The Wall Street Girl

The service seemed almost too brief for so solemn an undertaking, but when it was over, she reached for Don’s hand and took it in a hearty grip that was more of a pledge than the ring itself. It sent a tingle to his heart and made his lips come together–the effect, a hundred times magnified, of the coach’s slap upon the back that used to thrill him just before he trotted on the field before a big game. He felt that the harder the obstacles to be overcome for her dear sake, the better. He would like to have had a few at that moment as a relief to his pent-up emotions.

He remembered in a sort of impatient daze the congratulations that followed–with the faces of Mrs. Halliday and Barton standing out a trifle more prominently–and then the luncheon. It seemed another week before she went upstairs to change into her traveling-dress; another week before she reappeared. Then came good-byes and the shower of rice, with an old shoe or so mixed in. He had sent her trunk the day before to the mountain hotel where they were to be for a week, but they walked to the station, he carrying her suitcase. Then he found himself on the train, and in another two hours they were at the hotel. It was like an impossible dream come true when finally they stood for the first time alone–she as his wife. He held out his arms to her and she came this time without protest.

“Heart of mine,” he whispered as he kissed her lips again and again,–“heart of mine, this is a bully old world.”

“You’ve made it that, Don.”

“I? I haven’t had anything to do about it except to get you.”

CHAPTER XXXIV

DON MAKES GOOD

They had not one honeymoon, but two or three. When they left the hotel and came back to town, it was another honeymoon to enter together the house in which she had played so important a part without ever having seen it. When they stepped out of the cab she insisted upon first seeing it from the outside, instead of rushing up the steps as he was for doing.

“Don,” she protested, “I–I don’t want to have such a pleasure over with all at once. I want to get it bit by bit.”

There was not much to see, to be sure, but a door and a few windows–a section similar to sections to the right and left of which it was a part. But it was a whole house, a house with lower stories and upper stories and a roof–all his, all hers. To her there was something still unreal about it.

He humored her delay, though Nora was standing impatiently at the door, anxious to see the Pendleton bride. But when she finally did enter, Nora, at the smile she received, had whatever fears might have been hers instantly allayed.

“Gawd bless ye,” she beamed.

Sally refused to remove her wraps until she had made her inspection room by room, sitting down in each until she had grasped every detail. So they went from the first floor to the top floor and came back to the room which he had set apart for their room.

“Does it suit you, wife of mine?” he asked.

With the joy of it all, her eyes filled.

“It’s even more beautiful than I thought it would be,” she trembled.

For him the house had changed the moment she stepped into it. With his father alive, it had been his father’s home rather than his; with his father gone, it had been scarcely more than a convenient resting-place. There had been moments–when he thought of Frances here–that it had taken on more significance, but even this had been due to Sally. When he thought he was making the house ready for another, it had been her dear hand who had guided him. How vividly now he recalled that dinner at the little French restaurant when he had described his home to her–the home which was now her home too. It was at that moment she had first made her personality felt here.

Sally removed her hat and tidied her hair before the mirror in quite as matter-of-fact a fashion as though she had been living here ever since that day instead of only the matter of a few minutes. When she came downstairs, Nora herself seemed to accept her on that basis. To her suggestions, she replied, “Yes, Mrs. Pendleton,” as glibly as though she had been saying it all her life.

They returned on a Saturday. On Monday Don was to go back to the office. Sally had sent in her resignation the day of her marriage and had received nice letters from both Carter and Farnsworth, with a check enclosed from the former for fifty dollars and from the latter for twenty-five dollars.

“What I’ll have to do,” said Don, as he retired Sunday night, “is to get a larger alarm-clock. It won’t do to be late any more.”

“You’re right,” agreed Sally. “But you won’t need an alarm-clock.”

“Eh?”

“You wait and see.”

Sally was awake at six the next morning and Don himself less than one minute after.

“Time to get up,” she called.

“I’m sleepy,” murmured Don.

