PART II
MYRTLE
CHAPTER IX
The sunlight was dazzling white. High winds during the night had chased all clouds to remote quarters and had with the morning suddenly gone, leaving the city to the entire mercy of the sun. It was August and very dry and in the corners of buildings huddled little heaps of dust and elusive trash, withered and powdery. On the pavements and walls the sunlight lay like white-hot gold and the shadows cast by the awnings of Bessire's department store were sharply chiselled as by a stencil. Mary Louise paused for a moment in their shelter and drew breath.
Sometimes work is a fattener. It is when, by virtue of its absorption, certain phases of the body are allowed to function naturally. It is true in the case of meddling minds, also in more or less conscientious natures. Mary Louise's nerves had temporarily ceased to feed upon her. She was getting plump. The lace frill at the bottom of her elbow sleeve lay flat against a curve that was full and round. In fact, one was conscious of a general well-roundedness about her. And her face, which was flushed, was likewise serene.
The tea room had been making money. With the arrival of the intense heat had come generous patronage, especially for the noon meal. And the petty vexations had effaced themselves. For the past few weeks an atmosphere of expectancy had seemed to hover, such as is felt on trains arriving after a long journey, or in the completion of a work. It was the sense of accomplishment. Mary Louise felt her problem undergoing solution, and nothing else mattered. She now laughed at the dismay she had felt at paying ten dollars for a cook in Bloomfield. There was no price to be set on her freedom. And the careless streak in Maida was something to be accepted with good nature and not to be allowed to irritate. Maida was at least on the job, eternally on the job. Not much of a companion truly, nor for that matter a really good business partner. But she irradiated good nature and that was something.
A sizzling hot pavement is not much of a place for reflection even if shaded by a striped awning. So Mary Louise passed on. The bundle of fresh-printed menus was getting heavy under her arm—she had just come from the printer's—and the soda fountain at the corner drug store tempted her. She yielded.