Kerry

  She knew that this was a wrong state of mind. She had no reason whatever to think that McNair had anything but a friendly interest in her, and she had not right to any deeper interest in him. True, he had been kind to her, had done much for her for which she could never thank him enough, not only in rescuing her lost manuscript, but also in giving her a new anchor for her soul. Yet none of those things should make her feel that sick longing after him that now threatened to overwhelm her.

  She let her hands fall into her lap over the telegram and stared off across the room at the dingy wallpaper of scraggy red roses on an indefinite background and tried to arraign herself. What had she been doing? Falling in love with an entire stranger? A worthy man she had no doubt, but one about whose life she knew almost nothing. He might be already engaged to someone far more his equal in every way than she was. He might have entirely other ideas. He might be even very rich. She had no idea at all. Thinking back he had said nothing that gave her any chance to judge his financial standing in the world. But she could judge by his clothes and all his little belongings, which were of the best quality, that he was not poor. And she was. What presumption on her part to allow her heart to attach itself to him in this way!

  Kerry had lived abroad enough to have acquired a very strong class feeling in these things. Poor girls abroad, unless they belonged to royalty, did not expect to have attention from rich young men. It was only in Cinderella storybooks that such things happened.

  Moreover, she had started out in the world to earn her own living, and it was a poor handicap to lose her heart in this way to the first good, kind man whom she met. She would not have it. She would not allow herself to even admit that she had been so silly and childish! She shut her lips firmly and got up. She went to the washstand and washed her face in good cold water, rubbing her cheeks vigorously to take away their white look. She dashed water over her eyes again and dried them, and found the tears still came unbidden. Then she went and dropped down on her knees beside the bed and tried to pray.

  “Oh, Father—God, you see what a fool I am! I can’t seem to do anything about it, either! I’m just all crumpled in a heap, and I feel so alone and miserable! Won’t you help me?

  “I know it’s ungrateful of me to even think of feeling bad about the loss of a stranger-friend, when you’ve been so wonderful to me, bringing back the manuscript and making the publisher so nice, and giving me a real job with such nice people, but I just can’t seem to help feeling very sad and sorrowful. Could you please do something about it for me? Take any wrong feeling I have about this away. Don’t let me be what my father used to call unmaidenly. Don’t let me want something I shouldn’t have. Make me content with the wonderful things you have already given me, and then give me strength to smile. I ask it in Jesus’ name.”

  Kerry remained upon her knees for some minutes after she had finished praying, and it seemed to her that her trouble was lifted from her heart in some wonderful way, and a peacefulness came in its place.

  When she got up she read her telegram again, and got a thrill out of almost every word. He was anxious about her. Well, that was wonderful! Only friendly anxiety, of course, she must remember that, but it was nice to have even an absent friend care a little. How kind of him to suggest advisers in his place! Of course he didn’t know that Dawson was rooming in the same house. That probably would have disturbed him. Still, why, after all? The manuscript was safe and she had nothing else that he could steal. She would ask the publisher that very day to suggest a bank, and in it she would put her small hoard of money for safekeeping, and would also rent a safety deposit box and put those notes of the book safely away in it where they would be safer than anywhere else she could hide them. Then let Dawson do what he pleased. He could not hurt her. Besides, she had God, and the publisher and Mrs. Scott. They would all help her.

  So she washed her face again with the cold, cold water, and felt refreshed, and then she set about making plans for the day.

  It was early. It was only half past seven. She would dress at once and get out of the house before Dawson was awake. She knew his habits at sea had been late. He would hardly expect her to be about so early.

  She took the book notes with her, stowed flatly in a manila envelope, and carefully pinned inside her coat. When she went out of the house a half hour later, moving quietly, cautiously down the stairs, she did not appear to have anything with her but her small handbag containing her purse.

  When she let herself out of the house she kept close to the buildings so that anyone looking out of the upper windows could not see her unless they leaned far out.

  She walked rapidly and got herself out of the region of Mrs. Scott’s house as soon as possible, not knowing, nor caring much where she was going. She had taken the precaution to bring with her a little folder containing a map of New York, and a list of streets and notable buildings. When she got far enough away she meant to stop somewhere and peruse it. She remembered there was a great Central Park in New York. She had walked in it once with her father when she was a child. There were squirrels and a lake, and benches here and there. She would find this, and study her map.

  There were only working people on the streets at this hour. They were hurrying to their daily tasks. The shops were still closed, and the houses had an air of being asleep.

  But there were little restaurants open here and there, wafting appetizing smells of coffee and frying ham. She decided, however, not to be lured into eating yet. She was too near to Dawson’s vicinity. And besides, if she waited until a little later in the morning she could make two meals out of one and save money. She must be careful of every cent now.

