CHAPTER XIV
Through Bob Strahan, Jimmie obtained a paper route. Mr. Jerry's Aunt Mary insisted that was work enough for him at present.
"A growing boy has to have plenty of time to eat and sleep," she said, "and no one is using that attic bedroom."
"You can earn your board taking care of the lawn and lending a hand with the car. The paper route 'll stand you in for clothes and spending money," suggested Mr. Jerry. "Might as well take it easy while you can."
"He's a prince, that's what he is!" Jimmie told Mary Rose somewhat chokingly, when she came over to see how George Washington and Solomon and Jimmie were doing. "I never knew such a man."
"Didn't you?" Mary Rose was surprised. "Mr. Jerry is splendid but there are lots and lots of splendid people in the world, Jimmie Bronson."
"Oh, are there!" snorted Jimmie. "Well, I haven't seen so many of them, and that's straight. Judging from what I saw and heard that first day I was in Waloo, you've run across at least one of the other sort, too."
Mary Rose blushed. Her inability to make friends with Mr. Wells annoyed her. "He's got dyspepsia," she said, as if that were an excuse. "To tell you the truth, Jimmie Bronson, when I first came here I nearly died. I had an awful time remembering that daddy said when there were so many people in the world there were friends for everybody. The people were so different and it was so funny to have them live up and down instead of side by side. At first I thought I'd never get used to it but I did. And I have lots of friends here now. But Waloo isn't Mifflin." And she sighed because it wasn't.
"Mifflin!" jeered Jimmie. "Mifflin! You can be mighty good and glad it isn't. I don't know where you got your idea of Mifflin, Mary Rose, for it's about the deadest one-horse town I ever ran across. And the people. Huh! A collection of boneheads."
"Why, Jimmie Bronson!" gasped Mary Rose. "Mifflin's the friendliest town—"
"Friendly!" Jimmie elevated his nose at the word. "Prying, interfering, gossiping! That's what it is. I guess I know. You're all wrong, Mary Rose, all wrong. If you should go back you'd see. You're nothing but a kid. You don't know. But take it from me you've got entirely the wrong idea of your native town. If Mifflin was what you think it was do you imagine Solomon and I would have left? No, siree! We'd have stayed and been part of the happy crowd. But it isn't. Honest! It's dead and narrow and one-horse and the people are boneheads."
Mary Rose could not believe it. She stared at him and her lip quivered.
"Jimmie," she said at last and her voice was very low and shaky, "is that what you want me to think of Mifflin? It's always been a wonderful place to me. You see I was born there and no other city, no matter how grand it is, can be my birthplace. It doesn't seem as if I could be all wrong about it. And the people! Daddy always said people's hearts were friendly and in Mifflin their faces were friendly, too. Yes, they were, Jimmie Bronson, when I lived there. Perhaps they have changed. It's a long time since I left."
Jimmie gave a whoop. "Long time! It isn't two months. And it would take more than sixty days to put that sour look on old Mr. Mallow's face. He nearly ate me up alive when I asked for a job after Aunt Nora died. No, Mary Rose, you're wrong, all wrong, about Mifflin. There isn't any place in this whole world that's like what you think that old burg is."
"Isn't there, Jimmie?" Mary Rose was very troubled. "Is that what I'm really to believe?"
There was a quiver in her voice that made James Bronson turn and look at her. He flushed all over his freckled face, to the very roots of his red hair. He even put out his tanned hand and patted Mary Rose's arm. "No, Mary Rose," he said slowly. "I guess you're right. You're always looking for friends and so you'll find them. You keep on being a silly simp and thinking of Mifflin as the new Jerusalem and perhaps it'll grow into one."
"It would if everyone thought it would," Mary Rose insisted and the troubled look slipped away from her face. "If people feel friendly they'll find friends."
"And she believes it," Jimmie told Mr. Jerry when they were cleaning the car together that evening. "Gosh, aren't girl kids queer! I couldn't tell her the truth but I guess I know Mifflin better than she does."
"I'm glad you didn't tell her the truth, Jim." Mr. Jerry lighted his pipe and gave Jimmie the hose. "She'll learn soon enough."
"Of course she will," agreed Jimmie. "She's just got to find out that folks aren't going up and down the streets holding out the glad hand. That's what I say, Mr. Jerry, if people feel so friendly inside why don't they show it outside? Gee whiz!" he stopped to squeeze the water out of the big sponge. "Wouldn't it be a great old world if they did, if folks were what Mary Rose thinks they are?"
"It would. And as every little bit added to what there is makes a little bit more you could help the good time along by feeling a bit more friendly to the world yourself, James," advised Mr. Jerry, stepping off to look at the car. "Mary Rose is right when she says that smiles are just as catching as frowns. Take it from me that it never makes a bad thing any worse by thinking that it is better than it is."
Jimmie Bronson's opinion of Mifflin bothered Mary Rose and she discussed it with everyone. It was not until they had all agreed with her that people and places are what you think they are that she felt comfortable again.
"I knew I was right all the time," she told Aunt Kate.
"If folks were really what she thinks they are, what a snap we'd have," Aunt Kate said to Uncle Larry, after Mary Rose had gone to bed. "To be honest I'll have to admit that the atmosphere's a mite pleasanter here but whether that's because of Mary Rose or because I haven't seen quite so much of the tenants—I never do in summer—I can't say. Seems if she does have the faculty of bringing out the kind side of folks. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes I never would have believed that Mrs. Rawson would have loaned her machine to Mrs. Matchan or that Mrs. Matchan would condescend to borrow it. Land, the rows they've had over that machine and that piano! Perhaps there is somethin' in thinkin' folks are friendly. What do you say, Larry?"
"What's thinkin' done for old Wells?" asked Uncle Larry. "He's worse'n ever. Take my word for it, Kate, he'll make trouble for us. You might as well begin to pack."