Part 4 (1/2)

While her hands were immersed in the lather of rankly perfumed toilet soap, there came a gentle knock at the door.

”Come in,” invited the woman, expecting some famine-pressed neighbor for a spoonful of coffee or a drawing of tea.

The door opened slowly, a tentative aperture.

”May I come in?” asked a voice that was sweeter than the breath of violets that preceded the caller into the room.

With the towel clutched in her dripping hands, the woman flung wide open the door, then hastened to unload the chair which held her wraps--her only chair.

”Thank you; don't bother,” urged the visitor. ”I shall like sitting on the couch.”

There was a melody of enthusiasm in this remark, which the complaining of the cot, as the girl dropped easily upon it, could not wholly drown.

The woman, having absently hung her towel on the doork.n.o.b, stared dazedly at the visitant. She could hardly credit her eyes. It was--it was indeed the girl with the white ostrich plume and the bouquet of violets in her brown mink fur.

”I feel like an intruder,” began the girl, ”and, do you know--” her appraising glance directed to the old fur collar on the chair, was guiltily withdrawn as she spoke--”do you know, I've such a silly excuse for coming.” She laughed, and the laugh brought added music to her voice.

The woman, now at last recalled from her abstraction, smiled, and the weariness pa.s.sed from her face. She seated herself at the extreme end of the humpy, complaining cot.

”I'm sure you'll understand,” resumed the girl. ”At least, I hope you'll not be offended.... I heard ... that is, I noticed you had a rare fur-piece--” her vivid glance returned to the pile of wraps on the chair--”and I want to ask a very great favor of you. I--now _please_ don't be shocked--I've been ransacking the city for something like it, and--” with a determined air of taking the plunge--”I should like to buy it of you!”

”Buy it!” scorned the woman, with a sudden dull red staining her sallow cheeks. ”I can't see why anyone would want to pay money for such a thing as that.”

”It--it's a rare pattern, you know,” groped the girl, her sweet tones a.s.suming an eloquent, persuasive quiver, ”and--and you don't know how glad I'd be to have it.”

The indignant color faded out of the woman's face. ”If you really want the thing--” abruptly she put her bizarre possession into her strange visitor's lap--”If you really want it--but I don't see--” yearning crept into her work-dimmed eyes, a yearning that seemed to struggle with disillusionment. ”Tell me,” she broke off, ”is that all you came here for?”

Apparently oblivious to the question, the young woman rose to her feet.

”You'll sell it to me then!” she triumphed, opening her gold-bound purse.

”But, see here,” demurred the woman, ”I can't--it ain't worth----”

The girl's gloved hands went fumbling into her purse, while the old fur cape hung limply across one velvet arm.

”You leave it to me,” she commanded, and smiled, a radiant, winning smile.

Impulsively the woman drew close to her guest. ”Excuse me,” she faltered, ”but, do you know--you look ever-so-much like a little niece of mine back--home?”

”Do I? That's nice.” The visitor looked at her watch. A note of abstraction had crept into her beautiful voice, but it still held the caress that invited the woman's confidence.

”Yes, my little niece--excuse me--I haven't seen her for twelve years--most fifteen years, I guess. She'd be growed up, but I thought--when I saw you down-town----”

”Oh, you remember me, then! Forgive me for following--” The girl seized the woman's soap-reddened hands in a sudden fervent clasp. ”I understand,” she breathed. ”You must be lonely.... I'll try to see you again--I surely will.... Good-bye....”

The girl was gone and all at once the room seemed colder and dingier than it ever had before. But the woman was not cold. As she sat huddled on the cot, warmth and vitality glowed within her, kindled by the memory of a recent kindly human touch.

The following evening, after working hours, the shabby woman, wearing a faded scarf about her neck to replace the old fur collar, diffidently accosted a saleslady at the Sixth Avenue department store. She wanted to buy a brown mink collar, just like one worn by a figure in green in the window.

It was unusual to sell expensive furs to such a customer. But people might send what freaks of servants they pleased to do their Christmas shopping, provided they sent the money, too. In this case, the shabby little woman was prepared. She produced three crisp ten-dollar bills--the fabulous sum which the girl had left in her hand at parting--and two dollars more from the savings in her worn little purse. Then, hugging the big flat box against the tight-fitting bosom of her jacket, she triumphantly left the store.