Cinderella Jane. Marjorie Benton Cooke
you, Milly?" she asked.
The big cat purred loudly and rubbed against her skirt. She took her up and petted her a bit before she so much as laid off her things.
"I've got a piece of fish for you," she added as she put her coat and hat away. Milly, whose full name was Militant, constituted her entire family, and it was Jane's habit to talk to her continually.
"We'll hurry into the kitchen before Mrs. Biggs gets home to-night and get our supper out of the way," she said presently, and led the way down the narrow hall, the cat at her heels. She made her preparations quickly and deftly. Billy Biggs, aged eight, appeared as she was cooking.
"Hello, Miss Judd."
"Hello, Billy."
He was a very dirty and a very dull little boy, who wore his mouth open, and was mentally developed as far as his adenoids would permit. Jane tried to be interested in him, but failed.
"Wisht I had a piece of bread an' butter."
"All right, here it is. Your mother will be in, presently."
"Our supper ain't as good as yours."
This conversation took place almost every night. As soon as she could she carried everything into her room. Then she and Milly sat down to the function of dinner. Milly sat on a high chair at one side of the sewing table, Jane at the other.
"Milly, you're a good, steady friend, but I just ache to have somebody talk back to me to-night. I wonder how it would feel to go to Buffanti's with people you liked, to talk, and eat good food and listen to music."
Milly had no comments to make on the subject, except to claw her plate. Jane put a morsel of food there, which disappeared.
"I'll pretend I went with them, and put it into the story to-night. I know how they talk, Milly, and how they think, and how they act, but I want them to know how I think and talk and act. I'm sick of being alone, I want somebody——"
She broke off and hid her face in her hands. Milly scratched her plate significantly. It is the routine of life which helps us through the tragedy, always. At Milly's practical reminder, Jane replenished her plate with the scrapings from her own, rose, carried her dishes to the sink, washed them, and put them away.
Then she locked her door, got out her pen and her blank book, lit the student lamp, and sat down at her table. Milly sprang into her favourite chair and the pleasure time of the day came to both of them. The purr and the scratch of the pen lasted far into the night.
CHAPTER III
True to her word, Mrs. Abercrombie Brendon presented Jerry and his idea to her committee, and they appointed him Minister Extraordinary to the whole affair. He was to design the setting for the pageant and such costumes as he had time to do. He was to arrange and direct the tableaux.
There was a slight hitch in affairs, when Jerry presented his terms, but he was prepared for that. Mrs. Brendon sounded him on a reduction, but he stood firm, assuring her that he must be free to put all his heart and brain at their service. This was quite impossible unless he gave up all other work for the time being. If that was not entirely satisfactory to them, he would gladly withdraw. The interruption to his work was of considerable moment. Mrs. Brendon carried this answer back to the committee and they confirmed the amount, complaining bitterly.
Jerry was prepared for this incident. He also knew that in the end they would pay just what he asked—would pay anything to get what they wanted; and the particular thing they wanted now was a new way to dress up. None of them thought it was funny for the seemly old prophets to disport themselves at a ball, not until the newspaper wits began to point it out. But it never pays for the metropolitan dailies to be their funniest at the expense of the class which gives fifty-thousand-dollar balls, so the affair got under way with much advertising, and few jibes.
Jerry, with his first check safely deposited in the bank, went merrily to work at his designs. He spent his days in the library, studying costumes, looking over old pictures, working at effects. He decided upon the throne room of King Herod as the big general background of the show. He planned a wide staircase at the back, where, on a platform like a landing, the tableaux should appear, after which the actors should descend to bend the knee to the king and queen.
The plans began to grow, and, artist-like, Jerry hurled himself into his work with abandon. He laboured early and late, until he was tired out, before the real task of rehearsing, readjusting human equations, and such problems had begun.
"Jerry, you goose, you act as if you had been engaged by the Crown Prince to stage the Coronation. This is nothing but ready money to you, why do you wear yourself out on it?" protested Bobs.
"I want it to be the biggest thing of the kind that New York ever had. I'm interested in it. When it's over I will go off somewhere and rest. Don't you worry."
"Mrs. Abercrombie Brendon will take you for a cruise on her yacht, maybe," she said bitterly.
"Well, why not? I don't hate her yacht. What's the trouble, Bobsie? Are you jealous of these ladies of the rich and great?"
She blazed out at him.
"Yes, I am. What right have they to come down here, take you away from your work, pick your brains, wear you out, and then drop you when they've taken what they want? I hate them all!"
"Steady, old girl," said Jerry, putting a hand on each of her shoulders, and making her look at him. "For a penny, I'd shake you, Bobs! What do you think I am, a mechanical doll? Don't I have anything to say about what they do to me?"
"You think you do, but you don't."
"Don't you worry about me," he said shortly, and she knew he was annoyed. He went back to work on a costume drawing, and Bobs went out without another word.
"Damn," said Jerry softly. He worked rapidly for an hour. Then a movement in his bedroom startled him.
"Who's that?" he called.
Jane Judd came into view, a sock pulled over one hand.
"Did you speak?"
"Oh, Jane Judd, I forgot you were there."
"I went into the other room when Miss Roberts came."
He looked at her quickly.
"Quite unnecessary. Is there anything in that ice-box I could eat? I can't stop for lunch to-day."
She inspected his larder.
"I'll go get something," she said.
"Oh, don't bother. I'll do without."
Presently she started off, in hat and coat.
"Get enough for both of us, Miss Judd; I'll blow you to lunch."
She made no answer, closing the door softly not to disturb him. Later, she laid the table, served a chop, creamed potatoes, a salad, and Turkish coffee. When she called him, he came, drawing-board in hand. She served him.
"Where is your place?" he inquired.
"I brought some lunch."
"You sit down there, and eat half this lunch. It's a grand tiffin. Where did you learn to cook, Jane Judd?"
She sat down opposite him, trembling in every inch of her body, but her face wore its usual calm.
"Women don't learn to cook; they just absorb it. I've always done it."
She went to the little stove to serve herself to lunch and when she came back he was studying his sketch while he ate. He scarcely noticed her. When she refilled his coffee cup he became aware of her again.
"Heard about this big show I'm getting up?"
"Yes."