AND CUPID
EMANN
MARTHA AND CUPID
OE CALlf . LIBRABY, ttfe 1HGEL#S
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
MARTHA BY-THE-DAY
A big, kindly Irish charwoman takes
under her wing a well-born girl whom she
finds alone and helpless in New York.
1 4th printing. $1.00 net
MAKING OVER MARTHA
This story follows "Martha" and her
family to the country, where she again
finds a love affair on her hands.
6th printing. $1.20 net
" The cheeriest, happiest books'"
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
Publishers New York
MARTHA AND CUPID
By
JULIE M. LIPPMANN
Author of "Martha By-the-Day " and "Making Over Martha"
NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
1914
COPYRIGHT, 1914,
BY
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
Published October, 1914
THE QUINN BOOEN CO. PRESS
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I. "By ADVICE OF COUNSEL" ....
II. THE TIME OF HER LIFE ....
III. HER HUSBAND'S FAMILY ....
IV. THE CHORISTER INVISIBLE ....
V. THE LADY OF THE HOUSE ....
VI. THE SILVER BRIDE
21,31183
MARTHA AND CUPID
MARTHA AND CUPID
CHAPTER I
" BY ADVICE OF COUNSEL "
A> Sam Slawson turned the corner of the
Avenue he saw, some yards ahead of him,
what caused a scowl as grim as that on a tragic
mask to overcast his otherwise prepossessing
features.
And yet there was nothing baleful in the appear-
ance of the man on whom Sam's eyes were fixed.
On the contrary, his erect figure was particularly
well set-up, trigly dressed. His gait had a stylish
swing, his hat a knowing tilt. Every line of him
indicated positive characteristics determination,
direction, alertness attributes all, that supposedly
make for success.
Sam Slawson, physically a young giant, vaguely
realized he stood dwarfed in effect beside Peter
Gilroy when they were together, for though Peter
actually measured less than Sam by several inches,
his head was held higher, his shoulders squarer,
3
4 MARTHA AND CUPID
he had an air of self-assurance that seemed to
add more than a cubit to his height.
" He's going to see Martha," Sam meditated,
slackening hrs pace. "Of course he's going to
see Martha. And he's got in ahead of me, as
usual."
He was so sure Peter was going to see Martha
that there was really no necessity of hanging back
to prove it, yet Sam stood still and waited
waited for Gilroy to turn in at the area entrance
of the house where Martha Carrol, parlor-maid,
was " living out."
Gilroy turned in, descended the few steps that
led from the street-level down to the basement
courtyard and rang the basement bell.
Sam heard the bell. A moment later he heard
the iron grated gate click open, then swing to
again with a sharp, metallic clang. He sighed.
He could picture to himself the sort of thing tak-
ing place inside the grated gate.
Probably Delia the " flip " kitchen-maid was
ushering Gilroy hospitably into the servants' sit-
ting-room, his air of having come a-courting
arousing in her quick, vicarious sensations of ex-
citement and coquetry.
" Ho, Mr. Gilroy, you here again! "
" Shoor! Any objection? "
" BY ADVICE OF COUNSEL " 5
" Aintchu awful! I s'pose you come to see
Ma ," a pause, an effort to look arch, and
then "ri/"
" That's right. I've come to see Ma ria.
Keep on the right side of the cook and you'll
have luck is my maxim."
" I think you're purfkkly tumble."
" Now, you know you don't really think any
such thing. You know you think I'm perfectly all
ri-ight."
His provocative, masculine confidence played
on her easy emotions.
" What d'you care if I do? Nobody cares any-
thing about me. I'm no account in this house.
A body needs to've lived out in the fam'ly ever
since she was twelve, an' her mother before her,
to have any show here. I bet I wouldn't be
raised from kitchen-maid to parlor, with two
days out a week, an' all my evenin's free, an'
big wages besides, for all I could do. Ho!
Nobody'd be treated like that in this house
'xceptin' Martha."
" Now, don't you go and be jealous, kid. The
green-eyed monster and pretty girls like you don't
gee, see? Come, cheer up! Here's a quarter to
buy you a ribbon to put in your bonny brown hair,
like the song says. By the way skip now and
6 MARTHA AND CUPID
tell Martha I'm here, will you? That's a good
girl!"
"Whatchu do if I told you she's a-went to
her mother's."
" But she ain't. Tell her I'm here."
At the mandatory note suddenly audible in Gil-
roy's voice, Delia quit her ineffectual venture at
flirtation, despairing (for the time being) of cut-
ting Martha out, and dismally did as she was
bidden.
Sam had been present more than once when
scenes like this had been enacted. He could
imagine it in all sorts of variations, to his own
self-torture. Delia never tried to " carry on "
with him. Delia thought he was " a chump."
He had overheard her say so to Maria, the cook.
Undoubtedly she had also mentioned it to Martha.
He forgot where he was, and stood staring
blankly at the massive fagade of the Granville's
house where Martha lived, until a strolling police-
man rapped him smartly on the shoulder, advising
him to pass on.
" No loitering 'round here, young feller. Get a
move on ! "
Being so sweetly urged, Sam got the desired
move on which, in due time, brought him back
to his own door, to spend an evening of mild
" BY ADVICE OF COUNSEL " 7
martyrdom with " Ma," his only surviving parent
whom he had housed and supported since he was
fourteen, the other eight Slawson brothers and
sisters, married or single, having other plans
plans with which Ma's presence did not coincide.
As it happened, the " flip " Delia had actually
summoned Martha at Gilroy's command and
Martha, tall, straight, handsome, her splendid
young figure showing to advantage in her uni-
form of black, tight-fitting frock, set off by crisp
white apron, collar, cuffs, and cap, had, in due
time, come down.
" Did you get my letter? " Gilroy inquired
abruptly.
Martha seemed to cogitate. " Now, lemme
see," she weighed it, "did I, or didn't I? It's
very confusin', havin' the large correspondence I
got. I sometimes think I'll have to get a seeker-
terry like Mrs. Granville."
" O, I say, Martha, quit your fooling. I'm in
earnest. Did you get it?"
" You mean, the letter tellin' about "
" Uh-huh ! The chance Tim Murphy gimme.
I tell you it's great, Martha ! Great ! I'm gettin'
in on the ground floor, an' that means I'll hit
it rich some day! By jiminy, girl, I'll be able to
put velvet under your feet! "
8 MARTHA AND CUPID
" Cotton-back, or silk? " inquired Martha.
Peter gave a petulant ejaculation.
" 'Cause if it's cotton-back, ' thank you, thank
you, sir,' she sayed, ' your kindness I nev-er shall
for-get,' but I don't like the feel of it, an' what'd
be the use under my feet anyhow?"
" You're a divil, Martha ! " observed Gilroy.
" Now, what do you think of that ! When
quality meets, compliments fly. An' talkin' about
compliments what's a jew-no? I s'pose the
woods is full of 'em, but I never happened to run
acrost one. Somethin' in the sheeny-line, eh? "
" Who's been callin' you a Juno? "
" I didn't say no one has."
" But it's so, all the samee."
" Well, I won't deceive you. Last Tuesday I
was ' on the door ' it bein' Slater's afternoon
off, an' a certain party who shall be nameless
said to Mrs. Granville referrin' to your humble
servant, as the sayin' is, which I ain't ' You don't
mean to say that is Martha in the hall? I
wouldn't have known her. Why, she's a perfect
jew-no. She wears her cap like a tarara.' '
"Curse him!"
" Not by no means. Far from it. He'd used
to know me by sight years ago when he was
callin' at Mrs. Underwood's, before Miss Frances
" BY ADVICE OF COUNSEL " 9
was married. I always liked'm, if he did think
I was a clumsy lump in them days. An' I like
him now just as good. I know what a tarara is,
Mrs. Granville wearin' one to protect her from
cold-in-the-head opera nights. But jew-no gets
me!"
" I bet I know who the ' party ' is. Captain
Stafford. An' I tell you what it is, Martha, that
gen'lman better look out for himself. Mr. Gran-
ville'll catch on to it some fine day that the
captain's flutterin' 'round the flame again, an' he
won't like it for a cent. I know Mr. Granville. I
ain't been his handy-man for nothin'. No matter
if he did come out ahead, he knows it was nip an'
tuck at one time between him and Captain Staf-
ford for the lady, an' no man likes his rival
hangin' around like I hear this one is startin' in
to do."
"Goodness, gracious me! 'Oh, grandmother,
what great ears you got! ' said little Red Ridin'
Hood! " Martha observed blandly. "Your ears
hear more things than ever's been said, don't
they?"
" They heard the Captain ringin' the front-
door bell as I come in, all right," responded
Gilroy, disregarding her irony. " He's upstairs
this minute, in the drawin'-room, an' you know it.
io MARTHA AND CUPID
But that ain't my funer'l. What I say is, tl
madam's company ain't no business passing pe
sonal remarks on you. It ain't good for a girl-
flatterin' her like that."
Martha shrugged. " What harm is it, I shou
like to know? Pity if somebody's compai
wouldn't flatter me. My own don't."
" What with the way the madam spoils yo
Martha, and the things her company says, yo
head'll be turned."
" Well, s'posin' it is. The more ways I c;
look, the better I am off. If I don't like to s
how I got left in one direction, I can watch o
for what's comin' to me in another. But I g
somethin' to keep my mind off the present, an
how."
" Do you want to keep your mind off the pn
ent, Martha?" Peter put the question to h
with as much sentimental emphasis as he dan
employ.
" Me? Why should I? It might be worse.'
Gilroy brought his open hand down upon 1:
knee with an impatient slap. " You're the dicke
and all for keepin' a feller guessin'," he sai
" Here I been keepin' company with you no^
for lemme see, how long is it? Two years,
bet. I been keepin' company with you now f<
"BY ADVICE OF COUNSEL" n
two years steady, an' I'll be blamed if I know this
minute if you're really goin' to have me or not."
" I ain't like to say what I'll have before I get
the refusal of it," said Martha.
" O, come now ! That's too thin ! You can't
shassay out of it like that. You know I'm dead
gone on you, Martha. I've tried a hundred times,
if I've tried once, to get right down to tin tacks
an' ask you to marry me, but "
"Hark! That the airy-bell? Now, who's
comin', I wonder? "
Gilroy choked back his exasperation with diffi-
culty. He craned forward to look through the
grated window into the courtyard, dusky now
with early, evening shadows.
" Maria's brother, 't appears like," he ven-
tured.
" O," said Martha.
' You lookin' for anybody? " Peter caught at
the faint drop in her voice with instant suspicion.
u Nobody special. Sam Slawson said he might
be along, but I ain't lookin' for him. If a girl'd
be lookin' for all the men says they want to
come see her, she'd be cross-eyed in no time,
peerin' out into' nothin' at all, both ways for
Sunday, watchin' their backs vanishin' in the
distance."
12 MARTHA AND CUPID
" Well, if you want to know," Gilroy let out
with a cutting laugh. " Maybe you might have
seen Sam Slawson's back vanishing in the dis-
tance along around the time I come in. He was
right behind me. I saw him out of the tail of
my eye, but I didn't let on. I guess he thought
better of it and didn't want to push himself.
Likely he's waiting patiently about outside. Want
me to go see? Maybe I could in-dooce him to
come in."
" My name's Martha not Mary," remarked
Miss Carrol.
Peter looked up inquiringly. " Well, what's
that got to do ?"
" Only, I don't happen to be the party that's
noted for her crush on lambs. I don't like'm
waitin' patiently about, blockin' up the gangway.
If Sam Slawson, or any other fella, wants to
come to see me, he can. But if he's the kind
you got to in-dooce, why, he can go to it, for all
/ care."
Gilroy laughed. He could appreciate what
he called " Martha's tongue," when it was not
engaged in sword-practice against himself.
" O, Sam's all right," he observed with an
air of easy patronage. " The trouble with Sam
is, he's too good-natured. He's the kind that
"BY ADVICE OF COUNSEL" 13
lets folks get the best of him. He won't buck
up and show a fist. Nowadays, if a man wants
to rise in the world, he's got to hit out, good
and lively, at anything that stands in his way.
And when he's once got it thrown down he must
use it to climb up on. That mayn't sound like
sweet singin', but it's the right tune all the samee,
and don't you forget it."
Martha seemed to meditate. " I suppose Sam
is a kind of a chump," she said after a pause.
" I never thought of it till Delia said so, the
other day, but ever since my attention was drew to
it, I can see he is a kind of a chump."
" He's his own worst enemy," Peter confided
cheerfully. " Now, there was that time Tim
Murphy gave him the chance to make an honest
penny, on the strict Q. T. First-off Sam was all
for it, but then he had to go snoopin' in where
he had no business, askin' questions, an' tellin'
Murphy if the thing wasn't open an' aboveboard,
on the square, he wouldn't stand for it. That
sort of talk gets a man like Murphy nervous.
First thing Sam knew, Murphy turned him down.
Sam might have had lots of good things comin'
his way, like I've got, if he'd stood in right with
Murphy. Now Murphy wouldn't let him train
with the rest of we boys in the ward, not if Sam
14 MARTHA AND CUPID
crawled to beg him on his knees. That's the
kind of a hairpin Murphy is. If he's down on a
feller, he's down."
" That's the kind of thing I like in a man,"
said Martha. " I mean, holdin' out, no matter
what, when oncet he's made his mind up. You
let me know if Sam crawls back to Murphy,
will you? "
Peter crossed his legs with great complacency.
' To give the devil his due, Sam ain't crawled
yet. If he'd wanted to, he'd 'a' done it before
this. That's just what I mean about Sam. He's
the sort of blind, pig-headed honest that can't look
out for their own interests. There's no doin' with
him at all. You can't make him see things
any way but the way he sees it. Down to
the office the other day I heard Mr. Granville
tell him to his face, he'd never get on in this
world."
' You don't say so ! " ejaculated Martha.
;< Those were his very words an' Mr. Gran-
ville's a keen one, he is. He'll be judge soon, an'
don't you forget it. Those were his very words
' You'll never get on in this world, Sam,'
saysee."
"Now what do you think o' that! Ain't it
too bad! Mr. Granville bein' the keen 1'yer he
"BY ADVICE OF COUNSEL" 15
is, o' course what he says goes. There's no
gettin' away from it. I should think Sam's heart
would be broke. What didee say? "
" Nothing. Just looked."
" P'raps Sam thinks the kind o' folks that don't
get on in this world stand a good chance of
goin' up head in the next."
Gilroy laughed. " To think that wouldn't
help me much. It's what I'd call cussed cold
comfort. The kind gives you a regular north-
pole, arctic chill. If I was you, I wouldn't hand
it out to Sam. He might take it you was string-
ing him, and that would hurt his feelings, for I'll
give you the straight tip, Sam's awful fond of
you, Martha ! "
"No!"
" You mean to say you ain't on to it? " queried
Peter. " Why, I'll go further, and tell you this:
I bet he would of told you so long ago if it
hadn't been for two what-you-might-call ob-
stacles."
" Two? " repeated Martha.
Peter nodded, checking them off impressively
on the palm of his left hand with the stubby fore-
finger of his right.
" His mother and I ! "
"Well, now, what do you think of that? "
16 MARTHA AND CUPID
Gilroy shook a rueful head. " He sure is
handicapped, Sam is."
11 1 should think as much ! " Martha
brought out with slow distinctness.
" Not many fellers would have the spunk to
come around at all, if they were up against it,
like he is," Gilroy continued. " You mustn't
blame Sam, Martha."
" I'm not blamin' 'm," said Martha.
As Peter walked down the street somewhat
later, his self-complacent whistle could be heard
clearly for blocks through the silence of the night.
He felt pleased with himself, thoroughly satisfied.
His generosity toward Sam had made him, if
possible, even more " solid " with Martha. Gil-
roy liked to feel the warm inner glow that ac-
companies an act of virtue. He did not reflect
that he had, gradually, ceased to respond, with
an outer suffusion, to acts of an opposite nature.
He thought very well of himself, and he felt
others thought well of him, so he was " in all
right " all around. There was no doubt in his
mind that he was going to succeed. Why
shouldn't he succeed? He whistled continuously
from Martha's door to his own.
Meanwhile, in the course of her climb up-
stairs to her own room, Martha paused at Mrs.
"BY ADVICE OF COUNSEL" 17
Granville's boudoir, the door of which stood
ajar. She did not knock for admittance, but a
voice from within answered as promptly as if
she had.
" Is that you, Martha? "
" Yes'm."
"Come in!"
Softly Martha tiptoed into the fragrant,
dimly-lit chamber, to the accompaniment of a
chiming clock that uttered eleven long notes in
melody. It was a wonder-place of rare and beau-
tiful objects, but Martha saw one only and made
straight for it.
Young Mrs.Granville (always "Miss Frances"
to Martha's heart) smiled the girl a welcome
from where she had thrown herself upon a cush-
ioned couch in the shadow.
' You haven't been waiting up for me again,
Martha?"
" No'm. Peter Gilroy was downstairs. The
way that fella sticks you'd think his mother'd been
a porous plaster." For once " Miss Frances "
did not laugh at Martha's foolery.
" I wouldn't want you to sit up for me," she
said, following her own thought. " Hortense is
there, of course, and it is her place but "
" Certaintly," said Martha. " Hortense is your
i8 MARTHA AND CUPID
maid. I ain't interferin' with her dooties, much
less her privilidges. But I been used to stoppin'
on my way to bed to see you're all right, Miss
Frances I should say, Mrs. Granville. I been
used to it for years ever since the both of us
was hardly more than childern in your mother's
house. God bless her! I couldn't break myself
off of a habit like that. Seems to me I can hear
her voice now. ' I wisht you'd see if Miss
Frances is all right before you go to bed, Martha.'
D'you think I could lay my head on the pilla, an'
sleep sound while the same roof covers us, if I
hadn't done it? No, ma'am! I should say
madam."
" I think I'd like to feel your hands on my
head, Martha."
"Yes'm!"
In the pause that followed, as Martha patiently
stroked and stroked, two tears slipped from under
" the madam's " closed lids and hung upon her
cheeks, until she raised a surreptitious hand and
brushed them impatiently away. Martha saw,
but made no comment. She did not need the evi-
dence of tears to tell her when Miss Frances was
troubled.
" I wonder why I like your touch on my head
better than Hortense's," mused Mrs. Granville,
" BY ADVICE OF COUNSEL " 19
speaking because, with this great friendly presence
beside her, she was afraid of a silence that would
threaten her self-control and lead her on to " say
things." " Hortense's fingers are as light as
feathers, and yours "
" Mine comes down like a thousand o' brick.
I know it. Your brother Arthur told me once
when I was cleanin' his room an' broke one of
his bricky-braws on'm ' You got a hand like the
hand o' fate, Martha,' an' I know it. I remem-
ber when first I come to live at your mother's, your
brother Arthur he was hantin' the kitchen one
day, 'count o' smellin' fresh chocolate-cake, an'
he see me. ' Ho ! ' saysee, pointin' his finger
* What's that?' 'The new kitchen-maid, Mr.
Arthur,' says Joanna, which she was cook at the
time. * This is Martha Carrol, Hannah's girl
that was your mother's cook, an' got married
from this house. She's kitchen-maid now.'
'Maid!' says Mr. Arthur. 'That ain't no
maid that's an elephant ! ' An' true for him
I was a big, bunglin' lump of a thing an' am
yet."
Mrs. Granville shook her head.
"Naughty boy! If my dear mother had
known What I was thinking is this, I wouldn't
for worlds have you meddle with my hair, but
20 MARTHA AND CUPID
when I'm a little tired like this I want you
not Hortense."
Martha pondered the puzzle for a space.
" 'Taint Hortense's fault," she brought out at
last. " I guess it's just that even a French lady's-
maid, smart as they are, ain't learned the trick
o' untanglin' the little snarls that sometimes gets
way back into your head, back o' the roots o' the
hair. The only thing that'll smooth them out
is somebody that loves you."
Mrs. Granville laid her hand for a second on
Martha's hand.
" You sometimes say such true things, Martha.
I wonder where you learned them."
" Prob'ly from your mother. She took a lot
o' pains with me. I never see any one so pationate
as her. An' me such a dunce I never could learn
from books. Mr. Arthur used to say I certaintly
did have the gift o' the gab, or words to that
effect, an' I will say for'm that if the Lord saw
fit to cut down on my share o' worldty goods an*
suchlike, he didn't stint me on tongue. Mr.
Arthur was remarkin' oncet I talked too much,
an' your mother told'm, ' Well, p'raps that's so.
But with all her faults I love her still.' * With
all her faults I'd love her stiller' saysee. I never
forgot it. 'Twas awful smart o' Mr. Arthur,
"BY ADVICE OF COUNSEL" 21
Your mother told me oncet ' Martha, if you must
talk so much I think I must try to learn you to
talk sense,' and try she did, sure enough. If I
know anything it's her I have to thank for it."
" I wonder if you are thinking of leaving me,"
said Mrs. Granville irrelevantly.
" Leavin' you, miss I mean, ma'am I should
say, madam! Who said I was thinkin' o' leavin'
you, I should like to know."
" No one said so, but of course I know you
have what you call followers beaus. And
some day you will be deciding which one to take
for a husband."
" Now don't you go for to fret about my hus-
band, Miss Frances, dear. Wait till the time
comes when I have one itself. Then let him do
the frettin' he'll have cause."
" But it is right that you should marry some
day. Only not quite yet, please, Martha. Don't
leave me quite yet. I don't feel I can spare you
and be careful. Don't make a mistake as as
so many foolish girls do. Don't marry the wrong
one."
; ' Well, I'm only a ignorant thing, for all your
mother (God bless her for a good an' wise lady!)
tried to learn me knowledge, an' what she called
a vocabberlerry. I don't know much, but if you
22 MARTHA AND CUPID
keep your eye out, you catch on to some things
in spite o' yourself. An' I often thought, lookin'
at the gener'l run o' married folks, that the wedded
estate ain't all it's cracked up to be. Gettin' a
husband is kinder like buyin' a hat. The one you
take, when you get it home, you mostly wisht
you'd got the other one. I might get caught up
that way myself there's no tellin' but it appears
to me, as I look at it now, that if I did, I
wouldn't sit down before the lookin'-glass an'
gawk at myself an' pull a long face, till I'd cry
for rage at sight of my ugly mug. Nothin' be-
comes you when you're like that. Nothin' looks
good to you when you have to wipe away the
tears to see it."
" No, nothing looks good to you then " said
her listener wistfully.
" I don't s'pose anything you'd draw, be they
husbands or be they hats, turns out all you'd hoped
for," continued Martha. " If I found I'd got a
poor bargain with a man, same's I sometimes
have with what Hortense calls a ' shappo,' I'd do
pretty much with him what I done with it. I'd
give a sly pull to his brim, or a pinch to his crown,
or I'd stick in another feather, or tweak out a
bow in a way o' speakin'. But I'd try make'm
match up to what I wanted, without lettin' on I
"BY ADVICE OF COUNSEL" 23
was makin' 'm over, you understand. There's
nothin' they hate more'n to think you'd like to
change the style o' them. It hurts their feelin's >
till you'd be surprised. An' if I seen I couldn't
make it a go, I wouldn't stop before I put in some
good licks on myself. The trouble ain't always
with your choice. There maybe's a kink in your-
self. You may be too plain, or you may be too
fussy. It needn't take you long to find out. Then
you can put a crimp in your hair, to furnish your
face, or you can ' try an' look pleasant,' like the
picture-men say. But there's all sorts of ways to
make a bad matter better, same's to make it worse.
I tell you, though, what I wouldn't do "
"Well?"
" I wouldn't have the thing I'd refused first-
off hangin' 'round where I could be forever com-
parin' him I mean it with what I'd took. It's
too risky. Comparin' ain't no earthly help if the
place you got your goods from won't exchange
accommodatin' for a customer, or else take it off
your hands an' give you your money back. An'
er marriage is that kind of a shop, or, least-
wise, it has the name if not the fame o' so bein'.
" Now take me, for instance. S'pose I married
Pete an' then found I had a hankerin' for Sam.
D'you s'pose I'd dare take any chances on him
24 MARTHA AND CUPID
comin' 'round, remindin' me of happier days?
Not on your life. A burnt child hadn't oughter
meddle with edged tools. A blister's enough, let
alone unnecessary cuts. That's the way I feel
about it, an' that's why I just as lives stay single
for the present."
The door opened and closed noiselessly. Mr.
Granville came forward.
" He certaintly is good lookin'," thought Mar-
tha, for the thousandth time. " That is, if you
like ' frozen dainties,' as it says in the cook-books.
There's two things Mr. Granville reminds me of
every time I look at'm. One's as if he'd swal-
lowed the church an' hung his hat on the steeple,
the other is a rat-tearier dog about the eyes an'
mouth. Just the same huntin', thin-nosed, sharp-
fangled appearance he has about'm. As if, no
matter how you tried to dodge'm, he'd run you
down at last, an' then ' may God have mercy
on your soul ! ' as the marriage-service says or is
it the death sentence? "
Martha was, if anything, rather a favorite with
Mr. Granville. He called her " the Irrepres-
sible," regarding her less in the light of a sub-
ordinate than as some sort of family functionary
for whom special rules and concessions must be
made. He did not resent her garrulity, for Mar-
" BY ADVICE OF COUNSEL " 25
tha " knew her place " and never " presumed "
unless by tacit permission. He did not resent her
presence now, nor attempt to dismiss her. He
greeted her, after greeting his wife, and his man-
ner was hardly more cordial to the one than to
the other.
" Martha and I have been discussing mar-
riage," Mrs. Granville informed him with an at-
tempt at a smile.
" Ah discussing "
Martha's look was benign.
" Mrs. Granville done the dis, an' I done the
ens sin' ," she said, adding, to herself, " Anythin'
to break the ice, as the fella said when he skated
on a thin place an' fell through."
"Is Martha going to be married?"
The question pounced out of a pause with
an unexpectedness that brought an irresistible
answer.
'Yes, sir no, sir yes, siree, sir! " For once
Martha was disconcerted.
