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Brenda's Bargain
_A Story for Girls_
BY HELEN LEAH REED
AUTHOR OF "BRENDA, HER SCHOOL AND HER CLUB" "BRENDA'S SUMMER ATROCKLEY," "BRENDA'S COUSIN AT RADCLIFFE"
ILLUSTRATED BY ELLEN BERNARD THOMPSON
BOSTON LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 1903
_Copyright, 1903,_ BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved_
Published October, 1903
UNIVERSITY PRESS JOHN WILSON AND SON CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A.
But what startled Brenda was the sight of a girl sunk ina heap beside the broken glass]
CONTENTS
I. THE BROKEN VASE 1
II. A FAMILY COUNCIL 14
III. BRENDA AT THE MANSION 26
IV. AN EXPLORING TOUR 40
V. PHILIP'S LECTURE 51
VI. IN THE STUDIO 62
VII. IN DIFFICULTIES 73
VIII. THE FRINGED GENTIAN LEAGUE 86
IX. NORA'S WORK--AND POLLY 97
X. ARTHUR'S ABSENCE 107
XI. SEEDS OF JEALOUSY 120
XII. DOUBTS AND DUTIES 126
XIII. THE VALENTINE PARTY 139
XIV. CONCILIATION 147
XV. WAR AT HAND 158
XVI. THE ARTISTS' FESTIVAL 168
XVII. IDEAL HOMES 180
XVIII. WHERE HONOR CALLS 193
XIX. THEY STAND AND WAIT 204
XX. WEARY WAITING 215
XXI. AN OCTOBER WEDDING 227
XXII. THE WINNER 239
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"But what startled Brenda was the sight of a girl sunk ina heap beside the broken glass" _Frontispiece_
"Waiting for a car they had sat down on a wayside seat" 62
"'I think I hear some one coming upstairs'" 77
"They walked through the long galleries" 136
"She seemed to take but a languid interest in the worldaround her" 224
"Brenda had never looked so well" 235
BRENDA'S BARGAIN
I
THE BROKEN VASE
One fine October afternoon Brenda Barlow walked leisurely across theCommon by one of the diagonal paths from Beacon Street to the shoppingdistrict. It was an ideal day, and as she neared the shops she halfbegrudged the time that she must spend indoors. "Now or never," shethought philosophically; "I can't send a present that I haven't pickedout myself, and I cannot very well order it by mail. But it needn't takeme very long, especially as I know just what I want."
Usually Brenda was fond of buying, and it merely was an evidence of thecharm of the day that she now felt more inclined toward a country walkthan a tour of the shops.
Once inside the large building crowded with shoppers, she found acertain pleasure in looking at the new goods displayed on the counters.It was only a passing glance, however, that she gave them, and shehastened to get the special thing that she had in mind that she might beat home in season to keep an appointment. Her errand was to choose awedding present for a former schoolmate, and she had set her heart on acut-glass rose-bowl. Yet as she wandered past counters laden withpretty, fragile things she began to waver in her choice.
"Rose-bowls!" the salesman shrugged his shoulders expressively; "theyare going out of fashion." And Brenda wondered that she had thought of athing that was not really up to date; for, recalling Ruth's weddingpresents, she remembered that among them there were not many pieces ofcut-glass, and not a single rose-bowl.
At last after some indecision she chose a delicate iridescent vase,beautiful in design, but of no use as a flower holder. Its slender stemlooked as if a touch would snap it in two. It cost twice as much as shehad meant to spend for this particular thing, and had she thought longershe would have realized that so fragile a gift would be a care to itsowner. Self-examination would have shown that she had made her choicechiefly to reflect credit on her own liberality and good taste. But herconscience had not begun to prick her as she drew from her purse thetwenty-dollar bill to pay for the purchase.
A moment later, as Brenda walked away, a crash made her turn her head. Asecond glance assured her that the glittering fragments on the floorwere the remains of her beautiful vase. But what startled Brenda morethan the shattered vase was the sight of a girl sunk in a heap besidethe broken glass. She recognized her as the cash-girl whom the clerk hadtold to pack her purchase. Evidently she had let the vase fall from herhands, and as evidently she was overcome by what had happened.
