“Why not?”
“It makes things too mean for her, Walter.
All the other girls have somebody to depend on after
they get there.”
“Well, why doesn’t she have somebody?”
he asked, testily. “Somebody besides me,
I mean! Why hasn’t somebody asked her to
go? She ought to be that popular, anyhow,
I sh’d think—she tries enough!”
“I don’t understand how you can be so
hard,” his mother wailed, huskily. “You
know why they don’t run after her the way they
do the other girls she goes with, Walter. It’s
because we’re poor, and she hasn’t got
any background.”
“‘Background?’” Walter repeated.
“‘Background?’ What kind of talk
is that?”
“You will go with her to-night, Walter?”
his mother pleaded, not stopping to enlighten him.
“You don’t understand how hard things
are for her and how brave she is about them, or you
couldn’t be so selfish! It’d
be more than I can bear to see her disappointed to-night!
She went clear out to Belleview Park this afternoon,
Walter, and spent hours and hours picking violets to
wear. You will——”
Walter’s heart was not iron, and the episode
of the violets may have reached it. “Oh,
blub!” he said, and flung his soft hat
violently at the wall.
His mother beamed with delight. “That’s
a good boy, darling! You’ll never be sorry
you——”
“Cut it out,” he requested. “If
I take her, will you pay for a taxi?”
“Oh, Walter!” And again Mrs. Adams showed
distress. “Couldn’t you?”
“No, I couldn’t; I’m not goin’
to throw away my good money like that, and you can’t
tell what time o’ night it’ll be before
she’s willin’ to come home. What’s
the matter you payin’ for one?”
“I haven’t any money.”
“Well, father——”
She shook her head dolefully. “I got some
from him this morning, and I can’t bother him
for any more; it upsets him. He’s always
been so terribly close with money——”
“I guess he couldn’t help that,”
Walter observed. “We’re liable to
go to the poorhouse the way it is. Well, what’s
the matter our walkin’ to this rotten party?”
“In the rain, Walter?”
“Well, it’s only a drizzle and we can
take a streetcar to within a block of the house.”
Again his mother shook her head. “It wouldn’t
do.”
“Well, darn the luck, all right!” he consented,
explosively. “I’ll get her something
to ride in. It means seventy-five cents.”
“Why, Walter!” Mrs. Adams cried, much
pleased. “Do you know how to get a cab
for that little? How splendid!”
“Tain’t a cab,” Walter informed
her crossly. “It’s a tin Lizzie,
but you don’t haf’ to tell her what it
is till I get her into it, do you?”
Mrs. Adams agreed that she didn’t.
