One of the Old Girls

by Edna Ferber

　　All of those ladies who end their conversation with you by wearilysuggesting that you go down to the basement to find what you seek,do not receive a meager seven dollars a week as a reward for theirefforts. Neither are they all obliged to climb five weary flightsof stairs to reach the dismal little court room which is theirhome, and there are several who need not walk thirty-three blocksto save carfare, only to spend wretched evenings washing outhandkerchiefs and stockings in the cracked little washbowl, whileone ear is cocked for the stealthy tread of the Lady Who Objects.The earnest compiler of working girls' budgets would passEffie Bauer hurriedly by. Effie's budget bulged here and therewith such pathetic items as hand-embroidered blouses, thick clubsteaks, and parquet tickets for Maude Adams. That you mayvisualize her at once I may say that Effie looked twenty-four--fromthe rear (all women do in these days of girlish simplicity in hatsand tailor-mades); her skirts never sagged, her shirtwaists weremarvels of plainness and fit, and her switch had cost her sixteendollars, wholesale (a lady friend in the business). Oh, there wasnothing tragic about Effie. She had a plump, assured style, a keenblue eye, a gift of repartee, and a way of doing her hair so thatthe gray at the sides scarcely showed at all. Also a knowledge ofcorsets that had placed her at the buying end of that importantdepartment at Spiegel's. Effie knew to the minute when coral beadswent out and pearl beads came in, and just by looking at herblouses you could tell when Cluny died and Irish was born. MeetingEffie on the street, you would have put her down as one of the manywell-dressed, prosperous-looking women shoppers--if you hadn'tlooked at her feet. Veteran clerks and policemen cannot disguisetheir feet.Effie Bauer's reason for not marrying when a girl was the sameas that of most of the capable, wise-eyed, good-looking women onefinds at the head of departments. She had not had a chance. IfEffie had been as attractive at twenty as she was at--there, wewon't betray confidences. Still, it is certain that if Effie hadbeen as attractive when a young girl as she was when an old girl,she never would have been an old girl and head of Spiegel's corsetdepartment at a salary of something very comfortably over onehundred and twenty-five a month (and commissions). Effie hadimproved with the years, and ripened with experience. She knew hervalue. At twenty she had been pale, anaemic and bony, with astartled-faun manner and bad teeth. Years of saleswomanship hadbroadened her, mentally and physically, until she possessed a wideand varied knowledge of that great and diversified subject known ashuman nature. She knew human nature all the way from the fifty-nine-cent girdles to the twenty-five-dollar made-to-orders. And ifthe years had brought, among other things, a certain hardness aboutthe jaw and a line or two at the corners of the eyes, it was notsurprising. You can't rub up against the sharp edges of this worldand expect to come out without a scratch or so.So much for Effie. Enter the hero. Webster defines a hero inromance as the person who has the principal share in thetransactions related. He says nothing which would debar agentleman just because he may be a trifle bald and in the habit ofcombing his hair over the thin spot, and he raises no objections toa matter of thickness and color in the region of the back of theneck. Therefore Gabe I. Marks qualifies. Gabe was the gentlemanabout whom Effie permitted herself to be guyed. He came to Chicagoon business four times a year, and he always took Effie to thetheater, and to supper afterward. On those occasions, Effie'sgown, wrap and hat were as correct in texture, lines, and paradiseaigrettes as those of any of her non-working sisters about her. Onthe morning following these excursions into Lobsterdom, Effie wouldconfide to her friend, Miss Weinstein, of the lingeries andneligees:"l was out with my friend, Mr. Marks, last evening. We wentto Rector's after the show. Oh, well, it takes a New Yorker toknow how. Honestly, I feel like a queen when I go out with him.H'm? Oh, nothing like that, girlie. I never could see thatmarriage thing. Just good friends."Gabe had been coming to Chicago four times a year for sixyears. Six times four are twenty-four. And one is twenty-five.Gabe's last visit made the twenty-fifth."Well, Effie," Gabe said when the evening's entertainment hadreached the restaurant stage, "this is our twenty-fifthanniversary. It's our silver wedding, without the silver and thewedding. We'll have a bottle of champagne. That makes it almostlegal. And then suppose we finish up by having the wedding. Thesilver can be omitted."Effie had been humming with the orchestra, holding a lobsterclaw in one hand and wielding the little two-pronged fork with theother. She dropped claw, fork, and popular air to stareopen-mouthed at Gabe. Then a slow, uncertain smile crept about herlips, although