Kitabı oku: «The Rosie World», sayfa 9

CHAPTER XX
A FEVERED WORLD

It was a sultry, oppressive night, hard enough for adults to endure and fearfully weakening to teething babies. The next day the heat continued and Geraldine fretted and drooped until Rosie was frantic with anxiety.

"Rosie dear, you're all pale and thin," her mother remarked, and Janet McFadden, looking at her affectionately, said: "Now, Rosie, why don't you let me deliver your papers for a couple of days? You're fagged out."

"No," Rosie said. "If you'll keep on coming over in the afternoon while I'm away, that's help enough."

"But, Rosie, I could do your papers easy enough. I know all your customers."

"'Tain't that, Janet. Of course, you know them. And I thank you for offering, for it sure is the hottest time of the day. But it's my only chance to get away from home for a little while and I think I'd just die if I didn't go."

So she went, as usual, though her feet dragged heavily and her eyes throbbed with a dull headache.

On the better streets the houses were tight shut to keep out the heat; but the doors and windows of the tenements were open, and Rosie could see the inside of untidy rooms where lackadaisical women lounged about and dirty, whiny children played and wrangled. Hitherto Rosie's thrifty little soul had sat in hard judgment on the inefficient tenement-dwellers, but today she looked at them with a sudden tenderness.

Poor souls, perhaps if all were known they would not be altogether to blame. Perhaps they, too, had once longed to give their babies the chance of life that all babies should have. Perhaps it was their failure in this, through poverty and ignorance, that was the real cause of their apathy and indifference. Rosie felt that she was almost going that way herself. Then, too, the husbands of many of these women were selfish and brutal; and surely it was enough to break a woman's spirit to have the man she had loved and trusted turn on her like a fiend. Rosie knew!

Not that she herself was angry any longer with George Riley. Goodness, no! It wasn't a question of anger. She simply had no feeling for him one way or another. How could she, when it was as if the part of her heart he had once occupied had been cut out of her with a big, bloody knife! She merely regarded him now as she would any stranger. She would be polite to him – she tried always to be polite to every one – polite, yes; but nothing more. So when she handed him his supper-pail that evening at the corner, she said, "Good-evening." Common politeness required that much, but she did not feel that it required her to hear or to understand his plaintive, "Aw, now, Rosie!" as she turned from him.

No! Without doubt all that should ever again pass between them was, "Good-morning" or "Good-evening." And it was all right that it should be so. She wouldn't have it otherwise if she could. She told herself this as she walked home, repeating it so often that she quite persuaded herself of its truth. Yet, when Terry happened upon her unexpectedly a few moments later, he looked at her in surprise.

"What's the matter, Rosie? What you cryin' about?"

"N-nuthin'," Rosie quavered. "I – I guess I'm worried about Geraldine."

"Aw, don't you worry about Geraldine," Terry advised kindly. "This weather's got to break soon and then Geraldine'll be all right."

CHAPTER XXI
THE STORM

Terry was right. The change came the very next afternoon. Rosie had finished her papers and was on her way home when suddenly the wind rose and great masses of black storm-clouds came driving across the sky. Thunder rumbled, lightning crackled, and in a few minutes rain came swishing down in great long, splashy drops.

Instead of running for shelter, Rosie obeyed the impulse of the moment and stood where she was. She clutched a lamp-post to keep from being blown away, and then, turning her face to the sky, let the sweet, comforting rain wash down upon her and soak her through and through.

It was like a great, cool, refreshing shower-bath: it washed the dusty earth clean once again; it brought back a crispness to the air; it loosened the nervous tension under which all living things had been straining for days.

The clouds broke as suddenly, almost, as they had gathered. Watching them, Rosie sighed and shivered. "Oh, but that was nice!" Her hair was plastered over her head in loose, wet little ringlets, and her clothes hung tightly about her body. When she walked, her old shoes oozed and gurgled with water. She hurried home; yes, actually hurried, for it was cool enough to hurry; and besides, her wet clothes were beginning to chill her.

