The Gay Cockade
She continued to croon softly the lullaby which had belonged to her own
babies: "Hushaby, sweet, my own--"
It was Cecily and the doctor who went in to her, and Landry, standing
back in the shadows, waited. He spoke to Cissy as she came out.
"I am going so early in the morning," he said, "will you give me just
one little minute now?"
In that minute he told her that he loved her.
And Cissy, standing in the library in all the disorder of uncurled locks
and gray kimono, demanded, after a rapturous pause, "But why didn't you
tell me before?"
He found it hard to explain. "I didn't quite realize it--until I saw you
there so tender and sweet, with the baby in your arms--"
"A Madonna-creature," murmured Cissy Beale.
But he did not understand. "It isn't because I want you to sit in a
chimney-corner--it wasn't fair of you to say that--"
Then in just one short speech Cissy Beale showed him her heart. She told
of the years of devotion, always unrewarded by the affection she craved.
"And here was the baby," she finished, "to grow up--and find somebody
else, and forget me--"
As he gathered her into his protecting embrace, his big laugh comforted
her.
"I'm yours till the end of the world, little grandmother," he whispered.
"I shall never find any one else--and I shall never forget."
WAIT--FOR PRINCE CHARMING
Kingdon Knox was not conscious of any special meanness of spirit. He was
a lawyer and a good one. He was fifty, and wore his years with an effect
of youth. He exercised persistently and kept his boyish figure. He had
keen, dark eyes, and silver in his hair. He was always well groomed and
well dressed, and his income provided him with the proper settings. His
home in the suburb was spacious and handsome and presided over by a
handsome and socially successful wife. His office was presided over by
Mary Barker, who was his private secretary. She was thirty-five and had
been in his office for fifteen years. She had come to him an unformed
girl of twenty; she was now a perfect adjunct to his other office
appointments. She wore tailored frocks, her hair was exquisitely dressed
in shining waves, her hands were white and her nails polished, her
slender feet shod in unexceptional shoes.
Nannie Ashburner, who was also in the office and who now and then took
Knox's dictation, had an immense admiration for Mary. "I wish I could
wear my clothes as you do," she would say as they walked home together.
"Clothes aren't everything."
"Well, they are a lot."
"I would give them all to be as young as you are."
"You don't look old, Mary."
"Of course I take care of myself," said Mary, "but if I were as young as
you I'd begin over again."
"How do you mean 'begin,' Mary?"
But Mary was not communicative. "Oh, well, I'd have some things that I
might have had and can't get now," was all the satisfaction that she
gave Nannie.
It was through Mary that Nannie had obtained her position in Kingdon
Knox's office. Mary had boarded with Nannie's mother for five years.
Nannie was fourteen when Mary came. She had finished high school and had
had a year in a business college, and then Mrs. Ashburner had asked Mary
if there was any chance for her in Kingdon Knox's office.
Mary had considered it, but had seemed to hesitate. "We need another
typist, but I am not sure it is the place for her."
"Why not?"
Mary did not say why. "I wish she didn't have to work at all. She ought
to get married."
"Dick McDonald wants her. But she's too young, Mary."
"You were married at nineteen."
"Yes, and a lot I got out of it." Mrs. Ashburner was sallow and cynical.
"I kept boarders to make a living for my husband, Mary; and since he
died I've kept boarders to make a living for Nannie and me."
"But Dick gets good wages."
"Well, he can wait till he saves something."
"Don't make him wait too long."
It was against her better judgment that Mary Barker spoke to her
employer about Nannie. "I should want her to help me. She is not expert
enough to take your dictation, but she could relieve me of a lot of
detail."
"Well, let me have a look at her," Kingdon Knox had said.
So Nannie had come to be looked over, and she had blushed a little and
had been rather breathless as she had talked to Mr. Kingdon, and he had
been aware of the vividness of her young beauty; for Nannie had red hair
that curled over her ears, and her skin was warm ivory, and her eyes
were gray.
Her clothes were not quite up to the office standard, but Knox, having
hired her, referred the matter to Mary. "You might suggest that she cut
out thin waists and high heels," he had said; "you know what I like."
Mary knew, and Nannie's first month's salary had been spent in the
purchase of a serge one-piece frock.
Mrs. Ashburner had rebelled at the expense. But Mary had been firm. "Mr.
Knox won't have anybody around the office who looks slouchy or sloppy.
It will pay in the end."
Nannie thought Mr. Knox wonderful. "He says that he wants me to work
hard so that I can handle some of his letters."
"When did he tell you that?"
"Last night, while you were taking testimony in the library."
The office library was lined with law books. There were a handsome long
mahogany table, green covered, and six handsome mahogany chairs. Mary,
shut in with three of Knox's clients and a consulting partner, had had a
sense of uneasiness. It was after hours. Nannie was waiting for her in
the outer office. Everybody else had gone home except Knox, who was
waiting for his clients.
Mary remembered how, when she was Nannie's age, she had often sat in
that outer office after hours, and Knox had talked to her. He had been
thirty-five and she, twenty. He had a wife and a handsome home; she had
nothing but a hall room. And he had made her feel that she was very
necessary to him. "I don't know how we should ever get along without
you," he had said.
He had said other things.
