Kerry (Romance Classic). Grace Livingston Hill
for his burial and buy luxuries for herself, and then force his enemy’s money upon her husband. She would take the coat back where it was bought and beg them to return the money. If they would not do that she would sell the coat for what she could get and pay that bill. But her mother should not be allowed to do such a monstrous thing as that to her dead husband. Even though it might be only an idea, it was an idea that the loving daughter could not endure.
Kerry’s heart was beating wildly, and there was a set to her lips that reminded one of her father, as she stepped out into the street carrying the great box.
She trembled as she climbed into a tram car and paid her fare. She trembled more as she got out at the corner near the fur store and started toward the door. Now that she was here it seemed a preposterous thing she was about to do. Sell her beautiful little mother’s coat! Sell it without her knowledge! The habit of the years clutched at her throat and tried to detain her, but her loyal feet carried her straight inside the door, and her brave voice, though it trembled, gathered courage to ask for the proprietor.
She was told he was busy, and she was left to wait in a dark little corner of an office. That half hour seemed a century, and she went through tortures as she schooled herself to meet a scornful proprietor, and become a humble suppliant. Over and over she conned the words of a speech she had thought out, fearful lest she should forget; reminding herself constantly that she must in no wise reflect upon her mother, her beautiful little mother. Father would not like that. Father had told her to remember—!
Was it the thousandth time she had said that to herself when the man appeared, a tall, dark, frowning creature with black angry eyes and a hurried air.
“You wanted to see me?”
Then his eyes sought the box which stood at her feet as she rose.
“What is wrong? You have brought back a coat?”
Then Kerry lifted her wonderful purply-blue eyes under her shabby little hat, and unconsciously put her soul into them.
“It is my mother’s coat,” she spoke bravely. “I have come to ask you to take it back. My mother has not worn it. It is just as it came from the store. My father is dead, and we cannot afford to keep it. We have no money to pay for his burial.”
The man eyed her through with his little coal-black eyes that were like knives they seemed so sharp. When he saw that she was telling the truth his face took on a cunning look.
“Let me see it,” he said pointing to the box, his voice in no way softened, just sharp and hard as if he did not believe her.
Kerry took the coat out of its wrappings and handed it to him. Its soft folds fell luxuriously over his hands. A glint of avarice came into his eyes. It was one of his best coats.
Carefully he examined it in every little inch, inside and out. He saw it was not hurt. He could see it had not been worn. But his face was still hard.
“I can’t take back a garment at the same price,” he said in that icy tone. Hope sprang up in Kerry’s heart.
“But it has not been worn at all,” she pleaded. “It has not been out of the box except a few minutes when it first arrived.”
“How do I know that?” His voice raked itself over her tender sensibilities.
“Oh!” she said, and was very quiet, then reached her hand out for the garment.
“I have to sell it for second hand!” went on the proprietor, ignoring the outstretched hand.
“What would you give for it?” asked Kerry quietly.
The man continued to look it over, carefully examining pockets and lining.
At last he pierced her with his keen little cunning eyes again.
“I’ll have to take off fifty dollars,” he said narrowing his eyelids. “It’s a rule we have—!”
Kerry made a quick calculation.
“All right,” she said at last with trouble in her eyes. “If you will give me the cash right away I’ll have to let it go at that. We must pay the undertaker at once.”
The man went away quickly and returned with a roll of bills. His manner was suddenly cordial. He pressed the money upon her, counting it out rapidly. He almost hurried her away.
Puzzled, troubled, wondering if she should have stood out for the other fifty dollars, Kerry hurried down the street, grasping the shabby little bag that held the money. It occurred to her that perhaps he thought she had stolen the coat, and wished to get rid of her as soon as possible before the theft was discovered. Or perhaps he feared that her mother might come and demand the whole of the price. As matters stood he had his coat, and fifty dollars to the good, and now he would probably sell it again at the original price. Well—it was done now. She must not think about that other fifty dollars. She was only glad to have money enough to cover the bill and a few dollars over. A great burden had rolled from her heart with the feeling that her father’s own money would pay for the last that they could do for him on earth.
She was very tired when she reached the undertaker’s place for it was a long walk, and her mind was weary beyond words. She had felt that she must save even the few cents her car fare would have cost.
Kerry could see that the undertaker seemed surprised and relieved when she paid the bill. Was the whole world tangled up in worries about money? Even the fur man. Surely he had more than enough and to spare. And yet how eager he had been to keep that fifty dollars! Who knew but that he too had his perplexities? Well it was a troublous world. She wondered why any of it had to be at all. How good it would be if she might have gone with her dear father where there were no more of earth’s problems. Or were there other problems, there, wherever he was gone?
Kerry came away from the undertaker’s with a sense of freedom and of having been washed clean from a soil that had been upon her. That bill was paid, anyway, and honestly paid. If her mother was angry about it she would probably have to suffer, but she was glad she had taken the coat back, glad that the man had been willing to take it even at a discount; glad, glad, glad that the bill was paid with honest money intended for the purpose.
When Kerry reached the hotel rooms her mother’s door was still closed, so she laid the receipted bill and the few remaining dollars on the table where she knew her mother would see it as soon as she came out. Then she crept away behind her own locked door feeling age-old and very tired.
It was her mother’s knock upon her door that roused her.
“Kerry! What is this?” her mother asked when she came to the door. Her mother was standing by the table where the receipted bill and the money still lay.
“That is the bill,” said Kerry in a weary voice. “It is paid. I took that fur coat back!”
“You took my fur coat back!” exclaimed her mother with a curious mixture of amusement and fury in her voice. “You—took—it—back—!”
“Yes, Mother. You had no right to buy it. That was not your money. That was Father’s money and he had a right to be buried with it! I could not let you bury him on charity!”
There was fire in the girl’s eyes, tired and infinitely sad though they were.
The mother faced her for a moment, quite furious, then she suddenly turned childishly away and laughed.
“What a ridiculous infant you are! As if one dollar was any different from another! However, I’m not sure but I’m just as well pleased. I saw a coat to-day in another shop that I believe had better lines. But what have you done with the rest of the money? Did the man try to cheat you?”
“No, Mother, he took off fifty dollars because it was being returned. He said it was a rule they had.”
Kerry’s voice was tired and patient.
“The old fox!” said Isobel Kavanaugh. “He knew better. He told me himself that I might return it if I found I did not want to keep it. Well, I shall go