" Martha has two admirers," Miss Frances
explained. " You know them, Lester Peter Gil-
roy and Samuel Slawson. You made openings for
them in the office, don't you remember when we
were engaged because I asked it?"
" So. Gilroy is a helpful fellow."
26 MARTHA AND CUPID
"Ain't Sam Slawson satisfactory?" Martha
inquired.
" Tolerably."
" Both are courting Martha," Mrs. Granville
took it up again. " I don't want her to make a
blunder. Won't you advise her, Lester? I know
mother would be anxious to have her take no
foolish step in such a vital matter. Mother was
very fond of Martha."
Mr. Granville disposed of his long person with
great deliberation in an ample chair.
" Perhaps the best advice in such a case is
the advice Punch once gave a correspondent,
'Don't!'"
Martha felt the temples she was stroking throb
painfully beneath her fingers.
" No wonder ! " she said. " Punch did cer-
taintly have it tough with Judy, an' that's a fac'.
Still, if the truth was known, she had troubles
of her own. It was six o' one an' half a dozen of
the other as it gener'ly is. But Punch done well
to tell the co-respondent ' don't,' all the same."
" Please advise her, Lester," repeated Mrs.
Granville hurriedly.
'You like both men Gilroy and Slawson?"
came from the arm-chair, like the snap of some
strong spring.
" BY ADVICE OF COUNSEL " 27
" Yes, sir."
"Any preference? "
" I like one for some things, an' one for others."
"Which do you like for a husband? "
" That's it. I couldn't tell till I try, an' then
maybe I'd be wrong. If they'd only leave us take
a sample, now or send it home on approval.
But the way things is, how's a body goin' to be
sure she's suited. You might see another style
you like even more. Best look around some be-
fore you decide, I think, considerin' it's for bet-
ter, for worse, till death you do part, unless
you're rich an' can afford to go to that place
out West where they give you a divorce while
you wait."
Mr. Granville cleared his throat.
" My wife asks me to advise you, Martha.
See you profit by my advice. I do not generally
give it for the asking."
" No, sir."
" Gilroy is a smart chap likely to make his
mark. He's clever, he's active, he's far-seeing.
He's what we call a useful fellow. He will thrive
in business. If he should lose one place a dozen
others would stand open to him. I dare say if he
lost one girl, he could have a dozen others in
her place, just as good. He will be rich, in his
28 MARTHA AND CUPID
way, some day. Able to give his wife a good
home.
" On the other hand, Sam Slawson is honest and
industrious. But he loses chances to advance him-
self. As I have told him, he will never get on
in this world. Too many visions too many-
scruples. He's easy-going, uncalculating. He
does not look out for himself. Any woman who
marries him will have her hands full. He needs
somebody to look after him see that Tom, Dick,
and Harry don't cheat him out of his boots."
A perceptible period of time passed after the
dry voice ceased speaking. Then Mrs. Granville
addressed Martha.
" My husband thinks Gilroy would be the bet-
ter match," she said.
" I'm sure he would be," Martha assented
readily. " As he says, Sam's good-hearted an'
honest. You couldn't help likin' 'm. He reminds
you of one o' them Saint Barnardses dogs that
your mother used to tell about, that goes out in
the snow up the mountains for to resquer folks
from freezin' an' save their lives. But he cer-
taintly ain't much on the make, an' that's a fac'.
Look at his brothers an' sisters, the way they
impose on'm. Saddlin' him, the youngest of'm
all with the mother that's too pious to cook'm
" BY ADVICE OF COUNSEL " 29
a square meal, when he's earned it by the sweat
o' his brow. No, there ain't no doubt of it,
Peter's the best match of the two as matches
goes."
" But there is one thing to remember," observed
Mr. Granville with great quietness, but even
greater point, " whichever man you marry don't
imagine you and the other can keep up a relation
on the Platonic basis, Martha. It won't do."
" Certaintly not, sir." Martha acquiesced
amiably.
u I'm afraid Martha does not know what Pla-
tonic means."
Young Mrs. Granville's voice had a tremor
in it that made it sound like the voice of an aged
person.
" If Martha does not know what Platonic
means, let her look it up in the dictionary. Let
her look it up now."
' Yes, sir," said Martha, and left the room.
It was a full fortnight before she saw either
of her " beaus " again. Delia was charged with
a message to each when next he should appear
at the area-gate.
" The madam is sick. Martha's with her. She
can't come down."
30 MARTHA AND CUPID
But at last arrived an evening when she could
come down.
" It's good for sore eyes to see you again,
Martha," said Sam Slawson, who for once in his
life had got in ahead of Gilroy.
" Well, I do' know if that's a compliment or
not. It certaintly sounds as if I was a dose."
Sam smiled. " You know that ain't what I
mean. But if you was a dose, and bitter at that,
I'd * take ' you, Martha, an' thank God for the
chance."
" O, come now, Sam Slawson. Don't let's get
back on that old subjec' the first go-off. You been
askin' me to have you on the average o' three
times an evenin' ever since we first got acquainted.
Can't you think o' some other topic o' conversa-
tion? Seems to me I'm kinder familiar with that,
an' familiar-rarity breeds contemp', or so the say-
in' is."
" It don't breed it, if you care, Martha."
"What's the news? I been shut up so long I
don't know a thing's been goin' on, an' you feel
kinder out of it when you're like that."
" Well, one thing is, I guess we're in for a war
with Spain. The papers say Commodore Dewey's
been ordered to Manila."
" On account o' the Cubeeans. Yes, I know.
"BY ADVICE OF COUNSEL" 31
I've heard about that. Captain Stafford has took
his troops down. Nearly two weeks ago he went
let's see, Peter was here two weeks ago come
Tuesday, an' it was the next day Captain Staf-
ford was sent to Cuba. I hope to goodness he
don't get yella fever or nastolger or any o' them
awful topical diseases you catch in the south. I
like Captain Stafford. He's a honorable genT-
man if he ain't got as much money as some."
" Say, Martha," ventured Sam timidly
" Talking about Captain Stafford, I think I ought
to tell you that they're saying
Martha reared her head with dignity.
" If you mean they're sayin' he come back be-
cause he was oncet in love with Miss Frances,
an' can't get over it well, s'pose it's true. S'pose
he did come back? She sent'm away again an'
I know it 'cause I took'm the letter an' she
wasn't made to write it either. She done it be-
cause she knew 'twas right. An' if you've nothin'
better to do than repeat silly gossip about two
purfec'ly good ladies an' gen'l'men, you better go
home an' not detain me, who won't listen to it."
" I meant no harm," protested Sam.
" So the fella said that threw a burnin' match
into a tank o' karrysene."
" Forgive me, Martha. I didn't say it to gos-
32 MARTHA AND CUPID
sip. All I meant was to have you know the sort
of talk that's going the rounds. I thought seeing
they make such a kind of pet of you here, I
thought you might throw out a hint or a warning
or something, where it'd do the most good."
" Throwin' out hints an' warnin's never does
no good. First thing you know they hit the wrong
party an' make no end of trouble. If you want
to do something, do it square from the shoulder,
straight for the bull's-eye. But don't throw out
hints or warnin's."
" Say, Martha I'll follow your advice. I
want to do something, so here it goes, straight
from the shoulder, square for the bull's-eye. I
love you. Will you marry me? "
Miss Carrol sat silent for a moment under the
blow, gazing straight before her with eyes of
unusual gravity.
" I'll tell you something, Sam," she said pres-
ently. " I s'pose you know that Peter gimme the
refusal of'm too. Well, it's been kinder trouble-
some havin' the couple of you proposin' to me so
constant at the same time, for there's no doubt
about it, you both have good points, as men goes.
The other night Miss Frances got talkin' to me
about it, an' the end was she in-dooced Mr. Gran-
ville to gimme the benefit o' his regal advice free
"BY ADVICE OF COUNSEL" 33
grates, for nothin', as the sayin' is. Nacherly I'd
ought to act accordin' to what he told me."
"What did he tell you?" Sam's voice was a
trifle husky.
Martha visibly braced to the effort. " I'll be
open and aboveboard with you, Sam. I owe it
to you. You mayn't like what I say, but it's got
to be told one time or other, first or last."
"Well?"
" Mr. Granville said Peter's a winner. He
says he's bound to get there. He says anybody'd
give Peter a job any time, he's so smart an'
pushin'. Seemed like he couldn't get enough
singin' Peter's praises. An' that means somethin',
I can tell you, comin' from Mr. Granville con-
siderin'."
This time it was Sam who braced.
" Peter deserves it," he said ungrudgingly.
" Peter's good for all the praise Mr. Granville
gave him."
" Glad to hear you say so," Martha responded.
"Then after he got through throwin' bokays at
Peter, Mr. Granville started in on you."
"Throwing 'bokays'?"
" We-ell, not eggsac'ly. He said you was a
good enough fella, but kinder chicken-hearted an'
retirin' the sort, if another party got in ahead
34 MARTHA AND CUPID
of'm would turn 'round an' go home without
even takin' his chance ringin' the doorbell on his
own account. Mr. Granville says a fella like
that'll never get on in this world. He says the
woman that marries him will have her work cut
out for her. He says if Peter lost his job he'd
get another without turnin' a hand, which it would
be the same with a wife. But if you get bounced
well, the fat'd be in the fire for sure."
Sam pondered. " That's about right," he ad-
mitted, shaking his head sadly. " That's about
the size of it."
" Certaintly it is," said Martha.
" I can see how things look to you, Martha,"
he continued. " The way Mr. Granville put them,
I know just how they seem. And he's not far
wrong. I never thought of it that way before. I
guess I was too taken up caring for you, to mind
anything else much. I set such store by you, it
blinded me to everything besides. I knew Gilroy
was a hustler and all that, but I kept telling my-
self ' hustling ain't all there is in the world,' and
I just plastered myself up with the thought that
a feller who loved a girl like I love you would
have to make something of himself in the end he
couldn't help it. Now I can see what a big chump
I've been. You must have laughed in your sleeve
"BY ADVICE OF COUNSEL" 35
at me, but I will say you never showed it. You've
been awful nice to me, Martha. I wish I had
more to offer you. I wish I had more of a show
alongside of Gilroy. But I don't blame you one
bit for choosing him. He can give you what I
couldn't and you ought to have the best,
Martha."
Martha continued looking at him with her fine,
direct gaze. " Certaintly I'd oughter," she said
with composure. " I'm awful sorry to disappoint
you, Sam, but you see how it is, don't you? Peter
says he'll put velvet under my feet, whatever good
that'll do me. And it'll be comfortable to know
I've no call to worry about the way I'll be pro-
vided for. I'll be well looked after. Peter's a
real catch! "
Sam nodded. " Shoor," he acquiesced.
" An' you," continued Martha " Mr. Gran-
ville says the girl that takes you will have her
hands full "
Sam winced.
" So I'm sorry to disappoint you. I'm real
sorry to disappoint you, Sam. But I've thought
it over careful and serious, an' if all Mr. Gran-
ville says is true, I don't see but what it's up to
me to marry you 'cause Peter can shift for
himself."
CHAPTER II
THE TIME OF HER LIFE
A) they approached the tenement building in
which her mother lived, Martha Carrol
stopped short.
" Say, Sam," she addressed her colossal com-
panion, " I guess I better go in alone. I guess
you better go along home by yourself."
Sam Slawson regarded her with a troubled,
doubtful look.
" Why, I thought your mother liked me,"
he protested, puzzled.
" So she does," returned Martha with brisk
acquiescence, " but there's a difference between
likin' an' likin'. The way a woman likes a fella
likes her daughter is quite another pair o' shoes
from the way she likes the same party when told
her daughter's goin' to marry'm. See? An' as
that's what I'm aimin' to do at the present moment
I guess you better folia the crowd an' keep movin',
an' let me step up alone, till I find out how she
takes it"
36
THE TIME OF HER LIFE 37
Still Sam lingered.
" I'll wait for you down here," he said in his
slow, ruminative fashion.
Martha shook her head. " Doncher, Sam.
Take my advice. You run home, like a good little
boy, an' tell your own mother. I'm quite willin'
to give you the first joy o' that job, an' don't you
forget it! "
As she spoke Martha wheeled about, turning
into the dusky entrance before which they stood.
The next moment her tall, erect figure was lost
to sight in the shadows of the hallway.
She and Sam had taken advantage of this first
mild evening of early Spring to ride downtown
in an open trolley-car. Now, the close air of the
unventilated house caught at Martha's throat.
Her nostrils dilated disgustedly. " It's like
openin' a can o' somethin' you wouldn't like, in
the first place, that's just on the turn ! " she mut-
tered, as she mounted the stair. " I certaintly do
wish I had the price to put mother in a better place
than this, her'n the childern. They ought to be
in a better place, an' yet
From within the closed door on whose knob
she presently laid her hand a confused chorus
issued, whistling, singing, a sudden burst of
boisterous laughter, a note of good-natured pro-
38 MARTHA AND CUPID
test. Martha turned the knob, opened the door.
For one second the chorus dropped, then rose
again fortissimo.
" Hi, mother ! here's Martha ! "
" Marsa, Marsa, see my new dess! "
Martha clapped her hands over her ears.
" For goodness' sake! " she exclaimed, pretending
to scowl at the children clinging to her skirts,
u Clear out, the whole of you. I haven't long to
stay. I come to talk to mother. I declare, a
body can't hear herself think with the row you're
raisin'. Here's a quarter. Run along, the raft
of you, an' get yourselves ice-cream cones or some-
thin' to stop your mouths. Take aholt of Re-
becca's hand, Ruth, an' let Bobby lift you over
the crossin's like a lady. Janey, you go along
with'm. You ain't too grown-up for ice-cream
cones yet, if you are goin' on sixteen, an'd like to
make out you're a young lady."
a If Janey's goin' on sixteen, I bet I know
how old you are," Bobby sang out challeng-
ing^-
Martha laughed.
" Lizzie Connors, she says you're an old maid,"
Rebecca cut in with resentment resentment
against Martha as well as against Lizzie.
' True for Lizzie. So I am. An old parlor-
THE TIME OF HER LIFE 39
maid. What did you think I was? A young
cook?"
Rebecca regarded such flippant dodging of
grave issues with serious disapproval.
" Lizzie means you ain't married," she shot
forth bluntly, with intent to kill.
" My, my! Now what do you think o' that! "
ejaculated Martha.
Bobby eyed her slyly. " Say, how old are you,
anyhow, Martha?" he plied with insinuating
suavity.
" As old as my tongue, an' a little older than
my teeth."
" Lizzie Connors's got one big sister married,
an' another one goin' to be. Lizzie says when
you're an old maid, it shows nobody'll have
you."
Rebecca controlled an inclination to cry. It is
hard to hear your family stigmatized, to bleed
and die in its defense, only to have it treat the
matter with easy indifference. She was not at all
taken in by Martha's mock solemnity.
' You don't say so ! Ain't that too bad. The
next time you see Lizzie just you tell her you told
me what she said, an' say I felt simply awful about
it. Say I wondered wouldn't Lizzie's sister gimme
the loan of one of her steadies a little one she
40 MARTHA AND CUPID
mightn't be usin' much at the time, till I'd see if,
maybe, I couldn't take a turn out of'm, while
I'm waitin' for a fella of my own."
Mrs. Carrol, rolling down her sleeves, came
forward to seat herself in the " grand " base-
rocker Martha had given her. Her tall, well-
proportioned figure was a matured model of
Martha's Amazonian own. It was easy to see in
the mother what the daughter would develop into
in the years to come straight, massive, strong,
steady, carrying on her broad shoulders, as
if it were a feather-weight, the burden of the
universe.
" Quit teasin' your sister, childern dear," the
mother said in the rich north-country brogue that
all her years in America had not banished from
her tongue, " Quit teasin' your sister, an' leave
us be, the way we'd have a minute of quiet by
ourselves, an' I'd hear what she's come to tell me,
the da'."
Mild as was her accent, the youngsters knew
what they knew, and got themselves off without
further parley.
As soon as they were well out of the way, Mrs.
Carrol turned to Martha, " I'm ready for ye
now."
' Then Rebecca needn't be fashin' herself any
THE TIME OF HER LIFE 41
more about Lizzie Connors. She'll soon be havin'
a married sister of her own," said Martha.
For a moment there was silence. The mother
and daughter regarded each other steadily from
level eyes. What was going on in the deep bosom
of either it was impossible to tell.
" Well, well, now what do you think of that! "
Mrs. Carrol let fall at last with quiet imper-
sonality.
" I come to tell you as soon as I fairly knew
myself. I only made up my mind last night. Too
late to be askin' would she let me out to have
a word with you," explained Martha.
Mrs. Carrol recrossed her folded arms, settling
herself more solidly in the base-rocker which
sighed beneath her weight. " I'm thinkin' Miss
Frances, I should say, Mrs. Granville, will be
sorry to lose ye," she ruminated.
" That's what she said. But she said it was
time I was settlin' down in a home of my own.
I'd waited long enough, she said. I told her I
was in no hurry. If she'd any use for me, I'd
just as lief call it off. Said she: 'We're the
same age, Martha. The two of us grew up to-
gether under my dear mother's roof, an' well I
know the store she set by you. 'Twas her valued
your mother more than any cook she ever had,
42 MARTHA AND CUPID
so when your mother was married it was from our
house, the same as if she was one of our own
family.' "
Mrs. Carrol nodded. " 'Twas the true word
she spoke. A grand weddin' I had. The tabl'
alone was a picture to behold. An' me in a silk
dress, brand-new out of the store, pearl-gray it
was wit' lines o' white, an' lace to me neck an'
hands. Little I thought that da' I'd so soon be
partin' wit' it. But the times was hard, an' 'twas
better sell the dress, itself, than see you childern
lack, the way you'd be comin' thick an' fast, the
lot of youse, so work as I would, I couldn't keep
ye clad an' fed. An' your poor father never
lucky, but always meanin' as well as the best, till
he was took wit' his mortal sickness an' died ere
ever little Ruth was born, five years ago come
Shrove Chuesda'. The other eight has had a
better chance than you, Martha. 'Tis often I
think 'twas a pity I'd to put ye out to service so
young. Miss Frances was naught but a baby at
twelve, an' you the same age, doin' scullery-work
in her mother's kitchen, for that we'd need of
your wages at home. Well, well ! "
Martha heard her mother out with respectful
attention, although she knew the old tale by
heart. The moment the musing voice had ceased,
THE TIME OF HER LIFE 43
she took up her own narrative where she had
dropped it.
" Miss Frances said, ' I'd never stand in the
way of your marryin', for that's the natural
state,' said she. ' An' girls will do it, no matter
what.' I knew well enough she was thinkin' how
she'd slipped up on it with himself on her own
account, so I gave my tongue the whip an' let it
run, to take her mind off her sorra. An' I had
her smilin' in no time, in spite of herself. I told
her the girls wasn't the only ones to blame. I
said, for every bride, blushin' behind her delusion
veil, there's got to be a bridegroom was barefaced
enough to pop the question in the first place. I
said, ' the girls be contented enough if the
fellas had never been born, to upset us with their
blarney. What you don't know won't worry you.'
Then Miss Frances said, ' Well, Martha, what my
dear mother done for yours, I will do for you.
I'll give you your weddin' from this house, the
same as if you was a blood relation. You may
ask your fam'ly an' friends, an' his fam'ly an'
friends. They shall all see you married with cere-
mony,' said she."
The quick Irish blood mounted to Mrs. Carrol's
face. "Married with ceremony!" she quoted
touchily. " Sure, she'd not be thinkin' a daughter
44 MARTHA AND CUPID
o' mine would be married without it. The way
she'd be jumpin' over a broomstick, like a gipsy,
itself."
" She didn't mean^that at all, mother," Martha
reassured her. " She meant style she'd give me
a stylish send-off, so they'd all be wonderin' at
the pumps an' vanity of me. But I'd have to be
married right off."
"Why for?"
" Because she's goin' abroad in a month's
time."
" Will himself stay behind? "
" No, that's the trouble. Mr. Granville'll take
her. She said if I didn't want to be married
right off, she'd give me the price of the weddin'
in money, an' I could take my choice, for she
wouldn't urge me, she said."
"Well, well!" ejaculated Mrs. Carrol.
" It's my choice between a hundred dollars an'
the time of my life! "
Mrs. Carrol breathed deep over the wonder
of it. " A hunderd dollars ! An' what would
himself be sayin' to that? " she asked with proud
relish.
"You mean Mr. Granville?"
" I mean himself."
Martha was silent.
THE TIME OF HER LIFE 45
" What would Peter Gilroy be sayin' to that? "
her mother persisted.
" Very little," said Martha.
"Eh?"
' Very little. Savin' your presence just
' damn ! ' "
Mrs. Carrol's placid countenance underwent a
telling change. " You mean," she stammered
slowly, "you don't mean ?"
" I'm goin' to marry Sam Slawson," Martha
helped her out charitably.
It took her mother a perceptible space to rally
from the shock.
" Well, well ! " she said. " Well, well ! "
" I thought you liked Sam," Martha ventured
at last.
" So I did. So I do. I like'm good enough.
I've nothin' against'm. He's a good-natured
young fella, an' better-lookin' than Gilroy, I'll
say that for'm. But 'twas Gilroy I always thought
as you'd marry. He's been keepin' company wit
chu as long as Sam, if not longer. It's been nip
an' tuck between'm which'd get you. But I'd
kinda got used to thinkin' 'twas Pete you'd
marry. Gilroy is bound for to make his way,
Martha."
Martha nodded. " Sure ! That's one o' the
46 MARTHA AND CUPID
reasons why I didn't take'm. I couldn't be cer-
tain I'd like his way after he'd made it."
" Would you be sure you'd like Sam Slawson's
better, do you think?"
" He ain't like to make any," replied Martha
promptly.
Mrs. Carrol sighed. " Then he'll be your poor
father over again," she brought out with a wistful
inflection.
" Yes, I'm allowin' for that," Martha observed.
" I ain't any great shakes on figurin', so it's took
me longer'n it might well, we'll say Lizzie Con-
nors' sisters, for instance, to do my little sum.
But I guess I got it now as good as I'm ever likely
to. I added up Peter, an' I substracted Sam,
an' I divided'm both by each other, an' multiplied
what they come to by myself, and in the end I
just got the same answer every time. Sam was
it. I'd rather take my chances with Sam poor
than Gilroy rich. Same's I guess Miss Frances
would be glad, if she had it to do over again, to
take her chances with Captain Stafford, rather
than Mr. Granville. Or you with father, rather
than Ryan, an' all his money, an' bein' a boss-
contractor an' alderman to boot (which I wish to
goodness some one would, good an' thora, the
cocky old rogue!) "
THE TIME OF HER LIFE 47
For a moment after Martha ceased speaking
there was no sound in the room but the regular
breathy protest of the base-rocker springs, under
Mrs. Carrol's steady swaying.
" I can see you're disappointed, mother," Mar-
tha observed at last. " I'm sorry. I didn't know
you'd set your heart on Gilroy."
Mrs. Carrol very deliberately changed the posi-
tion of her arms again, this time folding the right
over the left, instead of the left over the right.
" It's not to say ' set my heart on Gilroy,' she
corrected mildly. " Only I was thinkin', if you
could make up your mind to'm once, it would be
a great thing, the way you'd likely be settled for
life, an' no more fret about gettin' along for anny
of us."
A shadow passed over Martha's face. " I
thought of that myself," she admitted. " O'
course, if I marry I can't live out, like I'm doin'
now, but I can take jobs by the day an' I will, an'
by this an' by that I'll manage to look out for
you an' the childern, the same's I've been doin'
right along.
Mrs. Carrol shook her head. " It'll be dif-
ferent," she objected. " It can't help but be dif-
ferent. You think that way now, but when you're
married you'll have your own to look out for.
48 MARTHA AND CUPID
An' with Gilroy there'd be no need o' your raisin'
your hand to do a stroke o' work outside your
own door. Gilroy has a good head on his shoul-
ders. He'll do fine alone."
" That's just what I thought," assented Mar-
tha. " He'll do fine alone. So what's the use me
marryin' 'm? There's no good rubbin' butter on
a fat goose."
" Certaintly not. But marryin' ain't like or-
derin' a dress-pattren home on approval, the way
you could send it back if it didn't suit. You got
your husband for keeps. When you go to the
altar with a man, you're tyin' a knot with your
tongue you can't undo with your teeth."
"Sure!" said Martha. "That's why I ain't
hurried decidin'. I figured it out 'twas better do
my thinkin' before than after."
"An' the end of it is Sam?" queried the
mother.
" The end of it is Sam," the daughter averred.
Mrs. Carrol bowed as if to the inevitable.
"Well, well! " she murmured. "It's himself is
the lucky lad ! "
" ' Himself ' is always ' the lucky lad.' Any
fella gets a decent, well-meanin' girl stand up
with'm is a lucky lad. And any girl gets a decent,
well-meanin' man stand up with her is lucky, the
THE TIME OF HER LIFE 49
same. It's six o' one an' half a dozen of the
other. It's up to both parties to make a marriage
go. One alone can't do it. The two o' them has
to pull together, an' do it fair. I never see a
couple yet dancin', where the girl expected the
man to haul her 'round the room without touchin'
her toes to the floor. Nor playin' games, where
the fella'd look to his pardner to do all the work,
an' him have only the sport. But marryin' ! One
o' the couple is as likely as not to want to sit back
easy, an' have the whole load pulled by the other
party. It's a skin game, as I see it played nowa-
days, an' I don't wonder it turns out a failure nine
times outa eight. What's honest an' honorable
in one sort o' combine, is honest an' honorable in
another. Anyhow, that's the way I look at it,
an' I'm goin' to play my hand just as fair an'
open as I know how like I would if I was playin'
for fun. I'm makin' my choice with the free mind
God give me. Whatever happens, it's nobody's
fault but my own. It's up to me to make the best
of it, even if it ain't quite as good as I expected,
an' I mean to try to do my share an' not expect
Sam to work the happiness-factory all alone by
'mself, with me a dead weight hanging on to'm,
cloggin' the machinery. By the way, before I go
back how's Ruth's ankle? Did you take her to
50 MARTHA AND CUPID
the doctor like you was sayin' you would when I
was here last? "
Mrs. Carrol nodded. " I did, an' he said she'd
have to go under a operation. It's a queer thing's
the matter wit' her. He wrote it down on a piece
of paper the way I wouldn't be forgettin' it.
