Mildred Pierce

Chapter 9

Only an act of high consecration could atone for this, and some time during the night Mildred knew what it would be, and so knowing, found peace. She may have found a little more than peace. There was something unnatural, a little unhealthy, about the way she inhaled Veda’s smell as she dedicated the rest of her life to this child who had been spared, as she resolved that the restaurant must open today, as advertised, and that it must not fail. She was up at daybreak carrying out this resolution, setting out pie plates, flour, utensils, cans of supplies, all sorts of things, for removal to the model home. There was a great deal of stuff and she packed it carefully into the car, but it required several trips. On the last one, she found her staff waiting for her: a waitress named Arline and a Filipino, to do double service as dish washer and vegetable peeler, named Pancho. Both had been engaged the previous week, on the recommendation of Ida. Arline, a small, half pretty girl of twenty-five, hadn’t looked very promising, but Ida had recommended her highly. Pancho, it seemed, was addicted to flashy clothes, and had thus incurred the enmity of Archie, but once he was in his kitchen regimentals he was absolutely all right.

Mildred noted Pancho’s cream-colored suit, but wasted no time on it. She handed out uniforms and put them both to work. They were to give the place a thorough cleaning, and as soon as the front room was done, they were to hang the percale drapes that lay in a pile on the floor. She showed how the fixtures worked, and on Pancho’s assurance that he was a virtuoso with the screwdriver, she drove back to the house, picked up her pies, and made the rounds of delivery.

When she got back she caught her breath at what she saw. Pancho had indeed made a fine job of the drapes: the fixtures were all up and he was hanging the last of them. Arline had put the tables around, so that what had been a dreary pile of wood, metal, and cloth in one corner was now a restaurant, warm, clean, and inviting. Mildred still had many things to do, but when the laundry service delivered her napkins and doilies, she couldn’t resist setting a table to see how it looked. To her, it was beautiful. The red-and-white check of the linen combined pleasantly with the maple, and with Arline’s brick-red uniform, just as she had hoped it would. For a few minutes she lingered, drinking in the picture with her eyes. Then, after pointing out what was to be done in the kitchen, she got in the car again, to resume her errands.

At the bank, she drew $30, filling out the stub quickly, and trying not to think of the 7 she had to write, under “Balance Forward.” She asked for $10 in change, against the requirements of the evening, dropped the rolls of coin into her handbag, and went on. At the ranch where her chickens were on order, she found twenty-six waiting for her, instead of the stipulated twenty. Mr. Gurney, the rancher, was quite voluble about it, saying them birds was in such prime condition he hated to see anybody else get them. Just the same, she was annoyed. He did raise fine chickens, honestly corn-fed, not milk-fed, and fine chickens she had to have. And yet she couldn’t have him overselling her like this. After fingering them for a time, she rejected two because they weren’t properly picked and took the rest, paying $8, the price being three for a dollar. Loading them into the car, she went to the U-Bet market, for vegetables, eggs, bacon, butter, and groceries. She spent $11, almost having to dig into her reserve of coin.

Back at the restaurant, she inspected the kitchen, found it fairly satisfactory. Arline had mopped the floor, and Pancho had washed the new dishes without breaking any. Letty arrived, and Mildred had her make lunch for Arline and Pancho, then settled down to what she really liked, which was cooking. She got out the chickens, went over them carefully for pinfeathers, found Mr. Gurney’s picking a great deal better than most market picking. Then she took a small cleaver and sectioned them up. She was going to serve half a fried chicken, with vegetables or waffle, for 85¢, but she hated the half chicken that was served in most places. It came on the table in one loathsome piece, and she wondered how people could possibly eat it. She was going to do it differently. First, she cut off the necks, then cut the chicken in half. Then she took off the wings and the legs. The legs she separated into second joints and drumsticks, and then she trimmed the breasts so there was only a sliver of breastbone backing them, without any wishbone or rib. Then, remembering Archie’s system for such things, she packed breasts, drumsticks, second joints, and wings into four different dishes, and placed them in the icebox so she could pick up a portion with one motion. The necks and bones she pitched into a pot, for soup. The giblets she cut up and put in a pan, for gravy. She started her other soup, the cream of tomato, and put Pancho to preparing vegetables.

