Mr. Bridge_ A Novel - Evan S. Connell [7]
He asked what was on her mind, and she replied that it was about Harriet. Harriet had asked for an advance of twenty-five dollars.
He frowned. Borrowing money was a bad policy. He himself had not had to borrow for quite a few years, not since he first went into practice and had no clients. Borrowing was hateful and degrading, and as a rule the people who wanted to borrow money were just too lazy to earn it. In a nation as prosperous as the United States almost anybody who was willing to work should be able to earn enough to live on. Granted, there were bad times and exceptional circumstances. Anyone could have an accident or be struck by a disease. There were unusual cases, true. But as for Harriet wanting to borrow twenty-five dollars before she was entitled to it, that did not sound reasonable. She must have been squandering money.
Why had she asked for this advance?
Mrs. Bridge did not know.
What became of last month’s salary?
Mrs. Bridge did not know. “I agree with you one hundred per cent about borrowing,” she added, “but I do think it would be a good idea if you spoke to her. She’s never asked for an advance before.”
“I’ll listen to the story,” he said.
And a few moments later Harriet appeared at the door. He told her to come in, and gestured at the leather couch. She seated herself primly, feet together, hands folded in her lap.
“Now, what’s all this about wanting to borrow?”
“Well, as a matter of fact,” said Harriet, “I do wish to request a small sum in advance of my monthly wages. I presume Mrs. Bridge has informed you?”
“She has.”
Then in an obviously rehearsed statement Harriet said, “I ought to make plain it is not a life-or-death proposition. It is simply a matter that I have a number of special items of personal nature I wish to purchase between now and next payday. I was hopeful this could be arranged somehow.”
Mr. Bridge said, “What you do with your money is not my affair, but if you find it necessary to ask for an advance it strikes me that you may not have been handling your money too wisely.”
“Emergencies do crop up,” said Harriet.
“I don’t mind telling you I think it’s a poor policy. Borrowing money is asking for trouble.”
“I fully agree,” Harriet said, sounding very much like Mrs. Bridge. “One can’t help disapproving. However, there is a situation come up the other day which is making life difficult.”
“Oh?”
“May I speak frankly?”
“By all means.”
“Well, if I may say so frankly, this situation I refer to is dislikable even to mention, so I prefer not to get into detail, if you don’t mind.”
“Spare me the details. But under the circumstances I think you had better give me at least a general idea of what this is all about.”
Harriet compressed her lips and frowned at the rug. “Well, as everybody is aware, I have this relationship with Mr. Talbot.”
“I know nothing whatever about your personal life.”
Harriet was still sitting with her ankles pressed together and hands folded. “I am sure you must be acquainted with Mr. Talbot. He has come by the house here a number of evenings my night off to pick me up.”
“Couperin,” Mr. Bridge said. “That’s who you mean.”
“That happens to be Mr. Talbot’s first name, yes.”
“How does he enter into this?”
“Well, I hate to say so on account of our relationship, but if the truth be known he is responsible. This whole thing is on his account, as you see.”
“No,” said Mr. Bridge, “I don’t see.”
“I was about to explain. May I speak frankly?”
“Go ahead.”
“Well, as I was saying, Mr. Talbot and I, we have had this relationship when I am off in the evenings for some time now. I forget just how long, except it has been some time.” She paused and gave him a significant look.
“Go on.”
“I was fixing to. Mr. Talbot he has this unfortunate problem about money and things of that nature, if you follow me. He got this special difficulty keeping his hand out of other people’s pocket. He has got hisself in trouble