Little Mrs. Sommers one
day found herself the unexpected possessor of fifteen dollars. It seemed to her
a very large amount of money, and the way in which it stuffed and bulged her
worn old porte-monnaie gave her a feeling of importance such as she had not
enjoyed for years.
The question of
investment was one that occupied her greatly. For a day or two she walked about
apparently in a dreamy state, but really absorbed in speculation and
calculation. She did not wish to act hastily, to do anything she might
afterward regret. But it was during the still hours of the night when she lay
awake revolving plans in her mind that she seemed to see her way clearly toward
a proper and judicious use of the money.
A dollar or two should
be added to the price usually paid for Janie's shoes, which would insure their
lasting an appreciable time longer than they usually did. She would buy so and
so many yardsof percale for new shirt waists for the boys and Janie and Mag.
She had intended to make the old ones do by skilful patching. Mag should have
another gown. She had seen some beautiful patterns, veritable bargains in the
shop windows. And still there would be left enough for new stockings--two pairs
apiece--and what darning that would save for a while! She would get caps for
the boys and sailor-hats for the girls. The vision of her little brood looking
fresh and dainty and new for once in their lives excited her and made her
restless and wakeful with anticipation.
The neighbors sometimes
talked of certain "better days" that little Mrs. Sommers had known
before she had ever thought of being Mrs. Sommers. She herself indulged in no
such morbid retrospection. She had no time--no second of time to devote to the
past. The needs of the present absorbed her every faculty. A vision of the
future like some dim, gaunt monster sometimes appalled her, but luckily
to-morrow never comes.
Mrs. Sommers was one
who knew the value of bargains; who could stand for hours making her way inch
by inch toward the desired object that was selling below cost. She could elbow
her way if need be; she had learned to clutch a piece of goods and hold it and
stick to it with persistence and determination till her turn came to be served,
no matter when it came.
But that day she was a
little faint and tired. She had swallowed a light luncheon--no! when she came
to think of it, between getting the children fed and the place righted, and
preparing herself for the shopping bout, she had actually forgotten to eat any
luncheon at all!
She sat herself upon a
revolving stool before a counter that was comparatively deserted, trying to
gather strength and courage to charge through an eager multitude that was
besieging breastworks of shirting and figured lawn. An all-gone limp feeling
had come over her and she rested her hand aimlessly upon the counter. She wore
no gloves. By degrees she grew aware that her hand had encountered something
very soothing, very pleasant to touch. She looked down to see that her hand lay
upon a pile of silk stockings. A placard near by announced that they had been
reduced in price from two dollars and fifty cents to one dollar and
ninety-eight cents; and a young girl who stood behind the counter asked her if
she wished to examine their line of silk hosiery. She smiled, just as if she had
been asked to inspect a tiara of diamonds with the ultimate view of purchasing
it. But she went on feeling the soft, sheeny luxurious things--with both hands
now, holding them up to see them glisten, and to feel them glide serpent-like
through her fingers.
Two hectic blotches
came suddenly into her pale cheeks. She looked up at the girl.
"Do you think
there are any eights-and-a-half among these?"
There were any number
of eights-and-a-half. In fact, there were more of that size than any other.
Here was a light-blue pair; there were some lavender, some all black and
various shades of tan and gray. Mrs. Sommers selected a black pair and looked
at them very long and closely. She pretended to be examining their texture,
which the clerk assured her was excellent.
"A dollar and
ninety-eight cents," she mused aloud. "Well, I'll take this
pair." She handed the girl a five-dollar bill and waited for her change
and for her parcel. What a very small parcel it was! It seemed lost in the
depths of her shabby old shopping- bag.
Mrs. Sommers after that
did not move in the direction of the bargain counter. She took the elevator,
which carried her to an upper floor into the region of the ladies'
waiting-rooms. Here, in a retired corner, she exchanged her cotton stockings
for the new silk ones which she had just bought. She was not going through any
acute mental process or reasoning with herself, nor was she striving to explain
to her satisfaction the motive of her action. She was not thinking at all. She
seemed for the time to be taking a rest from that laborious and fatiguing
function and to have abandoned herself to some mechanical impulse that directed
her actions and freed her of responsibility.
How good was the touch
of the raw silk to her flesh! She felt like lying back in the cushioned chair
and reveling for a while in the luxury of it. She did for a little while. Then
she replaced her shoes, rolled the cotton stockings together and thrust them
into her bag. After doing this she crossed straight over to the shoe department
and took her seat to be fitted.
