disappeared into the kitchen to prevent the girls from
recognizing her.
About the middle of December she lost her situation, and was forced to
seek another, without even a reference. Christmas, which on the farm had
meant little except what Mrs. Brubaker had done for her family, took on
a new significance as she watched the shops and the decorations, and
preparations everywhere. In her imagination she saw the Christmas the
Girl Scouts would have, and thought of Mrs. Johnson; and in her heart
she was homesick for what might have been.
She secured a temporary position as wrapper in a department store, with
the understanding that she would be dropped after Christmas.
She spent Christmas day alone in her room--a small, bare attic, for she
could no longer afford the comforts of a boarding house. She would have
liked to go to the movies, but with no prospect of work, and not any too
much money on hand, she dared not risk the expense.
All during the following week she looked for work, but could find none;
for everywhere places were discharging, instead of taking on, girls.
And then the new year brought her the letter from Marjorie!
Marjorie had pictured Frieda now as a sullen, successful, working-girl,
ready to scorn any advances on her part. She dreaded lest the girl would
tear up the letter before she read it. But she never thought of her
hugging and kissing it, as a veritable bond between her and the rest of
mankind.
Frieda read the letter over and over, gradually developing a plan. She
would go back to Trenton, get work if possible, and save to buy back the
canoe. Then, when it was paid for, and she had enough money, she would
paddle back to Miss Allen's, return the fifteen dollars and beg the
forgiveness of Marjorie and the rest of the Scouts. The thought of
beginning all over again inspired her with happiness--the first real
happiness she had felt since her arrival in New York!
She next discovered a way to go to Trenton by trolley; and accordingly,
the next morning she paid her bill and started off. For the time being,
she seemed to have forgotten Ruth Henry; all that she thought of was how
Marjorie Wilkinson would receive her when she finally saw her.
She reached Trenton in the afternoon, and hunted a room. Fortunately,
she still had enough money to pay in advance. Leaving her belongings,
she set out in the direction of the boat-houses, to ascertain whether
the canoe was still there. But on her way she passed a large mill,
before the entrance of which hung a sign, "Girls Wanted;" and without a
moment's hesitation she went in, and secured trial employment.
With a light heart, she crossed the bridge to the other side of the
river. Walking down a short distance, she espied several old men along
the shore.
"There he is!" she thought, as she caught sight of the white beard that
had attracted her before. She looked around expectantly for the canoe,
but did not see it among the boats.
"Good afternoon!" she said pleasantly, adopting the manner she had been
taught to use in the restaurant. "Several months ago I sold you my
canoe. I wonder if I could buy it back at the same price?"
The man eyed her narrowly, while his mouth curled into a snarl.
"Your canoe, eh? _Your_ canoe! I happen to know you stole that canoe--it
never was yours!"
The girl recoiled as if he had struck her. How could he know? Were
policemen on her trail? She shuddered with apprehension. Then, drawing
herself up with dignity, she inquired haughtily,
"And from who did you get your information?"
"A gal and two boys in an auto stopped here to fix a puncture, and
suddenly the gal seen the canoe, and recognized it. 'Where'd you get
that?' she asked.
"'Some gal paddled up here in it and sold it,' I replied.
"'Wal it weren't her'n to sell,' the gal says. 'She's nuthin' but a
common thief--that's what she is!'
"And she paid me five dollars to save it for her, and the next day they
drove up with more money, and took it away.
"Now, I ain't sayin' nuthin' on you, but I advise you not to talk about
_your_ canoe no more!"
"Oh, indeed!" said Frieda, scarcely able to choke back the tears. And,
turning hastily around, she walked over to the bridge.
But she could never go back to the Scouts now; she as a "common thief;"
she had better stay and work alone!