CHAPTER XXI
Mary Rose loved her school. It was too delightful to be with children again and she made new friends rapidly. After supper she liked to run up to the third floor and tell Miss Thorley and Miss Carter what a wonderful day she had had and they always seemed glad to hear. She often found Mr. Strahan there and generally there were grapes or pears or peaches or candy to nibble while she told her tale.
Mr. Strahan had written a lot of stories out of Mary Rose's experiences and he grinned with delight as he heard her talk of school. He saw her as a mine of human interest tales.
"If it hadn't been for her I'd never have kept my job this summer," he told Miss Carter and Miss Thorley, one night after Mary Rose had gone. "The old man liked the stuff she told me and it gave me a chance to show what I could do. I've a regular run now and a regular salary." He looked across at Miss Carter and colored a bit. "My foot's on the ladder now for keeps."
Miss Carter laughed and colored a bit, too, as she hoped that his foot was there "for keeps." Miss Thorley caught the exchange of glances with an odd little contraction of her heart. Was that the way the wind was blowing? Funny she hadn't noticed anything before. If Blanche went away she would be left alone—alone with her work and her independence. She shivered involuntarily. Once that had been all she wanted. Why didn't they satisfy her now? They should satisfy her. She'd work harder than ever on jam advertisements and when she had saved a lot of money she'd go to New York and get a big position and some people would have to admit that it would have been a waste to tie her down to a humdrum—what was it Mary Rose had said?—"home for a family." Her lip curled with scorn. Mary Rose was only a child. She didn't know that homes and families were not the most important things in the world. Someone else had told her what was the most important, but she would not think of him. She just would not. And anyway all he wanted now was friendship. Men were so constant. Her nose tilted. She felt so much more scorn than a curled lip could express that her nose had to tilt. But until she could save a lot of money and go to New York she would stay right there in the Washington and listen to Mary Rose's experiences at the Lincoln School.
"It isn't like the school at Mifflin one bit, but I like it just the same. And I've made a lot of new friends. I never realized how you needed friends your own age until today. I've managed very well and been happy until—until," she gulped as she remembered what had happened to make her unhappy, "the other day, but it's such fun to have friends your own size. There's that girl at Mrs. Bracken's. She's older and bigger than I am, but Mrs. Bracken said we could be friends and there isn't as much difference as there is between me and Grandma Johnson. And we're friends. There's a boy with only one leg in my class," importantly. "He's going to tell me how he lost the other one tomorrow. And a girl, Anna Paulovitch. Isn't that a funny name? She was born in O-Odessa, Russia. I never knew anyone who was born in Russia before. It's very interesting. Do you know," her voice dropped to a whisper, "that two years ago she lost all of her hair. She was sick and it disappeared until now there isn't even a single solitary hair on any part of her head. It's as bare, as bare," she looked about for a comparison but could not find one that would suit her, "as anything could be bare. It's very strange."
"And does she go to school without any hair?" asked Bob Strahan, trying to visualize Anna Paulovitch's bare pate.
"Oh, no! You can't go to school without hair. So last summer Anna picked berries for a farmer and saved every penny and soon she had enough to buy a wig. Her own hair was black and she hated it. She always wanted yellow curls and so when she bought her wig she bought long yellow curls. They're perfectly beautiful. You'd never guess they didn't grow on her own head. She showed me because I'm her friend. We're in the same number class."
"Ye gods! Long yellow curls on a swart-faced black-eyed Russian." Bob Strahan laughed at the combination.
Miss Carter looked at him reproachfully as she swung the conversation to the safe subject of Mrs. Bracken's niece.
"I wonder what Mr. Wells will have to say about her?" she asked.
"He can't steal her canary for she hasn't one," muttered Bob Strahan.
Mary Rose caught the words, low as they were uttered.
"You don't think Mr. Wells has my Jenny Lind?" She was so astonished that her eyes popped as far open as they could pop. "He hates birds. He told me so himself when I offered to lend her to him. And we're friends. Not friends like us but sort of friends. I'm sure he didn't take her," she insisted. "I must go now. Aunt Kate said I could only stay a minute. Good night."
"I wish I could be as sure of old Wells as she is," Bob Strahan said when the door closed behind her.
Mary Rose hesitated as she came to Mr. Wells' door. She did not believe that he had taken Jenny Lind and if he heard that people thought he had, he would be so hurt and grieved. She would have to stop and tell him that she didn't believe it, anyway, not for a moment, and if he wanted to borrow her goldfish any time, he could. She'd be glad to loan them to him. That would show how she trusted him. She knocked rather timidly. Mr. Wells, himself, opened the door.
"What d'you want?" he demanded gruffly. He had a letter in his hand and he made Mary Rose feel as if she had interrupted very important business.
"I just stopped to tell you that no matter what other people say I know you didn't steal Jenny Lind," she stammered.
"Steal Jenny Lind!" he thundered. His face was one black frown. "Who said I did? Come in." He motioned toward the living-room.
"Everybody's saying so," faltered Mary Rose. "But I know you better than they do. You couldn't steal the only pet a little orphan girl had, could you?"
Mr. Wells opened his mouth twice before he could say a word and then he only grunted a sentence that Mary Rose could not understand. He threw the letter he held on the table. An enclosure dropped from it and Mary Rose saw that there were Kewpies across the top of the paper. She recognized the writing also.
"Why—why!" she stammered. She was so surprised that she could scarcely speak at all. "That's my letter, the one I wrote to the owner of this very house."
A dull red crept up Mr. Wells' face into his grizzled hair. "Yes, I know," he rumbled. "I'm a lawyer and the owner is a client of mine. He gave it to me so I could advise him what to do."
"And what will you advise?" asked Mary Rose after a breathless silence. Her heart was beating so fast that she was almost choked. "Have you read it?"
"Yes, I've read it."
"Uncle Larry and Aunt Kate don't know I wrote it. I just had to because if Uncle Larry loses his job it's all my fault. Not all mine really for it wasn't exactly my fault that my mother died when I was six months old and that daddy went to Heaven in June so there was no one left to take care of me but Aunt Kate. I've tried to be good," she resolutely winked back a tear, "and not make trouble. Mrs. Schuneman and Mrs. Bracken and Mr. Bracken and Mrs. Johnson and Mrs. Rawson and Miss Thorley and Miss Carter and Mr. Strahan like me awfully. They said so. I wish you'd please speak to them before you give your advice. Will you?" eagerly.
The frown on Mr. Wells' face grew very black and threatening. It made Mary Rose's little heart jump right into her mouth and she shut her white teeth tight so that it wouldn't jump out.
"It's—it's awfully rude of me to speak of it," she went on in a low shamed voice. "I shouldn't remind you, I know, but you are under an obligation to me. I was neighborly when you were sick. I brought you the goldfish. It isn't much that I ask, just for you to speak to the tenements. If they say I'm a nuisance, why I won't say another word because it's the law, but I am getting bigger every day, now. Please, promise me just that much?"
And Mr. Wells promised. He couldn't very well refuse. Mary Rose caught his hand and hugged it to her thumping little heart.
"You're a kind, kind man," she said. "I know you are. I don't care what people say. And you'll see I'm treated fair? That's all I ask, Mr. Wells, honest it is! Just for the owner to be fair. Good night. I'm going to tell everyone you didn't steal Jenny Lind."