Part 29 (1/2)

Tom looked at me, shut his mouth very tight, and shook his head. ”I suppose all this takes the place of babies in your life. It wouldn't satisfy some women ten minutes. Elise wouldn't give up one of her babies for a business paying thirty per cent.”

”But Tom,” I replied calmly. ”We all can't marry. Some of us----”

”_You_ could have. This is not natural. 'Tisn't according to nature. No, sir. Abnormal. Down here in New York living like a man. What do you want to copy men for? Why don't you devote yourself to becoming an ideal woman, Ruth? That's what I want to know. I don't approve of this sort of thing at all.”

I felt no anger. I felt no impulse to strike back. I had reached such an elevation on my mountain of Self-discovery, as Esther would have put it, that I commanded vision at last. Tom and his ideas did not obstruct my progress, like the huge blow-down that he had once been in my way, against which I had blindly beaten my fists raw. I had found my way around Tom. I could look down now and see him in correct proportion to other objects in the world about me. I saw from my height that such obstructions as Tom could be circ.u.mvented--a path worn around him, as more and more girls pursued the way I had chosen. I looked down and perceived, already, girls trooping after me. There was no use hacking away at Tom any more. Nature herself removes blow-downs on mountain-trails in time, by a process of slow rot and disintegration.

When time accomplishes the same with the Toms of the world then we shan't need even to walk around. We can walk over!

So, ”I know you don't approve, Tom,” I replied almost gently, ”and there's truth in what you say--that women are made to run homes and families, instead of businesses, most of them. Of course Elise wouldn't give up one of her babies! She's one of the 'most-of-them.' How are the babies anyway?”

CHAPTER XXVIII

A CALL FROM BOB JENNINGS

One day, however, I realized that I hadn't walked around Tom. I really hadn't circ.u.mvented, by persistence and determination, the obstacles that lay in the way to triumph. Some one, like a fairy G.o.dmother from Grimm's, had waved a wand and wished the obstacles away. Virginia told me about it. I learned that except for Mrs. Sewall I might still be delivering bandboxes. The searchlight following me about wherever I went for the last six months, making my way bright and easy, came not from heaven. It came instead from a lady in black who chose to conceal her good offices beneath an unforgiving manner, as she hid the five hundred dollars inside a trivial bag.

Mrs. Sewall called one day at the shop. She asked for Miss Van de Vere.

She was contemplating redecorating a bed-chamber, it seemed. Virginia came to me in the workshop, and told me about it.

”Your old lady is out there,” she said. ”You'd better take her order.”

”My old lady?”

”Yes, Mrs. Sewall, who landed you in our midst, my dear.”

I stared at Virginia.

”Certainly, and pays a portion of your ridiculous salary, baby-mine.”

She went on pinching my cheek playfully. She delights in patronizing me.

”You're an expensive a.s.set, my dear--not but what I am glad. I always urged somebody of your sort to relieve me. Mrs. Scot-Williams never saw it that way, however, until the old lady Sewall came along and crammed you down our throats. I wasn't to tell you, but I see no harm in it. Go on in, and whatever the tiff's about make it up with the old veteran.

She's not a bad sort.”

I went upstairs. My heart was bursting with grat.i.tude. I had vexed, displeased, cruelly hurt my benefactress--she had likened me to a steel knife--and yet she had bestowed upon me my greatest desire. Much in the same way as I had rescued the little bug, buffeted by winds, Mrs. Sewall had picked me up and placed me at the zenith of my hopes. But for her, no Mrs. Scot-Williams, no Van de Vere's, no trade of my own, no precious business to work for, and make succeed!

”Mrs. Sewall,” I began eagerly (I found her alone in the living-room), ”Mrs. Sewall----” and then I stopped. There was no encouragement in her expression.

”Ah, Miss Vars,” she remarked frostily.

”Mrs. Sewall--please,” I begged, ”please let me----”

”My time is limited this morning,” she cut in. ”Doubtless Miss Van de Vere has sent you to me to attend to my order. If so, let us hasten with it. I am hunting for a cretonne with a peac.o.c.k design for a bed-chamber. I should like to see what you have.”

”But Mrs. Sewall----”

”My time is limited,” she repeated.