CHAPTER VIN THE STUDIO
The fact that it was beginning to grow dark prevented Alora fromobserving all the tawdriness of her new home and what she saw inspiredher more with curiosity than dismay. The little girl had been rearedfrom babyhood in an atmosphere of luxury; through environment she hadbecome an aristocrat from the top of her head to the tips of her toes;this introduction to shabbiness was unique, nor could she yetunderstand that such surroundings were familiar to many who battle forexistence in a big city. The very fact that her father's humble flatwas "different" made it far more interesting to the child than newapartments such as she had been accustomed to. Therefore she had nothought, at this time, of protest. Her own little room contained asmall iron bed, one straight chair with a wooden bottom and abroken-legged dresser over which hung a cracked mirror. The small ragrug was worn threadbare.
While she stood in the doorway of this room, solemnly regarding it, herfather said over her shoulder:
"You won't need both those big trunks here, I'm sure. I'll store themsomewhere in the studio. Covered with drapes, they won't be noticed. Ican't imagine what that woman packed them with."
"My dresses," replied Alora. "Even then, I left a lot at the Voltaire,for the maids to sell or give away. Mamma used to send them to theSalvation Army."
"Two trunks of dresses ought to last for a good many years," heremarked in a reflective tone.
"Oh, no indeed," said Lory. "Miss Gorham was about to engage adressmaker for me when--when--you said we'd go away. I'm growing fast,you know, and I was to have a dozen or fifteen summer frocks made, anda lot of lingerie."
"Then we moved just in time to save that expense," he declared, settinghis stern jaws together. "There's been a terrible waste of moneythrough that woman Gorham. We're well rid of her."
He turned away to the studio and the child followed him there. Heturned on the electric lights, which were not very bright, and Aloratook a look at the workroom and thought it seemed more comfortable thanthe other rooms of the flat.
Her father began dusting and arranging half a dozen paintings ofvarious sizes, mounted on stretchers. None was finished; some werescarcely begun. Lory tried to see what they represented. Perhaps shehad inherited from her mother a bit of artistic instinct; if so, it wasthat which prompted her to shrug her small shoulders slightly and thenturn away to the window.
In the dimly lighted street outside a man drove up with the baggage.Mr. Jones had purchased for himself in Chicago a new trunk--a small andinexpensive one--and there were two big trunks and a suitcase belongingto Alora. After these had been carried up and placed in the studio--theonly room that would hold them--her father said:
"We will go out now and get some dinner. You won't need your coat, forthe restaurant is just around the corner."
Alora marveled at the restaurant even more than at the studiofurnishings. It looked a hundred years old and the atmosphere stillretained the fumes of much ancient cookery. The linen was coarse, theplating worn from the forks and spoons through constant use, the dishesthick and clumsy and well nicked. Alora was hungry and she ate what herfather ordered for her, although she decided it did not taste verynice.
When they sat down a man from behind the counter approached them andbending low said in a quiet tone:
"You know, Jones, it's to be a cash deal from now on."
"Of course," replied Alora's father, with a slight frown. "Also I'llpay you the old account, if you'll make out the bill."
The man smiled, patted Alora's head--a liberty she indignantlyresented--and went back to his desk.
During the meal and, indeed, ever since their arrival in New York,Jason Jones cast frequent puzzled glances into the face of his littledaughter, who until now had accepted her changed conditions withevident indifference. But as they ate together in silence her smallfeatures grew grave and thoughtful and her father shrank from meetingthe inquiring glances of her big eyes. Yet even now she made nocomplaint. Neither did she ask questions. Her look was expectant,however, and that was what embarrassed him.
After the dinner they went back to the dingy studio, where the manlighted a pipe and sat opposite his small daughter, puffing uneasily.They were both reserved; there was an indefinable barrier between themwhich each was beginning to recognize. Presently Alora asked to go tobed and he sent her to her room with a nod of relief.
Next morning they had breakfast at the same stuffy little restaurantand afterward Alora unpacked some things from her trunks and put themin the drawers of the broken-legged dresser. It seemed odd to have nomaid to wait upon her, but she was glad to have something to do. As shepassed to and from the studio she noticed that her father had resumedwork on a picture that represented two cows eating a broken pumpkinthat lay in a cornfield. He worked slowly and never seemed satisfiedwith what he did, as if lacking confidence in his ability. Lory decidedhe couldn't be blamed for that.
The child plodded drearily along in her new life for a full week. Thenshe began to grow restless, for the place was hateful and repulsive toher. But now an incident occurred that gave her new cause for wonder.
One day the door opened and a woman walked into the studio. It wasJanet Orme, her mother's former nurse, but what a new and astonishingJanet it was! Her silken gown was very "fashionable," somewhat toomodish for good taste, for it was elaborately trimmed and embroidered.She wore considerable jewelry, including diamonds; her shoes wereelegant and her hose daintily clocked; her hat must have been a Frenchmilliner's choicest creation. If good clothes could make Janet Orme alady, there was no question of her social standing, yet even littleAlora felt that Janet was out of her element--that she fell short, insome vague way, of being what she was ambitious to appear.
"So," said the nurse, glancing around the room with frank disdain,"this is where you hang out, Jason, is it?"
Alora's father confronted the woman with a menacing frown.
