Part 63 (1/2)
”Yes; the Senator is going to France, and Stowe is to help him out.”
The young secretary spoke in, trying not to look as important as he felt: ”I simply can't endure the thought of leaving Alice all alone over here. So we're going to get married.”
”Fine!” said Persis, with subtlety. ”I suppose you get a whopping big salary.”
”Indeed he does!” said Alice. ”Twelve hundred a year! It's wonderful for a beginning.”
Persis suppressed her emotions at the talk of salary. She hated the word; but she exclaimed, ”Wonderful!” Then she turned to Stowe to ask: ”Does the Senator know you're going to bring a bride along?”
”No; we're going to surprise him.”
Persis thought of her appointment. It was vitally important, but she felt a call to duty. She thought it was rather good of her to heed it.
She bundled the two young people back into the waiting taxicab in spite of their protests.
”Take us for a little drive, Stowe,” she said. ”I want a word with you.
Tell the man to go down Was.h.i.+ngton Square way. You're not so likely to meet her mother.”
CHAPTER XLVIII
Stowe obeyed reluctantly, and the taxicab groaned on its way. Persis set Stowe on the small flap-seat and turned so that she could skewer him and Alice with one look.
”Now, Alice,” she began, ”let's be sensible.” Alice looked appealingly at Stowe, but Persis objected. ”Don't look at him--look at me. First, who's going to support you children when you are married?”
They answered like a chorus: ”Why, he is (I am), of course.”
”Alice, dear, how much has your mother been allowing you for pin-money--say, five thousand a year?”
”Oh, she claims it's more than that. We had an awful row the first of last month.”
Persis looked very innocent and school-girlish as she said: ”And Mr.
Webb gets twelve hundred?”
”Yes.”
”Now, Alice, I'm very backward in mathematics, so you'll have to tell me: if one person cannot live on five thousand a year, do you think two persons will be perfectly comfortable on twelve hundred?”
”Oh, but I'll economize!” Alice protested. ”It will be a pleasure to do without things--if I have Stowe.”
”Yes,” Persis sniffed, ”almost anything we're not used to is pleasant for a novelty; but in time I should fancy that even economy would cease to be a luxury. And where in Paris do you plan to live on your twelve hundred?”
”At a hotel, to begin with,” Stowe suggested.
”Oh, you'll eat your cake first, eh? Not a bad idea; you're sure of getting it, then.”
”Then we can get such ducks of flats in Auteuil.”
”The Harlem of Paris,” Persis sneered, then grew more amiable. ”A duck of an apartment is all very well, my dear, for those who have wings; but climbing stairs--ugh! Four flights of stairs six times a day--that's twenty-four flights. Seven times twenty-four is--help!”
”One hundred and sixty-eight, I believe,” said Stowe, after a mental twist.