Around four, Wally came in, to inspect the alterations, and report. His main activity, since she had seen him, had been to send out the announcements, and for this he had drafted his secretary. She had utilized all the old Pierce Home lists, so that every person who had bought a home, or had even thought of buying a home, had been covered. Mildred listened, pleased that all this had been so well attended to, but he kept hanging around, and she wished he would go, so she could work. Then she noticed him looking at the showcase. This was the most expensive piece of furniture she had, and the only one that had been made to order. The base and back were of maple, but the sides, top, and shelves were of glass. It was to display the pies she hoped to sell to the “take-out” trade, and presently, looking rather self-conscious, Wally asked: “Well, how did you like that little surprise I fixed up for you?”

“—? What surprise?”

“Didn’t you see it?”

“I haven’t seen anything.”

“Hey — you go back to the kitchen, then, and wait, and believe me pretty soon you’re going to see something.”

Mystified, she went to the kitchen, and still more mystified, saw Wally appear there in a moment or two, find her pies, and carry two into the restaurant, then two more, then two more. Then she could see him arranging the pies in the showcase. Then she could see him fumbling with something against the wall. Then suddenly the showcase lighted up, and she gave a little cry, and went running out. Wally beamed. “Well, how do you like it?”

“Why Wally, it’s beautiful!”

“Something I did for you while — well, the last few days. I slipped in here at night and worked on it.” He proudly pointed out the tiny reflectors that screwed into the maple, almost invisibly, to shoot the light downward, on the pies; the bulbs, no bigger than her finger; the wiring, cunningly tacked to the back in such manner as to leave the panels free to slide. “You know how much that little job cost?”

“I haven’t any idea.”

“Well, let’s see now, the reflectors, they were seven cents apiece, six of them, that’s forty-two cents. The lights, a nickel apiece — say, they’re Christmas tree bulbs, can you beat that? Thirty cents for them, that’s seventy-two cents. The wire, ten cents. The sockets, screws, and plug, maybe a dollar. Say altogether, a couple of bucks. How’s that?”

“I just can’t believe it.”

“Took me maybe an hour. But it ought to sell pies.”

“And get a free dinner.”

“Oh, never mind that.”

“A free dinner, and second helpings.”

But the clock was ticking inexorably on, and she hurried back to work as soon as he left, though in a pleasant glow now, feeling that everybody was trying to help her. The vegetables, started before Wally came, were now ready, and they took them up. She put them in their pots and turned the hot water into the steam table. She made waffle batter, laid beside it the dipper that held exactly one waffle. She made pie crust, for biscuits. Her ice cream arrived: chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla. She had Pancho set all three freezers on a bench, where they could be easily reached, and showed Arline how to dip it up, reminding her she would be responsible for desserts as well as starters. She made salad, started the coffee.

At five thirty she went to the ladies’ room to change for the evening. She had given considerable thought to what she would wear. She had decided on white, but not the sleazy white of the nurse uniforms then becoming so common. She went to Bullocks, and bought sharkskin dresses, of a shade just off white, white with a tint of cream in it, and had little Dutch caps made to go with them. Always vain of her legs, she had the dresses shortened a little. Now, she hurriedly got into one, put on her Tip-Top shoes, stuck on the little cap. As she hurried out carrying the apron she would wear in the kitchen, and slip off when she came out to greet the customers, she looked like the cook in a musical comedy.

However, she didn’t go into a number. She assembled Pancho, Letty, and Arline for final instructions, paying most attention to Arline. “I’m not expecting many people, because it’s my first night and I haven’t had a chance yet to build up my trade. But if you should be rushed, remember: Get their orders. I’ve got to know whether they’re having vegetables or waffle before I can start, so don’t keep me waiting.”

“Call them both?”

“Call the waffle only.”

“Call biscuits?”

“I’ll keep biscuits out all the time, and you pick them up yourself. Pick up your own bread and your own biscuits, but put them in separate baskets and don’t forget that biscuits call for a napkin, to keep them hot. Three biscuits to a person, more if they want them, but don’t be stingy with them and don’t take time to count. Pick them up quick, and pick up enough.”

Arline surveyed the place with a practiced eye, counting tables. There were eight tables for two, around the wall, and two tables for four, in the middle. Mildred saw the look, and went on: “You’ll be able to take care of them, if you get their orders. There’s plenty of room here, you’re using a tray, and that’ll help. Any time you need her, I’ll send Letty out to bus up your tables for you, and—”

“Can’t she do that right from the start? So we get used to working together, and don’t commence bumping and stepping all over each other’s feet?”

“Then all right.”

