"This is my daughter," the other announced, as a tired looking black girl came forward. Mildred accepted the introduction with forced courtesy, and only returned the greeting. The other did likewise, while her mother, appearing to wish to tantalize the feelings of her roomer, said:
"You and she can be partners. You must take her, Myrtle, around to see your friends." She now turned to Mildred and said: "Myrtle has many admirers, so you and she can go out anytime and turn on a 'stunt.'" She smiled a dry hard smile, that almost made Mildred shudder. She made an excuse, and hurried into the street, preferring the outside air to the evil atmosphere she felt within.
"That gal's crooked," said the black woman to her daughter, who had just come in that morning.
"How do you know?" said the other coldly.
"How do I know!" she repeated derisively. "Do you suppose I have been in this town and seen a thousand gals with her sweet face, and not know that she ain' got a white man—maybe two or three—on her string."
"You're crooked—so crooked yourself, Ma, that you see everybody else the same way," said the other, sinking into a chair and closing her eyes.
"I've always tried to make you straight, and you know that," her mother retorted grimly.
"A crooked mother can't raise a straight daughter. It's up to the daughter—and I've failed." A moment later, she was snoring loudly. The other regarded her now, with a pang in her evil heart. It always made her sad to see her only daughter like that. She had fostered hopes, while this one was growing up, that she would be a lady; she had sent her to school with the funds she got in any way she could; but heredity was too strong. They wouldn't have the girl after six months, at the boarding school she attended in Grantville. No, they expelled her with an emphatic letter, that she should not return the following season. She swore when she read the letter from the president, and forthwith sent her to another. The offense was repeated. She sent her then to a catholic convent. But in some way she escaped from this, and when her mother saw her two months later, she was living in adultery.
Mildred renewed her canvass that afternoon, and, under the spell of the work, she was able, after a time, in part, to forget the worry that possessed her. She returned to her room, humming a little song, much to the surprise of herself. She hushed, however, when she approached the house. The face of the black woman seemed more cruel every time she saw it. She wished she had another place. But, since she had moved in, she decided to make the best of it.
All that week she worked away diligently. She worked to forget what had frightened her away from her friends, and her success was great. She placed the book in scores of homes through her concentrated efforts, and when she returned at night, she was invariably so much exhausted, that she retired early, and fell asleep the minute she touched the bed, and awakened each morning, rested and spurred on to a greater effort.