She marveled at herself that she could eat another meal, but she did. Everything was delicious. A delightful soup of chicken and rice, a chop and a baked potato, stewed tomatoes cooked with onion and celery the way Grandmother made them and seasoned with plenty of sugar and pepper and salt. A piece of translucent apple pie and a neat square of velvety cheese! Well, there was no question but that she was going to be well fed if she stayed here!
When Greg came at nine o’clock, she had her list ready, made out in neat rows under different headings: Furniture, Machines, Stationery. She had forgotten nothing, from a filing cabinet to a pencil sharpener. There were a few things that she had marked with a question mark. For example, the manifolding apparatus. Did her new employer need to manifold anything? How could she be sure about anything without knowing more of the business?
But Greg was delighted. He ordered them all, with no exception. “We might need it in a hurry someday. Better get it,” he answered to every questionable article.
They made a full day of it, having told Mrs. Harris that Margaret would not be at home to lunch. They lunched in a small tea room in the shopping district and worked over their shipping list while they waited, discussing the different makes of typewriters, the different kinds of carbon paper and pens, the best kind of filing cabinet for their purpose.
But Margaret’s pleasure came when they chose rugs and chairs for the offices.
“It wouldn’t be necessary to have rugs,” said Margaret practically. “The rooms have lovely hardwood floors, and an office doesn’t need to be furnished like a parlor, unless you want to make it luxurious.”
“I think I do,” said Greg thoughtfully. “I’ve never had much of that sort of thing. I have a notion it’s an asset in some ways to have things beautiful and restful. I had a couch once. I always meant to get it a new cover. It’s too late now, but I think I’ll have some leather-covered chairs instead. Big deep ones. I’ve been to two or three really fine offices this last week, and I’d like to have a room like them. I have a notion we could work better.”
So Margaret reveled in lovely old oriental rugs and finally selected two Serapis, lovely in soft pastel blendings of old blue and coral and jade and white. The leather chairs they chose were dark blue and deep with comfort. There were two desks, one for the front room for Greg, one for the back room for Margaret.
“And when I’m not here, you will sit in the front room and receive any callers,” he said. “The back room will be for work, of course.”
So the desk for the back room was arranged to drop its typewriter down out of the dust when not needed, and the desk for the front was large and polished and had many deep drawers.
The filing cabinets matched the desks, and everything was quite like a dignified office. There were raw silk sash curtains for the windows in deep cream. It did something sweet and satisfying to Margaret’s artistic soul to have the pleasure of selecting these things, and she went back to her boardinghouse that night feeling that she had been on a pleasure excursion.
The next day seemed almost like her childhood’s anticipation of Christmas with all those packages coming. It was tremendously exciting meeting the delivery trucks, directing where the things should go. She had a niche in the rooms marked out for each article. Then when they had all come, she put away the paper and pencils in the drawers and cabinets, arranging everything as it should be. It all seemed a lovely dream in which she was moving, everything delightful, if only she had not that pang at her heart about her dear grandparents. She was eating the fat of the land, doing only pleasant things, and they were living mostly on cornmeal mush and—did they even have milk with it now if Sukey was sold?
Then her heart would cry out. Oh, if only this wonderful position had come a little sooner, and she might have saved Sukey! Perhaps, too, even the twenty-five dollars had not been enough to make up the necessary interest. Perhaps they had failed in some of their calculations; some of the furniture didn’t sell, or the man hadn’t paid for the cow yet. She must find out exactly how much she was paying for her board and parcel out her money. Perhaps she might dare to spare five or ten or even twenty more dollars before Thanksgiving, just in case they might need it. Of course she must keep enough on hand in case Mr. Sterling asked her to get something else. He would not like it for her to take the money he expected her to use in clothes and spend it on her relatives, and she must not risk her position even for them, for in the end, if this lasted she could help them more abundantly, of course.
So she went about arranging the offices, even singing a line of an old song as she polished off the tops of the desks with an old bit of silk from a worn-out slip she had discarded.
Then came Greg breezing in happily, smiling good afternoon. He had been off on some business that morning and came in now with papers and a big bundle under his arm.
But he stopped at the door and exclaimed, “Say! This is great! I wouldn’t have believed it would turn out this way. I couldn’t have done it. I wouldn’t have known how it would look. And you’ve even got some of the curtains up. Here, I can help with that.”
He went from one new article to another, admired and touched it. He sat down in all the chairs, felt the leather, delighted in the colors of the rugs.
“I’m going to enjoy these a lot!” he said with his face a glow of pleasure. He was as pleased as a child.
Then he turned to Margaret, who stood watching him.
“I certainly selected the right assistant,” he said with a look that made her glad. “You have made a picture of these rooms. You needn’t worry about earning your salary. I’ll have to be raising it after people see this, to hold you. The interior decorators will all be after you!”
She took it with a laugh and motioned him to the other room to see how well the filing cabinets fit into their allotted space.
“But what are we going to put in all these?” she asked. “That’s what I want to know.”
“Oh, I’ll show you!” said Greg.
