V
THE REVERSE OF A MEDAL
AN ACCOUNT OF THE MAKING OF MARY ELLEN’S HERO
Mary Ellen Darragh was a strange girl. Her life may have had something to do with that. Left fatherless at sixteen, with a mother and three little Darraghs on her hands, she at once jumped into the breach, which in this case was the breeches, and by the use of good taste, a ready tongue, pleasant manners and plenty of hard work, performed her stint so well that now, at two-and-twenty, she was sole proprietor of a millinery establishment which employed four girls besides herself. Carriage-folk came to the door of Mary Ellen’s establishment, she was so good—and so cheap.
Mary Ellen was born with both gray eyes wide open; she absorbed the deportment of the ladies of her clientele with the unfailing surety of grasp that made her a success. She had the “business” of polite intercourse down as fine as the most pronouncedly mannered of her patrons—even to the English. The objective case received all that was due it from Mary Ellen when she had “her airs on,” as her detractors put it. Now, these were no airs; they were the girl’s standard. More than the tilt of the head and a shade of the voice were in them. There was the hope of something above the buying and selling, and wheedling of cross-grained customers.
Yet the effect on her acquaintances was bad. They thought it buncombe, and although Mary Ellen was trim, pretty and stylish, she had never kept company with any young man until Fireman Carter appeared on the scene. Other young men had come, seen and left, saying that kind of gait was too swift for them. Mary Ellen wanted to sit at a reasonable distance from her caller and converse. It must be added that Mary Ellen’s conversational powers were limited—there was a measure of justification in the course of the young men.
However, Fireman Carter was of another breed. He, too, had inner aspirations toward gentility. Let me at once confute any suspicion that Dick Carter was snob or prig. By no means. Indeed, in his effort not to be superior he sometimes exceeded the most ungentle actions of his companions. The war between his inner monitor and his desire to be rated a good fellow played havoc with Dick’s peace of mind. When he first put his cap under the sofa in Mary Ellen’s little parlor he recognized a quality in his hostess for which he long had yearned. For one thing, he had an opportunity to hold forth at length on that subject so dear to the heart of man—himself.
Mary Ellen was trim, pretty and stylish. [Page 105]
Mary Ellen was smitten at first sight, and why not? A mighty agreeable picture of young manhood was Fireman Carter: thin, clean, dark, handsome in face; tall, strong and supple in body; alert and ready in mind; an ideal type of the finest corps of men in the world, the firemen. He looked especially distinguished in his uniform. So Mary Ellen listened to the song of Richard Carter. Again, I must interfere. Dick didn’t blow and bluster about his prowess; he merely took out his soul and explained its works to Mary Ellen. He left that night feeling he was understood at last. And he went again every time he had a chance.
Mrs. Darragh, worthy old lady, chaperoned the visits, an acquired idea of Mary Ellen’s. She enjoyed her evening nap in the parlor almost as much as the young folk did their discussions. Little was she needed; Dick appreciated his lady’s dignity too much to do aught to invalidate it. In fact, he studied for those evenings, reading up by stealth and artfully leading the talk to the subject on which he was prepared, and then it would do your heart good to see Fireman Carter, with extended hand explaining the primal causes of things, to Mary Ellen’s cooing obligato of admiration. Solomon, in all his glory was a poor fool to Dick Carter, in one person’s estimation.