SEVEN COINS.

Gisborne Times, Volume XXVII, Issue 2628, 9 October 1909, Page 2 (Supplement)

SEVEN COINS.

(M. Bauss, in the August “McClure.”)

The seven coins were all in Dixie s little pcckot-book when she took the downstairs car'-—,a dollar, a fifty-cent. piece, a nickel, and four pennies. And doubtless it was because it seemed better to increase than to diminish their number that she selected the half-dollar when the conductor approached. She looked long and soberly at the coin, for her conscience told her it was very imprudent for her to .take the trolley at all.

However, as every sensible person knows,; it is a long lane that has no turning. At this reflection, Dixie’s face broke into such a smile that it was as if a morning glory had suddenly opened. She began to play “peep” with a baby opposite in a way to make everyone- foiget to notice the shabby skirt she wore, her worn-out gloves and the brassy chain on her pocket-book. She held out her money without looking at the con-

doctor. On its way to his change pociiet his hand stopped, and he looked hard at the coin Dixie' had given him, “I can’t take this, lady,” he said, snappishly; hut after a glance at her bright, puzzled lace, he changed his tone. “This money isn’t good,’.; he explained kindly. “Someone has given you a bad half dollar.”

All the color dropped out of the morn-

ing-glory lace, it became pale and bigoyod, and proclaimed to the careful that the shabby skirt with the gloves and the thin pocket-book with its brassy chain, had a meaning; that the loss of a half-dollar was a tragedy. Holding by

a strap near Dixie stood the man who had given her a seat when she came aboard—a well-clad, well-fed business nan, with a newspaper. At the sight cf her distress, lie put- his hand into his pocket, with a quiet nod to the conductor. And Dixie realised with shame that lie meant to pay her fare; he supposed she bad no nickel of her own. She hastened to produce the coin; but when she received back from the conductor her lead half-dollar, she looked at it awhile, very soberly. The car lurched round a corner, and stopped to take on possengers. When she looked up the business man who had given her a seat was watching her. “Do you know where you got it?” he askecl. He had a nice face and he had lifted his hat when he gave Dixie his seat. This pleased her. So she smiled again, as she answered, “From an Italian with a push-cart. “Too had!” the man laughed, and shook his head; then lie began to read

his paper. The conductor came through and told him to move towards the front as a crowd of working women had got on; and Dixie did not see him

again. At Ninth and Larrimore she left the car. She really felt that the tide was about turning. It was such a nice cheery day, after a week of rain and snow —her absurdly high spirits went up again. A dollar and four cents, was really a great deal of money, she thought; and winding the chain about her. purse she clutched it tightly, as she took her way through the morning crowd. Overhead, along Ninth, was a tangled skein of wires; underfoot, slush and mud. But in the florist’s windows were daffodils and Parma violets, and all about her was stir and noise, the pleasant, friendly voice of the big town.

Smiling and expectant, she presented herself at the Ninth Street employment agency. “You are Miss Jones?” asked the agent. “You’ve been out of work a long time —” Dixie assented, suddenly sober. “Well, I got you a place last night.” “Oh where?” A million-dollar bequest could not have called out a more radiant smile.

“Go down to Phelps and Harding, the wholesale stationers, and tell them you are Miss Jones,to help in the rush order. It’ll be a month’s work, eight a week, and one week’s pay in advance. They always do that for help.” “Oh, I’ve heard they are the very nicest people in town to work'for!” The language was inadequate to express her joy. “Yes, they’re people, all right, that will be one dollar, Miss Jones.”. Ho held out a fat, dirty palm.

In spite of her good fortune, Dixie felt a bit serious as she gave him her dollar; for it seemed, even- though she had a place, rather terrifying to be out by one’s self in the city, with only four cents in one’s purse; The pennies looked small and inefficient, and the bad company they were in—the big, cheap, fifty-cent, piece—robbed them of respectability. And yety she was afraid to throw the lead coin away, because so very little' would he left. She was soon happy again, as she took her way to the Larrimore Street office of the big firm —her firm now. She knew where the Phelps home was, out Liberty Park way, and she had seen the more modest establishment of the' Hardings. On one occasion a girl had pointed out Mrs. Harding to her—in a white broadcloth coat which Dixie greatly admired. the big church - to which she went on Sundays, to hear the organ, Mr. Harding taught a Bible-class of young men. The girls at the business college had told her about him, and everybody said he was ‘ ’so kind,” when one worked for him. There are many people in the world who are not kind at all. “There isn’t a firm in town,” reflected. Dixie, “that I’d as soon work for.” ' ■ A month’s work, the man had said; but Dixie’s plans extended far beyond anything of that kind. She intended to ..remain permanently with the firm, and have straw sleeve-protectors to keep . * v• +* , '■ ' 1 ’ & . • Pi* •' v :A .