Wait till I show you. Here it is. Serus I guess
he left out some letters an' it's serious he meant
Serious Penostettis. Now what do you think o'
that! A child her age havin' the Serious Peno-
stettis. You'd think she'd the wit of a woman
grown."
A mist had gathered to trouble Martha's vision.
She rose and went to the window, peering out into
the dusk. When she faced her mother again her
eyes were unclouded, her manner as contained as
ever.
" It'll break her heart to be away from you,
poor kid! Couldn't she have the operation at
home? I'd rather pay more, so's the young one
wouldn't want for anything."
Mrs. Carrol shook her head. " The surgeon
said it's to the dispensary she must go. He said,
before he could know for certain 'twas the serious
trouble is in her leg, he'd to send some of her
blood they took to the Health Department, the
way they'd examine it there to see was the sick-
THE TIME OF HER LIFE 51
ness somethin' else worse. He told me the fellas
at the Health Department would examine her
blood for nothin', but if it should be done another
way it would ' cost like Sam Hill ! ' his very
words. He said she'd be better looked after at
the dispensary than at home, for there they'd the
nurses an' all to their hands. It'll cost a pretty
penny as it is. Three dollars a week for the
bed she'll lay on "
" I'll pay it," said Martha.
The children were just sauntering back from
their treat when they spied the big sister on the
doorstep. In the vague shadows behind her, a
more substantial shadow loomed.
" Hi, it's Sam Slawson! " shouted Bobby, dart-
ing forward on the run. " Hullo, Sam! "
Sam laid a good-comradely hand on the boy's
shoulder. " Hullo yourself ! "
" I'm glad you decided to come home," Martha
observed. " I kinda thought you'd took a train
for Boston or somewheres, the raft of you, you
were gone so long. Tired are you, Ruth? Did
the ice-cream taste good?"
Sam Slawson bent, picked up the child, and
perched her on his shoulder. " I know a little
girl who's going to ride upstairs."
" Say, Rebecca," said Martha, detaining that
52 MARTHA AND CUPID
abused young person when the others had started
to swarm after Sam. " Say, the next time you
see Lizzie Connors you can tell her I been thinkin'
over what she said, an' I come to the conclusion
I better get a move on before it's too late. Sam
Slawson's willin' to help me out, seein' you feel
so bad about me bein' an old maid. It's mighty
good-natured o' Sam, considerin'. We're goin'
to be married, him an' me, together, the two of
us. Now, what do you think o' that for a sister
willin' to oblige?"
Rebecca's face glowed. "Really? Truly?"
she questioned skeptically. " Ask Sam," Martha
advised.
Rebecca did not ask Sam. She was convinced
by the new note in Martha's voice.
;< Then we'll have a weddin' same's Lizzie
Connors'?" Rebecca demanded eagerly.
" Sure ! " said Martha. " We'll have a weddin'.
But not on your life it won't be like Lizzie Con-
norses. I'm goin' to have a weddin' that is a
weddin' ! The grandest thing ever you saw. Just
you wait! I'll show you something! "
Though she spoke in jest, the idea of a grand
wedding really took hold of Martha took hold
of her with a curious compelling force of which
she was not in the least aware.
THE TIME OF HER LIFE 53
Her young life had been one of rigid self-
denial growing out of her sense of responsibility
to the family at home for every cent she could
earn. She regarded it as a matter of course that
she should hand over her wages to her mother at
the end of every month. It never occurred to her
to question the arrangement, nor to depart from it.
It was not a cause for complaint, any more than it
was a cause for complaint that she was " big "
when other girls her age were delicately built and
slender; that she was doing scullery-work in the
kitchen when " Miss Frances," the only little
daughter of the house, whose birthday fell but a
month later than her own, was treated as a baby,
cuddled and coddled and never by any chance
obliged to do what displeased her. Such a con-
dition of affairs was, apparently, life. Martha
took life very philosophically. She accepted her
portion ungrumblingly.
But this question of her wedding bore a
different relation to her. It was a special
dispensation. A personal benefit falling to
her share with no reference whatsoever to any
other individual. A hundred dollars or the time
of her life! She accepted the situation as she had
those of less pleasing aspect, without question or
cavil. But gradually she found herself consulting
54 MARTHA AND CUPID
the newspapers for reports of society doings in
which Spring weddings conspicuously figured. In-
dustriously studying the Sunday Supplements, pic-
turing Easter Brides in full regalia. Little by
little her imagination responded to the stimulus
and she saw herself, a white-robed vision, shim-
mering, queenly, passing slowly up the dim church
aisle in bridal robe and veil.
" But, Martha," Mrs. Granville protested,
" you haven't decided what you want to do.
Time is flying and if you wish to have your wed-
ding here we must begin preparations at once.
Remember, I sail in a fortnight"
' Yes'm, Miss Frances, but you see, I sorta
couldn't make up my mind while my little sister's
so sick in the hospital. A body couldn't compose
herself or take a relish in anything much, with
one of the fam'ly bed-fast."
4 Then perhaps I'd better give you the money
outright. Is that what you would like, Martha,
to have the money in your pocket to spend on your
wedding as you like? "
" Yes'm," said Martha.
Every detail of the wedding as it suggested it-
self to Martha's mind Rebecca conscientiously re-
ported to Lizzie, and Lizzie's proud spirit was
chastened by the knowledge that one moving in so
THE TIME OF HER LIFE 55
magnificent an orbit should condescend to shed
some of her effulgence on her.
Every time Martha came home she had some
new and still more elaborate program to reveal.
The children gathered about listening open-
mouthed to her superb plans. No fairy-tale could
have held their imaginations so captive. The
grand satin dress she was to wear, the " delusion
veil " ! Martha described them so graphically
Janey could fairly see their sheen and shimmer,
with her eyes shut.
A couple of times Mrs. Carrol ventured to
suggest that, while they were talking, the weeks
were flying, and before they knew it Mrs. Gran-
ville would be on her journey, " the way the
weddin' couldn't be in her house, surely, when
it's to be closed up itself." And once she made
so bold as to hint that even the princely sum of
one hundred dollars would hardly meet such lavish
expenditures as Martha had in mind.
" Never you worry," returned Martha. " I
only expect. to be married oncet, and if it does
take a bit more than the hunderd, why I don't
care. I'm going to have the time of my life, an'
don't you forget it! I told Mrs. Granville I'd
rather wait than not get all that's comin' to me,
an' when you rush a thing through, like I'd 'a' had
5 6 MARTHA AND CUPID
to rush my weddin', if I tried get it out of the
way before she leaves, I'd be losin' the best o' the
game. So she gimme the hunderd, like she said
she would, an' when the time comes I'll maybe
'hire a hall somewheres, if this is too small for all
the crowd I'm goin' to invite. Besides, Ruth'll be
home then, walkin' around as good as now. I
wouldn't want to be married with the poor kid
languishin' in the hospital, sick-a-bed with the
doctor."
" They give me what they called ' a statement '
this mornin', for the time she's been there already.
It's fifteen dollars. Would ye believe it, the way
the time does be flyin' ! An' she'll be there longer
still, till I pay'm more yet," mourned the mother.
Martha retired to a corner of the room, out of
the range of Bobby's prying eyes, where after
certain incursions into the hidden recesses of her
underwear she brought forth a roll of bills.
' You ain't breakin' into the money Miss
Frances give you for your weddin' ? " Mrs. Carrol
asked, watching anxiously.
Martha laughed. " Sure I'm not. You couldn't
extract a cent o' that from me if you was to gimme
laughin'-gas. No. I'm just borra'in' it off'n my-
self till I get aholt of my wages at the end o' the
month, to pay myself back."
THE TIME OF HER LIFE 57
The mother took the money reluctantly. The
wages Martha referred to would be the last
coming to her from the girl's " situation."
Mrs. Carrol had no great faith in " goin'
out by the da' for a young married woman."
She saw her main source of income seriously
affected, if not entirely cut off. Even if Janey
left school and took a place, the lack would not
be supplied.
That night, when Alderman Dan Ryan dropped
in, as he frequently did, for " a bite and a sup "
with the widow Carrol, he found her in a sin-
gularly compliant mood, extraordinarily amenable
to reason. He reasoned.
' You better be looking out for yourself, for
if you don't, one thing is certain, your children
won't look out for you. A mother can support
ten children, but ten children can't support one
mother. You know me, and I know you. You've
had troubles of your own, and so've I. I got the
green to pay for a good home, and you can gimme
the good home. Come now, it's a bargain, and if
you'll have the best of it, why, I've no kick com-
ing. I'm generous, I am. I'll do well by you
and by your children. Not many men would
say as much, let alone do it. But there's noth-
ing mean about me. I got an open hand.
58 MARTHA AND CUPID
I'm a free spender. No pockets in the shroud!
That's the way I put it: no pockets in the
shroud!"
Martha opposed the match with less vehemence
than Mrs. Carrol had expected. The girl re-
membered her mother's good-natured acceptance
of Sam, in the face of her obvious disappointment,
and it would have softened her, even if her new
sense of woman's immemorial right to choose
" her own man " had not tended to make her
lenient in the first place. But her own feeling
was that while, of course, her mother was " free
to marry the fella if she wanted'm," it was mani-
festly impossible she should want him.
" I'd far rather give up marryin' Sam for the
present, an' take another place, than you'd swalla
Ryan for the sake o' your salt, which he's too
much pork for a shillin', as it is."
14 You've no call to say that, Martha," her
mother reproved her. " He never done you anny
harm. And he'll look out for the childern. He's
passed me his word on that. 'Tis few men would
saddle themselves with such a raft."
Martha cogitated. " It's all right if you
like'm," she said. And Mrs. Carrol replied in
the same words and tone she had used in speaking
of Sam: "I like'm good enough. He's a good-
THE TIME OF HER LIFE 59
natured fella, an' free wit' his money. He'll be
kind to the childern."
" Then I tell you what," Martha returned,
drawing her chair closer to her mother's, bending
forward to give her words special emphasis, " I
tell you what, you got to have a decent weddin'.
Nothin' fancy, you understand, like mine's goin'
to be, but a quiet, genteel blow-out, with a bite o'
somethin' sweet, an' a mouthful o' cider or lemon-
ade to wash it down, so's a body'll know it from
a funer'l. If you're startin' to do the thing at
all, let's do it right."
The mother shook her head. " There's too
manny ways for to use the money, if I had it,"
she said wistfully. " I'd a tony weddin' oncet,
when I was young, like yourself. I'll never forget
it. Now, I'll be satisfied if we have the feastin'
afterwards, as ye might sa', the way the childern'll
get three good square meals a da', to keep'm
nourished the time they're growin'."
" If you're only marryin' for the childern, we'd
all better turn to an' have some style about us,
earnin' better money. Miss Janey can shake some
of her fine young lady airs an' settle down to
business livin' out, or workin' in a shop some-
wheres, instead o' goin' to the high school, the
same as she was Miss Rocky-Carnegie. Ellen
60 MARTHA AND CUPID
can take another situation where she'll bring home
more, an' Jimmy can hand over all his wages in
the future, like a little man, an' like me before'm.
If we can't do one way we'll do another, but we
could make out to get along without your mar-
ryin' Ryan, unless you're so dead stuck on'm you
can't help it."
Mrs. Carrol was just in time to control a ges-
ture that would have betrayed her. " I'm goin'
to marry Ryan," she averred. " I passed'm me
word, an' I'll hold by it. An' don't you be for
upsettin' the childern, Martha. They're eatin'
their white bread now. Leave'm make the best
of it. They'll have to chew the dry crusts soon
enough, same as the rest of us, if they live an'
luck."
" Well, then, I'm goin' to see you married like
you should be," said Martha.
" Where'll the money be comin' from? "
" I d'know. But it'll be comin' from some-
wheres, an' don't you forget it."
" Not outa your hunderd? "
Martha's chin went up. " Not if I know it.
This is the time the others can pony up, for a
change. That hunderd, every red cent of it, is
goin' for my weddin'. It was given to me for that
purpose, an' I'm goin' to use it for it. For oncet
THE TIME OF HER LIFE 61
in my life I'm goin' to splurge myself for all I'm
worth, an' take everything's comin' to me."
4 You're right, Martha," approved her mother.
It seemed wisest all around, but especially in
the view of the elaborate nuptials ahead, that the
simpler wedding should be despatched with as
much promptness as possible.
" It'll get us outa the way, an' leave Martha
free for to give all her attention to her own grand
ball," Mrs. Carrol explained to the willing Ryan.
Ryan grinned and nodded across the supper-table.
And later, when Martha came in, he approached
her with easy complaisance and a significantly out-
stretched hand. Ryan's bland face, beneath the
tilted brim of his square-topped " derby," oozed
patronage.
' You mother's been telling me you and Sam
Slawson are fixing to give a ball. Here's just a
little something to set it rolling. Just a starter.
Something to begin on. Plenty more where this
comes from. You can get what's needed and call
on me for more when this is gone. Nothing mean
about me. I'm open-handed, I'll say that much
for myself. I spend freely. No pockets "
"What's that?" Martha inquired, jerking her
head in the direction of the hand, then without
waiting for an answer: "Say, Mister Ryan," she
62 MARTHA AND CUPID
spoke with extreme quietness but unmistakable
point, " say, Mister Ryan, don't you try any of
your ward-politics games on me. You ain't my
candidate, nor ever was. But my mother's puttin'
you into office, an' what she says goes. Only, us
two you an' me better understand each other
right off an' then there won't be any trouble. You
got a strut on you like a turkey-cock full o' pepper,
because you think you're rich. You got an idea
money takes the trick every time, an' all you got
to do is put your nickel in the slot to pull off
anything or anybody you have a mind to. Now,
let me tell you a little secret. When you marry
my mother you're goin' to get as good as you
give, an' don't you forget it! She ain't goin' to
be beholden to you for nothin'. It'll be an even
deal between you, an' so don't you try to buy up
me or Sam, for we ain't on sale. Nor don't you
try to be chesty with my mother or with the chil-
dern. As for me, what I get I can pay for, or
I don't get it, see? You can't take a hand at any
ball o' mine, without me givin' you a bat you
won't forget in a hurry. Don't you set out to
do nothin' but act right by my mother an' the
kids or well, you see the size o' me. I ain't a
little fairy, am I? I lived out ever since I was
twelve an' I done the sorta light horse-work, as
THE TIME OF HER LIFE 63
I call it, that the lady-help goin' the rounds nowa-
days is too dainty to lift their hands to. So, even
if I hadn't 'a' been born that way in the first place,
I'd 'a' got a muscle on me like John L. Sullivan's.
You got to treat my mother an' the childern right,
an' no braggin' an' castin' up about it, either,
or you an' me'll have a little sluggin'-match,
which you'll never live to tell the tale. That's
that. Now, if you like you can call it off. I guess
my mother won't mind. Only, don't you ever
offer again to put me up for any runnin' expenses
ain't any of your affairs to foot, compreney? "
Mr. Ryan's pomposity fell away from him in
folds, till his spirit seemed to stand before her
stripped, naked. He hid his hand the hand she
had spurned in his pocket. When he drew it
out again it was empty. He raised it awkwardly
to shift his hat to a less rakish angle on his fore-
head.
;< Try takin' it off, in the house, when you're
speakin' to a lady," suggested Martha amiably.
As if acting under hypnosis Ryan obeyed.
" You you're a holy terror, Martha," he stam-
mered weakly.
Martha favored him with a judicial gaze. " I
like you better this minute than ever I done be-
fore," she confessed candidly. " You're a kinda
64 MARTHA AND CUPID
big windbag, o' course, but when a body squeezes
you, you don't squeal. There's something in that.
I hope you'll like the weddin' I'm fixin' for my
mother. It'll be plain but genteel. I invite you
to be present."
" Thank you ! " said Ryan.
" Also, you can come to mine an' bring your
wife." Her graciousness was equal even to this.
" You can come to mine, which it'll be a differnt
pair o' shoes from yours, I can tell you. But you
couldn't expect the stylish layout your second try
you'd get your first, now could you? "
" I could not," Ryan conceded.
Such being the case, Martha proceeded to " do
the thing up brown." Once Mrs. Granville had
sailed and the house was closed, the girl found
herself free to come home, whereafter there were
no more hitches or delays.
Society, in loftier strata than the Carrols', ap-
pears to extract pleasurable excitement from " a
crush." The fact that the little rooms were
crowded to suffocation did not in the least inter-
fere with the general enjoyment.
Ryan, relieved and exhilarated after the vows
had been taken, bade everybody " whoop it up! "
and Martha, presiding as mistress of ceremonies,
saw to it that they did.
THE TIME OF HER LIFE 65
The Slawsons were out in full force, as were
the Ryans and those of the Carrol connection who
did not stand upon their dignity and refuse to
come on grounds of general and particular disap-
probation.
" Ma " Slawson, occupying a seat of honor,
treated with every consideration, did her best to
wet-blanket the whole affair in her own dry way.
Whenever " the next wedding on the carpet " was
joyously referred to, and she was congratulated
as being the mother of the prospective happy man,
she whimpered out her wish that " Martha hada
took Gilroy instead o' Sam."
" Never you mind her, Martha ! " Andy Slaw-
son advised cordially. " The rest of us are good
and glad you've took Sam. You're the girl to
make a man of him, if anybody can."
Martha reared a proud head.
" Sam don't need me or any girl to make a
man of'm. He's a man without any assistance
from nobody. An' what's more, he's about the
only man the only real man I have the pleasure
to be acquainted with."
"My, but you're touchy, Martha!" laughed
Nora-Andy indulgently. " When you're married
to Sam as long as I am to Andy, you won't stand
up for him so almighty stiff."
66 MARTHA AND CUPID
Andy beamed approval on Martha.
" I like you for it," he averred heartily, and
then and there confided to her what he called " the
chance of a lifetime to make big money." A man
he knew would " let him in on the ground floor "
of a grand scheme for the price of a bite of bread
and a mouthful of milk. The difficulty was he
happened not to have the price by him at present,
though he would have it, and plenty more, by the
end of the week. The man, however, wouldn't
hold the chance open that long. He demanded
" spot cash." It would be " a sin before God "
to let such a chance slip through his fingers, for
the lack of a few dollars, which he'd pay back with
a fat lump of his profits in a fortnight's time."
" Do you think Ryan would let me have the
loan of it, if you told him 'twas sure money? "
asked Andy.
" He prob'ly would, only I wouldn't telPm,"
returned Martha. " I ain't askin' no favors of
Ryan."
Nora-Andy tossed her head. " It's no favor
anybody is askin' you to ask. If Ryan let Andy
turn over a bit of cash for'm, till it's be swelled
to twice or three times its size in a couple of
weeks, I guess there'd be no call to speak of it as
* a favor,' excepting on Ryan's side."
THE TIME OF HER LIFE 67
" All the same, I'll ask you not to mention it
to'm," said Martha.
" Well, Martha," Ryan addressed her after
the last guest had gone, " you give us a bang-up
wedding, and no doubt about it. Your mother
has been telling me it's all your doing. I certainly
am obliged to you."
"Don't mention it!" returned Martha. "If
my mother is pleased, that's all I ask."
Mrs. Ryan's face flushed emotionally. " I
never looked for to have such a grand weddin'
again," she confessed simply.
Martha laughed. " It's nothin' to what I'll
have myself. This was good enough, an' I'm glad
you like it, but when my own time comes, I'll know
how to do it better."
Her own time did not seem to come as punc-
tually as, at first, she had expected.
May passed, then June, and still Martha was
unready. Then one hot evening to be exact it
was the second of July Sam took a stand.
" Say, Martha, I'm tired waiting. I want you
to marry me. I don't care about the wedding. I
want you ! "
" All right, Sam."
" When'll you marry me? "
" Whenever you say."
68 MARTHA AND CUPID
" To-morrow? "
" Yes, if you choose. But we couldn't be married
without a license. We better get the license to-
morrow."
"And then?"
" I'll marry you next day the Fourth. That'll
be a good day. We'll come in for a celebration
at the city's expense."
" D'you mean it, Martha? "
" I mean it, Sam."
Mr. and Mrs. Ryan, with the rest of the family,
were " to make a day of it at Coney." Martha
had begged off in the beginning.
" It's Sam's holiday. He'll like to go off some-
wheres quiet. There's been a whole lot of hulla-
baloo lately, an' likely more to folia, an' Sam
feels kinda he'd relish a day off in the country,
all alone by himself I mean, with only me along."
" That's right. You go off with'm where he
wants you to, Martha," concurred the mother, out
of the wisdom of her ripe experience.
The Fourth dawned noisy and hot. Martha
rose early to get the picnickers' huge luncheon-
baskets packed, then saw the merry crowd safely
off, calling cheerful good-bys to them over the
banisters as long as they were within sound of
her voice. Nothing in her face or manner be-
THE TIME OF HER LIFE 69
trayed her, even to her mother. She was her
usual composed, entirely competent self, even
when Sam appeared. It was Sam who moved as
if in a dream, silent, mastered by an emotion too
deep for outward expression.
They went uptown and were married. At the
close of the ceremony, the minister's wife, who
had consented to act as witness, shook Martha
kindly by the hand.
" I hope you'll be happy, my dear! " she said
maternally.
Martha's look was one of quiet confidence.
" Thank you, ma'am. So do I hope so. If I
ain't it'll be my own fault. I got a good man."
They took refuge from the breathless heat and
the glare of the sun on the asphalt, in the first
trolley they could hail. Riding to the end of the
line they took another car. Then still another.
They ate their luncheon under green trees,
birds winging above them in the blue, insects hum-
ming over the scented grass. Sam looked at the
ring on Martha's finger, and swallowed hard. He
could hardly see to take the great sandwich she
offered him. Martha, too, looked at the ring.
"It's an awful nice one, Sam!" she said.
" Good an' heavy an' narra, like Mrs. Granville's,
same's I like'm. It musta cost you a lot."
70 MARTHA AND CUPID
Sam dismissed the subject with a silent shake
of the head.
" An' all I got for you, for your weddin'
present, was them pair o' measly old suspend-
ers. I wanted to get a real tony pair, but
the ones I liked come to twenty-five cents
more'n these, so I couldn't get'm, for these took
all I had."
Sam's eyes met hers in a long look.
u All you had out of the hundred dollars Mrs.
Granville gave you? "
" That, an' my wages too," confessed Martha
serenely. " You see, first-off there was little Ruth.
Thank God she's well now, but the hospital an'
all took a good slice o' money. An' then there
was mother's weddin'. That cost some too, an'
Ellen an' Jimmy didn't see their way to help me
out on it. An' mother had to be married tabble-
dote, or whatever they call it, to keep Ryan where
he'd never be able to cast it up to her. With a
man like you it wouldn't matter. But Ryan's got
a sorta natural growth o' vanity on'm, you'd have
to keep shavin' it down, or it'd be croppin' up
fresh all the time, an' givin'm too much chin. An'
then well a little sum I lent a party kinda's got
lost in the shuffle. I knew it would when I lent it,
so I've myself to blame for takin' the risk. Any-
THE TIME OF HER LIFE 71
how, it's never come back to me an', there's no
chance now it ever will, an' so "
" But the happiness you took in your wedding!
The time of your life ! " lamented Sam.
" I'm havin' it now," said Martha.
CHAPTER III
HER HUSBAND'S FAMILY
SAM and Martha Slawson had been married
precisely a fortnight when Sam, returning
home after a long, hot working-day " on the
job " in " lawyer Granville's " office, found
Martha waiting for him at their door, a look on
her face as arresting as a raised forefinger.
"What's the matter? " he inquired at once.
" O, nothin' much. A kinda surprise, in a
way. But nothin' that won't wait for you to eat
your dinner before you hear it."
" I'd rather hear it right off. What's hap-
pened?"
Martha began to " dish up."
" I like these rooms first-rate, Sam," she ad-
dressed him over her shoulder, as she plied briskly
back and forth between stove and table. " I cer-
taintly do like'm first-rate. For just we two
they're awful snug an' cozy."
Sam, standing before the sink, dashing cold
72
HER HUSBAND'S FAMILY 73
water vigorously over his head and forearms,
made no response.
Martha continued, " An' yet, I suppose a real
flat'd be handier, specially if we'd another in
fam'ly. Flat 's made so convenient now. I never
see the like, the thoughtful way they're buildin' 'm
these days. There's a young married party a
sorta poor-relation o' Mrs. Granville's she's got
a real tony apartment up in the eighties, on the
west side. She don't like the west side. I heard
her tellin' Miss Frances I should say, Mrs.
Granville that nothin' about her husban's losin'
his fortune was harder on her than the havin' to
move to the west side."
" What's the matter with the west side? " asked
Sam, energetically falling to work upon his
heaped plateful of corned beef and cabbage.
" Nothin' 's the matter with it, exceptin' the
swells, in what they call ' the court end o' the
town,' turns up their noses at it. Miss Katherine
Ronald ast me oncet, as English as Johnny Bull
'mself, though she was born an' brought up in
this same little town says she, ' It's ver-ry sunny
over they-ar, isn't ut? ' the same as if ' ut ' was
the other end o' the world, or the Lord had made
the east side shady, to go with some o' the nobs
livin' there on money they ain't earned. I told
74 MARTHA AND CUPID
her, * Yes, it was gener'ly sunny on the west side
of a shiny day,' an' I never cracked a smile to
give it away I was laughin' at her. But what I
was goin' to say is, there's real decent, respectable
flats you can live in these days, if you have the
price. The one Miss Frances's cousin's moved
into, you wouldn't believe it, the convenient way
them rooms's laid out. The maid's room is just
between the kitchen an' the dining-room. Ain't
that tasty for the maid? If she wants to, there's
nothin' in the world to pervent her from layin'
abed mornin's while she stirs the oatmeal with
one hand an' sets the table with the other. The
man planned that flat, you can take it from me, he
was the workin'-girl's friend."
