--- title: Improvement Era description: Monthly periodical of the Mormon church, 1897 onward. This library holds the issues of November 1897 to December 1930. authors: - O’Brien, John Garrett collections: - periodicals tags: - magazine - improvement-era periodical: Improvement Era volume: 23 number: 11 published: 1920-09 publisher: Young Men’s Mutual Improvement Associations publisher_place: Salt Lake City language: en type: magazine reference: 'O’Brien, John Garrett, "I Ain’t Like Ma," *Improvement Era* 23, no. 11 (September 1920): 967–974.' source: url: https://archive.org/details/improvementera23011unse transcription: Transcribed from the Internet Archive scan of each issue (the item for each issue is named in the issue's own source); unnumbered advertising leaves are omitted, printed page numbers are kept as page markers. identifier: improvementera23011unse start_page: 967 end_page: 974 rights: status: public-domain basis: US publication 1930 or earlier (published 1920-09) source: https://archive.org/details/improvementera23011unse publication_year: 1920 note: The Internet Archive item metadata carries a blanket "© Copyright by Intellectual Reserve, Inc." notice. The library owner judged it inapplicable because this issue was published in 1920, before 1931; a scan-level notice does not restore copyright. --- # I Ain’t Like Ma I AIN'T LIKE MA 969 "But the life!" whispered her mother after a long pause, and then only after she had moistened her parched lips. Polly's voice became a little hard. "Just as if I can't take care of myself!" "They all say that!" "Huh!" she flashed back, before rising to set two irons on the ga». In vain did Mrs. Dean try to coax her not to be too hasty. And in vain did she plead with her to change her mind or even think it over a little longer; for Polly was kind though decidedly stubborn. Nor could she iron the dress as she had promised, because her hands trembled so that she was hardly able to clear the table and wash up the dishes. "You'll break Harry's heart, daughter, that's what you'll do!" she cried, bending her tear-blind eyes over her work. "Ma, I've a good reason for the way I'm actin'," retorted Polly as she kept on ironing the dainty silk garment. — "Reason " fumed Mrs. Dean—"you'll find out the stage isn't all you think it is!" The anguish of her soul found solace in a sob though she tried bravely to restrain her tears, after furtively dabbing her eyes with her apron. — "La, mother you'd think I was goin' to prison the wav you carry on! Why, I'll be able to have you with me when I travel, and we'll have a gay old time together!" soothed the girl while she began to arrange her hair in a subtle way that made it even more eye-arresting, just as an auto in the street honked a reminder which made her hurry to the bedroom to change as quickly as possible. After Irving to dissuade her again, her mother helped her to dress. First she found the shimmery silk stockings, then she brought her the petticoat with the fancy flounce that matched the dress, and the low tan shoes, despite the fact that her heart was acting quickly. "See what I gets for havin' such a prettv gal!" she choked as she gazed at Polly whose poise of head and figure was that of an empress. Her oval cheeks were dimnled and rosv- Her blue eyes were ruminant with happiness. Her graceful figure held a charm of its own. And her manner was that of youth and anticipation in its incipiency; still, she did seem to be hiding something that made her mother feel uneasy. The honk had sounded twice again, and slipping on an imitation pearl necklace that accentuated the contours of her throat, she let her mother snap it while she rouged her lips a trifle, dabbed her cheeks with powder, and, pinning on a small 9,0 IMPROVEMENT ERA hat after cloaking herself, she danced to the door, gloving her hands as she went. "Pol, ain't you even goin' to kiss me?" asked her mother, which made the girl retrace her steps to give her a bird-like peck on both cheeks instead of where kisses belong. "Oh, Babe, my lips, Honey!" The woman clung for a second — — two, three perhaps then she stood listening to her steps echoing down the stairs, saw her step lightly into a large machine which hurried away into the shadows of the dimly lit street, and with a groan retraced her way into the small parlor where she sank into a chair. "O God!" The anguish of her mind found solace in a sob which was more a prayer than anything else. But her face though wrinkled with lines wore a more restful look when Harry knocked at the door, and entered at her invitation. "Hello, Ma! How are you, and where's Polly?" he asked jubilantly, as he squeezed her work-a-day hand in his large palm before sitting by her side on a wide divan. His shoulders were wide. His eyes sparkling. "Why the band of crepe on your arm?" she parried, for the young man wore one on his sleeve, although his eyes were shining with excitement that he was trying hard to suppress. "An aunt of mine has died and left me five thousand dollars!" he cried ecstatically. "But you mustn't think for a moment that I feel glad because