her shirt-waist nice. She entered the Larrimoro Street store. “Did you want something?” asked a pleasant-featured girl who was stacking envelopes in boxes. “I want to see the. man who hires

help-” , „ The girl clerk turned her head, calling, “Mr. Fisher 1” and a bald-headed man appeared from the rear. “X came to work for a month in your store,” said Dixie, with a smile that must have melted the snow "emaining in the gutters if it might have reached them. The head clerk looked surprised. “I am Miss Jones,” she informed him—and when the information, elicited no reply, “I was employed to help with a big rush order you had.” “I am sorry,” said the head clerk, “but those positions are filled. Wo wanted seven girls and over three hundred applied.” Again the color dropped out ot Dixie’s face, again her eyes grew large and her lips trembled. But she rallied. “There is some mistake,” she insisted. “I’ve been employed—l have the job.”

He shook his head. “Isn’t this Phelps and Harding’s? She glanced towards the door. Two men were coming in from the street. “Mr. Harding may have employed vou,” said Fisher. “Mr. Harding, step here a minute, please.” Harding came towards them —he was the man who had given Dixie a seat on the trolley. “Did you employ this young lady to help us with that rush order ” asked the head clerk. Harding shook his head, and his face no longer looked kind, to Dixie, but hard and! .sharp-eyed. “Do you need any more girls, Mr. Fisher?” he asked. The-head clerk shook his head. “I had three hundred applicants.” “See here—did some agent send you to us?” Harding asked. “Yes, I paid him a dollar.” She choked on the word “dollar,” <@nnd swallowed hastily, then smiled a little. “What was his name? Oh, the Ninth Street man! Do you see, Mr. Fisher, she’s been bounced. The police ought to close some of those fellows out.” Old Mr. Phelps called Harding impatiently ; he dismissed Dixie’s matters with a nod, and went away —as why shouldn’t he, since he was not a whit responsible ? Dixie realised ‘with a sinking heart, that he wasn’t—that nobodv in the wide world was, for her.

But, somehow, she was afraid to go back into the street, with only four pennies; she remained standing by the long stock counter. “You ought to go back to that agent and demand your fee back,” said Mr. Fisher,’ by way of wholesome advice. “That’s what Id do.” And as Dixie did not move, he added affably, “Leave your name and address—here, I’ll write it down—and if I have anything I’ll let you know.” So Dixie returned to the street. Its voice no longer seemed friendly, but big and menacing, hoarse with fog from the river. For the sun was dimmed again, and the spring wind felt chilly, blowing up the slushy streets. At the Ninth Street agency, the proprietor's wife was in charge a thin, sickly woman, who scowled at Dixie, and then shouted, “John!” “John” lumbered in. “Why,” he said, smiling greasily at sight of Dixie, “I thought I had you fixed in a job.”

Tremulously Dixie explained. “1 came to get my dollar back,” she finished. with a sharp sound in her voice. “Your dollar?” The smile broadened. “You didn’t pay me no fee, lady. You was to do that out of your first week’s work’n money—don’t you remember?” You are thinking of some other girl,” insisted Dixie. “I paid.” “There wag another lady in, acknowledged the agent. “Well, I’ll get the book on it.” Dixie’s heart pounded savagely as his fat finger travelled down the list, and stopped. “You didn’t pay me anything yet,” he asserted . “But I did—l know I did!” , At this the employment agent was in a fine, storm of rage. Did she accuse him of cheating her? His was an honest place, he’d have her know. She could.not bear rude words; she turned and hurried out of the agency. It was a long walk up town. Dixie’s rubbers let in much water; her feet were cold, and her limbs ached, before she reached her lodgings. Near the red-brick house with “Furnished Rooms” over its shabby lower porch was a little depot for “home-cooked foods.” When she got a whiff of its steam and saw the people going in and out with paper buckets, she knew she was very hungry- A sharp sob surprised her, clutching at her throat, and breaking,- without tears. She toiled upstairs, threw herself on the bed in her room, and lay still lor a while. All .through the lodging-house, people who lived in “light housekeeping” rooms were cooking and eating their dinners ; in all her life, she had not been so hungry till now. Again the dry sob of self-pity came. By and by she sat up and looked through her purse, turning the lining out —there was nothing new or different in it; only four cents, an old, unused transfer for the trolley line, and a bad —very bad—fifty cent piece. The afternoon went slowly;-at last supper smells began to come from the “home- cooking!’ place, and she- took her purse and went out into the foggy street.

