“You liked it when he was so unsuccessful?” repeated Ruth.
“Pa wasn’t unsuccessful. He never is. He can play any part,” declared the girl proudly. “But the plays were punk. He says there are no good plays written nowadays. That is why so many companies fail.”
“But you said you liked it?”
“In New York,” explained Bella. “While he was rehearsing pa could get credit at Mother Grubson’s boarding house on West Forty-fourth Street. I helped her around the house. She said I was worth my keep. But Aunt Suse says I don’t earn my salt here.”
“I am sure you do your best, Bella,” Ruth observed.
“No, I don’t. Nor you wouldn’t if you worked for Aunt Suse. She says I’ll give her her nevergitovers—an’ I hope I do!” with which final observation she ran to unlace Aunt Kate’s shoes.
“Poor little thing,” said Ruth to Helen. “She is worse off than an orphan. Her Aunt Susan is worse than Uncle Jabez ever was to me. And she has no Aunt Alvirah to help her to bear it. We ought to do something for her.”
“There! You’ve begun. Every waif and stray on our journey must be aided, I suppose,” pouted Helen, half exasperated.
But Tom was glad to see that Ruth had found a new interest. Bella waited on the supper table, was snapped at by Miss Timmins, and driven from pillar to post by that crotchety individual.
“Jimminy Christmas!” remarked Tom, “that Timmins woman must be a reincarnation of one of the ancient Egyptians who was overseer in the brickyard where Moses learned his trade. If they were all like her, no wonder the Israelites went on a strike and marched out of Egypt.”