Letty nodded, with a self-conscious grin. She was already in the brick-red uniform, which was quite becoming to her, and obviously wanted to be part of the show. Mildred went back to the kitchen, lit the oven, and started the waffle irons to heat. She was using a gas waffle, instead of the usual electric waffle, “because that’s the old-fashioned kind of round waffle that people really like.” She went to the switch box, put on the lights. The last switch worked the outside sign, and when it was on, she went out to look. There it was, as beautiful as ever, casting a bluish light over the trees. She drew a deep breath and came inside. At last she was open, at last she had her own business.

There ensued a long wait. She sat nervously at one of the tables for two, while Arline, Letty, and Pancho stood in a corner whispering. Then they started to giggle, and a horrible pain shot through Mildred. It was the first time it had occurred to her that she could open a restaurant, and then have nobody show up. She lurched suddenly to her feet and went to the kitchen. She kept touching the waffle irons, to see if they were hot. Outside a car door slammed. She looked up. A car was there, and four people were entering the restaurant.

She had a moment of complacency as she reached for the chicken: now she would reap her reward for all her observing, thinking, and planning. She had had the free parking located in the rear, so she could see exactly how many customers she had, even before they came in; she had simplified her menu, so she could start the chicken without waiting for the waitress to report; she had placed her icebox, range, materials, and utensils so she could work with the minimum of effort. Feeling as though she were starting a well-tuned machine, she took out four each of breasts, second joints, drumsticks, and wings, rolled them in the flour box beside the range, gave them a squirt from the olive oil bottle that stood beside the flour. She shoved them in the oven, for the brief baking that preceded frying in butter. Not yet closing the oven door, she shoved a pan of biscuits in, beside them. Arline appeared. “Four at No. 9, soup right and left, two and two, one waf.”

She reminded Arline she was not to call soup, but dip it up herself, then went out to greet her first guests. They were strangers to her, a man, woman, and two children, but she made them a pretty little speech, saying they were her first guests, and she hoped they liked her place and would keep on being her guests. Arline came in with the starters, the soup, crackers, butter, napkins, water, and salad. Salad, for some reason, is served first in California. Mildred’s eye checked the tray, finding it in order. Two more people came in. She vaguely remembered them as Pierce Homes buyers of six or seven years ago, but her waitress training came at once to her aid. Their names were on her tongue before she fairly saw their faces: “Why how do you do, Mrs. Sawyer, and Mr. Sawyer! I’m so glad you were able to come!”

They seemed pleased, and she seated them at a table in the corner. As soon as Arline came over to get their orders, she went back to the kitchen, to start more chicken.

The first order went out smoothly, with Letty bussing the dirty dishes to Pancho, who went to work at once. But then Arline appeared, looking worried. “Two at No. 3, but one of them’s a kid that won’t have soup. Says she wants tomato juice with a piece of lemon and some celery salt — I told her we don’t serve it, but she says she’s got to have it and what do I do

It was no trouble to guess who that was.

She found Bert and Veda, at one of the tables for two. Bert was in a light suit, conscientiously groomed and brushed, but with a black band on one arm. Veda was in a school dress that hadn’t been worn yet, and Mildred’s floppy hat. Both of them looked up with a smile, Veda exclaiming how pretty Mildred’s dress was, Bert nodded approvingly at the restaurant. “By God, this looks like something. You got yourself a piece of property this time, Mildred. This place is real.”

He stamped his foot. “And it’s built. I saw to that. I bet there was no trouble with the Department of Health when they inspected this floor.”

“They passed it without even looking.”

“How about those toilets?”

“They passed them too. Of course, we had to cut a door through, so both of them opened into the old secretary’s office. We made that into a kind of lounge. It’s against the law for a toilet to open into the kitchen, you know. But that, and the painting, and the gravel and the swing doors, were about all we had to do. It cost money, though. Whew!”

“I bet it did.”

“Would you like to look around?”

“I’d love it.”

She took them both through, and felt proud when Bert admired everything profusely, not quite so proud when Veda said: “Well, Mother, I think you’ve done very well, considering everything.” Then she heard a car door slam, and turned to greet her new customer. It was Wally, and he was quite excited. “Say, you’re going to have a mob. You heard me, a mob. That’s the thing to remember with direct-mail advertising. It’s not what you send. It’s where you send it. I got that stuff of yours right to the people that know you, and they’re coming. I bumped into six different people that told me they’d be here — and that’s just six I happened to bump into. I said a mob.”

