Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 5, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 January 1913 — SOUGHT A CAREER [ARTICLE]

SOUGHT A CAREER

It Was a Rough Road, but a Check for SSO Came at ( Right Time.

By LOUISE HOWARD.

Mavis had not a trace of temperament—her name to the contrary notwithstanding. Necessity, hard and grinding, combined with half-opportu-nity, had put her in the way of scribbling for profit. That is to say, her Sunday school teacher had been a wife to the editor of a rather important provincial newspaper. She it was who had got Mavis’.early efforts into print. She it was likewise, who, when the girl was sweet and twenty, and had sold one short story to a ten cent magazine, had counselled her to go cityward. “I feel sure you have a career. Go to meet It,” the dear woman had said. Mavis had obeyed. How after three years she smiled recalling the speech, then sighed thankfully, to know her monltress had gone to the Great Beyond, and would never know how futile had been her prophecy. If a career did really lie in wait for her, it had, so far, successfully eluded her. Unknown, sensitively proud, conscious of her provincialism, it was rather woderful that the girl had not starved. She still wrote, desperately, in intervals of sewing, substituting for * friend casually met who worked at the ribbon counter, and exercising pet dogs.

Naturally the things she sent out were crude —but with some vital touch in them that now and then appealed, and won acceptance. This was unfortunate —acceptances were just frequent enough to keep alive hope, pay postage, and buy good yellow paper. Mavis hated the yellow paper. She promised herself that in the good time ahead, she would use nothing but the most spotless linen.

This''fall, she had been more than ever beset by the writing impulse. Consequently the drain on postage had even scanted her daily bread. Where she had devoured two loaves, she now made ons do, supplemented by crackers for lunch. She had found a place to' get the most wonderful crackerbargains—five pounds of broken ones in a stout bag, for twenty-one cents. It was rather appalling to eat through such a bag—but. there were sundry ways of helping. Steamed crackers, for example, tasted wholly unlike dry ones. The steaming was managed over the gas jet, in the little stewpan that cooked everything. When she had sewing, which meant pay at the end of the job, she had hot milk. At other'times, hot water, barely dashed with syrup, warmed her for her work, if it did not greatly nourish her. December had been wonderful —Indian summer balmier than May. She had been extravagant enough to go out and revel In the balm, through hours that ought to have been given to work, even though she had no dogs to lead Her patrons in that line lingered in the country. But one or two had glven her sewing—making over, mending, beading. Altogether, Mavis felt reasonably sure of a Christmas dinner. Debt she would have none of —her rent was paid always to the day. Summing up her resources, she calculated that she could pay everything, and have ten dollars over. And she meant to spend one of the dollars upon a dinner. Dinner at the restaurant where all was appetizing and savory, was only seventyfive cents. But she meant to buy a flower for her rusty coat, also to tip the waitress, and wish hy luck—also being very extravagantly minded, to take cognac with her black coffee. She lived over the dinner in anticipation, almost every night. It helped with the sewing, and also with the milk and cracker diet. Two days before the holiday she had* everything finished. Since she couhted carfares religiously, she set out then to deliver her various parcels in one round. The round would run through almost a hundred blocks, to say nothing of zig zags crosstbwn. But“by contrivance, and transfers, she could make it cost only fifteen cents. Beckoning cash in hand, she found that after paying it she would have left little more than her rent.

The day made her almost forget that sact —it was so softly bright, so filled with heay distances. Dreamily she let it soak in. as she went down a hand* some street, with tall houses either side, and motors standing at ease in front of every other one. But coming back her steps lagged sensibly—the maid had taken her parcel eagerly, but had said: “Mrs. Gray is in the country—she’ll send yer money whin she comes In.” What if the others —Mavis stopped there, with something like a chill. As she came to the "car line, a sudden apprehension held her so strongly she resolved to walk to the next place, in spite of the parcels. Only twenty blocks np town and two across. She would ride then —of course if she got money. She d’d not ride thence —nor from any of the other places. It was the same everywhere—she would have to wait. Sh« walked home, getting there spent and white-faced at dusk. Stuck under the door was a long thin envelope—s’ght of It was the blow of all. It brought back the thlruj of -wh’ch she had liveliest hope—a bit of hufnorous verse, eent out a month before. Commonly that special editor sent bark things within a week. Cheques from him came In smaller envelopes of a cheerful pink ■color. i * '

Before her hat was off, there came a knock—outside was the landlady saying, ,‘Tm going away over Christmas —if you could —* She got no further —Mavis was crowding into her hands the only bill in her purse. WheflSshe had her receipt carefully signed, she sat down weakly—too depressed to think even how tired she was.

Next day, after a supperless sleep, she took stock of things. She had seventy cents in hand r-to last she could not tell how long. Moreover breakfast took the last four crackers — the bakery was a mile off, but she walked to and from it for her new supply- thus saving car fare, she dared to buy milk —once she even thought of venturing upon an egg, and a cent’s worth of butter. Second thought forbade. But on the way home she loitered in front of bake shops sniffing hungrily their savory smells. They made her wolfish. But once home hunger left her —and she sat down dully to darn stockings, and mend rents. She had been so busy making luckier folk shipshape, she had let her own garments go. Christmas dawned murky, but a bitter, raw wind rove the clouds away like frightened sheep. Mavis dressed herself carefully and went out facing it. Somehow she could not work. She had- gnawed her food dry, not even drinking water with it. She had not meant to go -to church, but the wind drove her inside. The service mocked her —there were flowers, special music, words of hope and good will —but to empty pews for the most part. Mavis sat/ alone, in a vast dimness, wondering dully if a God who noted falling sparrows, had not forgotten her.

Back in her room—her’s for a week longer—she fell furfousiy to writing. What she wrote was neither great nor eloquent—hardly even coherent, not a beggar’s whine, but the outpouring of a brave heart, driven to the wall. It was not bitter. ’ “They did not think,” was the burden of it. She hoped if people read it, it might save some other girl in extremity. She had a stamp left—that would take It to the Comet —if they sent to inquire after the writer, she would be —gone. Mavis smiled almost dreamily, thinking of the cool handy river. She would not go into it hungry.

A fancy came to her—to pretend as she had done when a, child. Rummaging in the cracker bag brought forth treasures —animal crackers, either scorched or lacking a leg, sweet biscuit, half crumbled, fruit wafers more than a bit dilapidated, even cheese wafers, half disintegrated. With all these she would serve herself a course dinner naming water, wine, and finishing with a hot draught for the coffee. She began bravely—desperate hunger is a sauce for even broken crackers. But half way through she broke down—her throat constricted —she could neither eat nor drink. Pretending brought back everything—the old life, which ls -colorless had been safe and full-fed. If the village had been narrowly provincial and gossipy, gossip would save in such a strait as this.

She got up blindly, put on her hat. sealed the letter already stamped and folded,and was reaching for her coat when she heard an apologetic knock outside. Without waiting, the door opened. The landlady’s husband stood there, in slippers and untidy smoking jacket. He faltered something about forgetting—postman’s being late—and thrust a letter upon her. Then he fled precipitately. His wife had charged him specially not to neglect a lodger who made no trouble —and always had the money waiting. For at least a minute Mavis could not open the letter—still she did not faint nor scream when out of it came a checque for fifty dollars. Another story had hit the mark. Then all occasion for tears being past, she indulged in a hearty cry—and ate the last courses of her Christmas dinner with a relish truly Incredible. (Copyright, 1912. by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)