第36章

Mildred reflected upon this curious statement.It sounded innocent enough, yet what a peculiar way to put a simple fact.

``Of course it's none of my business how people live as long as they keep up the respectabilities,'' pursued Mrs.Belloc.``It don't do to inquire into people in New York.Most of 'em come here because they want to live as they please.''

``No doubt,'' said Mildred a little nervously, for she suspected her landlady of hitting at her, and wondered if she had come to cross-examine her and, if the results were not satisfactory, to put her into the street.

``I know _I_ came for that reason,'' pursued Mrs.

Belloc.``I was a school-teacher up in New England until about two years ago.Did you ever teach school?''

``Not yet,'' said Mildred.``And I don't think I ever shall.I don't know enough.''

``Oh, yes, you do.A teacher doesn't need to know much.The wages are so poor--at least up in New England--that they don't expect you to know anything.

It's all in the books.I left because I couldn't endure the life.Lord! how dull those little towns are!

Ever live in a little town?''

``All my life,'' said Mildred.

``Well, you'll never go back.''

``I hope not.''

``You won't.Why should you? A sensible woman with looks--especially if she knows how to carry her clothes--can stay in New York as long as she pleases, and live off the fat of the land.''

``That's good news,'' said Mildred.She began to like the landlady--not for what she said, but for the free and frank and friendly way of the saying--a human way, a comradely way, a live-and-let-live way.

``I didn't escape from New England without a struggle,'' continued Mrs.Belloc, who was plainly showing that she had taken a great fancy to ``Mary Stevens.''

``I suppose it was hard to save the money out of your salary,'' said Mildred.

Mrs.Belloc laughed.She was about thirty-five years old, though her eyes and her figure were younger than that.Her mouth was pleasant enough, but had lost some of its freshness.``Save money!'' cried she.

``I'd never have succeeded that way.I'd be there yet.

I had never married--had two or three chances, but all from poor sticks looking for someone to support them.I saw myself getting old.I was looking years older than I do now.Talk about sea air for freshening a woman up--it isn't in it with the air of New York.

Here's the town where women stay young.If I had come here five years ago I could almost try for the squab class.''

``Squab class?'' queried Mildred.

``Yes, squabs.Don't you see them around everywhere?--the women dressed like girls of sixteen to eighteen--and some of them are that, and younger.

They go hopping and laughing about--and they seem to please the men and to have no end of a good time.

Especially the oldish men.Oh, yes, you know a squab on sight--tight skirt, low shoes and silk stockings, cute pretty face, always laughing, hat set on rakishly and hair done to match, and always a big purse or bag--with a yellow-back or so in it--as a kind of a hint, I guess.''

Mildred had seen squabs.``I've envied them--in a way,'' said she.``Their parents seem to let them do about as they please.''

``Their parents don't know--or don't care.Sometimes it's one, sometimes the other.They travel in two sets.One is where they meet young fellows of their own class--the kind they'll probably marry, unless they happen to draw the capital prize.The other set they travel in--well, it's the older men they meet round the swell hotels and so on--the yellow-back men.''

``How queer!'' exclaimed Mildred, before whose eyes a new world was opening.``But how do they--these --squabs--account for the money?''

``How do a thousand and one women in this funny town account at home for money and things?'' retorted Mrs.Belloc.``Nothing's easier.For instance, often these squabs do--or pretend to do--a little something in the way of work--a little canvassing or artists'

model or anything you please.That helps them to explain at home--and also to make each of the yellow-back men think he's the only one and that he's being almost loved for himself alone.''

Mrs.Belloc laughed.Mildred was too astonished to laugh, and too interested--and too startled or shocked.

``But I was telling you how _I_ got down here,''

continued the landlady.``Up in my town there was an old man--about seventy-five--close as the bark on a tree, and ugly and mean.'' She paused to draw a long breath and to shake her head angrily yet triumphantly at some figure her fancy conjured up.

``Oh, he WAS a pup!--and is! Well, anyhow, Idecided that I'd marry him.So I wrote home for fifty dollars.I borrowed another fifty here and there.Ihad seventy-five saved up against sickness.I went up to Boston and laid it all out in underclothes and house things--not showy but fine and good to look at.Then one day, when the weather was fine and I knew the old man would be out in his buggy driving round--Idressed myself up to beat the band.I took hours to it--scrubbing, powdering, sacheting, perfuming, fixing the hair, fixing my finger-nails, fixing up my feet, polishing every nail and making them look better than most hands.''

Mildred was so interested that she was excited.What strange freak was coming?

``You never could guess,'' pursued Mrs.Belloc, complacently.``I took my sunshade and went out, all got up to kill.And I walked along the road until I saw the old man's buggy coming with him in it.Then Igave my ankle a frightful wrench.My! How it hurt!''

``What a pity!'' said Mildred sympathetically.

``What a shame!''

``A pity? A shame?'' cried Mrs.Belloc, laughing.

``Why, my dear, I did it a-purpose.''

``On purpose!'' exclaimed Mildred.

``Certainly.That was my game.I screamed out with pain--and the scream was no fake, I can tell you.And I fell down by the roadside on a nice grassy spot where no dust would get on me.Well, up comes the old skinflint in his buggy.He climbed down and helped me get off my slipper and stocking.I knew I had him the minute I saw his old face looking at that foot I had fixed up so beautifully.''