Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 150, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 July 1918 — Pretensions [ARTICLE]

Pretensions

By HELEN CLARK

(Copyright, 1918, by the McClure Newspfcper Syndicate.) “On your way home stop at Dobbs* —Set some flowers—orchids —something with a heart throb in ’em —ten dollars or so—the kind of thing you’d pick yourself for the girl you were in love with.” The first time Bowden Pain received instructions from old Mr. Clark, president of the large concern for which he was cashier, he felt a little like saying: “Who do you think lam? Your valet?” - But he found the task of selecting flowers at Dobbs* so diverting that the next time a similar order came to select the flowers that Mr. Clark wished to have sent to his wife as indication of his own personal thought and affection, he greeted the task with keen Interest, and put so much heart into the selection that old Mr. Clark felt the beneficial results in his good wife’s disposition for a week to come. At the end of the week he again requested Mr. Pain to order flowers “with a heart throb in ’em.” And Pain outdid himself by ordering a basket of pink roses and blue larkspur that actually caused the dry-eyed Mrs. Clark to melt into tears. It was on that night that Bowden first saw Martha Jenks. He was particularly disarmed, for following Mr. Clark’s instructions, he had put himself in the mood of the young man in love with someone. He was exposed in a most vulnerable point. He was not in love, but he was In a lover’s mood, and when Martha appeared and he heard that indefinably little swish and perceived the almost negligible scent of perfume that in his mind was associated with women of “real class” he promptly succumbed. • He heard her order six small bouquets of lilies of the valley suitable for favors at a luncheon the next day, and took particular pains to attend to her instructions as to where they should le sent.

“The Founders’ Club,” he heard her say, and besides being filled with admiration for the particular way in which she uttered these words, he was also aware of the fact that she was a member of an exclusive city society—for to be a member of the Founders’ Club one had not only to be a lineal descendant of one of the Colonial founders of the city, but one had to have considerable money to spend on club dues and otherwise to “keep up” with that organization. Bowden Pain had one thing in his favor at the outset of the pursuit of his ideal. He was a member of “the” Pain family, and although had he taken the trouble he might have learned that the original Hezekiah Pain was twice pilloried for breaking the Sabbath, and enjoyed no higher distinction in the community than that of road mender, still he was descended from a founder, and was eligible to the club. Never in his wildest dreams, however, had he thought of seeking membership. First, because of the expense that would entail; and second, because the young men and women who belonged to the organization were many rungs higher on the social ladder than he pretended to be. But the idea of belonging first entered his head shortly after he heard the charming Martha mention the name of the club as the address to which the flowers could be sent. And after the coincidence of meeting her a second time at Dobbs’ florist shop, he went home to figure out on paper about what the necessary expense of membership would be. The itemizing ran something as follows: “Initiation fee, S2OO. (Bowden believed this to be the sum. He would verify it the next day). AnnuaFdues $60.00 Tuxedo suit (for men’s night) .. 60.00 Swallowtail renovated 15.00 Evening clothes accessories.... 10.00 Black shoes 10.00 ■ Mu """

\ - $355.00 This was no sum to be thrown lightly away. In the veins of Bowden ran the true Yankee blood of the Pains, and even a part of his savings were not to be spent lightly on self-indulgence. He was saving, as he conveniently could, for the as yet indefinite home for an even less definite “family.” But why save for a “family,” Bowden reflected to himself, when the accomplishment of his ambitions along that line might possibly depend on the expenditure of part of the savings? But even after the second vision of Martha at Dobbs’ he might have let his dreams of belonging to the Founders’ club subside had he not met the charmer at the bank. He was depositing his small weekly savings, and she —fair spender that she was—was rather nonchalantly withdrawing a neat little roll of bills. Bowden saw no less than five tendollar bills, presumably her pin money for a week. The thought of financing a wife of such habits—for Bowden actually did think of her as a not impossible Mrs. Pain—was not the immediate problem. The immediate problem was financing membership in the Founders’ club. The idea of marrying a woman who could thus casually draw a large bank roll from the teller’s window had no special attraction for Bowden. His Yankee inheritance included the ambition to support bis own wife on his own earnings. Still, he did not let that trifle disturb bis peace'of mind, but went about it Jn

quite a calculating manner «.e next day to have his name proposed nt the Founders’ clr’ by a friend who belonged. Ne iess to say, no one opposed his admission. He was perfectly eligible, and unattached, good-looking bachelors were at a premium. Then began the really hard part of the membership—that of securing an introduction to Martha. Bowden attended every evening function at the club, and as many afternoon ones as he could manage to, without actually giving up his business career. The three hundred and fifty-five dollars that he had estimated would cover his expenses for the first year of course fell fartbelow the actuality. This did not include tickets to the various benefit entertainments held at the clubrooms, nor did it include meals and refreshments there, nor tips. And all the time that Bowden was spending his money there were no signs of Martha. , One day he dropped in the clubrooms on his way from his office —as a matter of fact to try to recover an umbrella he, had left there at the last evening entertainment It was dark in the entrance hall where the check boys sat, and it was not until he became accustomed to the subdued light that he recognized Martha sitting there. She was alone, and she was fingering the pages of a small note book. Bowden found it inoperative for him to take a seat on the other side of the hall to look over some notes in his own pocket. From time to time he looked up at Martha. She was the same delightful girl and there was the same air of perfect grooming about her. He would never have noticed the blemish in the grooming, had it not been for her quick effort to cover up the wrists of both her hands at the sable time. Then he saw that over each was fastened, and kept in place by a metal paper clip, a large sheet of copy paper, such as his own stenographer used to keep from getting office grime on a fresh blouse. Martha had removed her cuffs in haste, but Bowden caught the movement. Then the check boy, who was at the telephone, spoiled Martha’s little game of pretension. “Here’s a message for Mrs. Snodgrass’ secretary,” he said, and Martha had to take it. In her confusion at doing so she let fall the little notebook that she had been fingering. Bowden seized it, and on the absurd pretext of wishing to see to whom it belonged, he read the name of Martha Tussle. It was absurd that he did not restore it to her until she had left the clubhouse and he had followed her half a block down the street. “I have seen you before,” he said. And she did not deny that she had also noticed the coincidence of the frequent meeting. "And I thought you belonged to the Founders* club.” “I pretended I did,” she said, “that first day. I Wanted you to think I did, and now you’ll dislike me because I’ve posed to be something I was not.” “And I have been pretending, too,” he said. “I’ve been pretending that I could afford to belong to this club, when I couldn’t. I wanted to know you and I wanted you to think that I had as much money as the other men who belong.” “Then we’re both pretending,” she said. “But if we hadn’t pretended," he said, “we would never have met.” It seemed as they walked along in the spring dusk, that they had always known each other, and Bowden Pain was already feeling relief at the thought that his annual dues and other Incidentals would not have to be paid for next year. He also looked with more specific interest at the objective of his savings. He-took the girl beside him into his confidence. “And it is better —and more like the Pains—not to marry a womap with money. You knew from the first how it was to be?" And Martha’s low answer in the deepening dusk satisfied him.