For that matter, there were times in the next two years when Mary herself
hardly knew what she was up to next, for if ever a girl suddenly found
herself in deep waters, it was the last of the Spencers. Strangely
enough--although I think it is true of many of life's undertakings--it
wasn't the big things which bothered her the most.
She soon demonstrated--if it needed any demonstration--that what the
women of France and Britain had done, the women of New Bethel could do.
At each call of the draft, more and more men from Spencer & Son obeyed
the beckoning finger of Mars, and more and more women presently took
their places in the workshops. That was simply a matter of enlarging the
training school, of expanding the courses of instruction.
No; it wasn't the big things which ultimately took the bloom from Mary's
cheeks and the smile from her eyes.
It was the small things that worried her--things so trifling in
themselves that it would sound foolish to mention them--the daily nagging
details, the gathering load of responsibility upon her shoulders, the
indifference which she had to dispel, the inertia that had to be
overcome, the ruffled feelings to be soothed, the squabbles to be
settled, the hidden hostilities which she had to contend against in her
own office--and yet pretend she never noticed them.
Indeed, if it hadn't been for the recompensing features, Mary's
enthusiasm would probably have become chilled by experience, and dreams
have come to nothing. But now and then she seemed to sense in the factory
a gathering impetus of efficient organization, the human gears working
smoothly for a time, the whole machine functioning with that beauty of
precision which is the dream of every executive.
That always helped Mary whenever it happened.
And the second thing which kept her going was to see the evidences of
prosperity and contentment which the women on the payroll began to
show--their new clothes and shoes--the hopeful confidence of their
smiles--the frequency with which the furniture dealers' wagons were seen
in the streets around the factory, the sounds of pianos and phonographs
in the evening and, better than all, the fact that on pay day at Spencer
& Sons, the New Bethel Savings Bank stayed open till half past nine at
night--and didn't stay open for nothing!
"If things could only keep going like this when the war ends, too,"
breathed Mary one day. "...I'm sure there must be some way ... some
way...."
For the second time in her life (as you will presently see) she was like
a blind-folded player with arms outstretched, groping for her destiny and
missing it by a hair.
"Still," she thought, "when the men come back, I suppose most of the
women will have to go. Of course, the men must have their places back,
but you'd think there was some way ... some way...."
In fancy she saw the women going back to the kitchens, back to the old
toil from which they had escaped.
"It's silly, of course," she thoughtfully added, "and wicked, too, to say
that men and women are natural enemies. But--the way some of the men
act--you'd almost think they believed it...."
She thought of Uncle Stanley and has son. At his own request, Burdon had
been transferred to the New York office and Mary seldom saw him, but
something told her that he would never forgive her for the morning when
he had to go home--"with a sort of a headache."
"And Uncle Stanley, too," she thought, her lip quivering as a wave of
loneliness swept over her and left her with a feeling of emptiness. "If I
were a man, he wouldn't dare to act as he does. But because I'm a girl, I
can almost see him hoping that something will happen to me--"
If that, indeed, was Uncle Stanley's hope, he didn't have to wait much
longer.
The armistice was signed, you will remember, in the first week of
November, 1918. Two months later Mary showed Judge Cutler the financial
statement for the preceding year.
"Another year like this," said the judge, "and, barring strikes and
accidents, Spencer & Son will be on its feet again, stronger than ever!
My dear girl," he said, rising and holding out his hand, "I must
congratulate you!"
Mary arose, too, her hand outstretched, but something in her manner
caught the judge's attention.
"What's the matter, Mary?" he asked. "Don't you feel well?"
"Men--women," she said, unsteadily smiling and giving him her hand, "they
ought to be--now--natural partners--not--not--"
With a sigh she lurched forward and fell--a tired little creature--into
his arms.