Mary Minds Her Business Part 43

"So while we're having lunch," she said, "I'll send these women out to find their husbands, and we'll talk to them altogether."

It was half past one when Mary entered the rest room with her three visitors and Archey. Nearly all the women had found their men, and they were waiting with evident curiosity.

As simply as she could, Mary repeated the plan which she had outlined to the leaders.

"So there you are," she said in conclusion. "I want to find twenty-five families to give the idea a trial. They will live in those new bungalows--you have probably all seen them.

"There's a gas range in each to make cooking easy. They have steam heat from the factory--no stoves--no coal--no ashes to bother with. There's electric light, refrigerator, bathroom, hot and cold water--everything I could think of to save labour and make housework easy.

"Now, Mrs. Strauss, suppose you and your husband decide to try this new arrangement. You would both come here and work till twelve o'clock, and the afternoons you would have to yourselves.

"In the afternoons you could go shopping, or fishing, or walking, or boating, or skating, or visiting, or you could take up a course of study, or read a good book, or go to the theatre, or take a nap, or work in your garden--anything you liked....

"In short, after twelve o'clock, the whole day would be your own--for your own development, your own pleasure, your own ideas--anything you wanted to use it for. Do you understand it, Mrs. Strauss?"

"Indeed I do. I think it's fine."

"Is Mr. Strauss here? Does he understand it?"

"Yes, I understand it," said a voice among the men. a.s.sisted by his neighbours he arose. "I'm to work four hours a day," he said, "and so's the wife. Instead of drawing full money, I draw half and she draws half.

We'd have to chip in on the family expenses. Every day is to be like Sat.u.r.day--work in the morning and the afternoon off. Suits me to a dot, if it suits her. I always did think Sat.u.r.day was the one sensible day in the week."

A chorus of masculine laughter attested approval to this sentiment and Mr. Strauss sat down abashed.

"Well, now, if you all understand it," said Mary, "I want twenty-five families who will volunteer to try this four-hour-a-day arrangement--so we can see how it works. All those who would like to try it--will they please stand up?"

Presently one of the labour leaders turned to Mary with a beaming eye.

"Looks as though they'll have to draw lots," said he... "They are all standing up...!"

CHAPTER x.x.xIV

The afternoon was well advanced when her callers left, and Mary had to make up her work as best she could.

A violent thunder-storm had arisen, but in spite of the lightning she telephoned Helen.

Wally was still improving.

"I'll be over as soon as I've had dinner," said Mary, "but don't expect me early."

She was hanging up the receiver when the senior accountant entered, a little more detached, a little more impersonal than she had ever seen him.

"We shall have our final report ready in the morning," he said.

"That's good," said Mary, starting to sign her letters. "I'll be glad to see it any time."

At the door he turned, one hand on the k.n.o.b.

"I haven't seen Mr. Woodward, Jr., today. Do you expect him tomorrow?"

At any other time she would have asked herself, "Why is he inquiring for Burdon?"--but she had so much work waiting on her desk, demanding her attention, that it might be said she was talking subconsciously, hardly knowing what was asked or answered.

It was dusk when she was through, and the rain had stopped for a time.

Near the entrance to the house on the hill--a turn where she always had to drive slowly--a shabby man was standing--a bearded man with rounded shoulders and tired eyes.

"I wonder who he is?" thought Mary. "That's twice I've seen him standing there...."

Without seeming to do so, a pretence which only a woman can accomplish, she looked at him again. "How he stares!" she breathed.

As you have guessed, the waiting man was Paul.

For the first time that morning he had heard about the strike--had heard other things, too--in the cheap hotel where he had spent the night--obscure but alarming rumours which had led him to change his plans about an immediate return to his ship. A bit here, a bit there, he had pieced the story of the strike together--a story which spared no names, and would have made Burdon Woodward's ears burn many a time if he had heard it.

"There's a bunch of Bolshevikis come in now--" this was one of the things which Paul had been told. "'Down with the capitalists who prey on women!'

That's them! But it hasn't caught on. Sounds sort of flat around here to those who know the women. So this bunch of Bols has been laying low the last few days. They've hired a boat and go fishing in the lake. They don't fool me, though--not much they don't. They're up to some deviltry, you can bet your sweet life, and we'll be hearing about it before long--"

Paul's mind turned to the blonde giant who had ridden on the train from New York, and the group of friends who had been waiting for him at the station.

"He was up to something--the way he spoke," thought Paul. "And last night he was in that car on the bridge.... Where do these Bols hang out?" he asked aloud.

He was told they made their headquarters at Repetti's pool-room, but though he looked in that establishment half a dozen times in the course of the day, he failed to see them.

"Looking for somebody?" an attendant asked him.

"Yes," said Paul. "Tall man with a light beard. Came in from New York yesterday."

"Oh, that bunch," grinned the attendant. "They've gone fishing again.

Going to get wet, too, if they ain't back soon."

For over three hours then the storm had raged, the rain falling with the force of a cloudburst. At seven it stopped and, going out, Paul found himself drifting toward the house on the hill.

It was there he saw Mary turning in at the gate. He stood for a long time looking at the lights in the windows and thinking those thoughts which can only come to the Ishmaels of the world--to those sons of Hagar who may never return to their father's homes.

"I was a fool for coming," he half groaned, tasting the dregs of bitterness. Unconsciously he compared the things that were with the things that might have been.

"She certainly acted like a queen to Rosa," he thought once.

For a moment he felt a wild desire to enter the gate, to see his home again, to make himself known--but the next moment he knew that this was his punishment--"to look, to long, but ne'er again to feel the warmth of home."

He returned to the pool-room, his eyes more tired than ever, and found a seat in a far corner. Some one had left a paper in the next chair. Paul was reading it when he became conscious of some one standing in front of him, waiting for him to look up. It was his acquaintance of the day before--the Russian traveller--and Paul perceived that he was excited, and was holding himself very high.

"Good evening, batuchka," said Paul, and looking at the other's wet clothes he added, "I see you were caught in the storm."

"You are right, batuchka," said the other, and leaning over, his voice slightly shaking, he added, "Others, too, are about to be caught in a storm." He raised his finger with a touch of grandeur and took the chair by Paul's side, breathing hard and obviously holding himself at a tension.