§ 4
To-day’s visit was an unusually happy one for Jeannette. Nettie drifted off to sleep while her mother and aunt established themselves in shabby grass-rockers on the side-porch and had a long, comfortable talk. The day had turned unexpectedly warm and there was a reviving touch of dead summer in the air. In a neighbor’s garden, chrysanthemums and cosmos were still in bloom, and the brilliant colors made the Beardsleys’ own unkempt little yard appear gay and luxuriant. A mechanical piano tinkled pleasantly somewhere, and every now and then there came the vibrant hum of a passing motor-car. Kate marched past her mistress and her mistress’s sister presently, clad in sober town clothes and wearing one of Jeannette’s discarded hats which the giver thought, at the moment, became her nicely. Kate was off for the rest of the day, and Alice with Etta’s help would manage the cold supper for the family at half-past six. A stillness on this midafternoon settled about the house usually teeming exuberantly with life. Through an open window near at hand, the women on the porch could hear an occasional rustle of papers as Roy, prone upon the leather-covered couch in the living-room, read the Sunday news.
Alice drew a deep sigh of weary comfort.
“I ought to get at my sewing, I suppose, but I don’t like bringing it out on the porch Sunday; people can see you from the street.... It’s so pleasant out here, I hate to go in.”
“Sit awhile,” encouraged Jeannette. “You’re always worrying yourself about something, Alice.”
“I have to. Frank’s stockings have got to be darned or he can’t go to school to-morrow; Baby Roy’s cap is torn and I noticed his school suit needs cleaning.”
“You ought to make Etta do these things.”
“Etta does enough,” her mother defended her; “she’s only young once, you know, and Sunday ought to be as much of a holiday for her as it is for other young folks.... And there’re some letters I must write, one to Nettie’s teacher for Frank to take to school with him in the morning.... Mercy! there’s never any let-up to it. I’ve got to go over this month’s bills with Roy some time to-day and decide what we’re going to do about them. You know, I just won’t bother him about money matters when he comes home all tired out at night, and I have to wait until Sunday.”
“How are you off this month? Any worse than usual?”
“Roy’s premium falls due. I’ve got the money all right, but some of the monthly bills will have to wait.... You know, Jan, I’m sick to death of this ever-constant worry about money; I’ve had it all my life, ever since I was a little girl. I wish to goodness I could earn something on the side. When the children were little, I couldn’t spare the time, but that isn’t a consideration now. Etta could perfectly well take care of the house, and I could devote several hours a day to some kind of work that would bring in money. I thought I’d knit a few sweaters and see if I could induce some shop in the city to handle them; it would only cost me the wool. If I’d learned typing, I think I could get some copying to do. You know it makes me ashamed to realize how little I could earn if I was obliged to get out and seek my living. I’d be worth about ten dollars a week. That would be what they’d call my ‘economic value.’ ...”