she passed away," he amended. "I had no idea that she had anything to leave beyond a few hundred. Now Pol can have good dresses and a maid, and you, Ma, can have a doctor whenever you get them pesky heart pains!" And with that he gave her hand a squeeze from pure light-heartedness. "Oh, Harry!" "Ain't I a lucky boy, eh? And I've passed my exam! I've been promised a hundred and fifty a month after this!" He Whispered it softly, beaming on the woman by his side. — "Then, because she was silent he called, "Pol O Polly! Huh, gal, I've got something to show you! A — ring a diamond ring to put on your finger! Come out of that there bedroom, — for I know you're hidin' from me you little beauty!" "Harry, don't call her," said Mrs. Dean brokenly. "Why?" ventured her visitor in wide eyed surprise. So she broke the news to him somehow, trying to keep from sobbing as she spoke. "She was always set on goin' on the stage ever since she saw the first show that came to Kingsville afore we moved to t AIN'T LIKE MA 971 the city," she whispered in conclusion. " 'I'm goin' to be a queen myself one of these days,' " she often told me. " 'You see if I don't wear one of those crowns and hold a scepter in my hands, Ma!'" — Harry's boyish face went white white except for a three — inch scar in the center of his left cheek the smile trickled away, and a gaunt, unhappy face stared back at her as he replaced a small plush box in his vest pocket. Nor did he speak for some time, but when he did it seemed as if a man of mature age were talking, not a young man of twenty-four whose expression was always wide and kind. "Who is the guy?" fell from his lips eventually. "Holt," she faltered, in a trembling voice. Harry wiped his forehead, a queer smile on his face as he got up to pace the small room. His mind was rioting; filled with a surge of emotions that he dared not convey to the womaii seated on the faded lounge. "Two divorces already; and Holt has a name, besides!" he mused, his eyes winking mistily for an instant. "He don't — want real actresses, he don't he caters to dog acts, rope-walkers, coon monologuists, and toe dancers who wear tights! And — not the legit, either he finds the scum!" A shudder passed through his well-built frame. His hands closed unconsciously into fists that had rattled many a man's teeth in his head when sparring in a local gymnasium where some of the toughest boxers met in the "Windy City" at times, although he was no professional. "Yes, disrobing acts, and the scum of riff-raffdom in exaggerated burlesque!" he soliloquized. "He don't believe in giving the public clean acts! He subsidizes art in the low dumps — he owns and calls his plays by names that drag people to see them against their better judgment; and sends them home with their conscience as full of smarting pin-pricks as he can!" His eyes blazed. Mrs. Dean was apparently musing as well when he again sat beside her, but her white face arrested his instant attention. So he felt her hands which were cold as ice; but she tried to smile when he lifted her in his arms, and carried her to the small bedroom. "Don't be scared, Ma, its Harry!" he soothed gently as he covered her with a warm quilt. "I'll call Mrs. Gibbs from over the hall, and run for a doctor." This he did although she tried to object, asking her neighbor to undress her at once which she willingly did, but the medico shook his head after seeing her. "She won't live long unless some miracle happens," was his 972 IMPROVEMENT ERA emphatic remark, "because she's worrying over something that's beyond the power of medicine to alleviate." Harry winced as he pressed a bill into his hand. "Doctor, please stay with her and do all you can until I return. I I — may be away for some time, but kindly promise me!" After a few more words and a keen glance he agreed, so away went Harry to find the girl in the likely haunts that Holt would have taken her to. But one after the other were visited in vain, although he had inquired at the theater where he might be located. At last there remained but two places. And in a cabaret where dancers ogled the patrons as they tangoed and glided in and out between the tables, he saw the girl in a far corner, and something in her startled glance as she sat listening to Holt arrested his attention. But this was hardly the time to stand watching for any denouncement; so, disregarding a waiter who tried to stop him by waving him aside, he went immediately to the table, ignoring Holt's cynical glance, as he said a few words to Polly, before reaching for her cloak. The blonde, however, expressed indecision, which her escort was only too quick to notice. "Beat it, you —boy with the scar!" urged the ironic Holt in a crisp voice that held a menace, although his body rocked with suppressed mirth. Harry ignored the thrust though boiling inwardly. "Pol," he said firmly, "your mother's ill, so come at once!" "111?" gasped the girl, hurrying into the cloak he held invitingly. Holt rose to his feet, his eyes glittering. "You get out," he snarled, "I'll take the girl home myself." A huge hand went quickly to his