There was a sound within, and Roy came stumbling out on the porch to stretch himself, luxuriously.
“Whew!” he said, enjoying a great yawn. “I nearly went to sleep in there.”
“Why didn’t you? A nap would have done you good.”
“I don’t like to miss a single minute of my one day at home. It’s too pleasant out here.”
Alice began to fidget, clearing her throat nervously.
“Do you feel like going over some bills with me, Roy?” she ventured with obvious reluctance.
“Sure,” he agreed good-naturedly.
He sat down on the steps, while his wife went indoors and presently returned with a sheaf of bills, a pad and pencil. She established herself next to him.
“Now you see, Roy,” she began, “in the first place, there’s the two hundred and forty that’s due on the fifth. I’ve got one hundred and fifty saved up, and that means I must take ninety out of next week’s salary. It’s going to leave me precious little, and there’s your commutation for next month that’s got to come out right away. I figure we owe about,—well, it’s not over six hundred; I’m not counting Frank’s teeth nor Gimbel’s; they can wait. But here’s the first of the month coming and Pulitzer, you know, won’t let you charge unless you pay up by the tenth. Now I was thinking....”
The voices went on murmuring, and Jeannette mused. Here it was again: the eternal war against want, the fight for existence, the battle for bread. There was never any end to it; it was perpetual, incessant, unending. In all the houses within the range of her vision, in all the trim, orderly, little dwellings that made up Cohasset Beach, in all the thousands and thousands of homes that dotted Long Island, in the millions that were scattered over the United States, and over the world, this struggle was going on. It was easy in some; it was bitter hard in others. Alice, who was among the most readily satisfied and uncomplaining of women, had protested against the everlasting drudgery, a moment ago! ... Well, she, Jeannette, had solved that particular problem for herself pretty much to her satisfaction. It was many years since she had had to worry about a bill; her income more than covered her expenses; she had saved and was going on saving; she had nearly enough money in the bank to buy another bond. In a few years she would have ten thousand dollars securely invested. Then, she would resign from the Corey Publishing Company,—they would pay her something, part salary, as long as she lived, the way they did Miss Holland,—and perhaps she would travel, or perhaps make her home with Roy and Alice. They would not want her particularly, but theirs might be the only place to which she could go; she knew their loyalty and affection would make them urge her to come to them.... And there was Frank! She would like to do something for that boy: pay his way through college or make him some kind of a handsome present that would render him eternally grateful to her. But she supposed he would be getting married as soon as he was grown up and would have no eyes nor time for anybody except the fluffy-haired doll he would select for a wife! ... Love was a funny thing! ... Her mind drifted to Martin,—Martin, with his youth, his charm, his good looks, his winning personality. Ah, he was a man of whom any woman might be proud! Well, she had been proud of him; she had always admired him; he had always had a particular appeal for her.... It was the selfsame thing that was agitating Roy and Alice to-day, that had caused her disagreement with Martin,—this struggle for money, for the means to pay bills, for the wherewithal to buy bread! ... Ah,—and they had had enough, more than enough, if Martin only had been reasonable! ... Undoubtedly he was very successful now; an agency for a motor-car in Philadelphia indicated success; he was, in all likelihood, a rich man. She wondered what would have happened to him and to her if she had stuck to him! ...