He went to the big bundle and took out a lot of pamphlets and little paper-covered books.
“These are to put on the shelves in those glass-front bookcases,” he said, “and there’ll be more tomorrow. And here is a list. I was fortunate in getting it. It has the names and addresses of all the ministers and churches in the city. We’re going to send out some little pamphlets.”
“But what is it about?” asked the girl picking up the list. “Is it an advertisement of something you are going to sell?”
“No, not at present. We’re going to give these away first, and then if people want more, we’ll help them get them. They are little books that the world needs. They explain things that are vague in the minds of most people. The world is full of troubled people now, I’ve discovered. They need to understand about it. I never did till a few days ago, and I want to tell people where they can find out. There they are; look at them. Perhaps you won’t understand—unless you’ve known about it before.”
Greg stopped in a muddle of words. He didn’t know just how to explain the unique ministry that he had talked over with Rhoderick Steele.
Margaret took up a handful of the little tracts and booklets and examined their titles.
“Why!” she exclaimed, her face lighting up, “these are religious tracts and books!”
“Yes,” said Greg, looking at her shyly, wondering if she would laugh at him. Alice Blair would laugh, he was sure of that. But this girl was different from Alice Blair. Why! He hadn’t thought of Alice Blair in days! “Are you acquainted with things like that?”
“I certainly am!” said Margaret with a ring in her voice. “I’ve been brought up on things like this. But I didn’t know you were a Christian. Anyway, not a real one like this! Why this one tells the way to be saved! It’s wonderful! I’ve heard of the man who wrote it. I took a correspondence course in Bible study once, and he was one of the teachers!”
“That’s why you are different then!” said Greg thoughtfully.
“Per
haps that’s why you are different yourself!” said Margaret with a great light in her eyes. “Oh, if I had known you knew the Lord Jesus and cared about things like this, I wouldn’t have been afraid of you ever!”
“I haven’t known Him long,” said Greg reverently.
Their eyes met, and there flashed between them something, a bond that seemed to bring them nearer to one another because of this common interest they had discovered in the things of another world.
“Oh, this is wonderful!” said Margaret. “It’s better than all the rest! To think I am going to work for a Christian man and do real Christian work! It’s what I’ve always wanted to do but never thought I could because I have to help my dear family. But, Mr. Sterling, how are you going to make it pay? You can’t really make money selling things like these, can you? At least there must be a very small profit in it.”
“I’m not trying to make money,” said Greg. “I’ve got enough of that for the present, at least, for all I need and a lot over. I’ve been figuring it out that if other people who have money can afford to retire from business and just travel around the world and play games and buy expensive nothings for a collection or a fad, why couldn’t I afford to enjoy my income in the way I please? So, for a little while at least, I’m going to make it my business that a good many people shall know more about how to be saved. I want to make people get interested in the Bible, too. Not that I’ve ever read it much myself, though my mother used to love it, but I’ve just heard about prophecy, and what wonderful fulfillments are going on in the world today, and I don’t believe many people who call themselves Christians really know about it. I think they should, so I’m going to help some of them, at least, to know. People are wondering what all this trouble in the world means, and I’ve just found out that the Bible tells, and that if everybody knew that it’s all in the Plan, they wouldn’t take things so hard.”
“Oh, I think that will be marvelous!” said the girl.
“There’ll be some other things, too, when I get them worked out, or prayed out. I think maybe I can do a little at giving a few people some work. That will be a great deal better than giving them charity. I don’t believe in charity when people are able to work. It takes away self-respect and impoverishes them.”
“And yet look at all you’ve done for me!” said Margaret. “And you say you don’t believe in charity!”
Greg suddenly grinned.
“That wasn’t charity,” said Greg, “that was pure selfishness. I just did that to enjoy myself and get a good secretary.”
The next day, Margaret started in to work in earnest, with piles of envelopes and a long list of addresses, and stacks of tracts and little booklets to slip into the envelopes and send out.
Greg was in and out a couple of times during the day but seemed busy and a trifle distraught. Margaret wondered but worked on happily, and life seemed settling down into a delightful routine with an ideal employer.
Then the second morning about ten o’clock a smart cream-colored car trimmed with lines of scarlet drew up before the house, and a startling little lady with golden hair and very red lips got out and came in. She was presently ushered by the disturbed Mrs. Harris into the front office. Mrs. Harris was wondering if she had been mistaken in her renter after all and if this was the kind of visitors he was going to bring to the house. She had distinctly smelled cigarette smoke on the lady’s breath as she had let her in. On her breath, mind you, not her garments!
Margaret came from the inner office to greet her and was a bit startled also, recognizing the type instantly.
The visitor turned a sharp, curious gaze on the secretary and put on her most offensive air.
“Who pray are you?” she asked disagreeably.
Margaret drew herself up sweetly and looked the other woman in the eye.
“I am Miss McLaren, Mr. Sterling’s secretary. Is there anything I can do for you?”
“No, certainly not. I wish to see Mr. Sterling. Where is he? In that other room?” and she marched to the arched doorway between the offices and peered behind a handsome leather screen that partly sheltered the other desk.