shoulder, and stayed there until he sank into the chair once more. Then Harry spoke: "Don't try to make a scene," advised the wide shouldered youth, "as I'm about ripe for a row!" Holt snorted; his eyes smoldered defiance. "I don't care if you are an ex-pug, or how many sponges you held over men in your time!" His jaw became square as he — added: "The girl goes with me get that? And if there's any difference to settle, I'll see you again." And marching Polly away he saw her home without say- — ing much although her eyes often roved to his home to the woman who smiled the moment she heard her steps, and felt her arms about her neck. I AIN'T LIKE MA 973 '"Tis uiy ewe lamb come back to her Ma," murmured the woman in ecstasy. Then, and only then, did Harry feel relieved. "Yes, Ma, I'm beginning to find out that men can be pretty mean!" cried the girl, stroking her wan cheeks with her soft fingers. "I—" Harry heard no more, for he and the doctor tiptoed out to the parlor at this moment, the latter waving aside any attempts to be thanked with a spacious grin, and a gesture of his wellkept hands. Said he presently, his eyes twinkling: "She'll soon be well — now, but she'll have to be careful mighty careful!" Harry smiled an assurance as they shook hands. And after Mrs. Gibbs had also left he sat musing, the ring in his fingers. "The ex-pug ridiculed my scar," he thought poignantly. And for a few minutes he seemed to be back in France listening to the incessant barrage of warfare; Polly and her mother ever in his mind even when in hospital. Then he began to smile, for that same day he had paid a large installment on a five roomed house on the outskirts. Nor did he hear the door opening as his lips moved audibly, so intensely did he care for her. "Polly, I guess I'm scarred up out of the ordinary! Never mind, gal, I'll never ask you to marry me now, but you and your Ma must move into that house just as soon as I've varnished the —" he became ruminant —"if you wish to And floors, and the furniture arrives before adding ! if go on the stage, why help I'll you—but you goin' where a man like Holt runs an ain't outfit! No —not by long odds— love you too well—you fairy gal!" I "Huh!" sounded from behind him, and again a "huh!" And turning he saw Polly smiling shyly, which made him crimson from collar to where a well brushed pompadour began. "Pol—" "I didn't mean to listen, Harry, I was going to hang up my hat and cloak in the cupboard now that Ma's resting. But — Harry squirmed, for her glance was roguish. "What's that you was sayin'?" she asked archly, her blue eyes clinging to his in a way that thrilled him before her long lashes dropped in confusion. — "Aw, now, I never meant you to hear that part for I know my face is disfigured, Pol!" "I don't mind that in the least, Harry, for I know how — — you came by it! And and I like it!" she cried. Then down went her head, her cheeks flushing a delicate, richer pink. Harry strode to her side, and clutched her hand. "Pol, — say that again, dear, it's music! Music I tell you!" The girl did so, returning his pressure gently. "Now tell / 974 IMPROVEMENT ERA nie the rest of what you was sayin' to yourself when you thought no one was there," she whispered, giving him a baffling look. "No," he persisted, "it's like this, dear, I never meant to tell you that I —— I love you. But I do, Polly, I love you so well that I'm not going to ask you to marry me. See here, you and your Ma is goin' to live in a cottage the rest of your lives, which will be your own one of these bright days!" Then he drew some pictures from his coat pocket which she stood gazing at in wonderment as he described the rooms. There's a nice garden which I'll dig over so that you can grow your own vegetables. An' I'll sow grass in the front, ami make you a few flower beds," he said slowly. "Then you can plant violets and pansies as blue as your two eyes, gal, and roses to match your cheeks, and have your Ma sit in the garden — an' forget her sorrows eh?" Polly's hand tightened in his, then her blond head rested against his shoulder. "Do you love me, Harry?" she asked coyly. "Really love me?" "Hush!" he commanded, his eyes sparkling once more. Mrs. Dean called at that moment, so she drew him with her to the bedside. "Where you been, Babe?" she asked drowsily, her eyes closed. "Ma, Harry says he loves me! That is, he did say so once, but he refuses to tell me again!" said the girl, ever so softly. Open wide were the woman's eyes now, her lips smiling as she gazed at them. "La, Honey, your Pa never told me that more than the once That he didn't! And, Babe, I just took him at his word!" Harry felt his cheeks flaming with warmth, for Polly accom- panied him into the parlor again, and once more did she ask him to tell her what she had heard already. "Aw, now, what did your Ma say?" he evaded, trying to reach for his hat in vain. "Yes, but I ain't quite like Ma, I've got to be told, Harry and more than once, too!" she cooed so prettily in her pink dress that he did so haltingly, bashfully. "But Pol, you don't have to marry me! And I'll help you to go