DON MAKES GOOD
They had not one honeymoon, but two or three. When they left the hotel
and came back to town, it was another honeymoon to enter together the
house in which she had played so important a part without ever having
seen it. When they stepped out of the cab she insisted upon first
seeing it from the outside, instead of rushing up the steps as he was
for doing.
"Don," she protested, "I--I don't want to have such a pleasure over
with all at once. I want to get it bit by bit."
There was not much to see, to be sure, but a door and a few windows--a
section similar to sections to the right and left of which it was a
part. But it was a whole house, a house with lower stories and upper
stories and a roof--all his, all hers. To her there was something
still unreal about it.
He humored her delay, though Nora was standing impatiently at the
door, anxious to see the Pendleton bride. But when she finally did
enter, Nora, at the smile she received, had whatever fears might have
been hers instantly allayed.
"Gawd bless ye," she beamed.
Sally refused to remove her wraps until she had made her inspection
room by room, sitting down in each until she had grasped every detail.
So they went from the first floor to the top floor and came back to
the room which he had set apart for their room.
"Does it suit you, wife of mine?" he asked.
With the joy of it all, her eyes filled.
"It's even more beautiful than I thought it would be," she trembled.
For him the house had changed the moment she stepped into it. With
his father alive, it had been his father's home rather than his;
with his father gone, it had been scarcely more than a convenient
resting-place. There had been moments--when he thought of Frances
here--that it had taken on more significance, but even this had
been due to Sally. When he thought he was making the house ready
for another, it had been her dear hand who had guided him. How
vividly now he recalled that dinner at the little French restaurant
when he had described his home to her--the home which was now her
home too. It was at that moment she had first made her personality
felt here.
Sally removed her hat and tidied her hair before the mirror in quite
as matter-of-fact a fashion as though she had been living here ever
since that day instead of only the matter of a few minutes. When she
came downstairs, Nora herself seemed to accept her on that basis. To
her suggestions, she replied, "Yes, Mrs. Pendleton," as glibly as
though she had been saying it all her life.
They returned on a Saturday. On Monday Don was to go back to the
office. Sally had sent in her resignation the day of her marriage and
had received nice letters from both Carter and Farnsworth, with a
check enclosed from the former for fifty dollars and from the latter
for twenty-five dollars.
"What I'll have to do," said Don, as he retired Sunday night, "is to
get a larger alarm-clock. It won't do to be late any more."
"You're right," agreed Sally. "But you won't need an alarm-clock."
"Eh?"
"You wait and see."
Sally was awake at six the next morning and Don himself less than one
minute after.
"Time to get up," she called.
"I'm sleepy," murmured Don.
"Then to-morrow night you'll get to bed one hour earlier. But--up with
you."
"Right-o," he answered as he sprang from bed. "But there's no need of
your getting up."
"I'd be ashamed of myself if I didn't."
She had breakfast with him that first work morning as she planned to
do every morning of her life after that.
"Now, Don," she warned as he was ready to leave, "mind you don't say
anything about a raise in salary for a little while yet. I know
Farnsworth, and he'll give it to you the moment he feels you've made
good. Besides, we can afford to wait and--I don't know as I want you
to have any more money than you have now. It's ridiculous for you to
have that two thousand from your father."
"I guess we can use it, little woman," he laughed.
"We can save it," she insisted. "And, of course, it's pretty nice to
have an emergency fund, only it sort of takes half the fun out of life
to be so safe."
"It takes half the worry with it, too," he reminded her.
She thought a moment. Then she kissed him.
"Maybe it's good for people to worry a bit," she answered.
"You've already done your share," he returned. "You're going to meet
me for lunch at twelve?"
"Yes, Don."
"Sure?"
"Of course, it's sure."
"I wish it were twelve now."
"You're not to think of me again until twelve comes--not once. You're
to tend to business."
"I know, but--"
She kissed him again.
"Along with you."
She took his arm and led him to the door and there--where, for all he
cared, the whole street might have seen him--he turned quickly and
kissed her once more.
Don was decidedly self-conscious when he stepped briskly into the
office of Carter, Rand & Seagraves, with a brave attempt to give the
impression that nothing whatever out of the ordinary had happened to
him during his brief vacation. But Blake, as he expressed it to her
later, was there with bells on. He spied him the moment he came
through the door and greeted him with a whistled bar from the "Wedding
March." Not content with that, he tore several sheets of office
stationery into small bits and sprinkled him with it. He seemed to
take it as more or less of a joke.
"You certainly put one over on us," exclaimed Blake.
"Well, let it go at that," Don frowned.
He was willing to take the horse-play, but there was something in the
spirit with which it was done that he did not like.
"Always heard bridegrooms were a bit touchy," returned Blake.
Don stepped nearer.
"Touchy isn't the word, Blake," he said; "proud comes nearer it.
Remember that I'm proud as the devil of the girl you used to see here.
Just base your future attitude toward her and me on that."
A few minutes later Farnsworth restored his good humor. As he came
into the private office, Farnsworth rose and extended his hand.
"I want to congratulate you, Pendleton," he said sincerely.
"Thank you," answered Don.
"We feel almost as though we had lost a partner in the firm," he
smiled. "But I'm mighty glad for both of you. She was fitted for
something a whole lot bigger than Wall Street."
"She taught me all I know about the game," confessed Don.
"You couldn't have had a better teacher. Sit down. I want to talk over
a change I have in mind."
Don felt his heart leap to his throat.
"I've wanted for some time another man to go out and sell," said
Farnsworth. "Do you think you can handle it?"
"You bet," exclaimed Don.
Farnsworth smiled.
"You see," ran on Don in explanation, "I've been selling bonds to
Sally--er--Mrs. Pendleton, for a month or more now."
"Selling her?"
"Imaginary bonds, you know."
Farnsworth threw back his head and laughed.
"Good! Good! But the true test will come when you try to sell her a
real one. I'll bet it will have to be gilt-edged."
"And cheap," nodded Don.
"Well," said Farnsworth, "I want to try you on the selling staff for a
while, anyway. Now, about salary--"
"Sally told me to forget that," said Don.
"I guess because she knew me well enough to know I wouldn't forget it.
My intention is to pay men in this office what they are worth. Just
what you may be worth in your new position I don't know, but I'm going
to advance you five hundred; and if you make good you'll be paid in
proportion as you make good. That satisfactory?"
"Absolutely."
"Then we're off," concluded Farnsworth.
Don met Sally at noon at the dairy lunch where they had gone so
often.
"Come on, little woman," he greeted her. "This place may be all right
for the wife of a clerk, but now you're the wife of a bond salesman."
"Don!"
"On a five-hundred-dollar raise."
"We'll stay right here," she said; "but I'm going to celebrate by
having two chocolate eclairs."