IV
"Children," said Mrs. Colebrook peering into the saucepan that bubbled and splashed and steamed on the kitchen fire, "are a great responsibility—especially in this neighborhood where, as you might say, there is nothing but raffle."
Sometime in her youth, it is probable that Mrs. Colebrook had to choose between "rabble" and "riff-raff" and had found a compromise.
"That man Starker who lives up the street, Number 39, I think it is—no maybe it's 37—it is the house before the sweep's. Well, I did think he was all right, geraniums in his window too, and canaries. A very homely man, wouldn't say boo to a goose. He got nine months this morning."
Ambrose Sault, sitting in a wooden chair which was wedged tightly between the kitchen table and the dresser, drummed his fingers absently upon the polished cloth table-cover and nodded. His dark sallow face wore an expression of strained interest.
"Evie—well I'm worried about Evie. She sits and broods—there's no other word for it—by the hour, and she used to be such a bright, cheerful girl. I wonder sometimes if it is through her working at the drug stores. Being attached to medicines in a manner of speaking, you're bound to hear awful stories—people's insides and all that sort of thing. It is depressing for a young girl. Christina says she talks in her sleep and moans and tosses about. It can't be over a young man, or she'd bring him home. I asked her the other day—I think a girl's best friend is her mother—and all I got was, 'Oh shut up, mother'. In my young days I wouldn't have dared speak to my mother like that, but girls have changed. They want to go to business, cashiering and typewriting, and such nonsense. I went out to service when I was sixteen and was first parlormaid before I was twenty. But talk to these girls about going into domestic service and they laugh at you." A silence followed which Sault felt it was his duty to break.
"I suppose they do. Life is very hard on women, even the most favored of women. I hardly blame them for getting whatever happiness they can."
"Happiness!" scoffed Mrs. Colebrook, shifting the saucepan to the hob, "it all depends on what you call 'happiness'. I don't see much happiness in standing in a draughty shop taking money all day and adding up figures and stamping bills! Besides, look at the temptation. She meets all kind of people—"
"I think I'll go upstairs to my room, Mrs. Colebrook. I want to do a little work."