Gloria and Treeless Street
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Annie Hamilton Donnell >> Gloria and Treeless Street
CHAPTER IV.
Gloria's second letter to the District Nurse ran thus:
"_Dear Miss Winship_: I keep thinking of those dreadful houses. Every
time I look in a daily paper I expect to read that one of them has
tumbled down, and I'm afraid it will be Dinney's house, where that poor,
sick woman is--or Straps' house! They _ought_ to tumble down, every one
of them, but not till they are emptied of their poor loads of humanity.
If they are half as bad inside as they are outside! I keep and _keep_
thinking of them. Think of a girl named Rose being in a house like that,
and another girl with Rose for her middle name in a beautiful, great
hotel here, or Uncle Em's lovely house at home--both of them Roses. It
isn't fair!
"Do you know, I have a plan, but I'm 'most afraid to divulge it--I
wouldn't to Uncle Em for the world, _yet_! He'd laugh the roof off. He
says women have no heads for business, and as for _girls_!--But if not
heads, I suppose they might have hearts, and the hearts might ache, the
way mine does every time I think of those houses and Straps and Dinney
and Hunkie--and the girl with eyes like mine. Yes, I'll tell you. I
mean to tear down some of those houses--Dinney's, at any rate. Now, go
outdoors and laugh!
"I don't suppose you know it, but Uncle Em's keeping a lot of money for
me when I get of age. I'm seventeen now. I never asked how much money
I'll have, but it's a lot, I'm sure of that. What I've been planning out
in my mind is to use some of that money in building decent houses for
Dinney and Straps, and some of the rest you are working for. I can have
the old ones torn down. I asked uncle for a runabout, but I'll give that
up. I wish I dared ask him how much it costs to tear a house down--I
wonder if you couldn't find out for me?
"Aunt Em and I picked out the kind of automobile for me in an
advertisement--a little beauty. Last night I dreamed I had it, and the
first ride I took it turned into That Street--I couldn't help it; it
would go. It--it ran over little Hunkie. Aunt Em heard me scream, and
went in and waked me up.
"I'll give up having an automobile.
"Please try to find out who owns Dinney's house--that is the worst
block of all, isn't it? Whoever does own that place couldn't ask very
much for it. It's such a rickety thing. You see, I've set my heart on
having one nice straight human house, anyway, on that street.
"With love,
"GLORIA ROSE."
The answer to this second letter was not as long as the first letter
from the District Nurse. It bore evidence of hurry.
"_Dear Gloria_: I am getting ready to go back this afternoon--no, my
vacation isn't done, but Dinney's poor mother is. She can't wait any
longer. I shall be there to-night.
"About the houses--my dear, oh, my dear! It will surprise you to know
that those houses are very valuable. It would cost a good deal to buy
even one of them, I am afraid. Let me tell you--I'll count up as nearly
as I can remember how many _rents_ there are just in Dinney's house;
that is five stories high--the basement is the first one.
"Fourteen rents. Some of the rents are just one room or two rooms, you
see. Fourteen families pay for living in that house. The entire rental
of that one house helps fill somebody's pocketbook 'plum' full.' It was
a lovely plan--I cried instead of laughing over it--and when I see you
I am going to hug you for it! But, dear, I'll see if I can find out who
Somebody is, if you still want to know. It will be a simple matter, I
should say. I have never asked who owned any of the 'Pleasant Street'
property--I did not seem to want to know. But I'll find out if you
really wish me to.
"With love,
"MARY WINSHIP."
The District Nurse found Dinney's mother was "waiting" when she at last
reached her. But her release came soon. With a smile she left them, and
Dinney, seeing it, surprised the Nurse by a look of gladness. Then he
took Hunkie into his arms and turned away with him as the door opened
and a young girl entered. It was Rose. It seemed somehow to Dinney as
though a sweet peace filled the room now that his mother's hard-drawn
breath was no longer there. He looked through the window and hugged
Hunkie close. He was his baby sure, now. In a way that he could not
understand, it seemed as though something good had come to his mother.
Loving her as he did, he was glad, and realized not his bereavement.
The District Nurse, a day or two later, found time to attend to Gloria's
commission. It was at first a little difficult, because she did not
apply to the right party, but she persevered, as she wished to tell
Gloria in the letter she meant to write that night. She was told of
someone who might know, and to that person she repaired at her first
leisure. There she was at last successful.
But she did not write to Gloria that night. Her pen would have refused
to trace the name she had found--no, no, no, in very mercy it could
not! Poor Gloria--dear child! For already the District Nurse loved
Gloria. No, she could not tell her who it was owned Dinney's home.