Wally pulled over a chair and sat down with Bert and Veda. Bert asked him sharply if he had attended to the transfer of beneficiary on the fire insurance. Wally said he figured he’d wait till the place burned down. Bert said O.K., he was just asking.

When Mildred looked up, Ida was standing in the door. She went over and kissed her, and listened while she volubly explained that her husband had wanted to come, but got a call on a job, and simply had to look into it. Mildred took her to the table that now had only one chair, the other having been borrowed by Wally. Ida looked around, taking things in. “Mildred, it’s just grand. And the space you got. You can get two more fours in easy, just by shifting those twos a little bit. And you can use trays, big as you want. You got no idea how that’ll help. It’ll save you at least one girl. At least.”

It was high time for Mildred to get back to the kitchen, but she lingered, patting Ida’s hand, basking in her approval.

The well-oiled machine was in high now, humming smoothly, pulling its load. So far, Mildred had found a few seconds for each new arrival, and particularly for each new departure to give a little reminder of the homemade pies she had for sale, and wouldn’t they like to take home one? But now she was working a bit feverishly, frying chickens, turning waffles. When she heard a car door slam she didn’t have a chance to look out and count customers. Then she heard another door slam. Then Arline appeared. “Two fours just come in, Mrs. Pierce. I got room for one but what do I do with the other? I can shove two twos together, but not till I get Miss Ida moved out—”

“No no! Let her alone.”

“But what’ll I do?”

“Seat four, ask the others to wait.”

In spite of herself, her voice was shrill. She went out, asked the second party of four if they minded waiting. She said she was a little rushed now, but it would only be for a few minutes. One of the men nodded, but she hurried away, ashamed that she hadn’t foreseen this, and provided extra chairs. When she got to the kitchen, Arline was jabbering at Pancho, then turned furiously to Mildred: “He’s washing plates, and the soup bowls are all out, and if he don’t let me have them I can’t serve my starters! Soup bowls, stupid, soup bowls!”

Arline screamed this at Pancho, but as Mildred shushed her down, Letty came in, heavy-footed and clumsy at unaccustomed work, and dumped more soup bowls on the pile, which went down with a crash, three breaking. Mildred made a futile dive to save them, and heard another car door slam. And suddenly she knew that her machine was stalled, that her kitchen was swamped, that she had completely lost track of her orders, that not even a starter was moving. For one dreadful moment she saw her opening turning into a fiasco, everything she had hoped for slipping away from her in one nightmare of an evening. Then beside her was Ida, whipping off her hat, tucking it with her handbag beside the tin box that held the cash, slipping into an apron. “O.K. Mildred, it’s them dishes that’s causing it all. Now she ain’t no good out there, none whatever, so let her wipe while he washes, and that’ll help.”

As Mildred nodded at Letty and handed her a towel, Ida’s quick eye spotted dessert dishes, and she set them out on a tray. Then, to Arline: “Call your soup.”

“I want a right and left for two, three and one, chicken and tomato for four, and they been waiting for—”

Ida didn’t wait to hear how long they had been waiting. She dipped soup into the dessert dishes, dealt out spoons with one hand and crackers with the other, and hurried out with the tray, leaving butter, salad, and water to Arline. In a minute she was back. “O.K., Mildred, I got your family to take a walk outside. They was all through eating anyway. Then I put two at my table, and that took care of four. Then soon as I get the check for that first party of four, that’ll take care of four more, and—”

The twanging voice, the voice that Mildred had hated, twanged on, and Mildred responded to it with a tingle that started in her heart and spread out through the rest of her. Her nerve came back, her hands recovered their skill, as things began moving again. She was pouring a waffle when Mrs. Gessler appeared at the door, and came tiptoeing over to her. “Anything I can do, baby?”

“I don’t think so, Lucy. Thanks just the—”

“Oh yes there is.”

Ida seized Mrs. Gessler by the arm as she usually seized the members of her command. “You can take off that hat and get out there and sell pies. Don’t bother them while they’re eating but stay near the showcase and when they get through see what you can do.”

“I’ll be doing my best.”

“Containers in the drawer under the case, they’re out flat and you’ll have to fold them, then tie them up and put the carrying handles on. If you have any trouble, just call for me or ask Mildred.”

“What’s the price, Mildred?”

“Eighty-five cents. Everything’s eighty-five cents.”

