Part 13 (1/2)
She was startled by Betsy's fierce sudden clutch at their little purse and by the quaver in her voice as she answered: ”No, no, Molly. We've got to save every cent of that. I've found out it costs thirty cents for us both to go home to Hillsboro on the train. The last one goes at six o'clock.”
”We haven't got but ten,” said Molly.
Betsy looked at her silently for a moment and then burst out, ”I'll earn the rest! I'll earn it somehow! I'll have to! There isn't any other way!”
”All right,” said Molly quaintly, not seeing anything unusual in this.
”You can, if you want to. I'll wait for you here.”
”No, you won't!” cried Betsy, who had quite enough of trying to meet people in a crowd. ”No, you won't! You just follow me every minute! I don't want you out of my sight!”
They began to move forward now, Betsy's eyes wildly roving from one place to another. How COULD a little girl earn money at a county fair!
She was horribly afraid to go up and speak to a stranger, and yet how else could she begin?
”Here, Molly, you wait here,” she said. ”Don't you budge till I come back.”
But alas! Molly had only a moment to wait that time, for the man who was selling lemonade answered Betsy's shy question with a stare and a curt, ”Lord, no! What could a young one like you do for me?”
The little girls wandered on, Molly calm and expectant, confident in Betsy; Betsy with a very dry mouth and a very gone feeling. They were pa.s.sing by a big shed-like building now, where a large sign proclaimed that the Woodford Ladies' Aid Society would serve a hot chicken dinner for thirty-five cents. Of course the sign was not accurate, for at half-past three, almost four, the chicken dinner had long ago been all eaten and in place of the diners was a group of weary women moving languidly about or standing saggingly by a great table piled with dirty dishes. Betsy paused here, meditated a moment, and went in rapidly so that her courage would not evaporate.
The woman with gray hair looked down at her a little impatiently and said, ”Dinner's all over.”
”I didn't come for dinner,” said Betsy, swallowing hard. ”I came to see if you wouldn't hire me to wash your dishes. I'll do them for twenty-five cents.”
The woman laughed, looked from little Betsy to the great pile of dishes, and said, turning away, ”Mercy, child, if you washed from now till morning, you wouldn't make a hole in what we've got to do.”
Betsy heard her say to the other women, ”Some young one wanting more money for the side-shows.”
Now, now was the moment to remember what Cousin Ann would have done. She would certainly not have shaken all over with hurt feelings nor have allowed the tears to come stingingly to her eyes. So Betsy sternly made herself stop doing these things. And Cousin Ann wouldn't have given way to the dreadful sinking feeling of utter discouragement, but would have gone right on to the next place. So, although Betsy felt like nothing so much as crooking her elbow over her face and crying as hard as she could cry, she stiffened her back, took Molly's hand again, and stepped out, heart-sick within but very steady (although rather pale) without.
She and Molly walked along in the crowd again, Molly laughing and pointing out the pranks and antics of the young people, who were feeling livelier than ever as the afternoon wore on. Betsy looked at them grimly with unseeing eyes. It was four o'clock. The last train for Hillsboro left in two hours and she was no nearer having the price of the tickets.
She stopped for a moment to get her breath; for, although they were walking slowly, she kept feeling breathless and choked. It occurred to her that if ever a little girl had had a more horrible birthday she never heard of one!
”Oh, I wish I could, Dan!” said a young voice near her. ”But honest!
Momma'd just eat me up alive if I left the booth for a minute!”
Betsy turned quickly. A very pretty girl with yellow hair and blue eyes (she looked as Molly might when she was grown up) was leaning over the edge of a little canvas-covered booth, the sign of which announced that home-made doughnuts and soft drinks were for sale there. A young man, very flushed and gay, was pulling at the girl's blue gingham sleeve.
”Oh, come on, Annie. Just one turn! The floor's elegant. You can keep an eye on the booth from the hall! n.o.body's going to run away with the old thing anyhow!''
”Honest, I'd love to! But I got a great lot of dishes to wash, too! You know Momma!” She looked longingly toward the open-air dancing floor, out from which just then floated a burst of brazen music.
”Oh, PLEASE!” said a small voice. ”I'll do it for twenty cents.”
Betsy stood by the girl's elbow, all quivering earnestness.
”Do what, kiddie?” asked the girl in a good-natured surprise.
”Everything!” said Betsy, compendiously. ”Everything! Wash the dishes, tend the booth; YOU can go dance! I'll do it for twenty cents.”
The eyes of the girl and the man met in high amus.e.m.e.nt. ”My! Aren't we up and coming!” said the man. ”You're most as big as a pint-cup, aren't you?” he said to Betsy.