Sam raised his eyes to look at her. His level
brows flickered uncertainly a moment, then settled
into a puzzled knot. He did not speak, however,
and Martha proceeded without prodding.
" I went up to see mother to-day. It's fairly
surprisin' the comfortable way she's fixed. It'd
do your heart good to watch the sun pourin' in her
windas, when she ain't pulled the awnin's down
to keep it out. What do you think o' that!
Awnin's! Ryan certaintly is doin' noble by her
an' the childern. You'd think he was a fairy step-
father, the way he spoils the young 'uns. Mother
HER HUSBAND'S FAMILY 75
says he hands over the money brave as a lion an'
never a grunt out of'm, at the end of the week,
if the bills's large. Mother looks ten years
younger, since ever she married'm, an' Ruth's as
fat as butter."
Sam nodded appreciation.
" Queer how us two, mother an' me, hit the
bull's-eye on husban's, ain't it? An' neither of
us much of a shot, when you come to look at us.
I always said it was better be born lucky than
rich, an' I believe it. Many mightn't fancy Ryan
in the first place. But oncet you got'm trimmed
down good an' thora, he'll sit up an' beg, or roll
over an' play dead dog, like a little man. Mother
wants you to come up an' see'm, now they're set-
tled. She says it'd do you good to get out into
the open air oncet, into a place where the rooms
are so you can swing a cat in'm, to say nothin*
o' windas lettin' in the cool breeze, when there
is any."
Sam laid down his knife and fork.
"I thought you liked these rooms, Martha?'*
he brought out after a pause. " You said you
did, when we took them. That's only two weeks
ago, if it's as much. Have you soured on them
already? "
Apparently Martha was too occupied with
76 MARTHA AND CUPID
something she had poised on the ice in the re-
frigerator, which had to be removed with great
care, to answer.
" I made you a bit o' cold jelly, Sam," she in-
formed him presently. " It's somethin' Miss
Frances's grand chef-cook showed me how. He
calls it a ' frozen dainty.' He says you'd relish
it in hot weather. I don't know as mine's so
dainty (it run over the form an' got mixed with
a couple o' other things before I scooped it up an'
put it back) , but it's frozen all right, all right, for
I just cracked the dish gettin' it part company
with the ice. Wanta try some? "
Without waiting for an answer she served him
a heaping saucerful. He made no attempt to
touch it.
"Ain't you even goin' to try it, Sam? " Mar-
tha questioned.
Sam swallowed hard.
" I'm wondering about what you said," he re-
turned gravely.
Martha's spoon stopped midway between her
plate and her lips.
"Said?"
" Well, if you didn't exactly say it, you meant
it, I guess. You don't like these rooms any more.
They look pretty poor to you, after your mother's
HER HUSBAND'S FAMILY 77
place. I didn't think you'd get discontented so
soon, Martha. You knew you were marrying a
poor man when you took me, and turned down
Peter Gilroy. But I thought you knew what you
were doing and would be satisfied with what I
could give you."
" So I am, Sam, but
" I know as well as you this place here is stuffy
and hot and close, but it's all I can make out to
pay for."
" Sure it is, Sam only
Sam rose to his feet, pushed his chair back care-
fully, replaced it with equal orderliness, and be-
fore Martha's bewildered wits had had time to
collect themselves, had caught up his cap and gone
out, downstairs, into the street.
Martha gazed blankly at the door through
which he had passed.
" My, but ain't he touchy! "
The sigh that followed was barely audible.
Martha turned to and " did up " her dishes with
despatch. She had no more than finished, when
there was a tap on the door. Without turning
from the cupboard she called in no uncertain
voice:
"Come in!"
The door swung open, a tall figure came for-
78 MARTHA AND CUPID
ward into the room. Martha looked around, her
eyebrows lifting in surprise.
"Hullo, Dennis!" she greeted him, her tone
losing some of its ring.
Dennis Slawson's eyes, traveling quickly about
the room's limited area, halted as they reached
Martha and riveted themselves on her face.
" I guess you weren't expecting to see me again
so soon," he threw out tentatively.
Martha leaned back against the cupboard
frame, seeming to meditate.
" Well, considerin' how lately we met ' she
returned with good-nature. " Sit down, now
you're here, won't you?"
Dennis took a chair.
" I said to Sarah this afternoon as soon as you
left," he broke off suddenly. " Where's him-
self?"
" Out for a stroll. It's kin-da hot indoors these
nights."
Her perfect poise seemed, for some rea-
son, to abash Dennis, seemed to make the
awkward pause that followed peculiarly his
own, in no sense hers. He fathered it with a
clumsy cough.
" I bet you went and did what we warned you
not to. I bet you gave it to him straight, and he
HER HUSBAND'S FAMILY 79
got up on his ear and walked off in a rage. That's
Sam all over. Say, ain't I right? "
Martha folded her arms across her bosom and
contemplated her burly brother-in-law without
flinching.
"You are not! " she averred at last. " But
if you wanta know what I did, I'll tell you what
I did. I took the good advice you an' Sarah
handed out to me this afternoon so generous. I
tried to ' break it to'm gently! ' Break it to'm!
I didn't get in the first crack before he was up
an' off like a shot from a shovel. Sarah told me,
' Take the advice of a old married woman with
experience.' An' you told me, ' Take the advice
of his own brother, which I know Sam like a book.'
An', more fool I, I done what you said, an'
slipped up on it fierce, an' well, here I am ! "
"And he ain't?"
" He certainly ain't."
"He's gone off, then?"
" He certaintly has gone off."
Dennis Slawson weighed the situation.
" He'll come back," he comforted her pres-
ently.
Martha laughed.
' You bet your life he'll come back. I ain't
hurryin' 'm none, mind you. I'll give'm till ten
8o MARTHA AND CUPID
o'clock to come back by 'mself. An' then, well,
if he ain't in by ten, why, I'll just wanda out an'
kinda fetch'm. Oh, I ain't worryin' any about his
comin' back."
" Sam always was a queer dick," Dennis vol-
unteered. " You'd never know what was going
on in his mind. He'd stand for what the rest
of us would kick like the mischief at, and then
when you'd think you had him where you wanted
him, he'd take offense at an innocent word you
dropped, maybe, and go off in a dumb rage you
wouldn't see the equal of in a day's travel. Sam
has the worst disposition in the family. He's
sullen. The surly kind, that if you once rouse
him look out for yourself! I'm sorry for you,
Martha, but you got a handful when you got
Sam."
Martha's broad shoulders shrugged in a way
Dennis felt was distinctly unflattering.
" I thank you kindly for your advice, which I
wish I could give it back to you, by the same
token," she said serenely. " It was no good to
me. An' you can have your conJo-lence back
without me even takin' a turn outa it. I don't
see anythin' the matter with Sam, exceptin' he's
got a fam'ly's put on'm an' put on'm, till the poor
fella's so fairly loaded up to the muzzle with
HER HUSBAND'S FAMILY 81
what the rest of you won't shoulder, no wonder
he'd go off with a bang oncet in a while."
Dennis rose, flushed and angry. " I came to
tell you " he began, but Martha calmly talked
him down.
" Sam an' me's been married two weeks, an'
in all that time he's never give me a cross word
or a black look. I'm no angel, an' don't you for-
get it. I ain't had the schoolin' Sam has, nor I
ain't the head he has. I'm hasty an' I'm clumsy,
an' anybody thinks my cookin' is a joke'd better
guess again. But you'd never know it from Sam.
Sam took me for what I am, like I took him. If
I got a handful when I got my husband, like you
tell me I done, why, all I got to say is thank
God for the size of my fist, Dennis Slawson, for
you can't get too much of a good thing! The
trouble to-night was I made a fool of myself
tryin' to be the kind I ain't. I tried be tackful, like
Sarah. I tried to pass bad advice off on the poor
fella. Sam ain't used to tack from me. He don't
know what to make of it. When I have anythin'
to say, I let'm have it, straight between the eyes.
That's my kinda tack. An' it works, an' don't
you forget it. If, the minute Sam'd popped his
head inside the door I'd 'a' said, ' Looka here,
Sam, Dennis an' Sarah backed down on Ma.
82 MARTHA AND CUPID
They had her two weeks, an' they soured on the
job. They're goin' to heave her back on you
who've looked out for her ever since you was a
kid, God help you! you bein' the only one o' the
Slawson push ever did think they'd a duty to the
mother bore'm' if I'd 'a' aimed that shot at'm
the minute he showed his face in the door, why,
the suddent shock would 'a' knocked'm silly, an'
while he was helpless, so to speak, I coulda got in
my fine work about me havin' took a real flat,
which I'm goin' to pay for it outa what I'll earn
goin' out by the day, so's we'll have a corner to
put Ma in, oncet we get her. That woulda give
him all he could swalla in one big gullup, an' then
I coulda handed'm out a slice o' orange, as you'd
say, to take the taste outa his mouth. As it is, he
thinks I soured on these rooms, an' that's a pill
kinda chokes'm to get it down, an' I don't blame'm.
I know what he's doin' this minute. Walkin'
'round the streets, grievin' his heart out, because
he can't give me a tony flat like mother's, when all
I'd ever ask is just what we got right here, in these
two rooms, if it wasn't for the want of a place to
lay Ma's head on."
Dennis's fingers clutched at the brim of his
hat, as^they itched to clutch at Martha. Nothing
would have pleased him better than to " wipe up
HER HUSBAND'S FAMILY 83
the floor " with her. His method with the sex
was simple and direct, the method of the primor-
dial male. Deprived of his right to " chastise "
her properly, he turned and stalked out of the
room.
Martha looked after him unregretfully.
" The next time he'll know better'n run down
Sam to me," she mused. " Dennis thinks all a
man's got to do is shoot out his jaw at a woman
an', as Ma says, ' the fear'll be in her heart, she
won't have a limb to move.' But I'm not Sarah's
kind, to be sidlin' 'round the men, like an ash-puss,
an' get my way with'm, without their knowin' it.
Dennis is a bully, but he got the worst of it this
time."
She was mistaken.
The clock on the shelf above her tubs rever-
berated to the force of nine loud, metallic strokes.
According to Martha's calculations an hour re-
mained to Sam, before she would go out and fetch
him. Hardly ten minutes of the allotted space
had passed, when her alertly listening ears caught
the sound of slow steps mounting the unsteady
staircase.
" That's himself, the poor fella ! " she rumi-
nated. " All tired out with his hard day's work
an' the heat, an' then me atop of it, handin' 'm
84 MARTHA AND CUPID
' tack ' after Sarah's receet, which it might better
'a' been a club, an' done with it. I'll make believe
busy myself settin' a stitch in his stockin's, to save
his face, as if I never missed'm, or knew he'd
been gone."
So, when the door was pushed gently open,
Martha, bending industriously over her work, did
not lift her eyes to see who stood on the threshold.
It was only at the sound of a hesitating cough,
manifestly not Sam's, that she raised her head and,
looking up, saw Ma's angular little figure sil-
houetted against the shadows of the outer entry.
Martha was on her feet in an instant.
" By the great horn spoon! What brings you
here this time o' night, Ma? " she interrogated.
Mrs. Slawson drew the forefinger of an un-
gloved hand across her upper lip.
" 'Twas Dennis an' Sarah brought me down,' r
she whimpered. " After youse was gone this
afternoon, himself decided they wouldn't wait for
to bring me next week when they go visit Sarah's
cousin in Jersey, but they'd be off to-morra, an'
take no chances o' their plans bein' upset. Sa
Sarah packed my things, an' her an' Dennis
brought me down here as soon as we'd our supper
et sooner, by the same token, for I hadn't me
fill, nor anyways near, when they hurried me off.
HER HUSBAND'S FAMILY 85
An' the childern left do up the dishes, at that!
Sarah says to himself as we fared along
' It's you better go up first to Sam an' Mar-
tha's, Dennis. An' leave me an' Ma wait for you
in the hallway below, till we'd see what the two
o' them'd say to you, the way Ma'd be visitin' 'm
so much earlier than Martha expected.'
" So up come Dennis. An' himself an' you was
forever colloguin', till the knees o' me felt like
bread itself, that they'd crumble beneath me.
Sarah says: 'Sit ye down on the stairs, an' rest
your bones,' says she. An' well it was for me
I done her biddin', for never a step did Dennis
come down till the feet o' me woulda dropped off
wit' the weariness, an' me standin'. An' when he
did come he was mad as mad! Whatever did
you say to him, Martha, to raise the wrath of'm
like he'd look ready to slay you? Says he to
Sarah:
' Come along home, an' be quick about it.
Lemme outa this ! To-morra, the first thing, we'll
be off to Jersey.' An' then he bid me make me
way upstairs alone, for that saysee : ' My foot
shall never darken Martha Slawson's door
again,' he says, ' till she's went down on her
two knees, an' begged my forgiveness, for the way
she's turned her tongue on me this night.' '
86 MARTHA AND CUPID
Martha laughed.
" I hope he won't hold his breath waitin' till
I do," she observed with composure. " If he'd
said one knee, I mighta considered it. But my
two knees! There's only a couple o' things I
ever go down on my two knees for, an' neither
of them's Dennis. But that don't help me out
o' the nice little hole he's put me in. Where
I'm goin' to stow you to sleep, when all Sam an'
me's got is the one bed between us, an' not an
inch o' room to spread another if we had it, is
a question. I wonder, now, could I make out to
rig up somethin' on the ironin'-table, which when
I turn the top back it's a kinda sofa. Though,
bein' plain wood, not so soft as some. We
wouldn't any of us be needin' much coverin' a
hot night like this. If I put all the blankets an'
things belongs to our bed on the ironin'-table, I
wonder could you make out to sleep any on it."
"I could not!" announced Ma stoutly, with-
out hesitation. " I'm lost wit'out me night's rest,
the same as me cuppertee evenin's, before I go to
bed. Now, if you'll just wet me a good heapin'
teaspoon, till I comfort meself wit' a mouthful,
I'll settle down in the bed inside, and not a sound
will ye hear outa me till mornin'."
Martha pondered.
HER HUSBAND'S FAMILY 87
u But Sam " she said, more to herself than to
Ma. " What's to become of Sam? "
Ma's resource was equal to the occasion.
" Leave'm spread a shawl or somethin' atop
o' the tubs, an' once he's stretched his limbs
there, it's not another thing he'll know till the
dawn."
When Sam, returning, thrust open his own door,
shortly after ten, the first thing that met his gaze
was a shakedown bed made up on the tubs. His
wife was invisible. It needed no more to arouse
his sensitive fears. That Martha had gone into
their room closing the door against him seemed
obvious. For a moment he stood facing the bar-
rier between them, a sort of creeping horror mak-
ing his flesh sick, a helpless trembling in all his
joints. Then, suddenly, the nightmare passed,
for Martha stood in the doorway, her face the
face of the woman who loved him. The quick
revulsion of feeling, following after what had
gone before, brought him down as if with the
force of a blow. He dropped upon the nearest
chair, his head bowed on its back. Martha laid
a large, calming hand on his shoulder.
"Say, Sam, brace up! Ma's back! Dennis
an' Sarah told me this afternoon you'd got to take
her again, but they didn't say they'd bring her
88 MARTHA AND CUPID
down to-night. That bright idea struck'm later,
an' that's what they done. She's in our room,
in our bed this minute, composin' herself to sleep,
beggin' not to be disturbed."
Sam's face was tragic.
" That makes me a liar to you, Martha," he
brought out at last, breathing hard on the effort.
" I promised you, of my own accord, Ma shouldn't
live with us. I promised you that when you said
you'd marry me."
" Sh ! Don't speak so loud ! Certaintly you
did," returned Martha. " But promises don't
hold when you're up against circumstances over
which you have no control, like Dennis an' Sarah.
You meant all right, Sam. It's the others the
whole bunch o' them that's to blame. God
knows you've took care o' Ma your share, ever
since you was a little shaver. They shirked the
job, like they're shirkin' it now. But that's no
reason for us worryin'. Our conscience is clear,
so sit up an' have some style about you, an'
I'll tell you some more. I'll tell you what
I done after they told me about Ma, an'
this time I'll tell you straight an' no beatin*
about the bush, or tryin' to skate about grace-
ful, like I done at supper, an' fell down an'
got a bump I wpn't forget in a hurry. When
HER HUSBAND'S FAMILY 89
Dennis an' Sarah told me we got to have Ma,
I knew it was no good tryin' to tuck her away
here. We couldn't do it. Not Ma? So I just
walked my little self over to a Real Estate place,
an' got the fella show me some three-room flats
that it wouldn't break my back to shoulder the
rent. An' I took the best o' the pick, an' paid down
my little deposit, an' then, bein' in the neighbor-
hood, as you might say, I strolled into Mrs. Gran-
ville's cousin's who's so poor she's got to live in a
apartment-house with three grand Ethiopians in
the hall, pullin' the elevator, an' stickin' little stop-
pers on a rubber toob, in somethin' telefoams up-
stairs somebody's in the hall, an' will she see'm?
She's got me hired for days' work twice a week,
to help out with the rough cleanin' the delicate
young lady she's got for a maid ain't a taste for.
An' Mrs. Ronald wants me go there too. So, be
this an' be that, my time'll be about all engaged.
There'll be no worry about the rent. Now what
do you think o' that! "
Sam shook his head dumbly.
It was not altogether the unaccommodating na-
ture of tubs to masquerade as downy beds of ease
that caused " himself " to lie awake and staring
all through the night. Nor yet the vision of
Martha painfully huddled against the resisting
90 MARTHA AND CUPID
corner of the ironing-table Ma had scorned. Sam
Slawson was an honest man. His conscience told
him he had acted the part of a cheat to Martha, in
marrying her to the dingy fate which was all his
somber vision could see stretching before them,
as his contribution to their common future. It
was not for nothing he had come home that night
nervously on edge, open to the first suggestion of
disaster. He had learned, on good authority, that
it was only a matter of a couple of months before
he would lose his job.
" I'm telling you as a friend," Peter Gilroy
had confided, with officious zeal. " You better
be looking; out for another place. I happen to
know Mr. Granville is only waiting to come back
from his trip abroad to make a lot of changes in
the office. You're down as one of them. I
thought I better give it to you straight, us being
friends, than let it come on you unexpected, when
you wouldn't be prepared."
Sam had thanked him in his characteristic
monosyllabic fashion, and gone about his business
the rest of the day in a sort of dumb nightmare
of despair. He justified his determination to with-
hold the news from Martha by quoting to himself
her familiar words, " What you don't know won't
worry you."
HER HUSBAND'S FAMILY 91
; ' When I get a new job will be time enough
to tell her I've lost my old one."
And then, on the top of this, had come the
misunderstanding about the rooms, Ma's advent,
the news that Martha had taken a three-roomed
flat, and was going out " by the day " to pay for
it. He could not tell her, in the face of all this.
He would tell her when the moving was over, and
they were settled. But they moved and were set-
tled and still the confession did not come.
Martha watched him silently through all the
varying phases of his close-mouthed misery, when
she would have given the world to comfort him
with a word.
' The poor fella ! " she confided to her mother
at last. ' You'd be sorry for'm, to see the secret
way he takes on. But if a body tried to help'm,
his feelin's'd be everlastin'ly hurt, so the cure'd
be worse than the disease. If you happen to hear
of anybody wantin' a good, decent chap ain't
smart enough to get money he ain't worked for,
why, think o' Sam, will you? "
A fortnight or so after this gentle hint had
been dropped into Mrs. Ryan's ear, her husband
called Sam up on the telephone.
" Say, how'd you like to try your hand bossing
a gang of my men? "
92 MARTHA AND CUPID
Sam, instantly suspicious, did not answer at
once. Then, " How did you know I was looking
for a place?" he asked.
"I didn't. Are you? This job's open. I
just naturally thought of you, you being Martha's
husband and me liking her so much. If you want
the job, it's yours."
" I do," said Sam.
That night he confessed to Martha.
" It would have been hard on you any time, to
have me out of place," he explained, with the
elation of one referring to a danger happily es-
caped. " But now, being as you are, it would be
cruel hard. What luck though, Ryan's just hap-
pening to hit on me for that job! What luck!
Ain't you glad things have turned out as they
have? And, now it's over, you don't mind my
having kept the worry from you, do you? "
" Certaintly not!" Martha assured him.
" Don't you ever tell me anythin' you don't wanta.
If it's any comfort to you to think I don't know,
for goodness' sake take it."
Sam cogitated. " If I didn't want a boy so
bad, I'd hope the baby'd be a girl, Martha, so it'd
be like you."
Martha bowed ceremoniously to the tribute,
but before she could respond in words Ma, who
HER HUSBAND'S FAMILY 93
had made one of her mysterious, soundless en-
trances into the room when neither of them was
aware, spoke in her stead.
" The Slawsons never did begin wit' a girl.
They always begun wit' a boy, accordin' to Scrip-
ture. But you may look for a girl, Sammy, an'
that's what you may look for. I'd never expect
annythin' else, the way Martha is contrairy, an'
does the things like she wants to herself, an' nary
a thought o' what annywan else is wantin' at all."
Martha laughed. " Poor Ma ! You certaintly
got a dose when you got me for a daughter-in-
law. I'm sorry I don't suit you better. We all
have our trials in this world, an' I'm yours."
" Well, I'm not complainin'," averred the old
woman meekly. " But in my da' 'twas the wife
did the husban's biddin' an' not himself hers,
like the two of youse here."
Again Martha laughed.
;< We can't all of us be playin' ' Oats, peas,
beans,' ' she said. u While some parties is
singin', ' Now you're married, you must obey,'
others is playin' ' Clap in, clap out,' or ' Coin' to
Reno I should say Jerusalem.' '
Ma shook her head despondently over the cup
of tea Martha set before her.
" In my time the home a man could give his
94 MARTHA AND CUPID
woman was good enough for her. But look at
yourself, goin' out by the da', for to pay for this.
The way you must live in a gra-and flat, wit' three
rooms into it, when the old one was respectable
enough for annybody, an' fine an' cozy as you'd
need. I never slep' more comfortable in me life
than the night I spent in it. But there's no satis-
faction at all wit' the wives these days. They're
always strivin' for somethin' better."
" That's the way they get it," said Martha.
" The girls want to begin where the parents left
off."
" Then it's up to the parents not to leave off."
" It's only of themselves the girls do be think-
in'. Not of their husbands at all. A wife should
think of himself before annywan else."
' The ones that do learn him to do the same."
Ma braced her spine for a supreme summing up.
" Shame on ye, Martha Carrol, that don't know
your duty to a good, steady man."
Sam laid his hand on Martha's shoulder. " I've
no fault to find with my wife, Ma. And, for the
matter of that, you've none either. She's all right,
Martha is! "
Shufflingly Ma got to her feet. Poising her tea-
cup carefully, she took herself off, the picture
of virtue undervalued.
HER HUSBAND'S FAMILY 95
u I couldn't blame you if you felt disappointed,
Martha," Sam said, when she was gone. " You're
not getting what you expected. I couldn't blame
you if you didn't like my mother."
" What's yours is mine," said Martha. " We
got to like our own."
Sam gave her a look.
His new job seemed at first to be the very
thing for Sam. The particular niche into which
his personality and capabilities fitted to a T.
He controlled his men with quiet authority,
and got more work out of them than any
other boss Ryan had ever hired with twice his
bluster.
'Twas a good day's work when I took him
on," the contractor told his wife, and she, nat-
urally being pleased, told it again to Martha, who
was more pleased still and told it yet again to
Sam, in whose ears praise rang sweet and who,
forthwith, spurred his spirit to greater effort.
The open air and exercise agreed with him. All
through the Autumn and early Winter he flour-
ished famously. Then came a spell of penetrating
cold and damp, which unaccustomed Sam did not
know how to protect himself against. He had
a sharp attack of grip, fought through it dog-
9 6 MARTHA AND CUPID
gedly, and was back *' on the job " before he was
fit.
In January, his cold still hanging on, Martha
insisted he should see a doctor. The doctor's
advice was brief but decided. " Give up your
job. You can't stand the exposure."
" Well, what do you think o' that! " exclaimed
Martha when Sam repeated the fateful words to
her. " Who'd ever 'a' thought you were that
delicate, to look at you ! But don't you get down-
hearted. If we can't do one way, we'll do an-
other. I've all the work I can get away with, so
we won't starve, nor yet go bare, an' while that's
the case I call us well off."
Winter passed, Spring came. Martha was still
at the helm.
" In my da'," observed Ma, " it wouldn't 'a'
been thought well of for a body to be flyin' in
the face o' Providence, the same as you're doin'
this minute, when it's safe at home you'd oughta
be, an' home you'd oughta stay, instead o' goin'
out to days' work, an' maybe injurin' the boy ere
ever he's born."
It was the last of May. The morning was hot.
Martha had evidently got out the wrong side of
the bed, for the sound of Ma's insistent sing-song,
the sight of her pious mouth, set her all on edge.
HER HUSBAND'S FAMILY 97
" O, dry up ! " she exploded crossly.
Ma stared open-mouthed, too amazed to re-
tort. Sam's eyes fixed themselves on his wife's
face in a quiet, steady gaze. Martha tried to
shrug herself free from the burden of it, and
when she could not, turned upon him.
" I know what's in your mind about me, for
talkin' up so to Ma. But I don't care. I'm tired
an' sick bein' found fault with. I've swallowed
all I'm goin' to stand. I give you notice, both
of you. If you don't like me an' my ways, you
can go where you'll find another you like better."
Ma rose to pass stiffly from the room. Her
reproachful sniff, her look of taking up her mar-
tyr's cross and carrying it with Christian forti-
tude, were not lost on Martha. But it was the
expression of boyish bewilderment in Sam's eyes
that hurt her so she struck out fiercely, with a
sort of quick, muscular recoil from the pain it
inflicted.
" That's right! Stare at me! I don't care! I
mean what I say! I'm tired an' sick workin' like
a dog, only to be nagged an' hounded till I'm clean
crazy. ... I wish you'd take your mother an'
the both of you clear out an' leave me be. I'm
sick o' the whole Slawson family."