"What do you mean by coming here?" he demanded.
"I had two reasons," she answered carelessly, seating herself in theonly easy chair the room contained. "In the first place, I wanted tosee how a rich man lives."
"Well, you see, don't you?" a muttering growl.
"I certainly do, and I realize you are quite comfortable and ought tobe happy here, Jason--you and the millionaire heiress, your daughterAlora."
As she spoke she turned to glance sharply at the child, who met herlook with disconcerting gravity. Alora's eyes expressed wonder, tingedwith a haughty tolerance of an inferior that struck home to Janet andmade her flush angrily.
"Your sneers," said Jason Jones, still frowning but now speaking withcomposure, "must indicate that you have graduated from servitude. Icannot admit that my mode of living is any of your business, Janet. Inthese retired but respectable rooms I have worked and been contentedfor years, until----"
"Until you came into your money and found you didn't have to worry overyour next meal," she interjected. "Well, that ought to make you stillmore content. And that reminds me of the second object of my visit. Iwant some money."
"So soon?"
"Don't try to crawfish; it was agreed you should give me a checkwhenever I asked for it. I want it now, and for the full amount--everysingle penny of it!"
He stared at her fixedly, seeming fearful and uncertain how to answer.
"I cannot spare it all today."
"Humbug!" she snapped. "You can and will spare it. I must have themoney, or----"
Her significant pause caused him to wriggle in his seat.
"You're a miserly coward," she declared. "I'm not robbing you; you willhave an abundance for your needs. Why do you quarrel with Dame Fortune?Don't you realize you can pay your rent now and eat three square mealsa day, and not have to work and slave for them? You can smoke a goodcigar after your dinner, instead of that eternal pipe, and go to apicture show whenever the mood strikes you. Why, man, you'reindependent for the first time in your life, and the finances are assure as shooting for a good seven years to come."
He glanced u
neasily at Alora.
"Owing to my dead wife's generosity," he muttered.
Janet laughed.
"Of course," said she; "and, if you play your cards skillfuly, whenAlora comes of age she will provide for you an income for the rest ofyour life. You're in luck. And why? Just because you are Jason Jonesand long ago married Antoinette Seaver and her millions and are nowreaping your reward! So, for decency's sake, don't grumble aboutwriting me that check."
All this was frankly said in the presence of Alora Jones, the heiress,of whose person and fortune, her father, Jason Jones, was now soleguardian. It was not strange that the man seemed annoyed and ill atease. His scowl grew darker and his eyes glinted in an ugly way as hereplied, after a brief pause:
"You seem to have forgotten Alora's requirements and my duty to her."
"Pooh, a child! But we've allowed liberally for her keep, I'm sure. Shecan't keep servants and three dressmakers, it's true, but a simple lifeis best for her. She'll grow up a more sensible and competent woman bywaiting on herself and living; as most girls do. At her age I didn'thave shoes or stockings. Alora has been spoiled, and a bit of worldlyexperience will do her good."
"She's going to be very rich, when she comes into her fortune," saidAlora's father, "and then----"
"And then she can do as she likes with her money. Just now her incomeis too big for her needs, and the best thing you can do for her is toteach her economy--a virtue you seem to possess, whether by nature ortraining, in a high degree. But I didn't come here to argue. Give methat check."
He walked over to his little desk, sat down and drew a check book fromhis pocket.
Alora, although she had listened intently to the astonishingconversation, did not quite comprehend what it meant. Janet's harshstatement bewildered her as much as did her father's subjectsubservience to the woman. All she realized was that Janet Orme, herdead mother's nurse, wanted money--Alora's money--and her father wasreluctant to give it to her but dared not refuse. Money was an abstractquantity to the eleven year old child; she had never handled itpersonally and knew nothing of its value. If her father owed Janet someof her money, perhaps it was for wages, or services rendered hermother, and Alora was annoyed that he haggled about it, even though thewoman evidently demanded more than was just. There was plenty of money,she believed, and it was undignified to argue with a servant.
Jason Jones wrote the check and, rising, handed it to Janet.
"There," said he, "that squares our account. It is what I agreed togive you, but I did not think you would demand it so soon. To pay itjust now leaves me in an embarrassing position."
"I don't believe it," she rejoined. "You're cutting coupons every monthor so, and you may thank your stars I don't demand a statement of yourincome. But I know you, Jason Jones, and you can't hoodwink me, try asyou may. You hid yourself in this hole and thought I wouldn't knowwhere to find you, but you'll soon learn that you can't escape my eagleeye. So take your medicine like a man, and thank your lucky stars thatyou're no longer a struggling, starving, unrecognized artist. Good-byeuntil I call again."
"You're not to call again!" he objected.
"Well, we'll see. Just for the present I'm in no mood to quarrel withyou, and you'd better not quarrel with _me,_ Jason Jones. Good-bye."
She tucked the check into her purse and ambled out of the room after asupercilious nod to Alora, who failed to return the salutation. JasonJones stood in his place, still frowning, until Janet's high-heeledshoes had clattered down the two flights of stairs. Alora went to thewindow and looking down saw that a handsome automobile stood before thehouse, with a chauffeur and footman in livery. Janet entered thisautomobile and was driven away.
Alora turned to look at her father. He was filing his pipe and scowlingmore darkly than ever.