“Then to-morrow night you’ll get to bed one hour earlier. But–up with you.”

“Right-o,” he answered as he sprang from bed. “But there’s no need of your getting up.”

“I’d be ashamed of myself if I didn’t.”

She had breakfast with him that first work morning as she planned to do every morning of her life after that.

“Now, Don,” she warned as he was ready to leave, “mind you don’t say anything about a raise in salary for a little while yet. I know Farnsworth, and he’ll give it to you the moment he feels you’ve made good. Besides, we can afford to wait and–I don’t know as I want you to have any more money than you have now. It’s ridiculous for you to have that two thousand from your father.”

“I guess we can use it, little woman,” he laughed.

“We can save it,” she insisted. “And, of course, it’s pretty nice to have an emergency fund, only it sort of takes half the fun out of life to be so safe.”

“It takes half the worry with it, too,” he reminded her.

She thought a moment. Then she kissed him.

“Maybe it’s good for people to worry a bit,” she answered.

“You’ve already done your share,” he returned. “You’re going to meet me for lunch at twelve?”

“Yes, Don.”

“Sure?”

“Of course, it’s sure.”

“I wish it were twelve now.”

“You’re not to think of me again until twelve comes–not once. You’re to tend to business.”

“I know, but–”

She kissed him again.

“Along with you.”

She took his arm and led him to the door and there–where, for all he cared, the whole street might have seen him–he turned quickly and kissed her once more.

Don was decidedly self-conscious when he stepped briskly into the office of Carter, Rand & Seagraves, with a brave attempt to give the impression that nothing whatever out of the ordinary had happened to him during his brief vacation. But Blake, as he expressed it to her later, was there with bells on. He spied him the moment he came through the door and greeted him with a whistled bar from the “Wedding March.” Not content with that, he tore several sheets of office stationery into small bits and sprinkled him with it. He seemed to take it as more or less of a joke.

“You certainly put one over on us,” exclaimed Blake.

“Well, let it go at that,” Don frowned.

He was willing to take the horse-play, but there was something in the spirit with which it was done that he did not like.

“Always heard bridegrooms were a bit touchy,” returned Blake.

Don stepped nearer.

“Touchy isn’t the word, Blake,” he said; “proud comes nearer it. Remember that I’m proud as the devil of the girl you used to see here. Just base your future attitude toward her and me on that.”

A few minutes later Farnsworth restored his good humor. As he came into the private office, Farnsworth rose and extended his hand.

“I want to congratulate you, Pendleton,” he said sincerely.

“Thank you,” answered Don.

“We feel almost as though we had lost a partner in the firm,” he smiled. “But I’m mighty glad for both of you. She was fitted for something a whole lot bigger than Wall Street.”

“She taught me all I know about the game,” confessed Don.

“You couldn’t have had a better teacher. Sit down. I want to talk over a change I have in mind.”

Don felt his heart leap to his throat.

“I’ve wanted for some time another man to go out and sell,” said Farnsworth. “Do you think you can handle it?”

“You bet,” exclaimed Don.

Farnsworth smiled.

“You see,” ran on Don in explanation, “I’ve been selling bonds to Sally–er–Mrs. Pendleton, for a month or more now.”

“Selling her?”

“Imaginary bonds, you know.”

Farnsworth threw back his head and laughed.

“Good! Good! But the true test will come when you try to sell her a real one. I’ll bet it will have to be gilt-edged.”

“And cheap,” nodded Don.

“Well,” said Farnsworth, “I want to try you on the selling staff for a while, anyway. Now, about salary–”

“Sally told me to forget that,” said Don.

“I guess because she knew me well enough to know I wouldn’t forget it. My intention is to pay men in this office what they are worth. Just what you may be worth in your new position I don’t know, but I’m going to advance you five hundred; and if you make good you’ll be paid in proportion as you make good. That satisfactory?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then we’re off,” concluded Farnsworth.