She had risen as she spoke, taken up her straw
98 MARTHA AND CUPID
hat and was putting it on, before Sam found
words.
" You're surely not going out to-day, Martha."
"Why ain't I?"
" You're not fit."
" I'm goin' all the same."
Sam made no effort to oppose her. Perhaps
he did not believe she actually meant what she
said. But when, some moments later, he made
his way downstairs, intending to follow and bring
her back, she was nowhere to be seen.
It was somewhat after Martha's usual hour for
coming home from work, and Sam was beginning
to grow anxious in good earnest, when he heard
the stairs creak under ascending feet, and went
to the hall-door to receive and welcome his wife.
A boy in uniform stood in the entry.
"Telegram!"
Sam read the brief message, tossed it on the
table for Ma, and without a word, without his
hat, without his dinner, plunged downstairs and
into the street.
Half an hour later he was standing, weak
and shaken, very misty about the eyes, beside
Martha's screen-encircled cot in a hospital lying-in
ward.
HER HUSBAND'S FAMILY 99
Her face seemed strange to him in its un-
accustomed pallor, the dark hair curling in damp
tendrils above the temples. One finely-formed,
work-hardened hand lay upon the turned-back
sheet, white against the white of the linen.
After a moment Martha unclosed her eyes,
looked up, tried to smile.
" Are you mad at me, Sam? "
Dumbly he shook his head.
" It's no cinch," she whispered, with more of
an effort than she would ordinarily have used to
scrub a floor. " But we won out, the both of
us the kid an' me. Only . . . I'm afraid . . .
you ain't gettin' what you expected. . . . It's like
Ma said. ... I got my own way. ... I couldn't
blame you if you felt disappointed. It ain't . . .
your boy. I couldn't blame you if you didn't like
. . . my . . . girl."
Sam bent to touch the damp forehead with his
lips.
" What's yours is mine. We got to like our
own," he quoted with tender raillery.
CHAPTER IV
THE CHORISTER INVISIBLE
WHEN Mr. Frank Ronald made Sam Slaw-
son superintendent of his country estate,
and the family went to New Hampshire to live,
Martha said to her husband:
" One thing I do feel kinda sorry about is
young Sam's having to give up singin' in the
surplus choir. First place, it stood'm a good
fifty cents a week, outside o' funer'ls an' feast-
days. An' then, it done'm a lotta good. Sammy
ain't a bad young fella, as young fellas goes, but
no boy his age fourteen in his stockin' feet is
naturally the sorta white-robed, angel-kinda-
lookin' objeck walks up the church aisle Sunday
mornin's, chantin' to beat the band, with a face
on'm like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.
There's a lotta talk about childhood bein' holy.
I tell you what it is, I find the holiness hasta
strike in, in youngsters. It certaintly don't strike
out. Now, I always felt if Sammy could only
sport them angel-togs, an' that angel-look long
THE CHORISTER INVISIBLE 101
enough they'd be bound to get in their fine work,
in the end.
Sam's eyebrows went up in a look of mild in-
quiry when Martha paused. She wrestled with
a needleful of cranky thread until it yielded, then
took off her thimble and blew into it vigorously
before putting it on again.
' You mean you'd like young Sam to grow up
an angel-child? The sort of picture-book boy
caroling hallelujahs, he looks in the chancel every
Sunday? " her husband put to her, with a touch
of the scorn men invariably show for what they
conceive to be womankind's ideal of masculinity.
Martha negatived his question with an em-
phatic headshake.
" No, I don't mean no such thing. Sammy
couldn't be an angel-child, if he tried with both
feet, seein' you an' me's his fathers an' mothers.
He's got all that's comin' to'm in the way o'
cussedness. He's a boy every day in the week,
believe me. That's why I'm kinda sorry he's had
to quit on the church-choir job, Sundays. That
white ' rubdynwee ' (as Mrs. Sherman calls it) an'
the lookin'-inta-heaven, goo-goo eyes goes with it,
woulda worked back into'm, if he could only 'a'
stuck to'm long enough. Don't you worry about
young Sam growin' too good. A pinch o' angel
102 MARTHA AND CUPID
along with your son's natural share o' the other
party wouldn't harm him a mite."
Sam senior smiled his characteristic slow smile.
" Young Sam'll come out all right," he assured
Martha comfortingly. " You'll see, he'll come
out all right."
" You bet, I'll see he comes out all right,"
was the quiet rejoinder.
Young Sam was, at the moment, pleasantly en-
gaged in hectoring his sister.
" Girls are no good! I wouldn't be a girl for
anything you could gimme. Look at the way a
man can earn money. Girls can't earn money like
men can."
u When I'm out of school, like Cora is, I'm
going to earn money," Francie stated simply.
"How you going to do it?"
" I don't know. But I'm going to earn a lot
and a lot."
" What'd you do with it if you had it? " Mar-
tha asked, interested at once, for Francie, the least
self-assertive of all the children, made few claims
and, so far as her mother knew, had no vaulting
ambitions.
" I'd buy presents for everybody, that's what
I'd do. I mean, the kind of things they'd really
like, not just something I'd conjured up myself out
THE CHORISTER INVISIBLE 103
of odds and ends, that they'd have to say thank
you for, because I made them."
Martha smiled.
" You're a keen one," she inwardly commented,
pretending to busy herself elsewhere, that her
grown-up presence might not check any self-
revelation on the " young-un's " part. " You're
a keen one, for all you're so quiet."
" What'd you get me, if you had the price,"
young Sam put the question with shameless
egotism.
" What'd you want?"
" Oh, several things. A hocky-stick, for one,
and a rifle for another. Or a full-rigged jack-
knife. There's lots of ways you could please a
man, if you insist on blowing in your good cash on
your only brother."
Francie mused.
" I'd get Cora a near-silk slip, the kind she
wants for her new white dress. And I'd get
Sabina a pencil-box, with A. W. Faber's pencils
in it, and a rubber and a pen and a pen-knife for
school. And, O, I'd get father some slippers to
wear evenings when he comes in tired. And I'd
get Ma a new shoulder-throw, and ' her voice
dropped to a whisper that would have been in-
audible to any but the practised ear of Martha
104 MARTHA AND CUPID
" I'd get mother a shirtwaist, ready-made, out
of the store, with embroidery on it, and, maybe,
some lace 'round the neck and sleeves."
Young Sam widened his already ample mouth
with fore and middle fingers outstretched. He
let forth a long, derisive whistle.
" Well, what's the matter with that? " Francie
queried crestfallen, waking from her dream of
rapture to the realization that, somehow, she had
made herself ridiculous.
" Nothing's the matter with it, only where do
you come in on the game? If you spread your-
self on the rest of the folks, what'd you have? "
Francie stared.
" Why, I'd have the fun of giving the things."
Sam junior thrust his hands in his trousers side-
pockets and tilted aggravatingly back and forth
on heels and toes.
"Little Goody Two-Shoes! Ain't you pious?
Just like one of those mother's darlings you read
about that die young and's buried with a marble
headstone to her feet ! " he taunted mercilessly,
adding a string of jargon he knew was her special
dread and abhorrence: "Ping-tung! Whoop-da!
A'-there-to-pup ! "
Tears rose to Francie's eyes. " I think you're
real mean," she retorted weakly.
THE CHORISTER INVISIBLE 105
" Well, all I got to say is, when the time
comes, don't you spring any of your home-made
neckties on me, out of your old cast-off rag-bag
pickings. I've told you what I want. Now it's
up to you. Get busy! "
" Doncher fash yourself over your brother's
nonsense," Martha advised, emerging from the
pantry just as young Sam disappeared through
the kitchen doorway. " He don't mean no harm.
It's just the nature o' boys to tease. Boys's like
nutmeg graters. You'd bark your fingers han-
dlin'm, if you don't look out. But they got a
good little kernel hid away inside'm under cover
somewheres, if you've the wit to find it."
The good little kernel in her own particular
boy it troubled Martha more and more to find
during the weeks that followed.
The fact that he came from the city gave him
a sense of supremacy over the other " fellows "
in the neighborhood the " natives " with whom
he associated. His step developed a swagger, his
chin an audacious tilt.
He was alert to fetch and carry for Mr. Frank
Ronald, but whew any lesser authority com-
manded him his grubby forefinger went up to
expose his eyeball, impudently indicating there
was no green there.
io6 MARTHA AND CUPID
Sam senior talked gravely of thrashings which
Sam junior knew would never materialize.
Martha dropped warning hints that if there
wasn't a change for the better she'd " take mat-
ters into her own hands and give someone a lickin'
he'd remember to the longest day he lived."
" You better touch me once ! Who cares for a
woman, anyhow?" the object of her maternal
solicitude muttered beneath his breath.
Martha stopped short in her work.
"What say?" she demanded impellingly.
Sammy looked up and met her eyes.
" I said, yes'm," he answered with meekness.
Martha did not remove her gaze until she had
measured him from head to heel.
"I'm glad to hear it!" she observed affably.
" I wouldn't like any misunderstandin' to come
up between us, like come up between certain par-
ties I know ... a boy and his mother which
shall be nameless. The boy he up an' started in
to give his mother back-talk an' ... well, I
won't tell you what happened. It might spoil your
appetite for your dinner. But this much I will
say you can take it from me, what that poor
young fella got for his impidence would surprise
you."
Sammy's exit from the room was accomplished
THE CHORISTER INVISIBLE 107
with what grace he could muster, but though the
outer man seemed calm, the inner was insurgent.
No self-respecting male could be expected to stand
up under such treatment as he received from his
family. Every hand was turned against him. He
retired to his favorite haunt, a hidden corner
in the barn-loft, to chew the bitter cud of con-
scious misprizal in solitude.
Meanwhile " the big house " was the scene of
sudden and mysterious happenings.
If young Sam had been at home he would have
had no more than a vague sense of unusual
" goings-on." What was he that he should be
taken into anyone's confidence?
His mother could have told him (only of course
she wouldn't) that the Ronald family skeleton
had not only emerged from its closet, but had
stretched its weary bones and found rest at last.
Young Sam had often wondered where Rad-
cliffe Sherman's father was. Once he had asked
Martha.
' There never was a father in that family,"
she had returned briefly.
Gay Mrs. Sherman, a leader in fashionable
New York society, carried off the situation with
a confidence that insured her against question.
But now the mystery was cleared. A broken-
io8 MARTHA AND CUPID
down, miserable man, old before his time, had
appeared at the Inn. He " answered to the name
of Allan," as Martha put it, but there his self-
identification ended. It was only after his sudden
death of heart-disease that he was discovered
to be Mrs. Sherman's husband . . . Mr. Frank
Ronald's brother-in-law.
Quick on the heels of this event followed Mrs.
Sherman's departure, bag and baggage, mother
and maid accompanying her, for abroad, and Miss
Claire Lang's coming over to the Lodge to
stay . . . turning Sammy out of his room and
bed, it may incidentally be mentioned. Not that
Sammy would have minded being turned out for
Miss Claire. He adored her, had been consumed
with burning jealousy when she went to stay at
Radcliffe Sherman's ("to learn him to grow up
a big an' han'some gen'lman like his uncle Frank,"
Martha had explained) and entertained a secret
plan of marrying her when he grew up to be a
man and had earned so much money he wouldn't
know what to do with it, like Mr. Frank Ronald
himself.
The link between these events and young Sam
was not so slight as may appear. When the boy
returned to the house after his all-day absence
Francie said:
THE CHORISTER INVISIBLE 109
" Mother's been looking for you. So've we all.
All over the place ever since morning."
If Sammy wondered why, he forbore to ask.
Dignity must be maintained even at the cost of
curiosity. Besides, he knew Francie would tell.
Francie was a " blab."
" Mr. Ronald feels awful bad about Mr. Sher-
man being dead," she presently vouchsafed, " and
mother said if he'd like you to, you'd sing at his
funeral."
" How'd she know I would? "
Francie stared. " Why, of course you would."
" Of course I wouldn't."
" Not if Mr. Ronald ast you? "
" Not if the mayor and the governor and the
President ast me. I'm through doing things for
folks that don't know a good thing when they
see it. I'm done with the whole of you . . . the
whole darn push! "
His mother, from the doorway, regarded him
calmly.
" Go up an' dress you ! " she dropped with easy
unconcern. " Francie, you stop downstairs till
your brother goes up an' dresses him. That
funer'l's at four o'clock to-morra. He ain't no
more time'n he needs to practise over his hymns
with Miss Claire."
no MARTHA AND CUPID
The neighborhood's Summer colony was largely
recruited from fashionable New York society.
Though this disappeared with the coming of frost
every Autumn, the Episcopal church it had built
and pledged itself to support remained open for
divine worship all the year 'round.
Young Sam Slawson, white-surpliced, heavenly-
voiced, singing Pilgrims of the Night, Crossing
the Bar, and O Paradise! at poor Allan Sherman's
funeral, moved some of the more emotional to
tears. After a decent interval they waited on
Mr. Ronald in a body respectfully soliciting his
contribution toward a fund they were raising for
the creation and maintenance of a vested choir
for St. Martin's in the Mountains. Mr. Ronald
quietly informed them he had already arranged
for such a fund on his own account, " In memory
of my brother."
Before Martha was fairly aware she saw her
wish for young Sam realized. He was again in
a position to benefit by the introactive influences
of a " white rubdynwee an' the lookin'-inta-
heaven, goo-goo eyes goes with it."
All through the rest of the Summer and during
the Autumn " Slawson's Sammy " worked with
Mr. Woodruff, the choirmaster, imported from
New York, in the interests of the new enterprise.
THE CHORISTER INVISIBLE in
He literally " beat up " volunteers, initiating
them with mysterious rites into the fellowship
of surpliced choristers. And all the while he
was a man whose dearest hopes had been
shattered, whose tenderest feelings had been
outraged.
Mr. Ronald had married Miss Claire Lang!
Had married her and taken her off with him on a
trip around the world.
It was December before Richard was himself
again, and then it was only the prospect of Christ-
mas that really took his mind off his sorrow.
41 Christmas," announced Mr. Woodruff at the
last rehearsal but one before the great event,
" Christmas is not a season, it is an attitude of
heart. It is not a day, it is a feeling. Now, let
us see if we can't sing our hymns and anthems as
if we really understood what Christmas means."
The silence that had lasted while the choir-
master spoke did not outlive his words. The in-
stant he paused, it gave way to a shuffling of feet,
surreptitious cracking of knuckles, coughs, cuffs,
sniffs, and, as a sort of reckless, triumphant finale,
a shrill, prolonged whistle.
" Order! " commanded the choirmaster.
Looking down on the cluster of stolid young
faces before him, he thought that, if the boys only
112
knew it, his own " attitude of heart " was any-
thing but Christmas-like.
" They're a tough lot ! Unruly little Hessians !
I'm a fool to moralize to them. Not a word I
say gets under their skins. And that Sammy
Slawson is the ringleader. Come to order, Slaw-
son! We are all waiting for you! "
It so happened that Sammy was not in this
case the chief offender. Something in the choir-
master's slip of the eye struck the boys as irre-
pressibly laughable. A half-smothered snicker
went the rounds and an ironical voice whispered :
" Hit 'im again, he has no friends ! "
Mr. Woodruff recognized the moment as
crucial. His discipline hung in the balance. If
he did not maintain it now, he might never be
able to command it again. Without stopping to
reason out or sift the case, he brought his fist
down smartly on his desk.
" Order, I say! Slawson, you're excused from
morning drill. If you go to pieces to-morrow
night at our song-service, don't blame me. I'm
here to rehearse you, but if you make it impossible
it is not my fault."
Sammy gathered up his effects with well-feigned
composure and slowly sauntered from the room.
Once outside the door his air of unconcern for-
THE CHORISTER INVISIBLE 113
sook him. His pale face flushed, his eyes grew
bright and abnormally big. He made directly for
home.
His appearance caused some disturbance in the
group gathered about the kitchen-table. Cora
rose with a very conscious air and hummed herself
out of the room. Ma doubled her apron over
her lap, obviously with the purpose of hiding
something underneath. Francie whisked in and
out of her chair, opened her lips to speak, then
clapped her hand over her mouth with no ap-
parent object but to arouse and pique his curiosity.
Sammy felt the sting of solitude in a crowd. He
was deliberately shut out and away from his own
share in the home-confidences.
He saw his mother shake a cautioning head
in Francie's direction, before she turned to
him.
" I thought you was at your singin'."
" I was."
"Well, why ain't you there now, then? The
practisin' ain't over, is it? You told me your-
self, to-day an' to-morra'd be the most important
of all, seein' to-morra night's Christmas eve, an'
your song-service'll be then, same as it was down
home."
Sammy's shoulders hunched up expressively, in-
ii 4 MARTHA AND CUPID
dicating his lack of interest and responsibility in
the whole business.
"What made you come away?" his mother
plied him with exasperating persistency.
" I don't feel good."
"What ails you?"
"Nothin' . . ."
" That's easy cured. Get busy. You walk your
body back to that choir-practice double-quick,
d'you hear me, young fella? "
Before Sammy could protest, Francie broke in,
unable to contain herself a second longer.
"What do you think?"
" I d'know."
" Miss Claire ... I mean Mrs. Ronald . . .
mother she got a letter from her to-day And she
sent Cora and Sabina and me five dollars in it.
'Tain't a Christmas present, she says. It's to
spend the way we want to. Now, what do you
think of that! "
The muscles in Sammy's neck thickened visibly.
" Did she send me any? "
" No."
His jaws set.
" She said the men in the fam'ly would get what
was comin' to'm Christmas day outa the box
her an' Mr. Ronald packed for us, which it was
THE CHORISTER INVISIBLE 115
bound to get here prompt," Martha explained,
to take the edge off his disappointment. " But
she said, bein' a girl herself she knew a little
extra wouldn't come amiss to your sisters, for
spendin' money 'round this time."
His sense of injury was rapidly getting the bet-
ter of young Sam. He swallowed hard, manfully
trying to brave it out.
" Just think! Fi-ive dollars! " exulted Francie.
Sammy gulped. " You don't mean . . . five
dollars for each of you?"
" Yes, I do. Five for Cora 'n' five for Sabina
'n' five for me. To spend the way we want to,
on anything we like."
Sammy, in extremity, clutched at the first straw
within reach to make good his loss. " You said
if you had money to burn you'd bl-blow me
to something I'd like. What you going to gimme,
hey?"
Francie's face fell.
" I told you once already I don't want any
of your old patched-up duds. D'you remember? "
His mother paused in her passing back and
forth between oven and pantry.
" Say, young fella, while we're at it, s'pose you
tell us what you're goin' to give your sister, for
a change. You got five dollars, and more too,
ii6 MARTHA AND CUPID
on your own account, outa your surplus singin'.
While you're waitin' to hear what Francie's goin'
to do with her money, give us all a surprise-party
an' tell us what you're plannin' to get Francie
for her Christmas. Let's hear you tell, till we see
will she like it."
The end had come. Endurance had been taxed
to the breaking-point. Sammy flung his books on
the table with a crash.
" What's the matter with everybody, I should
like to know ! " he roared, shaking from head to
foot with rage and shame. " Everybody is down
on me ! Everybody lays for me, to gimme a biff
when they can. Nobody's got a show in this house
only girls. If father had any gimp to him he'd
kick, the way we're put on ... him and me.
It's up to him. If he wants to stand for it he
can, but I'm no tame cat. I'm sick an' tired of
being treated like a dog, just 'cause I ain't a
girl. Men's got some rights. Tell you what it
is, I'm done with you all the whole darn
push!"
The violence of his outburst swept him before
it as a leaf in a gale. The room fairly whistled
and wheeled with the onrush of his whirlwind
passion.
Ma, cowering back in her corner, whimpered
THE CHORISTER INVISIBLE 117
weakly, Francie, saucer-eyed with surprise and
alarm, clutched her chair with both hands, while
Cora, hearing the hubbub, appeared in the door-
way, pausing petrified on the threshold before the
spectacle of Sammy transformed into a sort of
human volcano in eruption. Only Martha stood
firm, calmly waiting for the explosion to subside.
Instead of subsiding it waxed more fast and furi-
ous, until at last, caught up as in a maelstrom,
Sammy spun 'round and 'round, sobbing, shouting,
shaking, a poor bit of humanity at the mercy of
a great elemental force which he had not learned
to control.
From some hidden recess of his mind sprung
the vision of a hero's escape, as vividly described
on the film of some seemingly-forgotten " movie."
It acted as a stimulus. He grabbed up his father's
clasp-knife which happened to lie open on the
mantelshelf, waved it melodramatically about his
head and, whooping " Revenge ! Revenge ! " shot
bodily from the room. A moment later were
heard his heavy steps on the floor above, then
his quick descent of the stairs, and last the chug-
chug of his motorcycle (a recent gift from Mr.
Ronald). Then silence.
Martha folded her arms across her bosom.
" Well, what do you think o' that! "
ii8 MARTHA AND CUPID
When Sam senior came in to his noonday
dinner he found a red-eyed family. All had been
crying save his wife.
"What's the trouble?" he inquired.
It was Martha who answered.
" Sammy thinks he ain't had a square deal, or
somethin', here. He's soured on us 'cause he
feels his own folks don't appreciate him. He's
gone off to seek his fortune, where he won't be
up against such a hard lot as us."
She spoke lightly, but there was a look in her
eyes that went to big Sam's heart. To banish it
he answered jestingly:
" It's a poor time to choose for chucking your
job. You're too late for the ball in the place
you left, and too early for it in the place you're
going to. If I was setting out to change my situa-
tion, I wouldn't select two days before Christmas
to do it in. I'd wait to see what I'd draw, in the
way of presents, and then skip."
The girls and Ma brightened visibly under
the influence of " father's " uncharacteristic lev-
ity, but Martha's serious mood was not to be
so lightly dispelled. She and Sam seemed to have
changed places.
* " Don't fret, mother! " he tried to comfort her.
" Our young man'll think better of it by sundown.
THE CHORISTER INVISIBLE 119
He ain't used to being very far away from his
mammy after dark."
" And, father," Francie broke in plaintively,
" think of his feeling so, when we got such lovely
things for him! We never had such a nice
Christmas as this was going to be. Ma's been
knitting him a sweater a beauty! And Cora's
hemmed him a silk muffler, and's soon's Miss
Claire's money came I sent to Burbank for the
best hockey-stick they had in the store! "
" You'll see, your brother'll be back before
night, child, like little Bo-peep's sheep your
mother used to tell you about. Won't he,
mother?" said "easy" Sam.
Martha nodded. She did not think it necessary
to explain before them all that she had discovered
the boy's bank (holding his precious savings)
broken open, emptied; his hooks in the closet, his
drawer in the dresser, bare. He might be back
before dark, as his father foretold, but the way
things pointed it certainly didn't look like it. She
went about her work less buoyantly than usual,
trying to make up for her inner lack of gusto by
an added air of outward energy.
" If he don't show up by dark I'll go an' fetch'm
back myself," she told her heart as, behind locked
doors, she made the living-room gay with Christ-
120 MARTHA AND CUPID
mas decorations and spread the wonderful table
that was to hold the gifts their newly-acquired
prosperity made possible, that to her eyes looked
a princely array.
Evening came and no Sammy. She thought of
her u little fella " out in the cold and the dark,
alone. Or worse than alone, in the company, per-
haps, of those who might " lead him astray."
For the first time in his experience big Sam
saw " mother " exhibit signs of nervousness. The
sight stiffened his lips into a line of uncharacter-
istic severity.
" No, I won't go out after him, and neither will
you, Martha," he declared with new-born deci-
sion. u Sammy's got to have his lesson. He
needs to learn a thing or two. You womenfolks
are too soft to deal with him. He knows he can
wind you 'round his little finger. Let him get
what's coming to him once, and he'll be the better
for it all the rest of his life."
Martha's broad chest fell on a long-drawn
breath.
" I don't know what's struck'm lately to get
such a grouch. Nothin' nobody does'd please'm.
His temper's as crooked as a dog's hind leg. His
face was so red this mornin' you coulda lit your
pipe at it."
THE CHORISTER INVISIBLE 121
" And yet you have ' the faith to believe,' as
they say up here, there's the making of an angel
in him?" Sam mocked with gentle irony.
Martha swallowed the jibe unresentfully. " I
have the faith to believe there's the making of
an angel in all of us " she rejoined. " But that
ain't sayin' we look like our pattren when we get
through. God knows I'd make a poor show 'long-
side o' the lop-sidedest angel ever flapped a wing.
But I know, the way I feel inside me sometimes,
that if I measured up as I'd oughta, you wouldn't
have so much difficulty reco'nizin' the model, as
you do now. The thing gets me, is thinkin' it'd
be easier for the young 'uns to show what they're
made of, if their mother wasn't such a kinda mis-
cut. I tell you what it is, Sam, Christmas is a
sorta tough time for mothers, if they stop to think
about it. I mean the way there's only been one
of us ain't fell down on her job since the world
began."
" I wish I had that youngfman here," remarked
big Sam irrelevantly. " I mean Sammy, of
course."
' You wouldn't make anything by lickin' 'm,
Sam," pleaded the mother. " The little fella
means all right, 'way back in his heart."
" I'd like what he means 'way back in his heart
122 MARTHA AND CUPID
to come out and show once," said big Sam
grimly.
" There's worse than him, even so. And . . ."
Martha's breath came hard. " And anyhow, I
wanta know I have'm safe home."
She took a step toward the door.
" Stay where you are, Martha."
"Sam . . . it's nine o'clock! "
" And if it was ten ... or twelve! "
" Sam . . . it's . . . Christmas! "
She waited a moment, looking to see him yield
to this strongest plea of all. He stood firm. It
was she who yielded.
It was well on toward noon when Sammy's
wheel flashed up the hill beyond Milby's Corners.
The intervening space he had passed in moody
solitude, hidden away in a refuge of his own dis-
covering, where he sometimes went when the barn-
loft haunt was inaccessible. The black pall that
enveloped him had lifted ever so little under the
influence of the crisp air and flashing sunlight.