She was fastidious. The
clerk could not make her out; he could not reconcile her shoes with her
stockings, and she was not too easily pleased. She held back her skirts and
turned her feet one way and her head another way as she glanced down at the
polished, pointed-tipped boots. Her foot and ankle looked very pretty. She
could not realize that they belonged to her and were a part of herself. She
wanted an excellent and stylish fit, she told the young fellow who served her,
and she did not mind the difference of a dollar or two more in the price so
long as she got what she desired.
It was a long time
since Mrs. Sommers had been fitted with gloves. On rare occasions when she had
bought a pair they were always "bargains," so cheap that it would
have been preposterous and unreasonable to have expected them to be fitted to
the hand.
Now she rested her
elbow on the cushion of the glove counter, and a pretty, pleasant young
creature, delicate and deft of touch, drew a long-wristed "kid" over
Mrs. Sommers's hand. She smoothed it down over the wrist and buttoned it
neatly, and both lost themselves for a second or two in admiring contemplation
of the little symmetrical gloved hand. But there were other places where money
might be spent.
There were books and
magazines piled up in the window of a stall a few paces down the street. Mrs.
Sommers bought two high- priced magazines such as she had been accustomed to
read in the days when she had been accustomed to other pleasant things. She
carried them without wrapping. As well as she could she lifted her skirts at
the crossings. Her stockings and boots and well fitting gloves had worked
marvels in her bearing--had given her a feeling of assurance, a sense of
belonging to the well-dressed multitude.
She was very hungry.
Another time she would have stilled the cravings for food until reaching her
own home, where she would have brewed herself a cup of tea and taken a snack of
anything that was available. But the impulse that was guiding her would not
suffer her to entertain any such thought.
There was a restaurant
at the corner. She had never entered its doors; from the outside she had
sometimes caught glimpses of spotless damask and shining crystal, and
soft-stepping waiters serving people of fashion.
When she entered her
appearance created no surprise, no consternation, as she had half feared it
might. She seated herself at a small table alone, and an attentive waiter at
once approached to take her order. She did not want a profusion; she craved a
nice and tasty bite--a half dozen blue-points, a plump chop with cress, a
something sweet--a crême-frappée, for instance; a glass of Rhine wine, and
after all a small cup of black coffee.
While waiting to be
served she removed her gloves very leisurely and laid them beside her. Then she
picked up a magazine and glanced through it, cutting the pages with a blunt
edge of her knife. It was all very agreeable. The damask was even more spotless
than it had seemed through the window, and the crystal more sparkling. There
were quiet ladies and gentlemen, who did not notice her, lunching at the small
tables like her own. A soft, pleasing strain of music could be heard, and a
gentle breeze, was blowing through the window. She tasted a bite, and she read
a word or two, and she sipped the amber wine and wiggled her toes in the silk
stockings. The price of it made no difference. She counted the money out to the
waiter and left an extra coin on his tray, whereupon he bowed before her as before
a princess of royal blood.
There was still money
in her purse, and her next temptation presented itself in the shape of a matinée
poster.
It was a little later
when she entered the theatre, the play had begun and the house seemed to her to
be packed. But there were vacant seats here and there, and into one of them she
was ushered, between brilliantly dressed women who had gone there to kill time
and eat candy and display their gaudy attire. There were many others who were
there solely for the play and acting. It is safe to say there was no one
present who bore quite the attitude which Mrs. Sommers did to her surroundings.
She gathered in the whole--stage and players and people in one wide impression,
and absorbed it and enjoyed it. She laughed at the comedy and wept--she and the
gaudy woman next to her wept over the tragedy. And they talked a little
together over it. And the gaudy woman wiped her eyes and sniffled on a tiny
square of filmy, perfumed lace and passed little Mrs. Sommers her box of candy.
The play was over, the
music ceased, the crowd filed out. It was like a dream ended. People scattered
in all directions. Mrs. Sommers went to the corner and waited for the cable
car.
A man with keen eyes,
who sat opposite to her, seemed to like the study of her small, pale face. It
puzzled him to decipher what he saw there. In truth, he saw nothing-unless he
were wizard enough to detect a poignant wish, a powerful longing that the cable
car would never stop anywhere, but go on and on with her forever.