Janet McFadden met her with shining eyes. "Oh, Rosie, what do you think? She's asleep! And she's just took her bottle, too – all of it, without waking up! Oh, I'm so happy!"

Rosie looked at Janet affectionately. "You've been awful good, Janet, helping me this way."

"Good – nuthin'!" Janet scoffed. "Aren't you paying me good money?.. But, Rosie, listen here about Geraldine: I wouldn't be a bit surprised if things'd be all right now. Those old teeth are certainly through. I let her bite my finger on both sides, just to see."

Perhaps Janet was right. Perhaps things were arranging themselves. Rosie's heart sang a tremulous little song of happiness as she rubbed herself dry and put on fresh clothes. The world wasn't such a bad place after all, and the people in it weren't so bad, either. There was Janet – good, kind Janet – and Terry, and nice old George Riley – Rosie stopped short to scowl at herself in amazement. Then she repeated, defiantly, nice old George Riley. For he was nice! And he always had been nice, too! What if he had forgotten himself once? Hadn't other people as well? Hadn't everybody, Rosie herself included, been crazy with the heat?

As Rosie looked at things now her only surprise was that George hadn't forgotten himself oftener! Come to think of it, he had kept his temper better than any one else in the family… Dear old George! Rosie wanted to put her arms about his neck that instant and tell him how much she loved him.

Her first way of doing this was by saying to him as she handed him his supper-pail at six o'clock: "Oh, Jarge, what do you think? Geraldine's been asleep all afternoon!" This was a greeting very different from a cold, "Good-evening, Jarge," and George would understand the difference.

He did. His face beamed with understanding. "I'm awful glad, Rosie; honest I am!" Then as he ran back to his car he called out: "Rosie, wait up for me tonight. I've got something to tell you – something fine!"

"All right, Jarge, I will!" Rosie spoke with all her old-time enthusiasm, and waved him a frantic farewell.

CHAPTER XXII
A CHANCE FOR GERALDINE

After finishing her household duties and preparing Geraldine's last bottle, Rosie had nothing more to do but to enjoy the cool of the evening with the rest of the family. They were seated on the little front porch, Mrs. O'Brien and Jamie on chairs and Terence on the porch steps. Rosie took her place opposite Terence to await the arrival of George Riley.

In good time he came, bursting with his bit of news. "Hello, Rosie! Hello, everybody!" he called out before he was inside the gate. He had a letter in his hand which he waved excitedly in Rosie's face.

"See this, Rosie? It's from mother; and what do you think? You and Geraldine are to go out to the country for two weeks and maybe three! What do you say to that?"

For a moment Rosie had nothing to say. Then she gasped: "Why, Jarge, what do you mean?"

"And you're to start tomorrow, Rosie, on the eleven o'clock train, and dad'll be at the station to meet you. You'll know him 'cause he looks just like the farmers in the Sunday papers, with a big straw hat and thin whiskers. And he drives an old white horse – Billy's his name."

"Mercy on us, Jarge Riley, how you talk!" Mrs. O'Brien leaned forward in excitement. "What's this ye're sayin'?"

George laughed and started over again. "You see, Mis' O'Brien, Rosie and me was talking the other day about babies and the country, and then Geraldine began crying and I thought to myself, 'Well, I'll just write to mother and see.' I wrote that morning, and here's the answer. The postman gave it to me as I was starting out this afternoon."

"That's it, is it?" Mrs. O'Brien seemed to understand perfectly. To Rosie, however, the news still sounded too good to be true.

"Jarge, do you mean your mother has invited Geraldine and me out to the country for a couple o' weeks?"

"Sure, that's what I mean. And you're to start tomorrow – "

"Oh, Jarge, and can Geraldine sleep on the upstairs porch where the breeze always blows and they's no mosquitoes or flies?"

"O' course she can, and you can, too!"

Rosie was laughing and crying together. "Do you hear that, Ma? She's going to have a chance to sleep and get back her strength and then she'll be able to pull over this horrible teething time, and then she won't – she won't have to die!"