He had left the house without any definite in-
tention beyond making his escape from detestable
conditions, plunging " the whole darn push," as
it deserved to be plunged, into depths of remorse
on his account. But gradually the sharp, resisting
THE CHORISTER INVISIBLE 123
current his speed created, began to stiffen his mus-
cles. He felt his jaws congeal. He tried to sound
a self-assuring whistle and failed, his chin seemed
to have solidified. He dismounted.
" Maybe it'd warm me up to walk! " he argued
with himself.
It was only then he noticed the unfamiliarity
of the road, the absence of any landmark he could
by any possible chance recognize. He had no
idea where he wanted to go, but that was not to
say he relished having no idea where he was.
Pushing, tugging his heavy machine up the rest
of the hill set the blood to racing through his
veins. He began to feel less desperate. Life took
on a more cheerful aspect. It was no longer in-
evitable that he become a solitary wanderer over
the face of the earth, forever banished from the
land of his birth. He had had vague notions of
Australia as a likely refuge for a man misunder-
stood, undervalued. Now it occurred to him that
possibly California might be far enough away.
In any case, there was no reason he knew of why
he shouldn't pause to take breath when he came
to the top of the hill.
Evidently the same sort of reasoning had
moved, or more literally halted, someone else.
A horse and empty buggy were drawn up at
124 MARTHA AND CUPID
the side of the road. The horse was untethered,
a blanket had been thrown across his back.
Sammy drew his own conclusions, smiling to him-
self with proud complacence at his power of de-
duction. He stood and waited confidently for the
owner of the " rig " to appear. He had not long
to wait. From the other side of the stone wall
a hearty voice hailed him.
"Hullo there!"
"Hullo yourself!"
Sammy wheeled about to face Mr. Woodruff.
. . . Mr. Woodruff, genial, smiling, loaded down
with spruce and hemlock boughs.
"Good work!" exclaimed the choirmaster.
" glad to see you ! I was just wondering how
I'd get this over without spilling it. Lend a hand,
will you? "
Not a syllable about past misdemeanors. Not
a hint to recall the late unpleasantness.
His wheel propped against a nearby boulder,
Sammy sprang to the rescue. For an hour and
more he and Mr. Woodruff worked like beavers.
' The people up here have no idea what our
Christmas song-service is going to be like, have
they? I suggested to some of the fellows to help
me gather greens, but I could see they weren't very
keen about it, so I started out to do it alone."
THE CHORISTER INVISIBLE 125
" One buggyful won't make much of a show,"
Sammy pronounced authoritatively.
" Right you are. But my purpose is to come
back again and again, through the afternoon and
to-morrow if necessary. Your mother prom-
ised she'd help decorate the church . . . she
and your father and the girls. Mr. Ronald
told me, before he went away, that I could
always depend on your mother. He said she was
a brick."
" She is ! " The words were out before Sammy
had time to think.
' Your father's busy to-day, else he would be
helping now. The horses are in use on the farm
somewhere. But I'm to have them to-morrow,
he's promised me. And, many hands make light
work. I don't expect to be short on holly and
hemlock. What troubles me is that I haven't
enough fellows to climb ladders and tie gar-
lands . . . not enough little angels to sit up aloft
and do the overhead decorating."
" I'll help," said Sammy.
It could make no vital difference if he deferred
his journey for a day. Besides it would be " sort
of mean " to leave Mr. Woodruff in the lurch at
the last minute, with no one to get away with the
solo parts in "Silent Night, Holy Night!",
126 MARTHA AND CUPID
" When Shepherds Watched Their Flocks," and
all the rest of it.
He could see the little Gothic church as it would
appear if Mr. Woodruff took St. Vincent's " down
home " as a model.
The aisles would be arched over with spruce
and hemlock boughs. The pillars would be
wreathed with garlands of green. From their
capitals but one or two electric lights would peep,
through the screening foliage, like real stars. The
place would be dim, fragrant, mysterious; the air
full of rich, harmonious echoes from out of the
great hidden organ flanking the choir. Then,
into the soft, melodious gloom would come the
choristers, each with a tall lit candle in his hand,
so that, as the singing band progressed, it was
with light as well as song, until at last the chancel
would be a blaze of glory, resounding with praise.
Clearly, it would never do to miss this !
When his craft was loaded to the gunwales Mr.
Woodruff turned a grateful face toward young
Sam.
" I don't know what I should have done with-
out you! "
Sammy grimaced, awkward with pleasure.
" You won't fail to show up to-morrow for re-
hearsal it's the last, you know."
THE CHORISTER INVISIBLE 127
" Oh, no, sir, I won't forget! "
" You see, I depend on you, Slawson, to help
me with my job here. These fellows are new to
the business. They don't understand the duties
of a church-singer. A choir's like a regiment, in
a way. There's got to be order and obedience.
There's got to be one at the head to keep disci-
pline. You could make things about half again
as easy for me, if you'd act as my aide. Will
you?"
" Yes, sir."
"Your hand on it!"
The two clasped in silence. The next moment
Mr. Woodruff had scrambled to his seat in the
buggy, making a place for himself, somehow, in
and among the branches with which the carriage
was crammed. He paused before starting the
horse.
" Coming my way? "
Sammy's hand was on his wheel. "No, sir!
That is, I ... I ..." His soul was in a state
of conflict. He could not proceed.
He stood looking after the buggy until it be-
came a mere speck at the far turn of the road,
'way at the bottom of the hill.
He had pledged his word to stand by the choir-
master. He'd have to go back in the end. But
128 MARTHA AND CUPID
he couldn't do it yet. Not yet. He mounted his
wheel with a leap and dashed forward in the direc-
tion of Burbank, twenty-five miles away. What
was that Mr. Woodruff had said this morning
about Christmas not being a day, or a season?
What did he mean by " an attitude of heart " ? He
had told the boys Christmas was a feeling. . . .
Young Sam raised his voice and sent a wild whoop
echoing out into space. Could it be possible that
the heart inside him was beginning to celebrate?
Ten! Eleven! Midnight!
Big Sam dared not glance at Martha. He had
grown to dread the look on her face. Well, if she
was going to take it this way. . . . He rose to
consult the clock, though it had just struck twelve.
" I wouldn't 'a' thought so much about it, but
he had your clasp-knife. An' he was in the sorta
blind rage you wouldn't know what he'd do with
it," Martha let fall, unconsciously speaking her
thoughts aloud.
"Hush!" cautioned big Sam suddenly.
"What is it?"
" The gate. I heard someone at the gate."
" He couldn't get in unless you went out an'
unlocked for'm."
Martha's voice vibrated curiously, giving her
THE CHORISTER INVISIBLE 129
words the sound less of a statement than of an
appeal.
" If he wants to come in, he'll have to ring or
. . . skin through the hedge," said Sam.
Again they waited in silence, as they had been
doing most of the night, ever since the girls and
Ma had gone to bed.
They waited so long, in fact, that at last
Martha shook her head.
" I guess we're stung. It wasn't him at all."
The next moment was heard a footstep on the
porch.
Big Sam went to the door and swung it wide.
The words on his lips were ready to utter, but they
remained unspoken.
How could one demand of a haggard, travel-
worn waif, out of whose grimy face shone two
eyes luminous with a sort of ecstatic rapture,
..." Well, young fellow, what have you got
to say for yourself? This is a pretty time of
night! . . ."
Big Sam tried to speak. The syllables slipped
away into the Land of Unspoken Folly, and he
never regretted them. He just stood and held the
door wide, as if he were welcoming his son in out
of the night.
Martha appeared in the kitchen doorway, the
130 MARTHA AND CUPID
lamp held high above her head. Somehow it
flashed across young Sam's brain that she looked
like the big statue on Bedloe's Island, " down
home "... Liberty Enlightening the World.
" I been to Burbank," he confessed readily.
" It was late when I got there. ... I stopped
on the way to help Mr. Woodruff cut trees for
the church . . . and when I got there, I didn't
think what I was about until . . . till . . . the
places began to shut up."
"What places?" asked Sam senior mildly,
with a cadence none but Martha would have in-
terpreted as piteous.
" Why, the stores. Where I was. When I
saw they was all shutting up, I thought I'd better
be getting back. Only, I'd forgot the gasoline
for my wheel and . . . 'bout halfway home it
give out. . . ."
" And you walked the rest of the way home
... on your two feet? Twelve miles through
the night . . . and you never out after dark in
the country before?"
A touch of awe mingled with the pride and re-
proach in Martha's voice.
Sam turned to his boy. " Here, son, sit down
to your supper."
There was that in their speech to the lad that
THE CHORISTER INVISIBLE 131
made eloquent dialogue between husband and
wife.
For answer, Sammy darted out from under his
father's hand. He was gone but a couple of
minutes. When he returned he had his wheel
with him. Strapped to it, at every conceivable
and inconceivable point, were packages, big, little,
and medium-sized.
" For the love o' Mike I" gasped Martha.
Sammy bent to the task of untying the cords,
trying to appear manly and unconcerned. His
fingers trembled with eagerness.
Several times big Sam besought him to take his
supper, but there was no room in the boy's large
ecstasy for so petty an act as eating.
Again and again, as he displayed his treasures,
Martha shot a look at her man, a look that really
was a searchlight thrown out to illuminate his
dull apperception. And all the while Sammy was
exulting :
" Looka that ! The best they had in the store !
D'you think Cora'll like that? " or, " See this !
Ain't it a daisy? Cost two dollars and a half!
What do you s'pose Francie'll say when she knows
it's for her?" ... all the while the same
searchlight pointed its index-finger back, to under-
score a mother's faith in the unseen spirit of good
'i32 MARTHA AND CUPID
that lay concealed in the poor little turbulent soul
of her boy.
" But say," Martha laid a detaining hand on
Sammy's shoulder. " Say, if you spent so much
on your sisters an' ... the rest of us . . . where
does your Christmas come in? What did you get
yourself? "
Sammy looked up, the same new-born, un-
familiar, inscrutable light in his eyes.
" I didn't think about myself," he said joy-
ously.
CHAPTER V
THE LADY OF THE HOUSE
A 5 the door closed on Cora's departing figure
Martha looked at her husband, a quizzical
glint in her eye.
" It's a poor family can't support one lady! "
she observed laconically.
Sam shook his head.
' You may think it's a joke," he took her up
with unrelaxed gravity, " but I don't see where
the laugh comes in. In this life you get things
on your plate that you've got to swallow, but it's
rubbing it in to expect you'd smack your lips over
them."
Martha's gaze rested on her man with large
maternal indulgence. " Doncher care, Sam!"
she said, as if she were soothing an injured child.
His grievance resisted such easy placating.
' You may relish it, but / don't," he continued,
" having a girl who considers herself above her
folks. Cora's not content unless she's trying to
copy her betters."
133
134 MARTHA AND CUPID
For a long moment Martha was silent, ob-
viously occupied with the task of making a point
clear to herself, in order that she might make it
clear to Sam.
" There's no harm trying to copy your betters,''
she elucidated at length, " the great thing's findin'
out who really is your betters. Cora's got aholt o'
the wrong end o' the stick. That's where her
trouble comes in."
Sam weighed her words. " Well, you'll bear
me out, it was never with my approval she went
to Mrs. Sherman in the first place. If it had been
Miss Claire now (Mrs. Ronald, I should say)
it would have been different. Miss Claire's a lady
from the ground up. But Mrs. Sherman with
all her money, Mrs. Sherman's Sam's head-
shake filled in the ellipsis with eloquence.
" Those few weeks Cora went over to the big
house, when Eugenie had tonsillitis, did more mis-
chief than we can undo in years. Sitting sewing
in her room, doing her hair, and all the rest of
it, a girl gets kind of intimate with her lady, and
I could see from the way Cora acted when she got
home Mrs. Sherman was getting in her fine work,
all right."
" It ain't fair to lay all the blame on Mrs.
Sherman," Martha corrected him, in the cause
THE LADY OF THE HOUSE 135
of strict justice. " Cora's been what you might
call a high-stepper ever since she was born. The
best wasn't too good for her. She always had
notions above her station, about dress an' livin'
an' suchlike. But I never worried my head much.
' Because,' thinks I, ' give her time, an' age'll bring
her sense.' '
" I wish it was doing it," lamented Sam.
Martha smiled. " Doncher get downhearted,
Sam. Nineteen ain't as old as it might be, even
so."
" I know, but, by the same token, nineteen
ain't so young as it might be, either. I tell you
what it is, when Cora gets married I pity her
husband ! "
Martha's chin went up with a jerk.
;< The way you men hang together's a caution!
Here are you now, waatin' your sympathy on
Cora's husband, when she's a whole houseful of
women-relations right in the same house with her.
Besides, for all you know, she'll never have a hus-
band."
" A good-looking, strapping girl like Cora? "
" Well, as far as I can see, her followers ain't
wearin' the doorsill down not to any great
extent."
Sam removed his pipe from between his lips
136 MARTHA AND CUPID
long enough to suggest: "There's Theron
Cowles."
" I'd forgot Theron Cowles."
" He's a good boy, solid and steady. I hope
he won't get out of the notion of Cora while she's
down with her Uncle Dennis in New York, galli-
vanting about with the Cheap-Johns her Aunt
Sarah'll pick out for her. Sarah was always a
great hand at match-making. And all her matches
turn out . . ."
" Punk," supplied Martha.
" Theron is nobody's fool," Sam continued.
" I've watched him and I know. We'd be lucky
to have such a fine chap marry our girl. But
with the notions she's got, she'll look higher."
" To a stovepipe hat, you mean? Well, Cora's
not the first'll have gone through the woods with
her nose in the air, only to pick up with a crooked
stick in the end," an observation which did not
have as soothing an effect upon Sam's perturbed
spirit as might have been expected.
As the days went by Martha found her thoughts
reverting to what her husband had laid before her.
The idea of Cora's being " too big for her boots "
was no novel one to her. Its application to the
girl's own future was.
" It's easy enough for a mother put up with her
THE LADY OF THE HOUSE 137
children's figaries, so long's she's the only one gets
stung. It's when they bounce back onto the kids
'mselves the mothers feel like lettin' out a groan.
I don't mind Cora's little airs an' graces. She
likes pretty things an' high-toned folks an' stylish
ways o' livin'. An' if that's her taste, her taste
it is. I'm the last one to say a word against'm,
for I like'm myself. They're good in their way,
but they ain't the best. It's the best I want for
my girl."
It was obvious from the tone of her letters that
Cora thought she was getting " the best " in New
York. Uncle Dennis had a house of his own. She
dwelt at length on the way Uncle Dennis's house
was furnished; the way Aunt Sarah shopped for
the girls; the way the girls "went to every-
thing " and had crowds of beaus. " Elegant fel-
lows . . . perfect gentlemen. I wish you could
see their clothes!" Aunt Sarah kept servants.
Aunt Sarah changed her dress every afternoon:
the girls called it " dressing for dinner." Uncle
Dennis was never allowed to sit at table in his
shirtsleeves, " like father does." They danced
evenings to the Victrola. It was an elegant Vic-
trola. It had cost three hundred dollars. Uncle
Dennis was terribly well off. Why hadn't father
gone into the contracting, the same as Uncle
138 MARTHA AND CUPID
Dennis? Aunt Sarah said if a man had any gimp,
and got in right with the ward, there was no end
to the money he could make. Several of the girls'
" gentlemen friends " were, apparently, " in with
the ward." . . . The girls liked some of Cora's
clothes. The ones Mrs. Sherman had given her,
and her mother had made over for her. The rest
they thought " country " . . . " Uncle Dennis says
it's too bad father has had to go to the back-
woods to live. Uncle Dennis says a man has no
chance to advance himself in the backwoods. He
just ends up where he began, like any stick-in-the-
mud. Aunt Sarah says she guesses mother likes
the country better than the city. It's more
mother's style. It kind of made me mad when
Aunt Sarah said that. I don't s'pose she meant
anything by it, but it sounded real mean."
" Mean? " commented Martha. " Sure it ain't
mean. It's just Sarah."
For some time Sam listened to the reading of
Cora's letters in thoughtful silence. Then he
struck.
" Say, mother, I've had about as much of this
as I'm going to stand. You tell Cora to come
down off her high horse. Tell her she might
thank her stars if she was half as good-looking,
or half as smart, or half as anything else as you.
THE LADY OF THE HOUSE 139
You tell her I say so. Let her put that in her
pipe and smoke it."
"Why, Sam," said Martha "ain't you
touchy! "
" The cheek of her! " Sam exploded with un-
characteristic heat. " To think she can hand her
mother out tips. She, that can't hold a candle to
you, nor ever could, if she only had the sense to
see it."
Martha shook a tolerant head.
" Leave her be. Doncher fash yourself over
her, father. Cora's eating her white bread now.
She'll come to the hard crusts soon enough. If,
when her time comes, she don't break a tooth,
gnawin' on'm, I won't say a word."
And so the letters, with their undercurrent of
easy patronage, clumsy side-thrusts, and uncon-
scious revelations of Cora's sense of superiority,
continued to come, and though they " riled " Sam
more and more, Martha read them without the
slightest trace of discomfiture.
Up to this time, Francie had always attended
the neighborhood gatherings as under Cora's
wing, secure in the knowledge of her sister's
capacity to cope with circumstances, satisfied to
shine in her reflected glory. When the elder girl
went away Francie, feeling the ground cut from
I 4 o MARTHA AND CUPID
under her feet, tried to evade whatever " doings "
she was asked to attend.
" Thank you ever so much, but . . ." she
started to decline. Martha cut her short.
" Sure she'll go. Of course you'll go, Francie.
She's kinda timid without her sister, but that's all
notions, an' she'll soon get over her shyness, if
she sails right in an' goes where she's invited."
Alone, Martha admonished her seriously.
" You can't be a little old woman before your
time. What's the matter with you to be such
a 'f raid-cat? You're as good as the next one.
All you have to do is lift your head and speak up
like a lady when you're spoken to, an' you'll get
along fine as silk. Besides, I want you to go for
me. I'd have nothin' to amuse me, if it wasn't for
you girls goin' out sometimes, an' comin' home an'
tellin' me about it."
So Francie went, and after it was discovered
that she was a natural-born wall-flower, content to
sit quietly in the background while others had the
fun, they left her to her own resources, taking it
for granted that since she was " dumb " she must
be blind also.
"Well, what kinda time did you have?" her
mother asked casually, locking up, as she always
did, after the last late-comer had been admitted.
THE LADY OF THE HOUSE 141
Francie paused halfway up the stairs.
" O, very nice," she answered politely, in the
tepid tone of indifference.
Martha followed her above without further
question. But later, when she was unhooking the
party-dress (a service the girls customarily per-
formed for each other), the reticent tongue was
loosed.
" Mother ... I want to tell you something."
" Tell away."
" Do you know . . ."
Pause.
"Do I know . . . what?"
" Do you know, Theron Cowles used to like
Cora a lot?"
"Used to? You mean, he don't like her no
more? "
" No, not just that. I guess he likes her all
right. But ... I wish she hadn't gone away."
"Why?"
" Oh, nothing much. Only, you see, when
Cora's home, Theron goes with her all the
time."
Inwardly Martha's eager spirit was chafing at
the delay.
" For the love o' Mike ! " she mentally
ejaculated, "hurry up your horses!" Never an
142 MARTHA AND CUPID
outward sign did she give of her impatience, how-
ever. Just waited for Francie to unbosom herself
as she felt moved to do, without the least attempt
to prod her.
The next observation was deeply suggestive.
" I don't like Bessie Kirkland very much."
"Why doncher?"
" It's no fair, the way she acts. She goes and
takes other girls' fellows away from them."
"Now what do you think o' that!" said
Martha.
" Howard Chalmers was terribly fond of Ger-
trude Clough and . . . and ... do you know
what Bessie did? Somehow she made trouble be-
tween them, and now they don't keep company
any more. They don't even speak. She took
Howard away from Gertrude.
"How'dshe 'take' 'm?"
" I don't know."
" Where was Gertrude when she was doin' it? "
" Right here."
" You mean to say Gertrude just stood along-
side an' let her beau be grabbed off'n her by an-
other girl an' never lifted a hand?"
" I don't suppose she knew what to do."
" Then she deserves to lose'm I " Martha
asseverated.
THE LADY OF THE HOUSE 143
" But, mother," Francie's tone bordered on the
tearful, " isn't it awful for a girl to behave so?
To go behind another one's back and and be a
traitor to her."
Martha did not reply at once. When she did,
it was with a careful choosing of words, as if she
were deliberately selecting such as would wound
the least.
" Yes, it is awful," she admitted slowly. " But
it's the sorta thing everybody meets with every once
in a while all through life. The only way is, when
you're stung, keep a stiff upper lip, an' don't let
the poison get inta your system. You can keep it
out if you wanta."
" But, mother . . ."
" First or last everybody comes across such
people. / have, an' your father has, an' . . ."
Francie's face lost none of its gloom.
' Yes, I suppose so," she admitted reluctantly,
" but that don't comfort me any. I never thought
my life or Cora's was going to be like yours and
father's. Your life and father's seem to me so
kind of ... kind of ... doleful" the word
was out at last.
Martha looked up, a curious ghost of her own
humorous smile flitting across her face. " O,
does it? Well, now, what do you think o' that!
144 MARTHA AND CUPID
You certaintly have took a rise outa me this time.
I never supposed that was the kinda figga we cut,
your father an' me. I thought we managed to
make as cheerful a show as most. But doncher
worry about us, my dear. We ain't no kick comin',
either of us. You can ask him an' see."
The light of amusement, now complete, in her
mother's eye was utterly lost on the literal Francie.
" I'm not worrying about you," she made haste
to explain. " It's . . . it's Cora I'm . . ."
" Worryin' about ? What ails Cora ? "
" Bessie never liked Howard so much as she
liked Theron. Anybody could see that. She just
went after Howard because he's better-looking
and smarter than John Turner, the one's been
keeping company with her ever since they were
tiny bits of things, and she knew she had no show
with Theron when Cora was around. But now
Cora's gone. . . ."
" She's gettin' in her fine work with Theron? "
Francie nodded, relieved that at last the truth
was out.
Martha's broad bosom lifted as she breathed
it in, as on a deep, long inhalation. She folded
her arms across her chest.
"What makes you think Cora'd care? Seems
to me Cora's doin' some fancy side-steppin' on her
THE LADY OF THE HOUSE 145
own account. If she goes off, down to the city,
cavortin' about with all sorts o' strange young
Lord Tomnoddies, why, I don't see why there's
any call to reserve her place with Theron here.
She can't occupy two seats at once . . . one at
one show and one at another. I ain't no use for
parties, ' don't know whether I will or not, but
will you please hold a chair for me, in case I
might.' An' when you done it, an' made yourself
disliked tellin' the crowd you're keepin' it for a
friend, they never show up at all, an' you get the
name o' bein' a liar along with the shame o' makin'
a nuisance o' yourself. That Bessie-one has a per-
fect right to make hay while the sun shines, so
long's Cora left her a free field to do it in."
" Cora didn't know," wailed Francie. " Cora
thought Bessie was all right. She thought she was
John Turner's girl, and so she is. And she ought
to stick to him, oughtn't she? But she likes
Theron better. And she knows Theron likes
Cora. And Cora . . ."
" What makes you think Cora likes Theron
back? "
Francie's eyes grew wide. It was as if it had
never entered her head that Cora or anyone else
should not " like Theron back."
Martha could have told her, that for the sec-
146 MARTHA AND CUPID
ond time this evening she had taken " a rise outa
her." What she read in those wide, unsuspecting
eyes caused her own to fall. When she spoke it
was in a peculiarly gentle voice.
" And you'd like to see that your sister's fella's
kep' for her, the way she'll have the refusal of'm
when she comes home? "
Francie nodded.
For a long time Martha pondered it in silence.
When she spoke again, it was in the business-like
tone of a lawyer cross-examining a witness.
" You say this Bessie-one would chuck a fella's
been sparkin' her on the level ever since she was
a youngster? That she gives encouragement to'm
when she can't do no better, but the first chance
she gets she ups an' tries to get away with a chap
belongs to a friend o' hers? "
Again Francie nodded.
" Why, that girl's a born body-snatcher," ob-
served Martha meditatively. " And you think
Cora'd really care if she got back an' found her
. . . found Theron had changed his mind?"
Francie's answer did not come at once, but when
it did it was conclusive.
" I know she would."
" How d'you know? "
" She couldn't help it."
THE LADY OF THE HOUSE 147
Martha's only comfort was that the girl did
not realize what her admission implied. But there
it was. The words had been spoken.
; ' Why don't you step in an' try your hand
savin' her fella for your sister? "
With a quick, startled look Francie shrank
back, as if to escape the touch of the crude sug-
gestion.
" Never you mind my nonsense," Martha's re-
turn to her own matter-of-fact tone was instan-
taneous, carrying perfect conviction. " Never
you mind my nonsense. I was only foolin'. An'
now, get a move on, child. It ain't far off mid-
night. Quick! Undress you an' go to bed. An'
doncher fret your heart out over Cora an' her
love-affairs. Cora'll have her innings someway,
never you fear. Her kind always does. It's . . .
it's a different sort o' girl from her gets eternally
left, worse luck! Good-night to you! "
Again and again, during the weeks that fol-
lowed, Francie sighed for her sister's return, un-
able to endure the thought of all she was missing.
The village seemed to have taken on a new lease
of life. Never before had there been so many,
such various festivities.
The ball was set rolling by big Sam Slawson's
inviting all the " young folks " to a moonlight
148 MARTHA AND CUPID
straw-ride. Followed a barn-dance, a candy-pull,
tableaus. There was no end to the list of amuse-
ments.
" Mother's starting in to renew her youth, ain't
you, mother?" big Sam inquired, his large gaze
fixed on his wife half-quizzically, half-question-
ingly.
" Well, why wouldn't I be renewin' it? " Mar-
tha took him up promptly. " It was a perfeckly
good youth, wasn't it? A body'd get stale keepin'
inside her four walls all the time. It does you
good to get a breath o' fresh air sometimes, an' a
squint at what's goin' on about you."
