The Portion of Labor Part 65

"What in creation ails him?" cried Sadie Peel.

"I guess I know," w.i.l.l.y Jones volunteered, timidly.

"What?"

"He was going to get married, and this cut in his wages is going to put a stop to it. I heard him say so this morning."

"Married! Who to?" asked Sadie Peel.

"Floretta Vining."

"My land!" cried Sadie Peel. "So she did take up with him after the school-teacher went away. I always said she would. I always knew Edward Harris wouldn't marry her, and I always said Ben Simmons would get her if he hung on long enough. Floretta was bound to marry somebody; she wasn't going to wind up an old maid; and if she couldn't get one, she'd take another. I suppose Ben has got that sick sister of his to do for since her father died, and thinks he can't get married with any less pay. Floretta won't make a very cheap wife. She's bound to have things whether or no, and Ben 'ain't never earned so much as some. He's awful steady, but he's slow as cold mola.s.ses, and he won't let his sister suffer for no Floretta."

"That's so; I don't believe he would," said Abby. "What any man in his senses wants a doll like that for enough to look as if he was dead when he's got to put off marrying her!"

"That's because you ain't a man, Abby Atkins," said Sadie Peel. "All the men think of is looks, and little fine airs and graces."

"It seems as if they might get along," ventured w.i.l.l.y Jones, "as if they might do with less for a while."

Then Ellen turned to him unexpectedly. "There's no use in talking about doing with less when every single cent has to count," said she, sternly. "Ben Simmons has his taxes and insurance, and a steady doctor's bill for his sister, and medicines to buy. He can't have laid up a cent, for he's slow, though he's a good workman. You can't do with less when you haven't any more than enough."

"That's so," said Abby. Then she turned a tender, conciliating, indulgent gaze on the young man at her side. "If I were Floretta Vining," said she, "and if Ellen were, we would go without things, and never know it. We'd go to work; but Floretta, she's different.

We went to school with Floretta Vining."

"Floretta Vining is dreadful fond of men, but she wouldn't go without a yard of ribbon for one if he was dying," said Sadie Peel, conclusively. "It's awful hard on Ben Simmons, and no mistake."

"What?" said Amos Lee, coming up.

"Oh, what's hard on all of us? What's the use of asking?" said the girl, with a bitter coquetry. "I shouldn't think any man with horse-sense would ask what's hard on us when he's seen the ornaments tacked up all over the shop this morning."

"That's so," said Lee, with a glance over his shoulder. Flynn was at the other end of the room. Granville Joy, Dixon, and one or two other men were sauntering up. For a second the little group looked at one another.

"What are you going to do?" asked Ellen, in a low voice, which had an intonation that caused the others to start.

"I know what I'll do, if I can get enough to back me," cried Lee, in a loud voice.

"Hush up!" said Sadie Peel. Then her father came along smiling his imperturbable smile on his wide face, which had a Slavonic cast, although he was New England born and bred. He looked from one to the other without saying a word.

"We're deciding whether to strike or not, father," said Sadie, in a flippant manner. She raised a hand and adjusted a stray lock of hair as she spoke, then she straightened her ribbon stock. Her father said nothing, but his face a.s.sumed a stolidity of expression.

"I know what I'll do," proclaimed Amos Lee again.

"Hush up!" cried Sadie Peel again, with a giggle. "Here's Ed Flynn."

And the foreman came sauntering up as the one-o'clock whistle blew, and the workers sprang to their posts of work.

Chapter XLIX

The snow increased all day. When the six-o'clock whistle blew, and the workmen streamed out of the factories, it was a wild waste of winter and storm. The wind had come up, and the light snow arose in the distance like white dancers of death, spinning furiously over the level, then settling into long, gravelike ridges. Ellen glanced into the office as she pa.s.sed the door, and saw Robert Lloyd talking busily with Flynn and another foreman by the name of Dennison. As she pa.s.sed, Robert turned with a look as if he had been watching for her, and came forward hastily.

"Miss Brewster!" he called.

Mamie Brady, following close behind, gave Ellen an admonishing nudge. "Boss wants to see you," she whispered, loudly. Ellen stopped, and Robert came up.

"Please step in here a moment, Miss Brewster," he said, and colored a little.

Granville Joy, who was following Ellen, looked keenly at him, some one sn.i.g.g.e.red aloud, and a girl said quite audibly, "My land!"

Ellen followed Robert into the office, and he bent over her, speaking rapidly, in a low voice.

"You must not walk home in this snow," he said, "and the cars are not running. You must let me take you. My sleigh is at the door."

Ellen turned white. Somehow this protecting care for herself, in the face of all which she had been considering that day, gave her a tremendous shock. She felt at once touched and more indignant than she had ever been in her whole life. She had been half believing that Robert was neglecting her, that he had forgotten her; all day she had been judging his action of cutting the wages of the workmen from her unswerving, childlike, unshadowed point of view, and now this little evidence of humanity towards her, in the face of what she considered wholesale inhumanity towards others, made her at once severe to him and to herself, and she forced back sternly the leap of pleasure and happiness which this thought of her awakened. "No, thank you," she said, shortly; "I am much obliged, but I would rather walk."

"But you cannot, in this storm," pleaded Robert, in a low voice.

"Yes, I can; it is no worse for me than for others. There is Maria Atkins, she has been coughing all day."

"I will take her too. Ellen, you cannot walk. You must let me take you."

"I am much obliged, but I would rather not," replied Ellen, in an icy tone. She looked quite hard in his face.

Robert looked at her perplexed. "But it is drifting," he said.

"It is no worse for me than for the others." Ellen turned to go.

Her att.i.tude of rebuff was unmistakable.

Robert colored. "Very well; I will not urge you," he said, coldly.

Then he returned to his desk, and Ellen went out. She caught up with Maria Atkins, who was struggling painfully through the drifts, leaning on Abby's arm, and slipped a hand under her thin shoulder.

"I expect nothing but she'll get her death out in this storm,"

grumbled Abby. "What did he want, Ellen?"

"Nothing in particular," replied Ellen. Uppermost in her mind at that moment was the charge of cruelty against Robert for not taking her hint as to Maria. "He can ask me to ride because he has amused himself with me, but as for taking this poor girl, whom he does not love, when it may mean life or death to her, he did not think seriously of doing that for a moment," she thought.

Maria was coughing, although she strove hard to smother the coughs.

Granville Joy, who was plodding ahead, turned and waited until they came up.

"You had better let me carry you, Maria," he said, jocularly, but his honest eyes were full of concern.

"He is enough sight kinder than Robert Lloyd," thought Ellen; "he has a better heart." And then the splendid Lloyd sleigh came up behind them and stopped, tilting to a drift. Robert, in his fur-lined coat, sprang out and went up to Maria.

"Please let me take you home," he said, kindly. "You have a cold, and this storm is too severe for you to be out. Please let me take you home."

Maria looked at him, fairly gasping with astonishment. She tried to speak, but a cough choked her.