The Trimmed Lamp | Page 7

on his head--high living ungrew it; and we can prove
it--the other a young man whose worth and sophistication he impressed
upon you in two convincing ways--he swore that all the wine was
corked; and he wore diamond cuff buttons. This young man perceived
irresistible excellencies in Nancy. His taste ran to shop- girls; and here
was one that added the voice and manners of his high social world to
the franker charms of her own caste. So, on the following day, he
appeared in the store and made her a serious proposal of marriage over
a box of hem-stitched, grass-bleached Irish linens. Nancy declined. A
brown pompadour ten feet away had been using her eyes and ears.
When the rejected suitor had gone she heaped carboys of upbraidings
and horror upon Nancy's head.
"What a terrible little fool you are! That fellow's a millionaire-- he's a
nephew of old Van Skittles himself. And he was talking on the level,
too. Have you gone crazy, Nance?"
"Have I?" said Nancy. "I didn't take him, did I? He isn't a millionaire so
hard that you could notice it, anyhow. His family only allows him
$20,000 a year to spend. The bald-headed fellow was guying him about

it the other night at supper."
The brown pompadour came nearer and narrowed her eyes.
"Say, what do you want?" she inquired, in a voice hoarse for lack of
chewing-gum. "Ain't that enough for you? Do you want to be a
Mormon, and marry Rockefeller and Gladstone Dowie and the King of
Spain and the whole bunch? Ain't $20,000 a year good enough for
you?"
Nancy flushed a little under the level gaze of the black, shallow eyes.
"It wasn't altogether the money, Carrie," she explained. "His friend
caught him in a rank lie the other night at dinner. It was about some girl
he said he hadn't been to the theater with. Well, I can't stand a liar. Put
everything together--I don't like him; and that settles it. When I sell out
it's not going to be on any bargain day. I've got to have something that
sits up in a chair like a man, anyhow. Yes, I'm looking out for a catch;
but it's got to be able to do something more than make a noise like a toy
bank."
"The physiopathic ward for yours!" said the brown pompadour,
walking away.
These high ideas, if not ideals--Nancy continued to cultivate on $8. per
week. She bivouacked on the trail of the great unknown "catch," eating
her dry bread and tightening her belt day by day. On her face was the
faint, soldierly, sweet, grim smile of the preordained man- hunter. The
store was her forest; and many times she raised her rifle at game that
seemed broad-antlered and big; but always some deep unerring
instinct--perhaps of the huntress, perhaps of the woman--made her hold
her fire and take up the trail again.
Lou flourished in the laundry. Out of her $18.50 per week she paid $6.
for her room and board. The rest went mainly for clothes. Her
opportunities for bettering her taste and manners were few compared
with Nancy's. In the steaming laundry there was nothing but work,
work and her thoughts of the evening pleasures to come. Many costly

and showy fabrics passed under her iron; and it may be that her
growing fondness for dress was thus transmitted to her through the
conducting metal.
When the day's work was over Dan awaited her outside, her faithful
shadow in whatever light she stood.
Sometimes he cast an honest and troubled glance at Lou's clothes that
increased in conspicuity rather than in style; but this was no disloyalty;
he deprecated the attention they called to her in the streets.
And Lou was no less faithful to her chum. There was a law that Nancy
should go with them on whatsoever outings they might take. Dan bore
the extra burden heartily and in good cheer. It might be said that Lou
furnished the color, Nancy the tone, and Dan the weight of the
distraction-seeking trio. The escort, in his neat but obviously
ready-made suit, his ready-made tie and unfailing, genial, ready- made
wit never startled or clashed. He was of that good kind that you are
likely to forget while they are present, but remember distinctly after
they are gone.
To Nancy's superior taste the flavor of these ready-made pleasures was
sometimes a little bitter: but she was young; and youth is a gourmand,
when it cannot be a gourmet.
"Dan is always wanting me to marry him right away," Lou told her
once. "But why should I? I'm independent. I can do as I please with the
money I earn; and he never would agree for me to keep on working
afterward. And say,