  The morning was clear and brisk. It was almost spring, but there was a tang in the air that was heartening. Kerry tried to forget that McNair was already many miles away and hastening West as fast as his train could carry him. She tried also not to exult in his promise that he would write. That would be one more reason why she could not leave her present lodging in spite of Dawson’s invasion, for she would want to wait and get her letter, else she would lose track entirely of McNair. Perhaps that was what she really ought to do, she argued with her anxious young soul, just go away and lose herself and never see him again, but it seemed so ungracious when he had been so kind; also, it showed up her weakness, which she was not going to own even to herself.

  But there was enough to take her attention in this new city, without arguing about fine ethical points.

  McNair had marked the map he had given her, showing several points that would be outstanding way marks, and giving the location of her new home so she would run no risk of losing herself. Now she took careful account of which way she had turned and felt sure she could find her way back.

  She felt a little timorous venturing thus alone, but then, it could be no worse than London, and she knew her way around London and Paris. She would soon learn New York. If only the city did not also hold that uncanny Dawson she would feel quite at her ease.

  Presently she found herself on Fifth Avenue, and enjoyed every step of the way. There were no crowds at this hour and she might walk at her leisure and admire the shop windows, which were all interesting, and the big churches. There was the Public Library. She was glad to have located that. She would spend many hours there reading. In fact, that might be a very good place to hide herself away from Dawson after working hours.

  In the vicinity of the better shops she lingered studying the displays, wondering how prices compared with London, wishing she had been able to buy some new clothes before she came. There were one or two things she needed badly. The most imperative was a new pair of shoes. She must get them right away. It would not do to take her new job looking shabby. Of course her one new black dress would do for office work, and for anything else she must wait until she knew what her salary was to be. It probably would be very small at first.

  At half past ten she presented herself at the publisher’s office. She found a still more cordial greeting than yesterday, for
they had been reading a little of the manuscript and were even more impressed with it than they had expected.

  Mr. Holbrook told Kerry that they had found a spot for her, and her duties would begin on Monday. The salary named was not great, but it was quite a little more than Kerry had dared to hope. She could easily live on it, she felt, and have a little something left over for new clothes unless clothes in America were vastly more expensive than in London and Paris.

  Kerry asked advice about a bank and Holbrook named a bank, gave her a letter of introduction, offered several suggestions, and finally ended by inviting her to spend the weekend with his family at their suburban home.

  Kerry shrank from accepting any invitation among strange people. Moreover she felt herself unprepared for social life. She would need new clothes to spend a weekend, and she had hoped not to have to spend money just now. But she recognized the intended kindness, and the fact that her invitation was a tribute to her noted father, and she knew that it was good policy to accept. Moreover, there was Dawson. It would be good to get away from him. Perhaps if she could keep pretty well away from the house today, and avoid him tonight, and then be away over Sunday she might be able to discourage his further annoyance.

  So she smiled and thanked the busy publisher and took herself away, promising him to meet him at the Grand Central Station at one o’clock on Saturday.

  Kerry found a plain little restaurant on a side street and had a combination meal of breakfast and lunch—a bowl of soup with bread and butter. She was determined to live within her means.

  While she ate her lunch she turned her wardrobe over in her mind. Of course they might be plain people, the Holbrooks, still they were city people, and she had noticed that even many of the shop girls in New York were smartly dressed. It certainly would not be a credit to her father to appear old-fashioned. It might tell against her in the business world which she was about to enter. Still she must not take much from her small hoard.

  When she had finished there was still twenty minutes before bank closing time, and she wanted to get those awful notes in a safe place before another night, and also to put away as much of her money as she could spare from everyday expenses.

  She felt as if a great burden had rolled from her shoulders when those notes were in a safety deposit box, and she was out on the street again. She had kept some of her money with a view to a possible new coat or hat or both, and so she turned her footsteps toward the stores.

  She began her search in the great Fifth Avenue shops, scanning the wonderful garments of the wealthy first, just to judge of relative prices in America and abroad.

  She looked the garments over, but the supercilious women who presided over the stately halls of commerce where the elite sought their garments, looked Kerry over and found her shabby in the extreme. They let her see by every glance they gave her, by the very inflection of their voices as they answered her shy questions about price and size, that they did not consider her a possible purchaser, and Kerry soon drifted away to the elevator again and back to the street.

  She did several imposing exclusive shops in this way, and finally with dejected attitude found herself idly wandering down a side street, to get out of the noise and crowds. She decided that it was foolish to get new things just for a visit over Sunday. Eventually she would have to have some new clothes, but that could wait until she had more money saved up. She began to wish that she had put all her money in the bank—except enough for food and lodging and car fares. It was much better to have nearer four hundred than three hundred in the bank. Besides, it would be years before she could afford clothes from the Fifth Avenue shops.

  She walked aimlessly for two long, long blocks, realizing that she was very tired and did not know what to do next, nor care; wishing she could creep away somewhere and cry and never crawl out again. Suddenly she saw to her right a lovely coat.