Rosie put her arms about George's neck and covered his cheek with tears and kisses. Then suddenly she paused.

"But, Jarge, I don't know whether I can go! What about my papers?"

George laughed. "Aw, let the papers go blow! Anyway, can't Janet McFadden take them?"

Rosie appealed to Terry. "Can she, Terry?"

Terry nodded. "Sure she can. Don't you worry about those papers. Me and Janet'll get on all right. You take Geraldine and skip off and stay away as long as Mis' Riley wants you."

George spread out his hands. "So you see, Rosie, everything's arranged. You're to start tomorrow on the eleven – "

"But, Jarge, wait a minute! We can't start tomorrow 'cause our things aren't ready. A whole lot of Geraldine's clothes and mine, too, got to be washed."

"Can't you take 'em with you and wash 'em in the country?"

"Oh, Jarge!" The suggestion was evidently a horrible one, for Mrs. O'Brien and Rosie spoke together.

George looked troubled. "But, Rosie, you got to start tomorrow. Didn't I tell you that dad and Billy are going to drive down to meet you?"

Mrs. O'Brien stood up. "Make your mind easy, Jarge. Rosie'll be ready on time. I'll go in this minute and do that washin' now, and the things'll be all dry and ready for ironin' by early mornin'."

Rosie gasped. "Why, Ma, it's going on ten o'clock!"

"Rosie dear, I don't care what o'clock it's going on. If it's the last mortal thing I ever do for you, I'm going to do that washin' tonight, for, if I do say it, ye're the best child that ever trod shoe-leather."

Jamie O'Brien's tilted chair came down on the porch floor with a thud, while Jamie remarked solemnly: "You're right, Maggie; she is!"

Mrs. O'Brien moved toward the door. "Come on, Rosie dear, and help me gather the things."

Rosie started up, then paused to glance from one to another of them. In the soft glow of the summer night she could see that they were all looking at her with the same expression of love and tenderness. Rosie choked. "I don't see why – everybody's – so kind – to me!"

She turned back to George. "And I've been just horrible to you, Jarge! You'll forgive me, won't you? I guess it was the weather."

"Aw, go on!" George spoke with a gruffness that deceived nobody. "I guess it's been the weather with all of us!"

CHAPTER XXIII
HOME AGAIN

George Riley protested vigorously: "But I tell you she's only a little girl and she's got a baby and a big basket and I don't know how many other things and some one's just got to help her!"

With anxious headshakes Terence and Janet McFadden corroborated all George Riley said, but the gatekeeper was firm. "Only passengers this side the fence," he repeated.

So the three friends had to wait while the long train slowly disgorged. Terence stood guard on one side of the gate, George Riley on the other, while Janet pressed a tense searching face through the bars of the high division fence. The first arrivals were the dapper quick young men with new leather bags and walking-sticks who, in their eagerness to arrive, always drop off a train before it stops. After them came more men and the more agile of the women passengers. Then the general rush and crush: the fussy people laden down with parcels; old ladies struggling to protect their small handbags from the assaults of porters; distracted mothers jerking their broods hither and thither; middle-aged men murmuring to wives and daughters, "No rush! No rush! Plenty of time!"

"Maybe she missed the train!" Janet McFadden suggested tragically.

The crush subsided, the last stragglers passed through the gate, and then, just as Janet remarked gloomily, "Well, I was perfectly sure she wasn't coming!" a little girl with a baby in her arms alighted from a coach far down the track and stood where she was while the conductor piled the ground about her with boxes and parcels and baskets innumerable.

"There she is! There she is!" Janet and Terence cried out together.

The gatekeeper looked at them a little less sternly. "Well, I guess you can come in now."

Janet dashed through the gate with her arms raised high, calling out a joyful "Rosie! Rosie!" George Riley and Terence followed close on her heels, and in a moment Rosie and the baby were enveloped in a cloud of hugs and kisses.