" Seems to me you've taken an uncommon fancy
to that young Kirkland girl, Jessie, Bessie . . .
what'shername? What makes you favor her so
much? You had her sitting next to you on the
straw-ride. She had the place of honor pouring
chocolate at the head of the table, the night of the
barn-dance. Won't the other girls get jealous? "
" I guess not," said Martha.
If Cora's visit was not extended, neither was
it curtailed. She stayed in the city as long as she
had planned to stay, no longer. Sam went to
meet her at Burbank Junction with the motor-
runabout. He told Martha, before he left home,
that he " would apologize to Miss Cora when he
THE LADY OF THE HOUSE 149
saw her, for not having brought Mrs. Ronald's
limousine.
" I'll say I'm sure Mrs. Ronald would have
given me the loan of it if she had realized who
it was I was going to fetch."
" Doncher, Sam," Martha shook a disapprov-
ing head at him. " Doncher start in the first thing
to plague her, before she's had a chance to get
warm in the place again. No matter if she is
chesty, she's our own. Doncher let her feel we
ain't glad to get her back."
But even without her admonition Sam would
have foreborne. Unobserving of minutiae as he
generally was, he saw the instant he set eyes on
the girl that some sort of telling change had
taken place in her.
" Did you have enough to eat at your uncle's? "
he inquired bluntly, while he stood looking
in at her over the car door, as he waited for
the baggage-man to search out and surrender
her trunk.
Cora smiled at the strange question. " Of
course I did. Why do you ask?"
" It seems to me you are looking a bit spare."
" I weigh as much as I did when I went to the
city."
" Well, if you haven't lost weight, you certainly
150 MARTHA AND CUPID
haven't put on any flesh. I don't think your
mother'll let you go away from home in a hurry,
if you come back looking as if you were half-
fed."
Sam was unequal to a diagnosis more subtle
than this. He continued, following up his first
impression:
" Well, I guess you'll be glad to get back to the
good home-table, even if they did give you your
fill in New York. You can set your mouth for
fried liver and bacon for supper. Your mother
ordered it special because you like it."
It was dusk when they reached the Lodge,
dark and cold and very still. For once in her
life Cora was glad her father was not loquacious.
The journey home from the junction had been
made almost without words on either side. She
would be glad to see her mother, of course, but
no one on earth could guess how she dreaded her
stream of questions, the sharp detective practice
of her keen, deep-searching eyes.
The sound of Sam's motor-horn brought Mar-
tha to the big gate. In the light from the electric
globes surmounting the two granite gate-posts,
Cora saw that mother had on her best, Sunday-go-
to-meeting dress. What Martha saw was not so
superficial.
THE LADY OF THE HOUSE 151
" Here, Sammy, take your sister's bag, an' stop
your shoutin' ! Sabina, doncher hang onto Cora
like that you're a great heavy girl now you ain't
a baby no more. Childern, there's too much
noise! We're not deaf. Now, Cora, come along
in an' warm you. It's chilly ridin'. There's a
roarin' fire'll do your heart good. I guess you
ain't seen such logs in New York."
So much her mother said before drawing Ma
with her into the kitchen beyond, disposing quietly
of Sammy and Sabina, and leaving Cora to thaw
out in the genial fire-glow with gentle Francie for
company.
" What ails her, mother? " asked Sam, puzzled,
when hours after the two of them were left in soli-
tude downstairs, the rest having long since gone
to bed. ' Mother ' was going the rounds, seeing
the locks were fast, covering up the embers, mak-
ing all safe and sound for the night.
" She'll never tell you," returned Martha.
"Will she tell you?"
" Prob'ly not. She'd think I ' wouldn't under-
stand.' Cora's a good girl, but as I told you be-
fore she thinks she's kinda thrown away on the
likes of us. Whatever's happened to her. . . ."
In his eagerness Sam plunged in without giving
her a chance to finish her sentence.
152 MARTHA AND CUPID
" Then you think something has happened to
her? "
Martha had the intent air of one casting out
a long line to bring in a special catch. " O' course
somethin's happened to her. Something's all the
time happenin' to all of us. Sometimes it happens
in a lump, sometimes it happens gradual. That's
the only difference. If you really ask me what I
think, I truthfully tell you I think Cora's got it
in the lump an' it's caught her right in the neck,
as the sayin' is. An' if you ask me why I think so,
I'll tell you because she has the look of it. She
looks like she'd had to come off'n her perch too
sorta suddent-like for comfort or neatness. She
looks like she got a hard swat, missed her footin',
an' slipped up in a mud-puddle. It'll take her a
while to feel free of the spatters and tidied up,
fresh and starchy, same as she was before. It
goes hard with the youngsters the first time they
get thrown down. By-an'-bye, as we grow older,
we don't mind so much. We either break the
shock plasterin' ourselves up with soft-soap, or
we get callous-like an' don't feel the bruise.
Cora's got all she can do to keep her chin up, I
can see that. We got to be pationate with her for
a while. The worst you could make one like Cora
suffer'd be if you took down her pride."
THE LADY OF THE HOUSE 153
" But it's just that that would do her good,"
Sam contended.
Martha shook her head.
" It all depends. People are like dress-goods.
If you're Ai mater'al to begin with, you won't
show thin while there's a thread of you left. Your
color'll hold, an' your quality'll last, no matter
how much wear an' tear you've had. But shoddy
goods ! It wouldn't pay you to try to get the spots
out. You'd only make a worse botch of it. Cora's
always wanted to be a fine lady. Now she's got
the chance of her life to prove, is she the genu-
ine article or only a poor imitation? "
" When Theron blew in to supper, I thought
she'd be pleased. But if she was, she didn't show
it. I think Theron felt strange. I think that was
the reason he left so early."
Martha's response bewildered her husband.
" You can take it from me, Sam Slawson, it's
goin' to pay you not to ' think ' too much, where
the young folks's concerned. Just you content
yourself attendin' strickly to your own business,
which, if you do it good an' thora, is enough to
take up all of anyone's time an' attention. You
leave the young folks be, like I'm goin' to."
" Why, you . . . you! . . ." Sam found it
difficult to express his surprise at her effrontery.
154 MARTHA AND CUPID
..." You're the one that's been running the
whole young folks's shebang lately. They think
they can't get on unless Mrs. Slawson is paddling
their canoe for them. I tell you, it's a caution, the
way you've come out! "
" An' now it'll be another caution, the way
I'll go in," said Martha. " You keep your eye
on me, an' you'll see me fade away, same as the
vanishin' lady at the vaudeville show. I'm done
with my stunt, an' now it's me for the simple life
again."
" Your stunt? " queried Sam.
" Come along up. It's late," said Martha.
" Time little boys was abed an' asleep."
Nothing that Cora said or did during the
months that followed tended to throw the least
light on her particular situation, as her mother
had roughly sketched it. She spoke in a general
way of having had a good time, answered all
Ma's questions with what seemed like perfect can-
dor, and if she did not volunteer any information
beyond, neither did she have the appearance of
holding anything back. And yet, Martha knew
she was holding something back.
Once or twice Francie strove to express her-
self confidentially to her mother, vaguely con-
ceiving that she was under bond to account for
THE LADY OF THE HOUSE 155
her sister's singular behavior to Theron, in the
light of the preference she herself had claimed
Cora entertained for him.
" Never you mind about that," Martha reas-
sured her. " I don't doubt your word she likes'm
or, leastwise, did like'm. Girls get notions some-
times. She may have changed her mind. You
never can tell. If Theron cares about her enough
he won't let go. He'll hang on till he finds out
for sure, and if he don't hang on, why, that'll
prove he don't care enough an' there you are!
It ain't our funer'l, anyhow."
Nor did it prove Cora's and Theron's
funeral.
They were married the following Autumn. It
was a " grand " wedding. Personally conducted
by Mrs. Ronald, generously financed by her hus-
bandMartha's beloved " Mr. Frank."
" It's a caution the way we have the elegant
weddin's in our fam'ly," Mrs. Slawson mused,
in the first quiet moment following the bridal
couple's departure after the ceremony.
" First, there was mother's an' father's.
You've heard me tell how Mrs. Underwood give
mother a layout you wouldn't see matched in a
day's travel. An' then, there was mother's again,
the second time she was married, after father
156 MARTHA AND CUPID>
died to Ryan. An' then there was yours an'
mine, Sam, that Miss Frances. . . ."
"Do you call ours 'grand'?" Sam ventured
mildly.
Martha threw a look at him. " I do that ! Not
the same kinda grand as Cora's, maybe, but grand
the way I liked it. Walkin' up the church-aisle,
togged up in a white dress with a fool tail ... I
should say a tool veil ... is just Cora's style. It
ain't mine. We gener'ly get what's comin' to
us."
" Do you think," Sam brought it out only after
considerable effort, " Do you think her heart is
set on him, Martha? That's the only thing wor-
ries me. I'm not dead sure Cora is as fond of
Theron as he is of her."
To his surprise Martha did not " sit down on
him."
" If she is, or if she isn't, it's not for me to
say. Cora is a close-mouthed one. You'd never
know what's goin' on in her mind, much less in
her heart. If Theron is satisfied, that's all we
have to do with it. One thing, you can take it
from me . . . Cora won't have played him any
low-down trick. She won't have let'm go it
blind."
" But you'd think, even if a girl was naturally
THE LADY OF THE HOUSE 157
close-mouthed, she'd let out a little ... to her
mother . . . around the time she was going to
get married. Don't girls generally talk to their
mothers? . . ."
For the first time Sam saw a suspicious moisture
suffuse Martha's eyes. A moment, and all was
clear again.
" When a girl gets ready to trust her mother,
that's the time for the mother to listen. Cora ain't
got ready yet. P'raps she never will. Either way
about, I ain't complainin'. I can bide my time
as long as she can hers."
But the time passed, weeks growing into
months, months into a year, and still the girl kept
her own counsel.
Once or twice, during the long, tedious period of
suspense, when the two sat together in Cora's pretty
living-room, stitching away patiently at the tiny
garments that were to cover the scrap of hu-
manity the whole world seemed at a standstill,
waiting breathlessly to welcome, Martha's cov-
ertly watching eyes caught a look in Cora's face
that went to her heart.
" It's the mother in her waking up."
Then, early one evening, toward the end, came
the hour Martha had been looking for.
" Mother," said Cora, drawing her chair very
158 MARTHA AND CUPID
close to the other's, so their knees fairly touched,
as they sat facing each other ..." Mother,
there's something I'd like to say to you before
. . . before . . . while I have time."
" Say away," encouraged Martha without look-
ing up, appearing to fix all her attention on the
corner she was turning.
" Isn't it funny how you can have got your
growth, and be as tall as you ever will be ...
and yet, not be grown-up at all? "
" Sure."
" When I went to New York I was an awful
kid."
Martha stroked her seam down carefully with
her needle-point, and waited.
" And it's just as funny how folks that seem
like what you are yourself ... I mean, they look
like you, and walk and talk and breathe like you,
and eat just the same . . . they're no more like
you, really, than . . . than if they were out of
another country . . . no, not even that! Born on
another world."
" Certaintly."
u I know we're awfully plain folks . . . our
family. I never could bear to give in to it when
I was . . . home . . . But now I don't care. It
used to make me mad as hops the way I never
THE LADY OF THE HOUSE 159
could make us anything different. I'd want to
scream sometimes . . . seeing father sit down to
table in his shirtsleeves, when Mr. Ronald
wouldn't do it for all the world. I hated Ma's
brogue, and the children's noisy ways and . . ."
" My clackin' away bad grammar to beat the
band," supplied Martha with perfect equanimity.
" But there was one thing I always knew. I
always knew I could count on my folks. We're
square. We mean to do the fair thing by other
folks. You could trust us. Till I went to New
York I never knew everybody wasn't like that. I
took it for granted they were our own kind."
Martha stitched away with unflagging industry.
" Lots is," she brought out cheerfully.
Cora's hand upon her knee trembled visibly.
She shook her head.
" Lots aren't." Then, after a moment, she
followed it up, still more lucidly, with amplifi-
cation.
" Uncle Dennis and Aunt Sarah aren't. Nor
the girls. They're just as different from anything
I ever dreamed of, as ... as ... They had
me down there. They gave me my food and
drink. I don't want to say anything against
them."
" That's right," said Martha.
160 MARTHA AND CUPID
" I used to think Ma lived with us because
father was her favorite. But . . . but . . . did
you know Ma's always lived with us because . . .
none of the rest would have her? They don't want
her! Did you ever hear of such a thing? "
" Seems to me, now you speak of it, I have
heard o' such a thing," admitted her mother.
Cora's muscles were tense with suppressed feel-
ing. She gazed into Martha's face, watching for
the sudden shock of surprise she was sure must
follow her awful revelation. When it did not
come the girl leaped to the conclusion she had not
made her meaning clear. . . .
"Not want . . . their own mother!" she in-
sisted.
Martha reared a proud head.
" Ma don't need to look to nobody for the
sup an' the bite she puts in her mouth. She's a
home of her own as good as the best of them . . .
if it ain't so stylish as some. She's no call to say
' thank you ' to nobody for what they wouldn't
be glad to give her ... an' I'd tell'm so to their
faces."
For a long unhurried minute the two sat in
silence. Then Cora took up her thread again.
" When I first went down there, I thought it
was all perfectly elegant. It seemed wonderful
THE LADY OF THE HOUSE 161
to have your own relations living like that, in a
whole house, with servants and a player-piano and
. . . everything. The girls are terribly stylish.
The fellows that come to the house . . . you'd
never know them from Mr. Ronald, by the looks
of their clothes. First-off, I thought they were
really like him ... I mean, grand and rich and
. . . refined."
Martha nodded her complete understanding of
the mistake.
" There was one . . . the stylishest of all ...
he was fearfully good-looking. Uncle said he had
a ' fat city job ' and ' loads of luck coming to
him.' He was nicer to me than anybody ever
was before. He was different from anybody I'd
ever known before. He sent me flowers, and
candy . . . and books. You'd think the clothes
he wore were right out of the store never a spot
or a sign of wear on them . . . and a straight
crease right down the front of the pants . . . just
like Mr. Frank's. His hands were nice, too . . .
and his nails. He kept reminding me of Mr.
Ronald all the time in his looks and his ways
and everything he did. I guess that was what
started me liking him. I did like him ... a
whole lot. At first I couldn't believe he liked me
back . . it was too much luck . . but when
162 MARTHA AND CUPID
Uncle and Aunt and the girls began teasing me,
I ... I let myself go and just was happy and
proud and . . . grateful. I thought I was going
to have the things I'd always dreamed about . . .
a handsome husband with lots of money, so I could
be like Miss Claire is ... and live in the city and
see all that's going on, and be able to do for my
folks. I'll never forget the way I felt. It was
as if I'd got into fairyland and found my prince,
for fair. I thought of ... the fellows up here
. . . and they couldn't hold a candle to him. I
called them ' clumsy hayseeds ' in my mind."
" Did the fella come to time? " Martha asked
the question as if it were quite immaterial whether
he did or not.
Cora nodded a mute affirmative. Evidently
there was something tongue-tying in the admis-
sion. It took her a while to recover her speech.
" Everything went right for a month or so, and
then . . . well, I wouldn't have married him
after what I found out, if he'd been the President
himself, all covered with gold. He told me to
' come down off my perch.' He said I had ' hi-
falutin notions,' and when Uncle found out he
sided with the . . . fellow. He called me a
chump and said, right before everybody, that I
could thank my stars for a chance like I had, to
THE LADY OF THE HOUSE 163
marry somebody with enough sense to come in
when it rained. He said you couldn't be ' too
d - particular ' in this world, and I'd better
show some sense and not be such a fussy young
fool. I wanted terribly much to look at it their
way, because I'd thought such a lot of the
fellow. But somehow I couldn't. I could only
see it the way . . . you and father would have
seen it."
" Was it then you come home? " asked Martha.
" No. I stayed my time out because you'd have
thought strange if I'd left earlier than I meant to,
and I was afraid to face a lot of questions. I was
as sick and sore as if I'd been beaten. There
wasn't a bit of my flesh that didn't ache so, you'd
think I couldn't bear it. I'd liked him such a
lot ... and he was so awful! Somehow the
shame of what he was seemed to smutch me. I
thought I couldn't be very nice myself if I'd liked
the kind he was."
" You didn't like the kind he was," corrected
Martha. " You liked the kind you thought he
was. That's about as far as any of us gets."
" Then I didn't want to come home before I
had to, because . . . there was Theron. I just
couldn't face him when I knew the way I'd treated
him in my heart. I'd gone back on him. I'd set
164 MARTHA AND CUPID
the other one over him . . . and the other wasn't
fit to black his boots ! When Gertrude wrote me
that Bessie was trying her arts on Theron I'd
thought : ' Let her. She's welcome to him. I've
better down here.' How could I expect Theron to
be true to me when I . . .? Don't you see how
it was? "
" But Theron was true to you." Martha's
voice was magnificently steady.
Cora raised her eyes until they met and fixed
her mother's.
" Yes, I know Theron was true to me. And
. . . and, what's more, I think I know why."
" Theron's a good boy. One of the best."
" Surely. Nobody knows that better than I do.
If he wasn't he wouldn't have told me that he
might have gone over to Bessie. He said he did
like her some, first-off, and he might have got to
liking her more if ... if he hadn't seen the kind
she was. I asked him how he got to see it, and
he said he didn't know. But I guess I know. I've
put two and two together and the answer is ...
You. You never butted in to the young folks'
affairs before. It came to me like a flash of light-
ning one day when I was wondering . . . that you
did it to ... to save my beau for me. It's true.
You did it for that, didn't you? "
THE LADY OF THE HOUSE 165
"Now what do you think o' that! " Martha
exclaimed as if to scout the preposterous idea.
Cora shook her head. " You could fool
Francie, but you can't fool me. I know what you
did. I only don't know how you did it."
She waited for her mother to enlighten her.
" Francie's heart was broke thinkin' Bessie was
bewitchin' your fella away from you. So, as
Bessie had a perfeckly good beau of her own, an'
no business meddlin' with other girls' followers
anyhow, I just . . ."
"What?"
" Kinda kep' her occupied alongside me, where
she'd be harmless to the unsuspectin', an' Satan
couldn't find some mischief still or noisy either
. . . for her idle hands to do. First-off I thought
I'd sic Francie on Theron. But then I thought
' No ! Francie ain't got much gimp. She's a shy
little thing.' An' second, if it so happened she'd
make a hit with'm, why, there you'd be as bad
off as ever ... an' he was yours to begin with.
So, the only thing left was just sail in an' take a
turn at'm myself. I was pretty clumsy at first.
It's a long time since I was a girl, an' had fol-
lowers o' my own, an' my hand's kinda out. But,
as I went on, it all sorta come back to me gradual,
and you'd be surprised how good we got along."
166 MARTHA AND CUPID
" Theron can't get over it, how much he likes
you. Theron thinks you're wonderful. He told
me right off, he was terribly gone on you. I'd
better make up my mind to that. I told him I
was willing. He couldn't like my mother too
much to suit me."
Martha bowed ceremoniously.
" ' Thank you, thank you, sir,' she sayed.
' Your kindness I never shall forget ! ' All the
same mother isn't goin' to take any chances.
Wives get funny notions sometimes. There's
nothin' queerer than a wife . . . exceptin' a
husband."
" Theron never held it against me for a minute
. . . what I told him about New York."
"So you did tell him? ... I was won-
derin' . . ."
" Why, of course I told him. Wouldn't you
have?"
Martha gave the question time to sink in.
"Me? Well, no. I don't s'pose I would. But
I'm glad you did."
" So am I."
" Well, now you got him, see you keep him, an'
don't you give him away."
" I don't know what you mean."
" I mean this . ." said Martha . . " You
THE LADY OF THE HOUSE 167
were speakin' a while ago about likin' the kinda
fella that one down home ... I mean, in the
city . . . was. I told you you didn't like the
thing he was. You liked the thing you thought he
was. That rule works both ways. We all like
the ones we do like, not for what they are, but
for what we think they are. Theron thinks you're
the greatest ever. It's up to you to keep him
thinkin' it ... To be it. You always wanted to
be a fine lady. Now's your chance to make good.
We can all be what we want to, if we want to hard
enough."
Dreamily Cora watched her mother fold up the
square of flannel she had been exquisitely faggot-
ing, take off her thimble and drop it in her work-
bag.
" It's time I was gettin' home. They won't
know what's got into me, stayin' out so late," said
Martha.
" It's my fault," Cora confessed. " I've kept
you. I've unloaded my troubles on you. I always
did. Everybody always does. I ... I ..."
the difficult words fairly choked her, but she
brought them out gallantly, one by one, until her
penance was complete ..." I've been a naughty
girl to you. A troublesome, bad daughter.
Will . . . will you forgive me?"
168 MARTHA AND CUPID
Martha gathered up the square of flannel and
placed it in Cora's lap.
" You'll find a mother don't ' forgive/ " she
answered soberly, " she just . . . understands."
After many days it came, the hour of mortal
struggle.
Martha, holding the torch high, saw her girl
pass down to the very brink of the Valley of the
Shadow . . . saw and suffered and conquered.
" Doncher want to kiss your little son? "
Cora's heavy lids lifted. Her eyes met Mar-
tha's.
" I want to ... kiss . . . my mother . . .
first."
CHAPTER VI
THE SILVER BRIDE
THE sound had been repeated twice before
Martha, busy upstairs, was convinced that
someone actually was knocking.
" You'd be runnin' your feet off, if you answered
the door every time you thought you heard a rap.
What with the furniture warpin', this hot weather,
lettin' out reports like the crack o' doom, an'
acorns fallin' on the roof, there's no end to the
false alarms," she told herself as she made her
way downstairs.
The kitchen floor reverberated beneath her
solid tread. She crossed it and laid her hand on
the latch of the screen-door.
" For the love o' Mike ! " came in a gasp from
between her astonished lips.
The man on the porch raised his hat. He did
not speak.
" Peter Gilroy ! " Martha enunciated.
For once her presence of mind deserted her.
She stood motionless, gazing blankly into the face
169
170 MARTHA AND CUPID
confronting hers through the wire network of
the screen-door.
" Ain't you going to ask me inside? "
The question brought her to herself with a
start.
" Sure ! Come along in ! Sit down ! You
might as well kill a body as surprise her to death.
Whoever'd have thought of seein' you again
after . . ."
" Twenty-five years," Gilroy supplied dryly
His slow, incisive speech had the effect of italiciz-
ing his words. He did not remove his eyes from
Martha's face even while, with great deliberation,
he lifted his hat, drew a handkerchief from his
coat-pocket and passed it over his face and brow.
He was minutely conscious of himself, his appear-
ance, his possessions. He hoped she saw that
his hat was a fine Panama, his handkerchief cam-
bric and immaculate, his suit of faultless cut and
material.
" Warm, ain't you? " asked Martha, taking in
all the details without seeming to see anything.
"Hot!" Gilroy returned succinctly.
" I'll get you a bottle of ginger-ale."
" Never drink it. Have you any milk? "
" Sure ... but .. ."
" I'll say thank you for a glass of that."
THE SILVER BRIDE 171
" But milk won't be good for you when you're
so ' het-up,' as they say hereabouts."
' There's no harm in a glass of milk. I drink
it all the time. I've got what I've got ... I am
where I am in the world, just because I've stuck
to milk and kept away from liquor."
" But when you're so overheated . . ."
Gilroy shrugged. There was no mistaking his
meaning. Without further ado Martha betook
herself to the chill-room whence she appeared a
moment later with a bottle of ice-cold milk. What
time she got a tumbler from the cupboard and set
it before her guest she plied him with friendly
questions.
" How did you get here from the Junction?
. . . Trolley or hack? "
There was decided hauteur in Gilroy's raised
eyebrows, the brief pause prefacing his answer.
" Motor ... I hired one and drove over."
' Then what, in the name o' common sense
makes you so hot? It couldn't 'a' been warm
motorin' . . ."
" I made the man stop at the bottom of the
hill. I wanted to come on up by myself . . .
alone. I didn't know the thing they call a hill
here in any other part they'd call a mountain."
Martha smiled. " No wonder you're dead
172 MARTHA AND CUPID
beat. You must 'a' had a climb. . . . An' your
shover was a chump not to tell you you were
takin' your life in your hands mountin' ' Break-
neck ' in the full heat of the day."
" Now you speak of it, I remember the fellow
did say . . ." Gilroy took a deep draught of the
rich, frosty cream.
"Sip it! Sip it, man!" warned Martha
anxiously.
For answer he drained the glass.
"Say, who's doing this?" he demanded with
jaunty insolence.
" The Lord knows I ain't," Martha gave back
good-humoredly. " You wouldn't catch me bein'
such a fool. But you're the same old Peter. No-
body can tell you nothin'. You know it all, like
you always did."
Gilroy poured himself another tumblerful.
" Yes, I'm the same old Peter," he returned,
the thin-lipped grimace that passed for a smile
curling the corners of his mouth. " The same old
Peter. And you? ... It was a notion I had to
see for myself if you were the same old Martha
that brought me here."
Again Martha smiled. ' Well, now you see
me, what do you think? "
He looked her critically over, his sharp eyes
THE SILVER BRIDE 173
taking in every detail of her neat, plain dress, her
clean, wholesome person.
' You've grown heavier," he inventoried, " and
your hair has some gray in it, but otherwise . . .
I can't see as you've changed much. Of course
twenty-five years'd tell on anybody."
" Right you are! It's up to us not give'm the
chance to tell anything we wouldn't like repeated.
They're welcome to whatever they can get on me.
I'm the mother o' four childern, the grandmother
o' two, an' proud of it ! We ain't got much, but
what we got's our own. That's my record. I'm
contented."
' You're easily satisfied."
Martha allowed the slur to pass, not because
she had no retort ready, but because, 'way down
in her heart, she was sorry for Peter.
" I used to think, in the old days, you had a lot
of ambition."
" You thought right! "
' You never looked like a girl who would take
second-best for choice."
" Sure I wouldn't."
Gilroy looked about the room with eyes of
shrewd appraisal.
