Part 62 (1/2)
The house opened in September, full of eager girls with large appet.i.tes long unsatisfied. The place was new-smelling, fresh-painted, beautifully clean. The furnis.h.i.+ng was cheap, but fresh, tasteful, with minor conveniences dear to the hearts of women.
The smallest rooms were larger than hall bedrooms, the big ones were shared by friends. Martha and her mother had a chamber with two beds and s.p.a.ce to spare!
The dining-room was very large, and at night the tables were turned into ”settles” by the wall and the girls could dance to the sound of a hired pianola. So could the ”mealers,” when invited; and there was soon a waiting list of both s.e.xes.
”I guess I can make a livin',” said Mrs. Joyce, ”allowin' for bad years.”
”I don't understand how you feed us so well--for so little,” said Miss Podder, who was one of the boarders.
”'s.h.!.+” said Mrs. Joyce, privately. ”Your breakfast don't really cost more'n ten cents--nor your dinner fifteen--not the way I order! Things taste good 'cause they're _cooked_ good--that's all!”
”And you have no troubles with your help?”
”'s.h.!.+” said Mrs. Joyce again, more privately. ”I work 'em hard--and pay 'em a bonus--a dollar a week extra, as long as they give satisfaction.
It reduces my profits some--but it's worth it!”
”It's worth it to us, I'm sure!” said Miss Podder.
Mrs. MacAvelly called one evening in the first week, with warm interest and approval. The tired girls were sitting about in comfortable rockers and lounges, under comfortable lights, reading and sewing. The untired ones were dancing in the dining-room, to the industrious pianola, or having games of cards in the parlor.
”Do you think it'll be a success?” she asked her friend.
”It _is_ a success!” Miss Podder triumphantly replied. ”I'm immensely proud of it!”
”I should think you would be,” aid Mrs. MacAvelly.
The doorbell rang sharply.
Mrs. Joyce was hopping through the hall at the moment, and promptly opened it.
”Does Miss Martha Joyce board here?” inquired a gentleman.
”She does.”
”I should like to see her,” said he, handing in his card.
Mrs. Joyce read the card and looked at the man, her face setting in hard lines. She had heard that name before.
”Miss Joyce is engaged,” she replied curtly, still holding the door.
He could see past her into the bright, pleasant rooms. He heard the music below, the swing of dancing feet, Martha's gay laugh from the parlor.
The little lady on crutches blocked his path.
”Are you the housekeeper of this place?” he asked sharply.
”I'm more'n that!” she answered. ”I'm Martha's mother.”
Mr. Ba.s.set concluded he would not wait.