Mr. McAndrew's law case concluded, that gentleman was minded to treat
himself to a little recreation. It was not fair, he said, for the women
folks to have all the fun--they were to turn to now and see that he
had his share. With Gloria's willing aid, he made out a modest little
itinerary that would give them a sight of several places of interest.
"The more the better!" Gloria said. "We're good for any number of 'em,
aren't we, auntie?"
And dear, patient Aunt Em smiled splendidly, and saw the longed-for
arrival home pushed farther away. Gloria was innocently selfish; she
could not have comprehended easily how anyone could help enjoying this
pleasant dallying from place to place.
The trip finally ended several weeks later than was originally planned.
The District Nurse's vacation was dimmed by the many days of hard work
that had succeeded it; by this time it was more a beautiful memory than
a reality. She must have dreamed of sitting lazily rocking, shut in by a
circle of blue hills! So many things can happen to a person in a matter
even of days--when the person is a busy District Nurse, with a city to
take care of.
Gloria, back in her favorite piazza-chair, surveyed the world with
rested vision. Very soon she would take up her adopted worries about
barren streets and rickety houses, but for the moment she would rock and
smooth Abou Ben Adhem's beautiful back.
"You've been lonesome, Old Handsome--needn't tell me! I don't believe
you purred a note while I was gone. And I never missed you, sir!" She
pulled the low, far-set ears gently. "There was a lovely cat at the
hotel," she added with deliberate malice. "_He_ purred grand operas."
But in her lap the great cat sat unjealously. Gloria's gaze wandered
across the street. She wished she knew which was the District Nurse's
window. "I'd wave you at it, Abou Ben, just to show her I've got home
--but there, she may be district-visiting, and you'd be wasted. We'll
watch for her."
[Illustration: "I'd wave you at it, Abou-Ben."]
At that very moment the District Nurse was in Rose's room helping to
cut out a tiny calico dress. Rose herself was running little sleeves
together in a motherly way.
"Tell me some more," she pleaded. "Is she pretty? Does she do up her
hair? What kind of eyes has she?"
"One at a time! You take my breath away," laughed Miss Winship over her
calico breadths. "Yes, she is pretty--I think you will say so. Her hair?
I'm sure I don't know what kind of hair she has. Now you may begin
again, my dear."
But Rose's eyes were wistfully musing. They were beautiful eyes, but the
rest of Rose, oh, how pinched and meager!
"I kind of thought," Rose said, "I didn't know but--there now, the
idea! Of course I don't want her to be like me!" Rose's voice quivered.
"I'd be ashamed of myself to want her to be like me. I was only
thinking, that's all. It isn't bad to think, is it? And anyway, we're
both Rosies, you say. But they call her Gloria. But she has Rose for one
name. I've got that to be glad of!"
Snip--snip--the scissors cut steadily through the crisp cotton goods.
"Yes, indeed, you've got that!" the District Nurse said with loving
tenderness. She did not look up from her work; at that minute she did
not want to see the small, stunted figure sewing tiny sleeves for
Dinney's baby.
CHAPTER V.
It was a beautiful morning, and Gloria and the cat were occupying the
broad piazza. At last Abou Ben Adhem slid with a soft thud to the piazza
floor. It was his signal that no more petting was desired for the time.
Gloria, too, got out of the big rocker and went into the house.
"Aunt Em, would you want to be a District Nurse and _never_ get home?
I've watched till I'm 'blind of seeing.'"
"It can't be a very desirable position, dear--you won't ever be one,
will you?"
"I'm going to 'be one' to-morrow!" Gloria laughed. "Have to get used to
it, auntie. You can't change my mind--it's set. The next to-morrow that
ever is, I am going to begin!"
"Dear! dear!" sighed Aunt Em. She felt anxious again. Here was the child
back just where she had left off. What good, then, all the traveling
about and the getting tired and hot? A wave of fresh weariness and
travelstrain seemed to sweep over the dear little woman. Close upon it
like a cool breeze came the recollection that in October Gloria would go
back to school. Then, at any rate, this undue, unwelcome fascination for
grimy streets would terminate. It was mid-August now.
The next morning Mrs. McAndrew opened the door to Gloria's room. The
girl lay smiling among the pillows.
"If you are to be a District Nurse, dear, it might be well for you to
get up to breakfast."
"Well, I'm prepared to go to even that length! You'll hear a bird,
auntie, and simultaneously you'll hear me getting up!"
Gloria was as good as her word. Mrs. McAndrew met her with a smile.
Gloria's face was good to see; it was grave with purpose, but the light
of youth and happiness softly irradiated the gravity. But the studied
simplicity of the girl's costume that morning rather surprised Mrs.