Mrs. Gessler laid her hat beside Ida’s and went out. Soon Mildred saw her come back, lay a dollar bill in the tin box, take change, and go out. In a short time she saw many bills in the box, as Ida repeatedly came in, made change, and sent Arline out with it, so she would get her tip. When she had a lull, she slipped off her apron and went out. Nobody was standing now, but every seat was filled, and she felt as she had felt yesterday, at the funeral, when she walked through the living room and saw all those half-remembered faces. These were people she hadn’t seen in years, people reached by Wally’s clever system of mailing. She spoke to them, asked if everything was all right, received their congratulations, and from a few, words of sympathy about Ray.

It was well after eight when she heard another car door slam. Bert, Wally, and Veda had adjourned their meeting, on Ida’s invitation, to the running board of Wally’s car, and for some time she had heard them talking out there, while she worked. But now, as a foot crunched on the gravel, the conversation stopped, and then Veda burst in the back door. “Mother! Guess who just came in!”

“Who was it, darling?”

“Monty Beragon!”

Mildred’s heart skipped a beat, and she looked at Veda sharply. But Veda’s shining eyes didn’t suggest knowledge of scandal, so cautiously she asked: “And who is Monty Beragon?”

“Oh, Mother, don’t you know?”

“I guess not.”

“He plays polo for Midwick, and he lives in Pasadena, and he’s rich, and good-looking, and all the girls just wait for his picture to come out in the paper. He’s — keen!”

It was the first she had known that Monty was anybody in particular, but she was too busy to be excited much. Veda began dancing up and down, and Bert came in, followed by Wally, who looked as though he had just beheld God. “Sa-a-a-a-ay! If that guy’s here, Mildred, you’re in! Why there’s not a restaurant in L.A. that wouldn’t pay him to eat there. Isn’t that so, Bert?”

“He’s very well known.”

“Known? Hell, he’s a shot.”

Arline came in, from the dining room. “One waf.”

Veda went to the out door, peeped, and disappeared into the dining room. Wally began speculating as to how Monty knew about the opening. He wasn’t on any list, and it seemed unlikely he had seen the Glendale papers. Bert, with some irritation, said that Mildred’s reputation as a cook had spread far and wide, and that seemed sufficient reason, at least to him, without doing any fancy sleuthing about it. Wally said by God he had a notion to find out, when all of a sudden he was standing there with open mouth, and Mildred felt herself being turned slowly around. Monty was there, looking down at her gravely, intently. “Why didn’t you tell me about the little girl?”

“I don’t know. I — couldn’t call anybody.”

“I didn’t hear about it until her sister told me, just now.”

“She seems to be quite an admirer of yours.”

“She’s the most delightful little thing I’ve met in a long time, but never mind about her. I’d like you to know that if I’d had any idea about it, you’d have heard from me.”

As though to corroborate this declaration, a box of flowers appeared suddenly under Mildred’s nose, together with a slip the messenger was offering her to sign. She opened the box, found herself staring at two gigantic orchids. But Monty took the card and tore it up. “I doubt if you’re in the humor for gags.”

She put the flowers in the icebox, and introduced Bert and Wally. She was relieved when Ida came over, demanding that the kitchen be cleared. Monty gave her a little pat and went to the dining room. Bert and Wally went outside, eyeing her a little queerly.

By nine o’clock there were only two customers left, and as they were eating the last of the chickens, Mildred went to the switchboard and cut off the sign. Then she counted her cash. She had hoped for thirty people, and had ordered five extra chickens to be safe. Now, having been high-pressured into taking four more than that, she had barely had enough. Truly, as Wally had promised, there had been a mob, and she found she had taken in $46, or $10 more than her wildest hopes. She folded all the bills together, so she could feel their fat thickness. Then, having little to do until Arline, Pancho, and Letty finished up, she slipped off her apron, pinned on her orchids, and went into the dining room.

Ida was still waiting on the last customers, but Bert, Wally, Monty, Veda and Mrs. Gessler were sitting sociably at one of the tables for four. Bert and Monty were discussing polo ponies, a subject that Bert seemed impressively familiar with. Veda had curled herself into the crook of his arm and was drinking in the heavenly words about the only world that could mean anything to her. Mildred pulled up a chair and sat down beside Mrs. Gessler, who at once began making queer noises. Staring into each face, she repeated “H’m? H’m?” in an insistent way, evoking only puzzled stares. It was Monty who got it. His face lit up and he bellowed “Yes!”

