Part 9 (2/2)
Sophie came running to the door to welcome the visitor, her thin little arms red and soapy from dish-water.
”I knowed 'twas you,” she said, smiling happily. ”They told me you was the only girl in town that owned one o' them cars. And I told mom that you must be awful rich and kind. Course, you must be, or you couldn't afford to give away ten cent pieces so easy.”
Mrs. Narnay came to the door, too, her arms right out of the washtub; but Janice begged her not to inconvenience herself. ”Keep right on with your work and I'll come around to the back and sit on that stoop,”
said the young girl.
”And you must see the baby,” Sophie urged. ”I can bring out the baby if I wrap her up good, can't I, Marm?”
”Have a care with the poor child, Sophie,” said Mrs. Narnay, wearily.
”Where's your pop gone?”
”He's walked out with Mr. Trimmins,” said the little girl.
The woman sighed, and Janice, all through her visit, could see that she was anxious about her absent husband. The baby was brought out--a pitifully thin, but pretty child--and Sophie nursed her little sister with much enjoyment.
”I wisht she was twins,” confessed the little girl. ”It must be awful jolly to have twins in the family.”
”My soul, child!” groaned Mrs. Narnay. ”Don't talk so reckless. One baby at a time is affliction enough--as ye'll find out for yourself some day.”
Janice, leaving a little gift to be hidden from Jim Narnay and divided among the children, went away finally, with the determination that Dr.
Poole should see the baby again and try to do something for the poor, little, weakly thing. Trimmins and Jim Narnay had disappeared, and Janice feared that, after all, they had drifted over to the Inn, there to celebrate the discovery of the job they both professed to need so badly.
”That awful bar!” Janice told herself. ”If it were not here in Polktown those two ne'er-do-wells would have gone right about their work without any celebration at all. I guess Mrs. Scattergood is right--Mr. Lem Parraday ought to be tarred and feathered for ever taking out that license! And how about the councilmen who voted to let him have it?”
As she wheeled into High Street once more a tall, well groomed young man, with rosy cheeks and the bluest of blue eyes, hailed her from the sidewalk.
”Oh, Janice Day!” he cried. ”How's the going?”
”Mr. Bowman! I didn't know you had returned,” Janice said, smiling and stopping the car. ”The going is pretty good.”
”Have you been around by the Lower Road where my gang is working?”
”No,” Janice replied. ”But Marty says the turnout is being put in and that the bridge over the creek is almost done.”
”Good! I'll get over there by and by to see for myself.” He had set down a heavy suitcase and still held a traveling bag. ”Just now,” he added, ”I am hunting a lodging.”
”Hunting a lodging? Why! I thought you were a fixture with Marm Parraday,” Janice said.
”I thought so, too. But it's got too strong for me down there.
Besides, it is a rule of the Railroad Company that we shall find board, if possible, where no liquor is sold. I had a room over the bar and it is too noisy for me at night.”
”Marm Parraday will be sorry to lose you, Mr. Bowman,” Janice said.
”Isn't it dreadful that they should have taken up the selling of liquor there?”
”Bad thing,” the young civil engineer replied, promptly. ”I'm sorry for Marm Parraday. Lem ought to be kicked for ever getting the license,” he added vigorously.
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