McAndrew as her eyes fell upon it.
Gloria laughed. "Aunt Em, you're unprepared for the grown-up appearance
of the new District Nurse," she said. The neat coils of brown hair were
quite disquieting to Aunt Em. She was not ready for Gloria to be a
woman; her gentle heart misgave her.
"Dear child, let your hair down again--let it down!" she pleaded.
"Auntie! As if--after I've been to all this work and used twenty-three
hairpins! I thought you'd approve of me. I think I look just like a
nurse now. Did you suppose I could be one with my hair the old way? Dear
me! I must dress the part, auntie. The play begins as soon as I've eaten
an egg and two rolls--now why do you suppose nurses always eat an egg
and two rolls for breakfast? But I'm sure they do."
Gloria was in fine spirits. The "play" on the eve of beginning was sure
to be an entertaining one, and for novelty could anything be better?
She meant to go all the rounds with brisk little Miss Winship. She was
prepared to sweep floors and wash faces if it should prove to be in her
part of the play. "I may have to be prompted," she thought, "but you
won't catch me having stage-fright!"
She had sent a note across the street by a maid to prepare the District
Nurse, and that cheerful little person was waiting for her as she
tripped down the McAndrews' doorsteps after her hurried meal.
"Am I late? Did I keep you waiting?" she cried.
"Not more than a piece of a minute. I've been trying to scrape
acquaintance with your beautiful cat, but he is above District Nurses."
"If I had time I'd give him a good scolding. He's got to get used to
nurses if I'm one! Do you hear that, you Old Handsome? Good-by, and be
a good boy while I'm gone!" And Gloria waved her hand affectionately to
the big silver fellow on his silken cushion. She and the District Nurse
walked away together.
"I feel as if I were setting sail for a foreign land," laughed the girl,
daintily tripping along.
"My dear, you are." The voice of Gloria's companion was suddenly grave.
"I don't know as I'm doing right to let you embark--I ought to send you
back to your beautiful home."
"Send me back! No, I'm set on 'sailing.'" In sheer exuberance of spirits
Gloria's laugh bubbled out again, then as quickly stopped. "Oh, you will
think me such a silly! I ought not to laugh, ought I?"
"Yes, keep on all the way, dear; you won't feel like it, I'm afraid,
coming back. The first time I 'came back' do you want to know what I
did?"
_"Cried,"_ Gloria said softly. A new mood was upon her now, and a gentle
solemnity gave her piquant face a new attraction. Gloria's moods were
wont to follow each other with surprising swiftness.
"Yes, I did. I saw so much that I could not help, that it made my heart
ache. Children that needed attention and love and care, and mothers
with tired hands, and wives whose faces wore a hopeless look. Yes, I
_cried_."
After this the two walked on in silence. But Gloria's eyes were bright
and her breath was coming in quick, strong waves through her red lips.
The picture her companion had given set her tingling, and then came the
thought she had up in the mountains--Couldn't she help?
Seeming to think she had said too much, the District Nurse began
chatting in a cheery way, as though to turn her companion's thoughts
into a different channel. In this mood, the one chatting lightly, the
other listening, they drew near to "Dinney's House." But no sooner had
they entered the neighborhood than they noticed that something exciting
was going on, and shrill voices came to them.
"Something has happened!" cried Miss Winship, hurrying her footsteps.
"I'm afraid someone is hurt."
But then, the District Nurse was "always afraid" in that locality. There
were so many pitfalls where accidents could happen. As they drew near a
boy ran from the crowd toward them. It was Dinney.
"What is it, Dinney? Quick!" asked the nurse.
"Sal went over the stairs--the railing broke. She hain't got up either!"
the boy answered, breathlessly.
As the two drew nearer the crowd a chorus of voices greeted them.
"Miss District! Here's Miss District!"
The throng made way for the nurse. Down in the heap of fallen stair
railing lay poor Sal. Immediately Miss Winship was beside her.
Gloria never quite knew what happened the next half hour. It was
mercifully always a bad dream to her. At its end something like order
and quiet reigned in the old house, thanks to the quiet self-command
of the District Nurse. Sal had been removed in the ambulance to the
hospital, the little crowd of women sent back to their work, and the
curious children scattered to their homes. Not until then did the
District Nurse have time to look at Gloria.
"Why, you poor dear! You're white as a sheet! I ought to have thought
how it would make you feel! Come with me up to Rose's room. That's the
quietest place around here. It's a little haven to us all. She's got
Dinney's baby with her now. Since the mother died she's about adopted
it. But Dinney pays for it. Dinney's a brave one!"