"Oh!" Rosie gasped, "but it's nice to be back! And I'm so glad to see you all!.. Here, Jarge, you take that heavy box and be awful careful. It has jelly in it and canned fruit and I made them all myself, too! Your mother taught me how… You take the big basket, Terry. That's our clothes. And I think you can take the basket of vegetables in the other hand. Janet'll take that bundle, won't you, Janet? They's two dressed chickens in it and I plucked them myself, too. Mis' Riley showed me how. And you take the shoe-box, Janet. It's full of cookies. Hold it straight so's not to break them… I'll take that last basket in my other hand. You can't guess what's in it, can they, Geraldine? It's Geraldine's little pussy cat! We just couldn't leave it, could we, baby? Geraldine named it herself. She named it Jarge."

"After me, I suppose," George said, and they all laughed as if this were a mighty fine joke.

"Now are we ready?" Rosie asked, making a quick count of bundles and baskets. "I'm not leaving anything, am I?"

George groaned. "I should hope not! Tell you one thing: I can't carry any more. Say, Rosie, what have you filled your jelly glasses with? Rocks?"

This was another fine joke and it carried them out of the station and all the way to the cars.

"Now watch me play the Rube," George whispered with a wink. When the conductor came for their fares, George fumbled in his pocket, counted the change laboriously, then asked for an impossible transfer. The conductor tried patiently to explain, at which George slapped him on the shoulder and roared out: "Aw, go on! I'm a railroad man myself!" At this everybody laughed and the conductor and George became friends on the spot.

At the home corner, small Jack was waiting and, before Rosie was fairly off the car, he was calling out excitedly: "Hello, Rosie! Hello! What did you bring me from the country?"

"Oh, you darling Jackie! I'm so glad to see you!" Rosie kissed him on both cheeks, then answered his question. "A little turtle! It's in a box at the bottom of the vegetable basket that Terry's carrying."

Jack danced up and down in delight. "Oh, Rosie, can't I have it now? Please!"

"No, no, Jackie, you must wait till we get home."

"Aw, Rosie, all right for you!" Jack looked at her reproachfully, then shouted out: "Come on! Come on! Let's hurry home!"

At home Mrs. O'Brien and Jamie were waiting for them with outstretched arms.

"Ah, Rosie," her mother exclaimed, with fluttering hands and streaming eyes; "I'm that glad to see you, I'm weepin'! And will ye look at wee Geraldine as fat and smilin' as a suckin' pig! Ah, Geraldine darlint, come to yir own ma!"

Jamie O'Brien, less demonstrative than his wife, patted Rosie's head gently. "It's mighty glad I am to have you back. Why, do you know, Rosie, since you've been gone there hasn't been a soul in the house to hand me a pipe of an evening!"

"You poor old Dad!" Rosie began sympathetically. She would have said more but small Jack interrupted.

"Now, Rosie, give me my turtle! You promised you would!"

"Of course I did," Rosie acknowledged, "and I'll get it for you right now. Here, Terry, let me have the vegetable basket." Rosie thrust her hands among the onions and cabbages and drew out a small pasteboard box generously pierced with air holes.

"Here it is, Jackie dear."

Jack pulled off the string, tore open the box, and gaped in wide-eyed delight. "Oh, Rosie, thanks! thanks! It's a beaut!" For one moment mere possession was enough, on the next came an overpowering desire to exhibit his treasure before an admiring and envious world.

"Say, Rosie, I got to run down and see Joe Slattery. I'll be back in a minute."

Mrs. O'Brien put out a detaining hand. "No, you won't be going down to see any Joe Slattery! Dinner's ready and you'll be comin' in with the rest of the family this minute. Come along, Rosie dear."

Rosie paused. "Can't we keep Janet, Ma? Is there enough?"

Mrs. O'Brien nodded her head emphatically. "Sure there's enough and, if there ain't, we'll make it enough."

"Thanks, Mis' O'Brien, but I don't believe I better stay." Janet spoke regretfully. "You know my mother ain't very well these days and I don't like to leave her alone too long."