on the stage if you wish, either in vaudeville — or t'other — end whatever you call it!" he offered in conclusion. Polly stole her arms round his neck. — — "Boob " she breathed "I don't want to be an actress — want you! I only went out with Holt to get you to speak!" Harry gazed at her in bewilderment. "Eh?" he managed to gasp. • "I did, for I knew that you'd hurry up and say something," I AIN'T LIKE MA 975 she said radiantly. "And now you can run home, only place the ring on my finger first. Kiss it on, Harry, then my lips! And when he had done so as if in a dream, she whispered, — "Tell me again, you love me, Harry, for I ain't like Ma I ain't! I've got to know for myself —real definite!" Chicago, III. Get into the Books By Jos. S. Peery Bacon says, "Reading makes a full man." The converse would be, lack of reading makes an empty man. He who does not read talks personalities, and such talk is most dangerous. He who reads good books, feeds the spirit with eternal food. Have you read the Bible? If not, how are you going to face your Maker, in accounting for the time he awards you? The Bible is preeminently the Book acknowledged through the centuries as authority. When you preach the gospel, you quote the Bible as the recognized word of God. Is it possible that you, a child of light, have not studied the Bible! Then start without fail and read a chapter each day. The best time is when you rise in the morning. Do this regularly, and, if you value your eternal future, do not fail to so read. Mark the passages that impress you. You will find this the happiest time of your day. Your inner soul yearns for this food. Will you not satisfy this longing? You certainly try to satisfy the tabernacle of the flesh all day long. Why neglect feeding the spirit, your best possession? After the chapter is read, then you are better prepared to utter a short fervent prayer of thanksgiving and appeal for guidance during the day. As you read the Bible, write quotations in a note book that you can carry. In a street car, or when waiting idly, get out these quotations and make them yours. Thereby the prophets of the Bible become your friends. Then when you stand on — your feet to do what is "worth most while" to preach the gospel, the Holy Ghost can draw on your store of knowledge. Through you your Maker speaks, and you are delighted and astonished in the reward of your reading. By reading a chapter of Scripture every morning you are helped during the whole day, and in turn you are better qualified to help others. Either in this life, or in the next life, we must get into the books, and the best of all books to read are the four standard works of the Church. Why delay? No matter how busy we are, let us start tomorrow morning by reading a chapter of God's literature. God's Priesthood Leads the Way By Edward Davis, Patriarch in the Blaine Stake [The following sentiment was composed for the High Priests' social held at Carey, Idaho, Jan. 23, 1920, by the author. Editors.] Tonight my soul is thrilled with joy at this happy social meeting. We greet each other as Zion's favored ones. Nowhere else in this wide world, apart from the Saints of Zion, can be found such noble souls. The Priesthood of God leads the way. As I look upon your features, my spirit visions backward through centuries of time before this earth was our abode. We may have known each other then, where social affairs and gatherings like this were common. And love made life of rosy hue in these primeval days. We roamed through the perfumed bowers and pledged eternal friendships, to which we have proved true! When proud Lucifer rebelled against the Father's work, we, under great Prince Michael's lead, opposed him with the sword, and in this the Priesthood led the way. The false disturber of our peace was cast from heaven, while those who chose his company all followed in his train, with Satan leading the way. But those who then proved faithful and valiant in the fight for God are now clothed with power from heaven, and are battling for the right, in which the Priesthood leads the way. We are on the Lord's side and will not rest until Satan's hosts are bound and until Satan is driven from the earth, as he was driven from heaven. We have bravely borne the rage of mobs; our loved ones have been slaughtered, our prophets banished and confined in prison cells— all our enemies seem to have combined with the devil who led the way. But with firm and steadfast purpose we have overcome our foes for the truth we possess will ever conquer. We have sent ; the message of the Lord around the world as with a trumpet's blast; and scattered Israel are gathering. The Priesthood leads the way. Our temples consecrate the land and help to prepare the Saints to meet their kindred who have gone before. By these works of rightousness, mankind may all be blessed, and the Priesthood leads the way. Oh, praise be to God and all glory to him, the holy Redeemer, for bringing to earth again liberty, light and truth! We give our service and all to him who gave his life for us, and suffered all things to redeem us from the grave.