Part 8 (1/2)
”I ain't comin', mammy,” declared her charge, positively.
”Yes, you is comin', honey; don' you talk to mammy dat way. 'Tisn't pretty. Looks like it's mighty hard to raise you polite, James Mandeville.”
Norah delighted to talk with her, and gathered from her conversation that her greatest pleasure, next to a funeral, was to take James Mandeville to white folks' church on Sunday afternoon, ”to see dem chillen march and sing.” To her enthusiasm was due the aspiration of her charge to be a choir boy, and he was often heard singing l.u.s.tily versions of ”Onward, Christian Soldiers,” and ”O Paradise,” which were all his own.
”Dey's ladies, store or no store,” Belle was overheard remarking to Susanna. ”I knows quality; you can't fool Belle, no'm.”
”I never in my life felt so rich,” Marion said, rattling the money drawer.
It was Sat.u.r.day evening at the end of their first week. All was in order in the shop, the long table pushed back, the small one with the lamp brought forward, the shades drawn, the door barred, and Norah now rested comfortably in one of the roomy chairs with a gay pillow behind her head.
”We have done very well, I think,” she agreed.
”I perceive this is one subject upon which my enthusiasm is greater than yours. It must be because you have made money before.” Marion still hung over the money drawer.
”I don't consider that we have made anything yet; but the difference between us is that I expected all along to do very well, while you were a doubting Thomas.”
”As I always am.” With surprising ease for one so tall, Marion slipped down on the rug at her friend's feet.
Norah caressed the dark head against her knee. ”But you are improving, dearest,” she said, ”and I'm glad, indeed, if this first week has encouraged you.” She laughed a little as she added, ”I believe I am just a bit more anxious to prove to our friend Miss Carpenter that in lending us the capital for our venture she has not done a reckless and unwise thing.”
”But, Norah--”
”I know what you are going to say. She is not worrying about the money and could well afford to take the risk, but with you and me it is a matter of principle. We must succeed and justify her confidence. So we won't count our chickens too soon, but lay low, like Brer Rabbit, and say nothin'.”
”At any rate I know what it is to have worked all the week, and to be tired and glad of Sunday. Norah, it is nonsense expecting people really to care for Sunday when they don't work.”
”I hope you haven't tired yourself too much;” Norah bent forward till she could see the face on her knee. Her manner was oddly motherly; she seemed so much the younger and smaller of the two.
”Oh, no; and sometimes I have almost forgotten--”
”Go on forgetting, dear. I know you need not fear, if you will only think so.”
”If I were only sure,” Marion sighed. ”And sometimes I am,” she added.
”At least I am charmed with the neighborhood,” Norah went on, ”If the haughty lady across the street continues her opposition, our success is a.s.sured. Her name, I have discovered, is Millard, and that dear Miss Virginia is her sister, of course; and there is a bright-looking little girl who goes in and out, and seems to belong to them.
”And I forgot to tell you my adventure this morning. When I got off the car at Walnut Street, coming home, there was an old gentleman with some books just behind me. He had an armful, and as he stepped to the ground they slipped and fell in the dust. He was evidently lame and stiff with rheumatism, so I picked them up for him. He was a beautiful old man, with a most courtly manner; and he seemed to think as I had helped him, I was ent.i.tled to know about the books. We walked along together, and he explained they were some he had found at a second-hand store. One of them was a first edition of the 'Essays of Elia' which he thought a tremendous bargain; and it was, I'm sure.
”We fell to discussing books, and he seemed delighted to find I was not absolutely ignorant and ended by inviting me in to see his library. He lives in the house that needs paint so badly,--where you have noticed that beautiful Ginkgo tree.”
”Did you accept his invitation?”
”No, I told him I had not time just then. He asked if I lived near; and, Marion, you should have seen his puzzled look when I said, 'On the corner of Pleasant Street.' 'You are visiting?--the Wilburs, perhaps.' he said. 'No,' I answered, 'I am one of the proprietors of the shop.' He was terribly shocked and disappointed, I could see. I had really made an impression. He grew a little distant, but was still charming, thanking me again for my kindness; however, he said no more about the library.”
”It is funny--” began Marion, but she did not finish her sentence, and they sat in silence for a while. Presently Marion took possession of the hand that was touching her hair so lightly, and laid her cheek against it. Not many people, she thought, had such a friend. One who had been everything in a time of need, who had given her new hope and courage in an hour of darkness. She felt herself unworthy, because she did not believe she could ever be such a help to any one.
”Do you remember, when you were a child, Norah, how sometimes when you had found some delightful game that stirred your imagination, you would go to sleep at night with the most blissful sense of waking up to go on with it in the morning? I have had much the same feeling lately.”