"Why, Janet!" Rosie looked at her friend in sudden concern. "Is your mother sick?"

Janet shook her head. "I don't know what's the matter with her. It seems like the hot weather and the work and the worry have been too much for her. But I'll be back, Rosie, at three o'clock for our papers. I got two new customers, didn't I, Terry? And, Rosie, what do you think? Terry gave me an extra nickel for each of them."

Janet started off and Mrs. O'Brien exclaimed: "Now, then, for dinner! All of yez!"

"See you later, Rosie," George Riley remarked, opening the door of his own room.

Mrs. O'Brien called after him excitedly: "Why, Jarge lad, where's this you're going? Aren't you sitting down with the rest of us?"

"I ain't more than had my breakfast," George explained; "and I think I better get in a little nap before I start out on my next run." He nodded to Rosie, smiled, and shut his door.

"Poor Jarge!" Mrs. O'Brien threw sympathetic eyes to heaven and sighed.

Rosie looked at her mother quickly. "Is there anything the matter with Jarge?"

"Poor fella!" Mrs. O'Brien went on in the same lugubrious tone. "He's as honest as the day and I'm sure I wish him every blessing under heaven. Never in me life have I liked a boarder as much as I like Jarge. He's no trouble at all, at all, and it was mighty kind of his mother inviting you and Geraldine to the country. No, no, Rosie, you must never make the mistake of supposing I'm not fond of Jarge!"

"Ma," Rosie begged; "tell me what's the matter!" She stopped suddenly and two little points of steel came into her blue eyes. "Is it Ellen? Has she been doing something to him again?"

Mrs. O'Brien looked grieved. "Why, Rosie, I'm surprised at you – I am that, to hear you talk that way about your poor sister Ellen. And such a bit of news as I've got about Ellen, too! Sit down now and, when I serve you, I'll tell you."

There was no hurrying Mrs. O'Brien and Rosie, knowing this, said no more. At heart she gave a little sigh. It was as if a shadow were overcasting the bright joy of her home-coming. She had arrived so full of her own happiness that she had failed to see any evidence of the care and worry which, she realized now, had plainly stamped the faces of her two dearest friends. Poor Janet McFadden! For one reason or another it had always been poor Janet. And now, apparently, it was to be poor George Riley as well.

CHAPTER XXIV
GEORGE TURNS

"Now!" Everything was on the table and there was no further excuse for Mrs. O'Brien's not seating herself. She dropped into a chair and beamed upon Rosie triumphantly. "And just to think, Rosie dear, that you don't yet know about Ellen! Ellen's got a job! She's starting in on eight dollars a week and she's to go to ten in a couple of weeks if she's satisfactory. And you know yourself that twenty dollars is nothing for a fine stenographer to be getting nowadays. And twenty a week means eighty a month and eighty a month means close on to a thousand a year! Now I do say that a thousand a year is a pretty big lump of money for a girl like Ellen to be making!"

Mrs. O'Brien's enthusiasm was genuine but scarcely infectious. Terence jerked his head toward Rosie with a dry aside: "She started work yesterday on a week's trial."

Mrs. O'Brien looked at her son reprovingly. "Why, Terry lad, how you talk! On trial, indeed! As if a trial ain't a sure thing with a girl that's got the fine looks and the fine education that Ellen's got!"

"Fine education – rats! I bet she knows as much about stenography as a bunny!"

His mother gazed on him offended and hurt. "Since you're such a wise young man, Mister Terence O'Brien, perhaps you'll be telling us how much you know about it, yourself."

Terry's answer was prompt: "Not a blamed thing! But I tell you what I do know: I know Ellen, and you can take it from me she's a frost."

Rosie sighed plaintively. "But where does Jarge come in? What's the matter with Jarge."

Terence answered her shortly: "Oh, nuthin'. Ellen only played him one of her little tricks last week and he's mad."

"And I must say," Mrs. O'Brien supplemented, "Jarge does surprise me the way he keeps it up. After all, Ellen's only a young girl and he ought to remember that every young girl makes a mistake now and then."

