THE TENTS OF SHEM

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 70, Issue 101, 11 February 1950, Page 7

THE TENTS OF SHEM

S Serial Story ~

S (Copyright) «j» 5 By Grace Jones Morgan S ”iimmiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii M iij|j|||||||||||„| l^

CHAPTER XXXI. FANCHEE PROMOTED “Trouble just naturally selects me out of the innocent bystanders,” snapped Marietta “See if you can handle sales while I interview the millinery and suit queens about helping Rachael’s leg.” For an hour the department was rushed and customers waited, and during that hour the new Efficiency Expert stood watching the department, to Madame’s consternation. “Don’t take fittings if you can help, Dorsey. If it was anyone but Mariette away she’d be fired. And lie’s waiting for her!” .

Marietta knew as she came from a hopeffiss quest that trouble waited When the Efficiency Expert spoke to her she replied quietly, but her voice carried: “We take up subscriptions for everything else in this store. I’ve been trying to get one for a lame girl in our cubby . . . Fire me? Go ahead. Try it. You’d be doing me a favour to fire me off this job. Ask Louis Rosebloom before you do it, though.” And Marictte stalked behind the counter and spoke to a customer as casually as if her cheeks were not burning' under the rouge.

Late that afternon a subscription list was laid on the counter. “Please give a dime for flowers to welcome Mr Rosfleur back.” Mariette read it aloud, and dropped the paper. “Nope. It ain’t worth a dime to me. Louis 'Rosebloom knows what I think of him without a dime worth of my name on paper and sixty dollars’ worthy of flowers won’t make him think different of me. Not twenty people would kick in for Rachel, and I’m saving my dimes.” Fanchee was at the counter next morning, folding pink silk gauments, straightening lacer-bows, when M. Louis Rosfleur came down the aisle. Mariette ceased whipping lacers. Colour warmed her throat as M. Rosfleur laid a paper on the counter. Mary, what have I done now that you don ! t like?” » “Probably you know I assaulted that pet importation of yours, Louie. But that’s a perfectly correct list. It wasn’t the dime I wouldn’t give, but that Efficiency Expert made me mad. If it wasn’t'for dislocating my gold fillings I’d have called him a few names. I’ve donated fifteen years of my life worldng for you. I donated youth when I had plenty of it, and I didn’t scrimp. I dragged corsets from their basement lair when you j opened up the store and fitted everybody in ten sizes of one model when you got the foreign bug and wouldn’t stock American experiments. I practically made them over, customers and corsets both, and what do I get for it? A mere living. I admit I was a guttersnipe when you hired me over there in the Mission, and there’s times I wish I was back. It’s all right for you to acquire what you got, but neither you nor any other man can pay me for the youth I put into this game for you. And the only reason that Efficiency Expert that told me I was getting too old ain’t catching an ambu-

lance instead of a street-car is because I had a lot of things on my mind and wasn’t myself. Now, am I fired?” “But, Mary Higgins, I can’t have you abusing my officials.” His voice was still soft, smooth-flowing, gentle. “And who is the new girl, Mary?” His eyes were on Fanchee, but they

turned towards Mariette and for a moment the two stood facing each other. Then Mariette’s chin lifted, her eyes flashed, and she began to whip corset lacers. .

“Dorsey,” she called without lifting her head, “Dorsey, let me introduce you to M. Louis Rosflcur. Thanks so much, Mr Rosfleur for the promise of a raise in wages. And you and I know I’ve earned it right now.” Mariette left her counter, her head high, her lips tightening.

“Hortie,” she had paused, rolled a corset, placed it in a box, and was shoving the box in the tier of shelves. “Hortie, she’s bin married, and a married woman ought to be able to take care of herself. I can’t be blamed for anything. She’s got to take her own chances. It’s hard enough to steer innocent kids straight, Hortie. Just the same . . . Oh, God, Hortie, what a funny thing life is . . .” “Miss D’Arcy, in the office records, I see that you have done office work and were retained in the department until there was an opening of that sort.” M. Louis Rosfleur’s glance swept Fanchee from head to the counter behind which she stood rolling a tapeline between nervous fingers. “Would you care to make a change?” “If it was a bettor position,” she said. “But I am not a stenographer, and I like working on this floor . . .” “Suppose you come to my office at five o’clock and talk it over. We believe in adjusting our assistants to their environment when possible.” The head of M. Louis inclined and ho went down the aisle. Fanchee looked after him, smartly dressed, softvoiced, gentlemanly. It was difficult to believe the tales Mariette told of his little store in the Mission, difficult to credit her own ears with what had been overheard of Mariette’s highhanded talk to him just now. But an office position, would she like that? She would miss Mariette and Madame. Yet it would mean higher wages, eas-

ier work. It would mean a difference in other ways. There was, strangely incomprehensible, a difference between the office girls and saleswomen. In the foolish snobbishness of the working world, those in the office were a step higher in the scale. Harvey Sundersen would be pleased. Fanchee did not understand why she dreaded that interview unless this feeling of salesgirls toward the office help was contagious. But she opened the door of M. Louis’ office with her hands cold and her cheeks hot. At his nod the secretary went away. “I have been thinking over the position, Miss D’Arcy. You see, ,my secretary is leaving mo to be married in a month. Suppose you enrol in a nightschool class for stenographers during that month. Meanwhile, take a position in the suit and dress department. The higher wages will take care of the school expense. Is that satisfactory?” His tone left her no choice but to agree. His manner was coldly casual, but his eyes appraised to her shoes. Of course, this is confidential, Miss D’Arcy. You will meet other women

in the suit department. I think you will find them different from those where you have been. The work of a private secretary needs a woman with some background and breeding. The report in the office of your talk with Miss Lantis was favourable. I hope you’ll be happy, meantime, in the suits and dresses.” Soft blue carpet sank thickly under her feet, there was the dark gleam of polished mahogany, of shaded lights shining in pale amber. The door opened soundlessly, and there was wondering inquiry in the mind of Fanchee P’Arcy. After all, people were kind. She had not known she was on approbation in the corset department nor that the office had been watching to learn if she could qualify for this higher position. But she would miss Mariette. “A queen of the triple mirrors,” was Mariette’s dry-voiced comment when Fanchee told the news. “One of them suit queens. I suppose you won’t be speaking to your old friends any more.”

