So it was small wonder that on this morning of the shopping trip Jessica should look almost as wan as would have been suitable had she been really ill. The confinement in that poorly ventilated mansion had told upon her who had lived always out of doors, and it had given her time to think much about that other half of the world which dwelt in Avenue A.
Seeing her at last, stirred Sophy Nestor’s heart to its depths. Her “angel” didn’t look happy. Sophy wasn’t happy, herself. Granny Briggs was even more gloomy than of old. The visit of Ephraim had delighted her for the time; but when it was repeated and he had urged her removal to better quarters she had stubbornly refused. It had suddenly come to her New England pride that she was becoming an object of charity and she would not be pauperized, even by an old town-mate whose father had sold her father shoe-leather.
She went even further. She sent Sophy to the Square with the twenty-five dollars in crisp new bills, carefully folded within that cheap scrap of letter paper, whereon she had inscribed her “duty” and her thanks, along with the statement that as no injury had been done no payment was necessary. The frock bestowed upon her grandchild she could not return. That had already been assumed and worn to bed—lest by some mischance it should disappear—a vision too beautiful to be real.
In vain Ephraim argued, scolded, entreated. He was obliged to carry the money back, for Madam Dalrymple refused to touch it, regarding it as already infected by the “poor smell” or some foul disease. And when his entreaties were useless, he quietly disposed the sum in a safe place, awaiting some future day when he could spend it for his old friend, he angrily declared:
“The trouble with you, Sophia Badger Briggs, is that you over-ate yourself that night. You’ve been indulgin’ your stomach with poor rations and slop victuals and that one good square meal just gave you the dyspepsy. Nothing else on earth ails you. A man with the dyspepsy—or a woman either—ain’t in their right mind. They haven’t got a correct ‘sight’ and can’t shoot straight. You think you’ve hit the ‘bull’s-eye’ with this cantankerous pride o’ yours but you haven’t come within a mile of it. However, ‘When she will she will, you may depend on’t, and when she won’t she won’t, and there’s an end on’t.’ So I’ll take myself back to my pots and pans and when you want me or my help just send that bright little girl of yours after me an’ I’ll keep step to the music, instanter. Good-by.”
So it seemed that Madam Dalrymple’s anxiety over the Avenue A acquaintance was useless. “Forty-niner” and Jessica did, indeed, often discuss it, but the matter ended in discussion merely.
“Only, Ephy dear, I can never, never be just the same girl I was before I went to that dreadful place. It’s made this ‘being one of the richest,’ as I shall be, seem such a solemn thing. The money that will be mine sometime must all be used to help such poor folks. It won’t be mine, really, you know. My mother said that. She said it would be ‘a trust put into my hands for righteous disposal.’ Those were her very own words. Course, I haven’t the money yet. The mine is costing more than it pays out, now at first, but it’s coming. Mr. Ninian said there was no possibility of mistake. When it does—O Ephy! It frightens me to think I may not give enough or give it right or, in some way, be unfaithful to that ‘trust.’ It makes me feel so old, so old, Ephy dear!” cried the hitherto careless girl, with an earnestness which touched and offended her old henchman, till he agreed with Madam Dalrymple that he’d “give a thousand dollars if that accident had never happened.” “Only,” he added whimsically, “I haven’t the thousand, so it’s easy to boast!”
“One good thing there is. Mr. Hale called here yesterday, to see me—to see me, Ephraim Marsh! Think of that! He came to tell me what my mother had arranged about my ‘spending-money.’ It seemed to be so queer, this being an ‘heiress’ yet never having any money of my own to use. Having to go to Cousin Margaret when I wanted any and always being afraid to ask. Anyhow, that’s all past. I am to have an allowance of five dollars a month spending-money. All for myself. Isn’t that splendid? Mr. Hale says my mother wishes me to learn the proper use of that amount and as I grow older and require more it shall be furnished. As if any girl could possibly want more than that! Isn’t it fine? Isn’t it? Do say so, ‘Forty-niner,’ or I shall be so disappointed.”
“Land, honey! I’d say anything in the dictionary to prevent that. I only want to give you a bit of advice——”
“Don’t, Ephy! Don’t give it! I’ve never had so much advice given me in all my life as since I’ve come to this New York. Just keep it to yourself, old dear!” cried Jessica, laying her hand upon his lips.