Had she fainted? Brenda, bending over her, laid her hand on the girl'shead. Aroused by the touch, the child raised her head, showing a facethat was a picture of misery. Sobs shook her slight frame, and sheallowed a kind-looking saleswoman who came from behind a counter to leadher away from the gaze of the curious. Meanwhile the salesman who hadserved Brenda brushed the bits of glass into a pasteboard-box cover.
"I'm very sorry," he said politely, "but we cannot replace that vase. AsI told you, it was in every way unique. However, there are other piecessimilar to it--a little higher-priced, perhaps--but we will make adiscount, to compensate--"
"But who pays for this?" Brenda interrupted, inclining her head towardthe broken glass.
"Oh, do not concern yourself about that, it is entirely our loss. Ofcourse, if you prefer, we can return you your money, but still--"
"Will they make that poor little girl pay for the glass?"
"Well, of course she broke it; it was entirely her fault; she let itslip from her fingers. She is always very careless."
"But I paid for it, didn't I?" asked Brenda. "That is my money, is itnot?" for he still held a bill between his fingers.
"Why, yes; as I told you, you can have your money back."
"I have not asked for my money, but I should like to have the vase thatI bought to take home with me. It will go into a small box now."
"Do you mean these pieces?" The salesman was almost too bewildered tospeak.
"Why, of course, they belong to me, do they not?" and a smile twinkledaround the corners of Brenda's mouth. At last the salesman understood.
"It's very kind of you," he said, emptying the pieces from the coverinto a small pasteboard box. "Mayn't we send it home?"
"Yes, after all, you may send it. Please have it packed carefully;" andthis time both Brenda and the salesman smiled outright.
"It's the second thing," said the latter, "that Maggie has brokenlately. She's bound to lose her place. It took a week's wages to pay forthe cup, and I don't know what she could have done about this. It wouldhave taken more than six weeks' pay."
"I should like to see her," said Brenda. "Can I go where she is?"
"Certainly, she's in the waiting-room, just over there."
"Come, come, Maggie," said Brenda gently, when s
he found the girl stillin tears; "stop crying, you won't have to pay for the glass vase. Youknow I bought it, and I'm having the pieces sent home."
As the girl gazed at Brenda in astonishment her tears ceased to flowfrom her red-rimmed eyes. But the young lady's words seemed soimprobable that in a moment sobs again shook her frame.
"It cost twenty dollars," she said; "I heard him say it. I can't everpay it in the world, and I don't want to go to prison."
"Hush, hush, child!" cried a saleswoman who had stayed with her. "Youmust stop crying, for I have to go back to my place."
She looked inquiringly at Brenda, and Brenda in a few words explainedwhat she had done.
"You are an angel," said the kind-hearted woman; "and if you can makeMaggie understand, perhaps she will stop crying."
Now at last the truth had entered Maggie's not very quick brain. Jumpingto her feet she seized Brenda by the hand.
"You mean it, you mean it, and I won't have to pay! But I'll pay yousome time. Oh, how good you are! How good you are!"
"There, Maggie, you'll frighten the young lady, and you're not fit to goback to the store. Your eyes would scare customers away. I'll take wordthat you're sick, so's you can go home now; and, Miss, I hope Maggie'llalways remember how kind you've been."
As the woman departed Brenda had a new idea, and when the message camethat Maggie might go home she asked the little girl to meet her at theside door downstairs when she had put on her hat. "I want to talk withyou," she said, "and will walk with you a little way."
Such condescension on the part of a beautiful young lady was enough toturn the head of almost any little cash-girl, and Maggie could hardlybelieve her ears, yet she hastened toward the side door where Brenda waswaiting. The latter glanced down at a forlorn little figure in thescant, green plaid gown, which, although faded, was clean and whole. Herdingy drab jacket was short-waisted, and her red woollen Tam o' Shantermade her look very childish.
As the two stood there in the doorway two young men whom Brenda knewpassed by. They were among the most supercilious of the younger set, andas they raised their hats they looked curiously at Brenda's companion.Brenda, though undisturbed, realized that she and Maggie were standingin a very conspicuous place.
"Come, Maggie," she said, "wouldn't you like a cup of chocolate? I'mgoing to get one for myself."
