Bread — Book1 Chapter5 Sections1-2
§ 1 Roy wanted to be married; he wanted Jeannette to set the date; he wanted her to make up her mind where she preferred to live, and to start making plans accordingly.
Just before Christmas his salary was raised five dollars a week and the last barrier--for him--to the wedding was removed.
There was nothing to prevent their being married at once.
Everyone agreed, even Jeannette herself, that a hundred dollars a month would be sufficient for their needs the first year.
With a mysterious air, Mrs. Sturgis hinted at responsibilities that might come to them, but Roy’s salary would undoubtedly be raised more than once by that time.
She liked her daughter’s promised husband; he had such an honest, clean face, his eyes were so clear and blue.
He made her think of her Ralph.
She felt she could with safety entrust Jeannette’s happiness to him.
Alice was frankly a warm admirer of her prospective brother-in-law.
She agreed with everything he said and always sided with him in an argument.
Mother, sister and future husband shared the opinion that the marriage must soon take place; there was no sense in Jeannette’s wearing herself to death down there at that office; she took it all too seriously; she was undermining her health.
Jeannette, with vague misgivings, agreed.
It was too bad; she liked the business life so much.
But marriage was the thing; she must make up her mind to be married and settle down in a little house with Roy over in Brooklyn,--presumably.
She thought of the dish-washing, bed-making, carpet-sweeping, cooking, and shuddered.
She hated domesticity.
Alice would have loved it; but she was different from Alice.
Roy?
...
Oh, she loved Roy, she guessed, but not with the fluttering pulse and quickened breath he had once occasioned.
She liked him; he was sweet and companionable.
Sometimes she felt very motherly toward him, liked to brush his stuck-up hair and rest her cheek against his.
She could see herself happy with him, knowing she would always dominate him and he was disarmingly amiable.
Sometimes she thought about babies.
She wouldn’t mind having them.
She had always imagined she would like one some day, to dandle about and cuddle close to her.
Roy was sure to be a sweet-tempered father.
But she sighed when she thought of the office, the progress she was making there, her popularity, and particularly the five dollars a week that was her own to spend just as she pleased.
She loved that five dollars; once she touched the soft greenback to her lips.
She agreed to be married on the second of April.
§ 2 It was shortly after the beginning of the new year that the news went around the office that Mr. Smith was going;--fired, everyone decided.
No one knew how the rumor got about, but there was universal and secret rejoicing.
It was whispered that, as Mr. Corey’s secretary, he had been indiscreet.
There were to be other changes in the office.
Miss Travers was to take Smith’s place, Mr. Holme was to be put in complete charge of the Book Sales department, Van Alstyne was leaving, and Miss Holland was to go downstairs to assist Mr. Kipps.
Jeannette, excited by these readjustments, surmised that her own news of resignation would create its particular stir.
How interested everyone would be to learn that she and Roy Beardsley of the Advertising Department were to be married!
There would be a lot of rejoicing and good wishes.
The office would consider it a happy match.
Her going would be regretted,--she knew that she was valued,--but all would be glad nevertheless that she and young Beardsley were going to be man and wife.
An ideal couple!
--Happy romance!
--Miss Sturgis and Mr. Beardsley!
How delightful!
Well--well!
If everyone was sure to think so well of her marriage, why should she have any doubts about it?
She was pondering on this, one day, while mechanically folding her letters and putting them into their proper envelopes, when there came a summons from Mr. Corey.
She found him idly thumbing the pages of an advance dummy of one of the magazines.
When she had seated herself and flapped back her note-book for his dictation, he asked her without preamble how she would like the idea of being his secretary.
He elaborated upon what he should expect of her: there would be plenty of hard work, long hours sometimes, she might have to come back occasionally in the evenings, and there must be no gossiping with other employees of the company or outside of the office.
“What goes on in here, what you learn from my letters or see from my correspondence, what you come to know of my business or private life, must be kept strictly to yourself.
Nothing must be repeated,--not even what may seem to you a trivial, insignificant fact.
I wish to have no secrets from my secretary, and I do not wish my affairs discussed with anyone, not even with members of the firm, such as Mr. Kipps, or Mr. Featherstone.
Understand?
Miss Holland thinks you’re qualified to fill the position,--recommends you warmly,--and Mr. Kipps has a good word for you.
Personally I have a feeling you will do very well, and that I can trust you.
If you think you can do the work, we will start you at twenty-five a week....
What do you say?
” Jeannette’s throat went dry, her temples throbbed, her face burned.
Visions swift, tormenting, rose before her: she saw Roy, her mother, sister!
--she saw herself a bride, a wife, with hair hanging about her face, bending over a steaming pan full of dirty dishes; she saw herself sitting where Mr. Smith had sat, moving about the office, respected, looked up to, feared and conciliated.
She thought of the number of times she had said that Smith was of small help to his chief, and the number of times, in her secret soul, she had pictured herself in some such post as his, helping, protecting, serving as she knew she could help, protect and serve.
She gazed at the kind face with its crown of silvery white, and into the dark eyes studying her, as she felt rising up strong within her the consciousness of how she could work for this man, and be to him all he could ever expect in a secretary.
The sadness that surrounded him, the big fight he was waging to make his business a success touched her imagination.
She sensed his need of her,--his great need of her,--and she saw in the dim future how dependent he would grow to be on her.
She would have a part in his struggle; she could help him achieve his ambition as he could help her achieve hers.
Suddenly Roy’s stricken face interposed again.
Rebellion rose passionately!
...
But it was too late.
She was going to be married; she was going to be Roy’s wife....
Yet how desperately she longed to be this big man’s secretary!
She thought of the sensation the promotion would cause, how it would stagger Miss Foster, Miss Bixby, the other girls,--how it would impress her mother, Alice,--_Roy_!
Her strained, hard expression brought a puzzled look to her employer’s face.
She tried to speak; her lips only moved soundlessly.
“Well, well,--you don’t have to make up your mind at once,” Mr. Corey said.
“Suppose you try it for a month or two.
I don’t think you’ll find it as hard as you anticipate.
I am away for some months every year,--I go abroad in the spring,--and while that does not mean a vacation for you, the work is naturally easier.
I would greatly appreciate loyalty and conscientiousness.
I think you have just the qualities.
Try it, as I suggest, until, say the first of March, and then we’ll see how we get along together and whether you think the work too hard.
” She could not bring herself to tell him she was going to be married, that she was thinking of resigning in a few weeks; she could not dash from his hand the cup, brimming with all her ambitions realized, which he held out to her so persuasively.
No,--not just yet.
He suggested she try the position until the first of March.
There was nothing to hinder her from doing that!
The glory would be hers, even if she were to enjoy it but for six weeks.
She would be “Mr. Corey’s secretary” before the office; everyone would know of it, her mother, Alice, Roy,--all of them would see how she had succeeded.
On the first of March,--went her swift mind,--she could talk it over with Mr. Corey, tell him the work was beyond her strength, that she didn’t like it,--or that she was going to be married!
It wouldn’t matter then.
“Well,--what do you say?
” Mr. Corey leaned forward slightly, his shrewd eyes watching her.
She swallowed hard, and met his steady gaze.
“Yes,--I’ll try it.
I--I think I can do it.
” “Good.
Then we’ll start in to-morrow.
Mr. Smith leaves us Saturday.
He can show you about my private filing system and some of the ropes before he goes.
”