“Oh, Mariette, I’m not that sort of a fool.” Fanchee was indignant. “It will mean better wage';. And I’m so glad you got a raise too, Mariette.” “Yeah, Louie Rosebloom and I understand one another if nothing else.i What’s more, the fancy piece of bric-a-brac of the Efficiency Department will keep to himself from this time out. And one thing I’m going to tell you, Dorsey. You look out for yourself. Take all you can get. Never show favours to anybody. Get the goods while you’re young and not hard to gaze upon. Soak every dollar against a rainy day. And make them pay till the eagle screams. Look at Madame here, slaving away at the door of old age. Look at me. And don’t forget what, happened poor Nina that you saw the other night. She tells me, and I ain’t doubting it, that she’s spent a fortune in her day instead of salting it down. You don’t want to wind up that way, Dorsey. You make things pay

and save the coin.” Her last day in the corset department swung swiftly to five o’clock. The last garment was rolled and boxed and they were adding up the sales list when Mariette again broke into mourning over, her wasted years. ‘‘l’ve been at this game so long that if Kipling knew me he’d write another barricade ballad callnig corsets what raw recruits ain’t to call their rifles. What ‘ a finish for the descendant of jjrave pioneers’ women that came over the prairies in covered -waggons and gladdened the heart of gold-diggers with glimpses of nifty-coal-scuttle bonnes and-snappy hoopskirts! My mother was the kind of a woman that would have thought lace on underwear was deceiving and pyjamas .was immoral. Now, look at me. But Louie Rosebloom understands me and I understand him. That’s why he’s taking you to the- suits and dresses, Dorsey. Well, I wouldn’t call it a primrose path I’ve took, would you, Hortie? Oh, I know you ain’t saying a word. Just tin; same, I notice if you mention

‘primrose path’ it makes even an old lady of eighty drop a few stitches in her knitting to get data and detail. Well, Hortie and I will he tending shop with one eye on the suits, Dorsey, -to seei you among the triple-mir-ror queens. How about coming down for a farewell party to my house tonight?” “But I’m not leaving, Mariette. Why should it be farewell?”

“You’ll see. Sometimes, Dorsey, 1 don’t know whether you’re a good actress or just plain dumb. Hanging on to a husband that don’t support you is one reason. You oughta get that divorce started right now, Dorsey . . . How about a trip to Chinatown tonight? It’s Feast of Lanterns which Nina mentioned after you went out the other night. We can have some chow mien somewhere . . .”

The spring night was warm, clear, lavender-lighted. The city rose like a fabled thing from the welter of golden light, soared into the sagging dusk, flung her streamers of glistening radiance to the foam-lace of the sea-shores, the dark, bay waters. Chinatown trembled with swinging balls of radiance, hot orange, vivid purple, mysterious blue lanterns. The shop windows held smirking gods, metal bowls twinkling in the light, bits of-jade, old yellow gold, scarlet lacquer, silks in which light pooled and glowed. There was the outre, sinister frivolity of Chinese music, squealing, sighing, caterwauling from open upper windows. There were street crowds peer, ing ctmiously and jostling the yellow people. Children like dolls, gaily dressed, ran laughing, scuttled past. Chung Fat’s Bazaar was brilliantly lighted, crowded with people. Fanchee did not want to enter, but Mariette ploughed through. Toys, fans, silks, seagrass furniture, gods, dishes . . . and Nina showing a porcelain obscenity to a man, Nina digging a bit of grime from the godlings creases with her fingernail, Nina’s cheeks rouged glaringly, her lips painted, her eyelashes dripping kohl, and somehow younger, more alert, less of a harridan. “I think she takes dope,” said Mariette. “Look how good she looks tonight. She makes money here. She can’t tell me different. She must spend it on something. Poor devil. Look at that crystal ball and the ivory elephants. I always wanted a nice big ivory elephant. I’ve promised myself one for years but something always happens to keep me broke. Did you ever want an ivory elephant, Dorsey? Maybe not just that, but did you ever

want something all your life as useless as that and have the money a dozen times and something always come along to knock you out of it? Had she wanted one useless lovely thing all her life? Fanchee looked at the ivory elephant: and considered. So many things she had wanted, so many useless small things. She knew what Mariette meant, a soul-clutching, heart aching longing for one thing that would mean reckless expenditure for no good purpose. Yes, Fanchee wanted an ivory elephant. She wanted freedom from the thralls that chained her, freedom from poverty, freedom from people, from the shadow of misunderstanding of others clutching at her since infancy. She wanted to stand alone, aloof, apart. She wanted her own place, her own pedestal, her own cloudland. To forget the hurt of Orchardville, to forget Dick to forget Nina now. To shake off chains, to emerge from storms, to stand in the morning sun unafraid. An ivory elephant! Nina took it from the case, stood it on the counter, and Mariette rested her finger-tips before it, bent her head, stared at the ivory, darlr-tinter in the cleverly carved creases of hide, mellow-shaded along the up-flung trunk, a lordly beast trumpeting as he rushed through the jungles. (To be continued).