her eyes were still unsmiling."Stop your joking, Gabie," she said. "Some day you'll saythose things to the wrong lady, and then you'll have abreach-of-promise suit on your hands.""This ain't no joke, Effie," Gabe had replied. "Not with me itain't. As long as my mother selig lived I wouldn't ever marry aGoy. It would have broken her heart. I was a good son to her, andgood sons make good husbands, they say. Well, Effie, you want totry it out?"There was something almost solemn in Effie's tone andexpression. "Gabie," she said slowly, "you're the first man that'sever asked me to marry him.""That goes double," answered Gabe."Thanks," said Effie. "That makes it all the nicer.""Then---- Gabe's face was radiant. But Effie shook her headquickly."You're just twenty years late," she said."Late!" expostulated Gabe. "I ain't no dead one yet."Effie pushed her plate away with a little air of decision,folded her plump arms on the table, and, leaning forward, lookedGabe I. Marks squarely in the eyes."Gabie," she said gently, "I'll bet you haven't got a hundreddollars in the bank----""But----" interrupted Gabe."Wait a minute. I know you boys on the road. Besides yourdiamond scarf pin and your ring and watch, have you got a cent overyour salary? Nix. You carry just about enough insurance to buryyou, don't you? You're fifty years old if you're a minute, Gabie,and if I ain't mistaken you'd have a pretty hard time of it gettingten thousand dollars' insurance after the doctors got through withyou. Twenty-five years of pinochle and poker and the fat of theland haven't added up any bumps in the old stocking under themattress.""Say, looka here," objected Gabe, more red-faced than usual,"I didn't know was proposing to no Senatorial investigatingcommittee. Say, you talk about them foreign noblemen beingmercenary! Why, they ain't in it with you girls to-day. A felleris got to propose to you with his bank book in one hand and a bunchof life-insurance policies in the other. You're right; I ain'tsaved much. But Ma selig always had everything she wanted. Say,when a man marries it's different. He begins to save.""There!" said Effie quickly. "That's just it. Twenty yearsago I'd have been glad and willing to start like that, saving andscrimping and loving a man, and looking forward to the time whenfour figures showed up in the bank account where but three bloomedbefore. I've got what they call the home instinct. Give me a yardor so of cretonne, and a photo of my married sister down in Iowa,and I can make even a boarding-house inside bedroom look like aplace where a human being could live. If I had been as wise attwenty as I am now, Gabie, I could have married any man I pleased.But I was what they call capable. And men aren't marrying capablegirls. They pick little yellow-headed, blue-eyed idiots that don'tknow a lamb stew from a soup bone when they see it. Well, Mr. Mandidn't show up, and I started in to clerk at six per. I'm earningas much as you are now. More. Now, don't misunderstand me, Gabe.I'm not throwing bouquets at myself. I'm not that kind of a girl.But I could sell a style 743 Slimshape to the Venus de Miloherself. The Lord knows she needed one, with those hips of hers.I worked my way up, alone. I'm used to it. I like the excitementdown at the store. I'm used to luxuries. I guess if I was a manI'd be the kind thy call a good provider--the kind that opens wineevery time there's half an excuse for it, and when he dies hiswidow has to take in boarders. And, Gabe, after you've worn tailored suits every year for a dozen years, you can't go back totwenty-five-dollar ready-mades and be happy.""You could if you loved a man," said Gabe stubbornly.The hard lines around the jaw and the experienced lines aboutthe eyes seemed suddenly to stand out on Effie's face."Love's young dream is all right. But you've reached the agewhen you let your cigar ash dribble down onto your vest. Now me,I've got a kimono nature but a straight-front job, and it's kept meyoung. Young! I've got to be. That's my stock in trade. Yousee, Gabie, we're just twenty years late, both of us. They're notgoing to boost your salary. These days they're looking for kids onthe road--live wires, with a lot of nerve and a quick come-back.They don't want old-timers. Why, say, Gabie, if I was to tell youwhat I spend in face powder and toilette water and hairpins alone,you'd think I'd made a mistake and given you the butcher billinstead. And I'm no professional beauty, either. Only it takesmoney to look cleaned and pressed in this town."In the seclusion of the cafe corner, Gabe laid one plump,highly manicured hand on Effie's smooth arm. "You wouldn't need tostay young for me, Effie. I like you just as you are, without the powder, or the toilette water, or the hair-pins."His red, good-natured face had an expression upon it that wastouchingly near patient resignation as he looked up into Effie'ssparkling countenance. "You never looked so good to me as you dothis minute, old girl. And if the day comes when