The Price She Paid [123]
touching the girl. ``Tell me about it, dear,'' said she.
In a monotonous, lifeless way Mildred told the story. It was some time after she finished when Agnes said:
``That's bad--bad, but it might be worse. You must go to see the manager, Crossley.''
``Why?'' said Mildred.
``Tell him what you told me.''
Mildred's silence was dissent.
``It can't do any harm,'' urged Agnes.
``It can't do any good,'' replied Mildred.
``That isn't the way to look at it.''
A long pause. Then Mildred said: ``If I got a place somewhere else, I'd meet the same thing in another form.''
``You've got to risk that.''
``Besides, I'd never have had a chance of succeeding if Mr. Ransdell hadn't taught me and stood behind me.''
It was many minutes before Agnes Belloc said in a hesitating, restrained voice: ``They say that success --any kind of success--has its price, and that one has to be ready to pay that price or fail.''
Again the profound silence. Into it gradually penetrated the soft, insistent sound of the distant roar of New York--a cruel, clamorous, devouring sound like a demand for that price of success. Said Agnes timidly:
``Why not go to see Mr. Ransdell.''
``He wouldn't make it up,'' said Mildred. ``And I --I couldn't. I tried to marry Stanley Baird for money--and I couldn't. It would be the same way now--only more so.''
``But you've got to do something.''
``Yes, and I will.'' Mildred had risen abruptly, was standing at the window. Agnes Belloc could feel her soul rearing defiantly at the city into which she was gazing. ``I will!'' she replied.
``It sounds as if you'd been pushed to where you'd turn and make a fight,'' said Agnes.
``I hope so,'' said Mildred. ``It's high time.''
She thought out several more or less ingenious indirect routes into Mr. Crossley's stronghold, for use in case frontal attack failed. But she did not need them. Still, the hours she spent in planning them were by no means wasted. No time is wasted that is spent in desperate, concentrated thinking about any of the practical problems of life. And Mildred Gower, as much as any other woman of her training--or lack of training-- was deficient in ability to use her mind purposefully. Most of us let our minds act like a sheep in a pasture--go wandering hither and yon, nibbling at whatever happens to offer. Only the superior few deliberately select a pasture, select a line of procedure in that pasture and keep to it, concentrating upon what is useful to us, and that alone. So it was excellent experience for Mildred to sit down and think connectedly and with wholly absorbed mind upon the phase of her career most important at the moment. When she had worked out all the plans that had promise in them she went tranquilly to sleep, a stronger and a more determined person, for she had said with the energy that counts: ``I shall see him, somehow. If none of these schemes works, I'll work out others. He's got to see me.''
But it was no occult ``bearing down'' that led him to order her admitted the instant her card came. He liked her; he wished to see her again; he felt that it was the decent thing, and somehow not difficult gently but clearly to convey to her the truth. On her side she, who had looked forward to the interview with some nervousness, was at her ease the moment she faced him alone in that inner office. He had extraordinary personal charm--more than Ransdell, though Ransdell had the charm invariably found in a handsome human being with the many-sided intellect that gives lightness of mind. Crossley was not intellectual, not in the least. One had only to glance at him to see that he was one of those men who reserve all their intelligence for the practical sides of the practical thing that forms the basis of their material career. He knew something of many things, had a wonderful assortment of talents --could sing, could play piano or violin, could compose, could act, could do mystifying card tricks, could order women's clothes as discriminatingly as he could order his own--all these
In a monotonous, lifeless way Mildred told the story. It was some time after she finished when Agnes said:
``That's bad--bad, but it might be worse. You must go to see the manager, Crossley.''
``Why?'' said Mildred.
``Tell him what you told me.''
Mildred's silence was dissent.
``It can't do any harm,'' urged Agnes.
``It can't do any good,'' replied Mildred.
``That isn't the way to look at it.''
A long pause. Then Mildred said: ``If I got a place somewhere else, I'd meet the same thing in another form.''
``You've got to risk that.''
``Besides, I'd never have had a chance of succeeding if Mr. Ransdell hadn't taught me and stood behind me.''
It was many minutes before Agnes Belloc said in a hesitating, restrained voice: ``They say that success --any kind of success--has its price, and that one has to be ready to pay that price or fail.''
Again the profound silence. Into it gradually penetrated the soft, insistent sound of the distant roar of New York--a cruel, clamorous, devouring sound like a demand for that price of success. Said Agnes timidly:
``Why not go to see Mr. Ransdell.''
``He wouldn't make it up,'' said Mildred. ``And I --I couldn't. I tried to marry Stanley Baird for money--and I couldn't. It would be the same way now--only more so.''
``But you've got to do something.''
``Yes, and I will.'' Mildred had risen abruptly, was standing at the window. Agnes Belloc could feel her soul rearing defiantly at the city into which she was gazing. ``I will!'' she replied.
``It sounds as if you'd been pushed to where you'd turn and make a fight,'' said Agnes.
``I hope so,'' said Mildred. ``It's high time.''
She thought out several more or less ingenious indirect routes into Mr. Crossley's stronghold, for use in case frontal attack failed. But she did not need them. Still, the hours she spent in planning them were by no means wasted. No time is wasted that is spent in desperate, concentrated thinking about any of the practical problems of life. And Mildred Gower, as much as any other woman of her training--or lack of training-- was deficient in ability to use her mind purposefully. Most of us let our minds act like a sheep in a pasture--go wandering hither and yon, nibbling at whatever happens to offer. Only the superior few deliberately select a pasture, select a line of procedure in that pasture and keep to it, concentrating upon what is useful to us, and that alone. So it was excellent experience for Mildred to sit down and think connectedly and with wholly absorbed mind upon the phase of her career most important at the moment. When she had worked out all the plans that had promise in them she went tranquilly to sleep, a stronger and a more determined person, for she had said with the energy that counts: ``I shall see him, somehow. If none of these schemes works, I'll work out others. He's got to see me.''
But it was no occult ``bearing down'' that led him to order her admitted the instant her card came. He liked her; he wished to see her again; he felt that it was the decent thing, and somehow not difficult gently but clearly to convey to her the truth. On her side she, who had looked forward to the interview with some nervousness, was at her ease the moment she faced him alone in that inner office. He had extraordinary personal charm--more than Ransdell, though Ransdell had the charm invariably found in a handsome human being with the many-sided intellect that gives lightness of mind. Crossley was not intellectual, not in the least. One had only to glance at him to see that he was one of those men who reserve all their intelligence for the practical sides of the practical thing that forms the basis of their material career. He knew something of many things, had a wonderful assortment of talents --could sing, could play piano or violin, could compose, could act, could do mystifying card tricks, could order women's clothes as discriminatingly as he could order his own--all these