CHAPTER XX

Mary Rose had decided to write a letter. The more she thought of what she had heard her Aunt Kate say to her Uncle Larry that Sunday morning the less she liked it. She would write to the owner of the Washington, to the man who made laws so that children and cats and dogs were not allowed in his house, and tell him just how it was; and then, why, of course, he would say it was all right, that Uncle Larry could stay and she could stay, and everything would be as it was except for Jenny Lind. Her lip quivered as she tried hard to remember that the Lord had his eye on Jenny Lind.

She had a box of paper of her own with cunning Kewpie figures across the top of each sheet. Miss Carter had given it to her one day when Mary Rose told her of a letter she had received from Gladys. The letter to the owner of the Washington was not as easy to write as the answer to Gladys' note had been. She screwed her face into a frowning knot as she tried to think what it was best for her to say.

DEAR MR. OWNER: [That much was easy.]

This letter is from Mary Rose Crocker, who lives in the cellar of your Washington house. I mean the bas.e.m.e.nt. We call them cellars in Mifflin where I used to live, but in Waloo they are bas.e.m.e.nts. Uncle Larry said you have a law that won't let children live in your house.

I don't understand that, for there have always been children. Adam and Eve had them and most everybody but George Washington. He never did.

Is that why you named your house after him? My mother died when I was a tweenty baby and my father is in Heaven with her, too, and I had to leave Solomon, he's my dog, in Mifflin and board out my cat, but he's self-supporting now and my bird has been stolen, so there isn't anyone but just me in the cellar. I mean bas.e.m.e.nt. Aunt Kate and Uncle Larry are my only relatives on earth and if I don't live with them I'll have to go to an orphan's home, which I shouldn't like at all. But if you won't let Uncle Larry keep his job and me, too, of course I'll have to go. I'll try and not make any noise and be quiet and good if you'll please let me stay and please, please, I'm getting less of a child every day. When I came I was going on eleven and now I'm almost going on twelve, for my birthday is in two months. Aunt Kate doesn't know I'm writing to you. Neither does Uncle Larry. I thought of it all myself when I heard Uncle Larry tell Aunt Kate you were going to take his job away if I lived with them. I know I shouldn't have listened, but I did. Perhaps you've never been an orphan and don't know what it means to have all your parents in Heaven when Gladys Evans has twenty-seven relations here on earth. But I shall be much obliged if you won't take Uncle Larry's job away from him and if you'll let me live with him. G.o.d bless you and me.

Your obedient servant and friend, MARY ROSE CROCKER.

It was a long letter and quite covered two sheets of Kewpie paper.

There were many blots and more misspelled words. Mary Rose frowned as she looked at it. It was the best she could do. She was uncertain how to get it to the owner and she did not wish to ask her uncle. Mr.

Jerry could tell her. He knew everything. And holding the closely written sheets in her hand she ran across the alley.

Fortunately Mr. Jerry was alone under the apple tree. She handed him the letter and watched his face anxiously while he read it.

"Is it all right?" she begged. She had George Washington cuddled in her arms and hid her face against his soft fur coat as she asked. "I know the words aren't spelled right but I'm only in the sixth grade.

Perhaps I should have put that in? But is the meaning right?"

Mr. Jerry coughed twice before he answered. "Just right, Mary Rose.

Exactly right! I couldn't have done it better and I've been to college. Write on the envelope: 'To the Owner of the Washington' and I'll take it over to the agents myself."

"Oh, will you!" Mary Rose had been puzzled how to get it to the agents. She decided then and there that she would never be puzzled over anything again. Mr. Jerry could do everything. First he had taken her cat and then her dog and her friend from Mifflin and now her letter. Her heart was filled with a pa.s.sionate devotion to him as she laughed tremulously. She was both proud and happy to possess such a resourceful friend. "Don't you think Mr. Owner sounds a little more respectful? You see," her voice shook, for it meant so much to her, "I don't know him at all. I've never had any chance to make friends with him."

With Mr. Jerry's fountain pen she wrote carefully: "Mr. Owner of the Washington."

Then she folded the letter smoothly and dropped a kiss on it before she put it in the envelope.

"Just for friendliness," she said when she met Mr. Jerry's eyes and she blushed. Even her ears turned into pink roses.

He caught her in his arms and hugged her.

"Mary Rose," he said and his voice was not quite clear, "you're absolutely the friendliest soul I know!"

"That's what I try to be, Mr. Jerry." Her arm slipped up about his neck. "Daddy said I was to be friendly and the friendlier I was the easier it would be."

CHAPTER XXI

Mary Rose loved her school. It was too delightful to be with children again and she made new friends rapidly. After supper she liked to run up to the third floor and tell Miss Thorley and Miss Carter what a wonderful day she had had and they always seemed glad to hear. She often found Mr. Strahan there and generally there were grapes or pears or peaches or candy to nibble while she told her tale.

Mr. Strahan had written a lot of stories out of Mary Rose's experiences and he grinned with delight as he heard her talk of school. He saw her as a mine of human interest tales.

"If it hadn't been for her I'd never have kept my job this summer," he told Miss Carter and Miss Thorley, one night after Mary Rose had gone.

