Part 11 (2/2)
”Doesn't she!” Rosie spoke enthusiastically. ”Say, Janet, don't you think she's a nice baby?”
”I do indeed!” Janet wagged her head impressively. ”You know yourself I always did think she was a nice baby and I never could make out why you didn't like her more.”
”Janet McFadden, how you talk! Of course I like Geraldine! I love her!”
Rosie bounced the baby-carriage vigorously and made direct appeal to Geraldine herself: ”Doesn't sister Rosie love her own baby? Of course she does! And she's going to take care of her all summer, isn't she?
because ma's too busy.”
”Why, Rosie!” Janet began.
Rosie faced square about and with one look challenged Janet to show further surprise.
”Why--why, isn't that nice!” Janet murmured meekly.
”Of course it's nice and we're going to Boulevard Place every afternoon, aren't we, Geraldine? We're going there now and Janet can come with us if she wants to.”
Janet wanted to, but she had to refuse. ”I can't today, Rosie. I've got to help my mother. But tomorrow afternoon--will you stop for me then?
I'll expect you.”
In this way friends.h.i.+p was restored. Not having to bear the strain of an insistent questioning from Janet, its restoration was simple. Something had occurred to change Rosie's att.i.tude in regard to her small brother and sister and upon this something she was not disposed, evidently, to be communicative. Well, Janet was not inquisitive. Besides, even if this subject of conversation was taboo, conversation was not in any danger of early extinction. When together, Janet and Rosie always talked--not perfunctorily, either, but with much emphasis and many headshakings. Goodness me, they never stopped talking! After only a few hours' separation, each had a hundred things to tell the other. By the very next day Janet had a bit of news, that was to furnish them an exciting topic for weeks to come.
When Rosie called for Janet the following afternoon, her knock was answered by Tom Sullivan, who instantly blushed a glowing crimson and with difficulty stammered: ”Yes, Janet's home. Come on in.”
Rosie found Janet and her mother entertaining Mrs. Sullivan, who was Dave McFadden's sister and therefore Janet's aunt.
At sight of Rosie, Mrs. Sullivan exclaimed gus.h.i.+ngly: ”If there ain't Rosie O'Brien! You sweet thing! Come right here and kiss me!”
Rosie had to submit to the caress although she knew it was intended as a slight to Janet. That was one of Aunt Kitty Sullivan's little ways. Aunt Kitty was a fat, smiling, middle-aged woman who was going through life under the delusion that her face still retained the empty prettiness of its youth.
”I was just a-saying to Janet,” Aunt Kitty began, ”that she ought to be making herself more attractive. As long as she goes about looking like a scarecrow, she never will have a beau! Ain't that right, Rosie?”
Aunt Kitty smiled upon Rosie that meaning smile with which one conscious beauty appeals to another. Rosie did not respond to it. From the bottom of her heart she despised Aunt Kitty for the persistence with which she tormented Janet. When Rosie came in her tirade must have been going on for some time, for Janet looked tense and angry and her mother badly fl.u.s.tered.
Mrs. McFadden, hard-worked and worn and shabby, could not openly resent her sister-in-law's little pleasantries, for Kitty Sullivan was the prosperous member of the family. The chance that had given her a sober, frugal, industrious husband had also given her a certain moral superiority over all women whose husbands were not sober or frugal or industrious. Mrs. McFadden did not question this superiority; she accepted it humbly. Far be it from her, poor drudge that she was, to dispute the words of a woman who could afford good clothes and a weekly ticket to the matinee. So all she said now in Janet's defence was:
”Kitty, I wish you wouldn't be putting such notions into Janet's head.
She's too young to have beaux.”
”Too young!” scoffed Mrs. Sullivan. ”I guess I begun havin' beaux when I was a good deal younger than Janet is now! Why, nowadays a girl can't begin too young havin' beaux, or the first thing she knows she's an old maid! Ain't that right, Rosie?”
Rosie turned her head away, mumbling some unintelligible answer. Tom, blus.h.i.+ng until his freckles were all hidden, came to her rescue.
”Aw, now, Ma, why can't you let up on Janet? She ain't done nuthin' to you!”
Mrs. Sullivan looked at her son reprovingly. ”Tom Sullivan, you just mind your own business! What I'm saying is for Janet's own good. And I must say, Mary McFadden, it's your fault, too. You ought to be dressing Janet better now that she's getting big.”
Mrs. McFadden sighed apologetically. ”I'm sure I dress her as well as I can, Kitty.”
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