“Mr. Sterling has not come in yet,” said Margaret, ignoring the rudeness and standing just where she had been when the woman entered.
“How soon will he come?” asked the visitor. “Doesn’t he have regular hours?”
“I am not sure. He is very busy outside the office just now. He came in for only a few minutes yesterday. He might come at any minute, of course. But…can I give him a message?”
“Of course not!” said the invader, flinging herself into a big chair and taking out her cigarette case. “I’ll wait awhile.”
Margaret went back to her typewriter in the other room. She was typing a few letters this morning to accompany certain booklets. But she was within range of the lady in the chair who was now smoking languidly and staring around the room. Presently the visitor got up and went over to the desk, pulling open a drawer and peering within. She picked up the booklet on the top, read its title, and flung it down.
“Holy cats!” she exclaimed amusedly. “Can you beat it? Greg Sterling! My word!”
Margaret was just arranging carbon paper for a duplication and heard her words and wondered. Was this one of her employer’s intimate friends? If not, how did she dare go through his desk this way?
For now the visitor was opening every drawer and laughing immoderately.
Ought she to stop her, Margaret wondered? But what harm could she do? As yet there were no private papers in that desk, only Christian literature to be given away. If this person chose to take some, she was welcome.
So Margaret held her peace and went on writing, greatly troubled in her heart, however, to know what standing such a woman as this could have with Gregory Sterling.
But the morning went by, and the visitor stayed on, smoking innumerable cigarettes, dropping her ashes on the Serapi rug, tapping her foot in annoyance, and yet staying on. And still Gregory Sterling did not come.
Several times the lady got up from the chair where she was sitting and pranced restlessly around the room examining things in detail, feeling of the quality of silk in the curtains, of the leather of the chairs, turning over the silver desk set to look for the hallmark, even bending down to look at the rug on the floor, turning the corner of it over to examine the back. Margaret happened to notice that and wondered. She knew that was the way an oriental rug was judged, by the closeness of it knots, the number to a square inch. But even if she was interested in fine, old rugs, she was rude. One could see that at a glance. Or else she must be a very close friend who felt privileged to do what she pleased here. She couldn’t be a relative, for he had said he hadn’t any living relatives that he knew of.
About half past two, having smoked up all the cigarettes she had with her, the lady went so far as to ask Margaret for some more. Margaret told her courteously that she didn’t use them. The visitor looked her up and down contemptuously and said after a pause, “No, you wouldn’t!” Then she whirled on her heel and went to the desk, sitting down and taking a sheet of paper out of the drawer. She wrote rapidly for a minute, and then flinging the pen down on the blotter, took an abrupt leave.
Chapter 15
Margaret had been working steadily all the morning ever since her arrival. She had not stopped for lunch. She did not even like to go across the hall into the dining room. She had a feeling that the visitor would examine every nook and cranny if she did, and there were a lot of papers in the back office that she did not want disturbed. Besides, who was this woman? What right had she in here anyway? Mr. Sterling might blame her if she left her alone. So Margaret stayed.
Mrs. Harris had rung the little silver lunch bell and waited five minutes. Finally, she opened the door of the back office softly and signed to Margaret with uplifted brows that lunch was ready. Margaret gave a noiseless signal that she understood but couldn’t come at present, and in a few minutes, the good little landlady appeared as silently as
a bird might have entered the room with a nice lunch on a small tray and set it down noiselessly beside Margaret, departing as soundlessly as she had come—a feather could not have trod more lightly—but with an expression on her face that spoke volumes.
Margaret had managed a bit now and then surreptitiously, noiselessly, a bite to chew on, a swallow of the delicious milk, and worked on, making her fingers fly over the keys in constant monotony.
When the lady at last took her leave and Margaret heard the lady’s car start away from the house, she sat back in her chair and drew a sigh of relief. Then she got up and went into the front office. There on the desk lay the paper the lady had written, and without intending to read it, her eyes took in at a glance the few words it contained:
Darling Greg:
Come for a cozy, little dinner tonight at eight entredeux. I need you! Am in awful trouble
Love,
Alice
There it lay in letters so large that anyone coming into the room could not fail to catch its gist. If Mrs. Harris should come in, she could not help seeing it!
Margaret went to the window and stood looking out with troubled eyes for a minute, trying to think what was her duty. Then she came back, folded the paper, and slipped it inside an envelope, laying the envelope on the blotter where Greg would not fail to find it. Now he need not know that she had seen it. Then she went back and finished her cold lunch, eating slowly, thoughtfully, a cloud over her face.
Presently came Mrs. Harris for the tray.
“Well, is she gone at last?” She peered cautiously into the other room and, finding it empty, stepped through and went and looked out the window. Margaret was glad she had put the note decently into an envelope.
“Yes, she’s gone,” she said, trying to make her tone casual. She would protect her employer as far as she could.
“Do you know who she is?” Mrs. Harris came back to the inner room.
“No,” said Margaret, still brightly casual. “I think somebody perhaps come for advice. Maybe somebody in trouble. She seemed awfully restless.”