"What mistake did she make this time?" Rosie spoke as quietly as she could.

"It's a long story," her mother said. "Since you've been gone she met a fella named Finn, Larry Finn, and we all thought him very nice, he was that polite with his hair always brushed and shiny and smooth. He had a good job downtown – "

"You know his kind, Rosie," Terry interposed; "a five dollar a week book-keep – silk socks but no undershirt. Oh, he was a great sport! Ellen was crazy about him."

"Terence O'Brien, have ye no manners to be takin' the words out of yir own mother's mouth! Now hold yir tongue while I explain to Rosie." Terence subsided and Mrs. O'Brien started in afresh: "Well, as I was saying, this Finn fella took a great fancy to Ellen and was coming around every night to see her. He took her to the movies and gave her ice-cream sodas and they were getting on fine. Then last week he was going to take her to the Twirler Club's Annual Ball."

"The Twirlers' Ball!" Rosie looked at her mother questioningly.

That lady waved a reassuring hand. "Oh, the ball was all right this year – perfectly nice and decent. Ellen found out about it beforehand. Not like last year! No drunks was to be allowed on the floor and none of them disgraceful dances. Oh, if it had been like last year, I'd never have consented to Ellen's going! You know that, Rosie!"

"Huh!" grunted Terry.

His mother paid no heed to him. "As I was saying, Rosie, the night before the ball, Larry had to come excusing himself because they had just told him he would have to stay working till all hours the next night. So there was poor Ellen, who might have had her pick a week or two earlier, left high and dry at the last moment. I tell you, Rosie, it would have wrung your heart to see the poor girl's disappointment. A girl of less spirit would have given up, but not Ellen. Ellen was going to that ball and you know how firm Ellen is once she makes up her mind. So she just asked Jarge Riley to take her."

"Ma! Do you mean to say she had the cheek to ask poor Jarge after the way she's been treating him all these months!"

"Ah, ah, don't look at me that way, Rosie! Of course I mean it. Why shouldn't she ask him? He's a nice fella and, besides that, he's a friend of the family."

"Say, Terry, what do you know about that?" Rosie appealed to her brother sure that he, at least, would understand the humiliation she felt both at Ellen's manœuvre and at their mother's calm acceptance of it.

Terry did understand and gave her the sympathy of a quick nod and a short laugh. "What do you expect? You know Ellen."

"Well, all I got to say is: it's a shame!" Tears of indignation stood in Rosie's eyes. "She treats him like a dog and then, when it suits her, she makes use of him. It's an outrage – that's what it is! I suppose he went, of course. Poor Jarge is so easy."

Mrs. O'Brien nodded her head. "Sure he went. He didn't want to at first because he didn't like Ellen mixing up with the Twirlers. When she insisted, he said, all right, he'd go."

"Is that all?" Rosie asked.

"All!" echoed her mother. "Bless your heart, no! It's hardly the beginning!"

Rosie sighed.

"Aw, Ma," Terry protested, "look at you! You're tiring Rosie all out and it's only her first day home. Why don't you spit it out quick?"

"Terry, Terry, that's not a nice way to talk, telling your poor ma to spit it out! Shame on you, lad, for using such a word!"

"Well, what happened at the ball?" Rosie begged.

"I was coming to that, Rosie dear, when Terry interrupted me. As I was saying, who showed up at the ball quite unexpected-like but Larry Finn. When Ellen saw Larry she turned to Jarge and says to him that, if he wanted to go home early, he needn't wait for her, that Larry would take care of her."

"Oh, Ma!" Rosie's eyes grew bright and her cheeks a deeper pink. "Do you mean to say after letting poor Jarge take her and pay her admission she turned around and treated him like that!"

Mrs. O'Brien lifted disclaiming hands. "Mind now, I'm not trying to defend Ellen, but I do say she's only a young girl and young girls make mistakes now and then."