The little girl meekly followed her to a restaurant across the street,and when they were seated at an upstairs table near a window Maggie feltas if in some way she had been carried to a palace. There was reallynothing palatial in the room, though it was bright and cheerful, with ared carpet that deadened all footfalls. But Maggie herself had neverbefore sat at a little round table in a pleasant room, with a waitressattentive to her. A lunch counter was the only restaurant that she hadknown, and this was certainly very different. The hot chocolate withwhipped cream, and the other dainties ordered for the two, made her halfforget her grief for her carelessness. Gradually she lost a little ofher shyness, and told Brenda about her work, and about the aunt withwhom she lived.
"She wants me to keep that place, for it's one of the best shops intown. But she's awful cross sometimes, and I'm terribly afraid of losingit. You see," she continued, "my fingers seem buttered, and I don't runquick enough when they call. I feel all confused like, for there's somuch coming and going. Ah, I wish that I had something else I could do!"
"When did you leave school, Maggie?"
"Oh, I'm a graduate; I'm fifteen past, and I got my diploma last spring.My aunt was good; she thinks girls ought to go to school until they getthrough the grammar school. She says my mother and me, we've been agreat expense, and the funeral cost a lot, so she needs every cent Iearn."
Gradually Brenda understood about Maggie, and it seemed to her that shewould like to talk with her aunt. Glancing at the little enamelled watchpinned to her coat, she saw that it was nearly four o'clock, and thisreminded her that at four she was to walk with Arthur Weston. Hurryingher utmost, she could not keep the appointment. She would much prefer togo home with Maggie.
To think with Brenda was usually to act. So, finding her way to atelephone in the office downstairs, she called up her own house, and wassurprised to have Arthur himself answer the call.
"But where are you?" he asked; "why can't you come home?"
"I've something very important to do, and I can walk with you any day."
"Really!"
"Yes, indeed."
"But you shouldn't treat me in this way. I shall rush out to find you."
"You can't do it, so you might as well give it up."
In spite of Arthur's slight protest his voice had its usual jestingtone, but before he could remonstrate further he was cut off, and Brendahad turned back to Maggie.
Though it was but a few months since the announcement of Brenda'sengagement to Arthur Weston, these two young people had known each otherlong enough to have a thorough understanding of each other's character.Brenda knew that Arthur hated to be mystified, and Arthur knew thatBrenda was wilful. Yet each at times would cross the other along whatmight be called the line of greatest resistance.
If Maggie was surprised that her new friend wished to accompany her homeshe did not show her feeling, and Brenda soon found herself in a cartravelling to an unfamiliar part of the city. Near the corner where theyleft the car was a large building, which Maggie explained was a verypopular theatre.
"I love to look at those pictures," said the girl, pointing to the gaudybill-boards leaning against the wall. "I've only been there once, butI'm going Thanksgiving,--if I don't lose my place."
Her face darkened as she remembered that her prospect for having moneyto spare at Thanksgiving had greatly lessened this afternoon. Brenda didnot like the neighborhood through which they now hastened towardMaggie's home in Turquoise Street. It had not the antiquity of the NorthEnd, nor the picturesqueness of the West End. There were too many liquorshops, and the narrow street into which they turned was unattractive.She did not like the appearance of many of the people whom she met, andshe felt like clinging to Maggie's hand.
Still, the house itself which Maggie pointed out as the one where shelived looked like a comfortable private house. Indeed, it once had beenthe dwelling of a well-to-do private family. But inside, its halls werebare of carpets, and not over clean. Evidently it had become a meretenement-house.
"I wonder what my aunt will say," said Maggie timidly, as they stood atthe door of her aunt's rooms.
"We'll know soon;" and even as Brenda spoke Maggie had opened the door,and they stood face to face with a small, sharp-featured woman.
"Goodness me! Maggie, are you sick? What did you come home for? Oh, alady! Please take a seat, ma'am," and Mrs. McSorley showed hernervousness by vigorously dusting the seat of a chair with the end ofher blue-checked apron.