Then everybody bellowed yes, and Mrs. Gessler went out to her car. When she came back she had Scotch and White Rock. Mildred had Arline bring glasses, ice, and an opener, and Mrs. Gessler began her ancient rites. Bert took charge of Veda’s drink, but Mildred forbade the usual switcheroo. She knew it would remind him of Ray, and she didn’t want that. Veda received her drink, with its two drops of Scotch, without any tricks, and Bert suddenly got to his feet. Raising his glass to Mildred, he said: “To the best little woman that any guy was crazy enough to let get away from him.”

“You ought to know, you cluck.”

Mrs. Gessler was quite positive about it, and everybody laughed, and raised a glass to Mildred. She didn’t know whether to raise her glass or not, but finally did. Then Ida, having disposed of the customers, was standing beside her, taking in the conviviality with a twisted grin that seemed strange and pathetic on her extremely plain face. Mildred jumped up, quickly made her a drink, and said: “Now I’m going to propose a toast.” Raising her glass, she intoned: “To the best little woman that nobody was ever crazy enough to let get away from them.” Wally said: “ ’Ray!” Everybody said “ ’Ray!” Ida was flustered, and first giggled, then looked as though she was going to cry, and paid no attention when Mildred introduced her around. Then she plopped down in a chair and began: “Well, Mildred, I wish you could have heard the comment. You got no idea how they went for that chicken. And how amazed they was at them waffles. Why, they said, they never got such waffles since they was little, and they had no idea anybody knew how to make them anymore. It’s a hit, Mildred. It’s going to do just grand.” Mildred sipped her drink, feeling trembly and self-conscious and unbearably happy.

She could have sat there forever, but she had Veda to think of, and Ida to think of too, for after such help, she had to give her a lift home. So she reminded Bert that Veda had to go to school, stuffed the precious cash into her handbag, and prepared to lock up. She shook hands with them all, looking away quickly when she came to Monty, and finally got them outside. On the lawn, the party gathered around Mrs. Gessler’s car, and Mildred suspected the Scotch was being finished somewhat informally, but she didn’t wait to make sure. Calling to Bert not to keep Veda up late, she loaded Ida into her car, and went roaring down the boulevard.

When she got home she was surprised to find the blue Cord outside. Inside, the house was dark, but she could see a flicker of light from the den, and there she found Monty and Veda, in the dark except for the fire they had lit for themselves, and evidently getting on famously. To Mildred, Monty explained: “We had a date.”

“Oh, you did.”

“Yes, we made a date that I was to take her home, so I did. Of course we had to take Pop home first—”

“Or at least, to the B—”

But before Veda could finish her languid qualification, she and Monty burst into howls of laughter, and when she could get her breath she gasped: “Oh Mother! We saw the Biederhof! Through the window! And — they flopped!”

Mildred felt she ought to be shocked, but the next thing she knew she had joined in, and then the three of them laughed until their stomachs ached and tears ran down their faces, as though Mrs. Biederhof and her untrammelled bosom were the funniest things in the world. It was a long time before Mildred could bring herself to send Veda to bed. She wanted to keep her there, to warm herself in this sunny, carefree friendliness that had never been there before. When the time finally came, she took Veda in herself, and helped her undress, and put her in bed, and held her tight for a moment, still ecstatic at the miracle that had come to pass. Then Veda whispered: “Oh Mother, isn’t he just wonderful!”

“He’s terribly nice.”

“How did you meet him?”

Mildred mumbled something about Monty’s having come into the Hollywood restaurant once or twice, then asked: “And how did you meet him?”

“Oh Mother, I didn’t! I mean, I didn’t say anything to him. He spoke to me. He said I looked so much like you he knew who I was. Did you tell him about me?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then he asked for Ray, and when I told him about her, he turned perfectly pale, and jumped up, and—”

“Yes, I know.”

“And Mother, those orchids!”

“You want them?”

“Mother! Mother!”

“All right, you can wear them to school.”

From the sofa came a voice, a little thick, a little unsteady: “I’ve been looking at that damned costume all night, and with great difficulty restrained myself from biting it. Now, get it off.”

“Oh, I’m not much in the humor for—”

“Get it off.”

So the costume came off, and she submitted to what, on the whole, seemed a reasonably appropriate finale to the evening. Yet she was too excited really to have her mind on Monty. When she went to bed she was tired, happy, and weepy, and Bert, Wally, Mrs. Gessler, Ida, Monty, the sign, the restaurant, and the $46 were all swimming about in a moonlit pool of tears. But the face that shimmered above it, more beautiful than all the rest, was Veda’s.