"Well," – Rosie tried to speak quietly – "what did Jarge do?"

"What did Jarge do? Something awful! Now remember, Rosie dear, I'm not trying to run Jarge down. He's a nice fella and he's a kind fella and I've never had a boarder that was so easy to please and, as I've told you before, it was mighty good of him having his mother invite you and Geraldine to the country. But I must say he did act something scandalous that night."

Mrs. O'Brien paused to shake her head impressively and Rosie, in desperation, appealed to Terence. "Tell me, Terry, what did he do?"

Terry grinned. "What did he do? Why, he laid for Larry Finn and, when Larry and Ellen came out, he punched Larry's face for him!"

"It was something awful!" Mrs. O'Brien again declared. "Every day for a week poor Larry had to carry a black eye with him down to the office. And you know yourself the way other men laugh at a black eye. And he's not been here to see Ellen since and Ellen's awful mad and, besides that, no one else has been coming, for the word has gone out that Jarge'll kill any fella that's fool enough to be showin' his face."

"Well, it's just good for her, too!" Ellen's unexpected plight was the one thing in the whole situation that gave Rosie any satisfaction. However, she gloated on it only for a moment. "But about Jarge, Terry – did he get pulled in that night?"

Terry shook his head. "No. You see the ball was ending up in a free-for-all, just like the Twirlers always do, and the cops were so busy inside that there was no one left to pay any attention to a little thing like Jarge's scrap."

"And I must say," Mrs. O'Brien continued, "I'm sorry for that poor Larry Finn, for it wasn't his fault at all, at all. It was Ellen's own arrangement."

"That's so," Rosie agreed. "By rights Ellen's the one that ought to have got beat up."

"Why, Rosie, I'm surprised to hear you say such a thing and about your own sister, too!"

Mrs. O'Brien's surprise was lost upon Rosie, who was looking intently at her father. "Say, Dad, what do you think of a girl doing a trick like that on two decent fellows?"

Jamie O'Brien, who had said nothing up to this, took a drink of tea, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and slowly cleared his throat. "It's me own opinion, Rosie, it's a very risky game that Ellen's playing."

"Risky? It's worse than risky: it's dishonest."

Rosie started to push back her chair, but her mother stretched out a detaining hand. "Wait a minute, Rosie. You haven't yet heard what I'm trying to tell you."

Rosie's eyes opened wide. "Is there any more?"

"To be sure there is, Rosie. You've only heard the beginning."

Rosie dropped back in her chair a little limply. What more could there be?

Mrs. O'Brien breathed hard and long; she sighed; she gazed about at the various members of her family. At last she spoke:

"I don't know what's come over Jarge since that night. You know yourself what an easy-going young fella he's always been, never holding a grudge, always ready to let bygones be bygones. Well, he's never forgiven Ellen from that night on. He scowls at her like a storm-cloud every time he sees her and last week, Rosie – why, you'll hardly believe me when I tell you what he said to her last week. We were all sitting here at the table: your poor da over there, and Terry in his place, and Jack beside him, and meself here. Ellen made some thriflin' remark about how silly a girl is to marry herself to one man when she might be going around having a good time with half a dozen – nuthin' at all, you understand, just the way Ellen always runs on, when, before I knew what was happening, Jarge jumped to his feet and pounded the table until every dish on it was rattlin'. 'That's how you feel, is it?' says he, glaring at poor Ellen like a mad bull. 'Well, if that's your little game,' says he, 'I've been a goat long enough. Not another thing will I ever do for you, Ellen O'Brien, not another blessed cent will I ever spend on you until you tell me you'll marry me and set the date. And what's more,' says he, 'I'll give you one month from today to decide,' says he. 'I'll be going back to the farm in September,' says he, 'so it's time I knew pretty straight just where we stand. So no more foolin', me lady,' says he. 'It's to be yes or no to Jarge Riley and that's the end of it.'"

"Good for Jarge! Good for Jarge!" Rosie cried, clapping her hands in excitement. "He was able for her that time, wasn't he?"