Round the Corner in Gay Street Part 24

"You need n't be. The commanding officer who has proved to his regiment that in an emergency he can work with them, shoulder to shoulder--and work better than they can--need have no fears. It 'll just be a case of 'Bridget, Norah, Sophy, Mary, Ellen--fall in! Shoulder arms! March!'

And off the regiment will go, heads up, chests out, eyes to the front."

CHAPTER IV

POT-HOOKS

"I want to have a talk with you, Murray."

"All right, sister, I 'm at your service."

"Please come over to the seat beyond the shrubbery, where n.o.body will see or hear. It's not a very suitable place, but it's better than the house this hot night."

"Not a suitable place?" queried Murray, as he followed s.h.i.+rley across the lawn. "Not so fast, child. It is a hot night, and I 've only just cooled off since dinner. It was insufferable in the office to-day--or would have been if anybody had had time to stop and think about it. Why is n't that romantic seat beyond the shrubbery just the place to talk?"

"Because the talk has no romance about it. The office would be the place for it, only you 've no time to give me if I should come there."

"You excite my curiosity." Murray disposed himself comfortably upon the wide rustic seat, screened from all beholders without and within the grounds, not only by shrubbery and hedges, but by the fast deepening July twilight. "Fire away. Anything gone wrong?"

"Nothing--except me."

"You alarm me."

"Don't joke. I 'm serious."

"I see you are. And that's what alarms me. Seriousness, at eighteen----"

"I 'm nineteen--nearly twenty. And I 'm not only serious--I 'm cross.

Murray, I want something to do."

"Haven't you plenty? Jane tells me she could n't get on without you."

"Jane is a dear. And I love to help her. But I want to be doing something--else. I want to amount to something. I want to learn something."

"Miss c.o.c.kburn's finis.h.i.+ng-school didn't finish then? Is college the bee you have in your bonnet?"

"No, I 'm afraid I 'm too unsettled for that now--I don't know why.

Once I spent a whole week trying to convince mother I must go to college instead of to school in England. But I don't want that any more. I want--Murray, please don't laugh when I tell you!"

"Why should I laugh? It's plain you mean business of some sort, and I 'm honoured by your confidence. Go ahead, little girl, and don't be afraid of your big brother."

"Well, then, I want to learn stenography and typewriting." It came with a rush, and after it s.h.i.+rley sat still, one hand holding the other tightly while she waited for the explosion she expected.

It did not come. Murray turned his head until she could feel that he was looking directly at her through the dim light. He sat up slightly, and thrust his hands deeper down into his pockets--a masculine action which usually indicates concentration of attention. He was silent for a full minute before he spoke. When he did speak, it was in the tone that one man uses to another when the basis of their intercourse is that of mutual respect.

"Would you mind giving me your idea? It's plain you have thought something out to the end. I need to know it from the beginning, if you want any advice worth while."

"I can, now I know that you're not going to knock me down with arguments against it before you know mine for it."

"That would be poor policy. That's the boomerang sort of argument--the one that comes back at one's self. Besides, I've too much confidence in my sister's good judgment to believe that she would fire a proposition like that at me without a reason back of it."

"The reason is easy. I'm restless for something to do. I don't want to be a next season's debutante, and go through a winter like the five Olive has spent. I want to work. I want to fit myself to be independent. If anything should happen to father's money, I don't want to be like the Desmond girls after their father's failure, as helpless as baby birds pushed out of the nest. Olive could n't do a thing.

Forrest is just an idler. You have Jane to take care of. But I--I could be learning to support myself."

"The business is in fine condition. We never were so substantial a firm as now. There's very little danger of our going to pot."

"That may be," said s.h.i.+rley, "though things do happen, Murray, out of a clear sky. But that's not my real reason. My real reason is a genuine, great big longing to amount to something. I never come down to the office without envying the girls I see there. I envy them because they have to do it--because they 're supporting themselves and somebody else by it."

"Do you mean that you would like a position in our office?"

"Oh, would n't I! If I could study and study, and practise and practise, and then some day take a dictation from you or father and bring you a perfect copy, I believe I 'd be--Murray, I 'd be the happiest girl that ever lived!"

"You mean that, do you?"

"I do."

"Have you thought that if you took a position in our office, or in any other, you 'd be shutting out some poor girl who really needs the salary?"

"Yes, I've thought of it. I know that's an argument against it. But, Murray, don't you think the rich men's daughters need employment sometimes quite as much as the poor ones do? Why, I 'm telling you I envy the poor ones!"

"I know; but the fact remains that they need the money, and you don't."

"Are n't you keeping some poor man out of the salary you get by taking the place of father's right hand man?"

Murray laughed. "There's a back-hander for me! But I 'm practically a partner, you know, and a firm can't do without its heads, no matter how many poor fellows would like the job."

"And you have the right to make something of yourself. But I have n't because I should be taking work away from some girl who needs it. I don't want to do that. I 'd work for nothing, or give my salary away."

"Ah, but that wouldn't solve the problem. The girl whose job you took from her would n't accept your salary from you."

"Then, just because a girl's father can support her, must she give up learning how to support herself? And the fun of doing it?"

"What do you expect the family to say about it?"

"Of course they won't like it. Except father. I think he will."

"Possibly, after you have wheedled him and hung round his neck. Well, do you feel you have a right to disappoint mother and Olive, as you will do, if you so much as begin on this course, to say nothing of sticking to it?"

s.h.i.+rley was silent for a moment. Then she answered, very gently, "I should be sorry for that, of course, but I think I have the right.

Devoting one's self to society can't be a duty one owes to one's family, if one does n't feel satisfied with that life. And my learning to earn my own living won't disgrace my family--not in these days of millionaire milliners and violet raisers."

"No, it won't disgrace your family. Instead, it makes one member of it sit up and look at his small sister with a good deal of respect. If you take hold of the thing, you 'll go through with it. I 've not the least doubt of that, for you 're no quitter."

"Thank you. Then will you go with me to talk with father about it?"