They now passed up the stairway, and as they came to the gap in the
railing that had been the ruin of poor Sal, the nurse paused with a look
of anxiety sweeping over her face.
"It mustn't be left in that way," she said in dismay. Then she called,
"Dinney! Is Dinney down there?" as she looked down the stairway.
"Someone tell Dinney to bring me a rope--clothesline will do."
The rope was brought, and Gloria, standing by in wonder, watched the
deft fingers weave it back and forth across the danger gap. This was an
unexpected type of a nurse's duties.
"There, that will do as a makeshift. Anyway, nobody but the thinnest of
them can leak through, and Sal isn't here to lean on it; poor Sal!"
Rose was not in the bare, half-lighted little room they entered. The
tidiness and cleanliness of it, however, bore witness to her recent
occupancy. On the neat bed lay a baby asleep.
"Hunkie!" Gloria said softly, as she tiptoed across the room and looked
down at the thin little face.
"It seems a tiny morsel of humanity to get hold of life, doesn't
it?" said the nurse. "But Rose is so careful of it, and Dinney is so
insistent that it shall have everything it needs."
Then she turned to Gloria. "Now sit down and make yourself comfortable,
and wait for me. You are not fit to go around with me now. Rose will be
here in a little while, doubtless."
Gloria dropped into a chair. Left to herself, she looked around the
plain little room. Her eyes took in the pitiful details--the uneven
boards of the floor, the sagging ceiling, the cracked window panes. How
sharply the room contrasted with her own, and yet this was the room of
Rose--with eyes like hers. A girl who had thoughts and dreams and
aspirations the same as she had. As these thoughts went through
Gloria's mind she leaned back. The strain of excitement had told on her.
Exhaustion took possession of her. She did not intend to sleep, but her
eyes closed against her will. How long she sat thus she did not know,
but in time there came to her a consciousness of whispering in the room
and a baby's laugh. Opening her eyes she saw a pretty picture--a young
girl tossing a baby into the air and catching it again, and the baby
cooing.
[Illustration: IMMEDIATELY MISS WINSHIP WAS BESIDE HER.]
Instantly the girl with the baby caught sight of Gloria as she stirred.
"And so you are awake. You looked so tired," said the girl.
Gloria straightened and arranged her hair. The many hairpins felt
uncomfortable.
The girl with the baby looked at her curiously.
"Why," she said, "I thought you wore your hair different." And then she
flushed. Her own hair was in a braid, and she flushed still more when,
glancing into a little mirror, she looked from her face to Gloria's. She
had put her own hair down into a braid to be like the girl Dinney had
told of. But how different they were! Instantly she realized that hers
was a face without round, girlish curves. But she did not speak of this.
She turned to Gloria and said in her quiet way:
"You shouldn't take it so hard--Sal's falling. We get used to such
things here." And she smoothed out Hunkie's dress as she sat down on the
window-sill, there being but one chair in the room. "And then when you
come right down to it," she said, "Sal will have the time of her life.
I just came from the hospital. She's bad broke, but they can mend her,
they said. And if she can stand the mending, what a time it will be for
her!"
Gloria's eyes opened wide with astonishment. Rose smiled. It was a smile
that almost made her face look girlish. "It does seem awful to talk that
way, but it's the truth. Just think of it!--Sal never had anything nice
to eat! I saw them bringing a tray to one near Sal, and it held things
Sal never tasted in her life. And she has such a nice room and bed."
"Tell me about Sal, please," said Gloria. "Her mother seemed to feel so
terribly."
Rose's face hardened. "Well, she's probably forgotten her grief by now;
that is, if she's got hold of anything to drink. That's the way she'll
celebrate it. She beat poor Sal regular. You know--" Rose's voice
dropped a little, as though she hated to say what she was going to say,
"Sal isn't just the same as the rest of us. She's always had to lean on
things, and sometimes they break with her."
Gloria shuddered.
"Sal's had lots of breaks; but then everything in this house is sort of
uncertain. The ceiling, for instance. The ceiling in Dinney's room came
down once before his mother died, and it just missed her. It would have
killed her then if it had hit her. It nearly killed Dinney, but he's
tough."
"They will mend the stair railing!" Gloria cried.
Rose's face hardened, and she looked down and pressed her lips against
the baby's forehead. It was as though the girl, Gloria, beside her was
reaching too far. Lifting her head, she said in a cold voice:
"They don't mend things around here. But maybe they will the railing. It
costs money to mend, and they say things don't stay mended. Maybe they
don't."
Gloria sat looking straight in front of her. What a world it was,
compared with her own world! At last she said in a low tone:
"Did they mend the ceiling?"
