Part 16 (2/2)
”I do, indeed, Janet, and I feel for you.” From her sympathetic understanding of Janet's problem, one would never have supposed that Mrs. O'Brien herself was the mother of a large family, and had been the child of a larger one. She held up a sock impressively. ”You're quite right, Janet. Your da might do somethin' awful. There's no holdin' back some men when they take it into their heads that their only child has been mistreated.”
Rosie sighed inwardly. She had very little of that histrionic sense that prompts people to a.s.sume a part and play it out in all seriousness. At first such a performance as the present one wearied her. Why in the world do people pretend a thing when they know perfectly well that they are pretending? Then, as the moments pa.s.sed, she grew interested in spite of herself, for the acting of her mother and Janet was most convincing. At last she was not quite sure that it was acting. She was brought back to her senses by Janet's turning suddenly to her with the exclamation:
”Ain't they all o' them just awful, anyhow!”
No need to ask Janet of whom she was speaking. It was an old practice of hers, this glorifying her father in one breath, and in the next vilifying men in general. Rosie protested at once:
”Why are they awful? I think they're nice.”
Janet looked at her in kindly commiseration.
”Well, then, Rosie, all I got to say is--you don't know 'em.”
”I don't know them! Well, I like that!” Rosie was indignant now. ”I guess I know them as well as you do!” Rosie paused, then concluded in triumph: ”Don't I know my own brother Terry? I guess he's all right!”
”Terry,” Janet repeated, with a significant headshake. ”Now I suppose, Rosie, you think you and Terry are great friends, don't you?”
”I don't think so; I know so.”
Janet laughed cynically.
”Yes, I suppose you and him are great friends as long as you run your legs off for him. But listen to me, Rosie O'Brien! Do you know what he'd do to you if you was to lose one of his paper customers? He'd beat the very puddin' out of you! I guess I know!”
”Janet, you're crazy!”
”Crazy? All right, Rosie, have it your own way. But I leave it to Mis'
O'Brien if I ain't right.”
That lady, being, as it were, pledged to Janet's support, instead of vindicating her own son, made the weak admission:
”Well, I must confess there's somethin' in what Janet says.”
At Janet's departure, Rosie looked at her mother scornfully.
”Ma, don't you really know how Janet got that black eye?”
Mrs. O'Brien dropped her darning in surprise. At every turn life seemed to hold a fresh surprise for Mrs. O'Brien.
”Why, Rosie! What a question to ask your poor ma! Do I look like I was born yesterday?”
Mrs. O'Brien did not; but, even so, Rosie insisted upon a direct answer.
”Well, then, if you really must know, Rosie dear, I'll be glad to tell you. That brute of a Dave McFadden has been knockin' her down again.”
Rosie clucked her tongue impatiently. ”Maggie O'Brien, there's one thing I'd like to ask you. When Janet knew how she got that black eye, and you knew how she got it, and she knew perfectly well that you knew, why in the world did you both go pretending something else?”
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