"The old man liked the stuff she told me and it gave me a chance to show what I could do. I've a regular run now and a regular salary."

He looked across at Miss Carter and colored a bit. "My foot's on the ladder now for keeps."

Miss Carter laughed and colored a bit, too, as she hoped that his foot was there "for keeps." Miss Thorley caught the exchange of glances with an odd little contraction of her heart. Was that the way the wind was blowing? Funny she hadn't noticed anything before. If Blanche went away she would be left alone--alone with her work and her independence. She shivered involuntarily. Once that had been all she wanted. Why didn't they satisfy her now? They should satisfy her.

She'd work harder than ever on jam advertis.e.m.e.nts and when she had saved a lot of money she'd go to New York and get a big position and some people would have to admit that it would have been a waste to tie her down to a humdrum--what was it Mary Rose had said?--"home for a family." Her lip curled with scorn. Mary Rose was only a child. She didn't know that homes and families were not the most important things in the world. Someone else had told her what was the most important, but she would not think of him. She just would not. And anyway all he wanted now was friendship. Men were so constant. Her nose tilted.

She felt so much more scorn than a curled lip could express that her nose had to tilt. But until she could save a lot of money and go to New York she would stay right there in the Washington and listen to Mary Rose's experiences at the Lincoln School.

"It isn't like the school at Mifflin one bit, but I like it just the same. And I've made a lot of new friends. I never realized how you needed friends your own age until today. I've managed very well and been happy until--until," she gulped as she remembered what had happened to make her unhappy, "the other day, but it's such fun to have friends your own size. There's that girl at Mrs. Bracken's. She's older and bigger than I am, but Mrs. Bracken said we could be friends and there isn't as much difference as there is between me and Grandma Johnson. And we're friends. There's a boy with only one leg in my cla.s.s," importantly. "He's going to tell me how he lost the other one tomorrow. And a girl, Anna Paulovitch. Isn't that a funny name? She was born in O-Odessa, Russia. I never knew anyone who was born in Russia before. It's very interesting. Do you know," her voice dropped to a whisper, "that two years ago she lost all of her hair. She was sick and it disappeared until now there isn't even a single solitary hair on any part of her head. It's as bare, as bare," she looked about for a comparison but could not find one that would suit her, "as anything could be bare. It's very strange."

"And does she go to school without any hair?" asked Bob Strahan, trying to visualize Anna Paulovitch's bare pate.

"Oh, no! You can't go to school without hair. So last summer Anna picked berries for a farmer and saved every penny and soon she had enough to buy a wig. Her own hair was black and she hated it. She always wanted yellow curls and so when she bought her wig she bought long yellow curls. They're perfectly beautiful. You'd never guess they didn't grow on her own head. She showed me because I'm her friend. We're in the same number cla.s.s."

"Ye G.o.ds! Long yellow curls on a swart-faced black-eyed Russian." Bob Strahan laughed at the combination.

Miss Carter looked at him reproachfully as she swung the conversation to the safe subject of Mrs. Bracken's niece.

"I wonder what Mr. Wells will have to say about her?" she asked.

"He can't steal her canary for she hasn't one," muttered Bob Strahan.

Mary Rose caught the words, low as they were uttered.

"You don't think Mr. Wells has my Jenny Lind?" She was so astonished that her eyes popped as far open as they could pop. "He hates birds.

He told me so himself when I offered to lend her to him. And we're friends. Not friends like us but sort of friends. I'm sure he didn't take her," she insisted. "I must go now. Aunt Kate said I could only stay a minute. Good night."

"I wish I could be as sure of old Wells as she is," Bob Strahan said when the door closed behind her.

Mary Rose hesitated as she came to Mr. Wells' door. She did not believe that he had taken Jenny Lind and if he heard that people thought he had, he would be so hurt and grieved. She would have to stop and tell him that she didn't believe it, anyway, not for a moment, and if he wanted to borrow her goldfish any time, he could. She'd be glad to loan them to him. That would show how she trusted him. She knocked rather timidly. Mr. Wells, himself, opened the door.

"What d'you want?" he demanded gruffly. He had a letter in his hand and he made Mary Rose feel as if she had interrupted very important business.

"I just stopped to tell you that no matter what other people say I know you didn't steal Jenny Lind," she stammered.

"Steal Jenny Lind!" he thundered. His face was one black frown. "Who said I did? Come in." He motioned toward the living-room.

"Everybody's saying so," faltered Mary Rose. "But I know you better than they do. You couldn't steal the only pet a little orphan girl had, could you?"

Mr. Wells opened his mouth twice before he could say a word and then he only grunted a sentence that Mary Rose could not understand. He threw the letter he held on the table. An enclosure dropped from it and Mary Rose saw that there were Kewpies across the top of the paper. She recognized the writing also.

"Why--why!" she stammered. She was so surprised that she could scarcely speak at all. "That's my letter, the one I wrote to the owner of this very house."

A dull red crept up Mr. Wells' face into his grizzled hair. "Yes, I know," he rumbled. "I'm a lawyer and the owner is a client of mine.

He gave it to me so I could advise him what to do."

"And what will you advise?" asked Mary Rose after a breathless silence.

Her heart was beating so fast that she was almost choked. "Have you read it?"