One Basket | Page 9

an air of helplessness. She just made him feel
he wanted her to be helpless, so that he could help her.
Jo took her home, and from that Sunday night he began to strain at the
leash. He took his sisters out, dutifully, but he would suggest, with a
carelessness that deceived no one, "Don't you want one of your girl
friends to come along? That little What's-her-name-Emily, or
something. So long's I've got three of you, I might as well have a full
squad."
For a long time he didn't know what was the matter with him. He only
knew he was miserable, and yet happy. Sometimes his heart seemed to

ache with an actual physical ache. He realized that he wanted to do
things for Emily. He wanted to buy things for Emily--useless, pretty,
expensive things that he couldn't afford.
He wanted to buy everything that Emily needed, and everything that
Emily desired. He wanted to marry Emily. That was it. He discovered
that one day, with a shock, in the midst of a transaction in the harness
business. He stared at the man with whom he was dealing until that
startled person grew uncomfortable. "What's the matter, Hertz?"
"Matter?" "You look as if you'd seen a ghost or found a gold mine. I
don't know which." "Gold mine," said Jo. And then, "No. Ghost." For
he remembered that high, thin voice, and his promise. And the harness
business was slithering downhill with dreadful rapidity, as the
automobile business began its amazing climb. Jo tried to stop it. But he
was not that kind of businessman. It never occurred to him to jump out
of the down-going vehicle and catch the up-going one. He stayed on,
vainly applying brakes that refused to work. "You know, Emily, I
couldn't support two households now. Not the way things are. But if
you'll wait. If you'll only wait. The girls might--that is, Babe and
Carrie--"
She was a sensible little thing, Emily. "Of course I'll wait. But we
mustn't just sit back and let the years go by. We've got to help."
She went about it as if she were already a little matchmaking matron.
She corralled all the men she had ever known and introduced them to
Babe, Carrie, and Eva separately, in pairs, and en masse. She got up
picnics. She stayed home while Jo took the three about. When she was
present she tried to look as plain and obscure as possible, so that the
sisters should show up to advantage. She schemed, and planned, and
contrived, and hoped; and smiled into Jo's despairing eyes.
And three years went by. Three precious years. Carrie still taught
school, and hated it. Eva kept house more and more complainingly as
prices advanced and allowance retreated. Stell was still Babe, the
family beauty. Emily's hair, somehow, lost its glint and began to look
just plain brown. Her crinkliness began to iron out.

"Now, look here!" Jo argued, desperately, one night. "We could be
happy, anyway. There's plenty of room at the house. Lots of people
begin that way. Of course, I couldn't give you all I'd like to, at first. But
maybe, after a while--" No dreams of salons, and brocade, and
velvet-footed servitors, and satin damask now. Just two rooms, all their
own, all alone, and Emily to work for. That was his dream. But it
seemed less possible than that other absurd one had been.
Emily was as practical a little thing as she looked fluffy. She knew
women. Especially did she know Eva, and Carrie, and Babe. She tried
to imagine herself taking the household affairs and the housekeeping
pocket- book out of Eva's expert hands. So then she tried to picture
herself allowing the reins of Jo's house to remain in Eva's hands. And
everything feminine and normal in her rebelled. Emily knew she'd want
to put away her own freshly laundered linen, and smooth it, and pat it.
She was that kind of woman. She knew she'd want to do her own
delightful haggling with butcher and grocer. She knew she'd want to
muss Jo's hair, and sit on his knee, and even quarrel with him, if
necessary, without the awareness of three ever-present pairs of maiden
eyes and ears.
"No! No! We'd only be miserable. I know. Even if they didn't object.
And they would, Jo. Wouldn't they?"
His silence was miserable assent. Then, "But you do love me. don't you,
Emily?"
"I do, Jo. I love you--and love you--and love you. But, Jo, I--can't."
"I know it, dear. I knew it all the time, really. I just thought, maybe,
somehow----"
The two sat staring for a moment into space, their hands clasped.
Then they both shut their eyes with a little shudder, as though what
they