Martie, the Unconquered. Kathleen Thompson Norris

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СКАЧАТЬ were free to begin a conversation. Martie's happiness was flooding her spirit like a golden tide; she was conscious, under all the sordid actualities of a home dinner, that something sweet—sweet—sweet—had happened to her. She bubbled news.

      Grace Hawkes actually was going to work Monday—Rose was going back to visit Alma—they had met Doc' Ben, hadn't they, Sally? Oh, and Rodney Parker was home!

      "Lucky stiff!" Lenny commented in reference to Rodney.

      "He's awfully nice!" Martie said eagerly. "He walked up with us!"

      "With us—with YOU!" Sally corrected archly.

      "What time was that?" their father asked suddenly.

      "About—oh, half-past four or five. Sally and I went down for the mail."

      "Rodney Parker … " Leonard began. "Say, mama, this is all cold," he interrupted himself to say coaxingly.

      "I'll warm it for you, Babe," Lydia said, rising as her mother began to rise, and reaching for the boy's plate.

      "Don't call me BABE!" he protested.

      His older sister gave his rough head a good-natured pat as she passed him.

      "You're all the baby we have, Lenny—and he was an awfully sweet baby, wasn't he, ma?" she said.

      "Rodney Parker's going to be in the Bank; I bet he doesn't stay," Leonard resumed. "Could you get me into the Bank, Pa?"

      "Dear me—I remember that boy as such a handsome baby, before you were born, Martie," her mother said. "And to think he's been through college!"

      "I wish I could go to college, you bet!" observed Lenny. His father shot him a glance.

      "Your grandfather was a college graduate, my son, and as you know only an accident cut short my own stay at my alma mater—hem!" he said pompously. "I have no money to throw away; yet, when you have decided upon a profession, you need only come to your father with a frank, manly statement of your plans, and what can be done will be done; you know that." He wiped his moustache carefully, and glanced about, meeting the admiring gaze of wife and daughters.

      "If you've got any sense, you'll go, Len," Martie said. "I wish you'd let me go study to be a trained nurse, Pa! Miss Fanny wants me to go into the lib'ary. I bet I could do it, and I'd like it, too … "

      "And speaking of your grandfather reminds me," Malcolm said heavily, "that one of the things that delayed me to-day was a matter that came up a week or two ago. When the town buys the old Archer ranch as a Park, they propose to put twelve thousand dollars into improvements—"

      "Oh, joy!" said Martie. "Excuse me, Pa!"

      "The trolley will pass it," her father pursued, "the Park being almost exactly half-way between Monroe and Pittsville. Now Pittsville … "

      "What do you bet they get all the glory?" Martie flashed. "Their Woman's Club … " Her voice fell: "I DO beg your pardon, Pa!" she said again contritely.

      "I can discuss this with your mother," Malcolm said in majestic patience.

      "Oh, no! PLEASE, Pa!"

      Her father studied her coldly, while the table waited with bated breath.

      "Pittsville," he resumed in a measured voice, without moving his eyes from his third daughter, "is, as usual, making a very strong and a most undignified claim for the Park. They wish it to be known as the Pittsville Casino. But Selwyn told me to-day that our people propose to take a leading share of the liability and to call the Park the Monroe Grove."

      He paused. His listeners exchanged glances of surprise and gratification.

      "Not that there's a tree there now!" Martie said cheerfully.

      It was an unfortunate speech, breaking irreverently as it did upon this moment of exaltation. Lydia hastily came to Martie's relief.

      "Pa! ISN'T that splendid—for Grandfather Monroe! I think that's very nice. They know what this town would have amounted to without HIM! All those fine reference books in the library—and files and files of bound magazine's! And didn't he give the property for the church?"

      Every one present was aware that he had; there was enthusiastic assent about the table.

      "They propose," Malcolm added as a climax, "to erect a statue of Leonard Monroe in a prominent place in that Park; my gift."

      "Pa!" said a delighted chorus. The girls' shining eyes were moist.

      "It was Selwyn's idea that there should be a fund for the cost of the statue," their father said. "But as the town will feel the added taxation in any case, I propose to make that my gift. The cost is not large, the time limit for paying it indefinite."

      "Twenty thousand dollars?" Martie, who had a passion for guessing, ventured eagerly.

      "Not so much." But Malcolm was pleased to have the reality so much more moderate than the guess. "Between two and three thousand."

      "Some money!" Leonard exclaimed. He grinned at Martie contemptuously. "TWENTY!" said he.

      "Your sister naturally has not much idea of the value of money," Malcolm said, with what was for him rare tolerance. "Yes, it is a large sum, but I can give it, and if my townspeople turn to me for this tribute to their most distinguished pioneer … "

      During the rest of the meal no other subject was discussed.

      The evening was bright with memories and dreams for Martie. When a large dish of stewed apples in tapioca had been eaten, the whole family rose and left the room, and Belle, the little maid, came in wearily, alone, to attack the disordered table. For two hours the sound of running water and the dragging of Belle's heavy feet would be heard in the kitchen. Meanwhile, Belle's mother, in a small house down in the village, would keep looking at the clock and wondering whatever had become of Belle, and Belle's young man would loiter disconsolately at the bridge, waiting.

      The three Monroe girls and their mother went into the parlour, Malcolm going across the hall to a dreary library, where he had an old-fashioned cabinet desk, and Lenny gaining a reluctant consent to his request to go down to "Dutch's" house, where he and Dutch would play lotto.

      "Why doesn't Dutch Harrison ever come here to play lotto?" Martie asked maliciously. "You go to Dutch's because it's right down near Bonestell's and Mallon's and the Pool Parlour!" Leonard shot her a threatening glance, accepted a half-permission, snatched his cap and was gone.

      The parlour was large, cold, and uncomfortable, its woodwork brown, its walls papered in dark green. Lydia lighted the fire, and as Leonard had made his escape, Belle brought up a supplementary hodful of coal. Martie lighted two of the four gas jets, and settled down to solitaire. Sally read "Idylls of the King." Lydia and her mother began to sew, the older woman busy with mending a hopelessly worn table-cloth, the younger one embroidering heavy linen with hundreds of knots. Lydia had been making a parasol top for more than a year. They gossiped in low, absorbed tones of the affairs of friends and neighbours; the endless trivial circumstances so interesting to the women of a small town.

      There were two gas jets, also on hinged arms, beside the white marble fireplace, and one СКАЧАТЬ