  Now a new coat was something she had long desired, and very much needed. The coat she wore was an old one of her mother’s, too large, and worn threadbare in places. The fur, though often carefully combed, was stubby and dejected looking, and the lines were all wrong for the present season. She had been conscious of its shabbiness all the way over the water, but never so much as since she had passed the ordeal of those cold-eyed sales women on Fifth Avenue. Yes, she certainly needed a new coat. The coats of the people who passed her fairly cried out to shame hers. In London she had not minded so much. She was used to going around London looking shabby.

  But this coat as it hung in the window lured her joyously. It was all that a coat should be, which she could not say even for the expensive Fifth Avenue garments she had been examining. Not one of those had tempted her. They were all too sumptuous, too extreme.

  Kerry had not lived in London and Paris without knowing good lines in a garment when she saw them, even though she seldom possessed one. And now as she paused before the window and gazed, critically, she knew that the garment before her was unusual; by cut and style and character it bore the hallmarks of a master artist.

  Its material was a soft supple wool that hung like doeskin. It was Lincoln green, a real Robin Hood color, trimmed luxuriously with lovely beaver fur. Kerry knew instantly that it was made to sell at a high price. Yet there was a card in the window announcing in large letters ALL COATS REDUCED TO $39.50. It seemed incredible. There was, of course, some catch about it. This one would be an exception, put there just to draw business. But she would go and see how much it was.

  She lingered at the window studying it a moment. She dreaded to encounter more cold-eyed saleswomen. Yet—there was no harm in inquiring the price. If this was beyond her purse then she would stop trying, and decide she ought not to buy a coat.

  But she did need one. And this was so lovely, just the color that suited her hair. Her father always loved her in green. He even thought the old green chiffon made her look beautiful. And this coat was the same shade of green, only it had depth, and velvety softness about it that made it most charming and the fur was exquisite, such a lovely silvery sheen. The brown and green went wonderfully together. Oh, she would love to have that coat! It would go well with the green chiffon. If she could borrow an iron of Mrs. Scott and iron out the chiffon, perhaps it would not look so forlorn. She might get some lace or a flower and freshen it up a bit. She went into the shop and asked breathlessly to see the coat in the window. Yes, it was thirty-nine fifty.

  “A wonderful bargain,” the salesgirls said. She was a pleasant eager girl herself, with none of the Fifth Avenue airs. “It’s a Worth coat, you know, one of our exclusive models. You won’t find another like it in the city,” she poured forth as Kerry allowed herself to be buttoned into it.

  Kerry stood in front of a long mirror and saw herself in wonder. The green of the coat, and the soft silvery depths of the brown fur brought out all the tints in her clear skin, and made the red-gold in her hair flame.

  Oh, thought Kerry suddenly. I’d like Graham McNair to see me in this! and then her cheeks flamed and made her yet more lovely. She turned sharply away from the mirror and dropping her shamed eyelashes she began to study the texture of the material, and the quality of the fur on the sleeve.

  “It’s really the greatest bargain we have in the store today,” said the girl in a confidential tone, “a real model, you know. And you’re fortunate to be small enough to wear it. That’s why it is put down so low, because it’s a small size, and getting toward spring, and we never hold over our exclusive models. We always let them go at a bargain.”

  Kerry turned back to the mirror, and the miracle of its hang and cut, the trick of its lapel and pocket and fastening held her again. Well, it might be, perhaps, a real imported model, straight from Mr. Worth’s great establishment, but if so, why at that price? Why wasn’t it up on Fifth Avenue selling for a hundred and fifty or two hundred dollars? It was prettier than anything she had seen up there this afternoon, and just as good quality. More likely, it was a copy of some model, perhaps a stolen copy at that, of t
he great dressmaker’s choice achievement. But what matter? And who was she with her paltry little hundred dollars in her shabby purse, to demand real imported models? If the coat had warmth and beauty and “lines” combined with low price, what more could she desire?

  “I’ll take it!” she said at last with a sigh of satisfaction, thinking with a little frightened gasp that now she would have to bring the whole of her wardrobe up to that lovely coat.

  Kerry carried the coat away from the shop with her and felt like a child with a new doll. A sudden sharp pang of longing came to her to run away and tell her father about it. He would have loved so to have her have something pretty. He used to worry about her never having pretty clothes, and was always promising to get them for her when his book was done. Well, now she had it, and she could feel that he had bought it for her, for it was the price of the precious books that he had cherished all these years that had made it possible.

  Kerry went on down Thirty-Fourth Street, walking on air, with no idea whatever of where she was going, until she came to a shop window where dresses were displayed. She stopped and studied them, for one had caught her eye. It was made almost exactly like her green chiffon, except that it had some bows of velvet ribbon with long ends. That was an idea! Why couldn’t she get some velvet ribbon? Bows were easy to tie! She could make a new thing out of that poor little old chiffon dress. It wouldn’t know itself.

  Her eyes wandered over the rest of the things in the window. There was one dress at the back that had a wide soft collar of lace like a cape. With a collar like that she could make her black dress quite different!

  She went into the store and found no collars for sale, nothing but dresses, but they directed her where to find a department store not far away, and Kerry went happily on her way.