" They give you rather tidy lodgings here, don't
they? But I suppose the rent of a little place like
174 MARTHA AND CUPID
this, so far out in the country, wouldn't mount up
to much in the year, would it? "
Martha shook her head. " Dear, no. You
could get it for a song."
" And you sing the song, I bet! "
" Certaintly I do. If you rec'lect anythin' about
me at all, you must remember, I always did have
a voice . . . like a bird! "
The flush on Gilroy's face faded. A furrow
appeared between his brows.
" I can't help thinking it's a shame you are
buried in a place like this, where there's no life, no
chance to do anything. You're too smart a
woman to be wasting your days cooped up in the
backwoods."
For a fraction of a second Martha's patience
was on the point of giving way. She got herself
in hand in time to spare him the " tongue-lashin' '
he deserved. Peter's hide was certainly thick, but
nevertheless she knew if she once set out to do it
she could make him wince. She preferred to
change the subject.
" I don't need to ask how the world has treated
you. You got things all your own way, aintchu?
Lots of money and no end of pull."
Gilroy's trim figure, which had sagged somewhat
in his chair, braced up with a sudden effort. The
THE SILVER BRIDE 175
flush upon his face was gone, but beads of moisture
still stood out upon his white forehead. He
squared his chest.
" So far as money .is concerned, and pull, I'm
all right . . . a-all right! " his voice was bland
with self-esteem. " I suppose I'd be called a rich
man. God knows I wish I hadn't so much when
it comes income-tax time. And as to pull. . . .
Well, there're some who think I'm the man to
apply to when there are favors to be handed out."
His fingers gripped the arms of Sam's chair
with a tension that made the knuckles white.
"Your folks are well an' thrivin'?" Martha
asked with exaggerated interest, to cover the fact
that she was beginning to feel uneasy about him.
" We don't get much New York news up here.
Once in a while someone sends us a home paper,
or one of the folks writes a letter, but lots goes
on we don't know anything about, even so."
" My mother died . . . let's see . . . five years
after you married. That's twenty-five years
ago "
" Come Fourth of July," assisted Martha.
" My mother's been dead twenty years. My
sister, Mary . . . she that married Sullivan . . .
she took typhoid fever and died in hospital ... I
think it was the year they told me your second
176 MARTHA AND CUPID
child was born. Sullivan never treated her right,
so when she went I packed him off to Porto Rico.
All I know of him now is he don't like the climate.
They'd no children, praise be! "
"Didn't you have a brother? . . . Martin?
Where's he?"
" Martin was operated on for appendicitis the
same year you left New York to come up here.
He never came out from the ether. That was
. . . that was . . . ten years ago. There's times
I feel . . . times I feel . . . I'll go ... the
same way . . . appendicitis."
" Never you fear," Martha reassured him.
" You'll prob'ly go o' somethin' quite different
. . . not half so stylish."
" Martin had no fam'ly." ... It took Gilroy
a minute or two to bring it out. " He'd been
fairly lucky. All he left came to me."
If Martha was impressed she certainly did not
show it. Even in the midst of his physical distress
Peter had a sensation of distinct disappointment
at Martha's failure to rise to the occasion.
" As an old man up here says, ' Them as has
got, gits,' " she quoted cheerfully, hastening to
add with apparent irrelevance: " Say, you were in
luck to find anyone home. I come within an ace
o' goin' off with the raft o' them on a all-day picnic
THE SILVER BRIDE 177
over to what we call ' Cat-Rocks,' fifteen miles
away. First-off, I planned to go along, but then I
thought it'd give me a good chance to pick up the
house, an' do a whole lot o' little things I'm kinda
behind with, if I stayed back. So I begged off.
The whole fam'ly's went. Sam an' Ma . . . you
remember Ma Slawson, doncher? An' the three
childern. I call'm childern, though Francie's
twenty-two now, an' Sammy's as tall as his father,
an' Sabina's got to the age where she thinks about
nothin', as I tell her father, but ribbons an' beaus.
An' Cora an' her two kids, an' Miss Claire's little
Priscilla, an' the Ballard twins. . . ."
Gilroy frowned with the effort to straighten out
the ramifications for himself.
" What relation's Miss Claire, and where do
the Ballard twins come in? "
Martha laughed. " I don't wonder you ask.
We got so used to includin' 'm in the fam'ly, we
don't stop to think strangers might get mixed up
on it. Miss Claire is Mrs. Ronald, an' her little
Priscilla, eight years old, is as much at home over
here, to the lodge, as she is at the big house. The
Ballard twins belong to Dr. an' Mrs. Ballard,
from Boston. The little fellas's five years old,
an' as smart as they make'm. The doctor is that
proud o' them he can hardly see straight. He's
178 MARTHA AND CUPID
a terrible swell himself. Folks come to'm from
all over the country to be cured, but he never put
on any airs, till them two boys o' his come along.
If it wasn't for their sensible mother they'd be
spoiled for fair, but she keeps'm right up to the
mark till they're a credit to her. ... I say, looka
here, Peter, what do you think of a cup o' good,
hot ginger-tea? I'm afraid that cold milk ain't
sittin' right on your stummick."
She brewed the tea and he gulped it down,
but her watchful eye saw no sign of improve-
ment in his condition, and after a pause she
spoke again.
" Say, Peter, doncher think I better call in the
doctor to take a look at you? If he ain't out on
his beat ... I should say, his rounds ... I can
have'm here in a jiffy. He's a good doctor, Dr.
Driggs is; he'll know what to do the minute he
claps his eye on you."
By this time Gilroy was too agonized to argue
the case, even to suggest, as she knew he would
have done ordinarily, that she make " a bargain "
beforehand. As it happened she could not have
made the bargain in any case, for Dr. Driggs was
reported " out." No one knew where he was, no
one cared to undertake to say when he would be
back.
THE SILVER BRIDE 179
Martha hung up the receiver, her brows drawn
together in an anxious frown.
Peter's groans grew, momently, more and more
blood-curdling. Clearly it was a desperate case,
needing desperate remedy.
She took down the receiver again and called up
Dr. Ballard. What time she waited for a reply
she went over in her mind the absurdity of the
thing she was doing . . . summoning a renowned
specialist, one whose services were obtainable only
in cases of exceptional gravity, where expense was
no object ..." for a shriveled-up little tight-
wad, with a case of colly-wobbles."
" Well, it ain't the first time I made a fool o'
myself, an' I guess it won't be the last. Dr. Bal-
lard won't hold it against me, I Jcnow that much,
an' if he gets Peter straightened out from the
double-bow-knot he's tyin' 'mself inta, I won't
care if the doctor does think I'm that cheeky you'd
say I had the mumps an' then some. . . . Hello !
. . . This Dr. Ballard's house? Is he in? . . .
Tell'm Mrs. Slawson's on the wire . . . danglin'
. . . will you, please? "
A few moments later, Peter, blear-eyed with
pain, saw her charging toward him, her face that
of a conqueror.
" Say, Peter, quit your howlin' for a minute
i8o MARTHA AND CUPID
while I tell you somethin'. You can take up the
howlin' again just where you left off when I'm
done, if you wanta. I got Dr. Ballard for
you. He's comin' right along an' you can take
it from me, if anyone can knock spots outa
that pain you got, it's himself. But he says get
your clo'es off an' putcher in bed before he
comes."
Peter demurred, shivering, moaning.
" Come along now," commanded Martha
martially, an urgent hand on his shoulder. " You
can lean on me, if you can't walk alone. Or, if
you're too far gone for that, even, I'll pick you
up an' carry you. But believe me, you're goin'
inta that room, an' be in that bed accordin' to
specifications, by the time the doctor gets here.
What he says goes ! "
Gilroy's brain, numb with suffering, could still
grasp the fact that it was Martha who was speak-
ing. He pulled himself together and followed
her, his feet so heavy they scuffed along the floor,
his head so light he fairly babbled.
Thus it was that when Sam and the rest came
back from their picnic, they found the place turned
into a hospital where " mother " presided as chief-
nurse, and the great Dr. Ballard, as simply, with
as matter-of-course an air as if he were the newest
THE SILVER BRIDE 181
of young internes, sat beside his patient, watching
his symptoms, until the worst was over.
So it was, too, that day after day passed and
still Peter stayed on, at first too weak to be moved,
then, in his heart, glad that he was a slow con-
valescent. It was something entirely new in his
experience, this being tended by ones not paid for
their service. It was something to think about,
to muse upon. His keen eyes, trained to pierce
through the thin shell of outward appearance, to
the inner kernel of things, probed the acts of those
about him and discovered nothing but simple sin-
cerity ... no significant reserves, no sinister
undercurrents. He could not comprehend it. It
bothered him so he grew testy with everyone, but
especially with Dr. Ballard and Martha.
In very blunt fashion he asked Dr. Ballard one
day what his bill amounted to.
Dr. Ballard did not answer at once. Gilroy
watched him with growing apprehension. Plainly
the bill was excessively large, or the doctor's pow-
ers of computation correspondingly small. Either
way about, Peter trembled for his pocket-book.
" My bill . . .?" Dr. Ballard brought out at
length. ; ' Why, it is a little difficult to set a price
on a job like this, because it's something quite out
of my ordinary line. I'm not a general practi-
182 MARTHA AND CUPID
tioner, you know. I rarely attend a case nowa-
days except in consultation. It's on Mrs. Slaw-
son's account I took this. I'm under heavy obliga-
tion to her for services rendered me and mem-'
bers of my family. . . . When she asked me to
come to you, I came without any thought of com-
pensation. But, since you ask about my bill . . .
Let's see, I was here on an average of twice a
day, for the first three days. That makes six
visits. Six visits at fifty dollars a visit . . ."
Peter gasped. His eyes fairly started out of
his head.
" Makes three hundred dollars," continued Dr.
Ballard nonchalantly. " Six days more, one visit
daily, makes another three hundred. And for the
first night ... I'd have to charge . . . well . . .
if I were charging you up for my time according
to my regular rates . . . I'd have to charge you
for detentions that first night. You recollect, you
wouldn't let me go. You said you didn't mind
paying my price if I'd only stay and stop the ...
blankety-blank pain. I stayed and I stopped it.
I fulfilled my part of the contract. Considering
you're a friend of Mrs. Slawson I'll let you off
easy. Give me a thousand and we'll call it
square."
Gilroy sank back against his pillows, stunned,
THE SILVER BRIDE 183
quivering, speechless. There was a moment of
tense silence.
Dr. Ballard rose and stood beside his patient,
looking down at him out of quizzical eyes.
" What you really need, Mr. Gilroy," he ob-
served, " is a strong mental purgative. Your sys-
tem is clogged up with poisonous stuff you ought
to get rid of. Unless you do get rid of it, you'll
see yellow in everything to the end of your days."
" What do you mean? " Peter gasped painfully.
" Think it out for yourself. This is a good
time to do it in . . .' while you're resting,' as
Martha says," and the doctor moved away, leaving
a mystified patient behind.
Peter Gilroy had always considered himself
particularly astute ..." as smart as they make
'em." How, otherwise, could he have held the
position he had held for so long . . . the position
of right-hand-man to Judge Granville, one of the
keenest magistrates on the bench to-day. How
could he have amassed the tidy little fortune he
had amassed, on the comparatively modest salary
he officially drew. He knew he had the reputa-
tion with " some " of being " tricky." He did not
call himself tricky. He was just " up and coming,"
an entirely different proposition. He was decid-
edly proud of himself. The idiosyncrasies others
1 84 MARTHA AND CUPID
criticised he privately applauded. It. was his
boast that he never forgot a friend, nor forgave
an enemy.
It would have been going too far to say he
looked on Martha as an enemy, but certainly he
had never forgiven her for " turning him down "
in favor of Sam Slawson. He had never under-
stood himself where Martha was concerned, any
more than he had ever understood her where he
was.
He had met Martha Carrol before Sam Slaw-
son ever laid eyes on her. She was his, Gilroy's,
girl. That is, he was known to be " keeping
company " with her. He had never looked on
Sam as a rival because that would have implied
a sense of his own inadequacy, and such a sense
Gilroy had not. He had watched Slawson's fond-
ness with the tolerant eye of an amused proprietor,
rather pleased, than otherwise, to see another
vainly coveting what belonged to him. And then,
suddenly, the unexpected had happened. Martha
had chosen Sam.
Peter never had believed, he did not believe now
that her choice was based on simple preference.
He felt that in some way he had piqued or angered
her, driving her to revenge herself on him accord-
ing to the fool way women proverbially have. As
THE SILVER BRIDE 185
he had undervalued his feeling for her, so he over-
valued hers for him. He had found he could not
forget her. He believed she secretly cherished
him. His motive in coming to see her after the
lapse of so many years was simple enough. He
wanted the satisfaction of showing her what she
had lost. ... A man of means. A man of mind.
His injured self-esteem ached to feel the balm her
look of regret would bring. But, up to date, the
look had not materialized.
Gilroy was undismayed. It would come. It
could not help but come. If Martha was proud as
Lucifer, she nevertheless had eyes in her head.
She could see the difference between himself and
Sam : the life she was leading and that she might
have led. Money . . . and the lack of it.
" I can't get used to the idea of you being
cooped up here in this out-of-the-way place, while
life's going on without you and you ain't ' in it.'
Any other woman, it wouldn't so much matter.
But you! You're just thrown away on this bunch
and that's all there is to it! "
Martha regarded him with untroubled eyes.
" I never thought of it that way. I mean, that
because a body wasn't in the thick o' things, life
was gettin' by her. I never felt I was thrown
away. I don't believe anything ever is thrown
i86 MARTHA AND CUPID
away so long as you can take a turn out of it.
I don't believe we're any thriftier'n God. We
don't throw away things till we're pretty sure
there's nothin' left of'm any more. An' I betcher
He don't either. If I'm thrown away it's because
I ain't no more use. An', that bein' the case, the
city's no better for a scrap-heap than the country.
I may be thick-headed, but that's the way I feel
about it."
" Well, I always thought you were meant for
better things."
" Better things? What, for instance? "
Peter had the grace to flush. " Oh, I don't
know. Just everything, I guess. I s'pose you've
been here so long now, you don't realize how
dead it all seems to a man fresh from the city.
The truth is, Martha, I thought a lot of you once,
and it jars me like the mischief to see you settled
down the way you are. I'm disappointed in you.
I expected you'd make a ten-strike. When you
were a girl I thought you were a live wire. But
the way you're satisfied with missing the good of
life is a caution ! It looks to me as if you'd
lost all your ' vim and bounce,' as the advertise-
ment says . . . being willing to let the world
go on without raising a finger to take a hand in
the game."
THE SILVER BRIDE 187
" That's me all over," said Martha amiably.
" You struck your head on the nail this time,
Peter, an' no mistake ! "
In spite of the moribund condition of his en-
vironment Gilroy was in no haste to desert it. His
attack, much more serious than he himself sus-
pected, had left him languid and nerveless. He
found it pleasant to lie in the hammock, under-
neath spreading green boughs, while the tranquil
days slipped past, requiring nothing of him but
quiescence. From this point of vantage he grad-
ually got another view of Martha in her relation
to life. His brain being what it was, the light
broke slowly, but if his mind was not open, neither
was it hermetically sealed, and once a ray had
actually penetrated, another and another followed
suit. He even became aware, without being told,
that something festive was in the air, something
Martha was not supposed to know about until the
time was ripe.
Martha, evidently, could not be hoodwinked.
" They're goin' to have great doin's over to the
big house on the Fourth," she confided to Peter.
' They always have fireworks, an' ice-cream an'
cake, an' suchlike, an' invite the neighbors in to
share'm, but this year I guess they're plannin'
somethin' extra. You see, the Fourth o' July is
i88 MARTHA AND CUPID
the day Lord Ronald an' Miss Claire got engaged
on, an' this year it's the tenth anniversary. Now,
what do you think o' that ! The way time flies !
It seems like yesterday! They ain't countin' on
me rememberin' it, an' I guess they don't want me
to give'm a cake or nothin'. But when little Mar-
tha gets left recollectin' dates like that, it'll be a
colder day than the Fourth o' July, you can take
it from me."
So busy was she with her own preparations,
her plan to steal a march on those who were
trying to outwit her, that the great day actually
arrived and she was still in working garb
when Ma's droning voice broke through her
preoccupation.
" There goes a team ... a white horse. Won-
der who 'tis. Can't get more'n a glimpse of anny-
body. There's a woman wit' a little gurrl. O,
I guess I know who she is. Prob'ly she as was a
Fullum. There's Mrs. Miller that lives down the
road on the way to Milby's Corners. Who's that?
Here comes a team . . . two teams. There's
another team. Don't know if that's a Bugbee,
or not. It's a female woman dressed in white,
annyhow. They're all goin' to the big house. An'
us only invited the last thing, like it was to fill in
for somebody that disappointed."
THE SILVER BRIDE 189
" Quit your grumblin', Ma, an' be glad you was
asked at all. You been all prinked up since day-
break, so there's nothin' to detain you here, if
you want to be on the job, to open the ball dancin'
the fantango with Peter. Say, Peter, take Ma
over to the big house, will you? What's become
o' the rest o' them, I'm sure I don't know. Francie
an' Sammy an' big Sam. They just lit out an'
not so much as a ' Good-by ! I'm goin' ! ' to let me
know they was off. I'll have my dress changed
in a jiffy, an' then I'll folia you. They needn't
hold up the party for me . . . tell'm to try to
enjoy 'mselves till I appear, which it'll be as soon
as I've me ball-gown on, an' me French maid has
done me hair."
Thoughtful Francie had laid her things out on
the bed, she discovered. Personally, she would
have preferred her black dress to the white one
the child had selected, but rather than disappoint
her, she decided to wear the white.
14 If she wants me to be a summer-girl, a sum-
mer-girl I'll be," she mocked at herself in the
mirror. " I suppose I'm no worse off than lots o'
others my age. Some're girls an' some're not,
same's myself! " And so, she innocently fell into
the trap that had been set for her.
The grounds were well filled when at last she
MARTHA AND CUPID
made her way across the lawn. But it was not the
sight of so many people that brought Martha to a
sudden standstill. It was the sense, sweeping
over her in a tide of quick illumination, that they
were all here in honor of her. In a second she
was surrounded. Neighbors pressed about her,
with outstretched hands, congratulations, loving
thanks for benefits received. She hardly heard the
words they said, for her pounding heart. She
scarcely saw their kind faces for her tear-blurred
eyes. But Peter heard. Peter saw. It seemed to
him there was not one soul in the whole assem-
blage, high or low, who did not acknowledge him-
self in debt to Martha. Rich and poor, she had
served them all, had somehow knit her life into
theirs.
Long before Mr. Ronald called the company
to order, hushing the happy clamor that all might
hear what he had to say about this humble woman
in whom Peter had declared himself disappointed
. . . long before that, Gilroy had got a mighty
jolt. He had been brought face to face with
realities, an entirely new, unsuspected view of the
things that constitute life. He felt as if the world
had turned a somersault and he and his theories,
instead of being " on top," as he had hitherto
fatuously supposed, were underneath, fit only to
THE SILVER BRIDE 191
be a sort of doormat on which souls like Martha
might wipe their feet.
It was all very naive, very sentimental, but that
was precisely what the Ronalds and the Ballards
had intended it should be. For once in her life
Martha was to taste the flavor of gratitude at its
sweetest.
They told what she had done for them and
theirs. They invited the neighbors to do likewise.
" After which experience-meeting," Mr. Ronald
said smiling, " you are all cordially invited to
salute the Silver Bride (who, by the way, is really
pure gold) and inspect the wedding-presents
sent to her and the bridegroom by their loving
friends . . . which are on view in the dining-
room. I mean the presents are on view, not the
friends."
" Can you beat it! " whispered Martha to Sam.
" Why, it's the time of my life."
" The time of your life . . . postponed twenty-
five years," Sam answered wistfully.
" Which is just what makes it such a big,
thumpin' lump now. It's the time of my life with
the accumulated interest added, like they do in
the bank," Martha returned.
Peter, meanwhile, standing as he thought alone,
suddenly staggered beneath a sounding blow on
i 9 2 MARTHA AND CUPID
his shoulder and turned around to find Dr. Ballard
beside him.
" Hullo! You're a prize patient! A credit to
your physician ! " the doctor hailed him cordially.
Peter readjusted his temper quickly, trying to
tune himself to the prevailing key of the happy
company. He managed to smile while his
shoulder-blade still ached with the force of the
other's greeting. " You're just the man I want
to see," he stammered. " I'm going back to the
city to-morrow, and before I go I'd like to settle
my account with you. I make it a rule never to
have outstanding bills."
Dr. Ballard's eyes, puzzled for a moment,
cleared as his mind grasped Peter's mean-
ing.
" Oh, yes, I remember! My bill . . ." he re-
peated lightly.
Peter's jaw fell. He had thought he was equal
to parting with his money. He had tried to pre-
pare himself for the wrench. He had studied his
check-book and mentally subtracted a thousand
dollars from " Balance brought forward," but he
had not been able to do it actually. Now he
realized that all along he had hoped Dr. Ballard
would "let him off that check." Evidently Dr.
Ballard had no intention of doing it.
THE SILVER BRIDE 193
" A thousand dollars . . ." Gilroy brought out
at last . . . " It's big money! "
Dr. Ballard's eyes grew serious.
" Big money," he repeated. " Sure, it's big
.money. That's what we get for being experts
. . . you and I, isn't it? "
"Experts?"
" Certainly. I've no doubt you're modest, but
business is business, and now we're talking, man
to man, we may as well be honest about ourselves
and admit that we are specialists in our own lines
. . . ' you in your little corner and I in mine,' as
the Sunday-School hymn says."
Peter shook his head. " I'm no specialist," he
protested. " I'm just a sort of clerk in Judge
Granville's office. I don't see where you got the
idea of me drawing big money. My salary for the
year hardly does more than double the amount of
your bill."
"Your salary, yes! But how about per-
quisites? That's where you're a specialist, Mr.
Gilroy. I don't ask how much your perquisites
mount up to, but I'd like to warrant they do much
more than double the figure you mention. Come
now, don't they? "
" If you think I'm a rich man . . ." stammered
Peter, and stopped.
194 MARTHA AND CUPID
Dr. Ballard flung back his head with an im-
patient movement. " I'm not talking of rich or
poor . . . those are purely relative terms, that
may or may not mean anything. The fact of the
matter is, you pay the penalty of being a public
man . . . you have a record which those who
run . . . no, those who stand still, as we up here
in the country do ... may read. Now, I'll tell
you what I'll do ... I'll make a bargain with
you. If you tell me, on your word of honor, that
you would suffer deprivation if you paid me my
thousand dollars I'll let you off ... I'll charge
it up to ' Benevolence ' on my books and let it go.
There! That's fair, isn't it? "
Gilroy nodded.
"Well?" urged Dr. Ballard.
Peter choked with the attempt to speak. But
words were too difficult, they would not come.
" What is it to be? My regular terms or ...
consideration to the poor?"
" I'll pay," gasped Peter.
Again Dr. Ballard's hand descended on Gilroy's
shoulder, this time in honest friendliness of feeling.
" Good! " he cried. " Now I'll tell you some-
thing. I've no charge at all against you. Nobody
but Mrs. Slawson could have induced me to take
your case. It was because she called up that I
THE SILVER BRIDE 195
came to you. Under the circumstances I can't
take your money. I never have had any intention
of taking it. What I do want, however, is to see
you cured. I mean, cured of the trouble you've
got in your inside . . . pocket. I tell you what
it is, that pocket-book of yours would be a deal
healthier if you'd let it have a couple of good
hemorrhages, in a good cause. The old-fashioned
' cupping ' wasn't bad practice in cases of intensi-
fied congestion. Have you ever considered where
your money will go when you have no further use
for it, Mr. Gilroy?"
Peter stared. " You mean . . . I'm going to
. . . die? " he brought out breathlessly.
" Sure ! So'm I. So are the rest of this pleas-
ant company." The blood returned to Gilroy's
cheeks.
" I've not made a will, if that is what you
mean," he said with quick relief.
"Why haven't you?"
" I've nobody to leave to."
For a moment Dr. Ballard hesitated. Then he
brought it out point-blank. " What's the matter
with Martha?"
"Martha?" Peter stammered.
"You cared for her once, didn't you? You
care for her now. I know you do, man. You
196 MARTHA AND CUPID
can't hide it. It does you credit ... to care for
such a woman as that. I respect you for it. Well,
if you've no one else who'd naturally inherit, why
don't you do the best thing you ever did in your
life and make a will in favor of Martha Slawson?
I leave it to you, could you think of a better
heir?"
Gilroy made no reply, but the doctor was con-
tent. He had planted his suggestion. He was
confident, in the end, the man would act on it.
He was not a physician for nothing. He knew
the nature of his patient's mind.
Later that evening Peter and Martha were
standing on the lawn, waiting for Sam and the
children to come home with the last relay of
gifts.
" I'm going to-morrow, Martha," Gilroy said,
" but before I go ... while we have time, I want
to tell you that I've made up my mind what I'm
going to do with my money after I'm through
with it."
" It's none o' my business," said Martha.
" That's just where you're wrong," Peter as-
sured her. " It precisely is your business. I'm
going to make it your business. You've stood by
me like a brick. There's times when I haven't
THE SILVER BRIDE 197
been all I should be to you, and you've never laid
it up against me. I kind of see things different
from what I used to, and ... I just as lief tell
it to your husband ... I think just as much of
you as I ever did. I kept track of you all these
years. I've never forgot and I know everything's
happened to you ... all you've gone through.
You haven't had things easy, Martha. In spite
of the way you'd never complain, I know there've
been times when things looked pretty dark. Well,
what I want to say is, that's all over now. I used
to tell you that if you married me I'd put velvet
under your feet. When you didn't marry me I
was so mad I wanted to put other things . . .
things that'd hurt. I'm over that now. I don't
feel so any more. I meant what I said in the old
days. If you'd have married me I would have put
velvet under your feet, but . . ."
Martha glanced up into his eyes, then quickly
away ... up at the star-lit sky above their heads
. . . down to the close-clipped turf on which they
stood.
" What's the matter with the velvet under'm
now? " she said.
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