"No," answered Rose. "But then, it don't matter. She died soon after,
you know. The hole is there yet." Gloria rose; she was growing anxious
for a change. Something seemed somehow choking her.
Out in the hall an angry voice was suddenly heard. It was a woman's
voice pitched high.
"I tell yez, I'll have the law on thim! It's toime somebody was afther
doin' on't, an' it's up to me, with me poor Sal lyin' in the hospital!
The one that owns this house is a murdherer! I'll tell yez, it's the
truth!"
Gloria was standing with eyes wide opened and face flushed. She drew a
quick breath of relief as she heard the voice of the District Nurse.
"Oh, hush! Do hush!" the District Nurse pleaded, and there seemed an
agony of fear mingled with the words.
Then came in still angrier tones:
"Hush, is it! Oh, yes, it's hush wid you as wid them all! I tell yez
I'll have the law! I'll foind the murdherin' crachure before I'm a
day older! You needn't be hushin' av me up! I'm goin' now; it's toime
somebody wint!"
Gloria heard the shuffling of the angry woman's feet, but the nurse
evidently followed her, as she did not enter the room.
CHAPTER VI.
It was on the day of Gloria's visit with the District Nurse that Mr.
McAndrew came home to luncheon, which was rather an unusual proceeding
for the busy attorney during hot weather. Mrs. McAndrew, seated with her
mending on the shady piazza, could see a worried expression upon her
husband's face even before he reached the steps.
"Something is the matter," she said, rising hastily, while spools and
scissors fell upon the cat dozing near. "Something is the matter or he
would never have come home in this boiling sun."
"What is it, dear?" she asked, as the middle-aged, slightly bent figure
toiled up the steps exhaustedly.
"Where is Gloria?" was Mr. McAndrew's reply, as he dropped with a sigh
of relief into one of the piazza chairs.
"Gone with Miss--I can't think of her name--the District Nurse. She
would go--you mustn't blame me. Ask about Ben if she wasn't the settest
little thing!"
"I was afraid so--felt it in my bones. Now, why," groaned the lawyer,
"must she have selected today? And here I've come up home at the risk of
my life all to no end! I wanted to make sure she wasn't poking round in
that miserable street today, of all days--and you have to tell me she
_is!_"
"You mustn't blame me," his wife repeated mildly. "You know yourself
when Glory's _set_--"
"Yes, but you ought to have been set, too! Why didn't you put your foot
down that she shouldn't go off to such a foolish place? No knowing what
mischief it has done!"
CHAPTER VI.
It was on the day of Gloria's visit with the District Nurse that Mr.
McAndrew came home to luncheon, which was rather an unusual proceeding
for the busy attorney during hot weather. Mrs. McAndrew, seated with her
mending on the shady piazza, could see a worried expression upon her
husband's face even before he reached the steps.
"Something is the matter," she said, rising hastily, while spools and
scissors fell upon the cat dozing near. "Something is the matter or he
would never have come home in this boiling sun."
"What is it, dear?" she asked, as the middle-aged, slightly bent figure
toiled up the steps exhaustedly.
"Where is Gloria?" was Mr. McAndrew's reply, as he dropped with a sigh
of relief into one of the piazza chairs.
"Gone with Miss--I can't think of her name--the District Nurse. She
would go--you mustn't blame me. Ask about Ben if she wasn't the settest
little thing!"
"I was afraid so--felt it in my bones. Now, why," groaned the lawyer,
"must she have selected today? And here I've come up home at the risk of
my life all to no end! I wanted to make sure she wasn't poking round in
that miserable street today, of all days--and you have to tell me she
_is!_"
"You mustn't blame me," his wife repeated mildly. "You know yourself
when Glory's _set_--"
"Yes, but you ought to have been set, too! Why didn't you put your foot
down that she shouldn't go off to such a foolish place? No knowing what
mischief it has done!" worried a look as did her husband's. Then she
added, "If we had explained the whole thing to her at the start, it
would not have been so difficult. But how is anyone to tell her now? She
is so intense, and she's hardly more than a child to reason with. And in
the meantime she's gotten so many ideas into her head that she wouldn't
have had, maybe, if she had known the situation from the first, and
grown up with it."
"I acted for the best," her husband grumbled. "Such things are coming
up in life all the time. But when women are mixed up in 'em, there's
no making them see straight. It wasn't fitting that Gloria should have
everything explained to her at the start. It wasn't businesslike. When
she comes into full control of things herself, it will be different. I
am afraid Richards is not quite the man to have charge of things down
there. I have given him his own way too much. But one has to with
Richards. He's a good collector."