“What for?“Adams asked, incredulously. “Why should she or anybody else pick on Alice?”
“‘Why?’ ‘What for?’” his wife repeated with a greater vehemence. “Do YOU ask me such a thing as that? Do you really want to know?”
“Yes; I’d want to know—I would if I believed it.”
“Then I’ll tell you,” she said in a cold fury. “It’s on account of you, Virgil, and nothing else in the world.”
He hooted at her. “Oh, yes! These girls don’t like ME, so they pick on Alice.”
“Quit your palavering and evading,” she said. “A crowd of girls like that, when they get a pretty girl like Alice among them, they act just like wild beasts. They’ll tear her to pieces, or else they’ll chase her and run her out, because they know if she had half a chance she’d outshine ‘em. They can’t do that to a girl like Mildred Palmer because she’s got money and family to back her. Now you listen to me, Virgil Adams: the way the world is now, money IS family. Alice would have just as much ‘family’ as any of ‘em every single bit—if you hadn’t fallen behind in the race.”
“How did I–-“
“Yes, you did!” she cried. “Twenty-five years ago when we were starting and this town was smaller, you and I could have gone with any of ‘em if we’d tried hard enough. Look at the people we knew then that do hold their heads up alongside of anybody in this town! WHY can they? Because the men of those families made money and gave their children everything that makes life worth living! Why can’t we hold our heads up? Because those men passed you in the race. They went up the ladder, and you—you’re still a clerk down at that old hole!”
“You leave that out, please,” he said. “I thought you were going to tell me something Henrietta Lamb had done to our Alice.”
“You BET I’m going to tell you,” she assured him, vehemently. “But first I’m telling WHY she does it. It’s because you’ve never given Alice any backing nor any background, and they all know they can do anything they like to her with perfect impunity.
If she had the hundredth part of what THEY have to fall back on she’d have made ‘em sing a mighty different song long ago!”
“How would she?”
“Oh, my heavens, but you’re slow!” Mrs. Adams moaned. “Look here! You remember how practically all the nicest boys in this town used to come here a few years ago. Why, they were all crazy over her; and the girls HAD to be nice to her then. Look at the difference now! There’ll be a whole month go by and not a young man come to call on her, let alone send her candy or flowers, or ever think of TAKING her any place and yet she’s prettier and brighter than she was when they used to come. It isn’t the child’s fault she couldn’t hold ‘em, is it? Poor thing, SHE tried hard enough! I suppose you’d say it was her fault, though.”
“No; I wouldn’t.”
“Then whose fault is it?”
“Oh, mine, mine,” he said, wearily. “I drove the young men away, of course.”
“You might as well have driven ‘em, Virgil. It amounts to just the same thing.”
“How does it?”
“Because as they got older a good many of ‘em began to think more about money; that’s one thing. Money’s at the bottom of it all, for that matter. Look at these country clubs and all such things: the other girls’ families belong and we don’t, and Alice don’t; and she can’t go unless somebody takes her, and nobody does any more. Look at the other girls’ houses, and then look at our house, so shabby and old-fashioned she’d be pretty near ashamed to ask anybody to come in and sit down nowadays! Look at her clothes—oh, yes; you think you shelled out a lot for that little coat of hers and the hat and skirt she got last March; but it’s nothing. Some of these girls nowadays spend more than your whole salary on their clothes. And what jewellery has she got? A plated watch and two or three little pins and rings of the kind people’s maids wouldn’t wear now. Good Lord, Virgil Adams, wake up! Don’t sit there and tell me you don’t know things like this mean SUFFERING for the child!”
He had begun to rub his hands wretchedly back and forth over his bony knees, as if in that way he somewhat alleviated the tedium caused by her racking voice. “Oh, my, my!” he muttered. “OH, my, my!”
“Yes, I should think you WOULD say ‘Oh, my, my!’ ” she took him up, loudly. “That doesn’t help things much! If you ever wanted to DO anything about it, the poor child might see some gleam of hope in her life. You don’t CARE for her, that’s the trouble; you don’t care a single thing about her.”
“I don’t?”
“No; you don’t. Why, even with your miserable little salary you could have given her more than you have. You’re the closest man I ever knew: it’s like pulling teeth to get a dollar out of you for her, now and then, and yet you hide some away, every month or so, in some wretched little investment or other. You–-“
“Look here, now,” he interrupted, angrily. “You look here! If I didn’t put a little by whenever I could, in a bond or something, where would you be if anything happened to me? The insurance doctors never passed me; YOU know that. Haven’t we got to have SOMETHING to fall back on?”
“Yes, we have!” she cried. “We ought to have something to go on with right now, too, when we need it. Do you suppose these snippets would treat Alice the way they do if she could afford to ENTERTAIN? They leave her out of their dinners and dances simply because they know she can’t give any dinners and dances to leave them out of! They know she can’t get EVEN, and that’s the whole story! That’s why Henrietta Lamb’s done this thing to her now.”
Adams had gone back to his rubbing of his knees. “Oh, my, my!” he said. “WHAT thing?”
She told him. “Your dear, grand, old Mister Lamb’s Henrietta has sent out invitations for a large party—a LARGE one. Everybody that is anybody in this town is asked, you can be sure. There’s a very fine young man, a Mr. Russell, has just come to town, and he’s interested in Alice, and he’s asked her to go to this dance with him. Well, Alice can’t accept. She can’t go with him, though she’d give anything in the world to do it. Do you understand? The reason she can’t is because Henrietta Lamb hasn’t invited her. Do you want to know why Henrietta hasn’t invited her? It’s because she knows Alice can’t get even, and because she thinks Alice ought to be snubbed like this on account of only being the daughter of one of her grandfather’s clerks. I HOPE you understand!”
“Oh, my, my!” he said. “OH, my, my!”
“That’s your sweet old employer,” his wife cried, tauntingly. “That’s your dear, kind, grand old Mister Lamb! Alice has been left out of a good many smaller things, like big dinners and little dances, but this is just the same as serving her notice that she’s out of everything! And it’s all done by your dear, grand old–-“
“Look here!” Adams exclaimed. “I don’t want to hear any more of that! You can’t hold him responsible for everything his grandchildren do, I guess! He probably doesn’t know a thing about it. You don’t suppose he’s troubling HIS head over–-“
But she burst out at him passionately. “Suppose you trouble YOUR head about it! You’d better, Virgil Adams! You’d better, unless you want to see your child just dry up into a miserable old maid!
She’s still young and she has a chance for happiness, if she had a father that didn’t bring a millstone to hang around her neck, instead of what he ought to give her! You just wait till you die and God asks you what you had in your breast instead of a heart!”
“Oh, my, my!” he groaned. “What’s my heart got to do with it?”