“What shall I bily?” she thought. “What will be the cheapest?” “Beans,” she decided. Beans have the highest food value for the money—it says so on the cans. And Dixie wasn’t a great eater: a can of beans would g'vo her supper and breakfast. Her spirits came, up again; all was not lost,, while she had a prospect of.can-

ned beans, warmed over a gas-jet. , Doubtless before she was actually faced .b 5 the wolf—before- luncheon , time tomorrow somebody would give her a place row—somebody would give her a place to work. She had gone half a block before she recalled the price of one can of beans. The street .was full of women hurrying to and from bakeries and cook-shops. Here and there lights shone through the fog, blurred into long, rainy streaks.’ Dixie walked slowly into the little depot for cocked feeds, and stood in a brown, study by the counter till a woman spoke to her. “Do you want a girl to wash dishes or anything?” she asked. “Me no; I’m pestered to death with

help.” The sharp words brought Dixie’s tears, so that she could not see about her very well. She looked hard at a glass show-case. “Did you want to buy something ?” asked the proprietress. Under the glass were some doughylooking things, which Dixie took for graham gems, labelled in pencil, “One cent each.” Shelndicated these, laying down her four pennies; four of them were whisked into a paper bag, and the proprietress turned to another customer. As she stepped into the street, Dixie noticed that her bag felt very light, and peeped in. She had bought four “kisses,” of white of egg and sugar, so unsubstantial that one could eat a dozen after a roast-beef dinner. This last misfortune bewildered her. She had no heart to turn back into the store, but walked slowly home. There she sat down and ate her four white-of-egg kisses.

Her purse lay in her lap—quite empty now, for the bad fifty-cent piece had rolled away under tlie washstand. Outside the cars went back and forth, the scream of the wires breaking the sullen roar of the city. "Within the lodging-house, doors slammed, and the

smell of a dozen suppers came m over the sill of the door. She was so hungry that she could not sit still, so she left her room, went softly downstairs, through smells of ham and fried things—new odors banishing the ghosts of forgotten suppers which haunted the place—to stand in tlie doorway in the downstairs hall. Grimy people tired with their day’s work, went by her, but nobody spoke, for nobody knew her; not to stand in the way, she slipped outside and sat down in a porch chair. A trolley ear stopped at the corner, and the usual stream of people left it, flowing in four directions, sluggishly, for everybody was tired. One man came toward the lodging-house, and Dixie watched absently till his figure grew out of tlie mist. It was Harding, of Phelps and Harding, Wholesale Stationers. In her despair, an idea presented itself ; he looked kind, lie was kind— But the mere thought of approaching a stranger, of asking help from a man who was not responsible for her, overwhelmed her with shame; she could bear hunger much better than such a humiliation.

He stopped in front of the house and looked at its number, then stepped on the porch—and Dixie stood up. “This is Miss Jones, is it not?” asked the stationer. Dixie swallowed hastily, all in a shiver; and he put his hand in his pocket. “Miss Jones, I stopped to see that Ninth Street agent—and he returned your fee.” Dixie stared at him whitely for a moment, before she found her breath. Then —“Oh, thank you, thank you!” she cried, her face illuminated. “No, don’t thank me. I went after the man, you see, because I couldn’t hare him using cur name that way ; it would look as if we had gone back on a promise.” Dixie turned the coin on her cold hand, looking at tho face of the Goddess of Liberty. Harding turned away and replaced his purse. But he hesitated —'glanced back—hesitated again. “Miss Jones,” he said.

Dixie turned on the threshold. “One of our extra girls left this afternoon. If you will be at the office at eight to-morrow morning, I will see that you have a month’s work.” And then—-hastily, for he saw a yellow car turning the corner—he left.' The street lights shone softly, blurred by the fog, which chilled him where he sat in the open car. He was tired from a hard day’s work. The employment agent had been ugly to deal with, and this lodginghouse was far out of his way. “And perhaps,” he reflected, “it was not a real case of need at all; perhaps the girl has a home and is working fgr pin-money. Andl even granting I did right to get after the bunco man, it is not good business for me to hire help; Fisher doesn’t like it, and I. had no business doing it again.” An - old woman had got on, and he gave her a seat. The car lurched forward again. “No,” he reflected, “I really shouldn’t have taken that girl on. It was like me to do it on impulse; I am always doing such things. Why do I?'Why does a face follow —and follow me till I am compelled to go back and help? I wonder if I don’t pass the real want by, and worry myself about people who don’t need my meddling. Is it sentimentality that makes me do it, or i.s it God?”

There was no answer to Ins question. He left the car at his transfer point, and steed in the mist, thinking. The clergyman used to say, “Harding, you ought to be a preacher, not a business man.” Ought he? Sometimes he thought his Christianity was worth something, where lie was; sometimes lie didn’t know. • Home was miles away. He .pictured the little domestic scene. His wife was telling tlie bnbv to wateli for him —the \ ' . 1 '

i baby would have long to wait. In the dining-room the Swede girl was hurrying back and foltli, savoury odors getting in from the kitchen in spite of the well-contrived fan-leaved doors. And he was hungry, having-got a wretched lunch at noon.

Now a car was coming—nearly empty, for the evening crowd had got home. He hailed it and took a seat inside. “Anyway, I am glad I did it,” he reflected ; and a delicious content spread through him.