Don met Sally at noon at the dairy lunch where they had gone so often.

“Come on, little woman,” he greeted her. “This place may be all right for the wife of a clerk, but now you’re the wife of a bond salesman.”

“Don!”

“On a five-hundred-dollar raise.”

“We’ll stay right here,” she said; “but I’m going to celebrate by having two chocolate éclairs.”

CHAPTER XXXV

“HOME, JOHN”

In December of the following year Frances came into her mother’s room one afternoon, drawing on her gloves.

“Your new gown is very pretty,” her mother said. “Where are you calling?”

“I have bridge at the Warrens’ at four,” she answered. “But I thought I might have time before that to drop in at Don’s. He has telephoned me half a dozen times to call and see his baby, and I suppose he’ll keep on until I go.”

“You really ought to go.”

Frances became petulant. “Oh, I know it, but–after all, a baby isn’t interesting.”

“They say it’s a pretty baby. It’s a boy, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you come along with me?”

“I’m not dressed, dear, but please to extend my congratulations.”

“Yes, mother.”

As John started to close the door of the limousine, Frances glanced at her watch.

“I wish to call at Mr. Pendleton’s, but I must be at the Warrens’ at four promptly. How much time must I allow?”

“A half hour, Miss.”

“Very well, John.”

Nora took her card, and came back with the request that she follow upstairs. “The baby’s just waked up,” Nora said.

Frances was disappointed. If she had to see a baby, she preferred, on the whole, seeing it asleep.

Mrs. Pendleton came to the nursery door with the baby in her arms–or rather a bundle presumably containing a baby.

“It’s good of you to come,” she smiled. “I think he must have waked up just to see you.”

She spoke unaffectedly and with no trace of embarrassment, although when Nora presented the card she had for a second become confused. She had hoped that Don would be at home when this moment came.

“You’re sure it’s convenient for me to stay?” questioned Frances uneasily.

“Quite,” answered Mrs. Pendleton. “I–I want you to see him when he’s good-natured.”

She crossed the room to the window, and removed a layer of swaddling clothes very gently. And there, revealed, lay Don, Jr. His face was still rather red, and his nose pudgy; but when he opened his eyes Frances saw Don’s eyes. It gave her a start.

“He has his father’s eyes,” said the mother.

“There’s no doubt of that,” exclaimed Frances.

“And his nose–well, he hasn’t much of any nose yet,” she smiled.

“He seems very small–all over.”

“He weighed ten pounds this morning,” said the mother.

Don, Jr., was waving his arms about, rather feebly, but with determination.

“He is very strong,” the mother informed her. “Don declares that he has all the earmarks of a football player.”

It seemed odd to hear this other speak so familiarly of Don. Frances glanced up quickly–and met Mrs. Pendleton’s eyes. It was as if the two challenged each other. But Frances was the first to turn away.

“Would you like to hold him a minute?” asked Mrs. Pendleton.

Frances felt her breath coming fast.

“I’m afraid I’d be clumsy.”

“Hold out your arms and I’ll put him in them.”

Frances held out her arms, and Mrs. Pendleton gently laid the baby across them.

“Now hold him up to you,” she said.

Frances obeyed. The sweet, subtle aroma of his hair reached her. The subtle warmth of his body met hers. As the mystic eyes opened below her eyes, a crooning lullaby hidden somewhere within her found its way to her throat and there stuck. She grew dizzy and her throat ached. Don, Jr., moved uneasily.

“He wants to come back now,” said the mother as she took him.

“Good-bye,” whispered Frances. “I may come again?”

“Come often,” smiled Mrs. Pendleton.

Frances tiptoed from the room, and tiptoed all the way downstairs and through the hall.

As she stepped into the limousine, she said to John: “Home, please.”

“But you said you must be at the Warrens’ at four,” John respectfully reminded her.

She sank back wearily in the seat.

“Home, John, please,” she repeated.

THE END