Part 3 (1/2)

Then Mrs. Blake gave them facts and figures, showing how much clubhouses cost--and how little this arrangement would cost. ”Most women have very little money, I know,” she said, ”and they hate to spend it on themselves when they have; but even a little money from each goes a long way when it is put together. I fancy there are none of us so poor we could not squeeze out, say ten cents a week. For a hundred women that would be ten dollars. Could you feed a hundred tired women for ten dollars, Mrs. Morrison?”

Mrs. Morrison smiled cordially. ”Not on chicken pie,” she said, ”But I could give them tea and coffee, crackers and cheese for that, I think.

And a quiet place to rest, and a reading room, and a place to hold meetings.”

Then Mrs. Blake quite swept them off their feet by her wit and eloquence. She gave them to understand that if a share in the palatial accommodation of the Welcome House, and as good tea and coffee as old Sally made, with a place to meet, a place to rest, a place to talk, a place to lie down, could be had for ten cents a week each, she advised them to clinch the arrangement at once before Mrs. Morrison's natural good sense had overcome her enthusiasm.

Before Mrs. Isabelle Carter Blake had left, Haddleton had a large and eager women's club, whose entire expenses, outside of stationary and postage, consisted of ten cents a week _per capita,_ paid to Mrs.

Morrison. Everybody belonged. It was open at once for charter members, and all pressed forward to claim that privileged place.

They joined by hundreds, and from each member came this tiny sum to Mrs.

Morrison each week. It was very little money, taken separately. But it added up with silent speed. Tea and coffee, purchased in bulk, crackers by the barrel, and whole cheeses--these are not expensive luxuries. The town was full of Mrs. Morrison's ex-Sunday-school boys, who furnished her with the best they had--at cost. There was a good deal of work, a good deal of care, and room for the whole supply of Mrs. Morrison's diplomatic talent and experience. Sat.u.r.days found the Welcome House as full as it could hold, and Sundays found Mrs. Morrison in bed. But she liked it.

A busy, hopeful year flew by, and then she went to Jean's for Thanksgiving.

The room Jean gave her was about the same size as her haven in Andrew's home, but one flight higher up, and with a sloping ceiling. Mrs.

Morrison whitened her dark hair upon it, and rubbed her head confusedly.

Then she shook it with renewed determination.

The house was full of babies. There was little Joe, able to get about, and into everything. There were the twins, and there was the new baby.

There was one servant, over-worked and cross. There was a small, cheap, totally inadequate nursemaid. There was Jean, happy but tired, full of joy, anxiety and affection, proud of her children, proud of her husband, and delighted to unfold her heart to her mother.

By the hour she babbled of their cares and hopes, while Mrs. Morrison, tall and elegant in her well-kept old black silk, sat holding the baby or trying to hold the twins. The old silk was pretty well finished by the week's end. Joseph talked to her also, telling her how well he was getting on, and how much he needed capital, urging her to come and stay with them; it was such a help to Jeannie; asking questions about the house.

There was no going visiting here. Jeannie could not leave the babies.

And few visitors; all the little suburb being full of similarly overburdened mothers. Such as called found Mrs. Morrison charming.

What she found them, she did not say. She bade her daughter an affectionate good-bye when the week was up, smiling at their mutual contentment.

”Good-bye, my dear children,” she said. ”I am so glad for all your happiness. I am thankful for both of you.”

But she was more thankful to get home.

Mr. b.u.t.ts did not have to call for his interest this time, but he called none the less.

”How on earth'd you get it, Delia?” he demanded. ”Screwed it out o'

these club-women?”

”Your interest is so moderate, Mr. b.u.t.ts, that it is easier to meet than you imagine,” was her answer. ”Do you know the average interest they charge in Colorado? The women vote there, you know.”

He went away with no more personal information than that; and no nearer approach to the twin goals of his desire than the pa.s.sing of the year.

”One more year, Delia,” he said; ”then you'll have to give in.”

”One more year!” she said to herself, and took up her chosen task with renewed energy.

The financial basis of the undertaking was very simple, but it would never have worked so well under less skilful management. Five dollars a year these country women could not have faced, but ten cents a week was possible to the poorest. There was no difficulty in collecting, for they brought it themselves; no unpleasantness in receiving, for old Sally stood at the receipt of custom and presented the covered cash box when they came for their tea.

On the crowded Sat.u.r.days the great urns were set going, the mighty array of cups arranged in easy reach, the ladies filed by, each taking her refection and leaving her dime. Where the effort came was in enlarging the members.h.i.+p and keeping up the attendance, and this effort was precisely in the line of Mrs. Morrison's splendid talents.