you getlonesome--or change your mind--or----"Effie shook her head, and started to draw on her long whitegloves. "I guess I haven't refused you the way the dames in thenovels do it. Maybe it's because I've had so little practice. ButI want to say this, Gabe. Thank God I don't have to die knowingthat no man ever wanted me to be his wife. Honestly, I'm thatgrateful that I'd marry you in a minute if I didn't like you sowell.""I'll be back in three months, like always," was all that Gabesaid. "I ain't going to write. When I get here we'll just take ina show, and the younger you look the better I'll like it."But on the occasion of Gabe's spring trip he encountered astatuesque blonde person where Effie had been wont to reign."Miss--er Bauer out of town?"The statue melted a trifle in the sunshine of Gabe'singratiating smile."Miss Bauer's ill," the statue informed him, using a heavyEastern accent. "Anything I can do for you? I'm taking herplace.""Why--ah--not exactly; no," said Gabe. "Just a temporaryindisposition, I suppose?""Well, you wouldn't hardly call it that, seeing that she'sbeen sick with typhoid for seven weeks.""Typhoid!" shouted Gabe."While I'm not in the habit of asking gentlemen their names,I'd like to inquire if yours happens to be Marks--Gabe I. Marks?""Sure," said Gabe. "That's me.""Miss Bauer's nurse telephones down last week that if agentleman named Marks--Gabe I. Marks--drops in and inquires forMiss Bauer, I'm to tell him that she's changed her mind."On the way from Spiegel's corset department to the car, Gabestopped only for a bunch of violets. Effie's apartment housereached, he sent up his card, the violets, and a message that thegentleman was waiting. There came back a reply that sent Gabie upbefore the violets were relieved of their first layer of tissuepaper.Effie was sitting in a deep chair by the window, a floweredquilt bunched about her shoulders, her feet in gray knitted bedroomslippers. She looked every minute of her age, and she knew it, anddidn't care. The hand that she held out to Gabe was a limp, white,fleshless thing that seemed to bear no relation to the plump, firmmember that Gabe had pressed on so many previous occasions.Gabe stared at this pale wraith in a moment of alarm anddismay. Then:"You're looking--great!" he stammered. "Great! Nobody'dbelieve you'd been sick a minute. Guess you've just been stallingfor a beauty rest, what?"Effie smiled a tired little smile, and shook her head slowly."You're a good kid, Gabie, to lie like that just to make mefeel good. But my nurse left yesterday and I had my first realsquint at myself in the mirror. She wouldn't let me look while shewas here. After what I saw staring back at me from that glass awhole ballroom full of French courtiers whispering sweet nothingsin my ear couldn't make me believe that I look like anything but ahunk of Roquefort, green spots included. When I think of how myclothes won't fit it makes me shiver.""Oh, you'll soon be back at the store as good as new. Theyfatten up something wonderful after typhoid. Why, I had afriend----""Did you get my message?" interrupted Effie."I was only talking to hide my nervousness," said Gabe, andstarted forward. But Effie waved him away."Sit down," she said. "I've got something to say." Shelooked thoughtfully down at one shining finger nail. Her lower lipwas caught between her teeth. When she looked up again her eyeswere swimming in tears. Gabe started forward again. Again Effiewaved him away."It's all right, Gabie. I don't blubber as a rule. Thisfever leaves you as weak as a rag, and ready to cry if any one says`Boo!' I've been doing some high-pressure thinking since nursieleft. Had plenty of time to do it in, sitting here by this windowall day. My land! I never knew there was so much time. There'sbeen days when I haven't talked to a soul, except the nurse and thechambermaid. Lonesome! Say, the amount of petting I could standwould surprise you. Of course, my nurse was a perfectly goodnurse--at twenty-five per. But I was just a case to her. Youcan't expect a nurse to ooze sympathy over an old maid with thefever. I tell you I was dying to have some one say `Sh-sh-sh!'when there was a noise, just to show they were interested.Whenever I'd moan the nurse would come over and stick a thermometerin my mouth and write something down on a chart. The boys andgirls at the store sent flowers. They'd have done the same if I'ddied. When the fever broke I just used to lie there and dream, notfeeling anything in particular, and not caring much whether it wasday or night. Know what I mean?"Gabie shook a sympathetic head.There was a little silence. Then Effie went on. "I used tothink I was pretty smart, earning my own good living, dressing aswell as the next one, and able to spend my vacation in AtlanticCity if I wanted to. I didn't know I was missing anything. Butwhile I was sick I got to wishing that there was somebody thatbelonged to me. Somebody to worry about me, and to sit upnights--somebody that just naturally felt