Then her better sense and her patriotism came to the force. What had she to do with Mrs. Mantel, after all? She was not the woman’s keeper. Nor could it be possible that Mrs. Mantel would disturb herself much over Ruth Fielding, no matter where they might meet.
Was Ruth Fielding willing to work for the Red Cross only in ways that would be wholly pleasant and with people of whom she could entirely approve? The girl asked herself this seriously.
She put the thought behind her with distaste at her own narrowness of vision. Born of Yankee stock, she was naturally conservative to the very marrow of her bones. This New England attitude is not altogether a curse; but it sometimes leads one out of broad paths.
Surely the work was broad enough for both her and the woman in black to do what they might without conflict. “I’ll do my part; what has Mrs. Mantel to do with me?” she determined.
Before Ruth had a chance to tell her chum of the application she had put in, Helen wrote her hurriedly that Mr. Cameron’s commission was to sail in two days from Boston. Ruth could not leave her work, but she wrote a long letter to her dearest chum and sent it by special delivery to the Boston hotel, where she knew the Camerons would stop for a night.
It really seemed terrible, that her chum and her father should go without Ruth seeing them again; but she did not wish to leave her work while her application for an assignment to France was pending. It might mean that she would lose her chance altogether.
She only told Helen in the letter that she, too, hoped to be “over there” some day soon.
But several days slipped by and her case was not mentioned by Mr. Mayo. It seemed pretty hard to Ruth. She was ready and able to go and nobody wanted her!
The weather chanced to be unpleasant, too, and that is often closely linked up to one’s very deepest feelings. Ruth’s philosophy could not overcome the effect of a foggy, dripping day. Her usual cheerfulness dropped several degrees.
It drew on toward evening, and the patter of raindrops on the panes grew louder. The glistening umbrellas in the street, as she looked down upon them from the window, looked like many, many black mushrooms. Ruth knew she would have a dreary evening.