The Price She Paid [50]
years ago I could almost try for the squab class.''
``Squab class?'' queried Mildred.
``Yes, squabs. Don't you see them around everywhere?-- the women dressed like girls of sixteen to eighteen--and some of them are that, and younger. They go hopping and laughing about--and they seem to please the men and to have no end of a good time. Especially the oldish men. Oh, yes, you know a squab on sight--tight skirt, low shoes and silk stockings, cute pretty face, always laughing, hat set on rakishly and hair done to match, and always a big purse or bag--with a yellow-back or so in it--as a kind of a hint, I guess.''
Mildred had seen squabs. ``I've envied them--in a way,'' said she. ``Their parents seem to let them do about as they please.''
``Their parents don't know--or don't care. Sometimes it's one, sometimes the other. They travel in two sets. One is where they meet young fellows of their own class--the kind they'll probably marry, unless they happen to draw the capital prize. The other set they travel in--well, it's the older men they meet round the swell hotels and so on--the yellow-back men.''
``How queer!'' exclaimed Mildred, before whose eyes a new world was opening. ``But how do they--these --squabs--account for the money?''
``How do a thousand and one women in this funny town account at home for money and things?'' retorted Mrs. Belloc. ``Nothing's easier. For instance, often these squabs do--or pretend to do--a little something in the way of work--a little canvassing or artists' model or anything you please. That helps them to explain at home--and also to make each of the yellow- back men think he's the only one and that he's being almost loved for himself alone.''
Mrs. Belloc laughed. Mildred was too astonished to laugh, and too interested--and too startled or shocked.
``But I was telling you how _I_ got down here,'' continued the landlady. ``Up in my town there was an old man--about seventy-five--close as the bark on a tree, and ugly and mean.'' She paused to draw a long breath and to shake her head angrily yet triumphantly at some figure her fancy conjured up. ``Oh, he WAS a pup!--and is! Well, anyhow, I decided that I'd marry him. So I wrote home for fifty dollars. I borrowed another fifty here and there. I had seventy-five saved up against sickness. I went up to Boston and laid it all out in underclothes and house things--not showy but fine and good to look at. Then one day, when the weather was fine and I knew the old man would be out in his buggy driving round--I dressed myself up to beat the band. I took hours to it--scrubbing, powdering, sacheting, perfuming, fixing the hair, fixing my finger-nails, fixing up my feet, polishing every nail and making them look better than most hands.''
Mildred was so interested that she was excited. What strange freak was coming?
``You never could guess,'' pursued Mrs. Belloc, complacently. ``I took my sunshade and went out, all got up to kill. And I walked along the road until I saw the old man's buggy coming with him in it. Then I gave my ankle a frightful wrench. My! How it hurt!''
``What a pity!'' said Mildred sympathetically. ``What a shame!''
``A pity? A shame?'' cried Mrs. Belloc, laughing. ``Why, my dear, I did it a-purpose.''
``On purpose!'' exclaimed Mildred.
``Certainly. That was my game. I screamed out with pain--and the scream was no fake, I can tell you. And I fell down by the roadside on a nice grassy spot where no dust would get on me. Well, up comes the old skinflint in his buggy. He climbed down and helped me get off my slipper and stocking. I knew I had him the minute I saw his old face looking at that foot I had fixed up so beautifully.''
``How DID you ever think of it?'' exclaimed Mildred.
``Go and teach school for ten years in a dull little town, my dear--and look in the glass every day and see your youth fading away--and you'll think of most anything. Well, to make a long story short, the old man took me in the buggy to his house where he lived with his deaf, half-blind
``Squab class?'' queried Mildred.
``Yes, squabs. Don't you see them around everywhere?-- the women dressed like girls of sixteen to eighteen--and some of them are that, and younger. They go hopping and laughing about--and they seem to please the men and to have no end of a good time. Especially the oldish men. Oh, yes, you know a squab on sight--tight skirt, low shoes and silk stockings, cute pretty face, always laughing, hat set on rakishly and hair done to match, and always a big purse or bag--with a yellow-back or so in it--as a kind of a hint, I guess.''
Mildred had seen squabs. ``I've envied them--in a way,'' said she. ``Their parents seem to let them do about as they please.''
``Their parents don't know--or don't care. Sometimes it's one, sometimes the other. They travel in two sets. One is where they meet young fellows of their own class--the kind they'll probably marry, unless they happen to draw the capital prize. The other set they travel in--well, it's the older men they meet round the swell hotels and so on--the yellow-back men.''
``How queer!'' exclaimed Mildred, before whose eyes a new world was opening. ``But how do they--these --squabs--account for the money?''
``How do a thousand and one women in this funny town account at home for money and things?'' retorted Mrs. Belloc. ``Nothing's easier. For instance, often these squabs do--or pretend to do--a little something in the way of work--a little canvassing or artists' model or anything you please. That helps them to explain at home--and also to make each of the yellow- back men think he's the only one and that he's being almost loved for himself alone.''
Mrs. Belloc laughed. Mildred was too astonished to laugh, and too interested--and too startled or shocked.
``But I was telling you how _I_ got down here,'' continued the landlady. ``Up in my town there was an old man--about seventy-five--close as the bark on a tree, and ugly and mean.'' She paused to draw a long breath and to shake her head angrily yet triumphantly at some figure her fancy conjured up. ``Oh, he WAS a pup!--and is! Well, anyhow, I decided that I'd marry him. So I wrote home for fifty dollars. I borrowed another fifty here and there. I had seventy-five saved up against sickness. I went up to Boston and laid it all out in underclothes and house things--not showy but fine and good to look at. Then one day, when the weather was fine and I knew the old man would be out in his buggy driving round--I dressed myself up to beat the band. I took hours to it--scrubbing, powdering, sacheting, perfuming, fixing the hair, fixing my finger-nails, fixing up my feet, polishing every nail and making them look better than most hands.''
Mildred was so interested that she was excited. What strange freak was coming?
``You never could guess,'' pursued Mrs. Belloc, complacently. ``I took my sunshade and went out, all got up to kill. And I walked along the road until I saw the old man's buggy coming with him in it. Then I gave my ankle a frightful wrench. My! How it hurt!''
``What a pity!'' said Mildred sympathetically. ``What a shame!''
``A pity? A shame?'' cried Mrs. Belloc, laughing. ``Why, my dear, I did it a-purpose.''
``On purpose!'' exclaimed Mildred.
``Certainly. That was my game. I screamed out with pain--and the scream was no fake, I can tell you. And I fell down by the roadside on a nice grassy spot where no dust would get on me. Well, up comes the old skinflint in his buggy. He climbed down and helped me get off my slipper and stocking. I knew I had him the minute I saw his old face looking at that foot I had fixed up so beautifully.''
``How DID you ever think of it?'' exclaimed Mildred.
``Go and teach school for ten years in a dull little town, my dear--and look in the glass every day and see your youth fading away--and you'll think of most anything. Well, to make a long story short, the old man took me in the buggy to his house where he lived with his deaf, half-blind