The Tangled Threads Part 12

_He_ cares."

Only the swift red in Helen's cheeks showed that the daughter understood the emphasis.

"Of course he cares," she answered smoothly.

"And he sent me a present, too--money!" Mrs. Raymond's usually fretful whine carried a ring of exultation.

Helen lifted her head eagerly.

"Money?"

"Yes. A new crisp dollar bill. He told me to get something pretty--some little trinket that I'd like."

"But, a dollar--only a dollar," murmured Helen. "Now you're needing a wrapper, but that--"

"A wrapper, indeed!" interrupted Mrs. Raymond in fine scorn. "A wrapper is n't a 'trinket' for me! I'd have wrappers anyway, of course. He said to buy something pretty; something I'd like. But then, I might have known. _You_ never think I need anything but wrappers and--and codfis.h.!.+

I--I'm glad I've got one child that--that appreciates!" And Mrs. Raymond lifted her handkerchief to her eyes.

Across the table Helen caught her lower lip between her teeth. For a moment she did not speak; then very gently she said:--

"Mother, you did n't quite mean that, I'm sure. You know very well that I--I'd dress you in silks and velvets, and feed you on strawberries and cream, if I could. It's only that--that-- But never mind. Use the dollar as you please, dear. Is n't there something--some little thing you would like?"

Mrs. Raymond lowered her handkerchief. Her grieved eyes looked reproachfully across at her daughter.

"I'd thought of--a tie; a lace tie with pretty ends; a _nice_ tie. You _know_ how I like nice things!"

"Of course, you do; and you shall have it, too," cried Helen. "I'll bring some home tomorrow night for you to select from. Now that will be fine, won't it?"

The other drew a resigned sigh.

"'Fine'! That's just like you, Helen. You never appreciate--never realize. Perhaps you do think it's 'fine' to stay mewed up at home here and have ties _brought_ to you instead of going out yourself to the store and buying them, like other women!"

"Oh, but just don't look at it that way," retorted Helen in a cheerful voice. "Just imagine you're a queen, or a president's wife, or a multi-millionairess who is sitting at home in state to do her shopping just because she wishes to avoid the vulgar crowds in the stores; eh, mother dear?"

"Mother dear" sniffed disdainfully.

"Really, Helen," she complained, "you are impossible. One would think you might have _some_ sympathy, _some_ consideration for my feelings!

There's your brother, now. He's all sympathy. Look at his letter.

Think of that dollar he sent me--just a little thing to give me happiness. And he's always doing such things. Did n't he remember how I loved peppermints, and give me a whole box at Christmas?"

Helen did not answer. As well she knew, she did not need to. Her mother, once started on this subject, asked only for a listener. Wearily the girl rose to her feet and began to clear the table.

"And it is n't as if he did n't have his hands full, just running over full with his business and all," continued Mrs. Raymond. "You _know_ how successful he is, Helen. Now there's that club--what was it, president or treasurer that they made him? Anyhow, it was _something_; and that _shows_ how popular he is. And you know every letter tells us of something new. I 'm sure it is n't any wonder I 'm proud of him; and relieved, too--I did hope some one of my children would amount to something; and I 'm sure Herbert has."

There was a pause. Herbert's sister was was.h.i.+ng the dishes now, hurriedly, nervously. Herbert's mother watched her with dissatisfied eyes.

"Now there's you, Helen, and your music," she began again, after a long sigh. "You _know_ how disappointed I was about that."

"Oh, but piano practice does n't help to sell goods across the counter,"

observed Helen dully. "At least, I never heard that it did."

"'Sell goods,'" moaned the other. "Always something about selling goods!

Helen, _can't_ you get your mind for one moment off that dreadful store, and think of something higher?"

"But it's the store that brings us in our bread and b.u.t.ter--and codfish,"

added Helen, half under her breath.

It was a foolish allusion, born of a much-tried spirit; and Helen regretted the words the moment they had left her lips.

"Yes, that's exactly what it brings--codfish," gloomed Mrs. Raymond.

"I'm glad you at least realize that."

There was no reply. Helen was working faster now. Her cheeks were pink, and her hands trembled. As soon as possible she piled Mrs. Mason's dinner dishes neatly on the tray and hurried with them to the outer door of the suite.

"Now, Helen, don't stay," called her mother. "You know how much I'm alone, and I just simply can't go to bed yet. I'm not one bit sleepy."

"No, mother." The voice was calm, and the door shut quietly; but in the hall Helen paused at the head of the stairs, flushed and palpitating.

"I wonder--if it would do any good--if I should--throw them!" she choked hysterically, the tray raised high in her hands. Then with a little shamed sob she lowered the tray and hurried downstairs to the apartment below.

"It's only me, Mrs. Mason, with the dishes," she said a moment later, as her neighbor peered out into the hall in answer to the knock at the door.

"I'm a little late to-night."

"Oh, to be sure, Miss Raymond; come in--come in. Why, child, what ails you?" cried the woman, as Helen stepped into the light.

"Ails me? Why, nothing," laughed the girl evasively. "Shall I put the things here?"

As she set the tray down and turned to go, the elder woman, by a sudden movement, confronted her.

"See here, Miss Helen, it ain't none o' my business, I know, but I've just got to speak. Your eyes are all teary, and your cheeks have got two red spots in 'em. You've been cryin'. I know you have. You're so thin I could just blow you over with a good big breath. And I know what's the matter. You're all wore out. You 're doin' too much. No mortal woman can work both day and night!"

"But I don't--quite," stammered the girl "Besides, there is so much to be done. You know, mother--though she isn't very sick--can do but little for herself."

"Yes, I know she don't--seem to. But is n't there some one else that could help?"

The girl stirred restlessly. Her eyes sought for a means of escape.

"Why, no, of course not. There is n't any one," she murmured. "You are very kind, really, Mrs. Mason, but I must go--now."

The other did not move. She was standing directly before the hall door.

"There 's--your brother."

The girl lifted her head quickly. A look that was almost fear came into her eyes.

"Why, how did you know that I had--a brother?"

"Know it!" scoffed Mrs. Mason. "I have known your mother for a year--ever since she moved here; and as if a body could know _her_ and not hear of _him_! He's the very apple of her eye. Why can't he--help?

Would n't he, if he knew?"