It was because he had spoken of her lovely hair that she had kept it
brushed and shining. It was because his eyes had followed her pencil
that she had rubbed cold cream on her hands at night and had looked well
after her nails. It was because she had learned his taste that she wore
simple but expensive frocks. It was because of her knowledge that
nothing escaped him that she shod her pretty feet in expensive shoes.
He had set standards for her, and she had followed them. And now he
would set standards for Nannie!
She spoke abruptly. "Is Dick McDonald coming to-night?"
"Yes. He has had a raise, Mary. He telephoned--"
The two girls were in Mary's room. Dinner was over and Mary had slipped
on a Chinese coat of dull blue and had settled down for an evening with
her books. Mary's room was charming. In fifteen years she had had gifts
of various kinds from Knox. They had always been well chosen and
appropriate. Nothing could have been in better taste as an offering from
an employer to an employee than the embossed leather book ends and desk
set, the mahogany reading lamp with its painted parchment shade, the
bronze Buddha, the antique candlesticks, the Chelsea teacups, the
Sheffield tea caddy. Mary's comfortable salary had permitted her to buy
the book shelves and the tea table and the mahogany day bed. There was a
lovely rug which Mrs. Knox had sent her on the tenth anniversary of her
association with the office. Mrs. Knox looked upon Mary as a valuable
business asset. She invited her once a year to dinner.
Nannie wore her blue serge one-piece frock and a new winter hat. The hat
was a black velvet tam.
"You need something to brighten you up," Mary said; "take my beads."
The beads were jade ones which Mr. Knox had brought to Mary when he came
back from a six months' sojourn in the Orient. Mary had looked after the
office while he was away. He had clasped the beads about her neck. "Bend
your head while I put them on, Mary," he had commanded. He had been at
his desk in his private office while she sat beside him with her
note-book. And when he had clasped the beads and she had lifted her
head, he had said with a quick intake of his breath: "I've been a long
time away from you, Mary."
Nannie with the jade beads and her red hair and her velvet tam was
rather rare and wonderful. "Dick is going to take me to the show to
celebrate. He's got tickets to Jack Barrymore."
"Dick is such a nice boy," said Mary. "I'm glad you are going to marry
him, Nannie."
"Who said I was going to marry him?"
"That's what he wants, Nannie, and you know it."
"Mr. Knox says it is a pity for a girl like me to get married."
Mary's heart seemed to stop beating. She knew just how Knox had said it.
She spoke quietly. "I think it would be a pity for you not to marry,
Nannie."
"I don't see why. You aren't married, Mary."
"No."
"And Mr. Knox says that unless a girl can marry a man who can lift her
up she had better stay single."
The same old arguments! "What does he mean by 'lift her up,' Nannie?"
"Well"--Nannie laughed self-consciously--"he says that any one as pretty
and refined as I might marry anybody; that I must be careful not to
throw myself away."
"Would it be throwing yourself away to marry Dick?"
"It might be. He looked all right to me before I went into the office.
But after you've seen men like Mr. Knox--well, our kind seem--common."
Mrs. Ashburner was calling that Dick McDonald was down-stairs. Nannie,
powdering her nose with Mary's puff, was held by the earnestness of the
other woman's words.
"Let Dick love you, Nannie. He's such a dear."
Dick was, Nannie decided before the evening was over, a dear and a
darling. He had brought her a box of candy and something else in a box.
Mrs. Ashburner had shown him into the dining-room, which she and Nannie
used as a sitting-room when the meals were over. The boarders occupied
the parlor and were always in the way.
"Say, girlie, see here," Dick said as he brought out the box; and Nannie
had gazed upon a ring which sparkled and shone and which looked, as Dick
said proudly, "like a million dollars."
"I wanted you to have the best." His arm went suddenly around her. "I
always want you to have the best, sweetheart."
He kissed her in his honest, boyish fashion, and she took the ring and
wore it; and they went to the play in a rosy haze of happiness, and when
they came home he kissed her again.
"The sooner you get out of that office the better," he said. "We'll get
a little flat, and I've saved enough to furnish it."
Nannie was lighting the lamp under the percolator. Mrs. Ashburner had
left a plate of sandwiches on one end of the dining-room table. Nannie
was young and Mrs. Ashburner was old-fashioned. Her daughter was not
permitted to eat after-the-theatre suppers in restaurants. "You can
always have something here."
"Don't let's settle down yet," Nannie said, standing beside the
percolator like a young priestess beside an altar. "There's plenty of
time---"
"Plenty of time for what?" asked her lover. "We've no reason to wait,
Nannie."
So Dick kissed her, and she let him kiss her. She loved him, but she
would make no promises as to the important day. Dick went away a bit
puzzled by her attitude. He wanted her at once in his home. It hurt him
that she did not seem to care to come to him.
It was a cold night, with white flakes falling, and the policeman on the
beat greeted Dick as he passed him. "It is a nice time in the morning
for you to be getting home."
"Oh, hello, Tommy! I'm going to be married. How's that?"
"Who's the girl?"
"Nannie Ashburner."
"That little redhead?"
"You're jealous, Tommy."
"I am; she'll cook sausages for you when you come home on cold nights,
and kiss you at your front door, and set the talking machine going, with
John McCormack shouting love songs as you come in."