Brenda thanked her for the proffered chair, for she had just climbed tworather steep flights of stairs. She felt a little faint from the effort,and from the odors that she had inhaled on the way up. One tenant hadevidently had cabbage for dinner, and another was frying onions fortea. Although Brenda herself could not have told what these strangeodors were, they made her uncomfortable. While Maggie was explaining whyshe had returned home so early, Brenda glanced with interest around theroom. It seemed to be a combination of kitchen and sitting-room. Abovethe large cooking-stove was a shelf of pots and pans, and there was anupholstered rocking-chair in one corner. There were plants in thewindows, and a shelf on the wall between them with a loud-ticking clock.Under the shelf stood a table with a red-and-white plaid cottontable-cover. A glass sugar-bowl, a crockery pitcher, and a pile ofplates showed that the table was for use as well as for ornament.Through a half-open door Brenda had a glimpse of a bedroom that lookedequally neat and clean.
"I'm sure, Miss," said Mrs. McSorley when Brenda had finished her story,"I'm very much obliged to you. Maggie's a dreadful careless girl, and agreat trial to me. She'll make it her duty to pay that money back toyou."
"Oh, no, indeed
, I couldn't think of such a thing; if any one was toblame it was I for buying so delicate a vase. Besides, they shouldn'thave a small girl carry things about."
"Oh, no, Miss, it was just Maggie's fault. Her fingers are buttered, andsometimes I don't know what her end will be. I suppose I'll have to puther somewhere so's she can't do no mischief."
At these ominous words Maggie's tears fell again, and Brenda, as sheafterward said to Arthur, felt her "heart in her mouth." For Mrs.McSorley, with her arms akimbo, and her high cheek-bones and determinedexpression looked indeed rather formidable, and Brenda hesitated tosuggest what she had in mind for Maggie's benefit.
"I've tried to do my duty by her," continued Mrs. McSorley, "just as Idid by her mother, and we gave her a funeral with three carriages aftershe'd been sick on my hands for two years, and her only mysister-in-law; and I kept Maggie at school till she graduated, and she'sgot a place in one of the best stores in town on account of that. If shehad any faculty she might have kept her place, but if people haven'tfaculty they haven't anything."
While her aunt was talking Maggie had hung up her things,--the Tam o'Shanter on a hook on the bedroom door and the coat on another hook inthe corner. Brenda, watching her, thought that her orderliness mightprove an offset for her buttered fingers.
Though there was little emotion on Mrs. McSorley's rather hard-featuredface, she looked at her visitor with curiosity. She was so pretty, withher slight, graceful figure, waving dark hair, and the friendlyexpression in her bright eyes was likely to win even so stolid a personas Mrs. McSorley.
"She dresses plain and neat," said Maggie, after Brenda had left; "butshe must be awful rich to wear a diamond pin to fasten her watch to theoutside of her coat, and there was about a dozen silver things danglingfrom her belt."
Yet though Brenda made a good impression on Mrs. McSorley, the latterwould not commit herself to say just what she would have Maggie do ifshe should lose her place. She'd set her mind on having the girl risethrough the different grades. "I hate to have to switch my mindround--I'm that set," she had explained, adding, "Maggie thinks mestingy because I take all her earnings instead of letting her spendmoney for fine feathers and theatres like the rest of the girlshereabouts. But some time she'll be grateful." Then came Brenda'sopportunity for saying a little about her plan for Maggie,--a plan soquickly made, so likely to be set aside by the grim aunt.
While Mrs. McSorley listened she moved around the room, filling thetea-kettle, lighting the lamp. At last, when Brenda had finished, herreply gave only a slight hope that she would agree to the plan. YetBrenda felt that she had gained a point when Mrs. McSorley promised togo with Maggie in a few days to visit the school.
The lighted lamp reminded Brenda that outside it must be dusk. It wouldtrouble her to find her way to the cars through unfamiliar streets, andshe was only too glad to accept Maggie's offer to guide her, and Maggiewas more than delighted to have this last chance for a little talk with"the kind young lady."
"You'll not cry," said Brenda, "even if they won't take you back;remember that you have a new friend."
"Oh, Miss, you're so good, and to think that you have nothing for yourtwenty dollars but those pieces of broken glass."
"Ah! it's very pretty glass," responded Brenda, "and I'm going to keepthe pieces as a reminder."
What she meant was that she would keep the pieces as a reminder not tobe extravagant, and as she looked at the little silver mesh pursehanging at her belt she smiled to think that since she left home in theearly afternoon it had been emptied of more than twenty dollars, whileshe had nothing to show for the money,--nothing, indeed, except her newacquaintance with Mrs. McSorley and Maggie, and some fragments ofglass.