The Rosie World Part 32

"Sure I mean myself. I don't mind saying that I consider myself very far from a born fool. I'm not a bit ashamed of being sensible. Janet McFadden always says that I'm not very smart but that I've got lots of common sense. Danny Agin thinks so, too. He often consults me about things." Rosie nodded complacently.

George chuckled. "I'm with Janet and Danny all right. I always did swear by you, Rosie!"

"Then why don't you do as I tell you?" Rosie faced him squarely. "It would be very much better for you!"

For a moment George looked at her in affectionate amus.e.m.e.nt. Then his face grew serious as her own. "All right, Rosie, I will. You're right: I have made a bad mess of things with Ellen. It couldn't be worse. So here's my promise: for the rest of the time I'm here, I'll do just exactly as you say."

Rosie beamed her approval. "And I promise you, Jarge, you won't be sorry!"

In all formality they shook hands over the bargain.

"Now then," George began briskly, "what's the first thing I'm to do?"

Rosie hesitated. "I haven't exactly thought it out yet."

"Huh! So it ain't so awful easy even for you to be sensible!" He peeped at her slyly.

"I want to think things over carefully," Rosie explained, "and I want to ask Danny Agin's advice." George gave a grunt of protest, so Rosie hastened to add: "Of course I won't use your name. I'll just put the case to Danny in a sort of general way and, before he guesses what I really mean, he'll be telling me what I want to know. Oh, I wouldn't mention your name for anything!"

George chuckled. "I'm sure you wouldn't!" He stood up. "Well, good-night, kid. It's time for both of us to get to bed. And say, Rosie, I'm awful glad you're back. I've had a bad time since you've been gone.

Everything's went wrong. Now you're back, I feel better already....

Good-night."

They were all glad she was back! In the suns.h.i.+ne of so much appreciation, Rosie's heart felt like a little flower bursting into bloom.

CHAPTER XXVIII

JANET USES STRONG LANGUAGE

Night brought back to Mrs. O'Brien her usual serenity. Given a little time she always worked around to serenity, even after blows such as Ellen's lost job. The next morning, while George Riley ate his breakfast, she was able to talk about it without a trace of her first despair.

"Have you heard, Jarge, the frightful experience poor Ellen had at that office? Her boss was one of them unreasonable fussy old men that would worry any poor girl to death. Ellen stood it for two days and then she told him she'd just have to give up. They were so awfully sorry to lose her that they paid her a whole week's wages. I tell her she done quite right not trying to stick it out under such conditions. 'Twould make an old woman of her in no time. As I says to her, 'The game ain't worth the candle. And what's more,' says I, 'what with your fine looks and your fine education you won't be any time getting another job.' And she won't. I'm sure of that. She was awfully afraid we'd be blaming her, but 'Make your mind easy,' I says to her. 'You've done just exactly what your poor da and I would have advised you to do.' Oh, I tell you, Jarge, in these days a poor girl has to mind her P's and Q's or they'll impose on her! You know that's so, Jarge."

Rosie sighed. Three weeks had made no change in her mother's character.

Whatever Ellen or any of her children might be guilty of, within twenty-four hours Mrs. O'Brien would be sure to find them blameless and even praiseworthy.

Rosie was glad to see that George Riley, in spite of his infatuation, was not entirely taken in. He smiled to himself a little grimly. "So she's lost her job already, has she?"

Mrs. O'Brien demurred: "'Tain't quite fair to the poor girl to say she lost her job. What Ellen done was this: she resigned her position."

George glanced at Rosie and she, to make sure he understood, wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "I'll tell you about it sometime," she remarked carelessly.

"She's off shopping this morning," Mrs. O'Brien continued. "I told her not to go back to them offices for a couple of days. She needs a little rest and once she gets a good steady job goodness knows when she'll ever again have a moment to herself. So I'm wanting her to get her shopping done while she can."

"You see, Jarge," Rosie explained; "she needs a lot of new clothes and now that she's making money she can buy them herself. She's going to get a new hat, too. She doesn't like that last new hat." Rosie tried to use a tone that would sound guileless to her mother and yet tell George all there was to tell.

With her mother at least she was successful. "You must remember," Mrs.

O'Brien went on, "a girl in her position has got to dress mighty well or they'll be taking advantage of her. So I says to her, 'Now, Ellen dear, just get yourself a nice new hat and anything else you need. Don't mind any board money this week.' You know, Jarge, she's going to begin paying three dollars a week regular. Don't you call that pretty fine for a poor girl who is just starting out in life? You mustn't forget, Jarge, that all you pay yourself is five dollars a week."

"Yes, but the difference is he really pays it!" Rosie could not resist stating this fact even at risk of hurting her mother's feelings.

The risk was a safe one. Mrs. O'Brien only smiled blandly. "'Tis no difference at all, Rosie dear. Come next week, Ellen'll be really paying it, too. She gave me her word she would."

A mother's faith in her offspring is touching and very beautiful. It is even more: it is as it should be. Nevertheless it is usually wearisome to outsiders. In this case, Rosie's point of view was that of an outsider. She stood her mother's eulogy of Ellen as long as she could and then, to avoid an outburst, she fled. She ventured back once or twice but not to stay, as Ellen continued to be the theme of her mother's conversation and George, poor victim, seemed not to realize how bored he was.

Rosie began to think that her second day home was in a fair way of being spoiled. As the morning wore away she found another grievance.

"Terry," she said, "I don't know what has become of Janet. She promised to be here first thing this morning. I suppose her father's been beating her up again."

"Did you know," Terry asked, "that Dave McFadden got pulled in while you were away? He was fined ten dollars."

"Wisht he'd been sent up for ten years!" Rosie declared. "Mis' McFadden and Janet would be much better off without him!"

Dear, dear! Taken by and large this poor old world is pretty full of trouble! Rosie sighed deeply, wondering how she was going to bear the burden of it all.

She waited for Janet until afternoon, when it was time for her to go about her business as paper-carrier. She was sure now that something serious had happened to Janet. To the child of a man like Dave McFadden something serious might happen almost any time. On the first part of her route Rosie gave herself up to all sorts of horrible imaginings. Then, in the excitement of a long talk with Danny Agin on the subject of George Riley, she forgot Janet and did not think of her again until she reached home.

Janet was there on the porch awaiting her.

"Poor Janet's in trouble," Mrs. O'Brien began at once.

This was evident enough from the expression of Janet's face.

"What is it, Janet? What's happened?" Rosie put a sympathetic arm about Janet's shoulder and peered anxiously into her somber eyes.

"Her poor ma's been took sick," Mrs. O'Brien continued.

"Oh, Janet, I'm sorry! Is it serious?"

"Horspital," Mrs. O'Brien announced.

"Hospital!" Rosie repeated. Then it was serious! "When did it happen, Janet?"

"This morning." Janet spoke quietly in a tired colourless voice.

"Were you at home, Janet?"

"No. On the street."

"Did they send for an ambulance?"

"Yes."

"Did they take you to the hospital, too?"