they had to cometiptoeing into my room every three or four minutes to see if I wassleeping, or had enough covers on, or wanted a drink, or something.I got to thinking what it would have been like if I had a husbandand a--home. You'll think I'm daffy, maybe."Gabie took Effie's limp white hand in his, and stroked itgently. Effie's face was turned away from him, toward the noisystreet."I used to imagine how he'd come home at six, stamping hisfeet, maybe, and making a lot of noise the way men do. And thenhe'd remember, and come creaking up the steps, and he'd stick hishead in at the door in the funny, awkward, pathetic way men have ina sick room. And he'd say, `How's the old girl to-night? I'dbetter not come near you now, puss, because I'll bring the coldwith me. Been lonesome for your old man?'"And I'd say, `Oh, I don't care how cold you are, dear. Thenurse is downstairs, getting my supper ready.'"And then he'd come tiptoeing over to my bed, and stoop down,and kiss me, and his face would be all cold, and rough, and hismustache would be wet, and he'd smell out-doorsy and smoky, the wayhusbands do when they come in. And I'd reach up and pat his cheekand say, `You need a shave, old man.'"`I know it,' he'd say, rubbing his cheek up against mine."`Hurry up and wash, now. Supper'll be ready.'"`Where are the kids?' he'd ask. `The house is as quiet asthe grave. Hurry up and get well, kid. It's darn lonesome withoutyou at the table, and the children's manners are getting somethingawful, and I never can find my shirts. Lordy, I guess we won'tcelebrate when you get up! Can't you eat a little somethingnourishing for supper--beefsteak, or a good plate of soup, orsomething?'"Men are like that, you know. So I'd say then: `Run along,you old goose! You'll be suggesting sauerkraut and wieners next.Don't you let Millie have any marmalade to-night. She's got aspoiled stomach.'"And then he'd pound off down the hall to wash up, and I'dshut my eyes, and smile to myself, and everything would be allright, because he was home."There was a long silence. Effie's eyes were closed. But twogreat tears stole out from beneath each lid and coursed their slowway down her thin cheeks. She did not raise her hand to wipe themaway.Gabie's other hand reached over and met the one that alreadyclasped Effie's."Effie," he said, in a voice that was as hoarse as it wasgentle."H'm?" said Effie."Will you marry me?""I shouldn't wonder," replied Effie, opening her eyes. "No,don't kiss me. You might catch something. But say, reach up andsmooth my hair away from my forehead, will you, and call me acouple of fool names. I don't care how clumsy you are about it.I could stand an awful fuss being made over me, without beingspoiled any."Three weeks later Effie was back at the store. Her skirtdidn't fit in the back, and the little hollow places in her cheeksdid not take the customary dash of rouge as well as when they hadbeen plumper. She held a little impromptu reception that extendeddown as far as the lingeries and up as far as the rugs. The oldsparkle came back to Effie's eye. The old assurance and vigorseemed to return. By the time that Miss Weinstein, of the Frenchlingeries, arrived, breathless, to greet her Effie was herselfagain."Well, if you're not a sight for sore eyes, dearie," exclaimedMiss Weinstein. "My goodness, how grand and thin you are! I'd bewilling to take a course in typhoid myself, if I thought I couldlose twenty-five pounds.""I haven't a rag that fits me," Effie announced proudly.Miss Weinstein lowered her voice discreetly. "Dearie, can youcome down to my department for a minute? We're going to have asale on imported lawnjerie blouses, slightly soiled, from nine toeleven to-morrow. There's one you positively must see.Hand-embroidered, Irish motifs, and eyeleted from soup to nuts, andonly eight-fifty.""I've got a fine chance of buying hand-made waists, no matterhow slightly soiled," Effie made answer, "with a doctor and nurse'sbill as long as your arm.""Oh, run along!" scoffed Miss Weinstein. "A person wouldthink you had a husband to get a grouch every time you get recklessto the extent of a new waist. You're your own boss. And you knowyour credit's good. Honestly, it would be a shame to let thischance slip. You're not getting tight in your old age, are you?""N-no," faltered Effie, "but----""Then come on," urged Miss Weinstein energetically. "And bethankful you haven't got a man to raise the dickens when the billcomes in.""Do you mean that?" asked Effie slowly, fixing Miss Weinsteinwith a thoughtful eye."Surest thing you know. Say, girlie, let's go over to Klein'sfor lunch this noon. They have pot roast with potato pfannkuchenon Tuesdays, and we can split an order between us.""Hold that waist till to-morrow, will you?" said Effie. "I'vemade an arrangement with a--friend that might make new clothesimpossible just now. But I'm going to wire my party that thearrangement is all off. I've changed my mind. I ought to get ananswer to-morrow. Did you say it was a thirty-six?"